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plantinghobbies · 5 months

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The Same Damn Thing (collab with @sycophanticsolipsism)

Here’s part 5, can’t believe we’ve only got two parts left! Thank you to everyone for your likes and reblogs and kudos and feedback, can’t tell you how much it motivates us and how much we appreciate it. It truly lifts our spirits so thank you thank you. The most thanks to @sycophanticsolipsism for supporting my sorry ass through a writer’s block, this thing would probably still have like 100 words without you!

If you need to catch up, check out the masterlist.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, angst, probably some typos

Part 5: If I Could Go Back To That Evening We Met…

“I’d kill to go back to that evening we met. Trembling hands as I’d ask for your number again, you saw me different then…when I held your heart in my hand” - Lewis Capaldi

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nobody on the flight is happy to be leaving the magic of Rome, clutching their Prosecco and pecorino Romano from duty free as if it will evaporate upon takeoff. Nobody except Val, that is. She is buzzing, fidgety, can’t get out of this goddamn country fast enough. She has been in constant motion since the moment she’d woken up this morning.

Val’s had her share of mornings (less than some of her friends but more than she likes to admit) where she woke up disoriented and hungover, unhappy with where she was and a little foggy on how she got there. But this morning? This one was by far the worst, because she didn’t wake up next to a strange guy wearing one sock drooling on her shoulder. No, instead it was Matty - adorable, inconvenient, sexy Matty. By one night stand standards, it was probably the safest she’d ever been. And yet it was the most reckless, brainless thing she’d ever done.

‘It��s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ She’d repeated it to herself over and over - during her shower, throughout the most chaotic packing job of her life, and all the way to the airport. But no matter how much Val tried, her treacherous bitch of a brain would not let it go. She rocks up to the gate after boarding has begun, sliding into her seat at the front of the plane (she’d used the few minutes waiting for a taxi at the hotel to switch her seat), keeping her head low and her sunglasses on (she takes back all the times she previously called people wearing sunglasses on planes pretentious twats. She gets it now). She’d held her breath as he boarded, pretending to be asleep when she saw his eyes searching for her. Her noise cancelling headphones provide little relief from the rattling around in her head. Now that she’s stopped, albeit forcibly, it’s harder to keep the thoughts she’s desperate to avoid at bay.

She catches up on texts as the plane taxies, until her friend Dina responds to a picture of Barry Keoghan in the group chat with a resounding “fuck me” and Val’s transported back to the moment Matty whispered that in her ear as he slid into her for the first time. Opening her email once they’re airborne, her inbox is flooded with emails from him from the last few days, running commentary on the conference sessions they’d attended separately. Reading his cute ramblings on the boring presenters and arrogant question askers felt like a shiv jabbed through her ribs. Finally, she gives up, slamming the laptop shut and closing her eyes. Maybe if she’s unconscious she won’t think about it.

If her life were a movie, Val would have stirred to light stubble nuzzling her neck, his hand snaking down her front, his gruff voice whispering filthy nothings in her ear. But life wasn’t a movie. Instead, the blare of the wakeup call had jolted them awake, her elbow colliding with his jaw as they both scrambled to answer it. By the time Matty’d thanked the hotel staff with broken Italian, Val was already in her jeans, searching for her earring while avoiding looking at him completely.

“Val…” His voice is low, shaky, uncertain, like he’s approaching a caged animal. Val’s heard him employ that tone a hundred times before - with clients and colleagues when he wants to win them over, with their uni friends when he was trying to mediate a dispute between them, with Marin when she was pushing herself too hard toward the end. But he’s never used it with Val before, until now. He thinks it’s full of charm and confidence and take-charge-ness. But what it feels like right now is patronizing. It’s the first time Val fucking hates the sound of his voice.

There’s a twinge in her neck she’s not sure the cause of as she whips her head around. “Don’t give me that tone.”

Matty physically recoils, blinking stupidly back at her. “I don’t know -“ He looks down at the bed before standing, moving to the chair in the room, maybe to put more distance between them, escape the scene of the crime.

“Yea you do!”

“Look, I’m confused too but…” But she isn’t. Confused that is. She may not be on board with all her actions over the last several hours, but in this moment, she is in full control of how she feels.

Angry, that’s how Val feels. Angry at herself for being an idiot cliche who slept with her boss. Beyond annoyed at him for not just leaving her the fuck alone to languish on Richard’s team all those months ago. Furious with whatever early Roman asshole invented wine in the first place, with its inhibition-altering goodness. And don’t even get her started on Marianne, who landed them in this joint-room trope predicament in the first place. Yep, her shit list is growing by the minute. She would have NEVER done this at home. Never. She needs to get back - to her bed, to her routine, to her goddamn sanity. Oh, she is clear on her emotions alright.

“Oh, I’m not. I know what this was, no need to explain it.” Sheets and pillows are flying now as the search continues for her earring. “Listen, we can’t miss our flight and I need to find my earring. I can’t lose it, it’s—“

“Marin’s, I know.”

“Of course you do.” She’s looking in the mini fridge now, which she knows is ridiculous, but she just has to keep moving. “Obviously, you’d remember your girlfriend’s ear—“

Matty’s chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound, drawing Val’s eyes over to his body. Bad idea, as he sits up abruptly and leans forward. “Listen, I don’t know what you heard about us.” Us. The word hits her like a visceral gut punch, a dull ache radiating out from her chest. It’s one thing to think it and another thing altogether to hear it. Her worn patience snaps, she can’t sit here with the smell of sex still lingering in the air and think of them. She just can’t. “It’s not what you th—“

“Aaah, got it!” Fuck, thank god. Her shirt she can do without but there was no way Val was leaving without that earring. She readies to flee, gathering her bag and looking around for her key card… before it settles on her that she’s in her room. She can’t leave, at least not without looking even more erratic than she feels. Plus, they really need to get a fucking move on to the airport and he’s still shuffling by the bed in just his pants.

She pauses, back turned to him as she speaks. “Listen” she repeats - it’s what her mum would refer to as a verbal tick, “umm, I’m going to hop in the shower, we’ve really got to go and I’m sure you have to pack and—” she’s moving toward the bathroom now, and the blessed door that will put a much-needed barrier between them so she can wash his scent off, and catch her breath and think. Something she clearly wasn’t doing last night. “And I forgot to pick up one last bag of coffee for my neighbor so I’m gonna run to that place down the square. I’ll just meet you at the gate.” The last part is thrown over her shoulder as she slams the door shut, not broaching any argument. She presses her back to the door, holding her breath, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. After eighteen seconds (her youth swim training finally came in handy), she hears the rustling of his clothes, the click of the lock, and then nothing. The sound that she makes as she finally takes a deep breath sounds like relief, and yet it doesn’t feel like it.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When they land, Val is off the plane like a shot, power walking through border control, not looking back. She implores every God she’s ever heard of - she even throws Dumbledore in there for good measure - that her suitcase is already waiting for her at baggage claim, assisting her quick getaway from the walking reminder in a wrinkled black suit and raybans somewhere behind her. But she must have exhausted all her luck between rounds two and three last night because the conveyer belt hasn’t even started moving yet (fucking Heathrow). He catches up to her a few minutes later, which is unfortunate because she was hoping to not see him until sometime next month. Maybe year. Decade. Never? She knows she’s being childish but at least now her mood matches her actions. Her boss! Her sister’s something. Her friend.

The look he levels her with is heavy with impatience. Oh, he’s waiting for her to say something? Fat chance, talking to him is what got her into this mess in the first place. Val talked herself right out of her senses and into his bed. Her bed. A bed. Speaking of, she wants to get to hers so she can crawl into it and die. “Where the hell are these bags?!” Mumbling to herself as a hideous green paisley suitcase makes a full go around the luggage turn style again before Matty seems to get fed up with their verbal game of chicken, taking a deep breath and letting a long sigh preview his words. “Well I guess I’ll sta-“

“Matty?” A high-pitched voice calls from somewhere behind them. Saved! Maybe there’s some magic left for her after all.

He whirls around to the voice, which is attached to a striking woman who Val does not recognize. Probably an enterprising networker from the conference. Now’s her chance to back away, book it to the other end of the carousel. Hell, maybe she should just abandon the bag, she can always come back and get it later. Having decided on letting present Val off the hook and leaving future Val to deal with the postponed chat with Matt, she turns to leave - when the woman steps into (invades is more like it from where Val’s standing) Matty’s personal space, confidentially, almost intimately. Val is glued to the spot, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Cheryl…hi, what are you - it’s nice to - aah” He awkwardly goes to hug the woman but they get tangled as they lean in, barely manage a weird half hug, half cheek kiss. Awkward is not a trait she’s used to seeing on him, and it really doesn’t suit.

Val doesn’t know if it’s years of computational science training or the hours of true crime documentaries she’s devoured but something has her mind whirring, interest piqued, collecting data on this new person. Tall, brunette, well dressed, older (she can’t be more than Matty’s age but Val is feeling petty all of a sudden).

“So that’s why you’ve been so hard to reach lately. Long trip?” Cheryl’s eyes dart towards her and then back to Matty, clearly content to not make Val’s acquaintance. She’s toe to toe with Matty now, which Val knows from no more legitimate source than Cosmo is a sign that they’re clearly comfortable in each other’s personal space. Physical space. Val doesn’t like where this is going but can’t seem to look away.

“Ehm no, just Rome. Conference.” He clears his throat into his fist and begins rocking on his heels in a way she’s never seen him do before. Who the fuck is this woman? “You?”

“Showcase in Sweden,” Cheryl says as if this explains everything. It doesn’t, not nearly enough. Be more specific Cheryl, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here! “But I’m home for a few weeks. We should…ummm…get together again, last time was… fun.” She punctuates the last part, dragging a manicured nail down Matty’s chest. Val knows later (once she’s home and showered and slept and sane again) she’ll admire Cheryl’s boldness, wish they were friends so she could ask her how she seems to manage more confidence in that one finger than Val seems to have in her whole body.

For his part, Matty does finally step back - or maybe he just loses his equilibrium in the presence of Miss Congeniality (she can’t help it) - and collides with Val, startling as if noticing her for the first time. And in this moment, the data set is complete - she doesn’t need to gather any more information to come to her conclusion - they’ve fucked. Recent enough that Cheryl doesn’t hesitate in initiating contact. Intimate contact that had him seemingly forgetting all about Val. The woman he slept with last night!

Keep moving.

Before he can move to introduce her or address her or do anything with her, she spots her bag, lunges for it, and leaves without another word.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Keep moving.

There’s a Diet Coke stain on Val’s sweater, a general stale smell in the air that she’s pretty sure is coming from her, and she’s stiff and sore in areas she hasn’t been in a while. But she can’t go home. Because home has the couch where they sat till her head ached and back screamed, pulling and fixing data and railing against their colleagues for fucking up. It’s got the blanket she’d caught him wiping his eyes on as they watched Manchester By the Sea together. And the fucking grease stain on the edge of her carpet that he didn’t think she knew about from the pizza he’d dropped on it. (She might have to burn that rug, or sell it.) And the old journal tucked away in her closet filled with her thoughts of him that show just how stupid she’d been for him and for how long.

So no, Val doesn’t go home. When the cab driver asks where to, she rattles off the first place that comes to mind, dragging her suitcase behind her out of the backseat and into the cinema. The obviously-stoned teenager behind the counter doesn’t bat an eye when she asks him for one ticket to the “least fucking romantic thing you’ve got going here,” punching a few buttons before spitting out a stub and receipt for the latest installment in the Saw franchise. But not even gore and guts can keep her mind from drifting. The torture on screen ramps up - Val wants to picture Matty groaning in agony as she tortures him for all the shit he’s put her through today but all her mind can seem to conjure are his moans of pleasure.

She’s pictured him between her thighs so many times that she’s probably imagined every move he’s making tonight, from the moment he started trailing his lips down past her breasts. The way his mouth licks at each of her ribs as he slinks down her body seems familiar. And Val knows that she’s pictured him licking his bottom lip the way he does now as he slides her panties to the side with his finger. But all of these fantasies, she realizes now, have been devoid of the single hottest thing she could never imagine. His sounds. Because the gutteral groan that escapes him as he licks into her for the first time is like nothing she’s ever heard before. It must have surprised him too because he pauses after that first taste, resting his forehead against her pelvis, heavy pants tickling her skin. Val’s hands instinctively find his hair, raking through it, fingertips massaging the top of his head. She’s a little uncertain why he paused but she can’t help but stop and appreciate the intimacy of this moment, something new for them even after all their years of knowing each other.

“Christ,” he mutters, rolling his head slightly back and forth as he plants lazy kisses wherever his mouth lands, seemingly unhurried. But not knowing what he’s thinking begins to make her anxious. Was there something wrong? She’d waxed recently (not that it mattered and fuck him if he thought it did)…right? Yes, yes definitely. Maybe it wasn’t his thing, had she pushed him to do it? Oh god, was she the problem?

Her hand slid from his hair to his jaw, trying to coax him back up her body. She gasps at the quick snatch of her wrist, firm but gentle, his large hand encircling her wrist easily. He slides her other one alongside it, pinning both of her wrists in place easily on her left side.

“I just….you don’t have to….listen, just come up and we’ll…”

“Val?”

“Yea?”

“You are the fucking best thing I’ve ever tasted. Now stop thinking and let me enjoy it.”

She walks out halfway through the movie, her fickle mind unable to give into the distraction for long. There’s a cafe right next to the theater and Val ignores the annoyed glances she gets for hogging a table meant for two. But she needs room for her baggage. ‘Fitting’, she thinks.

She’s on her second latte and third episode of Derry Girls when her mum calls. Normally, she’d put her off until she’s in a better mood to chat, has more energy to pretend. One of the hazards of having a psychoanalyst for a mother is that every interaction can feel like a session, unable to avoid her trained instincts. But she’d already dodged her calls twice and Val is certain that even though her mother knows she was traveling with Matty (her mother was so relieved when Val said Matty was going, you’d have thought he was a 6’5 bodyguard instead of a 5’10 casual exerciser), if she doesn’t pick up a third time Gwen will start to panic. After what her mother’s been through, she tries not to blame her.

When Gwen asks how the trip went, Val picks her words carefully, trying to muster believable excitement behind it. “Good!”

“Really? It doesn’t sound good?” Clearly, her acting needs work.

“No, it was.” She tries again, hoping the raised octaves in her voice would make up for the lack of it in her mood.

“You and Matty were in Rome for a week and it was only good? I find that hard to believe.”

And she doesn’t know if it’s the sudden softness in her mothers’ usually firm voice or her own jet lag but Val feels the dam crack and break easier than it has in years. And it’s not a dainty crack either, where a tear slides down her cheek accompanied by one of those cute hiccups. No, Val is not a cute crier, never has been. It’s full on sobs, her splotchy face screwed up and her attempts to breath turning into snot-logged guffaws. She’s word vomiting her train-wrecked thoughts to her mother, trying to hide her teary face behind her crumpled napkin. The guy at the table next to her - some young college kid who probably hasn’t lived long enough to make the idiotic mistake of wanting someone you can’t have - tries to appear casual as he side-eyes her, giving her increasingly dirty looks before he slides his laptop and book off the table and jogs out of the place. ‘Yea kid, run so you don’t have to see what your life will look like in ten years,’ she thinks, reaching for the unused napkin on his table and blowing her nose loudly.

Val spares her the more salacious details but knows Gwen gets the gist. Silence follows, for so long that Val pulls her phone out of her bag to check the connection is still good.

“He calls me every year, you know.” Her mother’s voice is soft, vulnerable.

Of all the things she expected her mother to say, this was not it. “Who? Matty?!”

“Yesss darling, Matty. Every year around the anniversary.” Val rolls her eyes, of course he would. He couldn’t just make it easy for her and be a dickhead she shouldn’t have feelings for. Her mother’s voice is still flooding her earbuds “…started out with a card the first year but then he missed the second one and called all flustered from some party boat…in Ibiza, I think.” Gwen’s laugh is another thing that Val doesn’t hear that much of, wishes she heard it more. “Said he was rubbish with anything analogue and asked if I wouldn’t mind if he called from then on.”

Val grips her napkin, busying herself with shredding it into pieces. “He always asks about you. Bless him, probably thought he was being so coy, but it was obvious that he was digging for info on you.”

“Me?” The shrillness in her voice attracts a glare from the guy who’s taken over the recently-vacated table. She glares right back. She can be hysterical if she wants to here, it isn’t a bloody library.

“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course, you. Who else?” There’s rustling on the other end, the unmistakable whimper of her parent’s golden retriever as he scratches at the back door, desperate to go out. Val is suddenly homesick in a way she hadn’t been in over a decade. “I thought you all had something going at school before…”

“No, mum.” Val interrupts before that thought can even fully form, can’t take hearing someone else verbalize it. “It was him and Marin…”

The sharp bark of laughter cuts her off. “Marin? No darling, definitely not.”

The confidence with which her mother says this should make Val feel better, someone outside of her own thoughts refuting her worst nightmare. But instead, her hackles rise, instantly petulant at being so easily dismissed. Her next words are biting.

“Well, I was there so I think I would know.”

“You certainly know a lot.” Great, her mother’s passive voice. It’s a reliable tool for de-escalation, but all it seems to do for Val is piss her off more.

“Well, how would you know? You weren’t here!“ She hates how easily she reverts to sounding like a child with her mum.

“Because she told me things.” The unlike you goes unsaid.

“I-“

“Honey, you’ve always kept things close to the vest. Ever since you were little.” Her mother anticipates her defensiveness “It’s ok, it’s just your nature. But it wasn’t the same for your sister. She told me eeeeeverything. Including the fact that she was asexual.”

Val’s cheeks flame in the way they always did whenever either of her parents even said the word sex. “Wait, what?”

“Yes darling.” She says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, I-“

“Honestly Val, it’s perfectly normal, some people just aren’t driven by carnal ins-“ At that word, Val is transported back to the mortifying moment she’d asked her mother the definition of carnal at the ripe old age of 7, having come across it while trying to read one of her Nan’s trashy paperbacks with Fabio on the cover. Her dad had been livid but her mum had simply sat Val down and explained the birds and the bees. Val had never asked for a clarification on another word since.

She’d very much like to not relive that whole ordeal now, or ever again. “Mum, I know what asexual means. I just, well…” Val pauses, biting her lip in contemplation unsure of what it is that confuses her about the finding. Her sister was allowed to keep things for herself. Val had obviously never told Marin about her feelings for Matty. Thou can covet thy sister’s boyfriend as long as you don’t tell anyone…that’s how the commandment went, right? But this, this was news that would have changed Val’s whole world that first year of uni. Maybe her whole life. And she’d kept it from her! Just because Val didn’t have a right to be angry doesn’t mean she wasn’t anyway .“I guess I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.”

“Oh bug, I think she would have. If she had had the time.” Gwen’s voice goes soft again in the way she only gets when talking about Marin. Or her own parents. Val hates making her mum sad.

“Well, good to know, I guess. Still doesn’t mean he didn’t fancy her.” The sigh on the other end of the line

“Honey, this isn’t really about your sister, is it? It’s about you. I mean, it’s fine to be guarded.” ‘Well, thanks for your permission mum.’ “But if you like someone, sometimes you, well, you’ve got to go out on a limb. Do something that you can’t walk back.”

“Uh uh Val, eyes on me baby,” Matty’s thumb taps at her hairline, bringing her eyes back to his. “There she is, that’s my girl.” His smile is so soft, so incongruous with the harsh snap of his hips moments before. He dips his head, nose nuzzling hers as his lips skim over her Cupid’s bow. “I want to see you.”

Well, she’d definitely done that.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The elevator dings as it arrives at her floor, Val’s mind barely registering it as she stares at the hideous bargain carpet that covers every inch of her building. Two days ago, her Mum’s revelations would have had her spinning. But today, they just make her more tired. Tired of trying to decipher what it all meant - every word, every action. Tired of carrying around hope for all these years, foolish, unfounded hope. Hope could be heavy and she’d been carrying it since an early age, when Hollywood had filled her brain with stories of men who gave the smallest crumbs of affection and the women who devoured them like they were full feasts, never giving up and somehow always getting the guy. Beauty and the Beast, My Best Friends Wedding, Jerry Maguire, Bridget Jones’, Sleepless in Seattle. And those were just a few of her favorites growing up. But what those movies didn’t show was the nights filled with insomnia, the self-doubt, the second guessing yourself, the exhaustion that comes with taking every interaction with someone you would die to have - literally every single second together - and reliving it over and over again looking for the seIcret subtexts that would reveal how he felt about you. Wondering, confused, if it was love or if you weren’t just mistaking kindness for care.

Well, Val was officially giving up. Throwing in the towel. She couldn’t do it any more. She was no Hollywood heroine, she was just a mere woman, and she was tired. Of burying her feelings under shy smiles, then friendship, then a night with him that had only made the idea of friendship impossible. Of wondering if she was wasting time pining for someone when she didn’t even know how he felt. I mean, clearly he was attracted to her but just because he wanted her didn’t mean he wanted to be with her; just because he wasn’t in love with Marin didn’t mean that he was in love with Val. Contrary to how she sometimes acted, she knew she was not the only person of interest on the planet and he could have anyone he wanted.

And that was all just the personal anxiety. She hadn’t even begun to process how stupid this all was for her professionally.

As she makes the turn down her hallway, her eyes are drawn to a body, slumped in front of the door to her apartment. Asleep? Dead? Several particularly grim facts about stalkers and serial killers flash through her mind before she clocks the curls, the scuffed shoes, the pack of cigarettes lying next to him he’d clearly taken out to smoke before he must have realized where he was. On instinct, hope rises in her chest before she slaps her palm over her heart, holding it at bay. No, that was enough of that.

She kicks at his shoe, startling him for the second time that day. “How long have you been here?”

He doesn’t respond as he clambers to his feet, eyes dragging to his suitcase as if to highlight the obvious answer.

“Ok, other question. What are you doing here?” It comes out breathier than intended but she is genuinely surprised. Thought he’d be off somewhere with that troll Cheryl (she is not proud of how her feminism utterly abandons her in this moment). That she’d at least have a few well-timed sick days to prepare before seeing him again.

“I’m uh…” The toe of his brogues scrape at the floor .Whatever he wants to say, it’s enough to make him anxious. Which is enough to make Val want to avoid it at all costs.

Summoning her self-preservation, she cuts him off. “Listen, maybe we should do this when we’ve both-“

“Goddamnit Val, for once, please shut up!” His voice explodes in the small space, her gaze immediately going over her shoulder to her neighbor’s door. The last thing she needs right now is a noise complaint. Matty itches at the skin around his throat, as if raising his voice at her is as foreign to do as it was to receive. “I’m sorry, I’m sor- I just, I can’t risk any confusion here. Just need to get this out. Need you to listen. For once.” The attempt at a joke lands with a thud.

“When I’ve tried to get this out…and, I, just, it gets fucked every time.” His breath is noticeably shaky, hands on his hips as he gazes at the floor. “And I’m sick of, well I’m not sick of trying cause I’ll do that, not afraid…but I’m sick of the…if only I’d been clearer, got it out faster….in that pub, and I just, can’t take it any more…”

She’s about to tell him she’s not following when he seems to gather that for himself, head lifting to meet her eyes. She’s never been great at eye contact, always hates how put on the spot she feels by it. On instinct, Val glances away, over his shoulder, somewhere safer. A blurred hand lifts in her periphery, hovering near her face but not touching it, until her gaze turns back to his. Reminding her of the eye contact he’d insisted on the night before, as he went down on her, as he slid into her, as she came on his cock and as she’d fallen asleep.

“Val, I’m crazy about you. Have been for years… and before you say it, Marin and I weren’t anything. Or nothing like you think… I loved her, sure. But not in the way I do you…”

Val’s heard the phrase about the world going sideways before but she’d never really appreciated what it meant until now. She swears her body actually tilts sideways until it feels like the handle of her suitcase is the only thing keeping her upright. And with her equilibrium goes her ability to think straight.

“From the moment I met you when you had just got accepted, there was just something… and then you were dating that prick Roger from the cricket team.” God, Val hadn’t thought of him in ages. She’d been using him, trying to get under him to get over Matty. “…kicking myself that I’d just assumed there’d be time, like you wouldn’t just get snatched up by someone—“

The sleep deprivation seems to pick that very moment to redouble its efforts - she can’t think fast enough to respond. To buy herself time, she vomits out the first thought in her head. “Why didn’t you say something? Back then?”

“What? Rock up to you on the first day ‘Hey Val, d’you remember me? From that one weekend we hung out? Will you please go out with me? Oh, let me help you unpack, show you how shitty the beds are...’” He scoffs, she fucking hates that. “C’mon, I’d like to think I’m better than that…”

Her eyes look away, not willing to admit he’s right.

“I don’t know if you remember that night…in the pub—“ He stops, the effort of self-editing written all over his face. “What the fuck am I—Of course, I know you remember, like, the shittiest night of your life but I meant right before, when you and I were— “

She’s not intentionally tuning him out but her brain is now unhinged, skipping around and ahead, trying to determine what conclusion he’s coming to. Because the truth is, even if he’s telling the truth (she knows he has no reason to lie about this but she still can’t comprehend this monumental fact that he’s liked her for, it sounds like, almost as long as she’s liked him...) she still can’t have him. Because as the personal anxiety begins to ebb in the face of his declaration, the professional anxiety seeps in to take its place. She knows how this would go. She trusts Matty, of course she does (even after all these years, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else). But in her experience, shit like this - a relationship with a coworker - doesn’t stay quiet, no matter how hard two people try. Someone catches her glance at him differently, he says her name a certain way and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. The rumor mill must be fed, anything to make the mundane office more interesting, the hours less boring. It’s not that she blames them, has even joined in in her weaker moments, feeling slightly gross as she listened to the latest gossip, just wanting to be part of the inner circle, to be included. But she’s seen what it does to women, it’s always the women that pay.

“So, you can choose not to give this a shot, but it won’t be because of some bullshit misunderstanding you have about me and Marin.” There’s that tone again, like he’s confident in the case he made, assured of its persuasiveness. But once again, he’s underestimated her.

“Marin isn’t the reason.” It’s clear that’s not what he was expecting her to say, he’s caught off guard, eyes flitting back and forth between hers as if trying to scan them. “Well, not entirely. Matty, you’re my boss…”

“I’m well aware, trust me. We can handle it. Or I can.” Her eyeroll is instinctual at this point, honed from years of listening to men brush away her valid concerns as if they were so obviously not an issue that it’s idiotic that she’d even been thinking about it. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re tog—“

“No, it does… matter, that is… Cause this won’t be a problem for you, but for me it will be. A big one. My reputation, my career. People will think I slept my way into every job opportunity from here on out…” Val crosses her arms in front of her chest to stop wringing of her hands.

Matty is shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation has veered off course. “No, they won’t… and if they do, I’d immediately address it. We’d report them! I’m not really a nobody here, y’know.”

“Oh great, I can hear people now. ‘There goes Matty, taking Val ‘under his wing’” the air quotes aren’t really needed with the sarcasm laced in her voice but it’s important to her he knows how much that idea offends her. “I fucking hate that phrase.”

The smell of his cologne tingles as he takes a step closer, that confidence back in his voice. “Listen, I’m not stupid enough to think that it’d be totally fair, or that there isn’t stuff we have to work out—" (he says stuff as though the problem was (is) a small glitch in the code and not a huge attack on her entire system, her career) “—but I am falling in love with you… I want to do that with you. Want to do everything with you,” he chuckles softly, peering into her eyes, “And I think you do too, or at least I would hope so.”

Her resolve is crumbling, she needs him to go away, leave her so she can fall apart in peace. “No.”

“No?” Matty rakes his hands through his hair, interlocking his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing in a way that Val can’t help but find hot.

“Matty, I…I am just…I can’t…I’ve worked too hard for everything I’m accomplishing now for it to be credited to you. It would kill me to have people think that.” She hates thinking out loud but her trusty brain-to-mouth filter is failing her right now. Thankfully, he fills in the gaps for her. “It’s not worth the risk—“ The words are said carelessly but she can’t stuff them back in.

“No, I think what you mean is I’m not worth the risk” He says, and on his face she can read all the hurt her simple denial has inflicted. She wishes he would understand, that he would just listen and see it from her perspective because when she puts it all down on paper…well— the cons outweigh the pros, and her lists have rarely ever failed her. What if they don’t work out? What if after all this time pining for each other, they go on a couple of dates and realize they’ve made a mistake? It’s not like they can walk this back. Data isn’t subjective, it’s objective, it’s rational, reliable. Everything that they are not right now. She’s about to summarize it for him, a task which would be made easier if she had time to write it out, organize it.

Her thoughts feel scattered. “I’m not saying—” but it doesn’t matter that she’s not organized because she doesn’t get far.

“Got it,” he cuts her off, voice suddenly gruff and cold. “I’m an idiot. Thought last night meant you were still mooning over me the way you used to—jokes on me, I guess.” It’s been a while since she’s seen him like this, wounded animal cruelly lashing out at a perceived attack. This Matty is an unpleasant addition.

“Oh, fuck off, sounds like you were pining right back. Not that you kept your bed cold waiting though, did you? Fucking Cheryl and…”

“Cheryl?! God you’re unbelievable” His bag slaps against his thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder violently. “Cheryl is nothing. She was a one night stand—“

“—so was I!” They are screaming now and Val is almost surprised that the landlord hasn’t already been called.

Val doesn’t have time to see his reaction before he moves past her to the elevator. “Your words, not mine” He bypasses the elevator altogether, slamming the door to the stairwell open and disappearing into it.

When she’s finally in her apartment, suitcase sprawled open in her living room and temporary bed made on her couch, she lets it wash over her. All the emotions she has kept in a vice like grip since the second her feet hit the floor this morning, or rather till her feet landed in the heap of denim where Matty’s jeans had landed the night before. Val wants to be proud of herself for cutting it off, not feeding the beast (figuratively or literally) but what she really feels is regret.

#run don’t walk fic rec #matty healy fanfiction #1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy

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journeysintowebcomics · 7 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #22

UPDATE 22: Oni Lee is So Strong

Last time everyone was about to perform an attack on the ABB. Teams were formed, Taylor and Rachel were assigned to the same team. It could be a chance for them to work together, see how that goes, but I’m not holding any high hopes for any breakthroughs in their strained relationship. So let’s continue.

What, you mean spraying everyone with dog blood didn’t help to calm everyone down? Say it ain’t so! Not that Heckpuppy cares, does she? Besides there are more important things to worry about right now beyond that unsanitary action. Skitter wants to smooth over what happened, so she’s willing to give it a try, asking the people from the Travelers for things like their codenames. Be casual, in other words.

Sundancer. Nice! Sundancer seems friendly enough, just a bit curt. She has her enough problems; she doesn’t need all these guys to add to them. How’s life with the Travelers? “Intense. Violent. Lonely.” ...huh. Violent and intense are no surprise, but I didn’t think life with a team would be lonely. I suppose it depends on how much they spend traveling, it’s not like they can be surrounded by people all the time. The same handful of people all the time...I guess I can see how it can get lonely. Not that there’ll be an explanation, Sundancer doesn’t want to explain. I wasn’t too wrong, it really has to do with them moving so often.

Bam, suddenly Skitter is slammed to a side. Newter didn’t turn against her all of a sudden, it’s that there’s danger outside. A patrol. They already got to the ABB’s building, and there are two minutes to plan what each person’s going to do.

Kaiser and his Valkyries aren’t team players, hah. They just go all ‘We’ll circle around, you all from another direction” and refuse to talk any longer. There’s no time for arguing, so the rest start the strategic meeting. “Skitter, Bitch, you two have the most experience dealing with these guys, so start us off.” More like this relies on Skitter. There are all types of bombs Bakuda could use, I remember several possibilities. It’s hard to know which ones could be set around here. Maybe paying attention to the routes and paths the ABB take around here is a good idea, a way to know where it’s unlikely there are bombs. Bakuda’s not someone who cares about the lives of the gang, but it’d be inconvenient if gang members die.

“I can get the lay of the land, and the bugs will also confuse and distract anyone inside, which should make things easier on you guys.” The good thing about the fact Skitter controls bugs is that it’s unlikely someone will know she’s spying through them. If they got paranoid over every single bug in the vicinity they’d be stressed all the time. If only Skitter could listen through them, like it happened with the moth a few chapters ago...

Newter is the defacto leader right now since Kaiser decided to take a stroll, and he does know what he’s doing! Directing everyone around with no problem. Coil’s soldiers will provide cover from a distance, Sundancer and Labyrinth are going to be backup because their powers are a bit troublesome...this is a good team! I don’t see any big problems. This should go well until the end of the chapter or so.

The swarm is already sweeping through, investigating. There’s a lot of half-naked people inside – therefore they’re defenseless. Better be careful not to harm them. Other than that, some parts of the walls have suspicious spots.

I took a page out of Grue’s playbook and gathered a group of bugs together into a densely packed, vaguely humanoid shape. I moved that collection of bugs through the doors and to the place where the little domes sat. The explosion blew a fair sized chunk out of the exterior wall of the building closest to us. The people inside, already nervous at the influx of bugs, started scattering, screaming, running for the exits.

Okay, everyone knows someone’s here. No way everybody won’t get their guard up now. Skitter doesn’t waste time, she finds other traps and sets them off, allowing Heckpuppy and Newter to enter. Newter is knocking out everyone without harming them, so I guess they’ll be okay.

What I did know was that his bodily fluids were potent hallucinogens. Even the sweat that accumulated on his skin was apparently enough to send someone off to la-la land, taking only a few seconds for it to be absorbed through the skin.

Well that’s gross. Like a tree frog from the jungle, no wonder his colors were so bright. While Skitter stops anyone who might shoot him – through the true and tried method of shoving bugs everywhere on their faces, that still gives me goosebumps – he keeps going. Kaiser and the Valkyries are attacking from the opposite side and blocking paths with blades, it’s inconvenient for Heckpuppy. That meant Kaiser would be the one who had blocked her. Was it intentional, or had he been cutting off the ABB’s escape routes? It definitely was intentional. I think Kaiser had both of those things in mind when he placed that blade blockage.

Newter keeps knocking out people left and right until he faces someone the last person around. Suddenly, a second person appears behind Newter, and Newter falls. Oh well. Things were nice while they lasted. Better warn Heckpuppy about the recent developments. “Bitch! Second floor, Newter’s wounded, Oni Lee is in the building.” There was a long pause before she replied, “Lung’s here too.” Hohoh, they totally did. Of all places, both Lung and his lieutenant had to be here. Well, of course they’d be here, this is where Skitter is, and where the protagonist is at, the action will be at. Basic fiction rule, it never fails.

As expected things got tough right at the end of the chapter. No way I’m stopping here right now. It was a rather short chapter, though, I expected something longer. Next chapter, immediately.

Lung’s fighting Kaiser. Going straight for the big guy, eh, Kaiser? It’s fitting, he wants to get rid of the ABB, of course he’d go for the leader. Skitter couldn’t care less about Lung right now, Newter is injured and Oni Lee is there. After sending Heckpuppy to that place, Skitter draws out her baton and knife, and decides to enter. It doesn’t take long for them all to surround Oni Lee, but there’s no way that’ll be enough to trap him. Teleportation and duplication is an useful combination.

I followed his line of sight, and saw he had already appeared just behind Bitch, half-crouching on Brutus’ back, one hand on a hook of bone to help him balance. There was a flash of steel in his other hand as he reached around her throat with a blade.

See? Extremely dangerous, that’s no up to debate. Thankfully for me as a reader, I’m pleased that an interesting character such as Heckpuppy didn’t get killed five arcs into the serial story, Coil’s soldiers are giving good back-up, they’re snipers. Oni Lee is teleporting all over the place, looking for spots to attack, leaving copies there...I’m pretty sure there’s now an Oni Lee copy going towards those soldiers right now. Oh well, they’ll be fine. Coil wouldn’t employ them if they didn’t have a good enough hand-to-hand combat skill, I bet. Where the sniper team had been, there were four figures now. I saw the rifle fall from the edge of the roof as the two soldiers struggled with a pair of Oni Lees. Two copies? Wow, I should have guessed. Two snipers, two copies, of course.

While Skitter watches around, another copy manages to harm one of Heckpuppy’s dogs. Hah, now she’s going to be pissed. Good thing once the power boost she gives them is gone, injuries and the such are gone too...I think. I hope. Another two attack Skitter, holding her and ready to shiv her. As an attempt to have early alert of where Oni Lee’s going to appear, Skitter spreads bugs around, just in time to be alerted of one appearing not too far from here. He whipped his arm in my direction, and I didn’t have any time to do much more than turn in his direction before something collided with my head. I stumbled and fell over backwards. Welp. You tried, Skitter, you tried. As I lay there, trying to parse what had just happened, I realized that a small knife was embedded in the armored section of my mask, cracking the lens. A throwing knife? I’m so glad Skitter took her time with her costume, making sure it wouldn’t be some flimsy amateur thing.

Heckpuppy is injured, a stab in the arm. Not too much of a problem, I’d say, it could be much worse. Everyone else is having a lot more trouble. One of Coil’s men was tackled off the roof, Sundancer is crumpled over – really. I’m not impressed – and as said before, Newter’s injured and most likely knocked out. That leaves Skitter and Heckpuppy against him, since maybe Labyrinth is going to make sure Sundancer will be okay, and the other sniper guy can’t do a thing from the distance without his rifle.

The bug alert system is finally working, Oni Lee is being stung and bitten, and...huh, okay! Look at this: Then I noticed something weird. More bugs popped into existence in the midst of the cloud, near Sundancer and Labyrinth. I felt the original bugs perish as they exploded into ash. Fantastic, she’s going to be able to follow Oni Lee no matter what! And what’s more, that’s the real, original Oni Lee, that has to be advantageous too. This could be the chance to turn this all around! Heckpuppy is recalled, and the two of them decide to return where Sundancer and Labyrinth were waiting. Bitch offered me a hand. I gratefully took it, letting her help me up onto Brutus’ back. And the ice is breaking here, all in all, everything’s starting to look up.

They don’t even get too close to Sundancer and Labyrinth when things start looking like McEscher decided to join the fight. It’s you, Labyrinth, isn’t it? Space and buildings are being warped, this is a pretty cool power, I like it. Disruptive, that’s for sure, no wonder Labyrinth stayed back.

As soon as she can, Labyrinth touches Skitter and Heckpuppy, making them be able to see everything as normal. This isn’t the time for an interview about the details of her power, Skitter, forget about that for now. What’s for sure is that there’s some sort of tangible anomaly going on here, even if it’s possible for Labyrinth and others to not see it. It’s delaying Oni Lee, so it’s all working. Can’t complain.

Skitter’s indications are enough for Coil’s sniper to aim and actually hit him, injuring the real one. Nice! And that’s something that doesn’t go away through teleportation, no matter what he does, he’s still injured. Skitter even manages to indicate where he’s appearing, the sniper hitting him a few more times before Oni Lee calls quits and goes away. Wow, this went well enough! Sure, some people got injured, but nobody’s gravely injured, not even the guy who fell from the roof. They’re not doing too badly! “Labyrinth, watch him. Make sure he keeps breathing and that his buddy knows where he is,” I said, “Sundancer, Bitch, we’ve gotta go help Newter.” Right, Newter hasn’t phased out of existence or something. I had forgotten about him for a moment, but he’s still inside, isn’t he? Presumably unconscious. Better check on him, see if he needs help. How’s Kaiser doing with Lung? Is he okay?

That’s for next chapter. I’m going to check, because this is too good to stop right now.

Oh, surprise, Heckpuppy doesn’t want to go help Newter because it’s his fault he got hurt. Okay, no, that’s no surprise. Heckpuppy isn’t the most empathic person on the face of Earth. Skitter’s having none of that, though. “We let him die, you think Faultline’s going to let it slide? She might hurt or kill Tattletale or Regent in retaliation.” Skitter has a point there, I doubt Faultline would take that well. Thankfully that’s enough to convince Heckpuppy to help Newter, because despite everything, she’d fond of being part of the Undersiders...and dare I add, of the Undersiders themselves. I’m sure she likes them, at the very least.

Turns out the ABB is also into the drug business, and that’s what most of the civilians here were doing, making drugs. Fairly ironic that this is the place where the guy whose main skill is having hallucinogenic fluids got injured here. While I ponder if I used the word ‘ironic’ correctly, Skitter assesses the situation, deciding that touching Newter was too risky. There had to be gloves or tools somewhere that could be used to move him.

Sundancer will stay with Newter and pretty much make sure he’ll be okay while Skitter searches around for stuff to use on him. Turns out drugs is something Skitter is very wary off, based on an experience when she was young – seeing a methhead doing a ruckus in a bus. I must say, she’s taking everything quite well despite the fear she has! She’s being cautious and doesn’t let her, hm...let’s say ‘distaste’ – even if it’s a major understatement – overcome her. Maybe this same distaste is what leads Skitter to start rounding up the money that’s surely profits from selling drugs. Hah! I don’t think you’re going to have time to take the money with you once this is done, Skitter. It’d be nice, but I think you won’t have the time for that.

They do actually manage to find gloves and a way to maybe carry Newter, nice. It’s good when everyone’s cooperative – even if Heckpuppy is being very reluctant about it. The process of covering Newter’s wounds is not easy, mostly because there are no bandages so they instead have to use sanitary pads. Creative! And if his teammates give him a hard time, I think he’d be pissed at you for sticking sanitary pads on him, not at them, hah. I doubt he’d let something as minor and petty as this get to him, though.

Getting him on the dog was barely done when there’s a crash nearby. Oh dear, the respite was nice while it lasted. A gauntleted hand as wide across as my armspan had crashed through the wall. Hah! For a moment I thought it was a gauntleted hand as if someone ripped the hand off the arm and threw it through the wall. I bet a cape somewhere in the world can detach their body parts like that. Heckpuppy is sent away and instructed to seek help, so that means Skitter and Sundancer are left here, aren’t they? And Sundancer is injured, not too badly, but she’s injured nonetheless.

Six ABB members retreated through the hole, taking cover from...the giantesses. Hm. Unless I missed something big, I suppose those are Kaiser’s valkyries, aren’t they? Because I don’t think anyone else would have this power, everybody else is well-accounted in terms of powers – unless Coil’s men had a spontaneous sex change and didn’t reveal they could turn so big.

The big man is here! Hello, Lung, what’s up? He’s not looking very good; his powers have given him so many transformations he’s almost unidentifiable. Kaiser is also here and he’s not worried at all, just waltzing in and attempting to impale Lung. I guess he has been having an okay time so far, no injuries. Fenja and Menja are seemingly uninjured too. All in all, Lung is against them, Skitter, and two of Heckpuppy’s dogs, now that she left. Not too bad of a team to fight Lung, although as demonstrated before...Kaiser’s not a team player. At most he’ll cooperate with his own E88 members, but with Skitter? I don’t think so. Oh, true, there’s also six ABB members here, but compared to Lung and Kaiser and the rest, they’re small fries, I’d say.

Lung turned to survey the room. His men were arranged in a loose circle around him, facing us. His eyes settled on me. “Ooo,” he rumbled, his words were distorted by the shape of his altered mouth, but it was easy enough to guess what he’d just said. You.

And this time I don’t think biting and stinging Lung will be of any use. This is a good time to test how creative she is with them, now that she can’t use the same actions than last time – not that it’d have been a good decision, anyways.

Although I want to continue, I’ll have to stop for now. But man this is a fun arc, things are heated up! Mr. Wildbow is pretty good with action scenes, I like it.

Next update: in two updates

#worm #worm liveblog #story liveblog #book liveblog #liveblog

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theowlsarenotwhattheyremembers · 7 years

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Episode Five: Eastwatch

Scene One: Jaime we discover is actually some balloons, and has thereby floated in a lateral direction away from the dragon and certain capture and safely over to the other side of the river, bobbing along in his armour like a steel-plated lilo. Bronn, his bff, swam alongside him, and together the pair washed up in the still-gorgeous evening. Bronn is concerned that Jaime might be suicidally depressed, and counsels him not check out before settling his account with Bronn, which after last week is of heroic magnitude. Jaime can’t hear him because he is sensibly too terrified of dragons for other considerations.

Scene Two: Meanwhile Tyrion is pacing in horror through the still-flaming pompeiiscape that moments ago was a nice grassy plain, having thoughts which we can only presume are along the lines of the earnest moral speculation which concluded last week’s recap. The tiny, ashen remains of the defeated army trudge towards their vast and terrible new overlord, who is preening atop a small wooded hill. Daenerys delivers a speech about how she is going to not murder them, break the wheel, be the change you want to see, etc, high in concept but low in believability because the gist is serve me or be burned alive, which feels a lot like exactly like those slaver/mad king vibes which we had been wanting to get away from. Randall and Quarterback Dickon aren’t going to bend the knee so those characters bite the literal dust, mourned not for who they were, but what their deaths indicated in terms of Daenerys’ character development, i.e. bad turn.

Not the change you want to see in the world.

Scene Three: Cersei is on too sweet a eudaimonic kick to listen to depressing military facts. She reckons she can trick her way out of any inconveniences using her rage, guile n gold. Maybe she can!

Scene Four: Jon is brooding scenically on a cliff when Drogon pops by for a snuggle. Daenerys looks a bit worried

- is one of my demon fire monsters going to snack on my crush? - but it all ends in a hearty flirt. Then Jorah swings by just at the right moment for Jon to dodge a direct question about whether he’s undead or not! For some reason Jon doesn’t take the opportunity to be grateful however.

Scene Five: Bran is just tripping basically, sees ravens, gets seen by the Night King again, wakes up, yells something incoherent about ravens, the maester hurries off to send a psychedelic message to all the lords in Westeros.

Scene Six: Archmaester Broadbent is however inclined to take this missive seriously thanks to Sam?

Scene Seven: Varys and Tyrion are depressed and drinking in the throne room about Daenerys’ mad king turn, with Bran’s ravings doing nothing to lighten the mood.

Scene Eight: Jon reads that his dead little sister and brother are actually alive but will be actually undead soon so he needs to go home and join them. This is a not great plan. How about another not great plan, suggests Tyrion: go beyond the wall, sneak up on a wight, bag it, enrol it in a sort of mini-cirque de nuit and get it to perform in front of all the relevant queens until they are disturbed enough to stop the war and fight climate change?! Everyone agrees and scurries off to implement this madness aqap, even though Daenerys looks a shade triste about how her newest crush and her oldest friend are both zipping off to face desperate odds / certain death in a icy black magic hell all because she is enjoying war with Cersei too much to pause to save the world and thereby solve the hearts and minds issue, really hanging in the balance at this point, conclusively.

Scene Nine: The Northern Lords, or the Northern Bores as we might call them, after making up the anti-statecraft doomed title ‘King in the North’ and foisting it on a poor gloomy lad who after all was only trying to help, are now inventing all kinds of unreasonable stipulations associated with the role, including onerous The North Only travel restrictions. They are about to mob-elect Sansa King in the North just for sticking around and having sensible policies regarding grain and lagging, but she politely demurrs. Arya has learned so much in her brief, brutal life, but sadly not statecraft, and also not how to be awful around her sister. I know how it feels Arya, I can’t resist fighting with my sister whenever I see her like we’re thirteen again, but for christssake all we’re ruining is a family holiday, you’re ruining Sansa’s reign, the most sensible the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen.

Scene Ten: Davos and Tyrion pop down King’s Landing for some back of a fag packet diplomacy. Jaime Balloons tries to be angry with Tyrion for killing his dad and being primary advisor to his feared enemy who just incinerated his army and his newest jock chum Dickon, but the poor thing just doesn’t have the heart for it these days, and listens dumbly to Tyrion’s truce proposition.

Scene Eleven: Davos fetches Gendry, who has grown a whole lotta heart since we last saw him when he was a bit boring and scared all the time from all his then-raw traumas, now all healed up into a peppy young thing with his dad’s lack of interest in thinking things through and leaping enthusiasm for war.

Scene Twelve: Davos does a brilliant routine on Kevin Eldon (having recently switched careers from Braavosi thesp to King’s Landing Guard One) and Guard Two, who he charms (along with the viewer at home) with gold, mock outrage and seafood viagra. Davos is holding us all in the palm of his hand and we’re licking it up until Tyrion shows up and ruins it for everyone but Gendry, whose burly young arms get to brain Eldon and Two with his lovely new warhammer.

Scene Thirteen: Cersei, blooming with power, already knows everything about the meeting with Tyrion and everything else important, is excited for Bronn’s punishment, is pregnant and is glad to let the father know in deathchill tones that further betrayals are not advised.

Scene Fourteen: Gendry, brimming with pep, introduces himself to Jon as the rightful king’s son and calls him short. What a lad! They agree to fight side by side forever / a scene or two till they get shivved by the dead. Davos is a bit frustrated about people ignoring all his longevity tips but Davos the season is almost over and the viewer at home has barely been blooded yet, we need death else we’ll switch off and go back to our yoga classes / twitter / pastel swoons / whatever other degeneracy.

Daenerys and Jon have a final flirt before he and Jorah sail off to arctic death. Will she bother rescuing them from their gallantry with her dragons?

Scene Fifteen: Sam wisely interrupts Gilly before she can complicate everything even more by finding out that Jon is actually the rightful heir to the throne because he’s the trueborn son of the previous heir, Rhaegar Targaryen, so has stronger dibs than Aunt Dany because of the patriarchy. Shut up Gilly! Sam then whips himself up into an impotent fury and quits university after stealing all the most interesting-seeming books from the library. Sam, we’ve all been there, but, again, your life is more important than mine and I am concerned that you are making poorly thought out choices. That line about reading about the achievements of better men is straight from your dad, who was wrong about everything to his dying, immolated breath, also think about the nice life Baby Sam is having in the nice warm well-defended Citadel.

Scene Sixteen: Littlefinger plays Arya, it’s very sad to watch. Why is Sansa allowing that viper to roam around Winterfell hatching plots and stoking mutinies? In the end the letter Arya found was only that one Sansa was forced to write to Robb telling him to surrender back when she was being violently abused by Joffrey, I find it hard to believe that even someone in the throes of back-at-mum-and-dad’s-house regression/trauma would let herself get worked up about it. Also you’d have liked to be able to hope that Bran, who really does know anything, could just set things straight, but he is really too fried to be helpful. Dear oh dear.

Scene Seventeen: Our band of desperadoes are already up at the wall and explaining the bad plan to Tormund, who’s a maniac so he’s obviously game. They meet up with the Hound and Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion, who are chilling in the cells in very literal terms. Everyone bickers and makes up again and heads out of one of those tunnels which have still yet to be blocked up, it’s almost as if they want an undead giant to be able to boot its way through like a halfbrick through a shoji screen.

All our named gang here apart from Tormund are, interestingly, people who have either cheated death or been brought back from the literal dead, or a wizard who brings people back from the dead, and the Lord of Light has shown a personal interest in most of them. Hmm! Off they go for some swashbuckling in the snow.

#gotcap

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