#they probably wreck their room on a weekly basis

[therighthandofvengeance]

a wreck-room on the station would bring in SO MUCH revenue

[eepesleepy]

The Commune of Second-Chancers

TW: CSA, gun violence.

Last night's dreams started with a fitful bout of sleep paralysis. I kept "waking up" to stare at my windows, which are slatted and let in slivers of silver streetlight. The only way I knew I was still dreaming was that the patterns of the leaves on the slats kept psychedelically undulating in liquid black and white patterns. Also, The Woman was there.

The Woman is my sleep-paralysis demon. Where some people have The Hat Man or Shadow People, I have The Woman. She's probably a projection of my psychosexual anxieties or some other such Freudian dribble. The thing about The Woman is I never can directly look at her. Only sense her presence by her breath on my neck, the weight of her in bed next to me, the shadow she casts in the doorway, and occasionally her clothing as though her outfits were telepathically rendered to me. Sometimes she "appears" as a withered crone who glides into bed behind me and starts whispering demonic gibberish in my ear. Sometimes, she appears as a younger woman who I get an eery sense of familial relationship with, though the relationship is not one of blood as in a step-sister, god-sister, girlfriend, or wife. Often, when the younger version of The Woman shows up, there's some kind of sex involved. Often I get the sense she's wearing very little clothing. When the crone shows up there's only terror and whispers. I have to remember to breathe deeply and not give into my fear, or else her whispering gets louder and her embrace grows colder. The Woman appears on a weekly basis, though she used to feature more often when I was on different sleeping pills. Anyway, she made an appearance last night as her younger version and we fornicated briefly before she disappeared entirely and I woke up fully.

When I managed to get back to sleep, I fell into a dream where I visited my high school friend K in a bungalow on the breezy side of some island. It was a moonless night, and I met him at the sliding glass door at the back of his house. He recently adopted a dog who looked like something out of a werewolf novel. It was big, but in a feral sort of way. Lean, with long bowstring-taught tendons flexing in its limbs. Its color was greyish black with tan spots speckling the dark sea of his fur like wonton continents. K was less interested in the dog and more interested in what the dog could do. He showed me to a side table where he'd placed a porcelain statue of a Chinese dragon. Its snake-like body curled atop a bronze pedestal. What was interesting was its face occasionally changed. It would snarl. Then sleep. Then smile. Then open its jaws wide as if about to eat the world. What was truly strange was K's newly adopted dog then shrank to the size of the dragon, and laid down on the table next to it where she (or he) began to imitate the dragon's faces.

My dream then shifted to a commonplace setting of my dreams: my highschool bedroom. It had the feel of an attic room, with a sloping ceiling and a large walk-in closet I shared with my momma. In my dreams, the room is always bigger. More like a tiny home. It was the same in last night's dream. My room was not designed but more decorated with the ephemera of my life. Drawings, writings, magazine clippings, second-hand posters, plastic pine garland and fairy lights. Two old wreaths hung over my bed and a projector cast a golden glow against the far wall by the walk-in closet. My room was full of guests. Some people I knew in the waking world, and some I knew only in the dream, though I got the sense that a few among the group were newly-met and practically strangers to me. We gathered in my room where it was declared that I was turning a new leaf. My life would no longer be the wreck that it is when I'm awake. A good friend from high school was going to move into the room (which was really more like a cabin) with me and I was going to be the leader of some sort of commune of second-chancers. We would share ownership of all the trinkets and treasures in the room and we would begin anew. The night wound around itself in a carnival of good-feeling. People talked, watched the film on the projector, played video games. It was well past midnight when I loudly declared it was bed time and started shooing people from the room.

As I accompanied the group down the stairs of my childhood home, there was a general murmur. Something was wrong. I heard a small chime, like one of those small bells that hangs from wind chimes. Then, out of the darkness of the family room came a child. Then another. Then a whole gaggle. One of the smaller ones pulled a wagon with two or three toddlers in it. Accompanying them was a balding, booze-and-burger-fattened old man with glooping white skin like horse paste. I had the feeling I'd only recently met him, and he was to join the Commune of Second-Chancers. But here he was with eight or nine children in tow, and I simply wouldn't have such youth among the commune.

"No," I said, but before I could go on, I was interrupted by the oldest of the children. She was blonde and slightly pudgy in the way many pre-growth spurt preteens are.

"But these are our children," she said. Horrified, I replied, "Your children? Whose? Yours and his?" and the old man nodded.

"Absolutely not," I said, "Someone call the police." Then the old man pulled a glock out of his pocket and shot in the air. All hell broke loose. The group gathered behind me scattered. Some ran up the stairs, some ran down across the living room, through the kitchen, to the garage and freedom. I ran with the latter, trying the whole time to dial 9-1-1 on my phone. It went to a customer service hotline, then to a musical tone, so I tried again.

Just then, my sister's fiance showed up, but it wasn't my sister's fiance as he is in the waking world. For one thing, he was black, and had about forty pounds of stout muscle on me. "What's going on with you?" he asked. "I may or may not be having a manic episode," I said. "On the one hand, I feel better than I have in months. I'm turning a new leaf. Starting over. All these people are here to help me, and I'm going to help them. On the other hand, I don't feel much like sleeping, my mind is going 1000 miles a minute, and I am extremely irritated." He didn't say anything to that, and I didn't wait for him to. I ran out the side garage door into the neighbors yard and tried 9-1-1 again. My sister's fiance followed me out the door, with three or four friends in tow. He told me to put the phone down, we would handle this the old way. His friends ran outside after him, all carrying chains and bats. The old man has a gun, I thought, there's no way this is going to go well. I hesitated for a minute, then said, "I need to get my hatchet." So I ran back into the garage and the old man was there at the top of the steps to the kitchen door.

That was it. I woke up and it was early morning.

[clanofjones]

OK BESTIE I keep getting these dreams too so if you don't mind I'll add my own:

(also gonna tag @theosb0rnway bc I told him about the dreams)

An episode called "Goongala": Casey and Casey Jr centric because they're goofy. Casey dictates the day 'Casey bonding', and and quickly realizes she doesn't know what she's doing anymore than Casey Jr does. Most of the episode is spent by Casey bulshitting her way through the day with Junior, ending frequently in a fight, because she's a Casey, and that's how it be. All the while, they exchange sweet little wholesome talks. It all comes to a head eventually, and Casey comes clean right before they get blown up by some angered Yokai. Casey Jr assures her that it's okay, they get to fighting the Yokai back, upon which Casey uses the classic "Goongala" catchphrase. After the fight, upon seeing an ice cream truck, Casey Jr suggests that they get some, and just walk around. Casey agrees, and it's actually really sweet. The episode ends with both of them returning to the lair, looking like they fought God and couldn't care less.

Running Gag: I imagine that Casey is naive as heck, as in the apocalypse, it was probably either you're with us or you get a Krangified, and if you were lucky you'd get a 'LOL get wrecked' note. This plays into how Junior interacts with literally anyone. Big Mama tried to trick him into joining the Battle Nexus? Totally works. She's not even sneaky about it. Purple Dragons decide to make Donnie's life worse by manipulating Junior like with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. in Breaking Purple? He agrees before Kendra can even rub her hands sinisterly. (I actually did write this in a sense, here)

Speaking of which, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. comes back. Donnie's not gonna let his robot child stay dead. He's also an instant hit with the newcomers. Draxum is neither disappointed nor surprised, but of course he would never say so, so Mikey reads him like a book and tells Donnie.

Episode: Sunita, April, and Casey go out for Laser Tag. But, all three of these being weirdness magnets, they get caught up in Donnie's rivalry with the Purple Dragons, who have turned the Laser Tag room into a deadly obstacle course: The Purple Dragons against Casey, April, and Sunita. Casey gets way too overcompetitive, and attempts to decapitate Kendra. Sunita gets her to not, and Donnie, shutting down the deadlier bits for his friends, says "no, let her, it'll be funny!" before knocking out a flying machete. The episode ends with the Hamatos + co triumphant.

Episode: Return of that psycho dentist dude. A Donnie and Raph episode. Open with Donnie and Raph in the Hidden City, under the goal of finding actual hoverboards that actually hover, something they are both psyched about. and the two are nearly jumped by a trio of would-be captors. Being ninjas, Raph and Donnie kick their butts. Upon the cursory inspection, Donnie says the following: "My diagnosis? They're doctors. Nay, the worst and most detested by the common population: Dentists..." [both shudder] The episode follows the efforts of the Creepy Dentist People (CDP) trying to jump Raph and get his snaggletooth, while the turtles don't really know what's going on and just don't want to go to the dentist because Donnie "does the effective oral inspection on a bi-weekly basis, such distrust is a true folly!" and both think that Splinter set up a dentist appointment and forgot to tell them. Only when they meet the head CDP dude that they figure it out, and a fight ensues, only stopping when a gang of CDP try to discombobulate Raph by running him over with a Jeep, only for Raph to get out of the way, and the head CDP gets run over instead. The entire events is proclaimed as a "certainly odd and completely unforseen turn of events that no poor soul could have predicted" and the episode closes with the CDP seeing a sea beast with even odder teeth and diving in after it, and Raph and Donnie go back to finding the hoverboards.

Episode: An everyone episode. When Casey Jr asks what cotton candy is after seeing it on a commercial, Splinter and Mikey decide that they're going to take Casey Jr into town to a fair. Splinter grabs April, and Mikey Draxum, to the former's slight apprehension. April calls the others, and determines that it's their first fair, much to her shock. She decides that it will be the best, hands down, cue Shenanigans (TM). Casey and Mikey get into a friendly competition with a darts game, Leo and April see who can go on the tilt-a-whirl the most without puking, both with empty stomachs, Splinter and Donnie realize the others made off with all their cash, and go on an epic quest of robbery from the employees that keep rigging the games. Raph, Casey Jr, and Draxum all have no idea what to do after buying five caramel apples for each of them, so Raph picks a random direction, and by some stroke of luck, run into the tallest roller coaster in the park. Draxum insists that there are too many issues with the structural integrity to hold an average of five humans, plus himself and Raph, but of course, neither listen to him. The roller coaster breaks, because of course it does. Casey takes the caramel apples out of seemingly nowhere, and managed to stick the broken bits of track back together with caramel. Fun times are had by all, good clean fun. Raph, Drax, and Casey Jr came out with a new respect for caramel apples, Mikey and Casey came out with several stuffed animal prizes and three unconscious carnies, April and Leo with three slushies and a lake with a bit of puke, and Splinter and Donnie came out as millionaires. Good, clean fun.

Running Gag: Nobody, not even Draxum, knows who Warren Stone is. Still.

Episode: One of those stock-episode clip show things. When the sewers and subsequent old subways are on lockdown due to an accidental sighting of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and Mayhem, the turtles, Splinter, Draxum, Casey, Casey Jr, April, Shelldon and Meyhem are all locked inside the lair. Everyone goes around sharing stories, flashlight style, giving insight into the untouched on elements of the story: Raph's time being 'dead' during the Battle Nexus: New York business, Casey's early days with the Foot Clan, the future apocalypse and what Future Donnie, Raph, April and co. were like, how long exactly Draxum has been around for, how April met the turtles, where the heck Mayhem was during S2, etc.

Mayhem will just lie on someone's head, and if you get teleported, you live there until he leaves. Accept it. Casey Jr does. Casey and Draxum do not. This leads to some very funny footage.

Yeah that's all I got :)

If you don't mind, thought, OP, could I maybe write your Splinter and Draxum one sometime down the line? Or maybe I could do some art for it or smth, It's really good, I can totally imagine it happening in canon :)

Had a dream I was watching season 3 of Rottmnt, it was so vivid and now I’m sad that it isn’t real. So I’m writing some highlights from the dream before I forget.

Draxum and Casey focused episodes on what they were doing during the movie. There were really cool action sequences with original music and everything. It was so cool. There was one scene where the screen divided in half to show both battles.

Music during action scenes. There was a lot of it. I suspect it might have been because I watching Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur before going to sleep tho.

An episode premise: April finally had a good stable job. She was going steady for a whole 2 weeks setting a new record. The turtles got a little suspicious since April can never keep a job for long. Cue investigation, it turns out the job is a front. A front for a cult. April accidentally joined a cult. By the end of the episode April accidentally destroyed the cult in the same way she usually ends up losing her jobs. Alas the curse of April losing her job was too strong.

Another Episode Premise: Splinter and Draxum go undercover for an intel mission at a fancy club. The cover story being that they’re two friends who are trying to reconnect. They’re kinda bad at it since both argue like a married couple. This actually works in their favor tho as the person they’re trying to spy on to get info on is a huge romantic who is super invested in trying to get the two to “reconnect”. Both are forced by the turtles to play along for the sake of the mission. By the end of the episode Draxum and Splinter have performed a proposal, a wedding, a divorce, another re proposal, alongside with a remarriage, but not another divorce because they have to book it away because the turtles got captured. Which meant by the end of the episode Draxum and Splinter were still married.

Over Arching Story: Bishop was hunting down the remaining Foot Clan members. Which included trying to find former Foot Clan members for any information. Of course leading Bishop to Casey. Casey sends him on a wild goose chase as she goes on her own mission to find her former bosses. Being the B plot for a lot of the episodes. In one instance she teams up with Piebald in a gambling ring to win some info.

Running Gag: Casey Jr tries going into the dating world but has trouble since most people who are his age now, were adults during the apocalypse. So if he does find someone to date who he doesn’t recognize they usually end up being some form of “not real”. Highlight examples being: an alien who assumed a human persona to lure specimen to experiment on their ship, a demon with similar motives to the alien except it wanted to eat Casey Jr’s soul, an ai made by Bishop made to find potential Foot Clan members. What was funny was how obvious a lot of them were, like the alien wore a “I believe” shirt but with sharpie added “don’t”, changing it to “I don’t believe” (real master of disguise right here). The demon’s “flirting” was something along the lines of “if souls were edible and had taste, I bet yours would be a delicious meal that would amplify my demonic powers. If I had demonic powers, which I don’t because I’m a perfectly normal human. But in the hypothetical where I do-”. The ai when asked it’s favorite hobby responded with “breathing and being human”.

Bishop had an entire episode where he beat up different clans in his attempt to find the Foot Clan. Making some leave their old clans to join Bishop since he bested them in battle. But Bishop didn’t want a bunch of ninja (idk why not, that sounds incredibly useful) so he sent them on a wild goose chase but every time he did they came back having accomplished the goal. (Again I don’t understand why he kept acting like they were an annoyance when they were getting him things like THE GOD DAMN ELIXER OF EVERLASTING LIFE)

That’s all I have the energy to right. If I remember anything worth adding I will but I think these were all the highlights.

[thenamesblurrito]

At long last!! Some Dinobots!!!

Grimlock is the boss. Among his siblings in the Dinobot Den, what he says goes. The only one who can supersede him is Dinobot himself, the founder and patron of the group home. His strength, size, and intimidating body language are more than enough to get people to move out of his way, but beneath his stubborn, gruff exterior is a sterling spark with a lot of love for his friends and family. It’s a surprise to be roomed with three of his siblings, since roommates are randomly assigned, but he isn’t complaining. Their other roommate Strafe is equally awesome, and he declared her an honorary Dinobot within a month of meeting her. Other people may look at him and see a savage beast, but he’s fond of history and philosophy, art and science, and a whole host of things that most people would not guess. Occasionally he tags along with the Scavengers, mostly to watch Misfire being dumb and Krok being exasperated.

Strafe has a very unusual frame for a Camien. Beastformers only occur on Cybertron and Eukaris, so her sort-of vehicle, sort-of beast alt mode is an anomaly on Caminus. With a four-armed amalgoid frame, her dual beast heads form two of her arms, which she uses to snip at anyone she finds unpleasant. The first, and last, time her next-door neighbor Mirage tried commenting on her appearance, he received a very impressive set of scratches in his paint. She fits in quite well with her roommates, happily accepting the title of Dinobot. Despite the stereotypes of her frametype, she excels in politics, history, and anthropology classes, with a keen mind for how people interact on a large scale.

Slag doesn’t like it here, but really, he doesn’t like it anywhere. He’s very grumpy. His name is not actually the same word as the expletive, it has a different declension and meaning that denotes it as a name, but he readily goes by the expletive instead. Authority figures other than Grimlock and his patron Dinobot of the Dinobot Den are unlikely to get much of a response from him, other than perhaps a growl. His grades aren’t bad, but he’s had more than his fair share of detentions. Once he even slugged a mech right in the faceplates. No one has ever provoked him while in beast mode, which is a good thing, because his horns are just as sharp as they look.

Snarl cannot believe that he’s stuck with his siblings for roommates. Nevermind the fact that he’d hate having four strangers for roommates even more. He just wants to be left alone! He misses his own private room back at the Dinobot Den. When he bothers to show up to his classes, he does alright, but his in-class participation is abysmal. The only time he really enjoys himself is during sports, when he can turn all the squat brute strength of his beastformer frame into a powerful juggernaut against the opposing team. In fact, he may take a little too much joy in it. The best matches are against his siblings, who know his strength and how to combat it, leading to a fun family thrashing for everyone involved.

Swoop is delighted by all the high ceilings, balconies, and hidey holes of the campus architecture. The Dinobot Den is great, but it never had this much room. The entire school is a maze for him to explore and he’s set about to do just that! It’s not uncommon to see him twirling and diving through the air around the Academy, even flying with some seekers sometimes, though he can never match their speed. An interesting environment like this is perfect for him. He can pursue whatever happens to catch his fancy today, learning anything and everything in his classes, and then coming back to chatter to his siblings and Strafe. Some have tried to insult him for being a tiny, flighty beastformer, but he isn’t one to pay any attention to them, too busy having fun instead.

[maybankiara]

YOU’RE IN MY HEAD

pairing: Footballer!Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: When he keeps putting you off your position during matches, you decide to take it up with him -- unbeknownst to you, there’s more to Rafe than just wanting to prevent you from being a good football player (and it’s called unresolved sexual tension.)

w/c: 4k

a/n: happy valentine’s day!! @drewstarkey and i have a whole football!obx au (soccer, for you americans) planned that i keep putting off, so here’s a little something loosely inspired by the idea, until that finally arrives. also, in this universe, football is a unisex sport. i’m not a football expert so there may be some inaccuracies. i hope you enjoy both the day and the fic! (and do let me know if this football!fic is what people are interested in.)

masterlist

It’s the half-time of one of the better matches the team has played this season and, of course, Rafe Cameron ruins it by uttering a single sentence: ‘Y/N, you’re swapping positions with Kiara.’

 The captain’s orders don’t end here, and he decides to implement some more strategies the team has practiced before, adapting the approach to the heavy-defence strategy that North Carolina is playing tonight. Sarah gives you a sympathetic look and a tap on your hand, but all you can do is shake your head.

 This is the third time in a row Rafe has put you on the sidelines, basically. Always swapping with Kiara, whom everybody knows to be a lot fiercer right back than you, or anyone else on the team. Just like you’re better at being in the front, charging for the goal.

 When the changes are in place and there’s about five minutes left, Rafe asks if anyone has got questions. Peterkin stays quiet and lets Captain Cameron take over, just like she always does.

 You raise your hand, and Rafe calls on you. ‘What the fuck, Rafe? Why are you putting me in the back again?’

 His jaw clenches. ‘We need someone firmer on the front.’

 ‘But you also need a firm defence,’ you argue. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

 He stares at you and you hold his gaze, unwavering, feeling his sister stir next to you. On the other end of the locker room, Kiara pulls her jersey down, biting her lip. ‘Y/N’s right—’

 ‘I know what I’m doing,’ Rafe cuts her off. ‘Now let’s get back on the field.’

 You listen to what he says, but not without letting your disagreement with his choice be written all over your face. When you’re headed out, he’s waiting to be the last, and you bump into him as you’re walking out, shoulder to shoulder, torso to torso.

 He glares, and you clench your teeth, trailing behind Pope.

 Back on the field, time flies. You warm up quickly and it’s back in the game again, only on a different position than where you started. Kiara offers you a sympathetic glance, much like the one Sarah gave you, because everyone is starting to notice that Rafe is treating you differently.

 As you run, a little out of the grounds he told you you’d be covering, saving the ball more than a handful of times, you feel his watchful eyes on you. You’re not meant to be playing the right back but you’d rather do your best, even if it means overexerting yourself, just to make sure you don’t lose.

 You foul an opposing player and drop to the ground, feeling your ankle get sore; Rafe’s the first to get to your side, helping you up. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

 It’s a free kick, but not a yellow, so you say, ‘Whatever it takes.’

 ‘Don’t go breaking your legs, Y/N.’

 You pull your arm out of his hold, sending a glare his way as you go back to your position. You should keep paying attention to the ball, because it’s about to be kicked, but you can’t help but shout, ‘If you let me play what I’m supposed to play, maybe I’ll listen!’

 The game picks up. You dive a few more times, Kiara gets a nasty foul that has her off the pitch for about half a minute, Topper gets a cramp, JJ fouls in the front and gets a yellow, John B and Rafe nearly start a scrap when someone gets Sarah to the ground – but you win.

 That should be what’s important, you think as the entire team is hugging and celebrating, but your heart isn’t in the right place.

 Playing football is far from fun when you keep being treated like a lesser player than someone else.

 Time wears on, the team gets changed, and it’s time for a proper celebration, down at the Wreck. Sarah tries getting your spirits up, even Kiara tries telling you that at least you evaded getting fouled like that, Kelce tells you that you saved his ass, but none of it matters – not when Rafe celebrates as if what he’s doing is right.

 Seriously. Three matches. It’s fucking ridiculous at this point.

 You approach Rafe without hesitation, but still keep your voice hushed, because you’re not exactly trying to ruin everybody’s happiness with your tension. ‘Can we talk?’

 He glances at you as he pulls his jersey over his head – your eyes drop to his lean torso, despite the fact you see it on an almost weekly basis.

 ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he says, and takes his shorts off. ‘You were good today, as a right back.’

 ‘That’s not my— Jesus, do you need to be half naked right now?’

 ‘What?’ he asks, almost innocently, but the grin betrays him. ‘I’m getting changed. Why are you getting so worked up?’

 ‘I’m not—’ You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out an exasperated huff as he takes off his socks, too, and is now wearing literally just boxers. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

 He chuckles, dropping down on the bench. You half-wonder what Topper, sitting next to him, must be thinking – and realise that most of the team is taking selfies and chatting in the other end of the locker room. It’s just you and Rafe.

 Good.

 He looks up at you from the bench, manspreading with his back leaning on the wall. ‘What do you want?’

 ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of trying to have a serious conversation with you right now.’

 ‘Yeah, I got that.’

 He’s hot. Okay, he’s hot and the reason why you’re so bothered about him being almost naked is because it’s taking your mind off of what you’re wanting to talk about, and giving a different meaning to you being “worked up”.

 So you gather all your courage and bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to exude as much fierceness as you can muster. ‘I need you to let me play on my position. I’ve had enough, you can’t keep doing that if you’re not training me to play Kiara’s.’

 ‘Easy,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Then we’ll train you.’

 Your jaw drops. ‘Are you being fucking serious right now?’

 Before he gets to answer, JJ calls from the other end that they need to hurry up, if the team wants to make it to the Wreck at a normal time. It breaks whatever moment you and Rafe were sharing and, telling him the conversation isn’t over, you retreat back to your locker. It takes all you’ve got to not let this affect the celebratory mood, because winning 2 - 0 is pretty damn good, and you should take some credit for that. Even if it wasn’t on your position, for half of the match.

 It ends up not being so difficult, actually, to not think about what happened. Once you’re back in Kildare and at the Wreck, food and drinks are flowing, and as long as Rafe is out of your earshot and sight, it’s good. He tends to stay away from you most times, anyway.

 (Which, okay, you can admit now sometimes bothers you, you’ve had a few drinks.)

 It’s not so difficult, until JJ lounges in the chair next to you, beer can in one hand and a donut in another, asks, ‘What’s up with you and Cap’n?’

 ‘Don’t even get me started,’ you sigh. ‘I don’t know what crawled up his ass.’

 ‘Language, Y/N.’

 ‘Fuck off, Maybank.’

 The blond just grins, probably happy to see you slightly irritated – but not at him.

 He pushes the chair back from swinging into its normal position, resting his elbows on the table. He leans towards you as if he’s about to tell you a secret – even his eyebrows furrow, the ever-present smile shaping into a frown. ‘Seriously, he keeps pushing you in the back. He’s gotta have a reason for that.’

 ‘Not that I’d know of,’ you admit. You shrug, lightly, despite the actual weight of the subject. ‘I thought we made a good team in the front. He assisted me, I assisted him… It’s been working well.’

 JJ nods, pondering. ‘It was the game against New Jersey, right?’

 ‘The last time I played without the change?’ You play until JJ nods, then sigh, playing with a broken piece hanging off the wooden table. ‘I didn’t even get to play, since that bitch nearly sprained my ankle.’

 ‘It’s always your ankle,’ JJ says, chuckling.

 His thoughts take him to stories of all the injuries you and the rest of team have gotten so far, drawing a couple of your teammates into the conversation. Rafe slips off your mind for the most part, as you laugh along to the ridiculous number of times Kelce has faceplanted while tackled, or to Pope is retelling how he defended the goal by getting the ball in his nuts, which made him fear for his offspring (it was all fun, and makes for a hilarious story).

 It’s only when you glance around the table and catch him in conversation with Topper, or James, or Sarah, and his eyes are trained on you for just a moment before they’re gone – as if he wants you to see him, but wants you to question whether it was an accident. You feel yourself growing stiff; when it happens too many times, your mind flashes back to the locker room – you, trying to talk to him; Rafe, half naked, grinning at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

 He’s conceited. He’s selfish. He’s attractive, with that prep-boy look around him that falls apart when he’s leading the charge on the pitch – when the wisps of blond frame the sharp lines of his face, and he embodies the look of the leader he’s become.

 It just sucks that you don’t quite agree with his leadership, and he doesn’t quite agree with you speaking up about it.

 Night wears on, and your teammates flock to their beds, one by one. You’re only staying at the Wreck, the local hotel, for a night – tomorrow’s a new day, a new tournament. It would be smart to go to sleep early. Get the energy you need for tomorrow, because tomorrow’s filled with press conferences, which you don’t tend to enjoy.

 It would also be smarter to deal with the captain tomorrow morning, when you’re both sober, instead of the buzz running through your veins right now.

 By the time it hits midnight, it’s only you, JJ, Pope, Kiara, Rafe, and Topper. Instead of taking the big table at the wreck, the few of you retreated to a secluded one in the corner of the hotel’s dining room. Topper’s beating everyone at cards, but Kiara’s at his neck, and everyone has downed enough drinks for the night to be called quits soon enough; you are starting to sober up, and can already feel the headache looming.

 Inadvertently, you glance at Rafe. He’s holding his cards in one hand, spread evenly, long fingers adorned with rings keeping them in place. Across from you, his eyes don’t meet yours, as they look around the table, through everybody’s poker faces – you notice the angle of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jawline, the unstyled hair having the slightest bit of a messy wave to it. You hate how much attention you pay to the parting of his lips, and the line of his nose, the curve of his eyes; his Adam’s apple bobbing as he taunts Pope across the table, trying to get him to break the cards.

 When he turns as if scalded and his eyes meet yours, you don’t avert your gaze.

 It might be the alcohol, but the room is starting to feel a little stuffy, a little warm; you’ve never realised how intense his gaze can be. It’s almost as if it’s unguarded, spiked with the few drinks everyone’s had.

 You clear your throat, looking at your cards – you’re definitely not going to be the one winning anytime soon. ‘I think I’ll head to bed, soon.’

 If anybody notices the fluttering of your voice, they don’t comment on it. Kiara nods, JJ boos you, and Rafe says: ‘We should all probably head to bed if we want to be ready for tomorrow.’

 ‘Okay, Cap’n,’ says Topper, resting an arm around the blond’s shoulders. ‘You go get your beauty sleep, me and the boys are going to let you know how it went when you wake up in the morning, princess.’

 Kiara clears her throat, drawing the attention to herself before quirking an eyebrow at Topper. ‘What’s making you think you’re getting rid of me?’

 There’s a collective of ooh’s, and you think about staying, but it wouldn’t be smart. Rafe’s right, you all would be better getting some sleep, but there’s also the fact that you’re pissed at him and you’re drunk enough for that to be making you seem in a bit of a different light.

 (You’re still struggling to breathe, a little bit. Hopefully no one has noticed.)

 In the end, you bid everyone goodnight, pay your bill, and head for your room. You’re still not feeling well and there’s a water dispenser in the ground hallway, opposite end of where the stairs to the upper floor are. You think about making a cup of tea, but settle for water – water is good.

 Cold water should unhaze your mind.

 You stay in the hallway, for a little pit – it’s peaceful here. Hallways have meant something to you ever since your team’s career started to take off two years ago. Wherever you go, rooms and places are different, but hallways are nearly always the same. They’re always just transit spaces, connecting point A with point B; it’s not quite a liminal space, but it’s where you feel like nothing can hurt you.

 That is, until you’re about to set your foot on the stairs, and you see Rafe walking out of the toilets.

 His eyes settle on you at the same moment and both of you freeze; the hallway is quiet, save for the music reaching it from the dining hall. You can almost hear your heart beating.

 ‘Thought you were going to bed.’

 You raise your glass, which you refilled just before embarking for your room. ‘Had to stop for a bit.’

 He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Outside of the locker room, outside of the dining hall, he doesn’t seem like the overconfident Rafe you’ve got so much against. He still is the same – it just doesn’t show that much.

 ‘I meant what I said earlier,’ he says, slowly, as if the words are hard to push out. ‘I think your should train to be right back.’

 If you had half a shot more, you would’ve thrown the water into his face. Now, all you do, is say – ‘You’re an asshole, Cameron.’ – and go up the stairs. For a moment there’s nothing, but then there’s rushed footsteps coming up the stairs, and you feel a hand on your wrist, and his voice calling your name.

 You don’t turn around instantly. You’re too angry for that – you close your eyes instead, and breathe, before collecting yourself enough to not explode.

 He’s still holding your wrist when you turn around, and he’s close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating off his body; the cologne mixed with the scent of fresh clothes.

 ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

 You scoff, pulling your hand out of his grip. ‘You’re ruining my life. You know how important this is to me, and you keep— you keep putting me where I don’t belong!’

 ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and he sounds earnest; he sounds the way his face looks – a small frown on his face, lips quivering breathlessly, the wrinkles around his eyes almost pleading with her. ‘I’m just doing what’s best for everybody, Y/N.’

 ‘I don’t play defence. That’s Kiara’s job, but apparently that’s not good enough for you. You know where I’m good at.’

 ‘You’re good playing any position.’ He says it quick, as if the words escape from him. He swallows loudly enough that she hears him and takes a step back, shaking his head. ‘Look, you’re one of the best players on the team. That’s why—’

 ‘Then why don’t you put me where I can be the best?’

 ‘Y/N, just trust me, okay?’

 ‘No,’ you say, crossing the distance he created between the two of you until his back’s pressed against the wall, and you’re right in front of him, a finger jabbed into his chest. ‘I want to know why you’re doing this.’

 He hesitates; you feel his heart beating faster than you thought possible. ‘We were playing against rough teams. I couldn’t let you get hurt.’

 You scoff again, half-laughing as you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. ‘That’s bullshit. Jesus, Rafe, you’re spewing shit.’

 ‘Look, it’s the truth. I couldn’t take that risk.’

 ‘But you could take that risk with Kiara.’

 ‘Yes.’

 No hesitation; no wavering. It’s something he must’ve thought through, over and over again, for the answer to be so certain. You’re a little taken aback, and your finger falls from his chest, but the distance is still almost nonexistent.

 It’s because I’m good, you tell yourself, that’s why he’s keeping you safe, but it doesn’t ring true. Not when you can smell his cologne and not when his eyes drop to your lips, cheeks flushed.

 So you decide to ask why.

 He hesitates again, and you feel his shoulder slump as thoughts run through his head. Whatever he settles on, he’s certain, and you can see it. His voice is almost sad when he admits, ‘After the game against New Jersey, I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. I couldn’t lose you on the pitch, because when you weren’t around, it was like I couldn’t get my head straight.’ He pauses, and then: ‘I’m sorry.’

 Rafe breathes slowly, carefully, but your heart is racing around your ribcage, threatening to break through. His words echo around your head as you try to make sense of them – make sense of the way he felt like it was more than just a admission of being a good team – make sense of the way he’s looking at you like he’s expecting more than a reaction to the recognition of your worth as a teammate.

 There’s a feeling in your chest that you can’t describe. It’s in your throat, in the back of your head, burning through your ears – a thought almost too scary to form, but then it does, and it refuses to leave.

 So you swallow the gulp in your throat and ask, ‘Is my being good on the pitch the only reason?’

 A beat. ‘No.’

 You nod, slowly, as if in a trance. His eyes are gazing into yours with intensity you’ve never felt before – it’s as if he’s asking you to say something, to do something, to show that you understand what he’s saying without saying it.

 And you do.

 You do.

 You nod, and your lips are on his before you get the chance to think this through. His hands are quick to grab your waist as your fingers get tangled in the soft waves of his hair, bodies pressing against one another in a heated rush.

 ‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he mutters, a moment before his lips find your neck, fingers slipping underneath your top, dipping into the skin on your back. You moan, a little too loud, and he laughs against your neck. ‘We really shouldn’t.’

 ‘Yeah, we shouldn’t,’ you agree, watching him as he pulls his head back to look at you, a dazed smile on his face. ‘My room or yours?’

 Rafe’s grin is enough to set your body on fire. ‘Yours is closer.’

 He kisses you again, a firm kiss planted on your lips, before taking your hand and letting you lead to your room. The moment the door is locked, your lips are on his neck, clothes are clumsily coming off on your way to the bed, and you only have a second to wonder how long this has been inevitable until his lips hit the right spot, and every thought is as good as gone.

 When you wake in the morning, you’re half-surprised to find him curled into your side, head resting on your shoulder and an arm draped over your stomach. He’s still asleep, and you take a moment to think about how calming—how right—it feels to be here, with him. The hotel room is nice, a quiet rose gold, and the light coming through the windows is making it almost ethereal.

 It doesn’t feel like a mistake. You’re still a bit angry about being pushed back, but things seem a little different now that you know he wasn’t trying to hinder you, but protect you.

 (You still need to tell him that you don’t need protecting; you know what you got yourself into when you decided to play the sport.)

 With a smile on your face, you start playing with your head. He wakes within five seconds, with the same dazed look on his face from last night. His eyes find yours and he pauses for a moment, as if he were taking it all in, before his lips find home in yours. Neither of you think about morning breath, or about the fact that you should both probably go for a shower before leaving the hotel, because Rafe snuggles into your shoulder, pressing butterfly kisses to your collarbone, as his hand traces circles around your stomach.

 You take it upon yourself to ask, ‘No regrets?’

 ‘None.’

 ‘You should have one,’ you tease, and only let him be frightened for a moment. ‘Pushing me into the back.’

 He sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck. ‘Are we still arguing about that?’

 ‘We will be, until you let me play offense again.’

 ‘If it was you instead of Kiara yesterday, it could’ve messed with your leg,’ he says. Before you get to respond, he pushes himself off the bed so he can look at you. ‘I know your ankle is still hurting from New Jersey even if you’re not saying anything.’

 You can’t deny the truth.

 Rafe kisses your forehead. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

 ‘I always am.’

 ‘More,’ he says, breaking into a smile. ‘I need my partner back.’

 ‘If you promise to never make decisions for me without consulting me first.’

 He squints, as if thinking about it, but you can tell he isn’t. ‘I promise.’

 ‘Okay, then.’ You wrap your arms around him and pull him down, kissing him softly. ‘I promise to be more careful.’

 In the end, it’s like he promised – you go back to playing offense, in the front of every attack, and you and Rafe are back to being the dynamic scoring duo you’ve always been. Except this time this dynamic extends to beyond the field, and you support each other when the football isn’t around. Nobody is surprised by the turn of the events – you’re not entirely sure, but JJ passes Kiara a few bills when you and Rafe break the news to the team, and you think there was bets going around.

 Things get back to fine. Things get better. You end up winning the tournament, and Rafe kisses you with the cup in his hand, and the next morning, the headlines are full of your and Rafe’s names more so than your team’s, but that’s fine. You’ve made it.

 You’ve got everything you need – you just never thought it’d be no one other than Rafe Cameron, the Captain himself.

[aerinmelina]

Growing up, I used to spend summers with my mom’s parents. They lived in a lakeside community which was also near an ocean, and I enjoyed fishing and swimming and boating and crabbing and such as a teenager.

Anyway. During the summer between my 6th and 7th grade years, my parents bought a house and decided to surprise me by having it all ready by the time I came home from my grandparents’ house at the end of the season. I remember walking into the house - I’d been there before, because it had previously been owned by friends of ours - and my mom said we were house-sitting when I asked her why we were here when our friends weren’t. She then led me from room to room and kept asking questions like, “Why do you think they put this in here?” and “Why do you think they painted this room pink?”

I wasn’t stupid. I know that Something Was Up. I just never imagined that my parents would have bought a house at all, let alone this one.

“Maybe they’re expecting a daughter?” I said. It wasn’t a baseless assumption; the couple who had owned the house previously were young and the wife had been pregnant.

“No, it’s because this is your room now!”

My thoughts at the time?

Pink. Oh my gosh. It’s pink. Whyyyyyyy.

Hang on. Is my mom letting me move in with this family? I mean. I’ll miss my dad and brother. But like. Why this family? I like them fine, but I don’t want to live with them.

(^^That is literally how far fetched I believed the idea of my parents owning a house was. They were terrible with money. The worst. And houses cost money. Lots of it.)

Anyway. My mom was offended that I was offended because my room was bright pink when, at the time, I was going through this tomboy phase and liked all things blue and black and she knew that and she painted my room anyway in her attempt to “girlify” me, which was not lost on me at all, and which I was equally annoyed with.

I digress. I had a new, pink bedroom in a new-to-us house. With a back yard. Which wasn’t next to a metal factory, so that meant my brother and I could actually play outside without like. Worrying about getting metal shavings imbedded in our feet. (Story for another day.)

Along with this move came a switch in middle schools. My parents fought hard to keep my brother in his elementary school, but they didn’t even ask to try and keep me in my middle school. I was 12. I would have to make brand new friends. I was pretty shy. I was not happy about this. At all.

I remember going to my new school to fill out enrollment forms and such. The school was literally 3 minutes away from our new house, just up the street; I would be walking to and from school every day, something which I was actually kind of looking forward to. If I could look forward to anything. I hated this. I didn’t ask to move. Our apartment had been just fine.

Anyway. Sitting in the main office at the new school, I was given a list of elective classes and was told to number them in order of my all-star favorite to please-don’t-put-me-in-this-class least favorite. The office staff told me that because I was enrolling so late, a lot of the classes had already filled up, but they would do their best to put me in the classes I wanted to take along with the standard courses that every student would be taking. I looked at the list. Choir :), Accelerated P.E. (wow that sounded like a nightmare), Art :), Metal Shop!!, Wood Shop!!, Drama (nah), Speech (Super Nope!!!), and a few others which I’ve forgotten by now.

My list went something like this:

Choir

Wood Shop

Art

Metal Shop

Accelerated P.E.

Drama

Speech

Speech was at the absolute bottom of my list. The office staff told me that the teacher for Drama and Speech was amazing, talked him up, and asked me why I didn’t want to take that class. I said I was shy and had a fear of public speaking. Duh. They kind of grimaced and looked at each other, then said, “We’ll do our best,” and sent my mom and I on our way back home.

I wasn’t surprised when I saw Speech on my class list a week or so later. I wouldn’t have it until second semester, thankfully, but I was already dreading it.

Seventh grade at this new school wound up being a lot of fun, if I’m being perfectly honest. I hated being the new kid at first, but made friends with another new kid who was way more outgoing than I was, and together we eventually made friends with more people. I have lots of stories to share there, but today I wanted to talk about Speech Class.

My speech teacher was, well… let’s call him Mr. Jones. He was outgoing, had clear expectations, was pretty mellow, and honestly? He was charismatic and the entire student body loved him.

I was a nervous wreck when I stepped into his classroom for the first time (and for most of the following times thereafter as well). For whatever reason, I had no problems singing solos in front of the whole school (and I did so twice that year), but the idea of public speaking was petrifying. And I even had lots of opportunities to practice that through both my church and school.

(I know I’m not alone in this sentiment.)

One of the first things Mr. Jones told us was that by the end of the semester, we would be able to deliver speeches and oral reports without using “filler words” such as “like”, “um”, and “er.” He also told us that our vocabulary would expand considerably, thanks to weekly tests he would be giving us (noooo). And we would be delivering speeches to one another on a weekly basis as well, on a variety of different subjects, and those speeches would increase in length as the semester drew on. All students were to compliment each presenting student on something they did well with each speech they gave, and critique would be solely left to Mr. Jones to provide. (Which was good, because let’s face it, 7th grade kids can be positively evil to each other.) Mr. Jones made it clear that we were not to judge or criticize anyone else’s speeches, and told us that he trusted us to keep each other’s speeches confidential. He explained that he wanted his classroom to be a safe place for us to talk about whatever we wanted; things we enjoyed, books we loved, problems we had, negative life experiences, positive life experiences, etc.

These were all very important factors which, honestly, influenced and changed my life for the better. I’ll get into that in a bit.

Mr. Jones’ class was tough. And I was terrified. I tried to drop his class, but was assured by the office that all of the other half-year elective classes were full; I didn’t have any other options. So I bit the bullet and decided to try my best. I would call no more attention to myself than I absolutely had to, I would try to not fail the vocabulary tests, and I would listen to others and provide sincere compliments. I would also - gulp - do my best at giving public speaking a shot.

I don’t exactly remember the method which Mr. Jones used in order to get us to stop using “filler words” in our speeches, but it worked. I don’t remember specific vocabulary words I was forced to memorize, but he was right; my understanding of the English language, and the number of words in my arsenal, greatly expanded. And I learned several important lessons:

Courage doesn’t mean that there’s an absence of fear. It means that you follow through with what you know is right, regardless of however much fear you are feeling.

Sometimes we are given tasks which we feel are way above our ability to manage. These are times when we must challenge ourselves to rise to the occasion.

(Going along with #2) You never know what you are capable of until you are put to the test. You’d be surprised at what you can personally accomplish.

Other people have different experiences than you; you can choose to listen and learn from their experiences, and you can 100000% do so without being a jerkface to them, too.

Teenagers are capable of respecting the people around them, are capable of empathy, and are capable of keeping confidentiality/maintaining bonds of trust. These are powers which teenagers do possess, and powers which they absolutely can control, utilize, and choose to exercise. (I was deeply impressed by my fellow classmates.)

One semester of a speech class didn’t cure my fear of public speaking. Not at all. But it did give me valid tools which I still use to this day. It gave me a lot of confidence in my capabilities to gather my thoughts on a piece of paper, organize them into a cohesive flow, and then be able to read those thoughts aloud without stumbling all over them. Mr. Jones laid the foundation for me to begin to think critically. To really consider my words before I write or say them. He drilled into my brain that I had a voice, and that it was a voice worth sharing and being listened to. Those are lessons I will never forget. And, because of Mr. Jones and everything I learned from him, I entered a career field which ultimately led to me speaking in public on a regular basis. I am a leader in my office. I provide training for our new and existing employees. I am aiming to become a manager within the next couple of years.

I’m still nervous when it comes to public speaking (especially during those times when I am speaking in a courtroom). I will probably always be nervous about it. I have been extremely close to vomiting from nerves in the past. But you know what? I’ve spoken before, I’ve survived, I’ve been successful at it, and I’ll do it again in the future. My confidence really started to blossom with my 7th grade speech class, where I received tons of practice, and that practice was further compounded by other speaking opportunities at school and church as well.

Mr. Jones was an excellent human being. He was well-loved for a million reasons. He believed in us, and we didn’t want to prove him wrong.

I believe in you, too. I say this, because I know that a lot of you need to hear it. I’m being sincere. I believe in you. You can do hard things. You can make it through.

[acequeenking]

winters nigh and summers o’er 2/?? ( G)

A collection of one-shots centered on Hades and Persephone's relationship; stories are non-chronological but all within the same timeline. Warnings and ratings are on individual chapters since these run the gamut from G to E. Updated weekly on Thursdays. (Previous Installments here!) 

Summary: “Do you want…?” Seph bit her lips and Demeter glared into her brother, because he damn well was at the moment of truth and if he blew it so help Zeus she would hurt that man if he messed this up. Demeter wasn’t kidding about gardening Hades like a particularly caustic onion if she had to. Maybe cut off a few shoots, too – wasn’t like they wouldn’t grow back. Eventually.

Demeter eyed the train tracks as the train came a stormin’ on. She glanced back at her daughter Persephone – still sleepin’ at the stop, spread out over the damn bench like a sacrifice, hand on her belly – and gathered her courage.

The old man – her baby brother, but he’d been old forever, even when they were wrong – came down the tracks in his big ol’ train, which Demeter was sure was compensating for somethin’, but they were past the point of petty insults right now in their relationship and, given recent developments, Demeter was trying to be in a forgiving and forgetting mood.

Still, Demeter held tight to her daughter’s luggage, not so much as daring to blink as she waited for the man to slow down and stop, which he did, though he made a real wreck of it, only hitting the brakes at the very last second. It was almost miraculous Seph could sleep through it, but then Seph hadn’t had an easy time of it lately. Demeter checked her watch: 12:00 pm exact. Ain’t nothin’ more exacting to the absolute second than death, she thought. She never liked her brother much but would give him credit for that: in the underworld, the train ran on damned time. Heh, damned time; that was a good enough joke she’d tell Seph when she was in the mood for a laugh again. Was a harmless enough joke that even her good-for-almost-nothing brother might find it funny.

Hades threw the door to her daughter’s car open, and Demeter watched with cool eyes as she took him in for the first time in six months. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d all been together without bein’ at throats before that. She’d barely seen him six months past; he’d been hidden behind her daughter’s bags and had barely said five words to her. Now exposed, she took a good look at him. He’d aged more than she’d realized, and somehow that was surprising even though she had gone and done the same; her stomach finally filled out with motherly paunch, her hair finally gone all grey. His, somehow, had gone white, a shock of snow on that ol’ patrician face of daddy’s that Hades had finally, at long last, grown into. Body-wise he was mostly the same, big on top and super skinny underneath; still as broad in the chest as he always was, with legs too long and skinny for his own good. And still way too pale; if she was as dark as the earth, he was as pale as a death cap mushroom burstin’ up from the underneath.  Hard to believe her brother and her were the same species, let alone siblings.

“Well if it isn’t Demeter Carpophoros,” he said, bowing with a hint of sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Demeter took no offense at this. He was always a little shit. “Nice to see ya, though you aren’t who I was expectin’.”

He looked beyond her, and Demeter took in all the little signs of his anxieties that she knew he wouldn’t admit to: his sleeves were rolled up, so no doubt he’d  been pacin’; he had a slight frown in his face, and she knew he wondered if this was it, Persephone packin’ up his bags and sendin’ her momma to send him home alone; his eyebrows were moving behind those contemptible sunglasses, so she knew he was ruthlessly evaluating Demeter, trying to  decide what her story was and why she was here and thus, how rude he should be. Hades thought he was intimidating, but he had forgotten Demeter knew him from the moment he was born, and ain’t nothin’ intimidatin’ about a man once you changed his diapers, even death incarnate.

“She’s here, but…You and me? We gonna have a little talk first.” She shoved him back into his damn train car and Hades let her; he knew better than most what her wrath looked like. She held out Persephone’s luggage; her girl was packin’ light this year, just a couple of bags. Not bringin’ the drink cut her baggage down a lot, and Demeter was glad of that, provided this big lug didn’t make her baby girl wanna start drinkin’ again.  “Make yourself useful, brother.”

“First time you’ve called me that in a long time,” he drawled. “This it?”

“That’s it.” He frowned, but he took her daughter’s things and slowly, reverently put them on a luggage rack. He even tied them down which Demeter supposed was a good sign that he would be responsible enough to handle a small infant on his own in the summertime. Mostly. He was still a male god, and they were almost all useless in that department. Maybe since he was so old for a first-time father, he’d be old enough he’d actually figure out how to change a diaper instead of demanding a woman do it.

“Yeah, well. Maybe you can get used to me callin’ you brother again, if you keep behavin'.” He chuckled at that and dared to shoot her a little nervous grin. Demeter could always tell the difference on him; his tell was that the nervous smile was wider than the genuine, him showin’ off just a bit too much of those mean teeth. He stood to his full height as if he was readin’ her mind and didn’t like that she knew him that well. Or at least, she had, once. He looked down at her and she looked up. She felt her old annoyance at how he got to be so damn tall, like dad; she flecked off his sunglasses, an old-ass instinct that made her smile before she’d quite realized she had done it.

“Hey…” He blinked, confused as she tucked the sunglasses into his pocket. He wasn’t used to the upper world light. Too bad. She wanted her daughter to see him god damn plain when he saw her.

And, hell, she wouldn’t deny she wanted to see his expression, too.

“Sit.” He did, spread out like a king: legs wide, hands on his knees. He looked straight at her face, deadly serious, and she took her seat on the opposite side. She would give Hades credit for one thing: the seats on this jalopy were pretty comfy. And she supposed that the style wasn’t bad, if you considered saloon-room meets funeral parlor an aesthetic.

“What’s this about, Deme?”  His old childhood nickname for her slipped out of his mouth effortlessly, and she didn’t call him on it. She’d give him that back. If they were gonna be tryin’, then she would be, too.

“Our girl.” She snorted. “What else?”  He was a part of Persephone just as much as Demeter was, no matter how much Demeter didn’t like admittin’ that. They had been married a good few millennia now, so she supposed he was bound to rub off on her little girl a bit.

“What about her? Is she okay?” His words were all sotto-voice; soft, soft, soft. She could hear the love in his voice there, and fates only know how he got it in him, that love, because Hades had been colder than stone for the first forty thousand years of his life and by all the war reports Demeter had gotten he slipped right back into that damn often, but Demeter was almost thankful for him feelin’ that love, at least right now. There were worse men her baby girl could have reproduced with, if certainly there were better men, too. Least he was reliable.

“She’s sleepin’.” “…Sleeping?” He looked at her oddly. “Thought you said she was here.”

“She is. Sleepin’ on a bench out there. Exhausted, the poor little thing. Nodded off when we got here an hour ago. Didn’t even wake up when you pulled in.” Despite what was surely his best attempt to get her attention with that terrible din and clanging.

“Sleeping? At this hour?” He looked out into the sunlight, as if he was puzzled anyone could sleep in daytime. She supposed that was a normal enough reaction if someone was a miserable old mole who spent all day every day in the dark, which he was. “She okay?”

“Physically? Right as rain, but that girl is exhausted. She been worryin’ herself six months straight about you, boy,” she said, pointing her finger at his chest; she was probably one of only three people who could get away with calling Hades that and she basked in it. “I want you to know something, Hades: my daughter wrote you one hundred and eighty-two versions of the same damn letter, only to tear each and every one of ‘em up. I been watchin’ her tear those – and herself – up for months. Months. Ain’t been fun.”

“Oh.” He frowned, slightly pensive. Which was more expressive than he usually was, with anyone but Seph.

“I didn’t save’em, I respect her privacy too much for that.” And she had promised not to tell him, even if she wanted, badly, to do so. “Well...I didn’t get any of ‘em, but...We left on good terms, Deme. Better than…years.” He smiled a bit at that, and she wanted to roll her eyes, bite back and tell him, I know, how do you think my baby girl got herself in this mess? But she couldn’t say that, because he didn’t know about that mess just yet. He was still smiling, and, on another man, it might have been cute, but on him it came off as vaguely predatory; bragging. He didn’t need to. Frankly, everybody in the damn pantheon knew they on good terms; this had been the first springtime in years. Decades, even. ‘Bout to see the first autumn, too. He didn’t need to shout to the world they’d repaired their off-key tempo, the whole world could see it. Obvious.

Demeter frowned into her seat, debating how to best give her baby brother her …expectations as to how he should react to news she couldn’t give. Persephone had made her swear a Stygian oath on not tell ’im, and Demeter wasn’t willing to get washed down to Hades’ awful shores just yet for this, even if it meant more time with her daughter. “Ain’t about yer relationship. Something more basic than that. Some…life changes. She worries about your reaction because she’s a …a little bit different, then when she left ya last winter.”

“Oh.” He looked confused at that and she supposed she couldn’t blame him, because if you fired blanks for hundreds of thousands of years, you did tend to assume your pistol wasn’t loaded. Turned out, he was just a bad shot.  A ridiculously bad shot. But that wasn’t what he thought of; she could tell what he was thinkin’ of because he was lookin’ at her real intently, and she knew he was wonderin’ if maybe his girl was startin’ to look a little less too-young for him, and a little more like her momma. To his credit, he shook his head a second later. “So what if she goes a bit grey? We’ll match.”

Ain’t no way you two ever match, Demeter thought, but kept herself from saying. Persephone would be proud of her momma’s restraint, she thought. Well, she’d let him think it was a little grey hair for a bit.

“Good. Cuz I ain’t sayin’ it’s you, but her daddy…he didn’t react too good to this kind of thing, and that’s the only frame of reference she’s got for this and she’s scared. So you better do better than your brother. You go over there and you hold her and you tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Cuz you’ve put our girl through enough, you owe her that relief.”

“I know,” he mumbled, quiet; his cheeks were a bit pink, which meant he was at least a bit sorry for almost ending the world over his stupid-ass insecurities. “I… I am trying, Deme.” He said, visibly pained with his arms out, as if she’d been holding a gun on him; honestly, only great Gaia knew how he’d ever gotten to the point of bein’ able to tell her little girl anything, let alone marryin’ him, if he was still gonna be like this.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” She stood and he stood, too; they were done for the year. Autumn chill was in the air, and it was high time for Demeter to press some cider and for him to get along home. “Guess it’s time she goes back down to yer old abode, now.”

He nodded; Demeter stood to the side, let him go blinking into the sun, and followed closely behind. If he blew this, in any way, she would bury his ass in the backyard for a full six months and her daughter could visit him outside and water him with their ferns.  Demeter had checked with Zeus; that would technically count as allowing him his six months, long as he got to be with her.  Seph wouldn’t mind campin’ outdoors to fulfill his custody to the full letter of the law.

“Third row.” He tossed a raised eyebrow back at her – normally Seph sat up front, bright and ready —  well, she had back when he’d actually waitedinstead of just grabbin’ her soon as he got an itch, regardless of if it was June or August or gods forbid, May  – but well, he’d figure out the obvious reason in a moment. She noted his step got a bit faster, and she followed hot on his heels as he went down one row, two.

And then his breath caught. And he stopped. Demeter stopped next to him, watched him watch her little girl, all curled up with one hand over her wide, curving belly. Still looked a bit too much like a sacrifice for Demeter’s taste, but hell, that was probably a turn-on for him.

“Oh.” It was all he said, but there were thousands of emotions in it. He raised a hand, dropped it. Looked at her, blinked, looked back at Persephone. “Oh!” He said again, and Demeter had the pleasure of the King of the Dead completely, utterly shell-shocked.

Which, frankly, she savored. Wasn’t like he hadn’t pulled out the rug from under her once; they were even now.

“You see,” was all she said, quiet. She coulda bragged, but again, for Persephone, she would restrain herself. She didn’t know if they had ever talked about kids; she’d tried to talk to Persephone about it long ago, but all Persephone would say then was that they weren’t tryin’ yet in a harsh voice, and eventually one did stop asking after a few thousand years went by without a grandchild poppin’ up.  Her brothers gossiped that Hades’ takin’ on the role of the underworld’s master had dried up whatever he had stored up in his balls, but her brothers were idiots who frequently forgot there had been a god of the dead before Hades, and Iapetus had had five children during his time guardin’ the old downstairs. She thought it was probably the stress on her little girl from the constant travel, or a genuine desire from the both of ‘im to not make their frankly fucked up situation at the best of times even more so, but well — it hadn’t happened. And before this, she thought, that was probably for the best.

But now it had.

And Hades was — well, processing, because he clearly believed it would never happen later.

“Six months?!” He said at her, gesturing at her. “She couldn’t… Six months?!”

“Hundred and eighty letters, Hades,” she said, holding her hands out. “I know you might be mad, but – she's been distressed. Made me swear to not say a word, and gave Hermes such a run-around I think that old gossip is still dizzy. Come at her with venom in your mouth and you will lose her.” Truth was, Demeter understood why her daughter had been unable to tell him.

He exhaled, loud, through his mouth. Typical to Hades, he offered no indication of whether he was gonna take her advice or not.

She saw that big jaw move in an unreadable mull twice, then he closed the distance between him and their girl, falling to his knees in front of her. He ran a very shaky hand over Seph’s face, not quite daring to touch, just yet.

“You’re a little late, sunshine,” he sputtered; he stroked her face gently and Seph’s eyes opened, lookin’ like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She stared hard at his face, like she was trying to discern some divine truth out of his stone face, and he swallowed, but otherwise kept his face as stoic as the rock he generally was.

“I missed ya,” she murmured. His voice crumbled into something that might have been a laugh or a sob in response, but Seph smiled, and she decided it must be some joke between them that Demeter wasn’t privy to. Hades leaned forward, and Demeter blinked in surprise as her baby brother planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. She suspected he might kiss her on the mouth if Demeter wasn’t around, but well, Demeter was kind of happy he didn’t.  Weren’t on that good of terms yet. Seph wrapped her arms around him and hung onto him with desperate zeal, eyes shut tight, and Demeter knew her little girl was still nervous, though why she had no idea because it wasn’t like the man was blind, for all the time he spent down in the mines.

“Missed you, too.” The sotto voice again; soft and sweet as Hades got, which wasn’t very but evidently was enough for her little girl. His hand was caressing her arm now, trying to get up the courage to go further down she suspected. Seph shrugged him off a bit, pushed up to a sitting position or at least attempted to; she did not miss that and Seph was larger now than she’d been right before the girl had come.  After watchin’ her struggle for a moment, Hades stumbled to help her maneuver up, to his admittedly limited credit. She expected him to get up and grab her hand, let them finish this conversation on the train in private, but — he didn’t. Instead, he just shifted a bit, moving between her legs so he could lay the side of his head on her belly.

Nobody moved for a long, long moment.

“It is yours—  Seph said, and Hades and Demeter both snorted; it was obvious it was his. Beyond obvious.

“I know. Can I…?” He asked, hand out-stretched.

“It is yours,” Seph said, her voice wavering. Demeter bit back a snort watching her brother’s face, still severe, as he pressed a curious hand to her belly, slowly rubbing little circles in the fabric of her dress as if the dress would reach out and devour his arm.

“Do you want…?” Seph bit her lips and Demeter glared into her brother, because he damn well was at the moment of truth and if he blew it so help Zeus she would hurt that man. She wasn’t kidding about gardening him like a particularly caustic onion if she had to. Maybe cut off a few shoots, too – wasn’t like they wouldn’t grow back. Eventually.

“I want, beautiful.” Hades leaned into Persephone with a soft sigh, glancing up at her. “I want.”

And her daughter’s eyes closed and that — well, it wasn’t quite the flowery language her little girl deserved, but it was enough for her. Her daughter smiled, and Demeter relaxed. She knew she should leave’em then, let them have their time, but it was a charmin’ tableau even if Hades was in it, and she couldn’t think of the last time all three of ‘em had been gathered together with anything less than bitterness between them, so she savored the moment.

And though she’d never ever tell them it, maybe her heart did melt for the old bastard just a tiny bit when her brother’s lips pressed a kiss into Seph’s belly, fondness surprisingly evident in his stern old face. “Hello there, little shoot.”

“Shoots,” her daughter said, barely audible. That had been the part Demeter was happiest about, truth be told: she had always regretted not giving Persephone a sister or two. She’d had Arion, but Arion was, well, a horse, and it was hard to cross that divide when it came to children’s’ games. At least her grandchildren would never know the loneliness of being the only child in the family.

Besides, Hera never had triplets in her line, not even in all her grandbabies, so now Demeter had something to brag about up on the mountain.

“…Shoots?” He looked up abruptly with his jaw hanging a bit open and Demeter actually did have to hide her own mouth to stop from laughing because his look was, well – dumb-founded. Persephone reached out and shut his jaw with an audible click, looking aside to her mother with a look that expressed her amusement at her husband’s idiocy.  “So…how many branches are we addin’ to the family tree?” He asked, and Demeter had to laugh, because she could see her baby brother runnin’ actuary tables in his head already as far as what his kids were gonna cost him.

“Three.” He looked at her belly again, the look starting to skirt closer to terror but not quite getting there, morphing somewhere along the way into a mix of complicated emotions, and settling on what looked like a complicated sort-of happiness — or as happy as Hades got, which was a small genuine smile with his eyes closed.

“Well…good. Our little bramble, briar and thorn won’t be lonely.”  He chuckled deep into her belly. “Ain’t like they got a lot of little cousins to play with.”

“Yes, you two well and truly did wait long enough,” Demeter huffed. “Don’t even know what’s left for them to be Gods of.”

“We’ll find somethin’.” Her brother stood, though it took him a moment, his knees cracking; he was so old, Demeter thought ruefully. They all were. Standing and looking a tiny bit more distinguished now, he held out his hand. “Do you… should you…stay? Til…” Demeter could see how much it pained him to offer her that, after six months of waitin’. He couldn’t stay up-top, not that long. Death wasn’t really allowed much of a holiday, which had been the one thing that she enjoyed about her daughter’s marriage, early on: he never could follow her everywhere, and she suspected he might have tried had he been dealt a smaller lot.

“No. I missed ya.” Her daughter got up, or at least tried; she faltered, forced already into that odd waddle that Demeter would be sorry to miss the final culmination of.  Seph was already much bigger than she should be, but Demeter blamed Hades for that.  He helped her stand — a bit late again, but faster than last time, he was learnin’ — and offered his arm. Persephone leaned into it and Demeter felt an odd pang of something – not quite gratitude, not quite sadness. Zeus had never done such for her, and a few thousand years ago — great grandmother Gaia, six months ago, she wouldn’t have thought Hades would, either.

When she’d seen him then—red rimmed eyes, mouth trembling as he held out Seph's bags in an awkward peace gesture—she hadn’t, really, imagined she ever would again.

“Besides…” Seph started and looked at her momma with an unreadable look for a moment, and Hades and Demeter both looked at her, and she could see in Hades’ face the mirror of her own: curiosity and worry crashing together.

“The children should be…born at home,” Seph murmured, in that quiet way her daughter had of saying important things in an almost flippant way.  Demeter flinched; she didn’t consider the underworld Seph’s home as much as an eternal, if temporary, inconvenience. Hades took her daughter’s declaration better: his arms closed around her and she saw his hand tremble as he embraced her, smoothin’ down her hair.  

“I’d like that,” he said softly. “Like that a lot.”

And she knew, of course, that was why Seph had said it. Tryin’ worked both ways, and makin’ their babies underworld natives meant they’d be a lot more like their daddy than their momma. Her daughter curled her hands over his shoulders and they stood together for a long moment. And Demeter thought, maybe, well, maybe she was wrong they didn’t fit together. Because while they looked fucking ridiculous — her daughter as gorgeous a sunshine child as always, Hades as dour a shadow as had ever been made — they looked happy. And maybe Demeter could let her go, just a bit; Seph knew her momma always had her back, anyway.

Demeter moved back to them, gently tapped them both on the shoulder. “You’re runnin’ late. Better get goin’.”

“I’ll be back when — when its time,” Hades said, a little quiver in his voice and she bit back a you had damn better and instead smiled, nodded.

“I’ll be here,” she said, tapping Persephone’s shoulder; her daughter turned toward her, and she pressed her lips to their girl’s forehead with the last bit of summer-time in her kiss. “Now get goin’.”

Demeter should have turned and walked back to her home, squeezed some apples into cider, but she watched them board and watch the train the whole way down the track, not turning to walk back home til the train was no longer visible, til its whistle had long stopped echoing.

The first fall leaves in a long damned time crunched under her feet the whole way back, and Demeter smiled.

Mythology notes:

The name Hades calls Persephone's momma Demeter when he first sees her, Demeter Carpophoros, was one of her surnames that was used in cult in Tegea and Paros and meaning, roughly, "fruit bearer." Hades might be showing respect, and might be not-so-subtly suggesting she produce the fruit he wants (eg Persephone).

Arion is Persephone's half-brother, Demeter's son via Poseidon according to Pseudo-Apollodorus and Pausanias. And yes, he is a horse.

The triplets are a reference to the Orphic hymns, which attribute the Erinyes/Furies as three daughters of Hades and Persephone: "[Erinyes] from Zeus Khthonios (Chthonius) [Haides] born, and Persephone, whom lovely locks adorn."

Next week's story will be goin' back, way back.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Had a voice: Chapter ten

Story summary: For two years you had let him dictate your every move. Dictate your time, your friends, your work. Everything, literally.  And for the life of you, you could not understand why you’d done so.

Now, here you were. In a beautiful but still strange city that had never become your own. And you were all alone. It was time to take back your life.

Ship: BuckyXreader

Words: 1680

Warnings: none for this chapter.

A/N: So,again sorry for the delay. Between the holidays, birthdays and a heavy workload, I find it hard to finish the chapters each weekend. Especially since my meds seemingly don’;t work and I am constantely extremely tired.

Anyway, this chapter is still not how I envinsioned it and I am not sure I am really happy with it. But I didn’t want to make you wait any longer, so i’m posting it anyway. By the time I will post it on Ao3, i will edit it again.

I created a Ao3 account last week. Shadowsof_thenight. not much had been posted yet, but I will work on that. I will, at least for the time being, keep posting here as well.

***

Masterlist                                             Story Masterlist ***

You paused,taking another moment to think of what you were about to do. Not that the task at hand was so enormous, it was just daunting to do. It was something you usually would evade, postpone. You weren't sure how it would be received and for some reason that was incredibly important. Looking at the closed door in front of you, you tried to gather up the courage to open it. The door had no remarkable features to focus on. It was a simple white door with no handles.  They would open if you gave them a little push and could swing in either direction. Nothing fancy, just doors.

Beyond those doors was one of the two massive gyms that the tower held and in it would be a few recruits trained by one certain soldier. Upon your request, Natasha had told you just where to find him. She had also tried to tell you that he didn't need you to say the things you wanted to say. She had even warned you that he was never very good at accepting words of this kind. Still, you had told her, it was important for you to say them anyway. You needed him to know how you felt. Even if he could not respond to it properly, or even at all. You just needed him to listen. To know how much his behaviour in the past few weeks had meant to you. And perhaps you needed him not to be grossed out by the gesture.

With a deep sigh you pushed against the door, surprised by how little resistance met your arm. A door this size, should be heavier. The door swung open wide and as you stepped through it, closed behind you just as easily. Swinging ever so slightly, until it was still once more. Slightly apprehensive you straightened your shoulders and walked further into the gym, scanning the room for the man you were looking for.  

In front of you the recruits he had been training today were packing their things and you sighed in relief. He would soon be alone. While you needed to say it, you didn't really need, or more accurately want, an audience. In fact, this was nerve-wrecking enough as it was. An audience would probably shut you up entirely. You weren't exactly known for your brave character after all.

The determination you had felt when you spoke to Natasha wavered quickly, when you noticed that he was in fact not alone at all. However, you told yourself, you'd come this far. No turning back now. If you wanted to change your life, you should change your actions, and stop running away from things that scared you. Like saying something nice to a person that was slightly intimidating.

“Hey Y/N” Steve said, once he noticed you walking in their direction, “Wanda isn't here” he said, his face displayed confusion.

You could not blame him for it. You had never been up to the gym. In fact, you once mentioned hating gyms with a fiery passion. This confession had had everyone laughing loudly. It had been true, though. Working out was something you did for your health and as little as possible. There was no fun to be had for you. And with your current funds, it had been running. Which you hated even more and you cancelled at the slightest possibility of bad weather. Really, it was nothing short of a miracle that you moved at all.

“I know, She's in her room,” you began with a smile, before turning your body towards his companion, “ I was actually looking for you”.

Bucky eyebrows shot up as he looked back at you, seemingly a bit surprised by this. Steve however, just nodded, perhaps he had thought you'd seek out Bucky at some point.  He returned your smile as he waved in goodbye, leaving you and Bucky alone. Your palms were sweaty already.

“What can I do for you?” Bucky wondered. His tone was a forced jovial and light. He was obviously trying, but his fidgeting hands were betraying his uneasiness. His fingers pulled at the hem of his shirt as his gaze dropped to your feet. You almost chuckled. He had seemed so confident and at ease, when he had helped you out. And now here he was, pushed out of his comfort zone by a simple conversation. Keeping a smile on your face you began speaking, hoping he would relax quickly. You did not want to be the reason of his discomfort.

“I just...wanted to say thank you” your voice a little timid. Thank you didn't seem to be enough. He had been so gentle and comforting as he listened to you talking through your panic attack. And after that, when he took care of you.

He was so kind to you, even though he barely knew you. After the words had left your mouth, you looked down at your hands with a new-found interest, had they always been this pale? When Bucky didn't respond, nor looked up from the ground, you knew you had to be the one to break the silence.

“I'm sorry you had to witness that freak out” you quickly said, risking to glance up from your hands and towards his face. His fidgeting had stopped and he now looked at you with a confused look etched on his features.

“Nothing to apologise for,” he grumbled, offering a small smile.

“I must have looked like an idiot” you chuckled at your own expense, your eyes trained on you hands once again.  

“No you didn't” he replied with an intensity you had not heard from him before. He, again, seemed determined to make you feel at ease.

“Seriously!” he added after a few seconds and you looked into his eyes now.

“I just, should've held it together better.” Big displays of emotion had always been something you struggled with. Having someone be witness to a panic attack was therefore horrifying to you. You felt weak, silly.

“Says who?”, he wondered, his voice an octave higher,”We all respond differently to things. And we hardly ever know beforehand. This triggered a past trauma for you. That it nothing to be ashamed off” he stated firmly.

“Trauma, right” again your hands became insanely interesting.

“Don't try to downplay it” Bucky took your hand in his and squeezed it. You smiled at him and again apologized, explaining that it felt stupid to be so easily triggered.

This seemed to anger Bucky as he fervently tried to convince you that it had not been stupid at all. That what you had been through was not easy and in combination with your young age, it wasn't strange at all that it had induced a trauma.

“But compared to what you and the others go through on a weekly basis...” you trailed off.

“There is no comparing those two things. Trauma is trauma and we all can use a little help with that sometimes”

Bucky still held our hand in his as he said those words and you could feel something stir inside of you. Your stomach flipped and you blushed. He was such a good person and you really wondered why so many people seemed to fear him. He was a little gruff at times, but he was caring and kind and understanding. Many people could learn from him.

“Well thank you for helping me and for taking care of me the past few weeks. I don't know...If you hadn't been there.” again you trailed off, unsure of how to explain all the things you felt, “If there is ever anything I could possibly do for you,...I might not understand, but I'm a good listener”.

“Thanks” he chuckled.

Behind you the doors to the gym swung open again and you quickly glanced behind to see the smiling face of Natasha. Bucky dropped your hand and it suddenly felt cold, missing the absence of his warmth.

“Are you guys joining us for dinner?” she called out and you could not help but smile. This group of people had not known you a few weeks ago, and yet they were so accepting of you. You and all your traumas and weirdness.

All throughout dinner you kept glancing at Bucky as he looked relaxed, at ease in this group. He laughed as he mocked Sam. Became boisterous with Sam as they tried to prove something to Steve. Listened intently as Bruce was telling him some story.  It was nice to see him like this. And it made your stomach do some flips again, which confused you a little.

As he caught your eye he smiled with a nod, raising his drink. Raising your own in response, you wondered if he too had felt something shift during your talk earlier.

“Perhaps you should try being a little more subtle” Natasha joked as she leaned over. With wide eyes you stared at her, had you been that obvious? She chuckled and shook her head ever so slightly as she saw the horror cross your face.

“Don't worry, men are usually oblivious to these things” She whispered and gave you a side hug, before returning to the food in front of her.

Taking a deep breath you tried to relax your shoulders and turned to focus on your food as well. You wouldn't want to give anyone a reason to tease you. Especially since these sudden feelings confused you. And even more so, because Bucky would probably be mortified if he knew.

Soon you were pulled into conversation with Wanda and Vision, as  they spoke of movies she had recently shown him. Wanda explaining certain subtleties which he had missed, asking for your corroboration with that. It wasn't long before you felt an ease come over yourself as well and conversations all around seemed to flow easily. It was nice. A new experience, being amongst friends and not worrying too much.  

Chapter 11

Tags: @gracelynn318

[qqueenofhades]

the dragons on the map: viii

Rating: M Summary:  After the Lifeboat is nearly destroyed, the Time Team ends up stranded in their strangest and most unfamiliar destination yet: 1195 France. With Rittenhouse to stop, medieval adventures to be had, and a pair of rival kings at war, it’ll truly be a miracle if they ever get home. (Garcy/Lyatt/pre-Garcyatt, Flogan, Rufus Is Judging, general Time Team relationships and bonding. Guest appearances from the Plantagenets, for reasons.) Available: AO3

This has not been the most enjoyable night of Wyatt Logan’s life. In fact, it’s one of the worst, and considering how stupid it’s been recently, that’s saying a lot. First, the only thing less enjoyable than having a bullet dug out of your gut with medieval hardware store tools is getting to lie there for eight hours, completely sans morphine or even a goddamn Tylenol, feeling it throb with every heartbeat. Next, your only company is your friend who is still kind of mad at you, but isn’t enjoying watching you suffer, and who can’t go out to get liquid comfort in case he’s abruptly murdered by members of the cult you are chasing through Medieval Times Dinner Theater. And when your ex-girlfriend and your – fuck if he knows what Flynn is – are trying to stop said cult’s leader from doing anything bad like killing your wife version 2.0, and you don’t know when they’re coming back, or what’s going on, because the frigging Pony Express would be an upgrade…

Yeah. Wyatt thinks he’s earned a little bitterness.

He lies on his back, since he can’t exactly lie anywhere else, trying not to breathe too deeply. He’s a soldier, he’s been messed up in pretty gnarly ways before, and if nothing else, he’s always been used to pain. You can thank his dad for that. Wyatt can feel every single one of Flynn’s careful stitches, holding his side together with silk embroidery thread, and to his bafflement and disquiet, he keeps catching himself worrying about Flynn in the same way he’s worrying about Lucy. Not quite in the same way, but… not altogether different, either. Despite the chronic bickering, they’ve worked together since getting here, and Flynn has now saved his bacon twice. Once after the Lifeboat wrecked, and again with this. Kind of rattles his pessimistic presumption that if it came down to it, Flynn would still let all of them (aside from Lucy) die at the first chance.

In the back of his head, Wyatt wonders if that’s entirely true, if that’s what he really thinks, since he’s gotten used to having Flynn around and hasn’t actively wanted to kill him for… well, a while now. Has had to trust him in tight spots, worked with him on the mission to save Rufus, even had a beer with him when they got back, sweaty and grimy and exultant. In fact, there have been a couple moments where Wyatt thinks they might almost be friends, and he… he’s wanted it. And yet, since getting close to Flynn always feels like a terrible idea and Wyatt has several reasons to avoid it, he hasn’t said so overtly or made any real indication that he does anything apart from still 100% hate him. He’s reminded himself that Flynn's involvement (aside, again, from Lucy) is entirely strategic. The team is fighting Rittenhouse, it’s easier to do that with them than alone. Definitely better than jail. That’s all.

(Wyatt does know that this is a complete crock of shit, but emotions have gone really horribly for him recently. It’s better to take refuge in a few delusions, pretend that things are still simple, pretend that he hasn’t changed, when frankly, more than anything else, even painkillers, he wants Flynn and Lucy to come back. Both of them.)

He and Rufus do not talk much. Rufus dozes sporadically on the whatever-the-medieval-couch is called, a low, armless padded bench, though he keeps lifting his head whenever footsteps go past outside. Nobody tries to force the door, which is good, given as they’re completely unarmed after Wyatt sent his gun off with Lucy. Finally in the wee hours, when it’s become apparent that neither of them are going to get much sleep, Wyatt says, “I’m sorry. That I tried to lie to the others at dinner. About Emma.”

Rufus shifts position, rolling over onto his back. Even if obviously better than a gunshot wound, the couch thing (settee? Why does Wyatt want to say settee?) doesn’t look like luxury accommodation. It’s clear that he is weighing how to respond, is not going to instantly lie and pretend it’s fine. Finally he says, “I guess I’m just wondering if we would have been friends if this wasn’t our job. I don’t even mean that as a diss. But I’m an engineer and a nerd and a black kid from the West Side of Chicago who went to MIT, and you’re a redneck military white boy from Texas. It just feels like if it wasn’t our responsibility to save literally all of the known universe on a weekly basis, we wouldn’t have much in common.”

Wyatt opens his mouth, then shuts it. He wants to ask if Rufus really has to kick him while he’s down, but that’s the thing he does where he takes what someone is saying about their pain and makes it about his own, and he’s trying, he’s trying, to be less of a tragedy in that department. “Rufus, if this is about Chinatown, about Jiya… I know it was because of me that Jess was in the bunker and all of that happened, and I guess… it’s a lot to ask you to forgive me for. If you want to just be teammates and that’s it, I – I get it.”

There’s a pause. Wyatt stares miserably at the dim ceiling, thinking that he’s totally whiffed it with the other two, why not Rufus too? They can be the new threesome who are friends and family, and he can be the shunned, fuckup outsider looking in the window but not part of the house, the position he keeps putting Flynn in for comfort’s sake but which more accurately belongs to him. His loneliness hollows out the core of him, makes him feel as bleak and desolate as an abandoned ruin (all the ruins in their modern time probably haven’t even been built yet). “I’m sorry,” he repeats hopelessly, into the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Look,” Rufus says. “Being dead sucked. At least I think it did, because – consciously, at any rate – I don’t actually remember it. After all, you and Flynn and Jiya saved me before it happened. I know that in your first timeline, I died, and you got visited by Lara Croft and an extra on the Walking Dead, and figured out how to work it around for another try. But you remember that happening, and I don’t. And that’s because you saved my life. Yes, I am still pissed about some things, I’m not gonna lie. But you know what? Honestly, it doesn’t matter a crap whether we would have been friends in another life or not. This is the one we ended up in, and we are friends. At least I think we are. You can disagree.”

“I – ” Wyatt blinks hard, tasting tears in the back of his throat. “No. No, I don’t. I’m just sorry I’ve been such a monumental screwup and I’ve hurt all of you and I kept doing it as a reflex instead of trusting you. I have a lot of humble pie to eat and… I just need to make sure I actually try to goddamn do that.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” Rufus says. “Even when time travel isn’t involved.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt grimaces as a bolt of lightning spears his side. “If you want to punch me in the face or stick my head in the toilet or whatever other dumb dude stuff we have to go through to make it up, just – wait until I can stand up on my own, all right?”

“No thanks,” Rufus says. “Because as you said, it’s dumb. You definitely owe me a proper dinner when we get back to the twenty-first century, though.”

“If we get out of here, I’ll buy you literally whatever you want.” Dining out might be a little complicated at the moment, but it’s the thought of just being able to do ordinary real-life things like that again, instead of being on house arrest in a succession of government bunkers and anonymous safe houses, that sends a pang through Wyatt’s abused chest. “Cool?”

“Cool.” Rufus sits up, gets to his feet, and walks over to the bed, holding out his hand, and they do as much of a bro-shake as Wyatt is functionally able to manage. It still hurts anyway, but he manages to ignore it for a while longer. Rufus goes back to the settee, they both doze off, and by morning, when they haven’t been murdered, aren’t sure whether to be relieved about that or worried about Lucy and Flynn. There’s no way to say how long that was going to take, when they should expect them back, or if they’d even know if something went wrong. In a slightly too-cheery voice, Rufus says, “Think they have continental breakfast?”

“I’m guessing no.” Wyatt can’t tell if he’s hungry or not; the thought of food is nice, but the effort required to eat it would probably make him puke. He also has a killer need to take a piss, but doesn’t want to make Rufus have to help him with that. “Maybe you can go look, though? See what’s going on in the castle, what people are saying?”

“I suppose.” Rufus is aware that they’re not supposed to leave this room until the others return, but he hesitates a moment longer and then says, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Don’t try to go Superman on me or anything like that.”

“Yeah. Not gonna be a problem.”

Rufus raises an eyebrow, as if to say that he had to make sure, then pulls the bar out of the door and vanishes through it. Once he’s gone, Wyatt slowly staggers to his feet, and by dint of a clever trick (profuse and repeated use of the f-word in noun, verb, gerund, adjectival, and emphatic forms), manages to pee without killing himself. He peels away the knotted, blood-crusted tablecloth, trying to see if the wound looks infected, though there’s not a hell of a lot he can do if it is. It’s red and swollen and otherwise unhappy anyway, he can’t really tell. He’s glad Eleanor isn’t dead, he really is, but God. They definitely owe him a get-well fruit basket. Or maybe a knighthood.

Wyatt eases himself back down onto the bed, breathing hard. He has just gotten (not) comfortable when the door opens again. Rufus reappears, trailed by a grimy, tired, frowning Lucy, and a grimy, tired, stunned-looking Flynn. Wyatt bolts upright, swears again, and falls on the bolster pillows, but he doesn’t even care. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m – thank God. Thank God. I’m so relieved you made it back.”

“You’re not going to be in a second.” Lucy looks at him with a foreboding expression. “We did catch up to Emma, and we even know what she’s doing, we think. But it – it’s bad, and you aren’t going to like hearing it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Wyatt wonders what exactly can be worse than – well, everything, but tries to brace himself. “What are we talking, or do I really want to know?”

By the time Lucy has filled him and Rufus in on the latest terrible development (Flynn has continued to look like he’s been concussed the entire time, making Wyatt briefly worry that maybe he was hurt, and then have absolutely no idea what to do with that), Wyatt has concluded that maybe he didn’t. “Fuck,” he says. “Thirty Rittenhouse agents? And Emma brought Jess here? To marry Richard and use my kid to – the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says again. She sits down on the bed next to him, putting her hand next to his, but not quite taking it. “It’s – it’s diabolical, honestly. It makes plenty of sense for her, and it might be something Richard could see his way into accepting, but… neither you or even Jessica deserve this.”

Wyatt doesn’t know how to respond. His old instinct to lash out at them and defend Jessica’s honor is clearly not going to fly, and he doesn’t feel that he should. As they all keep saying, she’s chosen her allegiances, but – even for the sake of an organization that this version of her remembers as being part of since childhood, that saved her brother and whatever else – is she really willing to barter her kid, their kid, off like this? To choose between staying in the twelfth/thirteenth century with him for the rest of her life, or going back to the present as a faithful Rittenhouse disciple, having proved her bona fides, and never seeing him again?

(Wyatt supposes the takeaway from this is that he is in fact having a son. A son he’s probably never going to meet. A son who will live his entire life as Rittenhouse’s pawn to change the world, who will think that this time is his own. He’ll get to be a king – is that going to make it worth it? Make any of this worth it?)

(The thought hurts even worse than his perforated side, and he doesn’t think it ever won’t.)

There’s a pause as Rufus, Lucy, and Flynn all avoid looking at him, as Wyatt thinks grimly that yet again, his mistakes are here to bite them in the ass. Then he swallows his pride and decides to give this a try. “Okay, Flynn. What do we do?”

No answer.

“Hey. Flynn?”

“Sorry.” Flynn blinks hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“Dude,” Rufus says. “Wyatt just asked you what you thought we should do, and you missed it? You must really be distracted.”

“I – oh.” Flynn doesn’t take the tailor-made opportunity to gloat, which is equally astounding. Wyatt glances at him in confusion, then notices that Lucy is maintaining a slightly too-casual expression herself, and feels as if he’s missed a step going downstairs. This is definitely not the time to wonder if anything happened while they were out on their overnight excursion, but even more unsettling is the fact that he isn’t sure if it’s just the obvious part of that (Lucy with Flynn) which bothers him. Or if it’s also somehow the –

Right, no, never mind that, back the truck up, up, up. Besides, Wyatt is still working on accepting that things have been broken and may not get put back together. After all the time he’s spent with broken – well, everything, you’d think this would be easier, but it isn’t. Flynn still seems too discombobulated to put together a substantial response, until Rufus is finally the one to chime in instead. “You two know where the Mothership is, right? Can’t we just go steal it? I know we can’t all go home with thirty frigging Rittenhouse agents here, but I could take Wyatt to a real hospital, and then come back to join Flynn and Lucy.”

“There’s no way Wyatt could manage a ride all the way there,” Flynn says. “The wound would open and he’d bleed to death before we got close. Besides, if we leave Wyatt in the present by himself in some hospital, how do we know Rittenhouse doesn’t just go in and pick him off? He’d be a sitting duck.”

Wyatt starts to say something, then stops. Not least because Flynn has voiced explicit concern for his well-being (twice!), and he is, yet again, not prepared to deal with that. At last he says, “I don’t want to split up except as a total last resort. Besides, if we make any move for the Mothership, that blows our cover and Emma realizes we’re onto her and her entire plan. We only have one shot at getting to it while she doesn’t know – yet – that we know where it is or what she was doing with it, and yeah. This eats a huge amount of ass right now. I’m not going to say it’s fun. But I’m not gonna let you blow that shot for me.”

Lucy glances at him, her expression troubled and tender. “Wyatt, we have to take care of you. You’re still part of the team.”

If nothing else? Wyatt doesn’t want to ask that, or know how she might answer. Delusions, after all. Kinda wants to hold onto a few, after reality has bitch-slapped him on both cheeks and taken a dump in his front yard. “Yeah,” he says, “but I think we’ll also agree that you’re all tired of me fucking up things for you. Don’t make me do it again. Okay?”

“Okay,” Flynn says. Yet again, refraining from any of the obvious cracks that are there to be made, which is just bizarre. (Or perhaps not at all, but Wyatt’s still not going there.) “Though either way, we’re probably going somewhere. I said they’re most likely taking Jessica to Chinon, and Emma will tell Richard to meet her there. So some of us will need to go.”

“I can’t ride, obviously,” Wyatt says, as neutrally as possible. “That seems to rule me out.”

“It’s your wife and child.” Flynn looks at him with an intensity that Wyatt can feel to the back of his spine. “That Rittenhouse wants to use for their own sick little game. Don’t tell me you’re content to do nothing about it.”

“Of course I’m not fucking content.” Wyatt wants to be more emphatic, wants to shout about this, wants to kick up more of a fuss, but his chest feels pulverized (in more ways than one) and the most he can manage is a croak. “Of course I don’t want this to happen. I never wanted any of this to happen. But I’m half-dead and I would definitely get all the way there if I rushed after Jessica right now, to – what? Get my heart stomped on all over again? Can I save her if she doesn’t want to be saved? I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’ve tried to do that for years, since I joined the damn team in the first place, and we can safely say that I have totally blown it. Maybe this is what I deserve, I don’t know.”

“Yes,” Flynn says. “You’ve totally blown it. But you’re not the only one who has, eh?”

Wyatt blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into Flynn, why he keeps saving his life and then worrying about it later and saying these things that almost sound like clumsy olive branches, and once again, he thinks it’s better not to ask. There’s another silence. Then Rufus says, “Just spitballing here. But is there anything to be said for the nuclear option? Say fuck it, tell Richard we’re time travelers, and that’s why he can’t remarry? I mean, he’s got his thing going on with Andrew, he doesn’t really want to shake that up, right?”

Flynn raises both eyebrows, but charitably restrains from comment. Then he says, “What? Tell Richard that he has to die without a son, to fail in the central duty of a king, to leave his throne to his little brother with whom he has, at best, an ambivalent relationship? That John then proceeds to arse it up to such a degree that it becomes enshrined in law for hundreds of years? I can guarantee that is not something Richard would have any interest in facilitating, and if we tell him that, we have to tell him his future. Tell him when he dies, and how. Which he would then obviously try to avoid, messing up history still further.”

“Yeah,” Rufus says. “Since you’ve always been the one of us who’s really concerned with preserving history, Flynn. I can absolutely see why you’d suggest that.”

Flynn seems to sense that he deserves that, and gives a sue me shrug instead of answering. Then Lucy says, “We could just not tell him that part. Right? Even if he asked – ”

“Do you want to be the one that says no to him?” Flynn asks. “Spill the beans that you know everything that’s going to happen in his life and after it, and then refuse to tell him? We’d get into even worse of a mess. Besides, if we come clean about that, we’d also have to tell him that we came from Paris and Philip sent us. And while he might laugh off the time travel, or not bother taking us seriously, I can assure you that he would not do the same when it comes to Philip. They hate each other past all reason, and if we get Richard angry at us…”

“Wild guess,” Rufus says. “We won’t like him when he’s angry?”

“Not in the least.” Flynn leans against the wall, eyes darting to Wyatt, then back to Rufus. He seems to be avoiding looking at Lucy if remotely possible, even when talking to her earlier. “He’ll kill us if he finds out that we’re supposed to be spying for Philip, and he’s not going to buy any pleas of having our arms twisted.”

“But he’s obviously going to notice that – sorry, Wyatt, but still – Jess is pregnant,” Rufus persists. “Aren’t they really into bloodlines and legitimacy and all that? He’s just going to accept some random Jon Snow as his heir, especially when he knows he is NOT the daddy? I mean, it’s not like they have Maury here, but it seems like an issue.”

“I don’t know,” Flynn says. “He might take it as a backup option. Or he might think that he just needs a son born to his wife and isn’t too particular about how he gets one. Emma could have already told him about it, assured him it’ll be a boy and promised he doesn’t need to end his relationship with Andrew if he doesn’t want to. If nothing else, it’s proof that Jessica could have more children, especially since Berengaria hasn’t had any. I have no idea where they’ve told him that she’s from, what she’s the princess or countess of, but I assume they’ve made it worth his while in plenty of ways. They could tell him what Philip’s going to do, treat him with modern medicine so he doesn’t die when he’s shot – anything, really.”

Wyatt grimaces. This may be an operationally necessary topic of conversation, but he still doesn’t want to hear it. “So what, Richard’s flirting with Flynn and now he’s gonna marry Jessica and steal my kid? The fuck? What gives?”

There’s a slightly too-long pause. Then Rufus raises both eyebrows. “Dude, I get why you’re upset about the latter, but… why the former, exactly?”

“I – ” Wyatt opens his mouth, keeps it that way, and then shakes his head. “Look, so, what are we doing?”

“I’ll go see if I can talk to Richard,” Flynn says. “I need to find out if Emma’s tried to approach him and what she’s said, and if there are any plans afoot to send the court to Chinon. He’s grateful to us for saving Eleanor’s life, so – ”

“You mean me, right?” Wyatt points out. “Still the one who got shot here.”

Flynn rolls his eyes. “Yes, Logan, we’re all grateful for the sacrifice. Anyway, I’ll try to leverage that. You three, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

With that, sounding very much like the stern school principal or exasperated father who is sick of these motherfucking Rittenhouse agents on this motherfucking field trip, Flynn whirls around and heads out. Rufus notes that he didn’t actually find any food earlier, and excuses himself as well. That leaves Wyatt and Lucy, who is still sitting on the bed next to him, though she glances away when he looks at her. The silence is not horrendously awkward, but it’s a long way from comfortable. Finally Lucy says quietly, “I’m sorry about Jessica. It just seems like that wound never gets to close, does it?”

“Guess so.” Wyatt blows out a jagged breath. “I suppose it makes sense as a plot for Emma. And Jess – I don’t know what she thinks about this. I was a shitty husband to her in any reality, so no wonder Rittenhouse feels like home. That they’ve given her what I couldn’t and didn’t, even though I wanted to. I don’t know if we’re ever going to be together again, but I just wish…” He trails off. “A son. I’m having a son. I used to think about that, what that would be like. Playing catch with him, having buddy fishing weekends, going to his parent-teacher conferences, teaching him about cars, all the stuff I was going to do and not screw up like my old man. I don’t even know if I could manage that now. It’s like half of me thinks it might be better for him if he grows up here and gets to be some medieval king, rather than have me as a dad. How fucked up is that?”

Lucy bites her lip, then looks at him full-on for the first time. “I don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t think that would be better. Not just because of messing up history, but because you deserve the chance to know your son, and I’m going to help you fight for it. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jessica, but if she’s still what you want – ”

“I don’t know.” Wyatt stares at the ceiling. So long so determined to get his wife back by hook or by crook, convinced it would fix all his problems, and it’s only made everything worse. “I – meant what I said to you, Lucy. It’s just… it occurs to me it wasn’t a good time to say it, and it wasn’t what you needed to hear right then, and maybe I’ve screwed up things too far to ever really be fixed. So if you want to say something to me about that now, I’m listening.” He waves a hand and grunts in pain. “Can’t exactly get away.”

“Yeah.” Lucy lets out a breath of her own. “I don’t know either. You – you did hurt me. I can’t say I want to rush back into anything. Actually, I – ” She stops. “Never mind.”

“No,” Wyatt says. “Come on. I want us to be friends again, I want us to start talking to each other about things. I swear, you can tell me.”

Lucy looks at him as if she’s not really sure that she can, and the simple, painful realization that the trust between them has been broken, that he can ask but he has to be all right with it if she doesn’t answer, twists in Wyatt’s gut in a different way than the blacksmith’s pincers. He can’t push, that’s counterproductive, but he tries to think of a way to keep the conversation going, rather than cut it off full stop. “Okay, can you maybe tell me the reason why not?”

“You don’t – ” Lucy looks down at her fingers twisted in her lap. “You don’t take it well.”

Wyatt supposes that this doesn’t really narrow it down, alas, as he hasn’t exactly handled anything well in the recent past. However, he has an inkling what it might be, and while they’re being honest, maybe they should give it a try. “Is it about Flynn?”

Lucy tenses, shifting away from him, as if in clear preparation to be yelled at. Then she says, purposefully casual, “Yes, it’s about Flynn.”

“Okay.” Wyatt thinks that literally any way he’s ever reacted to this topic in the past, it’s probably wrong, and he should try something else. “I’m – look, him and me have had our thing, and it’s been what it is, but he’s saved my life twice now. I guess I can see why you trust him, and he’s been a big help. He still likes kicking my ass a lot, though.”

“That’s just how he is.” A small, fond, private smile turns up Lucy’s mouth, clearly summoned just by the thought of the team’s large garbage fourth party, and Wyatt struggles not to let it sting. “I just – I like him, Wyatt. I like him, and I want him around, and he’s proven himself as much as you or me or Rufus or Jiya or any of us. So if it’s just about you not trusting him, I think that’s settled. More than settled.”

“I do trust him.” It’s not easy, but Wyatt decides it probably should be said. “I don’t like him, but I trust him.” He doesn’t want to go so far as apologizing for being a dick to Flynn, since he feels like Flynn invites and eagerly reciprocates at least seventy-five percent of it, but he looks up at Lucy. “I promise, I’ll try to quit sniping at him as much. But if he starts it – ”

“I wouldn’t tell you not to defend your honor.” Lucy rolls her eyes, but laughs a little, and it feels like one of the first genuine moments they’ve had in a while. Not even in a romantic sense, but just as two people who are familiar with each other and are stuck doing a dangerous job with a difficult coworker, who can commiserate on equal footing and try to shut out everything else for a while. “I know he’s… a handful.”

“You seem to manage him pretty well.” Wyatt wants to bite his tongue, but it slips out anyway. “I mean. Never have any trouble getting him to listen to you.”

Lucy’s cheeks go rather pink, and she looks down at her hands again, that same shy smile paying a return visit to her lips. “That’s different.”

Yes, Wyatt supposes, it is. He glances up at her with a crooked smile, doing his best to play the role of a friend elbowing another friend about a crush, an aw-come-on-you-like-him sort of thing. He doesn’t have the heart to commit to it, but at least he can put up the appearance. Fake it ‘til you make it, and because Lucy deserves something else from him on this topic apart from condescension and critique and shame. Finally he says, “You think Rufus is going to come back with breakfast? I could maybe eat something.”

“Hopefully.” Lucy gets off the bed and goes to peer out the window. “Well, nothing’s on fire yet, so maybe Flynn and Emma haven’t come face to face.”

“Always a good thing,” Wyatt cracks weakly. His side is starting to really hurt again, and his flash of appetite is deserting him as fast as it’s come. He feels nauseous, and puts his head back down on the pillow. Well then. He fondly fancies that maybe he didn’t completely blow that conversation. Where it’s going to go, or how, or why, he’s given up speculating. Not dying is top of his priority list right now. The rest of it can wait.

(He is also thinking about when Flynn is going to get back, and whether he’s run into Emma or any of the new Rittenhouse gang, and what he’s said to Richard, and any of it. But that also feels like something that he would definitely prefer to delay.)

It takes Flynn a while, especially when his head is still going in wild vortexes and he needs to struggle an alarming amount to maintain the keen and razor-focused competence that he is generally known for, to track down Richard. He eventually finds the king just getting up (it’s midmorning, so Richard was definitely not springing out of bed with the lark to attend Mass at six AM) and not terribly interested in being bothered with business first thing. He is also clearly annoyed with Flynn’s lack of proper deference. “What exactly are you doing here, Garcia? Is it the custom in Spain to burst in on the royal presence unannounced?”

“Sorry, Your Grace.” Flynn inclines his head, hoping that Andrew de Chauvigny will not choose this moment to make his entrance and be even less enthused to find him in Richard’s private chambers at a still-unsociably-early hour. “How is your mother?”

“My mother is quite well, and if you really were interested in enquiring after her health, you would have burdened yourself elsewhere.” Richard whirls on his heel, pouring a cup of morning wine from the decanter. His hair is tumbled in his eyes, he’s only wearing a dressing gown and loose braies, and despite his protestations, he doesn’t seem entirely averse to Flynn glimpsing him in this less-than-regal state of dishabille. He sits on the unmade bed, stretching his long legs, and enjoys a few sips, with the kingly prerogative to make Flynn stand there and wait until he’s ready to continue the conversation. Then he says, “Your serving man isn’t dead either, I take it?”

“No, he made it through the night. Not very comfortably, but he’s alive.” Flynn hesitates. He doesn’t suspect that Richard is at all concerned about the well-being of servants in the ordinary course of things, and tries to think how to gently nudge the conversation from here. He knows that it’s only Richard’s – well, whatever notice he’s taken of him, of whatever sort, that is the reason he’s still here, and the king has not called his guards to remove this unwashed interloper until later. Much later, possibly. “Last night, what my wife told you and the queen about the assassins’ guild, Rittenhouse. Their leader, the woman called Emma – I don’t know if she’s approached you. But if she – ”

Richard gazes back at him inscrutably, until Flynn realizes that if Emma has, she may also have warned him that people might be asking about it, and to keep it appropriately on the DL until he has come to a decision. Probably with plenty of flattery. Richard is not the kind of man who appreciates criticism, constructive or otherwise, and if Flynn pushes him too hard into thinking he’s made a mistake entertaining Emma’s overtures, he might double down on them, just because. Still, Flynn feels the need to emphasize it. “Emma’s men are the ones who organized the attempt on your mother’s life. She wants you to marry again for reasons of her own, and you – you can’t trust her.”

“Even if any of that was true.” Richard finishes off the wine and puts the goblet back on the sideboard, then stands up. “Do you have any shred of proof?”

This was always going to be tricky. “No.”

“So how would you know that?” Richard stares at Flynn with a narrow, shrewd expression that makes it clear that no matter if Flynn has caught his eye or not, he is not going to be swayed into overlooking any other suspicions he has about them. “My mother said to me last night that she doesn’t believe you’re really from Spain, and I must say, I’m starting to agree with her. You don’t speak French like anyone I’ve ever met, for a start, and that weapon – ” He points to the Rittenhouse assassin’s Glock, which is lying on his desk, looking jarringly out of place among the charters covered in gothic script, waxen seals, daggers, quills, inkhorns, melted candles, and rolls of parchment. “I took it apart and looked at it, and I see no receptacle for Greek fire, which was how you said it operated. It’s much more advanced than the crossbow, and I can damn well promise that I would remember if the Saracens had been shooting at us with this thing while I was in the Holy Land. Where did you get it from? Who sent you?”

Flynn fights the urge to take a step back. To say the least, it’s the rare man that can intimidate him, physically or verbally, and that’s not even quite what’s going on here. But the Angevins of Richard’s paternal line are colorfully rumoured to be descended from the Devil’s daughter Melusine, for reasons of their hair and tempers, which are equally blazing. Richard’s father Henry used this legend to great effect, and Richard himself is extremely fond of it, telling the story to anyone who ever doubts his ability to cosmically fuck them up. But so far as Flynn remembers, there always came a moment when, faced with an angry Plantagenet, everyone started being pretty sure that it was not just a tall tale. As well, this is only an irritated Richard, not an angry one. Flynn himself was warning everyone about that. He needs to be very careful.

“Your Grace,” Flynn starts at last. “That is… a long story.”

Richard stares at him cuttingly, deeply unimpressed by this non-answer. “Yes, Garcia. I gathered that. Or are you several poxy halfwits cunningly disguised as a man?”

Well, Flynn supposes, that was feeble enough for him to deserve that. It occurs to him, ludicrously, to actually give the time-travel thing a try. He’s hardly been the most close-mouthed about that fact in the past, and witchcraft panics (and the attendant stake-burning, though that’s also a massively overstated stereotype) are an early modern phenomenon, not a medieval one. Heretics don’t even get the burning treatment until after 1400, in the run-up to the Reformation. Richard is religious, as everyone is in some way or form, and he is a crusader who believes deeply that the Christians are entitled to reclaim Jerusalem, but he formed real friendships with his Muslim counterparts and has made laws to protect his Jewish subjects, as well as repeatedly objecting to the crusade’s religious philosophy when it clashed with his thoroughgoingly pragmatic view of things. In other words, religious bigotry or baseless zealotry is not really in his nature; he is interested in how things work on a tactical and strategic level, and doesn’t have time for irrationality or hysteria or incompetence. Flynn says, “I don’t think you’d believe me, Your Grace.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Richard raises both eyebrows. “Your Saracen friend, Prince Ali, the one you said was an acquaintance of Saif al-Din. Where is Agrabah, exactly? It was never mentioned in any of my negotiations with the sultan’s brother or his advisors.”

Flynn winces. As he also seems to recall warning the others, Richard is much too smart to be easily manipulated, and their cover stories have been flimsy at best. Oh, what the hell. “We’re… travelers, Your Grace. From… well.” For once, he actually doesn’t want to be the one to do this, but needs must. “From the future.”

There is a long and very hideous pause. Then Richard bursts out laughing. “Travelers from the future? So you’re lunatics, you mean? Or are you from a traveling fair, one of those charlatans who promise to tell fortunes for a silver penny and get burning bushes to speak with the voices of saints and angels? You remind me of that venerable padre back in Messina, Joachim of Fiore. He was very keen to prophesy that my crusade would be a great success and usher in the fiery advent of the Last Days and the judgment of the faithful, along with various other dramatic mumbling that I misremember. To say the least, he was wrong, but it did earn his abbey a generous reward. Is that what you want? Money?”

“We don’t want money, my lord.” Flynn supposes this is a reasonable interpretation for Richard to take, but it’s also not helping them very much. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is the truth.”

Richard snorts. “You struck me as a sensible man, Garcia. Even if you were traipsing about with a woman, a Saracen, and a blockhead. Why disappoint me in such a fashion now?”

“I…” Flynn tries to think of something he could say to convince Richard, while wondering if he actually wants to do that, and if revealing any information at all could in fact get them (once again, as warned) into more trouble. “It’s just – it’s important that you don’t remarry, and especially not to the woman that Rittenhouse has chosen for you. That’s all.”

Richard regards him inscrutably. “My wife has not given me a son. That being the case – ”

“And have you tried very hard for her to do that, my lord?” Flynn is starting to push it here, but he’s in too far to turn back now. “I’ve heard certain… rumors of your conduct, both now and in the past. If you remain estranged from Queen Berengaria, surely that gives them cause to proliferate? Surely if you were to recall her to your side and – ”

Richard’s nostrils flare. In the original timeline, he was shamed into reconciling with Berengaria after a serious illness led him to reflect on his sinful conduct and hastily abjure it for the good of his soul, but unless they poison him (which, to say the least, is a terrible idea), it’s less clear if he has the same incentive now. In a very dangerous voice, he says, “What exactly are you accusing me of, Garcia? I suggest you choose your words most carefully.”

“I…” Obviously, as a modern man who has a certain perspective on this, and who has batted for the same team a few times himself, Flynn’s natural instinct is to tell Richard that there’s nothing wrong with him, and the church should shut up about the thrall of guilt and terror it exerts on him and others like him. Wants to say that he knows Richard and Andrew love each other and should be allowed to stay together. But while Richard is relatively open about his preferences, or at least habitually returns to them after brief episodes of public repentance, that does not translate into unconditionally accepting them. He views sodomy as a venial sin like any other, to which he seems unfortunately prone, and certainly not as an orientation or a legitimate way of life. Even if Flynn gets out his inner pride flag and tells Richard that in the words of one Stefani Germanotta, he was born this way, that will go directly against everything Richard has heard all his life, that he has taken to heart and believes about himself, and it’s not clear that he would appreciate it. Flynn isn’t going to call him a dirty gay, obviously, but how the hell does he do this?

When Flynn doesn’t answer, Richard seems more or less satisfied that he’s won the argument, but continues to stare at him in a way that makes it clear the subject has not been dropped. Then Richard says, “You’ve amused me thus far, Garcia, and as I said, I’m grateful for what your man did for my mother. But I get enough damned sermonizing from churchmen, and I am not certain that I require your advice going forward. Nor do I recall asking for it in the first place, or why you thought you had any right to offer it. If you wish to collect your wife, the Saracen, and your servant, then I think it best that you remove yourself from my court and get on amusing others with your fables.”

Oh dear. Flynn can sense this about to go badly. “My man is hurt, Your Grace. He can’t stand a long ride, and we need – ”

“I don’t recall that’s my fucking problem.” Richard’s eyes have turned to blue-grey slits. He gets up sharply and turns away, pulling off the dressing gown and shrugging on a red velvet tunic, the sleeves decorated with lions in golden embroidery. He ties his braies and slides his feet into his boots, then turns around. Richard the man is gone, and it’s the Lionheart, the king and feared warrior, who’s staring dead at Flynn and looking like it’s entirely likely he’ll go for his throat. “Was any part of that statement unclear?”

Flynn opens his mouth, even though he knows the best course of action is to duck for cover and run like hell. “Your Grace – ”

Just then, he’s almost abjectly grateful to be interrupted by a knock at the door, even if only because this might give Richard’s hurricane a chance to blow onto someone else apart from him. Then Andrew de Chauvigny’s voice calls, “My lord?”

Wait, no. Never mind. Flynn is pretty sure he doesn’t want to be caught like this. But it’s too late, as Richard strides past him and jerks the door open. “God’s balls, Andrew, what the bleeding Jesus is so important that you have to – ”

Flynn turns around just in time to see that it is very bad. In fact, actually worse. Because yes, Andrew is standing there, and standing right behind him –

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Emma Whitmore says, in flawless Old French. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

[soundsof71]

DAVID CASSIDY & THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY MEET RICHARD PRYOR, LOUIS GOSSETT JR, and “THE BLACK PANTHERS” in “SOUL CLUB” (aired January 29, 1971)

Sure, The Partridge Family was a single-camera comedy with a laugh track, mostly aimed at kids, a barely plausible framework on which to hang some flimsy pop songs -- but it never shied away from a variety of social issues, including women's rights and racial justice. My favorite episode was "Soul Club", which first aired in January 1971. It featured one of the show's better songs, "Bandala", and a few other things that merit some additional context. 

"Soul Club” also featured RICHARD PRYOR and LOU GOSSETT (as he was credited)!! It was in fact a back-door pilot intended to kick off a series with the two of them that sadly never came to pass.

Gaze upon Richard and Lou, and think about ABC trying to launch a sitcom for them out of The Partridge Family. Yikes! I’m sorry we never got to see that, but I’m glad we got to see this.

The pair played brothers who had intended to book The Temptations into their inner city Detroit social club (the titular “Soul Club”), only to have the white, white, oh so white, Partridge Family roll up instead.  The Temptations concert had been the brothers’ last hope to save their club. They’d gotten in deep to a loan shark, and were counting on The Temptations to deliver a big payday.

It was immediately apparent that the Partridges weren’t going to be able to help them – ah, until they actually DID help. Heartwarming hilarity ensued as the Partridges played a street fair benefit show. 

Along the way to saving the day (which they did), Danny Partridge is made an honorary member of "The Afro-American Cultural Society,” a thinly-veiled and highly favorable representation of the Black Panthers. 

In fact, when you look this episode up yourself – and you should – many accounts report that the episode DID feature the Black Panthers. (For a start, try Googling “Partridge Family Black Panthers.”)

(Danny Partridge welcomed into “The Afro-American Cultural Society” as Richard Pryor and Louis Gossett Jr look on.)

Even without the actual Black Panthers, a number of scholarly sources have nevertheless cited the “Soul Club” episode as a pivotal moment in American cultural history. That part is absolutely true. This was among the first wholly positive depictions of militant black pride in mainstream media, maybe even the first, and it was A Big Deal. 

After all, these were days when J. Edgar Hoover denounced the Black Panther Free Breakfast Program as “the greatest threat to the internal security of the United States of America” – not the Black Panthers in general, but free breakfast in particular. 

The Partridge Family, instead, literally normalized the idea of people of color being PEOPLE – parents, kids, volunteer firefighters, musicians – who were politically engaged in improving their communities, a much different picture than the prevailing stereotype of communities of color as bomb-throwers bent on race war.

I didn’t need the perspective of history to tell me that this was a big deal. Watching on that Friday night in 1971, I could FEEL that it was a big deal. 

Don’t forget that Soul Train was still 9 months away from national syndication, and there were few shows on TV at the time featuring any characters of color. There were two black leads on Room 222 airing the same night as The Partridge Family, plus Flip Wilson’s variety show, and on a weekly basis, that was about it for people of color making regularly scheduled appearances on prime time American television in 1971.

As a result, this may have been the largest collection of black people that most of white America had ever seen in one place, and they were dancing. And trying to improve their community, and otherwise, going about their day’s business. Maybe we didn’t need the FBI crawling all over these communities like we’d been told. Maybe, thought white Americans like me, just maybe, it was enough to support them where we could, and otherwise just let them be, because they’re just trying to make a better life for themselves, same as me. Their advancement is certainly not at my expense.This was a radical, radical concept at the time. Kinda still is. Again.

And how’s this for radical? A Black family and a white family sharing a meal. Look, I was living in the South when this aired, and yeah, I do want to emphasize the thing that lots of southerners do, that your image of how racism works in practice there probably needs refinement, but I definitely remembered being shocked when we moved there in the mid-60s and seeing “Whites Only” signs on not just water fountains and restaurants, but public swimming pools, doctors offices, and all kinds of other places.

The signs were gone by 1971, but the side-by-side drinking fountains and other very visible vestiges of the seriously segregated 60s were still standing. There were LOTS of segments of public life that, in practice, were very much segregated. Black and white families eating elbow to elbow at the same table was something that much of America had never seen, much less experienced. And maybe still haven’t experienced.

None of which would matter in the context of a show about a singing musical family if there wasn’t a great song somewhere in there. 

And there is: “Bandala,” one of the best in the show’s entire run.  Kind of a kick – members of the Afro-American Cultural Society are shown serving as the song’s string and horn sections! This might have been the only time in the show’s run that it acknowledged that the plethora of sounds that we’re hearing couldn’t possibly have been coming only from the Partridges themselves. 

(Music nerd note: the actual sounds of The Partridge Family’s instruments provided courtesy of The Wrecking Crew! Most often in the form of Hal Blaine on drums, Joe Osborn on bass, and Larry Knechtel on keyboards, including the glorious harpsichord on the Partridges’ ur-hits “I Think I Love You” and “C’mon Get Happy”.) Wait for Pryor and Gossett to show up around the 2-minute mark in this clip, “giving five” to each other in a variety of creative ways, some involving hip bumps. Yes indeed, friends. Hip bumps.

There are obviously far more than the usual number of nits to pick with an episode like this, but that’s for another time. (Or for your replies. Feel free. It is problematic, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t also a cultural watershed of its era.) 

In the meantime, I hope you can enjoy the clip above for what it is, a terrific David Cassidy vocal on a nifty pop tune, with some endearing moments in the episode as a whole, featuring a colossal missed opportunity for Pryor & Gossett, but its very ambitious heart in the right place.

[stickystarspectrumtroll-ocs]

Hogwarts AU

Note: This is like 8 to 10 years after the events of Deathly Hallows.

~

Luna: 4th year. Half-blood, but both her birth parents are long gone and she was adopted as a baby by a muggle couple. Metamorphmagus. Sorting Hat cried out “SLYTHERIN” pretty much the moment it touched her head. She’s not well-liked by the other Slytherins, since so many are the type who look down their noses at muggleborns. Was already an expert when it came to pranking, vandalism, and general troublemaking (not to mention getting away with things) pre-Hogwarts, but every bit of magic she learned (not to mention everything she found at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes) opened her to a whole WORLD of possibilities in that area which she quickly began experimenting with and putting to good use. She got bullied since the first day of her first year, but retaliated with ruthless pranks magical and nonmagical in nature until most learned to leave her alone. Plenty still haven’t, though, and she continues to deal with them in the way she does. She and Peeves have a kind of mutual respect for each other. She has an owl named Basil who she sends to and from her parents regularly. She also has a turtle named Rupert. Made friends with Jewel, Allets, and Eliote in her 1st or 2nd year. Wand is nine and a half inches long, made of pine, reasonably supple, with a unicorn tail core.

Jewel: 4th year. Pure-blood, but doesn’t know it since she’s been an orphan as long as she can remember and doesn’t know WHO the heck her parents are. Hufflepuff. Favorite classes are Charms, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures. She happens to be VERY good at those. Refuses to wear the black robes she’s supposed to, wears robes with vibrant colors and lots of embroidery instead. Plus flower crowns, and necklaces and bracelets full of crystals. Talks to the paintings and the ghosts more than she talks to most of her schoolmates. Spends a lot of time in the library. Likes exploring the castle and even the Forbidden Forest in her spare time. Makes good friends with Hagrid. Being introduced to the Wizarding World was a big thing that had her suuuuper nervous at first and was hard to adjust to, but she's making some progress with that. Made friends with Luna, Allets, and Eliote in her 1st or 2nd year. Wand is ten inches long, swishy, made of English oak or red oak with a unicorn hair core.

Allets: 5th year. Pure-blood. Hufflepuff. Parents are rich and a bit snobby, kind of elitist and anti-muggle but never QUITE managed to instill that in her, no matter how they tried. They tried to enroll her at Beauxbatons, but there were a LOT of applications that year and there ended up being no room for her, so they enrolled her at Hogwarts, reasoning that it was the next-best thing and some great witches and wizards in the family had gone there. They put a lot of pressure on her to excel in all her academics. She’s good at Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts and flying, but the rest of her classes not so much. She tries really hard to please her parents anyway. Over time as she makes friends at Hogwarts (Luna, Jewel, and Eliote in her 2nd or 3rd year) she starts to break off more and more from being firmly tied to her parents’ command. They don’t like this one bit and continue trying to exert control over her, which is an ongoing struggle but she gets stronger every year. Joined her house’s quidditch team in her 4th year as a seeker and is really good at it. Wand is ten and three quarter inches long, made of hawthorn, supple, with a phoenix feather core.

Eliote: 5th year. Muggleborn. Hufflepuff (the Sorting Hat really took awhile to decide with her). Parents died when she was like seven, probably killed by Death Eaters during the time of Voldemort’s return, and she lived in an orphanage afterwards until the day her Hogwarts letter arrived. She probably was really confused and kinda annoyed at first with how she was the only one around her who could see the threstrals. Her parents’ death hit her pretty hard and she’s still recovering (probably she was right there to witness it and barely got out alive, so, yeah, PTSD from that, plus survivor’s guilt as it’s possible she might’ve led the Death Eaters to them by i dunno whining a little too loud about something childish while they were nearby or something). It’s been easier since she became friends with Allets, Luna, and Jewel in her 2nd or 3rd year. Wants to be an Auror. Favorite classes are Potions and Defense Against The Dark Arts. Good at all her classes but best at those. Wand is ten and one quarter inches long, made of fir, solid, with a unicorn hair core.

Maddie T: 4th year. Half-blood. Ravenclaw. Reads the Quibbler and genuinely believes the stuff in it. Is VERY VERY good at solving the riddles to get into the Common Room. Loves painting, spray-painting especially, and does a lot of art on the walls and ceiling of her side of the dorm she shares with Finley. Always has paint on her robes. Wears the classic big pointy witch hat, but it’s all crooked, and it’s purple, with different colored patches and feathers. Tries to do crazy stunts on her broom, like flying while hanging upside down from it. Has a lot of fun with all the stuff from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Made friends with Finley on the Hogwarts Express 1st year. Gets picked on a lot but doesn’t let it get to her and has a million nonsensical retorts. Wand is thirteen and a half inches long, made of dogwood, quite whippy, with a dragon heartstring core.

Finley: 4th year. Pure-blood. Ravenclaw (sorting hat shouted it out practically the second it touched her head). She kinda acts like Hermione in a lot of ways, studying a ton and raising her hand a lot and acing every class basically being a huge overachiever and perfectionist. She develops a habit of sneaking into the restricted section of the library, not with any bad intentions, just out of pure curiosity to know what kinds of knowledge is there. Might figure out how to become an animagi and then do it just because she can, without letting anycreature besides Maddie T know about it. She’d be a cat or fox or butterfly, I’m not sure which. She’s also extremely fascinated with Muggle Studies and everything related to the muggle world, not unlike Mr. Weasley. If she ever got access to the internet...hoHOOO boy... Knows how to sew and makes adjustments to her robes all the time. Embroidering flowers on them, adding ribbons and bows and sequins, adds touches of pink and/or turquoise wherever she can. Made friends with Maddie T on the Hogwarts Express 1st year, and stands up for her when she gets picked on. Wand is ten inches long, made of walnut, quite flexible, with a phoenix feather core.

Penny: 5th year. Muggleborn. Hufflepuff. Was bitten by a werewolf as a second-year. She was introduced to wolfsbane potion fairly quickly, but not before a sleepover with her muggle friends from before her Hogwarts days went south. Like, nocreature got bitten, but ALLLLLMOST. It was kinda intense and a bunch of memories had to be erased. Penny was pretty much scarred for life. Gets more distant from her muggle friends every year, partially due to so much of her life having to be in the Wizarding World now and them not being allowed to know about it, and partially for other reasons related to Penny’s memories of THAT incident. Either way it breaks her heart. Refuses to wear black robes like she’s supposed to, wears robes of different super bright colors every day. Also the friendship bracelets from her old friends. And light-up sneakers. Has brightly colored hair extension clips that she clips over her hair to give herself colored streaks, changing up which colors she uses every day. Sends owls to her parents (and has them write back) every week. Wand is eleven and a half inches long, made of ebony (? maybe fir? or pear?), slightly springy, with a unicorn hair core.

Twig: 1st year. Half-blood. Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Like Finley, she gets super into all her classes and studies and everything. Only she’s way more excited by it all. The novelty of the fact that HOLY CUPCAKES SHE’S DOING ACTUAL FLIPPING MAGIC never wears off. She does get homesick at times, like, cry herself to sleep on a weekly basis homesick, so she sends owls to her parents (and has them write back) practically every day. And she does get picked on by a bunch of people. Is bummed when pure-bloods don’t get all the references she makes to stuff from the muggle world. Strong mixed feelings about the fact that they have to write with quills and ink--like, on one hand the aesthetic is SOOO cool but on the other hand pens and pencils and markers are WAY easier. Spends a lot of time reading in the library or exploring the castle and surrounding grounds. Has a pet toad named Herbie. Has always loved and been really good at flying, is great at quidditch in just about any position, and will join the team for her House as soon as she’s able. Wand is ten and one quarter inches long, made of willow, springy, with a unicorn hair core. 

~BONUS~

C.C.: 5th year. Half-blood. Metamorphmagus. Gryffindor (got sorted there very quickly). Prefect. She has a heck ton of magical energy in her that's always come out quite a lot and been a bit hard for her to control at times. Probably nearly wrecked Ollivander’s shop trying out wands, without even trying to. She uses her shapeshifting ability quite like Tonks, making animal faces for entertainment and all. It may also be why her hair is pink, orange, and blue. Loves drawing and painting and is very good at them. Favorite class is Defense Against The Dark Arts. Wants to be an auror. Plays on the Gryffindor team (i’m not sure what position, but in any case she is very good at it, maybe becomes captain in her 5th or 6th year). Wand is eleven and a three quarter inches long, pleasantly springy, made of either chestnut with a unicorn hair core, or rowan with a phoenix feather core.

Jasper: 5th year. Half-blood. Ravenclaw. Likes to hex people for fun. Goes all-out finding creative uses for spells and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, like Luna, but he’s more likely to think of things that’ll affect a roomful of people rather than just one person, like setting off fireworks indoors, or putting something in the food served in the Great Hall that’ll make everycreature who eats it erupt in contagious boils. Is also willing to use some kind of dark magic for that sort of thing. He gets detention a LOT but honestly doesn’t even mind because he still had a good time doing what he did. Has a mutual respect with Peeves and they’re pretty chummy with each other actually. Also good friends with C.C., though she does get a bit exasperated with his shenanigans and how often he gets in trouble. Really good at Charms and Potions. Actually all his classes, but especially those. Wand is thirteen and one quarter inches long, made of spruce, whippy, with a dragon heartstring core.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

The Misadventures of Prince Kim - chapter 46

I said I was gonna update this on a Sensible Weekly Basis on Sundays from now on and it’s past midnight here in the UK, therefore it is Sunday, so I can post this. I am evil and followed up the fluffiest chapter with a rather angsty one. Also a snake plays Monopoly and it doesn’t even make sense in context. Have fun!

Also on AO3 as always

The next morning, before going to class, Max opened a drawer in his room and pulled out the little heart-shaped box that he had been ignoring for a long time now. Opening it, he took out the brooch and pinned it to the front of his shirt. This brooch… he hadn’t even looked at it for a whole year now. He’d just thrown it straight into the drawer and told himself to forget about any chances with Kim ever. He could never have imagined how different things would be this year.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t hold back a smile. Alright, so the brooch didn’t really suit him. It was light blue, sparkly, heart-shaped, and unlike anything he ever wore. But hey – this brooch was from Kim. His sweetheart.

Thinking of the word “sweetheart” made him smile even more. He buried his face in his sleeves for a few seconds to regain his composure, knowing he was acting like a total lovestruck dork. He couldn’t help it! Kim loved him, and every time he remembered it, the universe suddenly felt like a brighter place.

Right. That was enough of being an embarrassing wreck. Time for breakfast.

“MAX!” he heard Kim yelling from across the dining hall as soon as he entered it. Max barely had time to even look up at him before being rushed at and enveloped in a hug.

“Good morning, Kim,” he mumbled into the side of Kim’s shirt, hugging him back. Things still didn’t feel quite real.

“Good morning to you too, you awesome, amazing sweetheart!” Kim pulled back to take a look at him, and his eyes dropped down to the brooch. “Hey, isn’t that – that’s the–”

“The brooch you gave me last year, yes.”

“Aww, Max! That’s so sweet!” Kim took Max’s hand and pulled him over to the royalty table to sit beside him. “I’m wearing the heart-thing you got me too.”

Sure enough, the golden-red heart badge was gleaming brightly on Kim’s chest. Max felt his own heart soaring – everything had fallen into place so well, so perfectly, so much better than he had ever expected. He hadn’t thought things could possibly work out that well in real life. It felt more like a fairy tale.

He hadn’t realized that he and Kim were sitting there staring at each other until he heard Alix clearing her throat from across the table.

“Uh, good morning to you too, Max.”

Max snapped himself back into reality. He saw that Alix’s snake was entirely covered in friendship stickers. “Good morning… where did you get all those stickers from?”

She grinned, giving the snake a little stroke. “Believe it or not, I got given a friendship sticker from every single kid in our class yesterday.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah! I know, right? It’s weird. But I guess I’m just so cool that everyone wants to be my friend.”

Wow. She really had branched out a lot this year, hadn’t she? He thought back to when they had first started at this school, and she always complained about how everyone was afraid of her and how bad she was at making friends. It seemed that she had really done well for herself since then. Max was impressed.

Kim, on the other hand, was looking almost… jealous?

“You seriously got more stickers than me?” he asked, frowning.

“Well yeah, apparently.” She had a rather smug smile. “I’m so friendly these days! What can I say? Maybe I’m just a–”

“A friendship slut?”

“Um… I was gonna actually say a ‘hopeless platonic’ but you know what? ‘Friendship slut’ officially overtakes ‘no romo’ as the funniest thing you have ever said.”

Max couldn’t help giggling a little, listening to his two idiot friends being silly. Well, one of those idiot friends was his sweetheart too. That was still going to take a bit of getting used to.

“Oh, and everyone’s staring at you two,” Alix added.

Max looked around to see his classmates watching him and Kim with looks ranging from puzzled to amused. Oh right… Kim had made rather a big deal of Max’s entrance. And still had his arm around Max’s shoulder. And they were both wearing heart pins. And sitting very close together.

“Are you all jealous?” Kim said to the onlookers, pulling Max even closer with one hand and running his other hand through his perfect, beautiful hair. “I have the coolest sweetheart in the world, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Hearing Kim brag about him made Max want to just melt right into his seat. Most of the classmates still looked rather surprised. At least, until quiet Prince Nathaniel spoke up.

“About time.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He blushed and quickly lowered his head, carrying on eating his breakfast.

“True, I was wondering when you two would get together!” Rose was the next one to speak. She had the biggest smile on her face. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Nice going,” Juleka said.

“I knew it would happen!” Marinette said, a somewhat sad smile on her face. Her Cupid Festival probably hadn’t been much fun, considering that Adrien was still stuck thousands of miles away. Seeing happy couples must have been heart-breaking for her.

The remaining classmates all gave their vague congratulations too, most of them seemingly not that bothered. It sounded like most of them had already been expecting Kim and Max to get together. To be fair, it had been the same way for many of the class couples so far.

The rest of the day proceeded much like breakfast had done. Kim clearly was not concentrating very much in class, secretly holding Max’s hand under the table and occasionally just ending up staring at him for long periods of time until someone distracted him. It was so ridiculous, but so very Kim, and all Max wanted to do was just ruffle his hair and give him a big hug. How could Kim always be so cute without even trying?

After dinner Max made sure to take Kim to the library so that he would actually do his homework, rather than putting it off to go do something else. To his credit, Kim focused properly and got on with his work without complaining or getting distracted.

“That was quick,” Max said once Kim had, somehow, already finished.

“I told you, you make me feel smarter!” Kim replied. “And it’s not like I wasn’t already used to doing homework with you…”

That much was true. Max felt his face heating up, as it so often did around Kim these days. “Kim, you need to give yourself more credit. It’s not me who’s making you smarter, it’s you! You’ve been working hard and it’s paying off.”

Kim rested his head on his hand and gazed at Max, his whole face just radiating pure love. “Then why do I finish homework so much quicker when I’m with you compared to the rest of the time?”

“Well… okay, you got me there. Maybe it’s the power of love.”

Eek, that was so cheesy. Max looked down at his finished work, not knowing what else to say. He felt Kim put a finger under his chin and gently lift his face back up to look at him.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said softly.

Alright, that was just… way too sweet. Max pushed Kim’s hand away. “Don’t. Or I’ll end up kissing you in the middle of this library right now.”

“Well why not?”

Oh, classic Kim. He always was such a hopeless romantic. Max leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping no one nearby was watching. “There you go.”

Kim seemed to be blushing a little, though it was hard to tell with the tall shelves blocking out so much of the light. “So um, since we’re done with homework… wanna go back to my room and like, play Monopoly or something? This time I won’t mind if you win. And if Alix joins us then I won’t fight her this time, I swear. Unless she attacks first.”

“Monopoly sounds great,” Max said. “And if you win – which you won’t, because I always win – then you can get a kiss from me.”

Kim chuckled. “Well if you win then you can get a kiss from me too! How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect!”

“And what does Alix get if she wins?”

Max had a think. “Food. We give her food.”

“Good idea. Let’s go!”

Kim quickly shovelled all his work into his bag, helped Max do the same, then grabbed his hand and ran.

Having tracked down Alix along the way, the three of them went to Kim’s room for the Monopoly game. There was a little wrapped gift lying on the table. Kim immediately rushed forwards to tear all the wrapping paper off, revealing a box of chocolates and a note.

Congratulations for yesterday!

“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” Kim said, shrugging. He turned back to face them. “Alright, whoever wins the Monopoly gets these chocolates.”

“What if my snake wins?” Alix asked, holding up the reptile in question. “He doesn’t eat chocolate.”

“Wait, is your snake playing too?!”

“Yeah. I taught him how last weekend. He’s really good.”

Kim frowned. “Uh, okay… well if he wins then he can like… go find a mouse and eat it or something. And I can just eat these mystery chocolates myself, like the mystery person intended.”

The snake knew how to play Monopoly? Max had known that queen cobras were smart, but he hadn’t realized they were quite that smart. He made a very important decision – this time he was pulling out all the stops. There was no way he could lose a game of Monopoly to a snake. He had to beat it. At all costs.

They set up the board, and the game that followed was surprising to say the least. The first person to lose was Kim, and he immediately began rooting for Max to win (probably because he wanted a kiss – though Max was definitely intending on giving him one no matter who won). The second person to lose was Alix. Somehow, the snake was still going. It used its tail to roll the dice, collect money, and push its counter along the board.

“This is ridiculous,” Max muttered, landing on yet another hotel. “I’m losing to a snake.”

The snake hissed at him and took his money. All of it.

Wait… surely that couldn’t be right…

“Let me double check that.”

The snake handed the money back, and Max counted it. Then he counted it again, and then one last time just to make sure.

Nope. The snake was right. Max had just gone bankrupt.

“Congratulations,” he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Please give me tips sometime.”

The snake just stared at him for a few seconds, almost looking as if it was judging him, and then curled back up onto Alix’s arm.

“Nice work, pal,” she said, standing up. “Anyway you guys, I’ve got to go settle a bet with Chloé, she said there was no way my snake could win at Monopoly, so now she has to buy him new sunglasses…”

Max just watched in complete disbelief as she and that dratted snake left without another word. How could he have lost to a snake? A snake???

He felt Kim poking him in the arm.

“Hey sweetie, you still want those chocolates?”

Sweetie. Kim had called him a cute nickname. A reminder that they were sweethearts now as well as best friends. Max gulped down the well of emotions rising within him.

“But I didn’t win…”

“It’s okay. When I made the rules I wasn’t counting the snake. Out of me, you, and Alix, you’re the winner. So you get the chocolates.”

He passed the box of chocolates to Max.

“Oh Kim, it’s alright, you don’t have to!”

“Yes I do,” Kim said, putting an arm around Max. “I probably shouldn’t eat these anyway. Remember what happened the last time I ate loads of chocolate?”

Oh yes, the winter party…

“You have a point,” Max said. “Alright, I’ll have the chocolates then. Thank you.”

“And um… does this mean I kiss you now?”

Kim was blushing again. Instead of replying, Max just pushed down all his nervousness and gave Kim a quick kiss, feeling a huge rush of adrenaline as he did so. Was he ever going to get used to that? Part of him didn’t even want to get used to it. It was oddly nice. It didn’t make sense that it should be, but it was.

“By the way,” Max said, hoping he wasn’t sounding quite as flustered as he felt, “you don’t have to ask next time… sweetie…”

“Mmkay…”

Kim was looking far too starstruck to be able to speak properly, so Max just gave his hand a quick squeeze and stood up to leave. He grabbed the box of chocolates – he couldn’t wait to treat himself to these later. Who were these even from, anyway?

“See you later,” Max said. “I’ll let you know how the chocolates are.”

Kim just nodded, still with that dopey smile on his face. Why did it look so cute?! Max waved goodbye and hurried out of the room before he was tempted to just kiss Kim again.

For the next several hours, though he had been intending to maybe read a book or do something productive, there was nothing in Max’s room that did not remind him of Kim. The desk chair? Kim loved to sit on it and spin around like an adorable fool. The closet? Well, both Kim and Max were going to have to come out of one of those to their countries at some point… The luxury four-poster bed that all royalty students were supplied with? He and Kim had sat on there plenty of times, chatting for hours and hours on lazy, blissful afternoons.

Feeling hot and restless, Max opened the window and breathed in the cool winter air. That was a little better. It was already so dark outside. Of course, this area of the Bourgeois Empire was at a much higher latitude than he was used to, so during the winter months there were fewer sunlight hours and the temperatures were much lower…

Oh, he had taught Kim that. Not even at school, but much longer ago, at a summer camp one year far to the north, where little Kim had not understood why the sun didn’t set until late into the night. Max remembered telling Kim about how the seasons worked scientifically, and feeling his heart flutter at seeing this handsome friend of his staring at him with such concentration in his eyes, like he was fascinated with every word Max was saying…

Okay, he was being a dork. A hopeless dork. Time to actually do something other than daydreaming over his new sweetheart.

He picked up his phone to send a message to Alix. She would be annoyed if all he did was talk to her about Kim, right? So at least that would force his brain to think of something else. If there was one thing Max was an expert at, it was thinking.

Another guess for the lift: that was when you taught your snake to play Monopoly?

He was still curious about that lift thing. Would he ever find out? Or would he spend his entire life never knowing, never being able to correctly guess?

Nice try, but no.

Oh. Right. Well, it would be hard to teach a snake Monopoly with no example of the board game available nearby. Time for more guesses.

Breath-holding competition?

Thinking logically, it was likely to have been a competition of some kind. Max knew his friends too well at this point.

Closer. But still no.

Hmm. There were only a limited number of things one could have done in a lift with no outside interaction. Even if it was a competition, there weren’t many things he could think of. He knew it hadn’t been another kissing competition, and it couldn’t have been an eating competition if they had no food with them–

Food! The chocolates!

Maybe this was a good time to treat himself to some of those. He grabbed the box and lay back on the bed. Opening the box up, he saw that there was a good selection of chocolates to choose from. They all looked great!

He picked out one of them and was about to eat it when he noticed that the light in his room was flickering slightly. Not wanting to get a migraine, he put the chocolate down and stood up. Better to get the lightbulb changed sooner rather than later, right? At least this part of the empire was advanced enough not to have to use candles or gas lamps, or whatever people had used in the old days.

Upon closer inspection he realized that the light itself was not flickering. There was a moth that must have flown in through the open window and was now fluttering around the bulb, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Well, that was a lot easier to deal with. Max was not afraid of insects – or spiders, of course.

Using his jacket to be able to reach that high, he tried to wave the moth in another direction. If he could just get it back out of the window and then close it, that would be perfect! But of course, the silly thing just refused to come away from the light, didn’t it…

It was at least ten minutes of unsuccessful moth-removal attempts before he gave up. Maybe the moth would leave in the daytime. For now he could deal with the flickering. He sat back on the bed and picked up the chocolate, hoping it would distract him from the annoyance of having that moth around.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Would that be Kim? Max couldn’t stop his hopes shooting up. There was no real reason for Kim to be visiting him right now, but hey, Kim was a very romantic person, maybe he just felt like going to see his sweetheart again. Maybe he wanted some of the chocolates. Whatever the reason, Max was always glad to see him.

Putting the chocolate down again, he went to open the door, only to see that it was not Kim. It was Alix. And she did not look happy. She hadn’t even brought her snake with her. Something must be serious.

“You didn’t eat the chocolates, did you?”

For some reason she sounded like she was on the verge of tears, something Max did not hear very often at all considering how tough she always acted. Surprised, he just shook his head.

“Oh, thank god…”

The next thing he knew, he had been wrapped in a hug. A very, very tight hug. Max was used to tight hugs, considering that he spent most of his time with Prince Kim of all people, but this was on another level entirely.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Just… d-don’t eat those chocolates… okay?”

She was definitely crying now, that much he could tell, and still clinging onto him for dear life.

“Why?” he asked, managing to pull her into the room enough that he could close the door. He doubted she would want anyone passing by to catch her having a meltdown, or whatever was happening right now.

In any case, her only reply was to mumble something about timelines, and then hug him even tighter, so much that his ribs must have been close to cracking. She had a lot of strength for someone so small.

Right… timelines. In other words, there was probably a very confusing explanation for all this.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, realizing as he said it that it was a very stupid question which he already knew the answer to, considering that she was crying into his shoulder right now.

“It’s not me you should be worried about!” she said suddenly, finally pulling back enough for him to see her teary face. “Max, those chocolates are poisoned. I know, because… the t-timelines just branched again, and… I just… I just saw you… you ate the… the…”

Unable to go on, she leaned into his chest, bursting into a fresh wave of tears.

The chocolates were poisoned? So then that must mean… was he interpreting this right? In another timeline, he must have already eaten a chocolate. A poisoned chocolate.

Oh… no wonder she was freaking out.

He put his arms around her properly. “It’s okay. I didn’t eat any chocolates in this timeline, I promise. I’m fine.”

That didn’t seem to help her much. For at least the next few minutes she carried on crying, clearly trying in vain to get her tears under control. Max remembered her mentioning that apparently the emotions of other timelines could affect her too, like what had happened in the summer holidays, which would explain why she was so overwhelmed despite nothing having happened in this timeline. Or something like that. She had never quite explained it properly. And if this was the kind of pain her powers could bring, then it was no wonder she didn’t like talking about it.

A strange sense of dread was settling over him. If those chocolates really were poisoned, then how close had he been to eating them? What if Kim had eaten them, as intended? And why were they poisoned? Where did they even come from?

Something was very, very wrong.

Eventually Max managed to prise Alix off him, sitting her down and giving her a glass of water. He very carefully put the chocolate back in the box and put it right on the opposite side of the room. He had been so ridiculously close to eating it. Too close for comfort…

He filled a glass of water for himself too and then sat down beside her. She seemed to have somewhat calmed down by now, though there were still silent tears running down her cheeks.

“So,” he said, trying not to sound too pushy, “what happened?”

She put her empty glass on the table, having finished rather quickly. “I’ve already had to deal with a timeline where me and my snake were the ones who died. I guess it’s your turn now.”

Died?

Max felt a chill run down him. Of course he knew many poisons did kill, but he hadn’t yet quite connected the dots in his head. Now, though…

“How exactly did it happen?” he asked, pushing down his fear. Hopefully she would be okay with talking about it.

“In the other timeline I was just in my room, like I was now, and you had been sending me stupid messages and whatever. And then I got one that just said ‘SOS’. So I came to your room, and you were d-doubled over, and managed to tell me that the chocolates t-tasted bitter and weird and now you – you were like dying, and I tried to take you to the medical centre but you – you – right in my arms – just–”

She had started crying again and couldn’t carry on, but Max didn’t want to hear any more anyway. That had been creepy enough without more details.

“So in this timeline, you ran right here to check up on me,” he said. “That moth up near the light stopped me eating the chocolate long enough for you to arrive, so I’m guessing that must be what caused the timelines to split. Perhaps the moth wasn’t there in the poisoned chocolates timeline. So the other Max wasn’t distracted, and ate a chocolate around ten minutes earlier.”

Thinking about things from a logical, detached point of view was the only way to stop the terrifying reality of this situation from seeping into his brain and lodging itself there, haunting him forever. Another thought occurred to him – one that felt like a ray of hope in all the darkness.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly. “I was about to eat a chocolate when you came here and warned me. And, well… maybe I’m not alive in another timeline, but in this one, it’s thanks to you that I’m still breathing…”

She hugged him again, more gently this time, and he gladly accepted it. His brain was almost certainly starting to malfunction in the way that it did when he had occasional breakdowns – though at least this time he had a good reason. Knowing that this was affecting him didn’t help. Having his best friend hold him tight did make a difference, though. Hearing her uneven breathing in his ear, odd strands of hair brushing the side of his face, her tears dripping onto his shirt, knowing that she needed him right now more than ever, and that if it wasn’t for her then he would have suffered a painful death…

How could he ever have taken her for granted?

“I can’t lose you, okay?” she said, still hugging him for reassurance. “I love you, you stupid nerd, you’re my best friend! I’m not having you die on me because of a freaking chocolate! You – you mean too much to me, okay? I never say it enough so I’m saying it now ‘cause I don’t know what’s gonna happen and you might just die any second and I can’t take that, you deserve so much better, you’re just – you’re my best friend in the whole damn universe – and–”

Hearing her cry once again was putting Max himself on the verge of tears too, and he knew that both of them being an emotional wreck would be a bad idea. Back to logical thinking for now. The emotions could wait. Alix needed him right now, he had to hold himself together, even in the face of such a near-death event.

“The most important thing is that I’m alive and well, thanks to you.” He hugged her a little closer, hoping that would comfort her somewhat. His brain continued working, his train of thought carrying on out loud. “You know what? It’s a good thing Kim gave these chocolates to me. They were obviously meant for him, and since they’re poisoned, this seems like a deliberate assassination attempt. Which means that…”

A pang of panic hit him full force. Kim was in danger.

Forget logic, forget thinking. Now the real breakdown was happening. Someone was trying to kill Kim, and it was by chance alone that they hadn’t succeeded.

He had meant to say more, but now he simply couldn’t. The thought of Kim being the victim of a real assassination attempt had zapped him of every last piece of resolve he had. Was he crying? Maybe he was crying. None of his senses were working all of a sudden. All he could think about was Kim.

“Max. Dude.” Alix had stopped hugging him and was holding him at arm’s length, looking more determined now. He hadn’t noticed. “If someone is trying to kill Kim, I am gonna kill them first. I’m not having either of my best friends die. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

Max nodded. She was right, wasn’t she? They had to find out what was going on and stop it. They had to save Kim’s life.

The thought gave him just the tiniest flickers of strength, enough for his resolve to return. He clenched his fists.

“You’re right,” he said. “No more leaving things to chance. We must take fate into our own hands, and find a way to protect Kim and stop the assassin.”

For the first time that evening, she smiled. It was small and weak, but at least it was there.

“No more bad timelines,” she said.

“No more bad timelines,” he repeated. “Alix… we are going to solve a mystery.”

[tiny-tragedies]

thinking about the ex today. it’s funny--i don’t normally think about her, or try not to. because it hurts, and i know i should be over it (am over it, mostly, even if the lingering impacts are what caused me to lose all my friends, my support network, so much more)

but today, i am thinking about the ex’s other ex gf. we’ll call her V.

V and the ex dated, and during this time I was in love with the ex, and all three of us were close. when i dated the ex, V and the ex were still dating (all poly, all known, not cheating or anything). I’ve kissed V, before. V’s comforted me. 

it’s been years since we talked probably. V doesn’t care for me, I am sure, and I can only imagine I am bad memories for her, if I am any memories.

i can’t stop thinking about her.

can’t stop thinking about how even though i kiss awfully apparently, V was polite when she said it: “interesting”. i think about those bad nights, where V came by, actually sat with me, didn’t get caught up in the People of things, treated me like *i* could be a person. i think about how she complimented my art, which is nameless and faceless, just colors and useless shit i try to use to get emotions out and fail to do. 

i think about how we almost kissed--for us, not for the ex like before. the ex had left the room, and V and i stood there, maybe a foot apart, tension between us. i am sure i read the room right, that V wanted to kiss me too. it couldn’t just be me feeling it. but neither of us did, because i’m a fucking scared pussy who can’t initiate anything and she, she was respectful, and also probably put off by me. 

there was tentative affection there— careful, like they were both worried about fucking things up and didn’t know exactly how to proceed.   [x]

i think about the time the ex and V had awkward piv while i lay in bed next to them, not secretive, fully aware i was there and awake and kinda of a participant in some strange way, and i wanted to participate but was too scared, too caught up

Jack knew all about how Jesse looked collared for Gabriel; how he sounded, the way he moved, the scenes they did together.  Jesse knew all the same things about Jack, and it hovered unspoken in the air between them, a tension neither of them could cut through. [x]

i think about the time V and i touched the ex together, me on one side of the bed, the ex between us, but it was all three of us sharing that moment. think about the time V and i first kissed, and the ex was focused only on her, oh that’s how she looks doing that.

“Keep going,” he said, voice raw.  Fragile in a way that made Jesse feel both powerful and terrified.

He hadn’t considered what this would be like for Gabriel.  Both the men he loved, learning the taste of one another. The touch, the scent, the sound.  [x]

i think about the time i cried on my floor, afraid to want to date the ex, because i loved her so, so much in a way i shouldn’t, i loved her so deeply and desperately and she didn’t love me quite as much back. but she said we could date. and V was fine with it. V was fine with the ex’s fiancee. and V was fine with me. even though she broke up with the ex later because the ex’s choice in another partner, because V “couldn’t do poly” when clearly it was just that person. because *i* was okay. i was just me.

He slept in there every night he spent on base.  He laid in Gabe’s bed, and talked back and forth with Jack on a holoscreen on a weekly basis, if not more often.  He wasn’t walking into a firing line.

It was just Gabriel and Jack.  [x]

and right now, i can’t stop thinking about how when V and the ex broke up, V and i talked (because i was the only one who Got it, who understood how the ex really was, not a monster, but a flawed person). and V said after winter break, when we got back, maybe we could be friends--talk, spend time together, develop our thing. it wasn’t explicit--we date--or anything like that. but there was an implication, that our growing connection could grow some more. again:

there was tentative affection there— careful, like they were both worried about fucking things up and didn’t know exactly how to proceed.   [x]

V came back from break, immediately started dating a mutual friend A, who i ended up hating and friend breaking up with. dated them and never looked back, until maybe this fall when V realized what a piece of shit that friend is too.

and the friend was good for V, i’m sure, better than i ever could have been. but god, it sometimes feels like something was stolen from me. no anger or bad vibes directed toward V--it’s all toward the universe. but it hurts, so much some days. any days, if i think about it.

i haven’t thought about it in so long. haven’t felt like it mattered. after all, the ex was the one who wrecked me, even without meaning to. who ruined parts of my life, helped me dismantle and destroy them. 

it’s been too many years. too long. too much. 

i would still give V the time of day, would still want to learn her, if it was ever allowed. (it will never be allowed).

i texted V last night, well, text snapchatted. not “you’re beautiful like a hibiscus flower”, send horribly spelled when drunk. not anger, not passing angry messages about A, not about her partner. not guilt, not about all the things i’ve done that ruined her life for a year. 

just, “Read a fanfic recently that viscerally took me back four years. Just wanted to say I hope you’re well, because you ended up on my mind. Hope that’s not too weird.”

she read it, no reply. not yet, probably not ever. it hurts deep in my chest. again:

there was tentative affection there— careful, like they were both worried about fucking things up and didn’t know exactly how to proceed.   [x]

god i just wish i could have been good enough.

[i-am-very-very-tired]

I feel like if you're a weirdly shy kid, you end up taking to very divergent paths during the pubescent years: Either you commit to your true introvert nature, or you light up like a mega-annoying supernova and start yammering off all the weird shiz you've been keeping locked inside yourself for your whole life all at once. I fell firmly into the second camp. Over the course of several years, I went from the mousy kid in overalls to an awkwardly outspoken baby horse who didn't quite yet know how to be funny but was going to try, dammit. And apparently "trying to not be so shy anymore" actually just meant being very, very loud.

Maybe this isn't true for everyone, but for me, once the words started spilling out, everyone was a little shocked by not only how much of an over-sharer I was, but how ridiculously loud I was when I did it. TURNS OUT TALKING IS SUPER FUN, GUYS. I have fully accepted the fact that I am the sidekick in everyone else's rom-com by virtue of the fact that I feel the need to loudly and sassily narrate not just my life, but everyone else's. You know when someone says something really awkwardly and loudly and shuts down a whole room in less than a second? Yeah, that's me. It would be great if I could be either awkward OR loud, but that's not how life works. For the most part, you end up being both if you're either.

I feel like loud talkers never choose to be that way — It just kind of happened to us. I am aware that I do it, but not necessarily aware when it is happening, or I would probably, you know, shut myself up. Fortunately, I am not as blind to social cues as I am deaf, so it's not like I am projecting my CRAZY IDINA MENZEL LOUD BELTING speaking voice everywhere I go. But if I'm in a comfortable, normal social situation — especially if I'm excited about something — you can be sure that the volume is going to go increasingly higher until someone has the good sense and kind mercy to stop me. Until that happens, here are some of the struggles that natural loud-talkers face:

Strangers always think there is an emergency

You know how the sarcastic people of the world are always saying annoying stuff like, "Where's the fire?" Well, when people as loud as I am walk into a room, they are genuinely asking (and probably already preparing to make a run for it).

Everybody always knows you’re a tourist

Specifically, everyone knows you're American. The times I've traveled abroad, I've gotten someone chuckling at how loud I was at least once a day. I'm pretty sure I breathe too loudly by European standards. Jeez, SORRY FOR LIVING.

You’re the most self-conscious laughing in movie theaters

There's always That Person who awkwardly laughs really loudly at something that was only mildly funny and makes everyone in the room instantly uncomfortable. I am That Person. The fact that my laugh is about as loud and strident as a guard dog's bark doesn't help, either.

You get told to “calm down” 90% more than other humans

People assume that volume = PANIC. I could be having a regular conversation about which cereal I'm eating and people would be like, "Learn some chill, please." And when we actually are upset about something, people think we're drastically and over-dramatically upset, even though we are just mildly upset at a high volume.

People just assume you are an extrovert

This is true of most loud-talkers, but some of us only loud-talk with people we know and love. Just because our voices are turned up with our friends doesn't mean we're, like, ready to address to UN tomorrow morning.

Sometimes you notice that you’re doing it, but you CANNOT STOP

Welcome to the train wreck of my life. Sometimes I'm even loud in my own ears, and trying to bring it down subtly without calling attention to the fact that your voice just dropped 1.6 million decibels is a struggle bus.

Somebody shooshing you is the worst moment of your life

The memory of every time I have been shooshed by a stranger is burned into my memory forever. I almost can't even continue typing because the retroactive embarrassment is that paralyzing.

Hearing a recording of your voice is profoundly upsetting

Especially if there are other people's voices in the background, the contrasting volume of which will give you an idea of just how freaking loud you really are.

Teachers always caught you talking in class

Loud-talkers can't get away with anything. One time, I muttered an answer to a question I hadn't been called on for in middle school — or thought I muttered it, at least. The teacher was all #ragesauce at me for the rest of the day. Similar shenanigans went down on a bi-weekly basis until I graduated from college.

Even when you WEREN’T talking in class, they blamed you

LITERALLY THE WORST. I was so careful to clam up in class, and multiple times teachers would be all, "Don't think I can't hear you all talking!" and then zero their angry teacher eyes right at me. INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GABBING!

If you ever talk quietly, people assume something is wrong

Nope, just thought I'd give you guys a five second break from being deafened against your will. Everything's chill.

It’s way more obvious whenever you mispronounce something

The virtues of being a mumbler is that nobody's like "it's HOW-stun street, incomparable disgustingly useless moron". (Nobody has actually said those words out loud at me, but they did with their eyes.)

Losing your voice is like getting cut off from the planet

When I lose my voice, I'm basically Sandra Bullock in Gravity, untethered from the space ship that is humanity. And the worst part is, you just keep trying to talk at your normal level, so loud-talkers basically turn into aggressive donkeys whenever they're sick.

You live in constant fear of interrupting someone

Sorry, were you trying to say something? I couldn’t hear you over my BULLDOZER VOICE.

YOU ARE A FREQUENT ABUSER OF CAPS LOCK

HOW ELSE ARE YOU GOING TO APPROPRIATELY GET YOUR POINT ACROSS IF THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU?!?!

Meeting with fellow loud-talkers is a beautiful nightmare

Beautiful for you. A nightmare for everybody else.

You’ll probably never be a spy

Or anything requiring subtlety, really. I should tell my future children the truth about Santa while they’re still in the womb. It's not that I can't keep a secret — secrets can't keep me.

[neoraven]

What’s Joe Watching? Summer of 2017.

Here is a bunch of stuff that started airing from June through August and my brief thoughts. There is some miscellaneous stuff I might lump in another post- game shows, Twin Peaks, docs, sports- but this covers a lot of the scripted type things, new and returning. Without further ado,

6/11 - Claws (TNT) I watched a little bit of this, and despite the appeal of Dean Norris playing a sadistic pimp named "Uncle Daddy", it wasn't my cup of tea. A lot of people really enjoy it, though!

6/14 - Blood Drive (SyFy) This is a fun grindhouse/exploitation affair that I've been watching in spurts(pun intended) of 2 or 3 eps at a time.

6/20 - Wrecked s2 (TBS) Started this, still dug it, and decided to wait for the season to finish and watch the rest all at once. That's really my favorite way to do these great little TBS comedies.

6/22 - The Night Shift s4 (NBC) I'm not current on this, but I have been enjoying catching up on Netflix as a Grey's Anatomy alternative. It's a bizarro Texas version with different disasters and even less regard for medical and scientific norms.

6/23 - GLOW (Netflix) Binged it, loved it, delighted that it's renewed and there will be some more later. Made it into my top list of the first half of 2017 at the buzzer, so to speak.

6/29 - Zoo s3 (CBS) I love this really stupid and wild disaster. I'm still idly catching up on Netflix, but I'm just happy that it's still going.

6/30 - Gypsy (Netflix) Finally, a show Netflix found bad enough to immediately shitcan. I didn't watch it, and don't plan to, but it's a little refreshing to know that there are viewing numbers so low to get something pulled without delay.

7/5 - Snowfall (FX) Luke warm reviews and then I just kinda forgot about it. Might watch later. Still possible I binge watch this.

7/7 - Castlevania (NFX) Not a little. More than a few reviews claimed that it was an annoying prequel to what might be a fun series. Maybe I'll watch then!

7/8 - Tour de Pharmacy (HBO) This was completely fucking hilarious. If I had to rank them, it'd be just slightly below the earlier 7 Days Of Hell. And I'm on board for whatever they do next.

7/10 - Will (TNT) No! I do not need any more sexy William Shakespeare in my life.

7/12 - Suits s7 (USA) No chance in hell that I'll catch up, but I'm vaguely interested in this series and think I'd like it.

Salvation (CBS) I watched the pilot and set a DVR season pass. It looks like another goofy disaster like Zoo that I'll slowly watch when I have nothing better to do.

I'm Sorry (Tru) This seems quirky and funny and got solid reviews, but I just haven't checked it out yet.

7/14  - Friends From College (NFX) Nah. UPDATE: This got renewed somehow? I'm just a little bit intrigued, but probably not.

7/16 - Game of Thrones s7 (HBO) Tried, but no. UPDATE: watched episode 4 and I guess I'll watch the rest of it because of Dragon reasons.

The Strain s4 (FX) Not catching up. But Vampires are cool.

7/17 - Loaded (AMC) Not very interested in this, but it's at least a mildly interesting premise. And I'm interested in seeing AMC somewhat flail in their strategy post-Breaking Bad/Mad Men.

7/18 - Shooter s2 (USA) Slowly watching season 1. Might catch up to this at some point, but I'm not entirely digging it.

7/21 - Ozark (NFX) I only got a couple minutes into this. Very dreary monologue UPDATE: This got renewed, I will probably watch it.

7/23 - Ballers s3 (HBO) Not catching up. Entourage 2 just keeps on going though. I do think The Rock is a vastly more lovable executive producer and mild basis than fucking Mark Wahlberg.

Insecure s2 (HBO) Still wanna. The reviews are so great.

7/24 - Midnight Texas (NBC) Bad reviews turned me off.

Somewhere Between (ABC) Not super interested, but it's at least a good premise.

People of Earth s2 (TBS) Definitely on my to-watch list, whenever I finish season 1.

7/28 - The Last Tycoon (AMZ) Still waiting to get into this I guess sometime? I might never watch it.

Room 104 (HBO) Have access to this On Demand, will most likely watch sometime!

8/1 - Manhunt: Unabomber (Discovery) WHAT? It's a docu-drama type series covering, you guessed it, the Unabomber. WHO? Paul Bettany, Jane Lynch, and Sam Worthington WHY? Jane Lynch is playing Janet Reno. It seems like it's riding on The People vs OJ's coat tails, but I'm still a little interested.

I have all of this one DVRed, and will catch up on it sometime! Still pretty interested.

8/2 - The Sinner (USA) WHAT? Jessica Biel goes to the beach one day and stabs a stranger in the neck to death and is catatonic afterwards. Probably a foreign remake. WHO? Jessica Biel, and Bill Paxton tries to figure out why. WHY? It's just a really bizarre premise, and I'm probably just getting inundated with the ads and stockholm syndrome.

This has also been DVRed and I'm waiting to watch more of it all together instead of weekly. Also this is where I stopped doing all the super detailed previews of each show, sorry.

8/3 - The Guest Book (TBS) Have these recorded! I'm gonna watch. In some random order or time.

The Chris Gethard Show (TruTV) -Haven't checked it out, but I'm still mildly interested.

8/4 - Comrade Detective (Amazon) -Am definitely going to check this out at some point.

Voltron s3 (Netflix) -There's a lot to catch up to get here. But I have generally liked this show.

Wet Hot American Summer s2 (Netflix) I generally loved this and watched it extremely fast!

8/6 - Sharknado 5 (Syfy) -I missed the live tweet event, but there's always the chance I lose my remote or find myself in a desperate moment on Netflix and watch this anyways.

8/10 - SNL Weekend Update Summer Edition (NBC) -This had that godawful tonedeaf Tina Fey cake eating moment and well, that was enough for me.

8/12 - Ducktales (Disney XD) -Might see this at some point!

8/18 - Marvel's The Defenders (Netflix) -Binge watched just over half of it immediately. Will watch the exciting finale in due time.

8/19 - Halt and Catch Fire s4 (AMC) -I have too much of this to catch up and not enough time. I'm really psyched to get into this show/finish it at some point though!

8/20 - The Last Ship s4 (TNT) -Not gonna catch up on it, just mentioning it due to my love of Dr. Eric Sloan from Grey's Anatomy and this high concept premise.

Episodes s5 (Showtime) -I ditched Joey in Man With a Plan and Joey, BUT maybe I will like this? The premise seems interesting, and it isn't too long to catch up on. But I haven't even started yet.

Dice s2 (Showtime) -I have no desire to see anything that Andrew Dice Clay is selling, HOWEVER, I'm just impressed this show somehow garnered another season.

8/25 - Disjointed (Netflix) -I generally love weed, but this looks obnoxious. Not sure if I'm going to try it or not. Liking Kathy Bates and not liking Chuck Lorre stuff just balances out, I 'spose.

The Tick (Amazon) -Months back, I watched the pilot episode and was really cold on this. But, I am weak, and the commercials look generally engaging and are convincing me to give this another try soon.