#it is apart of the profession so REAL! but point... the cameras away...

[kentrl-z]

ive been watching vet shows and heres some of my favorite images

dr k's exotic animal er edition

[sadnightforus]

LEGACY  (CBG) 

reporter!beomgyu x supermodel gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Sitting at the conference to clear your rumors, is not how you envision to see your ending at all. But before it could end your livelihood, you have to end your own self for good. 

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

WARNINGS: act of suicide, mentioned of plastic surgery, mentioned of bullying (although no real event happening), betrayal coming from beomgyu’s part (but did he? DID HE??), mentioned of sexual encounters, tiny description of bl**d, the reader is implied to be a female but generally it’s gender neutral. if you can’t handle the bl**d, look away. 

slightly, slightly inspired by how puppa woman by jun togawa makes me feel. 

A/N: hi… hope you like this one. idrc if reporters have camera, I will make my own version thx.

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated! 

 All you can see is the same familiar faces of the people who try to ruin yourself in the name of journalism. 

 You wish you hadn’t had to sit down and do this as everywhere you turn, you’ll meet with dirty, unique, yet such hurtful insults directed at you, even if you weren’t actually doing such things. 

 The flickers of cameras, the bright light that hurts your eyes but you keep smiling as you compose yourself. You’re holding a conference to clear up the rumors that start making their way online and become a sensational hot topic in a matter of 3 days. Even if the smile is undoubtedly the fakest thing you can muster, you have to be strong and handle the pressure like a champ. 

 It’s how you have survived for so long until you’re not. 

 You think you look perfect today, after all, with a little help and major enhancements on your physical appearance, it’ll be a shame if you didn’t turn out to be the hottest person in the room. Accompanied by a white dress that shows off your simple, yet extraordinarily beautiful looks, you think your stylists had made a great choice although you weren’t sure how you exactly turn out to be in pictures captured by those rats of reporters and paparazzis. 

“Hi everybody, as you may know, I’m Y/N.” 

 There’s a hint of playfulness, better described as mischievousness lingering in your voice as you speak into the microphone that surrounds all over you. Almost as if it doesn’t really bother you as much. There’s a dangerous edge in your voice that waits for the right person to just push the last button so you can finally break. 

 No, it doesn’t sound remorseful and shameful like most had expected after many secrets of yours were revealed. The tone is neutral, very calm but yet so cold. Beomgyu almost flinches at the iciness as it is a huge contrast to your usual friendly, warm and honey-like addicting voice. 

 You scan the room, looking for the man you want to give hell to. You succeed as you see the very much ethereal looking reporter-slash-photographer is at the very first row. You giggle mentally, thinking how he must’ve been hours earlier than everybody else to get a good spot to witness you in clear sight. 

 However, he’s the type to ruin your life. His profession ruins your life. 

 A fucking traitor. 

 You can’t believe you trusted him for months, thinking he was just an average skater boy who now lives in the city and struggles to find a job but oh.. little did you know that his occupation is out there to taunt your reputation and stardom into dust. All dreams and hard work ruined because of a fake scandal or just anything that displeases any netizens. 

“So I’m doing this conference, to clear up a few things. I’ll tell you how it is.” 

 Screams are heard, reporters that stand in the front, including Beomgyu almost break the string that separates you and those people apart just to take a closer look at the fallen star. 

 Screams uproar, some throw in the most disrespectful questions possible to try and get their point across. They almost fall over themselves trying to get a better look of you, including the betraying man. The most questions are: 

“Is it true that you got plastic surgeries?” 

“Is it true that you bully your co-stars?” 

“Is it true that you’re sleeping with big names to get where you are?” 

 You know every moment, body language, and even a slight millisecond changes once this heated topic of the conference is held and now broadcast over various channels. You can also envision people cursing you out, spewing insults and other disturbingly hurtful things that you’d rather not hear. 

 The once perfect idol loses their crown and now has become a dirt floor that people gain the courage to step on, seeing you at your lowest. 

 You want to thank Beomgyu, the man who makes you have today, just today that you have to face hundreds of these rats that hold a very large part in ruining your career and running your reputation to the ground, making it harder to defend yourself or come back. 

 You want to laugh out of amusement and shock, also sadness, although not a very good look for right now. 

 So you hold it in. 

“First, I never bully my co-stars. I don’t know where those rumors come from. It’s true that I keep my distance, though.” You keep your neutral face, calmly clearing the rumors as you notice the sparkly big eyes that belong to him are enticed by your presence but you also know that he is up to no good. 

“Second, I didn’t sleep my way to the top. I knew a lot of people and they referenced me to do jobs just right. I don’t offer sex to just anybody. Although I might’ve done charity by sometimes doing it with people who aren’t… let say, on the same level as me?” The corner of your lip pulls itself to create a more upturned look, knowing that this will undeniably piss that male reporter off. You see he’s taking pictures of you, that you can only hope they turn out perfect. 

 More uproars arise, some make a disgusted face that shows that they hated how you carry yourself so cockily and didn’t give them the answers they wanted. Although, it makes for a better story time as more speculations arise, do you sleep with fans or just anybody you consider hot enough? 

 Beomgyu grits his teeth, now seething with anger as he’s trying to focus on his job. He knows that you guys are nothing more than just a lucky fan who gets to have his dream idol on his bed for the night, why is he so mad and possessive over you? He’s also aware that you’re a grown person, so it shouldn’t be a problem that you sleep around with people that you find attractive or have a steamy hot passion with. But he’s just an idiot who clearly can’t separate his emotions from an outwardly bonding experience he shared with you. 

 Does he mean nothing to you? 

 He almost bites his lips off in anger. 

 Is he just someone you can tell those things to and he has to pretend it doesn’t affect him? 

 Does those words hold no weight of sincerity behind it? 

 Those are the questions that he seeks your response to.  

“Third, yes, I have surgeries. What about it?” You clear your throat, this time make sure to linger your stares into the lying man a little. 

 The hall’s screams increased, shocked by the absolute bluntness. But this also means that you’ll lose your fanbase due to the company marketing you as an all natural. 

 You decide that it’s time. 

 You stand up, pulling the hem of your sparkling white dress to not create further crease of the soft fabric. Then you take a few steps forward, heels clicking with the stage floor, creating a soft thud sound as everyone is now intrigued by your next move. 

 You walk all the way to stand in front of the white cloth table, pick up a microphone, which you know belongs to Beomgyu’s. You then speak into the device, letting your voice be heard. 

“I’m plastic. I know it. Never claim to be all natural. You all wrote me off as one.” 

 Behind the televisions where they broadcast the whole interview live, there are old people who cuss you out for being talentless and hideous looking after the photos of your past appearance that you desperately tried to hide circulating online. 

“Guess you can’t trust just anybody that day. Who would’ve thought that people turn out to be such a fake two faced scumbag?” The phrase escapes your mouth and although it sounds like a generalization, it is actually for Choi Beomgyu. 

 You can only hope he’d get that. 

 You take a small breath in, searching for the courage for whether it is a bad idea that you seek for an attention that ultimately, will end you in this way or also in another way. Beomgyu notices one of your palms that isn’t holding his microphone, is fisted. Naturally, it gets his attention and he can feel there is something odd that is hidden under your skin. But your voice distracts him from his analysis.  

“I also should’ve known the love wasn’t very much gonna be permanent.” You smile, watching the reporters confused by your statement that is a major contrastation to your facial expressions. 

“Before I climbed my way to the top, I was ugly. Unattractive. It destroyed me. Now I had the looks and it still destroyed me. But I won’t let that happen…” You pause, looking around to observe your manager at the hidden corner who can sense that there is trouble arising your way. 

“I’m a cheap fake person. I won’t be able to come back even if I try. Because of course, you all want a perfect star. I might not be able to achieve my legacy as a supermodel, but I will…” You eye everybody straight up, sending them the happiest and most bone chilling smile of your life. 

 It’ll be the last time they see your smile. 

 You hope that they’ll have guilt and some consciousness doing this to you and many others. Oh, how that beautiful smile of yours will continue to haunt them like a ghost for the rest of their lives. 

“If I do this…” Swiftly putting a microphone onto the table, you pull out a razor, you let the sharp metal make contact with your skin, precisely your wrist, inflicting the object so deep you can feel it’s touching your veins. And you dare to go deeper as everybody now no longer let out a scream of amazement but panicked ones. 

 Beomgyu’s eyes widened as this event wasn't supposed to happen at all. 

 Fuck. 

 He turns off the camera, hands shaking as he nearly drops expensive essentials. But he couldn’t care less about that right now with the way he shuts the camera off to stop letting it photograph you and puts the device into his bag as he hurriedly rushes out with a hushed apology to everybody who was doing their jobs there. He climbs over the seperated red string as security guards try to intimidate him away. But as your manager yells "Let that guy in and don’t let the others come close!”, they have to reluctantly make ways for Beomgyu. 

 He isn’t supposed to be doing this, it was supposed to be professionalism before emotions but of course, it’s immoral and he can’t tolerate such injustice when seeing you like this. 

 He’s supposed to hate you, but he can’t. 

 Streams of hot red liquid drips from your wrist, with the way the razor is now tossed away from your hand but you’re unable to stop bleeding, there’s a sense of terrific regret lingering inside of him. 

 You think he must’ve been able to read you so well because as you feel light headed and more dizzy with time passing by and knees aren’t able to support you any longer, you’re collapsing and would most likely hit the stage floor if it wasn’t for his strong arms that carry you. 

 He watches you dying, yet he can’t do anything about it. The person who he has loved since forever is now going further and further away from him. 

“I- I never spread those photos! I also never spread any rumors!” He chokes out, body going in a state of frantic as his eyes shimmering with tears, looking at the state you’re in. 

 The gaze he has for you is no longer any sort of resentment, but rather, there is a weight of sincerity and longing in it. It takes losing you to realize that he can’t live without you, not by himself in this cold lonely world. 

 You blink slowly, chest heaving as you try to observe your surroundings more. You see him, you hear him and the loud screams and yells from reporters that try to capture this moment to make their dirty money off your misery. 

“Baby, fuckfuckfuck- don’t close your eyes! The ambulance will be here soon, don’t close your eyes!” 

 Your eyes hold a confused look to it, by the usage of the name ‘baby’. You don’t know who the man is in front of you now that changes so suddenly, but you weren’t really complaining. 

 Too bad you can feel yourself reaching closer to the realms. 

“I love you! I have loved you for so long! We were childhood neighbors, remember? Even if you called yourself ugly, you were never to me! Pleasepleaseplease don’t close your eyes!” He rambles out a love confession, knowing it might be a little too late as the screams of panic arising with every second passing by. 

 His eyes are drenched with tears, the salty streams of aqua makes it way more frequent and starts drenching his shirt. He wants to savor this moment a little longer, to see you before you go. But his brain keeps telling him that you’ll survive, despite seeing how deep the cut in your wrist is. It even stains your white dress.

 It scares him that this is the only time where he sees you for the last time, forever. 

 You suck in a deep breath, he panics, you can feel it the way his hands tremble underneath your body as he holds you close, worried that it might be your last breath. You let out a sigh, difficulties presenting itself in the way you try to accentuate every word out.

“I’ve loved you too. I’m sorry, I never meant what I said.” 

 Even as you speak, you never lose your smile. He wishes that he sticks around you to see your face longer. There are slow, dried drops of tears coming from your eyes as your chest heaves in for another breath. 

 It might really be your last. 

 You think back about your childhood, your aspirations and how you promised to spend your life to the fullest and would never lose yourself to shallow things that bring you misery. 

 Ironically, you’re in this situation and you accept your defeat now. 

 You reach your hand out to hold his, even if the notion is weaker than it usually would. He accepts it, gently embracing your beautiful hand that is in his hold. Your visions are getting darker and you think you finally see the realms of peace that you had always dreamt of. 

 You want to be there. 

 You look at his face one last time, feeling his immense love even if not much words exchange but you know it’s time you go and repay your debts. You know the clock never has mercy on anybody as your eyelids now can’t open by their own will anymore and your hand now falls out of his grasp, signaling that you’re no longer alive. 

 Searching for peace has always been your mission. A journey that is incredibly fulfilling. You’ve heard so much about it and it is one of your biggest yet most challenging aspects in your life to finally be content with where you are. But you know that following your heart into this realm of darkness where nothing will disturb you and only brings you eternity of the solitude that you can only hope for, you do so with no regret. 

 But doing so, means that you left crying Beomgyu who holds your limp body, screaming out “WAKE UP, BABY PLEASE!” In front of reporters and paparazzis who manage to capture your legendary conference, the impactful rumor clearance and your death, broadcasting all over the country and now will be remembered as your legacy is tied to the last 30 minutes before your exit from life. 

COPYRIGHTED BY SADNIGHTFORUS, 2023

[hplovecrab]

Summer heat

After a few cold days it’s warming up again and I think it’s fair to say the summer has officially started. Now I could elaborate on my dislike of this particular time of the year, but let’s just say I’m not thrilled that it’s here, what I was thrilled by is Michael Mann’s “Heat”. I’ve only ever seen one other movie by this director, which is “Collateral”, and whenever anyone talks about him they always mention one of the two films. So after years of hearing how good the shootout scene is, and how accurate the gunfights are and it’s one of the best action movies, I’ve decided to finally watch it. It was on my list for a long time, I thought it’s summer, the heat is coming, seems appropriate.

This movie doesn’t waste any time huh, not even 10 minutes in and the action is ramping up. I have to say the guns are loud, properly loud. I’m guessing this is a directorial decision to not tone it down in post production. I thought the whole movie was about the heist, it’s not, much more of a good guy vs. bad guy type deal. I won’t write out praises to camera work and actor performances, it’s all good, not much to say there. Instead what I want to talk about is how strange some of the plot points are.

This one bit could work as comedic irony, here we are in an almost empty apartment of the leader of the crew who professes he’s not lonely despite being alone and doesn’t get attached to anything he’s not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds. Later on this same lone wolf gets approached by a woman and falls in love after realizing how he actually is very lonely sitting there amid his colleagues who each have a partner. Presumably his crew have been doing robberies for a while now, they trust each other, they know each others families. But it’s not until he has a one night stand with a woman who approached him first, and then sees all his mates sitting with their partners while dining out together that he realizes he doesn’t want to be alone any more? Is that all it took for him to so suddenly change his outlook on life? Buddy, you look old enough to have grandkids, how starved for attention were you this whole time?

Let’s ignore that though, just like the movie ignores some of the characters. I think Danny Trejos character has not had more than 5 minutes of screen time in the entire two and a half hour run time. He doesn’t even have a name beyond “Trejo”. And his last scene where he lays dying, whispering about how he’s got nothing left any more because Anna is gone. Anna who? Was Trejos whole plotline cut out?? How about Lauren? Angsty teenager played by Natalie Portman, the stepdaughter of the main character. She appears 3 times. Her last scene is also of her dying, in this case after attempting to commit suicide. What is the point of having her character in the movie? As far as I can tell she only exists to show how Vincent, our main good guy policeman, really cares about his family even though he’s never around to be with them. Should’ve cut her out along with Trejo.

I also want to make a note of Chris’s escape. He’s headed for a trap, his wife warns him, he heads out. A squad of SWAT guys stop him and let him go because after looking at his I.D. it checks out as valid. They’re not gonna investigate further. A valid I.D. is all they need. Because it’s not like this guy is a professional criminal and could have had a really good forgery, or a real I.D. but under a fake name. They don’t even know what Chris looks like! I don’t know if this is a plothole or they’re meant to look incompetent, or outsmarted, I don’t know. He gets away with it. You know who doesn’t get away with it? The “mastermind”, the leader, the lone wolf who suddenly fell in love at the ripe age of pushing 50. And why? Oh, revenge of course. Because he can’t let go. Despite his life-changing romance he has to do this one final thing that will most definitely not only cost him his beloved but also his freedom. Well hey, at least he’s going after Waingro, the guy who committed serial killings against teenage prostitutes, that guy, the guy who before that left DNA evidence after a killing, the guy the police put in protective custody to catch the mastermind but didn’t connect to the serial killings. Tied off that loose end I guess.

I still enjoyed the movie quite a lot. Even if the story was a bit cliché. I think the most interesting part though was realizing how much this film inspired the making of PayDay(specifically the first and best one). The shooutout scenes, the way the robbers dress in suits and hockey masks, the music during the second heist. Really made me want to redownload that game. Maybe I will.

[alexskarsgardnet]

New Interview & Photo Shoot!  Alex photographed by Johan Sandberg and interviewed by Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (October 2020)!

Alexander Skarsgård: the photo shoot and interview for L'Uomo

BY TIMOTHY SMALL, JOHAN SANDBERG 25 SEPTEMBER 2020

Alexander Skarsgård is a really, really nice man. A Swede through and through, Alexander, or Alex, is a very down-to-earth gentleman who could definitely act as more of a big shot, considering he is also one of the most interesting actors in Hollywood right now, a town that, in true Swedish style, he once defined as “kind of silly”. After getting his first big break as the lead in David Simon's excellent Iraq War mini-series for HBO, Generation Kill, Skarsgård exploded in our collective imaginations as Eric Northman in True Blood, while also acting for Lars von Trier in the wonderful Melancholia. 

Since then, he has been a very buff Tarzan in The Legend of Tarzan, a mute bartender in future Berlin in Mute, a very dark killer in Hold the Dark, and a hilarious Canadian Prime Minister in Long Shot, as well as giving an Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO's Big Little Lies. The self-defined “restless” 43-year-old is set to star in The Northman, Robert Eggers's highly anticipated third film, a “Viking revenge story” that Skarsgård himself was crucial in bringing to production – and, by all accounts, it seems like it could have all the right pieces to become a future cult classic. It certainly has that kind of hype.

L'Uomo Vogue:  The Northman is such an interesting project. I know it's important to you. It's also part of a growing resurgence of interest in the Viking era and Norse mythology and that sort of epic Scandinavian adventure. How did it all begin?

Alex:  It all started seven or eight years ago. As a Swede living in America, I realised there was a certain level of fascination with the Viking era and Viking culture – and this was before any of the Viking shows that have since happened. It made me realise that there basically had never been a real great epic Viking movie made, and I thought that that's what I wanted to do.

LV:  So how did the project kick off?

Alex:  I started having conversations with a studio back then, trying to crack the best story. All I knew at the time is that I wanted to make a big Viking movie. We had a couple of potential different starting points: we had a story about two brothers, and then one about the Viking travels down to Constantinople with the Viking siege of the city. We were looking for the right story, but I never really felt we were there. I knew the scope I wanted it to exist in. But what was the story?

LV:  And that's when you met Robert Eggers.

Alex:  Yes, like three or four years ago. We met about something else. I can't remember how, but we started talking about Vikings. And he was, like me, a huge fan of Viking culture and of that historical era, and I immediately felt he would be the perfect guy to direct this movie. And then we found an author and poet in Iceland, Sjón, who came onboard to write the screenplay – and they did a fantastic job, just cracking the story and the essence of it.

LV:  Sounds great.

Alex:  It's a real adventure movie, but it's much more. It taps into the culture, and the mysticism of the Vikings, it becomes more intimate and more personal. I didn't want it to be a generic “swords-and-sandals” movie. Robert is one of the best filmmakers out there. And the whole process is so much more gratifying than when you're quote-unquote “just an actor”. It's been truly extraordinary.

LV:  But then you had to halt production.

Alex:  Yeah. I was in Belfast, Northern Ireland, three months into prep on The Northman about seven days away from principal photography. Just gearing up, you know, getting ready to start a very long, very intense shoot -- a shoot that we were scheduled to wrap in July – and that's when the virus hit.

LV:  What did you do then?

Alex:  I normally live in New York, while my family lives in Stockholm. When the first wave came, I was on the fence: nobody really knew how long it would be, or what precisely was going on. So we shut down production for six weeks. The idea was to then see what would happen. I basically moved to Stockholm for four months.

LV:  How do you feel about this forced break from work?

Alex:  I had not been home for this long in... more than 20 years. It was strange. We were in a bubble; we were all healthy and safe. In a lot of ways, I had moments when I felt being surrounded by my loving family, feeling safe and loved, and taking a break from work, but then also feeling very guilty because I was, for the lack of a better term, being spared.

LV:  In the past, you've described yourself as being a nomad. Did you miss Sweden and the North?

Alex:  I realised how much I have been missing it. I go to Sweden regularly, but usually only for three or four days, maybe a week, tops. My father and two of my brothers are actors, so we're used to never being in the same city. We all travel all over the world. Maybe we'd get back together for Christmas. And I can really say that I had missed spring in Sweden.

LV:  Do you think we will change the way movies are produced?

Alex:  We're going to have to figure out how to shoot movies with dozens of crew members and hundreds of extras while still respecting social distancing rules. It's an unprecedented situation and everyone is scrambling to figure out the best approach. My brother was one of the first people who worked in our industry during the pandemic. He shot a movie in Iceland in the middle of the lockdown. The way they solved it is they split the crew into colour sections. So, hair and make-up had yellow armbands and the camera department had blue, and they had a “Corona appointee” on set who would call out, “Now blue go in!” and then “Blue, out! And yellow, in!” And then they would all do their job in turns. It was very military-like. Productions are already complicated, so we'll just have to add another layer.

LV:  How did you become an ambassador to the Clarks brand?

Alex:  To me, authenticity is very important. I don't want to endorse products I don't genuinely like. That's why I was excited when Clarks reached out. I've been wearing Desert Boots for 25 years. Also, I like to travel a lot. I like to explore new cities by foot. I want to be able to walk around comfortably in a classic, iconic shoe. I travel from movie set to movie set, and I often live out of a suitcase. And this teaches you to be frugal. Whatever fits in that suitcase, that's all I can bring.

LV:  Is that the Swede in you?

Alex:  Maybe. But we consume way too many things in this society. Also, you give things more meaning when you live with them, and when you go on adventures with them. Like, these are my boots. I've been places with them. And when they fall apart, I'll buy a new pair. If you have the right stuff to begin with, you don't need more.

LV:  Going back to The Northman, that really sounds like a dream project.

Alex:  It is. It will be a rollercoaster ride. I can't wait to get back to Northern Ireland and get back to the production. It's also a very physically demanding project, so I have been training for, well, since a few months before production stopped.

LV: In a way, getting into a role, getting on a movie set, acting through it, the whole process of making a movie is a bit like a little adventure. You have to prep, you have to travel, often with people you don't know, and you have to push boundaries.

Alex:  Absolutely! A huge part of the appeal of this profession is you get to travel, and you meet amazing, interesting people from all over. And the uncertainty, you know? What was it, 12 years ago, I was in New York, and I'd never heard of Generation Kill. And then two days later I was on a plane to the Kalahari Desert to be out there for seven months to shoot the series. And I'll never forget the feeling, sitting on that plane, thinking, “Two days ago I didn't even know about this project, and here I am on my way to Southern Africa to spend seven months in the desert with 200 strangers.” It's very exciting.

LV:  What a feeling that must be!

Alex:  And every single job is like that. Every movie is different. Your part, the tone, the energy, the people – it's always different. And for someone like myself, who has that kind of wanderlust, who's always looking on the horizon, it's very attractive to never know just what the next adventure might be.

October 14, 2020:  Updated with the full interview courtesy of our friends at the ASkarsLibrary (x).

Fashion credits:

Photographs by Johan Sandberg Styling by Martin Persson Grooming Karin Westerlund @ Lundlund Hair Amanda Lund @ Lundlund Stylist’s assistant Isabelle Larsson Digital Daniel Lindgren Production Madeleine Mårtensson and Olle Öman @ Lundlund

Read the full interview by Timothy Small and see the photo shoot by Johan Sandberg in the October issue of L'Uomo, on newsstands from September 22nd.

Sources/Thanks:  Interview:  Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (x), Photos:  Johan Sandberg for L’Uomo Vogue (x), artlistparis.com (x) via artlistparisnewyork instagram (x),  luomovogue instagram (x) &  atomomanagement.com (x) via atomomanagement instagram (x), our caps from artlistparisnewyork’s September 23, 2020 insta story (x, x)

[peachy-panic]

Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

[peralta-guaranteed]

Amy on a Santiago Family Skype Meeting and Jake wanting a kiss before he has to leave hc

Amy is trying not to let her fatigue show - she loves her family, she really does, but anyone would start cracking after literally two hours of a Skype Meeting with seven brothers and a set of parents (okay, her dad was mostly there for tech support while her mom chattered, but he still counted).

Her eyes are slightly glazing over while one of the boys starts talking about his son - who's interrupted the call several times to say hello to all the tios and one tia anyway - when she notices the door to her bedroom opening, even if it's not entirely visible on the screen.

"Hey babe, I'm gonna- oh sh- sorry I didn't know you were still on the call-"

Jake seems to be scrambling through all five stages of grief after realising what he just interrupted and that he almost swore in front of her mom, who is very much not on board with that ever, even as all of her children are adults now. He calms slightly when there is a chorus of "Jake! YO! How's it going? HI JAKE! Hey bro! What's up? Jake my maaan!" from the seven little tiles of faces excited to see him (meanwhile Julian, the second youngest, teasingly imitates his "hey baaabe" in a singsong voice).

"Hi", he waves into the tiny camera after walking over to her desk, making sure to say a specific hello to her parents and yep, she picked good. "Sorry, just wanted to say I'll be leaving for that stake-out now."

"Oh right!" Amy looks at him while the chorus turns into a collected "Byyye Mr. Big Policeman" and other stupid nicknames while Benedict, the youngest still in college and very undecided, mumbles a quiet "so cool". He's probably heading for the academy soon.

"I put dinner in the fridge for you. Guess this is gonna take a while." He grins with a quick look to the laptop, graciously omitting that 'dinner' was another box of takeout they'd ordered before David had called the impromptu Santiago Meeting. She realises, then, that she's ditched her boyfriend for two hours at her own place, letting him dither around before a somewhat risky stakeout he was definitely not to happy about, and feels an appropriate amount of guilt. She knows Jake can entertain himself well enough when he's at her apartment and she's busy with something, but he'd probably definitely planned to spend the evening a bit closer to her than it had turned out.

She puts a unspoken apology into her smile, only to notice he's clearly waiting for something, and cringes a little when she realises for what.

They've always made sure to kiss goodbye when leaving each other, especially if one of them is heading out for work. Even with something as well-practiced as a stake-out, with their profession there is always the slightest chance that they might not make it home for a while, or.... never. A proper kiss and I love you before the other goes is the least they can leave each other with, and they've adhered to it strictly, even after a fight or when one of them was still half-asleep.

But they're center-stage in front of her entire family now, and she can feel all nine sets of eyes (ten if you count Jake) bore into her. It's different when they're all together for real, at some family party, and she can stand aside a bit with Jake's arm around her waist to peck a kiss on his cheek or even on his lips, but even then at least one of the Santiabros (ugh she hates that group chat name) will notice and tease them about it.

To have them all sitting front row for it? She's probably going to die from both embarassment and little-sister-rage if they start up.

Jake seems to notice her unease, or maybe he just realises that the usual lean-for-a-kiss is definitely not happening, and with a quick side-eye to the screen and its waiting faces, he decides to do what he does best.

Tease her.

"So goodbye babeee~" His voice is in an exaggerated sing-song now while he presses a loud, smacking kiss to her cheek, cradling the other with his hand like some overbearing auntie. "Love youuu~" He continues with yet another noisy smooch before she pushes him away, trying hard to ignore the laughs and shouts from her speakers. He joins in with the laughter while actually pinching her cheek before standing upright to leave, but his face turns far more somber as soon as it is out of range of her camera.

"Just a second." She growls towards her family, still hooting. "Gotta kill my boyfriend."

He's already at her door again when she reaches him, and she was planning to give him a little punch at least, but his smile as he turns back to her is so soft and his eyes are so shining and there is no way she can't not give him their proper goodbye.

So she places her hands around his neck instead, fingertips behind his ears, and smiles back.

"Bye, cariño", she whispers (the Spanish always sneaks into her speech more after time with her family), and it was meant to be just a short peck to his lips, but then his hand is soft between her shoulderblades like it is so so often, and she forgets all about the seven brothers and parents in the room - kind of.

She's quickly reminded of them when she can hear David's "You know we can still see you, right?" between Whoohoos and whistling. "Get a room!" she recognises from Alonso, with a quick "They are in their room" from Julian. She won't let them get to her this time, though, simply removing one hand from Jake's face to stretch behind her with a middle finger pointed in the direction of her laptop while she kisses her boyfriend (her love) again, and only her mom's gasped "Amelia!" makes her finally break away and shoo him out the door with a smile.

[dulcaet]

paint my heart | yoongi

synopsis. you should have known that, over time, paint crumbles, and that time spare no one, not even the colors adorning your heart. 

pairing. yoongi | reader  genre. angst word count. 2,043 warnings. none

initially, there had been only an immensity of white. a simple, but gigantic, empty canvas ready to be offered to those wishing to add to it the most beautiful colors that existed. 

the life you lived was lulled by neutral feelings; your smiles were real but not bright, your eyes lit but not sparkling. the days were passing by, some slowly, others more quickly. they were chaining each other to the rhythm of the clock hands in your kitchen. the work you had managed to get was perfectly supporting you financially and you took great pleasure in learning what the profession of a sound engineer consisted of. everything was fine. but everything could be better. and everything would become soon. unfortunately, you didn’t know that yet.

you'd never consider your life boring, but sometimes monotony could be hard to bear. it, who always stood behind you, like your shadow, to remind you of the lack of laughter, smiles, adventure in an empty, gray life.

weeks, and months passed, that infinity of white still painting your mind. no painter had put his brush on your canvas, not coloring it with pearly, colorful hues, which would form the most beautiful of the artwork: that of a fulfilling life.

then, suddenly, there was an infinite number of colors. a palette covered with paintings all different from each other. blue. green. yellow. red. purple. one had been searched for the most beautiful pigments in the world, carefully making from them colors that all the greatest painters could have envied.

it had started as a normal day, a day tinted in white. you had stopped in the break room to drink your coffee before climbed to the third floor to reach the studio where your superior was waiting for you. the habit having taken over the rest, you had not knocked, judging that your arrival had already been announced a few seconds earlier by a message from your part.

maybe you should have.

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t think this studio would be busy!”

nervousness had taken hold of your heart, dragging it into a frantic waltz. a man sitting on a sofa whose upper body was leaning towards the coffee table had turned to the door squeaking. a pen in the hand, fingers stained with ink, glasses placed on the nose. this face, no, this portrait perfectly drawn by the hand of the most talented painters, you had seen and seen it again. on social media, in advertisements, on youtube. not a day had passed without you noticing this face so beautifully carved.

and he had been standing in front of your astonished face.

he had smiled with all the kindness present in the world and had looked at the time on his watch before apologizing for exceeding the scheduled hour.

“hello.”

“hello.”

this exact moment was your first meeting with min yoongi. the first of dozens of others.

a smile drawn on your two faces, fingers intertwined, the streets of capital had never looked so pretty. the yellow of the streetlights, the orange of the car flashers, the red of the store signs. the moon at its highest point reflected your candid faces, illuminating it in white and pastel blue. she was watching you, smiling at this birth of love.

adoration was a feeling whose aura could almost be seen as powerful as it was. these heartbeats rhythmed in unison, these candid laughs, all these little special touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painting in front of the moon’s eyes.

“yoongi, look!”

one hand holding your straw hat so it wouldn’t fly away, the other pointing to a multi-colored bird on a tree branch whose leaves were colored with a resplendent green hue. the smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only summer could provoke. this feeling of being invincible, encouraged by the rays of the sun whose reflections chase away the patches of shadows, the bad memories. the five silk trees formed a globe as enchanting above the park letting these so-called rays of light pass through. the sweet pale pink flowers lowered themselves and rose to the rhythm of the wind oh so quiet.

summer was your favorite season, it was synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquility. happy to be able to enjoy the good weather, little laughs escaped from your lips without you noticing.

the characteristic noise of a camera caught your attention. turning your head, eyes obstructed by strands of hair, your gaze rested on the man standing a few meters from you. he was smiling at his screen, fiddling with the buttons of the device. curious, it was with a bouncing step that you walked towards him, making your light white and pink dress twirl. arriving at his height, you lean towards him, tiptoeing to see what seemed to hypnotize him. a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to hide the picture.

“delete it! i’m hideous!”

“don’t say things that are impossible.”

the pupils trembling, you watched the surroundings, hoping to see yoongi’s silhouette. you had begun waiting more than three-quarters of an hour ago on the forecourt of the restaurant where you had booked a table two months ago. there was no apparent reason for this event, if not to celebrate your love. it had been several days since you had seen him because of his rehearsals, so, excited to finally spend an evening with him, you had got all dressed up.

however, the soft light of day had darkened, giving way to this vast world called the night. the delight that had hitherto decorated your face, making it up in the prettiest of ways, for joy had this powerful power, had disappeared, dropping that mask on the concrete ground. as the dim light of the streetlamp illuminated you, all the gravity of your face increased, painting a face of sorrow.

one hand was rubbing your upper arm, the wind chilling you, the other furiously tapping on your phone’s keyboard.

me to yoongi ♡

where are you?

helloooo?

please respond! it’s cold out there.

well????

yoongi ♡ to me 

something came up. don’t wait for me. grab yourself something, i’ll pay.

a lump appeared in your throat, as did the pain that pierced your heart. you remained still, however, letting it spread in the hope that this horrible sensation would go away if not interrupted. what you did not know, for love blinded the heart and confused the thoughts, was that a piece of the first one was now laying at your feet.

a drop of grey paint fell on the canvas, staining the blue sky adorned with white clouds.

the clock above the kitchen counter reminded you how pathetic you were, standing until way too late at night in hope of catching sight of the man’s face you had got into the habit of calling your boyfriend. if you could still define him like this. a silence had taken place in the empty apartment, a silence that even seoul’s frenetic life could not break. you were sitting on the couch with your eyes staring at nothing but void. your pupils previously illuminated by the candor of love were no more than two impenetrable walls. you seemed empty, as empty as a hollow shell. your inner state represented the vision your apartment gave. whether it was the pieces of furniture, the frames hanging on the wall or the decorative plants; all were tinged in the same gouache.

nowadays, the colors had worn out. overtime, you supposed. time was, after all, one of the main enemies of love, especially when it became rare.

oh, how much you hated gray. it colored your life with a monotonous color where everything seemed sad, an impression so different from the explosion of colors that your retina had become accustomed to seeing. there was nothing but grey. grey everywhere. in your body, in your eyes, in your heart. the latter seemed to have been impregnated with it. it would not be surprising to see the normally red carmine liquid flowing through your veins turn into a grey color. a plain grey, without any reflection; there wasn’t light anymore.

no more conversations until late at night. no more encouraging little messages on your nightstand. no more signs of affection, whether expressed in the form of a kiss, an embrace or even a smile.

there was nothing left.

nothing more except a weariness that did not seem to want to leave your life. it was now an integral part of your routine. many times, you had wondered if you had become paranoid. yoongi was a busy man. everyone knew this detail about him, you knew about this and for a long time, this detail had been one of the reasons for your reluctance to engage yourself in this relationship. this fear, which was ubiquitous at each moment of your life. this fear was flowing in your veins. the fear of being sidelined.

for more than a year, he had succeeded in proving you wrong. he had shown you that even though his career was a source of significant demands and that his schedule would always be a delicate thing, the love he had for you would overcome that.

he had forgotten to point out that all these wonders would only last a while, the attractive illusion giving way to the harsh reality.

things had changed.

suddenly, as if in slow motion, your face, which had lowered in defeat, rose up when you heard the door open. without you being able to control your body, your eyes began to sparkle, your pupils dilated, your heart racing. overtime, through missed appointments, repeated absences, nights alone, you had learned to hate these physical reactions. how sad it was to achieve such a critical stage that your only possibility was to hate the love you had for him.

he did not undress nor did he take off his coat, merely heading to your room, whose sheets now seemed constantly frozen. not a look. not a word. it was almost as if you were just a mirage, something that didn’t exist or that wasn’t interesting enough to deserve attention.

“don’t wait for me, i’ll be late.”

the door was slammed, silence set in, a silence that was cut off by your sobs. you were crying, more than you had ever done in your life. in your tears came all the frustration, the sadness but also the pain that a lost love could cause to an already weakened heart. your thoughts were black, blacker than the ocean after a hurricane, your mind filled with disarming memories.

two long minutes passed. the grey darken. you swallowed, holding back a trembling sigh that reflected your sorrow. with your eyes focused again on your stress-bit nails, you ignored him when he came out of the room with a bag on his shoulders. this scene was recurrent, so recurrent that it was certain you could play it in your head. knowing this, no ounce of surprise crossed your mind when he uttered that sentence. that damn sentence.

someone once said, “happiness is screamed, sadness is written.”

you had always known how to transcribe your emotions perfectly on the paper. however, today, for the first time in your life, you faced a writer’s block. the page was blank of words, not strong enough to describe what you were feeling. a page that was soon flooded with tears, the revenge of this sadness that had been held back for too long.

min yoongi had never been yours. not even for a second. you should have known this. it had been obvious. you should have known his heart belonged to music.

with each of the tears that wet the notebook, making the black ink drool, it permeated the immensity of paper until there was only one color left to the eyes of everyone.

the canvas had now become black.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

For Good Measure

Request:  “ Oh my gosh I loved your "Appreciation" fic! Your writing style and set up was amazing. In a similar vein, can I request a Chris Motionless x Justin Morrow x Reader smut fic? I'm a *huge* masochist/sub and I've been looking for a BDSM/two Dom guys threesome fic with them FOREVER and can never find one ;-;” - @deepstarlightemo

Warnings: Horribly written, unedited pure smut (BDSM (light), choking, overstimulation, spanking, threesome, slut shaming, I honestly can’t believe I wrote this)

A/N: I hope this is something like what you were looking for! I made it an AU cause I wasn’t quite sure how to do it with them in their real roles. Also, thank you so much! 

_______________________________________

You may have had times where you’d been ashamed of your profession, tried to hide it from your family and friends by covering up and just saying you were a performer. That wasn’t entirely a lie. It just wasn’t very specific. Sure, you were a performer: a performer of sexual acts in front of a camera. A pornstar. 

When you started, you’d never imagined you’d have gotten where you are now. It started as a way to make money in college when you couldn’t find a job. It was just faceless cam-girl stuff. You covered any distinguishable marks on your skin with foundation so nobody would be able to figure out it was you. But slowly, you began to realize that this was something you actually liked and your shame faded away into power and confidence. 

And in times like now, there was no way you could be ashamed. You were just too damn excited. You were about to film a BDSM scene with two of your personal favorite performers in the industry, Chris Cerulli and Justin Morrow. This was a dream cum true (get it?). 

The cameras were rolling but you hardly noticed. You were so turned on already and nobody had even touched you. You were standing in five inch black heels, black sheer stockings with garters that attached to your black lace panties, if you could even call them that. In place of a bra, clamps connected by a chain were attached to each of your nipples. Your hands were tied above your head to a hook in the ceiling, leaving you stuck there in the center of the dimly lit room that had more than its fair share of sexy objects and furniture. 

“My, my, my. What do we have here?” A dark voice said from behind you. You couldn’t see him, but you knew it was Chris.

Equally as dark and serious, Justin answered, “Looks like a fucking whore to me.” The men walked up to you, Chris smacking you hard on the ass out of nowhere. You yelped. 

“I’m sorry what was that?” Chris got closer to your face, his eyes painted dark in contrast to the pale makeup on his face. 

You composed yourself, “Thank you, sir.” 

“That’s better.” He stood back up straighter. Although you’d scene them dozens of times in some of his films, all of his tattoos were absolutely mesmerizing. Most dom men in the BDSM community always wore all black but Chris always did his shirtless and you were pretty sure it was one of the reasons he turned you on so bad. Tattoos had always gotten you going. 

Justin was shirtless too in order to match with Chris’s signature. He didn’t have as many tattoos but he was more muscular than Chris, both men still ridiculously attractive. 

You hadn’t noticed that Justin stepped away until he returned, trading places with his counterpart to stand before you. Without saying anything, he reached his hand out to grip around your throat and held you in place while he inched his lips towards yours. You tried leaning in, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on you, but just as they were about to graze, he dropped his hand from your throat and yanked on the chain attached to your breasts, pulling your nippled hard. 

“AH! Fuck!” You whimpered out, twisting in your bindings. 

You hadn’t noticed the black wand in his hand until he flipped it in his hand and flipped the switch on it. The large vibrator began to buzz in his hand. Justin pointed the round tip towards you and began to run it down along your arms and across your sore breasts, making you shiver. Finally, he made his way down to you core where you needed it most. 

He pressed it hard against your lower lips and you squirmed to try and get it on your clit more. “Awww,” Chris cooed, “How pathetic.” He smacked your ass yet again, your body sliding up and your clit finally getting that stimulation it craved, if even for a second. 

“Please, sir…” You begged Justin, leaning forward to readjust yourself on the buzzing device in his hand. 

Justin followed your body with the device, “Please what?” 

Chris came up behind you, pressing his bare chest to your back and began massaging your breasts, pulling every now and again on the chain. He slipped your hair over one shoulder and began kissing along it gently in harsh contrast to the abuse he was laying into your overstimulated nipples. 

“Please, sir, please can you put it on my clit?” Your head lulled to the side to give Chris better access. 

Suddenly, Justin smacked the inside of your thigh, the sensitive skin stinging, “Spread your legs.” You did as he instructed and stepped out a little more, your ass pressing into Chris’s bulge behind you. 

Justin reached down and grabbed the front of your panties and pulled them up tight and hard against your slit, making you wince at the aggressive contact on your sensitive skin but loving every second of it. After a few seconds of that, he released his pulling but replaced the pressure with direct contact with your clit on the vibrator. 

You moaned loudly, finally allowing yourself to lean into the light vibrations. It wasn’t much but it was something. 

Behind you, Chris’s tongue ran up your neck and bit your ear before slapping your ass again. “Ah!” Your hips bucked against the vibrator and Justin turned it up a level, the buzzing more intense as you did. 

Your breathing began to get a little shaky and your legs were having a hard time holding your weight. “F-f-fuck. Please can I cum?” You asked, the knot in your stomach forming and getting tighter and tighter. 

“No cumming unless we say.” Chris growled, stepping away from you and coming around to the front. 

It was getting harder and harder to hold off your orgasm, “Please, sir, I’m so close.” 

Justin shook his head, “We didn’t say yes so you better not cum.” 

You were right there. You were so damn close. Tears began to spill over your eyes as it became almost painful, “I’m gonna cum!” You announced when you got too close to pull back. 

Justin pulled the toy away just milliseconds before you could fall over.

“Fuck!” You screamed, feeling your orgasm ripped away from you.  

 As he did, he reached up and removed the nipple clamps. You sighed at the relief but it was short lived as Justin’s hand came up to smack your tender breasts, red marks smattering across the skin. “Ow!” You cried with pleasure, juices dripping down your legs. 

He reached above your head and undid the knots around wrists, “Let’s get you out of this.” He muttered as he did so. 

Your arms fell, blood finally returning to your limbs as you stumbled slightly, your full weight returning to your heels. The relief wasn’t too long lived though. 

Chris grabbed your hair in a makeshift ponytail and yanked your head over to face him, “Bend over that table, ass in the air.” He hissed at you, walking you over to the table and pushing your head down. With his knee, he spread your legs across and smacked your butt hard. His free hand dipped down between your folds, fingers slipping into you easily, “So fucking wet.” 

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs, leaving the garters and heels still on. 

“Here it is.” Justin said from somewhere above you and you saw his arm stretch out over you, handing Chris the vibrator they’d just used moments ago. 

Chris bit his lip with a smirk, the metal rings in it glistening between his teeth, before switching it on. He reached under your hips and hoisted your rear in the air and nuzzled the vibrator under you, tucking it between your folds until it was pressed hard against your bare clit. Chris flicked the small device on, sending shocks down your body. While you moaned and ground yourself into it your hands tried to grip onto the table you were lying on. 

“Oh shit.” You moaned out, breathy whimpers going straight to Chris and Justin’s cocks. 

When the men returned to you, both were completely stripped naked. Chris stood behind you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds before slamming roughly into you, making you yelp loudly and reach for something to hold on to. 

Justin stood at the other end of the small table and grabbed your hair, pulling the top half of your body up. His large member waved in front of your face, “Open up, slut.” 

You readily obeyed, small moans escaping as you did from the mixture of Chris pounding into you and the vibrator still going strong on your clit. Justin used his grip on your hair to thrust you down on his cock, shallow at first but then further, almost down your throat. You gagged around him, eyes watering and makeup beginning to run down your cheeks. 

You were still close from the last time they’d edged you so it really didn’t take long at all to get close to that brink. Looking down at you, Justin could tell you were close. The way you  moaned around his cock and the way your eyes were closed tightly were dead giveaways, “You gonna cum?” He asked. 

You nodded and pulled off his cock, “Yes, oh my God. Please can I cum.” 

Justin forced his cock back down your throat. Chris gripped your hips and pressed you harder down into the vibrator, which was now on its highest setting. “Not yet.” 

You shook your head violently, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.” 

Chris’s hand came down hard on your ass which was scarlet red now, “Not without permission.”

 You were so desperate. You genuinely couldn’t hold back. “Please, I wanna be a good girl but I’m gonna-” 

“Cum.” Chris demanded and you completely fell apart around their cocks. Your pussy squeezed around him tightly, the vibrator still going crazy on your clit. 

Your body kept trying to come down but the vibrator wouldn’t allow it, the pleasure beginning to turn almost painful. You tried to squirm away from it but Chris held your hips down hard onto it. “Ahhhh fuck!” Your eyes screwed shut as you screamed. 

Chris didn’t let up though. He held onto the vibrator and pressed it harder into your clit himself, still pistoning his hips into your clenching wetness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, stop!” You begged. 

Chris, knowing that you had a safe word and would use it if you genuinely wanted things to stop, kept pressing in, “I thought you said you wanted to cum? Aren’t you cumming?” He asked innocently. 

Justin leaned down and sucked a hypersensitive nipple into his mouth with a pop before his hand came down to smack your nipple harshly. 

“Oh my fucking God!” You gripped the table harshly, your legs shaking violently as the pain began to become pleasure once again. Your body felt ice cold this time. 

Justin moved the end of the table next to Chris, leaning over to choke you once again, his free hand stroking his cock quickly, chasing his own release. Beneath the two men, your body exploded once again with a loud scream, your body shaking in a way you’d never experienced with orgasms. 

Chris pulled out of you and stroked himself harshly, both him and Justin finishing on your ass, ribbons of white dripping across your skin. They finally removed the vibrator and you were able to catch a breath. Just when you thought you could catch a second, Chris’s fingers came down to smack your clit hard and you nearly cried, “For good measure.” 

[caitlinclark]

The obsession with excellence

Francisco Tudanca was one of the longest-living Brothers from the Salle de La Felguera and one of those who gave me the most noise at breaks. He took me by the shoulder, we took a walk in the courtyard and I just wanted to escape from there and start playing with the rest. Those talks always started with the same phrase “There are people who go through school but the school does not go through them. And there are people who go through school and always carry school with them.” From there came a ten-minute talk about the necessary attitude to be something in life, which was just taking home everything I learned and turning it into something useful. Even maths. And how was I going to spend all morning at school, get home, and instead of lying on the sofa watching cartoons, start thinking about everything I had learned. Even in maths.

When you're little you don’t understand very well how "work on something you like and you will not have to work for a day" works. There are adults who don’t either, of course. But many boys - and more and more girls - will answer you if you ask them about a profession that fits that phrase: footballer. It’s what the glamor of football has. We see these stars on tv, arriving to training in those incredible cars, smiling on magazine covers, with their vacation on yachts, and, of course, with the camera pointed at them during a game in which they are always expected to be the best. The best, today, once again, is Alexia Putellas. If I were a girl still in school today who was asked what she would like to work as, of course I would say a footballer. If they asked me who, I would choose her. Role model in everything and for everything. Alexia carries the poison of football, mud, dedication and sacrifice, and also glamor, with that face of not having broken a plate by which some foreign tweeter deduces that she has no blood to play this. Alexia represents with a ball all the beautiful nuances of football, and, when she doesn’t have it, she watches, with a critical spirit, what the rest must change so that they reach perfection.

During the 1-10 of the Super Cup, the peculiar celebration of her goal drew attention. It was 0-6. She picked up a rebound from a bad clearance by Real Sociedad’s defense and put it in the back of the net with a strong shot. While everyone was high fiving to congratulate each other, she looked for Mapi. With two hands, with four fingers in each, she pointed out that her line could not be so far away from the next one. With six goals in favor, as soon as she scored, she went to correct a defensive maladjustment to her centerback. But not only that. During the celebration, those of us on the field saw a curious scene: several players were taking turns taking a photo with the Cup. Alexia left the group, grabbed Hansen and took her apart from the rest. She used her hands again to make herself understood. Hansen looked at her in silence, and judging by her face, she wasn't surprised. It didn't look like the first time that Alexia and her obsession with excellence did their thing. Putellas is fortunate enough to be surrounded today by Great Priests (priestesses) of football at her club, Jenni, Hansen, Oshoala, Martens, including Patri, Mapi, Paños. An incomparable cast to grow and make visible her quality. However, let us not forget that the great priests always end up consulting the gods. And, here, they always listen to her. There must be a reason.

There are selfish players who only play football, who only think about their own performance, about the nutmeg that appears in all the gifs on Twitter, in the interview at the end of the game that makes them gain popularity. And there are players who live football, who leave their skin so their team wins doing it in a balanced and perfect way. A goal, a backheel, a perfect pass is useless to Alexia, if you do not achieve the goal. And the goal is for heavenly music to play when your team touches the ball, whether you touch it or not. Alexia Putellas does not like cameras, and it seems that she is extremely embarrassed when she win awards. At a time when football players are products that sell products, and in which Federations, Clubs, media, televisions and sponsors are forcing us to turn our women's footbal into another product, there are players like Alexia who only think about football. That is the main difference between her and the rest. We took her to the USA, where the media focus of women's football has blurred from the ball and focused on turning players into stars. Megan Rapinoe is the most obvious proof, but not the only one. The overrated Alex Morgan is the strongest proof that, on the other side of the pond, the ball doesn't matter as much as how well you sell it. And Alexia arrived to show that the ball is the only thing that matters. We played at home of the one who rules the market, in front of the best-selling Nike shirt of last year, and those in the stands did not care much about theirs when they saw how ours played. Do you know why? Because ours played. And, between passes, tackles, runs, and some goals, there was Alexia, like the white-headed eagle that the Yankees love so much, controlling everything.

Her goal against England is perfect, but her celebration is even more so. Alexia let out a scream of rage that silenced everyone who says she has no blood to play this. Yes, they say it about Alexia, about our alexia, can you imagine being so blind to think that? She has blood, head, heart, talent, and a spirit of perfection. She has everything that makes her a genius. We have a jewel who seems to have been playing her entire life and is only 26 years old. There are people who go through football, and football does not go through them. And there are people who go through football and always carry football with them.

[clericbyers]

gay will, comphet + mike, and growing up

this turned out to be LONG but here’s something I’ve been thinking about concerning Will, Mike, Castle Byers, D&D, and the end of ST3.

I don’t think Will realizes his feelings for Mike aren’t friendship until that argument in 3x03. Or rather, it’s a special friendship, he obviously knows he feels differently but I don’t think he realizes what that different is until Mike throws it in his face. He goes on dates with Mike in the theater, comes home and professes he’s not gonna fall in love. Love is a grown up thing, he’s seen love hurt his mother repeatedly and complicate his friendships with Mike (and Lucas when he also refuses to play D&D). He doesn’t want to grow up and fall in love because then he has to face what love is for himself and in turn, realize the feelings, the close unique friendship he has with Mike is in fact love.

While I don’t believe Mike knows Will is gay and was being homophobic, he most definitely points out a major difference between himself and Will: Will has shown no interest in girls unlike everyone else in the party. Will isn’t following the path to growing up like everyone else. He’s not getting a girlfriend to fall in love with and grow old together with. He’s not pulling away from the games they both use to hide in fantasy and escape the real world. Mike wants Will to grow up with him but poor traumatized Will can’t. He can’t face the next stage in his growing up story because it’s a deviant path that may cause him to lose his friends. He’s always had a different path and the Upside Down and his shadow walking powers (going between the Upside Down and our world without traveling through portal) proved that his childhood was never going to be the same as his friends.

When Mike asks if Will thought they were never gonna get girlfriends and simply continue playing games, he’s not just saying “did you think we were never gonna grow up,” he’s also saying that the we, the party, is supposed to move on from each other. Will suddenly realizes that Mike implies them not being together, not even just romantically but even as the close friends they are. I think it’s also important to see how Mike views romance too. His parents argue all the time, his dad essentially does nothing to help and his mom doesn’t even love Ted anymore (I mean she was completely ready to cheat on Ted with Billy, that’s basically the final straw). Karen is only in this marriage for her children. Mike sees no love there. He sees his sister sneaking boys into her room, forbidden teenage romance with spicy parental rebellion mixed in. Further forbidden love in a way with Nancy—the popular pretty girl with an image to maintain—falling for the “creep with the camera”. Mike knows all of this and mind you in s1, El looked a lot like a boy, so many people thought she was a boy with her androgynous looks. Mike still liked her anyway. Thought she was pretty with and without the wig. Looking like a girl and looking like a boy. She was forbidden (pre)teen romance with spicy parental rebellion mixed in. She was the weirdo with powers, powers to help get Will back. She fits right in to what Mike expects love to be like while also helping him save his best friend and in turn keep caring for and loving him. Will means a lot to Mike, maybe more than he realizes, but El is there to help him have Will and the next step of his romantic/teen life.

Back to Will and Mike’s garage argument though. Mike implying that he expected everyone to move on from each other kills every single possibility in Will’s mind that Mike might possibly, just maybe, be open to Will. And Will says, “yeah I guess I did,” which is heart breaking because he thought it would be them against the world, he thought he would never have to face the truth of his feelings but he has to now. Because Mike has brutally forced him to. “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls,” burns like nothing else. It is Mike’s fault.

So Will escapes to Castle Byers, which is his safe haven, a place to escape from the crushing weight of the real world. A place built after Lonnie left, a place full of pictures of his friends, of the people he loves, the people who protect him and saved him twice. And the ghostbusters picture hurts the most because that was the night Mike said they would go crazy together. And Will, poor traumatized and scared Will, was so stupid to think that meant something. To think he meant something more to Mike, who tossed “crazy together” away because growing up doesn’t include that. Being in love with each other is crazy, it’s not the proper path. And Mike, whether suppressing his feelings and being swayed by comp het or genuinely not having any romantic feelings for Will, is not willing to venture the deviant path with Will anymore. Not when he has safety with El. Will falls apart in the storm using the bat Lonnie had that symbolizes trying to “straighten” Will out. Will is trying to destroy his crush, his feelings for Mike. He’s calling himself stupid, calling Mike stupid, calling their friendship stupid. He’s not gonna fall in love, he’s not gonna let that stupid emotion ruin his life.

I also think Will refusing to talk about things with Lucas is because they really do have more important things at the moment. For Will to address the issue means confessing his secret about his sexuality, which could ruin his friendships and the party itself. They don’t have the time for that, Will has to put aside his feelings to keep the group together and defeat the part of the Mind Flayer still in this realm.

By the end when the Byers move out, Will has accepted his crush on Mike, which is part of the changes that are happening to the Party. I don’t know yet if the acceptance means he’s able to get over it or not; season 4 will let us know as distance often helps with getting over things like heartbreak and s4 is supposed to have a more Will centric storyline given he’s split from the others now. Mike might be realizing his own feelings here at the end (what with his utterly awkward confusion about El kissing him as if they were back together) but Will has already decided that it’s not gonna be a thing. He lets Mike have his safety in El and if he ever wants to take the deviant path, keep playing games, they can do so on Mike’s terms.

The games thing I wanna point out as important too. We know Mike and Will use D&D to hide from the issues in their life. Mike hides from the bullying he faces and his arguing parents, Will hides from bullying and facing his sexuality issues. D&D then comes to life when the Upside Down steals Will both in body and in mind. The game is real, there’s no escaping it. Mike and Will both take on their paladin and cleric roles in subtle but also obvious ways throughout s1 and s2. When Mike attempts to stop being a paladin, he “ruins the party”. When he gets his shit together and starts being a better leader and more understanding of his party’s importance, he slips back into his D&D role. Mike is the Dungeon Master too, he creates the story, the campaign, the world the Party lives in. Will draws it out and brings it to life (literally if you wanna say he created the monsters of the Upside Down). When Mike stops crafting, Will picks up the pieces. But D&D is a group game, you need a full party to survive. Fighting the Mind Flayer requires everyone. When everyone gathers at the mall, the campaign truly begins because now everyone is playing. The Mind Flayer in this world is dead but El’s powers are depleted, Will’s powers have yet to come to full fruition, and the Russians (as we learn) have at least one demogorgon. The campaign is still going on.

When Mike talks to El after the chat with Will, he says when she visits they’ll hang out and he includes Will and says they will play games and then he stops himself and says he sounds like he’s 7. Mike is trying so hard to be grown with El, but he associates games and youth with Will. He wants to play games with Will, he wants that—whatever that is—with Will but he can’t let himself have it because he’s not a kid anymore. If anything, Mike is so confused at the end while Will and El are both at comfort concerning their love lives. Will has accepted his feelings and moving away/on (he confidently flirts with Mike with the conversation about not joining another party) El has accepted she loves Mike too (she kisses him happily and is no longer mad at him for being an asshole), but Mike is discombobulated (shy and kinda flustered by will’s lingering gaze while confused by El’s kiss after he doesn’t remember saying he loves her).

Back to Will to close this out. Will may never find another party, he’ll never stop loving Mike, but he’s not going to be a love sick fool anymore. And maybe that is Will’s next step in growing up, accepting his sexuality and letting himself move on from childish infatuation—because Mike saved him repeatedly and kept taking care of him and staying close and touching him and god, it would be impossible for Will not to love him—to honest deep emotion, understanding that Mike isn’t at that stage yet, may never be, but he won’t tether his relationship with Mike to unrequited love. Hopefully in season 4 we get Will coming out to his folks, maybe having a high school romance of his own, before the inevitability that is the Upside Down reaches him in his new town.

[alexisluthor]

Prodigal Son Deep Dive - “The Professionals” *SPOILERS*

*PRODIGAL SON SPOILERS AHEAD*

A lot happened in the latest ep of PSON, “The Professionals.” As soon as Malcolm walks into the station and everyone’s staring at him, you know something bad happened. Plus, Gil was drinking. During the day.

So, Eve’s dead, that’s a bummer. We also miss getting two episodes of the show due to the virus, so who knows what those two episodes contained. What we have to work with is a seemingly all-powerful Nick Endicott who promised Whitly in 1999 that he’d…sleep with…Jessica and destroy his family if he ever reneged on their agreement. He’s made good on the first point and is working on the second.

It is my theory that when Malcolm went to “interview” Eddie, the man in the room wasn’t even Eddie. If the team were smart and trying to intercept Nick Endicott’s attempt at framing Malcolm…they would have a bandaged man sent to the hospital – have Malcolm show up with orders from Gil to interview him (which is weird bc he’s a profiler, but whatever). They’ve already got the assassin in their pocket. She goes to Endicott, tells him she killed Eddie and planted evidence after Malcolm’s visit. Voila. Nick thinks he’s got the upper hand.

The team has to keep Malcolm in the dark, to make everything look believable. But notice, at the end of the ep, Dani is looking upward. As if searching for cameras or something. Eve’s place had been spied upon and I think the team hoped that Malcolm’s place was bugged as well so that Nick would get the confirmation he sought. Malcolm gives an amazing ‘shocked’ performance, because it’s not a performance. He really thinks he’s being arrested. Although, if you watch his face carefully, you watch his expression shift to something…else. Less shocked and more… ‘aha, I know what you’re doing here.’

Maybe he’s safer in the clink than anywhere else at the moment – at least until Nick is…taken care of. But the promos for the next ep indicate that he’s not in jail.

Speaking of “taken care of…” as soon as it’s mentioned that Mr. David was sick, alarm bells went off in my head. It was nice to see Martin ‘caring’ about his ol’ pal, and even nicer to hear him hiss at Eddie that he’s, “not like other prisoners.” Is Mr. David still alive? Did Nick kill him?

Now we know that Martin’s cushy existence behind bars is because of Nick. But at what cost? The way Endicott threatened Martin…talked down to him…offered him his little rug. I would say that Martin is a…dominant…type. I think it’s killing him that Nick has infiltrated his family so thoroughly. That pent up rage is probably not doing good things for him, mentally. I think a lot of that rage comes out when he’s brutalizing Eddie.

The scene where Eddie tries to kill Martin was fantastic. Martin being choked…Malcolm unable to get into the cell. As he was being choked out, it was like Martin had all but given up until he heard Malcolm scream, “Dad!” It was a moment that so perfectly echoed that scene when Martin was in a coma. It was Bright who brought him back to the surface. Martin’s eyes snap open and he gets the upper hand, going into full kill mode, and all Malcolm can do is watch. I think Malcolm watches in both horror and fascination. This is the first time he’s really seen his father do real damage, revealing his animalistic nature in the most brutal fashion.

What’s just as shocking is the way that Martin attacks Eddie. He goes for the eye sockets, which is one of the ways he’d mentioned previously, to a collegiate Malcolm, how he could kill him. He tells Eddie, “this is for my boy,” and grins wildly at Malcolm as he does it. It’s like watching his sanity snap in real time. And Malcolm can’t pull his eyes away.

I think part of Malcolm…a part that he’d never admit to having…wasn’t too terribly upset by his father’s brutal treatment of Eddie. That is the man who killed Eve after all… The look on his face is more one of fascination than disgust. Despite not being >>as<< panicked as when Martin was being attacked, he still urges Martin to stop. JT pulls Martin off Eddie and Martin has this moment…it’s almost like he’d disassociated a bit. He almost has to come back to himself. Hmmmmm….

And poor Gil and Jessica, talking about Malcolm – drinking – reconnecting. Their night had been going well. Jessica is right, she sure can pick ‘em. And to find out that she did have a history with Gil is beyond satisfying and something I think we all suspected. But to hear that she had turned him away – made him think he wasn’t good enough for her – that was brutal. Poor Gil. Still, he got to have his life with Jackie. And now he gets Jessica. Or does he?

Boy…what a time for Martin. He lost Jess both to his enemy Endicott, and to his enemy Arroyo. That rage will really boil when he hears about Gil. He already fears that he’s lost his boy to the lieutenant and now his ex? Ouch.

We get that lovely kiss between Gil and Jess and several other incredible moments with the rest of the team.

Ainsley puts herself in danger as she tries to investigate Nick. But part of me wonders…if she’ll be the one to kill him. I think Martin went after the wrong kid to try to convince to be a killer. If I had to put my money on it, I’d see her killing someone before Malcolm would. Then again, he did stabby stabby his very own daddy daddy but I think the reasons behind that were more complicated than – well, he’s a killer. I digress.

And poor Eve. No wonder Malcolm is haunted by her specter. In a way, it is because of his family that both she and her sister are dead. She had just begun to taste hope, had just renewed her spark, and boom –  her life was snuffed out. I think Malcolm’s psyche is more fragile than ever as a result… How many ghosts can haunt him before he cracks apart entirely?

And what of Nick’s fury? What happens when he finds out Jess has moved on to Gil? When she says “no,” to him? Eeeeek. Martin is the big, bad predator, but he can’t do much protecting from behind bars. And judging from the ‘upcoming ep’ scenes, there’s a bounty on Martin’s head. He’s going to be in gen pop – all of his cushy privileges bestowed upon him by Endicott revoked. There is a prison free-for-all in the promo for the finale so I still hold out hope that Martin could manage a jailbreak, or at least a chance at staying alive.  

Tangent --- If Martin does stay alive (which he better), how would his dynamic with the team be altered now that he’s a ‘regular’ prisoner? No more private room? No more desk and books and surgical consulting? No more Mr. David, lion nature specials, and extensive private phone time? His own sanity would probably begin to splinter. Maybe his work/cooperation with the NYPD and surgical consultations would be enough to get him some old comforts back? As much as Malcolm professes to hate him (and does hate him), I don’t think he’d like these changes for Martin either (because part of him, also begrudgingly loves him). Perhaps he himself could rescue Martin from the lost privileges? After all, is it really a GOOD IDEA to mix Martin with a bunch of other prisoners? He is a puppet master, a mastermind. So maybe Mal gets him his old existence back. Wouldn’t that be a twist? >evil grin<

What I need is Mal and Martin in the same prison. Malcolm protecting him from getting whacked while the team and Ainsley try to bring down Nick. But if Martin is urging Malcolm to kill Nick, that means that Malcolm’s free. No Prison!Malcolm for me unfortunately.

I think it’s also highly unlikely that Malcolm will kill Nick in the end.

Finally, I find it fascinating that Martin urges Malcolm to be the killer, rather than Ainsley, even though he’s talking to both of them. He points out that HE is a Whitly. Like…hello? So is she? (THIS REALLY BOLSTERS MY THEORY THAT SHE IS NOT MARTIN’S KID – that and the way he barely acknowledges her existence) Maybe she’ll take Nick out in the end? Who knows.

All I know is that the team is more kickass than ever. Malcolm improvising with that knife and ketchup? Perfection. Dani taking out the assassin. Beyond amazing. The director actually giving us a LIT SHOT OF TOM PAYNE’S FACE…YESSSSSS. There were plenty of wonderful moments in this ep that have me screaming at FOX to renew this show.

PS If Edrisa is the ultimate Malcolm Stan…HOW DID SHE NOT KNOW THAT HE HAD DATED EVE? LIKE…what kind of stalker are we here Edrisa? You can do better. Plus, no one from the team thought to CALL HER? Give her a heads up maybe? “Yo – Bright is coming in. He dated the dead girl. Act somber.” NOTHING. She just had no idea. This from the same woman who HAD MAL’S MEDICAL FILES after he got kidnapped? I just…. sigh…come on team. Come on Edrisa. (GIF courtesy of MyBoy)

[hogwartsfirebolt]

I know what you’re thinking! But I promise this third one is the LAST PART of my fic rec list for 2018!!! You can find part one HERE and part two HERE to see all 30 of my favorite fics I read this year. The banner art is by the wonderful @alek-r who was kind enough to let me use her work for this ❤️ Now, once again in no particular order, here it is:

            FAVORITE FICS I READ IN 2018 PART THREE

1. Hesperides - @lettersbyelise​ : Draco Malfoy is not the kind of man to lavish gorgeous Greek holidays on his flings. So Harry doesn’t really know what to make of his invitation.

In under 2k words, Elise immerses us in the lightness, elusiveness of a romantic getaway. Every word in this fic is purposeful and beautiful, and throughout the year I found myself going back to it more than once if only to relive that feeling. I can almost smell the salt in the air, feel the white sand between my toes and the sun warming my shoulders. The full sensory immersion of this fic isn’t limited to that, though, because I was also there for the slow, languorous sex, the butterflies in the stomach, the easy companionship. Simply wonderful.

2. Fast Forward, Two Steps Back - @emmagrant01​ : Everyone knows that Draco Malfoy died in the Room of Requirement ten years ago. So when he suddenly reappears at Hogwarts ten years later, still seventeen years old, Professor Harry Potter’s life gets very complicated.

When I first encountered this story, I couldn’t resist the pull of that summary, I opened it immediately, ignored absolutely all my homework for the day and effectively DEVOURED it. The premise is so interesting, and the way it navigates Harry and Draco’s dynamic when Draco is 17 and Harry is 27 is downright masterful. I am always weak for fics that explore Draco coming to terms with who he is after the events of book 7, and having Harry as someone who already went through all of that and is willing to help was a very refreshing take on the trope… and come on, sexy professor Potter? Sign me the hell up. 

3. Spokesperson - BummedOutWriter : “It was entirely consensual,” Malfoy drawled, as the lights from dozens of cameras flashed across his pale face. In fact, his face was paler than usual. Honestly, gray. “Councilmen Rupert and goblin Gornuk request privacy at this tender stage of their relationship. Excuse me.” And with that, Malfoy hurried off the platform with no explanation of why he was departing so suddenly. Harry could see the slight pooch in his robes where their baby was growing. Malfoy disappeared into the building and reporters yammered in protest. Morning sickness, Harry mused, not quite sympathetic, because Malfoy didn’t seem to warrant it. A bumbling young witch stepped forward and took over the press conference.

This fic is SO good. In just under 3k words, it has everything: a dash of humor, a tiny bit of angst, a teaspoon of pining and a pinch of fluff. It tells a story of a one-night stand that inevitably ties two people together when they’d very much rather not be. The presence of the press in it is really well done, and it has one of the most creative professions I’ve seen around for the HP world; Draco’s snark is inevitably present, and the way he attempts to keep Harry at an arm’s length away at all times without actually managing it rings very true to the pairing. 

4. A Man Named Potter - @l0vegl0wsinthedark​ : Potter begins to take me apart, each savage, pounding thrust peeling away layer after layer of everything that I am, reaming me open in a way that makes me wonder how I’ll ever be able to let anybody else but him fuck me after this.

I have read this series several times, and the reason is that it is simply scorching hot. Yes, like that, in bolds. It is composed of two fics, the first one in Draco’s POV and the second one in Harry’s. I was a bit scared going into it, because I don’t usually read first person POV, but this one is SO well done that I enjoyed it immensely, and the way it was told only added to the absolute hotness that is the first part and the sweetness of the feelings that surface in the second. And hell, if you need some more enticement to go read it, Harry calls Draco kitten. 

5. Boiling Point - @goldentruth813​ : Ferveret - n. boiling point. After an Auror raid gone wrong, Draco ends up trapped in a dodgy safehouse with nothing but Harry Potter’s dubious company and a dwindling supply of food. With only each other and the walls surrounding them, they’re forced to confront their past and their feelings which have long been threatening to boil over.

One of my favorites of Janel’s! The forced proximity trope is always an amazing way to explore how two people fit against one another while providing the space to build trust and get to know each other better, and it is breathtakingly beautiful in this one. It makes you feel it all, the longing, the fear of opening up, the defensiveness that comes with feeling vulnerable, the heartache when facing demons of the past and the love, the love, the love. 

6. Dwelling - aideomai: Curses, James and Lily Potter ride again, several Ministry balls, a teenage Summer of Love, a grim young adult dystopian winter, a few different Draco Malfoys, secrets and the problems re: not having any, alternate lives, impossible lives, real lives, allusions to Dirty Dancing, and just because it’s not called the Mirror of Erised doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know better.

WHERE TO BEGIN. This story is mind-blowing through and through, and it is so damn GOOD I can’t even put it to words. It’s an AU that’s not an AU, a story with all the tropes: childhood friends, post-war, case fic, eight year, everyone lives, nobody lives, canon compliant, non-canon-compliant, summer of love, a group of teenagers having to figure out what the hell is going on, and a DEEP study on how much it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. One of my all-time favorites, and one that you NEED to read asap.

7. What We Pretend We Can’t See - @gyzym​ : Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

This fic is a Drarry classic for a reason. It has the most PERFECT characterizations I have ever, ever read. Draco is snarky and funny and dramatic and just a bit crazy, and Harry is noble and good and they’re both so complex, so lovely it makes my heart ache. In this story, there’s a case involving Draco that Harry is trying to decipher, and in trying to do so, they grow together. The way they are in this one feels like such a natural development, considering everything we know about them in canon, and the way their relationship develops is natural and amazing and I DREAM of the day I have the time to sit down and give this a very thorough reread. It decomposes and rebuilds each of their personalities and it feels so human and so real. A thing of beauty. 

8. Malfoy’s Anatomy - @novareblogs : Healer interns are nothing short of a bunch of little children running around with wands and severed limbs, having inappropriate sex in inappropriate places. What’s the worst that could happen, really?

Here’s something about me: I’m a medical student, and very partial towards Healer stories. It is a trope I actively seek, and out of all the fics that I’ve read that include it, this one paints the REALEST environments I have ever seen. I was cackling all the way through, the relationship between higher-ups and med graduates, how students tail the surgeons (and give them nicknames), having to find a place where you and your friends can study until four am, when you inevitably fall asleep against each other. It is literally what studying medicine is like. And not only is this fic hilarious, it also has a very fresh take on the characterizations. I had never seen Harry like this, and his relationship with his (very much alive) parents feels very real. The way he and Draco slowly come together as they uncover secrets about each other’s pasts is wonderful, and the medical consent that’s handled throughout the story is very well done. A very good read that I didn’t expect to find, yet surprised me in all the right ways.

9. Humbug (A Christmas Tale) - Snegurochka : Draco has been taking his casual relationship with Harry for granted. Visits from four key ghosts the night before Christmas just might shake up his priorities in life.

A beautiful retelling of A Christmas Carol, with delicious pining and gorgeous characterizations. I always do love stories of fuckbuddies who are definitely so much more, but pretend they’re not. That, plus a wonderful redemption arc for Draco? I was sold. This story made me feel butterflies and tear up at times, and I love it very, very much. An excellent fic to read this time of the year. 

10. Away Childish Things - @letteredlettered​ : Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

God. There is so much to say about this story. It’s beautiful, in every sense of the word, breathtaking. Lettered has such a way with words, I felt like I was right there next to Harry and Draco, like I was them, feeling everything they felt. It is incredibly powerful. It made me feel angry, empty, lost and sad and it made me feel excited and elated and hopeful. It made me understand things about myself as the characters discovered things about themselves. This story might be one of the absolute best things I have ever read, in and outside of fandom, and it’s such a thorough exploration of each of the characters that it feels inevitable, it feels like, no matter what the epilogue says, this is what actually happened to them. I cried, I cried so many times from both sadness and happiness. There are simply no words to explain how gorgeous it is. I am immensely grateful to have read it. 

Thank you to all who read my lists, and thank you thank you thank you if you decide to give these works and these authors a chance, because they deserve all the love in the world. All the way from here, behind a username and a few tumblr posts, I can honestly say that these 30 stories made my year. I hope they can make yours, too ❤️ If you ever want to discuss these (or any story really) my DM’s are always open. Happy New Year!

[hellyeahomeland]

“Chalk One Up” | Directed by Seith Mann, Cinematography by David Klein

The episode opens with Carrie arriving from a long night out doing… God knows what with God knows who. We love the starkness of this close-up on the exterminated motorcycle light. According to Lesli Linka Glatter, this mode of transport is based on a real life story: 

“The scene where she gets out of the embassy was based on the real agent who Carrie is based on. She was based in Iraq at the time and that’s how she got out: by dressing as a man and traveling on a motorcycle. So, we used that for this. Also, you can’t leave in Kabul without an armored vehicle.”

...as the camera slowly pans up to reveal it’s Carrie underneath that (gigantor) motorcycle helmet, the question becomes clear: where the fuck was she? 

Sara loved these scenes between Samira and her friend. Homeland has depicted several cities in the Middle East over the years but has rarely given us glimpses into the world outside the walls of a hotel or CIA station, especially without our main characters. The market that Samira and her friend walk through is vibrant and filled with color, as are their outfits. It’s a stark contrast to the interiors of the CIA station. And Samira’s line that the Taliban didn’t go away but were no longer hiding proves remarkably predictive of the rest of the episode’s events.

The real highlight of the scene is the selfie, of course. We love the detail of the man on the far, far left being cut out. Samira’s friend is the master of the one-arm selfie! 

This shot of the various players at the Kabul station looking outward at Carrie is striking. It’s almost a reverse fish bowl. Carrie remains on the outside but everyone’s looks are in her direction. Jenna standing at the front of the room further suggests she was never “stuck in the starting gate.” She’s in the same position of power in that room as the Chief of Station and the commanding military officer at right. From afar, the dynamics are almost similar to early season one, Carrie running an ops meeting with Saul by her side. All of which is to say… is Jenna the Carrie to Mike’s Saul?

Dog.

This was such a specific detail that we thought it required pointing out, but 27 is not a significant number on this show (at least that we can remember), so we’re not sure why they bothered to show this. 

...unless it’s a reference to the general ominousness of the 27 Club and a hint that Carrie (who, to be fair, is far past the age of 27) is going to die. 

This week the show confirmed that Tasneem is the Director of the ISI. Which means that (after President Elizabeth Keane) she’s the second most powerful woman ever depicted on this show. And boy does she dress the part! 

Tasneem’s all-white ensemble is attention-grabbing and distinctive (the other women in this frame are dressed in dark clothes). It’s also visually similar--especially with her long, black hair peeking through the sheer fabric of her headscarf--to the dress worn by several other men at the reception.

Homeland has told lots of stories over the years--whether intentional or otherwise--about the challenges women face living in a patriarchal, misogynist society. Whether it’s Martha losing her career because her loser husband couldn’t stand having a wife who was more powerful and smarter than he…. Or Allison dying in the back of a car near the Russian border in an act of scorned lover revenge. Or Carrie, screaming and crying at the end of “The Vest”... but being right the whole time. 

Or, as Abigail Nussbaum said more elegantly than we ever could: 

“Carrie is, in many ways, a boogeyman; she is what professional women, and particularly ones in male-dominated professions, have been taught never to become - emotional, hysterical, crazy. Emotion is how women who want to be taken seriously are undermined and dismissed. Even if you’re perfectly sane, being emotional - and most especially, being angry - devalues you and your professional contribution. A woman can be called crazy simply for behaving like a normal human being rather than a robot (and of course, if she behaves robotically and unemotionally, she’s a cold bitch). But Carrie isn’t simply emotional (though she is that too, and worst of all, she allows her feelings for a man to cloud her judgment) - she actually is crazy and hysterical, in the proper clinical sense rather than the exaggerated one which attaches to any feminine display of emotion, and profoundly pathetic and unattractive in that state. And she’s completely right, the only person who figures out Brody and Abu Nazir’s plans and motivations, and the person who saves the day by being hysterical, infecting Brody’s daughter with enough of that hysteria that she calls her father and convinces him not to blow himself up.

It’s certainly possible to read this arc as purely tragic, Carrie’s self-destruction being the cost of saving the world (though this is a character arc that is applied to men as often as women, for example in Thomas Harris’s Red Dragon), but to my mind its effect is more complex. It makes a crazy, hysterical woman into a hero without in any way mitigating her craziness or hysteria, and thus defangs the argument that emotion in women is a weakness. It’s the rational, sane men around Carrie, who turn away from her unattractive mania with distaste and embarrassment, who are blind and incompetent, and it’s that same inability to look past surfaces that leads them to put their trust, wrongfully, in Brody - just as Carrie performs hysterical femininity, Brody performs stalwart masculinity. Both are misleading.”

All of which is to say, we’re really fucking pumped to see how Tasneem’s role expands for the rest of the season, and we think the array of women in Tasneem, Carrie, and Jenna and their varying degrees of power is going to be really interesting to see unfold. 

Sara is obsessed with this shot. She’s obsessed with the set design of Samira’s apartment. She’s obsessed with this moody lighting. She’s basically just obsessed. 

Last week we had a slow pan around Jalal to reveal Tasneem. This week we have a similar slow pan around Carrie to reveal Jenna. This definitely means that Sara’s theory that Jenna will “single white female” Carrie is right on track. 

Also, Gail hereby declares Carrie’s delicate silver jewelry her “FULL circle earrings,” because everything is coming full circle this episode, including accessories.

That said, we can’t deny the power of this shot. First, we have to note what’s going on in the background (which is actually in focus). President Beau has just arrived off Air Force One and immediately stops for a photo op with the Afghan president. From the beginning, the show is clear this is an optics-based trip. 

But we really love this image of Carrie and Jenna (out of focus, but in the foreground) side by side. Again, they mirror each other, but in opposite ways (“So they’re mirror opposites?” --Sara’s brain). Carrie’s light hair versus Jenna’s dark hair. Jenna’s light jacket versus Carrie’s dark one. It’s eerie.

On the podcast we talked at length about the scene between Beau and Carrie. It’s genuinely moving. The staging of it is unique as well. The camera shoots them both at the same height. They stand close together. Ironically, the power dynamic seems almost equal. He’s one of the few people who’s ever acknowledged the sacrifices she’s made in service of her country. 

Their twin smiles here are all the more tragic following the sequence of events that closes the episode. They all sincerely want peace. So many characters smile real, genuine smiles this week. That’s not a normal Homeland occurrence! 

And they all legitimately believe in what they’re doing. They believe they’re doing the right thing. Maybe they are. But partly out of necessity, and partly out of more selfish desires (Hayes later says it’s all about getting a second term), they get caught up in the theater of it all. They make poor decisions. They take the wrong risks.

Every so often in this series we have to abandon screenshots in favor of gifs in order to truly capture ~the moment~ and this is one of those times! The way Claire plays Carrie’s reaction here is so specific, so nuanced and strange and wonderful. These “lived in” moments are something we’ll really miss when the show is over.

IJLTP.

We’ve all been there, Carrie. 

This is another interesting shot choice. We’re not sure what its purpose is, other than to add interest to a fairly run-of-the-mill scene. But still, the set design! *heart eyes* 

Sara’s note for this shot was “Saul is so extra.” We talked about genuine and sincere smiles above and Saul’s here does qualify… sort of. This is halfway between genuine and self-aggrandizing. AKA “where Saul lives 100% of the time.” He looks like a director about to screen his short film at Sundance. The red curtains parting slowly behind him are Too Much.

Tasneem and G’ulom are the kids in the back of the classroom who are so fucking done with this shit but can’t leave because they’ll get detention. We will continue to stan. 

It’s a classic Homeland device to show a significant moment from a variety of perspectives, especially if those perspectives involve screens. The multitude of angles on Beau’s speech here reminded us a lot of Keane’s resignation speech in the Oval Office in “Paean to the People.” Coincidentally, that was her last hurrah as president too. 

(P.S. Another Saul over-the-shoulder shot!)

Two selfies in one episode! 

We loved the payoff to Max’s subplot. For once this season the weird LA filter actually looks nice! These are beautiful shots and the reflection in Max’s glasses is especially striking. 

The skull and crossbones on the barracks is an ominious detail. As is the rock labeled “Boredom Rock.” Death and boredom really have been the two extremes of Max’s stint at the combat outpost.

We’re still divided on the merits of the “Carrie has to save Samira” storyline, but the camerawork here, with Carrie’s armed hands appearing out of nowhere, was pretty cool. 

This RPG shot was one of the cooler special effects the show has done in a while. The entire sequence of Chalk One looking for Chalk Two was tense and thrilling and extremely well-executed.

Bringing us back to the ops room, the “LOSS OF SIGNAL” projected now for both helicopters is pretty chilling.

This is now Sara’s favorite shot of the entire series and we’d be remiss if we didn’t mention that it’s another over-the-shoulder Saul shot. This time he observes one of the crowning achievements of his long career literally blowing up in his face. 

Visually, this shot anchors the viewer back to the Carrie/Saul relationship, the central one of the show. The black blankness--and the failure it represents--engulfs the frame. 

We love the choice to end the episode on Carrie alone. It refocuses the event back to her. The horror in her eyes, welling up with tears, is palpable. How does Carrie feel? Alex Gansa explained that the writers wanted to create a new 9/11 with this maybe-assassination of the president. And it’s a fitting bookend for the show in many ways. In Homeland’s pilot, Carrie says she “missed something that day,” misdirecting blame to herself for not preventing 9/11. Now, in the final season, the show seems poised to tell a story in which Carrie is blamed for the “new 9/11.” 

Strap in, folks. It’s gonna be a rough ride. 

[welllpthisishappening]

More Famous Than a Yankee Can

He knows it’s not a dream. He’s had this dream before. Finding her again and talking to her again and wearing pinstripes. They usually aren’t all the same dream. So this has to be real. But the last place Killian Jones ever expected to see Emma Swan was while he was wearing those pinstripes. With her standing on the bleachers in Yankee Stadium. 

Rating: Like...T’ish.  Word Count: I don’t know, a lot. Probably like 8K. I got sports emotions. AN: HAPPY OPENING DAY! THE YANKEES ARE GOING TO WIN THE WORLD SERIES. This has been sitting in my docs for several eons, but baseball season starts today and I’ve got baseball tickets on Sunday and, well...here are some words. This is a direct sequel to Start Spreading the News so it may help to read that, but if you’re like Laura, that is too many words, here’s what you need to know: Emma and Killian grew up together, haven’t seen each other in years, Emma’s at a Yankee game when she realizes Killian plays RF and the Bleacher Creatures play Cupid to get them back together. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

Also, also, if you are in the baseball mood, here’s some shameless self promo because I wrote a baseball book (two, in fact) with more kissing and more sports emotions and you can buy it and read it. 

She is impossibly warm.

It’s the first thing he thinks about, as soon as her fingers wrap around the front of his t-shirt and he’s certain he can feel every single inch of her, standing there on the stoop in front of her apartment building and it’s kind of like holding onto his own, personal sun.

The whole thing is a fairly ridiculous notion, mostly because Killian shouldn’t be thinking about suns or any other celestial being when Emma Swan is kissing him, but it’s been that kind of day and he’s going to have to deal with the consequences of that whole seventh-inning stretch thing eventually. He’s fairly certain Regina is going to yell at him.

There’s a joke about getting burned in there. He’s circled right back around to the sun.

And, really, Killian knows that the heat is probably a product of sunshine and walking several dozen blocks, which probably wasn’t a good idea after playing a goddamn baseball game and ignoring a goddamn baseball game, but his legs didn’t seem to care and he certainly didn’t seem to care and he can’t stop kissing Emma.

Or the other way around.

It absolutely did not matter.

The very first time, the only time, they’d done this, he’d been an eighteen-year-old brat and she’d been sixteen and possibly the center of the entire universe. It had always felt that way, something about tides and drawn together and no one knew more about Killian Jones than Emma Swan did. Even Liam. It was easy to talk to her, sitting on back steps with the possibility of possibility in front of them and nothing seemed very likely, but that was equal parts exciting and terrifying for two teenage kids who could only count on their own dreams.

Neither one of them was ever really very good at sleeping.

It was because the house didn’t have consistent air conditioning.

So they sat and they talked and admitted things that were easier to say under a few stars, and they told him he had to leave three days after he turned eighteen. Killian told Emma, approximately, two hours and twenty-two minutes after.

Once he worked up the courage.

And his voice had shook, and his heart hammered against his ribs and he knew he stared at his shoes instead of her, because he wasn't sure he’d be able to cope with watching her expression change as soon as she processed the words. Or he didn’t want her to see his expression change as soon as he processed he might not ever see her again.

So he looked at his feet and stumbled over the words and she’d kissed him first then too.

Figured.

It was probably something about control and the sun never had to ask permission to shine.  

God, that sounded weird even in his own head. He assumes it’s because his fingers have found their way under the edge of her shirt and his mind is already drifting towards team-branded merchandise and how consistently he’d be able to hit if Emma was wearing his number.

What a possessive weirdo.

She didn’t freak out about the number thing though, and Killian wouldn’t have blamed her if she had, honestly. He’d kind of freaked out about the number thing because it was weird and sentimental and he hadn’t been hung up on a girl he knew when he was eighteen, but that might have been a lie and...something about Icarus.

Too close to the sun or whatever.

He needs to breathe.

Killian does not breathe. He can’t be bothered. He’s going to keep kissing Emma until she punches him in the face or something equally violent and absurd, because it’s been that kind of day and Regina’s going to hit him with several different bats.

Someone whistles.

One of them laughs when they, finally, pull away, foreheads resting on each other and smiles on their faces and touching her skin is like being burned and branded and some other verb that probably starts with the letter ‘b’ and is exponentially better than both of those ones.

“So the number thing wasn’t a total deal breaker then?” Killian asks softly, and Emma swats at his shoulder. He moves on instinct, years of training and practice and her eyes widen slightly when he catches her around the wrist.

It’s distracting in a way getting hit by a pitch is distracting. Like a ninety-six mile per hour fastball has just slammed into his thigh and left a bruise that won’t disappear for weeks, at least, and he’ll probably walk with a slight limp for a few games.

Killian needs to stop thinking of such violent metaphors. He briefly considers ducking his head to kiss her again, or profess several things that are completely out of the realm of possibility, but Emma is talking again and his whole mind keeps short-circuiting when that happens.

“A little stalkery, but in a nice kind of way,” Emma says.

“That’s the line I was trying to walk, for sure.” “So, uh…” “So what do you think you’re doing after the next home game?” Killian asks, and it immediately feels as if his heart bursts. Emma grins.

“When is that?” “Tomorrow.” She laughs, and it’s perfect and wonderful and he’d give up his signing bonus and player option to hear it every day for the rest of his life because he might have missed it every day for the last twelve years and he wants her to come to every single game for, like, the rest of forever.

Emma presses back up on her toes, an arm slung around his neck and the whole world could burst into flames and Killian isn’t certain he would notice. She kisses him again.

“Was that the answer?” he ask. “Because it didn’t seem like--”

“--Oh my God, you are needy. Yes, that was the answer. What did you have in mind, exactly?” He grins, hope and happiness and a ten-game hit streak he’s certain will be sparked solely on the way her eyes get brighter when she looks at him. “Everything.”

They don’t get off the stoop for a few more moments, which is, honestly, really kind of nice in a normal way that doesn’t include tragic backstories or professional baseball careers. It just is – the way it always was and, maybe, always could be and Killian is certain there are several thousand missed calls on the phone he turned off in the car.

“You, uh….do you have to get back to the Stadium?” Emma asks, and Killian kind of hates how cautious she sounds.

She stares at her shoes.

“Do you want me to?” “Ah, that’s a stupid, loaded question.” “Better get back to media training.” “Did you have to do that?”

He nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and it is impossible not to be hopelessly charmed by her. He may tell her that eventually. “On more than one occasion,” Killian admits. “Every team has different rules and expectations and--” “--And I’m going to go ahead and assume there’s nothing straighter than Pinstripes, right?” “I’m not sure your joke made a ton of sense, Swan, but, something like that.” She winces, gritting her teeth like she’s nervous she’s the root of this problem that is the exact opposite of that. “Can you get benched in baseball?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Why would you think that I can’t? It’s a sport.” “No, no, I know, but, like...it’s not like basketball or something.” Killian arches an eyebrow, mostly so Emma will click her tongue and roll her eyes and he’s only slightly worried if he does, actually go upstairs, he’ll never actually leave. That’s even more stalker-esque than the number thing. He hopes Elsa isn’t there.

He and Emma have never actually made out on a couch.

It might be a nice change of pace.

“Aw, c’mon,” Emma sighs, palms back on his chest and his fingers keep drifting back to the hem of her shirt. “You know what I mean.” “I promise, love, I absolutely have no idea what you mean.” “I’m mostly just….I don’t know, apologizing? For causing a scene and you’re probably going to end up on SportsCenter and like in The Times right?”

“The New York Times? ”

“That’s a newspaper.” “I’m aware it’s a newspaper, Swan, but I doubt The New York Times is going to care about me or anything I did in right field unless it was catch a ball.” “You did that today,” Emma points out, and Killian is dimly aware of several camera shutter snaps a few feet away. He probably shouldn’t have worn team-branded apparel out.

That will probably be points five through eight on Regina’s inevitable list of all the things he’s done wrong in the last twelve hours.

“I did,” Killian agrees. “Kind of goes with the positional territory and you don’t have anything to apologize for, Swan.” She shakes her head before he’s finished talking, which is only slightly troubling, threatening to move some clouds in front of his metaphorical sun or however it would work. “I mean that’s just objectively untrue. There was yelling and you kept looking over your shoulder and that popcorn guy was so hardcore.” “Did he not tell you his name?” “No, that’s weird right?”

“Eh, I mean he was a little preoccupied distracting that one security guard.” “You saw that?” “Swan, you’ve got to stop acting like I don’t have eyes,” Killian laughs. “Or wasn’t almost painfully aware of you standing in that section.” “You were supposed to be catching foul balls!” “We’re repeating ourselves now. I did that. I promise, The Times does not care about it, I probably won’t get benched, could get benched, will likely get fined and yelled at by my agent, but you’re not punching me for the number thing and I’d really like to come upstairs.” She blinks. That’s not the immediate reaction he was going for, but it’s still not punching, so Killian assumes he’s working with some kind of hitter’s count.

“Thoughts,” Killian presses, and Emma’s eyes widen. They are distractingly green. Something about the Oakland A’s and uniform colors.

“About The New York Times?” “The amount I want to talk about The New York Times or any New York City publication is negligible, Swan. I’d be happy never to mention the newspaper industry again.” “Dying anyway.” “Daily News fired half its staff.” “Really?” Killian nods, the muscles in his face starting to ache from overuse. He’s fairly positive his calves are going to be sore for the rest of the season. It is all worth it. “Did you not know that?” he asks. “That was major news.” “I’ve been kind of busy. Unpacking and filling out paperwork. You know the NYPD makes you fill out a shit ton of paperwork before they’ll give you a badge.” “Yeah, I’d imagine.” Emma hums, but there’s nothing nervous about it. It sounds a bit like flirting. Killian hopes it continues to be a lot like flirting. For the rest of the season.

And longer.

“If I ask you to come upstairs again is that going to be weird?” “Nah,” he promises. “Unnecessary, but I did recently go to media training and I’m more than willing to answer questions on some sort of perpetual loop.” She smiles.

His heart bursts into flames.

“An incredibly impressive athlete,” Emma mutters. Her fingers are back on the front of his shirt, tugging lightly on fabric as she keeps smiling at him and definitely flirting with him. “C’mon, I unpacked my coffee mugs like as soon as I got here.”

There isn’t an elevator in her building, which isn’t doing much to help the state of Killian’s calves, but at some point Emma’s fingers lace through his and nothing really matters after that.

And he’s not entirely sure what he expected from a two-bedroom apartment in Chelsea, but walking into the room is like walking into a memory and it’s soft and warm and there’s a woman sitting on the couch.

That may make it difficult to make out there.

“Oh my God,” the woman breathes, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open and Emma’s hand tightens a fraction of an inch. Killian glances at her, a flash of a smile and something that might be a wink, but he’s admittedly a bit out of flirting practice and possibly losing what little control he had on the day.

The couch creaks when, presumably, Elsa jumps off it, crossing the space in a few, quick steps and Emma hisses in a breath. “You’re Killian Jones,” Elsa says, and it sounds like an accusation. He nods, the words getting caught in his throat and the vice-like grip Emma has on his hand. “You’re Killian Jones and you’re here. In my apartment. Well, our apartment. That’s...that’s a thing that is happening. I thought Mary Margaret was kidding.” “Wait, what?” Emma asks sharply. “You talked to Mary Margaret?” “Hours ago. I was honestly getting ready to send out some kind of search party. Did you guys walk back from the Bronx?” “Like 86th Street.” “Yuh huh.” “Got food.” “Right.” “Talked.” “Naturally.” Killian does his best to take a deep breath, but he feels like he’s being judged and evaluated for his trade stock again and Emma hasn’t ever let go of his hand. He tries to focus on that. It feels important.

Elsa’s eyes flicker towards him, a wry smile on her face. “You guys have made the news already,” she says, easy as anything and Emma curses loudly.

“Already, huh?” Killian asks. HIs voice doesn’t actually shake, which is as nice as it is surprising, but he knew it was going to happen as soon as his feet moved towards the warning track in the seventh inning and he’d absolutely spent the rest of the game glancing over his shoulder to make sure Emma was really there.

“I think there was some talk during the game, actually. Michael Kay was scandalized. Paul O’Neill thought it was kind of nice, I guess, at least that’s what David said and--” “--You talked to David about this too?” Emma interrupts, voice rising on every syllable and, that time, it’s Killian’s turn to squeeze his hand lightly.

“Was he the one that was going to kill me?” he asks.

Emma groans, but Elsa laughs softly, nodding as if she fully expected the conversation to deviate to murder plans and Paul O’Neill’s romantic tendencies. “You should absolutely be worried about that,” Elsa says. “Because he’s a huge Yankees fan and he was super excited when you got traded her.” Emma’s eyes look dangerously close to falling out of her face.

“What?” Elsa asks.

“No one thought to mention that?” Emma yells. She still hasn’t let go of Killian’s hand. He’s probably not counting the seconds or anything.

“No one knew that you knew Killian Jones.”

“I didn’t realize that was a prerequisite for knowing things! And it’s not really...I mean--” “--It’s been awhile,” Killian finishes. “What do you think we should name the popcorn guy? He didn’t introduce himself apparently.” Elsa laughs and Emma’s whole body sags with the force of her exhale, head landing on Killian’s shoulder in a familiar kind of way that makes his whole soul ache. That may also have something to do with all those blocks they walked and Regina is going to rip him apart.

Literally.

He has no idea how he’s going to swing a baseball bat tomorrow.

“So you just want to name him yourself?” Elsa asks, laughter clinging to the words. Killian nods.

“Feels rude to just keep referring to him as popcorn guy.” “Right, right, naturally. Did you know it was Emma as soon as he turned around?” He nods. “Immediately.” “Oh that’s stupid,” Emma sighs, both Killian and Elsa gaping at her and he refuses to be blamed for whatever his pulse does at the dejected tone of her voice. “No, no, not like that,” she continues. “Just...I mean I grew up, right?” Killian nods again. “I’m fairly certain that’s how the world works, love.” “Right, right, but you knew it was me.” “You knew it was me,” he says. “And you don’t even get to blame the uniform. No last names on pinstripes.” “A tradition like no other.” “That’s the Master’s.”

She laughs, soft and easy and her smile has already worked its way into several different corners of his being, tiny pinpricks of light that are far too sentimental for one day, but Killian knew it was her as soon as he turned around and he figure that has to count for something.

Everything.

“Why do you know that?”

“Why are you quoting taglines for sports you’re not aware of?” “I think you just like arguing with me?” “Not like that,” Killian argues, almost forgetting about Elsa entirely and there are goosebumps on Emma’s arms when he brushes his fingers over her shoulders. “It’s just--” “--Yeah, it kind of felt that way, didn’t it?”

“Exactly.” They haven’t actually said anything, not really, but they’re only a few feet into a three-story walkup in Chelsea and there’s still a roommate standing there and some overpaid SportsCenter anchor detailing the craziest thing you’ll see in baseball this season, and everything feels heavy and light and it would be easier if they were making out on the couch.

Killian doesn’t know why he’s so obsessed with the goddamn couch.

“I think the popcorn guy’s name is Bryan,” Elsa announces.

“What?”

“Bryan.” Emma jerks back when she repeats the name, eyebrows pulled low and she’s close enough to Killian that he’s a little worried he’s going to step on her feet. He keeps trying to occupy the same space as her. “Bryan,” Emma echoes, and Elsa shrugs. “Bryan the popcorn guy?”

“You got a better name? Also, shouldn’t he get kicked out for throwing popcorn at the field?” “We weren’t actually right on field level. I don’t think he’s got that good an arm.” “Aw, poor Bryan.” “We’re going to start calling him that and it’s not going to wind up being his name and that’s just going to be weird.” “You think you’re going to run into Bryan the popcorn guy again?” Elsa asks pointedly. Killian wonders if she’s a lawyer. It feels like they’ve just admitted to something.

He really hopes so.

There’s a blush to Emma’s cheeks, teeth digging into her lower lip and Elsa smiles triumphantly. “Maybe Bryan could buy you some peanuts next game or something. He’s getting his fifteen minutes because of you guys. Or CrackerJacks. Do they make CrackerJacks anymore?”

“That’s how the song goes isn’t it?” Emma asks. “Yes, but you were pretty busy during the seventh-inning stretch.” The blush gets….blushier.

That’s not a word.

He absolutely does not care.

“Aw, that wasn’t even clever,” Emma mutters. Elsa shrugs again.

“And they definitely still make CrackerJacks,” Killian adds. “They sell them at the Stadium, although I’m more partial to sunflower seeds during the game.” “No bubble gum, huh?” Elsa asks.

Killian opens his mouth to say something about even the thought of bubble gum is the worst thing in the world, but Emma answers before he can. “He got drunk on bubble gum flavored vodka once,” she explains, Elsa’s expression unreadable.

She’s definitely a lawyer.

“Did I ever actually introduce myself?” Killian shakes his head. “Not officially, no.” “Ah, that’s rude isn’t it? I’m so sorry.” Elsa thrusts her hand out in the space between them, a strong grip that’s not quite intimidating, but she was sitting on the couch and very likely waiting for Emma to come home and Killian can’t stop the groan that falls out of him when he hears his name coming from the general area of the TV.

“I think you guys are the lead story,” Elsa continues.

“God, of course we are,” Emma mumbles. And, reasonably, Killian knows he shouldn’t be thrilled by all of this, but yesterday he was sure Emma Swan was a distant memory and possible what if, but now her hand is wrapped up in his and it’s a little sweaty and a little warm and he really can’t stop thinking of sun-type puns.

So, honestly, he couldn’t care less about what’s supposed to happen when he’s far too preoccupied with what he wants and he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, turning it back on and pointedly ignoring the notifications on his screen.

He turns, flipping his wrist and presenting Emma with the phone. She lifts her eyebrows. “Am I supposed to know what that means?” “Tomorrow?” Killian asks, and it’s a shit way to ask her out on a second date, but he might be asking a hell of a lot more and he suddenly realizes he’d used the word everything before.

And she hadn’t objected to it.

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” “What?”

Emma nods towards the phone, lit up like it’s goddamn Times Square and they’d successfully avoided that on their trek downtown. “I think you’re under attack. And being called and texted at the same time.” “God, she needs to relax,” Killian mumbles, but he knows that’s like hoping tourists don’t stop and take photos in the middle of Times Square. He all but slams his thumb into the ignore button and Emma can’t quite keep her laugh quiet, which does something entirely unfair to several of Killian’s body parts, but he was woefully bad at science in high school and he never went to college and he’s spent way too much time thinking about the sun.

“Agent?”

“You’re a genius, Swan.” “That sounds a little like you’re making fun.” “I’m trying very hard to ask you out again.”

The blush turns into something else entirely, her lips pressed together and it almost feels as if his ribs are expanding and contracting at the same time. It’s not entirely unpleasant. It’s kind of warm in the way that home is supposed to be warm.

Elsa mumbles something about telling David to stop the search, but it’s white noise and Emma’s fingers brush over the back of his palm when she pulls the phone out of his hand.

“Yeah?” she asks softly, and Killian’s going to do permanent damage to his neck from nodding. It’ll be worth it.

He’s a sentimental, emotional sap and only kind of disappointed he didn’t actually hit that home run into section 203.

He figures he’s got the rest of the season to do it.

“Yeah,” Killian says. “So, uh….I don’t know what you’re schedule is like, but if there’s a chance you want to be in the Bronx again tomorrow. I can probably--” He doesn’t finish. Again. She’s kissing him and he’s kissing her and the floorboards make noise when Elsa moves towards her room, and it might not be the best first impression in the history of the world, but Emma makes a noise that Killian is suddenly determined to hear every day for the rest of his life, so that kind of takes precedence.

“Does that mean this was a date?” Emma asks.

“I’m a little disappointed that wasn’t more obvious.”

“Guess you’ll have to work on it the second time through the lineup.”

“That’s the greatest joke you’ve ever made.” “Now you’re just trying to woo me.” “Is it working?” She looks up, meeting his gaze and it’s all even and green and easy and his phone is still ringing in her hand. “Absolutely,” Emma promises. “And I’m off again tomorrow so if you want to prove your baseball importance and get me tickets or something then--” She doesn’t finish.

They need to stop this.

They absolutely do not need to stop this.

They spend a few more moments kissing in the middle of her apartment, and Killian hardly notices when his phone clatters to the floor. Emma exhales against him, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Deal,” Killian says, bigger than four letters or one phone number exchange and it takes a few prolonged minutes to actually get his legs to agree to leaving that apartment.

He does, eventually, answer Regina’s calls, letting her shout and scream and mutter what an idiot no less than forty-two consecutive times, and she huffs when he asks about getting tickets for tomorrow’s game, but there’s a shout in the background and Robin was always kind of romantic anyway.

“Let him do it,” Robin calls. “Think about the pub.” “That’s not why we’re doing this,” Killian argues. It’s a losing battle.

Regina makes a noise like she’s thinking or considering profit margins and how this could all translate into an endorsement deal and the couch in Killian’s apartment is incredibly uncomfortable. He ignores that realization.

“Can you do it Regina?” he asks impatiently.

“Are you kidding me?” “Well you’re just grunting into the phone and I’ve got some police officer out for my head and his wife is questionably intimidating--” “--Wait, you’re intimidated by the police officer or his wife?” Robin asks, and it sounds like Regina has put the call on speaker phone.

Killian rolls his eyes. “That’s an antiquated question, Locksley.” “That’s a genuine question because this is a confusing situation. Were you pining over this girl forever is that honestly what’s going on?” “She’s not a girl.” There’s an almost too loud silence on the other end of the phone and Killian practically growls when he slumps down. And then Regina laughs.

Loudly.

So, maybe, he’s just descended entirely into madness. He hopes not. It would be really disappointing if this whole day was just a byproduct of his subconsciousness desperate desire to find Emma Swan again.

“Do you love her?” Regina asks pointedly, and now Robin is laughing and Killian might be dying. It would probably be more comfortable than this conversation. “Is that really what’s going on?” “Ah, c’mon, Gina, that’s romantic,” Robin sighs.

“Jones. I asked you a question.” “He always sucked at media training.” “That is patently untrue,” Killian counters, and he’s walked himself right into this corner. He’s going to blame popcorn guy.

He should probably buy popcorn guy goddamn season tickets.

“So then answer the question,” Regina says.

“No comment.” “That’s a yes,” Robin crows, and Killian can’t actually slide any further down the couch without twisting his spine into a wholly unnatural position.

“That’s not a yes.” “Sounded like a yes!” “Mills, can you control your husband,” Killian seethes, but there’s not actually much venom in the words and that’s only marginally frustrating.

“Look who’s antiquated now,” Regina mutters. “And are we only referring to each other by last name now?” “You started it.” “You are a child.” “No, he’s not,” Robin argued. It sounded like he was jumping up and down. “He’s in love and he wants to barter for this lady’s affections with seats in the box. Is that a better word, Jones?” “What is with the last name thing?” Regina asks sharply, and Killian’s eyes hurt when he squeezes them closed.

He’s going to bite his lip in half.

“Can you do it, Regina or do I have to call someone from...I don’t know, guest services?”

“That’s not the department you’d call at all guest services is for, like, groups and making sure there are first aid kits available.”

“If I make a joke about the state of your heart and your current need for first aid regarding your romantic life are you going to hit me the next time you see me?” Robin asks. It’s difficult to understand the question when he laughs it out though.

“Yes,” Killian answers simply. “I need you both to stop being so goddamn weird about this.” More silence.

Deafening silence.

The kind of silence that also threatens to hurt his spine.

“We can be not weird about this,” Regina says eventually, and that’s only kind of weird because it is absolutely the first time she’s ever said the word weird in real life. Killian’s mouth twitches. “But I’m thinking the love of your life probably won’t actually want to sit in the team box. She didn’t seem the type.” “You got that from the spot on SportsCenter?” “And a detailed breakdown of her and her friends from Ariel. I’d be worried about the police officer’s wife though. Sounded determined.” “She should be.” “He’s totally in love with her,” Robin mumbles, and Killian can’t bring himself to object. It’d probably be a lie anyway.

That’s not nearly as weird as it should be.

And Regina is as good as her word, she gets tickets, plural, in section 203 and Killian turns during roll call to find himself face to face with the goddamn sun. There’s light shining off her hair, tucked under a hat that makes her ears look almost ridiculous, but in the best kind of way and he never knows how he knows, because there’s no number on the front of her shirt, but she doesn’t have to turn around.

He knows.

He’s probably been in love with her since he was eighteen.

He figures that has something to do with it.

And whatever happens to every single nerve ending in his body when he realizes Emma is wearing his number in right field and smiling at him and he’s not great at winking, but Killian certainly makes an effort. He can’t quite hear her laugh over the din of the crowd and the next name on roll call, but he knows exactly what it sounds like and the force of her smile when she meets his gaze is only a little staggering.

Killian jumps when he hears the crack of a bat on ball and he only has a few seconds to react, but that’s all he needs. He’s kind of fueled on the metaphorical fire of Emma’s eyes anyway and his legs ache when he runs.

He runs as fast as he ever has.

The ball lands in his glove and he hasn’t actually practiced his fundamentals in years, but the cheers sound louder than normal and his ears are ringing a bit and Killian’s shoulder hurts when he slams into the wall.

His head snaps around immediately, looking for something he’s, at least, seventy-two percent certain he’s going to find, and Emma’s still smiling.

She’s also jumping. On the bleacher.

And yelling.

“What?” Killian shouts, throwing the ball back to the second-baseman and Regina is going to kill him, bring him back to life and then kill him again. He still can’t hear her.

“Again, Jones?” Scarlet laughs. He jogs towards the wall, glove tucked under his arm and an expression that’s somewhere between amused and incredulous.

That’s fair.

“Oh is that her?” Scarlet continues, nodding towards Emma and she’s standing with a guy who is probably the police detective. The police detective looks a little stunned. He doesn’t appear to be handling this as well as Mary Margaret was.

Maybe Killian will mention that at some point. It might earn him some extra points with Mary Margaret.

Killian makes a noise he hopes is an agreement in the back of his throat. “I can’t understand what she’s saying.” “Ah, that’s because you made some crazy catch in the outfield. Fans will fan, y’know. And, hey, maybe now that’ll lead SportsCenter and they won’t talk about this. Whatever this is.” “I doubt that,” Eric, the center fielder married to Ariel who is probably only too aware of what this is, objects. “Is she yelling a name?”

“It looks like she’s trying to direct planes at LaGuardia.” “JFK is a far superior airport. There’s all that construction at LaGuardia.” “Jesus Christ,” Killian mumbles, working a laugh out of both of them, but Scarlet is kind of right and Emma is pointing at the popcorn guy. He waves. “Oh, damn, it is a name. Swan, you’ve got to enunciate!” She scowls, the eye roll barely visible. Scarlet rests his forearm on Killian’s shoulder, using him as leverage to take in the crowd that’s still screaming and they’re all going to get suspended. Rob Manfred’s going to walk to Yankee Stadium and give them forty-game bans personally.

“Anyone tell you it’s super adorable that you’ve got a nickname for her?” Scarlet asks.

“That’s her name,” Killian reasons.

“Mmhm, didn’t Ariel say it was a nickname?” Eric nods. “Was adamant about it. And how lovestruck Jones was while he was trying to stalk this lady, but I mean we were there for that too.” “You tell her you didn’t need that part of the update?” “You met my wife?” “Fair,” Scarlet chuckles.

“Both of you shut up,” Killian snaps. “I can’t hear her. Swan, we’ve got to stop doing this. I’ve got to go hit!” She rolls her whole head that time, shoulders sagging with the force of her huff and it’s difficult not to be attracted to that. “His name’s not Bryan,” Emma yells, and popcorn guy is still waving.

The police detective has not blinked in days. At least. David. The police detective’s name is David. Emma told Killian that in front of Columbus Circle the day before.

“It’s not Bryan the popcorn guy,” Emma continues. “It’s Miles the popcorn guy!”

“Miles,” Killian repeats, her smile getting wider at the stunned tone of his voice.

“Miles the popcorn guy.” “Hey, Jones,” Miles says. He’s going to dislocate his shoulder from waving so much. “Nice catch! We’re, uh...ignore those message boards. The real fans are psyched you’re finally in pinstripes. Long time coming, huh?” “Something like that.” Will is never going to stop laughing and there are footsteps moving towards them, an umpire or Rob Manfred coming to get them out of the outfield and actually playing the game they’re paid millions of dollars to play.

It’s probably not Manfred though. There’d be way more booing from the fans in section 203.

“Have we walked into the Twilight Zone?” Eric asks.

“That’s a fair question, actually,” Killian admits.

“Does Miles only eat popcorn? That can’t be healthy.” “I haven’t done a detailed study of his dietary habits, strange as that may seem.” “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. Shit, we’re all get going to get fined for your romance.”

“It’s nice though,” Will argues. “Makes our storied franchise more relatable to the public. Right? I bet Jones’ agent has figured out a way to spin it. She kind of terrifies me.” “I’m going to tell her that,” Killian warns.

Will ignores him, waving a hand through the air and Emma’s eyebrows jump when the words fly out of his mouth. “Hey, hey! Jones’ girlfriend! You got a name? It’s going to be weird if you come into the clubhouse and I don’t know what your name is.” David blanches. That’s fair too. The whole thing is a seemingly never-ending farce.

“Emma,” she answers, and her voice doesn’t shake. If anything, it gets louder. The umpire or league rep or whoever stops moving behind them. Killian isn’t sure he’s still breathing.

It’s still not all that uncomfortable.

“Ok,” Will says, as if that’s that. “Cool. Emma and Miles the popcorn guy and who do you think is going to play you when they make the movie of this?” “Excuse me?” “Oh my God, Scarlet, what did we just talk about?” Killian groans. “Shut up.” He grins, eyebrows jumping up his forehead and excitement practically palpable around him. “I'm thinking….like one of the Chris’s, y’know? What about the guy with you, Emma? You good with Chris Evans, police detective guy?” “How did you know that?” David asks.

“Word gets around a clubhouse quick. You going to duel Jones for Emma’s honor or, like, what are your thoughts on this?” “If he’s not an idiot and keeps making catches like that in right field.” “Shit,” Eric mumbles, but there’s a hint of humor to that too. “Lofty expectations.”

David shrugs. “The first one was more important.” Killian salutes. It’s ridiculous. He’s going to have to sign another extension to pay for all the fines he’s racking up.

“You going to guarantee a home run on back to back days or is that too much to ask?” Emma asks.

Killian tilts the brim of his hat up. “Are you asking?”

“Was that not obvious?” “Maybe we should work on that some more. Being more specific.” “At least a double. Against the shift.”

“You’ve got a deal, love.”

He would never say he did it on purpose. Not in front of all those fans and a police detective who couldn't seem to decide whether or not he wanted to glare at Killian or keep cheering for him and certainly not with two incredibly opinionated teammates standing next to him, but he might have done it on the hope that it would be alright and Emma hadn’t objected to girlfriend. So he didn’t do it on purpose, but he might have done it selfishly and needily and that second one isn’t a word.

Emma smiles.

“Alright, alright, c’mon Casanova,” Eric chuckles, yanking on the back of Killian’s jersey and the number that matches Emma’s.

He hits a single, and it’s absurd to be disappointed by that, particularly when it does beat the shift, but Killian had used the word everything and he meant it and means it and all incarnations of all tenses.

They make the backpage of The Post the next day.

Robin cackles when he shoves the entire paper into the phone screen, calling because they’re in Tampa now and Emma had come into the clubhouse after they beat the Orioles again.

Will shook her hand.

And it just kind of goes from there.

It’s chaotic and stressful and there is so much baseball during the regular season and then even more during the postseason because they win the Wild Card in the Bronx with Emma wearing her number in section 203 of the bleachers.

Regina had tried to get her to move into the team suite – ”It’s the playoffs, Ms. Swan, you shouldn’t have to be out there with all the normal fans.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Regina, are you suggesting there are levels of fans?” – but that had worked as well as Killian expected it to and he wasn't sure there was a bigger New York Yankees fan in the entire world than Emma.

Will and Robin had both laughed when she’d called after that Boston game, shouting about intent and should have charged him and nothing Killian had said got her to stop. Even after David promised she’d lost her mind during the broadcast.

Emma leads roll call when the Yankees come back home after the Boston series. It’s on SportsCenter again.

“We should be getting royalties from this,” Killian complains, but she kisses him silent and they really are very good at making out on a variety of couches.

And they keep winning.

There are more games and more series and then it’s the Series and the words are out of his mouth before he can really process what he’s saying.

“Do...do you,” Killian starts, tucked against Emma in a room with frames on the wall. She helped pick them out. And fill them.

“Do I what?” “I really want you to be there, Swan.” Her teeth find her lower lip, shoulders shifting when she takes a deep breath through her nose and Killian counts the seconds. Ten. Ten full seconds until she answers.

Or asks. “Yeah?”

He nods, the pillow rumpling underneath his cheek, and wills his heart not to beat out of his chest. It’s a close call. “More than anything.” “Should probably make Regina get tickets.” “Please don’t talk about Regina before I’m going to try and make out with you, love.” “Only try?” Killian grins and Emma laughs and they don’t get a ton of sleep before he has to get on a plane, but she gets on a different plane and when the ball lands in his glove in a right field that’s not his, he’s certain his whole body erupts into flames.

Of joy. Or happiness. Or perfection.

Because they won.

And Emma is there.

It just takes some time to find her.

There are cheers and Gatorade dumps and Killian’s uniform is plastered to him by the time he works his way towards home plate and a line of family and friends with credentials hanging around their neck and some FOX intern is already trying to get him back towards the mound.

He is, apparently, going to win some kind of award.

Oh shit, he might be the MVP of the World Series. Huh.

Killian doesn’t see her at first, but he hears her, shouts of his name and what might be his number and no one’s referred to by number only since his days in single-A, but it’s kind of endearing when Emma does it and he nearly knocks over the barricade.

She helps when she jumps towards him.

“Nice catch,” Emma whispers, but that’s as much as she says before he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and goddamn fantastic.

His lips slant over hers and her fingers find their way back into his hair, drifting to the drenched collar of his jersey, and Killian swears he can actually feel Emma’s laughter in the very middle of him when he tugs her closer. One of her shoes falls off.

“I love you,” Killian says, not the first time he’s told her or promised her, but this feels different and even more important and he has to blink when Emma leans back and beams at him.

Like the goddamn sun.

“I love you too.”

The barricade falls over with an impossibly loud crash and someone who is almost certainly Scarlet laughs, a phone in his hand and more laughter from New York and Regina shouts stop making out for two seconds, you’re ruining the TV schedule and she’s kind of got a point.

“I’ll be right back,” Killian mutters.

Emma nods. “I’m counting on it.”

There are more pictures and no one bothers to put the barricade back up and the kiss winds up on the cover of Sports Illustrated a headline about “New York State of Mind” that doesn’t entirely make sense, but they all buy a dozen copies and it looks good in a frame on the apartment Killian and Emma get together.

And there’s more to it all – a life and unexpected challenges and games that criss-cross the country, but Emma only ever sits in section 203 and Killian comes back home after every road swing and there are more questions and more answers and he changes his number eventually.

They’ve got a new birthday to celebrate and both Emma and Killian are positive he’s going to have one hell of an arm in right field.

[eng-hypnosismic]

Animage 483: Interview w/ Matenrou part 2

This is part 2 of the Matenrou interview of Animage 483, for part 1 please read here. It’s about Matenrou and Jakurai’s VA Hayami Show san.

Continuation of the Story by Kannonzaka Doppo’s VA Ito Kento

Bad at Household Chores But an Able Working Corporate Slave

—— As this is Matenrou’s second CD release, what is your impression of Kannonzaka Doppo?

Ito: When Doppo raps, he steadily becomes more and more dangerous (laughs). Although he wasn’t able to speak his mind when he first started, he might get better at expressing himself little by little. As usual, he’s menial, but I think he is able change that into a strength. For that to happen, it may be because his teammates Jinguji Jakurai and Izanami Hifumi’s presence have become larger.

—— What do you pay attention to when you are acting as Doppo?

Ito: It was a challenge to record with that much negative emotion infused. When I’m in Tokyo, it’s easy to trace Doppo’s actions, like remembering being shaken in a crowded train…. He even wears a suit so it’s even harder. I’m glad my job doesn’t require wearing a suit (laughs).

—— Doppo is perhaps the sole corporate slave character, but how do you feel about this?

Ito: I wonder how much of a corporate slave he is. I don’t think being a salesperson is the most suitable job for Doppo, I wonder if he’s okay. First, Doppo should have a car because it would be tough for Doppo to go around for business by train. Having a car would make it easier. Perhaps Hifumi would buy him a car since he has more money (laughs). I don’t know if he has enough income for a car…

—— A line in Hifumi’s part of “-Division Battle Anthem-” is “12,346,600 Monthly,” so we can estimate his monthly sales to be over 10,000,000 [yen]. If the club shares 50% of the sales with him, then that is a quite an income.

Ito: If it’s not a luxury car, it’s likely that he’d get one for Doppo…?! But if he does that, Doppo’s self worth might fade away (laughs).

——Hifumi possibly has expensive taste, what does Doppo think about him?

Ito: There are times when he’s unpleasant yet he is an indispensable existence. Speaking of it, in the BATTLE CD’s drama part, we learn that they live together.  I thought, “you guys get along too well,” but there are lots of guys that live together. Even around me, I know some people that have roommates. It’s cheaper than paying rent alone, and it’s just easier overall (laughs). The hours they go to work are literally day and night so there is no need for meddling more than necessary. I think they’ve achieved a nice shared livelihood.

—— What do you think Doppo feels about Hifumi’s best-host mode when he’s wearing his suit and his gynophobia side?

Ito: They’ve known each other since forever; Doppo should know why Hifumi has gynophobia. Host, gynophobe, and  his usual mode are the three sides Hifumi has, so Doppo shouldn’t be confused or uncomfortable.

—— There is a scene where Hifumi makes Doppo breakfast, to which Doppo replies with, “Today’s breakfast is grilled salmon, huh?” Did you get the impression that Hifumi often cooks for them?

Ito: On the outside, it looks like Doppo is the one taking care of Hifumi, but it’s actually Hifumi that takes care of Doppo. Like how Hifumi mends Doppo’s suits when they get torn. I’m certain that Doppo is a guy bad at all household chores and decision making, but when he’s out, Doppo is competent. He can contemplate things over and over, and then turn it into action. In the drama part of the first CD, “Matenrou -Clinical Phonetics-,” they head to the apartment of a customer of the host club Hifumi works at. There, Doppo predicted that she would jump and prepared a mat, did he not? How he was able to prepare that in a short time is a bit comedic though (laughs); that was some really good work.

The “Unexpected” Light Shining into the Repetitive Every Day

—— What impression do you have about Jakurai?

Ito: For Doppo, Jakurai is the person he trusts the most besides Hifumi. He is who Doppo consults with, but I also think he’s a mentor. The two of them, Hifumi and Jakurai, help lift Doppo up as they walk together. In the drama part this time, you can feel the depth of Jakurai’s connection to Amemura Ramuda. You really can’t tell if there’s something there, though I think that the incident that caused this connection surely surpasses any imagination. But even though Doppo is curious, he won’t actively push to know. If Jakurai would someday tell him, I think he would be overjoyed.

—— Is Doppo undergoing Jakurai’s counseling right now?

Ito: I believe he is. Since the setting of the BATTLE CD went from Shinjuku Division to Chuuoku, I can’t say if there has been a change in their regular relationship, though I still think it’s needed for Doppo.

—— In the 1st CD, before becoming a member of Matenrou, Doppo performs a rap in front of Jakurai. In his lyrics is the line “Society is cold but somehow it’s warmer now,” what does it mean?

Ito: I actually haven’t heard from Kimura Subaru-san what his thoughts were when he wrote the lyrics. Maybe holding the Hypnosis Mic is like a portal to something unlike what Doppo is used to. And that might be what he’s been looking for in his repetitive daily life. I wouldn’t say that it’s hope, but it’s a ray of light that shines through and reached him; the warmth [he mentioned in the lyrics] probably refers to that.  He must have been very happy when he first received the mic, after everything that happened.  It’s the same for Hifumi I think. Doppo and Hifumi would be first and second place if the characters held an awkwardness competition.

—— In the BATTLE CD were interactions with each of the other divisions. There is a scene where he drinks Busujima Mason Riou’s special-made drink, although it had a taste that made Aohitsugi Samatoki, Iruma Juto, and Hifumi faint, only Doppo was able to drink it without trouble.

Ito: It’s only my idea of what happened, but I think Doppo loves nutrition drinks. Health recovery maybe? (laughs) Taste may come second for a healthy body. Drinking without prejudice and the likes of not being afraid to try things is one of Doppo’s nice points.

—— In the 2nd drama part “Just A Friend,” Hifumi went out at night in Chuuoku and was then chased by women.

Ito: It was nice to know what Doppo would do when confronting women. Ah, of course he’d run. He even screams (laughs).

—— He didn’t seem happy at all, did he?

Ito: Doppo isn’t the type to go out in public, I guess he never thought he would be like an idol.

—— There, they had a chance encounter with Yumeno Gentaro and Arisugawa Dice and had a quarrel.

Ito: Subaru also wrote the lyrics for that part. Doppo’s “I’m sorry” and similar words are a shield making a nice steady style. The recording this time was also fun, I got carried along by Subaru’s enthusiasm in the direction room. We also learned how the two fight in the absence of Jakurai. But it wasn’t the real fight, which is why they didn’t use their full power. Also, Doppo worried about what others think of him, as he understood that this is not the place to fight. These two are still hiding their claws. I wonder if I was able to incorporate that in my acting.

—— Do you have any members you are interested in after this recording?

Ito: I’m a member of Matenrou, but I like Dice. His gambler way of life is great; it’s something I very much don’t think I can do (laughs). Actually, Fling Posse is a burning presence in me, their songs and relationships are also nice. They don’t have a common goal, and with the exception of Ramuda, a novelist and gambler aren’t very Shibuya-Division-like jobs. However, surely for these three, there has to be a reason why it has to be Shibuya.

Lurking in the Dirty City, the Tale of Matenrou continues

—— “BATTLE BATTLE BATTLE” begins with Doppo’s attack.

Ito: It was surprising that I was first. Because it’s the firing shot, the lyrics were a simple attack on Shibuya. There’s a strong feeling of camaraderie in this song. For example, Dice attacked Doppo and Hifumi follows up by returning his lyrics. I thought it was as if the three were really fighting. Also, the three’s final lyrics really stood out. They said, “No matter how hard your past was” --- what was their past like? Why did they become the men of Shinjuku? I hope you have fun imagining it.

—— Doppo’s scream of “Matenrou!” is quite impressionable.

Ito: That was originally not in the demo, but was decided during the recording. It really fires up the atmosphere for a rap battle, no? During the discussion with everyone, we talked about adding more Dopponess into the song, and that’s how it happened. However, Shibuya’s “Posse Posse” is chanted by the whole Fling Posse, whereas I’m doing this alone (laughs).

—— What do you think about the team song “Shinjuku Style ~Don’t Make Me Laugh~”?

Ito: Firstly, the demo which was given to us by Rappagariya was amazing. Usually demos are just the melodies without any effects or arrangements, but his demo was so cool and with lots of effects. It was totally ready to be put into a CD as is. Thanks to that, it was easy to picture the final product. But this song is so difficult. When I was practicing at home it almost made me cry.

—— Have you watched the trailer for this song?

Ito: The video shows the streets of Shinjuku from the point of view of the characters. I am glad that there are also cuts where Doppo is getting on subways and walking up stairs. In those cuts, the camera was facing downwards which was so just like Doppo. Shinjuku, especially Kabukicho, is filled with billboards of portraits and texts. There are even taglines like “profession: hottie.” It’s an interesting place. This song seems scarier than Fling Posse’s team song, maybe Shinjuku is seen as a scary place. When I listen to the song, a picture of Matenrou swaggering together through downtown comes to my mind. However, this might make the other divisions more aggressive against us. Don’t get me wrong, Shinjuku is not scary at all… is what I want to tell them (laughs).

—— Doppo’s solo song, “Tigridia,” from the first CD sure has a different impression from the BATTLE CD.

Ito: I think the Doppo in this song is the everyday Doppo. While he says that he’s walking alone, it’s not actually like that. In terms of time, it could be his song from before he became a member of Matenrou, or shortly after he joined. I myself really like this song. Since I sang this song, it’s a bit embarrassing to recommend it to people, but I recommend it (laughs). To start with the song’s track, it’s very cool, so even just the instrumental version is superb.

—— Is there something you would like to do with “Hypnosis Mic” in the future?

Ito: What I had been wanting to do until now is a live show and it’s coming soon. It’s crazy how we made it all the way to hosting a concert! However, now I am a bit anxious that I won’t be able to sing properly. It’s a great challenge and afterwards, I want to try to hold a live show in Shinjuku. It’d be nice if the venue is related to the characters, but we might be yelled at if we do it in hospitals and offices (laughs). Host clubs might be the most likely to let us do so. And maybe a surprise pop-up concert. I think a flash-mob kind of performance would work for this project. How about it? I want to do it.

—— This time is the reveal of the outcome, what will happen?

Ito: From the songs, I get the image that Fling Posse is pop and Matenrou is shady. Which side will be eliminated is determined by the audiences. I am worried that the shadiness of Matenrou might scare away some people. However, the “women and men of Shinjuku”* who support Matenrou probably already know the charm and the underlying enchantment of shadiness. How Matenrou’s story will develop from this point on, I myself want to know as well. Therefore, please kindly vote for us.

* Fans of Hypnosis Mic are sometimes referred to as “Women/Men of [     ] Division”

[immortalcockroach]

I’M FINE BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’RE MINE

summary: Clarke and Bellamy have been YouTubers for quite a long time. Clarke and Bellamy have also been dating for quite some time.

But their viewers don’t know that.

Not that Clarke and Bellamy are really hiding it.

pairing: Bellamy x Clarke

words: 3,240

read on AO3

hen Clarke and Bellamy first start hanging out, it comes as no surprise to anyone. She’s a sophomore at Arkadia High and he’s a senior, but even despite the age difference, they have one very specific thing in common – they are two YouTubers on the rise in a fairly small town.

He’s the one who approaches her, at first. She’s sitting in the cafeteria with Raven, Luna, and Harper, and he’s passing by with some of his friends when he stops at their table.

‘Hey, Griffin.’

Clarke turns her head to face him, and she’s practically awestruck.

The thing with Bellamy Blake is that everyone knows he has a YouTube channel and around these parts, that makes him a star of sorts. He’s by no means a popular as a broad term, but Ark High is not a big school and Arkadia is not a big town, so here, he’s the closest thing to a popular high school student they’ll get.

He’s also attractive. On his videos, goofy and dorky, too, and nerdy sometimes, but smart and intelligent, and with those black locks of his, it would be a lie to say that Clarke doesn’t have a celebrity crush on him.

A slight one. It’s a crush nonetheless.

‘Hey.’

‘I watched some of your videos the other day,’ says Bellamy. He’s smiling at her, the tips of his fingers resting at her table. ‘They’re really good.’

Clarke is almost too surprised to smile back, but she does. She even manages to say ‘Thanks,’ and she’s proud of herself.

Bellamy brings the hand form the table into a thumbs up. ‘Keep doing that.’

And walks away.

It takes Clarke about several long moments to wrap her head around what just happened. Bellamy isn’t only popular because of his YouTube channel, far from that – his channel is popular because he is hot, intelligent and the kind of jock that doesn’t seem possible to be real. Clarke, on the other hand, isn’t unpopular – but she’s a sophomore, who spends most of her time hanging out with her friends and doesn’t really do parties, even though she goes to the football games. Most people don’t know about her channel, even though she isn’t trying to hide it.

Somehow, the fact that Bellamy watched and liked her videos inspires her to try even harder at the YouTube game. Her next video is better than the previous one, and she even gets a new camera and an external microphone, and within two months there’s a light in her bedroom and she’s getting more and more views. Occasionally, Bellamy leaves a comment, and she does the same on his videos.

Often, when Raven confronts her about the fact that she started truly caring about her YouTube channel only after she realized Bellamy Blake was a viewer, she denies it.

‘It’s not about Bellamy,’ she’d say. ‘Not really.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Okay, listen. Sure, kind of, knowing that Bellamy likes the channel meant something but not in the way you think.’ It’s one of the times when Raven is featured in one of her videos and there’s a camera in front of them, filming. Clarke knows she’ll see this when editing the footage and it makes her a little nauseous. ‘He’s the first person to actually acknowledge that they watch my channel.’

Raven coughs. ‘Luna and Harper don’t count as people? I’m a bird?’

‘That’s not what I meant! People who aren’t my close friends. Who I have nothing to do with.’

‘Well, I guess. It’s a fair point.’

‘Thanks.’

Raven leans towards Clarke’s laptop that’s open with a script of things they need to do—yes, Clarke scripts the general gist of her videos because otherwise she’s in no way capable of remembering what she wanted to say or do—and opens her YouTube channel. She doesn’t stop at that; soon after there’s about five tabs open, all different videos of Clarke’s. She scrolls down to the comments of the most recent one.

‘What do you see?’

It’s Bellamy’s comment. ‘You managed to make Arkadia seem a lot better than it actually is! Different perspectives mean the world, smiley face,’ she reads out loud.

‘Right.’ Raven shifts to a different tab, scrolls down to the comments. ‘What about this one?’

‘Just wanted to let you know Octavia found this tutorial and now I had to go buy her an eyeshadow palette. At least she doesn’t want to be a warrior princess anymore!’ Clarke reads again. ‘What’s your point?’

Raven closes all tabs they don’t need and leans back on the bed, sitting back next to Clarke. ‘I’m saying he might have a thing for you.’

‘He doesn’t.’

‘Clarke. He comments on your every video.’

‘They’re not flirty comments!’

‘Sure.’

‘Yeah.’

It stops at that and Clarke is happy Raven let it be, because she doesn’t really know how the rest of the conversation would have possibly gone. One of her best friend’s specialties is that she can get everything out of people, even the things they aren’t aware of – and Clarke fears, deep down, that there’s something about the older Blake she is trying very hard not to be aware of.

Throughout the year, as Clarke’s videos get more creative, more well-produced, just better in general, so do Bellamy’s. It’s not long after Christmas that he reaches the one hundred thousand subscribers mark and gets verified, and a few days later, she reaches her fifty thousand. They congratulate each other, as it should be, and keep leaving comments on each other’s videos. People start noticing it, replying to their comments, and before they know it, they’re bringing traffic to one another.

Several weeks before their spring break, during one of the times when she and Bellamy walk half-way together after classes, she realizes that somewhere along the line, they became friends. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment; there were smiles and nods in the hallway, at first, ever since their conversation. Sometime around Thanksgiving, it turned into short chats, and after Christmas, they walked together for the first time. After his games, whenever Clarke would tag along with Raven to a party, they’d gravitate towards each other. It wouldn’t be a rare sight to see her in his car after one of those, as he tended to leave earlier because he needed to look after his sister, and she isn’t exactly a party person. That transferred into him picking her up if he’s driving, or walking with her if he’s not.

When spring break arrives, they film their first collab – exam survival tips on Clarke’s, and a workout/nutrition routine for Bellamy’s (as Clarke knows something about that because of her mother’s medical profession). It garners quite some attention, even from people they don’t know, and their numbers start going up quickly.

Raven says it’s their chemistry at work.

Bellamy graduates and that summer, they go on a trip and they vlog it. Clarke’s content starts shifting towards art and crafts and trying to lead a creative and free life while being a high school student.

‘Hippy,’ as Luna would say, ‘you’re turning into a hippy.’

Her videos feature more of Luna and a bit less of Raven, and Harper makes an occasional appearance now, with Bellamy mostly being in the back of Clarke’s vlog sections of her videos. Bellamy’s content shifts more towards vlogs and him trying out to figure out how to balance looking after his sister when his mother works long hours.

He goes to University of Arkadia and they stay close. Octavia starts high school and at that point, Clarke is pretty much friends with her. She sees Bellamy several days a week and they still film together almost all the time, not even on purpose.

Boyfriends and girlfriends come and go, but none of them are ever shown in Clarke’s videos. In Bellamy’s, there are occasional sights of Echo or Roma or Gina, but that’s it – he never shows Finn, when Clarke asks him not to. He doesn’t show Niylah, Clarke’s short-term thing during her first semester at Uni of Arkadia, nor Lexa, when they date almost until the beginning of her second year.

Clarke breaks up with her because there’s something about her relationship with Bellamy that has been changing for a while and Lexa doesn’t like it.

They’re sitting in Clarke’s dorm room, on her bed. Lexa is looking away from her and no matter how hard Clarke tries, she can’t get the brunette to show her face.

‘You spend more time with him than you do with me,’ says Lexa.

‘He’s my best friend. We do the same thing for a living. It’s – it’s a job, as well.’ It doesn’t feel like a job, but she has to explain herself somehow.

But as Lexa keeps talking about Clarke not being close enough to her, and that they’re drifting apart, and that she doesn’t really know where they stand anymore, Clarke realizes that she doesn’t need to explain herself to someone. If Lexa doesn’t understand Bellamy’s importance in her life, that’s all Clarke needs.

‘Maybe this just isn’t about Bellamy at all,’ she says. ‘Maybe we’re just not working out.’

Lexa faces her, finally, and her lips are pressed into a thin line – otherwise, there is nothing on her face that would indicate her being upset. ‘You’re just looking for excuses.’

‘Well, what’s your hot take on the whole thing?’

‘I don’t know. But I feel like you’d rather be with him than with me.’

They both know what she means by those words: being with him as in physically spending time with him. But as their relationship deteriorates, Clarke’s mind keeps going back to this conversation and Lexa’s words start bearing a different meaning.

It’s sometime in October, four years since they started talking, that Clarke tells Bellamy how she feels. It’s not a big ordeal – they’re cooking lunch in Bellamy’s kitchen and he’s vlogging, when they touch the topic.

‘Clarke, do you read comments on our videos?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Have you noticed that lately, the amount of comments saying that we should start dating has increased?’

Clarke laughs, and shakes her head, because no, she actually hasn’t.

Stirring the homemade white sauce, she kind of leans away fro the camera, biting the insides of her cheeks. Then, in a moment of pure courage, she doesn’t even look at Bellamy when she says: ‘But, you know, I can’t really disagree.’

His laughter echoes for as long as it takes him to realize that she said she doesn’t disagree. He doesn’t lower his camera that’s pointed at her, though, only stares at her with a confused look on his face.

The patented confused puppy look all the Blakes can do, but he does the best.

‘I don’t think I got the joke. Or the reference.’

Clarke smiles at him. ‘I wasn’t joking. I like you. I do think we should give dating a try.’

‘Huh.’

‘Yeah. What are your thoughts on this?’

‘I don’t know. What are my thoughts on this?’

‘Well…’ Clarke turns off the heat and pours the sauce over the meat, stirring lightly again. She turns her back ot their dinner-in-the-making and leans against the counter. ‘I think you don’t disagree, either.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I never really thought about it.’

Bellamy sets the camera on the table, but it’s still on and it’s still pointed at her – not that she minds. For the past five or so years, the camera has been one of her best friends. Another one of them, the boy in question, still has the confused look on his face. She feels good about the whole situation, though; his shoulders are a little tense and he’s still a little scrawny because college football isn’t really for him and it’s taking him ages to grow into his height, but he doesn’t look nervous.

‘Lies. You’re just scared,’ she tells him.

‘Of?’

‘Giving this a try. Getting hurt. Attachment.’

‘All of that?’

‘And more.’

‘You seem pretty certain about this.’

‘Bellamy,’ says Clarke, ‘if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be saying all of this.’ He doesn’t say anything, so she stirs the pot again, and steps away from the cooker. Closer to him. ‘Do you trust me?’

He gulps, but nods.

Clarke closes the distance between them. Hands on his cheeks, she places a kiss on his lips.

When Bellamy wraps his hands around her waist and pulls her closer, it’s the start of something everyone and no one expected. Nearly nothing changes, bar the kissing and the sex and the coupley things. They stick to their rule of no significant others in front of the camera, so they never clarify that there has been a change in their relationship status. Their viewers simply assume they’re dating people off camera, and some assume they’re dating each other, but the common reaction is ‘no, they would’ve told us’.

They keep this up for the next three years. Even when they move in together after Clarke graduated, they don’t say anything.

‘We’re not really keeping this a secret, at all,’ Clarke tells Raven one time she comes over.

‘Then how do you explain it?’

‘We’re just not… I’d say the word is “affectionate”. Not on camera, I mean. It’s the only thing that changed, and we hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks before we got together, and everything people see on our channels is the same.’

‘But you’re still keeping this from your viewers.’

‘We’re not keeping it from them!’ argues Clarke. ‘We just don’t have the need to point it out.’

‘Clarke,’ Raven says, ‘you have over two million subscribers, and Bellamy has over four. Your joint second channel has nearly a million. That’s arguably around five million people watching you.’

‘You’re just trying to make me feel guilty about this.’

‘Well, like it or not, you’ve been keeping this from people for three years now. You’re both getting bigger, and it’s gonna get out. You either want to be in control in how that happens or suffer the consequences when it comes as a surprise.’

Raven’s words get stuck in Clarke’s head so about two weeks later, she tells Bellamy about them. They spend the next two weeks compiling all the videos they have of each other that are unseen by their viewers – videos that show they’re more than just friends.

It’s Bellamy’s job to assemble the footage, so Clarke only sees it when it’s posted.

‘Do you trust me?’ he asks before publishing it without her supervision.

Clarke kisses him. It’s a statement in itself.

He hands her a pair of earphones and she cuddles up next to him, with his laptop on her lap. When she presses play, the video is still at zero views.

It begins with The 1975's Mine fading in with a black background, softly. With the first note of the piano there is a clip of Clarke’s face from the clip they never published – the one where she tells him how she feels about him. This is before that, and she’s smiling at something he said, and it makes her realize how far they’ve come so much she nearly begins crying at that moment. Several seconds in, it’s their song playing, slowed down, and she can’t take it.

Bellamy grips her tigher, pulls her closer to his chest. She can feel his heart beating, but the video is all she can focus on.

For the majority of it, it’s the footage of either one of them. There’s some Clarke has never seen, or has forgotten about; there are videos of when they were kids, which she’s certain he’s taken from Wells or her parents. There are bits and pieces of their lives that she never paid a lot of attention to, like the painting she made in her senior year that Bellamy hung up on his dorm room wall; a smudge on a wall in their new house from when he accidentally missed a brush and touched the wall with paint on his fingers. There are bits and pieces of their life that make it a life, and not just a show for their viewers, and it makes Clarke cry.

Bellamy just holds her.

She’s in love with him, and he’s in love with her, too. If there are ever moments when she doubts either of those, this is the video that will remind her that there’s no way it couldn’t be true. This is an art for the two of them – this is how they decided to represent their relationship to the world. It’s soft and vulnerable and feels like a song, or a butterfly’s touch, or a baby’s smile. It feels effervescent and beautiful and surreal.

When the music stops and it’s a song she’s never heard, but very clearly Bellamy singing, she starts almost sobbing. Bellamy presses a kiss to her temple, but doesn’t say anything.

‘When we decided to do this, to present the three years of our relationship to our viewers, I knew exactly how to do this. It’s been eight years now since we met, since we became friends – and those have been the eight best years of my life.’

The tone of the videos changes. It shows Clarke alone, mostly, painting or singing or reading or cooking or doing anything else she does off camera. If Bellamy’s in the footage, it’s scarce, and the sole focus is on her – on what she looks like in his eyes.

She has to blink, rapidly, to usher the tears from blurring her vision.

‘When I told her I liked her videos, I had a crush on her. I was a fan. I didn’t know she had a crush on me, too. We went through a lot in the next five years, but no matter what happened, we stayed together. When she told me she likes me, she knew better than I did that I liked her just as much.’

‘There’s a lot I could say about her, but I think that she’s the kind of beautiful I couldn’t do justice. You can’t put in words something you see every day, because you don’t notice how good you have it. I know I love her. I know why I do, too, and it’s because the person you see in this is who Clarke truly is. She’s even better in person than she presents herself on YouTube.’

‘So, now I think you know how I feel about her. And Clarke, in case you don’t—’

Bellamy’s voice cuts off and the video goes black. She holds her breath, involuntarily – then it’s a clip of him, grinning at the camera, and looking down as he writes something on a piece of paper. He holds it up and it takes the camera a few moments to focus, but when it does, his voice is back — ‘Will you marry me?’

The video cuts off and she takes her earbuds out, turning around.

‘I love you,’ she says.

Bellamy smiles. Bites her lip; nervous.

‘And yes, I’ll marry you.’

He laughs the heavenly laugh, as if a heavy burden is off his chest, and kisses her like never before. He takes a ring from somewhere and puts it on her ring finger and god, she’s never been happier.

Needless to say, almost none of their viewers are very surprised when they get married two years later, at the anniversary of their ten years of being friends.