#it's been FIFTEEN FUCKING SEASONS THE MAN DESERVES A BREAK JUST LET HIM BE HAPPY AND FEEL LOVED FOR THE LOVE OF NOT GOD CAUSE FUCK THAT GUY

[rocknrolloccultist93]

Every time I think I'm finally over the ending of Supernatural, I peel back another layer of betrayal

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three – Chrono

Warnings: grief, resentment, lactation, animal death

----

For all that Anakin had said he could handle the twins, Rex still takes one in the sling as they go into town. They don't have a hoverpram yet, and neither of them could figure out a way to fold the fabric to securely hold the babies' heads up. Anakin takes Luke, and Rex takes Leia, and they ignore the whispers that still follow them.

The General keeps just behind his shoulder when they get to the hardware shop that carries the closest paint they can find in such a small town. It's not meant for armor, really, but speeder paint will do the trick for now. Rex's hands shake as he picks out the shades he needs, and the young Rodian at the register almost asks about it.

The issue isn't pressed.

They make their way back to the cottage, and Leia starts fussing fifteen minutes past the town's edge. Anakin looks like he wants to offer to take her back, but Rex is fine. He can comfort her. He can--

Anakin takes the paint, floating it along in the air before them, freeing Rex's hands to focus on the infant strapped to his chest.

"I'll feed her as soon as we get back," Anakin says, low and calm. "She's a little hungry."

Pacifier, then. They're only a few minutes out, by now. She can wait for them to get back to where exchanging the twins won't involve juggling.

Rex feels eyes on him, looks up and sees the soft, quiet smile on his General's face, and ducks his head back to Leia.

She glares up at him as well as a newborn can, sucking angrily on the paci in her mouth. Rex has no idea if she's actually upset or if her face just naturally follows such an expression, but it's adorable nonetheless. He hums to her, nonsense without words.

He's never learned lullabies; they picked up drinking songs in the field and from local soldiers, from their Jedi, war songs from their trainers, pop songs from the radio. A few learned lullabies, those who loved children and wanted their own, one day, brothers like Waxer who would have adopted Numa in a heartbeat if it had been an option.

He wants to learn lullabies. He wants to be able to sing children's songs to these tiny, helpless lives he holds in his hands, day in and day out. He wants to learn Mandalorian songs, real ones, not just battle chants and mourning melodies. He wants to be able to raise them with the childhood he didn't have.

"Rex? Door's open."

He looks up, and Anakin's standing on the porch, pulling the keys from the lock and gesturing in with his head. Rex hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking, subconsciously waiting for the blockage of the door to be handled. It's easier to focus on the children.

The paint gets sent to the backyard--trapped fumes wouldn’t be good for the children--and Rex lays Leia down in her crib. Anakin urges him to the backyard, says I’ll handle it about anything Rex uses to delay, and it’s only a few minutes later that Rex finds himself sitting on the grass, armor spread across a sheet of disposable flimsi, paints and brushes at the ready. He doesn’t quite remember setting it up, but he must have.

Anakin joins him, a twin in each arm and the Force laying out a picnic blanket. Leia’s nursing, swaddled up but content to suckle, and Luke seems happy to doze when Anakin sets him down on the cotton gingham. It’s a warm day, with a light breeze, and the babies are where the wind won’t carry the paint fumes.

“I’m here if you need me,” Anakin promises, though his attention drifts immediately to his daughter.

Rex begins to paint.

----

His remembrances are endless.

Every brother he’s ever known, every general he’s met, every small commander and random civilian, everyone he loved and knew. He lights a pyre, sings under his breath and tries not to break in a way that can’t be patched together. He mourns the tubies and cadets, the Jedi younglings, names he never learned and now never would.

Anakin gets Japor from somewhere, carves it whenever he’s too jittery to sleep and the twins are asleep. Rex recognizes a few symbols, like the open circle fleet, like Fives’ helmet eel, like Ahsoka’s markings. There are more, though, that are wholly unfamiliar, things he thinks are born of desert sands and binary suns, rough and painful and deeper in Anakin’s heart than even the Jedi.

He asks about the one for Fives, when he sees it.

He hides his anger.

Explanations, first.

“It’s an apology,” his General tells him, eyes distant. “I should have listened to him. I didn’t. The carvings are regrets, broken trust... that sort of thing. I’m part of why he died, and in that, part of why the rest is gone. He and his memory deserve a place of honor.”

Rex considers that, and accepts it.

Fives deserves an apology. The General recognizes that.

The General recognizes that he fucked up.

This is a good thing.

Rex lets go of his anger, still curled tight to his chest after months, as best he can.

He’s not very good at it, but he can try.

Luke starts crying, and Rex gets up to warm a bottle.

----

“I need to stay close to home until the twins are a little older,” Rex says. Teskarim, the woman at the childcare store, tilts her head to encourage him to continue. “I’m... I’ve never been anything but a soldier, and nobody here needs security services, but I can hunt. Do you know if there’s any kind of licenses required, or lists of which animals are legal hunt and which are endangered?”

“I... don’t,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “But I think the butcher’s shop can probably point you in the right direction.”

Damn. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone new today.

“Thanks,” he sighs, and shells out some of the local currency for more formula.

----

The butcher has answers, and preferences. Rex isn’t much of a trapper, but he’s a hell of a shot, and decent enough scout and tracker. He listens to what there is to hear, and mentally takes all the notes he can. There aren’t any licenses needed in this hemisphere, but there are legally-defined hunting seasons for different creatures. The butcher knows when the optimal times of day are, which parts of the nearby forest and mountains are best to stake out, and so on.

Rex tells Anakin about his plan. He gets a slow blink in response, a cringe in what he thinks is guilt, and an offer to meditate for the best direction to take when he goes out. He accepts the offer in the spirit its meant, and sets out the next morning with the expectation that he may need to spend a few nights out under the leaves and stars.

The calm and quiet are their own kind of comfort. He’s loyal to Anakin, and he already loves the twins, but there’s a part of him that needs to be away from natborns right now. Anakin was a Jedi, a general, and fought in the metaphorical trenches with the rest of them, but he wasn’t a brother.

They grieve many of the same people, but they do not grieve the same way.

Rex needs the solitude. Not forever, not even for very long, but he needs it.

It takes two days, but he finds one of the in-season creatures, a creature shaped much like an Alderaan deer, but larger, and with longer fur. It’s darker in color, too, and he gives it a bit of time to wander about until he can be sure it’s a male, and he’s not about to leave some fawns without a mother. The shot is clean, and it doesn’t take him very long to tie it up and sling it over his shoulders to bring back to town.

The trek back takes hours, and the creature on his back is a pain to carry, but it’s almost worth the looks he gets from the civvies. Eyes bulge out the sockets at the sight of him, and he’s glad his helmet hides his smirk. He’s Kamino stock, hardened by over three years on the front lines, and there’s a pride in how easy the physical things are for him. It’s not impossible for a natborn to carry this kind of creature this far without help, but it’s uncommon.

He kind of likes the attention, now that it doesn’t come with the many prejudices that being a clone always had.

Anakin meets him at the butcher’s, one twin on his chest and the other on his back.

Seems he’s found a solution to that.

“Here to help me barter a fair payment?” Rex asks, and gets a too-charming grin in response.

“Well, I’ve been doing it most of my life,” Anakin says, cheery in a way that feels pasted on. “And I’ll have a trick to know if we’re being cheated.”

It’s a solid response, but Rex doesn’t like it. He takes note of the bags under Anakins eyes. “Have you been sleeping, sir?”

“Twins,” the man himself says. “And don’t call me ‘sir,’ Rex, we’ve been over this.”

“You need to sleep, General.”

Anakin pouts at him, probably because of the title. “I can handle two days alone, Captain.”

Rex rolls his eyes and sidles through the entrance of the butcher’s shop.

They’ve got this.

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

part v

~

cw: homophobic encounter.

~

November

November shadows, 

shade November change

November spells sweet memory, 

the season blue remains

~

“Lo!” Finn called. “Guess who just got traded to the Rags.”

Cool dread spun its way into Logan’s chest at full force. He felt the point of one of his hips knock against the counter. “Quoi?”

“Marshy and Morgs!” Finn said, and the appeared around the corner into the kitchen, red hair a mess. “Like, together. Like us.”

“These were Harvard teammates, yeah?” Leo asked, spooning sugar into Logan’s coffee.

“Like us?” Logan said. “They’re dating?”

“Oh, no,” Finn laughed. “I just meant together, like, at the same time. Around the same time, I guess I should say.”

“Wow,” Logan nodded, which prompted Finn to imitate the way he said wow, drawing out the W’s. Logan smiled, lifting his cup to his mouth. “We could visit them over the next free weekend maybe.”

“Damn, that’d be a blast to the past.”

“What are they like?” Leo asked, leaning into Logan’s side.

“You’d love Will. Will Morgan, Morgs,” Logan said. “Really level-headed, probably the nicest person I know. Marshy…”

“Percy Marshall is one crazy motherfucker,” Finn said, and poured his own cup of coffee, black.

Logan leaned into mock-whisper to Leo. “And Finn gets insane when they’re together.”

Finn shot him a look, but continued. “Best way to say it. He’ll party until the sun, he’s crazy superstitious—worse than Cap and Loops combined—and he’s also,” Finn slid onto a stool. “One of the hardest working guys you’ll ever met. Probably the hardest working.” Finn’s smile was one Logan’s favorite one, made even more so by the fact that he got to see it directed at Leo. “Until I met you, that is, Nut.”

Leo let out a pleased laugh and let Logan brush a hand through his hair. “Well, they’re in our division now. I’ll get to meet them.”

“Oh, man, we’re in for a fucking treat when we play New York next,” Finn grinned. “Gonna hit the town hard.”

Leo snorted. “You guys might.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “I know everyone we need to know.”

“And I can finally tell you,” Logan began. “That the first time you dragged me around New York knowing ever person you saw, I loved you.”

Finn blushed a little and let Leo pull him to settle in the V of his legs from where he was leaning back against the counter. “Well, it’ll be nice to see them.”

Logan nodded, but part of his chest pulled. He cleared his throat. “Ouais. Also…”

When he paused, Leo tapped their socked toes together encouragingly.

Logan shrugged and looked down into his coffee. He thought of Finn’s quick breaths when they took the Cup back to Harvard. He thought of kissing him in their old room. He thought of everything before. Percy and Will were a part of all of that. Not directly, maybe, but Logan knew what seeing them again would do.

“Memories,” Finn said, and Leo nudged him.

“Don’t say it for him.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Memories,” Logan agreed. “Good and bad.”

~

Remus missed the net three times in fifteen minutes, and only barely managed to keep himself from breaking his stick against the boards. He would be embarrassed afterwards if he had, but could it really be so much worse than the way that he felt now?

He accepted Thomas’ fist bump as he passed him going into the locker room and sat down heavily in his stall. The game had been close, but the Devils had won out in the end. He glanced at some of the assistant coaches, who were murmuring together. There was no guarantee it was about him, but it still felt as thought it was. Sirius was talking with Evgeni, Evgeni’s loud laugh warming up the room. Remus stripped out of his sweaty uniform quickly and was headed for the showers with a towel around his waist when someone slapped him on the back.

“It’s decided,” Logan’s accent came from beside him. He wasn’t bothering with his towel, which was slung over his bare shoulder. The fleur-de-lis tattoo on his hip—and everything else—was on full display. “Me and Talker are taking you out tonight.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean exactly?”

Logan just smiled. “No boyfriends. No hockey. We have a day off tomorrow, so no pressure. Just some drinks.”

“And some pool, maybe,” Thomas said, coming up to Remus’ other side. “What do you say, Loops? Fun, eh?”

“Okay, one of you is butt-naked right now and the other is in a three-piece suit. I’m going to say yes and shower, all right?”

Thomas gave a whoop, and Remus couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he dropped his towel in the change room and turned on the hot water. He felt like a sling-shot lately, being catapulted one way, and then in the opposite direction. He guessed he should feel thankful that his friends could pick him up like that, and he did, but another part of him caved in beneath the sheer affection.

I’m letting you down.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and looked over his shoulder when he felt a gentle, quick kiss against the back of his neck.

“Bonsoir,” Sirius said with a soft smile, and went to the shower head beside him.

“Hi,” Remus smiled back. “Beautiful goal tonight.”

He watched the water lace over Sirius’ tan skin, darkening his hair further as he pushed it back, away from his face. “You’re beautiful.”

“Hey, Olli,” Finn called across the showers, making Olli look over at him. “You’re fucking beautiful, man.”

Olli just squeezed shampoo into his palm. “I know that, Harzy.”

Sirius’ laugh echoed through the showers, joined by others, and Remus let it warm around him like the steam.

“Apparently Tremz and Talkie are taking me out tonight,” he said to Sirius as they walked back into the locker room.

“Tremz,” Sirius called over to him. “Ouch.”

“Pas de capitaines,” Logan waved him off and went back to looking at whatever Leo was showing him on his phone. Sirius laughed and looked back to Remus.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “Wake me up when you come in if I’m asleep.”

“And go to bed without a kiss?” Remus glanced down at the towel slung low across Sirius’ hips, then back up to his bright silver eyes. “I’d never.”

Sirius smiled and kissed him, but Remus felt the unspoken settling between them. Sirius had stopped bringing up wanting to help with Remus’ shortcomings on the ice. Remus knew he had brought that upon himself with refusals after refusals to talk about it, but now it felt more like a thing. An object. An ugly vase in the corner of the room.

Maybe he really did need to go out tonight.

Thomas settled in his stall beside Remus. “We’re gonna go to Red’s, yeah?”

Remus nodded as he pulled his gray t-shirt over his head. He held up his dark jeans. “I can wear this, right?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m not wearing this thing,” Thomas picked at the lapel of his suit. “Noelle already screen shotted the snapchat I sent her. Why keep it on now?”

Remus just laughed. “All right, Talkie. Lead the way.”

Red’s bar was shoved up against the side of a larger block of buildings in Gryffindor. Remus glanced up, one or two stars were poking through the increasingly cooling loud cover. Inside it was warm, though. Foggy in the way some rooms get when there are lots of happy people in them. Logan had chosen a long-sleeved, dark gray cotton shirt, so thin that Remus could see each ridge of his defined muscles and his necklace, too.

“What the fuck happens when that thing gets wet?” Remus snorted, plucking at it as they waited for their drinks at the bar.

“I’ll pretend we had a fight,” Thomas said. “Throw a drink on you, find out.”

Logan just eyed them suspiciously as they leaned against the bar. “You guys are strange.”

Thomas just flagged the bartender, stretching the white material of his thin knit sweater. He ordered a whiskey, Logan a rum and coke, and Remus opted for a lighter gin and tonic. They still had a game on barely 72 hours. Not that anyone was that much of a light weight, but he didn’t want any assumptions being made, any photographs taken that could put him in a worse light than he already was.

“I know what this is, you know,” he said after Logan and Thomas’ intense COD debate had gone on too long. They both looked over at him, the picture of innocence. Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Media’s a bitch,” Thomas said. “That’s all this is. Hockey’s hard. You can’t help that you live with Cap, who makes it all look like a piece of cake.”

Logan laughed. “I think Cap would disagree. He stinks after games, mon dieu.”

Remus and Thomas shared a look. “And you don’t?”

“Finn likes it,” Logan smirked. “Gets him going.”

“Are you sure its the stench and not the muscles?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Logan waved him off. “I’m not talking about this with you two. We’re here for Loops.”

Remus groaned. “Guys…it’s not…I mean every player goes through this, right?”

They both nodded.

“Sure,” Thomas said. “But it doesn’t help that some people—“

“Assholes,” Logan amended.

“Right. It doesn’t help that some assholes don’t think you deserve to be here.”

Remus tilted his glass towards him. “Yeah.”

“We just think…” Logan began uncertainly, tongue poking out to wet his full bottom lip. “Look, I love Cap. He’s like a brother. But he’s intense. For him…sometimes hockey solves hockey.”

Remus wavered. “Yes and no.”

“We just thought you might want some other ears,” Thomas offered a smile. “I mean we can’t offer a feel good night of lovin’ to make you feel better…”

Remus snorted. “Right. You know, Talkie, that’s exactly what Sirius calls it.”

Thomas cracked up, too. “But we can offer drinks. And, you know…”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “Ears?”

“Right,” Thomas nodded. “Look at Tremzy over here, finishing my sentences.”

Remus let his smile die down a little. “I…thanks, guys. I mean, I love talking to Sirius, but I also…he is the Captain. He’s a representation of all of us. I feel a little…” Remus took a slow breath, not sure if he was even ready for the words to come out of his mouth. “I feel a little like I’m letting him, and you all, down sometimes.”

“Aw, Loops,” Thomas said, voice softened.

“I know,” Remus sighed. “It’s just…it creeps in sometimes.”

Remus watched Logan swallow. “I get it. If there’s anything I can understand it’s guilt.”

“Tremz,” Remus said comfortingly. “I guess I should listen to my own advice here, but it’s not your fault. I can be ears, too, you know.”

“Is this…” Thomas said quietly. “Carrot?”

They both stared at him. “Carrot?”

“Code names,” Thomas whispered, even though the tables were noisy and the bar was somewhat empty.

Logan laughed a little, and nodded.

Remus waited. Logan gathered thoughts slowly, carefully. Interrupting, he’d learned while talking with Leo, tended to scatter them. He was also happy that the spotlight wasn’t entirely on him anymore.

“I found him at Harvard,” Logan began, swallowing dryly despite the drink in his hand. “And I was a mess. And then we spent that year apart, and I was a mess. And then I found him again, in Gryffindor, and I was a mess. I fell in love with Leo and I was a mess.” He looked at them, eyes pleading, then back down at his drink. “I am so, so happy now. It worked out. I can’t believe my luck. I wake up so fucking happy every morning. Every little look at them, my life with them, is incredible.”

Remus and Thomas waited some more. Thomas sent Remus a half smile across him, then leaned his cheek on his fist.

Finally, Logan finished. “But I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t a mess without them.” He closed his eyes, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, it really does. Tremz, I get it.” He tilted his glass, making his ice cubes stir the liquid inside. “You’re someone when you’re with who you love. But you gotta be your own someone, too.”

“Ouais,” Logan was already nodded. “Right, like…Re, you’re you, no matter what. Leo, he’s the same way. Finn, too.”

Remus sighed. “I’m not so sure right now. But I think what you’re saying makes sense. Tremz, you’re allowed to want that for yourself. It’s not a slight to the boys. At all.”

Logan laughed, still laced with frustration. He rubbed at his eyes. “But I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

Remus smiled. “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a pretty level-headed duo in your corner. I mean, Finn’s Finn.”

Thomas snorted. “Might take him a second.”

Logan smiled and it was fond. “Yeah.”

“But Leo…” Remus snapped his fingers. “He’ll get it. They both will.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at the bar. “I’m not asking for space. I don’t want space. I don’t want anything to change I just want to stop feeling like I’ll crash and burn by myself.”

“Me too,” Remus admitted. “Maybe in a different way, but…me too.”

“I don’t know if I feel like I’m gonna crash,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “But hey, life’s tough sometimes.” He smiled and raised his glass. “Friends.”

They clinked their glasses together, laughing, the conversation turning to organizing a pick-up game in the park that weekend—if it didn’t snow. 

“Gotta use the big WC, gents,” Thomas said after a while, picking up his crutches. “Then pool?”

“Who the hell calls it that?” Remus snorted.

“Me,” Thomas called over his shoulder, politely excusing his way through the crowd with his charming smile and causing a few longing looks to follow him at his back.

Logan drained the last of his rum and coke. “You don’t feel like Cap’s putting pressure on you, do you?”

Remus looked at him, eyes widening for a moment. “God, no. No, he’s been nothing but supportive. It’s mostly me, I think. He even wants to talk about it. Sometimes I just…can’t.”

Logan nodded. “Good. No, good, I just thought I’d ask. When I first met him, he’d get like that with me sometimes. Wanting to run extra drills or talk through tape. I snapped at him for it a bit. This was before he was really who he is now.”

“Parents were lingering in him,” Remus nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

A man came to lean against the bar beside Remus, then, and Remus shot him a smile that he hoped looked friendly rather than uneasy. The guy was really in his space. He shared a look with Logan, who’s shoulders were rounded a little in alert, green eyes narrowed in on the guy.

“You’re Lupin, eh?” the man said.

Remus sighed softly, looking down at his now watery drink. He should’ve known.

“Yep,” he replied, and looked at the man. He had two friends, hovering a little ways back.

“What’s going on this season, huh?”

The worst part was that the man was smiling, as if he thought this conversation was going to go well.

“I mean, I know you’re with the Captain and all,” the man said. “But, I mean…come on. Some of us care about how the team does.”

“Excuse me?” Remus replied.

The man tilted his head, looking mockingly regretful. “It’s not just about you.”

“Okay,” Remus said, keeping his voice flat.

“What he do to get you there?” the man asked, leaning in like they were friends. “I mean, like…some type of reward, or does he already give you those at home?”

Remus flushed. “I think we’re done talking.”

At least his friends had the decency to look a little nervous.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Fuck off, man,” Logan said in a low tone.

“What,” he sneered. “You got yourself a boyfriend, too, Tremblay?”

Logan was on his feet then, stools screeching back, taller than the man, stronger. Remus’ arm shot out against his chest, keeping him and his balled fists back. The man’s friend stepped forward, too.

“Whoa, Mike,” one of the friends said, hesitating. “That’s not why we…that’s not what this is.”

“Oh,” Thomas scoffed, announcing himself as he made his way back to them. He somehow made his crutches and boot look threatening. “Wrong type of harassment for you, my guy?”

The fans’ eyes went large. “Talker…”

Thomas just stared at them, and Remus watched him go from Thomas Walker with his friends to Thomas Walker on the ice, defensemen. Enforcer. “Only my friends call me that. Sit down at your own table or get out.”

Thomas shouldered through them, one crutch landing briefly on Mike’s shoe, who only just bit back a groan. Thomas was all bright, sharp grin as he sat down, leaning his crutches against the bar again. He waved the bartender over, then looked at Mike who was still standing there.

“Do I have say it again for you?” Logan snarled. “Trust me, you don’t want me to.”

Logan sat down slowly as the three men backed up and turned away. Remus pressed a thankful hand to his shoulder, also meant to calm him down a bit.

“Well, that was fun,” Thomas sighed. “Jesus. We take you out to forget about it and those three show up.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said, though his heart was pounding. “I’m surprised that was the first time it happened. Had a close call at the grocery store the other day.”

“Another round?” Logan asked. “Then pool?”

“Ouais,” Remus smiled, in his best impression of Sirius.

~

Most of November passed without change. Remus felt the stagnant ball of frustration in his stomach. He and Sirius cooked together, slowly mastering more and more recipes. Remus lived for the triumphant look on Sirius’ face when a dish came out just right. He went out with Logan and Thomas, with James and Sirius, Finn and Jackson and Kasey. He never felt more at home than when he was tucked against Sirius’ side at a team dinner, watching Logan toss food into Finn’s mouth from across the table, hollering when he caught it and then ruffling an embarrassed Leo’s hair, who was shushing them.

The weather had officially turned to Gryffindor winter, biting harsher and harsher with each night. It got to the point where Marlene started bugging them all about the Christmas video—for the fans, she kept insisting. Come on guys, it’ll be fun!

Evgeni seemed to be the only one who was truly game for it.

Remus wasn’t unhappy, but the media was growing more and more aggravated with him, the fans’ patience was running thin like ice, and now Arthur had started sending him glancing looks until, finally, he pulled Remus into his office as the boys were packing up.

The ball rolled around Remus’ ribs, fighting for space with his heart, and he sat in the leather chair across from Arthur’s desk.

Arthur took off his glasses, which was a bad sign. He didn’t say anything for a long time and Remus didn’t have the courage to make him.

“I know,” Remus finally said, and then his throat choked up. “I’m…”

“I don’t want any apologies,” Arthur said. “And, God, Lupin, I didn’t bring you in here to yell at your so get that look off your face.”

Remus blinked through the scarce relief and looked down at his hands.

“Media’s being real tough, I know,” Arthur sighed. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Remus said. “I’m just…it’s not connecting, I…I don’t know. Maybe I could put in more time one-on-one with one of the coaches. Or ground work with the trainers. I know we’re about to go on the road. Maybe tomorrow morning before practice.”

Arthur hesitated, then nodded. “If you’d like. But overworking yourself isn’t gonna help if that’s not the issue. Frankly, I don’t think skill is the issue. You’re a beautiful skater out there. You’re wicked fast and can misdirect hits like I’ve never seen. But…”

“No net,” Remus mumbled.

Arthur looked regretful. “No net.”

Remus nodded. “I’m working on it. I’m doing everything I can.”

“I don’t doubt that, Remus. Really. Don’t think I do. I’ll be seeing you at the Dumais Thanksgiving, yeah?” Arthur asked.

Remus nodded, spared a smile. “Of course.”

Arthur smiled back and rose. He clapped Remus on the back as he opened the door to his office again. “Good. Try and relax over the break, okay? I know it’s short, but sometimes its less work that pays off. It doesn’t always have to be more.” He looked up. “Ah, another young rascal I’ve had to say that to.”

Remus looked up to see Sirius’ smile, his dark hair curling against his neck, but otherwise tucked under a thick black winter hat. Every muscle in Remus’ body eased at the sight of him. He wanted to wrap himself up in Sirius, tuck himself inside of his winter coat and never leave.

“Cap,” Arthur gave him a nod. “See you for Turkey. Who you’ve got for the big game?”

Sirius just shrugged. “American football. Who cares?”

Arthur made a wounded noise—and another one came from Leo and Thomas down the hall as they were bundling up for the cold. Evgeni was holding Thomas’ crutches for him as Jackson helped him into his coat. Remus cracked up and took the warm palm Sirius held out. They walked down the hallway that smelled familiar and warm, under toned by the scent of carpet and cleaner that, had it been any stronger, would have been unpleasant, but it just added to the familiarity.

The garage door rattled shut behind them as Sirius unlocked their back door, letting them into their warm kitchen. Remus shook out of his coat, hanging it in the closet and rubbing his hands together. With his coat and bag, he tried to drop everything else at the door. This was his and Sirius’ space. This wasn’t a rink, or a locker room, or the press room. Theirs. The word was warmer than the heat Sirius had set to come on a half hour before they got home.

“I’m starving,” he said. “What do you feel like? I maybe want pasta.”

“I feel like you,” came the reply from behind him.

Remus’ smile was slow and he turned to see a glint in Sirius’ eye. “What is it, the cold weather? You’ve been all riled up after games lately.”

Sirius just grinned, hands squeezing Remus’ hips. “I love watching you out there.” He pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek, his neck and his nose, between each phrase. “I love your face, I love your feet, I love your shoulders, and the way you bite the finger of your glove while you watch the game between shifts.” The kisses got considerably more heavy, lingering and accompanied by the the brush of a tongue and teeth. “I love the way you cradle a puck and the way you tape your stick. The way your hair sticks to your neck.”

Remus just smiled, eyes closed. “I’ve been playing like shit.”

“Nu-uh,” Sirius said, and Remus whined a little at the next nip, letting Sirius rock him back against the kitchen counter. “Slumps are normal. You play amazing. Just no points. Shit and slumps,” Sirius said, and Remus’ mouth went dry as he was lowering himself to his knees. “Shit and slumps are different.”

Remus let out a laugh. “Aren’t those the words to turn a guy on.”

Sirius just grinned and bit at his pants zipper. “I love you.”

“Better choice.”

Sirius carefully pulled Remus’ zipper down. “Can I? Here?”

Remus only reply was tugging Sirius’ hat free to get at his hair, the thick strands weaving between his fingers. He could already feel himself getting interested, pressing against the slip of his boxers by Sirius’ proximity alone.

“Sirius Black,” Remus sighed as Sirius nuzzled against him.  He stroked over his hair, overwhelmed with how much every part of Sirius meant to him. “I love you.”

Sirius took one of the hands Remus had in his hair by and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Remus let Sirius’ mouth fuzz his mind out, moaning softly at his hollowed out cheeks, laughing at the gentle nips to his hips and thighs. After, Sirius kissed him against the counter until both of their stomachs growled. Remus pressed his mouth against Sirius’ flushed hot cheek.

“I feel like a million bucks, thanks, baby.”

Sirius just smiled, tucking himself away.

It was true. Remus felt home. Settled. Almost as if he could forget the conversation today. Maybe even like he wanted to go down the the basement rink, just for fun, which he hadn’t felt like in a while.

“D’accord,” Remus sing-songed. “We have pasta or chicken or both.”

Sirius grinned. “Both.”

They were mostly quiet as they cooked, bumping hips, iPhone playing softly through their speakers. Remus watched the way Sirius kept his fingers carefully curled away from the knife, like Remus’ mom had taught him that summer. His tongue peaked out of the corner of his mouth, the same way it did when he was carrying a puck up the ice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asked softly as Remus minced garlic.

Remus glanced over at him, then kept his eyes on his fingers, so close to the sharp blade. “Um. Coach says it’s not my fault. He says I’m playing well. It’s just…pointless.”

“C’est pas—”

“No, not like pointless, like, pointless. Like I’m not getting net.”

“Ah.”

They smiled at each other, Remus’ a little shakier.

“Yeah.”

I feel like I’m letting you down.

“I feel…” Remus began, and the words caught. “Um. I mean, it’ll get better. It has to.”

Sirius’ expression flickered, but he nodded. “Mhm.”

“Do you feel like a white sauce?” Remus asked, turning to the refrigerator. “Go well with the chicken.”

“Sure,” Sirius nodded. “Sounds perfect, mon loup.”

Remus took a long breath as he opened the refrigerator doors, maybe taking longer than necessary to find the half & half. He was angry at himself. He didn’t know why the words were sticking to the back of his throat. He didn’t want pity, he supposed. He didn’t want Sirius to feel like he had to comfort him. Remus closed his eyes.

He’d do better.

~

Leo and Finn had their shoulders pressed together, each with their own book in their hands, when Logan opened the apartment door.

“Got the cream,” Logan raised the shopping back, and Leo all but leapt from the cushions.

“Yeah you do,” Finn said without looking up.

“Thank you,” Leo slid on his socks in his rush to get to Logan. He pressed his palms to Logan’s cold cheeks, kissing him in a quick burst. “Thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Logan smiled as Leo scurried back into the kitchen to finish making his part of the the American Thanksgiving dinner Pascal was hosting.

“I can’t believe I ran out,” Leo said, stirring something on the stove.

“It’s fine, Le,” Logan said, shrugging out of his jacket and following him in. “Happy to get you whatever you need.”

Leo turned, a touched pout on his face, and Logan beat him to it this time with a slower kiss of his own. Leo tasted like the caramel he had had them all taste test earlier and Logan licked into his mouth eagerly.

“I love you, too,” Logan mumbled.

Leo’s expression softened in the way it always did when one of them said that. Maybe Logan wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe his luck.

“Want to peel sweet potatoes?” Leo asked with a hopeful grin, and Logan laughed.

“Sure, soleil.”

Finn gasped from the couch, eyes on his book, glasses on his nose. “They kissed. I fucking knew they would.”

Leo gasped, too. “No. Harzy, spoilers, you’re faster than me.”

Logan looked between them. “Are you guys reading the same book again, like, next to each other?”

“Sorry,” Finn said, but he was gripping the book like another secret might spill out. “And yes.”

Leo pressed a peeler into his hands with another kiss, this one fast and skittering across his cheekbone.

“I love both of you,” Logan sighed as he picked up the first potato. “You’re weird.”

Finn closed his book without marking his place and heaved himself up with a groan, cracking his back. He came to sit at the bar counter across from where Logan was peeling.

“Thanks for the help, Harz,” Logan said.

“I don’t like it when my hands smell like potato.”

Leo laughed. “Sweetheart, how’d you ever survive on your own?”

“Take out,” Finn and Logan answered at the same time.

“And catering,” Finn added. “I think the NHL is used to boys who can’t cook. Marlene just slid the caterer’s card into my hand without a word.”

Leo just shook his head. “She tried the same thing on me. Honey, please.”

Logan and Finn shared a smile, both turning to gaze at Leo’s back.

“How much time do we have?” Leo asked.

“Like, two hours, babe, you’re good,” Finn said.

“Do I have time to ravish you in your glasses?” Logan asked.

Finn raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh, these old things? You want to wear them?”

Logan dropped his peeler and walked around the counter. He spun Finn to face him on the stool and Finn’s feet hooked around his calves, holding him there. “Non.”

Finn smiled, leaning forward to nip at Logan’s bottom lip and pull.

“Tremblay, potatoes.”

Logan groaned and Finn gave his butt a firm slap as he pulled away. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

~

“Uh, hey dad,” Cole cleared his throat. “It’s me. I just um. I’m in Pascal Dumais’ house. Can you believe that? Uh, I just wanted to say…you know, happy Thanksgiving, and all that. Maybe you can come out to a game soon? Yeah…let me know, I can get you tickets. Okay. Okay, see you. Merry—or happy Thanksgiving. Yeah, okay. Bye.”

Cole sighed as he put his phone down and looked around the Dumais’ sitting room. It was tidy, with food laid out every table, ready for guests. Cole, after that phone call, already felt tired.

There was a knock on the doorframe and he turned to see Layla, smiling at him hesitantly. She held out a glass of a deep colored wine. “I thought maybe you’d want some.”

“Oh, I can’t, uh…” Cole began.

Layla snorted. “Me neither, but…” she glanced around the tall-ceilinged living room. “Who’s gonna tell? Dumo? Please.”

Cole laughed a little and took the thin stem from her fingers. “Thank you.”

Layla nodded, bending for a cheese and cracker. “That sounded a little tough. If you don’t mind me saying.”

Cole pocketed his phone. “It’s not really. Well…maybe now it is. But I don’t think of him that way, of this that way. He’s a good father.”

He sounded defensive even to himself and sighed. “When he decides to be.”

“He hard on you?” Layla asked. She took a seat on the couch and Cole glanced around before settling on the ottoman of one of the fat leather chairs. “About all this?”

“Hockey?” Cole said, then laughed. “No. No way, he doesn’t give a shit about ice hockey. My mom got me into hockey. My dad still hopes I’ll be, like, I don’t know…I don’t know what.”

Layla frowned. “It’s not like you could’ve been a money-bags doctor and chose to paint watercolors instead?”

Cole cracked a smile. “Yeah…Yeah, he sort of skipped around a lot before I actually started getting good.”

“Oh,” Layla said softly.

The doorbell rang. And then rang again and again, like someone was jamming their finger into it repeatedly.

“Tremzy!” he heard Katie shriek a moment later.

Warm voices filled the hall.

Cole rose and, after a moment, offered Layla a hand. She smiled, letting him pull her up. “It’s not as sob-story as it sounds.”

“I get it,” Layla nodded. “My older sister skipped altogether when I was little. Still don’t know why. I know it’s not the same but…”

“I’m sorry,” Cole said.

Layla just smiled, one of her bright ones, and wrapped her hand—gold rings and all—around his arm. “Come on. Shit’s about to get wild.”

“And delicious,” Cole said, turning towards the smells coming from the kitchen.

Layla laughed, and Cole wanted to hear that sound twenty more times.

[voiceless-terror]

#21 and #46 for kiss prompts, maybe? I can't get enough your writing tbf

kiss on a dare- a little jonmartin season one fluff <3 All in all, this is one of Tim’s better Friday nights.

It’s been ages since Jon’s hung out with them, and never with Martin along for the ride. The Archives had been off to a messy start after the Dog Incident and Jon’s subsequent panic over the state of the place. What used to be an ‘every couple of weeks’ tradition turned into an almost-never one as the newly-assembled team got buried under more and more boxes of dusty statements. He’s pretty astounded that Jon agreed to dinner and drinks- although it’s a Friday night, Jon’s been apt to stay weekends more often than not. He figured if he arranged for it at one of theirs instead of a pub, Jon would be more likely to come. He always preferred less crowded settings.

No, the real feat was getting him to come knowing Martin was invited.

Jon’s been getting...better around him, that’s true. He was perfectly fine at his birthday party, going off about emulsifiers for a solid fifteen minutes. Tim’s always been rather fond of Jon’s infodumping, and if he’s comfortable enough to do it around Martin that must be a good sign. Despite an initial freeze-out, he now thanks Martin for his tea and saves his most pointed comments for Martin’s more egregious screw-ups (and even those have less bite than usual). Still, a colleague does not a friend make, and Jon’s never been good at opening up to people he doesn’t know all that well. However, Jon just nodded at the Martin caveat, seemingly not giving it a second thought. And Martin didn’t seem all that worried either.

Whatever, Tim’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s just happy they’re all here, having a good time. It’s late and Jon’s had enough wine to keep a smile on his face. He missed that. It’s nice how easily they slot together, even with all of the upheaval and a new addition. Martin himself isn’t so shy after a drink or two, more willing to engage in banter and keep the conversation going. This is what it should be like all the time, Tim thinks. Shitty archive job or not. 

It’s when they retire to the living room, drinks in hand, that he finally notices the little grin on Sasha’s face. And Tim, knowing exactly what that means, is both a little afraid and excited. Four-drink-Sasha has always been a host unto herself.

“Why don’t,” she begins, a hiccup interrupting her as she slumps into an armchair. Tim snickers and ignores the glare this earns him. “Why don’t we play one of our old games-”

Tim raises a glass in agreement as Jon, predictably, groans. Martin looks quizzically between them. Ah yes, time for your initiation, Marto! Not that they’ve played this in about a year or so, of course, but it's always fun to revisit the good old days.

“Seriously? We’re not children-”

Tim gives Jon a playful slap on the back that sends him flying forward on the couch, spilling a bit of wine on Sasha’s rug. He hopes she doesn’t notice. “C’mon, it’ll be fun, boss! Nothing like it to break the ice, and there’s definitely some ice that needs breaking.”

Martin blinks, hand tightening on his glass. He looks nervous, like he always does when he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on. Which is a shame, because he’s been so nice and open all night. Even chatting with Jon. “Sorry, what are you talking about?”

Jon rolls his eyes, giving Martin a commiserating look. “Truth or dare.”

Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh, relaxing minutely. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” Jon’s foot reaches out to shove at Tim’s leg. “Tim loves pulling ridiculous stunts-”

“-Hey, you loved the karaoke idea-”

“You sing?”

“No.” Tim would dispute that, but the look on Jon’s face declares it a bad idea. “And Sasha likes to ask probing questions.”

Sasha preens, though the remark was certainly not meant as a compliment. “What can I say, I’m the Queen of Truth-”

Tim snorts. “Hacking and blackmail more like-”

“Anyway-” Sasha sings out as Tim dodges a pillow to the face. “Tim….truth or-”

“Dare, always dare.”

“You’re absolutely no fun,” Sasha pouts, though it doesn’t take long for her eyes to narrow in thought. There’s very little Tim won’t do, but that’s a dangerous look. “I dare you...to text…”

“Text? You can do better than that, Sash.”

“Text...Elias.” That’s more like it. 

Jon immediately scowls. “Tim, no-”

“I don’t have his number-”

“I do-”

“Sasha!”

“Jon, it’ll be fine! He’ll just say ‘oops, wrong number’ afterwards, no harm, no foul-”

Tim takes this time to snatch at Sasha’s phone, sitting precariously on the arm of her chair. She doesn’t notice, too busy gesturing at Jon empathically. He scrolls through her contact list.

“And then it’ll come down on me-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “How is he going to connect it to you? It’s not like he knows we’re all together-”

“Done!” Tim tosses the phone back onto the couch with a little grin. Sasha blinks, looking down in confusion.

“Wait, that’s mine-”

The screech and smack on the arm at Tim’s hastily fired off ‘u up? ;)’ to Elias Bouchard were definitely deserved. He’s sure he’ll face consequences for that in the near future, but Jon and Martin’s immediate laughter had been well worth it. Shouldn’t dish it if you can’t take it, that’s Tim’s motto.

In the next round, Tim manages to get Martin to confess to his poetry-writing habit, an admission that has him turning an attractive shade of red. Jon just giggles quietly to himself as Martin reads through one of his poorer attempts at rhyme saved to the notes of his mobile. Tim watches the two of them; Martin keeps looking up at Jon throughout it all like he’s the only one in the room and god, his crush is so evident and yet Jon is oblivious, smiling at him like he’s not on the receiving end of some of the most loaded glances of all time. 

Martin gets Sasha to admit to her most recent perusal through confidential institute records, which turned out to be previous archival expenses (solely to find out what Elias would cover with their new jobs, of course). At first glance, there wasn’t much in the way of extravagant meals or supplies, but a bit more digging had her finding Gertrude’s extensive travel budget. For an old woman, she certainly was a globe-trotter.

“All I’m saying, Jon, is that we could definitely do with a trip to China-”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to ask Elias about Gertrude’s trip to China, something I certainly shouldn’t know about, and he’ll have to let us go.”

“Refill?” Martin’s on his feet, taking Jon’s wine glass in his hand and Tim watches as their fingers brush- go Martin!- and yet Jon just nods his thanks, completely oblivious to the seduction taking place before him. Tim’s given it some thought and honestly, he thinks they’d make a cute couple. An odd pair, for sure, but Jon’s so soft once you get to know him, and Martin’s one of the funniest, sweetest guys he knows. They could be good for each other.

“Well, I still think it’s worth a try.” Sasha’s eyes are starting to blink heavily - she’ll be out for the count tonight, for sure. “Anyway, it’s your turn. I dare you-”

“I didn’t even pick!” Jon says, though he doesn’t seem too put out by it. This is the Jon Martin should know, the easy-humored, smiling man sprawled out before him. He’s even taken his little sweater vest and tie off, looking more like the familiar friend from research Tim knows so well. It warms his heart.

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare, I suppose. Seeing as how you already have one queued up.”

“I dare you to...to...to give a little kiss to someone in this room.” She waves her glass around imperiously. “Anyone you like.”

Silence. Tim gives Sasha a warning look that she ignores. She’s well in her cups, and he supposes any sense of propriety has gone out the window along with her sobriety. He’s actually seen Jon give quite a few kisses on a particularly memorable New Years Eve, but that was a different time. He doesn’t want him to feel pressured, not when he’s just starting to open back up.

 “Jon doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, you remember-”

“It doesn’t matter- Jon, you can skip this one if you like, we can think of something else-”

“Tim, it’s alright.” Jon puts a hand on his arm to stop the argument, and there’s a strange look in his eyes that can’t be attributed to liquor. It’s mock-serious, almost playful paired with his little sly smile. He thinks for a moment that Jon’s going to lean in and kiss him but instead he gets up from the sofa in a smooth motion and walks across the room to Martin, who’s just turned around with two glasses in hand. He freezes in place as Jon gets on his very tippy toes, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him. 

Jonathan Sims. Kissing Martin Blackwood. Against a kitchen counter. Martin Blackwood, who, once he’s over his surprise, puts the drinks down behind him and kisses right the hell back, arms winding around Jon’s waist like they belong there.

What. The. Fuck.

_____

“The leg bit was a nice touch.”

“Hmm?” Jon’s in Martin’s lap, sprawled out on his couch back at his own flat, eyes closed in contentment as he leans back against the other man’s chest. Martin’s got one hand in his hair, and the other entwined with Jon’s, twirling the black ring on his finger. It’s heavenly.

“Thought you were trying to climb me.”

“Well, you usually pick me up at that point, make it easier.”

“Sorry, next time.” Kissing Jon’s always fun but kissing him out in the open, in front of their friends? Was that something they could do now? “Should we tell them we’ve been dating for two months?” 

Two whole months since that night in Document Storage when Jon had finally let his guard down. When Martin had held him in his arms. Jon was very particular about keeping up appearances, though that all seemed to have crumbled tonight. Sasha rather fashioned herself a matchmaker, and Jon didn’t do anything to dissuade the fact. It’d been nice, having their relationship to themselves, the secret of it, the obliviousness of their friends who still thought Jon only tolerated him. It’s not that he wanted to keep it that way, of course, but it was nice while they were still figuring it out. 

“If you’d like. Maybe it’s time.” Jon tilts his head back, giving Martin a fond look. “Though I know how much you enjoy playing the lovesick fool-”

“There’s something so poetic about unrequited love, yknow?”

“All the more when it’s requited, I’d say.” Martin couldn’t argue with that. He leans down to give Jon’s forehead a peck. 

“Hmm. Give it a few more weeks. Act out the honeymoon phase for a bit, it’ll be fun.”

And when Jon squeezes his hand and smiles back, Martin thinks he won’t need to do much acting at all.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31318724

[herstarburststories]

illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?” 

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before?  It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

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[allsassnoclass]

"I did the dishes" for whoever you feel like! love you very much my dear xoxo bella

alrighty here is mashton with “I did the dishes” :)

Ashton doesn't often wake up to the sound of someone else in the apartment.  He doesn't have a roommate and locks his door every night, so hearing music in the kitchen and the sound of someone rummaging around immediately has the hair on his arms standing on end as soon as he's awake enough to process it.  His hockey bag is on the floor by the bed, stick thrown on top of it, and he reaches for it quickly, ignoring the twinge in his chest from getting checked hard into the boards yesterday.  It's not bad enough for him to need a break, so it certainly isn't bad enough to prevent him from fighting off an intruder if he's being robbed.

He pushes his door open slowly, creeping forward with the stick raised and ready to swing.  He can see a shadow extending just past the doorframe, the music muffling any other noise.  It's not until recognizes My Chemical Romance and hears a voice that is distinctly not Gerard Way sing about being scared of teenagers that he pauses.

"Michael?" he asks, leaning the stick against the wall and entering the kitchen.  Michael turns around and grins, plate and drying cloth in hand.

"Good morning!" he chirps, turning down the music and looking far too happy for this early.  The clock on the microwave says that it's already nearly noon, but out of the two of them Ashton fairs far better in the morning than him.  The smile is disconcerting.  The fact that Michael managed to wake up before him, get over here, and let himself into the apartment is even more so.

"What's going on?" Ashton asks, rubbing his eyes.  His chest twinges again, so he puts an arm up and starts slowly stretching, other hand cupping the side of his ribs.

"I did dishes," Michael says, gesturing to the now-bare counter.  "You're a slob."

"It's hockey season," Ashton defends.  He switches his stretch to the other side, still taking stock of his body.  He's had worse, but that doesn't mean he's happy to be sore.  Fuck Dawson and his aggressive checks.

"Hockey season doesn't mean you should let your dishes grow mold on your counter," Michael says, putting the plate away and bunching up the towel.  Ashton frowns, because the dishes were a few days old max, but Michael barrels on without giving him a chance to reply.  "How are the ribs?"

"Fine," Ashton says, reaching for a mug.  Michael gets there first, putting the coffee on for him, too.  Ashton frowns.  "Is that why you're here?  I don't need to be coddled."

"I'm here because we were supposed to have a brunch date," Michael says, giving him an unimpressed look.  Ashton flips through is mental calendar and tries to figure out what day it is, then groans.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Mike.  I lost track.  It's--"

"Hockey season," Michael finishes.  "I know.  And I know that you've had a long and tiring week, too."

"Let me make it up to you," Ashton says, stepping forward.  He runs his hands down Michael's arms until he can take his hands.  "We could go for lunch, just give me fifteen minutes to get ready."

"Can't," Michael says.  "I'm covering a story about kids hockey lessons down at the rink later.  One of the feel-good pieces, you know?  Unfortunately my job extends beyond watching you get beat up on the ice.  Sometimes the spotlight has to be on other people, too."

"Did you at least make me look good in last night's segment?" Ashton asks.

"I actually mostly talked about Hemmings.  It's those dreamy blue eyes.  The audience eats it up."

Ashton snorts, pushing Michael gently with their joined hands.  He bounces back even closer, smoothly breaking Ashton's personal bubble.  Hockey is a contact sport, so Ashton is used to other guys bumping into him or slinging an arm around his shoulder or jamming an elbow into his ribs, but the only person who never trips his internal alarm bell is Michael.

Michael brushes their noses together, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"If I could, I would tell everyone that you unequivocally deserve to be player of the year every year and use each segment to highlight your best parts of each game.  That wouldn't be very objective reporting, though.  I'd probably be fired, then I'd have to actually pay for a ticket to watch your games instead of getting in with a press pass."

"Wouldn't want that," Ashton murmurs, closing the remaining space between them to capture Michael's lips in a long, slow kiss.  Michael hums into it, but breaks the kiss early and wrinkles his nose.

"You have morning breath."

Ashton groans, tipping forward to rest his forehead against Michael's shoulder.  Michael brings a hand up and starts carding through is hair, which actually feels really nice but does not negate how mean he's being by withholding kisses.

"All you've done since you broke in is insult me," Ashton says.

"And do dishes."

"And do dishes," he concedes.  "That was nice of you, I guess."

"I'm plenty nice," Michael huffs.  "I could've held a grudge against you for forgetting our date, but I didn't.  I'm being the bigger man here.  I even let you sleep in, since I know how badly you need it."

"I'll make it up to you," Ashton says, straightening up so he can look Michael directly in the eyes.  "Our next date is going to be so good it'll blow your mind, I promise."

"Only if you can stop focusing on hockey enough to plan it," Michael says.  "I'm not waiting until the end of the season for a date.  Now I have expectations."

"I can multitask," Ashton says.  "Half my focus on hockey, half on you, 24/7.  Or it'll switch off: you, then hockey, then back to you."

"If all of your focus is on me and hockey, when are you going to do your dishes?" Michael asks.

"That's what I have you for," Ashton says cheekily.  Michael laughs, bright and loud in Ashton's kitchen, and it fills Ashton's chest with an ache different from the one he got from being checked.

"I'm really sorry for forgetting our date," he says again once the laughter has died.  "I was looking forward to it this week, honest.  I was exhausted after the game and forgot to set an alarm."

"I know," Michael says, cupping his cheek.  He sweeps his thumb over Ashton's cheekbone and it almost turns his knees to jelly.  In the middle of the season, Ashton sometimes forgets that a world outside the rink exists, a world where an amazing guy named Michael will heckle him and do his dishes and gently touch his face like he's something soft and precious.

"Are you sure you have to work today?" he asks.

"Yeah, but I can come over later tonight if you're up for it."

"Please," Ashton says.  "I always want to see you."

"Good.  I always want to see you, too."

"Good," Ashton grins.  Michael mirrors it, making Ashton's heart skip a beat.  This close, seeing Michael smile that wide is like looking directly into the sun.

"Come on," Michael says, reaching for Ashton's coffee mug and handing it to him.  "I have some time before I have to leave.  Drink your coffee and talk to me about stuff, hockey-related or not.  Give me a mini date right now."

"Mini date that ends in a kiss?" Ashton asks.  Michael rolls his eyes and pecks him on the cheek as he passes, making a beeline for the couch in the main room.  Ashton scrambles to follow.

"So," Michael says once they're situated.  "What the fuck was up with Merrick last night?  He's never played like that before.  How did you manage to get a goal past him?"

Ashton takes a sip of his coffee, smiling to himself before he starts to analyze last night's game with Michael.  He loves hockey more than anything, but lately Michael has been creeping up there, too.  Hockey is his life, but Michael is all of the good parts in-between.  He knows from personal experience that not a lot of people like his one-track mind during the season, but Michael has never made him feel bad for his love of the sport.  In fact, Michael is the only non-player that Ashton has met who comes close to matching his enthusiasm, and that more than anything makes Ashton feel better about the four-letter word on the tip of his tongue every time he sees him.

He hasn't said it yet, but he will.  The feeling is there, anyway, and Ashton has a pile of clean dishes stacked in his cupboards that makes him think it's reciprocated.

[msjr0119]

Return to New York

Part 2

Riley Brooks never returned after being thrown out of the Coronation. Liam cleared her name, and they tried to find her with no luck. One day they returned to New York and by fate she turned up at a cafe due to Daniels ‘meddling’.

Using combined tags for this one shot turned series, if you want to be removed as always let me know 👌

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desiree-0816 @twinkle-320 @queenjilian

*****

“The reason myself and Kiara didn’t work was because of you. She knew that I was in love with you.”

Liam, Maxwell and the rest of the restaurant jumped in reaction to the echo of the glass shattering everywhere- the floor now covered in a sticky residue due to the mixture of alcohol. The two men jumped out of their seats, immediately rushing over to a shaking Riley- and witnessing Drake behind the bar stood dormant not knowing what to do.

“What did you do to her?” Maxwell shouted at his friend, assuming it was his fault as he hadn’t rushed over to help her.

“He did nothing, he was helping me with the drinks- you know how much of a klutz I am Max. I got distracted, they just slipped out of my hands.” Riley lied, not knowing if the two men knew the truth about Drakes feelings- his confession was still sinking in, not knowing how to react- not knowing how they would react to her secret, something she lied about a mear few hours previously.

“Lady Riley, you are not clumsy. Are you okay?” Noticing Liam picking up all the broken glass, she began to panic.

“I’m fine Liam. Go and sit down, I’ll clean it up then go on my break.”

“It’s fine, just get us a brush and something to put the broken glass in- I insist. I’m a king but I’m capable of cleaning up a bit of mess.” Riley nodded knowing she couldn’t refuse king’s orders even if he was in her city. Watching her leave, the two men snapped their attention towards Drake as he eventually moved from his position behind the bar.

“What did you do her?” Maxwell repeated his previous question. “Clearly she’s freaked out by something, she isn’t a klutz.”

“I... I told her that... fuck. I told her Kiara knew I was in love with her and that’s why we never worked. She wasn’t lying when she said they slipped out of her hands.”

“So why would she react all shaken up? Surely girls love it when a man tells them that they love her?” Maxwell was confused by her reaction, deep down he knew she had feelings towards Drake also. Everyone could see it, their stolen glances were noticed even if the two of them didn’t realise they were doing it.

*****

Sitting in silence, the three men cleared the glass up as Riley went on her break. Going back to their table, they slowly tucked into their meal- none of them wanting to mention her name. Not realising why they were still lingering in New York- hope. Hope that she would return with them was most likely the reasoning.

“Mommy!” The three men all turned their heads towards the bar, Riley had finished her break and was preparing a milkshake for a little girl sat on the edge of the bar.

Mommy they all said in unison, Maxwell was now wondering if that was the reasoning behind her panicking before. A man in a suit walked up to the bar and kissed Riley on the lips. Briefly focusing her gaze over towards the table- she knew they were going to question her immediately. Max, I don’t know what you’re on about? I’m definitely single, and I’ve definitely not ‘popped’ any kids out- thank you. At that moment in time saying this, she believed that they would be rushing back to Cordonia, she lied about being single because she didn’t want to hurt them all- especially Drake.

“Sorry i keep telling her to not call you mommy.”

“It’s fine, besides I’m going to be her mom soon. Is my ring fixed?” Retrieving the box out of his pocket, Riley grazed her finger over the diamonds.

“Of course it is. Here you go...” The man knelt down on one knee, sliding the elegant ring on to her finger.

“Riley Brooks, when I met you and hired you to look after my daughter- I instantly fell in love with you. I can’t wait to call you my wife.” The three of them all hugged each other- Drake gulped watching the interaction, Liam looked concerned at his friend who was clearly heartbroken. Maxwell on the other hand needed answers. Abruptly standing up, he stormed over interrupting the sweet family moment.

“Hi I’m Maxwell. And you are?” Scrutinising the mans body, Riley could tense that Maxwell was annoyed with her- she decided to begin with the introductions praying that the usual calm yet fun lord wouldn’t cause a scene.

“Erm Harry, this is Maxwell a close friend of mine, practically my brother.”

“Hi Maxwell, I’m Harry- this is my daughter Lissy.” Harry held his hand out towards Maxwell, who rudely ignored the gesture.

“Ah so this is the kid you look after.”

“Yes my soon to be step daughter.” Flaunting the ring in Max’s face, he was happy for her - but he knew she still loved Drake and that this was probably all a facade. It was difficult now a kid was involved. Mouthing I’m so sorry to him, he focused his gaze towards the little girl who was clearly in awe of Riley.

“Nice to meet ya, high five Lissy.” Lissy followed Maxwell’s actions. “Can I borrow you a sec Riley. Please.”

“Sure, I’ll see you two at home in the morning?” Giving then a brief hug, she followed Maxwell away from the bar- still in hearing distance for Liam and Drake to ear wig.

“So this is news..... I thought you was single and you couldn’t tell me?”

“You’ve been out of my life for three years Maxwell. I didn’t want to hurt any of you.”

“Yeah I wonder why you’ve been away for so long? We looked for you... couldn’t find you.... we all care for you.... has he got a big dick or something?”

“Well actually.....”

“Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question. What about Drake? He loves you...” Well actually I’m still madly in love with Drake. Harry doesn’t compare. I can’t break Harry’s heart, he’s done so much for me.

“He got in a relationship with Kiara when I left. I didn’t see him making much of an effort. Then he comes here admitting his feelings for me, the same feelings that I held for him. And only him. I’ve moved on Max, he should do the same. You guys are from Cordonia, I’m stuck here.”

Drake stormed out realising that he had lost her, realising now that she seemed happy- happier than she was during the social season. Liam was debating going after Drake, or speaking to Riley instead- choosing the second option he knew Drake was the type of person who needed to cool off before being confronted.

“I hear congratulations are in order Lady Riley.” Even though you insisted that you was single, he muttered to himself but still was able to wear that infamous stoic expression.

“Thank you your Majesty, I’m sorry for lying to you all.” Maxwell shot Liam a look of disapproval- in his head they needed to get Driley together not congratulate her and push her away from them.

“What time do you finish?” Maxwell asked changing the subject.

“In a couple of hours why?”

“Before you go home, come to my hotel room- I want to spend time with my sister before I leave you again.” Scribbling the hotel name and room number on a napkin, she agreed to see him. Liam shook his head, knowing exactly what his friend had planned- it was a dangerous game that Maxwell was playing.

****

Walking down the road to the Crowne Plaza, she got in the lift to the 30th floor, feeling dizzy in the lift she wasn’t sure if it was due to the lift skipping fifteen levels or nerves about spending time alone with Max. Knocking on the door of 3007, her eyes widened seeing someone other than Max- now realising that the younger Beaumont had set her up.

“Hi... is Max here? He told me to meet him at this room.” Little shit bag.

“You’ve got the wrong room Brooks. He’s on the floor below.”

“Okay, thanks. Have a safe flight back. It’s been good to see you Walker.” Fuck he’s got no shirt on, I need to get out of here quick.

“Riley wait...” Grabbing her hand, she felt that spark as she did all those years ago. “Come in for a drink? A brief catch up? If you... don’t want to .... it’s fine.”

“Whiskey?” She smiled softly at him, avoiding trying to look at his muscled body.

“That’s the most idiotic question you’ve asked. Of course there’s whiskey.” Opening the door wider, he allowed her in. Unknowingly to the two of them, Liam and Maxwell stood in the hallway and both high fived each other before returning to their separate rooms.

*****

“Here.”

“Thank you Drake.”

“So I now know why you freaked out... Congratulations Brooks, you deserve all the happiness in the world.” Not able to look at him in the eyes, she sighed before walking over to the window- looking down onto Times Square. Seeing everyone rushing about, witnessing couples taking selfies and sharing a smooch, watching people dressed in costumes conning people out of money in an instant.

“Thank you. But he’s not you....” Regretting this slip of the tongue, her mind was now confused more than ever.

“As Kiara was never you...” she heard him whimper as he laid on the bed. “I hoped that you would have returned to Cordonia on your own accord after we couldn’t find you. I imagined you coming back, I thought about how to woo you back, treat you like a girlfriend not like a suitor. Funny how things change.” Noticing her fidget with her engagement ring, he was jealous of her fiancé immediately. “Nice rock ya got there Brooks.”

“It’s too big and heavy, it slipped off my finger when we first became engaged and it became damaged. It feels weird wearing it again. It’s not me at all, I’d much prefer a simple ring- something that had a sentimental meaning.” Something like my grandmothers ring then, Drake thought before shaking his head.

“What happened to the little girl’s Mom?”

“She tragically passed away. I will never be her mom. I will never replace her mom, she just calls me it.”

“You’d make a brilliant mom Riley, she’s lucky to have you, as is he.” Standing up he poured himself another whiskey, staring deep into the brown liquid she joined him. Placing her hand over his, she took the tumbler away from him- placing it gently on the table along with her engagement ring that she had removed from her finger.

“Drake... there’s something you should know... I couldn’t let you return to Cordonia without you understanding something..” Keeping her hand resting over his, she turned to face him- sorrow in her eyes.

“Riley it’s fine, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m fine. As I said twice before you deserve happiness.”

“I do though, because you are acting as if I never loved you the way you stormed out of the restaurant.”

“I did that because I couldn’t see you with him. I blame myself for letting you go. Loving you in secret throughout the social season kept me sane, made me look forward to attending events for once in my whole life- I could have died saving Liam and Kiara from the assassins. All I thought about was you...I was thankful that you wasn’t there.”

“I heard that you was quite the hero huh?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Sure it isn’t, many people don’t jump in front of a bullet risking their own life.” Hovering her hand over his chest, she placed a gentle kiss on his scar. The only reason she knew the exact location was because of Hana and Olivia informing her of his injuries. Riley had insisted on returning, but they advised against it as he was in an rocky relationship with Kiara at the time.

“I lost you, maybe I thought that the risk was worth taking- I had nothing left.” He whispered in her ear- his hot whiskey breath lingered around her neck. Moving a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, they both stood frozen, fixated on each other. Seeing him gulp as he admired her, she wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer. Their foreheads brushing, neither wanting to regret what could potentially happen. His hands went around her petite frame, effortlessly lifting her on to the mahogany desk. Caressing her cheeks, his gentle touch was deja vu from the night of the Coronation. Leaning down he had nothing to lose, if she wanted to punch him she could, if she wanted to kiss him back- this complicated things. Moaning into the kiss, it felt as if the world around them had melted immediately- nothing like when she kissed Harry. In the back of her mind, she felt guilty as she was engaged, but in this moment in time she felt lust towards the man who instantly stole her heart in Cordonia. Breaking the kiss, she looked at him feeling breathless- as she did that last time she saw him all those years ago.

“Please don’t marry him.”

[achieveandhunt]

live typing extra life 2019

part 2

warning: this was a mistake and i’m in the grapes

this starts right at Facilities vs AH. link to first post

let’s fuck some shit up babEY

oh what the fuck they’re playing a prerecorded video

last year was a fuckin doozy, nobody forget that

“legends of the under achiever” i didn’t know someone wrote my biography

why do i hear geoff screaming “FIVE FUCKIN FOUR” in my head, like in the legends of the hidden temple minecraft videos

jeremy looks. so dead inside on this fine november evening

ryan buzzing while they’re trying to explain the rules

my video quality went down so much that i thought i was watching someone playing roblox for a second

ryan “salty mother fucker” haywood has made a lovely appearance. he’s my favorite

michael and lindsay looking so domestic makes me so happy,, they’re my parents

someone donated under the name “ryan goes feral” uh??? yeah? you say that like it’s a bad thing??

oH FUCK MICHAEL GO DRIVE WIN PLEASE

jeremy HAS BROKEN OUT THE GLASSES SHIT’S SERIOUS

NO THEY’RE LOSING GOD DAMMIT

ʳʸᵃⁿ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ, ᵠᵘᶦᵉᵗˡʸ: ʰᵉˡᵖ

JEREMY IT’S TIME TO TEST OUT THAT NONEXISTENT GAG REFLEX AND SWALLOW THE OPPONENT’S CONTROLLER

oh nvm they’re winning again lmao

OH FUCK thEYRE LOSING

oh nvm

OH FUCK

oh nvm they unplugged his contoller lol

OH FUCKING TH EY LOST MICHAEL JONES MY HEART IS BROKEN

the amount of people watching has gone up from 32k to 40k in the past fifteen minutes

michael “hurry up you dumb cunts” jones

“oh don’t worry about destroying our cabinet, it’s essentially matchsticks”

“how are you feeling john? are you ready for this?” “MM M M Mmm mM”

TEAM NICE DYNAMITE IS NEXT AND IM READY FOR PERMANENTLY RINGING EARS FROM ALL THE LEET DONATIONS

oH god here we go

“hopefully they haven’t been saving them all day” oh honey. you’ve got a big storm coming

if xavier slaps gavin i think gav might go up in a puff of smoke

i did the math, they went up 45k+ within five minutes of team nice dynamite showing up on stream

GAVIN AND MICHAEL ARE GOING TO DIE

THERE’S GONNA BE A MOONBALL SIZED HOLE IN GAVIN’S CHEST

ryan and lindsay both donating a grand during this segment... so good

the day gavin free successfully gets a tattoo is the day i drop dead

lindsay saying she didn’t want the TND tattoo on michael but she agreed because gav is michael’s boi :((( 

i’m too sleep deprived for this i might cry

oh god michael’s punching the floor

i’m too sober for this

EIGHTY EIGHT LEET DONATIONS IN TWENTY MINUTES HOLY FUCJKIGN SHIT YOU GUYS ARE GONNA BE THROWING MOONBALLS FOR FUCKIN SIX YEARS

on a sentimental note- i love how much collective love we have for gav and michael,, they deserve it all

milk boarded has some not-so-great connotations attached to it

gavin “the bullshit bitch” free

a mark nutt reference?? in my 2019 extra life????

this just in: sarah is going to obliterate gavin

oh. oh my god. that was the sound of a wet fish smacking a wall

why is jeremy the liquor goblin walking like a crab that has a bird attached to its back??? see: flapping arms

that beer and milk concoction... gag

“drink that milk yard”

“YOU GOT MY TOES MILKY”

no. nO MICHAEL NO YOUR INTESTINES NOO

michael “the milk’s in my brain” jones

“stop pouring it on people!” “iT’S HARD DICKHEAD”

lindsay is now. taking a milk shower

*caiti brings a small roll of paper towels* *gavin gently places a single paper towel on the massive puddle of milk*

no LINDSAY NO THINK OF THE CHILDREN

gavin: this has gotten way out of hand. she’s... she’s swimming in an inch of milk! everyone knows you should swim in at least two!!

the fajita seasoning will solve everythinG everyone calm down

fiona: yeah this is my first extra life. jack: and what were you expecting? fiona: this. exactly this.

ah yes. the bunny suits have arrived and michael is ready to tackle gavin

aaaand here comes the AH fanfic. it can only get worse from here so buckle up fuckos

“holy fuckeroni”

“re-reanimated trevor”

michael is so fucking smashed and god i wish that was me

“cum-ductor”

fiona “this is a white man” nova

“bone-ating” *leet donation* *leet donation* 

“ready set blow” made me genuinely bust a lung laughing

aaaand michael’s licking the floor which is to be expected

jeremy “i’m gonna actually harm you” dooley

IF ONE MORE PERSON BRINGS UP RANCH IM GOING TO WALK TO AUSTIN AND PROJECTILE VOMIT ON THE OFF TOPIC SET

no JEREMY NO YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE I THOUGHT YOU WOULDN’T DO THIS GET OFF THE F  L O O R

don’t get close ups on jeremy’s tongue. don’t do that to me. i don’t want nightmares

“fuck root” “let’s just fucking fuck”

1 2 3 CONSENT

michael has gone full gerkie

alfredo’s look when larry is reading the part about trevor choking him is how i feel about everything that’s happened in the past twenty minutes

almost 300k in less than an hour 

fiona saying “i don’t want this” overlaying michael humping a trash can

“TAKE THE TACO CHAD”

aaaand michael’s in the trash can

nO why is there a triangle is this a POETRY READING ALL OF A SUDDEN

oh thank god it’s over

OH FUCK THERE’S A N EPILOGUE

aaand trevor’s dead again. poor treyco

DUSK BOYS DUSK BOYS DUSK BOYS EVERYONE PUT A CUP IN YOUR PANTS

people singing along... what goes on

why am i downloading this fuckin song asap

jeremy turning his phone flashlight on and waving it like he’s at a concert god dammit i love these people so much

those are my BOYS

oh my gosh they’re still singing the song. why is my heart so happy from this i need to get slapped

“come on you’ve never been waterboarded before gavin?”

everyone standing in a circle shining their flashlights at gavin

someone surprise them and instead of a moonball just yeet a whole gallon of milk at them

actually, on second thought, no

OH god GavIN Is GOING to Die 

gavin “i forgot to breathe” free

several milk explosions

gavin “my brain is cold” free

michael has milk dripping from his ears

i’m about to pass out i don’t know what’s happening

michael is in the grapes right now man

how many moonballs? oh, only 107. :)

i’m not writing this part- you guys have to watch the moonball segment yourself, if you didn’t watch it live!

team nice dynamite finishes up with over 300k!! holy shit, that’s so cool! this community is awesome

werewolf is up next!

xavier is such a gentleman can we keep him

alfredo: *chooses to kill miles* trevor in the audience: *silently freaking out*

xavier is about ruin another man on stream

miles has no self preservation instinct

barbara is now smelling fiona

this just in: i love alfredo and 100% would have done the same thing

trevor running up to film alfredo getting smacked. what an icon

alfredo SCREAMING oh my god i felt it in my soul

the high-five of the backs in solidarity of intense pain

miles choosing alfredo is so fucking good

and also, i feel so bad 

his heart might shoot out of his asshole this time guys

oh NOOO HE’s so bruised :(((( fredo nooo :((

oh my god it’s gotten to the usual point in the stream where you start to question whether someone is going to die this time

rip blaine but at least i think he can take the hit

he can but ouch it still hurts me 

barbara “i’m participating in the game” dunkleman

yo miles might win this game

the crowd when someone needs to shoot barb: TREVOR TREVOR TREVOR! trevor, with the strength of a thousand suns: N O

people are now chanting about shooting an unprotected trevor. the man already died once this stream god dammit

alfredo is about to throw hands for fiona

that’s a big F in the chat for miles, but his loss is well deserved

xavier’s hands could serve as a defibrillator

alfredo showed jeremy his chest and jeremy shied away as if he was looking at the sun

 --- i’m taking another break to finish an assignment---

i’m barely alive and it’s ready set show time 

oh god please no more shock collars

i’m so fucking tiiiiredd please take thge res t of this post  wigth  a grain of salt lbecasue i can hardly type at this ponitn 

“do you want to control the shock collars” “will there be repercussions” “no” “fuck yeah i’ll do it then”

“smother the children. steal the baby” “DONT STEAL THE BABY TREVOR”

lunging forward “s c a r e  t h e  b a b y” “OKAY I’M PASSING THIS ONE”

“you can’t bake popcorn????” jeremy hits the floor

alec and matt clearly = dream team

oh thasnk god the shock collars are on their arms now i was stressed out for chris earlier

this stream does not promote recreational nyquil usage 

i don’t even know how to explain the pure insanity of what ready set show has become

alec has become this whole segment

i would write more but i have no thoughts because my brain doesn’t work

larry “makes people fuck other people besides their wife” insert last name that my brain can’t come up with

anyways. marbles

oh. no marbles

i’ve blacked out idk what happened during backwardz compatible

i mean i was awake but does that really mean anything at this point

SPPOKU PSOOKY SPPOKKKY SPOOOKY !!! FUCL YEAH 

cole is so good during this segment

oh so many 1337s right away 

the real scariest thing during the segment: being genuine

oH my god the scream being pitched up. i have fucking dogs outside of my house now

i don’t fuck w/ ghosts no thank you

“aba-jail” wow if u guys weren’t gonna get haunted before you will now

okay i’m about to pass out i have to take a nap

oH fucking I SLEPT until thirty minutes before the en d  fuck

conclusion: this community is incredible and raised an unimaginable amount of money for charity. the fact that rooster teeth does this every year is awesome, and honestly, it makes me feel hopeful in times when things aren’t so great. so yeah! for the kids & stuff 

[babbushka]

Samoas

Prompt fill for my dear @adamsnackdriver who is enabling me by sending in:  “Flip getting bullied by the local girl scouts...”

Word count: 1.5k 

Warnings: none! (fluff and humor, very mild mention of n*fw content but not really lol)

His mission was simple: Eggs, milk, bread.

That’s all you had sent him for, the little post-it note with your handwriting tucked safely into the front pocket of Flip’s blue jeans. He had promised he’d pick the small essentials up after work, and now that he was officially off the clock, he made his way down to the grocery store in the truck, with a happy whistle and smile. 

He liked doing things for you, always felt bad when he had to work too late, felt bad when you were stuck doing household stuff. He wanted to help, and with such an occasion as this, he loved being able to save you a trip to the grocery store. 

He parked his truck in the lot and whistled across the parking lot when he saw them. 

Waiting right by the entrance of the grocery store stood a huddle of five Girl Scouts, many patches embroidered onto their sashes that hung over their bright green uniforms. They had a big red wagon behind them, which was just about halfway filled with boxes of cookies. 

Shit, he thought, immediately trying to see if there was an alternate entrance to the grocery store -- when one of the Girl Scouts spotted him. 

Shit shit shit! He sighed, walked to the front of the store, gave the Girl Scout a polite smile. 

“Good afternoon! Care to buy a box of cookies?” She asked, eyes calculating. It made Flip uneasy, the whole damn season of Girl Scout cookies did. He never knew when they were going to take over.

“Oh, no thank you, not today.” He tried, very ready to walk away, when the girl put a hand on her hip with a confused smile, like he was obviously making the wrong choice.

“Why not?” She asked, catching him off guard. 

“I’m sorry?” He asked back, blinking in surprise. 

She gestured to the red wagon, neat stacks of boxes standing proudly on display. The four other girls had roped other adults into talking to them too, which made Flip feel a little bit better, maybe they would buy something and he could get off scot-free.  

“They’re only one dollar a box, and we have four delicious flavors.” The girl said to him with a smile that he was sure had to be tactical.

“My wife is waiting for me, I have to -- ” He tried, but she only blinked up at him.

“Don’t you think your wife, who must work so hard, deserves to relax at the end of a long day with some Samoas? They’re our newest flavor.” She said, pulling out a box of Samoas.

He was so surprised that he was almost speechless – who the hell was this kid to make him feel guilty about his wife? He knows you do so much, and you do work hard, and well maybe…

“I don’t know if she likes Samoas.” He said with a bit of a frown, he had never heard of the fucking things before, they must really be new.

At this, one of the other Girl Scouts leaned over with a judgmental quirk of her brow that could only be acceptable from a ten year old with attitude.

“What kind of husband doesn’t know if his wife likes Samoas?” This new girl asked, and Flip was so caught off guard he didn’t notice the third of the Girl Scouts nodding in agreement.

“You could always buy a box of each, that way there’s bound to be something she likes.” The fourth said, and that had been enough.

“You know what, okay, fine, I’ll take a box of each.” Flip said, altogether too exasperated for this.

He began fishing out his wallet, began pulling out some cash when he heard sniffling coming from one of the girls. Dread pooled in his stomach, and when he lifted his head he saw that the girl who had pinned him in the first place was now crying, big tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

“Wait, no no -- what’s wrong, don’t cry.” He froze, wondering what the hell he had done, he was going to buy them, wasn’t he?

“It’s just...well there’s a contest to see which troupe can sell the most, and my mom says that if we don’t win, she’s going to take my badge away.” The girl said, snuffling and hiccupping.

“That doesn’t sound very fair, you girls are doing a great job.” Flip frowned, looking to the wagon. There had to be at least ten to fifteen boxes total, surely they’d be able to sell them within the week –

“This is the last weekend we get.” The girl said with a big frown, almost like she could read his mind.

“Ketsl?” Flip called, struggling to open the front door twenty minutes later, “Are you down here?”

He was having a hard time carrying all the damn boxes he purchased, couldn’t balance them all in his arms. He wished he had asked for a paper bag or something, trying to get the key in the lock was very nearly a thin-mint covered accident waiting to happen.

“Hey honey!” Your voice sounded from somewhere in the house, eager to see him. You were always so excited every time he came home, but this time he was worried you’d be upset with him.

“Ketsl I did a bad thing.” He sighed, finally making it to the kitchen and dumping the boxes out onto the table.

He sat down and lit a cigarette when you came rushing into the kitchen.

“Flip..? Is everything okay?” You asked worried, scared at the insinuation of what bad thing could possibly mean – that was until you saw the mountains of boxes on the table and burst into laughter.

You laughed so hard that you had to brace yourself on the counter, and Flip just shook his head, smoked his cigarette and tried not to be too embarrassed.

“They were so insistent.” He immediately began defending himself, but you couldn’t stop giggling.

“Oh my god Flip!” You sat on his lap at the table, looped your arms around his neck and kissed him, laughing too much to properly land one on his lips, “You let a bunch of kids bully you?”

“One cried (Y/N)! Cried!” He threw his arms up for dramatic effect before wrapping them around you, kissing you playfully all over your face. “Am I supposed to be the big mean man who made a bunch of little kids cry?” 

You shook your head, picking up one of the boxes of cookies.

“How much was all this?” You asked, making him wince right away.

“Please don’t ask me that.” He grumbled, and you only started laughing again.

“Did you at least pick up the things I wrote out on the list?” You asked with a very amused grin, tucking some loose waves of hair behind his ears.

Realization dawned on him that, no, he hadn’t, and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh fuck me.” He groaned, thudding his head on your shoulder.

How had that even happened? How were these Girl Scouts masters of time and fucking space?

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll go tomorrow.” You said with a shake of your head, and his heart sank.

“I’m so sorry, they were so persuasive.” He tried to explain, much to your own amusement.

“Aren’t you supposed to be an undercover detective?” You asked, and he rolled his eyes, starting to find the humor in the situation himself.

“Okay okay, rub it in, I know.” He laughed, smoking his cigarette while you teased him.

After a few minutes of the giggles winding down, you took his face in your hands and kissed him, real deep and long and slow, slid your tongue against his, tasted the smoke that lingered on his teeth.

He had to put the cigarette in the ashtray so he could get both his hands on you, let them wander all over your back and sides, cradling your head as you kissed and kissed.

“Thank you for trying.” You said, genuinely so in love that things like this only added to his charm.

“I’ll do better next time.” He promised, and you bit your lip in a grin.

“You’re gonna bring these cookies to the station and share them with the guys, okay?” You told him, not wanting that much sugar just sitting around the house.

The tips of his ears blushed, but he nodded, went right back to kissing you.

 Later, after the two of you had had a wonderful dinner and a very healthy round of sex, he had pulled you to rest on his chest as he smoked, breathing out of his nose like a calmed dragon. One of his hands was carding through your hair, and the other was smoothed across your back, tracing soft patterns there.

“Hey,” He asked, breaking the peaceful quiet, “…You ever had a Samoa?” 

Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message!  @fullofbees @spinebarrel@dreamboatdriver @thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @arwarz @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne @attorneyl

[someone-elses-star]

The 100 6x08: The Old Man and the Anomaly Personal Narration

Are you guys excited?! We already have 6x09′s episode description, which makes me think we are not getting Clarke back again this episode (but who knows?!), but I’m very hyped to see the first steps they are going to be taking to getting her back. I’m also wondering--due to one of the clips that’s been released--if Russell is going to fully come to their side tonight and help get Clarke back. So without further ado: here are my thoughts/narrations from tonight’s episode:

Is Eliza the only one who introduces the episodes now? Not complaining...just curious...haha

Love the motorcycles. Remember when we saw Clarke riding one in the season trailer? That better actually be Clarke, not Jo!Clarke.

Love Octavia and Diyoza married couple! 

That noise is already killing me.

How is Diyoza’s eye makeup still intact? Are we supposed to believe that’s a natural thing for her? Not likely. haha

Ahh....picture of original Josephine

You think Diyoza is going to give her weapons up? Hah!

Wellllllll.....I guess she will to save Octavia’s life? She’s probably hiding something near her baby bump

Haha you tell him Diyoza! Kill him with your hands!

Oh no! Crazy Octavia!

Ahhhh loving Diyoza. 

Two serpents. One garden. LOVE the quotes that are being brought back!

Oh....is this when her delusion of her fighting herself is going to happen?

He is Gabriel?!?! I KNEW IT!!!!

Give me Bellamy or give me DEATH! 

Oh....Raven! Missed you!!!

Ichy! This Prime stuff is so gross! I don’t care if they are willing. It’s brainwash!

I don’t want Kane in Gavin’s body! That’s gross!

Abby....bet you’d change your mind once you realize what they have done to Clarke! 

Raven still loves Abby. She’s mad, but she still loves her! :)

Yes, you should be ashamed Abby!

Bye bye, Gavin.

You tell her, Raven! I’m still sorta mad at you, but I love your one-liners!

Ich! Jo!Clarke. I hate you. You’re a great villain, though. Just get outta Clarke!

No, Clarke’s body is NOT YOUR’S!

Yes, erase this sin Russell! ERASE IT!

What she’s done?! What about what you’ve done?!?!

Yes, very wise Russell! 

But Josephine is about to do something sneaky to keep that body!

Oh....They believe Bellamy! And they’ve told Madi?!!? Wow! BOLD!

Ahhh Jordan loves Delilah! 

Haha killer Madi! 

Yes, very concerning! Be concerned!

Ohh Madi and Jordan are having their first sibling fight!

Oh Madi and Echo communicating! But calling her a spy? Ouch!

Yeah, Bellamy keep your family together!

Aww Emori and Murphy!

Yes, Emori. Are you mad? Turned on? I seriously can’t tell?

Ahhhh. He is so sweet! Proposing! But.....still haven’t gotten to the mind drives.

OPE there they are! The mind drives!

Ohhhh.....she is definitely sorta turned on.

But....you were just mad about Clarke’s death? Now is she not worried about killing future people?

Oh Jo!Clarke just revealed the truth to Murphy!

Ichy...are you really with them Emori?

I really want to slap JO!Clarke. Don’t make me want to slap poor Clarke because of what Josephine does to her face! I hate it! I’m so conflicted!

COMMERCIAL BREAK #1 Thoughts: WOW. That was a lot for the first fifteen minutes. I’m shook. I need more Bellamy and crew moments. Do we believe Emori is going to the dark side just because she loves John? She’s never before, but....And do we believe Murphy is going to go through with this now that he knows the truth just so that he can “live forever?” Probably. Honestly, I’m so sick of his back and forth. I get he saw something scary, but that seriously could have been just a fucking hallucination or something. Boy needs to chill and love his family a little better.

Oh.....hallucinations are happening. He’s seeing old Josephine! 

Love Diyoza. Would die for her probs.

Oh....Diyoza hears children laughter. Creepy.

Are we still shipping him with Octavia now that we know the truth? 

Oh...she sees tied up Bellamy. Good. Me likes.

Oh. Back to the hair twirling.

Manipulation is Josephine’s foreplay. What a psycho!

Headaches are coming. Brain is deteriorating.

Emori.....very evil. Please me bluffing!

God I hate Josephine!

Emori is lying.....

Why is she looking at Echo? Does she know

Oh....Emori’s guilt got to her! GOOD!

Echo is looking very hot this episode....just saying....haha

Oh.....MADI is gone....

And there goes Madi’s killing spree. Am I proud? Well, I’m no un-proud. Hahaha

COMMERCIAL BREAK #2 Thoughts: Does everyone get this movie trailer Taco Bell commercial? I kinda love it! Makes me wish I could still eat fast food. HAHA. Anyways....so Madi is killing. Echo is looking smoking hot. Emori’s guilt got to her really quickly which I LOVE! Super proud of our girl for not letting her love for Murphy blind her! They need to move super quick to save Clarke now. But still not sure it’s going to happen this episode. Have you guys read next week’s episode description? Do you think the person Bellamy pairs off with is Russell? I also think that is when Octavia is going to have to face her “demons”/Bloodreina. Looking forward to that for sure! Definitely think it will lead to her redemption arc! What do you guys think?

Awww....crying Raven. Hate that! 

Abby come to apologize?

Agreed Raven. Agreed.

Ohhh....spacewalker Raven?

No Kane would not want this! 

Then why do it Abby? Are you really that selfish!?

You are so doing this for you! 

Oh....is Raven going to let Abby do it or....?

Be a god.....wow. Murphy is so easy to manipulate for a cockroach.

Josephine is so good at blackmail and manipulation.

And now they know Emori is against them. 

What are you doing Emori?

Oh is this the Clarke motorcycle thing from the trailer? DAMN IT!!!

Are....they going to kill Emori?

Oh...it was a trap!

Oh.....they are using Jackson! 

Do they actually have this all planned?

Oh....John or Clarke.....? What?!?!

COMMERCIAL BREAK #3 Thoughts: So....FUCK! They had this all planned but John just had to stand too close to the psycho! What are they going to do? We know Eliza is in the next episode....so....no death. And we are pretty convinced Clarke isn’t going to die....right? Especially with Bellamy pairing off with “an unlikely companion” next episode, right? Who we can all agree is probably Russell? Honestly, I’m usually good at predications, but I don’t know what they are going to do to save both Murphy and Clarke. Maybe, save Murphy now...and somehow do a last minute save of Clarke? I really don’t want Clarke’s body to die! I need Eliza forever!

Ahhhh Jackson and Miller boyfriend teamwork!

And now Madi’s plan is working!

But....Russell knows better. Will this change his opinion on helping?

What’s your plan Echo?

Oh....cut his leg badly!

Ahh....them still calling her Clarke not Josephine!

No....he just wants Clarke!

Oh....is his unlikely companion.....Josephine? Well...there goes my predictions!

Awww Echo telling him to save Clarke! 

Aww Emori and John’s love is forever! But...are we losing Murphy now?!!? I was not willing to make that sacrifice!

And Madi stopped by Jordan!

NO JORDAN!

COMMERCIAL BREAK #4 Thoughts: SO.......now we are thinking that the unlikely companion to Bellamy is Jo!Clarke next episode! Which honestly makes me WAY HAPPIER than the Russell theory! This means he is likely going to be there when Clarke comes back and they are going to have scenes! Also, with Gabriel being with Diyoza and Octavia we may get a Blake family reunion! AND>>>>Echo telling him to go save Clarke? Do we think she can sorta see that they are in love? Or that Bellamy needs Clarke at the very least.  Or....is she super blinded by her love for Bellamy to see? By the by, LOVE Echo this season! Cannot wait to learn more about her when her younger self comes in as a flashback and/or hallucination! I just love her so much! She is so loyal to her space family! Bellamy loves Clarke, so she loves Clarke. I’m SO good with this! Makes me warm and happy inside. 

So.....Raven is going to do this for Abby?!?! I called it!

Ahh....she does still love Abby. Though whether Abby deserves it is another thing.

Awww Gabriel still loves Josephine. Sweet....is that going to help our heroes defeat her in the end?

Ah..Hope is calling to Diyoza. Ahhh what a cutie!

So....is that shiny thing the anomaly?

Octavia save Diyoza from the hallucination!

Is it evil? Or is it like a heaven sorta place?

And Octavia is back.....and she looks....healed?

Well then. So anomaly....good?

COMMERCIAL BREAK #5 Thoughts: So....anomaly is sorta heaven place that heals? Will Octavia tell us what she saw after commercial? Maybe no one came back because it was such a nice place. I mean....Octavia looked brand spanking new when she fell out of that thing. It can’t be super bad, right? Or maybe it is just good enough to trick people into staying? Like the longer they stay the more the anomaly can steal their life force? I want Ruby Rose in a bad way......

Oh....trial? Really, Russell? You “killed” their leader!

And now they all know what Russell and Simone did! 

And that Clarke is alive! 

Wasn’t their TURN?!?!

Yes, finally be loyal to your fucking people Murphy! Don’t talk! We already know Emori is a badass!

Oh....Russell is mad....is this going to turn him evil/bad?

So....are we saying Kane’s body is dead? Damn....I really like that actor!

And.....Kane is now old enough to be Abby’s son.....gross. 

Is he going to realize soon that he;s.......oh. there it is.

Seeing your dead body? Yes, that’s going to traumatize the hell out of him!

So defintely seeing Octavia face her demons. And obviously Bellamy was talking to Josephine, but maybe Clarke at a deeper level?

[ohjohnno]

Outrageous Fortune Reviewcap: S1E07 (”Foul Deeds Will Rise”)

Y’know, I never really appreciated how good some of these episode titles were until this second run-through. Foul deeds in-deed. This episode is really something else, and I’m going to enjoy running through it, but before I do I just gotta quickly clarify one thing.

I mentioned, in the first post, that Loretta had a penchant for blackmail and also that she’d found a way to skip school most of the time. Well, I forgot to mention that those two were one and the same. Jethro’s current girlfriend, Caroline (who I misidentified before as the headmistress - she’s actually only deputy principal) has been fucking him since he was fifteen, and Loretta has pictures. She’s using that to blackmail her into letting her skip just about every day at school. I mention it now because it’s about to become very important.

I’m gonna have to do this episode in much the same way as I did episode four. It’s not nearly as dizzyingly densely-written as that one, but it nonetheless eschews the usual separate-plots format to focus on one fairly distinct throughline. There are, I suppose, technically two plots, but they have pretty much total overlap and are both driven almost entirely by the same character: Loretta West.

She gets this episode all to herself, pretty much, though Ted and Jethro naturally play very important roles. This is our deepest look into her psyche yet, and it happens - not coincidentally - to be another of my favorite ever episodes of the show.

We open with all the Wests, except Jethro, in the kitchen. Ted’s about to go off to play bowls with Margaret, and Loretta’s not any happier than she was last episode. Ted mentions that Margaret is on the local committee for the sport, which will be important. Margaret shows up, and cajoles Ted into admitting that the two of them are planning to move away together, which leaves Cheryl pretty much overjoyed. Loretta, though, looks as if Ted just tore out her heart and shattered it upon the ground. 

The two of them leave, and Cheryl reminds the rest of them that Jethro’s bar admittance ceremony is coming up (Van’s not enthused about having to go). Loretta, though, doesn’t give a fuck; she follows Cheryl into her room and immediately sets about trying to convince her to stop Ted from leaving. 

It doesn’t take one of Loretta’s intellect to work out that Cheryl is just happy she won’t have to look after Ted anymore, and she doesn’t bother trying to deny it. So Loretta turns to her next tactic: she immediately, and without a moment’s hesitation, outs Margaret as transgender to Cheryl, and in the most primally transphobic way she can conjure. “You know she’s a man, right?”, she seethes, making various horrible gestures as she explains it all to Cheryl. And Cheryl is certainly shocked, but it’s the neutral, just-plain-amazed kinda shock, free from any judgement and remarkably lacking in any real prejudice. She has no idea which pronouns to use, but ultimately just doesn’t really care. “Look, Margaret is a very nice woman who used to be a very nice man,” she says, very satisfyingly, and the disgusted Loretta is forced to her last resort: revealing that Margaret is a wanted criminal on the run from the law. But she must have known, on some level, that a woman as seasoned in the criminal world as Cheryl wouldn’t care about that either, and it all ends up with Loretta storming angrily out of the room as Cheryl continues to vocally give no shits about any of it.

Meanwhile, Jethro is preparing for his barring ceremony in the most appropriate way he can imagine.

Loretta’s still present, though, living rent-free in Caroline’s head, constantly grating between her and Jethro as the sandpapery wall that prevents them from living as a regular, out couple. Caroline fantasizes, mildly, about just straight-up killing her; Jethro doesn’t seem to object. 

Loretta’s conduct the next day doesn’t help any. A teacher called Smail (poor guy) reminds her that she’s gotta do a speech about her favorite family member soon, a concept that bores her enough that she goes right to Caroline and demands that she call the man off. Caroline points out, really quite reasonably, that she literally can’t do this, which doesn’t faze Loretta one bit. She makes her ultimatum clear: Smail leaves her alone, or she reveals to the world that Caroline fucked a student.

Let’s pause and review for a second. Loretta, less than seven minutes into this episode, has just done two things that are both kind of awful in different ways. Firstly, she outed a trans woman without a moment’s second thought in order to try and serve her own ends, and this becomes more awful when you remember that she fully understands - indeed, is maybe the only member of the cast who does - how much prejudice they face. Indeed, that exact knowledge is what drove her to do it; she was trying to manipulate the prejudice she assumed she’d find in her own mother in order to achieve her own ends. The second is more complicated; threatening to destroy the life of a statutory rapist isn’t really all that objectionable in itself, one might think, and Caroline surely does not deserve much of our sympathy. But Loretta doesn’t give a toss about the morality here, of course. She just views it as a nice, efficient way to realize her aggressive laziness, and we can rest assured that Caroline’s own moral failings are no more important to Loretta than those of any fly she might swat.

We cut to Ted and Margaret enjoying their bowls tournament, all the while surreptitiously taking photos of the place. It is revealed, in a conversation between them, that they’ve gone back to their old ways; the two of them are constructing a meticulous plan to rob the club blind, and they seem to be having great fun doing it. Again, I want to stress this: there is never any suggestion of anything untoward in Ted and Margaret’s relationship, and there’s no evidence of dishonesty, manipulation or anything else. The two really do love each other, and it’s honestly very wholesome. I mean, aside from the whole conspiracy to rob a bunch of their fellow old folks, I guess.

Cut to Ted back in the house, talking to Loretta. She doesn’t want him to go, and she says so. What follows is a conversation that quickly goes down the drain. 

It starts out innocently enough; Loretta reminds us all, in case we’ve forgotten, that she’s a teenage girl, and tells Ted that he’s “the only one in this fucked-up family who actually understands me”. But when the various garden-variety guilt trips and whatnot fail to move him, Loretta goes for the jugular: she mentions Rita. Well, I say “mentions”, but it’s really more like she wields her name as a bludgeon, suddenly abandoning all her sweet softness and just straight up wailing on Ted’s weakest point, implying that he’s selfish and the moral equivalent of an adulterer for finding someone new. Ted’s furious, and not a little upset; you can tell it got to him, and it may indeed have accomplished Loretta’s goal of giving him second thoughts. This wasn’t as calculated as Loretta’s usual cruelty, though; you can tell it came from a place of genuine hurt. She really is upset about the thought of her favorite family member leaving, and the truth is that this sort of reaction to the prospect of (perceived) abandonment isn’t actually too out of the ordinary for teenagers. Does that mean we should let it slide? Not really, but this time, I do understand. Anyway, Jethro and Caroline show up before Ted can respond, and they have a private conversation with Loretta in her room.

Jethro tries to convince Loretta to “just do what the nice teacher says”, for once. Loretta is unmoved. She’s generously come up with a solution for her Smail woes, too: she’s gonna accuse him of sexual assault, and Caroline’s gonna get him fired. Even Jethro is a little shocked at the newfound depths of the moral void present in the teenage girl sitting before him, and it’s true that it really is an absolutely awful thing to contemplate, let alone propose as a genuine plan. Blackmailing a teacher who really did commit sexual assault is one thing, but annihilating the life and career of a perfectly innocent one by falsely accusing him of that same thing (except, arguably, worse) just to avoid having to do one fucking speech is something entirely different. It also serves the nicely revealing function of letting us know for certain what we had already guessed: that Loretta doesn’t give a flying shit about the fact that what Caroline did was actually wrong. To her, it’s just another weapon she can use.

Meanwhile, Judd is trying as hard as he can to think of a reason to write a letter recommending that Jethro be denied entry to the bar. We cut, ominously, to Ted and Margaret planning their job. Ted is still thinking about Loretta’s words, and starts getting sentimental; “I swore there’d never be another woman,” he says, and Margaret says something about getting out of that on a technicality which I’m pretty sure no actual trans person would ever actually say, and which does make me wince a little. Ted mentions that Loretta loved Rita, which isn’t the last time that’ll come up.

Jethro is trying to console a very upset Caroline, who is just about at breaking point. Loretta, in her youthful inexperience, has dared to push it too far; Caroline is so distraught by the whole affair that she’s actually pretty much willing to commit career suicide and just let her send the photos, feeling that death (so to speak) would be a better fate than the abominable constant torture of living at the beck and call of a lazy, smug fifteen-year-old girl. So Jethro comes to Loretta in the middle of the night (prompting a very strange quip about incest from her) and leaves her an ultimatum: either she uses the photos now, or the blackmail stops. Loretta tries, in vain, to convince him otherwise, reminding him of the consequences, but he turns it round on her, asking if she’s considered how, exactly, Cheryl will react when she finds out what Loretta’s been doing. Loretta turns it back round against him, threatening to reveal his Maori fraud (and as far as I can tell, she’s the first white person in the show to pronounce the word “Maori” like the Maori do); Jethro simply points out that this would just straight-up break Cheryl’s heart, and has to trust that there’s at least something other than pure void in the girl’s soul that’ll restrain her. He leaves her with that, presumably nervous as anything. After all, he's Loretta’s family, and he knows perhaps even better than Caroline just how low she can go. So this is a tremendously big gamble for him to take.

Cut to the video hut next day. Loretta’s on the verge of tears in the office she commandeered from the real owner, and she’s particularly snappy with Kurt, even by her standards. “Why can’t I just live the way I say? Me getting what I want, is that too much to ask?” It’s not my favorite dialogue in the show - it’s a bit too on-the-nose, honestly - but it’s not exactly out of character. It turns out Loretta doesn’t have the photos; she had stashed them in Ted’s unit, and when it burned down, they went with it. She’s been bluffing ever since, and up until now, it had worked. But she’d done that thing young geniuses like her so often do: she’d overestimated her own intelligence, overplayed her hand. If she hadn’t been so lazy this once, she might’ve been able to keep the charade going until the end, but now everything’s fallen apart and she’s managed to sweep her own legs out from underneath her. She’s going to have to start going to school now. She thinks that’s tragic. And in a way it is. What’s that classic friendlyshark review on Letterboxd? “TRAGIC DRAMA. SHARK DESTROYED BY OWN HUBRIS. MASTERFUL.”

Things don’t get any better for her anytime soon. Margaret shows up when Loretta’s on her way into school, and she’s correctly divined that Loretta is trying to prevent Ted from leaving. She’s not having that at all; she tells her to stay out of the two of their business or she’ll, and I quote here, “rip your fucking tongue out”. And she does it all with a big smile on her face!  She also tells Loretta that she’s the spitting image of Rita, which is - again - not the last time we’ll hear that.

What’s shaping up here is a remarkably unusual kind of plot for TV shows outside of the sitcom realm. Loretta sure is the protagonist here, and her challenges, goals, and cast of villains is now all laid out before us. But “villains” here feels weird, because there’s nothing villainous about what Margaret is doing. She’s just protecting a relationship she cares deeply about from ruination at the hands of a selfish, frighteningly intelligent young girl, and there’s still no suggestion that her love for Ted isn’t genuine. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s becoming clear now: this is a plot with a villain protagonist, and Margaret is playing with something dangerous here.

We cut to Van, delicately polishing his toenails before scrambling to hide all the gear when Jethro comes in. He mostly ignores him and makes his way to Loretta’s room, looking for the photos. Loretta tells him she isn’t gonna use them because she “can’t do it to mum”, but Jethro knows her better than that; I don’t think he really expected that gambit he pulled to actually work, and he’s suspicious now that it did. Loretta tries hard not to spill the beans, but Jethro works it out anyway, and leaves gleefully secure in the knowledge that the photos are long gone. 

                                                           Kia kaha!

This pisses her right off. And sheer rage is what seems to motivate her next move: flagrantly ignoring the old West no-snitching code and putting together an anonymous report about who Margaret really is, posting it to the police. We don’t see the effects of that right away, though - we cut, instead, to Jethro telling the overwhelmingly relieved Caroline that the photos don’t exist anymore. She’s giddily excited at the prospect of her and Jethro becoming a regular couple. Jethro... well, he’s not as excited. You can see the enormity of it washing over him all at once, actually; it hits him, as Caroline is exploding with excitement before him, that he’s actually going to have to be seen out in public with her, and that now their relationship will involve more than just sex. Instantly, in that moment, you can tell this thing is doomed. But he invites her to his barring ceremony anyway.

It’s later, and Loretta and Ted are playing chess. It’s not clear who’s winning. Loretta eventually gives up anyway and tells Ted she’s going to give her speech about him. It’s a tender little scene, actually; Antonia Prebble really brings her A-game to this episode, capturing a very wide range of emotions in young Loretta, and it’s clear she really does love and care about her grandfather very dearly. 

He reappears the next morning, as Cheryl is making clear she will attend Loretta’s speech and drag Pascalle along with her (Van declares he isn’t going, and nobody seems to have any objection). Ted expresses an interest in it, too, in his usual feigned-dementia way. The good vibes are interrupted, though, by the demons Loretta herself conjured up earlier; Judd and Hickey turn up talking about “Mark”, making it clear that they’re onto Margaret, even if they don’t actually know where she lives or even really who she is (apparently she’s been savvy enough to keep her real name off any records). Judd not-so-subtly implies that he might use this as a reason to get Jethro denied admission to the bar. 

Now Cheryl cares.

She still doesn’t care enough to stop any of their plans, but she does make it clear, as non-maliciously as possible, that Margaret isn’t welcome in the West house anymore. Ted and Margaret, later, have some discussion about whether to continue with the job at all; Ted wants to call it off, but Margaret insists that they continue. The one concession she makes is that they move the job forward and do it tonight. Ted is conflicted, since that means missing Loretta’s speech, but ultimately his love for Margaret wins out.

The Wests, minus only Ted and Van, show up at the school, reminiscing about bygone days. Jethro reveals to the family that he’s dating Caroline, which seems to have Pascalle equal parts disgusted and amused. Cheryl is a bit nonplussed, too, but they’re all interrupted by Loretta, anxious and nervous that Ted hasn’t showed up yet. That’s because Ted is, at that very moment, getting ready to break into the club. He won’t be showing, and poor Loretta is waiting in vain, standing next to the man she would have completely destroyed without a second’s hesitation to get out of doing this very speech.

Loretta has to give her speech anyway, and the stage doesn’t suit her. But she finds her stride anyway, with the help of a jab at lawyers (Jethro very much included). What follows is a nicely efficient mix of character exploration, setting exposition, and plot development.

Loretta’s speech is, as promised, about Ted (”Theodore Francis West”), and she doesn’t pull any punches. The audience is shocked when she proudly mentions that he was once known as “the finest safe-cracker of his generation”, but this only seems to spur her on; offending the polite society with which she feels no connection is clearly instinctively pleasurable to her. We learn a bit about Ted’s early life; he married and had children young, he had a code of ethics he followed almost without fail, he was superstitious, and he was meticulous. This, then, is the origin of the West family profession, and Loretta seems to find it as romantic as anybody else might. But as she speaks - specifically, as she mentions that Ted’s targets always used to include sports clubs - she reaches a sudden, overwhelming moment of epiphany, and we know well what it is, because the whole thing has been intercut with scenes of Ted and Margaret expertly breaking into and robbing the bowls club.

She really is the smartest West. She’s also inherited both her mother’s drive and her father’s clarity of vision; the moment she finishes her speech, she fucks right off, failing to convince Jethro to lend her his car (she “drives like a maniac”, apparently, which isn’t surprising considering she’s fifteen) and thus instead just stealing and hotwiring a random unlocked one she finds in the parking lot. She drives off, coincidentally passing Judd and Hickey (surveiling Margaret’s house, I think, and very much not enjoying each other’s company) while, back at the school, Cheryl fails to get used to the fact that Jethro is dating his old teacher, and Jethro’s blood runs cold when he hears mention of a car stolen from just outside. 

She drives quite well, actually, and Judd and Hickey don’t recognise her. Cut to Ted and Margaret, jubilant with excitement at the success of their job. Ted opts to walk home, leaving the money with Margaret, who promises to pick him up tomorrow morning. But as she drives off, she encounters Loretta, and the two have a confrontation in the dark.

Loretta makes it clear: Margaret is to leave, and she’s not to take Ted with her. Margaret, of course, doesn’t see why she should - she loves Ted, after all, and what could be more important than that?

What Loretta says next is important.

“Do you love him enough to go back inside?” she asks. And that’s a threat that confused me at first, because what she’s threatening is basically to snitch, and hasn’t she already done that? But it’s different now, of course, because Loretta knows more. She’s at the scene of the crime; she’s a credible witness who can place her there and identify her car. Her prior act of snitching was limited, being entirely anonymous and based only off a decades-old cold case about a prison runaway; this time, she has real dirt, and the police will be far more motivated to pursue this one. And there’s another implication here, one that makes it all so much more horrible: if she tells the police about this, she’ll be putting Ted in the line of fire too. Is that what Loretta’s implying here? Does she really realise that’s what she’s doing? The dialogue leaves it open to interpretation, which may be intentional. Personally, though? I think she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s forcing Margaret into a horrible choice: either risk the both of them getting caught and, one way or the other, separated, or just leave now and leave them both separated but, at least, still free. Either way, they won’t be together.

Loretta justifies this to herself as concern for Ted, who, she tells Margaret, is just too old for this sort of thing. Maybe she’s right - I dunno, he still seemed pretty spry when he broke into that safe. But are those really her reasons? Somehow, I’m skeptical. And that doesn’t jive very well with the veiled threat to put him in danger of prison, does it?

Cut to the West home. Loretta’s home already when the others all get back. She says she walked home; Cheryl believes her. Jethro knows better. He’s furious, since Loretta’s little stunt put him in danger; if she’d gotten caught, that might’ve endangered his admittance to the bar. Loretta’s response is as quintessentially teenage-girl as it gets. “I had my reasons, okay? And you wouldn’t understand.”

Next morning, Cheryl hears news of the break-in on the radio. Loretta lies as expertly as ever and reassures her that Ted wouldn’t be capable of such a thing. Ted pops his head out of his room, asking if the phone had gone for him; Loretta says the phone didn’t go. And that is such a quietly, horribly tragic moment - Ted facing up to the horrible beginnings of building, dreadful feelings of betrayal and abandonment; it being mistaken, by anyone present, for just his regular demented-old-man rambling, taken seriously by nobody; Loretta playing along with it, cold and sharp as ice, knowing the enormity of what she’s hiding from him and seeing what it’s doing to him and still displaying absolutely no response to it - that it rips me up inside a little bit every time I see it.

Cheryl doesn’t want him coming to Jethro’s barring ceremony; Loretta offers to stay and look after him. And if, at this point, you feel a sudden cresting wave of appalled, horrified disgust at that little thing, sitting there innocent and contented as a lamb as she awaits the full detonation of that abominable time-bomb of trauma and grief she just planted for her own grandfather, ready to be there with first-aid when it goes - well, that’s only natural.

We cut now to the only part of this episode that really doesn’t concern Loretta at all: Jethro’s barring ceremony. In its own way, that’s kind of horrible in itself, after all, but really Judd had it right earlier in the episode: “have you ever met a lawyer that wasn’t a ratbag?” Jethro’s general scummery ain’t exactly out of the ordinary for his profession, and one expects that he’ll fit right in. The ceremony itself is as big a moment for Cheryl as it is for Jethro, but alas, it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

The afterparty contains a couple of pretty great jokes - the head of Jethro’s law firm hesitantly trying to tread the line between admitting and not admitting that he’s seen Pascalle stripping; him also mistaking Van for Jethro and being absolutely baffled by his behavior - but one plot-important thing does take place: Tracy Hong shows up, for unimportant reasons, and promptly and immediately realises that the man she had sex with that one time was definitely Jethro and not Van. That will be important, though not perhaps in the way I’d like.

Judd and Hickey call off their surveillance, though not before Hickey creeps out Judd some more. Elsewhere, Caroline tells Jethro she loves him before they sleep; Jethro doesn’t say it back, and he dreams about Tracy. Uh oh. 

And then we’re back in the West household, populated only by Ted and Loretta. 

And this one hurts.

This show doesn’t pull any punches, and Frank Whitten (R.I.P) throws into it with all his might. Ted is in two. He’s ripped apart, torn up, absolutely shattered, utterly distraught with a truly awful concoction of grief, confusion, betrayal and pain. It was never in any doubt, and it’s even less in doubt now: Ted loved Margaret. He loved her deeply and truly. And right now, he is in overwhelming agony.

And then there’s Loretta.

A lot of people will talk about fictional characters they hate. Not hate in the sense of critiquing the quality of their writing, but hate in the sense that they just loathe them. Dolores Umbridge and Joffrey Baratheon are the most common names mentioned. But let me tell you that in this moment, when I’m watching this brief, minute-long scene, I have never hated either of them with even a cinder’s worth of the hate that I feel for Loretta in this moment. She’s sitting there, tender and soft, gently caressing Ted with needles concealed within cushions. “She’s not coming, Grandpa;” “Maybe she didn’t really love you.” She leans in close to him and whispers: “but I’m still here.” She looks the desolation and annihilation she has wrought square in his trembling, tear-stained eyes, reaches into his shattered soul, and reconstructs it with threads that all lead back to her. She weaponizes the agony she conjured in him to root him even firmer to the spot, building the moss-encrusted walls of grief that were erected with Rita’s death even higher up round him, constructing a fortress of pain in which the only exit leads to her.

She didn’t do this because “he’s old”, or any other altruistic concern. She did it because she loves her grandpa. She loved him so much, in fact, that she didn’t want him to ever leave her side; he is, as she said in her speech, her oldest and best friend. And she has precious few friends, as we know. She has little to cling to in this world. So when she faces the prospect of losing one of those rocks, she moves heaven and Earth to keep it locked firmly where it is. 

“Sometimes you’re so like your grandmother,” says Ted. “So I’ve been told,” says Loretta, hugging him, satisfied that she achieved her goal. She’s not losing Ted. She’s had to shatter him into a million pieces and make him live through the worst pain imaginable once again, but that’s okay with her. If anything, it’s strengthened his bond with her. Things have turned out better than she could possibly have imagined.

I hate Loretta West. I hate her with every fiber of my being. She is, truly and deeply and utterly to her core, a monster. All her excuses, all her alienation, all her teenage rage - all of that just makes it worse. She’s a complex, three-dimensional human being, one of the best-written characters I have ever encountered, laden with layers and depth and commentary on levels I’ve never seen before. And she is, far and away, the blackest, most evil, most hateful and horrible soul I have ever seen on television. Sure, she hasn’t got a body count like Joffrey or Hannibal, but that’s just setting and context, and by that metric the worst monster in television history is some Cylon from BSG. This is a show set in the suburbs in a well-developed country, and it’s not about murderers or wars. It’s about a little suburban family of screw-ups and misfits, and at their core, sitting at the dinner table alongside them every night, is a child whose heart is as black as obsidian, whose capacity for evil is deep as a black hole. And the thing she does in this episode is evil, make no mistake. It’s so evil it’s honestly kind of nauseating. It gets worse the more you think about it, fractally awful, a kaleidescope of blackness.

And she’ll do it again.

Anyway, erm... I don’t really remember what happens in the next episode. It’ll be fun to remind myself. Until next time, I suppose.

[unbefuckinglieveable]

Holific#1 - therealhmmlingle

// Hey guys holiday gift, for a loyal follower and friend. I had a lot to fit in into a five page limit. I hope it is okay! @therealhmmlingle

Pairing: prinxiety

Word count:3,274

Trope: Finding your partner on the brink of death.

Warnings: hypothermia, panic attacks, deprecating thoughts.

    “Uh… Hey Roman?  I am gonna have to show up late tonight. Something happened at work and they need me to come in.” Virgil sighed sadly, fidgeting in discomfort with the box in his pocket. Where it had been for a few months. He had only just paid it off enough to take it with him.   

   It had cost him the heat in his apartment, if it had not been for Philip, his and Roman's dog, he would have froze. It cost most the food he had in his apartment. He didn't care. After all, it was December, Christmas eve.  In a few days, It would all be worth it. The late nights, early mornings,and busy weekends. It would finally all work out.

   “Virgil!” Came his partner's sharp voice, snapping him out of his little trance.

   “I'm here! Sorry princey.” The anxious adult said with a sigh. He hadn't realized he had spaced out.

   “Virgil I can't do this anymore. Your never around! When you are you just sleep in my bed! We don't talk like we used to and now you can't even keep your promise to spend the holiday with me? Because of work? Don't bother coming tonight. I'll be by to pick up Philip tomorrow. What is the point in being in a relationship with someone who isn't there?”  

   “Roman wait!”

   “Goodbye Virgil.”

   “Ro, sto-” The phone went dead in Virgil's ear leaving the man in stunned silence.  All this time, four years. Gone. Virgil felt numbed. This couldn't be happening. He got up and dressed. He did not work his ass off to let this entire thing fall apart. He gathered up Philip and the flowers he had purchased for Roman the night before.

     He rushed to his car his mind flooding with fear. Fears that he tried to push at bay with the stereo of the car.  Turning it up so loud he couldn't hear his thoughts. The anxious man tossed his phone on the seat so it wouldn't be uncomfortable in his pocket. Virgil peeled out of the parking lot from his apartment complex and  onto the back roads of the area.

     Roman's home was a bit far,but for a man as extravagant  and popular as him, Virgil could understand him wanting his home to be a bit secluded, so he didn't have to have a public face on when he opened the door every day. That was enough to start spiraling, things as simple as how fast Roman could move on, how Virgil could be too little too late, and he could easily be fired from his job for calling off last minute.  Virgil had sucked as a worker lately, he understood that.

     Virgil sucked at everything, he couldn't even function as an adult. There was no food,no warmth(besides a small space heater), soon he wouldn't have a phone again and  fuck if he knew when he would get it back if he got fired. He is a loser, and one that Roman Prince had already gotten rid of.

   There was a skid on ice as he pulled to the side of the road threw the car in park. He climbed out of the car and shoved the door shut sinking to sit on the snow below his car window.  Thoughts blurred together in a whirlwind, the rapid rise and fall of his chest fast. The beat of his heart against his ribs like a prisoner trying to escape. He realized how alone he was without Roman. It sent him reeling.

‘alonealonealone-notsafe-failure-fuckup-notsafenotsafe-broken-alone-I can't-Ican't- lose-losermistake-not-can’t-airairair-fuck-fault-can’t-my-alone-fail-nononono- Ro-’

    Virgil's panic continued for a solid fifteen minutes even after he was through the worst of it he leaned against his car, counting out his breaths. It was another ten minutes after that he realized he should get back on the road.However Virgil was exhausted, and he didn't want to move even though his jeans  were wet from the snow. Slowly he felt the exhaustion catching up to him. It wouldn't be safe for him to drive. He stood up and pulled at the handle of his car. Nothing. Again.

    “ No! Fuck!” Virgil hissed, as he heard Prince Philip bark from inside   He hit the side of his window in frustration looking at the pup safe inside. He went to each door rapidly tugging at he handles as his dog followed him to each and every spot, like he always does.Therefore breaking a window was not going to work. At least not without hurting Philip.

    Virgil glanced around the road, and grimaced when he realized he had no clue where he was. In his panic he hadn't paid attention to the world about him. The anxious man swore in frustration and kicked his tires. He sat on his hood trying to think. There had to be some stupidly simple...who was he kidding? His phone was in the car he was locked out of nobody will look for him, he has no idea where he is and his love gave up on him.

--

    Roman Prince was the master of being extra, the prince of drama. Sometimes it just happens it rolls over into his personal life. Such a rollover could lead to terrible decisions, like breaking up with a partner of four years because he got way too busy around the holiday season and slept whenever he came over. An impulse mistake.  However he was an asshole and he committed.

   Something Roman was well acquainted with.

    Currently the actor paced around his lavish home hoping that Virgil would call him back. Even though he understood he didn't deserve it in the slightest. A tricky thing with pride, it wouldn't allow him to cave and admit such stupid mistakes. Even if they were irrational, and immature. In honesty, the actor had no idea why his partner had needed to take so many hours. Not when Roman had offered to pay his bills.

   ‘Just to get away from me, then.’ Roman thought  to himself for the hundredth time that week. If Roman was being honest with himself, he knew Virgil was better off, Roman just wasn't enough for him. The actor was way to loud and affectionate and chaotic and well hyper. Virgil was just…beautiful. Roman loved all the things that made him so different.   

     However it seemed everything that the actor tried to do made the other anxious or bored him, or frustrated him. It wasn't fair to make Virgil that uncomfortable. Besides, Virgil was putting distance between them anyway. A mere coincidence that it came to a head at two p.m on Christmas eve.

     Roman took a seat in his chair in the living room glancing at the tree in the far corner.  He had looked forward another family holiday, before Virgil and Logan came along, it was just himself and Patton. Which was nice, but it wasn't the big family event he wanted.  There were no debates, no Variety, just cards from fair weather friends, and Patton watching movies and baking in his kitchen.

--

   Virgil shivered slightly still sitting on his hood an hour later in the deserted back roads of wherever the hell he was.  His head dropped into his hands. Philip still staring at him paws up in the dash warm air still blowing his golden fur. Virgil just started crying feeling the volume of his music vibrating the windshield.  He didn't have much energy. The broken man was cold and exhausted from the week. And it was back to just being him and- No he didn't even have that. Logan was with Patton and would follow him. And Philip was gonna be...locked in this car tomorrow.

    Why couldn't he just get it right this one time?

   Virgil felt the bitter wind bite his ears again. His car stuttering beneath him. A painful reminder he was supposed to get gas.  “ Fu-fuck you too universe.” He said bitterly and he laid there as the car's engine wound down to a halt beneath him. And he curled up on his side waiting, hoping that some asshole would drive by.

Anyone.

--

    Roman jolted upright when his phone started  to chime he practically dove across the room only to feel moderate dread when he saw Logan's name. He answered hesitantly, “ Hello specs! How are you this afternoon?”

    “ I am satisfactory Roman, I was gonna bring over the stuff  Patton made for you and Virgil tonight is that okay?” Roman sighed softly, he was not ready to have this conversation.  

    “ Virgil isn't coming over tonight, or for a while.  We split up this morning.”

    “ Oh, well that is unfortunate, I wonder why Virgil didn't call me. then?”

    “ He went to work instead of coming here pocket protector.  Look you guys can come over later. “

    “ Are you honestly that mad about my brother taking care of priorities?”

    “ I am tired of never being a priority.”

    “ Falsehood. You are one of the most important people in the world to him. He doesn't trust that many people and if you're going to brush him by for taking tender care of his independence  I don't know what to say.” Roman ended the call slamming it on the counter and sauntering to his room after grabbing the champagne from the bucket on the table.

     He didn't need to be yelled at by someone outside of the situation, how was that right?  

--

    Logan pulled his phone from his ear dialing Virgil's number,  walking upstairs to grab his keys. How dare Roman treat his brother that way?  He said nothing to Patton as he passed, prompting a concerned look. He let his partner trail behind, Logan would explain momentarily.

    “ Virgil please pick up…” He muttered to himself as he looked for the car keys, since they weren't on the key hook. He turned to Patton, “ Patton, where did you leave the keys?”

    “Hey,  Happy Holiday's, Logan, if this is you, text. I'll get back to you. Roman, I love you I will call in a moment. If it is you popstar?  Text me I got some puppy pics on standby. Anyone else? Wrong number.”   

    “ Virgil, that is not professional voicemail, we talked about this. Let me know you're alright.”

--

    Virgil could see the light of his phone screen light up with his brother's face  and grimaced as he watched as Philip barked and clawed at the phone for being loud.  Virgil smacked a tired fist on the window as he continued to shiver. He had a little hope maybe they would realize he was gone.  

   His mind was trying to tell him something… something important but he was a bit confused. The hood was growing cold quickly, and he didn't know what to do. He could follow the road, but if he did that, the broken man might get even more lost, there could be nothing. He only saw trees and road to the horizon basically. What if he couldn't find his car again? What if he couldn't find Philip again?  

   Maybe they would care..

   Virgil was deliriously deliberating with himself, and it was crippling him. His mind was mildly foggy and he didn't feel vigilant and that was causing him to panic again.

--

   Logan didn't like the fact his brother didn't answer his call, he wanted to drive down to the younger's apartment. Virgil wasn't one to let the voice mail get it. Even at work. Logan only called when it was important after all. So to hear the voicemail, it left a bad taste in his mouth.  

     Patton had stopped him, after all he was an adult. Logan waited for hours even though the concern on his partner's face was ever growing. The sun had begun to dip behind the horizon when Logan stood up and walked to the door. “ I'm leaving, I would like your company, and an explanation why your expression is growing ever more somber. “

     The younger partners grabs his coat from the coat hook, his hand, wavering as he heard Logan asked about his expression. “ Roman dumped him for not being around, Ro was complaining about it the last couple weeks… but Virgil was working to pay off an engagement ring. So I understood Virgil needing space during work. But he is off and should have called you.”

      “ I uh I can't believe my brother is uh is in a twisted version of  'The Gift of the Magi’. The irony, truly painful. Come along, it seems we are going to have to pull off a Christmas miracle.”   Logan muttered as his partner let out a little squeal.

   Logan pulled out his phone on the way to his car Patton climbing into the passenger seat.   Logan waited for someone to answer the phone at Virgil's work. A small breath of relief came when someone answered.

 “ Hot topic Dan speaking can I help you?”

    “ Dan, this is Virgil's brother Logan, is he there still?”

    “ Nah man he didn't show up today, the manager is furious.”

     “ Right, if he comes in tell him to call me. We haven't seen him all day.” With that he hung up glancing at Patton, “ Virgil didn't GO to work. Call your friend. Tell him to start calling Virgil or get up and look for him like us. “

--

   Roman was  staring up at the fairy light's that wrapped around his ceiling. The unopened bottle of champagne by his side. He couldn't do it, no he wouldn't drink his problems away. He was not that person,never was. The actor heard his phone ring from the kitchen. The campfire song song, Patton's favorite, he stood slowly and followed the damning noise down the stairs. It drew him in like an ominous siren song, drawing him to a swift execution.

   His hand picked it up from the dining table, his eyes glanced at the burning candles almost burnt out before him.  There was no hesitation as he answered his phone, assuming the same role he always did with Patton. The role of the happy best friend who didn't have a care in the world. Except for the fact it crumpled around him “ Hola mi amigo, como estás?”

    ” Roman, Virgil never went to work today.   He hasn't answered Logan's call and we are worried. Can you help us find him? He is probably devastated and we need to make sure he is okay. ”

    This broke the character instantly for Roman, as mad as he was, he did love Virgil.  “ Wh- wait-uh why would he be upset? He was the one putting distance between us?”

    “ You absolute moron, if he is working a minimum wage job-”

    “ Logan!”

    “ No Patton. My brother has been missing for hours because this theater clown decided to be self righteous! A minimum wage job on a hallmark holiday that puts to shame hundreds of his class. He has a man he loves, and would want to give him a great gift. Roman I know you don't understand, I am well aware of that-”

    “I am leaving now, Logan, not arguing.”  Roman piped up ending the call with no hesitation. He gathered his coat and keys.  He didn't know where Virgil was but he had to find him.

    He called his ex in a panic as he sprinted down  the driveway to his car.

--

    Virgil was curled up in a ball on the cold hood of his car  the gas had run out a small while ago. Which meant the thrum of the music was gone. He was in silence at least until the smooth bass of Roman's voice singing to him tickled his ears. Philip  immediately pawing at the screen. The tired man listened to the sweet sound as it hit his ears. If it was the last time, he was okay with that now. He bumped his fist against the windshield in a rhythmic manner

     The broken man thought when the music cut off his love had been sent to voicemail but the tapping of his fist continued, as did the barking.  Virgil normally looked, bit he was tired his body shaking apathy gripping him.

--

  “Hey,  Happy Holiday's, Logan, if this is you, text. I'll get back to you. Roman, I love you-. Click”.  There was a moment of relief, though it was tainted with dread.  Virgil answered his call, at least that was what Roman thought, until Philip barking was the majority of what he could hear.

  “ Philip? What the hell? Where's Virgil?” Roman said shocked at the absurdity of his dog answering. That was when he heard it, a very gentle thumping. Like Virgil was trying to get attention from him.   

   ‘ If this works… I will stop teasing My Chemical Romance. I swear.' The actor thought    to himself before howling to get the dog to paw at the screen maybe he could get him to hit speaker.   What happened next might have been a Christmas miracle, or simply just luck but he knew. He could never tease the band again. The thumping was clearer now.

   “ Virgil? Are you there? “ There was a moment of silence but it was followed by a heavy thump thump. Heavier than it had been at least. Virgil was able to hear him but couldn't vocally respond. Okay.   “. Virgil. I need to know where you on the way to my house or work. One tap for me two taps for work.”.

Thump

   “ Alright I am coming I am gonna drive and find you.  Okay I am going to get off-” Roman was cut off from a thump of protest. Okay. The actor started singing as he drove around, very gentle song met with the rhythmic beating against the window.  Ro was breaking speed limits trying to find his partner. It sounded like he had taken back roads. Too quiet to be the main roads.

--

    Virgil was hopeful, he wanted to be awake for Roman when he came, but he was starting to think it may not happen.   He was so cold everything was numb and he felt that even the tapping on the windshield was taking the strength of ten men.  The rhythm slowed and he heard Roman say something to him. There wasn't much he could do. The broken man was able to hear the actors tone grow frantic.  But in the minutes passing he couldn't understand what was being said.

   At least not enough to make a difference. He understood an occasional shout that broke though, ‘Vir-’.   Other than that, it was lost on him. By fifteen minutes later the tapping had almost ceased. The shaking was constant and he couldn't control it,  nor did he care to.

   He could hardly hear a word, yet he felt familiar strong arms around him and pick up his body with minimal effort.  He felt himself get set in the back seat of a car feeling a familiar clutter of costumes and soft props. It felt hot in the car, felt painful like  running a cold hand under too warm of water. Then the door opened on the passenger side and Philip bounded in. The other back door opened again and he felt Roman climb in and remove his coat and shirt.  

   Roman removed his own shirt pressing it against the cut in his elbow and wrapped himself around Virgil trying to warm him up while the ambulace located them.  The actor went to move the sweatshirt to the passenger seat when he saw a small box fall from his pocket. It brought tears to his eyes. “ I am sorry Virgil, so so sorry.”

   “I...love you…” Virgil sighed,his voice weak and thick from exhaustion as Roman felt his body quivering, it was slowly warming up.

   “ I love you too..” Roman whispered  carding his fingers through chilled hair. “ I'll pay for your window later.” They may not be okay right now, but it will get better.

[crossbowking]

I’m Right Here

PROMPT : “I think you broke my fucking nose!”

SUMMARY : (Set in the beginning of season 3) You and Daryl are out on a run attempting to find supplies for the group, when you come face to face with an unlikely threat.

WORD COUNT : 4,140

A/N : Hello everyone! This is the first story I ever wrote for The Walking Dead. Hope you enjoy! And happy reading! 

(P.S. Who’s excited for tonights episode?!)

xx crossbowking

It was hot.

And not your every day Georgian heat — but a new level of humidity that had sweat dripping from every inch of your body the second the sun came up. You had lost track of the months as time went on, but if you had to guess, you’d say it was right about the middle of July.

With the way the world was now, the dead up and walking, humanity turning against itself, the least you deserved was a slight breeze.

“What I would do for a glass of ice cold water right about now,” you muttered to yourself, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. 

Sighing, you readjusted your grip on the shotgun you held, scanning the abandoned parking lot for signs of movement.

The area was mostly clear — save for a couple of long since abandoned cars, stray shopping carts, and the half a dozen walkers you and Daryl had taken down moments before.

You joined up with Rick’s group a couple months back — they had just lost their farm and were on the run, attempting to find a safe haven to ride the winter out until finding a more permanent home.

As for you, you’d been on your own for a while — you were an only child and both of your parents had died years before everything went to hell.

After the world ended, you caught wind of a group that planned to make the trek to Fort Benning, unsure if the army base was still up and running. With no where else to go, it seemed like the smartest option for you.

The group of fifteen had only gotten a quarter of the way there before you started losing people. Some were torn to shreds by walkers, a few were bit and had to be put down — others just lost hope and faded away. Before you knew it, you were the last one standing.

But then you met a group of people — a group of survivors. And everything changed.

You’d been taking shelter inside an abandoned house, trying to ride out the winter. You were dangerously low on supplies but the thought of going outside with no backup scared you more than starving to death. You’d been debating whether or not to scavenge the houses on the other side of the neighborhood when a scream came from outside, drawing your attention to the frost covered window.

You saw a group of people out on the street surrounded by more walkers than they could handle. A few of the men were fending off the dead with knives and machetes, forming a tight circle around other members of the group. One of the women, you realized in horror, seemed to be pregnant.

Part of you knew you shouldn’t get involved, shouldn’t draw attention to yourself. But a bigger part of you couldn’t sit and do nothing. 

Resolutely, you grabbed your shot gun and swung open the door. You spotted a walker creeping up behind a man with a crossbow strung across his shoulder and pointed your weapon that way, cocking the gun and pulling the trigger, landing a perfect headshot.

The man jumped in surprise, his eyes scanning the area until they landed on you. You let out a shaky breath at the intensity of his gaze, lowering your weapon slightly. 

A moment passed between you two, before he gave you a quick nod and stabbed the next walker he saw. With your help, the group was able to take down every walker on that street.

It took a little while for you to gain everyone’s trust and vice versa, but in no time, you fit right in with the group. Truth be told, you felt more at home with them than you had in a long time.

“Y/N?” came a gruff voice, snapping you out of your thoughts. You glanced backwards, locking eyes with the crossbow wielding man you later came to know as Daryl. “Ya good?” he asked, wiping his hands on the red rag he kept in his back pocket.

You nodded quickly, averting your gaze from his penetrating stare. “How’s the lock comin’ along?” you motioned to the chains wrapped around the doors to the grocery store the two of you were trying to break into.

“It ain’t,” Daryl heaved, tucking the rag back into his pocket.

“We can head back to the prison — see if T-Dog has any tools we can use?” you offered, hefting your shotgun up to rest on your shoulder.

“Can’t afford ta use up gas like that,” he countered, turning his back on you to peer in the window.

You sighed, closing your eyes and taking a breath. “It’s damn hot today,” you mumbled. “The world’s gone to shit, there are zombies trying to eat our brains, and I might actually die of a heat stroke. How embarrassing is that?”

Daryl huffed and cocked his head towards you, giving you a look. But you could see the humor in his eyes that never quite reached his face.

When you first joined the group, Daryl steered clear of you — you were completely convinced he hated your guts. But as time went on and you began to spend more time with him, slowly but surely, he began to open up. Not that he would bear his soul to you or anything, but every once in a while, the two of you would actually have meaningful conversation.

Daryl was a lot more intuitive than he liked to let on, but you could see right past that tough exterior. You found comfort in his presence, which was a hard feat to come by these days. Truthfully, you felt the safest when you were with Daryl — not that you would ever admit that out loud.

But a small part of you liked to think he already knew — by the way he would hover a little closer when the two of you left the prison. Or when faced against some kind of danger, he always positioned himself slightly in front of you without even realizing it. 

You never actually voiced how he made you feel, but you figured Daryl caught on. He had a way of reading you like no one else could.

“Ah, screw this,” Daryl growled, snapping you once again out of your thoughts. He pushed away from the window and grabbed the crossbow he had propped up against the building. “Let’s go ‘round back an’ try ‘ta find another way in.”

Nodding in agreement, you reached for your backpack and strapped it to your back, falling into step beside Daryl as the two of you made your way around the building. “Lori’s almost due,” you murmured aloud. “You think we’ll find any supplies here for the baby?”

Daryl shrugged a shoulder, scanning the area cautiously, always on alert. “Hope so,” he said simply.

Sighing heavily, you rubbed the back of your neck, trying to relieve some pressure. “Do you ever wish you weren’t here?” you suddenly asked, the question popping out before you could really think about it.

Daryl’s steps faltered a moment before he grunted and shook off the surprise. “The hell kinda question is that?”

“I mean, do you ever wonder if any of this is worth it? The constant danger, losing the people you love,” you rattled, peeking a glance at him. “Sometimes I think about what it’d be like to not be here.”

Daryl’s steps slowed and you could suddenly feel waves of tension rolling off him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, feeling your cheeks turn red from your sudden confession.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your elbow, pulling you to a stop. Your gaze landed on Daryl and flickered down to where he held your arm. When you lifted your eyes back to him, you were met with his penetrating stare, expression unreadable.

His deep blue eyes trailed over your face, as if he was trying to read you the same way you were trying to read him. A heavy moment of silence passed as the two of you stared at one another.

Daryl cleared his throat, looking like he was struggling for the right words. “For what it’s worth,” he finally spoke, his deep voice rumbling just above a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Before you could come up with a response, a rustling behind you tore your gaze from him. And just like that, the two of you were back in survival mode. Daryl came to stand by your side, crossbow aimed towards the trees as you raised your shotgun in the same direction. The rustling faded and all that was left was a heavy silence.

“C’mon, let’s keep movin’,” Daryl whispered as he crept along the side of the grocery store with you right on his heels.

The two of you rounded the corner and ended up at the back of the grocery store. You nudged Daryl with your elbow and nodded towards the broken in back door. Crossbow armed and ready, Daryl crept to the door and whistled, waiting to hear any movement inside. After a few moments passed, he motioned for you to follow him inside.

Immediately, you were hit with a putrid smell, like rotting food mixed with rotting flesh and you felt a wave of nausea. Daryl seemed to be equally affected and covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his arm. Ignoring the way your stomach heaved, you focused on breathing slowly through your mouth.

Using the butt of your shotgun, you tapped one of the empty metal shelves near you, the sound echoing throughout the large market. The two of you waited with baited breath for the sound of any other living or non living thing to make itself known.

After a few moments of silence, you released the breath you’d been holding and looked at Daryl. “I think we’re good to go.”

Daryl just grunted, which over the past few months, you came to interpret as an agreement.

“Why don’t you check out the back of the store and I’ll head to the front?” you offered, already making your way up one of the aisles. You didn’t get far before you felt Daryl grabbing your arm once again.

“Naw, I think we ought ‘ta stick together,” he argued, his face drawn tightly.

“It’ll take us twice as long if we stick together — this store is huge,” you said, slightly incredulous.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya go off on your own. This place ain’t safe, Y/N.”

You sighed, feeling your heart swell regardless.

Things with Daryl were complicated. The two of you had gone from barely speaking to being…friends? You’d like to think you were at least friends, but Daryl was hard to read. You never really knew where you stood with him. There was a part of you, one that you tried very hard to ignore, that longed for something more.

“We’ll be in and out,” you exhaled finally, resting your hand on Daryl’s arm, ignoring the way he tensed. “Promise.”

Daryl seemed to have an internal struggle, but eventually nodded, not looking too pleased. “Anythin’ happens, I mean anythin’, ya just holler an’ I’ll be there.”

“You got it, Dixon,” you retorted, giving him a small salute. Daryl just scoffed and rolled his eyes, but you could see the hint of a smile as he walked away.

Pleased with your small victory, you made your way up the aisle and to the front of the store. You surveyed your surroundings — noticing how empty the store already was, having been ravaged by other survivors. Deciding to start with the canned food section, you headed that way, keeping your gun ready to fire.

The aisle was almost completely cleared out, which wasn’t too surprising. You grabbed what little was left on the shelves — two cans of corn, one can of peaches, two cans of black beans, some kind of canned meat — and shoved them into your backpack. You hefted the bag back onto your shoulders and continued on.

From the back of the store, you could hear Daryl rummaging around and hoped he was having more luck than you were.

You were about to head to the toiletry section, when you heard a noise coming from the far right side of the store. Your heart began to race a little bit faster, nerves standing on end. 

Gripping your shotgun tightly, you took a breath and began creeping towards where you heard the sound. The rancid smell that laced the store began to get stronger and stronger, making your eyes water.

Suddenly, a low growl came from the next aisle and you slowly rounded the corner, discovering what made the noise.

There was a walker hunched over what seemed to be the remains of its last meal. The stark white tile floor was covered in blood and all that seemed to be left was bits of human flesh and bone. You felt bile rise to your throat as the walker feasted, unaware of your arrival.

Tiptoeing towards the biter, you softly rested your shotgun against one of the shelves and reached for the knife you kept strapped to your leg. Raising your weapon up, you came to stand behind the walker and with all the force you could muster, stabbed your knife into the top of its head. It stilled immediately and as you yanked your knife out, it fell to the floor.

You released the breath you’d been holding and stared at the corpse. What the hell has this world come to? you thought solemnly. Grimacing, you wiped the blood from your knife onto your jeans and decided it was time to get back to work.

Just as you were about to turn around, you heard the distinct cock of a shot gun directly behind you — and before you could process what was happening, the barrel of the gun was pressed against the back of your head.

You froze — a pit forming in your stomach so intense you couldn’t feel anything else. For a moment, no one moved…

Until finally, an unfamiliar voice broke through the silence. “P-put your hands up,” it spoke, a tremble leaking through.

As slow as possible, you raised your hands above your head, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat.

“T-turn around,” came the same shaky voice and you gradually turned to face the stranger.

What you did not expect was for the stranger holding you at gun point to be a young boy. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, eyes big and scared, face pale and thin. You could see the shot gun — your shot gun, the one you had set down just moments before — shaking ever so slightly in his tight grip.

“Let’s just take it easy, alright?” you said in a low voice, keeping your hands up.

“Drop the knife,” he retorted, motioning the gun towards the knife you still had clamped in your hand.

“Why don’t you lower the gun and we can talk —“

“I said drop the knife!” the boy shouted, taking a step towards you, hands still trembling.

“Okay, okay…I hear you,” you nodded, releasing the knife, it clattering loudly to your feet. “Now please, kid, just lower the gun,” you urged.

“Give me your backpack,” he responded, eyes darting around frantically.

You nodded again and slowly began to shrug off your backpack. Something about the kid seemed off — it didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt you, he was just desperate. 

“Look, I know you’re scared. Lower the gun and let’s talk for a minute,” you offered, holding your bag in one hand, the other in front of you.

The boy took a step forward and snatched the bag from your hands, shrugging it onto his own shoulder. “I-I’m real sorry about this, lady,” he croaked.

All of the sudden, he aimed the gun at your head and you saw his finger moved towards the trigger and —

“HEY!” a familiar voice boomed.

You saw movement from the corner of your eye and suddenly, there was Daryl.

The kid, having been distracted by the sudden appearance, turned his head just as Daryl tackled him into the aisle’s metal shelving and the two tumbled to the ground. You saw the shotgun slip out of the boy’s hands and fall to the floor. Daryl jumped to his feet, grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt and heaving him up.

Ignoring the fact that you were almost just shot, you launched forward and grabbed your shotgun.

Suddenly, a glint of silver caught your attention and you felt your stomach drop. During the scuffle, the kid had grabbed the knife you had dropped earlier and now held it just above Daryl’s head, ready to strike...

“STOP!” you screamed, cocking the shotgun and pressing it to the kid’s temple, everyone immediately stilling. “Drop it,” you growled, glaring at the kid who looked like he was about to pass out.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —“ the boy stuttered, eyes darting between you and Daryl.

“Put the knife down, kid,” you repeated, softening your voice a little. After a heavy moment of silence, the boy dropped the knife.

You let out a breath and swung your gaze to Daryl, who was watching at you, breathing heavy, grip still locked on the kid’s shirt. His eyes traveled over you frantically, worry written all over his face.

The kid began to squirm in Daryl’s grasp, drawing his attention back to boy. “An’ what the fuck ya think you’re doin’?” he snarled, shoving the boy back into the metal shelving.

“W-wait, I-I’m —“

“Ya best be keepin’ your damn mouth shut,” he growled, just inches from the boy’s face.

“Wait Daryl, let him talk,” you finally spoke up, lowering your gun.

Daryl swung his gaze back to you, eyes ablaze. “This asshole jus’ held a gun ‘ta your head an’ ya wanna let ‘im talk?”

“I-I-I I don’t…I’m…I didn’t —“ the kid began, before Daryl pushed him back farther into the shelf.

“Ya better start talkin’ ‘fore I kick your damn teeth out,” he hissed at the kid.

“I-I didn’t want to kill her,” the boy finally stammered. “I-I swear, I didn’t. I thought I had to. I didn’t —“

Before the kid could continue, Daryl reeled back and punched the kid square in the face, a crack sounding throughout the store. The boy howled in pain and dropped to his knees, cradling his face.

Blood streaming over his lips, the kid looked up at Daryl in panic. “I think you broke my fucking nose!”

“You’re lucky I don’t break your fuckin’ neck!” Daryl snarled back, before you jumped in front of him, putting both your hands on his chest to hold him back.

“Daryl, stop!” you pleaded, grunting as you struggled to hold him back.

His fiery expression faltered as he finally looked down at you, his breathing slowing as his body sagged slightly.

“I thought I lost ya, Y/N,” he mumbled softly.

“I’m right here,” you whispered, placing your hand gently on the side of his face.

Daryl didn’t respond, just leaned slightly into your touch.

A groan from behind pulled you back into the present moment and you looked down at the boy.

“What’s your name?” you asked softly, crouching down so you were eye level.

The kid looked up at Daryl with fearful eyes, before they landed on you. “Wyatt,” he finally spoke.

“Do you have a group, Wyatt?” you continued.

Wyatt nodded quickly, watching Daryl pace back and forth like a caged animal behind you. “We were runnin’ out of food, water, medicine…they sent us here for supplies. I didn’t know —”

“Us? The hell ya mean us?” Daryl snapped, coming to stand directly behind you. “Ya mean ‘ta tell me there’re more of ya pricks here?”

You watched the color drain from Wyatt’s face, his gaze traveling to where you had killed that walker earlier — the walker that had been feasting on its latest meal…

“Not anymore,” he squeaked out, staring at the mess of blood and gore.

You sighed heavily, rubbing the base of your neck. In any other scenario, this stranger would’ve been dead. If Daryl hadn’t killed him, you would have. In this world, it was kill or be killed — something you learned the hard way over time.

But this kid was different. He was just a kid. He was just trying to keep his group safe and you could understand that — it was scary, the lengths you would go to protect those you loved. You knew the feeling.

Turning your head, you stared up at Daryl. You would do just about anything for that man. Hell, you almost shot the kid trembling in front of you for him.

Sometimes, you had to make tough choices to keep your people safe. And other times, a little humanity never hurt anyone.

You reached for your backpack that had been thrown to the ground during the scuffle and unzipped it. Pulling out a couple of the cans you had just found, you set them down in front of Wyatt, who watched you with big eyes.

“The hell ya doin’, Y/N?” Daryl questioned — not accusingly, more in confusion.

You just gave him a reassuring smile, before adding your knife to the pile. “Listen to me very closely, Wyatt,” you said, grabbing the kids attention. “If this were to happen again, some people may not be as understanding as me and my friend here. But I get it, okay? You were just doing what it takes to survive,” you paused, glancing up at Daryl meaningfully. “I would do the same thing for the people I care about.”

Daryl stared down at you, his expression a mixture of understanding and something else you couldn’t quite place. He cleared his throat and reached a hand down towards you. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

You took his hand and stood up, lingering just a second before pulling away to strap on your backpack and grab your shot gun. Wyatt stared up at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

You moved to stand beside Daryl who was stringing his crossbow over his shoulders. He stared at Wyatt, before crouching down a bit. “I want ya ‘ta count ‘ta two hundred and then get the hell outta here, understand?”

Wyatt nodded quickly, wiping at the blood dripping down his chin. “T-thank you,” he finally spoke, gathering the items you had given him into his arms.

You gave one last encouraging nod to the kid, before you and Daryl headed outside, welcoming the fresh air. The two of you hurried around the store, keeping your weapons up as you jogged to the car parked in the front. 

Finally reaching the vehicle, you tossed your bag and weapon into the back, hoisting yourself inside and slamming the door shut, Daryl sliding into the drivers seat.

As the adrenaline began to wash off you, a heaviness settled over your mind. The reality of what almost happened hit you like a truck and you felt a shiver run through you. You could feel Daryl watching you but kept your own gaze trained ahead, focusing on slowing down your breathing.

But no matter what you did, you couldn’t calm yourself — it had been too close. Way too close. And your heart wouldn’t stop beating a mile a minute in your chest.

You let out a sigh, feeling the breath hitch in your throat. Suddenly, Daryl’s warm hand was squeezing your shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing your attention to him, “you’re okay, Y/N.”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no, i-it’s not that,” you admitted, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I-I thought…when I saw that knife above your head I just…I…” you broke off, the feeling of complete terror consuming you.

And then suddenly, you were being pulled into Daryl’s arms.

He wrapped both arms tight around your shaking frame, holding you against his chest. 

After the surprise of rare affection from him wore off, you found your arms snaking around his waist, holding him just as tightly. You immediately felt calm, his steady heart beat and warmth grounding you. It may have been your imagination, but you thought you felt him place a light kiss to the top of your head.

“I thought I lost you,” you mumbled into his chest, thankful he couldn’t see the blush creeping over your cheeks or the warmth spreading through your heart.

“I’m right here,” he murmured softly, the words rumbling through his chest as he moved one hand to cradle the back of your head. “Imma always be right here.”

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[voiceless-terror]

prompt request: JMart angst/hurt/comfort "you're not broken" + "i love you, no matter what your brain tells you"

Hey there friend! As requested, here is your prompt. I made it into a sort of season one/two au where Jon and Martin have already been dating. Hope you like! It can be a stand alone piece, but it is also the second in a series, the first of which is here: The Art of Conversation

“I was thinking…”

“As you do.”

Jon fixed Martin with a scowl. “Perhaps we could- that is, if you want-wouldyouliketospendthenightatmine?” 

“You’ll have to try again, love. Didn’t quite catch that.”

Jon sighed in the face of Martin’s open fondness as they strolled down the street, making their way back from lunch. Martin brought a happiness to his life that he never thought possible- a companionship built on mutual respect and love. He enjoyed every night he spent in Martin’s cozy flat, curled up on the couch drinking tea and talking about everything and nothing at all. That’s not to say they didn’t have their troubles- Martin was rather inexperienced with intimate relationships, and Jon didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to communication. But Martin held his hand the night he stuttered out his asexuality, patient and loving and kind. Jon wasn’t ashamed of who he was, never had been- but he knew that for others it was considered a deal breaker. He’d heard stories. But Martin nodded, thanked him for trusting him with his boundaries, and let him curl back into his side, as if it changed nothing.

If he could handle that, than why, for fuck’s sake, was he so worried about having Martin over?

His flat wasn’t that bad. In actuality, it was quite a bit bigger than Martin’s. He wasn’t dirty, he usually kept up with chores, kept it relatively tidy.

But there was something so intimate about it- there was a reason he never hosted any events. Martin saw glimpses of it when he picked him up for things, but he’d never actually been inside. It was just so...barren. Void of anything Jon-like. Sure, it housed his possessions, his favorite books, his grandmother’s salvageable furniture. But it was a peek into his mind that he didn’t like others seeing. What if the way he lived was wrong? What if he didn’t have the right things? Like the little things that Martin had- a proper strainer for loose-leaf tea, little jars of spices for cooking, a towel-rack instead of a plastic hook on the wall. A nice bed frame and headboard, a worn but cozy duvet. In comparison, Jon lived like a freshly-graduated college student. He should have his shit together by now, right?

But every time he thought of making it a bit more homey and lived-in, his mind blanked. Where were the lists of all the things you need to make a home yours? What would look best on the walls? And what if he bought all of those things and it just looked awkward, like puzzle pieces forced in the wrong place? So he kept his mismatched furniture and odd little piles of books. It’s easier to stick with what you know.

But it was about time he had Martin over- the man had accepted him in every possible way, this couldn’t be the thing that would make or break their relationship. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

“Would you like,” he started again, taking a deeper breath. “To spend the night at mine on Saturday?” That would give him enough time to prepare, it was only Wednesday. “I could- I dunno, fix dinner, we could watch that movie you wanted to see? Or whatever, really. I don’t mind.”

Martin beamed a bright, shining smile that always made Jon’s heart flutter when it was aimed his way. “I’d love that, Jon! I’ll bring over some wine, we’ll make a night of it.” His arm wound around Jon’s waist, bringing him closer. “Fix you an omelette in the morning.”

“With the green peppers?”

“Of course. Oh! We could go for a morning stroll; you’ve got that lovely park by your house, yeah?”

“Mhm.” It was nice seeing Martin so excited. His anxiety eased, though he still felt the need to qualify. “It’s- well, it’s not the nicest place, but I keep it clean and-”

“Jon,” Martin’s elbow nudged his side, and he bent down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Any place is nice if it’s got you in it.”

“Sap,” Jon rolled his eyes even as his face flushed red. 

He could probably do this. Right?

______

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Jon was twitchy and nervous the rest of the week, his mind spiraling as he considered every situation, even the most ridiculous. Martin’s not going to care if your flat is ugly. Martin’s going to take one look inside and suggest going back to his. Martin will like your cooking. It’s perfectly serviceable. Martin’s going to spit it out and-

“You alright there, boss?”

Jon jumped at the sound of Tim’s voice, almost dropping the mug he’d been preparing to wash. “Christ, Tim! Announce yourself next time, please.”

“That was me announcing myself,” he hopped up on the counter, giving him an easy smile. “What’s going on? You’ve been in your head all week.”

“I have not.”

“You asked me about the Ling statement twice today. It’s Friday. I finished researching it on Monday.”

Well then.

Jon sighed, putting the mug in the sink and turning to face Tim’s friendly concern. “It’s- hm. I’m having Martin at mine tomorrow, and- well, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Jon dodged the condescending pat to the back. “Seriously, that’s adorable. What’s there to be nervous about? You’ve been dating for three months, and pining for much more besides that.”

Jon’s hands gripped the counter with a renewed force. “I just want everything to be okay. I want him to think I’m a fully-functional human being, not someone who panics over having his boyfriend over. We’re always at his place, he’s always cooking for me. He deserves- he deserves everything.”

Tim hopped off the counter, face suddenly serious. “Jon, you’re quite literally Martin’s everything. It’s sickening with you two, honestly. You’ll be fine.” He threw an arm around his shoulder and Jon allowed it, just this once. “Now, what’re you cooking?”

“Well, there’s this pasta dish he loves at the Italian place on Third,” Jon began, his hands fidgeting nervously. “But it’s a bit...difficult to cook. I found a few recipes and I think I can recreate it, it’s just going to take some time and I’ve never worked with some of the ingredients and I might not have the right dishes for it and I don’t want to just substitute things-”

Tim cut off his rant. “That all sounds really lovely, but why don’t you just stick with something you know? That penne you brought to Sasha’s potluck last year- now that was good. And Martin liked it, right?”

“Well, yes,” Jon bristled. “But you think I can’t do it? It’s just a recipe, I should be able to follow basic instructions, I’m not stupid-”

“I didn’t say that, Jon,” Tim grabbed his shoulders and steered him into a seat. “I just think if you’re already this nervous about having him over, maybe you should minimize the stress, yeah? Lighten the load.”

“I can’t,” Jon argued. “I already bought all of the ingredients- I can’t just let them go to waste. I can do this.”

“Well, that’s the spirit!” Tim put a hand on his shoulder as Jon slumped over, leaning into the table. “Look, it’ll go over fine. Stop worrying. Martin will love whatever you make because you made it, alright? And if you need help, just give me a call. I’m not so bad in the kitchen myself, y’know.”

“Tim, you once set the toaster oven on fire because you left a cheese toastie in there for two hours.”

“Fuck’s sake, you set an oven on fire one time and no one lets you forget it-” 

_______

The day arrives without much fanfare, besides a text from both Sasha and Tim declaring that “he had this!” and to “relax, it’ll go great!” Tim wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.

And of course, a text from Martin.

Looking forward to tonight :) Love you!

He straightens up his apartment and then un-straightens it when it looks too clean. He moves furniture to make it more centered, he studies the recipe a couple more times so when four o’clock hits he’ll be ready to start cooking. It’ll be on the table by six, right when Martin’s supposed to arrive. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

But his books look wrong today. Messy, ugly, no sort of order. There are little piles and big piles. Even the ones on the bookshelf look bad somehow. He’s got authors and genres all mixed up. It looks stupid, laughable. Jon’s got to fix this.

He starts unloading them one by one, first in alphabetical order then later by genre, because that makes more sense, right? He switches them back to alphabetical after much consideration- that’s the easier one, of course. But then he gets online, sees all of these nice color-coded displays and wouldn’t that look nice on his bookshelf? He grabs the older, leather-bound books he keeps in his bedroom and brings them out to the sitting area. Now these should be displayed, these look nice. But then there’s no room left over and he’s surrounded by paperbacks he couldn’t find room for and Christ the place is a mess-

And then the doorbell rings.

Fuck. Fuck!

Of course Martin would get here early. Martin always shows up at least fifteen minutes early, but two hours is kind of pushing it. Maybe he wanted to surprise Jon with something, Martin’s very kind like that. Jon opens the door, hands shaking.

Martin’s standing there, looking flustered and harried. “Sorry I’m late!” he begins, giving Jon a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. Late? “The trains were running slow again and I practically sprinted down the street- hope I didn’t mess up your plans, love!”

Jon looks down at his phone, dumbfounded. It’s six thirty. 

It’s six thirty and there’s no dinner on the table. It’s six thirty and his living room’s a mess, books everywhere. It’s six thirty and Martin’s going to be so, so disappointed.

“Jon? Is everything alright?” He can barely make out Martin’s voice as his head swims; his arms wrap around his torso and dig into his body and all he can mumble is apologies.

“Sorry- I’m- fuck, I’m so stupid, I’m-”

“Hey, hey,” Martin’s voice immediately goes into that low, soothing tone that he uses whenever Jon’s upset. Whenever Jon makes everything about him when it should be about Martin for once. “None of that, now. Let’s go sit down, yeah?’ Martin immediately sets down his bag and his- oh God, he’s brought flowers and now Jon’s crying and everything’s wrong.

Martin’s steering him over to the couch with infinite care sits beside him, putting a hand on his knee and the other on his cheek, wiping his tears. It’s a gesture Jon loves but doesn’t deserve today. “It’s alright love, don’t cry. I’m here.”

“You’re- you’re here and I didn’t - I didn’t fix anything and nothing’s right, I’m so sorry-” Jon is well aware his words are barely intelligible, but that hardly matters now. Not five seconds in and he’s already ruined the night with his stupid, broken brain that just can’t fucking focus.

“You’re not broken, Jon,” He must have said the words aloud because now Martin’s got his face in his hands and is trying to make eye contact with him. “Don’t say that about yourself. You know it’s not true.”

“But it is,” Martin has to see that. What grown man can’t keep a schedule? What kind of adult loses three hours to a failed attempt at organizing books? Martin’s going to realize how messed up he is and he’s going to leave and Jon’s going to be alone again. “You- you deserve so much more than someone who can’t e-even make you dinner, can’t do one simple thing-”

“Jon, don’t- don’t say things like that. I know what I deserve, alright?” Martin pulls Jon to his chest and the pressure is good, stabilizing. “I love you, no matter what that brain of yours tells you. Okay?” He can only nod as the words bring on a fresh round of tears and he buries his face in Martin’s jumper.

It feels like hours before he calms down under Martin’s soothing hands and warm voice. He reluctantly pulls away to look the man in the eye. He deserves an apology that isn’t a breakdown. “I’m- I’m really sorry, though,” he sniffs, trying to keep his emotions in check. “It’s just- you’re always cooking for me and doing nice things and I wanted to pay you back.”

Martin’s brow furrows and Jon’s afraid he’s said the wrong words. “It’s not about paying me back, Jon. I cook for you because I want to, not because I have to. I like- well, it’s nice to finally have someone who appreciates it.”

Jon’s aware of Martin’s tempestuous relationship with his mother- he’s never brought Jon along on his visits, though he says that’s more to spare Jon than it is any judgment on their relationship. “She’s absolutely horrid sometimes, Jon. You don’t deserve that,” he said.

“Well, neither do you, Martin.” Jon never liked seeing Martin cry, though he insisted these were happy tears.

“You’ve got a lot of ingredients over there,” Martin murmurs, casting an appreciative eye over at the counter. “What were you planning on making?”

He pulls up the recipe on his phone, reluctantly handing it over to Martin. “I don’t think it would’ve turned out well, but I know how much you loved it when we-”

“When we went there on our first date,” Martin finishes. His eyes are watering- is he crying? “I’m sorry, it’s just- that’s so thoughtful, I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Martin,” Jon says incredulously as he winds his arms around the man’s neck. “I didn’t even make it.”

“It’s the thought that counts, Jon!” His voice is nasally and tight. 

“Don’t- don’t cry Martin-”

“I can’t help it!”

“You’re going to make me cry again-” Martin chuckles at this and leans back on the couch, taking Jon with him in a mess of tears and laughter.  “What a pair we make.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, love. Maybe we can make it together, yeah? Bond n’ all that.”

“That sounds nice,” Jon’s response is muffled by Martin’s jumper. “Would require getting up, though.”

“We’ve got some time. This couch is heavenly- you’ve been holding out on me, Sims.”

Later that night, after a few mishaps but an all-around good dinner, he’s back on the couch and back in Martin’s arms. He runs his fingers through Jon’s hair, a touch that quiets his brain for the first time all week. 

As it turns out, the only thing his flat was missing was someone to share it with.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354958

Next in Series:

My Dearest

The Weight of Love

[sabraeal]

Rarely Pure and Never Simple: Part 3

Shirayuki half expects their relationship to end when the show does.

It would make sense, in a way. Outside of the insular theater fish bowl, Obi’s the school’s bad boy, the super senior with a mysterious past, someone who’s had sex, and she -- well, she spends the first five minutes after she wakes up Monday morning straightening out with Higata when they should go over the latest Mathematics Magazine. Now that drama season is over, they have to catch up with the other Mathletes. She can already feel atrophy in the area of her brain she’s dedicated to functional equations.

That’s the real problem: when the curtain closes and the lights go down, he’s still just as much of a bad ass as he always is, and she -- she’s never been more than twenty points away from a perfect score on any of her SATs. Out of seven classes, four of hers are AP, she’s taking three STEM courses and -- and she enjoys extra credit assignments. The closest she’s ever come to sex was when she forgot to turn on safe search in ninth grade image-searching for stallions.

(”Stallions?” He’s so close to her, she can feel the way his shoulder shakes against hers. Every nerve feels electric when he sits next to her like this, and it feels dangerous to be in near-darkness with him, only the emergency lighting illuminating his face. “What’s a cute kid like you doing looking for stallions?”

“Someone told me I looked like I liked horses!” He’s practically quivering with laughter now, and she can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed, not when -- not when she can make him laugh. “I thought I should try to learn about them --”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” he snickers. “You don’t need to meet everyone’s expectations.”)

Yes, god, the way you sound, Obi growls in her memory, god, fuck, that’s so good, please --

Well, it had been the closest she’d been until last weekend, at least.

But that’s the point. She’s not that girl she was in the car, her skirt rucked up to her hips and tights with runs in them, rocking into -- into things. She’s just...her. Heavy sweaters and high-waisted skirts, kitten socks peeking over the tops of her boots. She’s never even seen a condom outside of health class. With so many other options, there’s no reason for someone like him to stay with her.

She spends the fifteen minute walk to school heavy-breathing with her head in her hands, trying to prepare herself. It’s fine, it is. He’s had a night to think about it. He’ll realize that this is like, Stockholm Syndrome or whatever, and let her down gently. This is all just...pulling off a band aid. She’s just got to get it over with.

At least that’s what she thinks until she sees him waiting on a stile outside the school, breath misting in the air. His whole face lights up the moment he catches sight of her.

“Kid!” he calls out, falling into step beside her. A wave of finality washes over her. This is the moment of truth; this is when he either does something or --

His fingers thread through hers, their palms kissing as he squeezes tight. A smile curves his mouth; not a smirk, not a grin, but a smile. In the morning light, she can almost make out a blush under his skin.

“Hi,” he says shyly, swinging their hands sweetly between them. “Did you, um, have a good night?”

(He pulls back, panting, pupils endless in the darkness, his hand still hot on her waist. “Kid,” he gasps, “if you don’t go in, your grans are going to wonder why you’re out here, sitting in my car for so long.”

Her stomach feels bruised, and it’s only when she shifts her gaze the the clock on his dashboard that she realized she’s been shoving it into the center console, as if she could make it a less solid barrier by force of will.

“It’s fine,” she breathes, struggling to bring his mouth closer to hers. “It’s after eight. They’re probably asleep watching TV. They won’t even notice --”

“Kid.” He jumps away, chuckling under his breath. “You should go in. We’ve got plenty of time for...things. Don’t gotta blow your --” He drags his words to an abrupt stop, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We can do more later, I mean.”

She whines. “But --”

“Later,” he says, firmer this time. He presses one last kiss to her lips. “I promise.”)

“Y-yes.” She’s practically tripping over herself to seem normal, but he’s just -- just holding her hand as they walk, like this is something they do every day, like this isn’t totally foreign country. He’s so casual, and she’s struggling to figure out if he’s flirting. “I-I, um, has a very nice goodnight kiss, so I, uh, had very sweet dreams.”

His eyebrows inch to his hairline, heat flaring in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Oh, he should -- he should not be able to sound like that at school. She ducks her head, burying her face into his side. “Mm-hm.”

He draws to a stop, fingers hesitantly slipping away from hers, and for a moment her heart pounds, her palms prickling with sweat and -- and maybe that was too much? She’s not really sure how to flirt, whether she’s coming off too corny or if he just doesn’t like it, but --

She looks up. A floral decal stretches across deep red metal. Oh, they’re at her locker. The end of the line. Obi fidgets with the strap on his his messenger bag, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Hey, is it okay if I --” He stops with a sigh, shaking his head. A slight pressure urges her chin up, her gaze falling straight into the warm amber of his eyes. His fingers reach out, hooking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “That’s better. Is it okay if I --” the words catch again -- “would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Shirayuki blinks. She didn’t complain last night, what could have possibly changed for him to --?

He jostles against her with a grunt, head snapping over his shoulder to glare. Kai winces, holding up a hand as he squeaks by. “Sorry, man!”

Oh. Oh. It’s not about whether she wants to kiss him, it’s about -- about whether she wants to to this in public. Whether she wants everyone to know.

“Obi,” she laughs, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, urging him to face her. She raises up on the tip of her toes, his hands coming to support her --

This should be chaste; it’s just a quick good morning kiss, not hot back-seat make outs, but his lips slide against hers with a lazy heat, as if they’re wrapped up in silk sheets and it’s Sunday morning -- god, she watches too much TV -- and she loses herself. Her back falls against her locker, and she drags him with her, his hands squeezing her hips just hard enough to send frisson sparking through her belly. She opens her mouth, letting his tongue slide past her teeth --

“Ah,” Zen coughs. “That would be what happened.”

Obi startles under her hands, but he doesn’t jump away. He pulls the slightest bit back, letting their lips part with a soft smack.

“Ah...” He rubs his neck with one hard, casting a shrinking look over at him. “Hey, Chief.”

To his credit, Zen doesn’t look mad, just -- resigned. Knowing. “I was just coming over to tell you that Izana approved your shifts this week.”

“Oh, uh.” Obi looks like he’d rather the floor swallow him whole than keep talking. “Thanks, man. I need the hours. You know, play stuff.”

“I know. It’s no problem.” Zen’s eyes dart between them. She doesn’t even realize how hard she’s clenching Obi’s shirt until his gaze catches on them, both eyebrows raising to his hairline. “And, ah, congratulations, I guess.”

Obi mumbles his thanks, so flushed he’s beginning to look pink. Shirayuki smiles, fingers loosening so that she can trail her hand down to one of his, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m -- we’re very happy.”

Zen’s mouth pulls tight, but she barely notices over the way Obi is looking at her; this wide, wondrous look as if he’s never seen her before.

“Good,” Zen says finally, and he -- he means it, she can tell. “You both deserve it. Being happy.”

He clears his throat, turning to Obi. “You’re still going to come play ball with us this Saturday, right?”

Obi almost sags in relief. “Yeah, if you don’t mind losing.”

“Hey,” Zen laughs, “Kiki’s on my team this time.”

“Yeah, okay, shorty,” he claps back, mouth parted in a grin. “You tell yourself it’s gonna matter.”

For how much his attraction -- and her own -- took her by surprise, she expects people to be more...shocked than they are.

“You weren’t already together?” Ryuu asks, disinterested, as he stares at the ceiling, trying valiantly not to look at Obi splitting into their flask.

(Enzyme chemistry had been his worst unit so far -- and Obi’s favorite.

“What’s not to love?” Obi drawls, leaning back as he swirls his saliva around, trying to read the marks on the side. “You get to eat things in class, and now I’m being told to spit in shit.”

“Bodily fluids,” Ryuu offers, pained, before laying his head on the bench.)

“I just assumed,” he continues, settling out one of the tubes of potato starch. “You always sat next to him on the tech couch. And you were always touching. I didn’t see you kissing, but I assumed that was because I was around.” He blinks his wide blue eyes at the both of them. “Isn’t that how couples act?”

Obi coughs into his shoulder, and she glares.

“Well,” she huffs. “I was surprised.”

Kiki glances at their joined hands when they come sit with her at lunch.

“Finally,” she says, so smug. Shirayuki wishes she could sink through the floor.

Mitsuhide, at the least, is shocked. “Finally?” he yelps. “I thought – didn’t you – didn’t Zen –?”

Kiki leans over, squeezing his thigh. “Things change.”

The tips of his ears burn a bright red. “O-oh. That’s, um, true.”

Kihal’s is the most embarrassing by far.

“Oh, thank god,” she drawls, casting an appreciative look over to where Obi’s bent over a flat, trying to tell Kai how to break down the frame without ruining the wood. “Someone needed to be getting some of that.”

Shirayuki feels her face flush. “I, um, I mean --”

“I mean look at that.” She gestures to what Shirayuki assumes are his, ah, assets. “Someone needs to put their hands on it. For science.”

She doesn’t know how to explain she hasn’t, not yet, so instead she says, “Did you know Mitsuhide and Kiki are dating now, too?”

It’s strange how easy it is to be with him.

After Zen, where every moment seemed fraught and important, like if she breathed at the wrong she would lose her chance, being with Obi is – simple. She’s used to Izana looking down his nose at the girl whose grandparents run the local pub, or her grandparents exchanging worried looks when Zen dropped her off after practice.

He lives up on the hill, doesn’t he, they’d ask, mouths set in worried lines, what’s he doing stepping out with a girl like you?

She tells them she’s dating Obi, and they both grin, exchanging knowing looks, and ask, when’s he coming to dinner?

Friday is the answer.

Izana has him working nearly every day at the club the rest of the week; he’d taken two weeks off for tech, and at the end of the day he could only just barely afford it. She asks when his next free day is, and Obi blurts out Friday in an eager burst, breathless. She blinks, confused, until it dawns on her – they haven’t been together in a week. Alone.

They’ve kissed, of course, quick pecks that more often than not lead to lingering lips and late classes, but they haven’t had time to – to do things. Make out things. As good as she’s promised herself she’ll be, she misses the feel of his skin beneath her palms, of his breath stuttering into her mouth, of his soft groans beneath her lips –

Ah, right. Maybe it’s better that they…haven’t had time.

Or so she thinks, until he’s seated across from her at her grandparents’ trestle table -- It’s Amish-made, Grandad tells him proudly when he asks, brought it up from Dutch Country as a wedding gift. An heirloom piece, yanno? -- and she can see the straight set of his shoulders beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, see the shy way he ducks his head when Nanna compliments the box of French pastries he’s brought for dessert.

“I just boxed up some extra from work, is all,” he says with a shrug. “We’re allowed to take some at the end of last shift.”

“It’s very thoughtful,” Nanna tells him, with the sort of tone that says she won’t hear anything to the contrary. “Glad to see Shirayuki’s got good taste.”

“Nanna!” she hisses, clapping her hands to her cheeks, heat building under her palms. “Don’t say that! That’s so embarrassing.”

Shirayuki wants to melt under the table, she wants a yawning abyss to open up right under her --

Until Obi laughs.

She’s seen it before; he usually snickers or -- if Mitsuhide is being particularly oblivious -- giggles, but sometimes, when he’s real happy, he does this. He just fills up on it, laughing right up from his belly until his eyes tear.

It’s the most perfect sound she’s ever heard.

It’s inconvenient that her grandparents are right there, when she wants to kiss him so badly. She wants to taste the joy on his lips, the pleasure in his breath, and --

“You staying after dinner, Obi?” Nanna asks, startling her right out of her reverie. Oh god, she was thinking about that at the dinner table.

“I, uh --” He sends her a panicked look.

“We’re going to do homework,” she says, and he’s relieved, like he thought she might kick him out and tell him she’d see him on Monday. “Obi came straight from the club, and I saved some work.”

“Oh my,” Nanna says with a soft smile. “How responsible of you.”

“As I always say,” Grandad chimes in. “The couple who works together --”

“Stays together,” her and Nanna chorus, with a wry look between them.

Grandad huffs, poking at his peas. “I don’t say it that much.”

Obi’s distracting.

Not that – he’s not trying to be; he’s not beside her on the bed, peppering her neck with kisses as he quizzes her on anatomy, hands sliding hotly over her thighs –

Oh no, he’s not doing that, but he might as well be for the amount she’s able to focus on the bones of the skeletal system. She has a quiz tomorrow, but she’s swapped the tibia and the fibula twice on her practice tests, and on the last one she wrote in tibula and fibia for the arm bones, and she’s just – a mess. She’s a mess.

It’s not his fault; he’s perched at the end of her bed, surrounded by a host of her stuffed companions, long legs stretched out as he tries to pick his way through Catcher in the Rye. He’s minding his own business, brow furrowing deeper with each turn of the page, mouth bowed into an almost comical frown. He hates it, she knows, and it’s almost more entertaining to watch him hate it than to read any of it herself.

(“Holden is such a fucking complainer,” Obi grouses, perched on the arm of the tech couch. Her arm presses into his thigh, and oh, she should have known so much sooner how she felt. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty. “Has this kid ever had a problem in his life?”

“His brother is dead and he got expelled from prep school?” she offers.

Gold peeps out from beneath the thick fringe of his eyelashes. How does he manage to look like this without mascara? “Yeah, but like a real problem.”)

The problem is her; every time she looks at him she is reminded of his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, of the soft noises that tipped from his throat when she pressed her lips to it, of the way his head fell against the headrest, his eyes screwed up in pleasure –

She lets out a huff, exasperated. She needs to – to learn how to forget that, or at least how to function with the knowledge of what he looks like – what he sounds like – when he –

– ah, yes, like that, god – fuck, Shirayuki, I –

Shirayuki slams her textbook shut. She’s not getting anywhere like this. Time for an easier subject.

She glances up, interested in how outraged he’s become, but instead of seeing his head bent and face crinkled in consternation, she sees curious gold, shaded by the dark fringe of his eyelashes. He’s peeking. At her.

He notices she’s noticed, and if anything his lean becomes even more aggressively casual. “Problem?” he asks, and for a moment she thinks of just saying no, real quick so he can’t suss out her lie, but then he stretches, shirt riding up the taunt drum of his stomach and –

“I’m just distracted,” she admits, not bothering to hide her naked appreciation of him. He’s her boyfriend after all – shouldn’t she be able to look?

He laughs at that. “Yeah, I’ve been reading the same five pages for the last five minutes,” he admits, mouth slanting into one of his self-deprecating smile. “Hard to remember what this kid is complaining about when all I can think about is how I want to kiss you.”

He must not mean to say it since his eyes round when hers do. “Kid, I –”

“Then why don’t you?”

There’s only a thin halo of gold around his pupil. “Kid, your grandparents, they’re right – I mean they could –”

“It’s after dinner and they’re watching TV,” she huffs, unfolding her legs from beneath her, leaning back on her hands. “They’re asleep. And I’m at the end of the hall anyway, there’s no way they could sneak up on us.”

He hesitates, a cat caught on a curtain, but the next moment he tucks his legs underneath him, rising up onto his knees, gently setting aside each and every stuffed animal that litters the comforter between them. She wishes she had thought to round them up before he came over, ditching them in a closet or under the bed because as much as she loves Flopsy the hamster and Dino the dinosaur, it’s mortifying to watch him touch them, to rub his finger over the tiny tooth marks in Calico Dog’s molded nose or pet the bald spot her cheek wore away on Rum-Tum’s tummy.

His knees knit between hers as he stops in front of her. His back bos so his hands can cup her face, so his lips can hover tantalizingly close when he asks, “Any rules I’m supposed to be following this time?”

She feels his mouth quirk against her and --

“Just kiss me,” she begs, and then she is stretching up to meet him, his lips brushing over hers with purpose.

She allows him this chaste sort of kissing, once, twice, and then her tongue flicks out over his lips and – and he is falling into her, pushing her back more firmly onto her hands, one of his fisting in the quilt beside hers. Her neck twinges trying to hold the position, not wanting to do anything that might make him pull back, might make him stop the way his mouth moves over hers. His hips brush her knees, and she can’t think of anything but how he might be hard, how she could have the length of him between her legs if only he’d come closer, how she might feel something like that first time, with the fire coiling in her belly and the tautness between her legs and –

He pulls away, panting.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, and oh, she wishes she sounded just a little cooler, a little less breathless.

He huffs out a laugh, a low chuckle that makes her thighs press together. “No, I mean --” He shakes his head. “You just really do it for me.”

“I --” She drops her gaze, sees the bulge straining the seam of his jeans along his leg. “Wow, you’re really -- turned on. I guess.”

“Uh, yeah.” he rubs at his head, flush flaring over his cheeks. “Kissing you tends to do that.”

“Oh.” Her breath is coming heavy, hard. His eyes are fixed to her chest, to the way it shudders with the force of her breath. “Oh.”

Her hands fly from the bed, clapping around his ears, pulling him harder against her, her hands sliding up until the hem of his shirt. There’s nothing keeping them upright, and they both tumble back against the pillows. The impact jars them, sending his mouth away from hers, but she chases it before he can speak, the fingers of one of her hands winding into the thick bristle of his hair.

What feels like a boulder is digging into her back, and she squirms, trying to get off of it, but her bed’s just a twin; there’s not a lot of space. She groans, rolling to one side and Obi plucks the offending object out from beneath her.

“A unicorn?” he asks, smirk creeping up at the edges of his smile.

She flights her blush, yanking Duchess Prettymane from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t worry about it,” she tells him, and tosses her to the floor.

It only makes him grin wider. “You should be nicer to your fr–”

She pulls his mouth down to hers, tongue darting between his lips to lick at the roof of his mouth. “You were saying?” she murmurs against his lips, resting her forehead against his. Her hand slides up the bare skin of his chest, nails catching on a pebbled nipple --

He whines in response, hips grinding into the mattress between her legs and -- oh god, that should be her, she wants that to be her --

And then he is on her again, hips between her thighs, mouth sucking at the curve of her neck. His teeth scrape over her skin, and she lets her legs fall wider, grunt huffing out of her when the stiff corduroy of her skirt won’t let him closer, won’t let her feel him. Reaching down between them, she grabs a handful of the ribbed material and yanks, hiking it further up her thighs --

And then his hands are there with hers, shoving, scraping, letting her urge him on until it’s rucked up to her hips, baring the sweet pattern of kittens playing with balls of yarn on her panties,  but she doesn’t care, she can’t when -- when --

He puts his weight on her, right where she needs him most, and she bucks into him, whimpering. There’s that emptiness between her legs again, and the way the hard bulge in his jeans fits against her remind her she could be filled – oh god, he could be in her –

“Can I?” he moans, sounding lost.

She blinks, confused, and for a hot second she’s overwhelmed with the desire to say yes, to remove the barriers between them –

But he’s not talking about that. His hand trails up her side, hesitating just beneath her breast, and oh, oh, that is – that is a better idea. She arches into him with a soft “Please.”

He palms her breast through the soft material of her shirt, and she’s thankful she didn’t wear a foam bra because, oh, the way his thumb drags over the stiff peak of her nipple has her panting, has her remembering how he’d pulled down the shell of her bra and –

And something in her clenches. She’s close to – to that. She should stop – they should stop – but – but –

His hips give one sinuous roll into her, and she is moaning, tugging at the buttons on her shirt. “More,” she tells him, desperate. She’s so close, so close. “Please – more?”

“Fuck,” he whines, hips buck into her. “Yes, yes – fuck – whatever you want, babe.”

His hand is helping hers, his mouth pressing hot kisses to each inch of pale skin they reveal, until they run into the hard barrier of the high waist of her skirt. She grunts in frustration, but he’s undeterred, shoving the fabric off her breasts, teeth scraping over the satin covering her nipple, gold eyes flicking up to meet hers, to see her–

Her head tips back, mouth gasping for air, eyes clenched shut. Behind her lids she sees gold, sees the shine of the emergency lights painting them red as he runs down her copy of the script, scribbling notes in the dim light as he says, you can’t possibly need all these; she sees them crinkled into to slits, glimmering in the sun as he leans over, face so near hers as he says, I’m the luckiest kid in class, having two geniuses for lab partners; she remembers the way he’d leaned over her, palm splayed on a closed locker, saying I think you and me will get along just fine, kid, and – and –

She’s wanted him this whole time, in a hopeless, distant way, never thinking he might want someone like her. And now here he is, mouth groaning her name against her breast and tongue flicking over her nipple and his dick so close to her she can feel it twitch when her breath hitches, when her moan goes ragged and –

And she breaks, body trembling beneath his as his name falls from from lips.

Obi stiffens above her, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Did you –?”

She can feel her face flush. “Yes.”

His mouth twists, and he sits back with a displeased hiss. “I missed it again!”

“You were looking right at me –”

“No, I –” He growls, frustrated. “I looked down at your breasts – stop laughing; they’re perfect, I’m human, so sue me.”

She’s trying, really she is. “You’ll have to do better next time.”

Those gold eyes slide coyly towards her. “So there will be a next time? For…this?”

“I-I mean. Eventually. Not – we should still – this was a surprise –”

Obi laughs. “Uh-huh, kid.” He leans over her, pressing his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. “I think you need to start making rules you can follow.”

“Shirayuki?”

They spring apart, hurriedly yanking her skirt back down her legs and Obi grabbing a pillow to hide his...problem. There’s nothing she can do with her blouse besides try to hold it shut.

“I heard some noise,” Nanna says, voice floating up from the bottom of the stairs. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, y-yeah,” she stutters, mortified at how the corduroy is creased over her thighs. “Obi just...dropped his bio book.”

“Oh, all right.” There’s a moment of silence, and Shirayuki’s hands shake as she tries to buttons on her blouse. Why are they so tiny? Her fingers can hardly hold them. “Obi’s still here?”

“I was just heading out, Nan,” he called out, stifling a laugh. “I just...gotta get all my stuff together.”

Shirayuki has to bite a pillow to stifle her giggles. His...issue is definitely not a small one.

“All right, well I packed up some leftovers for you,” Nanna tells him. “Make sure you grab it on the way out.”

Her scrubs a hand over his face. “Will-do.”

The floor creaks as Nanna shuffles away, and Shirayuki can’t help but inspect Obi’s...inconvenient complication. “You’re, um, okay?”

He raises an eyebrow, snickering when he traces her gaze to the pillow. “Yeah, I’ll just -- deal with it at home.” His face shuffles into something entirely too innocent. “I mean, unless you’re offering, kid...”

He doesn’t see her bolster coming.

[hawthornewhisperer]

Vaguely Bored Thoughts on 405

So...weirdly, not much happened this week?  And what did happen, I was mixed on.  Let’s get to it, kiddos.

Clarke having kittens about Bellamy’s whereabouts is always going to be my favorite part of any episode, so at least we started strong.  Niylah is always a lovely presence as well, and then we bring in my favorite Murderous Elf Prince with Octavia and get doctor!Clarke combined with in charge!Clarke so yeah, this all was A+.

Also A+: Clarke’s panicked face and Bellamy’s gulp when he’s revealed as Roan’s hostage.  Like fifteen different things passed between them in about 2 seconds so nice work with the facing acting there, Bob and Eliza.  You did good.

Science Island: Science continues to be whatever we want it to be, and god, Raven is breaking my heart.  Her brain is going to save them and it might kill her but she’ll do it anyway, because she is the hero we deserve.  I am also concerned about Abby’s brain, but we got so much lovely Raven/Abby interaction that I’m just gonna choose not to worry about it for now.

Also: “I’ll drive, you cook!”  Who wants a Breaking Bad AU with Abby as Walter White and Raven Reyes as Jesse Pinkman?  NOT ME.  I bet they’d be great at cooking meth, though.

So I am definitely not the only one to mention this (@nataliecrown already did, I know, and she articulated how I felt about this reveal so well that me saying it here again feels redundant) but Bellamy figuring out Octavia was alive felt like such a waste of where 404 ended.  It makes his grief at the end of 404 feel retroactively manipulative, and like a cheap way of resolving the tension between the two of them without actually addressing the reasons for the tension.  However, I do really appreciate that this episode focused on how fucking smart Bellamy is--  he was the one thinking several steps ahead, putting together a plan, and then executing it.  And no one died!  That’s new and different for him, and that makes me glad.

Now let’s talk about the Echo of it all.  In addition to undercutting the impact of his grief, Bellamy figuring out the O reveal so quickly felt more like a way to get him back on track with grudgingly trusting Echo than anything else.  And I am here for “Bellamy grudgingly trusting Echo” if for no other reason than she brings out his sasspants, and I fucking love Sassafrass Bellamy.  But for me, it took an important character beat for Bellamy-- realizing his sister is dead and then figuring out she’s alive-- and made it about Echo instead.  And that I don’t love.  (The trashbarge part of me that early on during 404 had imagined a canonverse ficlet where Bellamy/Echo/Roan spar and then end up doing sex stuff to each other, however, was very relieved that he no longer thinks she killed his sister and thus I can safely write that ficlet this week.  I have a brand to maintain, guys.)

The speech to Riley also felt very clumsy, mostly because it felt like the show going HEY THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN’T FORGIVEN BELLAMY FOR THE MASSACRE IN 3A: HE HAS OFFICIALLY LEARNED HIS LESSON AND BECOME A BETTER PERSON CAN WE ALL MOVE ON NOW.  Bob sold it, because he’s a goddamn professional, but I am mostly annoyed that we still need to address that than anything else.  It detracted from the tension of the episode, and also was distractingly “Riley is a cut and paste version of White Bellamy because White Bellamy got a new job.”

Clarke and Roan continue to be my favorite long-lost siblings, though.  He is constantly sick of her shit and she is constantly begging him to cover for her anyway and then he does because one time she took the fall for him missing curfew and he’s a good older brother and feels like he owes her.  But he’s not gonna be happy about it and he’s probably going to blackmail her for it in the future because siblings.  I do feel like their bargain should have been given a little more breathing time before it immediately went up in (literal) flames, but I did enjoy their conversation while it lasted.

Next up: Murderous Elf Prince and the problem of Octavia.  I totally get why they blew up the Ark-- narratively, it was the easy(ish) solution and this show likes taking those away just when we’ve gotten used to them.  I am a little confused as to how the Ark was like, completely empty while he was wandering around and while Octavia and Niylah were chasing him but then it blows up and there’s people everywhere, but whatever, it made those scenes a little spookier if the Ark was empty so #atmosphere, I get it.  I also like that we know why Ilian wants revenge, and it’s a motivation that makes sense in universe and it dovetails neatly with the conclusion of Octavia’s “vengeance is not justice” arc.

However, the way it dovetails with the conclusion of Octavia’s arc is exactly my problem, because...when did she learn that vengeance is not the way, exactly?  She killed Pike for revenge, and then some people in Polis because she found she kind of liked killing, and then Beard Dad yelled at her for it and then...that’s all it took?  Like, I am all in favor of Beard Dad getting through to his Murder Children without a catastrophe needing to be involved to teach them a lesson, but the sense I got when Octavia flounced out of the principal’s office was that she hadn’t learned her lesson.  Maybe almost dying was her way of learning it, but it didn’t feel like that narratively, and something this show really, really struggles with is “pretty white girls actually learning they did something wrong.”  The narrative beats they tend to turn to are “men of color are punished very obviously--and often physically-- by the narrative, whereas the white girl gets to learn her lesson intellectually or sometimes just by changing her mind.”  I don’t think the fix for this is “beat Octavia up while the camera lingers horrifically on her wounds” and I’m not sure I quite know how to fix it (and I don’t know if the show even realizes this is a problem they have), but I do know it’s not my favorite.

Which brings us to Murderous Elf Prince and his decision to blow up Arkadia.  I think there’s an interesting echo of season one Bellamy and the radio here, in that clearly, Murderous Elf Prince knows blowing up Arkadia will be bad but he doesn’t know the exact consequences of his actions.  Bellamy knew that trashing Raven’s radio would put people on the Ark at risk, but he didn’t know three hundred people were going to die in the next twelve hours without it.  Similarly, Ilian knows that blowing up Arkadia means hurting a lot of people in his quest for vengeance, but he doesn’t know he’s destroying the back up plan for the survival of the whole human race.  It makes me wonder if they’re bringing him in to prop up Bellamy’s evolution as a character, since he’s kind of New Bellamy: Same As The Old Bellamy here.  I also wish his story this episode wasn’t “man of color is yelled at by white woman for doing the wrong thing,” especially in light of Octavia’s “redemption” and how it was carried out, but I will say that Ilian as a character interests me and I’m willing to see where this goes.  (I am also a sucker for “I am a in a dark place but I won’t let innocents die” type characters, so him rescuing Niylah and Octavia was a check in the positive column for me.)

And then Arkadia goes boom.  First of all, I was struck by how fucking pretty both Bellamy and Clarke are when they are lit by the flames of their doom and I look forward to the inevitable Hades/Persephone themed gifsets we’re going to get from this episode.  I also appreciated Clarke just like, constantly pawing at Bellamy because she is a very touch-based person when it comes to those she loves so way to stay on-brand, Clarke.  The Blake sibling reunion was beautiful and touching, although once again I want to register my annoyance that Octavia didn’t learn anything and she certainly didn’t atone for what she did to Bellamy in s3, so it felt like Bellamy learned she was dead just so they could get over that particular narrative hurdle and nothing more.  But god, the way Bellamy carried her and held her as she cried was beautiful and wonderfully shot and I will never be over Clarke standing by the two of them, wracked by grief and disbelief as they watch their best hope burn to the ground.  It was a powerful end to a middling episode, and I hope 406 continues in that vein.

Next week: We learn that in addition to being a LOTR fanboy, Roan’s got a thing for Imperator Furiosa.  (Don’t we all, Roan.  Don’t. We. All.)