#howie i want to let you know this is 100% not serious because i do have other picks i just dont feel like putting them down nor remembering

[rhysismydaddy]

My Little Brawler - Feysand Headcannon 2

I’ll just go ahead and preface this by saying it’s long as SHIT. I went a little crazy. But here’s the second headcannon for Feysand. Thank you for the love on the last one! Next one out tomorrow. 

Synopsis: Feyre Archeron is a 31 year old researcher who has devoted her entire life to her work. Her dating history is a mess, from an ex-husband to one night stands. A serious relationship? Hell no. 

Rhysand Turner is a Virginia-born quarterback living it up in a football-crazy city. He doesn’t date and sticks to dumb blondes who look good on his arm and think how far he can throw a football is better than sex. Marriage? Not in a million years. 

________________________________________________________________

Feyre swung the lab door closed, locked it behind her, and headed toward the hospital exit. 

“Calling it a night?” Howie, the night-shift security guard asked from behind his desk. 

She glanced at her watch and winced. “More like a morning now, but yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He laughed and went back to his crossword puzzle. Nothing interesting happened in the hospital this late at night outside of the ER, so Howie was basically only there for her. Feyre frequently was the last staff member to leave the place, something her coworkers never understood. 

She came in early, left late, and worked holidays. To say she was married to her job would be an understatement. 

Grabbing her keys and walking out to her car, she had to admit they had a point. She’d given up her entire life for her work, but she had no regrets. 

She’d made countless breakthroughs in nuclear medicine and had changed the face of chemotherapy and radiation. It payed off every day when she heard from the oncologists that one of their patients was cancer free. 

As she drove to her townhouse--only four minutes from the hospital--she wondered if it was strange she preferred to be alone.

Then she remembered how she’d ended up when she committed herself to a relationship and shook her head. If you can’t trust the man you’re married to, who can you trust? No one. 

She didn’t miss being married. At all. She didn’t miss having to come home from a long day at work and muster up the energy to talk about whatever was bothering him. 

She did miss sex, though. She never went out, never invited anyone over. It’d been so long since she’d been with a man, she was pretty sure she had cobwebs down there.

Ignoring that thought, Feyre walked through her front door, threw her keys on the kitchen table, and went to bed. She had to be in the hospital in four hours if she wanted to get ahead of her schedule. 

_________________________________

Rhysand jogged off the field, grinning at the look on his coach’s face. 

“If you’re in love with me, I don’t want to know,” he joked. 

Coach Matthews was at least five inches shorter than Rhys, but he reached up and smacked the back of his head anyway. He wasn’t actually mad, though. There were about three people in the world who could get away with talking trash to Adrian Matthews, and Rhys happened to be one of them. 

“Shut up, smartass. I’m just excited. If you play like this tomorrow, we’ll wi-”

Rhys cut him off. “Don’t jinx me.”

A raised eyebrow. “After all this time, you’re superstitious?”

“It could be my last game,” he said, ignoring the look on the man’s face. “I don’t need any bad luck.”

He’d never admit it, but losing tomorrow’s game was easily the scariest thing in Rhys’s life. 

Talent wise, there was no one better than him. He wasn’t cocky, but he knew it. He had better stats, better knowledge of the game, better everything. 

But, according to sports, Rhys was old as dirt. 

No matter how good you are, football isn’t a lifetime sport. Even though thirty-eight would be young to almost anyone’s standards, network channels and reporters were all wondering how long he would push on. 

The guys he was competing against were all in their twenties, young and fresh and without back pain. And knee pain. And-

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idiot. No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ve had the most impressive career as a NFL quarterback in history. So get your head out of your old ass and play the game you know how to play.” 

Rhys just laughed. “My old ass? What about you? When did you even sneak out of the retirement home?”

Before Matthews could attempt to kick his ass, a beefy hand smacked into Rhys’s back and Cassian--the other person allowed to talk shit to coach--said, “Oh, I see. You made a few good passes out there and now you’re over here drinking water and gossiping with coach like a couple old ladies. Cute.”

“Both of you, get your asses home and in bed,” the coach ordered, rolling his eyes. “I cannot believe I let myself draft two hard-headed, pain in the ass hillbillies,” he muttered, walking toward the other players. 

“He’s just mad because he’s in love with you,” Cassian said, throwing a thick arm around Rhysand’s shoulders, and dragging him to the locker room.  

Rhys pushed him off and laughed. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“So about tomorrow-”

“I swear to god if you mention the game one more time, I’ll tell everyone you wear women’s underwear when you play,” Rhys threatened, then ducked to avoid the helmet flying towards his head. 

“Shut the fuck up, man! That was one time! And I wouldn’t have done it, but you made me watch Bull Durham and it seemed like a decent idea at the time. And I wasn’t even gonna talk about the game.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. If Cassian wasn’t talking about football, he was droning on about women, booze, or hunting. Sometimes a mixture. Before he could continue, Rhys made a bet it was women on his best friend’s mind this time.

“Anyway, me and Az were thinking we could go somewhere new tomorrow night. Regardless of how the score turns out.” 

That caught his attention. The three of them had been friends since high school and had all played together till Azriel blew his knee out two years ago. They all lived in the same apartment complex still and got together almost every weekend. In all their time of friendship, they’d maybe gone to five bars. Once Cassian found a place and racked up enough of a tab, he stayed until they wouldn’t let him through the door anymore. 

“Where?”

“There’s bar about twenty minutes from here. Az apparently knows the owner or something.” It made sense. After his injury, Azriel had gone into broadcasting and had made a ton of connections in the PR world. 

“I don’t want to go anywhere crow-”

Cass cut him off. “He said it’s a small bar. No crowds.”

The one negative aspect of his life was the never-leaving pack of fans and paparazzi following him around. After the game tomorrow, it’d be hectic. He didn’t want to deal with that if they won, let alone if they lost. 

Rhys shrugged. “Fine by me. Either way, I’ll be needing a lot of booze.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic man,” Cassian laughed. “It’s just a game.”

Rolling his eyes, “It’s the Super Bowl, idiot. It’s not just a game.”

“Okay,” his best friend and defensive tight end said lightly. “It’s a big game.”

As he thought about how a loss tomorrow could be the end of his career, Rhys could only nod and agree. 

________________________________

Feyre walked through the front doors of the cancer wing and halted. John Weatherly, the Chief of Staff of the hospital--and not to mention a huge pain in her ass--stood at the threshold. 

“You look annoyed,” she stated, ready for whatever lecture he was about to give her. 

After all the time she’d worked for him, she’d never really gotten past her dislike of her boss. Or his misogynistic rants. Or the fact that he smelled like cigarettes. They worked in the cancer wing of the hospital, for crying out loud. And he had the nerve to smoke a cigarette every chance he got. 

“I am,” he said, equally as blunt. “Are you aware you’ve worked at least 120 hours a week for the past two months?”

“Considering I log my own hours, yes.”

“That is a huge waste-”

“Are you aware that I’ve published three research articles during the past two months? Generating publicity, not to mention patients, for the hospital?”

“Considering I’m not an idiot, yes,” John snapped sourly. “But this isn’t about me. The board is implementing a new rule this week. No more work weeks over 100 hours.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he held up a hand in annoyance. “Don’t bother. I already tried to tell them you practically live here. It’s not flexible for anyone.”

Feyre allowed herself to steam for a few moments before muttering, “Fine.” She tried to walk around him to the lab, but he stepped in her path. 

“Since you’ve already worked over the limit, you’ll have to go home. Come back Tuesday.” 

“Tuesday?!” she practically shouted. “Why not tomorrow? The time cards reset every week.”

“You’ve worked 115 hours this week. They told me to tell you specifically that if you want to continue to receive a paycheck from them, you will come back Tuesday.”

“This is so-”

“Have a nice two days off, Dr. Archeron.”

She couldn’t not work for two days. “What am I supposed to do all day? Just let me go get my paperwork, and I’ll work from home.”

“Feyre, I have specific orders from the hospital’s board to have the security guard escort you out if you try to go in the lab.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could tell him how ridiculous this was, he said, “Go home. Sleep. Watch the game.”

“Game? What game?”

It was his John’s turn to look shocked. “The Super Bowl is tonight. Did you really not know?”

“No, of course not. I don’t care about football.”

Her boss was silent, stuttered a few words, then said, “How do you not like football? You live in Boston! Rhysand Turner is practically a celebrity around here.”

She didn’t know why any medical professional would encourage grown men to smash into each other for sport, but kept that to herself. “Who is Rhysand Turner, exactly?”

“For a genius, you’re such an idiot,” he said bitterly. “He’s the quarterback about to win us the Super Bowl tonight. You should watch the game in your time off. Speaking of, leave. Now.”

“But-”

“Nope. Now.” 

The urge to call him a jackass was so strong, she left before it slipped out. How ridiculous was this? She worked her ass off every day researching nuclear chemistry and the effects of chemotherapy in the body. It was important. Her work changed lives. 

And they were telling her to go home and twiddle her thumbs. Or watch football. 

She drove home angrily, wondering what on earth she would do with 48 hours of uninterrupted free time. 

After finishing two loads of laundry, scrubbing her entire bathroom and kitchen, and grocery shopping, Feyre was bored. She tried to sit down and watch TV, but there was nothing on that interested her. 

She flipped to the news, thinking she’d distract herself with politics. But no, everyone was talking about the game. Apparently, John was right. No one cared about anything except football today. 

An idea popped in her head, and she smiled and picked up the phone. 

“Finally!” her best friend shouted happily as she answered on the first ring. “I’ve been waiting for you to call; I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hi, Mor,” she laughed. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. Work is-”

“-crazy, I know,” she finished her sentence. “What’s up?”

Trying not to sound bitter, Feyre said, “Well, I actually have today and tomorrow off, so I was wondering what you were doing tonight.”

A pause.

“You know I own a bar, right?” Mor asked, as if Feyre were dense. 

“Yes, of course.”

Another pause, then, “And you know it’s Super Bowl Sunday, right? It’s a busy night for us. Well, as busy as a tiny ass bar in the suburbs can be.”

Feyre laughed. “Oh, no worries, I’ll see you some other-”

“Wait! Why don’t you come?” 

“Oh... uh...” How could she get out of this? Fake illness?

A knowing town crept into Mor’s voice as she said, “Don’t even think about telling me you’re sick, bitch. You already said you don’t have anything to do tonight. Or tomorrow. Which means you can get drunk! Ooh, or laid!”

Feyre sighed. “Mor, I don’t want to watch a football game. And I definitely don’t want to get drunk.”

She could tell her friend was smiling as she said, “Just laid, then.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and stayed silent, trying not to think about how true that statement was. 

“Fine. Come at like 11. It’ll be pretty empty by then. But you’re definitely drinking.”

She debated arguing, but Mor would likely show up and drag her out herself if she tried. “Fine. One drink.”

____________________________________________

Rhys couldn’t stop smiling as he drove himself and Cassian through the city in his truck. 

“You know you’re a millionaire, right, Rhysie?” his best friend asked with a laugh. 

He just rolled his eyes, having heard this argument at least 20 times. “Don’t hate on the truck. I’ve had her since senior year.”

“It’s rusting. You’re a millionaire. Buy a new one.”

“Nope.”

Cassian groaned. “Why not?”

“She’s been with me through every win, every loss, everything. You know I lost my-”

“Stop! You already told me, and I almost throw up every time I get in this ass-mobile.” 

Rhys laughed and punched his shoulder, then said thoughtfully, “You know, I think it was right where you’re sitting.”

Cassian swore and scooted as close as he could get to the door. 

“Don’t worry, you can get out. We’re here.” 

As soon as he put the truck in park, Cassian jumped out of the cab and wiped the seat of his jeans off with his hand, making Rhys laugh. 

He climbed out of the truck, his body still lined with adrenaline. He’d played his ass off, crushed the opponent, and carried his team to victory. 

He supposed he had Cassian to thank, too, considering he’d also played his ass off and kept Rhys from getting pummeled. 

Their success was echoing through the city on excited whispers. Both of them had already turned their phones off they were getting so many calls from team managers. 

They walked into the wonderfully slow bar, nodded to the few people still around who luckily didn’t ask for pictures, and went to find Azriel. 

He was sitting at the bar, chatting to the bartender. Even though the bartender was hands-down one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen, it was the woman near Azriel that gave Rhys pause. 

Cassian saw the look on his face, smirked, and nodded toward the empty chair between Az and the girl. 

A good end to a good night.

He winked, then slid in the chair, nodded to Az--who rolled his eyes--, and turned to the woman. 

She had clear blue-gray eyes, dark blonde hair, and full lips. She was... exotic. Different. 

He smiled confidently and said, “Hey. How you doing?” 

It was a simple line, but one that worked countless times when paired with a southern accent. 

He couldn’t tell if the look on her face was amusement or shock. “Where the hell are you from?”

That reaction was one he was used to, so he grinned and said, “Virginia.”

“What are you doing in Boston, then?”

He couldn’t stop his eyebrows from pulling together. She was in a sports bar, where his face had just been plastered on every TV for four hours, but she didn’t know who he was? “Work,” he said simply. 

Rhys could feel his best friends’ eyes on him, but he ignored them. “So, what’s your-”

The girl turned to the bartender, ignoring him completely, and said, “Mor, I’m going to make a call.” She cut her eyes toward the men around her and murmured, “Watch my drink.”

Every single one of their eyebrows shot up. Did they look that much like criminals? Sure, they wore a lot of black, but every one of them were multi-millionaires. Did he come off like a date-raper or something?

The bartender, Mor apparently, rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t take it personally. Even balls to the wall drunk, she’s cautious.”

Rhys could tell there was more to that story but shrugged and asked for a beer. 

Mor slid it across the counter and smiled knowingly. “She’s pretty, right?”

He just turned to Azriel and asked, “How have you been, man? Did you report the game?”

“Yeah, they had me follow your stats the whole time. Boring shit,” he replied, laughing. 

“I bet you could hardly talk fast enough.”

“Cocky bastard,” Cassian muttered. 

Azriel nodded to the bartender and said, “This is Mor, by the way. I’ve known her since I left the NFL. Mor, this--as I’m sure you know--is Rhysand and Cassian, although I call them Dumbass 1 and 2.”

“You’re a funny, funny man,” Rhys muttered. 

Mor’s friend came back and slid into her seat. Mor put another drink on the counter. The woman raised an eyebrow. “I said one drink, Morrigan.”

“Morrigan? Jesus, you’re already drunk aren’t you?” 

Before she could respond, Az said, “Mor, perhaps you’d like to introduce the guys to your friend?”

She smiled and said, “Guys, this is Feyre Archeron, my very best friend who loves me so much she’ll stay and have another drink.”

“Since you’re buying,” Feyre said sweetly, picking the drink up. “And because I know you’ll make me feel bad about leaving so soon.”

Cassian asked, his accent even thicker than Rhys’s, “Why the bad mood, gorgeous?”

She turned and leveled a look at him. “I’d rather be doing something else.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as his best friend leaned down towards the woman and smiled slowly. “Well, you should’ve told me sooner. I’d be glad to do something else with you, baby.”

Azriel and Rhys both looked at each other and shook their heads. Cassian flirted with everyone. It drove them insane, but it was at least predictable. 

The woman unlucky enough to have his current affections set her drink down with a little too much aggression, making Rhys chuckle. “What’s your name?”

“Cassian,” he replied confidently. 

“Cassian, believe me when I tell you I have absolutely no interest in having sex with you. Leave me alone and go shook a chicken or something.” 

The look on Cassian’s face was priceless, and Rhys bit his lip to keep his laugh in. Like Rhys, he was used to women being very... open to his suggestions. 

Before Cass could even retort, the woman looked to her friend and asked, “Who the hell are these guys? Your friends?”

Mor pointed to Azriel and responded, “He is my friend. Those two rednecks,” she jerked her head toward Rhys and Cassian, “I don’t vouch for.”

Rhys put a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “We’re Azriel’s friends, which makes us pre-vouched.” He turned to Feyre and smiled. “You single?” 

________________________________________

“No,” Feyre said at the exact same time Mor yelled, “Yes!”

The man next to her smiled smugly. “Since you’re single, let me buy you another drink.” She opened her mouth, but he said quickly, “Say yes. It’s just one drink, darling.”

His accent was so ridiculous, it sounded like he should be riding on the back of a horse in cowboy boots and a hat. 

“I said I’d have one drink,” she stated to Mor. “I’ve had two. I’m going home.”

“Of course you are.” Her best friend sighed dramatically. “You don’t care about me at all, do you? I haven’t seen you in a month, and you come to my bar and stay for all of ten minutes-”

“Mor-”

“Then try to leave, and I probably won’t see you for another-”

Feyre gave in with a huff. “Oh, my god, fine! I’ll stay. You’re so damn dramatic.” 

Her best friend jumped up and down like a toddler, clapping her hands stupidly. 

“Now I don’t have an excuse, do I?” She tried not to roll her eyes at how big Rhysand’s smile grin grew.

“Don’t get so excited. I’m just using you for liquor.”

“Fine by me,” he replied smoothly. “I’m trying to get you drunk.”

Despite herself, she laughed. She wasn’t used to such honesty. She definitely wasn’t going home with the guy, but she couldn’t deny how insanely attractive he was to her. The kind of attractive that drove women crazy. 

He was so tall, he towered over her even sitting down. He had dark hair, tan skin, and the most unique shade of eye color. They seemed almost purple and practically glowed as they raked over her. 

She turned to Mor and gestured for another drink. “You associate yourself with the strangest people.”

Mor just shrugged. 

“So, what do all do for work?” she asked the men around her, trying to make conversation. 

Rhys quickly said, “We’re- uh- in sports.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he didn’t give her a chance to ask any more questions. “What about you?”

She saw Mor roll her eyes, but she kept it simple as she said, “I’m a scientist.”

“That explains it,” Cassian said with a laugh. 

This man had a special talent for pushing peoples’ buttons, it seemed. 

She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you ‘being in sports’ means you’re a football player, since everyone in this city is so obsessed with the sport. And you know what? Between the constant head trauma and the accent...” She looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, then said sweetly, “It explains a lot.”

Rhysand launched into a coughing fit. She saw Azriel glance towards Mor, but her best friend just shrugged and said, “Not a big football fan.”

“We can tell,” Cassian muttered. 

“What kind of scientist are you?” Rhys asked, ignoring his friend. 

Mor sighed, but Feyre said, “It’s complicated, but I’m basically a nuclear chemistry-”

“It is boring as hell, I assure you all,” Mor cut in. 

Feyre rolled her eyes and sipped her drink. 

Mor got a strange look on her face, bent down, and grabbed a bottle of tequila. “Who wants a shot?” 

All three men at the bar raised their hand. Feyre just rolled her eyes.  Looks like it was going to be a long night.

_____________________________________

As Feyre got up to use the bathroom, ignoring all of their taunts about having a small bladder, the bartender looked at Rhys and waggled her eyebrows. 

“What?”

“Oh, we’re going to act like you weren’t just eyeing my best-friend’s ass?” She laughed, then said, “Feyre.”

“What about Feyre?” he said, keeping his voice neutral. 

He liked her, sure. Over the past couple hours, she’d loosened up around him. She was... funny. And smart. And sarcastic. 

And yeah, she was beautiful as all hell. He’d love to take her home, but... he wasn’t a relationship guy. Football took all of his time, and he traveled practically every weekend. The women he slept with were all young and didn’t care about anything other than his latest game. 

Feyre was different. 

“You like her, don’t you?” The bartender was nosy, that was for sure. 

“She’s... serious.” 

Mor raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for him to continue, so he said, “I don’t date. And Feyre is... serious. She probably wants a relationship and marriage and all sorts of shit-”

“You know,” Mor interrupted, “I thought people were crazy for saying a southern accent makes people stupid. But you have got to be one of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met if you think that girl wants a relationship.”

“What?” 

“She works over fifteen hours a day. Spends all her time in a hospital with nerds looking in a microscope. She wants nothing to do with a relationship, let alone marriage. Trust me.”

“Oh.” 

The woman rolled her eyes and nodded to where Feyre was walking back to them. 

Before she made it to the bar, he turned to Cassian and said quietly, “Get a ride back with Az.”

“Gladly. I hate that truck.”

He glanced toward Feyre and muttered, “Now, idiot.”

Cassian, brilliant actor he was, yawned obnoxiously and said, “Well. I’m gonna hit the hay.” He winked at Feyre. “It was nice meeting you, honey. Call me if you ever need some southern hospitality.”

She shook her head but a smile ghosted on her lips. 

“I’ll refrain from the innuendo, but it was nice meeting you, too,” Azriel said to Feyre.

Mor followed the two of them toward the exit to say goodbye.

“You’ve had too much to drink to drive home,” Rhys stated as soon as they were alone. Feyre laughed, clearly onto his game. 

He rose and extended a hand. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. I only had one drink.”

“Is this your version of southern hospitality?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She seemed to consider this, then murmured, “It’s very different from Cassian’s.” 

Rhys smiled. “I’d be happy to show you that version. Let me drive you home.”

“I live close to here,” she laughed. “I’m walking.”

He tried not to be too disappointed. The odds of her taking him home were slim anyway-

She slid off the stool and put a hand on his arm. “But Boston can be a dangerous city. Come with?”

_____________________________________________________

Rhysand got up from his seat and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Lead the way, darling.”

“You really have to stop calling me that. You sound ridiculous.”

She didn’t really mean it, though. His accent was... different. Sexy. He was sexy. Something he was most definitely aware of, but Feyre currently didn’t care. 

Cobwebs. 

He was funny and seemed nice enough and... 

She ignored Mor’s knowing smile as they left, telling her she’d call her later.

“I have a feeling you’ll be busy,” she said knowingly. 

She ignored that, too. 

As they started the short walk toward Feyre’s townhouse, his arm still slung across her shoulders, she asked, “So, did you win tonight?”

She could feel his chest rumble as he laughed. “Yeah, we won.”

“And you played the...”

“Steelers.”

“Right. Congratulations, then.”

He seemed to think her lack of football-knowledge was amusing. “Why the hell do you live in Boston?” he asked with a smile.

She froze. 

“What do you mean?” she said, trying to be casual. 

She led them around a corner that led to her block. 

“You hate football. You don’t like crowds. You could probably work anywhere. Why not live somewhere else?” 

They walked up to her house, and she answered simply, “I moved here to do my PhD at Harvard, and they offered me a job. Made sense.” 

“And do you like it here?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, unlocked her door, and replied, “Ask me in an hour.”

He mirrored her grin, then pushed her by the shoulders through the door. “Give me two, and it’ll be your favorite place in the world.” 

Feyre laughed, locked the door, then turned to him. Leaning against the door, she looked him up and down and muttered, “Clocks ticking, Rhysand.”

________________________________________________________

As Rhys opened his eyes, he was wonderfully aware of the weight atop him. 

The naked weight.

Blowing Feyre’s hair out of his face, he smiled as she murmured something in her sleep. She was probably tired. 

They hadn’t gotten much sleep. 

Given how cautious she was when they’d first met, he’d half expected her to kick him out pretty early. Needless to say, he’d been pleasantly surprised. 

When the feeling of her on top of him grew to be too tempting, he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured her name.

She shook her head, making him grin. 

His fingers drifted over her back and he loved the way she felt in his arms. After a minute, she turned her head, chin resting on his chest, and looked up at him. 

“Good morning,” she said simply. 

He just pulled her up to him, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against him, legs coming up to straddle his waist. 

Rhys took in their position and smiled, leaning up to kiss his way up her neck. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Cowgirl’s your favorite position isn’t it? And you say I’m country.” 

He snickered, proud of his joke, then practically choked on the sound as she slid herself onto him. “Shit, Feyre.”

"No more jokes, Rhysand?” she murmured, rocking her hips slowly. 

“Just Rhys,” he panted. He leaned forward to take one of her breasts into his mouth, and she gasped, the sound music to his ears. 

“Rhys,” she moaned, fingers digging into his back. 

“Yes, Feyre?” He gripped her hips to keep her still as he asked, “Do you need something?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he tried not to grin. 

“I said ‘Good morning.’ Don’t make me liar.” 

This woman would be the death of him. He laughed and released her hips, reveling in how she responded to every movement, every touch. 

She picked up the pace, and Rhys just sat there with his teeth gritted and tried not to ruin the moment for both of them. 

He could tell when she was close, her legs tightening around him, voice shaking as she called out his name. He pulled her hair, kissing up her exposed neck and across her jaw to her ear. 

“Come for me, Feyre darling,” he whispered, pulling on the shell with his teeth. 

She moaned, falling apart in his arms, and Rhys had to use sheer will to wait until she was done to finish. 

This woman... was the definition of seduction. Even after a whole night together, he couldn’t get enough. 

As they came down together, he looked at her and smirked. “Good morning.”

She smiled and kissed him, biting his lips gently. Even though he’d just had her, his body was ready for more. 

He was about to flip them over when she ruined the moment and said, “You have to leave.”

She climbed off him, and he watched with amusement as she sprung from the bed, ripped the sheet off of him, and started pacing around the room. 

She found his pants at him and threw them at him. “I’m serious, Rhys. I have to... do stuff.”

He ignored the clothes on his chest. They were both completely naked, and if he had anything to say about it, they’d stay that way for a while. “Like what? You told Mor you have the day off.” 

“I do, but-”

“Then come here.”

She crossed her arms. “Rhysand.”

He sat up and extended a hand. “Just shut up and come here. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” 

_________________________________________________________

Oh, I’m sure you will, Feyre thought as she rolled her eyes and took his hand. 

Then gasped as he used the other hand to rip the sheet off her and throw her on her bed. 

She barely had time to process before he was on top of her, pressing kisses across her chest, down her stomach. Further. 

Sweet Jesus, she thought. The man hadn’t let her sleep more than two hours last night. Not that she was complaining. The cobwebs were completely gone, that was for sure. 

A moan escaped her lips as his teeth scraped her thigh, and he chuckled. She was about to flick his shoulder, but then his lips slid higher, and every thought emptied our of her head. 

She couldn’t keep herself still as he kissed her, so he held her hips with both hands. 

Hers found themselves in his hair and she pulled as he ran his tongue up her center. 

“Rhys, baby,” she panted. She didn’t care how she sounded. Didn’t care about anything but the sight of his head buried between her legs. 

She didn’t know if it was because she was out of practice or because he was some sort of sex god, but she was already close. Again.

By the time she came, her entire body was limp with pleasure and she was close to seeing stars. 

When she opened her eyes, he was above her, smirking like a cat. 

He leaned down to kiss her, but she flicked his nose in annoyance. 

“If you try and fuck me again before I get some food, I’ll strangle you.” 

Ignoring the warning, he buried his head in her neck and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Feyre darling.”

She laughed against her better judgement, but pushed his shoulders until he let her up. If she didn’t eat something, she might pass out when they went again. 

She grabbed his t-shirt from last night and threw it on as she walked to her kitchen. It came down to practically her knees, making her look ridiculous, but she didn’t care. It was soft and big and smelled like him. 

“Pancakes?” she asked, turning around to catch him looking at her in amusement. At what she was wearing. 

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something. 

“Pancakes would be great.”

Feyre ignored the look in his eyes and started cooking. And kept ignoring it as he watched. 

Every time she looked at him, he looked like he was five seconds away from throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back to bed. 

The idea of messing with him a little more was too tempting to ignore. 

“Close your eyes,” she ordered secretively, reaching into her fridge. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but gave in when she raised her eyebrows. 

She used a finger to tip his head backward, then whispered, “Open your mouth.”

His lips curved into a smile, then opened. She took the can of Ready Whip and sprayed some whip cream in his mouth, laughing as his purple eyes shot open, full of amusement. 

“Cute,” he muttered, swallowing the whip cream. 

She leaned in and licked some of the remainder off his bottom lip. He froze, then reached for her. Before he could get those arms around her, she walked to the stove and took the pancakes off. 

Sliding an unhealthy amount toward him, she said, “Eat your breakfast, dear.”

Rhys gave her an annoyingly perfect smile and devoured the food. She looked at him as he ate, wondering how he looked like a Greek god when he ate like... that. 

He looked up as he finished and laughed at the look on her face. “Baby, don’t invite a football player over if you don’t expect him to eat all your food.”

She took their plates and stuck them in the sink. When she turned around, he immediately strode over and grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his. 

He kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back far enough to say, “Meet me in your bedroom.” Another kiss. “And Feyre? Bring that whip cream.”

__________________________________________________________

By the time Rhysand left, Feyre could hardly stand up. She had no idea how she was going to make it through her shift tomorrow, given that she was so exhausted she could sleep probably for a day straight. 

That’s when she realized that for the first time in her career, she didn’t want to go to work. She wanted to call Rhysand and tell him to come back. 

That’s not an option.

A relationship was out of the question. It’d be cruel to him to invite him back, knowing it would never go anywhere. For all she knew, he was trying to settle down. With a nice girl who’d give up her life to have his babies and be a football wife. 

Hell no. 

As she got out of the shower, giggling at how shaky her legs were, she told herself to forget him. 

But when the phone rang, she was surprisingly disappointed when she looked at the caller id and saw it wasn’t him. 

As soon as she picked up, Mor practically yelled, “How was it?!”

“How was what, Mor?”

“The sex last night, idiot. Was it good? I bet it was good. You don’t look like that and not have a seriously huge-”

“Mor! Calm down.”

She could tell her best friend was enjoying this way too much. “I’ll calm down when you tell me. Everything.”

Feyre laughed, then gave in and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“How long did he stay? Oh, you made him walk back to his truck in the middle of the night, didn’t you? Mean woman.” 

When she didn’t respond, Mor pushed, “Unless you didn’t. When did he leave, Feyre? Hm?”

“An hour ago,” she admitted. 

The howl that Mor let out was practically inhuman. “Oh my god! You nasty bitch! Or, wait. Is he the nasty bitch?”

Feyre laughed. “You have no idea.”

“I cannot believe you let him stay all day. He must be good. He’s good isn’t he?”

She didn’t have to think back to remember the answer to that question. “You have no idea,” she repeated. 

Mor laughed. “I’m so happy for you. Are you seeing him again?”

“No, probably not.”

She stopped laughing. “And why the hell not?”

“I don’t date. It wouldn’t be fair to him to keep sleeping with him and lead him on-”

“You’re both idiots.”

That stopped her. “What?”

Mor sighed on the other end of the call. “He doesn’t date. At all. He’s seen with 20 year old blondes who probably don’t know their head from their ass. You don’t have to worry about him trying to tie you down.”

“Oh,” she said stupidly. 

Of course he wasn’t the dating type. He was a professional athlete. Women probably threw themselves at him. 

“For someone so smart, you really are an idiot.”

“You have a point. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” It was only eight PM, but she could hardly keep her eyes open. 

“Worn out, aren’t you?” Mor asked in a knowing voice.

“Good night, Morrigan.”

____________________________________________________________

Rhys wasn’t surprised to see Azriel and Cassian in his apartment when he got back the next day. 

“You dirty dog,” Cassian said smugly, throwing a pillow at his head.

Rhys smiled and told him to shut his fat mouth. “What are you idiots doing here? Get evicted?”

“Waiting on your ass,” Azriel said. “We’re going out.”

“Not everyone got laid last night,” Cassian said sourly. “Ruined a good win.”

Az and Rhys both ignored him. “Wanna come?” 

“I’m gonna crash, actually. I have an early meeting tomorrow with coach.” It was an excuse; he’d barely made it home without falling asleep at the wheel. 

“Mmhm, an early meeting with coach,” Cassian said knowingly. “More like a late night with a pretty blonde.”

Rhysand just winked and said, “We made sure to avoid your seat in the truck.”

“Disgusting,” his best friend said bitterly as the pair walked toward the door. “I hate that truck.” 

As soon as the door swung close behind them, Rhys showered and passed out. 

_______________________________________________________

Three days later, Rhys was watching highlights from the game when his phone rang. He smiled as he saw the caller ID. 

“Unless the hospital is calling to tell me I’m dying,” he said as he picked up, “I’m going to assume this is Miss Feyre Archeron.”

“Wow, an athlete with a brain,” the sarcasm flowed through the line clearly.  

“I’m a package deal, baby. So, what’s up?” If this was a booty call, he’d make her say it. He’d definitely give in, but he’d make her ask first. 

“I don’t date,” she blurted suddenly. 

He paused, then said, “Me either.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just mimicked, “Okay.”

“Then come over.” 

Rhysand smiled, looking at his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

_____________________________________________________

Two months later, they’d spent practically every night together. Either he’d stay at her house and get kicked out at the ass crack of dawn when she left for work, or she’d stay with him and he’d wake up alone.

On the rare days her boss forbade her from working, they’d spend all day together, running errands, cooking, fooling around. Hell, she’d even come to one of his football practices. “Out of pure boredom,” she’d claimed. 

He’d never tell her, but seeing her had become the best part of his day.

Sure, he’d resigned his contract for the next year to keep his dream job, but even that paled in comparison to her coming over. He’d started to depend on her. He’d started to care about her. 

Only Cassian--who gave him shit about it daily--knew. And had been told to keep his mouth shut about it. 

Because he knew that as soon as he told Feyre, she’d bolt. He just had no idea why. 

Sure, he’d said he didn’t date. He was thirty-eight and had a terrible relationship track record, having only had a handful of serious ones. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try, right? 

He’d never felt like this before... never been so desperate to spend time with someone. And it wasn’t just the sex like he’d thought for the first few weeks. 

Because even when they weren’t having sex, he wanted to be around her. Wanted to hear her laugh, the one she let out when he surprised her or she made fun of his accent. Wanted to see her smile. Wanted to see her asleep in his bed, wearing his t-shirt. 

He wanted her. 

Ridiculous.

The first woman to openly not want a relationship with him, he can’t get out of his mind. 

Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed her staring up at him. “What?” he asked, worried everything he’d been thinking was written on his face.

“Nothing,” she said for the fifth time, stifling a giggle. 

He rolled his eyes. “Just say it.” 

“I cannot believe Dirty Dancing is your favorite movie!” She exploded, gesturing to the screen as if he were blind. “You’re a football player.” 

“Which means I can’t have a good taste in movies?”

She shrugged. “It’s just not what I was expecting when you suggested we watch a movie. I figured you just wanted to come out here and have sex again.”

He grinned. “I did that for your sake. I figured if we stayed in bed any longer, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

With her head on a pillow in his lap, she looked completely adorable as she looked up and stuck her tongue out at him. “How considerate.” 

“Southern hospitality knows no limits.” 

As they watched the movie, Rhys couldn’t help but sneak glances at her. She was... distracting. The ocean eyes, full mouth, and delicate features were pretty much a constant distraction for him. 

When the final scene started playing out, Rhys grinned like an idiot and said, “Dance with me, Feyre Archeron.”

“What?”

“Come on. I wanna show you something.” He took her hand, hauled her off the couch, and took her to the biggest open space in his apartment. 

He put his hands on her shoulders and told her to stay put, then walked to the other side of the room. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said immediately, realizing what he had planned. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand laughed and said, “Run and jump.”

“Hell no! You’ll drop me.” She crossed her arms and stayed put.

He rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t drop you. You’re about a hundred pounds soaking wet.” 

“No.”

“Chicken.”

“Excuse me?” she asked incredulously. “You seriously think that’s going to work on me?”

“Yep.”

“You’re right,” she admitted, barely giving him any time to prepare as she ran toward him, yelped, and jumped.

His hands wrapped around her waist as he lifted her up above his shoulders. She hollered like a wounded cat, but she stayed in the air and lifted her legs as he spun her around slowly. 

She giggled as he held her up, and the sound was so adorable that as he let her down, he slowly dipped her. Her hair brushed the floor as he held her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a kiss to her lips. 

He could tell she was surprised when she froze, but then she melted into him. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close and opened her mouth for him. It was like it was the first time they’d kissed, and he couldn’t get enough. He kissed her like his life depended on it, and she responded to every movement. She sighed into his mouth and he drank the sound in. 

When he finally brought her back up and pulled away, she had tears in her eyes. 

“What?” he asked, concerned. 

Feyre’s brow was creased as she brought a hand to her mouth. “I have to go,” she whispered. 

“Feyre.”

She paced around his apartment, picking up her clothes and throwing them on as she went. “I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“You always have an early morning. What’s wrong?”

She pulled her boots on, zipped her jacket, and smiled tightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ll... see you later.” 

He didn’t have time to say anything before she sped out the door. 

Shit.

______________________________________________________

“He kissed me,” she said as soon as Mor answered the phone.

A pause. “He hasn’t kissed you before?” 

Feyre sped down the road to her house, explaining, “Of course he’s kissed me. But this was different. He dipped me, Mor. Like actual dipping. And he kissed me. Not to get in my pants, but just because. Like he couldn’t stop himself.”

“Oh. You think he has feelings for you?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out.” This was the last thing she needed. The past month had been good. So good. 

But it had to end. She didn’t want a relationship... even if the idea of never seeing him again hurt so much she couldn’t breathe. 

He’d become someone to her in the two months they’d spent together. And even though it’d hurt like hell, she had to cut it off. Before it got worse. 

“Feyre-”

“Don’t ‘Feyre’ me. I’m fine.”

Her best friend didn’t let up. “No, you’re not. Ever since Tamlin, ever since that night, you haven’t been fine.”

“Stop talking. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Mor-”

“He hurt you, and now you don’t trust men. You got freaked out tonight because this thing with Rhysand could be real, and you’re scared. You’re scared if you let yourself love him, he’ll hurt you.”

Feyre suddenly yelled, “Wouldn’t you be?”

The line went silent, so she continued, “Yeah, I’m fucked up because of my marriage. It’s pretty easy to figure out. But wouldn’t you be? I was with Tamlin for eight years! Did you know that after hearing your worthless and pathetic and that you deserve what happens to you for so long, you start to believe it? So unless you’ve dealt with that for eight years and been trapped in a marriage to someone like that for eight years, don’t you dare bring it up to me. I have to go.”

She didn’t give Mor a chance to respond as she hung up. 

She pulled into her driveway, took a deep breath and told herself the tears flowing down her cheeks were from her fight with Mor. 

_______________________________________________________

“We’re closed,” Mor yelled as Rhys walked in the bar, then looked up and froze. “Oh.”

“Tell me, Mor. Tell me what happened to her.” He knew there was a reason she’d been freaked out after he kissed her. He just didn’t know what it was. 

“To who?”

He came and sat in one of the bar stools, leveling a look at her. “To Feyre. Why did me kissing her send her running for the hills? I know she told you. She hasn’t answered my calls in six days.”

She shrugged, trying to make herself look casual. “Maybe she’s just not into you.”

“She’s into me.”

Mor snapped, “Maybe she’s not.”

His eyes softened, and she knew he saw it for the lie it was. “What happened to her?”

He could tell she was struggling with not telling him. She might not. But he wanted to fight for her. Wanted to make her happy. He just had to know how. 

She took a deep breath and said, “Feyre and I used to live in New York, you know. That’s where we’re from. And Feyre was married.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“They got married young, and he... changed. He... just.. he was so angry. All the time.” She took a shaky breath. 

“At first, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t see that anything was wrong. But one night, about five years into their marriage, I went to their apartment for dinner, and I saw that she had makeup on her cheek. Not a lot, but... like she was covering something up.” A tear that rolled down her cheek. 

“And he saw. That bastard saw me notice it.” She wiped her cheeks, trying to compose herself. “And I didn’t see her for three years. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere besides work. And he hardly let that happen.”

Rhys closed his eyes sadly, but she continued. “I didn’t see my best friend for three years. Until she showed up in the emergency room.”

His eyes snapped open. 

“I’m her emergency contact. I don’t know why she never changed it when she got married, but she didn’t. So I got the call, and drove to the hospital, and she was-”

She swallowed a sob. “She was in a coma for two days.” 

Mor cleared her throat. “When she woke up, I don’t know how to describe it. She was... different. I helped her divorce him and get a restraining order, but it wasn’t easy. He controlled all her shit. Bank accounts, everything. She was never the same. We left, packed up, and moved to Boston together. She didn’t want him to know where she lived. I think... sometime I think she’s still scared he’ll track her down.” 

“It took her three years to even go on a date. Another to have sex. She says she’s fine, but ever since that night, she won’t let herself actually let anyone in her life. She’s always been a workaholic, but after what happened... I don’t know. It’s like moving on, having a life, makes her remember her life before.” 

Mor sobbed, “And I don’t know how to help her. Because he’s a cop, you know. That’s why it was so hard for her to leave him. We had to go to the freaking governor to get the restraining order.”

A sob wracked her body, so Rhys leaned across the bar and pulled her into a hug. It made sense. Why him showing any sort of feelings freaked her out. Why she’d been cautious around him, Cassian, and Az when they’d first met. Why she didn’t want a relationship with him. 

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t fight for her. That he couldn’t tell her that he’d never hurt her. 

“Mor,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Well, now you do.”

“I want to be with her.”

She nodded, and smiled sadly. “I know.”

“And she wants to be with me, too.” 

Mor nodded again. “Go get your girl, Rhysand. But, just be careful. And I swear to God, if you’re anything like him-”

“I’m not,” he interjected. 

“-I’ll shoot you. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

“I’m never going to hurt her. You can count on that. Do you think she’s still at the hospital? If she’s not going to answer the phone, I’m gonna track her ass down.”

________________________________________________________

Feyre scribbled down her note, then peered back into the microscope. She knew it was late, but it’s not like she had anywhere to be. The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she ignored it.

She was so distracted thinking about how big of a mess she was that she didn’t hear him come in the lab.

“Feyre,” a familiar male voice said from behind her. 

She spun around and opened her mouth to scream, but he was faster. She cried out as his fist connected with her ribs, but he stifled the noise when he slapped a hand over her mouth and shoved her against the door. 

She tried to swing a fist toward him, but he pinned her arms against the door. 

“It’s been a long time,” Tamlin said, smiling. “It took me a long time to track you down. You know how I found you? Paparazzi posted a picture of you leaving some football player’s apartment at three in the morning. Little whore.”

She whimpered as he squeezed her jaw. 

“So I came to see you. At first, I wanted to punish you. You were my wife. Mine. And then you go and divorce me. For no reason. I wanted to know why.”

Howie, she thought desperately. If she could signal Howie, he’d come and save her. 

She ignored what he was saying, blocked it out, and bit his hand as hard as she could. 

Tamlin jumped back with a surprised yelp and she barely had a chance to scream before his fist connected with her eye. She fell to the ground and he kicked her in the side, making her curl into a ball. 

“You bitch! Why are you screaming? If you’re trying to get that fat security guard, he can’t hear you.” 

No one’s coming. A tear ran down her cheek onto the floor. 

“Now, as I was saying,” he continued as if nothing had happened. “At first, I wanted to punish you. I had it all planned out.”

He knelt on the floor, brushing the hair off her cheek. 

“But then I realized something. I realized you ruined my life. You told everyone I worked with, hell you told the governor, that I abused you. You got me kicked off the force.” 

“Why are you here? What do you want?” 

Please leave please leave me alone-

“I want you to suffer for what you did-”

“I do-” 

Her cheek stung as a palm connected with it, making her cry out. 

“Do not interrupt me again.” His voice was so cold, so calculating. “I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everything, like I did. But the only thing you ever cared about is work. And I couldn’t get you fired. No, you’re too good at your job.”

She shook with fear as he smiled down at her.

“But then I thought, if the job won’t lose you, you can lose the job.”

He ran a thumb over her lip, and she was paralyzed with fear when she realized the bitter taste in her mouth was gas. 

“What did you do?” she asked softly.

His fist closed around her throat. She clawed at his hand, kicked at him, tried everything, but she was stuck. It had never mattered how hard she fought. 

When her vision started to fade, he let go. 

“Don’t question me,” he snapped as Feyre hauled oxygen into her burning lungs. 

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter, grinning down at her.

Feyre’s stomach bottomed out. 

She had to think, had to do something. Or else she was going to die in here. 

“You were so consumed by your work, you didn’t even smell the gas I lined this fucking room with. Always so distracted by your work.” 

He laughed softly, “And now you’ll burn with it.”

He flicked the lighter open, and time seemed to stand still. Feyre didn’t let herself hesitate as she reached onto the counter, grabbed the beaker she knew was sitting there, and broke it over Tamlin’s head. 

He swore and closed the lighter, then swung at her. She rolled away from him, placing a kick in between his legs that had him gasping for air. 

She got up and sprinted for the door. Her fingers were closing around the handle when he caught up to her, grabbing her head and slamming her face into the metal door frame. 

Feyre sank to the floor, and Tamlin knelt in front of her. She tasted blood, felt it running down her face, and knew from experience her nose was broken. 

As he punched her in the stomach, she could tell she’d have a ruptured spleen. 

He was still dripping wet from the beaker, but he leaned close and laughed. 

He opened the lighter close to her face, the heat warming her skin. 

“You always were a fighter.” 

This is it. If she didn’t fight now, it was over. He’d drop that lighter, and they’d both go up in flames. Together at last. 

Gritting her teeth, she told herself she wasn’t going to die here tonight. She was going to live. 

She was going to kill her ex-husband. 

Bringing her knees close, she rallied her strength and kicked his chest as hard as she could. As he fell backward, she jumped to her feet. 

Before he could react, she grabbed the lighter out of his hand, threw it on his chest, and rushed out the door. 

What Tamlin hadn’t realized when he’d lined the room with gas was that there were more chemicals in there than anywhere else in the hospital. He didn’t even have to use gasoline. But now that he had, one open flame, and the whole place was going to blow.

She ignored the growing flames on the other side of the glass as she engaged the door’s security lock. Ignored Tamlin’s screams as the petrol from the beaker reacted with the oxygen in the air and the present flame, erupting in flames twenty times hotter than usual. 

She ignored everything happening around her except Rhysand. 

Rhysand, who was running toward her, a confused and terrified look on his face. 

She had no idea what he was doing here, but she sprinted full force at him, also ignoring the fact that he was a professional football player. She wrapped her arms around him and tackled him to the ground as the room behind her erupted. 

Glass and debris and pieces of paper still on fire rained down on them as she looked down at him. 

She laid on top of him, shielding him as best she could, and grabbed his face. Please be alive, please be alive.

His eyes shot open, arms coming around her to brush debris off her back. 

“Feyre, are you all right? What the hell happened?” His voice was fuzzy, like she was underwater. 

She probably had a concussion from where Tamlin had slammed her against the door. 

Tamlin. 

Tamlin was dead. She’d killed Tamlin. 

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”

Rhys was shaking her, telling her to stay awake. Alarms were going off, the sprinkler system sensing the fire and raining a flood down on them. 

He was screaming her name. 

She just looked at him and smiled softly. “I love you, by the way,” she whispered. Like it was the easiest thing she’d ever said. Like she’d been waiting to say it. 

“I love you,” she whispered again.

Then passed out. 

_______________________________________________________

There was something warm and heavy on her lap. And it had hair. 

She opened her eyes and looked down at Rhys, peacefully sleeping with his head resting on her legs. 

Gently, she ran a hand through his hair. 

She was in a hospital bed, that much was obvious. There were probably police men outside waiting for a statement from her about why her much-beloved lab had been blown to pieces under her watch. 

She knew from experience that as soon as she officially woke up, she’d be surrounded be nurses and police officers and doctors asking how she felt and... 

She ran a finger down Rhys’s cheek. 

She knew he was awake when his mouth twisted into a smile and he murmured, “Do that again.”

She did. 

His eyes opened to meet hers, full of worry and passion and anger. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

“Hi.” He picked his head up and put a hand on her cheek. “You’re so beautiful. This gown suits you.”

She knew he said it to distract her, and smile tugged at her lips, even as tears sprung to her eyes. 

She was in the hospital. Again. Because of her ex-husband. And Rhys was here. He’d probably never look at her the same after this. Would probably pity her now. 

He leaned in, and she thought he was about to kiss her, but his mouth landed on her cheek instead. As he licked her tear off her face. 

“That’s disgusting,” she murmured, not pushing him away as he moved to the other cheek. 

He pulled back and grinned. 

“Mor told me about your ex-husband,” he said softly. 

Before she could reply, he surprised her by murmuring, “And I honestly don’t know why you say you don’t have any country in you.”

Had he hit his head when she’d tackled him?

“What?” 

“Considering you barbecued his ass,” he finished with a laugh.

Despite how awful and wrong that was, a giggle escaped her. And another. And another, until she was laughing along with him. 

“That’s so fucked up,” she said, still smiling. 

“Yeah, it is, but it’s all I’ve been able to think for the past four hours.” 

Then his smile faded and his eyes grew serious. He put both hands on her face and pulled her close to him. “Feyre.”

“Rhysand.”

“It’s over now. He’s never going to hurt you again. No ones ever going to hurt you again. I’m so proud of you.” He said it all in the softest tone possible, and it made her chest hurt with how much she needed those words. 

“I killed him,” she whispered, the reality of it crashing into her. 

He shook his head. “You defended yourself. He was going to kill you. You fought like hell, and you won.”

Feyre nodded, pulling him closer until his weight was on top of her and his arms were around her. 

“You kicked his ass,” he murmured through her hair. “My little brawler.” 

She smiled, running her hands over his back. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. 

She pulled back far enough to say, “What do you possibly have to be sorry for?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster and I didn’t protect you-”

“Rhysand.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head and flicked his nose. “Shut up.”

“Okay.” 

He hugged her again. “You should know,” he said a moment later, pulling back to give her a smile, “that Mor is outside with Azriel and Cassian.”

“Oh, God.” 

“Yeah. I think they had to give Mor a sedative to calm her down. I’ll go get her if you want.”

Feyre shook her head, deciding to give herself another moment before dealing with that brand of crazy. 

“Do you remember what you said to me? After you tackled me? Which, by the way, was insanely sexy.” 

She knew under the humor was a twinge of anxiety, so she said, “I could talk about the homo-eroticism of what you just said, but I’ll give you a break. You’re under a lot of stress.”

Rhysand grinned and raised an eyebrow. 

“I love you,” she murmured. “You know I do.”

“I do,” he replied smugly, smirking like a cat. “I love you, too.” 

He leaned down and kissed her softly, ignoring the probably nasty black eye and bruised jaw. He kissed her, and she didn’t care about anything in the world. 

Until the door banged open. 

“You’re awake and you didn’t tell me!” Mor screeched, running in the room and throwing herself on Feyre, bruises be dammed. “Of course you didn’t because you wanted a chance to make out with your boyfriend before you did. Selfish, Feyre! Selfish!”

“Mor,” she muttered, hugging her back tightly. “I’m awake.”

“You’re such a bitch,” he best friend laughed.

“I love you, too.”

Rhys laughed and got out of his chair, probably going to talk to his friends and update them. 

For the first time in years, everything felt right. It felt good. She was excited for tomorrow, not because of work, but because for the first time in a long time, she had people in her life she was going to fight to keep there. 

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid. 

_____________________________________________________

FUCK sorry this is so long! I literally had no intention of taking this route when I started writing it, but shit happens when it’s 2 am and you’ve had a long week. 

As always, feel free to send me requests/asks/whatever. I love hearing from yall. 

@bamchickawowow

[crimsonbluemoon]

Working For Love: A TerrorMoo Story 10/17

OH MY GOD IF MY COMPUTER DELETES THIS ONE MORE TIME I WILL SCREAM.

Er.... I mean, enjoy this drabble?

Previous Part

Start from the beginning

Brian wasn’t a fan of surprises. 

He liked to be a part of them when the focus was others, but he never enjoyed when the attention was placed on him. Evan always claimed it was a control thing, and that it lead to Brian always taking initiative with his potential partners. He didn’t want to be thrown off his game, whether it was in his professional or romantic life. Brian picked the same times to run classes, looked at his lists a half hour before they were due to start, and never strayed from his guided plans once the class started. It was not only safer for his participants, but it kept the area calm and left Brian little to no chances of being left unsure of what to do next.

Unfortunately, nothing would have prepared him for how he’d felt when seeing Brock cry in the locker room the week before. Tears had looked so out of place filling the brown eyes when he’d stared at Brian, as if hoping Brian could fix all the broken parts inside him. Brian didn’t know what had cut Brock so deep, what had made him tremble under soft touches and feel unworthy of compassion. But it’d been an unpleasant weight in Brian’s chest that had lingered for days after. Brock had to take two days off from the gym because of his foot, but even when he’d come back, a somber aura had settled around his shoulders like a cloak. Brian did he best to cheer him up, and at times he’d catch the glimmer of his normal smile. But Brock still wasn’t fully happy, and it left a bitter taste in Brian’s mouth. 

And then, because the universe felt like he needed another swerve, Craig showed up to his morning yoga class.

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Mini had said when Brian had tossed a glare his way. “Ingrid seduced me with blueberry vodka smoothies; how could I say no?”

“Why do you still hang out with them?” Brian asked, Craig pressing his hand to his chest with a dramatic sigh.

“These are my people, Brian. They resonate with my old soul.”

“How are you friends with Brock?”

“You worried your lover boy’s gonna realize our love potential and let me whisk him away?” Craig raised his voice enough to catch some of the ladies' attention in the class, and Brian had to bite back a swear at their curious gazes. He loved his yoga classes, and he didn’t mind being friendly with the vocal older women. But there were times when their forwardness tended to be overwhelming, such as their desire to find him a wife. 

“Ladies, please start your first position. And you-” He pressed his finger into Craig’s chest, pushing him toward the corner of the room. “Don’t start shit.”

“I would never.” Innocence looked wrong on Mini, and the faux blinks of naivety he sent to Brian made his spine tingle in discomfort. His shoulders didn’t relax until Mini plopped himself down onto his mat, sending Wanda a shit-eating grin while sliding into the first pose. 

The class, for the most part, followed the normal routine. It left Brian with the calmness that he attributed to yoga, and his mind drifted back to Brock when moving into his seated position. His eyes stared down at his ankle in silence, remembering how warm Brock’s skin had been under his touch. But the memory, which should have been embarrassing or pleasant, was tinged with sadness at the thought of Brock’s trembles. Brock said he wasn’t okay, but what had made him feel like that? Despite getting to know Brock better with each month that passed, there were still parts of him that were a mystery. He rarely dabbled in the romantic side of Brock’s past, only knowing he was interested in men from mention of ex-boyfriends. Names and time frames were never introduced into the conversations, though Brian hadn’t brought up his own either. Still, to think that Brock had looked so broken because Brian had simply allowed him to be broken-

It made his nails dig into his calves, and he switched the position to keep from punching the mat in frustration. It took time to lower his anger, but he’d captured it back into his chest when finishing the final stretch of the routine. 

“And remember that when you do these moves at home, to have a flat surface to place your mat on. Otherwise, you’re at risk of hurting yourself.” The smile he pushed forward felt more real than it had any right to at the moment. “Any questions before we wrap up?”

“When are you going to ask that young man out?” Velma asked, blue tinged hair a curled mess above hawk-like eyes. Brian caught his jaw before it could fall open, any sense of fatigue from the week vanishing from his sudden spike of adrenaline. One glance around the room proved that Velma wasn’t the only interested participant in the conversation, none of the woman moving from their mats while staring him down. It didn’t take much to realize that the question hadn’t been sporadic, but pre-planned by the group to catch him off guard. 

God, Brian hated surprises. 

“I meant about the poses-” Brian tried to start, but Mini looked far too pleased when he cut in.

“Yeah, Brian, when you gonna make an honest man out of my best friend?” Brian’s eye twitched at the feline grin that tickled the edges of Mini’s lips, bright blue eyes glancing at the attentive women while he counted on his fingers. “They’ve been flirting for months, Brock’s been single well past the allowed time after a terrible break-up, and I think we’ve all discussed enough at our Saturday Smoothie Brunch how their chemistry is simply adorable. The problem is that we all know Brock’s far too shy to ask out Brian, so he’s gotta be the one to put on his big boy pants and do the work.” 

“What a sweet boy, that Brock is.” Ingrid sighed like she wanted to be in her twenties again simply to have a chance at Brock, and Brian wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh to smack his head into the wall. 

“And just a perfect match for our Brian,” Velma added, sending another pointed look toward Brian. 

“Why is this even a topic?” Brian blurted out, wondering when it was that Craig had hi-jacked his yoga class. He really needed to get Tyler to fuck Mini just to keep him out of his hair. The women hadn’t been this riled up since Brian had forgotten to wear boxers when running on the treadmill. 

“Well, isn’t that obvious?” Mini pulled his knees up in front of him to rest his chin on them, rolling his eyes to show how unimpressed he was with Brian’s arched eyebrow. “We want Brock to be happy again. You’re not the only one who cares around him.” 

“What?” Brian blinked, genuinely stunned at the collective nods that the women shared at the answer.

“He’s been so sad lately,” Wanda continued, the hot pink lipstick emphasizing her frown. “Normally, when I see him in the gym, he gives the warmest smile. It reminds me of how my Howie used to look when we were high school sweethearts, so bright and endearing. But this past week, that shine just...hasn’t been there. And we can see how that affects your, which means that both of our favorite boys are sad.” 

“The only time we get Brock to really smile is when you’re in his orbit. Even when I’m showering him with love at the apartment, it just doesn’t get the same reaction that you do.” For the first time since meeting Craig, his voice was lacking the confident bounce that was a staple of his character. The point he was trying to make was serious, and grabbed Brian’s attention. “Brock’s working through some stuff, and I’m going to respect him by not spilling it. But that doesn’t mean he has to be alone while he’s healing. If there was someone who helped the pain, someone who maybe would treat him right, then I’ll do whatever it takes to get that guy off his ass and make a move.” 

“The double dates between you and Tyler would be so cute with Brock and Brian.” Ingrid pinched Craig’s face affectionately, and he laughed through his pinkened cheeks. Brian, dumbfounded at how much energy the group had put into Brock’s happiness, made him sit back on his mat, hands falling limp in his lap. 

“You guys really think Brock would give us a shot?” 

“Honey, that man looks ready to marry you.” Wanda’s eyes held a haze of romance, and Brian felt his smile grow at her confidence in Brock’s feelings for him.

“And that’s before he knows what you’re like between the sheets,” Mini tossed out, snickering when Brian scoffed. 

“Then again, he was there during the treadmill incident; he’s got a very good idea what you’re working with. We all do.” Never too shy to say her peace, Velma gave a pointed glance to Brian’s crotch, the rest of the woman erupting into giggles and whistles. Brian’s shock was loud for a moment, but it fell to the side when he laughed, head shaking at the absurdity of his life. But one thing was sure; they were all right. Brian didn’t need to wait for Brock to be 100% to pursue him. Brock was great now. And if he never got better, Brian would still want him for as long as he could keep him. It was strange to feel so comfortable with his decision that had seemed so impossible an hour ago. 

But life was full of surprises, and not all of them were bad.

Hee hee Mini hanging out with dirty old women is just too funny not to put it. Okay, so! I actually had a ton of fun writing this one, and this little mini story is one of my favs so far. So like, reblog, and let me know what you think! <3

[omophagias]

bookposting #22

tender is the night, f. scott fitzgerald: 3.5 stars, i’d say. i really do like his prose style. it…there’s some l-word, i forget which—languid, that’s it. it felt very languid. i was less a fan of the flashback parts, partially because i didn’t like being in dick’s head as much as i liked being in rosemary’s. it also sometimes felt like fitzgerald was kind of wobbling around on the border between “no, obviously dick isn’t meant to be a sympathetic character, he’s a self-destructive asshole” and the, like, not being really sure whether he was extending that “you shouldn’t like him!” to the part where he marries his teenage psychiatric patient. (fortunately the autobiographical resemblance didn’t get that far…?) really what i was mostly thinking by the end was, damn, fscott and zelda, i really wish you’d lived in a time when it was easier to get divorced. but, you know, on the list of books about people just really fucking themselves over, this is one of the better ones. i think i got it because i can’t / couldn’t stop thinking about “patient is the night” from over the garden wall.

the fire next time, james baldwin: 5 stars easy. i really wish i’d read it sooner; i ended up reading it because i bought my roommate a copy for his birthday and wanted to be able to write him a decent further-reading list to go with it. i just was completely awed by the facility with which he was able to touch on so many different things and draw them back together into a whole, and he was such a writer. i don’t know that i can really talk about "down at the cross” right now without just quoting massive passages because it just speaks so completely for itself. read it.

trouble the saints, alaya dawn johnson: three stars? this is kind of hard to talk about because i theoretically like a lot about it. alternate-universe 1930s-1940s where at the age of 10 some people of color gain a power called “the hands” along with occasional semi-prophetic dreams, “the hands” basically give you one superpower like “can see a person’s worst deed by touching them” or “can sense threat to oneself”, protagonist’s power is unfailingly perfect aim, which she uses to kill for the mob. i think maybe it was a marketing issue, because from the blurbs and so forth it seemed to be being sold as much more of a straight up and down fantasy noir, which is absolutely not what you’re getting. it’s extremely character-driven and thematically very concerned with passing, liminality, justice, ancestral trauma. i will say i didn’t care as much for the middle third, i thought dev’s narrative voice was not interesting, especially compared to phyllis or tamara. it’s…i don’t know, i think it’s interesting and it’s definitely something i’d enthusiastically recommend to other people but i just didn’t really click with it. maybe a prose issue, idk, it got kind of dense sometimes in a way that didn’t really work with the plot, imo.

the story of silence, alex myers: rating…i don’t know, i feel like it might be a book that’d improve on rereading, provisional three because i felt a bit disappointed. retelling of the roman de silence, a 13th century french poem about a lord who, due to inheritance law, raises his afab child silence as a boy and which i haven’t yet read (which might be one of the reasons it didn’t click, i couldn’t tell if/where myers was deviating from the story beyond the obvious change to the ending—in the poem, silence ends up married to the king; in the book, silence escapes that fate and the fate of being forcibly externally gendered in general). i think that probably its best strength is as a prose adaptation of the poem, because it definitely has the feel of, like, the better prose adaptations of arthurian poems (which this is, merlin is in it). but on its own i’m less sure; there’s not really a lot of character exploration. i’m gonna donate my copy because it’s a 400-page hardback and i don’t want to pay to send it home, i can get a paperback in the states.

wakenhyrst, michelle paver: two stars. oy. a very boring gothic horror with not enough horror and far too many diary entries from the main character’s terrible father. remarkably unsympathetic treatment of the housemaid who is being, frankly, sexually exploited by said father. also i felt like there were digs being taken at margery kempe, which is less serious but still annoyed me. paver really, really likes doing epistolary/diary-based horror—she did it in dark matter, which i did like—but these ones are just not well-done, the shift back and forth between them and the main character’s perspective doesn’t do much, and the horror—which as far as i can tell is the maybe-real ghost of the father’s sister who he let drown in the fen when they were kids coming back into the house—is just not given enough room to get really settled and also not really successfully integrated with the big spooky 15th century painting that’s also part of the whole thing somehow.

one-way street and other writings, walter benjamin, trans. j.a. underwood: three stars again? i don’t know; i think that a lot of it was very well-written / translated but i was missing the referents to actually engage with it. also i was really, really tired when i read the first two essays. i did like “one-way street,” it felt kind of like invisible cities in a way, and “hashish in marseille” was funny because like dude we’ve all been there, we’ve all been high and unable to stop staring at people’s faces. i think overall the things that i understood i liked but i didn’t understand as much as i wanted to.

the dunwich horror and other stories, h.p. lovecraft: three and a half, four, something in that neighborhood, graded to the lovecraft curve (a curve somehow squamous and rugose!). overall the stories were pretty well-selected—the dunwich horror is definitely one of his best, the thing on the doorstep is very interesting as a story, like, thematically; the dreams in the witch house didn’t work as well for me because it is kind of about a guy double-majoring in math and folklore too hard (and what the fuck is “non-euclidean calculus” anyway, howie), accidentally discovering teleportation, and then getting chased by a witch and and her half gef the mongoose / half vladislav cat familiar in the form of evil shapes, the lurking fear really dropped the ball at the end and is basically a dry run for the rats in the walls; i had no idea what was going on in hypnos, and the outsider is a decent sort of twilight zone-y tomato in the mirror couple of pages. i think really what i found most interesting about this collection is that it made it very clear to me that lovecraft was deeply, deeply obsessive about eugenics. which, i mean, i’d already known he had the ingredients for it (seething, all-consuming racism; classism of the “augh the inbred hillbillies!” type that was very foundational for american eugenics; his personal concern with / fear of hereditary mental illness; interest in what was in the 1920s cutting edge science) but i hadn’t quite put them together until looking at the dunwich horror and the lurking fear and their presentation of rural new englanders, combined with the, you know, his stuff about innsmouth (as always i say: THE FISH PEOPLE DID NOTHING WRONG) and the racist implications therein, which crops up in dunwich and in thing on the doorstep, the way all three are very, very concerned with genealogy / heredity… shouldn’t have taken me that long to figure it out. one thing i did like about the lurking fear was the moment when the narrator, atop the hill where the abandoned house of the ill-fortuned and vanished martense family stands, looks out over the plain and suddenly realizes that the weird earth mounds in the area are all radially emanating from that hill. it’s an actually effective spooky moment! i thought it was gonna be giant mole people! it isn’t, it’s the martense family having somehow managed in 100 years, through some really committed inbreeding, to devolve into weird voiceless subterranean cannibalistic hominids. boo.

[aspiestvmusings]

Personal, unpopular opinion on grief [ZEP S1 EDITION]

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SENSITIVE TOPICS: GRIEF & DEATH OF LOVED ONES. DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK YOU MIGHT NOT HANDLE READING ABOUT SUCH TOPICS. 

This post was inspired by ZEP (”Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist” & the Season  1 storyline...that is related to Zoey’s dad, Mitch & what’s we all knew would happen..soon/in the S1 finale. His death. And the grief..,      other characters feelings about what’s to come and (now) what’s happened. 

In this post I will discuss some of the things related to grief that the show/storyline (creator, writers) talk about, and that the cast talk about. How they talk about grief. And I will discuss some of the things related to death & grief...from my personal experience.  

But first, I'd like to start with a few important points: 

1. All humans (and all fictional characters) are different. So we all process things differently & act differently...in same/similar situations. This also applies to grief and grieving, and feelings about life & death. These characters way of dealing with grief is “valid”, and so is mine. But its just strange that only one POV seems to be represented on the show...mostly (and yes, we see it all through Zoey’s eyes, so it’s her POV that dominates) 

What would have worked better on ZEP... IMO: 

What I would have appreciated from the show is for them to show both sides more. To have characters express different views  on grief, and death. More, and longer than they did with Deb in 1x11 & Howie’s speech to Zoey in 1x12. It would’ve been more believable if not everyone was seeing it the same way...if there’s been counter-arguments. 

Like...regarding the idea that only someone, who has had the exact same experience (lost their dad/husband), would understand you/your grief. They really hammered that “truth” with Zoey/Simon grief connection. And even a bit with Zoey finding another widow, Deb, to talk to her mom...cause she herself hadn’t lost a husband of 30+ years...so she would not understand (but, really, it’s more about her inability to deal with/express her emotions, and hiding them, and needing help with understanding others emotions...which her new sperpower is supposed to help her with]. They also had the whole family deal with it all pretty similarily. 

Just have one character tell Zoey that she doesn’t need someone with the same experience to have them understand her, and support her, and help her through this. That having the same experience does not automatically mean “instant connection”. Because...every death/experience is different, and so are Zoey’s & Simon’s...so it doesn’t even make sense to me that they’d automatically connect cause both lost their fathers. Why did no one point that out to her? Why did no one ever pose a counter argument? 

And why does she/the show seem to think that no one else has the same experience and/or would understand? I mean...most adults have lost someone by the time they turn 25... so if we’d get to know the characters more, we’d probably learn all of them have lost someone (maybe not a parent, but perhaps a grandparent?) They did that...a bit..with Joan & her mom story in 1x10. But again... too little, too “late”. She would’ve really needed to hear those things...sooner. Realizing that she can connecct to others...and others can connect to her. That all it takes is someone who wants to help her...and be there for her... whether they have the same experience or not. (maybe Tobin has lost someone, and it would’ve been helpful for Zoey to connect to him/talk to him?

This made it really hard (read: impossible) to “get” their grief bond, or take it “seriously”: Because the idea that no one questioned this just seemed ..strange. Sure..Zoey definitely believes this to be true, but... for no other character to question the validity of it... just seemed... too... strange. And since I personally don’t think that one needs to have the same experience to understand other person, and be the shoulder they lean on...but that instead it just takes someone who knows you and wants to be there for you... it was difficult to buy the whole “grief bond” they were selling. 

Which is probably why I never got their “connection”. And only saw it as lust from both sides, and just her/them displacing their greif...and nothing more. So that...and the fact that as human as having feelings for someone else while youre engaged is, I DO NOT support the storyline which tries to say that just because Simon is hot it’s ok for him to have an emotional affair with Zoey while he’s engaged. That somehow the hotness factor makes it OK, cause it’s “very human”, and “grief made him do it”. Nope...I’d quote Mo here, just replacing “powers” with “grief”. Mo’s words to her “Don’t blame the powers grief. This one’s all on you.” apply here...IMO. They both need to do better!

And I also had a hard time “believing” that a brain-person like Zoey (she’s a coder,  problem-solver) would be so irrational, and even though she’s also presented as “a hot mess kind of person”, her irrationality & behaviours just seemed not something I’d expect from someone like her. I, too, see world s black & white. So this is why to me two options remain: either she is just shouting cichees & lies to others OR she is out-of-character (by choice, not cause of grief or powers). I mean... she understood issues with grief and gave great advice to Simon since ep 1...yet she herself did the opposite. She made all the mistakes he had made (not learning from him, but choosing the same wrong route, not taking her own advice: talk to someone..etc). 

For me, personally, I cannot “connect” with the characters (Clarke family...or the showrunner, whose said that his experiences/feels are represented by the characters) and their grief, even though I’ve had similar exprience (with my dad ... though it wasn’t a rare disease, but cancer). But no two people, not two different deaths are similar. And I guess I (and my family) are less emotional & more logical...when it comes to topics of life & death. Our (and especially mine) view is more like the other option Howie, the caregiver, presented to Zoey as they ate ice cream and talked about what’s to come..in the S1 finale. 

I have, in general, a hard time buying the show, because I’m just too logical and brain person, and this is still a TV show...even if it’s based on real life events. It’s still adapted, and fictional elements have been added...to fit it for screen. So... since it was hard for me to believe that in all the prior months...ever since Mitch had been diagnosed... no one had really done any of the things they all suddenly came up with... 

Like realizing there are ways to communicate with Mitch ( or...try to communicate with him)...even if he can’t really speak or move. Suddenly Zoey has an idea to create a computer programme which lets her dad type his messages. Like..she’s smart, and tech savvy...and in no way do I find it believeble that she’d not thought of this before she got her superpower...and was motivated only by hearing his thoughts. Did no doctor inform them about the details of her fathers condition? Did everone claim he is already unable to understand speech etc...with 100% certainty? Did none of them just try to talk to him...etc...without being sure he can hear/understand...still? You know...like they encourage talking to people in coma, for example. 

Like...coming to the idea of a chairlift...before Mitch actually fell..while being helped up the stairs. What did they do all the prior months? When he’d already lost the ability to walk? When he still was able to talk? For a family that is so close, I find it quite unbelievable that they never talked about...anything. Even if they touched upon this in episode 1x11 when Zoey asked Maggie why they didnt do any of the planning sooner, she claims none of them expected it to happen so fast. Like...their doctor seems OK, so how are they so uninformed? When we know that Zoeys style is to read up on all the topics she wants to know about. She would read all the research there is...so she’d know... quite a bit. 

Like them thinking that a temporary improvement means a “cure”. None of them are clueless, they’re all smart, so I don’t also buy them not knowing that this is progressive, and there is no cure, and after the person loses as many abilities as Mitch had by the time we met this family (hard to swallow,  no speech...), then they don’t have much time left. Same with these smart people not knowing that based on several observations... most people report that dying people usually become “alert/more responsive”..just before the end. So... Mitch having a good day the day before he died was a clear sign he’s about to die.

Like...if we actually analyse it, it seems as if they “stood still” for months...ever since Mitch was diagnosed. And then suddenly...”thanks” to Zoey’s superpower, they start getting ideas, and do stuff, and talk to each other... which doesnt seem to have happened...at all... during all the prior months. How? 

It just seems too much “done to fit the TV format”, and it doesn’t seem to make much sense...actually... 

MY OWN EXPERIENCES: 

I lost my first grandfather when I was a kid & he was only in his 60s (so quite young). That was an unexpeted & sudden event that no one saw coming (example: heart attack, stroke). I lost my other grandparents when I was in my 20s (they both lived a full life: 84 & 92...and were ready to go) & I lost my last grandma last year (she was almost 89...and outlived her husband by around 25 years)...after her health had been declining... for a while. And I lost my father about 3 years ago (he was in his 60s)... knowing he had max 6 months left by then. 

I will talk, a bit, about my dad, who died 3 years ago, in 2017, and my finnish grandma, who died last year...just a month before her 89th birthday. 

                              **************************************

With my dad... I had kinda lost him once before, because 5 years earlier he had a serious health issue, and his heart stopped on the operating table. But he was revived. And though he was in a coma for over a week, he did survive, and had no permanent damage. He had to go through extensive physiotherapy and learn to walk properly again, and hold a spoon again (fine motorskills), but his mind/brain/memory was unharmed. But...nonetheless, I sat beside him while he was in a coma, and I sat beside him after he had woken up... 

That health issue lead to his cancer diagnosis though...cause without it he’d never gone to see a doc on his own, and wouldn’t have known, probably. He was stage 3 when diagnosed, and though he tried all kinds of different treatment options, it progressed to stage 4 (that’s what lifetime of smoking does to your lungs!), and by 2016 he had metastasis in his spine..etc, and it was clear he had months/max a year left. It was a guesswork though how long exactly. 

But his medicine cabinet was more impressive than Mitch’s by the end. It got more serious at the end of 2016, and he basically survived with extra oxygene (help from a “ventilator”) & “morphine”. He probably would’ve kept himself alive for several more months, but he had a health issue in January 2017, and his body was just too weak (from chemo, from treatments from...) that he didn’t make it this time. And though I/we had longer than a year to “prepare”, these fictional characters also had time...

Yet, for me, personally, that death was not as hard. (in all honesty, I’d been expecting his cancer diagnosis since I was in highschool... I honestly couldn’t believe he had any lungs left...with his heavy smoking)

                               *****************************************

For me, personally, the hardest was my other grandma’s end of life.. The one who died last year. But not the death...but her last years instead. And though my first grandma (who died almost 15 years ago) had memory issues during her last years, cause she’d had 2 stokes & she kept mixing up people & events (calling people by wrong name, mixing us up), she had my grandpa by her side...til the end. But with my other grandma... whose health had been declining...step by step..over past 5-10 years, it was different. To the point that my aunt/her daughter was her guardian, cause she wasn’t capable of making her own decisions anymore... even if at times she had a clear mind. And one of those times was her last, 88th Birthday in 2018. 

She never vebalized it...never was able to say the words (though she did talk... a bit), but I could see it in her eyes/look... she wanted to go... but “modern medicine” was keeping her body alive. And for me it was hard, because I am a supporter of a persons choice to choose assisted ending, but I’m the only one in the family who really supports this. And since she never actually said the words, and since I could not be 100% sure that what I thought I “read in her eyes” was what she was actually thinking, I could not be sure. But I considered her last 1-2 years of life just torture for her. So... as sad as I was, I was relieved when I got the call a year ago, on May 26th (exactly one month before her next birthday would’ve been)...that she’d died, I was happy that she “didn’t have to suffer anymore”. We scattered her ashes one month later, in last June, on what would have been her 89th birthday.

If my mom and aunt, who were there with her during her lasts days, would have told me the day before how “perky” she seemed the day before she passed, I would’ve known that it’s about to happen. But they told me when they called after it had happened. 

Death has never been something to fear in our family. My grandparents (their story is like a fairytale, where after she was gone he had "no reason to hold onto life anymore”, so he went just 4 months later...) even prepped everything themselves. They were prepared, though Mo on the show is more prepared. They had everything chosen & organized & planned (the plot, the main details), so everything was done according to their “notes” basically. With others it’s been more general...like where (which cemetary) they wanna be buried and/or cremated. 

        Yes, there is a lot under the (and etcetera)...from dealing with subsciptions on the persons name... to the bank... to job related stuff... next to the actual “burial event”. And while a good funeral home helps you a lot... and does a lot of the work for you (transportation...etc), then there is a lot that you/the family have to do before/after all this. But still... it’s not that difficult to get it all done. I did half the work when my dad died (lots of calls, emails, visits to offices/banks...etc).. to deal with all the paperwork and more. 

I understand that I may sound like a cold person to many, but in my experience death & funerals have never been “end of the world”...like they’re often done on TV. Cause in most cases they only show death & grief in one way on TV.... as “end of the world drama”. When we need more POV’s like the other option Howie represented to Zoey. (and then the characters can choose which was is their way)

So...honestly, I have a hard time “connecting” with the ZEP season 1 grief  plot....the way it was done. Even though I can draw many parallels between Mitch(’s health) & my dad(’s health). We knew that he had not much left, but he ended up going faster & “unexpectedly” so he was gone about a month after his health took a turn to the worse...and we had known that all there was left to do was to wait... 

And yet, based on most of the online comments, reviews, etc..I’ve seen online, most find it easy to connect, and “feel the same way” and I seem to be alone in my “weirdness” and different look at the grief and greif storyline. 

AM I ALONE IN THINKING THIS WAY? (MOST LIKELY) 

Did anyone else find it hard to believe the Zoey/SImon “grief connection” they tried to establish? 

Did anyone else find it hard to believe that such a close family had just been sitting & waiting for months (ever since last year, when Mitch was diagnosed), and not done anything....until Zoey’s superpower makes them magically start taking all sorts of steps? 

Did anyone think that the focus was not enough of the family, da/daughter, and grief...and too much on the love triangle? (even if the two storylines are connected...strongly)

[meatsnail]

top 5 battlebots that could beat duck

howie you know i dont know enough about battlebots to answer this question

1.) literally any robot sponsored by udder gun, its the power of the udder gun2.) icewave is just really funny to me and all i can think of is it smacking the beak off of duck3.) valkyrie just cuz i wanna see skye’s children fight4.) the four horsemen but only buttercup5.) overhaul has the power of god and anime on its side