#were still working through that writer's temper tantrum

[sterekotypes]

WIP Wed - Now On Whichever Day Because Deadlines Are Fake Social Constructs To Make Me Feel Bad About Procrastination

Fresh from the keyboard here is another chunk of the Cowboy AU:

Stiles saw him at the edge of the bar. The man with the dazzling chain. His hat was pulled low, but not low enough that Stiles couldn’t make out the brush of stubble along his jaw or the pretty curves of his lips as they caressed the glass he was drinking from. He was covered in a layer of travel dust that he hadn’t bothered to shake off. The man looked up. His eyes devoured Stiles. Skated over his face, down his neck, over his shoulders, and his chest where Stiles was still clutching his jacket close. When the man was done with his inspection; his eyes, so clearly full of secrets, met Stiles’ again. Then he glared and turned away. Stiles blinked. That’s the fastest he’s ever angered someone. He didn’t even get a word out this time. Stiles wasn’t in the business of letting potential marks daunt him. They all fell for his charms eventually. Stiles walked with forced casual steps until he was standing in front of the patron. Then he placed his forearms against the bar and leaned into the man’s space, until the man was forced to lean back or find his face pressed into Stiles’ chest. “Howdy.” Stiles smiled even as his heart kicked up the pace. The man just glared at Stiles again. “We don’t get many gentlemen like you in town,” Stiles tried again. The man didn’t even open his mouth. “What’s got you traveling all alone?” Still nothing. “The silent type. More satisfying when I get it out of you.” Stiles winked. “Let me guess. You’re …  Logan! The oil baron, come here to tell Old Man Gridle that parcel of land he’s holding onto is worth millions in black gold.” Nothing. “You’re Dean; a fourty-niner who got rich on his last excursion to California. I’m sorry to tell you Dean, I’m not fond of men who mistreat the natives.” Somehow the glare got more intense. It had to be the eyebrows. “Go away.” “He speaks! I must be getting close. You are… Peter! The banker. Oh! The bank robber, and you’ve just finished a heist and are hiding from the law.” Stiles watched as the man’s eyes went panicked. “Stay away from me,” The man growled, pushing back from the bar. Stiles reached across the bar to grab his wrist before he could rush from the room. “Wait.” Stiles was nearly yelling. Rushing to get the words out. “I won’t tell anyone about your bank heist, Peter. You don’t have to-“ “Derek.” The man stopped staring at where Stiles was holding onto him long enough to look at Stiles. “What?” Stiles blinked. “It’s – Don’t call me Peter. My name is Derek.” “Derek, then,” Stiles smiled and released Derek’s arm. “You don’t have to go.” Whatever loquacious spirit had flooded Derek earlier had vanished. He seemed to shake himself briefly before slamming his drink back. He turned on his heel and moved from the room at just too fast a pace to be a walk. “Nice talking to you, Derek!” Stiles called at his back. Stiles was rewarded with one final glare before Derek disappeared up the stairs.

Tagged by @dear-massacre

If you see this and want to join, please do! Tagging is hard

[plushienanami]

Hello hello! Could I request headcannons for yandere chamber, sova, Omen, and Brimstone with a gn s/o who knows about their antics and Are you trying to escape them? I say, as if I'm trying to get out of protocol (Thank you so much for reading this and sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language )

Hi everyone! I know it’s been awhile and I’ve been gone so long. I took writers block to a whole new level. This last year sm has happened but to be honest I want to write again and use this as a creative outlet! I hope you enjoy, love you all 🤍

You knew that staying in Protocol was a gamble, never knowing if you were going to come back in one piece or even alive at all. It didn’t help when one particular agent made your time in the special covert operations organization an almost living hell. Even if the fate of the world was on Protocols backs, it was time to leave while you could…or at least that is what you thought.

CHAMBER: 

Before you even began thinking of leaving Protocol, he already knew what was going to happen. It totally wasn’t how uncomfortable he made you when he would constantly flirt with you on missions <3

He wouldn’t talk to you about the matter, actually doesn’t address it all only with small quips and remarks that make you question whether he knows your plan or not. 

Chamber isn’t Brimstone, he doesn’t have the power and control that the head leader holds. Although that doesn’t mean he is totally powerless, this man has money and status that he most certainly utilizes.

He is a shady man, a con man if you really want to put a label on it considering what he did to Fracture, manipulating and lying to get what he wants. Under protocol he doesn’t have control over you, so he would definitely let you have your “temper tantrum” before he would take any immediate reaction.

He wants you to feel as if you have the upper hand, as if you won. 

Now with you being out of Protocol and not under constant surveillance leaving in the base, he can do as he pleases. 

Opening the door to your flat, you are greeted with the familiar darkness you see everytime you return from your work shifts. Taking off your outer coat you hang it on the coat rack beside the door, taking the time to sleep off your shoes about to turn on the lights. You never consider yourself paranoid, yet the eerie feeling of not being alone began to send a chill down your spine. The room was still dark, silence filled the air as you listened for any noise that would indicate that something was there. Slowly your hand made its way to the light switch, flipping the small white knub up as the lights blasted on. To your horror the last person you wanted to see sat there in the burgundy velvet wingback chair in the living room. The slick back hair, chunky yet expensive glasses frames, that blue silky waistcoat that cost more than the rent you paid, Chamber. Vincent Fabron. “Bonsoir mon chéri. What a nice residence you have…quite old fashioned for my taste, non?” He finally spoke, his signature card in hand as he toyed around with it. “You left so suddenly, not even a goodbye? How inconsiderate considering how close we were.” He rose from his seated position in the chair, stalking forward towards your frozen stature. His eyes remained focused on yours, an unreadable emotion as he continued forth before stopping in front of you. The coy grin he wore on his face as he gazed at your fearful expression with delight. With a small snap the card disappeared from his hands, the golden tattoos lighting up as the object retreated. He stood posed, staring down at you as a wolf to a sheep. “Your little game is over chéri…let us be off.” SOVA:

He always had been doting, trying to accommodate you and make sure that your time at Protocol is pleasant considering what all you have to go through to keep global peace.

He would start to see the hesitance in your eyes, the inner turmoil and battle you had with yourself when things would go awry (totally not around him).

As you resign filling out paperwork to Brimstone who was sad to see you go yet understood where you were coming from, Sova would come across you and Brim. He saw you walk into his office, and concerned he followed. It didn’t take him long to notice the paperwork that laid in front of you, pen in hand. 

Sova, who is always a calm and collected person doesn’t say much yet stands there with that composed expression on his face. Yet if you looked hard enough you could see the way his artificial eye glowed brighter as his jaw clenched.

He would ask to speak to you, nodding his head at Brim who didn’t expect a thing considering how highly regarded Sova is and how much of a good ally he was to him. He would have to settle this himself. 

An unsettling feeling made its way to your gut as you stood up and followed Sova out. The further you walked away from Brim and closer to the door, the more you could feel your freedom slipping from your grasps. The mechanical door slid open allowing you to make your way to Sova who stood down the hallway, a hardened look on his face. He never was this scary, kind and clingy…not like this. Standing in front of him, you looked and finally realized how much bigger he was than you. “Why are you leaving?” He asked, plain and simple. “I-...uh…” You stammered, the words you wanted to say were gone and now incomprehensible. “You do realize that if you leave, you would be in so much danger.” He spoke in a concerned manner, although at this moment you didn’t know it was a mask to cover up his ulterior motives. “If you leave, who knows what could happen to you. You wouldn’t be protected…who knows what your other self could do when omega earth realizes you are no longer with us anymore?” Desperation filled his voice as it wavered in worry. The longer you stared into his eyes, the more guilt you felt. He cares about you, worries about you and this is what you do in return? All he’s ever done was insure your safety and that’s what you’re worried about? “You’re right…I don’t know what I was thinking, thank you Sova.” 

OMEN:

Even though he is the sweetest ever, he is still eery in his own way. Ominous. He isn’t much of a talker and if so he says stuff you can never wrap your mind around. 

He lingers around you, whichever room you're in he somehow is there, cutting his bonsai tree or knitting to remain calm. His presence is one you can’t shake yet it still is uncomfortable when you two are hardly friends.

Deciding to leave Protocol is a hassle itself, one that you most likely won’t even have the chance to do. Omen has some attachment to you and everyone seems to know that even Brim.

Most likely due to his perceptive he is, he knew of your little plan of trying to leave. He would talk with Brimstone trying to talk him into a deal or some type of way to make you stay. You keep him calm, all those voices and nightmarish images he has to live with everyday, you somehow make it bearable. 

When you arrive in Brimstone’s office requesting your resignation, somehow you cannot. Brimstone explains it has something to do with agent confidentiality or the safety, you weren’t really listening. 

Yet you’re stuck.

Standing there under Brimstone’s gaze never upset you, never made you nervous or anxious in any way. It was him who stood there, the walking shadow as he gazed upon your rigid form. Your fists clench to your side, sweat starting to form in your already clammy hands. The whole confrontation was unsettling, not only Brimstone was delivering such disheartful news, you had to endure the shadow that loomed over you. By the time the meeting was done and a final apology was uttered from Brim, he dismissed you. You walked out, form slumped as you were completely saddened by the news. As you made your way to the shared dining facility, you made yourself a cup of tea to calm your nerves down from what had happened. In the corner of your eye you could see the familiar phantom, the inescapable nightmare that you permanently stained your life.. 

BRIMSTONE: 

You’re not making it out of the book with this one. There is no way you could even try to leave considering he is the leader of Protocol and would make up some excuse as to why you couldn’t resign from your role as an agent. 

He makes the rules and no one questions it. Why would they when all he does is look out for his fellow agents and tries to encourage them as much as he can. 

Brim is one stubborn man, one who has committed himself to protecting this earth from all the radianite crises that continue to happen. He had the chance of retiring, starting a family and settling down somewhere in those American suburbs with the perfect life. He will do anything to keep you there. To keep you under him so when this is all over you and he can finally have the life his ex colleagues always talked about.

He is dedicated and with dedication there is nowhere to run or even hide. 

Stepping into Brimstone’s office you meet the gaze of the older man and you stand in front of his desk. His demeanor changed as he sat up in his chair straightening his form and clearing his throat before he began to talk. “You know why I called you in today?” He begun, his fingers laced together as his nose crinkled with a small sniff. “No sir, I do not.” You addressed him formerly even though it wasn’t mandatory. “I heard word from the others about you possibly wanting to leave. Is that true?” Your back stiffened as you felt scrutiny under his gaze. Your mouth went dry, heart stammering in your chest the longer he continued to stare at you. “Yes sir…” A defeated tone you uttered. He shifted his position, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he turned to look back up at you. “Look kid, I can't let you do that. Considering what is all going right now, not only would it be risky for you but with what you know Protocol could be compromised. I’m sorry to deliver this kind of news to you, I know it can be stressful but that is why we're all here…why I’m here.” He stood, walking towards you to place his much larger burly hand on your shoulder. The close proximity unsettled you as silence settled in the room, his deep breaths compared to your shallow fearful ones. “When this is all over you don’t need to worry about all of this. Like I said I’m here for you…I always will be.” It was at that moment you knew your fate was sealed.

[void-wolfie]

The Moon & Saturn

summary: Jenna comes home early one day to find a heartbreaking sight. The two of you work through your problems together.

pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!Reader

tw: self-harm, depression (?), mental instability, angst...

words: 1.26k

a/n: I'm a terrible writer, and it's my first time posting something like this, don't judge me too much.

**if you're easily triggered or upset by the aforementioned topics (ie, self-harm), I recommend not reading.

Jenna stood in front of you defeated, tears pooling in her eyes despite her attempts at remaining strong. She seemed desperate to reach out, yet afraid the smallest touch might break you.

You sat curled into the corner. The tear tracks would've been dry if it weren't for the fresh wave running down your face.

It would've been fine if she hadn't been home. She wasn't supposed to be, but she came home early to surprise you. When she walked in on you in the bathroom all hell broke loose.

As a kid, you always felt different from others around you, and adulthood was no different. The thoughts in your head ebbed and flowed like the waves of a tsunami and the ups and downs often pulled you under. One week you'd be fine, feeling like life couldn't get much better, then the next you'd hit a major depressive episode for seemingly no reason.

When you met Jenna you learned to hide all that. Or at least mask most of it. Eventually, you couldn't hide everything, and she met a side of you that you never wanted her to see. Late-night crying sessions, temper tantrums out of frustration, days where you were so numb you couldn't even manage to leave your bed... She saw all of it. Well, almost all of it.

A year of dating and somehow you had still managed to hide your biggest vice from her. Cutting. As far as she knew you'd never done it and you never would. It was the only lie you'd ever told her in your relationship.

The blade sat on the edge of the bathtub from when you had used it mere minutes ago, the edge still stained red.

You pushed yourself further into the corner, almost hoping the floor would crack open and swallow you whole. Anything to avoid Jenna's disappointed and heartbroken gaze.

She didn't say anything. Not yet at least. She picked up the washcloth sitting on the bathroom counter and wet it under the sink. She kneeled in front of you slowly, as though any sudden movement might scare you off.

Waves of guilt were flooding your veins. You couldn't meet her eyes, settling on watching her clean the red lines on your thigh instead. The blood had rolled down the side of your leg, creating a small puddle underneath you.

She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve you. She shouldn't have to come home and worry about her girlfriend having some kind of mental spiral. She shouldn't have to deal with you on top of all the other shit she deals with on a day-to-day basis.

She finished wiping the blood away and used the cloth to put pressure on the slits, attempting to slow the bleeding. She grabbed the blade from beside you, moving it to the counter instead, just out of reach.

It was silent. Deadly. Both of you watched as she tended to the cuts. Neither of you wanted to make eye contact.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She finally broke the silence, her voice cracking mid-sentence.

"I'm sorry." It was all you could muster up, your voice hoarse and weak from all the crying. The lump in your throat made it all worse, like trying to swallow sandpaper with cottonmouth.

She grabbed your hand gently, waiting to see if you'd flinch away. She'd never admit it, but she was thankful you hadn't. She set your hand where hers was on the washcloth, "Hold this."

You did as she asked, holding the cloth in place, trying to use about the same amount of pressure she had.

She went to stand up, but before she could move away you grabbed her wrist, stopping her in place. "Please don't go," It was barely above a whisper.

Now that she had seen you here, in this dark head space, you were terrified. Terrified that if she left, even for just a second, it just might be forever. You couldn't have that; you weren't ready to lose her. It might seem selfish, but you needed her.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," She cupped the sides of your face, wiping away the tear tracks with the pads of her thumbs. She placed a small kiss on your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

The reassurance made you melt. She wasn't leaving you. Not yet.

She grabbed the first-aid kit from under the bathroom sink. When she moved the rag away from the cuts it was a lot clearer how long this had been going on. A sea of faint white lines and faded pink scars littered the surrounding skin. She wanted to cry just looking at them. How could she have missed this? How could she not notice that one of the most important people in her life was suffering?

When she finished patching you up, she led you out of the bathroom and over to the bed, sitting down beside you. All you wanted was to curl up and sleep beneath the warm blankets, but the look on Jenna's face told you she wanted to talk.

"Why?" It was only one word, but a loaded question.

You shrugged, not giving her the answer she wanted. The disappointed look on her face was enough to make you rethink everything.

"And this time using words?"

"When I get... overwhelmed, I feel like I'm gonna explode. Sometimes, doing that is the only way to make it better."

"How long?"

Your silence was all she needed to know. Long enough.

"Baby, why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you," Her voice crackled as she spoke, silent tears rolling down her face. You had done the one thing you were hoping to avoid. You hurt her.

A numbness washed over you at her words, the voices coming back louder than before. She deserves better. Why would she ever love you? All you are is a burden. All you do is hurt people. Loving you was is destroying her.

"You should leave me," the words slipped out without a second thought. You knew why you had said it, you needed to protect her from your fucked psyche, but that's not what you wanted. God, Jenna was one of the best things to happen to you if she left you... well, you didn't wanna think about that.

"What?" The question caught her off guard, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to find some sign you were kidding. "Why would say that?"

"I'm a mess, you shouldn't have to put up with me all the time-"

"Hey, no." She put a stop to your rambling before you could even get started, "I don't put up with you, ok? I love you. Every single fucking part of you. The late-night fights over stupid shit, the midnight tears followed by way too much ice cream, the way you put everyone before yourself, how you laugh at every single joke you hear, even if it's completely ridiculous. I come home every night and I think about how lucky I am to have you in my life. I love you so much it hurts. To the moon and Saturn, remember?"

That was your thing. Some couples had traditions or inside jokes. You and Jenna loved each other to the moon and Saturn.

"To Saturn."

It was a simple reply. But it didn't need to be anything more. Jenna knew that you loved her just as much as she loved you. So much so, that just the thought of losing one another was physically painful.

[megamindsecretlair]

Be My Little Darling - Chapter 11

Chapter 10 Chapter 12

Pairing: Loki x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. ANGST. Dirty talk, mentions of grief and violence. Soft Loki, Jealous Loki

Summary: Loki is the exclusive owner of the hottest club in New Asgard. Dubbed the Nine Realms, each of the nine rooms represent a different realm. You are his second in command, working the floors and ensuring everyone is having fun. It has been a week since the dust up with Loki and you are not sure how much more you can take.

Word Count: 3,939k

Masterlist

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long! My family are my opps. I will try to update this a little quicker, I'm excited to see where these two go. A little something something before we get into the nitty gritty. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I block ageless blogs!

Taglist: @cantstayawaycani @braverthanthenewworld @monaeesstuff @chaos-4baby @dayjlovesromance @soft-persephone @mybonafidefeelings @nerdieforpedro @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide@foxherder @itzgabz22

“I hate it when Mom and Dad fight,” Sweetie muttered, just loud enough for your benefit. You ignored her just as you ignored the rest of the staff all week. They weren’t stupid, they could pick up on the tension between you and Loki. 

You weren’t ignoring him, not completely. He’d throw too big of a temper tantrum. But he was also unwilling to talk about what happened when you saw Thor. You just wanted him to budge, even a little.

He had forced you to confront things you hadn’t been ready to. Forced to draw out those deep grooves in your heart and put them up to a mirror in all its ugly glory. You cried in front of him. Bared your soul and body to him in a way you never had before. And what did he do? Completely shut you out.

You couldn’t survive in half a relationship. So sue you. You weren’t a half measure type of person. You loved and hated in absolutes. You didn’t know how to give up. It was why you were still looking for your family five years later with all evidence pointing to the inevitable truth: Thanos snapped them away.

Your heart cracked thinking of such a thing. That they were just…gone. There was no body to bury, no tomb to mourn. You couldn’t accept it yet. You couldn’t look your siblings in the eyes and tell them that there was no hope left to give.

So no. You weren’t giving up on Loki and you didn’t care how old he was, how powerful, or how much he considered himself a god. He would have to use his big boy words. 

“Sweetie, I’m expecting a visitor today. Please make sure to notify me,” you said. It wasn’t her job, but you smiled at her so that she got the message. 

“Do we need to Parent Trap them?” Honey asked, not bothering to be subtle. She sat with her usual suspects hunched over cups of coffee, bottles of water or juice, and random pastries. 

You grabbed your coffee, unable to fight the smile at the reference. Movies were something you all enjoyed once coming to Earth. As far as being stranded, it wasn’t that bad of a place to be. You all have torn through plenty of movies so far, Parent Trap being among the favorites. You were still shocked that the little girl wasn’t a real life twin. 

You walked over to the table while the group looked at you expectantly. Some leaned forward as if you were going to share something juicy. Others looked almost genuinely worried for you. You hated the pity. You didn’t owe them an explanation. 

“The saboteur has been too quiet lately, so make sure you keep your eyes peeled. This person likes to watch the chaos from the front seat,” you said. You smiled when they groaned and leaned back. 

“Princesa, please! We cannot live like this!” Honey said, her face scrunching up comically into a heartbroken frown. 

“You make it sound like we’re in Hel,” you said and chuckled. 

“He’s miserable without you,” Sugar said. 

You took a sip of coffee to stop yourself from going on a rant. You were their boss, not their friend. Though, some dark pleasure rippled through you at the thought of him suffering. You hoped your scent still lingered in his bed. The gods knew that you tossed and turned in your bed thinking of him between your legs.

And…that was enough of that thinking. You took a deep breath. “Loki is a god, as he likes to remind us. He’s fine,” you said.

They didn’t believe you. You didn’t give a shit. You had more pressing matters to worry about. Like supply requests and restock. A prickling awareness settled over you and you straightened up. 

Eyes snapped towards the door. This was all so dreadfully dramatic. You turned towards the door and saw Loki looking as delicious as ever. He couldn’t be that miserable and still look that damn good. It was unfair. His hair should be messy, clothes unkempt. Something. 

Your eyes skittered over his before you looked away. It still hurt too much that he didn’t trust you with the truth. And you weren’t the begging type. So you walked over to him. “Loki,” you said with a nod.

“Is it me or is it fucking icy right now?” You heard somewhere behind you.

“Mom and Dad need to figure it the fuck out,” you heard as well. 

“Darling, good morning,” he said. He stood and stared at you, making it hard for you to deny that there was anything amiss. He also blocked the damn door. 

“Morning,” you said, nodding towards the door. Loki dug his hands in his pockets. You glared at him but his face didn’t change. Nothing about him did. Your hand was beginning to shake. You longed to run your hands through his hair, pull him to you, and demand kisses and smiles. 

The staff was right, this was icy. Nothing like the heat and passion he was capable of. You moved to walk past him and he cut you off.

“We have to talk about the VIP list tonight,” he said. There. A wince. A crack. A glimpse into that stormy brain of his. 

“Well in hand, Loki,” you said. You smiled, turned around and bowed for the audience. “And scene. Back to work, you bunch of lazies,” you said. The tension in the room melted a fraction before you shoved past Loki and out into the hallway.

Loki trailed behind you. He made no sound but you were attuned to him like never before. You were always aware of him before. How he moved, how he talked, that smile that never failed to trick and tease. But it was amplified now. As if invisible strings connected the both of you. 

“Darling, stop,” Loki said. You took a deep breath at his deep timbre. That voice. Hell, let’s be honest. Everything about him drove you crazy. And you had resisted for five long, beautiful, torturous years. It was hard to quit cold turkey. 

Still you marched down the hallways towards your office. You weren’t going to make a scene here. 

Loki’s strong fingers wrapped around your arms, pulling you to a halt. You swung your arms wide, careful to avoid any slippage of your coffee. You growled, facing Loki finally. 

“You’re such a child,” you hissed. 

“You’re the one ignoring me like one,” he said. 

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m busy. Work, remember? The thing you hired me for?” You asked.

“Fine, then you’re fired,” he said.

You giggled. You immediately shut up because it wasn’t funny, not at all. You drank your coffee to hopefully scald your throat and prevent you from letting any more giggles escape. You weren’t done being angry. 

“You won’t even look at me anymore,” he whispered. His hand left your arm and he brought it to your face. He stopped before touching you and you finally looked into his eyes. The sight nearly robbed you of breath.

Away from prying eyes, he let you see the raw pain. The whites of his eyes were wide, mouth straining, jaw clenching. 

“Ready to talk about why you blew up at me?” You asked. 

“I already said–” 

“I have things to do, Loki,” you said. You turned on your heel. Turned away from that look in his eyes. If you stared too long, you’d cave. And you didn’t want to. You did the work and now he had to as well. 

Loki didn’t leave it there. He followed you to your office where he waited for you to settle behind your desk. He leaned into the doorframe, watching your every move. You moved a pen here, opened a folder there. But there was no way you were getting work done while he was here. His presence made your brain foggy and hands shake. 

Finally, the mounting pressure got to you. You slammed your hands on the desk and looked at him. “Why are you still here?” You asked.

He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “I don’t like that you’re mad at me. Not when we’ve come so far,” he said. 

You leveled him with a stare. “This is on you. You love to talk but won’t talk about this. With me,” you said. 

“That’s not it,” he said with a scowl. 

“If you won’t talk, I don’t know what to think,” you said.

His jaw flexed more as he spoke. You’d give anything to know what he was thinking, what he was running through his mind. 

“Believe it or not, I have a hard time admitting faults,” he said, chuckling to cover what he said. 

“So you can stick your dick in my mouth but can’t tell me what’s on your mind?” You asked.

“Don’t be so crass,” he said. 

You’d have to be the bigger person here. Which you hated. But you took a deep breath and looked skyward, praying to the gods and ancestors in Valhalla for strength. “I told you no more running. I meant it. But as much as you say otherwise, I need this to be as equal as possible. You cannot demand everything from me and give none of yourself,” you said. 

“People are entitled to lick some wounds in private,” he said. 

“I’m not asking for every detail of your sordid history. I just want to know why you blew up at me. I only asked about why you didn’t want to speak to Thor,” you said.

Loki finally looked away from you, drawing his eyes downward. He frowned as he picked at an invisible lint on his jacket. “I can’t,” he said, with a sniff. He looked back at you briefly. 

You slowly nodded. “At an impasse, then. Get out, Loki,” you said. Your voice sounded tired to your own ears. You were weary, downtrodden. Maybe it was unfair to demand so much from him, something he clearly didn’t want to talk about. 

You had enough on your plate without worrying about Loki and his moods. You had decided over the course of the week that it hadn’t been a mistake sleeping with him. You had known bliss in his arms and that couldn’t really be a mistake. It just likely wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon. Not while he held on to whatever the fuck was preventing him from speaking. 

Never one to listen, Loki approached your desk. He leaned over it, planting his hands on it and leaning further still. His hair dropped forward like a curtain pulling open for a dramatic scene. His face could technically qualify as a dramatic scene. So many lines and planes, mouth made for sin and eyes dancing with mischief. 

“Darling, please. I–” he paused and just looked at you. His eyes moved, taking in your face. You didn’t know how you looked to him. Just another angry and bitter lover? A messy subordinate with a mouth that gave as good as it got? A once irreparably damaged Asgardian without a clue in the world? 

“I don’t like this between us. I finally got you in my arms, in my bed. I finally got a peek inside and it feels like you’ve closed the doors forever,” he said. 

“You’re the one unwilling to walk through it,” you said, softly. 

“And have you told me everything then? Every dark and horrible secret in your past? Like where you run off to every few months, disappearing at the drop of a hat? Every scar on your skin?” 

Your heart roared in your chest. It beat wildly, thumping against your rib cage. “You should know that I’ve shared far more than I ever cared to with you,” you said. You thought back to the day in his office when you finally let yourself feel. 

For the first time in a long time, you stopped disassociating. Stopped trying to hold it all in. You stopped trying to take flight while your feet were planted on the ground. And he helped you. 

“If you want to know where I disappear off to, I’ll tell you. It’s no secret. But only if I get to demand something too. Only if you let me in,” you said. 

“Ask me for anything else,” he whispered. His voice was so soft, softer than a raven’s wing. He rounded the desk and moved to stand in front of you. He got to his knees and looked at you. He was still damn tall, practically eye level with you. 

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. “Ask me for anything else and I’ll give it. But not that,” he said. 

He kept his eyes on your hand, his lips resting softly against it. You brought your other hand to push his hair behind his ear. “That is my price, Loki.” 

He loosed a breath while your phone rang. The damn thing was still foreign, even after five years. You answered it. The front desk host let you know that your visitor was here. 

You pushed your chair back away from Loki and moved around him. He said nothing and made no noise while you left the room. Your heart felt like a rock in your chest. Each step you took from him felt like lead in your shoes. 

Still, you marched on. You walked to the front and greeted the Asgardian tracker you hired. He was impossibly tall, taller than Loki even. With smooth bronzed skin, short hair, but a host of tattoos criss crossing his bare arms. You didn’t know how he wasn’t freezing in this type of climate, but well, you weren’t going to complain. 

“Erik!” You said, wide grin splitting your face and you hugged him. 

He turned when he saw you, grinning. His smile was so heartbreaking. Why couldn’t you be head over heels for someone like him? He held on a second too long, having last seen him months ago. 

You grew up with Erik in your village on Asgard, running through the streets and getting into all kinds of trouble together. You had entertained something between you many, many years ago, but it was clear that you were better off as friends. You had already given your heart away a long time ago. 

You sat on a lounge chair in the front and tried to temper your expectations. But hope was a cruel thing. It cropped up, over and over no matter how many times you tried to squash and burn it within you. Erik settled next to you, but he wasn’t smiling. 

“No word yet on your family. The universe is very large,” he said. 

You nodded. You figured as much. You tried to hold it together, but throwing that door open within you opened yourself to it all. You felt the tears but you weren’t completely transformed. You blinked them away and squared your shoulders.

“I have people on it though. They’re out there,” he said. 

You shook your head. “They’re not.” You took a shuddering breath at that realization. Five years was too long to keep searching for people that clearly weren’t here, wasn’t it? The fall of Asgard had to have spread by now. For half of life to be eradicated, even people who had never heard of Thanos likely knew his name now. 

If not, well, they knew that those people were gone. Vanished from their lives. Turned to dust and never to be seen again. If Thor was here, all hope was truly lost. The Avengers he so affectionately ran with over the years had gone all but silent. If they were hopeless… 

“Perhaps it’s time to involve Heimdall,” Erik said.

You shushed him. You didn’t need that man turning his gaze on you. He was so eerie, seeming to know so many things. His eyes, like galaxies, were far wiser than your age. 

“I can’t. I can’t just walk up to him and ask. Maybe it’s time to call it,” you said. You didn’t want to say it. That same crack in your chest split wide open at the thought of stopping your search.

Erik grabbed your hand. “Hey, I’m not giving up,” he said. 

You patted his hand. “I’ve taken enough of your time. You have more important people to track down,” you said. Your voice warbled. You hated this. This was why you kept this shit locked away and buried at sea. 

“No one is more important than your family. They’re my family too,” he said. He scooted closer to you and drew you into his arms. You greedily took the comfort. He was always so warm and solid, giving the best hugs you’d ever known. 

“My, Darling, who’s your friend?” Loki’s voice cut into what had been a sweet and peaceful moment. 

You cracked one eye open, trying to disengage from Erik. But he was slower to let you go. He hadn’t missed the deadly tone of Loki’s voice. Where the hell did he come from anyway? 

Erik stiffened, turning fully around to face the larger threat. Loki had a devilish smile on his face, but his eyes were seething. 

“Loki, this is Erik,” you said. Before you could explain further, Erik stood up and blocked your view of Loki for a moment. Erik held out his hand and Loki shook it, keeping that smile on his face.

“Erik, haven’t seen you around,” Loki said. His eyes slid towards you and you inwardly groaned. 

“Erik has–” 

“I pop in every few months to check in on her,” Erik said. 

“Every few months? Really?” Loki smiled at you. Shit, shit. 

“He’s–” 

“Any friend of Darling’s a friend of mine,” Loki said. 

You narrowed your eyes at Loki. You didn’t know what game he was playing but you weren’t in the mood. “Erik has been looking into something for me. Right, Erik?” You stood up and nudged his shoulder to agree with you. His eyes were still trained on Loki. What was this, a fucking pissing match? 

“I was just telling Darling that I’d like to meet more of her friends. We see so little of them,” Loki said. He sauntered around Erik, putting his arm around you. “I like to make sure she’s happy. Always.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Erik took in Loki’s arm around you and lifted an eyebrow. “Keeping secrets, are we?” Erik asked. He crossed his arms and stared at you, putting you on the spot.

You licked your lips slowly, trying to describe what you and Loki were to each other. Boyfriend? Boss? Occasional sadistic charmer? 

Loki hugged you close and you looked at him. He smiled at you, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Didn’t tell him about me? I’m a little hurt,” Loki said. Still with that damn smile. You were starting to panic. You might’ve been a little afraid of what he’d do. 

Loki moved his right hand to lift up your chin and plant a small, but sultry kiss to your lips. You gasped and he drank it down with a low hum. “Always so private,” he said against your lips.

You were going to murder him. Your hands itched with magic dancing between your fingertips. A dagger? A sword? You were going to cut him down where he stood. 

“Erik, he’s–” 

“Loki, of Asgard, everyone knows,” Erik said. He raised his eyebrow at you but you didn’t know what he was trying to communicate. 

“Will you two shut the fuck up?!” You yelled. You drew the attention of some patrons who cast little glances towards you. The host stood in the corner with a few staff members, Honey among them, as they stared at all three of you. They saw the kiss. Your shoulders deflated. There went the little bit of respect you had around here. 

“Erik is a childhood friend who has been looking for my family. They went on a trip when the Snap happened so I don’t know if they’re out there, looking for us, or if they’re gone,” your breath hitched on the word ‘gone’ but you persisted. “Loki is…Loki. We’re figuring it out. Now, say hi to Denby for me,” you said, looking at Erik who slowly smiled. 

You shoved off Loki’s arm around you. “As always, you’ve gotten what you wanted and made out like a thief,” you tossed at him. 

“You’re no better than he is,” you told Erik.

You stormed off. Leaving everyone in the dust. An ache thumped in your head. You needed away. Away from here with all of its bullshit. 

“Darling!” Loki called after you. This time, you heard his steps behind you, heard him walking down the hall. You ignored him. Your fists clenched and unclenched. Your teeth grated. You were fuming with nowhere to direct the anger.

Loki caught up to you outside of your office once more. You pushed him when he was in arm’s reach. “What the fuck was that?!” You yelled. 

You were in the back, well away from any patrons. The hallways had music playing, soft muzak that kept up the hazy and alluring vibe of the club. Each room played its own music so there was no danger of being overhead. Except the staff. You imagined the rumors flying like wildfire, distracting the staff and performers. You were going to be sick. 

“A miscalculation,” he said. 

“What?” You said. He swooped in and waved his stake in the air like you were some prize he won over a miscalculation? 

“I didn’t know about your family–” 

“You would have. I would have told you. As always, you want and you want and you-”

“I have always maintained that I want you because you’re mine,” Loki said. All sense of propriety was gone. Extra eyes be damned. He advanced on you and pushed you against the wall. 

“Completely mine. Mine to do with as I please,” he said. His lips traveled from your temple down to your neck, bypassing your lips. Your body instantly reacted. Craved him. Craved another hit of what he could bring you. 

You grabbed his jacket and turned around, pushing him against the wall. He grinned as if he won. As if you would give in and forget all about your ultimatum. You licked the long expanse of his neck and his breath fanned over your skin. 

You pulled back and smiled at him. He grinned back, hanging his head and looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes. Then you slapped the smirk right off of his face. He licked his lips as if he meant to taste the sting. You raised your arm again and he caught your wrist.

“Darling, not in mixed company,” he said. He gave you a wink. “Save it for later.” 

“You are the most arrogant, infuriating, child-like, obnoxious–”

“Do keep going,” he interrupted.

“Confusing man I’ve ever met! You irritate the fuck out of me! You…bastard,” you said. 

“I don’t know how else to be,” he said.

You yanked your wrist out of his hand. You were breathing too heavy. You couldn’t get enough air in your lungs. You wanted to smack him. You wanted to curse him. You wanted to toss him into hot lava and see if he’d melt. You wanted to kiss his stupid face. 

“We promised no lies between us. And if you can’t give me that Loki, you can’t have me.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, all hints of playfulness gone. But then the lights went out and the screaming started.

Masterlist | Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

[ectoodle]

Hello! I wanted to ask what made you fall in love with bingqiu?

Hey there!

Ah hmm that's an interesting question, I've never thought about it actually. I like bingqiu a lot, but I never considered it as falling in love with the ship? They're a fun ship to play with and they have a wide range that's pretty flexible so I'm always in my comfort zone drawing them.

I suppose most of the art I draw for bingqiu are a love letter to them, though. And I think that's pretty telling of my brain rot for them 😂

I think the food the fandom cooked up really helped a lot. SV fic writers are on a whole other plane of existence when it comes to analyzing binghe's character and filling in on his journey of healing with sqq by his side. I'm the annoying type of audience that gets bored when the main couple gets together at the end...so when scum villain ended the way it did, mxtx may as well have german suplexed me on the concrete. scum villain is a story that subverts its tropes left and right and the ending was no exception! I love that bingqiu getting together at the end was not an automatic happily ever after, but rather, they still are putting in the work and effort to understand and stay in each other's lives. The glimpse of that path we get in the extras really did solidify my desire to see how bingqiu will continue to stay together--bingmei vs bingge extra was probably the finishing blow for me tho lmao. I couldn't stop thinking about what the heck happened to bingge after he left the sv world that I read a bunch of fics about him and needed to soothe the angst with sv bingqiu

on a side tangent, bingqiu parallels another of my all time ship, nozomizo from liz and the blue bird. mild spoilers if you haven't seen liz, but nozomizo had a similar codependent relationship that needed them both to grow apart as individuals in order to stay together. bingqiu separated unwillingly and binghe's growth as an individual was fueled by betrayal, despair, and that dying glimmer of hope that maybe, maybe shizun could accept him now that they're equals. but they don't. because binghe still hasn't emotionally grown to get past his temper tantrums (thanks xin mo) and sqq is still failing binghe by constantly misunderstanding him. but bingqiu still choose each other, choose to love and support each other, and they refuse to be separated again. whereas nozomizo was a healthy separation with a promise of reunion, bingqiu was fighting through the muddy trenches with a vague hope that the other is reaching out their hands too. i thought it was neat how differently both ships handled their codependency that still guarantees a happy ending, no matter how dirty and bruised they got along the way.

I also think sqq's compassionate narration in regards to binghe's suffering got to me lmao. He truly does care for binghe, and even if naysayers argue it's not romantic, it's undeniable that binghe is special to sqq. although not the best choices, most if not all of his choices were for binghe's best interest (thanks system). sqq had so much heart for binghe that it affected me through the screen too. binghe's abandonment issues and fake wet tears have captivated me. his gap moe as a chuuni emo demonic overlord and wife with a maidenly glass heart has bewitched me body and soul. i want luo binghe to be happy so badly!!

i think that's why bingqiu fascinates me. most of the bingqiu arts i draw are like slice of life vignettes, so without the meat and bones of fanfic diving into bingqiu's messiness, i would not have ascended to this level of brain rot for them...

[coeurdastronaute]

The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think. 

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry. 

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow. 

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street. 

“You are mad, and we need to talk.” 

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.” 

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car. 

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name. 

Today she was not going to cry. 

At least not on purpose. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” 

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes. 

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.” 

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.” 

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.” 

She didn’t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry. 

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses. 

“Not a problem. I was in the way.” 

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner. 

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night. 

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it. 

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen. 

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse. 

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult. 

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed. 

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.” 

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.” 

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready.” 

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator. 

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time. 

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever. 

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die. 

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life. 

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest. 

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor. 

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden. 

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?” 

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office. 

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.” 

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering.. 

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?” 

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?” 

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee. 

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.” 

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.” 

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain. 

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.” 

“She’s relentless.” 

“Maybe you’re impossible?” 

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?” 

“I got you, boss.” 

“Thanks.” 

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before. 

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all. 

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science. 

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation. 

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease. 

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life. 

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk. 

“About what?” 

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?” 

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.” 

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?” 

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely. 

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate. 

“I have someone I want you to meet with.” 

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.” 

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.” 

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.” 

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.” 

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting. 

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.” 

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side. 

“I’ll… I’ll try.” 

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.” 

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.” 

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating. 

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three. 

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.” 

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow. 

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it. 

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful. 

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top. 

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?” 

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.” 

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look. 

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.” 

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile. 

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.” 

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

[enbiart]

Delinquent kel at the party Aubrey took him to?

HELLO I FINALLY FUCKING WROTE SOMETHING. yes this is written instead of drawn out. a bitch needs to break out of xyr writers block.

i tried to put in a read more and it didnt work :| mobiles a bitch

.

.

The music pounded through his skull. It was loud and blaring, a constant thump thump thump coursing through his veins. It was some pop song he'd heard on the radio a million times yet somehow never caught the words to; Not that it'd do him any good to know them, anyway. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the chatter and movement of people throughout the house.

He took a sip from his solo cup. It was nearly empty with some off-brand soda, more flat than fresh. It was the exact same drink he'd gotten when he first arrived - Aubrey advised against getting refills after the party really got going, saying that the drinks would probably get spiked at some point.

On the other side of the living room, some girl started taking her top off to the slurred cheers of the crowd. That's as good a sign as any that people were getting drunk now. Kel sighed and took another sip. He was starting to get a headache.

He decided to go look for Aubrey. They may have arrived together, but they almost immediately got separated. He wanted to be hurt by her negligence, but after just five minutes in the sea of dancing highschoolers and strobe lights he could barely tell left from right.

At first, the energy and atmosphere of the party made his blood positively sing. Ducking in between partygoers, grooving to the tunes, helping himself to the snacks - this was nothing like those lame school dances. It was leagues better - it was exciting and new and made the world outside the house walls melt away as if it didn't exist.

But now...now he was a bit lost on what to do. He tried socializing, had a thousand different topics he could use to befriend strangers with, but this was a party organized by the graduating class of his highschool to celebrate the start of their last year and he was just a freshman. A short, baby-faced freshman at that. Even now he could see people giving him weird looks from the corner of his eyes. He wasn't going to make much progress with these folks.

He groaned quietly. Bothering Aubrey would make him feel better.

He downed the rest of his soda and tossed the cup to the floor. Everyone else had done it, so why bother being the one person to actually look for a trash can? ...He actually felt kinda bad for the guy that had to clean this place up after the party. Poor, poor man.

Kel wandered through the house, peeking into different rooms and regretting most of it. There were a lot of drunk high schoolers doing a lot of drunken misdeeds. There was going to be so, so much gossip at school next week, he was sure of it. Thankfully, none of the drunken miscreants had pink hair, so he was saved the horror of having to tell Aubrey she'd done something embarrassing.

After making a full round through the house, he found himself looking into the kitchen. It was less crowded than the other rooms - some unspoken party ettiquette to not mess with the fine china? - and it was there that he finally caught sight of Aubrey. He opened his mouth to call out to her -

- only to freeze as he saw the people she was with. He recognized them as her newer friends. Kim, and her brother Vance. Kim was sitting on the counter, playfully kicking him as they bickered about something he couldn't hear. Aubrey was clutching her stomach laughing at whatever it was. None of them noticed Kel standing in the entrance.

Something twisted in his chest at the sight. It prickled painfully and made the room feel too small and too hot. He clenched his fists hard enough to hurt.

Wordlessly, he turned and left.

The back door of the house was in a hallway directly to the left of the kitchen. The hallway was empty and the door unlocked, so Kel didn't think twice about slipping outside into the night.

The sudden shift from the heat of the party to the chill of the night was enough to give him goosebumps, and he belatedly wished he'd worn something with longer sleeves. The back light was on, moths and gnats fluttering around it and casting moving shadows on the patio. Colors from the party inside streamed through the windows, and the music was still fairly audible.

He gritted his teeth. There was a rusty metal gate in the fencing around the yard that led to the side of the house. It only came up to his hip, and he hopped it.

The alley between this house and the next was dark and cold; The streetlamp further ahead barely reached it. Metal trash bins were lined up against the walls, in varying degrees of fullness. A cricket began to chirp nearby, and the sound hurt his ears.

He took a deep breath, walked further into the alley, and kicked one of the trash cans as hard as he could. And then he kicked it again, and again, and again. He knocked one onto its side and stomped on it with all his might. The lid rolled on the ground. He picked it up and threw it into the street.

The sound and smell was horrible but it still felt oh, so satisfying. He didn't even know why he felt so angry. He already knew Aubrey had friends other than him. Hell, he knew they were probably ten times more fun than him at parties. There was no damn reason for him to be so pissed off, and yet! Here he was! Here he was!

He growled and kicked another. Ugh!

It had taken a lot of effort to get to this party in the first place. His parents had been absolute asses about everything he did lately, and didn't even approve of him hanging out with Aubrey any more ever since the town started talking about her. He'd had to work up a lot of nerve to ask Aubrey to take him here, and even more to actually get here. He climbed out a window, for Christ's sake! Climbed down a house!

So why -

SMASH!

- was he -

SMASH!

- having such -

SMASH!

- a crummy time?!

He panted. His foot was starting to hurt.

"Looks like someone's having fun."

He jumped, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to turn around. Bathed in shadow, Aubrey stood leaning against the wall, watching him with an amused expression. Kel's face flushed with embarrassment. God, she must've seen all of that.

"Whoops, didn't mean to scare you," She said unapologetically. "I don't think I could've given you a heads up, though, with how into it you were."

Kel glared weakly at her and crossed his arms. He knew she was going to make fun of him for his little temper tantrum, but he really wished she wouldn't. "I don't know what you're talking about," He said defiantly.

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure," She said with an eye roll. She pushed off the wall and further into the alley where he was; In the improved lighting, he noticed she was carrying her bat. He didn't remember her bringing it with her. Maybe it wasn't actually hers. It might've been the homeowner's. She pointed the tip to the ground and eyed him with something like anticipation. "Mind if I join you?" She asked.

Kel blinked. Um, what? "I, uh, still don't know what you're talki -"

"Can I tell you something, Kel?" She interrupted. She changed focus from him to the fallen and dented bins on the ground, and shifted her hold on the bat to two hands. The hair on Kel's neck stood on end at the intensity in her eyes. She took a deep breath, and said, "I really hate this town."

And then she swung.

The sound of her bat bashing against metal stabbed his ears and brought his headache back tenfold, but like before, the sight of the destruction brought such a deep satisfaction it almost left him breathless. Cathartic, that's what it was. She brought her bat down again and again and again, over and over and over, and each swing got his blood pumping and his heart racing. He felt himself grin, and couldn't resist the temptation to join in.

He'd kick a can onto its side and then kick it over to Aubrey, who'd be tense and waiting to strike it hard down the alley. A particularly stubborn can would refuse to dent under his weight and she would nudge him out the way and go to town on the poor object. The party was gone completely from their minds as they set their sights on complete devastation. They laughed, breathless and crazed and high on adrenaline.

Their mayhem didn't go unnoticed for long. A window of the neighboring house opened, and someone yelled out, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Kel only had a second to panic about the consequences before Aubrey grabbed his hand and took off running. He nearly fell over himself, but quickly found his footing and ran right beside her. He could run faster than her if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. He wanted to run with her. He didn't particularly care where they were running to - as long as it was with her.

They were still laughing as they ran.

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 12 ~Obstacle Course ~

Previously in Suspicious Minds ...

Caught up in the awkwardness of the moment, Claire bit her bottom lip. "Well, I guess that's settled then. We best get going before Mary does something like bite some poor soul's head at the airport." Claire's attempt to sound cheerful lessened the tension in the air but not the one on Jamie's shoulders. She turned to him and tried to take her bags off his hands, but he couldn't seem to let go. "Jamie ...my bags," she whispered, her hand running up and down his forearm as if to tell him everything was going to be alright.

But instead of giving Claire's bags back to her, he begrudgingly handed them to Christie. They had a few seconds of stare off until Claire's hands on his face forced him to look at her.

"Jamie, kiss me, goodbye?"

He didn't hesitate at her request and sucked on her bottom lip as she made a sobbing noise. That wee noise she made jolted something free inside of him, and he, too, wanted to cry. He couldn't remember wanting to openly cry before. Not like this. He couldn't control it, stealing oxygen from his lungs, but Claire's touches soothed him. 

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

"The monster is only scary while it is in the closet.

Once in the light,

you can see its many flaws

and weaknesses.

And often,

we end up laughing,

at what we shield our eyes from

no more."

-Tom Althouse

 Meticulously scanning the busy vicinity, Claire stopped in the middle of the airport's arrival area and whirled on the spot, impatiently tapping her phone against her thigh. Come on, Hawkins, where the bloody hell are you?  Though she and Tom were painfully late, she didn't want to blame their tardiness on Jamie, so instead, she held the gridlock on the motorway and the rain responsible. And whyever not? If it hadn't been for Mary coming to Inverness unannounced, she would be with Jamie right now, making up for lost time and talking about his therapy from this morning. Why in heaven's name had the responsibility of Mary landed on her shoulder of all days? She sighed. It must be another perk of being John Grey's ultra-reliable and never-can-say-no star employee, she reminded herself with an inward groan. 

On the way to the airport, Claire had been quiet throughout the drive and was grateful to Tom for not prodding about what happened. To her relief, he'd just given her an understanding smile and drove. Thinking of Jamie's tortured face when he'd arrived at the cottage, it had taken a lot of willpower on her part to get into the car and leave him by the roadside looking after her with a forlorn expression. His words had played on repeat until she had to do a mental scold to remind herself she had work to do and assured herself she'd see him soon enough. She'd wanted him to be alright before she left to ensure him she hadn't changed her mind about them. Though she'd hurt not hearing from him after he'd disappeared, she knew his actions had been done in consideration of her, and that notion prevented her anger from taking over. Her feeling of abandonment over what he'd done was also tempered with her annoyance at Jenny. Jamie's sister's meddling was just so wrong on all sorts of level. In the middle of Jamie leaving her, Willie checking to make sure she was alright, and Jenny coming this morning, she'd gone back and forth between a place of strength and feeling like a lamb in the eye of a hurricane. But now, as she attempted to find the anger, the rage she'd felt after discovering the newspaper clipping about her house in Jenny's possession and the interference with Jamie's love life, she couldn't find it anymore.

Sensing Tom approaching, she recentred herself and smiled in his direction. "There you are.".

"Any luck?" he asked, coming to stand next to her and looking around.

"Nope," she replied, pressing her fingers to her forehead and massaging a sudden ache as she was reminded of the reason why they were there. "How did you get a parking space so quick?"

"I have my ways." When she arched an eyebrow, he grinned at her. "I have a disabled parking permit."

Claire stopped and glared at him. "Tom!"

He ignored her disapproving expression and shrugged. "So, who are we looking for?"

She shook her head and looked around for Mary once more. It shouldn't be this difficult to spot her because she usually stood out. "An overdressed, attractive petite brunette with loads of attitude," she replied, absentmindedly. "And probably with a trolley full of luggage."

More people walked past them making their search more difficult. She was about to make another phone call to Mary when Tom whistled under his breath. "Weel, weel," he murmured, his gaze ticking past her shoulder and turning thoughtful. "I wonder if the lass walking towards us is yer Hawkins." His lips twisted into a smile. "She looks mighty pissed."

"Wot?" She spun around and drew her brows together as she saw a familiar figure approaching them. What the hell? Is that Mary? It could only be her. The woman struggling with an oversized suitcase on wheels stood out like a mini bolt of lightning in her designer four-inch heels, pristine, skinny white jeans and black fur-lined down jacket. But there was something different about the way Mary looked, and it took a few seconds before Claire realised she had done something to her hair. She nearly gasped out loud. But as soon as Mary made eye contact, Claire immediately braced herself for some telling off for being late. Mary stopped, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn't find the words to voice her displeasure. Claire schooled her features and met her leaden glare without flinching. "Mary? I hardly recognised you."

Mary's brown eyes prettily widened, and her expression softened as some kind of realisation dawned on her. "Oh! Of course ...you couldn't have." A sound of delight puffed out of her. "I had my hair done in Paris. Now we have the same curls. If only I was as tall as you, we'll probably be mistaken as sisters." She missed Claire's intake of breath as she ran her delicate fingers through her locks. "Do you like it?"

No, I don't! What have you done to your beautiful hair? You look like a poodle! Claire swallowed hard, tilted her head to her side, and contemplated the best way to tell Mary the truth. But she didn't have the heart to say it. Instead, she opted for something closer to the truth. "Well, for starters, it looks unusual. I'm so used to seeing your beautiful straight hair. I guess it will take time getting used to," she admitted. But when a slight frown drifted across Mary's face, Claire felt bad. Taking a deep breath, she laughed nervously as she fluffed her own hair. "Look at these ...after all these years, I'm still not used to mine, and I have a bit of hate relationship with it, especially when it gets humid or when I looked at the mirror first thing in the morning. So bear with me if I'm not much into curls."

It took Mary a long time to respond. "Oh, well," she replied with a subdued smile. "You should have seen John's face when he first saw my hair. He looked shocked." She shrugged. "But in the end, he did say it was beginning to grow on him. I guess everyone's used to my limp, lifeless hair."

Ah, bless John. Claire knew his expression wouldn't have been able to hide what was on his mind, and it wouldn't have bode well for him if Mary had been able to read his face. Mary was their star author whose new book could likely save his publishing company from potential financial ruin, and anyone pointing out her disastrous new hairstyle would probably only result in tantrums and more delays in publication. She sighed. "It wasn't limp, Mary. You had beautiful, straight hair. You have no idea what I would give to have manageable straight hair like what you had." And that was the truth.

Mary perked up a bit and rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, don't make me like you even more."

They shared a slow smile, and Claire was about to make a different compliment that didn't include Mary's hair when Tom cleared his throat and stepped forward, giving them a charming smile. "Ladies, sorry to interrupt, but shall we get cracking? My car is not parked in the most ideal of places."

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry ..." Claire had almost forgotten about Tom, too fascinated by Mary's new hairstyle. She gave him an apologetic look and turned to Mary. "Oh, by the way, may I introduce you to ..." she trailed off and stopped.

Mary's expression looked like the heavens had just opened up and bestowed them an angel. Her lips moved, but no sound came, but when she did finally found her voice, it sounded raspy. "Is this your Jamie that John was talking about?"

Claire pried Mary's hand from her suitcase. "No, this is Tom. He's offered to drive me here to pick you up."

Tom grinned and offered his hand in greeting. "A pleasure to finally meet ye, Mary. I've read a couple of yer books, and I must say, not only are ye a talented writer but a beautiful one too."

Claire mentally groaned but kept the frustration from her face at bay. Tom must have noticed Mary's reaction and had taken his flirting a notch higher. When Mary continued to stare, Claire gently nudged her with her elbow. "Mary. Shake Tom's hand, and let's go."

Mary shook her way out of her trance and smiled. "Oh, I think this is going to be a very, very interesting visit," she gushed, finally back to her being her old self again. But instead of shaking Tom's hand, she hooked her arm into his, leaving Claire with the suitcase. "So Tom ...can you recommend a perfect place to eat? I'm quite famished and can't work on an empty stomach."

Tom obliged and patted Mary's hand. "Dinnae fash, I ken just the place."

With that, Mary looked over her shoulder and winked. All Claire could do was smile back and hope they would be able to get some work done. Because if not, and there's any more cause to delay Hawkin's books, come hell or high water, she's quitting Dreamweaver.

...........

Two Days Later

Stepping out of the shower, Jamie immediately zeroed in on his phone just in case he'd missed a call from Claire. They'd briefly talked last night, and she'd reminded him of uncle Lamb's arrival, which should be between now and the evening. If all goes to plan with Mary Hawkins, Claire should be coming back too. Hopefully, tonight, he thought with a sigh. It was already late Saturday afternoon, and his work was done for the weekend. Plenty of time left to get his shit together. 

Since Claire had left for Inverness, he hadn't had time to think. His brother had kept him busy with tasks and paperwork, and, on top of it all, he'd been distracted trying to comfort a distressed sister. Jenny had told him what had transpired between her and Claire. And how she'd been out of her mind, thinking she'd ruined their relationship. He'd consoled her, and in turn, she'd apologised profusely for her meddling. Her sincerity had touched him, but moreover, he couldn't help feeling amused at the thought of Jenny finally meeting her match. Though Claire was a gentle and thoughtful soul, he knew she was not the type to be bossed around. And in as much as he loved his sister, he was glad Claire put Jenny in her place and hoped after everything had been said and done, they can all move on from that incident and forgive.

Despite barely having time to be alone with his sometimes chaotic thoughts, he'd still managed to feel anxious about Christie. Jamie learned he hadn't returned to Broch Mordha, which led him to ponder if Christie was spending time with Claire. It was a lapse of insecurity, and that notion had been rubbished straight away since he knew how important Claire's work was to her. So there should be no pressure on his chest or icy tingling along his spine. 

There shouldn't be, but somehow there was.

Jamie was just shrugging into a fresh sweatshirt when his doorbell rang. He glanced at the wall clock and wondered who it was. Claire hadn't given a specific time for Quentin's arrival, and if it had been her at the door, she should've let herself in with the spare key he'd given her.

"Coming!" he shouted as the doorbell rang once more. He took a deep breath expecting uncle Lamb to be standing out there. Bracing himself. he flung the door open and was surprised to see who it was. "Ge- ... I mean Dr Dunsany!"

"Hi, Jamie!" Geneva greeted. "You may call me Geneva, you know ...since we're not in my office. May I come in?"

Jamie narrowed his gaze and looked past her shoulder. He could see Mrs Fitz from across the street pretending to fuss over some leaves in her garden when really he could tell she's prying into his business. There were talks already surrounding Claire being seen with Tom, and it wouldn't do him good if words of Geneva coming to his cottage got around, no matter how innocent the visit was. He gave Geneva an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I'm kinda busy," he withdrew, glancing casually at his watch. "I ... there's... I'm expecting a visitor. "

"Oh! But this won't take long." She stood there with laid back confidence that lured most men to look their fill. He neutrally eyed the slim-fitting turtle neck that hugged her breast and tight jeans that hung low, her scarlet painted lips pursed in a pretty pout. "I wanted to talk about the session we had the other day," she added quickly.

Jamie crossed his arms across his chest. "Couldn't this wait until our next appointment?"

She took a cautious step closer, her expensive scent drifting in the air. "I'd rather talk about it now. This is just not about your therapy." Her blue eyes seductively landed on his lips. "I want to discuss something personal too."

"Sorry, personal won't do, I'm afraid. Ye're my therapist."

"Jamie, how long have we known each other?"

"Long enough ..."

She smiled, her hand brushing something away from his shoulder. "What's wrong? Surely your girlfriend won't mind your therapist coming over to check up on your progress, will she? We live in a small place, and we all know each other here."

"Her name is Claire ..."

"And I heard she's with Tom? Is that right?"

He smothered a sigh as he could tell what this was all about. Though Geneva was an attractive lass, he'd always only felt a minor buzz for her, which paled to the mind-blowing reaction Claire caused with just a single look. Where Claire was never more than anything but herself, Geneva always tried too hard. And it wasn't just all physical with Claire. It was their connection to each other's mind and soul. The way she made it easy for him to allow her to see his vulnerability and the way she'd let him in when no promises had been made on his part when they first met. Thinking back to the other day, he shook his head. He'd known the steaming anger that had risen within him when he'd first heard of Claire meeting with Tom and how that rumour almost made him lose his sense of judgement. He could not allow room for any gossip to go around, especially when Claire was away. Geneva should definitely not come in. 

"Look, as ye can see, I'm fine. I dinnae think it's a good idea us meeting like this. Let's keep personal stuff away and keep this professional, aye?"

She took a while to accept his dismissal. Sheer frustration swept over her face before she managed to compose herself. He tried to offer any semblance of an apology, but she cut him off. "I'm the one who understands your condition and how tough it is to live a normal life with your PTSD. And I know better than anyone else right now how to handle it."

Irritation coasted down his back. "There's no doubt you're a brilliant therapist, Geneva. But I am much more than a textbook scenario. Something Claire has always understood."

"But for how long, Jamie?"

"That is none of your concern," he said cooly. "Now, please go as I have things to do."

Her back straightened with steely dignity, and Jamie could tell every movement was measured to create the most dramatic effect. It was another detail he found unattractive and probably why he'd never acted on Geneva's crush for him. "Here's my theory," she began in a low voice. "You're just with her because you needed to fix someone, and she fits the bill. That's what you've been doing all your life - fixing everyone's problem. You'll never be happy, Jamie, if you keep repeating the same pattern over and over again."

He swallowed his anger. "How I choose to live my life is my concern, and if it means repeating the same pattern, then so be it. Forcing me to see things the way you want me to will only piss me off. So while I still have patience, please go."

He took a tentative step backwards, waiting for her to leave so he could close the door. Instead of walking away, she took him by surprise and threw herself against him, looping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his.

Christ! Repelled by the assault, he grasped her shoulder and pushed her away. "What the bloody hell was that?" he gritted angrily.

Face red, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Mark my words, it's just a matter of time before Claire is unable to deal with your PTSD anymore. I know the pattern, and I've seen it a million times. Most men with this condition end up alone because no one fully understands the extent of what they go through. Oh sure, the people in their lives say they understand but do they really? It's a scary thing for most and an uncomfortable situation to live in. As for me ... I know, and I understand, and I can handle it because I've studied and worked with people like you. And when that day comes, and she leaves you for good, know that I'll be here waiting." 

"Just because you know my history, it doesn't make ye an expert in knowing how my life will turn out to be. And ye don't know a thing about Claire, her heart, her resilience ..."

She snorted in disgust. "You just wait and see." With that, she turned around and walked off. 

He almost choked. Has the lass gone mad? His skin crawled with icy foreboding as he glanced across the street, his eyes searching for his neighbour. To his relief, Mrs Fitz was no longer stood in the garden to witness Geneva's kiss. A sudden ugly thought came to him, and he wondered what Claire would do if she'd been in his position. Jamie shook his head and immediately dismissed the notion. Tom wouldn't dare. Jamie had already made sure, loud and clear, that Claire was off-limits.

When Geneva's kiss drifted back to the forefront of his mind, he grimaced. His first impulse was to ignore the whole incident. But on second thoughts, he should tell Claire in case words of it reached her before he could explain. He wasn't a hundred per cent sure no one had witnessed that weird occurrence, and if someone did, it would surely be tonight's topic on every dinner table in Broch Mordha. Worriedly, he glanced up and down his street and only saw an unfamiliar car and driver on the phone. Probably Mrs Fitz's new guest, he figured. Satisfied with that thought, he shut the door.

Attempting to get his composure back before he called Claire, he headed for the sideboard in his dining area, grabbed a bottle of whisky, and poured himself a measure. He threw back a shot, his eyes watering slightly in deference to the burn that slid down his throat. He was about to pour another one when the doorbell rang. Again.

What does she want now? He slammed the glass down on the dining table and made his way back to the door. This time he was going to tell Geneva to cancel his therapy appointment. The lass was mad, and he hadn't known the extent of it until today. He'd always thought of her crush for him as a harmless fancy, but obviously, with Jenny's meddling, she'd set her hopes up. This time, he's had enough. With irritation simmering in his guts, he opened the door ...

And was met by an imposing figure obstructing the daylight. 

Jamie heard an unintelligible grunt in greeting, and the smell of tobacco invaded his nostrils. He peered at the face, but it was shadowed by a wide-brimmed fedora hat and several days worth of stubble. He blinked to rid the cobwebs threading patterns on his brain and forced his body to straighten to its full height.

"What's that on your mouth?" the man growled.

What the ...? "Quentin?" 

"You got lipstick on!"

Horror swooped in as Jamie realised he was still exhibiting the evidence of Geneva's kiss. He immediately swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and instantly felt nauseated when he saw the smudged scarlet on his knuckles. Jesus! "It's not ... it's..."

"It's not my niece's," the older man finished with a cock of his bushy eyebrow.

"It's not mine either," Jamie retorted without thinking. Ah, bloody fuck! "I mean ... it's not what ye think."

"I would certainly hope it's not yours." Quentin narrowed his eyes at him, taking his measure. Jamie did the same to him. He wondered what the man was thinking, but Claire's uncle spoke again before he got a chance. "Well, are you letting me in, or are we just going to stare at each other like a couple of dafties?"

Who the fuck does he think he is? But he quickly reminded himself this was Claire's uncle, so he slightly softened his stance. Swallowing the sour taste in his mouth, Jamie took a step back and motioned Quentin into his home. "Come in." 

Ignoring Jamie's dark look, Quentin strode into his cottage, but he's brought up short when he saw the whisky and shot glass on the dining table. He plopped his sling bag onto the chair, opened it, pulled out a tequila bottle and placed it on the table. Then he turned around and slid his hands into his pockets. "You and I, lad, are going to talk before my niece arrives." 

Jamie shut the door and eyed Quentin, carefully pondering his words. As he'd suspected, Quentin was very much like Harry but with broader shoulders, an intense darker face, and eyes that seemed to flash with diabolical laughter. It was a face that had probably seen too much in his lifetime. All his mannerisms were large, confident and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild cat, and when he stood in his space like this, he appeared to be a wild animal held in a cage too inadequate for it. His features might be similar to Harry's, but yet, their difference was like night and day.

A scoff rasped his throat. "I've had enough forced therapy for the week, thank ye very much."

"If I didn't know you any better, I would have bloodied your nose after seeing that lipstick on your mouth."

"If ye're dying to punch me on the face, then give me yer best shot. I dinnae have to explain anything to ye. I've done nothing wrong."

"No, you haven't," Quentin sighed, nodding his head. "I saw what passed."

Jamie absorbed that while keeping his features impassive. "And yet ye're still judging me."

Quentin's mouth twitched, but his eyes remained serious. "I'm not."

"Right from the start, it felt like ye've been giving me the first degree."

Quentin disregarded his words with a shrug. "I was just making sure Claire's in good hands. She's all I have."

Jamie understood the sentiment. He would have probably done the same if he'd been in Quentin's shoes. Christ, hadn't he felt like committing murder when he'd first found out about Tom?

"We've met before, you know?" Quentin interrupted his thoughts.

Jamie's head shot up.

"Way before our video chat," the older man revealed. "But I figured you don't remember."

He didn't, so he shook his head.

Quentin took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh before placing it on the table. "Claire recently told me she just found out that it was you and your godfather, ...Murtagh...I believe his name was, who saved her from the car accident. She asked me if I knew." Quentin paused to discern Jamie's expression. When he couldn't seem to read anything, he proceeded. "I admitted I did and ..."

"Ye knew who I was?"

"No. Not until you told me your family name and mentioned Lallybroch near the end of our video chat. I thought Claire would be angry for not telling her, but she didn't say much else except that both of you have been clueless all these years. So if you have any questions about what happened, I'll fill in the void for you if it'll help you move on."

Jamie shoved a hand through his hair. Feeling suddenly restless, he went to the drinks' cabinet to retrieve shot glasses. He grabbed the tequila bottle, uncapped it, and poured two equal measures. "So now you want to diagnose me? Is that it?"

"Diagnose you for what?"

Jamie realised Quentin knew nothing of his condition. Claire hadn't told her uncle. He ignored the question and handed the shot to Quentin. "Why bring it up now?"

Quentin took the offered glass, raised a silent toast with Jamie, and simultaneously threw back the shot. They both flinched at the heat. "I owe you the truth," Quentin replied, placing the shot glass on the table. "Take it or leave it. I've been silent about it for years. Tell me what you remember, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Did he really want to know? The past would eventually catch up and come out, that much Jamie knew, so he might as well have it out in the open. Taking a deep breath, he paced to the window and with his back to Quentin, he began recounting what he could remember from the accident. He waited for the white noise or the torture to start swarming in his head, but to his astonishment, they never came. Though the memory of that fateful day was more vivid than ever, its power to hold him in a choke was diminished. The words flowed with ease, and it began to feel like he was describing someone else's story. When he was done, he turned around and saw just in time a shadow passed across the older man's face. He looked like ten years have been shaved off his life.

Quentin took a seat and clasped his hands together. "I lied to you the day when we first met."

Jamie stilled and looked at Quentin. "What do ye mean?"

"I was in Cairo when I heard the news of the accident. I immediately took the first plane out and headed here. I was told Claire was being taken care of by your parents and that both of you were inseparable. When I arrived at Lallybroch, you were holding Claire in your lap like she was the most precious thing." Quentin paused and smiled at the memory before descending back to that sad place in his head. "But when you laid eyes on me, that's when you lost it and started screaming. Claire screamed along with you ...God, it was awful. At that time, it hadn't truly sunk in what happened to my brother and his wife, and it was torture to see you kids in such pain." Quentin shook his head. "You were shouting something like ...I should be dead and that you've seen me go up in flames. You see, I've been told beforehand you'd witnessed the accident, and that's when it occurred to me you thought I was Harry. So I did what I thought was best at that moment ...I knelt before you and fibbed. Only because nothing could calm you down, and I wanted to ease your distress. I pretended to be Harry and told you I wasn't dead, and when you asked how I got away, I made up some story like managing to crawl out the last minute. Somehow that little white lie quieted you down."

"I honestly don't remember that part," Jamie whispered, taking a seat across from Quentin. "But in saying that, all the memories of that day are just beginning to resurface. I'm just starting to remember again. It all began when ..."

"When you met Claire for the second time," Quentin finished for him.

Jamie nodded with a small smile as he watched Quentin stood up and poured them another shot. 

Quentin gazed at him with all the seriousness. "May I ask you a question?" 

"Ask away." 

Quentin pushed the shot glass towards him. "What if, instead of Harry, you were the one that died that day?" He paused and looked directly into his eyes. "What do you think would you have missed in the years that came after?" 

Jamie frowned. "Why would ye ask such a thing?"

Quentin sighed. "Because lately, I've been asking myself the same question every day. I've searched for the answer going back through almost twenty years, and I've come up with almost nothing. Besides Claire coming into my life, I have nothing to show. Of course, there were a few memorable moments when I was granted an acknowledgement of merit for my work. And then there were a few rare occasions I got to spend time with Claire. But between those scraps of time, there's only a grey empty void. The rest of my days were spent going through the motions, keeping a barrier between me and the world. I realised, ever since my brother died, I've been living in fear that the same fate could befall me ... that's why I've never married. So you see now, Jamie, I haven't been living at all. And I don't want you to make that mistake."

Jamie gave a wistful smile. "I see that, and with everything happening, I'm just starting to understand. We all have to walk around lugging a past, getting from one step to the next. Just need a healthy way to release it, as Claire often reminded me enough." When Jamie saw Quentin nodding in agreement, he saw an opportunity. He cleared his throat and straightened himself. He'd just bonded with Claire's uncle, so surely that should mean something. "So ....Quentin," he began nervously, "does this mean ye're fine with me being with Claire?"

Claire's uncle went back to looking like he wanted to rip a head off. "No. I've just arrived after a long flight, and you haven't offered me anything. I haven't eaten in the last six hours, and you're asking me if I'm okay with you being with Claire? So far, all you've done is open the tequila bottle without thanking me for it and nought to impress me."

Ah, shite! Hearing that, he pushed himself to his feet. "I ken a few good places that serve excellent pub grub," he said rapidly.

"Do you not have food in your kitchen, lad?"

"Aye, I do, but since ye're starving, I thought it would be easier if we got something out," Jamie reasoned. "So, what do ye have in mind?"

Quentin glowered at him before slugging back the rest of his shot. "Somewhere where they serve greasy food."

Jamie stopped. "But Claire said yer heart ..."

"The greasier, the better," Quentin growled.

It was clear to Jamie he's still miles away from wholly winning over Quentin. He reckoned he's probably not going to win that battle today, and one plate of greasy food was not going to kill Claire's uncle. Ah, hell! Didn't his ma once said that the way to someone's heart is through one's stomach? There's a chance that this could still work. But before he could say anything, his phone buzzed, and he almost knocked over the chair, trying to grab it. "It's Claire."

Quentin rolled his eyes.

Jamie quickly read Claire's message and smiled. Ah, there's a God after all! He glanced up at Quentin. "She's coming back home tonight."

"I knew that! Now, how about that nosh you were on about."

"Aye ...right ...I ken just the place."

..........

Five Hours Later

"This is a shithole!" Quentin grumbled, slurring his words and shoving his unfinished plate of Bangers and Mash away from him.

Tough shite! Jamie glanced out the window and then looked back at the time on his watch. Damn it! A plate of food each, five pints of lager for Quentin and three pints for him later, still no word from Claire, and if she didn't come home soon, Quentin would drink him under the table. As it was, he's feeling rather tipsy already.

"You know what?" Quentin tipped the bottom of the pint glass in his direction. "Since we arrived here, you kept looking out that window every few minutes. Am I boring you, or is there something interesting out there? If so, care to share?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "Just wondering when Claire's coming home. Haven't heard from her since her last message.."

"Is that why you're looking outside? Does she know we're here?"

"No! Christie is bringing her back from Inverness." 

"Who's Christie?"

"Some bloke."

"So what's outside? You keep looking out there."

Damn, so many questions! Jamie pointed his finger towards the window. "See that red door over there? Christie lives in that building, first floor, window facing the street. We'd know when they've arrived."

"Is that why you brought me here so you could check every once in a while if Claire's arrived?"

The older man was on to him, but Jamie wasn't about to admit it. "You wanted greasy food, did ye not?"

Quentin shrugged without answering. 

Jamie checked his phone again and agitatedly rubbed a hand behind his neck. What's taking them so long? Wicked thoughts were beginning to seep in. Has Claire, by any chance, heard about Geneva's visit and kiss? It wouldn't be an impossibility as rumours tended to make their way out of Broch Mordha. A part of him knew that the alcohol was dulling his reason, so he mentally shook himself. He should have called Claire earlier, right after Geneva left and told her what happened, but of course, Quentin's arrival had interrupted him from doing just that.

"Stop fidgeting. You're making me nervous."

"I'm just worried Claire would hear about that kiss ye witness earlier before I get to explain myself." 

A heartbeat passed. For the first time since Jamie had known Quentin, his tough demeanour slipped, and something akin to amusement flashed through. "Don't worry. If she's heard about it, she would have given you her two pennies worth by now, and that's putting it mildly. Of course ...worst-case scenario, you'll end up with your ears ringing for days after she's done telling you off." He smirked and raised his pint to his lips, his actions revealing he was only teasing. Jamie reined in his frustration and let it go without comment.

Obviously emboldened by Jamie's silence, Quentin leaned forward. "So, have you bought flowers for Claire for when she returns?"

"No."

"Why not? It would help your cause in case Claire heard about that kiss."

Jamie glared at Quentin. "Thanks for rubbing that in. But I dinnae have time. I was too busy entertaining ye. Besides, I bought her fruits. She loves fruits. I even bought her a variety of them."

The older man's eyes bugged out. "She's got you eating healthy too, huh?"

"Nothing wrong with that," Jamie muttered. "She likes chocolates too. I got her a big box of it. Lindt."

Quentin glanced out the window to his side and perked up. "Hey, someone just went through that red door. I don't know what Christie looks like, but it could be anyone."

Jamie followed his gaze, and sure enough, the red door was just closing. He glanced back at his phone on the table, and though he knew he would hear the sound of notification, he still needed to look to assure himself. There was still no message.

"First-floor window light just went on," Quentin observed in a low voice. "That's Christie's place, right?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Oh, look, that's Claire, looking out. I know that hair anywhere."

Jamie looked and saw Claire just in time before she moved away from the window and pulled the curtain. He swallowed the odd lump in his throat. What the hell is she doing in Christie's place? Then it all came rushing in, in full force. He'd left Claire on her own because of his stupid panic attacks, and when he'd finally come to his senses, it was probably too late because Christie had already entered the picture. And now everything that Geneva had told him earlier was coming to fruition. No, no!

A split second later, Jamie burst out the pub's front entrance and ran across the street, Quentin not far behind him.

This cannae be happening. This is the worse nightmare ever. Ach Christ, please dinnae let this be true. Please. She's my lass. Mine. No, no, no. Oh fuck, I need her.

Thunder roared in his ears, and he'd only vaguely managed to process Quentin's remark on his overreaction and something about alcohol consumption. But all he could think of was how he and Claire needed to talk, now. He couldn't accept their relationship was over when it hadn't had a chance yet. 

Jamie stopped in front of Christie's building and looked up the window, shouting Claire's name, while Quentin manically pressed the buzzer for the first floor. A few passersby eyed them warily, and a voice called from somewhere, "what the bloody hell, Fraser!" probably thinking they'd gone off their nuts, but he couldn't give a fuck. His heart hammered wildly, unable to think straight. All he could see was Claire with Christie, together. He groaned miserably, the very thought chilling him to the bone. Oh, please, God no!

No one responded to Quentin's incessant buzzing, and when he tried to yank on the knob, it didn't budge. It remained lock.

Jamie gathered a few stones that he could find on the cobbled street and started pelting Christie's window, roaring Claire's name on top of his lungs. His effort was rewarded when the curtain slid open, and he saw Claire looking down, her hair all wild and loose. But by now, they've also attracted a wee crowd that stood in a semi-circle behind him. He didn't take notice and focused his attention on the woman above.

"Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp! Don't ye dare leave me!" He shouted. "We love each other, remember? I was a prick for leaving ye on yer own when ye came to Scotland to be with me. I promise ye this will never happen again. And whatever problem we have together, we can fix this. Ye understand me?" He fell on his knees, grateful for the pain shooting up his thighs because his heart was breaking into thousand pieces. "I ken I could be a selfless arse, but I'm working on being a better person for ye ...for us. We've only known each other for a short while, but it's enough for me to see that ye're the one for me. Forever. I love ye with all my heart, Sassenach, and I cannae imagine life without ye."

Jamie paused to get his breathing back to normal and give Claire a chance to respond. But she remained immobile and continued to stare down at him. The crowd behind whispered and tittered, probably thinking he'd finally lost all his marbles. He even heard someone murmuring about him having had a bit too much to drink. But he didn't care even when he saw Quentin's shaking head, most likely in disgust at him. A hand touched his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, only focused on getting through Claire. "What do I need to do to make ye, believe me, Sassenach? Ye ken, I'll do anything to prove to ye how much I love ye. Does he ken the things I do? Like ...like what song makes ye smile? I can sing it for ye if that's what it would take." When the silence lingered, except for the hush sounds from behind him, Jamie puffed out a silent curse. "Christ ... I'll do it. For ye, ye hear me? I'll sing that damn song. Just so ye ken, I meant every word I said." 

Then he stood up from his kneeling position and gave Rick Astley a run for his money. 

..........

Hands on her chest, Claire stood inert behind Jamie, listening with interest as he belted out Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give you Up in a scratchy voice. She tilted her head to the side and watched in fascination his stiff, sparse hip movement that went with his song. She'd wanted to alleviate Jamie's suffering and save him from further embarrassment, but midway through his moving speech, she'd caught a glimpse of her uncle. He'd given her a warning shake of his head, telling her to let Jamie finish pouring his heart out. So with a sigh, she stood back and waited. 

Oh, Jamie, Jamie!

This beautiful, rugged giant of a man and former SAS soldier was singing to her as though his life depended on it. How could he think she'd left him? She needed to put her arms around him and reassure him that he's the one for her too and that there's been nobody else but him.

"Jamie!" she rasped. When he didn't hear her, she cleared her throat and tried again. "Jamie! It's me, Claire!"

Jamie stopped and whipped around, his eyes taking her in, in total disbelief. "Sassenach?" he whispered. "It's ye."

Her throat constricted. "Uh-huh."

His head jerked back up to the window and then back to Claire. He looked as though he wanted to believe he was really seeing her but could not see past his fear just yet. "To whom the bloody hell was I proclaiming my love to then if ye were stood here all along?" he asked, throat working with emotion.

"You were singing to Mary Hawkins, Jamie," she croaked. "The star author of our publishing company."

"And what the hell is she doing up at Christie's place?"

Claire grimaced. This was really a sensitive subject, and they were talking about a public figure, and a small crowd was watching them. So she stepped closer and spoke in a low voice. "I think Mary and Tom have a thing for each other. And I have a sneaking suspicion ..." she glanced up at the window above where Mary still stood. "Tom is not going to be please when he finds out it was you who interrupted whatever they're up to."

"James Fucking Fraser!"

It was Tom, wherever he was shouting from. Jamie didn't wait to find out because, in one quick movement, he took Claire's hand and made short work of getting them into the dark alley to the applause and cheers of the bystanders. Laughing, they ran and ran until they were far away enough from prying eyes. And there in the darkened path, its only illumination coming from the full moon above, they found one another once again in each other's arms.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, thank you all for your feedback in the previous chapter. I'm going to keep this short as I still tire easily.

As I've mentioned before, I haven't been well the last few days; hence the delay for this instalment. I hope you enjoyed this one. If there are any inconsistencies and grammar mistakes, I blame them on my medication. Haha! 

So that said, thank you all for the messages on my Tumblr, your feedback and kudos on AO3, and mostly for your patience. Take care always of yourself, and keep spreading the love vibe! X

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 13: princess

Character A’s little sibling/child wants to meet their favorite celebrity/writer/person for Christmas. Character B is said “Christmas Present” ,, percabeth. for that one anon

Percy can honestly say that he didn’t think this would end up happening.

When he had sent her a message, it had been done absentmindedly, fully expecting it to be ignored. He’s well aware that celebrities don’t respond to people like him, but it was Christmas, Estelle was on his last nerve, and he figured that he could at least try.

Somehow, all of that ends with him meeting up with a super hot Hollywood actress.

As Percy holds Estelle’s hand, who can’t stop bouncing excitedly, he thinks back to that moment. Estelle’s dramatic cry of meeting the princess in the live action remake of Barbie and the Twelve Dancing Princesses had gotten to the point that he decided he was done and took things into his own hands.

It went something like him sending her, hey so my little sister is being annoying about the barbie movie and won’t shut up so can you come meet her so I can get a moment of peace?

When she responded, yeah sure when and where, he thinks he may have had a heart attack. It was surreal, setting up a mini meet and greet through instagram dms of all things, but it worked well enough because here he was, looking out for Annabeth.

“Where’s the princess!” Estelle demands, and Percy wants to bang his head into a wall. She’s practically screaming, and she’s pulling on his arm so arm that it may fall off.

“I don’t know,” he tells her.

“Find her.”

“Estelle. I don’t know where she is. Relax.”

“I want to see her now!” Estelle is only five years old so it’s understandable that she’s so annoying. Percy loves his baby sister dearly, but sometimes he questions why is mother had a baby so many years after him.

“The movie isn’t even that good. She wasn’t even a convincing princess.”

Estelle stomps. “Yes she is!”

Percy snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s then that he feels hot breath on his ear, and he freezes, well aware that he’s just made a very dire mistake.

“Not a convincing princess?” someone whispers into his ear, a hint of humor in their voice. “You offend me.”

Percy whips around, and of course, there she is in all her glory.

He finds Annabeth Chase staring at him with eyes that look much more vibrant in person. She looks small and shy, and Percy thinks she would be the perfect person to hug in the cold.

He thinks she sure looks like a princess with the way her hair falls in old ringlets down her back, and her eyes shimmer in the sunlight. She’s not even dressed as a princess right now, but he could have been fooled.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you didn’t.” Annabeth tightens her coat around herself, clearly cold, and she leans down to say hello to his sister. “You must be Estelle!”

Estelle gives her a wide grin, and Percy doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so happy before. “I am!”

“You look like a princess,” Annabeth tells her, bopping her on the nose gently. “You could be one of my sisters!”

Estelle’s eyes go wide. “You think so?”

“Of course I do, silly,” and wow, even her voice is elegant. Percy’s starting to think that maybe she really is a princess. He considers bowing to her.

“My brother says he’s your friend and that’s how he got you here,” she says, crossing her arms. Percy shoots his sister a look as she continues saying, “Is that true? My brother is a loser so I think he’s lying.”

“You don’t think your brother is cool?”

“Not to be friends with you,” Estelle says proudly.

“But I think he’s super cool! You’re super lucky to have him as a brother.”

Percy can see the change in Estelle’s demeanor having just got told that her brother is cool. Percy knows full and well that she’s about to suck up to him because her idol told her to, and that’s what children do. It makes him want to stick his tongue out at her as though saying told you so, and he would have if Annabeth wasn’t standing right there to see it.

“I’m kidding,” Estelle swears. “I play with him all the time,” which is a blatant lie.

When Estelle is no longer looking, Annabeth gives him a wink and mouths you’re welcome. Percy feels his face turn red because despite not loving the Barbie movie, he’s still all over everything else she’s been in, which is a lot. She’s practically royalty, and she’s talking to him. He’s breathing the same air as her.

At some point, they migrate over to a set of chairs outside the park they’re in. It’s pretty cold with the snow falling around them, but Estelle is vibrating with excitement to the point that he wouldn’t be surprised if she generated her own heat. Percy sits to the side, letting his sister have her moment. As entranced as he feels by the celebrity sitting in front of him, he knows that he probably shouldn’t show it, risking further teasing from both parties.

Annabeth’s super kind, he learns quickly. She laughs with her whole being and brightens up the room with her smile. She tells amazing stories about the fantasy, and Estelle listens intently. She’s so young that she doesn’t entirely realize that she’s not a real princess, and it warms Percy’s heart.

(And from the look Annabeth gives him, it warms hers too.)

It feels like hours that they’re sitting there before Percy decides they’ve had enough. As pleasant as Annabeth’s been for his sanity, he knows she’s probably getting tired herself.

“I think it’s time to say goodbye, Stella.”

And, of course, this cues the meltdown.

“No.”

Percy sighs. “We need to go home soon.”

“I don’t want to.”

Percy’s temper is beginning to shorten again, and he can tense the temper tantrum that’s about to occur. It’s just a question of which sibling is going to start it at this point.

“We can’t leave Princess Genevieve here without a way to get home!”

Percy almost laughs in his little sister’s face because Annabeth is not a Genevieve by any means. Genevieve is a ridiculous name for a princess anyways. Annabeth is much nicer for a princess. “I’m sure Princess Genevieve has her own ride home.”

“This is why you don’t have a girlfriend!” Estelle loudly blurts. “You never offer girls rides home!”

Annabeth chokes on air, and Percy considers jumping into the Hudson river and swimming away.

“I don’t want a girlfriend anyways, so good,” he says, tugging her hand into his.

“If you were a nice person, then maybe Princess Genevieve would’ve been your girlfriend.”

“They don’t date peasants like us. Come on.”

“Can we please take her home?” Estelle asks.

Percy sighs, dropping her hand. “Ask her yourself.”

He genuinely expects Annabeth to say no, so when his sister walks right on up to Annabeth and stares up at her, he is blatantly shocked as she says, “I would love to.”

It becomes very obvious that Percy ends up losing the fight against a five-year-old as he’s driving the car with Annabeth in the passenger seat and Estelle in her car seat in the back. Estelle’s continuously asking questions, and Percy is somewhat mortified because as time went on, Estelle gets more and more daring with what she asks.

Everything is mainly along the lines of having a boyfriend and pointed coughs in Percy’s direction. Each time, Annabeth would give him a knowing smile and he’d do everything to look anywhere but at her.

Percy can’t be thankful enough when they make it to his mom’s apartment, and he gets to kick Estelle out of the car. She gives a heartfelt goodbye to Annabeth and a glare at Percy before she’s out the door. It leaves him and Annabeth alone in the car, a silence settling between them.

They’ve been together for at least a couple of hours, but they haven’t truly interacted until now, so he’s at a loss as to what to do. It’s as though he’s blacked out during the last few hours, and maybe even the last few weeks, because last he remembers, he was just sitting on the couch doing nothing, and now Annabeth Chase is sitting in his car, looking at him expectantly.

Finally, she says, “Are you going to look at me, or…”

Percy turns his head like a deer in headlights. “I’m sorry.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might. This is kind of weird.”

“What is?”

“Having you in my car.”

“Why?”

“You’re a celebrity.”

She smirks at him. “Do I intimidate you?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Well, don’t be intimidated.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re very famous. I will be intimidated, and you will let me be.”

“I mean, I get that, but there’s really no reason to be intimidated. The other day, I walked past a mirror and actually got excited to meet a celebrity.”

“What? You just forgot your own identity?”

She smiles. “Something like that.”

Percy laughs, slightly more at ease. He’s at least able to look her in the eyes now. She looks back at him and leans against the seat with her shoulder.

“Percy,” she teases. “You can talk to me.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes fondly. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“For my sister.”

“It wasn’t really for her.”

Percy frowns, confused. “But you said…”

“I know what I said. The reason I even opened the message wasn’t because of her, though.”

Percy bites his lower lip nervously because the mood in the car has suddenly changed, and he’s certain he doesn’t have tinted windows.

“I opened it because I thought you were hot.”

Percy blinks, a beat passes, and then he bursts out laughing. “You thought I was hot!?”

“You are! I thought maybe it would be fun!”

“You live in LA with a ton of super rich and famous people, and you come after me? The guy that can barely afford his own apartment?” “I mean… it doesn’t really matter if you can’t afford it because I can. But that’s only if, like, this actually goes anywhere.”

“Are you always this forward?”

“Absolutely not, but you couldn’t even look me in the eyes, and I have to leave soon.”

“So you’re saying you want to, what? Marry me?”

“Exactly,” she deadpans.

“Woah, baby, I hardly know you! How could I marry you!”

“Hilarious.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“My point is,” she says pointedly, “I like you and would want to see you again. Without a child there.”

Percy’s brain is going bonkers right now because Annabeth Chase just asked him out. It’s even crazier because he’s thinking of saying yes. He tries to withstand, because he knows that he’ll never fit in with everything she’s surrounded by, but something tells him that she won’t mind, so he gives in.

“Fine,” he says playfully. “I guess I’ll take you on a date.”

“Oh shut up. I’ve been around Estelle all day telling me about how much her brother wants me to date him.”

“I didn’t say that, but to be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Annabeth shoots him a surprised look. “You’re not as shy as I thought.”

“Neither are you,” he counters, and it’s true. Annabeth has been making the first moves, and it’s different than what he usually sees. The thing is, he can tell this is exactly the way Annabeth is, and he’s determined to switch things up for her.

“Hey princess,” he says. “I feel like there should be a true love’s kiss before people go on a date, don’t you think?”

“Is that what this is? True love?”

“Isn’t it? You live in a fairytale.”

“I guess we’ll just have to find out, then.”

Percy pouts and whispers, “Bummer,” and then he’s pulling her in for a sweet kiss. It’s not at all him, and he’s sure this is no longer at all her either, but it feels right to both of them. Then, Annabeth bites his bottom lip, lets out a breathtaking whimper, and Percy deepens the kiss.

“These windows aren’t tinted,” Percy jokingly breathes out against her when she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“That’s okay,” she replies, smiling into the kiss. “I’m not one to be shy.”

[buddha-in-disguise]

From boom to bust.

What in the ever fucking hell was that Supergirl?

Okay, quickly. It wasn't as bad as some episodes. It had some great moments, but as is so often the problem since S5 on the show, they got completely overridden by the shit portions.

The biggest one? Well, everyone is rightly complaining about the lack of Alex telling Kelly that Kara is Supergirl.

I'm still reeling from this one. When it became apparent that Kelly knew - I will be honest, I was so stunned, I couldn't even appreciate the great acting by Chyler and Azie. It detracted that much from their scene. And it never should have, because once again, they showed why so many of us love seeing them work together.

So now the next one on my list.

Tough to chose, but I'm going with the time issue.

When was this episode supposed to be set, in relation to episode one?

Because we get the introduction of Silas, and while they don't give a timescale on how long Kara has been missing, the way Nia then mentions Kara still being with Cat Grant, and the initial CatCo scene, all suggests this is very quickly after 6.01 ended.

Plus, even in The Tower, the suggestion is it hasn't been long at all since Kara was lost to the PZ.

But then, William (more on him later) is standing in CatCo, no sling. No sign of having ever been shot. Now, don't get me wrong, I've never been shot, but I have a multitude of health issues, and even if he had great physio, there should be no way in hell his arm has that much movement without some kind of impingement.

But then we have the trial of Lex.

Now even in Supergirl's world, there is no way that a trial would be just a couple of days after Kara is sent to the PZ.

And CatCo has published their hit pieces on Lex. The pieces they were still only discussing in the opening portion of the episode.

Cue in Kelly and Alex - no mention is given on how long Kara has been missing.

So is it days, (highly unlikely) weeks, (possible) or months (who the fuck knows).

That scene with Kelly and Alex was sitting there, just ready to give us the clarification on how long they've been trying to rescue her. But as usual, we are having to make up our own minds and try to figure this shit out ourselves.

William. What is the point of him? No seriously. What does his character bring. Other than him sitting in front of a monitor (oh yeah, what happened about trying to get to the court 🙄) like some neanderthal, grunting at the screen, throwing a temper tantrum at the Lex trial.

We got those scenes by him edited in, but nothing from Kelly and Alex that would've been far more impactful and emotional for the main audience.

William is utterly pointless.

Lex - to sum it up, I love Jon Cryer. I love his version of Lex Luthor.

I am so done with his villainous monologues and looks. It is not the damn Lex Luthor show. How do they not know this, even now. Episode one, I thought it was okay, but this episode - enough already.

Which brings me to Andrea. Look, I love Julie, and I've no issue with Andrea as a character per se, but already I'm sensing that Andrea is drifting towards the same fate as William, of being surplus to requirements.

These are my immediate thoughts on the episode. I know many more will go through my mind as I think on it, but right now - thank fuck that wasn't the season opener as planned, because I would've easily turned off.

The only thing keeping me going so far, is knowing that we are getting more action as Superfriends in general, plus we know Jon didn't film for much longer. Even if we are supposed to be getting Lex back in 5b for an undetermined amount of time. God helps us all.

Oh I almost forgot - Kara delivering that speech knowing what it is like to lose everyone you love. I've got no clue what she was referencing there. Not. A. One. Nothing we know from previous seasons fits the actual dialogue she gave. So many choices could've been made, and yet we got more confusion over what she was referring to.

Last thought, since we know Nia is involved with Brainy in the upcoming Midvale episodes, I'm wondering if that scene at The Tower with Brainy, Dreamer had is a precursor to the Midvale episodes but she didn't realise it, because of the circumstances of why she saw it? I guess we wait and see.

Do better Supergirl. Jesus, the writing alone this episode. I see better consistency with fanfic writers. Netflix has SG if you need to check on things, and failing that, Google is only a few keystrokes away to the answer.

Let's hope this improves because if it carries on in this vein, watch viewing numbers plummet again.

Unedited by me before posting, so apologies for any errors.

Oh shit. I forgot to add. I'm also sick and tired of Kelly shouldering everyone else. Kara was her friend too. Moreso her girlfriends sister. Not only has she now been told who Kara is, the impact that has isn't just on Alex.

Is it this unconscious bias that Black women are strong and should carry every burden? Because that's how it comes across to me.

I want Nia or Lena even being there for Kelly FFS.

[greyjackwatcher]

Me: Okay i have seen the leaks of the new chapter 352 from my phone and the reactions of those i follow during work and they were just so fucking good so i wanna go and read the leaks myself

Me: Alright from where are you gonna read them from?

Me: From the old site that i used to read the chapters of bnha and the comment section was filled with villain haters

Me:....Why? Why are you willing to put yourself through that experience again, they are not gonna stop hating them.

Me; It seems that i am in a mood of masochism today and i just wanna laugh at that

Me: Well you are one weird mf so go ahead

Me: *goes there*

The comments(like some of them are just so stupid that you can’t even get mad at them)

Person No1:

‘’Once again Dabi projecting his insecurities onto shoto.  Just because you're immature and choose to walk a path of pettyness and self destruction doesn't mean shoto has to. So shoto puts an end to dabis suicidal temper tantrum by freezing them both saving dabi from burning himself to a crisp. Looks like we're going the whole spiderman no way home ending heal and save the villains from themselves so they don't end up dying by their own bad choices 😑.’’

Like dude holy shit what other choices did he have, seriously please tell me in full detail what were the other choices he could have taken by this point, jfc dude learn to understand in-character perspective. Also you seem to clearly forget that shouto was in fact on that path of pettiness and self-destruction, though in a much lesser extent pre and during sports festival, KNOW YOUR HISTORY BUDDY INSTEAD OF REMEMBERING ANYTHING YOU WANT TO REMEMBER. Also please learn the accurate meaning of temper tantrum before throwing such words around carelessly. I also see you being salty about spiderman nwh as if spiderman saving the villains wasn’t the best part of the movie that quite bluntly made me extremely like the movie so much, so i can clearly expect your reaction to the ending of the manga. I am gonna relish it. Also i don’t know about the projection of insecurities because better meta writers have analysed it and because i disagree just to spite you, plus i really wonder why i even waste my time with you given that all you do whenever i get to read the comments is bitch and complain and throw your hate about the LoV all the time, we get it you hate them, grow up and don’t make it a problem to all those that like them

‘’Damn horikoshi Rushing the hell out this story. This fight ended way to quick. ‘’

Nah dude the fight was absolutely perfect, you just wanted more slugfest and gladly hori didn’t deliver.

Person No2:

 ‘’Hmmm I hope the fight doesn’t end here otherwise it’ll be pretty underwhelming. Only way I can see this going is if Dabi just still fights to the end and well yeah that’s really the only way ‘’

...How about no? How about the fight ends here and the siblings get a happy moment, huh?

Person No3:

‘’don't think so, remember what the good old doctor saying that the only thing keeping Dabi alive was vengance and daddy issues?

Well, Dabi just died (I want to think) his organs must be screwed right now, was a walking hell Fire BBQ and not even recovery Girl can save him.’’

‘’I'm glad that endevour's sidekicks (specially Burnin) survived, I don't think Dabi is gonna live for much longer, his body is a total mess, his insides are ruined, he was an walking BBQ abomination, so don't worry ‘’

Man i have finally found the first person in the leaks saying that dabi is gonna die. At the very least it is just him, also be careful when you trust the doctor, he isn’t a reliable narrator.

Person No4:

‘’The fight between Shoto vs Touya ended in two chapters? Really? This is one of the most biggest dissapointing things I seen since I read MHA. The fight was anticlimatic and was mehhh. This is lame.

I guess I will be looking forward too seeing Deku,Uraraka and Endeavour fights than this,if this fighted ended as anticlimatic as this.

I doubt it will go the same direction as Aot. But MHA needs to do better with the final arc fights from the looks of it so far. Because If Shoto vs Touya just ended in two chapters this is one of the most underwhelming and anticlimatic fight I seen in the series. The hype didn t live up to it's expectation 

Nope this is final arc and Shoto vs Touya has been hype for a while this is far too anticlimatic and underwhelming to just end in two chapters. It's either rush writing or lazy writing. Horikoshi should just have made Shoto vs Touya in the last war arc no need to settle this at the final arc. What a waste of time.

Clearly you don t understand what is a concise story if you think Shoto vs Touya is satisfying to just end in two chapters no offense

That's not an excuse Horikoshi built the final battle for Deku amd allies vs Shiggy,AFO and his allies not just Deku,AFO and Shiggy.If its just about them only,this series should just end last war arc. This is the time to expand and develop on all the characters including the main characters,supporting characters and the villians and their fights. So far I am not seeing it.’’ 

I personally disagree with this because the fight was just wonderful and that the whole point was to help and save touya not beat the shit out of him, though i do agree that the characters could be a bit more developed though.

Person No5:

‘’wow almost like this was the main message of the story from the beginning. keep crying’‘

This was a response from someone to the no1′s first comment and was very satisfying to me imho, so bravo for saying something good to him because he deserves the shade. Also please don’t go insulting others okay? You lose your point when you start throwing insults.

So TLDR: This chapter was just awesome and with just some personal nitpicks, just perfect, stan Shouto for being one of the best characters in the whole manga and a true hero and have a nice day/night.

[luninosity]

Okay, so, some Falcon and the Winter Soldier thoughts (will have some spoilers) for episodes two and three. General non-spoilery comment first: I feel like these were both *okay* episodes - neither as good as the first, but I didn’t dislike them, either. I’m still really curious to see how we’re going to wrap this all up in three more episodes; it doesn’t feel like we’re halfway done yet!

Okay, more spoiler-y notes below the Read More, not in any real order, just as I think and type. I’ll probably forget some things, but for now, here’re some thoughts...

--I like ep 3 slightly more than ep 2, mostly because of Zemo!

--I actually really love Zemo here (I liked him in Civil War, too): complex, sardonic, enjoying poking at people, a villain we do feel sympathy for even as he’s still sharp enough to remind us that he is a villain. Daniel Bruhl has always done a fantastic job flipping between calculated cruelty, wry humor - the whole “I am a Baron” moment was great - and pain that for him is still raw, about the loss of his family. (Some things’re awfully cliche - look, the supervillain’s playing chess and reading Machiavelli in his cell? really? - but, y’know...sure. Why not. We expect some cliches in the superhero genre, and this is an inoffensive one.)

--also Zemo dancing. That’s it. That’s everything.

--moving on from that: I’m also really liking how they’re writing John Walker. He does have charm, and there’s a certain amount of sympathy - especially as we see him worrying about filling the Captain America shoes, in ep 2 - but we’re also getting this really subtle sense of wrongness about him. He’s clearly vindictive and angry when things (and people) don’t act according to his mental script for them, and he’s willing to use his name and power to do things like get Bucky released...which in context and given our sympathies for Bucky is a good thing, but...it’s also an indicator of his willingness to do what he wants, because he can. (To be fair, Steve Rogers also often did that! - but Steve earned our trust, both in narrative and character. From his first introduction to WWII leadership experience to all the Avengers stuff, Steve consistently acts to protect people, and he’ll also listen if someone else has a good idea or if someone needs to talk, like with Wanda.) So I’m really liking this slow-fuse character development.

--mixed feelings about Sharon. I love that the show’s acknowledging how much she sacrificed for our main heroes, with no reward. On the other hand, she also clearly knew the consequences that could happen; she said as much at the time. The level of bitterness seems like a lot. But I’m also interested in everything we still don’t know about her - if she’s not the Power Broker herself, she’s obviously Up To Something. So that should be fun.

--hey, look at that X-Men location, with Majipoor! Also a nod to Wolverine’s favorite bar there, I think?

--I love heist and disguise plots!

--I also really like Bucky’s having to revert to the Winter Soldier - Sebastian Stan does it so brilliantly, with so many layers of emotion: not wanting to, loathing it, recognizing the necessity, shutting off all emotion and just coldly doing it, hurting but covering it up...just fantastic, and you know I love some hurt/comfort, and this seems like such a great set-up for emotional hurt

--but! this also seems like...a weird plot hole, kind of? Bucky’s pretty famous at this point, right? I imagine the criminal underworld knows he’s been pardoned and deprogrammed, right? or do they assume Zemo, with his knowledge of Hydra, still has some special control over him?

--along the same “this seems like someone didn’t think this through” path, Sam, you’re a professional, turn off your phone on a mission. Oh my god. Face-palmingly stupid - and I think somewhat lazy writing, as the writers plainly needed a giveaway, and went for the first idea they had. Even if it made a main character look incompetent.

--the Flag Smashers and Karli are...fine. They feel very Generic Marvel Villain - not the big space alien type, but the other type, the “I have a personal loss and motivating pain so I’m a little sympathetic but also Clearly Evil, watch me kill civilians so the audience won’t ever find me TOO sympathetic” type. Meh. Fine. Zemo’s more interesting, but...fine.

--Anthony Mackie is such a fantastic actor - every bit of his reaction to the Isaiah Bradley reveal is so good. The anger, pain, frustration, ferocity...heartbreaking. Actually that whole scene is so good - his emotions at discovering this secret history are palpable, and it’s so painful, because we also understand why Bucky would keep the secret - as someone who knows about pain and trauma and being experimented on, and knowing Isaiah wants to be left alone - we feel really deeply for both characters here, and it’s great.

--I actually liked the abrupt swing from the Isaiah Bradley encounter to the casual everyday racism of the cops on the street - is it subtle, no. But it’s not meant to be: it’s meant to be standing up and shouting about how not that much has really changed, and about how pervasive racism is. I know some reviews were all, “this was just too much!” or “too forced!” but...look, it needs to be shouted sometimes for people to hear.

--Bucky’s notebook being Steve’s, oh, ouch, my feelings. If I had the time and energy to write fic...

--(also, if I had the time and energy to write dark!fic: where’re my fics in which Zemo’s implication about the Winter Soldier “doing anything you want” gets played with? what or who does Bucky have to do to keep the undercover charade going? so many Bad Wrong Kinky power dynamics and explorations of consent and what this would do to Bucky’s head, here, and honestly I’d totally read them all, just saying.)

--Sam and Bucky together...I don’t know. This is one of the elements that I’m not actually a huge fan of, but I think it’s partly a personal genre / sense of humor thing that’s not clicking for me, personally, again. Like...

--I don’t find people shouting aggrievedly at each other to be funny? I’m not sure why it is.

--I mean, I get that they’re doing, like, eighties buddy cop movies, but...it got old really fast then, and it’s not something we needed to bring back. It’s not clever, and it’s...well, shouty and annoying.

--(I say this as someone who genuinely likes the first two Lethal Weapon movies...but the significant difference is, I think, we’re also shown in both those movies that Riggs and Murtaugh care about each other. They don’t want to be partners initially, and they don’t get along initially, and they do argue over tactics**...but they immediately feel responsible for each other and act to protect each other even as they argue, because it’s the right thing to do and we’re shown moments of them awkwardly trying to connect, because they both have that deep sense of...protectiveness...that makes them Good People - like, if they learn something that the other person needs to know, they tell each other. They protect each other’s families / love interests. So by the end of the second movie, with that fabulous character death fake-out, Murtaugh’s initial shock and grief is real and powerful and painful, and so is his genuine relief when the worst isn’t true - and it’s all earned.) (**however, they tend to argue tactics *before* jumping in - “is it 1, 2, 3, go on 3? or 3, then go?” And then once that’s established, they go ahead. That makes a difference as far as...well...competence and teamwork!)

--(Sam and Bucky, as far as I can tell, don’t do the above, and just...maybe shouldn’t be working together?)

--I also don’t find grown men acting like my youngest nephew, when he’s having a temper tantrum, to be funny. Staring contests? Random insults? Sulking in silence? Oh, grow up.

--(Also, yes, writers, we see you with the “couples therapy” and “get closer and make your legs touch” and “landing on top of each other as they hit the ground” moments. I, at least, personally, am very tired of...I don’t know that I’d call it queerbaiting exactly, but this idea that we’re supposed to find these moments funny...because why? Because, ooh, they’re two men getting close to each other, physically or emotionally? Why is this a thing we need to draw attention to? Do you think you’re doing some sort of fan service? Please either make Sam/Bucky happen or stop doing this.)

--both Sam and Bucky are highly competent and professional agents, or they should be. They should know how to work in the field - even with people they may not like - and adapt to shifting strategy, make best use of available assets, include people in the plan, etc. I can’t help but compare this to something like, say, Leverage, which also has a team who mocks each other and makes jokes but clearly absolutely respects each other’s capabilities, has a plan going in and tells everyone what the plan is, and adapts (and trusts each other to adapt) on the fly as necessary, and does it all without random insults about someone’s (PTSD-related) staring and “robot brain”.

--one of the very specific moments that bothers me a lot is the ending of the therapy scene (yay for showing heroes in therapy! but also I’m pretty sure she’s...not a great therapist?). Bucky finally opens up and says something real, about his own self-doubt and wondering whether Steve was wrong about him....and Sam just...brushes it off and goes, “we’re done here,” basically. Not only does that feel wildly out of character for former counselor Sam, it feels cruel. I really deeply dislike that moment the more I think about it. Makes me want to scream.

--Sam insults Bucky way more than the other way around. It’s starting to feel very one-sided (it’d be better if more clearly reciprocal, though it’s still not a dynamic that’s my favorite), and again, feels out of character - maybe this is Anthony Mackie’s sense of humor, but Sam isn’t Mackie, and Bucky isn’t Seb, and it reads as...a weird unbalanced power-trip thing to me. And also out of character for Sam, who can be sarcastic (”If you guys eat that sort of thing,” about breakfast, when Steve and Nat have randomly shown up at his door) but that’s not the same as just throwing unprovoked insults at a person who’s trying to recover from trauma, and a lot of those insults seem to center on things that were done to Bucky, that he had no choice in (the staring, the arm, etc), and that feels....it just feels mean, to me. Make fun of things he’s had a choice in / can do something about, if you have to - hair, clothes, liking “old people’s games” like gin rummy or pinochle, not knowing who Beyonce is, I don’t know, there are so many options that aren’t cruel! Do that instead. Let Bucky have a good comeback for once, too!

--the action scenes are action scenes. Also fine.

--Sam might be right about destroying the shield, and the show may even be (unintentionally?) setting that up as the best outcome, but that’s a problem for the future, Sam; get it back first. Also it’s a problem you caused by giving the shield up - did you really trust the government to leave it unused in a museum? You’re not that naive.

--overall, it’s...a perfectly fine show, so far, I think? Solid, and interesting, but not great. I think some of what doesn’t work for me is because it doesn’t work for me personally, as far as the shouty insult-heavy action “comedy” bits that I’m not enjoying, but I think they’re doing what they aimed for with it, so in that sense, I guess it’s working? There’s a lot of really cool stuff around the edges - John Walker, Isaiah Bradley, that Dora Milaje stinger, the bigger world of a history interwoven with racism and superpowers, the chillingly effective use of Bucky’s past - but I wish I liked the central Sam-Bucky relationship more. Individually they’re wonderful - they’ve both had such powerful scenes dealing with family, trauma, and consequences - but I feel like, in the effort to do the buddy comedy dynamic, the writing has just made me really sure that they actually genuinely don’t like each other? To such an extent that if they show any affection / caring / interest in each other in the last three episodes, it won’t be believable. (I mean Sam and Bucky, not Mackie and Seb. Mackie and Seb’re adorable.)

--I just want to think about Zemo dancing some more.

[oneinathousand]

Okay so this little nugget of trivia about The Nightmare Before Christmas that was recently revealed on an episode of a docu series on Netflix called The Holiday Movies That Made Us has been living in my brain rent free for several days now and I have to tell you guys about it so I can stop obsessing over it and focus on things that actually matter. 

IDK if this info was floating around before the documentary came out but I had never heard it beforehand and it doesn’t seem to be common knowledge yet so I’m gonna tell you guys if you don’t know.

I have a lot of things to say so I’m gonna build the suspense here:

Here goes... You know how Danny Elfman does the singing voice of Jack Skellington and Chris Sarandon does the speaking voice? I think we all know that. Have you ever wondered why that is, though? I’ve seen many people ask why Danny didn’t just do all of the lines considering that the singing takes up most of Jack’s lines, and I’m here to tell you the reason:

It’s because Danny apparently couldn’t... act. The people working on the movie thought he was too wooden.  Expressing emotions through singing/dancing versus acting are different things, you know?

It makes me wonder... how BAD was he at voice acting that they couldn’t get him to rerecord his lines until he got it right??? I don’t think it was an issue of time either since Danny had gotten very attached to the movie and especially Jack and I’m sure he would’ve made time if necessary. He was originally just doing the music, he was the one to ask Tim Burton if he could voice Jack, because basically he was the original Jack Skellington kinnie. 

It doesn’t end there. Correct me if I’m misremembering, but I think everyone was afraid to have to break it to him, so they had Caroline Thompson - the screenwriter and Danny’s then-girlfriend - tell him, cause I guess nobody had enough of a spine to do it themselves. 

Eventually Danny had to agree with them, so then Chris was brought on board, and you know the story from here. 

Danny said in the doc that he was pretty sad about it, and he still seems pretty disappointed to this day. Maybe that’s the reason why this trivia isn’t well-known, cause I guess he doesn’t like to talk about it. That’s just speculation on my part, though. 

Call me an ass, but I think the whole situation is very, very funny. 

Can you IMAGINE... Put yourself in Mr. Elfman’s shoes for a minute: You pour your heart out into this character that you freely admit to putting aspects of your own life story into (yes really, Jack’s disillusionment with being the Pumpkin King and wanting to try new things parallels Danny leaving Oingo Boingo for music composing), this character is basically your self-insert... only for you to have to be told that you’re not completely up to the task of carrying out the emotions. 

*insert Zuko “that’s rough buddy” meme here*

That would be like if EL James actually played Anastasia in the 50 Shades movies but she had to be replaced by Dakota Johnson for the sex scenes cause she couldn’t act the sex scenes convincingly... except, you know, not bad. 

I’ve heard plenty about actors having to be dubbed over for singing parts because they couldn’t sing, but this is the first time I’ve heard about a musician being replaced for acting parts because they couldn’t act. 

Despite everything, I’m glad that both sides were able to recognize a problem and solve it. The people like Henry Selick had to deal with, let’s not forget, the composer and basically one of the main writers of the movie they were working on, it must have been nerve-wracking to tell him their true feelings, even if they did deal with it in a passive-aggressive way. 

And as for Danny, I’m sure if he really wanted to he could’ve thrown a temper tantrum about it until he got his way, but he agreed that the others knew what was right for the movie and swallowed his pride, even if it hurt him.

I mean, how many times have we seen popular musicians/celebrities voice acting in animated movies, or movies in general even though they weren’t really qualified, and we wish someone could have gotten better people instead? Everyone involved in The Nightmare Before Christmas wanted to make the best movie possible, and this story is one of the many ways that comes through in the final product. 

[rwdestuffs]

Likely because Oz’s early attitude came off as more “Arrogant Headmaster” rather than “Traumatized Victim of his ex”, I feel more sympathy towards Salem than I do towards Oz.

It’s a major writing flaw that persists because the overall show. A lot of the early attitude of the show is kinda dropped because they don’t know what to do with these characters.

For example, Ruby’s obsession with weapons was dropped and was never mentioned again. While it’s admittedly sweet that she didn’t start fawning all over Penny when she found out that she was in essence, a living weapon, the fact that her weapons obsession was dropped early on makes that interaction less heartwarming, and more like they were just bonding.

So, when Oz’s early attitude reeks of arrogance, like when he more or less overruled a lot of Glynda’s objections, and how he more or less was implied to have known that Jaune cheated his way in, it comes off as moves that were less due to his trauma, and more due to his arrogance.

Contrast Salem, whose name not only invokes sympathy what with the witch trials, but was also introduced and had her backstory revealed not too long after said introduction, she invokes more sympathy than Oz does because of a combination of her name and her early reveal of her backstory.

While yes, both Oz and Salem were victims of abuse, Salem’s came much sooner than Oz’s after their initial reveal, which invokes more sympathy for the character.

In a similar sense, this is why Cinder isn’t that much better. Without the Cinderella motifs, nobody would have guessed that she had a rough childhood. It’s also why Adam is also demonized. The naming motifs combined with how long it took for the characters to receive any meaningful backstory (Supplemental material for Adam, and 8 volumes for the fire hag), creates a situation where it’s hard to sympathize with one because of how the naming conventions work. Like I said here, names are important to a character. Had Salem been named Lilith, after a biblical demon, she would not have received as much sympathy as she does now. Had Adam been named Maurice (After Belle’s father), he would have received more sympathy than he did. Adam invoked more similarities to Gaston than he did to any other character, resulting in him not getting as much sympathy as Cinder did, despite them both having similar backstories and actions throughout the show.

If the writers have done anything right, it would be knowing how naming conventions work.

But this still ties back into how early traits were just… dropped. Blake stopped calling out racists to their face, and stood by when Velvet was being a victim of Cardin’s bullying.

Weiss’ early racism was resolved off-screen and was never really addressed again.

Yang’s overall protective nature is only ever brought up when the plot demands it.

And Ruby’s weapons obsession, a trait that could have been used to properly describe each character’s weapons in an unforced manner, was never mentioned again.

Oz’s early arrogance was now replaced with the backstory of “He was traumatized!” And look: Oz is indeed traumatized. But it’s clear that that wasn’t something the writers thought about until recently. There were few (if any) hints that this was Oz’s situation from the start. Hos arrogance in wanting Pyrrha to give up her hopes and dreams by forcing her to take on the maiden powers with that “Become the Fall Maiden for us, or the Bad Guys win” ultimatum, combined with his overall secrecy led a lot of conclusions to think that he was more arrogant than he was traumatized.

Now, this isn’t to say that he wasn’t traumatized. His feelings and emotions towards the subject are completely valid and he deserves sympathy. But given how the early writing was, it’s hard to really feel sorry for him because again, his early actions came off as if it was fueled by arrogance, as opposed to trauma.

It’s admittedly hard to land the sweetspot for backstory reveals, especially for characters that aren’t your title character, but it really feels as if the writers didn’t know what they wanted to do with Oz until they came up with the idea of him and Salem having been romantically involved together.

They lyrics of the song Sacrifice also don’t help,

You can't have my life I'm not your sacrifice You can try, but I'm free And you won't conquer me I won't crawl, most of all I won't fall for you

The overall way the song is done implies that Oz sacrifices people for his own gain. Given that this song was made and released well before the backstory reveal, it also lends to the idea that Oz was more arrogant than traumatized. Admittedly, this is basically Raven’s song, making the views a little skewed, but again, it was made and released before Oz’s backstory reveal, meaning that it had more time to fester in peoples’ minds and be analyzed to come to the conclusion that Oz was a manipulative bastard rather than a traumatized victim.

Like I said, it’s hard to land a sweetspot for a backstory reveal. You either do it too early, and make the character lose their mystique, or you do it too late, and people won’t care about the character making the reveal pointless.

In addition, doing it too late, such as the case for Cinder, means that you have to make all prior actions make sense in this scenario. If Cinder’s backstory did anything correctly, it was that it made her attack on Weiss back in Volume 5 make sense. But all other actions don’t make sense. For example, she was a slave, so her abusing the WF into working for her makes no sense since both have had to deal with slavery. If anything, her revealing that scar would have made it make sense, even if it was off-screen, because then Adam has every reason to take her side. He would know that she was abused by the elite, and he would sympathize with the mentality of overthrowing a system that allowed such things to happen, even if it meant the deaths of a bunch of people.

Then we get to Cinder’s reveal and we find out why she was so hellbent on tearing down a hunter school. A Hunter decided to arrest her for fighting back against her abusers, so she views them all as the same: A bunch of privileged assholes who punish victims, but not the perpetrators.

If anything, Cinder’s was revealed far too late to make her actions make sense, or make audiences truly want to forgive her actions. She killed Penny and Pyrrha. Had this been revealed in Volume 4, where everyone was dealing with parental figures, Cinder’s motives would have made more sense. She was betrayed by a person she considered to be her father figure, and that led her down this path. Think about it. Yang was dealing with her dad calling her soul a temper tantrum (And no, I’m never letting that go). Weiss was dealing with her abusive father Jacques and the best parental figure ever Klein. Ruby was dealing with parental figure Qrow, and the prospect of losing him. And Blake was dealing with best biological dad Ghira and his advice on not letting the past or your fears control you. Cinder’s backstory would have fit right in.

These characters had really interesting personality traits that got dropped. I would have loved to have seen Ruby and Jaune work together to give Jaune an upgrade to his weapon that would make it cool, but still make it Jaune’s. But no. A random blacksmith does the upgrade.

It would have been so cool to learn about the other characters’ weapons through Ruby. We could have learned the names of the weapons, their function(s), and maybe even learned a it of symbolism about the weapon and the weapon’s user. Another thing the writers do well is that they make the symbolism of a weapon and their user make sense. Blake is a stealthy, quiet, and reserved character. So her weapon isn’t loud or fancy, but it has a lot of utility. Yang is loud, boisterous, and wants to tackle her problems head-on, so her weapon reflects that by giving her the option of getting in close for powerful blows. Jaune is a basic character with nothing special to him, so he gets a basic sword and shield combination.

So the weapons and semblance being the only way for us to know what a character is like is honestly really jarring when some of those character traits are no longer that applicable.

[itsclydebitches]

(Tai’s joke anon) The thing about RWBY, the show renders a lot of its defense null and void. Your arguments are valid, but what happened in V8 tells me that the writers are selective. What happened here is going to be treated as a sacrifice Yang isn’t going to have to grow from. Twiin iinks talked about how Yang’s arc should’ve been getting over her PTSD, and that’s what I intend to focus on in my rewrite. Yang will get therapy, she’ll learn how to use her arm, etc. I’ll stick to my guns.

Each of those examples have a very different context though. While I agree wholeheartedly that the group as a whole, on Ruby’s say-so, is incredibly reckless now (hello, airship debacle) and that the writing is failing to call that out, the Volumes 4-5 material is its own thing and, most importantly, the existence of others being reckless doesn’t suddenly absolve Yang of her own flaw. 

The key difference between Yang’s behavior and Ruby’s during the Tyrian fight/Blake’s during the Ilia fight is that the latter two were working from a place of strategy. Ruby was ignorant, though through no fault of her own. Qrow deliberately never told her about his semblance and thus she’s unable to think up a reason why he wouldn’t want their help. She initially does keep her distance though, doing what he asks, but when Qrow fails to win the fight  — when it becomes clear that he and Tyrian are on equal footing, or that Tyrian may even win  — Ruby decides to enter the fray. An order with no justification and, from her perspective, no logic does not outweigh the boost that their teamwork would provide, especially when Qrow is the only who trained Ruby. They clearly work well together. Why not just team-up to beat him? That’s the best plan here. 

Similarly, Blake didn’t just set her house on fire for the fun of it. That was a calculated move in battle to even the odds. Ilia had killed the lights and, using her ability to morph into the environment, starts running circles around Blake. Black then decides that the damage done is worth being able to effectively fight back against somewhere who is here to kill her and her parents. She outright says, “Sorry, Dad” as she takes the shot. The strategy is “not dying is better than an undamaged house.” 

Yang, in contrast, is not someone whose battle choices stem from strategy. That was partly Tai’s criticism: stop attempting the same thing over and over again with your semblance. That’s the major flaw in her fight with Neon, where she just chases her around the ring, never varying her combat, never trying any strategies, relying entirely on her semblance to win the fight. And when that initially doesn’t work she has, as Tai puts it, a temper tantrum about it: “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Rather than thinking smarter, Yang screams at the sky and punches harder. Unlike Ruby who made the calculated but sadly ignorant choice to assist her uncle in battle and unlike Blake who set her house on fire to regain her sight in a battle, Yang needed to learn how to change up her reactions in a fight. She needed to learn strategy, not just bank on a powerup to win because, as her encounter with Adam shows, that doesn’t always work. And for a while the story did that! We see Yang heeding Tai’s advice. She thought to take her arm off to avoid Mercury and later thought to catch Adam’s sword with her arm. Those moments are great! Yang was heading in the right direction, figuring out how to strategize in battle even if she still struggled to keep her temper in non-combat situations... but then Volume 8 happened. Yang regressed to charging blindly rather than thinking. Ruby and Blake never needed to learn strategy, Yang did, so when Yang gave up on strategy to instead throw herself bodily at Ruby  — when she might have used her arm to block Neo’s hit instead, or send in a shot, or anything else she might think of  — that reads as far more of a problem. The writing forced Yang back into a specific flaw she had, but it’s not a specific flaw that Blake and Ruby shared.

As for Weiss, that was a purely emotional response. Weiss doesn’t recklessly send a boar after someone and nearly kills them, her summoning activated without her say-so, resulting in a boar that nearly killed someone. Weiss was being manhandled by her abuser after being emotionally gutted by no one caring about the fall of her school. She reacted instinctively. “But Yang also reacted instinctively with Blake and Ruby.” Yes, but the difference is Weiss grew. After the disastrous party Weiss is locked in her room and proceeds to spend all her time practicing summoning. By the time she reunites with the group, she doesn’t summon instinctively like that anymore because she’s got a handle on that part of herself. There was a problem, she worked to fix it. Yang, however, is now right back where she started. 

Finally, there’s a huge difference between the character who is chastised and the characters who are not. We can certainly criticize the writing for failing to write additional scenes where someone calls Ruby, Blake, and Weiss out on those choices, but the fact remains that no one did (largely for practical reasons: Qrow is too sick, no one else knows how the fire started, and Weiss only has her abuser who obviously doesn’t care about her growth). Yang, however, did have a loving authority figure to say, “Hey, you need to work on this.” That knowledge makes her more responsible than the others. Criticizing characters for something they may not even realize is an issue is not the same thing as criticizing a character for something they were explicitly told is a problem they need to work on. 

As always, context matters. Two characters made dangerous decisions, but they had clear battle outcomes in mind when they did it: a 2v1 battle is more likely to end in our survival, fire makes it more likely for me to survive. Another character instinctively did something dangerous, but spent a whole bunch of time off screen working to fix it. Our fourth character, however, has a habit of making dangerous decisions with no clear strategy in mind, despite being warned against this behavior. Frankly, at this point I think Ruby is as bad as Yang, but Ruby getting worse doesn’t suddenly absolve Yang of her own flaws. Throughout the series —  notably before the writing tanked — she has consistently been portrayed as the reckless party girl. Yang is the one who goes to a night club and destroys the place. Yang is the one who is so easily riled up Ruby’s response is, “Oh, here we go”  — that’s her norm. Yang is the one who doesn’t have any noble plans for being a huntress, she just likes the excitement, something that she gets by throwing herself into dangerous situations. Yang is the one with the massive arc about the consequences of revving up her semblance and throwing herself at an enemy without a plan... only to, a few months later, rev up her semblance and throw herself at an enemy without a plan. The others are definitely reckless now too  — Ruby throwing herself into a cannon comes to mind  — but whereas this is a new writing problem since Volume 6, Yang’s recklessness is an established part of her character that was always a part of her. 

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Defrosting Grumpy Three (a Season 8 meta)

I keep thinking about how Season 8 of Classic Who is almost like the first one the show has to a ‘season long arc’ that I don’t feel gets talked about enough. Obviously everyone knows it as “the one where the Master is in every story” but I feel like there is a subtle character arc for the Doctor in this season as well which is tied to the two main characters introduced in the first episode; the Master and Jo Grant.

I’m not the first one to point out that out of Three’s five seasons; this is the one where he’s at his most grumpy and short-tempered. I know a lot of people point to this season as reasons for why they don’t like Three and I totally get that, he’s a real git sometimes, in particular the first and last stories. There are moments where he’s asking for a slap and, no, I’m not talking about him claiming to be buddies with Chairman Mao and a Tory MP. Because I would’ve thought it was obvious that he drops those names purely to gain trust of these people who don’t trust him (at least that’s my headcanon because it doesn’t fit with the anti-capitalist, anti-pollution, anti-imperialist writing). Just him being constantly ungrateful to the Brigadier, snapping at Jo, or just being childish in the most ‘kid throwing a tantrum’ way possible.

But it’s easy to get why. By Season 8 he’s been trapped on Earth for we can assume at least a year. New Who fans who’ve seen the Power of Three and saw how crazy Eleven went when he tried to stay on Earth to study the cubes just for a few days/weeks know the Doctor can’t stand staying still, especially in one time and place. In his first season he could be short-tempered but slightly less so. In Spearhead he’s quite polite and motivated, though that could be the most pleasant form of Post Regeneration Trauma he’s been through. Plus he had Liz, who you can see he immediately clicked with. A fellow genius who finds herself out of place or treated a little unfairly as a female scientist surrounded by men, both of them willing to sass the Brigadier when he deserves it. He also still keeps trying to fix the TARDIS, as if convinced this won’t be as permanent as the Time Lords intended.

But by Season 8 (or you could say even before that, in Inferno) his attempts clearly haven’t succeeded past slipping into a terrifying parallel universe, and now cabin fever is setting in. And Liz, his science bud, has gone off and left. And while it’s sad we didn’t get a goodbye between the two of them, her passing remark towards the Brigadier about the Doctor just needing someone to pass him test tubes and fill his praise kink maybe implies that, at least from Liz’ POV, they weren’t as equals as Three thought, or she didn’t feel that fulfilled working with him, even if she did appreciate him as a friend. 

So enter Jo to replace Liz, who is everything Liz wasn’t. Liz had to study and work her way to her position; Jo is a spoiled girl who got to play spy by sheer nepotism. She failed A level science and doesn’t have the same sharp-wit he and Liz shared. Three is mean to her even before she introduces herself as his assistant when she only tries to help, and doesn’t hide his disappointment when she tells him. Perhaps it might also be that she reminds him of his companions before Liz; she’s cute and perky like Zoe and also loyal and determined like Jamie, even though she lacks Jamie’s physical strength and Zoe’s genius. Still, she’s young and he might not want to put her in danger the same way he nearly lost his previous young companions many times in the War Games.

When Three goes to the Brigadier to try to get rid of Jo, the Brig is far more smug than in the previous season, as he seems to have worked the Doctor out by this point. Their little moment at the end of Inferno where Three insults him and tries to escape only to then come back with his tail between his legs acting all buddy has shown him who Three really is; that this whole grumpy shtick of this is just a defence mechanism while he’s so out of his depth. I like to think the Brig hoped Jo would soften him up, to bring out the compassion that was more overt in his previous incarnation, as well as just pass him test tubes and keep tabs on him. His knowing smile when he watches Three try and fail miserably to fire her seems to prove his point.

In the same story we also have the Master showing up for the very first time. He was created to be the ‘Moriarty to the Doctor’s Holmes’. These kind of ‘foil enemies’ that pop up in so many stories, where you have a villain who is supposed to be a perfect match in intelligence or skill to the hero, are more often than not presented as ‘what the hero could have been’ if they chose to be evil rather than good; the Master is no different. And even though it’s not established until the next season that the Doctor and Master used to be friends, there’s clearly an underlining fondness in their banter which hints at past feelings as well as mutual respect. It says quite a lot that Three is more relaxed and friendly during his conversations with the Master half the time they talk than he is with the humans he’s meant to be saving, or even his own close friends. Because, for all their moral disagreements, the Master is his own kind and his only link - other than his broken TARDIS - to the rest of the Universe. 

In almost every story of S8, after the Master has revealed his evil scheme only for the Doctor to point out how it will backfire on him, they have to work together or form some kind of alliance of convenience. In Claws of Axos, the Doctor outright pretends to betray his friends and elope join forces with the Master to escape, only for it to be a trick in order to defeat the Axons. But considering Three’s attitude in this season, it’s a very convincing act as much to the audience as to the humans. And then in Colony in Space, the Master offers the Doctor half-ownership of the Universe....and the Doctor clearly hesitates! Yes, the Master tempts him with the persuasion of ruling ‘in the name of good’ but Three has to take a moment to remember what a slippery slope that line of thinking is. He’s so tired of being trapped, sick of being leashed by the Time Lords, that the Master comes along as a devil on his shoulder at his most vulnerable point. Considering the last story involves the Master summoning the actual Devil (or close enough) and is also where Three’s temper seems to be at its peak seems all too fitting.

It’s also interesting that the Master’s greatest fear that appears in the Mind of Evil is an image of the Doctor laughing maniacally over him. It’s the closest we get to an image of Dark!Three in the show. To contrast; the Doctor’s greatest fear isn’t the Master, it’s the eruption from Inferno. Seeing the Earth swallowed by flame - not because of an outside force like the Daleks or Cybermen, but by humans themselves. It’s easy to imagine him wondering why he even bothers with them when they’re their own worst enemy.

(Side note; apparently the Evil Overlord in the Inferno parallel world IS the Third Doctor, according to the Expanded Universe, though I haven’t read up on this. We were robbed of seeing Pertwee play an evil Doctor.)

So while this is going on and the Master is playing his games with the Doctor while also tempting him, intentionally or not, to the ‘dark side’, we also have Jo at his side. And Jo takes all of the Doctor’s snapping and mood swings like a pro, and is very quickly overwhelmed with a lot of the stuff she’s faced which that she didn’t know she was signing up for - being hypnotised, captured by aliens, taken to alien worlds in the far future etc. She screams as most companions did at that time, but because it is what you would expect from a girl fresh out of school and throwing herself into something she clearly didn’t properly prepare for. The Doctor has to save her a lot, more than often because she tried to help only to get herself captured. As much as he does warm to her - because he’s not immune to how adorable she is - it serves to prove his point. Even when he finally gets to leave Earth for a day, she’s too frightened to want to leave the TARDIS. What good is she to him?

Now she continues to prove she has her uses. She has her escapology skills which get them out of a few tight spots. Depending on the writer, she can turn into an Emma Peel-esque agent capable of self-defence and subterfuge. And she’s always patient with the Doctor, no matter what mood he’s in, and extremely loyal. She’s also kind and compassionate with every side character she comes across. There seems to have been a backlash to these kinds of qualities in female characters in the past twenty years or so, what I like to call the Cinderella critique, where if a woman is kind and generous more so than smart, sassy and sword-wielding she’s seen as ‘weak’. Jo is always there at the Doctor’s side when he’s managed to get hurt or knocked out (Three took a lot of naps, anyone else notice this?). Even after he does whisk her away to another planet and nearly don’t make it back, she could easily throw her job away if it was too much, but she sticks with it because you can see that she wants more than anything to be useful and do good for her world - it would be another two season until she found what her own passion was with being an environmental activist but this is where she wants to start.

But it’s not until the end of S8 that we see Jo’s greatest strength and how it saves Three when every other defence he had was gone. He’s spent most of that story chastising her for believing in magic and superstition, as well as anything else he can find to snap at her for like criticising the Brigadier even though he does the same thing all the damn time (this could be seen as a ‘I can insult my bro but you can’t’ moment but it’s still not pleasant). But when he learns the Master is preparing to sacrifice her, he runs in to save her despite knowing it’s a suicide mission. He also gives a cold exchange to the Master when told he’s a ‘doomed man’. 

Oh I’m a dead man! I knew that as soon as I walked through those doors so you better watch out! I have nothing to lose, do I?

It’s a telling line that, behind all his patronising and abruptness, he’s reached a point he doesn’t feel he has anything left to keep going. He’s lost his freedom and his knowledge of time travel; but he’ll die before letting Jo die or letting the Earth burn again. When Azal claims the daemons gave humans knowledge, Three responds: Finally he’s turning his anger on the one who deserves it to save the one who has been his friend, even at his lowest points, for the past several months, while still showing his disappointment in what he’s seen of humans living amongst them:

You gave them knowledge to blow up the world and they most certainly will. They can poison the water and the very air they breathe. 

When Azal appears, he nearly makes the Master’s greatest fear come true by offering his power to the Doctor instead. And the Doctor looks horrified, immediately doing a Jon Snow and refusing it. Unlike when the Master offered him power before, he doesn’t hesitate for a moment, even though Azal’s powers could probably get his TARDIS working again in a snap. He looks almost scared at the thought of possessing something like that. Perhaps his dark persona in that other world became that way because he did take such an offer?

Azal prepares to kill the Doctor for refusing his offer, which is where Jo saves the day by offering her life for his. A lot of people dislike this ending for the idea of the villain being destroyed ‘by the power of love’ more or less, but this was a lot less common a deus ex machina as it is in New Who. The Doctor explains how it works when they’re free as:

Azal could not accept a fact as irrational and illogical as Jo being prepared to give up her life for me.

Three says it as he’s just as baffled, if also amused, by it as Azal was. Why would Jo give up her life for him? Compare that with when Ten has to give up his incarnation to save Wilf, how he rants that Wilf isn’t important but he has ‘so much more’ to give. Even the Doctor wrestles when it comes to sacrificing himself for others sometimes but Jo did it without a seconds thought, made even more illogical given Three’s often harsh treatment of her. But one thing that is obvious is that Three’s grumpy face is gone; he’s smiling for the rest of the episode, looking at Jo with quiet heart eyes, and letting her drag him into the maypole dance, conceding that she was right and there is ‘magic’ in the world. 

Much like Rose was the companion Nine needed after the Time War to enjoy seeing the Universe again and appreciating life, Jo serves a similar purpose in S8 in that she gradually reminds the Doctor through her actions of the strengths in being brave, kind and selfless. She and the rest of the UNIT family are there to remind him of the goodness in humanity and that we’re always learning and trying to improve; as Three says to Azal that ‘they need a chance to grow up’. Jo is the angel on his shoulder to contrast the Master as his personal devil; right down to having her dressed in the sacrificial ‘virgin’ garb opposite the Satanic Master to cap the season off.

Three still has his sour moments after this but he’s far less cantankerous going forward and sweeter towards Jo especially, praising her bravery and learning in future, just as Jo also grows more confident in her abilities and enjoys her adventures with him. He seems far more relaxed on Earth and less desperate to get away because of the people he has around him that make it worth staying around for. Three’s morals and loyalty to humanity might not have been so firm had Jo not been there to ground him, especially with the Master constantly there almost holding out a hand to him offering freedom and excitement. Like all good companions, she saves the Doctor as much as he has to save her, in more ways than one, which she doesn’t get nearly enough credit for. And it’s what adds to the heartbreak of her eventual exit because of the effect she had on his life.

It’s just one of my favorite tropes when a character gets better and softens or becomes kinder not because they had to ‘change for someone else’ but because they were inspired by them, especially if it’s the person they underestimated the most.