#to express love in a way that is valued or safe or meaningful . oh yeah

[allegoryofthebeast]

S3 I am soo curious to get Lestat’s perspective on his relationship with Claudia and probably delve into the more rounded and complex parts of their bond that Louis couldn’t remember/articulate as a third party and that the love they had for each other wasn’t solely for placation

[morelikeastrhoelogy]

Some astrological opinions

(positivity edition)

This is from a Cap pov ✨

Aries : Alrighty Aries ! I don’t have many Aries friends in my life, but I am an Aries moon and what I can say about the few Aries people I met is : even if you can be very confrontational and impulsive, at least I know you’re speaking what you truly think on the instant - like, you aren’t the type to stab people in the back, you stab your opponent and look him/her in the eyes. And do you know how rare it is nowadays ? Sometimes you can judge one’s moral values by the way they treat their own enemies. Also, you guys are young souls in the reincarnation cycle, hence why you often got so much energy to make bold choices or actions - and honestly, that’s refreshing, we need to feel new energies in our lives, which you always bring with yourselves ! 🔥

Taurus : Tauruses, I’m always so protective with you, I think you are so underrated ! Perhaps that’s because you are so reliable ? You are among the first people I instinctively trust when I get in a new school, a new town, and once you start sticking around someone, you don’t let them down - this may be part of your stubborn attitude ahah. You are what I would call « root » friends, and what’s really delightful with you is that we don’t necessarily need to know each other’s full life stories to share nice and warm moments together. Simple friendships are sometimes what we need the most to reconnect with ourselves, and you are the kind of people that always make people feel home. Also ? You know how to keep your close friends’ secrets - which don’t prevent you from judging them though 👀

Gemini : Alright, two of my very good friends are Gemini, and let me tell you : you guys are the people that make Caps like me feel fun when I have to do social interactions. There’s such a fun, dynamic energy with you and it’s contagious, you are my partners in crime and actually, long-lasting ones. For Earth signs, I think you bring this light-hearted vibes we desperately need sometimes, and I think the world would be definitely less bold and less funny without you to try out things I would secretely regret not trying. Also, when it comes to serious issues, you are among the first to help, even when I expect it the least, which makes you more trustworthy than what the cliché says. I wouldn’t say reliable though, but it’s not a criticism, it’s more because you have so many projects that you can easily adapt or change your plans depending on what you’re currently interested in. I’m speaking more specifically of Gemini girls here btw - sorry guys, I really don’t know you much... 🌪

Cancer : Cancers, you are the sweetest, most genuine and softest people I’ve ever known. I thank the Universe for sending you in my life, because you are the people that help me learning to embrace a softer, more vulnerable side of my personality, especially Cancer boys, who are among my best friends. As an Earth sign (and a Cap), I’d say we complete each other’s needs, and you guys bring us emotional liberation, which is priceless. You always care for you friends and you deserve to be cared about just as much, please don’t forget this. Also, Cancer girls : you are f i e r c e. And you know how many meanings can this word hold for you. 🧡

Leo : A round of applauses for the Diva of the Zodiac ! While it is true most of my Leo relatives and friends love attention and drama, they are actually the sweetest when their affection comes right from the heart and not from the ego. Most of them hold their eccentricity from a lowkey lack of confidence, though. You are the type of friends who will act generously to show your love, you just love to find the right attention for each of your friends and honestly, I am grateful for having a few Leo relatives because they always help me bringing out a more extrovert and fun side, just like Geminis. I’d say the difference with you and Geminis are that your energy comes from the fire of your heart while Geminis are literally free, non-rigid spirits, which give them the same vibes but I’d say you’re a bit more of a sentimentalist compared to them. Finally, I’d like to say that my father figure was a Leo too and he wasn’t necessarily « extra » like the cliché, Leos can be quiet and humble too, but their generous, affectionate heart will always betray them - when it’s not your ego, ahah. 🦁

Virgo : Dear Earth fellow, I think Caps and Virgos are very similar in their rational way of thinking and organizing their life. Along with Tauruses, you feel safe and I just know I can rely on you when I have a project going on. I’m not necessarily talking about business project, although it could be : it can be something personal, which is much more important, and I know I can trust you to have my back. You are very protective when you love someone - and also ? quite kinky for some of you. Yeah, people say you are control freaks, that you have a problem with authority but you know what ? Most of the Virgos I know don’t have that problem, or rather : they start off like this, and with time, they become of the chillest friends I know, unless when they start panicking about something they didn’t expect or didn’t know how to handle. You sure don’t like to feel your ego hurt, and you won’t spare your words when you attack back, but that’s also because you do know how to choose your words, almost like Water signs, but in a more calculating way - and I mean it in a neutral way, like it can be used to find peace in a argument too, because you are very observant of the people around you, what triggers them and what appeases them. 🦢

Libra : Libras, you’re going to hate me for making such a short passage for you, but truth is... I literally don’t know any Libra in my life. However, from what I know and the few Libras I met in my life, I’d like to say you do stand out with your aesthetic. People say you are always good-looking, but I think this beauty mostly comes out of the fact that your appearance matches your soul, your way of feeling and embracing yourself - and that’s incredibly sexy. Also, that’s definitely something ethereal with you, you are a free spirit like Gemini but even more regarding your social life. You don’t want to be chained to relationships, you let them go with the flow and I think that also comes from your intellectual and emotional attachment to freedom - like the other Air signs. ☁️

Scorpio : I don’t really get the hate around Scorpios. Just like Pisces, they are among the most loyal, dedicated and caring friends I’ve known, even if they may have some trouble expressing what they feel intensely. I don’t mind it, personally, I love how meaningful their little gestures can be, you just know it comes from a honest place ! Your friendships are solid ones too, once someone got your heart. People say you might be manipulative, but again, isn’t it the same reproach for every Water signs ? Tbh, unlike Pisces, I’ve seen you guys be criticized most of the time because of your blunt honestly, and not your lies. You’ re too proud not to say what’s on your mind when it matters to you. Finally, I also love your creativity, I think yours is quite underrated compared to the other Water signs’, I mean, when you channel your intensity into art, you guys come up with such great ideas, I had so much fun writing stories with my Scorpio friend ! 🖤

Sagittarius : My sis is a Sagittarius, and as chaotic our relationship can be, I must admit there’s no one braver than her in my life. She has this fire, this willpower that has always allowed her to bounce back in hard times, and I think that’s what I find most inspiring in Sagittarius. You guys don’t hesitate, you just chase your goals and desires and it’s basically what’s life is for ! Just remember you are allowed to be vulnerable sometimes. Also, I think you are actually very very smart, but in a cooler, « no big deal »way than other signs (don’t get me wrong though : you know your worth, and you won’t hesitate reminding people), I guess that’s what makes your humor so witty ! Oh, and your fashion aesthetic ? It always carries a part of your personality, you aren’t the type to buy clothes that aren’t of the quality or the brands you like. I actually think you are quite fashionable, but always in your own style. 🐎

Capricorn : Alright my dear fellows, time to give the Goat some appreciation time. Of course one of my best friends is a Cap, because between goats, we understand each other. While it would be difficult to find the good parts of my Cap personality, it is so much easier with this friend. Caps are reliable and loyal, the friendships we offer is made of iron, and we rarely break them, unless we feel truly betrayed or used. Just like Tauruses, we don’t like drama, or at least, we don’t like to start dramas - but judging people ? Oh h o n e y.... Anyway, that’s probably because we have more maturity and mostly self-control in social interactions. Don’t get me wrong : on the inside, we can hold grudges forever as long as our ego thinks it’s important. So, yes we are proud beings, stubborn ones, but that’s also what makes us succeed in our goals and rarely give up, despite our fear of failure and disappointment. Also, I think we can all agree that we are funny as hell, in the goofiest or wittiest ways possible sometimes. Finally, I wanna conclude with something : on the emotional level, we are a lot similar to Scorpios. What we feel is so authentic and dedicated that we often have a hard time to express it, especially since we are also like Virgos in our way of observing people and calculating our words. We might fear it wouldn’t be worth the risk, so we keep it inside and express our love in subtle, yet genuine and protective ways, with gifts or caring advises for example. 🐐

Aquarius : Ohh, Aquarius, I had the most amazing and heart-breaking friendships with you. I know a lot of people have a negative experience with Aquarius, but I think that’s because our own expectations of them end up being betrayed instead of accepting them as they are, including their boundaries and their conception of relationships. You don’t owe anything to any of your friends, if this friend doesn’t stimulate you anymore, on an intellectual or emotional level, you won’t fake it, you won’t force it, you just follow your guts, even if that person used to be your best friend or that person you used to text every day and night. Friendships last as long as you have fuel to feed them with these free spirits. These old souls don’t have time anymore to keep superficial friendships for old time’s sake, they want mature, profound connexion, and when they actually fall in love and let down their rational, cold-looking wall ? They become devotee of their lover. There’s no in-between with you Aquariuses : it’s ride or die, the spiritual, intellectual or emotional connexions you share are intense, often fusional for a time, and the best thing to do with you is to enjoy it while it lasts and respect your boundaries. 🌬

Pisces : Let’s end up with the oldest souls of the zodiac ! Maybe the ancient age of your soul explains why you understand so well the mechanisms of the soul ? I think you definitely are the moms of the Zodiac, more than Cancers, but that’s a bit despite yourselves. You didn’t ask for this, it’s something you genuinely feel, as your soul remembers its past experiences. I do think most of you guys partly suffer from this empathy and these overflowing emotions when you don’t manage to channel them through exercices or art. Tragic thing is, when you reincarnate, you forget you are an old soul, and yet, you are born with the feelings and intuition of an old soul, which can take some times to figure out. I think this is the main reason why people often accuse you of being toxic or having boundary issues. That’s why I also don’t agree when people call you the baby of the zodiac. You are no baby, you are the oldest of them all, and you don’t know what to do with what your soul has acquired during all these past lives. Also, even if you are caring and very compassionate, you have to admit you do have a strong ego too. It’s okay, no need to repress it, everybody got one and we won’t throw rocks at you for showing it when you lose your temper 🌊

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 2 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 3,330

Logan is careful to leave an extra large tip for the barista this time (we’re talking plural twenties) as he takes his cup with a nod and smile. Gods above knows they’ve more than earned it by now, having seen more than their fair share of spats between Virgil and himself. Technically any number of spats higher than zero is more than their fair share, but still. He feels bad. So he tips extra.

There’s also the small matter of what, exactly, he plans to discuss today. No amount of tips in the world could prepare them (or Logan, frankly) for what kind of retaliation Virgil might unwittingly have in store. Well, a solid hundred might be a good start, but still. Logan is nervous.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told him,” Roman hisses, watching Logan sink into his usual seat by the window. “It’s been ages, Lo. You see your literal husband every single day. How could it have just not come up?”

“It just didn’t, okay?” Logan stares into his ceramic mug, his reflection murky and distorted by the ripples in the inky blackness. “Why do you think I asked you to come?”

“To act as a buffer and a witness for when Virgil literally tries to murder you?”

“Ha.” It’s the driest laugh Logan can manage as he takes a sip of his coffee, the bitterness drenching his tongue in a scalding liquid flame.

“Really though, I can’t believe you’ve waited this long. How has Virgil not, like, noticed you being at work for way more hours? The training hasn’t exactly been light—I mean, I can’t think of a single day I’ve seen you not be the last one out of the office. Training facility days and literal scuba diving prep excluded, obviously, but still. Wouldn’t that sort of thing come up eventually, be a point of contention, not seeing each other?”

“Maybe, if Virgil would bother to notice my being gone.” Logan scowls out the window, hoping to look cool and broody despite it being a vain and obvious attempt to ignore Roman glaring at him. “What? It’s not like it would’ve ever come up naturally! ‘Hey, Virgil, love of my life, light of my soul, I’m leaving you behind on this spinning hunk of rock to go study the secrets of the universe because one planet is too small for me? Don’t worry, though, I’m just going through a wormhole that’s literally only been theoretical outside of my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s office up until recently, and it’s only been tested in extremely controlled settings that don’t involve squishy organic matter?’ Yeah, that’d go over real well. Thanks for the tip, Roman, I’ll be sure to take it into consideration moving forward.”

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it.”

“Do I?” Logan reaches for the miniature lazy susan of coffee fixins and rips open a few sugar packets, pouring them into his cup and slugging it back before they have a chance to dissolve. “Then tell me, dearest, darlingest colleague and friend of mine. How would I go about sharing that news with my husband? I am open to suggestions.”

Roman pulls the lazy susan closer and snatches some of the creamers, starting up a shaky little tower. “Well, for one, you should’ve been smart like me and told him the day you found out it was even a possibility.”

“It wasn’t set in stone then.”

“And now, nearly a year later, it’s still not set in stone, and you still haven’t said anything. You’re still waiting for the go-ahead on the last round of necessary clearances, not to mention that the literal entire rest of the world still thinks you’re going to the moon.”

“And that’s their fault for assuming we’d needlessly fly more spaceships to the moon. Humanity’s already conquered that point of view, yeah? Not to mention that in doing so, we’ve proved exactly how inconsequential we as a species are in the grand scheme of things, and people assuming we don’t want to expand our reach only have themselves to blame when we exceed their wildest expectations.”

“You can wax poetic all you want about how little it all matters and how much we’ve yet to grow, but I sincerely doubt Virgil is going to care about all that when you tell him where you’ll be once this final request goes through.”

“Oh, like Virgil would’ve had any say in this to begin with. He’d tell me to stay home and stay safe and not expand humanity’s knowledge by any stretch of the imagination, because the least dangerous path in seeking meaning in life is to accept that there is none.”

Roman’s tower, now about seven creamers tall, comes rattling down to the table in an avalanche of white plastic. Logan scoots his cup out of the way in time to avoid it catching any projectiles.

“You want to run that last part by me one more time?” Roman finally asks, gathering the creamers back into a neat little pile. He doesn’t look at Logan as he poses the question.

“What, the meaninglessness of it all?”

“Or lack thereof, mister ‘I’m too wrapped up in my own pity party for my stagnating relationship to bother caring about the other person involved in the damn thing.’ I bet you’ve exchanged more words with me here and now than you have in the past year with Virgil.”

“Even if that were true, it’d be because I’ve been training for a mission, which you might understand if you’d accepted your spot on the crew.”

“What, and leave Patton? And Morgan and Ariel? And Virgil? With you gone, I’d hardly expect them to muddle through on their own. Shockingly enough, I have people who need me down here, and so do you. Not that you thought about that, of course, when you decided pretty much immediately after being asked that you wanted to go on a space death mission, even when I told you you should think on it.”

“We’ve been over this, okay? It’s not a death mission, and it’s nothing short of derivative for you to keep calling it that.”

“And what should I call it instead? A rocket careening through a tiny impossibility in the hopes of not dying on the other side of the solar system? Hell, the other side of the galaxy, for all we know. We’ve never seen anything organic go through a wormhole. We’ve hardly even seen inorganic matter pass through one!”

“Because we haven’t tried. Maybe just call it something like a space life mission if you want to be that dense, I don’t know. The whole point is that we’re advancing the limits of what we know, and pushing our preconceived ideas of our own limits to get there. This is what we need to know if we want to improve.”

“Right, right, because you’re absolutely one to talk about how meaningful life is, when you’re throwing yours away for the possibility of some cool space rocks.”

“That is not fair.”

“Then tell me what you think, yeah? What’s the value of life to a man who wants to risk it all for a maybe?”

“Meaningless, okay? It’s all meaningless, is that what you wanted to hear? Life is inherently meaningless, and it’s nothing more than a flaw of the human psyche for people to fool themselves into thinking otherwise.”

A silence falls, not only over the table but over the whole cafe, and Logan is suddenly very relieved that he remembered to leave a hefty tip. When Roman opens his mouth, Logan physically flinches away from his words.

“Life may be inherently meaningless, sure, but it’s a damned triumph of the human spirit to dare to think otherwise, so you can fuck right off with your little defeatist mentality, because I don’t want to hear it.”

With that, Roman shoves his chair back from the table and storms out of the cafe, leaving Logan alone at a table for four. He sinks lower in his seat, almost sitting on his back as he cranes his neck toward the ceiling, the chair backing digging into his spine. The consistent pattern of square tiles over his head would almost be reassuring, were it not for the discordant cracks and stains interrupting the flow. He closes his eyes in response to a light pounding that surfaces near his temples.

“Wow, weird day all around, huh?” Logan jerks up at the sound of Patton’s voice, accompanied by Virgil’s familiar footfalls. “Logan’s sleeping in the cafe, Roman’s pacing around outside, and Ariel’s professor moves up her exam? Maybe it’s a full moon.”

“It’s not a full moon,” Logan mumbles, straightening out his spine. He forces a smile onto his face as he sees Morgan peek out from behind Patton’s legs. “Hey, Morgs. How’s, um—” He hesitates, looking to Patton, who holds up three fingers. “How’s third grade treating you?”

Her face splits into a smile and she scrambles onto Roman’s vacated seat, sitting up on her knees and planting her hands on Logan’s shoulder for balance. “We just started learning division fact families with the triangle flashcards and the difference between a thundredth and a housandth—”

“Hundredth and thousandth,” Patton corrects gently.

Morgan nods, her pigtails whapping at her ears. “And the difference between a hundredth and a thousandth—one decimal place! Betcha didn’t know that, didja?”

“I had no idea,” Logan says solemnly. Morgan sticks her tongue out at him before getting distracted by Roman’s abandoned creamers, which she begins stacking.

“So, um, what’s Roman’s deal?” Virgil finally asks. “Looked pretty pissed outside. What, did you break the surprise news to him before us? Not go over too hot?”

“Oh, so Logan’s the one with the surprise news.” Patton flashes a bright grin, completely out of sync with his conspiratorial tone.

“As if I could come up with a surprise,” Virgil says, rolling his eyes and pushing Patton up against the window. “Patton, we’re two cis gay men. We can’t exactly surprise you with news of a pregnancy.”

“There’s always adoption,” Patton replies. He watches Morgan’s tower fall, the child not hesitating for a moment to start again. His face drips fondness and love, and Logan wonders whether he’s unknowingly worn that same expression himself. “Okay, so the news, then. Out with it.”

“Wait, hold up,” Virgil says. He patters his hands on the table like a drum roll, nudging Patton for him to join. Morgan only pouts for a moment at her crumbling towers before she adds her own rhythmless pounding. Once he’s seemingly satisfied with the build up, Virgil nods at Logan. “Okay, go ahead.”

It’s weird, to tell the truth. In the movies and the tv shows and the books and the stories and, well, in everything , the person sharing a secret always seems to struggle with it. They fumble their words, they say things out of order, they run it all together until it’s an unintelligible mess, they do everything in their power to keep a secret a secret. Logan almost wishes that were the case for him, rather than what actually happens.

“I’ve been accepted for a mission to Neptune that, on the surface, will present as a mission to the moon. Through the use of a wormhole, the logistics of which we’re still working out, a multi-decade journey could happen in a matter of months. That’s the news.”

A weird quiet falls, and there’s that word again, weird. It’s all weird, a weird mess of weirdness that Logan can’t really explain, because (again, weirdly ), this whole meetup feels like just another day in a coffeeshop with casual discussions about usual happenings. Everything is perfectly and profoundly ordinary, and it’s weird, and Logan doesn’t like it.

Also weird is Morgan, who’s still gleefully drumming away at the table. Patton gives her a look and she stops, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh,” Virgil finally says. Oh. That’s it. Just ‘oh.’ Oh. Not ‘wow,’ not ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner,’ not ‘what the hell is wrong with you, you flaming pile of absolute human garbage?’ Just oh.

Oh.

“Sorry,” Logan whispers, feeling something weird needling at the back of his eyes. He furrows his brow and shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sensation. It works, sort of. A few tears leak out, splattering against the table, but at least the needling stops.

Oh.

“Morgan,” Patton says carefully—too careful, too gentle, too quiet, too weird. “Why don’t you go hang out with Uncle Roman? I bet he’d love to hear about decimals. Bet he doesn’t know about the thousandth place.” Morgan, clearly unaware of the veil of weird that’s descended, sweeps an arm over her tower and books it for the door. The bell is still ringing as the creamers hit the floor, a few popping open and dripping puddles across the linoleum.

Oh.

“Oh.”

“I, um—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” It’s all Logan can do at this point to apologize, all he knows how to do. ‘Harder to ask permission than beg forgiveness,’ isn’t that the saying? Whoever came up with that apparently never took into account how damn hard the begging part would be. “Sorry.”

“Oh.”

Patton looks at Virgil for a long moment, affording him the chance to say something, anything more to his husband that kept something so big from him for so long, but Virgil says nothing. Just ‘oh.’

Oh.

“Logan,” Patton exhales, more of a sigh than an actual word, an actual name of an actual person in this actual conversation. “How long have you known about this?”

Now it’s Logan’s turn to exhale, the truth coming out in a forced whoosh, choking him from the inside out. “Almost a year.”

Virgil slams his elbows down on the table and buries his head in his hands, laughing quietly. “A year. A fucking year. That’s rich. That’s great. That’s really, really great.” He keeps laughing, a hollow nothing, as if it’s the only thing that can possibly keep him breathing anymore. “A year .”

“Logan, you mean to tell me—” Patton cuts himself off, his jaw working furiously as an odd emotion seeps into his voice, the likes of which Logan never would’ve thought him capable before. Patton allows himself a few heavy breaths, louder than the faint music playing from the speakers along the ceiling, and lands his eyes somewhere around Logan’s chin. It somehow feels worse than if he would just make direct eye contact. “You’ve been keeping this from Virgil for over a year?”

“Almost a year,” Logan corrects meekly, feeling about as pathetic as a roach squashed under a brick. He wonders whether his heart shrinks to the same size.

“Now is hardly an appropriate time for your particulars.” Patton clenches his hands into fists on the table, and Logan briefly entertains the image of them flying full force into his face with all of the rage Virgil is undoubtedly holding beneath his simmering silence. “Is this—is that why Roman was so mad? Did he not know, either?”

“He, um, he’s known. The whole time, I mean. He kept it quiet for me. He was actually offered an original spot on the crew, too, back when it first—”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Patton takes another long breath, but this one doesn’t seem to steady him as much. “That’s what he was talking about? When he asked me if I would be comfortable with him launching off the planet for a breakout work mission? He knew back then and asked me about it and everything, and you didn’t think it was even worth mentioning to Virgil?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You think it matters two ticks whether you meant to? If you pull out of a gas station and slam into someone switching over from the far lane, sure you didn’t mean to, but you still did it. I just— mmnh.” Patton makes a low, miserable noise at the back of his throat and shakes his head, his fists clenching and unclenching. The perks of being a trained museum security guard—Logan is downright terrified of what those fists might do.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?” Virgil whispers. It’s the quietest sound Logan’s ever heard, softer than footsteps on loose sand in the shallows of a barren lake, but it echoes as loud as a bag of potato chips at three in the morning in a sleeping house. It shatters Logan to his very core, split into more pieces than the crumbs at the bottom of that same chip bag.

Logan likes to ignore reality through the escapism of his thoughts.

“Over a year ago, when your director first had that meeting, you swore to me that you’d never make that kind of decision without talking to me first, not ever. You didn’t even entertain the chance that you might go, and you—you just—” Virgil shakes his head again, shoving his fingers past his face and burying them in the roots of his hair, now a light brown surfacing beneath the ever-fading purples. “When do you leave?”

“I don’t know yet, we haven’t gotten the—”

“Bullshit. When do you jump off the planet to certain death and leave me behind without a second thought because it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted in life is to leave?”

“Hey, it’s been decades since the last fatality related to a failed launch, so calling it certain death seems a little—”

“I don’t care how it seems, Logan! I care about how it is, and how it is is that you’ve kept this huge thing from me and Patton for a year now, and you think it’s the kind of information you can casually drop over a cup of coffee.”

“I—I don’t know what you want me to say, Virgil. I feel really bad about this, I do, but I—”

“And you damn well should feel bad!” Patton cuts in. “You should feel very bad about this! That’s exactly correct!”

Virgil ghosts a hand over Patton’s arm, stopping him from getting into a full-on shouting match with a shell-shocked Logan. “I don’t know what I want you to say, either.” Virgil drops his hand to the table with a thud, staring at his palms. Definitely not acknowledging Logan’s presence. “It’s great news, really, it is, but it sucks that you didn’t tell me sooner, and I really don’t think there’s anything you can say to me past that. This isn’t the kind of thing you can just talk your way out of. The time for talking was a year ago, and you missed your chance.”

Logan bites his lip and looks down at his mug, at his distorted reflection within. Patton slams a fist down on the table, destroying the facade of Logan’s face. “I’m gonna go talk to Roman. Maybe he’ll have something helpful to say about why he thought we didn’t deserve to hear about this sooner.”

And now it’s Logan alone with Virgil in an achingly quiet cafe, cheery pop songs pouring from the speakers. “I’m sorry,” Logan whispers. Well, tries to whisper. Nothing comes out, save for a broken squeak. He tries again, but the only sound he can manage is a defeated ‘oh.’

Oh.

Something shifts in Logan’s peripherals. He glances up to see Virgil’s hand resting on the table, palm up, midway across the table. Meeting Logan halfway. Logan stretches his own arm out, placing his fingers hesitantly around Virgil’s, feeling the cold metal of Virgil’s wedding band pressing into his palm. Hot tears bead up at the corners of Logan’s eyes again as he lifts them slowly, slowly, slowly to see Virgil staring blankly back. It’s an aching emptiness, all the absence of matter in the galaxies expanding out around them, two people as two planets orbiting around each other amidst a sky of fizzling stars and dwindling moons.

[larksinging]

here's one im stealing from tony (that i havent answered yet whoops) but what are your characters' love languages

OKAY. LETS SEE. 

maive is passingly physical affection because she’s a wolf and very hardwired for Pack Cuddles, but moreso she’s all about quality time. nothing bonds her to people closer than just laying around together and enjoing each other’s company. honestly this is probably why shes the only one who likes the icc. she likes hanging out with people!

laurel is... hmmm, i wanna say gifts and acts of devotion. though shes the type who likes meaningful gifts -- yknow, a photograh. or well. a scarf. dont get me wrong shes also big on physical affection and quality time, but meaningful gifts or acts are the things that really make her soft. 

lord shen is someone who thinks his is acts of devotion when it’s really words of affirmation. theres still a small part of him that wishes his parents had praised him and hurts for not having that. but he coped by making a bunch of soldiers prove their devotion by murdering people so, like. 

mothwhisper, like a proper warrior cat, is a mix of affection and quality time. rather, she loves sharing tongues! just the act of sitting and grooming and eating together. oh and going on patrols together! nothing makes her happier than going with her to gather herbs

violetpaw is words of affirmation and quality time. she... wants to feel she belongs. if you make her feel like she fits in and she’s valued, she cares a lot. honestly jsut the act of being sympathetic towards her really goes a long way. she likes physical affection as much as the next cat, but... yeah. 

margot’s hard, because i think she’s someone who WOULD really like physical affection but is... averse to touch a lot. but also shes big on acts of devotion. i dont know how to describe it, but like.... she can LIKE people but people who do things to make her feel SAFE are what gets her to fall in love 

locus. geeze. wow this one is tough. im gonna put him in words of affirmation/acts of devotion, but in a weird way. locus is really not much of a talker, but he likes people who will talk FOR him in social situations. he also like... talks more when he feels comfortable with someone. so like, thats kind of this weird mix of acts and words?? if that makes sense?? dude is also someone who really struggles to like, leave the battlefield, so fighting together is ALSO very meaningful to him

emerald, OOF, okay. hmmm. she’s physical affection and words of affirmation. shes someone who wants to be hugged and be told she did a good job. thats the long and short of it. though i think shes someone who forces herself to express affection through acts of devotion because thats more ACCEPTABLE in her... circle, because you know showing loyalty and stuff. 

[notorious-fiction]

The Christmas Prince (A Whoever You Want to Read With One-Shot)

        You two had made a deal.

         Shook hands and all, very solemn looks on your faces, promising one another a very simple thing.

         No gift exchanging on Christmas day.

(You'd just been laid off your job and it sucked balls, and he knew money was a bit short on your end and also knew you would never, in a gazillion years accept any money from him, so he started to come up with a bunch of lame ass excuses to make you feel a bit better.)

("It's cliché", he had snorted when you touched the subject "Exchanging Christmas gifts. Ugh. It was meaningful before but now it's just another "especial" date that lost it's core value to boost capitalism. I mean, you can be a crappy boyfriend all year round as long as you buy your girl an extra glittery Hallmark card and a Tiffany Bracelet, right?")

("Right." You had agreed, although not really, because as much as you found sexy as fuck when he used pretty words - core value, damn - you still flipping loved Christmas and looked forward to it all year long.)

        So no gift exchanging it was.

        You'd spend Christmas day with you family and he would spend it with his - you knew how rare it was for him to take some time to see them - but the day before, the 24th, you had him all to your own.

        Just "a casual dinner, the two of us" (his words, not yours) with some "classic Christmas movies, deal with it, loser" (your words, not his) at your place.

        Going out was a real pain nowadays, with the whole paps, fangirls, Snapchatters, etc thing, so to save yourself from the stress (how come he never failed to look like a Goddamn model on those candids whilst you looked like you were about to sneeze? Ugh.), staying in it was.

        In, with no gifts.

        Or at least you thought so, because mid afternoon on December 24th your iPhone seemed to gain a life of its own, all your social media accounts on a frenzy of notifications as, oh well, your famous as fuck of a boyfriend was spotted loading a box the size of a small poney into his car.

("She is so lucky!!!!!!")

("What did he get herrrrrrr i'd be happy just with his dick on box and by the size of it its prob that lol")

("Ugh i hope its a bomb")

(Insert other very sweet comments here.)

        You controlled the urge to text him (going against your über curious personality with all the strenghth your posessed), instead focusing on the fact that you were...

        Fucked.

        Because whilst your boyfriend was on the posession of a very big, flashy box (what you had no idea what was inside, Christ, what the hell was inside of it?!), you were in the posession of...

        "How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Elf" and "The Polar Express".

(All masterpieces, in your humble opinion.)

        And the phone of the thai take out two blocks from your place.

(Best pad thai and sticky rice ever.)

(Plus it gave tons of free sriracha packets! Yay for free stuff!)

        But seriously, what the fuck were you supposed to give to a human being who seemed to have absolutely everything?!

        It'd be stupid to give him clothes - he got those for free -, you had no idea what his shoesize was (did that make you a horrible girlfriend? oops) and anything else you could think of was undoubtely lame. 

        What if you made him something?

        Okay so you didn't know how to draw or paint or knit or rhyme or write a song or do anything that required a minimum artistic vein slash handicraft talent but you could...

        Try?

        Throwing your body on the couch, your laptop literally on your lap, you sat on your ultimate comfy position - which he had lovingly nicknamed "Cirque Du Soleil's contortionist catching up on reality TV on it's free time" or "how you don't have a back problem is beyond me" (when he said that last one he totally reminded you of your mom) -, typing on the words that were responsible for many delayed papers at Uni and scurries off the house whilst almost tripping on your shoes as you were late as fuck.

        Pinterest dot com.

(A blessing and a curse to womankind, honestly.)

D. I. Y.

(Do it yourself.)

(Although you actually never did.)

        Scrolling down the screen - DIY baking soda shampoo! DIY mosaic tile birdbath using recycled DVD's! DIY Glittery Bath Bombs! - you noticed that all of them seemed to involve stuff everyone apparently had at home except you like glue guns or spray paint or Scrabble tile holders (...seriously) so after five minutes of Pinterest searching, you sighed in defeat.

(Hard effort wasn't your forte, you had to admit.)

        Even friendship bracelets are a hard task to accomplish when you have the skills of a three year old toddler and if you actually purchased a glue gun you could already picture yourself glueing nothing but your own fingers and spending Christmas Day at the ER.

        But you did have glitter glue, and that wasn't so dangerous was it?

        You also had an old, slightly crumpled piece of cardboard and a "DIY Easy Glittery Hallmark card tutorial!" (snort) at your screen, so you decided to give it a go.

        If it came out okay you'd be able to give him as an ironic gift?

("Oh hey, I know you gave me a super awesome/expensive/fancy/cool/thoughtful - insert whatever the hell could be inside that massive box here Christ the curiosity was killing you - but ha-ha-ha remember that snark you made about glittery Hallmark cards?! Instead of giving money to the greedy capitalist men I made one myself, how about that?! Aren't I the Best Girlfriend Ever?!?!?!")

        And if it came out like crap you could, y'know, throw it in the bin...

        ...So of course it came out like crap.

        Because you somehow managed to put more glitter glue on the tip of your fingers than on the goddamn cardboard, more glitter glue on your clothes as you absentmindedly rubbed your hands on it as you tried to think of what the hell you could do to save your "Merry Christmas" masterpiece.

(Trash.) (That was how you could save it, your dignity, your boyfriend's poor eyes and your dignity.)

(By throwing your masterpiece on the garbish.)

(Fuck ironic gifts.)

        Of course that instead of coming up with another idea after the Glittery-DIY-Hallmark-Card fiasco, your procrastinator side spoke louder, and click after click after click you found yourself going deeper and deeper of that pit called Pinterest, until you blazed on a section you'd never dared to venture on before.

        The recipe session.

        There were gooey chocolate chip bars, chocolate fudge brownies, kale and artichokes dip, quinoa fried "rice" (...why would someone all it fried "rice" if it had no rice in it only quinoa, you wondered...) and everything made your mouth water and stomach growl and you deeply wished there was someone who could make it for you.

        Everything sounded too tempting (and too hard and with too many fancy ingredients and kitchen appliances you'd never even heard of) until you found...

"Easy adaptable chocolate chip cookies with ingredients everyone has at home!!!!! Can be made vegan gluten/lactose/nut/anythying free paleo atkins insert random diet you'd never heard of before here"

        Well...

        Following a recipe wouldn't be that hard... Would it?

        Especially when you could sub eggs for oil if you didn't have any or oil for mashed banana or mashed banana for applesauce or applesauce for honey or honey for agave which were all obviously so much alike, right?

        Throwing everything you had into a single bowl - did you mention it was a single bowl recipe? Seriously, it could not get any better, your dishes-washing-hater-side thought - you frowned as you compared your final result to the one on the screen.

        Pinterest's batter: gooey but firm, looked so good you wouldn't mind spooning it raw directly into your mouth.

        Your batter: two year old's diarrhea, you wouldn't want to spoon it raw directly into your mouth not even if they paid you.

        You somehow managed to put little (balls, on Pinterest, blobs, sounded more accurate to your situation) blobs of the batter onto the baking sheet and onto the oven, too busy freaking out slash trying to understand what the hell you did wrong (ooh two american cups of flour? what were american cups? weren't your cups american? why america has to control everything for god's sake?!) to notice the door being unlocked, only realising you had company when you heard an amused chuckle behind you.

        Turning around so quick you almost broke your neck - fouet filled with sticky disgusting batter held in hand in a threatingly way - you found him staring, all long legs and perfect hair and mocking grin and...

        Empty hands?

        Where the hell was the box the size of a toddler he was seen loading into his car?!

        Goddamit, internet!

(And why did you feel a lil' bit disappointed I mean...)

(...you had him, hadn't you?)

(Best Christmas Gift Ever, am I right.)

        "Hi."

        "Hi. Were you..." A cute little frown appeared between his brows, pearly white teeth still on show as he asked "Baking?"

        Getting a bit defensive - why did he have to sound so confused/terrified? - you dropped the fouet on the sink, replying "Yes, why?"

        "Oh, for nothing! I mean, it smells..."

(Awful.)

        "Pretty good."

(Damn, he was a liar.)

        Leaning to check the oven temperature just one more time - I mean, better safe than sorry, you couldn't push your luck (any further) - you ignored your boyfriend's stare (a cute little smirk on his lips because well, he thought it was cute how you hadn't noticed the chocolate batter on your chin or how you wore an apron thrice your size), asking maybe a little too cheery "So, how's your Christmas eve going so far?"

( "...Loading too many big ass boxes onto your car?", you rhymed mentally.)

        "Well, not too good I mean, I only got to see my lovely lady today." He replied with a charming smile, expecting for you to giggle - alright, fine, he knew you weren't one to giggle, or at least give him love eyes.

        You squinted skeptically.

...Okay.

        "Empty handed, I see."

        "Yeah, kinda glad we decided to skip on that Christmas madness. Had to help a mate out with picking up a complete set of one of those fancy Le Creuset cooking things. Said his girlfriend would love it." He added with a scoff, rolling his eyes "I told him that if I gave you anything kitchen related you'd throw it in my head, but seeing you're apparently into cooking now..." He paused, pursing his lips "Should I write it down as a suggestion for your birthday?"

        Her mind went black.

        Kitchen appliances.

        His mate was giving his girlfriend freakin' casseroles and frying pans.

(Oh poor girl.)

(Poor, poor girl.)

(The disappointment when she opened that huge heavy box.)

(Damn.)

        And you had been freaking out the entire day thinking he'd gotten you something big and awesome and you'd look like the awful ungrateful girlfriend.

        Man, that ugly glittery card would look like heaven next yo, y'know... Nothing.

        "If you ever give me a damn casserole pan I shall rip off your little buddy of you, cut it into tiny little pieces, cook them in the freakin' thing and serve you for dinner." You stated, and he replying, giving you a kiss on the forehead  "Aw, see? I know you so well."

        God, you were glad he didn't get you anything.

        Because being with him was the best gift you could've ever asked for.

(Insert vomiting and cringing here.)

(Fuck you never thought you would be THIS gross and disgusting and loving about any human being in your life after your miserable string of awful break-ups.)

(Yet there you were, with your very own prince charming.)

(Yup, that was it, you guys would be watching The Christmas Prince on Netflix.)

        You showed your appreciation by getting on the tips of your toes and pecking him on the lips, the little wrinkle of confusion between his forehead making you want to kiss him even more.

(How was possible for someone to be so cute slash sexy at the same damn time?)

(Seriously.)

(Ugh.)

        But then, maybe you'd been too distracted by his pouty pink lips - no chapstick or anything, you wondered how the hell he managed to get them always so soft and puffy and kissable - to check the oven...

        And the whole room started to smell a bit smokey.

        And look a bit smokey.

        "Fuck, my Pinterest cookies!" You squealed, startling him.

        You were sort of thankful your fire alarm wasn't working so well, because if the firemen showed up because you almost burned your kitchen down, your landlord would have (even more) reasons to hate you.

        "It looks... Edible." Your boyfiend said matter of fact, poking one of your cookies at the tray with the tip of his fingers with brows furrowed.

        They looked like baby alien fetus.

(Edible, in some outer galaxy cultures, probably.)

        "Want to try them?" You knew by the raise of his eyebrow that it was a challenge, a thing you rarely passed.

        Daringly, you got one - dropping it back to the tray because damn they were hot -, trying it again after a few seconds of you two staring at each other with "Who Shall Quit First" eyes.

        Was he going to make you eat them first?

        By the fake tight ass smile he was giving you, he was...

        So with the biggest grin you could muster, you squeaked "Merry Christmas baby! I made these for you! Hope you like them!"

(Or at least don't get food poisoning and die! Please don't get food poisoning and die! I kinda really really really really really like you!)

(And if you die because of me slash my cookies your fans will murder me!)

        With a small gulp, he picked one of the alien fetus cookies, shaking it off so they wouldn't be "too hot and burn his tongue" for about three minutes.

        You kinda knew he was trying to make as many tiny pieces of it fall out so he'd eat as less of a cookie as possible, but you didn't call him out on it because oh well, he was at least going to eat a teeny bit of them.

        And in the end, after a bit of fake awing "Oh, tastes so good babe" and maybe spitting on a napkin when you turned around to throw the dirty dishes on the sink, he did eat your alien fetus cookies.

        What made him the best boyfriend slash Christmas present ever.

        And after drinking maybe a bit too much wine and watching The Christmas Prince, he drunkenly vowed to never ever give you anything cooking related - as the cookies now rested in peace in your trashcan, on top of your ugly ass glittery card -, and that vow would be proved to be a gift that kept on giving.

(I mean, it would give stomach aches and calls to the fire fighters and be a total waste of ingredients, so you were cool with that.)

(And even if he never gave you anything at all, he dealt with your craziness, your PMSing, you overreacting whenever you let your - very expensive - makeup fall onto the floor, never watched Game of Thrones episodes without you and always let you eat the biggest last slice of cheesecake.)

        And if that wasn't much of a proof of real, true love, you had no idea of what the hell it could be.

           And that was the greatest gift of all.

(Cue to cringing due to cheesyness again.)

-------

MERRY CHRISTMAS U GUYSSSSSSSSS!

Hope y’all have a fantastic one and find all you wanted under the tree! ooh and if you liked it pls don’t forget to click on that like button (i’ve been watching too many youtube vids send help)

lots lots of love

Gabe

ps: i’d like to dedicate this to my favorite humans on earth victoria, nina and lari, who are still my friends even after i’ve been through probably 30 different mental breakdowns this year, love you guise so muchhhhhhhh thanks for always encouraging me to write!!! oh and if you haven’t read my stories based on them you can find them all here 

[jennycalendar]

closeness

ao3

Ms. Calendar settles into the front seat, buckling her seatbelt as Giles begins to drive. “You okay?” she asks quietly.

The question more than startles Giles. “Am I what?”

i’ve had a headcanon about giles and jenny’s first kiss for literally a year and never written a fic about it or even Talked about it...what kind of person Does that

anyway...this is set directly after when she was bad. short, shamelessly fluffy, and i have no regrets

“If I throw up on Giles’s upholstery, will he be super mad at me?” Willow mumbles in the backseat, her head nestled against Ms. Calendar’s shoulder.

“No, sweetie, I think he’ll be nice about it,” Ms. Calendar’s saying, “but don’t throw up on my shoulder, okay? This jacket is messed up enough as it is.”

Willow giggles. Next to her, Xander’s staring pensively out the window, still a bit bloody and battered. Angel’s walking Buffy home, something about them taking the long way, and Giles is much too tired to intervene.

“Should you be driving?” Cordelia inquires from the front seat. Giles is more than a little bit annoyed about this seating arrangement, particularly since Cordelia had elbowed Ms. Calendar out of the way in her bid for shotgun. “I mean, you were knocked out—”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been locked in a cellar for three days and I’m not letting Xander drive me home, so Rupert’s our best bet,” says Ms. Calendar, giving Cordelia a small, tense smile. “Sorry,” she adds in Giles’s direction.

Giles nearly runs the car into a mailbox turning to look back at Ms. Calendar. Cordelia shrieks in his ear as though the car’s just been hit by a vampire; good lord, he wishes Ms. Calendar was up front instead. “Oh, no, it’s, it’s fine—” he stammers, blushing furiously. Thank heavens for dim streetlights.

Ms. Calendar smiles at him, and it’s quite a different smile from the one she directed at Cordelia. Her eyes are warm and bright, and they seem to contain all the light in the world as she says, “You know, you should probably be looking at the road right now.”

“Road! Right,” says Giles, mortified, and directs his gaze back ahead of him. “So this is—”

“You literally just drove right by my house,” Cordelia says irritably. “Right by it. Giles, you suck at this. Someone else needs to drive us home next time we all get strung up for a blood sacrifice.”

“Wow, yes,” says Ms. Calendar. “Next time we nearly get sacrificed. Gotta love the sound of that.”

Giles doesn’t have time to dwell on the fact that his life is a dangerous mess and it’s a miracle that Ms. Calendar hasn’t run as fast as she can in the opposite direction (not for longer than five seconds, at least), because he’s very much focused on trying to make sure Cordelia’s out of the car. “One of you can move up front, if you like,” he offers, glancing furtively at Ms. Calendar.

“Aww, I think Willow’s asleep on my shoulder,” Ms. Calendar murmurs, smoothing down Willow’s hair and settling into the backseat. She looks up, and Giles thinks he sees more than just a glint of mischief in her eyes when she says, “Xander, you wanna move up front?”

Xander shrugs, still looking barely present. Giles thanks whatever deity has graced him with the small mercy of not sitting next to Xander Harris for an early-morning car ride and starts up the car again, waiting until Cordelia’s all the way inside her house before he begins to drive again.

“I’ll take her in,” Xander offers when they pull up in front of Willow’s house. “Easier to explain away than one of her teachers bringing her home, right?” He forces a smile, climbing out of the car and helping a half-asleep Willow out with him.

“Thanks, Giles,” Willow mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “You too, Ms. Calendar.”

Ms. Calendar unbuckles her seatbelt and (oh!) maneuvers herself into the front seat, climbing ungracefully between the seats and nearly landing in Giles’s lap. “Take care of yourself, kids,” she calls, much too loudly for this hour.

Giles winces. Yes, he likes her, but he also likes peace and quiet. “Make sure she’s safe,” he directs Xander, trying to sound as austere and threatening as he can. The boy doesn’t look at all troubled, which is more than just slightly frustrating; he misses his days of authority.

Ms. Calendar settles into the front seat, buckling her seatbelt as Giles begins to drive. “You okay?” she asks quietly.

The question more than startles Giles. “Am I what?”

Ms. Calendar cocks her head, looking at Giles with an expression he can’t quite understand. “No one asked you if you were okay,” she said. “So I’m asking. Are you okay right now?”

There are many times that Giles has wanted to kiss Ms. Calendar. Even back when they were workplace enemies and having fierce arguments in the staff meeting, he’d wanted to grab her and kiss her, which had somehow made him even more angry at her at the time. His emotions have always been difficult for him to fathom. But this is the first time that he’s wanted to reach out and hold her, because what she’s just said makes him feel unusually valued. “I’m not sure,” he says truthfully.

Ms. Calendar reaches out, placing a hand on his arm. It’s a flicker of a touch, but it makes Giles’s heart leap into his throat; he honestly can’t remember the last time someone’s touched him like that. “Yeah,” she says, and her smile is crooked and a little bit sad. “I definitely get how that feels.”

What Giles wants to say is you’re the most remarkable woman I have ever met. What Giles says is, “I-I’m not sure how to get to your house.”

Ms. Calendar lets her hand drop, the moment is gone, and Giles is reminded once again of how painfully horrible he is at romance. “Take two rights, then a left, and you’ll be right at my place,” Ms. Calendar says. “This town is crazy small. Did you know that the cemeteries actually take up more space than the houses?”

“Sounds about right,” says Giles, strangely relieved by the change of subject.

Some part of him is quite frightened at the thought of being with someone like Ms. Calendar—so vivacious, so charming, almost too perfect. It’s been so long that he’s had any kind of a friendship, let alone a romantic connection that extends beyond the purely physical, and every conversation with Ms. Calendar reminds him that being with her could become something much more meaningful than he’s ever known. He’s not sure if he’s prepared for anything like that.

“Hey, we’re here!” Ms. Calendar beams as the car stops by a small, cozy-looking house. “Home sweet home. God, I’m going to really enjoy taking a long, fun nap.”

“After a night like this, you more than deserve one,” Giles agrees, feeling a sad little twist at the thought of saying goodbye to Ms. Calendar so soon.

But to Giles’s complete surprise, Ms. Calendar doesn’t move to get out of the car. Without looking at him, she asks, “Would it be kinda weird if I asked you to walk me to my door?”

“Wh-no, not—no, of, that is, no,” stammers a surprised and pleased Giles. “I—I’d be happy to. Truly.” Ms. Calendar gives him this sideways little smile that makes Giles feel like she knows a bit more than he’d like her to. Nervously, he unbuckles his seatbelt, getting out of the car and hurrying around to open the door for her. Extending a hand, he says awkwardly, “Shall we?”

“You’re quite the gentleman,” says Ms. Calendar, taking Giles’s hand and letting him pull her gently out of the car. She sounds both amused and touched by this.

Giles tries to let his hand drop, but Ms. Calendar interlaces their fingers, very purposefully not looking at him. He gets the strangest sense that this is the most nervous she’s been all night; not the near-death experience, but the physical closeness of holding hands. “Are you all right?” he asks her hesitantly.

“You checked in with me already, remember?” says Ms. Calendar, which doesn’t really answer the question.

They reach Ms. Calendar’s front door, and she lets go of his hand to rummage under the welcome mat for the spare key. “Sorry,” she says, laughing a little self-deprecatingly. “You can go now if you want, it’s just, god, it’s been a crazy day. I mean, I apparently almost got sacrificed to resurrect a vampire? That’s some crazy stuff right there.”

There’s something about the way her hands shake when she unlocks her front door that makes Giles hesitant to leave her. He doesn’t like the thought of leaving Ms. Calendar alone in an empty house, not after a night like this. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

Ms. Calendar looks at him for a very long time. Then she says, “I’m as all right as you are, Rupert. How’s that for an answer?”

Barely conscious of his own actions, Giles reaches out, cupping Ms. Calendar’s face in one hand. She tilts her head up, eyes fluttering shut, and he kisses her—a quiet, brief kiss, barely a second long, but it’s enough. He pulls back slowly, not quite sure what this means, not quite ready to question the moment.

There’s a barely-there smile blooming on Ms. Calendar’s face. “Goodnight,” she says.

Giles wants to kiss her again. “Goodnight,” he says, and turns, walking back to the car.

[pollaidh]

In-line meta 221B just before the hug

221B Scene. Discussion between John and Sherlock. End of TLD.

SHERLOCK: “Perhaps the drugs opened certain doors in my mind.” (Like closet doors, last time he took drugs, in TAB.) … “Intrigued.”

JOHN: Makes dismissive/semi-humorous comment showing Sherlock John’s care for him is merely duty, a duty he is sharing with others.

SHERLOCK: “I thought we were just hanging out.” The softening of Sherlock’s gaze at the end shows this is the truth. He wishes they were just hanging out, but he thinks John’s there out of duty, not because he wants to be. Reinforces this with: “I do think I can last 20 minutes without supervision.” (Duty again. The tiny self-deprecating smile at the end. He’s hoping John will joke back as usual, continue their old camaraderie. He’s setting up for a private joke, but John doesn’t respond.) Just says -

JOHN: “If you’re sure.” Doesn’t meet Sherlock’s eye, his gaze is straight ahead until the last second.

JOHN: Makes comment about going to Rosie.

SHERLOCK: (Voice soft). “I should come and see her.” (Beseeching look.) Unusually subdued. Ah yes, Rosie is the most important to him now. And instead of throwing out some joking, petulant statement, he calmly accepts he no longer can come first to John. The subtext: Do you still want me to be part of your life? Sherlock looks at John as John talks with head-Mary. John unsure how to take this - does Sherlock seriously want to spend time with Rosie?

  JOHN: Gives an unwelcoming yes. He’s not engaging.

SHERLOCK: Looks away. How to make him stay, how to get this back on the old footing? He taps his hand on side of mug - frustration, indecision. Pleased he has found something to say, he looks up. The case. Yes. John’s always interested in the case. That’s why he’s interested in Sherlock, for the excitement, the two of them fighting crime together. 

SHERLOCK: Starts in his light professional voice to discuss case. John isn’t thawing. Sherlock trails off with a little laugh. He’s nervous. 

JOHN: “That’s good.” (Low intonation at end, shutting down this conversation. Might as well have said ‘that’s nice.’)

(This part of the scene, the stops and starts, and averted looks, talking about anything but the real story, reminds me of the Mr Darcy meets Lizzie Bennet scene in the Colin Firth version: A couple who are in love but don’t know they are in love, have argued, and see each other again in difficult circumstances, don’t know what to say to each other, or how the other feels.)

JOHN: Clenches hand (sign of John’s stress that Sherlock must have picked up on over the years).

SHERLOCK: Looks to his tea. This isn’t going well. John is upset. John is leaving. He’s going to have to go deep.

SHERLOCK: “Are you okay?”

(Such a loaded question. This isn’t ‘how are you?’ as a greeting or a post-bomb check. His voice is raw, all pretence gone. He cares. It’s hard for men to get onto this plane of conversation. He REALLY cares.)

JOHN: Laughs, but returns.

SHERLOCK: Watches John’s reaction, accepts the anger he feels is his due. He knows he’s broken them so no smart arse comments, he doesn’t argue, he just accepts….

SHERLOCK: “In saving my life she conferred a value on it, a currency I do not know how to spend.” (Without you I don’t know why my life is. He earlier said he couldn’t commit suicide because of the value of his life to John, but he doesn’t know how to live if John doesn’t even want to be friends. He can’t live or die without John.)

JOHN: Still not forthcoming, but his choice of words “It is what it is” have deeper meaning for the audience. Could be interpreted by Sherlock as ‘tough, this is what we’ve got’.

SHERLOCK: Swallows. That’s all he’s getting. He’s glad to get that forgiveness (he thought he’d broken any feelings romantic/platonic John had for him. He can’t say anything here because John’s talking about Mary (on the surface), he’s still in love with her. Sherlock’s culpability (which he feels even if forgiven) means he can’t talk about her. He has no right.

JOHN: Back to his duty - he’s on the 6-10 watch. The meaningful moment is over.

SHERLOCK: Tears in his eyes. Bravado: “Looking forward to it.” It’s all he’s got left.

JOHN: “Yeah.” A blank little ‘yeah’ and an eye-roll. He’s not.

IRENE?: Text alert!!!

JOHN: Jealous.

SHERLOCK: Plays innocent. (Could he have set that up?) Starts analysing whilst John stalks back over. Why does Irene’s ringtone make him come back. John was always jealous of Irene. …

SHERLOCK: “Oh. Okay. That’s good.” (For John’s deduction. He has no idea what this will be, He’s wrapping a protective coat around himself. Complete change of tone - a subdued version of his own mocking tone. This tone last used when John asks him to be best man, and he really doesn’t understand what’s being asked. Eyes flicker, he’s analysing, possibly responding mentally. Sips tea at the end there too. (And why does he keep his birthday secret?) All very polite and formal between them.

JOHN: “Seriously, are we not going to talk about this?”

SHERLOCK: (This being him and John, or something else?) “What? (Doesn’t dare say anything leading.)

Clarify 2 X more. Normally Sherlock predicts what John will say but here he really doesn’t know.

JOHN: “Woman..”

SHERLOCK: Screws eyes shut. Seriously? FFS John, how dense can you be?

JOHN: Lots of subtext about losing chances, with a very hetero “mate” as last seen in TSoT.

SHERLOCK: WTF? How can John still think he’s in love with Irene Adler? He made this clear. He’s confused. Something he’s missing. Right. Revert to standard line. “Romantic entanglements, while fulfilling for other people…” (Is this because he thinks if John really thinks Sherlock’s in love with Irene, than all his assumptions about what is between them must be flawed.)

JOHN: Talks about chance. “Chances don’t last forever… gone before you know it.” 

(Surface - about Mary, which means Sherlock can’t really respond. Also foreshadowing Last Problem. Subtext - he’s talking about chances between him and Sherlock, and telling unwittingly telling Sherlock to go for it.)

SHERLOCK: Eyes fall. This hits hard, He knows he’s lost his chance with John, back before he realised he loved him. This is an incredibly raw moment. Sherlock has a raw, earnest expression. 

JOHN: Talks about needing someone who completes you and makes you a better person.

SHERLOCK: “Forgive me…... I can safely say..” You complete me, you taught me to be a better man. That’s what love is. You are the better man, and you taught me. Except he doesn’t get to finish what is basically a confession of love, unlike Culverton Smith, whose confession couldn’t be stopped.

JOHN: “I cheated.”

SHERLOCK: Utter shock. Did he really not know? Then he realises Mary’s in the room, in John’s head. How can he replace a dead person. It’s heart breaking watching John talk to his dead wife. Sherlock analysing - so he still sees her and talks to her, but he cheated. Sherlock calculating WTF is going on here?

JOHN: Confesses all to Mary, himself, and Sherlock. Subtext, despite Mary being the mother of his child, he still cheated. He was only with her for the baby, but even that couldn’t stop him wanting more.

JOHN: “But I wanted more.”

SHERLOCK: Analysing. More with Faith? Or more than he got from his relationship with Mary. More with Sherlock? This is the moment Sherlock starts to wonder if there’s still a chance. He raises a wondering gaze, dawning hope in his eyes. John wasn’t committed to Mary like he’d assumed. What does that mean? (Sherlock is probably never going to be great at understanding emotions, though he’s improving.

JOHN: “I still do.”

SHERLOCK: (With who?)

JOHN: “Not the guy you thought…” 

(Surface level to Mary and Sherlock - I’m not a good guy. Subtext - I’m not the (straight) guy you thought I was. John’s equating good and straight because of internalised homophobia.) “I never could be.” (He’s always been this way - hmm that sounds familiar.)

JOHN: “But that’s the point…” You love warts and all. 

SHERLOCK: Subtext: Sherlock can be loveable even though he’s not perfect. John could love Sherlock. 

JOHN: “Who you thought I was is the man I want to be.” (2 levels - good man/straight man. Equating these is a sign of his internalised homophobia. And he’s telling the audience and Sherlock, that they have made false assumptions (that’s he’s straight).

MARY-in-John’s-head: “Well, John Watson, get the hell with it.” 

(Emphasis on hell. John has seen Mary tell Sherlock to go to hell, so links hell with Sherlock. He’s telling himself to get the hell on and tell Sherlock before it’s too late.” What else could this refer to - the recovery at surface level (John, get the baby, come back to life), but it’s much much deeper. As John stares, Mary smiles and disappears. John’s two sides (the conflict between Mary/John in his head, AND his good and bad side, and his side where he loves women and side where he loves men). John is integrated again. He accepts himself, warts and all, good man and bad, and all parts of his sexuality.

JOHN: Sobs, overwhelmed. He has given himself permission to be the man he was always supposed to be, to love himself entirely.

SHERLOCK: Absolutely serious, raw, none of the usual jokes and mania or glee, just entirely genuine and natural, puts down his tea and slowly, quietly, goes to John to comfort him. (He presumably hasn’t heard Mary’s contribution in John’s head, only John’s side. So he only sees John admit to Mary that he cheated, that he’s not the guy they thought. He doesn’t know John has just told himself to go for it. He seems John overwhelmed with guilt, as he sees it, not relief.) THEY HUG.

Compared to the wedding hug, which was so awkward, like John teaching Sherlock to hug, this is so natural. Mr Homes knows exactly what to do. Sherlock still cautious. Not sure how he’ll be received, this is not the moment for any declarations. But the hand on John’s neck is possessive and intimate, and John lays his head against Sherlock’s chest.

SHERLOCK: Glances up at the sky (thank god? Is this right? Am I doing it right?) All he cares about is that John is hurting.

Like the scene at the end of TSoT when Sherlock deduces the pregnancy, leaving him to realise there’s no chance with John now, this is such a raw, open, tender scene. They are being honest with each other and within themselves. There are still some miscommunications to clear up, but they are born of love and waiting for the right moment.