#lou stabbing someone and saying ‘you could have had ice cream i want to go home’ like yeah

[lgbtqforeverything]

maybe this season is just about them dropping out and fully changing career paths. that would make a lot of sense.

[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter Twenty One

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter Twenty)

Nico had been living –

Nico wasn’t living with Will.

The worst part was in the morning, before he opened his eyes. Reyna’s spare room was tiny ad the sofa bed was uncomfortable, and yet each morning before he opened his eyes when his world was still half blurred with the dreams he had when he and Will had never broken up, for just a minute he thought he was back hom- back at Will’s. In that moment, just before he opened his eyes he could pretend.

The smell of coffee could be Will making him his first cup of the day. Will insisted he only did it because Nico was such a disaster in the mornings he didn't quite trust the task to him, and cited the fact Nico had once tried to put the coffee beans in the toaster as proof. No matter what Will said, it took him very little time to learn how to make Nico's perfect cup of coffee, better than Nico himself could make it. Will could do a lot of things better than Nico could do them. At times it had seemed Will knew Nico better than Nico knew himself.

Eventually he'd have to open his eyes and face the cold winter sun coming in through the cracks in the blinds. Face the day. Face that he'd thrown Will away. Face that his life was now a cold spare room in his friends apartment.

Reyna must have called Jason and Jason must have freaked out and dropped whatever he was doing in LA to fly over because at some point he ended up in Reyna's flat. Nico wasn't trying to ignore him this time but his words were just white noise. Jason's concern barely registered, nor did the hushed conversations Jason and Reyna had about him. Then Jason was gone again. Nico didn't notice him go either.

Percy clearly had no idea how to help either but it didn't stop him trying. He too came to Reyna's talking about everything from his own wedding to mythomagic in an attempt to get Nico to engage. But Percy had no idea how it felt. He'd only ever been with Annabeth, the two had never fought like Will and Nico had fought. Maybe that should have been a sign. Ever since they'd officially started dating there had been problem and drama and fight, one after another in a never-ending line.

Maybe that should have been a cue, the sign from the universe that the two weren't going to work out. That Nico would destroy Will and he'd destroy their relationship. That he should walk away.

He should have listened.

He lost track of time. The days blurred into an endless line, waking up to the brief desperate lie that he was still at home, that everything was okay. He didn't eat breakfast anymore, couldn't face it. That always made Reyna frown but he didn't see what the big deal was - he hadn't eaten breakfast before Will. He usually skipped lunch too, which made Reyna frown more but he wasn't hungry.

He and Reyna would have dinner. She'd usually order take-out because, in between taking classes far too advanced for normal people her age in politics and business and ancient civilisations, she'd forgotten to learn to cook. Nico would pick at the food, Reyna would hold herself back from trying to force him to eat. Then there was work. Work was easy because Nico could zone out legitimately, mixing drinks on autopilot, glad for the dim lighting so people couldn't see how empty his eyes were.

Everything reminded him of Will. Once he'd tried to walk down his old street, heading on autopilot for home before he remembered it wasn't home. He'd gotten close enough to see the lights on in the windows, the curtains open and undrawn before he realised his mistake. He'd frozen, feeling a stab of something unidentifiable and tangled. He stayed clear of the apartment building now, refused to go within five blocks of it. There were too many memories surrounding it: the ice cream parlour Will liked to drag him to, the Chinese Will ordered from because they knew about his hatred for fortune cookies, the spot under the streetlamp where he'd kissed Will for the first time.

Nonetheless, even with avoiding large sections of his part of the city, and refusing to watch TV, or drink coffee, or eat he thought he was coping with his first break up reasonably well. He hadn't gotten drunk yet, begging Will for another chance, if only because he didn't think he deserved another chance. He hadn't texted Will's friends asking how Will was, and maybe that was because he didn't have their numbers and there was a good chance they would kill him, but he hadn't done it and that was an achievement right?

Reyna, and presumably Jason and Percy, apparently disagreed because one day Hazel was in Reyna's kitchen cutting up tomatoes for a salad. The kitchen smelt of fresh baked bread, there was cheese and cold meats - Reyna's idea of a fancy picnic lunch probably brought in especially.

"I thought we'd go to park," Hazel said.

Nico didn't want to go to park, but he didn't want to upset Hazel in the same way he was perfectly happy turning down Percy and Reyna's offers for company, so he agreed.

It was too cold for a picnic really. There had been threats of snow, but it hadn't arrived yet and the sky was still a dull pale blue. Nico ate a carrot and then when Hazel frowned, picked at a sausage roll and a bit of cheese.

"Are you going to talk about it?" Hazel asked.

"I'm okay," Nico said.

"You've been a zombie for three weeks. Reyna said you don't eat, you don't respond to anyone. Percy came round at one point to tell you there'd been another attempt on Dad's life and he said you didn't even seem to hear him."

Nico hadn't heard that. He didn't even remember Percy coming over, just the texts he sometimes read but didn't answer. He also hadn't realised it had been three weeks already. Will would be on break now. He wondered how his essays went.

"Nico please!" Hazel said, drawing his attention back to the present. "You turn up at Reyna's and act like you're not even really here, you don't even tell us what happened. We're just left to assume you -"

"Broke up with Will," Nico finished. "We broke up Hazel."

It was the first time he'd it out loud. It sounded wrong.

Hazel's eyes were soft.

"I'm sorry Nico," she said. "I'm really sorry. I know how much he meant to you."

Nico closed his eyes. He hadn't cried yet, not even as he'd been making his way to Reyna's right after it had happened. He hadn’t felt sad - just empty. Numb. He still felt numb, was still in shock. Which was strange because he'd seen it coming. And it had been him who -

"Nico?"

He'd been ignoring Hazel again.

"Nico I know it probably hurts like hell but you can't keep on like this. Things are getting bad. After they came for Dad, someone attacked Jason on the street."

Hazel paused to give a small smile.

"They actually came off worse. But that's not the point. At the moment Nico if someone came to attack you I don't even think you'd notice."

It was a valid point. Nico also didn't think he'd notice. He barely noticed anything these days unless it was a pair of bright blue eyes that turned out to be the wrong shade, or a flash of golden hair that he then realised didn't catch the sun in the right way.

"I'll stop going out as much," Nico promised. It was an easy thing to promise. The only times he went out at all were when he had to go to work. "And I'll be on the lookout for potential murderers."

Hazel didn't look entirely happy with that solution, but she nodded and accepted it.

"I mean it," Nico said. The expression on Hazel's face was clearing his head slightly. "I'll be careful. Is dad okay?"

It was the right thing to say because some of the weight lifted off her shoulders. She told him about the attempted murder but Nico lost all interest in the plots and intrigue after she told him he was actually alright. Luke and Thalia and Jason and Percy could fight all they wanted. He was done with all of that.

An indeterminate number of days later, Reyna forced Nico to break his promise about not leaving the house when she sent him for proper coffee to keep her going while she tried to fix the kitchen sink which was challenging her refusal to spend money on a plumber.

The nearest cafe turned out to be the one he'd sat in with Lou Ellen and his heart stuttered wondering if she was there, if Will was there but the odds of that were astronomically low. Nico left without seeing either of them and he didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved.

Was Will okay? Had the sunlight come back into his eyes yet?

Without meaning to, Nico began spending more and more time in the coffee shop. At first he'd go and get coffee before work. Then he went for breakfast too, picking up a pastry he usually ended up picking apart and throwing in the bin when he couldn't bring himself to stomach it. So he started picking up breakfast for Reyna instead.

Then when Reyna's apartment became too small, and her endless muted concern became too much he began going to for an hour or so. He'd watch the rain outside, or the sky turn from a dirty grey to a light brown as the sun dipped below the horizon. Before he knew it, he was there every day and the baristas knew his order by heart. Other than Will, no one had ever know his order by heart before.

He didn't know what he was waiting for, though it should have been obvious, until Lou Ellen came in one day, trailed by Cecil and - no it was some other blonde completely unconnected to either of them.

Lou Ellen spotted him first and nudged Cecil. They ignored him at first, joining the queue for drinks. Nico had diverged from the beaten path and tried - for the first time - a green tea as Lou Ellen had suggested once. The dregs sat at the bottom of the cup in soggy patterns. He wondered what they said about his future - to him they just sad and bleak.

Lou Ellen sat first, Cecil beside her. Lou Ellen slid him a fresh tea. None of them said anything.

"You here to kill me?" Nico asked eventually when the silence became too much.

"Thought about it," Lou Ellen said. "What did I say Nico? What was like the one thing we asked of you?"

Nico closed his eyes as his chest constricted.

"We changed our mind when we saw how sad you are," Cecil said, uncharacteristically solemn.

Nico frowned then, letting that distract him from how his eyes were burning.

"Then why are you here?"

"When Miranda told me she'd seen someone matching your description in here like all the time, looking like joy had been banned we figured it must be you. We thought we'd try and cheer you up. You know as far as we can under the circumstances."

Lou Ellen was gentle and somehow that made it harder.

"Why?" Nico demanded. "Why on earth would you do that? Why don't you hate me?"

"You're our friend," Lou Ellen said, managing to make it sound like Nico was an idiot for thinking otherwise.

Nico pushed his tea away, the liquid burning in his throat and stomach, and sniffed the tears away, turning so neither of them would see him cry. Cecil tactfully got out his phone. Lou Ellen passed him a napkin.

"How's Will?" Nico asked thickly when he'd forced the pain into submission.

"Don't know," said Cecil. "He left a couple of weeks ago. Dreadful before that though so we're assuming the same."

"Left?" Nico said, in sudden alarm. "What do you mean left."

Cecil and Lou Ellen exchanged glances.

"Left as in his apartment is now empty," Cecil said. "He's staying with Kayla and his aunt I think."

Nico stood on shaky legs. He ended up in the bathroom, doubled over the sink as he tried to decide whether it was just mild hysteria or whether he really did want to throw up.

"Nico?"

"Should you be in here?" he asked haltingly between panicked breaths.

"Probably not," Lou Ellen admitted.

"Definitely not," Cecil said who was looking more uncomfortable about Lou Ellen being in the men's bathroom than Lou Ellen herself did.

"Nico I'm going to be honest I don't really know what you expected."

Nico didn't know what he'd expected either. They'd been wrong and fighting and miserable and it had been Nico's fault. Nico had thought maybe now he was free, Will would be happier. He vocalised that thought and it actually made Cecil laugh. There was no humour in it though, just pure disbelief.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

No. He wasn't.

Nico forget his promise to Hazel as he left the coffee shop and walked paying very little attention to his surroundings. Someone could have come up to him brandishing a knife and Nico would have been oblivious. He then forgot his promise to himself, and gravitated towards home. There were no lights on in the apartment this time. It was cold and empty.

Police sirens echoed as he walked back to Reyna’s, reverbing around the city streets. He nearly missed the police tape blocking off the pavement outside a restaurant, and had to be caught by an officer. The lights on the cars flashed blue and red. Nico apologised vaguely, circumnavigated the tape and went back to Reyna's.

Reyna was in front of the TV the next morning eating cereal with a slightly glazed expression. The morning news was on, talking about a triple homicide, and an election and the coverage for the two topics seemed to blur into one. Reyna was only paying token attention to the anchors as they discussed alibis and statistics, voter confidence and blood.

"You know we might lose the bar?" Reyna said as Nico entered the room. Reyna always referred to work as though it was hers, but that was just Reyna. She threw herself into everything she did, and she gave it her all. If the bar did change hands and their jobs were in danger, that might actually be a good thing for Reyna: she could do so much better.

And there were other bars Nico could work at.

Reyna was working a shift without Nico that night. Nico stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks and tried not to cry.

The bar did change hands and the new owner made it clear that he was looking to replace the current staff as soon as he could pull someone else through the door. Reyna continued working, but Nico gave up on his shifts immediately. He saw no reason to ever go back.

Lou Ellen suggested he get a job in the coffee shop that had become his second home. She and Cecil were taking it in turns to keep him company and, he suspected, were also trading keeping Will company. At first Nico asked after Will, but the answer was so discouraging he stopped after a while and neither Cecil or Lou Ellen brought him up.

Nico thought about Lou Ellen’s suggestion but eventually didn't think he could cope with having to deal with so many people all day. A bar had been bad enough, but at least most drunk people didn't notice if you were ignoring them, it was usually not so busy that people started shouting but busy enough that people were just grateful when you handed them a drink.

Cecil suggested he become a professional shut it, or extra in a horror film since he already had plenty of practice in staying indoors and he looked like a zombie. Nico had dismissed film extra out of hand, and he didn't have anyone paying his rent anymore so shut in looked unlikely.

The snow began to fall and it dulled the sound of the city slightly. Now when the sirens rang they didn't have the same bite, but the red and blue reflected off the snow brighter than ever. Two cars shot past Nico as he walked back to Reyna's. Another was parked by the mouth of an alleyway. An officer was unrolling the tape, beginning to string it up as more cars arrive.

Red flashed again and that caught his attention. He looked down and saw it in the snow. The smell hit him then and he didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before, sharp and metallic like rust. It didn't look anything like ketchup.

His chest clenched as he thought about all the people it could be - Reyna, Jason, Percy, Lou Ellen, Cecil. Will. He forced himself to follow the trail of blood, to the shadows of the alleyway. It was just an anonymous man with brownish hair and a scraggly beard. He didn't know why he'd expected any different.

He'd left his phone at Reyna's. He often forgot it these days, left it lying all over the place. As soon as he walked through the front door Reyna brandished it at him.

"Jason's been calling for the last hour," she said. "And then he started calling me. Call him back or he'll come over here and say whatever it is in person. In fact the only reason I think he hasn't done that already is because he's supposed to be in class."

"He's in LA; he's not going to do that. You call him. Just tell him I'm fine," Nico answered dully. "Tell him I'm eating properly and sleeping properly and I'm well on the road to recovery."

"He transferred here two weeks ago."

Nico hadn't known that. He guessed it was one of those things he'd missed.

"And I'm not going to call him and tell him that because I'd be lying," Reyna continued. "Besides he said it's urgent. It's about Will."

Nico's head felt light and his legs barely managed to get him shut away in Reyna's box room. His fingers on the other hand felt incredibly heavy and it made it hard to bring up Jason's number on the screen. He held the phone to his hear, hands trembling and his arm like led and listened to the dial tone and the thudding of his heart.

Jason answered after two rings.

"I was literally about to come over," he said. "Why didn’t you tell me Will is working for Luke?"

Next Chapter 

[general-du-vallon]

the last one of @c-b-strike​‘s prompts, I’ll just have to get some more :) Porthos has a secret admirer who writes him nice letters and lovely poetry. There are shenanigans to figure out who on earth it is. Hint: it’s Athos. [posting properly this time I’m such a dumb ass]

Porthos gets a fair amount of post, which is unusual in this day and age but between GP and other doctorly stuff, uni stuff, trying to get his name changed on everything stuff, he gets a bunch of letters. He’s got a knack of telling what’s in the envelope and most of the time he’ll just confirm he knows and chuck it on the pile in the wire basket he keeps on the kitchen counter for it all. This one is different. It’s not the handwritten envelope, stuff from the GP often comes like that. Nor is it the fancy script, contrary to stereotype his doctor has a very nice hand. Nor is it the lack of return address, he asked years and years ago that his GP office send stuff anonymized and they’ve never stopped. No, what makes this one different is that it’s in a lilac envelope and is sealed. A proper old fashioned wax seal. With an imprint of lips. It says S.W.A.L.K underneath in the same fancy hand. Porthos sits at the breakfast table and stares at it.

“What’s that, baby?” his mum says, coming in already dressed for work, yawning. She’s in court today so he’s made her coffee in a carry-out mug and a bacon butty in a greaseproof-paper bag to take with her. She spots it and smiles, kissing his hair on her way through. “You’re good to me, Porthos.”

“I dunno,” Porthos says. “I mean I know I’m good to you, you deserve to have people be good to you, I dunno what this is though.”

“Is Aramis up and out, or abed till two?” Marie-Cessette says.

She’s lived with them for the past four years, moving in after a rough patch when she’d just needed a week or two to get back to her feet. Porthos has since converted what used to be a conservatory into a bedroom and ensuit bathroom and kitchenette for her, her old bedroom now a livingroom. He has effectively persuaded her to stay forever. She’s had no choice but to get used to Aramis’s frankly very weird sleeping habits. Porthos shrugs, still examining his letter. He doesn’t want to break the seal that seems like bad luck.

“What’s swalk?” he asks his mum, instead. “Is it, like, post office code?”

“Haven’t you read Going Postal, baby?” Marie Cessette asks, tutting at him.

“When I was about thirteen. Why?” Porthos says, running through various Terry Pratchetts before he thinks he’s got the right one, looking for... “Oh, sealed with a loving kiss.”

“There’s a Terry for everything,” Marie Cessette says.

She kisses his hair again on her way out, talking to Aramis briefly in the hallway as she leaves.

“Am I late?” Porthos asks when Aramis zombies his way in, hair a nest.

“No. Coffee? Anne called, gotta take Lou to school,” Aramis says, making for the coffee machine. He lets out a distressed sound, finding no coffee there. Porthos holds up his mug (mostly full) and Aramis comes to guzzle that, slumping at the table. “You think you can call Athos about the coffee machine today?”

“He’s coming over for breakfast, sometime. Whenever he wakes up,” Porthos says.

“Academics. Tch. Why are you always up so early, if you can sleep for hours like Athos does?”

“I teach, he doesn’t. I write better in the morning, if he tried to write in the morning it’d probably end in some kind of pencil related injury, he’s worse than you are,” Porthos says, running his thumb over the letter seal.

“What’s it?” Aramis says, taking the letter from Porthos’s grip. “Hmm, cool. Advert I guess?”

He snatches up the knife Porthos was using for butter and slides it under the seal.

“No!” Porthos says, snatching it back. “It’s mine, it’s illegal to open someone else’s post! You broke it!”

Aramis picks up the seal and flicks it over his knuckles, then flips it to Porthos with a shrug. It’s intact, all one piece. Porthos sets it on the table by his plate and pulls out a sheet of paper. A bunch of pressed flowers tumble out with it, which makes him smile. He picks one up.

“Porthos, what is the letter? I’m going to stab you with a butter knife,” Aramis says, impatient as always.

Porthos looks at the letter, flushes dark and, just for the sake of it, refuses to tell Aramis a single thing. He gathers up his seal and the flowers and the letter and takes it all back to his bedroom, ignoring Aramis’s indignant cries of distress and his knocking when he follows Porthos up. Porthos slides the bolt across with a grin and sits on the bed. Being able to blush on command is the best skill he ever learnt. He opens the sheet of paper again. Last time he noticed it was a poem but not much more, this time he reads it. In neat, small letters, each carefully and painstakingly written out (Porthos can see faint, pencil lines left delineating little boxes for each letter) it says:

Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve never met anyone

Quite like you. Share my breath, take my hand,

You’ve always been my dearest friend,

Beautiful grace.

Whoever wrote the letter seems to have given up there. Porthos can see pencil marks where things have been erased, but can’t make anything out. He stares at the paper, then turns it over. There’s no signature, not even a ‘from your secret admirer’. He checks the envelope: it’s clearly marked for him. He got a secret admirer letter once, in year nine, but it had just been from Flea who felt bad he hadn’t got any valentines. Their school did a thing where you could send an anonymous rose and she’d had a whole bouquet and he’d had none. He recognised her handwriting on the note, but he never told her he knew. Or that he had received a rose, after school, given to him shyly by Jamie McNab who he played football with and who also sometimes snuck into the LGBT club things. They’d dated for a whole week. Other than that, though, most of his partners haven’t really gone in for romantic gestures. d’Artagnan, his current date-friend-person, sometimes sends him heart emojis and always buys him cake wherever they go (and when there’s going to be no cake d’Artagnan usually brings home bakes along, sometimes from his wife. d’Artagnan bakes better than Constance, though Porthos will never say so). That’s sort of romantic. Not anonymized poetry romantic, though. If that’s even what this is. Porthos has a look at the envelope again and then reads the poem. The doorbell goes and Porthos wanders down, leaving the paper and envelope on the bed.

“Hey, Athos,” Porthos says, embracing the grouchy man standing on his doorstep, engulfing him. When he emerges from Porthos’s arms he looks a tiny bit less grouchy.

“Ugh,” Athos says. “Hungover.”

Porthos heads for the kitchen to make coffee on the stovetop. Athos grumbles after him, a long string of complaints (too light, too hot, where’s Aramis? I’m cold, hug me again, why aren’t you hugging me?) trailing after him. Porthos pauses to hug Athos and then sits on the countertop. Athos stands beside him, eyes half closed.

“Good night at least?” Porthos asks.

“Ish,” Athos says. “Some of my undergrad students showed up.”

Porthos gives a dramatic shudder and presses a hand over his heart in horror. Athos shoves him off the counter for it. Porthos sits at the table and watches while Athos first downs far-too-hot coffee and then pokes his head in with the coffee machine and prods about a bit.

“Why don’t you pull it out from under the cupboards?” Porthos asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Athos straightens and bangs his head, curses at Porthos, then pulls the machine out muttering something then eventually admitting to not thinking of it. Porthos has seen Athos do amazing things, build everything from a little boat with a wind up ‘motor’ out of debris on the beach all the way to, well, the conservatory extension on the house. He teaches architecture but he’s done engineering stuff, mechanics, set design, carpentry. He’s been at the uni for three years, which is the longest Porthos has known him stick to a job.

“What’ve you done to this, babe?” Athos mutters, not really paying attention. He only calls Porthos ‘babe’ when he’s distracted.

“Dunno, blame Aramis or Mum. I usually just do it in the cafetiere or the fancy stove one,” Porthos says.

“Your mother is never to blame.”

“Aramis, then.”

“Mm. That sounds true.”

“You’ll never guess what I got in the post this morning,” Porthos says, and tells Athos about the letter.

Athos bumps his head again and swears. Creatively. In four languages.

“Uh, it was definitely posted, huh? Stamp and all?” Athos asks.

“Yeah,” Porthos says. He hadn’t looked close but he noticed the stamp. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, I had one once,” Athos says, vaguely, going back to the coffee machine. “Why aren’t you grading or something?”

“Papers are boring,” Porthos points out. “Besides, I want you to help me solve this mystery.”

Athos does not help. That’s ok, though, he’s got to finish fixing the coffee machine or pay the gambling debt he owes Porthos from the last teachers’ poker night, so Porthos has a captive audience for his thoughts. Athos manages to get his fingers slammed in a cupboard or something.

“So, Netflix and chill tomorrow?” Porthos says, when he’s done going through possibilities (not many).

“I’ve told you, that really doesn’t mean watching TV with ice cream,” Athos says. “And, no, I have a date with my sofa, we shall become one. I’m done, this should work now I’m gonna test it I want a cappuccino.”

Porthos gets the little coffee pod thing from the drawer his Mum keeps them in (he knows better than to steal Aramis’s coffee, last time he did that Aramis threatened to cut his fingers off. He was very convincing). When he gets close enough, to pass over the coffee, Athos wraps an arm around him and kisses his cheek.

“What’s this for?” Porthos asks, leaning into the hug.

“I’m affectionate sometimes,” Athos says, defensive. Then he grimaces. “Plus I may not be the most with it, today. I thought you were going in for a hug.”

“I was handing you coffee. This is nice, though,” Porthos says.

He can’t help laughing and Athos prods him in the ribs and wriggles away, making his drink and stalking off to the livingroom Porthos and Aramis share.

**

The next letter is ee cummings. Porthos lies on his bed the evening it arrives and presses it to his chest, shutting his eyes. He knows the poem, knows the words. Like they’re soaked through into him.

in the rain-

darkness, the sunset

being sheathed i sit and

think of you

the holy

city which is your face

your little cheeks the streets

of smiles

your eyes half-

thrush

half-angel and your drowsy

lips where float flowers of kiss

and

there is the sweet shy pirouette

your hair

and then

your dancesong

soul. rarely-beloved

a single star is

uttered,and i

think

   of you

There’s a post-script taking issue with ‘rarely-beloved’. Porthos is pretty sure that’s not what ee cummings meant but he appreciates the ‘always beloved, really’ all the same. He’s not sure why but he hasn’t told anyone about these, not since telling Athos about the first one. Aramis asked questions but gave over when Porthos admitted it was an advert and he’d been winding Aramis up. Aramis had been on his way to church with Marie-Cessette at the time and in response he’d just said he’d pray for Porthos’s soul. Porthos rings Athos, now.

“Have I mentioned how much I like ee cummings recently?” Porthos says, as greeting.

“Nn,” Athos says.

“Are you hungover still, from the day before yesterday?” Porthos asks, laughing. It’s Sunday, he hasn’t seen Athos since Friday night when he’d had to literally carry him from the taxi to the bedroom after karaoke night. “You drink too much.”

“I’m a fish,” Athos says. “cummings?”

“Another anonymous note,” Porthos says, and reads it out, taking his time and making it all musical the way ee cummings does on the recordings.

“Oh fuck,” Athos says.

“What? It’s nice,” Porthos says. “I think it’s someone who knows me.”

“Because of ee cummings? Christ, Porthos, that’s such a cliche poet for love poems,” Athos says.

“Yeah, but I really like him,” Porthos says.

“No shit, I never would’ve guessed, you never ever mention him,” Athos says.

“You’re in a right mood. I was gonna invite you to Netflix and chill, I have Ben and Jerries, but I’m gonna invite my Mum instead,” Porthos says.

He hangs up before Athos can tell him, yet again, that he’s using that phrase wrong. His Mum is quite happy to watch the new Ghostbusters and eat ice cream with him, just like when he was a kid only now there are women in it. She didn’t know Leslie Jones was in it and when she comes on screen his mum cheers. Then spends most of the rest of the films letting Porthos know just how attractive she finds ‘Leslie’. Porthos is a little unsure how to feel about agreeing with that. They both enjoy watching Chris Hemsworth, too, one of, Porthos is sure, approximately three men in the world his mum finds attractive.

“You feeling alright, baby?” she asks him, over the credits.

“Mm? Yeah?”

“You’re very quiet, tonight,” she says. “You’ve never been quiet.”

Porthos’s mind flashes back to the time his Mum came charging down to the kitchen in a rage for him having a party after she’d said no parties, when she was right upstairs, and then been incredibly miffed to find it was just Porthos and Flea there. He was never the quietest, that’s true enough.

“Just thinking about poetry,” he says.

“You should do some writing again,” She says. “You write beautiful things.”

“Mum,” Porthos groans, slumping down into her sofa. “I don’t write poetry. I was an angsty teenager when I did.”

“Poetry is very cool,” she says.

“I teach it, I know this,” Porthos says. “Oh, I was teaching a class on Maya Angelou Friday. I know you love her.”

“I do. Are you taking your Athos out to dinner tomorrow? Has he asked you on a date yet?”

“Mum!”

Porthos goes upstairs and shuts his bedroom door. He can still hear her laughing.

(He can’t hold it against her, she got a call from a client today, he knows it’s a sad case, laughter is good).

**

The third letter ends up in his intray at work, no stamp. No one can tell him how it got there. He doesn’t ask too extensively because he doesn’t really want to draw attention to the fact that he’s receiving love poetry. He’s beginning to be a little uncertain about it. Romantic things in real life feel a tiny bit creepy. Or, another possibility that has crossed his mind, something a young person might do. God he hopes it’s not one of his students. He puts up his ‘in a meeting’ sign and flips the lock on his door and then opens the letter, spreading the paper on his desk.

The arch of your step blazes, you shine, burnishing gold.

I will press my cheek to your cheek, skin against skin,

Hold close to me I will bear the weight of you, joy with

the feel of you, of your heart beating against my palm.

Every moment soars, I soar with you, you are unquenchable,

Bright catch in my heart sheer blue skies.

I touch my lips to hold your smile to mine, your love

Against my breast I hold you there, hold you. Cannot

Hold you.

Porthos carefully folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. He can see a shadow at the door, behind the comic he has up to block the window. He’s about to go let the student in when an acerbic grumble comes and then a thump on the door.

“Porthos, let me in, are you wanking in there?”

Porthos leaps up and throws the door open, ready to drag Athos in and chew him out for saying that in front of a student, but the only other person out there is Treville, busy having hysterics. Porthos scowls at both of them. Athos looks up at him, unblinking, his eyes look red. Porthos gestures him in and points him to the chair in the corner then turns to Treville, now catching his breath.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Porthos says. Treville’s his head of department but he dated Porthos’s mother once (he assures Porthos that has nothing to do with Porthos being hired here) and Porthos has known him for decades. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” Treville says. “I was stopping by for a chat but it can wait, seeing as you’re... busy.”

Treville breezes away, cackling to himself. Porthos heads back into his office and shuts the door, leaving the ‘in a meeting’ sign up. He’s in a meeting with Athos. A meeting about why Athos’s eyes are red.

“Are you drunk?” Porthos asks.

“No.”

“Hungover?”

“No.”

“Should I be worried that I genuinely have to ask those questions in the middle of a work-day?”

“No. It’s not a problem.”

“So.”

“Would you believe hayfever?” Athos says, giving a hopeful little smile. Porthos doesn’t answer, he’s not going to bother with that. Athos drops the smile and looks at his hands, frowning. “My head of department observed my teaching this morning. The seminar didn’t go very well.”

“Oh, ok,” Porthos says. Athos usually cries after being observed, that’s ok then. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

“Ok, let’s talk about my thing, then. I’m still getting poetry in the post, unsigned. What if it’s one of my students?”

“It’s a juvenile thing, to send anonymous poetry,” Athos says, surprisingly biting. “It’s a bit pathetic if it is a grown man. Or woman. Or… enby.”

“I dunno,” Porthos says, a little taken aback by the anger in Athos’s voice.

“Truly, what kind of adult does that? It’s pitiful. Is it even good poetry? Not that it makes a difference.”

Athos has a lot more to say, ugly things pouring out of his mouth until he’s breathless, arms around himself, choking on sobs. Porthos gapes at him for long moments before shaking off the surprise and going over to soak up Athos’s tears. It’s like grief pouring out of him into Porthos’s sweater, one arm still tight over his chest the other clinging around Porthos’s waist. Porthos cries, too, helpless, having no idea why Athos is so distraught.

“It’ll be ok, it’ll be alright,” Porthos says, rocking Athos, arms around him. “I’ve got you, I’m here. We’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.”

Athos nods, shuddering. Porthos sniffs and wipes at his face, looking around for tissues. There’s a box on his desk but he doesn’t want to let go of Athos.

“It was quite a nice poem,” he whispers, instead.

“I don’t want to know,” Athos says, shivering but crying less now.

“Can I read it to you?”

“If you must.”

Porthos takes it from his pocket, unfolding it carefully, and read it out. Athos goes quiet against him, under Porthos’s hand, and sighs when Porthos is done reading.

“You make it beautiful,” Athos says.

“What do you mean?” Porthos asks.

“When you read it, it’s beautiful. I’m sorry I came in here and fell to pieces, I’m sorry I was rude.”

“That’s ok. I’m not sensitive about the odd poetry letters,” Porthos says. “Is it bad that… I quite like them. I like being thought of. I don’t know who’s sending them.”

“Would it change things?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok.”

“We’re ok, yeah? Yes?”

Athos nods and sits up, letting Porthos go get the tissues. Porthos kneels beside him, worried by the rush of uncontainable emotion. Things going wrong and being observed when things are going wrong is stressful but that felt like it had been building a while. Porthos decides to be more insistent about Netflix and chill, in the future. Maybe he’ll take Athos to dinner. Ice cream, TV, and proper meals. That’s what Athos needs. And possibly less coffee and alcohol but that’s fairly a given with Athos.

**

The next letter comes soon, dropped in the letter box while he’s at work, a page torn out of a lined pad this time but the writing no less careful and neat. No more familiar. No more telling. Porthos reads the poem written on the scrap sat in the back garden.

I think I was searching for treasures or stones

in the clearest of pools

when your face …

when your face,

like the moon in a well

where I might wish …

might well wish

for the iced fire of your kiss;

only on water my lips, where your face …

where your face was reflected, lovely,

not really there when I turned

to look behind at the emptying air …

the emptying air.

Sadness settles over Porthos’s shoulders with the closing of the poem. Carol Ann Duffy, he’d know her anywhere. He can remember listening to the radio, an interview with Jackie Kay, and being astounded that she and Carol Ann Duffy were both queer. Lying on his bedroom floor, nineteen, and being struck dumb by it. He thinks of Her and Late Love by Jackie Kay, two he’s read often. Love poetry is so longing.

He’s still sat out there, staring at his love poem, when his mum gets back and comes to ask if he’s planning on making dinner. Which means he is to cook for her, so long as he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t. He puts in his headphones and calls Athos. There’s no reply so he sends a text and puts on the radio while he cooks. Athos still hasn’t texted back by the time dinner’s ready, or by the time he heads up to bed. He sends another text before falling asleep, though it’s not unusual for Athos to not text back so he doesn’t worry. When the morning passes without a reply he’s a little confused, and when Athos leaves the staff room as Porthos enters, as if seeing him coming, not even pausing to say hello, misgivings set in. By the next morning he is one hundred percent certain that Athos is giving him the silent treatment.

“What kind of grown ass man,” Porthos rants, to d’Artagnan, “gives his best friend the silent treatment? I don’t even know what I did.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” d’Artagnan agrees. He’s had a glass of wine and he doesn’t drink much so he’s now tipsy. He scooted around to Porthos’s side of the table and has laid his head on Porthos’s shoulder, knitted their fingers together. He’s not very interested in Porthos’s dilemma. “Damn shame.”

“You’re not even listening,” Porthos says.

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan says, tipping his head back on Porthos’s shoulder to look up at him then pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m a little drunk. I can tell you’re not very happy, maybe I can cheer you up.”

“No thanks,” Porthos says, sighing.

He wouldn’t mind something… to be held, some kind of physical intimacy, but with d’Artagnan that usually comes with sex, which isn’t on Porthos’s agenda tonight. d’Artagnan sits up, yawning, and suggests they get the bill. It’s not d’Artagnan’s fault. When Porthos started dating him, Porthos made it clear that he didn’t want that kind of relationship. He didn’t want to be anyone’s emotional support, didn’t want that kind of intimacy, didn’t want that from anyone. He can’t now just expect it all to change because his best mate’s being a dick. He drives d’Artagnan home and goes to sit on the sofa in his mum’s living-room and watch TV with her.

“What sort of mothering are you after, Porthos? I’m tired,” she says.

“None,” Porthos assures.

Untruthfully. His mother’s a wonderful, amazing woman, she brought him up on her own and gave him all the love in the world. She’s always made Porthos feel like he’s the best thing to happen to her, made him feel intelligent and special and beautiful. But she’d also had her own life, her own things going on. He hadn’t always got what he needed from her. She hadn’t always had the time or inclination or patience to give him hugs, listen to his stories, give him attention. She’d made sure he had people in his life beside her, love from other people. He never lacked. She just hasn’t always mothered him, as much as she’d tried to be a mother she was getting her PhD, going to do law exams and working in a solicitors’ office until she could afford to become a barrister, working for various causes, meeting people. He remembers fondly her whirlwind romance with Anette, who had plenty of time for Porthos and motherhood. Marie-Cessette breaks into his thoughts with a sigh, arms coming around him and pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” She says. “What happened, baby? I’m here.”

“Athos being childish, he’s not talking to me or something I don’t know,” Porthos says. “Bit tired.”

She tuts and assures him everything will be fine, then switches the TV to the news and carries on eating crisps, one arm around Porthos. He sits with her for a while, letting his eyes go heavy and the comfort of her closeness soothe him toward sleep. She gently chastises him for scheming to fall asleep on her sofa and reminds him that she can no longer carry him to bed. He goes up, bumping into Aramis on the stairs. Aramis embraces him absently, phone held to his ear talking to someone. He pauses, letting Porthos go and taking him in, frowning. Porthos waves him away and carries on to bed. He sleeps well and wakes up refreshed.

*

In the morning there’s another letter, stamped and everything. Porthos examines it, it has a seal again, a heart this time, and SWALK written across underneath. There’s something different, though. Porthos looks again, frowning, and thinks back. This one, he decides, has a stamp but also has been stamped. The others just had a stamp. No wavy black ink lines, no round post-office sign, nothing. They were probably not posted.

“Ether clever, or a little bit daft,” Porthos says. “Or both. What a waste of a good stamp.”

He’s sitting in his and Aramis’s livingroom, on his own, Brooklyn 99 on the TV but on low, he’s rewatching series three on Netflix and he’s seen it often before. He carefully removes the seal, keeping it to put with the other, and draws out the paper. It’s thin, this time, almost tissue, and there are love-heart candies that spill out with it. They all just say ‘love’ on them. He eats one while he reads.

To hold your hand on a sunny day,

Like our fingers are dipped in the sunshine,

Warmth thick across your broad shoulders,

Lighting your cheek and eyes and the beauty

That you bring everywhere you go.

You bring colour when you pass, riots

Of flowers bloom in your wake you make

Me see so much sheer beauty, you are beauty.

Pitch-perfect, rich toned, every note in place,

The music winds down, and I

Oh, I miss you. I cannot touch you, my hand

Is cold from where I am not touching you.

The heat between your shoulder blades and the way

Your shirt draws the lines of your body, I

Can’t reach out.

I am dust, you bring my earth rain and teach me

Growing things and your sunshine blooms me.

Beneath you I am blossom, breathed into wind.

But I miss you, I cannot hold you, I am

Un-courage.

Courage holds your bones strong where I shatter,

Your eyes bright with everything that matters,

Words come brave and bright and you stand,

I see you tall and unwavered, against the setting

Sun. Warrior, battle-hearted, strung with

The roar of the sea.

Porthos frowns. Then he folds the paper. This one is right. He doesn’t give up, he is like the sea. He doesn’t back down. Nor does he let people get away with being arseholes to him. Besides which, he knows exactly who calls him ‘battle-hearted’. What a stupid phrase.

*

“Athos de la Fere you coward!” he roars, bursting into Athos’s office.

He’s built up a good head of steam on his way in and now he’s ready for battle. Athos looks startled, eyes very wide, gaping up at Porthos. The student he’s got with him looks even more shocked. Bugger.

“Doctor Vallon,” Athos says. “Good of you to drop by. However, you have interru-”

“Yes, I can see,” Porthos says, turning to the student. “Sorry about that. Athos, you better find me when you’re done.”

“I better had,” Athos agrees.

Porthos nods firmly and leaves for his own office. He has a class to teach, he gathers his things and turns up early, setting up with the white board and projector. He has two back to back and then a meeting and when he returns to his office, Athos is there, the visitor chair drawn up to the desk so he can mark papers, a huge mug of coffee at his elbow.

“Hello,” Athos says, looking up. “Are you done with the dramatics?”

“Me?” Porthos says, outraged. “You!” Porthos can’t quite say it, he’s not sure he believes it. “You stopped talking to me, avoided me. What the hell? You’re an adult. You can’t punish me with refusing to respond. And- ”

“I know,” Athos says, holding up a hand and getting a word in edgewise. “The internet informed me. I hadn’t actually meant to give you the silent treatment. I have anxiety.”

“Athos!”

“I projected thoughts onto you and thought I was making myself as little nuisance as possible.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a reason, not an excuse. Not ‘I was right because of this’ but ‘it was me, not you’. I love you. I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose for the world, Porthos,” Athos says, very earnest.

“I didn’t eat enough food, I was hungry and tired,” Porthos says, grudgingly.

“Just … in general?” Athos asks, frowning.

“I was emotional.”

“Oh. Sorry. I brought you a chocolate bar to apologize but I sat on it and it melted. It was a bit gross.”

Porthos laughs, forgiving Athos easily in the end. He looks so bewildered and helpless about the chocolate bar. Porthos perches on the edge of his desk and huffs, shaking his head.

“You’re something else, de la Fere. What am I gonna do with you? All that poetry, my god. I’m right here, just talk to me for heaven’s sake,” Porthos says, too fond of Athos to be anything except awfully warm about it.

Athos turns around and tries to leave the office. All he manages is to walk into the door because he’s not looking where he’s going and Porthos closed it. Porthos goes to grab him and make sure he hasn’t hurt himself then hug him, laughing. Athos pushing his face against Porthos’s shoulder and his arms come up around Porthos’s back to hold onto his shirt there and probably wrinkle it.

“I am inept,” Athos says.

“Completely. In every lovely way,” Porthos assures. “Fuck me am I glad it were you and not someone creepy.”

“I am creepy.”

“Not really.”

“I was… So drunk. I forgot I sent it, that first time, until you said. I put a stamp on and just slid it in your door on my drunken meander home. I meant to sign it, I think,” Athos says. “Then, I guess I liked the idea.”

“You write terrible poetry,” Porthos says, admiringly, stroking Athos’s hair. “I adore it. I really like them.”

Athos nods, laughing a little. He huffs again, sighing, leaning into Porthos.

“I really do love you,” Athos whispers. “I can’t seem to help myself, you just engulf my entire life and all my thoughts.”

“I bloom you,” Porthos says, comfortably, incredibly pleased with himself. “Turn you all blossoms. Sounds so sexy, gonna tremble you all apart till you’re just petals, darling.”

Athos finally removes his face from Porthos’s jumper and breathes in, closing his eyes, lips against Porthos’s cheek and beard and then against his lips, careful, questioning. He thinks ‘yes’ and then Athos asks and Porthos says it aloud, and Athos’s lips are back, mouth against Porthos’s.

[evenstevensranked]

#17: Season 3, Episode 18 - “Stevens’ Manor”

With the house to himself for the weekend, Louis decides to open up a bed and breakfast to afford a snowboarding trip for the gang! What could possibly go wrong?!

I’ve been meaning to tell you guys to ignore any typos in my reviews within the first day or so of them being posted. It takes a few read-throughs for me to catch any/all errors. 

That being said...

This episode opens with the subplot. Although, this is yet another one where the subplot and main plot work together super well. I’ve noticed that this is becoming a theme with these higher-ranked episodes. Huummm. 

It starts off with Ren spying on Ruby breaking up with some random guy Dexter. Her oh so serious, love of her life boyfriend of 4 days. Sounds about right. This show seriously nails how ridiculous middle school ~relationships~ truly are. Ruby is devastated, so Ren presents the idea of turning their upcoming weekend sleepover into girls night complete with nail polish, magazines and ice cream! Yeeee!

Ruby clearly shocked and offended by Dexter’s decision to end it. We don’t actually hear the conversation, so this exaggerated expression really gets the point across.

It cuts to Louis, Twitty, Tawny, and Tom (who I will refer to as “the gang” from this moment forward) discussing how badly they want to go snowboarding at some lodge. Tawny estimates that it’d cost around $200 per-person, and I mean, what 13-year-olds have that sort of money laying around? I’m a grown adult and I can’t even afford Starbucks on some days. So, yeah. To any sane person, the idea would be totally off the table and seem completely farfetched... But not to Louis Stevens!! He’s all “Oh, it’s no problem” as he runs to answer a call on the school’s payphone, which is the millionth thing that closet space next to the stairs has been used for. The call is from someone looking to book a reservation at Stevens’ Manor. I really hope that payphone has a different number than the school and that Louis didn’t give out Lawrence Jr. High’s number as the contact info for “Stevens’ Manor.” I can’t. 

He explains to the gang that Steve and Eileen are going away for their anniversary, Donnie has an away game, and Ren is sleeping at Ruby’s... which means he’s got la casa all to himself. Twitty asks how he’s gonna get his parents to actually let him stay home alone though... and like??? I know that Louis can get a little crazy, but does he really need a freaking babysitter or something? Actually, wait. What am I talking about?! He immediately seized the “home alone” opportunity to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. Here we go again with the give Louis Stevens an inch and he will take 100,000 miles trope, lol. His plan is to fake cry to Eileen about wanting to come with her and Steve and not wanting to stay alone, before deciding to be ~strong~ and stick it out. Steve even calls Louis a “soldier” for it, haha. Okay. Whatever works I guess! I’d like to point out this kinda ugly transition they do of Louis smirking about his plan, to the moment where he’s actually executing it. It’s so weird looking omg. 

That morph tho. I guess the editing job isn’t too bad for 2002... but dang, it’s just slightly unsettling to me lol. 

I like how this episode basically jumps right into the plot asap! We’re only two minutes in at this point and the BnB transformation is already underway! Eileen and Steve ultimately leave and trust Louis to man the fort of course, and the birth of Stevens’ Manor happens the second they’re out the door -- courtesy of a short montage. Louis must’ve been preparing for this bed and breakfast idea for a long while, just waiting around for the opportunity -- because he has shirts embroidered with a fancy “SM” ready to go for him and his friends to wear! He’s even set up the technology to accept credit cards. Louis Stevens does not play! 

The first guests arrive and I’m assuming it’s supposed to be a joke when Louis greets them “Welcome to Stevens’ Manor! You must be the Mannings!” lol. The Mannings are an older couple made up of a “fellow Lou” Louis and his wife Edna. This information is vital for later on. When they’re shown to their room, (which is Louis’ bedroom transformed into the “Lincoln Bedroom” lol) Edna says “This is even cozier than the pictures we saw on the internet!” WOW!!! Louis really did have this planned! He probably whipped out a www.stevensmanor.com domain for this. How did he rearrange and clean his room with enough time to take the photos, post them, and get hits on the website (in 2002, mind you) without his parents noticing though? That stuff took tiiiime back then. Not to mention cleaning that filthy room of his would require the help of a garbage company! Oh, well. That’s an irrelevant detail. I told you he’d been preparing for this moment! 

Where did he get that bust of Lincoln (see 2 photos up) and that painting too? I searched out of curiosity and found this near-exact bust which costs $850!!!!! That thing better be some cheap plastic knock off because something tells me Louis somehow spent more money on making the place look legit than he’ll ever make back from it lol. 

The next guest is a woman named Mrs. Colepepper. What is up with these writers and throwing the word “pepper” into last names? We already have Ryan Zellpepper and now we’ve got this lady lol. I also just realized that both of these characters are black... not that that means anything at all. It’s just randomly sort of interesting imo. 

The last main guests are a pair of twin teenage boys and their parents. Now, Even Stevens is good at not double casting people (a.k.a being weird and having the same actors play two or more different characters throughout the series and hope the audience doesn’t notice) -- But they messed up here and I gotta call it out!! They’re acting like this is the first time we’ve seen these twins, but they actually already made an appearance as LJH students back in Season 2! Their first appearance is literally sooo brief that only a weird superfan like me would notice, but yeah. 

The twins in this episode.

The twins in Season 2! We haven’t covered this episode yet so I feel really weird including a screenshot but.. lol. 

There’s this short scene where Louis introduces Tawny as the Manor’s “human jukebox” because apparently she’s a piano wiz and knows “all kinds of songs” (Also, where’d Louis get the grand piano?! haha) One of the twins sarcastically asks “Does she know ‘I hate it here, we should’ve gone to Hawaii’?” And Tawny adlibs a song “I hate it here, we should’ve gone to Hawaii, where they say Aloha and roast little piggies!” This one line always gets stuck in my head. Always. I’m tempted to continue writing additional lyrics just to give myself more to sing.

There’s also a fantastic bit here of Tom arguing with Mrs. Colepepper about the pulp in her orange juice. I can’t even explain it, all you have to know is that it’s amazing. Also, Louis tells the twins to check out the “Rec Room” and hands them two ping-pong paddles. They’re like “All you have is a ping-pong table?” and Louis says “Yeah... Well... I never said anything about a table. So.” IT ALWAYS GETS ME! It’s such a small line, but I love it. ALSO Beans is the BnB’s “licensed masseuse.” Right.  

At Ren and Ruby’s sleepover, Ruby gets a make up call from Dex and they talk on the phone all giggly for an hour and a half. Ren is fed up and decides to head home. Safe to say Ren was in for a surprise when Mrs. Colepepper was asleep in her bed... 

Louis tries to explain the situation to her and of course, Ren is vehemently against it until she sets her eyes on the ~gorgeous~ twins. As they’ve already stated -- The twins hate it there, so she catches them juuust as they’re about to check out. Ren literally referred to these guys by name in S2. They were some weird names like “Mosh and Stosh”?! lol, Smosh. But now she’s acting like it’s the first time she’s ever seen them in her life and it always bothered meeeeee. 

Something that kills me about this bit is when their father says “The boys just aren’t happy here. I kinda have to agree with them. Your kiddie pool hardly qualifies as an ‘aquatic center’ so...” -- LOUIS REALLY PUT “AQUATIC CENTER” as a selling point knowing that all he had was a kiddie pool.

Imagine showing up to a BnB where this is the advertised “aquatic center.” I am dying of laughter. First the nonexistent Rec Room, now this. I can just hear Gordon Ramsay ripping this place apart on an episode of Hotel Hell.

Ren immediately tries to persuade the twins to stay for obvious reasons by bribing them with lame board games, but they apparently reciprocate her attraction and decide to stay. The fictional board game they pick to play is The Organ Donor Game (sounds like a fun time???) and it’s so suggestive. Ren says “Ooo! You landed on my kidney. That’s gonna cost ya! No cheating and... Hands off my pancreas” in the most sultry voice ever. Like... WHAT?! The doorbell rings while they’re playing and it’s Ruby coming over to apologize, but she too decides to stay at the Stevens’ once she sees the twins. Wow. I love how a fan is always conveniently there to blow Ruby’s hair dramatically whenever she sees a guy she likes.  

It happened the moment she developed a crush on Louis, too. And, uh... Didn’t Ruby JUST GET BACK TOGETHER with Dexter like, an hour ago?  

Meanwhile, Beans is giving Louis Manning a massage by walking on his back in hiking boots??? Beans just further solidifying his place as “The Worst” in my heart. Old Louis (which is what I’ll call him now I guess) gets his back thrown out thanks to their wonderful, 8-year-old, obviously not licensed masseuse. This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen. 

Eileen decides to call home and check in with Louis, which creates one of my favorite situations everrrrrrr in the series. Y’all know I love when shows highlight the comedic side of miscommunication, and this is probably Even Stevens’ best stab at it. Edna is the one who answers Eileen’s call and all hell breaks loose when Eileen asks for Louis. “Louis hurt his back, he’s in a great deal of pain right now.” Edna explains. And Eileen says “You tell him I’ll be there in two hours and that I love him very much!!” Of course, Edna thinks Old Louis is cheating on her with some woman named Eileen and it’s great. 

Louis (Stevens lol) overhears the conversation and starts freaking out because how the hell are they gonna get all of the guests out of the house and revert it back to the way it was when it’s only midnight? That’s when Ren gets the brilliant idea (no seriously, it’s brilliant) to set all of the clocks forward to 7am checkout time! Oh my freaking god. Most of the guests have only been asleep for an hour or so, and suddenly they’re being told breakfast is ready. It’s absolutely hilarious! “Skies will be mostly... dark” Ren informs them of the days’ weather, omg. 

There’s no way they have enough time to serve everyone a full breakfast, so they shove all the food into a blender and give it to the guests as the “Deluxe Breakfast Combo To-Go!” Seriously, Gordon Ramsay would have a field day with this.

They pretty much scream at the guests to “move it!” and get outta the house at midnight while they’re all still in their pajama’s and disoriented. Even if it was 7am, this is some terrible service. At this point, I’d give Stevens’ Manor a generous zero stars on Yelp.  

Amazingly, they get everyone out with enough time to hustle and clean up the house before Steve and Eileen get back! *Whew!* Louis and Ren scramble to explain the whole Enda lady who answered the phone situation and claim that she’s the school nurse. Steve is so confused, “The school nurse made a house call in the middle of the night?!” Honestly, though. Suddenly Edna walks back in the front door “Excuse me, I forgot my umbrella.” Haha. That’s when she and Eileen have their final brush with miscommunication. Eileen is all “Thank you for taking care of Louis!” and Edna says “Well, let me tell you something, Eileen. I have dedicated my entire life to taking care of Louis, so let me give you a little warning... STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” 

Steve: “These school nurses are so protective...” 

Steve and Eileen decide to head upstairs and go to bed immediately, to Louis and Ren’s relief -- which actually made me realize something... Where do Steve and Eileen sleep?! From what we’ve seen of the upstairs it seems to only have a bathroom and Louis, Ren, and Donnie’s rooms! I’ve never seen space or a door for a third bedroom up there! Omg. Maybe they have a secret bedroom in a hidden attic or something? Hey! They had a giant secret cave underneath their house. It’s possible. 

The final minute bit of this episode is great. Steve and Eileen are watching some local news program and Mrs. Colepepper happens to be the host. She shares her experience at Stevens’ Manor and how she’ll never forget it in a strangely positive review segment. The best line is when she says “I don’t normally sleep through the night, but when my head hit the pillow -- the next thing I knew, it was morning!” HAHAHAHA. She makes a point to mention the “hip, young staff” and shows a picture of the gang (see cover photo.) And yeah. Steve blows a gasket. 

THE END!

This is a great episode. I mean, really. It’s super memorable, funny, and it’s an awesome episode for the cast as an ensemble. I cracked up countless times writing this review! It definitely gets a lot of “iconic” points for sure. I just personally prefer episodes that have more of a story to them and focus on the characters. As great as this episode is, it’s definitely one of those wacky plots that could only make sense in crazy Season 3. But I gotta give it to them... This is such a wild and elaborate plot, but they somehow make you believe that Louis could’ve actually pulled this off irl. I’m sure there were some impressionable kids out there who entertained the idea of doing something similar themselves, lol. I want y’all to know that #17 isn’t a “bad” spot by any means. I feel like I say this a lot, but at this point in the countdown, everything seriously is pretty much top notch. I’m simply arranging the best of the best in an order I hope is both personal and objective. It’s a difficult line to straddle, believe me.

To top off the review, I’ve added not one -- but two Stevens’ Manor designs to the Redbubble shop!! AYYYYYYYYY! I got carried away. I’m actually really excited about these, haha! Ya can now get the main “Stevens’ Manor” design and the employee logo design printed on whatevaaa you want. Doing these reproductions of things that exist within the shows’ universe is so fun. I’m really trying my best to get as close to the way they appear on screen as I possibly can (with my limited photoshop skillz)

They’re available in the shop now! Yay!

Thanks for reading!!

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