#anyway. feeling victorious in this chili's tonight

[philomelas-tongue-says]

is there a better feeling on this earth than absolutely cleaning up at the secondhand store

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

And now I’ve watched episode 3 of Walker because of reasons. (You guys asked, that’s reasons.) #2

If you guys haven’t seen part 1, go see it immediately. Because of reasons. This time, reasons is Slutty Glitter Cowboy Stripper. No, it’s not a joke.

Yeah, I’m not sure what’s happening either.

I can’t believe they’re airing cowboy strippers in Supernatural’s air slot and Dean Winchester isn’t there. I think this is why they had to kill Dean, because otherwise he would have ripped through the CW’s show layout and appeared in Walker sponteneously, instantly adopting Walker’s entire family and friends as his own and single-handedly implementing the depolicement of the state of Texas, with Castiel rolling his eyes at him in the background while he murders ICE agents at the US-Mexican border.

*slides the CW a twenty euro bill* so I have an idea for season 2 of Walker

Anyway, there’s this lady Walker and Ramirez are doing a stakeout on, a woman called Torreto who is presumably part of some criminal organization since they’re doing a stakeout on her, and who’s bisexual given she was being entertained by a lady and a guy at a strip club. Which is like, fine, not problematic at all, alright.

So the stripper straddles her and is like ~wanna come with me in the back, and she’s like ~maybe another time, and he’s like ~torreto i saw cops outside you probably wanna come to the back with me, and she’s like ~mmm yeah that sounds like a good idea. We were rooting for you, slutty glitter cowboy stripper! We were all rooting for you! Or not.

Meanwhile, Walker has horrible car manners.

Also, he asks her how her parents were to her growing up, which is a question you normally ask to people you’re not close to when you want to do some small talk. For some reason she brings up a friend she had some ~crazy teen years~ with, called Garrison, which doesn’t make me think of angels in Supernatural, no, I am a normal person.

But then people start coming out of the strip club, but not Torreto. So they go in.

Torreto is not there, so Walker just stops the first person he sees and he’s literally like ~excuse me, do you know if there’s someone in the back. The visual is hilarious

“Excuse me, sir, have you seen my brother from another show, I suspect he might be here”

Give me a spinoff about this strip club.

Anyway, the guys answers, “No, why, you two interested?” to which they immediately answer “no!” at the same time, and share a look which makes me think we’re supposed to be like ~~ooh, talking in unison moment! or something...?

Meanwhile their truck gets stolen, and Walker yells that his bobblehead is in there. Cue disgruntled Jared face.

Oh man. We are at the title card. It’s less than 6 minutes. This will never end.

It was night, now it’s day, and Stella and August are walking around Austin. He’s mimicking David Attenborough, describing the teenagers around them as though he was doing a documentary about animals.

Two girls approach them, bringing up a party that’s taking place tomorrow. She says it’s not the best idea with her court date approaching. The girls are like, your dad can figure something out, he’s an elite ranger or something and also owes you for disappearing for a year. She’s like, he’s being kind of cool, I don’t want to ruin this, and the girls “call BS” because this is like “the best party of the year”.

Ruby, the girl August has been hanging out with, appears and August goes from “nah the party is not my thing” to “I’ll totally be there” in like 0.02 seconds.

I cannot overstate how much I am not interested in high schooler drama.

Meanwhile, at the Walker Seniors’ place, Walker’s parents are preparing the table for a family dinner. From their banter we can infer someone’s who ~is like family although he isn’t “blood”~ is coming for dinner and Grandpa Walker doesn’t like him at all and actually expects the guy to steal their china and bourbon. “It’s been years, could you please give him a chance?” Grandma Walker says, and he accepts, although she grabs the fancy bourbon from behind his back.

Meanwhile, at the police station, all the cops are having a briefing about Torreto, the woman at the strip club. She apparently steals weapons all over Texas and sells them over the border at triple the cost. Remember that Torreto escaped from Walker and Ramirez because she stole their truck while they were inside the strip club. Ramirez is worried she’ll already become the laughingstock of the precinct.

Uh. James plays security camera footage from outside the strip club. Walker and Ramirez’ truck was stolen by Torreto and the cowboy stripper himself.

Obviously the other cops laugh when Ramirez admits it was her truck.

James tells them to find Torreto, find the truck, and find out who the naked cowboy is.

I have a bad feeling about this.

Then Walker drives home, and as soon as he gets out of his car, you know how in the Supernatural pilot Dean gets into Sam’s apartment and wrestles him before revealing it’s him to ~test if his fighting skills are rusty and laughs when Sam realizes it’s him? Alright, now think intensely and guess how Walker’s like-a-brother best friend is introduced. Think intensely! It’s really difficult to guess!

Something something about violence and male intimacy except this is too ridiculous to, you know, write something serious about it.

“Oh, man!” the guy laughs, lying on the ground where Walker threw him. “The look on your face!”

“You son of a-”

“Oh, c’mon man, don’t talk bad of a mother I never knew.”

I’m facepalming soooo hard. This is the first thing we learn about him (well, after the fact that he definitely stole something from the Walkers’ house in the past), that he never knew his mother!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

GUYS

I AM SO SORRY

I am faceblind I didn’t realize

THE GUY IS THE STRIPPER

I REPEAT

THE “DEAN BUT IN JARED PADALECKI’S MIND” CHARACTER IS THE SLUTTY GLITTER COWBOY STRIPPER

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

I SWEAR MY HANDS ARE COLD AND CLAMMY

I AM EXPERIENCING EMOTIONS NO WORDS EXIST IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE TO DESCRIBE

Oh my god guys. I am so sorry.

“You did your touchdown victory dance before you stole my partner’s truck!” Walker exclaims. “I should arrest you right here and right now!”

The guy acts like he has no idea what Walker is talking about, and says he’s in town to see his best pal.

Walker keeps accusing him, but then his mother appears, super thrilled to see him, and Walker lets is go.

They’re at dinner (NotDean brought wagyu steaks, which obviously means he does crime for a living) and Walker’s mother tells him to say grace, which he does in a semi-serious, semi-mocking way. Obviously NotDean does not believe in god, but he’s grateful for the people around him.

Stella calls him uncle, in case you missed that this is supposed to be a friend whom Walker loves likeabrother.

He talks about jobs he did here and there, and Walker and his brother tease him asking if he’s been to some prisons around the country. Stella doesn’t get the joke and NotDean explains it to her, adding, “now, from what I hear, I’m not the only outlaw in this family”. Grandpa Walker leaves the room.

NotDean asks Stella if she’s going to the bonfire (the party they were talking about earlier) and tells her that her mother started the thing when they were young. She didn’t know that. This is supposed to be a Meaningful moment.

Meanwhile the stolen truck is found... at Walker’s ranch. Gasp! What a shocking turn of events.

NotDean gives Stella advice on how to act in court to get on the judge’s good graces, “which means acting”. “Please don’t get legal advice from a criminal” walker’s brother Liam says. Is the gay brother also a NotDean of sorts, to be fair? Well, CriminalNotDean tells her to dress her best and cry. ActualbrotherNotDean tells her to use the correct legal arguments. Walker just stops them, quoting something Ramirez said earlier in the episode, “nobody benefits from the easy route”. Stella is like, what does that mean, which, mood, but Grandma Walker interrupts bringing in a plate of different hot chilis. Apparently they have a tradition of a competition. Which we don’t even see. Boo.

Ramirez finds the truck... right outside the Walkers’ house. Grandpa Walker, who’d gone outside, points a rifle to her and she explains what she’s doing there. They introduce themselves and she is like, sir why is the man who stole my truck inside your house? “Wife invited him to dinner.”

She’s like, I need to arrest him. But he’s like, I bet there’s not enough evidence to arrest him, or my son would have done it. Join me for steak and burbon in the bunkhouse! As one does. So they have wagyu and bourbon together, and she asks him what’s the guy’s story.

So NotDean and Walker grew up together, NotDean had a rough life, “my wife has a soft spot for strays, she can’t give up on him”. But Grandpa Walker doesn’t feel the same. He tells her that she cannot arrest him tonight, but it’s only a matter of time before the guy gives her enough rope. He adds that Walker has a blind spot for faces from the past, and needs someone to fix that.

Meanwhile dinner’s over and NotDean calls a uber. He and Walker arrange to meet the next day and hang out like old times. Eventually, Walker tells him that if he is involved in this case, he will have to take him down. “Theoretically, if you catch me.” They do a manly hug with manly pats, and the guy leaves. “Theoretically, go to hell,” Walker says after he’s left.

The next day, NotDean brings Walker to a storage in the middle of nowhere... full of cursed objects, no wait, wrong show. What’s inside the storage is the red Mustang. Walker is shocked that he hasn’t lost it in some bet - which apparently is how he got the car from Walker in the first place. Now NotDean says that, after everything Walker’s been through, he deserves a chance to win it back.

Glowy flashback of Walker and his wife in the car, right after the scene in the beginning of the episode. They bet it during poker night, decision of Emily, because Walker is “starting to get attached to her”. Emily teases him for calling the car a she, and Walker decides to call the car Stella.

They gave their daughter the name of a car they lost at poker.

Oh. She tells him she’s pregnant.

So, apparently, they had their first daughter when they were broke, to the point they had to try and get money at poker for a bigger place and baby things. That’s... kind of irresponsible.

Meamwhile, Ramirez goes to James to tell him about the thing, but James already figured NotDean was involved, because apparently stealing things and returning them is just something he does. “Why are you so calm about this?” she asks. He says because they cannot pin anything on him. Questioning him could scare the big crime lady. So he tells her to just keep an eye on him. “Walker, Torreto or Hoyt [NotDean]” she asks. “Yes” he answers.

Blah blah. I apologize, I’m being too detailed. I’m just bored by this. Ah, a butcher’s truck was stolen right after the strip club thing, guess where NotDean got the wagyu steaks.

Walker and NotDean go to the bar with the bartender who’s their friend, and NotDean flirts with her. They start playing poker, when Ramirez arrives, and has some banter with NotDean and spills some glitter on him that she found in the truck. He buys her a drink and she arrests him for trying to bribe a police officer. Walker is shocked.

At the precinct, he says they cannot prove he’s working with big crime lady. But she brings up he stole the wagyu steaks.

She calls him out for trying to be everyone’s friend even if they do something wrong, also with Stella.

She says she can hold NotDean for 24 hours, long enough to figure out the big crime lady’s plans. Common trope in cop shows. Arrest someone without proof, you have to release them after 24 hours, but the cop finds proof and bam, forgiven for arresting someone without proof.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored too.

Actually, nope, it goes differently and kind of worse. In the interrogation room, Ramirez offers NotDean a deal: he tells her where the big crime lady’s weapon deal is happening, and walks free. He points the location on a map and he compliments her. Walker is watching from the cameras and is shook.

Meanwhile the bonfire is happening, and Stella is there with her girl friends. So is August, breakdancing to impress girls. We don’t care.

Meanwhile, a lot of cops in serious cop gear surround the location NotDean pointed at. Nobody’s there, though.

What is there, is the red Mustang with the creepy bobblehead in it and a letter from NotDean that says he gives him the car back because it was always his wife’s.

Walker figures out where the deal is actually happening - the storage where the red Mustang was before.

Meanwhile, at the bonfire, August is drunk on booze he stole from Grandpa Walker and brought to the party. He asks Stella if she’s trying to drive their father away, breaking the law and all, he asks if she wants him to leave again. Then he throws up. She calls Walker but he obviously doesn’t answer. So she calls her uncle, who’s doing shopping with his partner or something. They’re buying cake? Doing cake testing for their wedding? Maybe.

Meanwhile, NotDean calls Grandma Walker to tell her he cannot go mushroom hunting with her tomorrow but needs to leave town, and he’s sorry to let her down again. She tells him that just because his family’s bad, doesn’t mean he is too. “You saved my boy, and I’ll never forget that” she says. Oooh, that’s so intriguing!, nobody says. They share a cute moment and then he hangs up, while the weapon deal goes down around him.

Uncle Liam and his partner pick up the kids, and Stella asks him if he’ll be in court with her tomorrow. He says he can’t, because it’s her father’s decision to make.

August turns up music and they all sing in the car. It’s funny how everyone’s got better chemistry with everyone else except with Walker. I know it’s, like, on purpose for plot reasons, but still, Walker’s interactions with everyone feel so stilted compared to anyone else. And it’s not the other characters are that compelling.

The police arrives at the location of the weapon deal, and NotDean gets arrested trying to steal the truck again. Ramirez gives a speech how that’s hard but it’s the right thing to do. Walker makes a comment about tough love, implying Stella needs to get that too.

The next day, they leave for Stella’s court thing on the red Mustang. It took Walker three episodes, but now they also have a cool classic car to show off! Yay! *eyeroll*

Meanwhile, Grandma Walker and Grandpa Walker have a conversation about their failing marriage or something.

Ramirez goes to the bar to apologize to the bartender for arresting NotDean. They have a drink together and if lesbians were watching this they’d start shipping them, but no lesbians are watching this. They’re wiser than me.

Stella got like a gazillion hours of community service and her license suspended. She’s upset, but since she has her license for one more day he teaches her how to drive the Mustang.

Wait. Americans don’t learn to drive normal cars when they get their license?? They only learn to drive cars with automatic gear?? What the hell??

They drive while August runs after the car to get over his hangover or something.

Would be a cute moment if the entire thing wasn’t so cheesy and weird.

Well. We know NotDean is a recurring role so we’ll see more of him. (Well, I’m not sure I will be there to watch, because this is boring af.)

This episode used all its interest coins in the strip club scene and then became dreadfully boring. I don’t even have some witty line to close this post.

This was a rollercoaster that went my brain go through a blender in the first six minutes or so and then killed the remaining braincells through boredom.

That’s it guys. What can I say. This is the CW’s Walker. Yee.

[notapaladin]

so say you’ll stay with me tonight (redux)

Hey, it’s ANOTHER fic I couldn’t leave alone because I wasn’t satisfied! This one fits the vibe I was going for better and is also like 2k words longer. In which Acatl has a bad day, but Teomitl walks him home and his night is so much better.

Original version here.

Also on AO3.

-

Tizoc is—regrettably—still Emperor today. Acatl’s trying very hard not to let it bother him, but it’s hard not to when the man has summoned all three High Priests and the master engineers to discuss his plans for the grand new renovation of the Great Temple currently underway. The renovation which, yes, is likely necessary, but not now. Not yet. It’s only been a year and a half since the plague. He meets Acamapichtli and Quenami’s gazes sidelong and knows they know it too.

Not that they say anything, of course. Cowards. Cowards and fools. Acatl shifts on his mat, calves aching, and grinds his teeth. (He wishes he were braver.)

They’re arrayed around a series of blueprints, some of them dating back to the very first iteration of the Great Temple. Wards and glyphs have been drawn in the corners of the later ones—the High Priests’ predecessors having planned ahead for their successors—but the oldest ones have no such guidelines. If those are damaged, they’ll have to use their best judgement. Or, more likely, the contents of the Temple archives which Quenami keeps under wards so heavy they give Acatl a nosebleed. The engineers don’t care about any of that; their job is solely to satisfy the Revered Speaker. One of them is currently leaning over a rendition of the current temple, gesturing to make his point. “Of course, my lord, if you wish the most dazzling effect for the end pieces it would be best to place the support beams for the underlying structure here and here, but...”

Tizoc’s eyes narrow. “But?”

“Ah. It may be less structurally sound. Not that it would collapse immediately, you understand, but in ten or fifteen years’ time...”

“Bah! I’ll handle it then. We can always remake it.”

Or you’ll leave it for your successor to handle? You’ll make Teomitl deal with this? His jaw tightens.

“As you wish, my lord. Now, that will require the scaffolding poles to be driven into the previous layer—yes, Acatl-tzin?”

He must have made an involuntary noise. Swallowing back the first three or four protestations that come to mind (there are so many wards written and carved into that layer which would have to be dismantled completely and the gods only know if they’re dependent on older ones, if even a single brick of Coyolxauhqui’s prison is exposed to moonlight all the hearts’ blood in the world won’t keep them safe), he says...

Nothing. He says nothing. Tizoc—he won’t distinguish the man with a -tzin, not anymore, not after what he did to Tlaloc’s clergy—is studying him like a particularly disgusting bug, and he thinks of his own priests and loses all his nerve. He shakes his head silently.

The engineers continue. Quenami, naturally, has plenty of suggestions. Yes, those dimensions for the new foundation are pleasing. Yes, of course there will be no problem procuring the limestone and basalt. Yes, it will be easy for us (this with a gloating look at Acamapichtli and Acatl that makes the High Priest of Tlaloc’s eyes go dark and furious and makes Acatl himself entertain vivid fantasies of strangulation) to weave the wards anew. There will be nothing to fear. All will know and glory to the name of Tizoc-tzin, who made the Temple great again.

And Tizoc preens. He knows nothing of wards or of magic beyond the most basic things they teach all noblemen’s children in the calmecac, and so he knows nothing of why everything he’s proposing is immensely dangerous for the safety of their world. He has never descended into the depths of the Temple to stand atop Coyolxauhqui’s prison and feel her hatred, her rage. He doesn’t care. He simply wants it expanded now, before anyone can somehow steal his glory—not that he says that, of course, but it shines greasily through in every word. Acatl tries very hard to let his voice wash over him without picking out specifics. That way lies only impotent fury, and they simply aren’t stable enough yet that he can risk drawing Tizoc’s ire. He may have Teomitl’s fondest regard, but Teomitl is still only Master of the House of Darts. Soon, he thinks. Soon.

“My lord, of course we can redo the steps down to the center as well, but...”

“Out with it.”

“Will we have enough sacrifices to remake the wards on them? They will need to be incised into the stone—”

Tizoc’s voice rises to a pitch that reminds him of a peccary with a chest cold. “You dare ask me that? Have we not won great victories? Have we not brought back dozens, hundreds of sacrifices already? Do you doubt the strength and valor of our armies?”

...Not soon enough.

He shifts again, allowing himself a brief grimace at the ache in his back and thighs. They’ve never been the same since his sojourn in the Heartlands. Every day he looks at Tizoc and thinks, I can’t believe I fought Itzpapalotl for your sake. But he did, and now they have a Revered Speaker who leads their warriors to be slaughtered and calls ir victory. He doubts whether Tizoc’s ever personally captured a prisoner in his life.

Teomitl could bring back more than enough captives, he thinks, if you only got out of his way and let him lead your army the way he’s supposed to. Between Teomitl and Neutemoc, he’s started to gain some secondhand knowledge of battle strategy, enough to understand that the relative failures of the campaigns under Tizoc’s reign are due in large part to the man’s own mix of paranoid micromanagement and reckless overconfidence. Teomitl’s not at all shy in voicing his opinions on it.

The engineer is sweating now. Rumors buzz like flies in the palace, and they say that the last person who publicly gainsaid the Revered Speaker simply disappeared. No official investigation was made, but that man’s widow had nevertheless been brave enough to contact Acatl. He didn’t find any magical residue, but of course that didn’t rule out foul play. They’d both known who the culprit was anyway. But this man is smarter or more cowardly, and so he lowers his head and says, “Never, my lord. They still sing of your latest campaign in the streets. It is merely that the reconsecration of the Great Temple is vital, and I wished to know whether you desired extra protection for the boundaries.”

If Tizoc was an intelligent man, he would say yes. The boundaries are still weak, terribly weak, due simply to his presence. Though they’ve been sewn up—thank the gods for Mihmatini—they’re far from impermeable. Acatl can feel them wiggle like a loose tooth if he presses too hard. And the Great Temple is their best and largest anchor with such a weak Revered Speaker on the throne. Until Teomitl is crowned, they need all the help they can get to keep the stars in the sky and She of the Silver Bells in chains.

Tizoc is not an intelligent man. He scoffs, shaking his head in a manner horribly reminiscent of Teomitl at his most arrogant. Except this is worse, because Teomitl has good qualities to make up for it. Tizoc has none. “That won’t be necessary. My High Priests will have it well in hand, won’t you?”

Quenami takes it upon himself to speak for them all. “Of course, my lord.”

Acatl remains silent. He can’t bear to look at Quenami just yet or he might snap, but when he turns his head he catches Acamapichtli’s eye and realizes he knows that expression. It’s the same one he almost certainly has on his own face. How dare he? After what Tizoc did to your clergy, and what he’s doing to the boundaries, he has the nerve to make our jobs even harder? And it will certainly be their jobs, because if Quenami bestirs himself for anything short of Coyolxauhqui physically manifesting on the Temple steps, Acatl will eat his own sandals. Without chili sauce.

Tizoc waves a hand. “You see? Proceed.”

The two engineers exchange looks before the man dubbed unofficial spokesman nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

&

It’s late by the time they get out of that meeting, and all he can think is that he does not want to spend one more second within the palace walls. He wants his own house, and his own mat, and his—

Well. He wants Teomitl. In general he doesn’t want to be alone, but in specific he wants Teomitl—wants to wrap his arms around him, hold him close, kiss that soft and smiling mouth. They haven’t made any promises or put words on what they are to each other. Teomitl’s optimism so far hasn’t extended itself to that, and Acatl isn’t sure he can be the first one to say it. But he knows his own heart well enough to tell how he feels. How he’s been feeling ever since that first day months ago, when Teomitl had turned back from that view of the city on his temple steps and smiled at him.

(Not, admittedly, that he’d said anything. Not then. It had taken them weeks of meeting for meals, of watching Teomitl patch up his relationship with Mihmatini, of nearly giving up—for surely he had no right to come between them. Of staring at his mouth and wondering what it might be like to kiss it. Had it not been for Teomitl showing up at his door the night before he left for his next campaign, he might still be wondering.)

His—lover? He supposes that’s the best word—is somewhere in the palace, but Acatl hasn’t seen him all day. This mess with the Great Temple has taken up all his time. He’s seriously debating the idea of going to look for him. Of finding him wherever he’s been spending his time, pulling him aside, telling him...

I want you.

I missed you.

Come home with me.

That idea makes his face heat. They’ve stolen plenty of time together, but never has Teomitl spent the night at his house. (He doesn’t count that time after Axayacatl’s death. He’d been asleep for that, and also still so deep in denial that he wouldn’t have been able to find his way out with a tall ladder and a map.) To do that now would be...well. His eyes have been opened, and he’s fairly sure they wouldn’t be spending too much time sleeping.

“Acatl!”

He jolts; he’s been so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear those impatient, beloved footfalls approaching from behind. The hallway is empty, so he doesn’t have that excuse either. Something in his heart clicks and settles into warm contentment as he turns around. “Teomitl,” he says, and adds—because it’s the truth—“I was just thinking about you.”

Teomitl doesn’t quite blush, but his smile goes measurably warmer around the edges. He looks good all in red and white, with gold earflares and a simple gold lip plug that draws Acatl’s eye to the curve of his lower lip. He’s loosened his hair and taken out the feather ornaments, so he must have finished his own work. “And I was just looking for you. Are you all done for the day?”

“...Unless some emergency beckons, yes.” He really hopes it doesn’t. Duality, just give him one night.

“I’m glad.” And Teomitl draws closer, slowing his pace to match. “Heading home?”

He nods, and then takes a breath. There’s no reason for him to be nervous, but asking for it while knowing what he wants makes his heart beat a little faster anyway. “Walk with me?”

Teomitl beams, and somehow he falls even deeper in love. “Of course.”

They’re quiet for a while. He knows he could break the silence; now that he’s fallen into the habit of speaking his feelings out loud with Teomitl, his lover always has an understanding ear to lend when he needs to unleash his frustrations. It had been a pleasant surprise to curse Quenami’s name and have Teomitl spare no vitriol in his own assessment of the man’s character. But it feels good just to walk side by side with him, and he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. Besides, walls in the palace always have ears, and he’s sure it would get back to Tizoc somehow. Instead he focuses on the warmth of Teomitl’s body next to his, almost close enough to touch. The scent of lingering copal incense and sun-warmed skin reaches him and he thinks, Oh, this is nice. (It could be nicer. They could be holding hands. But they have to be discreet, still, and so he can’t risk it.)

(Gods, he wants to see Teomitl crowned.)

It’s not until they leave the palace that Teomitl says, “So. Tizoc’s still going ahead with his...refurbishment.”

Acatl grimaces. “Indeed.”

“Didn’t listen to any of the reasons why he shouldn’t.”

He bites his lip. “I...”

Teomitl turns to look at him, frowning, but then understanding dawns. “...I see.” He looks like he wants to say something else—probably something angry—but all he does is sigh and shake his head. “I tried too, and he brushed me aside. He’s only thinking of his legacy and not what it might do to us. It’s probably for the best that you didn’t say anything; he’d think we were conspiring against him.”

Acatl considers this. Looks at him.

Teomitl looks mildly offended. “I did say I’d give him time.”

“You did.” And he slides his fingers against the back of Teomitl’s hand to show he’s not upset, nor holding a grudge. After all, he’d meant it when he’d said there was no need for apologies between them. It has the desired effect, because Teomitl’s eyes grow warm and bright.

And then he leans in and murmurs, “Unless you’d rather I not.”

“Teomitl,” he huffs, but he can’t be mad. Teomitl’s wearing the half-grin that means he’s not entirely serious—that says yes, he might still kill his own brother on Acatl’s orders, but it’s far more important to him that Acatl has asked him not to. Acatl trusts that now. “Please don’t.” After a moment’s thought he adds, “At least warn me and Mihmatini first when you do.”

Now Teomitl’s really smiling, though it’s somewhat rueful. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. You know that.”

“I do.” He angles himself as he walks so that their arms brush and lets the tenderness he feels color his voice. I know you, my heart. And he’s suddenly more than mildly annoyed that they’re still in the Sacred Precinct, because the way Teomitl is looking at him with soft, shining eyes desperately makes him wish he could kiss him right here. If he were braver, he thinks he might even risk it; he knows where the shadows of the temple gates will hide them from prying eyes, and he knows how sweetly Teomitl presses against him when he’s pleased.

Though he says nothing, it must show on his face, because Teomitl takes advantage of the camouflage provided by their billowing cloaks to firmly lace their fingers together. His voice lowers, rich with promise. “We should fetch dinner before we reach your place. Unless you want to cook? I hope you do; we’ll need our energy.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s blushing. “I. Um.”

“Well?”

“...I leave a pot of stew on the hearth in the morning.” It’s a habit he’s gotten into since Tizoc’s begun these building preparations; they often go long enough that he’s ravenous by the time they’re over, and utterly unwilling to expend any more brainpower on exactly how to fill his stomach. It’s hard to overcook stew, after all. “Though I don’t know if it will be to your taste—”

Teomitl holds up a hand to stop him. “Acatl. You know my feelings on your cooking.”

He snorts, shaking his head. They’ve had this conversation before. “I still think you flatter me far too much.”

Teomitl pokes his side teasingly. “And I think you underestimate the effects of a meal made with care and devotion by a man I trust above all others in the Empire.” Acatl’s heart skips a beat, so of course the moment’s ruined when he follows it up with, “I’d eat what you made if it came out as charcoal.”

“Well, hopefully this won’t be that bad.” Honesty compels him to add, “It may be a bit spicy. I wasn’t expecting company when I put it all together.”

Teomitl huffs, “I can handle spice!”

He makes a mental note to serve plenty of flatbread on the side.

&

It’s not far to his home, and the stew—mostly beans and corn, with a long-simmering and very tough haunch of dog from an earlier sacrifice thrown in to cook until tender—is just about done when he takes it off the fire. Teomitl clearly wants to help, but after a moment’s searching forces him to realize he has no idea where Acatl keeps anything, he takes himself out to the courtyard with a terribly put-upon sigh. It’s adorable. Acatl wants to kiss his cheek.

So when he sets down their bowls, he does. Teomitl promptly blushes, which is so endearing that Acatl has to kiss him again. On the mouth this time, which turns long and lingering before Teomitl slowly pulls away. “Mmhm. Not that I’m complaining, but what prompted this?”

He really only needs one hand to eat, so he’s free to settle the other at Teomitl’s waist and revel in the way the man nestles against his side. (It’s no longer surprising that Teomitl is so tactile, but it will always—always—be delightful.) “I missed you.”

Because he had. Every time Tizoc had opened his mouth, he’d thought you are unworthy of your crown. Every time Quenami had worn that supercilious smirk of his, he’d thought Teomitl would never let you get away with that. He’d felt himself alone, and he’d wanted his lover by his side. Now that he is, there’s something going soft and warm in Acatl’s chest. They’d definitely be kissing again if it wasn’t for the stew, which he knows won’t be nearly as good cold.

Teomitl presses a kiss to his cheek, which makes him blush in turn, but then he’s applying himself to his dinner. Acatl waits as he takes the first spoonful.

To give him credit, his beloved doesn’t flinch. But he does turn red, and when Acatl hands him a piece of plain flatbread he shoves it into his mouth as though his life depends on it. When he can talk again, his voice is a little rough. “That’s—not bad.” And then, ruefully, “I should have expected that.”

“Mm.” He thinks briefly of seeing whether there’s anything else he could serve, but he knows Teomitl will turn it down. Even now, his lover thinks his own limits are mere suggestions.

It’s a quiet meal. Teomitl settles more firmly against him as they eat, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, and the promise of it makes him shiver. I won’t be suggesting he go home tonight, he thinks, and knows it for the truth. The silence between them feels good—feels comfortable—but though he doesn’t want to spoil it, there’s something he knows he has to say.

The sun is setting, bathing them in twilight. Their bowls are scraped clean, even Teomitl’s. (With the aid, Acatl can’t help but notice, of several cups of water and all of the flatbread.) Teomitl himself is resting his head on his shoulder, looking utterly content with his lot in life. Warm, callused fingers are tracing slow circles on his thigh. Even the air feels peaceful, with just enough of a breeze to keep them cool but not enough to raise the dust. Acatl takes a deep breath and realizes he’s not afraid. Maybe he should be—maybe this is too much, he’s moving too quickly—but he isn’t. Not with his man by his side. Haven’t they come this far?

“I love you,” he whispers, and it comes out so quietly that at first he doesn’t think Teomitl’s heard him. But then it must sink in, because Teomitl’s muscles tense, his eyes widen, and Acatl has a miniature eternity to think Oh, fuck. He’s wrong. This is too fast. Teomitl isn’t that serious about him. Hastily, he opens his mouth, scrambling to take it back.

Then Teomitl smiles, soft as the dawn, and breathes, “I love you, too.”

Oh. Oh, thank the Duality.

Teomitl turns towards him and they’re kissing again, and this time it’s much less sweet. There is some restraint—while Teomitl’s not precisely shy, he’s well aware of Acatl’s vows and has never pressed them—but it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world to be tumbled backwards on the mat, to have strong hands buried in his hair, to feel the heat and the faintest suggestion of teeth in each press of Teomitl’s mouth down his throat. And yet, for all that, there’s still a gentleness to it, because he’s loved. And better than that, he’s respected. If he asked Teomitl to stop, he knows he would.

He doesn’t think he’s going to ask Teomitl to stop. He arches into another kiss, letting his head fall back, and breathes, “We should...nnh...” Words fail him, because there’s a featherlight press of lips to his collarbone and it’s a lovely little spark of pleasure.

“Mm?”

He shivers in anticipation at the warmth in his lover’s eyes. No, there’s no hesitation in his mind anymore. “Let’s go inside.” He swallows. “If you want to continue this.”

Teomitl jerks back a little to look at him. For an instant he looks surprised, but then the smile on his face turns teasing. “Oh, I do. But it’s getting late, and you should sleep.”

He’s suddenly very, very aware of his lover’s weight on him—of the way they’re touching, pressed together from very nearly the waist downwards, and how the building heat in his blood is moving with purpose. He shifts, rolling his hips a fraction, and feels Teomitl twitch in response. “I’m not that tired.”

Teomitl grins, all wicked hope. “Want me to help you with that?”

He sucks in a breath. I took vows is his first thought. But it’s followed fast by a second, stronger one—I don’t care. So instead of answering in words, he pulls Teomitl into a hungry, searing kiss.

He’s honestly not entirely clear on how they manage to get inside. While he’d be glad to kiss Teomitl forever, his lover is the sort of impatient man who comes up with plans; they’re barely on his sleeping mat before Teomitl’s scattering their cloaks and working at the knots to their loincloths, letting his hands roam shamelessly over every inch of bare skin. Acatl’s not idle; though he might kill something for a light so he could at least see the unveiled glory that is his naked lover, he’s free to map out the lay of the land with his palms.

And gods, but Teomitl melts into each touch. If he were the jaguar Acatl sometimes thinks of him as, he might even be purring. Experimentally he draws his nails down Teomitl’s back, and is rewarded when he moans into their kiss. “Mmm...”

Then there are warm, callused fingers trailing down his chest and he can’t quite muster up the ability to feel smug anymore when they find one nipple and start toying with it. “Oh, gods,” he gasps—he hadn’t thought he’d be sensitive there, but Teomitl is very effectively proving him wrong. He’s been half-hard since the moment his loincloth hit the floor, and Teomitl’s hands are getting him the rest of the way there. It’s even better when Teomitl moves to straddle him, half so they can grind against each other and half so his free hand can skate down the plane of his stomach.

Their eyes meet, and Acatl feels himself flush at the look in Teomitl’s eyes, the one that says without words that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You feel perfect.”

“Flatterer...mmm...” That one hand is sliding lower, shameless, and he wriggles a little to press their cocks together. He wishes again for light, but smoothing his hands over the solid muscles of his lover’s back and down over his frankly glorious ass will have to do. Teomitl must enjoy it, because his whole body trembles—and then Acatl’s being kissed, long and slow, and he arches with an utterly wanton groan.

“You are incredible,” Teomitl breathes when they pull apart. “Tell me how you want me to please you.” Acatl has to blush a little at that—it’s hardly as though Teomitl ought to need instruction, when he’s so hard against him and surely that presents a few obvious ideas—but well, he is asking. He’s owed an answer.

Still, saying it out loud makes him squirm. His skin feels like it’s on fire as he mutters, “...Touch me.” He rolls his hips, and his lover’s eyes spark fire. He doesn’t need to say anything else; Teomitl takes him in hand, and the friction that had been merely good builds into something he can fall into, something that sends pleasure coiling through his veins.

“Like this?” Teomitl’s setting a steady pace, fingers rippling; he needs his other hand to brace himself on the mat, bringing him in range to punctuate his words with a hungry mouth on Acatl’s collarbone. It scatters Acatl’s thoughts to the four winds; helpless, he scratches down Teomitl’s back again, and this time the vibrations of his lover’s moan sinks into his skin.

More, he thinks, and yes. He barely recognizes his own voice when it leaves his mouth. “Nngh, yes—no, wait, wait, I want to—” It’s not a want but a physical need, bone-deep, that has him working his hand between them to wrap around both their cocks at once. Teomitl’s roughly the same size but a little thicker, all rock-hard heat under his palm, and when he squeezes it pulls the most amazingly wrecked noise out of him.

“Oh,” Teomitl gasps. In the darkness, his eyes are wide with stunned hunger; his hips shudder, rocking in unconscious little circles like he’s not sure whether he should be letting Acatl set the pace or not.

“Like this,” he pants. All that stroking had been pleasurable, yes, but he needs to feel it properly when Teomitl falls apart against him, under his hand, sliding past his own cock with each thrust. He wonders, briefly, how it would feel with Teomitl inside him—but then Teomitl’s hand leaves his shaft to slide lower, and the first purposeful caress to his balls makes him whine.

Teomitl’s smug, “Hah,” comes out as more of a gasp than anything else. Even the attempt at a self-satisfied smirk is erased in the next instant because Acatl leans in to nip at his throat and grinds his hips up, a firm stroke making their cocks pulse in his grip, and his head falls back with a shaky cry. “Gods, keep doing that—”

Acatl hums against his lover’s skin. “Is this how you like it?” he breathes. There aren’t words for the feelings coursing through him, lust and the mounting lightning of his own pleasure mingling with a fierce joy that he’s the one doing this for Teomitl, that it’s his mouth and hands that are pulling such sweet sounds from his lover. A little more, he thinks. A little more. I need to see your face.

He gets his wish a moment later; no doubt Teomitl has a warrior’s stamina, but it can’t last against the way Acatl’s handling him. He gets increasingly vocal as he nears his peak, wordless cries ringing in the night air as Acatl bites at his shoulder. When he mouths a red mark into the thin skin at his collarbone, Teomitl nearly sobs. “Yes—yes, gods, Acatl—” Then he’s coming, hard and fast and all at once, spilling himself over their hands and bodies, and his voice cracks into a desperate keen.

It’s perfect. He’s still unfulfilled, but he almost doesn’t care. Almost. After a moment where Teomitl’s catching his breath and he thinks he might have to seek his own pleasure, his lover is grinning hot and hungrily down at him and oh gods, now that he’s not distracted by what Acatl’s doing with him he proves merciless. He settles back on his haunches, freeing both hands to squeeze and stroke and pump Acatl’s throbbing flesh, and all Acatl can do is take it. “Nnnh, Teomitl, please...”

“That’s it,” Teomitl breathes, and if it wasn’t so awestruck it would be a royal order. It feels like a royal order,  like the words of the gods themselves when he growls, “Come for me, Acatl-tzin.”

He does. He can’t do anything else. It’s shattering knife-edge pleasure that pulls all his thoughts out of his head; for a small eternity, he can’t even feel his own limbs, lost in the white-hot spasms of his own release. Awareness filters back in slowly; there’s Teomitl slowly petting his thighs, there’s his hands settling at his lover’s hips. And there, shining in the darkness, is Teomitl’s tender gaze.

“...Duality,” he manages breathlessly. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but thank You. Thank You for this gift.

“We made a mess,” Teomitl murmurs. With a downright wicked smirk, he drags his fingers through it and slowly licks them clean.

Spent as he is, it still makes Acatl’s cock twitch. He has to close his eyes lest he do something that...well, something that seems like a very good idea, to be honest, but his body is letting him know he’d regret it later. He’s not that young anymore. “Teomitl.”

“You taste good.” It’s almost—almost—innocent, but then Teomitl does it again and that’s not innocent at all.

He draws in a shuddering breath. “I need to recover, damn you. Give me a moment before you do things like that!”

“I just wanted to clean us up, but you’re right.” Teomitl kisses him again, slowly, and he can taste himself on his lips. “I won’t tease, love.”

Love. He smiles at that, feeling his face warm. “You’d better not, after being so concerned about my sleep schedule.” It comes out as more of a mumble than anything else; he’s forgotten how draining orgasms can be, especially on a full stomach after a long day. Sleep really is sounding very tempting.

“Mmm.” It’s a warm, utterly contented hum. Even when Teomitl pulls away to clean them both up properly with a cotton towel, he doesn’t go far; indeed, the cleanup itself is slow and tender and interspersed with long, gentle kisses.

Acatl responds as best he can, but he really is very tired. When Teomitl slides his arms around him, it’s all he can do to nuzzle into his chest. “Mmhm.” He feels boneless. Weightless. Teomitl is stroking his hair, and he never wants it to stop. “Teomitl...”

Teomitl’s arms loosen. “I...” he begins.

He knows what Teomitl’s going to say—I should go, I shouldn’t be here in the morning. He knows it would be a good and prudent idea. He also knows he’s not going to let that happen. Not after the night they’ve shared; not after the love they’ve shared. “Stay,” he says.

Teomitl stays.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Its been too long since I read the books and last time I saw the movies I was on denethor is a dick to my baby, let the man die. However, now I'm curious, since I remembered for instance that in the books he was devastated when he thought faramir died and your last reblog about that made me rethink my whole stance. Could you give me more positive denethor moments, or do I have to read the books again?

God I- I need so much for you all to understand how much I love asks like this, for PURELY selfish reasons, I just LOVE the idea of people like... doing what I do! Which is think about lotr and it’s characters and consider them in new angles and have fun with that! I feel connection and love in this chili’s tonight- ANYWAY. 

To be clear, Denethor is one of my favourite characters, like JUST below Boromir in how much I love him and how furious I am with his portrayal in the films. I have a tag for him here that has a lot of good posts all about it. But positive moments for Denethor, yes ok! Lets start with my favourite quote from Denethor because it completely encompasses his- literally his ENTIRE book character;

In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the hardihood to die free.

Do you feel all the love and pride in his people and all the folk of middle earth who’re resisting this seemingly impossible threat? Even unto their inevitable end? Do you see the inherent belief that this is an unwinnable war, and yet how Denethor has remained Gondor’s greatest and most stalwart defender for all these years? GOD I do- ‘dying free’ is a VERY important sentiment that also puts a lot of his later, seemingly ‘mad’, actions into a much more understandable light. BUT I WILL TRY to not make this too much of a dissertation, god willing. SO! Onto Pippin’s swearing!

'Little service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt.' Twitching aside his grey cloak, Pippin drew forth his small sword and laid it at Denethor's feet. 

A pale smile, like a gleam of cold sun on a winter's evening, passed over the old man's face; but he bent his head and held out his hand, laying the shards of the horn aside. 'Give me the weapon!' he said. Pippin lifted it and presented the hilt to him. 'Whence came this?' said Denethor. 'Many, many years lie on it. Surely this is a blade wrought by our own kindred in the North in the deep past?' 

'It came out of the mounds that lie on the borders of my country,' said Pippin. 'But only evil wights dwell there now, and I will not willingly tell more of them.' 

'I see that strange tales are woven about you,' said Denethor, 'and once again it is shown that looks may belie the man – or the halfling. I accept your service. For you are not daunted by words; and you have courteous speech, strange though the sound of it may be to us in the South. And we shall have need of all folk of courtesy, be they great or small, in the days to come.’

The film really had no idea what to do with Pippin offering his service to Denethor as- well essentially an acknowledgement and an honouring of Boromir’s sacrifice for him. Because the Denethor in the film would have scorned it, but it’s an important plot point, so it’s just kinda in there awkwardly and uncomfortably. This is because Denethor genuinely appreciates Pippin’s gesture, his son died for this hobbit! But Pippin is fervent and honest and Denethor can tell! Denethor is grateful, he empathises! These are not traits film!denethor possessed, so we get the.... tomato... scene.... BUT ONWARDS, I consider this a positive scene, simply because Denethor and Gandalf’s rivalry in the books is just so much FUNNIER and interesting than in the films;

'And you, my Lord Mithrandir, shall come too, as and when you will. None shall hinder your coming to me at any time, save only in my brief hours of sleep. Let your wrath at an old man's folly run off and then return to my comfort!' 

'Folly?' said Gandalf. 'Nay, my lord, when you are a dotard you will die. You can use even your grief as a cloak. Do you think that I do not understand your purpose in questioning for an hour one who knows the least, while I sit by?' 

'If you understand it, then be content,' returned Denethor. 'Pride would be folly that disdained help and counsel at need; but you deal out such gifts according to your own designs. Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made the tool of other men's purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man's, unless the king should come again.'

LIKE. IT’S FUNNY! Essentially Denethor’s like ‘oh ho I’m just an auld man dont be angry with me Gandy’ and Gandalf’s like ‘Denethor when you are ENFEEBLED by age you will DIE out of spite alone’ and Denethor’s like ‘OH FINE if you want to be that way, but you’re bloody annoying to deal with and I don’t TRUST you wholly so DEAL with it,’ And again we get Denethor’s like whole deal! Gondor is what he is here to defend! It’s his entire purpose in life! He doesn’t trust that Gandalf’s not going to use him for his own ends to the detriment of Gondor itself, which Gandalf LITERALLY admits he’d do in the next paragraph. Because he says ‘he’s the steward of everything, not just gondor’ which on the one hand is like, yeah, we get that, but you can understand Denethor’s perspective too. WHICH IS. GOOD CHARACTERISATION FOLKS!

'[Osgiliath] was 'It was a city,' said Beregond, 'the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms.a city,' said Beregond, 'the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms.’

This is just like a little thing but I think it’s just kinda important to emphasise that Denethor wasn’t just a politician, he bled heavily for Gondor’s safety too and the retaking of Osgiliath was an incredibly important victory that Denethor achieved for Gondor’s safety as a whole. Anyway SPEAKING of the tomato scene- god this really does entirely emphasise the difference between Film!Denethor and Book!Denethor;

‘Can you sing?' 

Yes,' said Pippin. 'Well, yes, well enough for my own people. But we have no songs fit for great halls and evil times, lord. We seldom sing of anything more terrible than wind or rain. And most of my songs are about things that make us laugh; or about food and drink, of course.' 

'And why should such songs be unfit for my halls, or for such hours as these? We who have lived long under the Shadow may surely listen to echoes from a land untroubled by it? Then we may feel that our vigil was not fruitless, though it may have been thankless.'

In the end Pipping doesn’t sing for him but like?? Look SEE LIKE. It’s not MEAN, Denethor is in general sardonic and kinda harsh and frustrating in tone but he’s not dismissive or uncharitable or heartless; he’s interested, he likes TALKING to Pippin, he likes to hear about the world! Songs about food and drink and weather are fine! Of course they have merit!

'Not – the Dark Lord?' cried Pippin, forgetting his place in his terror. Denethor laughed bitterly. 'Nay, not yet, Master Peregrin! He will not come save only to triumph over me when all is won. He uses others as his weapons. So do all great lords, if they are wise, Master Halfling. Or why should I sit here in my tower and think, and watch, and wait, spending even my sons? For I can still wield a brand.'

Do you hEAR the bitterness in these lines? How he has to SIT here and WAIT as he sends his loved ones to die- but he has too, he HAS to do this, it’s not new, he’s been sending his sons to their probably deaths for years, and god he wishes he could be a reckless man and just ride out himself again but there IS no one to step into his place if he should be lost and Gondor just can’t take that! IT’S cOMPELLING. And so... now we’ll end on the part you mentioned, which really is like... AGONISING, it’s heartbreaking, especially after Denethor’s manners and character up until this point, sharp, sardonic, dauntless, uncowed by ever new loss, every new defeat, Boromir’s death even did not crack him completely but now-

And as [Pippin] watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was overthrown. Grief maybe had wrought it, and remorse. He saw tears on that once tearless face, more unbearable than wrath. 

'Do not weep, lord,' he stammered. 'Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?' 

'Comfort me not with wizards!' said Denethor. 'The fool's hope has failed. The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous. 

'I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out.'

 Men came to the door crying for the Lord of the City. 'Nay, I will not come down,' he said. 'I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay.' 

I’ll NEVER forgive the appropriation of the ‘my line is ending’ line, he doesn’t MEAN that he’s grieving the loss of his lineage, he’s grieving the loss of his WHOLE COUNTRY, of his people! As well as his son! And in this final moment with him his priorities of heart surface, where his people are banging desperately at his door, begging for their Lord to come to their aide, he refuses, because Faramir is far more important to him in this moment. 

I said I wasn’t going to make this a dissertation but WHATEVER, there you are anon, hope it’s what you wanted than thANK YOU AGAIN for the ask :)

[jamkookies]

Peek-A-Boo!

Description :  A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 2.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are seven pairs of eyes watching you expectantly and you don’t know where to look. This is definitely not what you had been thinking when Tae told you about having to pick a room.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Namjoon says as a matter of fact.

“Why? Should I be somewhere else?”

“Y/N, how many times do we have to explain? ” Jin interferes. “You are supposed to go outside and wait for us to hide in our rooms. Then you can come in and choose your own.”

You deadpan.

“I’m honestly suffering from jet - lag and I’m so tired and I really wanna get this over with, ” you say in a seemingly careless way, but the truth is you are internally panicking. The possibility of you sharing a room with Jungkook had you feeling on edge.

You didn’t understand what the hell was wrong with you. This wasn’t the first time you had to be close to him or to any other member. Living with them for five years sure had it’s own effect.

Then what exactly had changed?

Why did you keep looking at him in another light? Why did you feel your stomach sink every time you threw a glance his way?

And look, you didn’t even need to specify who him was, because there was no other to begin with. Just him.

You shake your head, trying to shake off the thoughts too.

This wasn’t the time. You had to stick to your plan. Act unbothered, be unbothered.

“Look, hyung. She’s scheming.” Taehyung observed you like you were a wild animal.

You took this in your own advantage.

“ I am so gonna get that single room. Just watch,” you said with a false sense of self-confidence.

You stomp off the room and get out into the hallway.

You wait until one of the staff members opens the door again and lets you in.

You carefully step inside, making your feet light on the floor so as not to give away your location.

You pace in the living room and then you think of something. You stomp your feet hard on the floor and wait for any other sound coming from upstairs.

Nothing.

Then your ears catch a romping on the corner of the ceiling.

So, that room was already overcrowded then.

You take the stairs and head for the opposite way.

There was no guarantee that it would be empty, considering that there were a lot of members, but at this point you didn’t care anymore. You tentatively pull down the handle and peek inside .

Only a glimpse of white sheets greets you. You swing the door completely open and almost cry out of joy.

It’s empty.

You had gotten the single room.

You raise your arms in victory and jump right into the single bed , savoring the comfortable feeling of the smooth sheets.

“Ahhh, finally - ”

“Peek-a-boo!”

“ AAAAAAAGHH!”

You scream at the top of your lungs and fall to the floor with a thump, when you see Jungkook’s head peeking from under the bed.

The impact rattles your teeth and you groan in pain.

“What are you doing over there?”

Jungkook pulls off a cocky smile.

“Pranking you, of course. Did you really think you were gonna get a whole room to yourself?”

“I was hoping to.”

“Nope, you’re stuck with me.”

“Come here , you little rascal! ” You say through clenched teeth and make an attempt at catching him.

He easily avoids you and swerves to the side. You then start to chase him around the room like a five year-old, but was the boy fast…

When you somehow catch hold of him, you put him in a headlock and are about to smack him upside the head, when the rest of the boys come storming into the room.

“What are you doing?” Asks Yoongi. “We heard screaming.”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Beating this kid’s ass for almost giving me a heart attack, of course.”

“Hey, watch the formalities. I’m older than you,” Jungkook protests, head still under your arm.

Jin looks at the nearest camera.“ Could you please cut this part? We don’t want the show to be age - restricted because of her cussing.”

You stick your tongue at him and then proceed to make a face at the camera.

Jungkook takes his chance and tickles you on your side.

You release him almost immediately, writhing uncontrollably. You were really ticklish, and at the slightest threat you were always ready to throw hands.

Zero tolerance on that.

Still, you manage to kick him behind the knees, making his legs give out.

“How’s the ground, loser?”

He looks at you through his see - through bangs and gives you a mischievous smile.

You notice Hoseok pinching the bridge of his nose and then start laughing yourself.

* * *

You are sitting on the couch along with the boys, waiting for instructions from the staff. Even though this was a time for you to enjoy your holidays and get your mind off of the stress, concerts, and everything else, games and missions weren’t something you could get rid of.

“ You are all going to try to make dinner for tonight. Each one of you is assigned a special dish, and you are to cook it with the ingredients given to you. The one with the best dish wins 200 dollars to spend on shopping.”

Everyone lets out cheers of joy at the mention of money.

You were all rich as hell, but you still got excited even at the mention of so much as a coupon. It was your own way of appreciating little things.

The staff member offers you a basket full of tiny globes, each containing a rolled up paper.

He puts the basket in the middle of the circle were you are all sitting on the floor and gestures for you to proceed.

Taehyung fishes one out and opens it carefully, retrieving the roll of paper inside. He’s kinda nervous because he doesn’t have much experience with cooking, but you all give him reassuring smiles, nudging him to go on.

The paper reads ’ Pasta ’.

“You’re saved, Taehyungie. That’s an easy thing to make,” Jimin says.

He sighs, relieved and smiles widely.

Next is Jin, who goes for the globe without hesitation.

Kimbap.

Jimin. Salad.

Jungkook. Steak.

Namjoon. Soup. You snorted when hearing that.

Hoseok. Milk-shakes.

Yoongi. Tteok-bokki.

It was your turn now.You open the paper with shaky hands and read it.

Pancakes.

Yes !

That was one of the only things you knew how to make.

Namjoon looked at you with puppy eyes.

“Would you want to switch?”

You act like you’re touched by his display of cuteness then pull off the most serious face.

“No.”

You jump around in excitement, showing your piece of paper to the other members with the most exagerated moves.

Jin joins you and you start making silly dance moves together.

* * *

Everyone is busy trying to make their own dish and you’re no less invested.

There’s a hell of a mess in front of you - flour, milk and eggs. Your hair is smeared white even though you had tied it in a bun on the back of your head.

It was fairly short and there were multiple strands escaping from it, but it didn’t bother you that much.

At least the apron was doing a good job of shielding your clothes.

You take a look at the others who are concentrated on their tasks. The only sounds in the room are those of knives, spoons and the occasional sizzling of oil.

Then, out of nowhere Jin’s voice is heard.

“Hey guys, can you turn off the AC? I’m a little chilli,” he says, while holding an actual chili pepper and then laughs like a windshield wiper.

Everyone is trying to hold their laughter, except for Yoongi who actually looks displeased.

“Please stop. It’s making me angry.”

Jin ignores him and grabs two eggs from the counter.

“You know why eggs don’t tell jokes?” He continues. “ Because they’d crack each other up!”

You can’t hold it in anymore. You double over with laughter, holding your aching stomach. Everyone else is having the time of their lives because of Jin’s antics.

Still giggling, you move around the kitchen trying to find other ingredients and bump into Jungkook along the way.

He kicks you lightly in the shin. You kick him back. You both have your hands occupied - him holding a bowl filled with water and you a pack of flour, so you start a kicking competition.

“Hey, quit it you two!” Yoongi yells over the noise of frying food.

Just to spite him, you pour flour all over Jungkook’s head. He is outraged and gets back at you splashing you in the face with the water.

You gasp, the coldness seeping into your clothes and making you shiver.

You are soaking wet and you’re making a mess out of the water dripping from your face onto the floor.

He’s gonna pay for this.

You’re about to grab something to hit him with, when Yoongi grabs both of your shirts an pushes you apart.

“What is it with you two today?”

“He started it,” you complain.

Yoongi glares at you one last time and lets you go.

You were beyond pissed off but you couldn’t deny that it was entertaining to joke around like this.

You both found yourself grinning at each other.

* * *

Dinner was ready.

You had to admit, it looked quite inviting, several dishes with different colors that let out a delicious scent.

You couldn’t wait to dig in and the only thing stopping you was the fact that the staff had to try it first in order to decide who the winner was.

You didn’t really care about the money.

Shopping wasn’t really your thing and even if you won ( which was unlikely to happen), you would probably give it to Hoseok or something. What you did care about was winning.

After the man had a taste out of everything, he prepared to give the final verdict.

The others started making drum sound effects.

You rolled your eyes.

They just had to make everything look as dramatic as possible.

The staff member didn’t hesitate.

“The winner is….Jin.”

You all groan out of annoyance while Jin gets up from his seat and blows a kiss at the camera.

You didn’t stand a chance, anyway.

Who were you to compete with Jin, the Mighty Cook ?

Curse him and his delicious kimbap.

So you dig in, trying everything that was laid out in front of you.

From the corner of your eye you notice Taehyung stuffing enormous amounts of food in his mouth and you smile.

You didn’t know why you had started to get so nostalgic lately, but you couldn’t help it.

These random moments were the ones that made you realize there wasn’t anywhere in the world that you wanted to be , except here, with your family.

* * *

“Let me get this straight. You expect us to fit into that?” You said pointing at the single bed in front of you.

It hadn’t really dawned upon you that there was only one single bed on display. And two of you.

At least the others had where to sleep.

Yoongi and Taehyung had gotten the king-sized bed, Namjoon also the same but all to himself, while Jimin, Jin and Hoseok had been assigned on the room consisting of three single beds.

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck.

“You sleep with your head at the front of the bed, while I sleep with mine at the end.”

“You mean so we can sleep while hugging each other’s legs?”

“You said it, not me.”

Despite all of the pent up frustration, you start laughing.

Once you start, it’s impossible to stop.

Your sides start to ache and you almost choke on your spit.

Jungkook stares at you, confusion all over his face.

“What?”

“It’s just that,” you say, still not being able to produce words correctly, “ It’s weird how they make us go through all of this, and for what? Just so we can film a reality show.”

You shake your head, still smiling.

“Yeah, it is kinda weird now that you mention it,” Jungkook says.

He goes for the suitcase on the ground and takes out his pyjamas.

“I’m gonna go change in another room,” he says. “You can have the room to yourself.”

You nod and go for your own pyjamas.

After he’s left, you start slipping out of your clothes.

You’d decided to take an RJ pyjama set with you. The tiny characters were so cute and you really didn’t care about looking decent even on your sleep.

Then, you hear a knock on the door.

“Come in” , you say and what greets you is Jungkook wearing his own Cooky pajama set. His black hair and pink clothes makes him look conflicting and you can’t help but snort.

“Very funny” ,he mocks you.

He takes his own pillow and puts it at the end of the bed. You take your own and set it at the front.

You both lay down, keeping a respectable distance from each other.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to hear you snoring all night,” you say, eyes on the ceiling.

“I don’t snore.”

“Yes you do.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.”

“Am no - Ow!”

You pinch his leg.

“Hyung, don’t make me beat you again.”

His body shakes when he laughs, and he claps his hands together. You turn on your side and are greeted with the sight of his toes right in front of your face.

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Your feet smell.”

“I showered half an hour ago. It must be your nose.”

You kick him and he laughs again.

“Y/N?”

“If you’re gonna tell me my feet smell, I’ll shove you out of the bed.”

“I was just gonna say good night.”

“Oh. Good night, then.”

You take a deep breath through your nose and try to fall asleep, the hint of a smile still on your lips.

[bibliophileiz]

Supernatural 14x14 coda

A/N: I don’t have a title for this or anything. It’s my first Supernatural coda and it’s so angsty you guys. Not really romantic, but there’s definitely Sam/Rowena and Dean/Cas vibes. Sam feels guilt, Dean compares Cas to not one, but two hot brunette ladies from pop culture, and Cas dislikes Gone With The Wind. Hurt/Comfort.

When the dust settled – when the shadow of wings against the war room wall faded and the gold light in Jack’s eyes dimmed to their normal brown – then there was nothing to show there had been any victory at all.

Michael was gone and all that was left were the aches in Sam’s body and the twin smells of metallic blood and charred flesh.

All those people he’d tried to save.

The silence was broken when Rowena let out a sob. Jack turned, stepped toward her, and helped her to her feet. She trembled as she clung for a moment to his arm.

There was a shuffling sound behind Sam, and he turned to see Dean lean his back against the wall, burying his face in his shaking hands. Cas made a sharp move, as if to go to Dean’s side, then seemed to change his mind. His eyes darted between Dean and Jack, as though torn.

Sam glanced back at Jack, who was surveying the carnage, the bodies of the hunters he fought beside time and again. His faced seemed to lose some of its etherealness, made him look more like the uncertain boy Sam once found sitting on a milk crate outside a motel, afraid and upset at being called the devil.

“I – I can fix it,” Jack said, his voice wavering a little. “I can bring them back -- ”

“No.” Cas’ voice was sharp. “You won’t use any more of your power.”

Cas’ ire seemed to be wasted energy. Jack looked lost. Sam remembered the only person Jack had ever been able to resurrect was Cas, and that was out of reflex. He probably couldn’t do it intentionally.

Silence settled on them again.

Sam felt like puking. He felt like throwing chairs at the wall and screaming until his throat tore. He felt like going to sleep and never waking up.

“We’ll have to wrap the bodies,” Dean said finally, and though his hands were still covering his face, his voice was steadier.

Mechanically, they all moved forward and began tending to the bodies. Dean found some rags, sheets and cleaning supplies from a closet down the hall. Cas and Jack began arranging limbs, moving the bodies out of their horrible contorted positions. They wrapped the bodies in silence, other than Rowena’s soft Gaelic murmuring as she recited spells, or maybe prayers, over all the people she took care of.

Sam took care of Maggie himself. She deserved nothing less.

There were 14 more hunters from the Apocalypse World out on cases he assigned for them. He didn’t think he would ever be able to look any of them in the eye again.

When the bodies were wrapped – and after Cas had to physically take the Lysol bottle out of Dean’s hand to keep him from scrubbing at the bloodstains on the floor until his fingers bled – they all stood around in silence again.

“Well have a hunter’s funeral for all of them tomorrow,” Sam heard himself say.

Everyone but Dean looked at him, and Sam couldn’t bear the odd mixture of pity and hurt in their eyes. Why couldn’t you lead them somewhere other than to death? they seemed to say.

One by one, they shuffled off to bed.

In the privacy of his bedroom, Sam pulled out his phone. It occurred to him the best person to call to get the word out about the massacre was Jody – he couldn’t stand the thought of telling his mom what had happened, and anyway, knowing Dean, he’d call her first and she’d be too busy comforting him to answer a call from Sam. That was fine, that was right – Dean may have known the Apocalypse hunters, may have laughed with them and fought beside them and compared chili recipes with them, but he wasn’t their leader the way Sam was. He wasn’t the one who trained them and assigned them cases. He wasn’t the one responsible for their safety. And he sure as hell wasn’t the one who’d ignored how volatile the Michael situation was becoming.

Sam thought of the ma’lak box and wanted to puke again.

Instead, he called Jody, told her what happened in a clipped, monotone voice he barely recognized as his own, and asked her to call the other hunters.

“Sam,” she said, and there was that pity again, “I’m so -- ”

“Jody,” he said. He took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m f--” He wasn’t fine. It was an insult to the people who were dead to pretend otherwise. “I just – I just want to go to bed. Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Of course,” said Jody. “And I’ll take care of calling everyone else.”

“Thank you,” Sam whispered and then ended the call because he couldn’t handle another second of that conversation.

He changed out of his plaid and jeans – he’d been wearing them since before Jack killed the gorgon a million hours ago – and into a Henley and sweatpants. Then he left his bedroom for the infirmary. He tried to avoid self-medicating if at all possible, but no way would he sleep tonight without sleeping pills.

He was surprised to find Rowena already there, cleaning blood off her neck over the sink in the corner. She paused when she saw him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He spotted a bandage on her arm. “You are, though.”

She tugged at her sleeve to cover the bandage. “One of the hunters fought back. He slashed me with a silver knife before I -- ” She choked out a low sob and threw the rag she was using to clean herself in the trash. She turned on the faucet and began scrubbing her hands under the water.

“No.” Sam found his voice. After everything Rowena had done to try and be good the last two years, she didn’t deserve this guilt. “You didn’t do anything.”

She placed her hands on either side of the sink and bent over it, her tiny frame shaking as she inhaled and exhaled harsh, jarring sobs.

In a way it was almost worse than seeing Maggie die. He’d seen Rowena incapacitate Lucifer, break chains God and the archangels themselves had locked, challenge Death unflinchingly. To see her now, broken and weeping helplessly, made him want to leave, get in the Impala and drive away from all of this and never look back.

Instead he walked behind her and placed a hand on her back.

She got enough control over herself to speak. “He told me he would kill you all – you, the boy -- ”

“I know,” said Sam. “It’s not your fault.”

For just a moment, when Dean had said Sam, get the cuffs, it had come to him as clearly as a childhood nightmare that this was how their story would end, that this was how he would kill her – by locking her in the box instead of his brother. He hated himself for being willing to make that sacrifice. He hated himself even more for being glad he didn’t have to.

He thought of Maggie again and closed his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he said again. “It’s mine.”

She didn’t answer, but she reached behind her and grabbed his hand.

They stayed there for a long time.

  Dean’s head hurt.

It wasn’t the relentless pounding that had threatened to break his skull in two when Michael was fighting to get out of his head. Instead, it was just a tired soreness, like it had a thorough beating earlier but had since been left alone.

Which he guessed was what happened. 

His eyes and throat hurt too. That was from trying not to cry.

He leaned against the door to his bedroom, his fingers itching for a bottle of Scotch – some of the good stuff that Crowley had hidden around the bunker, if that rat bastard Ketch hadn’t found it all first.

He should have gotten in that box, Sam and Cas be damned. He was so, so relieved he didn’t have to now.

God, he needed a drink.

He was glad he didn’t have to get in the box, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Maggie or Sam or Rowena or any of them. This was on him. He let Michael in, he couldn’t keep him and he couldn’t make himself get in the goddamned box, he was just so scared, he’d tried so hard to keep Michael locked away but he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t brave enough, wasn’t the man he was supposed to be -- he couldn’t resist Michael any more than he could resist Alastair in Hell or the Mark of Cain or stopping Sammy finish the trials or – or ….

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he was on the ground gasping for breath. Then Cas was there, grabbing Dean’s hand, putting it to his own chest and saying something Dean couldn’t hear over the rushing in his ears, and oh God, he couldn’t breathe, his head hurt ….

A warm, liquid-like feeling filled his chest, like sinking into a hot bath, and it took Dean a moment to realize it was grace. Cas was trying to heal him.

It didn’t immediately end his panic but it did slow his racing heart and clear the noise from his ears enough so that he could hear Cas telling him to count his breaths. Dean closed his eyes and focused on the cadence of Cas’ voice. He hadn’t even realized when Cas came in the room.

It was over in a few minutes, and Dean was left a humiliated and shaking mess, wiping a couple of tears from his face with sweaty palms. Cas’ hand rested on his shoulder.

“I let him out,” Dean said finally. He put a hand to his aching chest. His head hurt so bad.

Cas paused a moment.“We should have listened to you when you said the door was giving,” he said.

“Would you have put me in the damn box?”

“Maybe,” Cas said. Dean closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back any more tears. He was just so tired and he didn’t know how it would ever be over.

“Jack,” he said. “You’re mad that Jack had to fix it – had to burn off his – his soul.” He wiped his face again. “I never … Cas, I didn’t want that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Cas was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was in that low growl that never failed to calm Dean down. “You should know,” he said, “that there is nothing – nothing – that happened tonight or that could ever happen that would make you belong in that box. And if I did have to put you in it, I would never drop it in the ocean.”

Dean let out a half-laugh, half-sob. He was pretty sure the last time he cried like this in front of Cas was after torturing Alastair during the Apocalypse. Cas leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his hair.

Dean froze, feeling his face warm. Cas had never kissed him before, even a platonic, comforting kiss like this one, however many times Dean had secretly wanted him to over the years. But Cas just murmured something quietly in Enochian and got to his feet. He pulled back the covers on Dean’s bed. “You need to sleep,” he said.

Dean huffed. “Yeah, ok, Mom.” He immediately wondered whether he should call Mary. But his head hurt and his hands were still a little shaky – God, but he was exhausted – and the walk to his bed may as well have been 1,000 miles, so he decided the phone call could wait until tomorrow morning.

He dragged himself to the bed where Cas helped him out of his jacket and plaid, leaving him only in a t-shirt. Dean briefly considered taking off his jeans but decided he’d sleep like the dead no matter how comfortable his pants were. He sat on the edge of his bed to remove his boots, waving Cas away when he bent to help. Cas straightened and ran his hands through Dean’s hair instead. It felt a million times better than Dean would ever deserve.

“Hey, what happened to the gorgon?” he asked as he started on the laces of the second boot. It was a little bit of a relief to think about a different case.

Cas’ fingers stilled. “Jack killed him.” He paused. “He kept the snake as well. I was so worried about your head injury I didn’t notice him taking it. He must have put it in his pocket.”

It was a mark of Dean’s exhaustion that he didn’t feel the need to object to the kid bringing an animal into the bunker. “Huh,” he said. “I guess he’s at that age when he’s sneaking pets in the house.” The second boot slipped from his numb fingers and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

“Come on,” Cas said and Dean sank into the memory foam. “Does your chest still hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Your head?”

“Yes.” If Cas pulled the Indiana Jones shit on him, Dean was going to die.

Instead, Cas eased some more beams of grace into his forehead and Dean felt the aches ease somewhat. He closed his eyes and let his exhaustion start to drag over him.

“You know,” he mumbled, half into the pillow, “the kid’ll be ok. Even without ….” He trailed off, too sleepy to finish the sentence. “He’s a good kid,” he slurred. “Takes after his dad.” A second later he realized what he’d said. “Meant you, not ….”

Cas was quiet and then his fingers were in Dean’s hair again. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

“Mkay, Scarlett.”

“I dislike that movie. It glorifies the Confederacy, and -- ”

Dean was asleep before Cas could finish the sentence.

  Castiel sat by Dean’s bedside for a long time.

Dean’s forehead was creased and there were a couple of tear tracks on his face from his panic attack earlier, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to wrap his vessel around Dean’s body and hold him – to keep all the demons, external and internal, at bay.

There was only one thing Castiel had succeeded at more often than he’d failed, and that was protect Dean Winchester.

Not that he was particularly adept at that, but then he had saved Dean from Hell.

The same couldn’t be said for Jack Kline.

Jack had a good heart and the intellectual capability to tell right from wrong. But he was young and, to Castiel’s mind, overly confident about things that were far from certain. He obviously thought his soul was a small price to pay to kill Michael once and for all. He thought of himself as the chicken, not the snake. It’s worth the cost, he’d told Michael, right before he’d said, I’m the son of Lucifer.

Perhaps Dean was right.

But Dean hadn’t been there when Jack asked Castiel how Sam and Mary and Bobby planned to kill Michael if he didn’t leave Dean. He hadn’t seen the look on Jack’s face when Michael told him he was a job to them all, not a son.

Castiel knew Jack had loved him and the Winchesters. He wasn’t sure now, without a soul, Jack still did.

He wasn’t sure what to make of a man who’d trade his own soul for the power to kill his enemy.

Because when Jack took Michael’s grace – when he spread his wings through the room and resonated with divine energy – he hadn’t had the light Castiel remembered from Michael, back when he’d been another soldier in Heaven’s garrison, in awe of his glorious commander.

No, Jack had burned brighter than Michael – as bright as the morning star. 

[cookieswriting]

Fade Away (Chicago PD - 3x01 missing scenes)

((I was discontent with how Jay went from sitting up in the back of an ambo to being held overnight at the hospital...and am a huge sucker for jay!whump.  Originally posted to AO3, forgot to post it here...sorry...hope you enjoy!)

Jay Halstead sighed heavily as he watched his partner – no, former partner.  She threw it all away…this was just…a one time thing – walk away stiffly.  After the ordeal in the mansion, he felt…off.  Something just wasn’t right, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was; everything ached and throbbed, so it was impossible to discern what was out of place.  While he’d been talking to Sylvie he’d written the strange feeling off as just another side effect of being tortured for 24 hours.  Now that Erin was walking away, though…

Before he could dwell on it too long, shadows crossed his vision.  “Hey, man, how are you holding up?” Ruzek questioned quietly, stepping up and blocking Jay from the sun’s harsh rays.  A glance to his partner’s stance let Jay know the positioning was intentional, and he found himself grateful for the small gesture.

“We were worried about you…they were brutal,” Atwater added.

Jay cracked a wry smile as he rubbed a hand over what little undamaged space was left on his chest.  Now it was just getting annoying.  “Nah, I’ll be fine, I’ve been through significantly worse interrogations than that.”  The sharp inhales of both partners in front of him let the detective know he’d said too much.  With a sigh, he closed his eyes.

“Jesus, Jay…”

“I –” Abruptly, white-hot pain filled his chest, and he couldn’t catch his breath.  Instinctively, the former Ranger curled in on himself, a firm grip on his shoulders the only thing keeping him from falling out of the ambulance.

“Hey, hey, easy…what’s going on?” Adam questioned.  Atwater disappeared, but Ruzek didn’t react, too focused on keeping Jay upright.  “Talk to me, buddy.”

“My… shit, my chest…some…s’mthin’s wr-wrong,” Jay gasped, clinging to Adam’s arms like he was struggling to cling to consciousness.  Voices bombarded his ears after that, but it sounded more and more like he was underwater and they were far beyond his reach.  Darkness crept into his vision, dragging him further into the abyss until blissful unawareness carried him away.

Adam Ruzek watched his partner fade.  It was something he knew he’d never forget…more than hearing Jay’s hoarse cries as he was being beaten and tasered…it was watching Jay Halstead the moment his heart stopped beating.

Not that he’d known that was what happened when he initially sagged against him.  It wasn’t until Atwater returned with Sylvie and Chili, who immediately tugged him away, laid Jay on the ground, and reported that he didn’t have a pulse, that he felt the first overwhelming shock of fear.  After he’d walked himself out of that God-forsaken mansion, they were losing him anyway.  Adam stumbled back numbly as Chili began compressions and Sylvie scrambled into the rig.

“My God,” Antonio breathed beside him.  The younger detective turned.

“He…he was okay.  He was talking just a minute ago, and then started gasping.”

“He’s got burns all over his chest and abdomen.  How many times did they hit him with a Taser?” Sylvie questioned after tearing his shirt the rest of the way open.  They hooked him up to a portable AED, and Adam watched Jay’s body arch against the shock.  When Sylvie looked to him for an answer, he could only shake his head in response.

“Nothing,” Chili growled.  “Once more.  Come on, Halstead, you’ve made it this far.  Don’t cut out on your team now.”  The AED beeped.  “Clear!”

The new surge of electricity was followed by a heaving breath, and Antonio’s hand felt like lead on Adam’s shoulder.  “We’ve gotta get him over to Med.  Doesn’t his brother work over there?  Might be a good idea to give him a heads up if he doesn’t wake up before we get there.  Can you give him a call?” Chili questioned.  Adam nodded, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts until he found the hospital.  As he asked for Will, Ruzek watched the ambulance pull away from the house and speed towards the highway.

Awareness returned to Halstead in the form of painful pressure on his sternum.  He groaned and tried to push off the offender.

“There you go, wake up, sunshine,” a familiar voice insisted.  Jay turned his head in the direction of the voice, and opened his eyes slowly.

“Doctor Halstead, I know he’s your brother, but was it necessary to do that to my patient?”

“It woke him up, didn’t it?  Come on, Jay, enough sleeping on the job.”

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Jay processed his brother’s tone.  Despite his words, Will was worried about him.  “You could’ve asked nicely, ya know.”

“I did.  Several times.”  When the younger Halstead finally focused on his older brother, Will quirked a tired smile at him.  “Welcome back.”

Jay looked around, taking in the sterile equipment around him and the IV secured to the back of his hand.  “What happened?” The smile fell.  “Will?”

“How much do you remember?”

He thought for a moment.  “I remember being taken, Erin coming in and the team getting me out…and I remember talking to Erin sitting in the ambo.  After that…it’s a blank til now.  I’d been checked out and was just waiting on the confirmation that I could go home.  What landed me here?”  Will watched him for a moment seriously.

“Your heart stopped in the middle of a conversation with Adam and Kevin.”

Jay shook his head in surprise.  “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed, huffing a laugh.  “Doesn’t happen often, but it could have been a combination of Taser hits messing with your pulse and added stress.”  He shook his head, eyes becoming distant and face becoming serious.  “If they’d Tasered you one more time, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“But they didn’t, and we are.  Don’t go there,” Jay murmured.  “So…when can I get out of here?”

Will rolled his eyes, and gestured to Dr. Manning.  “All yours, Nat.  I’m not touching that one.”  Jay flipped his brother off, before turning an innocent smile to the brunette, fighting a smirk at the elder Halstead’s chuckle.

“I’m definitely keeping you overnight, Detective-”

“Jay, please.  If you have to put up with this clown on a daily basis, you’re practically family.”

“Jay,” she amended with an amused smile.  “Like I was saying, I’m going to keep you here for tonight, monitor your heart to make sure it’s keeping a steady rhythm.  If everything looks okay in the morning, I’ll think about sending you home, but you’ll be on medical leave for at least a week, understood?”

The fact that the former Ranger did not argue was a testament to how sore and tired he was.  “Understood.  Thanks, Nat.”

Dr. Manning squeezed his forearm with a smile, and he was grateful that she avoided his still-sore shoulders.  “Glad you’re okay, Jay.  Get some rest.”  With a pointed look to her coworker, she ducked out of the room.

Will pushed himself out of the chair, and hovered near the foot of the bed.  “Mouse is in the waiting room.  You ready for company?”  Jay nodded.  “I’ll send him in…I have a feeling Erin’s not too far behind, but I’ll give it a minute before I let the rest of your team know you’re awake.”

Jay watched him shuffle towards the door, tension radiating off of the doctor.  “Will,” he called, voice low and tired. He waited until his brother turned back, face solemn and drawn.  “Have a drink for me.”

The small smile tugging at Will’s lips felt like victory enough for Jay.  “I’m back in first thing tomorrow.  I’ll check in on you before my shift…maybe give you a ride home if I’m feeling particularly charitable.” The elder Halstead grinned, rapped his knuckles lightly on the doorjamb, and made his way towards the waiting room.

Jay took the quiet moment to breathe, and take stock of the aches and pains that he could still feel.  The pain meds he’d been put on were working well, but he knew that after discharge, he wouldn’t be taking anything that they gave him.  Once he made it home, he’d rather be alert and able to react to any threat that might arise even if it meant being in pain.

“Hey, man.”  The soft voice of his best friend drew Jay from his thoughts once more, and he gave Mouse the most reassuring smile he could muster.  “Atwater and Ruzek are out in the waiting room, and they said they were gonna let the others know you’re awake.  How are you feeling?”

The detective couldn’t help but think back on how Mouse had been just two years before…twitchy, anxious, and frequently on the wrong side of the law.  He was beyond grateful to have the Mouse he’d fought alongside back…the one that had saved his life countless times, and the one that had dragged him back from the precipice before spiraling down his own hole once they got back. The man before him was healthy, steady, confident…despite the lingering guilt and fear Jay could read in his eyes.  “A little sore, but no worse than that time in Kandahar,” he replied.  Mouse flinched, and his suspicion that something was really wrong was confirmed. “Mouse…”

“That time in Kandahar didn’t end in your heart stopping, Jay.  That time in Kandahar, I was able to find you!”

“And was I not found this time?  Did the team not get there in time to get me and Lindsay out of there?”  What was he talking about?

“No thanks to me!” Mouse snapped, head ducking as he realized he’d raised his voice.

“Wh-Mouse, what is that supposed to mean?”

Blue eyes followed Mouse’s movements as he dragged a hand through his hair and paced the small room.  “I was watching the sting from the tech room…up until the first taser hit.  Fried the wire.  After that, I tried everything to get a lock on where they might be taking you.  They ditched everything that I could have possibly used.  It wasn’t until a few hours later that Antonio came down to find me…told me about a DVD that had been dropped off.  He didn’t want to show me at first, but I told him I needed to see it before we started making up the false files.”  His voice caught in his throat, and the muscle in his jaw twitched.  “Brought me back to watching the hadji’s beat you senseless.”  He let out a soft, humorless laugh.  “I thought they were going to kill you that day…it was so much worse than what was on that video…and yet this is the beating that did you in.”

“Hey,” Jay interrupted, staring hard at Mouse until he finally turned.  “I’m right here, they brought me back.  After you found me.”

“I was so wrapped up in the memory of that day…so freaked out by that damn video, by the fact that I wasn’t there...it was like my brain shut off.  I could hardly function, man.”  

“Mouse...this wasn’t like that day.  If anyone had been in there with me, I’d bet he would have done the same to them that he did to his brother.  This? This I can handle.  I wouldn’t have been able to deal with your blood on my hands.”

“So I’m supposed to deal with your blood on mine? Jay...for a few minutes, that was a reality for me.  Your heart was not beating.  You were dead.  Will told me how close it was...how we were almost too late.  I-” he cut off with a grimace, dragged a hand over his face.  “I’m sorry, man.  You’ve been through enough without having to deal with me freaking out.”

Jay reached out instinctively when Mouse turned towards the door, and couldn’t help the soft hiss when his shoulders protested.  His friend reacted as if he’d been physically struck, and turned back, face pale.  “Don’t shut me out, man.  I’m tired, I’m sore, but I’m not about to let you walk out of here blaming yourself for this.  I will get out of this bed and follow you if you don’t sit down.”  The younger man couldn’t help an exasperated smile, and dropped into a chair with a shake of his head.  “This isn’t on you.  None of it.  I...if our positions had been reversed?  I’d have gone ballistic.  You’re my best friend, and we were supposed to be done with worrying about each other getting taken.”

“I get the feeling we’ll never get to stop worrying about that,” Mouse commented wryly.  Jay watched him closely for a long moment, only raising an eyebrow when the other man held his gaze.  “Fine, it’s not my fault,” he relented.

The detective grinned in triumph.  “Thank you.”

A timid smile was his reward.  “Okay...someone else who is taking on responsibility for this could probably use a pep-talk too...are you ready for Erin to come in?”  Jay took a slow, steadying breath, and nodded.  His best friend stood again and settled a hand over his ankle.  “I’ll get your apartment ready.  Get some rest, brother.”  Affection filled him as he watched Mouse disappear around the corner; his best friend had come a long way since they’d come home...but no matter how far he’d fallen, Greg Gerwitz had always been there to get Jay back on his feet.  The detective only hoped that pulling him up into Intelligence had shown him a fraction of the gratitude he felt for that steadfast support...because it certainly hadn’t been enough to make up for the time he’d failed to repay him.

Erin stepped into his line of vision, and tears immediately filled her eyes as she took in the sight of him.  “Jay…”

“Come here,” he murmured, gesturing her to his side.  She complied, albeit reluctantly, and when she was within reach Jay wrapped his fingers around her wrist.  “I don’t care what happened before...what matters is that you came back for me.  You got me out.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and Jay’s chest tightened.  “If I had been there with you at the airport...maybe you wouldn’t have been taken to begin with.”  She tried to pull away from his grip, and he simply tightened it.  “I should’ve-”

“Erin, there is no way we could have known Keyes was willing to kill his own brother, or that he would recognize me as a cop.  There’s nothing you can do to change what happened...but like I said, I don’t care about that.  You’re here now...and I’m sure you’re going to mother hen me for the next week…”  She couldn’t smother a tender smile, and he tugged her closer.  When he winced, Erin ghosted her fingers over his shoulder and settled on his jaw, eyes searching his face.  “I’m fine, just sore.  I promise, Linds.  Just...lay with me for a while?”

“I...they won’t like that very much,” she insisted, even as she dropped her bag beside the bed.   “I happen to have an in with one of the ED docs,” Jay teased, shifting gingerly over to make room for her.  He’d take whatever pain it caused, so long as it helped Erin find some semblance of comfort in knowing that he was still there with her.  The comfort that came with having her back in his arms?  That was just a bonus.

[intelligencehavingfun]

In response to the aolw fanfic please do it please

Well, since you twisted my arm...

Not canon. Just for fun. Not a collaboration; I stole Alex and wrote him, and I never feel like I do that well, so I just want to stress that this is not official in any way. But here you go, if you’d like to read some Art of Letter Writing ephemera.  

Five Times Zoe and Alex Met Before They Met and One Time They Didn’t

i

The summer Zoe is ten, her mom’s writing spot is a coffee shop called The Book and Bean. Zoe tags along with her most days, if she doesn’t have swimming lessons or camp or some other activity to go to.

She and her mom have a routine. They get to the coffee shop around ten every morning. Zoe’s mom spreads out her research and notes and laptop on the top of the table while Zoe nests with her own books and notebooks underneath. She writes her own stories until noon or she gets hungry, whichever comes first. Then she reminds her mom about lunch, and they go buy sandwiches and drinks at the counter (tea for her mom, and hot chocolate with some kind of flavored syrup in it for Zoe). When she’s done eating, Zoe reads a book or plays herself in checkers or puts together one of the puzzles from the back wall until her mom is ready to go.

One day, about halfway through the summer, Zoe knows it’s time to go when she sees her mom packing up her laptop and notebooks, but Zoe is almost at the end of her chapter, and she just wants to finish. She reads as fast as she can as her mom comes closer and closer to being ready to go, and finally, when her mom says, “C’mon, Zoe, we gotta go,” Zoe shuts the book and shoves it into the top of her very full bag and hurries after her mom.

A few seconds later, almost to the door, a voice calls out behind her, “Hey! Um, excuse me?” Turning, she sees a boy about her age, with warm brown skin and dark hair and eyes, holding her book out to her. “You dropped this,” he says.

“Oh! Thanks,” she says with a smile. He shrugs, and she takes the book, then turns and follows her mom out of the shop.

ii.

The truth is, Alex couldn’t really care less about football. But Emma had argued that they couldn’t miss the last game of the season. And the chili cheese fries are worth coming out for. But they’re playing Torrey Pines tonight, and the Torrey Pines football team sucks, so the game hasn’t been the most exciting. It’s the end of the third quarter, almost, and Canyon is a good four touchdowns ahead, so he and Emma decide to head to the concession stand.

It’s crowded, mostly with band members from both schools, who are only allowed to wander during third quarter or something, so it’s slow going up to the counter. He’s just gotten his food when a huge cheer erupts from the Torrey Pines side of the stadium. He turns to see what’s happened -- and runs straight into a girl from the TP Marching Falcons, spilling cheese sauce all over her scarlet and gold sleeve.

“Madre de Dios,” he mutters, bracing himself to be yelled at even as he grabs some napkins. He knows how Emma would react if some clumsy oaf spilled cheese all over one of her outfits. “I’m so sorry.”

But to his surprise, the girl shakes her head. “Totally my fault, I was right in the way.” She accepts his napkins and wipes up the worse of the cheese, but it’s still going to stain.

“You’re not gonna get in trouble, are you?” he asks, and she laughs.

“Have you seen these things?” she asks, gesturing to herself. Now that she mentions it, there are a lot of mud and grass stains on the uniform. “It’s the last game of the season, they’re getting dry cleaned next week. Seriously, don’t even worry about it.”

“Alex!” Emma shouts from behind him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, in a sec,” he shouts back over his shoulder, then turns back to the TP girl to say ‘Okay’ or ‘Bye’ or something equally awkward but less awkward than just walking away.

“TWO MINUTES!”

The shout comes from a burly guy also in scarlet and gold. Eyes going wide, the girl whips her head around to see the scoreboard, then mutters, “Shit,” and takes off for the Away side of the stadium at a sprint without so much as a backward glance.

He shakes his head and goes to meet Emma. Band kids are weird.

iii.

“All right now, Zoe,” the sandwich shop manager Tim says in a voice of gentle condescension that makes Zoe contemplate punching him in the face. “Do you think you’re up to taking an order all on your own?”

She does not say what she’s thinking, and she really ought to be commended for that. Instead she gives Tim her best, most winning smile. “Absolutely!” she says.

“Okay, then. Next customer is all yours. I’m not going to step in at all,” Tim warns. I’ll believe that when I see it, Zoe thinks, but keeps the smile on her face.

Soon enough, the bell rings, and a guy about her age walks in. “Welcome to Which Wich!” Zoe calls in an upbeat voice. “Have you dined with us before?”

“Um, yeah,” the guy says, already pulling a bag and a Sharpie from the holder on the wall. Zoe takes his bag when he’s finished filling it out and makes his Italian grinder quickly and efficiently, even with Tim breathing down her neck.

“Don’t forget to double check all condiment and topping choices!” Tim warns before she’s even finished with the meat.

“Thanks for the reminder, Tim,” she says through her smile. She is careful not to grimace or make any sort of face at all while adding banana peppers to an otherwise fine sandwich.

“Now, you have to make sure you call out the name loudly and clearly enough to be heard,” Tim tells her as she wraps the finished sandwich and puts it in his bag, her smile never wavering despite the fact that she has heard him say this at least twelve times in her two days of training. “Remember, it may be quiet now, but during our rush hour, there is noise and commotion, and a quiet meek little name call simply won’t---”

“ALEX!” she yells out with all the power of her trombone playing lungs. Can she help it if Tim the Manager was hovering too close and got an earful? “How was that?” she asks with a smile, turning to him. “Was that loud enough?”

“Just -- tend to your customer,” Tim says as Alex comes up to the counter. Zoe passes over the bag with a cheery grin and rings him up. She’s about to wish him a wonderful day when Tim interrupts over her shoulder with a, “And remember, if your food isn’t exactly how you want, we will make you a new sandwich or refund your money! Sometimes it can take these new girls a while to get the hang of things.”

Zoe will not strangle her boss with her apron strings, she will not, she repeats over and over like a mantra. She allows herself one second to breathe deeply and pray for patience. Luckily, the universe helps her avoid homicide, as a new customer approaches with a bag. Tim hurries over to serve them while Zoe finishes Alex’s transaction.

He tips her almost 50% of his bill, and maybe she’s reading into things, but he seems to be offering a silent means of support for having to deal with a misogynistic asshole of a boss. Zoe’s going to choose to believe that, anyway. Anything to help her get through the day.

iv.

He knows something odd is going on in Cuppa Joe’s that morning before he sets foot inside. All the baristas are gathered around the counter, and Andi is waving her arms in the air, and . . . are they all singing?

He considers turning around and going back to his car, but he needs his coffee, so he pushes the door open and slips in.

“ . . . birthday to you!” The baristas and half the shop finish their raucous rendition of the birthday song and burst into spontaneous applause, all directed at a girl Alex doesn’t know, who is smiling and laughing and enjoying the situation much more than he would be if an entire coffee shop decided to sing to him on his birthday.

“Thank you, thank you,” the blonde girl says, nodding to them all, still laughing.

Andi catches sight of him. “Mr. Carter!” she calls out, putting him on the spot. “Wish this lovely young lady a happy birthday!”

“Oh, um . . . happy birthday,” he says, and he thinks maybe he doesn’t sound like a complete idiot. The girl beams at him, like nothing gives her greater joy than having a stranger awkwardly wish her a happy birthday.

“Thanks,” she says, and then Eddie says something to her, allowing Alex to place his order at the counter, but when he goes to pay, someone else places a five dollar bill on the counter. “It’s on me,” says the birthday girl.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Alex says.

“Well, Andi refused to let me pay for my own drink,” the girl says with an affectionate eye roll. “And I’m like a hobbit. I like to give gifts to other people for my birthday. You are the recipient of a random act of kindness. No escaping it. Pay it forward if you like. I couldn’t think of a better birthday gift.”

And before he can think of anything to say, she flashes one more grin, gives the whole store a merry farewell, and bounds away out the door.

v.

“If I was an SAT Math workbook,” Zoe mutters to herself, slowly turning in place and scanning the study tables in the library, “where would I be?” She and Librarian Joy have been searching for the thing for almost ten minutes. The library catalogue says it’s in, Joy’s special librarian catalogue says it’s in, but it’s not on the shelf or on a reshelving cart or anywhere that they can find.

Then she seems him -- a boy about her age, typing away on a laptop, earbuds in his ears and a stack of books beside him. She takes a couple careful steps in his direction, the better to identify the books, and aha! There it is! Victory!

“Excuse me,” she says, approaching his table, but with his headphones in, he doesn’t hear her. So she reaches out and very gently taps him on the shoulder.

He startles, and she immediately springs back, cringing inwardly. “Sorry!” she says in a rush as he pulls out the earbuds. “I didn’t mean to startle you, or interrupt. I was just wondering if you were checking out the math prep book, or if I’d be able to use it.”

He blinks, then processes the question. “Oh! No, I’m done with it. Go ahead,” he says, extricating it from the middle of the pile.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile, taking it. “I think the math portion might actually kill me.”

He offers a tight smile. “Same,” he says, only a little awkwardly.

“When do you test?”

“Three weeks.”

“Me too.” And then, because every bit of his body language is screaming that he would like to be done with this unexpected social interaction, she says, “Well, good luck.”

“You too,” he says, and puts his earbuds back in as Zoe turns, searching out an empty table.

Librarian Joy comes over. “Oh, you found it!” she exclaims.

“Yep! When all else fails, look for another slightly frantic high schooler!”

Joy laughs. “Oh, Zoe, I meant to ask you. How did that project end up going for you? With the letters?”

“Really well!” Zoe says, her eyes lighting up. “Thanks for letting me stash one here -- I got a lot of responses, and I’m still writing to a few people. It’s been a lot of fun.”

“I’m thrilled we could be a part of it,” Joy says, then lets Zoe get to it. Zoe’s glad. If she can crack 600 on the math practice test, she’s allowing herself to respond to Alex’s latest letter.

Three tables away, Alex types on, completely unaware of who it is sharing his space.

vi.

All it takes is one overheard sentence. Alex is sitting in Cuppa Joe’s, reading a book and procrastinating going home when he hears it.

“ZO-oe, you are so slow!”

His attention is immediately brought to the door, where a girl a few years older than himself stands, her posture oozing impatience as she calls to someone out in the parking lot.

Alex is listening hard now for anything, any other clue that might confirm the suspicion making his heart race. Out of the window, he catches a glimpse of long, white-blonde hair whipping in the California wind just as a second unfamiliar girl in the doorway says something that ends in, “ . . . burned hand, cut her some slack.”

Alex is up and moving before the first girl’s response of “A burned hand does not affect her feet, and we are on a schedule,” has time to register.

In hindsight, locking himself in the bathroom may not have been the smartest move. Rachel keeps talking about remodeling and putting multiple stalls in the bathroom, but for now they’re single use, which is currently a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he can press his ear to the door and eavesdrop and know when certain people have left certain coffee shops. A curse because it’s going to be much harder for him to stay in here indefinitely without drawing attention to himself. At some point, someone else will need to use the bathroom. He can only pray Zoe has left by then.

Though it becomes clear after a few minutes that his retreat into the bathroom has not gone entirely unnoticed. The baristas are dragging out this interaction, and the only saving grace is that Zoe and her cousins seem to have someplace else to be, so he won’t be trapped in the bathroom for upwards of twenty minutes.

Finally, finally, finally they are gone, despite everyone’s best efforts. But Eddie is waiting for Alex when he gets back to his table.

“Dude!” he exclaims. “You have the worst timing! She was right here!”

“I know,” he says, gathering his things because loud as it will be at home, it’s gonna beat being here, with the entire staff staring at him and whispering among themselves about things he’s not sure he wants to know. “That’s why I disappeared.”

“That makes literally no sense,” Eddie says, and Alex refrains from rolling his eyes. “Don’t you want to meet her?”

Alex carefully schools his face into an impassive mask. Eddie talks enough as it is. Alex is not going to give him any more ammunition. “It’s an honor thing. We want it to happen on our terms.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I say, the sooner the better. Why wait?”

“I have to get home,” is all Alex says.

He’s not usually one to indulge in “What ifs,” but as he drives home, he can’t help but think what might have happened if Zoe’s cousin hadn’t called out her name before she walked through the door.

i.

(and one time they had a conversation about it)

They’re lying on a blanket under their tree in the park in comfortable, easy silence, their hands interlaced between them when Zoe gives voice to something she’s been thinking about lately.

“Do you ever wonder how many times we met before we met?” she asks. When she turns her head to the side, Alex is looking at her.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean that you and I have both lived in San Diego our wholes lives, and that the city isn’t really that big, especially when you think about the areas we each really inhabit. There’s a lot of overlap in that Venn diagram. My mom has been writing at your stepmom’s coffee shops as long as I can remember. Our schools play each other at football. I work at a restaurant I know you visit because it’s cater-made for people like you who don’t like to interact with anyone.”

He elbows her side at that remark, and she elbows him back, grinning. “At some point,” she continues, “the Law of Averages has to come into play. I mean, we know we were in Cuppa Joe’s at the same time at least once. Honestly, I’d be more shocked to learn that April 18 was actually the first time we ever interacted. So, do you ever wonder how often we did?”

“Well, now I’m going to.”

She grins and turns her gaze back up toward the leaves. “Then my work here is complete.”

They lay in silence for a little longer, then he says, softly, “It’s weird to think about. That I could have met you, talked to you, and not remember.”

“We wouldn’t, though. Necessarily,” she replies, because she’s thought about this a lot. “Because it takes a lot for an interaction to move into long-term memory, right? I call my wait staff by name, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to remember their name three days later, or recognize them if I pass them on the street. Until someone becomes important or semi-permanent . . .” She trails off and shrugs.

“That’s . . . kind of depressing.”

She sits straight up and stares at him, shaking her head. “No, it’s not!” she exclaims. “It’s the most encouraging thing in the world.” He raises himself onto his elbows and looks at her quizzically. So she explains. “When I hypothetically made your sandwich at Which Wich, and did not make faces at the amount of banana peppers I’m sure you made me put on there--” He smirks at that, which was her goal “--or when we, I don’t know, bumped into each other at a football game or a coffee shop, or any other of a million possible interactions, we weren’t ready to really meet yet because really meeting then wouldn’t have led us to this moment and this reality right here, and the universe knew it! It’s like you going into the bathroom when I came into Cuppa Joe’s over Christmas. You knew the timing wasn’t right, but until we could sense those things for ourselves, the universe had to do it for us, and it did! It made sure that we met when we were ready to meet.”

“Or it kept throwing us in each other’s paths and we were too oblivious to notice,” he counters.

“See, that makes it depressing,” she says. “My explanation makes it encouraging.”

He sits all the way up and gives her that look that melts her into a puddle, that smile that’s barely there, his eyes shining with amusement at her but also wonder and joy and so many other things. “Well, then . . .” he says softly, “I suppose I should be thanking the universe.”

“I do every day,” she tells him, and the look in his eyes intensifies and she knows she’s about to be kissed (or she’s about to do the kissing, one or the other), and as the distance between them is closed, she thanks the universe one more time.

[neverisalongtime-ja-blog]

Chapter 9: I’ve wanted this for so long

Attention this chapter may cause blushing.

Here it is, chapter 9 already! Time flies you guys.

I hope you enjoy reading it as I did writing it. Don't forget the feedback!

Remember to follow Anastasia on Instagram because I have no life.

Anastasia_Truman

Much love to you all! ❤️️

--------------------------------------------

Read chapter 8

Weather in New York was perfect: not too hot but not cold yet. A car picked the Truman sisters up to take them to a luxurious hotel.

-          So whose idea was it? – Anastasia told her sister while they were stuck in traffic – To have you on the video?

-          Who do you think? – She answered smiling.

-          Tony, of course.

Her sister didn’t say a thing but the answer was obvious. Anthony and Barbara had a strange relationship. They were definitely friends, they have been for at least 20 years, and an obvious attraction was always around. Before Barbara got married, 12 years ago, they kind of tried to be together but it never worked; now that Barbara was divorced they were on at it again.

-          I know that I’m never going to have a serious relationship with him. I mean, I love him to death, he is one of my best friends but I know who he is and why his relationships don’t work. However I deserve to have fun too, even more after the horrible divorce and Tony is the perfect man to do it with.

-          I wish I could be half the chill you are – Anastasia said.

-          You overthink everything. You need life to flow; the Universe will give you what you want. Who told you about this anyway?

-          Josh – Anastasia cuddled with her sister in the back seat – He wanted to see me.

-          And do you want to see him?

-          Barb, I took a flight in a fucking tiny plane at six in the morning to come to New York. Yes I want to see him – Barbara laughed.

-          Josh is a really nice guy and you should give yourself an opportunity.

-          You sound like Mandy.

After what seemed like years they got into their hotel and checked into a double room. Barbara knew that only Anastasia was going to sleep there.

After a long shower and a quick change of clothes, the girls went to the video set. Although Barbara didn’t have to film until the next day she thought it was a good idea to come by and say hi. They were on a room with a Saturday-Night-Fever-style dance floor. Anthony and Flea were there looking like characters from the movie. The sisters laughed and hugged each one of the guys.

-          This reminds me of my youth – Barbara said.

-          I know, it’s going to be a fun video – Anthony said.

-          If you put “Staying Alive” I swear that Barbara and I know all the moves – Anastasia said looking at the illuminated dance floor.

-          We should have a dance off – Chad said appearing from behind the girls and hugging them – Me and Anthony and you two.

-          It’s on. But you go first – Barbara said unable to stop laughing.

There was no turning back. “Thank God the place is empty”, Anastasia thought. While Chad and Anthony made themselves look like fools, the girls looked like idiots too but they did it with grace so Flea choose them to win the “Saturday Night Fever Dance Off”. After sharing an applause, Anastasia saw Josh sitting on a corner laughing, it was obvious he saw her dancing disco style with her sister; she mended her dignity and went straight to him.

-          Well, you always find me making a fool of myself – She said hugging him.

-          That victory was obvious – Josh said.

-          I say recount the votes – Anthony screamed from across the room and everyone started laughing.

-          I’m glad you came – Josh said looking Anastasia into her eyes.

-          I’m glad you invited me.

-          It’s great you just can get into a plane and go to wherever place you want.

-          A privilege just a few have – she remembered the thoughts she had about Carrie after he invited her to New York.

-          Listen, we are going to do a bunch of takes tonight until late, but tomorrow I have time off after filming some more, why don’t you and I have dinner tomorrow? There is a monstrous milkshake place I want to try.

-          You mentioned food so I have to accept.

When Anastasia woke up the next day she was alone in the hotel room, her sister left a message on her phone saying that she was going to film her scenes for the Red Hot Chili Peppers video and that gave Anastasia plenty of time to do some shopping alone and in peace at New York. She wanted to find something special for tonight’s date and she did, she found a dark blue short dress with long sleeves, it wasn’t tight so it didn’t look tacky she pair it up with black ankle boots covered in silver stars with high heels, a pony tail and red lips completed the look. This time Josh went to get her to the room.

-          Red lips uh? – He said with a huge smile.

-          For a change – She answered – You like it?

-          I like it all – He said looking at her from head to toe. Her face turned red – I know I told you we were going for milkshakes but I thought that we should visit a fancier place.

-          That’s why you’re wearing a tux? – She said – I like the cap, it’s a nice touch – he was wearing a New York Yankees black cap.

-          I’m wearing just the tux jacket – he answered laughing.

Anastasia agreed and soon they were walking through the streets of New York. The place wasn’t far away from their hotel and a proper New York walk was a must every time Anastasia visited the city. Suddenly Josh stopped.

-          Is that you? – He said looking at a big billboard up their heads.

-          Yes – Anastasia said ashamed. It was a fashion advertisement that Mandy and her did earlier that year – Mandy is all about fashion so brands search for her for campaigns and sometimes she drags me into them too.

-          You look amazing there – Josh said but Anastasia noticed he didn’t show a lot of enthusiasm for the billboard.

Soon they entered a very elegant restaurant, full of details and typical chic New Yorkers, the reserved table was out of sight.

-          You really like hidden tables – she said taking a seat.

-          I just like to enjoy food in peace – he answered.

-          We really should do something besides eating once in a while - Anastasia said.

-          I thought about that and Eric told me you are a huge Broadway fan so I’m taking you to see Hamilton tonight – Anastasia was perplexed.

-          Shut up! There aren’t tickets available until next year – She said – Not even Barbara could find them!

-          Well I guess we have a very diligent assistant – He said smiling.

-          I always wanted to be in Broadway, it’s one of my frustrated dreams but I’m not good at acting at all, the singing I got it covered, the dancing well… you saw it yesterday, the acting two thumbs down to that. I auditioned for a couple of musicals but didn’t get it.

-          You push yourself so far.

-          What do you mean?

-          You do so many things.

-          I don’t know, I guess I like arts and everything that has to do with them, even musical theater.

-          I must warn you that we aren’t going alone tonight; Chad and his wife are going to join us.

-          That’s fine. Nancy is one of Barbara’s best friends and I’m super close to Chad so, it’s okay.

After eating some fish, drinking some wine and having a very lovely conversation about baseball, because both of them were really huge sports fans, the two walked to the theater where Chad and Nancy were waiting, they shared a hug and entered to see the show. Nobody spoke a word during the musical; everyone was captivated by the story. After it ended Chad and Nancy were planning on going to have dinner, and since Anastasia and Josh already did that, they excused themselves and walked back to their hotel. Josh asked Anastasia to come to his room and, once again, she couldn’t refuse.

His room was located in one of the highest floors, of course, with a great view of the Big Apple.

-          Somehow we always end in a hotel room – Anastasia said sitting on a big couch.

-          Maybe it’s destiny – Josh said taking a seat next to her. She felt her face turn red again.

She felt the impulse to get closer to him, maybe it was his half smile which made him look incredible sexy or maybe it was his brown and illuminated eyes which made him look tender. She was going to jump into this bottomless abysm and only time would tell her how to get out.

He placed a hand in her waist and another in her neck while hers moved through his back without stopping the kisses. She didn’t drink that much but she felt it was impossible to try to control herself; probably the same went through Josh mind. She managed to take Josh’s jacket off and somehow sat on top of him. In a break to take some air Josh stopped her and looked into her eyes.

-          What? – Anastasia looked back at Josh – Now you have red lips – She said trying to clean them a bit while both laughed.

-          Are you sure? – He said. She understood what he meant and only nodded. He smiled - I’ve wanted this for so long – He kissed her just to separate lips a few seconds after. Then he looked again straight to her big turquoise eyes – I’ll be gentle – And he gave her a naughty half smile.

After a long kissing session in the living room they moved into the bedroom, where after months of doubt Anastasia felt she never was more right about a decision before. Josh made her feel safe and warm, made her feel unique and made her feel things no other man had achieved before. She only hoped she had the same effect in him and by his gestures on his face she thought it was safe to affirm it. It was a long night; they almost saw the first rays of light slip through the panoramic windows that surrounded the bedroom. It was the best night she had in years. At the end they didn’t say a word to each other, their eyes spoke for them and after a couple of kisses they fell asleep in a hug.

At morning Anastasia woke up a little bit confused, she looked around the room and then saw Josh sleeping next to her without a shirt on. For reasons unknown panic took over her mind and trying to not wake him up, she grabbed her clothes that were spread all over the floor and got out the room.

She got into her own room where Barbara was nowhere to be seen. Her bed was made and her things in the same exact position as yesterday. It was clear she didn’t spend the night there either. She took a shower and called Mandy.

-          What’s up? – Mandy answered through the phone.

-          Are you alone? – Anastasia asked.

-          No, I’m with Eric packing instruments for Chicago while you are spending all your money on Fifth Saks Avenue. And you are on speaker by the way.

-          Hi An! – Eric’s voice was heard.

-          Oh God! – Anastasia started – It happened.

-          What happened? – Mandy asked.

-          With Josh! It happened!

-          WHAT? – Both voices said at the same time.

-          When? - Mandy asked.

-          Last night.

-          But it’s damn early. Is he there?

-          No. I ran away!

-          ANASTASIA! - Both voices said at the same time again.

-          I know but I freaked out! Damn anxiety! – She heard her friends laughing loudly.

-          I can’t believe this! – Eric said without stopping the laugh.

-          Go back to his room, An! – Mandy said.

-          I can’t! That would be more stupid.

-          What you did is already very stupid – In that moment Anastasia’s phone received a second call.

-          Somebody is calling. I’ll call you back in a second.

-          Probably it’s him, asking if you fuck and leave – Mandy said without stop laughing.

Her friend was right, it was Josh calling. Anastasia took a deep breath and answered.

-          So are you going to disappear every time I kiss you? – Josh asked and Anastasia noticed he wasn’t angry at all.

-          Well, that was more than kissing and I wanted to get a shower.

-          I have a shower here.

-          Yes but my clean clothes are here.

-          Right. Want to join me for breakfast? I’ll call room service.

-          Sure. I will be there in a minute.

She hung up. The images of last night were stuck in her head and created a big smile on her face. A smile she was going to carry for days.

Read chapter 10

[jamkookies]

° Bon Voyage °

• Part III •

Peek-A-Boo!

~

There are seven pairs of eyes watching you expectantly and you don't know where to look. This is definitely not what you had been thinking when Tae told you about having to pick a room.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Namjoon says as a matter of fact.

"Why? Should I be somewhere else?"

"Y/N, how many times do we have to explain? " Jin interferes. "You are supposed to go outside and wait for us to hide in our rooms. Then you can come in and choose your own."

You deadpan.

"I'm honestly suffering from jet - lag and I'm so tired and I really wanna get this over with, " you say in a seemingly careless way, but the truth is you are internally panicking. The possibility of you sharing a room with Jungkook had you feeling on edge.

You didn't understand what the hell was wrong with you. This wasn't the first time you had to be close to him or to any other member. Living with them for five years sure had it's own effect.

Then what exactly had changed?

Why did you keep looking at him in another light? Why did you feel your stomach sink every time you threw a glance his way?

And look, you didn't even need to specify who him was, because there was no other to begin with. Just him.

You shake your head, trying to shake off the thoughts too.

This wasn't the time. You had to stick to your plan. Act unbothered, be unbothered.

"Look, hyung. She's scheming." Taehyung observed you like you were a wild animal.

You took this in your own advantage.

" I am so gonna get that single room. Just watch," you said with a false sense of self-confidence.

You stomp off the room and get out into the hallway.

You wait until one of the staff members opens the door again and lets you in.

You carefully step inside, making your feet light on the floor so as not to give away your location.

You pace in the living room and then you think of something. You stomp your feet hard on the floor and wait for any other sound coming from upstairs.

Nothing.

Then your ears catch a romping on the corner of the ceiling.

So, that room was already overcrowded then.

You take the stairs and head for the opposite way.

There was no guarantee that it would be empty, considering that there were a lot of members, but at this point you didn't care anymore. You tentatively pull down the handle and peek inside .

Only a glimpse of white sheets greets you. You swing the door completely open and almost cry out of joy.

It's empty.

You had gotten the single room.

You raise your arms in victory and jump right into the single bed , savoring the comfortable feeling of the smooth sheets.

"Ahhh, finally - "

"Peek-a-boo!"

" AAAAAAAGHH!"

You scream at the top of your lungs and fall to the floor with a thump, when you see Jungkook's head peeking from under the bed.

The impact rattles your teeth and you groan in pain.

"What are you doing over there?"

Jungkook pulls off a cocky smile.

"Pranking you, of course. Did you really think you were gonna get a whole room to yourself?"

"I was hoping to."

"Nope, you're stuck with me."

"Come here , you little rascal! " You say through clenched teeth and make an attempt at catching him.

He easily avoids you and swerves to the side. You then start to chase him around the room like a five year-old, but was the boy fast...

When you somehow catch hold of him, you put him in a headlock and are about to smack him upside the head, when the rest of the boys come storming into the room.

"What are you doing?" Asks Yoongi. "We heard screaming."

"What does it look like I'm doing? Beating this kid's ass for almost giving me a heart attack, of course."

"Hey, watch the formalities. I'm older than you," Jungkook protests, head still under your arm.

Jin looks at the nearest camera." Could you please cut this part? We don't want the show to be age - restricted because of her cussing."

You stick your tongue at him and then proceed to make a face at the camera.

Jungkook takes his chance and tickles you on your side.

You release him almost immediately, writhing uncontrollably. You were really ticklish, and at the slightest threat you were always ready to throw hands.

Zero tolerance on that.

Still, you manage to kick him behind the knees, making his legs give out.

"How's the ground, loser?"

He looks at you through his see - through bangs and gives you a mischievous smile.

You notice Hoseok pinching the bridge of his nose and then start laughing yourself.

* * *

You are sitting on the couch along with the boys, waiting for instructions from the staff. Even though this was a time for you to enjoy your holidays and get your mind off of the stress, concerts, and everything else, games and missions weren't something you could get rid of.

" You are all going to try to make dinner for tonight. Each one of you is assigned a special dish, and you are to cook it with the ingredients given to you. The one with the best dish wins 200 dollars to spend on shopping."

Everyone lets out cheers of joy at the mention of money.

You were all rich as hell, but you still got excited even at the mention of so much as a coupon. It was your own way of appreciating little things.

The staff member offers you a basket full of tiny globes, each containing a rolled up paper.

He puts the basket in the middle of the circle were you are all sitting on the floor and gestures for you to proceed.

Taehyung fishes one out and opens it carefully, retrieving the roll of paper inside. He's kinda nervous because he doesn't have much experience with cooking, but you all give him reassuring smiles, nudging him to go on.

The paper reads ' Pasta '.

"You're saved, Taehyungie. That's an easy thing to make," Jimin says.

He sighs, relieved and smiles widely.

Next is Jin, who goes for the globe without hesitation.

Kimbap.

Jimin. Salad.

Jungkook. Steak.

Namjoon. Soup. You snorted when hearing that.

Hoseok. Milk-shakes.

Yoongi. Tteok-bokki.

It was your turn now.You open the paper with shaky hands and read it.

Pancakes.

Yes !

That was one of the only things you knew how to make.

Namjoon looked at you with puppy eyes.

"Would you want to switch?"

You act like you're touched by his display of cuteness then pull off the most serious face.

"No."

You jump around in excitement, showing your piece of paper to the other members with the most exagerated moves.

Jin joins you and you start making silly dance moves together.

* * *

Everyone is busy trying to make their own dish and you're no less invested.

There's a hell of a mess in front of you - flour, milk and eggs. Your hair is smeared white even though you had tied it in a bun on the back of your head.

It was fairly short and there were multiple strands escaping from it, but it didn't bother you that much.

At least the apron was doing a good job of shielding your clothes.

You take a look at the others who are concentrated on their tasks. The only sounds in the room are those of knives, spoons and the occasional sizzling of oil.

Then, out of nowhere Jin's voice is heard.

"Hey guys, can you turn off the AC? I'm a little chilli," he says, while holding an actual chili pepper and then laughs like a windshield wiper.

Everyone is trying to hold their laughter, except for Yoongi who actually looks displeased.

"Please stop. It's making me angry."

Jin ignores him and grabs two eggs from the counter.

"You know why eggs don't tell jokes?" He continues. " Because they'd crack each other up!"

You can't hold it in anymore. You double over with laughter, holding your aching stomach. Everyone else is having the time of their lives because of Jin's antics.

Still giggling, you move around the kitchen trying to find other ingredients and bump into Jungkook along the way.

He kicks you lightly in the shin. You kick him back. You both have your hands occupied - him holding a bowl filled with water and you a pack of flour, so you start a kicking competition.

"Hey, quit it you two!" Yoongi yells over the noise of frying food.

Just to spite him, you pour flour all over Jungkook's head. He is outraged and gets back at you splashing you in the face with the water.

You gasp, the coldness seeping into your clothes and making you shiver.

You are soaking wet and you're making a mess out of the water dripping from your face onto the floor.

He's gonna pay for this.

You're about to grab something to hit him with, when Yoongi grabs both of your shirts an pushes you apart.

"What is it with you two today?"

"He started it," you complain.

Yoongi glares at you one last time and lets you go.

You were beyond pissed off but you couldn't deny that it was entertaining to joke around like this.

You both found yourself grinning at each other.

* * *

Dinner was ready.

You had to admit, it looked quite inviting, several dishes with different colors that let out a delicious scent.

You couldn't wait to dig in and the only thing stopping you was the fact that the staff had to try it first in order to decide who the winner was.

You didn't really care about the money.

Shopping wasn't really your thing and even if you won ( which was unlikely to happen), you would probably give it to Hoseok or something. What you did care about was winning.

After the man had a taste out of everything, he prepared to give the final verdict.

The others started making drum sound effects.

You rolled your eyes.

They just had to make everything look as dramatic as possible.

The staff member didn't hesitate.

"The winner is....Jin."

You all groan out of annoyance while Jin gets up from his seat and blows a kiss at the camera.

You didn't stand a chance, anyway.

Who were you to compete with Jin, the Mighty Cook ?

Curse him and his delicious kimbap.

So you dig in, trying everything that was laid out in front of you.

From the corner of your eye you notice Taehyung stuffing enormous amounts of food in his mouth and you smile.

You didn't know why you had started to get so nostalgic lately, but you couldn't help it.

These random moments were the ones that made you realize there wasn't anywhere in the world that you wanted to be , except here, with your family.

* * *

"Let me get this straight. You expect us to fit into that?" You said pointing at the single bed in front of you.

It hadn't really dawned upon you that there was only one single bed on display. And two of you.

At least the others had where to sleep.

Yoongi and Taehyung had gotten the king-sized bed, Namjoon also the same but all to himself, while Jimin, Jin and Hoseok had been assigned on the room consisting of three single beds.

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck.

"You sleep with your head at the front of the bed, while I sleep with mine at the end."

"You mean so we can sleep while hugging each other's legs?"

"You said it, not me."

Despite all of the pent up frustration, you start laughing.

Once you start, it's impossible to stop.

Your sides start to ache and you almost choke on your spit.

Jungkook stares at you, confusion all over his face.

"What?"

"It's just that," you say, still not being able to produce words correctly, " It's weird how they make us go through all of this, and for what? Just so we can film a reality show."

You shake your head, still smiling.

"Yeah, it is kinda weird now that you mention it," Jungkook says.

He goes for the suitcase on the ground and takes out his pyjamas.

"I'm gonna go change in another room," he says. "You can have the room to yourself."

You nod and go for your own pyjamas.

After he's left, you start slipping out of your clothes.

You'd decided to take an RJ pyjama set with you. The tiny characters were so cute and you really didn't care about looking decent even on your sleep.

Then, you hear a knock on the door.

"Come in" , you say and what greets you is Jungkook wearing his own Cooky pajama set. His black hair and pink clothes makes him look conflicting and you can't help but snort.

"Very funny" ,he mocks you.

He takes his own pillow and puts it at the end of the bed. You take your own and set it at the front.

You both lay down, keeping a respectable distance from each other.

"I can't believe I'm gonna have to hear you snoring all night," you say, eyes on the ceiling.

"I don't snore."

"Yes you do."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am no - Ow!"

You pinch his leg.

"Hyung, don't make me beat you again."

His body shakes when he laughs, and he claps his hands together. You turn on your side and are greeted with the sight of his toes right in front of your face.

"Hyung?"

"Yeah?"

"Your feet smell."

"I showered half an hour ago. It must be your nose."

You kick him and he laughs again.

"Y/N?"

"If you're gonna tell me my feet smell, I'll shove you out of the bed."

"I was just gonna say good night."

"Oh. Good night, then."

You take a deep breath through your nose and try to fall asleep, the hint of a smile still on your lips.