#if this was already well known to you ghost fans i apologise

[theartbooshlr]

Presenting you: My favourite musician dancing with what might be your favourite musician.

Drangsal & Papa Emeritus III

During this Performance of Kreator on the German television show "Circus Halligalli" in 2017

There are some more interactions between them, sadly barely caught by the cameras. Now, who's writing the fanfiction?

[sandwichrin]

Hello! May I request a Haruto angst where Y/n is a YG trainee and YG forced her to break up with Haruto and then they cross paths years later?

Hi! Sorry for the late response ;-; but here you go! (Also, I wasn’t sure if you wanted Haruto to be a YGA as well in this situation but since you said because y/n is a YG trainee and had to break up with him, I assumed that it’s because they wouldn’t let y/n date a debuted YGA)  Hope you like it <3

(Requested, Haruto x y/n, Angst)

“You can’t be serious y/n,” Haruto said, clearly not satisfied with what you said to him.

“I’m not kidding Ruto...” you took a deep breath, your eyes obviously avoiding to look at him.

The both of you were at a secluded rooftop cafe where you both have always been to for your ‘dates’ since it was the best hideout for the both of you to meet up and spend time together. 

You see, you and Haruto have been dating each other since for a couple of years now. When you first became a trainee, your relationship was definitely rocky after that but the both of you were strong enough to hold onto it because clearly, you both are deeply in love with each other. 

Your date nights become less frequent, you hardly talk on the phone or chat with each other, but that was never the case. You both were fine with it all. As long as you both knew you had each other. 

“What...” Haruto lets out a scoff, “This is absurd! I know that we’ve spent less time with each other but I also know that how we feel about each other isn’t the cause of this.”

You took a sip off your warm tea. Placing the cup down, you mustered your courage to look at your boyfriend in the eyes. 

“Fine then. It wasn’t the cause. It’s not. You know...how much I love you, right?”

Haruto leaned in closer to you and spoke softly this time, “Then what is it? You know you can tell me, right?”

Hearing him speak to you that way, made you realise how saddening this was. You were putting up a tough show in front of him and yet right now, you just want to hug him and cry your eyes out. Because this isn’t what you wanted it to be for the both of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before saying, “They found out, Ruto. They found out about us. You know I can’t date you. Especially me being a new trainee there and you being one of their famously renowned artist. It...just doesn’t work that way,” 

Haruto moved away from you, leaning back into his chair this time. He lets out a frustrated sigh. 

You observed him. The pained look on his face, how much he’s dissatisfied at how he doesn’t have much say in this matter.

Haruto lets out another sigh, this time it was louder. “I told you didn’t I? I told you this many times, but you just had to do this, right? You just couldn’t wait, could you?!”

You scoffed. “What?! What exactly did you tell me, huh? How was I to know it would be like this?” you cried back at him.

You weren’t sure but you thought you could see Haruto’s eyes pooling with tears by now. He was hurt. He was truly hurt by this.

“I told you not to audition at my agency! I have been supporting your dreams of wanting to become an idol but I told you to stay away from YGE! You know they don’t allow their artists to date!”

You gasped out loud at what he said, “How could you say that?! We were already dating even before I got in as a trainee! You were literally dating someone even when you were already debuted!”

“And we were fine! We were fine....” this time, tears were already falling down Haruto’s cheeks.

Your grip on your chair tightened. You couldn’t take it.

When YGE told you to breakup with your boyfriend, Haruto, because they wouldn’t allow their trainees to date, you thought Haruto would simply understand why you had to do it. You thought it would be easy. But why does this hurt so bad?

“Y/n....y/n please, please don’t leave me, please. I love you. We can do this, I’ll talk to the management about us, I can fix this,” Haruto pleads, his tears still streaming down his beautiful face.

You shook your head. You knew that was impossible. There was no way their management would even agree of you both being together. They found out about you and Haruto and immediately you were told to break off your relationship with him. What makes him think that anything he said would change their minds??

But you wanted to achieve your dreams as well. And truthfully, being a YG trainee was already a strong step towards achieving your dreams. Why doesn’t Haruto understand that?

You got up from your seat and walked over to him who was sitting opposite you. You wrapped your arms around his sitting frame, giving him a back hug to comfort him.

“Please y/n...” Haruto said softly. His sadness was still heard from his voice. 

You closed your eyes and apologised to him. “I’m sorry, Ruto...I love you, but this...this has to be the end of us.”

.2 years later.

“There she is! Ahh our shining star!” the host of the show said as he saw you entering the show’s set.

You smiled at him and bowed at the people around you, mostly towards the other guests of the show and the cameramen along with the PD crew there.

“Hello everyone! It’s me, the shining, charming y/n!” you greeted everyone there.

“Aigoo, you’re one bright kid, y/n! No wonder your fans love you so much!” the much older host said.

You simply smiled and nodded at what he said. This was your first time being on a renowned show since you debuted months ago and truthfully, since you’ve always been doing contents and shows that were smaller before, today you could feel your nerves racking.

“Oh wait, before we start with our show, we have another guest! Another YG artist too, y/n! You must’ve known him,” the host chuckled.

You smiled and looked at the host questioningly. Who was invited here aside from you? Blackpink? Ikon? Winner?

Your eyes widened when you saw him. How could you forget...about Treasure.

Haruto entered the set, smiling his handsome smile, waving at the cameras and bowing in respect towards all the elders there.

You felt your heart beat fast. How did the both of you end up as guests in the same show??

Haruto caught a glimpse of your eyes and he smiled timidly at you. You nodded briefly at him, trying to maintain composure for the sake of the show. 

All the time throughout being a trainee, and even when you debuted, you had never interacted with him. Not once ever since the two of you broke up. You avoided him in the hallways, the gatherings, and it was all perfect.

But today? You weren’t so sure as to how to avoid him now. 

The show began and all of you, including the rest of the guests starring in the show were seated side by side with one another.

And coincidentally, your seat was right beside Haruto’s. 

Lucky for you, you were deeply concentrating on the show so you weren’t paying much attention on him.

Some time passed by and the host called for a commercial break, “Okay we’ll be right back after the break!”

You waved at the camera, waiting for the director to officially give you all the break.

“And, CUT! Perfect! Good job everyone! 10 minutes break for everyone!”

You sighed in relief. You were so into the show that you had been very active in talking and responding to everyone in the room. Well, to everyone except for Haruto of course.

Your makeup artist approached you and you could also see Haruto’s attending to him as well. 

“y/n, you’re sweating a lot today. be careful okay? We don’t want to accidentally smear your mascara,” your makeup artist advised you. 

You nodded at her and let her dab the sweat off your skin.

It only took you 2-3 minutes to have you look all fresh again, thanks to your skillful makeup artist, and when she left, you realised that you were alone with Haruto, still sitting in your respective seats.

You looked down at your thighs, trying to act like you weren’t bothered with him being there beside you.

“Nervous?” you heard him say.

Your head turned to look at him.

His face was fully facing you right now. “You were really great out there, y/n,”

Your skin shivered. It’s been so long since you heard him call your name. 

“I...uh, thanks,” you muttered quickly at him.

The both of you kept quiet right after that. No one else said anything until the show started again.

                                                            *

The show ended and everyone was thanking each other and talking further about how they enjoyed the show. You were doing the same too and when you were done, you headed towards your dressing room to go check on your phone, since you were pretty sure your group members were probably asking you about how your filming went. 

You entered the empty room and saw your phone on the dressing table, laying with it’s screen face down.

You didn’t remember leaving it that way but whatever, you hurriedly took it and tried to key in your passcode.

But then you stopped. 

You realised that the lockscreen on the phone wasn’t yours.

It was obvious it wasn’t yours because....the lockscreen was a picture of you. 

You immediately placed the phone back down on the dresser. You backed away from the dresser and you felt your heart beating fast.

Whose phone was that? And why does that person has a picture of me as their lockscreen?? And what’s worst, it was a picture from when you were much younger, from when you first became a trainee at YG too!

“Y/n!” you heard your manager call out your name, which made you turn around.

“Yes, oppa?” you asked your manager, your voice a little shaky.

“Oh? What’s with you? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” your manager asked, worried about you.

You forced a laugh at him, “What? No way! I’m okay oppa. I just...uh, yeah, feeling tired that’s all,” you assured him.

“Okay...our van will be here soon, so make sure to gather all your stuff before we leave, okay?”

“Alright! Oh wait, oppa, have you seen my phone?”

“Your phone?”

“Yeah,”

“Oh, you gave it to me to hold while you were recording remember? Here it is,” he said as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and gave it to you.

“Oh, thanks,” you said laughing at how silly you were for forgetting.

“I’ll call you up when the van arrives yea? I need to go talk to the PD staff for a bit,” your manager said before he left.

You nodded at him briefly and got started at gathering your stuff to bring home. 

And just then, you heard footsteps approaching inside the room as well.

You turned to see who it was and surely enough, it was Haruto. 

Both of your eyes met and yet still, no one said anything.

Haruto walked towards the dresser and grabbed the phone that was on it.

He was about to leave but then he stopped to look at you again. He looked like he wanted to say something but then he shook his head and decided to just leave the room.

He probably doesn’t know it but your eyes were fixed on him. It had been two years but that feeling you had for him, it was rushing back to you. 

You wanted to run to him, maybe talk to him more. It would be a horrible lie to say that you didn’t miss him at all. You felt it, the pain in your chest. 

The both of you were in the same show, the same room, and yet you both couldn’t say anything to each other. Why? 

And why does he have your picture saved as his lockscreen? Even after these years?

“Y/n, the van is here. Let’s head home,” your manager said at the door.

“Okay!” you said, trying to sound cheerful and unaffected by what you’re feeling at the moment.

You hurried out of the dressing room and at the corner of your eye, just outside the dressing room, you saw Haruto standing, leaning against the wall. 

He was staring at the bracelet he was wearing. You could see his finger tracing the small, white charm on it.

“Y/n, the van is this way,” your manager called out to you, as he noticed you stopping in your tracks.

“Oh, right! I’m on my way!” you called out to him back.

You decided to take a last peek at Haruto and that’s when both your eyes met again. 

You saw the look in his eyes. 

The pained, sorrow look he had like the last time you both met at the rooftop cafe. The same pained look he had when you told him that you wanted to end your relationship with him back then.

You felt your eyes sting from the tears you were holding back. The memories came flowing back to you by now. 

Feeling overwhelmed, you took a deep breath and ran outside towards your van outside.

As you entered the van, you leaned back against your seat and closed your eyes. You felt your chest beating in pain, your head heavy, and your eyes finally letting the tears overflow. Although your eyes were closed, you could feel your tears streaming down your face and chin. 

It hurts. Why does it hurt this much? Was this how he felt when you broke off things? Why does it hurt this bad when it’s been over for years??

You opened your eyes and hurriedly searched for your purse in your handbag. 

Pulling out the purse from the bag, you unzipped the coin compartment and there it was, still beautifully intact, 

The similar white charmed, silver bracelet Haruto had gifted you years back. 

[fantastic-bby]

Han Jisung's Crappy Guide: Surfing Into Hearts (Teaser)

Teaser details

Pairing: (F)Reader x Jisung

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: College AU | Surfer!Jisung

Summary: Jisung has a very questionable guide in trying to win hearts, one of the issues with it is that it only consists of really bad flirting and telling people he's a hot surfer. The other issue with it is that he's never actually put it into play because he's always waiting until he feels that special spark with someone...

Warnings: -

Publish date of full fic: 8th August

Overall word count: 22.4k

Full fic genre: Fluff | Romance | Slice of life | Strangers to Lovers | Surfer!Jisung | Surfer|Reader | College AU

Full fic warnings: Brief physical fighting | Mentions of getting high | Jisung has what I think is the equivalent of an obsessed fan

Masterlist | Full Fic | AO3 Link

…Han Jisung: sought out by the entire campus, has a very questionable guide in stealing and breaking hearts. It honestly consists of being really bad at flirting and telling people he's a hot surfer. With the entire campus essentially wrapped around his pinky, Jisung could have anyone he wanted. The only problem is that he also has the only person on campus he refuses to sleep with again coming after him.

“Uh oh, Hyemi incoming.” Hyunjin mimics the whistle of a bomb falling from the sky before making a ‘pwoosh’ sound with his mouth just as the dreaded person approaches their table. Jisung can feel his entire being wanting to shrivel up into a ball and disappear just as she opens her mouth.

“Hey Jisung,” Hyemi greets with her ever so sickeningly sweet voice. She pushes her long brown hair over her shoulder, the other resting on her hip as she completely ignores the other two that are at the same table as Jisung. “It’s already Autumn.”

“Is it?” Minho gasps, fauxing surprise, “and here I thought it was still Spring. Thank you so much for reminding me, Hyemi.” If sarcasm had a physical form, it would be pouring out of his mouth and pooling on the white wooden table, but Hyemi completely ignores him.

“It means that the Autumn Night Fair is back. How about you and I go and check it out? Have something to eat, play some games, ride the ferris wheel,” she hums.

“Not interested,” Jisung says simply. “I’m already going with my friends and we’ve already invited Yeji and her friends to come along, so… that’s already a whole group.”

“Oh come on, you can make room for one more,” Hyemi persists.

Jisung lets out a small sigh as he stands up, adjusting the strap of his bag onto his shoulder with one hand and picking up the food tray with the other. “I’m not interested,” he repeats. “I’ve already told you, it’s not going to work out. Stop trying.” Jisung walks past her, leaving Minho and Hyunjin to pick up their stuff as well.

“Sorry, Hyemi,” Minho chuckles as the two leave the table to follow Jisung. Hyunjin and Minho catch up to him only after he’s pushed through the glass door of the cafeteria and is already making his way to the entrance of the Student Union building.

“HanJi, wait up!” Hyunjin calls, making Jisung stop to turn around. His face is straight and honestly, he looks bored. Jisung’s had his fill of having students fawn over him to the point where he doesn’t even care anymore—Hyemi is no exception. She’s been trying for three years and Jisung’s gotten so tired of her that he’s blocked all of her contacts to stop her from trying to message him.

“Christ, she really won’t take no for an answer huh?” Minho chuckles as they start walking together.

“I thought that sleeping with her and ghosting her would work because there really wasn’t any other way, but I guess even that doesn’t work,” Jisung sighs. As shitty as it sounds, Jisung only sleeps and ghosts people as a last resort. He's actually only done it once… with Hyemi. “I don’t understand why she still tries. It’s like everywhere I go, she’s there and she’s trying to crawl through the damn zipper of my pants.”

Hyunjin and Minho exchange a sympathetic look. They know just how hard he’s tried to get her off of him and they also know that it’s gotten to the point where Jisung doesn’t even care anymore. Every time she approaches him, he either ignores her or just walks away.

“When was the last time you even dated someone?” Hyunjin asks, looking at Jisung curiously.

“High school,” Minho answers for him and Jisung nods as clarification. “Ji hasn’t had a proper relationship since high school.”

“I haven’t had a connection with anyone yet,” Jisung says while shrugging. The funny thing about Jisung is that he’s totally willing to sleep with anyone, but he hasn’t actually found someone he’s properly had ‘The Connection’ with yet, and Jisung sticks by only getting into a proper, committed, and serious relationship only if he feels ‘The Connection’ with.

“He basically has commitment issues and no one’s been able to push through them. He didn't even like his ex that much, he just dated her because he wanted the 'experience'.” Jisung smacks Minho on the arm and it makes the older man laugh.

“I do not have commitment issues,” Jisung argues.

“Sure, okay,” Minho rolls his eyes. “So, that time you freaked out because your ex confessed that she actually liked you isn’t enough to prove that you’re not ready for a committed relationship?”

“Doesn’t mean I have issues!”

“Mhm, whatever you say, Hannie,” Minho chuckles. They both turn to Hyunjin when he becomes strangely quiet only to see him on his phone.

"Uhm, turn back around,” Hyunjin blurts out right before he turns around and runs straight back into the cafeteria, leaving Minho and Jisung watching in confusion. They follow the designer and when they’re inside of the cafeteria, there’s a crowd gathered around Yeji and Hyemi.

“You’re fucking crazy!” Yeji hisses as she pulls her wet white shirt away from her torso to stop it from sticking. “I didn’t even do anything to you!”

“What the fuck?!” Hyunjin exclaims as he grabs onto Hyemi’s hand that still has the plastic cup grasped.

“Oh my god,” Minho groans.

“I’ll handle it,” Jisung mutters as he hands his backpack to Minho before taking his jacket off. He pushes through the crowd until he reaches Yeji and lays the jacket over her shoulders, “come on.” They’re both certain that if looks could kill, Yeji would have daggers sticking out of her torso from Hyemi’s glare. Jisung decides against saying anything to Hyemi and, instead, guides Yeji towards the cafeteria doors with Minho and Hyunjin following.

“Are you alright?” Hyunjin asks once they’ve pushed past the doors.

“I’m fine,” she huffs. “Good thing Lia texted you. I’m pretty sure she would’ve hit me for just being friends with you.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jisung sighs while taking his bag back from Minho.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Yeji shakes her head with a reassuring look on her face, “it’s not your fault. You’ve already turned her down about… I don’t know, a billion times? She’s the one who chooses her actions, not you.”

“I still feel kinda guilty since, you know…”

“Ji, it’s nothing to worry about—I promise,” Yeji flashes him a small smile. “If anything, have you seen Ryujin angry? She isn’t the MMA vice president for nothing, you know.”

The sound of the cafeteria doors being pushed open followed by Lia’s, “wait up!” Makes the four of them stop and turn around to see Lia and Chaeryeong chasing after them.

“Gosh, I can’t believe she did that just because you’re friends with Jisung,” Chaeryeong huffs when they start walking once again.

“I’m not even dating you—it’s getting tiring,” Yeji mutters, hands wrapping the front of Jisung’s jacket around herself tighter. “I shouldn’t have worn white today, huh?”

“It’s okay, we’ll accompany you to your dorm,” Lia reassures her while linking her arm around Yeji’s elbow. “It’s not like we have any classes after this.”

“Mhm!” Chaeryeong hums as she links onto Yeji’s other elbow.

“Where is Ryujin anyway?” Hyunjin asks when he notices the lack of the group’s most prominent presence. Shin Ryujin, vice president of the MMA club is also one of the better known students on campus. She’s more known for just being outright chaotic as well as her habit of standing up for her friends.

"Committee meeting with Felix," Lia answers.

“Thanks for the jacket,” Yeji turns around once they’re out of the Student Union building. “I’ll pass it to Hyunjin later.”

“It’s fine,” Jisung smiles. “Just take care. If anything happens, text Hyunjin and we’ll send Felix to beat her up or something.”

“We’ll be fine,” she shakes her head with laughter before bidding the guys goodbye and leaving in the direction of her dorm building. Jisung feels a bitter feeling in his chest as he watches Yeji walk.

As much as his friends tell him that he’s not responsible for anything that Hyemi does to them, he can’t help but always feel guilty whenever something happens. It’s been this constant cycle where he goes from thinking of dating her for the sake of protecting his friends or just ignoring her until he graduates.

There’s a few things that actually stops Jisung from dating her. 1. She’s crazy. 2. He’s been turning her down since their first year. 3. She splashed water on Yeji for being friends with him. Jisung has a feeling that if he ever did date her, then he wouldn’t have been able to actually hang out with his friends anymore.

“Are you surfing today?” Hyunjin turns to Minho.

“Most likely,” he nods. “Jisung?”

“Hmm?”

“Surfing today?” Minho asks.

“Yeah, but I’m stopping by Felix’s place later. He has one of my sunglasses,” Jisung says.

“I need to check on Kkami, so I’ll see you guys at the beach,” Hyunjin waves at them before heading in the same direction that Yeji, Lia and Chaeryeong went—making Minho and Jisung wonder why he didn’t just follow them before since he and Yeji live in the same building. Everyone wonders how Hyunjin manages to house a dog in his on-campus dorm, but he’s always just said not to worry and that Kkami isn’t that loud.

Minho and Jisung bid their goodbyes before Minho walks in the opposite direction of Hyunjin to head to his dorm and Jisung heads to the campus gates. His house is only a few minutes walk from campus which bodes well for him since he doesn’t need to move away from his family. He keeps himself preoccupied with trying to detangle his white earphones while he walks, hands pulling and tugging at the white wire until he accidentally bumps into someone.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologises. Jisung’s slightly surprised when he’s faced with a student he’s never seen before.

“It’s fine, I think we were both a bit busy,” you chuckle as you lift your own tangled earphones.

“O-Oh yeah,” Jisung laughs awkwardly. Before he can even ask who you are, you’ve already started walking past him. He watches as you do. You’re definitely new.

The campus isn’t too big that you wouldn't know anyone outside of your circle, but it’s small enough that you can recognise all of the students at least by face or voice. However, Jisung’s never seen you before, nor has he ever heard your voice before; which leaves him wondering as he turns back around and continues his walk to the gates.

[justimagineitblog]

“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 12

A/N: here you go lovelies! Thank you so much for the support and love as always and I hope you guys enjoy this one.... don’t kill me and try to survive the bomb shells heheh ;) 

love always xx

I glance over at the clock to find that it’s 5am as the sun begins to creep in through the gaps in my curtains, obnoxiously reminding me that I haven’t slept one wink. I have, however, played last nights events on a continuous loop and nearly given myself several panic attacks. That doesn’t leave much room for resting. And the impending dread of knowing that every minute that passes by is another minute closer to Charlie returning home and me having to look him in the eye also doesn’t really inspire one to sleep either.

I have grown all too familiar with the feeling of being cheated on. Of being abandoned. Lied to. Rejected. Of having your self esteem ripped from you and the rug pulled from under your feet. The questioning yourself. Your relationship. If it was ever real. I know it all. But the feeling of being the person who has done the cheating is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I don’t know if understanding this has me feeling sympathetic for Michael or hating him even more.  

But how could I hate him? Now I am just like him. I am no better. And I am certainly in no position to. Michael may have kissed me, but I kissed him back.

Then the most dreaded thought that I have been trying to push down and keep at bay for hours on end finally creeps it’s way to the fore front of my mind. Loud and obnoxious and shrouding me in shame and disgust.

Maybe I feel so horrible because part of me know’s that I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it at all.

That thought alone makes my skin crawl at the thought that I am that kind of person that I cannot physically lay here anymore. Giving up completely I haul myself out of bed and storm to the kitchen to busy myself with a coffee. Not that I need it. I’ve got enough adrenaline and cortisol pumping through my body that I won’t need caffeine for a week.

My hands shake as I try to fix myself breakfast. I desperately want to wash away the taste of Michael on my lips, but I can’t get anything down. I’m far to wound up. I give up on trying to stomach anything when my mouth and throat are so dry from anxiety that I can barely swallow.

So I just pace my apartment instead. Changing my outfit twice, cleaning the same furniture over and over again. Re arranging the flowers in their vases. My skin clammy and cold. On my laps of my apartment I can’t stop myself from passing by the window every few minutes. Holding my breath every single time in dread that I will see Charlie’s car down there and I will have to face it. I can’t even go in the lounge room, let alone look at it. Every time I catch a glimpse, see it in peripheral vision I swear to god I can Michael and I there. It all comes flooding back. Every time I close my eyes, even so much as blinking brings it all back. Like it’s etched inside my eyelids and I can’t get away from it. I can’t even stand the way my clothes cling to my skin, hugging my hips and curves, the same way Michael did. I can even feel his hands up in my hair and on my face.

I must have actually been successful at distracting myself, cleaning my kitchen for what feels like the 5th time today. Because I don’t even hear Charlie’s car pull up in the street, I have no clue he’s home until I heard my apartment door unlocking and opening.

The sound makes me practically jump out of my skin and I can’t wipe the stunned ‘looks like I’ve just seen a ghost’ look of my face as he walks in, brief cases in hand and beaming smile. I physically feel the blood drain from my face.

“Surprise!” He holds his arms out, grinning at me as he drops his bags and walked over to me.

“You’re back early” is all I manage to get out as he pulls me into his embrace.

“Don’t sound too excited” he chuckles, picking up on my complete lack of enthusiasm. I can’t blame him, I’m not doing the best job at hiding it.

“Sorry I just-“ I fumble for the right words “I guess I’m still just in shock from yesterday”

“Right, the deal” he begins, nodding “I thought so. That’s why I came back early”

Yeah… the deal… To be honest that was the last thing on my mind. I think I was referring to the shock from almost being killed and Michael kissing me. Let alone the fact that Charlie wants me to move three hours away with him onto the list.

“I was thinking about it and I realised I kind of sprung that on you” he bites his lip sheepishly “ I know I freaked you out on the phone, I mean moving three hours away is a big ask and I know we’ve only been together for a month Izzy but-“

I swallow hard. If only that was all I was worried about. Worrying about moving three hours away. That would have been so goddamn simple. Suddenly feeling faint I try to step back from him, reaching out for the kitchen counter to steady myself.

“Hey, hey” he runs his hands up my arms before they finally land on my face, holding me gently “I’m sorry, you don’t have to pack right now, we have time to talk about this”

He continues talking, but as I stare up at him it all drowns out into the background. All I can see and all I can feel is Michael. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. But even Charlie’s hands on my face take me back to last night. His face so close to mine. His breath on my face. As each moment passes my skin crawls, hot and prickling like needles poking at me all over. I can feel myself trying to smile and nod at him, but I just can’t. The memories of last night race across my mind as my heart pounds in my chest. I can feel my chest rising and falling faster and faster until I’m all but hyperventilating.

I can’t take this. I can’t do it. I just want to scream.

“I can’t do this” I blurt out in a harsh exhale as I finally break. Finally snapping. I can’t take this anymore. I take his hands in mine and pull them away from my face as I tear myself from him, backing away to the other side of the kitchen.

He stares at me, wide and in shock as I run my hands through my hair, trying to steady my heart rate.

This is it. I can’t hide from this anymore.

“Izzy” he breathes “What’s going on?”

The way he stares at me breaks my heart. He looks completely lost. Like he’s staring at a person he doesn’t know anymore. Like he doesn’t know who this girl is. And to be honest, I don’t even know who I am right now either. But just as quickly as that look falls over of his face, it’s gone again. Replaced by another look. One of… calm. Understanding. Like he know’s something about me that even I don’t know.

“There’s someone else in your heart”

As the words leave his mouth they cut me deep, gutting me so heavily they almost leave me winded. Then I realise he’s not asking me. No. He’s… telling me. As if he already knew. Not even sure of what I’m going to say I open my mouth, ready to launch into anything and everything I could possibly say to explain myself.

“I’m so sorry” is the only thing I can manage to get out past the growing lump in my throat. I think my apology is enough confirmation for his suspicions.

“I think I’ve known the whole time… I just didn’t want it to be real”

Known what the whole time? My mind races. I’ve never mentioned Michael once. He’s never even met him.

“The man from the ball, with the American wife… who is he?”

I sigh. He knew from the first night I met him. He knew that I was always hung up on Michael. And it hurts. It’s hurts because he’s right. That Charlie could see it before I could. I fell in love with Michael on the day I met him 5 years ago. And I have loved him every day since then. Through it all. Through the distance. The cheating. Through everything.

How was I ever so foolish to try and think that I could move on with someone else. Trying to fix myself with someone else. Trying to fill the void. Shouldn’t I have known that I would only be hurting us both.

The only way I can even come close to doing the right thing is explaining it all. From the beginning. Giving him the explanation and closure he is owed. It won’t take anything back. Or fix anything. But he deserves to know. From day one up until right here in this kitchen. I owe him that much.

“You don’t owe me anything, you can leave right now” I begin, my lip trembling as I push out the words “But if you just give me a moment to explain. You deserve that much”

He stares at me for a moment. I expect him to be angry. To scream. Yell. Tell me hates me. But he doesn’t. He stays quiet as he digests it all. Nodding slowly, he goes over to the lounge and takes a seat. I follow him wearily, lowering myself onto the lounge next to him.

I close my eyes, taking a deep shaky breath before I jump into my history. I give up trying to hold back. Now is not the time for holding back.

He watches me closely, examining and reading every micro expression on my face.

“His name is Michael” I breathe “We were together for four years, it would have been 5 years yesterday”

“Four years” he echoes, the enormity of it all dawning on him. Four years is a long time. Long enough for someone to have stained every part of you. For them to have worked their way into every part of you. That takes a lot of time to unravel. To unravel that person from you, and he knows it.

“He um, he was sent to America last year to head the Shelby Company over there. He didn’t know when he would be able to come back home and well, I guess things changed when he was over there. Distance is supposed to make the heart grow fonder but, I guess not in his case” I shake my head before continuing “He cut off all communication. With me, with the family. We had no clue why. And every day I waited. Every day for 6 months. I waited to hear from him. For a letter. A call. Anything. It felt like I held my breath for 6 months, praying he would come home and explain everything away. Apologise. And everything would be okay”

“But he did come back?” He asks, furrowing his brows.

“Yes he did. He showed up out of the blue. None of us had any idea he was coming home. When I saw him at the train station that day, it was the best moment of my life until it very quickly became the worst. Because he had returned, but he wasn’t alone. He had a wife. Gina”

“Jesus…” Charlie exclaims softly as he puts two and two together “That’s the American woman from the ball”

I nod, confirming his statement.

“What happened? I mean, how does that happen?” He stutters, unable to comprehend how someone could do that to another person.

“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that for the past two months. He just went… cold. He looked at me like we were never in love. Like he barely even knew me. And I’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with all of this. How to get him out of my goddamn head. But I- ”

“But you never stopped loving him” He interrupts me with a sad but genuine smile.

I look over at him. I shake my head slowly. By now my eyes have succumbed to welling with tears. He is right. I never stopped. I never have.

“I didn’t sleep with him” I breathe, struggling to even suggest such a thing “Yesterday there was an altercation at the office. There was a man, he had a gun, things got heated. Michael was there, all the Shelby’s were. He had the gun to my head and-“

“What?” Charlie’s eyes shoot wide open as panic is slapped across his face.

“It’s okay, I’m okay” I calm him “But I was shaken up. The doctor said I shouldn’t be alone and Michael stayed to keep an eye on me. He insisted. He wouldn’t take me out of his eye sight for even a second. Something changed. In the office, when the man had the gun to my head. Something changed between Michael and I. Like he’s had this cold exterior but he couldn’t keep it up any longer. He kissed me and…”

I shut my eyes as the words leave my mouth. I can’t even look at him. I know by now that he won’t yell. He won’t get angry. That’s not Charlie’s way. But that doesn’t make the guilt and shame feel any less. In fact, I think it makes it worse. Because I know I don’t deserve the kindness.

“Because he still loves you Izzy” Charlie blurts out “Did you ever think maybe the reason he pushed you away wasn’t because he hates you. The exact opposite, actually”

I shoot my eyes open, looking over at him in disbelief.

“Izzy” he begins “That stuff, all those years, that doesn’t just go away. And I should have known it. That night at the ball I saw you at the table. I saw how you looked at Michael. I should have known that feelings like that don’t go away”

“Listen to me” I shake my head at him “Don’t you doubt for one second, how I feel about you. Because I don’t. You are one of the best people I have ever met. But I am a fool. Because my heart isn’t ready, I am not ready. I am not okay. And I was stupid for trying to fix myself by getting into a relationship with you. I have only hurt you. But don’t you ever question what I felt for you, please. I want to tell you to stay. I want to move away with you. I want to love you. But I just-”

“You can’t force your heart to feel what it doesn’t” He nods, giving me a small smile “I would be the fool if I tried to get in the way of you and Michael. My feelings for you grew faster than I ever expected them to. I just want you to be happy Izzy, I can’t stand in the way of that”

Unable to hold it in anymore, sobs begin tumbling their way out of my mouth. Charlie embraces me immediately.

“Izzy look at me” He holds my face, brushing my wet cheeks with his thumbs “It’s okay”

“What are you going to do?” I cry, heart breaking at the thought that he had factored me into his life and now he has to remove me again.

“I don’t know” he shakes his head “I’m gonna take that deal I guess”

“Oh my god the deal!” I exclaim, remembering that I haven’t even congratulated him yet “I told you you were gonna be great” I chuckle through sniffles and he returns a grin.

“Yes you did” he nods, chuckling.

“I’m so proud of you” I smile, placing a gentle hand on his face “You’re gonna be amazing up there”

“You think so?”

“I know so”

“Will you promise me something?” He bites his lip “We can still be friends? If you’re ever coming up that way, visit me?”

“I promise” I nod my head without even a moments hesitation “You’re not getting rid of me that easily”

We stare at one another for a moment in a mutual understanding. Maybe we haven’t found a love in each other. We haven’t found a soulmate. A forever. But we have found a friend. And I will love this man for the rest of my life. I will be grateful for him forever.

“I should go” he looks down, before we both get up off the couch and take our final march to the door. With his brief cases in hand, we stand in the door way in silence. We know this is done. We know this is over. But dragging it out feels so much easier.

“Goodbye Izzy” he breathes, and I rush forward, hugging him so tightly it shoots pain all up through my bruising back. But I don’t care. He hugs me back just as tightly.

“I’ll speak to you soon, I wanna know how you go up there, out in the big world” I grin, fighting back tears.

“I can’t wait” he smiles down at me.

And with that, with one more long, final hug, he leaves.

After he’s gone, I stand in the door way for a while. Just thinking. Digesting. I stand there as I hear his car door close and hear the wheels turn on the gravel, as he drives out of my street.

Charlie changed me for the better. He came along into my life when I expected it least but needed it most. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live with myself for doing this to him. But I know I couldn’t live the rest of my life looking at him and seeing Michael. Kissing him and tasting Michael. He doesn’t deserve it. Charlie gives his all. And he deserves someone who can give their all back. I will always love him in some way, but not in the way he needs. Maybe now without me, he has a chance at finding that. I hope next time I see him he as met a beautiful woman. Maybe they’re engaged. Married even. With a son on the way. The thought warms my heart. Maybe the kindest thing I could do to Charlie was to let him go. And let him find that life. Whatever happens between Michael and I, at least I know Charlie is going to be okay.

Or at least that’s what I try to tell myself. To feel better about it all. To feel better about the fact that I just let an amazing man walk out of my life all for someone who I just cannot get over. All on a whim. On one kiss. But Charlie seem’s to think that Michael and I are worth betting on. Some how, everyone around us seems to be able to figure out whats going on except the two people involved - Michael and I. Everyone seems to have us figured out except ourselves.  

I think about Charlie all night until I manage to fall asleep just past midnight, pure exhaustion sending me into a deep sleep.

THE NEXT DAY

The goddamn mail. I could have avoided the Shelby house for another few days at least to pull myself together and figure out what I’m going to say to Michael for the first time since our kiss. But no. Because today the mail needs to be posted otherwise important correspondences won’t find their way into the clutches of some very important business partners in enough time.

I basically run to the Shelby house, every single thought is just praying that no one will be there. It’s a Saturday after all. I just need to get the mail from the desk and leave. I’ll be in there at 5 minutes tops.

When I slink into the house, desperately trying not to make a noise, the whole place is silent. On the floor boards creak lightly as I prance over to the stacks of mail that I have let pile up through my own procrastination and avoidance.

See when Charlie left, I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t going to storm into Michael’s house and profess my undying love. To be honest, I don’t know if I have anything to say at all. So my plan became what it has been since the day Michael returned - avoid him like my life depends on it. And I hate myself for that. For the fact that putting Charlie through all that pain, that the kiss, that every moment of tension and build up of anticipation with Michael could all have been for nothing because I’m to scared to find out. So that means letting the mail pile up to un godly height that will probably cost a fortune to ship all at once… then so be it.

With the sizeable stack of letters in my clutch, I turn on my heels and sneak back to the door before the faintest sound catches my attention. My hand is on the door handle, and I’m almost out of the house but the noise gets louder. I furrow my brows as I try to decipher what the noise is. As it gets louder, I realise it sounds like rustling. Like someone frantically sorting through something.

I swear to god if this is nothing I’m going to kick myself. But I just can’t leave. I don’t know who is in here with me. I all but roll my eyes in irritation as I turn on my feels and head for the sound. The thought crosses my mind that it could be robber. Someone trying to rip off the Shelby family. But I don’t know who on earth would try that. This place is like Fort Knox. Only people who have keys - and that is a very small group of people - can get in here. You couldn’t break in to this place without making a hell of a lot of noise.

As I follow the noise through the house, I realise that I’m being led straight for the kitchen. But my suspicions don’t go un answered for very long, when I round the corner and step into the kitchen doorway to find Gina, frantically searching through the draws and cabinets. No sooner do my eyes fall over her, they quickly flicker to the countless medication bottles sprawled out all over the kitchen bench.

What the hell is she doing with all this medication?

“What are you doing?” I blurt out, confused and concerned as Gina searches desperately.

“Fuck!” Gina curses in shock as she gets busted, then rolls her eyes when she realises that it’s me “Of course you’re here”

“Yeah don’t worry, the feelings mutual” I mutter, before she turning my attention back to the mediations everywhere “You didn’t answer my question”

“What are you doing?” Gina spits back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

I hold up the letters I was looking for to send in the mail, raising my brows.  She sighs, hoping that she would be able to change the topic onto what I was doing.

“Your turn” I say.

I watch her suspiciously. I normally wouldn’t bother. But she looks like a mess, and catching someone rummaging through bottles of medication frantically alone in a house isn’t exactly an innocent act.

She opens her mouth to speak, when suddenly a panicked look falls over her face. She blinks rapidly, before covering her mouth with one hand and clutching at her stomach with the other.

I furrow my brows, looking her up and down “Gina?” I say, growing more concerned and confused as the seconds pass.

Suddenly, she takes off from the kitchen. Stunned, I begin to run after her. Down the hall ways I follow the sound of her heavy footsteps through the until I finally reach the bathroom. I stop abruptly in the door way to find her bent over the toilet, throwing up violently. I rush forwards to hold her hair out of the way, but she swats me away.

“Get off me!” She strains, before being sick again.

I stand back, everything coming together in my mind as she sits draped over the toilet, catching her breath.

“Gina…” I say quietly “You’re pregnant”

I know I’m right with the grave look she gives me when she pulls herself away from the toilet. She sits with her back against the bathroom wall, staring straight ahead.

“Congratulations, you figured it out” she says sarcastically.

“Gina, I-“ I shake my head, not knowing what to say “How long have you been sick for?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” She hisses, shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

“Trust me, I don’t. But if you’ve been this sick for a while you might be dehydrated, you need fluids” I tell her matter of factly.

“It hasn’t been this bad before. I’ve been sick every morning this week”

“And Michael hasn’t taken you to the hospital?!” I exclaim, baffled by how nonchalant she’s acting. Why wouldn’t Michael be more concerned? He’s seen Esme pregnant, Lizzie, Ada. He should know that this isn’t normal.

When the words leave my mouth she doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring straight ahead, her eyes tired and dark.

“How far along are you?” I press her with another question.

“12 weeks, doctor” she replies dryly.

I continue to watch her, unable to figure out why she is acting so… off. So strange. Gina would love to rub this in my face. That Michael is having his first child with her and not with me. And Polly, Polly knows everything. If Michael is trying to hide it, she would still know. She could get a secret out of Michael in a second. My mind continues to run rampant with questions.

“Gina… Who knows about this?”

And again, she looks up at me with that dark, grave look on her face.

It’s not Michael keeping the secret. It’s Gina.

“He doesn’t know” I breathe and she nods her head slowly.

“Ding Ding” she scoffs.

I kneel in front of her, but she just stares straight ahead, emotionlessly.

“So I suppose you’re going to tell everyone then” she says, shaking her head slowly “Run to Michael and tell him that I’m pregnant. Then Tommy and Polly. And they will want me to get an abortion, no doubt”

I shake my head in utter confusion. She seriously thinks Polly and Tommy would force her to lose the baby?

“They’re not going to make you get an abortion, Gina. This is Michael’s child you’re carrying. I know you and Polly have your differences, but she’s a woman, a mother, too. And this is her grandchild”

She laughs tiredly, sighing afterwards. Then, her eyes meet mine. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought” She insults me “Why is that you think I’m 10 weeks and haven’t told Michael, huh?”

I reel back from her. Tracking the weeks back. 10 weeks. That would have been right before they left for Birmingham. I look at her, shaking my head. I don’t get her point.

“So you fell pregnant before you were married and convinced him to marry you on the ship so that you wouldn’t be having a baby out of wedlock… So why doesn’t Michael know, Gina?”

She shakes her head at me, at my confusion, before leaning forward slightly “I never said this is Michael’s baby”

My eyes widen, locked on hers. She sits back against the bathroom wall, keeping the eye contact with me.

“So there, aren’t you happy Izzy. The second they find out, I’m done for. And you and Michael can go back to being soulmates” she says mockingly.

I shake my head.

“Gina, what happened?” I ask softly. I thought part of me would want to see Gina go down in flames, and take Michael with her. But with her sitting here in front of me, revealing her darkest secret I feel… bad for her.

She looks away from me for a moment, and I can see her battling internally. When he continues to explain, I guess she realises that she has nothing to lose anymore.

“It was before we left for Birmingham. My ex got word that I was leaving, so he came and visited. I was emotional. I was scared of moving across the world. We had drinks. I don’t think I need to say what goes next…”

When I don’t respond, mostly out of shock, she continues with irritation.

“Jesus you’re persistent,” she rolls her eyes “Right towards the end of the trip I felt… off… more than usual sea sickness. I started to panic. I found a doctor on board. He told me I was pregnant. So I convinced Michael to marry me. On the ship. I was going to tell him that I was pregnant. Pretend it was his. But Michael is smart. He would know it wasn’t his”

My mouth parts and my brows furrow.

How would Michael know it isn’t his baby?

“What does that even mean Gina?”

“Do I really have to sound it out for you?” She hisses with a roll of her eyes “Don’t act stupid Izzy. Michael would know it’s not his baby because Michael hasn’t touched me since we got here. His eyes have been else where…”

She looks me up and down. Me? She’s referring to me?

“He loves you. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it. He doesn’t want a bar of me. He hasn’t even noticed me starting to show…” as all of these words spill out of her mouth she looks sad. I don’t think I’ve never seen her sad. But it is quickly whisked away and covered up when she makes another smart ass remark.

“But I guess it’s alright isn’t it. Because I’m carrying another mans baby. No harm no foul, right?”

Suddenly someone comes in the front door downstairs. Our eyes both widen. As the footsteps come up the stairs I quickly rush to close us in the bathroom door. We wait quietly. The footsteps come down the hall and stop outside the door with a knock on the wood. Gina looks up at me desperately.

“Girls business!” I call to the person on the other side of the door.

“Well last time I checked I had tits” Polly’s voice says from the other side of the door. Suddenly the door opens to reveal us both looking nervously back at Polly.

“Well what the fuck is going on in here?” She asks, looking over me and Gina. You wouldn’t catch us in a room together if you tried. Let alone together voluntarily in the bathroom.

I glance at Gina whose staring at the floor, accepting defeat. But I don’t want it to happen this way. I don’t want Michael to have to find out this way. Through Polly. I can’t believe I’m doing it, but I begin to lie.

“Gina got sick… something she ate last night… I came in while she was sick and got her some tablets for the nausea-“

“Shut up Izzy” Gina’s voice says suddenly.

I look back at her with my eyes wide open. What is she about to do. I can protect her, give her more time to tell Michael herself, but not if she gives herself away. Polly looks at me suspiciously, and I know she’s wondering why would I be covering for Gina, of all people.

“I’m sick because I have morning sickness” She says pointedly at Polly “I’m pregnant, Polly”

Polly’s eyebrows raise, looking from between Gina and eye for more answers.

“Izzy came in while I was trying to find medication, then I started getting sick again, as you can see” she gestures to herself and the toilet.

I watch Polly carefully as she thinks.

“Well,” she begins, taking a deep breath “Congratulations… How far along are you?”

“12 weeks”

“12 weeks” Polly echoes, nodding “How long have you been sick for?”

“All week”

“Jesus,” Polly hisses “You need to get to a hospital Gina”

“I’ve been told” she looks over at me.

“I’ll call Michael. He should have known better than to leave you knowing how sick you are”

“Don’t call him” Gina shakes her head frantically

“And why not?” Polly presses

Polly looks at me, and I look back nervously.

What the hell is Gina about to say.

“Because it’s probably not the best way for him to find out”

“He doesn’t know?” Polly says slowly, trying very, very hard not to lose her cool.

I glare at Gina. Surely she isn’t about to tell Polly that this child isn’t Michael’s right here, right now in the goddamn bathroom.

She shakes her head “No, and I would appreciate if you let me tell him, please”

I all but release a giant sigh, trying to hide my obvious relief. That would have been catastrophic.

Polly nods slowly, but still looks confused. Suspicious. She always knows when something isn’t adding up. She looks over at me, but I can’t look at her. She will know I’m hiding something the second she see’s my eyes.

She watches us both for a few seconds, before speaking.

“I’m calling Michael. You can have your moment with him and tell him when he gets here. Then you need to go to the hospital”

There’s silence for a moment, before another voice fills the room.

“Tell me what?”

All of our heads turn suddenly to see Michael standing in the hallway.

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[isthisthingeven0n]

being yours : d.d

brief summary: david realises he might’ve lost his chance to tell you the truth, but maybe life will give him one last go. 

being baby / being yours

word count: 1.1k requested: it’s a continuation from the original request so kinda warnings: bit of angst but we finish with the floof 

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

                                            s h o u t  o u t  t o : 

@rexorangecouny​ @yulisaangelica​ @treestarrrrrrrr​ and @justdobrikthings​

Sitting in his car, David buries his head into the steering wheel and accidentally sounds the horn. He remains silent for a few minutes, realising this is it. “Fuck.” He tells himself as he hits the edge of his steering wheel with his fist.

A quiet knock on his passenger window catches his attention and he can’t quite believe his eyes.

You stand in front of the window, giving him a shy wave as you pull on the sleeves of one of his old hoodies. “Hi.” You mouth through the window and David wastes no time in opening the doors for you, allowing you to climb in and sit beside him.

Silence looms over you both as you sit down beside David, flashing a shy smile to him before looking away. “Hi.” David speaks up, hoping you can’t hear his heart beating through his chest as he notices a smile ghost your lips. “I’m sorry I stopped by, I didn’t realise you had company.” He mutters and listens as you shuffle.

Turning to face him, you rest one leg under the other as you allow your whole body toward him. As you’re able to fully look at him, you can see the exhaustion mirrored in his face like your own.

“It’s okay,” You shrug it off. “you haven’t been sleeping, have you?” You question, forcing your hand back from resting on his cheek.

Hesitantly, David shakes his head as his eyes focus on your hand hiding beneath your thigh. “Too much on my mind, I guess.” He admits, watching you fidget in the seat you used to easily settle into. 

“Me too.” You tell him, brushing your hair out of your face to reveal a tired expression David was no stranger to, but he’d never seen you look so desperate to sleep, not like this. “Hector said you wanted to apologise?” You speak up, biting your lower lip between your teeth as you glance up at David. “Is that true?” 

Your words hang in the air as he remains quiet, unaware of your heart dropping from the last few strings holding it in place. 

David knows he wants to say it, he wants the words to leave his lips. But they refuse to move, he knows there is no point. You’ve already moved on, you have someone inside waiting for you to come back. 

“I was,” He starts, keeping his eyes fixated on the shadow through your curtains in the living room. “but I don’t think it’s the right time. I know you’ve got someone waiting for you inside.” The words sound bitter, moreso than he anticipated them as you internally wince. 

“Right,” You nod to yourself, feeling tears form in your eyes too easily once again. “well, my cousin is going home tomorrow David, but he won’t mind me being away for a few minutes.” You spit back with more venom, turning away so he can’t see your tears. “And here I thought you might’ve grown up a bit,” You shake your head, not seeing the pleading look in his eyes. “guess I was wrong, once again.” 

Before he can say anything else you open the car door, taking one last look at David. He watches you walk away once again, but this time he won’t let it end the same way. 

Opening his car door, he buries his keys in his pocket. “Y/n, please,” David calls out, jogging until he’s in front of you, holding his hands out as you pause. 

As you stand still, David watches as you forcefully wipe away tears. “What, you wanna accuse me of something else?” 

“No, I, I’m sorry.” He tells you softly. “I was such a dick for not realising what I was doing and how unfair it was on you.” He explains as you remain silent, listening to every word he has to say. 

“I’ve seen the comments,” You mutter. “from all the fans, wondering where I went.” 

“They aren’t the only ones, trust me.” A slither of a smile tries to form on his face as he watches tears still stream down your eyes. “I miss waking up in the mornings knowing you’re either beside me or are coming over with bad breath and bed hair. You might hate it, but I find it adorable.” He starts, seeing you softly laugh to yourself. 

“How can you find morning breath adorable?” You quirk an eyebrow, but David rolls his eyes.

“That’s beside the point, I gotta stay on track here.” He rambles, blowing the comment off as he remains deep in thought, trying to pick up from where he left off. “So I just know you’re coming and that’s the best part of my day, any time, anywhere I can just see you and spend time with you. I don’t care if anyone else is round, as long as I can see your smile, hear you laugh and hold you close that’ll be enough.” He explains, furrowing his brows together as he focuses on the floor. 

A small sniff sounds from you, and David steps closer. 

“It’ll always be enough, Y/n.” He finishes, taking your hands in his. 

“Why wasn’t it enough before?” You question, wanting to take your hands from his. 

“It was, I was just too dumb to realise it.” He admits. “I thought more about everyone else’s opinions than ours. My mind wandered back to a time when Liza received hate comments, then after every girl I filmed with or took a photo with was sent daggers through the screen.” David sighs. “I just didn’t want that to happen to you.” 

“People can think what they want, David.” You remind him, something you’ve always known. “If we’re happy, fuck ‘em.” You chuckle, hearing David join for a moment. 

“My mom said something like that,” David comments and your laughter pauses.

“Your mom is a wise lady.” You comment and David smiles, internally excited for the day you’ll finally meet her and his Dad. “So, now what?” 

David removes his hands from yours, resting them around your waist. “Well, I should probably ask you to be my girlfriend, and then take a bunch of cute selfies or do a professional photoshoot and post them all over Instagram. Oh and then film our friends reacting to us being together.” He shrugs a shoulder, watching as you process everything he’s just said.

“Yeah, or we could just do the first thing and kiss?” You smile and David nods.

“That’s a much better idea, yeah.” He chuckles, leaning in as you close your eyes. “So does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” He whispers into your lips, hearing you mutter your response before you finally kiss him with a small smile. 

[iwritethat]

UnreQUITed - Part 4

Request: Unrequited part 4 requests in general

A/N: FINALLY!! Here it is, the finale, I hope it isn’t a disappointment - no guarantees tho :’)

Warnings: Angst(???), swearing

>>>>—————————>

~ Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~

Two shots.

Piercing and heart stopping.

They continued to echo even months after they'd been released, they haunted those who overheard like a temperamental ghost and every time successfully provoking feelings of guilt, pain, regret.

"(Y/n) is okay y'know..." Jasons calm yet frustrated voiced snapped Dick out of his overthinking trance, the cold breeze of Gothams evening setting a tense atmosphere between the two brothers. The eldest remaining eerily silent.

"The assassin that shot her is dead by the way." He continued with a more dangerous topic and little remorse, after noting Dicks lack of response that is.

"You shouldn't have done that." Nightwing gave a heartless sigh, tone lacking any of its usual warmth - a new normalcy over the recent months.

"Oh trust me - I wish it had done it, but someone beat me to it."

"Who?" Dick flicked his head toward his brother, skeptical eyes narrowing in confusion whilst Jason simply gazed over the vast array of stones, his breath leaving it's trace on the cold winds surrounding them.

"Me." The cruelly familiar voice brought killer glares to both vigilantes, their eyes translating their harboured hatred toward his damn audacity. He had some nerve or a death wish making his presence known here, to the brothers he was trespassing on sacred ground which they did not take lightly under the current circumstances.

"(Y/n) was important to me too, so I killed the bastard myself."

"You don't get to say that name! It's your fault she was even in this mess Slade!" Of course the explanation was not wanted, Dicks immediate vile retaliation proof of that though it didn't intimidate the former assassin, nor discourage his intent by a fraction.

"No Grayson, it's yours. (Y/n) was an ex assassin like me, the League kill deserters but since she was around Damian they left it be. Of course, the moment (Y/n) left because of you she became a target. Though she didn't realise it, I had her under my employment so I could protect her just as she'd do for me. But yet again, you pulled her away and (Y/n) died taking a bullet for you." Slade casually finished but untamed anger resided in his voice, unfortunately it was dripping in truth - the League of Assassins were cautious when confronting Slade Wilson, especially when you two were together as you'd always worked efficiently as a duo.

The harsh response left the two silent - Jason hadn't much left say, but he could feel the pure unadulterated rage radiating from Dick like a barrier pushing people away - Slade took the opportunity to fulfil his original purpose, string past them to place a single red rose under the engraving of ‘(Y/n) (L/n)’.

——Months Earlier——

The shooter stumbled in the distance, no doubt armoured enough to prevent a shot being fatal although you couldn't quite dissect what was occurring around you until you heard Jason's voice echo from Nightwing's communicator

"I missed! These fucking rubber bullets I swear I'm switching back to the real deal -"

Relief flooded your veins, yourself slipping around the corner and sliding down the wall as you tried desperately to overhear as much as you could.

"You got him, thank you Ja-"

"No I didn't! He shot! Dick he shot!" That silenced the love of your life, his blood running cold considering he couldn't find your figure anywhere in his peripheral vision - only splatters of crimson marking where you once stood. Where you'd stepped in front of him. He felt sickeningly feint, unable to compose himself of the gut wrenching worry radiating from his body.

It's like your mind went blank as soon as he'd ask anything of you and you'd agree on instinct, you'd die for that man if he so much as needed it...

Your past thoughts almost made you laugh, a weak cough replacing the gesture and it seemed you'd predicted your own future rather accurately even if you didn't know it at the time. Regretfully you weren't as silent as you'd hoped, Dick skidding down to your level and meeting your smug gaze with sheer regret once zeroing in on the sound, all you could offer was a kind smile and playful punch to his arm despite your pained wince.

"Hey Dickiebird, did Jay get him?"

"Don't - Don't move, you're gonna be okay." It was unclear whether he was attempting to convince you or himself of that blatant lie, you were beyond comforting and had already accepted your fatal mistake whereas he remained stupidly optimistic. A facade for your benefit by your judgement.

"Yeah you're right, I'm going to be just fine and so are you... But could you please do me one last favour?" Either way you played along, irises betraying the sympathetic smile you'd adorned.

"Anything."

"See me your best friend, just one last time and remember that I love you alright." It was merely a platonic request, his memory shot back to the photographs you'd taken and the message inscribed on them.

"I - I can't do that..." Dick sorrowfully responded, once again meeting your eyes with regret as you lolled your head back against the wall trying to withhold your tears concocted from both the splitting puncture and his decline but you couldn't let that show through your haphazard reply.

"I suppose I deserve that."

It was true, you'd disappeared from his life for 6 months without warning or trace. A friend wouldn't do that, shouldn’t do that, but you had to think of your self preservation for once.

"I wish I could... but I can't see you as just a friend anymore, not now, I - because I -" His tone was so painstakingly genuine, so filled with an array of warring emotions that you had to do a double take to ensure you were hearinh him correctly.

"Don't." You knew where it was headed and honestly you didn't want to hear it anymore, once upon a time you'd have given everything to hear those 3 beautiful words, words that'd bring euphoria - now you were a third of the way there and all it brought was nausea.

"It's too late."

He silenced himself, your voice derived of it's signature charm only sharpening the cut of your words. What hurt most was the the painful truth of them, he was too late and he knew that - you deserved this side of him months if not years ago but he was both blind and too apprehensive to fan those glowing flames. Instead choosing to suffocate them with the placement of another that could never burn as brightly.

Although despite your tongue, your eyes held those flames he'd once bathed in and he understood that you'd felt it too, a conversation worth a thousand words was conveyed as well as the hopeless feelings in your hearts that created a comfortable silence. It didn't ease the plague of memories, nor answer the countless what if's swirling your mind but it helped.

"I need you to call Damian for me, I won't leave him again without saying goodbye this time." Your voice was merely a whisper, one that was obeyed disheartenedly but quickly and soon Damian's bored tone left you smiling.

"What Grayson?"

Dick however not so much, it took a moment to organise his emotions enough to disclose the situation in the most delicate way - he'd managed that but his unsteady tone let him down.

"You - Ah, (Y/n) needs to talk you alright?"

"That's not how you start a conversation, what's -" The wait was already killing you and you couldn't hold back any longer, you didn't want to explain - only enjoy one last conversation without underlying sympathy or guilt that'd surely surface once he discovered your condition.

"Hi Dami, I'm sorry I didn't get to properly see you when I came back."

"There's still plenty of time (L/n), how about a walk tomorrow?" He seemed calm, you could practically hear him shake his head over the phone with that classic TT.

"I - I can't, I'm leaving but I wanted to tell you this time, and I know that I'm going to miss you so much Damian. S-so you better look after your dumbass brothers whilst I'm gone." It made you happy, undeniably so with your tone laced with playfulness that you felt you needed, felt like things would return to how they used to be.

"Where are—" Damian cut himself off, he was perceptive in every sense of the word and observant enough to hear the way you bit back tears even if not in sight. He remained silent for a few seconds, long enough for you to close your eyes in order to keep the tears at bay knowing he'd now read between the lines and was finding the most comprehensible way to deal with it. With the fact that you're leaving. And won't be coming back this time.

"I'm proud to call you my companion (Y/n), I hope you find happiness in the next life and know that I will carry you with me, always." Initially it was strong, a false charade to both comfort you and hide his betraying emotions but neither of you mentioned anything. It was better this way, silent understanding and respect.

"Me too Damian, thank you for everything."

"Goodbye sister. And (Y/n), please forgive Grayson's idiocy..." He was hesitant on the last sentence, and you could each detect the shared heartache regarding your final conversation yet remained composed purely for the emotional well-being of the other.

"Always, see you Dami."

When you hung up, you couldn't hold back the sobs any longer, practically choking on the pent up emotion in them. Dick remained quiet, pulling you into his shoulder and soothingly running his fingers through your hair, he feared that if he spoke he would fall apart too, especially when the only person he could truly blame was himself. He held you for what he wished could be an eternity, yourself pulling back with a watery gaze that apologised for your breakdown despite knowing there was no need to.

"Dick what's happening?! Is (Y/n) okay?!"

Jasons’ voice - it was erratic, demanding and his dire question lead to Dick and yourself exchanging a sentimental but knowing glance, weak smiles had been ruthlessly defeated and you could only gently rest your forehead against Nightwing's seeking useless reassurance.

"Fucking answer me!" It grew more desperate now with the growing animosity on Jason's side but Dick couldn't even vocalise the situation, he didn't want to - that would make it real.

"She's..."

Jason's deductions were quick, the broken tone of his brother being the obvious indicator but his initial outbreak was frustration.

"No, fuck no! Everyone I - damn it... You tell her that I love her! She needs to know, tell her for me in case I don't get there in time."

He gave no chance to respond, the communicator muting once he'd finished and you managed to make light of it now that Dick could barely look at you.

"I'm gonna miss him, never knew he cared that much with the amount of shit he gives me." You released a pained laugh, ending short with a wince as your fingers tightened around your wound and you could see Dick empathise, instinctively aiding in your efforts to cease the bleeding whilst maintainining a close proximity.

"When Jason cares, he really cares..." Was all the eldest could correspond, he didn't quite understand his brothers feelings toward you as it was a subject Jason actively dodged but it frustrated Dick to no end.

His brother could say those 3 words to you so effortlessly, with so much meaning, and yet he could barely even acknowledge that feeling in his heart for the past 4 years. For Jason it wasn’t being in love, he no idea what it felt like to be hopelessly in love with you but Dick had years of suppressed experience - for him, it was like watching the sun fade from the sky and he desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare, to race to your apartment to find you boredly scrolling through your phone and he'd tell you how he felt then and there. Even now, at a time when you deserved them, more than anything, it was the one thing he could give you that'd hopefully make you smile - feel something other than the lightheaded tiredness of blood loss.

So then, why didn't you want them?

"This isn't how it was supposed to go (Y/n), I finally found you after missing you for so long and I still couldn't give you anything worthwhile... I'm so sorry for being such an idiot!" At his crumbling tone, you lifted from his shoulder, already finding difficulty in keeping your eyes open due to the sheer lethargy of your body but pushed on regardless.

"That's more than enough Dick." You shook your head silencing him with your content expression, and your free hand brushing through his hair. Instantly he captured your hand relaxing slightly with your gesture but soon was overcome with contrasting frustration.

"How is it enough? You took a bullet for me! Why didn't you let me take the hit for you?! Our roles would be reversed and you'd be safe, which is all I care about -" You refused to let him finish, refused to watch him crumble under the weight of blame he'd placed on his shoulders and the only way you could clear his mind was a simple one.

You met your lips with his, Dick instantly melting into you with furrowed brows but he remained gentle, aiming to display everything he had in these few intimate moments he had with you. Carefully you pulled back, meeting his apologetic gaze with your soft one before leaning against his side, head resting against the crook of his neck as you closed your eyes.

"It's enough because you're here now, when it mattered most you were always there for me even if it negatively impacted your life. I loved you for that, for choosing me when I wouldn't even choose myself. So thank you, for being you. I love you, don't forget that." You voice was incredibly gentle, a sincerity to it that allowed him to feel the high regard you still held him in much like you felt his and with your breath slowing to dangerously distant rhythms you both basked in the warm contentment.

Dicks fingers ran up and down your side in a soothingly slow manner, and when accompanied by the balanced beating of his heart seemed like enough to lull you into a state of heavy slumber. The pain had numbed now which only encouraged the magnetic sensation of blissful peace and though the majority of your senses had failed you - the damp smell of Gothams air faded minutes ago, as did your awareness to the clutches of the nipping wind - your hearing remained semi active, weak enough to capture the sentimental murmur of your best friend.

"I love you."

The ones you'd longed to hear ever since he'd won you over to his side all those years ago, after all of the adventures and after all of the connections you'd forged so with them, you slipped into the arms of eternal sleep.

For once, he loved you.

Not her.

——Present——

"We cannot change what happened, and (Y/n) wouldn't want you to blame yourself so I apologise for my recent words - instead, let the blame die with the assassin who killed her." Slades' unexpected and most likely sole apology earned Dicks genuinely confused gaze, the hero still adamant that his decisions were ultimately responsible but hearing the reluctant kindness eased his current internal war.

Yet he knew, Slade only offered such a lifeline out of his loving respect for you. Yet again you'd inadvertently provided your warmth to save him and he couldn't even thank you for it anymore.

Dick glanced back to your sculpted gravestone once more, Slade walking to his side with his usual deadpan expression but less edge to his tone as he too had felt the familiar pain of lost love before.

"She'd want you to have this." Handing the small object to Nightwing he kneeled at your stone giving his silent last blessings before disappearing into the surrounding fog of the graveyard. Next time they'd encounter each other it'd be filled with violence no doubt, but whilst standing before your spirit neither opponent had the intention.

Dick flipped the thin item in his hand, recognising the Polaroid as the one he'd given you before you disappeared as a good luck charm, the one from his Robin days when you'd first ran into each other and the one he'd so innocently written on as a futile attempt to at least hint at the love he carried for you.

'To my one and only. ~ Love your Best Friend.'

However, upon closer inspection he'd noticed the addition of your gracefully inked handwriting, though, your intention behind it will be forever unknown to him.

'Dick Grayson, the best person anyone could ask for - don’t ever change, even if our paths no longer cross. ~ All my Love, (Y/n).’

<——————————<<<<

Tagging: @palmtoplion , @lionjelli , @givemebooksorgivemedeath , @sun-through-canyon

[adecila]

Game of Thrones – A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms - 8x02 episode analysis (kind of)

…or the episode we should have gotten last week.

And we’re back! I am not here to shit on last week’s episode I actually enjoyed it very much, if you just take it for what it was, but! I cannot help but remark how much better episode 2 has been to us… the writing was very very good and rich, and in character, and it finally feels like GoT and… I honestly don’t know what happened in episode 1. But moving on…

As you can already tell, this is going to my personal summary, thoughts and analysis of episode 02 of season 8. Going to put it all under a cut – spoilers, you have been warned.

Are you an Oathkeeper or on Oathbreaker? Or the Jaime Fucking Lannister Fest

Listen I am not calling this a trial, because it is not. Yes I know they call it a trial in the BTS and Inside the episode.

Dany’s speech about Jaime’s deeds against House Targaryen is very good. As I have mentioned in my preview analysis, this is the first time (third time is a charm ha) that Jaime and Dany speak to one another. She doesn’t know this man. This man tried to kill her and he killed her father.

I got right half of the stuff at least, for what it’s worth. Tyrion looks soooo sooo bad. LIKE YOU KNEW YOUR SISTER? Oh the glare!!! If looks could kill, Tyrion would be dust. LiStEn, Tyrion, honey. Sit down. Jeez, read the room, you are not making it better. Dany is right - why should she trust this man? And Sansa is right there with her… until Brienne speaks. 

Gwen called Brienne’s speech something “almost like a declaration of love” and I think that is so beautiful it hurts. Not a Braime fan, but hey you got fed fam, I am happy for you! I already mentioned in my live blogging that it was either incoherent or just plain retcon to forget that Sansa sent Brienne to KL because she thought Brienne would kill her if it meant a showdown with Arya. But I digress. 

I find it very interesting how Jaime didn’t apologise and his cojones to say so because “we were at war” - and I get it, my dude, Ser Hot Stuff, we all know all is fair in love and war, but I guess it would be ooc for him to apologise. Great delivery, I don’t particularly like NCW but this scene? Top notch. I rate it one doggy style fuck out of one, but so good your legs are wobbly and you can barely find the energy to plop on your bed afterwards. 

The things we do for love… and Bran is back with the fucking shit stirring drama. We stan Bran Starkashian. 

I find it interesting since this is also Dany’s chance to show how she rules - Lady Sansa says her opinion, which surprises Dany. Then she turns to Jon, who the entire time has been very very quiet. Like the kind of quiet you are when you have the biggest hangover and you are stuck in class and you just want it to be over with. So Jon says what he could say to get the fuck out of there. “We need every man we can get.” So Jaime is given his sword back after Grey Worm literally gives him the I AM WATCHING YOU BITCH glare. 

But Jon’s chair is not facing forward, it is slightly oriented towards Dany’s. Notice how he doesn’t look at her, even when she addresses him directly. She gets up and everyone does so afterwards FINALLY SOME FUCKING RESPECT and she turns to Jon… and he doesn’t even look at her… and my baby looks heartbroken because he just ignores her *coughs* As soon as the meeting ended, he rushed out, not giving her a chance to say a word. *coughs*

In defence of Jon… Know what, we’ll talk about Jon later, when we get to the reveal. 

Oh and Bran totes doesn’t care about Jaime enough to expose him in front of the entire Great Hall. Because ya know, he is a drama queen, but he keeps his cards close, he either already has a plan for Jaime or as he said, and as I have predicted from the preview, it serves no purpose to expose Jaime for what he did to Bran. Like just click on it and read it. Good that Bran called him out on his apology naaah bitch you don’t get to go holier than thou here. It is what it is. 

Me at Bran this episode:

Jaime and Tyrion’s conversation is very interesting, not only about Dany in general whether she is worthy or not, and Tyrion seems to be team Dany. Was it just me or Tyrion more like whispered the part where he talks about Cersei’s baby. Also also listen Jaime, unless you’re suddenly a gynaecologist how the fuck do you know she is not lying? I loved how Tyrion called Jaime out on the fact that he loved Cersei despite knowing full well what and who she was. Dude let’s call it what it was. Don’t play coy now. 

Ding ding ding Tyrion mentions marching to KL and killing Cersei … and that’s all I am gonna say about it.

Jaime x Brienne wow this ship is getting so fed - enjoy babies ! And I loved how Brienne was suddenly WHY ARENT YOU INSULTING ME I DONT KNOW HOW TO INTERACT TO YOU !!!! Brienne is leading the left flank and Jaime wants to be led by her. Keep in mind for next week’s episode! I am so proud of my son Pod, I am basically proudmom!Brienne tbh. 

The episode in which Dany gets a lot of counsel - because that’s also the type of ruler she is 

Tyrion x Varys x Jorah vs Dany - Dany gives the best scolding ever tbh. Moms, take notes, because look at Tyrion’s face. He knows this Christmas when the NK comes he will only get coal. No whores and wine for Tyrion. He was naughty boy.  

KHALESSI - Listen. I don’t like Jorah in the books, and my impression of show!Jorah has always been tainted by it. But this Jorah is redeemed and deserves to live I WILL RIOT IF HE DIES. The scene he has with Dany is one of my favourites because it just shows how much history they have together. I will sob if he dies because he is the only one left from S1E01 with her.  Jorah tells her to forgive Tyrion and seek out S.ansa to smooth things over. MY BEAR

S.ansa x Daenerys - First time I thought it was going well, they were bonding… and then S.ansa leaned forward and the hand placing seemed a bit too deliberate to me, too Margaery. What I am trying to say is that it is very hard to know if S.ansa is being genuine. It is a very good scene and it holds a lot of importance later on, more on that when I talk about the reveal in the last scene (and I this is what I wanted from episode 1 - cold but courteous.) 

S.ansa tells Dany Jon loves her and that “men do stupid things for the women they love, they’re easily manipulated” - which, fair point; she saw Cersei and Margaery do it. Buuuut she also had the counter-argument: she saw how Littlefinger manipulated her aunt. So it goes both ways, bby. 

“All my life I have known one goal: the Iron Throne […] until I met Jon 

INTERRUPTING THIS PROGRAMME TO FLAIL BECAUSE HOLY SHIT WE FINALLY HEAR DANY CALL HIM “JON” ON SCREEN YES YES FUCKING FINALLY THANK YOU BABY JESUS AND MARY AND THE ENTIRE TEAM OF 12 APOSTLES  

“Now I am here, half a world away, fighting Jon’s war alongside him. Tell me, who manipulated whom?”  - I love how Dany turns the tables here, because she is right; if Dany was manipulating Jon, then how come she is the one here, fighting with all her men and resources and dragons? Who gains from this more? SEE S.ANSA IT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE IF YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN- 

FINALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING CONTENT. 

Then S.ansa goes for that smile ugh and agaaaain I am having soooo much trouble taking it for genuine. 

“I am here because I love your brother and I trust him and I know he is true to his word […]” I AM DEAD DEAD DEAD 

And then it goes to shite because S.ansa is now clearly drawing inspiration from Theresa fucking May since she has no fucking skills to bring up Brexit - is it Nexit? Dany retreating her hands tho - she feels played LIKE REALLY BITCH I WAS SPEAKING FROM MY HEART AND YOU WERE JUST BUYING TIME HERE. 

Theonsa everywhere - or the ship you never thought would happen in this show yet you can’t help but ship it 

That hug!!!! Wow I loved it!!! Sophie and Alfie killed it. Also watch Dany in the background - my baby!!! Do you know how hard it is being around people with big families when you’re… alone? It’s fucking depressing, and I just want to hug Dany and carry her to safety. 

We got 3 Theonsa moments (and one was a Jonerys parallel so you know the romantic undertones are strong) in this episode soooo yeah! Enjoy! I am afraid they are setting Theon up to die, especially since it would be poetic cinema.jpeg for him to die defending Bran after he took WF from him.

Also also feels like book!Theon and show!Theon are colliding again. 

The Merry Men and the Night’s Watch leftovers ; and Ghost for 3 seconds - you’re welcome ; the Hound and Beric; Missandei and Grey Worm

Tormund calling Jon “little crow” was fucking everything! did you catch Jon’s smile??? Precious baby!!! And then asking about Brienne!!!! But did you catch Jon’s face when he saw Sam was also there - like ugh you again - BYE 

Missandei x Grey - one of them is totally dead BYE I AM GONNA FLUNG MYSELF OUT THE WINDOW 

Sam x Jon on the battlements - ugh Sam really you are looking soooooo bad right now. Jon’s face is again precious. He is so over Sam atm and he is just like WHEN WILL THE NK COME FOR ME BECAUSE IF I HAVE TO STAY ONE MORE SECOND WITH THIS BITCH ISTG– Then I got emo when Edd came up. Damn. Watch Edd die too… I feel it in mah bones. That’s how the last of the NW dies. 

Arya x The Hound - I get soooo many dad feels from the Hound tbh and I love it. My guess the Hound makes it. Beric tho??? hmmm Idk about that. 

Tormund is fucking insane and I love him

THE BRIENNE KNIGHTING WAS EVERYTHING AND I CANT EVEN LOOK AT THE GIFS WITHOUT SOBBING MAH HEART - also!!! Dunk and Egg reference - Brienne parallel?? And the title of the episode! ugh Summerhall references? BRIENNE DO NOT DIE 

Sam gives Jorah Heartsbane - Good. It’s what Jorah deserves. *pushes Sam out of the shot*

Pod singing Jenny’s Song is tearing me apart and making me sob harder I FUCKING LOST IT AND I AM STILL GETTING CHILLS YALL THIS WAS FUN. SEEMS EVERYONE DIES. No, I jest. But I love how they paired up the couples for a tragic love song - Brienne x Jaime, Sam x Gilly, S.ansa x Theon, Arya x Gendry, Missandei x Greyworm, Jon x Dany. I wouldn’t look too much into the song choice tbh, since in Inside the episode they say they knew they wanted a song and they just picked this one and added more verses since it was incomplete. I know this is the second Summerhall reference, but ya know, I personally wouldn’t look too much into it.  Edit: I should have never trusted D&D - now go read these amazing posts made by @tomakeitbeautifultolive in which she explains the song and the significance for Jonerys. Also Ramin Djawadi spoke about the song and fed our fandom just today (April 25th).

The War Council or let’s gather around Bran Starkashian so he can spill some tea on the NK

Plan sounds basic imo, not that I had expected much about that, but in Miguel we trust and we know he will absolutely crash this battle in episode 3. 

Interesting how the casually dropped that apparently the NK’s goal is to destroy Bran. And the mention of the mark - so now basically Bran is chipped. Cool beans. Sam’s remark about “death is forgetting, being forgotten is very interesting. Memories don’t come from books, your stories aren’t just stories.” - interesting take here. I Sam writing the book about Jonerys? If so I am afraid he has A FUCKING BIAS OMG I AM GETTING HEATED AGAIN. Also my friend @iane-casey  was totally annoyed how much screen time Sam got which honestly same dude I am still pissed at you *joins Jon to brood and glare at Sam*

Dany publicly makes a point in that she still needs Tyrion aka he is forgiven so that there is no bad blood between them. 

Lmao my friend @zavocado says we should totes just tape Bran to Drogon’s belly and lure the NK away from WF *grabs the duct-tape* 

FINALLY A MAP: listen, they are outnumbered as fuuuuck… besides that it is clear that Dany’s forces will get the most hit since they are in the vanguard, Birenne on the left with the Knights of the Vale and some Stark forces, on the right we get the rest of the North, and the Mormonts are inside the gates! 

Jon walks on Dany a second time - Dany stops as the room clears out (Qhono and Jorah and Varys behind her), looks expectandly at Jon, he doesn’t look at her (MY BABY BOY HE LOOKS SO ROUGH DID HE EVEN SLEEP?), falters “Your Grace”, and bolts. She falters, her face is all WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING and she clears the room too. More on that at the end.

Gendrya or the OTP you did not know you need and why you fucking need it

First of all, this fandom is so pure. I loooooved all the Gendrya on my dash from episode 1 and then this episode I got flooded and I am here for it bitch. Give me all the feels.

I cannot wait to see Arya with her new weapon!!! 

GENDRY IS SO SHOOKETH BY ARYA AND I LOVED THAT SHE TOPPED HIM

I HAVE A SON YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER LET’S JOIN OUR HOUSES

The gendrya - jonerys parallels??? EVERYTHING JUST WOW

Jonerys parentage reveal 2.0 or the reveal Jon also deserved not the travesty he got

I will do a play by play of the scene, but first. Why does Jon avoid Dany? Simple. He is hurting. Since we get the Jaime vs Bran stare down and then we get the Jaime trial, it is safe to assume that happens the morning after Sam blurted the truth to Jon about his mom and dad. 

So at Jaime’s fake trial, Jon had what? A few hours at best to process everything - and by that I mean: Dany is his aunt; Ned lied to him his entire life (no matter the reason, Jon has been raised a certain way and to hear the man who was so honourable was capable of the biggest lie in the realm… das huge! so this is shocking his entire moral compass and belief system built upon the education his dad gave him); his dad actually loved his mom and married her so he is no longer a bastard - ya know aka the thing that affected his entire life and the thing he wanted most; his mom died giving birth to him and she managed to think of him in her last moments, enough to make Ned promise her he will take care of her son; the fact that if Robert even caught a whiff of it, he would have been dead. SO that is a LOT LOT. 

Which explains why Jon was so out of it when he is asked about Jaime. Also explains why he bolts out of the room without looking at Dany - I think if he had even so much as looked at her he would have broken down. He isn’t ready for it.

Oh the stuff I mentioned he had to come to terms with? On top of all of it we must add the stress of finding a way of telling all of this to Dany in a way that he doesn’t hurt her. Also I bet your ass he thought there was a chance she may not believe him (he himself did not in the beginning)… and a chance she may think he wants the throne since Sam drilled this into his head so now he is afraid of that too. 

So when Jon is in the war room he had what? around 12 hours in total since Sam told him? 15? 20? Do you think that’s enough? Because I don’t. But this time he is doing much better. So he is still not looking at Dany, but he addressed her “Your Grace” and leaves - which means he is already in a better place than where he was in the morning, but not quite there yet. 

This is good angst. We should rejoice, it will hurt before it gets better. 

Moving on. Why didn’t he just directly go to Dany? I honestly don’t think it’s in Jon’s character to seek out comfort. This is a kid who had no one to go to when he would hurt himself. That shit stays with you. You don’t just flip a switch and start seeking out your other half. No, in moments of stress the brain reverts to things it knows bets, to muscle memory and old habits; it uses the energy to overthink itself to death so ain’t nobody got time for that new behaviours shit. At this point jonerys have been together for how long? 3? 4 weeks? That’s not that much. They are used to each other, but not enough to break old habits and past traumas. 

Now, the reveal: 

Dany stops, silently asking permission before she approaches Jon. Poor bean must be a bit hurt that he avoided her twice, so better make sure he actually wants her company. Jon actually smiles at her, even if it is a sad smile. It kills me how he is just staring at him mom’s statue. KILLS ME. Only then, she approaches him (look at her face, brief relief!). She stops next to him, he turns to her and nods, and only THEN SHE EMBRACES HIS SIDE, HOLDING HIS HANDS, CHIN TO HIS SHOULDER.

“Who is that?”

“Lyanna Stark.” Jon eventually says

Dany looks a bit like oh… shit, again my family yikes… I would say she looks apologetic. “My brother Rhaegar, everyone told me he was decent and kind. He liked to sing. Gave money to poor children. And he raped her” - ok but this is big, because Dany just in S7 recognised her own rape… So no wonder her opinion on Rhaegar is not that good atm. 

“He didn’t” 

Dany looks shook, but she is still holding onto Jon. Notice how his hand is on hers? 

“He loved her.” 

She doesn’t interrupt. Jon almost looks like he is feeling brave, so he keeps her hand into his and turns to face her. 

“They were married in secret. After Rhaegar fell on the Trident, she had a son. Robert would have murdered the baby if he ever found out and Lyanna knew it.”

Dany is surpised, but so far so good. Jon stares into her eyes.

“So the last thing she did as she bled to death on her birthing bed was give the boy to her brother” – camera on Emilia — oh shit for a split second it starts to show that she is putting two and two together – “Ned Stark” – her eyes widen and she blinks – “to raise as his bastard” – she exhales, breathing accelerates – “My name,” – breathing heavily on her part –  “my real name” -- she looks incredulous and nods a smal no – “is Aegon Targaryen” – she blinks, exhales, puls away her hand and turn halfway away from Jon. 

She looks away, then at him, he is almost leaning over her but still too far. “That’s impossible.”

Camera on Jonerys

“I wish it were.” (SEE THIS IS WHAT I AM SAYING MY POOR SON)

“Who told you this?”

“Bran. He was it.”

“He SAW it?” She sound clipped, the ARE YOU KIDDING ME tone clipped 

“And Samwell confirmed it.”He read about their marriage at the CItadel” – camera on Emilia —”without even knowing what it meant” (OK BUT FUCK OFF SAM GILLY READ THAT) - Dany’s face her, she is clearly restraining herself because this sounds insane.

“A secret no one in the world knew, except your brother and your best friend, doesn’t seem strange to you?” she shakes her head and it breaks my heart how you can see the wheels turning in her head going fuck here we go again, I laid my heart bare and that’s it. Yet another betrayal. 

Camera on Kit. He looks at her, takes a step forward “It’s true, Dany.” – camera on Emilia – “I know it is.” (UM HELLO DANY I AM HYPERVENTILATING BITCH)

Dany shakes her head, her face looks full with distrust. Then it goes to despair - her voice shaky “If it were true, it would make you the last male heir of the House Targaryen.” – camera on Kit HE FUCKING FROWNS LIKE WHAT – camera on Emilia – “You’d have a claim to the Iron Throne” – camera on Kit and his face goes again WHA— 

THEN THE FUCKING HORN SOUNDS. Jon turns his head towards the door, but Dany keeps staring at him and she looks heartbroken.

They go out and it’s all business. He nods to her and she leaves. Interesting though - she comes out first. Jon turned back towards the sound so if they were just running out he should have come out first. Either he remembered to be courteous or there is another small exchange we didn’t get to see. Or maybe I am reading way into things and it was a lame ass decision hahah. 

Ok so the reveal to Dany - you better fucking take notes Sam cuz this is how you do a reveal: being calm, level headed, explaining to the person as much as you can, answering questions.

On Dany’s reaction: my friend @oadara said it so so well in this post here. So, building on that, we need to put her reaction in context, just like I did with Jon’s cold shoulder. Dany’s discussion with S.asnsa is fresh in her mind, not just the part about who is manipulating whom, and that must drive her nuts now, but also the part in which S.asnsa did a 180 on her just when she thought she was making progress, so feeling like she was being manipulated. One of course must start asking questions. Has Jon just found out? Has he always known? Did he seduce her to take her armies and her dragons her her throne?? Moreover, Dany specifically tells S.ansa that her only goal in life has been the Iron Throne. Imagine that - having one goal in life, and suddenly someone comes in and can just rip it all away from you, poof just like that, they just need to say the word. Moreover, males have preference… and so many would rather follow a male than a female. And that’s a fact.  

Moreover… she still thinks herself barren… 

Like I am not saying Dany suddenly hates Jon or will cast him away (ok maybe she will initially I have a prediction/theory I will explain in a different post). I am saying… JUST GIVE DANY TIME. She just found out and now she gotta go save everyone’s ass. Let the girl breathe.

I was asking myself but why would Jon tell her now? If he himself wishes she had never known? I think it may be a very Ned Stark thing - he genuinely thinks he will fall, and he wanted to tell her the truth, because Rhaegar Targaryen may be his dad but Ned Stark is his daddy. 

What do you think? As always, dms and asks are open! 

Will make a preview post and another about my jonerys theory. 

All in all, this episode was incredible and I loved it. I am so not ready for the fight fuuuuuuuuuuuu-

[eirabach]

Coming Home [1/1]

This is 7000 words of love letter to the England football team, and specifically their manager, thinly disguised as CS fic. Gorgeous aesthetic by the incredible @katie-dub who joins me as an inaugural member of the Inappropriate Gareth Southgate Crush fan club.

No matter what happens tomorrow, lads. No matter what.

They’d all laughed when they’d given him the job.

 Years of the finest tacticians the continent could offer - though admittedly there’d been a few turkeys along the way - and the British press had torn each of them to shreds. Failure after failure dropped at their feet, their careers blighted by the inevitable English Curse while their players sold razor blades and fucked pop stars and pocketed their millions and all the time being watched by a nation of children who grew into adults, grew into old men and women who’d never seen an English success story.

 No one wanted to sip from that poisoned chalice. No one dared face the fury of a nation denied again and again and again.

 Luckily, Killian Jones was used to it.

 The Sun, The Mirror, the broadsheets. They’d all sneered at his appointment in their own indomitable ways.

 England Expects… Second Time Lucky For Jones?

 FA Appoint Jones: England’s Sacrificial Lamb

 The Curse Continues for England’s Lost Boys

 Need a Hand There Mate?

 This last accompanied by a pap’s photo of him struggling into training one morning, hair askew, prosthetic unattached.

 (It had been Milah’s birthday the night before, his dreams full of fire and fuelled by rum, and Will had sent him up to the boardroom twenty minutes in when he’d threatened to have the bickering midfield strung up by their ankles and used for penalty practice.)

 He knows there’s no point complaining, nonetheless. It’s not the worst headline they’ve run about England’s manager.

 It’s certainly not the worst headline they’ve run about him.

There is one difference in his appointment to this supposedly sainted position:

 They all agree. Left wing, right wing. Man in the street and professional pundit.

 He’s doomed.

 “You’re doomed, little brother,,” Liam tells him cheerfully as he eats his breakfast propped up against the quartz worktop that Killian knows the Navy didn’t pay for. “Sorry.”

 “Your confidence astounds me.”

 “Your idiocy astounds me! What was the matter with punditry? I thought you enjoyed it! It paid the bills -“

 “I don’t care about the bills.”

 “Spoken like a man who doesn’t worry about next months nursery fees - Killian listen -“ Liam puts down his bowl and leans forward, pleading. “they’ll tear you apart. Don’t - I don’t want to watch that again.”

 “I won’t do any more pizza adverts if that’s what you’re worried about,” Killian grumbles, snatching the bowl and rinsing it immediately.

 “Have you forgotten what it was like?” Liam asks, aghast. “They crucified you, little brother, the shame -“

 “You don’t need to tell me about shame,” Killian snaps. “As for forgetting - I’ve spent twenty years -“

 “Pretending! Pretending that you’re a drunk and a womaniser and that you didn’t - don’t - care but Killian -“

 “Get out.” The words are ice, the warm kitchen physically cooling in their wake. Liam looks briefly shocked.

 “Pardon?”

 “You heard me,” Killian grits out. “I’ve enough to deal with from the press I don’t need my own brother -“

 “I’m trying to protect you!”

 Oh, he knows. He’s always known.

 Six years old, newly motherless and utterly rudderless, ferried to practice on the cross bar of Liam’s bike.

 Eighteen and capped for his country, hyperventilating in a public toilet while Liam guarded the door.

 Twenty and certain, oh so certain, standing at the spot and Liam watching from the touchline.

 Oh so certain and oh so wrong.

 And he knows, but he has to because this - this is his chance. His last, only chance.

 He has to lay the ghosts to rest. He has to.

 And he can’t let anything, not even Liam, not even his own inability to believe - to dream - stop him.

 “I don’t need your protection!” Killian spits. “I’m done, Liam! I’m not that little kid you scolded for risky tackling anymore! I’ve lived under this shadow half my life! I need to move on. I need -“

 I need to believe. I need you to believe in me.

 “You need a better team,” Liam says, “tell me you’ve that, at least.”

 “Oh aye.” Killian calms, smug satisfaction slipping into his voice. “That, I can promise you.”

 —-

 Qualifying, and judging by Liam’s expletive strewn text when the teamsheet is announced he’s starting as the tabloids expect.

 Badly.

 I know several promising four year olds, brother, should I send them over?

 Mills?! He’s a fetus, Killian.

 A fetus who can play.

 You’d better hope so, brother. The whole bloody country hopes so.

 Mills might be the youngest player on the pitch - 18 and a pale but determined figure in the goal mouth - but the whole team is Killian’s own creation.

 Gone are the men who’d bickered and sneered at each other. Gone are those who saw playing for their country as a chore - one they’d rather avoid when the off season is full of better financial offers - and those too exhausted by failure to dare to dream of success.

 Killian has been one of them, once. Late at night, the back pages spread out around him in his empty house and the rum bottle far too close by, he thinks he still might be. But then he sees the gleam in the eyes of a player like Mills and he thinks enough.

 Enough.

 It’s time.

 Shame no one told the opposition. Or the ref.

 It’s another high tackle, studs up as England make a break for goal, and once again the ref waves it off with an indirect free kick.

 The crowd bellow their displeasure but they’ve nothing on Will, whose furious gesticulating at the touchline makes him look like some sort of tracksuit clad dervish.

 “That’s a red!” he bellows. “A RED!”

 Except it isn’t. It’s a free kick that the opposition defence clear from danger a little too easily. Again.

 A nasty, creeping sense of foreboding tickles at the back of Killian’s neck as the cameras focus on his face and the hacks start writing.

 He doesn’t believe in curses.

 He doesn’t.

 “Sit down, Will. You’ll rupture and the Sun will have your innards. Literally.”

 “You’re not serious, gaffer? Didn’t you see -“

 Killian grits his teeth.

 “Sit down. They’re watching.”

 Will stamps back to his seat, face creased in fury.

 “They’re always bloody watching, gaffer. That’s their bloody job. Ref need to do his.”

 “Don’t you worry about the ref’s job,” Killian says grimly, eyes on the way midfield can’t quite connect their passes, mind already on the talk he’ll have to give at half time.

 Calm. Collected. Everything he hasn’t been for longer than he likes to think.

 (Once he had been. Before the penalty spot. Before Milah and the drink and the accident. Once. He’s sure he was.)

 “Worry about ours.”

 —-

 They’d all laughed when they’d given her the job.

 Laughed and crowed and cat called their way through her first press conference that absolutely had to be held because she’s the first and she’s important.

 She’d always imagined it would feel better than this.

 David sits on the end of her futon, half a pizza balanced precariously on his knee as he bounces his leg. A nervous tick he’s had since childhood, and he’s never more nervous than when he risks Emma’s wrath.

 “I’m just not sure this is a good idea, Emma.”

 “Really? Money is a bad idea now?” Emma chews on her own piece of pizza and shrugs. “Could have fooled me.”

 “It’s not about the money. You know what soccer fans are like!”

 “Well I should,” Emma agrees, “I’ve been one all my life.”

 “Yeah, and look at the grief you got even then! And Russia. It’s a different world, Emma.”

 “I’m pretty sure it isn't. And I can handle myself. I’ve done it long enough.”

 David’s face falls and she regrets the sharpness almost immediately, but she can’t quite bring herself to apologise, or to admit the truth.

 Frankly, she’s terrified.

 Emma is used to being on her own, abandoned at birth and bounced around the foster system until she’d finally ended up with David and his mother and had to learn how to function as part of a family.

 It’d been hard, even now she’s sure she isn’t as good a sister - as good a person - as she ought to be, but soccer had helped.

 Soccer had always helped. Soccer was all she’d had.

 Playing, supporting, being a part of something, no matter how small and shitty the team or how little time she spent there it had taught her how to work with others, relate to them, when the temptation had been to run away and rely on her own wits.

 Not that there hadn’t been moments, bad homes and tempting offers from worse boys, but soccer had kept her feet on the ground.

 Now her playing days are over - the disadvantage of her permanent home had been that the women’s game was not wildly popular in Podunk Storybrooke, Maine - and yet.

 And yet.

 She’d taken her refereeing qualifications to keep her eye in, starting with the kids matches and then moving up, up to college level, up to the leagues.

 Up to the World Cup.

 The first woman referee in the history of the competition.

 The American papers hadn’t taken too much notice, the USA had failed to qualify and the country as a whole preferred their football to contain more brute force than finesse, but Europe -

 She wishes David hadn’t read the comments.

 She wishes she hadn’t read the comments.

 But he did and she has and still. She’s going. She has to.

 “I have to,” she tells him, trying for reassuring and catching his pizza slice as it makes a bid for freedom. “You know I have to.”

 David smiles.

 “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know. But don’t let them mess you about. You’re the best. Don’t forget that.”

 Emma smiles. Small and a little sly.

 “Oh I promise. They won’t know what hit them.”

 —-

 They’re through by the skin of their teeth, paparazzi nipping at their heels as they arrive in Russia in neatly tailored suits that don’t show the sweat stains. Mills’ suit trousers are two inches too short and the team surround him as they scurry through the airport to the waiting team bus like so many elephants protecting the baby of the herd from the gathering hyenas.

 Which, Killian supposed, they more or less were.

 Qualifying hadn’t made the press back off. Qualifying had made the press hungry.

 “Jones! Jones! How are you feeling?”

 “Any regrets?”

 “Is this England’s year?”

 “Are you worried about penalties?”

 “What about the curse?”

 Killian lifts his chin, marching onward to the bus without giving the press anything but the small, polite wave that he knows is obligatory and keeping his glare for the moment their out of sight.

 “Bunch of tossers,” says Will cheerfully, his arm slung over Mills’ shoulder. “Better keep ‘em sweet eh lads?”

 The lads cheer, and Will guffaws in approval, but Killian is miles away. Decades away.

 Wearing his own suit and the weight of expectation hanging round his neck and -

 It’s coming home, it’s coming…

 “Gaffer?”

 They’re at the bus and Will is looking at him through too shrewd eyes. There’s a reason Killian picked him as his number two, after all. Liam worries and the papers speculate, but Will? Will knows.

 “All right?”

 “Ask me in a month,” Killian mutters grimly, then boards the bus with a studied grin and a bellow of “Here we go, lads! Here we go!”

 —-

 Here we go, Emma thinks, handing in her credentials to an incredulous Russian official. Here we goddamn go.

 The official calls over a couple of his pals who all mutter uncertainly amongst themselves, before finally stamping card and handing over her ID with a suspicious glare and minimal manners.

 That the officials are confused by her presence is surprising in that they invited her - and it isn’t like Emma Swan is a particularly gender neutral name - but the teams, well.

 Confusion would be a blessing.

 Her language skills are pretty basic - she barely scraped her GED and most of her high school Spanish lessons were spent searching the dictionaries for words to keep an amorous temporary sibling at bay - but she doesn’t need google translate to get the jist of their opinions.

 And they do seem to have a lot of them. And none of them are good.

 “I just don’t see what you being a woman has to do with…” Mary Margaret gesticulates weakly to the pocket of Emma’s uniform when she returns to the hotel room “that.”

 “When I pull a card, it’s touched my boob,” Emma says, eyes already scanning the fixture list she’s been given. “Apparently that excites them.”

 “But they have to respect you, surely?” Mary Margaret is wide eyed on the bed, and Emma feels a rush of affection for her sweet natured sister in law. Affection, and a touch of pity. “You’re the referee!”

 “Because soccer players are so famous for their respect for the laws of the game? Didn’t you see Neymar in qualifying? He spent so much of the match on the floor Gaston went to make a cup of coffee before resuming play.”

 “You know I don’t understand anything you just said, right?” Mary Margaret leans forward and squeezes Emma’s leg. “But I have faith. You’re brilliant, Emma. I believe in you.”

 “Thanks.” Emma smiles at her. “But it’s fine. They’ll get used to me I guess.”

 Mary Margaret raises her eyebrows.

 “You’re a trailblazer Emma, you know that? I’m so proud of you.”

 Emma shrugs, picking at the edge of her shirt. It’s too big, but that’s not unusual. At least she hasn’t had to fashion a belt from her whistle strap this time.

 “It’s just a job, Mary Margaret.”

 “Is it?”

 Emma bites her lip.

 “All right,” she admits. “It’s a big deal. The biggest. What if I fuck up? Make the wrong call? I could fuck the whole thing over - the cup, myself, fucking feminism, the lot - I-“

 “Who’s fucking what up now?”

 David sticks his head around the door, eyes narrowed and full cop-face on display. Emma licks her suddenly dry lips and shrugs again. Mary Margaret sighs.

 “Emma’s having a crisis of confidence.”

 “Am not.”

 “Emma -“

 “Hey.” He pulls her into his arms, cradling her head in his hand and she burrows her chin into his shoulder without even meaning to. “It’s ok to be nervous. If you weren’t nervous you wouldn’t care. And you care so much Emma. You love this game. You were made for this.”

 “Tell the papers that.”

 “Oh screw the papers!” David snaps, “what the fuck do they know!”

 Mary Margaret gasps. “David!”

 David pulls back from the hug and grips Emma’s shoulders.

 “They’ll write whatever they want,” he says fiercely. “You should see the shit they write about their own countries! Forget them. You can do this. You’re good - no, you’re the best. They’ll be clammering to have you in charge of their games you’ll see.”

 “That’s not really how it works.”

 “That’s not really my point.”

 Emma laughs, a little softly but genuinely enough, and shakes her head.

 “Do you give these pep talks to everyone or?”

 David grins.

 “Just my favourites.”

 —-

 Watching the competition might be necessary, but Killian’s never found it very relaxing.

 It’s a constant stream of analysis, of tactics, of how do we and what if they, and it’s exhausting. Especially scrappy, messy games like this where the players seem to spend more time arguing than concentrating on the play.

 Both sides are particularly keen to share their sob stories with the ref, arms flailing and spittle flying, and that’s not usual, nor at all, but the ref -

 The ref is.

 He’d known she was here, of course. Even in avoiding the press as much as he tries to, things like the first woman to referee a World Cup game do tend to sneak through, and he can’t help but feel a frisson of pride when he sees her step up to call the coin toss. A sense that the game that he’s dedicated his life to might - just might - be beginning to move towards something better and brighter.

 “At least we’re group favourites,” mumbles Will as Portugal create a chance from nothing (how do you defend nothing? Where do you even begin?) “Or second favourites.”

 Killian rolls his eyes. He’s long since stopped relying on betting shops for his predictions.

 “We went out last time to a dentist and a guy who runs a doggy day care, or did you forget?”

 Will winces. “That was different.”

 “That was the Euros. This is bigger.”

 Will gives him a sideways look.

 “All right, spill,” he asks. “What’s got your goat? You’re a miserable fuck right enough but you’re even worse than usual.”

 Killian doesn’t even look at him. “And you’re charming as ever.”

 “Jones.”

 “Scarlet.”

 “I've got a feeling,” Will says, and Killian closes his eyes briefly. Scarlet once he gets going is like a dog with a bone, and it’s useful in training certainly but rather less helpful when directed at Killian personally.

 “Just the one?”

 “Oi. Listen.” The sideways look becomes a full on glare. “Have you been on twitter again?”

 Killian shakes his head.

 “I don’t -“

 “Because Liam says -“

 Liam says a lot of things. Says them on phones calls and on WhatsApp and in Killian’s head at the side of the training pitch and in the dead of night.

 None of which he wants to think about when he’s watching Ronaldo systematically destroy a defence.

 “Oh you’ve been gossiping about me with my brother? Very loyal of you Scarlet. I’ll remember that next time I find you with your head in the toilet.”

 “No we was just -“

 There’s a roar from the crowd, a huddle of players surrounding the ref who’s barely even visible among the sea of waving arms gesturing in her direction.

 “Christ! Look at that!”

 It happens in less time than it takes Will to point, one moment the referee is standing in the centre of what’s become a mob, the next she’s on the ground, struggling to her feet.

 A flash of red and there’s a man off and a spreading mark on the side of the ref’s face.

 “He’s banned,” Will states grimly. “Won’t see him again this year. Stupid mistake.”

 “Mistake?” Killian scowls. “Bringing the game into disrepute!”

 “Yeah, well.” The ref blows her whistle. Play resumes with several players looking rather shamefaced. “Let’s see how that works out for them.”

 —-

 It doesn’t.

 The final whistle sees the ten men traipse miserably from the field while their opponents celebrate with a lap of honour.

 The ref follows them off. The mark on her face has faded but even from where Killian sits in the box he can see the set of her shoulders, the anger in her gait.

 He’s walked off like that. Worse than that. He’d had Liam and Rob - poor long suffering Rob who’d held this job longer than any other man had managed - but the ref…

 He hopes she has someone waiting for her in the tunnel.

 He hopes.

 He gets to his feet.

 Hope isn’t enough. It never is.

 “Where are you going?!” Will calls after him as he heads for the staircase. “You promised me a drink!”

 “I need to go check on something.”

 Will laughs, wagging his finger after Killian as though he’s a naughty schoolboy.

 “Something. Sure. Have fun with something. Don’t get us disqualified, yeah?”

 Killian doesn’t turn back.

 “Don’t be crass, Scarlet.”

 “Don’t be changing the habits of a lifetime, Jones,” Will trills. “Tell her she made the right call on that penalty, yeah?”

 “Yeah yeah,” Killian mutters. No point in denial. “I will.”

 —-

 He means to.

 But then he finds her at the end of the tunnel, leaning against the wall next to what appear to be a storage cupboard with a poorly scrawled female figure sellotaped to it. Her fists are clenched and her breathing laboured, and for the first time in his whole life he can’t quite bring himself to talk about football.

 She’s beautiful. He really tries not to notice, but he’s not blind. Furious green eyes and a wild halo of blonde hair from where it’s escaped from it’s ponytail, a sharp chin that juts in his direction as she snaps, “What?”

 His heart jumps in a way it hasn’t for decades - not since his playing days, not since Milah - and it’s stupid because he’s forty and he has a reputation but his tongue feels too big for his mouth, his legs unsteady in the face of her flushed cheeks and steely glare.

 He came to say something, didn’t he? He’s sure he was meant to say something.

 “You ok pal?” She pushes back from the wall, hands on her hips. “You lost?”

 Something like that, he thinks. Something very like that.

 “He shouldn’t have done that,” he manages. “It was disrespectful.”

 She scoffs. “What, cause I’m a woman?”

 “No. Because you’re the ref.”

 “Don’t condone dissent huh?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re Jones.”

 “I see you’ve heard of me.” He grins, and it pulls a little at the corner of his mouth as though it’s wider than usual. “You can look up my discipline record if you like, I was a fairly good boy.”

 She lifts one eyebrow and scoffs again, but there’s a smile threatening at the edge of her mouth.

 “On the pitch maybe.”

 “Maybe.” Mostly. But he knows what she’s referring to. There’d been a lot of rum, after. A lot of regrets. He’s never regretted them quite as much as he does now though. “Are you quite all right, though? Truly?”

 “I’m fine.” She shrugs. “I mean - I’ve had worse.”

 He bets she has. The thought doesn’t comfort him any more than he expects it comforts her.

 “Not quite what I asked, Swan.”

 “How do you know my name?”

 Smooth, Jones. Very smooth. Follow a woman into a dark corridor and then act like a stalker.

 “I read,” he says in an attempt at justification. “There aren’t many refs who go by “Emma””

 “Not here there aren’t. I uh -“ she waves in the direction of the cupboard. “Ought to get to my locker room.”

 It’s his turn to scoff now.

 He loves this game, he does, but by god does it have a long way to go.

 “A generous term, but as it’s yours I’ll allow it. See you around, Swan.”

 “Belgium,” she says, and her expression turns surprised as though the word has escaped without her permission.

 “Pardon?”

 “I’m assisting. At the Belgium game. So I’ll see you there. At Belgium.”

 Oh yes. Football. The most important thing in his life. The only thing.

 She smiles, and something in his chest roars to life.

 Belgium. He’ll see her at Belgium.

 “I look forward to it.”

 —-

 The canteen is a riot of colour and languages, hundreds of people swarming through with plates of food Emma couldn’t name with a gun to her head and jostling for space at long tables.

 The three of them pause in the doorway, all looking for a spot where they can sit together. Emma sees it first.

 “Dibs!” she calls. “Mary Margaret?”

 “On it!” She calls in return, heading for the snaking line at the food counters as Emma and David bolt for the free seats.

 It’s only when she gets closer that Emma realises who’s sitting opposite, handsome profile partially obscured by a tactical notebook.

 David’s eyes narrow then grow large and round as saucers.

 “Isn’t that..?”

 “Swan!” Killian Jones beams at her and her traitorous heart skips a beat. “Excellent job in the Croatia game last night!”

 “Thanks,” she mumbles, and god if she’s blushing David will never let her live it down. “It was a good game.”

 “The best,” Killian agrees, then his eyes flick from hers to David and the megawatt smile dims ever so slightly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 “Oh!” Emma gestures between them. “This is my brother, David. This is -“

 “Killian Jones,” David says, and Emma does a double take at the breathiness of his tone. “I know who you are.”

 “My reputation precedes me,” says Killian. “I’d ask if it were all good but, alas -“

 “You were the best left winger of your generation! Your pace! There was nothing you couldn’t outrun!”

 Emma watches with interest as Killian’s cheeks flush pink.

 “Nothing but time and bad choices, at least.”

 David shuffles on the spot, “I guess, but -“

 “Meatballs!” Mary Margaret drops the tray in the table with a cheerful smile. “Everyone loves meatballs, right?”

 “Works for me,” says Emma. “Killian?”

 “Metabolism isn’t up to it these days,” he says, patting the leather waistcoat that’s his calling card in the technical area.

 Emma shrugs. “Suit yourself. Doesn’t look like there’s much wrong with you to me.”

 The words are out before she can stop them, fucking so smooth, Emma, Jesus, but Killian Jones just looks a little bit sad.

 She’d expected an innuendo.

 She’d have preferred an innuendo.

 “I assure you, there’s nothing at all wrong with me. Well.” He lifts his left hand and smiles wearily.  “Apart from the obvious.”

 “Oh dear!” Mary Margaret leans over the table and rests her hand over the metal contraption at the end of his wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” says Killian, but there’s a furtive look in his eyes that Emma is familiar with. She gets the same look in hers when someone asks about her family. The look that means you’re preparing a lie. “An old wound.”

 And doesn’t she know how they never quite heal.

 “David,” she says, a little too sharply, “Have you sorted the flights to Sochi yet?”

 “No I was going to -“

 “The agent is holding a meeting this afternoon - if you get there early enough maybe they can get you priority seats?”

 “But -“

 Mary Margaret is looking between Emma and Killian with a look of gradually dawning comprehension.

 “Good idea,” she says, “come on David.”

 “But -“

 “We can get a doggy bag, I don’t want to risk missing the flight -“

 She grins at Emma over David’s shoulder as she leads him away, two plates of meatballs balanced in her arms, and wriggles her eyebrows.

 Subtle, thinks Emma. But then Killian Jones is sitting opposite her at the canteen table, lips curled into a smile and eyes fixed on hers, and she thinks.

 Maybe subtlety is overrated.

 —-

 He appreciates that Emma is not staring at his left hand, in fact she barely seems to have acknowledged it, but then it is common knowledge.

 Greatest player of his generation fails spectacularly on the world stage. Goes utterly off the rails. Loses his form. Loses his hand.

 It’s hardly a secret.

 He doesn’t know why he has the urge to tell her about the few things that are.

 “It was an accident.” He taps his prosthetic on the table. “I was -“

 Emma lifts an eyebrow. “I know. Everyone knows. You don’t need to tell me.”

 “Most people want the gory details.”

 “You’re good.” Emma waves her fork over the meatballs. “Must have been hard, losing your career like that.”

 “It wasn’t the worst thing I lost,” says Killian. “Not by far.”

 “I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds like she actually means it, a little furrow firming between her eyes. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. About your wife.”

 There had been a time not so very long ago when even the word had been enough to send him into a spiral of furious misery. Wife. Always said in that same odd tone of pity with a frisson of thrill, as though their genuine sympathy for his loss is merely a veneer to disguise their prying.

 It doesn’t sound like that when Emma says it.

 It sounds like she means it.

 He isn’t sure quite what to make of that.

 “You have done your research. There are laws against stalking you know.”

 She smiles, and her whole face lights up and he’s screwed.

 “Says you.”

 “Fair point.”

 So screwed.

 “So,” she leans forward, eyes flicking left and right. “Tell me. Is it true?”

 God. What a question. Which part? The drink? The drugs? The women and the days that he can’t remember.

 The years he can’t remember.

 “What?”

 “You know.” Her smile turns conspiratorial. “About the team.”

 “What?” he says again, dumbly.

 “I heard a rumour. Something about blow up unicorns on the swimming pool roof?”

 Killian releases a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

 “Tell me,” he says, leaning in himself until their noses are only inches apart. “What do you know about Will Scarlet?”

 —-

 They’re losing. Losing to the flies, to the heat, to a Belgian team that - deep in his heart of hearts - he knows have a much more substantial chance of carrying the trophy home than they do.

 He ought to care, and he does, he does, but it’s difficult to give the pitch his full attention when Swan is four feet away, her own laser focus on the game putting him to shame.

 They’re through anyway, he tells himself to assuage his guilt. They’re through anyway, and he’s only human after all.

 He spends half time buoying up the boys as best he can. They, at least, are gutted by the scoreline. Young Mills is grey-faced in his neon green shirt, muttering apologies for a goal that Killian knows, knows, the Sun will lay the blame for at his inexperienced feet.

 “There’s no need, lad,” he tells him after the fifth I’m so sorry. “You show me a keeper who says kept a clean sheet in every game and I’ll show you a liar. What’s done is done. It’s over. The next forty five minutes. The next game. That’s what I want you to concentrate on. That’s what matters. You can beat yourself up, or you can beat the rest, which is it?”

 Mills nods, hands clenching and unclenching as he works out the nervous cramps, and the whole tea return to the field with a determination that hadn’t been there before the break.

 “Nice speech,” mutters Will. “Taking your own advice?”

 Kilian quirks an eyebrow and waits for the television cameras to sweep over them before he answers.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “If you don’t know what I mean, why’d you wait for the tv to bugger off?”

 “I had to make sure they got my best side.”

 “Sure you -”

 The crowd roars, a chance for England, and Killian’s half to his feet before the whistle goes. Emma’s flag is up. Offside.

 He hopes that’s not a metaphor.

 “Least she’s being careful not to play favourites,” Will grumbles.

 Killian glares at him. “She’s doing her job.”

 “Aye, and I’m doing mine.”

 Will and Killian lock eyes.

 “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating, Scarlett.”

 “And I ain’t sure I like this scoreline. But hey.” Will smiles, and shows a few too many teeth. “Could be worse. Let’s avoid Brazil, yeah?”

 “Yeah,” Killian mutters.

 There’s another English miss that they really should have buried and the crowd jeer and hoot their disapproval.

 “Could be worse.”

 —-

 Emma leaves the pitch sweaty and with at least half a dozen midges having met their end on her face, but she doesn’t head straight to the showers. Killian Jones is on the pitch surrounded by tv cameras and well made-up journalists, and she can’t help but watch, fascinated, from the edge of the now empty stands as they round on him like a pack of smiling hyenas.

 “Is this the end for England’s run, Killian?”

 “Do you regret the choice to bring Mills?”

 “What went wrong out there today, Killian?”

 You’d think they’d gone out, such were the accusations, the sharp disapproval in their faces, but they haven’t. Emma has carefully filled in the wallchart David has hung up in their hotel room. She knows this is the better side of the draw. The luckier side.

 She wants to tell Killian, even though it’s ridiculous because he knows, he knows, but he’s standing under the floodlights, dark brows furrowed as he tries to answer the questions that are barked at him, and somehow it seems very important that she makes sure.

 It’s an age until he leaves. Her uniform is sticking to her, her hair is standing on end. She needs a shower, desperately.

 But his expression is still dark and yeah. Yeah.

 This is a guy who knows what desperation really looks like.

 “You played well.”

 She follows him into the tunnel, checking briefly over her shoulder for paps as she does so. He doesn’t look at her, but he slows his pace so that she can catch up.

 It’s a start.

 “I’m afraid you much have me confused with someone half my age, Swan. I sat on my arse.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 He sighs. “Do I?”

 “Hey!” She grabs his elbow, forcing him to turn and look at her. “You’re not angry at them, are you?”

 Killian gapes at her. “Angry at them? Christ, no. I’m angry at myself.”

 “Why? You’re not responsible for what the press - “

 “Oh aren’t I? Aren’t I? If I’d scored -“

 He’s moved closer, and it’s her turn to stare at him blankly. Her hand is still on his elbow, fingers wound tight into the fabric of his shirt, and it suddenly feels very important that she not let go.

 “Wait, what?”

 He closes his eyes.

 “We were so close, Swan!”

 It takes her a moment. Of course it does, she was just a kid back then, 15 and with a family for the first time in her life. A family and her beloved soccer, and hadn’t that been the best summer of her life? So yeah, it takes her a moment to remember it must have seemed like the worst of his.

 “This is about that penalty?” She releases her death grip on his shirt and runs her hand up his arm. “Killian it’s been twenty years -“

 He shrugs off her attempt at comfort, jabbing his finger bitterly towards where the press had gathered.

 “And every year that passes they get worse. I know what they’ll be saying about Henry Mills tonight, and I’m sick of it. Sick of it.”

 “Killian! Killian -“

 There’s movement at the entrance to the tunnel and they shrink back into the shadows as one.

 “Don’t let them get to you like this,” Emma hisses. “They can’t play. They can’t do what you do.”

 “Any idiot can do what I do and several do. Ask the German press.”

 “I don’t believe that.” Emma folds her arms and looks at him critically: “you’ve stood on this stage before. You know how it feels. The love. The fear. That matters you know. You know how to be part of something.”

 He shakes his head.

 “All I know is how to fail at the last hurdle.”

 “If you say so, but I read, Jones. I know what you’ve overcome to get here.” She looks him up and down, gaze lingering for just a second on his prosthetic before flicking to his face. His mouth. She swallows.  “Doesn’t look like failure to me.”

——

 The lads are ready, or at least they think they are, but Killian has been here before (albeit only on the European stage), and he knows nothing - nothing - can prepare you for the moment you walk out into a pitch for a game like this.

 The quarter finals. The knockout stages of a World Cup.

 Not that there’s any pressure of course. The English are infamously restrained when it comes to sporting success, and if Killian is having to grit his teeth every time someone asks him if it’s coming home then at least it’s better than being asked when their flight is. He’s hidden himself away in the corridor between the boxes and the dressing room staircase,trying to take a moment to breath in between greeting passing dignitaries.

 Amazingly he’s managed not to be sick, but the night is young yet.

 “Hey.”

 Her voice is so soft he first thinks he’s hallucinating from nervous exhaustion, but she’s there, scuffing the toe of her sneaker along the concrete floor and wringing her fingers together.

 “I wanted to see if you were ok.”

 Killian stares at her. No, he isn’t. He’s not at all okay and yet…

 “Of course, Swan. All the better for seeing you.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles all the same.

 “Yeah, well.” She looks him up and down. “Didn’t want you freaking out. Again.”

 “I don’t freak out, Swan.”

 “If you say so.”

 She steps a little closer then hesitates, checking the corridor for eavesdroppers before admitting, “I shouldn’t really be here.”

 “No I suppose not. I didn’t think you were allowed to play favourites?”

 “Please. Who says I’m supporting you?”

 He lifts an eyebrow.

 “Did I insinuate such a thing?”

 “Hmm.” She tilts her head to one side and considers him. “You didn’t have to.”

 “Dangerous ground that, Swan. Very dangerous.”

 They stare at each other for a moment, and Killian feels himself swaying toward her unintentionally, captivated by the glint in her eye and the way she worries her lip between her teeth.

 This is dangerous ground, all right.

 “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she says, “I can support you now. That is if I want to, which I’m not saying I do.”

 “What?”

 She gestures to her outfit and he realises belatedly she’s not in her kit. “My matches are done. I should be flying home today.”

 “Forgive me but you’re a long way from the airport.”

 “Yeah well,” she grins, then points into the crowd. “Somebody insisted on staying a little while longer.”

 She holds out her phone to show him a picture.

 David is standing, draped in red and white, his arms outstretched as he bellows along to a song. Beside him Mary Margaret is engrossed in a programme.

 “I think he’s become quite the fan,” Emma says with a wink. “He’s started drinking lager.”

 “Heaven forfend,”says Killian. “And what about you, can I count on you for a little flag waving? Since you’re free of your obligations?”

 Emma snorts.

 “That might be pushing it. David’s far more partisan than me.”

 Speaking of pushing it. He can hear people approaching from the far end of the corridor and his ears are burning from the dressing down Will is bound to give him if he’s late to the dressing room and he shouldn’t and yet -

 “Then how will I know you’re on my side?”

 She looks at him. Wide, shrewd, knowing green eyes, and takes another step closer.

 “Guess you won’t. But just in case -“

 Will’s going to kill him, the press will have his guts, but Emma Swan’s lips are warm and a little bit chapped, and the whistle can wait.

 —-

 The equalise against the run of play with thirty seconds left on the clock.

 He can’t believe it. No one can believe it. It’s been a hideous, scrappy game full of gamesmanship and frustrated revenge, and they don;t deserve to lose lie this, They don’t.

 In football, as in life, you so rarely get what you deserve.

 The team spend the first fifteen minutes of extra time in a fog of disbelief, the second in a haze of desperation, but it’s no good.

 Penalties.

 Bloody hell, penalties.

 They’ve practiced, they’ve all practiced, hour after hour on the training pitch, their tactics and takers agreed weeks in advance, but nothing can prepare them for the reality.

 Nothing could have prepared him for the reality.

 (I’ll take it, Rob. I’ll do it.

 Are you sure?

 Certain.)

 He’s never been less certain than he is now, but there’s no time for worrying about his nerves.

 “Gaffer?”

 Mills is pale but determined, water bottle clutched tight in his hand.

 “You’ll be okay, lad,” Killian assures him. “Just as we’ve practiced, aye?”

 “Yeah, of course,” Mills nods as though he’s never considered any other possibility. “I’m fine - are you okay?”

 He almost brushes it off, but his spine is still tingling from Emma’s kiss, his knees still unsteady after twenty years of regret, and Mills is so sincere, so brave, so very, very young.

“Shitting myself, mate.” Will slaps them both on the shoulders, and the moment is gone. “Let’s do it.”

 “Yeah,” Mills lets out a deep breath.

 Killian may never breathe again. “Lets.”

 ---

 The only sounds worse than the ball thudding off the crossbar are the squealing of tyres and the crunch of bone. He knows this, knows it intimately, but he winces all the same, his heart shrivelling in his chest.

 We'll go on getting bad results… getting bad results….

 That fucking song. That fucking song.

 Mills is up again and Killian can see the pressure hanging over him, hanging over the rest of the team as they gather in a huddle at the halfway line, can feel it like a physical barrier as he toes at the edge of the area.

 The ball is on the spot. In the air.

 In Mill’s hands.

 There’s a high pitched squealing sound as though someone is letting down an enormous balloon, and Killian just catches sight of Will falling to his knees as England step back up to the spot.

 And win.

 And win.

 ---

 He eats grass while lying flat on his face beneath a mound of grown men who’ve suddenly become puppies. He mops up the tears of the devastated lad who missed because that sort of pain, that hurt, transcends all boundaries of time and language. He applauds and dances in front of a stand of sobbing fans who scrub their faces with their flags and sing that song, that fucking song, until his ears are ringing.

 And then it’s dark, and quiet. And he’s alone in a stadium that reaches up to a cloudless, star-filled sky.

 Well, almost alone.

 Emma curls her fingers around his as she gazes up at the heavens and he in turn studies her profile, the curve of her cheek standing out against the distant chalk white of the goalposts.

 And for the first time in twenty years, he dares to believe.

[whitlockienterprisespresents]

‘Word of God’ is fanon, not canon

If you were excited for a second because you thought this was gonna be a discussion of religion, I apologise. Unless of course your religion is your fave entertainment media, in which case, strap in kids, we’re going theologising. 

I’m talking about the difference between ‘the creator said this’, and ‘this is actually evidenced in the text’, because as the years go on and the ivory-tower division between author and audience narrows, I increasingly see people adding any supplementary comments the author might make to the ‘canon’ pile along with the textual evidence, and frankly, I think it’s wrong to do so. I mean, I’m not saying “you’re not allowed to do this anymore because I, a random tumblr user, said so”, but I do think that we need to reinstate the concept of ‘death of the author’. Why? Because the story has gotta be able to stand on its own.

When we allow ‘Word of God’ to dictate interpretation of canon, we sever part of the essential function of storytelling, as well as 1) creating a ‘correct’ interpretation, and 2) giving creators an out to continually re-write their finished work by redirecting the fan response. This can be especially troublesome when it comes to representation: the showrunner is upset that people keep reading x character as ambiguously gay? They can be a bigot and declare that character to be Straighty McStraighterpants, and if we’re pretending that Word of God is canon, then we just allowed some shitty creator to queerbait the audience (a trick which we already know has been commonly used to build up the fanbase) and then opt-out of actually providing representation where it’s needed. Likewise, as nice as it is to have The Creator come and and say ‘yes, that character is gay’, if we are reliant upon Word of God for validation, then we’re not really getting representation at all, are we? If Dumbledore is never evidently (or at least strongly implied) to be gay in actual text, then JK Rowling saying that he’s gay doesn’t suddenly make him so. It’s just her opinion, and if you never seek the extraneous commentary to witness her opinion, then you’ll never know. A creator’s opinion - their fanon interpretation - is not part of the actual creative work, and therefore, it ain’t canon.

People use Word of God to ‘prove’ (or disprove) fan theories all the time; this last year I have seen it repeatedly in action between different factions of the Star Wars fandom after Rogue One as people debated whether or not the absence of a kiss or any other explicit physical or verbal indicator between the film’s two leads meant that there was ‘no romance’. I’m not gonna get into the ins and outs of the debate as a whole because there are various nasty issues of sexism and racism that tend to rear their ugly heads there and that is NOT the conversation I’m having right now: point is, I have oft seen the ‘yes it’s romance’ team cite Word of God to ‘prove’ their argument, and as per this entire post, I don’t think Word of God counts. You gotta argue your point based on the actual content of the film; whether you’re talking about the nuance of facial expressions, dialogue inflection, directorial choices, etc. - that’s CANON content; open to interpretation, sure, but it’s interpretation of the actual textual evidence. It’s very nice to hear that Actor #1 was playing for romantic subtext or The Writer wanted a certain piece of dialogue to function as a covert love declaration, but at the end of the day, canon is in the eye of the beholder, and if you want something to be beyond argument, it’s your job as a creator to be explicit about it, not to pipe up later to tell people they’re reading it wrong. 

This is all not to suggest that everything has gotta be spelled out in the text unequivocally or otherwise it doesn’t count; for example, just because The Powers That Be maintained the facade that Xena and Gabrielle were just the palliest gals ever and totally not HELLA ACTIVELY GAY FOR EACH OTHER THE WHOLE TIME doesn’t change the fact that every viewer with eyes and no pesky homophobic hangups recognised that plain as day. We don’t need Lucy Lawless to come and tell us all, in no uncertain terms, that Xena was a total lesbian - it’s really nice and reaffirming that she DOES say that, loudly and proudly, but the fact that she says it isn’t what makes it canon. It’s already right there, in too much evidence to be in dispute, even if it was never outright stated. If Lucy Lawless went to cons declaring up and down that Xena was The Most Hetero Ever (which she would never say, because Lucy Lawless is an ally and a gift), her remarks would not have some kind of straight-making Word of God power that made all the wlw have to give up Xena and Gabrielle as icons. Xena: Warrior Princess may have been a gal-pal product of its times, but they still slammed that one home under the conservative radar. Point is, we didn’t actually need Word of God(dess) to tell us that. You want people to know the thing? Put it in canon, and be a grown-up about it and accept the fact that your work is open to interpretation by virtue of existing. Your big chance to determine people’s reactions was when you were creating the work; if you fucked that up somehow, that’s on you. No take-backsies. No author is dead and the audience gets to see what they want to see. I think that’s a wonderful thing, to be honest.

[Addendum: the question of what counts as canon and what doesn’t in regards to supplementary information outside of the original text can extend to other pieces of creative media, not just Word of God - comic book spin-offs of tv shows is a major one. Do you count the ‘season eight’ comics of Buffy The Vampire Slayer as canon? The ‘season ten’ comics for The X Files, which happened before the show returned for the limited run of episodes now known as ‘season ten’, the content of which contradicts those same comics? If the comics are still sanctioned by the original creators and not independently fanmade, are they canon or fanon? In my own mind, I tend not to count multimedia-spanning work within the same canonicity (and this tends to spur me on to a whole ‘nother conversation about accessibility and elitism, which, not right now), but I’m not gonna tell y’all what to do with that. Diff’rent strokes, and whatever.]

Tl;dr: death of the author, baby. Don’t trust what ghosts try to tell you about their work. They released it into the world; it’s yours now to interpret as you will. Hurrah.

[rkseokwoo-blog]

SJ —@seung_juni uploaded new video!

pricked by mino and taehyung partner: @rkmbin moon bin is bold ; italic is both (complete lyric dis.)

                                                                              -- 13th JAN 2018

From when Seungjun was a boy, he’d always preferred bright and happy songs. He memorised the Three Bears to sing to his parents because every adult smiled when he began to do every cute motion and shout it from the top of his lungs. As he got older, he leaned towards the bouncy pop songs, the latest sweetly addictive tune from the hottest boy and girl groups. Ones with cute outfits and playful choreography. He wasn’t someone who leaned towards more melancholic songs, especially after his mother leaving and his fathers passing. The only reason he felt confident when Bin and he had decided on the song was because he knew he could act; he’d been good at acting emotional, he’d had years of shifting his emotions as needed. Still, he smiled brightly to hide his nerves the few times that he and Bin had practised comfortably, promising he would do the right emotions when it came to record but he wanted to get the rap right first.

Now the camera was aimed at them, two stools set up in Interstellars studio, and dressed in some of his more chic winter designs. Bin had suggested the free advertising and Seungjun never refused anything that was for free. His hand loose around the microphone as he glanced over at Bin. “Today, I have Bin here to help me do something a little different. Doesn’t he look handsome?” Seungjun chirped away, happily for the introduction and reaching over to pat the younger males back. His eyes crinkled as he finished off the introduction with his usual, “please enjoy watching! We’ve practised hard!”

The first few beats and strings were obvious to the mood and tone of the song, Seungjun’s voice lowered with his gaze as he started off the song. Something he was not used to as a rapper yet, already sinking into the act. He was someone in love, he was someone who had been tormented by a love too beautiful; he was his father, sitting in the dark of the lounge room, tired and drunk. He was a face buried in his own hands. A sight that was seared into Seungjun’s brain from when he was nine at the oldest, peeking through the door because he waited up until he heard the front door and wanted to welcome his father home. 

Please leave me without saying anything Please close those pretty lips, don’t torment me Without those traces that were so beautiful That swallowed the darkness These regrets hurts me Is this what you wanted?

Bin’s voice suited the vocals, cutting through with a painful sweetness for the pre-chorus, and Seungjun’s gaze only lifted enough to peek over. In his mind, he told himself he was never that hurt by his family’s circumstance. When his mother had left, he’d only seen his fathers pain and frustration; how much had broken in the man, jagged edges that appeared more and more as he grew tired from working too hard. As a boy, Seungjun had imagined himself to be indestructible. He was laughing and smiling the days after his mother had left, childishly ignorant to the fact that she would never come back, holding onto the responsibility he was left like it were the only anchor he had left. Take care of Sooah. It’s what became his whole focus from that moment on, standing one step behind her in case she fell down and needed to be picked up. He couldn’t even remember if he cried, it’d been so long ago now. 

He could remember his father crying though, Seungjun could remember being frozen in the doorway, too scared to say anything or ask if he was okay. The next morning he was ready for school before his father had to even ask him, his cartoons left un-watched, and telling his father about the dream he had where they lived in a giant house. A breath exhaled as he added in his backing lines for Bin, waiting for the exit of the chorus with his own lines.

I have love thorns (yeah) Are these the traces you left? Will I not see you again? (Where you at?) You, who I cannot touch Should we stop for just a moment? (yeah) It hurts so much that I can’t endure it Love thorns prick me (Kill myself) So I won’t forget you in this pain

(Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh) Even when we’re mature when we love After farewell, a child, child, child (Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh) Even if I blame you, who’s gone? I’m the one in pain

The second verse was Seungjun’s, able to find the words with an ease and precision. But his mind was unravelling what he thought he needed, pulling at the strings to place them all in the right emotion and he didn’t know why he stepped into the night the police had come. They’d seemed so tall, so large to his twelve year old self. His grandmother’s shock, her shaking hands, the way she clutched onto him as soon as she saw him. There had been a silence when they’d gone to the hospital, when they’d seen him the last time. It was the feeling of being frozen again, of seeing something he didn’t know how to fix and didn’t know how to interpret. His grandmothers loss had always appeared greater than his own, losing her son; suddenly and abruptly. Just like his father losing his wife, the love of his life, mother of children. 

But there he was the days after, greeting people who came to farewell and assuring them that he would take care of his grandmother and sister. He was smiling at those who seemed to be more at a loss than he was, he was holding his grandmother hand when she had to get up or started crying, he was making sure Sooah had something to eat or drink. 

Life is like a mayfly, It’s meaningless now Now you’re a dream I cannot dream again I become silence to you I become a breath that cannot be breathed comfortably I still can’t forget your traces, your embrace I would hug thorns but you are now on top of a hill I can’t see The blood that my feet leave behind as I follow I still say goodbye and my heart still cries Don’t leave things with me now, take everything with you

The song had so little do with Seungjun’s own emotions, but he was digging at them because he knew he had to find something. He wanted to do well with the song, he wanted to do his best -- and maybe that was why he’d never been a fan of picking songs with sadness laced through them. 

When Bin had began the pre-chorus again, Seungjun had tried to compose himself once again; retract further from his own memories and feelings. But instead he fumbled into being eighteen, into the relationship he’d had with a girl out of his league and how everything had imploded so quickly. The messages that came from people he’d never known, never spoken to, talking about things he’d said in private, how they told him that he didn’t deserve what he had, that he should stop trying -- internet popularity was a double edged sword and he’d not know what to do when lies branded him a target. He was only good at remaining silent on it, pretending he didn’t let the messages stack up or that he broke the promises not to read them. If he said anything, he feared his sister and grandmother finding out. 

I have love thorns (yeah) Are these the traces you left? Will I not see you again? (Where you at?) You, who I cannot touch Should we stop for just a moment? (yeah) It hurts so much that I can’t endure it Love thorns prick me (Kill myself) So I won’t forget you in this pain

(Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh) Even when we’re mature when we love After farewell, a child, child, child (Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh) Even if I blame you, who’s gone? I’m the one in pain

It the last of those lines, ‘even if I blame you, who’s gone? I’m the one in pain’.

They bite at Seungjun harder than the rest. Even if he blamed his mother for leaving, she was gone now. He’d not heard or seen her since he was a boy, his memories of he had faded from his mind more and more over time. She was not there to explain to Seungjun why she had decided to leave him alone, why she left the responsibility of Sooah to him, why she never looked back for him once. Even if he blamed his father for passing, he was gone too. He was in a place he’d never come back from, he was not returning to apologise to Seungjun for leaving him alone with too much to carry. He was not there to comfort or soothe; he was not there to take some of the weight from Seungjun’s shoulders. And for his own relationships, for the people who had attacked him from the shadows, they likely had forgotten what they had said and moved on.

Seungjun didn’t want to subject himself to pain, he didn’t even like getting needles and would break into tears over cuts and grazes. He was afraid of ghosts, of spiders, of heights. He avoided the things that could harm him. He didn’t want to suffer more. All he wanted to do was keep going forward until he could look back and everything was smaller.

Just in case, don’t come back You know that this will repeat again We will end up talking like we did before And make meaningless promises And leave behind the lie of forever Both of us will be alone again

It was Bin who ended out the song, with strong vocals through the chorus alone and Seungjun tried not to let his sigh be noticeable. Or how he needed the second to drag himself back out of his own head. The ease of the suffocating feeling in his chest made his lips curl into a smile like normal, his eyes to dart over at Bin with a lighter gaze. His head tilting slightly as he focused more of his attention on his younger friend, wanting to show that he was smiling and as if nothing was going on inside his head. 

“Binnie’s voice is so powerful. I think I got shivers,” Seungjun spoke childishly, holding out his arm to show the imaginary goosebumps that had appeared. “Look at the hairs standing on end.”

[tf2headshotcanons]

How would the mercs show their love and affection to their male s/o. Like dates they would take their s/o on, do they like kisses, etc

I want to clear a few things before I answer, if that's alright? Firstly, I personally don't ship any of them as gay (if you look at my sexuality blog, you'll see that only... 2? I ship as straight and the rest bi or pan. Those two are Sniper and Scout), so I apologise. It's because I don't see them as gay is why I'm running my own blog, because everyone else seems to make them gay so a lot of blogs are similar. I wanted to do something different with my different perspective (and no, I ain't asking for credit or praise doing that either!). So strictly gay (but not bi and stuff) asks are probably better left to the other blogs. Mainly because they fucking know their shit. I'm not gay, heck I've never been in a relationship, so actual loving shit is harder for me to do. does that make sense? O.oTo make it clear to that one cunt that sent me hate, || I do NOT hate gays || I just don't see the TF2 blokes as strictly gay (but many with the potential!) That's it! That's literally it!NOW I want to make it clear, If ya love someone. REALLY love someone. It doesn't matter if they have a dick or vagina. So this will sorta answer for both male and female, because if you love someone, their privates don't matter and that shouldn't differ how you love them. But for you, mate (a fellow Sniper fan), I'll try to gay it up for ya ;) Just... Forgive me if I'm not good at it. I'm not gay so I don't know how it differs. To me, love's love ain't it?HEADCANONMANNON TIME:Scout: Aww crap! He... He didn't expect to be... Ya know? He's honestly not comfortable with it, at first. Why? Because he always (forgive my lack of eloquentcy) wanks off to the most sexy and curvy women. But it never felt... Right. He's worried his mother won't accept him (little does he realise his father told her, and they both accept and love him, but it won't stop her teasing him). Scout... Well, Scout does like to see himself as confident and attractive, and to people he hits on - he can be! But when he actually loves someone? Bloody hell, is he kinda shy! Especially now that he's gay! So... He's timid, awkward, and sweaty. He's nervous and makes a lot of error, but ultimately he scores! He tries to be the "man" of the pair - you know, the protective and dominant one? But he's the lass, and we know it ;) Uhhh places, places... You know, fuck it. He's an amusement park kinda guy! Or a sporty guy (obviously) so places that get you out their! Scout... In the amusement park, would be out of his shell and just Scout. But if they did sports together, it'd be like a scene from Ghost, ya know, behind them and teaching them howta swing? That jobbie. Uhh what else do people do romantically? Um movies? Eat- Does he like kisses? Does he fuck! Though kissing Scout is like kissing a damn dog XP Any how, he'd overall be very competitive (but playful!) and try to protect them. He'd try to be the guy his dad wasn't to his mom. Basically, he'd see his partner as the "mom", but really that's him. Soldier: Ehh now, personally, this doesn't need too much of an answer. Because he has Zhanna, we basically know how he'd be in a relationship, and I'd personally see that he'd be the same with a bloke. Protective but knows he can fight, loveable and complimentary. Involving him in dumb shite and neck snaps. That sorta jobbie. And we already know he loves kisses, but the small and quick ones (preferably multiple times!). Honestly, it won't be much different if Zhanna had a dick... Well, she wouldn't have tits but still- My point still stands! He'd take him to the Raccoon Santuary, Training, Ball Games (ref: Demo), Merasmus' home. It's hard to say whether he'd be "alpha" because he'd most likely pick another strong character too. Chances are, they'd both be the "Dad" figure. I'm not sure whether he'd be a movie bloke. He ain't the brains, but he is the heart and spirit!Pyro: We... We don't even know what the fuck Py is. I'm going to use "they" as we don't know what they are, that would be the same for the same sex partner. Off topic, but If Pyro WAS a woman, I think she'd be good for Pauling. But you didn't hear that prediction from me ;) Anyhow, Pyro loves kisses! The same type as soldier, except loves them all day, errryday. If you give them one less kiss from the day before, they may get sad. Pyro loves watching movies, or colouring, or playing with toys, splashing in a pool, burning things or listening to a story. That's what they'd invite their partner to do. Pyro wouldn't be dominant, but they'd be the emotional crutch, they cuddler and emotive one. Basically, the "Mom" archetype. He's mostly passive BUT hurt their love and they WILL torture you! They're bossy and demanding, but full of love. Pyro just loves to be cuddled. Can we just assume for all of this that Pyro's a female and with Pauling?Demo: He's fucking cuddle central, ain't he? He's open to being gay. Suspected it. Doesn't mind it. Though I do think his Mum wouldn't accept - at first. In the end, she'd settle that he's happy and can adopt (And isn't lazy! That's probably her biggest peeve). Demo is the relaxed and chill lover. Doesn't stress, and although a hardworker can slip into bouts of laze. His man would have to be able to party but strict enough to snap him into place. Like Soldier, they may have gone out to the big ball game, or partying or drinking. You know what? Just suggest that it's Soldier he's dating! And yes, he loves kissing, but the sloppy passionate kind. He likes to take a date home to just cuddle and watch that shitty ghost drama. Oh, but his sword may be teasing you both. FYI. Overall, he's very easy going and outgoing. He'll need someone fun to keep up but somewhat strict to stop him relapsing.Heavy: He quietly mulls things over, but it's nothing new nor strange. Like Sniper, he's quiet and reclusive, though he's physically imposing. Though the quiet type, he's very protective and loving. Can even have a laugh. His ideal dates are quiet, reading, moving, or even deep discussions. Anything intimate and meaningful is a worthy date to him. Like Sniper, he probably needs someone a little more forward to approach him, but otherwise is the more protective one. He's very brotherly too and nurturing like a bear. He just loves time with his man, after all time is the most expensive currency. He's more reserved on kissing. You should know he loves you.Engi: He's another that may be mortified of being gay, mainly because the Southern stereotype of it being "unnatural". But he hasn't seen his old man in a VERY long time, so fuck his approval! Engi is another shy boy... At first. His not reserved, but he is nervous at first. He is what's known as a people pleaser and is worried to get it wrong. Where he's an adventurous inventor, he lacks in forward personality. His partner would have to be really smart and ambitious, though not afraid to try new things. He's romantic and kinky like the Medic. A bit freaky too~ So his bloke would have to be ready for anything INCLUDING surprise dominance. As far as dates go, he loves a traditional homemade dinner with a side order of philosophy and smart talk. He's also up for going to a pub but not much of a clubber, unlike Demo. He SEEMS shy at kissing, but he ain't.Sniper: He's honestly mortified at first. His already a pariah to his parents, God what if this disowns him?! God, it keeps him up at night and makes him sick. When the truth does come out, he doesn't make the first contact to his parents. In his mind, he's now an orphan. To his luck, his parents are just delighted that he's found someone to love. That's honestly their biggest wish for him. Like the Scout, he's withdrawn and reclusive. Not necessarily shy though. Just a loner, think the Wolf Children. It takes awhile to get in his heart, but when you do, he's the protective type. Awkward with intimacy and a little oblivious, which probably annoys his bloke but hey it's kinda cute! He's about the little things, holding hands and lying under the stars. He's probably the first to really settle too. He prefers natural dates, like camping or archery. Heck, maybe a bit of reading, knitting and crafting too! Or kayaking. He needs a slightly more dominant man, a friendly and approachable one, one who gives loners like him time and space, and understanding. Somewhere between social and anti. But he's a good lover, just a misplaced one. And traditional, just like his pa. He's more of a hand holder than a kisser, but his kisses mean a lot to his lover.Medic: The actual gay. He's eccentric and creepy, grumpy and funky, boisterous and ambitious. He'd actually be good for someone like Engi or Hoover. Dominant and frisky, yet around others he can be cold and withdrawn. Not in the shy way, but he's not always one to give out love. He loves to experiment and do some freaky things on the first date. Things that border illegal (like smuggling exotic animal pieces). Risk taker. He doesn't like kisses much, but in the mood he will fuck you silly. He seems prissy and cowardly, but he would be the Queen and dominantor of his man.Spy: Like his son, he's taken a back. Mainly because he's used to charming women but surprisingly, he doesn't mind the change. It's actually a turn on. He's a traditional charmer, dinner by candlelight and a movie. Though he's up to some freakier stuff if his lover allows it. He's the mysterious charmer, though he's drawn to sass and mystery himself. And though he can be quite feminine about his clothes, he still makes a good lover for a man. He's just VERY high maintenance. Sometimes, the mysterious men he likes probably can't cope with his high demands, but he calls them standards. He'll need someone who can cope with his high needs and mask. He appears self sufficient, demeaning and cold, but in reality, he loves to feel loved. He gives tough love but means it. And he loves heated passion, making out and hard sex.

[pllsetskyonice]

@yuriplisetsky is a size queen

Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky

2,900 words

“What are you talking about?”

“Your Twitter? Your thread that spends about ten tweets waxing poetry about the size of my dick? Everyone’s talking about it, the fans are going crazy, I had Victor ringing me up half an hour ago to ask if it was true and if I really had deflowered Russia’s Fairy like that, and I just – what the hell were you thinking, Yuri?”

In which Yuri gets drunk and Tweets some things he probably shouldn't have.

AO3 link

So @94mercy made this post that headcanoned that Yuri gets drunk one night and talks about the size of Otabek’s dick on social media, and I immediately knew I had to write it. Otherwise known as me just wanting to join in with all the hung!Otabek content that’s been coming out of this fandom in recent weeks. 

(Also tagging @daddybek because that’s where this all started back in February)

They’ve been dating for a few months when it happens.

Yuri goes round to Mila’s for a few drinks after practice one day, and they steadily make their way through a bottle of vodka, laughing and talking about their respective partners. The music is loud and Yuri feels all loose and giggly as he reaches for his phone, taking selfies and documenting their escapades on Snapchat. He’s never been this drunk before, so drunk he’s not even sure what order his memories from the last few hours go in, so drunk that he can barely stand, so drunk that the room is spinning.

He sits down and opens Twitter, starting to type. He doesn’t even think about what he’s Tweeting, just starts a thread and keeps on going until he gets it all off his chest. Mila is grabbing at his hands and pulling him up so they can dance together again, and Yuri’s phone lies on the couch, forgotten.

So he doesn’t see what he’s done until morning.

-

It’s the sound of his phone vibrating loudly on the bedside table that wakes him up. He’s in Mila’s spare bedroom, a small sized room with what feels like the most uncomfortable bed he’s ever slept on, but it evidently didn’t bother him at whatever time he collapsed onto last night. At least he made it into bed, he supposes. That’s an achievement, even if he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

He grabs at his phone, squinting at the screen. It reads 6 AM, and is somehow fully charged, even though he has doesn’t remember plugging it in last night. It’s far too early. Yuri wants nothing more at this particular moment in time than to roll over and go back to sleep to avoid dealing with this hangover from hell, but it’s Otabek that’s calling him, so he supposes that he’d better answer.

“Hello?” he says, his voice sounding all croaky as he unplugs his phone and rolls back onto his back. There’s light streaming in through a gap in the curtains, and Yuri would get up and close them properly, but they’re too far away to deal with right now. Instead, he opts for the easier option: pulling his blankets over his head.

“Yuri, what the fuck?” Otabek asks on the other end of the line. Even in this still half drunk, hungover state, Yuri can tell that this is Not Good. “What were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about?” Yuri replies. He wonders if it’s about his and Mila’s Snapchat stories, but from what he can remember there’s nothing too outrageous on them, just some really bad singing in questionable English to pop songs neither of them like.

“Your Twitter? Your thread that spends about ten tweets waxing poetry about the size of my dick? Everyone’s talking about it, the fans are going crazy, I had Victor ringing me up half an hour ago to ask if it was true and if I really had deflowered Russia’s Fairy like that, and I just – what the hell were you thinking, Yuri?”

Yuri fumbles with his phone, opening Twitter with his phone call with Otabek still active in the background. He doesn’t even need to go onto his profile to see it, it’s all over his timeline. “Oh, shit,” he swears as he scrolls through the Tweets. “I don’t even remember posting any of this. I was so drunk, Beka. So drunk. I’m sorry.”

-

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

Alright buckle in its gonna be a bumpy ride let me tell you a thing or two about the size of @otabekaltin’s dick

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I hope you’re ready bc I sure as hell wasn’t the first time I saw it – tho in fairness he did warn me about it beforehand

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

But I’m gonna be honest here and say I had to take a moment when we did somethinh sexual for the first time bc girl, I couldn’t’ cope

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

Shall we talk about the time he fucked me for the first time?

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

YES WHAT A WONDERUFL IDEA KETS CARRY ON TALKING ABOUT THE SIZE OF MY BOYF’S DICK FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTS

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

After all of the prep (srsly ive never seen so much lube lmao) he finally entered me (is that even the right word idk I’m so drunk rn)

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I’ve never felt so full in my whole life it was SO GOOD 10/10 WOULD RECOMMEND (although hands off he’s mine)

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

honestly tho I swear the sex gets better every time? He REALLY know what he’s doing with that thing let me tell you

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I did once ask if he needed a licence for it, he didn’t take it well lmao. Anyway, tl;dr: @otabekaltin’s dick is a godsend and

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I am forever grateful that I’ve got to experience such a masterpiece so many different times in so many different positions

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 5h ago

Replying to @yuriplisetsky, @otabekaltin

Holy mother of god is this true? PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS TRUE

Yuri Angels @yuriangels10 · 5h ago

Replying to @yuriplisetsky, @otabekaltin, @c_giacometti

AHAHAHA WE’VE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR AGES WE CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING

-

“Yeah, I figured, from the numerous spelling mistakes and yours and Mila’s Snapchat stories from last night,” Otabek says, sighing. “But that doesn’t make this okay, Yuri.”

“I know,” Yuri says miserably as he continues to scroll through the shit storm that’s taken over his Twitter. “Do you want me to delete the tweets?”

“I’m not sure what good that’ll do at this stage,” Otabek says. “They’ve already been screenshotted and reposted too Tumblr and Instagram and Facebook so many times that deleting the original tweets doesn’t mean that people will stop talking about it.”

“True,” Yuri agrees. He hasn’t checked Tumblr yet but he already feels like the Yuri Plisetsky tag will be trending on there, full of screenshots taken from Twitter and detailed posts discussing it all. Instagram will be full of people screaming in the comments, and Facebook will have people criticising his decision to share this all on the internet for everyone to see. No doubt someone has already put together a compilation video on YouTube of closeups of Otabek’s crotch with Yuri’s tweets edited onto it. “I can’t apologise enough for all of this. I’m so sorry.”

-

russian fairy @plsetsky · 4h ago

@yuriplisetsky is a size queen

Jenna @xxknifeshoesxx · 4h ago

Replying to @plsetsky

I can’t believe that this is confirmed, what the hell

skate away @quadloop · 4h ago

Replying to @plsetsky, @xxknifeshoesxx

Is it just me that rlly wants to know just how big Otabek is now?

russian fairy @plsetsky · 4h ago

Nah (I mean it might be bordering the slightly creepy territory but still, SOMEONE FETCH THE GUY A TAPE MEASURE)

-

“I know,” Otabek says. “I’m not happy that this has happened, but it has, so we’ll deal with it – oh no, Victor’s just messaged in the group chat.”

-

Victor: EXPLAIN YOURSELVES

Victor: [multiple screenshots of Twitter threads]

Yuri: …

Yuri: why the hell should we have to explain ourselves to you two??!

Victor: BECAUSE IT SEEMS LIKE EVERYONE IN THE SKATING WORLD IS TALKING ABOUT THE SIZE OF OTABEK’S DICK AND HOW MUCH YOU LOVE IT AND WHY DID YOU POST THIS ALL ONTO TWITTER?

Yuri: jesus

Yuri: stop yelling

Yuri: I was drunk and said some things on twitter, it’s not a big deal

Victor: It very clearly is!

Victor: Yakov is going to have your head off over this, I’m surprised he hasn’t called you yet

Victor: If you thought he was mad at you after Welcome To The Madness, then you’ve really got another thing coming

Yuri: I can handle yakov thank you

Otabek: I’d make a joke about how if you can handle my dick you can handle anything but somehow I don’t think that would be appreciated

Yuri: oh my god beka

Victor: You’re right, it wouldn’t be appreciated

Yuuri: Maybe

Yuuri: Maybe it doesn’t matter because they’re both consenting adults and what goes on behind closed door isn’t anyone’s business but theirs?

Victor: Yuuri I love you but that’s not the point

Victor: They’re going to get people going on about this for months, in interviews, in articles, online… it’ll come back to haunt you in five years’ time at a party when someone’s flicking through their camera roll and finds the tweets and is like, “oh wow who remembers when?”

Yuri: alright I get it my tweets are a ghost that’ll come back to haunt me

Yuri: can we all please calm down I really don’t want to deal with this rn

Victor: Is that because you’re hungover? Well you should’ve thought about that before you got drunk and posted a bunch of stupid tweets to twitter!

Yuri: *true, not stupid

Yuri: and stfu victor

Yuri: no one cares what you have to say

-

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 3h ago

I’M YELLING pic.twitter.com/t35v5f

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 3h ago

Someone should get yuri drunk more often this is GOLD

Mila Babicheva @mila_b · 20m ago

Replying to @phichit_chu

I honestly don’t know if I should be apologising or not

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 20m ago

Noooo! Definitely not lmao I WANT TO KNOW ALL THE SECRETS

-

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this banana bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/235g5y

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this cucumber bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/43qg5

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this aubergine bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/4gaf35

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 9m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this leek bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/98rga3

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 9m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this can of dry shampoo bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/257g23

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 9m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this chair leg bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/5gsgj1

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 8m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this table leg bigger than otabek’s dic? pls respond pic.twitter.com/43tg83

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 8m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this branch bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/6grg24

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 8m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this tree bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/7gr32t

Yurabek For Life @yurabek4life · 6m ago

Replying to @slicetheice

@yuriplisetsky is this dildo bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/24gw46

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 6m ago

u ruined it

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 6m ago

gtfo my thread

-

There’s a knock on the bedroom door and Mila enters, a glass of water in one hand and her phone in the other. Her hair is messy and she obviously didn’t get around to taking off her makeup last night, as her eyeliner and mascara is smudged around her eyes and what’s left of her foundation is decidedly patchy.

“Hey,” she says quietly, walking forward and placing the glass on the bedside table. “Thought you could probably do with a glass of water.”

“Thanks,” Yuri mumbles, reaching for the glass and taking a few small sips. Though his phone call with Otabek has now ended, they’re continuing to text as they both keep an eye on what’s happening on social media. Victor keeps texting him too, and Yakov keeps calling him, but Yuri is ignoring those. He doesn’t need a lecture right now.

Mila shuffles on her feet, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, looking down at the carpet rather than at Yuri. “I never should’ve got you that drunk last night.”

“You do realise I don’t really give a shit, right?” Yuri replies. Mila’s head snaps up and she stares at him, brow furrowed.

“What?” she asks, confused.

“I don’t care, Mila,” Yuri says. “Maybe in a perfect world I wouldn’t have posted those tweets and sent the figure skating fandom into a meltdown, and maybe people at Google questioning wouldn’t be wondering why there’s been a sudden increase in people Googling what the average penis size in Kazakhstan is, but it’s not the end of the world. Otabek wasn’t best pleased at first but I think he’s getting over it now. If anything, it’s just given everyone another reason to be jealous of the fact that I’m dating him.”

Mila scoffs, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re something else, Plisetsky,” she says. “Are you going to tell me, then?”

“Tell you what?” Yuri asks, feigning ignorance as he continues to scroll through Twitter. He’s trending, but he’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to feel about that given the circumstances.

“How big he is, of course!”

“Fuck no. Get out my room.”

“Technically speaking –”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

-

17 missed calls from Yakov

Yakov: What on earth is going on

Yakov: I hope you have a reasonable explanation for all of this

Yakov: I am concerned about that boy’s influence on you

Yakov: Please answer your phone calls

Yakov: Answer the phone when I call you!

Yakov: ANSWER THE PHONE!!

-

Otabek Altin retweeted

russian fairy @plsetsky · 5h ago

@yuriplisetsky is a size queen

Otabek Altin @otabekaltin · 1m ago

Replying to @plsetsky

Hell yes he is. ;) #yurisizequeen

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 30s ago

Replying to @plsetsky, @otabekaltin

#yurisizequeen CONFIRMED

-

Worldwide Trends · Change

#yurisizequeen

@yuriplisetsky and @otabekaltin are Tweeting about this

General Election

UK General Election ends in hung parliament

The King and The Skater III

@phichit_chu is Tweeting about this

#mysearchhistory

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve Googled?

Kazakhstan’s Hero

Otabek Altin is now being celebrated for entirely different reasons than the ones you’re thinking of

#thebigmeat

1,257 Tweets

-

Yuri Plisetsky

@yuriplisetsky

Gold medallist Russian figure skater. Otabek Altin’s boyfriend. Size queen.

St Petersburg

Joined March 2014

Born March 1

-

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky YOU UPDATED YOUR BIO AND I’M YELLING

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 10m ago

Replying to @phichit_chu

I was just showing who I am

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 8m ago

This whole thing is making my day #yurisizequeen @otabekaltin so how well does he take it?

Otabek Altin @otabekaltin · 8m ago

Now that would be telling ;)

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 7m ago

Is that code for “I’ve never had anyone take it so well before”?

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5m ago

Why must I be exposed in this way

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 4m ago

You exposed yourself

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 2m ago

…true

-

Yuri: I’m never drinking with you again.

Mila: Yeah, whatever you say

Mila: I will get you drunk again and get you to spill your secrets all over Twitter

Yuri: NEVER

Yuri: NOT HAPPENING

Mila: Sure, keep telling yourself that

Mila: So, you want to have a few drinks next Friday?

Yuri: …

Yuri: Fine. I’m in.

-

Yuri’s been back at his apartment for a few hours, doing nothing more than curling up on the couch and watching Netflix and contemplating if he can stomach food yet when the doorbell rings. He stares at the door for a few moments, confused, because he no one’s told him they’re coming around. Maybe he left something at Mila’s and she’s decided to drop it off when running errands or something. Sighing, he pauses Netflix, drags himself off the couch and shuffles to the door, his blanket wrapped round his shoulders like a cape.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yuri demands when he opens the door and sees Otabek of all people standing there. “You decided to just hop on the next plane to St Petersburg or something?”

“Um, yeah,” Otabek mumbles, brushing a hand through his hair as a faint blush spreads across his cheeks. With his other hand, he holds up a bag from the local convenience store. “I also got food. Wanted to make sure you were actually going to eat something today.”

Through the thin white plastic of the bag, Yuri spots a familiar label. “You got me Pringles.” They’re one of his favourite foods that he’s not really supposed to eat when he’s training, but they’re also what he really wants right now.

Otabek grins. “I did.”

“Have I told you how much I love you recently?” Yuri asks, making a grab for the bag. Looking like a kid at Christmas, he takes the lid off the Pringles and tears at the paper/foil one, before taking several crisps out of the tube and putting them all into his mouth at once.

“Well, you’ve told the world about how much you love my dick, but apart from that, no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Yuri says through a mouthful of crisps, rolling his eyes. “Come on, get in here.”

-

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 13m ago

Look who flew all the way from Almaty just to be here! ♥♥ pic.twitter.com/36uhghefh5

Otabek Altin @otabekatlin · 12m ago

Replying to Yuri Plisetsky

It’s good to be back. ♥♥

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 10m ago

I bet it is ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 10m ago

Oh yes ;)

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 4: THE HOLLOW CITY: EPISODE 01

SEASON 4: THE HOLLOW CITY: EPISODE 01

Episode released 12th October 2018

http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-4-the-hollow-city-episode-1

Now I have decided to do something a little different for season 4 of The Lost Cat Podcast, and I hope you will let me. I will explain, very briefly, before we start, what I will do. I was, to be honest, a little tired of me as the main character, and I wanted a change, so gone are the standalone episodes exclusively about myself and my search for my cat. Instead I will tell one story about  another character and her adventures in the city. I hope very much that you will like it.

There will also be no musical breaks and I do apologise for this but suggest, before we begin, if you are that way inclined, to pour a glass right now and join me while I narrate season 4 of The Lost Cat Podcast, and have a large glass of wine.

THE LOST CAT PODCAST BY A P CLARKE SEASON 4: THE HOLLOW CITY: EPISODE 1

It is night, and the city heaves with the slow breaths of the sleeping, and the furtive gasps of those hoping the darkness will hide their crimes.

But someone walked these streets to make sure those crimes would not be hidden, nor unpunished. Her name was Lisica, and this is her story.

Lisica is not her given name. She called herself that because once her lover had been Croatian, and Lisica meant Fox in Croatian. It was really cool. And it worked like gangbusters.

Every night she patrolled the streets and every morning some who may not have lived to see it, watched the sun rise, and some who had hoped to escape in to the day, were left behind in the darkness.

Every night she patrolled these streets, looking for the biggest game she could find.

As she began her patrol this night, she could already feel her breath quicken in anticipation, and her skin prickle with excitement. There would be big game tonight, she just knew. 

She looked at herself in a shop window.

Dark leather boots with smooth flat rubber souls it had taken her an age to find: flexible enough for gripping, firm enough for kicking. She had painted a skull on the toe of her right boot. Her kicking boot, she would say while smiling.

She wore smooth dark leggings and a smooth dark shirt, tucked neatly around the skull buckle of a thin dark belt.

Over this she wore her long black coat whose tails flowed out beautifully behind her as she ran, 

If you got close, and she let you look: into the black material were embroidered roses, swirls and skulls, all in a black thread. On the inside, deep in the lining, were embroidered initials that she had stitched herself. The stitching was rough and the letters skewed and she showed no-one these at all. 

And on her face she wore a mask, a black silk sash covering her mouth, tied at the back of her neck. Above the mask her eyes shone brightly out from a slash of dark make-up from cheek to cheek, and from nostril to brow, all reds, and blues and of course, the very darkest blacks.

It was a mask to make sure she was only known for her deeds.

And, strapped to her back, her blad,. for her deeds were often very dirty indeed.

She looked at herself a long time in the shop window, resting on her eyes, then put her head back and laughed out loud.

“I look fantastic!” she yelled.

And then made a mental note of where she could add another skull, of course.

She bowed to herself and then she began her patrol.

She said “let’s play.”

She climbed up on to the roofs and looked over the neighborhood.

For she’d had word that a factory had opened way back from the High Street, hidden to those not looking. 

It looked derelict, but trucks had been pulling up to it. Some of those trucks had airholes. Some of those trucks wept. 

This is how a factory worked: children were shipped in, lost, hidden and disposable, churning out cheap goods in shifts until their fingers gave out. Then trucks would ship out that did not cry any more and bodies would be found in the rivers.

Lisica reached back, snicked open her blade, and cut her thumb upon it. Then she ran her thumb down her face from her forehead her to the tip of her nose, making a line in blood.

“I mark myself protector,” she said. “And you’ll not harm another in this town.”

And then she swept down towards the echoing canyons of the warehouse district.

She walked lightly on rusted, corrugated roofs, and peaked in through a shattered sky light. Nothing but piles of rubbish and evidence of a years-long neglect. She swung in and walked the corridor, checking along the inside wall.

Wind whistled through the holes in everything.

And there: beneath the detritus suddenly the join between wall and floor was solid and clean, fresh and sealed tight. 

“Here we are,” she whispered.

One building hidden inside another.

She followed the whistling of the wind until she found a great fan embedded in the inner wall, providing air for the sealed box of the factory within.

A careful wedge near the motor and Lisica slid through. She walked the clean, cold corridor of the factory on the other side. The space hummed.

Through the corridor and on to a walkway, overlooking the main space. 

And there it was: a factory floor of children, metal and wire, with windowless rooms on one side that were clearly the dormitories, and men with heavy boots and weapons, patrolling the aisles.

She counted three guards, and one overseer. A dozen children with perhaps another six in the darkened dormitories.

She continued to make her way along the walkway.

The issues at hand were: how to take out the guards, and how to do it without hurting the children. 

Now it was not so much an ethical question for Lisica, over whether to kill the guards or simply incapacitate them, as an aesthetic one. Would it be a good look, one way or the other? Would it spoil the fun? They were questions Lisica would idly ponder when she had time.

But looking down now she saw the guards had heavy batons with tell-tale prods at the end for the delivering of electric shocks. A brutal and bullying weapon for the control of children.

“Well: your choice,” she muttered, answering the first question.

And the second was answered at the far end of the walkway: the junction box, haphazardly constructed in the rush to get this place operational. Very easy to break.

She whispered “the path of the fire,” then plunged the factory in to darkness.

She leapt down upon the first, grabbed his baton, turned the electrical setting to maximum and then slammed it in to the join between his hip and his crotch.

The spitting electrical arcs lit up the room with a deliciously strobing drama. Catching a still portrait of the guards rounding on her position, of her leaping from the first guard’s back in to the air, of the second guard swinging at the nothing where she used to be as she brought the arcing prods of her baton down in to the neck of the third.

All framed by the wide-eyed moon faces of the children.

As the emergency generator flickered the lights back on, Lisica stood above the body of the final guard, juddering on the ground as the electrical current slowly washed through him.

Her breath was quick, her eyes were beaming. She was delighted. Then she turned to the children. “Don’t worry kids. I’m here to take you away from this place.”

And they backed away from her. They refused to meet her gaze. Hmmm, Lisica thought, what’s up with that?

There was a bang behind her, and she swung around. There was a door, leading to a bright strip lit office. The overseer’s office.

She unsheathed her blade and approached.

Inside, a crouching, sweating man was holding the missing child close to him, and a knife to the child’s chest.

“Don’t come any closer! I’ll do it! It wouldn’t be the first! You ain’t getting me, so back away!”

Lisica walked in to the office.

A few moments later the child ran out. A few moments later Lisica came out, wiping blood from her blade. 

The overseer did not emerge.

Lisica found the factory floor deserted but for the unconscious guards. The children had all run in to the dormitories. Away from her. Something was definitely up.

But first she looked upon the unconscious guards and made her decision. With quick slashes of her blade she cut the guards in a deep straight line from the top of their foreheads down to the tip of their nose. The cuts were deep. They would scar. This was her mark. Everyone would know it. 

Then she sheathed her sword, and she approached the dormitories, carefully, gently.

She walked in and found all the children, huddling against the far wall. As they saw her, they cowered even further back, looking away from her. One whimpered.

“Hey,” she said, as comfortingly as she could. “It’s OK.”

She went down on her haunches. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to set you free.”

She pulled down her mask, revealing a huge smile and the dimples it made in her cheeks. “It’s only me. It’s only me.”

One of the braver children shifted forwards.

“You’re not her,” they said.

Lisica cocked her head, “I’m not...who?”

“We thought you were the Ghost.”

“Oh,” said Lisica. “A ghost?”

“There is a ghost. They say she comes in the night to take away children. And those she takes are never heard from again.”

“Well…” said Lisica, leaning in, her skin prickling. “tell me MORE...”

THIS HAS BEEN THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE HOLLOW CITY, THE FOURTH SEASON OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE. COPYRIGHT 2018.

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

Links

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thelostcatpodcast.tumblr.com

facebook.com/lostcatpodcast

soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

apclarke.bandcamp.com/releases