#someone has probably made this joke before

[marscardigan]

red wine supernova

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: celebrating your birthday for the first time without your family was hard, but ellie was there to make your special day better.

word count: 4.8k

YOU HEARD the clunk first.

Then came the gurgle. The kind of unsettling gurgle that said hey, I’m broken and probably leaking. You stared at your kitchen sink. The faucet was dripping slowly, then rapidly, and then suddenly it made a soft hissing pop and began a very non-cute stream from underneath the counter. You were already freaking out when you texted Ellie. 'help. the sink just made a sound like a dying animal D:'

Less than five minutes later, you heard a knock on your door, and there she was—smug little smirk, toolbox in hand. "Your handy girlfriend has arrived," Ellie announced, stepping inside dramatically. "I heard there’s a damsel in distress."

You squinted at her. "You’re holding your hammer upside down."

She paused. Glanced at it. "That’s... just how I carry it. For style."

"You sure you know what you’re doing?"

Ellie strutted past you like she owned the place, setting her toolbox on your counter and crouching to inspect under the sink. "I fixed Jesse’s garbage disposal once. Plus I watched, like, a lot of plumbing videos after the shower head incident at my place."

You narrowed your eyes. "The incident where you broke it off the wall and flooded your whole bathroom?"

Ellie’s head popped out from beneath the counter. "Okay, rude. That was sabotage. Gravity was involved."

You sat on the floor beside her, watching her try to identify which pipe did what with the confidence of someone who had no idea but didn’t want to admit it.

"Need a hand, baby?" you asked.

"No, no. I got it. I just.. I’m just surveying. For strategy, you know?"

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie pulled her phone from her back pocket while pretending to stretch and started texting someone. 

"No way," you peeked over her shoulder. "Are you texting Joel?"

Ellie froze. "No?"

You blinked. "Why are you lying?"

She groaned. "Okay, yes. But listen. I’m still doing the work. Joel is just... coaching. Spiritually."

You smirked. "Aren’t you supposed to be handy? You know, being a lesbian and all?"

Ellie sat up so fast she hit her head on the bottom of the sink, cursed, then pointed an accusing wrench at you. "Wow. I could say the same, ma’am."

You blinked, but a small smile appeared on your lips. "Touché."

She rubbed the back of her head, then sat beside you on the floor with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay. Real talk? I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m doing. I just wanted to impress you."

"You don’t need to impress me, El. You already do."

She gave you a sheepish little half-smile, bumping her shoulder against yours. "Even if I can’t fix your sink?"

"Especially because you tried to anyway."

You leaned your head on her shoulder, both of you sitting on the floor beside the broken sink, surrounded by scattered tools. Ellie let her head tilt onto yours, and for a moment the silence felt warm, easy. Comfortable.

Then the faucet hissed again. And it made you both jump.

"Okay," Ellie muttered. "Maybe we should call a real plumber before your kitchen becomes a swimming pool."

You didn’t expect Joel to show up with that much swagger. The moment you opened the door for him, he was already smirking like he had three dad-jokes lined up and a plumber's ego the size of Texas.

"Where’s the patient?" he asked, stepping into your apartment.

Ellie, who had been sulking on your couch with her arms crossed, shot you a betrayed look the second she heard his voice. "You called him?"

"You were texting him already," you pointed out, holding back a laugh. "I just… escalated."

Joel chuckled and patted Ellie’s shoulder on his way to the kitchen. "Don’t worry, kiddo. Some people are meant to fix sinks. Some are meant to break ‘em."

"It was already broken!"

You leaned on the counter and watched as Joel got to work. He made a few small grunting sounds, twisted a couple of things, mumbled to himself, and five minutes later, your sink no longer sounded like a dying animal.

You blinked. "Wait. That’s it?"

Joel stood up and dusted his hands off. "Yeah. It was just a loose coupling and a misaligned gasket. Easy fix."

Ellie was standing with her arms crossed now, jaw tight. "Cool. Thanks for making me look useless in front of my girlfriend."

Joel grinned, but didn’t bother to say anything. He just turned to grab his thermos. "So. You two are still comin’ over next weekend?"

You frowned a little, confused. "Wait… next weekend?"

"Yeah, before your birthday, right?" Joel said, totally casual.

You blinked. "How do you know it’s my birthday?"

He smirked as he took a sip of the coffee you made for him. "Ellie hasn’t shut up about it for two weeks."

You looked over just in time to see Ellie’s soul exit her body. "I—what—okay." She stood up straighter, backing toward the door like she was about to physically eject Joel from the apartment. "Thank you so much for the sink, Joel. Appreciate it. Really. You can leave now. Door’s right here. Bye!"

Joel laughed, deeply amused. "Just sayin’. That girl has been stressin’ about gettin’ you the right gift. Keeps mutterin’ 'what if it’s too much?' and 'what if she doesn’t like sur—'"

"BYE, JOEL!"

You were full-on cackling now, covering your mouth as Ellie turned cherry red and started shoving Joel gently toward the door. "Hey, hey!" Joel laughed, holding his hands up. "No need to assault me for being observant."

"Out." Ellie insisted, dragging him by the sleeve.

Joel turned to you, still laughing. "You’re comin’ next week, though, right?"

You nodded, smiling warmly. "Yeah. Wouldn’t dare to miss it."

"Good." He winked at Ellie, who was as red as her flannel.

Once the door shut, she turned around, arms stiff at her sides, eyes wide like she’d just been hit by a truck. You tried not to laugh. You really did. But her face was so red.

"Couldn’t shut up, huh?"

Ellie groaned and pressed her forehead into your shoulder. "I hate him."

You wrapped your arms around her and smiled against her temple. "I don’t. He’s kind of my favorite person right now."

She peeked up at you with a pout. "I thought I was your favorite."

You grinned. "Well, you were. Until Joel complimented my kitchen."

Ellie narrowed her eyes. But you leaned in and kissed her quickly, soft and sweet. "I love you, dork."

Her face softened instantly. "Yeah," she murmured. "Love you too."

Then she sniffed. "… How did he fix that in five minutes?! I was literally googling what a gasket even is."

You laughed again, pulling her close. "It’s okay, plumber girl. Your efforts were adorable."

She groaned into your shoulder. "I’m gonna hear about this forever."

"You are," you teased. "Forever. Just like Joel said."

She looked up again, defeated but grinning. "Okay. Now I hate you too."

THE TV flickered softly across the dim living room. Ellie’s face as she lounged at the end of the couch, socked feet kicked up on the coffee table. Her hair was a mess, and her oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing the faint lines of freckles dancing around her pale skin.

The movie she’d put on was halfway through, and Ellie was narrating more than watching.

"Okay, okay, look— this part? Where Luke flips off the skiff? He actually did that himself, no stunt double. Mark Hamill, certified badass." She leaned toward you, finger pointing at the screen like you might miss it. "Also? Carrie Fisher hated that metal bikini. Like, despised it. Rightfully so."

You smiled faintly, eyes on the screen, but not really seeing it.

Ellie didn't notice at first, she was too busy giving you random trivia in her soft, nerdy ramble that always made you melt a little. But somewhere between the speeder bike chase and the Ewok celebration, Ellie finally glanced over. And paused mid-sentence.

You were curled up at the opposite end of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, blanket tight around your shoulders. Your eyes were dull, unfocused. Your expression that polite, empty kind of neutral you wore when you didn’t want anyone to ask you what was wrong. It was a dead giveaway.

Ellie immediately hit pause. The screen froze on a blurry Ewok mid-jump, mouth open like it had caught the tension in the room too.

You blinked slowly. "Hey, I was watching that."

She didn’t answer. Just turned toward you, her brows gently furrowed. "Okay, spill."

"What?"

"Don’t 'what' me," she said, voice soft but certain. "You’re quiet. That weird, echo-y kind of quiet."

You hesitated, fingers twitching with the blanket fabric. "It’s nothing. I’m just tired."

Ellie tilted her head, unconvinced. "You’re a terrible liar."

There was a long pause. The kind that buzzed in your ears. And finally, you sighed. "It’s just... weird. Thinking about celebrating my birthday without my family, I guess."

Ellie didn’t say anything for a second, and you hated how suddenly vulnerable you felt. You hadn’t cried or anything, hadn’t even planned to bring it up. But there it was, sitting thick in your throat like a rock. 

"My parents usually drove," you added after a second, eyes fixed on the paused screen. "Even if it was just for dinner. They’d bring cake and balloons, even when I told them not to. It was… dumb. But it felt good."

Ellie scooted closer, shifting the blanket without asking and tugging half of it over her own lap. Her hand found yours under the fleece, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"I’m sorry," she said, voice barely above a whisper. You blinked fast, trying not to let it show how much that small gesture hit you. "But hey," she added, her lips twitching into a little smile. "I’m not, like, blood-related… but I am contractually obligated to be your emotional support."

You laughed softly, pressing your face into her shoulder.

Ellie pulled you close, kissing the side of your head. "We don’t have to do anything big if you don’t want to."

"I don’t know. It’s just… gonna feel different."

"Yeah," she murmured, letting her chin rest against your hair. "Different doesn’t have to mean bad, though."

"I know."

The two of you sat like that for a while — quiet, bundled in shared warmth, the paused Ewok still mid-celebration on the screen.

Then Ellie whispered, "I, uh… may or may not have something up my sleeve for your birthday."

You lifted your head, smiling faintly. "El…"

"No, no — I’m not telling you anything. This face?" She pointed at her own. "Vault. Steel trap."

You gave her a knowing look. "You’re literally the worst at keeping secrets."

"Hey! I kept the Christmas sweater surprise and the concert tickets last month."

"You told me about the concert while you were trying to buy the tickets."

"Anyway," she said, leaning back dramatically. "This one? You’ll never see it coming."

You let yourself sink back into her side, fingers brushing hers again, more at peace than you’d felt all day.

THE CAR was warm from the sun, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and Ellie’s hand was resting on your thigh in that casual, grounding way that always made your chest flutter.

"You sure we have everything?" she asked, as if the road trip didn’t last twenty minutes.

You held up the tote bag you packed. "I got snacks, water, charger, and gum. I am the ideal road trip companion."

Ellie smirked. "Passenger princess, you mean."

You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "That’s so rude. I am a navigation expert and playlist curator."

"Yeah?" she glanced at you, amused. "Then how come you opened Google Maps like five minutes ago and already told me to turn down a one-way?"

"That was a test. And you passed."

She snorted. "Sure."

You leaned back into the seat, sunglasses perched on your nose, your legs curled up slightly in the seat like you always did. "Okay, okay, serious now. What playlist do you want?"

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember the one we did together?" You grinned, nodding. "Play that one."

You queued it up, and within seconds, the car was filled with music. Ellie hummed along under her breath, her fingers tapping the beat against your leg. You watched her drive for a minute — the way her jaw flexed when she focused, the small scar on her temple, the fact that she had her sleeves pushed up and one tattooed forearm resting lazily on the wheel. 

"What?" she asked, catching you staring.

"Nothing," you smiled. "You’re so pretty."

Her face pinked immediately. "Don’t distract me. You want us to crash before we even arrive?"

"I mean… if we crash into a field and get to live off the grid together, I’m not complaining."

Joel’s house at just outside a little forest area, one of those modest country homes with a porch swing and too many bird feeders. It wasn’t far from your apartment complex, but it felt different anyway. When you pulled into the driveway, Joel was already waiting on the porch with two beers and what looked like a glass of lemonade in his hand. You hopped out of the car before Ellie had even turned off the engine, practically bouncing on your feet.

"She’s excited," Ellie muttered, grabbing the bag from the backseat.

"I heard that!"

Joel stood up as you approached, already holding out the lemonade. "Told you she’d be happy to get outta the city."

"I’m always happy when there’s cake," you grinned, accepting the glass. "Hi, Joel."

"Happy early birthday, kiddo." He gave you a side hug and then clapped Ellie on the back. "You two hungry?"

"Always," you and Ellie said in unison.

Inside, Joel had really gone for it: steak, potatoes, cornbread, and now the three of you were settled on his large couch. You were sitting between them, Ellie with her arm casually draped along the back of the couch behind you, her fingers occasionally brushing your hair. Joel had turned on the Western on the old TV. 

Halfway through, Joel paused the movie. "Alright. Gimme a second."

You sat up slightly. "Wait, is it… is it cake time?"

"Patience," he grumbled, disappearing into the hallway.

Ellie gave you a look. "Gift time."

"What?"

Before you could say something else, Joel returned with a small box, wrapped in old newspaper and tied up with a small bow. He held it out to you, slightly awkward. "Here. It’s not much, but… I made it myself."

You blinked and took the box gently, heart already swelling before you’d even untied the bow. Ellie nudged your knee with hers, giving you a soft smile. Inside the box was a hand-carved wooden jewelry tray. The edges were smoothed out and rounded, the inside etched delicately with little stars and crescent moons. The craftsmanship wasn’t perfect, but it was personal. It was special. 

Joel scratched the back of his neck. "Thought maybe it’d look nice on your nightstand. Ellie said you keep losin’ your earrings."

"I don’t lose them—" you started, shooting Ellie a look.

"—She definitely loses them," Ellie confirmed.

You blinked hard, trying not to spill any tear. And then looked up at Joel. "This is… this is beautiful. Seriously."

He looked relieved. "Glad you think so."

You leaned over and gave him a hug without even thinking about it, arms around his middle, head resting on his shoulder. Joel went a little stiff, then sighed and patted your back. "You’re welcome, kid."

He looked over at Ellie, who gave him a thumbs up, smiling so hard it hurt. 

YOU WERE asleep. Deeply asleep.

Tucked into Ellie’s sheets, her warmth curled around you like a blanket of its own — one arm slung lazily over your waist, her breath slow and even against the back of your neck. The world was quiet, the apartment dark and still, save for the faintest hum of the city outside the window and the soft noise of a fan nearby.

"Baaaabe…"

You groaned. A soft kiss landed on your shoulder. Then another. Then one against your cheek. Then your jaw. Your temple. Your eyelid, which made you twitch.

"Babyyyyyy," Ellie singsonged, barely above a whisper but somehow managing to drag the vowels into your dreams like a little menace.

Your eyes fluttered open vaguely. "Ellie…" Your voice was thick with sleep. "Is the building on fire?"

"No," she grinned.

"Did the cat learn to talk?"

"We don’t have a cat."

"Exactly," you mumbled, rolling over toward her, face still half-smashed into the pillow. "Then why…"

Ellie’s face was inches from yours, eyes wide and shining in the dark like an excited kid. "It’s midnight," she said simply.

You blinked at her. "... And?"

"It’s your birthday, dummy."

You blinked again. Then, despite the groggy haze in your brain, you felt something warm pull at your chest. Ellie was grinning like she couldn’t contain it— her fingers gently sweeping a lock of hair from your forehead, her knee nudging yours under the covers.

"You woke me up… to say happy birthday?"

"Of course I did," she whispered, leaning down to brush her nose against yours. "I get to be the first one to say it."

Your heart did a little flip. Even in the dark, you could see the softness on her face. She tucked her face into your neck and kissed you there, just below your ear.

"Happy birthday, baby," she whispered. "I love you so much."

Your breath caught. Even half-asleep, that still made your stomach flutter. You let out a laugh, barely a puff of air. “Oh my god. You’re so annoying.”

"Yup." She pressed another kiss to your cheek. "But, hey, birthday rules. I get to be as clingy and chaotic as I want."

"You're always clingy."

"Exactly. So today I will be even worse." She poked your side gently, drawing out a muffled yelp. "How does it feel? Being the prettiest, coolest, most perfect birthday girl in the world?"

You buried your face in her chest, hiding your grin. "Feels like I’m gonna fall back asleep any second."

Ellie laughed and pulled you tighter against her. "That’s fine. I just wanted to be the first. Didn’t even need fireworks or cake. Just… this." Her voice was quieter now, more serious under the softness. "Just you here. With me."

You closed your eyes, heart heavy in the best way. "Thanks for waking me up," you whispered.

Ellie kissed your forehead. "Anytime, birthday girl."

You were already halfway asleep again when she pulled the blanket tighter over you both, her fingers stroking slow, lazy circles against your hip. But then you felt her smile against your skin. And you fell asleep smiling too.

WHEN the sun came up, you started to notice something was with Ellie. She started to... over-explain things. Like when she insisted you really didn’t need to come with her to the store that morning.

"I just gotta pick up a few things," she said, avoiding eye contact. "For… uh. Repairs."

"Repairs?"

"Yeah. You know, the boring stuff."

You stared at her. She fidgeted. "… Ellie."

"It will be so boring. Not worth your time, for sure." She added, pulling on her hoodie string so hard it almost slapped her cheek.

And when you tried to press further, she kissed your forehead and said, "You’re really cute, but no questions," then tripped over the welcome mat on her way out.

Despite the nerves and the obvious attempts at cover-up, there was something endearing in how hard she was trying. She wasn’t that bad at hiding it. Just… twitchy. And excitable. And grinning to herself when she thought you weren’t looking.

It was honestly kind of adorable.

By the time the afternoon arrived, she was barely keeping it together. She texted you five times from her place. The one that was down the hall. Terrible poker face, Williams.

When you opened the door that evening, Ellie was already outside waiting for you, pretending she hadn’t been nervously pacing the corridor for fifteen minutes. She offered her hand with a shy grin and said, "You look good. Like… criminally good."

You raised an eyebrow. "Criminal?"

"Yeah. Like, if hotness was illegal, I’d be a getaway driver."

You laughed despite yourself. She kissed your knuckles and walked with you down the hallway like she hadn’t spent all week having semi-anxious spirals in group chats with Dina and Jesse.

When she opened her apartment door, a rush of warm air, soft lighting, and music hit you first. Then came the voices.

"SURPRISE!!"

And there they were. Not just Ellie’s friends. Not just Dina and Jesse— who were already grinning ear to ear. But your people. A few from college. A couple from high school. A girl you used to sit with in freshman year creative writing. People you hadn’t seen in forever. Faces from every corner of your past life, standing under twinkling lights and hand-cut banners that spelled Happy Birthday! in mismatched lettering.

You turned to Ellie, stunned. She just smiled back, so damn proud of herself. 

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter, hugs and stories. You caught up with old friends, shared drinks with Jesse who was aggressively proud of Ellie’s 'romantic little brain,' and danced to terrible pop music that Ellie claimed to hate — but still danced with you to.

At one point, you noticed her standing near the back wall, just watching you with the most ridiculous, soft smile on her face.

"How you did this?" you asked, taking her hand. 

She shrugged, ears flushed pink. "You talk about people when you’re happy. I just… remembered the names. Asked around. Dina helped me with the Insta creeping."

Your heart swelled. And you leaned in to kissed her. 

As the party wound down, your friends, who were half-tipsy already, floated the idea of heading to a bar across town.

"You two are totally coming," one of your oldest friends said, tugging at your hand. "We haven’t seen you in years, you can’t just disappear now."

You turned to Ellie, who already had that mischief look plastered on her face.

"C’mon," she said, brushing your hair behind your ear. "I’ll buy the first round."

The bar was dim and neon-drenched, full of people and terrible music. Ellie stayed close to your side, one hand in the back pocket of your jeans, laughing at your stories, letting you steal sips from her drink. It was strange seeing your two worlds blur like this. Your past and your present. Your oldest friends watching the way Ellie looked at you, some of them smirking behind their glasses, others giving you subtle thumbs-up when Ellie leaned in to whisper something soft in your ear.

As the night stretched, the drinks became foggy. You weren’t much of a heavy drinker, not usually. But tonight was different. Your birthday, Ellie by your side, surrounded by old friends and new memories. The kind of warmth that went straight to your chest and, okay, maybe your head too.

Ellie had been keeping count. She wasn’t a buzzkill about it, just quietly attuned. Two cocktails, one shot someone handed you during a toast, and a half-glass of whatever suspicious pink stuff was handed to you by a giggling friend. That was your limit. But Ellie knew better than to tell you that. She just hovered nearby, patient as ever.

You stumbled into her at the edge of the dance floor, head heavy on her shoulder, arms winding around her waist. "You’re so pretty," you slurred, eyes sparkling. "Did you know? God, Ellie. You’re so stupidly hot. Like, offensively attractive."

Ellie laughed, catching you by the waist. "Okay, babe. That’s number four talking."

"Nuh-uh," you protested, poking her chest. "That’s just me. I love you."

You clung to her like a very drunk koala, and she steadied you with both hands on your hips, heart swelling even as she rolled her eyes affectionately. "You do love me, huh?" she said, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

You nodded emphatically. "Like. So much. It’s actually disgusting."

She grinned, soft and crooked, the way she always did when she was trying to mask how much your affection hit her. "Alright, babe," she said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get you some water."

You went willingly, still nuzzling into her side, giggling every time she called you a nickname. The bartender handed over a tall glass of ice water with a straw, and Ellie pressed it to your lips. "Sip. You’re gonna thank me later."

You sipped. And she grinned, whispering a soft ‘atta girl’ in your ear. 

"You’re so bossy," you mumbled, cheeks flushed.

"Yeah, and you like it."

"Love it, sure." you whispered, leaning up to kiss her cheek.

Ellie stilled for a second, watching you with that soft, unreadable expression she always got when she was feeling more than she could say. Then she smiled, tucked your hair behind your ear, and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

"Alright, lover girl," she murmured. "We’re going home," Ellie said firmly, glancing at your friends with a nod.

You whined quietly. "I don’t wanna go yet."

"Yeah, I know. But your eyes say you’re five minutes away from sleeping standing up."

"I don’t want to go to my apartment, El. I wish we could live together. It’s not fair," you mumbled, barely audible. "Can’t wait for you to be my forever home.”

Ellie froze. Looked down at you. And something in her expression softened so completely it nearly melted. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. "You’re gonna ruin me."

You smiled sleepily into her collarbone, not fully aware of the words you just spilled, and how much they affected Ellie for the rest of the night.

After saying goodbye to your friend, Ellie called a cab, half-carrying you inside it, holding your hand the entire ride home while you talked in dreamy, quiet nonsense about clouds and cake and her freckles. When you reached the apartment building, Ellie kept an arm tight around your waist as she guided you down the hallway. You were still humming something that sounded vaguely like a love song, leaning all your weight on her and whispering, "I’d die for you, you know that?"

"Let’s not be dramatic," Ellie muttered, but her heart was a puddle.

Back at her place, she helped you out of your boots and your jacket, guiding you gently toward the bed. You flopped onto the mattress like a fainting Victorian lady.

"God," you mumbled. "You’re the best. You’re actually the best thing in the universe. I’d fight a bear for you."

"Good to know," Ellie said, pulling a blanket over you. "Just, maybe fight your hangover first, okay?"

You reached for her hand, and she took it instantly, sitting down beside you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Stay here," you whispered.

"I’m not going anywhere."

You were asleep two minutes later. Ellie stayed up longer, watching you, brushing hair away from your face, and thinking about forever homes and just how fucking lucky she was.

YOU WOKE up to the soft buzz of your phone vibrating under your pillow, and the too-bright morning light pouring through Ellie’s bedroom window. Your head was pounding, your mouth tasted vaguely like tequila and regret, and you were about 85% sure you told Ellie you wanted to marry her in the middle of a bar last night.

Ellie was sitting at the edge of the bed when you finally groaned and shifted under the blankets. Her hair was a mess, and she still looked beautiful. 

"Morning, lover girl," she said softly, holding out a big glass of water.  "Survived?"

You took the glass, sip, and glare at her weakly. "Barely. You didn’t even drink."

"Someone had to be the responsible adult," she smirked, then leans over to press a kiss to your temple. "Also, watching you proclaim your undying love to me in front of your friends was kind of the highlight of my week."

You covered your face with a groan. "Fuck."

"No, no—don’t be embarrassed." Ellie was laughing now. Finally, she leaned in and rested her forehead against yours. "Next time," she murmured, "you propose, can you do it when I’m not holding your hair back in a bathroom?"

You snorted. "Noted."

Ellie pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You want pancakes?"

"God, yes. Can we get greasy diner pancakes?"

"Absolutely."

You smiled, rubbing your hands over your face. "You’re the best."

"I know," she said, standing up with a stretch. As she left the room to get dressed, you flopped back into the sheets, smiling into the pillow. Your head still hurt. Your throat still burned. But your chest? Your chest felt light.

It had been a very different birthday, but your favorite by far.

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[ooooo-mcyt]

I know "What happened to Mean Gills?" was an oorp joke not even made in the Life Series but I'm incorporating it into my character analysis anyways because it is so indicative of one of the most fascinating character traits of Martyn to me.

That being, Martyn always wants people to be simultaneously stable and disposable in his life.

"What happened to Mean Gills?" you happened to Mean Gills, Martyn. You poured a bucket of lava on Scott and stabbed him in the back. You killed him, before what was meant to be a fair fight, and then in victory you proclaimed to the world that allegiances don't matter. That's what happened to Mean Gills.

Martyn often talks about people like they're disposable, he claims to have no issue with using and betraying people, with lying to them, because his survival and victory is all that matters. And to a point this is how he treats people. Martyn will lie to the people who trust him, Martyn will stab them in the back, Martyn will do what it takes to survive, because Martyn is a survivor.

But Martyn is a lot more attached to people than he likes to admit- His King, His Mean Gill, His Big Dog, His, His, His, Martyn is deeply attached to his people, both possessively and protectively, more dependent on them than he likes to admit. There's a reason he keeps lingering, keeps getting drawn back to the same people, he cares about them, whether he'll often admit it outright or not.

I have a lot of sympathy for Martyn being someone who I think is torn between the very human desire for survival and independence and the equally human desire for connection and stability. I have a lot of sympathy for the way Martyn breaks his own heart over and over just to feel like he's free and capable enough to do so even though he loses so much in the process.

But this is a behavior pattern that impacts other people too, and a person is fundamentally not an object to pick up and drop as is comfortable. Martyn cannot have his cake and eat it too, he cannot betray and lie to people over and over and still expect them to be His Person, a fact Martyn often struggles to internalize. His own connection draws him back to people he's hurt in the past and it's hard for him when they have walls up now even though he did this.

(interestingly, i think mean gills might be an exception to the "you can't have your cake and eat it too" rule to an extent- scott isn't naive enough to trust martyn, but he's often very okay with being treated like an asset by people he loves. scott has a very special brand of self dehumanization where he'll spend seasons carving off pieces of himself to give to his partners, calculating how much to give until it's more economic to just die for them. so like. martyn could honestly probably just grab onto scott again and they'd be back like martyn never stabbed him in the back. but despite the fact that i think scott specifically would probably be remarkably tolerant of martyn's more destructive relationship habits, i still think "what happened to mean gills?" is a good showcase of martyn's view on things)

Anyways yeah I just think Martyn is fascinating he is so destructive to himself and others and it makes me so sad.

[chimerafeathers]

#MIRAAAAAAAA #Mira #Siffrin #augh. She's so #she's so important in so many ways #hey op do you have any thoughts on how Mirabelle's first response to Sif knowing what her papers are is GRABBING HER SWORD #because that stunned me the first time it happened #and something about it pings as related to me here but I'm not quite sure what yet (via @cellar-whales)

YES ACTUALLY i was thinking about this scene too while i was writing!! just didn't have a great place to bring it up. but. i think it's an extension of her instinctual reactions (negative, aggressive, defensive) versus her needing to consciously choose to be trusting and interpret people's actions as friendly. in combination with her feelings about being teased, it was making me wonder if she's been directly bullied in the past (and how badly?), or if she's just always on edge about that being what's happening because she has trouble telling sometimes, and that's not her natural way of connecting with people.

she's gotten more comfortable with it lately! she even teases back and plays up the drama—i think a lot of her instances of being gently patronizing (ex. "Siffrin, you're so talented! You know so many things! Congrats, Siffrin!" during the tutorial, "It feels like we tamed a wild animal, doesn't it?" at the dictionary) aren't so totally sincere and more her way of getting in on the joke, since everyone else is comfortable with teasing each other in similar ways. she's trying to be playful—Siffrin realizes this in repeat tutorials, actually!

but when it's aimed at her, it's...uncomfortable. Don't tease me, Siffrin. she KNOWS (reassures herself, again and again) that this is friendly behavior, it's affectionate, it's not mean or hurtful (but what if it is)

so Siffrin is poking at these papers that she's really, existentially, long-term stressed about, on a day where she is really, short-term existentially stressed about possibly not having a future to worry about at all, and how the FUCK did he know what these papers are, actually, did they invade her privacy and snoop in her things somehow??? (yes, in fact, sorry about that Mira) how did they know? is he going to mock her for this?????

and then. Siffrin says something that implies that they don't REALLY know as much as she thought they did, so maybe he just caught sight of them while she was lost in thought looking at them here and made some assumptions, and is really sincerely offering to help her out because he cares about her, and mayyyyybe it WOULD be nice to get someone else's opinion since she's so lost here, and Siffrin is so worldly and experienced so they MUST know more than she does about this, right? (well. about that.)

my friend pointed out that she got really anxious in the tutorial situation about fighting Sadnesses, but didn't hesitate to pull her sword on a human being who's also her friend. he suggested that in the Sadness situation, the confrontation hadn't actually started yet and she was anxious in anticipation of it, while in the papers situation she felt like she was already IN the "combat" part of the interaction. i think it's also that...she probably hasn't had a lifetime of constantly fighting Sadnesses, which as far as I recall did exist pre-King, but not nearly as pervasively. but she has likely had a lifetime of specifically human conflicts and anxieties, and all the knee-jerk defensiveness and fear that come with that.

so maybe her recent months of constantly being in survival mode in a very physical, combat-oriented sense, plus her instinctual "THIS PERSON IS BEING MEAN TO ME AND I NEED TO PROTECT MYSELF FROM THAT" reaction, combine to having a combative defense response to interpersonal conflict. and since she's SO stressed, all that happens before she has a chance to talk herself down. end result.....drawing a weapon on a friend! oops!

i really love how intensely Mirabelle reacts to act 5 Siffrin botched friendquest.

Isabeau is mostly operating out of concern and, eventually, hurt. he already knows something’s up before Siffrin gets to him. he knows something truly awful must be wrong for Siffrin to be lashing out like they are, and as soon as he can’t handle the situation anymore, he leaves and asks (with strained cheer) for time apart to cool off.

most of Bonnie’s anger comes from being upset and afraid that Siffrin would willingly put themself in danger for no reason, when that’s exactly why they’ve been so unsettled since the eye incident. they hate that Siffrin values their own life so little, they hate that they’re the cause of any pain or loss for him, and here he is, putting himself in that situation AGAIN. on purpose. it’s loud and explosive, but it’s familiar, too, being “hated” by Bonnie for this reason.

Odile pushes, and keeps pushing, until her concern overwhelms Siffrin and they strike where they know she’s most vulnerable. she gets physical, just for a moment, grabbing his collar before controlling herself and letting go. her fury shuts down into cold detachment, and she walks away.

but Mirabelle—dear, sweet, gentle, loving Mirabelle, “the most wonderful being on earth,” with her secret “ruthless side” that largely involves lightly badmouthing people behind their backs and then apologizing—slaps them. immediately.

and then COMPLETELY RENOUNCES THEIR FRIENDSHIP.

not just “we’re not friends anymore,” but “we were never friends in the first place.”

that’s!!! pretty extreme!!!!

of course, she ALSO starts by asking what’s wrong. something must have happened for him to act like this. but as soon as Siffrin brushes her off, she jumps past that line of questioning and dives headfirst into re-evaluating everything she thought she knew about them as a a person.

if he could say something like that to her and not see anything wrong with it, then she was wrong to treat him as a friend, wrong to read camaraderie into his teasing, wrong to think they must care about them all under their aloof demeanor.

that’s how Mirabelle phrases it—“I was wrong about you”—but i think that there’s a hidden layer of I was right about you, too.

she talks about the way they tease her like she had to convince herself that he was doing it in a friendly way. she says they talk like they “know better than her” like that’s a thought she’s had for a LONG time.

“Always soooo mysterious, Siffrin, always talking as if you're better than me! As if you know me!!! But you don't, Siffrin!!! You're just as lost and useless as I am!!! So stop!!! Talking!!! As if you know me!!!!!!”

none of this comes across as a new, sudden way to view Siffrin for her. it doesn’t shock or confuse her. it makes her angry, defensive, almost like she was waiting for something like this to happen at some point. the feeling of resentment, frustration, jealousy, being patronized and condescended to—this is something she’s been actively pushing down and rejecting this entire time, but they’ve given her ample reason for it all to boil to the surface. violently.

Mirabelle’s kindness is not inherent or easy. it’s a choice she’s making. she treats Siffrin warmly because she gives him the benefit of the doubt—refusing to act based on anxiety-fueled, cynical speculation, and reassuring herself that his actions are driven by care and friendship even if she can’t quite see it.

“I was wrong about you” doesn’t mean she always and without question believed them to be a fundamentally kind, caring person from the beginning—it’s that her first, colder instincts were right, and she was wrong to convince herself otherwise.

never mind that she asked what was wrong at first. she barely gives them time to speak in their own defense, to explain what they really meant by what they said. all of her suppressed doubts and frustrations are getting aired out now, now that all the trust she’d so deliberately placed in him has been betrayed. her pain feels bigger than this singular moment, so when she hurts him back, she makes sure it extends back through the entirety of their relationship for him, too.

“You're awful. You're not my friend, not my ally, not anything. You never were.”

like the others, she goes back to the clocktower and tells Siffrin not to come back until later. but there’s a finality to the way she ends this confrontation that isn’t quite there with the others. Isabeau and Odile reach their breaking point and remove themselves from the situation, asking for space to cool off but still somewhat leaving the door open for Siffrin to tell them what’s really going on at some point. Mirabelle is the only one who tries to fully cut ties—after everything else she says, her “I don’t want to see you until tonight” reads to me somewhat as “I don’t want to see you anymore unless I have to.”

I can’t wait to never see you again.

even back at the clocktower, Mirabelle doesn’t really defend Siffrin’s place in the party when Odile suggests leaving them behind out of concern for their trustworthiness on the most important day of the journey. Isabeau and Bonnie protest out of sentimentality and faith in Siffrin’s abilities and connection to them, and Mirabelle agrees, but…

“I agree, but... B-But would he even agree to come with us, still? Maybe they won't even come back tonight...”

she doesn’t say much outside of that. maybe the stutter and hesitation here are signs of regret about how things happened, but she lacks Isabeau and Bonnie’s confidence that Siffrin even wants to come back to them in the first place. she doesn’t trust that their bond was real anymore. maybe it never was in the first place, or maybe she broke whatever was there herself.

and she’s still mad when they finally catch up to Siffrin at the King! and she makes sure Siffrin knows that—after saving them, assuring him that he no longer needs to fight, that they’re all there for him. she still cares, of course she still cares—she’s still hurt, too, but they can figure that part out once there’s less world-ending stuff going on.

she’s the first to say that they all reserve the right to still be angry at Siffrin later—and that they’ve already forgiven him.

she’s also the first to say we want to stay with you, too. it’s not just you.

she was wrong! she thought they didn’t care but they care so much, it’s overwhelming, it’s world-ending.

i think she’s gonna be wallowing in guilt post-canon the moment she remembers what she said and did TO SIFFRIN and not just what Siffrin said to her. especially now that she knows Siffrin’s exact hangups, and especially especially if she figures out what Siffrin was trying to say.

they put themself through hell out of loneliness and fear that none of the others cared about him the way he cared about them, he was going insane from repetition and exhaustion and hunger and trying to keep them all safe and together, and all they did in the midst of all that was say something kind of mean to her one time (that turned out to not even be MEANT to be mean it was supposed to be HELPFUL they just SAID IT ALL WRONG) and she SLAPPED THEM? and told him that they WEREN’T FRIENDS AT ALL??? how could she!!! she should have known better!! what they said hurt a lot but still!!!

so when they eventually manage to try to talk about it, they end up almost in, like, a guilt competition.

Mirabelle apologizing for how she reacted, that she shouldn’t have yelled or hit him, that she doesn’t want to be the kind of person who acts that way out of anger and she’s sorry that she made Siffrin expect that reaction from her, she should have known better and believed in him more and they only messed up like that because they were losing their mind in a time loop but what’s HER excuse—

and Siffrin going nononono stop I deserved it—(HUH DON’T SAY THAT NO YOU DIDN’T)—and that he should never have said such awful things to her, ever, and she was under so much pressure already with the weight of the country and everyone’s lives and futures and her religion and their whole party counting on her to do this impossible task because she’s the only one who can, all this unbearable expectation and hope crushing her, and they KNEW that but they thought they could skip to the ending as though her feelings didn’t matter at all, like helping her wasn’t as important as saving a little time—

until they’re just. in tears together, apologizing for all the horrible things they did in between complimenting each other’s strength and kindness and resilience and how much they admire each other and saying that no, everything you did was completely understandable, actually, the only one who sucks here is me. which neither of them will accept coming from the other!!

they’re so similar, in ways they couldn’t really understand, before.

warm, affectionate, perfect Mirabelle, the resolute hero, a beacon of compassion and hope for all those around her, who wears her heart on her sleeve, her fear making her courage shine all the brighter—nothing like the insignificant, forgettable Siffrin, too terrified to be known, too fragile to touch, too selfish and disgusting to bear letting go.

cool, mysterious, unflappable Siffrin, the worldly traveler, as charming and silly as they are confident and skilled, who brushed off losing an eye like it was nothing, accepting the risks of this journey with barely more than a shrug—nothing like the anxious, stagnant, underserving Mirabelle, a fraud and a nobody crumbling under the weight of a mission too important to be entrusted to someone like her, doubting herself, doubting her friends, doubting her mentor, doubting her faith, too weak and brittle to bend and change the way the world needs her to without breaking.

not worth bothering others with their problems. they should be able to handle this alone. stay positive, stay calm. breathe in, and out.

they’ll struggle with it, still—the hiding, the minimizing—but now, they understand each other a little better. they can hold each other accountable for what they leave unsaid.

it’ll get easier, eventually. they have plenty of time.

[orangepeelknives]

the way it's so obvious that will was raised and mainly influenced by a Boy Mom and mack had a Girl Mom and was mainly raised and influenced by a Boy Dad is sooooo rich to moiiii. 

will "universally beloved" smith being soooo secure in himself all the time. like oh you wanna make fun of me for listening to katy perry and adele?? dgaf. go ahead. wanna have me record stupid tiktoks that are gonna make ppl call me gay on the internet? sure okay teehee! sending flowers on mothers day to his billet mom while halfway across the world. posting up on insta w the sister, the family. the matching tracksuits in boston like yeah yk what i bet will fucking put the idea in the goddamn gc i bet when someone suggested it as a joke he was like yes. absolutely. waiter your ugliest tracksuit pleas. goes back to what i was saying abt insecurities - will is confident. thats not as much of an issue for will when it comes to personal life. he didnt crash out when he was in a slump, he stays positive, he's perfectly okay being made fun of constantly (mack on the podcast just delivering blow after affectionate blow). he has friends and he knows it, he's well liked and he knows it, he's a good hockey player and he knows it. it's not that hes super chill or not conpetitive, its just that hes secure in himself. not cocky, no god complex. absolutely NOT saying that WSH is insecurity-less at all, but i do think he is self assured enough to be capable of handling his insecurities normally. 

my beloved mack on the other hand......oh that boy is RIFE With Issues. First off, Girl Mom Robyn Celebrini? that diva does not gaffff she is a Charley gal all the way. feel like she lowkey just handed the boys over to rick like okay go crazy. she had no issues with the coaching style that rick used to raise mack and aiden, and seems generally more uninvolved than a lot of other hockey moms, even tho colleen is def wayyy MORE involved than normal, robyn lives an hour away and goes to zero practices and zero games. so i think it's a fairly safe assumption that rick is the dominant parental figure here. 

and when your dominant parental figure is also your coach?? you arent getting parented, you're getting coached. the lines blur immensely. 

first of all, let’s underline this: Macklin Celebrini is a product of a Boy Dad household. not just any Boy Dad, but a performance-coach, daily-checklist, grindset-before-breakfast Boy Dad. ricky wasn’t parenting, he was mentoring. Which means there were no real emotional safety nets. you’re sad? skate it out. you’re tired? get better, push through. the idea of comfort for its own sake doesn’t exist in that world. There’s love, sure, but it’s conditional, and it’s communicated through improvement.

so of course mack's entire identity is built around performance = worth. If he’s not doing well, he’s not just failing, he’s not lovable. he has no idea how to separate “im not playing great” from “im a bad person who has disappointed everyone who has ever believed in me.” 

and then there’s will.

will is over here just… being a person. Being confident and beloved and totally fine with the fact that people think he’s a little cringe sometimes. Because Will is backed by a whole childhood of unconditional emotional support. Boy Mom behavior. you know he grew up in a house where they named feelings. where if he cried, nobody told him to suck it up, they probably asked why, made him tea, and listened. of course he doesn’t care if someone calls him gay on tiktok, his mommy has been gassing him up in the comments since U10.

thats why the iihf vid is sooooo revealing. will's recording his little “hope you’re having fun” like it’s no big deal. bc to him, it isnt. hes just talking to his best friend. he knows they’ll make fun of him a bit, but it’s with love, and he can laugh with them. Mack, on the other hand, is out there alone. no wsh to be the buffer, to set the tone, to let him know “hey, we’re all just having fun here.” so mack panics. He overthinks the tone, overcorrects into flat affect, gives absolutely nothing to the camera, artificially deepens his voice. bc if he picks the wrong vibe? if he comes off too affectionate, too weird, too off-beat? he'll get mocked, and not in a fun way. in a way that confirms what he secretly believes: he’s doing it wrong. he always does it wrong.

same deal with the emergency contact video. Mack immediately goes “you go first" not because he’s shy, but because he needs to know if he’s allowed to pick will. he needs to see it reflected back. It’s not enough to feel the closeness, he needs the explicit naming of it, because he’s never been taught to trust his own instincts when it comes to emotional safety. he only knows performance cues. so when they point at each other and he gives that tiny, breathy “okay good” that is not a joke. thats relief. thats “thank god I read this right.” thats “I picked the right person and he picked me back.”

It’s also such a perfect example of how dependent mack is on will for emotional calibration. will is the tone. mack doesn’t know how to read the room unless will reads it first. thats why when will not there? Mack either shuts down or spins out or immediately goes looking for will (read, every practice ever). he has no compass. no stabilizer. his baseline isn’t his own self-worth, it’s “what is will doing? okie, i'll mirror that.”

mack's insecurity isn’t about failure itself, its about what happens after failure. bc in Mack’s world, after a bad game, you don’t get comfort, you get correction. you get game tape. a sharper edge. a checklist. from rick, after a bad performance, the message was never “you’re still enough,” it was “you better fix this before next time.” not because rick doesn’t love him, but because tick only knows how to show love through pressure. And that messes a kid up. thats the issue with having a coach-parent. 

so when will came into mack's life, laughing off his own slumps, staying soft even when frustrated, nottaking his emotions out on the people around him, it changed the blueprint. bc mack learned through will that you could have a shit week and still be met with a chirp and a pat on the shoulder, not silence and homework. in mh opinion thats part of the reason why mack didn’t lose it when will started the season cold. bc he was mirroring. bc will had never punished him for having an off night. so when the roles reversed? mack didn’t need to lash out. He already knew how to hold space, because will had held it for him first. if will thinks its okay to laugh off a bad pass, then maybe it is okay! in the same way that if will thinks its okay to pick me for the emergency contact, or film these dumbass tiktoks for sharks media, or order milk and cookies in the hotel, then maybe it is okay! 

thats the kind of emotional foundation mack is building now: not “im scared you’ll leave,” but “im scared you’ll stop being soft with me.” And Will never does. even when mack is spiraling or shut down or being a sulky freak about stupid shit, will never punishes him. 

anyways in this essay i will...

[tiredofthehumanlife]

You're so jelly you need some peanut butter

Barbie dolls: Poly!Jegulus x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3K

Summary: James gets jelly over a man walking you and regulus home

Warnings: Peter included, alcohol, background wolfstar, jealousy, mention of a threesome (not w James), fun fact everyone in the party had at least three glasses of champagne except for James just so you know! it doesn't say it and it doesn't mention it but in order for it to make sense later for one sentence okay thanks love you

James wasn't a jealous person. He stood by that, too. He’s told so many people his heart is too big and soft for him to get jealous easily. He had his moments of course but who didn't? Maybe once or twice in Hogwarts sure but he's grown since then. It's been a few years but James has matured. He's an adult now why would he get all worked up over someone looking at his partners? James already knew both his partners were attractive; he didn't need someone else's eyes to tell him that. James just wasn't a jealous person. 

Sirius was hosting a dinner party, again. They were slowly devolving into less of dinner parties and more family dinners. James stopped dressing up by this point. So had Sirius, though his dress down was still considerably up. The small group of four was gathered around the dinner table with glasses in hand, laughing at the warm conversation. Peter meant it as a joke, usually when they came from his mouth they landed, but something about the words made James’ stomach stir. 

“Wonder if someone from work is holding your love birds up, probably asking for a ménage à trois as we speak.” Again Peter meant it as a joke, everyone else at the table thought it was funny too. Sirius's laugh was loosened by the champagne in his glass. Not by much to make you consider taking his keys away but enough that he was far too loud in James' ears. Remus chuckled, his eyes following Sirius as he leaned back and forth like the joke was that funny. Peter laughed with them, more amused at Sirius than himself. James forced out a chuckle. Something in his stomach felt sour. 

James didn't like that idea at all. Actually, he hated it. Not because he was jealous of course, his heart is too soft for that. But for your sake. He hated the thought of some douchebag making you and Regulus uncomfortable with their suggestions of a threesome. Yeah, it was for you and Regulus. 

He should've just moved on with his thoughts and imagined the dinner Remus had cooking in the kitchen. Remus kept handing Sirius his drink before leaving for the kitchen after the timer rang. James should've thought of that but now all he could think of was you holding onto Regulus' arm for comfort as someone else spoke about getting you two naked. He just didn't like it one bit. James needed to see the two of you and make sure you were both comfortable and happy. That was impossibly difficult when neither of you were there. 

You and Regulus worked together in the same building. James liked you both being able to share lunch but now you were both gone from his bubble of safety. It was stressful. The building was a few minutes away from the bus. Maybe a fifteen-minute ride you and Regulus were a ten-minute walk from Sirius’ house. James offered to drive you both but you waved him off and Regulus shook his head. He didn't like it then but now he hated it. 

Peter excused himself for the bathroom and with Remus in the kitchen, it was just James and Sirius at the table. James gently set his glass down, pointing over his shoulder at the window on the other side of the house. It wasn't a long walk, the house Remus wanted was too small for Sirius and the house Sirius wanted was too big for Remus so they compromised. Theirs was James' third favorite house. First was his, and second was his parents. He liked sharing a space with you and Regulus it was so lovely being able to wake up in the same bed as his two favorite people. 

James parted the blinds as he stared out into the dark street. He expected to see an empty street, but one could hope. His shoulders went tense when he realized what he was watching. 

You and Regulus were walking with another man. Oh, Merlin. Regulus had your jacket pulled over his shoulders. He could never seem to regulate his body temperature to something warm for him. You were holding onto Regulus' arm, smiling, and nodded at the stranger. He was attractive and James hated to say that. He could've been James' long-lost brother. James didn't like that either. James did like to see that his jacket didn't pull around his arms. James didn't like to boast about his strength, especially comparing himself with others, but it settled his stomach to know James could pummel him easily. Regulus was leaning into you but still, watching the absolute loser wimp stranger with wide eyes. 

James made quick work of pulling on his shoes. He couldn't give that guy another second with you two. As he sped down the steps to the sidewalk, he could hear bits of your conversation. You made a quick joke about your boss. Regulus muttered something that James probably would’ve giggled at in a different situation. You looked away from the man towards the movement further up the sidewalk, James. The stranger laughed a little too nicely for James’ liking. He finally made it close enough to you three to interrupt the conversation. 

“Hey, baby,” James said, a little loudly as he tipped his head and smacked a kiss on your cheek. You made a startled laugh, reeling back to pat the side of his cheek. James smiled and dipped for Regulus next, gently cradling the back of Regulus' head and rubbing his nose into Regulus’ cheek. James finally pulled away from you two, looking at the man. He looked uncomfortable, squishing his face up into the best he make of a smile. 

“Hey, thanks for walking my lovers home. Real kind of you.” James said, crossing his arms over his chest and hoping his muscles made his shirt strain. James felt a smirk grow when the man’s eyes flickered down. He shrugged, straightening his shoulders and taking a tiny step backward. 

“Yeah, I was just going the same direction, and we have a project we have to work together on at work.” The man said, trying to make sure his alibi was well received by James. James hummed, gently reaching out for your hand. You granted him that, getting pulled towards the house with Regulus still attached to your arm. James watched the man carefully as he quickly crossed the street to the other side of the pavement. He had more of a pep in his step. ‘Good,’ James thought, ‘Run away like the coward you are.’ 

As James pulled the two jackets off of Regulus’ shoulders and hung them on the coat rack, you and Regulus stared at him knowingly. James turned to you two, raising a brow. 

“What?” James asked, jutting his hands out like he was perfectly reasonable. Regulus rolled his eyes, toeing off his fancy leather shoes.

”You were jealous.” You said, a smile and a laugh playing on your lips. Regulus shook his hair back, coming to your side. 

“A little possessive, too,” Regulus added. You held onto Regulus’ shoulder as you pulled off your shoes. James looked between the two of you, shrugging. 

“He was a little too close. I didn’t like it. I was being protective, not jealous. I’m not a jealous person.” James said, shaking his head like it was crazy to even think of it. Regulus shared a knowing look with you. You hummed. 

“Sure, and you definitely weren’t flexing at all out there.” You sarcastically said. James’ face heated up as his chest swarmed with embarrassment. 

“Definitely not. James isn’t a jealous person, mon amour.” Regulus said, tilting his head at you. You hummed in agreement and hooked your elbow in Regulus’, pulling him towards the party. James felt love and appreciation replace the budding flower of embarrassment in his chest when many drunken cheers met the arrival of both of his partners. 

[wordsarelife]

—sweeter than fiction

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!hale!reader

summary: stiles finds out you're dereks sister and has to cope with the news lol

warnings: none, just canon typical losers flirting lol

note: just gonna leave this here lmao. this is just a little drabble, but i hope you guys like it!!

“let me just clarify this. when you say brother, you mean…”

“brother”

“…right” stiles nodded. “and that’s like a 100% sure, yeah? no chance of misconduct or—“

“stiles”

"okay, you know what? it's fine" stiles smiled, but did not look even close to being fine. "i mean what's a little relation to derek hale, when there are far worse monsters, right?"

"right." you nodded, trying your best to help stiles calm himself down.

"i mean has he ever talked about me.. to you, i mean?" his gaze narrowed as he searched your face for any hints of rememberance. "i think he likes me."

"well," you paused, trying to think of the time before you had come back to beacon hills and what your brother had said about scott mccall and his idiot friend. "he's definitely mentioned you."

"ha!" stiles called, a victorious smile settling onto his face. his fist swung through the air and just nearly missed you as you swerved to the side quickly. "eh, sorry," he excused. "i'm still getting used to all these new proportions."

"are you talking about puberty?"

"well, it was a hard time for me, okay?" he bit back. "everything happened so quickly. like— like being hit by a bus. but not in a fun way."

"there's a fun way?"

"i—" stiles blinked. "it's definitely more fun than being ripped to shreds by your brother when he finds me here." stiles made a large gesture to signal that he was not supposed to be here. in your room. at night. in the loft you shared with derek.

"why are you emphasizing the word brother like that?" you furrowed your brows.

"ever heard of the phrase 'foreign concept'?" stiles muttered, before he lowered himself onto the bed in front of you. "i mean how is that possible? like biologically?"

"well, when a man and a woman—"

"don't" stiles interrupted. "you're supposed to be serious."

"you're not really serious either, are you?" you crossed your arms and leaned back against the headboard.

"i'm not supposed to be. i'm allowed to fight trauma with the inappropriate use of sarcasm. it's who i am. you shouldn't even be able to detect a joke or crack a smile, considering who raised you." he send a side-eye in your direction before he continued rambling. "and as always it's just my luck that i am hopelessly into someone who's related to derek hale. this is just great—"

"you're hopelessly into me?" you repeated surprised.

"i said someone related to derek hale." stiles corrected. "i could very well be talking about your mother."

"are you talking about my mother?" you repeated with a roll of your eyes.

"nah"

"okay, that's good. because you know she's dead, so your love would be doomed from the start."

"yeah, good argument, actually." stiles nodded repeatedly. "glad we talked about this. now that i've revealed my interest, is there a slight chance— i mean statistically speaking and considering, uh, that i—"

you interrupted promptly, taking his face into your hands and moving him so close, your lips were not far from touching. "you should stop talking."

"uh, yeah, i probably should"

you kissed him—quick, impulsive, no time for words. it was over in a second, but it left both of you breathless, staring at each other, the tension thick in the air.

your eyes wandered over the stunned expression on his face, before you moved closer once more, softly kissing him again.

the door to your room flew open with a bang and you and stiles jumped apart, similiarly surprised at the sudden sound.

your brother was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowing at the scene in front of him and stiles quickly moved his hand away from your thigh, as if derek's stare alone had burned it.

"stiles." derek growled. "you have about five seconds to get your slimy little lips away from my sister before i rip you to shreds."

stiles shot you a look that clearly said "i told you so" before scrambling to his feet and practically bolting out of the loft, not bothering to say another word.

you couldn't help but smile up at your older brother. "oh derek, do you always have to be such a sourwolf?"

derek’s lips twitched into a humorless smirk. “yeah, okay. that’s it. you're officially banned from ever seeing him again.”

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems

Chapter 4. How Did It End?

Lionel/Reader

Summary: In 1989, an argument breaks out at Sinclair's wedding; in 1971, Lionel and Sinclair move to Cambridge to start university.

Word Count: 14.2k

cw: drug misuse (specifically cocaine), cheating

Read on Ao3 or the below the cut:

1989

You weren’t surprised to discover that Sinclair’s wedding was taking place at a vineyard. It seemed exactly the kind of unnecessarily extravagant place a rich person would hire out for a wedding.

You couldn’t help but wonder how much Natalie was contributing towards it. Between Helen’s millions and Sinclair’s millions, the Bryants had more than enough to fund the whole thing; you didn’t expect Natalie’s job as a secretary paid nearly as well.

The whole thing had Sinclair all over it. It was in a vineyard in France, because of course it was, and most of the guests, you discovered as you mingled, were people Sinclair knew. Relatives, co-workers, friends, friends of friends, partners of all the above. They all knew Sinclair somehow, and had either never met Natalie, or like you had met her only briefly in the shadow of Sinclair’s energy.

Not for the first time, you wondered what Sinclair saw in her. She seemed nice enough, and she was certainly pretty, but she wasn’t very interesting.

As you met more and more of Sinclair’s friends, you began to feel out of place, not because you weren’t rich - he had plenty of normal friends - but because you weren’t married. Sinclair’s last minute invitation had included a plus one, but you’d come alone, and you were feeling it.

You wondered if maybe this was, at least in part, the reason Sinclair had proposed to Natalie after only six months: all his friends were married. You heard countless stories about Sinclair being a groomsman; at 36, he was probably feeling like he was missing out by not being married. And Natalie, pretty and nice Natalie – she was good enough.

You hoped she really was good enough for him. Sinclair was one of the sweetest, funniest, kindest people you’d ever known, and you didn’t want him wasting his heart on someone he was settling for.

You certainly weren’t the only person who thought they were something of a mismatch. Numerous guests made comments about their strange pairing, and how quickly Sinclair had proposed.

“Has he had many girlfriends before her?” you asked one of Sinclair’s old university friends who’d introduced himself as Nigel. “I’m a bit out of touch, last one I knew about was Emily.”

“Emily!” Nigel exclaimed. “Now that’s a throwback. No, he’s had plenty since her. Poor thing, he was devastated by that one. Devastated by all of them, really, he throws his whole heart into every girlfriend he has.”

“I’m not surprised; he throws his whole heart into everything.”

Nigel nodded in agreement. “Aye, that he does. Right, let me think — so you knew Emily. That ended in third year — he was balls deep in his dissertation when she wanted him to be balls deep in her.”

He guffawed at his own joke.

“Oh, here’s the kicker though — two weeks they’d been broken up, he was still miserable of course, and she went and slept with his cousin.”

You choked on your drink.

“What, you mean Lionel?”

“Yep, nothing gets you over an ex like shagging his nearly identical cousin, I suppose. Well, after that was Amiee, lovely girl she was — he was gonna propose, actually, but she moved abroad. Then there was Laura, now Natalie. No, wait, there was Alex just before Amiee. Anyway, I suppose this time he decided to lock Natalie down before anything went wrong.”

You grimaced. “That’s not really the reason to get married.”

Nigel shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Not everyone gets married for true love. Sometimes it’s enough love.”

The door to the ceremony room was opened then, and an usher announced that it was time to take your seats.

You’d been to a lot of weddings by now: like Sinclair, your friends around you were all getting married. And at every one, the ceremony room had had a groom’s side and a bride’s side. There was no such arrangement here: apart from the front rows reserved for family, anyone could sit anywhere.

You wondered if it was because there were very few, if any, guests for the bride’s side.

You decided to take a seat near the back. You didn’t know anyone, and you were a last-minute invite; you’d feel a bit of an imposter ingratiating yourself into the swarms of family and friends.

A figure appeared next to you, and although you were staring off into space, you just knew who it was.

Maybe you had a connection. Maybe you recognised his scent. Or maybe you just recognised the energy of a self-absorbed arsehole.

“Sinclair wants you to sit up front with the family,” Lionel said.

You reluctantly looked up at him.

Dammit. Why did he have to look so handsome in his three-piece suit?

You glanced up to the front of the room. Sinclair was hovering around the altar with his other groomsmen, but he caught your eye and waved you over with a grin.

“Alright, but he’s responsible if Georgina kills me.”

The corner of Lionel’s mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to smile.

“It’s been seventeen years, [Y/n]. She’s over it. Come on.”

You took a steadying breath, then followed Lionel up the aisle. Sinclair greeted you with a grin and a bear hug, as if seeing you at his wedding was the best thing that had happened all day.

“[Y/n], I’m so glad you made it! Here, you sit with Mum. Mum, you remember [Y/n], right?”

You turned to where Helen and Georgina were sitting, Georgina at the end of the row on account of her wheelchair, and a seat next to Helen left empty for you. They were both in their sixties now, but neither of them let that stop them looking absolutely amazing: they were both completely grey, and while Helen had cut her hair short, Georgina had styled hers into an elegant ‘do that had definitely taken hours.

If either of them held any resentment for you, they didn’t show it. Helen stood to greet you, and you found yourself pulled into another bear hug.

“Of course I remember you! I’m so glad you’re here, [Y/n]. I couldn’t tell you how excited Sinclair was when he told us you were coming. Come, sit, sit.”

She practically pulled you into your seat. The seat on the other side was empty, and you really hoped Sinclair wasn’t doing something stupid like putting you next to Lionel.

As Helen chatted away to you, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Lionel was standing with Sinclair, talking to him in hushed tones.

The three groomsmen were all dressed identically to Lionel, except that his pocket square was a different colour, denoting that he was the best man.

You smiled. Of course he was the best man. Who else would Sinclair have asked? He had more friends than you could count, but Lionel had always been his best friend.

To your relief, Lionel didn’t sit next to you; when the ceremony began, he took his seat across the aisle from Georgina. You ended up sat next to one of the other groomsmen instead.

Sinclair certainly seemed happy. But whether he was happy to be getting married to Natalie or just to be getting married at all, you weren’t too sure.

The wedding breakfast was, of course, extremely generous. Sinclair went all out on the food, and when he gave his speech, he used cue cards to stop himself going off on tangents, though you did see Lionel nudge him a few times to bring him back on track.

When finally the speeches were done and the food cleared away, it was time for the first dance.

Sinclair was very good at a lot of things, but dancing wasn’t one of them. They’d clearly rehearsed it, and you could see Sinclair’s brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on remembering the dance moves and not tripping over Natalie’s feet.

The song ended, and finally you were free of the formalities. You grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter and practically ran outside, where several tables and chairs offered a reprieve and some ashtrays.

“Not sticking around to dance?” said a familiar voice as you took a much needed drag from your cigarette.

You turned and, sure enough, there he was.

“I’m not drunk enough yet,” you said shortly. “But I’m working on it.”

Lionel took an unoffered seat next to you. He rested his chin on his steepled fingers and looked at you.

“You know, if you’re going to be friends with Sinclair again, you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Lionel scoffed.

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you expect me to say?”

“No, of course not,” Lionel said bitterly. “You had nothing to say that night either. No explanation, just… gone.”

You laughed. “I thought you were intelligent, Lionel. Did I need to explain myself?”

“After what you did to me? Yes! I gave you everything, [Y/n]! And I wanted to give you so much more! But you just… left. One word, that’s all you gave me. All our relationship came to was one bloody word. So, yes, a little explanation would have been welcome.”

You took a long drag from your cigarette and looked at him.

“Wow. All this time, I thought you knew. I thought it would be so easy for you to connect the dots. But you’re so fucking narcissistic, you probably don’t even realise you did wrong, do you?” You shrugged. “I’m surprised Sinclair didn’t spell it out for you.”

Lionel sighed and rubbed his temple, as if the conversation were giving him a migraine. “[Y/n]... I am not a man who asks for things. I take them. But I am asking you now to give me an explanation. Please.”

“Wow, the P-word. Did that hurt to say?”

Lionel slammed a fist on the table.

“Dammit, [Y/n]! I loved you! I fucking loved you and you didn’t even –”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me!”

There was a long pause as you stared one another down, both daring the other to break, but Lionel’s silence told you everything you needed to know.

You scoffed and sat back in your seat. “You’re not even trying to deny it,” you muttered as you put out your cigarette in the ashtray.

Lionel groaned and held his head in his hands.

“How the fuck did you know?”

“Sinclair’s not stupid. He knew something was up. You really thought you could have it all, didn’t you? You thought you could fuck around when he wasn’t there and he wouldn’t notice. You didn’t even try to be discreet, because why would there be consequences for your actions? And you’re such an egotistical arsehole that even now, after seventeen years, you still can’t figure out that you fucking around and my leaving you were connected!”

“Of course I thought about it, but I didn’t think you knew! I didn’t think Sinclair knew, much less that he’d tell you.”

“Of course he told me! He may be your cousin, but that doesn’t mean he’s anything like you. He has morals. He knew what you’d done and what you were planning, and he knew he had to tell me.”

“Fucking bastard,” Lionel cursed. “I’ll have him for this.”

“No, you bloody well won’t,” you said sharply, standing up as if to block his way. “None of this is his fault. You cheated on me. You broke my heart. And, yeah, maybe I should have spelled it out for you. I’m not squeaky clean in this. But Sinclair is, and this is his wedding, and you are not going to ruin it by blaming him for something that was entirely your fault.”

“We could have worked things out!” Lionel shouted. He was on his feet now too, towering over you, though you showed no sign of being intimidated by his height. “I knew it was wrong, so I stopped! I wanted this” - he gestured around him - “and everything that comes with it. I wanted to give you everything, to be loyal, to live with you and share my life with you. I realised that I couldn’t have it all, and so I chose you. I wanted to give you the world, I could have given you the world!”

“We don’t need anything from you, Lionel! Not your broken promises, not your money, nothing!”

He stared at you, brow furrowed. You shook your head, grabbed your drink, and stepped away from him as you took a long gulp of champagne.

Eventually, Lionel spoke.

“What do you mean, we?”

You turned back to him, frowning. “What?”

“You said, ‘We don’t need anything from you.’ Who’s we?”

“Me, I meant me – I. I don’t need anything from you.”

He approached you slowly, methodically, like – well, like a lion hunting its prey. You knew from the stern expression that you were fucked, and when you backed into the wall, you had nowhere to run.

“[Y/n]. I’m going to ask one last time. Who - is - ‘we’?”

“Me…”

“...And?”

You glanced away instinctively, but you steeled yourself and looked him in the eye.

“Our son.”

- - -

1971

After your Paris trip, you were hit with some serious post-holiday blues. Not only did you have to return to boring old England, but you missed being in a bubble with Lionel. You’d spent the entirety of Sunday in your hotel room, having sex and ordering room service, drinking and smoking, having sex again, and resting as much as you could before Lionel was ready to go again.

He hadn’t been exaggerating — he really was like a wild beast that had been unleashed. He’d been able to hold back before, when sex was just a fantasy, but now that he knew what it was really like, he couldn’t get enough.

And he was adventurous. He wanted to have sex on every surface possible. On the sofa, in the jacuzzi - which was a godsend when your muscles ached - and even, occasionally, in the bed.

You were, of course, very eager too. But he really seemed to be aiming for the fifty times a day that lions apparently shagged when they were in heat. And Lionel was definitely in heat.

“I’m going to buy my own private jet one day,” Lionel murmured to you on the plane home — first class, of course. “Then we can fuck in midair while I fly you around the world for romantic getaways. Where do you want to go next? I hear Italy’s very romantic.”

You went straight home after landing, as you knew your mum would worry if you didn’t, and on Tuesday you went back up to Windsor to see Lionel again.

“You should just move in, [Y/n],” Sinclair said as he greeted you with a bear hug, as if you’d been away for months, not days. “Lionel’s so grumpy when you’re not around. He mopes around like a lovesick puppy.”

“No, I don’t,” Lionel insisted. “Come on, [Y/n], let’s go upstairs —”

“Aww, c’mon, you guys just spent a whole weekend together, and you wanna run off for some privacy already? I’ve been so bored here on my own!”

Sinclair flopped down on a nearby armchair dramatically.

“And you want to leave me alone again!”

You laughed at his endearing antics.

“Alright, fine, let’s have some lunch first,” Lionel agreed reluctantly.

Sinclair cheered, whether for food or company or both, but he was too distracted by stuffing his face and telling you every thought he’d had since last week to notice that Lionel was getting very handsy with you on the sofa.

After pulling his hand away from roaming under your t-shirt for the third time, you made an excuse about needing the bathroom, and snuck away upstairs.

Lionel got the hint, and he followed you soon after.

“Christ, I thought he’d never let us go,” he growled as he tugged your t-shirt over your head. “I could have stuck my hand in your knickers and he wouldn’t get the hint.”

You giggled. Lionel pushed you backwards onto the bed and climbed on top of you, condom already in hand as he pulled your shorts down your legs.

“Those little booty shorts aren’t helping. All that thigh on display, just waiting for me to do this…”

He placed his hands on either thigh and pushed them apart, then growled with desire when he saw his prize.

You tried to be quiet, conscious that Lionel’s bedroom was right above the sitting room you’d left Sinclair in, but he had other ideas.

“What do you know? My bed squeaks,” Lionel laughed as he pounded into you hard enough for the bed to start protesting.

Your response was a garbled moan, and Lionel grinned. He loved it when he rendered you speechless. It was usually then that he asked you questions - how does it feel? Can you feel my cock stretching you out? Do you want me to slow down? - just to hear you trying to formulate a response.

You burnt through condoms like wildfire. Lionel had to buy a new box at least every week, and you just knew that he was so confident and smug when he returned to the pharmacy yet again for more condoms.

The summer ended far too fast. Lionel never ran out of fancy places to take you (when you managed to convince him to put some clothes on and get out of bed), Sinclair never ran out of interesting things to tell you about, and it was only when you physically saw Lionel packing up that it really hit home that he was leaving.

“You’ll come visit me, right?” you asked him for the umpteenth time as he tried to squeeze all of his identical white shirts into one box.

“Of course I will, chérie. I can’t promise how often, I’m sure I’ll have a lot of studying to do, but I’ll come back as much as I can.”

“Mmm, I don’t think your cock’ll let you stay away for very long,” you teased, coming up behind him to trace your hands over his shoulders as he continued folding shirts. “You’ll be going from fucking every day back to wanking every day, it’ll be torture.”

Lionel smirked.

“We’ll just have to make up for it when I come back.”

You tried not to cry when he left. You knew he liked to be stoic and strong, and he told you lions don’t cry. You were his lioness, as he loved to remind you, so you did your best to keep the tears at bay.

With many final kisses, hugs, I love yous and promises to call, you finally let him get in the car. You hugged Sinclair goodbye too, and he had no qualms about crying as he said goodbye to you.

It was three long, excruciating days before you had a phone call.

You almost fell down the stairs running when your mum told you Sinclair was on the phone.

“Sinclair, hi! How was the move? How are you? How’s Lionel? Is Cambridge boring? It’s totally fine if you wanna come back.”

Sinclair laughed on the other end of the phone. “Hello to you too, [Y/n]! I’m great, and Lionel’s great too! Sorry we haven’t called, it took ages to get the phone line installed in our flat. The guy literally just left, I called Mum first, then I called you. Lionel’s out, otherwise he’d be the one calling you, obviously, but I didn’t want you to worry. Cambridge is so fun! This first week is just social stuff, that’s what Lionel’s doing, he’s at the get to know you event for his course. Mine’s tomorrow. He misses you loads. So do I! I wish you could have moved with us, it would be so cool if the three of us were living together! Though we’d never get any coursework done I suppose, we’d be having too much fun. Lionel definitely wouldn’t. Do you want me to ask him to call you when he gets in?”

“Oh, yes, please!” you said, glad to finally get a word in. ”Mum said she’s gonna get a second phone that I can keep in my room since I’m gonna be using it so much. When do you guys start your classes?”

“On Monday! We got our timetables yesterday, we actually have one module together! Most of my classes are 9 o’clock starts, but I don’t mind, I like getting up early. It also means I have more time later in the day so I can do more societies! There are so many, I wanna join them all, but I don’t think I’ll have the time. I know Lionel wants to join the Future Leaders Society. That’s for people who want to be innovators, and we both know what his ambition’s like, and I bet he’ll make loads of connections. He said I should join too but it clashes with the Rambling Society, and I really wanna join that one. That’s rambling as in walking, not as in talking a lot, I don’t need a society for that, I know I do enough of it myself! Oh, wait, I think he’s just — hey, Li! Li, the phone’s working! [Y/n]’s on the line now, do you wanna talk to her?”

After a moment or two, you heard Lionel’s familiar voice, and just a simple “Hi, [Y/n]. Has Sinclair let you get a word in yet?” was enough to make you feel warm and comforted.

“One or two. How was your event? Sinclair said you were meeting people from your course.”

“Mmm, some very interesting people there… and some very uninteresting people. It’s a curious mix. Some are clearly only doing Business because that’s what their parents told them to do. I expect half of them will drop out by the end of the year.”

“Leaving only the best still in it, I suppose?”

“Exactly. I’d wager there’ll be no more than ten left next year, mark my words, and I’ll be top of the class, of course.”

“It’s not a competition, Li.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, everything’s a competition. I compete to be the greatest, Sinclair competes to be the loudest, and you compete to be the sexiest. We’re all winning, of course.”

You smiled and glanced around to make sure your mum wasn’t eavesdropping from the corridor again.

“I miss you,” you said quietly. “I keep thinking about you. Sleeping alone in my bed sucks.”

“I miss you too, chérie,” Lionel said in a low voice, similarly making sure Sinclair wasn’t eavesdropping. “Wanking into my hand’s just not the same anymore.”

You giggled, blushing. “Lionel! What if Sinclair hears you?”

“Oh, please, like he doesn’t do it too. I have to go, love, I really need a shit —”

“Charming.”

“— and I think Sinclair will burst if I don’t tell him how this event went soon. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay. I love you, Li.”

“I love you too, chérie.”

“Tell her I love her three!” Sinclair called out in the background.

You laughed.

“Tell him I love him four.”

Lionel sighed. “Sinclair, she says she loves you four.”

”Yay!”

“I can’t believe I’m sharing a flat with him,” Lionel said, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Bye, love.”

“Bye.”

Lionel called you again at the weekend, and you could tell by his voice he was hungover. He must have really drunk a lot to be hungover since, apparently, lions don’t get hungover.

Your mum got the second phone installed a few days later, and you were able to call Lionel with some privacy. He and Sinclair both already had lines in their bedrooms, and when Sinclair was out at his morning class and your mum was at work, Lionel called you with a very naughty idea.

“You want me to what?”

“You heard me. I want you to put your hand in your knickers and tell me how wet you are.”

“Not very, I just woke up… and you’re not here to wake me up with your wandering hands.”

“Mmm… we’ll soon change that, chérie. You’ll just have to be my wandering hands for me, won’t you? Let’s see… I usually start with touching your tits. I love feeling your nipples growing hard in my hands. Do you think you can make them hard for me?”

Lionel wasn’t the only one calling you regularly; Sinclair called often to catch up. Sometimes you felt like you were getting a university education by proxy when he rambled on about what he was learning on his course, although you didn’t really understand most of what he said. What you were more interested in hearing about, and what Sinclair was very happy to change the subject to, was a girl called Emily he’d met at one of his societies.

With no Lionel around to distract you, you became bored very quickly, so you asked your dad for more hours. He was trusting you more and more, and when he began scheduling you to open the cafe at 5 o’clock in the morning, you found it easier to stay at his the night before, rather than commuting in from Winchester — and so you found yourself spending half your nights at your mum’s house and half of them at your dad’s.

They weren’t the only parents vying for your time. Helen and Georgina had apparently decided, as Lionel’s girlfriend, you were the stand-in for their sons at the parties and events they were always going to. You couldn’t say yes to everything, as much as you wanted to — there was no way you could go to a fundraiser or whatever it was (you were never really sure) in London the night before you had to open the cafe at 5am – but you were always happy to attend when you could.

You were busier than you’d ever been. You had a full-time job now, working more hours in a week than you would have spent at school a year ago, and you had managed to find yourself caught between four parents in three different places — your mum in Winchester, your dad in Basingstoke, and Helen and Georgina in Windsor.

So when Lionel’s calls became less frequent, you didn’t notice at first. You were busy, and so was he. Even Sinclair was calling you less, busy as he was with the five university societies he’d finally settled on, and of course the girlfriend he was so in love with.

Christmas break finally came, though your dad reminded you every time you mentioned it that there was no such thing as Christmas break, and in fact the cafe would be busier than ever at Christmas with all the shoppers about. He wasn’t cruel, though; he let you take the weekend off when Lionel and Sinclair came home.

It was snowing harshly the day they were due back, and you spent the whole day worrying about their drive home. Georgina and Helen had the heating on and the fireplace crackling, and you were drinking them out of their hot chocolate, but you didn’t feel truly warm until you saw Sinclair’s car coming up the driveway.

You rushed out to meet them, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you ran as fast as you could without slipping over. Sinclair had hardly turned the engine off when Lionel was climbing out of the passenger seat, looking adorably grumpy in his big winter coat, and within moments snowflakes began landing in his soft blonde hair.

His grumpy expression quickly melted away when he saw you. He grinned, and you practically jumped into his arms.

“There’s my girl!” Lionel said with relief as he embraced you. “Oh, chérie, I missed you so much. Come on, upstairs, let’s fuck.”

You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully as he set you back down in the snow.

“Keep it in your pants, mister. At least let me say hello to Sinclair first.”

Sinclair was wading through the snow around the front of the car, his eyes barely visible between the hat pulled low and the scarf wrapped around his face. He waved at you, then promptly slipped and fell.

“Oh, no! Sinclair, are you okay?” you gasped, trudging over as quickly as you could to help him up.

“I’m okay!” came Sinclair’s muffled voice somewhere beneath his scarf. He finally stood up straight and pulled down his scarf to give himself some air to breathe. “Hi, [Y/n]! You wouldn’t believe how crazy the motorway was. I thought I was going to crash, like, ten times! But we made it!”

With a grin, he wrapped his arms around you as best he could considering his many layers.

“I’m so cold, though! Have Mum and Georgie got the fire going?”

“Yes, get yourselves inside, it’s freezing out here!”

The three of you carefully made your way into the house, treading carefully so as not to slip (again, in Sinclair’s case). A couple of the housekeeping staff were taking Lionel and Sinclair’s suitcases inside, and the boys both groaned with relief when they passed the threshold and were met with warm, central heated air.

Helen and Georgina came over to greet their sons, and Helen fussed over Sinclair’s inability to go more than a few feet in the snow without falling flat on his face.

“Hot toddies all around, I think,” Georgina decreed. “Come on, let’s get you two by the fire.”

Within minutes, you were all gathered around the fireplace with soothing hot drinks in your hands, Lionel and Sinclair sitting closest to the fire as they defrosted from their long car journey, and through chattering teeth Sinclair gave a blow-by-blow account of each near-crash they’d experienced, and the two actual crashes they’d seen.

Your hand was in Lionel’s, your chair pulled up close to his so you could rest your head on his shoulder. As Sinclair rambled on, every now and then, Lionel squeezed your hand or kissed the top of your head, and even occasionally managed to get a word in to contribute to the story.

When finally Sinclair finished his story and moved on to talking about his new girlfriend, Lionel decided it was time to unpack his suitcase. You stayed downstairs a little longer to watch the entertaining show of Helen quizzing Sinclair about when she was going to meet his girlfriend, then decided to make your way upstairs to check on Lionel.

You found him in his room, suitcase nearly unpacked, though the thought of finishing it was immediately forgotten when you walked in.

“God, finally, I thought you’d never come up here,” Lionel growled with relief. He dropped the socks in his hands and crossed the room to pick you up by your hips and twirl you around to deposit you on the bed, causing you to squeal with laughter.

“Clothes off, now,” he demanded, his hands already on his belt. “I have waited way too long to fuck you again.”

“Hey, you’re the one who never came home to visit,” you pouted, though of course you obediently pulled your jumper over your head. “You promised you’d come home for weekends, and you never did.”

“I know, chérie, I’m sorry. I could never find the time. But I’m here now, and I am going to remind you who you belong to.”

You shivered a little in the cold when your clothes were off, but Lionel quickly warmed you up when he pushed you onto your hands and knees on the bed and swiftly entered you from behind.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Lionel growled as his cock slid up your walls. “Perfect… fucking perfect…”

He gripped your hips firmly and wasted no time fucking into you hard and fast, as if he had to make up for the last three months.

Your hands clenched into fists as you held on uselessly to the bedsheets. There was no use trying to get any sort of purchase; the only thing keeping you in place was Lionel’s firm grip on your hips, pulling your body back towards him with every passionate thrust.

He was grunting with every thrust, and occasionally between grunts you heard a moan of your name. He must have known when your orgasm began to build, and being the arsehole that he was, he pulled out, leaving you hanging — but not for long. He flipped you onto your back and climbed on top of you, the promptly began fucking you again.

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” Lionel growled between gritted teeth. “I want to watch as you come undone. I want you to know that you’re mine.”

“I am yours, Lionel,” you promised. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he promptly dipped his head to your neck to pull at the skin with his teeth. You whined at the sensation, and he looked up at you, grinning proudly.

“Yes, you are. My fucking lioness. No one could ever — ever compare to you. Fuck. You take me so fucking well. [Y/n]…”

He was like a man crazed. His hips were pounding into you, his fingers gripping your shoulders like you were his lifeline, and his lips and teeth were grabbing at every inch of your skin they could reach.

“I love you, Lionel,” you moaned as you ran your fingers through his hair and he moaned right into your ear.

“I love you too, [Y/n]. I love you. I fucking - nngh! - love you so much.”

Your orgasm was building up again, and this time, he was going to let you have it. He heard your moans increasing in pitch, felt your walls squeezing him, and he just continued mumbling words of affection into your ear as his cock kept pummelling in and out of your desperate, hungry cunt.

“That’s it, good girl - good girl, cum for me. Cum around my cock, chérie. Mhm, that’s it — Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect…”

You cried out his name as you came, and when he followed shortly after, your name sounded more like a roar.

He collapsed on top of you, panting, and the cold air stung against your sweaty skin. After a few moments, he shifted and pulled out of you to discard his condom in a nearby bin. He wrapped you up in his arms and took you under the duvet to cuddle, his lips ghosting your skin as you both laid there, content, warm in each other’s arms and in the afterglow of sex.

“Lionel… how would you feel about not using condoms?”

He didn’t respond at first. He just laid there, his arms still around you, though you felt a stillness in him.

“I don’t want kids,” he said firmly.

You shifted to prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him. He was looking at you with a frown, trepidation written all over his face.

“I was thinking I could go on the pill. I really… I really want to feel you properly, Lionel. I want to feel your skin against mine… and I want to feel you fill me up when you cum. Don’t you wanna know what it feels like raw?”

Lionel looked you up and down hungrily. “Yes, I do. Fuck, I do. I want nothing more. But…” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s too risky. I think it’s safer if we keep using condoms.”

“Okay,” you said, a little dejected. You’d really thought Lionel would jump at the idea.

“I’m sorry, chérie,” Lionel said softly. He pulled you back in close to him and kissed your forehead gently. “But I really don’t want you to get pregnant, and I’d be too busy worrying about it to enjoy it. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, babe,” you said. You kissed his shoulder and looked up at him with a smile. “I just thought you’d like it, but if you’re not comfortable, that’s okay. I just want to make you happy, Li.”

“Oh, you do,” he said earnestly. He stroked a sweaty strand of hair away from your face and smiled. “You have no idea how happy you make me, chérie. I love you.”

You kissed him, and though you intended it to be a gentle peck, he apparently had other ideas and kept his lips firmly pressed against yours.

You lazily threw a leg over his hips, intending to make out for a bit, but you felt something very familiar resting against his stomach.

You broke the kiss and giggled. “Again? Already?”

Lionel grinned with pride. “I’m always ready for you, love.”

“Mmm, clearly. Alright… but it’s my turn.”

Lionel opened his mouth to question what you meant, but all he let out was a groan when you adjusted your hips and sank down onto his cock, ready to ride him until the bed gave out.

- - -

The Christmas holidays went by far too quickly.

Your dad was right: there was no Christmas break at a cafe. But he was your dad first and your boss second, and he’d survived the Christmas period without you, he could do it again. Despite your insistence that it was okay, he point-blank refused to schedule you in for more than a few shifts a week.

You spent almost every day with Lionel, and it was like he’d never left. You spent a lot more time indoors than you had in the summer, not nearly going out as much, but neither of you had any cause to complain — it was just an excuse to spend longer in bed. When you did go out for some fresh air, somehow you gave Lionel cause to throw a snowball at you, and a snowball fight erupted, though a truce was quickly called when Lionel managed to pin you down in the snow and pepper you with kisses instead.

Christmas Day was unlike any Christmas you’d had before. In the past, you alternated Christmases between your parents, and it was always a small affair with just the two of you. This year, you were told in no uncertain terms that you would be spending Christmas with Lionel and his family — and so were your parents.

Your parents, who hadn’t actually seen each other for years, not since you became old enough to travel between them yourself. Your parents, who hadn’t met Lionel yet, and now they were going to meet the whole gang in one fell swoop.

They were civil with each other, but not friendly. They didn’t really talk to each other directly, you noticed, and sat as far from one another as they could. Lionel charmed them, and Sinclair entertained them with his endless stream of interesting facts.

Yours weren’t the only divorced parents in the house that day: Sinclair’s dad was there too.

“This is really weird,” you said to Lionel quietly once you had a moment alone amongst all the conversations, drinks, cigarettes, games and more drinks. “My parents, Sinclair’s parents…”

“We just need my father and we’ll have the whole set,” Lionel said casually as he lit up a cigarette. “Good thing he’s not here, though. I’d probably punch him in the face.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Lionel shook his head and tucked his lighter into his pocket.

“Not a peep. Let it stay that way.”

Christmas Day was one thing; New Year’s Eve was another.

You thought you’d been to some insane rich people parties already, but New Year’s Eve was on a whole other level. Helen and Georgina hosted, as they did every year, and the party was apparently so insane that they’d never let Sinclair and Lionel attend before as they were underage; they’d always gone to a party at a friend’s house.

Even with all the time you’d spent at the mansion, you’d still never managed to explore every single room, and tonight, every single room was in use. Every guest room was made up, every random room that had no apparent purpose filled with rich people drinking, dancing and doing drugs. Marquees in the garden hosted even more revellers, and you were sure at one point you saw Harold Wilson snorting a line of coke.

You loved a party just as much as any other eighteen-year-old, but this was a lot. You hardly saw Helen and Georgina, as they were playing the roles of hostesses, and when you lost Lionel in the crowd, that was when you started to panic.

You looked for him everywhere, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as you were considering calling a taxi to take you back to Basingstoke, you heard something between a sob, a moan and a retching sound coming from behind a bush.

You followed the sound to investigate and found Sinclair kneeling in the dirt, his head buried between two ferns as he fertilised the soil with the remnants of his dinner.

“Sinclair, hey,” you said softly, kneeling down next to him to rub his back gently. “You okay there, mate?”

“No,” he groaned, his head still between the ferns.

With apparent great effort, Sinclair came out from within the greenery and sat back on his bum.

He looked awful. His face was pale, his eyes half-closed, and his wet face indicated he might have been crying too.

“Did you drink too much?” you asked, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

Sinclair shook his head.

“Did you… take something else?”

He nodded.

“As well as drinking?”

Another nod.

“Sinclair, please don’t tell me you took coke.”

“‘Kay, I won’t,” he said miserably.

Who on God’s green earth would possibly think it a good idea to offer Sinclair Bryant cocaine? He was already vibrating with energy most of the time, adding cocaine would probably give him a heart attack. Add alcohol as well, and you were just glad you’d found him conscious in the bushes and not dead.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” you said. You put Sinclair’s arm over your shoulder, put your arm around his waist and tried to lift him. “Crikey, you’re heavy. Come on, you gotta help me out here.”

Sinclair’s response was a garbled moan, but he at least managed to push himself to his feet with your assistance. You readjusted your grip on him and did your best to drag him back towards the house, his feet stumbling along the way as he did his best to walk.

He tried to talk to you, but at some point between his brain and his mouth the words turned into mumbled nonsense. You, meanwhile, tried to get him up the stairs, but he decided that the middle of the staircase was the best place for a nap and tried to curl up to sleep.

You tried to drag him to his feet, but he was a useless lump.

“Sinclair, you can sleep in your bed! Come on, it’s like, thirty seconds from the top of the stairs to your bedroom.”

You tried to pull him along the floor, but he was still too heavy. You weren’t quite drunk, but you’d had enough to drink that your strength was not at its peak.

“Sinclair, c’mon, please,” you begged. “You need to get to bed.”

“‘Sokay, I can sleep here,” Sinclair mumbled.

“Emily’s waiting for you in your bedroom, don’t you wanna see her?”

His eyes shot open then and he looked up at you.

“Emily?”

“Yes, Emily. Come on, let’s go see her, okay?”

Sinclair nodded and, with the help of the bannister on one side and you on the other, pushed himself to his feet.

“Thought she was in Cardiff,” he mumbled, his ability to formulate words apparently now rejuvenated after his short stair nap.

“No, she’s here,” you lied. “She’s in your bedroom, so let’s get you there, okay?”

Sinclair smiled happily and nodded, letting you guide him down the hallway to his bedroom door. He tried to open the door, and when he couldn’t get in, he moaned sadly, like a wounded puppy.

“She locked me out!”

“No, Clair, we locked our bedrooms to keep guests out, remember? Where’s your key?”

He reached into his pocket and grinned victoriously when he pulled the key out. He tried to put it in the lock, but it wasn’t until you placed your hand over his and held it steady that he managed to get the door unlocked.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary, and within a few steps, Sinclair was face-down on the bed.

You took the key out of the keyhole, closed the door behind you, and locked it again.

Finally, a moment of peace.

“You said Emily was here!” Sinclair grumbled.

It was a short moment.

“Yeah, well, I lied. I had to get you off the stairs. What if you threw up all over that carpet? You wanna explain that to your mum?”

Sinclair, who was now sitting up on the edge of the bed, folded his arms like a petulant child.

“I wanna see Emily.”

“Emily’s in Cardiff, Clair. You’ll see her really soon, I promise. Now, let’s get you into bed. Do you think you’re gonna be sick again?”

Sinclair shrugged, still sulking.

You sighed.

“Alright, fine. Let’s just get you into bed. Where do you keep your pyjamas?”

Sinclair pointed at a chair in the corner, which had a pile of worn clothes on it, including a set of pyjamas, which you retrieved for him while he tried his best to take his shoes off.

“Here, let me do that,” you said. You put the pyjamas down on the bed next to him and knelt down to untie his shoes. “You get your shirt off.”

Sinclair was quiet while you untied his shoes and slipped them off, and when you looked back up at him, he was still fully clothed, his arms folded protectively over his chest.

“Sinclair. Shirt. Off,” you said firmly.

He shook his head. “Can’t let other girls see me naked.”

You scoffed and shook your head incredulously. “Sinclair, first of all, this is the least sexy situation I’ve ever been in. There’s a high chance you’ll throw up any second, and if you do, I’m sitting right in the firing line. Second, I’m not other girls. I’m [Y/n]. Lionel’s girlfriend. Remember?”

Sinclair looked at you properly, and seemed to recognise you suddenly.

“[Y/n]! Yeah, you’re [Y/n]. Lionel’s [Y/n]. He loves you loads, you know.”

You smiled. “Yes, he does, and I love him loads too. And if he were here, he’d also be telling you to get into your pyjamas, so how about we give that a go?”

Sinclair nodded and started trying to unbutton his shirt, but his drunk and high fingers had lost all dexterity. He whined in frustration, so you took over, and to your relief he let you kneel in front of him and unbutton his shirt without complaint.

“[Y/n], do you think it’s too early to tell Emily I love her?” Sinclair asked as you continued working on his buttons.

“Do you love her?”

Sinclair nodded enthusiastically. “I do, I really do! I think I wanna marry her one day.”

“Well, it’s never too early to tell someone you love them, if that’s what you really feel. But marriage — it might be a bit early for that.”

“Lionel wants to marry you.”

You froze and looked up at him.

“…What?”

Sinclair nodded, grinning with excitement. “He does! He’s not gonna propose yet but says he wants to marry you one day. Ohmygod, maybe we could have a double wedding! You and Lionel, me and Emily. Wouldn’t that be so fun?”

“That’s… not something to think about yet,” you said firmly. “It’s too early for me and Lionel, and it’s certainly too early for you and Emily. Right, shirt off, pyjama top on. Reckon you can do your trousers yourself?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Good. You do that, I’ll find a bucket or something in case you’re sick again.”

You went into the bathroom and spotted the bin. You tied up the liner and took it out, leaving the bin empty and ready to catch any last bits of dinner Sinclair might have left to bring up.

Back in the bedroom, Sinclair had managed to get his pyjama top on and was lying on his back, his eyes closed, apparently having given up halfway through unbuckling his belt.

“Jesus, Sinclair,” you sighed. “You’re like a giant baby.”

You put the bin down by the bed and reached down to unbuckle his belt for him.

“Please don’t let Lionel walk in right now,” you muttered as you loosened his fly, trying carefully to avoid even lightly brushing against his boxers.

Sinclair’s eyes snapped open when you reached for his waistband.

“I can do it!” he insisted.

“Okay,” you said, raising your hands in innocence. “You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can take your own trousers off.”

You stood up straight and looked away as Sinclair tugged his trousers down. They went flying past you in the vague direction of his clothes chair, and you heard some more fumbling as he finished putting his pyjamas on.

“Done it!” he announced proudly.

 You turned back to him, and sure enough, Sinclair had managed to get into his pyjamas almost entirely by himself.

“Well done, Clair. Now to get into bed. Can you do that?”

“Oh, I’m an expert at getting into bed!”

He stood, pulled back the duvet, and practically dove under the covers. You laughed as he pulled the duvet up to his neck, leaving only his head resting on the pillows with a contented smile.

“Very good, Sinclair, well done,” you laughed. “Now, the bin’s here in case you need to be sick again. How are you feeling now?”

“Sleepy,” Sinclair replied, his eyes already closed.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to crash. And please don’t ever take cocaine again, okay? You are the last person in the world who needs a stimulant.”

“Sleeping,” Sinclair said insistently.

“Okay, sleeping. Good night, Clair.”

“Night, [Y/n].”

You took his key and locked the door behind you as you left. You managed to find some water in the kitchen and brought it back up for him, leaving it on the bedside table for when he woke up. Not wanting anyone to disturb him, you locked the door again and pocketed the key, making a mental note to let him out in the morning if he didn’t have another key in there.

You were just thinking about going to try to find Lionel again when you were suddenly grabbed by the wrist by a figure moving at twice the speed of a normal human being and dragged down the hallway to Lionel’s room, where your kidnapper practically barrelled into the door to open it before throwing you face first onto the bed.

The door slammed shut, you heard a key turn in the lock, and you barely had time to turn around when Lionel was pouncing on you. His kiss was hardly a kiss, and more a very enthusiastic attempt to get his saliva all over your face.

“Lionel, what —”

“Need to fuck you,” he growled desperately, his hands already fumbling with his belt.

“Where have you been? I was looking for you for ages.”

“Downstairs. Legs, open, now.”

Before you had a chance to obey, Lionel grabbed your knees and pushed your legs apart, forcing your skirt to bunch up around your waist. He growled and pushed your knickers aside with one hand while the other lined his cock up with your entrance. He was about to thrust into you when —

“Lionel, condom!”

He swore in frustration and practically threw himself across the mattress to wrench open the bedside drawer and pull out a condom.

Lionel had been wild and passionate since that day in Paris, but as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, you realised this was something else. He was like a man possessed — or a man on copious amounts of cocaine.

You sat up and took Lionel’s face in both your hands, forcing him to look up at you from where he was trying to roll the condom down his shaft.

You looked in his eyes. The usually amber iris was hardly visible between his dark, wide pupils and the red of the bloodshot whites.

“Lionel, how much cocaine have you taken?”

“None.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Okay, fine, two lines. But I’m fine, chérie, I swear —”

“Don’t you chérie me. I’m not fucking you if you’re high.”

Lionel groaned in frustration. “I’m fine, really. Come on, let’s just do it, it won’t take long —”

He wrapped his arms around you and rolled you back onto the bed, kissing you sloppily again as he tried to align his cock with you again, the condom still only half rolled down.

“Lionel, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to fuck you like this.”

He groaned again, but he pulled away.

“I’m so fucking horny, [Y/n], I’m about to burst!”

“Then have a wank, but we are not having sex right now. I’m not aroused, it’ll hurt, and you’re not thinking straight.”

“Gah, fine.”

Lionel yanked the condom off his shaft and tossed it aside. He took his cock in his hand, and you’d hardly had chance to sit up properly before he came, his seed launching into the air by a few centimetres before landing on the bed.

“Would have been better in your cunt,” Lionel grumbled as he wiped his hand on the sheet.

“Yeah, well, too bad. Was it you that gave Sinclair coke?”

Lionel’s head snapped up to look at you with a frown.

“I’d never give Sinclair coke, he’d have a heart attack. Why, has he taken some?”

“Yeah, I found him outside mid-crash, vomiting in the bushes.”

Lionel swore loudly and tried to get up, but his trousers were still halfway down his thighs, so he ended up falling on the floor with a thump.

“He’s fine, he’s asleep,” you said as Lionel tried to stand up again. “I got him into bed, despite his best efforts to sleep on the stairs.”

Lionel paused trying to do up his fly.

“…He’s alright?”

“As he can be. He’s got water and a sick bucket. I even managed to keep him awake long enough to get him into his pyjamas, though I did feel like I was dressing a giant baby.”

Lionel sighed with relief. He finished doing his trousers up and began pacing around the room frantically, running his fingers through his hair.

“If I find out who gave Sinclair cocaine, I am going to fucking throttle them,” he swore. “Some fucking idiot probably thought it’d be funny. Fuck! I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“You left me alone too.”

Lionel stopped his pacing and looked at you.

“Did I? All I remember is I lost you in the crowd, the next thing I knew I was in the sitting room with a rolled-up tenner. I don’t even remember… my mind’s blurry…”

He pinched his nose and furrowed his brow as he tried to put the pieces together, but it didn’t help that the drugs were still coursing through his system and his brain was moving too fast to stop and think.

“Li, can we stay in here for a bit? The party was getting a bit much for me anyway, and you’re probably gonna crash soon. I don’t want to have to drag you up the stairs like I did with Sinclair.”

Lionel laughed at the thought of you dragging a half-asleep Sinclair up the stairs. He looked up at the clock on the wall, and through his blurry, drunken vision he could just make out that it was 11.40.

“I hope I don’t pass out like Sinclair before 12. I want that New Year’s kiss.”

You smiled.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll go and get you some water and something to eat. You stay here and… I don’t know, run around in circles until the drugs wear off. We’ll have our New Year’s kiss, and by the time you crash, you’ll already be in bed. Unlike Sinclair, who crashed in a bush.”

Lionel nodded, and you could see by the way he was twitching and shifting his weight from foot to foot that he was still feeling the effects of the cocaine he’d taken, although the insane horniness seemed to have washed away when he came on the bed.

As you stood up from the bed and pulled your skirt down, you glanced at the stain he’d left.

“And if you’re feeling up to it, maybe change the sheets while I’m gone. I don’t fancy sleeping under a jizz-stained duvet.”

1972

A few days into the New Year, it was time for Lionel and Sinclair to go back to Cambridge. You didn’t bother holding in your sobs this time, and Lionel gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his gloved hand as you hugged him goodbye.

“There, there, love. We’ll be back before you know it. I promise I’ll call you as much as I can.”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I love you, my brave lion.”

He grinned. “And I love you, my fierce lioness.”

Lionel pressed a firm kiss to your cold lips and turned away to climb into Sinclair’s car. You turned to Sinclair and gave him a big hug.

“I’ll call you too, [Y/n]!” Sinclair promised. “And I also love you. Platonically. I don’t have a cute pet name for you, though.”

You laughed and pulled back from the hug. Despite the cold, and despite the sorrow at saying goodbye, he still shone with energy.

“Well, then, I’m going to call you a golden retriever,” you decided, “because if a golden retriever were to stand on its hind legs and turn into a human, I’m pretty sure it would just turn into you.”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “I love that! Okay, we need to go, I want to get there before the sun goes down. Bye, [Y/n]! This has been the best Christmas break ever with you around. Thanks again for looking after me at New Year’s, if it weren’t for you I might have still been in that bush the next morning! Oh, and make sure you tell your parents I said bye, it was so great to meet them at Christmas —”

Sinclair was interrupted by the sudden honking of his own car’s horn. You both looked over and saw that Lionel had leaned over to the driver’s seat to slam his hand down on the horn.

“Sinclair, stop hogging my girlfriend and get your arse in the car!” he shouted, his voice slightly muffled by the car window.

“Go on, Clair, get going. Have fun talking Lionel’s ear off for the next two hours.”

Sinclair laughed and gave you one last hug. Lionel honked the horn again and kept his hand pressed firmly down until Sinclair had opened the car door and sat himself down.

You took a few steps back to give them some space to drive off, and with one last wave, they were gone.

Spring went by excruciatingly slowly, but at least you were busy. In late January, your dad opened a second branch of his cafe in Reading, so he was spending more and more time there, which meant leaving you to open and close the Basingstoke cafe on your own — so much so that he officially promoted you to assistant manager.

Sinclair and Lionel did come home for Easter, but it was over far too fast. You couldn’t get away from work as much now that you were assistant manager, and the boys had to prepare for their exams soon, so you only managed to see Lionel fleetingly. Easter came early that year, so they were due back at university before their birthdays, which meant you didn’t even get to celebrate with them.

Eventually, summer came around, and they came home. You managed to take some leave from work so you could spend time with Lionel, who was even more excited to see you than ever before. Helen and Georgina’s birthday party marked a year since you’d officially called yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, and Lionel was actually humming to himself as he got dressed for the party.

“What’s got into you?” you asked with a laugh as you emerged from the bathroom, having finished your make-up, and heard his humming as he stood in front of the mirror.

“Nothing. I’m excited for the party, that’s all.”

“You explicitly told me last year you hate your mum’s party, that’s why you invited me, to make it bearable.”

Lionel shrugged, but he was still smiling as he adjusted his bowtie.

“I have a good feeling about tonight, that’s all.”

“Hmm, I don’t know… I think you know something I don’t.”

Lionel turned to you with a cheeky smile and pulled you into his arms.

“All I know is that I love you, chérie, and if you don’t know that, I’m not sure what else I can do to prove it.”

You giggled and batted his chest playfully. “You charmer, you. Well, whatever you’re avoiding telling me, I’m sure I’ll find out in due time. Now, I promised Sinclair I’d help him choose the wine from the cellar. Why he wants my opinion, I have no idea, but I’ve learnt not to question him.”

“Because asking him one question inevitably leads to a long-winded answer?”

“Precisely. I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”

“Alright. I love you, [Y/n].”

“I love you too,” you said with a smile. You leaned up to kiss him, then left to go and meet Sinclair in the wine cellar.

You’d been in the wine cellar only a few times. It was a strange place, completely cut off from the rest of the house, and when you closed the door behind you, it was easy to forget there was an entire house above you.

Sinclair hadn’t got a headstart, apparently. The wine was all still untouched, and he was pacing back and forth, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, Clair. I’m here as promised. Not sure why you want my help with the wine, though, I know nothing.”

He froze when he saw you, his eyes wide in alarm, as if he hadn’t been expecting you.

“[Y/n], hi. Um, I lied. I don’t need your help with the wine. I need to talk to you… privately.”

You frowned and looked at him curiously. Whatever it was, it was clearly causing him great distress. You approached him and took his hands in yours, stopping his nervous fiddling with his shirt.

“What’s wrong, Sinclair? Is it something to do with Emily?”

He shook his head.

“No. No, not Emily. It’s about… Lionel.”

“Lionel? What about him?”

“Maybe… maybe we should sit down.”

Sinclair led you to a corner of the cellar and you both sat down on the small sofa you hadn’t even noticed before. It faced a low table, which you suspected was for tasting the wines to choose the perfect vintage.

Sinclair’s shirt sleeves were the next victim of his nervous fidgeting. He was leaning forwards slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor, as if what he had to say was written down there somewhere.

“It’s two things, actually. One he doesn’t know that I know, and the other… he told me, but he made me promise not to tell.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t —”

“No, I have to,” Sinclair insisted. “I have to. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. He’d probably say I’m betraying him by telling you, but… I’d be betraying myself more if I didn’t tell you.”

“Sinclair, you’re scaring me,” you said in a quiet voice.

He sat back, took a deep breath, and looked at you. The devastation and fear in his eyes had every worst scenario running through your head.

“Lionel’s been cheating on you.”

Your stomach dropped. You felt like someone had wrapped a fist around your heart and squeezed it tight. You didn’t even know what to say, what to think… your first instinct was to refuse to believe it, to insist Lionel would never do that to you. But another voice in your head told you that it explained a lot of questions you had been asking.

You’d told yourself he was becoming distant and calling less because he was busy with coursework, but if that were the case, why was Sinclair able to find the time to call you more regularly than your own boyfriend, when Sinclair’s timetable was much more hectic?

And you’d never understood Lionel’s reasoning for refusing to stop using condoms. You could go on the pill, you’d offered to several times, but he’d always said that he wanted to use condoms regardless. Because he didn’t want you to get pregnant, he said, but the pill was just as effective.

“How do you know?” you asked after a long moment of silence.

“I was suspicious for a while. He’s been acting weird all year, but I always put it down to adjusting to university, to missing you, to going out too much. The first thing that made me think something was up was when I was taking the bins out and I went into his ensuite to empty his bathroom bin, and I saw used condoms in there. I asked him about it, and he said he — he wanks into condoms to save on mess. I believed him.

But after a while, I started noticing a pattern. I always empty the bins on a Thursday, because the bin men come on Friday morning, and I would see the condoms on the top, like he’d just put them in there. Then there was a bank holiday, so the bin day changed, so I emptied it on a Wednesday instead, before I went to play cricket. And there were none in there. I thought that was weird, like he was wanking weekly, on a Wednesday. Who schedules that?

And then I had an awful thought. What if he was using them every week at the same time… because he was seeing someone every week at the same time? Specifically, while I was at cricket. I thought there was no way that was true. He loves you, he wouldn’t do that to you. But then he said something. We were at the pub with some mates, you know, boys’ banter. And he made a joke, he said, ‘I wank every day and that’s still not enough.’ But I thought that couldn’t be right, because I always found the condoms on the Thursday, and there were only ever one or two. Not that I counted, but the only other things I ever saw in there were empty loo rolls and beard hair. You know, they stood out. I’d have noticed if there were seven.

And so I… I decided to investigate. To see what he was doing on Wednesdays while I was at cricket. One of the guys on my course does photography as a hobby, he likes to sit in trees and photograph birds. So I asked him if he could try and see into our flat.”

Sinclair reached into his jacket pocket with a trembling hand, and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“He gave me a few pictures. Some of them were - um - more explicit. Far more of him than I ever wanted to see. But this one showed enough to prove what was happening without, you know, showing too much. You don’t have to look at it, I just thought if you wanted proof…”

You snatched the photo from Sinclair’s hand before you changed your mind.

The sound you made then would haunt Sinclair for years to come. It was the sound of his friend’s heart breaking, of all your hopes and dreams for a future with Lionel smashing to the ground.

Sinclair’s friend had a good camera. It was Lionel, alright. Your boyfriend. He was sitting naked on the sofa, an expression on his face you’d seen many times — one you thought only you had seen. A naked woman was kneeling in front of him, her head in his lap, and his hand was on the back of her head.

“I’m really sorry, [Y/n],” Sinclair said quietly.

You shook your head, eyes still glued to the photo, as if looking at it longer would make it stop existing.

“Not your fault,” you said, your voice cracking slightly.

“I should have said something… shouldn’t have believed him about the condoms.”

You scoffed. Fucking condoms. No wonder he was so insistent on using them. Well, at least he was keeping you safe from STDs while he fucked other girls.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I asked my mate to go back the next week and see if he could get a picture of her face. And he did, but… it was a different girl.”

Your fist clenched, and the photo became crumpled in your hand.

“...A different girl?”

Sinclair nodded, his eyes wide with trepidation, as if worried what you might do next.

“A different — what, does he fuck a different girl every week?!” you shouted, throwing the screwed-up photo on the floor.

It was one thing if it was another girlfriend. If he’d fallen in love with someone else but didn’t have the guts to break up with you, that was one thing. But if it was different girls, that meant he was just shagging them, and that made it worse, because it meant that putting his dick in something wet was more important to him than you were.

“I don’t know, [Y/n], I’m sorry, we broke up for summer that week so I wasn’t able to ask my mate to go back.”

“Did you confront him about it?”

“No, I’ve not told him that I know. I wanted to speak to you first. I thought you should decide what to do.”

“But you came home weeks ago! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’ve been trying, but it’s so hard, [Y/n]. I kept changing my mind whether to even tell you or not, and whenever I did decide to tell you, I couldn’t get you alone. You’re always together. And you’re so happy together, I didn’t want to upset that. But when he told me about tonight, I knew I had to tell you.”

“Tonight?” you said with a frown. “What about tonight?”

You knew it. There was something Lionel wasn’t telling you. Something that was making him excited for a usually dreaded occasion…

“He’s going to propose.”

The fist that had gripped your heart earlier seemed to squeeze even harder.

Lionel was going to propose. He was going to get down on one knee, in front of everyone, and ask you to swear your fidelity to him, when he’d spent the better part of the last year sticking his cock in a different woman every week.

You stood up and prepared to storm out, but you heard Sinclair calling after you.

“[Y/n], wait —”

You paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at him, tears in your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Sinclair. You did the right thing.”

You left before he could convince you not to.

- - -

Sinclair usually dreaded his mum and Aunt Georgie’s birthday party, for all the reasons Lionel had told you last year. But this year, he was dreading it more than ever before.

He couldn’t get you alone again. He wanted to ask you what you were going to do, but you were nowhere to be seen, and he knew you hadn’t said anything to Lionel, because he was still buzzing with excitement for his grand proposal.

Everyone was in on it and, not knowing anything about what Sinclair had told you, Helen and Georgina were excited too. They both adored you, and they were sure you’d say yes.

Sinclair adored you too, of course. He wanted you to be his sister so badly. Okay, technically if you married Lionel you’d be his cousin-in-law, but Lionel would always be his big brother in Sinclair’s mind, so as far as he was concerned, if you married Lionel, you’d become his sister-in-law. And in some ways, he already saw you as his sister. You were definitely so much more than just his cousin’s girlfriend.

That was what had made the whole thing so difficult for him. He’d promised Lionel not to tell you about the proposal, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if he let you be proposed to in front of all those people without knowing the truth.

He hoped you could work it out. He certainly hadn’t told you in order to break you up. But you had to have all the facts before you made such a life-changing decision.

When his mum and aunt started herding guests into the main entrance hall, Sinclair knew it was time. He tried to find you, but among the crowd it was impossible. He didn’t catch a glimpse of you until you, he and Lionel were being herded up to the landing that overlooked the room.

Lionel had planned it all meticulously. Sinclair stood with the two of you on one side, his mum and aunt on the other. They quieted the crowd and Aunt Georgie spoke as if she were about to give a speech. On cue, Sinclair moved over to stand by his mum, leaving you and Lionel alone.

Georgina announced that Lionel had something to say, and suddenly all eyes were on the two of you. This was it. Your boyfriend, the person you loved and trusted most in the world, the person who’d betrayed you so utterly that looking at him now just made you want to cry — he was about to propose to you.

In front of everyone. Sinclair, Helen and Georgina, who’d taken you in as their own. Extended family, friends and friends of friends, they were all gathered together, all listening attentively as Lionel addressed them.

“A little over a year ago, just before the end of term, I had my future planned out. I was going to go to university, get a first class degree in Business Studies, and become a great businessman. I’m still doing all those things, of course; watch this space.”

A polite titter came from the crowd, and Lionel flashed a grin.

“But I hadn’t accounted for one thing. I hadn’t considered that one day, I’d sneak out of college for a smoke and find a strange girl I’d never seen before trying to peek into the windows.”

He looked at you with an amused smirk.

“I know what you’re all thinking — no, it wasn’t the boys’ changing room.”

Another polite laugh from the crowd.

“It was the Art classroom. You see, we had some original Monet paintings on display, and she wanted to see them. So I, never one to deny a beautiful woman in need, helped her sneak in to see them.”

Yeah, and you won’t deny any woman in need of dicking down, you thought bitterly.

“She left before I managed to get her number, but with the help of Sinclair here” — he gestured to his cousin, as if anyone was in doubt who he was — “I managed to track her down. She, it transpired, had been looking for me too, and was only too happy to let me take her out for a drink. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Lionel turned his attention fully to you. You were trying to keep your face blank, but you had no idea how you were coming across, only that Lionel was undeterred.

“[Y/n], despite my assertions that it was impossible, you really have tamed this lion. I have every intention of becoming the great man I’m destined to be, but I can only do it with you by my side.”

The crowd gasped as Lionel dropped to one knee. Somewhere, you heard a camera clicking. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He opened it to present you with a sapphire-encrusted ring, and in another version of events, you might have marvelled at how beautiful it was.

“[Y/n] [L/n]… will you marry me?”

His speech was still ringing in your head. I had my future all planned out… I’m never one to deny a beautiful woman in need… I managed to track her down… I’m destined to be a great man.

It was all “I” and “me.” It was all him. His life, not yours; his plans, not yours. Most of the people in the crowd didn’t know you, and nothing Lionel had said had told them anything more.

It wasn’t about you — and maybe it never had been.

You took a steadying breath.

You loved him. You hated him. You didn’t want to break his heart. He’d already broken yours.

You only had one thing to say before you turned and left.

“No.”

- - -

1989

“Our… son,” Lionel repeated slowly. “You were… you were pregnant.”

“I didn’t know then. I only realised a few weeks later.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then!” Lionel exclaimed sarcastically, waving his arms in a wild shrug. “It’s not like you had my phone number or my address. It’s not like I was trying to call you for weeks afterwards. It’s not like you could have fucking told me!”

“Would it have made any difference? I didn’t want you in my life, and you made it perfectly clear you didn’t want kids.”

“Just because I didn’t want to be a father, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have! You had no right to make that decision for me, [Y/n]! I mean… Christ. How old is he now? Sixteen? Does he even know?”

“No. He knows who you are only because you’re famous. He has no idea I ever even knew you, let alone that you’re his father.”

“Does Sinclair know?”

“Sinclair? No, why would he know?”

“Well, he knew about everything else apparently.”

“No, Sinclair doesn’t know. I cut off contact with him too. It fucking sucked, because he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, but I couldn’t bear to look at him, not when he looks so much like you.”

Lionel collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands.

“Christ. I can’t believe this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not on the birth certificate, so you don’t have any responsibility for him. If something happened to me, he wouldn’t show up on your doorstep.”

“But we used condoms!” Lionel said with a frown, pulling his hands away from his face to look at you, bemused. “We always used condoms.”

“Condoms break,” you said with a shrug. “Even your fancy ones.”

Lionel swore. He stood up again and began pacing around, running his fingers through his hair. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to either of you, you were being watched from a window, although your argument was muted to your observer.

“They’re really going at it,” Georgina said with concern. “Maybe we should intervene. I know Sinclair wanted to get them talking, but I don’t think this is what he hoped for.”

“He’s your son, George, you might be better equipped,” Helen replied, leaning over her sister’s head to peek outside.

“You know I want to, but I’ll feel ridiculous trying to calm him down when I’m all the way down here now. I know it’s his day, but maybe we should send Sinclair.”

Helen glanced over at her son, who was currently trying to balance chatting away at some friends with stuffing his face full of food from the buffet.

“I think you’re right. We just need to make sure nobody follows him outside. Tell you what, I’ll get the microphone and keep everyone distracted. You get him outside and guard the door.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, Sinclair had abandoned his conversation and his plate of food, his aunt was parked in her wheelchair in front of the door, and his ears were being subjected to one of the worst arguments he’d ever heard.

“YOU JUST SAID I MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, SO WHAT DOES IT MATTER?”

“IT WASN’T YOUR CHOICE TO MAKE, [Y/N]!”

“What the fuck is going on out here?!” Sinclair demanded. “This is my wedding! It’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life! Why are you having a bloody screaming match?!”

“Tell him, [Y/n]!” Lionel said to you with a sneer. “Tell Sinclair the truth. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Sinclair? Considering you didn’t tell me for seventeen fucking years why the only woman I’ve ever loved rejected my proposal in front of our entire family!”

Sinclair held his hands up innocently. “It wasn’t for me to tell! Wait – tell me what? Is there something else?”

Lionel stared daggers at you. You sighed and crossed your arms.

“I have a son,” you admitted. “We – we have a son.”

Sinclair’s jaw dropped. He looked between you and Lionel like you were playing tennis.

“Wait – you mean you and Lionel have a son? Li, you never told me –”

“That’s because I didn’t fucking know, you nitwit!” Lionel snapped. “You wanted to know why we’re having a bloody screaming match – that’s why. Because [Y/n] just told me that we have a bloody son.”

Sinclair stared at you as if you’d just grown an extra head. “Well… what’s his name?”

You laughed and shook your head.

“Lionel hasn’t even asked that yet, and it’s the first question out of your mouth.”

“You didn’t ask his name?” Sinclair said to Lionel with a frown.

“I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know anything. This isn’t changing anything. Clearly, [Y/n] thinks they’re getting on just fine without me, so they can continue that way. I don’t want to know his name, his school, his birthday, nothing. What I would like to know, however, is why my wheelchair-bound mother is sitting in front of the door like a fucking bouncer.”

Lionel pointed towards the door; through the window, the back of Georgina’s chair was visible.

“She’s making sure nobody follows me out here. So we could have a private conversation.”

You sniffed and stood up straight.

“I’m sorry, Sinclair. You’re right, this is your day. I ruined your mums’ birthday party in ‘72, now I’m ruining your wedding day. I should leave.”

You went to walk past him, but Sinclair placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, [Y/n]. I thought if you and Lionel talked, you could work things out. At least put the past behind you.”

You shook your head.

“Sinclair, you’re sweet. But this is too messy to just talk it out. Um, but before I go…”

You took both his hands in yours and looked at him seriously.

“I know my opinion doesn’t matter, and you can make your own choices, and I might be totally wrong about this. But for what it’s worth… you can do so much better than Natalie.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Bye, Clair. I really hope you prove me wrong.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, and you didn’t give Lionel a second glance. You opened the door back into the reception, and Georgina moved her chair out of the way. You locked eyes for a second, and you hesitated.

“Georgina… I’m really sorry I ruined your birthday. Would you tell Helen for me? I’m – I’m gonna go, before I ruin this wedding too.”

Georgina didn’t say anything, so you left.

You were at the reception desk, waiting for a staff member to call you a taxi, when Sinclair came jogging up to you.

“[Y/n], wait!”

“Sinclair…”

“Just… one thing. Would you tell me your son’s name? I know Lionel doesn’t want to know, but I’d really like to, if that’s okay with with you. And maybe one day, if he does want to know… I could tell him. So he won’t have to bother you.”

You smiled. How was he always so sweet? It was his wedding day, you’d just blown up at his cousin and told him you didn’t like his new wife, and he was still concerned about you.

“His name is Cole.”

“Cole. Cool! Cool Cole, ha ha. Um, I don’t suppose we can still be friends, can we?”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No, Sinclair, I’m sorry. I want to be… and maybe one day we can. But you’re too close to Lionel.”

Sinclair nodded his head sadly. “I understand. Well… it was nice seeing you again, [Y/n]. Despite the argument, I am really glad you came. If you ever need anything - and if Cole ever needs anything - just come find me, ‘kay?”

You nodded. Sinclair kissed you on the cheek, and with a sad smile, he turned back to the party.

[zepumpkineater]

do we got any thoughts on Dedmos specifically...

Dedmos is an interesting one since Deimos himself probably has the most strongly defined personality out of anyone in the SQ side of the main cast. Characters like Hank of course are under tons of interpretations all the time, which is in part intentional. Sanford's personality is defined, but he's still fairly different across fan interpretations. Deimos, on the other hand, I find to be the most consistent in this regard.

Most folks can agree he's the cocky, bad mouthing, gun toting, cigarette loving mercenary we've all come to know and love over the years, which is why I find it the most fascinating that it was him Krinkels chose to drag through the other place's cavalcade of personalized horrors that is the Dedmos Adventures series.

Dedmos as a series definitely slots into some of my favorite content that has come out of Madness Combat over the years, namely through its greater focus on psychological horror elements and deconstruction of its titular character. It's very Silent Hill 2, and I love that game to bits, so it's only natural I found myself really loving Dedmos.

And in terms of the character of Dedmos, I think there's a lot of fascinating lore implications that may or may not be explored somewhere down the line in another piece of Madness media. As I said before, Deimos being such a strongly defined character with a clear personality is a huge part of what makes Dedmos so good, because it quite literally strips away layers of that personality with each passing episode. We learn a lot about Deimos as a person as the very fabric of his being is stripped away, layer by layer, until he's nearly unrecognizable by the series' end.

I love how Dedmos as a series preys on Deimos' personality, his insecurities, and his worries. Outside of all of the physical torment Deimos endures, we also see him suffer mentally. I definitely think that scene where Deimos sees an apparition of Sanford and desperately runs over to it forever rewrote how I view Madness Combat as a series. That one little scene and series of actions forever recontexualized not only the events of the series, but Sanford and Deimos' relationship as a whole for me.

Even after being beaten, battered, losing pieces of himself that he will never get back, part of him still urges him along to chase down something familiar, something he knows in this desolate place. This action is of course immediately punished as is classic Other Place fashion, but the fact that it happened at all is deeply telling to Deimos as a character. I think it's proof that Krinkels thinks about these characters in a much more three dimensional way than what may be immediately made clear by Madness Combat at large. It shows that there's real emotion, real stakes in this series, and that's something long time fans of the cartoons never knew could happen.

All in all, I do hope the consequences of the events of Dedmos are at least partially explored in Madness 13, or whatever side content comes out before or after that cartoon's release. The way I see it, Deimos has been forever changed by his time in the other place, and he has lost pieces of his very soul that will never be returned to him. Who knows how much of him has been lost, and if it can ever be truly repaired.

If I were in charge of writing Dedmos, I think I would absolutely bring a greater focus on how hollow he must feel. Pieces of himself gone, filled out with lifeless rocks. I would write about how other characters, especially Sanford, notice how awkward and stilted he feels. Deimos knows who he is on a fundamental level, there are aspects of him that will not, cannot be changed for as long as even a fragment of him exists. But he can't help but notice how it feels like he has to force it out, sometimes. He knows the part he's supposed to play, the jokes he's supposed to make, the cocky and snide remarks, but it just feels...Empty, sometimes. Like he's pretending to be someone he used to be, not acting like someone he is. Memories that he knows are his, but feels like they're someone elses' entirely.

Not to mention the strain it might put on his relationship with Sanford. It can't be fun to see your best buddy die, and not only die, but come back different. Changed in a way that makes it difficult to recognize him sometimes. He's got mostly the same face, the parts of it that are left, roughly the same clothes. Same dorky hat and bulky headphones, anyway. But the way he carries himself is just...Different. Heavier. More subdued. His jokes land awkwardly and he stumbles over his words. He's quieter, still the occasional sarcastic remark, but sometimes they almost feel mean-spirited rather than playful.

I could go on really, but the point is I really love Dedmos the series and Dedmos the character. Krinkels 200% cooked with that side series.

[rameiixo]

izutzoomie.. sorry

[yardsards]

we need to put an end to DEI (Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated)

[kmesons]

if I had a nickel for each time a james tolbert character was compensated by another (wealthy) character in a piece of starcanwreckedpulp media, I'd have one nickel, because samuel stratford had much more to lose than a place in line

[dismember-cisgenders]

His wife has filled his house with space. To keep it real I fuck him in the labyrinth

[theholiestghost]

rip jesus you would’ve loved sabrina carpenter

[lab-practicum]

why dont you make like a house and leave

[mostlyghostly42]

In the psychology of the modern civilized human being, it is difficult to overstate the significance of the house.

[longingquiet]

THE BITE OF '73 — Luke Brandon Field as Daniel Molloy & Assad Zaman as Armand

Interview with the Vampire, AMC - Series 2, Episode 5