#most importantly everyone is multifaceted and wrong sometimes

[doesnotloveyou]

the way other fanfic writers write boys and men tells me a lot of you have never observed men interacting in the wild much less had male friends of your own. he literally wouldn't do that

[brockadoodles]

I want your midnights - b. boeser

AN: This was named something else, but i didn’t update the doc name soooo, new year’s day came on shuffle and I was like that works I guess. Here ya go.

Word Count: 3079

Warnings: None

Brock didn’t make the All-Star game this season, something you were honestly grateful for. You would have loved to go with him to St. Louis, celebrate his success as he represented the Canucks, but the selfish part of you was relieved he was getting the entire bye week to rest. The season had been emotionally and physically draining. Between his injury, the ups and downs of the team, and moving in together it had begun to take its toll on both of you. 

You spent the week together in Vancouver, finally taking the time to pack up the Christmas decorations. Lights forgotten about as January came and went with you spending nights alone, Brock’s schedule being mostly away games. Waiting for Brock to come home from away games was different now that you lived together. Instead of restless nights up where you had to wait in anticipation of seeing him the next day, you got to wake up to him coming home and wrapping his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulders before you both drifted off to sleep together. 

You were in pure bliss, the novelty of the “honeymoon” stage of your relationship still going strong. You loved living with Brock, and you felt especially spoiled getting to spend a week with him, no practices or games, no distractions about work, just the two of you together. The last time you got this much time together was the previous summer, when you took a week off of work to visit him and meet his family in Minnesota. 

Minnesota gave you a version of Brock that you had never seen before, someone who was in a perpetual state of relaxation. Brock was happiest during the summer, he loved spending time back home with his childhood friends, going on long drives and camping out at the lake. Most importantly, he liked spending as much time with his dad as possible, especially with the future being so uncertain. You got to see him smile all the time, and you fell more in love with the little details about him you had never seen back when you were in Vancouver with him during the season. 

The Minnesota trip changed your relationship, a shift in seriousness and feelings surrounding the future that terrified you yet felt natural at the same time. It hit you suddenly on your last night there. You were sitting in the living room of his parent’s house, watching as he held his nephew in his arms, smiling down at the little baby boy. You realized that Brock was the embodiment of everything you could ever want in a partner. He cared, not just about you but about everyone around him. He was passionate and multifaceted in ways people that didn’t know him wouldn’t see. 

It was nearing the end of the All-Star break, with practices set to resume in two days, the playoff push for the Canucks coming back in full force. Brock was rested and at ease after the week at home with you and the dogs. He was ready to head back into the season, hopefully helping lead his team headfirst into the finish line. He was confident this year, the team had a wealth of young talent and they were finding a consistency that felt good. He felt like he could make an impact even after spending the beginning of the year out injured. He also had a calming factor in his life that he now got to come home to everynight, you. 

Brock was so in love with you that sometimes he worried it was too much. When he met you, he knew there was a pull between you, something he was eager to explore as he asked you on that first date over a year ago. One date turned into many, with records of late night FaceTime calls while he was away, and nights wrapped up in one another when he was in Vancouver. 

You can tell something is off almost instantly when you wake up. In your semi conscious state you reach for Brock’s side of the bed, missing the warmth of his body that is normally still wrapped up in yours, arms and legs entangled. You shift your body slightly, curling the blanket further around you as you let your eyes adjust to the darkness of the bedroom, allowing yourself to fully wake up before getting out of bed to find Brock. It was late January and Vancouver was plagued with grey skies and rain, the cold air floating through the room outside of the plush comforter. 

You reached your arm out to grab your phone, bypassing the notifications as you looked at the time. It was 5:36am and the sun had yet to rise. Milo and Coolie were both curled up on Brock’s side of the bed, laying on top of the sheets in the space that he usually occupies. You glanced toward the ensuite bathroom and saw nothing but darkness, an indication that Brock wasn’t in the room. You laid still in bed for a moment, listening for any signs of him coming back. 

You were still adjusting to the creeks and sounds of his condo, getting used to the soft whistle of the wind during the witching hour and the crackles of the leaves. You had only moved in with Brock in December, the two of you deciding once your lease ended that it was time to take the next step as a couple. Even though it had been a short time living there permanently, you already felt like it was a home you were building together, signs of both of you scattered throughout the condo. 

You slowly pull yourself out of bed, shivering slightly as you leave the warmth of the blanket. You picked up the blue Canucks hoodie that was resting at the bench beneath the bed where you had peeled it off late last night. You pulled your arms through it and slid your feet into your slippers, feeling slightly warmer and adjusted to the temperature out of the bed. You walked to the kitchen, the room illuminated softly by the stove light. You saw the coffee pot on and realized Brock was up for the day.

You slowly woke up as the smell of coffee became more apparent, the mug warming your hands. You looked out and saw Brock on the balcony, sitting on the wicker couch with a flannel blanket in his lap. You could only see one side of his face as you watched him for a moment, taking in the slight frown on his features as he pulled the mug to his lips, steam circling in the air as he took a sip of the coffee. 

You worried about Brock all of the time but living together you found yourself learning even more about him than you knew from just being together. You were memorizing how he liked his coffee in the morning, a dark roast with just a splash of cream, how he always spent an hour in bed when coming home from a road trip, laying with you and the dogs to wind down before he would unpack and settle back in. You knew how much it meant to him each time he scored, a familiar smile present on his lips knowing he would be donating for Parkinson’s research, honoring his dad. You reveled in learning all of the little things about him, finding yourself falling more in love with him each day. But people are multifaceted, and with the good things also come the bad. 

You knew what he was like after a loss, letting him be while he showered and then spent the night rewatching tape, analyzing himself for hours before finally coming to bed. You knew the worry lines on his forehead each time his mom called, bracing himself for potentially bad news. You knew how he always reached for your hand first when he was sad, lacing your fingers together as he curled his body around yours, finding comfort in the closeness. 

You stood there in the kitchen as Brock sat outside and you didn’t recognize the expression on his face. You weren’t familiar with the way his body was hunched over, eyes closing slowly as he blinked. He always told you when something was wrong and seeing him up this early in the morning on the balcony by himself made your stomach fill with nerves at the idea of it being something serious. 

You gripped your mug tight in your hands as you walked over to the sliding glass door, slowly opening it and stepping outside into the cold morning air. The sun was slowly starting to rise, barely peeking through the endless grey clouds in the sky. Brock turned at the sound of the door closing, making eye contact with you as you walked toward him. You didn’t recognize the look in his eye and he quickly turned his head back, looking out at the view of Downtown Vancouver in front of him, sprinkles of light peppered throughout the city as people were beginning their days. 

You shivered slightly as you sat down on the couch next to him, Brock pulling you close and putting the old flannel blanket over your lap. He set his mug down, steam slowly starting to evaporate is the coffee cooled down. You bit your lip and took in his appearance. He looked exhausted, dark circles underneath his eyes and his lips slightly downturned. His hair was disheveled like he had been tossing and turning all night, something you felt guilty for sleeping through. Brock shifted slightly and pulled your right hand into his, carefully threading his fingers through yours, a sign that something was bothering him. 

“Brock, what’s wrong?” You murmured quietly. You set your mug down on the table next to his and turned your body to face his. He leaned into your touch as you reached out with your left hand to cup his face, fingers gliding over the light stubble that was growing in. He didn’t answer your question, instead he unraveled his hand from yours and pulled you closer into his chest, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before resting his chin on your hair. You pressed your body into him, allowing yourself to stay there for a few moments in his arms, closing your eyes as you listened to his steady breathing and the beat of his heart. 

“Trade rumors.” He finally spoke, voice soft as the sound vibrated through his chest. You pulled away from him enough to look at him. Trade rumors had never phased him before, he had just signed a big contract with Vancouver, cementing himself as a key forward for the team. He spent a decent part of it injured this season, but his last few games had gone well, you couldn’t imagine why he would be considered for a trade during the late season push for playoffs. 

You curled further into his chest, completely enveloped by the warmth of him as he held you, coffee long forgotten as you watched the city illuminate with light from the sun. Brock’s fingers delicately traced circles on your hips, a cold sensation on your bare skin where the sweatshirt had risen up slightly. You waited for him to continue, knowing that he was mentally piecing together what he wanted to share with you about what was keeping him up at night. 

“I never usually pay mind to them.” He started, sighing quietly once more. You could tell by the tone of his voice that he was upset, each word slipping shakily from his mouth. You reached down, finding one of his hands and lacing your fingers with his once more, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand for encouragement. Brock loved holding your hand, he often said it kept him grounded, providing him comfort when his mind wouldn’t slow down or when feelings became too much. You felt his body relax as you squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him to continue. 

“I love you, you know.” He began again, “I’ve never really had to worry about there being truth to the rumors before. But this season, I don’t know.” You hated how insecure he sounded, how defeated he was over what was hopefully going to end up being some reporter just trying to get an interesting story to circulate with clickbait about Brock. 

“You’re not getting traded, there’s no way.” You responded. Brock loved Vancouver, that was why he stayed after his initial contract. He believed in his teammates, he found friendships with them that he didn’t realize he would have. He was a vital player to the Canucks, you couldn’t wrap your mind around any reason why they would want to trade him. 

“It’s not that, I mean, I would hate to leave here. I love Vancouver, I have most of my life here, but-” He stopped himself, swallowing softly as he pulled himself away from you a bit. He tucked his hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his slowly. You could see him searching your eyes for something, and you did everything you could to not appear worried about how he was acting. 

“I just, what if I do get traded though? What happens to us?” You felt your heart drop at his question, not because you were worried about what would become of your relationship, but because you were sad that he was concerned about it. You leaned your head up and closed the distance between you as you pressed your lips to his, the kiss soft, a hint of desperation behind it as you wished he would pick up on how much you loved him in that moment. You leaned back, resting your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling softly on his blonde hair. 

“I’d follow you anywhere, Brock. You have to know that by now.” You kept your voice steady, Brock needed to know how serious you were. You loved him more than you thought you were capable of loving a person, you were looking forward to experiencing the rest of your life with him, you would go anywhere he needed to go because that’s what you were willing to sacrifice to be with him. 

“I couldn’t ask you to, your life is here.” He smiled sadly, looking away from you and back out to the city he had grown attached to the last few years. 

“Brock, look at me.” you instructed, turning his cheek toward you. His eyes softened, nose slightly red from the cold air circling the two of you as you sat face to face outside. 

“I love you. I want everything with you, a home, two little kids running around someday, the dogs. I will do that no matter where it is, as long as it’s with you.” You were surprised by your own forwardness, but you meant every word that you said. You knew Brock was it for you, you couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t with him. He shifted slightly, eyes pulling away from yours and for a moment you wondered if you were moving too fast, if you were being too much for him and he hadn’t been thinking of those things with you at all. 

Brock didn’t say anything as he reached into his pocket, curling his fingers around the small black box that had been resting there all morning. His heart was pounding, he loved you, he had wanted this for a long time. Rumors about the trades fizzled from his mind, his entire focus now on you and this moment. He turned and looked at you for a moment, studying your face. Your eyes were wide, but it was evident you were tired and your cheeks slightly pink from the cold. You had a curious look in your eyes as strands of your hair softly fell around your face, evidence of the night before. 

Brock pulled the box out, running his fingers over it as he held his hand in front of yours. He watched as you looked down at it in his hands, eyes widening at the realization of what it was, a hint of glassiness already present in them. 

“I’ve had this all week, wondering what the perfect moment was to ask you. I almost did it so many times, but then I would get wrapped in my head and think about how maybe it was too soon, maybe we weren’t ready. We just moved in, how could we be ready?” He started and you sat there listening intently. Your hands were shaking, and tears were threatening to spill. Brock grabbed one of your hands, lacing your fingers together before turning to fully look at you again. 

“But, then I look at you and I just know you’re all I could ever want. I’ve been up all night about these stupid rumors and you come out here and you just know what I’m feeling and you somehow make it better. You make everything better. I want everything with you, the house, the babies, all of it. Will you marry me?” 

He opened the box, revealing a simple yet beautiful ring. You couldn’t stop the tears that were freely sliding down your cheeks, feeling overwhelmed with the events of the morning. Everything about it was perfect, an intimate moment just the two of you. You didn’t need a grand gesture, or a public proposal. You had Brock, and that was all you could ever need. 

“Of course.” You leaned up to kiss him, smiling into it. When you pulled apart you presented your left hand to him, shaking slightly as he slid the ring on your finger, lacing your fingers together once more. 

The two of you sat out on the balcony for a while longer, wrapped up in that old flannel blanket as you watched the rest of the sunrise, the view of Vancouver sparkling as the sun completely rose, grey clouds evaporating for an abnormally beautiful day. The trade rumors not mentioned again, it didn’t matter where he went if it happened, you’d go to any other city as long as it meant you had him. 

[samsoleil]

3 17 23 for the spn asks. Please tag me @boykingsofhell so I see your answers <3

ask game

Thank you sm @boykingsofhell !! Putting question 3 at the end so that I can put my essay under the cut.

17. What’s an aspect of SPN people often point to as a flaw that you really enjoy?

the finale was good actually

Okay so. a lot of the flaws that people see in spn have been resolved in various posts about hbo spn but. something specific that people tend to want to resolve in hbo spn that I actually enjoy as-is is how the relationship between characters and religion. There is something to be said about religious trauma but there is also something very powerful about creating the space to analyse it without braining the audience with it. Cas off-handedly saying "Sam is, of course, an abomination" has stuck with me since age 13 (7 years!! heck!!) because it's casually said once and then almost never again, and we the audience are able to extrapolate the effects of that ourselves. Yes, it could be explored more, but I fear what it could have been in the wrong hands.

On a similar track, Supernatural suggests parallels between Sam and Dean and faith in an absent father, one for Dean and one for Sam, where

Dean has blind faith in John while Sam demands autonomy

Sam has desperate faith in God while Dean rejects the concept

but it doesn't demand that you Look at it. Sam doesn't need to carry a rosary to communicate his faith. He doesn't need to beg on his knees in the mud to demonstrate that he wants to be saved. Faith and doubt are integral parts of their character. The change in their faith and their doubt is interwoven in their character development.

23. If you could forget all of spn, would you watch it again? Why/why not?

Yes. Partly because I only have one brain cell and I share it with a friend of mine, partly because, despite everything, Supernatural has brought me a lot of joy at points in my life where I have had very little of it.

3. TFW: Sam, Dean, or Cas stan? I wanna hear your dissertation :)

I am a bitter Sam fan since (at latest) June 2015 (at earliest, mid 2014) and I will not apologise. I actually had to take a break after season 10 because seasons 6 to 10 made me so mad!! I couldn't do it anymore! 

Quick explanation for this is because I relate to Sam a lot and am also an eldest sibling, which means I can both project onto Sam and feel ridiculously affectionate towards him. 13yo me saw this 22yo and thought, is anyone gonna love this? and didn’t wait for an answer.

Long explanation below the cut.

Sam is my fave for a great deal many reasons but I'll try to summarise it in three points:

Excellent narrative

Relatable character

Wonderful to watch

1. Narrative

Sam has the most compelling storyline and character arcs of anyone in Supernatural. His storylines are compelling, multifaceted, and incredibly interesting to analyse.  Finding evidence for this can be easily done through the following steps:

watch the show

Sam is a story of someone who has responded to intense trauma due to circumstances beyond his control by choosing to be kind and compassionate. This is someone who has been told by everyone he knows that he is a monster not worth saving, and took that and turned it into a determination to make sure that nobody would ever feel that way again. In the earlier seasons, Sam defines himself by his anger while others define him by preconceived notions about his character. And he spends his entire life proving everyone, including himself, wrong. That he can be defined by his actions, rather than what he is or what people think of him. This is not only the best but also the only consistent narrative theme, which is very powerful of him.

He is a story of someone struggling to maintain his autonomy in a world that is determined to take it from him, and with that autonomy he decides to better the world around him. Interwoven in his character is the belief that your actions define who you are. And it isn't something that is easy for him to believe! It's a choice that he makes, sometimes rather desperately, that defines him just as much as any other choice. Which is why it's also SO interesting that Sam's autonomy is so frequently violated - because he believes that his actions define who he is, but so often his choices aren’t respected and he isn't the one in control of his actions.

2. Projection

All the above things are excellent reasons for why Sam is a good comfort character. Not actually because he's having a terrible time. But conceptually, he is strongly tied to the ideas that

people might say you are inherently bad, but they are incorrect

sometimes terrible stuff happens to you and that's not your fault

(this one only works if you love sam like I do) you can struggle with mental illness and still be loved

which are very comforting ideas. I feel comforted.

Furthermore, Sam is specifically a very comforting character for people who are queer, have siblings, and/or are religious. As a queer person, I'd like to point out that Sam is an excellent queer allegory.  Being told you're inherently wrong because of who you are and internalising it because the people you care about have said it? Being ostracised by your family because your fundamental character is different to what they planned for you? Feeling like you can't be honest with the people around you because if they knew who you really were, they would think differently of you? Also, he's gender. And apparently his gender on his licence was F on the official website so he has canonical evidence for being trans. He/they Sam. Gender neutral language for his past partners. Sam’s queer is what I’m getting at

And, importantly for me (and Dean), Sam is the person everyone with eldest daughter syndrome wishes they could be. He was distanced enough from his parental figure that he could cut through the veil of psychological manipulation to see the rotten core of abuse underneath. And he knows it! Early season Sam stands up for himself against his dad (and Dean) time and time again. Mid season Sam stands up for himself against the actual devil. Late season Sam stands up for himself against God himself. I want that for myself. I want to believe in my right to autonomy that strongly.

3. I am Looking

Listen. We all know that Sam and his character development was tossed to the wayside a bit (a lot) after... S7, I would say. But Jared Padalecki has fed us well. Even when Sam has no lines, he still has personality and character and thoughts and feelings and they're right there! on his face! in his whole body! He shows what he's feeling with everything he has, written on every inch of his skin, he responds so vibrantly to everything and it just feels so so real. Sam responds so emotionally and physically to the things that happen around him and it is just. so wonderful to watch. I am just full of affection for this character!!

Also. good to look at. I'm ace and Sam is the closest I have ever come to understanding the allo experience. Thanks for listening.

[tjkiahgb]

Anon and I wrap up Season 2 - Part 3: Best and Worst Character Arcs

“Question Three: Which main character had the best arc and vice versa? I’ll go extra and give out a list in order of best to worst - Buffy, Bex, Cece, Jonah, Andi and Cyrus.

Bex had a really cool arc from trying to find a niche between friend and mom. But more importantly, her arc on graduating and finding her career is a good message to kids not to give up on their education. 

Cece has really loosened up this season and it’s nice to see her have fun.

Jonah arguably had powerful moments but I find his arc to be disjointed. It’s like the writers never really knew what to do with him and decided to give him a mental breakdown out of the blue. I initially thought it was a clever twist to make Jyrus happen but it ended up being just more lousy writing.

Andi may be the main character but she hardly had any development for the whole season. Sure, she’s more assertive and outspoken but I feel like those are just magnifications of the same Andi that we saw in season one. It doesn’t help at all that Jandi is the biggest thing going on with her, which made her pretty stagnant. The only storyline where she had any sense of agency was playing the Bexie matchmaker.

Speaking of agency, this is the main criteria of which I base this answer. And thus Buffy Driscoll takes the crown. Where to begin? Her insatiable hunger to be good at the things she sets her mind into? Her refusal to cave in to peer pressure and engage in a romantic dyad she feels she isn’t ready for? Her determination to break barriers to show that girls can be better than boys even in sports? Her ability to exercise self-control and perseverance despite and in spite of the animosity and ostracism she has faced in her team? Her decision to be the bigger person and helping her tormentor for the sake of being a team player?  Her compassion and loyalty to Cyrus? The only time Buffy lost agency in this season is when her mom got a job somewhere else and they had to move - but even then she stubbornly refused to say goodbye and dictated the terms of her departure. Man, this season has been the season of the slayer.

In all fairness, Cyrus did have a lot of agency in this season as well. There was his aforementioned coming out scene, his determination to make his Bash Mitzvah a success, and Tyrus. However, the reason why I rate him as having the worst arc is that most of these big developments occur off-screen. On the basis of what is actually shown on the show, the biggest arcs he had was Ciris. Which was pretty okay but I felt was just abruptly cut off. I know a lot of people here lament the fact that he never used the word gay. But I think his refusal to use that label also shows agency on his part. I think my main problem is that his arc appears to be disjointed - he’s just the kooky sidekick who’s there for comedic relief until his big moments come. And this has made point A to point B to point C Cyrus seemingly different persons. And seeing all the press, I find a certain dissonance between using Joshua as a poster boy for representation and having his character’s story relegated to the backburner for most of the season. The writers have treated Cyrus’ story as this precious china that is there mostly for display only to be brought out during special occasions. As I have said before, for someone who's second on the billing, Cyrus' story gets short changed over and over and over again.”

It’s hard to argue with too many of these, Anon. I’ll pass on ranking them myself, but I’ll jump in and add a little bit more.

I love how multifaceted Bex’s issues are. She’s learning how to be a mom. She’s learning how to be a better daughter and interact better with her mother. She’s dealing with her relationship with Bowie and trying to find a split between being mature (respecting where he’s at in life) and going after the man she wants. And she’s finding her place in the working world. Her growth seems to happen pretty quietly, but it’s impressive to see how far she’s come.

Celia is such a fantastic character. I think it’s great that now that she doesn’t have to shoulder so much of the responsibility of raising Andi, she can finally be more of a grandma. Her relationship with Bex continues to be fascinating -- trying to help her succeed while also trying to figure out when she’s overstepping. Her stuff with Ham this season has been a bit of a disappointment though. They interact less and less as time goes on, so much so that their storylines have become about how they don’t talk enough. Celia buying The Fringe without telling Ham can be chalked up a little to her go-getter attitude, but that’s still way too much. And Ham deciding to leave the country without telling her is about on par. I’m hoping for some cleaner stories in season 3 between those two (though I get the feeling Ham’s going to be doing a lot of “traveling” for much of the time).

I sort of agree with you on Jonah’s arc being disjointed, though for different reasons. Much of 2A was tied in Andi and Jonah feeling out their relationship, but I found it to be not incredibly interesting stuff. As I said in part 1 of this series of posts, I actually liked the introduction of the panic attack. I think it gave Jonah some depth that he was sorely missing as a main character. I never saw it as a way to move him towards Cyrus, though. I accepted it as being sprung from his relationship issues with Andi. The stuff with him in 2B was hit and miss. I liked the idea of him treating his anxiety through music, but doing all of that therapy through the lens of Bowie, who’s really kind of making things up as he goes along, was maybe a mistake. He should seek professional help at some point (perhaps in season 3). I do like the steps he’s taking to mature, as well. Being gracious around Walker at the art fair was a great move. But, right after that, he signed up to go to a two month frisbee camp, which is the worst thing he’s ever done. I mean, it’s not really bad, but, you know, TWO MONTH FRISBEE CAMP?!

I’d argue Andi’s arc has been the worst of the bunch. Season 2 overall for her has been a lot of messy back and forth about how much she does or doesn’t need Jonah in her life. Her relationship with the GHC remains pretty much the same, which is sort of nice, to keep it as this constant bright spot in her life, but doesn’t allow for a whole lot of drama. And the Bexie stuff has been pretty static for her as well. Andi started the season trying to get them together and didn’t really veer off that path. I feel like even in 2A, when it seemed like Bexie maybe wouldn’t happen, or later, when there were obstacles like Bowie getting a serious girlfriend, Andi never stopped believing that Bex and Bowie had to get married. I’ve enjoyed the growth in her relationships with her immediate family members, but on the whole, her arc has been lacking.

You’re right about Buffy having had the most to do this season. She’s shown strength throughout all of season 2 in various ways, but being strong is fairly consistent with her character. I find her most interesting moments come when she lets her guard down a bit: admitting to Jonah she’s chasing victory to prove to herself she’s strong, admitting to her mother she’s not strong enough to leave her friends. I think finding the ability to forgive those who’ve wronged her -- Amber and TJ -- showed a lot of emotional strength. Buffy’s season has been an interesting study in the ways strength manifests itself, and that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is admit to a weakness.

I know we’ve made a lot about Cyrus’s storylines receiving a lack of visibility, but I will say I think his arc is still a decent one. (For the record, I think not saying “gay” and the fact that he does only have a few explicitly gay moments a season comes from the Mouse up above rather than being a choice made by the writers.) Cyrus has matured a lot over the season. He’s grown, he’s had his Bar Mitzvah, he’s begun to learn what he does and doesn’t want in a relationship. Letting go of his vision of Jonah and moving on (while it upset a lot of viewers) is actually quite a big move for him. He’s trying to see people more for who they are rather than what he’s made them out to be. Plus, he’s starting to gain more confidence, which is great. When you look at his three explicit moments of gayness this season, you see that. The coming out conversation with Buffy was fraught with confusion and fear. His coming out with Andi was much lighter. By the time he’s talking to Buffy about his lost crush on Jonah, it’s business as usual. He’s gay. He can talk about his feelings for a boy (at least to Buffy) with little drama. Here’s to hoping it gets a little more spotlight in season 3.

I want to touch on a couple of the recurring characters, too. (Not TJ. Everyone knows where I stand on TJ’s arc.)

Amber. Poor Amber. My heart goes out to any Amber stans in the audience. Her redemption arc was beaten up and tossed around all over the place. I thought maybe they were heading there in 2A but that whole ferris wheel thing happened. I thought they might try again in 2B, but they just ripped off her eyebrow and forgot about her for almost the entire rest of the season until they suddenly brought her back with a few episodes to go and did a pretty sloppy story. The friendship with Cyrus could maybe work, given some time, but the Buffy thing happened way too fast. And really, Amber’s story is mostly with Jonah and Andi anyway, so why go there? At least she’s starting to get put into a better light. Maybe she’ll finally get to settle things with Jonah and Andi in season 3.

And Walker? He was introduced as this charming, artsy boy, and now, several appearances later, what more do we know about him? Sort of nothing. He’s still a charming, artsy boy. We know he’s coming back for season 3. I’m curious what kind of arc he might have in store for him. What other aspects does he have besides being charming and making art?

[shenanigumi]

Characterization Essay #2

or, Why Chizuru Doesn’t Deserve Your Hate

I’ve been fortunate enough to avoid any overt Chizuru hate during my time in this fandom, but I’ve seen quite a few people telling her off for ‘getting in the way’ of them and their man, as though she isn’t—you know—integral to the plot. As though she’s somehow ‘less than’, or unworthy of their attention, or otherwise ill-suited to her possible love interests.

Basically, I’ve seen many people treat her as though she’s in the way, rather than the central character through which we see the rest of the world. Today, I hope to show you why I at least think that Chizuru fulfills her purpose as both a protagonist (meta) and a deep character (in-universe). As seems to be usual, I’ll be including sections from my wiki, and those are as objective as I could make them—but again, I can’t vouch for my interpretation.

Now, are you ready for yet another character study?

First of all, I’m not asking you to like Chizuru any more than I’m asking you to like anyone in real life. Some personalities mesh better with ours than others, and hers is no exception. And I’m definitely not saying I don’t have my own issues with how she usually acts, because hell, I’ve made fun of her myself:

The thing is, all my comments are exaggerations rooted in affectionate exasperation, whereas I’ve encountered several instances of alarmingly genuine agreement over the months. People definitely have their own individual preferences as to personality type, but no matter whether you love her or hate her, the point I hope to make today is that Chizuru is a valid and three-dimensional character.

Chizuru is hardworking and kindhearted, and has a strong sense of propriety and justice. Though she is sensitive in the extreme to others’ needs, she can be oblivious with regard to herself. She has a deep-seated desire to make herself useful to those who help her, such as the Shinsengumi and (in his route) Kazama. Because of her largely self-imposed sense of obligation, it can be difficult for her to decline tasks she does not want to do.

Chizuru is naturally very curious, which can make it challenging for her to drop a subject about which she wants to know more, and consequently makes her initial situation very hard for her to manage. She also finds it difficult to suppress or conceal her emotions or intentions, and in spite of her crossdressing, she is neither a good actor nor a good liar. Furthermore, Chizuru is easily flustered, which makes her a prime target for teasing, particularly from Okita. Similarly, while she does not have a quick temper, Chizuru can become indignant and defensive if she is passionate enough about something, even before the situation calls for it.

Despite her status as a demon, Chizuru is physically not very powerful. However, she is strong-willed to the point of occasional obstinacy, and can verge on the self-sacrificial if she believes it necessary. This is most prominent when she demonstrates overprotectiveness of her loved ones or even ideals.

Does that sound like a flat character? Sure, I can pick out a number of significant differences between her and myself, but she has a definite personality of her own—and, refreshingly for an otome heroine, it’s got no small number of flaws that come with it. More than that, it’s how her flaws are portrayed that I like. With characters labeled ‘Mary Sue’, often, their faults are downplayed or spun to be endearing. For Chizuru, they are specifically addressed and oftentimes developed/improved just like any other character’s faults.

More than that, different shortcomings crop up and are eventually resolved during different routes, lending her as multifaceted a personality as Kazama’s. For instance, on Harada’s route, her tendency toward self-deprecation is spotlighted; on Heisuke’s route, it is her stubbornness. Both are directly confronted as part of the plot, working in tandem with Harada’s and Heisuke’s own faults to be resolved so that both characters grow as a result.

Speaking of which, it’s worth noting that game!Chizuru and anime!Chizuru are presented differently, but though the depiction varies between media, these facets are always present in her personality—and that shows significant depth of character. Even within the game itself, each route brings out different aspects of Chizuru’s personality: in the games as a whole, she is an “active” Chizuru, most prominently in Saito’s, Heisuke’s, and Harada’s routes, and is more inclined to take her fate into her own hands. In the anime, she is a “passive” Chizuru, and her more submissive traits are also accentuated in Hijikata’s, Okita’s, and Kazama’s routes in-game. Yet they are all decidedly Chizuru, and all recognizable as such: tell me that isn’t a versatile character!

Now that I’ve hopefully at least established that Chizuru has a personality and is not a Mary Sue, I’ll get into some of her character traits that have been known to rub people the wrong way. And again, I’m not asking you to like them—just looking to explain them. She has excellent reasons for being the way she is.

First thing’s first, you have to keep in mind that Chizuru is very much a product of her time… in a way. Similarly to the entire plot of Hakuōki, and all the other characters, she is a seamless blend of modern concepts and past context. This means that as a young woman, she is naturally put in a passive position, but she is not helpless. From the very beginning, Chizuru makes the best of her situation and takes care of herself in every way she can. Her entire goal is to impose as little of a burden on the Shinsengumi as possible, which can hardly be called attention-seeking. More importantly, her subservience can be traced back to an earnest desire to help and to have something to do with herself, not out of weakness or bowing down to her superiors. She has an acute sense of what is right, but by no means does that make her less of her own person.

And regarding Chizuru’s fighting ability? I’ve heard many complaints about her lack of combat scenes, and believe me, I’ll be the first to yell at Chizuru in the anime or musicals for not drawing her sword, but I’ll also be the first to defend that choice. It would be out-of-character for Chizuru to be interested in violence of any kind; she prefers to assert herself with her words, preferably gently, although she has been known to talk back in the heat of the moment. Besides, it is explained in the games that she has developed a slight (and extremely understandable) phobia of blades due to having been conditioned to avoid them lest others find out about her demonic healing.

Chizuru’s self-defense training was not something she undertook of her own volition, and she has never claimed to be any kind of combat expert. Nor does she need constant support and rescuing; though she gets into tight spots sometimes, it is usually a.) demon-related, and b.) not because she insisted that someone save her. In other words, when she needs help, it isn’t because she’s gone looking for trouble or gotten in over her head by overestimating her abilities. Additionally, she does not get in the way during combat, so much as she is reluctant to initiate it. I will own that the anime and/or musicals could have handled this much better, but they are also different media, with a slightly different point—and in the meantime, mine still stands. Chizuru cannot be expected to be a master of combat; that is not who she is.

I’ve heard it said often among fellow Chizuru supporters that one does not have to be overtly badass or skilled in combat in order to be a strong female character, and I’d just like to underline that here. I’d argue that the guys’ dynamics with Chizuru develop precisely because that’s who she is, and that everything would change if her personality were altered in that way. In short, the game we know and love would cease to be. It is a delicate balance, and if we tweak Chizuru’s personality so that she comes more to the forefront, we defeat the point of the game we all love.

Another aspect of her personality that people may find troublesome, and the one that bothers me the most, is her obliviousness. But even that is forgivable if you look into the context. Chizuru is innocent, not ignorant. As the players/observers, we have been trained to look for signs of romance, because we are playing the route. This makes every blush, glance, and line of dialogue extremely significant. However, in Chizuru’s position as a naïve and somewhat sheltered girl who is not initially looking for love, it’s understandable that suggestive remarks or flirtation would go over her head. After all, she’s there to find her father, right? Why would she read into anything? And let’s not forget that she’s perfectly aware of what goes on in the red-light districts. She simply has no prior experience in sex or romance, and therefore no special sensitivity to most subtle remarks.

Now, back to the ‘not looking for love’ thing: I’d like to point out how absolutely non-romance-centric Hakuōki is. It gives priority to character development, including Chizuru’s, and much of her romance with any one guy depends on her actions (hence why there’s a Romance meter as well as Corruption). What I love most about Chizuru and her dynamics is that not all the guys fall for her at all, let alone instantly. This is not your typical ‘reverse harem’ game, where there’s a distinct possibility of romance with almost everyone no matter whose route you’re on. Everything depends on Chizuru’s choices, which are always colored by Chizuru’s personality, and while they may not necessarily line up with what you or I would do in that situation, Chizuru is who each character ultimately begins to respect.

She is significantly less of a self-insert than many other otome heroines, from what I’ve seen, and actually stands up well to the historically based characters as both a foil and a plot pusher. She interacts well with the environment around her, fitting into the game’s style of worldbuilding, revelations, and gradual pacing. A more ‘assertive’ heroine would naturally have forced them to put her in the spotlight, which would have defeated much of the point of the plot. The point is that she is our window into modified!19th-century-Japan, not its centerpiece, and that while her character development is always central (as she learns how to navigate the world around her and overcome her own internal battles), it is often intertwined with that of history itself. If we changed Chizuru’s personality, it would have changed not only the plot, but the entire message. Thus, because of her passivity and her pacifism and even her at times infuriating obliviousness, Chizuru is exactly the heroine that Hakuōki needs—no more, no less.

In conclusion, not everyone can be expected to like any given person, real or fictional, but you must acknowledge Chizuru as a functional character. I’m not even sure where I stand with her myself, but to me, she is who she is… and that’s the only thing that really matters. My point is simply that Chizuru is as complete and important a character as everyone else in Hakuōki, and that if your hatred of her is based on the fact that she is ‘shallow’ or ‘two-dimensional’ or a Mary Sue, you should consider that maybe she’s just not your type.

(@kurokiorya​ – I hope this explains a few things!!)

[the-years-between-us]

Lamplighter

Summary: Stella gets a call from Reed directly following the final episode of The Fall S3. (Stella Gibson/Reed Smith)

Chapter Index 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Continual thanks to @TheRobbinsGang, @JenSchwartz21, and @SpookyHadley for all of your help. This chapter is a bit more lighthearted but see Chapter 1 for warnings. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Dawn breaks and Reed turns over on the rumpled sheets cushioned around her, arches her back, stretching and nuzzling her face into the softness of her pillow. Too early.

She feels a definite warmth beside her. It must be one of the girls, they crawl into her bed at night when they've had a bad dream and it's escalated since the move. She tries to will herself to move, check which one of them it is this time so she can pull them closer. But when she finally cracks her eyes, the previous night comes slamming into her psyche at the glint of blonde she sees illuminated by daybreak.

Stella.

Ever since that night in Belfast, she told herself that should would find a way to make this right. Everything that happened between them and everything that didn't happen between them. She would find a way to get her life in order and settle things at home. Sort out her feelings. Because as strange and confusing as it might be, Reed had feelings, intense feelings for Stella, feelings that apparently had no intention of leaving anytime soon. She was stuck with them.

Back in Ireland, it had managed to sneak up on her, this unusual attraction she’d felt toward Stella. Odd moments spent thinking of her, contemplating the multifaceted aspects of her being. Reed found her focus obscured by these thoughts of Stella on more than one occasion. Although she could reason it away at the time, Stella, it would seem, was far more direct than that. She wasn't afraid of what she wanted and she wasn't afraid to act. It was impressive, Reed remembers feeling flattered that night and more excited than she'd been in years.

Afterall, Reed had begun to think that she'd arrived at a stage in her life where she was incapable of feeling new things. Everyday the same thing at work, the same thing at home, deep in her soul she could feel parts of herself fading. And then Stella kissed her. It was a shock to her senses - she'd never felt such a strong attraction to a woman before. That confused her, but not enough to stop it from happening a second time. Because as Stella pulled away to gauge her reaction before capturing her lips once more, Reed finally remembered what it felt like to be entirely herself again.

So when Stella got up to leave and asked if she'd like to accompany her back to her hotel room, she'd said yes. It didn't feel like her life - the life she’d been living day to day, doing what she was supposed to for everyone around her while driving a little too fast every time she got on her bike, simply for herself. Either way, she wasn't accustomed to this sort of invitation, not by colleagues and not by women, and definitely not by women who were colleagues. She should say no. But she found that she didn’t want to, she wanted to hold on to this part of herself, the person that Stella saw when she looked at her just now. Afterall, if she wasn’t dead, why was she living like she was? And then they were standing there in that hallway and suddenly she couldn't ignore the single word banging around in her brain.

Married. She was married.

It wasn't a perfect marriage or even a good one. She wasn't particularly happy, hadn't been for some time, and she felt desperate for someone to lean on, someone who understood. And into her life came Stella, so beautiful and full of her own power. It was fascinating, overwhelming to witness, and she’d forgotten that people could be like that. But then Reed found herself following Stella back to a hotel room when she didn't really have the right. Sure, her relationship was shit and she was vulnerable, but that wasn't an excuse to go around sleeping with attractive women.

And then it hit her somewhere deeper. She'd never even been with a woman, she had no experience with anything that was about to happen, and the realization broke over like a crashing wave to shore. Stella was enigmatic and cultured and had no hesitation in any of this. She would know what to do and as the numbers ticked down, Reed knew that it was about to become painfully obvious that she grew up in a sheltered home, in a conservative town and got married before she was ready, but most of all, that she didn't have enough experience to back this up.

So she'd left. She left to figure herself out, assess her feelings and her marriage. Because if she was finding herself in front of elevators entertaining these thoughts, something was very wrong. And it wasn't fair. And she didn't want to hurt her husband.

But it seems she's hurt him anyway because she's left him and moved and that's pretty shitty of her regardless of whether or not she wanted to fuck Stella back then. So she didn't cave to her selfishness in the moment but did it really matter if only a few weeks later she managed to do it the ‘right’ way? End result is the same. She's split up her family and that's her doing, no one else's.

Then she stops herself and tries to correct her spiraling train of thought. Her feelings are valid and her desire to leave was valid, and she needs to stop shouldering the brunt of the blame for something that hadn't been working for a long time. Something that wasn't right for her daughters. Almost every day she reminds herself that they deserve two loving homes instead of one pissy, tumultuous one. And some days she almost believes she’s done the right thing.

Then some days she thinks that maybe Stella came along at the right time, forcing her to realize a lot of things about herself. And some days she thinks that maybe she's just very drawn to her.

She doesn't really know why.

Having thought on it to an annoying degree, she can't pinpoint exactly what it is about Stella that's captured her. All she knows is that once she was settled in London and feeling more like herself, there was only one person she wanted to see. And even though it might seem conspicuous, it's not why she moved here. Truly, Reed loves London, always has. Belfast had been Daniel’s doing, his job, his dream. And she'd been okay with it at the time, she'd been prepared to leave behind what she loved in sacrifice for something she loved more. But no one ever tells you that sometimes even the greatest things, like love, don't last forever. Even when you want it to, even when it's no one’s fault.

She’d needed to come to terms with that.

And now that she has, she's in Stella’s bed. How timely. She has no idea what she'd been thinking other than how badly she’d wanted to find out what would have happened if she hadn't walked away all those weeks ago... At least that part worked out.

She looks around for a clock, needs to know the time so she can calculate how much longer she can lay here. As she moves to glance over Stella's shoulder, the curl of blonde hair below shifts she and catches her peaking.

“Good morning,” she says groggily, sleep coloring her voice.

“Good morning,” Reed responds sheepishly. “Sorry to wake you, I was just looking for the time.”

“No need to apologize,” she says stretching and turning into Reed. “Do you have somewhere to be this morning?”

“I usually drop the girls at school around eight.”

“Mm,” Stella responds looking around for her phone but apparently she's left it downstairs and her alarm clock isn't plugged in. She must not have gotten around to putting everything right since returning home. But then she gets up, swinging on her robe and pads over to a dresser where she retrieves a watch. She squints at it a little and then-

“Shit, it's 7:35.”

“Fuck.

And then Reed’s throwing off the covers and bending down for her underwear and her clothes. They're a crumpled mess but they'll have to do. How the hell was it already so late? She's not one to oversleep or ignore her internal clock. Guess that's just what happens when you spend half the night fucking instead of sleeping. While she's buttoning her pants, Stella's handing her her shirt and asking if she should call her a cab. Having no real alternative plan, Reed takes her up on the offer and Stella goes downstairs to find her phone.

Reed uses the washroom connected to Stella's bedroom in the meantime and scrubs her face of the smudged mascara left over from the night before. She looks an absolute wreck. Her hair is everywhere and her lack of sleep is visibly evident. And even though she could technically get her sister to drop off the girls, she wouldn't feel right about asking her to do that. She already relies on her too much and more importantly, her children need some level of consistency right now. Not to mention the questions that would ensue. So she finds some mouthwash, gargles it and heads down to collect the rest of her belongings.

Stella's in the kitchen putting on coffee and cleaning up their forgotten glasses from the night before. “Your car should be here in a few minutes,” she says over her shoulder as Reed comes in. “Need anything else before you go?”

“No, that's perfect, thank you,” she says running a hand through her hair. “Sorry to rush off like this.”

“Don't worry about it,” Stella says stopping the faucet and turning to her, done with tidying. “I just wish I'd thought to set an alarm. I wasn't thinking.”

“I don't think either of us were,” she replies and it comes out sounding far more suggestive than she’d wanted it to.

“Well, thank god for that, then.”

Something in the way Stella says it blazes up Reed’s neck and she feels terribly self-conscious. She looks away uncomfortably but then scolds herself, tells herself not to act so childish. So she forces her gaze back to Stella only to find laughter in her eyes and god, she feels bad at this. It's been forever since she's dated and she's forgotten everything. She has no idea what's appropriate.

“Let's go get your things,” Stella says looking towards the foyer and saving her.

Always saving her.

They walk in together and she collects her purse and coat, pulling it on and finding her phone. Christ, there's a string of missed calls and texts from Lydia that she'll have to respond to in the car. Looking up from her cluttered screen she sees that the cab’s thankfully pulling up in front of Stella’s flat now. That was quick.

“Car’s here,” she says turning away from the window and walking back to Reed. She's quite the picture in her silk robe and morning hair, which doesn't look nearly as awful as it should. In fact, it looks pretty good, she doesn't look like she just woke up at all and that's not really fair. It's even less fair when Reed’s the one with places to be looking like the embodiment of ‘a walk of shame.’ Then Stella folds her arms over herself in a shielding sort of way and perhaps it's just a reflex, she reasons. After all, she can't be entirely upset because her eyes are still mocking her when she reminds her, “Best get going, can't have the girls running late.”

“Course not,” she agrees, making to move and then stopping because this suddenly feels too fast, it’s not what a proper goodbye looks like. And even though she's not sure how this works anymore or even more delicately, how this works with Stella, she knows that it feels wrong. So she plants her feet and takes time to really look at her, make sure she's listening, before she lets her know, “I had a very lovely time.”

“So did I.”

Good. That’s good. Now what?

She wants to see her again. Even with her nerves and the little bumps of awkwardness between them, everything went well. At least she thinks it did, she's pleased. And Stella isn't completely shut off from her as if it's all just been “one night” that “didn't mean anything.” This definitely doesn't feel like that so maybe she should just ask because she's still standing there in her foyer and Stella isn't saying anything. Fuck, why isn't she saying anything? She's just standing there looking perfect and silent with twinkling eyes like she knows exactly what's going on in Reed’s mind and finds some sort of humor in watching it unfold. Or maybe her silence is merely the code for ‘one night stand’ and Reed’s screwing it up because it's been so long since she’s had one.

No.

She decides no, that’s not what this is and that’s not what she wants because she hasn't stopped thinking about her for weeks, and she doesn't imagine that waking up tomorrow will be any different. Perhaps she’s in way over her head but isn't that the whole point of getting back to herself with this move and the separation? Living a more honest life? Honest with herself, honest with others - she can do that, she has to do that.

“Can I call you, see if you're free later this week?”

“I'd like that.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” she says smiling a little, looking suddenly younger than her years and that’s when Reed realizes that Stella doesn't smile, she smirks and even that's a stretch. There's something she does, something very subtle with the muscles of her face, and it projects the illusion of smiling on occasion, when necessary. A lift of her brows, a ghosting curve of her lip, but it's never really a smile in the traditional sense. But as Reed witnesses this variation now, she realizes that she’s seeing one. Small but still a sight to behold and she feels very lucky. Then Stella continues because she's still standing there gaping, “You're going to be even later than you already are.”

“Right, of course.”

At least she's done it. She's going to call her and they'll see each other again and it's going to be fine, absolutely fine. Nothing left to do. She needs to go. So she moves to leave for real this time and as she reaches for the door knob, there's a hand on her waist. It's not demanding but Reed stops all the same, turning to see what's the matter. And before she knows it Stella's lips are pressed softly against her’s in a goodbye that makes her wish she didn't have to leave. And Stella’s hand cradles her face, the pad of her thumb sweeping over Reed’s cheek briefly before she pulls away whispering, “I'm glad you stayed.” Then Stella steps back and opens the door for her, “I'll see you this week.

Reed bites her lip, gives her a small nod and scurries from Stella’s flat down to the cab. Hopping in quickly and rattling off her sister's address, she turns to see Stella watching her from her still open door, leaning against the frame. Reed smiles at her and then they pull away.

She doesn’t stop the smiling the rest of the way home.

*

Flying out of the car at exactly 7:56am, she practically throws her money into the driver’s hands before jogging to the front door of Lydia’s flat. She'd called her sister in the cab to let her know that she'd still be taking the girls to school, and asked her to go about her day as usual. Like any good sister, Lydia told her that she'd made the girls breakfast and then immediately pressed her for details about the previous evening in a rushed whisper. Reed not-so-skillfully dodged her questions with a, “Can't talk now, see you soon,” before hanging up the phone. It’s bought her a few extra minutes but probably not much beyond that.

Oh well.

Hand on the doorknob, she makes one last ditch effort to put her hair into place before catching her reflection in the glass. There's no hope for her. She's just got to go in there and deal with the aftermath of her decisions. Suddenly it feels frightening and her stomach ties itself into a thousand knots. But she concedes that she’ll have to get over it because navigating this part of her life comes with the territory of her choices. She’d just truly wanted to be more careful than this, she’d wanted to get this right, not traumatize her children or put her sister in the position of covering for her carelessness.

Yet here she is.

So she turns the handle and there are her girls, sitting patiently on the steps dressed in their winter coats, backpacks on and waiting for her. They're giggling over some toy of Charlotte’s - a doll she’d picked out a few weeks ago - and it’s morphed into some absurd position that they find terribly amusing. But as soon as the door closes behind her, there’s a small click and she manages to draw their undivided attention.

“Mum!”

“Where were you?” Jane says with intense accusation and a scowl to match, one that only a twelve year-old could make so comical. “We’ve been waiting for ages.”

“I doubt it’s been ages ,” Reed tells her, approaching the girls and letting her voice go all dramatic, which gets her absolutely nowhere with the disapproving child. “Where, uh, did Aunt Lydie say I was?”

“She said you went to the store…” Jane says doubtfully, brow still wrinkled. At least it’s a fairly tame explanation for why their mother should be gone when they wake for school, Reed thinks to herself, but she has the distinct impression that Jane’s getting too old for such appeasing explanations. “You don't have any bags, though,” she points out.

Shit, she really should have asked Lyd what she’d told the girls when they were on the phone instead of hanging up on her because this doesn’t look like it’s about to go very well. She’s really nailing this. “They didn't have what we needed, darling. Quite the interrogation for a Thursday morning, I must say. Did you sleep well?” she asks attempting to temper Jane’s suspicions. Trying her best to appear normal, she runs her fingers over the small braid resting on Jane’s shoulder and looks her in the eyes, hoping some maternal affection will do the trick. It does not.

“What did we need?”

“Orange juice.”

“We have orange juice.”

“We had some this morning!” Charlotte pipes up. At least she doesn't seem as skeptical as her older sister does. Charlotte sits there in her puffy purple jacket, content to passively observe in between distractions with her doll, which is still contorted with marvelous creativity.

“Well, I was afraid that we might run out,” she explains as Lyd walks in, eyebrows raised and grinning like mad, truly not helping at all. No wonder Jane doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. “But I suppose I shouldn't have been because now we're going to be late and I'm very sorry for making you wait.”

“Why are you wearing the same clothes from last night?” Jane asks relentlessly. Fuck, she was not prepared for her to come down so hard on her like this. Then again, she'd wanted to avoid this all together so she wasn’t really prepared for anything.

“You don't look very good, mum,” her smallest says sadly and Lydia’s laughing into her coffee at that one.

“Thank you, Charlotte.”

“I’m just being honest...”

“Well, it just so happens that I like this outfit very much so I decided to wear it again,” she tells her and it’s got Charlotte taking a second look to see if she agrees that the outfit truly warrants a second wear. “And sometimes mummies don't have time to look their best when they have to cart you two off to school every morning, which is exactly what we should be doing right now so grab your things. End of discussion, let's go.”

“I still don’t believe you,” Jane says haughtily.

“Why not?” Charlotte whispers.

“You don’t have to believe me but you do have to move,” Reed says putting her hands on her shoulders to nudge her along more quickly.

“Have a wonderful day at school,” Lydia says bending down to give each of them a kiss as they shuffle through the door. Then as Reed passes, she gives her a taunting look that tells her how horribly that conversation just went. It’s entirely unnecessary though because she’s already cringing over it for probably the next 50 years and then some.

*

“Jesus fucking Christ, did you put them up to that?”

“God, no,” Lydia says from her laptop in the living room. She must be catching up on email otherwise Reed expected her to be up in her office or out at the studio by now. “Your offspring are too clever these days, don't blame that on me.”

“Remind me to let them watch more television,” Reed says collapsing down on the couch. She kicks off her shoes and curls up in her spot while trying to rub the stress from her eyes, “Ruthless they are, didn’t stop the entire way there.”

“Still not as ruthless as I’m about to be,” Lydia says putting down her coffee and snapping her computer shut. “Let’s start with: where in the fuck were you?”

Reed can do nothing but blush into herself and cover her face. The two of them have always been close but Lydia remains her junior by quite a few years. By the time her little sister had grown up enough to have these kinds of conversations, she’d already been with Daniel and was well on her way to marrying him. There weren’t many scandalous details to be shared between them.

“I thought you were meeting your old coworker, that woman running the inquiry back in Belfast,” she continues when Reed still says nothing. She props herself forward, elbows on her knees, “What happened? Did you meet someone while you were out?”

“No.”

“Just got too knackered then did you?,” she assumes with a laugh. “You still could've come home - you know I don't mind. Could have been very entertaining and the girls sleep like the dead.”

“I didn't drink too much.”

“Then what happened?”

Reed doesn't really know how to formulate the words to answer her sister’s question. What was she supposed to say? I went home with her, I slept with her, we fucked? All acceptable options, all true, but none of them true enough. What happened last night was layered and complex and if she just comes out and says it, it won’t be the whole truth. How to make Lydia understand when she scarcely understood it herself... She had no idea how to make her see what was simultaneously unravelling and building within her. Goddamn mess.

This wasn't a fluke though so she's going to have to come clean sooner or later and if she’s honest with herself, she wants to tell someone. She wants someone to talk it through with her because it’s a lot to process on her own, but the words just aren’t coming. So she looks at her with bashful eyes, wide with implication and hopes she'll connect the dots on her own.

She does not.

Just stares back impatiently.

Dammit.

“Alright, um, back in Ireland…” she starts out, looking for the right phrasing. “Stella and I spent a lot of time together, working, discussing the case and whatnot. So we got rather close and last night, well,” she tries but ends up dropping off at the most important part. Thankfully it's enough that Lyd seems to catch on.

“Wait, you’re not saying - you didn't…”

Reed just stares at her and it's answer enough.

“So this is what all the business with Daniel is about then,” she concludes, jumping the gun.

“No-”

“Tanya-”

“Not entirely, no,” she says sternly and at least there's conviction in her voice because it's the truth, and she needs her to know that it's the truth. She won't have this morphing into something ugly. Maybe she’s not a saint and maybe she’s not a perfect mother, but she’s not whatever Lydia’s thinking she is either. Thankfully she waits for her to continue, ready to listen. “You know things haven’t been right at home for awhile. I've been telling you that, and that's true. Stella just came around near the end and got me thinking about what I really wanted.” There's silence between them as Lydia thinks on this, taking it in and remembering their discussions over the past few months, past few years. “Lyd, you know I wouldn’t just leave Dan for someone else, it’s not like that.”

Lydia looks at her for a moment before saying, “I know, I know you wouldn't,” shaking her head as if it could erase the thought. “Sorry I'm just surprised. I didn't even know you liked women.” And if she didn't look just a little bit hurt by the realization, Reed might have found it a funny statement because it wasn't a huge part of her life, mostly left behind at school, she hasn't thought on it regularly. But now it must seem like some locked up secret she's been hiding all this time.

“Most of the time not so much,” she assures her gently and Lydia looks up, seeing the honesty in her eyes and softening. “Here and there. Back when I was dating, I'd thought about it. Overall though, Stella's a bit of an exception.”

“Okay,” she says accepting but wary. “And nothing ever happened between you before last night?”

Reed hesitates, hugging her knees to her just a bit. Nothing had really happened between them before last night but she had indeed almost accompanied her to her hotel room with the full intention of sleeping with her. Warrants mentioning. Maybe edited down but still.

“She kissed me once. Back in Belfast.”

“Oh really?” That piques her interest. She wonders what kind of picture she's painting for her sister and if it in any way resembles the truth.

“We were at a bar and there was someone bothering me, some guy,” she explains, smiles a little remembering the moment. Stella's audacity, her trust in Reed to roll with it, the look in her eyes when she realized that Reed had kissed her back. “He wouldn't leave, couldn't take a hint, so she kissed me...

“He left.”

“That's one way to do it.”

“Yeah,” Reed chuckles. “Bit of a shock.”

Lydia eyes her, she can feel herself smiling like an idiot. “So you stayed with her last night?” Reed nods. “And you're happy about it?” More nodding.

“Well then that's all that matters.”

“Really?”

“Course, I’m your sister. That's how this works.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, tell me everything.”

“Are you serious?”

“Obviously.”

“No, fuck you.”

“Tanya!”

“Lydie!”

“You can’t go out all night and leave me with your adorable children without giving me details,” she argues exasperated. “Soooo tell me! What happened?”

“We had sex, is that what you want to hear?!”

“Yes, go on.”

“No!”

“It was that wild, huh?”

“Oh my god.”

“I can't believe you had wild lesbian sex and you won't even tell me about it.”

Reed shakes her head and covers her face asking herself over and over again “why me?”

Then Lydia’s getting up from her chair and sitting directly in front of Reed on the coffee table, which makes avoiding her prescence aggrevatingly difficult. “Well if you won't talk about it, at least tell me what she's like,” Lyd says waxing romantic and leaving Reed entirely confused. First she’s irritated and jumping to conclusions, then she wants embarrassing details from her fumbling sexual encounter and now she’s going the sappy route? Her sister’s ability to shuffle through emotions is incomparable and it’s got Reed almost entirely curled into a ball with fingers splayed over her eyes.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well… What's she look like?”

“Blonde.”

“Oh I see,” she says teasingly as if that explains everything.

“Shut up.”

“Okay, I'll shut up but you have to go on.”

“She's blonde,” Reed says again with a withering expression. “Um, she looks very feminine - in the way she dresses and everything - but she's not really.” She stops and Lyd gives her a look that says there’s no way in hell she’s accepting that so Reed tries to conjure up ways to explain Stella, as if it’s just that easy. “I think she comes off quite cold sometimes, business first and all that. But it’s only because she cares so much. She's actually incredibly kind if you’re paying attention, and very intelligent. She cares a lot about the important things and gives no fucks about the rest. I really admire that about her. I don’t know. That’s it, I guess.”

“I see how Dan lost out on this one,” and that's got Reed shooting her a warning look so she throws her hands up in surrender. “I'm only joking!” Reed smiles at her sister and even though she's a bit touchy about all this, she feels better having told her. “Really, she sounds great.”

“Yeah.”

“You going to see her again?”

“I think so. Think I'll phone her up, see if she’s free to grab coffee or something later. Harmless enough.”

“Hate to tell you but you’re screwed for a babysitter this weekend, I’ve got that trip to Brussels tomorrow, remember? Won’t be back until Tuesday.”

“Daniel’s actually coming down to take them to his mother’s for the weekend.”

“How convenient for you.”

“I told you his parents are helping him look for a place down here.”

“Thought he was rather attached to that job of his,” Lydia says getting up to take her empty cup to the kitchen, apparently satisfied with her shakedown. “Didn’t know he’d follow through so quickly.”

“Seems he is,” Reed quietly responds.

“Alright, just don’t fuck in my bed while I’m gone, okay?” she says popping her head around the doorway.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Thank you for taking care of the girls this morning.”

“Anything for you.”

*

Stella is restless.

Working from home is difficult for her, which is why she rarely does it, especially for an entire day. Everything feels too loud and too quiet all at once and isn't that the story of her life whenever she's alone? She tried to distract herself at first, made a proper breakfast, wiped down everything, put on some tea. Then she'd decided there was nothing left to do but sit down and leaf through paperwork. It's been a few hours so files lay open here and there scattered over the coffee table while her laptop sits open at her side as she takes notes on cases that have been worked on in her absence.

She's missed a lot.

The evidence sits before her, measured in countless sheets of paper detailing the brutalities committed across her city, some worse than others but all unjust in nature and cruel at heart. And where had she been, where had she really been? She’d been miles away letting a sadistic serial murderer fuck with her head while everyone around her suffered the consequences. Because it wasn't just the victims of his crimes, it was Tom’s career, Jim’s sobriety, Sally Ann's sanity, Olivia's innocence, her family, her trust in the world. Gone. All because of her carelessness, her incompetence, and she could have done things differently. Whether or not it would have saved any of them, she'll never know. Yet here she sits in her flat wading through case reports like nothing has changed.

It's intolerable.

But nevertheless she tries to focus, to immerse herself in the most gruesome details of the cases left on her docket. Because even though she's screwed up, they still deserve her full fucking attention. Hours pass, maybe just minutes, she can't tell. And when she looks at the clock, it's clear that all of her efforts have resulted in little more than countless bouts of self loathing as she sits there with all of her failures in poignant silence. Painful company.

Maybe if she could just stop thinking about Olivia...

It's just that Stella had lost slowly as a child. One thing and then another, just as she was starting to heal, until there was little left. Nothing but anger. She'd been so angry in her youth, mostly angry with herself because when you're surrounded by nothingness there's nowhere else for blame to land but yourself. But now she can't stop thinking of Olivia who lost so much so fast. She wonders if there will be anyone there to help her come to terms with the burden of that blame. She wants to protect her from the things she knows will come for her.

So she thinks about calling her. About paying her a visit. About how she might react to seeing her. If there would be another hug or simply accusation behind watery eyes, hurt heavy in her heart. Thinking of the way her small frame felt in her arms that day at the hospital fills her with the physical memory, the warmth and the way she had trembled and pulled tight at the fabric of her shirt. Unaware that just days before, she would have been clutching at the stains of her father’s blood. To lose a father… Stella had tried so desperately to save him. For justice, for those he had hurt so badly, those he had taken from. For Olivia.

And just thinking of their meeting has her on the verge of tears sitting alone in her flat and surprise surprise, she needs to get the fuck out of here.

Within the next 10 minutes, she’s gathered her bag and locked the door behind her. And then within the next 15 minutes, she's gotten herself to the gym and she's wearing her swimsuit, walks out to the consistently clear water of the pool. The rough concrete floor scrapes against her feet as she stands at the edge. She really shouldn't let it but she stands there feeling the sting, digging her flesh into the textured stone a few moments longer than she should.

And when she dives in, she moves herself forward and breathes when she's supposed to.

*

She doesn't want to go home but she's exhausted herself in the pool. Not-quite-healed ribs don't do one any favors when swimming laps. They especially don't do one any favors when one continues on in spite of their protests. So she's exhausted and aching but she's still contemplating whether or not to run herself down a bit more with some other needless task. Shopping, coffee, dinner for that matter but no, she's not hungry, a drink - that’s not a bad idea. She could try working again. Maybe out of the house, take her things to the cafe round the corner and a few blocks down. Probably her best bet. If she decides she wants dinner, she can pick up food there and then she won't have to feel so guilty about the extra laps.

So she wanders back to her flat, dropping her bag upstairs and fussing with her hair before she makes to change her clothes. Her body complains before she can even fully undress and she’s irritated because she knows better than to push herself when she's already hurt. A few more minutes of stretching might be in her best interest so she climbs over onto her bed and lies in her back, bringing her left leg to her chest and the the right leg. Eventually she's just lying there, having stretched out her legs and trying to find the energy to continue. She needs to move, sit up.

Everything in her feels heavy.

And then there's a distant sound ringing through her flat.

What is that? It's not particularly loud but loud enough to be a nuisance.

Shit, it's her mobile.

She sits up and it's pitch black in her room save the few shadows cast around in the moonlight. After fighting back a moment of serious confusion, she realizes that she must've fallen asleep. And then she's immediately anxious that she's fucked up because surely there's something she was supposed to be doing. But then she remembers that she's not really working and apparently has nothing better to do than exhaust herself so fully that she passes out trying to stretch on her own damn bed. Pathetic.

There's still ringing.

So she jumps up to retrieve it before the call goes to voicemail and thankfully it's just lying a few feet from her on the dresser.

Reed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's Reed,” she says and she's whispering over the line. Stella likes it, it’s calming having just woke. “Sorry for the hour, just got the girls down.”

“It’s alright,” Stella responds and her voice hasn't quite recovered from her nap yet because it's gravelly, there's no mistaking it.

“Did I wake you?” Reed asks confused because it's absurd to think of Stella going to bed before 9pm.

“No,” she says immediately before realizing that it's a lie and she doesn't need to lie to Reed. “No, I mean, yes,” and she even has to laugh at how disoriented she sounds. “Seems I dozed off. I swam at the gym and must've gone longer than I should have. Worn out.”

“Ah, I see. I can call back later, I'm sure you need the rest.”

“No, don't be silly, I'm awake,” she says sitting back on her bed and making herself comfortable against the pillows. “Did you get home in time to take the girls to school?”

“Yes and in time for a full lecture from my twelve year old as well. It was insanity. She's far too clever for her own good.”

“Children are much more clever than we give them credit for.” She wonders if this sounds strange coming from her, a childless woman who spends very little time with children. And it’s not that she doesn’t like children but her job, not to mention her personal life, offers very little in the way of them. Even if it did, would things be any different? Stella doubts it. Children have a way of wandering into her psyche and not find their way out for some time. It’s exactly her problem right now as she tries to push Olivia’s sweet face from her dreamy visions. “...They notice everything.”

“So I'm learning,” she says defeatedly and Stella hates the sound of it on her. But before she can say anything to counteract it, Reed jumps back in. “Anyway, I'm calling to see if you're free for lunch tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday?” she says checking her wrist for a watch that isn’t there. Why she even bothers is a mystery altogether since she’s not busy in the slightest. Taking time for herself feels more exhausting than not having any at all. “Yeah, I am.”

“I've got a 3 o’clock meeting at the university but I thought maybe we could meet up at 1.”

“Sure, that works,” she says and she hadn’t really expected Reed to call so soon but she’s undeniably grateful for the excuse to fill her seemingly boundless time with her company. “I know a place near there that might be good unless you’ve already got something in mind.”

“No, that’s perfect, just text me the address.”

“Alright, I will.”

“Great,” and it sounds relieved like something she’s been worrying on that’s finally settled, which makes Stella smile. Not for the first time today, she wonders why Reed spends so much time worrying on Stella’s interest when she’s the one who practically tried to drag her into bed during the middle of case. Then she’s kicking herself for doing that for the millionth time when Reed’s voice interrupts her thoughts, “So how was your day?”

“My day?”

“Yes your day.” She can hear Reed smiling through the phone at her idiocy.

“Oh, well, long,” she admits and closing her eyes and trying not to think about her continuously failed efforts to keep herself on task. “Not being able to go back to work is taking it’s toll on me, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you need it,” Reed says patiently and it’s what she’s supposed to say so Stella’s not all that surprised. “Even if you think you don’t.”

“I know.”

“Monday’s just around the corner.” Her mantra from Reed’s lips is music to her ears. It’s not too far off, she’ll be fine. “And the girls are off with their father this weekend,” Reed ventures whimsically and the low warmth in her voice has Stella smirking to herself.

“Oh, they are?”

“Yes,” she says drawing out the word flirtatiously and Stella finds herself biting her lower lip trying to suppress the growing smile there. “So if you need a distraction, I’ll gladly volunteer.”

“Noted, very good to know.”

Stella sinks further into her pillows cradling the phone to her ear and listens to Reed, thinking that these next few days might not be so tortuous after all.