#tr: season 5

[bootandbradford]

The Rookie 5x16 Chenford Icons/Headers (Part 1/2)

Please like/reblog if you use/save them! Thank you!

[person25]

I’m watching this anime as if i haven’t read the manga yet.

[greysanatomy-bts]

[chiihara]

[done-dm]

I really hope we get to see DX-TR again before the season ends because the bits and pieces we know about him are fascinating.

Like, he gets brought onto this elite group of mechanites for a very particular skillset. As K-LB so eloquently puts it at the end of season three, "The thing about DX-TR... MR-SN's superpower was making you believe in his dreams. DX-TR's superpower was making you believe his lies."

He's an invaluable member of the team and then betrays his party to the githyanki only to work on the exact same thing they were working on before: traveling beyond the planescape. We see in VR-LA's vision via MR-SN that DX-TR specifically wanted the whole crew to be captured, but don't really get an explanation beyond DX-TR saying to Endellion "We need them! All of them, alive! Especially him. This wasn't the deal!"

And it doesn't seem like he gets much from the githyanki aside from resources. Again, drawing from what K-LB has said...

"In some ways, DX-TR seemed as much of a prisoner as us. Like, he could go and come back, but mostly he was summoned [...] He was stuck in that same room with us, a little more space to walk around..."

And he keeps working on the project. For three years he keeps his old friends in a cell, watches as AS-TR deteriorates to the point of not speaking at all, and keeps at it.

Until he doesn't. According to K-LB, there was a certain point when he "stopped working so hard" and goes on to say "I just feel like it wasn't because he hit a dead end. It was because he didn't need to be working hard on it anymore. He was just biding his time."

But why bide his time? Kyana points out during the conversation with K-LB and the others that DX-TR probably used their attack as a distraction to escape, that he could have taken more hits at them and chose to run instead, but there might be another reason.

When VR-LA asks K-LB if they succeeded in their work under the githyanki, K-LB responds "We're still here, ain't we?" VR-LA quickly figures out this meant that the githyanki would have killed the old Per Aspera crew when they finished, which likely includes DX-TR. So he fled to save his own skin but also (either purposefully or inadvertently) saved his old crew by stalling with the githyanki.

Instead of playing on this angle with the crew during the rescue attempt, he comes across as a cut and dry villain the first time we meet him. He kills Dani while she's unconscious and no threat just to send a message to VR-LA not to come after him.

And then, once he's free and has the most valuable information in the planescape, he goes to work for the mindflayers??? Why? Why would he choose to go work for one of the most universally hated and dangerous species that exists? What's stopping them from eating his brain and using his knowledge without that pesky individuality getting in the way?

For whatever reason, he gets to remain himself and is set to eliminate other threats to the mindflayers' plan. He kills Casimir, but not C-RA or K-LB. Which, as K-LB tells VR-LA outright, he easily could have done so since he caught everyone off guard. Instead, he lets C-RA take his arm (which, granted, probably isn't as big of a deal for a mechanite and can probably be repared, but if I were in a situation as dangerous as working with mindflayers on a daily basis I would want to be in tip top shape at all times in case one of them gets hungry) and runs again.

K-LB and E-DN have explicitly stated that they want him dead despite knowing he spared K-LB and C-RA's lives. VR-LA's on the fence about it, but–even if he did fully commit to killing DX-TR–his devil deal is still up in the air and there's a very real possibility that VR-LA can't kill him. Whether someone else on the crew can do so on his behalf remains to be seen, but since he technically only gave the order to kill the mindflayer in the last episode with Kyana and Vhas doing the dirty work and Austin still almost used the deal to stop him, I think that might not be a loophole he can take advantage of.

Which means by the end of this campaign there's a fair chance that DX-TR is just going to be out there in the planescape doing who knows what. We don't know what his motivations are beyond finishing the project, what don't know how much his old crew still means to him (enough to lose an arm but not enough to keep them imprisoned for three years?), and we don't know what he plans to do after this.

Rambling aside, I want to put him under a microscope to study.

[scolek]

because if it is, say, the negi that makes it green, then thats a fuckton of negi they have to put in there, right? it affects both the taste and consistency of the broth, but it says that its just chicken broth!!!!!! the website says fucking chicken broth!!!!!!!!!! and thats just not fucking true. because its green. just like tell me what it is. dont be opaque about it. much like your "chicken" broth. and what if its not one of the other listed ingredients. most green vegetables will do that. and it could be any one of them, because they dont say anything about the broth except that its chicken. but thats not the full story.

[king-nyx]

Is Poseidon the cool or the loser uncle?

My vote is that he's a try hard.

[writingquestionsanswered]

how do i make my writing more ‘mature’? i always feel like no matter how sophisticated i write and no matter every which way i change it up it always has a sense of being childish or juvenile.

Making Writing Sound More Mature

1 - Better Plot and Story Structure - One of the telltale signs of juvenile writing is a story that meanders, has no obvious plot or structure, has no conflict or has a protagonist with no goal. So, make sure you have a well fleshed out plot, with a conflict, protagonist goal, and which hits the beats specific to your story's genre.

2 - Three-Dimensional Characters - If you're writing plot-driven fiction, make sure your main characters have a fleshed out personality, stakes, motivation, goal, and compelling relationships with other characters. If you're writing fully or partially character-driven fiction, do all of the above, but also make sure your main characters have a relevant internal conflict and a thoughtful character arc.

3 - Well-Developed Setting and World - One common hallmark of juvenile writing is a lack of "sense of place" and under-developed world building. So, make sure you put a lot of thought into where your story takes place... not just the immediate setting of each scene, but the overall world of the story, or at least the parts of it that are relevant.

4 - Incorporate Literary Devices - Juvenile writing tends to be lacking in the use of metaphor, simile, symbolism, irony, themes, and motifs. So, make sure to include those, but also take the time to make them relevant to your story.

5 - Include a Broad Range of Vocabulary - One common element of juvenile writing is a reliance on limited, simple vocabulary. Don't be afraid to use a thesaurus to find more interesting word choices--just be absolutely certain to crosscheck your choices with a dictionary to make sure they are the right choice. Online thesauruses in particular are bad about offering up bad suggestions. Also, make sure to learn and use special vocabulary that is relevant to your story, genre, or setting. For example, if your character is a retired police detective trying to solve a murder on his stalled cruise to Alaska, you need to make sure you know the proper investigative terminology, because he will definitely use it. And, by that same token, you'd want to make sure you know cruise ship lingo as well. And, part of this, too, is getting better at description and the inclusion of emotional and sensory detail.

6 - Use Varied Sentence Structure - This is a big one... juvenile writing tends to use repetitive sentence structure, such as simple sentences (she stood up, she went to the window, she waved at the man), lack of subordinate clauses (Tad Smith, who was a seasoned and retired investigator, had looked forward to this cruise his whole life...), repetitive starts (every sentence begins with a pronoun, for example), uniform length (all short sentences, for example.) So, make sure your sentences are varied. If you read them out loud, you don't want it to sound rhythmic, but more like a complex melody.

7 - Show, Don't Tell... Most of the Time - Telling definitely has its place, but most of the time you want to show rather than tell, meaning that instead of stating things simply and directly (the sun was shining) you want to paint a clear but indirect image (dappled sunlight shone through the trees.)

8 - Avoid Cliche Phrases - Human language is littered with everyday phrases like "to each their own" or "better late than never." Generally-speaking, you want to avoid these phrases in your story, especially in exposition. If you include them anywhere, they're best spoken as dialogue by a character who it makes sense would say something like that. Likewise, be careful of cliche genre or character-type phrases. For example, villains who say things like "we're not so different, you and I..." or "I finally have you right where I want you!" These overused phrases tend to make stories sound juvenile and unpolished.

9 - Avoid Cliche Tropes - Another type of cliche to avoid if you want more mature-sounding writing is cliches of various tropes. Tropes on their own are a good thing, but when tropes are used the same way over and over again in a genre or type of story, they become predictable. For example, the super gorgeous protagonist who everyone is in love with, but they view themselves as plain and not special. Or the broken/hopeless/addict mentor character. It's not that you can't use any cliche tropes at all, just make sure your story isn't riddled with them, and do what you can to put your own spin on the ones you do use.

10 - Read, Read, Read - And I can't stress this enough... the absolute best way to improve your writing style and take your writing from juvenile to polished is to make sure you're reading a lot of fiction, in a lot of genres, by a lot of authors. Audio books, short stories, and poetry count, too. The more you read, the more you begin to: understand plot and story structure, recognize well-developed characters, easily envision complex settings and worlds, learn vocabulary and literary devices, become attuned to varied sentence structure, and learn to recognize cliche phrases and tropes.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[aftgficrec]

Neil & Matt shenanigans?

I gotta wonder if any of these were written from personal experience… -A

previous recs for matt & neil friendship:

Matt & Neil or Matt/Neil* here

Allison & Neil or Matt & Neil** here

Matt & Neil forehead kisses here

‘The Christmas Gift,’ ‘baby, it's cold outside,’ and ‘andreil’s christmas time with dan and matt’ here

‘it's sad but true (how much i miss you)’ here

‘My Best Friend’ here

‘Secrets’ and ‘'ah yes, my shirt will cover this'’ here

‘disarm you with a smile’ here

‘A Form Of Endearment’ here

‘work in progress’ here 

‘I'll Race You There’ here

‘when you are close to me (i shiver)’ here and ‘when you are close to me (the thumping in my chest remix)’ here

‘skylight’ here

‘Clear as Day’ here

‘I Spy’ here

‘Already Taken’ here

‘Bad Apple’ and ‘You are a Fox’ here

‘Scars Like Stars’ here (updated)

‘Someone New’ here

‘I will help you swim’ and ‘Looking in the Mirror Never Felt so Good’ here

‘Wish I Had a River’ here

‘White Hands’ here

‘if i could look past the present’ here

‘I Quit Talking Again, I Know You're Still Listening’ here

‘and when i'm a little unsteady (stay a while with me)’ here

‘Blood Spilled (But None Wasted)’ here

‘Cryptid Serial Killer Witch Man’ and ‘The endless mental math required to simply survive.’ here

‘Sent to Drain’ here

‘Do I want to know if this feeling goes both ways?’ here

‘If You Love Me, Come Clean’ here

‘A Quiet Little Seedling’ here

more shenanigans-y:

*hijinks from Matt & Neil or Matt/Neil: ‘Come Get It Now,’ ‘diet mountain dew,’ ‘tampons’ tumblr fics, ‘Breaking News, the Josten-Boyd Affair,’ ‘do some matt and neil best friend headcanons,’ and ‘a thought.’  here

**M&N hijinks from Allison & Neil or Matt & Neil: ‘chef!andrew trying (and failing) to woo picky eater neil,’ ‘Dare You,’ ‘together…Chapter 22: Too Drunk,’ ‘Matt Boyd and Neil Josten Bromance…,’ and ‘and you’re shining like the brightest stars…’ here

‘I'll be home for Christmas (You can count on me),’ ‘pointless traditions,’ and ‘Merry & Bright’ ch 14, 24 here

‘brosten being dumb and doing stupid shit’ here

‘Mis-Match’ here

‘Perennial’ and ‘Neighbours’ series here

‘Seeing Colors’ here

‘Falling in love in a...Dance Club?,’ ‘Fox magic! Thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard?!’ (updated), and ‘Proper Decorum’ here

‘Spinning Wheels’ and ‘We're A Mess’ here 

‘A Day Out with Dad’ here

‘We Used To Be Friends’ here (completed)

‘The Runaway Game’ here

‘5 times realisation struck Neil & 1 time he acted on it’ here

‘We Can Be Soft’ here

‘Seasons of memory’ here

‘sugar, sugar & everything sugar’ here

‘In the Eye of the Beholder’ and ‘Wait, Neil Has a Boyfriend?’ here

‘call it what you want’ and ‘Andrew scares the waiter’ here

‘12 Ways to Woo a Minyard’ here

‘The Rob Chronicles’ series here

Boys' Night by knoxham [Rated T, 2871 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2020]

Having the evening to themselves, Matt and Neil plan an awesome Boys' Night that consists of movies, a surplus amount of food, and maybe a bit too much alcohol. Everything starts off great, but when they wake up the next morning with no memories, no money, and no eyebrows, they try to retrace their steps to figure out what the hell happened last night and run into a few problems.

tw: alcohol

Neil's Bright Idea by Demi_jos10 [Rated G, 1954 Words, Complete, 2018]

Neil loses his first bet with the Upperclassmen.

I’m sorry, I said Ikea sucks (I just bought a table for 60 bucks) byAcetober (allfortheBoyds) [Rated T, 1715 Words, Complete, 2023]

“Neil,” Matt says once he gets his words back. “Buddy, no. That is an actual crime.” Neil only looks at him in confusion. “It’s just a store,” He argues and Matt does his best not to groan in despair. “It’s not just a store. It’s Ikea. It’s an experience.” or Neil has never been to ikea, Matt takes it upon himself to change that

Lost Cause by Current_hyperfixation07 [Rated T, 7108 Words, Complete, 2024]

The one where Neil Josten faces his toughest challenge yet - finding a date to Senior Prom. Or 5 times the Foxes try to find Neil a date to Prom, and the 1 time he finds a date himself. Neil is oblivious, Andrew is smitten, and the Foxes are trying their hardest to get Neil a prom date by sending him on a series of blind dates. What could go wrong?

a drunk neil josten is an honest neil josten by sam_sational [Rated T, 2574 Words, Complete, 2023]

"You should probably change your pants first, Aaron will stab you if you ruin his reputation at Eden's." After Dan, Renee, and Allison graduate, Matt gets roped into going to Eden's on a Friday night. Neil is more open than usual.

don't be afraid of the beautiful and high mountain by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot) [Rated G, 3194 Words, Complete, 2020, Locked]

Previously recced here

It only took a second for it all to go to shit. One moment, Matt was taking in the spectacular view through the lens of his camera, capturing the way Neil’s hair glowed in the sunlight, and the next, he heard the sound of sliding rock and Neil is gone. Matt and Neil take a day to go hiking and very little of it goes to plan.

tw: serious injury, tw: blood/gore, tw: vomit

2:26 by rather__odd [Not Rated, 1537 Words, Complete, 2023]

Previously recced here

No one expected Neil to be good with kids, least of all Neil. That was before Penelope.

A Real Knock-Out by SensationalSunburst [Rated G, 1377 Words, Complete, 2018]

Matt liked being the guy that people could depend on. So, when Andrew left him on Neil Duty on Eden’s overcrowded dance floor, he took it seriously. Matt had been surprised that’d he’d been invited at all, even more so when he actually accepted, but as a man put a heavy hand on Neil’s shoulder, spinning him around, Matt was glad he came.

tw: implied/referenced racism, tw: attempted noncon

I'll Follow You (into the light) by DeyaAmaya [Rated T, 5576 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil is a paramedic in a rainy city. Andrew will be gone in a few months. And Stuart Hatford just wants Neil to find a date.

tw: homophobia

Neil Josten Builds Himself a Life by tomat0head [Rated T, 9424 Words, Complete, 2021]

Previously recced here

After spending years of his life on the run, then more time under the careful watch of the FBI, Neil is finally free to live on his own and start a new, real life with his best friend and FBI supervisor, Matt, at his side. Along the way, Neil meets a five foot nothing goth wannabe Ikea builder, adopts a cat that is half demon, and makes a group of weird, somewhat annoying friends. This is the story of how one Neil Josten, after years of struggle, finally builds himself a life.

If You Ask Nicely by harvroth [Rated G, 967 Words, Complete, 2016]

"Hey, Matt, why don't you just ask Andrew if you can have a go with his boyfriend?" Dan, seemingly noticing, and not caring where her boyfriend's attention is, startles both Matt who gulps, and turns to look at Dan, blushing, and Neil who also looks up at Dan who is grinning.

Ain't Nobody's Business by jostenminyard (onceuponahundred) [Rated G, 873 Words, Complete, 2016]

Everyone mistakes our close friendship for fliting and an adult went to the director with their concern of our big age difference. For the ultimate BROTP Matt and Neil.

You learn or you die by SagaEllen [Rated T, 1387 Words, Complete, 2021]

Previously recced here

"Listen," He hoped his eyes were determined, maybe a little intimidating, but not threatening - panic won't help them now. "You trust me with that, and I will let you buy me another entire closet with my uncle's blood money." Nicky gaped. "Your uncle's-" He cut himself off with a firm shake of his head. When he met Neil's gaze again his eyes were practically shining and the redhead felt like he was going to regret that promise so very much. In other words: The Monsters plus Dan and Matt go on a trip that ends before it even started. Neil has a skillset.

tw: blood

The Boy Who Hates Movies by 0bsessednerd [Rated M, 11636 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil didn’t enjoy movies for whatever reason. Maybe he didn’t like how fake they were? Maybe he wasn’t allowed to enjoy something so frivolous? Or maybe he was just insane? Nicky always said it was the last one. Because who didn’t like movies? He hoped this next movie night would be different! He had personally selected the movie and got everyone’s favorite snacks to make this night the best one yet. What could go wrong? ~~~ Five times Neil disliked the movies they watched and one time he loved it.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction

Current Obsession: Matt hightailing it out of the dorm before The Shower Scene fandom fun post by @corvidhours [Tumblr, 2021]

boys will be boys hcs by @triquetrine [Tumblr, 2020]

aka neil josten and matt boyd doing nothing other than being besties.

neil, andrew, matt, and kevin + pro league shenanigans hc by @triquetrine [Tumblr, 2021]

matt’s the first one to go pro (because he graduates first) and he is both extremely excited and extremely nervous

Brosten hcs by @demo-whale [Tumblr, 2024]

Part 1 - Matt carries Neil everywhere they go together Part 2 - Matt and Neil can both speak Spanish 

Matt: Repeat exactly what Andrew said fandom fun post by @chai-and-cherries [Tumblr, 2022]

Neil roasts Matt in the pros hc by @eggscelsior [Tumblr, 2019]

have my jacket fandom fun post by @kevinandthepalmetthoes [Tumblr, 2021]

Art

My fav idiots art by @em-xzm

matt boyd is Not Upset meme by @sizzicus

best mate and help pick out baby supplies art by @gremlinddrawss

Neil & Matt making gains at the gym + beefy Andrew reaction art by @intradaya

0 🦊 given art by @riovgle

“Neil hit Riko” edit by @matthcwboyd

Matt and Neil’s friendship is severely underrated art by @markiehh

Matt resting elbow on Neil’s head and bro hugs art by @cute-electrocute

[bootandbradford]

The Rookie 5x10 Chenford Icons/Headers (Part 1/2)

Please like/reblog if you use/save them! Thank you!

[annieqattheperipheral]

"money on the board" explained

if guys don't ever do it seen as "oh he doesn't care about the guys, the team" rookies are targeted but the more $ you're making the more $ you're expected to put up. gotta do it when you're playing hometown, former teams, family attending, big milestones

$ goes to holiday parties/outings together but can also be designated:

TRS = trainers

TD = team dinner

for the week after the season all the $ is used up partying for days

not just for game wins, can be for specific things:

GWG = game winning goal

"5 hits"

"single guys game" Saturday night games single guys encouraged to put up $ for going out after

fines (not mentioned in this vid but details here and here)

$ amounts:

NHL: min $500

AHL: $50, $75, but usually min $100

examples:

19-20 dallas stars home opener (seguin put up $9,850 after signing his contract for $9.85m)

usual game in an 82 game season

example of a guy's big milestone game (eg. 700th game, put up $700)

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

cowboy like me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: As a part-time criminal and a full-time escape artist your first priority was always to keep people at arm's length. When you meet someone who also knows what it's like to live from day to day, you're not so sure you want to let her slip away.

Foreword: Title taken from the Taylor Swift song cause it’s evermore season y’all

The first time you met the Black Widow was aboard a train heading south toward London. 

You sat, facing the window and watching the people mill about the terminal outside. Your cheeks were still red and wind bitten from your commute to the station. The car was almost full now, most everyone dressed in Manchester United jerseys and hats and the like. You blended in just fine among them. Another fan headed home after the match with a scarf and an old pair of trainers. 

You rehashed the details of your current mark in your head like a mantra. Jameson Harris. 42 Malcolm Rd. Wife was Anna Harris. Two children, Marcus and Emily. 

“All aboard. The 5:00 train from Manchester to London is off in three minutes,” the conductor announced from a speaker overhead. You could barely hear it over the excitement of the crowd. A little boy ran screaming down the aisle, his mother giving a futile chase. 

In the set of seats facing you two men about your age sat down. They were clearly drunk, laughing like hyenas and shoving each other in a manner that bordered on real anger. At least one of them smelled like heavy smoke.

“Hey, mate,” the tall, lanky one with a bad neck tattoo waved at you. “How about that game, eh?” 

You grinned widely as if you had one too many drinks coursing through your veins. “Fucking wild.” You stumbled over the words as if your tongue didn’t sit correctly in your mouth. “Best match of the season, if you ask me.” 

The other guy, fitter and dark-haired took out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and pulled a huge drag. The exhaled smoke blew right into the face of a passing attendant. 

She coughed stiffly into her hand. “Sir, there is no smoking allowed onboard. I am going to have to ask you to step out or please put it out.”

“Are you talking to me, sweetheart?” You averted your gaze, scrolling mindlessly through the contacts in your phone. If the woman was looking for a hero, you were a false beacon of hope. 

“Yes. Now, please. There is truly no smoking allowed in the car.” The acrid stench of nicotine once more assaulted everyone misfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity.

The man took a deep breath and stood. Elaborately he stubbed the cigarette out on the back of his seat, little bits of ash flaking into the air. The attendant moved on and he dropped back into the chair. “Fucking cunt,” he swore loud enough to cut through the din. 

You closed your eyes to shut out the cloudy winter light intent on piercing your retinas and the jerky movements of the other passengers, high off the energy from the match. You swore you would take a break after this job. You had made that exact same promise to yourself last week in Bogota, and the time before in Cairo. No, you wouldn’t stop. Just as relentless as the blood rushing through your veins, stopping would be tantamount to death.

“Excuse me.” A voice caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. Innocence dripped from the words like honey, and you could tell the woman’s voice was pitched up from her normal tone. “Is anyone sitting here?” A slender hand gestured at the seat next to yours. 

You pushed yourself up from the slouch you had been lounging in, feeling self-conscious. “No. Go right ahead,” you answered, cockney accent shining right through. She was pretty, you noted; about your age as well. A hitch tugged at the back of your brain. An evolutionary alarm from living your entire life on the move. This woman was not to be trusted. Underneath the wide eyes and the girlish smile was a viper coiled to strike. 

“Thank you,” she said, looking quite small against the backdrop of the raucous train car.

A wolf whistle pierced the air, looking for trouble. The bloke who had been smoking flashed a predator’s grin at the blonde beside you. “Where are you traveling to all alone now, girlie?” 

You watched the exchange from the corner of your eye. Why did conflict seem to follow wherever you stepped foot? The woman merely glanced up from her book, unwilling to feed the fire. 

“Oi. Why don’t you go ahead and look at me when I’m talking to you? I know you can hear me.” The train had begun to depart, ushering in a wave of quiet to the car as passengers settled down. The demand was impossible to ignore. Even as parents hushed children and drunkards passed out in increasing numbers, his voice only gained intensity. 

“This train is headed for London, is it not?” She asked, face as innocent as a blank sheet of paper. 

“Hey Jack. She’s a witty one,” he said, slapping his friend on the chest. The woman flicked her gaze at you. Your attention wandered to her like a moth to a flame. You stomped down on any inclination to help her. You weren’t going to lose this game of chicken.

“Sweetheart.” The man so called Jack joined in the instigating. “How about you come home with us, eh? I’ve got a real nice flat. I bet you’d like the bedroom.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come with me to the bathroom right now?” The dark-haired one surged forward, grimy hand outstretched toward the woman. Caution gone with the wind, your arm darted out on its own accord. You intercepted his wrist, tugging harshly enough for him to stumble closer to you. 

The blonde’s eyes widened and she shrank in on herself in her seat. You saw right through the act. An elderly man with a newsboy cap across the aisle watched the altercation like a deer caught in headlights. You prayed he wouldn’t call for help.

The entire damn point was to not draw attention to yourself. Today though, electricity charged the air with biting energy. The presence of the mystery-shrouded person beside you drove you past the gates of reason. 

You squeezed the man’s pinky until you heard the crunch of bone pushed too far. He screeched like a cat. “Go and find yourself another seat. I don’t care if the car is full. You’ll throw yourself out the rear if you have to. Don’t let me see your fucking face again,” you whispered in his ear. The words leapt flaming from your tongue.

Eyes wild with adrenaline and the courage of alcohol, he swung at you with his free fist. You caught the clumsy punch, seized the man by the wrist, and snapped it clean. He screamed, turning the heads of the other passengers. Your gaze swept like a searchlight through the crowd, promising more hurt to anyone who might even think about interfering. 

He crashed back into his friend’s lap before staggering to his feet. His sniffles and shuffling footsteps echoed through the silent traincar. “Go on,” you directed his buddy, who wasted no time before similarly scrambling from his seat. A final burst of dauntlessness flared up your throat. “What the fuck are you all staring at me for?” You broadcasted to the intrigued onlookers.

Half of these people weren’t sober enough to remember this in the morning. For those who did, you would be a completely different person the second you stepped foot off this godforsaken vehicle. 

“Thank you,” the woman said, sickly sweet.

“Don’t mention it.” You admitted beating up assholes wasn’t an entirely cumbersome task.

“I feel obliged now to ask what your name is,” she continued.

You raised your eyebrows, turning in her direction. “What about stranger danger? How do you know I didn’t just stop them so I could be alone with you?”

“How do you know I needed your help?” She batted the question back at you.

“Touche.” You knew she didn’t. But she had indeed wanted to keep her cards close to her chest at the expense of you revealing yours. You offered a hand. “I’m Sam.”

“Nadia,” she replied, conceding the handshake. Her palms and fingers were lined with ridges of calluses. 

“That’s a pretty name.” But not one that belonged to her, you thought.

She was so close now. The setting sunlight streamed through the window and coaxed the vibrance from the green of her irises. You stopped yourself from lingering there too long. You imagined all the people who had lost to her siren’s call before.

You cleared your throat and broke off the staring match. “Can I ask what you’re doing in England? Excuse me assuming that you’re not from around here.” If she wanted to play this game, you didn’t see the harm in joining in. 

“I’m visiting a friend.” Her American accent drew attention. Odd for a thief or a spy or whoever she was to forgo language assimilation. “What about you, Sam? Did you grow up here?” 

“I did. Never been out of the country meself.” Lies to you, but truths for Sam the football fan.

“Got anyone special at home?” She smirked, looking up at you from a downturned face.

You scoffed. She was messing with you. “No. Not for me. I like to keep available. You never know when an opportunity might come around. I’m not usually one to let a good thing pass me by.”

“And what makes a special opportunity? How do you know one when you see it?” How fitting that smoke still lingered in the air. 

“I guess,” you started slowly. “Some people just have this spark about them.” 

She wet her lips. “Do you think I have it?” If some people sparked with electricity, she certainly blazed with the sun’s heat. 

The corner of your mouth lifted in a smile. You rolled your eyes with playful mirth. That was all the answer she needed.

Good thing as soon as the train pulled into the station in London you would get your ass as far away from her as possible. And with any luck, as the moon eclipses the sun your paths would cease to cross for a very long time.

—

Prime Minister Jameson Harris had an expensive taste in liquor. You were alone in his house, save for a half dozen security agents scattered about various entryways. Tonight you doubled as the man himself while he and his family had been whisked away to another secure location. You owed a friend in MI6 a favor, so you played the sitting duck amidst rumors of an assassination plot. Just another average night.

You snagged a crystal bottle of mystery alcohol from the shelf. Twisting the cork off with a pop you smelled it experimentally before taking a swig straight from the jug. Mister Harris had a fine taste in whiskey indeed. You rounded a giant mahogany table and sat, polished leather squeaking in protest. 

The study lights weren’t overwhelming thanks to the dimmers you had spent way too long fiddling with. In addition you had lit a couple of candles. The room had smelled too much like mothballs and stale paper for your taste.

You raised the whiskey bottle in a toast to an imaginary gathering. “Long live the United Kingdom. To the prosperity of humankind. May all mutant scum drop dead,” you pronounced with the fanfare of a juvenile king. No one had stuck around to tell you your birthday, but you still had a good year or two before you were of drinking age. That much at least, you knew.

You didn’t follow politics, not keen on allying yourself with a particular nation, but the anti-mutant sentiment reached you anyhow. Hate and fear for you and your kind served as a rallying point for human leaders. They ceased pointing their guns at each other and instead set their targets on you. 

Bottle in hand, you stood abruptly and turned toward the giant bookshelf behind you. Classic novels, history collections, and political theory publications lined the entire wall. You traced your fingers down their spines. You had to stay the night here, but thought it may be wiser to resist the call of sleep lest you don’t wake in the morning. 

You pulled a relatively thin volume down. Between the stealing and fleeing and occasional strong-arming you didn’t have a lot of time to read. Tonight, you could start playing catch up with The Scarlet Letter. 

You meandered back toward the desk. Glancing up, a cool breeze rushed at you from an open window. Your stomach dropped, heavy with an iron pit. The curtains flapped in the wind, taunting you for letting your guard down.

You set the whiskey and the book down on the desk and instead wrapped your hand around the slick steel of a pistol hidden beneath. “Show yourself,” you called in the voice of Jameson Harris. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you for breaking and entering.” 

The study was by no means cramped for room, but even still there were few places to hide. You cleared the room in less than a second before realizing the door was ajar too. 

You stalked out into the hall, only to find a guard passed out on the floor. You dug your fingers into your temple. Someone was clearly amusing themselves with the game they were playing. Even so, a chill ran down your spine. You weren’t used to being the rat in the maze in these situations. 

Outside the study, the rest of the house was blanketed in darkness. For you, the absence of light made no difference. You could see just fine with the barest hint of sunshine. From above the bannister, you peered down the sight of the gun at the foyer. The ground floor lay still, as if holding its breath. The security guard posted at the front door sat slumped against the wall. You couldn’t tell if the dark spot pooling beneath his body was born of shadow or something much more sinister. 

A cold hand on your shoulder jolted you from your search. Before you could turn around, meticulously sharpened steel carved a grinning line across your throat. You clamped a hand around the wound, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped canary. From the corner of your warping vision you saw a figure, wrapped in a shawl of shadows. The light from their eyes waited eagerly for the one in yours to wink out.

You stumbled, choking on your own blood. Pink froth bubbled from your mouth, burning with the chase of death. Your attention slipped and you shifted from the body of Jameson Harris and back into yourself. Well, almost. What you imagined you might look like without the lizard eyes and cobalt blue skin of a freak. 

Beneath your palm your skin grew unnaturally warm. The waterfall of blood ceased its torrential flow. Slowly your skin sewed itself back together. You sighed in relief. You knew you could heal, but had never tested your powers to this extreme.

Behind you a voice muttered in Russian, “What the fuck?” 

You stood straight up, flicking blood absentmindedly from your hand. Surprise gripped your heart. Standing in the corner, as still as a statue was the girl from the train that had brought you here. Nadia no longer looked the picturesque part of a wonderstruck American teenager visiting London. Blonde hair, that you now decided had definitely been dyed, lay neatly down her back in an intricate braid. She wore a black form-fitting tactical suit. Not military issued, you thought. 

You blinked and found yourself staring down the muzzle of a pistol. You raised your hands in surrender, assuming the form you had been posing as on the train. A familiar rush raced from the top of your head to the ends of your limbs as your skin reformed itself. “Remember me?” You asked, spitting out a glob of blood and exposing red-stained teeth.

She cocked her head ever so slightly and just a moment of opportunity presented itself. You lunged for the gun while she grappled with the fact you’d been three completely different people in less than a minute. You let yourself shift back to your common appearance and vaulted across the floor. Muscles wound tight, you straightened your torso and kicked at the weapon.

Snapping back to reality she snatched the gun away just in time. You stood before she could re-aim and cut at her wrist. The gun clattered to the floor and you kicked it further down the hall. 

You craned your head to avoid a viscous elbow to the nose. Sweat began to build along your hairline and drip down the back of your neck. You didn’t fight often, preferring to run into the foliage rather than confront the enemy and run the risk of being caught. You missed the rush.

She fought like a dancer. Momentum built from a lunge forward charged a stinging jab at your ribs. You pushed her two steps back and she went for a low sweep at your legs. You moved so fast you could hear the rush of cloth through the air, the sound of a fist soaring at your gut. A knife appeared in her hand, opening a surgical gash along the length of your tricep. 

Hot blood ran down your arm. You weren’t sure what the limit of your healing factor was, but as the cut refused to close, you realized you might have spent it for tonight. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t lose, no doubt that if she caught you she wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck and unload an entire round into your head, just in case. But you had to think five steps ahead even as a boot came flying hairwidths from your face and lightning fast slashes struck at any spot you left unprotected. 

She flipped herself and suddenly you were flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. You pulled air back into your spent lungs, gasping as your fingers dug into the floorboards. From the corner of your vision you saw her bolt for the discarded gun. Panic flared through you and you sprung yourself up, tackling her off course.

The both of you crashed through the bannister and went soaring onto the ground floor. She managed to maneuver herself midair so that she would land on top of you. The impact shot up the knobs of your spine, your head whipping painfully against the cool floor. Her shoulder dug into your collarbone, breaths coming in steady little exhales. You lost your focus for a split second, the pain radiating from the back of your skull overwhelming everything else. 

Involuntarily you transformed into your natural appearance, attention split in so many ways you couldn’t hold onto maintaining your looks. You grit your teeth and shoved the woman off of you with all the strength you could muster, which admittedly beat the strongest of humans even on your worst days. She flew back and smashed into a side table, residing lamp tumbling down and shattering on the floor. 

You hurdled over the staircase railing at the halfway point and cleared the rest of the steps in one bound. You normalized your complexion, hoping the dark had shielded you from her seeing the momentary exposure. 

You scooped a gun up from the ground and whipped around, catching her at the top of the staircase. Strangling the grip, you tensed the muscles in your forearms and leveled it at her chest.

“Where’s Harris?” She asked, voice as harsh as the blade caught in her fist, still drip, drip, dripping with your blood. 

“A safe place. Somewhere far away from pretty women with sharp objects.” Your pointer finger ghosted over the trigger. A voice in the back of your mind urged you to pull it. Return the favor.

She arched one eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re good.” You’d never tell her, but even with your enhanced strength and agility she’d had you on the ropes the entire fight. If you had so much as breathed differently you were sure the roles would be reversed right now. 

“But not good enough for you,” she finished. Even as she bowed completely at your mercy her expression gave nothing away. A long time ago, you thought, she sculpted her face from marble, and the mask had been cemented in place since.

You lowered the gun. You weren’t a killer anyhow.

Blood crusted under your fingernails and in the lines of your palms, your shirt was starting to stick to your skin. You slid it over your head and tossed it on the floor, well aware of the woman’s lingering gaze. 

You turned your back on her and strode into the bedroom, stealing a new shirt before locking yourself in the bathroom.

With a sigh you stopped holding a normal appearance and shifted back into your innate form. Staying in shape had become easier as you’d grown and fully navigated your powers but the process still ate up much of your concentration. Exhaustion slogged endlessly at your mind. 

You eyed your arm which had thankfully stopped actively bleeding, but the flesh still gaped open in a deep red valley. You pulled all the cabinets open, coming up with a roll of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Catching your lip between your teeth you washed the stinging wound, a hiss escaping as you flushed it out. You wrapped the bandage tight around your arm, ripping the extra with your teeth.

Methodically you cleaned yourself up. Filling your mouth with cold water from the tap, the sour coppery taste flushed away from your tongue. Then you scrubbed at your face, neck, and chest, trying hard to ignore the blue ridged flesh of an aberration. As the adrenaline started to drain from your system, the realization that death had been seconds away from stealing your life weighed on your mind like a wet blanket. 

You scrubbed harshly at your hands until the water ran clear and then some. Staring at your reflection you slowly recomposed yourself. Freakishly red hair gave way to a more muted color, the yellow in your eyes faded to white, and bit by bit, the blue scales that cursed you with this power overturned into ordinary skin.

You curled your lips into a careless grin lined with a protective amount of cockiness. The great Mystique smiled back at you.

There you are, you thought.

The first time you had ever lied you were small and alone and desperately hungry for food. You had stolen a loaf of bread from a baker’s cart and bolted around a corner before shifting into someone else. When the seller asked you if you had seen a child run off, you looked him in the eye and told him no. 

You weren’t sure how that one little lie had consumed you until there was no you left. Every morning you woke up and put on a charming show at the cost of further warping the person you ought to be. You’d die in your castle of lies, alone and bitter. 

You walked back out into the hall, finding your attacker right where you left her. She stared down at the pool of blood staining the wood floor as if maybe she had imagined the entire ordeal.

“Unfortunately for you, I am still here,” you said. Unease churned in your stomach. Perhaps she was simply lying in wait, like a predator crouching in the tall yellow grass. “Made quite the mess though, don’t you think? The Prime Minister might have to look at new flooring.” You cringed as you stepped over the dark, coppery smelling spot. The warm light from the study spilled out into the hall. You walked into it, boldly turning your back on the woman. “Come on. I know you have questions.”

You leaned against the desk, next to a little bobble head of a dog. She walked in a few moments later, looking infinitely more at ease than she had in the hall. The knife had disappeared from her grasp. You saw right through the veil, having constructed a similar one in the privacy of the bathroom. 

“So you’re not Jameson Harris, and you’re not Sam from London’s east end.” You shook your head, flicking at the toy. “Then who are you?” She stopped a respectable distance away, standing with her shoulders back and chin high.

You told her your name. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done that truthfully. Yet this stranger managed to coax it out of you with one question. Faith was a funny thing. “And you?” You asked, tracing the curve of her jaw with your eyes.

“Romanova. Natalia.” She told you so almost robotically, as if the name was reserved for other people to use against her. As if she did not have the right to define herself.

“Nice to meet you, Natalia.” You took another sip of the whiskey before offering her the bottle. She eyed it suspiciously. “It’s not poisoned, I promise. It’ll get you damn drunk though.”

She took the bottle, fingers brushing yours momentarily. “I prefer vodka,” she said, drinking as if she’d been denied water for the past week. She passed it back, staring at you as if searching for something. “How?” She asked, your expression denying her any plausible answer.

“How what?” You asked, failing to suppress a growing smirk.

“The disguises.” The firm line of her lips told you she wasn’t entertained by your antics. “You’re wearing some kind of suit, are you not?” You could imagine the gears turning in her head, trying to explain the impossible.  

You slid yourself back until you sat fully on the desktop. “Nope. Fanciest piece of technology I own is a little flip phone,” you said, tracing the smooth lip of the desk with your fingertips. “And I don’t wear tacky suits.” 

“I’m offended,” she said lowly, not sounding the slightest bit bothered.

“Don’t be. The whole dark assassin thing suits you,” you said, waving your hand. “Not me though. I mean, could you imagine me in a skin tight suit?” 

“I wouldn’t sell yourself short. I think you could pull it off.” She raked her gaze over you and heat rose to your cheeks. 

You transformed into an exact copy of her, inspecting your hands in wonder as if she wasn’t standing an arm’s length away. “You’re right,” you said in her voice. “I do look good.” You threw a toothy grin her way before shifting back with a woosh. 

Realization dawned on her, green eyes brightening. “You’re one of them,” she said.

“Yep.” You swirled the alcohol around, watching how the light played off the bottle. “One of them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just I’ve never—I’ve never met a mutant before.” She seemed awestruck at the revelation. You were so used to being met with fear and disgust. 

“I’m sure you have. Especially with all of the traveling you do,” you said. You remembered the window, still propped open from earlier. “Those of us that can try to blend in with everyone else. Take any street in a big city, for example. If you walked around for a little I guarantee you’d pass at least one of us.” You gazed up at the night sky, dotted with a billion brilliant stars. The estate sat well removed from the city and its hungry lights. “Most of us learned pretty quickly how to adapt, how to stay safe and hidden in the crowd,” you explained. 

“And those of you who can’t?” You looked over your shoulder at Natalia, so curious yet so far from innocent herself. 

“We go underground to survive. Or run the risk of being killed, or worse.” You’d heard the rumors. Missing mutants spawned stories. Stories of various governments and other organizations abducting your kind for experimentation. A shiver crawled down your spine.

“Sounds like a lonely way to live.”

You slammed the window shut with more force than necessary. “Takes one to know one.” You guessed people in her life were nothing more than fleeting moments either. “My turn,” you said. “What’s got you sneaking around in the middle of the night, attempting murder on the British prime minister?” 

“That’s none of your business,” she said as if speaking to a child. She took another long drink, fingers twitching at her side as a nervous tic. “What’s got you sitting in his house playing body double?” Her voice had taken on a defensive edge.

“A friend,” you replied smoothly. “And money, of course. Turns out protecting politicians pays almost as well as stealing from them.” 

“Well I’m not a sellout.”

You narrowed your gaze. “No, you just slit throats because you’re told to, then.” Natalia furrowed her brow. “Unless you’re telling me you got bored and picked up a new hobby.” She stayed quiet, your words seemingly falling on deaf ears. “What?” You asked. Her lips were slightly parted. She stalked closer, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey, hey,” you stuttered, tripping over your feet as you backpedaled. 

You huffed as you slammed into the wall. She reached out, so close now you could feel her breath on your face. You froze, heart thundering in your chest. She cupped your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing your flaming skin. 

“Your eye,” she whispered as if it were something holy. 

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“It’s yellow. They weren’t different colors before.”

You broke out of her hold, forcing yourself not to run to the mirror on the wall. The frame was a golden oval, hung in between a family portrait and a pair of framed university degrees. Sure enough your right eye had slipped back. You blinked and it fixed itself, but the damage was done. 

“I should go,” you muttered, staring at the floor and beelining for the door. Too much alcohol and too little sleep and this was what you wound up with. 

Natalia snagged your wrist and held you from taking off. You knew if you pulled away she’d let you go. You untensed the muscles in your back and let her spin you around. 

You tilted your head down and met her in a slow kiss. She had you hooked and you didn’t care. You couldn’t think straight, the taste of her lips clouded your head like a powerful drug. 

You threaded your fingers through her hair and undid her braid while her hand wandered down to your belt. You pulled back, breathless. “I’m not looking for nothing here,” you insisted, even if only to try to convince yourself.

“Me neither,” she agreed. “One night.” She kissed your neck and a low grunt wound its way up from the back of your throat. “You’ll never have to see me again.”

You didn’t know why a pang wracked your chest still her words. That was the plan, after all. You knew you weren’t cut out for more than tonight. And with the way Natalia dragged her nails down your back, you guessed she wasn’t either.

“Bedroom,” you demanded, stepping out of your pants that now lay pooled around your ankles. You stumbled down the hall, blinded by her body as she lost her suit, and deafened by the way she panted your name between desperate kisses.

God, you were screwed.

—

You didn’t sleep, knowing you’d lose grip on your appearance if you did, but with each passing minute you found it harder and harder to stay awake. Natalia lay pressed into your side, so close that you could feel her heartbeat in your ribcage. Her body radiated heat, not the kind that made your face flush with infatuation, but the kind that felt like finally finding shelter after an eternity in the freezing rain. Her breaths wound in and out as if she were sleeping, but you knew she couldn’t. No. Someone who led her life had to be hardwired to never let their guard down.

Finally, after catching yourself almost dozing off for the tenth time you peeled back the covers and forced yourself to leave the confines of the mattress that seemed intent on sucking you back down. Goosebumps immediately rose along your skin, but you didn’t dare to glance back at bed and the woman feigning slumber. You stood and stretched, working the stiff muscles in your back and shoulders. Don’t look back. You followed the trail of hastily removed clothing down the dark hall and back to the study, candles still alight. 

You buckled your jeans and grabbed your bag, lingering by the door. Don’t go back. Hastily you rummaged through the desk drawers, finding a pen and pad of paper. You scribbled down the address of a PO box that you checked quarterly along with a note that read, For another one night. 

A/N

If you didn't catch it, R is a shapeshifter like Mystique from the X-Men. I wrote this piece with the intent of having it serve as the first chapter in a longer story. I wasn't certain of the amount of interest in a series though... I fear Tumblr may be drying up some.

Let me know if you'd like to see more and I can post up the second chapter, otherwise I'll leave it be as a one-shot.

As always, thanks for reading and just a reminder, my requests are open.

[itssoinevitable]

acgas season 5 rant

well I must say it’s been some time since I wrote a tumblr essay but I think this one has been building all season. in fact, it will likely be part one of (?) because there are many feelings that need to screamed into the void. let me preface by saying that I am not a “hater” by any means, because I absolutely and unabashedly love this show and it pains me so much to criticise it, instead of celebrate on cloud nine like I usually would be after the finale. I ranked it higher than downton abbey the early seasons, which is a massive compliment for anyone that knows me. and I repeatedly told others not to worry bc it’s the show that keeps on giving and that I trusted these writers implicitly with our beloved characters.

so yes, it royally sucks that I have to eat my words, and that acgas season 5 did not bring what it should have brought. and it also sucks that this is only part one of my rant (for you and me both). if you loved s5, then I am really happy you did, and please don’t read on bc I don’t want to taint your experience. if you hated it but don’t know why, or bc misery loves company, pls read on. spoilers ahead, obv. 

1. episode structure

yes so — structure wise, it was a hot mess. I can definitely see what they were going for, in that they gave the limelight to a pair of characters every episode, and thought it would be fine like modern family style episodes. except, another spoiler alert: it was not fine at all, unless your faves are the featured couple for said episode. I would do an episode by episode breakdown but @owlsiehoot already did that. suffice to say, it is not the kind of show where you can enjoy 40 odd minutes when it’s not “your” characters’ turn to shine. they have nearly an ensemble cast, but chose not to treat it like an ensemble show. and while I can see what they were trying to avoid, the chosen execution method was far far worse imo. (we may never know the real reason for this change, but I hate whoever greenlit this decision).

even if they wanted to keep the longer scene structure, fine, maybe it could have worked. but if I could have recommended one change in the writing room, it would have been to split the main cast into threes every episode, instead of pairs. that would resemble the formula a bit more like the prev seasons, and would’ve given much more interesting and diverse back and forths to play off of and keep more general balance. some ways the dynamics could have been done:

Tris & Carmody were fine in ep 4, but keep it in skeldale more and add Mrs Hall into the mix to mother them, even better. (reminding the audience she has a biological son too, and not just these surrogate dumbasses whom she loves would have been a bonus.)

Helen & James are always lovely together, but add Tris in there for some mischief or more Jenny and Heston Grange for some sisterly bonding. 

Tris & Siegfried were cute too, but again they were away from the house, and usually Audrey was right in there with them and added something to all their interactions. 

Alternatively, give the ladies something to do and put Audrey, Helen and Mrs Pumphrey together again. (I will say though, at least Mrs P had more to do this season). 

Where the show suffered most was giving Carmody two stand-out episodes tbh, when in reality, they only had time for one.

2. tone

not only did the previous seasons have an amazing balance of all characters, they also managed to balance the darker story threads with lighthearted humour in an inimitable way. usually three concurrent storylines, two being more serious, and one more lighthearted to break it up. some episodes of course, were more lighthearted than others. but season 5 seems to have turned that on its head because almost all storylines were quite silly?? I respect there has always been a certain amount of physical humour, but it seems now that the gags have now replaced actual plots and meaningful character development. this is not a sitcom after all, unless they’re trying to change genre at the nth hour. notable exceptions include Bingo’s storyline ofc, and Candy & Joan (both which were early in the season btw) and James’ war and brucellosis experience right at the end. the middle was mostly twaddle if you ask me.

which reminds me: overall, the animal storylines seem to have become something of a joke too. the animals used to mean a lot more to their clients before, and the vets used to show them a great deal more love and respect. contrast to this season, many vetting scenes feel almost cavalier. the poor dog with the phantom pregnancy was played for laughs, which I don’t think it would have been in prev seasons. the horse that fell down after the injection, had no greater mystery to solve. Siegfried and Tristan barely seemed to care, and chalked it up to shock. it is quite unforgivable to me, as their great reverence for the animals was one of the things I love(d) about this show. 

imo a few subtle changes could have elevated many of the stories to their usual form. I gave an example on discord, but I’ll repeat it here. it’s episode 5, and picture Bosworth coming into Skeldale the same was as he did in canon, asking Audrey to come out to investigate a potential bomb. everything could have remained the same except that Audrey could have told the others where she was off to, and Siegfried or Tristan maybe asked her not to go. the whole family would have gathered together for a moment, expressed their fear for her and she would have said it’s her duty to go and check anyway. in this version, we would have felt the tension and the stakes, and it would be a looming threat of the war finally touching Darrowby. the end would also be the same, a false alarm and nothing more but the emotional impact of the episode would have increased tenfold.

and to me, the worst part of it all is that the season actually started off so promising. the first two/ three episodes, combined with the interviews by the cast, it honestly felt like they were exploring some very interesting things. but they dangled the carrot, only not to deliver imho. 

it seemed that Tristan was hiding something painful under his playful exterior, eventually to be teased out, but apparently he really came back from war completely trauma-free.

I was under the impression that Siegfried was supposed to have an identity crisis, where he was feeling left behind, but it didn’t seem to pan out properly either.

Audrey was supposed to be overworked, right? but we didn’t see her actually buckle under the strain of her many, many duties because she’s basically superwoman I guess?

James had this beautiful connection with Banerjee, only for him to be alive but never show up again I guess? really thought James would bring him to Mrs P’s convalescent home but guess not.

3. characters

and here is the crux of it, the beating heart of the show which is now bleeding out. because a truly good show is character-driven, and unfortunately I cannot say that was true for season 5. a glaring deus ex machina comes to mind, when the doorknob fell off in episode 4, trapping Tris and Carmody in a room. never thought the show would stoop to these cliched tropes tbh and it truly disappointed me.

not only did the episode structures do the characters a great disservice, but it seems to have foiled the overall season story arc too for each character throughline. to me, it looked as if the only two people with clear defined story arcs were James with his war trauma, and Carmody (my beloved). was it Sam West who said the characters seemed “busy” this season? bc yes, it’s accurate. but not in a good way. mostly they all had only things to do on the surface, but there was very little going on underneath. which is a crying shame because basically, characters have to suffer a little to grow and be interesting. they need to face challenges and grow and change. let’s do some compare & contrast:

Tristan changed and grew in every season, from 1 to 3 and faced many internal (and external) obstacles to becoming his best self, whether it was by being more studious or responsible and mature in his work and personal life. Now he’s back and we’re supposed to think… what? That he’s already his best self, I suppose.

season 4 Siegfried was holding his found family together, trying to cope with the workload and missing Tristan, worrying about James, terrified that Audrey was going to leave. contrast to s5, and Siegfried is… being adorable with baby Jimmy, and attracted to a goat heiress? if there was something deeper here, please let me know bc I must have missed it.

while last season, Helen was looking forward to starting a family, and then working on keeping her baby healthy and her family (James) intact despite the war. s5 Helen started off strong, struggling with balancing being a mother and big sister to Jenny, but now… she’s what? planting too many strawberries in the victory garden? being a supportive wife to James is important, but it cannot be her only feature. 

and last but definitely not least, Audrey in s4 was learning what a life outside her marriage to Robert could truly mean for her, and figuring out for herself where she belongs. conversely, s5has her making jam, and finding non-explosive tinned potatoes. yes she’s a warden, but what is she feeling on the inside?

4. conclusion — an empty vessel

to summarise this not-epic epic is that my true grouse with this season is its utter emptiness. it is truly a season where nothing happened and nobody really changed. okay, some things were different — e.g. Siegfried being better with handling his “boys”, and being more open and less grumbly in general. or Tristan being more responsible with his work, and standing his ground more firmly. but imo those were the results of previous season’s changes. within the course of s5, they did not do much growing or changing.

Tristan’s homecoming episode comes to mind the most. so many missed opportunities for deeper to surface — James being torn between treating a patient and possibly missing his son’s christening would have added some true to character dissonance. Helen leaning on Audrey for support when she had issues with her mother-in-law, could have worked beautifully and explored the character foils in an interesting way. James and Helen asking Siegfried and Audrey to be Jimmy’s godparents would have been truly touching and a testament to how deep their familial bonds are.

anyway, TL;DR I guess? maybe it’s because they’re saving most of the juicy stuff for season 6, but it mostly felt like a filler season, and if you looked forward to it all year just to get that then it’s truly anti-climactic. with all that said now, onwards and outwards. we shall see was the CS brings.

[mytalemyworld]

YABANI / ASI & ALAZ SEASON 2 THOUGHTS

It's been months since I wrote here: a very busy real life schedule, a finger injury, not any tv show that piqued my interest caused me not to come here but escapism is very much needed right now. And Yabani is like that your old friend you know you should stay away but as long as it's there, you don't have power to run away.

I seriously didn't expect much from the show considering what we've got so far. Also I really understand the difficulty the new head writer has to live. She took over a wreck, nothing they would write could save the show. So that's why I just watch Asi and Alaz and care about only them. They still make me emotional even though their scenes last only like 5 minutes. Yeah yeah, the new plots, the new characters etc. These are just excuses, because they already have a good, exciting story potential yet the writers choose to ignore it. Once again.

For example, the new bearded guy and the evil lady. You know those old casettes which have two sides: A and B. A side is always aimed to give you the best tracks and as for B, it kind of exists only to fill the casette. To me, no matter how hard the writers try to make them look like an A side track they are just so useless and end up B side. I don't even want to know what their stories are.

The other problem, just for the rating, Asi's long lost family turned out to be a bunch of lunatics. No need to say they're the second B side track for me to skip endlessly.

I am not surprised anymore, I just want to express my frustration.

So let's take a look at our problematic couple.

The things I like:

The fact that he has never moved on.

It's kind of realistic. He's an extreme character, always going back and forth over two opposite edges, and turning any emotion into an obsession level of craziness. Be it love or hatred.

So, it's not surprising to see him like this, desperate, aimless, lost and tired.

The guy has never had a life purpose, not even in season 1. His journey is not about finding himself or his potential etc. He seeks love and wants to be loved. So the first conflict was about the lack of parental love, then Asi (he even chose her over his brother, I mean, it should give you an idea)…and now it's also about his baby.

If the story gives me a wrecked man, I would like to see a consistent behavior. Otherwise all scenes about how lost he is wouldn't matter.

To avoid this kind of problem, the confrontation between Alaz and Asi shouldn't have been his dream. It MUST have been the real one.

Because it would make sense.

Because no effing one could hold himself back after going through a never ending torment for these two years.

Because the actor killed it.

I am not good Asi. Not at all. Every day I've thought this moment. If I found you, If I saw you what would I say? There's not even a single moment that I don't regret, Asi. We could have been so happy. If we had a baby…I always thought it would be a girl. We could have named her Ece. Then we, three of us, would set off by a caravan. You'd sing and I'd play the guitar. Maybe she wouldn't have a perfect life but would be so happy. Because we would love her so much. Because we loved each other so much. And I still love you so much. Please…please, forgive me. I can't do without you. Please don't give up on me.

The fact that he realised he could be a good father because he loves the mother of his child and she loves him back, because he could give all his love to their kid and make him/her feel loved. The fact that he finally realised they have what his parents lack: a mutual love which could make the child literally a love child (he knows this makes a difference) and of course caring about the kid you make, putting his/her needs first.

And he probably came to understand why Asi wanted to keep the child: The need for having a family which he felt like he lost two years ago.

This kind of desperation is so hard to come by on tvs right now. And let me tell you, I've been watching tr dramas for almost 25 years and this is one of the most intense scenes I've ever seen. So raw and so strong.

His soul is on his knees, he wears his heart on his sleeves, he is dying to find out if he has a second chance. He looks like a candle burning and perishing slowly.

However God knows for what reason they chose to keep this scene only in his mind and gave us this:

You still love me.

Sometimes I feel like he has a serious personality disorder. Look, he kind of slayed this too, however it didn't go over well especially after 37th episode.

Maybe I am right maybe he's really unstable, I mean look at him. He has this selfish side that doesn't seem to get healed even after 2 years. He loves being loved, he enjoys seeing being wanted, he has this telling look which says he's glad that she can't move on either no matter how painful it's for her.

Well, he's kind of saying he wants her back and is ready to do anything for it but the scenes are so short which makes the effect weak.

STILL.

They have an effect on me anyway.

[erideights]

With my 6th sense. (3)

Pairing: Hunter x fem! jedi reader

Rating: SFW

Wordcount: 3K

Chapters: (1) (2) (4)* (5)* (*not posted yet)

Warnings and tags: extremely light swearing from frat boy Hunter (because no one can tell me he didn't before he became all soft in TBB), canon-typical slight violence, tension between characters, maybe plot convenience (but let's be real, who doesn't add it?? The Clone Wars was just it all the time)

Summary: Another day, another suicide mission for the squad. This time commanded by a jedi general Hunter doesn't seem to really get along with.

A/N: I've been struggling a bit with making Hunter so distrustful, thinking it was maybe out of character, and then I rewatched episodes 1,2,3,4 of The Clone Wars season 7 where they are introduced, and actually saw how suspicious he was of Echo at first. So yeah, it's pretty accurate and I love it. Enjoy!

Blurred streaks of light turn into distant stars as the Bad Batch’s shuttle, the Havoc Marauder -she still wonders who chose that name but will wait some more to ask- drops out of hyperspace, Serenno now looming ahead. Tech worked thoroughly to disguise their shuttle as a Separatist cargo vessel during their long trip, modifying all their scanner parameters, and now they are moments away from testing his handiwork and to see if the general's creative idea is a stroke of genius or a suicidal move.

Hunter’s mind is a swirl of doubts, tension painfully pulling from his muscles while seated in the copilot seat. Usually, when he’s the one that proposes the reckless strategies, he doesn’t worry so much about the outcome. Maybe because if everything goes wrong, he would blame himself, but this time he wouldn’t have that privilege. He glances at his General as his thoughts wander to her, far too relaxed given the circumstances. That playful smirk tugging at her lips and how calm she seems to be does little to ease his nerves. In fact, it infuriates him more. Her confidence is both reassuring and unnerving at the same time.

“Alright, everyone, get ready,” Tech instructs, his hands flying over the controls. “We’re approaching the Separatist control station.”

And as on cue, the mechanical voice of a battle droid echoes through the cockpit. “State your designation and cargo,” it demands.

Tech adjusts his goggles and leans in, voice steady and authoritative. “Shuttle TR-77, carrying supplies for the main base on Serenno. Transmitting clearance codes now.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens as silence falls over them. Oh, he really doesn’t trust this plan. What if they see through the ruse? What would happen if a damn droid decides to take a peek through the front of the ship?

The jedi, sensing his unease filling the room like toxic gas in a locked closet, leans closer to his seat, calmly resting her arm against it. “What’s the matter, sarge? Don’t trust Tech’s hacking skills?”

Before Hunter can respond, his lip twitching in what she would say is close to a snarl, Tech beats him to it. “Actually, based on the statistical data and previous successful infiltrations, there is a 97.6% chance this will hold up. The algorithms I use to—”

“Tech,” Hunter interrupts, keeping his eyes on the screen, “focus.”

“Roger roger, TR-77, you may approach and land,” the droids finally confirm.

Hunter exhales slowly, thinking he is subtle enough, but he isn’t. “See? Told you it would work,” she says with a playful grin, chuckling lowly.

Wrecker, on the other hand, slumps back in his seat, clearly disappointed. “I wanted some action.”

“Just wait,” Crosshair says dryly, biting into his toothpick. “Things always blow up eventually.”

…

Everyone’s getting ready by the time the cargo ship descends smoothly through Serenno’s atmosphere, the planet’s thick cloud cover parting to reveal a dense, sprawling forest below on its way to the main base. Tech’s hands move deftly over the controls, detaching and guiding the shuttle to a discreet landing spot near the edge of the forest. The ship lands with a soft thud, -smooth in comparison to the disaster the sergeant pulled off hours before-, and blends seamlessly into the surrounding greenery.

Hunter’s gaze sweeps over the calm landscape before he turns to his team. “Alright, lads,” Hunter calls them, drawing everyone's attention to him, his tone commanding while reluctantly checking everything is in place with his new outfit. “Let’s get this started. Crosshair, you stay here near the Marauder. If things go south, we’ll need a quick escape. General, you’re with me on the front. We’ll scout ahead and ensure the lab is clear once we find it. Tech, you’re with Wrecker.”

So, he’s the one giving orders now, huh? (Y/N) raises an eyebrow and rolls her eyes at how bluntly he ignores her rank and command, her authority to be the one to give the orders there, but keeps her thoughts to herself because, in the end, he knows best how his squad works. Hunter’s need to assert control could be a problem, though. “Want to keep an eye on me, sergeant? Afraid I might steal your thunder?”

Hunter’s expression remains hard to read, he could be annoyed or incredibly calm at the same time. He steals a quick glance at her, though. “I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

She nods, pressing her lips in a cocky frown. “Sure thing.”

And so, with their roles established, the group splits up. Hunter and (Y/N) are the first to go into the forest with Tech and Wrecker close behind, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The canopy above is dense, allowing only slivers of sunlight to pierce through, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.

Hunter’s enhanced senses stay on high alert at all times. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, the humidity in the air around them, and the wet earth underfoot, he hears it all, smells it all. He crouches low, his improvised, ‘’undercover’’ helmet under his left arm, examining the ground where faint tracks of heavy machinery have disturbed the soil, he guesses, a month ago. “This way,” he huskily murmurs.

The jedi just watches him work, intrigued by his meticulous nature. She relents her steps at some point, letting Tech and Wrecker reach her and then, she leans softly to the first. “Remind me what he… does, exactly.” She inquires kindly, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the squad leader.

The clone, who was just checking his datapad until now, looks at her and then at Hunter, nodding in understanding. “He’s just tracking. Hunter’s abilities are actually extraordinary. All his senses are heightened to a level and precision that are almost superhuman. He can track a target through environments that would be impossible for others, or feel electromagnetic fields around him.”

Amused and finding that genuinely interesting, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Does he, now?” That’s the closest thing to a… physical, weaker version of the Force. More or less. “That’s impressive.”

“Indeed,” Tech continues, more than happy to talk to whoever was ready to listen to him. “The Kaminoans designed him with an acute awareness that allows him to detect even the faintest traces of a trail. But it’s not just physical; his brain processes these sensory inputs at an accelerated rate, making him an unparalleled tracker.”

And from there, she assumes correctly, comes his name. Originality might not be their strong suit, but it… suits him and that inherent masculinity that seems to ooze out of every pore of his skin. And she must admit, she has heard much worse.

The Jedi nods, now in deep thought, her eyes lingering on Hunter’s back as he leads them through the dense forest. He moves with the precision of a well-oiled machine, every step calculated to avoid detection. Though, she highly doubts there’s anything to worry about there in the open; according to their -Tech’s- calculations, security, both outside and inside, should be minimal. After all, they are deep in Separatist territory, only someone desperate or straight-up (borderline) suicidal would even think to try to infiltrate.

With ease and guided by their human map -better than calling him loth-wolf- the team gets deeper into the forest, the mechanical sounds of the hidden laboratory under their feet growing louder and more annoying inside the sergeant’s ears. And then he stops, raising a hand, signaling them to halt. ‘’This is it.’’

In front of them, in a small clearing surrounded by younger trees than what they’ve seen before, stands a stone structure no more than 3 meters high, covered in fallen leaves and vines. A good way to make it pass slightly more "unnoticed". Judging by the way there is absolutely nothing behind it, it is easy to assume it is an elevator.

Tech approaches the concealed entrance, his fingers dancing over his datapad. “Definitely the place. I’ll start bypassing the security.”

Hunter turns to her, his gaze steady. “Stay sharp. We don’t know what’s inside.’’

“Well, in that case maybe we should find another way in first and make sure it’s clear,” she suggests, her eyes scanning the ground, her feet taking her from one side of the lab entrance to the other. She starts kicking at the large piles of dry leaves accumulated, without success the first three or four times.

The hell is she doing? Hunter frowns, curious, arms crossed and senses alert, but he doesn’t seem to hear or feel anything nearby besides the lab. ‘’What do you suggest, General?’’

“Ventilation ducts,” moving a few meters away, in the direction of one of the few thick trees she spots around, she bites her lower lip, focusing on finding them and proving her point. ‘’An underground base must have ventilation ducts to the surface, right? We both could sneak in and wait for them inside.’’

Once in front of the large, tall, and open roots of the tree, she takes a closer look, squatting on the ground. Inside them there only seem to be dead leaves and some mushrooms, but a blinking light, very small but red, proves her right.

She scoffs ‘cause in the end, the Separatists and the Republic are not so different; there are very similar shelters on Naboo with the same technique to cover their ventilation ducts and secret doors to escape. “Found them.”

That was really clever. Smart. And there’s a part of him that’s surprised of not having thought about it himself. So as Hunter approaches from behind, taking a look over the Jedi, he nods to himself, pleased and annoyed in equal parts. Though he wouldn’t admit it. Nor let it show. He is too proud to give her any kind of credit, but… he likes her style. 

He just finds her perky personality annoying.

She looks back over her shoulder, her lips curling into a playful smile as soon as she catches a glimpse of approval in his eyes. Her head tilting in a gesture that invites him to go with her. “Shall we, sarge?”

…

Her feet land softly and silently on the pristine metallic floor of the base, Hunter behind her with a subtle, deaf thud. Their movements are silent and precise, not daring to pronounce a single word until they verify it's all clear. Both start walking around in sync, searching for the elevator door to let the others in. The interior is a stark contrast to the forest outside—sterile, metallic, and illuminated by cold, fluorescent lights. The walls are clean, with a couple of terminals next to each door. The air is filled with a faint hum of electricity and the occasional beep of automated systems in the distance or mouse droids. It is a place of cold efficiency and clinical precision, a far cry from the natural chaos of the forest above.

Under his helmet, Hunter’s eyes scan the corridors, picking up every detail around them. The sterile smell of the lab, the faint whir of machinery, the subtle vibrations of the floor—all of it loud inside his brain. "Clear," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

(Y/N) nods and sends a quick message through her comm to give the green light to Tech and Wrecker still outside, closing her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. She might not have his cool enhanced, superhuman senses, but she has an extra one, her 6th one, that’s not warning her at all of any possible threats at this precise moment.

The other two clones don’t take long to reach them, with Tech immediately moving towards the first terminal he spots. His fingers fly over his data-pad, connecting to the system. "I’m in. Closing the cameras on loop and downloading the map of the lab now," he says, eyes focused on the screen. The personification of efficiency right there.

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she would swear Hunter seems to relax for just a moment thanks to the lack of activity around them, his eyes fixed on the end of the open corridor, his mind racing even if his body doesn’t show it. "Find the communication center. That’s our primary target."

Tech nods, his eyes darting back and forth. "Got it. This way."

Moving through the labyrinthine corridors of the lab, passing closed rooms filled with half-constructed droids partially visible from outside, workbenches cluttered with tools, and scientists’ notes scribbled on boards, they find no more than a couple of scientists working in the distance, too distracted to notice them. As they pass another set of closed doors, though, Wrecker can’t resist peeking through a small window. "Looks like more droids in there," he mutters mostly to himself. "Probably more trouble waiting for us."

Let’s hope not.

Giving him a playful look, nudging at his arm, the jedi pushes him softly. "Keep moving, Wrecker. We’ll do some sightseeing next time."

"There won’t be a next time," Hunter grumpily corrects her, incapable of shaking off the feeling of being watched, even though he knows and feels there's no one doing so, and it’s just his paranoia. And she cannot help but glance at him again, over the black mask covering half of her face, his tension so strong she swears she can taste it through the Force. "Relax, sergeant. I thought your team enjoyed risky missions."

But the sergeant keeps walking, his eyes jumping to her for a second, shaking his head lightly. "We do, but I would rather fight a male yalbec than be balls deep into separatist territory."

"Fair enough."

And to keep being fair with his concerns, she must admit, it’s somehow unnerving not finding anything or anyone through the corridors. Almost too convenient, even if they already count with a minimum to nonexistent level of security.

Then they reach the communication center and Tech connects right away to another terminal in the middle of a control panel in the center of the room. And as he works, Hunter’s unease grows. Every second feels like an eternity inside that hell of a place, and he would love nothing more than giving Wrecker thumbs up to blow it all, and then he hears it. Something moving, or better said: a lot of things moving. In their direction. Slowly.

"Wait—" but it’s too late, the moment Tech connected his data-pad to the control panel, his actions triggered a silent alarm that woke up some droids. "We are about to get company," Hunter hisses in a low tone, pulling out his vibroblade.

Wrecker’s face lights up with anticipation. "Finally, some action!"

"Technically, it’s just a small guard squad checking for a false alarm. If we hide..." Tech starts talking fast, already searching for solutions to the problem.

"We can’t hide him," The General interrupts to point at Wrecker, noting matter-of-factly as she peeks out the hallway to check where the droids will arrive right after. "Have you blocked external communications?"

"Since we entered," he assures her with a small nod.

"Good. Let’s take care of these droids quietly and get out of here," Hunter orders, to which everyone nods without exception. Wrecker more reluctantly; he wanted a good fight.

‘’And remember—’’ squinting her eyes, she first glances at the sergeant, then at the biggest clone; so the one she trusts the least, basically, he enjoys maybe too much the idea of destroying everything. ‘’If we see the droid we came looking for, don't touch the motherboard. We need to bring the control unit intact to Coruscant.’’

A couple of mechanical voices give away the arrival of a squadron of battle droids within minutes, an experimental one for the way it doesn’t seem fully finished, sleek and deadly, keeping its distance in the back, silent, observing. Its design is already more advanced than the classical ones, with a menacing, insect-like appearance.

With a hiss, the regular battle droids open the doors and not even a second later, Wrecker smashes the head of one of them without mercy or having taken a real look at it. Hunter stabs another, as (Y/N)'s lightsaber cuts the third in half. Their big boy, true to form, engages the last one with sheer brute force, enjoying every second from the moment he lifts it into the air until he slams it against a wall. 

That was dramatic, poor droid.

"Is that all you got?" Wrecker taunts, grinning from ear to ear.

But unbeknownst to them, the experimental droid that kept its distance analyzed the situation from afar and seeing one of the intruders connected to the terminal, it bypasses the others, faster than the group can predict, and zeroes in on Tech. It lunges, pinning him to the wall by his neck, its mechanical fingers tightening. Tech's eyes widen in shock, his hands scrambling to pry the droid's grip from his throat.

And from here… everything happens just. so. fast.

Hunter doesn’t hesitate, vibroblade in hand, he plunges the blade into the droid’s motherboard in the back of its head, stabbing strong and deep.

"Hunter, wait! That’s the one we n—" The jedi scream comes too late. She didn’t think she would have needed to scream at all. But there she is.

The droid sparks and falls limp, and an ear-splitting alarm blares to life. Red lights flash throughout the lab, bathing everything in a crimson glow. The sound of the alarm echoes through the corridors, a harbinger of the chaos to come.

Silence falls over them as Hunter pulls back, his movements fluid, but his eyes wide with realization as soon as he processes (Y/N)’s warning. This cannot be happening. "Kriff—"

[lcandothisallday]

10. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm not enough, but I don't know how to change."

Angst with Auston!

10. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough, but I don’t know how to change.”

Auston Matthews x f!reader

You knew—you knew that the second your boyfriend’s team got passed the first round of the playoffs, that the emotions during the second round were going to be a whirlwind.

And they sure were. When game 5 went into over time, you knew the night was either going to end in stress for anticipation of game 6, or the season would end completely with absolute heartbreak and frustration. Considering how the night was going, it seemed like the latter was going to happen.

When the final buzzer during over time sounded, your heart broke for Auston. They had worked so hard to get this far and it felt like a punch in the gut to lose in the way they had. You watched as he quickly exited the ice, no doubt upset and frustrated.

You watched as all the Toronto fans began to file out of the arena in disappointment and bitterness and when enough time passed, you decided to make your way to the locker room.

You had a feeling that Auston would be the last one in there ana sure enough you were right. He was sat on the bench, his elbows resting against his knees and head hung low, contemplating life.

You approach him slowly, moving to stand in between his legs and instantly he welcomes your presence by wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning his head against your stomach.

You rub his back and feel him take in a shaky breath. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough, but I don’t know how to change,” he murmured in confession.

“Aus—you guys played amazing. At a certain point it really is just luck—”

Auston scoffed and pulled back from you with a frustrated look in his eyes. “That’s such a bullshit excuse and you know it,” he practically growled, getting up abruptly which caused your arms to fall back to your sides. “We could’ve played so much better…I could’ve played so much better.”

You watched as Auston paced back and forth in the locker room, his frustration evident. He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, a sign of his agitation, and let out a heavy sigh. You could see the disappointment etched on his face, and it tore at your heart.

"I know you're upset, Auston," you began softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But you can't solely blame yourself or the team for this loss. It was a tough game, and you all gave it your best."

Auston turned to face you, his brows furrowed. "Best isn't good enough," he replied bitterly. "I'm tired of coming so close and falling short. It's like I'm not doing enough, not living up to the expectations."

You stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch his arm. "Auston, you're one of the best players out there. You give your all every time you step on the ice. This loss doesn't define you or your talent."

His entire demeanor showed annoyance at your words. "You know what? Just shut up. I'm done talking about this," he muttered, waving you off. "I just want to go home. So, can we go home?" he asked, his tone condescending.

You blinked, taken aback by his outburst and attitude. The tension in the room grew, and you could feel the weight of his emotions hanging heavily between you. After a moment of silence, you nodded, letting go of his hands.

"Yeah let's go," you respond quietly.

The ride home was filled with a heavy silence. When you made it back to your shared apartment, he set down his bags with a thud before he practically beelined into the shower.

You sighed and decided to change into your pyjamas, before you went back out to the kitchen to make yourself a hot tea and watch some tv. Eventually, you heard the shower turn off and shuffling in the bedroom before he finally emerged out of the room, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a loose fitting t-shirt on.

He took a seat next to you on the couch and the two of you stared ahead watching the tv in silence. Truth be told, after his slight outburst, you wanted to give him space.

You knew Auston needed time to process his emotions and thoughts, so you refrained from pushing him to talk. The sound of the tv filled the room, but neither of you paid much attention to it. The weight of the recent loss lingered in the air, creating an atmosphere of tension and unease.

As the minutes ticked by, you stole glances at Auston out of the corner of your eye. His expression remained stoic, but you could sense the turmoil brewing within him. You debated whether to break the silence or wait for him to make the first move.

After what felt like an eternity, Auston let out a heavy sigh, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his eyes fixed on the tv screen. "I didn't mean to snap at you earlier. It's just... frustrating, you know?"

You turned to face him, noticing the sincerity in his eyes. "It's okay, Auston. I understand. Emotions run high after a tough loss."

He nodded, his gaze shifting from the tv to your face. "I don't wanna go to bed without you," he murmured softly. Your cheeks begin to heat up as you turn to look away which only caused your boyfriend to let out a soft chuckle.

"C'mon baby--I know you. You were gonna sleep out here and blame it on 'accidentally' falling asleep to your show to give me space," he said, calling you out.

You couldn't help but blush at his observation, realizing he knew you too well. With a shy smile, you admitted, "Okay, you caught me. I just wanted to give you time to process everything."

Auston reached out and gently took your hand in his. "I appreciate you giving me space, but right now, all I want is to be close to you," he confessed, his right hand moving up to cup your cheek.

The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, melting away the tension that had built up between you. Auston's thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as his eyes locked with yours.

Without a word, you leaned in closer, your lips meeting his in a tender and passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volume, a silent conversation filled with reassurance. In that moment, the weight of the loss faded into insignificance and all that truly mattered to him was how lucky he was to have you.

His lips moved against yours with a mixture of tenderness and hunger, his hand slipping from your cheek to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss while your hands instinctively found their way to his chest.

When the kiss finally broke, you rested your foreheads against each other. "I love you," he whispered against your lips with sincerity.

"I love you too."