#now she’s overcompensating by doing things that are MY job without checking first

[yournameoverandover]

making a slight detour from Taylor to rant for 0.3 seconds in the tags

[zachsgamejournal]

PLAYING: Quake 2

I've been weaning myself off of violent video games (thank you indie games) but admittedly there is something stupidly fun about Quake 2's murder simulation. 

STORY TIME? -- Yes.

After my mother stole my penny collection to pay for gas. She overcompensated with an apology by letting buy a game. I chose Quake 2. Not sure why, but I did. But this was the PS1 version. So however graphically challenged the PC version might have been, the PS1 version was worse. And while I never beat it, nor did I find it playable after switching to Medal of Honor (PS1), I still enjoyed the time I had with it. The aesthetic and atmosphere in particular stuck with me. And that's really making this experience enjoyable now.

PRESENT DAY

After Hades pissed me off for being itself, I needed a cleanse. Something less punishing, less strategic, something that I could pick up and drop without much consideration. Right on cue, Quake 2 Remaster appears in Game Pass. Having found memories of the aesthetic I decide to give it a try. To my surprise I found myself moving pretty quickly through levels. So when I first thought this should just be a cleanse, I've now decided to commit to beating it.

While I grew up a huge fan of Mortal Kombat and any game with blood, guts, and gore--I don't like it anymore. To much time and energy is focused on how to kill people. On the one hand it's disturbing, and on the other is boring. Grand Theft Auto was great because it went beyond the murder simulation (though there was a lot of murder). You could be a taxi cab driver, put out fires, look for stunts--and the games expanded to the point now you can do yoga. Don't know why you would want to, but you can. Point is, I don't think players just wanted to kill things. That was just easy gameplay and easy satisfaction. By the early 2000s, games were starting to expand beyond their core mechanics. 

Consider Final Fantasy 7, it was filled with mini games like snow boarding, Chocobo Breeding and Racing, a Submarine combat adventure, and other things. It was as much fun to live in Final Fantasy as it was to battle large bosses. Actually, I preferred the living to battling. And as we saw more open world games appear on the market, we started to see gameplay that existed outside of just shooting. And games like Morrowind and Metal Gear Solid often offered non-violent alternatives to mission completion. For me in particular, games that limited your choices and abilities to violence were ages behind the curve, singular, and boring. 

So why is Quake 2 so much fun in 2023? Firstly, it comes from an age where game companies struggled to get basic gameplay elements working to satisfaction. Not that they sucked at their jobs, but 3D games were new and computers were weak. Today you can copy-paste FPS blue prints to Unreal Engine and you're 90% of the way there. It took a lot of work to get games to run well, look decent, and be fun. Because Q2 is so focused on the base shoot'em up gameplay, it's not overly concerned with stepping outside its wheelhouse. You run around pushing buttons until the exit opens and shoot any baddies that get in the way: simple, sweet, and fun.

Comparatively, today's shooters have to tell a story. Good, I like story, but usually their storytelling isn't competent because they're just checking a gamer expectation box, or their storytelling isn't congruent with the story. Kind of like Black and Battlefield 3. You have levels of action intercut with scenes that take place in an interrogation. there's no meaningful attempt to marry the two. Most games can be this way, but these were obvious cheats. Q2 says fuck that, there's a war and you're fighting in it. 

And because the story is light, you get two unintentional advantages that many games suffer from today: the gameplay isn't constantly interrupted to "tell story" or explain mechanics, and there's no unnecessary filler: "Oh, I guess we owe them a cut-scene here..." Explaining mechanics is important. Late 90s and early 00s it seemed every game contained a tutorial level. Usually some sort of training camp before sending you out there. Fine.  But it prevents you from playing the game, especially when mandated. Later, games included the tutorials in early levels, so while there was usually story and plot infused into the game--you were still being trained. It was clear that you were not to be unleashed until much later. It's not a bad idea, but when you're replaying the game or playing sequels and you have to be "retaught" it can be boring.

Mario Bros. for NES taught the player as they played. Through trial and error you learn what's bad and what's good. You learn the layout and rhythm of the levels. And since the game is bombarding you with cut scenes, you can immediately restart the level and get caught up. Having recently played NES's Zelda, I was overwhelmed by the difficulty but impressed with how the game allowed you to explore it and figure it out at your own pace. The harder dungeons are blocked by necessary items and since you get to keep items and money upon death, you're never truly starting over. That's how Quake 2 works. Figuring the game out is the game. Games trying to be cinematic and overly story driven are so dedicated to guiding you down the "right path" you feel out of control. I don't think this was a sincere design choice, it's just how games were made at this time. And it's fun.

So...to further explain: this game is really about exploration. The levels are interestingly designed with branching paths and secrets. You're also able to move forward and back through levels--sometimes having to perform a few objectives in one map then the other. I love exploration games and Q2 doesn't disappoint. Checking every hall, jumping on top of every box, shooting barrels and finding secrets constantly reward you with more ammo or health. And you need those to survive. The shooting, on the other hand, isn't really what the game is about. It just makes exploring the levels more interesting.

I also appreciate how simple the controls are. You move, aim, jump, and shoot. Need to open a door, walk up to it. Need to push a button, walk into. Need to activate an elevator, stand on it. It makes action buttons in more modern shooters seem superfluous. I appreciate this. It makes me think of how Sea of Thieves works so well because your player controls are simple and everything is based on context. Unlike Assassin's Creed 4, you don't need to remember a million button combinations to work the ship. Need to raise/lower the sales, walk over to the rope that controls it. I could go on, but the point is that game keeps it simple which keeps it fun and intuitive.

Also, shooting things is fun. I hate myself a little for it, but as Portal and Metroid Prime get--shooting anything for any purpose is fun, you don't have to kill stuff. In truth, shooting is fun because you get to see an immediate result: I pull a trigger, something gets hit. The feedback is immediate and rewarding. Since I was a kid, I've shot tons of windows, walls, and water--especially water. It's always fun to see how the environment responds to bullets, grenades, lasers, and whatever. It's just fun to shoot things.

I'm very much against killing.

But what's really keeping me here is the aesthetic, and a little the music. I was just getting into metal when I first started playing Quake 2. Sadly, I also got sick and was suffering from a headache. I was in denial that the guitar riffing soundtrack was at fault. Since I've routinely listened to the sound track while doing chores and suffered zero headaches, I know it's not the OST's fault. But the design is peak 90's industrial. Lots of browns and greys. It's so dreary and oppressive, but also interesting. It almost feels lived in. Anyway, I'm moving along and having fun. I even faced my first boss. We'll see if I can keep up the pace.

[micheswife]

Confessions

MICHE ZACHARIAS X SHY CADET

Miche finally tells his crush he likes her. That's it

Miche watched her from Erwin’s office as she left the headquarters to enjoy a well-deserved break. The evening sun highlighted her brunette curls, stopping just below her delicate shoulders. It was a shame really, her hair used to touch her waist when she first joined. She was so incredibly shy and anxious back then, struggling to find her place among younger people that were much stronger than her. He remembered back when she declined the promotion for the sake of her happiness. It had been 3 years since y/n joined the survey corps at the age of 20. She was a late beginner, but her analytical skills, a fateful emotional meltdown and a background in research had soon gotten her a place under section commander Hange. Y/n was not good as a fighter, but she was observant, more than Erwin and Hange. Miche could not help but notice her, she was cute after all. She had flaws, just like everyone else, but the veteran soldier was drawn to her in particular. He couldn’t remember when he felt like that for the first time. Maybe it was when he saw her for the first time, clutching a soiled handwritten application and trying her hardest to put on a brave face. Who knows? Who cares? The important part was that he liked her, she did not know and he was not going to tell.

“What are you looking at Miche? “

“N-nothing, Erwin. Go on…”

Miche went back to focusing on the meeting. y/n had already disappeared in the next lane, so there was no point looking outside. The meeting would go on for hours, as usual, veterans had no holidays.

Meanwhile, y/n made herself comfortable near the quiet riverbank. It was one of the few attractions in the little land of Paradis, especially after the fall of Wall Maria. The serene river glowed red under the now darkening sun rays. Y/n had about 30 minutes to draw something, after which it would get too dark. Problem was, y/n had no idea what to draw. So she just sat there, wondering about her life. It seemed self-indulgent to refuse work only to get out and ponder about herself, but she needed it. The chaos inside the headquarters hardly did her any good. She wanted quiet and peace, but what she had right now was just pure loneliness. Y/n had friends, but nobody close or free enough to sit under the open night sky. So she sat all alone over the wall, the cold breeze ruffling her hair. If only there were someone to hold her.

“Bottomline, all of you must prepare your squads for next month’s expedition. We can’t afford to compromise manpower. Pay attention to the weak members, we need them to come back alive. You all are dismissed.”

Miche walked out of Erwin’s office and went straight to his room that he shared with Dieter, another squad leader. He felt tired, as though he knew what was about to come. A lot of action and a shit ton of casualties, not to forget all the rigorous training he was about to deliver on the cadets.

“What a long day..”

“Tomorrow’s going to be longer, Ness.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you will make it through the expedition?”

Miche scrunched his nose at the odd yet totally reasonable question. Him and Dieter served the scout regiment since their teenage years, yet they never quite got used to the anxiety before impending doom. Against his overbearing stress, Miche gave him a positive answer hoping to lift his spirits.

“I will make it out alive, Ness. The most damage I will end up with is a lost limb, after which I will retire and live a peaceful life. Don’t worry.” Miche finished with his signature scoff, masking his true emotions. The shameless, pretentious display of cockiness was all worth the little chuckle from Ness, the most sociable, tender man among veterans.

They made their way to the dining hall after chit chatting and freshening up. Their tables had the usual serving of bread, soup and vegetables. His eyes scanned the place for the owner of those beautiful, crazy curls, y/n, she should have been back by now. He couldn’t see her anywhere. Usually it was so easy to spot her in her corner seat. Perhaps Hange assigned her some work, but he couldn’t risk revealing his crush by asking the overly-energetic squad leader. So he quietly finished his plate, feeling just a little hint of emptiness because he missed y/n.

“Nifa, find y/n and tell her I want her in the lab tomorrow at 6am sharp.” Mike overheard Hange speaking from a couple of tables away.

“Yes captain.” Nifa quickly finished her meal and left the dining hall and eventually the headquarters. Her face made it clear that she had done this several times now and Miche was not surprised. Y/n was often in her own head and stayed out for a long time. Miche just found it unusual for her to stay out this late. It was cold outside, no person in their right mind would stay out past 8pm. He wished he knew what was going on inside the girl’s head that made her personality so withdrawn, but he did not have the time. He needed to draft a schedule for this week’s training and tests for the cadets. Just the thought of sitting in an office doing paperwork with a candlelight flickering throughout the night made him feel calm. He was extremely skilled on the field, but he liked doing paperwork too. His studious side was something only his immediate squad and other veterans were familiar with. Sometimes he couldn’t help fantasizing about sharing his study with y/n. Aside from his feelings, y/n had the brains to draft a perfect test that tapped into all the necessary skills for the next expedition. After all, that was what she had been doing before joining the survey corps, albeit in a different field. Miche stopped in his tracks as an idea struck him. He felt dumb, so dumb. He had drafted so many tests, all by himself, fully knowing that there was someone that could probably do it better than him. Fully knowing that y/n had been a psychology student, and she had perfected the theory subjects after joining the survey corps. He turned around and approached Hange.

“Would you mind if I borrow one of your soldiers for a while?”

“That depends, Miche, who are you talking about?”

“Y/n, I need her help drafting the tests tonight. I think she can do a good job.”

“You are right.. I’ll let her know.”

“Tell her to be in my office by 9;30 tonight.”

Miche left for his office to begin work, he wanted to finish as much as he could before y/n showed up. Because work was not the only thing he was concerned about. He knew exactly what he was doing, it was dubious, but he needed to do it. It was funny how a few hours ago he thought he’d never confess his feelings, but later created an opportunity to do that exact thing. He couldn’t believe himself.

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It was 9;30 sharp, and Miche heard a soft knock on his office door.

“Come in, it’s unlocked, and take a seat before me.” He said without lifting his head.

Y/n made herself comfortable and glanced over three open books and a single page. Miche was writing down questions.

“Alright y/n, I need your help drafting the question papers for tomorrow’s tests. Of course, you will be exempted from actually taking the test as a reward.”

“Understood, sir”

“Good, now I want you to create 30 questions that combine the concepts of formations, weaponry and strategy. Make them difficult, and make sure to base it upon the last 5 expeditions.”

“Alright-”

“You have 2 hours to finish this.”

“Okay..” y/n walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed a heap of books. Miche raised his eyebrows in confusion,

“How are you going to refer to that many books and finish it within time?” Miche questioned her.

“I will, don’t worry.” y/n’s sudden confidence took him aback.

“Well good luck.”

Time flew by quickly as both of them were engrossed in their work, the only sounds coming from the candle and turning of pages. It wasn’t peaceful to be precise, y/n was turning pages with such aggression it made the section commander steal glances at her. She would flip through the pages and write down important points, constantly checking the time as she worked. Her handwriting got messier as time flew by and Miche couldn’t help but notice. He could tell that y/n totally had the plan to give those cadets a hard time. She had a weak, but cocky smirk the whole time, and Miche was just glad that he was not one of the people that would need to take the test. He knew that expression and aggressive handwriting very well. She always wore that smirk while writing exams, and everytime she came out on top. Miche knew she was overcompensating for her sub-par physique and iron-deficiency that interfered with her ODM skills, but that semblance of confidence on her face always turned him on. Her hair was still messed up, she struggled to keep that twisted fringe out of her face.

“Where’s the ruler?!” Y/n asked loudly, shaking Miche out of his trance.

“Wait…” He fished out a ruler from the clutter in his drawer and handed it to y/n.

“What are you drawing?”

“A wrong diagram of the latest formation.” Y/n replied curtly.

“I see.. Good.”

Miche was organizing his drawer after finishing his work when y/n handed him the tests. It was 11;30 sharp. The ink had somehow gotten between y/n’s fingers. Miche went through all seven pages of three extremely complicated tests and shot a glance at y/n, who looked like she was awaiting his praise. She was sitting with her back straight, wide eyed and messy hair. Miche chuckled, and y/n smiled. She knew she had done those cadets dirty with her questions.

“You have a naughty side, don’t you?” “Kitten” , was the term Miche refrained from using at the end.

Y/n nodded with a cheeky grin. The section commander squinted and got up from his chair, towering over her. A faint blush crept over her cheeks as she broke eye contact with him, staring down at her feet instead. Her delicate shoulders now looked tensed up under her transparent, embroidered shoulder shawl. The pile of paperwork didn’t allow him to notice her beautiful blush pink dress. She had embroidered little flowers to accentuate her figure all the way down to her hips.

“You look beautiful in that dress.” Miche blurted out, causing her to blush harder and breathe unevenly.

“Thank you, sir..”

“Look at me when you speak.”

“O-okay..” she slowly raised her head, still not wanting to make eye contact.

“I will be straight to the point y/n… I like you, not just as a comrade.”

“Understood.” y/n was taking quick, short breaths, causing the tall blonde to get on his knees. She had gone back to her timid mouse state and he could no longer read her.

“Are you scared right now?” Miche tried hard to not sound like a creep.

“No, I like you too!”

“That’s -” he began to speak but got cut off.

“More than a comrade, if you were wondering…” she trailed off shyly. Miche kept staring at her, dumbstruck at her honest confession. This whole time he had no idea about her feelings.

"When were you planning to tell me ..?" Miche asked, pulling a chair behind him. He was still leaning towards y/n with an expression of pure shock.

"I… Never planned on saying anything." Y/n's expression saddened as she looked at him with her doe eyes.

"I can understand.". he was telling the truth. The realisation that their confessions were a result of his impulsive decision dawned on him. He couldn't take his eyes off her form. She looked anxious, fondling with her pendant in one hand.

"Do you want to take this further?" Y/n asked with a shaky voice, and his answer was immediate.

"Yes."

She looked straight into his eyes and smiled.

"Can I kiss you?" The 35 year old man felt like a teenager trying to walk on eggshells. The woman before him giggled and nodded in approval, finally lifting her hand from the pendant. She was starting to settle down, although the butterflies in her stomach made it difficult. Miche was about to lean in when she stopped him and got up from her chair.

"I forgot to lock the door." She said naughtly.

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Okay, I really wanted to turn this into a smut, but I am too chicken. 🙈🥺

[sicparvismorrigan]

Big Fun

Sam helps you feel better after you lose your temper.

Uncharted/Sam Drake/Post-U4

Viewpoint: 1st person gender-neutral reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: ~2.6k [complete]

Okay, outing myself a little here in the hopes that it’ll be a comfort to at least one other person. This happens…more often than I would like. I’m working on it.

This came about because of a discussion with @writingawaymylife thanks Aerin!

Read on Ao3

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you shitting me!”

You finally lose what little patience you had left and punch the wall. Underneath the cheap wallpaper it’s solid concrete and you instantly regret your feral outburst. There’s a millisecond of nothing before the pain comes rushing in, and then you’re bent double, clutching the wrist of your injured hand with the other and groaning.

You try and flex your fingers to check if they’re broken, but you can’t really tell. It’s too late. Your hand is numb within the minute. Shit, that’s really going to hurt in the morning.

You’re clumsy anyway, it’s the way it’s always been and the way it always will be. You know what you need to do, how you need to move, but your body won’t respond how you want it to. You’re always dropping plates and glasses, smashing them to bits. Usually when you’re already running late, and then you have to waste more time by scurrying around looking for a dustpan to get rid of the evidence.

You’re forever bumping into things, stubbing your toes and taking layers of skin off your shoulders and shins when you walk straight into doorframes. When you try and pour things you spill them more often than not. Yet more mess to clean up, yet more time wasted.

Your fingers just won’t work sometimes, often so badly it takes you multiple attempts to tie your shoes. And when it’s cold you’re practically useless. You just give up and tuck the laces into the shoes, feeling them rub through your socks, promising yourself to fix them once you’re back in the warm, everything will work out as long as you don’t trip over your own feet before you get there.

It’s the most frustrating thing in the world. Normally you can shrug it off, you’re used to it by now. But things had been going wrong all day, even without your clumsiness, and matters just came to a head.

You remember exactly what caused you to erupt into expletives and punch the wall. It had already been a frustrating day, work was a pain in the ass, as usual. All of the most awkward customers in the world had decided to descend upon you right before your break. By the time you got home you were in a pretty foul mood. Too wound up to relax, you decided to take a load of laundry downstairs to put in the washer.

You attempted to, anyway. After trying and failing 3 times to pick up the same damn sock from the floor of your room that your fingers just would not grasp, you’d given up and kicked it away under the bed in anger. Oh sure, couldn’t pick it up but you managed to land a furious kick the first time around.

Though you were trying your best to manoeuvre around the doorframe with the pile of clothes you still bumped off it with your shoulder, muttering ouch as the latch scraped your arm. Then you overcompensated by moving too much in the other direction and stubbed your toe on the corner of the door. Instant pain that made you see red.

The pile of clothes in your arms were promptly thrown on the floor in a fit of rage. That was when you punched the wall. And now you’re a sorry state, fingers throbbing and face red, trying not to scream.

Oh shit, you hear Sam moving around in his room down the hall. There’s no way he didn’t hear you. Well, this is embarrassing. There isn’t time to pick everything up and hightail it down the stairs before he catches you, not with your mangled claw out of action.

You hear his door creak open. You slowly turn around and stare guiltily at your roommate as he pokes his head around the doorframe.

“I heard…” He takes in the sight of the pile of laundry scattered on the floor and you holding up your tingling hand, still hopping from foot to foot. “Jeez, again?”

***

Sam is your friend Elena’s brother-in-law, or something like that. You aren’t clear on how exactly they’re related, but you knew her from college, long before she got married. She heard you were looking for a new roommate a few months back, and she got in touch, telling you she knew just the person.

You baulked initially when you got a phone call from her after sparse contact over the last few years. You were actually enjoying living by yourself again, though money was a bit tighter. Your last roommate was pleasant enough at first, however they soon turned out to be a nightmare, it was a relief to get rid of them. But you liked Elena a lot, and you did owe her one or two favours. For some reason she thought you and Sam would hit it off.

And much to your surprise, you did. You were a bit nervous of him to begin with, but Sam turned out to be so laid back he was almost horizontal. The perfect foil to your occasionally manic energy. Living with him was easy, there weren’t any awkward silences. If you were in the same room but didn’t feel like talking, he was fine with it.

Your apartment was pretty basic but he seemed happy there with you. He even made you dinner sometimes when you’d had a tough day and you’d just come in and flop face down on the sofa. Sam would wordlessly stand up and then half an hour later come back through to get you with the same phrase every time. “You gonna eat something, or what?”

Elena had reassured you he probably wouldn’t even be there a lot of the time. He just needed somewhere to touch base every few weeks, she turned out to be correct.

You didn’t even really know what Sam did. He didn’t appear to have a job, he was almost always home during the day and seemed to spend a lot of time on your Playstation (“our Playstation” according to Sam). But he came up with his half of the rent every month and then disappeared again for a few weeks. You didn’t ask, not your business. You’d started to find the house too quiet and empty when he wasn’t there and you were always waiting to hear the keys in the lock and his joking “Honey, I’m home!” whenever he came back.

After moving in it didn’t take him long to pick up on your quirks, or notice that you were more accident-prone than the average person. It had led to the only argument you’d ever had with him.

One time while making dinner you’d dropped a plate and cursed yourself as it cracked in half on the tiled floor. You’d stared daggers at him, daring him to say a word about it. You totally weren’t expecting what he did next.

He’d just looked at you dead in the eyes as he pushed another plate off the counter. Exactly like a cat would.

You blew up at him. “What in the hell did you do that for? Now there’s twice as many sharp bits to clear up!”

“It’s just a plate.” He had shrugged, leaning back on the counter.

“What’s your damn point?”

“That it really doesn’t matter, and that I don’t care that we’ve had to replace pretty much everything in this kitchen since I moved in.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Not everything. You owe me a plate now.”

“You know, maybe we should invest in plastic ones.”

“We are adults Sam! And it’s not good for the environment.”

“And the current… situation is not good for your bank account!”

“Just because you’re used to plastic cutlery.” Kind of a cheap shot, but you’re still mad. You’d gathered he’d done jail time, but you didn’t dare ask what for, or how long. You caught him saying weird things sometimes and eventually realised it was because his concept of time was a little warped. He kept referring to the 90’s like it was only last week, instead of nearly 20 years ago.

Sam just laughed at your plastic cutlery comment, not at all offended. “Yeah, and I like living here so much I’m willing to do that if it means you’ll stop beating yourself up.”

“I’ll think about it.” You grumbled. But you got some plastic cups and plates on your way home from work the next day. Sam was right, it was a lot better, though it made you feel like a kid again.

As you’d gotten more comfortable with Sam you’d given up trying to hide the fact you were a walking health hazard and didn’t stifle your curses anymore.

At first he seemed amused by your clumsiness, he even laughed the first few times you did something stupid. But he quickly realised how upsetting your lack of control over your own limbs was for you, because it happened so damn often. He stopped making fun as soon as he noticed you couldn’t laugh it off with him. It wasn’t a joke to you. From then on he’d been surprisingly nice, he always attempted to make you feel better when it got too much.

***

Even so, right now as you were having a stand-off with him in the hallway, you gritted your teeth and tried to keep your voice even. Stay calm, he’s just concerned. “Yes, again.”

“What did it ever do to you? Y’know, standing there, being all wall-like…stopping our house from collapsing?”

“I lost my temper again. Punched the damn thing.”

He shook his head. “I’ve told you, you’ve got to look after those hands.”

“But they’re so fuc-“ You stop and sigh when he raises an eyebrow. Calm. “Flipping useless. I’m useless.”

“Not true.” Sam steps out of his room and walks in your direction. On the way he kicks a rogue sock back onto the main pile of mess on the floor. “Take that, you scoundrel.”

“I just wish my brain worked normally.”

“Your brain is fine. Your music taste on the other hand.” Sam moved his hand up and down in an ‘ehhhhhh’ motion and shook his head. “No no.”

He’s kidding, of course he is. Damn his sense of humour. But you don’t feel like smiling just yet. It still fucking hurts. “I think I broke something this time.” You really thumped the wall. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve actually done damage.

“You want me to check?”

“Please.”

You hold out your hand for him and he carefully wiggles and stretches your fingers one by one, watching your face for any reaction. You wince once he gets to your thumb. Oh, that one hurts the worst.

“No, thumb on the inside? For real?” Sam looked at you in disbelief.

“Apparently so.”

“That’ll learn you. That’s like rule number one of punching anything.”

You sigh. “Anything broken?”

“No, we’re all good. But keep your thumb on the outside next time or you really will break it.”

“Surprisingly, I wasn’t really focusing on technique that much. Oh hey, you should check this one again.” You hold your middle finger aloft.

“Very funny.” But he smirks at you, knowing he’s helping you feel better.

“Come on, you do that one to me all the time.”

“Learning from the best, what can I say? Oh, shit…” Sam’s staring past you.

“What, what’s wrong?” You glance back in the direction he’s looking.

Sam moves to the wall, right where you just punched and looks at you in faux-panic. “I need a medic!”

“Really?” You watch in amazement as he starts to do something to the wall which looks an awful lot like the chest compressions from CPR. Wow, he’s very committed to this bit.

“We’re losing them!”

“Sam, there’s barely a scuff on the wallpaper. I definitely came off worse.”

“I need a crash cart stat!” He yells at nobody in particular.

“Jesus Christ. You’ve been watching too many daytime medical dramas.” You just shake your head, but the corners of your mouth are threatening to twitch upwards.

“Have not…Beeeeeeeeeep! Aw, we lost them. RIP.” He finally steps away from the wall and shrugs. “I tried.”

“You’re such a goofball.” At least you’re smiling now.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it? Frown upside down.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You really did a number on that wall though, huh? I heard it all the way down there. Hell, I felt it. Made the stuff on the shelves rattle.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a bad day. A really bad day. People are assholes.” You glance down at the pile of laundry still littering the floor. “I should pick this up.”

“Do you have to right now?”

“Well, yeah…I was on the way downstairs to wash it.”

“I’m not sure the structural integrity of our house could take it if you had another…incident on the way to the washer. That wall’s concrete but you’re gonna end up going clean through one of the others. Then you’ll lose our security deposit.”

“My security deposit.”

“Right, right, right. That doesn’t mean you can punch holes wherever you like.”

“You could fix it though if I did?”

“Yeah, I guess. Y’know, I’ve never really asked you about it before, but talk me through it, what goes on in your head right before you flip out?”

“I don’t know, I just…see red and it happens before I can stop it.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s nodding. Bizarrely, he doesn’t look too freaked out to you admitting you pretty much go into berserker mode over minor inconveniences. “I know you can’t do anything about having 2 left feet, but you can do something about letting it get to you.”

“What, count to 10 or something?” You ask, mocking. Like you haven’t heard that one before.

“Yeah, seriously.” You get the impression he’s talking from experience. “It works, don’t question it.”

Screw it, he’s being really nice. At least he understands it’s not because you’re an idiot, it’s because your brain isn’t wired like most peoples. And he was right about the plastic plates. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“And you come tell me if this thing pisses you off again, I’ll deal with it.” Sam shakes his fist at the wall. He really is an idiot sometimes. But he does make you laugh. He’s your idiot.

“Gotcha.” You give him a thumbs-up with both hands, wincing again, the movement hurts.

He gives you a sly look. “How about you flex those fingers, and we play a game awhile. Crash Bandicoot maybe?”

“Again? I’ve got loads to do….” You fidget anxiously. you know what he’s up to though. Trying to get you to chill out.

“Just for a little bit. Scared I’ll beat ya?”

“Pffft, not even close, but I’m at a disadvantage this time.” There’s still no way he can win.

“I resent that, I’m getting pretty good.”

“You just mash the buttons.” It’s a fact and he knows it.

“C’mon, c’mon. I gotta at least beat your high score before I have to leave again.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’m in. Let’s go!” You nod in the direction of the stairs.

“Loser deals with that later on.” He points at the abandoned pile of laundry on the floor.

“Deal, don’t go easy on me.” You step around it and follow him to the sitting room. Even with a crippled hand you’re pretty sure you can thrash him. “Elena and I used to play this in college, wonder if she still has it…”

***

Thank you for reading!

Yeah…I am not just clumsy, I am more like ‘danger to myself and others’ levels of uncoordinated. But I can’t be the only one! Don’t worry, Sam’s got your back ;) Also the title is the song Big Fun from Heathers the Musical because once again it has invaded my life. The whole soundtrack has been on a loop for days now. I LOVE IT. Punch the wall and start a fight!

- Sam Drake and Elena Fisher belong to Naughty Dog/the Uncharted creative team and I (sadly) take no ownership of them.

- This work is not for profit though it belongs to me and I must be credited when copying or reposting elsewhere

- As mentioned before reader is intended to be gender-neutral so please interpret this fic however you like. This is my first x Reader fic published and first g/n reader viewpoint I’ve attempted so I hope I did okay. I myself identify as mostly female so that’s what I normally write because it’s easier for me to connect with. But this was fun.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet (1)

Warnings: this series will be a shorter one and will include blood/blood kink, cutting, noncon, and other triggers to be warned in future parts.

This features Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and is explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You unintentionally find yourself at an awkward impasse with your boyfriend's best friend.

Note:

So, I’m transferring this over from ao3! It’s two parts so far but I just kept procrastinating so if you didn’t see it over there, here it is on Tumblr.

I love you all and I always cherish your feedback and comments and wouldn't mind some on this piece here as well. It's never an obligation but always loved.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It felt like you were always waiting on Steve. He was an important man and his time was equally as important. It wasn’t a surprise that he was so divided between his personal and professional life and you weren’t bitter for it. You learned to live with it. It was a precious sort of patience knowing that when his time was yours, it was spent without waste.

You sat with your phone pressed to your thigh. You were early but when it came to Steve, you were always early. You’d headed over right after work and he warned you his meeting might go late. You didn’t mind the wait so much. You knew most of his colleagues in the tower and it was almost like a second home.

You flipped your phone and checked the time again. You frowned. Even if time passed quickly, it felt too long. Those minutes dwindling that you could be with Steve. You couldn’t be upset; his work was demanding and at times, dire. And he was worth the wait.

As you sighed and flicked through your apps, looking for a distraction, you were startled by a shadow in your peripheral. Bucky had a habit of sneaking up on you and everyone else. His steps were light and measured. You glanced over as he waved to you with two fingers, his other hand clung to a slender metal box. You eyed it as you said ‘hello’ and dropped your phone into your purse.

“Waiting on Steve again?” He stopped on the other side of the empty chair behind you.

“He’s just wrapping up,” you shrugged, “What are you still doing here? You’re usually the first one out.”

“Oh, uh, just picking something up,” he gestured to the box. “Thought I’d stick around and get some practice in.”

You raised a brow and looked at the box again. “Well, what’s the mystery?”

“Ah,” he sat beside you and shifted in the chair. He rested the box on his leg and gripped the lid. He stopped himself and peered over at you. “I lent this to Sam on a mission and he didn’t return it in one piece.” He slowly unclasped the case and opened it. “It’s my favourite combat knife. A kabar. Not standard army issue, but I made a barter for it as we were taking over for a company of Marines.”

You eyed the long knife and its thick handle. Your eyes rounded. You weren’t unused to the presence of weapons but Bucky was so casual about it, it was almost scary.

“Oh,” you blinked, “Wait, you mean, way back…”

“1944.” He declared as he took it off the cushion, “It’s a relic. Well, the handle at least.” He balanced it with his vibranium finger, “You see?”

He turned the handle towards you. You eyed the butt where three letters had been engraved along the metal joint; JBB. You tilted your head as you leaned closer.

“Here,” he made it wobble, “Take it.”

“What? No… I don’t think I should,” you laughed.

“Go on. It’s fine.” He goaded, “What else are you gonna do? Your old man’s sure taking his time.”

“I’m not to be trusted with sharp objects,” you kidded, “If Steve was here, he’d tell you as much.”

“Boo,” he chided, “Don’t worry. I’ve trained greener than you. Just keep your hand on the handle and your fine.”

He waved the handle toward you and you tutted. Reluctantly, you accepted the knife and held it to the light as you admired the blade. It was large and you shuddered as you imagined it slicing through human flesh. You had no doubt it would do so easily.

“It’s a nice knife,” you remarked as you turned it in your hand, “Here.”

You slowly offered it to him but in your haste to be rid of the kabar, it slid in your grasp. You overcompensated for the slip and fumbled it completely. Without thinking and against Bucky’s sudden ‘don’t’, you tried to catch it before it could fall. The edge of the blade sliced your palm before the knife embedded in the floor.

You hissed and recoiled as you held your hand. Bucky shoved the metal box from his thigh and lowered it onto the floor. He turned to you and stared at your bloody palm as you tried to stems the flow.

“Shit,” he searched his pockets, “Are you okay?”

He got up and grabbed the box of tissues from the table on the other side of you. He sat again and pressed a wad of six tissues to your hand as he cradled it. He pushed and you winced with a whimper.

“Gotta apply pressure to slow the flow,” he said, “You’re fine. Probably just need some stitches.”

“Stitches?” You gulped, “Oh.”

You felt woozy as the sight of your own blood. You flinched as he clung to your hand, sandwiched between both of his as the tissue turned red. You heard footsteps along the next hall and you peeked over your shoulder as another appeared at behind you.

“Hey, you two,” Steve chimed, “Funny you ran into--” He choked on his words and rushed forward. “Woah, what happened?”

Steve knelt beside your chair and as good as snatched your hand from Bucky. The movement made your hand throb and Bucky watched Steve with a frown. He stood with a grumble and retrieved his knife from the floor and scooped up the box. Steve moved into the empty chair without looking.

“What were you doing?” Steve snapped.

“I dropped his knife. I was… well, you know how clumsy I can be.” You shook your head, “I’m fine.”

“His knife?” Steve looked back at Bucky and quickly turned back to you, “You let her play with that thing?”

“She’s not a kid, Steve,” Bucky sniffed.

“Maybe not but she got hurt,” Steve snipped.

Bucky pursed his lips and was silent Steve continued to mop up the blood as you watched the other man. Bucky lifted the knife and looked it over. You saw a tint of red along its edge and his blue eyes traced it before he lowered it into the case. He snapped it shut and held it in his metal hand as he left bloody fingerprints on it with his other.

He paused and held up his real hand. He turned it and looked at you between his fingers. His cheek twitched and his eyes returned to his stained flesh. His mouth curved slightly and he brought his fingers closer to his face and seemed to smell them. You gasped as Steve jostled your hand and Bucky poked out his tongue to drag it over your blood as it dripped his knuckles. His fingertips lingered on his lips and he pushed two fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. He took a deep breath and his dusky eyes bore into you. You were stunned. Were you hallucinating from blood loss? It couldn’t be that bad.

You looked down and Steve checked beneath the tissues.

“Come on. We should head down to Med and get you some stitches,” Steve stood and drew you up with him. With your hand in one of his, he reached over and took your purse from the table. “Well, now you know not to play with knives.” Steve spun and pulled you along, “And you know not to let her.” He reproached Bucky.

“She’s fine. It’s shallow.” Bucky said, though his voice was thick and stunted.

“This time,” Steve rebuffed and kept, “Come on, sweetheart.”

“See ya later, I guess,” Bucky called after you.

“Later,” Steve said sharply without pause.

🩸

Steve didn’t stay mad for long, if he ever was. His worry often got the best of him. He even said it himself and apologized. He dealt with enough blood on the job, he didn’t need it at home. You agreed it was stupid but it wasn’t Bucky’s fault; it was just an accident. You promised, at least, to stick to kitchen knives.

You also made sure that Steve apologized to Bucky. You felt bad after you were all stitched up and thought of the defeat in his voice. Yet, you couldn’t shake the image of Bucky licking your blood from his fingers. You were sure you’d imagined it. You had to have. You had been in so much pain and it had all happened so fast…

You pushed the thoughts away. You were stupid. It didn’t happen. Bucky wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t do that. He just wouldn’t.

A week passed. You didn’t see him again, even when you waited for Steve. Stark was hosting another event and the tower was in a frenzy. Steve was being awarded for his humanitarian work and while Tony didn’t like sharing the spotlight, his name would be mentioned enough to assuage his ego.

Saturday came and you enjoyed a quiet morning as Steve went over his speech and you got ready together. You were still unused to being attached to him at these events; the cameras made you tense and the strangers had you reaching for another wine glass. He made it easier though; he reassured you when in doubt and was able to easily sweep you away from any awkward situation. Steve wasn’t the just the world’s saviour, he was yours.

You arrived and followed Steve past the press. He stopped to say a few words and take some photos but didn’t tarry long.

“Come on,” he pulled you through the doors, “There’ll be enough pictures inside.”

“Ow,” you moaned as he grabbed your bandaged hand.

“Shit, sorry,” he hooked his arm through yours instead, “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“Me either.” You laughed.

“You know, if you knew how to keep hold of a knife, you might actually be a worthy opponent.”

“Maybe,” you poked his arm, “You better hope I never learn how.”

He chuckled and guided you around the bodies around you. Again, he stopped for pictures and bulbs flashed as he stood against a curtain backdrop. He greeted those he knew and patiently smiled at the introductions of those he didn’t. You stayed close as he made certain to include you in each interaction. He never forgot about you and when formalities were over, he hugged your waist and sighed.

He led you to your assigned seats and you were happy to see familiar faces waiting for you, Nat, Wanda, Vision, Tony, and Pepper sat with drinks already half-gone as Bucky approached the table. You averted your eyes as he came to Steve and claimed the chair on his other side.

“How’s your hand?” Bucky asked as you sat.

“Healing,” you showed your bandage, “And your knife? It’s still in one piece?”

“I think it did a lot more damage on you,” he grinned and stared at you a moment before he turned to Steve, “Nervous yet?”

“Shut up, Buck,” Steve felt around his jacket and patted the cue cards hidden there.

“Oh come on, you’re always great,” Bucky scoffed.

“Compared to you? Easy.” Steve smirked.

“Hey,” Bucky elbowed him.

You reached for the glass of white wine and sipped. Natasha caught your attention as she asked about your dress and you lost yourself in a conversation about Wanda’s favourite soap.

Finally, the ceremony began as the tables quieted and Steve pulled your hand over onto his thigh as he squeezed it nervously. You ignored the pain it caused and leaned against him.

“You’ll be alright,” you whispered.

He smiled and turned to kiss your cheek. “How am I gonna think of anything but getting that dress off tonight?”

“Steve,” you uttered and rubbed his thumb with yours.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed and nuzzled your temple before he looked forward again.

You clung to his hand even as it made the bandage chafe against your stitches. You tried to listen but found yourself squirming. His words lingered and you felt giddy. It had been a few days; the two of you worn out from your jobs, your plans often ended in you falling asleep before they could come to fruition.

When Steve was called to accept his award, the crowd stood and you did too. As they applauded, you clapped the back of your hand with other. As Steve made his way to the stage, you felt a shift beside you. A warm scent rose in your nostrils, a subtle cologne, and you felt an arm brush against yours.

“Mmmm,” Bucky hummed as he stood close.

You looked over at him as he grinned, his eyes on the stage. You shook your head and turned back to watch Steve.

“You tasted delicious,” he muttered as he leaned closer. Your hands froze and he reached to touch the back of the bandage wound around it.

You bit down and didn’t dare look at him. You resumed your pathetic applause as Steve climbed onto the stage and Bucky clapped loudly beside you. As the audience quieted and sat, he reluctantly resumed his own seat, Steve’s empty chair between you.

You shivered as Steve stood behind the microphone. He bent his cue cards then peeked at them before he began to speak. You were distracted as you sensed something beside you. You peered over as Bucky’s fingertips tapped against his thigh.

His eyes caught yours and he bowed his head. You looked down again as he brushed his hand over his crotch and pushed his shoulders back. Your eyes flicked up to his face and he winked. You tore your gaze away as your ears buzzed and you could barely decipher Steve’s voice. It wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. And yet, that ache between your legs was even more persistent.

🩸

Steve’s hands were on you before you even closed the door. All night, he’d been sneaking touches; your arm, your hip, your ass. His eyes stuck to you now and then as he took in the praise of another admirer but you could tell, despite his nods, he wasn’t really in the moment.

You heard the lock click as he tugged at the back of your dress. You looked back at him and giggled.

“At least let me get these damn things off,” you looked at the strappy heels.

“Fuck your shoes,” he spun you to him and turned you against the slim table beside the shoe mat. “I’ve waited long enough.”

He lifted you onto the table and your shoulders hit the wall. You braced the edge as he pushed between your legs and crashed his lips into yours. Your cheeks burned and the sensation spread through your body as he crumpled your skirt in his fingers, pulling it further and further up your legs.

You grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pushed it down his shoulders. He rescinded his arms long enough to shed it and let it drop to the floor with a woosh. You yanked on his tie as you kept your mouth moving against his. He forced your skirt higher and you lifted your ass as the cool air brushed the thin fabric of your panties.

He purred and you squeezed him between your thighs. You fiddled with his belt until it came undone and quickly unzipped his fly. You rolled his pants down and hooked your thumbs in the elastic of his brief. You drew your hands to the front and pulled the top of his underwear down past his erection.

You stroked him and he gasped into your mouth. He threw his head back and shoved his hand between your legs. He pulled aside the crotch of your pants and slid his fingers along your folds. He teased you and cradled your face as he kissed you again. Your legs bent in anticipation.

You continued to tease his length as you moved closer to him. You guided him along your cunt as his fingers played with your clit. He smeared your arousal along his tip and you angled him against your entrance. He pushed into you, nearly taking you off the table as he gripped your chin and nibbled at your bottom lip.

He thrust as you teetered on the edge, his thumb pressed to your bud. You moaned and hung your head back. He hummed as his hand slipped down to your neck and his thick fingers spread over your throat. He held you firmly, as if he were tempted to squeeze as he rocked. You felt the pressure threaten for an instant and he let out a heavy breath. His hand fell to your chest and he fondled you as his hips kept a steady rhythm.

You arched your back and kept a hand on the table as you moved with him. He rubbed your clit as he pulled your dress down below your tits. He tweaked your nipple and buried his face in your neck. You panted as you bent your legs around him and welcomed him even deeper.

He grunted loudly through laboured breaths as the fabric of your clothing caught and clung between your bodies. You grasped the back of his neck as he plunged into you over and over. Your core thrummed and bumps rose along your skin. You whined as your orgasm blossomed and fell over you in a haze. Your eyes rolled back and you held onto Steve desperately as you longed for more.

He pushed you back until you were against the wall and snaked his hand under your leg. He pushed your knee up so that your foot was by his head and slammed into you. He pinned you and rutted with eager growls. Your lashes fluttered and you stared back at his fiery blue eyes. He watched you as you writhed and whimpered.

He leaned his forehead against yours and his hot breath surrounded you. He groaned and muffled his climax as it shook his body. He jerked into you sharply as he came and the table knocked the wall with each tilt of his hips. He kept on until he was breathless and you were splayed and tender around him.

He brought two fingers up under your chin and kissed you. His hand fell and he played with the loose strap of your dress as it sagged down your arm.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” He asked as he b`rushed his nose against yours.

“You think you’ll make it that far,” you murmured.

“We’ll get there,” he lifted you and kept you around him. “Eventually.”

[100hearteyes]

Part 2 of Clarke And Lexa Make a Porno, because why the fuck not.

Part 1.

"No. Absolutely not."

Anya's wolfish grin is no good omen. Lexa feels a sense of dread wash over her and tries in vain to assuage her nerves by holding her friend's gaze. Anya wouldn't look this sure if she didn't have some card up her sleeve.

Lexa throws a furtive glance around, checks that her co-workers are still focused on the German porn telenovela. It's only when she's sure that the action on-screen will keep them rooted for a while that she turns back to Anya, trying but failing to meet her eyes.

She overcompensates with another glance around the room and a low hiss. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I not too," she licks her lips, gathering the courage, "'vanilla' to do it?"

Anya shrugs like it's a no-brainer; crosses her arms and props her booted feet on Lexa's desk. "That's exactly the point. You're a lesbian Disney princess. Pretty sure if you started singing the whole fucking fauna of Capitola would follow you around."

Lexa levels Anya with a glare and tries to push her feet off the desk, to no avail.

(Seriously, what's it worth being editor if she can't even have her subjects' respect? She wishes this job was less about the headaches and more about the self-indulgent moments of microscopic tyranny.)

The feet might not budge, but Anya will. Lexa is sure of it. She draws herself taller and tucks on her most authoritative scowl. "I won't do it."

Anya plucks an imaginary cigarette from her mouth and throws it away without a care in the world. She reaches behind her and drags forth a heavy wooden box, filled to the brim with—

"My vinyls."

Lexa is in a daze.

She thought she'd lost all her vinyls to time and moving. She mourned each one of them for at least a year, cried many a night away clutching her record player to dear life, lamenting their shared loss.

They had a real connection.

But it turns out her vinyls weren't lost after all, and her tears were for naught. They were safe all along, albeit in different hands, and she'd known nothing of it, like a mother who lets her children wander about without aim nor authority.

How can she ever have kids if she can't even take care of her prized vinyls?

Lexa feels a prick of self-righteous indignation at the betrayal and puffs out her chest. "Why do you have all my vinyls?"

"I think you mean all my vinyls," Anya corrects with a lazy flurry of one hand towards the box.

"You don't even own a record player."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her friend. "I come over all the time?"

"I could hide it while you're there."

"And then you'd never find it again, because that's what happens every time you try to hide something from me."

Anya shrugs and watches as Lexa picks one of the vinyls and turns it over in her hands, reading the track list on the back with the reverence one would a millennium-old parchment. Then she looks up at Anya with a stern glare.

"Over half of these were stolen from my house."

Anya shrugs again with infuriating nonchalance and Lexa wishes she had a pencil nearby just so she could snap it in two with one hand. Or stab one of Anya's eyes with it.

"Maybe I just rescued them from the actual malefactor," drawls Anya.

"We both know the real culprit sits across from me and has been wearing the same socks for the past three weeks."

Nailed it.

When she looks at her friend, however, all she sees is that same old resting bitch face that never seems to go away.

"Wow, Lexa," Anya deadpans. "Now you've really hurt my feelings."

Sometimes, Lexa wonders if Anya really has a rock where her heart should be. A supernatural, blood-pumping rock, of course, but a rock nonetheless. Or, maybe, Anya is a psychopath. Maybe the blood money theory wasn't so far-fetched after all. That would explain the brazen lack of empathy for everyone else's feelings, most of all Lexa's. What does it say about Lexa that her one true friend is someone who sneezes literally every time Lexa says 'I love you'?

Not that Lexa says it a lot. Only once or twice every few years.

Just enough to have noticed the pattern.

"Are you really trying to blackmail me with vinyls?"

Anya fakes an affronted gasp, laying a hand on her heart. "Would I ever. Think of it as... an incentive."

Lexa really does love Anya, despite her friend's... unique demeanor. Anya helps her come out of her shell — by taking up all the space and forcing her out of her own metaphorical home — and every once in a while she likes to make sure Anya is aware of her gratitude. Sometimes, though, things get really fucking weird.

Lexa would still do anything for her best friend.

"Let's imagine, hypothetically - very hypothetically," she stresses, although Anya's burgeoning smirk tells Lexa she isn't so easily fooled, "that I agreed. What would happen next?"

Anya takes her feet off Lexa's desk and sits up straighter, perhaps aware of the importance of this moment. This, Lexa decides, will determine her answer.

"Well first, I'd have to get you a costar. Then we'd sign some legally binding shit, find a crew, and make the damn movie. Simple as that."

Anya leans forward, looking into her eyes. In Anya's, she sees honesty and a pressing need to reassure. It takes some of the pressure off her shoulders right away.

"Look, Lexa, you can say no. But your name won't be on anything related to the movie and I promise no one in this shitty town will ever find out you did this."

This is why Anya is Lexa's best friend. And it's why Lexa would do anything for her.

Even star in a porno.

"Okay."

Anya's inner smile must be really, really big, because Lexa knows how hard she tries to tamper its outward expression — and still her lips manage to lift into a grotesque grimace. Coming from Anya, it's the equivalent of a blissful grin.

"Okay?"

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, bracing herself for a bone-crushing hug. It never comes. When she opens her eyes, Anya's resting bitch face is back on.

"What, did you want a fucking hug?"

It's a blessing to have her rude friend back, Lexa guesses, because seeing Anya almost smile is fifty shades of unsettling. So she rolls her eyes and rolls with it.

Her next question demands her full focus, lest she makes an even bigger fool of herself than usual.

Lexa breathes in, makes sure all her co-workers are still otherwise entertained, breathes out. Smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her pants, wets her lips for courage.

"Anyway," she treads with caution, "do you have someone in mind for the other main role?"

It's fitting that Harper McIntyre's hit song One More Betyreyal (one of her less inspired titles, if Lexa may say so) starts playing in that moment, for the look in Anya's eyes speaks of nothing but danger. Lexa wonders how much planning went into this conversation, so Anya could plan all her gut punches in advance.

"Clarke Griffin."

No. No. Anyone but her.

Clarke Griffin is the new recruit, although Lexa hardly understands how there can be someone new considering the station is broke and they’re already overstaffed — and none of them make nearly enough money for how much they laze around all day.

Clarke came from out of town with a fancy degree and was directly hired as an editor. She voices the early afternoon newscasts and Lexa curses the one-hour period during which she's forced to cohabitate with Clarke every day.

Apparently, Clarke had taken a liking to unnerving her, be it by smirking at her every time she catches Lexa staring or by making all sorts of inappropriate comments — to her ear. Lexa hates how much it affects her, but how can she possibly focus on reporting about Lionel "Real Sight" Foster swallowing his own wooden eye or how Jasper Jordan rescued his own private parts from the jaws of two slats of an unassuming park bench if someone keeps doing everything in their power to distract her?

Lexa has a theory (an iron-clad theory, if she may say so herself), and it's that Clarke is trying to get her fired so she can take her shift. It's the best shift of the day. There is no other possible explanation.

"You know what, I take it back. Now you need to convince two people to star in your porno."

"Oh, there's no need." Anya waves her argument away with staggering nonchalance. "Clarke's already said yes."

Wait, what? "But you told me we'd need to get me a costar."

Anya shrugs and Lexa is now seriously considering revisiting her psychopath theory. "I lied."

"You conniving, lying b—"

"Careful," Anya cuts in with a raised eyebrow. "I am under protection of the Capitola Astrologers Union."

"Of which you are president, treasurer, and the only legal member," Lexa reminds her. "And I think any upstanding judge would love to know how exactly every other name on the list has joined said union posthumously."

"I am an astrologer, Lexa. I can communicate with the dead. It's in my job description."

"It scares me that you're not even aware you're describing an entirely different profession."

Lexa sits back, staring at the ceiling (and the chewing gum Murphy glued there a year ago — he could've been an Olympic jumper if he committed to work the way he does to being an asshole), trying to come to terms with a single, harrowing probability: she's going to star in a porno with Clarke Griffin.

"l don't understand why it has to be Clarke."

Anya leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, expression serious and ready to talk shop. The last time Lexa saw her like this was— actually, Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen Anya like this.

"Look, I've done some market analysis and most girl on girl pairings are a blonde and a brunette." Anya raises both her hands and starts counting off fingers, "Brittana, Petramos, Holstein, Wayhaught, Supercorp, Joanarty, Choni, the inaptly named Shoni, Deanoru, Dana and Alice, Bette and Tina, Catradora, Villaneve, Clexa—"

"What's Clexa?"

"I don't know, some chicks from this fucking terrible CW show."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like what?"

"Clexa."

"Dude, I don't even know their fucking names!" Anya exclaims, exasperated. As if she's the victim here. "The only Clexa I ship is you and Blondie. Naked. On my porno. Clarke and Lexa. Clexa. Havin' very hot sexa."

"Smart," Lexa deadpans.

"I know."

"Why can't it be Niylah? She's blonde, too."

Anya's smirk is five hundred shades of gross. "I know you'd love to get up close and personal with Niylah's knick-knacks, but no."

Lexa decides to let the comment fly for the sake of her own sanity.

"Why Clarke, though?"

"Because you two have chemistry, you fucking dimwit."

Lexa snorts. Chemistry. Lexa has never heard of something so absurd. She and Clarke have as much chemistry as Harper McIntyre and any semblance of originality.

Which is to say, none at all.

"She makes very inappropriate comments," she argues instead, knowing full well that pressing on the topic of chemistry will only open way for some trademark crass joke from Anya.

"Yeah," her friend agrees, like it's obvious. "Because she knows you love them."

She most certainly does not.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Your freakishly tiny ears go red whenever she flirts with you. Your step falters when she makes one of those comments, for fuck's sake," Anya observes, pointing in Lexa's general direction, before leaving forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you, my friend, are a walking lesbian cliché."

Lexa takes Anya's hand off her shoulder. "Can you please stop insulting my tragically conspicuous homosexuality?"

"Oh please," Anya scoffs. "I'm bisexual, I can say whatever I want."

"If my step actually faltered - which they don't - it would be because her comments are annoying, off-putting, unprofessional, inopportune, and... and inappropriate", she finishes lamely.

"And you fucking love them."

"I don't."

Anya leans back on her chair with an evil smirk, propping her feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa tries to push them off to no avail.

"Legalities aside, it's very simple. Clarke has already said yes. I just recorded you saying yes."

Lexa sputters, "You what--"

"You're both legally bound now." Anya shrugs. "Look at it this way: it will be very educational. You'll finally learn how to make a girl come, and get paid for it. Sort of."

A beat of silence.

"Anya, are you aware that you say something at least vaguely criminal every five sentences? Something that could actually put you in prison?"

Anya clicks her tongue, sinking farther into her chair, and lowers her sunglasses to her eyes.

"I've got friends everywhere, Lex. Let's just say I've dipped more than my fingers in my fair share of pies, if you catch my drift." A second later, she lowers her sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyes. "That means my tongue. My tongue's been in a lot of pies, too."

Lexa doesn't doubt that for a second.

"What I need to know is," Anya adds, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them across the room, "will you dip your fingers in the porn pie?"

Like this conversation hasn't caused enough trauma for thirty lifetimes.

"If I say no, will you still give me back my vinyls?"

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lexa swallows, clenches her jaw, and thinks of all those lonely nights spent in the couch clutching her record player and sharing cookie dough ice cream with it, longing for long-gone times when she'd dance to the mellow voices of the likes Billy Ocean and Ella Fitzgerald.

"My answer is yes."

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep 14: So If You Put a Fraction Into a Duel Disk, the Card Explodes

We left on quite the cliffhanger last episode, so I’ll fill you in:

I did not get the haircut.

Like I seriously considered getting a Zigfried for a cool 3 or 4 minutes there, but then I decided to wait a couple of days and I basically forgot.

But, back to the arc finale, Seto has decided to walk, not run, to the Kaiba lab in order to fix the virus rapidly eating his entire company.

I just want to point out that Zigfried went through a LOT of work to get Seto Kiaba to go “uggggh” turn around, and pretend to calmly walk away. I’m used to Seto losing his nut kind of a lot and blowing things up but this season he’s like “be chill be chill be chill” so that the entire world doesn’t think he’s a spaz on TV.

And little aside about Seto’s design choices here, I fell down a hole of interior design videos, and can I just say: apparently these wood frame things on the wall are back in style? Good on you, 2002(3?) Seto Kaiba. Don’t think that current designers are painting them purple but...we’re halfway there to Yugioh fashion.

Meanwhile, Pharaoh decides to remind everyone that these stakes are hella low. The worst that happens is that Zigfried deletes the plane that Yugi needs to fly home...which would be an impressive virus.

Like it’s hard to tell if Yami even has a solid concept of “capitalism” and whether or not he cares about or understands the makeup of Seto’s company (which up till now has operated like a small country and not a business...which is a little more Pharaoh’s understanding. Either way...hard to tell if Yami would shed two tears for the loss of Kaiba corp.)

And, despite what I say in the caps, I feel like Leon and Zigfried are the first villains we’ve ever had that Yugi and Pharaoh didn’t unintentionally disclose that they are 2 people to. Zigfried and Leon are just...completely oblivious to how effed up Yugi’s bean is. They think that’s just a normal kid and lol no dudes...y’all got distracted by Seto Kabia but you have a literal Egyptian God just hovering around in the background and dating 3 people by accident.

Like when the show shelves the main storyline, it is very funny how it’s all “And we’re gonna put the Pharaoh crisis on hold--just put a pin in it. No one will notice this child is two nervous wrecks stitched together” and then Yugi and Yami just kinda hold it in and watch all patiently until it’s their turn to get off the bench.

(read more under the cut)

In the giant computer tower, Seto Kaiba shouts out a string of orders and numbers, admired the many sonar detector looking windows open on every monitor, and then sat down at his desk to like...check the firewall, I guess?

The virus is past the firewall. It’s um...it’s inside the firewall, pretty sure that was the point, but youknow, it’s a kid’s show so they’re just throwing out computer stuff that has no meaning to the writers of this show.

Mokuba thinks fondly of how Seto Kaiba has never screwed him over (which I mean...maybe not on purpose, ((except for that one time he did screw him over on purpose to get Gozaburo Kaiba to accidentally give Seto Kaiba the company, but you could say that was a grander scheme that he knew Mokuba would see through, which...)) but Seto certainly has screwed Mokuba over accidentally. At least once.)

And meanwhile, Yami fixes everything through card shenanigans.

So here’s the shenanigan this episode: I don’t go over cards here but this one requires a limited amount of explanation.

So every round the golden castle deletes half of Yugi’s cards. So he was like...I’ll just draw down to one card. They can’t delete half a card...so that means the card must delete one of the two cards on the field which means it must delete itself.

...which is like the closest Yugioh will probably ever get to abusing a glitch to do a speedrunning tactic like GDQ.

Anyway, like I stated in the title: there are no fractions allowed in Yugioh. If you do that to your priceless one-of-a-kind card you got from winning one of Pegasus’ murder tournies, it will irreparably bust the card.

I’m sure at least one of you will correct me with the proper way to insert a fraction into your duel disk. Cuz like...as I say multiple times so we never forget, I barely pay attention to this card game and I’m just flying by the seat of my pants.

I want to say Seto and Mokuba were in the hacker chairs for like...3 minutes maybe before they realized “oh...Yugi fixed it...” and walked the half a mile back to the duel arena.

and also, as I’m looking at Seto’s glasses here, I just realized...all of Kaiba’s team wears sunglasses all the time. Inside, outside, night, or day...

They haven’t outright said this...but what if those aren’t sunglasses?

Is Roland and that other Roland wearing fancy cyber glasses? They are, right? Because they wear them indoors?

Damn, they can’t take a piss without being on call with Kaiba Corp, can they?

Now the problem is...Yugi played all of his cards (he has two in front of him face down, but none in his deck) and after milling himself, this means he’s now basically a sitting duck for Leon to take the title of “King of Games.”

Leon insists that he defend whatever scraps are left of his card honor and not duel a person who is carrying no cards and Yugi was like “COME AT ME BRO THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I KNOW I’M ALIVE.”

He didn’t even have to do a horror on Leon, he just...played cards good? I skipped it, I’ll be honest, but overall Leon’s card honor was...saved? Maybe? I mean he also go destroyed when his competitor had not a single card in his duel disk so...

...Leon will have to work on his card honor off screen because he’s pretty well humiliated at this point.

But stumbling onto the playing field like he’s half dazed/daydrunk, Zigfried is like “You forgot I already won, bastards!”

Which is when we find out that Zigfried’s “delete all” virus failed to press “enter” and deleted basically nothing. Just like when my Mom attempts to send something in Gmail but doesn’t press “Send” and tells me that Google is down and broken.

Sorry my bro has informed me that he ALSO has had to help my Mother locate the “Send” button and I just...I know she absolutely did that but I’m in denial that this Riddle of the Sphinx has happened to her multiple times.

Honestly, the pep talk we get from Leon at the end to cheer up his bro was a whole lot of “we will pick ourselves up and we’ll do better next time. Together.” and sure you can translate that as “we’ll be honest next time” or you can translate that as “next time we will be not nearly as obvious about inserting a virus into their computer until it is done doing the job, bro.”

Just like Dartz, we didn’t really get a whole lot of retribution or closure when it comes to Zigfried. But, unlike Dartz, Zigfried didn’t do too much murder, so I guess this is fine. He tried to cheat in a card game...

...and I guess tried to delete Kaiba Corp but youknow...

...people let him have that. The police saw the ticket of “this man tried to delete Kaiba Corp” and they just...didn’t arrest him. The judge saw that ticket and didn’t put out a warrant. They just let Zigfried have this, almost like “better luck next time, ya?”

And then Roland clocked out for the day and went home, thus ending this arc.

Look at all these characters, most of which we never saw duel even one card.

We also got one shot of Mai for some reason although she was not in this arc.

AAAHHHH. Every time I’m like “the show is done screwing geography” we get another freakin geography spook!

But we went back to California in order to get a scene of these guys in an airport to get a flight to Japan...

which means Rex and Weevil just...were they shipped home by the Kaibas? Because way to ditch getting arrested by the American Government, hot damn. They are...literally terrorists who destroyed a Caltrain in a plot to kill everyone in the world so like...really surprised Rex and Weevil are in public...but maybe all the FBI were dead at the time so they just didn’t know?

Meanwhile, Duke has to go back to Death Valley and call a tow truck for his car, RIP.

I sure hope he got PTO during this stunt and isn’t going home to a pink slip.

I’m not sure of Dukes life or anything going on with Duke. I’m sure the thing about Serenity is him joking because we have all forgotten about that girl by this point...but also...is Duke...still living in the Tenderloin? The crime rate is very, very high and the ground isn’t solid, so it will liquefy if there’s an Earthquake, but it is one of the few places in the Bay Area that doesn’t light on fire every year. He has that going for him.

I just really hope Duke moves out of the Tenderloin one of these days, he needs a better life.

Meanwhile, Rebecca does one last crime.

This is like a post-epidemic reaction to a hug, but in 2002(3?).

I don’t think I’ll miss Rebecca too much. Wanted to like her more, but she was under-utilized, like most of the characters on Yugioh. Not even just talking girl characters here--most characters on Yugioh are super under-utilized, just Tristan Wallflowers doing nothing, but also being selectively OP as hell about very specific things they never, ever need to do.

Speaking of the devil:

Yugi...just saved his entire company...

But Mokuba is just has to make sure to make it seem like they owed Mokuba and not the other way around. Just in case.

So off they go on this massive plane. It’s probably more to do with the length of the trip as to why the plane is so big but also...

This plane is overcompensating.

But before we analyze that, lets close the book on Seto Kaiba’s very short therapy arc. Overall, it was a nice distraction, but I can see why people call it a filler arc, as it really doesn’t affect...anything going on in the major plotlines, which makes me think it could have been a movie or a game or something. But overall, it’s not bad, it’s just not what you’d expect if you were a Western audience.

Like I’m preaching to the choir, but typically, Western stories are entirely plot focused, and so our arcs always give or take away from that plot. But in a Eastern story arc, it may instead be character focused, where the climax is a character evolving or coming to some sort of cathartic realization, which this arc was, in a big way. We still had some plot, because this is a Shonen, but overall it was about characters, and specifically whether or not Leon and his bro would reconcile or change--which they did.

We did get to see a little more growth on Seto in that he...didn’t go bonkers and hallucinate during a card game. It’s been a while since we’ve had him not do that. Seto was very chill this arc, which makes sense, it was a very chill slice of life arc for everyone involved.

So, next we move on to the next one, which bro has informed me...is

still not Bakura.

According to Bro, the next arc didn’t even air in the Japanese version of the show? Like he’s got a lot of spicy Yugioh headcanons so he could be wrong (He did tell me that he thought that Zigfried was Seto Kaiba’s ex boyfriend when he saw this as a kid which...that sure is a way to interpret this arc, and it probably wasn’t just my little brother who went down that thought tube there...)

(Bro Note: To be fair, I didn’t watch much of this arc as a kid.)

But he says the next arc was originally a movie. But they released it in the States as episodes to be part of S5, just to put more episodes in there. Which, if he’s correct, makes it seem like we’re getting like the Mulan 2 experience kind of shoved in between this arc and the next

But um..

according to bro it has virtually no card games.

.......

I’m so used to only capping 10 minutes an episode, what?

Anyway, until then, here’s the link to read the rest of these from the start in chrono order:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

I’m kinda itching to do a Season Zero, it’s been a hot minute--so those take a little longer to do, especially since I need to go to a different site I haven’t...checked out yet...I’ll be back...eventually? I just know that at some point in Season Zero they fight it out with yo-yo’s and I want to see it.

[russian-romanova]

sunday

title: sunday

pairing: joe goldberg

warnings: spoilers through season one of ‘you’. adult language. mentions of death, stalking and sexual content. mature themes explored by and mentioned in ‘you’. JOE IS NOT A GOOD GUY, HE’S JUST HOT. 

notes: i have no idea what this is. word vomit. joe’s point of view because i’m dumb and edgy like that. why do i like this character so much whyyyyyyyyyy

summary: you just have to make it through the week, because come sunday you have the whole day off to spend relaxing with your boyfriend. at least, that’s what you have planned. 

+      +       +

MONDAY.

You are incredibly smart. That goes without saying. I watch you read books, devour them from front to cover before other people would even decide to begin them. You’re willing to try new things because the first two times you came into Mooney’s you wandered for close to an hour. You came in not knowing what you wanted but left with anything you could possibly be interested in. 

That was two months ago. 

You’re a regular visitor now because we’re an item. Dating. In a relationship. I never know what to say, but neither do you since I’ve heard them all in descriptions of your friends. It doesn’t even matter, anyway, because you smile to your friends no matter what you call us. I never know if I’m doing this right Y/N, but with you I’m positive. You’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. 

You’re here at Mooney’s now, talking to me as we eat lunch together. We’re both sitting behind the counter on stools, the flow of people slow for now. It’s always like this around this time of day, and we’re both plenty familiar with that by now. Every so often some asshole comes in looking for a Tolstoy they can stare at for years or some autobiography they’ll only skim through, but besides that, it’s just us. 

“Okay, okay,” You’re laughing and waving your hand about the answer you just gave. We’ve been doing this a lot, asking each other pointless questions like this to simply know the answers. For you, plenty of these questions lead to these marvelous stories. It’s as if you want me to know everything about you so easily.  “Okay, you see a pothole in the road ahead, do you swerve or straddle?” 

I’m not sure about my answer, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I can tell what you want me to say. “Straddle,” My voice comes out a little above a whisper.

“Oh really?” You respond back in a voice that’s even quieter, biting your lip without even realizing it. “Me too. Crazy.”

“Crazy,” I repeat, and my mouth is already pulling into a smile. You lean forward and kiss me once -- eagerly -- then pull back to look at me before we kiss again, slower this time. I want you here, and I know you want me too, but we also have some normal human decency and know when the bell rings to stop kissing quickly. The man who wandered in didn’t seem to notice the two of us at first, too absorbed in his fucking phone. 

“Hello!” He speaks up when he notices us. “Can you point me to where Marcus Zuzak would be?” 

You smile. “Over there, under fiction. Near the end, because it’s by last name.” You lean over the counter ever so slightly to point him in the correct direction. He’s lucky you volunteered to help him because I doubt I would have been so polite. 

“Oh, of course. Thank you, dear.” The elderly man nods and moves in the direction of your pointed finger. You smile at him for a moment longer before you turn back around, grinning. 

“Wow, I might just take your job.” You joke, moving back up to sit on your stool. I had secretly hoped you would return to kissing me, but I knew deep down that wasn’t a likely possibility. 

“Yeah, do you want the apron?” I pull at the apron. “You can have the apron.” 

“Yeah, apron and nametag. I’m changing my name to Joe now.” You continued, before softly laughing and transitioning the conversation into silence. You look at me again, but it’s a much different look than last time. It’s not the heavily passionate look that I got over questions and sandwiches, this is a much more caring look. A loving look. “Hey, it’s been a while since we had a date night.” 

I want to return the look you give me, and I hope I am. I hope you understand I love you as much as you love me, Y/N. “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, we should plan one.”

“Okay,” You nodded once, slowly as you plunged through your invisible mental calendar. “Are you free Sunday?”

For you, Y/N, I’m free any day. “Yeah, I think Sunday should work out. Seven?” 

You nod once more, kicking your legs. “Okay, seven on Sunday it is.” 

I want to reply, but the man returns with a book that is certainly not Zuzak, but I’m not one to say anything. 

“Ready to check out?” I ask him, but you hop up before I can move forward.

“Here, I can help you. My name is Joe,” You joke, and the poor old man nods his head. “Looks like a good book.” 

TUESDAY.

I’m not supposed to be at your apartment, which I suppose is part of the reason my heart rate spikes when the doorbell rings. I have been trying to get away from this, from the pointless apartment lurking, but I couldn’t resist today. I missed you, Y/N. 

For a second, I think the doorbell might be you come to pick up something you’ve forgotten, but then I realize you wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell. It buzzes again and is now followed by a series of pounding knocks. “Hey, Y/N, are you in there?” A man’s voice comes through into the apartment. “C’mon, it’s Arthur. Let me in.” 

Arthur.

He sounds vaguely desperate, his voice tinged with a whine. How could you ever have loved this man, Y/N? He’s like some distressed puppy dog who found his way home after being left on the side of the road. He says some word pleas, but I’m already turning over possible ways this could go down in my head. 

“Listen, I know that you probably hate me,” Arthur speaks again. You’re right; I’m sure you do. “But I just want to talk to you. I need to apologize. I’m sorry.” He sounds genuine. 

I open the door, and Arthur looks stunned. “Shit, is this the wrong apartment? Sorry, I’m looking for Y-”

“Y/N. I know.” I put on a fake smile. This is polite Joe, boyfriend Joe. This is the Joe that you know, Y/N. “She’s not home right now, actually.”

“Oh,” Arthur’s face turns red. 

“I’m Joe,” I stick out my hand. “Y/N’s boyfriend.” I almost smile at the words. 

He takes my hand and shakes it, although his mind is clearly elsewhere. “I’m Arthur. Bishop.” 

Jesus, Arthur Bishop? What kind of a name is Arthur Bishop? “I heard.” I’m still smiling, although it’s uncomfortable now. He’s ignoring me, and I know his thoughts are on you. “Did you need me to pass along a message?” I push, trying to get answers. I need to know if Arthur is a threat to you, Y/N, a threat to us. 

“Yeah, um, I haven’t seen Y/N in two years, actually. But we used to date-” I could see him remember who he was talking to. “It was a long time ago.” He added. 

“Yeah, I think she’s mentioned you.” I lied. Do you wanna come in?” 

When Arthur says yes, I really begin to doubt what you see in him. Is he stupid? Arthur has no idea who I really am, no proof that I’m your boyfriend or that I can be trusted. If he had been at least a little doubtful, I would have at least respected that. I almost feel bad for him, Y/N. 

An ex-boyfriend. Here we are, two of the people who you have loved in your apartment without your knowledge. He makes himself at home very quickly; without even taking off his shoes. He’s jittery, unfocused. His legs bounce up and down as he sits on your couch, and I’m suddenly self-conscious for you, Y/N, because of all the clothes you had strewn around. I walk towards the kitchen and kick a bra under the couch. 

“So, what did you say the deal was between you and Y/N?” I ask, moving towards the counter.

Arthur hesitates for a moment. Never a good sign. “Is there a bathroom I could use?”

No, dipshit, no bathrooms here. “Yeah, just down the hall. You okay?” 

He nods, clearly lying. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right back.” He moves quickly, but once I hear the bathroom door close I move twice as fast. The bathroom, Arthur? Do you think I’m dumb? On second thought, are you dumb? 

I know where your medicine cabinet is, and I know where the prescription sleeping pills you keep are. My fingers grasp the small bottle and I shake a few out onto my palm -- not so many that you’ll notice they’re gone, but enough to take care of Arthur in the other room. 

I move silently back to the kitchen, pulling one of your knives from the display. At least your counter is clean enough that I can put the pills down directly and crush them with the knife. One, two, three presses and I’ve deemed them powdered enough to brush into my hand and shake into a glass of water. 

I hope you’re thirsty, Arthur. 

WEDNESDAY.

The cage is no longer empty, which is always a strange feeling. And Arthur is so quiet I practically forget he’s down there. 

I wonder a little if I overreacted with Arthur. If I should have just stayed put and pretended no one was home or let him come in and leave on his own time. But deep down, Y/N, I knew that he was a risk. I didn’t even have to know what this guy wanted and I could tell, from the way he spoke about you that he wanted to get in the way of us. And God, we’ve been so perfect together that I couldn’t fathom letting someone take you away from me. 

He was out for a while, and I worried I maybe overcompensated with the sleeping pills and his insides were slowly shutting down. If I had known your shifty ex-boyfriend was going to show up I would have maybe done my research a little better, but things like this never seem to want to pencil in a date on the calendar.

The second time I check on him during the workday, he’s awake. Quiet and confused, but awake. He asks the usual -- where he was, why he was there, if you had something to do with it. And I’m at least polite, Y/N. I answer his questions to the best of my ability and all he does is swear and yell at me. After a while, I think he realized that I wouldn’t be telling him this stuff with the intent of letting him go, which quieted him down. Which is not to say I don’t want to let him out.

“Listen, I didn’t do anything wrong. Please. Man, if you want me gone I’ll leave. I’ll leave to where ever the fuck you want me to go. Just let me out.” 

Even his pleading is in a soft voice. I wonder if he was a good boyfriend or the annoying, man bun and kale type you seem to have been interested in before.  “You just need to wait a while, Arthur. Have patience, it’s a good quality.” But even my sound reasoning doesn’t persuade him.

He’s quiet the next few times I come down, but he takes the fast-food bag I pass him and he eats, which is good at least. I considered asking him about you, but I decided that if he was comfortable and quiet now, it was probably better to keep it that way. Besides, you sent me a text asking if I wanted to come over and watch ‘Friends’ with you. It wasn’t the show I was excited for at all, but the idea of you, and the idea that you thought of me when you were flipping through the channels. 

I give Arthur his supper and then I’m off to you, Y/N. You open your door for me in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, and I swear you’ve never looked so beautiful. You smile at me and I come inside the apartment I know you cleaned especially for me and you direct me to the couch, where we settle down and you turn up the volume. 

“I hope you weren’t busy or anything,” You mention offhandedly during the third episode. “I don’t know, I just know you don’t watch a lot of TV but Friends is classic and I thought you might want to-”

“No, no, no, you’re good. I love it. I love Friends.” I lie, gesturing to the screen.

You look at me and I know you’ve read right through my little lie. “Do you know?”

I pause. “No. But I love it now!” 

“Sure, Joe,” You laugh before turning back to the screen and moving closer to me. We’re pressed together like we’ve known each other for years. And we may as well have, Y/N. 

THURSDAY.

I wake up Thursday morning, and you’re already gone. A glance at the clock -- which reads 9:51 -- explains to me that you’re already at work. A note you left me on the table reflects this thought, and I know that neither of us expected me to stay the night. I’m happy to be welcome here in the morning, and I pocket the note before sitting back to breathe it in. 

I love the way your apartment is decorated because it reminds me so much of you. It reflects your personality, from the way things are carefully placed to the way you so desperately want things to appear thrown into a particular spot. Even alone in your apartment, Y/N, you’re trying too hard. 

Last night was perfect, and I think my mind is clearer now. I know what I have known in the back of my mind for days, that Arthur needs to be taken care of. Nothing gruesome or excruciatingly painful, he’s been good enough. I almost hate to do it, but if he sticks around things are bound to go wrong for us. Please realize that I’m doing this all for us, Y/N. 

FRIDAY.

I have learned from my mistakes. I allow Arthur -- or what’s left of him now -- to wait for me overnight but come Friday I know the body needs to be taken care of. 

Ethan is too gullible and I tell him I need to close early to do some inspections of Mooney’s. At first, he asks some questions, but I tell him only simple answers and he eventually leaves. The day as a whole is normal but seems to drag on as the same type of men and women come in to buy the same books, or walk around and leave. The only half-hour that breezes by is our lunch together, where we sit in the same area as always and laugh and each and hope that time will freeze. 

I manage to slip into the conversation a small asking about ex-boyfriends, and you spill the beans on Marcus and Dwayne and Roosevelt, all of whom I know have long since moved on, before you bring up Arthur. 

“We dated for a year, I guess. But then he told me that he had some other life offers to pursue in Nepal -- whatever that means -- and we broke up and he left.” It doesn’t seem to mean lots to you, as you shrug and eat forkfuls of salad. “Then I met this really nice guy at a little coffee shop in New York and his name was Joe, and he worked at a bookstore, and we ate lunch together and have a date on Sunday.”

“Wow, Joe sounds like a great guy. Looks like I’ve got competition.” 

You laughed, the beautiful laugh that I know you try to keep in your mouth but it just bubbles out, and you lean over and bring your hand up to hide it. I have never understood why Y/N. Your laugh is beautiful, but it’s impossible to bring that up without sounding creepy.

But you leave eventually, sooner than you should have to, and I’m left alone again. It returns to the same boring routine, and the closing time comes after a hundred years. Ethan leaves with a wave and a farewell, but I’m already right behind him as I moved to flip the open sign. 

The basement has begun to reek of death. It only gets stronger as I push open the doors to the cage, allowing the smell to come out as I enter in. Arthur has already texted a few of his friends -- douchebags, by the sounds of it -- to tell them that he’s returning to Nepal. He missed it, and he misses the feeling it brought him and his idiot friends seem to accept it. I plan to bag him up -- which is more than vile and I can’t count how many times I throw up or gag -- and bury him in the woods, where the trees are thick and the dead leaves from several years have built up and no one will look. 

The gloves are the smartest choice I’ve ever made. There are things getting on them that I can’t identify and don’t want to be identified. He’s already in the bag -- deep and black, hopefully sturdy -- and I’m on the clean-up phase when I’m startled.  

“Joe?” I hear your voice. Fuck, tell me I’m going crazy. How the fuck do I hear your voice through all of this, unless…

I spin around to face you. It hits me almost instantly-- I didn’t lock the door. How the fuck could I forget to lock the door? Shit, one mistake and now… now this, Y/N. 

Unsurprisingly, you’re stunned. Eyes soaking in everything that they can, your hands already shaking. “Y/N,” I begin, but you don’t give me a chance to talk. A chance to explain myself to you.

“What the fuck, Joe?” You ask, and I know you’re hoping for some logical explanation to pour out of my mouth. And, Y/N, believe me when I say that I wish I had one, at the very least in the form of a crafted lie. “What the actual fuck is this?”

You want to run, but you also want this to all be a misunderstanding, so you stand there, frozen. I look at you, hoping that you’ll look into my eyes and remember how much we love each other, how perfect we are for each other. I hope you’ll forgive me and you’ll throw your arms around me instead, and you’ll know it was all a misunderstanding. You’ll love me no matter what, and we’ll get the happily ever after that you read in your books and crave so much. 

I see you look once more from me to the bag containing Arthur. Your breathing quickens again, the only thing to split the silence at first. Then your footsteps follow, tennis shoes hitting the concrete. 

Life is far from a book, Y/N. I’m sorry this is the point you have to realize this. 

SATURDAY

You wake up in the cage, and I’m already sorry that it has to be this way. You look like a small child, lost in the supermarket with no parents in sight. Sleep is in your eyes, but you quickly blink it out and lookup. For a split second, I think you have forgotten about where you are, about what has happened. 

You tried to run upstairs, to tell the world, Y/N, and I care about you too much to let that happen. You won’t understand this right away, no one ever does, but maybe you’ll have a change of heart someday. You refused to talk to me at first, so I talked to you and tried to act as if everything was normal.

“What the fuck,” When you spoke, your voice was rough from dehydration. I made a mental note to get you a coffee that you might drink, unlike the water glass you had disregarded in the corner. “What, you’re just going to pretend like I’m not in an actual cage, Joe?”

“It’s just temporary,” I assure you hurridly, but I can tell that you don’t believe me. “I’ve never lied to you, Y/N. Please.” And this is mostly true. 

Your voice is getting a little louder,  a little more passionate. “How am I supposed to know that? Huh?”

“Trust me,” I say, and I see an echo of Beck in myself. The thought startles me enough that I shake a little, and you think that I’m shaking because you’ve made some mental breakthrough. You were smart and kept out of my past, you trusted what I told you and never questioned the things I left out. 

 “How?” You ask me, bitterly. “How can I trust you in here?”

I look at you for a moment, our eyes locked. You look sad, Y/N, and I need to remind myself that it isn’t my fault. You could look for the best in this, you could choose to be happy despite what you see to be a bad situation. “You have to,” I beg simply, and I need to go back to the bookstore. I will be back down here, Y/N, I promise. 

SUNDAY.

The door opened with a soft noise, and your eyes follow me as I walked forward, watching you as well. I have nothing to say, but I can tell you’re waiting for me to speak. “It’s Sunday,” So I speak for you, glancing around to try and find the key. “We were supposed to have our date tonight,” I find the key and twist it around my fingers. 

“We still can,” Your voice comes out cracked from crying. “Let me out, please, Joe. C’mon. Please.”

I pocket the key and give you a look. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why, Joe? Because you think I’m going to tattle on you? I’m not fucking stupid.” You stand up and move a little closer to the edge of the cage. “You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, it’s okay. I forgive you, Joe.”

You forgive me. My hands are trembling and I take a step forward. You forgive me, or so you say. 

“How can I trust you?” My voice is a whisper, and suddenly I’m the scared boy in the supermarket again. “You already tried to run, Y/N. You need to trust me, this is what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” Your eyes water. “What’s best for me? Do you think being locked in a cage is what’s best for me? 

I don’t react. 

“Jesus, Joe, what do you want? What do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy.” The words come out of my mouth before I even realize it. “But I need you to be happy in here, at least for a while. If you really still love me, you’ll wait.” 

“I don’t want to wait, Joe. Please. If you love me, you’ll let me out.” 

My hand reaches back for the key, and I’m fumbling with it as I say, “You know I can’t do that.” You seem to have given up with that, but you continue to stand against the edge of the cage and watch me. “Can you sit down? I have to empty out the bucket.” You glance back at the bucket you’ve been using as a bathroom and then back at me. 

You sit down, defeated, and I walk in towards the bucket. This is the most humiliating part of this whole ordeal, Y/N, and I’ll be happy when it’s all over and we can joke about the things I’d do for you. You’re watching me with big eyes that I can hardly look at up close because they’re swollen with tears by now. 

I’m near you, and you’ve gone silent. You watch as I reach down to grab the bucket’s handle, but you very swiftly stick your foot out, and I felt myself falling backward in slow motion. Fuck, Y/N, you weren’t supposed to do that. By the time I can turn myself over to look at you, you’re already up on your feet. Without pausing to look back, you’re making a run for the door 

Now, this is just fucking unfair. I push myself to my feet and stumble after you, and I feel like a toddler who doesn’t know how to walk. I push myself out of the cage for physical support and grab a knife from the shelves. I hope I don’t need this, Y/N, but your persistence worries me. 

It doesn’t take much to overpower you. I’m pumping my legs and feeling the adrenaline pumping through my body. I reach once and miss, almost stumbling but I doubt you notice. The second time I reach, my fingers grasp your arm and pull you back. I have to think fast here, and I push you against the wall to stop you. 

You’re quiet, panting and terrified. If you could, I’m sure you would spit in my face here. I turn over possibilities in my mind, and I must say that I’m not particular to any of them within my control. Shit, Y/N, I didn’t want this to turn out like Candace or like Beck. I thought you were different, I thought that maybe you would understand. 

I don’t want to kill you. Believe me, Y/N, it’s always the last thing I want to do. But I had to kill Beck before, and that turned out fine because I met you. I met you, and you made my life that much better. 

Your eyes flick between mine, your breathing steadies. The knife suddenly feels so much heavier in my hand, but we both know what I need to do. 

I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’ll make it quick. 

[lonelyreputation]

Drunk on a Sunset | 3 #ShawnMendesWritingCircle

A/N: Week THREE!!! Can you BELIEVE 🥳 Bc I can’t sdjfs Too busy having too much fun collaborating 🥂 Here’s part three to @mendesficsxbombay​ absolutely wonderful co-workers series!! Previous parts linked below!! Can’t wait to see where the next part goes (hopefully in an ~angsty direction sljfdkl)!!!

I wanna shout out @saysweartogod-og​ for being an absolute inspiration to me and always brainstorming with me in the wee hours of the night 🤧 Love you to the moon and to Saturn 💫 (she also created this circle game so props to her)

Part ONE | Part TWO | Shawn Mendes Writing Circle MASTERLIST 

Warnings: None // WC: 2.1K

Tour was everything and more Shawn could have ever imagined.  Sure, he’s traveled the world and met plenty of fans before, but something about this tour was special.  And he knew that the reason why this tour felt extra special.  All he had to do was look to the left, squint hard enough to see through the pink lights that came from the screen behind him, and see you singing along to his songs.

It was a sight he was sure he would never grow tired of.

With the fluttery feeling of butterflies he felt whenever he saw you, it was quickly followed up with flashbacks to that night.  The night of your birthday that he wished he remembered more of, that he wished had played out differently, a night he wished you remembered.  Shawn told himself that everything happens for a reason, that maybe you were supposed to stay Andrew’s tour representative, but he wanted to be so much more with you.

All he wanted was to be in your presence, but he couldn’t stop the nagging he heard in the back of his mind that said to leave you alone.  Sure, he walked on eggshells around you, but your presence was so alluring, that he always chased the feeling.

There had been a travel day��–flying from Turin, Italy to Barcelona––and then the day before the show was full of stage set-up and rehearsals.  Shawn tried his best to get you to hang out with him, but you were always whipping out an excuse from your back pocket.  And yes, he knew you had actual responsibilities because this was your job, but he became suspicious when he thought more about it.  You had hung out with him whenever you had a spare moment, mostly just watching films on his tour bus or hotel room, but you never spent more time than necessary with him.

So he was going to try and spend more time than necessary with you.

He helped you bring in the merchandise boxes to the stalls in the arena, he helped you set up his green room with the production coordinator, and he looked over your shoulder when you were with the lightning director making sure everything was working in line for the show.  He knew that he was probably acting a bit childish, but if you didn’t remember what happened that night, he was going to try his damn best to get on your good side.

The day of the show came and Shawn wasn’t able to help much because he was needed to do his responsibilities.  Because just like how helping Cez, and reporting everything back to Andrew was your job, being a performer was his job.

In his pastel yellow hoodie, you stood off to the side, and watched as he flipped the microphone in his hand every now and then, as he walked along the stage for soundcheck.  He was incoherently singing the melodies to the songs you knew frontwards and backwards at this point, and you couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at the corner of your lips.

He always made you smile, and you had butterflies in your stomach all day yesterday when he helped you with your tasks, but there was part of you that still didn’t know how to act around him.  You were happy that he wasn’t making your business relationship with him weird, but you could tell that he was overcompensating because he thought you didn’t remember that night.

Ever since you heard him stumble while putting his jeans on and sneak out of your room, you were on the same page as him in regards to pretending the night never happened.  Him leaving the warmth of your sheets was confirmation that he thought what happened that night was a mistake.  Although, you thought it was the most miraculous thing that happened.

His touches were gentle, his words were sweet, and his smile was infectious.  That night was a dream in every way possible and you were looking forward to waking up and spending the rest of the day in bed with him.  But he obviously didn’t see it the same way.  So, you tried avoiding him, but his presence was so captivating that you couldn’t avoid him any longer.

“Y/n,” Cez brought you out of your daydreams, “Will you go see if Alessia is in her green room? They want to test her lights one more time with her on stage in…” he looked down at his phone, “15 or so minutes.”

“On it, boss.” You smiled as you whirled around to walk away from the stage.

You walked down the back steps of the stage, almost tripping on the last step, as you walked further back into the arena.  You flashed your “ALL ACCESS” tour credential badge to the security guard who stood at the end of the hallway to the green rooms and he let you through without any trouble.

When you got to Alessia's room, you knocked on the door twice, “Alessia! Can I come in?”

You heard a cheery come in and swung open the door with a smile.  While Shawn’s crew did have people on the younger side, you clicked with Alessia the most.  You plopped down on the couch next to her and laid your head in her lap with a sigh.

“Aww, Y/n,” Alessia rubbed the top of your head with the tips of her fingers, “Talk to me.”

You let out another sigh, “It’s nothing.”  Alessia gave you a pointed look, knowing that it wasn’t nothing, and you closed your eyes, “Something might’ve happened with Shawn.”

“Did he fall off stage again?”

A laugh escaped your lips, but it was quickly left for the empty room to pick up, “Something happened with Shawn…And me.”  Her fingers stopped their languid movements as she just looked down at you for you to continue your confession, “On my birthday we kinda––slept together.”

You expected Alessia’s eyes to bulge out of her head and your confession, but her face stayed neutral, “And what happened in the morning?”

“That’s just it,” you shut your eyes, the embarrassment you felt in the morning when he left crept up in your stomach, “Nothing happened because he left.”

“Typical boy move.”

“Alessia,” you whined, “He’s my boss––”

“Technically Andrew’s your boss.”

You glared at her, “Well, he’s my boss’s boss.  I could get fired.” Panic filled your system as your breaths got shorter, “My reputation could be ruined because of one drunken mistake––”

“Hey, hey…” Alessia’s words were soft as she offered you a small smile, “One, Shawn would never fire you.  And he wouldn’t let Andrew fire you either,” you rolled your eyes, “And two, do you see it as a mistake?”

Of course you didn’t see that night as a mistake.  You weren’t even that drunk.  But he left in the morning before you thought you were awake so he obviously saw it as a mistake.

“He left when he thought I was still asleep,” you sucked in a breath and looked up at your friend with sad eyes, “He definitely sees it as a mistake.”

“But do you?”

You shook your head, “I really like him,” you said just above a whisper, “But we can’t––”

“There are ways––”

“You know better than anyone else how misogynistic the music industry is,” you sat up and looked at her with wild eyes, “If word gets out that I slept with my boss––Don’t correct me again––” you cut her off when you saw her mouth begin to open, “–I would be done for.”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Try talking to him.”  You let out a laugh, but she held up a finger, “He might surprise you.”

“I got my answer when he left–––”

“Y/n?”  Cez calling your name through your ear piece cut you off, “Is Alessia lost?”

“Shit,” you swore under your breath as you shot up from the couch, pulling Alessia up by her wrist, “They want you on stage to test lights.”

Alessia nodded, “I'll give Cez an excuse,” she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as the two of you walked toward the stage.

Cez directed Alessia to where they wanted her to stand to test out the lights as you stood off to the side. You were checking the rest of the day’s schedule on the Master Tour app when someone bumped their hip against you; you looked up to see Shawn smiling down.

“Need help with anything?”

You clicked your phone shut and shook your head, “I think everything is pretty much set––Unless Cez says otherwise––You just have your fan Q&A in an hour.”

“Cool,” He nodded his head and rocked back and forth from his heel to the tips of his toes, hands behind his back, “Wanna do something?”

You were about to say yes, but part of you knew you had to put some distance between each other.  You had to try and make your relationship with him as professional as possible.

“Promised my mom I would call her when I got a free moment,” you saw his face fall at your little white lie, “Which I should probably…Call her now.”

Shawn nodded his head, trying to hide the hurt of your rejection as he kept his stare focused on Alessia, “Calling your mom––Yeah, yeah––Family’s important.”

“See you around, Shawn.” You waved at him and walked off the stage.

Shawn watched you leave until you were no longer in his sight.  All he wanted to do was make you see him in the way he saw you.  He’s always wanted you to feel the way he felt whenever he heard good news; he always wanted to tell you first.  He’s always wanted you to feel at peace in his presence because you always calmed him down.  He wanted you to feel everything he felt towards you, and when he saw Alessia bouncing off stage, he knew he had to ask her for help.

“Just talk to her,” Alessia said as they walked around the lower mezzanine level until Shawn plopped down in a seat with a defeated sigh, “She’ll appreciate that more than trying to get me to tell her that you like her.”

He slumped down in the hard seat covered his eyes with a hand, “But I left in the morning, Les,” he peaked an eye through the slits of his fingers, “She probably doesn’t even remember that night.”

“You’ll never know unless you talk to her,” Alessia sat down next to Shawn and angled her body to face him, “You’re twenty-one, this isn’t grade school.”

“Just help me make a plan up––Just so she––So she knows I like her,” Shawn sat up straight, leaned forward so his face was close enough to Alessia’s eyes so she could see how desperate he was, and took her hands in his, “Please.”

“Shawn––”

“Hey––Oh…Oh––Wow––Um, sorry,” when Shawn heard your voice, his eyes widened as he whipped his head around so fast it would’ve qualified as whiplash, and removed his hands from Alessia’s, “It’s um––Shawn, you’re needed at the Q&A and Alessia wardrobe wants you.”

“Y/n––”

“Doors will be opening soon,” your voice was barely above a whisper, hurt evident as you glanced at Alessia whose eyes were just as wide as Shawn’s, surprised to have ben caught with Shawn,“Might want to go somewhere people won’t see you.”

You walked away without another word.  You valued your friendship with Alessia, but after confiding in her that you really liked Shawn, and seeing them so close together, it made you question her authenticity.  And it made Shawn’s sweet gestures all the more confusing.

Of course you were upset, you made a beeline to the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in one of the stalls to stop your shaking hands.  But how could you be mad at them? Rang in your head;  people love them together.

A relationship with Alessia would definitely be a lot less messy than anything you could give Shawn.  They were both creative, professionals in the music industry that understood the demands of being an artist, and had an undeniable chemistry.

If this is what he wants, you unlocked the stall as you went to wash your hands as you thought to yourself; then you were going to be strictly professional with him so he wouldn’t get any ideas that you wanted to be something more with him.

[untilmynextstory]

Chapter Six: The Separation of Crows

WORD COUNT - 4K

AUTHOR NOTE: So Alma’s is going to be going through it. So please be patient while she works out all the trauma she has endured. 

FIVE YEARS LATER

For the first time in years, Alma is going to fully acknowledge her ex-husband. Since their divorce things had been rocky between them. They never had fully recovered from the events that took place that led to their divorce. 

They are civil when it comes to anything regarding Nathan. 99.9 % of their conversations revolve around their son. Outside of the first year of the divorce and working out the distance, they had been able to work out a schedule that didn’t hurt Nathan’s relationship with his father. Jax got their son for the summer and every holiday and Nathan stayed with her for the school year. 

Alma can say she is proud that she and Jax have managed to co-parent as well as they have. She had thought it would be harder. She expected so much resistance. Yet, Jax has been over generous through the years and she knows he is overcompensating for the guilt he still feels. 

She feels bad that she and Jax have turned into strangers. 

She knows exactly when it happened. 

Wendy had given birth to a beautiful baby boy. After getting the paternity test, it turned out Jax was not the father. She had been happy for Jax if that made any sense. She knows that he thought it could be the start in mending things. Instead it just brought up old wounds as it didn’t change that he had slept with another woman, one of many, who could've been pregnant with his child. That had thrown Alma down a spiral she had managed to avoid and after that short and clipped phone call. She had a night out in the town where she met Vitaly Petrova. The man that would become her husband. 

She knows the only reason Jax came to the wedding was because of Nathan. He would have his boy for a month while she and Vitaly went on their honeymoon. Since her wedding night, any type of thread they had on a relationship evaporated. Jax created a bigger distance she couldn’t even begin to build a bridge too. She knows she is at fault considering what exactly conspired between the two on her wedding night. 

She knows he is going to have questions. It’s been 2 years since she has been back to Charming. She only made a trip to Opie’s homecoming party. When Nathan comes to stay with his dad, she and Jax always meet halfway. 

She knows Nathan is going to be mad, but she is doing what is best for him. That is her job as her mother. What hurts is having to follow the familiar route to hers and Jax’s first home. Nathan had mentioned in passing that Jax found the second house too big - too empty. The house is for Nathan when he is older and wants to come back to Charming. 

Nothing really has changed except for the vines that are overtaking the exterior. She finds Jax outside restoring a bike. He looks shocked to see her as Nathan isn’t due to visit until June for the summer. It’s May. 

Alma makes note in the changes of her ex-husband though. He had chopped off all his hair. He has a close cropped shave and it seems he has added at least 15 pounds in muscles since the last time she saw him. 

He doesn’t show any reaction to her showing up unannounced. He never shows any reaction towards her anymore. His eyes scan her car before her appearance. She isn’t all dolled up as she usually is. Her now blonde hair is in a sloppy bun and she is wearing a simple red summer dress. 

“Hey, Jax,” she greets. 

He doesn’t say anything as he begins wiping his hands off with a rag. 

“Everything okay with Nathan?” He asks. 

“Yeah. Everything is fine.”

Jax raises his eyebrow. “If it were, you wouldn't be here in Charming unannounced.”

“I wanted to talk about changing Nathan’s visiting schedule.”

Jax nods his head. “You and the Russian going on vacation?” That was another thing. Jax never referred to Vitaly by his name. Just the Russian. She knows Jax hates her husband for many reasons and now she is potentially creating another one. 

“Actually, I was thinking Nathan should start high school in Charming. I want him to come back living here.”

“What?” Her ex-husband replies visibly confused. 

“I think with high school, it may be best for him to be with you. I know the visitation...it’s hard for you.”

Jax sighs. “He wanted to be with you, Al. It’s hard, but it’s not like I don’t see him. We talk almost every day.”

“I just want to do this for you.”

Jax stares at her directly in her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Alma hides the panic. She has gotten good at lying in the past three years. She knows she is risking a lot by not hiding her eyes with sunglasses, but it would put Jax on even more of an alert. 

“Everything is okay, Jax.” She assures him. 

Jax doesn’t press. He folds his arms across his chest. “I mean it’s not like I am going to have a problem with my son wanting to live with me.”

Alma smiles and some tension leaves her body. “I already completed the paperwork and I enrolled him at Aquinas Academy.”

“That Catholic school in Stockton? That place is expensive as shit.” Jax exclaims. 

“We always planned to send the kids there Jax. Did you forget I went there? We get a discount.”

A fond smile comes across his face. “Trust me, darlin’, I did not forget you in that skirt they passed as a uniform.” 

Alma rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the smile that comes across her face. It’s nice to be talking to Jax like this without any tension. Although it makes the heartache worse because she misses him. She never stopped despite all the heartache he put her through. She knows that makes her stupid. 

“I already ordered him a couple uniforms too.”

“Jesus, Al, let me pay for something. I know the Russian has money, but Christ, Nathan is my son.” Jax says with more bite than intended. 

“I didn’t use any of his money, Jax. I never do with things for Nathan and I’m sure you know that considering you make it a point to send child support checks I never ask for.” Alma constantly rolls her eyes at the money Jax sends her on a monthly basis. Of course it all goes directly to Nathan, but she knows the excessive amount Jax puts in is for her as well. With the money, she has been teaching Nathan about budgeting and she makes sure he isn’t always buying outlandish things. “Besides, I have my own money.”

Jax lips tug up. “How is your shop? Mom liked the nails you sent in for her to try.”

A bright smile comes over her face any time anyone asks about her nail salon. Two years ago she started Picassos. She started a small online shop for press or glue on nails and after getting the necessary paperwork and certifications, she was able to open her own salon and it has done exceptionally well. In fact, her online store constantly keeps her busy. 

“It’s going so well. I’m thinking of expanding.”

“Yeah. Have any spaces picked out?”

A blush taints her cheeks for some reason. “I’m actually thinking of opening a spot here. I am supposed to meet with Hale about potential spaces especially since Nathan will be here now.”

Jax presses his lips together. She can tell he is thinking hard. He is trying to understand what is going on around him. He closes the distance between them. His hand comes up and grips her chin forcing her to look at him. She hates how a simple touch from him causes goosebumps to erupt across her flesh. 

“I know I was shit husband -”

“You weren’t,” she interrupts foolishly. Sure, at the end he was, but in the beginning, she can’t find herself tainting the image of the man she had hopelessly been in love with.  

A strained smile reaches Jax’s lip. “...still despite what happened between us. You can still come to me if you need my help.”

“Jax, I’m fine. Everything is okay.” She places her hand over his and squeezes it before removing his hand from her face. “I’ll see you next month.”

She doesn’t let Jax get another word back in as she rushes back to her car. 

.

.

.

Alma had to plan it meticulously. Vitaly is always busiest it seems between May and until the end of June. It’s then he makes his visits to other states or countries for things. Then in July, he would spoil her with a trip someplace. She knows this summer will not be an easy one. Most importantly, she feels bad for having to deceive her son. 

She looks at her oldest, as he gets older, she thought he would take after his father more. She had been surprised how much he resembles her physically. From the brown hair and she even finds some of her mannerisms in him. However, his eyes are his father’s eyes. Those blue orbs are a carbon copy of his father’s and he also seems to have inherited his father’s brain when it comes to things that aren’t particularly suited for the interests of 14 year olds. She has gotten too many phone calls about her son setting up candy stores trying to make a buck at school. 

Despite his lukewarm relationship with Vitaly, she knows Nathan does enjoy spending time learning the business side of the wine industry. Nathan has expressed an interest in going to school for business. She had been pleasantly surprised that her son showed an interest in college. She had been convinced her son would move back to Charming at 18 and join the club. Although she might be changing the course of his life by moving him to Charming. 

“What do you mean I’m moving with Dad?” Nathan asks as he packed what he believed to be his summer bag to his father’s. He only brings simple things like a book, movies, and games. Maybe a sweatshirt he is particularly fond of.  Usually the first day he is back in Charming, his dad takes him shopping for new clothes and things he needs if he outgrown some things. It also helped that he didn’t need to lug around a suitcase and deal with unpacking. 

“I enrolled you at Aquinas Academy for high school. So now for holidays you’ll come here. I thought it might be best for you to spend your teenage years with your dad.”

“And I don’t get a say in this?” Nathan asks. 

“If you really hate Charming that much, you can come back here of course. I think it would be best. I mean I got you for all these years. I think you and your dad would love this.”

“Does Vitaly know?”

“It doesn’t matter. When it comes to you, the final decision is between me and your father.” His mother deflects. 

Nathan straightens his back. He doesn’t like that answer. The thing was being young Nathan didn’t see the warning signs, or maybe Vitaly was good at hiding them. He can also say he had come to a point where he hated his father for the pain he inflicted on his mother. Vitaly didn’t seem to be wrong for his mother. He was spoiling his mother with gifts and seemed like he wanted to form a friendship with him. Now, he thinks Vitaly just knew how to prey on his mother. She was emotionally vulnerable and he dove like a crow. 

He thinks it was almost a year into his mother's marriage something felt off between his mom and Vitaly. 

The problem is he never sees anything. Sure, there are some raised voices and he does check his mom over for marks, but there is no evidence. 

There are times when he wants to mention something to his dad. He just is scared of his dad’s reaction and what could happen to his mom. His dad doesn’t like Vitaly as is and he knows his dad might do something reckless. Knows the club could get into trouble if his dad did do something. 

Although his main concern is his mother, he has researched a little on domestic violence and he needs to be sure she is safe. 

“Mom, I can’t leave you alone.” Nathan settles on. 

“I won’t be. I have the salon keeping me busy.” She answers. 

Nathan wants to scream and shout, but he doesn’t. He is a teeanger and he needs to be smart about this. Just maybe his mom does have a plan if she is sending him back to Charming. It doesn’t ease his worries though. 

“You’re gonna come to visit at least on the first day of school?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

.

.

.

Alma didn’t think it would be this hard. It’s always hard when her baby leaves for the summer. She misses him terribly and Nathan’s absence is always felt. Now though she can’t stop crying as she holds him to send him off with his father. 

“Christ, Mom,” Nathan says as she smothers him in kisses as she has to stand on her tippy toes a bit.

She can hear Jax chuckle in the background. 

She pulls back, “I’m just going to miss you so much.”

“I can see that.” 

“Oh stop,” Alma says. 

“I’m just going to be with Dad. It’s not like I’m moving to another country.”

Alma gives her son another hug. “I’ll miss you, baby.”

Nathan’s arms wrap around her tightly and they hold each other. Her baby is growing up. “I’ll miss you too, Mom.”

Alma pulls back and watches as Nathan makes his way to Jax’s truck. Jax is leaning against his grill with a somber expression. He walks over to her, “You sure about this?”

“Yeah. I’ll be in town for a couple weeks in August to see him start school.” She tells him. She wraps her arms around herself. “Just take care of him, Jax. He’s the only thing I have left.”

Jax nods his head. His eyes scan her over, “I’ll see you in August.”

.

.

The ride to Charming was quiet. Jax expected it to be considering how Alma clearly was distraught with Nathan moving in with him. Jax reminds himself that Alma wanted this and he was happy to have his son full time. Yet, since she popped up unexpectedly last month, he felt something was off. He was missing something from this. Sure, he had his suspicions. He made the mistakes once of making an offhand comment to Clay about it. The guys would usually ignore his comments about the Russian and write it off as jealousy. Yet, Clay had looked at him and made the pointed reminder that Alma wasn’t his wife or old lady. Her marriage wasn’t his business. Also if he did something the blow back wouldn’t not only hurt Alma and Nathan, but the club would suffer. 

Sometimes, Jax wanted to ask Nathan if he had worries or issues with Vitaly. He just didn’t want to put his son in that position. If there was a truth to any suspicions of wrongdoing, Jax would murder Vitaly without any hesitation. 

He just doesn’t know how to handle the fact he pushed Alma into this situation. He fucked up and she landed into this assholes lap. 

“We’re going to Grandma’s?” Nathan asks when they don’t take the turn to the house. 

“Her grandbaby is moving back to Charming. She made a whole spread for you.” Jax informs him. 

Gemma had been ecstatic when he told her Alma was sending Nathan to move in with him permanently. Since Alma married the Russian, their relationship had turned frosty. He knows his mom thought a reconciliation would happen and he thinks it's safe to say they were both blindsided when she announced she was getting married. 

His mother didn’t like the Russian either, but for other reasons. Jax thinks he is the only one that believes Alma’s marriage isn’t what it seems. He thinks it may be time to talk to Opie because he might get clarity from him, but even then it doesn’t change the fact Alma isn’t his old lady or wife. 

“You think she’ll be nicer to mom now?” 

Jax raises an eyebrow. “Who knows with your grandmother. How’s Ann doing?”

Nathan shrugs his shoulders. “Somewhere with her boyfriend. I don’t know. She and mom don’t talk much anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Everytime they would talk, Ann would say something bad about you and praise Vitaly. It would lead to arguments. So mom stopped checking in unless she felt I needed to talk to her, which I don't.” 

Jax snorts. “Unbelievable. How is the Russian?” He asks with clear distaste.

Nathan shrugs his shoulders. “On a business trip, I guess.” Nathan taps his fingers against his knees. “I just wish my mom wasn’t going to be alone in the house.”

“You worried for her.”

“It’s just been me and her, ya know. After Ben and Kaylee...I always worry.” Nathan reveals. 

Jax fights the ball in his throat at the mention of his two youngest. His chest still tightens thinking about them and what their futures could’ve been.

“She and the Russian don’t want kids?” He asks. He tries not to think about Alma sharing a bed with that man, but he has been mentally preparing for the pregnancy announcement any day now. 

“Vitaly doesn’t like kids.”

“What!” Jax exclaims, shocked. 

“That’s what he told me.”

“What? When?” Jax inquires. 

“It was a little bit after when they got married. One of the workers at the winery had a baby. He told me I didn’t need to worry about getting another sibling. He wasn’t fond of kids, especially babies.”

“Your mom knows this?”

Nathan furrows his brow. “I would imagine. It’s not like I really want to talk about mom’s sex life, Dad. Gross.”

“How do you think you got here?”

Nathan’s nose scrunches up. “Disgusting.”

“Speaking of sex, don’t think you are living with me you can be sneaking girls over. Your mom will kill me if you get a girl pregnant.” Jax warns. “You do know how to use a condom?”

“Ugh, yes, Dad. Mom showed me.”

“When?”

“Dad, I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well you are getting a refresher and I’ll take you shopping, or did your mom already take you?”

Nathan’s cheeks are red at this point. “No, Mom said she’ll save the shopping for you.”

“Look at that, your mom thinks of everything.” Jax says as he pulls into Gemma’s driveway. He turns the truck off. “I’ll give you a few minutes to call your mom and tell her that you're here, alright.”

Nathan nods his head and Jax slips out of the truck. He walks into his mother’s house. He almost jumps as the door is swung open. His mother is on the opposite side of him. She looks behind him. “Where is my grandson?”

“Calling Alma real quick to tell her we made it.” He answers as he walks into the house. 

“Well?” Gemma presses. 

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you excited? You’ve been mopey since Alma gave you the good news. It’s about time she came to her senses about the boy needing to be with his father.” Gemma adds. 

“Ma,” Jax warns. 

Gemma presses her lips together. “You should be happy.”

“I am.”

“She’s not your concern anymore, Jax.”

“She is still family, Ma.” Jax answers. “She’s the mother of my children. She is always going to be a concern.”

...

Alma has been nervous for this day. She is in the sitting living room by the tall windows as she looks out into their backyard. Vitaly is returning from his business trip. She can hear his footsteps approaching. She watches as he waves off his security to give them privacy. 

Vitaly is a handsome man. Tall and lean, his dirty blonde hair is slicked back and parted on the side, and it seems in the month he has grown out a mustache. When they first met, she wasn’t really impressed with him. Or at the time, he shared some similarities with her ex husband with the long hair and baggy shirts and jeans. But Vitaly’s sense of style has matured to silk buttons up and slacks. Expensive shoes and diamond jewelry. Despite having a legitimate winery with vast distribution, he has ties to the Russian Mafia. His uncle is Viktor Putlova, the head of the Mafia. 

Alma had been hesitant to be involved with someone in the Life again, but she was swept up by Vitaly. Also it helped that the Sons rarely do business dealings with the Russians. 

She took the risk. 

“Hey, baby,” he greets and gives her a kiss before sitting next to her. 

“How was the trip?”

“Too long. Just wanted to come home,” he tells her as he puts an arm around her shoulder. 

“Nathan already gone?”

Alma swallows the ball in her throat. “Yeah. Dropped him off last night.”

“When is he coming back?”

“He...uh...he is going to be actually staying in Charming. He is going to live with Jax.” She informs him. 

Vitaly freezes. “When was this decided?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“And you are only telling me now?”

Alma doesn’t say anything. 

“Answer me.” Vitaly barks. 

“He is starting high school. I thought it was best he was with his dad. They both miss each other.” Alma rushes out. 

“You couldn’t tell me this over the phone. You went behind my back.” Vitaly points out. “When did you tell, Jax?”

“May.”

“Over the phone.” Vitaly inquires.

Alma shakes her head. 

Even though she is prepared for it, it still manages to take her by surprise when Vitaly grabs her by her throat. He squeezes hard as he chokes her. She begins to feel light headed and white spots are forming in her eyes. 

She coughs as he throws her to the floor. 

“Jesus, fuck, Alma!” Vitaly shouts. “Get to the fucking room.” She can hear him unbuckling his belt. 

She used to think she was in love with Vitaly. Maybe a part of her was, but all she knows that her heart was already broken once so it can’t be broken again.

.

.

.

.

TWO YEARS AGO - The Wedding

Alma never imagined getting married again. In fact, she thought she was done with marriage. She had no desire in making vows with another man. Yet, look at her now. She is only in her peach colored robe and the fancy lingerie set she bought for her soon to be husband. She had just finished her makeup when she began to feel overwhelmed. 

Her mom sensed that she needed some space. She didn’t remember feeling nervous when she married Jax, but then again she already had a kid. Marriage paled in comparison to that. 

She is just worried she is making a mistake. Her choices affect her son. She and Vitaly could be together without the attachment of marriage. She wonders if it is normal to feel scared. She knows she sure as hell doesn't feel happy at the moment. 

Thinking on it, Alma didn’t have much say in the wedding planning. Her mom had taken over everything for her. 

A knock comes at the door. 

“One minute.” She replies. 

It’s quiet, but the knock comes again. She sighs and storms to the door. “I said one -” Her voice dies as she finds Jax on the other side of the door. 

He rushes into the room. Alma closes the door. She knows the only reason he is here is because of Nathan. Immediately after the wedding festivities Jax is going to take Nathan while they are on their honeymoon. 

She doesn’t get to question him as to why he is here because he beats her to it. 

“Please do not do this,” he pleads. 

Alma rolls her eyes. She walks back over to her vanity. “You did this. You ended us.”

“Alma, please, I’m sorry...there has to be something -”

“You’ve done enough.” She informs him bluntly. 

It goes quiet in the dressing room. Alma busies herself by playing with random items on her vanity, but it doesn’t conceal that her hands are shaking. 

She hears Jax footsteps behind her before his chest is against her back. Alma freezes. She turns immediately to slap him for even crossing that physical boundary. 

Yet as soon as she turns, Jax hoists her up on the vanity and immediately spreads her legs to stand between them. His movements were rough and desperate as he immediately removed her robe leaving her in her peach colored lingerie. 

His fingers wrapped around her throat and he moved her closer as he applied the smallest of pressure and pressed his lips against hers. 

She was distracted by Jax kissing hers that she jumps slightly in surprise when she feels his fingers move her panties to the side and tease her opening. He didn’t thrust them inside of her, but kept circling them making her buck her hips up on the counter. 

“Jax,” she moans. 

She hears him unzipping his pants and her panties are pushed to the side again and he slams himself inside of her. 

Alma screams are muffled as Jax moves the hand around her neck to cover her mouth. Her walls constrict around him as her body gets adjusted to him. She hates to even admit that she missed this side of Jax. She missed him. 

Jax moves his hand back to her throat as he presses another rough kiss to her mouth. He pulls all the way out before snapping his hips back up into hers. Alma bites her lip to stifle her moans as each thrust is harder than before. 

She knows what Jax is doing. She shouldn’t be letting him do this. She shouldn’t be doing this at all. But she tightens around him. 

Jax releases a broken moan, “Christ, you feel so fucking perfect.”

Jax lifts her leg and he hits her G-Spot repeatedly. It triggers her orgasm unexpectedly. Her body quivers and a lewd moan leaves Jax mouth as he releases. She can feel him coating her walls. He trails kisses across her collarbone and throat before he meets her lips. 

She can feel the tears building in her eyes. She thinks she truly hates Jax and herself at this moment. Jax pulls back when he feels the first drop of liquid against his cheeks. 

Alma winces as he pulls out of her. She ignores his cum dripping out of her and staining her panties. She is lucky she brought another set of lingerie as she couldn’t decide. 

“I hate you.” She tells him. She doesn’t glance at him as he cleans up. She has barely tied her robe back together and Jax has just buckled his belt when the door slams open revealing her mother. 

Ann doesn’t say anything as she glares at Jax, who walks out without a glance back. 

Alma turns as she looks for the other set of lingerie. 

“Is it out of your system?” Ann asks. 

Alma nods her head.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Seventy

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

August 27th, 2000

Emile was trying not to bounce around looking at everything on campus, but he couldn’t deny the spring in his step. He was so excited to be around a real college, that he was going to be attending! He was looking forward to this more than words could say, honestly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another tour group, and noticed one of the guys in it trudging along at the back of the group. Emile inwardly frowned. He had seen this guy around campus a couple times, and every time he looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

Emile resolved to say hi to him at some point. After all, everyone needed at least one friend, and this guy looked like he didn’t have any yet.

  August 26th, 2002

Emile led the wide-eyed freshman around the campus with a small smile. All of them were so excitable, chattering about the possibilities of no longer living with their parents, of being able to meet new friends, of getting jobs and being adults. The freshmen were allowed to wander the campus for a bit, and Emile sat down on one of the benches with a sigh. Hesitantly, one of the freshmen from another group approached him. “Uh...sorry to bother you, are you Emile?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, offering a tired grin. “Completely exhausted and certifiably insane, according to my boyfriend.”

“Oh. Um, I can go if you want a break...”

“Nah, it’s okay, sit down,” Emile sat, patting the bench beside him. “What’s eating at you?”

The kid sat down, fiddled with his hands, staring at his lap, then, he looked at Emile and blurted, “I’m not sure if I want to go to college.”

Emile nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” the kid asked. “Everyone I told before just...laughed.”

“I’m not everyone,” Emile said simply. “You’re part of Clara’s group, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. She said I should talk to you about this because of your boyfriend. Um. He’s not part of the freshman orientation, is he?”

Emile laughed. “No!” he exclaimed. “Remy dropped out of college his freshman year and never looked back.”

“Oh,” the kid said. “He doesn’t...regret it?”

“No,” Emile said. “College just wasn’t for him. And that’s perfectly okay for anyone. Granted, he doesn’t talk to his parents anymore, but that’s an entirely different layer of complicated.”

“My parents...they’re kinda overbearing,” the kid said with a grimace. “They didn’t like any of the majors I might have been interested in. They made me choose pre-med. I would have rather gone with English, if I went with anything at all. I know there’s not a lot of jobs for English majors...but I’m not sure about college, period. And I would want to learn what I wanted to learn about.”

Emile nodded. “Makes sense. I’m sorry your parents are like that.”

“Eh. I mean, fourteen years of school later and I have a PhD and no reason to talk to them anymore,” the kid said with a weak smile. “But I don’t want to be here. I don’t like it. I just...I would rather have a minimum wage job for the rest of my life. I could live through retail, and like...maybe I wouldn’t make the most money, but I could do something, you know?”

“Yeah,” Emile said with a nod. “That’s what my boyfriend is doing. Two minimum wage jobs and I work a third, so we get the bills paid and we have food on the table.”

The kid blew out a breath. “I’m jealous,” he said with a weak laugh.

“What’s your name?” Emile asked.

“Darren,” the kid said.

“Darren, I’m going to tell you a secret,” Emile said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can change your major to whatever you want, and your parents don’t have a say. They don’t need to sign off on it. You’re an adult, you can do it all on your own. Now, I wouldn’t recommend dropping out of college just yet, because if you can get through it without harm, it can help you. But if you really would rather work retail, maybe get a Communications or a Business degree. Those could help you become a manager someplace. Get a job, get your foot in the door, and work your way up the corporate ladder, you know?”

Darren nodded slowly. “I guess...” he said reluctantly. “What if I burn out, though? I’ve already done so much school, more just seems overwhelming...”

“If you burn out you’re under no obligation to continue,” Emile said. “But I of course have to tell you to give it a shot first, if for no other reason than because I’m currently promoting the college.” Darren laughed at that. “Did that answer some of your questions?”

“Yeah,” Darren said, giving him a relieved smile. “College isn’t the only way to go. You know, I think I’m gonna change my major when school starts. And after that, I’ll call my parents and explain. Maybe if they hear how I feel directly from me, they’ll change their mind. In all honesty, I think I could be happiest at a trade school. Maybe they could help me with that.”

“I hope so,” Emile said with a smile. “And if not, you can do it on your own. It won’t be easy, but you can.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Emile,” Darren said, standing.

“Of course!” Emile chirped. “If you ever want to talk more, Clara has an uncanny sense of where I might be at any given time. She can find me.”

Darren laughed with a nod and walked away, a small, hopeful smile on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you’re already a therapist, Emile,” Remy said from behind him.

“I’m not. I’m just a good listener. I listen to what you say and I listen to what he says, and then I use what you’ve told me to talk to him,” Emile said, looking back over the bench with a smile. “What’s up?”

“Just checking on you. Seeing how you’re faring with the gremlins,” Remy said with a grin as he leaned on the back of the bench.

“We were those gremlins not so long ago,” Emile reminded him.

“Ugh, I know. Definitely not my finest moments,” Remy said with an exaggerated shudder and eye-roll.

Emile laughed and Remy rounded the bench to sit with him. “So, how’s everything, mio amore? Are you attacked with nostalgia or are you cringing at the thought that you were bouncier than most of these freshmen?”

“Nostalgia, I guess, although I don’t really get either of those,” Emile said. “I’m more...astounded. Like, these kids are going to be going out into the world on their own in four years, possibly sooner. Looking back on what we did, I’m shocked that we could achieve that. You’re eighteen, nineteen years old, you know you’re not invincible but you still feel like you have a grip on everything, like you understand the world enough to do things on your own...and now we’re sitting here, twenty and twenty one, and we’re both just laughing at how wrong we were.”

Remy nodded. “Brain development is a bitch,” he said simply.

Emile barked out a laugh, clamping a hand over his mouth as he shook in his laughter. “Remy! That’s rude! These kids are technically adults!”

“Technically,” Remy pointed out. “And you just called them kids.”

“Look,” Emile said, trying his hardest to remain serious and failing. “All I’m saying is that looking backwards is weird, knowing what you thought but now realizing that it was so wrong.”

Remy sighed. “Yeah.” He got a glint in his eye that Emile didn’t like. “So I have a question based on that,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I don’t like where this is going. Ask me,” Emile said.

“Do you think you’d still donate your sperm today?” Remy asked with a wicked grin.

“Remy!” Emile exclaimed, whacking Remy with his arm. “Can you imagine what would happen if one of the students I was supposed to be teaching about the campus overheard that question?”

“I imagine they’d ask if you got any money for it,” Remy said with a shrug. “Would you?”

Emile made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, probably,” he said. “And I wouldn’t be anonymous, either. Those kids have the right to know where they came from, and if I get sick later down the line they should know there’s a risk for that. I might not be so convinced that someone would actually use it, but...”

“Hey, Emile, you’re cute, you’re smart, and you’re probably gonna end up with a PhD one day. You’d be a catch for any lady at the sperm bank,” Remy said definitively.

“You say that,” Emile laughed. “I don’t know exactly how much you’ll believe it later down the line, when we get older. We’ll probably look back at that decision one day and figure out that I was stupid.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Remy said. “You wanted to help families become families. That’s not stupid, that’s admirable.”

“So would you donate yours?” Emile asked.

Remy choked and stared at Emile. “No,” he said. “No. I’ve never had a deep-rooted desire to have a family, whether that’s through donating my sperm or settling down and adopting. Like, I’m not against families, you know? But when it comes to being a dad, I don’t know how well I’d do.”

“How come?” Emile asked.

Remy shrugged. “I dunno. Like, I would not want to end up being like my parents were, you know? And I could overcompensate trying to not be them and wind up ignoring kids, or I could fall back into old habits and hurt them. Like. Okay, looking at us ten to twenty years from now. Assuming we’re still together. Were we to adopt. Could I see myself being a competent dad? I guess. There’s a lot I’d have to work through to get to that point, though.”

“Are you talking, like...therapy, or...?” Emile asked.

Remy sighed. “Emile, I don’t need a therapist. Not at this point in time, maybe not ever after this, you know? But in this hypothetical situation, I could see unforeseen circumstances making me panic and possibly needing to...talk that through with someone. So maybe I don’t need therapy now. But if we’re talking hypotheticals, I’m not blind. I know there could be issues that come up with kids. So in that one specific circumstance, there’s the possibility I’d need therapy. You happy?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?” Emile asked with a little laugh. “Because I’m just glad that you could see yourself needing help and accepting that help.”

Remy wrinkled his nose. “It’s not needing help, it’s therapy.”

Emile blinked. “That’s...those two things are exactly the same, Rem.”

“No, like...therapy is for people with PTSD, or people who got seriously hurt, or people who are stereotypically seen as ‘crazy,’ much as I hate that term,” Remy said. “It’s not just about needing help with, like, feeling like you have a dead-end job or whatever.”

“Rem, that’s exactly what it is,” Emile said. “Therapy is help with whatever is bugging you in your life at that moment. So you went to therapy because your parents were making you suicidal. That doesn’t mean that it can’t help with smaller things.”

Remy squinted at Emile, and Emile rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe we’re back to arguing about this. We went through this freshman year, Rem!”

“Yeah, but you’re...you’re describing it differently,” Remy said.

“Not really,” Emile said. “You’re seeing it in a different light, because you’ve matured.”

Remy frowned. “I don’t get therapy. I just don’t.”

“That’s okay, since you’re not the one training to be a therapist,” Emile said with a little laugh. “Although, I will say that I agree with you, by and large. You don’t need a therapist.”

Remy looked shocked. “You’re agreeing with me on that one?”

“You’re well-adjusted, all things considered,” Emile said with a shrug. “Whether or not you want therapy or could benefit from therapy is a different question. But right now, you don’t need a therapist.”

“I...wow,” Remy said. “That may be the first time you’ve ever said that I don’t need mental help.”

“I hate when you phrase it like that,” Emile said. “It makes you sound like you’re that stereotypical ‘crazy person.’ People who go to therapy just need help, period. Not in the ‘they’re hopeless’ way, but in the ‘they’re struggling and this is how they find their footing’ way.”

Remy considered. “And that’s all it is?”

“That’s all it is,” Emile said. “And you don’t need a therapist, and I won’t force you to find one. But I will say that if you do ever need help again, there’s no shame in that.”

“...Yeah,” Remy said. “I think I’m starting to figure that out.”

[slippinmickeys]

Of The Eight Winds - Part 4

This is part three in who knows how many from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn’t cheat (because sorry that’s not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Links to parts one, two and three.

1

He was 26 when she met him, rarefied New England stock. She could smell the old money on him, but what grabbed her at first were his eyes. Mossy green with flecks of brown one minute, straight hazel the next. His jaw was just on this side of square, his brown locks thick and he was cut with the harmony of a Canova sculpture.

She had just graduated from Georgetown and was out celebrating with friends. He was on a rare evening off with other cadets from the academy and she played just hard enough to get.

She sparred with him over politics and art history, gave him his space and fucked him like a port wench. The months flew by.

With his lost baby sister and broken home, he was putty in her hands; addicted to her drama, which she knew when to rein in. Both of his parents loved her--she was the daughter they’d barely had. He asked her to marry him the week he graduated.

The carats were sufficient, her mother was thrilled. Another box checked by 24.

2

Their first year or two of marriage had been good, she thought. She was hired on at Schuster & McClure and started bringing home a decent salary. He was mostly a peon at the FBI, and was home every night by 6, the weekends were theirs.

He took her antiquing, apple picking, because that’s what she thought you were supposed to do.

Thanksgiving with her parents, Christmas with his mom, New Years with his dad.

It wasn’t until he started with the Behavioral Sciences Unit that things started to glitch. He’d work cases where he didn’t come home until after 10:00pm and worked through the weekends. His mood was dark, he frequently didn’t want sex. When brunch with their friends was on the schedule, she went alone.

She didn’t handle it well. She knew she didn’t. She should have been supportive but was frequently petulant. He started staying at work late even when he didn’t have a case.

She got promoted twice, started taking out clients. She got nicer clothes, nicer shoes, better haircuts. He barely noticed. She’d stay out later, he didn’t care. He seemed perpetually in a dark place.

She started doing things she knew would piss him off just to get his attention. Nothing worked.

A week after she cheated on him for the first time, he came home early, said he wanted to talk to her about something. Her gut roiled and she poured herself a drink, then a second. She was certain he knew.

Then he smiled at her, told her about files he had found in the basement of the Hoover Building, unsolved cases, weird cases, cases with no earthly explanation. His excitement was contagious. She asked questions, told him he should go for it, see if he could get the assignment.

They made love that night for the first time in six weeks.

She swore to herself she’d never cheat on him again.

3

It started to feel like the X-Files was the other woman. He was obsessed with his work, and she felt lonely. Her oath to fidelity did not take.

One night he came home, upset, and once again, she thought she’d been caught.

This time, however, it was because his unit had been assigned another agent.

“That’s great!” she said, feeling guilty and overcompensating with enthusiasm, “that means they’re taking you and your work seriously!”

He gave her a pitying look. She hated his pity. It made her feel stupid.

“No,” he said, “it means they’re sending someone down to spy on me.” He was directing his foul mood at her and talking down to her in the process.

“Don’t do that,” she said, “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Condescend. You’re pissed off and you’re taking it out on me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t expecting him to relent, it made her feel off balance.

“What if you asked for a reassignment? Did something different?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Do you even know what I do? Why I do it?”

It felt like a trap. She generally tuned out when he talked about work. He sounded ridiculous and it made her look ridiculous, too. Every time one of their friends — of which there were fewer and fewer these days —asked about his job, she changed the subject, steered the conversation to something-anything else.

When she didn’t answer right away, he leaned back.

“Of course you don’t,” he said.

She felt the poison of anger tip into her bloodstream.

“What do you want me say? ‘I’m sorry you’re being spied on at work?’ Do you know how crazy and paranoid that sounds? Are you listening to yourself?”

“Am I listening, Lauren?” he said, his voice low and dark, “I’m the only one in this house that does.”

With that, he grabbed his wallet and keys, slammed the door behind him.

She called Peter and told him to come over. They had only ever met at hotels before.

In some ways, Fox wasn’t paranoid enough, she thought with satisfaction, with disgust.

4

She had been operating on the assumption that Special Agent Scully was a man for the better part of 5 months when Fox finally dropped a pronoun.

“Wait, she?” Lauren said. “What do you mean she?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, “you could give a shit about my career. Why take an interest now?”

They picked fights now, that’s all they did.

“Are you fucking her?”

She knew she said the wrong thing the second the words were out of her mouth. She’d only wanted to hurt him.

He ground his teeth, closed his eyes. The veins on his temples throbbed visibly beneath his skin. He took a deep breath.

“No, Lauren,” he said, his voice as cold as ice, “I’m not you.”

5

She dropped by the Hoover building early on his birthday to take him to lunch. She pretended she’d misremembered the time she was supposed to meet him and took the elevator down to his office. She’d only been there one other time.

This woman, this ‘Scully’, didn’t seem like a threat, for which she was grateful. The woman was short, had a pretty face, but a bit of baby fat through her cheeks. Apparently she was a doctor, but dressed like a stand-in on Murphy Brown.  

While at lunch she’d ordered a glass of champagne. She felt like celebrating.

6

Something happened at the FBI. He was reassigned. He wouldn’t tell her much. She tried to make it up to him--introduced him to one of her clients, Senator Matheson, who had shown interest in her husband’s work.

He came home at normal hours for a while, but was distant. Closed off.

He flew to Puerto Rico for a long weekend without even fucking telling her.

Then she got a call from him--his former partner, the Scully woman, had been kidnapped from her apartment. He wasn’t sure when he’d be home, but he was working the case and would call her. She heard nothing.

She saw him briefly on the news, called him over and over, but he never picked up his phone.

He walked through the door after being gone for days with his hand in a cast. She asked him what happened, but he didn’t talk, just stripped to his boxers and went to bed.

In the morning, she made him her famous waffles and gave him his space. He kissed her before he left for work that day, but only on the forehead. They had not spoken a word.

7

They found a new normal that lasted a couple years. He had the job he wanted back, working with his partner, Scully. She loved her job, thrived on it, started spending most of her time at the office or out with clients. They didn’t see each other much and found that if they didn’t see each other, they didn’t fight.

He was gone more often than he wasn’t.

Her mother got sick with cancer, fought for months. Fox was supportive, attentive, but still a bit distant. She took whatever she could get. When her mother died, Fox picked her up at the hospital, called her father, made all the arrangements.

She needed to get away, so she asked him to take her to Mexico for her 30th birthday. He couldn’t make it work, but suggested she take a few friends with her and really do it up right.

Everyone but Amy made it -- she was eight months pregnant. They got absolutely bombed on their first night at the resort--someone had thought it a good idea to mix Dos Equis with Tequila (“beergaritas, Lauren!”) and they only found out April was pregnant when she was walking around getting everyone water, her drink sitting untouched on the balcony.

They talked about their jobs, their husbands, and everyone seemed so blissfully happy. Lauren felt like she was missing something. At 1:00am she slunk into one of the bedrooms and called Fox. She didn’t remember exactly what she said.

When April’s husband met them at the airport when they landed at Dulles, he had eyes only for his wife and caressed her stomach before he even kissed her. He carried her bags and treated her like fine china.

When Lauren got home, she told Fox she wanted to have a baby. She felt something like hope when he told her they could talk about it. “Not right now,” he’d said, “but we can talk about it.”

8

When he asked her for a divorce a couple weeks later, she was so taken aback, she asked him to repeat himself.

“I can’t do this anymore, Lauren,” he’d said, “I want a divorce.”

His eyes were full of sympathy and she hated him for it.

She threw words at him, objects, anything she thought might hurt him like he was hurting her. That fucking baseball--she hated baseball--the antique compass from his fucking partner--the one that got put on the shelf next to their wedding picture. Slurs, tears, things--she threw them all.

He took it, he took her words, he absorbed her tears. And then he picked up the compass and he walked away.

His things were gone from the condo two weeks later.

9

After court, she didn’t see him for almost two years. He was with his partner, Scully.

She’d been leaving a restaurant in Old Town Alexandria, had met a few friends for lunch on a Saturday, when she saw them walking by.

She’d been about to raise her hand in greeting and say hello when Fox reached for Scully’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Lauren froze in her tracks.

He had a lightness about him she hadn’t seen in years, and the way he was looking at Scully--who had learned how to dress since Lauren saw her last and looked nothing short of stunning--he had never looked at her like that. He practically glowed from within. Scully returned his look with an easy affection.

They continued walking, now hand-in-hand, and Lauren felt something that wasn’t quite jealousy. She thought she could be glad for him. Someday.

10

One year later, she finally sought him out.

He agreed to meet her by the carousel on the National Mall on a bright Saturday morning in summer.

He was there when she arrived, sitting on a bench, gently pushing a navy blue stroller back and forth in a rocking motion.

She approached him.

“Fox,” she said, her voice low and quiet in deference to the maybe-sleeping child.

He looked up in surprise and she gave him a small, expectant smile.

“It’s okay,” he said to her in normal voice, smiling back, “she’s out.”

Lauren felt a genuine smile break out on her face.

“You’re a dad,” she said sweetly.

“Yeah,” Fox replied, appearing almost as surprised as she was. “She’s four months old, now.”

“What’s her name?” Lauren asked, sitting down next to him.

“Lily,” he said.

She nodded, tried to peek at the baby, who was mostly covered in a light blanket.

She leaned back and looked at him.

“How are you, Fox?”

“I’m good,” he said, “really good.”

“I’m glad,” she said, and found she was.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she answered. “How are your parents?”

“Same as always,” he said. “How’s your dad?”

“Dad’s good,” she said on a laugh, “he moved to Arizona, and is quite the hot ticket at the retirement community.”

Fox laughed.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said.

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments. The carousel music filled the air, punctuated by the occasional laugh of a child. A group of Chinese tourists walked past them, cameras out.

She reached in her pocket, pulled out a small pouch.

“Here,” she said, “this is yours.”

He opened the pouch, shook it out into his hand. His grandmother’s three-diamond ring fell onto his palm, 2.5 carats of antique beauty.

He looked at it, flipped it over in his hand.

“Lauren,” he finally said, moving his hand toward her, to give it back, “I gave this to you.”

She reached out and closed his hand around the ring.

“And I’m giving it back,” she said.

He opened his mouth to protest and she nodded at the stroller.

“Give it to Scully,” she said gently, “or save it for Lily,” his eyes rose to meet hers and she knew she was making the right decision, “it never really belonged to me.” She tapped her finger gently on his chest above his heart, “And neither did this.”

After a moment he nodded gently, opened up his hand to look again at the ring.

Then the baby started making noises and the moment was over. He gathered up the small child and brought her up to rest against his shoulder.

“Almost time to find Mom for lunch,” he said.

Lauren rose from the bench and bent forward to look fondly at the baby. She had bright blue intelligent eyes and wispy apricot hair.

She reached out and touched a finger to the baby’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lily,” she said, then ran a finger one last time down his raspy jaw. “Be well, Fox.”

He hoisted the baby up and nodded at her.

“Be well, Lauren.”

Lauren turned from them both and slowly made her way home.

[behld]

miscellaneous jon facts, part three.      (   one,   two.   )

out of habit, flips to the front & back inside covers of every single book he picks up to check for a from the library of jurgen leitner stamp. immediately post a guest for mr spider incident he was much more thorough about this, checking each book (especially ones his grandmother brought back from charity shops on her weekly book-buying trips) at least a dozen times before daring to read a word, but by the time he’s an adult it’s an automatic reflex. he doesn’t notice he’s doing it at all.

i’ve said before that jon can’t cook but i think i’m reversing that statement. he can cook — he always felt (whether justified or not) that he had to earn his keep at his grandmother’s, so to speak, and overcompensated on any chores he was given, and eventually that included cooking meals when she was too tired to do so. he works best when going directly from a recipe and never really learned any family recipes or anything. his grandmother wasn’t the type to pass things down.

he doesn’t cook very much anymore. doesn’t make the time to make full meals & doesn’t see much point in cooking for himself if it’s something he could easily order instead. eats a lot of take-out when he actually remembers to eat in the first place.

which he’s. actually really bad about. jon gets extremely hyperfocused on work very frequently and doesn’t look up from what he’s doing for hours upon hours, and this, unsurprisingly, has some impacts on his eating habits!

#1 coping mechanism for anything is consistently denial. see someone get eaten by a giant spider from a book when you’re a kid? well, you always had an awful imagination anyways, but that memory should probably be repressed to all hell until you’re ready to deal with it, aka approximately never. best friend jumps off a cathedral and presumably dies while you’re in uni? have a week-long breakdown in which you obsessively search for any bit of information you can find and then force yourself to stop thinking about him entirely because hey, it’s finals week, you don’t have time to freak out. get a job dealing with the very supernatural entities that haunted your childhood? pshh, the supernatural isn’t real, there’s rational explanations for all of this. have a crush on your archival assistant? well clearly these complicated feelings are contempt because martin is so bad at his job, not the uncomfortable first stirrings of a crush.

i have a habit of like... i’ll write a muse a certain way. and then figure out something about myself. and realize i was projecting that thing onto my muse accidentally, without even realizing it applied to me as well. this happened w my anxiety and w my adhd and now it’s happened again with the newest addition to my trifecta of things that start with a. all this to say: jon autistic? jon autistic. i’ll expand on this at some point but i’m pretty sure i’ve been writing him that way already so

[alltingfinns]

Back on my bullshit (somewhat later than previously expected) and finishing the rewatch of A Scandal in Belgravia:

“Thinking about what?” “Your blog counter-“

Is he changing the topic or answering the question? Technically he’s still tasked with the phone although, again technically, it was retrieval of the phone not gaining access to it. Maybe he’s just thinking about John’s blog, it does tend to occupy his mind more than it does John’s at times.

“How can we not know?” John sees himself and Hudson as the ultimate Sherlock experts. Not Mycroft or Lestrade. Could be a meta nod to the narrator and the foreshadower roles they play.

Pretty lady he doesn’t know calls him by name and asks him out and he’s like sure, kidnap away! I know he has a danger boner, but damnit Watson, get some survival instincts!!

Wonder if there’s a point to make us think Mycroft other than “plot twist not dead”. Technically Irene could have been revealed a number of surprising ways without invoking Mycroft, and there’s a callback later to John just wanting to meet at a cafe.

“Sherlock doesn’t follow me everywhere.” Famous words.

“He does that all anyway.” So why do you think he’s heartbroken, John? Why do you think Irene means so much to him?

“I’ll come after you if you don’t.” The classic “if you hurt him” threat.

“Oh I believe you.”

He starts off so calm but by her second refusal to tell Sherlock he’s huffing and puffing. Irene gets way under his skin.

He’s so angry and jealous. I just... the way he explodes out “What do you usually say? You’ve texted him a lot!”

John just cares so much more about those texts than Sherlock ever does.

He just can’t fathom the possibility that Sherlock didn’t reply because he didn’t care.

Now we come to some infamous precise wording from John Watson:

“Are you jealous?”

“We’re not a couple.”

As you know, jealousy in difference from envy, involves an element of possession. Therefor it is usually associated with couples, which John and Sherlock aren’t at this point. At least not officially. But John is possessive of Sherlock, and is sensitive to someone like Irene taking him away.

“I am not actually gay”. John isn’t gay (in the strictly homosexual meaning rather than the more general queer meaning) as we saw earlier with him checking out the pretty lady.

Although thinking about it, that was just after he asked Hudson about Sherlock’s romantic history, so he may have been overcompensating. That’s probably what lowered his guard, the relief of getting to confirm his attraction to women post haste.

“But I am.” She mentions male lovers at different points, but she also uses her sexuality and understanding of others wants in a transactional way. So does she mean strictly-into-binary-women-lesbian or generally queer? It’s placed in opposition (and simultaneously not) to John’s statement, so probably the former.

“Look at us both.” John’s chuckle is a real “you got me there”.

John looks so vulnerable when he realizes what Sherlock just heard. But Irene knows that John isn’t ready to confront a Sherlock who knows how John feels, and uses that fear against him. Who knows what might have happened if John had just pushed through.

Sherlock’s eyes going back and forth indicates he’s deducing while walking. Depending on how much he heard there are two possibilities, 1) he’s trying to figure out how Irene is alive or 2) how John can be “not gay” for him. 1) is unlikely as he surely must have been tight enough on John’s heels to at least have caught the tail end of her explanation, but all options should be considered. With 2) some of you may wonder why he doesn’t need to deduce Irene being into him, because you forgot that she’s been flirting at him non stop.

Sherlock deduces some assholes messed with the wrong landlady.

Ok so how did Sherlock get back so much faster than John? Because you almost think he walked back, but even if he got a cab, why does John take so long? Maybe the fanfics are right and Sherlock is just magically better than John at summoning cabs.

Sherlock is impatient for John to take Hudson away so he can deal out justice without doing it infront of her or leaving her alone downstairs.

“Oh! That was right on my bins.” Classic!

Hudson is so important to Sherlock. Wonder if we’ll ever get their full story?

John smiling at Sherlock’s softness.

Sherlock probably realized there were more than pictures back when the Americans first showed up. Hence why he’s preoccupied with getting into it while John is preoccupied with Irene and what she means to Sherlock.

Oooh! The Netflix subtitles turned John’s “so she’s alive then” to “in other words she lied”. Technically both works, she lied about being dead which is kind of rude.

Also John please.

Drink in hand. “How are we feeling about that?” “Do you think you’ll be seeing her again?”

You know how people are John? I think this is a case of John is people. Irene shows up in one short story, bests Sherlock and leaves to live happily ever after with her husband. He notes that she’s remarkable as the only woman to defeat him and keeps her picture. (Which honestly is no different from how he asks John to remind him of Norbury, he wants to remember his mistakes.) Yet the mainstream view is that she is his greatest love, and people have written books where she returns to have a daughter with him.

Fucking straight culture.

Sherlock sending Irene a happy new year text like “there, John, you see? She. Is. Not. Special!!”

“You think she’s my girlfriend because I am X-raying her possessions?”

Fucking. Straight. Culture.

“They do, don’t they?” If you’re following Molly’s line of thought and thinking of people in love, I hate to break it to you Sherlock. You’ve been head over heels for one sharpshooting doctor for a while now.

Molly’s threatened by how Irene “loves to play games”. That is how John sees it; Irene seems like a perfect female counterpart to Sherlock. His jealousy of Irene is basically an expansion of his jealousy of Moriarty in the previous episode. Both John and Molly worry that they’re too boring for Sherlock.

Sherlock’s look while John details his ludicrously circumventional plan for getting the phone is priceless.

1058 = 2 * 23 * 23 if that means anything.

John’s look just before “Hamish!” is amazing.

Speaking of, his outburst is retroactively so much funnier after Sign of Three. Sherlock having to get ahold of his birth certificate to learn what the H is for, and John just gives it up when he thinks Irene and Sherlock are about to make babies.

Sherlock’s eyebrow. “I had to owe Mycroft a favor John. Do you understand the pain of that? John, I asked you directly so many times. You don’t even like her! Jooohn!”

The focus on John’s mug. Is she directing John’s attention at Sherlock by directing her attention to Sherlock? Is that the play she’s been building up for? (Note that if this was about Sherlock falling for her there would be no reason to involve John as much as she has at this point.)

Confirmed by how his deduction is followed by looking at John first. Since that cab ride he has lived for impressing John with his deductions.

Sherlock’s struggle with placing 007. He didn’t learn it for casework so it isn’t in his mind palace, but he learned about it because of John so it is still lingering at the edges of his memories. Also, been there. When you know there’s something but you can’t place it, probably a rare feeling for him.

Moriarty blowing away the letters with a fart noise. Another classic!

Totally forgot how much drama they put into Mycroft here. It’s more than a failed operation.

Sherlock: “WWII story”

Irene: “Have you had sex? Like, ever?”

She’s hungry, he isn’t. No means no, Irene, no means no.

Is it just me or is it kind of convenient that John isn’t there for the climax? Did Irene chase him away somehow?

Driver’s like “look man, our job is to get you to the airport. We don’t care whatever it is you’re rambling about.”

Wonder what the time lapse here is, seeing as the American intelligence officer (did I forget his name or did we never get it) is up and about.

Best way to let your younger sibling know they messed up, give them a ticket to a haunted house style airplane of dead people.

Well whaddya know? Scenes believed to be completely played for laughs were part of the main plot all along. How very interesting. It’s almost like there’s some thought behind the writing. Like things being played for laughs have something more going on.

This scene is where the parallels to The Private Life become glaring. Mycroft telling Sherlock off for halting an operation by getting compromised by a woman.

“Don’t be absurd.” Again, Sherlock deduced to impress John, so he doesn’t feel described by Mycroft here. Because Irene’s play was too subtle for the Holmes brothers to understand.

Mycroft “didn’t know”. He thought Sherlock would be safe from Irene because he knows Sherlock’s gay, but now he doubts. He doesn’t know that Irene acted through John.

Ahh, six months. That makes sense. Still, the guy should probably still have some breathing irregularity from that punctured lung.

Mycroft’s eyebrow raise at Irene’s demands. That high of a figure, huh?

Moriarty’s name is what turns Sherlock’s cogs. Mycroft helpfully supplies that Jim’s been trying to get his attention. Moriarty was dissuaded from killing him and John by a phone call from someone who had something he desperately wanted, and he was necessary for Irene to use what she had to get to Mycroft. She made the call.

People have mentioned this before but it bears repeating: why are you bringing up John? Also, why are you calling him Watson?

When he says “I know” does that mean he knows that she only made that the code as part of the role she played as being in love with him? He does say “got caught up in the game”.

Which I guess means he’s telling her “don’t method act, you silly”

“Okay, I’m meeting you at a cafe like you wanted.” “Wtf, Mycroft, that wasn’t even your underling I said it to!”

Ffs Mycroft! John was finally starting to realize Sherlock didn’t feel that way about her.

Que the piratelock AUs.

The things going on here. The last minute decision on what to say, opting for the comfortable lie. Sherlock very aware of that in ways John can’t known. “Please.” John somehow still preoccupied with her texts.

I’ve seen at least one fanfic mention that Sherlock probably felt he owed her for the pool rescue. Also he isn’t really inclined towards people dying whatever people seem to think.

The woman. She did beat him. He may have gotten the upper hand in the last inning*, but she did get him to play into her hands. Keeping the phone, means keeping a reminder of his own vulnerabilities.

Because ASiB is spread out over so much time, and someone has pointed out that Hudson wears a dress that is brand new in THoB, this scene takes place after the fireside. (I really should have checked for the dress in ASiB, get a proper timeline.) Maybe he’s laughing because he feels that she taught him to master his emotions.

Next up: My personal favorite of this series. Coming whenever it does. Time is a construct.

*) I’m not even sure what sports has innings. Is it baseball? It’s probably baseball.

[shirtlesssammy]

15x05: Proverbs 17:3

Then:

I’m not crying, you’re crying!

Now:

(weeping in corner ---this is Steve Yockey’s last episode) 

Black Forest, Colorado

Three young women on a Pinterest inspired LL Bean photoshoot getaway, toast to friendship and good times. Now that they’re done with college, two of them have found jobs and are on their way to subverting the new world order of underemployment. Ashley, the other friend, will be driving for Uber. 

They all hear a noise outside the tent. Julie goes for more rum and gets yanked. The other one tries closing the tent but is also yanked. Cue Ashley’s screams!

At the bunker, Sam checks his messages to Cas. He’s been texting and texting but hasn’t heard anything back. I am emotional. Dean is going to bury that shit and not even tell his brother what happened? ARGH. Sam hides his phone pretty quick so it’s obvious that he knows something isn’t right --and he doesn’t needle his brother about it so he knows something REALLY isn’t right. 

Dean’s back from a supply run and is back on his overcompensating with food bullshit. He eats a ghost pepper jerky bite and instantly regrets it. On the plus side, we get this:

Anyway, they’ve got a case. 

*Dream Vision Alert*

Lucifer!Sam sits at a table in the bunker. Dean approaches from behind, draws the Colt, asks for forgiveness, and shoots Sam in the back of the head. Lucifer!Sam doesn’t die though. The wound heals and his eyes glow red. Lucifer!Sam scoffs at the idea that the Colt would kill him, adding, “we both knew it had to end this way.” Then fire consumes Dean. 

Sam wakes in the Impala. Dean wants to know what’s up but Sam will only admit to a bad dream. 

They reach Colorado and instead of their usual routine, Dean pulls out some old school tricks: Fish and Wildlife agents. They were babies! (But this is also just such a nice way to show HOW MUCH Sam and Dean have changed over the years. The story Chuck was telling in season one has changed so much --they are not the same anymore. And while Dean continues to repress his current issues (ala Cas), it’s clear that he’s not the same.)

They go in and talk with the sheriff.

(Also, this is yet another week using an actor that has been in a previous episode of Supernatural. I realize this does happen, but this actress played Tara, the hunter that helped Dean and Crowley find Cain and the First Blade--and the Mark of Cain.) 

The sheriff doesn’t think these attacks are animal in nature. There’s one witness they can talk to. They head to the hospital to talk with her. They ask what she remembers. She flashes back to the forest. She’s running and a man/monster is chasing her. She’s reluctant to talk, but Dean assures her that they’ve heard it all. The man that killed her friends had claws and fangs. A werewolf. Dean tells the poor girl that monsters and werewolves are all real. 

Dean gets a name. Sam points out that it wasn’t a full moon the night Ashley was attacked (Dean suggests pureblood), and Sam sets off to find an address. 

They head to a cabin in the woods where Andy, the werewolf, lives with his brother, Josh. They’re isolated, reluctant to have visitors, don’t have a phone. Just as God intended. Sam and Dean leave. 

Josh yells at Andy for not killing Ashley. I’m just loling all over the place. This melodramatic crazy is TOO much. Family of werewolves that hunt people. Their dad’s dead but it’s the family business. Reluctant younger brother...

The brothers check in at the Sleepy Bear Inn. (Have we mentioned HOW MUCH WE LOVE JERRY WANEK? It’s true!) 

They’ve got Ashley under their protection. They need to go take care of “the lumberjack twins.” Sam wonders why this whole case seems too easy. Lololol. Ashley asks the brothers to stay with her until she falls asleep. Meanwhile, Andy and Josh are outside the motel ready to kill her. 

Dean and Ashley talk about hunting. Dean says he likes his job --helping people. She asks if he ever wanted to be anything else: Jimi Hendrix. He says that so quickly. It breaks me a bit. But then he toes the company line. Ashley wondering how great life would be if it was all planned out. That makes Dean turn a little green. Poor bby. 

Sam wakes Sleeping Beauty - I mean, Dean. He zonked out while Sam headed out to get food and while he was sleeping, Ashley disappeared.

Cut to Ashley who is astonishingly NOT DEAD YET. She’s tied up in a bloody slaughter room, though. The two werewolf bros burst in, mid argument. “This isn’t who we are,” Andy protests, his pure white, tucked-in sweater standing out sharply against the ACTUAL BLOOD SPATTERED WALL. (Like, seriously, guys. Get a cleaning service, at least. That can’t be sanitary.)

“This is exactly who we are,” Josh growls. Hoooo-boy.

Dean and Sam race back to the cabin and quickly follow Ashley’s screams to the slaughter room. Their approach causes the werewolves to scamper, but not very far. As they attempt to escape, the Winchesters and Ashley get ambushed in the main room. The two werewolves get the upper hand on Dean and Sam, and the werewolf with a taste for human flesh closes in on Dean, snarling. Andy picks up Dean’s dropped gun and points it at Sam. He stares between Sam and Josh in agony.

Andy shoots and kills his brother. “He turned into a monster,” Andy explains tearfully. “And I’m a monster too.” He turns the gun on himself, killing himself with one quick shot to the heart. (Jeez, always the heart in this season. It’s almost like it’s an important metaphor or something.)

“That was weird,” Dean says which is like a total UNDERSTATEMENT… But that doesn’t even come close to what happens next. Dean tries to comfort Ashley, who pushes away and…

…trips and falls right onto the antlers. BOOM. Ashley’s dead. Sam, Dean, and pretty much every single one of us viewers stares at Ashley’s body in shock and confusion. That’s…not…normal. Also, this episode is only half over. WTF?

“Well, this is a bitch,” Ashley grumbles, opening her eyes and standing up, still impaled. She cheerfully flashes her eyes white at Sam. She’s LILITH, baby! 

Lilith has clearly never made friends with the phrase “Loose lips sink ships” because she spills E V E R Y T H I N G. Chuck pulled her out of the Empty (where she was dead as a demon doornail), gave her instructions to seduce Dean post-rescue, told her to show Sam and Dean the werewolf murder/sacrifice mirror, and sent her to retrieve the magic gun: Ye Olde Equalizer. 

The Winchesters try to fight Lilith, but she blasts them into the walls, knocking Sam out. Dean promises Lilith the gun as long as Sam’s okay. Same old song and dance, my friends. But now we get the feeling that Dean’s SEEING THE SCRIPT even while he’s still feeling utterly trapped by it.

Sam has another vision while he’s power healing through his latest concussion. This time, Dean’s out to kill a human Sam. Dean, under the influence of the Mark of Cain, murders his brother with the first blade. When Sam wakes, the cabin is empty. 

In the Impala, Lilith is sitting about two feet away from the equalizer gun - still hidden in the glove box- and amusedly answers Dean’s questions. She’s massively irked that she’s back on Earth as part of Chuck’s latest story…when the story she THOUGHT her death was integral to was foiled by the Winchesters. It’s adding insult to injury, man. “Wouldn’t it be great if everything was just planned out for you?” she repeats and then laughs right in Dean’s face. Chuck fed her that line directly. 

Lilith chirpily comments on Chuck’s storytelling propensity and his hamfisted werewolf brother foreshadowing. “It always ends the same,” she tells Dean. “One brother killing the other.” 

Back at the motel, I am still UTTERLY DAMN CHARMED at the Wanek crew’s amazing work on this room. 

For Please Come Decorate My House Science:

Dean tells Lilith that she’ll NEVER get the gun and she starts to slice him bit by bit. It’s the death of a thousand cuts!

Sam breaks in and shoots Lilith in the forehead without another word. He traps her in place with a devil’s trap bullet. “I’ve got you now, my pretty!” Sam should have shouted (but didn’t). What he does do is threaten to kill her. Lilith gets pissed at this. Like, EXCUSE HER VERY MUCH, but she’s a total badass who LET Sam kill her back in season four. Don’t mess with her! 

The Winchesters flee but don’t even make it past the parking lot. Lilith zaps out to meet them. Where’s the gun??? She reasons it out, and concludes that the gun is clearly in the Impala. (Clears throat… The most important car in the universe!?) Lilith finds the equalizer pretty much right away and laughs at how damn easy it was. Which...yeah.

“We’ll get it back,” Sam snarls and without further ado, Lilith melts the heck out of the gun. Now it’s just a cooling black pool against the asphalt. Oooooookay. Plan...X?

Back at the bunker, the boys fortify themselves with liquor. Sam leaves ANOTHER voicemail for Cas. (Pardon me while I take a short break to weep and rend my clothing.) “We gave him the head’s up on Chuck and Lilith,” Dean says. “What else are we supposed to do?” Oh, I don’t know. Probably apologize? Tell him you love him and value him as a person. That sort of thing. 

Dean’s pretty shattered at the revelation that Chuck’s still pulling their strings. Thanks to Lilith, he understands that Chuck wants an ending where one of them kills the other. Sam immediately ties this into the dreams he’s been having. “You’re just telling me this, NOW?” Dean asks. And…I think that reaction is justified. Sam speculates that his equalizer wound is showing him Chuck’s endings and MAYBE a slice of Chuck’s mind. 

“This was supposed to be over,” Dean says in response. “Are we just gonna keep running in this friggin’ hamster wheel until we die? Or we get boring and he ends us?” I’m laughing at the direct commentary on how TV shows live and die but also...DEAN BBY. 

Sam thinks they can fight. Dean wants to know how the hell they’re supposed to FIGHT GOD.

______________________________

Goldilocks and the Three Quotes:

Poor, faithful Dean. We both knew it had to end this way

I’ll Freud you

Whatever you’re about to say, I want you to know that we’ve heard worse. We’ve heard weirder

I don’t lie to you. I look out for you

That’s not how this story goes

Oh, you would promise a girl the moon, Dean Winchester

Of the three potential vessels, Ashley had the best hair

God? He is not exactly Shakespeare. He’s more of a low rent Dean Koontz

Be a good boy and show me that BIG GUN, huh?

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[camillemontespan]

the history of us [drake x camille] [part five: 20th july - i’m right here]

Part Four if you want to catch up.

Warnings: NSFW. Feelings. Angst. 

@jovialyouthmusic @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @rainbowsinthestorm @stopforamoment @notoriouscs @dcbbw @burnsoslow @emceesynonymroll @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @drakewalkerisreal   @iplaydrake @gardeningourmet @symonde @katedrakeohd @cordoniasmost @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @ccolz88-blog @nomadics-stuff

***********************************************************************************

20th July 2023

Madeleine went to the press and has done a 'tell all' interview about us. I knew she was a snake but I didn't realise she would be this awful. Is that naive? It was for the Cordonian Enquirer, which is pure trash.

Madeleine lied throughout. She said Drake is an irresponsible father who wasn't watching Lily when she broke her arm. Apparently he's too much of a brute to be a Duke which is ridiculous because he's a marshmallow.

Madeleine went on to say that in private, I spend all the tax payers money on decorating the manor and buying designer clothes. How childish can you get? I don't do anything of the sort!

Drake and I have been interviewing potential publicists to try and sort out this mess. We've both agreed that Madeleine was the bar the interviewees have to beat so I guess our standards are pretty low..

In all seriousness, we want a publicist who cares about us. Who can promote us in the way we want, to show us as the family we are. I don't want constant emails or texts telling me how I've managed to fuck something up.

I want someone to help us fix this sudden witch hunt. I know its affecting Drake because I went into his study last night to put back a book I borrowed and his computer screen was on. I didn't mean to look but the screen showed the close up photos of his face when he grabbed that photographer. I know Drake is fixating on it and I wish he wouldn't. He does really care what people think of him, despite his protests that he doesn't. Surely he should know that the only opinions that matter are mine and Lily's? And we adore him!

We're interviewing a woman called Samantha Jones today. I'm tempted to binge watch Sex and the City just to get into the spirit of interviewing. Do you think she likes cosmopolitans?

Drake stopped reading to chuckle. This was the first time reading Camille's diary that he had actually laughed.

He missed her. He missed her laughter and sense of humour. He missed her smile. Drake hadn't seen Camille since yesterday morning when she walked out.

The house felt empty without her and Lily. The TV should be on right now with a Disney film, Lily watching it in rapture. Camille should be chatting away on the phone to Hana or playing with Cheddar on the floor.

He wanted to phone her but after their talk yesterday, he didn't feel it would be welcome.

                            *************************************************

Camille opened the front door to greet their next interviewee. 'Hi there, you must be Samantha -'

'Jones, yes,' the tall blonde woman drawled. She was wearing a fuchsia coat and black stilettos. 'But don't compare me to that caricature of a publicist from that ridiculous TV show. I've heard enough jokes to last a lifetime.'

She shook Camille's hand strode into the foyer. Camille took her coat and hung it up, before leading her to her study where Drake was sat in one of the armchairs.

Drake stood up and shook her hand politely, gesturing for her to sit down. Camille sat on her side of the desk. Before she could speak, Samantha began to take documents out of her bag. She laid them on the table; Drake and Camille stared. The woman had made mindmaps with pictures of Drake and Camille in the web. She then started to talk.

'So it's quite a mess you've got yourselves into,' she said seriously. 'Lily in hospital, Drake grabbing a photographer and now your ex publicist is dragging your names through the mud. All in the space of about 2 weeks.'

Drake and Camille blinked. 'You don't pull any punches,' Drake commented.

Samantha shrugged. 'Why beat around the bush? Now I know what happened. Kids get into accidents all the time, they're a big responsibility which is one reason why I don't want them. Lily is four. Breaking her arm is normal.'

Camille grinned. 'Thank you -'

Samantha carried on. 'Drake, you have a restraining order set on the media which shows you care about your family and your privacy. It may not sit well with the media or the overbearing public but I understand your reasons. It does make a publicist’s job harder but I like a challenge.  But grabbing a photographer wasn't a good idea but hey, it's done now. So, how do we fix it?'

Drake and Camille weren't sure if she wanted an answer. She didn't seem to mind their gawping faces. She just kept talking.

'If I was your publicist, I wouldn't have you grovel. You were doing your job as a husband and father. I can make your reputation and image sparkling after this. I can make you a DILF.'

Drake stared at her. 'DILF?'

'You are aware you are being interviewed right?' Camille asked. 'You've just told your potential boss that you can make him a DILF. Not that he isn't already but..'

Samantha let out a peal of laughter. 'Oh Camille! If you hire me, you'll get used to me. What I mean is I can show Cordonia the family man that Drake is. I can promote him in the best possible light which is as a father and husband. I can make the women of Cordonia fall in love with him.'

Camille gripped the table. 'But I don't want the women of Cordonia to fall in love with him. He's mine.'

'Exactly. He will be unattainable which is even better,' Samantha explained. 'No stuffy Duke crap, Drake. I'll show who you are in the way that you want.'

Drake couldn't resist a smile. 'I do like being a dad..' he said humbly.

‘You’re lucky Valtoria still like you,’ Samantha told them. ‘You were born commoners, which in a way is quite endearing. So, if you were to hire me, I would work on promoting you within Valtoria and work my way out. Duchy first, nation second. If you have the Valtorians in your corner, you will be fine.’

Drake cleared his throat. ‘What’s the first step?’

Samantha pointed to her mindmap. ‘I suggest throwing a garden party. A sort of welcome home to Valtoria for you. You invite the Valtorian people. It will be a family event. I want to show you both as a married couple with a kid; you may be Duke and Duchess but the thing about you both is you are no different from your duchy, other than a title. That’s the angle I want to focus on. So, I’m thinking bouncy castles, alpaca petting station, a DJ, face painting. Your duchy can have fun, talk to you in person, see you for the family you are.  Those nasty rumours that Madeline is spreading about you will be dead by the time the party is over.’

Camille looked at Drake. ‘Drake, we can talk in private for a moment?’

    ******************************************************************************

27th July 2023

The garden party was going so well today. Samantha is fantastic; she may be in your face but she can do her job. She organised everything. The garden was set up with a gazibo, fairylights, a giant paddling pool for the kids, an alpaca petting station, face painting and a bouncy castle. The caterers served burgers, hot dogs, mac n cheese... American home comforts which was such a nice touch. 

Drake was a little nervous this morning. I think he was feeling the pressure to look like the ultimate family man as per Samantha’s plan, but I kept telling him he is already the best family man there is. He’s so natural with Lily- I don’t understand where this insecurity comes from. Is it because his dad died and his mom left? I often think he feels he needs to make Lily’s childhood as happy as possible because of the things he missed out on growing up. I guess I’m the same; I lost my parents and I’ve always felt this gaping hole, like something was missing. Marrying Drake and having Lily is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So if Drake overcompensates, I get his reasons. I do it too. 

The party was going well until the game of Tag. I didn’t mean to get upset. I talked to him about it and I think we cleared the air. I’m still worried though.

Drake swallowed.  He knew what was coming in this diary entry. 

      *****************************************************************************

The garden was ready for the party. The head maid, Magda, was sweeping the paving. Lily was beside her with a miniature brush, crouching down low to sweep away stones. She liked to be helpful.

Drake was in his study. He was nervous about today. He hoped he would make a good impression and turn around public opinion of him; how much lower could it get? Quickly, he downed a glass of whiskey and cleared his throat, adjusting his shirt. 

He was dressed casual today. A red and green check shirt, blue faded jeans and boots. Taking a deep breath, he left his study and went out to the living room where Camille was standing at the mirror, applying her lip balm. She gave him a mega watt smile. ‘Hey handsome.’

She was wearing a red sundress and tan sandals. On her head was a white fedora hat and gold necklaces laced around her throat.  Drake felt his jeans tighten at the sight of her. 

He wished nobody was coming to this party today and he could just hang out with his wife. 

‘You okay? You look nervous.’

‘I’m fine,’ he lied. Camille moved towards him and placed her hands on his shoulders. 

‘You’re going to be great,’ she told him. ‘You’re already the best family man. You can do this in your sleep. Besides, today will be fun! We have American food! You can eat to your hearts content! No crappy finger food!’

Drake laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. ‘Oh, I plan to!’

She giggled and turned to go out to the garden. Drake cheekily slapped her ass and Camille turned to look at him over her shoulder with a glint in her eye.  Drake went back into his study to find his sunglasses. He heard the doorbell ring; their first guests. 

Drake clenched then unclenched his hands, shaking out his fists in a bid to calm down. He was a good dad. He was a good husband. He didn’t need to prove anything to these people. 

He still located his hip flask from his desk drawer though. He poured some whiskey inside and tightened the screw, shoving it into his jean pocket. 

Liquid courage. 

  *********************************************************************************

Maxwell seemed to be more excited by the alpacas than the actual children at the garden party. 

‘Camille, she likes me!’ he called out, stroking one. Camille grinned and joined him to stroke the alpacas. 

Olivia and Leo had rocked up an hour late. They weren’t the kind of people to attend family events. Why would they? They were together but marriage and babies were far from their minds. 

‘Is there any alcohol in this joint?’ Olivia muttered, her eyes taking in with horror the fifty children running around the garden screaming and laughing. She then saw the alpacas. ‘Please tell me there’s alcohol.’

Leo stared at the children. ‘I only like one child and that’s Lily. This is too much.’

Liam joined her and Leo, laughing at the horror on both their faces. ‘You guys okay?’

‘Just wondering whether to drown ourselves in vodka or slit our wrists,’ Olivia said dryly. 

Liam chuckled. ‘Sadly, there’s no alcohol at this event. I checked.’

The three of them wandered over to Drake, Camille and Maxwell. Hana was decorating Lily’s cast; she had pink and purple pens and was drawing flowers along the side, trying to make it look pretty. Lily was studying Hana’s drawing in wonder. 

‘So, what’s the point of this?’ Olivia asked.

‘It’s to show that Drake is a family man and we’re happy to be home!’ Camille told her, a huge smile on her face. Olivia stepped back. ‘Camille, tone down the fake smile, please.’ 

Camille sighed. ‘Fine. It’s our new publicist’s idea. She wants us to be like a normal family and then the public will like us.’

‘Fucking Madeline..’ Maxwell hissed. 

‘Max!’ the group cried.

‘Since when do you swear?’ Camille asked. 

Maxwell sighed.  ‘I’m so just annoyed at her. It’s not fair!’ 

‘It will blow over,’ Liam told them. ‘I promise. I’m sorry I foisted her on you. It was a bad match.’

Hana finished her drawing. Lily admired her handiwork. She then looked up at Olivia. ‘Aunt Olivia, can you sign my arm?’ 

Olivia took one of Hana’s pen. ‘Sure thing, kiddo.’ 

Lily held out her hand, stopping her. ‘But don’t touch Hana’s flowers. She made my arm pretty.’ 

Hana blushed. ‘It was nothing..’ she mumbled, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. Camille wrapped her arm around Hana’s shoulders, squeezing her. Hana was always so down on herself, for no reason. 

Olivia signed the cast, making Lily jump up and down now she had acquired another signature. 

‘Can we play Tag?’ she asked the adults.

‘Lily, we have alpacas here and you want to play Tag?’ Drake asked. Lily nodded, not understanding why her dad was confused. What was confusing about that?

‘You, me, mommy, Uncle Maxwell, Leo and Olivia!’ she hollered. 

Olivia let out a dry laugh. ‘Good joke, babe. I don’t play Tag. I’m going to sit down and have some... lemonade.’ She said the word with such disgust. 

She wandered off. Leo shrugged. ‘I’m gonna go join her. But hey, come see me later?’ he said, ruffling Lily’s hair. 

Maxwell cleared his throat. ‘Right. Lily, you’re It!’ 

Lily raced after Maxwell, Drake and Camille. The adults were deliberately slow so she could catch them. 

Drake slowed down for Lily, seeing she was approaching. ‘You’ll never get me!’ he shouted. Maxwell and Camille were beside him, thinking if they all ran slowly together, she could catch all three. Lily caught up and tugged on Drake’s egs. 

The hip flask fell out of his pocket.

It landed on the grass. Lily picked it up and studied it for a moment, working out what it was, before holding it up to him. ‘Daddy, you dropped your juice carton!’ 

The look on Camille’s face was of pure shock.  Drake never had his hip flask on him when he was with Lily. He usually reserved it for when they attended balls together as a couple and he had to endure the nobles. 

This was a family event. 

Lily had held his hip flask that was full of whiskey.

Drake hastily took the hip flask and shoved it in his pocket. He could feel Camille’s eyes staring at him in disbelief. 

Maxwell ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. ‘Hey, Lily, let’s go see Leo!’ he suggested loudly. Lily took his hand and they skipped towards Leo, who stood up and shouted, ‘Look, I’m Leo the Lion! I’m gonna get you!’ He proceeded to chase after Lily and Maxwell. 

While the families around them were laughing, eating food and talking, Drake and Camille stared at each other. It was like nobody else was there. Everyone had faded into nothing and all Camille could see was her husband looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. He looked ashamed. 

‘Inside,’ she whispered. ‘Now.’

   ****************************************************************************

‘Why are you drinking at this?’ Camille asked after she shut the door to their bedroom. Drake sighed. ‘I don’t know. It was a dumb idea.’

‘Damn right it’s a dumb idea!’ Camille burst out. ‘Drake, this is a family event. There’s no alcohol being served because this is meant to be a party for the kids.’

‘Look, I’m sorry-’ Drake tried to say. But she cut over him.

‘Lily picked up your hip flask.  She’s only four. I don’t want her finding that sort of shit.’ 

‘I won’t carry it with me again, okay?’ Drake said, his jaw set. ‘I just won’t. I’m sorry.’

Camille bit her lip. ‘Is there something you want to tell me? Have you been drinking more than usual?’

Drake thought back to the double measures. 

‘Not any more than usual,’ he said. ‘Just today. I felt nervous.’

‘I told you that you’re already the best family man,’ she said. ‘I think you’re brilliant. So does Lily. Our opinions are all that matter. I know we’re trying to promote ourselves better but that is just because of our jobs. In reality, I only want you to care about what your family thinks. We will never judge you, Drake.’ 

Drake looked down at the floor. He felt like such an asshole. 

‘I know you wouldn’t. I just needed liquid courage.’

Camille stepped forward and kissed him softly. ‘If you feel nervous or anxious, anything at all, just talk to me. Please. I’m the same, I get nervous about nobles and the public all the time! We’ve just got to be honest with each other. If it gets too much, we have to be able to count on each other here. Communicate openly. We have to be able to do that for Lily.’ 

Drake nodded and took her hands. ‘I didn’t mean to fuck up. It was a stupid idea.’ 

He threw the hip flask in the waste basket. 

Camille smiled.  ‘Let’s go back outside. Socialise. We can do it together.’ 

**************************************************************************************

Drake closed the diary. Camille had been shocked when she saw the hip flask. But why had he lied about drinking more than usual? If he had just been honest..

The front door lock began to turn. Drake jumped up from the sofa, hoping it was Camille. 

It was.

He felt like he hadn’t seen her in years, even though it had only been yesterday. She jumped when she saw him standing in the hallway, staring at her. 

‘You’re home,’ he said. ‘You’re finally home-’

‘I’m just picking up some of my notes for my next meeting with the girls,’ she told him. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

She began to stride to where her office was. Drake followed her. She was wearing a white trench coat, purple bodycon dress and nude heels. She was business chic today; she always dressed up for her meetings. 

‘I’ve been reading your diary,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t realise you wrote in it so much. It’s amazing.’

‘Good. I’m glad you’re reading it,’ she replied, rummaging through her desk drawers. She found a folder and placed it in her bag. ‘Okay, I’m going.’

Drake caught her by the arm. ‘Camille, please. Talk to me.’

‘I told you we can talk when you’ve gone through the box-’

‘You keep saying that but you won’t tell me why!’ he protested. ‘You’re being secretive.’

‘Ha!’ she laughed bitterly. ‘Pot kettle.’

A wounded expression passed over Drake’s face. He looked down at the floor, trying to hide it, but Camille had spotted it. She gently placed the folder down on the desk. 

‘Drake..’ she whispered.

He kept his eyes on the floor, trying to hold back tears. He was not going to cry again. His shoulders shook as he kept the tears in, swallowing sobs. 

‘Drake..’ Camille whispered again. She reached out and placed her hands on either side of his face. She gently brought his face up to look at her. Drake’s face was wet. Camille rubbed his face softly with her hands. ‘Don’t cry,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘Please don’t cry.’ 

‘I’m not crying,’ Drake replied, his voice thick. 

‘You are.’

‘Just sad, that’s all. I miss you.’

There was a silence. Camille wrung her hands together before murmuring, ‘I miss you too. I miss the real Drake Walker.’

‘I’m right here,’ he told her, his hands shaking. ‘I promise, I’m right here.’ 

They were a mere inch apart now. Drake could smell her coconut hair and Chanel perfume. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her brown eyes with gold flecks. He settled on her lips, like rosebuds. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her towards him and their lips met. 

Camille sank into him. He could taste her watermelon lipbalm. Her hands went up around his neck, pulling him in closer. Drake groaned and lifted her onto the desk, his hands reaching down to pull up the hem of her dress. Camille unbuckled his belt, his jeans falling to the floor. She pulled down his boxers, releasing his erection. 

As their tongues twisted and swirled like a vortex, Drake positioned himself at her entrance. She was ready for him. He was ready for her.  

Camille let out a cry as he entered her. He wasted no time in driving into her deep, wanting to fill all of her. She could feel every inch of him and she clenched his arms, digging her fingernails in as she braced herself for each hit and impact. 

Drake felt desperate. He needed her. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed her back in his life. He needed her back like this. He needed to know she loved him and that they were okay. That this could be salvaged. He needed to salvage this. 

‘No, Drake!’

She shoved him away. Drake stared at her as she jumped down from the desk and pulled her dress back down. Hot tears filled her eyes.

‘We can’t just fuck like this and pretend everything is okay!’ she shouted, the tears falling down her cheeks now. ‘This is making it too hard! I shouldn’t have come here, I should have just gone to my meeting without the fucking folder. But I see you looking upset and you say the real Drake is back and oh God, I wish that was true. I really want him back. But I can’t fuck you and pretend we are okay. I can’t lie to myself.’

Drake exhaled shakily. ‘I want to fix us.’

‘If you finish the diary, go through the box, we can talk,’ she told him. ‘That’s all I ask of you, Drake.’

‘I want to see Lily,’ he begged. ‘Please. Let me see my daughter.’

‘No, Drake.’

‘Why not?’ he burst out. ‘I miss her. She must miss me! She’s my girl.’ 

Camille closed her eyes. Her lips were shut tightly.  Drake kept begging, not caring how desperate he looked. 

‘I just want to see her, even for a minute, to see if she’s okay-’

‘She doesn’t want to see you, Drake!’

Drake stepped back as if he had been shot. Camille looked away from his horrified face, clenching her jaw. She couldn’t look at him.  Holding her folder to her chest, she moved past him and opened the study door, leaving him reeling.