#but the thing is i need to SAY that i think roy should get recognized not as a hero but as a member of a relatively lackluster hobby band

[tbcanary]

category 100000 roy harper moment

[oatmealaddiction]

Okay but the weirdest thing about the whole "Brotherhood is better you should skip 03" discourse that's become commonplace now, it sort of forgets the world Brotherhood came out in and why you should watch the original Fullmetal Alchemist. When Brotherhood came out, the original Fullmetal Alchemist was one of the most beloved and most watched animes of all time. Brotherhood assumes you the audience have already seen it because of course you have, everyone has seen it, so it skips important information and speeds the story up because it doesn't want to bore you with things you already know. Have you ever wondered "hey why does the first episode of Brotherhood kind of suck, and why am I being introduced to like 50 new characters, and why are they acting like I know what the hell an alchemist is?" It's because Brotherhood thinks you've seen 03.

The first 7 or so episodes of Brotherhood constitute dozens of chapters in the manga, and the first 25 or so episodes of the original Fullmetal Alchemist. The Nina Tucker episode in Brotherhood, in FMA 03 takes up nearly three episodes. Yoki gets a backstory in 03 and it's genuinely one of the best episodes and taken directly from the manga and Brotherhood glosses over it because: duh, you've already seen it. And so if you skip the original you miss out on dozens of really great character building episodes like Ed and Al meeting Hughes for the first time and getting to spend a whole episode helping him free a train from terrorists, or Ed and Roy having a duel that expands on the relationship they have, or episodes where the brothers just help out random people in towns before the major story gets going.

The original also paces itself quite a bit better than Brotherhood and is more in line with the mangas storytelling. In the manga we don't find out about The Gate until nearly two dozen chapters in, and the same goes for the original anime. Like, that's a twist reveal in those stories, and it's weird that the most watched series is the one where they tell you all about The Gate in the first two episodes because they assume you've already seen the original show.

What's more, people don't know that Hiromu Arakawa helped write for the anime while she was still in the middle of writing the manga, and as a result was inspired to write scenes in Brotherhood that the anime did first. That scene of Edward getting impaled by a falling beam? Directly inspired by a similar scene in the original anime. There's a lot of little instances of that and they're great when you can recognize parallels and things in Brotherhood that are direct references to the original anime, but people don't notice any of that anymore. Because the original anime is just an automatic skip these days, and it's a bummer because people don't realize what a giant it was back before Brotherhood was released. They treat it as *bad,* not realizing it was one of the most beloved anime of its time and the problems people take issue with have a lot more to do with personal taste than any kind of actual flaw in the writing. Brotherhood was never meant to dethrone it, and the original anime was always supposed to be part of the viewing experience which is why those first few episodes of Brotherhood are so fast paced. So like, please stop telling people Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is a skip, or it's bad, or you don't need it because Brotherhood is better. Regardless if you think Brotherhood is better or not, the original wrote Brotherhood's check. It was huge, it was beloved, and Brotherhood is *banking* on the knowledge you've seen all of it and loved it. And trust me when I say there is so much to love about the original series. It's still my favorite branch of the FMA franchise, and it's worth your time, I promise you.

[jamiesfootball]

Season two of the Ted Lasso rewatch and I am having some string feelings. Some strong feelers. Some shrimp about Ted and Jamie and how Ted really, really struggles between being Coach Shaped and being Dad Shaped when it comes to Jamie, and how Jamie is horrible at discerning either.

(Buckle up this is gonna be a long one)

Because what we start off with in season one is very much a man who is used to being Coach Shaped. He wants the boys to be inspired and to learn about life and to become the best versions of themselves that they can be. All of which could be very Dad Shaped, but in execution they’re not.

He steps back to let people grow, and sometimes that involves letting bullies be bullies so that the true leaders of the group can step up. Sometimes it’s letting Nate roast the other players- quite cuttingly at that - to get the team motivated. He’s directing the orchestra sure, but he’s not in the pit telling people how better to get along. He’s warm and welcoming, and he tries to foster good rapport and encourage people to talk to him and open up. He, dare I say it, actually has boundaries with people. He asked Rebecca in the first episode how she was holding up with the divorce, and when she seemed upset he noted it, offered a little commiseration, and moved right along without making a fuss.

And then he calls Jamie Tartt into his office to give him a compliment sandwich (“you’re a great athlete now pass the fucking ball and then you’ll be a super great athlete okay thanks”) and I think that’s where Ted’s boundary with Jamie first starts to erode. Because Jamie unintentionally ruins his whole fucking script. Jamie’s disaffected act crumbles at the first compliment. He’s sincerely taken aback by Ted’s praise, a little nervous and a little pleading. He breaks the rules of compliment sandwiching by demurring “well I work really hard”, which forces Ted to agree which is in a way TWO compliments, and when Ted tries to push through with his critique, Jamie ends up critiquing himself first about something completely different (“my left cross”), and then Ted has to wrestle them back to the actual critique, and the whole thing is just. Definitely not the ordeal Ted thought it would be.

So from early on we have these two working at cross purposes - because Ted thinks he’s being Coach Shaped, but the Shape he is doesn’t fit any Coach Jamie has ever had.

“what’s he like?”

“Great”

“…….”

“Well great at football”

“Yeah, I’ve know guys like that.”

And in return, Ted has known ‘guys like that’, competent athletes who are a necessary part of the game, but have such egos (“I’m not sure you realize how mentally healthy that is”) that Ted thinks he has to go to his players girlfriend for insight on how to motivate Jamie in the way that Ted needs for team cohesion.

So this is Ted trying to be Coach Shaped and give this kid a wake up call and this kid is so receptive that Ted barely had to lift a finger. But it doesn’t stick.

Ok. So next he attempts to give Jamie a book that he thinks will wake him up to the reality he’s living. He gave them to everyone. He’s still being Coach Shaped. He makes Roy and Jamie sit at the same table and tries to orchestrate a truce. He kinda gets there, but the next episode they’re still at each other’s throats. Jamie listened to Ted about the one in a million / one in eleven thing, but then Jamie ignored it. So he benched him. He’s Coach Shaped; it wasn’t personal.

Except Ted is not has not been anything Coach Shaped that Jamie could recognize, and football really is his life too. So it was very fucking personal. And here’s the first wrinkle in the narrative both of them have been telling themselves, because what does Jamie do? He fakes an injury and benches himself.

If Ted doesn’t think he should play, or doesn’t think that the way he’s playing is correct, then fine- he’ll make them both miserable. He just won’t fucking play. It’s kid logic at its finest. It’s cutting your nose to spite your face. ‘Well you said I wasn’t doing it right, so I won’t do it at all.’

It’s the same shit Jamie pulls on his dad when he leaves Man City to go be a reality tv star.

And it’s the first crack in the veneer between them, because the way Ted loses his shit at Jamie for it is not very Coach Shaped, but it is very very Dad Shaped. And unfortunately it was the sort of Dad Shaped that Jamie did recognize.

It’s the first loss of control Ted has in general, and it’s circling this player that Ted can’t seem to get a grip on.

And then there’s Jamie going to Keeley, and he’s got Manchester on his mind. It’s the first time we’ve heard him talk about the council estate he grew up in, and Keeley is telling him to stop battling people who want to help him. So he goes to the bonfire. And he talks about the fucking footprint his dad left in his wake. And he talks wistfully about his mom being proud. And this isn’t just about opening up to the team, it’s also about Jamie Tartt not battling Ted. Taking a risk that even if Ted isn’t very Coach Shaped, even if he appears closer to Dad Shaped than Jamie would like, whatever Ted is - Jamie is probably safe to be a little honest.

It’s not very Star Athlete With An Ego of him; but it’s very very Son Shaped.

“I was just starting to get through to him.”

Ted’s anger with Rebecca could be Coach Shaped. It could be. But it sure hurt him enough that it’s the first time he’s actually angry with Rebecca. Meanwhile Jamie was so hurt he had to tell everyone who would listen about it. Had to iterate that it was good riddance on being rid of Ted Lasso, because at least Pep was a proper Coach Shaped Coach. Someone who’d drill Jamie on the technicals. Someone who probably never once cared enough to pull him aside and tell him if he did a good job. Someone who probably assumed that’s what Jamie’s dad was for, showing up after matches.

“Good luck out there, Jamie!”

“Fucking mind games.”

Whatever Jamie already thought of Ted as a coach must’ve been rolling in the pit Jamie tried to bury it in, because Coach Shaped men don’t cheer you on when you’re playing for the other team. Pep wouldn’t do it if he still played for Richmond.

And maybe Coach Lasso does it for everyone he coaches. Probably. But it’s a very Dad Shaped thing. And fuck, Jamie’s actual fucking dad doesn’t cheer for him at all when Jamie isn’t playing for Manchester, so how’s Jamie supposed to know what it means?

Then there’s Ted, who just can’t help himself. Who can’t help but see potential in Jamie. And when he sees Jamie after the match, it’s a quick war on whether he should speak to him because in that instance Coach mode and Dad mode are in alignment.

Except reality hits as hard as a boot against the wall, because Jamie has a dad. And it’s not Ted. It’s not someone who’s come to tell him well done, or that he’s proud of the baby steps Jamie has taken, even though he’s been left to walk them alone. It is the opposite of what a father should be, but it’s taken up the mantle. Father Shaped. A thing of fury. A role fulfilled, not looking for new applicants.

Coach wins in that moment. Ted turns and walks away, and Jamie can finally see now in Ted Lasso the Coach Shape he’s familiar with.

Except even that can’t stick around and be familiar can it? Because while no one was looking, the Dad Shape in Ted scribbled him a little message. Left a note in his absence to let him know he was proud. Sent Beard with an army man, someone to lookout for Jamie and keep him safe. I’d say at this point a Ted Lasso couldn’t’ve drawn a line between Coach Shaped and Dad Shaped - this was a matter of pure human empathy, and decency, and an apology in its own way. I’m sorry for the roles we’ve been given. I’m sorry, but please know I care.

He walked away from Jamie and his dad. He didn’t have any obligation to Jamie. There was no more match to be won. Any involvement of Jamie Tartt in Ted’s life coulda woulda should’ve ended there.

“There’s something out there worse than being sad, and that’s being sad and alone. And ain’t nobody in this room alone.”

The look on Jamie’s face in that scene says it all. Because he is alone, but Ted clearly (desperately) doesn’t want him to be.

But being alone is better than being stuck in a room with James Tartt Sr.

Jamie doesn’t go to Ted first after Lust Conquers All. Why would he (think he had the right to)?

The first thing Jamie does do (after Keeley tells him it’s ok to go to Ted) when he meets Ted again is show him the Ted (Danson) Soldier. Ted may have made the gesture, and Jamie may have understood the meaning of it, but he does Not understand Ted. Not this Coach-but-Not-a-Coach. Still Jamie thinks he has the distinction down - what soft underbelly he thinks he needs to bare for this type of Coach to believe him when asks for a chance to come home.

“You were getting good minutes up at City.”

Ted redirects Jamie here in a very Coach Shaped way. He guides Jamie into admitting the real reason why he quit. He hears Jamie out, makes observations about how Jamie coming back would work from a team perspective, and makes only occasional eye contact. This is Ted clinging to a role that he’s used to, the one that comforts him in its ability to help other people.

(If there is something Dad Shaped in that scene, it’s an awful, haunting one. Not the one that Jamie grew up with, but the one that Ted grew up with. The one who took his son to play darts every Sunday for six years, who probably sat next to him and drank beer the way Ted does)

But Ted never set out to be anyone’s dad. He’s their Coach, and he has a responsibility to everyone on his team. It’s nothing personal; he’s just being a Coach.

They clink glasses. Cheers, and best of luck to your future endeavors.

There is something very tired about the way Jamie puts down his beer without taking a sip. He looks lost. He does not look surprised. (How could you have expectations for something you’ve never known? And how come that doesn’t make him feel any better about it?)

We don’t see Jamie after that.

We see Ted at training, worrying about Dr Sharon watching the team he’s made. He worries that she’s getting closer (metaphor). When Sam storms off the field, Ted is startled but relieved to follow. He doesn’t want self examination. He wants to be Coach. He wants to embrace the parts of coaching he’s always loved- helping other people improve and be better.

Sam tells him that he doesn’t want Jamie back on the team, and there’s a split second of relief from Ted because he made the right call.

Then Sam talks about his father, and how his father is grateful for Ted because with Ted around, he knows his son is safe. Because this has nothing to do with being Coach Shaped. Coach Shaped he may be in Sam’s life, but here’s Sam, who is very Son Shaped himself, and his father agreeing that Coach Lasso serves a greater purpose in Sam’s life than just being a supportive motivator. In their mind, in the absence of a father, Ted Lasso will do just fine. He will keep Sam safer than any little green army man.

That’s the final inexorable blurring of the lines for Ted, where the coach finally drops the ball to pay attention to the scraped knees that have been left behind.

Ted calls the Diamond Dogs meeting. Coach Beard and Coach Nate are very Coach Shaped indeed. What about the teamwork, Ted? “He’s the poop in the punch bowl.” Leslie is for bringing him back, but it’s for football reasons. It makes managerial sense.

But none of it means anything to Ted because at that moment he can not find it in himself to be Coach Shaped.

“I thought it was settled, but Sam went and unsettled it.”

“He reminded me that not everyone is lucky enough to have a good dad.”

“In sports aren’t we always on about second chances? Shouldn’t that apply to people too?”

This is not Coach Shaped. In some ways it’s not even Dad Shaped. But it is caring, and empathy, and wanting an excuse, any excuse, to try again. It is Love Shaped.

Ted Lasso is a coach to his team and a dad to a great little boy down in Kansas, and for Jamie Tartt he can try to fit on a third extra thing. Whatever that thing is called. Neither of them know what that thing is called. They’re too familiar with Coaches and too unfamiliar with Dads to know the difference.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Bruno Roy, various Roys (Morgan/Theo); contraband

For the prompt: Does Bruno Roy notice the tension between his poor rookie and Theo in the house?

Bruno would like to think he’s a pretty observant fellow. His teammates would certainly describe him that way. He’s been keeping an eye out for his younger teammates practically since the start of his career, and that takes paying attention, because fuck knows most of those guys would rather get their teeth knocked out than actually ask for help.

His wife would probably disagree, though. She’s the one who notices what’s up with the kids, always filling him in. He doesn’t know if that’s because she's more observant, or if it's because he spends close to half of his time on the road during the regular season, sees his kids less than his teammates, most of the time.

If that’s it there’s nothing he can do about it, and honestly, the last time he was around for an uninterrupted stretch, laid out with a groin injury, his kids were as happy as him when he got cleared to play, and Celine was the happiest of all. He is, he’ll admit, not very good at staying still, and there was a lot more of that than he’d like on bed rest. He’s best in motion.

But with three of his kids firmly in the teen years now, the problems are multiplying. Matt barely leaves his room unless food or school’s involved, and there’s a hell of a lot of reluctance on the school thing. Alexia’s reached the baffling stage of teenage girlhood Bruno won’t even pretend to understand, where everything that used to make her happy makes her mad instead, plus her friends are all dicks. Celine puts it a little more diplomatically, but they’re in agreement on that one.

And Theo, well — Bruno thought the hard part was over after Theo came out to them, and it mostly was — before that he and Celine spent an entire year debating whether they should tell him they knew or wait until he was ready to tell him, and they were getting precariously close to the first one when he sat them down.

But now Celine says something’s up between Morgan and Theo, and scoffs at him when he says he hadn’t noticed. He’s sure she’s not wrong, and he might worry if it was anyone else billeting with them, but Morgan? Morgan’s the opposite of a worry.

“Morgan’s a good kid,” Bruno says. “It’ll probably work itself out.”

“It hasn’t yet,” Celine says. “And it’s been awhile.”

“Can’t be that bad if I haven’t noticed it,” Bruno says, and that’s when he learns just what his wife thinks of his observational skills.

Frankly, he doesn't think she needed to laugh that loudly.

*

Bruno keeps an eye out after that. Not that he doesn’t keep an eye out, but, you know, he keeps a focused eye. Like the difference between casually watching a game and scouting the opponents. And of course, now that he’s paying close enough attention it’s pretty obvious that as usual, Celine is right.

‘The vibes are off’, as he’s pretty sure his kids would say. Also pretty sure that they’d call him embarrassing for saying it, like he doesn’t share a locker room with kids barely older than them. Houses a good number of them too, though thankfully it’s been one at a time. They’re all good kids — his teammates and his children — but they can be, well —

Matt slinks out of the kitchen, hunched over in a hoodie, arms wrapped around his torso. Bruno doesn’t need to be around 24/7 to recognize that trick. And unless Matt’s suddenly gained a significant amount of weight in one area and one area only, Bruno suspects he’s smuggling something. A bag of chips, Bruno believes. Family size too, it looks like.

“Matt,” Bruno says from his spot on the couch, and Matt guiltily pauses, one foot on the stairs. “No chips before dinner. Also, no eating in your room. Take your pick on which rule you’re breaking.”

“I don’t have chips,” Matt says.

“You pregnant?” Bruno asks, and Matt sighs and pulls a bag of chips from where he’s been hiding them under his hoodie. They keep the AC on high, but not that high: hoodie is an immediate tip-off smuggling’s happening. Well, that or that his kids have been in Texas too long.

“I could have been pregnant,” Matt mutters as he goes up the stairs, which is an argument so nonsensical there’s no way Bruno should be dignifying it by replying.

“No you could not have been pregnant!” Bruno says, because it’s an argument so nonsensical Bruno can’t help but reply, dignity or not.

The front door opens just in time for someone to overhear that, because of course it does. Morgan stands frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, looking like he’s considering turning right around and walking away rather than deal with whatever he just walked into. Bruno doesn’t blame him at all. It’s kind of a wonder they keep letting him billet rookies, though Kai and Grigory did okay, he supposes, considering the level of Roy exposure they got. Morgan’s struggling. He’s too nice a kid for his own good, honestly.

“I was talking to Matt,” Bruno says.

“Um,” Morgan says, then smiles weakly without asking a single question, even though he must have a dozen of them. Too nice for his own good, like Bruno said.

“He was smuggling chips,” Bruno says.

“Under his hoodie?” Morgan asks, relaxing, before shutting the door behind himself and slipping off his shoes.

See? In this house hoodies are only used for smuggling. Even Morgan knows it, and he’s only lived here a few months.

“I didn’t know I lived with the KGB!” Matt yells from upstairs.

“That doesn’t exist anymore!” Theo calls from the kitchen — Bruno didn’t even know he was there, but say something wrong and he’ll appear from nowhere just to correct you, like a genie that provides fun facts instead of wishes. Also not so fun facts. Usually they’re not actually fun facts.

“I’m sure they haven’t stopped spying or anything,” Theo says as he comes into the hallway. “They just changed their name.”

“Thank you, Theo,” Bruno says.

“You’re welcome,” Theo says, then, “Um.”

“I’m going to,” Morgan says, then heads upstairs without actually finishing the sentence, taking the stairs two at a time.

Okay, if it’s been like this the whole time, maybe Celine was right to cackle.

“Anything you want to tell me about?” Bruno asks.

Theo’s eyes dart toward the stairs, and Bruno swears he can see him debating whether it’s a better idea to flee, and potentially look like he’s following Morgan upstairs, or stay where he is and have to answer Bruno’s questions.

Looks the exact same in his house as it does the locker room, and Bruno’s roster has been young enough, in recent years, to see that struggle plenty of times, guys in a snit with each other, stuck on the road. Worst case is when you’re pissed at someone and they’re right ahead of you getting onto the plane. No choice but to follow, and if you’re going anywhere cold, you’ve got to deal with them putting their shit up in the overhead bins.

“Got homework,” Theo says, and retreats back into the kitchen. Bruno had forgotten about option three. That was an oversight, especially when it’s Theo: he always seems to pick the option Bruno hadn’t considered.

“Did you want—“ Bruno says, cut off by Theo’s “No thanks, it’s due tomorrow, bye!”

Bruno sighs, eyeing the stairs himself, then decides to go sit back down. If intervention is needed, he needs to call in the cavalry first, because he’s all out of ammo.

He's got chips now, though. So at least he's got that going for him.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Ruined

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

Oneshot

summary: a chess move gone wrong. but it brought you two back together, so how can she complain?

thank you anon 🫀 for requesting this! you’re so loved and appreciated <3

Word Count: 2.257k

When the invitation comes in the mail, you think nothing of it. Because of your job, Waystar was always trying to kiss your ass and trying to convince you they were the perfect employer.

It was also because of your previous relationship.

Even though you and Siobhan had been separated for a few weeks now, you weren’t sure that many people knew. Not only did Royco execs invite you to try and convince you to ‘join the ranks’, they’d invite you to try and get closer to Shiv. The daughter of the man in possession of the biggest media conglomerate in the world, a mega billionaire.

You assume this is just another dinner to kiss ass to prospective employees. You didn’t really mind, though. It’s free food, and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a boost to your ego.

Post breakup with Shiv felt apocalyptic. You didn’t want to eat, sleep, breathe. But you had to. You had shit to get done.

You’re happy for the excuse to get dressed up. It makes you feel good about yourself, and god knows you need that right now. You stare at yourself in the mirror, dark colored turtleneck and high waisted pants accentuating the curves of your body. You gloss your lips, mentally preparing for the night out.

The place is gorgeous, as always. The hallways are dimly lit, warm orange light dappling the space around you. You find yourself with a finger sandwich in hand, waiting for dinner to be announced so you can congregate in the dining room with everyone else and actually eat.

You watch as Logan Roy plucks a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing servant. If he was here, then that means this thing was important. But that raised a question- why are you here?

Your answer arrives right with Siobhan Roy. You spot her the moment she sets foot in the room. Despite how messy your brakeup was, you just couldn’t get yourself to get over her. She’s radiant, beautiful like the sunset, like the time-old glaciers, like the condensed dew on an ageless bottle of wine. She lit up your world, bringing day to your dystopian world of eternal night.

She was stressing over something, you could tell, even from across the room. Her shoulders were set tautly, her phone gripped in her hand. Her eyes sweep hastily over the gathered people, and yours subconsciously follow. You recognize all the high profile politicians, the big whales of finance and business. You’re beginning to feel out of place.

Lost in your daze, you don’t realize as she steps up beside you. When she speaks, you think you’re dreaming for a split second. In recent history, the only time you’d ever heard her voice, spoken to her, was in the depths of your mind’s eye.

“Are you fucking with me?” Shiv hisses from beside you, fake smile pasted to her face.

You’re taken aback. “Hello to you, too,” you mutter in response.

Her hand falls immediately to the small of your back, and she steers you away from the crowd. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was invited. I didn’t fucking drop from the face of the Earth after you broke up with me,” you say dryly. Once you’re out in the hall, her voice raises slightly from her original whisper.

“Who invited you? How the hell are you even here?”

She leads you into an empty spare room and shuts the door firmly behind her. “What the fuck, Siobhan?”

“This is a dinner to introduce an acquisition. I would know if you were hired by Waystar. So why are you here?”

“Like I said, I was invited.”

“Why? For what?”

You scoff. “How encouraging of my career,” you drawl.

She snorts in response, turning to pace the room. “What’s he up to? Do you know?” she asks quickly, referring to her dad.

“How should I fucking know?” You cross your arms over your chest. “I didn’t know we were on speaking terms, anyway.”

“We’re not,” she spits. “Not after what you put me through.”

“What I put you through?” You laugh. “Siobhan, you dumped me because you were too busy fucking your work rather than me.”

She barks out a laugh. “Is that how you see it?”

“That’s how everybody but you fucking sees it. You got angry I wanted to talk about the fact that you did nothing but work, and work overtime, and neglect me, that you ended things and ran,” you spit back, voice dripping with venom.

She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry I take my job seriously.” Her bracelets tinkle as her hands flit back down. “And that’s not what happened.” She twists to face away from you, hands carding through her hair.

“Then, pray tell, what did? You didn’t exactly wait around for me to even process. This is the first time we’ve spoken since then.”

When she turns back around, tears dot her waterline. Your chest swells with anxiety, struggling to differentiate between the stone-cold killer Siobhan and your sweet Shiv.

“I’m sorry, I’m deflecting. It’s not like that, I swear,” she says, voice cracking. “Oh, my fucking god. I got fucking scared, baby. I have all of these complicated feelings for you, and when they never went away, I got scared. I realized I loved you, that I love you, and I got horrified I’d fuck things up.”

Your heart flutters at the pet name. “That’s not a fucking excuse, Shiv. You left me by myself. You never even said goodbye properly.”

“I know, I know it’s not.” Her face drops into her hands. “It’s just… I can’t bear the idea of getting hurt. Being hurt by you, no less. I’d never recover. I haven’t recovered. I can’t move on. I can’t think of beauty without thinking of you. You’re in every goddamn sunrise, piece of jewelry, every starry night sky. Nothing I’m scared of matters anyway, because you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You’re rendered speechless. Your mouth opens, then closes. You don’t know what to say.

“I can’t,” she says weakly. “I compare every single person to you. And every single time, I love you so much fucking better.” She chokes on a sob, face still covered by her hands.

Without thinking, you step towards her, taking her in your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder as sobs rack her body. You’d never, ever seen her like this. Not when you were together, not in any sort of public media. You rub soothing circles into her back.

“I’m sorry,” she laments, her voice wavering. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve never let you go. I want you back. I need you back. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this bullshit. You’re it for me. You’ll always be it for me.”

“Shiv,” you breathe. “Shiv, take a breath. Come on, you’re working yourself up.”

She obeys, attempting to regulate her breathing. She sniffs roughly, wiping at her eyes, before pulling away from you and turning her back to you.

“What I did was inexcusable,” she says, voice quieter. “I… I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore. I’m sorry. I love you.” She inhales shakily, her hands smoothing down her blouse. “Dad knew what would happen if you came today. I need to go.”

Without another word, she leaves you behind.

You see no point in sticking around. You’re confused, strangely swelling with love. You want to both chuck your phone into a river and pick up and dial her number immediately. You hunt around for someone who can get you your coat, and before you know it, you’re out in the blistering cold by yourself.

You spend the rest of your night face down in bed. You’re so conflicted. Does she want you, or does she not? Should you contact her first, or can you still hold onto the hope that she’ll come find you?

The night drags on, and there’s nothing. Early the next morning, you bolster the confidence to send her a text asking her if she’s alright. Your anxiety runs rampant the moment you hit send, and your face burns with heat. You both pray she answers as soon as she sees it and pray she never sees it at all. You want to belt your phone at the wall.

You find yourself at a coffee shop at seven thirty. You need to get out, to think about literally anything else. You have the day off, and you’re not sure if it’ll be good or bad for you yet.

The moment you set foot in the shop, you see her, and she sees you. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing an old sweater of yours. This is when she’s prettiest, you think. When she’s not playing the game of succession, not strategizing, just sitting comfortably in her skin.

Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. She beckons you over, doe eyes still glinting with tears.

Hesitantly, you go over and sit across from her.

“How did you…?”

“You come here every day,” she says quietly. She pushes a cardboard cup of coffee towards you. “I never forgot your order.”

You murmur your thanks, taking a sip. “We should talk,” you say stupidly.

“Yeah. We should,” she responds, folding her hands together and setting them on the table in between you two.

“Can we just… talk things through?”

“I want that. Please.”

You sit back in your chair, unsure of where to begin. “Did you actually mean it? Last night, I mean?”

“Everything I said. I would’ve stayed, but… ironically, duty called.”

“What’ll change?” you ask softly. “If we… if we try again?”

“Everything,” Shiv whispers. “You’re my world. I can’t go a second without thinking about you. You’re my top priority, I swear. I’ll never fucking leave your side again. I was a shitty girlfriend before. But I’ll change. I’d do anything for you.”

“I missed you,” you choke out. “So much.”

She loses it a bit, too, tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. You reach across the table and wipe it away. “I did, too. I missed you.”

“Do you want to come home?” you ask, hopeful. She smiles.

“Finally. I’ve been living in a shithole with my cousin since you.”

You roll your eyes, knowing she’s playing it up. She takes your hand, and before you know it, you’re sat on the couch, making out. Her fingers dig into your jaw, keeping your mouth locked with hers. Shiv kisses are hard, needy. She’s been waiting for you, craving you the last few weeks.

She pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck. “Shiv,” you say breathily, not expecting it. Despite her fervor, she’s gentle, successfully pleasing you.

“Shh, baby. Let me do this. Let me make you feel good. I need to make it up to you. I was an asshole.”

You laugh. “You’re just being territorial.”

She sighs, leaning back and inspecting a developing purple hickey on your skin. She buries her head into your shoulder after dotting soothing kisses along the new bruises.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” she says into your skin.

“I love you too.” Your hand strays to her back, stroking lightly.

“I promise I’ll do it right this time,” she murmurs. “You’ll never stop feeling fucking amazing.”

“I hope you’re right,” you respond.

“Really. I’m going to be better.” She kisses at your shoulder. “I’ll start skipping meetings for you.”

“You don’t need to neglect your job, Shiv.”

“I want to, anyway. I want to spend every second right here, with you.”

Your hand smoothes down to her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I’m so fucking happy. You make everything better.”

Shiv slips out of your grasp, padding into your kitchen. You stay sprawled out on the couch, content.

The days go by slowly, and you’re grateful. The two of you spend morning tangled together, nights intertwined. You come home to her, she comes home to you. You never leave each other without a kiss goodbye, and you never say anything before kissing hello.

Shiv wasn’t lying. She prioritized you, and solely you. If she couldn’t come home on time, she’d send flowers and crawl into bed with you late at night, peppering your face with kisses. She’s become more affectionate, her touches always lingering and her always curled up against you.

You make sure to never neglect her, either. Despite your massive differences in salary, you make sure to give thoughtful gifts, and kiss her whenever you can. You find that you enjoy cooking for her, watching her face brighten whenever she eats something she likes.

You’ve both begun to keep pictures of each other in your wallets. You always catch her staring at a miniature portrait of you in her hands, her thumb gently stroking over your face.

Every night, your bed is warm with affection. You never feel alone again.

When it happens, she doesn’t get down on one knee. It’s when you’re both half asleep on the couch, your head cradled in her lap when she shows you the ring. She giggles when you let her slip it onto your finger, the word fiancé falling giddily from her lips.

You spend a moment rummaging around in your purse, then hurry back to her, another ring in hand.

She kisses you so hard your head spins.

“I love you. I love you so much. And that’ll never change.”

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

🌹🌹🌹🌹 for whenever needed :)

I wrote this in a haze last night when I should have been sleeping and I'm not sure if I'll ever expand it into a proper fic, so I'm sticking it here. Part of it is under the cut because it's a) long and b) is about Jamie's Amsterdam story

Roy makes it about a week before it all comes spilling out. They've been playing shit, 'cause Lasso may have rediscovered Total Football but he sure as shit hasn't rediscovered how to coach it, and if he's being perfectly fucking honest neither has Roy. Or maybe he would, if fucking when I was fourteen... didn't keep playing on loop in his head. He picks Jamie up from his front door every day and he's grinning, bouncing around like the chipper twat he is, twenty-five and whole, and all Roy can think about is the twiggy kid he had been, hair stuck up in every direction and mud smeared on his shins. He'd dug up pictures, is the thing, that first night back — got home aching and more exhausted than he'd been after a full ninety minutes back in his player days, and instead of going to sleep he'd dug around through the depths of City's website, through a mountain of those bullshit player profiles he refused to do but Jamie loved, 'til he found a picture of the Man City 2010 U16s. Recognized Jamie right away, the big dark eyes and prickish smirk and long sleeves 'cause the muppet always got cold. And he was a fucking child. A tiny, scrawny little lad, must've been one of the youngest on the team the way most of the others dwarfed him. No one could ever have mistaken him for an adult, not that it would've been any less abjectly fucking horrifying if he'd looked like a full-grown man by the age of thirteen.

Ted corners him in the office. Or rather, Ted knocks on the door while he's got his head in his hands and the lights off, same as he has every evening since Amsterdam. Pokes his head in with his jacket already on and his bag slung over his shoulder, says, "You know I'm always ready for a late night special on the go session of the Diamond Dogs but if sitting in the dark's what gets your brain juices going, I can respect that. Just make sure to skeddaddle on out of here before our good friends over in maintenance come lock up; I love this place but a night with a locker room aroma ain't to anyone's taste," and Roy says, "Jamie told me he was raped in Amsterdam." They both freeze, Ted in the doorway with that stupid folksy smile still fixed on his face, Roy with his elbows planted on the desk and his fingers twisted through his hair. He feels sick. Jamie's already been violated and now Roy's gone and done it again, just fucking spilled his private trauma without permission 'cause he couldn't handle it. "What?" Ted asks, breathless. "He told you— he was— he told you in Amsterdam, or it happened—" "Fucking both," Roy grinds out. "Oh." Ted's gone so pale he's almost grey. "He seemed fine on the bus." "Not when we were there." Roy says. "I mean, he told me when we were there. Happened when he was fourteen. Don't think he knows that's what—" he sucks in a deep breath, not that it does jack shit to make him feel better. "But it is. That's what happened, and now I don't know what the fuck to do."

[courtingchaos]

Lacking

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

7:29

A/N: This is because @dr-aculaaa has basically become a co-writer on this. I keep dropping my HC’s in their DM’s and they keep dropping their own so here we are, a shared dream ❤️

Warnings: Sex, back at it again with the knife play, male masturbation

18+ NSFW No Minors Allowed

The girls at Dottie’s know you. Mostly from your multiple midnight pickups of some idiot brother causing problems, but also because of Roy.

Everything ties back to Roy.

When you roll up outside the bouncer lets you in and the wall of multiple perfumes assaults you before the neon pink lights can. In the lounge area a few girls you recognize mingle, barely clothed, and one of them, Julie, waves at you.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in here alone, babydoll.” She grins and pushes her blonde hair back with a single talon tipped finger, but she’s just as dangerous as the over stuffed heart pillow next her.

“Uh, no. I mean, no offense I’m just looking for Gator.” You shove your hands in your pockets and only have a slight moment of doubt. You knew you were coming in here tonight so you’d ditched the work clothes. That leaves you with jeans, a plain t-shirt, and your ‘nice’ Carhart jacket. Only your finest for the Midwests biggest sulk.

“Gator?” The blonde tucks her sheer robe around her and leans forward, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah.”

“You owe him money or something?” She continues to sound surprised and you wonder if he’s ever had a visitor.

“No, I just need to talk to him. Business stuff.”

“Business stuff.”

“Roy stuff.” That makes her go quiet. One of the other girls points down the hallway ahead of you.

“He’s at the very end, last door on the left.” She doesn’t look you in the eye. In fact all the girls seem to have found somewhere else to look while you unzip your jacket and head off to his room.

You’d found out where he was staying from Donny, problem brother number 4. His frequent trips to the bunny ranch had given him a few glimpses of Gator coming and going.

“I don’t even think he’s fucking any of them.” Donny tells you over the roof of the car you’re working on. He stopped helping you get this front seat out the minute you’d asked your question.

“Okay.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” He sounds concerned and you roll your eyes. He’s never cared about your life before, why now when you ask about some southern interloper.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you two like, a thing?” He says it too casual and you know he’s gathering intel. You know brothers 1 through 3 are standing in the office, just waiting on him to run in and spill it.

You just huff and throw a wrench at him. “Don’t you have some crayons to chew?”

His door looks like all the other doors in the hallway, minus a gold number on top of a red heart. His also has locks on the outside, which gives you an incredible image of some poor idiot mistaking his room for one of the girls. You chuckle to yourself and knock; a pause and there’s no answer, another round this time louder. You heard a scuff of something behind the door so you know he’s in there.

“Gator?” Another knock, still no answer. “Gator it’s me.” He’d know your voice. It should make him open the door and give you that disgruntled stare. He should open it and ask you just what the fuck you’re doing there.

He probably would if he could hear you though.

Through the crackled music in the hallway and a heavy front door, through a bedroom door and a pair of noise cancelling headphones he couldn’t hear a bomb go off if he wanted to. Slouched down in a small armchair, his attention focused solely on his phone, he doesn’t hear you.

He’s been too busy switching between videos on pornhub for an hour, none of them right. He does see the humor in the situation of looking up fucking porn here. Living where he lives, surrounded by girls making a living, but none of them spark a single feeling. They’re all fake nails and too much perfume and bleached hair and unmarked skin unnaturally smooth. If nothing else they give him a headache a mile wide with their incessant need to fill the silence, something he desperately craves.

Something he isn’t finding in these videos.

These women will laugh but it’s high pitched and giggly. They moan and sigh but it’s forced, and if he ventures into anything rough it’s staged and over the top and he looses any urge to jerk off. He’s on the verge of just saying fuck it. Of pulling up his shorts and climbing into bed but he keeps scrolling mindlessly, still looking for something that reminds him of you.

He won’t find it, he never does. He’ll settle on something finally and just mute the video to watch it passively while his mind wanders in the silence created by those headphones.

Lucky for him, you’ve gotten his front door open. The locks aren’t complicated, just enough to keep everyone else out but apparently you have a knack for picking them. The door swings slowly open into a darkened, smallish apartment. It’s a kitchenette and a place to put a couch and two closed doors on either side of the room. Of course it’s spartan and small, you expect nothing else. When you close the door quietly you hear that scuffing again behind the second door and decide that must be his room. You want to snoop and see if he’s hidden any part of his personality away in the few pieces of furniture but a heavy sigh makes you move faster across the small space.

“Gator?” You ask at the door before you twist the nob, fully aware that he could and would pull a gun on an intruder. While that doesn’t scare you like it should, you aren’t in that kind of mood tonight.

His back to the door is what catches you off guard. The blue glow of his phone screen clashing against the red light seeping in from the neon sign outside highlights his face in pretty hues but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. The scuffing of the chair moving back against the floor slightly, his shoulder moving rhythmically, the huff of air he lets out. You hover behind him and watch the woman on the screen frantically ride a faceless man and you laugh. A light thing, almost all breath but you make a sound he doesn’t react to. “Oh Gator, what are you up to?” You ask lowly and he still doesn’t react. You keep your distance but tilt your head and see his eyes screwed shut. You glance at his lap and his big hand fists his big cock and you make up your mind.

Jacket dropped on the floor and pocket knife out you stand directly behind and when he lifts his head, sensing a body behind him, you lean against him and press the spine of the blade against his throat. He jumps and drops his phone, hands immediately up and open showing he’s not holding anything.

“Caught you lackin’, didn’t I?” You whisper next to his head when you pull an earbud out and toss it on the bed.

“What the fuck?!” He hisses at you. Recognizes your voice but when he tries to turn and stand you tighten you grip around his throat.

“Nope. You get to stay put.” You lick his cheek and he flinches at the sudden wetness. “Aren’t you supposed to have eyes on exits?” You tease, blade digging into the side of his neck.

“Did you fucking break in?”

“Only because you didn’t answer. I see why.” With your free hand you tilt his head back to look up at you. “Busy boy.” He swallows and you see his cock twitch out of the corner of your eye. “Don’t stop on account of me, that video looked thrilling.”

“I wasn’t even watching it.”

“I know. Didn’t like what you saw?” Your free hand leaves his jaw to wander down under the collar of his black tee, his chest hair soft under your cold fingers, his tags clinking softly under the cotton.

“No.”

“Well use your imagination Gator. Keep going.”

“I’m not-“

“You’re not what?” You cut him off with a hard press of metal. He still hasn’t figured out it’s not the sharp side of the blade and he sucks in a gasp. “Not gonna do it?” His eyes slip shut and he keeps his head tilted back into your stomach. “I really think you should.”

His hands drop to his thighs but he doesn’t move to touch himself again. You sigh.

“Do you need help?” You twist the knife so the flat of the blade makes contact and he tenses. Leaning down you grab his hand and wrap both around his cock, still hard and hot under your touch. “Same thing you were doing.” You say it like he should know better. You let go and your hand rest on his stomach, your lips on his ear to whisper at him. “What do you think about?”

“Fucking.” He says with a single huff of laughter.

“Me?” Your fingers gather the hem of his shirt and dance along the hard plane of his stomach where it flexes under your touch and his hand moves haltingly up once. “I think about you.” Your hand moves up further and his moves in time, a slow drag of his curled fingers over his hardened length. From the corner of your eye you can see his eyes are open to the darkened ceiling, head tilted back and jaw flexing next to your head. He’s holding himself back for some reason. “I think about you in my room. I think about you holding me down and about you ignoring your phone.” You press a kiss to his ticking jaw. “I like thinking about keeping you in there.”

He hums deep and picks up the pace of his hand and you watch him move. You push his shirt up to his chest where you can slide your fingers through the thick hair there and it earns you a contented sound from him. Where your face presses into his jaw it creates a stamp of heat that you want to lick. Your tongue follows up from the tip of your knife to that heated patch of skin and you can feel the shiver under your hand laid against his chest.

“Do you think about me hurting you?” You ask wetly against his cheek while you give a slight press of your place against his pale throat.

“S-sometimes.” He stutters and circles his hand around the head of his cock, smearing precum on the stroke down. You tuck your head into his neck while your mouth waters at the sight and the end of the blade tickles your cheek. Gator lets out short quiet breaths, little huffs around his stream of curses. His heart beats faster under your palm, your fingers rubbing circles into his pec like you’re trying to sooth him. “Only sometimes?”

He nods once and squeezes his eyes shut, a long aching groan from his chest when he bucks up into his fist, his left hand coming up to grab tightly at the back of your neck.

“Come on Gator.” You mumble into his neck, watching him grip his cock harder, faster. “Who else do you think about?” You know the answer, you just want to hear him say it. He’s getting lost in you wrapped around him and the metal against his neck and your whispering in his ear. He grunts and tugs on the back of your neck when you go to pull back. “Tell me. Who else?” You get out of his grip and fully stand, his hand hooking into your shirt to twist the cotton around his thick knuckles. You can hear the quiet desperation when he finds his voice amid the haze.

“No one.”

“Good.” You toss the knife so you can lace your fingers over his throat. You cradle his head back, thumbs behind his ears, and hold him still while his hand pumps faster. His eyes snap open, pupils blown out while he stares up at you grinning down at him. Watching him unfold below you keeps you transfixed on his stare, on his jaw going slack, on his lips parting, on the hitching gasps rushed up and over your face. You keep his head pressed into you while he cums white hot lines up his chest, staining the edge of his black t-shirt. His body tenses and relaxes and his head stays pressed hard into your stomach, eyes wide and clear while he groans on the last of his release.

“Good boy.” You tell him, breathless. An errant finger running lightly up and down the underside of his chin. His chest rises and falls fast and his hand drops from his softening cock to lay on his thigh. You keep him between your hands for a moment too long probably but you can’t help the tightness the slinks it’s way around your ribs. It coils along each one and makes your breathing shallow and you hope he isn’t aware enough yet to see the change in your gaze.

His head drops when you take a step back and let him go with a chuckle but his hand fisted in your shirt keeps you in his reach. “Where do you think you’re going?” He says in a quiet voice, warning on the edge of it. You laugh and tug back but he’s got his whole fist in the shirt now. He twists around in the chair to look at you over his right shoulder and you watch the sticky spend on his stomach smear on his arm still laying on his thigh. The neon red that bleeds through his blinds catches his eyes and makes them shine in the dark. “You got a fuckin’ mess to clean up.”

Wind rattles the window for second and you sigh thinking about having to drive home in falling snow again. You can hear the shower still running through the thin wall, surprised you can’t hear Gator still grumbling about having to take a second one tonight. For all of his ornery slamming of drawers looking for a new shirt he still asked if you wanted to join him. Tucked up in the corner of bed against the wall, phone balanced on your knees you shook your head silently.

Now you kind of wish you had, the sticky feeling of sweat and saliva laying thick on you. Your neck throbs where he laid his teeth on you after you cleaned him up, your lips swollen from him kissing you too hard. Your hands ache from the grip you had on his hair while he laid between your thighs, and those sting from his big palms coming down on them when you’d clamp them around his head.

You continue to scroll through your messages, even after the shower stops and you hear him rummaging around. You haven’t bothered to get dressed yet, still wound up in the sheets and comforter. He pauses when he walks back in, wet hair slicked back against his head.

“You’re still here.” You expect disappointment but instead get mild surprise.

“I can fuck off if you’d like?” You offer and he averts his gaze and shrugs. “Then what do you want?” A challenge then, since all he does is shrug at you.

“I don’t care! Fuckin’…stay there if you want.” He gestures at you and looks around at his floor. “It started snowing so you can drive in that shit if you want.” He finds his phone kicked under the bed and bends to get it, tossing it and your knife you’d dropped on the mattress. Your phone lights up again, another message from a bothersome brother asking where you are that you ignore.

“I’d like to stay.” Those snakes that slither along your ribs and coil when you think of him almost purr at your confession. Your phone lights up again and before you can turn to look he’s snatched it up, wide hand swallowing the display before he tosses it on the chair.

“Okay.” He grabs his own phone and looks at the screen once before he scoffs and throws it to join yours. Wordlessly he pulls at the bedding to get it straight again and you follow, the chill quick on your skin, but Gator stops you. A hand under your arm to pull you into the middle of the bed before he climbs over and drops onto you without warning, your breath rushing out of you when his heavy frame pins you to the mattress. He yanks the covers over you and nestles his head into your chest again, a repeat of your own room and you wonder what kind of beat your heart hammers into his ear. He pulls at your hand until you get the idea and let your fingers tangle into his damp locks, the movement pushing up his clean scent. He nuzzles deeper while you watch the shadow of snow on the wall, his slowing breathing lulling you into a strange feeling of safety you rarely feel.

It all ties back to Roy because Roy owns everything. Dottie’s should be called Roy’s because those girls belong to him the same way Gator belongs to him.

Well, maybe not exact.

Julie had let him know as soon as you’d walked down the hallway that you’d shown up, just the same as your second eldest brother had let him know when you left the house an hour earlier. Roy has fingers in every pie in every windowsill of this shitty little town. He’s known about you, but he didn’t know you and really that’s his fault, he’ll own it. He’d told Gator to get some strange to try and work of that excess fury, he’d had no idea the two of you had been cut from the exact same cloth though. The bias and weight, the same fucking blend.

So he sits in the parking lot of the whore house he owns, with the people he owns inside while you interlope in a bed that he owns. And if he has to wait all night he will, just so he can spot the look on his boys face first thing in the morning when he’s realized what kind of earth shattering mistake he’s made.

[b-skarsgard]

–How involved were you with casting, and what led to Bill Skarsgård getting the lead?

FITZJOHN: We were completely hands-on on all things, including casting. The usual suspects were thrown around by the sales agent saying, “We need to look at…” I won’t mention any names, but we did talk to some of the big A-league boys. I think it was Roy Lee who suggested, “What about Bill Skarsgård?” and when we first heard that, to be honest, that didn’t really strike us. You know, he’s not exactly a boy, he’s 6-foot-4–a pretty significant man. And then the irony of that was it got us talking about, “This kind of reminds me of that story about the baby elephant that’s tied to the stake and pulls and pulls and pulls and can’t get away. And then by the time it’s a big bull elephant, it doesn’t even try to pull the stake, which it could probably do in no time.” And that’s essentially Boy’s story, the way he’s been so programmed by Shaman. He should be the champion, but he cedes the king role to Shaman, who’s about half his size by the time he’s grown up. So it just felt right.

SWART: When we spoke to Bill, he was so excited about playing a true action role. He’s a massive martial arts fan, and so capable. He was like, “Yeah, I want to do the training, and as many of my own stunts as you guys will let me.” We said, “Well, that’s great, Bill, but remember, your character has no lines, you have no dialogue.” And he said, “Yeah, that’s what really gets me about this role.” He studied the old Charlie Chaplin silent movies; he not only prepared his body and learned the martial arts part, but if you look at the range of emotion on his face, there are some little homages to classic Chaplin as well.

The rest of the ensemble was very much the same, finding the right people to bring these wacky characters to life. When we interviewed the actors, as well as our heads of department, we told them, “Wave your crazy flag! However you bring these characters to life, just lean into your creative inspiration.”

FITZJOHN: Getting back to Bill, if you see what he does under all the prosthetics in IT, you still know what he’s thinking and feeling. He’s one of a kind, and if Hollywood hasn’t recognized that he’s a big star yet, I believe they’re going to after this movie.

What went into getting Skarsgård in shape and choreographing his fight scenes?

FITZJOHN: That was a pretty significant task. Our stunt coordinator, Dawid Szatarski, is incredible in terms of how he thinks. He thinks in movement. Dawid basically invented a fighting style for Bill, given his lankiness; he wanted him to move with big sweeping motions, and they spent quite a bit of time in Berlin doing the training. We also hired a really good fitness/strength coach, a nutritionist, who basically lived with Bill for about nine months getting him ready. I didn’t stay too far from Bill during production, and I would watch him do a 12-hour shoot and then go and do a two-hour calisthenics workout on the roof. I mean, the guy would work out during lunch breaks. He never stopped; I’d never seen anything like that commitment. He became Boy.

SWART: Dawid was also our 2nd unit director. I think he has three or four credits on the movie; he actually has a great cameo as VDK Dawe, the one soldier who just won’t go down. Bill’s relationship with Dawid was very special, and there were times when Dawid would go to Bill saying, “So, do you think you can do this stunt?” and Bill would go, “Of course I can do this stunt,” and we were like, “No, you can’t do this stunt!” There were many moments when I would have to tell Bill, “No, no, you’ve got to use a double for this, because if you twist your ankle or something at this stage of the shoot…” But Bill was up for anything; he was like, “Well, then don’t challenge me,” you know? “Don’t dare me.” And we were like, “We’re not daring you!”

FITZJOHN: If we’re honest, Bill did the bulk of it; it’s not a battle we won in the end. Outside of the stupid, crazy stuff, like when we were throwing Boy down from a double-story balcony, he pretty much did everything.

I’ve heard that Skarsgård originally did Boy’s voiceovers himself, before H. Jon Benjamin came in and took over. Can you talk about the reasons and that process?

FITZJOHN: It was always going to be H. Jon Benjamin. I mean, Moritz called it at the same time, when we were casting. The short had this Marlboro Man voiceover that just doesn’t match with Boy. And even with Bill’s versatility, we needed to explore something like that. He did an amazing job, but the audiences wanted the almost bipolar nature of it.

SWART: It’s the absurdity of his inner voice, right? So in the short it’s the Marlboro Man, and Boy gets his voice from an old cigarette commercial. For the feature, we recorded Bill, which did give us a great connection to his character, but we found that we lost the absurdity of where his inner voice comes from. It took something away from the physical performance and the storytelling.

FITZJOHN: And also, given the nature of the story, the humor of H. Jon Benjamin gives us a reprieve, in a good way, from a pretty dark, dramatic and violent story.

[rockinhamburger]

What exactly is empathy?

Back with more Nate meta - shocker! At a basic level, empathy is about widening our perspective to understand where someone is coming from. It doesn’t mean actions taken are acceptable or justified, but it’s an exercise in looking for insight and extending compassion. One thing I’ve noticed can go missing in analysis of Nate’s choices is the limited POV he has throughout the show. People are quick to judge him for his reasoning in the latter half of S2 without recognizing that he’s missing crucial insights, often because he is not in the scene which would provide it. I want to highlight a few examples that I think show this limited POV and, hopefully, indicate where he deserves some grace.

Of course, a straightforward example of this is the picture Nate gave to Ted for Christmas. Nate couldn’t help but notice it’s not hanging in Ted’s office, and that became emblematic to Nate of the abandonment he was feeling. We the viewers know that Ted has the picture on his bedroom dresser next to his picture of Henry. Nate doesn’t know this; he has a limited POV, so in my view it’s a lot kinder and more empathetic to give him grace on that one. But what tends to happen is that a detail like that gets sublimated into justification to continue criticizing Nate. For instance, instead of feeling sorry for Nate, feeling compassion for his limited perspective in that moment, the thinking becomes judgemental and defensive: Why should Ted display it in his office? Ted doesn’t owe Nate that. Nate needs to get over himself.

People tend to be similarly hard on Nate for the moment in 2x11 when he says, “There we go. Give Ted another idea he’ll take all the credit for.” We have a wider perspective than Nate does. We know that Ted doesn’t take the credit; in fact, Ted credited Nate for his decoy play back in 1x03. It’s a great moment that shows us Ted’s integrity - he doesn’t take the credit for that, even when Trent Crimm is audibly horrified that Ted would entrust such a thing to the kit man. It adds to our growing love for Ted as a character.

But crucially, Nate doesn’t hear a lick of it. Nate is yards away kicking dog shit off the field. His POV is limited in the scene, so he entirely misses that lovely moment of Ted giving him the credit. We’re also privy to the article Trent writes at the end of the episode, and he doesn’t mention in there that Nate came up with the play. Why would Nate have any idea that Ted gives him the credit?

“That’s the job, son,” Roy says to Nate. Putting aside that they’re roughly the same age, so it’s more than a little condescending, this comment from Roy doesn’t address the void Nate’s feeling of validation and approval from Ted. In 2x12, Nate says, “And I... I worked my ass off, trying to get your attention back. To prove myself to you. To make you like me again.” I wish people would take these words at face value instead of using them to continue justifying uncharitable readings of Nate’s behaviour. I wish more people would put themselves in Nate’s shoes and imagine for a moment what it felt like to be in the sunlight of Ted’s kind, supportive attention in S1 only to feel like he’d done something to lose it. Imagine wondering what you did wrong to lose the attention and care of the kindest, sweetest man you’ve had the fortune of meeting. Nate is feeling Ted’s absence so keenly by the time he lets it all out in 2x12. He feels invisible and occasionally even outright replaced. Ted laughs at the idea of him being a big dog, and god, that has to sting so much, and then he brings Roy in as coach. People are quick to gloss over this moment, but it’s a crucial one for understanding how twisted up Nate is starting to feel. If he truly thinks Ted doesn’t like him anymore, then imagine what it felt like for him to be the subject of Ted’s laughter and for Ted to subsequently bring in someone he wouldn’t laugh at? And in the episodes following, Ted’s giving Roy the attention Nate craves as the wins pile up, and to top it off, those wins are largely attributed to the Roy Kent Effect.

Ted isn’t there for Nate’s big moment of glory in 2x06. We know why he wasn’t because we got a lot of Ted’s backstory. Nate didn’t. He has no idea what Ted’s going through. One big takeaway from the show is that we don’t know what the people in our lives are going through, and that’s another reason to be kind and empathetic to each other. So yes maybe Nate should have been able to connect some of the dots, particularly once Ted confessed he’d had a panic attack. Maybe he could have given Ted some grace, but clearly Nate was going through some of his own toxic stuff that made him miss a few things, just like Ted. And really, it’s not like people are giving Nate grace given what we know of his struggles. Nate doesn’t realize the extent of Ted’s mental health struggles because Ted doesn’t let him in on it, just like Ted doesn’t realized the extent of Nate’s feelings of abandonment.

One moment I find so brilliant for highlighting just how much Nate wanted specifically Ted’s validation and approval (to make you like me again) is the fact that Roy gives Nate credit and validation for his big win. He tells Rebecca the win was all Nate (but, crucially, Nate isn’t in the room for that) and then afterward he says, “Oy, Nate, great fucking work today.” I think to Nate it feels more like getting validation from a friend or brother. It’s the kind of thing we like to imagine will make a difference and build us up, but usually it doesn’t quite do the trick, not when it isn’t coming from the person we most want it from - in Nate’s case, Ted, and on a deeper level, his father.

In 1x07, when Ted is at one of his lowest points in the series, he lashes out at Nate. We know why he did. We understand that he has to sign his divorce papers, to essentially quit his marriage, which kicks up a bunch of his emotional triggers around quitting due to feeling like his father abandoned him. We also know he’d been drinking. So, we give Ted plenty of grace in that moment because we have the full picture. Nate doesn’t. Of course, Ted apologizes for treating Nate like that the next time he sees him and Nate forgives him instantly. It’s a lovely moment that again showcases what a thoughtful character Ted is, that he can earnestly apologize. But it’s also a lovely moment that shows Nate’s capacity for understanding and forgiveness when he’s been wronged.

As has been discussed a lot since the end of S2 aired, this conversation outside the locker room in 1x07 is the last time Ted and Nate have a one-on-one conversation before the scene in 2x12. I think it’s easy to overlook this turning point in their relationship and to think that everything’s been patched up in the apology, but the damage from that moment in front of Ted’s hotel room is substantial. I did everything I could to make you like me again. I can’t help feeling like Nate looks back on that night in Liverpool and feels that was the moment everything changed, the moment the attention started to shift, when Ted stopped liking him.

I wish more people would extend to Nate the same compassion we gave Ted following his angry outburst at Nate in 1x07. We all make meaning from the limited perspective we have. Nate was lacking important insight throughout much of S1 and S2, and that was compounded by feelings of inadequacy and abandonment. And I think when it comes down to it, Ted knows exactly how that feels. Empathy widens perspective. Ted’s not going to bask in schadenfreude; he’s going to extend empathy and compassion because he gets where Nate is coming from. He won’t take his pain out on Nate, even though Nate did that to him, and if we admire Ted’s capacity for forgiveness and understanding, this is the test of our own.

I hope fandom can rise to the occasion in S3.

[lunar-years]

3, 6, 8, 13

not even bothering with anon idgaf I love to be a hater 🔥🔥🔥

we can be proud haters together since i'm over here happily typing out my answers lmao. putting most of this under a cut because of length.

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

no idea if these were ever on tumblr, probably it was twitter, all the worst takes i've seen come from twitter, but the top two contenders battling it out for Worst Ever have got to be:

One) Henry should've moved to London because he "hates the political climate of his own country" Henry is like, what, NINE? absolutely a wild take, worsened by, "And having a premier league coach as his dad is way cooler than having a dad who coaches his pee wee league" or whatever like. Again, the boy is nine. I think Henry cares more about having a Dad who's present in his life than he does about how "cool" his dad's occupation is.

Two) "Zava was actually way more disciplined than Jamie because he has fantastic habits, whereas Jamie is the type to just give up and go on a reality show." ohhh don't even get me started lmao. i was fuming for days.

6. which ship fans are most annoying?

lol. do i even need to say. specifically the twitter breed of them & no hate to the ship on the whole, just the portion of shippers that are cuckoo bananas about it and target the show creators. An extremely close second for me is the portion of r/k shippers who loathe Jamie for "getting in the way" because I take that personally 😭. Like I'm sorry your endgame didn't happen but please leave him out of this. it's not his fault they had problems the entire time they were dating, lmao. ugh.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

so many. here's a running list.

Roy and Keeley shouldn't have broken up and/or should have gotten back together in the finale.

Roy was OOC when he asked Keeley who the tape was for.

Ted shouldn't have gone home to his son

Matthijs was inherently "creepy" for inviting Rebecca back to his boathouse to get cleaned up after she plummeted into the canal right in front of him. (have you guys never taken a risk ever in your lives?)

Nate didn't deserve redemption

Jamie was CLEARLY completely over Keeley by season 3 (as evidenced by...what exactly?) and it ~came out of nowhere~ to dredge up the "dead" love triangle

I could go on....

13. worst blorbofication

to me the crime is less blorbifying them (because I consider them my blorbos too <3) but I definitely dislike the way some people blorbify Roy and Jamie. Roy for reasons previously discussed and Jamie because there's definitely been a pattern of woobifying him to the extent of like, taking away his agency, dismissing all of his mistakes, and treating him almost like he's weak and constantly needing to be protected when he's absolutely none of those things. Idk. What appeals to me about Jamie is not how "soft" he is it's how relentlessly brave he is. Anyway. They're both my blorbos and i love putting them through the ringer and watching them scramble to pick up the pieces as much as everyone else, but i also think it's important to recognize they're both very much grown adults with asshole tendencies and a large capacity for cruelty who have made plenty of mistakes yet still are deserving of love. what happened to nuance. it's funner to make blorbos out of complex characters you view complexly. anyway.

[000scans]

[scans] TTT vol. 3/13 vernon | interview (english transcription under cut) take out with full credits

(note: the interview is also in Korean, Japanese, and Chinese. the scans and following transcription are from the English version. you can also read it on werverse here.)

“Black Eye” VERNON Interview

A lot of people were probably expecting your solo song to be hip hop, but “Black Eye” is a punk song.

When I first went to make a song, I couldn’t really think of what I should do. But I have a friend named Robb Roy who worked on “Ash” off FACE THE SUN and thought I could work with him on the song. He’s a graphic designer by trade, so he made the album art for my single album. We also like a lot of the same music and talk a lot. He was with me when I was in the studio and writing my rap for “Ash” and giving me ideas. We ended up working together better than I expected so I said we should do something together for real. I had a few other songs but the people who listened to them all said this was the most suitable one so I ended up going with that one.

You’ve always been interested in punk, right? I heard you listened to it a lot when you were young too.

I guess I was exposed to rock even as a kid.

My parents are really into it, too. I heard it a lot when I was young, and I feel like pop punk started to get popular again over the last few years. I dabbled in it for the past two years but now I’m really getting into it.

I was really impressed by the character in your song, as far as being punk goes. He really seems like a punk - like how he gets lost in his own anger and is so averse to talking to other people that he calls himself his own friend.

The song was inspired by a mutual friend of Robb and me. He’s sort of distracting. (laughs) And he feels lonely a lot of the time. Not everything in the song’s about him, of course, but we did take some inspiration from him when making it. He’s the one who suggested the title when I played it for him after we changed the original version with Korean and English all mixed together to be all English. That’s when he came up with the idea to call it “Black Eye.” I thought it was a really good fit for that rough-around-the-edges feel. 

“Black Eye” refers to an injury, but in the context of this song, I feel like it could also mean emotional pain. He refuses other people’s attempts to get close to him, then it ends with, “Knock knock, Is there anybody out there?” So it feels more psychologically pressing.

I decided that would be an appropriate ending. The ego of the character in the song sort of goes back and forth in the outro. He might suddenly have a lot of fun with someone and get too close, then push them away because he’s afraid of hurting them. But he pauses a little after saying that. Like he’s not sure whether he should really go away (laughs) and then, knock knock - that’s how it ends. I wrote that part and I agree that it works really well. Haha.

Do you yourself ever feel conflicted like that?

I’m not quite that bad. (laughs) I’m definitely the kind of person who needs other people. I want to be able to rely on others.

There must be a lot of times when it’s hard to express how much you need people since you do work that a lot of people recognize you through. What do you do when you want to express that to someone but you can’t? 

It all comes down to differences in perception in the end. Eventually. I think for certain things, when I decide to see them one way or feel a certain way about them, that’s the only way I’m going to see or feel about them. So even though I might not be able to control my feelings, it’s down to the way I think about it, so I do think I have a certain amount of control.

Is that what you like about hip hop and rock, then - that it gives you a way to control and express your feelings?

I think that’s part of it. I think my tendency toward that also influences my tastes. I felt this great sense of relief when I made “Black Eye,” even. I was able to make it exactly how I wanted, and yelling and telling the story through lyrics was a major stress reliever and really fun.

Your vocals in “Black Eye” are amazing. You sing in low, husky tones on certain words and it makes your vocals impactful even when you sing more quietly during the chorus.

As you say, some parts are a little husky and deepish, but I also feel I found a bit childlike at parts. I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt that way. I didn’t really like that when I was younger, but as I got older I realized it gave me something unique. That’s why I wanted to do pop punk: to sing something that suits my voice.

I was really impressed how you just used your particular vocal tone to carry the chorus in a quiet voice rather than going for something big. It only serves to add to the feeling that you were screaming your lungs out beforehand.

I wrote the melody for the chorus and Robb wrote the verses and outro. It really was a collaborative process. The whole song is basically me yelling, so I consciously told myself to ease up a bit when I was recording the vocals. Since I’m already shouting, I thought it would be overkill if I shouted even louder, so I tried to have a light touch when we were mixing it, keeping it relatively clean and not trying to beautify it too much with reverb or anything and keeping that to a minimum. 

You say you tried to minimize the amount of reverb, but it seems like the recording picked up a natural amount of echo from the way you sang. Were you going for a live sound?

I’ve been to that recording studio a number of times since debuting, so I’m really familiar with it and I’m close with the recording engineer, so I asked them to listen while I was recording and kept asking them for their feedback, too. I wanted it to sound clear and very pop punk. 

Working on this was different from working on a SEVENTEEN album. Now that you can look back, how do you feel about it?

I realized a lot of places I can improve while I was working on “Black Eye.” This was supposed to be my song, but I think I realized too late that there were things I should’ve been taking a more active leadership role in. When we’re working as SEVENTEEN, we make things together and the label helps us in various ways, but I think there were parts of “Black Eye” I didn’t direct properly because I was doing it with the mindset of a member of SEVENTEEN. So it was an opportunity to learn how to do better for next time.

I imagine you felt a little regretful about that inasmuch as you were also your own producer.

You’re right. Exactly. With SEVENTEEN, there’s the other members and lots of professionals, so even when it’s my song, we’re making it together, but I was the only one who knew what I wanted in this case and was doing it all on my own, so I realized I should’ve been doing more to direct things. I u sed to feel like I was really trapped in a corner, and this time I was trying to be more receptive, but I was so focused on trying to hear out other people’s ideas and opinions that sometimes it was different from what I envisioned. It also taught me that it’s good to do everything in moderation. 

You have to consider what other people say all the time when you’re working with SEVENTEEN. It can’t be easy for all of you to find a balance between making your ideas heard and listening to others.

And there’s 13 of us (laughs) so we’re always trying to figure out what to do at any given moment. Sometimes I think my ideas were better or more logical but what people do isn’t always based on logic. Lots of unexpected things come up in a process like that but I think there’s no other answer to finding common ground than to keep the communication flowing. I find we’re actually more like a family because we were put together through a casting process. It’s similar to how you’re born and you get the brothers and sisters that you get. You keep talking and come to understandings and that makes it more like siblings in a family. 

Does continuous communication work to solve problems? 

Sometimes it works better than other times, but it’s absolutely better to talk it out than not to. Absolutely.

How do these conversations lead to solutions? You must have to open up to one another.

Going up to them... I mean, we see each other all the time. We have casual chats about whatever in the green room, so if there’s any source of conflict, we specifically bring it up and talk about it. Just directly. And I think even more important than talking is listening - being open and listening attentively.

It’s not always easy to hear people out and take their suggestions.

 The listening’s the easy part. For example, I don’t like drinking that much, but there’s people who still like it even if it makes them sad or cry a lot. I can’t really understand people like that, but even though I might not understand them, that doesn’t make what they’re saying untrue. Just because they can’t explain it doesn’t mean they don’t like it. So I think I’m trying to accept things even if I can’t understand them. Just like that.

That reminds me of something you said in Weverse Magazine when you recommended the movie Everything Everywhere All at Once: “Let’s be kind. Let’s love each other. Right away.”

Maybe I was in sort of a late-night mood (laughs) but the lesson in Everything Everywhere All at Once is quite simple. But I think actually managing to convey that message is an unbelievably big deal. Because you might know you should be friendly and loving, but actually becoming that kind of person is really hard.

It is hard, isn’t it?

Sometimes it doesn’t work out, you know? At one point I was told that I hardly talked anymore so it was hard for people to talk to me. I was a little shocked when I heard that. I never try to make things difficult for people but I wonder if it’s my fault for being too cautious. Relationships between people - they’re never easy. The other members were able to tell me that because they’ve known me for so long. That’s helping me grow up more.

I bet you had a lot on your mind when you weren’t talking as much. 

I think it made me more introspective. And I’m still getting more so this year - about my character, my career, my attitude towards other people. I think that’s why I became more cautious at the same time. I always considered introspection important, but the pandemic gave me the chance to reflect more. With less promotion to do, I had more time to think.

Would you say that introspection is one way of finding yourself?

I don’t really think it’s about finding myself. Rather, it’s me who projects my environment and my spirit. I think it’s more about me being a reflection of my environment and my mind. I don’t really focus on finding myself.

I feel like you often describe yourself as wanting to come across as simple and real. Is this an extension of that other way of thinking?

One time I asked my friend out of the blue what I’m like and he said he likes me because I’m that kind of person. I really liked that somehow because I never saw myself coming across that way before. But when I think about it, it seems accurate. Even when I was young I preferred things that are plain and simple and not over the top, so I think that makes up a bigger part of who I am. 

What do you mean by “simple”?

“Simple”? When you just ask like that, it’s really hard to answer. I guess there’s nothing in life that’s 100% true, but I guess you could say that something’s simple if it’s real and honest. When I was young, I was trying to be someone who I wasn’t, but it wasn’t really me. It hurt me to my core. And I was probably influenced by always seeing the way my parents were unpretentious. I never want people to dislike me, but I think that if I’m like this and someone still doesn’t like me, I shouldn’t worry about it .It’s not like I”m trying too hard to do things my own way - I’m just trying not to be someone I’m not.

You were homeschooled while you were a trainee and now as a member of SEVENTEEN you’re a celebrity, which is quite a different life from other people your age. It can’t be easy staying true to yourself and living unselfishly under those circumstances.

Naturally my lifestyle is different from that of other people my age, but I don’t think there’s much of a difference beyond that. Sometimes I hang out with my friends and their friends and I think the reason it’s so chill is that it strips me of my celebrity status I used to think there was something inexplicably different about celebrities when I was young, but once I started working I realized - and I know this is a cliché to say - that celebrities really are just normal people. It seems obvious but it’s pretty easy to lose sight of the fact.

When you say “lose sight of,” part of that must also be trying to stay aware that we’re all alike.

Right. I think it’s really dangerous to forget that.

Is that way of life at all related to how you keep up with trends? It seems like you have a good grasp of pop culture, including movies, as well as your generation’s culture. 

I think the main reason is that I just find it interesting. If I feel like there’s something I need to learn about, I want to learn about it. It’s hard to really get into some things without having all the necessary background knowledge but I still try to know everything I can about those things because it’s in my nature to.

That seems to be your position: living differently from most people but still always taking an interest in what everyone knows and likes.

Personally, I think that’s a good position to have - sort of being part of the audience. If you only see what’s right in front of you, you miss everything else. Like, more of a bird’s-eye view? That lets you see more of the big picture.

What kind of music do you want to make for other people in your age group, since you’re in that position? You’ve said before that you want to make music that the young people of your generation would listen to.

As far as a message goes, I want to make music that listeners my age can relate to or that people who like the same things as me would enjoy. I’m also doing it because I like it, of course, but I think it’s best to make music that people who like the same things as me would like. I don’t think my tastes are that unusual.

You want to connect your own world with the world of others, but I guess it isn’t easy. A lot of people watch what you do. In your Mindset interview, you said that your greatest fear in life is “revealing m true feelings.”

What I meant by that is that I’m afraid to reveal my true feelings publicly. We’re in a world now where it’s kind of dangerous to reveal your deepest thoughts, you know? People are too quick to judge.

I guess it’s no surprise that you can’t say everything you want about some things due to the nature of your job. The job of an entertainer is sort of balancing act between wanting to fully express yourself and having to consider how others perceive you. Have you found a way to deal with that?

No. How to deal with it? I don’t think there’s any way to solve that problem completely. I think the only thing you can do is keep trying until the day you die.

Until the day you die.

Maybe it sounds melodramatic, but what I’m saying is... My mom told me something. She said that life is a process you go through until your dying day of trying to figure out who you are. Sort of a journey to ask, Who am I? People naturally change a little bit as the years go by. If you want to redeem yourself by always trying to be better, I don’t think there’s any other way but to keep trying until the day you die.

[itsclydebitches]

I'm angry about Ted leaving to go back to Kansas but thinking about it, it is in character? Ted is not a person that would ask his ex wife and son to uproot their entire lives to go to London for him he is however, the type of person to put his own wishes and happiness on the back burner to make his loved ones happy. Also, realistically coaches usually don't stay coaches long, so it doesn't make since to ask his family to move to London when he might not have that job forever? So yeah Ted leaving sucks but it does make since if you think about it. Perhaps we will get a special with him coming back to Richmond one day? I can't wait for all the fix it's that are coming tho!

You and me both, anon!!! I fully plan to immerse myself in fic this weekend, as I know the speedy writers will have gotten at least some stuff up by then :D And I never thought about a special... Honestly, I've been praying for a Season Four after that ending (even though it would feel weird after the show "finished") but hell yeah, I'd take a short, canonical special to patch at least some of this up.

Regarding his characterization, I do think Ted has made great strides when it comes to speaking up for his own wants and needs. Just this season I'd point to things like his judicious use of the Diamond Dogs (turning to others for advice before making big decisions, something he notably didn't do with Kansas), his playful "You know how I feel about winning and losing, Trent" (acknowledging his newfound balance between striving for professional goals and people pleasing), and his entire speech to his mom, complete with cursing her out multiple times (recognizing when he hasn't been treated well and acknowledging that with full emotion behind it, rather than trying to bury it all behind a smile). I think that last one is nicely paralleled with what Beard and the others think is happening with Ted and Nate. Meaning, they believe Ted is once again burying his anger and feelings of betrayal, not realizing that he's already worked through his disappointment and come out on the side of forgiveness. The point though is that until Beard realizes that Nate is simply him X number of years ago -- a friend of Ted's who betrayed him and now needs a second chance -- he continually calls Ted out on (supposedly) burying those emotions and the need to acknowledge them.

All of which is to say that one of the (smaller) reasons why the Kansas ending hurts is because it does feel like Ted has gone backwards in terms of his growth... but I do get where you're coming from. 100%. Ted remains an incredibly self-sacrificial person, even after all the work he's done, so I think we could make a case for him being averse to putting Michelle and Henry out like that, or even putting them in the position of making a choice by saying, "I've decided to stay, you decide whether you'll move here or we'll keep this long distance." So yes, it's potentially in character for Ted -- or at least a Season One/Two version of Ted -- but that still leaves the rest of the cast OOC as a result. If Kansas was meant to stem from the flaw we've seen Ted embodying since day one -- AKA putting aside his own happiness to make it easier on someone else -- then EVERYONE should be calling him out on it. He has a support system now that is tailor-made to spot Ted's unique pitfalls and, like they've done in the past, gently and even not-so-gently correct him. If this was Ted's line of thinking, I would expect the writing to have him verbally acknowledge that at some point, leading to one of Rebecca's exclamations of "Bullshit!" Roy going, "That's fucking stupid." Beard muttering an "Oh my god" and looking like he's reading to kill him, a la the Paris assumption. Higgins shaking his head, Trent hesitantly raising a hand with a pointed correction, Keeley coming in with a bucket-load of concern, the team all sharing confused mutterings as they try to work through this ridiculous perspective, Ted's actual therapist getting to talk to him for the first time in an age and providing professional insight.

It might be in character for Ted to self-sacrifice like that, but it's out of character for everyone else to just let him do it. So we're left with this strange, dual reading of a) Ted is Totally Happy about going back to Kansas... he just doesn't look or sound or act like it. Funny that! or b) Ted is Very Unhappy about going back to Kansas and everyone around him (with the exception of Rebecca a bit) just shrugs and accepts that when they've never let Ted wallow in his self-damaging decisions before.

As for the other bit, I don't know anything about coaching, but I do know that Ted Lasso has played too fast and loose with those rules for it to really matter. I don't think we can argue for realism now when we started this whole story with a totally unqualified American football coach getting hired, the kitman is made a coach in like a year, Roy accepts his job by dramatically walking onto the pitch in the middle of a game... Even if coaches don't last very long irl, it's not like the show has ever adhered to such real world rules before, so there's no reason for them to start informing our reading of the story now.

[empress-of-snark]

So the Ted Lasso finale was a mixed bag, but series finales usually are. I definitely wouldn’t say it was bad—there were really just a couple of bits that I didn’t love/wish they’d done differently

1. I’ll never understand why they made a running joke out of Beard being in a toxic relationship when the themes of the show are positivity, healthy communication, boundaries, etc, etc.

Him ending up married to such an emotionally abusive woman is not a happy ending for him, and I don’t like that the show presented it as one. IIRC, there’s one episode in which Higgins expresses concern about Beard and Jane’s relationship, but it’s never brought up again. Why?

I’m a feminist and I recognize that men are statistically much more likely to be abusers, but that doesn’t mean we should treat it as a joke when a woman is.

2. As others have pointed out, the Roy, Keeley, and Jamie plot was not handled very well. Having the men essentially regress to their s1 personalities and get into a physical fight over her? Jamie boasting about the leaked video that caused her so much pain just a few weeks ago? Not even giving it a definite ending?

Officially putting Ted Lasso in the same category as Stranger Things s4 called “you already resolved this love triangle ages ago and you don’t need to bring it back just because the guy that got dumped went through character development and is a fan favorite himbo now—she’s happy with her grumpy loner boyfriend, leave her be”

I’ve seen people argue that the ending was left ambiguous so that they could hint at a polyamorous resolution, but I honestly didn’t get that impression. I think it was just bad writing, and I’m annoyed that Roy and Keeley spent almost the entire final season broken up and barely interacting.

3. I wish that Nate had gotten a bit more screen time. I feel like his ending was rushed, especially for him being such a major player this season. I liked his scene with Ted, I just wanted a bit more.

Other than that, I’m not overall unhappy with it! I know some fans are upset that Ted ended up going back to Kansas, but that always felt like the natural ending to me. A huge theme of the show (especially in regards to Ted) is parenthood, and I feel like a lot of people are trivializing his relationship with his son just cause they’re mad that their ship isn’t canon. Ted’s story was never about romance, and this wasn’t an out-of-character decision for him to make.

Yeah, Rebecca’s ending felt a bit rushed, but I’m okay with her ending up with mysterious Dutch guy and becoming a stepmother to his daughter. Any ending where Rebecca is happy and loved is a win in my book!

While I still think it was an odd choice to give Colin such a big storyline (just because he’d never been a very important character before), it did end up being one of the best of this season and I’m happy he got to kiss his fella after winning a match 🥺

That’s pretty much it! I’d still rate this season as a whole below the first two, but I’d give the finale a solid 7/10. Not perfect, but a decent ending overall.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday!! I would love to see more of Ed as an alchemist in the Ishvalen War, pretty please! (The one from the last round of prompts)

a continuation of 1

They’re all assembled to receive Elric with the state alchemists front and center, which leaves Roy in the unenviable position of sandwiched between Grand and Kimblee. There’s a rapidly approaching glimmer in the distance that scouts reported to be Elric’s car.

“How does that thing even run in all this sand?” Kimblee mutters.

Grand would shout at him for speaking out of a turn normally, but apparently even he’s thrown off kilter by Elric’s arrival. “He modified it himself. Apparently.”

“How versatile,” Kimblee purrs and Roy twitches. Of course he and Elric will get along, because they’re both deranged, but personally he wants himself as far away from the two of them as possible.

Maes is right. He should stay away from Elric. There’s nothing about him worth seeing.

The car is close enough to be recognizable and it’s not slowing down. Several people shift uneasily, but Grand doesn’t order them to move, so they hold the line. Well, if Elric kills them all through vehicular homicide, at least it’ll be over quickly.

The car comes to a heaving, screeching stop in front of them, kicking up sand that lands on Roy’s shoes. A second lieutenant stumbles out of the back of the car, which shouldn’t be a surprise, except that Roy recognizes him. It’s Denny Brosh.

He clutches his stomach and moans, “Why do you have to drive like that?”

The person Roy would expect to least be in that car after Denny steps out of the driver seat. Maria Ross shakes her head and comes around to whack Denny unhelpfully on the back.

Maria and Denny were Armstrong’s subordinates. What the fuck are they doing here, with him?

“You think you’d be used to it by now,” a new voice says and all their attention is on the car door that swings open.

The infamous Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric slides out of the back seat, standing and looking them over with impassive eyes.

The first thing Roy notices is gold.

The sun glinting off his hair and his eyes, highlighting them with the brilliance of a precious metal. Golden tan skin against stands sharply against military blue, and he should look ridiculous, he’s seventeen, only a few years younger than Roy, but the Lieutenant Colonel uniform fits him like a glove and he wears it like a birthright.

Roy is used to power. Roy has power. But even now, there’s something about Elric that’s different than the other alchemists he’s met. It’s coiled and dangerous, his stance that of a crouching lion right before the pounce.

He’s the most beautiful man Roy has ever seen. Clearly looks aren't everything.

“Never, sir,” Denny groans while Maria rolls her eyes.

“Lieutenant Colonel Elric,” Grand barks, “It’s an honor to meet you.” Fuck, this is weird. Grand outranks him, but no one’s under any illusions here. Now that Elric is here, he’s in charge.

They all snap immediate salutes. Elric returns it lazily, mouth quirked up at the corners. “Thank you, General. That’s very kind of you to say.” He shields his eyes against the sun and looks out. The Ishvalan city of Tsarr is just visible in the distance. “So, that’s it then? I’m assuming you have maps of the city. I’m going to need maps.”

“Yes sir,” Grand says. “Our weapons arsenal contains–”

“Don’t waste your bullets,” Elric cuts him off, “or whatever else you have. By this time next week, Tsarr will be gone.”

“Yes sir,” Grand says uncertainly, unable to hold back his frown.

Elric laughs. It’s not a nice sound. “You don’t believe me, but that’s all right. They never do. You’ll learn, just like they did.”

Just like Armstrong and Marco did, Roy thinks.

For a split second that predatory golden gaze locks onto him and he’s terrified he’s said that out loud, but then Elric turns away, continuing to speak with Grand as Denny and Maria trail behind him.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

A Heartbeat Away | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.7k

✦ based off the song I Should’ve Kissed You by One Direction

✦ summary — Damian is haunted by the fact that he only said good night when he should have kissed you.

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of pregnancy (a minor character is pregnant), mentions of food and beverages, fluff.

✦ author's note i — randomly remembered my obsession with this song and couldn’t get it out of my head.

✦ author's note ii — the parts in italics are flashbacks.

════════════════════════

Ever since he started living with Jason, Damian found himself straying away from the things that held him back.

His life would never be normal, but in hindsight, he could admit things weren’t as bad.

The fallout with his father came crashing down in the worst moment possible — Dick was dead and his relationship with Tim wasn’t the best.

As little as he knew Jason, he was sure he could trust him so he asked for his help instead of somebody else’s.

And Jason didn’t say no. Whether he had the heart to do it or not was irrelevant because he still took Damian in and helped him find a job.

He hated said job.

‘It’s a job,’ you had told him, ‘you’re not supposed to like it.’

You.

Damian rarely stopped thinking about you. Calling it infatuation felt like an understatement, and yet he couldn’t find a better word to describe the whirlwind of emotions you gave him.

He still remembered the day he met you for the first time.

Jason paced in the living room, perking up every time he heard a noise outside the apartment.

You’re driving me insane,” Damian said from the small dining table.

”Roy’s late.”

”Why are you surprised?”

Jason glared at him.

Both of them heard somebody stand on the other side of the door. Their steps didn’t sound like Roy’s.

Pulling the door open, Jason was ready to snap at whoever had knocked.

“You ordered something and gave my apartment number instead of yours. Again.”

Damian didn’t recognize the voice so he slanted his body to the side to see who it was. He couldn’t stop staring.

”I’ll make it up to you.”

”Jay,” you sighed. “I’ve told you before, you just need to tell me beforehand if you don’t want things to arrive to your apartment. My roommate could have opened it.”

Damian chuckled, a single elbow resting on the table.

Jason craned his neck. “You think this is funny?”

”I think you’re a moron.”

”Shut up and come meet our neighbor.”

Damian didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up with an eagerness he hadn’t felt since Jason texted him to let him know he had found the materials so he could build a suit and go back to patrol.

”This is my brother Damian.” Jason turned around to place the package under the table next to the door.

He knew you’d either seen him before or heard about him the moment his eyes landed on you. People always had a visceral reaction when they met him, some found him attractive, others attempted to ask for favors, and some recoiled in fear.

But you didn’t. You held his gaze and stood in the same spot you had been since you knocked on the door.

And whether it had been in a newspaper or a gossip forum, he was glad you knew something about him. There was something about the way you stared at him that screamed for him to trust you. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, smiling at him.

Stunned by the fact that you hadn’t mocked him, and now assuming it wasn’t wishful thinking after all, he tilted his head. Most people did mock now that he wasn’t under his father’s wing.

Still, he said, “Likewise.”

Your smile became warmer. “I live three doors down the hallway in case you need anything.”

He felt a pang in his chest at the gesture. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Weird sensations in his chest were normal when he was around you. Befriending you was easier than he’d ever admit and talking to you became the highlight of his day.

The pangs in his chest turned into a fluttering sensation in a heartbeat. You’d make him feel breathless when you did the smallest things — when you smiled at him, when you complained about other neighbors with him, when you asked about his day.

He felt special. For once in his life for being the closest he had ever been to resemble a normal person.

And he also remembered, quite painfully, that night he let you walk away without mustering the courage to tell you —or show you— the way you made him feel.

The deserted hallway was yet another proof of how easy it was to lose track of time around you.

Damian hadn’t expected to get back home past midnight or to skip patrol, but 1:00 AM turned into 2:00 and he couldn’t part from you no matter how many times he tried to remind himself to do it.

He hadn’t even expected to enjoy the state fair as an adult, yet he couldn’t remember a time he had more fun than that evening.

You gazed up at him, waiting for him to either do or say something. Anything other than stare at you in the middle of the hallway.

You had already thanked him for making you company, there was no way you’d say anything. And he froze.

“Good night,” he sputtered.

Your brow twitched. “Night.”

He watched you unlock your door and get inside your apartment with a heavy heart.

You moved out a couple months ago and he hadn’t seen you since then. The texts the two of you exchanged were sporadic and they bordered in formal.

He should have kissed you, he was aware of that. And to make matters worse, Jason chewed him out when he found out.

He still looked for you every morning he left the apartment as though you’d remember you had forgotten something. That you had forgotten him.

Jon said it was for the best, that somebody as sweet as you didn’t deserve to carry with his baggage.

Damian knew his best friend to be right, but how could he let go of you that easily when you made him see he was more than his mistakes and regrets?

He didn’t need anybody to carry him, he could drag himself anywhere if needed.

He simply hated the hole in the pit of his stomach every time he entertained the possibility of having to see you one day with somebody else because he wasn’t brave enough to say what he needed to let out.

The idea of being out of time was killing him slowly, so naturally, he’d sought a quick death.

════════════════════════

You gasped upon opening the door. You weren’t expecting anybody to be outside — much less Damian Wayne.

“Oh!”

“Hi,” he softly greeted.

You blinked rapidly. “Did you need anything?”

“I wanted to... Are you on your way out?”

“I’m just dropping this off for my mom.” You momentarily lifted the bags you were carrying in one hand. “She lives nearby.”

He spared a look to the reusable bags in your grasp. “Is she sick?”

“Pregnant,” you explained, playing with your keys. “It’s high risk due to her age so we take as much care of her as we can.”

Damian walked backward, allowing you to come out of the apartment and lock the door.

As you pushed the door to make sure it was locked, he asked, “Would you care for some company?”

Turning around, you gave him a small smile. “That would be lovely.”

He reached over. “Let me help.”

“They’re not heavy.”

“I insist.”

”Okay.” You handed him the bags and took the initiative to lead the way.

He reached your side immediately.

Not knowing what else to do, aware you’d let something slip if you didn’t find something, you made small talk. “How’s Jason?”

“As annoying as always.”

You still remembered when he meant those words, when he complained about Jason and how often they butted heads. His tone was different now, lighter, almost playful.

“Good to know some things never change.”

You walked the streets with an ease you hadn’t been able to in years. Growing up in that neighborhood meant which streets to avoid, and sadly, most of them were unsafe.

There were many things you could have asked or said, perhaps apologize for being cold while texting.

You were in your right to be cold and you could have just not answered, but you wanted to keep contact even though you were hurt.

Damian was great company. It was a shame you misread the entire situation and couldn’t go back to chat with him like before.

It took you a few attempts to get them to talk comfortably, but once he was able to, he didn’t look back. He even gossiped with you.

Stopping in front of the house, you looked around to make sure your mom had the windows open. Once sure, you walked up the front steps.

You withdrew a single key from your back pocket and extended your other hand so Damian would give you the bags.

The floors were recently mopped which meant your aunt had visited that day.

“It’s me,” you yelled so your mom wouldn’t get up. It was her time to be watching TV in the living room.

Carrying the bags towards the kitchen, you caught the jingle from a commercial.

You filled a glass with water and added a couple of ice cubes.

Your mom was comfortably sat on a recliner, feet up and remote control on her thigh. “Hurry back before it gets dark.”

“Don’t worry, a friend of mine walked me here.” You handed her the glass. “Do you need anything else?”

She ignored your question as she took the glass. “Who is it?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Him?” She lifted an eyebrow.

You hadn’t mentioned a guy to her in almost two years now, her surprise was understandable. “Not now.”

“Oh, so it is like that?”

Maybe it was and maybe that was the issue. She wouldn’t blame you if she knew him like you did, if she heard him laugh or saw him change his demeanor to accommodate to somebody else’s sensibilities.

You didn’t think you’d witness anything remotely close to that when you met him for the first time, but you learned really quickly that Damian was full of surprises.

“I’ll call in the morning in case you need something. I’m working ’til 3:00 PM tomorrow.”

“It’s okay.” She took a sip of water. “Did you bring anything sweet?”

“Homemade muffins and a few chocolate bars. Do you want one now?”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait after dinner.”

You kissed her cheek. “Call me, please.”

“Go, go.” She ushered you to go with a gesture of her hand. “Don’t make your friend wait.”

It was your time to ignore her comment.

Damian was sat on the front steps when you came out, looking up at the darkening sky.

“Is everything alright?” you asked in a whisper as to not scare him.

“No.” He shook his head and stood up. “I mean, yes. How’s your mother?”

“She’s good. Having fun watching reality TV.”

Damian squinted. “Is reality TV really that entertaining?”

“It’s mindless stuff, but it’s fun sometimes. You get to judge other people’s lives without feeling remorse because it’s most likely fake.”

The walk back was way shorter and you didn’t want to part. It was time to swallow your pride and your feelings for him.

He didn’t part ways with you at the building entrance. He walked beside you until you reached the elevator — Damian extended his arm to keep the doors open and allowed you to get in first. He followed suit.

You turned the lights on with Damian on your tail. He did wait for you to invite him in, but you were sure both of you knew there was no way you wouldn’t.

“I made muffins. Do you want one?”

Damian nodded.

You guided him to the dining table where a trippy vase in pastel colors rested with flowers.

He looked around the apartment as he walked towards the table. As he sat down, he fixed his eyes on the vase.

“Green or black?”

“Mmh?”

“Your tea.”

You could swear you saw him smile to himself.

“Black.” He placed his cellphone on the table. “You still have that thing,” he said, referring to the trippy vase.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He huffed a laugh. “Jason said it was ugly.”

“Jason doesn’t have the best taste in the world,” you lightheartedly retorted.

The vase was precious to you, a gift from Damian who spooked you in the middle of a rainy night and made you knock your favorite vase.

You set a plate in front of him and placed the muffin there. “Your tea’s almost ready.”

“No roommate this time?”

“Nope. I miss Lou, but I don’t miss having a roommate that much.”

“I thought the move was temporary just so you could be close to your mother...”

“It is, but there’s still a long way to go. The baby should be here next month and she’ll need help around the house.” You disappeared for a moment as you looked for a mug.

Having found one, you dropped the teabag and poured the boiling water in.

“Sugar.” You put the sugar bowl down just in front of the mug. Feeling his eyes on the side of your face, you gazed at him. “It’s brown, don’t worry.”

He relaxed and uncovered the sugar bowl. “Is the father of your mother’s child around?”

“Yeah.” You sat down on the chair closest to his. “She remarried last year and her husband tries to help, but you know, work gets in the way.”

“Tell me if I can help with anything.”

“Don’t worry, you have enough things to juggle with already.”

“What’s one more? At least let me make you company or walk you home. These streets are dangerous.”

You softly nodded. From the day you met him you knew you would never be able to tell him no — and having his company after a long day sounded nice.

“So...”

“So,” you encouraged him to go on.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No. I thought I was a little while ago, but...” You hoped he’d understand what you were getting at. “I guess something got lost in translation.”

“Did it? Or was he too much of a coward to show the way he felt?”

“Don’t.” You hated hearing him talk like that about himself.

“You don’t know how much I regret not kissing you that night. I—“ He sighed, twisting his mouth as he frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“At least now I know you did think about doing it.”

“I did. Many times throughout the night.” He turned to the side to fully look at you. “I wanted to find the perfect moment and became overwhelmed. Sounds like a bad excuse, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“I believe you.”

Damian scooted closer and reached over to place his hand on your face. Softly, he caressed your cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

You leaned onto his touch, tilting your head. “Me too. Sorry for being such an ass.”

“It’s fine. I would have reacted similarly.”

“Similarly or worse?”

“Worse.”

You laughed, making him smile.

“May I?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Damian leaned in, placing his free hand on the back of your chair as his nose brushed yours.

His lips softly connected with yours, but the slow pace didn’t last. The two of you had wasted too much time, thrown away too many opportunities to be this close —or closer— and patience wasn’t a virtue Damian possessed.

The chair was now balancing itself in two legs, making you interrupt the kiss with a squeal.

Damian then made you stand up and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips were immediately back on yours.

Your hands went up to rest on his biceps as he kissed you again. His arms tightened around you as he deepened the kiss and you melted.

You melted into the kiss, onto his warmth, due to the fact that he wanted this as much as you did.

Kissing him had become a mere fantasy for you, and there he was, not only making it a reality but exceeding your expectations.

Grabbing him by the neck, you broke the kiss in search of air. His breath was barely ragged and you remembered he told you he could hold it in for a long time.

You needed him to teach you just to be able to kiss him for longer.

“That was nice,” you said, still breathless.

“Yeah, really nice. We should do it more often.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I’m telling you I want you to be mine.”

All in or nothing, of course. Jason had warned you that Damian didn’t take things lightly.

But you were okay with that.

[incoherentbabblings]

Give Me Your Hand

Just a wee tidbit for @redhairgreeneyes1, who finally gave me the incentive to write DickRoy - if you can call this drabble that. Which I will. Fervently.

Behold: The children are holding hands.

Dick knows he’s not being his usual self. Whatever that is or should be. Morose is the word that comes to mind. He chews his lip, retreats into a corner, and slides to the floor. Easier to watch others having fun than to fake it. Eventually that becomes too difficult, so Dick opts for quietly leaving the room, exiting the building, and going out to the garden. Wally won’t mind too much. Birthday boy has to be a good host, and Dick needs the quiet, just for a little while.

At the back of the Allen’s suburban home is an actual stone fence rather than a white picket fence one. It’s short and flat enough for Dick to easily hop up onto it, watching the coloured lights and loud music blast out the windows. It’s the kind of party that every child in Wally’s grade would have been invited to. Ergo, a lot of thirteen year olds Dick has neither the patience nor the inclination to be polite too.

Perhaps morose is too weak of a word after all.

Dick closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and tries to find the energy to lie. Wally doesn’t deserve his best friend being in such a state on his birthday. His fists clench up on his jeans, shaking with the force that he holds them tight with.

He sits still for some time.

Perhaps Alfred can pick him up before the hour is out.

He hears Roy walking over before he opens his eyes. Dick tries not to think about when he began to recognize Roy purely by the sound of his footsteps, and on a perfectly maintained lawn no less.

“I’ve been sent to retrieve you by Donna. She says you’re being rude.”

Dick screws his face up tighter. He does not want to speak. He has a feeling his voice will crack if he does. Roy sees it. He somehow always does in the quiet.

“You good?” he asks, voice much closer, sarcasm leaching away for genuine concern.

The churning in Dick’s stomach manages to get worse. Being the center of attention is easy. For crowd’s. The moment it’s one set of eyes, one person’s opinion, especially for someone he respects…

Dick hums, not really deigning to give Roy a response, and keeps his eyes shut. Roy hops up to join him on the wall. He smells like sugar, which Dick supposes makes sense. Burnt sugar.

“Feel out of place, just a little,” Dick mutters finally.

Roy gives an affirming noise. “Ditto,” he says.

That is to be expected. House parties for tweens where they’ll both be leaving with a bag filled with birthday cake is not exactly either of their scenes, though Dick suspects his reasons differ from Roy's. Roy is older, not by much, but enough to treat Wally like a baby from time to time and enough for Dick to find himself literally and figuratively looking up at him.

How childish all this must appear to Roy.

“Did Ollie seriously give you a lift out to Missouri?” Dick asks. He does not doubt that Roy likes Wally, for all their bickering, but even so…

Dick hears Roy chuff quietly to himself. “Don’t sound too surprised.”

“No, I mean” -

“Did Bruce?”

That makes Dick stutter, and he clumsily coughs. “No. Alfred.”

It is Roy’s turn to hum. Smugly. Dick feels his mouth twitch at the tone. He could say many things. He holds his tongue. Perhaps if he is quiet for long enough, Roy will get the message that he wants to be left alone.

Roy is so much more obstinate than Dick ever gives him credit for however, and he stays put.

They sit in the relative quiet for a moment, then Dick’s eyes shoot open. Roy is touching his wrist. Dick watches, eyes wide, as he unclenches one fist unthinkingly, responding to the touch.

Roy - as a general rule - does not touch Dick much more than a fist bump or a knock on the chin. Always a closed fist. Dick’s hand trembles, wanting something to grasp.

Roy’s fingers, pale and freckled, run up Dick’s palm, until they reach the point where the two can intertwine. Roy is holding on far tighter than Dick expected him too. Tilting his head, he inspects their joint hands. He twists their wrists back and forth, deliberately ignoring the way Roy is most definitely watching him watch their entangled fingers and palms. Dick is frightened that if he looks up, Roy will say something crass, and the urge to leave will become overwhelming.

Dick’s skin is darker. Younger and smaller. Roy has longer nails but shorter fingers. Already there are clear impressions in his index and thumb from half a lifetime - more even - of pulling on the string of a bow. The joint of his hand where the arrows rest is calloused too. Dick’s hands are not without their roughness either. His palms are dry and scarred in places too, albeit from gripping and climbing and swinging in ways that Roy has never had to do. Fragile and soft they are not.

Dick does not want to let go.

Swallowing loudly, Dick admits to their entangled fingers, “Do you ever…”

Roy waits patiently. He waits for a long time, as Dick does not find the words he means to say. Instead, Dick squeezes tight, then begins to rub his thumb up and down Roy’s own thumb and joints. The movement feels natural and practiced, despite Dick never having been given the opportunity to do so before.

It feels good.

“I get nervous too,” Roy whispers, and it's enough to make Dick finally look up in shock. Roy smiles shyly too, and Dick struggles to swallow, stomach churning and breathing shallow and stuttering. What a child he must look like to Roy. “Though don’t tell Wally. Or Donna.”

“...Promise,” Dick replies. Even to his own ears it's hard not to hear the quiet awe with which he speaks.

It seems to mollify Roy regardless, whose eyebrows go up in a raised smug smirk. He hops off the wall, still holding onto Dick, nearly dragging him down to the ground.

“Ready to go back?” he asks. “Just for a bit longer?”

Wordlessly, Dick nods, sliding off the wall. As he does so, Roy slips out of his hold, and Dick struggles to not make a face as Roy winks at him. The devil may care, friendly but somewhat insincere wall is back up, and the moment, it seems, is over. Dick feels quite foolish for being as mournful as he is at this fact.

Roy’s hand had been warm.