#richard had no right hitting us with that on the FIRST line

[betryl]

Everyone remembers where they were when reading 'the snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation' for the first time.

[grayson1996]

"Master Dick has left."

Bruce didn't respond, not that Alfred anticipated he would. The man had been infuriatingly quiet the last few months. Never saying more than a few words at a time to him, and never the one to initiate the dialogue.

Alfred hadn't been surprised, when Martha and Thomas passed Bruce had become mute for months. Alfred had been beside himself with concern, dragging the young boy to child psychologists and specialists. Certain he was already messing up this tremendous responsibility he had been given.

It made sense that Bruce would revert back to the bad habit with Jason's death.

It had almost been a relief when Richard arrived and he could hear the familiar melody of the two of them arguing, floating up the cave stairs. It was some sign that Bruce was still there, buried behind layers of grief and guilt.

He hadn't thought the fight would end in a punch, it never had before. But as soon as Alfred heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh and Richards body crash to the floor he had bolted downstairs. Just in time to hear Bruce destroy any goodwill that remained between him and his only living son.

Despite popular belief, Alfred hadn't been the butler for decades. He was the guardian of Wayne Manor and his protection of it did not stop at Bruce. This was why his first step had been to ensure that Richard was alright as his oldest stomped away, most likely to skulk in the study.

The younger man was so far from fine it only served to further fester the disappointment he felt in Bruce. A disappointment that made way to determination. Alfred had allowed Bruce to destroy everything around him after his parent's death, he had assumed the boy had needed to to move on. He was still paying for that choice every time he saw one of them don a mask and go out into the streets of Gotham.

He would not stand for it now.

Not now that there was more than just Alfred in Bruce's line of attack. Who would feel the reverbs of destruction.

Ms. Troy picked Dick up, and Alfred got the sense that the only reason she herself was not heading up to ream into Bruce, was because she could see a rare fire of rage reflecting back in his eyes. The two left, leaving Alfred with some relief knowing that Dick was out of the crosshairs.

When he finally made his way to the Manor he was right, Bruce was sitting in a high-backed armchair in his study. Face blank, and gaze looking unseeingly out the window as the first rays of dawn poked over the horizon.

Alfred was tired.

"Master Dick has left." Bruce didn't respond, not that Alfred anticipated he would. The man had been infuriatingly quiet the last few months. "Master Dick has left." He repeated, unwilling to let the man get away with silence this time.

For a moment Alfred could read the barest hint of guilt before it was buried under a veneer of indifference.

"What do you want?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow unimpressed, oh absolutely not.

"I would like many things Master Bruce, most notably for you to remove your head from where it's been so thoroughly put up your own ass." That at least got a reaction, since the arrival of the kids Alfred had preferred more subtle ways to admonish Bruce. But that was a kindness reserved for men who did not hit their sons.

"Go away Alfred."

"I will not." Alfred closed the study door behind him with a sense of finality that made Bruce shift slightly in his set. "I would like to understand what the hell it is you think you're doing?" The guilt was back but Bruce again hid it, this time with a snare.

"If you're talking about Dick, I was only telling him the truth. I don't need a partner, I don't need him, and I certainly do not need to be chided by you."

Anger was Bruce's defense mechanism and always had been. Alfred did not have the patience to humor it.

"In all the years I've known you, Master Bruce, you have never been cruel. It is unbefitting and frankly undeserved." Bruce's eyes flared at that.

"I lost my son!" I have lost so many, and yet I have never used it as an excuse to harm the ones I have left.

"I know.... You don't get to decide what happens to you in life. But you do get to choose how you will react to it and you're choosing wrong."

"Batman doesn't need-"

"I don't give a damn what Batman may or may not need!" Alfred felt his cool dissipate, leaving with it a weariness and a rage years in the making. He hated Batman, and hated it when Bruce hid behind him. "I don't give a damn about that mask of yours. Any and all of my loyalty and love has only been directed at you Master Bruce, not him. But you're quickly destroying it."

Bruce opened his mouth as though to argue, but perhaps seeing the ire held within Alfred decided against it. The fist crack in his stoic mask was showing however, as Alfred could see his eyebrows furrow deeply in some unexpressed emotion. Alfred continued,

"As soon as you brought that boy into this life his needs trumped yours and I refuse to stand here and watch as you treat him like the scum of the earth. As you verbally berate and physically demolish him just because you cannot cope. I stood by for too long but I will not stand for this. You've already lost one son and you're dangerously close to losing another if the damage is not already done. And mark my words Master Bruce, if you decide this is the path you're determined to go down, this path of cruelty and spite and solitude, I will stand with Master Dick and not you." This seemed to surprise Bruce, but Alfred didn't know why, he was many things but a pushover was not one of them. "I will not stand with you. Not this version of you who lacks any empathy and thinks he's the only man in this godforsaken family with any right to grieve." His voice broke on that last word, which seemed to spear through Bruce as he flinched at the noise.

"Alfred-"

"I've grieved with you Bruce. Lord knows I've grieved with you. But I refuse to grieve for you, not while you're still alive and still have the chance to fight." He walked over to Bruce, the man watching him warily from his seat as Alfred took his face in his hands. "My dear boy, you need to fight."

"I am fighting Alfred, everyday, I am fighting. But you don't understand what its like to lose a son." Bruce's words weren't mean, were all but desperate, but Alfred still received them like a slap in the face. He tightened his grip on Bruce's face.

"I loved Jason, I loved you, I understand all to well what your going through. I know your pain my boy, I have it, in the whole of my soul I feel it. But your cruelty is something I can't understand. Why you've decided that the best way to express your own pain is by inflicting it on others I can't understand. How you continuously do everything in your power to make Richard feel like nothing, that I can't understand..."

Finally, Alfred let go, standing up he ran a hand down his shirt, as though he could smooth out the flusteredness he was feeling.

"I don't mean to."

Alfred let out a sigh, once again feeling unbelievably exhausted.

"I know Master Bruce, but somehow that makes it worse." The sun was continuing to wain over the horizon, and Alfred thought maybe, just for today, he would sleep in. He started walking to the door, however before he could cross the threshold, he looked back at Bruce. Whose face looked both ancient and unbelievably young under the golden glow. "I have raised three boys Master Bruce. Three sons. I love you, but Richard is just as much mine as yours and I will not let you hurt him. Not again."

He turned and left the room. Hoping that he would not once again prove the Sisphysis to Bruce's unmovable rock.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

take your fast car and keep on driving

pairing: fem! leon kennedy (aka leah) x reader

cw: wlw, use of homophobic slurs, obscure resident evil characters (no, i did not just make all of those names up), angst, light smut, forbidden love, secret relationship.

summary: you are a rookie in the rpd, and so is leah (re2r leon but as a woman). you like her but you know you shouldn't pursue a relationship because this is 1998 and you're the cops.

a/n: this is a commission for @porcelainseashore! also, the title is a line from fast car by tracy chapman bc i like to cry to that song (and she's a (presumed to be) queer woman so it seemed to fit).

wc: 5.3k

taglist:

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

Leah. You've never met anyone quite like her before.

Like you, she's new to the force, fresh out of the police academy. It's the first thing you bond over.

In the break room, she gives you a soft smile while she lingers by the kitchen counter, waiting for her instant coffee to finish brewing. The gurgling of the machine fills the brief silence between you.

"It's your first day too, right?" she says after you attempt a "hey" that comes out as nothing but a heavy exhale.

"Yep." It's all you can come up with.

"You seem nervous."

"A little. You know, don't wanna fuck anything up on my first day." Like this conversation. You keep the last part to yourself.

"Don't worry. It took me like three tries to get the buttons straight on this shirt. Jill- Officer Valentine had to help me fix it."

And somehow you're jealous. Leah seems to have no trouble making friends since she's already getting chummy with a STARS member. You'll be relegated to the losers club while she gets to sit at the cool girls table - if there is such a thing.

Most of your colleagues are men. Lieutenant Marvin Branaugh, your direct superior seems nice enough, Chief Brian Irons is a bit off-putting, though. And the STARS members: Officers Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Richard Aiken, Rebecca Chambers - and of course, Captain Wesker, who reminds you of a cartoon villain in the way he carries himself. Most of them are relatively nice to you. Jill has a hardened exterior but a soft heart; Chris is a typical jock and a natural leader; Brad is a bit of a knucklehead; Richard is his slightly smarter counterpart; and Rebecca, who's even younger than you, is an absolute sweetheart. Not to mention, Forest Speyer, Joseph Frost, Enrico Marini, and Barry Burton. You consider putting pictures of them on flashcards with their names on the back so you can learn them all.

Then, there's Leah who has a certain je ne sais quoi that makes her name stick firmly in your mind.

She walks gracefully, steadily in combat boots identical to yours and her blonde hair sways in time with her steps. Her pants fit perfectly, especially around the ass. But you try not to stare - you feel gross doing so when you catch the guys ogling her when she turns her back to them.

You wonder if they stare at you too when you're training in the gym. Lieutenant Branaugh puts an emphasis on staying fit in case the day comes where you need to chase down criminals or dodge gunshots during a shootout. A significant amount of your day is spent doing paperwork.

But for an hour a day, you do push ups and curl ups and pull ups (in that order) to 98.6 FM or a CD if Chris remembers to bring one down with him.

"Chris," you hear Wesker snap at him, "This music is atrocious. Go get a CD, a good one."

And with an exaggerated huff and the sound of metal weights hitting the hard floor, he does as he's told.

"He's kinda hot," Leah says from next to you while she stretches her calves.

"Who? Chris?"

"Yeah," she says, decidedly.

"You can have him. I'm not into meatheads."

"I'd like to see the head of his meat."

"That's disgusting!"

"Are you going to sit there chatting all day?" Marvin asks. "Or are you going to get in the ring?"

You both shut up and stand up.

There's nothing to fight over, but you can be competitive when you want to be. Leah seems intent on impressing Chris who's half-assing his workout both to stick it to Wesker, who is satisfied by his choosing Made In Heaven, and to watch you and Leah duke it out.

Nobody can resist a little girl-on-girl action. Leah has many things over you - her charm, her beauty, her laugh, and her body when she pins you to the mat. It's one, two, three slaps of her palm against the mat to crown you the loser, but she gets distracted, and only you can see the mask slip because you're staring into her eyes when it happens. You want to drown in her ocean blue eyes. Her pupils widen and then her eyes themselves in response, like she's shocked by her own feelings. And then she shakes herself out of it.

You blink and she's standing again, holding out her hand to help you up. And then, like she was never even there, she's gone, rushing in and out of the locker room so quickly that you don't cross paths despite your lockers being two apart. You, on the other hand, take extra time to consider the possibility that you've hallucinated her existence entirely.

But, does it even matter? 

Leah starts showing up in your dreams. She's the intermission between being completely flunking your math exam and missing your flight to Paris (the recurring stress dreams). One night, you're eating lunch in a cafeteria and she sits across from you. The next, you're at a Halloween party and she wears a sexy cop costume, which is not that far off from her real uniform. It's the third time she shows up that you kiss. It doesn't go any further than that because you wake up to your 7:45 alarm.

What the fuck was that? 

You have a book called The Secret Meanings Behind Your Dreams which was a gag gift from a friend. You flip through the pages and find explanations for dreams about falling, teeth falling out, pregnancy, but none about kissing your coworker. You decide it's better not to dwell on it.

You file the thoughts of her under the category of things that you don’t have the qualifications or the time to psychoanalyze. There’s probably some sort of bullshit Freudian explanation but you have crime to fight (aka paperwork to do).

You’re grateful for the distraction when it approaches you in the Main Hall of the RPD. It's almost the end of your shift when Richard approaches you. Out of all the RPD members, you feel like he's the closest thing to a friend you've got here.

"Do you have any plans this Friday?"

"Work, per usual."

"Well, yeah," he half-laughs, "I do too. But, uh, what about after work?"

"After work, nothing."

"Cool. Brad and I were thinking about seeing a movie and maybe getting drinks, and he also invited Leah, so I think she's coming too."

The mention of Leah makes you perk up. You could give or take the whole going out on the town after a long week of work.

Leah, speaking of Leah, you spot her across the hall, chatting and laughing with Brad and Chris.

"Cool," you say, staring right past Richard.

"So, uh, do you wanna come with?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good." It's less an acceptance to his invitation and more giving minimal responses.

Richard says some combination of "cool", "okay", and "see you tomorrow". Or something like that. You wouldn't know because you're barely paying attention to him.

You realize it's a double date when Richard puts his arm around you. You're enthralled with Saving Private Ryan. "It should win Best Picture," you remark later. But it doesn’t. But right now, you try to play off the fact that he startled you with an awkward laugh. The theater is too dark for you to tell if he's blushing or not, but his embarrassed "sorry" says he is. But before he moves away from you, you lean into him, and you swear you can hear him sigh in relief. He's nice. This is nice.

But more importantly, you watched Leah do the same with Brad and she's your leader just as Brad is Richard's.

No, for you, she's your muse. She's the goddess that you pray to. 

When they kiss, you follow suit. He tastes like the buttery popcorn you've both devoured, but it's not bad. It could be worse.

It’s forgettable, washed away by the beer you drink at the dive bar two doors down from the theater. 

"Do you wanna take this back to my place?" Richard asks.

"I would but I have to get up early for church" is the first excuse you can come up with.

Richard seems to believe you, which is most likely because he wants to believe this isn't rejection. "Oh! I didn't know you were religious."

"I am, yeah," you say, and hope the rubber chicken test prepared you for the difficult task of keeping a straight face in a moment like this. You think you notice Leah stifling a laugh across the table because she knows.

But her eyes only flit to yours for a second before Brad asks her the same question.

"I actually have a date to church tomorrow morning," she says, smiling at you.

Brad believes her because he's not the brightest bulb in the bunch. Before the awkwardness permeates too far, they leave together.

"So, church on a Saturday, huh?" Leah asks with a knowing smirk.

Finally, you both exhale the giggles you've been holding in together.

"God," you say, putting your head in your hands, though still laughing, "How long do you think it'll take for them to realize?"

"I dunno." She shrugs and sips her beer. "But hopefully sooner rather than later so I don't have to make up an excuse not to go on a second date."

"No second date for you guys? You seemed to be having a good time back in the movie theater."

She shakes her head. "I was until he started kissing me."

"Bad kisser?"

"Awful. Tongue down my throat and all."

"Ew."

"How about you and Richard?"

You shrug. "He's nice. And his tongue was not down my throat."

"That's good." She leans a little closer, like she's going to reveal a secret to you. "But you don't seem like you like him that much."

"I mean, I like him as a friend."

But nothing more. "Well, I should be going," you say, picking up your purse. "It's getting late, and, as you know, I have church."

"No, you don't." She rolls her eyes. "But you do have brunch."

"I do?"

"Yeah, I'll pick you up around 10:15-10:30? Depending on my hangover."

"Sounds perfect."

You and Leah each devour a plate of waffles in a diner voted Raccoon City's #1 Breakfast Destination '97 according to a poster outside.

"Mm," she ponders the taste of her coffee. "Way better than what the RPD has."

"I'm beginning to think they might just be giving us packets of dirt instead of coffee grounds."

"Where else are they going to put all the dirt they dig up outside?"

"It's so goddamn weird that they have a cemetery. It's like they're expecting us to die."

"I feel like I'm already dead. My head is killing me."

"Mine too. I don't even think I had that much to drink."

"Me neither, and thank god - I wouldn't want to end up in bed with Brad."

"You think you would've gone home with him if you were drunker?"

"Maybe. I tend to make stupid decisions when I'm drunk."

But, so do you - one of which includes playing spin the bottle with the RPD's finest.

"We used to play Kings mostly 'cause no one had a table that we could play beer pong on," Brad says when Chris asks him about high school parties back in his hometown.

"We can play Kings if I can find a deck of cards."

"No, we can't, dumbass, unless you have cans hiding in the back of your fridge," says Forest.

"What do you wanna play, Forest? Spin the bottle?" Chris asks sarcastically.

"I thought spin the bottle was a game made up for movies. I didn't know anyone actually played it," Rebecca chimes in from the corner, holding a soda rather than a beer because she 'felt bad drinking underage' even though Chris offered her one.

"You bet your ass people actually play it," Chris says. "How else would you kiss your crush when you're an awkward 15 year old?"

"Truth or dare," she says with a roll of her eyes to say it should be obvious.

"We could play truth or dare," Brad suggests.

"No, we should play spin the bottle," says Forest.

"If you wanna kiss me that bad you can just ask," Chris says.

"Why don't we play both? Then, if the bottle doesn't decide in Forest's favor, he can dare Chris to kiss him," Jill says.

"I'll remember to pick truth in that case."

You play spin the bottle first, which results in Forest giving Richard a peck on the lips, Richard passing it on to Brad, who goes for more than a peck with Jill, and Jill, pulling swiftly away from him, kisses Leah.

And it comes to Leah who lands on you. Of course she does. The first kiss is chaste, but when you take your turn and the bottle lands on her, it barely falls short of passionate.

The bottle is Leah's again and if it were possible to rig this game you might've believed someone had because it points in your direction.

A collective - and juvenile - "ooh" comes from the group. It's the same one you hear from a classroom of 7th graders when a teacher tells a student they need to "speak to them".

Rebecca, clueless, asks, "What?"

"They have to play 7 minutes in heaven."

"What's 7 minutes in heaven?"

"The two people have to go into a separate room for 7 minutes and they can do whatever they want."

Leah looks at you, you look at her. Hesitant, nervous, and curious.

"My bedroom's down the hall," Chris says, pointing towards it. "No snooping, no stealing, and if you break it, you replace it. Got it?"

"Yes, Officer Redfield," you say sarcastically.

Leah stands up, giving Chris an exaggerated eye roll, and you follow her down the hall. You can hear them whispering their predictions and fantasies about what you'll get up to behind closed doors.

But eventually, the games go on in your absence. You remain unaware as you sit on the edge of Chris' unmade bed next to Leah.

It’s just you and Leah Kennedy in Chris Redfield’s bedroom, the world is still and the lights are low, but you watch a decade fly before your eyes in a single moment. It’s fancy dinners and home-cooked meals, an apartment in the city and a house in the suburbs, the balcony, the backyard, the wedding, the honeymoon, the family portrait. 

"So…" you begin, expecting her to set some sort of ground rules, expecting you'll end up conversing for the duration, maybe giving each other a friendly peck on the cheek. But, she looks at you, her eyes flicker as they quickly run up and down your body, and she takes the leap.

Her lips are soft and sweet with cherry-flavored chapstick, and like Katy Perry, you liked kissing a girl. But, there are no boyfriends to mind, and despite being tipsy and technically still playing by the rules of a game, there is something real about the way she kisses you. It's heated and hungry, urgent due to time constraints. You can't stay in this room all night - not because it's Chris', but because no one can know about this. You can't tell them that when her tongue meets yours it's the first time you enjoy the taste of beer. You can't tell them about how she tucks her bangs behind her ear so they don’t obstruct her view of you when she pushes you onto your back and her hands travel from your waist to your bra and stop when Chris opens the door. Leah is quick to sit back up, to pretend, but not quick enough. He knows, but for whatever reason, he keeps his lips sealed.

When you return with your head down to hide your reddened cheeks, Brad says, "You two must've been having a lot of fun in there since you missed the timer on the microwave going off."

"We just talked," Leah says.

"Uh-huh," he says, "Talked."

"You guys were totally getting it on in there," Forest says.

"I would've paid to see that," Brad says.

"You can admit it," Richard says. "We won't judge."

"There's nothing to admit," you say.

Jill throws you a sympathetic save by announcing, "You missed Rebecca having her first kiss."

"It's not that big of a deal," Rebecca says, timidly.

"Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?" Chris asks.

"I didn't say that."

The group decides to transition to truth or dare, and you're relieved to have the attention taken off of you and Leah. The boys become distracted by the sight of Jill's tits when Brad dares her to flash everyone. You decide to leave before you end up naked.

While you wait for a cab outside, Leah turns to you. "Can you keep what happened between us a secret?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks," she says. "You're a great friend."

A friend. You longed to be accepted for so long, but now the word sounds like rejection. The word taunts you while you struggle to fall asleep.

Just friends. The way you told Leah you felt about Richard after you made up an excuse to not go home with him. 

Leah avoids you at work the next week. No one seems to care except Chris, who asks you privately, "What is up with the two of you? You were going at it in my bed last weekend and now you won't get within 20 feet of each other."

"Nothing. We were just drunk on Saturday, so that whole thing happened, and we've just been busy with separate work this week."

"Uh-huh. You were just drunk? Nothing else going on between you two?"

"That's like asking if you and Rebecca have something going on. We just kissed because we were playing a kissing game."

He doesn't press further, though when he turns to walk away, you call after him, "Wait, Chris…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone, though. I don't want them making a big deal out of it."

"I won't."

He keeps his word.

Leah used to eat her lunches with you, you'd both meet in the break room at 12:30 sharp, but now, you sit by yourself. Until Friday, 12:20, you find her sitting across from Jill, talking and laughing.

"Alright, I've gotta get back to work," you hear Jill say before she leaves the room. There's only one exit, so she inevitably crosses paths with you. She's the first person to give you a warm, genuine smile that week. It makes you feel human and real, and it gives you the confidence to talk to Leah.

When she spots you, she hurries to pack her things up and leave.

"Leah," you say. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not."

And you didn't. That's not why she avoids you.

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you." Her shifty eyes and wavering tone give her away - not that it wasn't already obvious.

"Yes, you are."

She looks around the empty room before lowering her voice, "Fine. If I admit it, will you let it go?"

"How can I 'let it go'? We went from making out on Saturday to-"

"I told you not to talk about it."

"You told me not to tell anyone else."

"Same thing. You're just making it worse."

"How?"

"You're reminding me of it, and I don't want to think about it."

"Why? I thought you liked it."

"I did. I like you."

"I like you too."

Her face softens for a second, going from forced agitation to poorly-hidden bashfulness, but ultimately, she looks disheartened. Because you both know this can't happen.

"I wish it were different."

"You wish I didn't like you back?"

"No, I wish this world was different. I wish Raccoon City was different."

"Me too, but why should we let it stop us?"

She sighs, purses her lips, and turns her head. Finally, after a moment of contemplation, she says, "Okay, but we have to keep it quiet. When we're at work, we're just friends." She pauses and her lips curve into a smile. "And tonight, after work, when I take you out to dinner, we can be something more than friends."

"Deal."

She glances towards the door to make sure you're alone and gives you a grin that's almost conspiratorial before kissing you on the cheek.

"That's against the rules!"

"Oops," she says with a shrug.

You sneak a kiss on her cheek to 'get even' and she walks out of the room with an extra pep in her step. You notice her trip on the laces of her combat boots, too far away to hear you stifle a laugh, but you see her shake her head, feeling embarrassed by her stupid mistake despite being alone in the hall. She's not used to being lost in thought like this, not used to liking someone in this way.

That night, you play a mixtape you and a friend made together back in high school when your only problems were silly crushes on boys. You remember her gushing over a guy you thought was mediocre at best while the sound of Kiss Me amplified her giddiness, and you remember how you comforted her when he broke her heart while Linger covered up the sounds of her crying. 

You wish you could call and gush over your date and have her calm your nerves over the phone, but you know you shouldn’t. You could say you were seeing a boy but a lie like that would violate the rules of girl talk. You decide to keep yourself company. 

You drive separately and meet at the restaurant. It's relatively crowded with the typical hustle and bustle of Friday evening downtown.

You split two dishes and Leah pays. Like you, the waiter seems allured by her.

"Before you leave," he says to Leah in a hushed voice as if you can't hear what he's saying from across the table. "I just wanted to let you know that you're very beautiful."

"Thanks," she mumbles with a half-smile. Polite, but nothing else lies behind it. No desire.

"And," he continues. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime."

"No thanks, I'm unavailable."

"Oh? Where's your boyfriend on this fine Friday night?"

"No boyfriend."

He doesn't quite get it. Not until she reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze when she takes it in hers. She smiles at you, warm, and then at him, proud.

"Oh, so that's how it is," he says, and you can almost hear the roll of his eyes. "Well, I left my number on the check, so you can call me once you're done 'experimenting'."

Her face turns sour while her eyes remain on him, softening when she meets yours. You walk out hand-in-hand now that you're beyond the point of hiding. Most people pay no mind, thoroughly absorbed in themselves and their dinners.

You take the bottle of wine to go, since you each had only a glass at dinner as neither of you planned to drive home drunk on anything but each other. You're grateful that Leah invites you to share the rest at her apartment since you didn't bother tidying yours. It's better she comes over when the floor of your bedroom is visible, and not covered in a layer of dirty clothes.

Her house is neat and minimalist to a degree that makes you think it's always this way. Her wardrobe, which mainly consists of multi-purpose basics - white t-shirts, blue jeans, and an array of leather jackets - lives on a single-rod stand-alone clothing rack. With her level of organization, she doesn't need to hide all of her things behind a closet door.

You are the only thing she hides. 

But when you enter her bedroom together, she keeps the lights on. She wants to see all of you, to know you. She wants to put your picture in a locket and let you dangle around her neck, swinging like the pendulum of a clock in time with her heartbeat.

You unravel under her touch slowly and then all at once. She kisses you from your lips to your core with meticulous reverence and savors your taste. When you struggle to catch your breath, she holds you like you're bleeding out and your dying words are sacred to her.

Leah teaches you how to return the favor by letting you practice. It is a hands-on lesson. By the time you fall asleep, your lips are wine-dark and barely tired. She holds you close to her heart like a rosary while you sleep soundly.

You roll out of bed stealthily and search her kitchen for breakfast. There isn't much. She seems regimented in most areas of her life and health-conscious. There is a disappointing lack of Lucky Charms cereal in her cupboards. There is a carton of eggs, so you scramble a few for you both. You brew coffee too.

"Something smells good." You hear Leah's voice from the hallway before she appears in the kitchen. She wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind.

"I took the liberty of making us both breakfast. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. In fact, I could get used to this."

You take a sip of your coffee before you decide, "It's better than the kind they keep in the RPD break room."

"I think anything is."

You try to kiss her and she turns her head. You fear she'll claim the night before was a drunken mistake - it would be the same lie you told to Chris. Obvious in a way that makes it more infuriating than saddening. But she doesn't.

"Mm-mm," she says, shaking her head. "When I said anything is better than the RPD coffee, I didn't mean my morning breath."

"I don't care," you say with a smile and lean in again to kiss her.

She laughs when she playfully pushes you away. "At least let me brush my teeth before you kiss me."

"Fine," you concede and settle for kissing her on the cheek the way you do when no one is looking at work. Even in locker rooms you have to be vigilant. You doubt Jill or Rebecca would say anything unless you were doing something truly salacious. But it isn't unheard of for one of the guys to take a trip through the women's locker room under the guise of "hearing something suspicious" or "accidentally walking in there", sometimes without any excuse at all if it's Irons who has done this on multiple occasions.

Your secret relationship makes you feel like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs. And like teenagers, you both can't wait to grow up and break free of the rules that hold you back from being together. But, you live under the tyranny of societal norms that you can't outgrow on your own.

Not when you have Brad and Richard who find you in the previously-unoccupied hallway.

"It's only a kiss. It's not a big deal."

"Not here."

"No one's going to see us."

But they do.

"I should've known you two were a couple," Brad says.

"Yeah, a couple of dykes," Richard says.

They laugh like bullies on a playground. You thought they would have learned by now. Aren't you supposed to get wiser with age? You're too stunned to say anything for a moment, but you make a conscious effort not to look at Leah. Not yet.

"What's going on over here?" Forest says, peeking around the corner.

"We just discovered there have been two queers hiding among us," Richard says as if he's speaking about foreign spies or ghosts.

"Yeah, they were totally getting it on out here," Brad says.

"Aw, I can't believe I missed the action. Could you give us a little replay?" Forest points at you two like he's the director of a porno.

"Go take your sorry ass to the video rental across the street if you want something to watch," Leah says with unwavering confidence.

Yours wavers. You never got the thick skin they promised you. You put all your strength into holding back tears. Something else burns behind Leah's eyes, though, you can see it. Her icy blue eyes somehow hold fire. 

"Wow, a feisty bitch," Forest says, "or should I say butch?"

All her training led to this moment, but you step out of the ring in fear.

"Sorry I get more pussy than you, Forest," Leah says. She wouldn't normally engage them like this. It's personal. It's you.

"Shit. Pretty good one," says Brad.

"Ugly bitches usually have some brains, so it makes sense," says Forest.

It feels like middle school until it becomes physical. Richard pushes Leah, so she hits him in the nose hard enough to make him bleed. Forest lays his hands on her and likely knowing that she can't take all of them at once, especially when you're standing by in shock rather than fighting beside her like you should be (a thought you only have later), she pulls her gun on him.

Chris, who has won every sharpshooting contest STARS has held since he joined, hears the commotion and runs in with his own gun trained on Leah.

"Put the gun down now," he says.

And terrified, she points it at him.

They both stare each other down for long enough for you to draw yours and fire it because you know if he shoots her, he won't miss. 

You would kill for Leah. 

The bullet hits no one but the picture of Brad on a poster that hangs on various walls of the RPD. Which would be kind of funny if that's what you meant to hit.

Leah turns to you in shock which allows Chris to easily disarm her, knocking her gun out of her hand and kicking it out of her reach. His gun is aimed at you now. He can shoot you and get away with it, and he knows it. His finger hovers over the trigger but something in him holds him back.

"Put the gun on the ground or I will shoot you," he warns you instead.

You put it down and hold your arms above your head. All five of you are placed in separate rooms. There are not enough interrogation rooms to hold you all, nor are there enough cops that are not involved in the situation. Each of you is placed in handcuffs, but you are first. You never thought your handcuffs would end up around your own wrists.

You should be arrested. For once, you are grateful for the way Chris pities you.

"I wasn't going to shoot," is the first thing he says when he walks in. The second is, "you're lucky your aim sucks".

"I really thought you were going to kill her, and I was just scared. I swear, I'm not like that, usually."

"I know. And that's why you're not going to jail." He pauses before adding, "But you're handing in your gun and badge."

Everyone else gets a slap on the wrist. You wonder if it's a literal slap when you see Brad walk out of the interrogation room looking like he's on the verge of tears, but you find out from Leah that the combined interrogation of Chris and Jill will scare you straight.

"Pun intended?" you ask.

"No," she says, but a hint of a smile peeks through.

She tells you that she hates goodbyes before she hugs you. You open your driver's side door and she stops you.

"Wait," she says, and you turn to face her one last time. "Before you go, I wanted to tell you that I… I lo-"

"I know," you say, cutting her off. "Don't say it."

You climb into your car, but before closing the door, you say, "but just so you know, I would've said it back."

The sunset doesn't look as beautiful when you drive off into it alone.

[sisterofficerlucychen]

chenford thoughts, thoughts, thoughts 👀 bc i'm losing it between the promo and the interview lmao. contains s6 spoilers

this may just have been me who didn't put it together but we're getting another chenford dance ♡♡♡♡ when they showed a chenford snippet in the teaser promo idk why i thought it was them just standing there sharing a moment???? but bbs are gonna be danciiiiiiiing~~~

what if tim's "yes,i love you" is a red herring?? because i swear that right after he says it, it looks like she's about to turn and look to her right (like get confirmation of it from someone monitoring the lie detector perhaps???) i keep thinking of how alexi said they're always looking to "walk a fine line with chenford" plus what eric said in the interview about a "nice little confessional of information" at the wedding ― it makes me think that the interrogation scene does not end super well (maybe awkward, maybe angsty, maybe both?) and the resolution happens at the wedding where they're dancing and that's their first (official - bc we know their track record with firsts) "i love you"

RICHARD T. JONES TELLING ERIC AND MELISSA THAT CHENFORD WAS GOING TO BE SOMETHING WHEN THEY FILMED THAT SCENE IN 2X01!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this one made me laugh bc it felt very full circle in a way? like how grey was the one who paired tim and lucy up (i wish they talk about this one day like elaborate why he paired up everyone with who he did bc it was so interesting to learn percy had requested tim be jackson's t.o. and that clearly didn't happen) and how the actor himself was also like "yeah, that's gonna happen"

i loved that they were asked if they could pinpoint when they noticed a shift between them (and their answers, i love hearing all these different perspectives). i i think part of the beauty of the slow burn is that there's no specific point? also the way this goes back to "she fell first, he fell harder" because tim at the hallway scene in 4x22 was hit with a world of emotions and realizations after that kiss

chenford having to face the reality of what lucy being uc means will no doubt be tough but i'm so happy they're finally going to address it!!!!! they've been in such a honeymoon phase and every time the topic is brought up they pretend it's fine but it's v much not

"we had a big scene this season with each other" akljdfalsdkfjasdlfa. i'm so excited ... and a little scared lol

we know we're learning more about tim's past this season which is SOOO exciting!!!!! but i love how eric in the interview also mentions how lucy will help bring out the best in him to help him navigate that. it reminds me so much of s1 with isabel and s4 with his dad and it'll be so nice to see this again but now as a couple

"lucy's going through a set of circumstances that we've never had the opportunity to see her go through" *cries* mel's entire answer to this question makes me so excited for lucy's development. idk why but i don't think whatever she's referring to here has to do with lucy being a detective? it seems so raw and personal and it makes me wonder if we're also learning more about lucy's past too (also wondering if they're bringing back her parents for a sec 👀)

TIM STILL NOT KNOWING ABOUT LUCY & NOLAN SDFGHLADF okay but can they please give us this comedic moment because it would be gold

the mention of the moonstone ring ♡

bonus: eric being so proud of that jail tiktok is so funny and wholesome

[myosotisa]

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ  summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 12k

ǁ  Part 1 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more. 

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started. 

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances  without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake. 

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.” 

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

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thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

[kennahjune]

Reread The Outsiders

Greaser!Eddie, Will, El, Dustin, and Jonathan and Soc!Steve, Mike, Max, Lucas and Nancy.

Steve and Jonathan having their fight at the beginning just like in the show and it knocks some sense into Steve as per usual.

Steve actually going out of his way to apologize to Jonathan on his own later that same night and having the door be answered by little Will. Will getting Jonathan and Jonathan and Steve stepping out on the porch to talk in private where Steve apologizes and actually admits that he fucked up.

But then Jonathan doesn’t fully forgive him (cause Steve said some pretty nasty things) and says something along the lines of “let everyone know just how sorry you are and maybe we’ll talk.” idk— but Steve then goes out of his way to apologize to both Nancy and Jonathan in the middle of the high school hallway and admits in front of everyone how much of a douche he was and how he wants to be better.

Eddie seeing this all happen and not knowing what the fuck is going on.

Rich Boy Harrington actually saying sorry? Admitting defeat? He calls bullshit. So he goes out of his way to watch Steve everyday after that— convinced it’s all an elaborate prank on poor Byers. But no. Steve is genuinely changing for the better.

And Eddie doesn’t believe that until Will and Dustin— some of Eddie’s favorite middle school sheep— are caught in the middle of a brawl with asshole socs Troy and James and the first people to help them are Steve, Mike and Lucas.

Mike and Lucas are just walking around. It’s like 10pm and really neither of them should be out right now but Ted was getting pushy and Mike needed some space. Space that included Lucas.

Will and Dustin are stumbling down the street, Will holding Dustin up after he got the worst of the hits. Will himself is sporting a nice black eye but he’s standing on his own— unlike Dustin.

Mike and Lucas are on them in a minute, both very worried and concerned for their wellbeing and health. Just as Mike is saying “fuck whatever Ted says you’re both coming home with me” Steve pulls up in the Beemer and they all get in.

When Steve asks if they have anyone they can call for Dustin (Steve already called Joyce and Jonathan) he insists on Eddie because his mom is asleep and doesn’t need to be woken up. She works an early shift in the morning.

Steve calls Eddie, seeing no problem with it as long as the kid is safe and happy and taken care of.

Eddie cannot believe that Dustin and Will got into a fight and honestly thinks it was Steve for a moment until Steve calms him down. Eddie and Steve chat, exchange numbers, and in no time Dustin is loaded in the van with Eddie and they’re off to the trailer park.

Joyce and Jonathan stop by as well, pick up Will and chat with Steve about what had happened. This is when Mike, Dustin, Will and Lucas form The Party.

They all exchange numbers yada yada.

The next day at school Jonathan and Nancy are both shocked to hear that Steve got into a fight with Mason Walsh and Rory Dante. Go figure; Steve had confronted them on how Troy and James had treated Dustin and Will the night before and they both were going on about how they deserved it. Throwing slurs left and right.

And well. Steve didn’t take that too kindly.

Needless to say, Steve’s parents are called and this is the moment that Jonathan and Nancy find out just who Richard Harrington is and why Steve used to be the way he was.

It’s also the moment that Hopper finally steps in and arrests Richard for child abuse and assault and all the good shit. But then his mom disowned him and Steve is suddenly on the streets. So Hopper also takes him in.

Which is where Steve meets El.

And idk where I was going with this but 60s Stranger Things AU with Greaser!Eddie x Soc!Steve :)

(With a side of Byler, Lumax (or Henclair and Elmax idk)

[iceman-kazansky]

Band of Brothers Appreciation Week, Day 1— Training

Requested by: no body, Appreciation week post

Pairings: Carwood Lipton x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Series-typical violence

A/n: Well. This wasn't quite what the trope given to us by The very lovely @hbowardaily gave, but it inspired me! So this is my little spin on it!! It's my first time ever taking part in one or these appreciation weeks so bare with me :)

The roar of planes in the sky was unlike anything you’d ever heard before. The Douglass C-47’s large engines filled the air with their deafening whines while men sat in silent wait. She could feel her gut, churning in fear and anticipation, anxiety chilling her spine. Yet, she was confused, for she had practiced this type of thing before. She hadn’t spent two years at camp Toccoa, running up the 3 mile hill every day, completing night marches and training to be a paratrooper all for nothing. This is what she’d trained for. She trained for war. So why was there such a fear, evident in her gaze and the way her leg bobbed nervously.

The only difference between the two was this was in a large formation, with hundreds of thousands of other men, trained for the exact same thing, jumping with them in the invasion. Leaping out of the hardened steel doors with no certainty their parachutes would deploy and they wouldn’t hit the ground. Which, even if they did reach the German-occupied ground of Normandy, not knowing if a kraut was going to shoot them before they could get untangled was far scarier. At least hitting the ground you wouldn’t feel anything. So aside from that, nothing was too different, right?

You knew that this kind of thinking would only throw his mind into a frenzy so instead, you take a deep breath and look out the opened door next to you, where cold wind blasts you in the face. In the black of the night, you can just barely make out the shadowy silhouettes of planes, flying in large formations.

Somewhere near the neck of the formation, a large boom stands out over the roaring engines, a small orange flash erupting in the sky. Then, like flies to a carcass, the sky is filled with hundreds of orange explosions, smacking into the underside of the planes as they fly.

The German Flak hits close to the plane Easy Company is in, prompting the beast to lurch and sway in the clouded night sky. More flak bursts around the frightened paratroopers, constant ‘Boom! Boom! Boom!’s filling the noise with their thunderous cacophony.

The light in the belly of the plane shifts to red and your commanding officer, Richard Winters yells, "Get Ready!" And lifts his hands up, creating a hook with his finger and yelling "Hook up!".

You stand to your full height at his command, clicking your static line to the thin wire that runs from the door to the tail. The same is happening all around you, everyone follows his directives fluidly as they hook their cables to the thick metal wire that hangs in the plane, their movements fueled by their countless hours of grueling training spent in Toccoa. “Equipment Check!” lieutenant Winters yells.

One by one the Easy company men begin calling out their position in the plane, pulling on the straps of the paratrooper ahead, until finally reaching you.

You are thankful for one of the more manner-some Easy boys who doesn't get too handsy when tugging your equipment, like the many who had tried before. He finishes quickly with a loud, “Eight, okay!”

Now it is your turn to tug on the paratrooper ahead of you, your fingers pulling on their intricate setup of ropes and the yellow Mae vest strapped to their chest thoroughly before yelling, "Seven, okay!"

Like a chain the line continues;

"Six, okay!"

"Five, Okay!"

“Four, okay!”

“Three, okay!”

The light is a blaring red, pouring out of the bulb and pooling in the shadowy confines of the Douglass plane. The ominous light is stationary for what seems like eternity, the Flak banging its fiery fists into the planes around you, punching holes in their skin with ease.

The plane is hit once more this time in the side, sending pieces of shrapnel shooting into one soldier's legs. The man screams in pain, which you can only imagine to be unbearable. In an instant Doc Roe is unclipping himself and moving to treat the wounded man, your commander not wasting any time doing the same.

The light turns green and the rest of you paratroopers still in the plane jump into the icy blast while another shot of Flak rocks the plane.

You jump into the sky without a taste of fear, your canopy deploying a few frightful seconds later of free fall. You are pushed through the sky like a feather in the wind, the white of your canopy sticking out like a sore thumb in the ebony of the night.

Moments of quiet, gentle freefall pass, the breeze tickling your cheek and dragging its fingers over your parachute while you descend. The planes grow quieter as they continue flying overhead, the only noise left is the repetitive 'rat-tat-tat' of Anti-Aircraft Artillery as it fires into the sky in small bursts of yellow and orange.

You hit the ground, your canopy dragging a few feet when you roll to a kneeling position, pulling out your bayonet and slicing the chute from your body. Once you free yourself, you move to your leg bag, the place you'd stored your rifle for when you dropped, only to find it missing.

You curse audibly, voice stark against the silence of night, seemingly echoing in the darkness. In the very close distance, an AAA you hadn't before seen fires shots into the sky at planes that are long gone, prompting you to dive to the ground in hopes of concealing yourself.

The Germans manning the gun thankfully don't notice, the noise of the Flak successfully covering your noise.

You had to be more careful.

In hopes of finding more cover, you move into the trees, circumnavigating the AAA. The only sound left is the crunch under foot as you trek through the trees. Everything looks the same, You think to yourself, trees. So many trees.

And it does; the only thing around you is a thickly wooded forest; every way you looked had similar features to the latter. It was making you feel hopelessly lost in this unfamiliar woodland.

You are squinting your eyes in the dark, trying to make out shapes, when the rustling of a bush causes you to stop in your tracks. It's quiet for a few moments, silence passing between you and the man in the bush, unsure whether the other is a friend or foe.

Fuck it, If I die, I die, you think, calling out, "Flash!"

The person immediately steps out, breaking the tension with a reply of “Thunder.”

“Carwood!” The name leaves your lips in a whisper, a breath you didn't know you were holding going with it.

Within seconds, you've crossed the short distance and are in front of Carwood, relief flooding your veins, feeding your emotions. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his middle section, collapsing into his firm hold. He is shocked. Body rigid for a few moments before he returns the hug.

It's a moment of peace when you hug, both of you lost in the warm silence the embrace provides, your souls intertwine like twin flames, dancing in harmony to a melody only you and him know. The hug was like a cascade of emotions, a torrential downpour in a desert of bottled-up feelings. Both holding on to the other tightly, as if trying to etch the feeling into your very bones, unsure of when you would have this chance again. It was a fleeting, stolen moment of tenderness, carried on the wings of unspoken love.

"I'm so glad to see you," you murmur, pulling away to look into his chocolate eyes, they hold an emotion you can name very well, even though it is unspoken. The warm honey holds a warmth of an everlasting hearth. It's beautiful, his eyes twinkling with love. And it's love created for only one person. You.

The tension isn't awkward, no, rather a gift of silence, offered by perhaps God himself as he watches these two love-stricken fools pin over each other in a time of war.

Carwood is looking at you, eyes heavy with emotion, no doubt seeing you as if you hung the stars, the sun, and the moon. And he can barely contain himself. He reaches up with his free hand to cup your cheek, rough calloused fingers tracing your cheekbones in the moonlight.

For all one knows, it might be the relief of the reunion between you two, but Carwood finds himself leaning in. You following suit shortly after. Your lips meet, and it seems as if fireworks go off inside you, bursts of joy pumping itself through your wary veins. The kiss is long awaited, and your lips move together in beautiful, unknown passion, contained for 2 years too long. You hope it never ends, the fiery dance you both are drawn into by love, for it gives you a new heightened sense of security and protection, despite the irony of your actual location. But maybe, just maybe, the world would stop for the two lovers.

Perhaps just for a day.

[silveragelovechild]

I saw the trailer for “Fly Me to the Moon” a while back. It’s a comedy about faking the Apollo moon landing starring Channing Tatum and Scarlett Johansson. They are popular and good looking. I thought it would be a hit.

I was wrong. It opened very nearly on the 55th anniversary of the actual moon landing and… failed spectacularly at the box office. It earned only $31 million against its $100 million budget. It probably needed to make $200 to break even.

Aftering being away on vacation, it’s the first movie I decided to see - purely based on my reaction to the trailer. I didn’t read and reviews in advance. I had hoped it would be an old fashioned screwball comedy. But I don’t think director Greg Berlanti knew what kind of movie he wanted to make. He has directed 3 other movies (two gay comedies) but most of his experience is with superhero shows (aka The ArrowVerse).

The movie starts off okay… Johansson plays a super successful New York ad executive right out of “Madmen”. Woody Harrelson arrives as a super secret Richard Nixon operative who needs her to improve the public’s perception of the Apollo program. For some reason he needed to blackmail her which didn’t quite make sense.

In Florida Johansson and Tatum met-cute. He’s the Apollo mission’s launch director and doesn’t think he needs her help. He resists her every way he can.

After successfully doing her job, Harrelson then tells Johansson he wants a backup plan in case the moon landing fails. He wants her to organized a secret fake film of the landing to broadcast instead. Of course this puts her at odds with her budding romance with Tatum.

Let me cut to the chase… even if this is a screwball comedy (which it’s not) the plot makes no sense. Harrelson wants to use the actual audio of Armstrong/Aldrin from the moon but use the fake video of Johansson’s mock up. Huh?

If the Lunar Module arrived without crashing, no disaster, therefore the fake footage is unnecessary.

Then there’s the fake drama created as a wedge between Johansson and Tatum. Apparently Johansson’s character has a secret criminal past (just like Don Draper) that Harrelson uses to blackmail her. This was so unnecessary - couldn’t she just have been a successful ad exec without that bullsh#t?

Then there’s Tatum’s backstory. He feels personally guilty for the deaths of the astronauts in the Apollo 1 launch testing disaster. I can just imagine the writer’s room discussion about how they needed to add more gravitas to the story and let Tatum prove his acting chops. Again totally unnecessary.

At the age of 44, Tatum is 8 years older than Gene Kranz was in 1969 (the actual flight director). In his first scene I noticed that Tatum looked like he had very obvious stage makeup. Throughout the movie, except for two lines between his eyebrows, he had absolutely no wrinkles… no crows feet when he smiled, no lines across his forehead, no laugh lines. (BTW, Kranz was not the flight director for Apollo 1.)

At the end, the movie attempts to become a comedy again with antics involving Chekhov’s Black Cat. When all else fails, throw in some slapstick. (The poster above spoilers the ending.)

And my final petpeeve - Berlanti, who is opening gay, included a character (played by gay actor Jim Rash) who is the worst gay stereotype - he can only be described as “f@ggy”.

The fact that the movie flopped at the box office, probably doesn’t matter to Apple Studios who produced it. They didn’t care that 2023’s “Napoleon” lost $165 million.

[lover-girl-estxx]

Be Happy for me

(B24 NI 26) Season 7

*not my gif*

I smiled looking at my laptop, I got accepted to be on the first female season of the ultimate fighter: Griffin vs Rampage. "Y/n you coming?" Nate yelled "yeah sorry!" I closed my laptop and grabbed my gym bag "what were you doing?" He asked by the door "Girl things" "girl things my ass" I laughed getting in Nicks car. I was hitting pads with Richard the guys were doing bag work "can I cut a bit of weight this week?" "Yeah why?" He asked "um you wanna go in the office?" "Sure.." he said unsure.

I sat across from him "I have two fights both wins so I sighed up for the first female season of TUF I got accepted im going in two weeks" I smiled "the boys know?" "No I'm gonna tell them at dinner tonight" "you sure that's what you wanna do I mean you've never said you wanted to do this, you haven't really fought " "well I can't there was no women division in the UFC I've had three fights your saying those don't count?" "I'm saying these girls are gonna be the best of the best" "I'm not" "I'm not trying to tell you not to I just wanna tell you what you're getting into okay? I'll be your coach no matter what" "thanks" "come here," I gave him a hug "it's time for Jiu-Jitsu go put your Gi on" I nodded.

"Nateee I'm tired carry me" I said after BJJ he smiled and picked me up carrying me to the locker room "thanks!" "Yeah" he chuckled. I came out ready for dinner they were standing by the counter "ready?" Nick asked "yep! You?" He chuckled ""we're always waiting on you" I slapped his chest as we walked to the car "are not!" "Are too" Nate laughed "we are y/n/n" I sighed. We sat down together got drinks "why'd you wanna go to dinner?" Nate asked "um I wanted to tell you guys something... " I took a sip of my drink they looked at me with wide eyes "well tell us then you cant not now?" Nick said "um well the UFC is allowing woman to fight now and they're doing a season of the ultimate fighter for it so I applied" "to help coaching?" Nate asked "No to fight! I got accepted!!" I smiled "you wanna fight?" "yeah! why are you guys shocked? I train everyday have three fights" my smile was slowly dropping "when do you leave?" "two weeks, I'm gonna need help in camp! you guys don't mind right?" "I'm not helping you" Nate said "me either" Nick join "what?!why not?" "your not gonna like it, you can just train you don't have to be a fighter. You're a girl you shouldn't do a job like that" "I get to pick whatever job I fucking want" "then what do you want us to say?!" Nick said "I want you to be happy for me! like I was and am for you two!" they shook they're head "K then fuck you guys you don't wanna support me" I was getting choked up "no its dumb what your doing" "you take it there's no more hanging out and stuff" Nate said "okay thanks guys this was great I'm gonna leave" I stood up grabbing my bag "you rode here with us" Nick said I rolled my eyes "I'll walk".

I grabbed my gym bag from the unlocked car putting it over my shoulder "assholes". I threw my bags on the floor and fell on my bed I grabbed my phone and texted Richard

Y: Can you train me with out the boys?

R:.yeah..

10 years old

"pick one and i'll put it in the player" they're aunt said we went over to the book shelf looking threw the UFC DVDs that lined them "we haven't watch UFC 4 in a while" I said Nick nodded and grabbed it from the shelf and handed it to his aunt, Me and Nate sat next to each other by Nina in front of the TV. She hit play then went to the dining table with my mom and the Diaz's mom who were all friends, we shouted and yelled as Ken Shamrock Subbed Dan Severn "lets try that!" Nate said Nick smiled same as his brother as they started messing with each other "boys stop!" they started to laugh they stopped and Nate came over "come on you and me try" "they said to stop" "they said boys your not a boy doesn't count" "okay!" Nina and Nick started to laugh when instead of trying to sub him I started tickling him making him laugh and scream.

"Y/n that's amazing!! did you tell the boy?!" My mom asked "..yeah they um not happy they're not gonna help" "oh honey I can talk to them and they're mom-" "no its okay i'm not gonna make them help its okay.....you know all good things come to an end" "Y/n" I sniffed "no its fine, it's just gonna be something new".

[writergeekrhw]

Hey, hope you are well. I was wondering what you considered your finest contribution to the various shows you have worked on? The character/character moment/plot point/favourite line that, if someone invented a time machine and tried to go back and erase that specifically, you would end up fighting them on a rooftop in the rain to protect?

Oh man, that one is pretty much impossible to answer. I've written over 80 episodes of TV and worked on over 300, so it's hard for me to pick my favorite episodes let alone my favorite moments or lines, etc. I'm most proud of the body of work and how deep it is, but let's see if I can think of a few highlights:

TNG:

"A Fistful of Datas" - The title is really good! I'm happy I got Picard to play his flute. The Worf/Data kiss was me, though I wrote it on the lips.

DS9 (A lot of these are with Ira):

"Q-Less" - "You hit me. Picard never hit me." "I'm not Picard."

"The Wire" - "My dear Doctor, they're all true." "Even the lies?" "Especially the lies."

"Past Tense 1&2" - All of it really.

"To the Death" - The whole "Victory is life" bit and O'Brien's response

"In Purgatory's Shadow" - "Lying is a skill like any other. And if you want to maintain a level of excellence, you have to practice constantly." "You Cardassians are all alike. You talk too much." "How can I forget it? It was the only day."

"By Inferno's Light" - Dukat's big speech. "That space station you're so fond of was built by Cardassia." "Funny. I thought it was built by Bajoran slave labor." "I yield! I cannot defeat this Klingon. All I can do is kill him, and that no longer holds my interest." "Armageddon will have to wait for another day."

"Call to Arms" - The end with Sisko's baseball.

"Field of Fire" - Snipering the melon. Who the bad guy ends up being and what his motive is.

Also: "Hard Time" "For the Uniform" "Little Green Men"

ANDROMEDA:

Proud of creating my first show. I think the cast I had control over (everyone but Dylan) is pretty great.

"Under the Night" - "Oh, he's the guy who retired. Didn't you say he bought a farm?" "The farm. Bought the farm, Trance." "What's the difference?" "Torn pressure suit and a bad emergency seal." Tyr's entrance.

"An Affirming Flame" - "I don't care if we wake up when the suns have all burned out and the universe is winding down to die, as long as I'm there to watch."

"Angel Dark, Demon Bright" - Harper's big speech. "Those are my mathematics. I'll leave you to yours." I like the way time travel works in this one.

"Music of a Distant Drum" - Tyr correcting the kid's shooting grip

"Harper 2.0" - "My pain belongs to the Divine. It is like air. It is like water."

"It's Hour Come Round at Last" - "To hell with the odds. All that matters in life is that we try. Promise you'll try."

THE TWILIGHT ZONE:

I'm proud to have written a Twilight Zone even if it wasn't in the original run.

THE DEAD ZONE:

"Descent" - Triggering a JohnnyVision by having him brushed by a passing bat.

THE DRESDEN FILES:

Underrated show in my opinion. I'm proud of co-developing it. Production was rough so I'm proud I got the episodes done and the show on the air. I think the cast is really good. The moment when Harry has to get a wasp to sting him in the eye to use it as a spy drone is pretty memorable.

THE 4400:

Richard Tyler in the diner seeing how much the world has changed. Ali is so good in that scene. We knew we had lightning in a bottle with him.

THE GATES:

"Little Girl Lost" is pretty good.

ALPHAS:

I wrote a lot of Gary's off the wall lines. "Left!" "Are you sure? Heart left, Gary?" Gary puts his hand over his heart. "No, right!" "Respect the badge!" Also casting Tatiana Maslany before she blew up was a really good call.

STAR-CROSSED:

I came up with a lot of how the Atrians culture and biology worked and I think that was all cool stuff. I loved Teri's "hold my gold" moment in "And Left No Friendly Drop," which was something that Chelsea Gilligan came up with in blocking, but I'll take credit for it. Teri punching the drone in "What Storm is This That Blows So Contrary" was fun.

(Elementary later)

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

hello, i would like to hear about the titans fantasy au O.O

Oh man, you really shouldn't enable me like this... but if you insist!!

Alright, here's the setting: We're in some weird Lord of Rings/DnD fantasy setting with various magical creatures and inconsistent technological developments. Were tunics worn at the same time as ball gowns? Were carriages used at the same time as broad swords? I don't know! And I'm not doing any historical research! It's just haphazardly medieval!

Donna, for the most part, is relatively unchanged. She fits into this setting rather well. She is the demigod daughter of Zues, warrior in training, third in line to be Queen of the Amazons. At 13 years old she is a new arrival from her island nation and she is hoping to learn monster hunting (she's hoping to learn by doing). The one condition of her joining Diana was that she was supposed to stay with Diana at all times. Both of them nodded and smiled in agreement when their mother, the Queen, said this. Both immediately parted ways once their boat hit the shores of this new and exciting world.

Speaking of new and exciting, the King of Atlantis' ward is tagging along for the first time to see the surface world. Garth is fascinated (and a little terrified) and he's hoping to learn new types of magic! The Crown Prince (his older brother) Koryak says that he will make a fearsome mage one day and he really doesn't want to let him down. Garth imagines that one day his brother will rule as King and Garth will be there at his side as the Head Mage. He really has to work on his skills to get to that point though! Hence studying abroad. He's also... maybe... looking to meet some friends. Or any friends, really. He doesn't have any and he's heard good things.

Lord Richard of Gotham is so tired of politics. His... 'father' is the Crown Prince, next in line for the throne of Gotham. Not that anyone, including Bruce, is happy about it. The Kane family has had the crown for centuries and now, because the King only had daughters and Bruce's mom had the audacity to marry a Wayne (their rival house), they stand to lose it all. Thankfully, Bruce's status as Crown Prince is only temporary. As soon as Princess Kate Kane is married off, her husband will automatically be next in line. (Although they've sure been taking their time with that. What's the hold up?) So Bruce doesn't have to ever worry about being King and Dick (as Bruce's totally legitimate love child that Bruce didn't make up to make sure Dick could inherit everything if he ever died, don't do the math on their ages) doesn't ever have to worry about the throne at all. Sure, he's technically second in line but it's as far away from reality as a nightmare and just as scary. For right now all Dick has to worry about is being a squire, going on adventures and learning how to be a great knight! What could go wrong!?

Crown Prince Elroy is fucked. Seriously fucked. The old Crown Prince Oliver saw Roy at an archery competition and decided 'Yeah, that one.' Ollie offered him a room, food and all the arrows he could ever want. When Roy found out that Ollie was taking a page out of Robin Hood's book, Roy was overjoyed. The two of them had a blast stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. It was great! And then Ollie's father, the King, found out. He disowned Ollie, not that Ollie cared, and life went on as normal with one major giant exception. The King didn't have any other children (legitimate children anyway) and Ollie was now disowned. So the King legitimized Roy as Oliver's bastard child and heir. Or, sorry, Elroy because apparently 'Roy' wasn't fancy enough. Now Elroy is the Crown Prince. Elroy is under lock and key so that Ollie can't influence him. Elroy is being forced to study. (The King promised him that this was just to make Ollie see reason but Roy isn't so sure... the King is putting a lot of effort into his training...) The only saving grace is that Roy is being sent away this summer to learn sword fighting. Archery is 'a cowards sport' apparently and Roy 'needs to expand his horizons'. Well.. they certainly agree on that last one. Roy is making a break for it and he's not coming back.

Wally is a young apprentice working for his Uncle Barry. He's learning how to make medicine and treat wounds and find useful herbs. At least, he's learning that sometimes. A lot of his time is spent being a delivery boy. Uncle Barry says that's an important part of any medical treatment, actually delivering the medicine. Wally thinks that he just wants him to burn off energy. Regardless, Wally spends most of his time delivering medicine and he does it well. It helps that he can cross the continent before most people can blink their eyes. He can't tell anyone that though. Barry has made that part extremely clear. As far as their patients are concerned, Barry is a local doctor who just lives outside of whichever town they're in. There's a lot of things Wally can't tell people. Like how his eyes glow and magic lights up on his fingertips when he's excited. Or how he doesn't really like hats, he just has to wear them to hide his slightly too pointy ears. He gets it. He does. He's heard the whispered stories of fae, the hushed talk of changelings, he's read the old cracked tomes on the Elven Folk. He knows what people will think he is. But he isn't. He really isn't. He's just... Wally. And sure, he might be a little bit odd but he's just as human as the next guy, he swears!

Donna finds herself left on the doorstep of the greatest monster hunters in this new world. Garth is accepted to shadow some of the best defense mages ever. Dick finds himself stopping in with some fellow Knights (he is soon to be one after all) on his way home after a particularly hard mission. Roy finds himself shipped off to learn sword fighting from some 'trusted experts'. Wally is on a routine delivery run to drop off some supplies for his Uncle's good friends. Whether it's fate or something far more sinister, they all find themselves at the temple of the Knights of the Emerald Flame. Sir Hal Jordan, who was not ready for the sudden onslaught of children, panics and gives them a mission to get them out of his hair.

The rest, as they say, is history.

[marimayscarlett]

"Mutter" Era Richard is the reason I became a Rammstein fan in the first place, to be honest.

My goodness, I had the biggest crush on him back then! :D

I still find his look in this era to die for, but looking back we know that it was not the greatest time for hin (the fights in the band, his marriage began to crumble, he has found out about his son at this time and was heavily addicted to drugs). That's why, looking back, I want to give him the biggest hug in this era. But well, when would I not like that? ;)

I just find it incredible how well he has aged. Not just his look… He had therapy and much more so that he can be the man he is today, and that I find super strong and quite wonderful.

Hello dear anon, thank you very much for this ask! It's always quite interesting to read about the thoughts and experiences of fans who are a lot longer part of the fandom than I've been!!

First and foremost, I can absolutely understand why you've been drawn to Mutter era Richard - I mean look at him:

I'm especially weak for Mutter era Richard in one of my favourite gigs, the concert at the Velodrom in Berlin 2001, it's just unreal 💜

When I entered the fandom in 2015, the facts about his hardships, personal problems, drug usage during this era were already widely known, so I've always had and have these in the back of my mind while watching anything related to the Mutter era. You are right, he went through... a lot. Too much. All these different hardships in his life happened kind of simultaneously and really most likely hit him like a brick wall. My heart aches when I read about him talking about working under drug influence like non stop editing of a bass line for 8 hours straight (interview with the german news outlet Die Welt in 2009) or while hearing him talk about his depression and relationship with his mother, which really scarred him (interview with the German TV channel VOX in 2010).

All the more admirable it is that Richard found the strength and even had any strength left to go to therapy, work on himself, come clean regarding the drugs, all the while being very open about it and kind of using his voice to inform about all these things.

This is one of the reasons I'm drawn to him. Of course, he looks extremely good and charming, but his willingness to work on himself, to better himself to lead a healthier life and be there for his family, his enthusiasm and determination and overall drive is extremely worthy of commendation I think. I don't want to venture too much into Richard's mental state and overall well-being since it's actually none of my business, but I just really hope and pray that he's in a good place right now mentally speaking 🫶

And yes, this man deserved and still deserves all the hugs, real ones and 'sending good vibes over the internet'-ones 🤗

[my-emily-gilmore-era]

Gilmores prove life doesn’t end after 40

By Deseret News Feb 7, 2005

UNIVERSAL CITY, Calif. — There's a certain irony in the fact that the WB — the network that targets teens and twentysomethings — has the two most believable, most well-rounded characters in their 60s on television.

And Richard and Emily Gilmore, as portrayed by 61-year-old Edward Herrmann and 60-year-old Kelly Bishop, have been an integral part of "The Gilmore Girls" since the show began 100 episodes ago.

"I know the WB is known as a young network and viewed, I think, a little bit too much that way," Bishop said. "This show is multigenerational. And, frankly, it's not about my own ego, but I wouldn't be inclined to watch this show as a viewer if it weren't for us, because I'm going to identify with an older person. I'm not going to be watching shows about teenagers because I've been there, done that."

In a medium that places such a high value on youth, the elder Gilmores are such an anomaly they're almost alone.

Herrmann replied with humor to questions about his "elder" status. "Let me get out of my wheelchair and dance," he said, affecting a truly elderly voice.

"That's kind of wonderful, too, that we're still alive," Bishop said. "And, what, 60 is the new 30, right?"

Well, maybe, but Richard and Emily have never had to act like teenagers to get airtime on "Gilmore Girls." They're not simply saccharin grandparents, they're complicated people living imperfect lives.

"It's interesting. It's wonderful," Herrmann said. "I mean, these people are lively. You don't die after the age of 40."

The Emmy-winning actor said the show's writers have "done a wonderful job with Richard."

"He's a fellow who's gone through a number of changes. . . . There have been a lot of plot lines for him, which I find true to life. So I haven't been bored at all."

The premise of the show is that their daughter, Lorelai (Lauren Graham), got pregnant when she was 16 and decided to keep and raise the baby on her own. Which, not surprisingly, drove a wedge between her and her parents.

A wedge that remained until Lorelai's daughter, Rory (Alexis Bledel), was a teenager and Lorelai had to turn to her wealthy parents for financial help to send Rory to private school. That reopened the daughter-parents relationship and gave Richard and Emily their first chance to really get to know their granddaughter, but it's a rift that's never been entirely healed.

"What I look for at the end of the tunnel is the reconciliation between (Richard and Lorelai) in some way," Herrmann said. But when he has raised the issue with creator/executive producer Amy Sherman-Palladino, "She said, 'Not yet. We can't. There's a wonderful tension between the two that you want to try to maintain.'

"So it's great fun. And, actually, (executive producers) Amy (Sherman-Palladino) and Dan (Palladino) have given us really good stuff to do this year."

Good stuff that culminates Tuesday (7 p.m., Ch. 30) as Richard and Emily renew their wedding vows. The couple, married almost four decades, have been separated since last season. Not separated by much — Richard moved into the pool house — but their relationship had deteriorated badly.

"I love the idea because I think that those of you who are in long-term relationships will realize that you have, of course, that initial love/lust and all that," Bishop said, "and then it settles down. And then it kind of hits a point sometimes in a relationship where you're really bored with the other person and kind of think, hmmmm.

"And then out of no place and for no particular reason . . . you look at the person one day and you are so in love with them all over again."

It made for some great material for Bishop and Herrmann. Over the 99 previous episodes, they've done comedy, they've done drama, they've had surprises and they've always come across as real.

"The palette is rich. There's a lot of stuff to talk about," Herrmann said.

"I mean, almost to slapstick," Bishop said. "I finally got to do physical comedy climbing out of the basement window. (Richard accidentally locked Emily in.) That was so much fun."

And she loves playing a woman who's not exactly a caring, nurturing mother/grandmother. Emily Gilmore loves Lorelai and Rory, but she expresses that love in a manipulative way that drives her daughter crazy.

She's at it again in the 100th episode, using Rory's father, Christopher (David Sutcliffe), to try to end Lorelai's romance with Luke (Scott Patterson) — a relationship she doesn't approve of.

"I've gotten some really nice, vicious things to say to people," Bishop said, "which I always enjoy. . . . She's a piece of work, but, yeah, I had a lot of fun this year. Amy gave me some really nasty things to say."

Sherman-Palladino is amused at how Bishop — "one of the nicest people in the world" — takes so much joy in playing Emily, who is not. "I just love that she's so excited that she gets to be horrible to people."

But Bishop said she doesn't always understand viewers' reactions to the character.

"I'm surprised. People seem to really like her. And I haven't figured that out yet, because I think she's just horrible," she said. "I love playing her because she's so mean.

"And every once in a while people say they identify with her and I say, 'Why? I'm glad you're enjoying my performance, but you don't have to like Emily. Because I don't particularly like her. I like playing her.' "

[sapphire-weapon]

Why is he your favorite VA for Wesker?

Tbh the first time I heard him in game I thought he was Krauser. Like he’s just been stripped of personality in every aspect, voice, appearance, acting, etc.

He sounds like every other wannabe Batman video game character. I’ve heard the whole ‘well he sounded like a bond villain in 5’ and yes he might’ve but it was funny and memorable and now his voice just sounds so forgetful and generic.

but im curious to hear your opinions

i've been asked this question like five different times (almost as many times as i've been asked about lily gao), and i'm just. tired of the question because i'm tired of people looking at wesker in a vacuum. wesker doesn't exist in a vacuum. wesker exists in a series called resident evil.

idk if you've noticed, but RE isn't going for "funny" in the Remakes anymore. bond villain wesker worked in OG because that was the tone that the series was trying to strike to begin with. it's not trying to strike that tone anymore. so anyone who wants him to go back to being a bond villain wants him to stick out among the cast in a really bad way and feel out of place.

i've said this before, but when i first heard craig's voice come in over ada's radio, i got hit really fucking hard with HOLY SHIT THAT'S WESKER. THAT'S THE MOST WESKER THAT WESKER HAS EVER BEEN HOLY FUCK.

you thought he sounded like krauser for the same reason that i immediately knew he was wesker:

menace.

krauser always had a menace factor to him, but wesker didn't. this goes back to the whole "wesker shouldn't be funny anymore" thing. wesker is The Big Villain of the series. he should be menacing. we should feel scared of him -- or, at the very least, he should make us anxious and/or uncomfortable. he's not a morally gray "hero of someone else's story" villain. he is a menacing villain who gets off on psychologically torturing the heroes.

and that's why i always didn't like the bond villain approach to him in the first place. there was always something very sinister about wesker that got lost in translation because he sounded so fucking goofy.

it's not lost anymore.

craig carries a level of tension through his performance that makes it sound like he's always five seconds from snapping, and he does it in a very calm way, so you really have no way of knowing when he's going to pop off and raise his voice. you have no way of knowing when he's going to get violent, because he sounds like he's constantly skirting right along the edge of it.

and it's a good choice for wesker because wesker's particular brand of sinister has always had a sexual component to it, and sex and violence are very closely related psychologically. like i said, wesker gets off on chris's angst and jill's suffering. he now finally sounds like someone who would.

and on top of all of that, craig also has a very... i like to say he has a "radio voice" in his performance of wesker. it's deep and smooth-sounding and very breathy at times; if he were to be given a radio show, people would listen to it just because they'd enjoy listening to him talk. that's also fitting for wesker, because we know that wesker lived a double life for about 20 years.

i can't see dc douglas wesker charming his way into jake's mom's panties, because he's such a ridiculous human being. he always has some snide lilt to his voice. he's just barely this side of snidely whiplash. if he told me i looked beautiful, i'd be like "lol so how much money do you need to borrow?" but if craig burnatowski wesker told me i looked beautiful, i'd probably get the dokis, just because his voice is smoother and he sounds more serious overall.

the same principle applies to him betraying STARS. peter jessop did a fairly good job with wesker, but i couldn't see dc douglas or richard waugh wesker as a leader to look up to, because, again, they're both skirting the line of snidely whiplash. it'd be like "oh, there's a traitor in STARS? couldn't be the guy who sounds like a fucking cartoon villain, could it?"

like. get dc douglas and richard waugh out of your head. stop thinking about them and just look at wesker's lines of dialogue written out on paper. craig captures the character's voice better. he just does. and if you think it makes him sound "generic" then chances are you don't like wesker as a character as much as you think you do.

and now i never want to answer this question again lmao

[coffee-loving-introvert]

Here with an unnecessary personal fact that no one asked for but you are gonna know about anyways but over the years I have enjoyed a habit of keeping diaries. Now this is not a personal experience diary but instead just acts as a notebook in which I jot down any and everything. Poems I found interesting, quotes from a book I really liked, posts on Tumblr that resonated with me, tweets that made me feel something, Tumblr posts and tweets that were reposted on Instagram etc etc. it just became a collection of things that I just want to remember as time goes by. It's been that way for years with a goal that I will write it down and flip through the diaries when I'm feeling down or just feeling bored, didn't do it once till now but we'll see.

Every notebook or diary that I bought with the only basis being that it looked too pretty or beautiful to pass up and remained in a corner with no exact purpose to fulfill is used to house this odd collection of things sourced from almost anywhere one can imagine. Now this has been the norm for years and never once have I actually gone back to read the stuff I have copied in there because I'm already busy filling in the new stuff. And that means unknowingly or maybe even knowingly I have repeated and written down various stuff that multiple times in the expanse of the various diaries, like the Richard Siken quote about how someone has to leave first and it is the only story that exists, or like the post by @acutelesbian (whose new username I do not know) about the class they took named Relations for Life. And these are the only ones I remember over the top of the head and I'm sure there are loads more like these that I have written multiple times.

The whole situation seems poetic to me in a sense itself because it's not like all the multiple versions were written at the same time right, they were written by me only during various times of my life. Every time they came in front of me I chose to write them again because they meant something to me and each time they might mean something different to me but I still chose to make a note of it even though I did not remember it before.

There's just something about the fact that even as I grow up or go through different things the lines that hit something in me before still end up doing the same, and I fall in love with the same thing again that I once loved but had forgotten about

[mychemicalrachel]

AO3 First Lines Tag Game

Hi thanks so much @singersargentboi for tagging me!! 🥰🥰

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Dizzy [Ronan/Kavinsky, Adam/Kavinsky, Ronan/Adam/Kavinsky]

The car appeared sixteen days early.

It was parked out front with an ostentatious blue bow; a blinding white Mitsubishi that looked every inch the Raven Boy that Joseph Kavinsky had never felt.

I'm Filth, I'm Dirt (I'm Yours) [Ronan/Kavinsky]

Stumbling across the picture was an accident.

Semi-Charmed Life [Ronan/Adam]

Ronan had a plan.

It wasn’t an itinerary, he told himself; it was a list of activities scrawled neatly on a sheet of lined paper, complete with the times at which each thing would most conveniently be done. A list, a plan. A schedule, maybe. Not a fucking itinerary.

Just The Way I'm Not [Ronan/Adam]

Ronan hated the subway. He hated the city and he hated the crowds within it and he hated rats and he hated public transportation. Right now, the thing he hated most was his car’s broken transmission, the catlyst which forced him to ride on the fucking crowded subway where he had to deal with both people and rats.

P(r)etty Crimes [Declan/Adam]

There were a lot of different kinds of anger. Simmering, boiling, blistering fury that festered until it had no choice but to bubble over, or the kind that struck fast and burned quick. Adam was intimately familiar with the different forms that anger could take.

My Friend From Harvard [Ronan/Adam]

Gansey loved to talk about Blue. From the moment he met her, he swore it was love at first sight– even though she called him a douchebag and flipped him off. Richard Campbell Gansey III was as stubborn as he was oblivious and a little misunderstanding wasn’t enough to deter him. Blue was, as Gansey described, the woman of his dreams; intelligent and pretty and remarkable and talented and just as stubborn as he was. Every breath not used talking about Blue was spent talking about Parrish, My Friend From Harvard.

Greatest Hits [Ronan/Adam, Ronan/Kavinsky]

Monmouth Manufacturing was never quiet. Even in the darkness that fell with the night, the walls seemed to speak, murmurs and whispers of secrets and dreams. On this particular night, they screamed.

A Series of Unfortunate Events [Adam/Kavinsky]

Henrietta didn’t have an autumn. There were the burning days of a seemingly endless summer and then, abrupt and harsh and frigid, winter fell like a bomb. Even though it was only mid-October, there was a chill in the air that crept beneath Adam’s collar no matter how tight he pulled his jacket around himself.

Not Death, But His Brother... [Ronan/Adam]

Ronan had never seen such stillness.

He was a ghost, floating along in the wind. A paper bag tugged forward by the breeze. A shell of a boy with nothing left inside.

I Know She Won't Give In (I Know That I Will) [Jordan/Declan]

His entire body ached.

It was rubber bands– strings of fate, of fortune– pulled taut, centered low in his gut and reaching out into his extremities. It was the curl in his fingers and toes, the tension held in his every muscle, quivering and quaking with anticipation.

It was a good kind of ache.

Tagging some mutuals I know have at least 10 fics! (If you wanna be tagged in future stuff, or don't want to be tagged, let me know!!) @iammistressofmyfate @your-void-senpai @kelliealtogether @zephfair @second-sister