#anyway. if you know this post feel free to commiserate. if you agree with this post…not sure i can do anything

[indigostudies]

specifically the post i’m annoyed by is by a big blog that will remain unnamed (general big blog, not language sphere big blog…i think. unless my judgement of this person’s online activity is entirely off) and insists that if you “just turn on the [language] subs rather than english subs” you’ll…somehow magically begin to understand (presumably at least intermediate conversational) dialogue in shows? which, i think comprehensible input can be a great tool but…that’s not CI. you’re just advising people to do something that will have little to no payoff unless they’re already familiar with the language’s basics (at least!)(the post was specifically aimed at beginning learners with no/little familiarity, though!) and which will probably leave them frustrated and demoralised…i don’t mean to gatekeep but i think sometimes maybe people shouldn’t confidently claim xyz method is the One True Secret Solution. especially if they have, quite literally, no sources to back them up besides (to quote the internet) “source: trust me bro”.

[hale-13]

Zero Days Without Incident

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 20 Prompt - Defiance

The ‘Days Without Incident’ sign in Tony Stark’s private workshop has nothing to do with engineering or science mishaps and all to do with a bet between him and a certain Spiderling.

Words: 1783, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Stabbing

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter you have thirty minutes until your curfew,” Karen warned him, already plotting a course home and throwing it up on his HUD.

It was a balmy spring evening and Peter had spent most of his patrol leisurely swinging through Queens or relaxing on a hammock made from his webs. There had been a few petty crimes he had dealt with, some grand theft bicycle, a cat stuck in a tree but, all in all, he couldn’t really complain. He loved being Spider-Man and helping his neighborhood but it was nice to have a slow day sometimes.

A scream sounded in the distance.

“Spoke too soon,” he mumbled, altering his course and picking up speed. “Can you get me directions K?”

“Of course Peter,” Karen answered, as chirpy and happy as normal, re-routing him away from his apartment and toward the sounds of discourse in the distance. When he dropped in on the scene it seemed to be a mugging in progress and Peter rolled his eyes – didn’t people have anything better to do on a random Tuesday in April? God just seriously rethink your life choices.

“I would say its knife to meet you but I’ve definitely used that pun in the last couple weeks and I don’t want to be accused of not being original,” Peter called down, making both the assailant and victim flinch and look up to where he was perched on the wall above them. “Where did even get that thing? The renaissance fair? Who robs people with a full on dagger anyway? Run out of kitchen knives?” Peter quipped, flipping down and pushing the mugger away with a well placed kick to the arm that made the man stumble back.

“This has nothing to do with you bug,” the man snarled, brandishing the weapon at Peter now and making him roll his eyes. “Don’t get in my way and I won’t have to use this on ya.”

“Spiders are arachnids actually, not bugs” Peter pointed out, shooing the stunned woman out of the alley and on her way out of any potential danger. “And how about you not stab anybody today huh? If you promise to behave I won’t web you to the wall and call the police. Sounds like a fair trade right?”

The man snarled at him with irritation. “You talk too much.”

“So I’ve been told,” Peter agreed easily with a nod. “But what do you say? Ready to give up your life of crime for the straight and narrow?”

“No,” the man grumbled and, with literally no warning, lunged forward and stabbed his knife directly into Peter’s gut.

They both stared at each other in stunned silence before Peter processed the pain with a loud ‘fuck!’.

“You motherfucker,” Peter grunted, backing away to lean against the wall, holding the knife still with one hand so as to not dislodge it. “I can’t believe you stabbed me!”

“I thought you would dodge! You always dodge!” The man said, reaching up both hands to dig into his hair. “I stabbed Spider-Man what the fuck!”

“God this is just-,” Peter grumbled using his free arm to fire webbing at the guy and secure him to the nearby dumpster. “I’ve gone three weeks without having to go to the MedBay! Three weeks! All I had to do was last one more and then I got to pick the movie at movie night for the next month! God I can’t believe it! Mr. Stark is going to be so insufferable now!”

“You could just… not tell him?” The man asked hopefully, not even bothering to struggle against the webs and Peter blew out a breath as he sank down to sit on the gritty ground – he was starting to feel a little cold and dizzy from either the blood loss or shock, he couldn’t tell which. Not that it mattered, his fierce anger overshadowed everything.

“Not an option,” Peter grunted, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the helpful countdown timer Karen had started displaying the second Tony had entered the Iron Man armor and started jetting to him. “He already knows.” Curse the Baby-monitor Protocol! He and Ned would need to remove it again…

“He track you or something?” The man asked questioningly, head quirked to the side in obvious curiosity.

“Or something,” Peter agreed.

“That’s wack man,” he said. “An invasion of privacy. A, uh… violation of your constitutional rights as a free American!”

“Do you honestly think Tony Stark cares about an something as simple as an invasion of privacy? I’m lucky he hasn’t microchipped me yet,” Peter pointed out. Or, at least, he didn’t think Tony had microchipped him. He’d have to check that and remove it post haste if he found something.

“Dude,” knife guy said commiserating and Peter had to fight the eye roll. Of course the person who stabbed him felt remorseful now.

“I know,” Peter agreed, peering down at his side to look at where the knife was embedded into him. He was pretty good around blood as long as it wasn’t his own and, looking at the way his suit was slick and blood was beginning to pool under his thighs in a puddle made Peter lightheaded so he closed his eyes again. “He’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you by the way,” Peter warned. “He has pretty good lawyers so I wouldn’t have high hopes of getting out of this without jail time.”

The man groaned and Peter just shrugged. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time and all that – also don’t stab people and leave them to the ministrations of their helicopter mentors. Same thing really. The sound of repulsers neared and Peter braced himself – he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with this.

“I guess that we can change the ‘Days Without Incident’ sign back to zero eh Spiderling?” Tony teased as he landed in the mouth of the alley, disengaging his suit and walking over to kneel next to Peter. “You were doing so good too – your longest streak ever in fact.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peter hissed as Tony prodded around the wound carefully with a pre-gloved hand. “Can you not touch that?”

“No can do buddy,” Tony said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Gotta anchor it in so it doesn’t fall out on the ride back. Happy’s on his way to pick us up.”

“Oh great,” Peter groused, letting Tony lean him forward a little so he could start wrapping roll gauze around the knife. “He loves to complain when I get blood on the seats.”

“Only when you get impaled,” Tony said brightly, pulling the gauze tight almost vindictively and making Peter wince. “Wouldn’t want to deprive him now would we?”

“You could just let me bleed out and die here,” Peter suggested seriously. “Since my life is basically over now anyway.

“You’re such a dramatic little shit,” Tony groused, tying off the gauze and levering Peter up off the ground to slump into his side for the extra support. “Now say ‘goodbye’ to your friend, he won’t be seeing the real world for a long, long time,” Tony’s voice had an edge of steel as he said this, dragging Peter to the end of the alley and ignoring the muggers ‘Aw man, c’mon!” as they passed. Peter just shrugged a ‘what can you do?” and wiggled his fingers in a facsimile of a wave as he was pulled away.

Happy, to his credit, was efficient and must have already been in the area because he was quick to pull up with a surly look already cemented onto his face as he surveyed where Peter was leaning into Tony and dribbling blood onto the sidewalk in large, heavy droplets. “I already called the cleaning crew,” he told them through the open window. “They’ll be here before the police to scrub up any possible radioactive DNA.”

“Best forehead of security ever,” Tony crooned lovingly as he carefully situated Peter onto the pile of towels Happy had put into the backseat to soak up the blood and keep it off his leather seats. Happy glared at the both of them in the rearview mirror before rolling up the partition. Tony snorted in undisguised mirth.

“How you feeling kiddie?” He asked as he peeled Peter’s mask from his sweaty face. “Not going to pass out on me again right?”

“Uh…” Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight to stop the spinning and grey dots that were clouding his vision. “No promises. Sorry.” Tony just let out a put upon sigh like he expected as much and pushed Peter to lay down across the seats, grabbing one of the extra towels to press tightly around the knife and making Peter let out a whining moan at the pressure. “Yeah I might pass out,” he said faintly as his vision started to tunnel.

“Go on then,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s damp curls and smoothing them away from his face. “At least you don’t sass me when you’re unconscious.” Peter felt the man lift his legs to slid a few wadded up towels underneath… like that would actually help keep him awake.

“Rude,” Peter grumbled before losing his grip on reality – he trusted Tony to take care of things for now.

——————————————

“I hate this movie,” Peter grumbled groggily, as he pulled himself awake some time later. He was lying in one of the beds in the MedBay, attached to a blood transfusion and with a thick padding of gauze on his abdomen. Tony, seated next to him and munching on popcorn, just sent him a shit eating grin and held up the whiteboard that had been hanging in his workshop displaying ‘Days Without Incident’ with a large 0 written under it in obnoxious red ink.

“This is such bullshit,” Peter said petulantly, picking at the tape holding the IV in place. “I can’t escape! Go watch your garbage movie somewhere else.”

“Excuse me you brat,” Tony said imperiously. “The Breakfast Club is a cult classic thank you very much and besides,” he continued, offering Peter the bowl of popcorn, “someone clearly has to educate you on good movies.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Peter said, flicking a kernel of popcorn playfully at his mentor (and missing damn – he must be on drugs) and letting his tired eyes slip closed again.

“Sore loser,” he heard Tony tease as he fell asleep and that did it. When he won their next bet they were marathoning the whole Star Wars series from beginning to end, including all of the Clone Wars and the Mandalorian, and he didn’t care what Mr. Stark said.

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. chapter 5.

Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, 

AN: Let The Games Begin.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation, sexual harassment 

Prompt/Inspiration: Cringe - Matt Maeson

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

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

By the time you made it back to the tribute center, you’d stopped crying and had instead gone numb. You’d taken your shoes off at some point. Your feet were cold. You sniffed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand and remembered, too late, the make up you’d been wearing.

“Fuck,” you said, without any real emotion as you took in the black smudge-marks on your hand, “that’s annoying.”

You weren’t surprised to find Finnick in your living room when you opened the door to your suite. When your client had first started to pull you away, you’d panicked and searched for Finnick with your eyes, but you never found him. Now, some part of you was grateful for that.

He looked a mess. His blazer was flung haphazardly over one end of the couch, his bowtie was loose, the sleeves of his shirt were dirty and rolled up past his elbows and his auburn locks were sticking up in all directions, like he’d been carding his fingers through his hair. He was watching a recap of the tribute parade on television but, when the door clicked into place, he whipped around. His eyes met yours and, as soon as they did, as soon as you saw the care there, the fear and tenderness all swirling together in the eyes of someone you trusted so much, you broke.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears spilling over your cheeks in a rush as sobs threatened to tear themselves free from your throat. In a second Finnick had leapt over the back of the couch and was in front of you, his arms half outstretched, like he wasn’t sure whether or not he could-

You launched yourself into his arms, collapsing against his body and letting him engulf you in a firm embrace. He smelled like vanilla and bourbon, and something cool and wild, like the ocean and you clung to that like a life raft, letting it flood your senses and block out everything else. Finnick held you like you were something precious, letting you cry into his shoulder while he stroked your hair and whispered comforting words into your ear. It was so gentle, so loving and tender that it made you feel painfully fragile, like you might shatter into a million little pieces at any second. Part of you wanted to pull away and hide, to push Finnick out and never let anyone touch you ever again. The other part thought that, if Finnick ever stopped touching you, you might die.

“I’m okay,” you eventually sniffed, your voice thick with tears and muffled by Finnick’s shirt.

“No you’re not,” he replied, squeezing you tighter, “I know you’re not.”

“I am,” you insisted, pulling away slightly to look Finnick in the eye, “I mean, I’m not but, the worst is over now, right? It’s done, I don’t have to be afraid of it happening anymore because it’s already happened.”

Finnick looked concerned, like he was fighting the urge to argue, but eventually he nodded.

He reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, making you shiver, “Come on, you should get cleaned up.”

For a moment you panicked. The thought of being alone with your thoughts suddenly so overwhelming that your heart froze but, as Finnick gently took your hand and led you down the hall, you realised what he’d meant. Finnick Odair had no intention of leaving you on your own, he wanted to take care of you. Without so much as a word, he washed your face, combed out your hair and put your shoes back in your closet. He waited outside while you showered, scrubbing yourself clean more times than you needed to because you couldn’t escape the feeling that you’d missed a spot. When you were clean and wrapped in a bathrobe, he helped you pick some pyjamas, three sizes too big with long sleeves and long pants and, while you changed, picked up the dress you’d stepped out of and took it away, putting it somewhere where you’d never have to look at it again.

By the time he got back, you felt almost like yourself again, or more accurately, like someone who could be you, given time. You’d slipped into bed and were sitting up against the headboard, staring into space and trying to convince yourself that it was time to sleep. Finnick, still without speaking, clambered in on the other side and shifted so that his side was pressed against yours. You snuggled into him, resting your head on his shoulder and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. It was comforting and warm and safe with Finnick, the kind of safe you couldn’t remember feeling since the games and you thanked your lucky stars that you’d met him when you did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Finnick asked.

You shook your head, “Not really. I think you can probably imagine what happened.”

“Thadius?”

“No, some banker’s son named Proculos. He said he liked my hair.” you explained.

Finnick nodded, “I’ve met him. He’s a prat.”

“He is a bit,” you agreed, “but at least he’s too stupid to be mean.”

Finnick chuckled, even though nothing about the situation was funny, and gave you a gentle squeeze as you lapsed into comfortable silence.

“Thank you, by the way,” you eventually said, “for being here.”

Finnick smiled to himself, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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

From there, life took on a strange kind of normalcy. Most of your time was spent coming up with strategies for your tributes or watching past games and taking notes. You hung out with the other victors in the sponsor rooms, made connections, charmed people, did interviews. You never talked about what happened with your clients and Finnick never asked you to, but he did watch you a little more intently than before, searching for any signs of distress. On his part, Finnick felt like he was being ripped in half. Every second spent worrying about you was a second he wasn’t spending on Annie and, every second he spent with Annie was a second not looking out for you.

How had this happened? How had Finnick Odair, king of the capitol, known bachelor and playboy, become so deeply entangled in the lives of the people around him?

“Hey, you,” you greeted, breathing heavily as you took a seat next to Finnick, “why the long face?”

You looked incredible, Finnick noticed with his usual pang of annoyance, with your hair pulled off your face and tight fitting training gear on. You’d taken Gloss up on his offer to train you in your free time, building up your strength and endurance with the fiery determination that Finnick had always admired in you so much. It was working too. In the few days it’d been happening, Finnick could already see the beginnings of real improvement. It made him absurdly proud.

“Annie.” He explained, “She’s not getting the buzz she needs from sponsors.”

“There’s still time,” you assured him, “and maybe when the training scores come out-”

Finnick cut you off, shaking his head sadly, “She won’t get higher than an eight.”

“An eight is good!”

“An eight is standard,” Finnick corrected, “at least for us it is.”

“I’d pay someone to give Adam an eight,” you sighed, “right now I’m expecting a five or six.”

Finnick cursed his own insensitivity, “Sorry, Y/N. No one really cares about the training score anyway, unless it’s super high or unreasonably low. They’re not really an indication of how well he’ll do.”

You shrugged, drinking deep from the water bottle you were holding, “I know,” you replied, “I only got a five on my year and look at me now.”

“Exactly,” Finnick smiled, “but for careers…”

“You’ve got to be better than good to stand out,” you commiserated.

“Yup.”

You opened your mouth to say something but, before you could, Gloss called you over. You shot Finnick one last sympathetic look and stood to leave.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” you called.

Finnick nodded, pushing down his disappointment, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” you smiled.

And, just like that, you were gone, leaving Finnick with his thoughts. He knew he was moping, that there were surely better ways for him to be spending his time than sitting around feeling sorry for himself but, as he watched you and Gloss training in the distance, he couldn’t muster up the energy to do any of it. Without meaning to, he let his mind drift back to that first, horrible night when you’d broken down in his arms.

Never in his life had Finnick been so filled with rage. Not when he was reaped, not when his parents had died, never. That night, for the first time, Finnick had understood the desire to cause pain and fear in another human being. He hadn’t wanted to kill the person who’d touched you, he’d wanted to destroy them, to slowly cut away little pieces of them, one by one, until nothing was left but the raw, ugly, corrupted heart of them. He wanted to make them so afraid, wanted them to feel the pain they’d caused so acutely that they begged for death. Only then did he want to kill them.

It was a terrifying feeling, knowing that that monster lay inside of him somewhere, that it could come out at any time and do something terrible to the people he loved. How could a man be capable of such thoughts, such passionate hatred and such tender care? How could a man be both, without the two sides tearing one another apart?

Despite popular belief, Finnick wasn’t actually an idiot, he knew it was because of you. He knew he cared about you more than he should and his feelings were just a reflection of that but, nevertheless, it made him deeply uncomfortable. That’s why he’d decided to keep his distance a little, put some space between the two of you, redraw those lines separating friendship from more that had become so blurry. It was harder than he’d thought it would be. You were just so...you all the time, and he wanted to be around that every single day. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. For both of your sakes, it would be better if he wasn’t. He had other obligations after all, other responsibilities. Annie needed him focussed.

He remembered the look on her face when she stepped on the train like it was yesterday, all wide eyes and abject terror.

“This is insane,” she muttered, “Fin, what’s going on? How is this happening?”

He shook his head, still reeling from the shock himself, and pulled her into a rough hug. His ears were ringing, his fingers were numb, everything around him felt like it was happening in slow motion. Annie? Why Annie? She’d never taken out tesserae, she wasn’t a star pupil at the academy... It didn’t make sense. Why had no one volunteered? Why had she ended up alone on that stage?

It’s because of you, the voice in his head whispered, it’s because of you. You did this, you doomed her. Because of course it had been rigged. There was no way that, in all of district four, Annie Cresta, known associate of Finnick Odair, could be picked randomly for the Hunger Games. It couldn’t happen. This had to be some sort of message from Snow.

Which meant, Finnick realised with growing horror and dread, that it was his fault. She was here, sentenced to die, because of him. Shame wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt.

He pushed himself up and made his way back to the elevator, determined to get some work done before the event that evening. Finnick could hear your voice echoing against the walls and, for a second, he considered just staying for a little longer. He’d almost decided that he would stay when the elevator door closed behind him and Finnick was reminded, once again, that he was alone. With a sigh, he pressed the button for the fourth floor. He felt like he was making the right decision, but why did it have to be so hard?

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

When the big day came you felt woefully unprepared. Ever since the victory tour you’d spent every free second trying to make sense of this moment. The start of the games. The first day. Everyone told you that the first one was the worst that, as the years went by, it would get easier. It was meant to be comforting but, to you, it had always sounded more like a threat.

You took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly through your mouth as the hands of the clock ticked on, bringing you closer and closer to the moment of truth. You were vaguely aware of the other mentors flitting around the large viewing room but they were like flies or little birds; pretty, but ultimately distant and unimportant when compared to the screen in front of you. You cracked your knuckles. It should be starting soon. Where was Adam right now? You wondered. Was he in the loading bay? Did he have his tracker in? Had his stylist helped him into his clothes already? Surely she must have. Your eyes flicked to the clock. Yes, by now he would be dressed and ready, maybe even already in the tube. What did they have in store for him?

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you swallowed hard past the lump in your throat. Arketia was explaining what to expect and you were trying to listen, you really were, but your eyes kept being pulled towards the glass ascension tube in the corner of the room. It was like a magnet, pulling you closer and closer to death with every passing second and there was nothing you could do but stare.

A rough hand under your chin pulled you back to the present.

“Focus!” Arketia insisted forcefully, “I’m trying to save your life here you silly girl.”

You winced as her grip dug into your chin, but nodded, recognising the sincerity in your stylist’s eyes.

“Sorry.”

Her gaze softened and she let go, gesturing to the outfit in front of you again, “Like I was saying; this is all cotton or some other lightweight fabric designed to breathe,” she explained, “except for the jacket. That means hot days and cold nights, you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered, looking over the beige and khaki outfit with a growing sense of dread.

“I would bet on it being some sort of desert,” she continued, “like a savannah or veld land.”

Your bottom lip trembled with the effort to stop yourself from crying, and you could feel the tube pulling your gaze, but you resisted. Arketia was trying to help. And, some part of you pointed out, this might be the last friendly interaction you would ever have.

“If it is, you have to find water, and soon,” she told you, a sort of desperation in her eyes, like she was trying to burn the information into your brain with only her gaze, “you’ll lose a lot in those high temperatures, more than you expect. And it’ll get extremely cold as soon as the sun goes down, so try to find somewhere sheltered to sleep, alright?”

You nodded, biting back a comment about how that was fairly general advice and letting her help you strip out of your fancy capitol clothes. All too soon you were dressed, and all you could do was wait together, sipping on bottles of water like they were a lifeline and letting your anxiety creep up and up and up and up.

“Jesus Christ, you’re really not listening to me, are you?” A voice questioned, snapping you out of your reverie with a jump.

Finnick collapsed onto the couch next to you, his perfectly sculpted face the picture of calm. You could see the tension he was holding in his body though, in the way he held his shoulders and fists. As you examined him further you could see the signs of sleepless nights in his face too. You smiled weakly.

“You look wrecked,” you teased, “your stylist didn’t have something to cover up those designer eye bags?” You asked, poking his cheek with your finger.

He laughed, moving his head away from your prodding, “Hey! Who asked you, kid? It’s rude to pick on me in these trying times.”

You scrunched up your nose, “Oh come on, you know you look perfect as usual. I pick on you purely out of jealousy.”

The banter was light hearted and joking but you both knew that it was nothing more than a smokescreen, a comforting exchange that kept you both from spiralling into uncontrollable panic and fear.

“Aww, Y/N/N,” he replied, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, “you’ve got nothing to be jealous of, kid.”

You flushed but, before you could answer, the anthem rang through the crowded room, silencing everyone and drawing their eyes towards the screens. You felt Finnick tense up beside you but you were frozen in place. Your heart was pounding in your ears as the cold hand of dread gripped your heart. For a moment, as the screens came to life, all you saw was the savannah, the miles and miles of brush and sand and the blistering sun, and the cornucopia; blindingly bright in the sun. And you were right back in it. Only the faint brushing of Finnick’s knee against yours pulled you back. You took another deep breath.

“I can do this,” you promised yourself, “I can do this.”

And with that, you pushed your panic deep down into the recesses of your mind and focused on the scene before you. You heard Finnick sigh with relief, and a few quiet sounds of celebration from the other mentors and you couldn’t help but agree, feeling the knot of worry in your chest loosen slightly. The arena was green, with sloping hills creating a sort of river basin and a towering wall of concrete and cement in the distance that looked like a dam. That fact, in particular, made you smile. Your district was full of dams, they were how you generated power and, even if the dam in the arena was unhelpful, you knew the sight of it would give your tributes some comfort the same way the river would for the tributes of district four. James caught your eye and gave you a brisk nod.

You heard the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith as he announced the start of the games, and the roaring cheer and excitement of the crowds of thousands of Capitol citizens who had gathered in the outside viewing areas. It made a rush of bile rise up in your throat.

The countdown began and, instinctively, you reached out and grabbed Finnick’s hand, squeezing tight as your eyes finally found Adam.

“3….2….1,” the robotic voice called.

“And so it begins,” Finnick said softly.

You nodded, “And so it begins.”

-------------------------- 

@i-love-you-green​ , @heatherhollowayst

[hopeymchope]

hey, sorry to barge into your inbox despite being a total stranger (and feel free to respond to this privately if you want) but i came across some of your s/n/k critical posts and i just wanted to say i agree SO much. and i wanted to thank you for vocalizing this opinion because i know both i and some others agree with you. i've personally felt that everything after chapter 80 was a mistake (because i thought the whole serum fight over erwin vs armin was pretty fuckin stupid too) and it's kinda funny (i guess) to see the ending 100% validate my opinion completely. i can't believe every character was done this dirty for the sake of a very poorly constructed "both sides are bad" scenario that was also in VERY poor taste considering the explicit allegories to n*zi germany and a literal race war. like what's up with the jews - sorry, the "eldians" - once ruling the entire world via a bloodthirsty empire and also being inhuman creatures? gee, that sure doesn't sound like every antisemitic conspiracy theory i've ever heard. and way to rationalize oppression, too. the entire point of an oppression narrative is supposed to be "hey, the oppressor's prejudices have no rational basis and are literally mistreating this oppressed group due to their own selfishness and cruelty," not "oh btw marley's fear/hatred of eldians kinda makes sense considering eldians once enslaved the entire planet and can turn into giant man-eating monsters." is*yama SERIOUSLY should've just stuck to writing glorified vore lmao.

and while all the characters were either killed, turned into plot devices, or both, it hurts that EMA and the main protag himself suffered this treatment as well. i still think pre-timeskip eren is utterly irreconciliable with post-timeskip eren and the fact that both fans and the author himself try to make it seem like "hey he was ALWAYS a batshit crazy psychopath from the start!" is sort of pathetic to watch. like yeah, lemme just ignore the first 80 chapters of character development for this guy. or lemme pretend that the author didn't spend the significant majority of the decade making eren the most empathetic character in the entire series. or let me also pretend that eren killing those human traffickers to save a 9 year old girl from being a child sex slave is somehow evidence/foreshadowing/etc of him eventually growing up to destroy 80% of the planet. like, what? not to mention he even rebuked himself for recklessly killing those two men like that in chapter 17...so am i supposed to ignore that too?? and don't even get me started on the "eren went insane and accidentally caused his mom's death." bro. BRO. i've watched the entirety of game of thrones yet i STILL have never seen this level of "edgy plot twist for shock value with no benefit or relevance to the story whatsoever" in any media to exist.

well anyway...sorry for ranting in your inbox like this LMAO i really just wanted to tell you that i agree with your opinions about both the series ending and the series as a whole. i doubt i'll ever engage with this cursed manga ever again but at least pre-chapter 80 s/n/k will always be a thing and i can pretend they all got reincarnated into a modern AU where eren and mikasa are happily married and living with their bff armin in a nice condo or something. they alternate between visiting carla and grisha or mikasa's family on weekends. yeah that sounds pretty good. if you made it this far then kudos to you and thank you for reading lol

Thanks a ton for the kind words of commiseration. It feels like there’s a plurality of people who are unhappy, sure... but it comes off as still being a minority, and even among that minority, it seems like most people are still fine with most of the timeskip so long as they stuck the landing. But I think they were much too far off-course pretty fast after the Timeskip started to really correct it very well. It was possible, but the writing was on the wall. The intentions were already clear pretty early on after the skip. 

That said, I try to keep this Tumblr mostly positive and DR-focused, yet I still absolutely had to rant about SNK 139. The more I thought about it, the more I disliked it... and this comes from someone who was already unhappy for a while, obviously, so. Yeah. Of course I was gonna dislike it on some level, but I thought it’d at least provide closure to the Timeskip arc, even if I do think the Timeskip arc feels at odds with everything else the series was for 3/4 of its run.

And HOLY SHIT I literally forgot about the Eldians’ history of apparently being horrible, vicious rulers of a sinister empire. You know why? Because I NEVER BELIEVED IT. I was so 100% certain that it was going to be outed as bullshit propaganda from Marley that I never once thought it was plausible, so I just... pushed it out of my mind as soon as I read it. After all, all that kind of talk about the arch-conspiracy of Jews has always been total bullshit from anti-semetic monsters, so why would I put any stock in this kind of talk being applied to the Jewish race of Attack on Titan? 

But now, at the end of the story... yup, I guess he never DID go back on that! So it was fucking true?! The Jewish people in this WWII analogy were apparently an evil master race at one point?! Oh. OHHHHH. Go fuck yourself with a shovel for that one, Isayama. 

And yeah, Eren... god, what a sad story. He becomes unrecognizable as the same character thanks to the Timeskip, the new characterization is never explained or justified retroactively - it’s just opposite day now, forever - and he dies accomplishing nothing. I don’t know what to say, except I do know how much I loved that character and this series before things went south. I didn’t even mind the backstory for the Titans and the horrible story of Eldians in Marley... because it seemed so obvious that it was setting up a battle against a hateful, technologically advanced foe that was beyond the darkness of anything they’d fought before, y’know? Marley, as it was set up in the flashbacks before the Timeskip, is Nazi Germany if the Nazis had tech and scientific horrors and numbers far beyond what the Allies had. And nobody EVER feels bad for killing Nazis, so this was obviously going to be a final battle to destroy the Marleyan military, with Zeke likely to serve as a Final Boss who has totally 100% bought the propaganda and who hated everything Eren stood for. It was all RIGHT THERE. Maybe it was just too easy to tell that story, because instead, Zeke is suddenly supposed to be a gray character (very hard to accept given his backstory), and we end with the “uwu both sides were bad bc war is hell” message that is really pretty fucked up, as you already correctly pointed out.

[doctors-star]

13 and/or 17 (... cowboys 🥺 pretty pls?) (but totally fine if u wanna do smthin else)

prompt list

cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

cruore - it literally means “flowing blood”

It’s a warm day out, dusty and dry under an impossibly large, impossibly blue sky. Now that it’s early afternoon and the worst of the midday heat has burned off and dissipated, the town is bustling out again into the streets, in and out of shops and ducking around riders and carriages. It sure isn’t the ideal time to unleash a room’s worth of unruly children who’ve all been cooped up since lunchtime upon the town in the vague hope they’ll make it home in one piece, but in all honesty there’s no good time to do that and they’ve got to go eventually.

Ainsel will get ‘em reading and writing, but they sure as hell ain’t some kind of charitable institution for bored youths.

Opening the door on such brightness and warmth requires serious blinking and squinting and no small amount of internal sorrow as the wall of heat hits Ainsel square in the chest and invades their cool, shaded front room. Not for the first time, they consider the merits of simply opening one of the rear windows and posting the children out of it one by one; not for the first time, the idea is dismissed. The kids would enjoy it entirely too much. Said children are presently scrambling up off the floor and making a break for the door, slates and tin lunch pans hastily shoved into small satchels, baskets, or simply jammed under one arm, and Ainsel steps neatly to one side to allow them free access to the door. For all that the kids bullied Ainsel into teaching them, they sure are always glad to get out at the end of the day.

“See you on Monday, then,” Ainsel says easily. The elder Diaz boy and Mary Wilder both twist to wave at them over their shoulders, but then they’re back to corralling their littler siblings and trying to get them to hold hands nicely for the walk out of town and up to their family ranches. The other kids pay him no mind at all - just tumble out into the street and turn their faces to the sun like little sunflowers. Little Jesse Rainey turns a little circle in the dust, swirling her skirts carefully so as to show off the new printed calico to best effect; she’s a little too used to being the saloon’s darling, if you ask Ainsel, all dressed up in pink with blonde hot-ironed ringlets, but she’s also one of the brightest kids in the class at only six years old. Ainsel reckons she could be the next schoolteacher in ten years or so, if an established schoolmaster could be prevailed upon to examine her and find Ainsel’s informal schooling up to scratch.

Two of the boys have immediately begun a small scuffle, the way young boys are apparently wont to do; Ainsel sighs, and steps forward to separate them (curse all, if one of them isn’t a loose Wilder at that) - but is beaten to the punch. There’s a sharp whistle and the clink of spurs as boots go from horseback to street, and to Ainsel’s great surprise Max Wilder jumps back and sticks his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky as his bare feet scuff at the dirty street. Were it not patently absurd, given the quantity of eye witnesses, Ainsel would say the boy was attempting to look entirely uninvolved.

Ainsel, amused, turns to raise an eyebrow at the newcomer. Will Williams catches their eye for a fraction of a second - enough for Will to roll his eyes, barely, in commiseration - and then he turns his unimpressed gaze upon the Wilder boy.

Max feigns surprise and delight well, for a nine-year-old of no particular theatrical bent; he beams at Williams with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. “Hiya, Doc,” he says through a gap-toothed smile. “How d’ya do.”

“All the better,” Will says, all dry and proper, “for knowing that you are safe at home after school and not fighting with the other boys, just like you promised me you would be. After all, we agreed on good behaviour if you were to come out to Plum Creek with me tomorrow. Didn’t we?”

Ainsel presses the knuckles of their fist to their mouth to ward off a smile as Max darts apologetically forward, spouting apologies and promises of better behaviour for ever and ever if only the Doc - that is, Mr Williams - wouldn’t tell his pa and would still take him out to the river to look for tracks. It’s more grovelling than Ainsel’s ever managed to extract from a pupil for bad behaviour, but then, Ainsel only ever promises letters and numbers, and Max seems under the impression that Williams is going to provide frogs and snakes and half a dozen other natural wonders, so.

Will scratches the back of his neck. “Well, alright,” he relents. “I - I am going to tell your pa, mind, but if he doesn’t say otherwise I don’t see why you shouldn’t come.” Max does a little victory dance and then returns to his classmates, bragging all the while about the things he’ll see out by the creek. Will himself tips his hat politely at Ainsel. “Afternoon.”

Ainsel is aware that they make Will Williams nervous. Many things do, but Ainsel reckons they do a better job of it than most folks; this is somewhat ironic, in many ways, as a fair few things make Ainsel anxious too. If they could get the measure of each other, Ainsel thinks they oughta be friends - they’d like a person to commiserate with about being thrust into a job they ain’t really qualified for, and not-a-doctor Will Williams seems like a good choice - but Williams keeps careful distance from Ainsel, even in broad daylight in a street full of children, and Ainsel ain’t hopeful. They offer a smile anyhow. “Afternoon, Williams. What can I do you for?”

Will nods gently at Miss Rainey, his own face turning gentle. “This one’s wanted at home,” he says with a smile and Jesse blushes and beams, pleased with the attention. “She’s to pick out a new ribbon at the store if she can keep tally of how much we spend and write it up neatly in the saloon books. How’s that, Miss Rainey?”

Jesse puffs up her chest with pride. “I shall have a blue ribbon like Mary Wilder’s,” she says with certainty.

Will offers Ainsel a flicker of a grin. “Jayne Rainey figures your schooling ought to be good for something,” he says, and if anyone else in the town had said it Ainsel would have winced - but Will’s got more books than clothes, same as Ainsel, so they offer a quick grin back. If only Ainsel could remember what they were doing before they woke up in Danser some years back: that way, they could say for sure if they went to college like Will, and Ainsel might feel a little less like, maybe, the local nice, nervous naturalist oughta be taking classes instead of the local amnesiac with a scary-clever horse and the books which they may or may not be qualified to own and read. Knowing that kind of thing, actually, might go a long way towards some kind of friendship with Will Williams, too.

“I figure so too,” Ainsel agrees, instead of voicing that, or anything like it. They beat down the impulse to seek answers, confess worries, force a confidence - to say hey, Williams - you wanna take a look at Edelweiss? Nah, nothing’s wrong; only, sometimes I don’t reckon she’s really a horse. You know anything about that? Only Will wouldn’t. Ainsel knows as much as they reckon they’re gonna, honestly - there was a trade, and for whatever they gave up they got Edelweiss in exchange. And maybe something else, too, but they’ll be damned if they know what.

Ainsel tries very hard to unthink that particular thought.

“Ainsel says I could keep a school,” Jesse is telling Will with pride.

“I’m sure you could,” Will replies with a little smile. Ainsel hadn’t figured Will as one for children, but then Jesse Rainey and Max Wilder are small forces of nature; if they take a liking to a person, it’s hard not to be endeared. And Jesse is the saloon proprietor’s daughter, and Will rents a room in the saloon, and Jesse is the saloon’s darling. Will shoots a glance at Ainsel. “You’re - you’re training up a replacement already?”

Ainsel inclines their head at Max Wilder, who is crouching in the dust with a stick and drawing around the hooves of Will’s square, broad-chested stock horse. Ainsel remembers Will defending his choice to Finn - Will’s horse looks more like a small draught horse than a good or fast rider, but she’s quiet and she stays still while he’s out watching animals - and indeed, though the horse is gently nosing at the boy, her hooves are staying obediently planted as he natters away at her about prints. “Should say you were, too.”

Will huffs gently at Max, who entirely fails to notice. “It was an accident. Alright, let’s get going before your parents come after me wondering where you kids are. Max, are - are you going to walk us home?”

Max bounces up, catching up the horse’s reins and bringing her over with the practised ease of anyone born and raised on the Wilder ranch. “Sure! Can I ride?”

Will carefully lifts Jesse up into the saddle. “Ladies have to ride, Max,” he corrects. “When I was little, my brother always-”

And though Will stutters into silence, Ainsel - sort of hears the rest of the story anyway. Their cards have made their way into Ainsel’s hands without them noticing and the odd paintings are switching and shifting before their eyes as they shuffle idly, and then stop. The card is of what might be a tower, and what might be a cart, and what is almost certainly a lady; the colours twist the eye and every line slides into the next until what had started as one thing is something else entirely by the end.

If you were going to play poker with these cards, you’d probably call this one the Queen of Spades.

Do not play poker with these cards.

But Ainsel looks at the cards, and the strange, illusory lines that leave only impressions, and sees with odd and abrupt clarity a young man with Will’s face but without his glasses and with a shadow of unruly stubble. He is perhaps broader than Will, too, but the resemblance is clear. And in the card, the young man grins and sweeps a small child up into a massive bear hug. He kisses the child’s hair - once plaited, Ainsel thinks, but now entirely loose and wild after a day of playing - and places them with great care and reverence on the back of a tall, thin black horse. The child, the little girl, giggles as the boy kisses her hand, says she is a princess, and runs an affectionate hand through her loose, dark hair to tidy it away before placing his hat on her head. The girl’s hands push the brim up out of her eyes - eyes which are doubtless, doubtless, Will Williams’ eyes - and Ainsel closes their own eyes, and wishes they had done so sooner.

When he opens them again, it’s just the Queen of Spades once more. Like nothing ever happened.

“Well, I, I guess you can ride behind and keep Miss Rainey steady,” Will is saying when Ainsel folds his fingers over the painted cards and looks up once more. He doesn’t seem quite so steady as he did before as he hoists Max up onto the horse’s back.

There’s no way to tell him what Ainsel knows. They wouldn’t, anyhow - Will never said, and wouldn’t thank them for disrupting the life Williams has carefully built for himself. But Ainsel would like, somehow, to communicate that Will’s big brother had seemed nice; that Will, as a kid, had seemed happy with him; that Will didn’t have to give up on his childhood and on the nice boy who had run his fingers so gently and fondly through his kid sibling’s hair, just because he’d changed over the years.

Ainsel kinda misses the memory of their own childhood, sometimes. Maybe someone had once been so affectionate with them, too.

Will catches Ainsel staring and tilts his head in query. Ainsel shakes themself and offers a small smile. “Y’all ride safe, now,” they say. “Oh, and Max Wilder - you tell your ma you’ll need shoes for the walk before the next week is out, ‘cause it’ll be getting colder and you can’t have Will Williams carting you home every day.”

“Sure will,” Max calls back, grinning and swinging his bare feet from high up on the horse’s broad, grey-dappled rear. “Bye, Ainsel!”

“Goodbye!” Jesse says, holding firm to the pommel as she shifts to look back. “I’ll show you my ribbon on Monday.”

Will just inclines his head and takes the reins in one hand.

Ainsel fidgets the cards in one hand. “Be seeing you, Williams,” they say carefully. As the party moves away, heading for the general store, the Wilder ranch, and home, Ainsel flips the top card over and over in their fingers, and hopes against hope that they wouldn’t be seeing Will Williams at all.

--

There are days, Ainsel knows, that they don’t sit fully right with Finn Holden. It’s a different kind of discomfort to wrong-footed Will Williams, but it’s there nonetheless - sometimes they catch Finn trying to look at them without looking at all, out of the corner of his eye or in a mirror or in the eyes of someone else who is looking at Ainsel, and they know that he knows that they know.

Like now: hunched over a little table in the saloon littered with glasses and an incomplete set of dominoes, just the two of them, and Finn’s looking over Ainsel’s shoulder. Ostensibly, eyeing up the liquor behind the bar; in reality, examining the back of Ainsel’s head in the smokey mirror behind the glasses. Ainsel prods the double six morosely and tries not to let it bother them. It does seem unfair, really, that Finn doesn’t bother people the way Ainsel does. That Ainsel bothers Finn, but not vise versa.

They think maybe choice comes into it. But Ainsel doesn’t even know if they made a choice, way back whenever they did whatever it was to land them in Danser Town with a horse and cards and no recollection at all of how this came to be. They might have been totally helpless to their fate, same as Finn had said he was, when Ainsel had cornered him after two weeks and demanded to know what, exactly, the fuck had happened to Finn to make him smell permanently of clay and sawn pine planks and blood.

(If Ainsel is honest with themself, they suspect that they did have a choice. They suspect they made a deal. The knowledge that their fate has been entirely self-wrought is not helpful.)

“Hey,” Finn says, looking at the table rather than Ainsel and tacking a domino on the end of the six. Is that better? Ainsel isn’t sure. “You been...well, lately?”

Ainsel regrets that Finn has cause to have concern for him. Unfortunately, there are only so many times a person can be seen screaming blue bloody murder at a horse for being a demon in passive, judgemental mostly-horse form before people start taking that person aside and asking about how things are going at home, and that number of times is one. “Grand,” Ainsel says levelly. They’re not wholly lying, either; they haven’t found themself lost and memory-less in a forest for nearly three weeks, Edelweiss hasn’t tried to bite them for their many and varied sins today, and Johnny McPherson had offered them a friendly holler across the street that had actually done disproportionate wonders for Ainsel’s mood. But, also, Finn isn’t looking at them straight. He’s looking the way that Will says you oughta, when you’re a little too close to some creature that can kill ya but hasn’t tried yet; with the kind of caution which is always recommended in old wives’ tales about ghosts and devils and the fae.

Finn nods. “Glad.” Then, abruptly, as if bored of being careful (not unlikely) Finn slumps back in his chair and eyeballs Ainsel straight on. It’s - oddly comforting, actually. “I’m sick of dominoes. We don’t even have half the damn pieces.”

They have all bar two. Ainsel sweeps the tiles together into a pile and starts dividing them into two sets of seven and a discard pile, pushing them across the sticky table with long, pale fingertips. “You want to play that Matador game Johnny was trying to teach us?”

Finn huffs. “Tryin’ is the word. If you can remember the rules, then I’m Saint Bridget. I sure as hell can’t.”

Ainsel tips their head, conceding the point. Something about sevens, and it being annoying that their set lacked the five-two; Ainsel had been a bit drunk at the time. “Well? We’ve got to play something. I ain’t gonna just sit here and talk to ya, no-one’s got that patience.”

Finn laughs, loud and inelegant, and Ainsel grins. “Aw, you ass,” he says cheerfully, spinning his glass on the table with careful flicks. “Let’s play cards or something. I’m a demon at rummy.”

“The saloon hasn’t got any cards any more, remember?” Ainsel points out.

Finn frowns. “It don’t? Why not?”

“Jesse Rainey nicked ‘em and gave out the picture cards to the other kids as favours. And, also, as a kind of basic hierarchy system, far as I can figure it.”

“Aw, hell. Why does that kid get away with everything?”

“Y’all reckon she’s cute.”

Finn grins. “She is! It’s like being mad at the kid on the Pear’s soap ads, or a gopher.” Ainsel spreads their hands - well, there you go - and Finn laughs. “Alright. You got cards, though, right?”

Ainsel rides the sudden lurch of horror at the idea of anyone else even seeing the cards, let alone using them. But - they want Finn and Will and everyone else to see them as normal folk, they gotta Be Normal. Have a normal horse, and a normal life, and normal playing cards. Any number of things can cause amnesia - hitting your head real hard because your horse, which maybe hates you, kicked you or bucked you or something. Trauma. Heatstroke. Normal shit, which ain’t magic no matter how much you side-eye it or examine it in mirrors. Finn might’ve just - imagined it, or had a vision like some religious folks do. Ainsel could have dreamed up any number of things and thought them real - what he’d seen of Will could be nothing. Probably says more about Ainsel than it does about Will anyhow.

Be Normal. Ainsel reckons they can do that. Most all other folks seem to.

Ainsel brings out their pack from the inner pocket of their duster, shakes out their wrists with a confident movement, and manages two whole shuffles before dropping most of the pack. The beautiful cards flutter and spin as if caught by some wild, summer wind and scatter over the table and floor in an unstoppable cascade. Finn tips his head back and laughs like a hyena.

“You’re the clumsiest fuckin’ card shark I ever seen,” he says delightedly.

“I am not a card shark,” Ainsel says rather absently as they scrabble to collect up the cards on the table.

Finn snorts. “I believe it! But what else you carryin’ all these damn cards all the damn day for, huh?” He gets off his chair and drops to the saloon floor, hunting down Ainsel’s precious cards before they get trampled or lost between the boards.

“I don’t know,” they bite back rather crossly; one of the cards, the Jack of Hearts, has just jumped away from Ainsel’s grasping fingers and they have to stand and lean over the table to snatch it up from Finn’s chair. Ainsel glances at it habitually as they sit back down and briefly forgets how to breathe.

The card, like every other, is not a standard face card. The young knave depicted always seems to form out of the swirling lines upside-down, no matter how Ainsel looks at the card, with an inverted heart on his chest like a drop of ruby-rich blood. And for a moment, whilst Ainsel watches, the Jack looks out at them with Finn’s eyes that are not Finn’s eyes. The heart pulses, once, and slides away and dissipates; the eyes go dark and glazed; and Ainsel is looking at a dead man in a churchyard. Some shadow oozes into the edges of the card and at the same pace blood leaks thick and dark from the man’s chest. There is no helping him; he is gone. Ainsel knows it. And then, he sits up. Abruptly, like he’s awakening from a nightmare. He inhales hugely, or tries to, as though he had been drowning, but chokes on his own blood. The man spends quite some time on all fours, coughing and retching and hacking up blood, but this slows and he sits back on his haunches to assess the pool of blood. He wipes at his chin with the back of his hand and grimaces - not with pain, more like disgust. And then he looks up - and this time, it is Finn with Finn’s eyes who is looking straight out of the card at Ainsel.

Ainsel’s fist closes around the card, barely managing to avoid crushing it. They look up in time for Finn’s head to appear in triumph over the edge of the table, clonking his temple gently against the underside as he does. Finn brandishes a handful of cards at Ainsel with a grin, and Ainsel sees him bleed out and wake up over and over in their mind.

They take the cards. Slide the pack back together. Tuck them deep down in an inner pocket.

Finn blinks at them for a moment. “So no cards today, then.”

“No,” Ainsel says shortly.

Finn nods solemnly. “You wanna talk about it?”

Absolutely fucking not. Ainsel slides the dominoes back across the table a little too violently, sending ivory tiles skittering against their empty glasses and shoves a couple Finn’s way. Finn, who is alive and well and not all that damn normal either, so damn it all; maybe no-one in this town is normal enough to start shit with Ainsel, and everyone ought to fuckin’ remember it. Ainsel fixes their gaze on the base of a glass, in whose curving reflection they can watch Finn without actually looking at him. “Come on, Saint Bridget,” they say roughly. “Double six starts.”

There is a short pause, and then Finn’s hand closes over the glass which Ainsel is using to look at Finn without looking at him, and they can’t see Finn’s reflection anymore. “Alright,” Finn says quietly. “Matador it is.”

[three-drink-amy]

Sweet Creature

Bonus chapter for the week! I’m finished writing the story, so I MAY change posting to twice a week if people were interested. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

master list - AO3

Chapter Thirteen

No one ever said that being in a long distance relationship was easy. It made it even less easy when said relationship is less than a month old. Jamie realized that it helped that they’d known each other for ten years. If they were a new couple, and completely new to each other, they’d be a mess trying to attempt long distance for an undetermined amount of time. But having their friendship to fall back on certainly had its perks. 

They’d been doing well so far. It was only a couple of weeks in and they’d talked nearly every night. Claire had a lot to tell about the progress on the new store and Jamie was always eager to hear it. He may not be an official investor anymore, but he’d always been emotionally invested. There had been plenty of nights in the last two weeks that he’d skipped out on plans with other people because he thought there was a chance Claire would call him. And most nights, that’s what happened. 

But even getting to talk to her that often, he couldn’t deny that he still missed her. It had only been a bit over a month that they’d been talking again. Even though they’d talked things out and now were onto a different phase of life together, he couldn’t help but worry that one day she’d just stop calling. Because of that, he probably always sounded too eager for her calls. He’d text her each evening when he was back from the office to let her know when he was free to talk. Maybe he was making himself too available, but he didn’t care. He needed Claire in his life. And that was just the way it had to work at the moment. 

He was sitting in his office, counting down the minutes until he could leave and call Claire. It had been a rough day and he just needed to hear her voice. He texted her before he even left, trying to get a feel for how busy she was that day. 

I’ll be working late. Sorry! I’ll call you when I’m walking back to my hotel. Chin up! 

Jamie sighed, leaning back in his chair. He should be trying to look like he was busy, but he didn’t care enough to do so. John walked in and threw himself down in one of his chairs. “So I think everyone’s planning to go get drinks after this. You in?” 

He looked down at his phone and reread the text from Claire. “Yeah,” he said with a grimace. “A stiff drink sounds good after today.” 

John shook his head with a dark look. “I was thinking we could all get drunk and plan on how to properly assassinate St. Germain. Thoughts?” 

Jamie grinned. “I canna see how that could go wrong.” John laughed, standing up to go back to his desk. “I’ll see ye in a few.” 

There was a rather large group of his coworkers that ended up going out for drinks that evening. The raucous group sat at a small bar downing whisky like it was water. They were commiserating their shared terrible day before they went around each picking a different aspect of their boss to drag through the mud. It was just one of those days. But each drink somehow made Jamie miss Claire more. John sat next to him and caught on to how many times Jamie had been checking his phone. 

“Waiting to hear from Claire?” John asked. He’d not so secretly been excited for Jamie’s new relationship. Jamie nodded, taking another drink. “I’m sure she’ll call. You said she always does.” 

“She does. I just miss her,” Jamie groaned as he ran a hand down his face. 

“That’s so cute,” John said. He flashed his friend a teasing look. “You’re just head over heels for her, aren’t you?” Jamie rolled his eyes. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” John leaned in closer. “And between you and me, I have to say that she’s the best one you’ve ever dated.” 

Jamie smiled, nodding in agreement. “Ye dinna have to tell me that.” 

They carried on drinking and eventually, it was John’s turn to get the next round. He vacated his spot next to Jamie. It was quickly filled by the last person Jamie wanted to talk to. He glanced over to see Annalise sitting next to him. Angling himself away, he turned to talk to the person on the other side of him. He hoped John would come and reclaim his seat. How the woman had never gotten the hint was beyond him. She tapped him on the shoulder and he rolled his eyes as he looked over at her. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. He wondered how on earth he ever found her alluring. That had evaporated so fast. 

“Just felt like chatting wi’ Marcus,” Jamie said with a gesture to the man on his left. He turned back but she tapped his shoulder again. 

“You seem more down than everyone else here,” she pointed out. 

“Aye, perhaps so,” he agreed. “I was just wishing my girlfriend could be here.” 

Anger flashed in her eyes before she covered it up with a smile. “Well that’s her loss,” she said, her hand resting on his shoulder. 

He scowled at her, shrugging off her hand before he walked over to the bar where John was standing. John grinned as he watched him approach. “I canna stand her,” Jamie said with a sigh. 

“Sure, none of us can,” John agreed. “But to be fair, you did make that mess yourself.” Jamie glared at him. “I wanted to tell you she’d be nothing but trouble.” 

“I wish ye had.” 

“Are you telling me that no one tried to tell you that you were going down the wrong path?” John asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“No, one person did,” Jamie admitted. 

“Claire?” 

“Yep.” 

John burst out laughing. “Leave it to her to tell it to you straight only to have you make a pretty terrible mistake and have it ruin your work life.” He glanced back at Annalise. “I could have told you she’d be nothing but boring once you took the chase away.” 

“I should ha’ known it on my own. She was just distracting in a way I hadna been in a while, so I thought that was something bigger,” Jamie confessed. “Twas wrong of me.” 

“We all make mistakes, mate.” 

Jamie sighed. “Ye dinna have to tell me that. Somehow I still feel like I’m paying for my last and biggest mistake.” 

“What, the thing with Claire?” John asked. “Why do you think that? The two of you are literally dating now.” 

“I dinna ken. I canna explain it,” Jamie replied, his face a bit crumpled. 

“Have you talked to her about it?” 

“Of course no’. We’re living in different cities presently. Tis hard to talk about those types of things over the phone. It’s probably just all in my head anyway. I think I’m just scared to lose her again. It was hard to be wi’out her before I confessed how I was feeling. Now...well I dinna think I could handle that,” Jamie said in a small voice. 

John stared at him for a moment. “That kind of sounds like something you should talk about with your girlfriend. Don’t you think?” 

“Maybe. I was thinking of going to Edinburgh and surprising her soon. I just dinna ken how busy she’d be on a weekend.” 

“Well it’s not like you’re completely unhelpful,” John replied with a grin. “I’m sure you could help out if she had things to do.” 

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a fair point. I could.” 

“Yeah, and then you could talk to your girlfriend about how much you love her and need her in your life.” Jamie shot him a look. “Communication is healthy, James.” 

“Ye sound like my sister.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Jamie raised a brow, encouraging him to continue. “When did you realize you loved her that way? Was it when you two weren’t speaking?” 

Jamie took a drink of his whisky. He’d never even really told Claire about that. “I suppose I realized what it all meant when she wouldna talk to me. I always felt this odd possessiveness of her and was verra critical of anyone interested in her. She was always the standard that I judged the lasses I dated by, but I never took the time to think about why that might be. I dinna ken, but I’m sure if I sat down and really thought about it, I’d find that it has been a lot longer than just the last couple of months. I wish I’d slowed down and tried to think through what I was really feeling. Maybe then we wouldna be mere weeks into a relationship when she had to go to Edinburgh.” Jamie sighed, staring down at his glass. “I just truly had no idea that she felt that way for me.” 

“You didn’t?” 

Jamie glanced over at his friend. “Did ye think she did?” 

John shook his head. “No, but I met her after years of you two being friends. I always just thought you were really close.” 

“I guess I just never thought she’d want me,” Jamie admitted. “And so I never allowed myself to think about it. Just looked to other women instead of the one right next to me the whole time. I suppose I should have known by the fact that I was willing to bankroll her business.” 

“That’s not really something you do for just a friend,” John agreed. “But you’re together now, right?” 

Jamie nodded, still feeling a bit on edge. “Aye. We are.” 

He felt his pocket vibrate and his face lit up as he pulled his phone out. Claire’s picture smiled up at him and he fumbled to answer. “Sassenach!” 

“Hi, there! Not too late is it?” 

“No’ at all!” He looked over at John, pointing to his phone. “I’ll see ye later, mate.” 

“Bye,” John whispered. 

“It sounds like you’re somewhere loud,” Claire said. “Where are you?” 

Jamie paid his tab quickly. “Rough day at the office today, so a large group of us took over a pub nearby to drink our sorrows away,” Jamie explained as he finished paying. 

“Well, I can just talk to you tomorrow,” Claire offered. 

“No!” Jamie replied. “No, I’d much rather talk to ye. I just paid my tab and everything.” He walked out onto the quieter street, hoping he could hear her better. “So, how is the bakery going?” 

On the other end, Claire was smiling at his quick dismissal of her offer to hang up. “It’s going well. Things are all coming together in a pretty way. It’s been a while since I did this part, you know.” 

“Aye. But this is yer third time. Ye’re basically a pro by now,” Jamie insisted. 

Claire laughed. “Well I don’t know about that.” She took a drink of water as she laid on the couch in her hotel room. “So, what was so bad about work today?” 

Jamie groaned. “St. Germain was on one. He...hold on,” he cut himself off. Claire could hear something in the background. She narrowed her eyes as she tried to listen in closer. 

Jamie heard his name being called and turned around on the sidewalk to see Annalise tearing after him. “You forgot your jacket!” she said as she caught up to him. 

He grabbed it from her quickly. “Thanks.” Turning back to the way he was walking, he started talking to Claire again. A hand on his arm made him turn around again. Annalise was looking at him expectantly. “Can I help ye?” 

“You just left so quickly. You didn’t even say goodbye,” she said, a flirtatious look on her face. 

He pointed at his phone. “I’m on a call.” 

“What’s going on?” Claire asked in one ear. 

“You could always hang up and call back later,” Annalise suggested, trying to pull him back to the bar. 

“Claire, hold on,” Jamie said into the phone. He held it to his shoulder as he turned to Annalise. “Just go on back to the bar. Or go home. But leave me alone, woman. I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that I’m no’ interested.” 

Despite Jamie’s attempts to muffle his side of the call, Claire could still hear it. 

“Twas one date, months ago. I think ye should realize that I’ve moved on. Perhaps ye should as well. Find someone else to play yer games because it willna be me anymore. Aye?” 

He walked away before Annalise could reply. Putting the phone back to his ear, he sighed. “Sorry about that, what were we talking about?” 

“Your work,” Claire reminded him. 

“Ah, that’s right. St. Germain spent most of the afternoon tearing all of us to bits. So, some drinking was required after the evening,” Jamie explained. “I only agreed to go since ye said ye were working late.” 

He continued on but Claire had spaced out a bit. She chimed in here and there when necessary, but wasn’t entirely present for the conversation. Long distance was hard for her, especially when all she wanted was the reassurance of Jamie’s arms around her. But right now, he was closer to the woman who was still trying to sink her claws into him. They talked for a while before Claire begged off, saying she had to get up early in the morning. Jamie understood and bid her goodnight, saying he hoped they’d have a chance to talk tomorrow. She muttered an agreement before hanging up the call. It wasn’t a total lie; she did have to get up in the morning. But sleep didn’t come easily to her. She couldn’t help but continuously picture her worst nightmare over and over. 

The next day when Jamie texted to see if she was free, she lied. 

* * *

Nine days and a lot of missed opportunities to talk to Claire later, Jamie was sitting at a bar with Joe. “I’m glad ye could meet me,” Jamie said, raising his glass slightly. “Been a bit lonely,” he added with a laugh. “So, how’s wedding planning going?” 

Joe shook his head with a sigh. “You mean when Gayle actually asks me what I want for my wedding?” 

Jamie laughed. “Have ye fought her on anything?” 

“Not a damn thing,” Joe confessed. “Honestly, I haven’t cared. I just want her to want to include me. But things are slowing down significantly now.” 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Why’s that?” 

“Well we set a date,” Joe told him. Jamie looked excited for them. “It’s in nineteen months.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Joe nodded, his lips forming a tight line. “Gayle found this castle and absolutely had to have the wedding there. I want her to have the wedding she wants, so I said sure. But the earliest they had, which was already a cancellation, was nineteen months from now.” 

“That’s almost two years,” Jamie pointed out. 

“Yeah, I know. I wish I had a better “Castle Guy.” But I didn’t look into one of those when I moved here,” Joe joked. 

“Are ye okay wi’ that long an engagement?” Jamie asked hesitantly. 

“Sure. I mean, in a lot of different ways, it already feels like we’re married. We’ve lived together since I moved to Scotland for medical school. We just decided a while back that we wouldn’t look at getting married until we were both established in our careers,” Joe said with a shrug. “So I feel pretty good about it. And if Gayle gets her dream venue, then that’s all the better. I know she can’t wait to invite people from the States to her wedding in a damn castle.” 

Jamie laughed, taking a drink of his beer. “Canna beat that.” 

“I guess I can tell Claire that she can slow down on her plans for my Stag Party,” Joe mused with an amused shake of his head. “Girl was saying just last night how she had such great ideas for it, no matter how many times I told her she doesn’t have to plan it.” 

Joe was laughing but Jamie was fixated on what Joe had said. He cleared his throat. “Ye talked to Claire last night?” 

The other man froze as he was about to put a pretzel in his mouth. “Yes.” 

“Gotcha,” Jamie replied shortly. He picked up his beer and took a long drink. “If she talked to ye, I wonder why she texted me and said she was going to bed early and wouldna have any time to talk.” 

Joe closed his eyes in a grimace. “So, how are you guys doing?” 

Jamie shook his head. “I thought we were doing fine. Claire’s been plenty busy, but apparently, no’ as busy as she’s let on.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I just miss her and long distance is terrible. And there’s no definitive time that it’ll be over. But I thought we were good. I guess no’ if she’s dodging my calls.” 

Joe sighed. “I’m sorry I said anything. I didn’t realize.” 

“Dinna worry about it. I was thinking about going to Edinburgh to surprise her,” Jamie mentioned. 

An odd look came over Joe’s face. “You might want to do that. I think that would be a good idea.” 

Jamie picked up on his tone and narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What do ye ken that I dinna?” 

“Nothing!” Joe exclaimed with an unconvincing shrug. Jamie stared at him until he caved. “Look, she just said something to me yesterday.” 

“What did she say?” Jamie asked, leaning across the table. 

“Just that she...had some doubts,” Joe explained, clearly feeling uncomfortable. 

“Doubts?” Jamie cried. “What doubts? About our relationship?” 

“I don’t know. She didn’t explain. It was said one time and when I tried to press her on it, she clammed up and said that she shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Joe told him. “But whatever it is, that might be why she’s been weird about taking your calls.” 

Jamie sighed, his head hanging in his hands. “I’m racking my brain right now trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong.” 

“There’s no guarantee it’s you,” Joe reminded him. “She didn’t say what it was.” 

“But it was about our relationship?” 

Joe’s face scrunched as he nodded. “I guess. Maybe.” 

Jamie shook his head, feeling helpless. “If I go to Edinburgh, am I going to be broken up with?” 

“No!” Joe said emphatically. “No, that would be silly.” He looked at Jamie with a pointed expression. “I think you should go and spend some time together. I think it would be good for the both of you.” 

Jamie released a large sigh. “Maybe so.” 

* * *

Friday night came and Claire was relieved to have the weekend to relax. She walked into her hotel room and threw her bag down on the floor before laying down on the couch. It felt good to just stop moving for a bit. Feeling her phone in her back pocket, Claire dug it out and looked at it. Her lockscreen was a picture of her and Jamie. She stared at his face for a long time, pressing the button again each time it went dark. Finally, she felt the urge to return all his missed calls from the last week or so. Even though she felt guilty, she didn’t know how to call him when she was as nervous about their relationship as she was. Given how well he knew her, she knew he’d pick up on her hesitance. So, instead, she just didn’t call him. She’d texted him a few times throughout the days, though they were mostly replies to his messages. 

But this time, her need to hear his voice drowned out her fears. She called him, getting antsy as the line started ringing. 

“Hello?” 

“Jamie!” she cried. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.” 

“Sassenach, how are ye?” he asked. Something seemed off about his voice, but she thought maybe he’d just had a long day. 

“Doing alright. I just got home from the bakery. Well, not home home. I got back to my hotel,” she said. A horn honked on his end of the call. “Where are you?” 

“Walking home from work,” he said. “How’s the bakery coming?” 

“It’s good. I miss you, though.” She wished she could see his face. 

“Aye, I do too,” he agreed, a sad tone to his voice. “Out of curiosity, if I were to send ye something, what is yer room number?” 

Claire smiled to herself. “What are you sending me?” 

“Room number, woman!” he repeated, his voice a bit lighter. 

She laughed. “It’s 743.” 

“Aye, thank ye. Tell me more about how everything’s coming,” he pressed. 

“Going well. We’ve hired a staff though they won’t officially start for a bit yet. We’re still in the construction stage. But I’m trying to work ahead and have everything that we need ready for when I need to start with the staff training.” She continued on, only stopping when there was a knock at her door. “Hold on. Someone’s at the door.” 

Claire jumped up, surprised beyond belief when it was Jamie on the other side of the door. “Oh my god, you’re here?” He grinned as he nodded in reply. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him. Drawing him in over the threshold, she hugged him tightly. A thump against the floor drew her back as he tossed his bag just inside the door. “God, I’ve missed you,” she said, cupping his cheeks. “It’s so bloody good to see you.” 

Jamie nodded, quieter than usual. “Aye, and ye.” 

“What made you decide to come?” 

An odd look crossed his face. “Well, I’d been thinking of it for a bit. I missed ye. But I ken ye’ve been verra busy, so I wasna sure when the right time would be.” He walked further into the room. “I had drinks wi’ Joe the other night and he seemed to think it was a good idea. Especially after something you’d said to him the night before.” He turned and looked at her, a strained expression coloring his face. “Which I believe was one of the nights ye told me ye couldna talk because ye were going to bed so early. Which was actually just one time in a string of instances where ye couldna call. But apparently, ye can talk to Joe.” 

Claire closed her eyes, grimacing. “Jamie,” she started. 

He kept going. “Joe seemed to think ye were having doubts,” he added, staring her down, daring her to agree. She opened and closed her mouth, no sound coming out. “I thought it was odd to hear it from him. Ye see, I figured when ye and I got together, it would be perfect because we already tell each other everything. But I suppose that’s no’ true.” 

Her arms came around her torso, trying to hold in her emotions. “Jamie, it’s nothing, really.” 

“Joe didna seem to think so.” He took a small step closer to her. “What is it? Is it me?” 

Claire had really hoped she’d get over her doubts on her own before she ever had to talk to Jamie about them. And as she stared at the pain plain on his face, she wished she’d never said anything to Joe. “No, it’s just…I don’t know how to explain it.” In reality, she didn’t know how to articulate it to him. 

“I’d think ye’d be able to talk to me. We’ve been friends for ten years, Claire,” Jamie reminded her. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem!” she cried. 

Jamie recoiled, looking stunned. “What?” 

She shook her head, wishing she’d gone about this differently. “Yes, we have been friends for ten years which means that I have watched a number of your relationships from the sidelines. And all I could think about was how each of them ended so quickly. Then, I just...I couldn’t help but wonder when our expiration date would be.” 

“Wow,” Jamie breathed. He seemed a bit deflated. “What, ye seriously thought I’d just ditch ye? Call it quits? And then what, just walk away from ye?” 

“I don’t know,” she answered timidly. “I just couldn’t see how I was any different from any of them.” 

Jamie gaped at her. “Of course ye’re different!” 

“How?” 

“Because I love ye!” he yelled. He took a step back, running a hand down his face. Claire stared at him, shocked by his admission. He seemed almost as surprised. “Do ye really think I’d just leave? It’s you, Claire. Ye’re my best friend.” 

“Jamie, I -” 

“I spent the last couple of days trying to imagine what it was that was giving ye doubts. I didn’t realize I’d be answering for my past,” he said, looking anywhere but at her. “I mean, is that what ye really think of me?” 

She could feel tears stinging her eyes as she shook her head. 

“But it is though, isn’t it? I mean, ye believed me to be the type of man who would bring ye to a party solely to make another woman jealous. Ye thought I only wanted to bring ye breakfast the morning after our first date to — how did ye put it — rack up enough dates to reach a proper number to get in yer pants. And now this. Ye really think I’m just going to give up and leave after a certain amount of time?” Jamie stared at her, his hurt showing. “If that’s the man ye truly think I am, how have we even been friends all this time?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Those relationships were short because I could tell soon enough into them that they werena right for me. Would it no’ have been worse to string them along and lead them on?” 

Claire stood there silently, tears starting to fall. 

Jamie shook his head and took a step toward the door. “I should go.”

She jumped in front of the door before he could make it there. “No!” she said, standing her ground. “Look, Jamie, I’m sorry. I handled this the wrong way. I should have talked to you. But I just —” she took a deep breath “— I just got scared. Okay? After ten years we’re at this new phase of our relationship and it’s exciting. But I didn’t know how you really felt. And I’ve been sitting with these feelings a lot longer than you have.” 

Jamie let out a breath. “That’s no’ fair. Ye canna put that on me. Ye never told me how ye felt.” 

Claire scoffed. “Yeah, like it would have made any difference.” 

He shook his head, throwing his arms out. “Of course it would have! It would have made all the difference in the world!” He gaped at her. “Do ye really think I would have been wi’ any of them if I knew I could have been wi’ ye?” he asked, his voice dramatically lower. 

She had no response. They were on opposite sides of the room, with more than just space standing between them. Tears were falling down her face in earnest. They were glistening in his eyes as well. She hated the way she’d hurt him with her own avoidance. 

Eventually, it was as if he lost all energy. He collapsed on the couch, a sigh escaping him. “What can I do?” 

“What?”

He looked up at her. “What can I do to prove to ye that I’m no’ going anywhere?” 

Her heart broke at the vulnerable look on his face. He was terrified and she could see it. She shook her head vehemently. “Jamie, there’s nothing.” 

“So, ye’re telling me that ye’re having doubts about me but there’s no’ a thing I can do to fix it?” 

Claire bridged the gap between them, sitting down next to him on the couch. “Jamie, I mean there’s nothing you have to do. This is my issue.” 

“Tis no’ just yers, Claire,” he reminded her. “Ye stopped talking to me because of this. That’s no’ just yers anymore.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching up to wipe away her tears. “Believe me, I am.” 

He wasn’t looking at her. “Aye, I ken ye are.” They sat in a heavy silence for a long moment. His head turned slightly toward her, still not meeting her gaze. “I meant it though, what can I do?” 

“There’s nothing you have to do,” she repeated. He looked over, an almost angry expression on his face. “Being here — coming to see me because you missed me — that’s enough. I promise.” 

He nodded, looking down at his clasped hands. “How long have ye felt this way?” He finally glanced over at her, making eye contact. “It was before ye came here, wasn’t it?” 

Claire cleared her throat. “Just a bit. It got worse with separation.” 

“It was that night in my flat, wasn’t it?” he asked. 

She shook her head in disbelief. “How did you -”

“Ye panicked. Ye froze,” he recalled. “And then ye asked to take things slower. And trust me, I was more than fine wi’ that. I could tell something bothered ye, but ye wouldna say what it was. I was terrified that I did something to upset ye.” 

Claire bridged the final gap between them, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “Jamie, you did nothing. I got up in my head at the exact wrong time. I just knew that if...if we crossed that final line, and then you left, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” 

His hand moved to cover hers as he nodded. A long silence filled the room. Claire gripped his arm before she started to speak again. “I love you,” she whispered. He turned to her, a soft and vulnerable look on his face. “That’s why I got so scared. Because I love you. And I’ve felt this way for a long time, but this is only the first time I’ve actually said it out loud.” She laughed to herself. “Well, technically second, but you were unconscious the first time after your accident.” 

Claire took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for hurting you so much. It kills me. I guess I got used to talking about my feelings with Joe and keeping it all a secret from you.” Jamie chuckled before she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. “But I promise you that I won’t do that again. I mean, I may talk to Joe, but no more secret feelings. I promise you that if I start to get nervous again, you’ll be the person I go to.” 

Jamie leaned his forehead against hers. “I would appreciate that. But just know, I’m no’ going anywhere.” His fingers tapped against her hand that still rested on his arm. “I love ye, too,” he whispered. He pulled back a bit to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry for yelling it at ye the first time I ever said it.” 

Claire laughed, despite all that had happened. She leaned closer, letting him close the distance between them. Much to her relief, he did so quickly, pressing his lips to hers. Her hands moved to wrap around his neck as she scooted closer to him. His hand held her cheek, keeping her there. Weeks of long distance woes and the fight they’d had weighed into the kiss, making both of them a bit desperate. He parted his lips, granting her access which she happily accepted. Her fingers wove through his hair. They moved closer and closer together til her legs were draped over his. 

She broke away from him with a look as she reached for the hem of her shirt. To her surprise, Jamie reached out to stop her. “Claire, no.” Before she could feel embarrassed, he continued. “No’ like this,” he whispered. “No’ because ye feel guilty.” 

“What if that’s not why?” she asked. “What if I’m just ready?” 

“I’m no’ ready right now,” he told her, flashing her pleading eyes. “I feel I’d always second guess it. Whether ye were actually ready or whether ye felt it was the best way to apologize for what happened. And that’s no’ how I want it to be for us.” 

She let go of her shirt, leaning back into him and giving him a quick kiss. “I suppose that makes a lot of sense. Damn you.” He grinned, kissing her again quickly. “So, what do you propose we do instead? Dinner?” 

He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds good. Or perhaps — if ye wanted to, of course — ye could show me the bakery.” 

One of her hands came to rest on his cheek. “You really want to see it?” 

His hand held hers. “Of course I do.” 

She smiled broadly, giving him one last kiss. “Well then, let’s go.” 

Her hand held his the entire journey to the bakery site. He didn’t mind at all. It had been too long since he’d been afforded such a luxury. She chattered away about what to expect and what stage of development the store was in. Their pace slowed as they got closer to the store. Claire dug out her keys and let them into the dark building. 

She walked around and turned on the construction lamps that were scattered throughout the store. As more and more lights turned on, Jamie stood in awe of the store before him. Familiar colors greeted him as he turned to look around. “How does this look so much like the original shop?” 

Claire smiled, walking back over and tucking herself back into his side. “You caught that, did you?” 

“Would be hard not to.” 

She nodded thoughtfully, looking around. “Well, I found the original plans for the store and gave them to the people in charge here. They seemed to think it was doable. So, here we are. It’s still got a long way to go, but -” 

“It looks great,” Jamie said on a breath. “Truly.” 

Claire looked up at him. “You think so?” 

Jamie kissed her temple. “I really do. It’s like I’m standing back in Glasgow.” He laughed to himself. “Actually, it feels like it’s six years ago. Like ye’re showing me the shop for the first time.” 

She smiled to herself. “You were the only one I’d let see it.” 

“Well, that was surely just because of the money.” 

Claire shook her head, leaving a kiss at his jaw. “No, it wasn’t.” 

Jamie curled her in closer, kissing her head. “It looks great. All yer hard work has really been paying off.” 

“Thank you,” she sighed. “I mean the hardest part is really the training, so we’ll see.” 

“It’ll work. Ye’re too brilliant for it no’ to,” Jamie assured her. 

“You’re biased.” 

He laughed, turning to face her. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her hard on the mouth. “I’m no such thing.” 

She showed him around the bakery as much as they could with minimal lighting. Soon, they shut off all the lights and went to find a place to eat. Neither of them felt very picky so they found a place quickly. A couple of hours were spent enjoying drinks, dinner, and the other’s company. Jamie’s hand rarely left Claire’s. They sat as close to each other as their table allowed, both just glad to be together. 

It was a beautiful evening as they walked back to Claire’s hotel, his arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist. As they entered the lobby of the hotel, they immediately walked toward the elevator. Jamie stopped, turning back toward the desk. Claire gave him a confused look. “I need to check into my room.” 

Her brow furrowed. “You got a room?” 

Jamie took a step closer to her. “Well, I didna want to be presumptuous.” 

She smiled, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “It wouldn’t be that presumptuous. You were coming to visit your girlfriend.” 

“Still.” 

Claire rolled her eyes with a grin. “You don’t need that room. Wait here.” She ignored him as he asked her what she was going to do. Claire walked up to the front desk and plastered on her best smile. “Hi,” she said, grabbing the woman���s attention. “I had a friend that was coming to visit me, but at the last minute it fell through. He asked if I could cancel his room for him.” 

“Of course, ma’am. What was the name?” 

“James Fraser.” 

The woman typed away at the computer before looking up to Claire with a smile. “All taken care of. Anything else I can help ye wi’?” 

“Not a thing. Thank you!” Claire replied, matching the woman’s smile. As Claire walked back to Jamie, her smile became more smug. “All taken care of,” she parroted. Jamie rolled his eyes at her as he draped his arm back around her. “Got a second room,” she muttered to herself, elbowing him in the side. “We’ve shared a room before.” 

“That was verra different, Sassenach,” Jamie defended. 

Claire curled into Jamie’s side, scoffing. “We’re two mature adults. I think we can share a bed.” 

Next chapter

[writersrealmbts]

Love for Eternity

Description: It’s Valentines day and Jin has a wonderful surprise for you while the other boys take care of the baby triplets. Sanctuary Series, Safe with Me. 

Warnings: Writing isn’t great.

Posted: 02/13/2019

Tags: hybrid!bts, safe with me universe, seokjin x reader, dad!seokjin

Fluff mostly: 1,874 words

A/N: I did the best I could, I hope you guys enjoy this! Happy Valentines Day! I’ll be spending it alone, studying chemistry and landscape ecology, and bowling in the morning. Yay. Anyway, I finished my two exams and I still have so much homework and crap so I’m posting this tonight. Enjoy! If you’re along tomorrow, drop me a line and we can commiserate/celebrate.

You picked up Min-min, nuzzling him. “Hmm, sweet baby.” Jin wrapped around you, gently kissing your cheek. “The other two are finally asleep.” You nodded, noticing that Minsu was quickly dropping off as he breathed in yours and Jin’s scent. “The boys okay? I know it’s stressful for them to see the kids like this.” “They’re fine, they’re more stressed because they want to help more but can’t since most of the problem is when the babes are hungry.” He gently took Minsu from you. “But they can help now. Now you need to go get cleaned up.” You looked up at him in surprise. “I do?” He nodded. “I’m taking you to dinner.” You grinned. “You are?” “I am. After all, it’s Valentine’s Day.” He leaned in and kissed you gently. “Have to set a good example for our kids. Show them how to take care of their significant other.” You smiled and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” “I love you too. Now, go get cleaned up and wear your best dress. Your favorite shoes. Do your hair, do your makeup. Jewelry. The works.” “The works,” You agreed, grinning. It’d been a while since you’d dressed up. Probably your brother’s wedding was the last time. After that you’d sort of ballooned with the triplets. Jin walked out with you, carefully passing the sleeping Minsu over to Hobi. Hobi grinned down at the baby. “So cute.” Each of the other boys was watching over the other two, and Yoongi was napping on the couch, ready to help out when he was needed. It wasn’t an IF situation. You looked over your family for a moment, then hurried into your room to get cleaned up and ready for the date Jin was taking you on. You did your hair, and makeup after putting on your nicest dress (thank God it still fit). You put on the necklace and earrings that Jin had given you for Christmas. You looked at yourself in the mirror, smiling at the reflection. You looked great. You walked out of the bathroom to see Jin dressed in his suit. Jin looked at you and grinned. “Wow…” He kissed you at least four times, then placed careful kisses around your face. Hands placed carefully on your waist as he savored the moment with you. “You look amazing, my darling.” You giggled softly, pulling away before you spun around for him. “This work for our date?” “You decide,” He answered with a grin, leading you out of the bedroom. In the hour that it took for you to get ready, the whole house had been decorated and candles lit and flowers… “I know…I know it’s not what you thought it would be. But I also know that I don’t want to have anyone ever doubt that we’re together. I want to marry you. I want to be able to really say that you’re my wife. I don’t want anyone to ever doubt that. I know I didn’t propose, but I have this.” He pulled a box from his pocket and opened it to show you a ring with the band already attached. Your mom’s ring. “It was grandma’s before mom’s,” Micheal said, smiling at you. You looked over at him, then down at the ring, then at Jin’s loving gaze. “You planned a wedding?” He nodded. “I love you,” You laughed, tearing up and gladly accepting his kiss. “Yay!” Tae shouted happily. “They’re getting married!” “And we’re watching the kids tonight and tomorrow while you two enjoy a nice stay in a hotel,” Becca chimed in. All of the boys were dressed up nicely, grinning happily. You looked down at your dress. Yes, you loved this dress, but to get married in it. “I’ve got you,” Becca said, gently pulling you away from Jin. “I have a dress upstairs for you because I knew this hare-brained—” Jungkook squeaked with indignation. “Scheme needed some sense,” Becca finished with an amused look at the boys. “Come on.” You let her drag you upstairs, where there was a garment bag hanging from the door to the closet. She went over and unzipped it. “Micheal told me that you wanted to wear this when you were younger, but he wasn’t sure if you still wanted it. I brought some other options too. It’ll give them time to finish setting things up.” You grinned. “My great grandmother’s wedding dress.” She helped you change into it, helping you button up the lace gown. “Perfect.” It was perfect. “Am I really getting married on Valentine’s day?” You laughed, tearing up a little. “You’re getting married. To Jin. The father of your children, the love of your life. A made up holiday has no relevance in the matter.” You closed your eyes, smiling. “I actually never even expected him to ask me to marry him.” “He loves you. And he knows exactly what you did and didn’t give up for him.” “I should have known. He always sees right through me.” You laughed softly, thinking about how he always seemed to know exactly what was on your heart and mind. He always knew exactly when you needed a hand to hold or a hug, or when you needed him to stay the hell away from you—and kept everyone else away as well. And if you were completely honest with yourself, you might die without his kisses. Hence, the triplets. She squealed with delight. “Look at you! My sister. Now, Micheal is technically officiating since he’s certified due to the things at Sanctuary and the haziness around marriage for hybrids that others are too idiotic to realize is actually a simple matter. However, I’ve told him to only keep to the official stuff and let you two do your own vows. I hope you can come up with vows at a moment’s notice.” “I know what I’ll say.” You reassured her. “Now send up Jimin-ah. I think the boy that started this all should walk me down the isle.” She nodded and hurried out. You adjusted your hair, thinking this was much better for the dress. Thankfully the necklace and earrings were exactly what you would wear with this dress. You just wished you had something for your hair. A veil, tiara, flower crown…something. Suddenly a flower crown was being placed carefully on your head. After it was resting perfectly, you turned to Jimin with a grin. He grinned back. “You look amazing, y/n.” “Thank you, Jimin-ah,” You kissed his cheek. “Help me get down the stairs?” He nodded, offering his arm. You took it, taking off the shoes that definitely didn’t match and that were too hard to go down the stairs in. Besides, you didn’t need them. The dress was a little short for you to wear heels anyway. Jimin led you downstairs. Jin’s face was priceless, his tail wagging way too fast to even keep track of it. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Damn he looked good in a suit. You vaguely heard Micheal say something, but you were focused on Jin as you were handed off to him. He looked back with as much love as you felt for him. “You took me in,” Jin said. He looked down at your joined hands. “You took all of us in. Your heart was so big, and you loved us without precedence. You took care of the most important people in my life, and helped me so that I could continue to see them grow. But we did so much more than just recover. We became a family. We fell in love. I saw everything that you were. You gentleness, compassion, and passion. You set me free, and now I want to never be free again. I can’t stand the thought of even a single day without you and when you’re away from me I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. I want to spend my life, however long I have, by your side. I love you, y/n. I’ll love you until the end of time.” You grinned back at him. “Y/n,” Micheal murmured. You laughed softly. “You make me laugh. You’ve brought me more joy than I ever thought I could have. Before you, I was kind of lost. I had made this new home for myself, I wanted to make a difference but had no idea how. Then I found this scrawny cat-hybrid in my vegetable garden, scared because his family was suffering. That’s how I met you. The best thing that’s ever happened to me.I never indulged a dream of finding so much love. I never thought that I would meet someone as amazing as you. You see through me, and help me be true to myself. You give me the best of you, and I hope that everyday I’m giving you the best I can too. Our life looked like it would be one trial after another that we had to face together, but it’s nothing with you by my side. And we’re going to be going crazy with these triplets because it’s going to be another month before we can start to night-train them, then they’re going to start crawling and we’re going to be absolutely exhausted once they get mobile. But I’d rather be sleep-deprived with you that well-rested with anyone else. I will love you for eternity, and take care of you to the best of my ability.” Jin gently brushed your cheek. “Rings?” Micheal asked, choking slightly. Jimin handed you a ring, while Jin pulled yours from his pocket. Micheal cleared his throat, but couldn’t get past it. You took Jin’s hand. “With this ring, I thee wed, and with all my earthly goods I do thee endow.” Jin repeated your words and action, slipping the ring onto your finger and smiling when it fit you well. “Kiss,” Micheal said, looking at the ceiling. Jin didn’t hesitate to obey, and if it hadn’t been for the boys and Becca cheering, you probably would have lost yourself in multiple kisses. “Man and wife,” Micheal said hoarsely. “Sign here.” You laughed at the sight of your torn-up brother, but signed the certificate anyway. Unconventional? Always, but you were married. Everyone fell silent at a sound from the baby monitor. Yoongi and Hoseok hurried away to check on the triplets. Jin pulled you into his arms. “Let’s have some cake then go.” You looked at the baby monitor, then up at him. He smiled down lovingly. “I think eight people can take care of three babies for a day.” “We’ve got this, Eomma,” Jungkook said confidently. Jimin nodded as well. You looked up at Jin. “But—” “Y/n, we’re going,” He said firmly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sighed and nodded, giving in to him. “Okay.” He chuckled softly, tilting your chin up so he could kiss you. “I love you, my darling wife.” You blinked up at your husband, and you felt completely at peace. No one could ever pull him away from you now. No matter what laws changed. He would always be yours, and you his. Your perfect family.

Masterlist.   Sanctuary Series Masterpost.  Next Part. 

[iviarellereads]

Nona the Ninth, Day Four, Chapter 17

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Plant shoot icon)(1) In which the children and the adults make a plan.

WHERE IS PYRRHA?—THE GANG SWEARS AN OATH—THE ANGEL MAKES A CALL— HOT SAUCE DRAWS HER GUN—FORTY-EIGHT HOURS UNTIL THE TOMB OPENS.(2)

Nona wakes, confused about how she fell asleep in all her clothes.

The evening was awful, but Cam didn't ask any other questions once she learned Nona had waited at the school and been driven home by a teacher. She only asks if Nona heard about the broadcast. Nona is ready to tell her about the girl from her dream, but Cam doesn't press the issue, just went to ask Pal something. The last she remembers from the night was admitting she didn't contradict Crown about dating Cam to Pal, and then Pal trying to figure out where Pyrrha went, and realizing she probably went to steal the shuttle, just before Nona passed out.

In the morning, Cam has Nona recite her dream into the recorder alone, while Cam does the washing up that Pyrrha usually does. Nona feels adrift, wondering if the girl in the broadcast really was the girl from the dream or not. By the time she realizes she should start recording, she forgets which button to push, and hits them at random until something happens, and she starts hearing Cam's and Pal's messages to each other.

On the recordings they discuss why the BOE would want a Lyctor on tap, then commiserate about their shared loneliness without each other. Pal can't bear eating Cam's life like this, but Cam says she'd carry his memory anyway, she'd rather have any part of him for real.

Just as the recording moves on to a recorded session with Nona and her dreams, Nona in the present notices Cam standing in the doorway. Nona apologizes and says she didn't hear anything, but Cam just tells her to wash up before breakfast. Nona worries about Pyrrha, and who she'll tell ass jokes to.(2)

In this saintly, uplifted, and really quite terrified state of mind, Nona looked at herself and found that she was very grimy. In a welter of fearful bravery she sponged herself at the cold-water tap until she was free of smuts(3) and old blood and dust, and the water was so cold it made her skin purple and blotchy. She called out, “Camilla, can I borrow a shirt?” and was pleased to hear, “Sure,” so she picked out one that was only a little too big but smelled comfortingly of Camilla. She looked in the cracked mirror and decided her hair was probably all right. The braids were a bit fuzzy but still doable. Thus armed, she went into the kitchen to see about breakfast.

Nona eats more of her breakfast than usual without resisting, so much that Cam doesn't even encourage her to eat more. Nona asks if they're going to wait for Pyrrha, but Cam says, no, Pyrrha's been gone for almost a full day, and Cam's been stuck at home that whole time. She needs to see the broadcast and look for Pyrrha, whose guns are still here, indicating she didn't intend to be gone far or for long.

Cam says she and Nona will go to the spaceport. Nona is excited, but asks to stop in at the school first, to make sure her friends and teacher are safe. Cam agrees, as Pal had wanted to thank the teacher anyway, but… this may be the last time Nona can see her friends. Nona understands, has been expecting it any time now, and says she's loved her friends. Cam says "we" (she, Pal, probably Pyrrha) know it.(4)

Cam goes to get dressed and cleaned up, and Nona does something she never would have normally: she peels up the sniper blazing(5) and looks up at the blue sphere in the sky.

She so rarely got to look at it from here. It hung on the morning horizon, and as she watched the sphere made a low, voiceless moan—a wanting sound—but quiet, on the edge of hearing. A whispered vocalisation and nothing more. “Can you help me?” Nona whispered. “Can you do anything? Do you know where Pyrrha is?” But it only lowed sadly, like a cow.(6) “That’s all right,” whispered Nona. “Sorry for asking.” Then: “Don’t do anything weird, okay? I’m having enough trouble right now.”

Nona gets the blazing pressed back down just in time for Cam to come out. She dresses for outside, and they leave. They can hear voices and sounds like people moving boxes behind doors, and Cam takes the elevator to conserve energy for what's to come.(7) Nobody pays them any attention, but there's an electric tension in the air of the city, as though waiting for a big event.

Nona felt sorry for the city: it wasn’t its fault. It was as tall and tumbledown and snaggletoothed as always.

Nona buzzes into the schoolhouse, and Honesty opens the door. Nona's so glad to see him again. Beautiful Ruby almost gives away that Nona snuck off to the broadcast, with Cam unknowing right behind Nona, but this gives way to asking where Hot Sauce is and Nona explaining. Beautiful Ruby thought Nona would "get a massive hiding"(8), and says Nona's "pimp" scares him. Nona says Pyrrha hasn't come home since yesterday, and they can't tell anyone.

Beautiful Ruby said instantly and kindly, “Won’t tell. Don’t worry, Nona, pimping is long hours and you have to go all over,” and she turned on him and something in her eyes and face made him stop immediately and say, “It was a joke! It was a joke. Oh my God, don’t be crazy at me, stop it.”(9)

Instead of talking more about Pyrrha, Nona asks where Born in the Morning is, but silence answers her. Honesty says breezily that all his dads probably joined up. They're all silent until the door buzzes again, but it's only the Angel and Noodle and Hot Sauce.(10) Cam thanks the Angel, but she waves it off, and suggests they talk once the kids are settled. The other teacher won't be coming.

The Angel brings them all upstairs, and they all sit spread out across the room as usual. Cam takes a seat near the back, strangely meek. The Angel asks if everyone and their families are alright. Beautiful Ruby, calling his mother by her first name, says she said they should give in to the Houses. Hot Sauce says she's weak. The Angel says it can be hard to be strong for more people than yourself, and you should judge people by what they do, not what they say. Hot Sauce says, so if someone says they're a necromancer, you should wait until they do something before you shoot them? Nona risks a glance at Cam, who is listening so intently Nona doubts she's Cam anymore.

The Angel says if Hot Sauce sees a necromancer, she should run in the opposite direction. There's no point fighting them, is there? Honesty asks if the Angel is scared of Necromancers, and she replies that of course she is, she was born on Lemuria. Cam asks what happened there. The explanation seems to make it clear that it was a turned world, and inhabited right up until the moment the final switch occurred between thalergy and thanergy. The Houses won the confrontations in the upheaval of the flip, and twenty years later, here's the Angel.

Beautiful Ruby still thinks his mum is embarrassing him by wanting to give in. The Angel says it's not wrong to not want to fight, and if you think all in black and white, your mind can't be agile. She suggests Ruby try to understand his mum's point of view.

Nona asks if they'll have normal school. The Angel says she can't or doesn't want to teach most of the regular subjects, but she thought she could teach them how not to get into too much trouble in the coming conflict.

She takes out a huge waxed paper map of the city, and lays it on a table. Nona can't understand the map any more than any other writing,(11) but the group discusses where in the city is safe and not safe to go. At one point, when discussing whether one place is safe or not, the Angel says "What we know is that we don’t know anything." Nona likes that as a motto, and a summary of her life.

The Angel asks Honesty to find Southgate and colour it blue. Honesty says, only for her, and colours it.

The Angel said, “Southgate is a good place to go in an emergency. Why do you think that is?” Nona said mechanically, “Because it’s got access to the road out of town and there’s a water pump and the ground is stable and it’s not a priority target for any kind of orbital strike or bombardment.” Everyone looked at her. Then they looked at Camilla, sitting in the back. Camilla didn’t move. She had found some bit of paper and was writing on it furiously,(12) so Nona didn’t even get a “Well done, Nona,” which she deserved because Cam had taught her all that. “What’s bombardment?” asked Beautiful Ruby suspiciously. “No idea,” said Nona proudly. “An interesting group, your family,” said the Angel slowly, with an eye on Camilla. “I mean, you’re totally right—if you have to run away, run there and keep close to the road.”

She continues that they shouldn't wait for each other there, and they couldn't survive in the open desert, but they should make it a priority to find and fill water bottles. Any problem will be short-term. The Angel suggests Hot Sauce show them the building she picked, and Hot Sauce points to a watchtower she's hidden out in before. It's stable and has supplies. She threatens whoever tries to sell her stuff, but Honesty swears he's her best boy, and the Angel reinforces that action is likely to be short-term.

Beautiful Ruby says the necromancers can't do anything anyway, but the Angel points out that now there's a Lyctor involved. They shouldn't be able to do too much, with "the blue madness", but it's good to have a plan.

The lights go out, and the Angel says that will be it for school for now. She tacks the map up so Honesty and Hot Sauce can memorize it, and the rest are to clear out the fridge and take home what's in it so it won't go to waste. Cam is lost in her own world in the back of the classroom, so Nona gathers up the drawings they did yesterday. She can tell which is whose, and organizes them, then hands them to the Angel, who says it might be nice for the children to have a "reminder of normal times" at home. Nona asks if they're never coming back, and the Angel says the broadcast changed everything. Nona knows that much, and says so, sadly.

“I thought you were your own boss here,” said Nona. “I have a lot of bosses,” said the Angel. “How many?” “Millions,” said the Angel, with perfect truth in the set of her shoulders. “Don’t worry about that for now—I’m being unhelpful and unkind—it’s just that, Nona, there comes a time in your life when you have to separate the things you do because they make you feel good from the things that make you—” The Angel stopped so dead midsentence that Nona thought she had had a heart attack, that she had been hurt in a way Nona couldn’t understand. She was staring at the topmost drawing of the sheaf of papers. Nona peeked over, ready to apologise for another one of Honesty’s explicit anatomical sketches. “Oh—that one’s mine,” she said, wanting to break the spell, wanting to help. “It’s mine, don’t worry.” The Angel was speechless for a moment. Then she looked at the paper, then looked at Nona again, and looked at the paper. She said, “Sure,” as though everything were normal and she hadn’t acted like she had been knifed. She laid the drawing aside and said, “Give the rest out, why don’t you?” and smiled at Nona, but it was a weirdly awful smile, as though the Angel had forgotten how smiles worked.(13)

Nona passes the rest out, and the gang all gather in the cloak room. Hot Sauce says they can all come with their families, even Beautiful Ruby's traitor mum, and Hot Sauce can defend them. They pile their hands on like a sports team about to start.

“Doesn’t feel right without Born in the Morning,” muttered Honesty. “It’s for him too,” said Hot Sauce. Then she said— “We swear to protect each other and die for each other. We are loyal to each other forever. Any zombies we kill, we kill for each other, and we’ll say, ‘This is for the others.’ That’s it.”

Honesty, Nona, Beautiful Ruby, and Kevin all swear, and Hot Sauce, as the boss. They go to open the door and Born is there after all, having snuck away. They all swear again, and most of them take off. Nona and Hot Sauce go back upstairs, and Hot Sauce says they won't see Born again until most of his fathers die, they're just baggage holding him back from the gang.(14)

=====

(1) Another new icon. What could this one mean? There's nothing particularly plant-related here, is there? (2) Whomst among us hasn't had a weird day where our routine is thrown all the way off and had sad weird thoughts only loosely related to it? (3) The nearest common usage of "smut" near this context I can find is a class of fungi that typically infect plants (you may have heard of "corn smut" which is a delicacy known as huitlacoche in Mexico). It may also be used to mean soot. Alternately, since "smut" derives from an old Germanic word for "dirt", it could just mean dirt stains of unknown origin. (4) I feel this implies that Cam wouldn't ask Nona to say her goodbyes if she didn't have to. (5) I think it's been mentioned before, but I don't think I ever went into exactly what was… possibly because I can't quite be sure. Searches for "window blazing" all just return "window glazing", or how to make your Windows computer blazing fast. My assumption is that it's a layer of some sort of vinyl to obscure the positions of those inside and thus foil snipers. The blackout curtains are separate so I assume it's not an opaque black, it may just be like window frosting or it could be more complex. But, the peeling is what makes me think of window frosting, because I used some vinyl window frosting on nearly all my apartment's windows to prevent people seeing into the bathroom, bedrooms, or kitchen when I want curtains open for natural light but don't want to be Observed or Perceived in those spaces. (6) So, Pyrrha definitely wasn't the only one who could communicate with Varun. (7) Ominous. (8) It's interesting how common child abuse seems to be in this community. It's taken as a given. (9) Interesting for Nona to be scary to anyone. (10) Priorities, Nona has them. (11) She can parse drawings, even photos, but nothing meant to convey information? (12) Pal is absolutely taking notes on Nona's behaviour in a group. I'm frankly shocked neither of them thought of doing this sort of sit-in before. (13) What did Nona draw? An animal she's sure makes anatomical sense, from the chapter where she did it. But what could cause the Angel to react so? (14) Hot Sauce is one of the most interesting characters in a book, in a series, so chockablock with interesting characters you can't turn a page without seeing at least one.

[mysilverylining]

Previously on Neptune

I’m getting closer and closer to finally posting an update on this monster.  It occurred to me that it’s been so long since I posted, that nobody could possibly remember the plot.  Other than THOSE two scenes, I mean.  

If this wheel’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’

Anyway, I’ve written up a recap.  Feel free to sing along in the style of Braindead, if you so desire. 

Spoilers under the cut  

Prologue:

Homicide Detective Veronica Mars exits a crime scene in a blind rage.  An unidentified male watches her through binoculars from a nearby building as she assaults a gate and her boss, and fantasizes about doing vile things.  

Episode One:

Here, the author experiments with a different writing style, turning what should be an easy drive to town into thousands of words too long.  A bored and exhausted Veronica finally makes it to her dad’s doorstep.  

She’s quit her job on the force, gave up her lease, and wants her old life back.  Keith tentatively welcomes her home, and it feels just like old times when Veronica catches a glimpse of his special lady friend on his phone’s wallpaper and erupts.     

By some non-contrived and totally coincidental twist of fate, Jackie Cook arrives back in Neptune with her eight year old son, and wants to hire Mars Investigations to clear her father’s name.  He’s been fired from his job as a baseball coach at Hearst, and is potentially facing criminal charges for game fixing.  Sure, he’s done it before, but this time he’s TOTALLY innocent.  She swears.  “Oh, and by the way, maybe don’t mention it to Wallace that I’m back in town.  He kinda had a meltdown the last time we saw each other.”   

Veronica joins Wallace and Weevil for dinner at Neptune’s new celebrity restaurant.  Wallace has been divorced for about a year now, from Jane Kuhne, and while he doesn’t regret leaving, the experience has altered his disposition.  Weevil seems suspiciously (V’s words, not mine) happy running the city’s Fleet Services Department.  “He knows people”.    

She vaguely mentions her new case, and Weevil fills her in on the tightened security over at Hearst. 

Wallace is looking forward to strutting the stage in the upcoming bachelor auction, which trigger’s Veronica’s protective nature.  She decides to attend.  You know, to scare off  vet the bidders.  

The following day, Veronica sets to work making a Hearst ID badge out Weevil’s old one, and phone-squabbling with her former partner-slash-friend-with-benefits, Joe.  He doesn’t take the breakup well.  

For insurance reasons, Keith needs her to renew her P.I. license.  Oh no!  She missed the final deadline by a few months, and now she’ll have to begin the entire process all over again.  Never fear, there’s a special extension document that will grant her a little extra time.  All it needs is a signature from the County Supervisor.

“Great dad!  I’ll get right on that, but now I’ll have to cut you off mid-sentence to deal with this service worker, and I’m probably going to turn off my phone afterwards, because my ex is just SO obsessed with me, and I can’t deal with him calling anymore.  But I’ll be sure to butter up Mayor Jenkins with some tiramisu.  K. Bye.”

The mayor’s assistant is none other than Gia Goodman, and maybe Veronica can just sneak past her.  Sure, crawling down the hallway is a little bit undignified, but everyone knows how hard it is to break away from a Gia conversation once she starts rambling.  

Having vanquished the obstacles of timid service-men, pissed ex-FWBs, and chatty secretaries, Veronica arrives at the Wizard’s Mayor’s inner sanctum.  Holding up her tiramisu bribe, she announces her presence.  

Whaddya know?  The mayor is her old friend, Logan Echolls.  

Veronica and Logan have a long and productive conversation.  Sans words.  And clothing.  Horizontally.  

Episode Two

Logan Echolls has zero chill, so literally nobody is surprised when he immediately admits that he’s still in love with Veronica.  

Veronica:  “Um...yeah.  I’m just here to get a form signed.  Also, we are never ever ever getting back together.  

Logan:  You DO still love me!  I knew it.  

Dessert interlude.  

Veronica drives and angsts and mopes and angsts.  

Madison Sinclair has undergone a personality transplant in the intervening years (Caitlin Ford has not).  She tries to apologize to Veronica at Java the Hut, even inviting her to attend the bachelor auction, but things take a turn for the ugly when she mentions the “L” word.  Insults are exchanged, and Madison’s idle threat to bid 17K on Logan at the auction ends up trapping her when Caitlin repeats it to the HBIC.   Trying again to make amends, Madison follows Veronica over to her car where she learns the truth of Veronica’s rape at Shelly’s party and Dick’s part in it.  

Mac calls Veronica at home to apologize for missing dinner the night before, but it’s hard to find time for fun when you’re doing the work of the boss in addition to your own.  Mac despises Madison for keeping her from visiting her bio-mom in the weeks before her death.  Checking the mail, she finds a postcard warning her to resign from Casablancas.  

Madison flashes-back on her romance with her secret lovah.  He showed up in her life when she was reeling from her mom’s death, depressed, and taking some nasty drugs.  He helped her get cleaned up, and set her on the path of redemption through contribution.  She confesses what happened with Veronica, and how she’d trapped herself into bidding on Logan.  Loverboy doesn’t like it, but assures her he’s not mad, and confesses his love to her.  

Veronica wakes to find a food truck in the driveway, sent by Logan, who intends to win her heart through her stomach.  

Veronica and Keith interrogate Terrance Cook, compiling a list of suspects consisting of rivals and ex-lovers.  

At Hearst, Veronica recognizes the assistant coach as Luke Haldeman.  He supports his boss’ story.  She interviews the players, who react to her with hostility, sexism, and shameless flirtation. 

Later, at Neptunalia, Veronica receives a phone call from one of the players, disguising their voice, and pointing the finger at Luke for the thrown game.  

Logan shows up, and plies Veronica with food and flirtation.  He makes a bargain with Veronica that she’ll agree to go on a date with him if he can win her an “I love you beary much” bear. There is no such bear on the fairgrounds (as she’d suspected) , which is fine, because he’s a crappy ring toss player, anyway.  Veronica wins him a bear instead, and then they head to the Ferris Wheel for another...um...productive conversation.  

It’s time for the bachelor auction.  Veronica runs into Weevil, and together, they interviews one of the Hearst baseball players, who just happens to be bartending.  There’s probably an age-related continuity error there, if you squint. 

Weevil’s attitude about Veronica being in Neptune is a bit fishy.  Why is he practically shoving her out the door?  Well, it turns out, Weevil and Logan have taken their bromance to a new level.  Best friend charms, and everything.  An understandably weirded-out Veronica explains that there’s nothing to see.  Logan, who?  I don’t know any Logan.  Gia arrives minutes later, outing their sexy-times on Logan’s desk.  Weevil gives exasperation face.  

The auction begins.  Jackie reveals herself by submitting the winning bid on Wallace.  St. Mac of Arc plays martyr and bids on Dick.  You know, to keep him from committing office shenanigans with Gia.  Veronica does NOT bid on Logan.  She takes off when it becomes clear that Madison is sticking to her word.  

Veronica meets up with Mac and Jackie the next morning at Java.  They commiserate on the upcoming dates.  They part ways when Jackie gets a call that her father’s been arrested. 

At the Sheriff’s Department, VVL tries to keep Veronica from consulting with Terrance Cook.  She runs into Carmen Ruiz on the way out, who’s now married (with children) to Tad.  Yes, that Tad.  Barf.  She can’t look Veronica in the eyes, and has the demeanor of an abused wife.  

In the women’s room, while taking out her anger on a garbage can, Veronica meets Deputy Siobhan Fitzpatrick.  Siobhanica hit it off immediately, as they’re both cops, both despise Tad, and have many other things in common.  Maybe TOO much in common.  Record scratch.  Turns out, Siobhan used to be engaged to Logan.   And, almost as bad, had been allowed to honey trap for Keith.  Not fair.  

Back at Mars Investigations, Veronica finds a newspaper that shows her and Logan locking lips at Neptunaila.   Mac arrives, introducing Veronica’s new part-time hacker, Lauren Sinclair.  

The auction dates begin, and Madison isn’t having the best night.  First, Logan is snippy and dramatic, and polishing off his drinks a bit too quickly.  Then, she’s shut-down when she attempts to apologize to Mac.  She does, however, agree to reach out to the MacKenzies, and feels pretty good about it.  Finally, Dick tries to stop her on the way back from the bathroom.  After what she learned from Veronica, he’s the LAST person she wants to be alone in a hallway with.  Back at the table, she finally has an adult conversation with Logan, and (maybe?) a new truce?  

Mac’s time isn’t much better.  Dick is being blackmailed, which is fine.  Couldn’t happen to a better man.  But he’s been given a month to resign, and the blackmailer wants her out too.  

Across town, Wallace is sullen and unresponsive on his date with Jackie.  She calls him out on some harsh truths, and almost seems to be getting through to him.  Then his ex sister-in-law shows up, and starts snapping pictures of them.  They make a quick exit, and an awkward goodbye.  

It’s late and Veronica receives a text that Logan is at Madison’s place, and wasted.  She’d better come get him if she doesn’t want him driving.  Veronica drives to Madison’s house.  She has an emotional crises, thinking she’s been set up, and is going to find them in bed together.  

When she finally opens the bedroom door, Madison is alone.  And dead.  Dun dun dun.