#the way it took the entire series to actually give an in-text explanation as to why the established characters are acting ooc

[rivercule]

Enemyship ended with Rian Johnson. Dave Filoni is my new worst enemy

[lacefuneral]

hey what's up rather than recording like a 10 minute video that would be too long for Tumblr anyway I'm literally just gonna talking to my phone and have a dictate while I bitch about things. There's definitely gonna be typos and weird turns of phrase such as the nature of the medium.

OK so in the year 1982 there is a movie that came out called "making love". And when the movie screamed in theaters it began with a series of text disclaimers stating that there was homosexuality in the movie and that there was no explicit sex on scene but that viewers should take care  if that type of content upset them.  it makes me deeply sad to think about and the only way I can think to reconcile it in my mind is to think of those early 2000s disclaimers on fan fictions where it would be like "this has boys kissing don't like don't read."

 Anyway when it's screened in theaters apparently a ton of people walked out because they were disturbed by the homosexuality on the screen even with the disclaimer and the movie was a commercial flop after the first day or so.

 Now I was really curious about this movie because I heard about it in the celluloid closet. And when I went to look at modern reviews of it on letterbox,  it was still steadily bombing.  And most of the negative reviews were people mad that it was a romance movie? Which is like yeah it's a romance movie are you really gonna rate something negatively because of the genre. don't watch romance movies then idiot

The movie is bad by the way but not for the reasons the 1982 crowd thinks  also not what the people on letterbox think. it's a secret third thing – which is  that literally none of the characters are likable, and that the format of the film is deeply irritating.

 Anyway so I  boots up this movie and it's a story about a doctor named Zack who has been married for eight years to a woman named Claire. And they're both very career oriented so they haven't had a child yet but they do have plans to have one and they even have the name picked out. Which is like - bold fucking move.  Like you don't know for a fact that your child is going to be a boy so you could end up with a daughter named Rupert which I mean that's not the worst name in the world kinda fucks actually maybe.  But it's like do you not have any alternatives in mind?

and Zach occasionally will see gay men just kind of existing in public and he looks like he's gonna throw up but he's also like very clearly captivated by it.  so then he does this weird thing where he'll go to cruising spots and pick up spots for rent boys and he'll just kind of stare at the guys there. Like he doesn't talk to anyone. And like I understand that it's a very volatile time and you're married and all of that but if you're curious about the gay experience and gay people would you not just fucking talk to a gay person? Like he spent a good portion of the movie staring at other gay men like he's at a zoo.

also during this time he goes out at the same exact time every day and his wife knows that he's not at work but he doesn't provide any excuse or explanation for why he's gone so she's worried sick because she doesn't know what the fuck is happening with him. And obviously he's not gonna tell her the truth but come on dude at least come up with some sort of alibi or lie to tell her so that she's not worrying her self sick.  Like you've been married to the woman for eight years can you give her at least a small amount of comfort?

 Eventually he goes to work and he's filling in for another doctor and this guy walks in and he looks like Ashton Kutcher got hit with a giga chad beam. Like it looks like someone took the entire T supply  in the world and pumped it directly into this man's jawline.   actually since I'm doing this in Tumblr post format I can just show you with the dude looks like.

any guesses as to what this man's name is? Because you're going to get it wrong. His name is fucking Bart. You know like Bart Simpson?  Anyway Bart is a gay man that is very promiscuous -  which is fine except that he's a huge asshole and is constantly ghosting the guys around him and lying to them and refusing to cuddle. Whatever happened to aftercare?

 Anyway he goes in for a check up and I'm gonna be completely honest with you I don't remember how this exchange went or how it ended up like this, but Zach and Bart  leave the doctors office and then go to lunch. Which is really fucking strange? Like it's weird enough to go to lunch with someone you met like five minutes ago but also ask your doctor for lunch? No matter how hot he is in your mind it's a bit odd innit.

 So they go to lunch and they talk and then later Zack spots barked outside of a gay bar. And he is like "oh shit. Bart is gay."

and I'm gonna mention this bit now  instead of tacking it on at the end:  the entire time that this movie is going it keeps randomly cutting to Bart and separately Claire sitting in a buzzfeed-like white void  being interviewed by  some unknown person. this does not help at all with the story in fact it's an active distraction and it doesn't provide any interesting lore and essentially it's just the characters reacting to what you've already seen on the screen. So for example  you'll see a scene of Claire crying or whatever and her interview self will turn to the camera and be like "I was sad. I was really sad. I was crying." And it's like. Girl we know that we can see it. Whatever happened to showing and not telling in storytelling?

OK anyway at some point Zach ends up at Barts apartment and they kind of dance around the subject a little bit and eventually Bart comes out as gay. Which is like yeah dude you took him out on a date already?  And Zach admits that he's curious by it but because he's married it's not really something he's comfortable with exploring.  And   Bart confront him –  and he's like "OK then why are you here?" And this is where I say like. Zack is trying to learn more about gay men and by extension himself and he doesn't have to do that through sex necessarily so this feels like a scumbag thing to say. But at the same time Bart does not owe Zach education or emotional labor. The dude is just trying to  live his life.

like I'll admit I would also be kind of miffed if a guy was flirting with me and coming around to my house and going on dates with me and then he was like "oh you know I don't really know if I'm gay or not I was hoping that you could help me figure that out." because at that point you're just playing with my feelings.  Figure it out before you talk to me. There are plenty of guys out there who love sleeping with curious guys in particular -  go seek those ones out.

and then the story progresses very suddenly in a way that doesn't make sense. It's like they wrote that scene and then they got stumped  because they couldn't figure out how to get from point a to point c -  so they straight up just did not write B.   so suddenly Zack and Bart  are having sex. I'm gonna be honest this is one of the few parts of the movie I actually liked because I felt like the intimacy was pretty romantic and it was filmed tastefully.  And I was able to forget for a second that I hated both of these characters.

 So this becomes a thing where you know he's fucking Bart and he's distant from his wife and his wife is having a mental breakdown. because she's not sure if she should take on a huge project at work because she's ready to have children and she's worried that she shouldn't wait much longer because she's almost 30 which is bullshit? But also it was a different time then and cis women were legitimately too scared to have children pass that age into a certain extent some cis women still are.  And it's deeply unfair to her because Zach won't just fucking talk to her he won't even lie to her he's just silence and distant and never home.

and the confusing that is that when they are together they're fucking.  And at first I was like oh OK he's a  bisexual king. Nope! He is gay and is forcing himself to do comphet  even though his wife has literally not asked him for sex.  He is the one who actively initiates each time.  So that's upsetting.

eventually she completely snaps at him and that scares him enough that he decides the next time he sees her he's going to come out. And this entire time Claire has reassured him over and over and over and over and over and over again that whatever is wrong with him it doesn't matter because she loves him and she will support him. And so that primes the viewer to assume that one she already knows that he's gay and two  that they're going to have a Stede  and Mary moment where she accepts that he's gay.

Nope! she reacts by violently screaming at him. And completely tearing him to shreds. And making the situation just about her. And the wildest bit is that he doesn't even come out as gay. All he says is that he realized recently that he is attracted to men. He could be bisexual but  Claire is I guess so disgusted by the very concept of homosexuality (like the people in the theater i guess)  that she doesn't even consider that as a possibility. I mean Zach isn't  bisexual but Claire doesn't know that.

also I forgot to mention before Zach comes out to his wife. The relationship between him and Bart  is really fucking weird. Because Bart keep insisting that he doesn't want a relationship and Zack keeps insisting that he also doesn't want one because he has his wife and yet both of them are like. Too clingy? For each other. And also not enough? And it's like the writers couldn't figure out what the dynamic was before they started writing the film and they were making shit up on the fly even if it contradicted itself. Like it doesn't at all read like to men who don't know what they want as much as writing that does not make sense. Zach wants a boyfriend no he doesn't Bart doesn't want a boyfriend yes he does.

anyway Zach gets kicked out of his house so he goes to Bart and he's like hey man can I stay here for a couple of days? And I'm going to remind you that these two have been fucking like rabbits and even if they're not dating they do appear to have some sort of friendship at the very least. And fucking Bart tells him no.  Dude why. He's your friend. 

 So he has to stay in a motel room. And then eventually his wife calms down and seeks him out.  convince him to remain married to her and to get his homosexuality "treated".  And he explained to her that he doesn't want treated and that he is happy as a gay man and that their marriage is not gonna work and they're gonna have to divorce and that he wants distance from her.

 Now this is the most confusing part of the film to me. we jumped two years into the future where Zach has moved to another state and he gets a phone call about a funeral he has to attend so he goes home and he knows that he's going to run into his ex-wife.  And they meet each other and it's very sweet and all that and she has a new husband and she has a young child and then interaction goes well.

But the confusing bit is that this entire movie the love interest has been Bart.  And you keep thinking oh OK he's going to run into Bart  while he's in the area. Nope! and it turns out that  At the beginning of this time skip we see Zack and another man in what I assumed was some kind of office building? But apparently it's their home? And apparently that guy is his new boyfriend? But we don't even learn his name we've never seen him before now there's no meet cute  no explanation there's no development. There's just suddenly some guy there and we use the audience are supposed to know his purpose.  Because when Zack is talking to his ex-wife he mentions that he's been in a relationship for two years. And I was like  oh maybe he in bart are long distance or something?

it's just all very convoluted in my personal opinion. I don't think there should've been a time skip. I think they should've explored Zack finding a new relationship that was healthier for him rather than just being like hey audience by the way you know?

so my verdict of the movie making love 1982 is that everyone's the asshole here! Also the gay sex was kind of cool. 

[troubatrain]

bad behavior - m. tkachuk

a/n: i don’t know when i started writing consistently but here we are. this another part of this series i was super excited about writing because this song is what put the idea in my head to begin with. quick shout out to @hookingminor​, @tkafuckit​, & @davidpastrsnack​ for reading my work and validating it because i swear i would never finish without you guys sometimes. hope you guys like it!

as per usual i recommend listing to the song while you read!

part of my lovely little lonely series

warnings: smut

“...you tell me, you're insecure, but don't be, stay soft, but don't be gentle, it's altogether mental...” - Bad Behavior - The Maine

I’m not a distraction am I?

Of fucking course you are, Matthew thought, buttoning up his dress shirt while he looked at the fresh marks he bit in your back not even fifteen minutes ago. You were the biggest distraction, Matthew forgoing his pre-game nap just for extra time with you between the sheets. You were a mistake he couldn’t stop making, ignoring the constant pull in his chest whenever you left because you didn’t do anything more than what you gave him.

Really, it was probably karmic punishment for all the shitty things Matthew’s done in his life. The universe would drop his dream girl in front of him but as it turns out, she played the game better than him. It wasn’t like he didn’t get a warning from your best friend Ella who’d been dating Sam from what seemed like the dawn of time. You were a heartbreaker, it was just how it was and that was how it’s going to be. Matthew ignored Ella, taking you home without a second thought because that’s what he wanted too. No Strings Attached. Turns out, he was in over his head when you left one night and the other side of Matthew’s bed felt cold for the first time in his life.

“You’re not a distraction pretty girl,” Matthew nods, curls bouncing against his forehead while he admires you from the otherside of his bedroom, “Are you coming tonight?”

“Are you going to be on your worst behavior?” You ask, rolling out of bed to collect your clothes Matthew never seemed to toss in one place. That’s why you were different, every person in his life telling him to ease up in his game - except you. You loved watching Matthew get into it on the ice because after those games the sex was just better.

Matthew chuckles, watching you unhook your panties from the lamp in the corner of the room and frowning when you saw the tear he ripped in them, “I’ll be on my worst behavior if you’re coming home with me later.”

“Twice in one day is pushing your luck Matthew,” You sigh dramatically, fixing his collar and flattening his tie, “And exhausting for me quite honestly.”

“I’ll be easy,” Matthew suggests, fingers gently pushing a piece of hair from in front of your face. Your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the moment. This made it so hard to keep your distance, the fact that Matthew was more of a gentle giant than he led on most of the time. Sure, he could pull your hair back when he hit it from behind and he made the dirtiest jokes in crowded rooms, but when all was said and done - he was kind. Someone would be lucky to have him one day, but that someone just couldn’t be you.

“You’ve never gone easy on me ever,” You giggle, pressing a kiss against Matthew’s jaw, “Good luck.”

***

Matthew didn’t know why he was so nervous about a silly All Star game, but he was. Maybe it was because it was at home, or maybe Brady’s last minute addition had him reconsidering. Either way, he’d been pacing for the last hour and trying to decide if he should tell you to stay home. He couldn’t do that, as if he was going to deny himself the small sliver of happiness he got every time you decided you wanted to see him. You were in charge, and it changed the playing field for Matthew entirely. It wasn’t like it usually was, Matthew being the one who often found themselves hanging by the phone in hopes you’d call. You didn’t, so Matthew got his hopes up and told you to stop by before he left for St. Louis.

“Hey All Star,” You muse, sneaking inside and taking off your coat. Matthew stops his pacing, smiling to himself that you actually showed up when he asked. No answer to his text, because why would you bother to let him know you were on your way. That would be too easy, and you weren’t by any means easy.

Matthew opened his mouth to ask you how your day was, but shut it once he realized he’d never get an answer. The only things he knew about you were learned from Ella and Sam, not a single detail of anything that happened outside of the walls of Matthew’s apartment was ever mentioned to him by you. You knew tons about him, because he opened up to you so easily it was breaking his heart that you wouldn’t do the same. He wondered why he did this to himself, why he didn’t just find someone who was obsessed with him. He liked the chase, Matthew’s athletic intuitions pushing him to strive for the best prize he could find, and you’d be the best of them all if he could have you.

Instead Matthew did what he always does, he pressed his lips to yours and pushed you up against the door. His hands were on your waist, an ironclad grip as if you’d slip right through his hands if he didn’t stop you. You probably would have.

“What’s wrong?” You question, Matthew confused as to how you knew something was up. His eyebrows furrowed, head cocking to the side like a puppy who was trying to figure out what a new sound was. You laugh, a melodic giggle carrying through Matthew’s almost barren apartment, “Your hands are right above my ass but you failed to touch it once, what’s up?”

“I’m, uh, nervous?” Matthew admits, his weaker parts of his brain succumbing to the pout on your lips. That pout could be what killed him. Matthew wasn’t dealing with it well, it being the newfound pressure he’d been feeling to be a top tier player. People expected him to turn it on for every game, and at first he loved it. Then he realized he no longer got the chance to slack off when all eyes were on him, Matthew had been internally crumbling ever since.

That wasn’t necessarily the only reason he’d been insecure lately. You weren’t helping, but you couldn’t be hurting him that much. Maybe you were. Matthew was trying really hard to be cool, but he was failing miserably. He got jealous more often than he liked to admit, and he was a liar if he didn’t deep dive your Instagram to see if you were very clearly seeing someone else. He was gone a lot, and you didn’t owe him any sort of explanation and he knew that. He knew he respected you enough not to ask but he liked you enough to care, and it was eating him alive.

“Pressure’s a lot, I just don’t feel like, you know,” Matthew explains, fumbling over his words and waving his hands because he didn’t want to say it. His voice got lower, words mumbled together when he spoke, “I’m insecure.”

“Don’t be,” You shrug, a wide confident smile on your face. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised by Matthew, because as far as you knew he was a big bad guy, or at least he thought he was. You thought it was all bullshit, but you did often think that kind of pressure couldn’t be healthy. Every fiber of your being told you to run, that this was getting too emotional and if you didn’t stop you were going to ruin him forever. You did it all the time, your heart wasn’t built for more than a night and you were just accepting it. If you weren’t going to be able to stop self destructing anyone who tries to connect to you emotionally besides your loved ones you protected so fiercely - then you were going to have fun.

Which is what you thought you were getting into. You took Matthew home with nothing but his reputation spinning around in your head that he was the perfect conquest. Then you fucked, and it was too good to give up. So you kept him at arms length, never giving into those damn eyes and his frown whenever you left after you had sex. It was better that way, for both of you really.

“That’s all you got for me?” Matthew asks, stifling a laugh at your simple answer. He was admitting to you something he’s never let another soul know but you simply just shrugged.

“Okay, how about this,” You take a deep breath, snaking your hands under his shirt and grazing your nails against his skin.

You’re Matthew fucking Tkachuk. Your lips pressed against his jaw, a smirk gracing his face. You don’t give a fuck who’s in your way, you’ll hit them. Your lips moved to his ear, whispering softly. You’re what Doughty’s nightmares are made of. Your hands slipped down, playing with the waistband on his boxers. And you can score with the best of them, on and off the ice. Matthew laughed at that one, a smug smile back on his face where it rightfully should be. You have nothing to worry about.

Both of Matthew’s large hands landed on your cheeks, calloused fingers rubbing against your skin and his lips on yours. He didn’t need to say anything, he’d show you just how badly he needed that. Matthew pushed you towards his bedroom, your back hitting the plush mattress. You tossed your hoodie off, Matthew losing his at the same time. You admired him, the way his muscles were defined in the moonlight from his windows. Matthew’s hands slid down your back, unclasping your bra with one hand and smirking to himself when it slid off. You stroked his ego for a reason, one that ran a chill up your spine while he pressed kisses down your body.

“You’re fucking sexy,” Matthew mutters into your skin, sliding off your leggings and eyes practically rolling to the back of his head when a pair of lacy red panties caught his attention. His finger slid underneath them, fingers slick from your core, “And wet too huh?”

“Do you plan on doing something about it or should I call someone else,” You tease, Matthew’s free hand gripped your thigh when you spoke, jealousy coursing through his veins. He finger pulled against your panties, a loud rip catching your attention, “Matthew!”

“Don’t joke like that then, I’ll take care of you just fine on my fucking own,” Matthew growls, lips ghosting your clit. You whimper, running a hair through Matthew’s hair. His tongue lapped at your pussy, trying to remind you just why you couldn’t shake him. He was competitive, and if he had to fight for his spot in your line up he’d do it. You were a mess, a string of curses falling through your lips and your moans echoing in the room.

“Matty, fuck,” You let out a cry, gripping his curls tightly. Matthew flicked your clit with his tongue, a gasp leaving your mouth. Matthew went to overdrive, his well skilled tongue moving quickly to send you over the edge. You grinded against his mouth, his hands holding down your waist so he could keep going while you came on his face. You finally push his head back, unable to take anymore.

Matthew crawls back up your body, capturing your lips with his and kicking off his boxers. You push him onto his back gently, a smug smile on his face and his hands landing behind his head, “A show?”

“Shut up,” You shake your head, letting out a laugh while you straddle Matthew. You pumped him a few times, lining his cock up with your pussy and easing yourself onto him.

“You look so good on top of me,” Matthew muses, a cocky tone to his voice. You grab the overgrown curls on the nape of his neck, rolling your hips against him and smirking when a groan left his lips, “My perfect fucking girl.”

Matthew’s hand smacked your ass while you rode him at your own speed. His free hand gripped your hip, speeding up your pace. Matthew loved being on top, a translation of his control that he desperately craved, but he let you do whatever you wanted. His hand snuck up your body, hand gently gripping your neck, “If you leave a mark this time Matthew-”

Matthew chuckles, remembering the borderline vicious threats you sent him the last time his grip got a little too tight and you didn’t realize until the next day. Matthew pulls you down to meet his lips, flipping you over onto your and back wrapping on your legs around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours, something you noticed he'd been doing more often lately, “Cum for me, fuck, c’mon.”

“Harder,” You nod, eager to chase your high and give him what you knew he wanted. He liked to get you off, the satisfaction of pleasing you did it for him, Matthew often bragging about how much a giver he really was. Your pussy fluttered around him, Matthew pulling his cock out and spilling onto your stomach. He looked down at you, completely fucked out with his cum on you like you were his. Your eyes were glassy, lips swollen from his while you caught your breath, “Shit.”

Matthew laughs lightly, walking into the en suite bathroom to get you a towel. He was always gentle afterwards, taking care of you after he absolutely wrecked you as if it was going to remind you that maybe he deserved more than you were giving to anyone else. You tuck your head into Matthew’s pillow, sleep about to take over your body. You never stayed, your own little rule because you just knew if you let him hold you it would be over, “Just stay, you look tired pretty girl.”

Matthew’s voice was gentle, his finger running along your bareback lightly while he offered you a shirt in the other. He wanted you to stay so badly, “Matty-”

“My flight leaves in a few hours, it’s like a nap,” Matthew whispers, and you smile at his excuse for you to sleepover. You nod, sitting up and tossing on whatever gray t-shirt he’d given you. You didn’t know, but it was his favorite shirt in the world, the fabric soft like a tee that had been well loved.

Matthew was supposed to have woken you up before he left, dropping you off at your place before he headed to the airport to go home. He was going to, he swore he really was, but when he was leaving you looked so damn cute snoring away in his favorite shirt. So he left you a note, telling you to lock up before you left and that he’d see you the day he got back. You woke up peacefully, the light shining through the floor to ceiling windows in Matthew’s apartment and rolling your eyes at his note. You grab your phone, smiling when you notice he left it charging for you. 

You told me it was a nap.

Maybe you shouldn’t look so cute when you sleep then.

You roll over screaming in the pillow because you were going to ruin him.

***

Matthew had enough of the waiting game.

It's been nine days since that night and Matthew was losing his fucking mind. He was playing like absolute garbage, his name off the scoresheet since the All Star break. Matthew was lashing out left and right, both against the opposition and his own friends when they grew concerned. He thought about moving on, even calling up an old fling. That didn’t end well, Matthew moaning your name by accident in bed and then she left almost immediately after. He was frustrated with himself for getting this invested, but you were intoxicating. Matthew left the Saddledome after another shit game and drove to your place, with the intent that you were either going to hear him out or he was going to have to cut you out of his life.

“Hi?” You were confused when you saw him on the other side of the door, you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. You were already pressed, wondering what Matthew thought he was doing banging on your apartment door. He looked pissed, bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days and you were already rolling your eyes at the tweets about him being a bust.

“I can’t do this shit anymore,” Matthew steps inside, stomping into your space and gritting his words, “You have this hold on me, and I know I told you I could be cool about this but I can’t be. I’m fucking jealous of every other dude you could be with and I think about it all the time-”

“And I’m a heartless bitch,” You hiss, every wall you had just got taller. Your words could cut like a knife, and you were ready to let Matthew have it, “I’ve heard it from everyone, I ruin people Matthew, save me the argument.”

“You’re not going to ruin me, I know you, fuck,” Matthew steps forward, every bit of anger in his body disappearing when he saw the way you lip was starting to quiver. His voice got lower, his thumb running along your jaw, “I know you think you bring out the worst in me, but you bring out my best too.”

“I’m going to hurt you, I always do,” You whisper, averting your eyes down so you didn’t have to look at him.

“Then hurt me later,” Matthew took this as his turn to shrug, try and take a page in your book and be a little nonchalant, “For now, could we just try this out? No games, no one else, just us.”

“This is bad for you Matthew,” You give him one more warning, pulling him closer to you and tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Be bad for me then,” Matthew groans, grabbing a handful of your ass and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Matthew!”

[lostinthewiind]

Can I request a Tsukishima Kei x reader where they make up after an argument please 💜 also are there any prompt lists that you like and we can look through? If no, that’s cool too!

Make-Ups Instead of Break-Ups

A/N: I’ve never really used any prompt lists before, so I don’t have any ones in particular that I can direct you to, unfortunately. However, I’ll write pretty much anything so if you find a prompt from some random list and want me to write it, just send it my way! If anyone is unsure, just shoot me a private message or an anon ask and I’ll try my best to answer ASAP! (Btw, thanks for requesting! Tsukki is one of my fav Haikyuu characters and I just LOVE writing for him)

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Rating: PG

Warnings: some arguing, in case that isn’t your jam, but other than that it’s pretty family-friendly 

Biting your tongue, you drew in a few deep breaths from your nose, trying your hardest not to let any of the harsh words that you’d surely regret later spring forth from your mouth. 

Across from you, standing with his arms crossed and an irritatingly smug look plastered across his face, Tsukki waited for you to either give in to your anger or storm off; those were the only two ways you knew how to handle arguments with him, even though neither one of them ever seemed to do you any good.

Even though this disagreement had sprouted from something as simple as Tsukki being late without sending you a courtesy text or call to let you know, your current boiling blood originated more from the series of things you had been bottling up inside for the past month or so.

At first, you had thought it was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill rough patch, but as time went on and things gradually got worse, you actually started to believe that your relationship had run its course. Ignored texts, missed phone calls, dry conversations, and the like had you ready to burst at the seam, and today, that seam had finally gave way.

“I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to be considerate,” you said in an attempt to remain composed but still convey how you were really feeling. You knew that if you never brought up the issues, Tsukki wouldn’t either, and then things would just be left to simmer and eventually, boil over. So, the confrontation was left up to you.

“Practice ran long.” He huffed. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about that.”

You shook your head, your irritation growing as he seemingly refused to acknowledge the point you were trying to make. “I never said I was mad about practice running long. I understand that things happen. What I’m trying to tell you is that it would be nice for you to let me know so that I’m not standing around waiting for thirty minutes, thinking you stood me up.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” He threw his hands into the air for effect.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a big deal because if you had told me you were running late instead of just leaving me in the dark, we wouldn’t be arguing right now.”

“We wouldn’t be arguing right now if you didn’t insisit on overreacting about every little thing.”

And there it was. The words that finally pushed you over the edge. The breaking point. 

“Do you even want to be with me anymore?!” you shouted, definitely louder than you had intended. “Because it certainly doesn’t seem like it, and if that’s the case then please just be honest with me because I can’t keep doing this.”

For the first time since you had met him, Tsukki was speechless. No snarky remark, no annoying facial expression, no nonchalant shrug. Nothing. The tall blonde boy was completely taken aback by your sudden outburst.

This time, it was your turn to cross your arms over your chest and wait for a response. When none came, you scoffed.

“You don’t even care enough to say something when I’m talking about breaking up?” You were actually shocked. Sure, Tsukki was bad with emotions on the best of days, but this was a whole new low that you hadn’t been expecting. “Nothing?”

You watched the anger wash away from your boyfriend’s face, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening. But still, he didn’t say a word; because he didn’t want to or he didn’t know what to say, you weren’t sure . . . but in that moment, his silence spoke volumes.

“Then I guess that’s it.” The words physically hurt to say, but you knew it needed to be done. 

Then, without warning, Tsukki turned and walked out of your room. You felt your heart shred to pieces as you watched his retreating figure, and when he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight, your stomach began to twist itself into tight, uncomfortable knots. 

You waited until you heard the front door open and close before you allowed yourself to cry, but it never happened. When you heard the faint sound of rummaging in the other room, your curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you ventured into the living room where Tsukki had dropped his volleyball bag upon arriving. Leaning against the wall, you watched him dig through the bag frantically. 

“What are you doing?” you asked. Completely dumbfounded at the way he seemed totally unaffected by your words.

Finally, he stilled, his hand clamped around whatever it was he had been looking for. You watched his chest rise and fall as he drew in deep breaths, and when he turned to face you, you were surprised to see tears in his eyes.

Standing to his full height, which towered above you, he approached you carefully, almost like you were a stray dog, and he held out a small, wrapped box toward you. 

Your eyes shifted from him to the box, unsure of what was happening.

“This is for you,” he said, and when you still looked puzzled, he elaborated. “For your birthday next month. I didn’t know what to get you, so I’ve been asking the guys for help . . . which was probably a horrible idea, now that I think about it. Practice didn’t run late today. I was picking this up. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to be late.”

Suddenly, you felt like the biggest idiot in the entire world. Even though you felt like you didn’t deserve any sort of gift at all, you took the box from Tsukki’s hand because every second that you didn’t, he looked more and more worried you were going to completely reject him.

“What about all the other times?” you inquired, hoping he had an explanations for that as well. “You’ve been so distant.”

“Yeah . . . I was hoping you hadn’t noticed any of that. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do for your birthday without being too obvious about it and I think I got a little too inside my own head.” He nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I was worried if I opened my mouth, I would let something slip. I felt like I was going to be like Hinata and just say whatever I was thinking . . . it was a horrible feeling.”

You chuckled softly at that. “Why didn’t you just ask me what I wanted for my birthday? Seems that would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

“Nishinoya said girls like to be surprised,” he answered. “Apparently it’s more . . . romantic.”

You quirked an eyebrow up at him and smirked. “And you listened to him?”

He hung his head. “Not my proudest moment.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me all of this before? Why wait until I was ready to end it all?”

Tsukki shrugged. “. . . stubborn . . .” he muttered, barely even audible. 

“What was that?” You leaned in closer.

“I’m stubborn!” He admitted, the tears gone from his eyes now and his expression one of humiliated acknowledgement. “I’m a hard-headed jerk who messed up!”

You smiled warmly before handing the box back to Tsukki. His eyes widened at the gesture, convinced you were rejecting him and the gift. 

“Give it to me on my actual birthday,” you told him before he could spiral too much. “And next time, just talk to me instead of being all shady.”

Tsukki’s mood lifted as he took the box back into his hands once again. “Does this mean . . .?” His eyes were filled with hope; a wondrous look that you rarely saw on his face. You almost wanted to pull out your phone and take a photo.

“Since you came prepared with a gift and a solid explanation, I forgive you.” You wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him tight. “But if you ever go silent on me again or forget to tell me when you’re running late, I will shove my foot so far up-”

Tsukki quickly hugged you back, pressing your face into his t-shirt and promptly shushing you before you could get the rest of your threat out. “I promise I’ll do better,” he whispered before pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “And I promise I’ll never listen to the guys ever again.”

[blessednereid]

LFLLLL Prologue: Mutual Pining

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

WC: 3.5k

Taglist: @rogershoe

~

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

        Lydia's House

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Lydiaaaaaa!" You had barged into Lydia's house unannounced that afternoon. You had work that afternoon, but you called in sick, not physically, but emotionally. And only Lydia could help you. 

"LYDIA LORRAINE MARTIN!"

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Lydia's mom, Natalie, had come out of her office because of your shouts.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Martin, I didn't realize you were home. Your car wasn't in the driveway," you apologized.

"It's fine, dear. Lydia's upstairs taking a nap. You know how much of a heavy sleeper she is."

"Thank you, Mrs. Martin."

"Please, I've told you many times. Call me Natalie."

You nodded before heading upstairs, where Lydia's room was. 

You opened her door, and as you thought, she was lying on the bed, snoring and drooling. A sight you had gotten very used to since you first met her in third grade. 

"Lydia Lorraine Martin. We have a code-red!"

Immediately, Lydia jolted up from her bed and began flailing her arms in the air. She lost balance before falling off the side. 

"Oh, MY- Ugh." You went to help her sit back upright on the bed, sat next to her, and laid your head in her lap. 

"Y/n, what's wrong? Why did you wake me up?"

"We have a code red!!"

'Code reds' were what you and Lydia had when you caught real feelings for a guy. 

When you were younger and in middle school, Lydia had gotten a crush on the cutest guy in your math class. 

On Valentines Day, she wrote him a card and put it in his locker. The card said, "I think you're cute♡︎ What do you think about me?" Later that same day, she found out that almost all of the kids in your two's class had read the card. And on top of that, the guy was a huge jerk about it. 

Since then, you and Lydia vowed to never catch feelings for anyone until you were at least twenty-five. 

"Who is it, babe? What happened?" Lydia asked with a concerned tone. 

"It's Isaac."

"Your partner for the World History project?" 

"Yeah, him," you sighed. "We started getting closer, and he started talking to me, and we bonded over our moms' death, and there were carnival rides and vampires and freezy pops!"

"Woah, Woah, Woah! Slow down!"

"So basically, I did what you told me and took him to the county carnival, right? Then, he told me about his mom dying, and we talked about that, and then we went on rides and fought about their pace, and he was fine after like a two-hundred-foot drop. So then, we went on a rollercoaster, and after that, I was cold because I was wearing a light jacket."

"Okay, keep going…"

"So then he warmed me up by giving me a hug and then led me in the building, and we just hung out there until like five? Then when we were doing the slideshow, he started asking me about my room and shit, and when we were done, we watched that show I told you about, with the high school vampires."

"Oh, the babysitter one?"

"Yeah, that. So, he was actually interested. And then we just kept watching it together throughout the week since we finished the project. And then when we were presenting today, you know I have that stage fright. He just held my hand and calmed me down, and he listened to me after we were done, and he actually cared about it instead of dismissing it.

"Not that you dismiss it, Lydia." She nodded. 

"Anyways, after that, GB had to talk to us, and she ratted me out about writing his name down, and then he got slightly mad at me but not really, and then I explained. And he just told me he would see me tomorrow for our movie night…" you trailed off, debating whether you should tell her the last part.

"So that's when you realized?"

"After that, I turned away, and then he kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, 'see you tomorrow or something like that!"

Lydia chuckled. "So you have a code red?"

"Lydia, I have a hang-out with him tomorrow. I'm not gonna be able to fucking think straight!" 

"Babe, just go and see how it goes. Maybe it's a 24-hours thing, you know? Just adrenaline. It affected you like this because you don't go out."

"Lyds, it's not like that. It's different."

"Y/n, that's what I tell myself before every hookup," she deadpanned.

"Okay, yeah. You're right. It's just a 24-hour thing."

"It's just adrenaline, babes. Nothing more, nothing less."

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

  Movie Night

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

'Nothing more, nothing less…"

Those were the words that kept repeating in your head as you twisted Isaac's hair around your fingers around Isaac's hair as his head rested in your lap.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You blinked rapidly.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine!" 

"It's just, you're not watching the show?" 

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about something."

"Whatever you say, princess…" 

Princess. The pet name made your heart flutter, and you thought you would explode. 

"Give me a minute, please!" was all you said before picking up your phone and dashing out the room.

You headed to the bathroom and dialed Lydia's number right after texting her "Code Red Emergency."

"It's not a 24-hours thing, is it?" she said when she picked up.

"No…"

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do…"

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 Previous Day

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

       Isaac

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

He watched you as you turned around. His nerves crawled through his spine, and he curled and unfurled his fingers before finding the confidence–, no, before finding the ability to move.

When his lips touched the side of your face, his heart was set aflame. 

'How did I just do that?' he thought. But entirely different words came out of his mouth. 

"See you," he said, and he internally pumped the air when he saw your lips curl upwards into a smile.

When he reached class, his actions had finally sunk into his mind. 

He went to his seat where his friend, Dillon Karis, sat beside him. Dillon was the only friend of Isaac, and they had known each other since middle school. 

"Dude!"

Dillon turned his head to his friend, whose urgent tone caught his attention.

"You know that girl I was telling you about?" Isaac said enthusiastically.

Dillon scoffed. "You mean the one who's been taking up all your Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights?

"Yeah, I remember her."

Isaac rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Dude, I think I may actually like her…"

"Holy—" Isaac cut him off.

"Shut up!"

Dillon took two breaths to calm down before speaking.

"Explain. Now!"

Isaac threw his head back.

"I don't know. It's just the way she makes me feel." He smiled. "It's like… the way my mom used to tell me about how she felt about my dad? It's weird."

"Bro, you barely know her. Are you sure?" 

"No, I'm not sure, but I think."

"Well, let me know. This is interesting. Shoulda brought some popcorn today, as I had planned," Dillon burst out laughing, and Isaac followed.

"Dude, I have to go to her house tomorrow."

"Why? I thought you already turned in the project." 

"We have our movie night," Isaac said before realizing what that might sound like to his friend. 

"Oh shit! So y'all already been going on dates?"

"No! No…" Isaac pointed his finger at his friend, signaling him to stop.

"Dude, so what are you gonna do?" 

"I don't know…"

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Movie Night

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Isaac was now highly flustered as he laid his head in your lap. You didn't bring up the kiss, so he assumed he either made you uncomfortable or you didn't like him enough to care. 

He looked at your face to see if there were any signals or indications, but he saw that you were completely zoned out. 

"Y/n, are you okay?"

You blinked before saying, "Oh yeah, I'm fine." 

Isaac raised his eyebrows before turning his attention back to the television. 

When you dashed out the room with little explanation, Isaac took his emotional matters into his own hands. He had decided to get rid of his feelings, sure that they were unrequited.

He headed out of your room and knocked on Stiles' door. 

"Come in!" he heard faintly, and he opened the door.

"Isaac, what's up?" Stiles had barely looked up from his work.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but I need some advice, and I figured that you probably know a lot about girls…"

"Not really, but I'm flattered you would think that. Please come in!"

Isaac stepped into the room and sat on Stiles' bed.

"Is this fine?" to which Stiles nodded.

"So, Isaac. Tell me what's going on," Stiles said before clasping his hands together. 

Isaac took multiple deep breaths. He was about to ask your brother how to get rid of his feelings for you. Who does that?

"I have a crush… on this girl. And I know that she doesn't like—" 

"You know, or you think?" 

"I think, but she's given no sign of liking me…"

"Okay, continue."

"She doesn't like me. And I was wondering if you knew if there was anything I could do to… get rid of the feelings I have…"

"Oh boy. Isaac, I wish I knew. I'm in that same position. However! I wouldn't tell you if I did know. Because you never know, right? Unless they've told you that they don't like you, you don't know for sure. And even then, it could happen in the future."

That was not the advice Isaac was hoping for, preferring to put himself out of his misery before he could get in it. 

"Alright, thanks, Stiles."

"No problem, bud!" 

Isaac walked back to your room, where you were laid down on your back. 

"Hey, where did you go?" 

"Nowhere, I just needed to… uh.. get some air." 

You squint your eyes, and even Isaac wasn't convinced by his lie, but he didn't say anything else before he laid beside you. 

"Lydia is having a party next Saturday. You should come."

"Oh, I don't think—"

"Please, Isaac? It'll be good for you to get out of your house like Mrs. GB said."

He couldn't resist the tug on his heart when you flashed your pouting eyes, and he had to give in.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do. That's not a promise." 

"Yay!" You exclaimed before pressing a kiss to his forehead. The action made Isaac's heart race, and all he wanted to do at that moment was kiss you. 

In fact, it was all he thought of for the next few minutes. 

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Isaac's Daydream

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Love?" 

"Yes, babe?" you responded to him. 

"This is the spot. Stop going ahead of me." 

You mouthed an "Oh" before laying down on the blanket he set by the flowerbed. 

"So, whose house are we breaking into right now, Mr. Lahey?" you teased. You and Isaac were sitting in the backyard of a foreign house you had never seen, but you followed Isaac anyways.

"Yours."

You scoffed a 'what' as you had never seen the house in your life.

"Mines. Ours." He smirked.

Your face of pleasant surprise made his racing heart slow, as he thought you wouldn't like it. 

"This is our house?" 

"Well, it was my grandparent's house. They left it to me when they died. They said I can only get it when I turn 18, and now since we're together, It's our house."

You leaped onto his lap and kissed him feverishly. 

"This is the best surprise ever!"

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Reality

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Isaac!" You yelled, and Isaac didn't know what you had said before. 

"Sorry! I just zoned out."

"It's not a problem."

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

You

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"So, do you want to watch a scary movie?" 

You actually weren't planning on doing any of what Lydia had suggested you do, which was to just come outright and tell him you like him. 

Instead, you chose to suffer in silence, thinking there was no way possible that Isaac liked you back. And even if he had, you two would be better off as friends… Right?

At least that is what you chose to tell yourself.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Isaac Leaves

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

When the movie was over, Isaac went home, and you prepared for bed. 

That night you dreamt of things you wanted in your life that you couldn't have. 

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Your Dream

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Hey, Isaac?"

You two were curled up together on a couch watching a movie, much like your reality. However, a few things were different.

"What are we having for dinner?"

"Babe, we're in a hotel, and the only restaurants have a pre-set menu. If you want food, you either get what they have, or we Postmates." 

"But neither sounds good. I want Pasta!" 

He sighed. "Then lets Postmates pasta, babe."

"But I want you to make it," you pouted. 

"Okay, how about this." You turned to face him to hear his proposition. 

"I get you dessert with the food they have here, and I make you pasta tomorrow?" 

You smiled and wrapped an arm around his neck.

You hummed before saying, "That sounds perfect," and he kissed you with a burning passion.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

       Morning

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Y/N! WAKE UP!" Stiles woke you up from your dream. 

"WHERE'S THE FIRE?" You flailed around before falling off the bed. 

Stiles chuckled loudly. 

"MIECZYSŁAW STILINSKI!

"IT'S A FUCKING SUNDAY!" 

You groaned loudly before grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him, effectively knocking him down but not ceasing his laughter.

"Relax, Relax! Dad's taking us out for breakfast."

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Ugh, I hate you. GO! Let me change!"

"Wait! Wait! I have a question…"

"What?" 

"What's going on between you and Lahey?"

You looked down and away from him. "Nothing," you murmured. 

When you looked back at him, his eyes were narrowed, and his forehead was crinkled. 

"I don't believe you one bit."

Your face heated. 

"There's nothing going on, Stiles."

He scoffed. "We may be fraternal, but we're still twins, Y/n. Whatever, I don't like him anyway."

"Why not, Sti?"

He moved his face closer to yours, and you craned your head back for air. 

"Because I'm your brother, I'm never gonna like any guy you date. None of them are worthy of my sister."

"Well, you don't have to hate him because nothing is going on."

"Hmmm... Sure," he stated simply before walking out. 

You got ready, wearing an off-shoulder baby blue top that was slightly… starchy in texture, as well as a pink plaid miniskirt and black slip-on sneakers. 

When you got downstairs, your dad and Stiles sighed a heavy "finally," and you mocked offense. 

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Waffle House

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

You got in the car and began driving. You looked out the window enjoying all the sights while Stiles tried to coax your dad into talking about cases. 

Your dad turned and pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House.

You sat at the counter and talked until someone came to get your drinks order. 

"So, Stiles, when are you going to bring a date home?" your dad asked with a squint. 

"Not anytime soon, He's still stuck on Lydia."

Stiles blushed. "Well, I mean, It's working. She knows who I am. "

"No, she doesn't. But… I do know this girl—" Stiles cut you off. 

"If it's not Lydia, then no, thank you. I'm stuck on her like white on rice."

Your dad interjected your argument. "Stiles, you sound like a stalker. Normally, we arrest people like you."

"Okay, Let's change the subject. Y/n, wanna tell dad about Isaac or should I?" 

You rolled your eyes. "Why should I? There's nothing going on?"

"Wait, who's Isaac?" your dad said while whirling his hand beside his head. 

"He was my partner for a project I had for World History."

Stiles laughed. "We presented on Friday. What have you guys been doing in your room?"

Your dad's eyes widened. "Why is he in your room?" 

"We just watch movies, Dad! We do nothing else!" 

"I highly doubt that. In fact, why don't I ask Isaac right now?" 

You blanched. "What do you mean?"

"He's coming up behind us," he said, looking past your head. 

You began choking when you saw him in your peripheral version. 

"Can I get you something t- Stiles!" Isaac popped up from behind you and began to ask for your drink orders. 

"Hey, Isaac," you said as you turned around. 

"Hey, Y/n!" His intonation was normal, his facial expression was off. 

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

Isaac

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"What do you want to drink?" he asked, though his focus was on your dad's squinted gaze pointed directly at him. 

"Can I get a coffee?" Noah spoke up first. Isaac jotted down his order.

Stiles followed. 

"I'll get an Arnold Palmer!" he said while raising his hand. 

"Is that on the menu?" Isaac asked confusedly.

"No, but it's half of a lemonade, half of an iced tea in one glass."

"Okay… Arnold Palmer." 

"Y/n," the lovestruck boy said with a smile. "What about you?" 

The corners of your mouth turned up. "It's not on the menu, but is there an option for an iced coffee?" 

"Uh, I'm sure there is." He knew there wasn't, but he also knew you didn't like hot coffee much. 

"Are you sure? I don't want to--"

"It's fine, Y/n," he reassured.  

He walked away and headed to the kitchen to tell the cooks the drink order. 

"I need an iced coffee, a regular coffee, and A half-and-half lemonade-iced tea. Please," he added. 

Isaac glanced outside the kitchen window and gazed at you softly. He admired the way your eyes glimmered in the sun and how your hair bounced with every gesture you made. From this, he began to appreciate how amazing your hair looked and how the light refracted off of it. 

He smiled a lopsided grin as he watched the way your lips move. He imagined how they would feel on his. Soft. Smooth. He had the notion that you were probably experienced in that field, more so than he was. 

No. He couldn't imagine that. When he thought about the things he just thought, it sounded creepy and perverted. Besides, there was no way that you liked him back, so even thinking about it would just lead to further heartbreak. 

He grabbed your table's drinks and walked back, trying to ignore your smile because he couldn't stop the race that his heart ran whenever he saw it.

"Alright, here are your drinks."

"Isaac, can I talk to you outside?" asked Stiles.

"I'm actually working, so I can't do that. But, I can take your orders."

He jotted down each of your orders and went back to the kitchens.

╭╼|══════════|╾╮

            You

╰╼|══════════|╾╯

"Stiles, I swear to God, I'm gonna hurt you."

"Not my fault you're over here pining after Lahey but won't do anything about it."

"Up your ass and off your high horse, Stiles!" You did your best to be quiet with your statement, but your dad still heard. 

"Hey, hey!"

"Sorry, Dad," you and Stiles said simultaneously. 

You watched the cooks prepare the food in front of you, but you hoped to see Isaac somehow, even though he was in the back.

You thought about his messy hair and how it felt in-between your fingers... How his eyes dilated with each smile, and the tiny specks of green in those ocean blue eyes were always able to calm you down.

You noticed how his lips were never chapped and how his cheeks looked like apples when he smiled, and the one dimple that was prominent in those moments as well. 

You wondered if this was how Lydia felt for the boy that caused their entire concept of code reds or if you began to feel something much more for the boy with the shy demeanor and quiet voice. 

When Isaac came back, you thought about how you could try to confess your feelings. But, you knew that if Isaac was barely willing to talk to you for a long time, it would be a snowball's chance in hell that he liked you the same way. 

"Alright, here's your waffles and your hash-browns, Y/n. Your sandwich, Sheriff, and your All-Star breakfast, Stiles."

"Thank you, Isaac," you said with a smile.

He turned to leave before you called out. 

"Um, Isaac!" He spun around on his heel at your calling with a questioning look on his face. 

He walked back towards you, prepared to write something else down on his order pad. 

"Movie night, tomorrow?"

He smiled. "Yeah, sure." 

"Dorota, you cannot tell me you do not like him."

"Mieczysław, I do not." 

Your dad cut in. "Sweetheart, and if you do?"

"I don't. Can we just leave it at that?" 

~

[5283]

wanted to do this for some time now, it's literally useless and doesn't matter but i want to have some fun and share

how i see each stray kid:

― i.n (maknae first rule applies here too let's go)

a freshly baked butter croissant with just right crunchiness on the outside and sweet softness on the inside; one of those clean plain oversized outfit aesthetic instagrammers; handsome not in an intimidating way but in the has-the-warmest-heart kind of way; probably finds "boring" activities like sitting in cafes or in parks for hours and just talking very fun; is a true food connoisseur but somehow you only see him eat the same few foods everyday; has a lot of mysterious hobbies he tells no one about and also has a secret talent de-shelling shrimps very fast.

― seungmin

a barista that you could feel insulted by if you took things very personally but he just asked your choice of milk in a way too serious tone; not a puppy at all, only likes pretending being one and either thinks he's deceiving everyone around him very well or just couldn't care less if anyone notices; encourages swearing as an emotional release technique but doesn't swear himself and speaks in an almost uncomfortable refined manner; cat-type of clingy where one moment he's on your lap purring not letting you remove him and the other he's biting your finger when you just wanted to scratch his chin quickly to say goodbye as you were leaving.

― felix

a house gnome that silently dusts off your window panes and bookshelves at night while you soundly sleep; a schoolmate in elementary school that would always braid your hair during recess; you can see his bright yellow aureole around his head even if you're not a clairvoyant; a pastor at your local church that gives free drums lessons every week; has glittery fairy wings and fangs that appear once on a full moon; has a power of reading minds and secretly helps you with little things but you couldn't figure it out because of how discreet he is about it; the cousin living nearby that had the newest playstation so you'd come over to play often.

― han

the sequence of golden ratio; a friend that always remembers his dreams from start to finish and every other day tells you about the one he had last night so enthusiastically you could believe it actually happened in real life; the safety of entering an empty coffee shop when it just opened and them having your favorite cake; would tell you the entire plot of an anime he recently finished watching including spoilers because he was just so excited about it and couldn't hold it in any longer; would forget to text you but once he'd do, it would be 5 detailed paragraphs on how he's been lately and asking you how you've been too.

― hyunjin

would send you facebook event requests for new art exhibitions every week; carries a film camera when he goes for a packet of banana milk to a grocery store 5 minutes away; gifts you polaroid pictures he's taken of you on your birthdays; a person whose little gestures and speech patterns you could observe for hours out of pure fascination; your aunt that lives far away from you and is not involved in your personal life at all but still remembers to congratulate you on your birthday every year and her text is always the one that hits home the most.

― changbin

would buy you that big ikea djungelskog bear plush and leave it at your door without an explanation; actual manifestation of the leo zodiac; isn't about brands at all but somehow his socks are prada nevertheless and they're different colors too because he couldn't find the matching pair in the morning; his hugs are probably your favorite type of hugs even if they're short and you start feeling suffocated after 5 seconds; could not take the seat designated for the elderly / pregnant women and would just stand when riding the bus even if it's almost empty.

― lee know

knows about the most embarrassing moments in your life better than your trusted parental figure; is the first one you would come out to about your gender or sexuality; believes in 3 second rule and counts down the seconds faithfully everytime a food touches the ground; on his bookshelf you can find a book about studies on serial killers touching the back of one about moomins by tove jansson; comes over to clip your cat's nails and clean its ears; knows names of every tree by looking at its leaves; a family member who wakes up earlier to make everyone breakfast along with their favorite warm drinks.

― bang chan

the feeling of oneness when you look up at the night sky and see the stars; the "look at the moon!!!" person that always uses a she pronoun when talking about it; would probably get into a playful argument with you about how you used some big word wrongly in a sentence; truest personification of an ENFJ - the word 'family' should actually be credited under his name; most probably was a greek god in one of his past lives; growing up didn't skip an episode of H2O when it was airing real time, also watched series about lifeguards as a teen; probably used to be a tumblr user in like 2013 reblogging those #grunge photos and #quotes in white bold italic font on top of a darker background picture of some blurry dried rose.

[vidalinav]

You know.... Now that I think about it, I think I would have preferred Nesta and Cassian accepting each other despite their flaws rather than glorifying each other in their pursuit of self-deprecation. This concept of Cassian being “too good” and Nesta deserving someone more than him- a prince, king, blah blah blah, is so weird to me, especially because those ideas aren’t really disputed. At the end, they think exactly the same way, because one of them is unrealistically glorified more than the other in their minds. I understand it, it’s just a narrative decision I don’t particularly like, because of how it’s framed. I HATE the idea that you have to deserve someone or work to have someone. Relationships are work, but... love is not deserved. That implies some level of acceptability, which is the whole problem with the book, because that’s Nesta’s entire narrative--how much does she deserve healing? How much does she deserve decency or agency? How much does she deserve free will, love, and acceptance? Is she acceptable for all of these things? When does she become acceptable enough to be accepted? 

I really didn’t think that their relationship was set up to be like that. I assumed (wrongly) based on what we got in ACOMAF and ACOWAR that they were the only two people who understood each other intrinsically and ALL of the ugly parts of each other-where it came from, how it made them feel, the actions that they took because of this. Cassian was pushy. Nesta was mean. But the pull was strong, and it was deeper than sexual. I read it that they both had very thick masks, Cassian being the funny, friendly, easy going guy and Nesta being this snarky, angry, arrogant woman, and they were the only two who saw what was beneath those masks and didn’t shy away. It made no difference to them, because they couldn’t stop this pull. But it did make them wary, because to be known is scary and so much would then change, because these masks are a lie or at least not all they are. No longer would Cassian be able to have this love “triangle” or... view himself with that persona only, it wasn’t going to fool Nesta, and Nesta wouldn’t be able to get away with just being on the defense and saying harsh words or giving harsh looks. It wasn’t going to push him away. It didn’t in ACOWAR, in Wings of Ember, in ACOMAF. 

I was very excited for them to discover their actual lives, their backgrounds and opinions, etc--for them to decide what they actually understood about each other, because they didn’t know each other at all. They just saw what they did, what actions they took in the present time, what information they already knew from observation or Feyre. It was just the surface of each other, and still they showed this deep level of caring, where Cassian kept coming back, and told her he’d fight for the humans and Nesta worrying about him and almost sacrificing her life. It really parallels her powers IMO, because we only knew the surface of them from the very beginning, but we knew they were great and all powerful, and unfortunately like her powers, it was not explored beyond the surface. A fact I find ironic because drowning and the sea is a theme around Nesta, and most of the ocean I guess is left unexplored and so is... everything regarding Nesta. 

But anyway, to empathize with someone is to understand the reasoning behind unacceptable circumstances, because you see it from their eyes, walk in their shoes. I don’t care how many people argue that knowing a character’s background (sob story) is excusing actions. There’s a difference between excuses and explanations, and that relies a lot on how the text is framed, the actions that the character takes, and the opinion of the author, really on how they’re going to make that differentiation. Accountability has a lot to do with it, but as we’ve all argued the balance of this series about accountability is way off. But, to be known is the beginning of being understood. And, I for sure think that this book, knowing that Nesta is the character “who feels so much” should then have had a narrative that is centered around empathy. That only makes sense to me for her as a character and as a concept, but also for the basis of their relationship, because from the beginning Cassian saw through her and she saw through him. 

That being said I think I would have preferred their narratives to be framed around the fact that they feel they suck as individuals and love each other anyway but without the glorification of the other. Because that’s probably correct, they’re suppose to be flawed and they’ve been characterized now as being self-depreciating, so that does have to come in to play, but they’re NOT perfect or above each other. I would have preferred this idea that they may suck, they may have done “unacceptable things” or been in “unacceptable” circumstances or feel “unacceptable”, but they accept this. They accept that they will never be good enough, and learn that “love is complicated” like Cassian says and it isn’t deserved. It’s maintained... and in that maintenance they can heal those wounds where they feel that they don’t like themselves or are undeserving. It’s basically the same thing, except it’s without this condition of “acceptability” and without the imbalance of glorification. They are equal then. Not because they both think that they now have a partner that is someone that they couldn’t imagine having and that they’re so happy and grateful for them and they’re working on themselves, because that’s an imbalance in itself, but because they don’t have to be anyone but themselves, the vulnerable versions, where Nesta is allowed to drop the angry defense and Cassian is allowed to stop portraying ease, where they can portray these versions safely and comfortably with each other. 

Which happens! Because to some degree they do become more vulnerable with each other. But because of these imbalances, these narrative choices (ie. Nesta being villainized, that is never refuted, not even a little, Cassian not having a strong development as a MC or being held accountable for what he says, there is little to no empathy, there really isn’t too much learning about each other--it’s still very surface level, books, training, dad, war, surface past, and that’s it, etc) the book frames love in acceptability terms--in an imbalanced way. It’s so weird to me. I can only describe it as to the left of healing/love and to the left of what she already wrote in previous books. Technically, it’s all understandable and I could see why she chose certain characterizations, but the framing and decisions for certain points are so off, that it doesn’t seem exactly right...

To me, It’s both in and out of character. So, so strange. 

[velvetmel0n]

Jasmine Sambac

Summary: You decide to surprise your sugar daddy when he has a late night at work

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9k+. Don’t look at me like that.

Warnings: Sugar daddy!Cassian/sugar baby relationship, age gap probably? don’t worry Reader is at least somewhere in her early/mid twenties it’s fine, spanking, it’s Cassian but with Félix’s hair, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, little bit of dom!Cassian, mutual pining, unrequited (or is it?) love, bit of cum play, the old trenchcoat surprise lingerie trick, unspecified job titles, rough sex, angst if you squint, exactly ONE instance of daddy kink because c’mon he’s a sugar daddy I had to

A/N: If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been the last few days, this fic has consumed my life.

@damerondjarin @okay-hotshot @poeticandors @tintinwrites @darksideofclarke @acomplicatedprofession @lesqui @himbopoes @winters-buck @duamuteffe @ah-callie @paniclana @huliabitch @yougottakeeponkeepinon @halfwaythereroyal @leahsafae @myguysbsmokin @qveenbvtch @queenofheavenandhell @pascalispedro @agentpike @arcadianempress  @beskars @slfreya​ full disclosure I have no idea who to tag for this

Your cell phone is mocking you.

 It’s sitting on the stool you had dragged into your tiny bathroom and it’s been glaringly silent the entire time you’ve soaked in your small bathtub. The water has gone tepid at this point and the ache in your legs from being on your feet all day has faded away, clouds of Epsom salt-scented steam are still hanging in the air and your cell phone is silent.

It had barely been a week since you’d last seen him and already you feel yourself missing him, an almost physical ache that manifested somewhere in the first days without him and it’s stayed with you— you miss his touch, the sound of his voice. You even miss the smell of his cologne and how it rubs off on you, how it follows you home to the shoebox apartment you won’t let him buy you out of.  

The water sloshes around you as you crumble, lapping dangerously at the edge while you reach for the towel to dry your hands before you grab your phone. You open your conversation with Cassian, leaning back against the slick tiled wall as you read through the last series of messages. Your heart flutters, maybe stupidly, at the words on your screen. At the promises he makes of what he’s going to do to you or the gifts he’s going to give you, the food he says he’s going to feed you. 

Just like the last time you checked, you have no new messages from him— just his customary good morning message that he sends you at an ungodly hour almost every day, the timestamp from today’s reading 4:47am. Not for the first time you wonder if he doesn’t sleep well, trying to mask the concern as curiosity as it looms to the front of your mind. You wonder if he’s stressed, if he’s been losing sleep over the business deal he’s mentioned to you a handful of times when you ask about his work and you feel your heart twist in your chest at the thought of him still cooped up in his office at this hour. 

Your teeth dig into your lip as the idea begins to ignite in your mind, an idea that you’ve been playing with ever since your arrangement with Cassian had been cemented what feels like ages ago and you can’t shake it. You don’t have work tomorrow or any prior engagements, there’s no real reason why you shouldn’t. There’s nothing concrete that you can hang onto as an excuse to not go, as if your burgeoning feelings will wash down the drain with the bathwater as long you ignore them, as long as you don’t feed them.

Your thumbs move before you can think better of it, asking if he’s still at the office. Your phone clatters back onto the stool as you stand and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel—  one gift that you had bought yourself and you drain the tub. When the water hiccups you can still feel a slow, stubborn warmth suffusing you at the thought of him.

You try not to think about your phone as you dry yourself, trying to take your time and wick every drop of moisture away from your supple skin. The Epsom salts had drawn the aches and pains from your limbs and had softened you to an extent, but it’s not enough, not if you actually go through with the scheme that’s unfurling, becoming more and more extravagant as the moments pass. If you’re going to do this at all you’re going to do this right. And that means breaking out the body oil.

You crouch in front of your sink and pull the cabinet drawers open to be met with a small army of glass bottles full of perfumes and oils that you’ve deemed too special, too decadent for daily use— but this is a special occasion. You fish out a bottle from the back, careful as you grip it. The oil looks barely used because it is, one you reserve even more than the others because it’s one of your favorites.

And Cassian’s.

You’re smoothing the oil along your legs, forcing yourself to take your time with the act and making sure you pay attention to each part of you when your phone dings, loud and shrill. It cuts through the jasmine fog you’ve created around yourself and somehow your stomach drops at the same time your heart leaps, lodging itself in the back of your throat.

You pretend not to notice the way your fingers tremble as you pick it up, a miniscule thrill arcing through you at the sight of his name on your screen. You know it’s pathetic that his name is enough to do this to you and it makes you feel a little like a schoolgirl with a crush on her professor, complete with breathless anxiety at the thought of seeing him again.

Still here. I’m sorry baby, I was planning to take you out if I finished early enough.

You imagine him sitting at his big desk in that big office of his, hunched over files and his computer as he tries to iron out details and numbers and whatever else it is that makes business deals work in practice. You know he keeps his hair slicked back for work— one of your favorite things to do is run your fingers through it but you think that he must have already done that for you, agitation making him break that perfect image of his. 

You smile to yourself, sit your phone face down on the sink to resist the temptation. You finish oiling yourself, making sure to dab extra onto your pulse points in lieu of perfume. Behind your ears, in the hollow of your throat. Between your breasts and on your wrists. 

You choose your lingerie next, all silk and lace and buttery fabric between your fingers as you slide it over your skin. Your mind is running rampant, excitement flaring hot and bright in the pit of your stomach as you wrap yourself up like a present and daydream about the look on his face when he sees you, how he’ll react. 

The doubt only surfaces when you’re buttoning your coat, starting to curdle the butterflies in your stomach— because what if he’s annoyed with you showing up without a word? What if he just wants to power through his work before he calls it a night and you throw a wrench into it? But...he has confided to you in the past that he doesn’t know how to stop working, that sometimes he wishes he knew how to actually take a break. You’d seen Cassian in action on multiple occasions, had even rubbed his shoulders for him as he took conference calls on what was supposed to be a day off. 

This is the thought you cling to as you slice into a loaf of bread to make him a sandwich, meats and cheese and pickles all laid out on your cutting board when your phone dings again, this time from the pocket of your coat and again his name is on your screen.

Baby?

You’re at the front of his mind now and the edge of your worries smooths a bit even as you stop yourself from texting him back. Regardless of what happens, if you step into his office to see him tired and wanting to finish his work, only staying long enough to give him a kiss and tell him to eat his food, you want this to be a surprise. 

You layer the condiments and the ingredients together, toasting the sandwich off and wrapping the finished product in wax paper and then into a brown paper bag and all of a sudden you’re ready to leave. You check and re-check your buttons and the belt of your coat, thankful that there’s enough of a chill in the night air that no one will look at you sideways for wearing something that’s all done up and falling below your knees.

You take a deep breath, the little hairs along your arms and on the back of your neck standing up and you worry your lip, and call your taxi from in front of your building, the butterflies starting to swarm up again from somewhere deep in your stomach. If you’re being honest with yourself you had always wanted to do something like this, had always wanted to have someone that you wanted to surprise like this.

His company’s building is almost empty but the security guard who lets you in smiles and greets you by name— just as you do him. He teases you for being sweet on his boss, something you can’t deny and it makes you fluster. It’s the only explanation for why you had suddenly appeared on the list you imagine he has, your name one that’s waved through despite the odd hour even if the true nature of your relationship with ‘Mr. Andor’ is one that’s kept secret, only known between the two of you.

When the guard goes to buzz Cassian and let him know you’re here you stop him, all bashful smiles and holding up the lunch bag as if it’s some kind of defense, a shield for your ulterior motives. “I want to surprise him, he works too hard.” You admit and share a good natured chuckle with the older man when he readily agrees with you. He’s been with Cassian for years and this is far from the first night he’s stayed late.

Though this is the first time anyone has brought him food, and he makes sure to tell you that. 

You’re still thinking about it as you ride the elevator up to the top floor, but the sight of such a large building empty aside from security personnel with all non essential lighting turned off is something eerie. It makes your skin crawl and you regret all those horror movies you like to watch, convincing yourself that because you watch them during the day it won’t be as bad as if you were watching them in the middle of the night. 

You try to think of Cassian instead to assuage the chills that are creeping up the back of your neck, telling yourself to give the horror movies a rest for a while, and as the elevator climbs higher it begins to work. Your heart starts to beat a little faster, your breaths shallowing and you find yourself grinning to yourself as the doors open. 

It’s empty, as expected, and you can see the closed door of his office as you step out, the route through a small seating area and past the secretary’s desk one you have memorized and your blood begins to heat with each step you take. You pause outside his door, blowing out a slow breath and raising your hand to gently knock. You hear nothing on the other side of the door and instead of knocking again you reach for the handle and step in.

Cassian is seated at his desk just like you had imagined him, washed in warm light while the lights of the city below are sparkling like stars behind him. At the sound of someone entering his head shoots up and his eyes widen, only to melt into something softer and warmer as he recognizes you and leans back in his plush leather chair. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t sound accusatory— he sounds curious. 

He watches you with dark eyes as you lock the door before you walk further into the room and you feel a smirk growing on your lips as you drop the lunch bag into one of the chairs placed opposite of him, his eyes barely straying from you. “I brought you dinner,” You say it simply, nonchalantly— as if your fingers haven’t untied your belt and gotten to work on the first buttons of your coat at the same time. You work carefully, making sure nothing more than a sliver of skin is revealed as you work your way down the front.

“And what did you bring me?” His eyes don’t leave you, watching with rapt attention as you deftly undo button after button. You feel yourself start to flush underneath his scrutiny, drinking in the sight of his brows furrowing and him sitting up in his chair. You wet your lips, gripping the lapels of your coat for a long moment. To draw it out or muster the courage needed to actually drop the thing in the middle of his office you don’t know because all you can see is how he’s looking at you now, shifting his weight onto his forearms as he leans on his desk for a closer look at you. 

“Me.” You grin then, your residual insecurities being drowned by the thrill of it all and the heat of his gaze, and your coat falls in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Goosebumps cover your body at the noise he makes, a low groan from somewhere deep in his chest and you feel your nipples peak against the lace of your bra— if you can even call it one. The garment seems almost purely decorative, doing more to show you off than it does to conceal. He shifts in his chair, leans back again and rubs his hand over his chin, over the short hair that you’ve come to crave rasping over your skin. 

You see his eyes go heavy as you saunter around his desk, trying not to grin too brightly because for all the nerves you had getting ready and in the elevator, you don’t think you’ve ever felt better in this moment with his eyes all over you like he can’t decide where to look, his hand gripping the arm of his chair and shifting his weight. 

He stands before you can slide yourself between his legs and he’s so close you feel the warmth coming off of him, the cologne you had daydreamed about swirling around your head and you can’t help yourself from taking a deep breath of it. He moves slowly, dipping his face into the crook of your neck and you think you feel his eyelashes flutter against the delicate skin, no doubt smelling the jasmine you so lovingly doused yourself in. You do your best to stay still, even as you feel his large palms sliding along your sides, gripping your hips over the lace and silk he finds there. 

When he finally raises his head his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black, swallowing you up whole. “And you think you can just interrupt me?” His words are quiet and his accent is more pronounced than it was only moments ago. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how his voice sounds. You love how it doubles and triples in weight and you would be lying through your teeth if you said one of your goals isn’t to have him speaking another language by the time you leave the building. It’s the same goal you have every time you see him.

“I wanted to see you, Daddy,” You try not to smirk, you really do, when you reach up to give the open collar of his dress shirt a little tug, playing at fixing it. You know exactly what game he’s playing and it makes your heart race because you know what’s coming next— your mouth might even be watering for it.

“Bend over the desk.” He says it softly. He says it softly enough that it almost doesn’t sound like the order it is but he squeezes your hips to emphasize his point, his fingers indenting the soft flesh and you almost melt right there. 

You nod, wetting  your lips as he shoves the files on his desk to the side and he doesn’t seem to care as they clatter to the floor. You arrange yourself in front of his desk with your legs spread and bend over at the waist, bracing your weight on your forearms and the muscles in your belly are already clenching when you feel him step up behind you.  He runs his hands lightly over your sides and you almost fold in on yourself when he hits that one spot underneath your rib cage, the one that’s the almost-but-not-quite kind of ticklish that just makes the hair on your neck stand up and your muscles quiver. 

Your eyelids flutter and you try your best to stay still as he pets you, ghosting his hands over your hips and your backside, teasingly slipping a finger underneath the elastic of your panties and letting it snap back against your skin. Your back arches in response and you bite your lip, the anticipation almost enough to make you moan.

 “Just look at you, dirty girl,” He murmurs from behind you and you think you can feel the fabric of his slacks if you concentrate hard enough, the touch maddeningly fleeting and you have to keep yourself from pressing back into him, from rolling your hips in an effort to entice him. You know from experience he’ll just make you wait longer if you do but it does nothing to dull the ache that has flared to life between your spread thighs. If anything the knowledge just makes it burn hotter. 

“Coming all the way here in lingerie I bought you and nothing to cover it except that flimsy coat,” His words are scolding but his hands are still gentle on your skin. “Anyone could have seen you, do you know that? Anyone could have seen what is mine,” If someone had told you six months ago that you would be dissolving into Cassian Andor’s desk at the sound of his voice in your ear, at the sound of him taking verbal possession of you, you would have laughed in their face. 

And yet here you are, trying to concentrate on your breathing and trying not to shake, waiting for his next move with bated breath. He has to know what it does to you when he calls you his. His anything. His baby, his girl. There’s been a handful of times where he’s called you his darling outside of having sex and it makes your heart race each and every time. He has to know. 

But then he leans over you and you can feel his shirt drag along the bare skin of your back and the cold press of his belt buckle and then you can’t think of anything else. His breath skates over your ear and your teeth dig into your lip, your eyelids fluttering as you try to listen to what he’s saying. 

“For every one you don’t count, you get five more. Okay?”  If someone had told you six months ago that you would want to be spanked, that you would crave the burn to the point you thought about it at night, that would make you whine, you would have laughed them out of the building. But here you are. Here you are and the way he’s making it sound in this context, like it’s a punishment for interrupting him or going out in lingerie with the only thing protecting you from flashing the wrong person being one measly coat, is only cranking you hotter.

“Yes,” Your voice almost gets stuck in your throat and slips through your teeth in a hiss because he’s pressing his hips forward and you can feel the wood digging into the front of your own and all you want to do is press back. You don’t realize your mistake until he hums behind you, low in his throat and sounding as disappointed as a hum can be and he squeezes your hip in something that might be a warning. 

“Yes what?” You can’t stop the shudder that wracks through this time, just like you can’t stop yourself from leaning back into him, a small whine tumbling from your lips.

“Yes, Cassian,” Cassian. Somehow calling his name makes the room feel hotter and the air heavier because it’s intimate. There’s no sir, no generic, false title to hide behind when you’re together, nothing you can use to distance yourself from him. No corner of your mind that isn’t consumed by him. 

“Good girl.” You feel his lips behind your ear in a quick kiss, his beard just barely scratching your skin and you want it everywhere. He’s straightening up, taking a step back from then you mourn the loss of his heat. Your breathing picks up and you shift, reaching up to grab the edge of his desk in a vain attempt to ground yourself. 

He doesn’t give you any other warning before his palm is coming down on your right cheek, sharp enough and hard enough to make a sound, to make you jump and your body go taut, the air stalling in your chest before you’re melting over his desk. “One,” Your voice is trembling already while his hand returns to you, smoothing over your skin and soothing the sting he just inflicted and you know if he touched you right then his fingers would come away wet. 

His hand comes down on your other cheek, lower this time, close to where your thigh meets your ass and you count him off with a gasp because the biting sting is already beginning to turn into something different, worked into something new under his kneading fingers and it makes you keen as you count him off.

Three, four and— you don’t count the fifth one even though you’ve slipped from your elbows, your cheek pressing into the cool wood. Each smack had gotten progressively lower until each of them landed where your thighs meet your ass, the vibrations going straight straight to your pussy. 

You don’t bother hiding your smile from him, not seeing the point in hiding your enjoyment from him. He can’t help but tease you for it though, leaning over you again and your abused ass smarts when his slacks rub against it, chills ripping through you. “Dirty girl,” He sounds like he’s laughing at your pain but there’s an almost reverential note in his voice even as you squirm underneath him, the wood rubbing against your nipples in the exact right way to have sparks flying. “I almost forgot how much you like this,”

Liar. He knows. He knows and that’s exactly why he’s letting you try to rock back into him, rubbing yourself like a cat in heat against the bulge of his cock. Your belly is coiling tight and your mouth is watering for more, everything just enough to keep you on edge. To tease without offering any real relief and for some reason you love it. You love how he can boil you down to sensations alone, to make you crave and ache and need.

The next smacks land dead center on the junction of your thighs and your ass and you count off every one, the contact going right to your buzzing clit that you’re trying to grind into the edge of his desk in a vain attempt to dull the edge. You’re gripping the desk so hard that your knuckles are lightening a shade, the skin pulled taut over the bone.

The last one is the one that kills you, that makes you hold your breath and arch. Your legs are spread wide enough for his hand to easily fit between them but you still aren’t expecting him to slap you there, an obscene noise filling the room that makes your ears burn. Your moan is delayed but it’s loud, electric pleasure rocketing up your spine and he keeps his hand there. He keeps constant pressure against your thrumming cunt and lets you grind into it, whimpering the count while you push yourself onto your hands now for more leverage. 

The lace of your panties drags through your soaked folds and the friction is amazing. So amazing that you almost don’t feel him lean in closer, all your attention on your pussy but then his mouth is at your ear again and his free hand is sliding up your chest, fingers splayed across your collarbones and holding you against him.

His head dips and he mouths at the side of your neck, teeth scraping and his beard scratching. His hand moves again but doesn’t go far, his fingers pinching your nipple. “You’re so good for me,” He mumbles and he sounds almost as lost as you feel. 

“Turn around,” His accent has thickened in the way you love and you swallow back the disappointed moan when he takes his hands from you, waiting for you to comply. 

You’re trembling as you do, your eyes fluttering open and the lights of the city swim in front of you before your eyes focus on the man who pulled away before you could cum on his hand, nearly all from spanking you. Not for the first time you wonder if he’s even real— but the ache at the very core of you says he is, says that you don’t know how but his hands on you are your favorite thing.

And then he’s grabbing you and lifting you onto his desk, stepping between your slick thighs and you have to reach for him, unable to stand it anymore and murmuring his name. He beats you to it, warm hands sliding around your jaw and cupping your face as he leans in.

The first brush of his lips on yours makes you sigh, as if his kiss brings you relief even while it stokes the fire deep within you. Your hands fist in the sides of his shirt as he deepens the kiss, angling your head just how he wants and slicking his tongue into your mouth. A moan rises from the back of your throat as you wind your legs around his hips to keep him pressed close, unwilling or just plain unable to do anything that would make him break the kiss because you aren’t, not until your lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen. 

The most you can manage while he eats at your mouth, his beard abrading your skin in a way you know you’ll curse him for later when it turns painful but you can’t seem to get enough of it, is yanking his once perfectly crisp, pressed dress shirt out of his pants because you keep grabbing at him like he isn’t already close enough, your spine bowing with the way he’s leaning into you.  

If this was a purely business relationship you don’t think you’d be like this, you don’t think you would go out of your way to see him at all, to make him food. But you are and you did— you wrapped yourself up like a present for him in the hopes he’d fuck you the way that makes your toes curl, better than he really has any business doing, but you had brought him food. That’s the detail that doesn’t fit, the one crooked picture frame in the hallway. You took the time and effort to make him something you know he likes because you know he hadn’t eaten yet.  He has to know.

His mouth only breaks from yours when your back hits his desk and your lips are shiny and wet from your combined saliva and your chest is heaving as he trails openmouthed kisses along your jaw to your neck. His hands leave your face in favor of lavishing attention on your breasts, groping you through the lace and the silk just adding to the softness of you that he adores. 

His teeth scrape down the sensitive skin of your throat, rolling and tweaking your nipples between his fingers as his mouth continues a steady and determined path path until his mouth is engulfing one over your bra, wetting the material with his tongue and for some reason that makes the muscles in your belly twist tighter. Your hands have slipped to his shoulders, nails scratching into his shirt for something to hold on to and because you can’t imagine not touching him. He gives your other nipple the same treatment and he’s slipping a hand underneath the thin, flimsy band of your panties to knead your hip.

But then his hand is turning, grasping the band and yanking it, a tearing sound filling the room and this time when you say his name it’s a yelp of both surprise and a poor attempt at a reprimand as you push yourself up because that pair was one of your favorites. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he looks up at you, his mouth traveling down until he’s mouthing at your stomach and the look in his dark eyes makes your breath catch at the back of your throat. 

“I’ll make it up to you, cariño,” His voice is low and crooning, placating you as he throws your ruined underwear somewhere to the side and you have a crystal clear realization of what he means by making it up to you when he reaches behind him to pull his chair up, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s going to eat you alive. 

Your breath stutters as he starts arranging you how he wants, spreading your thighs wider and one hand smoothing down your leg to grasp your ankle and lift, placing it on top of his desk and you’ve never felt more on display in your life. You lean your weight back onto your hands, unable to look away from him as he looks at you with heavy eyes, the sigh loud as it leaves his mouth and it’s the same sigh you hear when you wrap your lips around his cock, the sigh he only makes when he’s being pleasured and he’s making it while just looking at you.  It makes your head spin in the best way, your skin prickling when he strokes that same hand back along the line of your leg until he reaches your thigh, giving it a squeeze that makes you feel as if you might burst if he does it again.

You barely register the cool air on your weeping slit because he’s leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up the length of you and you don’t know who groans louder— you or Cassian. You feel like you’re going to collapse as he begins devouring you in earnest, one hand pressed into your thigh to make sure your leg doesn’t slip from the desk and his teeth and tongue flickering over your clit, but you can’t look away from him. 

The lights behind him slide together into a neon haze and he’s looking up at you with blown out pupils and strands of hair falling across his forehead and you don’t think you’ve seen anything more beautiful than him at this moment. Your nails scrape against the wood as you reach one hand down to clutch at his hair and the sound he makes when you tug on the strands burrows into your cunt and leaves you reeling. 

As if that knocked over some domino he starts to mumble against your swollen flesh, his tone dark and rich as he goes on about your taste, how sweet you are under his tongue and how good you are for him and the praise goes straight to your head, your heart pounding against the weight of your ribcage. Somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you wonder how you made it this long without him—  like you do every time you’re together again after any absence, any time apart.

And you’ll never tell him that outside of the bedroom— office, as it was right at this moment. You’ll never tell him that in a voice that isn’t rushed and panting, begging to be touched because you don’t know what this is anymore. You know what it started as, a way for him to have company and a little eye candy on his arm for industry functions. A shield against unwanted advances. But then you actually, genuinely enjoyed your time with him. Had started looking forward to it and the way he wasn’t pushing you for sex. That part of your relationship had evolved on its own and once it did there was no stopping it, and you both just...ran with it. 

And now here you are, making him food and letting him fuck you for what might as well be free and you’re reveling in it.

You’re rocking your hips forward, incapable of staying still now with each of your nerve endings on fire and that’s when he decides to feed one of his fingers into you, stretching you open in ways that make your own fingers pale in comparison and it’s like a dam bursts somewhere within you, mewls and whimpers pouring from your lips and if he was anyone else you might be embarrassed about the noises you’re making. 

But you’re not. You’re not because in response, as if the bastard is rewarding you for starting to fall apart underneath his mouth, his mouth latches onto your clit and sucks, pressing his tongue into the bundle of nerves hard enough to make you see stars as your eyes squeeze shut, your thighs jumping. 

“I think you can take another, don’t you?” His voice is rough and you feel the blunt pressure of a second finger pressing against your entrance—  but he doesn’t go any farther than that, not until you’re nodding, almost frantic with his name stuck in your throat. 

The second digit makes your mouth fall open and your head tips back before you can help it, because he’s sinking it into your fluttering cunt up to the knuckle with the first and holding them there, just letting you have the sensation of being filled while he sets his mouth back on your clit. 

His free hand leaves your thigh and he groans into your soaked folds a moment later, and somehow you manage the strength to lift your head and look. What you see makes your hips roll forwards, grinding yourself into his fingers and his tongue because you can see his hand moving, palming his cock through his slacks. The cock that you know is heavy and hot to the touch and must be aching at this point and suddenly that’s all you can think about. 

He’s taking you apart with his mouth and you’re still greedy for more of him, because of course you are. You want his mouth and his fingers and his cock so deep inside of you that you can feel him in the back of your throat. 

A pathetic, needy sound spills from somewhere deep in your chest just like that all his focus is on you again, his hand returning to slide over your hip and lock down to keep your hips pinned to his desk. He starts pumping his fingers, curling them in the exact right way to have your vision start to fuzz out at the edges.

Distantly you hear him goad you on in that honeyed voice, coaxing you to the edge and shoving you over it. He keeps driving his fingers into you, stretching and curling as your cunt flutters around them and mercilessly dragging you through your orgasm. His teeth catch your clit and you melt down, your body clamping around his fingers and your world narrowing to this one delicious point.

Stars burst behind your eyelids and you cry something that might be his name when your lungs remember how to work while your nails scratch over his scalp, but he takes care of you. 

He soothes you, guiding you back to earth with a gentle hand and turning his head to mouth lazily at the inside of your thigh when the sensations get to be too much and you have to push him away from your cunt. Your legs are quivering on either side of his head and your heart is erratic in your chest, and Cassian has started to rub your thighs as if he's trying to soothe you, as if he can't get enough of you even now. 

You can't seem to unlock your fingers from his hair as he starts to rise, his mouth and beard glistening and he's— he's smiling at you while he crowds into your space all over again. This time when you kiss it's slow and languid and utterly filthy because you taste yourself in his tongue, the damp bristles of his beard scratching your chin and you never want it to end. 

The hand in his hair slips to his face, cupping his jaw as it works while your arm winds around his shoulders, holding him close and it's only when your trembling legs wrap around his hips, your ankles crossing at the small of his back that he pulls back, a dark chuckle on his lips. "Greedy girl," he nudges your cheek with his nose, angling your head just right so he can suck a mark underneath your jaw. 

You don’t try to deny it— why bother when you’re reaching to fumble with his belt, trying to focus enough to yank his zipper down while his teeth are at your throat. Desperation makes you clumsy as you shove his slacks and underwear down his thighs and you don’t bother stifling your moan when you see him,  flushed and weeping, a pearly bead of precum slipping down the tip of his shaft and if was physically possible to dissolve into a puddle of pure need you think you would right there. 

Like a magnet your hand goes to it, wrapping your fingers around the searing girth of him and stroking. Cassian huffs into your throat, grunting as you twist your wrist and swipe your thumb over his tip. He lets you play, leaning more of his weight into the line of your body and the heat pouring off of him makes you shudder. 

He doesn’t make any move to stop you despite him straining closer and the ache flaring, sharp and bright deep within you. You know what he wants, had played this particular game with him countless times, each of you trying to outlast the other while being driven out of your minds with want. You love it, love how the need strips you down to base urges and emotions without fear of looking foolish. How it makes your time together, short as it is at times, seem to unravel in front of you and spool into something greater than it is. 

But you’re weak. Your first orgasm did nothing to satisfy you, if anything it just made everything worse in some twisted way.

“Cassian,” You beseech him, your voice gone soft and breathy as you try to pull him even closer.

“What is it, querida?” He husks into your ear, lips pulling into a sharp smile when you rip your hand away from his cock to brace yourself as he pushes forward,  just enough for you to feel the weight of his cock pressing against your folds, so close to where you want him that you can almost taste it. “Do you want my cock so badly you’ve forgotten how to speak?” 

He’s hitting his stride now, delighting in the way you choke on a moan. “Please, Cassian,” You try again, wetting your lips. “Give it to me,” You pull on his shirt and roll your hips and what’s left of your brain almost short circuits because he catches the dip of your entrance and you still, breath whooshing over your teeth.

“Since you asked so nicely,” He concedes, voice scraping the air between you and then he’s filling you. Your legs tense around his hips and some high, keening noise fills the air that you realize a few moments too late is coming from you because you think you can feel every ridge as he thrusts home. Your hands are everywhere— flitting from his shoulders to his back to his arms and back again, because you can’t seem to figure out the best way to keep him as close as possible. 

He’s not any better than you are, his fingers digging into your hips, your thighs. Refusing to allow you any space to pull away from him when the sensations get to be too much, refusing to allow you any reprieve from him at all because his mouth is at your neck as he starts to thrust, groaning against your skin. 

One thing about Cassian is that he talks. As if something about experiencing pleasure jumpstarts his tongue he’s only quiet when he’s kissing you or sucking at your skin, and he’ll inevitably break away to start murmuring nonsense to you, languages getting muddled and mixed in his mouth the closer he gets to completion. He talks, and he expects answers.

“That’s it, princesa,” He breathes at your ear when you roll your hips just right, when your cunt tightens even further around his cock like you never want him to leave. He always praises you, telling you how you feel wrapped around him like a vice. How good you’re being for him, how well you’re taking his cock. “I make you feel good, don’t I?” 

All you can do is moan at him because the bastard knows he does, as if it isn’t staggeringly, blindingly obvious in the way you’re holding onto him, the sounds you’re making as he drives into you over and over again. But as much as he likes to talk, he likes hearing you more and you’ve taken too long. 

“Answer me,” He says and swats your thigh, hard enough that a tingling warmth spreads out along your skin from the point of contact and the bite of pain somehow puts the pleasure into a sort of perspective, contrasting it so perfectly that your legs are tightening around his thrusting hips and your mouth is falling open.

“Yes, yes, Cassian, you do,” The words fall over themselves in the push to get out of your mouth and he’s praising you again, both verbally and in the way his hand snakes between you, fingers unerringly finding your clit and it makes you jerk like you’ve been electrocuted, arcs of sizzling pleasure sweeping through your body.

He leans over you and he doesn’t stop, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing world-ending circles into your clit and all you can do is hold onto him, squirming and arching against him because his other arm has wound around your back to pull you flush and there’s nowhere for you to go except Cassian.

Cassian, Cassian, Cassian. How he speaks like he does you have no idea because the only thing you can seem to reliably get out of your mouth is his name, unburdened by things like sentence structure while he grunts and groans, tongue tying himself in Spanish and you’ve picked up enough to get the gist of what he’s saying. He’s telling you how hard he’s going to make you cum, how he’s going to fill you up. How the next time you show up like this he’s going to make you ride him.

Everything combines and your gust twists, the pleasure turning caustic as it burns you up from the inside out, vision blurring as you try to scramble back away from him out of instinct, away from the looming threat of overstimulation but his arm at your back prevents it and he just keeps fucking into you hard and deep, this fingers never leaving your clit. The only thing you’re able to do is dig your nails in and hold on as you sob, squeezing your eyes tight enough, the pleasure sharp and intense enough to have a tear slip down your cheek.

In the next moments his pace falters, his hips stuttering and turning sloppy. He bucks into you with an almost bruising force and holds himself there as he releases and you can’t help but whine at the feel of it, of him shuddering in your arms.

Neither of you speak for long moments, instead just weathering the aftershocks in each other’s embrace as you both come down from your highs, breathing raggedly. His hand sweeps over your back in long, soothing strokes and he presses kisses into your shoulders, your neck, his touches soft and mindful now that the frenzy has passed.

“Are you okay?” His voice is as soft as his hands and you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips as you nuzzle closer to him, humming your answer into his neck while his hand comes up to stroke your hair.

“Words, princesa. Are you okay?” He admonishes gently and you can’t help the small chuckle that bubbles up in your throat at his insistence, at the warm feeling that spreads throughout your body at the sound of his concern.

“Yes, Cassian. I promise,”  It’s then that he smiles down at you curled into his chest, reassured, and you don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped around each other and each of you not wanting to be the first to let go. It’s in these moments, your heart rate calming while he rests in you, seemingly loathe to pull out, that you think there may be something more to this than just sex or companionship at parties for him. 

No matter how rough he is with you during the act he always treats you like some precious thing afterwards, all murmured words and comforting touches. Running his hand down your spine, over your hair. Telling you how good you did, how proud he is of you for taking everything he throws at you and calling you things like beautiful girl and all the pet names he uses while he’s fucking you except there’s a distinct affection to them now and they make your heart jump and butterflies fill you stomach.

You’re almost drifting off, a consequence of being warm and sated and well-fucked, when he speaks again. “Did you really bring me food?” He sounds equal parts excited and cautious, like he’s trying not to get his hopes up too much and you can’t help but laugh as you start to untangle yourself from him. 

“I made you a sandwich,” You tell him, a fresh wave of warmth swelling up in your chest at the look on his face. You readjust on the desk, your breath catching when his cock slips from your cunt and then you’re reaching back, your fingers just snagging the lunch bag because you don’t trust your legs to work quite yet. Cassian once again pulls his chair up, leaning back to watch you unwrap the food and like he’s incapable of not touching you one of his hands returns to your thigh, idling stroking from your knee to your hip so gently you’re not sure if it’s a conscious movement or not. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” He starts when he sees the sandwich, one that requires actual effort instead of something that only calls for throwing together leftovers and calling it good enough, but you only shrug a shoulder. 

“I wanted to.” There’s more there but he doesn’t question you further, and you don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse. “You were working late and you don’t always eat, so…” You let the words fade into the air, revealing to him that you listen to what he tells you and remember. The remembering is the important part and a flash of regret ignites in your chest almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, but he’s looking at you with the same expression you think you had when he took you to the art museum for the first time, never complaining as you wandered for hours.

“There’s two halves— I’ll only eat if you share it with me.” His smile turns tricky at the edges and he doesn’t reach for the sandwich at all, waiting for your answer and despite yourself, despite knowing it shouldn’t, you feel your heart melt a little. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Andor,”  You smile, try for a light, casual tone as you reach for your half and ignore the way his eyes light up. 

You eat slowly, savoring the tastes and textures, the office filled with a downy, plush sort of silence as you bask in the afterglow. He’s watching you the entire time, holding the sandwich with one hand because his other hasn’t left your skin, tracing patterns into the inside of your knee and sweeping his fingers over the curve of your thigh. 

You try to focus on the city behind him, afraid that if you look at his face too long you’ll get caught up and start confessing things to him, things that are better left unsaid, carefully danced around in conversation no matter how blatant they are in your actions— like going out of your way to come see him when you could’ve just stayed home and enjoyed a quiet night in. Like coating yourself in sweet smelling oils that make your skin even softer to the touch, like wrapping yourself up in lace and silk just for him.

You almost don’t realize the chill creeping over your exposed skin, goosebumps following in its wake and before you can complain Cassian is slipping his suit jacket off the chair behind him and holding it out to you. “Here, put this on,” There’s no question in his tone, no tentative ‘are you cold?’ And maybe that’s the reason you find yourself so drawn to him; he pays attention to you, to the things you think no one else bothers to notice.

You murmur your thanks and slip the fabric over your shoulders, warm and smelling of his cologne and you feel...you feel almost content sitting up on his desk and sharing the meal you made, his watch pressing heavy into your skin when he squeezes your knee.

You lick at the last bit of mustard clinging to a finger as you finish your half, acutely aware of his eyes on you as your tongue dabs at your own skin. He’s leaning his elbow onto one of the arms of his chair, his chin resting in his hand and covering his mouth,  his eyes never wavering from your body and just like that your skin starts to prickle again, sensing a change in the air between you.

His eyes rove over your body, slow and heating again at the sight of you like this, his jacket hanging loose on your shoulders and almost seeming to frame your breasts, your thighs spread on his desk to keep yourself upright and maybe to relieve the scratches left by his beard. His eyes catch on the pearly drops on the dark wood on his desk, your combined essences leaking out of you and his breath leaves him in a long sigh, watching it ooze from your flushed cunt.

The hand on your thigh starts to move, slowly as to not startle you as it smooths along the inside of your thigh and you don’t stop him. You watch him with bated breath, watch the way his brow knits with concentration and his breathing deepens. 

Your thighs jump at the first brush of his thumb along your oversensitive folds and you see his head tilt, visibly engrossed with the sight in front of him and the realization of what he’s doing hits you like a punch to the gut. 

He runs his thumb down and up, scooping his cum up as it seeps out and pushing it back into you, his thumb thick and insistent and your mouth falls open in a silent moan, eyes fluttering. He rubs his mouth, not looking up at you as he repeats the process again while he begins to speak, words heavy in the air between you. 

“How did you get here?” 

You breathe slow and deep, trying to make your brain connect to your tongue but it’s hard to think. It’s hard to think because you’re hypersensitive, but he’s moving so slow and soft, mindful of the razor’s edge you’re sitting on and the depths his thumb is reaching within you are just shallow enough to have you starting to want more all over again.

“I— uhmm,” You cut yourself off, a hum rising from the back of your throat as his thumb stills, sheathed in your quivering core and acting as a plug to keep any more of his cum from escaping for the time being. “I took a cab,” 

You lean back on your hands, trying to breathe through the sensation of being filled but not enough to truly satisfy you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to live without this when the arrangement inevitably ends, because you know it will. He makes no effort to hide how much he likes spoiling you, but you think that it’s only a matter of time before he decides that bleeding money for you is too much of an unnecessary expense, and then what? 

Are you supposed to move on knowing what it feels like to have lingerie that costs more than your rent ripped off you, only to be replaced in the next few days and knowing that you’ll probably never experience the thrill it brings again? To know what it feels like to be so thoroughly taken care of you can’t see straight and try to find it in someone else? Cassian is passion and intensity paired with soft smiles and bright laughter, and you don’t know if you’ll ever find that in someone else, and it scares you more than you care to admit, even to yourself.

He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and glimmering in the low light, his hair mussed from your fingers and your chest bows. For how much you tried to focus on anything else but him while you ate, you can’t look away from him now.

“Good,” He starts, his voice warm and slow as honey. “You’re coming home with me.”

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

Okay, what are your thoughts on Ian's relationships? With his family, his boyfriends, and Mandy (since I think that's the only friend he's had)

Oh, no. Ohhhhhhhh, no. Now you’ve done it. You’ve asked about my dear, darling favorite character on the show. My love for one Ian Gallagher runs deep, which means this answer is going to run super long. The good, the bad, and everything in between—Ian Gallagher lives rent free in my brain and always will. I derive so much satisfaction from seeing Ian interact with other people, in whatever capacity that might be. I admire and aspire to the compassion he has shown for others over the years, even and perhaps most especially those who arguably haven’t earned it. He tries so hard to be good to people, and seeing their love for him manifest when he’s reached such lows where he can’t even fathom why the love of his life would want to be with him forever? That’s powerful.

So, yeah. I said I could write essays on these characters, and that’s exactly what you’re about to get: five hours and 6k words’ worth of my thoughts. (I am so sorry. There will be text walls.)

Let’s dive into Ian’s many and multifaceted relationships—his family, his friends, and his romantic pursuits.

Ian and Family

Ian told us where he stood on this in the very first season, and it set the standard for his character for eleven years to come. Faced with a prospect that others in his position could only dream of—not being Frank’s son and having a wealthy father with a functional, prosperous lifestyle mere miles away—Ian refused to buy into it. He refused to do what might have been objectively better for his future by seeking a relationship with Clayton. In that household, he would have had access to a better public school, more financial resources, a tutor to help him where he was struggling, and less urgency for him to work so that he could enjoy being a kid. When he got sick, he would have had access to better healthcare, too. Perhaps he would have had a better shot at West Point from that background than he did at home. But that’s just it: home was with his family, and he was very clear that they didn’t live in that nice house. All he wanted—all he wanted—was to be with his brothers and sisters. He has never referred to them as only half-siblings or half-cousins; he has never even used the words, “you’re not my dad,” on Frank. That’s his family, the people he loves most in the world, and he’s always been at his best when he’s with them and at his worst when he’s not. Let’s look at each of them:

1.      Frank: It is so striking to me that Ian doesn’t appear to hold the outright contempt for Frank that Fiona, Lip, and Debbie have exhibited at different points over the years. Aside from the handful of instances where they’ve gotten into physical altercations (which Frank always initiated) and kicking him out of the house on occasion, Ian is simply indifferent to him. But there are these moments, these brief glimmers of mutual attachment and loyalty, if those are the right words. In the scene where Ian famously doesn’t count to three before using the pepper spray on him, Frank starts saying how his New Gallaghers weren’t his real kids—that Ian is his real son, and Frank is his real father. It’s a passing thought uttered while trying to manipulate his way into the house that neither of them think much of, nor does the audience…until you remember that biologically, Frank isn’t his father, and he certainly hasn’t behaved like one either. Ian has more right than anyone to comment on that, but he doesn’t because Frank is his father. He’s the father that Ian idly hoped wouldn’t come to his wedding yet sat joking about with Debbie rather than getting pissed off that he was making out with some lady in front of everyone. He’s the father who sat at the table with them eating breakfast in 11x03 and claimed Mickey was the man in their relationship without Ian saying a word to him about it, and who Ian saw no issue with taking Franny to school when no one else could. In s4, as far removed from his family as he’d been for a while, Ian still went straight to the hospital when he heard that Frank was at death’s door. We focus so much on his attitude towards Monica because of how obvious it was that we frequently miss these tiny moments and their implications. It would take an awful lot of patience, compassion, and love not to write Frank off completely after all he’s done. Not necessarily our standard definition of love between a son and his father, perhaps, but a loving soul.

2.      Monica: I have actually written a pretty lengthy post about his relationship with her because while their shared mental illness definitely plays a role in his feelings toward her, that grew complicated far earlier than his diagnosis. The first time we meet her, we see that he has a visceral reaction to news of her presence. He runs. When Ian can’t process strong emotions, that’s what he’s done in the past. I happened upon an interview Cameron did just after the end of s1 where he mentioned something I had already been thinking: Ian’s age when Monica left is extremely important. He was a kid in s1, but one who could roll with the punches, sometimes literally. She left them two years before that. Ian would have been in middle school, roughly as old as Debbie was when she still called Frank “daddy” and forgave him for everything he did. It’s an awkward age that once again set Ian in something of a danger zone—too old to accept an excuse or no explanation at all, but not old enough to process the situation in a healthy way. And then she’s back all of a sudden with no warning. Ian doesn’t cry like Debbie, and he doesn’t typically get explosively angry like Fiona. He can’t deal, so he runs. He hangs back. He only speaks when he has to and compartmentalizes: Monica wants to take Liam, and they need to stop her. It doesn’t have to be about her leaving. They have a goal—he can focus on that. And then she’s back a year later, saying she’s here to stay while Fiona seems to take her at her word and Lip isn’t there to ground everyone. Ian tries so hard to behave like Lip would with his biting sarcasm and attempts to stay emotionally distant in a way that seemed pretty exaggerated for Ian, but he’s also dealing with a fresh wave of guilt over Mickey going to juvie—and Monica gets it. She’s the only person to acknowledge that he’s in pain and actively try to make it better. She’s the only one who really knows at the time, but that hardly matters. This poor kid, whose mother left him when he still needed her, has her standing in front of him and saying she’s sorry and listening when he speaks and taking him dancing—just the two of them. Embarrassing as it was and harmful as it could have been, she tried to facilitate his dreams when no one else wanted him to go into the military. She was there for him when he went AWOL. She came for him when he was arrested and even wanted to make a place for him in her new life, unrealistic as it was. This goes so much deeper than them both being bipolar. Ian’s comment about her parachuting into their lives in s7 wasn’t about Mickey or her role in them breaking up. He trusted her. He wanted her. He needed her. And she’d convinced him that she would be there—until she left. Over and over again. She was there for him and unintentionally took advantage of how desperately he still needed his mother. She made him keep loving her, and that’s both a blessing that has him crying into a voluminous man’s arms when she passes and a curse that wrecked him more than once.

3.      Fiona: The trust these two have for each other cannot be understated. Fiona has discussed things with Ian that she never brought up around any of the other kids throughout the entire series. In the pilot episode, she tells him about feeling needed and takes his opinion on the matter to heart. At the end of the season, he’s the one she talks to about the car because she can trust him to give her an answer even without speaking. In s2, she tells Lip that the two of them are her rocks, and we see that time and time again. That’s part of what makes their falling out over the church hit that much harder: it’s Ian and Fiona. The only time they’d been on the outs in any serious manner up to that point was when Ian was adjusting to his new reality and they were trying to find a balance between sister and caretaker. Otherwise, that bond of trust had never been severed—not until Ian literally sold himself only for it to amount to nothing in the end because she had no idea the lengths to which he’d gone to get that building. That damage gets mended, thankfully, but what a powerful period of time when those two were the only ones who’d never really been at each other’s throats. There is a downside to that trust, though. As I mentioned before, Ian was so responsible and put together when he was younger that Fiona didn’t think twice about his situation with Ned or that he ran away. Not even seventeen yet, and she was telling Debbie that she didn’t like his decision to leave but trusted him. That is one of the things I love about this show—even something like trust that we always prop up as an important factor in our relationships can betray us in the most unexpected ways.

4.      Lip: I won’t go into it here, but the relationship they share is something that means a lot to me on a personal level. It’s part of how I knew that Ian would become my favorite character pretty early on. The way he simultaneously admires and envies Lip, loves and is annoyed by him, relies on him and is desperate to pave his own path in the world—what a beautiful and accurate depiction of what it means to be a younger sibling. Lip is the first person to discover that he’s gay and openly accept him for it. (I think what he tried with Karen came from a well-meaning place even if it was horribly, horribly misguided.) Lip is the one who tries to get him into West Point, hate it as he does. He helps Ian when Terry is after him, takes care of him in the aftermath of the wedding when he realizes just how deeply Ian feels for Mickey, searches the whole damn city for him when he finds out that Ian is in trouble, gets him a job, leans on him in his own time of need… He’s not perfect. He slips up, just like Ian does. Some things break my heart, like Lip insisting that he’s earned his own space when his little brother is asking him for safe harbor or Ian thanking him for being his brother outside the prison. But they love each other so much, and I just… I can’t possibly put into words how much I love their dynamic.

5.      Debbie, Carl, and Liam: I’m grouping these three together because they’re further separated from Ian in age, so we see a lot of the same trends with them as a whole. Ian loves taking care of people. We know this. We also know that Fiona and Lip don’t typically want him taking care of them—they’re the ones who take care of him when he needs it, specifically Lip. With the younger three, however, Ian can be the Big Brother. He can shake his head in utter bafflement at Debbie’s obsession with holding her breath for two minutes, walk Carl through what he needs to go camping, and promise his baby brother postcards when he leaves. The difference here is that his relationship with them is so much less fraught with conflict. We don’t see him fight with Debbie, Carl, or Liam the way he has with Fiona or Lip. While Ian tends to be the voice of reason during conflicts overall, I think it’s also because he relies on his older siblings in a way that he doesn’t with his younger siblings, and the latter don’t tend to rely on him as much as Fiona or Lip as well. There’s a lack of tension in most of their interactions growing up because that pressure isn’t there. Perhaps this is where Ian’s age and standing in the family is a bit more beneficial: young enough to have people he can rely on while too young for anyone to really rely on him for more than his share of the squirrel fund.

Ian and Friends

I’ve seen it mentioned that Ian (and Mickey) not having more friends is bad or lazy writing. I tend to believe that that fails to take something into account that, admittedly, most of us don’t really have to think about: having friends is a luxury. It requires time and effort to cultivate friendships, especially lasting ones. As a kid, Ian spent a lot of his free time working or helping to manage one family crisis after another. Going AWOL, losing his health, struggling to acclimate to his illness, trying to find a new career path, spiraling into the Gay Jesus movement, going to prison, adjusting once again to normal life, getting married, a pandemic… I’m sure he’s had plenty of acquaintances over the years, but having a family to support and constant upheavals would have made it extremely difficult to really forge strong relationships with them. I think that’s part of what makes his relationship with Mandy so special and valuable to him: she’s sort of the same way.

When we met Mandy in s1, she had other friends. We saw her meet up with them and go shopping; she told Ian a story about how one was mad at her for not sharing her make-up. As the trauma in the Milkovich household reached its zenith for her in s2 and she started thinking seriously about getting out of there, we saw those friends fall by the wayside—all except Ian. He saw her and let her see him early on. That’s a level of trust and respect that nobody else in their neighborhood would have displayed, certainly not to her. But then there’s this guy who defended her against their creepy, perverted teacher and treated her like a human being, not an object. It’s no wonder she developed an obvious, unrequited crush and sought physical comfort from him occasionally. It’s no wonder she tried to repay the favor by giving Mickey a hard time in s3 and s4, misguided and rather uninformed as we know it was at the time. (It’s also no wonder that she went for the closest Gallagher to Ian, either, but that’s for another meta.)

And Ian… Ian is loyal to a fault. We have watched Ian cut out his own heart and let the blood drip down his arm to pool on the floor at his feet if it would make a damn bit of difference for the people he loves. Like Fiona and Lip, Mandy immediately accepted him for who he is and suggested an arrangement that would protect him as well as benefit her. That is enormous where they came from. To him, that had to feel like the ultimate sign of friendship: he could trust her with a part of him that he hadn’t even entrusted to most of his family yet. From that point on, she was on the List of People Ian Gallagher Would Do Anything For. Finding out about Terry and what had happened? He held a bake sale, of all things, to fundraise for her. Seeing that his brother—his best friend—was treating her like garbage? He put him in his place. Her boyfriend was beating her? He brought her home and made it his goal to find a safe place for her to stay, even if it ultimately didn’t work. She was going to move away from all of her meager support with that boyfriend? He didn’t just rally his own arguments—he brought in outside help with Lip, who he thought might tip the scales. It’s usually just a saying that true friends will help each other hide a body, but Ian literally tried to do that. Lucky for him, he has a good head on his shoulders and used it.

No, Ian doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends. We’ve seen that he has spheres of influence, if you will, and acquaintances that he can call upon when he needs them. (For example, the guys that helped with the preacher.) However, Ian has always struck me as a “quality over quantity” type of person. Being a soldier or an EMT isn’t lucrative, but they’re meaningful for someone who sees them as vehicles for helping people. Seeing more parts of the world than just Chicago has appealed to him in the past, but he seems perfectly content to carve out a spot for himself right here at home. Having only three best friends—Lip, Mandy, and Mickey—doesn’t seem like much of a hardship for him.

Ian and Romantic Pursuits

I hate to say that there were five, but from Ian’s perspective, there were. So, let’s talk about all five. Even though…there weren’t five. There was only one. We’ll save the best for last.

1.      Kash: The first of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. I hope it goes without saying that I hate this man with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I hate him so much. However, their interactions taught me a whole lot about how kind and compassionate Ian really is—and how naïve. Of course, he would believe that Kash loved him. The man was buying him all sorts of expensive gifts, and that’s what we see on all the commercials and in so many movies, isn’t it? Grand gestures of affection through expensive gifts. Poor as they were, Ian still scraped together the money to buy him baseball tickets and CDs, convinced as he was that that was all part of what you did in a relationship. That desire to do things like a “normal” married couple in s11? Yeah, that starts here. Ian has always been a planner, and he’s always bought into certain stereotypes. We can see that here. What we can also see is Ian’s compassionate, kind, loving soul. He cares so deeply for other people, even ones that he doesn’t know very well, especially if they are living in circumstances that mean something to him. (For example, the mentally ill woman they tried to help at work and the shelter kids whose situations were so similar to Mickey’s.) Kash being a closeted gay man living in misery with a wife he didn’t love and two children he never meant to have clearly tugged at Ian’s heartstrings. Even after everything that happens, even though Ian behaves as though they’re awkward exes who just happen to work together, he still covers for Kash. He gives him that head start and takes it upon himself to break the news to Linda that he’s gone. He defends Kash to Lip when the latter finally says exactly what we all know: he was a pedophile who deserved to rot in prison for what he did. As with Fiona’s trust, Ian’s loving soul, compassionate heart, and desire for love outside his siblings are virtues that have done him harm in the past. This is one such instance.

2.      Ned: The second of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. To be honest, I don’t believe that Ian would even characterize it that way. He seemed very aware that Ned was a distraction from his problems—from Mickey being in juvie, Monica falling into a depressive episode, the money in the squirrel fund being gone, Lip moving out, losing his shot at West Point, and getting denied for service due to his age. Again, though, Ian has always wanted to feel valued, and this rich dude was letting him stay in a fancy hotel room with anything he wanted readily available. This (disgusting predator) guy was giving him attention and a distraction with no strings attached. Then the complications roll in, and he’s once again faced with being the mistress to a closeted, married man. The difference here is that he’s not comfortable with it. He tries to tell Fiona twice, which is enormous for Ian when he has never been very good at communicating if it means burdening others with or even merely facing his own problems. But he tries to tell her. He rejects the GPS unit and tells Ned that he has a boyfriend, boxing him into a strictly sexual arrangement. (This, unfortunately, makes sense. It aligns with how Fiona viewed things: where Jimmy was concerned about it, she told him that it was “just sex.”) He is also visibly embarrassed to admit to Lip and Fiona what has been going on with Ned. By that point, Ian is a year and a half older and, while still scarred and warped in his views because of Kash, perhaps a bit wiser. Emotionally, he kept Ned at arm’s length most of the time. He used Ned not just as a distraction, but as a way to galvanize Mickey into taking their relationship a step forward. But Ian is still Ian, and Ian is compassionate to a fault. Ned played that card by asking if he could have a little understanding for a man whose life was falling apart. Sure, he can. He’s Ian, the Gallagher too empathetic for his own good at times. We know how that spirals out of control. It just goes to show that even when Ian was trying to maintain some emotional distance, his heart is simply too big and his perceptions too heavily impacted by the grooming he’d experienced with two different people by then, and so he [SPOILER ALERT] still feels enough of a connection to Ned after all these years to be mildly bothered that he passed away.

3.      Caleb: The third of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. Ian’s relationship with Caleb strikes me as being similar to what he had with Ned. While more age-appropriate, Ian was very much using Caleb, just as Caleb was using him. That’s why it was so easy for both of them to walk away. Ian was in a difficult spot when they met. He was grateful to the firefighters who saved his life, but he had also just saved someone else at a moment when he was perhaps at his absolute lowest. That’s what he’s always wanted, isn’t it—to be a bit of a hero and help people? So, he’s understandably drawn there, first out of gratitude and then to be surrounded by very attractive gay firemen who helped people, saved his life, and invited him to be part of a function they were holding. But he made himself pretty clear from the start: he was interested in sex with Caleb. That was the draw. He still hasn’t come to terms with being bipolar and losing Mickey, but Ian has never not been with anyone for any extended length of time. That’s just who he is: he’s always sought some level of outward validation—from the army, Kash, Monica, Mickey, and so many others. We’re seeing him struggle with that now as he deals with the opportunities available to him as a mentally ill ex-con felon. So, he pursues Caleb as a distraction just like he did with Ned, only Caleb is a predator in his own right and can smell that his interest is coming from a place of weakness. He immediately (and initially unintentionally) preys on Ian’s desperate need for structure and order by insisting on a traditional date where Ian is very much out of his element and even goes so far as to instruct Ian on how to be intimate. It’s no wonder he mentions Mickey in these moments, as Mickey never wanted him to change, and Ian leans heavily (even slightly hyperbolically) into the fact that Mickey wasn’t a paragon of order and stability like Caleb outwardly appears. 

And I think why Ian puts up with it so long—being taught like a child, being used to upset Caleb’s parents, being paraded in front of his friends to make them jealous—is because he was getting something out of it too, just like with Ned. A stable place to live when their home ownership was in flux, a place away from his family when they weren’t providing the support he needed as he adjusted to his disorder, someone who validated his desires to help people regardless of their ulterior motives, and a physical distraction from his own problems. All of these parallel his relationship with Ned very closely. It was never going to last, of course. Ian is a strong person who temporarily forgot how strong he was because he forgot who he was, and Caleb didn’t want to be cared for—he wanted a project, like all of his sculptures. Being a project, being something that others see as needing to be fixed? That’s a hard no for Ian. It always has been. There’s a moment I love later in their relationship where Caleb tells him to turn off the lights when he goes out and lightly reprimands him for leaving one on the day prior. Ian is in a better place at that point, having regained a lot of his sense of self, and stares after him with indignation at being treated like a kid. He’s then lied to and cheated on, but I think that to mention those things to Caleb when they break up is to admit weakness on his own part—that he stuck with Caleb knowing that he was being mistreated, and Ian is not one to be called a victim. So, while we know from his discussions with Lip and Sue that the cheating and distrust bothered him most, he merely focused on Caleb lying about his sexuality, which removed a lot of the emotion from the situation—just like he did with Ned. It ultimately turned out to be a bad move since Caleb, being a skilled predator, made him question even his own sexuality in return, but we’re starting to see that Ian isn’t here to be someone’s toy anymore. Not an older, married man like Ned, but definitely not anyone his age either. I’m glad this pseudo-relationship happened because it showed Ian how strong he really was and that he could be in control of his own life. Sure, it destabilized him a little in the aftermath, but he worked through it. He leaned on his family, specifically Lip, who has always been his rock without the blurred lines that Fiona represented between sister/mother-figure/caretaker. Caleb is a garbage person, but Ian was the one who pulled the treasure from the trash, not him.

4.      Trevor: The fourth of Ian’s perceived romantic pursuits that really wasn’t. Trevor is perhaps the first relationship where we don’t see Ian dive in. Whether that’s because of his confusion over Trevor’s gender identity or the fact that he was really beginning to fully mature as an adult by that point (ostensibly finishing his education, getting a career, being fully self-sufficient, etc.), he tried to take his time and not jump right in. They hung out, talked around the neighborhood, and yes, engaged in some casual intimacy at the club. Again, Ian might not be in a full relationship, but he’s never without someone for long. At that point in the series, all he was missing was a relationship when it comes to traditional, “normal” goals for people to have. But Trevor posed a situation he’s never been in before since, while gay himself, Ian has never been very interested in activism or engaging in the LGBT community. It’s just not in his culture or environment, so to be faced with someone he’s interested in that challenges a lot of his views of gender and sexuality is something he takes his time with. Unfortunately, Trevor is younger than him and not quite as mature, not quite as experienced. He tells Ian he has plenty of friends and doesn’t need another, which is an ultimatum that has never really sat very well with me personally because I’m generally of the mind that if a person needs time and you really care for them, you’ll let them have that time. I’m not unsympathetic to Trevor: he’s been burned before and has his own trauma stemming from responses to his identity, so it makes complete sense for him not to be patient in this regard. He shouldn’t have to be—but then, Ian shouldn’t have to rush into anything he’s not 100% certain he wants either. That’s exactly what he does, though, because Ian does for others without thinking of the implications for himself a lot of the time. They make great friends, but they don’t make great partners. Trevor treats Ian similarly to Caleb in that he’s a bit of a project. Trevor educates him on the LGBT community and incorporates him into his ventures for the shelter without ever really showing much interest in Ian’s life or family, which suits Ian just fine because for as interested as he is in helping with the shelter and as attracted to Trevor as he is, he seems to know they’re not compatible. Ian, who has been having sex since he was far too young, takes a step back from it when they run into compatibility issues. (And pushes back on the pressure to bottom with some of his own—neither of them were in the right on that.) He doesn’t ask much about Trevor’s family or try to be part of his personal life. They sort of embody the “friends with benefits” stereotype: they hang out, they have sex, and that’s really all there is to their relationship. 

The reason Ian doubles down on trying to make it work isn’t because there was a future for them before Mickey broke out. It’s because he thinks he’s lost Mickey forever, he knows he’s lost Monica forever, and he’s not going to get the support he needs from his family when they couldn’t stand Monica and Fiona told him what he already knew to be true, namely that Mickey being an escaped convict would destroy everything Ian worked so hard for if he got involved. So, he does what Ian does. He needs that distraction—he needs to run from these strong emotions he can’t process, so he bottles them up and unfairly hopes that Trevor will provide some of that comfort after cheating on him with Mickey. (Had Mickey been released, I think they would have broken up. Instead, that was the first match Ian lit, but certainly not the last.) Now, the thing is, Trevor said at the start that he didn’t want to be Ian’s friend. He’s also younger and less mature in a relationship, which means he threw the concept of love out there prematurely, just like Ian thought what he had with Kash was love. The death throes of their relationship were a back and forth where Ian was spiraling and seeking comfort, and Trevor was providing some while keeping their relationship pretty amorphous. (Were they exes? Were they friends? Were they people who shared interests and danced around each other? Were they going to get back together? They never officially broke up—it fizzled and resurged, then fizzled for good.) Ultimately, whatever it was that they had couldn’t survive Mickey, Monica, or Gay Jesus. Trevor wasn’t prepared to deal with a full-blown manic episode, and based on his hands-off approach with involving himself in Ian’s life even before the Mickey-shaped bomb got dropped on them, it doesn’t seem like he really wanted to anyway. He did what he’s always done: prioritized his shelter, which I’m not deriding in the slightest. By that point, Ian was too far gone to care that he disappeared anyway. Had the situation been different and he was getting the support from his family that he needed, it doesn’t seem like he would have cared much there either.

5.      Mickey: Finally. Only took over five thousand words to get here. I’ll preface this with something that anyone who knows me from other fandoms is already well aware of, namely that I don’t do romance. Ever. Never been interested. The relationships I’ve always been most passionately interested in are platonic ones, especially “found families” and siblings, which is probably obvious from the other five thousand words here. Ian and Mickey are the first relationship I’ve actively shipped or written for in a fandom. They’re the first I’ve been invested in to this extent. As such, one of the biggest pet peeves I had when I first joined this fandom was the saying, “Ian fell first, Mickey fell harder.” These two wonderful dumbasses face planted on the concrete in front of the Kash and Grab in s1 and never recovered. I could go on forever about these two, but that particular wall of text would probably be too daunting for even the most avid Gallavich stan to traverse, so I’ll keep it fairly brief. As we can see above, Ian has a very strict sense of what he “should” want in a partner. Someone who is moderately successful in their chosen field, makes enough money to at least live comfortably, and typically does something that helps other people (a doctor, a fireman, a youth counselor). These aren’t passionate people. They’re not men who operate on instinct the way most of the people in his life have always had to by virtue of their social standing. They have life goals and opportunities that he envies, and Ian has a great deal of compassion for them when they hit a roadblock or things don’t work out. The amazing dichotomy of Ian Gallagher is that he straddles a line most people can’t between the rough neighborhood that has instilled in him all of his values/behaviors and the middle-class mentality of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and aspiring to more. Ian has always aimed for what Lip said wasn’t possible for poor people: being successful without having to scam or steal. But as I said way back at the beginning of this manifesto, the South Side is his home. His family is his family. And none of the people he’s been with personify the South Side quite like Mickey—they don’t personify home like Mickey. 

And I think that’s where the initial draw for Ian is. (I’m going to focus on Ian’s side since he’s who your question focused on.) The other guys look great on paper, and Ian’s brain says that that’s what he should aim for. We know better, though. We know that Ian has an enormous heart that belongs first and foremost to his family and their home. His heart says that this person—this dirty, rude, mean, violent person—is home. His heart says this person is everything about himself that he denies having, just like Ian was everything about Mickey that the latter declined to openly acknowledge for so long. I don’t like relationships built on “making each other better.” I really don’t. The wonderful thing about this is that it’s never been that way. Ian didn’t change Mickey. He’s exactly who he’s always been, but he’s grown past the fear of his own emotions and Terry’s response to them. He’s still a thief, a con artist, violent, and rude. Mickey didn’t change Ian either. He’s still rigidly conforming to certain stereotypes of what he thinks he should want, seeking structure (to his own detriment at times), and not a great communicator. The point for them is that they complement each other, not that they make the other a better person—not even that they bring something out of each other that wasn’t already there. That’s what Ian’s other relationships did. They made him shave off his edges so that he could fit a square peg into a round hole, and that’s not happiness. It’s simply what he thought he was supposed to do—what “normal” people did. 

With Mickey, he doesn’t have to worry so much about what is normal or acceptable. He doesn’t have to worry about whether or not his life is objectively “on track,” not until fairly recently. Mickey is the only person he’s ever been with who has accepted him for who he is, faults and strengths alike, without the underlying insinuation that he should be aiming for something else or pretending to be whatever the other person needs him to be in order to care for them. Kash needed an escape—Ian provided it. Ned needed a very specific brand of toy—Ian played that role. Caleb needed a project to feel fulfilled—Ian went along with it for a bit. Trevor needed someone who accepted him as he was but did things his way—Ian did that. To care for Mickey has only ever meant being himself because all Mickey ever really needed was him. Mickey didn’t need an escape from his home—his relationship with his family is more complicated than that. Mickey didn’t need to be saved from his upbringing—it’s what made him the person Ian fell in love with and who he is happy to be. Mickey didn’t need someone to change who he is on a fundamental level because unless it is going to get him into trouble and separate them, Ian never wanted him to. (Even then, it’s about what he does, not who he is.) And yes, I’m sure that there’s a level of excitement that Ian finds exhilarating where Mickey is concerned, but I tend to believe it goes a lot deeper than that. What he finds exciting about Mickey is what Mickey embodies about the South Side—about home. About his own upbringing, but also Ian’s. About Frank and Monica, his siblings, school, work, ROTC—existing and surviving in an environment where it’s not guaranteed that you’ll have money to keep the heat on this winter or feed your family. They spent the early seasons living in a constant state of fight or flight. They couldn’t afford not to. And there’s excitement in that. Look at how many people say that the first seasons are their favorite! There hasn’t been a huge shift in the quality or direction of the writing, just the trajectory of the characters. They’ve gotten older, and their problems have been different. It’s not about survival so much of the time anymore, but those are the storylines that excite us. For Ian, that exhilaration in the constant battle of survival in their neighborhood is sewn into the fiber of his being just like it is Mickey’s. He saw his home in Mickey before they truly fell in love, and when that followed, Mickey became home.

In Conclusion

Ian has spent his entire life looking for the “right” path only to realize that it was laid before him: his family, his small circle of friends, and Mickey. I love that that is coming full circle this season, where [SPOILER ALERT] marriage has almost made him regress a bit to that place where there must be a right way of doing things going forward, and slowly but surely, we’re seeing him loosen up.

Good morning. It’s Ian Gallagher loving hours.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Shotgun - m. tkachuk

And here is 8.7k of a road trip with Matthew Tkachuk, which honestly, is the real dream. Let me know what you think of it, reblog (I love looking at tags!!) and pop into my inbox if you’d like!

Wine pairing from someone with zero authority on the subject: a nice brut rosé - crisp, fruity, bubbly. Plus, I like the vibes. 

It all started with a text. What are the chances you can get the week after next off? Matthew had sent. Madison’s brow furrowed. Doubtful, but I can try. Are you going to tell me what this is about? There was a week left in the season before playoffs started, and with the points spread in the Pacific being what it was, the matchups were all but locked in. It took less than a minute to get a response. No :) I’ll let you know once you get an answer. She got approved for the time off two days later. Her phone rang as soon as she texted him the news. “How do you feel about road trips?”

---

Maddy had met Matthew about a little over a year prior, soon after she moved to Calgary from her hometown of Toronto. Having finished her first week of work as a computer programmer, there was nothing Madison wanted more than to let loose and enjoy a few drinks with her friends. She was sharing a two-bedroom with her best friend Emily, who Maddy would swear up and down was the sunniest, warmest, most kind person she’d ever met. Not like Maddy wasn’t a nice person — she was — but where her idea of relaxing meant going out bouldering, or camping, or a last-minute road trip, Emily was more of a homebody. 

But going out meant going out, and so Emily was happily dragged along to a bar downtown; which one, she couldn’t really say. Madison walked up to the bar as soon as they entered, catching the bartender’s eye and ordering a Tom Collins. She tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited, glancing around the room. It was ten o’clock on a Friday night, so it was plenty packed. “What are you getting?” Madison asked Emily curiously. 

She held up her Molson. “I’m a woman of simple tastes. Plus, I didn’t feel like waiting around for the bartender to actually make me a drink,” Emily added dryly. 

Maddy rolled her eyes. “What’s the point of going out to a bar when you’re just going to be drinking something you could get at the liquor store?” Emily stuck her tongue out. The bartender slid Maddy’s glass over, taking her card and swiping it through quickly. “Thank you!” she chirped, whipping around to head over and snag a free table she had seen a few minutes before. 

She never ended up getting to the table. Instead, she ran straight into 6 feet, 2 inches of pure Midwestern beef. “Woah!” Matthew said, steadying her as she watched her glass fall to the floor, thankfully not breaking but absolutely spilling its entire contents over the wood. “You good?” 

Madison nodded, grabbing a rag from the bartender. Matthew followed suit, joining her on the floor. “Got a little on my shoes, but it’ll be fine. They won’t stain.”

Matthew nodded, giving a final wipe before taking her rag and handing both back over the counter. “Did me spilling your drink all over you ruin my chances of getting your name?”

“Madison St. Pierre,” she said, laughing and sticking out a hand for him to shake. 

“Matthew Tkachuk, but—”

Maddy cut him off. “I probably already know that?” Matthew ducked his head sheepishly. “I may be a long-suffering Leafs fan, but I don’t live under a rock.”

He took a sip of his beer, leaning up against the bar. “Not from around here, eh?”

Maddy shook her head. “Just moved a couple weeks ago. I’m from Toronto, moved here for a job. I do computer programming,” she said by way of explanation. 

“A smart girl.”

She tilted her head. “You could say that.”

“Well,” he said, “I feel bad about spilling your drink on you, let me buy you another.” 

Maddy laughed. “If you insist. It’s really the least you could do.”

Matthew nodded at the bartender, ordering her another Tom Collins and putting it on his tab. “You and your friend are more than welcome to join us,” he gestured behind him to where the rest of his group was sitting, “we were playing a drinking game and could use a few more players anyway.”

And that was how Matthew met Maddy. 

---

Day 1 

Ten days later, Madison was hefting her duffel bag into the trunk of her Nissan. It was 7:00 on a Tuesday. Normally on a day off she’d be taking advantage of every possible minute of sleep she could get, but lines to cross the border could be long and they wanted to get to Montana by lunch. She waved goodbye to Emily, hopping in the driver’s seat and starting the engine. Matthew had initially suggested they just get a rental car, since it would save Maddy the 20-hour drive back. But a quick Google search let them know that the chances of finding a company willing to let them drop off a Canadian car in Nevada were slim to none. Plus, Maddy had always liked driving, so it wasn’t really an issue for her. They weren’t going to be alone on the trip; Matthew had invited Elias and Rasmus along. She felt a little bit like a school bus driver, stopping at Elias’s complex to pick him up, then Rasmus’ condo, finally pulling into the underground lot of Matthew’s apartment building. Holding one hand up in greeting, he wheeled his suitcases over to her car.

Maddy unblocked her seatbelt, hopping out to help him. “Why on earth did you need so many bags?” she huffed, turning one on its side and wedging it in between hers and Elias’s. 

He shrugged. “I’ve got a bag for the trip, a bag of actual clothes and workout stuff for the series, and the suit bag.” He hung the offending article on a hook. “Did you think I’d be able to set my vanity aside for a whole four days?”

“I should have known that would be too much to ask.”

Matty threw his head back, laughing. “Anyone ever told you how funny you are, Mads?”

“Once or twice, Ratthew,” she said, slamming the door shut. 

Maddy hopped back in the driver’s seat, jamming the key in the ignition and turning the engine on. “Next stop, boys, is America.”

---

Well technically, the next stop was a gas station off of Highway 2, about twenty minutes from the border. “Wait, wait,” Matthew said, a conspiratorial grin on his face as Madison took the pump out of the gas tank. 

She raised one eyebrow. “What?”

He made grabby hands at her keys. “Let me drive.”

“Why?” Madison asked. “I’ve been driving for like what, two hours? I’m not tired yet.”

“I’m the only American in the car.”

Maddy put the pump back. “And?”

Matthew looked sheepish. “Someone said that the border patrol officers will tell Americans ‘welcome home’ when they’re coming back. It’s never happened to me flying so I wanted to see if it would be different in a car.”

“If it means that much to you?” she said, tossing the keys over the hood of the car. Matthew caught them. Maddy rounded the back of the car before she could see him ducking his head, blushing. 

They arrived at the Piegan/Carway crossing shortly after. With exactly zero cars in front of them, Matthew pulled straight up to the booth. 

“Purpose of your visit?” the officer said, looking into the driver’s side. 

“Three of us play hockey, we’re road tripping down to Las Vegas before our playoff series starts in a few days,” Matty answered easily. 

He nodded. “And how long will you be in the States for?”

It was clear either this man had never watched a series of professional sports in his life, or he was just following a standard script. “Depends?” Matthew said, fully aware of how questionable that sounded. 

Maddy piped up from the passenger seat. “I’m driving the car back, so I’ll be back in eight days.”

“Right,” Matthew nodded, “But this trip to the US, we’ll be back in seven days. We’re flying back on the team plane, so it’s not a land crossing.” He decided to forego mentioning that, barring a sweep, they’d be back again in two weeks.

The poor officer looked bewildered. “Team plane?”

Matty shrugged his shoulders. “We play for the Calgary Flames, the team charters a plane to fly us from Calgary to wherever we’re playing and back. We decided to take the scenic route this time.” 

“Okay,” he said, but Madison still wasn’t convinced he actually understood what Matty was saying. If the border officer thought anything of the American, Canadian, and Swedish passports he was handed, he didn’t say anything. Giving a cursory glance, he handed them back. “Welcome back,” he nodded to Matthew, waving the car through the gate. Matthew pumped his fist.

---

An hour later, Matthew pulled into a dirt parking lot on the edge of Glacier National Park. “WE MADE IT!” he exclaimed, putting the car in park and throwing his hands up. 

“We drove three hours,” Elias said from the back seat. 

“And?” Matty challenged, opening the door. 

Maddy grabbed her backpack, stuffed with sandwiches and snacks that they had gotten on their way in. “If you guys brought hiking boots or good tennis shoes, now’s the time,” she said, lacing up her own boots. “There’s a loop around here that’s a little under four miles long, doesn’t sound like it’s too difficult but there is some elevation climb, so better safe than sorry.” People typically didn’t peg her for it, but Maddy was a very outdoorsy person at heart. She had taken up rock climbing in high school, and was a regular at the bouldering gyms back in Toronto until she moved. She’d found a climbing gym she liked well enough in Calgary, but with Banff just over an hour away from the city, the park had become her go-to for climbing and hiking. Matty had come with her on more than one occasion, and had surprised her with a long weekend camping for her birthday in March. The snow hadn’t all melted yet, and waking up to the powder-dusted fir trees outside of their tent had been one of the most beautiful sights of her life. 

“Everyone’s got a full water bottle?” she asked, tying up her hair. The last thing anyone wanted was to get heatstroke in one of the most remote parts of the park with only one phone that could even connect to an American cell tower. 

The group started off at a leisurely pace, wandering off-trail to check out anything and everything that caught their interest. The edge of the St. Mary Valley served as the perfect backdrop for lunch, Maddy pulling the sandwiches out from her bag and doling them out. “Oh thank God, I’m starving,” Elias said, grabbing his food from Maddy practically before she even had it in her hand. 

“Did you not have breakfast?” she asked incredulously. 

He nodded. “I did, but I’m still hungry. Should have brought snacks.” Off to his side, Matty snickered. 

 Day 2

Elias had volunteered to take over from Matthew to drive through the night, switching off sometime around sunrise with Rasmus. “I 100% have a crick in my neck,” Maddy grimaced, blinking the sleep out of her eyes and checking her phone. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Matthew smiled. Maddy groaned, leaning into his side. Almost instinctively, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, taking a few gulps before setting it back down on the floor of the car, where it promptly rolled away. 

“Who do I have to blow to get a decent cup of coffee around here?” Maddy groaned. Matthew almost choked on his water. He had to get his mind off of the idea of Maddy blowing anything or he was about to have an issue. He pulled out his phone, jumping on Google maps. 

“There’s a little coffee shop a few miles ahead, off of the Spruce Drive exit?” he asked tentatively. 

She yawned. “As long as they sell caffeine, I’m game.” They did indeed sell caffeine, and after inhaling two cappuchinos and a small mountain of pastries later, Maddy hopped back behind the wheel. “You sure bear claws and muffins are on the meal plan, boys?” she asked, a smile playing on the corner of her lips. 

Rasmus waved her off. “It’s not like you’re going to rat us out, are you?” 

She shrugged, wiggling her phone in her hand as she pulled up at a stoplight. “Bold of you to assume I don’t have Coach’s number in my phone.”

Matty plucked her phone from her hand, placing it back by the center console. “Be that as it may, sweet Madison, you neglect to remember that I’m the only one with coverage in the U.S.” He might not strike most people as a particularly sentimental person, but Matthew loved his family, and decided that the extra charge was well worth being able to call his parents and sister whenever he was missing them. 

She stuck her tongue out at Matthew. “You ruin all of my fun, you know that?” All he did was grin. The drive to Mesa Falls wasn’t long at all, they had just finished their food — Matty popping bites of muffin into Madison’s mouth as she drove — when she pulled over to the curb by the sign. Maddy threw the boys’ backpacks to them, pointing to the single bathroom stall in the tiny rest area. “Go change, I’ll use the car.”

“Why can’t we have the car?” Matthew complained.

She looked at him. “Three full-grown men, all over six feet, in one car. I know you see each other’s dicks all day in the locker room, but I’d really rather not have that in my car. Think.”

Matty made an “o” with his mouth. “Gotcha.”

Swim trunks were much easier to get on than a wrap bikini, Madison was finding, and the boys were finished changing well before she was done figuring out her top. She bit her lip, poking her head out of the door. “Matty?” 

He turned around, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

“Could you help me tie this?” she asked, gesturing to the halter top. “I think it’s stuck or something.”

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes widening as he tried to stutter through a sentence. “Uh, yeah. I can do that. For sure,” he said, shuffling over to the car. He gently untwisted the straps, gathering them into a bow at the base of her neck and trying very, very hard to not think about how soft her skin felt underneath his fingers. This was one of his best friends. And best friends weren’t supposed to think about that kind of stuff. Right?

Behind them, Elias and Rasmus shared a glance. They had expected something was going on between them, really ever since the party in November, but this was something new. They had never seen Matthew gone this far for a girl before. And they liked this side of him. 

“Thanks,” she said, squeezing his shoulder before disappearing back into the car to throw on a coverup. “How long is the walk to the actual waterfalls?”

“Not long,” Elias responded. “Ten minutes or so?” It was an easy walk to the falls, which were mercifully empty when they got there. They kicked off their sandals, leaving the bags under a nearby bush. Matthew knew Madison was pretty. She wasn’t a nun and he wasn’t a saint; she had seen him shirtless more times than he could count and he had seen her come out of his guest room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt of his after she stayed the night. His thoughts hadn’t exactly been innocent. But as she pulled her t-shirt over her head, leaving her clad only in that damn red bikini, he was convinced he’d never seen a more gorgeous sight. 

She turned around just as Matthew tore his eyes away, looking mischievously at him. “Last one in?” They sprinted to the water. Matty let her win. 

---

About half of their stops had been planned in advance; the others were pulled from websites or Google suggestions or whatever their waitress’ recommendation was for a local must-see. The Idaho Potato Museum fell into the latter category. Rasmus had floated the idea shortly after they had left Mesa Falls, and seeing as how nobody had anything better to suggest, they ran with it. 

“Free taters for out of staters,” Matthew said, reading off of the pamphlet they had been handed at the welcome desk. 

“Will they give me extra since I’m Canadian?” Madison wondered aloud. “For all intents and purposes they think you live in Missouri, Matty.” The nickname rolled off her tongue so easily, she didn’t even think twice. 

He passed the paper to her, the tips of their fingers barely brushing together, but Matthew could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t get greedy, Mads.” They walked down a dimly-lit hallway lined with black-and-white photos. 

“Did you know that the first potatoes grown in the United States were planted in Londonderry, New Hampshire, by Scotch-Irish immigrants?” Elias read off of a placard, his voice sounding like a disinterested radio announcer. 

Maddy shook her head. “I didn’t, thank you so much for imparting on me this most important knowledge, Elias.”

“My pleasure,” he replied. 

“Did you know that you could survive off of a diet of only potatoes and butter?” Rasmus chimed in, reading another sign. 

“Really?” Matthew asked, leaning in to read. He turned to Madison a moment later. “Really, apparently.”

Half an hour of wandering later, Matthew and Madison had stumbled into the “artifacts” portion of the museum. “What kind of artifacts does a potato museum have?” Maddy asked, looking supremely confused. 

Matthew wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Why don’t we see?” For some reason, he decided it would be a good idea to hold his hand out for her. And for some reason, Maddy took it. 

The “artifacts” turned out to consist of some old farm tools, dusty burlap sacks, and the world’s largest potato chip. Elias and Ramsus were on the other side of the museum, leaving Matthew and Madison to drift through alone. “Crisp, actually,” Matthew said, reading the card under the glass case. “Because I guess they’re worried about people stealing it?”

“There’s a difference?”

He shrugged. “Apparently it’s only a chip if it’s a slice of potato. This was made from dehydrated potato flakes, or something like that.” Maddy wasn’t sure if it was the sepia-tinted lighting, or the lingering memory of how Matty’s fingertips burned like fire against her back as he tied her bikini, or if there was something particularly romantic about dehydrated potato flakes, but they were alone in the room and suddenly she was looking at him a little bit differently. Matthew looked at her, gaze soft as his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly down towards her lips. Her lips. His body leaned in, and just as she closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to meet hers, wondering if they were really going to do this in the middle of the Idaho fucking Potato Museum—

“We were wondering where you guys had gone off to!” Elias’s Swedish accent cut through the silence. Matthew threw his head back, silently cursing his teammate’s timing. If Elias and Rasmus realized anything was off, they didn’t say. “The lady at the front said it’s closing in ten minutes, so we thought we should head out and get something to eat.”

Maddy nodded in agreement, her cheeks burning. “Sounds good. I could go for some food.” They made their way back outside, Matthew settling behind the wheel as he steered the car back onto the highway. He tried to shake the almost-kiss from his mind, but the more he tried to forget it, the more the memory stuck. 

Elias looked down at his phone. “Yelp says there’s an Indian place coming up on the left if that sounds good to you guys,” he said, shaking Matthew from his thoughts. 

Maddy scrunched her nose. “All due respect, I don’t trust this town to make good Indian food. Potatoes, burgers, meat, sure. I buy it. But I haven’t seen a single person of color since we left Glacier.” 

“Fair.” 

The burgers were good; nothing to write home about, but Maddy was honestly thrilled to eat something that didn’t come out of a bag. The plan had originally been to drive through the night again to reach Salt Lake City by the early morning, but Maddy made it clear her back didn’t take too well to sleeping in the car, and the others agreed. “Rasmus, mind finding a hotel nearby? Doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just somewhere not too far off of the freeway,” Madison asked. He nodded, pulling out his phone. They had gotten tired of passing around Matthew’s phone anytime they were out of Wifi range, so after a little complaining and one of Maddy’s puppy-dog eye looks, he finally relented and turned his hotspot on. 

“There’s a Holiday Inn up off of the next exit if that sounds good to you guys,” Rasmus said. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the Post Malone song that Matty had plugged in. They switched the aux every few hours. 

“Yeah, works for me.” Madison hummed her agreement; Matty nodded. Rasmus flicked on the blinkers, gently cruising down the offramp, pulling into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn about half a mile down the road. 

Madison bit the inside of her cheek. “They’re going to have rooms available, yeah?” 

“Mads, it’s May in the middle of nowhere, Idaho. I don’t exactly think they’ve got business lining up out the door.” Matty said, looking at her from the side as they walked into the hotel lobby. 

The whole trip was Matthew’s idea, so he insisted on footing the bill, handing his credit card and license over to the receptionist. Maddy snickered behind her hand. Matthew turned back to look at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Something you’d like to share with the class, Madison?”

“Missouri licenses look weird,” she commented.

“And Alberta’s any better?”

She scrunched her nose. “We have a dinosaur on ours. Beat that.”

“I’ll let you have that one,” Matty said, the corner of his lip twitching as he thanked the receptionist, tucking the cards back into his wallet. She handed over the room keys, Matthew passing two to Rasmus and Elias and one to Maddy. “I had us together, if you don’t mind.” 

Madison shook her head. “Fine with me.” It wasn’t unusual for her to stay over at Matthew’s apartment, either after going out or when their movie nights ran a little long and she woke up to Matty tucking her into the bed in his guest room. She had a toothbrush in his bathroom, a change of clothes in the dresser. She had offered to take her stuff back a few months ago, not wanting any girl he might bring over to get the wrong idea. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he had said when she asked, waving her off. Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t brought any girl home — that she knew about — since sometime around the beginning of the year. 

They waved goodbye to Rasmus and Elias, promising to wake up bright and early to get the first crack at the breakfast buffet when it opened at 7. Matty swiped his card, holding the door open when the light turned green and the knob twisted. “After you, m’lady.” 

“Why thank you, good sir,” Maddy giggled, ducking under his arm into the entryway. She stopped at the end of the hall, eyes flickering into the room. 

Matthew stopped behind her. “What’s up?”

“There’s only one bed.”

His head jerked around the corner, not like he doubted her word or anything, but he needed to see it for himself. There was only one bed. One big bed, one very comfortable-looking bed, but one bed. Matty dropped his bag on the floor. “Uh...D’you want me to call down? I can see if they’ve got another room if that would make you more comfortable.”

Madison pursed her lips for a second before shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. We’re adults, we can share a bed without burning the house down.” It wasn’t like Maddy was lying for Matthew’s sake; she really was fine with it. Maybe a little too fine. But they had slept together — in the innocent sense of the word — before, and everything had turned out okay. His arm draped over her shoulder as she cuddled into his shoulder on a late night, her legs tangled in his when some of his friends from St. Louis were visiting for the weekend and took the guest room. He had offered to take the couch that night, but Maddy didn’t want to relegate him to a night of back cramps and drafty breezes, especially when he had an early practice the next day. Nobody ever made it weird, so it wasn’t weird. 

She took her bundle of clothes into the shower, relishing in the feeling of hot water raining down on her aching muscles. Maddy was loving the trip, genuinely, but being in a car for twelve hours out of the day took something out of a person. Slipping into an old college t-shirt, Madison thought for a moment about putting on a pair of sweats. It wasn’t particularly cold — the opposite, in fact — but she didn’t know if it would make Matthew feel weird if she wasn’t wearing pants. Fuck it, she thought, pulling up her boyshorts. If he had an issue with it, it was his problem. Throwing her hair up in a towel to dry, she turned the doorknob, poking her head out the door. “Shower’s open if you wanted to hop in,” she said.

Matty nodded, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I shouldn’t be too long, why don’t you find something for us to watch?” he asked, tossing her the remote. It wasn’t quite nine o’clock, and while she was tired, Maddy knew if she tried to go to sleep she’d wake up well before dawn, and that wasn’t something anyone wanted. Madison climbed up onto the bed, tucking her feet underneath her and grabbed the channel guide. True to his word, Matthew was in and out in under ten minutes, rubbing his hair with a towel as he walked out. Athletic shorts. Shirtless. Maddy couldn’t help but give him the once-over, having to jerk her eyes back up to his face the moment she realized what she was doing. Matthew met her eyes, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “I can put a shirt on if you’d like…”

“No! You’re good,” Maddy replied, maybe a little too quickly to avoid suspicion. 

He ducked back into the bathroom, throwing the towel over the shower curtain. “So, what did you settle on?”

She looked back at the TV. “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives?”

Matty jumped onto the bed. “Guy Fieri. What a legend. Awesome. Where’s he going?”

Three and a half episodes later, it was almost eleven, and Madison’s eyes were starting to droop. Sometime midway through the second episode, when Guy was visiting an Asian fusion restaurant in Colorado, her head had drifted onto Matthew’s shoulder, where it had stayed ever since. His arm wrapped loosely around her, Matty brought his hand up to brush away a stray piece of hair that had drifted into her face. “Getting sleepy, Mads?”

She yawned, nodding and trying to push herself up. “‘M looking forward to a good night’s sleep in an actual bed.”

Matthew laughed softly. “Let’s get you in bed, then.” He threw back the comforter, Madison crawling under, and reached over to the nightstand, turning off the lamps and TV. “Give me your phone,” he said. 

“Why?” Maddy asked, her brow furrowing. 

“You always forget to charge it overnight, and I don’t want you to be grumpy when it dies at 10 AM.” She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a concession, handing over her iPhone. Matty plugged it in, clambering beneath the sheets. “Sweet dreams, Mads. Good night.”

“Night, Matty.”

 Day 3

 The first thing Madison noticed when she woke up was the warm, unfamiliar weight slung around her waist. It took her a moment to realize that it was Matty’s arm, who hadn’t woken up yet. For some reason that she couldn’t quite identify, or maybe didn’t want to confront quite yet, it wasn’t unwelcome at all, and she savored the last few minutes of physical closeness before he woke up. And he did, wake up, that is. His cheeks reddened as he opened his eyes, pulling his arm away to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly.

Maddy ducked her head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t mind.”

Matthew yawned. “What time is it?”

“Uh, just before seven,” she said, rolling over to look at the alarm clock. “I’d love to stay in bed a little longer, but we did promise the boys we’d meet them down at breakfast soon.”

He nodded, making a very concerted effort to not read into her statements any more than he absolutely had to. “Yeah, good idea,” he said, tossing the covers off and walking into the bathroom. “I’ll sit on you if you’re not up by the time I get back out there.” Maddy took the opportunity to change, threading a belt through her jeans and half-tucking a t-shirt. “I like the look,” he said when he walked out, as Maddy was twisting her hair up into a bun. It wasn’t entirely unusual for Matthew to compliment her; she had accompanied him to more than one charity event for the Flames as his date, but she had always been dressed up. Dress, heels, makeup that she probably stressed way too much over. Dressed to the nines, never in jeans and a t-shirt before. But she didn’t really notice, the compliment meaning just as much to her as if she’d been in a floor-length gown. 

“Thanks,” she said, stuffing her clothes from the night before back into her duffel. “I packed the rest of your bag while you were in there, figured I might as well.”

It was Matty’s turn to thank her, squeezing her hand appreciatively before giving the room a quick look. “We didn’t forget anything, then?”

Madison laughed. “We really didn’t stay long enough to unpack, but yeah, we’ve got everything, don’t worry.”

---

Elias had volunteered to do the drive down to Salt Lake City. Matthew’s inner six-year-old had returned, insisting that the group stop at a dinosaur park in a rural part of Utah. What “dinosaur park” meant, Madison wasn’t sure, but it made Matty happy, so she didn’t fight it. 

The museum was mostly outdoors, with life-sized dinosaur models dotting the massive field. “Were you much into dinosaurs as a kid?” Matthew asked Madison. 

“Kind of?” she replied noncommittally. “I always loved learning about them, but never had like a ‘dinosaur phase’ like David or Cody,” she said, referring to her older brothers. “My family used to go to the Canadian Museum of Nature a ton when I was a kid, since it was only a few hours away in Ottawa, and it has like a billion fossils in it.”

“Which was your favorite?”

“Pachycephalosaurus,” she said easily.

Matthew blinked. “Pachycephalo-what?” he asked in confusion. He thought he knew all of them?

Maddy laughed. “Pachycephalosaurus. They had these really spiny heads. But secretly, I think I was a little bit of a teacher’s pet who just liked saying the name. Pretty sure they were actually native to Alberta?” she added. “What about you?”

“Well, now I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Oh, come on,” Madison said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Promise I won’t make fun of you.”

“Fine, fine,” Matty gave in, “it was the brachiosaurus.”

“How come?” she asked curiously. 

“I liked the long necks.” 

They spent another hour or so at the park, Matty grabbing a keychain on the way out. “They didn’t have a brachiosaurus,” he muttered, half-angry, picking up a T-rex one instead. It wasn’t a long drive to the actual Great Salt Lake, and for some reason, they had trusted Elias with the aux. Much to Maddy’s chagrin, he didn’t end up playing ABBA, and they were instead led to cruise down I-15 to the dulcet tones of J.S. Bach. 

Madison looked down at her phone. “Anyone want to go see the Joseph Smith sphinx?” 

“Joseph Smith?” Rasmus questioned.

“Sphinx?” asked Elias.

Matthew laughed. “You know those Egyptian statues of like the cat ladies? Where they have cat bodies but the faces of people?” 

“Joseph Smith was the founder of the Mormon church,” Madison explained. “Well, technically it’s called the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, but—”

“Know-it-all,” Matty said in a sing-song voice. Madison shot a glare at him from the back seat. 

“But most people still call them Mormons. And apparently they made him into a sphinx.”

Elias looked at her, still dumbfounded. “But why?”

Maddy shrugged. “Honestly? Beats me.” The weather had dropped too much by the time they had reached the lake to make swimming very practical, so the four of them settled for taking off their shoes, rolling up pants, and wading into the shoreline. 

Matthew bent down, picking up a chipped white rock from the ground, the water just lapping at his fingers. He handed it to Madison. “For you.”

She took it gently, running her hands over the jagged surface. “Aren’t you not allowed to take anything from a national park?”

He winked. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” They stopped at a Chipotle just as the sun was beginning to set, Matthew taking over driving duties from Rasmus. The plan was to drive for another two hours or so, stopping somewhere in southern Utah for the night to spare themselves from another night spent in her Nissan. 

They drove in silence for a while, Elias and Rasmus drifting to sleep in the back row, before a road sign caught Matty’s eyes and he spoke. “I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon, you know,” he said as they continued down I-15. 

Maddy looked over at him. “Do you want to go?” She didn’t know where the suggestion came from, but it was out of her mouth before she could take it back, and after a moment, she realized that she didn’t even want to.

His eyebrows raised as he glanced over at her before turning back to the road, the car’s headlights the only thing in sight. “You mean it?” 

Madison shrugged. “Yeah, why not?” She quickly popped the directions into her phone. “It’s only a few hours out of the way, if we drive through the night instead of stopping somewhere we should have more than enough time.” 

“But didn’t you say sleeping in the car made your back hurt?” Matty asked curiously. 

She smiled softly. “I don’t mind, really. I’ll drive. You’re more important.” Honestly, Maddy surprised herself with her boldness. She wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, but it hadn’t escaped her that the dynamic between her and Matthew had changed in the past few weeks and was about to come to a boil. Matty wasn’t exactly the type of guy Madison expected to have a lot of friends who were girls. And a part of her hated that, hated that because of his reputation she automatically assumed when they became friends that all he wanted to do was get in her pants. There had only been one time in their entire year of friendship when they’d even done so much as kissed, and it wasn’t exactly what you’d consider normal circumstances.

---

It was November of the previous year, about six months after Matthew and Madison had met. Matthew had been even more in his head than normal; he hadn’t scored a single point since midway through their East Coast road trip over two weeks ago, and the disappointment was really starting to rag on him. It might not have been something he outwardly showed all that much, but those who knew him knew that Matthew was actually a deeply sensitive person, who took pride in his wins and carried losses with him well after they had faded from the minds of the rest of the hockey world. 

When it had gotten to the point where his frustration was starting to affect his game, Maddy knew it was time to do something. “You’re so much more than your stats, Matty,” she had said, calling him right before she left for the Saddledome. “I know you take this personally, and you feel like you’re letting down the team, but that’s bullshit and somewhere deep down, I know you agree.” Matthew grumbled something that might have been an agreement. “Your team trusts you, they trust you with the puck and with the A, and you’re never going to disappoint them as long as you’re giving it your all. And if you’re the Matthew Tkachuk I know, there’s never a time when you don’t. And win or lose tonight, there’s nothing you could do to change the fact that your family loves you, and your friends love you, and I love you too. Okay?” Clearly, something in her little pep talk had flipped a switch in Matty, because he returned in spectacular form that night, scoring a hat trick in a roaring 5-1 win over the Coyotes. And he didn’t throw a single punch all game. 

A good game without a travel day following usually calls for going out, and a great game with your best friend scoring a hat trick definitely calls for going out, so she dragged Emily along to the bar that Matthew had told her to meet the team at. Matthew had pulled her into a hug the moment she arrived, kissing her cheek and trying his damndest not to spill the beer in his hand on her shoes. An hour and a half into the night, Madison was four drinks in, well and truly drunk, and Emily had wandered off and appeared to be flirting with an extremely oblivious Noah Hanifin. 

“How are you doing, Mads?” Matthew asked, coming up from behind her barstool and resting his hand gently on the small of her back. 

She looked back at him, a goofy smile on her face, and took another sip of her drink. “I’m good, I’m realllly good,” she giggled. “Did I ever get a chance to tell you how good you were tonight?” Matthew shook his head, very poorly concealing a laugh. He had had more than one beer, sure, but he was nowhere near as gone as Madison. “Because you were really good. A-ma-zing,” she added, punctuating each syllable. Her eyes softened as she leaned in. “I know the points drought was starting to weigh on you, and I’m really glad you were able to do this for yourself. I’m always proud of you, Matty, but I was a little extra proud of you tonight. People sometimes write you off as just another good player without any real subsistence,” she paused, correcting herself, “substance, off the ice, but I know the real you, and the real you is even more incredible than the you that plays hockey. It’s my favorite thing to see.”

“It is?” Matthew asked softly, leaning into the hand that had begun to caress his cheek a little bit imprecisely, but that somehow communicated every kind of unsaid word between them. 

Madison nodded, touching his forehead to hers, and then she tilted in. And then she kissed him. Her lips met his, and she tasted like lime and spearmint chewing gum and his favorite kind of tequila. Her lips met his, and it seemed like the room stood still; he barely heard his teammates’ wolf-whistles or Emily’s elated gasp in the background. Her lips met his, and he drank in every second of the kiss until she pulled away. 

---

Maddy hadn’t been drunk enough to black out that night, and she came to the next morning with a roaring headache and the pang of regret in her heart. She thought it was shame at her behavior, embarrassment that she could act so impulsively, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized. The fact that she kissed Matthew wasn’t the issue, not to her, at least. It was the fact that she was drunk in a bar after a hockey game and that wasn’t how she wanted it to happen. She pushed her feelings to the side, trying desperately to focus on work and supporting Matty through the rest of the season, but they always tended to flare up when they were least welcome. Like at the Idaho Potato Museum.

Which of course meant that Matthew would choose this moment, driving down I-15 with two sleeping Swedish hockey players in the backseat, to bring it up. “I remember when you kissed me, you know,” Matty said softly, reaching up to brush his fingers over his lips, like if he tried hard enough he could remember what it felt like to have Maddy’s pressed against his. 

Madison froze, which isn’t exactly what you’re supposed to do when you’re driving. She thought he had forgotten. He had never brought it up, so she really had no reason to believe he would have remembered. “You do?” she asked, swallowing.

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “Mhm. I hadn’t thought about it in a couple weeks, but back in Idaho, in front of the World’s Largest Potato Crisp…” He let out an airy chuckle. 

Maddy breathed in sharply. So she hadn’t imagined that. Her fingers tapped nervously against the faux leather of the steering wheel. “Yeah…” She trailed off nervously. “I was drunk.”

“Oh, you were hammered,” Matthew agreed. “But do you regret it?”

There it was, the million-dollar question that she somehow actually had the answer to. A long moment passed before she answered, figuring it would be best to just rip the band-aid off. Worst case, Matty would hate her and she’d only be stuck in a car with him for ten-odd more hours. No big deal. “No,” she whispered, voice so small he almost didn’t hear it. 

“I’m glad, because I don’t either,” Matty said. Madison hazarded a glance to her side; he looked almost nervous, and nervous wasn’t a look Matthew Tkachuk did all that often. “I had wanted to for a few months, but it always seemed like it was never the right time, or something interrupted us, or I didn’t know how you felt about me. But you made the first move, and I’m glad you did.”

“How come?”

He sighed. “I don’t know how long I would have waited to do something, or if I ever would have done anything. I feel like sometimes…,” he searched for the right words, “the confidence that I have on the ice can be misleading. Hockey is about reflexes and instincts and knowing the game, but it’s also thinking three steps ahead, anticipating every possible outcome and preparing for them. And that’s the part that I carry off the ice. I think I was worried if I ever brought it up with you, if I ever mentioned that I so much as remembered the kiss, you might clam up and tell me it was a stupid, drunken mistake, and I don’t know what I’d do if you said that. Because I don’t know how you feel about me, not like that”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to force the words out, as scared as she was about admitting them. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” Matthew had never seen Madison like this before, unsure and worried and downright vulnerable, and it meant so much to him that she was letting him see her like that. 

Matthew let out a watery laugh. “Only pretty sure? Hurts my ego a little bit.” Maddy opened her mouth, but he waved her off. “Because I’m definitely sure I’m in love with you.” This wasn’t ever how she imagined telling him, and it wasn’t how Matty thought he’d tell her, on a freeway in Southern Utah on their way to the Grand Canyon, but sometimes life throws unexpected things at you and you have to roll with the punches. 

“When did you know?” Madison asked curiously. 

Matthew bit his lip. “Few months ago? I knew I liked you as more than a friend probably since you kissed me, but it was after that game against Vancouver that I really understood I had fallen in love with you.” Maddy remembered the game. It had gone terribly for the Flames, a 4-0 shutout with more than one fight and the bench racking up penalty minutes. What she didn’t know was what made that one special. Matthew looked over at her, answering her unspoken question. “Why that one?” She nodded. “I think it’s because it was such a shitty game. I wouldn’t have blamed you at all if you had just skipped out after the end of the third, I know I can be hard to deal with after a loss. But you didn’t leave, you stayed. I remember seeing you outside the tunnel, swallowed by my jersey because it’s three sizes too big for you and you refuse to let me buy you another—”

“I don’t want another because it’s yours, and I love it,” Maddy said quietly.

Matthew smiled. “Your call. But when I turned the corner and saw you, I realized three things at the exact same time. You were there for me when you didn’t have to be, and I wanted to be able to do the same thing for you. Second, you’re who I wanted to come home to. And last,” he gathered his thoughts, “I realized if I never saw another girl in my jersey for the rest of my life, that would be fine with me.”

“I think I knew when you introduced me to your family, when you flew me down for the All-Star break?” He nodded in recognition. “Just seeing you with them, how much you love your parents and adore Taryn. You even managed to not chirp Brady for a whole dinner.”

“My mom threatened me.”

Madison laughed. “Even so. It just gave me a whole new side to you. I had seen you with your friends, and with the boys, and with me, but it wasn’t the same. How deeply you cared about making sure I fit in with them, and had fun, and felt included. It was the last piece of the puzzle, really.” Her hand rested on the center console after she downshifted.

“So, are we going to do this? Do you want to do this, Mads?” Matty asked, wrapping his fingertips gently around her free hand. 

Flipping her hand around, she interlaced her fingers with his. “I’m all in if you are.”

Matthew bent down, kissing their hands. “I’ve been all in since the moment I met you.” He glanced behind him to the backseat, where Elias and Rasmus were still fast asleep. “What do you think they’re going to say when they wake up?” 

“I’m not sure,” Madison said, laughing. “Probably tell us it’s about time. Pass me my phone, will you?” Matthew pulled out her phone from where it was charging on the passenger side. 

“What do you need to look up?” he asked curiously as she pulled off of the freeway and into a gas station; the directions were already programmed into the car’s navigation system.

Maddy gave a coy smile, gently putting the car into park. “I’ve got to text the girl’s chat, tell them they’ve got to make me a jacket. They’re going to go wild.”

 Day 4

 The chat did go wild, even more so after she sent a picture of her kissing Matty’s cheek. After about a half-dozen “we called its” and a promise for her jacket to be ready by the first home game of the series, she turned her phone off, leaning over to ruffle Matthew’s hair; he had taken over driving sometime around four o’clock. “I like that I can just do this now,” she mused, playing with his curls as they crossed the border into Arizona. 

“Please, no PDA in front of the children,” he said playfully, gesturing to the backseat. Elias flipped him off. 

The entrance to the Grand Canyon was only an hour past the state line, and there were more than a few cafés to grab a quick breakfast at. Most of the day was spent walking around the vast expanse of the park, marvelling at its natural grandeur, and taking more than a few incredibly aesthetically pleasing Instagram pictures. A few minutes before they had to pack up and leave for the last leg of the drive, they had hiked over to the South Rim. 

Matty leaned on the barriers overlooking the canyon. “It’s so big.” 

Rasmus snickered from behind them. “Duh, Tkachuk. That’s why they call it grand.” 

He ducked his head, blushing. “Yeah, I mean, obviously. But it’s just kind of surreal, you know?” Madison nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and if either of them had turned around they would have seen Rasmus and Elias sharing a very “I-told-you-so” look. “Kind of reminds us how small we are in the grand scheme of things.” 

It seemed like only a few minutes later that they were pulling into Las Vegas, Rasmus steering the car into the underground lot of the team hotel. None of the boys were expected at practice until the next morning, and they had decided before leaving that the easiest thing to do would just be to book the rooms for the one night. 

“Anyone feeling up to going out?” Maddy asked as they walked down the hallway to their adjoining rooms. “I found a tiki bar a couple blocks away, great Yelp reviews.”

“Sounds good,” Rasmus said. Elias nodded. 

“I’m in,” Matthew added, unlocking the door. “Meet out here in ten?”

The break allowed Madison to get a much-needed change of clothes while Matthew hopped in for a quick shower, emerging in a T-shirt and very, very nice-looking pair of black jeans. Maddy bit her lip, looking him up and down. “You like what you see?” Matthew asked, expression cocky. 

She shrugged. “I don’t have to hide it now.” Madison slipped her phone into her back pocket, grabbing her jacket from where it was slung over the lounge chair. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, poking his head out the door. “Boys are already out.”

The walk to the bar couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it felt like twenty in the best way possible. She was holding hands with Matty, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the top of her hand, the twinkling lights of dozens of Vegas casinos in their view. Two and a half mai tais and an hour later, the group sat at a table in the corner as Maddy giggled, retelling a particularly embarrassing moment on her high school volleyball team when she tried to make a dive that instead ended up with a ten minute pause in gameplay and the worst nosebleed of her life. She finished the story to raucous laughter, leaning into Matthew’s side. He bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “What is it, Matty?” she asked, pulling away to look at him. 

Eyes soft, he tucked a piece of her hair back behind her ear before speaking. “Just thanking God I invited you on the trip. And for the Idaho Potato Museum.”

Madison laughed, the sound like music as it reached his ears. “We should write them. Thank them for helping to get us together. Maybe they’d give us season tickets.”

“Who needs season tickets when I have you?” Matty chuckled, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.  Sure, Madison was a few drinks in when she kissed him. And sure, it wasn’t like Matty was exactly sober either. But this kiss was different. This kiss was the start of everything. 

[tsumugisindulgence]

Stay for the Night

Since your first day in the Devildom you were disgusted by how often Mammon’s brothers picked on him. They are demons but to channel their hatred onto one person was not by nature, it was by choice and you were sick of it. “So shitty Mammon wouldn’t stay in his room when the newspaper came to interview me today. Ugh I mean how inconsiderate can you be? He is the absolute scum of all three realms. Like are you trying to purposely ruin my image? Not that he could, after all I am perfect but still how dare he!”  Asmo whines about Mammon’s presence in his own home. You knew you could use your pact to shut him up but the issue ran deeper. At that moment you decided to stand up to each brother the moment they dissed your first man. Asmo took a deep breath to blow his nails dry and you slapped him, leaving him surprised. “Oh dear I didn’t know you were into that. Do it again.” he winked. “Quit talking down about Mammon. I am sick of it.” he laughs. “It’s all in good fun dear, don’t worry he can’t even hear.” you stand up from the chair across from his. “Yeah well I can. And you should know something.” You enunciate each word carefully. “Talking trash about people that care about you makes you ugly.” You storm off leaving him flabbergasted. Only a few hours later you caught Levi doing the same thing while you were gaming with him. “And I was like you are more pathetic than a level one boss. Rotfl! He was upset but that newb was going through my limited edition directors cut TSL movie series. I don’t know how you can stand him. He’s worse than the antagonist in My brother is a piece of shit and I can’t wait to kick him out because he is the absolute worst.” For a moment you pondered if his anger was valid but it’s not wrong to look through people’s movies unless it’s Asmo’s sex tapes. “Levi I think it’s endearing that you’re an otaku but the one thing about you that absolutely disgusts me is how comfortably you insult Mammon without him doing anything actually bad.” You stomp out of his room and run into Mammon himself. “Whaha doin human?” For awhile now you’ve had feeling for Mammon that were developing past friendship. It was a challenge to portray this without him being a tsundere. “Hey Mammo chan. I had to leave Levi’s room he was pissing me off.” He squinted his eyes at the door a few meters behind you. “What did he do to ya?” you could tell he was getting aggravated thinking about Levi upsetting you. To calm him down you place your hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay now that you’re here. I wanna talk to you though.” he begins wringing his hands nervously. “Wha-what did I do this time?” You beckon him to follow you and he does reluctantly until you’re outside his room. “Don’t worry I’m not mad at you. Can we talk in your room though?” he places his hand on the knob and opens the door for you. “Phew. That was a close one. Not that I was scared!” you plop down on his couch and he sits across from you. “Levi said you were looking through his TSL movie series. What’s that about?” Once again he gets nervous and starts waving his hands. “It wasn’t like I was trynna take it! I was just looking I swear! I don’t care about that stuff or whatever.” His reluctancy to look you in the eyes made you suspicious. “I think you do. You know if you want to rewatch it with just me this time you could’ve just told me and saved yourself the trouble.” He huffs and crosses his arms. “As if I’d admit that!” His eyes widen at his statement, realizing he inavertantly admitted it. You snicker. “H-hey what are you laughin at human?” Now was a perfect opportunity to spend time together without his brothers. At least you thought. “MAAAAMMMOOOON!” Lucifers voice booms through the door and probably the rest of the house. Mammon jumps ups and hides before the for is kicked open. “If you know where Mammon is I suggest you tell me this instant.” You roll your eyes. “What did he do this time?” “If you must know I had a vintage roast in the cabinet worth thousands of grimm.” He crosses his arms and stares at you. You mimic his stance. “I used it.” He looks at you with fury waiting for an apology or explanation. “Asmo showed me a diy face scrub recipe that called for rough ground coffee beans. I figure it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.” He raises his eyebrows and gives you a look. “Bold. This better not happen again otherwise I won’t forgive you so easily.” He turns around to leave Mammons room and you grab his cape. “I’m not done with you.” He scoffs and takes his cape back. “If you with to discuss this further I’ll be in my room.” He walks out and lets the door shut behind him. Mammon stands up. “Woah you totally stood up to him and didn’t even get threatened to be strung up in the hall.” You walk closer to him and grab  his hand. “I want to finish my conversation with Lucifer. I’ll be back when I’m done. Wait for me?” he blushes and looks away. “Alright not because you asked or anything human. I just don’t have anything better to do.” You laugh at his response and walk out. Thinking about how poorly Mammon is treated by his brothers makes you clench your fists. You were no match for a demon but you would be damned before you let this continue. “I can’t believe you all. You’ve lived with him for years and still haven’t learned to accept his sin.” you mumble walking down the hall and you stop when you hear Satan call your name. He sensed your wrath and decided to check on you out of curiosity. “Is something wrong? It look like you’ve just left Mammons room. What did he do this time?” Your body reacted before you could use reason. Your hand struck his cheek, it didn’t hurt him much at all. You meet his surprised yet inquisitive gaze. “You are all so awful to him! Imagine if I treated you the way you all treat Mammon! He didn’t do anything! Lucifer pissed me off when he accused Mammon of stealing something.” He adjusts his stance. “I understand being upset with Lucifer, but why does it bother you that Mammon was accused. He probably stole it anyway, he’s the most plausible suspect.” You clench your fists even tighter. Through gritted teeth you hiss. “I took it. You bastards always blame him and I’m sick of it.” You walk past him and stomp down to the eldest brothers room. He look up from his desk as you walk in. “I have a bone to pick with you.” You sit in the chair across his desk. “I am sick of you always blaming Mammon. You guys do anything you possible can to beat him up. You degrade him because of his sin. That’s something he can’t completely control. I am aware he could handle his urges better but I doubt you have ever tried to help him in a manor that he would understand. Instead you freeze his card and call him a piece of shit whenever he gives into an urge. Ever stop to think you’re the shitty one for treating him that way. I know your sin is pride, therefore you have this massive ego. Nobody ever criticizes you for being a pompous ass at times. I haven’t even been here for an entire year and I see how you all go out of your way to make sure he feels like shit. I think Beel is the most respectful to Mammon and he still puts Mammon down occasionally.” you continue your rant for a few minutes and take a deep breath once you feel like you’ve gotten everything off your chest. He sits back in his chair slightly surprised about your perspective and how brave you were to scold him. “I see. That’s quite a new view. You haven’t had to deal with him as long as we have. I’m sure you would do the same if you spent a millennia putting up with him. It’s admirable that you have the courage to stand up to me like this. If it is that big of an issue I will possibly consider changing my actions. Doubtful but possible.” You storm out of his room furious that you couldn’t get through to him. On your way down the hall you see Mammon peeping at you from around the corner. When you lock eyes he looks away. Your heart hurts for him. He’s a good demon and you wish he was loved by his brothers. “Mammon what are you doing?” He sheepishly steps out from behind the corner. “You were in there awhile. I figured I should check on ya since I’m in charge of your safety n stuff.” You smile knowing that’s his way of saying he’s worried about you. An overwhelming desire to make him feel loved hits your chest. You’ve had a crush on him for awhile now but he was no resistant to reciprocating affection. Probably because his brothers made him feel like he’s undeserving. That night you sit on your bed flipping through one of the many magazines Asmo gave you with your earphones in.  A message on your phone interrupts the music. Mammo Chan- Where are ya?You- In my room. in under a minute he walks through your door in his pjs. A white tank top and black drawstring pants. You look up and take your earbuds out. He rarely shows this much of his body outside his demon form, which you also rarely see. He has such a nice figure and beautiful skin. To you everything about him was attractive but he was sculpted by god after all. He walks over to your bed and tells you to scooch. “What’re we watchin tonight?” you toss the magazine aside and pick up the remote, happy to spend time with him. “Do you guys have access to human television?” He thinks about it for a second before answering. “I think Levi knows how to connect it. Why ya askin?” “There are a few shows I think you would enjoy. I’ll text him and ask how to do it.” After figuring out how to connect to human television you pull up Pawn Stars. You could tell by his expression he was hooked instantly. He was sitting criss cross on your right leaning forward towards the tv. It’s beginning to drop in temperature as the nights in the Devildom were extremely cold to you. You leave the bed and head over to your dresser. Mammon looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. “Where are ya goin?” He was afraid you were going to leave even though it was your room. You pat his head to ease his worries. “I’m getting cold so I was gonna grab a hoodie.” He sits up straight. “No worries the great Mammon will warm you up. C’mere human.” He beckons you towards him. As you move he pulls back the blanket for your bed and lets you climb in then sits at the edge of your bed. You were hoping he meant cuddle but it was silly of you, he wouldn’t make the first move. So you would have to. You sit up and tug on his pant leg. “Can we cuddle?” His cheeks heat up and he looks anywhere but your eyes. “Yeah sure but only to warm ya up.” The way he stiffly laid next to you made you wonder if he has ever actually cuddled someone or if it was just you. “Can you move like this?” you position his body into the little spoon position and he goes quiet. After all his yeas alive he’s never been in a situation like this, he’s laid with succubi after sex but he was the big spoon and always woke up alone. It hurt to imagine falling asleep with you only to wake up alone. He didn’t want to think about it but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but your body embracing his from behind, your breath on his neck and your fingers drawing random patterns on his arm. He really liked you and didn’t want to screw anything up like he usually does. He began to worry if this was a prank set up by his brothers. You noticed his body was still tense after a few minutes. “Are you okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?” He sits up and laughs nervously. “Alright which one of my brothers set you up to this? Asmo?” You frowned that he thought you didn’t genuinely care about him. You sit up and move closer to him and look him in the eyes. “Mammon, I  know I only met you a few months ago but I like you.” He puts on his bravado attitude. “Of course you would! Any human is amazed by the great Mammon” You wanted him to take this seriously but you also knew he built walls of false confidence in hopes of making himself feel like more than what his brothers call him. “No Mammon. I like you as in I want to kiss you, go on dates with you, cuddle with you, support your goals. I want to show you that you are so much more than what you think. You’re caring, thoughtful, hardworking, obedient, helpful and so much more.” His eyes tear up behind his glasses. “You don’t mean that. You’re just messing with me aren’t ya?” Frustrated that your words aren’t getting through you take action instead. You push him down on the bed, prop yourself up over him and kiss him. He freezes for a second before kissing back. You’d be embarrassed to admit how many times you’ve thought about doing this with him. His hand moves to your lower back and pulls you onto his body. Now that you aren’t using your hands to steady yourself you run your fingers through his hair. He is insanely good at kissing you. You pull away breathless. His face is no longer fearful but at peace. He’s the first to look away. “I didn’t know ya meant it. Heh why me. I’m the worst of all my brothers.” You cup his cheek and make him look at you again. “You’re my number one man. I wouldn’t want anyone but you. I like you, flaws and all.” His face melts as if this is the first time anyone has ever said that, and it might be. He pulls you into a hug so tight you couldn’t move. He placed his face in the crook of your neck. You feel something hot and wet fall onto your skin and it registers. He’s crying. You lay there on top of him only when he releases you do you notice he’s in his demon form. The awe in your eyes cued him. “Oh um I didn’t mean to. Gimme a sec.” Your arm shoots out to him. “NO!” He whips his head around. “I mean I never get to see you like this. Can you stay like this a bit longer?” “Y-yeah.” He sits there embarrassed as you eye him over. Once you’re satisfied you tell him. “Why’d you turn?”  His usual bravado is gone. “It’s not like you were making my sin act up. I just wanted to.” You interpreted what he was saying, ‘I got greedy kissing you and slipped into my demon form.’ You giggle “Cute.” he switches back. “Hey! I’m not cute! I’m a terrifying demon!” “My terrifying demon.” You smile  at him and he stares at you in awe before his bravado comes back. “Prof course! I’m your first and most powerful!” You remember that the tv is still on. “Oops looks like we missed the rest of the episode.” “NOOOO!” he dives over to the tv repeatedly pressing the backwards button but it does nothing since it’s on a channel. You stand up and walk over to him. He’s on his knees hugging the tv. You tussle his hair and turn to get a sweater now that you’re out of bed. While you’re at your dresser you decide to change into pjs. You figure Mammon is still preoccupied with the tv that he won’t see you. You were wrong. Just after you take off your jeans he turns and begins to ask you a question before letting out a yelp upon seeing your underwear. His hands quickly cover his eyes and he turns away. Now he certainly isn’t looking. After changing you pull his hands off his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you warn me you were changing?” You shrug. “I figured you were distracted. It’s not a big deal I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of ass in your life.” “Well I mean yeah but you’re my human not a succubus or angel. You’re different.” You smile at his unintended compliment. You crawl into bed under the covers and snuggle in. “Mammo-Chan will you turn off the tv and lights if you head back to your room.” “Whaddya mean if?” “You can stay here tonight.” “Where am I s’possed to sleep huh?” You pull the cover back a little and pat the bed space next to you. “Oh well I guess I should so I keep ya warm.” He starts to walk over. “Turn off everything before you come to bed.” “Oh yea.” He does as you say before climbing into bed with you. You fall asleep on his side with your arm over his chest. 

[concerningwolves]

I finished The Irregulars earlier this week and i was going to do a scattered, flippant bullet point “review” as i often do, but after stewing in my feelings about it for a few days i want to talk about this properly, actually.

Something I absolutely adored was the way people’s powers manifested / the way their monstrosity was directly connected to the monstrous things that had happened to them. The concept is that a rip has opened in the universe, which allows something to extend its power into our world. This power grants people supernatural abilities when they seek help by praying/asking spirit boards for guidance/seances etc. The in-world explanation for this is that the rip takes the darkest parts of people and brings those parts to the fore, thus making them do monstrous things. 

(I did feel like the show sometimes contradicted itself, one minute saying that when someone is made into a monster by the cruelty of the world they ought to be met with compassion, the next minute killing off these sympathetic monsters or subjecting them to cruel fates. The fact that Arthur Hilton, a man whose grief and trauma over the deaths of his wife and child drove him to abduct babies, was locked up in Bedlam in a windowless cell left a nasty taste in my mouth. I understand that they needed to have him there for Narrative Purposes, but after using the episode’s climax moment to reveal that this man is suffering – basically to tell us that he isn’t a monster, but someone who needs help – it felt very cheap to use him as a pawn for the plot instead of further exploring that sentiment.)

I’m a HUGE fan of the way the powers reflected the wielder, i.e., Clara (Ep. 4) was sexually abused and given syphilis, which took away her ability to have children. We learn as the episode unfolds that she’s obsessed with the idea of a family because she never had one of her own, and makes little taxidermy family scenes with dead animals. The syphilis made her hate herself and her own skin, so the rip granted her the ability to literally steal people’s faces and become them – an ability she then used to kill the men who abused her with the final goal of assuming the last man’s identity because he had a family. It was a really haunting exploration of monstrosity / what makes us monsters, and it made me go a bit feral with appreciation.

But when the credits of the last episode rolled, I just felt... dissatisfied. I was bitter at how although the casting was supposedly colour-blind, the main villain was a black man and the one “sympathetic monster” who gets killed off (Jean Gates / the Tooth Fairy) was a black woman, both with very dark skin. John Watson, meanwhile, is portrayed by a lighter-skinned POC and although he’s written as cruel, aggressive and threatening, he’s given the chance for a redemption while the Linen Man and Jean Gates get killed off. I’m not entirely comfortable talking about this aspect because i’m white and still very much learning about racist and colourist tropes, but I just kept thinking about the colourism and implicit bias in Bridgerton, and couldn’t help but feel that The Irregulars had fallen into the same or a similar trap? (If anyone has any more thoughts on this I’m happy to listen!)

I didn’t like the fact that the writers decided to acknowledge the homoerotic subtext in ACD’s Holmes canon by making John Watson manipulative and controlling, then justifying that as an act of his (unrequited) love for Sherlock. Like, it wouldn’t be so bad if there were other examples of queer love in the series (save for the one f/f couple at a fancy rich party), but when your only explicitly mlm named character is miserable, alone and pining for an oblivious/uninterested love interest – a love interest who is killed off, may I add – it’s Not Fun. Queer rep doesn’t have to be good and pure or whatever (NBC’s Hannibal, anyone?), but sure would be nice to have some positive representation first! It also seemed to me that John’s redemption was directly tied to him giving up his love for Sherlock, which I was in two minds about. On the one hand, it could be seen as him realising his love had become something deeply toxic and so he had to let Sherlock go (and that really excites me! Complex and angsty relationships are most delicious), but on the other hand it got very close to a Bury Your Gays moment so my feelings the entire time were just :/

Lastly I was super excited about Leopold because disabled character! But it seemed as if his disability just got put to one side unless it was relevant to character arcs and/or plot moments. His leg is absolutely fucked up from the first episode, but he abandons his cane? I did really appreciate the whole “you’re not broken” angle they took, though. I think it was a genuinely good-faith representation, it just didn’t quite hit the mark (which is how I felt about a lot of things in the show tbh, so... :shrugs:) 

To conclude this wall of text: monsters and the takes on monsters were very tasty, and the supernatural elements and worldbuilding filled me with glee; other bits like representation and narrative choices were dissatisfying. i am now tired and out of spoons, will probably come back and clarify this tomorrow.

[hankwritten]

TFComics Rewrite

I am currently plotting an outline for a TFComics, and I want to get my thoughts about fixes to canon and possibly get feedback. Since this is a rewrite there’s really no *spoilers* or anything, so I’m willing to answer all questions about what I plan to do. Also some characters I’m not so sure about how I want to retool them, so if your have ideas for your fav let me know!

Disclaimer:

This rewrite is intended to critique the content/choices made in the construction and telling of the Team Fortress 2 comic series. It is not a personal attack on the artists/writers/directors or any of the creatives that made contributions to this series, nor is it meant to substitute or replace the official release. This work is transformative in nature, and relies on an understanding of the source material to be understood. TF2 and its characters belong to Valve.

TFCR is working on the assumption that the audience has read the original comic, and as such will skip over scenes and plot points that are unchanged from the original. I don’t think it needs to be said, but this fanfiction will not make sense if you are not familiar with the source.

I also recognize that there are strengths within the comic’s writing and weaknesses within my own. Namely, that Valve writers are gods in the realm of comedy, and I’d rather not try to match them in the regard. As such, I will state up front that these will not be as funny as the TFComics. That is not to say there won’t be jokes (either ones transplanted from the source or some of my own) or that the tone of this will be terribly grimdark, only that my focus will be on improving story structure and character development as those are what appeal to me.

 The Broad Strokes

The goal of TFCR is to give a more engaging story for all the mercenaries we know and love, as--let’s face it--the TF2 mercs are side characters in their own damn story. These are some of the planned improvements.

There will be reason for each of the mercs to actually be there. As it stands, the motivations for almost every character besides Pauling and Saxton Hale are vague and unsatisfying. We’d usually say something along the lines of “money” for hired killers, but clearly Scout doesn’t even know if they’re getting paid, and some of the other characters are even worse. The hunt for the Australium is, therefore, boring. MacGuffins usually are, but at the very least the characters should care about the item even if the audience doesn’t. This work aims to give each of the nine mercs a motive and a reason to be in the story instead of just replaceable joke dispensers.

Explain what “Team Fortress” means, and how it relates to RED and BLU. Long and short: the nine mercenaries we see on the team are not from either RED or BLU but rotate between the two, and were the individuals selected to fight the robots. That means all things do happen to all characters. As Valve pretty much goes with “whatever is funniest at the time”, it’s very hard to make a cohesive theory about “where the hell is BLU team?”, but I’ll do my damndest. We’ll also examine Team Fortress’s relationship with the other capital T Teams, and why they’re considered the “rejects” of the bunch.

Comics 1 & 2 will be removed from the timeline as they serve no purpose, only taking what needs to be known about the plot’s setup and jumping straight to A Cold Day in Hell.

We will introduce the Classic Mercs right away so they can generate threat and play against the TF mercs when they do actually meet head to head.

We will not be killing off Gray Mann. (Not preemptively anyway.) In fact, there will be more focus on him and Olivia as villains facing off against the Admin, providing her foil as the TF2 and TFC mercs provide foils for each other.

I considered waiting until the final comic was out to begin working on this, but that may never happen. Jay Pinkerton said he may reveal what plot they had in store eventually, but considering it took Half Life over a decade to get the “I was once a Valve writer but my NDA has expired and now I can go buck wild” treatment, I’m not holding my breath. The main reason I wanted to do this is that the Administrator’s motivations are not interestingly foreshadowed, to the point where there aren’t even any good fan theories out there. That said, WritingDispenser and Riddle of the Sphinx helped come up with a pretty fun one, which was actually the inspiration for me to get off my butt and start plotting this.

There will be no queerbaiting. This refers both to HeavyMedic (which has been simultaneously used as wink wink nudge nudge joke many times and as encouragement for fans to play their stupid hat game) as well as lesbian Pauling (since femme lesbians are the preferred method for front facing LGBT representation across almost all media, but video games especially). If you need to understand why lesbian Pauling is an issue, Sarah Z coined the term “queercatching” in order to describe word of god confirmations on characters sexualities that are not followed up on in the text. I recommend the full video on it.

Due to the importance of immortality in the theming of the comics, respawn will not be a thing. Deaths we think should have happened previously will be explained as close calls, or that Medic can heal a short time after death. Medic and Scout’s deaths will be cut in the story itself, as after Sniper died and came back, them doing the same thing kinda lost their punch.

Scout

There will be no ScoutPauling hints. It doesn’t make sense to give screentime to this relationship because Valve obviously doesn’t think it’s going to go anywhere so why make Scout turn down advances from other hot women? I mean I get Expiration Date was a Thing but it feels like Scout’s whole motivation shouldn’t be reduced down to chasing a girl who doesn’t like him back.

He’s here because he lost his life’s savings in bad investments and needs the money. That’s it. Which is still somehow more than his canon motive which is question mark question mark question mark

He, Soldier, Spy, Demo, and Pyro all start the adventure with Miss Pauling.

Engages with Heavy on a genuine level when they go to collect him, Heavy doesn’t blow him off when he tries to level about dead dads.

There will be no DadSpy reveal. The way Spy treats Scout has never been “deadbeat dad feels bad about abandoning his kid” but more “this is someone I would kill without a second thought if I felt like it” which makes his reveal in comic 5 feel very disingenuous. I don’t think Valve even had this plotline in mind until comic 3, as #2 still has Spy seeming only to care about Scout’s Ma and not Scout himself. It also makes “seduce me!” retroactively weird.

Uhhh hooks up with Zhanna. This one isn’t critical I just think it’s funny.

Soldier

Soldier is going to be the Ur example of the Admin not treating her people well, as we’re going to lean into the whole “Soldier was only mildly messed up until the whole lead poisoning” thing.

He’s here because he’s blindingly loyal to the cause. He’s actually going to very little from canon because of this actually.

Might be the reason Team Fortress has a reputation of being the lower tiers of the Teams, but that doesn’t mean he’s damn good at his job. Fatal flaw is that he’s unstable, and even though the courthouse plotline won’t be in this fic, it should be noted that he actually does cause problems for the other protagonists due to his short temper. He’s a risky asset, but still essential.

There will be a minor explanation for the WAR! Comic, but I think that’s better saved for Demo’s analysis.

Pyro

Pyro is the character you could cut entirely from the comics and have the least change. Now, they’re going to be Pauling’s right hand. Let me explain.

Engineer and Pyro are implied to live together, and Pyro doesn’t have anything better to do than go with Engie after Team Fortress is disbanded. Rather than having a reveal, we will see some of what is going on with the Admin and friends early on, and see what leads up to her sending Miss P the note that kicks off the whole plot. However, while Engie needs to stay and look after her, Pyro’s skills aren’t useful here, and they are sent as a direct messenger to help Pauling.

They’re loyal, and unlike Soldier rarely mess up orders. They’re also partially mute, making them ideal for handling sensitive info. Pauling trusts them to handle the burning of “Elizabeth’s” paper trail.

Will be using they/them in the narrative voice, but other characters will refer to them as he/him. I considered going with it/its because that’s bubbled up in popularity again, but ultimately I decided against it.

We’ll get glimpses to their train of thought, but like the comics they will remain virtually silent.

Demo

Demo’s role in the cast is going to be very similar to Spy’s. The events of WAR! involved him nearly dying and Soldier taking the win, and he’s very bitter that after all those events *apparently* mercs can just be switched around teams willy nilly and don’t have to kill each other anymore. (As the audience, we know this is because the Admin found out the “make them so angry they won’t ask questions” wasn’t a long-term viable solution, and instead brought TFI forward as a neutral third party that was pretending to mediate the gravel wars.) But Demo’s suspicious, and is only along because he really has been miserable since he lost his job.

This conflict will eventually come to a head, more on that in the Sniper section.

Is fairly forgiving with his teammates. Doesn’t like Sniper but I’m willing to drop a little angst during that submarine scene. Is glad to see Medic actually. Here to be some glue to hold this merry band together.

The Eyelander will not be forgotten after 2 comics because I love this character concept and I think it was underutilized.

Drunk jokes will be kept to a minimum. What I liked about WAR! and Bombinomicon was that it took Demo and showed that they knew how to make him funny without making him one note, which they sort of did in the early TFComics but stopped in the later ones in favor of him….being asleep for the whole plot. I promise 100% awake Demo in my rewrite.

Demo likes Pauling on a personal level, but has trouble reconciling her with his feelings on TFI.

Doesn’t get knocked out by moonshine because. Seriously? Poisoning the Demoman with alcohol? In what world does that work.

Heavy

Not too much to change. Scout doesn’t accompany him when he goes to look for the secret Australium cache, and he engages with Mags and Saxton (which will be when the audience finds out what they’ve been up to) and actually cares about what’s going on with them. He thinks Darling is up to something. Which he is, he’s attempting to unseat both Gray and Helen due to long family history.

Will at least mention Medic. Their reunion falls a little flat since it mostly relies on Meet the Medic for context, as they don’t really interact in the comic. There can be a bit of a flashback to what it was like as all these mercs broke up.

I know uhhh Valve seems to think found family is really dumb, and that these murderers could ever like each other is silly or something, but the mercs do? Like each other? For the most part anyways. 

Bronislava and Yana come alone for adventures, not just Zhanna. Again, no real reason, but sometimes I get to have tacky fanfic stuff in my own fanfic because I Wanna.

Engineer

Engie ruminates on his family history of allowing all this bullshit to happen and just kind of shrugging. Basically Moss’s analysis of the Conagher themes.

Has put a lot of time, sweat, and tears into BLU and now TFI, isn’t willing to let it fall now, even if Admin is basically living on borrowed time. He’s doing this because of the ‘ole sunk cost fallacy.

Also we get to see more of Pauling and Admin’s relationship through his eyes.

Medic

Congrats on being the one merc with an actual arc, Medic! As a reward, you will not be changed much.

I’m actually going to use Medic’s section to say that the Classic mercs will be referred to by their first names in order to differentiate them, and we’ll get little previews of what they’re like from Medic’s perspective before we actually see them fight Team fortress. The battle at the submarine will be more of a fight in this sense, working it out so it seems like surrender is the only option after Sniper is killed.

Final fight with Cheavy will be...not blocked so awkwardly. I mean this is now a textual medium so my work is already halfway done, but still the pacing is so weird. Shudder.

Sniper

These are the big guns. Most changes, even more than Demo. He’s been actually hunting for New Zealand/the Australium cache on his own, and doesn’t want Pauling interfering, saying for a he knows she could have been the ones to kill his adoptive parents.

(She hasn’t, but the Admin did actually order them killed in an attempt to stop Sniper because she thought she could prevent the exact thing that is going on right now which is that Sniper is considering trying to get at it.)

Sniper doesn’t know this, but Pauling, Demo, and Spy eventually convince him to share his findings and help them get to New Zealand.

Spy

Similar to Demo but is less conflicted about it. He knows just because he likes someone doesn’t mean he won’t have to kill them later. 

Spy knows about who killed Sniper’s parents, and tells Demo, sort of as a test to see where his loyalties lie. He also knows that Pyro is Pauling’s confidant for certain things.

Demo questions him about what he’s doing here, whose side he’s really on. But you know. Spy is Spy and he was never really on anyone’s side but his own. When it comes down to it, it might be exactly as Scout thinks: that he’s ditched them all and run off when he had the opportunity. But, big damn hero, comes back in the end.

He’s here mainly to “keep an eye on things.” Also maybe because his gf asked him to keep an eye on her son :)

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part three Word count: ±2700 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other   trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part three summary: Two leads point into different directions. Which one are the Winchester brothers going to follow? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Dean gives his Chevrolet Impala a final clean up and looks at the end result.      Ronny nods satisfied, too. “Good as new.”      They mechanics carefully beat out the small dent in the lid and restored the paint with a polisher. The lock of the trunk took some time to replace, but now it closes perfectly. 

     “Thanks, man,” Dean says gratefully, offering him some money for the work.      “Any time. Put that away. I owe you Winchesters more than that,” Ronny reminds him. “Sure you guys don’t want a beer?”      Dean hesitates, but then shakes his head. “I’d love to catch up, but we should get going. The world isn’t rid of all evil motherfuckers just yet.”      Ronny chuckles at that. “Fair enough. Good to see you again, though.”      “You too. Take care, Ron,” the oldest Winchester brother returns.

     The ex-hunter retreats back into his garage, and Dean glances at the trunk for the second time and smiles satisfied. He’s glad he got it fixed. The clunking sound every time they hit a pothole was driving him crazy, and with enough arsenal for a small military operation inside, he wasn’t really keen on leaving it unlocked either. 

     As he takes a look around the abandoned street, he realizes he’s missing the tall individual that usually occupies the passenger’s seat. Where the hell did Sam go? Instinctively, Dean scans the area, uneasiness evident in his stomach, a sensation which arises ever since he was a kid, whenever he loses sight of his little brother. Then he spots him a bit further down the road. He’s on the phone with someone, and for a second he wonders if it’s Zoë he’s having a conversation with.

     Waiting for his brother to return, he leans against his car, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sun feels nice and warm on his back as it burns away the coolness of the night. Now that he has nothing to do for a moment, his thoughts sneak off. He doesn’t like it one bit, but he can’t help but think of the huntress they crossed paths with a little under a week ago. He may pretend that he doesn’t give a shit, but he has to admit that she has been on his mind more than a couple of times. Not that he likes her, fuck no, but Sullivan left an impression that has him wondering. She has been through more in the twenty-five years that she has walked this earth than most endure in an entire lifetime. Maybe that is why he deep down cares; he can relate to her.

     Dean exhales, not dwelling too long on the reason behind the intrigue. Instead, he wonders if Sam’s presumption is actually true. The fierce Zoë Sullivan being in deep shit; he can barely picture it. She always seems in control, even when things don't go as planned. She caught him off guard. He, Dean Winchester, can you fuckin’ believe that? The older Winchester sibling rolls his harmed shoulder, testing its mobility. She shot me, for fuck’s sake. 

     Even though he has been in the field longer than she has, Zoë seems to expertly know her way around the world of monsters that is their reality. She’s a bright girl, skilled, fast, fearless. She has every aspect of a perfect hunter. But after those last words back in Paragould, he was left with the impression that the battle she was going towards, is one she didn’t expect to win. It truly felt like a final goodbye. A disturbing question pops up in his head; did he make a mistake not going after her? The two guys they saved from a werewolf in Waco probably don’t think so. 

     Dean stares ahead, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth while contemplating his choices. Maybe they should go after her anyway, see if they can pick up her trail. North is indeed a big place, but then again, a hot chick on a Harley Davidson would stand out. It’s a long shot, but if they play this right, they may be able to find her. 

     The matter escapes his mind when he feels his phone vibrating, the buzzing device startling him slightly. Somewhat annoyed by his own reflex, the hunter takes his Motorola and notices the small icon of an envelope in the right upper corner; he has received a text message. It’s probably Erin, his hook up back in Waco, who had to wake up alone this morning. She must be wondering where the man she met in a bar three days prior has gone. But when Dean opens his inbox, his eyes widen in shock. 

     At the top of the list of incoming messages, it says ‘Dad’.

     Dean’s heart has picked up speed, now pounding twice as fast than it was seconds ago. Last time he checked, his father’s phone was inactive, and now there’s a message coming in from that number? Different scenarios flash through his mind, not sure if he should prepare for good or bad news. With shaky fingers, he opens the text.

     Job: 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W

     Dean exhales, still staring at his cell. He can’t fucking believe it. John disappeared from the face of the earth, nowhere to be found, and after all this time he sent a few numbers and letters. The older Winchester brother huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t matter, though. Relief frees Dean from the crippling worry that he has tried to stuff down for over a month now, but kept him up at night nonetheless. This text confirms what he’s been hoping for; Dad is alive.

     Thrilled, Dean turns around and glances down the street, noticing Sam, who hastens towards the car. He can’t wait to share the news, knowing they have both been so desperate for a breakthrough. 

     “We’ve gotta go,” they both say at the same time.      “Me first,” Dean demands, childish.      “What are you? Seven?” Sam huffs, raising an eyebrow to match with the sass. Despite his accusation, he counters in the same manner. “What I’ve just heard is bigger.”      “Bigger than this?” Dean brags while flashing a grin, victoriously handing his brother the Motorola.

     Curiosity wins and Sam takes it, attentively reading the message. His eyes narrow, but then his jaw falls open when he realizes who the sender is. John’s youngest son isn’t impressed, though. In fact, what shows on the display infuriates him. 

     “That’s it?” he scoffs, agitated, giving the phone back to his brother. “After a month of silence, that’s what he gives us?”      “Sam, don’t you realize what this means? He’s okay!” Dean brings to mind. “Don’t bitch about this.”      “Just because he’s able to send us a text message, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. We’re not even sure it’s him!” Sam returns bitterly.      “Oh, come on. This is so Dad. One word and coordinates, that’s straight up Marine Corps right there. It’s more convincing than his fuckin’ signature,” the older brother argues.

     “And what the hell are we supposed to do with this? Trust him blindly and do a job he can’t find the time for because he’s hunting whatever the thing is that killed Mom?” Sam assumes, his arms flying up before he lets them come down to his sides again.      “Exactly,” Dean states, matter of factly. “Don’t you see, Sam? This is what I’ve been telling you. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants us to hunt.”

     Dean opens the passenger side door and rummages in the dashboard locker. When he straightens his back, he pulls out a brown notebook; it’s John’s journal.      “This book. This is dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. He could’ve taken it with him, but he didn’t. He’s passed it on to us.” Dean looks deep into his brother's eyes while he points at the leather bound book that is the representation of the Bible to the Winchesters. “Dad’s journal, the text... Dad is telling us he wants us to do what we were trained for.”

     “You know what I want? I want to find him,” Sam returns determined, handing back the phone.      “And how the fuck were you planning to achieve that, huh?” Dean returns.      “I don’t need a plan, I already know where he is,” the younger brother states.

     Puzzled, Dean stares at him, waiting for an explanation. There has been zero contact between their old man and Sam for years,  and now all of a sudden he has figured out where John is at?      “How?” he questions, suspicion rising.      “I just received a call. He’s in Tennessee. In Nashville to be precise,” his sibling states.      Dean frowns. “A call? From who?”

     The shrug of Sam’s shoulders is nonchalant. “I think she might be a hunter or something.”      “She? Does this mystery lady have a name?” Dean questions further, trying to get details while frustration bubbles in his chest, triggered by his brother’s short answers.      “She didn’t give it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to Tennessee,” Sam decides.

     Dean laughs out loud, dropping the journal on the passenger’s seat before he turns away. Then he returns to glare at Sam as if he just made a joke.      “You wanna go to fucking Nashville based on an anonymous call? Did the sun fry your brain or something? This could be a fucking trap, Sam!” Dean shouts, indignant.      But his sibling is determined. “I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m going.” 

     Dean steps closer and halts right in front of him. He has to look up to stare into the eyes of his taller brother, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. 

     “Dad has given us an order,” he growls, his words spoken in a low tone.      “I said: I. don’t. care,” Sam battles him.      “Well I do, you stubborn dumbass!” Dean counters with a raised voice. “What you are planning to do is fucking dangerous! Dad doesn’t want you on his tail, you’ll blow his cover!”

     “You’re calling me a dumbass?! Dad is after an incredibly powerful monster by himself, alone! He’s the dumbass for not accepting our help! We already lost Mom, I lost Jess, I’m not going to lose him too. I want answers, I want a piece of that son of a bitch that ruined our lives and I want it right fucking now! If Dad doesn’t want me there, that’s his problem!” Sam shouts angrily.

     “You’re going against him?” Dean isn’t impressed with the outbreak, and slightly shakes his head. “Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you always do; the exact opposite of what he asks!”  he continues cynically.      “He doesn’t ask. He orders,” his brother corrects. “And you follow those orders like a fucking lapdog.”      “It doesn’t matter how he tells us what to do, Sam! He’s our God damn father, so you better suck it up and fucking LISTEN!!!”

     Dean is sure one of Ronny’s neighbors is going to emerge from one of the houses, telling them to shut up and take this argument elsewhere, instead of fighting it out in the middle of the street. He doesn’t care, however. His little brother has forgotten his place, and he needs to set him straight.

     “I do whatever the hell he tells me to do because I trust him, because I respect him, which is something I’m gonna strongly advise you to do as well, because your attitude fucking stinks,” Dean lectures, his moss green eyes penetrating, fire burning in his irises. “Now get in the fucking car, because we’re going to drive to wherever those coordinates lead us to.”

     Puffing his chest while straightening his back to make himself seem even taller, Sam crosses his arms. His older sibling might think he has all the authority, but he’s not a little kid anymore who he can boss around. Those days are long gone. He thought his departure to Stanford taught Dean a lesson or two, but apparently he needs to remind his brother that he plays by his own rules, and no one else's.      “I’m not going with you,” he decides, standing his ground.

     For a moment, Dean just stares at him, giving him a second to reconsider that conclusion, but Sam doesn’t even blink. Their gazes battle, the air between them almost too thick to breathe, rivalry carving a deep canyon between the two.      “I’m gonna give you a choice,” Dean snarls. “You can come with me and solve that case, or you can go fuck yourself.”

     Sam gulps, but stands his ground. His facial expression doesn’t change as he steps back, away from his brother, and heads over to the back of the Impala without breaking eye contact, until he opens the trunk to grab his duffel. The glare Dean receives when he slams the lid closed says enough; he’s not coming along for the ride. 

     Stunned, Dean stares at him and huffs in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable. He has always known Sam was stubborn, but now he takes the cake. Disappointed, the older brother shakes his head. This is the second time Sam has chosen a different path and leaves him without even batting an eye, but it scares Dean just as much as when he left and went to college. He’s not alright with what he’s about to do, but he can’t give in. He has to listen to his father.      Frustratingly, he pulls open the door of the Impala. “Goodbye, Sam.”

     Trying to hide his unpleasant surprise, the man left in the road watches him. He didn’t expect this, Dean taking off without him, but then again, how could he not expect a soldier to follow orders from his general? It doesn’t change anything, though. He is dead set on investigating this lead and finding his father.

     The man who is about to put a distance between himself and the one person he swore to never part with again, glances in the rearview mirror. He wishes he hadn’t, because the coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes seems foreign, yet familiar. As Dean starts the engine, he realizes he is either having a major deja-vu, or is reliving one of the worst days of his life. Despite the painful pressure that’s building in his chest and the panic that floods his brain, he lowers his right foot on the gas pedal, and the car rolls away. He doesn’t drive off as fast as he normally would, because he’s fighting the urge to turn around. Pained, he glances in his mirror again.      “C’mon, Sam. Move,” he begs.

     But Sam doesn’t even lift a finger, and he remains in the exact same spot. Then he does move, but not in the way Dean hoped. His little brother turns his back on him and heads towards downtown Hillsboro, in the opposite direction.

With a deep sigh, Dean shakes his head, clamping his left hand around the wheel until his knuckles turn white.       “Stubborn bastard,” he sighs.

     His jaw clenches, as West Elm Street flows over in Route 22 and the landscape around him changes. Small homes and sheds make room for stretched out farmlands. But he doesn’t notice the scenery. His conscience is fighting his heart. He wants to hit the brakes and pull the car into a 180° so badly, but he has to listen to his father. Never in his life has Dean done anything else than that, disobedience not being a word one could find in his dictionary. Yet in this situation, both of the options are pitfalls. It doesn’t matter which way he goes, he will make a mistake either way. Because the one line that his father drilled in his mind over and over again keeps haunting him. 

     Take care of Sammy. 

     He grinds his teeth, but continues to drive further and further away, his upbringing leaving him no choice. The hunter has made his decision; he’s going to find the location of those coordinates and do the job his Dad has given him. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just hoping Sam does too, because if something happens to his little brother, Dean knows he will never be able to forgive himself.

Well, shit. The boys have gone separate ways. Who do you think will find what he’s looking for?

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part four here

[athingofvikings]

I don’t usually do “call-out” posts, but this case is particularly egregious.  It’s not strictly plagiarism, but it definitely qualifies as some form of creative dishonesty, and I need to vent on it.

So last night (Nov 15, 2020), I saw that my “Related Works” tab on AO3 had iterated up a digit and went to investigate.

What I saw made my blood boil.

“An Englishman Among Vikings” by Heinkelboy05

Checking the comments, I found that, unsurprisingly, the serial liar had lied again, saying, flat out, that he hadn’t worked with me on his story.

So.  

Let me get the record straight.

Here is his first message on ffnet, note the date:

May 27, 2018 

Hello there. This is Heinkelboy05. I'm a 21 year old college student studying to become a history teacher. I'm a big history buff and I try to incorporate it into my stories. My current story is one based on the game Valkyria Chronicles set in an alternate version of 1935. It's mostly historical though with some twists into it. Anyway, before I bore you with anymore details, just bought I'd let you know that I've been reading your story and it inspired me to try and do something similar here for HTTYD. I'm still working on it and trying to get some historical background and such. It's going to have historical information but also some small twists here and there as well. Still working a bit on finding historical information on some things. This one is going to be set earlier in the Viking Era. Just thought I'd let you know.

I responded positively, because hey, why wouldn’t I?

And thus, with the hook set, he reeled me in, talking exclusively about his own work.  We shifted to talking on Discord quickly, but it was just draining to talk to him; he only ever wanted to discuss his own ideas, and he wanted real-time discussions; he would ping me with “free to talk?” and if I wasn’t there right then, he would go off-line.  Once I didn’t get there in time for a week, and I got a passive-aggressive comment that basically was designed to guilt me.  

But, hey, I’m a nice guy, right?  So I invited him to the ATOV Discord server in October 2018, after we’d been working on his story for nearly five months.  

And once he was invited in, he settled in to feed like a vampire at a boarding school dormitory.  

In the following 18 months, he almost never engaged with other people on the server outside of his writing, just pushing his own drafts regularly, and whining that he wasn’t getting any feedback or interest.  Once, he even pinged @everyone because he wanted attention and feedback on the draft he’d just posted.  

And then he made a mistake.  The specific details amount to this: He had claimed back in his first message above that “I’ve been reading your story”, and I had taken it on good faith that he was a reader of mine.  

He wasn’t.

Because in April, he asked in the history discussion channel if anyone had heard of a historical group who show up in a major fashion in my story.

@kalessinsdaughter confronted him later and got him to admit that he’d read “less than half” (i.e. almost certainly a lot less) of my work.

He gave me an “I’m sorry I got caught” nonpology, clearly hoping for a return to the status quo.  

He didn’t get it.  

The long and the short of what followed is that we didn’t kick him from the server immediately; meanwhile, he tried a half-assed charm offensive to try to bribe his way back into my good graces.  I saw right through it, and he ended up getting so offensive and hypocritical that at the end of June, after a breathtakingly disgusting display of White Privilege, I told him that he could either leave or wait for me to find an excuse within the server rules to ban him.

He left.

Last night, I saw that my “Related Works” tab on AO3 had iterated, and went to check it out.

After two years of working on it, he had finally started posting the fic that he had badgered me and others to help him with.

And in the comments was this.

https://archiveofourown.org/comments/363482519

PoeticalHufflepuff on Chapter 2 Sun 15 Nov 2020 11:10AM EST

Oh wow, this looks interesting! The premise reminds me a lot of A Thing Of Vikings, but set later in history. Did you work with him on it?

Heinkelboy05 on Chapter 2 Sun 15 Nov 2020 05:17PM CET

No, I did not. I do however read his story. I’m having this series tied to the events of the HTTYD series to differentiate it from ATOV.

“No, I did not work with him on it.”

Now, the premise of his story is very similar to mine, and that’s fine.  

But, well.  *motions to entire history*

I left a response earlier this morning.  Since I’m not sure if he’ll delete my comment or not, I’ll copy the full text here.

athingofvikings on Chapter 2 Mon 16 Nov 2020 09:42AM CET

Well. Imagine my surprise when my "Related Works" value on my dashboard iterated up a digit last night and I found this waiting at the other end. And then, just to make it worse, I decided to check the comments out of some masochistic impulse and found you lying--as usual.

I suppose I should feel shocked, I really should, given just how brazen this lie is, but I'm not. Because it's always all about you... well, I'm not surprised that those months I spent "working with you" nearly every day two summers ago--remember those days? back before I invited you to the ATOV Discord server?--doesn't count as having "worked with you". Still. Just wow. It's amazing. I knew that you were a Grade-A self-centered asshole, but this really takes the cake. You lied to me, used me, and took advantage of my kindness for two years, and now you have the sheer unremitted gall to deny that I gave my time and effort trying to help you before I realized how much of an emotional vampire you are?

So, let me make this clear to anyone reading this, and I'll be posting this elsewhere as well: I do not accept this work as "inspired by" my own. It was made abundantly clear during Heinkel's time on the ATOV server that he hadn't actually read my work, and that persisted until he was caught in a direct lie on it. Before being caught, he spent nearly two years feeding on people's attention and not giving back to the community I had built; one of the other authors there described trying to help him as "exhausting". Prior to when he was invited to the server (by me in one of my biggest mistakes), he portrayed himself to me as being one of my readers who needed help with his own work. I gave that help freely--and it was exhausting, because he was this weird combination of "I want more clicks/attention", "I want historical accuracy like you do" and "I want these specific ahistorical elements because they're Cool" that just made dealing with him a chore.

I'm not going to call him a plagiarist, because that would require him to have read my work first, and he only did that past the first few chapters after he was caught in his lie. Yes, he took the general premise that I had come up with, but it's so mutilated by the inclusion of ahistorical elements that it's an 'in-name-only' Hollywood-style adaptation, akin to Artemis Fowl, and that's not plagiarism. Anything he might have taken from me directly was just from the first few chapters, because that's all he read before he was caught lying.

But while he's not a plagiarist, he IS a toxic, creatively dishonest, attention-starved, self-centered, exploitive and all-around inconsiderate jackass who used me, used my community, and lied to me all the while, all the while pretending that he was morally upstanding (remember that time you AllLivesMattered my explanation on antisemitism, Heinkel? I remember. I was explaining why my people are so hated and you had to butt in with a "Well, I'm so morally upstanding and good!" comment; pity that you don't actually practice what you said there). When he was caught in his lie by his own clumsiness--he asked if "anyone heard of the Jomsvikings" after they'd been a part of ATOV for years--and after having presented himself as a reader of ATOV for years, he desperately hoped that he wouldn't be called to account. And when he was called on it, he admitted to my friend that he had read "less than half" of my story and gave me an "I'm sorry I got caught" nonpology. I cannot and WILL NOT forgive him for all of that. This lie that he never worked with me on this story is just par for the course with him.

So go ahead and write your fic, Heinkel. It's clear that I can't stop you, and neither can your sense of shame or your sense of honesty, while your sense of integrity has been demonstrably MIA for a while now. But as I told you before I threw you out of the server, you're not getting anything more from me. Not attention, not acceptance, not friendship, not readers. You lied to me for two years, and this is just more of the same self-centered falsehoods. First you kept whining at me to pay attention to you, and passive-aggressively sniping at me when I didn't hop to it, did the same on the server because you were so desperate for attention of any kind--I haven't forgotten that you pinged @everyone because you wanted feedback without having to work at it by giving back to the community--and now you're saying that all of hours I spent helping you in good faith didn't exist, all of the time you spent getting advice and help from people on my server didn't exist.

And now you have the gall to say that you didn't work on it with me.

I only wish that I was surprised.

~~~

So that’s the situation.  

Don’t go harassing the guy.  Don’t report him to AO3--while skeezy, he hasn’t violated the TOS as far as I can tell.  

But I had to get that off my chest.  

[hockeylvr59]

Positive || Kevin Hayes

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: So here’s another new piece (because I can’t seem to finish any of my existing series). Fair warning this one is a little rough emotionally, so you know...take a moment to prepare yourself and then let me know how much you want to kill me after. 

Warnings: light smut, ANGST

Word Count: 3,502

~~~~~~

Sitting on an unfamiliar couch with tears streaming down your face was the last thing you wanted to be doing. The next five minutes were going to change your life forever, one way or another. Just the thought of that made it impossible to breathe, your chest tight as you buried your head between your knees. It was only the touch of a soft feminine hand that kept you even a little bit grounded, though that touch could only do much to console you as your world crashed and burned around you. 

Thinking back, you wished you could change the events that had led up to this moment. 

_____

You’d met Kevin through Jimmy Vesey and the two of you had become fast but casual friends. With you living in Boston while he played in New York and then Winnipeg and then finally Philly, you really didn’t see much of each other during the season. Phone calls were your most frequent form of communication and Kevin regularly called just to check-in or when he wanted to hear your voice after a bad game. 

So when Kevin insisted that you join his family on vacation over the all-star break you were shocked. That seemed like a gesture that breached the ‘just friends’ relationship you had. You’d tried to insist that he should just enjoy his time with his family, but Kevin wouldn’t take no for an answer, threatening to fly to Boston to put your ass on a plane himself. 

With your own commitments, you’d only been able to take a long weekend off and so you’d flown down to the tropics on Thursday evening, arriving sometime in the early morning hours Friday morning. As soon as you’d reached the front door to the beach house whose address Kevin had texted you, the door was pulled open and a pair of warm and strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly to a muscular chest. 

“Y/N! You made it!” Kevin greeted happily, his voice signaling that he had been sleeping until you’d texted him that you were in a cab on your way over. “I’m so glad you’re here.” He added. 

“Hey, Kev…” You replied, a yawn slipping from your mouth as you spoke. It had been a fairly long flight but you hadn’t been able to sleep at all so now you were exhausted. 

“Come on. I’ll show you to your room.” Kevin stated, clearly picking up on your fatigue. Walking up a set of stairs you were led into an empty bedroom, where Kevin placed the bag he’d taken from you onto the bed. 

“Thanks, Kev…” You murmured, yawning once more. You watched him as Kevin draped one arm around you, pulling you into his side as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. 

“You’re welcome.” He assured you. “We don’t have any plans tomorrow so feel free to sleep in.” He insisted, pulling away from you and running his fingers through his hair. “Sleep tight. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re actually awake.” He teased, walking across the room where he pulled your door shut behind him. 

With little to no energy left in your body, you’d simply stripped down to your underwear before crawling into bed, sleep overtaking you the moment your head hit the pillow. 

***

Friday had passed by in a bit of a blur...mostly because you’d spent half your day in bed. Sleeping until your body awoke naturally, it was almost 1 in the afternoon when you glanced at the clock next to your bed. Immediately your bladder signaled its needs and your stomach growled for food, so you pulled yourself out of bed and quickly threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top before slipping out of your room in search of a bathroom and then food. 

The moment you’d descended down the stairs, a flurry of activity reached your ears, as did Kevin’s booming voice. You’d just reached the bottom stair when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and suddenly you were being swung around. 

“She lives!” Kevin exclaimed and once he put you down you smacked him gently for scaring you. 

“She needs food.” You informed him, only to have him nod and drag you to the kitchen where his mom and sister were making either a late lunch or working on the preparations for dinner. While introducing you to the women in the kitchen, Kevin poured you a bowl of cereal, placing it into your hands before disappearing. 

He’d returned a moment later, his nephew in his arms and it was only then that he took a seat across from you at the small table and started chatting away, insisting on hearing about everything you’d been up to since you’d last talked. 

The rest of the day was much the same, Kevin introducing you as one of his best friends to his entire family before pulling you from one thing to the other around the beach house. You’d gone swimming, played cornhole with the men, and helped his sister and sister-in-law clean up after a delicious dinner. 

Though it had been a very low key day you’d learned one important thing: your attraction to Kevin grew tenfold watching him with his family. 

***

Saturday morning had you up at a fairly normal time but when you’d gotten downstairs it was much quieter than it had been the previous day. You’d quickly learned from Kevin’s sister-in-law Kristen that the guys had gone to the golf course and had taken the kids with them and that Kevin had scheduled a spa day for all of the ladies, including you. 

After eating a quick breakfast you’d gone to get dressed and ready to leave. It wasn’t until the group of you was in a car headed to the spa that Kevin’s sister had asked what was going on between the two of you. You’d protested, claiming that you and Kevin were just friends but it was clear that his family wasn’t buying it and honestly you couldn’t blame them. It had been one of the many reasons why you’d protested coming on this trip. This was a trip for Kevin and his family and the fact that he’d insisted you join them seemed to scream that he viewed you as more than just a friend. At the same time, as much as you wanted that to be true you knew that it wasn’t and never would be. 

Eventually, Kevin’s family had dropped the inquiries about your relationship with him and instead just asked questions wanting to get to know you. It wasn’t long into your spa session before you were laughing with the ladies in Kevin’s life as you got manicures and pedicures. Your individual massage session left you feeling utterly relaxed and by the time you rejoined Kevin’s family after your facial, you were feeling completely spoiled. 

It wasn’t until you were being dragged into another room and shoved into a chair to have your hair and makeup done that you realized the true spoiling was only just beginning. 

Kevin was taking you out to dinner tonight. 

He’d told his family that it was just because he hadn’t had the chance to spend time with you just the two of you but just like this vacation as a whole, it was starting to feel like his explanations were merely thinly veiled excuses. And while you weren’t sure how you felt about all of this, you weren’t about to turn down some time alone with Kevin as it had been months since you’d had any with him in person and not over the phone. 

Arriving back at the house with your hair and makeup done professionally, you felt more beautiful than you could ever remember. Kevin had texted you that he’d be back at the house to get you in half an hour and so you rushed up to your room to change into the gorgeous sundress you’d brought with you. You’d brought it with you figuring that it could serve as a cover-up if nothing else, but now it was the only thing that was even semi-appropriate to wear out to dinner. Settling the fabric over your hips, you gazed at yourself in the mirror, smiling at the woman staring back at you. It wasn’t often that you got dressed up to go somewhere and it was a nice feeling. While you knew that you really didn’t have anyone to impress, you were hoping that you’d get a reaction out of Kevin nonetheless. 

You’d just finished hyping yourself up for dinner when you heard Kevin’s booming voice calling your name. Slipping your feet back into your sandals, you started down the stairs, finding Kevin waiting for you in the entryway. 

“How was golf?” You asked him, missing the look of awe on his face as he took in your appearance. 

“Golf was good.” He responded, his hand drifting to your lower back. “You ready?” He asked and when you nodded, he guided you out to the rental car, helping you inside before slipping around to the driver's seat. “How was the spa? Hopefully, my family didn’t give you too much trouble?” He asked, glancing over at you while at a red light. 

“It was incredible. Thank you, Kev. I feel beyond spoiled. And your family was great. I had a lot of fun.” You assured him, relaxing back into the seat of the car. 

“Good.” Kevin mused. “Though you don’t have to thank me. You deserve it.” He’d added in a whisper and for a pause, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The restaurant Kevin had taken you to was gorgeous and the food was absolutely amazing. You had really missed spending time with Kevin like this and you enjoyed catching up with him. Hours had passed without you even realizing it and sadly before you knew it, it was time to return back to the house. 

Arriving at the beach house, you were taken aback when you walked into the middle of an intense board game session, one which Kristen dragged you into declaring that they needed more players. It wasn’t until the early morning hours that every one trickled off to bed, a little tipsy, having spent hours laughing and carrying on. 

Sliding between the sheets you thought about today’s lesson: you felt like you belonged while with Kevin’s family and maybe “just friends” was more blurred than you had thought. 

***

Sunday was your last full day of vacation, your flight home scheduled for lunchtime Monday. You’d been woken up by a large body bouncing onto your bed and you groaned, shoving Kevin in the chest, still half asleep. 

“C’mon Y/N...we’re spending the day on the beach.” He insisted, once again not taking no for an answer. 

“Fine. Leave so I can get up and get dressed.” You murmured, having slept half nude the night before which was something you didn’t need Kevin to see. 

“You have five minutes.” Kevin declared and though he didn’t say what would happen if you took longer, it was certainly implied that Kevin would drag you out of this room in whatever state of dress. 

Laying in bed for another minute, you finally pulled yourself up and rummaged through your bag for your swimsuit. Sliding it on you then threw on shorts and a t-shirt before throwing your hair up in a messy bun. After grabbing sunscreen and your phone you slipped your shoes on and made your way downstairs to find Kevin goofing off with his niece who was bouncing around excited to head down to the ocean. 

Your day was spent in the sun and sand and waves, as you switched between working on your tan, playing with Kevin’s niece and letting Kevin drag you into the ocean. You’d stayed on the beach until the sun had begun to set. Returning to the house, the men worked on grilling up dinner while the rest of you settled into chairs surrounding a fire pit. 

After enjoying dinner and changing into some actual clothes instead of a damp suit, you’d settled back into the chair, glasses of wine and bottles of beer floating around never to be emptied without being replaced. With the moon high in the sky, you enjoyed the evening with Kevin’s family, his nephew eventually being settled onto your chest, the little boy cooing as he snuggled into you. 

Within ten minutes of being handed the baby, Kevin had come over and taken him from you, handing him back to his brother. Raising an eyebrow at him, you watched as he reached a hand out to you, pulling you from your seat.

“Come take a walk with me.” His words signaled that it was more of a demand than a request and though you were confused, you nodded, slipping off your sandals as you reached the beach to walk barefoot along it with him, nothing but the moonlight guiding your way. 

“Kev...what’s going on?” You eventually asked him, the silence between you becoming overwhelming. Kevin didn’t stop until you had tugged on his arm, forcing him to look at you. When he did it was with eyes that were stormy and your heart picked up speed at the sight of them. 

“Kev…” You repeated. “Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” Kevin had never acted like this before and it was something that concerned you. 

“I want to have a baby with you.” Kevin eventually spoke and your jaw dropped as you froze, just staring at him. 

Eventually you found your voice again and were able to stutter out, “You what?” 

“I want you to have my baby,” Kevin repeated. “You’re my best friend. My family loves you. And seeing you holding Beau. Fuck Y/N I need that.” 

“Kev…” You breathed, unable to form any words other than his name with the way your head was suddenly spinning. Staring at him for a moment longer as he just stared back made it hard to breathe and after a moment you turned. “We should head back.” You said softly. 

Kevin didn’t protest, instead linking his large fingers with yours as you walked, only dropping them just before reaching the eyesight of his family. Settling back into your chair you forced a smile onto your face and joined the ongoing conversation, accepting the fresh glass of wine you were offered. 

Not long after, the kids were taken up to bed and the rest of the house slowly moved to follow them. Still, Kevin didn’t move from his spot and neither did you until the two of you were the only ones left out by the dying fire. Watching the flickering flames cast shadows on his face, the only thought that would come to mind was how handsome he was. 

And you weren’t sure whether it was the fire, the wine, the earlier baby snuggles and playtime with Kevin’s niece, or the feelings for Kevin that you’d been suppressing for so long but something pushed you to your feet and over to stand in front of Kevin and it was only once he was looking up at you that you nodded. 

“Okay.” 

Without a word, Kevin nodded back, reaching up to take your hand before guiding you inside and up to his bedroom which was settled the farthest away from the bedrooms where the rest of his family was staying. It wasn’t until the door was closed behind the two of you and the lock flipped into place that Kevin pulled you close, his lips dropping down to yours as his hands wrapped themselves around your waist. 

Everything after that felt like it happened in slow motion. Kevin’s hands were so gentle as he stripped you out of your clothing before lifting and gently laying you back on his bed. His accent was heavy as he slowly murmured about how much this meant to him, how beautiful you were, and how he couldn’t wait to see your body swell with his child. His touch and his kisses were slow and lingered, working your body close to the edge of orgasm not once but twice before finally making you fall apart. It was only then that Kevin pressed inside of you, his mouth silencing your screams as you cried out for him. The sound of your bodies rocking against each other was the only thing filling your ear until Kevin hissed and grunted and suddenly you were filled with a warmth as he spilled inside of you. 

Sleep followed not long after but it wasn’t until you stirred early the next morning that you realized your next lesson of this trip: that you had made a massive mistake. 

***

Tears formed in your eyes as you slid from Kevin’s arms and worked on silently gathering your clothes. After stopping to use the bathroom, you slid back into your room closing the door behind you. It was only then that you really started to cry as you worked to throw on proper clothes before packing your bag up to head home. 

It wasn’t like you were going to leave before talking to Kevin, but...knowing that said conversation was likely going to turn into a fight, well, you wanted to be able to make a quick escape if need be. 

Your stomach twisted as you made your way downstairs, and you forced a smile onto your face as you sat down to eat the eggs that Kevin’s mom was making. Hearing Kevin’s footsteps on the stairs, you got up to intercept him, pulling him outside. 

“We need to talk.” You murmured, watching as Kevin eyed you anxiously. 

“Okay.” He conceded, sitting down on the front porch step of the beach house. 

“Last night was a mistake.” You started and immediately Kevin opened his mouth to protest, an action which you stopped with a shake of your head. “Kevin I’m sorry but it was. I can’t have a baby with you.” You whispered, afraid that someone would overhear you. “I was overwhelmed by the mood of vacation, the moon, the fire, the alcohol, you...but none of that is real Kev. What’s real is that I’m going back to Boston today and you’re going back to Philly and this…” You gestured between the two of you. “This won’t work. And it certainly wouldn’t be fair to even think about bringing a baby into.” It hurt you to see Kevin’s shoulders slump, but this was something that had to be said. 

“Y/N please...we could make it work.” Kevin murmured and you shook your head, tears prickling in your eyes. 

“No. No, we couldn’t.” You insisted, moving to head back inside. “I’m sorry Kev...but I’m gonna grab my bag and go to the airport. Thank you for everything.” As you started to walk past him, Kevin reached out catching just the tips of your fingers. 

“Why?” The word slipped from his mouth without further context and you tugged your hand away from him, brushing the tears from your face. 

“Because you don’t love me the way that I love you.” 

Once back in the house, you grabbed your things before stopping to say a quick goodbye to the rest of Kevin’s family, making an excuse as to why you needed to leave for the airport early. You had a feeling they knew that something was up, but no one said anything and you thankfully didn’t see Kevin again before climbing into a cab. Your heart ached because last night had been so perfect. The problem was that it wasn’t real and you needed something that could be real. Sadly perfect….perfect wasn’t real. 

_____

The steady tic tic tic of the kitchen timer finally sounded, causing you to jump. A glance over at Kristen revealed a concerned but supportive look as she nodded at you. You hadn’t known where else to turn, but you couldn’t do this on your own. You weren’t sure if she knew the details of what had happened or not, but the moment you had messaged her asking for her help she was quick to assure you that you had it. It had been six weeks since you got on a plane and left Kevin behind. Six weeks without a peep from him and you knew it was your fault. All of this was your fault. 

“It’s time to look Y/N.” She whispered. “Take a few deep breaths.” She added, her hand rubbing over your back as you tried to get the courage to flip over the tiny plastic sticks. “Here. Hold my hand.” She insisted. With her strength flowing through your joined hands you took one final breath before reaching over to the coffee table and turning each of the three sticks in turn. 

‘Pregnant.’

‘+ ‘

And two pink lines. 

It had been one night. One mistake. And now you couldn’t deny it any longer. 

You were having Kevin Hayes’s baby.