#OR i just. explain things badly. or at half effort. will likely be written beyond 5am. but that applies to all versions tbh

[ajdrawshq]

so. for the hypothetical 999 poll playthrough. for both ppl who already know the plot n all that AND ppl who just know things secondhand/have never seen this game in your Life but like clicking poll buttons

screenshots will be included regardless just because <3

[noctualilith]

The Way You Speak

Like many good things in life, a convo that sparked this idea happened on our beloved Hazelnoots Discord Server Of Love And Inspiration. This fic was then written over three months live directly on the server. Now it is finished and I can release it into the wilderness of the Internet! 

So the roster says about Nado ‘Rival with Evgeni for most pick ups on the team’ My brain: They live together, right? So they hear each other have fun all the time. Coughthreesomescough. Tell me I'm wrong I challenge you. 

Nuny own my whole heart. A slightly alternate universe, a slightly different getting together story.

Sweater Weather universe and the characters of Kuny and Nado and the ‘I love the way you speak’ line by the wonderful @lumosinlove

My eternal gratitude for grammar stuffs and beta belongs to @tetedump

cw: explicit smut with feelings, mentions of alcohol in the beginning, mentions of food towards the end

word count: 12,8k

Jackson was squinting into the light of the open fridge, pondering the snack choices, when the door of the apartment crashed open. "Kuns, that you?" 

"Hello Nado! Have guest!" 

Closing the fridge with a sigh, Jackson wandered to the hall to greet his friend, only to find him locking lips with a gorgeous brunette, pressing her against the door, oblivious to their surroundings.

"Uh, hi, um-- have fun? I'll... be in my room. Yeah. With headphones on," he stammered, backing up slowly.

The gorgeous brunette peeked around Kuny's shoulder at his words and extended her hand towards him, stopping his retreat. "Hello, gorgeous, and you are?"

Kuny noticed him too and broke into a huge smile immediately. "I introduce! This my best friend! Best man, best teammate! Jackson, meet Jackie."

Jackie looked him up and down slowly, her gaze rooting him to the spot. She narrowed her eyes and looked between Kuny and him a few times, then nodded to herself as if she had solved a riddle that they themselves were not even aware of. "Hi Jackson. Nice to meet you." A wink, an outstretched hand, and Jackson was nothing but polite when he stepped closer to shake her hand, instead of away, far far away.

He could smell the familiar scent of Kuny's cologne, and the sweet tang of sweat underneath, could almost taste it and something low in his belly twisted and pulled. He kept his eyes locked with Jackie, but all his focus was on Kuny, he could see him in his periphery, feel his gaze on the side of his face. It was hot in here, wasn't it? Maybe he should open the window for a bit, get some air in-- 

"Jackson, would you like to join us for a drink? I was promised the real Russian vodka, the hard stuff," Jackie smirked as she turned to Kuny and raised her eyebrows. 

The answering smile spread slowly across Kuny's face and it was wicked. Oh god. Nado's mouth was dry all of a sudden, as he searched the face of his friend for clues as to what the next best move was. 

Kuny cocked his head in his direction. "You want?" The question seemed to contain more than just an invitation for a drink and Nado found himself nodding even before he processed the sudden twist of events, at loss for words and starting to sweat when Jackie pulled on his hand that was still in hers from their introduction, Kuny taking his other hand and pulling him towards the kitchen. What the everloving fuck.

"You get glass, I get bottle." He was directed to the cupboard while Kuny opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of vodka with a triumphant "Zdes!" 

Gathering three shot glasses, Jackson headed to their living room and sat heavily on the couch, still not sure what the invitation meant. They weren't in the habit of introducing their one-night-stands to each other, more like boasting about them the day after and teasing each other about the overheard sounds, the badly hidden hickeys or the occasional forgotten piece of underwear. To say he was nervous was an understatement, but he was also curious. Curious to see where this led, if it was a grand prank or something else entirely. 

A squeal and a bout of laughter from the kitchen tore him from his thoughts. A low murmur of conversation reached his ears and he strained to hear but couldn't understand much beyond the cadence of voices. Questions asked in a husky female voice, and the low purr of Kuny's bass answering them. Jackson could almost see his lips shape the vowels, his accent audible even if he couldn't recognize the words. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, digging his fingers into his thigh to try and ground himself momentarily. He didn't dare shape the thoughts in his mind around what he hoped would happen next. Better to err on the side of caution and spare himself the embarrassment of probably being wrong. But what if you're right, the voice in his mind whispered. The same voice that never hesitated to comment when his eyes lingered too long on his best friend, like what you see? He did, a lot. That was the whole problem, but what was he going to do about it? Close his eyes and drown it in vodka, seemed like.

Kuny had the ice-cold bottle of vodka already open, drops of condensation running down his forearm as he lifted it up, stopping right in front of Jackson and nodding at him "The good stuff, you know already. The hard stuff. From Russia." Turning to Jackie who was making herself comfortable on the couch, he addressed her almost conspiratory, "he knows good stuff." 

"Oh yeah?" her laugh rang through the room as Kuny poured the clear liquid and distributed the shot glasses, sitting heavily on the other side of Jackson, their thighs pressing together. 

"Na zdrowie." 

Jackson replied in kind, the Russian phrase rolling off his tongue, one of the few he learned and could reproduce without butchering the language. Everything beyond three or four syllables was hopeless, but this one he could do, putting extra effort in rolling the *r* and waiting for the nod of approval from his best friend. 

At the confused look on Jackie's face he explained, "It's like cheers, in Russian." 

"Oh, I see. Well then, cheers, gentlemen!" 

They clinked the glasses together, Kuny still fixing him with his gaze as they downed them at once. Jackie threw her head back and hissed at the burn as the liquor slid down her throat, but Jackson was still caught in Kuny's eyes, staring back as they both swallowed without a sound. 

His eyes were pulled away only by Kuny's tongue darting out and licking a drop of the liquid that caught at the corner of his mouth, Jackson copying the action unconsciously and seeing Kuny's eyes flick down to his mouth. The hot twist low in his belly came back with more insistence and he half-heartedly blamed it on the alcohol, even though he knew the one shot couldn't have done it. 

He almost forgot the other person in the room until she cleared her throat delicately and the both turned to her. She looked between them and then held out her glass. "Who's in for another?"

One shot turned into three and the tension in the air dissipated a little as they downed the liquor, cursing and laughing at the burn. The alcohol helped to shake off the apprehension and Jackson found himself relaxing minutely. 

He still wasn't sure where the evening was headed, this was miles away from the usual situation he'd find himself in - at a club or a bar, one or both of them picking up a date to go home with that night, easy conversation carried by the beat of the music and flow of drinks, hazy on the details in the headache of the following morning. 

This was home and there was a very gorgeous woman on their couch, currently resting her hand on his knee and asking him a question which he totally overheard because his also gorgeous roommate and best friend chose that moment to sling his arm across his shoulders and pull him into his side, jostling them all in the process. "Sorry, what?"

Jackson forced himself to focus on Jackie as she looked at them with an amused smile. He did not like that smile. She looked like she had a plan and when he looked back at Kuny he found that expression mirrored on his face. 

Part of him, the reckless, unbound part that reveled in the thrill of pushing his limits and living life to the fullest, damn the consequences and damn what others would think, that part of him was sat on the edge of the seat just waiting for the situation to unfold and sweep him up into what might be an unprecedented adventure. 

There was another part of him though, the rational, held-back, make sure you understand what's going on before you jump in part and he felt it pound behind his temples, insisting on making a polite but hasty retreat. 

"I'll, uh, leave you two to your evening now. It was lovely to meet you, Jackie. Enjoy the good Russian stuff." He managed to smile and winked at her as he made to stand up, shrugging off Kuny's arm with the movement. 

He didn't get far though, before Kuny caught his hand and pulled him back down. His eyes were dark and so, so earnest when he stared at Jackson and took a breath to say what had been unspoken in the room until that moment, his words clear and unmistakable: "Or-- you could stay. You want stay?"

Jackson's breath stuttered in his lungs, surprised at the question even as he was hoping for it, surprised all the same. Careful what you wish for. "Yeah, yes, I do want to stay." he breathed and turned his hand still in Kuny's grip, closing his fingers around his wrist in return. 

The touch grounded him, the steady pulse under his fingertips reassuring. He looked at Jackie while still holding onto Kuny, his thumb drawing small circles around his wrist bone. "Are you okay with that? I-- We-- this isn't what normally happens and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way so just say the word and I'll go..." 

He trailed off as he watched her run her thumb across her lower lip slowly and then bite on it, smiling at him with all her teeth showing. She looked like a wild cat, all confident, contained power ready to pounce, and he liked it, liked the anticipation of her next move, especially with the grounding strength of the man behind him, now pressed along his arm and still holding his hand. 

"I suggested it, actually. And Evgeni here was as concerned as you are, so let's talk about this before anything else happens. I understand you haven't done this before? A threesome?"

Jackson heard Kuny behind him whisper threesome to himself, trying to fold his accent around the new word and felt a rush of affection for the man and his determination to add to his English vocabulary in any situation. 

"Uh, no, I mean yeah-- at least I haven't." It occurred to him that he assumed it was new for both of them, but he didn't know.

Kuny confirmed a beat later though, shaking his head. "Never have threesome, no. I imagine it many times, but never asked." 

"You what?!" Jackson whipped his head around to see Kuny's face, his admission taking him by surprise. "You imagined it? With-- who? You never told me about that!" 

Kuny looked down, shaking his head ruefully, a blush rising in his cheeks. He released Jackson's wrist and it left him feeling strangely bereft, wanting those hands back on him. Huh.

Kuny had that look he always got when he wanted to express something that was important to him, fighting the frustration of not having all the words to convey what he meant. Sometimes he'd enlist Sergei to help translate, but if that wasn't an option, he'd take him by the shoulders and look at him intently, face to face, eyes wide and earnest, saying you listen now, I speak. Not make fun. This is important you understand.

Jackson had laughed the first time that happened, but he had apologized a hundred times since, when a frustrated Kuny explained to him in broken English that he regarded him to be his best friend. That he had felt lonely and lost and misunderstood when he arrived in the States, with the language barrier and culture shock. That he had gotten used to feeling like he'd never truly belong. Until he came to Gryffindor and met him. They clicked instantly, and easy camaraderie that grew into a true friendship. Kuny had tears in his eyes when he finished, fingers digging into Jackson's shoulders where he was still holding onto him. You understand. I hate that don't have all words but it is important you understand. Not make fun. 

Jackson remembers his heart pounding when he saw his friend so vulnerable, at loss for an answer, so he just went with the first thing that felt right. I love the way you speak. Kuny scoffed at it but couldn't fight the happy smile that took over his face, shoulders dropping in relief and their hug afterwards lasted forever and not long enough at the same time. So, Jackson knew that look and knew to listen now. This was important.

Kuny's arms lifted, but to Jackson's surprise, he didn't go for his shoulders. He took his hands instead, his grip sure. "You are my best friend. I don't want make mistake. But I imagine with you. I ask now." 

They both swallowed hard, in sync like they were on the ice, and was it possible that they were in sync on this too? That he actually knew exactly how Kuny felt because it was echoed by his own apprehension and-- desire. Naming things gave them power and now that he named this feeling, even just in his thoughts, it crashed over him in a tidal wave, the same twist and pull low in his belly from before answering and spreading outwards in a rush of warmth all the way to his fingertips. 

"Kuns, I-- I imagined it too. And I didn't want to endanger our friendship, too. But yes. I want to. Yeah." He bit his lip against the giddy smile that threatened to break free, not wanting to shatter the seriousness of the moment. 

Kuny didn't have the same reservations though and erupted into a relieved laugh, pulling him into a hug, which resulted in him practically landing in the Russian's lap because he didn't do sideways hugs. Not real hug, he'd grumble and then rearrange the person to his liking and fucking envelop their whole body with his giant arms and they were the best hugs Jackson's ever had. He settled into this one happily, Kuny smiling and humming into his neck as one of his arms settled around his waist. Jackie was watching them with a smug smile of her own, waiting for them to part again before she spoke.

Kuny did not seem too keen on removing the arm from around Jackson's waist anytime soon, so he stayed seated where he was, determinedly not thinking about how close they were or the fact that he was only wearing sweatpants. Jackie's chin was resting on her hands, taking in their position and biting her lip.

"I'm loving this," she proclaimed and then clasped her hands together, sitting up straighter. "So glad you boys talked. Let's set some ground rules just so we are all on the same page, then?" 

Both men nodded, their attention on her now. Her confidence was reassuring to Jackson, she apparently had some experience, definitely more than them. 

"First of all, anyone can call a stop anytime, no matter what the reason. Any reason. Second of all, if we're doing this, no more vodka." She turned the shot glasses upside down one after the other as she said that, the residual liquor wet on her fingers. 

Looking back at the two of them, she pushed her thumb into her mouth and sucked the wetness off slowly, a challenge in her eyes. Jackson heard Kuny's gasp followed by a low curse in Russian, but he couldn't look away as she went for her index finger next. Before her lips could connect, Kuny leaned across the couch, his arm around Jackson steadying him and his other reaching for Jackie, hand closing around her wrist and pulling her towards them. 

She came willingly, walking on her knees till she was pressed along their sides. Kuny kept pulling on her wrist, raising her hand to his mouth, and Jackson was torn between watching his mouth close around her fingers and watching her face, eyes closing and lips parting on a moan at the sensation. This was actually happening.

He felt dizzy with want and a bit shaky with the newness of it all. A hand cradled his cheek and Jackie turned his face towards her, her other hand in the same place on Kuny's cheek. Her voice was breathy, but her eyes were intent and steady as she addressed them both. "Third of all, we talk. We check in with each other. Something you want to try? Talk. Something you don't want to do? Talk. Yes? I need you to say this one with me." 

Kuny leaned into her hand as he answered "Da, yes, I talk. I say what I want." 

Jackson was opening his mouth to answer in kind, wholly unprepared for what happened next as Kuny turned to him and bluntly stated: "Want kiss him."

He gaped at his friend, who was looking at him with a small smile and dark, dark eyes, pupils blown wide. And waiting, patiently, for him to say what he wanted. The problem was, Jackson couldn't find his voice at the moment and nothing would happen unless he did. 

"Jackson?" Jackie's soft voice prompted him to suck in a breath and then the words were tumbling out. 

"Yeah, yes, I want that too. I want to kiss you, too. I wa--mmpfh." Suddenly there were soft plush lips on his and a big, calloused hand replaced Jackie's softer one on his cheek. Kuny hummed into the close-mouthed kiss and the vibration tickled across his lips, making him gasp. Kuny's lips parted in sync with his and then there was a taste of vodka and something else, distinctly Evgeni. A tongue tracing along his, a pull on his lower lip, teeth nipping gently and making goosebumps erupt all across his skin... Jackson was lost in it, hands scrabbling for purchase on broad shoulders and his hips jerking forward, the arm around his back pulling him closer. 

They parted on a gasp, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. "Harasho? Good?" Kuny was searching his face, and Jackson made himself find his voice yet again. 

"Yes. Harasho." He nodded, stealing one more kiss because he could. 

"I'm loving this," a whisper came from the side, where Jackie was sitting sideways, leaning on the backrest of the couch, chin in her hand and watching them, her eyes sparkling.

Kuny reached for her again, palm up and she slid her hand into his and sat up beside them, one of her legs hanging down the side of the couch alongside Kuny's, foot on the floor for balance. 

"Now you kiss. I want watch." Kuny nodded to Jackson and he turned to face Jackie. She placed a hand on his cheek, the gesture familiar now. 

"Can I?" It was easier with every time, giving voice to his want, saying yes to theirs. 

"Yes." 

His hand stroked up her thigh and rested on her hip as she tilted her head and pushed into his space and then they were kissing, soft and exploratory, different from Kuny but exciting in a different way. She yielded where Kuny pushed, moved with him where Kuny would hold still. Jackson was caught up in the feeling and the contrasts, the arousal bubbling up from his core in delightful shivers across his skin. 

He was hyper aware of Kuny watching them and he realized that Jackie was into it, turning both their heads so he had a good view when she bit on his lower lip and pulled, drawing a groan from him and Kuny at the same time. Her tongue soothed over the bite right away and she pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before she leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at Kuny who was still watching them, mesmerized, his hands flexing unconsciously, one on Jackson's lower back and the other on Jackie's thigh.

Jackson loved to see him like that, finding it so much better than anything his imagination had managed to come up with. "Let's take this to the bedroom?" He spoke into Jackie's hair, his head turned to her but his eyes still fixated on Kuny who was slow to come out of his haze. 

"Da. Bed.'' he rasped and shook his head, grinning to himself. He shifted in place, pressing their hips together with the movement and the arm still across Jackson's back and for a moment Jackson was afraid that he would try to carry him to the bedroom. Not that he couldn't lift him, he easily could and he had proven that often enough. But then all thoughts left him and pure sensation shot up his spine in a sudden flash because his best friend was hard. They both were. 

He got so distracted by the frankly awesome making out that he forgot that part but now it was glaringly obvious and he was almost shocked by the immediacy of it, frozen in place and not daring to move. 

His eyes found Kuny's on instinct and even though he didn't voice a question out loud, he got a slow nod in return, sure and steady. Kuny wasn't afraid of this or unsure about it, he wasn't pulling back, so Jackson decided he wouldn't be either. He wanted this. He asked for this. He wasn't backing out now. The only question that remained was, "which bedroom?"

The decision was made easily as Kuny stated, "my bed better for three," nodding to himself and squeezing Jackson around the waist one more time before he let go. 

They untangled themselves, Jackie standing up first and holding out her hands to the two of them. "Detour through the kitchen? Water for everyone, not optional." 

She pulled them across the living room, hands linked and let Jackson spin her around and press her against the kitchen counter to kiss her deeply while Kuny headed for the fridge. He could hear the fridge door opening and closing, footsteps coming closer and a water bottle cap hitting the counter, could hear Kuny drink in long swallows somewhere behind him, but it all faded into the background. 

His senses were preoccupied by the woman in front of him, her lips parting for his tongue, her hands traveling down his chest and across his ribs to circle his waist and grab at his ass, pulling him into her-- until he felt the press of cool lips on the back of his neck, a hint of teeth pressing into the skin, another pair of hands, larger and stronger, settling on his hips from behind. 

Jackson pressed back into the warm body behind him instinctively as Kuny kissed a winding path up his neck and exhaled right next to his ear with a low hum, the hot breath making him shiver with anticipation. 

"This is not drink water," a low voice rumbled into his ear and Jackson chuckled at that, still dazed from the close proximity of two bodies, two gorgeous people vying for his attention.

"Not thirsty for water right now," Jackson countered and turned his head so their lips met. Kuny didn't miss a beat, licking into his mouth even as he was spinning him around and pressing his back into the counter, a repeat of what he did with Jackie just minutes before. Only that didn't seem to be enough for his friend, as he found himself hoisted up onto the counter, Kuny stepping in between his thighs and dragging his hands down his back to where Jackie's had been, grabbing his ass and squeezing. 

The movement pushed their groins together and Jackson heard himself moan shamelessly, feeling his cock pulse and the answering hardness press against him when hooked his ankles behind Kuny's legs and pulled. His hands scrambled for the hem of his shirt and stilled when they found the warm skin underneath, both of them stunned at the ease with which they fit together. 

They weren't kissing now, just panting against each other's mouth, overwhelmed by each new situation they found themselves in together, wanting to stay there and milk it till the last drop and at the same time eager to keep going, to see where the night would take them next. But now was this; his palms against Kuny's stomach, exploring and wandering upwards, feeling his chest expand with each breath. 

"Can I?" he plucked at the shirt, Kuny raising his arms in answer. The shirt landed on the floor the next moment, forgotten, hands pressing over broad shoulders, feeling out the shapes of collarbones and the give of muscle under fingertips. 

Jackson followed the path of his hands with his mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the hollow of Kuny's throat, down his sternum and then across to land over his heart, feeling its strong beat against his lips when he lingered there for a long moment, writing the rhythm into his memory. Whether this was a one-time thing or a beginning of something new, he'd always know that heart, in sync with his own, beat for beat. 

A large palm dragged up his torso slowly, pressed over his own heart and stayed there, careful and reverent; they didn't need words to understand each other in that moment. In sync like on the ice. Jackson felt the last nerves leave him then, carried away by the pulse of his own blood and the heat of arousal, feeling safe in the arms of his best friend. 

After one last press of lips over his heart, he tilted his head up and was met with a scorching kiss that left him light-headed and gasping, clutching at Kuny's back, nails digging in, even as the Russian was pulling back. 

"Kuns--" 

"You drink now." 

A water bottle was pressed into his hand, Kuny stepping back in between his thighs with a warm smile on his face, watching him as he gulped down half of the bottle in one go. He looked around, searching for Jackie and found her twirling her own bottle, her eyes trained on them and a smile playing on her lips. 

"Let me guess. You're loving this." 

She laughed at that, and then stepped closer, leaning her hip on the counter. "You're not wrong." Her look turned calculating and then she was lifting her own shirt and pulling it off in one swift motion, making a show of dropping it on the floor next to the one already there. "Also, you're overdressed."

Hooking her fingers in Kuny's belt loops, Jackie pulled him towards her and he resisted only for a moment to press a short kiss to Jackson's lips and grab his hand, pulling him after them towards his bedroom. 

Jackson had been in there many times for many reasons but this was very different from banging on his friend's door in the morning to hurry up we'll be late for practice, I made coffee, or throwing balled-up socks and t-shirts at him from the doorway because these are not mine you giant, how did they end up in my laundry again? He knew the squeak the hinges made when the door opened all the way and the handle hit the wall where Kuny stuck a print-out of Snape's face so it would hit him in the nose every time that happened. 

He could list from memory the few items that were always present on Kuny's desk, like one of the matryoshka dolls he brought for the whole team after he went home for the off-season, standing next to a small bowl that held the keys to his parents' house, for me it always remembers I can go home he explained one night when they both got drunk and grew bored playing videogames so they ended up laying on the floor of Kuny's bedroom just talking, or rather Kuny talking while Jackson went around his room picking up random objects and holding them up to get an explanation. There was a stack of books on the floor next to the bed, most of them in Russian and ‘The Hobbit’ being the only English book on top with a blurry polaroid photo of both of them at Sid's as a bookmark sticking out of it. Jackson's eyes skipped around the familiar room, finally landing on Kuny himself, finding him already looking back. 

"Not fair, you still in shirt," he said as he stepped closer, plucking at Jackson's sleeve. Hands snaked around his waist as Jackie stepped up behind him and gathered the hem of the t-shirt in her hands. 

"Yeah, alright, take it off," Jackson laughed as they undressed him and bracketed him between their bodies, skin on warm skin all around him.

For the next long while, Jackson's world became wandering hands and lips tracing contours of the three of them, finding ways to fit around each other and swaying together to the rhythm of their slowly building desire. It was an easy dance now that he allowed himself to want what he wanted; his best friend in all the ways they hadn't known each other yet and a beautiful stranger to lead them through the next step when they stumbled. 

His hands landed on Kuny's waistband and stopped. Jackie pressed alongside him in the next moment, her warm hand between his shoulder blades, grounding and reassuring. 

"Do you want to take them off, Jackson?" 

He nodded, looking down where his fingers followed the v-lines of Kuny's abs, dipping below the waistband. 

"Words,'' Jackie reminded him. He looked back up and was met with parted lips that he just had to kiss before he was able to form a question. 

"Can I?" 

"Da. Yes." 

He drew his fingers along the waistband to the front, brushing the trail of hair leading down and feeling the muscles flex under his touch. Making quick work of the button and the zipper, he pushed the pants down and-- "No underwear, Kuns, really?" 

The Russian just shrugged and stepped out of the pants, naked now but for the black socks patterned with stormtrooper helmets on them. "You have no underwear too," he nodded towards Jackson's crotch where his cock was very visibly tenting his sweatpants. 

"I was at home! In my home clothes!" Jackson defended himself, spreading his arms and looking to Jackie for support. "Can you believe this?"

Jackie gave the naked man in the middle of the room a slow once-over, licking her lips as her eyes lingered on his crotch and then smirking back at Jackson. "I assumed, but I can believe it now. You really are a giant, aren't you?" she stated more than asked as she turned back to Kuny and then undid her own jeans, shimmying out of them and her underwear in one go. "Catch up, Jackson, you're the last one again," she teased while she faced him and languidly took off her bralette, handing it to him with a raised eyebrow. Then she was reaching for Kuny with purpose, one hand going to his hair and the other wrapping around his cock, pulling a groan out of him as she kissed him hungrily. 

Her eyes closed and her whole body was leaning into Kuny, but his eyes were open and trained right at Jackson, the intense focus making him feel like he was the one being kissed instead. It made him want to be in her place, the surge of want so sudden and unexpected he took an involuntary step back, one hand reaching towards the desk to steady himself. The naked arousal in his best friend's eyes was unmistakably directed at him and his own answering desire still caught him by surprise when there was nothing needed to disguise it or explain it away. He could be in her place, easily. 

Jackie was now kissing and biting at Kuny's neck and Jackson found himself hoping she wouldn't leave any marks, the thought spurring him into movement at last. If anyone got to leave a mark on the Russian, it was going to be him.

Pulled in by Kuny's intent gaze and the need to replace Jackie's lips with his own, he stalked towards the pair. He was ready to voice what he was thinking, to ask, to beg Kuny for the permission to mark him up. It was all he could think of, suddenly and unexpectedly, another surprising discovery about himself that felt right as soon as he admitted it to himself. 

He tucked himself into Kuny's side, with Jackie still busy with his neck and just as he was opening his mouth to say the words, he saw her bite down on the tendon and then close her lips around it. The sound died in his throat, rapidly being replaced by embarrassment. 

"Jacks--" a strangled gasp from Kuny made them both look up at him and Jackson was ridiculously grateful for the interruption when he glanced at Kuny's neck and didn't see any darkened skin. 

"Yeah, babe?" Jackie replied without missing a beat, still draped along Kuny's side. Jackson realized that it must have been her nickname Kuny called out and it made the irony of their names being so similar even clearer. Did Kuny find it funny when he found out what her name was? Did she find it funny when they were introduced in their hallway? He'd have to ask them later. Right now there were more important things, like Kuny pulling him closer and talking fast in Russian to himself, his voice rumbling in his chest and then cutting off abruptly. Kuny cradling his cheek with one hand and pressing the pad of his thumb down on his lower lip. Kuny's frustrated huff and that look he always got when he was trying to translate something from Russian to English in his head and didn't have all the words. Jackson knew that look well, just like he knew many of his other looks and was currently learning a whole new category of them in this unprecedented situation.

"I don't know correct word." Ah, there it was. "For-- bruise? Like kiss but--" He looked imploringly at Jackson and then at Jackie. "Love bruise?" 

"You mean a hickey? A mark? Do you want one?" Jackie was already moving back towards his neck and Jackson was frozen, still in Kuny's grip, helpless as he saw Kuny nod gratefully while mouthing the words to himself. Hickey. Mark. And then-- 

"Niet. Wait. Want mark from him." Kuny's dark eyes were back on him, the intent gaze softening with his voice as he spoke the next sentence that almost sent Jackson to his knees. "Only him. Please."

Jackson felt the words all the way to his bones and something in him purred contentedly at the implications even as he swayed in place. Only him. But also, "love bruise?" he couldn't help but quip back at Kuny. His wry smile made him smile too and his thumb that still rested on Jackson's lower lip pressed down against the new shape of joy. 

His expression turned wistful then and Jackson was only marginally more prepared for the next thing that came out of his mouth, in a terrifyingly accurate aim straight for his heart despite Kuny's lack of words. "Love hurts, no?"

"I never want to hurt you." Jackson whispered, blindsided by the raw honesty and hurt in Kuny's voice, at loss for words because what do you say to that? 

Kuny just shook his head. "I know you not hurt me. Not you. My home, Russia, this--" a quick kiss to reassure, a gentle squeeze of the hand now resting on the back of his neck, "--this is not safe. Not see. Not say. Can be dangerous. Can hurt." 

Jackson just stepped fully into Kuny's space at that, tucking his face into his neck and wrapping his arms around him, pressing everything he was feeling into Kuny's body with his embrace, lips against his collarbone, trusting his body to convey what he meant better than words. We're safe here, he wanted to say and, I'll protect you, but he knew those were only partially true. I didn't know was in there too, or rather, didn't realize. I wish you'd told me tightly entwined with I wish I'd told you and all of those wrapped in I'm glad we're here now. I've got you.

Kuny let out a heavy sigh and melted into the embrace, resting his head on top of Jackson's and muttering Russian into his hair. They stood, naked and interlocked, in the middle of the bedroom, neither of them letting go. It was a dance of subtle steps; a deep breath in to feel his ribcage expand and the arms around him tighten in response, a weight shift and a little shuffle so their edges could fit themselves together even more seamlessly, the heartbeat against his breastbone answering the one he could feel with his lips pressed against the pulsepoint where he was tucked under Kuny's chin. In sync, like on the ice, but also so very much more. 

The intimacy of the moment took Jackson's breath away, the pause they found themselves in taking nothing away from the course of the night. He still felt the arousal meandering through his body, but unhurried and languid, like a river that knew it would reach its destination eventually; there was no other outcome but to meet the tide of the ocean and be irrevocably changed by it. No need to rush when the anticipation was running deep and sweet through his veins.

Jackie was reclining on the bed, relaxed and still naked and apparently not bothered by their moments that kept happening, but Jackson still felt like he had to say something, that they kept her waiting. He was grateful for her uncanny ability to read them and her easy willingness to adapt to their changing tides but she was a guest and part of him was very aware of not being a good host right now. Yet again, she was way ahead of him when he reluctantly stirred and made to leave the embrace. 

"No, no, stay. Take your time, you two. This feels important, give it the attention it deserves. I'm good here and the view is quite nice." She took a breath and they heard her hold it, the silence in the room absolute for a short while. Then with deliberate care, she continued. "I'm not expecting anything so if you'd like the evening to go any other direction than the apparent, just tell me, 'kay boys?" 

He could hear the smile in her voice. Still tucked into Kuny's neck, he felt him nodding and the rumble of his voice under his cheek. "Spasibo, Jacks." 

It was Kuny who detangled himself first after a long while, but instead of stepping away he pulled and pushed Jackson in the direction of the bed wordlessly and maneuvred them all under the covers with himself in the middle. 

Jackson found himself wondering yet again at the way they just fit. Slotting together without thinking, legs tangling, hands finding places to rest and caress, they cocooned themselves in the hushed silence of the bedroom. 

Jackson startled when another hand touched his, resting on Kuny's chest right above his heart, but then he met Jackie's eyes on the other side of the Russian. They exchanged a smile and then Jackie sent him a conspiratory wink, trailing her hand lightly down Kuny's chest and brushing across one nipple, drawing a soft gasp from him. 

She continued her slow, barely there touches, raising goosebumps on Kuny's skin. Every now and then she chose a path that crossed Jackson's hand or arm still thrown across Kuny's chest, setting off sparks right under his skin and watching him carefully. He could read her silent invitation to join but he was caught up in watching Kuny's face, mesmerized by the myriad expressions the gentle touches brought forth. He'd never seen his best friend like this, never knew he'd be so open and trusting, so expressive in reaction to the slightest touch.

When he finally moved his hand, it was to mold his palm to the side of Kuny's neck, to cup his cheek and press his thumb against his full lower lip in a mirror to their earlier position. What he didn't expect was Kuny pulling it into his mouth and sucking. His eyes were open, boring into Jackson, dark and intent and pinning him in place. 

A hint of teeth grazed the pad of his thumb and it was as if a switch flipped; the air heated up and Jackson became suddenly aware that they were naked in bed and he could touch, he could taste as much as he wanted to. And oh he wanted to. He pushed up onto one elbow, hovering above Kuny's face and then he was falling into a kiss, his tongue pushing into Kuny's mouth alongside his thumb. The sensation burned all the way down his spine in a rush that left his head spinning, the heat turning up. There were hands in his hair, on his back, nails gently scratching down his side, a palm kneading his ass and a hot breath in his ear, whispering encouragements. Jackson felt like he was on the edge of a volcano, the heat alive and reaching for him, all that was left to do was jump. 

The final push came on the end of a groan as they came up for air, Kuny speaking it right into his mouth, the deep rasp he could feel like a caress against his lips: "More."

Jackson wanted more, oh he wanted everything, but for a start he wanted more of that delicious skin-on-skin contact that was already turning him liquid. He'd melt in Kuny's hands and flow between his fingers, into every crevice of his body if he could, just to get closer. 

That's what made it past his lips, "closer" and "please--" among their gasps as he was pulling on Kuny's arm ineffectively, not quite knowing how to get him where he wanted him. "Kuns--'' 

The Russian pulled him in, wrapping him in his arms and then the world tilted for a second; the next thing he felt was the bed under his back and the grounding weight of a whole hockey player on top of him, as if he knew exactly where and how to anchor him. In sync, like on the ice. Jackson was stupidly grateful for it, unable to form sentences while he was wrapped up in need and want, layers of it, making it harder to breathe, let alone speak. 

Kuny kissed him then, pressing him into the mattress and controlling the kiss, slow and sure, humming into it and making his lips buzz and stretch into a smile. Jackson lifted a hand to Kuny's cheek again and this time Kuny chased after his thumb and pulled it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while still holding his gaze, one eyebrow rising in silent question. 

Jackson felt his cock pulse at the implication, hard and leaking, the molten lava now simmering low in his belly. He wasn't stupid, he understood, knew what his best friend was implying, but still he'd have to ask for it. Jackie said they had to talk. 

Jackie. He knew what to say to her at least, felt her along his side, one leg thrown over his and the slow rolls of her hips against his thigh. Even though tearing his eyes away from Kuny took an effort, he turned his head slightly to catch her eyes, dark with hunger as she watched them. "Loving this?"

It startled a low laugh from her and she hid it in his shoulder. "You know it." 

"I know what you'd love even more." 

"Oh yeah? I hope it has to do with that mouth of his. Looks like he knows how to use it, and not only on your fingers." 

Jackson's gaze was back on Kuny, who in the meantime abandoned his thumb and intertwined their fingers, kissing and sucking down his palm to the inside of his wrist. He pressed his lips to the pulsepoint there and then looked up at Jackson with a calculating look, giving him barely a second before he licked a wet stripe all the way to his fingertips and closed his mouth around three of his fingers, sucking enthusiastically. 

"Oh fuck," both he and Jackie groaned at the sight, and then she continued, her voice husky, "fuck, if you don't ask him for it, I will."

At Jackie's words Kuny grinned at him, catching his fingers between his teeth to keep them in place and it shouldn't have been so hot for how ridiculous he looked, but Jackson felt the tug of arousal in his belly all the same. 

He sucked in a breath, desperate to try and put into words what his body was straining for, but Kuny made speaking impossible when he closed his lips around his middle finger next and slid them all the way down to the last knuckle. "Mnngh" was all he managed under Kuny's knowing look. 

"Oh you're wicked and I like it." Jackie's amused voice was right in his ear, the hot breath making his skin erupt in goosebumps. "Do you like it, Jackson?" 

Once again she was guiding him along with ease and he nodded gratefully. Yes and no questions were easy enough to comprehend. "Do you want him to stop?" 

"No" the almost-cry carried on a breath, no don't stop just please his lips were moving but out came only a wrecked moan as Kuny pressed his hips down in a grind, knowing exactly where Jackson wanted him next and making it exceptionally difficult to form coherent thoughts to get him there.

“What do you want him to do to you, Jackson?” Jackie purred in his ear while Kuny was taking him apart with his mouth still working at his fingers, the slow, filthy grind of his hips promising more. “Remember, use your words.” 

A frustrated whine was all that Jackson was capable of, as wild with desire as he was, lost in the heat of Kuny’s body on top of him. 

“Evgeni, babe, I know you’re enjoying this but you’ll have to slow down if we want to hear him.” Jackie soothed, running her hand through Kuny’s hair and tugging lightly. 

Kuny followed her lead and halted, lowering his hand and pressing it into the mattress next to Jackson’s head, tangling their fingers together. Jackson squeezed his hand, holding on for dear life, grounding himself in the new sensation that immediately felt so right. A distant part of his brain wondered if Kuny would want to hold hands sometimes, after this, just for the comfort of it. He’d just have to ask, like for anything else he wanted. Like right now. He strained upwards and Kuny met him in a gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the lust boiling under his skin.

Nudging their noses together playfully, Kuny broke the kiss but stayed close. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against Jackson’s lips. “I’ll do it. I want be good for you.” 

Jackson squeezed his eyes at the wave of want that swept him up like a flood in reaction. “Kuns, god, you’re so good, your mouth--” he broke off with a groan, caught off-guard by Kuny’s thigh hitching higher between his legs, the muscle flexing against his crotch. The delicious pressure was almost unbearable and yet not enough. His eyes snapped open, almost going cross-eyes with Kuny still so close, but his look was determined now and he knew Kuny could read it in his face. 

Jackson made sure to pronounce his next words clearly. “I want your mouth. On my cock. Now.”

He wished he could replay forever the way Kuny’s eyes widened and then went dark at the request, his breath punching out of him in a surprised gasp. 

The surprise didn’t last long though, the wicked gleam in Kuny’s gaze was back in the next moment, eyebrows rising. “Now mean half-hour now? Or now now?” he asked even as he was pulling away and sitting back on his heels, straddling one of Jackson’s thighs. 

“Oh my god, really?” Jackson threw a hand over his eyes in mock annoyance, fighting a laugh that was bubbling up in his chest. Of course Kuny wouldn’t just give up a chance to chirp him. It was a semi-regular scene between them, I want pizza now. I hungry now. So we go now, and Yes we’re going, let me just finish this round, I’m almost done. Other times it was We gotta leave now, Kuns, or we’ll be late and Da, da, I’m get dressed now, is not late. Inevitably one of them would end up standing in the other’s doorway, looking pointedly at the watch. Now means now, not in a half-hour. I’m going now, with or without you. 

He felt Kuny shift and then his weight left him completely. He heard Jackie next to him hum approvingly, her hand stroking down his chest and settling on his hip. Then another hand, larger and warmer, wrapped around his knee and made a slow way up his thigh, pressing into the muscle and kneading appreciatively. Jackson was equally turned on and exasperated, his cock answering every squeeze and press of Kuny’s hand with a desperate twitch. 

When Kuny finally made it to his other hip, his palm warm over his hipbone in a mirror to Jackie’s, Jackson was ready to beg, again. His hips tried to jerk up on instinct, earning warning squeezes from both of them and a disapproving tsk tsk from Jackie, who was now leaning on her elbow next to him, her chin in her hand, watching them attentively. 

Kuny was focused on him completely, holding his gaze as he lowered his head so his lips were just above the head of his leaking cock. The smirk was back, half confidence, half disbelief and all desire, directed just at him. Jackson wanted to see it again, a hundred times more, a thousand. He suddenly found himself violently wishing please let this be a first, the thought stealing his breath. 

Kuny was still hovering and his exhales felt almost like caresses on Jackson's oversensitive skin, barely there and yet driving him crazy. Then he spoke and his voice didn't carry even a hint of uncertainty as he licked his lips and stated, "I'm go now, with or without you.” 

Jackson could have tried to gather his wits and answer him back, he had enough ammunition to win this, thank you, but Kuny was wrapping his lips around the head of Jackson's cock and suddenly nothing else mattered. The wet heat made him curl his toes and arch his back as a lightning of pleasure zinged up his spine and burst behind his eyelids. 

Kuny was right where he had wanted him and it was at once too much and not enough. The hands on his hips tightened as his own grasped at the sheets and held on. He felt light-headed, all blood rushing to his core and every nerve alight. By the noises Kuny was making, he was enjoying himself, every content hum vibrating up his shaft and pulling an answering groan from his throat. 

Jackson wanted to see, he wanted to touch, he wanted to fuck up into Kuny's mouth and have him take it. He wanted to taste himself on Kuny's tongue and he wanted to taste him in turn. A stray thought fluttered through his mind, we have time for all that. God, I hope we do.

Jackson grabbed for Kuny's hand that was still pressing down on his hip and tangled their fingers together. He wanted to push his fingers into Kuny's hair and feel him moving, wanted to direct him, push him down and hold him in place, but he didn't dare. 

He squeezed his hand instead, once, twice, trying to anchor himself in the wave after wave of sensation that washed over him. Then Kuny was moving their hands, giving him exactly what he wished for, pulling off for a moment just to wink at him and say, "you can pull. I like it," as he placed Jackson's hand on top of his head, nuzzling into it a little. 

A sharp breath punched out of Jackson as he pushed his hand into Kuny's hair and grabbed the strands lightly, then more firmly, testing. Kuny's eyes fluttered closed as he hummed approvingly, his other hand just stroking Jackson unhurriedly. Jackson could watch him forever. He also wanted his mouth back on his cock. He got better hold on his hair and when he pulled, Kuny followed willingly, licking his lips and widening his eyes in mock innocence before he dove in and licked a hot stripe up Jackson's cock, drawing a moan out of him. 

"Kuns, Jesus--" 

"Niet. No Jesus. Just me." Kuny seemed to consider something and then his face softened as he pressed a quick kiss on top of Jackson's thigh, speaking into his skin next. "Say Zhenya. I want you say my name."

Jackson felt his lips turn up into a smile, feeling just ridiculously fond of his best friend in that moment. He was feeling all lightheaded and floaty, except for the spots of heat where Kuny's hands were pressing into his skin, grounding him. 

He kept the name close, holding it like a gift, a treasure found; and wasn't this all just that? An unexpected and precious thing he still didn't believe he could have even as he was literally cradling it in his palms. He took a breath and noticed with satisfaction the expectant look on Kuny's face. He was going to say it, oh yes, probably say it a lot, but not yet. "I'll trade you. My name for yours." 

Kuny - Zhenya - narrowed his eyes at that, biting his lip in consideration while trying to keep his own smile from showing. "Nado. Now say my name." 

"You know what I mean." 

They stayed locked in the back-and-forth of teasing and bickering, neither of them ready to give in, so familiar Jackson wanted to wrap himself in it, wrap himself in Kuny. Zhenya. He wanted to say that name, wanted to whisper it against his skin, to beg it into the sheets and probably scream it towards the ceiling before the night was over, but-- he also wanted to hear his own name, to find out if hearing it fall from those lips gave him the same rush as his hand in Kuny's hair did, him following where Jackson directed, easy and eager. In sync, like on the ice.

He felt Kuny's resolve falter before he made any sound, knew he had won from the way Kuny leaned into his hand for a moment, lowering his chin and looking at him from beneath his lashes. "Jack-son" he said carefully, folding the syllables around his accent and the timbre of his voice washed over the last of Jackson's reserves and melted them into nothingness. Kuny could ask him anything in that voice and he'd give it without question. "Jackson.” 

"Yeah?" it came out breathy and more unsteady than he'd want to admit, but Kuny didn't laugh at him, didn't tease him anymore. 

"Say my name, Jackson. Please." 

"I love how you talk," Jackson gasped out, trembling with how turned on he was. Then finally "Zhenya" and "touch me, please--" 

Zhenya didn't hesitate, diving back in and taking him into his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base, making him arch his back and dig his heels into the mattress. His leg muscles flexed with the movement and drew twin moans from both Jackie and Zhenya, each of them practically straddling one of his legs. 

Jackie was tucked all along his side and startled from her hushed stillness when she didn't want to interrupt the exchange, now pressing biting kisses into his shoulder and rolling her hips against him leisurely. 

Zhenya with one knee tucked up between Jackson's legs, holding himself up, the other leg stretched out and probably hanging off the bed, the giant. Jackson was vaguely aware of all that, helpless to do anything but hold on as he was coaxed higher still by Zhenya's hands and tongue on him, hand still tangled in his hair. Now that he had said it, he couldn't seem to stop, "Zhenya" and "please" pouring from his lips with each gasping breath.

Time melted away as everything narrowed to the burning points of contact among the three of them; hands roaming Jackson's body, too many hands but it was too good, the overstimulation making him whine every time Zhenya tightened his hand on him, every roll of Jackie's hips against his thigh. 

The litany of "Zhenya" and "please" falling from his lips was only interrupted by Zhenya making his way up his body again, kissing and biting and drawing more sounds and reactions from him. A gasp as he bit the inside of his thigh, soothing the mark with his tongue afterwards. A groan as he licked up the crease of his hip, one large hand still on him, slow and tight and bringing him closer and closer to the brink. Even a giggle as he kissed up the side of his ribcage and laughed at Jackson's squirming. "You know I'm ticklish, you asshole! Stop it!" 

Zhenya stopped moving his hand at the exclamation but continued on his path, biting down on his shoulder playfully. 

"No, don't stop that! You know what I meant!" Jackson was too turned on to summon the proper tone of voice and swatted at Zhenya in frustration, getting only an amused laugh in return. 

"I'm know. It's funny." 

"'S not funny! Just--" Jackson was half exasperated, half amused at his best friend's timing, because of course he'd tease him now that he was a literal mess in his hands, but he was also half out of his mind with arousal, casting for the right words to make him continue, just-- "Jackie!" he gasped out, she'd know what to do, she knew every time--

His next word turned into a groan as Zhenya's hand on him tightened right in that moment, but he was still not moving and it was maddening and hot and driving him crazy. 

Jackson turned his head towards Jackie, their noses almost touching where she was draped half over him. His hand was on her thigh, grabbing for purchase although he didn't remember putting it there. She was straddling his thigh, grinding down in a steady rhythm and he hitched her leg higher up on instinct, drawing an approving moan from her. "Jackie, just, please-- tell him!" 

She looked between the two of them, thinking and then nodding, one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. She reached out her hand to trace it across his temple and down his cheek, then a featherlight touch across his lips that tickled and a boop on the nose that made him go cross-eyed. "Ah, sweetie, you tell him. You already know what to say. Just think." She kissed him on the nose and grinned, nodding towards Zhenya, who was watching him intently, looking very pleased with himself. And oh, yes, Jackson knew what to say, actually. 

He desperately searched for the few Russian expressions he knew and hoped he didn't butcher the word he wanted to say. Zhenya loved it when Jackson spoke Russian, trying to imitate the sounds and finally getting it almost-right on the tenth try. He loved teaching him words for things, objects around the house, expressions and, of course, curse words, making him repeat the syllables that made no sense to Jackson's ears, but made Zhenya grin so big he'd repeat anything just to bring that smile out again. 

He took a breath, hearing Zhenya's voice in his mind teaching him the word he wanted and then, looking him in the eyes and pronouncing carefully, he said it. "Please. Zhenya. Pozhalusta."

At Jackson's words, Zhenya went completely still, his eyes widening in surprise and then going even darker; Jackson felt his gaze like a physical thing, holding him in place and cradling him safely even as he was being taken apart. 

Finally, slowly, Zhenya started moving his hand again and it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Jackson's next moan was swallowed by a kiss, until he could only gasp "more" and "please" into Zhenya's mouth, Jackie's panting breaths speeding up along his own, both of them following Zhenya's rhythm. 

Then Zhenya was nudging his cheek, turning his head towards Jackie, murmuring "Look her." She caught Jackson’s gaze and held it, eyes liquid and dark with pleasure, gorgeous and panting with how on edge she was. 

"Someone kiss me, I'm so close," she demanded and Jackson felt Zhenya's mouth latch onto the tendon between his neck and shoulder at the same time as he dove for Jackie's lips. Her whole body was trembling, following the rolling movements of her hips against his thigh and taking what she needed to finally tip over the edge. Jackson felt her shudder as she rode the waves of her orgasm, clutching onto him and gasping into their kiss. He felt Zhenya tighten his hand and speed up his rhythm again, felt Zhenya's teeth and tongue working a mark into his neck. But it was when Zhenya lifted his head, admiring his work and then breathing "Jackson" right into his ear that got him to gasp out, "I'm gonna-- Zhenya, I'm--" 

Zhenya nudged his cheek again, but now it was to claim his mouth for himself, murmuring Russian between sloppy kisses as he finally brought him over the edge. Jackson just gave himself over to the sensation, letting Zhenya kiss him through it, stealing his breath and his heart and somehow still making him feel all the more alive for it.

Jackson came back to himself, cradled from both sides by warm bodies and soft voices. Blinking against the dim light of the room, he made an inquiring sound and was answered by a chuckle from Jackie “You back with us?” 

"I never left." 

"Oh, you dozed off there for a moment." Jackie jostled him playfully and then got up, throwing them a look over her shoulder. "I'm grabbing the first shower. Don't forget to drink some water, boys!" 

Jackson felt Zhenya on his other side smiling into his shoulder and he suddenly needed to see him, needed to kiss him again just to make sure it all happened and he wouldn't wake up alone in his bed with echoes of a dream slipping through his curtains with the morning light. But Zhenya was right there, solid and warm and smug. 

"What are you grinning about?" Jackson teased him, feeling giddy on the feeling he didn't want to name yet, even as it filled his whole chest and made him reach for Zhenya's hand, tangling their fingers together. "Oh wait, Zhenya, did you--?"

The Russian just nodded, trying to go back to kissing, but Jackson stopped him with a finger on his lips, just watching his best friend for a moment, amazed and happy and "--are you blushing right now? Wow, this truly is a night of firsts." 

Zhenya shot back something in Russian that Jackson was pretty sure meant a not-so polite-version of shut up with how often he'd hear him yell it at the tv, but now it felt like an endearment, with Zhenya unable to hold back a smile and getting shy all of a sudden, his eyes flicking between their entwined fingers and the mess they made between them, the purpling mark on Jackson's neck and the door that was left slightly ajar, letting in the sound of running shower. 

"You owe me still-- love bruise? Kak skazatj--" 

Of all the words, Jackson would not use 'soft' to describe Zhenya; but now, on this night of firsts he had no better word for the look that was now directed at him. He returned it without hesitation. He was here for it, for all of it. "A hickey. I do. Where do you want it, babe?"

Zhenya didn't answer immediately. Instead he reached out and traced the mark he left on Jackson's neck, as if he needed to reassure himself that it really happened, that there was proof that wouldn't be so easily washed away, impossible to ignore. Jackson could feel the lingering sting, the skin bruised and sensitive, making him shiver and want to find a mirror and see for himself. He could see the shadow of worry in Zhenya's eyes, that look of this is important, he could see him thinking and picking words, probably translating what he wanted to say. He caught Zhenya's hand in his own and pressed a kiss to his palm, then placing it over his heart, threading his fingers through Zhenya's, just holding on and letting him know without words that he was there. Not leaving. Not regretting anything. Not afraid.

"The shower is free, boys." Jackie's voice calling from the hall broke the silence and Jackson realized he couldn't hear the sound of water anymore. She came back into the room and dropped two water bottles on Jackson's chest. He'd deny the sound that came out of him at the unexpected cold shock against his naked skin, but it made Zhenya burst into a surprised laugh and bury his face into the pillows and it was so cute that it made the embarrassment worth it.

"Drink up boys." Jackie prompted, throwing them curious looks as she searched for her clothes around the room. They slowly disentangled themselves from the blankets and each other and emptied the bottles dutifully. Jackson took Zhenya's bottle from him and then took his hand, earning a surprised look. "Shower with me?" A relieved nod was his answer, Zhenya already pulling him to his feet and towards the bathroom. Jackson stopped them in the doorway, turning back to Jackie who was pulling on her clothes. 

She was already looking at them with a knowing smile. "Go ahead. Take your time. I'll raid your kitchen in the meantime. Or order pizza. I'm starving." 

"Sounds good. Thanks, Jackie." 

He let Zhenya pull him the rest of the way to the bathroom, thinking he'd have to thank Jackie properly, profusely, and also ask her how she knew just what to say every time because it was bordering on scary. 

But now there was another, more important talk, to be had. There was his best friend, turning on the shower, not meeting his eyes and fidgeting nervously. Zhenya never fidgeted. "Hey. Talk to me." Jackson ducked his head to catch Zhenya's eyes. 

Instead, Zhenya avoided his gaze and he was being pulled into the shower under the spray of hot water, getting increasingly worried. Did Zhenya regret what they did? Was he gearing up for a let’s never talk about this again speech? Well, Jackson wouldn’t let him. He took a breath and opened his mouth, preparing to launch into a five-point argument about how this wasn't a mistake followed by an even longer list of reasons why they should definitely do it again, maybe just the two of them... 

He didn't even get to start, interrupted by Zhenya's frustrated growl. "Ja nie znayu-- how say this right. So not make fun." 

Jackson saw the serious expression on Zhenya's face, his this is important look. "Okay? I'll listen. But-- can I kiss you first? Just. I'm a bit worried now." 

Jackson was still trying to catch Zhenya's eyes, standing close and blinking the water away, so he wasn't far for Zhenya to look up at him in surprise and then break out into a wide smile, pressing their lips together and saying "Da, da, vsegda, ty vsegda mozesh." breathless little giggles escaping him in between kisses. Jackson didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone of relief, felt it himself when he was once again in his best friend's arms, his world right again after being tilted dangerously off its axis for a moment. They were okay.

"What-- what were you saying?" Jackson asked, minutes later, eternity later, after they had caught their breath, actually showered and stole even more kisses inbetween handing each other shampoo bottles and later towels, still helpless against the gravity pulling them together. They still had to talk, but Jackson was now sure they were on the same page and for right now that was enough. 

However, he was curious about one thing. "Zhenya, what did you say, before? In the shower. It was all Russian..." 

"Oh-- I say you can kiss me always. Did I say in Russian?" 

"Yeah, didn't you realize?" 

"Niet. Only happy you want kiss me. Jackson--" Zhenya broke off, taking Jackson's hands in his and it would have been funny, the two of them just in towels, hair dripping, the mirror behind them misty from the condensation, showing only their silhouettes and the buy toothpaste that Jackson wrote on it with his finger that morning when he used the last of it, next to a word in Cyrillic that Zhenya wouldn't tell him the meaning of. Yet it felt like the most important moment, with how Zhenya's eyes bore into him, warm and earnest, and soft, there it was again, stealing Jackson's breath away. 

"You are my best friend." Zhenya announced carefully, willing him to hear it. "I care-- you? I don't know how say..." 

"I care about you." Jackson jumped in, helping Zhenya with the words, echoing the same back at him. "I care about you too, Zhenya. You're my best friend too." 

"Da. Yes. But-- I like when we kiss. I like this." He squeezed Jackson's hands in his and pulled him closer, wrapping Jackson's arms around his waist and his own around Jackson's shoulders. Next words were spoken against his temple, hushed and treasured. "I want best friends and I want this. Ya khochu tebja. Can we-- have this? Do you--?"

Jackson was nodding before Zhenya finished his sentence, already reaching for him and pouring everything he felt into a kiss, every exhilarating and excited and scary feeling that was filling his chest, because he didn't have enough words for how much he wanted this, too. Then he heard Jackie's voice in his mind, use your words Jackson, say what you want and only good things had happened when he listened to Jackie... "Yes, we can. We can have this. Zhenya, I want you too. I want all of that-- wait, are we, like, dating now?" 

Zhenya was smiling so hard his eyes were just slits, mirroring his own happy grin that wouldn't leave his face. He still managed to roll his eyes, of course. "Nado. We live together." 

"I know, but do we-- go on dates, now? Like, what are the rules to this?" 

"We are best friends who kiss. And make love. And-- cuddle?" 

Jackson was more than a bit distracted by the lovely blush that rose in Zhenya's cheeks and the accompanying words but he managed to keep it together and reply because he could use a good cuddle just about now. He was getting a bit chilly with how long they were standing in the bathroom just in their towels and if it went his way, there would be no need for pyjamas tonight. He wanted to wrap himself up in Zhenya and stay there. He could, now.

"Yeah we can definitely cuddle. We can even sleep together!" 

Zhenya's eyebrow rose at that and Jackson swatted at him, indignant. "I meant sleep sleep! In the same bed! On purpose! Not you falling asleep on me by accident when we watch Clone Wars after midnight." 

"How you know it is accident?" Zhenya winked at him and then stole his towel and ran out of the door towards his room, leaving Jackson gaping and-- happy. He was happy. And-- falling in love with my best friend, he experimentally tried that thought on, just to see what would happen, how he would feel. Nothing broke, nothing shattered. The world kept on turning, the wisps of steam kept escaping into the hall, the light turned on in his room, beckoning him forward. The feeling settled more firmly in his chest, already filling the space behind his ribs, expanding with his lungs and cradling his heart, warm and soft and safe. They would figure it out together, like they did everything else so far. Playing together, communicating together, living together. Being together. 

In sync, like on the ice.

 - - -

Bonus: 

Jackie followed her grumbling stomach and the trail of discarded clothing back to the kitchen. She always got hungry after sex and this was no exception, although everything else about this night was exceptional. She couldn't have foreseen the story that would unravel right before her eyes, between the two men that invited her into their apartment and their bed, only to find each other in the end. She wasn’t complaining, oh no, on the contrary, that was quite something and she won’t forget it, ever… but now, she needed food.

The fridge didn’t offer any satisfactory snack options so Jackie found herself sitting on the kitchen island, scrolling through the takeout app on her phone and ordering pizza instead. She saw the empty pizza boxes from Sid’s beside the trash can so she knew she couldn’t go wrong with that choice. Everyone loved Sid’s, of course they did too. 

Everyone also loved the Lions. She was only now slowly connecting the dots. The framed jerseys in the hall. The hockey sticks in the corner of the living room, the pucks on the shelf. Evgeni saying teammate when he introduced Jackson. Both of them being built like Greek gods, strong and beautiful and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Gryffindor loved their Lions.  Of course she knew of the team even if she didn’t follow the game - if you lived in Gryffindor, it had become impossible to not know about them after they brought home the cup. 

However, she was glad that she didn’t know who exactly Evgeni was when they met at the bar, apart from a fun drinking partner, dorky dancer and very, very good kisser. They had locked eyes across the room, she bought him a drink, he got the burgers and fries, they talked for quite a long time even with him searching for words and having to resort to inventive descriptions with a side of charades to get his meaning across, they danced, they made out… He made her laugh and didn’t push for her number or her attention, he turned her on and he intrigued her, but at the end of the night, he was just a stranger to her. 

A gentle, giant, hot stranger that took her home for what she expected to be a one night stand and turned into so much more; at least for the two men. She saw the looks, heard what had been said and felt the connection between them come to life in an entirely new way, witnessing a sacred first and even helping to guide them through it when they turned to her. She had threesomes before, but nothing like this. She already knew she would treasure the memory, feeling rather protective of it; of them.   

Her phone buzzed, the arrival of the pizza delivery reminding her of her grumbling stomach again. She hopped down from her perch on the kitchen island, let the delivery person into the building and paid for the three pizzas, bringing them back to the kitchen. The boys would be hungry too, when they finally came out of the shower, but they were taking their time. She suspected they needed the privacy to make sense of what happened. She could give them that. 

Grabbing a sharpie from her bag, she scrawled a note and her number on top of one of the pizza boxes that she left on the counter, only grabbing three slices out of it and stacking them like a delicious, greasy, pizza sandwich. With a last fond look around she headed for the door, her eyes lingering on the jerseys hanging in matching gold frames on the wall. Nadeau. Kuznetsov. She didn’t know the names or the jersey numbers, had only a vague idea about hockey, but she was rooting for them now - for Zhenya and Jackson - and going by what she’d seen tonight, she was pretty sure they would make it.

fin

[eat0crow]

Not So Dead

Summary: Kakashi’s regretted a lot of things in his life. More than he can ever hope to put a number on. He never imagined not being more philosophical would make its way onto the list.

Notes: Written for @amusl02 as part of the @akatsuki-gift-exchange. I”m so sorry this is late!

You siad you wanted angst so I tried to be emo about it :D

_____

Kakashi’s never cared enough to worry about whatever bastardization of the afterlife his soul would end up in.

Most shinobi’s don’t as a general rule. How can they when they stain their hands with enough blood to fill hundreds of small basins for a paycheck? Sure, there’s a few like the Hyuga and the Uchiha, whose clan lore glamorizes battle so much they have a clear picture of their soul’s destination. But the general population of nins are more than happy with understanding that wherever their souls go...it can’t be anywhere good, and leaving it at that.

Avoiding the afterlife is a much more pressing, present, concern.

But fuck if the information wouldn’t come in handy right about now. He’s regretted a lot of things in his life. More than he can ever hope to put a number on. He never imagined not being more philosophical would make its way onto the list.

He should have listened to Sasuke when he’d had been explaining, in excruciating detail, to Naruto and Sakura just where the departed go, last night when they set up camp. He would have, but the temptation to remind Sasuke that technically, he was oversharing clan secrets, had been at the tip of his tongue and—

Seeing Sasuke start to open up, even if it was over something morose like death, with progress that was downright groundbreaking for him, kept Kakashi from saying anything. He’d never heard the boy talk even a third as much. So what was the harm in him giving away lore.

Sasuke is the clan, it’s his right to decide what gets guarded fiercely and what gets given away freely.

Tuning the kids conversation out, while immediately satisfying, evidently, had been a mistake. Because Kakashi has no fucking clue where he is. Probably not hell? He feels like his soul would be a lot more tormented than it is right now, if it was. Definity not heaven. Not ever heaven. Not after Rin. Or Obito. Or Kushina. Or Minato. Or—

All he knows for a fact is that he isn’t alive anymore. He can’t be. And it’s not the darkness that’s telling him that, not the nothingness or the weightlessness or the cold that seeps into his bones and bites at him harder than the chakra exhaustion that knocked him out had.

No, it’s none of that.

No.

It’s Obito that lets him know that he’s no longer part of the world of the living.

Obito, who’s older than he was the last time Kakashi saw him, who’s his age, which makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Death, he supposes, gets to make its own set of rules. Whatever they are, aren’t nearly as important as the fact that Obito is here.

Not as the boy Kakashi remembers, who’d been sunshine and summer, warm smiles and endless hope. Or even as any of the variants he’s spent years creating as the answers to half his ‘what ifs’.

No, he’s here and all hard edges. Mangled and torn and cold and so much more beautiful in that he exists. That he’s in front of him. Kakashi has missed him, more with every precious person he’s lost, and the longer he’s lived. Seeing him with his arms crossed, with an orange, swirled mask dangling from his side that screams Naruto, is like stepping back in time. He feels like a genin. Albeit one with slightly more trauma, not to say he didn't already have his fair share than.

The glare on his face is like none of the expressions Kakashi can remember from his friend, but exactly what he always imagined when thinking about them meeting again in the next life. It causes a weird sense of validation to flood him. How could any of the people Kakashi failed possibly do anything but hate him?

Saving Kakashi was the last thing Obito had done, and for what? Him to turn around and kill Rin? For him to shove his hand through her chest and carve out her heart with lightning? Obito loved Rin, in every way he couldn’t. Didn’t want to, for that matter. Kakashi was happy to let her love him, if it meant she was happy and stayed in his life. Existing in her life, being her friend, was enough—all he was capable of.

Rin, was a butterfly. She was always destined to outgrow him once she found someone who loved her back, in the way she wanted and not just in the ways he could manage. She deserved to. Rin was amazing and wonderful and worth so much more than team seven.

He’d have been more than happy to let her fly away, if fate hadn’t been a bitch that decided thirteen was old enough for her to die.

“Bakakashi.” There’s a warning in Obito’s voice, his eyes are murderous, and it goes against every single one of Kakashi’s instincts to stay where he is. Not that he thinks he can move much. Apparently dying doesn’t come with a healing session, he still has all his injuries, and he feels just as drained as he did in Wave.

“Obito,” he finally says, he’s doing nothing to disguise any of the complicated knot of emotion that’s had more than a decade to tangle up from his voice. Maybe Obito will hear it and be able to understand them more than Kakashi himself does.

All he knows is that he’s feeling something.

Whether it’s a good something remains to be seen.

Though, he doubts that he can be part of any something that’s good.

Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, they’re proof of that. He’d worried so much about them getting to keep their childhoods, he hadn’t actually prepared them for the reality of shinobi life. Despite team 7’s history of cursed C ranks, he’d let them take this mission with nothing more than academy skills and D ranks under their belts. Fuck.

And now he’d gone and died on them. He’d left them behind in the middle of Wave with no one.

Desperately, he hopes they have the common sense to terminate their mission and return to the village.

Realistically he very much doubts they do.

“Pay attention to me, God damn it,” Obito hisses at him, voice sharp-edged and dripping with venom. He’s standing at Kakashi’s feet, kunai angled toward his throat. When did he get there? It’s hard to focus in wherever the fuck they are. “I guess some things never change, huh?”

“That’s not true,” he answers, he can’t stop himself. It’s Obito. No amount of post mortem introspection is going to prevent him from being at least a little bit of a bastard to him. “I’m taller than you now.”

Obito’s breath catches. He freezes, goes impossibly still, his fingers curling around the hilt of his knife so tightly his arm shakes. “You don’t get it, do you?” That’s not his angry tone. No, Obito's beyond that. This is his furious one. The one Kakashi never actually heard but always assumed he had. “Unbelievable. Fifteen years. After fifteen fucking years, here I am, a living corpse standing over you with a knife to your god damned throat and you still won’t take me seriously.”

“That’s not true,” Kakashi says, only, his words come out thick, slurred together around his tongue and the black spots thickening in his vision. “I always pay attention to you.”

How could he not?

Above him, Obito looks seconds away from dismembering him. He says...something. All Kakashi can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. Whatever cutting remark that Obito has to say—that Kakashi deserves to hear—is lost over the sound of his breathing.

He doesn’t want to pass out. Not when he’s just gotten Obito back and there’s a good chance he’ll wake up somewhere else, alone. He doesn’t know how this whole afterlife thing works. He’s terrified that if he closes his eyes, he won’t have the chance to find out.

It doesn’t seem to be up to him, though. The darkness keeps slipping into his vision, the cotton clouding his brain getting thicker with every second he forces himself to stay conscious.

The last thing he sees before he's swept away in the waves of chakra exhaustion is Obito’s face, hovering inches from his own with something that might have been concern flashing across it.

Kakashi’s next return to the land of the not so living (purgatory?), is a bit easier. There’s less of the bone-deep cold from before and more of the floating sensation. Like he’s stuck somewhere with just enough gravity to keep him steady in one place. He doesn’t hurt as badly, the only aches he feels are the ones he’s always had. It would be stranger for him to wake up with them gone, so he counts himself fully healed.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, his muscles stiff and protesting even with the simple movement. His side is tender, but, considering Kakashi remembers his ribs being broken by that fucking overgrown sword, it’s nothing more than an inconvenience.

“It’s not the same if you roll over and die,” a quiet voice says, off to his left. Kakashi blinks, his mask is gone, so is his hitai-ate. All he can do is run his hands over his face and blink the last bits of sleep from his vision. Obito’s breath doesn’t catch when he turns to look at him, which makes sense, assuming he was the one to take his mask off in the first place. And really, who else is there to do it? “I have to be the one to kill you.”

“Sorry,” he manages after what feels like a small eternity. His brain hasn’t caught up with his tongue just yet. “You can. If you want to.”

Keeping his shoulders intentionally relaxed, his movements loose and lazy in a way that takes effort, Kakashi reaches toward his thigh, grabbing the tanto still strapped there. For a moment he weights the blade in his hand. It's standard issue, the same one given out to all jounin. Nothing remarkable about it.

Handle out, he offers it up to Obito.

And Obito stares, for a long endless moment that stretches into the next. Around them the landscape echoes the tension in his shoulders, the dark grey nothing rising up into jagged peaks, sharpening with every fraction of tension that makes its way into his frame. “Just like that. After everything, you’re not going to fight back?”

“I would,” Kakashi says, looking away first. “If it was anyone else.”

“Then why?” Obito asks, searching.

Kakashi cuts him off before he can continue. “Because you deserve to. Obito, I’m the reason you died, if anyone has the right to run a blade through me it’s you.”

Long, spindly fingers curl around the handle of the blade, and even though they don’t touch his skin, Kakashi can feel the phantom sensations of them across his hand. “I’m not killing you for me, dumbass.”

Kakashi swallows hard around the lump in his throat. He still doesn’t turn to face him. It’s weird seeing Obito with only a single Sharingan flashing red in his face. In a way, it’s a bit like seeing his own reflection mirrored back to him, and Kakashi has never been good with looking at his own face. “I know, and if Rin or Minato or Kushina was here I would let them kill me, too. But they’re not.”

“So what,” Obito scoffs, harsh and cruel as he throws the tanto sheath. “I’m the consolation prize? A get out of jail free card? I’m here so I might as well absolve you of your guilt like a convenient little escape-goat, is that right? Do you even care?”

Obito laughs. It sounds like a sob. Like something wretched from a wounded animal that’s hurting and has been hurting for so long it’s forgotten how to feel any differently. Kakashi hates that sound, he really really hates it.

Before he can help himself, Kakashi turns, grabbing the hand not clutching the blade between them in a white-knuckled grip that looks painful, and pulls. The tanto goes chattering forward and Obito is mashed against him into something that might resemble a hug and what feels more like a lifeline.

“Of course I care,” Kakashi says into the crown of Obito's hair. He smells like clay and metal and something not quite natural that doesn’t matter nearly as much as his warmth against his chest. “You’re not an escape-goat Obito. You’re the one I owe the most to. I’m sorry I couldn’t find some way to make it up to you before I died and ended up here.”

Against him, Obito stiffens further, pushing away with bony elbows that dig into his stomach until clawed fingers make their way into the skin of his shoulders. Obito holds himself there, arms-length away and propped up enough for Kakashi to have to crane his neck to make eye contact. “Wait. What? Kakashi, where the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Kakashi says, doing his best to make his voice come out breezily. “I don’t know anything about the afterlife”s geography.”

Obito pinches his side, hard. “You’re not—Bakakashi—I’m not dead. Neither are you.”

“Wait, what?”

“How you—this whole time you thought you were dead?” Obito shakes him, throwing his whole body weight into moving Kakashi’s upper torso. “You were going to let me kill you a second ago!”

“In the metaphorical sense.” Kakashi raises an eyebrow at him, the confused look on his face natural with not even a bit of exaggeration. “I figured after you got your justice, I’d move on to whatever hell comes next.”

“You were bleeding when you came here. You’re sitting in a patch of dried blood right now.”

“I haven’t died before, I don’t know how death works.” Kakashi shrugs.

For all he knows the afterlife could just be a really bland version of...well life.

Maybe if he wasn’t recovering from the after-effects of what he now knows for a fact had originally been a concussion, he’d be a lot more suspicious. Probably not though, because even without the head injury he’d have a lap full of Obito and there is absolutely no way he could be skeptical about his living or dead status with his arms around the ghost of a boy he watched die.

“My heart's beating, you idiot.” Obito protests, reaching down and placing Kakashi’s palm flat against his chest. On reflex, Kakashi tries to jerk it away, the only time he ever touches anyone's chest is when he’s tasked with carving out their heart. Obito’s grip is crushing, though. He holds his hand there firmly in place, not allowing even a fraction of give. “Don’t you think It would be a lot more still if I was a ghost.”

Kakashi wants to say he doesn’t know. Wants to point out that he can’t feel Obito’s heartbeat through the overwhelming panic that's nipping across Kakashi’s skin—and fuck, if he didn’t already have enough triggers, he should have expected to have a little trauma surrounding this. He can’t get the words out of his throat, though. Not through his breathing, that’s coming out in harsh pants. Not over the panic attack that had no business ruining this and is a good chunk of time past due.

For his part, Obito just watches him through it. Immovable as he keeps his grip welded around Kakashi’s wrist.

Eventually, after however long time takes to move here, he forces his mind to steady itself and compartmentalize this into the little boxes in the far-off corners labeled do not revisit. When he finally does feel, not okay, he’s too shaky for okay, but solid, he makes the effort to feel what Obito’s trying to show him.

When he does, he’s met with the steady thump of a heart beating under his hand. It feels like a bird, beating its wings—and that’s enough of the fragile animal metaphors for today, thank you very much. “Oh. Oh you’re real.”

Obito blinks at him, and the final bits of anger that have steadily been falling away, drains out of him. “Yeah,” Obito breathes, letting go of Kakashi’s hand, finally, and slumping forward, back into his arms. “Yeah, Kakashi, I’m real.”

“You’re alive,” Kakashi whispers. His grip must be painful, but he can’t stop himself from tightening his hold. Afraid that Obito will slip away as some figment of his imagination the second he eases up. “You’re alive.”

“Come on now,” Obito huffs. Something hot makes its way to the crook of Kakashi’s neck. He can’t be bothered to check and see which one of them is crying. “You didn’t think I’d actually let Iwa kill me, did you?”

Yes.

Yes, Kakashi very much did. If he had suspected for even a second that Obito was still out there, somewhere, alive and whole, he would have hunted him down with enough vigor to make his ninken jealous.

But saying that feels cheap when actions speak louder than words and enough time has passed for anything along that vein to ring as hollow platitudes.

Kakashi thinks Obito expects him to get angry at him, to demand to know where he’s been for the last fifteen years. Don’t get him wrong, Kakashi wants to know, he really desperately does. But the answer isn’t nearly as important as the fact that Obito is alive and whole and with him, so instead he settles on asking, “Where is here, then.”

Obito lets out a breath, slumping impossibly more against him. “This is a part of Kamui. Somehow when you exhausted yourself, you managed to find your way into the pocket dimension created by the Sharingan. Since we share the same set, we can access the same place. You’re lucky I was already here. You really would have been dead if I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Kakashi says, simply. He supposes, in a way it makes sense. Their Mangekyou can banish objects, it has to have a place to send them to. Maybe he caught himself in the reflection of Zabuza’s water prison.

Kaskshi closes his eyes, content to just hold Obito there. It’s not like he’s gotten the chance to be close to anyone recently, physically or otherwise. So while he’s hyper aware of every inch of skin Obito is touching, it feels good. In a reassuring, alive, kind of way.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, the only sounds around being their combined breathing which quickly takes the place of white noise.

Obito’s the one to break it, turning his face against Kakashi’s chest and looking up. “Hey, Bakakashi, if I asked to kill you right now, would you let me?” His voice is soft without the venom in it, with nothing to hide the uncertainty.”

Kakashi doesn’t have to think about his answer before he responds, “Yes.”

He’s not his father, he’s not about to throw himself down on his own blade just to run from his ghosts. But, he thinks if one of his ghosts, the one that’s not quite dead yet, wants him to be, that’s okay. It’s different.

“You’d really give me your life, just like that?”

“Just like that,” Kakashi agrees, because it really is that simple. For him at least.

He hopes though, that Obito will want to wait just a little bit longer to kill him. Kakashi’s waited so long to see him again, he’d hate to have to wait until the end of Obito’s life to do it. Though, that would be fitting, in an ironic sort of way.

“In that case,” Obito starts, moving to stand up. Kakashi helps him the best he can, supporting him with a gentle hand against his back even if he misses the warmth instantly. “Will you come with me?”

Part of Kakashi wants to ask Obito what he means, won’t he come back with him? Back to the village, to Konoha and….and a stone carved with the name of almost everyone that made the place a home.

A large part of Kakashi, the part that makes him bite his tongue, reminds him that Obito’s had fifteen years to make his way back to the leaf. Back to him. If he was going to return to the village it would have happened by now. No. If they’re going anywhere it’s going to be on Obito’s terms.

This time it’s Kakashi’s turn to chase after him.

So he doesn’t have to think about it before responding, “Okay.” The only thing truly holding him back is….Naruto, who won’t get another instructor who will look at him as anything but a monster and fuck, he can’t abandon him again, not after finally being allowed to see him. And Sakura who’s going to be flushed out as a paper nin, which is a complete waste of her potential. And Sasuke, who’s going to be snatched up by Danzo’s grimy hands the second he comes back to the village with no one to keep him in the light and away from the shadows and— “But I have some kids I need to pick up first.”

[futurewriter2000]

Close Friends - pt.2

A/N: Okay I don’t really know how this ended up like this but I think I have some idea where I want to take this. Next part is gonna be cuter? Better? I don’t know the word but probably better written than this one????

XX

“All I do is flirt with her and she just doesn’t get it! It’s like- like-” Sirius started to get frustrated, venting to his friends.

“Like you’ve been flirting with her all Hogwarts years and dating other people meanwhile?” Remus quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“She probably thinks it’s a normal thing with you.” said James beside him, peering out of his magazine. “Do the opposite. Don’t give her any attention.”

“Or just tell her the truth-”

“Shut up, Moony. I think James is on to something here.” he sat on James’ bed and stared at him. “Go on, mate.”

James chuckled and straightened his posture. “I’m just saying, maybe if you ghost her for a while, she’ll come running to you-”

“And eventually you will have to tell her you fancy her for two years now.” Remus continued but both Sirius and James ignored him.

“Or I could wait for her to realize that she needs me!” Sirius jumped from the bed triumphantly. “That’s a great plan.”

“That’s such a bad plan.” Remus shook his head at the idiocy. “If you ignore her, she’ll be confused not in love.” he continued to speak but they were already whispering something in each other’s ear, plotting. “What am I? Invisible?” 

---

To be honest, you didn’t much notice the first two days as Sirius was avoiding you, ghosting you and ignoring you, which pretty much meant the same thing. He hasn’t talked to you in class or sat next to you at the table. 

It only meant one thing; he got another girlfriend. 

So you brushed it off because that was the usual pattern you had to go through through the first week of him and his brand new grilfriend. Sirius was just like that. He disappeared and then he appeared again. So you brushed it off and focused on your studies. 

Meanwhile Sirius was glaring at you from a far. 

“She’s just studying.” he grumbled, gritting his teeth.

“What would you expect her to do?” 

“We haven’t talked in three days and she’s not even a bit worried about me? Like what if I’m dead.” he scoffed, throwing his arms in the air and pouting. 

“You’ve been the one avoiding you, Sirius. You. Just go talk to her.” 

“No.” he scoffed again, turning away and feeling the hurt eat away his soul. “I wonder how long will it take her to notice. I mean if she cared, she-”

“She cares!” Remus tried to convince you. “She just-”

“I don’t get it. We’ve poured each other’s secrets to one another and there she is, studying. Doesn’t she miss me? Like not even a little.” 

Remus just stared. It was as if he was talking to a wall. A solid, rock built wall. “You’re joking?” 

“I’m not.”

“Then tell her that.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see if she cares?”

And you did care. You cared a lot for Sirius and you missed him dearly, so later when days turned into a weeks, you were starting to get more confused. 

Why was he not talking to you? Why was he avoiding you? Did you do something wrong?

But you were done being the one to always reach out first. You knew him and his little games he played. He was alright with you and then few days he disappeared and when you asked him what was wrong, he snapped at you. It happened so many times and since then you learned that it’s best to leave him alone and figure it out by himself. 

So you waited and he waited and both of you... waited. 

---

“I know he broke up with Callie and all, he’s not dating any other girl but why is he not speaking to me?! Did I do something wrong?” you ranted to your friends, pacing up and down your room. 

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” one of them said and the others nodded. “And to be honest you always cared for him way too much than you should-”

“He just cut all connections! I wanted to talk to him today after school but he just left! And then again I saw him at the courtyard and we made eye contact- WE MADE EYE CONTACT-” you shouted at them. “AND AS SOON AS I STARTED APPROACHING, HE LEFT!” you started to feel something burning in your throat, sorrow filling your heart. 

“He doesn’t care about you. He’s a dick and he’s an idiot and you shouldn’t be worrying about someone like him.”

“You’re right. I mean if he doesn’t care, then I won’t care.” you huffed, throwing yourself on the bed and thinking. “But... I miss him.” you grabbed the pillow and squeezed it. 

“Yeah, I know but he’s not worth it and it’ll pass.” 

“Do you think I should send him a letter?”

“No!” all of them spoke in unison. 

“Show him what he had lost.” 

And you did. This time you put effort in it as much as he did, which was none. Week after week, you stole glances of him, finding him careless and free without you. He flirted with other girls, he laughed with his friends- there was nothing that could even tell you that he cared. Nothing. He cut you off. He just cut you off like that. 

He did and he felt incredibly guilty about it. But if you really cared about him then you would go over the mountains to get to him, which you didn’t. James would go over the mountains and the seas but not you. You were sitting there with your friends planning another Hogsmeade trip. 

He kept tabs on you. Every time but he felt like something was missing. There was this missing piece inside him where it hurt and ached. That piece was you and whenever he felt it, he couldn’t bare it. 

It hurt. 

It hurt for you because you missed him so much. He was someone you told everything to. Everything and now he’s just... there. He’s just there and he’s there so many times that it makes you furious. You’re so angry at him because you really thought you had a close friendship with him- and he, well he just left it to rot. 

---

When you heard that he was going to Hogsmeade as well, you made it your mission to look incredible. Not beautiful, not hot but beyond believable outstanding. 

You didn’t know why you cared so much for how you looked in front of him but maybe- just maybe he will start talking to you again and explain why he had cut you off as he did. 

You pulled out your most uncomfortable jeans that outlined your legs so nicely, toned your thighs and butt. You tucked in a black Rolling Stones shirt and pulled it out so that it looked a bit baggy. You grabbed hairspray, brush, ties and pins and spent half an hour on your hair. At the end, it was slicked back in a tight, high pony tail with the front hair falling in front of you. You grabbed a pair of sunglasses and put them on top of your head. Makeup was gentle, foundation, eyeshadow and transparent lipgloss that made your lips look glossy and juicy. Mascara was the final touch and when you looked at the final result you were more than pleased. 

Grabbing your jacket, you put your puma shoes on and ran outside where everybody was gathered. 

You found your friends first, them gaping at you and your look. 

“Holy shit- you look like you’ve walked out of an american teen movie!” one of them smiled and they all giggled as you turned around to show off. 

“Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know where I found this outfit but I am glad I did because I am prepared to catch some fish.” you winked at them and interlocked your arms with theirs. 

You haven’t seen Sirius your whole way there but he sure had seen you and words couldn’t describe that watching you was not enough. He wanted to go up to you so badly. He dreaded being stuck behind and not being able to flirt with you, smell which parfume you had or see up close your eyes. 

“Still think it was a good idea, cutting her off?” Remus smirked beside him as Sirius rolled his eyes.

“I cut her off becasue she clearly does not care enough for me.”

“Mate, she is looking-”

“I know, Prongs. I know how incredibly hot she is right now but can I do something? No. Why? Because I have an impecible amount of pride and stubborness.” 

“So you admit, finally.” 

“Yes, I admit but she’ll be back. She will.”

“It’s been weeks, Sirius. She’s moving on.”

“She’s not. She’ll come back, I’m telling you- she just-”

“She what?” James asked and Sirius stopped, turning his head to him and smiling. “She will see that I’m fun and irresistable-”

“Sirius.” Remus put his hand on his shoulder. “What if she finds what she’s been looking for.”

“What do you mean?”

“A boyfriend because right now I’m seeing loads of boys pining after the girl.” he nodded at the group of Ravenclaws at the side. 

“Oh, I’m not worried mate. She won’t go out on a date with these stuck-up losers. “ 

“How are you so sure?” James asked and Sirius tapped his shoulder.

“Because she told me herself she’s waiting for the perfect one, and if there were any of them in our school, she would be dating them and she’s not.” he continued to smile, watching you turn into one of the shops. 

After a while of stalking you on the map, he finally decided to “accidentally” bump into you in Three Broomsticks. 

You were already drinking your butterbeer with your friends, your lipgloss already printed on the glass and the foam on top of your lips. One of your friends pointed it out and all of you giggled at your mustache. 

He could hear your laugh from a far and his heart leaped a few beats when it did. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“You are?” both Remus and James asked in unison.

“I have to. It’s my fault we’re not talking.”

“What about the not caring?” 

“JAMES!”

“You’re right!” Sirius straightened his posture, meanwhile James was getting some deadly stares from Remus. 

“You’re being stubborn, Sirius.”

“So is she?”

“And what happens when you both wait it out and neither of you make a move- then what?” Remus asked and for once Sirius listened to him, wavering his head and sighing. “She’ll move on and both of your prides and stuborness will just leave you without each other.”

“He’s right, mate. I know I didn’t agree earlier but you really aren’t the same since you stopped talking to her.”

“What if she’s pissed?” Sirius looked at them. 

“Just tell her the truth.”

“But what if she’s pissed?” Sirius asked again and continued to see you walk to the bar. 

“You two are friends. It’ll come around.” Remus put his hand on Sirius shoulder and gave him a simper. 

Sirius mirrored his expression and stood up. “Guess I’ll annoy her until she forgives me.” he winked at them and started walking to you. 

You on the other hand were just ordering another four butterbeers for you and your friends, waiting for the waitress. 

Except it wasn’t a waitress that you saw. A man, tall and handsome walked out of the back, trying to tie his apron as he did. He had a buzzcut, dark hair, thick eyebrows and extremely dark eyes. He continued to suffer with the apron and as he was about to give up, you decided to lend a hand. 

“Need a hand?” you smiled and he looked up, clearly a bit embarrased but smiling back at you with perfectly white straight teeth. 

“I don’t really need an apron when my boss leave but when a beautiful girl like you asks, how can I decline such offer.” he grinned and you felt yourself blush. “Just go around the counter-” he said and you did as you were told, taking the two strings from his hands and as touch of his fingers brushed yours, your whole body electrified itself, letting go of the strings. 

“Oh-” you took a step back, a bit shocked from the sudden feeling in your body but quickly grabbing the strings again. “Sorry about that.”

“Told you that it’s a figter.” he joked and you laughed, tying it into a bow. “Can you do it tighter, just in case?” he asked and you laughed, untying the bow and redoing it, tightening it with all your might.

“Demanding, are we?” you started to tease and he laughed, letting out low, smooth chuckles. 

“First time a customer is helping the worker. Have to exploit it a bit.” he turned around leaning on the counter with his large arms as you made your way to the other side. 

“Didn’t know you were the bar had another worker?” you quirked an eyebrow and he smiled yet again showing those perfect teeth. 

“I have to get some money for college-”

“College?” you asked and he shook his head, licking his upper lip. 

“I’m no wizard, beautiful girl. I have to do it all the Muggle way.” he leaned on the counter. “So what can I get you? Butterbeer?” 

“Four actually. It’s for me and my friends over there.” you said, pointin to the giggling girls behind you. 

“No boyfriend?” he asked, grinning.

“Depends on who you’re asking for?” you leaned back and he opened his arms, gesturing at himself.

“Who do you think?” 

“Then, yeah. No boyfriend.” he smiled wide at your answer and turned around to make you some butterbeer. 

“Don’t get the wrong idea. Promised mum I won’t be dating any of her customers.” he gave you two of them, looking so damn gorgeous as he pressed his arms on the edge of the counter, his eyes locked with yours as they gazed into you. He pushed himself away and turned to make another two. “If I want to keep this job, I have to follow the rules.”

“Wait... your mum as in Madam Rosmerta?” 

“The one and only.” he turned his head over his shoulder, smiling heavingly before his whole face expression dropped. 

“I thought the weiters are supposed to work, not talk.” Sirius goaded as he sat beside you. 

“I call it multitasking.” the weiter put one beer first before turning to the other, clearly buying himself some time. 

“Four butterbeers.” said Sirius, looking at you from the side and changing his tight-lipped frown into a soft simper you usually got from him. “Hey, stranger.”

Surprised by his appearance, you exchanged glances between the two boys, grabbed the butterbeers and gave him a soft smile. “Hi, Sirius.” you said before turning to the boy and smiling more brightly at him, which Sirius noticed quickly. “Thank you for-”

“Of course, and don’t worry. It’s on the house.” he gave you another smile before turning to make four more. 

Sirius saw you leave back to the table, finding your friends whispering, giggling and laughing with you. 

Hi? All he gets is a hi? You’ve held a whole ass conversation with a stranger and all he gets is a hi. 

---

Your whole group of friends were teasing you and the weiter, building you hope and creating scenes in your head as him as your handsome new boyfriend and the very jealous Sirius that angrily made his way as he saw you flirting with the new boy. 

Of course, you only rolled your eyes at their little fantasy ideas and laughed along. Sirius would never be jealous. The two of you were always friends. Close friends and he had dated so many girls and managed to be your friend all along- except were you in love with Sirius? 

The thought rushed so fast in your head you had to stop. You’re not. You’re just not. The two of you are far away from happily ever after. He’s not your type even and he’s- he’s- he’s just a no. No. 

You should think about Madam Rosmerta’s son, you had no idea existed- but he said he was a Muggle and Rosmerta is a witch, then why?

He’s a Squib. - it rang in your head and you felt extremely sad over that realization. Being a witch is one of the most amazing things in your life and he didn’t get to experiance that. 

Good thing you haven’t mentioned the fact that he’s the owner’s son to any of your friends. They are quick gossip and you just didn’t want to say something that wasn’t yours to say. 

“Hey, (y/n)!” Sirius shouted and all of your friend group turned around to find him running after you. 

You nodded at your friends and smiled. “It’s alright.” you said as their cue to leave you alone. 

You waited for him, seeing the group moving as you stood in your place. When he finally caught you, he stopped. The two of you were simply standing in silence, not even looking at each other. 

“It’s my fault.” he said and you looked up, listening. “It’s my fault and I know it is. I just- uhm- I thought maybe if I started ghosting you, you would show me how much you cared for me and when you didn’t after three days and a week and a month it felt like you didn’t care at all for me and I was so furious because I miss you but I was also too stubborn to be the first one to break this silent treatment.” he took a deep breath, waiting for you to respond but you continued to watch. “I’m sorry.” he finished and continued to watch you watch him. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?” you asked, clearly unsatisfied. “You wanted to see if I care when you ghosted me and when I didn’t climb up to your window to get your attention, you thought I didn’t care- Sirius what were you thinking?!” you started to explode. “You think that everything is about you?! That every day I worry about how you’re feeling and how you are doing because I do! And I did! And when I did try to talk to you, you left. You left and sorry not sorry Sirius but I won’t be running after you and your little drama you like to start up. You cut me off and I’ve been overanalyzing and overthinking and overfeeling things because of you. What did I do for you to cut me off? Because I have my own life, Sirius and my own problems and stress to deal with and just because I didn’t go to the ends of the Earth to talk to a person who didn’t even want to talk to me, didn’t mean I didn’t care!” you pushed your finger into his chest as his head dived down into the guilt. 

“I know- it was immature, childish even but- I... When it started it kept going on and after today at the bar I just- I want my best friend back.” he said and you continued to watch him. 

That charming little fucker in front of you was giving you the eyes. You turned around, huffing and rethinking everything. It really wasn’t worth arguing about this, was it? 

“Here’s how it’s going to be.” you said, turnng around. “I’ll slap you and kick you for being an enormous ass towards me and then I’ll hug you because I missed you so much and after that we’ll talk about you being a dumbass.” you said and he started contemplating.

“Does there have to be a sla-” he was cut by your hand on his cheek and when that was over you just jumped into his arms, bringing him so close to you that it felt his energy was pouring with yours, hugging it, feeling it- it felt like all the miss and the dread that came from this whole silent treatment was replaced by having him in your arms. 

And for him the slap was the least thing to worry about because now he was holding you and that was all he needed. He needed you and he needed your touch, your warmth, your energy and your scent which was the winter parfume you bought in November last year. He would notice it anywhere. 

This time he was sure not to let you go. “I love you.” he mumbled into your neck and you smiled, pulling away and cupping his cheeks.

“I love you too, Sirius.” you tapped his cheek and started walking after the group that distanced itself so far from the two of you. “Come on now, let’s catch up with them.”

Sirius sighed as he watched you walk away. “Not like that.” he mumbled under his breath, slowly walking after you. You still didn’t get it. He loved you. 

[bestworstcase]

Considering how much you love the saporian au, I have a I guess alternative pitch to ask about. In Rapunzel's Return, if it was revealed that Cass was Saporian instead and still goes through with crossing the line in canon. So when Rapunzel and the gang gets home, do you think the Saporian invasion fight would've gone differently with this new information brought to light for her, especially since Varian is working with them now? Do you have any input on this?

why yes i do

so to start. let’s skip back to like august/september of 2019, which is when the tts hyperfixation kicked in but before s3 started to air. at this point in time my thinking was:

the separatists are definitely coming back in some capacity because the series made a point of putting their symbol on the book in RDO, signaling that andrew was not a one time deal.

there’s a press release that says raps will encounter an old enemy when she returns to corona and while it might be varian, my money is on the separatists.

cassandra encountered zhan tiri behind the door in the shell house and learned or saw something that soured her pretty hard on corona

i have been theorizing that cass is saporian since the first time i watched under raps, like, a year ago

i have also been theorizing that zhan tiri is saporian since she was introduced, mainly because it’s fun and it ties two great antagonists together

if cass IS saporian, and the separatists ARE the threat awaiting rapunzel in corona, these two things are probably going to end up intertwining down the line in s3.

sigh. [puts on my clown shoes]

a big part of the appeal of saporian!cass to my mind is that it gives cassandra an excellent reason, completely unrelated to rapunzel, to return to corona after she takes the moonstone. right? in my head, before s3 aired, my theory was kinda: zhan tiri got into her head and drew a connection between cassandra’s individual feelings of being neglected/overlooked/treated unfairly, and the systemic problem of saporians being oppressed/cast aside/treated unfairly.

and cass wants so badly to be a hero. she wants to be admired. she wants to be a protagonist, basically, and if cass is saporian that positions her perfectly to become the hero of the saporian separatist movement after she takes the moonstone. it fits so well!

so if, beyond just cass being saporian, this were the direction the series had gone with cass being saporian—and taking into account that this is a disney princess show and it is going to be pro-monarchy at the end of the day, and trying to stay within those bounds—i kind of imagine it playing out like this: 

1) cass takes the moonstone and angrily lashes out at rapunzel, telling her about what zhan tiri told her in the HOYT (which boils down to ranting about how saporians in general and cass in particular are treated badly and she’s not going to take it anymore and this is my destiny, rapunzel). then she leaves, with CtL going exactly as it does in canon. 

2) reeling, rapunzel returns home—only to find that it has been taken over by saporian separatists. talk about a punch in the gut! and then to make matters worse, varian is working with them. i think “rapunzel’s return” can still end with victory over the separatists in this version, but the separatists aren’t imprisoned at the end—they escape, swearing that it isn’t over. [the conflict itself plays out similarly, except for preference the separatists aren’t trying to glass corona, they’re just trying to stay in charge / drive team corona out. this allows for escalation later with zhan tiri and also doesn’t paint. people fighting back against their oppressors as pure evil,]

2a) varian and rapunzel still have their emotional conversation and sort-of apologies, but! varian doesn’t turn against the separatists yet, and when they escape, he goes with them. however, fundamentally their cause isn’t personal to him, and he’s now all conflicted because rapunzel doesn’t hate his guts like he’s been telling himself she must. 

3) rapunzel frees quirin from the amber despite varian’s continuing betrayal, because it’s the right thing to do and also because she’s desperate for SOME sort of victory after all this. varian doesn’t find out about this until after his redemption.

4) the separatists continue to cause problems in B-plots throughout the first half of the season. someone (probably eugene?) tries to broach the subject of cass with rapunzel in the context of cass potentially joining the separatists and throwing the power of the moonstone behind their cause. rapunzel brushes this off on the grounds that no matter what cass is still her best friend. meanwhile we keep getting cass stingers, with cass struggling to control the rocks and zhan tiri helping her, except instead of driving her into rages at rapunzel, she’s focused on radicalizing cass to the separatist cause (although she does not spell this out at first).

5) BVA kicks off with zhan tiri dropping the bomb that she wants cass to join the separatists. cass is shocked (she knows how extreme and violent they are—and she’s not like that, is she? she hasn’t hurt anyone!), which triggers the burst of red rocks. 

5a) in corona, the red rocks cause varian to have horrific visions of his father/all of corona trapped in amber, confronting him with his own guilt. he’s been sticking with the separatists mostly out of fear of being rejected if he tries to return to corona now—after all, rapunzel gave him another chance, and he threw it back in her face. but the visions are too much for him, and after he sees that they’re capable of petrifying people, he rushes straight to corona, sneaking in through the tunnels to warn rapunzel. she decides to trust him again, and they set off to the demanitus chamber to stop the red rocks a la canon.

5b) as varian and rapunzel emerge and see that their efforts paid off, rapunzel assures him that she’ll make sure everyone hears how he put himself in danger to warn them, and how he saved the day... and as varian is thanking her, he hears a very quiet “...son?” from behind them. he turns around, unable to believe his ears. it’s his dad. his dad is free. for a second he’s terrified this is some sort of lingering effect of the rocks but rapunzel explains that she found an incantation that she used to free quirin, and there is a BIG EMOTIONAL MOMENT as he reunites with his dad. because varian realizes quirin must know everything he did after his dad was trapped in the amber, and he’s so afraid his dad will be ashamed of him, but quirin is just like. no, son, you may have gone to a very dark place but you found your way back all by yourself, and you did the right thing, and i’m so proud of you. tears, and so on. 

5c) BVA ends with cassandra and zhan tiri, rather than eugene and rapunzel, debriefing. cass reveals that she felt rapunzel’s fear of her during their moment of connection, and she is upset because even though cass hasn’t done anything, rapunzel seems to see cass as just as violent and dangerous as the separatists are, perhaps even moreso. and zhan tiri comes in with “they’ve already written you off as a monster” and “what do you think forced the separatists to such extremes? they tried to be reasonable, and they were persecuted just as you have been” and “really, what do you have to lose?”

6) and that is how cass gets on board with zhan tiri’s joining the separatists plan. [if cass doesn’t already know at this point, i think this would be the part where zhan tiri mentions that she’s saporian, too]

7) then we hit pascal’s dragon, and this is the episode where rapunzel starts really considering what cass being saporian means, basically using LBB as a proxy for working out her feelings about cass and ultimately coming to a sort of hopeful conclusion that maybe... cass being saporian is important to her and maybe—just like the enraged dragons that destroyed nigel’s village—the separatists have valid reasons for their anger... but also that a peaceful resolution can be reached if rapunzel doesn’t let fear consume her.

8) islands apart, then, becomes a little more focused on rapunzel trying to get the whole story out of the captain; how did he end up with a saporian kid, what do the separatists want beyond blowing corona up [he’s the captain of the guard, he must have dossiers on these people], and most importantly, what options are there for compromise? fresh off her own commitment to meet cass halfway, the conflict between rapunzel and the captain vis a vis fountain cass can also be nice and sharp. 

9) in cassandra’s revenge!!! we just scrap the entire eugene surprise birthday proposal subplot. the first half of the episode is cass cruising into the separatist camp in the woods with the moonstone and ghost!ziti. she and andrew are immediately at each others throats because both of them want to be in charge but cass ends up winning by dint of a) having a magical rock with enormous destructive power at her disposal, and b) having a clear plan. she steals the scroll to distract everyone while the separatists in to steal [insert magical saporian artifact macguffin here] from the palace vaults, with the intention of using it to free zhan tiri. 

10) cass’s part of CR goes very similarly to how it does in canon: team corona turns up to rescue varian, rapunzel tries to talk to cass about finding a viable compromise on the saporian issue, and cass, not wanting to hear it, goes berserk and attacks her. partly this is venting her very real personal anger at rapunzel (i like the idea of rapunzel reaching for her burnt hand being the thing that sets her off) and partly she’s just furious because rapunzel still doesn’t really get it. “nobody has to get hurt? saporians have already gotten hurt! i have already gotten hurt!” <- that kind of thing

10a) also!!! a “nothing left to lose” where varian is saying “i worked with the separatists and it wasn’t worth it!” and cass is saying “don’t you get it? i’m not like you, i don’t have other options, i’m saporian” would be sooooo goooood

11) in any case cass gets yeeted off the tower and injured, as in canon. team corona leaves. the separatists come back, find the tower in ruins and cassandra crawling back up from her ledge. they help her up, treat her injuries, and then reveal the bad news: the macguffin they were after, the one they need to free zhan tiri? it’s gone. corona sent it to the keeper of the spire for safe keeping. 

12) race to the spire! is about cass and the separatists trying to retrieve the macguffin from the spire. and it is also about an extremely shaken rapunzel talking to xavier about all of this, realizing what the separatists were probably after when they broke in, freaking out (cass joining the separatists is one thing, but bringing zhan tiri back?!) and reluctantly turning to edmund and adira for help... because she thinks she knows where cass is going to go next. 

12a) cue crazy cass + separatists + ghost ziti vs team corona + brotherhood battle at the spire. with all the canon insanity of the weird ass artifacts getting thrown into the mix. cass and the separatists win, possibly because ghost ziti advices cass to grab and threaten calliope to force rapunzel to cooperate and cass does it. 

13) TOTS is now the freeing zhan tiri episode. and the gothel disciple backstory episode. because turns out! none of them really know how to do the actual jailbreak with the macguffin, so... they need gothel’s old research, from when she and the other disciples used the same artifact to free zhan tiri last time. rapunzel is in the cottage with a similar idea: she’s trying to learn more about the sundrop and its connection to the moonstone. loredumps, idk. maybe all this takes place in the ruins of the tower instead; i like the idea of gothel having a creepy little laboratory in the cellar or something. 

14) rapunzel pleads with cass to think about what she’s doing. the separatists have a point—does zhan tiri? what is zhan tiri after, what’s her agenda, what is she, even? and it nearly works, she nearly gets through to cassandra, but then... cap shows up, and cass does not react well. cap is there to try to apologize for their last altercation, but she does NOT want to hear it and the whole situation escalates. team corona gets driven out of the valley, cass and the separatists do the ritual to release zhan tiri and wow things are really bad now aren’t they!!!

15) flynnposter... idk. cap recuses himself from the whole fighting cassandra thing because he cannot handle it and because everyone agrees he’ll be more effective at getting through to cass if he’s not showing up in the captain’s uniform, eugene gets put in charge... and zhan tiri is out to cause problems. i just think she should get an episode of zany hijinks all to herself. she deserves it. to keep the plot relevancy going let’s say she’s impersonating eugene-as-flynn because a) it’s funny and b) it masks her real agenda, which is, let’s say, wiping corona off the map, stealing the sundrop, and using it to plant/grow a new great tree on the ruins of the city. seems like a fitting vengeance against both demanitus (for banishing her) and rapunzel (for destroying the great tree), yes? 

16) once a handmaiden. with zhan tiri now fully out and about cass has been sort of demoted to second in command and she is struggling with that, because it’s making the inferiority complex bubble up and bringing with it doubts that this is really the right thing to do, or even really what she wants. she slips away to clear her head, perhaps even using the cloak to disguise herself so she can wander around corona... and finds the nasty little magical traps zhan tiri planted earlier. she realizes that whatever zhan tiri has planned for the eclipse, it’s a lot worse than she’s letting on. (maybe some of this is connected to gothel’s research: gothel wanted to retrieve the sundrop from rapunzel, and cass recognizes ritual prep for that from gothel’s notes and is like. oh no.)

17) so... at a loss for what to do, she impulsively goes to rapunzel to try to... warn her? apologize? take her up on that offer to negotiate? cass is really not sure, and seeing herself in wanted posters and of course demonized in feldspar’s play does not. help. this part of the episode can go pretty similarly to canon, except that when cass is confronted by zhan tiri it’s a lot more cutting, with zhan tiri focusing how even now she feels like she needs to serve rapunzel at cost to herself, needling her about her lack of conviction etc etc, in addition to goading her with the news about project obsidian. cass angrily rejects her and goes to talk to rapunzel, publicly reveals herself on purpose because a) sometimes she’s not smart and b) striding onto the stage in the second act of feldspar’s terrible play to tell everyone in the audience that corona is in grave danger really seems like a good idea at the time and ziti is lying about project obsidian so everything will be fine right!!!!

18) everything is not fine 

19) cass gets shot in the back with project obsidian courtesy of panicking guards and a teeny tiny bit of help from zhan tiri and, crushed by the realization that rapunzel must have authorized this, cass does the “no you know what? fuck you, i see all that talk about negotiation was just pretty words after all” thing and wrecks the place, while zhan tiri stands by watching like >:) 

20) PLUS EST EN VOUS. im sorry anon this has gotten way longer than i thought it would. but i am Passionate About Saporian Cass. the situation is now dire! everyone in corona is hunkered down in old corona, frantically trying to draw up battle plans or like, any plans at all. corona itself is in ruins. it really looks like cass/the separatists have won... but rapunzel keeps thinking about how cass tried to warn them of some greater danger. she can’t give up on cass just yet. 

21) so, desperate, rapunzel turns to the separatists. she takes... varian, because he knows them, and lance because he’s good at talking to people, and eugene, because she needs him with her. and she walks into the separatist camp and says look, i know that ultimately what you want is for saporia to be free to be its own country. that you only took over corona and tried to destroy it because you thought you had no other choice. and maybe under my dad’s rule, that was true. but i’m the queen now, and i can accept a declaration of saporian independence if i want to. so i’m going to do that right now, no strings attached. saporia is free. 

22) and the saporians are like holy fucking shit

23) what brought this on???

24) rapunzel is like cassandra is my best friend. and i didn’t treat her well, and i made her feel like she couldn’t talk to me about how she was hurting, so she did all this. she’s angry and she’s right to be angry, but more importantly, she’s hurting and scared. and i want to make it right. and also i’m terrified that zhan tiri is going to hurt her, because she said something about zhan tiri going after the drops?

25) and like the best she’s hoping for here is for the separatists to drop out of the conflict and go build their kingdom back up again, but they huddle up and decide that a) cassandra is their friend / one of theirs, and if she’s in danger they’re gonna side with her over zhan tiri, and b) if they team up with rapunzel now and it turns out rapunzel was lying and this was all some elaborate set up to attack cass while she’s without allies, then they will be there to help cass hold the line

26) there are ABSOLUTELY NO MONKEY SHENANIGANS 

27) cass sort of miserably is going along with zhan tiri’s plans but she’s also just kinda hoping rapunzel doesn’t show up for the eclipse. 

28) rapunzel shows up for the eclipse with a bunch of separatists and cass is like rapunzel what the fuck

29) there is...an attempt by rapunzel/cass/the separatists to get everyone’s story straight which is interrupted by zhan tiri doing the “traitors to saporia pay with their lives” thing and just. going ballistic on the separatists and cass. and also rapunzel, except she needs rapunzel to not be smushed like a bug until after she retrieves the sundrop so she’s a little gentler.

30) cass and rapunzel team up to protect the separatists: with both of them using the full power of the drops, they can hold their own against zhan tiri (she is VERY POWERFUL and she PROVES IT during this fight by going toe to toe with both of them without breaking a sweat)... but things go from bad to worse when the eclipse hits, because the sundrop goes dormant, and zhan tiri pounces. gets the sundrop, and now it’s just cass trying to solo this demonic sorceress lady before the eclipse ends and zhan tiri gains the power of the sundrop. It Is Not Looking Great For Our Heroes.

31) zhan tiri stomps cass into the curb and is about to land the killing blow when the rest of the coronans + the brotherhood charge in (they were waiting on the mainland on rapunzel’s orders, not wanting to escalate the situation if it could be solved via talking, but it is now very obvious that rapunzel needs back up). zhan tiri deals with them pretty handily too, but her distraction is enough for rapunzel to shake off her depowered exhaustion/pain and help cass back to her feet. 

32) raps, cass says, i’m so sorry. i never meant for any of this to happen, i just—

33) and rapunzel says, i know, it’s okay. i’m sorry too, for taking you for granted. i love you.

34) cass, tearing up, is like, i love you too. and i’m gonna stop this.

35) rapunzel is like ??? but there’s no more time because zhan tiri has finished smashing/immobilizing everyone else and cass is already charging at her, no longer trying to attack or defend, just get close enough. 

36) as the eclipse comes to an end and the sundrop wakes up again, cass latches onto ziti, grabs the sundrop. and slams it against the moonstone still embedded in her chest. there’s a huge explosion, and when the dust clears... cass is in the epicenter, very dead, and there’s really nothing left of zhan tiri but a bunch of spasming vines and shadowy magic, burning slowly away in the brilliant light of the unified power. everyone else is pretty damn battered too.

37) horrified, rapunzel crawls out of the wreckage, grabs the unified drop. revives/heals everybody (except zhan tiri, rip), ending pretty much goes as it does in canon. except i like the idea of the epilogue / ending sequence of life after happily ever after (reprise) also being a montage of both corona and saporia being rebuilt, the countries now equals and allies... and also cass, when she leaves, is explicitly going out in search of saporians whose ancestors were displaced by the conquest, both to invite them to return to their ancestral home if they so choose and also to reconnect with her own heritage. 

38) THE END!!!

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

q3 2021 update & plot call !!

below the cut, you can find an update on ash’s current life, career (or rather absence of), and development for quarter three, as well as plot and thread ideas! if you see anything that you’d like to plot out or write with him, like this or message me, and we can get to it! i have a lot in mind about where ash is right now, so i might add more and expand later on!

mentions of ash’s continuing struggle with mental illness under the cut in case you don’t wanna read that rn

professionally

ash is on hiatus the whole quarter so... not much going on here.

uhh basically the first two days of july he was still trying to get bc to let him take a break so schedule threads could be set then if they cross paths at the bc building! he’s going to be participating in concert rehearsals for knight to a less intense extent since bc, as of the beginning of his hiatus, fully intends him to participate in the concerts. he’ll miss about the first half of the tour, but in july and august he’ll still be attending knight tour rehearsals some to keep up. schedule threads can also be done then!

(note that he’ll be missing the bc city concert as well — i don’t see him dropping by just to support either tbh, sorry bc ppl. white knight duo ver tho let’s gooooooooooo)

ash will eventually start writing music and finding his love of that again though and that’s pretty much the most work he can do during his hiatus, so it’d be cool to maybe have him write, compose, or produce for a few people that might be releasing later this year or sometime next year if anyone is interested? :) we can see if ash would work for it. there’s also opening for him to ask a few people he’s close to to sing some demos for him when he starts trying to write again!

personally + plot ideas!

explaining how he got to his hiatus would take me all day but he basically forced bc’s hand in letting him take time off (well, he wanted to leave knight and retire ngl but his manager was like... you know that’s not going to happen let’s try a hiatus <3). you can read my badly-written solos for part of it (i still need to write more) but generally, the most other muses might know is that they might have run into him acting kinda moody/down or impulsive/irresponsible lately, he made a very uncharacteristic post on social media that hinted at being unhappy with his life currently and losing passion/excitement for even the things he used to value most highly before his social media was deactivated by bc lmaaooo. the post would have probably conveyed Something was up it it wasn’t like genuinely super triggering-level content i promise !! bc released a statement shortly after stating he’d be going on hiatus without mentioning a definitive end date.

so there’s the possibility a muse might have checked up on him after that post / the hiatus news to see how he was doing?

tbh ash isn’t going to be seeking out meeting new people during his hiatus. he’s taking time to himself and is only going to make any effort to hang out with people he’s comfortable with. those he’s not close to, he’s going to have to interact with by running into unintentionally.

he’s getting a place in jeju in the early-ish part of his hiatus. he’ll be spending a lot of time there at first because he just wants to get away from seoul, so it’d be nice to set some threads there if your muse has the time to hop over to visit him if they have anything resembling a free day. (again a certain level of closeness would be necessary, but i think one good heart to heart conversation beforehand could bring someone closer to him enough for that rn! even over text tbh lmao). chuseok would be a really good time for this !! i imagine catching up over lowkey dinners or heart to hearts under the stars, that found family ash has actively fought having lol

(that place in jeju is also going to be where he starts to want to write music again too, so music based stuff there would be chill?)

heart to hearts in general anywhere would be really good for ash right now so please give me those! they can be in seoul too for sure.

he’ll be moving into a new apartment in seoul eventually, though that will probably be a little later in his hiatus? he had some bad fan/sasaeng run-ins right before his hiatus and having so much time off makes him realize he wants to move. someone can help him house hunt or if someone else is looking for a place, they can talk together about it. i want him to realize he wants to move into a smaller place that can feel more like home

once he does move, muses are free to come over and help him set up / be his one-man housewarming party. that’s a little down the line tho !! so we might not want to plot that as a thread to write right this instant

he may also be getting a pet ! muses can come look with him at a shelter or he can run into people there!

this would be a little later in his hiatus, but it’d be interesting if once he’s doing a little better, he gets the urge to dance and runs into a muse at the dance studio. idk that he’ll ever fall completely back in love with dancing, but he might rediscover some of what he did love about dancing and ash and this muse often run into each other as he visits that dance studio a little more often and they eventually bond over it / do some dancing together.

those who still really have that passion for making music ash has lost, talk to him about it <3 he misses it. he might cry but tbh he’s liable to cry in any thread

he’s cutting his hair short and dying it back to black this month, so it would be possible to run into him at the hair salon!

ash will want to be inside at home mostly at the beginning of his hiatus, but as it goes on, he’ll start to branch out and that will offer some more opportunities to hang out. he’ll try not to go to bars and clubs really, but small music venues or jazz lounges, small indie cinemas, galleries, those kind of things will be up his alley

idk that there’s much plotting to be had around this, but this long hiatus on top of the other hiatuses he’s had and his acting out before this hiatus is going to make some of the bc team realize it might not be super wise to keep pushing him hard as a cf model (and in the long run, just less of pushing him as a major idol star within the company in general tbh) so he’ll be able to get some more tattoos and piercings and will become more comfortable, hopefully, with presenting himself how he wants to be seen / having some development in that good ol’ lack of bodily autonomy aspect ash has always had going on. he’ll be coming out of hiatus living much more of his 2021 jk fc truth with the full sleeve and the eyebrow piercing .

uhhh ? pretty far down the line but i’ll mention it while it’s on my mind :) i think it’d be cool if ash did a collab (mini-)album (or two?) at some point after getting off hiatus. i’d want it to be someone he really clicks with creatively (though they don’t have to be a songwriter — i can see it working as collaborative songwriting or as ash feeling really inspired to write for them) and wants to work with since it’s not going to be something he’s letting bc push him into it at that point, and something that just happens organically. realistically, this would work with a female vocal best by far, maybe a male rapper just based on the songs ash does / i can see him doing. probably wouldn’t want to commit to anything fully rn unless it really clicks but i wanted to throw the idea out there :)

uhmmm?? ig i should also mention ash will be paying attention to his health both mental and physical he’s been neglecting for a while. there isn’t too much to say regarding plotting here because he needs to handle it himself with trying new therapy, medications, understanding there’s some stuff beyond “just” his depression going on. coming to accept nothing’s ever going to be perfect, but that self-awareness and effort can help more than denial can. not super plot potential-y but i’ll mention it since this is all the personal update section

basically, ash is taking time to recover mentally (and physically) and ultimately hopefully leave hiatus in a better place than he started where he can be more comfortable in his career, even if just a little bit, in himself, and in his life. if he can have some good, developing threads during the time, that’d be great!

[txladyj-blog]

This Time Around - Chapter 21

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​ by request of @txladyj-blog​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 26/?

The noise beyond the infirmary door was Carol, who was deliberately making it known that her and Judith were waiting on the porch and didn’t want to barge in on anything. Jess went outside to greet her and in turn, spent a great deal of time giving her a run down of her version of events and an update on Daryl’s condition. She told her about him needing blood and her stepping up to provide it and also added that for now, she wanted to keep that minor detail from him. Her desire to play everything down and keep the dramatics at a low level was with Daryl in mind. The less there was to take in, the easier his recovery would be. They discussed his recovery and the changes that would need to be made, both of them admitting their reluctance to deal with his stubborn complaining. Eventually, Carol convinced an exhausted Jess to head to Aaron and Eric’s place and get some rest and food. Telling her she would sit with Daryl for a while and that Michonne would also be around when her guard shift finished, Jess agreed in the knowledge that he would have someone with him at all times but still had very little desire to leave his side.

From his bed, Daryl could see Jess through the window as she descended the stairs. He wondered when she would be back, not wanting her to spend her every waking moment by his bedside but being unable to deny that he was missing her being near to him already and it had only been 30 minutes since she left the room. He hated the fact that he seemed to be pining, something he thought only lovesick teenagers did. Since when was he so reliant on the presence of another person, let alone a female?

“Hey, you brought Lil’ asskicker” He announced when Carol finally entered the infirmary with Judith pinned to her hip.

“She misses you. She won’t settle for me or Rick much anymore. The only one she listens to is Carl” She said with an air of frustration. Judith was always more complaint with her Uncle Daryl over everyone else, a fact that he felt quietly smug about.

“That true kiddo? You actin up for ya ol’man and Carol?” He asked Judith who immediately decided she was going to act coy and hide in Carol’s shoulder. The change of scenery meant her shy side was activated and she wasn’t sure how to conduct herself when Uncle Daryl looked so different to usual. When Carol lifted her up and planted her on her lap, the child grabbed at Daryl’s hand and played with his fingers.

“How are you?” Carol asked.

“Gettin’ by.” He shrugged. The painkillers were still working their magic but he had done enough Oxy in his time to know that the feeling of contentment was nothing but a visage and soon, it would wear off.

“Jess said you wanted to come home” She mentioned.

“Damn right. Already hate being stuck in here. I know it's gonna be all ‘Don’t do this, drink this, go to sleep’, ain’t good with being told what to do.” He complained.

It was just how Carol expected him to be. It wasn’t in Daryl’s nature to be cooped up with a set of rules to follow. Nor was it like him to let anyone look after him when he was so used to looking out for himself. Her conversation with Jess made it clear that if she had an intention of playing nurse, Jess would soon quash them with her need to see him through his recovery herself. In a way, she was glad, Daryl could be a troublesome patient.

“I knew you’d be pretty mad about that. I got a run down from Jess. She said you’ll be fine with some time and rehabilitation. Sounds positive."

“Guess so. How you doin’ anyways?” He queried with an outright attempt to steer the topic away from himself. Judith was reciting ‘this little piggy’ as she pointed at Daryl’s fingers one by one, her muffle and badly enunciated speech melting into the background as she sang to herself.

“Fine.” She nodded. “Daryl what happened out there?”

There it was, the question he was waiting for. Carol wanted to hear his version for herself and he could have put money on her walking in and ordering him to relay the story from his perspective.

“Ain’t Rick or Jess told ya?” He asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Jess said you got shot trying to save her. Rick said you got shot trying to save Jess.” She relayed impatiently.

“Then that’s what happened.” He grumbled with a shrug

Carol leaned towards him and curled her fingers around his forearm.

“He could have killed you.” She pointed out.

“He was holdin’ a gun to her head, Carol!” He snapped “He was-he was talkin’ all sorts of shit ‘bout how she was a prize find. She just…she looked so fuckin’ scared. I wasn’t gonna let him hurt her. I had to do somethin’.”

Briefly, they both watched Judith, who had taken it upon herself to climb down from Carol’s lap and begin pulling books from a bookshelf. Carol paid her no mind, as long as she was quiet and safe, that was all that mattered. When she turned back to Daryl, he was regarding her with a wary expression.

“You took a bullet for her.” She stated directly. He could always rely on Carol to tell it like it was, no matter how much he didn’t want to hear it sometimes.

“Yeah n’ I’d do it again tomorrow.” Was his equally as clear response.

Carol slowly sat back and half smiled at him. Such a quick confession had come straight from his heart and it only proved what she’d thought all along and she wasn’t about to let it slide this time.

“Are you going to admit that you have feelings for her now?” She wanted to know.

She heard a low growl in his throat as he turned his head away and thudded it back on the pillow. She watched over him, noting the chewing of his lower lip and his shallow breathing. She knew that if she just waited, he would gift her with some kind of answer eventually.

“I don’t know what I feel.” He muttered as he turned back to her “This ain’t never happened to me before.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Judith once more before dragging her chair closer to him, leveling herself with his shoulder.

“Tell me” She coaxed.

Again, Daryl inflicted upon her a long and uncomfortable pause. Highly anxious about being asked such things, he wanted to get up and leave the room, but it was impossible and there was no escape. Accepting his fate, he resigned himself to his only option; surrender.

“She makes me crazy. When she looks at me I just-I ain’t me. I say stuff I would never say to nobody.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head and grumbled under his breath that he didn’t want to talk about it but Carol was not giving up that easily.

“Daryl, just tell me.” She ordered.

“After the party…” He bit his lower lip and sighed, the conflict raging in his mind. He needed another perspective, but at the same time was mortified and confused by the whole thing and felt it best to keep everything to himself. “…ugh, it don’t matter.”

“It does. Once you get this out and talk about it, you’ll feel better. I promise and I’ll never breathe a word to anybody. After everything we’ve been through, you know you can trust me”

Daryl had grown up not needing anyone for anything. He relied on no one but himself and where affairs of the heart were concerned, such rare occurrences were also dealt with alone or not dealt with at all. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he could have used some advice, or at least a listening ear that would take whatever he told her to the grave. She wouldn’t judge and wouldn’t poke fun at him, she wouldn’t get mad or laugh or make him feel like he should know better. It was Carol, his trusted friend and it was about time, after so much trauma that he afforded her the credit she deserved.

“Flirted with her” He mumbled under his breath.

“Well, this is new” she beamed “What did you say?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you that.” He scoffed. Full disclosure was not on the cards and some details needed to remain under wraps.

“Okay. Alright. That’s…that’s good, Daryl.”

“You’re just lovin’ this ain’t ya?” He mumbled.

“Little bit. Not going to lie.” she chuckled “How did she take it?”

“Good. I think. Dunno what got into me. I just kept thinkin’ ‘bout how she liked me before. Y’know, at the quarry? N’ sometimes, when we’re alone she gets all flustered n’ shit. Thought it was my imagination but I don’t think it is. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Ain’t got a clue what I’m lookin’ for here.”

With a wider knowledge of hunting than women, Daryl was in uncharted territory. Dangerous waters that could spell the end of his friendship with Jess if it all went wrong. Like he was walking a tightrope, he had been struggling to find the exact, right words to say to her in case it all blew up and he lost her once more. His desire to dip a toe into the minefield of flirting was most definitely a risky one and he wasn’t even sure if his effort had paid off or if they would simply move forward with no mention of it ever again.

“A lot can happen in the months you were apart. But if you want my opinion, she didn’t want you to know who she was when we first got here because she still felt the same about you. You know what she put up with at the quarry and you weren’t in a position to acknowledge that you actually felt something for her. You couldn’t make it OK for her. She didn’t want to feel like she was being rejected again.” Carol explained. She always had a way of clearing things up and adding clarity to what would usually be jumbled up and frustrated thoughts in his head. Moreover, she was right, Jess had put up with a lot at the quarry and he wasn’t able to be there for her like he should have been. Her hidden identity was a defense mechanism. But did it really mean that she still felt something for him?

“I never meant to do that to her. I’d never hurt her.” He said. “The mornin’ we left for the run, she uh, she wanted to know why I flirted with her... straight up. I wasn’t expectin’ that. Asked me if I was drunk or, if it was the dress she was wearin’. Had no idea how I was s’posed to answer.”

Carol’s face had softened to a small smile that she was holding back a little. Her heart swelled with excitement and happiness for him. She’d wanted this for him for a long time after seeing how much of himself he’d given to keeping the rest of the group safe.

“Was it the dress?” she smirked

“No.”

“She did look good in it.” She pressed.

“Stop it.” He dismissed. She smirked at him again and nudged his arm

“Fine. Wasn’t just the dress.” He admitted. The dress had some sway, he had to admit that much. But the main push he needed to adopt a more flirtatious tone was her blushing around him, her reaction to his compliments and the same, niggling idea that she still liked him as more than a friend.

“Ha. I knew it.” She grinned. “So, what did you tell her?”

“Just that I was sober n’ it wasn’t the dress.”

“I see. Then I think that’s all you needed to say.” She surmised “This is great, Daryl. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t get all excited, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen.”

Judith, having covered the floor in books and deciding that none of them quite matched up to the wonders of the book about the dog that Uncle Daryl read to her, was now hanging around Carol’s legs and trying to climb back up onto her lap. She reached down and scooped up the child, who nestled into the crook of her arm and yawned.

“Are you happy?” Carol asked in a serious tone.

It was nowhere near the linear question that it presented itself as and as far back as he could remember, Daryl wasn’t sure if he could ever pinpoint a time when he was truly happy or if he even knew what happiness was. But Jess stirred something in him and he had a burning desire to be near her. When she smiled, he smiled. Her laugh was addictive and her sense of humor gelled well with his own. He liked how she was her own person and had become independent while still retaining the vulnerability that made him want to protect her. Was he completely happy? He couldn’t say. But there was one thing he was sure of.

“M’happy when I’m with her.”

 ~ ~ ~ 

Aaron was talking himself hoarse as Jess darted around his spare room, collecting clothes and ignoring his pleas for her to just stop and get some decent sleep. He promised to wake her, to go and get an update to be relayed upon her waking up and even offered to go to the fairground and get more of her clothes. But all of his kind offers were declined. As soon as Jess stepped foot on the grass verge outside the infirmary, she just wanted to turn back and return to her bedside vigil.

Racing down the stairs, Jess flung her backpack over her shoulder and reached out for the door handle. Aaron positioned himself in between her and her escape route, defiant and bordering on angry. He tugged the bag from her shoulder and dropped it by the door before placing his hands on her weary shoulders and steering her towards the kitchen. Jess didn’t have the energy to put up any kind of a fight and simply let Aaron guide her into another room, where there was spaghetti on the stove and the smell wafted through the room, tempting her stomach into a loud rumble.

Given the information that Eric was on Guard duty and Aaron would be alone for most of the night, Jess halfheartedly sank down onto a dining chair and pushed her food around the plate while re-visiting the events of the past few hours from the beginning in order to answer some of Aaron’s questions. When, on the timeline of events, she reached the real reason why she was so physically drained, she explained that she had been the one to donate blood to replace what Daryl had lost. Aaron expressed that it was a noble and selfless thing to do and that when she did decide to tell Daryl, he was sure he would be eternally grateful. Then. She fell silent and took a sip of her red wine.

“Jess?”

“Mm?” She hummed into her glass before she looked across the table at the kind man she now thought of as her friend.

“You’re supposed to eat that” He remarked with a nudge of his head towards her uneaten food. The steam it emitted when it was first placed on the table was now gone and Aaron was sure Jess was sitting in front of a stone cold plate of pasta.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking…what if? Y’know?” She mused.

Aaron thudded his cutlery onto the wooden table and leaned forwards with his arms braced either side of his pasta bowl. From across the table, Jess peered at him sadly.

“Listen to me, ‘what if’ will drive you insane. ‘what if’ does not matter.” He said firmly “What matters is that he’s inside the walls, under the care of a doctor and he’s going to be fine.”

His words made perfect sense but the battle of wills between emotion and logic was a tricky one, especially when she was so tired her bones were weary and her thoughts were jumbled, like a hundred people all talking at once.

“He could have died. Because of me.” She whispered.

“Stop this!” Aaron cried, slamming a hand on the table and making her flinch with the noise. “Please, Jess. I don’t like seeing you like this. You are exhausted.”

“I just want to be with him.” He heard her say under her breath.

Rising to his feet, he rounded the table and dragged out the chair next to her. He settled sideways to enable him to see her face clearly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Okay. Um, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think about it before you answer me because it’s important.” He warned, noticing her side glance nervously at him.

“Okay.” She croaked.

“Are you in love with him?”

Jess began to reply without thinking, ignoring Aarons request and diving straight into her default response.

“Huh. No” She scoffed “I mean…I care about him. Sure. I think about him a lot so I’m going to care, right? Do I have loving feelings for him...? Yeah. I suppose I do. Do I love him?” She stared at the top of her wine glass where her finger was poised. Aaron could almost see the cogs turning in her head. She took her hand away from the glass and covered her mouth with it. “Oh my god” She breathed from behind it as her eyes lift to Aaron’s face. She gradually lowered her hand and it juddered in the air as she connected the dots.

“I-I’m in love with Daryl.” She uttered.

“I know, Jess. I know.” Aaron sighed. 

 ~ ~ ~

Denise was as firm a doctor as she could be, having worked as a psychiatrist with many varied and difficult clients, she was well versed in the art of saying no and sticking to it. For three hours she had kept up her strong stance and maintained that if Daryl was to remain infection-free and on the mend, he must stay within the walls of the infirmary, where medications and equipment were at hand and she was a knock on a door away should she be needed.

But Daryl was intolerable when he had a bee in his bonnet and argued relentlessly until Denise could take no more and almost told Jess that she would pay her in shampoo and conditioner to take him away so she could get some peace. Finally getting his own way, Daryl accepted that he had to have twice daily check ins from the doctor and start physiotherapy as soon as his wound was properly healed. He was also told that he would need to agree to help from other people and that refraining from putting any pressure on his leg for two weeks would mean he needed constant help to move around.

 It was late, the streets were dark and the night guard shift had commenced. Across the still and silent streets, Rick and Jess wheeled Daryl across the road on his infirmary bed and halted on the other side. Jess handed him some crutches and when Denise hovered nearby and asked if he needed a tutorial, he waved her off in annoyance and demanded that he could do it without any help. Jess was glad he’d been re-dosed with pain meds half an hour before, because the thought of the agony that came with him shuffling from the wheeled bed and onto the crutches with only one working leg made her wince.

It took him a while, but with grit and determination, a few choice swear words at everyone present who tried to encourage him and a lucky amount of upper body strength, Daryl successfully managed to get himself into the house and up the stairs. Halfway up the staircase, he tossed the crutches to the top and used his arms to hoist himself the rest of the way up, under the watchful eyes of Rick and Michonne. Jess, who was in the kitchen with Denise, decided she couldn’t watch anymore no matter how much shameless gawking she could do at his arms. Instead, she opted to be the one to go through Daryl’s recovery plan and medications with Denise and Carol.

Jess’s attention was soon caught by Michonne who descended the stairs and sighed loudly, shaking her head and vanishing into the living room. She was closely followed by Rick, who wandered into the kitchen and swapped places with Carol after she announced she was going to take his meds to him and make sure there was nothing in his room that he could trip over. Denise wished everyone luck, knowing they’d need it if the last three hours she’d endured was anything to go by, and abruptly left the house.

Rick perched on a stool at the kitchen island across from Jess while she squinted at the label on a bottle of wine, tempted to neck the entire thing even though she wasn't much of a drinker.

“He should have stayed where Denise could keep an eye on him.” He said wearily. “He’s such a pain in the a-”

“Oh, believe me, I am not expecting an easy time. Denise warned me that all he does is complain.” Jess conveyed, pushing her lips into a thin line. “If it’s OK with you, I was going to stay the night, so I’m here if he needs anything.”

Rick picked up a jug of orange juice from the space between them and poured himself a glass, downing the whole thing as Jess watched on, sliding the wine bottle back onto the counter and pushing it away. 

“Of course, you can stay, but you don’t have to. We can handle him between us” He told her.

“I know. I want to.” She stated plainly.

He placed his glass on the counter top and studied her face. He still wore his gun holster at his waist and his brown, curled hair hung loosely over his forehead.

“This wasn’t your fault, Jess.” He assured her.

“It’s not about that” She shook her head before reaching over to the orange juice. Rick suddenly remembered his manners and poured her a glass of her own, pushing it across the marble to her. “I know he’s a miserable bastard right now, but I care about him.”

“Alright. Just don’t expect him to like the idea.” He smiled.

“I can handle Mr. Grumpy.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, you can probably deal with him better than I can,” he remarked, getting up and passing her. He paused to squeeze her shoulder “Are you ok? After what happened?”

“Mmhmm. Was pretty scary but it could have been a lot worse.” She mused.

“You did good, Jess. What you had to do, that was tough. We uh, we won’t talk about how you made the guy suffer first” he mentioned with a light pat on her shoulder.

Jess grinned and giggled slightly, feeling a hint of guilt for finding such a comment to be amusing considering it was referring to the man she’d murdered. “Thanks, sheriff.”

“I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow. Unless you’re um, going to sleep next to Daryl?” He asked tentatively.

“I’ll take some blankets. Thanks” She replied, opting for the less awkward option and telling herself that even though it was quite apparent that Rick had an idea there may be something more to her friendship with Daryl, she wasn’t about to encourage addressing the elephant in the room.

 =-=-=-=-=-=

Climbing the stairs of the house which was commonly known across the town as the ‘Grimes Home’ due to it being occupied by the three remaining members of the Grimes family, Jess waddled from side to side, balancing precariously on each, shiny step with her arms full of blankets and pillows. Picture frames adorned the walls depicting a family that were no more, ghosts of a time that once was, before the turn and before the house became a haven for a new family. Jess watched their happy faces fade past her as she climbed the stairs, hoping that one day, someone would replace the photos with happy pictures of Judith and Carl.

Unsurprisingly, Daryl’s room was at the end of the hall, away from everyone else’s and when she reached the closed door she didn’t even bother to knock. It wasn’t like he’d be anywhere else but laid up on the bed with scowl on his face anyway. Bustling through the door and getting blankets caught around the handle, Jess quietly cursed to herself and entered the room, dropping her haul onto the end of the bed as lightly as she could.

It was a typical suburban teenagers’ room. The bookshelf was still stocked and the walls boasted the remnants of band posters. Daryl had done little to make the place his own, his crossbow rested on the dresser and his vest was thrown across the back of a chair. On the top of a chest of drawers was evidence of bolt carving and partially made fishing floats. Feathers, pieces of wood and tools littered the surface. These were the only elements in the room that told her that he lived there now.

“What are ya doin? What’s this?” Daryl’s voice startled her; she had expected him to be sleeping due to the number of painkillers he was on. But there he was, sitting up with the covers drawn up to his waist. He was wearing a black vest and his hair was tousled, as if he’d tried to sleep but had given up. He was scowling at her.

“Ugh, lord.” Jess scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “I hoped you’d be asleep so I could avoid all your whining.”

“I don’t sleep much. What’s goin’ on?” He enquired.

Accepting that she may well have a fight on her hands, Jess grabbed a pillow from the top of the pile and clutched it in both hands.

“I brought you an extra pillow and I’m staying with you tonight.” She told him, throwing the pillow at him. He battled it away before it hit him and he collected it from the mattress at his side, tucking it behind his shoulders and settling back against it.

“No. No ya ain’t.” He said firmly while pointing at her. 

“You don’t have a say in this so don’t waste your breath.” Jess warned while the unfolded the blankets and began laying them on the floor next to the bed. Daryl’s hands rose before falling back to the bed in frustration.

“I’m fine, Jess!” He exclaimed. Jess whirled around with fire in her eyes.

“Daryl. Shut up!” she commanded “I’ll sleep on the floor in case you need anything”

“Don’t talk shit. Go home. I’ll be fine. Don’t exactly live alone” He continued.

Jess’s temper was beginning to rise but she bit her tongue and tried to remain composed and in control. He was so determined to be as independent as possible, that he would only end up doing himself more harm than good. Jess was aware of Daryl’s need to refrain from asking for or accepting any help, but this was an argument he was not going to win.

“Give it up. I’m staying.” She shrugged before sinking to the floor beside the bed and fluffing her pillow. "If you want me to leave, then you're going to have to kick me out yourself...and you can't do that right now."

It wasn’t that Daryl didn’t want her company. Under normal circumstances, he would have found a reason to be near her, to go on a run with her, to swing by Aaron and Eric’s in case she was there or he would deliberately cross over into her hunting territory. But having her see him incapacitated was not something he liked the idea of. Nevertheless, she had made it crystal clear that she was going nowhere and no matter how many irate sighs that escaped him or how many times she glowered at her, she was staying put.

“Fine. Stubborn ass woman.” He muttered.

She scanned the books on the shelf beside her, most of them teenage romance novels left from the previous occupants. It would do as something to pass the time and harked back to the many romance books she used to read as a teenager herself. In fact, whoever used the room before Daryl didn’t have such terrible taste in literature at all.

She selected a title referring to some kind of predictable and inevitable unity between a bad boy and a plain girl and figured it would make for some easy night-time reading. She didn’t know what time it was, just that it was late. The muffled footsteps of the rest of the house were padding about beyond the door on their way to bed and her body was almost as weary as it had been in the first few days of her setting out alone from the quarry.

Her eyes grazed over the first few words and her mind wandered. She was being watched and she could sense it without even looking up from the page. It was as plain as day that her temporary room mate was studying her from his spot up on the bed. She detected a small sigh, laced with the quietest of conflicted, raspy growls.

“Get up here” She heard him say.

“What?” She queried with both eyebrows raised innocently. Having no plans to move, and no intention of sleeping anywhere near him, confusion swept across her face and she slowly turned her head to see him peering at her with a mildly annoyed expression.

“If ya gonna stay at least sleep on a bed. There’s enough room for the both of us. Get up here” He ordered.

Jess hesitated. This was a new level of boundary pushing and one she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with. It would mean mere inches of space between them and a palpable silence for hours throughout the night during which time she was very likely to just lay there, mulling over the same thought.

I’m sharing a bed with Daryl.

“Are you sure? That’s not weird for you?” She asked.

“No. It ain’t. I’ma change my damn mind if ya keep askin’ questions” he complained.

The more she considered it, the more enticing the idea was. After all, it was a good opportunity to indulge a little in secret and after everything they’d been through, her having murdered someone and offering up her blood to aid Daryl’s recovery, she figured she’d earned it. As long as it wasn’t so strange that her insecurities and naturally awkward nature around a person so attractive forced her to ruin everything.

“OK, OK.” She agreed, attempting to sound as though it was more a chore than anything else. She got to her feet, kicked off her boots and lay back on top of the covers, dragging a blanket from the floor across her legs. Opening her book, she started to read from the first word again but her concentration was nowhere to be found. Her eyes looked over the words but nothing sank in. Before long, she sensed the familiar feeling of being watched, once more.

Daryl hated the idea of her putting herself out for him. Her staying with him was bad enough and if he was going to be forced to endure her seeing him in such a state, he just wanted her to feel restful and secure and as she read by his side, she undoubtedly was not either of those things. He rubbed at his face with one hand, wondering how he should proceed with coaxing her to relax a little more. Then, he noticed the pimpled texture of her skin. Goosepimples, she was cold.

“You’re cold, just get under the covers.” He suggested.

A rush of apprehension and nervousness settled in Jess’s stomach and for a moment, she thought that whatever the story line in her book depicted, her real-life situation was unraveling at an alarmingly more rapid rate.

Pity this doesn’t end like the book does.

“I’m fine, really.” She assured him with a small smile. But he refused to stop glaring at her and she wondered why. She was sure that she would have given just about anything to be able to hear his thoughts at that precise moment.

“Ya know I ain’t gonna touch ya or nothin’, right?” He expressed.

Jess dropped the book in her lap and gawped at him, her expression shocked and saddened. Why would he ever think that such a thing would cross her mind? There were plenty of people she could have expected such behavior from but Daryl was the safest and most protective person she could have been with in that moment and the fact that he’d even pondered something so ridiculous deeply concerned her.

“Why would you even say that?” She questioned at the same time as turning her body and laying on her side, now facing him completely to show that she was not afraid to address the huge issue he’d just brought up.

“Guess I don’t want ya to think I’m like that.” He reasoned. “I aint no asshole. Would never touch ya. Unless ya… wanted me to or somethin’. I dunno. Shit. Just-just forget I said anythin’.”

Good job, jackass. He thought. Stop fuckin’ talkin’.

Jess’s face dropped and her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy. It wasn’t something she could honestly say had ever crossed her mind. Not even once. She didn’t need to be told he wasn’t a creep, or entitled, or disrespectful towards her in the slightest. She just knew. The one thing that stunned her even more than the notion that he would ever touch her in that way, was the mention that he quite possibly would if she wanted him to. She had no idea what to make of such a statement and her hands began to fidget at the tricky subject matter. Was this true? There was the distinct possibility that the painkillers were playing a part in his loose tongue and she dared to hope that it was fueled by anything more than that.

“OK” She started with a deep breath “Listen to me.” As she spoke, she braved holding eye contact with him. The importance of her answer meant he had to know she was sincere. “I would never, ever think that of you. I feel safer with you than I do with anybody else. Of course, I know that you would never do that to me. I’m actually kinda sad that you felt the need to tell me that.”

Daryl was nibbling on his thumb, hiding his true expression behind his hand and searching his brain for a response that wouldn’t make the situation worse. He dropped his hand and looked down into his lap.

“Ain’t much trust associated with bein’ a Dixon.” He mentioned. “I never had a friend like you neither. ‘Specially female. They just tend to assume shit about guys like me.”

“Oh my god.” Jess groaned, sliding onto her back and down the bed until her head was on the pillow and her hands were covering her face. “You are breaking my heart here. Stop it!” She cried. Taking her hands away, she noted his nervous demeanor and wondered where the hell this was all coming from. It was highly unusual for Daryl to talk about something so personal, let alone be the one to bring it up. Sitting up again, she ran a hand through her hair and blew the loose side strands up into the air with an exhalation.

“I trust you. You believe me when I say that, don’t you?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t ever want you to bring this up again.”

“K” he grunted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She scoffed. Quiet fell around them with neither one knowing how to change the atmosphere to a more tolerable one. Jess thought humor may well have been the only way and so, opened her mouth without thinking.

“At least I know you would if I wanted you to. Lucky me.”

Daryl, who wasn’t expecting to have to deal directly with his revealing and potentially dangerous comment, did something he didn’t normally do. He panicked.

“I didn’t mean that I-well, well I did. I-I just-If ya wanted…Y’know what? Never mind.”

“Yeah, never mind” She echoed stiffly.

“It’s the Oxy. I don’t really know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout here. My head’s fucked.” He lied.

“It’s fine. Let’s just brush that one under the rug.” She offered, much to his relief at the escalating horror rising in his chest. As he quelled the uneasiness and irritation at himself, he noticed Jess wriggle under the top cover, leaving the barrier of a sheet between them. A decent compromise, he concluded.

She lay on her side again, this time with her book on the bed between them. Her fingers pulled up the pages, fanning the edges over and over and creating a light flickering sound.

“There is something I wanted to say to you” She murmured. “While we’re sharing.”

“What’s that?” He inquired, worried that he would be faced with yet another conversation that was going to make him squirm.

Jess’s eyes crept along his bare arm, lit by the flickering glow of two lanterns either side of the bed. He was inches from her face and she resisted the temptation to trace her fingertips along his skin, down over his bicep to his forearm. The thought almost made her drool and she turned her attention back to what she wanted to say.

“I’m glad you saved me and all. Thank you for that. But it’s time someone told you that you need to take care of you.” She said.

Daryl hesitated, taking in her words and trying to remember a time when there was ever anyone that openly cared as much about him as Jess did. He couldn’t think of anything, because there wasn’t one. No one had ever cared like she did and the feeling was unfamiliar and strange.

“I’m fine, Jess.” He mumbled.

She pulled herself further up, forcing him to turn his head and look her in the eye.

“No, you’re not. You have a gunshot wound that could have been a lot worse and furthermore, if you don’t take care of you, think of all the people around here that need you and won’t have you. Like Judith and Carl and…and me.” She explained.

The corner of his mouth curled up and she was surprised to find him smirking at her.

“Did you just say ‘furthermore’?” He questioned in amusement. "The fuck is that?"

“Forget it. Get yourself killed. See if I care.” She bit back. Dismayed by him making a joke of what was supposed to be a genuine plea for him to at least try and place some value on his own life.

“Alright. Sorry. I get it...” He backtracked after sensing her downtrodden reaction. “…I do. But I’d still take another bullet for you tomorrow.”

It was a declaration that Jess never anticipated to get from anyone, let alone the man she had fallen for. The insistence that he would indeed put himself in death's grasp to ensure her safety. Never before had she met someone so selfless and courageous and while she was touched and inwardly emotional at the thought, on the outside she sighed with exasperation and closed her eyes briefly.

“Daryyyyl” She groaned.

She opened her eyes when she felt him touch her hand. He covered her fingers with his own to garner attention and once he had it, he quickly moved away. Peering down at her and holding her gaze, he wanted her to see it from his perspective.

“Look me in the eye n’ tell you wouldn’t do the same.” He challenged.

It was an intense moment, charged with so many unsaid things that Daryl swallowed hard and pondered over what else he could say and blame on the Oxy. But without the knowledge that she would undeniably feel the same way about him, he was not going to risk losing what he deemed to be a rare and precious connection that he never thought he would be lucky enough to have.

“Only for you.” She whispered.

Because I love you.

Then, he knew she understood his motives and reasons for doing what he did. She cared just as much as he did but it didn’t mean he would ever let her take bullets for him or even experience so much as a scratch. To him, she was a person so valuable that the prospect of losing her didn’t bare thinking about.

“Think we have an understandin’.” He concluded.

“No. I don’t like this. I don’t want to not have you around” She argued.

“Good thing you’re hangin’ round here like a bad smell then, aint it?” He commented, trying to lighten the mood by poking fun at her.

Jess could only offer up a forced huff of amusement as she looked over at his nightstand which was now home to a pile of wound dressings. There it was again. The ‘what if’ train of thought that Aaron warned her would drive her crazy. What if he’d been killed? What if she had to carry on without him?

“Jess, I ain’t goin nowhere.” He said seriously. She looked up at him and he realized that her eyes were bloodshot. A single tear raced down her cheek and she sniffed and tried to force it away. He reached out and wiped the dampness away from under her eye with his thumb. Her cheek tingled and she very nearly said it. It was on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be freed. The six little words that would change everything. But her heart on her sleeve would only destroy it all. 

I am in love with you.

“You’re tired. Go to sleep.” He cooed at her.

She nodded and snuggled down next to him. It was all she could do to hide her desire to just kiss him and explain it away afterwards. In the light of the lantern on the nightstand, he focused on her hand by his side and licked his lips as he toyed with the idea of holding it. He wondered what her reaction would be and decided to brave it, lacing his fingers with hers. She didn’t pull away and gently gripped onto him instead. After a few minutes, he thought her to be drifting off to sleep, but what he couldn’t see was that she was staring at her hand intertwined with his, a small smile on her face and a feeling of some kind of subtle triumph in her heart.

=-=-=-=-=

It was the birds that woke her. A sound she didn’t hear as much now the world was decaying. She didn’t know if it was food being scarce or migration, but there were fewer birds around than usual and so, their melodic chirping from the roof of the house was a pleasant and relaxing way to wake from what had been a deep slumber. Her eyes were heavy and her limbs felt like they were made from cement as her body slowly woke up. A soft, cushioned surface under her cheek warmed the side of her face and she snuggled against it, emitting a contented sigh.

It was a first for Daryl. He peered down at the sleepy form of Jess, nuzzled against his bare arm with a hand draped over his wrist and thought that he could maybe get used to it. Waking up next to a pretty girl sleeping on him was certainly a nicer way to start the day, if only his leg wasn’t screaming with pain. He inhaled slowly, forcing his mind away from the agony and focusing instead on Jess and her dark eyelashes and the subtle pink of her lips.

Jess wasn’t sure if she’d ever moved as fast in her entire life than she did when she opened her eyes and realized she’d been sleeping nestled onto Daryl’s arm. On the one hand, she was truly horrified and on the other, slightly smug that she’d managed to cop a feel, albeit unintentionally. She sprang up, blinked rapidly and crawled away from him, bringing her legs up and sitting back against the headboard.

“Oh, Uh. I’m sorry. I don't know how I ended up…there.” She stammered upon noticing he was awake.

“S’alright. Mornin’.” He greeted, aware of her discomfort and watching her run her hands through her hair and adjust her T-shirt. She glanced down at his arm where a fading, pink mark had occurred from her using him as a pillow.

“Did I, did I drool?” She asked.

“Nah. Ya snore though.” He said casually, biting his lower lip and stifling a grin.

“I do?! Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I-” She rambled.

“-I’m kidding.” He interrupted with a snort of laughter.

“Oh.” Was her grunted reply while she felt the panic in her chest begin to disappear.

Daryl lifted a hand and gently smoothed a thumb over the damp skin below her bottom lip, seeing her freeze and her eyes widen.

That’s the second time he’s touched me like that.

“Ya did drool. A little” he told her.

“Oh god” She groaned covering her rapidly reddening face with her hands. She could hear his gruff chuckle from beside her and hazarded lowering her hands. She was met with a wide grin, one that she would happily look at for the rest of her days. Something happened to him when he smiled. Maybe it was because it was rare and that it was only really her that he gifted with such a sight, but she thought that in those quick moments he looked genuinely happy and she could only hope that she was even a part of the reason why.

“Stop laughing.” She complained, playfully slapping at his hand. “Jerk.”

 =-=-=-=-=

The ten days after Daryl gaining a hole in his leg and the feeling of being imprisoned behind the walls of Alexandria, his relationship with Jess remained the one thing that provided him with some means of escapism. Her kindness and devotion to his recovery only built up his feelings for her to a powerful level and he had become more sure than ever that if he ever got a sign that she saw him the same way, beyond any reasonable doubt, he would take the opportunity to act on his feelings. 

But all he could do was hope and admire her while she ignored his requests for her to take some time out and look after herself. She brought him food, administered his meds and helped him to and from the bathroom when Carol and Carl were not around. Jess’s absence during the mornings was noticed by Deanna, who quickly tasked Michonne with security cover and compiled a hunting team from the other residents to ensure that food didn’t become an issue. Rick was determined to find the rest of the group that Daryl’s assailant was from and along with Glenn and a couple of the others, had been away for days, scouring the woods and abandoned buildings for anything that would lead them to discovering how much risk such a group posed.

For four nights Jess slept by Daryl’s side, careful not to end up drooling on his arm again. Her days were spent playing cards with him and discussing a wide range of topics, some of which Daryl wasn’t even aware he had an opinion on. But Jess had a knack for that; revealing things about him that he would never have previously discovered himself. It took some adjusting to let her take care of him, but she brought the best out in him and despite his sometimes low and snappy mood at being trapped in the house, he was never rude or ungrateful to her.

Denise checked in regularly and gave Daryl the all clear for any infections in his gunshot wound. Her next step was to enlist everyone to persuade him that he needed to take it easy and practice some physiotherapy to aid his recovery. Believing that he just needed to be allowed outside to carry on doing what he always did, Daryl did nothing but complain about being useless sitting around all day.

When Jess was sleeping or out of the house for some reason, Carol tried her best to ease him into the idea of doing just a few of the exercises in the book that Denise had left him. Every time, she was met with a gruff dismissal, usually coupled with a cuss laden mumbling about how it wasn’t going to work anyway.

One evening, when Jess had finished up a meal kindly cooked for her by Aaron and Eric, who were consistent in offering her their spare room, use of the shower and many meals since Daryl had been shot, she arrived at the Grimes home to find a grumpy looking Daryl perched on the edge of his bed wearing black sweatpants and a sleeveless, black button down on which he’d neglected to fasten the top two buttons. Jess rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she thought he could hear the thoughts that traveled through her head and liked to play on the fact that she couldn’t look at him without going weak at the knees.

“Carol said you refused to do your physio.” She said, dropping her bag in the corner of the room and sliding a physiotherapy book from the dresser. “Your leg will seize up if you don’t and you’ll be hopping around like a cripple for a hell of a lot longer than you would if you’d just humor us and do as your fucking told.”

It was a new thing he’d discovered about her. She didn’t suffer fools and quickly became stern with him if he dared to argue with her about anything to do with his recovery. He could tell she genuinely cared and as a result, she would shoot him down and put him in his place without so much as a blink. He couldn’t deny that a part of him liked her pushy nature when she was tested and he would have gone as far as to say he’d met his match.

“Fine” He grumbled. “But this ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

She moved closer to him, offering him her arm to help him stand. He accepted it and she eased him to his feet. He was able to apply a certain amount of weight on his injured leg which was a good start and Jess was sure that the more he complied and just listened to Denise’s advice, the quicker he would be back to his normal self.

“It will, that’s what it says in the book.” She countered.

“Fuck the book.” He snapped.

“For god sakes, Daryl! Stop acting like a damn kid and just do it!” She cried, tugging on his arm and guiding him over to the wall. He hobbled along beside her and risked a couple of glances at her face. Her jaw was pulled tight in annoyance and he knew that she was likely to get pretty mad at him if he didn’t give in.

Allowing her to help him balance on his good leg and hold onto the wall, she talked him through quadriceps stretches as per the instructions in the book and stood close by, with her hands hovering around him in case he lost his footing while he put it into practice.

“OK, good. That’s good. A little higher. Great.” She encouraged.

Obviously in pain, he grit his teeth and Jess could see sweat emerging on his forehead. Once he’d completed one exercise, she helped him through the rest, sometimes having to take his weight or help him to the floor and up again. He very reluctantly accepted her aid and tried to ignore the warmth of her body against his and had no idea that she was thinking the exact same thing. She counted him through each movement and when she tried to let go of his hand once he was sitting safely back on the bed. He held onto her and stared at her.

“Ya ain’t gotta do this with me.” He said.

Jess sank down onto the bed beside him, squeezed his hand slightly and let go.

“I knew you’d start this at some point. I’m not going anywhere. I know you, you won’t do your physiotherapy otherwise” She explained.

“Look, just get Carol to rat me out if I don’t. You don’t need to be here everyday” He told her.

Her heart fluttered with a flicker of sadness. She shoved away the notion that he was sick of the sight of her away and told herself that she was assuming the worst without having the facts. She smiled slightly and held his gaze. Despite his injury, she liked seeing him in this environment. In his room, in his sweatpants and not covered in dirt and toting a crossbow for a change. Not many people got to see him like that and she was grateful that he trusted her enough to let her be there for him.

“Do you want me to leave?” She asked.

“Naw. Not at all. Just don’t want ya wastin’ ya time stuck here with me every day” He expressed.

Glad that she’d not reacted too hastily, Jess nodded and brushed a few strands of hair from in front of his eye. She liked his eyes and being able to see them had revealed a lot more about him over the course of the two weeks she’d been spending so much time with him. More than anything, she’d learned that he said so much with his eyes without having to actually say any words at all.

“Time enjoyed is not time wasted.” She smiled.

“Enjoyed? Tryin’ to tell me you enjoy this? I wasn’t born yesterday, Jess.” He protested.

“I enjoy your company, you grouchy bastard” She replied, leaning towards him and nudging his shoulder with hers.

He gave her a thoughtful smile, his eyes scanning her features until she retrieved a small towel from the bed behind him and wiped his sweaty brow for him. He briefly closed his eyes and simply enjoyed having her tend to him, thinking that if someone was to explain to him two years back that he would be so taken in by the pretty nerd he’d met in a quarry at the end of the world and for the first time would have feelings that went way beyond friendship, he would have laughed in their face.

“Thanks” he mumbled quietly.

“I’ll put it on the tab.” She commented.

“Tab?”

“Your ‘reasons I have to be nice to Jess’ tab.”

“C’mon, like I need reasons.” He admitted. He didn’t, being nice to her was as natural as breathing. She didn’t grate on him like most people did, she didn’t make him feel suffocated or cast out or like he just didn’t belong. When he was with her, he did belong and he was sure that she belonged right by his side too. If it was as a friend or anything more, he was going to leave it up to her. “This one of the things about you I didn’t know?”

She felt a spark of excitement when she put two and two together and realized that he was referring to the flirtatious exchange they’d had after the party. The exchange she still hadn’t managed to get any clear answers about. It wasn’t like it wasn’t on her mind. It niggled away every time she saw him. She’d struggled to find the right moment to ask and, in the end, had admitted defeat and opted to leave the whole thing alone.

“What does that mean?” She wanted to know.

“Nurse Jess” he smirked.

“Maybe. But I don’t just do this for anyone.” She conveyed. As a naturally caring person, Jess was known among the few people that made up her small tribe of friends, as the one that would bend over backwards to make sure the people that she loved were okay. Some tried to take advantage of her kindness and that was when her efforts could only be pushed so far before she cut them off altogether. It was true, she didn’t do it for just anyone and in their present situation, Daryl was one of very, very few people that she would happily give up her routine and solitary life for.

“Then I guess that makes me pretty honored” he said.

“C’mon, all you do is complain about ‘Nurse Jess’.” She reminded him, part of her message being in jest and the rest of it being the truth as she saw it.

“Nah, m’complainin’ bout the situation.” He corrected very deliberately.

“Oh, glad you clarified that.”

What preceded a long pause was another big risk from Daryl. He had no idea why he had the urge to toe the line of flirtatious exchanges. Maybe it was the way her cheeks flushed pink or the shy giggle she couldn’t help. Or, maybe it was the temptation to tell her how he felt and the idea that she could possibly feel the same. He had no idea, but he pressed ahead anyway, confident in the fact that he wasn’t being obvious enough that his comments couldn’t be explained in a more platonic way, should he need to.

“Not sure nurses are s’posed to sleep in their patient’s beds” He said out of nowhere.

Jess was busying herself folding the towel in her lap and she paused and stared down at the carpet when she heard his remark.

“Yeah? File a complaint.” She shrugged with one shoulder and the smallest, yet still detectable of smiles.

“Nah” He grunted “That’s one thing I ain’t gonna complain ‘bout.”

She glanced up at him hesitantly, finding the most gorgeous of suggestive smiles waiting for her and she was sure she was melting.

“Right.” she whispered. Then, there it was, that small giggle that he wanted to see. “Okay.”

I ain’t ever gonna get tired of that.

 =-=-=-=-=

A coldness on the side of her head was a much more unpleasant way to begin the day than with the singing of the birds beside Daryl in his bed. In her fairground home, she sat up and wiped a hand over the damp mass in her hair. Then, a single drop on her forehead made her jump and she craned her neck upwards, examining the ceiling and noticing a rotting and saturated mass of paintwork right above her. It was raining all night. Dragging herself out of bed, she dressed and checked her reflection in the mirror, something she now did every morning without fail. Her appearance was becoming more important to her since she’d grown a lot closer to Daryl and the odd glance in the mirror gave her the confidence to know that he wasn’t talking to a hot mess every day when she accompanied him on the morning hunt. It was a compromise they’d made with Deanna. Jess would chaperone Daryl on the hunt until his leg was fully healed and Daryl could get outside the walls and stop snapping at everyone like a tiger in a cage. Jess had also started wearing her hair down more often, knowing that Daryl could rarely resist the temptation to tenderly move it from her vision if it blew in the breeze and each time he did, it was like a fix from a drug that she was more than happy to submit to. It was the little things to her. The way he rolled his eyes when she called him ‘stinky’ and the way he huffed bashfully every single time she was feeling bold enough to call him ‘handsome’.

When she arrived in Alexandria, she headed straight for Deanna’s place and asked if she could have some roof tiles to fix the leak in her ceiling. Deanna immediately agreed and refused any kind of payment, telling jess in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t have such issues if she were to just move inside the walls. She was even offered the corner house which was unoccupied and big enough for at least six people to live there comfortably. Jess declined once again, expressing that she’d feel like a fart in an oil drum in that huge house and that the fairground was more comfortable.

Upon collection of her tiles from the garage that housed building materials and tools, Jess set off with a ladder under her arm and headed for the gate. The sky was threatening more rain, its heavy, gray cloud becoming more ominous by the second and the wind gaining momentum. She could detect the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. There was no doubt that she had to get the roof fixed before the whole thing collapsed and she had to move into the oil drum after all.

Daryl was ambling along the street smoking the last of a cigarette when she crossed his path without even noticing him.

“Hey” he called out “That don’t look like huntin’ stuff.”

She stopped walking as he neared her and looked down at her gloved hand and the two tiles she held.

“Oh, No. I have a hole in my roof. I just need to repair it and I’ll come back and we can go.” She explained.

Although he could walk, he was limited to certain distances and still displayed a limp, much to his annoyance. Denise explained that the damage to the muscle and tissue in his leg meant he would need time and patience to get it back to full working order with no pain. He was getting there, Jess knew that much, but the progress was nowhere near as quick as he wanted it to be.

“I’ll give ya a hand. Shouldn’t be goin’ up on the roof out there by yaself.” He decided, taking the tiles from her.

“You can’t go up a ladder.” She mentioned.

“Sure I can, I’ll be fine.”

“No, Daryl.” She said, snatching the tiles back from his grasp. “If you want to help you can hold it still and make sure I don’t break my neck in this wind.”

Not giving him time to quarrel with her about it, she surged on with Daryl in tow, thanking the gate guard and marching through the woods to her home.

  =-=-=-=-=

By the time Jess reached the roof of the diner. The wind was howling through the trees and lashing at her, sending drops of rain and leaves flying at her like she was in a wind tunnel. Her hands gripped onto the end of the ladder, turning her knuckles white while she solidified her balance on the top rung. From inside her coat, she tugged out a tile having kept the other one safely on the ground as a spare in case she discovered more holes in the roof.

She wobbled in the wind while leaning over and attempting to slide the tile into place. It was a perfect fit and Jess was glad of it. But the remnants of the previous tile meant the hole needed to be cleared of shards before the new one could be slotted into place. She worked as quickly as she could, throwing bits of broken tile onto the grass below.

“Just switch up with me, won’t take long.” Daryl called up to her.

“No!” She shouted back, over her shoulder.

“Shit, Jess. Were ya always this stubborn?” He asked.

“Pot calling the kettle back, stinky! Now, shut up and let me work!”

“Stinky. Bad books. Right.” He muttered to himself.

Finally able to fit the tile, she wiggled it into the square space, tapping the edge and feeling it secure just as a powerful gust of wind overpowered her at the top of the ladder and caused her to lose her footing. She grappled for the ladders handle and missed as the roof shot up in front of her and a searing pain engulfed the right side of her ribs. Before she could make any kind of noise, she’d accepted her fate. She was falling and was likely to be injured if the burning across her ribs was anything to go by. Towards the end of the ladder, her right leg looped through one of the gaps as Daryl managed to grab a hold of her before she hit the floor.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist, bunching up her jacket and thick, armored vest. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t hit the floor and that Daryl had caught her mid-air. He was humming instructions in her ear but none of them were registering as adrenaline thundered through her body. Her hands shook and her knees were trembling as he hoisted her up with all his might and told her to pull her leg out of the ladder. She didn’t hear him but managed to figure out what she needed to do regardless. Her leg dislodged easily and when her feet hit the floor, she almost buckled and ended up crumpled on the grass. If it wasn’t for Daryl, who had spun her around to face him but was still clinging to her waist while she caught her breath, she would have been face-down in the middle of the fairground.

“Y’alright?! Ya hurt?” He fretted, still keeping his hands where they were, on her bare skin under her top.

“No, just a-just a scrape I think.” She breathed.

“Where? Show me.” He demanded, looking down at her. It wasn’t until he tried to step back that it dawned on Jess that she was gripping his forearms like her life depended on it.

“M-my ribs, where I slipped. The handle, up there. It’s probably just bruised. It’s-it’s fine” she tried to break away from him, but he held on firmly.

“Naw, hold up. Ya tremblin’.” He told her.

For some reason, her mind went straight to his injury and she began to worry about the fact that he’d been standing on it for so long and had also had to endure holding her weight on it after catching her.

“But your-your leg.” She stammered.

“Doesn’t hurt. Can’t even feel it.” He lied “take a breath.” They locked eyes and his hands slowly moved down to her hips. Sensing she would scurry away like a frightened animal if he were to let go, he softened his voice and loosened his grip slightly. “Show me where ya hurt.”

“No. There’s no need.” She quickly answered.

The wind blew about her face and the chill it brought with it was beginning to bite. Her side was stinging, aggravated further by the cold. Daryl, who was wearing a leather biker jacket under his usual vest, had dressed for the weather, but Jess had failed to do so, believing that her regular clothing would suffice and not anticipating a storm to be rolling in.

“There is, coulda cracked a rib. Just let me feel for any breaks. I spent my childhood dealin’ with broken bones n’ I had a hell of a lot of fights in my time. I know what I’m lookin’ for.”

“I know you do. I just… don’t want to.” She confessed.

Then, the penny dropped and so did his hands. It was suddenly very clear why she was so averse to letting him check her for any injuries. She was nervous about showing him anything under her clothing. He watched her vision drop to the floor and nodded to himself. It all made sense now.

“Do you trust me, or not? Because one minute you’re sleepin’ in my bed n’ the next, ya won’t let me check ya to make sure ya aint hurt.” He stated

She looked up at him with big, pleading eyes, full of worry that she’d offended him and also that she’d have to explain what was going on in her head. That her insecurities didn’t just drop off with her weight loss. That she still didn’t like what she saw when she looked in the mirror. That she was deeply in love with him and didn’t want him to think her disgusting or ugly. But she did trust him and knew he cared.

“I do. I do trust you.” She assured him.

“Then let me take a look. It’s just me. S’alright.” he soothed

When the wind blew her hair across her face, he brushed it aside for her, taking a split second to ghost his thumb over her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat and it was then that she accepted that if she was going to trust anyone with this, it should be him.

She gingerly lifted the hem of her vest, drawing it up to just under her bra. He leaned down and she observed his eyes sweep over her skin, squinting slightly which indicated that there was, in fact, something to look at. Her eyes bulged when he went to place his fingers over her ribs and she jolted away. Closing her eyes and sighing.

“I’m sorry. Go ahead. I’m just not used to being touched.” She admitted.

“Yeah, me neither” he mumbled. “It won’t take a sec”

She nodded and felt her entire body tingle with electricity when he began to gently feel over her ribs, pressing at each one and frowning.

“Shit” he hissed, tracing his fingertips over the large red patch on her ribs. She flinched and held her breath. He applied light pressure along the mark “this hurt?”

“A little” she croaked.

“Your chest or back hurt?”

“No”

He placed his whole hand against her skin and her attempt not to react paid off. The warmth of his palm was a welcome relief from the cold that was licking at her skin from the wind. Daryl positioned his other hand on her shoulder

“Twist ya body, towards me. Breathe in” He instructed. She complied with complaint, having faith that he knew what he was looking for and from what she could tell so far, it certainly wasn’t his first brush with potentially broken ribs. The thought was a sad one when she thought about why a person would have such knowledge through experience alone.

“K. Now breathe out. Any pain?”

“Not much”

“It ain’t broken, gonna have a big bruise though.” He warned, dropping his hand from her shoulder but leaving his palm flush with her ribs, only unintentionally dropping it an inch or so. Her eyes nervously found his staring right back at her and he swallowed hard. She was showing him all kinds of firsts without having a clue about any of it. Having never felt anything for a female before, the intensity of the tension between them was stifling to him. Standing there with her, with his hand on her smooth skin and lost in the uneasy beauty of her eyes, for the first time, he wanted to kiss her more than anything. His gaze dropped to her lips and in the back of his mind he wished that his knowledge of how to deal with his feelings for the pretty nerd reached as far as his knowledge of broken ribs did. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He’d already told her he couldn’t lose her again and one kiss could ruin everything.

“Thank you.” She breathed, breaking the atmosphere and moving back. The contact was broken and Jess tugged her top down. “Is your leg OK?”

“Forgot all ‘bout it” he admitted. Her beautiful, soft skin had distracted him away from the discomfort and it wasn’t something he was likely to forget any time soon.

=-=-=-=-=

Two nights had passed since Jess had faced Daryl’s warm and not altogether uninviting touch. He was right about her rib; it wasn’t broken but it was bruised enough to render her as useless as a chocolate teapot for a couple of days, during which she spent time awkwardly trying to avoid having to discuss what had happened at the fairground with Daryl by avoiding him altogether and playing board games with Abraham while he drowned himself in whiskey on Aaron and Eric’s front porch.

Her avoidance of Daryl hadn’t gone unnoticed but far from being angered by it, he understood that whatever had transpired between them both was complicated and he needed time to process it. He couldn’t be sure that Jess felt the same, or if she even felt anything at all, but he’d been pushed to the brink of an act that was so out of character he felt like she was changing every part of him without even trying.

But being away from her wasn’t an option for too long and eventually, he found himself wandering the town in the dark on the way to Aaron and Eric’s, the now mild pain in his leg humming just enough for him to notice, but being more of an irritation than anything else. As he rounded the corner from the main street, Abraham breezed past him in a cloud of alcohol and slapped him on the back, bidding him a good night in a slurred sentence that was barely comprehensible.

Jess was swaying on the porch swing, reading the book she’d started in Daryl’s room the first night she stayed with him. He climbed the stairs and noted the two whiskey glasses and a bottle on the table. The rapid and unusual change in the weather from a storm to humidity and warmth past dark meant that Jess had taken off her camo pants and wore a pair of shorts and a tight tank top. For the first time, Daryl was able to see how much her body had changed and had to make a marked effort to drag his eyes away from her. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders.

Damn, girl. No wonder Abe spent the evening here.

Hearing his footsteps on the decking, she glanced up and closed her book. Daryl wasn’t the only one that had been mulling over the fairground incident at every given opportunity. What he didn’t know, was that she felt it too, only she had no idea what was going on in his head at the time. It was the closest she’d ever come to making a move on him but the physical contact with no barrier made things difficult and brought her insecurities to the surface. Guessing his stance on any of it was nigh on impossible. All she had to go on was that she was in love with her best friend, who, she couldn’t only assume, simply liked to watch her blush every now and then with a flirty comment.

“You two drinkin’ together now?”

Her back prickled at the sound of what could have been seen as yet more jealousy concerning the friendship that had blossomed between her and Abraham. Or, was it simply an observation? She wished he was easier to read.

“Why do you ask?” She tried.

He didn’t know the answer himself. Just that his blood boiled whenever Abraham touched her, or joked with her, or made her laugh so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. He hated the way she sometimes gravitated towards him and refused to ask him to stop making suggestive comments towards her. He hated that she was so comfortable with Abraham, yet with him, she was completely different.

“Curious I guess.” Was all he had to offer.

“Right. To answer your question, he drinks and I scold him for it” She informed him as she slid the book onto the table and patted the swings cushion at her side. Daryl took his cue and sat down beside her, enjoying the rhythmic and soothing rocking of the swing.

“So, you got friends here now?” He questioned. She was different to when she’d first revealed her identity. She was more open to conversation, to teaming up for runs and actually turned up to a party. She was changing and he was seeing more and more of the old Jess peeking through. Her guard was lowering and he wanted to know if it was going to stay down.

“I’m coming around to the idea.” She mentioned breezily “You make it a little difficult to stay so stubborn.”

She shifted and bent one leg, tucking her left foot under her right thigh and draping her arm over her bent knee. She was now facing him with one foot on the floor that was controlling the speed of which the swing swayed.

“Me?” He questioned.

“Yeah, you. You’re my favorite.” She smiled.

He grunted and almost commented that actually, it seemed like Abraham was her favorite.

Jess got up and moved to the edge of the porch, gazing up to the stars and stretching her arms above her head. Through his hair, he allowed himself a peep of the appealing curves of her waist and hips. A conflict raged inside him.

Don’t be an asshole. You shouldn’t be lookin’ at her like this. But hot fuckin’ damn, she cleans up real good.

Jess was busy, wrapped up in her own thoughts for a long time while Daryl watched her every move and bit down on his lower lip.

“I could take you to my boat.” She hummed up to the sky before looking over her shoulder at him. When her eyes met his, he flinched out of his guilty but highly enjoyable daydream.

“Um…Ya boat?” He queried.

She turned and glided back to him, standing over him and gracing him with her shiny lips curved into a playful smile.

“I lived there for a while before I found the fairground. I still go there sometimes, when it’s not too cold. You’d like it. Far away from everyone…. Just you and me. You interested?” She wasn’t intending for it to sound like she was presenting him with an offer laced with sexual tension, it had merely transpired that way and she’d done nothing to rectify it. When his reaction wasn’t one of pure horror, she figured that maybe, just maybe, she could play him at his own game.

Daryl was enthralled and was gawping up at her with his mouth open. He slowly raised one eyebrow.

“Hell yeah, I’m interested.”

----- tagged as requested ----

@lilred254​ @woundmetender​

[janiedean]

After joining tumblr, my dream of becoming a published writer is forever broken and ruined. It may be drastic but I cannot imagine a future in which I'm a happy writer, knowing that what a large amount of people think is that you can't write about a gay character if you're not gay yourself, you cannot have a poc character if you're not poc yourself etc. It's frustrating and sad. That's what tumblr taught, along with simultaneously complaining all the day about the lack of rep

anon, let me tell you something first and foremost: tumblr is not a good audience when it comes to original fiction and if that’s what you want to do, delete tumblr from your perspectives.

now, I’ll go and say a lot of unpopular things before addressing your concerns, but here we go:

people on tumblr don’t read. or better: either they read fanfic which then they decide to consider the same thing as published writing, and like... while there’s a lot of fic that’s better than some published writing technically, the fact that they say it about classics or stuff they’re supposed to study in school shows that they have no idea of the basic difference in between the two media... or they read YA that gets hailed as the Next Best Thing In Literature when at most it’s a good YA and at worst it’s mediocre stuff that looks revolutionary because they haven’t read the fifteen other things that YA has taken inspiration from. at most they read harry potter when they were kids and never moved on from it, as showed by the fact that it’s 2019 and I still have to see people arguing about sn/ape being BAD OR GOOD when he’s the standard gray archetype, and if you can only think of sn/ape when you think about a gray character and you still haven’t made sense of his moralities or lack thereof, then you haven’t read anything else; (never mind that once I read writing advice like SORT YOUR CHARACTERS INTO HOGWARTS HOUSES LIKE FFS SOME OF US HAVEN’T READ HP THAT’S NOT A UNIVERSAL ADVICE FOR CREATING A CHARACTER’S BACKGROUND)

as people on tumblr don’t read, their understanding of how you write or anything else related to the craft is pretty much useless - like, the only thing each single writing manual agrees on is that if you want to be a writer you have to read a lot, because how are you going to deconstruct tropes (to say one) if you don’t know how those tropes work? or how are you going to play into them if you don’t know how they work regardless? I can’t write a tolkien deconstruction if I haven’t read all of tolkien’s writings back to back ten times at least, I can’t write a good novel about vietnam veterans in the early eighties if I don’t read all the history books on the topic I can find and at least ten tomes about how war-related ptsd in veterans works and possibly a lot of books written by vets themselves. I can’t write a stephen king deconstruction if I haven’t read stephen king back to back ten times either. which shows they think original novels are like fanfic - like, I personally have researched the shit out of things for fanfic, but I wouldn’t ask anyone to do it for a thing they do for free. like, if I see badly researched italian reinassance AU fic I won’t gaf if the author just wrote it based on the anglosaxon tv shows about the borgias around because I can’t expect them to read ten books about the topic to write a thing they don’t get paid for and that just people in fandom most likely will touch, but if it’s a published author that gets paid for it I’ll expect that at least they’ll do some research if they want to write stuff somewhat realistically. people on tumblr think that writing a novel requires the same effort as fanfic, as in, not much when it comes to background work, which is ridiculous, because that’s the difference - with fanfic, unless I write a detailed AU or smth, the author already did that work for me. I just have to expand on it and trying to understand the characters. like, it’s nowhere near the same thing;

which means that people have gone with this concept that ‘you can’t write X if you’re not X’, which is honestly ridiculous and counter-productive because it shoots down any chance that you, as an author, might actually understand what people who aren’t from your background feel like. also, I personally think that if you want to do that and you want to be good at it you need to a) find a way to relate to your characters that goes beyond your differences, b) talk to people from the category you don’t belong to. now, if I had to write a 50k short romance novel about two guys falling for each other at a record shop without too much drama happening, I’d probably just write it myself, some people who are actually guys into guys, ask them to read it, tell me if I fucked it up, get them to explain me how I fucked it up and run it by them until I’m done, but admittedly I don’t need research to find out how people run a record shop. if I had to write a story set in europe but idk there’s a zombie plague and one of the protagonists is a black american tourist I’d go ask someone who is black and american and possibly from the area I decided that person is from to give me background info on how I could write this person etc. and then run it by them after I’m done. if another of the protagonists is idk polish (because there’s not many polish people in mainstream european fiction outside of polish authors), I’d find a polish person to do the same thing and run it by them etc., because I’m not a black american nor a polish person but I still want to write those characters etc. but I mean, let’s say it’s the zombie apocalypse - can I make sure people connect with both of them because they’re surrounded by zombies and as all human beings in existence they don’t want to die? most likely I can. meanwhile I’ll have learned a lot of things about both categories because I talked to people belonging to them;

or, let’s say I want to write some story with a large cast where I decide that for the purposes of it straight character falls for a trans character and it ends well because fuck that I want people to be happy. I’m not trans, but I do know people who are. I’ll definitely talk to them running stuff and ask if thing X is offensive or not etc. because of course I’m not so I can’t know for sure, maybe I’ll stick with the straight POV or maybe not but I’ll definitely run it by them to make sure the thing is actually well-planned/not in poor taste, and meanwhile I’ll have learned a lot about the topic that I might not have known before, which is good because it means I know more about experiences I don’t have which is, guess what, how the entire point of writing stories is. you want people to empathize and feel for characters that might be not the same as them, that’s exactly your damned job, but if you don’t do it yourself first how do you assume others will?

all these people who think you can’t write a gay character if you’re not gay are the same people who think that if you’re a straight woman you can’t write about two men being in love/fucking but you should be able to do it about f/f pairings because since you’re a woman then you have to guess how that works out of that, which shows that they have no idea of how anything works - like I argued with half of tumblr on this topic so whatever, but as a straight woman I think I have more aesthetic tastes in common with a gay man since we both want to fuck men and we both are familiar with handling that equipment, so I’d find it easier to write about that rather than about the contrary as I don’t generally find women attractive in that sense except for like two very specific people who are not a very common aesthetic in general. but like, assuming that in virtue of being a woman then you have to know how it feels to be attracted to women while you can’t possibly do 2+2 about how gay men are into each other when technically you’re into men yourself shows exactly how these people have No Idea Whatsoever of how attraction works, never mind how empathizing with someone else works, never mind of how writing things with research behind it goes;

also, assuming that if you’re X then you can’t understand Y is extremely damaging because it means you can never understand other people’s struggles and that’s......... worrying? I mean, it’s an incredibly dangerous (and calvinist) position to say that if someone is X and so doesn’t know how it feels to have a specific kind of issue then they can’t get it not even intellectually. idk, I’m straight so I can’t possibly understand or relate to why would lgbt+ people want to marry and adopt kids/have their children recognized/have the same rights as I do? are we serious? so if idk I wanted to try and change some bigot’s mind about it when I see that they’re just parroting bullshit and they haven’t thought about it I shouldn’t even try because they’re a bigot and they’ll never understand or change their mind? so people who used to be bigots, then found out their kids or their kids’s friends were lgbt+, listened to them, realized they were bigots and are now allies/supporters couldn’t have done that because at some point they used to be bigots? how the hell do you want people to change or to be an activist or change the world if you don’t believe that people can change themselves or worse that you don’t believe that people coming from any background can’t understand people coming from another background? that’s not how it works. I mean guys ffs I read a bunch of nonfiction lately about endemic poverty in the center of the US out of personal interest and I’m as far from the US and any of those situations as it goes (I’m not a veteran, I never was not taught to read and write even if I finished high school, I never lost 90% of what I had after getting sick, I never needed to hop on a train illegally to go places, I never had to sell my own plasma to buy lunch, I never needed to live in a tent when I was going to middle school after my parents had to move to a totally different state and I never had to go live in a trailer after my house was sold by a bank before I couldn’t pay off my loan, I don’t have a five year old child that won’t be insured because she was born with a pre-existing medical condition), and like... I cried while reading some of them? because I could envision it and I felt like the system failed them and I hate reading about people being failed by a system that should support them, and I swear I’m not a US person who comes from that background whatsoever. I could probably write you a full novel about how immigrants in Italy have it like shit whether they’re legal or not because I worked in the field for two years and one of my oldest friends has immigrant parents and she was born here and she can’t use her ID to travel in europe only because she still doesn’t have a citizenship and she’s been waiting for years to get it. I’m not an immigrant in italy but I’ve known enough, seen enough and heard enough from them that I could most likely do it and it wouldn’t be badly researched. like, you can’t tell people to not tell stories if they want to do it with respect and not wanting to make it about themselves only. that’s bad writing. but if you care about the people you’re giving rep to then you should try imvho;

now: I suppose that you’re belonging to categories that are Not Minorities given how the ask is worded. (same as me more or less unless you consider atheists a minority but nvm that.) there’s a lot of writers around that are Not Minorities and most get published more than people who are actually minorities. people saying that you can’t write X if you’re not X and X = minority are pretty much telling you that you shouldn’t use your spotlight to give people rep when you could and you could do it reasonably well if you do your research and talk to those minorities. so they’re basically going against everyone’s interests because you could learn things and become a better person and make sure your readers empathize with your characters and more rep is always good esp. if well-done. I personally think that people should write about what they want - there’s topics I wouldn’t feel comfortable touching because idk if I could do that well and things I really wouldn’t want to write about so I most likely never will -, but that they should also go for what they want if it’s what they believe they can do. so if you feel like you want to write gay characters or whatever go for it and then find yourself a sensitivity reader or ten before you send your book around instead of worrying about what kids on tumblr who are still arguing about snape’s morality and think that writing the divine comedy is the same as self-insert fanfic think, because they will never create shit for anyone, you might. and you’ll have automatically done more than people who complain about everything but wouldn’t produce one single piece of fiction themselves and wouldn’t most likely waste ten minutes of their life researching the fiction they want to write.

tldr: if you want to write professionally, influence people and give the world good stories, don’t give a fuck about what tumblr says because it’s people who most likely will never read your books anyway unless you want to write the next YA saga that has the same six archetypes of characters in which then the only slightly problematic white cishet dude will be without further ado compared to sn/ape and everyone is going to get sorted into hogwarts houses and people will fight about that rather than giving a damn about whatever message you wanted to pass. don’t give a damn about tumblr and do your thing anon, no one deserves to have any perspective ruined because of this hellsite’s opinions on anything. ;) 

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 7: Enchanted, feat Josephine and Asena (pt. 3)

Part 3 of the Freeze thread. The House of Repose pays a visit on Josie. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4          AO3

Peace. Love. Bliss. Pure and utter luxury. For 16 months, that’s how Josephine and Asena lived up there in their penthouse. Every morning, Asena would rise with the dawn, and Josephine would be greeted with either the smell of cooking or a warm kiss upon her forehead before Asena slipped off to her mysterious work. Complacency had taken hold in Josephine. No longer did she wonder about it, did she want to know for fear of destroying this Elysian peace. And if truth be told, she greatly enjoyed being spoiled as she had been. Asena had been truthful when she said she didn’t want Josephine to pay for anything. This meant Josie was able to quit her detestable job and focus her time and efforts on her family business and rebuilding her family’s trading empire. To say that it was slow-going would be an understatement. If she were back home in Antiva City, perhaps it might’ve been coming along faster, but as it were it felt like a snail’s pace.  

But even a snail gets noticed every now and then.

Asena was working late that night. Josephine used the opportunity to get some more work done and had been sitting with her back to the door, her nose buried in trade manifestos and receipts. So lost was she in her papers that she didn’t hear the elevator arrive over the sound of the fireplace, didn’t hear the soft creaking of the floorboard just beyond the entryway. When the lights shut off, Josephine merely sighed. It wasn’t until she realized that it wasn’t storming outside that she realized something was wrong. Standing slowly, she set her papers down and turned to look about, but the fireplace did very little to light the depths of the apartment.

“You’ve been quite busy, Lady Montilyet.” The light in the kitchen flicked on, drawing her attention to the masked Orlesian who was busy examining a bottle of wine.

“Who are you? How did you get in?” Subtlety, she felt around her pockets for her phone, panic welling within her despite her best efforts to stay calm. It wasn’t until she spotted it lying on the kitchen island beside her long-forgotten tea that the panic turned into full blown fear.

The intruder followed her gaze to her phone and tsked. “Do not concern yourself, Lady Montilyet.” He popped the cork on the wine and poured out two glasses. “I am not here to hurt you.” Then, looking up at her, her added as if thoughtfully, “Tonight.”

“W…What is it you want?”

He picked up the wine and walked slowly towards her, staring down at the glasses as if in contemplation. “I work for… an organization. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. We go by the name of the House of Repose.”

Cold clamminess was beginning to creep up her spine. “I… Yes. I know of them.”

“Excellent. I do so hate having to explain.” He paused on the other side of the couch and held the second glass out to her. Hesitantly, she took it. “You see, Lady Montilyet, we find ourselves in a most precarious situation. When you began your efforts to restart your family’s business these months past, my employers caught wind of it. And… Well, this is embarrassing.” He sipped at the wine and offered her an almost shy smile. “It turns out that your efforts have brought a century-old contract to our attention, one that dictates… Well. The Montilyet trading empire may not persevere.”

“And the House of Repose always upholds their contracts… Yes. I… I understand.”

“I’m so glad you see it our way. We felt, given the strangeness of these circumstances, that an explanation was owed to you. And so, I am here.”

She stared down at the glass in her hand, swallowing hard. “This… contract. May I ask who ordered it?”

“Ah, yes. A Lord Du Paraquette.”

Yes. The name rang a bell, some familial drama a hundred years ago resulting in the loss of the Du Paraquette’s status. “I… Thank you. I suppose.”

“Oh my gods, you wouldn’t believe the traff—Josie?” Asena stood in the doorway, taking in the scene at hand.

“Ah, yes. Lady Adaar. Enchanted.” The Orlesian turned towards his host and tipped his head in greeting. “I do so wish I could stay and chat, but I’m afraid I really must be leaving.” Then, with a tip of his head to Josephine, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Montilyet. I do so wish it had been under different circumstances.”

As he passed by Asena, she straightened up and watched him go, scowling as she did. As soon as the door was shut, she rushed over to Josephine and looked her over, worry written across her face. “Are you ok? Who was that? What happened? Did he hurt you?”

Josephine swallowed hard and took a deep breath to quell her hammering heart. “I… I’m fine. For now, at any rate.”

Asena’s hands came to cup Josephine’s cheeks, tilting her head up to look her in the eye. “Tell me everything.”

They sat together on the couch, Asena’s arm protectively around Josephine’s shoulders, and she listened patiently as Josephine talked her through what had happened. By the time she finished, the hand that had been gently stroking her shoulder had stilled, and Asena had stiffened. The silence hung between them for the longest time before Asena abruptly stood and grabbed her coat. Baffled, Josephine watched, mouth agape. “What are you doing?”

Asena stilled for a moment, coat half on, then shook her head once. “I’m going to fix it.”

A coldness gripped Josephine, a very different fear from what she had felt with the messenger. “What… what does that mean?” Her response was silence as Asena went around to the doors leading out to the balcony and checked they were all locked. Josephine stood from the couch and clenched her fists a few times, trying to ease out her worry. “Asena, what does that mean?”

Her lover crossed the room to her and took her in her arms, squeezing her almost painfully tight. She felt Asena kiss the top of her head before she slipped past to go towards the door. “I have to talk to my boss. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Call the elevator back once I’m gone and pull the emergency brake on it. I’ll call when I get back.”

“Asena… Mi amor, please don’t go…”

Asena’s hand paused over the button, and for a moment, Josephine thought she might change her mind, mind come back to her. Her hope was short lived. She didn’t even turn to wave goodbye before the heavy doors slid shut and the arrow indicated her descent. And Josephine was alone. Suddenly, the large, wide-open expanse of the apartment was unbearably frightening.

Josephine moved her work to bed and tucked herself into the corner, and until dawn came, every bump and whistle of the wind had her tensing up.

With the rising of the sun and the way the apartment flooded with warm light, Josephine was finally able to calm down long enough to get some sleep, light though it was. She awoke late in the day, nearer evening than noon. No notifications lit up her phone aside from some business-related emails, but she had neither the heart nor the inclination to do anything about them. Asena should’ve called by now or at least texted. And all the fear that had filled Josephine’s heart every time Asena left to go to “work” for these past 16 months cumulated into one roiling ball of jittery fear and guilt.

She was unable to do much of anything that night other than worry. TV filled the silence, but her mind could focus on nothing except Asena, not even upon her work. The clock ticked by painfully slowly, mocking her and her predicament. Minutes passed in the span of hours, the night stretching on endlessly like some absurd kind of nightmare.

It was nearly dawn of the next day when her phone rang, and like a starving woman, she lunged for it as if it were a buffet of her favorite foods. She had barely registered the contact picture as Asena’s (a selfie of the two of them standing against the view from the balcony, Josephine kissing Asena’s cheek,) when she answered, “Mi amor?”

She sounded pained, winded, but it was her. “Send… Send the elevator down…”

Josephine sprinted to the elevator and did as she was told. “Asena, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” But the line was dead. So, Josephine stared impatiently at the elevator doors, fidgeting like no tomorrow.

The elevator came to a halt. As the doors opened, Josephine waited impatiently for Asena to step out and scoop her up in her arms like usual, but that didn’t happen. Instead, Gemma, Asena’s former roommate, looked up at her from underneath the full weight of Asena, obviously struggling. “G-Get a first aid kit!” Josephine, unable to fully comprehend the order through the shock of seeing Asena so badly wounded, just stood there and watched as Gemma fought to get Asena over to the couch, nearly dropping her several times in the process. “Dammit, Josephine, the first aid kit!”

The sharp order cut through Josephine’s shock and spurred her into action. Sliding to her knees beside Gemma, kit in hand, she passed it to her and looked over Asena’s wounds. “Wh… What happened?”

Gemma grumbled, pulling out what she needed from the kit and promptly tossing it behind her. “Job went south.”

“Job?”

Gemma gave her a pointed look. Well. That was it then. Josephine could no longer pretend that her girlfriend was just some well-paid architect or something. She watched as Gemma worked to stitch up the numerous wounds Asena carried, some cuts from blades, but a few gunshot wounds, too. And as strange as it was, while Josephine held Asena’s hand, the thought that her blood would stain the couch was the only thing that filled her mind. It was a rather large couch, after all. Reupholstering it would cost a small fortune, after all.

Gemma finished her task surprisingly quickly, her hands far too practiced for comfort. It occurred to Josephine that she’d never considered any of Asena’s friends would also be her… coworkers. But as she observed the dwarf, she realized with a start how obvious it was. Though Gemma was not as wealthy as Asena, she still had rather a suspicious amount of fine objects for her work as a “pharmacist.” And rather a suspicious amount of scars for it, too. And what of The Iron Bull? Frequently, he referred to Asena as “boss” though as far as Asena knew, the two were unaffiliated outside of friendship, though Maker knows he has his share of scars (even some missing fingers.) For a moment, she considered asking, confirming her fears, but decided against it. Not Gemma. She would hear it from Asena or from no one.

With a heavy sigh, Gemma started cleaning up. With a quick gesture towards the bathroom, she mumbled something about going to wash her hands that Josephine was too out of it to properly hear. She was going through a list of their friends in her mind, trying to pinpoint how many of them had given her reason for concern when the hand between hers intertwined their fingers. She squeaked, looking down into the teal eyes of her lover. “W… Oh. You’re awake,” she breathed, relief flooding through her.

Asena gave her a weak but cheeky grin. “Mi hermosa Josefina, how concerned you look.” At Josephine’s deadpan expression, she frowned. “You’re upset.”

“Upset? Upset? No, no, not me, not upset, no.” Scoffing, Josephine shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. No. Not now. Asena was far too weak for fighting. “You’re very late for dinner,” she grumbled.

Asena let out a breath of a laugh and brushed her thumb against Asena’s knuckles. “I’m sorry, mi amor. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh? And how might you do that?” Maker, was she really flirting right now? Even with all that just happened?

Asena let her hand slip from Josephine’s, and carefully felt about in her pockets. With a soft, “Aha,” she pulled out a bundle of bloodied papers and held it out to Josephine who took it with no small degree of disgust.

As Josephine scanned the document, her eyebrows shot up and mouth fell slack. “How did you—”

Asena practically beamed at her. “I fixed it.”

Josephine stared at her lover then noticed something that brought a wave of nausea to her, had her pushing to her feet and darting for the kitchen sink.

The pocket Asena had pulled the papers from was untouched by blood. 

[wonkyreads]

Again, but Better by Christine Riccio

1 out of 5 star Yelp review.

You know that thing where you see disaster happening and can’t bring yourself to look away? Like watching a car crash: you’re seeing it happen and you know it ends in nothing good, yet there’s a morbid curiosity that keeps your eyes glued. The same principle applies to ambulance chasers and storm watchers.

The same principle applied to this book for me.

By page 40 I knew this wasn’t going to go anywhere good. I’ve read enough fan fiction to recognize an obvious self-insert when I see one. I don’t know the author of this book, but after a while I decided to look her up. I feel like I truly know her now, having never watched a single one of her videos... and that’s probably not a good thing. I have a strong disdain for this main character and the way the narration is written. It reminds me of middle school and the phrase “RaWr MeAnS i LoVe YoU iN dInOsAuR!!!! xD!” Needless to say, it was a path of nostalgia I most definitely never wanted to go down.

I don’t think that means she’s necessarily a bad writer. I think the book is a good, solid stepping stone to her being someone I might actually enjoy reading. It’s just a stepping stone I usually don’t have to pay to read. I probably would have enjoyed the heck out of this when I was younger and reading books like Twilight and didn’t quite know how good books could get without being mind-numbingly boring. If I’m being honest, if I hadn’t seen the book hyped so much by sources I usually trust, I probably wouldn’t have hated it so much.

There were things that I absolutely hated. The constant references to pop culture that I could hardly stand in 2011 let alone now. The insistence on using fake curse words in some places and real ones in others seemingly arbitrarily. The characters calling themselves clever for saying blatantly un-clever things. The falling in love with literally the first boy she sees thing. The I’m so clumsy it becomes a trope and beyond overplayed bits. The fact that every chapter title was a song lyric, essentially reminding me of how much I paid for a book that I could have read online for free ten years ago. The way the dialogue was so badly stilted half the time because everyone had to be so dang witty, those darn kids. The way hardly any of the characters felt real and did things I cannot believe real people would do ever. The way that the first 200 pages of the book were immediately made basically irrelevant by the last 200. The easy-way-out epilogue, no matter how cute I found it for maybe a second.

And, oh, God... there is no explaining how much I loathe “Pies” as a nickname.

Okay, so maybe there was a lot that I hated, but there were also things that I liked and things that I saw potential in. There were real moments hidden in there, conversations that could have been polished up into real gems. There was the way that Leo’s character changed based on how much effort Shane was willing to put into the situation (as well as some other characters, but much more minorly). It was a nice subtle reminder that people are people and live their own lives outside of your perception of them. There was a turning point in the novel where I found I genuinely enjoyed reading it. The narration style dropped to something more normal and less amateur sounding, Shane got her shit together and her priorities straight (it only took how many years??), and it started to focus on the heart of the story in a way I cared about. I just wish there’d been more than approximately 50 pages of it. I did also love that I got to relive my own travels through Europe briefly through Shane. Our adventures weren’t at all the same, but I spent a good bit being reminded and reminiscing.

When I get down to it, I think the idea of this story is a good one. It’s got a ton of potential, which I think is what makes this worse for me. There were so many ways it could have been done better, tighter, and stronger. But it wasn’t. I spent far too many pages revising in my head to enjoy it, so I’m sticking to my one-star gun here, but with another rewrite or two it could have been something special.

So, like I said: this is a stepping stone in Riccio’s journey. It left a lot of room to grow, for sure, but that’s not always a bad thing.

{I’m completely annoyed at how photogenic this book is. It’s unfair!}

[theajaheira]

tech support

read on ao3!

jenny’s the newest angel investigations member, and buffy and giles need a book.

Giles and Buffy show up just after sunset, both of them looking thoroughly exhausted. Angel, who’s been planning what he’s going to say to Buffy for the better part of the last five hours, looks unsurprisingly tongue-tied at the sight of her, so Cordelia steps in. “Welcome to Angel Investigations, we help the helpless, blah blah do you want those books you came for?” she asks.

“Yes, thank you,” says Giles with thinly disguised exasperation.

“Hold up.” Cordelia throws a wadded-up piece of paper at Jenny, who’s studiously typing some boring report or another. “Hey, tech support, you know where you put the Classical Guide to the Whatchamacallits?”

“Wow.” Jenny doesn’t look up. “Incredibly professional.”

“Oh, no, these are old friends.” Cordelia takes another look at Buffy. “Sort of.”

Jenny does look up, then, studying Giles and Buffy with polite interest. “Hi,” she says, waving a hand. “I’m tech support, apparently, and Cordelia knows where the books are, she’s just bothering me because she doesn’t want to go upstairs.”

“It’s a mess up there,” Cordelia complains. “And you still haven’t catalogued—”

“That’s Wesley’s job,” Jenny points out. “You can’t blame that one on me. The Dewey Decimal System doesn’t extend to supernatural cataloguing.”

“Actually,” says Giles.

Jenny looks over at Giles expectantly.

To Cordelia’s surprise, Giles doesn’t rattle off one of his usual useless factoids. Instead, he clears his throat awkwardly and looks away, turning slightly pink.

“Okay,” says Jenny, “cool,” and hurries away to go get Wesley for the books.

Cordelia’s intrigued, and a little annoyed. “Have you met Jenny?” she all but demands. Jenny never tells her anything.

“No, I, I don’t believe I have,” Giles manages, still looking kind of dazed. “I wasn’t aware that Angel’s organization was—um—expanding—beyond himself, Cordelia, and Wesley.”

“Funny story,” says Angel, finally managing to stop looking uncomfortable. Cordelia makes a mental note to tease him about that one later. “Apparently, Jenny was sent here to make sure I was still suffering, but then I caught her with a pair of binoculars and offered to have her join my team instead. Works pretty well for her family and mine.” He smiles a little at Cordelia.

“Still suffering?” Buffy repeats a little apprehensively.

“Oh, her family kinda cursed me with my soul,” Angel explains lightly. “But Jenny’s not exactly the vengeance-driven type.”

“They couldn’t have chosen a worse person for the job, actually,” says Wesley, coming in with a box of books and placing it down on the hotel counter. Jenny follows, carrying a large grimoire with some effort. “Here—” Wesley turns, about to take it from her, but somehow Giles gets there first.

Cordelia stares, watching him say something soft and shy to Jenny. Jenny smiles, pressing a hand to her mouth.

“Oh my god,” says Buffy.

Giles seems to be stalling, and Buffy’s getting the sense that he wants to spend more time with the dark-haired tech support. Which, gross,but Buffy also kind of wants him to be happy, so she asks Angel kinda quietly if they can stay the night.

“What?” says Angel, looking a little nervous.

Buffy hits him lightly and jerks her head towards Giles and Tech Support Lady.

“Oh,” says Angel, and then laughs. “Oh, no, there’s no way that’s going to work.”

“Well, you can judge all you want, Mr. Judgy—” Buffy begins indignantly.

Angel shakes his head. “That’s not it,” he says. “Giles is a pretty traditional guy. Jenny’s—not.”

Buffy decides that she’s done listening to relationship opinions from her vampire ex and goes back over to the group, sitting down between Cordelia and a guy she doesn’t know. Managing a polite smile in everyone’s general direction, she tries her best to listen in on Giles and Jenny’s conversation.

“Wow, really?” There’s a surprised laugh in Jenny’s voice. “I was applying to be a computer science teacher at Sunnydale High! We would have been there at the same time if the damn job interview hadn’t gone so badly for me.”

“How so?” Giles inquires, looking surprisingly cool and collected for a guy who’d been all star-struck fifteen minutes ago. Buffy guesses that all the time on the Hellmouth has mellowed him out a little.

“We got a warning about a lizard demon loose in the school and I decided that the job wasn’t for me,” Jenny explains. “Was that a normal thing while you were there?”

“Oh, that wasn’t a lizard demon,” says Giles casually. “That was just a practical joke. We’ve had much worse than lizard demons, actually.”

“Hmm.” Jenny takes a bite of her croissant. “Probably a good thing I didn’t work there, then, or I’d have ended up dead within the first year.”

“Yes, our teacher mortality rate was sparklingly high,” Giles quips.

“You should have, like, a T-shirt,” says Jenny with interest. “Something like I Survived Sunnydale High—” She pauses, cocking her head and studying Giles. “Nah,” she says finally. “That kind of thing is way too tacky for you.”

“Really?” Giles looks like he can’t tell whether or not that kind of statement is a compliment. It is, you British goof, Buffy tries to telepathically communicate, but he doesn’t seem to be getting the message.

Jenny smiles slowly. “Yeah, definitely,” she says, and places a hand on Giles’s leg. “You seem more of the…sophisticated type.”

Buffy decides right there that she’s done eavesdropping. She stands up, heading back over to Angel. “Flirting,” she says, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Flirting of the flirty variety. You so can’t tell me that Jenny isn’t into Giles, because she very clearly is.”

“Talking to Angel about flirting?” There’s a half-laugh in Cordelia’s voice. “You’d do better talking to Giles about computers.” She scoots closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Jenny likes Giles,” she informs Buffy and Angel.

Angel rolls his eyes. “If she does, she just likes Giles because he’s hot,” he objects a little too loudly.

Jenny and Giles both look at Angel. Giles, who’s gone an interesting shade of red, looks down at Jenny’s hand on his leg as though he’s only just now noticed it, but Jenny just raises an eyebrow and says very smoothly, “I mean, you’re not wrong.” Then she turns back to a now utterly flustered Giles and resumes whatever it is they’re talking about.

“Since when is Giles hot?” Buffy demands, making sure to keep her voice low. “He’s—old!”

“For once, I’m with Buffy,” Cordelia agrees.

Angel’s blushing a little. “He’s—a very attractive man, that’s all,” he manages. “Not personally my type, but if he’d been interested—”

“Oh god,” Buffy groans.

Buffy is insufferable on the drive back. “So,” she begins, “what’s the deal with you and Tech Support Lady?” and when Giles turns on the radio to drown out any further questions, she gives him a Look and switches it to country music. Country music. He’s at least become accustomed to some of the songs she listens to, but this is positively undignified.

Giles, playing the part of the exasperated mentor, grits his teeth for show and keeps driving, but there’s a strange, bubbly feeling in his chest whenever he thinks about the Angel Investigations card Jenny had covertly tucked into his wallet with call me!!!! written in loopy cursive on it. He’s doing his best not to smile, and it’s working until—

“Hey,” says Buffy, and lightly pokes his shoulder. “Hey, Giles, I think I left my sweater back at the Hyperion.”

Giles blinks, staring at her, and sees the mischievous look in her eyes, but he also sees the affectionate happiness. It occurs to him that Buffy is attempting to play matchmaker not out of a desire to create chaos, but because she genuinely wants to see him happy. He hadn’t realized that before.

“Oh,” he says. “Then—we should go back and get it, shouldn’t we?”

[minaminokyoko]

Deadpool 2: A Spoilertastic Review

One thing I've noticed over the years is that there's nothing like it when someone busts their ass to make a movie happen, defying all odds, and pours their sweat, blood, tears (and in Deadpool's case, probably other fluids we don't want to know about) into a film, and it turns out to reward them spectacularly. Deadpool was one of those movies. They fought for years to get that movie made after the disgraceful ruination of the character in X-Men Origins: Wolverine and they did him justice beyond words. It was magnificently done. It damn near beat Jesus, for fuck's sake. Actual Jesus.

And that's why I think that I don't like the sequel as much.

I've seen this happen many times: a sleeper hit or an unexpected smash hit blockbuster exceeds all expectations and then puts out a sequel. Well, unfortunately, sometimes success can ruin your party. Success, accolades, and the second highest grossing Rated R film of all time had an influence on how Deadpool 2 turned out, if you ask me. When you're not starving for it, then it means that sometimes punchlines don't land as hard, writing is not as tight, and scenes aren't as memorable. When you're already fat and happy, sometimes your motivation to make the best thing ever is just servicable at best.

I think Deadpool 2 is an enjoyable movie, but I think it didn't want it as badly as the first movie did because it was already fat, happy, and satisfied from the first film. Thus, I think they didn't try as hard to make it the best movie possible. It's still a good movie, but it can't compete with the first film by any stretch, and I'll explain why. Naturally, spoiler alert.

Overall Grade: B-/C+

Pros:

-Deadpool himself is still funny, even if the change in tone puts a damper on a lot of the enjoyment.

-Domino shines like a freaking diamond. I already like Zazie Beetz from what I saw of her in FX's show Atlanta, so I was jazzed when they announced her for the role. She still blew my expectations out of the water. I had never seen her do a physical role before, and she absolutely sold me. I'd love to see her in sequels and I sure as hell would watch a spin off of her with other female heroes should the Deadpool franchise get to borrow some X-Men in what I pray will someday be a collaborative effort between Fox and Marvel Studios. She's fantastic. She's the black girl magic the world needs to know about, and I'm so happy studios are coming around realizing black women are a massive untapped source of awesome in superhero films. For the longest time, Storm was all we had and she was weaksauce due to poor writing, but we've slowly been seeing more inclusion with the women of Black Panther and Valkyrie from Ragnarok and now Domino. Keep 'em coming, superhero movies. Black women deserve to conquer the genre and usher in other women of color alongside them.

-The X-Men pulling the door shut gag was top notch. Kudos. Even though it raises some seriously weird questions timeline-wise, I howled. That was brilliantly addressed, especially since it's so painfully obvious in the first movie that Colossus and Negasonic Teenage Warhead were all Fox's stingy ass wanted to spare for poor Mr. Pool.

-Dupinder is still fucking adorable and precious and I'm glad he got his moment of glory.

-The Juggernaut getting a second shot was absolutely fantastic. I was trying to guess who it would be and then I saw that helmet and I might as well have done a fucking T-Rex roar in my seat the theater. Juggernaut was done right. He was everything I dreamt he would be ever since that disappointing appearance in X-Men 3. Don't get me wrong--Vinnie Jones had the right attitude, but making him just regular size guy defeats the whole purpose of why he's so unstoppable and terrifying. He literally ripped Deadpool in half. That was awesome, as was his grudge match with Colossus. I loved them going toe to toe with each other. It was staged extremely well. Aside from Domino, Juggernaut vs. Colossus was by far my favorite part of the film.

-Minor point, but I loved Deadpool's reaction to Yukio. He seemed genuinely charmed by her and vice versa and it was fucking adorable.

-The second post credits scene is exactly as good as the hype made it out to be. Oh God. Deadpool shooting Barakapool several times was just...I mean, it was the cherry on top of the sundae. It was so satisfying, as was the joke about shooting himself before he could star in Green Lantern. I love that Ryan Reynolds was so self aware that he severely fucked up his career from pretty much 2011 until 2016 when he finally got Deadpool made. He knew this movie was the only way he'd ever get himself out of that ditch in his career and I think it was a worthy redemption for sure. I also am so relieved they undid Vanessa's death, because that's the second biggest con I have for this movie as you'll see below.

-The Logan reference had me in stitches. It was so wrong, but so damn funny.

-The "blink and you'll miss it" Brad Pitt cameo. Fuck, that was amazing and surprising, thank you.

-The other "blink and you'll miss it" Alan Tudyk cameo. Holy shit, does Disney really like this man. I am so happy to see Wash getting some really great roles over the years. He's doing great.

Cons:

-Stuffing Vanessa in the Fridge. Alright, so technically I shouldn't put this in here because Deadpool fixes it in the end credits, but it pisses me off that they even attempted this stupid fucking trope. I am tired of dead girlfriends and dead wives used for Mangst. Fucking. Stop. It. Women are just as valid as men as characters. Stop killing them just to make the hero turn Super Saiyan. It's possible to still motivate the male motherfuckers without killing the girl and putting them on a revenge spree or depression spiral. It's lazy writing and all of Hollywood needs to move on from this tired ass trope. Vanessa was extremely charming, funny, and likable in the first Deadpool movie and Morena Baccarin is and has always been so wonderful to enjoy on screen in her dramatic and comedic work. I am so pissed off they Fridged her to only be in five minutes of the fucking movie. They shouldn't have even bothered putting her in the damned credits because she was only there for such a short period. If she didn't have time to film the movie, fine, just find another excuse that she's not there. Morena deserved better, dammit.

-Changing the tone of the film franchise from a screwball comedy to an action "movie" with jokes in it. This is the biggest reason I didn't like this movie as much as the first Deadpool movie. The first Deadpool movie is arguably a parody of superhero films. It takes most of the tropes and pokes fun at them in a really great way, but it also still manages to be a legit, streamlined revenge love story. It strikes the exact tone we'd all been craving ever since we heard the Deadpool movie would be greenlit. So why the fuck is the sequel written like an X-Men movie, but with more jokes? I hate the serious tone. I hate Wade moping over Vanessa, I hate the whole "family" bullshit that is spoken with a straightface somehow despite being almost as unearned as that hideous one in Suicide Squad, I hate Cable moping over his dead family, and I hate the "you're not my friend" bullshit between Wade and the incredibly annoying fat kid whose name I refuse to learn because he irritated me so much. Why did they play it all straightfaced? Why was I expected to see a "real story" in a Deadpool movie? The entire reason I like this franchise and haven't seen an X-Men film (not counting Logan) in years is because the X-Men franchise has completely played itself out. It's substandard acting, substandard writing, it doesn't adapt the comics the way it should, and it's just repetitive. All the movies since First Class are the same. The prequel babies are finally going to just end the charade with Dark Phoenix and I think most of the world is relieved because they have nothing creative or new to offer any longer. Deadpool 2 reeks of that same kind of lame writing and execution. There was no reason to switch the format. I pray to God they go back to formula in X-Force or Deadpool 3. I hate this change with a passion.

-The fat kid is annoying as hell. There, I said it. Fight me if you must. He had no sense of self preservation and the movie didn't go into enough detail to make me care about him in spite of how teeth-grindingly stupid and obnoxious he was. He was written like a twelve year old boy writing fanfiction about himself and Deadpool becoming best buds and fighting crime together. No. No, stop that right now. I don't want any part of it. I get the "he's just a kid" thing but the kid is an asshole and even if he's somehow justified, he's a pain in the ass to watch from start to finish. I also think the kid needs some acting lessons, but that's not entirely his fault. I think he probably just wasn't directed all that well, so I can let that slide, but I did notice it during the film.

-I don't care about Cable. Cable and Deadpool are righteous as fuck in the comics. In this movie? No. This is why I was against Josh Brolin being cast. He has no chemistry with Ryan Reynolds. I get that Cable is the Straight Man to Deadpool's Kooky Man, but they don't gel together at all. I never sensed any bonding even though they are setting it up for franchise reasons. He's just not interesting and he plays the role as blandly as he does all his boring ass biopics and other bland roles. Brolin worked much better as Thanos than he did Cable. Thanos had weight and was threatening and even though his reasoning was utter bullshit, at least he was convicted. Brolin's Cable just felt like some stock stoic character thrown in there as the minor antagonist. I still would have much preferred Liam Neeson or Ron Perlman, and yes, I understand both of them are getting up there in years, but we've seen older actors still kick ass and be in shape, so I think they could have done it if they were offered the part. Brolin is still one of the most drab actors I've ever seen and he just doesn't pull the role off, imo.

-The bait and switch with the X-Force team. This is a minor note for me, as I don't have a background with these characters so it's more for people who know these characters elsewhere and were expecting an awesome team up movie but that's not what they got. Are the gruesome deaths kind of funny? Yeah, sure, but it's kind of rude to advertise them that way and they're not in the movie. I just frown on it. It's not a dealbreaker. It was just disappointing in the same way that the Mandarin in Iron Man 3 was disappointing. I expected more and I got a farce instead.

-I don't know if it's for legal reasons, but it drives me crazy that we still didn't get a Wolverine cameo from Hugh Jackman. I mean, we finally got Deadpool--the real one--and I just want him and Ryan to share the screen again because even though Origins was trash, they were magical together.

-Deadpool's last "death" went on way too long. I was checking my watch. They really should have pulled the trigger on that gag. It was exhausting and not very funny to begin with.

-Negasonic Teenage Warhead getting reduced to an extra pissed me off. She was so great in the first movie and she doesn't get to do anything here and it irks the hell out of me.

-Aside from The Juggernaut vs. Colossus, the fight scenes weren't nearly as creative, cinematic, or memorable as the first film. I've already forgotten everything except the JvC fight and the convoy rescue scene. That's a bummer for me.

-The movie just isn't as funny as the first film. It's not the same kind of tight writing with excellent punchlines and ridiculous phrases that made me remember them. It's been a few days and I don't recall any insults or lines that stuck with me. I'll likely be seeing it again for Memorial Day weekend, but I still don't expect I'll remember much from it.

-Nitpick: God, I still want to push T.J. Miller off a bridge. He is not funny and never has been.

-Nitpick: WHY HAS NO ONE MADE A FIREFLY JOKE ABOUT MORENA BACCARIN AFTER TWO FUCKING DEADPOOL MOVIES?! COME ON. DEADPOOL IS ALL ABOUT NERD REFERENCES. GODDAMMIT MENTION FIREFLY YOU FUCKS. (But to be fair, this could also be because Fox is the reason we only got one season and so maybe they were forbidden from doing it. Still. That pisses me the hell off. Especially since Ryan Reynolds and Nathan Fillion (1) have both played the Green Lantern and (2) were on a sitcom with each other for years. Inexcusable.)

I'm sorry it sounds like I'm shitting on the movie. Really, it's enjoyable. I just think that maybe the first movie set the bar so high I can't help but feel frustrated by the sequel not trying as hard. Based on the online reactions, I'm on my own so...take that as you will, friends. Kyo out.

[parabellum-rpg-archive]

Congratulations, Meghan! You’ve been accepted to play Camila Perez. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

Admin note: THIS WAS SO WELL WRITTEN. The fact that you added so much depth to Camila, beyond being seen as just ditzy. I feel like Camila is the lightness that we’ll all need to see on the dash. I’m here for it. 100%. - Admin V

CHARACTER DESIRED

Camila Perez.

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS

No need to rewrite the biography - but who are they to you? What are their goals, ambitions, or flaws? Here’s your opportunity to show us who this character is to you.

I love Camila. She’s deliciously bright, and worldly, and pleasure-seeking and wild and warm all at once. A lot of her interests read as shallow. I think it’s easy to dismiss her in that way— people mistake sociability and a bubbly nature for other things, and Camila doesn’t really help that perception with her love of material items. But she has a deep care and respect for her family, and a charm about her that draws people in. She’s fun! She has a gift of making others feel wanted, and when someone is with Camila, they get the full force of that magnetism. She’s the person that compliments other drunk girls in the bathroom, pulls even the most reluctant stranger along on one of her wild, debaucherous adventures.

As often as she is called a ditz, or stupid, there’s a vividness to her that can’t be ignored. Bright-eyed and curious, Camila is undeniably alive.

Maybe that curiosity drives her to a fault.

After all— curiosity is what entangled her in the city’s underbelly in the first place. Camila likes to weave her way in and out of these circles with a careless excitement. She indulges in the expensive booze, lounges with corrupt politicians and criminals without pausing to consider how they came into this position in the first place, and what exactly funded their wealth of resources. It’s not something she thinks about. Not the blood money, not what these men do when they’re not spending their cash on beautiful women. To some extent, its her naivete— the other part is willful ignorance. It’s easier for Camila that way. Calling her parents is easier, collecting her check and spending it on exorbitant handbags is easier too.

For now, the lifestyle has been without consequences. I think it would be interesting to see her interact with some of the grittier realities of crime, and maybe some of the darker characters who aren’t quite as charmed with Camila’s personality. (Not that she wouldn’t try her best to win them over). It’s a comfortable, if not chaotic bubble she’s been living in. And as willing as she was to dive into this world, to fully entrench herself with crime lords, she’s been dealt a pretty easy hand. I think it would be interesting to see if Camila balks at some of the more serious aspects, or goes into it willingly, determined to preserve her lifestyle.

Not that she’s probably considered that much: I think Camila is largely short-sighted. She likes gratification. it’s difficult for her to see personal value in things she deems unnecessary, or unpleasant. It’s not that she’s incapable of hard work— it’s just that Camila’s effort correlates directly with her interest. She has no trouble putting in extra hours to afford a new Birkin, but studying for a test seems like a near-impossible task. (It practically was).

Given the right reward, I think Camila is willing to do a lot.

Despite this, though, I think she has a hard time describing her ambitions as concrete and quantifiable goals. Since high-school, all she’s ever wanted was freedom— and now she has it. There’s no CEO position Camila’s vying for, no  grab for power. No long-term plans. But what she wants, she wants so badly— even if she’s just chasing something as vague as a feeling or sensation. Camila lives voraciously. She enjoys herself—and life— fully, no-half measures. She craves stimulation, and that’s what makes her so well-suited to her job. Smoke, sweat, tumbling ice, a new client every night, stories that end in broken heels and laughter. It’s overwhelming to some, but Camila simply wants more.

More dresses. More friends to giggle with. More stupid stories, more men tripping over their feet to give her their attention.

For now, Camila is very intent on living life the way she wants, even if others might dismiss it as shallow, or silly. It’s still hers. For all her faults, she is uniquely herself—no matter what trouble that could bring her.

Camila is chasing after things so fast, so carelessly, she’s almost euphorically dizzy.

WRITING SAMPLE

Provide as many IN CHARACTER samples as you like. At the very least, we expect three paragraphs written in third person. Aside from that, there are no rules. Please include anything you deem necessary.

The club is loud. Camila’s nails— obnoxiously fuchsia— click idly against the side of her shot glass. It needs filling.

“Hereee, babydoll.” The client to her left extends the almost-empty bottle, filling her own glass chivalrously.

The dimples in Camila’s cheek deepen; she titters and grins appreciatively.

“Ooh, thank you. My hero.”

He’s forty-six. Married, probably, salt-and-pepper hair with three mansions and a wallet that’s seeing a lot of action tonight. He shoves a wad of tips towards one of the servers bearing more champagne: the man stammers his thanks. She likes the generous ones.

“Didn’t think I was gonna let you go thirsty tonight, huh?”

The two of them have been anything but.

“So. Did you know—” She pauses, rakes her fingers through her hair enticingly. “—I once drank two forties before my SATs. Top to bottom, n’ everything.”

Tom—a perfectly boring name for a money launderer — likes wild stories. She can tell, in the way he keeps boasting about his own, trying to coax something out of her. Maybe it’s the mid-life crisis thing. Trying to re-live the good old days, the wild times, before this man’s life became board meetings and portfolio evaluations.

He smiles, skeptical but indulging.

“No way. Bullshit.”

“Yes way!”

“You did not drink before your SATs.”

Camila sighs. Fixes him with a drunk, demure pout.

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me.”

“—There’s no way you drank that much before the most important test of your life.”

The gloss to her hair shimmers gently as she fans it about her shoulders, raises an eyebrow to be purposefully coy.

“Who said it was that important?”

Tom’s laughter is more of a bark.

“Yeah, fine. I do actually believe you now.”

A gentle tongue click, and Camila ropes an arm around his, practically seated in his lap as she cranes her face towards his.

“Silly you for believing. It was rum, actually. And my high school exit exam— not the SATs, or whatever.”

“It’s okay though—” Her cheeks are warm, but she reaches for the champagne again anyway. It’s too early to stop. “—I still like you.”

He rolls his eyes with a good-natured snort, pleased to be the object of her gentle teasing.

It’s what he paid for.

“That was— very convincing. You’re like the Michael Jordan of lying.”

Camila slurps at her champagne delicately, eyes wide and sincere.

“I dunno who that is.”

Tom laughs hard, and flags down another server for more glasses.

(Okay. So she knew that one.)

It’s late. The night rolls on. Millionaires and billionaires slink in and out of their booths, in various states of inebriation, and Camila’s just passed drunk, moving well into inebriated. All of her limbs feel tingly. If she doesn’t focus hard enough, the room spins.

Her new friend seems to be in a similar state. Hiccups punctuate almost half of his words.

“That was pretty good— you’re good at lying! You ought to be a politician, hon.”

He’s teasing her. Even Camila knows that’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.

“Blegh.”

“No, I mean it. Like a senator, or something.” His tone’s taken on that indulgent tone again— halfway to patronizing.“It’d be fun.”

“Yeah? Why?” Camila’s eyes glimmer mischievously. “Would you be my mistress, if I was?”

The man gives her smug, sloppy grin.

“Sweetheart, I’d be your anything.”

Now Camila laughs, silly and delighted, when the buzz of her phone scatters her thoughts.

Her eyes catch a glimpse of the screen. Camila’s stomach begins to sink.

Oh, no. Oh, shit! Mild panic pools in her stomach, and she flashes Tom an apologetic smile before excusing herself to the bathroom, dropping the phone on the marble counter and staring at it with the uncontrolled intensity of a drunk.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Her parents were calling at the worst possible time.

There’s no way she can talk to them like this. Camila is far too drunk to hide her condition— she can feel the way her brain is sloshing around in her head, sloppy and useless. Her tongue is loose. She probably sounds a wreck, too.

The call goes to voicemail, and Camila tries to bury the deep knot of guilt in her stomach, fingers moving hesitantly along the keyboard.

“Working! Call u later. XO.”

She scans it twice for mistakes before sending.

There. Camila had told them, in another one of her lies, that she’d began working at a different restaurant, something more upscale— she’d explained the hours were longer, but the pay was better. That covered the late nights. It also explained the delicate drop-necklace she’d been able to afford recently, the pricey gifts she had brought them. Camila supposes she should feel guilty for yet another lie she’s spun. Instead, it’s much closer to relief. Like she’s given herself enough breathing room.

As senselessly gone as she was, Camila doesn’t want to shatter the illusion— the one of the little girl in her best and neatest dress, dutifully sent to and from Mass each Sunday. It was a long time ago. Even if that girl doesn’t exist any more— maybe never really existed— she’s not going to hurt her parents in that way.

It’s too glum a thought.

She can feel the frown formulating between her brows, a tiny stitch of worry which just won’t do. She’s here to have fun. She’s getting paid to have fun! A breath, a tiny wriggle in which she adjusts the tight hug of her dress, and she’s ready to head back out.

Camila stalks out across the floor, pleased at the way Tom’s eyes track her from his booth.

“Guess who got more fuckin’ boooooze!”

He waves a bottle of Macallan at her like a victory flag, glorious and expensive, and Camila is more than happy to slink back over into his lap.

—

The girls are jumbled mess on the floor, spread out and lounging like felines, preoccupied with the task of christening Camila’s new apartment. New apartment meant a night out to celebrate. A night out to celebrate meant the elaborate, often ritualistic task of getting ready.

Camila sits right at the center, taking stock of the chaos.

She can’t count the glistening bottles of nail polish scattered about, clacking merrily together as Maria selects the color. Palettes litter floor. Eyelash curlers. Phones, with their busy music apps and text messages, which Emma continues to glance at periodically.

But only between bitching about her latest client.

“He kept fucking going on about Nascar! Like, shares this, shares that, all that bullshit.”

Maria glances up from her nails, squinting warily in Emma’s direction.

“NASDAQ, is like, the stock market. Nascar is car racing.” A concerned beat. “You know that, right?”

Emma brushes it aside airily.

“Yeah. I just hate when they don’t shut up about business.”

There’s a pause while Camila corrects a smudge on Maria’s cuticle.

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda funny. They say a bunch of boring stuff to me and I just repeat back to the next client, and then they think it’s impressive.”

She straightens up self-importantly, deepens her voice.

“We need to talk about portfolio diversity for our clients— you and I both know we got killed last quarter. I’m not losing to those mothafuckers again.”

She giggles.

“See?”

There’s a loud sigh directly across from her.

“None of that made any sense.”

Camila chooses to ignore that! She gives the teal bottle of polish a vigorous shake, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth with the effort.

“So do you want a daisy on the pinkie, or a heart?”

Before she can answer, Camila starts flicking the brush carefully about the nail, turning her finger this way and that to achieve the perfect stroke.

“I’ve been practicing my petal shapes.”

“If it looks like shit I’m taking it to a salon.”

“Bitch, I am the salon.”  

Maria still looks mutinous, but curiosity seems to have won her over. She finishes the other nail with an excited hum and a tiny clap, smiling over at her friend expectantly.  

An eyebrow raise.

“…It does look good.”

Victory. Camila smacks a loud kiss to her cheek.

“See! You doubted my skills.”

“I doubted your sobriety.”

She shrieks with laughter and snatches the other girls phone, promising retribution in the form of tinder.

“Just for that, I’m gonna match with you every guy named Chad.”

[aotopmha]

Dragon Ball Super Episode 27-104 Thoughts

It hit the big 100, so I thought I’d actually write a Dragon Ball Super post because it has grown on me. 

First, though, I haven’t seen all of the first 27 episodes of the series, but I have seen Battle Of Gods and Ressurection F, along with a couple of the slice-of-life episodes at the start of the series.

Battle Of Gods is a great DB(Z) movie mostly because it’s generally well-animated and just having a lot of fun. What it does with Goku’s character and what could come from it down the line is interesting (and if it doesn’t we have his character explored in a different light than before). Beerus and Whis are in general great characters.

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Ressurection F has some good action scenes and I like how it highlights Goku’s and Vegeta’s rivarly and weaknesses, which also could ultimately lead to some great payoff (and looking at episode 98 we are seemingly getting some of that with them actually teaming up). Overall it’s okay, though - I didn’t hate it or find it straight-up boring, but I also do have problems with the lack of tension it had for being a movie about bringing back one of the series’ most iconic villains and the mess of an ending it had. 

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I like the U6 arc because it introduced characters with strange powers again like Hit, Botamo and Magetta. Beamspam has been a dominant thing since Freeza, even more so Cell. It’s nothing big or amazing (and it’s not meant to be), but seeing Vegeta trying to reserve his energy for possible strong opponents and struggle against Magetta with the constraits put in the match was interesting and something we hadn’t seen for a while.

The Cabba fight did a great job highlighting Vegeta’s character development.

For being a stoic rival archetype, Hit’s simple personality was made likeable by just making him eager to push his limits and giving him cool time manipluation powers. Hit vs. Goku is one of my favorite DB fights just for the “keeping up step-by-step” element of it.

The U6 arc ended pretty satisfactorly, but it was very much the Goku and Vegeta show, just like BoG and RoF. Piccolo lost in his match (even if he did hold his own and I do appreciate that it was shown that way) and Buu was just thrown aside. I also actually thought making Frost an actual good guy would’ve been more interesting, but at the same time I like it for essentially being an acknowledgement that Freeza will always be evil.

I liked the U6 arc! It was low stakes, but it was never meant to be something huge, just a set-up arc and introduction to other universes. What it aimed to be, it did well enough. The most questionable story part of it was in my eyes Cabba’s transformation, but even that has a basis in the fact that U6 Saiyans are different. (Would be nice if that would be explained)

The U6 arc ends with episode 42, the summoning of Super Shenron.

I love the Pan-centric episode after that because it showcases Goku actually genuinely caring for his family. It’s sweet, but also genuinely funny and charming. It’s still probably one of my favorite Super episodes. 

The Copy Vegeta arc is the worst Super has been for me, though. While it further shows Vegeta’s care for his family (which is why I don’t understand the dislike of him getting these goofy moments - a part of his character growth, as Whis says, is that he needs to chill), but that’s the only thing worth anything in these 3 episodes, not even Trunks and Goten get anything interesting. It’s what I had the most problem with in GT: it was boring and the only part I genuinely had trouble sitting through in my marathon. As much as I dislike the execution of Ressurection of F, that had some interesting elements going for it. This one? Only one thing at most and that’s done better prior and after. But at least it’s only 3 episodes.

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Next up was the Future Trunks arc!

Black was an entertaining villain. I like that his name is actually so cliché because Bulma is bad at naming. More importantly, though, his nature and personality are actually pretty interesting takes on the “Evil Goku” trope that we have seen several times at this point. He’s not Goku, but he’s also not Zamasu. So that results in the unsettling “politeness” Freeza has and the potential for brutality that Saiyans are capable of. He takes great joy out of being cruel. It’s a good, entertaining basis for a villain.

I love what is done with Vegeta in this arc. He took on a mentor role for Cabba in the U6 arc and this is further shown with his moments with Trunks and encouraging him. He beats up Goku Black while expressing the respect he has gained for Goku and unlike being wholly against it, this time around actually accepts to fuse with Goku fairly easily. It’s good, solid character writing that makes sense. The relationship between Vegeta and Trunks brings some cool moments like the Father-Son Gallick Gun.

While Goku has a couple of clumsily written moments of incompetency, like forgetting the Mafuba seal and the Senzu Beans, I liked his moment of anger when he learned Chichi and Goten were killed. It goes back to the Pan episode and we see more depth from him beyond just “wanting to fight strong guys”.

I like the focus on Kid Trunks becoming more serious and actually meeting Future Trunks. I like the episode where Future Trunks meets Gohan and eventually comes to the conclusion that Gohan doesn’t have to be the Gohan he knew because he′s happy and that’s what truly matters.

Future Mai isn’t half-bad of a character - she’s just a normal human, but manages to keep the surviving groups of humans alive and save Trunks at points. Bulma’s efforts ultimately do save Future Trunks and Mai, I liked that she played a major part in the arc.

The character building blocks for the arc are solid and that’s the reason why I actually genuinely like it.

Unlike the U6 arc, it has some notable problems, though. Zamasu alone is a pretty one-dimensional and dull villain, but could’ve been great would he have been built up and presented better. The time travel aspect is badly written - mostly because it’s so complicated. I have no problems with Trunks’ rage and spirit sword, though, because ultimately they had the balance of effectiveness: Trunks ultimately failed and I actually also don’t mind Goku Black being Zamasu because it was made clear that he wasn’t entirely Zamasu prior to it, which is the most interesting part of his character - at the same time, it’s the execution that really annoyed me - why keep juggling his identity?

The ending of the arc is infamous, but I do like the idea that it wasn’t entirely happy. My problem lies in the incompetent execution of it. If you don’t do the payoff right, the whole arc suffers greatly.

I don’t really care about the power level stuff, which has been a mess since Freeza. In fact, it’s probably always been more of a narrative convinience rather than anything consistent, but they always make sense on a basic level. Trunks keeps getting beaten down and getting Senzu beans? Of course he’s stronger now. Goku Black gets used to his body? Of course he’ll be able to use more of Goku’s power. Trunks got the finisher because he’s been the one fighting the most in the arc and that’s after Vegito wore Zamasu down. It’s all about what feels satisfying, looks cool or seems interesting story-wise. Goku got to Super Saiyan in 6 days, but him defeating Freeza was extremely satisfying because it all felt right narrative-wise.

So, the Future Trunks arc is a flawed arc, but I was generally entertained by it and it was a pretty big improvement in terms of animation quality. A lot of the problems it has are similar to other Z arcs. Time travel was a problem in the Cell arc. Power levels and sudden power ups were a problem in the Buu arc and these problems really aren’t in any worse forms here considering the outcome to it all. In fact, I probably find it more entertaining than a big portion of the Buu saga, which had it’s great moments, but really wasn’t worth the 100 episodes it took, while the previous sagas generally were worth their time in some fashion. In the end, the Future Trunks arc was only 20 episodes, but unlike every DB arc ever, the problem wasn’t that it was too slow, the problem was the pacing was too uneven. 

The Future Trunks arc ends with episode 67 and there is about 10 breather episodes between this and the Tournament Of Power arc. The Shenlong episode was cute, but the Arale and baseball episodes were pure old DB fun. Arale is a fun character, but the baseball episode gave more time to the U6 characters and Yamcha of all characters - it was an absolute blast. The Hit two-parter did the same for Hit - it was cool to see Goku finally figure some of Hit’s techniques out on his own. It felt like the story was getting it’s stuff together and settled on a steady pacing instead of just rushing through everything or being really slow in the worst ways.

The Gohan and Krillin two-parters did some wonderful favors to their characters by giving them direction again and even Roshi gets to be the mentor again. When was the last time we saw that? When was the last time Gohan sparred with Goku? When was the last time we saw anything of Krillin? It’s nostalgic, but also puts their characters back on track in the most logical way it possibly could. This is where I started to disagree with the criticism thrown at Super. They were actually trying and it actually made sense. Prior I got the criticisms better, but now I disagree. It’s competent enough direction and writing for what this series is going for, and.. it no longer looks like crap, either.

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So we move on to episode 77, where the current arc starts. The Tournament Of Power... and it takes about 20 episodes to get there.

I’m actually rewtaching original DBZ right now and this pacing is nothing compared to how the Saiyan Saga was paced - this time around, all the characters actually get their focus episodes, instead of the 20 episodes being just split up between Goku and Gohan and barely focusing on anyone else.

Buu and Gohan get cool fights in the Zen Exhibition Match episodes (Goku’s aren’t anything that special, but have a couple of interesting character things going on and I do like Toppo). Gohan’s and Krillin’s characters are given further focus, same goes any of the 10 fighters. Roshi’s and Tenshinhan’s contributions are the weakest of the bunch (I’m so sick of pervert Roshi, more mentor/cool old man Roshi please), but they actually get something for once. Every member of the major cast at least gets one or two nice moments in these 20 or so episodes. That’s a considerable improvement to a lot of DBZ which was all about the Saiyans for a large majority. Add to that, most of it is substantial in some way, even if sometimes takes too long, but that’s DB in general for you. Pacing is something in DB that has always been annoying and at this point, after consuming roughly 500~ episodes of this story, I’m very patient with it. All I want from an arc is some sort of payoff that is satisfying. BoG and U6 were good with that RoF and FT not so much.

They also do their best to patch up the plot holes. They went out of their way to make sure Vegeta destroyed the Time Chamber and Buu fell asleep when there wasn’t enough time to get in there. Goku chose Freeza because they needed another strong fighter to replace Buu and he was apparently the only one who hadn’t moved on from the afterlife yet (it’s not as solid explanation as it could be, but I think it can be overlooked because his reintroduction was really entertaining and opened some interesting story possibilities). The time limit also sets up a possiblity that not all the fighters are the best of what the universe has to offer because the gods of all the universes have varying levels of competency and priorities. Gowasu had trouble because he was doubting himself, U9 and U4 were plotting against U7, Beerus and Shin are lazy and incompetent respectively and nobody listened to U11′s Kai to actually try and  convince Zeno to not destroy the universes because they were too busy arguing amongst themselves and worrying about their survival. 

My biggest problem with this portion is that some of the episodes also really do feel like a waste of time - 87 (the second part of the 17 two-parter) and 89 (the Roshi and Tenshinhan episode) were the weakest of the bunch. There is a lot of fluff here.

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Moving on to the actual Tournament Of Power, it’s introduced in episode 97, but starts proper with episode 98. Here’s my rundown of the past 7 episodes.

98 was cool for the Vegeta and Goku team-up because they actually never really have genuinely done that without messing up in some way. It wasn’t delibarate, but it also didn’t end up with them being dropped out, so I’d say that’s an improvement. I also disagree with Vegeta’s character being regressed because he’s still Vegeta. When the group left for the tournament, he glanced back at Bulma, but he still has the rivalry going on with Goku and he still has a sense of pride. The whole point is that at this point, when things really get serious, he’ll put his pride aside. Being more caring is not the same as being prideful. It’ll be a reasonable criticism if he doesn’t deliver when it matters, though and if his scenes remain limited to a few lines (also if he doesn’t get to do much substantial).

99 was cool for everything involving Krillin and 18 and I can’t help but feel that because Krillin is out so early he might become relevant later on in a different way. This might not be the case, but his moment didn’t seem like a “big moment”. Maybe this’ll be another Yamcha case of buildup not being equal to payoff, but at least it was still cool.

100 was the weakest so far, but Caulifla has a great personality, which I think saved that episode in hindsight. I didn’t mind the Kale stuff as much as some seemed to have, her character in general seemed the type to be set up for growth. The case in point being that 101 did a alright job at giving Kale a character direction and did a good job with writing the Kale and Caulifla relationship. Their relationship is probably the strongest part of their characters.

102 had the great magical girl parody stuff, which was genuinely funny and Android 17 shining, even if it was really slow.

103 had a good character moment for Gohan and actually the first genuinely solid fight that seemed to push a character with Obuni vs. Gohan.

104 had the great Hit vs. Dyspo fight in the first half. Again, it’s one of the first fights that genuinely seemed to push the characters we knew. Hit actually had to struggle against Dyspo somewhat.

I like that the pacing didn’t go to overdrive and they take the time to build stuff up. It’s probably going to be frustrating when following it weekly, but in hindsight might work out for the better. DB has always been a series that has emphasized the story coming together as a whole rather than something big happening every episode. It emphasizes build-up through smaller moments and the reward for that build-up. Which means if the reward is underwhelming, it hurts the arc a lot overall.

I mentioned it above, but the Tournament Of Power reminds me a lot of the Saiyan arc - everything up to the fight with Nappa was kind of a series of small moments for each fighter. The contestants of the Tournament Of Power are essentially Saibamen, except some have more distinct powers.

I like it so far, but the fight with the less significant characters can’t go on for too long without getting boring at this point. I think if they play their cards right and put effort into the big battles, along with rewarding character development, this will be a solid arc. Right now, it really isn’t meant to do something big yet because it’s still in the beginning stages of setting everything up action-wise. Some of the moments in the Future Trunks arc are some of the best in DBS so far, but I have much more confidence in this arc coming together as a whole because they do take their time.

At the very least, I don’t see how you could call the story genuinely horrible at this point myself. Not amazing or flawless, but it is at least competent for what it’s trying to do.

-----

So yeah, I think the good outweighs the bad with Super. It’s a good shounen for knowing exactly what it is. DB was never meant to be anything complex and the fact that DBS is so self-aware helps with it a bunch. I don’t go into DB looking for the most consistent or complex storytelling, I’m looking to have some moderate fun with maybe some great moment shere and there. It’s not great, but at this point I do keep coming back to Super because I care, mostly for the characters, but also where it ends up.

[titheguerrero]

Ill-Informed, Incompetent* Health Care Leadership: the Case of President Trump's Interview in the New York Times

[* - see discussion of definitions below] On December 28, 2017, the New York Times published an impromptu interview by reporter Michael S Schmidt with President Donald J Trump at one of Mr Trump's private golf clubs.  Excerpts from the transcript appeared here.  An analysis of 24 points made by the president appeared in the Washington Post.  A number of commenators later weighed in on the interview. The interview touched on some major issues in health policy relevant to Health Care Renewal.  I will first present in full the transcript of relevant part of the interview by health care topic.  Then I will present comments from the Washington Post article, and then by some of the commenators. That all sounds rather mundane, but even this stolid method of presentation cannot conceal how things quickly ran off the rails. Relevant Interview Excerpts President Trump's Health Care Policy Expertise

I know more about the big bills. … [Inaudible.] … Than any president that’s ever been in office. Whether it’s health care and taxes.

I know the details of health care better than most, better than most. And if I didn’t, I couldn’t have talked all these people into doing ultimately only to be rejected.

Association Health Plans, and Sales of Health Plans Across State Lines

Also, beyond the individual mandate, but also [inaudible] associations. You understand what the associations are. … [Cross talk.] TRUMP: So now I have associations, I have private insurance companies coming and will sell private health care plans to people through associations. That’s gonna be millions and millions of people. People have no idea how big that is. And by the way, and for that, we’ve ended across state lines. So we have competition. You know for that I’m allowed to [inaudible] state lines. So that’s all done. Now here’s the good news. We’ve created associations, millions of people are joining associations. Millions. That were formerly in Obamacare or didn’t have insurance. Or didn’t have health care. Millions of people. That’s gonna be a big bill, you watch. It could be as high as 50 percent of the people. You watch. So that’s a big thing. And the individual mandate. So now you have associations, and people don’t even talk about the associations. That could be half the people are going to be joining up. … With private [inaudible]. So now you have associations and the individual mandate.

The Affordable Care Act (ACA, "Obamacare") and Its Mandate

But now that the individual mandate is officially killed, people have no idea how big a deal that was. It’s the most unpopular part of Obamacare. But now, Obamacare is essentially. … You know, you saw this. … It’s basically dead over a period of time.

The Washington Post Article on Trump's Claims  The article began:

We combed through the transcript and here’s a quick roundup of the false, misleading or dubious claims that he made, at a rate of one every 75 seconds.

President Trump's Health Care Policy Expertise

Lawmakers who dealt with Trump on taxes and especially health care privately told reporters they were shocked how little he knew about these issues.

Association Health Plans, and Sales of Health Plans Across State Lines

Trump is referring to an executive order, mentioned above, but it has no force in law on its own and no one has yet joined these associations. The rules spelling out how the executive order would work have not been issued yet, so Trump is simply making up his 'millions' number.

Trump signed an executive order encouraging the formation of health plans across state lines. But there is still a law in place that exempts insurance companies from aspects of federal antitrust law and ensures that individual states remained the primary regulators of insurance.

The Affordable Care Act (ACA, "Obamacare") and Its Mandate

While the individual mandate was an important incentive for Americans to seek health insurance, it was only one part of a far-reaching law that remains intact. The repeal does not take effect until 2019, and enrollment in Obamacare has remained strong. The Congressional Budget Office says the marketplaces are expected to remain stable for years.

Commenators' Take on Trump's Statements Ezra Kelin wrote a commentary for Vox published December 29.  Yuval Levin wrote a commentary for the National Review published the same day.  President Trump's Health Care Policy Expertise Klein wrote:

In psychology, there’s an idea known as the Dunning-Kruger effect. It refers to research by David Dunning and Justin Kruger that found the least competent people often believe they are the most competent because they 'lack the very expertise needed to recognize how badly they’re doing.' This dynamic helps explain comments like the one Trump makes here.

Association Health Plans, and Sales of Health Plans Across State Lines Klein wrote:

I can, with some effort, untangle what Trump might have been trying to say here, but it’s so incoherent, so suffused with half-related ideas and personal obsessions (why did Trump feel the need to bring up McCain’s vote?), that it’s hard to say for sure.

Then:

At best, Trump is saying something that is comprehensible but incorrect. He signed an executive order making it easier to form association health plans, which are health plans formed by groups of small businesses, and making it easier for those plans to skirt Obamacare’s insurance regulations and to contain small businesses from multiple states. As of now, and Trump doesn’t seem to realize this, it’s just an executive order — the rules defining and implementing it have not been written, so it is not yet happening, and we don’t know how it will work in practice, much less how many people may eventually sign up. Nor does the order get rid of the prohibition on selling insurance across state lines for most people — it’s only for this one kind of plan which can include members in multiple states, and which will only serve a tiny minority of the health insurance market.

Levin wrote:

My best guess is that at some point President Trump was briefed by his staff about the executive order he signed in October that, among other things, instructed his administration to expand the scope of association health plans. The word salad we find here is what remained of that briefing (or maybe of a conversation with a knowledgeable AHP supporter, like Rand Paul) after it was minced and digested by the president’s mind into a mess of little unconnected proofs of his own acumen and prowess. Trump appears to believe that millions of people are joining such plans, but in fact his order has yet even to be translated into a proposed rule, so that it has had no practical effect so far. He describes his order (I take it) as 'a big bill'—and this from the man who earlier in the same interview said  'I know more about the big bills. … [Inaudible.] … Than any president that’s ever been in office'. But maybe he just meant a big deal. He suggests that half of some presumably significant group of people will join such plans, and that in combination with the zeroing out of the individual mandate these plans will somehow drive Democrats to make a deal on health care.

The Affordable Care Act (ACA, "Obamacare") and Its Mandate Neither commenator specifically addressed this issue General Comments on Trump's Approach to Health Care Both commentators were very concerned about Trump's approach beyond any questions of truthfullness of claims or arguments about whether proposed policies would be good for the country. Klein wrote:

Whatever Trump is saying, it does not reveal much familiarity with health policy, or even with the status and limits of his own actions. And yet Trump believes himself, on policy, to be the most informed president in American history. As the Dunning-Kruger effect suggests, he doesn’t know how much he doesn’t know, and that, combined with his natural tendency toward narcissism, has left him dangerously overconfident in his own knowledge base.

Even worse:

This is the president of the United States speaking to the New York Times. His comments are, by turns, incoherent, incorrect, conspiratorial, delusional, self-aggrandizing, and underinformed. This is not a partisan judgment — indeed, the interview is rarely coherent or specific enough to classify the points Trump makes on a recognizable left-right spectrum.

Furthermore,

I am not a medical professional, and I will not pretend to know what is truly happening here. It’s become a common conversation topic in Washington to muse on whether the president is suffering from some form of cognitive decline or psychological malady. I don’t think those hypotheses are necessary or meaningful. Whatever the cause, it is plainly obvious from Trump’s words that this is not a man fit to be president, that he is not well or capable in some fundamental way. That is an uncomfortable thing to say, and so many prefer not to say it, but Trump does not occupy a job where such deficiencies can be safely ignored.

Levin wrote:

After reading this, it is advisable to take a moment to wonder at the absurdity of life, to offer a quiet prayer of thanks for the fact that any of us is still alive, and then to pursue—yet again, and surely not for the last time—that recurring question of our era: What in the world is the president talking about?

Also,

I have no doubt these claims began as duly grounded and modest statements of fact in some policy discussion. But they have ended up as worse than nonsense—worse, I say, because the only function they are left to perform is to affirm the president’s belief in things that aren’t true. This is a narrow example of a broader pattern, of course. It doesn’t matter all that much if the president doesn’t really know anything about Association Health Plans. He’s got bigger problems to worry about. But it’s hard to deny that he seems to approach those bigger problems in the same general way, and that the broader pattern is therefore itself a very big problem, given the nature and demands of the modern presidency.

Conclusions We have frequently criticized the leadership of big health care organizations as ill-informed, incompetent, ignorant of or even hostile to the values of health care professionals, deceptive, self-interested, conflicted or even corrupt. The President of the United States is the country's most important health care leader, since all government agencies that deal with health, health care, health care policy, etc report to him.  Unfortunately, we have previously discussed examples of how the president appeared to be an ill-informed or incompetent health care leader, for example here.  So it would be easy to just say that his responses in his recent interview as discussed above just corroborate this opinion.  However, in his latest interview with a reporter from the New York Times, it was not that the President of the United States deferred on issues of health policy to health policy experts.  It was not that he was evasive, or exaggerated.  It was not that he advocated policies that were controversial.  It was not even that what he said was untrue. As per the title of Levin's commentary, it was that the President created a word salad.  What he said often made no sense. This goes way beyond ill-informed or incompetent leadership as we have used these terms previously.   When we have discussed incompetence, it was in the sense of ordinary English usage.  For example, per Dictionary.com, incompetent means "lacking qualification or ability; incapable."  We have seen many leaders of big health care organizations who did not seem to have adequate qualifications or abilities to run such organizations, even though they might be perfectly intelligent, well-educated, generally capable people.  Such leadership often seemed to be a consequence of the doctrine of managerialism promoted in business schools that people trained in management should lead every type of human organization and endeavor.  Management by people from the disciplines most relevant to the mission and nature of particular organizations should be eschewed.  So managers, not physicians or other health care professionals, should lead health care organizations.  Following that theme, managers, or those like them, rather than health care professionals and health policy experts should lead health policy.  However, managers who run health care organizations, or make policy, have an unfortunate tendency to be ill-informed (as well as unsympathetic if not hostile to health care professionals' value and the health care mission, and subject to perverse incentives that often put short-term revenue ahead of the health of patients and the population.) In one sense, President Trump is the ultimate embodiment of managerialism.  He is a life long businessman, whose highest academic training resulted in an MBA from the Wharton School, with no demonstrated knowledge of or experience in public policy, the law, or the US Constitution.  Yet for years he has felt free to make pronouncements about any subject which caught his eye.  Yet as we first noted here, the problem goes beyond the ignorance about health care of the managerialist health care manager.  How he thinks about health care at times seems incoherent, confused, or demented.  Questions about the President's competence, in terms of his ability to sustain rational thought, have become a national concern (e.g., look here and here.)  An approach to this has got to be devised at the highest levels of US government, but independent of Mr Trump. Meanwhile, in the hope that the country can recover from this, maybe the case of President Trump's word salad will remind us that we have to rethink who should become leaders of health care organizations. Article source:Health Care Renewal

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Spend 50% LESS Effort On Your Plants With These Smarties

Gardening seems like such a relaxing hobby: retired women and men seem to love it with a passion, and lots of families like to take on gardening projects together. You just have to plant the seeds, water regularly, and wait patiently. What could be easier?

Yet a lot of people fail to grow plants successfully! If you take a closer look, there are actually a lot of things that you have to take care of…the humidity of the soil, the amount of sunlight that the plant takes in – which might impact where you plant it – and how much water the plant does and can actually absorb. This “hobby” is actually extremely time-consuming and very easy to fail if you overlook the small details.

So: here at Lifehack, we’d like to introduce you to 10 smart gardening tools and apps so that you can closely monitor your plants, with half the effort. Below, check out our descriptions and the helpful product reviews we’ve collected.

1. Click & Grow Indoor Smart Fresh Herb Garden Kit

This reusable herb garden kit is perfect for busy home cooks who just don’t have the time or perhaps the space to keep up a garden. It’s also incredibly easy to use, because there are no fussy pumps, plant food, or extra parts that you have to worry about. Just get convenient plant cartridges to place in the container, fill up the water reservoir, and plug the device in!

“One word, Amazing!! This plant grower is perfect, it comes with a little app that helps you keep track of your garden. The herbs grew in a question of days and it looks very stylish. Overall, super happy with my purchase and would definitely reccomend!” – Amazon reviewer Andrea Herrera

2. Coltura LED Sunshelf

The Coltura LED Sunshelf is the answer for those aspiring gardeners who don’t live in the appropriate climates or have sufficient space to grow a garden. The light panel provides the plant with the exact amount of light it needs to thrive – blue light stimulates root growth and photosynthesis. Not to mention, it looks totally stylish as an end table for your living room!

“The designer gave me everything I desired for growing plants indoors. It looks like a beautiful piece of furniture but functions exactly as you would want to grow indoor plants. Love the wood accents, the tray to protect the wood are not visible.” – Ginger, a reviewer on www.gardeners.com

3. LED Grow Light

This light is perfect for those who business professionals just want to dip their toes into cultivating plants: it’s best for providing light to individual (or just a few) tabletop, indoor plants. This LED Grow Light would work perfectly in an office, in the kitchen, or anywhere else at home! You can clip, screw, or stick the light anywhere for ease of use.

This is a great product for small plants if you are not looking to spend much money. I have used this now on my Wandering Jew and my African Violets with great success. The Wandering Jew had been badly chewed by my cat and I had to move it to my dimly lit cabinet top where it continued to wither. I purchased this and a few weeks later the Jew had tripled in size and was doing quite nicely. When my violets quit blooming, I can place this light on them for a few weeks and my blooms are back. You are only going to be able to light one plant at a time with this, but the light is very flexible and good for this purpose. I have had no issues leaving it on while sleeping or at work. As others have said, make sure you are m not looking directly at the light and you will be okay! – Amazon reviewer Technically Honest

4. Parrot Pot – Smart, Connected Flower Pot

The Parrot Pot is an automatic watering system for anybody who doesn’t have the time to constantly monitor their plants – parents, grandparents, students, and busy workers. As the perfect “Plant Sitter,” it can optimize water consumption unattended for up to a month; in addition, it can take accurate, real-time measurements about your plant’s health.

“This [pot] doesn’t just notify you when it is time to water, it does it for you, by pumping water up from a reservoir at the bottom and spraying it onto the top of the plant soil. This means all you really have to do on an ongoing basis is fill the water tank every so often. The pot can go up to a month without a refill. This is especially good for people who travel. What do you do when you get notified that you need to water a plant back in North Carolina while you are in a hotel in Wales? That’s right, nothing. This pot waters itself while you are gone.” – Amazon reviewer Sean Logue

5. Lechuza 13380 Cube Color 14 Self-Watering Garden Planter

This self-watering garden planter is perfect for students, with its stylish look and affordable price point. You don’t need to repot when you have the Lechuza Cube. Instead, drop the grow pot into the Lechuza planter and fill the water reservoir. Perfect for indoor use, college students and young professionals saving up can still enjoy the benefits of gardening.

“I buy Lechuza all the time for their quality. I will buy again!” – Amazon reviewer T

6. Covery 3 in 1 Soil Tester Moisture Meter

The Covery soil tester is a must-have for every gardener, especially those beginning gardeners who want to move into a more regular habit. For its modest $10.99 price, this product will help you determine: when you need to water, whether your plant is getting enough sunlight, and whether the pH of the soil is ideal for plant growth. No batteries needed!

“I really thought my husband was throwing money out the window by purchasing the less expensive soil tester. I was proven wrong. The Covery is accurate along side a professional who came and told us the very information this inexpensive meter told us.” – Analiese Nunamaker, Amazon reviewer.

7. ThermoPro TP55 Digital Hygrometer Indoor Thermometer Humidity Gauge

This digital thermometer doubles as a humidity gauge, giving every indoor plant owner the information they need for successful plant growth. Powered by AAA batteries (included), ThermoPro’s digitial hygrometer and thermometer has a backlight and touchscreen for easy reading. It also displays the trend of each reading, which is useful so you can adjust temperature and humidity ahead of time. Switch between Celsius and Fahrenheit readings, depending on what you prefer!

Many people use ThermoPro for purposes beyond gardening!

“This product is great. Love the accuracy that it gives. Needed it for my baby’s room as well as for my room to know the temp of the room and the humidity. So far so good…I can actually tell when the room is dry and then I use the thermo pro to confirm and it does so accurately! Wonderful product at a reasonable price. I brought three of them.” – KiaCam, Amazon reviewer

8. Honeywell HCM350W Germ Free Cool Mist Humidifier

The Honeywell humidifier is beloved widely by people with dry homes! And it’s just as useful for dry homes where plants could use a greater level of humidity to thrive. With QuietCare Performance, this humidifier is extremely quiet and works hard in the background at three possible levels. It runs up to 24 hours before you have to change the filter.

“I finally find a humidifier I can use. At medium speed, it brings up the humidity (from 16 to 25%) in my room and the noise is not too loud so I can sleep.” – NANNAN N LEE, Amazon reviewer

9. House of Plants: Living with Succulents, Air Plants, and Cacti

House of Plants is the perfect example of total plant newbies and urban hipsters alike, written by Rose Ray and Caro Langton and beautiful photography by Erika Rax. In this wonderfully practical guide, you will learn exactly how to take care of succulents, cacti, and air plants, which are very fashionable now. The authors explain how to nurture and enjoy your plants, as well as how to arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing way in your home.

“Useful book to a beginner of indoor gardening. Fun ideas and with instructions on how to make them. Would recommend if someone has seen enough inspirations online and wants to get a book for trusted information.” – Review by an Amazon customer

Featured photo credit: Photo by Rachel Lees on Unsplash via unsplash.com

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