#and he sees jamie on tv and is reminded of how much he fucking hates him. and he feels a bit more like himself again. and phoebe's games ar

[its-time-to-write]

ch. 1 - hustling for the good life

please never let me write a series again. if I say i’m going to, please remind me that it’s the worst and i’ll hate myself for it. anyway, here it is and yeah, i got self conscious about it. uhh also Jamie doesn’t show up till chapter 2.

table of contents

cowboy like me

Getting from the car to the hotel lobby should not be this challenging. It’s not even that far a distance, but the moment your car pulls up to the doors, you understand that this is going to take a lot of pushing, shoving, and flashing cameras.

“How’d they even know I was going to be here?” you ask your assistant-turned-best-friend Natalie.

She grimaces. “I was kind of trying to keep this from you, but your new makeup artist has been leaking your location. That’s why it’s been hell the past week or so.”

You groan and say, “Shit, and she was so nice, too! Who would’ve thought?”

Natalie shrugs. “I had my suspicions from the beginning. Gotta tell you, it was hard fucking work catching her in the act without you knowing.”

You smile and pinch Natalie’s arm affectionately. “This is why you’re the best, Nat. You’re always fighting a losing battle against my anxiety.”

She grins back and says, “You ready to brave the paps? Be warned, they’re going to be particularly vicious.”

“Obviously,” you reply. “They’re probably all wondering why I don’t have a ring on my finger.”

Natalie makes an ick noise and says, “I, for one, am glad you don’t. I think I’d have to quit if you married him.”

You laugh as your door opens and your bodyguard begins to usher you inside. You’re glad you’re not marrying him either.

—

Fame is weird because it pretty much means your entire job is based on other people’s perception of you. They never have any idea what’s actually going on, and if the people decide they don’t like you, you’re done. You like to keep your personal life, well, pretty personal. That means social media accounts run by a publicist, a secret apartment, large sunglasses, tinted windows, and a fuck-ton of coffee.

Your last three relationships had all been for publicity and you didn’t mind so much, but it was odd. There was an actor, a guitarist, and (most recently) a model. They were all incredibly sweet, which you understand is a rarity. Fake relationships have the tendency to run sour, but they were just genuinely kind people. 

The last one, the model, had commented on your ability to detach one night. He specifically noted how you could fake a sparkle in your eyes, the kind that you’re only supposed to have when you’re really in love. You had laughed and patted his cheek, and told him that you didn’t want to be in love. It’s easy to fake something you don’t truly desire because there’s no underlying pain in your eyes.

The actor and guitarist had said similar things, the actor in particular telling you that you should consider switching which business you were in. You just grinned and told him some lyrics for a the song you’d release when you two broke up.

Love is a hassle. You don’t need it. You’ll take your nice car over an open heart any day.

—

It’s late but not too late as you and Natalie lay on the giant bed in your room, face masks on and glass of wine in hand.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t even keep ten percent of your new EP,” she says as you absently watch the show on the TV. “You’re making so much off it, that it wouldn’t make a difference.”

You shake your head. “Mango was always going to be for that charity,” you reply. “It doesn’t make sense that I would tell their stories and then profit off it. It’s their album, I was just the execution.”

Natalie raises an eyebrow as she says, “But no one knows what it’s about. Or that you’re the one donating all that money. Honestly, I’m shocked that no one in that entire organization has figured out what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I think Christine probably has an idea,” you laugh. “She always could see right through me. And the girls I talked to promised to keep it to themselves. You know, they each get a percentage too.”

Natalie nods. “I know,” she says. “I understand your vision, I really do. I just need to check in with you every now and then, so I know you understand what you’re doing.”

“I do,” you reply. “I really do.”

—

Mango was a one-off EP you created after becoming financially involved with an organization specializing in helping women escape domestic violence. A little heavy for someone whose songs were best listened to on a sunny day, but you needed something real. You hated the way you felt separate from real people and Christine, your point of contact, had given you a lifeline. Your money now had use, beyond buying loved ones houses and cars and whatever else they could possibly want. You didn’t want to become publicly involved, and the whole company was great with keeping you anonymous. You’d talked to so many women who had stories of love turned rotten, and the hope they’d been able to find. 

You wrote a few songs about some of them, supposed to be a personal gift for those who had touched you.

It was Claire, the one who had told you the story that inspired Mango, who said you should release it.

You’d protested at first but the other girls caught wind of Claire’s vendetta and pushed you into it as well. 

Natalie helped you put your vision to paper, and contracts were written so the money Mango made would go to its true visionaries.

It was satisfying in a way that no other album had been.

It had depth, it was personal, it was upbeat but in a real way, and it had a strange sadness laced throughout each track.

You came across a tweet that said, I don’t know why I’m crying to Kitchen Epiphany, but it’s 3am and I can’t stop sobbing. 

That’s exactly what you wanted. Nothing is explicitly sad in the song, it’s actually one of the most sunny songs on the EP, but still. There was something that people could feel, could connect to.

You think that feeling is better than any type of love.

—

The trip to London is another PR thing. “Blue Glass singer/songwriter spotted in London on the heels of breakup with model ex,” said one newspaper. 

“Mango artist has let her man go,” said another.

“I think they could have done better with that pun,” Natalie remarks. You giggle. 

“I don’t give a shit, as long as they’re buying what I’m selling. It’s just nice to be out of America for a little bit.”

Natalie squints at her phone and says, “You know you’re here for work, right? You have that interview in an hour, plus we have a party tonight. You don’t have to pretend to be sad for this one, apparently you’re supposed to move on quick and act like you’re ‘happy, single, and unburdened.’”

You’re not sure who exactly she’s quoting, but you’re pretty sure she’s reading some message from someone in charge of your image. They don’t do a bad job, but they could do better.

—

The interview is good, done by a sweet girl who asks interesting questions about aesthetics and personal projects, things a little different from your normal interviews. 

You head back to the hotel and figure out what you’re going to wear to this party, some football thing, while Natalie laments her inability to wear slippers.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she says as she rummages through her makeup bag, “I fucking love the way heels look. But my feet are absolutely ruined and I just want to wear something comfortable for once.”

You hold up an ice-blue dress to the mirror. “You should just do it, Nat. It’s not like anyone’s actually going to care. I sure as hell don’t give a shit.”

Natalie’s head shoots up to look at you. “Are you serious? Please tell me you are. If you say I can, I’m totally not wearing real shoes.”

You decide to wear the dress and say, “Natalie Herrera, you can do whatever your heart desires. I literally could not care less.”

She squeals and says, “Oh my god, ok, ok, I’m going to the shops right now and I’m going to buy a cute pair. Oh my god, I’m so excited.”

“If you find a really good pair, get me some too,” you call after her, “I want some to wear around the room.”

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Theres is an excellent gif set in the jamie tag at the moment of people acknowledging Jamie's abuse and its got me thinking back to Man City when Ted sees. That look on Jamie's face I never know how to read it. Defiance? Accusation that Ted sent him back to that? Resignation? Desperation?

Ah, this is a tough one. I don’t know that I know either, nonny, but let me think out loud for a bit and we’ll see what we’ll see.

First things first (and this might be an unpopular opinion): I don’t like to think that Jamie has a horrible time with Manchester City in general. Yes, his dad is there and he is obviously a fucking nightmare, but as far as we know Tartt Sr. is still a presence when Jamie’s with Richmond, even if he doesn’t come out to see the games. Admittedly, he does love his club more than he does his son, but he’s still invested in having a professionall footballer for a kid and I don’t think he’d let go of that claim to fame just because Jamie plays for a team other than City. I can see him watching the matches at a pub with his mates, you know, bragging loudly about everything he thinks Jamie does right, and then texting or calling to berate Jamie for everything he did wrong.

Of course, we don’t know that that’s the case, but consider the fact that when Jamie wants to get away from his dad, he doesn’t make a push to switch clubs or to go on another loan: he ditches football altogether to go on a reality show. And sure, we don’t know that Jamie didn’t try go somewhere else first either; it’s not an easy thing to do when you’re under contract, so maybe the TV bit was a last desperate option when everything else failed. However, he did seem eager to return to City when he was voted of Lust Conquers All, so yeah, I just don’t think he hated being in Manchester, and consequently I don’t think he’s upset with Ted for sending him back to that per se. We’ll get back to that in a bit.

Turning to the actual scene, this is what Jamie looks like in the beginning of it, before his dad starts throwing shoes and Jamie notices Ted:

This really breaks my heart. Jamie looks so young and so sad here. Not initially fearful, I’d say, but just so very dejected and resigned. He did a good and unselfish and useful thing but is immediately robbed of his joy and rightful pride in that because his father has nothing but scorn for anything less than “scoring a winner”. Reminds me of nothing so much as a little kid who’s spent a lot of time crafting something quite complicated for your birthday and is so excited to show you, only for you to complain about the visible glue or whatever. (Doesn’t necessarily mean that Jamie’s after his father’s approval, by the way, just that his father sucks all joy out of what should have been a triumphant moment for Jamie and ruins it for him.)

And then asshole of the year gets in Jamie’s face and Jamie catches sight of Ted:

Jamie does look rather angry and/or accusing here (and yeah, the quality of the picture is exceptionally meh – Apple TV doesn’t really make it easy for me to grab screenshots on my PC, I’m right annoyed about it). However, and as previously stated, I don’t think Jamie’s angry with Ted for sending him back to this, because I think that this kept happening at Richmond too (albeit not usually physically).

But if I’m right, what’s with the dark glare, Jamie? Well, even if I don’t believe Jamie was necessarily upset about having to return to Manchester in general, I think he was very upset about being sent away (as he perceived it) after making an effort to do better. He took Keeley’s advice and did what Ted wanted him to do and opened up in front of the whole team (which was quite brave of him) – and still he got sent away. I can’t help but think it must have made him feel tricked and made a fool out of. (Which to my mind explains why he goes a little bit extra assholish afterwards.)

And now here he is again, having followed Ted Lasso’s advice in making the extra pass, and all that gets him is being yelled at. So that’s the accusation, I think: “I did what you taught me to do, and this is what I fucking get for it.”

(He also gets a little green toy soldier and a kind note, and that’s so hugely important for his continued journey. Jamie, as we know, responds well to positive reinforcement.)

Huh. I didn’t know this was what I’d land on when I started writing this, but I do love to hash things out in text so thank you so much for this ask, nonny! I had fun! Not sure how convincing it’ll be to you, and I have a feeling this is one of them things I might well change my mind about later down the road, but for now this is my take on it. If you have other ideas, feel free to hit me with them.

For reference, I believe nonny is referring to this amazing gif set.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #james tartt #1x10 #meta #asks #my stuff

[bopbopstyles]

3. More Than a Song

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.7k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: prepare for ANGST! and dunkirk premiere harry aka one of his best looks ever :) also thank u to @havethetimeofyourstyles for making my line breaks bc i’m inept at making things xoxo

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

“Baby,” Harry said, turning to her from where he stood in his closet. “Can you help me with my collar? I can’t get it.”

Y/N set down her phone—she was ready first, which wasn’t surprising considering it took Harry ages to get ready, partially because he kept getting distracted with her. He’d touch her, run his hands all over her, ask if he could get her out of her lingerie, and she’d have to remind him that she’d barely even had it on and they had an important event. “Sure.”

Harry looked dashing—he always did. After much debate, they had decided on a simple white silk short-sleeved button down and a pair of flared black pants, cool enough for May in LA, but still perfectly Harry. Y/N had painted his nails last night a pastel purple while they had watched a documentary about sheep—which Harry had selected—and the color popped against the neutrals of the rest of the outfit. Shoes were still up in the air, but Y/N was trying to get him to wear the yellow loafers he’d gotten recently, the ones she was so obsessed with she was considering stealing for herself.

Somehow Harry always managed to mess up his collars before big nights, the nerves probably getting to him. Y/N smoothed the material on his shoulders to relax him before popping up his collar and folding it back down crisply. “There you go.” In the mirror in front of Harry, her eyes trailed down his body, from his sweet curls she had labored over styling in the bathroom, to the recently tailored pants he wore. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, a smile dancing onto Harry’s face at the action. “Nervous, bubs?”

He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Bit. More for you to hear it than anyone else.”

The honesty of his statement brought butterflies to her tummy. Harry had been in and out of meetings for the past few months getting together the release of his debut album and putting the final touches on it, but at no point had he let her hear it. She suspected it was because he was scared she’d hate it, but when she asked her dad about it, he told her to think about it as his journal. His journal of a past that Y/N hadn’t been a part of. That had made Y/N understand a bit better, the prospect of being nervous of what she’d think of him more the worry than a worry of what she’d think of the music. So she nuzzled her nose into his shoulder, careful not to get lipstick on the fabric, and told him, “I’m going to love it. It’ll be perfect, just like you.”

Harry’s arms wrapped backwards so he could hold her to him and they stood there, holding one another, basking in each other’s presence before everyone else arrived. It had been a busy couple months for them to start a relationship—Y/N was swamped at work, her boss having left so she had to take on extra work, and Harry was releasing his album, Dunkirk was coming out in the summer, and his tour started in the fall. It was a lot to say the least, and Y/N tried not to think about it too often because she’d get all in her head and ignore Harry’s texts for hours until he called her and asked her if she wanted gummy worms or Hershey’s for movie night. Then, she’d remind herself that they were doing good—really good, even. Better than other relationships that she had been in for this long. Usually this was when she got bored, but with Harry she kept falling for him more and more every day they spent with each other.

He was like a drug, and she was addicted.

“We should head down,” Y/N said, brushing back from him. “Wear the yellow ones, yeah?”

He mumbled something under his breath about her being bossy and coming for Lambert’s job and she snorted, leaving him in the walk-in closet to straighten himself out. Her phone in her hand, she slipped on her heels, a summer sandal with a platform so her feet didn’t hurt, the perfect compliment to her flowing sundress she’d selected for the release party. When Harry had seen it he’d promptly asked if she could take it off so he could ravish her, so she decided it was a good choice. It emphasized her curves in a way that made her feel confident and she’d pinned her hair over one shoulder, the earrings Harry had gotten her for their three-month anniversary on display.

Re-emerging, Harry rolled his eyes over her body and she gave him a soft smile at the way his eyes screamed with desire. “See something you like?”

“Fuck yes,” he cursed. “Can’t wait to have you all to myself later.” Hands in hers, he pressed a searing kiss to her lips, the kind that made her toes curl, before pulling back. “C’mon, Azoff is yelling at me over text about being late to my own party.”

“It’s literally downstairs,” she pointed out. “He’s just mad he can’t embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Harry laughed, arm tucked around her waist as they descended the stairs of his house. He’d bought it at the end of February, a birthday gift to himself, and Y/N had thought to herself at the time that it wasn’t about her, it was about him. But it was kind of hard whenever he had her help him pick out all the furniture, making sure she approved of the colors he painted the walls and the patio furniture.

Downstairs, the party was in full force. Harry hadn’t invited too many people, mostly the same crowd as his birthday. Since it was at his house, he was hesitant to give the address out to too many people, but ultimately he wanted to be able to do whatever the fuck he wanted to celebrate, no paps around. Also, it was hot and he had a pool, so he had told everyone to bring a swimsuit just in case they wanted to take a dip. Y/N had persuaded him to keep it simple and they’d ordered pizza from his favorite place and she made some a ton of margaritas for everyone to help themselves to. Jeff was left in charge of the door when Harry was late finishing getting dressed, and she could tell that he had done a fine job. The tunes were going, people were drinking, and everyone seemed happy. He had even put the album countdown that Y/N had spent two hours making that morning on the TV.

“Stay close to me, please?” Harry asked her, bending his head to whisper in her ear when they reached the group.

Y/N nodded, and Harry began happily talking to Jeff. Y/N started up a conversation with another one of the Full Stop employees who had come who she’d met at a brunch a few weeks ago, plucking some details from her brain about her boyfriend to check-in about. Then, a familiar face flashed in the crowd. “Hanna!”

Harry had suggested the idea of inviting her best friends to the party and Y/N had leapt at the idea. The prospect of having her two favorite people be there with her to celebrate her boyfriend was her idea of a perfect night. Hanna’s red hair popped up, her smile giddy from seeing Y/N. Cutting through the crowd, she quickly made it to Y/N, who wrapped her best friend up in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “Find it okay?”

Hanna nodded. “Security at the gate did not want to let me in though. Jamie is on his way—Cole called while he was walking out the door.” Jamie and Cole had been together for years and Y/N decided the first time she met Cole that there wasn’t anyone better for Jamie, and Jamie seemed to agree. “How are you?”

“Amazing,” Y/N replied and she truly was. She felt like she was on cloud nine right now, the energy bouncing off of Harry absorbing into every one of her pores. “Excited to finally hear it.”

“You should be.” Hanna leaned over and tapped Harry on the shoulder.

His attention shifted from some work-related conversation with Jeff quickly over to his girlfriend’s best friend. “Oh, hello Hanna,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Hanna replied. “Now can I steal Y/N?”

Harry’s eyes lingered on Y/N, but he gave her a warm smile. “‘Course.”

Y/N followed her best friend out onto the patio, giving hugs and saying hello to the friends of Harry’s she’d met during the past few months of them being together. Harry watched her with awe at how well she had fit into his life, she’d succeeded faster than any other girl he’d ever dated. The tidbits of information she remembered and the way she made an effort to be present in the conversations, her deep knowledge of music and the industry coming in handy. He loved having a girl at her side who knew what all of his team did without him having to explain it to her. It was small, but it made a difference to him.

“H,” Mitch said, pulling his gaze from his girlfriend back to the conversation he’d been having with Mitch, Adam, and Sarah. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a sip of the margaritas Y/N had made for the party. She’d slaved over them all day while he was on calls and doing interviews and he appreciated it so much. He reminded himself to tell her later when he had her alone and could tell her properly.

Sarah smiled at him knowingly. “He’s just looking at Y/N, as usual.”

Mitch and Adam chuckled, but Harry frowned. “Am I not allowed to look at my girl?”

“You are,” Adam said, “just be careful, mate. You told us about the rule, remember?”

The Rule. The goddamn rule that controlled this relationship more than he felt like he did, sometimes. He didn’t know how much Y/N thought about it at this point in their relationship, but then again it was still technically pretty early in the grand scheme of things. But for him, it was a constant reminder than their time together was fleeting, that at any point she might want to leave him, his lifestyle too hard. And it’s not that he blamed her. He just hated that it was a possibility. “I know.”

“How’s it going?” Adam pressed. Harry had been distant these past few weeks, holing himself up in the house with Y/N every chance he got when they weren’t rehearsing and he wasn’t on a call. It was hectic and he knew that his friends worried about him.

Harry took another sip of his margarita, eyes finding Y/N out on the patio laughing with Hanna, hair blowing in the wind. “Been good. She seems really happy,” he continued at the sight of her smile. “Bit nervous about tonight, if I’m being honest though.” He’d told Y/N the same thing, but the pit in his stomach still lingered. She had said she was excited, but he didn’t know how she would react to him releasing an album full of songs about his exes and flings.

They all got it though. “About which song?”

“All of ‘em,” he said nervously, and it was true. Y/N came into his life after the album was done, the idea of adding a song about her impossible. Even though he could’ve written dozens—he already had, the voice memos on his phone to prove it. Sometimes he’d sneak away to the bathroom while she slept to sing something that popped into his head, and the few that he’d shown the band they liked. It was all material for the next album, they told him. Some of them had even become full-fledged songs after a few hours locked in his office, but he hadn’t shared them yet. They still felt too raw.

Sarah reached out a hand and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “She’ll get it, H. Her dad’s a musician, you know? If there was anyone who would understand, it would be her.”

And she was probably right. But there was a feeling in his gut that Harry couldn’t shake—that tonight wouldn’t end well for them. He’d felt it when he had woken up this morning and no matter how many time he kissed Y/N to make it go away, it lingered and it was making his brain go wild.

He hoped it was just the nerves.

The night passed quickly. There were speeches, a cake, Jeff pulled out a bottle of champagne, and Y/N had rejoined Harry at his side for the most part. And at this party, there was no question as to who she was—to everyone she was “Y/N, my girlfriend,” and Harry loved it. Particularly the look on her face that she would get every once in a while when her eyes caught his. He didn’t know what to call it, but he just knew that he felt the same way.

Before he knew it, it was 11:59 and everyone had gathered in the living room. The TV had the countdown on that Y/N had designed, the album cover with the numerical countdown over it, another bottle of champagne in Harry’s hand, ready to pop. Y/N stood a few people away from him, watching him with that look in her eyes that she’d been giving him all night that made him weak in the knees and made him curious what she would do to him when they were upstairs. He knew why Y/N was keeping her distance right now—she had mentioned it once before when they were curled up in bed after Harry asked her to be put down as a co-host for the party, that this success was his and his alone. That she was here at the end and she wanted it to be all his. She was here to support him and give him kisses after, but it was all his.

“10, 9, 8.” This was it. It was Harry’s debut album, his first solo record. It was weird for the rest of the guys to not be here when an album dropped. Usually, they were all standing together with bottles of champagne, ready to celebrate with one another.

“7, 6, 5, 4.” And Harry didn’t know which one was worse and which was better. Maybe they were both equally as wonderful, because he had other friends here to stand by his side. Jeff, Sarah, Mitch, Adam. James, floating around somewhere. His mum and sister tried to be here but Gemma got sick and Anna wanted to stay behind to take care of her.  

“3, 2,” He had Y/N. He had Y/N’s excited expression, her wide eyes and flushed cheeks, the look of pride on her face that he treasured.

“1!” But this was his, his success, his win. With the first notes of the album playing in the room, he popped the bottle of champagne and with the bubbles running down the side of the bottle, he took a long swig.

Cheers went up around him, his best friends celebrating his biggest success of his career thus far, one he’d fought long and hard for. One he was immensely proud of and he hoped he would always look back on fondly. And the sound of his album blaring in his house’s sound system—the sound of Meet Me in the Hallway, it brought him to tears.

“Aww, man,” Adam brought him into a hug, patting Harry softly on his back. “Y/N! Come here!”

Y/N was there in an instant, wrapping Harry up in her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder, sobs wracking his body as they stood there. He didn’t even care that his friends were all there witnessing him crying into his girlfriend’s shoulder, he was just so overwhelmed.

“You okay, bubs?” Y/N asked, petting the back of his head softly.

“It’s a lot,” he replied softly, trying to find the words. “Happy. But also just…”

Her hands ran up and down his back, rubbing circles. “I know, baby. You don’t need to explain, okay?”

Harry didn’t reply, just tried to find his breath and stop the tears that were welling in his eyes. And when he did, he lifted his head and his lips met Y/N’s, the sound of whoops and cat-calls breaking out around them. The middle finger that Harry raised to them all did nothing to stifle them either. “Thank you,” he said into her hair when they broke.

The feeling of her lips on his neck, a soft kiss, brought him to his knees. “Always.”

And Harry hoped it was true.

While the rest of the party swirled around her—dancing had broke out, James had started making themed drinks, his favorite being the Sign of the Times one—Y/N sat right in front of the speaker, listening to every word of the album. It was her first time hearing it and she knew Harry would probably play it for her later, but she wanted to hear it now. She wanted to hear his pride and joy, the thing that had him beaming and laughing with his friends, belting out the lyrics with Mitch and Adam in a conga line that was worming its way through the room.

And what she heard broke her heart in so many ways.

Y/N knew that music, and much of art, stemmed from pain and hurt. A good amount of it was also about love, but the songs that were some of the rawest, the ones that hit home for most people, were the ones about our darkest moments. Harry’s album was full of them. Heartbreak, heartache, regrets, addiction to people and things. It was chock full of every one of his deepest darkest secrets, especially the women who he had loved before he met her. There was a part of her that knew that he would tell her in his own time about the stories of some of these women—he had mentioned a few when she’d asked about them—and that she didn’t need to push, but there was this disgusting, self-sabotaging part of her that wanted to know every sordid detail, even though she knew it would hurt her.

This was one of the many reasons she had always told herself she would never date a musician, but more importantly that she would never fall for one. Because their relationship, their joys and pitfalls, heartache and brightest moments, it was all fodder for a song, an album, a career. It wasn’t the artist’s fault, that’s how it worked, but that didn’t make it any easier to be the person they were writing about.

Was that all she was? Another girl for Harry to write a song about?

She wanted to be happy for him, to be glowing and beaming for him, but the part of her that she hated, the part that conjured the worst possible parts of people, it was crawling out of her head. It was twisting Harry and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t believe it.

The album only lasted 40 minutes, but in those 40 minutes the party died down. People had jumped in the pool while Y/N sat by the speaker, they had finished their drinks, they had said their goodbyes, the object of the event passed. Hanna and Jamie came over and gave her hugs, concerned looks on their faces, and told her to call them if she needed anything. When she looked up, the last notes of From the Dining Table fading, it was just her left.

A light from the patio twinkled and she could see the water rippling under the moonlight. Harry.

She left the stereo silent, not cuing up another playlist, and tugged off her shoes, then her dress. Following the pull of the man who had written such a beautiful, heartbreaking, hopeful record, she walked to the patio.

“There you are.” He was floating on his back in just his boxers, which didn’t surprise Y/N in the slightest. The fairy lights they had strung up together were dim in the nighttime darkness, but just bright enough so she could see Harry and all his beauty. “Look bloody gorgeous, love.”

Y/N tucked her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, knotting the hair so it stayed. “Finished the album,” she said, walking to the water’s edge.

“Yeah?” Harry swam over to her, leaning his head on her thighs that rested on the concrete that lined the pool. “What’d you think?”

She couldn’t help the heartbroken smile that graced her features, because she was too tired to lie to him. Exhausted from trying to pretend that she didn’t think about the fact that he could leave her at any moment, that the insecurities of who she was and who he was didn’t catch up to her sometimes. His fingertips brushed at her cheeks and Y/N realized she was crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He hoisted himself out of the water and hooked one of his legs around her waist, pulling her into his wet skin. It was cold against the night air, but somehow Harry was still warm to her.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she said slowly, struggling to find her words.

Fingers drifted up and down her back. “Just do your best.”

She tried not to think about the fact that she was crying on his album release day, that they were having this conversation now. One that sat in the back of her mind when she was alone and Harry couldn’t banish it. “The album is beautiful, Harry,” she started, “but it’s about a past that I wasn’t a part of.” Harry was quiet, but his arms didn’t move from their place around her, so she forged on. “I know that artists write from their experience, and that this album was done before I met you, but there’s this part of me, this horrible part that I utterly despise, that is jealous of them. The women who you wrote about. And the fact that it’s them that you’re going to sing about on stage every night. Does that make sense?”

The brush of his chin against her spine showed her that yes, he understood.

“And,” she continued, voice breaking, “I can’t stop thinking about the fact that maybe I’m going to be a song.”

“Of course you’re going to be a song,” Harry said, his voice soft and sweet.

He didn’t get it. To him, being a song was an honor, but to her, it was a threat almost. “No—it’s that I’m going to be only a song.”

The man next to her didn’t say a word. The chirp of the crickets stretched between their bodies, which were still close on the concrete floor, not a muscle moved.

“I don’t want to only be a song.” Y/N’s voice was hoarse, sobs wracking her body she didn’t expect, didn’t want. She couldn’t have this conversation if she was crying, but she couldn’t hold them in either. It was her biggest fear, the one that festered below all of the others, threatening to consume the relationship she had with a man she was falling for. And falling was the only way to describe it—without any support, a free fall that was utterly terrifying but also blissful peaceful.

Suddenly, his fingers swept across her neck, brushing against her sensitive skin. “Y/N,” he whispered, “you could never be just a song. You’re—you’re like the stars and the moon to me. In that room I could always feel you, wherever you were, and I didn’t want to be anywhere where you weren’t. And maybe this is too fast and too soon, but what I feel for you, fuck Y/N how can you not see how much you are to me?”

He pulled her head so she faced him, his eyes teary to match her own. “Do you hear me? You’re so much more than a song. You’re an album. You’re my life’s work, my masterpiece, a symphony. A song can’t contain how I feel for you, it’s just a piece of a billion I could write.”

Soft as a feather, his lips pressed to her cheeks and then up and across her forehead, over her eyelids, barely leaving a mark but a searing fire in his wake that shook Y/N’s core. “And Y/N, you’re better than a song. You’re my life. You’re here, you’re real, you’re with me. Y/N, you will never be just a song to me. You never could be. Not to me.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, inhaling his cologne and exhaling her feelings for him. He managed to rip down all her defenses, the ones she had spent years building up, and it was frightening. But then she looked at him, the way he smiled at her, the way he kissed her, the way he said her name, and it wasn’t quite as scary. She hoped he could feel how much she cared for him in the way she kissed him, their tears blending into one as they scrambled for each other. Lips breaking and meeting, desperate for more and more and more. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, holding him to her, wanting to have his whole body imprinted on hers.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “you heard me? You understand?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, “I hear you.” She brushed her fingers through his hair gently, curling the wet strands back. “You may need to remind me sometimes.”

“Always,” he whispered, catching her kiss with his own, tugging her into him, arms around her body in a vice grip.

She lost herself in Harry, him an ocean and her a boat lost at sea. Maybe it was their conversation or the night or the alcohol flowing through their veins, but it felt different. The way he kissed her felt heavier, her moans a prayer, his fingers on his back a weight she never wanted lifted. Her legs wrapped around his waist so she was firmly in his lap, arms thrown over his shoulders, their bare bodies except for their underwear pressed against each other without a molecule of air between them.

His lips drew a line across the top of her shoulder, a fire building in her belly as his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra. It was a light pink she’d worn just for him and when he nudged at the strap with his nose, letting it slip from her shoulders, she didn’t care that he could barely see it. She’d show him tomorrow morning. He pulled the fabric away and bent his head, licking at one of her nipples and then the other, gasps falling from her mouth like poetry. Without meaning to, her hips rolled over his cock, the thin fabric of their underwear doing nothing to keep the heat of her center from touching his sensitive skin.

He moaned her name, the sound muffled against her neck as he sucked a love bite into the spot that made her keen every time he nipped into it. She rocked again on him, his fingers digging into her skin so hard it would leave marks tomorrow but she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted to have his marks on her tomorrow, she wanted to show the world that she wasn’t just a song, she was his, she was his girlfriend and she made him feel this way.

Hands on skin, he pressed her down onto the concrete so she was lying down, her ankles tucked around his hips, anchoring her to him. When his hips bucked into hers, she let out a sharp cry, the angle brushing her clit perfectly. “Right there?” He mumbled, nipping and tugging on her nipple, laving a circle that left her squirming against the concrete.

“Off,” she whispered, tugging at his boxers with her hands. “Wanna feel you.” With his help, they shimmied off his boxers without too much difficulty and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when she could feel his cock brush against her covered folds. Reaching a hand down, she brushed the pad of her thumb across his tip, a pained hiss flying from Harry’s throat. He was sensitive and Y/N loved it.

They didn’t have a condom, but she didn’t care. She’d been on birth control for years and she knew Harry hadn’t slept with anyone else since she found her way into his life. Plus, she needed him—she wanted to feel him, raw and bare inside of her.

They were going to have sex on the concrete next to his pool, but she didn’t care. They had had sex before and they would have sex again. She just needed him in a desperate, crawling way. When he nudged at her underwear she pressed into him, letting him pull them down her legs without a second thought.

“Condom,” Harry mumbled as she chased after his lips, open mouthed and heavy.

“It’s okay,” she said, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Want you like this.”

Harry’s head dropped to the space between her neck and shoulder, the groan that filled the air unlike anything she had heard before. “Gonna ruin me,” he whispered, brushing his cock against her folds. Y/N whimpered at the sensation, her fingers begging him for more, for anything she would give him. When his fingers brushed her clit, his name tumbled from her lips without abandon.

“Harry, please,” she panted, fingers deep in his hair.

That was all it took. She was so wet from the foreplay and just him that he didn’t even need to stretch her out. Her mouth fell open as he pushed inside, a mewl landing on his lips as he kissed her. Slowly, he pulled out and then back in, both of them groaning from the sensation of him being bare inside her. He felt impossibly close, every ridge and edge of him pressing against her in the most perfect way. She didn’t know if she could use condoms again, because holding Harry to her chest, arms around his shoulders as he fucked slowly, deeply, into her, her able to feel every inch of her, it was bliss on a new level. A sensation she didn’t know she was missing with him.

Her ankles hitched higher on his hips and when he pushed back in he hit a new angle, a groan ripping from his throat that set her on fire. “Can I go faster?” He said with a grunt. “I—I don’t know how much—“

“Yes,” she whimpered at his words.

He didn’t wait. He drew back and into her, pistoning his hips at a pace she couldn’t even describe, hitting that spot deep inside of her that made her eyes roll back over and over. How he managed to do that she didn’t know, but he deserved an award. Fingers grabbing at his skin in desperation for something to hold her together, Y/N gasped and exhaled his name, a plea and a beg and a prayer all in one. Her back hurt from the concrete but she didn’t care, she just wanted to finish, to feel him release deep inside of her.

Then he thumbed over her clit and she arched up, back leaving the concrete as the fire deep within her threatened to bubble over. When he start brushing circles there, Y/N gripped his shoulders like they would keep her anchored to Earth, her body possibly transcending. Harry bent his head and sucked a love bite on her breast, the puncture of skin forcing her head back, unable to keep it together.

“You close?” He asked, littering her chest with kisses, “Please tell me you are, I can’t, I can’t hold on…”

She mumbled a yes as he drove deep inside of her, swiveling his hips in a brutal way that left her hands squeezing his butt cheeks to get him to do it again. When he did, she swore she saw stars. “Gonna come,” she said, eyes searching for his lips in the low lighting. “Kiss?”

Without hesitation, he kissed her, open mouthed and dirty and sloppy and perfect. She wanted every rough-edged and sweet part of him, every kiss and press of his body against hers. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he chanted as he pressed into her again and again, her body drawing tighter and tighter. Then, he pinched her clit and she came, the ball in her tummy unravelling, hips bucking up against him as she rode out her high. Her eyes stayed trained on him as she did, not wanting to miss his face when he came inside of her.

His hips stuttered, release unloading inside of her in ropes that left him cursing like a sailor. Hair wet and sweaty, sticking to his forehead, and irises blown out, he looked beautiful. She held him close until his body settled, shaking as he came down from his high, forehead resting on the swell of her breasts.

Slowly, he rolled off of her, tugging her body into his so she wasn’t on the cold concrete anymore. He was fiery hot and it kept her warm in the cold air. “Can we never use a rubber again?” He asked softly, and she giggled, hiding her face in his neck.

“Don’t see any reason to,” she replied and he hummed with joy. Tucking her hands under her chin, she looked at him with a smile. “Congrats on your album, baby.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. “I’m so happy I shared today with you.” She kissed him softly and let him hold her close, not wanting to move even to go to bed because it meant leaving his grasp. And as much as her head told her that it wasn’t forever, she couldn’t help but hope it would be.

It had been four days since Harry had texted her. Five since he called her. Six since they FaceTimed.

He was in London for the press junket for Dunkirk and Y/N was supposed to fly out for the July 13th premiere—it was decided a month ago, the tickets booked and her time off from work already approved. But as the days stretched on and the silence grew longer, she couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. If she had done something wrong.

It wasn’t the first time he had been away from LA. They had a conversation about how they were going to handle distance when he travelled back in April, before the album came out and he had to fly around and do press for two weeks. That time, though, he handled it well—he called every night before she went to bed if he could, if not, he sent a long voice memo that she listened to when she woke up. They texted all day, him sending photos from dressing rooms and backstage at talk shows, even FaceTiming her so she could meet the stars he shared the nights with.

But this time was different. Since he left he had texted her just a handful of times and it was when he was at his mom’s house visiting home before press started. And then once press kicked into gear, he was gone, her texts ignored, calls not returned. She was trying not to seem desperate, but with the more time that passed the more anxious she got. It wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this wasn’t what they’d agreed on. He knew her fears, the dark thoughts that crowded in when she spent too much time worrying about their relationship, and yet he wasn’t taking the actions that helped her calm down. Even though she knew it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of her brain, it helped to know he thought about her, at the very least.

The morning before her flight was supposed to leave, she called Hanna in a panic. Her suitcases laid open on her bed, clothes scattered around her, tears streaming down her face. She had tried to call Harry again to confirm her arrival plans, only to be met with his voicemail, again.

Hi, you’ve reached Harry. I’ll give you a call back when I can!

Somehow, the sound of his voice made it worse.

“Han,” she choked out when her friend picked up, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Did he not answer?” Hanna had been counseling her through the whole thing, helping her stay calm and sane, as much as possible at least. From Y/N’s lack of response, just more sobs, Hanna knew immediately. “That prick.”

Y/N wiped a tear from her eye and looked at the ticket in her hand. Harry had forced her to accept his offer of first-class, booking her flight through his agent and everything. “Does he even want me there? Should I not go?”

Hanna was quiet, thoughts rolling through her head. “No,” she finally said. “You should go. Even if it’s just to talk to him in person. You deserve to hear it face-to-face, not by him ghosting you.”

“Even if that means I end up in London and he breaks up with me?”

“Yes,” Hanna replied softly. “But I really, really hope that is not what’s happening.”

At first it had been that he was busy, that he would text when he had time, but it had been six days. Now, both Y/N and Hanna were increasingly worried that it meant the end of their relationship and Y/N was simply not ready for that possibility. She had let Harry in—he had begged her to let him in—and he was going to end things like this? When things got hard with the distance he just…cut her out? “Can you take me to the airport?” Y/N asked, sniffling. “If you don’t I don’t think I’ll be able to force myself to go.”

“Was already planning on it,” Hanna replied. “I’ll bring snacks for the flight.”

“Love you,” Y/N told her. Hanna was her one constant, who knew Y/N better than she knew herself.

“Love you more. Now go finish packing and call me if you need me, okay?”

Y/N told her okay and hung up, her gaze shifting to her suitcase. If he was going to break up with her, then she was going to look so magnificent he would regret every second of it.

Eleven hours in the air meant plenty of time to run over her entire relationship with Harry. She had sat curled up in her seat scrolling through her camera roll and listening to Bon Iver, which was the sappiest thing possible and she didn’t care. Y/N didn’t want to break up with him and the photos and the texts and the memories proved it. Her time with Harry had been so beautifully bright, his presence in her life making so much better, from her confidence to her knowledge to her music taste. And she cared about him in a way she hadn’t let herself do—ever.

She had texted Jeff before she took off, telling him she couldn’t get a hold of Harry and asking where she should go when she landed. He replied with Harry’s Hampstead address and the door code, saying there was a key waiting for her, hidden in the garden, an apology on Harry’s behalf for how busy he had been. The words meant nothing, though, to Y/N. If Harry wanted to apologize he would have to do it in person, not through Jeff.

It was eleven by the time her Uber pulled up to Harry’s house and she thanked the driver as he tugged her luggage from the boot. She waited until he pulled away before she typed in the gate code, not wanting to reveal Harry’s security to anyone—she have been mad at him, but she still didn’t want anything happening to him. The door unlocked for her and she slid inside, shutting it quickly behind her. Pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked up the path, searching for the garden statue Jeff had told her the key was hiding under. When she found it, her fingers ran across the ridges as she made her way to the front door.

His house in LA was warm, it was the Harry she knew. But this house felt colder, the design modern, his personal affects not as visible. Although to his credit, he hadn’t been here for more than a few days in months. A few photos of Anne and Gemma were scattered through the front hall, some framed photos of his time in One Direction nestled between them.

“Harry?” She knew he wasn’t there, but the idea of walking into his house without checking felt too uncomfortable for her. She locked the door tightly behind her, typing in the security code Jeff had sent before re-arming it.

Y/N took her time exploring his house. She perused the main spaces, testing out the couches and peeking at his bookcases, studying the art lining the walls. Then she made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, running her fingers along the edges of his One Direction album plaques that lined the walls of his office, the ones from his debut still resting on the floor waiting to be hung. She found the guest bedrooms with ease and she spent a good five minutes standing on the landing deciding if she should go into his bedroom or set herself up in a guest one.

She settled on a guest bedroom. If he was going to break things off, she didn’t want to know what his bed felt like or smell his clothes or take a shower in his bathroom.

Instead, she showered in the guest bath, washing off the plane smell that lingered on her body. She dressed in shorts and a tank top, letting her hair air dry since she would have to just re-style it for the premiere later. Jeff hadn’t told her what time Harry would be back and she was ravenous, so she wandered downstairs to fix herself some lunch. To fill the silence in the house she turned on The 1975, playing the music from her laptop she had open on the counter as she cooked some pasta she had found in the cabinet. As she ate at his dining table, she tried not to think about the fact that this could be the last time she was in a space of Harry’s. The last time she sat on things he had picked out, the last time she rooted through his fridge, past his obnoxious green juices and leftovers since he hated eating out if he didn’t have to. Her fingers brushed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

Reaching down for her fork to take another bite, she suddenly heard the lock click in the front door and the security system begin to beep.

He was home.

She slid her bowl away from her and turned to look at the doorway, waiting to see his face for the first time in over a week. And when he appeared, she couldn’t the return the stretched across his face at the sight of her in his house. He looked the same and somehow that was worse. In a nice shirt from interviews this morning, his hair slightly tossed from running his fingers through it, the sheen on his upper lip from the heat outside. He looked like her Harry, but she didn’t know if he was hers anymore.

“Y/N!” His voice rebounded off the walls, filling her heart with a kind of hope that was crushing.

“Hi,” was all she could muster before looking back down at her pasta. An anger rose in her, replacing the hurt that had lingered for so many days. How could he pretend like everything was okay? How could he smile at her like he hadn’t been ignoring her for days, too busy to even check and see how her flight was?

His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood floors as he made his way over to her. “Baby? What is it?”

“Do you want to break up?” She asked, her question hard compared to his kind, gentle, tentative tone.

“What?” Harry dropped into the seat caddy-corner to the chair she sat in. “What are you talking about?”

She pushed away her bowl and looked him dead in the eye. “I haven’t heard from you in days, Harry. Days. I flew halfway across the world for you and you couldn’t even manage to check-in to see if I was alive?”

He flinched at her words, eyes dropping to the table they sat at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, words barely audible above her heart beating a mile a minute, pulsing with anger.

“That’s not going to cut it,” she told him, standing up and taking her bowl to the sink. “You fucking ghosted me like I was a girl you’d just met. We’re about to celebrate six months together. And you know what this shit does to me.”

And he did. She could see in his eyes that he knew he was in the wrong, and yet he was quiet. “I was busy.”

“So was I! But I still found two seconds to text you asking how it was going, I found fifteen minutes before bed to call you, and I kept trying even though you couldn’t even manage to reply to me. You’re not that busy, Harry.”

He stood too, walking over to where she stood in his kitchen so that he was a few paces away from her. “I was in and out of interviews from morning to night and when I wasn’t, I was with the cast who I haven’t seen in almost a year. And when I wasn’t doing that Jeff was harassing me about tour details or I was sleeping. I’m sorry if my schedule didn’t allow me to talk to you at every second of the day, Y/N, but this is a huge moment for me and I had to focus on that.” His words were measured, but she could feel the tension rising between them, words unsaid bubbling over.

“And your career is more important than our relationship.” She nodded sarcastically, wiping her wet palms on the dish towel and turning to face him. “Got it, heard loud and clear.”

“Fuck—you know it’s not!” His hand ran through his locks and down his face, struggling to get a handle on his breathing.

“Harry,” she said, trying not to yell, “I’m not going to force you to stay in a relationship that you don’t want to put the time in for. But you know exactly what I need from you—I have been very clear. You know my fears and my insecurities, and you know what triggers them. We had a plan for how to deal with this, and you completely disregarded it!” Her voice rose at the end, the fact that he couldn’t even meet her eyes pushing all of her buttons. “Fucking look at me when I talk to you!”

His eyes met hers and she didn’t see the Harry she knew, the Harry who cared for her, the soft, gentle man. Instead, she saw someone who was pissed off and hurt and grasping at straws. “I can’t dance around your fears every moment of the day,” he said, voice spitting anger. “And I’m sorry if that breaks one of your rules,” the word hitting her in the face, “but you’re going to have to get over it because I can’t spend every second of the day wondering if something I did or said has made you think I don’t care about you! You should know that I don’t want to hurt you, that of course I want to be with you!”

“Well, how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me!” His words stabbed her right where it hurt, hitting her fears right in the heart.

Harry turned, his body facing the counter, fingers gripping the edge of the marble. He sucked in breath after breath trying to calm himself down and Y/N tried to find it within herself to have sympathy for him, but she just…couldn’t. She was so pissed off at him she couldn’t think straight.

“I’m not some girl waiting around for Harry Styles to come home, begging him to never leave me,” Y/N said. She was done. She was done with this fight, with him expecting her to be someone she wasn’t. “I’m me and I’m waiting for Harry, the person I care for so deeply it hurts—you are held to the same standards as every other guy, no matter how busy your schedule is. I should not be expected to fit into your schedule all the time. It goes both ways and you operated this week as if it was entirely my job to stay in touch with you. And I am not going to stay in a relationship like that.”

Harry’s head whipped to hers, eyes boring straight into her. “Are you saying you want to break up?”

Y/N tried to keep her head high, tried to hold back the tears. “If you’re going to do this when you’re on tour, I’m done. You know what I want—it’s the same thing I wanted from this relationship the moment I met you. You’re the only one who seems to think things have changed.” And with that, she stormed out of the room, which was probably petty but she didn’t care. She was so mad at him for his actions and his words that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

Harry didn’t follow her.

At 1 o’clock, a knock came on her door.

“If you still want to come, we have to leave for the premiere in an hour. It’s up to you.” And with that, he walked away, not even waiting for her to open the door.

She sat on the bed, considering her options. Did she go and support him anyway, pretend everything was fine? Or did she stay here—or maybe find a hotel—and leave him alone for the premiere?

He had told her how nervous he was about this. This was his first time on a movie red carpet as an actor and he was freaking out about it before he left, a ball of anxiety that she had to carefully untangle. The thought of him being up there alone pained her, despite how his hurtful words lingered in her head. That she had to get over it as if it was that simple.

The red dress she had bought for the premiere hung in the bathroom where she had left it while she showered so the wrinkles would leave the fabric. It was beautiful—a tiered taffeta skirt that cinched in at the waist, a caged bodice showing off her shoulders. When she had tried it on she had felt beautiful, powerful, as if she could take on anything and everything. She had spent a ton of money on the dress and she didn’t want to waste it.

So she got up, turning on BANKS and set about her hair and makeup in the bathroom, praising Hanna for teaching her how to do her makeup in college. She painted her lips red, in the shade that she adored wearing, and twisted up her hair into a chignon that emphasized her neck. Running her fingers along the skin she remembered when Harry had kissed it, but the love bite he had left behind was long healed. Was she asking too much of him? She wondered as she looked at herself in the mirror. Was he right, were her fears stifling him?

Then she remembered what Hanna had told her. That he wasn’t anyone different from other guys she had dated, and what she was asking from him wasn’t out of left field. Any guy she would date she would except to check in with her when he was traveling and Harry was no different, no matter what his job was.

Harry was waiting downstairs for her, probably having heard her rummaging around in the closet. When he heard her heels on the stairs, he looked up and his eyesight on her skin burned because he looked gorgeous. Maybe this was a horrible idea, she thought as she made her way towards him. She would have to touch him all night, look at him in his tailored suit, gaze into his green eyes as they were photographed on the red carpet.

“You look beautiful,” he said, words gravelly in his throat.

She stopped a few paces away from him. “Thanks.”

He fiddled with his keys, the silence stretching between them. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you have no reason to, but having you there…It means a lot.”

Instead of replying, because she didn’t have words for him, she just nodded. Because she did have a reason—even though she was mad at him, she still cared for him. Despite not wanting to, she still craved him giving her a kiss on the cheek as they walked out the door.

The drive to the red carpet was quiet, the radio playing softly in the background the only sound. They sat on either side of the backseat, Y/N staring out the window while Harry fiddled with his phone. She hadn’t been to London since she was 18 for her graduation present from her mom, and the city held warm memories for her. She wondered if that would change after today.

When they pulled up, an anxiety Y/N didn’t know she was holding started building, the sight of the photographers and the screams from the fans barricaded in. With all that had been happening, she had somehow forgotten what going to the premiere meant for her. Her eyes fell to Harry who was staring at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She had never done this before and he knew that.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said, trying to calm her fears. “Promise.” It helped. At least she wouldn’t be completely alone. “Ready?” He stretched out a hand to her and she took it, letting him help her from the car.

The second her feet hit the pavement, the screams got louder. Fans with signs and their phones outstretched on either side of the wide red carpet, the word DUNKIRK in large white letters closest to the entrance to the theater. Harry’s hand gripped her as she stood, thankful for his body to help her keep balanced.

“Just smile as best you can,” he whispered in her ear as the car pulled away behind them. “And if your eyes start hurting from the flashes, just look at me, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and with his hand in hers, fingers entertained, they made their way down the carpet. He stopped a few times to take photos with fans and sign cards, but all that time he never strayed too far from Y/N’s side. With his arm securely wrapped around her waist, they stood for photos, Y/N trying to stand up as straight as she could and smile sweetly. Harry was a pro at this, a smile practiced for years, but she didn’t have the same experience. She was just a regular person who didn’t know which side was her bad side and had her eyes closed in half her photos.

The cameramen screamed questions at them, about their relationship, if they were married. They’d never quite publicly announced their relationship, Harry preferring to keep his private life private, so this was the first time they’d ever even publicly been out as a couple. And for it to be like this…Y/N hated it. She wanted to stand there and be utterly infatuated with Harry like she usually was, but this time her spine was rimrod straight, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was awkward, the way he tentatively touched her body, not wanting to overstep but also wanting to present the aura of normalcy.

Then they took a few steps and rotated to another set of cameras and Y/N understood what Harry had meant about her eyes hurting from the flashes. She turned her head to him and he found her eyes, giving her a wide smile meant just for her. Without thinking about it, her hand pressed to his suit right over his heart, the soft material of his suit jacket butter under her fingers. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, softly and sweetly and to most it wouldn’t have meant much. But to Y/N, it was the first time he had kissed her since she’d seen him. And the feeling of his lips on her skin lingered, a tingle moving through her body. Her hand gripped his back a little tighter and he just kept smiling at her, utterly entranced by her eyes.

Their bodies had betrayed them. To anyone who looked, they would have seen perfectly fine, not that they had been fighting only two hours ago. But they knew the reality, and this moment, their bodies close together and emotions running through them without being able to stop it, it made it clear that neither of them wanted to break up. They would just have to find a way to move through it.

TAGLIST

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019 @laula843 @afterstylesmadeit  @kait-brin @harrys-watermelons @groovybaybee @clumsywithlove93 @1142590m @erin0717 @ketchuplukehemmo​ 

Would you like to know when I update The Only Exception? Let me know here!

NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 11TH @ NOON CST

#Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you

[blindbatalex]

hello! i love your writing and i re-read your fics all the time ❤️ i would love if you would write some pre-retirement carraville, that’d be amazing. thank you ❤️

thank you friend! hope this is to your liking c:

////////////

Jamie cannot feel his hand.  Visions flash across his mind--his car veers off the road and flips over, he is tackled violently on the pitch, bones snap and blood splashes on the pavement.  When he opens his eyes, heart racing in his chest, the truth is much less grisly but it is no less improbable:

Gary is snuggled against him.  He is using Jamie’s arm as his pillow, and judging from the way it has gone numb, he has been doing so for some time.  His forehead is resting against Jamie’s shoulder and his arm is wrapped snugly around Jamie’s middle.  What the fuck.

Jamie blinks to see if this is yet another horrible dream-vision.  It unfortunately does nothing to return circulation to his arm or remove Gary from his position.  Seriously, what the fuck?  

You see he and Gary--they hook up.  They have been doing so for some time, ever since they discovered how good the sex was after accidentally hooking up following an argument at national camp.  But sex is all there is to it.  Glorious, rough, hate sex.  The kind you can only get with a rival, who admittedly, knows his way in bed.  When they hook up, they usually spend the night at the other’s place--the distance from Liverpool to Manchester is too great to traverse twice in one night for a booty call--but they sleep on two separate sides of the bed and in the morning leave without ceremony.  Gary always wakes up obnoxiously early, and when he stays over at Jamie’s place, he is long gone by the time Jamie wakes up.  When he stays over at Gary’s, as he did last night, Gary will offer him breakfast.  But only because, he explained, he does not want to delay it until Jamie leaves.  They do not snuggle.  They never have.

...Until, apparently, today.  Jamie considers pushing Gary off, and roughly too because that’s what the bastard deserves.  He has not consented to becoming the personal pillow of any Manc, let alone one as prickly and obnoxious as Gary.  Besides, Gary is like a furnace; Jamie is altogether too hot and did he mention--he has lost all feeling in his arm.  

He huffs quietly.

Then again, perhaps he should not have come here last night.  Two days ago, Gary jumped up for a ball and ended up receiving a pretty bad knock to that thick head of his from an Arsenal player.  It looked as if he might have lost consciousness for a few seconds and even when he got to his feet, he seemed dazed and uncoordinated.  Jamie called to ask if they were still on for last night, Gary said yes, and Jamie took him at his word.  He seemed himself last night too, unpleasant but lucid and coherent, and Jamie could almost ignore the incident altogether if he did not look too closely at the stitches on Gary’s head.  

But now...there is clearly something very wrong with him given he is still asleep at 7 am, but not only that, he is asleep in Jamie’s arms.  Has Jamie taken advantage of a concussed man?  He has no claims to being the most morally upright citizen Bootle has produced, and he has little sympathy for Mancs, but even he has to draw the line somewhere.  Somewhere well before taking advantage of someone with a concussion.

Gary sighs in his sleep.  

“James.”

Jamie feels icky all over; his given name is not for Gary to use...let alone like that.  He was watching the match on TV--obviously rooting for Arsenal--and when Gary went down something squeezed uncomfortably in his ribcage.  Head injuries are never pleasant to watch.  He reasoned he would have felt the same way if it was any other player on either team, would have exhaled the same way when they got back up to their feet.  But then last night--when he wrapped his hand around Gary’s head and kissed him, there was this...wave of relief that washed over him, that he could not place.  Then later Gary said, ‘will you fuck me already; I would have called David if I wanted someone to make tender love to,’ and Jamie remembered how much he hated the bastard.

But Gary’s breath is hot on his skin, and when he tries to move back, Gary rolls with him and hugs him even tighter.

He is only doing this because he is hurt, Jamie reminds himself.  He will skip their night next week and in two weeks’ time, Gary should be back to normal.

“I love you, you know,” Gary whispers, slurring his words.  Jamie closes his eyes.  He is only saying it because he is hurt, because he is not in his right mind.  

Somehow, the thought does not bring nearly as much comfort as it ought to.

/////

A/N: we deserve a 10k fic that is the two of them starting out with just hate sex but they catch ~feelings~ along the way and have no idea what to do with it.

#carraville #football rpf #my fic #sorry i meant to write this earlier #but then a stray cat wanted to play with me LOL #Anonymous

[cloveroctobers]

HENRIK LILJENQUIST—

IG info/Bio: @/adventuresbyhenrik | 53.1k followers — “imma wild boi🌿🌏🧗 | happily taken👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

23 (24) years old

Parents are both Swedish and only speak Swedish, leaving henrik to also become fluent

His father Halvi is a pilot

His mother Lova is a race car driver

Siblings? Probably a brother, named Jahan & younger by two or three years + they get along quite well

Born & raised in Isle of Wight, England + loves it there & thinks it’s the best place for him to live, it’s his own private island in his mind plus he’s always finding something to do. He stays active

Climbing & wilderness survival instructor, he gets to talk as much as he wants while also teaching people AND all while being active! Sounds like the perfect job for him

Probably developed ADHD around his pre-teen age, leaving his parents to find him something he enjoys + can slow down and focus on

used to be on meds for it

Was well-known in high school, probably in the yearbook club since he was able to run around & get to know people but was kinda shit at knowing the functions of a camera

His selfie game has gotten a lot better now but he mostly posts anything but his face. You’ll see more of his face on his stories & location shots on his feed

Feels his hair is his best physical feature & his prized possession, would never THINK about cutting it. Even just a trim is a bit much for him

Always tries to be positive but at the same time can be condescending since he sometimes won’t pick his words wisely ex.) when he gave MC a backhanded “compliment” about makeup, being active, + wanting them to “think of others ” feelings — just because someone is opposite from you doesn’t mean you have to shit on the way they carry themselves...that’s my issue with him

maybe he’s a Taurus?

Loves fall & spring, more so fall since that’s when the weather feels nicest to him plus allergy season is a REAL bitch

The guy’s real Adventurous & always managing to find something to do. If you’re ever bored just hit him up, he has plenty of recommendations 

Family owns a cottage & he’s the one who goes out there more than his own family does! “You should just sell it to me at this point!” He tells his parents over dinner often & it is strongly considered

Has five birds & a husky, when he goes on road trips they’re always with him. Which can get a little hectic at times but they’re his family, he’s a, “birdog dad”

BLAKE secretly dislikes them all, feeling like they take up space sometimes (especially when she wants to cuddle) but she deals with it since she cares for the guy — yes, they’re still dating

She’s been convincing him to cut a few inches off of his hair which he took like a slap in the face, “that’s like me asking you to quit speaking up for humans!” “No, no it’s not.”

They’re polar opposites with flaws which causes disagreements between the two of them by putting each other in their places but they learn to compromise? (*insert eartha Kitt gif laughing here*] if they want this to work

His mother seems to be the only one who dislikes blake (she strongly feels he should have bought MC back home...that’s right she watched the show from time to time. Not always since she doesn’t care for reality tv but her friends encouraged her to watch bits and pieces) while his dad and brother approve

It is tense when Blake and his mom are in the same room which makes Henrik sad since he believes Blake deserves a chance. He took a chance on her and it seems to be going pretty well so why couldn’t his mother just be happy for him like the rest of the family is?

Henrik loves his low-maintenance girls who are open to trying new things with him, Blake is usually down most of the time but she likes her personal space too..which henrik struggles to understand

He wants her to live with him, he’s sure his parents will let him have the cottage if Blake decides to live with him but Blake loves her freedom in Kingston

It’s hidden but I feel like he might be one of those guys that feels like “a woman should follow a man” since that’s what his father installed into his boys— which failed because his wife isn’t just a housewife, she has goals and went after them

I feel like Blake turns to social media almost always to post about her feelings (I can’t remember what I picked the first time around as my occupation but as I’m currently playing I picked human rights campaigner so) but it’s mostly subtle shade & it always goes recognized by fans which brings drama between her, mc x Bobby

Henrik jumps in because what kind of guy would he be if he didn’t have his gf’s back? Doesn’t care for the drama but he & Bobby usually said slick shit to each other in the villa, it’s safe to say they’re not really friends but they’re not enemies either that’s mostly between their gf/wife

Henrik doesn’t care enough about Bobby to dislike him but he won’t put up with his shit any longer and what easier way to do that than online? He feels like they can settle this with a phone call but Blake & MC aren’t with the shits and don’t want their men speaking to each other

Henrik & Bobby eventually have a chat in secret anyways

Henrik warns Blake that this can effect her job status if she doesn’t calm down since she uses social media for her cause

She usually knows when to stop but can’t help it if it slips out sometimes

They talk it out and move on usually with whatever fun idea henrik may have

Owns a ford bronco from the 90’s that used to be his uncle’s who builds tree houses for a living and is still running, a jeep gladitor, or some sort of pickup truck

Knows how to make the best apricot jam

All about saving the bees

Loves animals, probably on his journey to veganism if he’s not already there

We all know this fucking guy likes eating M0sS

“Embarrassing fact” but uh big fan of twilight, feels like Seth Clearwater and him are meant to be best buds but he also stans the Volturi 😷

Him and Lucas of course remained the best of mates, since they live 2 hrs away from each other and are always busy living their lives they always have to plan out when they can hangout but that fails 60% of the time when henrik pops up at Lucas’ job or at his flat not giving him a choice but to hang out

They’re always vacationing together too? Sure Henrik is his own version of low-key while Lucas likes a bit of luxury...they still find a balance to just have a good time regardless if they live different lifestyles...they’re basically married

Always texting if they’re not hanging out, henrik with his memes that Lucas doesn’t understand & Lucas just checking in on henrik’s well being which leads the conversation to many topics

He’s actually cool with Gary now? They like/comment on each other’s posts & even text here and there

Even ran into Rocco once on a road trip, that was interesting but when life gives you lemons...we’ll just say that

Even him and Ibrahim share recommendations through text or DM’s which is nice! Henrik is always down for friends even tho they’re not like his personal friends (except for Lucas, he fits into his criteria)

Most of his work is physical and talking but he goes the extra mile by hiking every Sunday either with his friends, Blake, or family — he’s genuinely likes being one with nature

If he’s at the cottage, he’s always outside, chopping extra wood, making sure the yard looks like it belongs on a magazine, or takes the boat out on lake to nap since he doesn’t like to fish as much anymore

Currently trying to grow strawberries but some animal keeps eating them :/

Adores adventure time, the x-files, bobs burgers + animal planet, and travel channels—like he’s a real dad

If he could shower outside everyday, he would, it’s such a freeing experience to him

His outings consist of being in the woods 24/7 so in his mind when he brings Blake out there with him, it’s a version of a date, whenever they spend time together is a date to him, which she has to remind him that she wants to do something different like getting dressed up every now and then + go out to dinner which he HATES but he’ll do his best to please her, as long as the restaurant is more earthy than snobby he’s okay

100% would survive the apocalypse, he knows how to make due with what he’s got, he’s always been that way

Enjoys rom-com’s so he’ll laugh at how cringe they are but still enjoy it, indie films, ALITA was the best film of 2019 to him & currently his fav film is, “the call of the wild” with Harrison Ford

His favorite films ever are Indiana Jones, Lara Coft: Tomb raider, Terminator, and I am legend

Aliens ARE real, they’re out there and he’ll be part of the reason they’ve been exposed

I feel like he wanted to be an astronaut growing up but then realized he’d be a confined space for long periods of time and said cancel that shit lol + he isn’t the greatest at science. History? He did real well in that subject

I think he loves Lorde, listens to Bon Iver—especially on early morning commutes to work, Rex Orange County, Omar Apollo, Joji, the nbhd, the driver era, kid cudi...yktfv

Celeb crushes?/types: The main girls from Charlie’s angels 2019, Alexa PenaVega... “you know Carmen from spy kids?” Diana silvers, Dove Cameron, JAMIE CHUNG, & VANESSA HUDGENS

Anthem = Wallows, “OK”

#litg #litg2 #litg s2 #litg henrik #litg au #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #litg Blake #litg Lucas #litg bobby #litg mc #edited cause I wasn’t aware the mans was actually Swedish oops

[bennguintweets]

One Shot: Stupid Love

Requested by anon: “Can u do a short little thingy set when Tyler & Jamie were still playing and Jamie takes a really dirty hit while Tyler is on the bench just watching? Like Jamie is too injured to retaliate so Jordie and a few others come to his defense but maybe tell the story from Tyler's pov because he can hear the other player yelling homophobic slurs at Jamie while he's down? Bonus points if said player looks right at Tyler while insulting Jamie cause he "knows" about the 2 of them?”

Author’s Note: While I did use some factual information, the dialogue is completely fabricated by yours truly to fit the prompt. Please remember that and do not hold grudges against players who seemed cruel in this one shot. Someone had to be the bad guy, and this was just how it played out in my head. Also, big thank you to my good friend who improved the ish out of my grammar before I posted this, because it needed some serious work. Sorry it’s been a year to date since I wrote my last one shot. Life, man, it’s cray. Enjoy! 

~~~~~

Jamie heard a quick rap of knuckles on his hotel room door. It startled him, as he wasn’t expecting anyone, but by the rhythm of the knock, he already knew who was on the other side of it.

“Hey, Mom, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon. Okay, love you, too. Bye.” Jamie tapped his phone screen with his thumb to end the call before lightly jogging to the door.  He checked through the peephole just to confirm the identity of his visitor. He was, in fact, correct but frowned slightly by the disheveled appearance of his friend who was normally beaming at all times.

When Jamie opened the door, however, he received a completely different expression, as Tyler was giving Jamie his infamous smirk now.

“Hey, Segs?” He didn’t mean for it to come out like it was a question.

“Whatcha doing?” Tyler asked while brushing past Jamie to enter the room.

“Sure, come on in,” Jamie teased and rolled his eyes while letting the door shut on its own. “Just got off the phone with my mom.” By the time Jamie turned around to face Tyler, he was already cozied up in Jamie’s bed.

“Wow, you’re having a crazy night,” Tyler smirked, scrolling through his phone with his feet crossed at the foot of Jamie’s bed. Jamie observed Tyler closely. Even though he was still standing by the door, he could see that Tyler’s cheeks were flushed and his skin was paler than usual.

“She always calls to make sure the flight went smoothly. We never travelled much growing up. Didn’t need to really. So she gets nervous now that I fly all the time,” Jamie explained. His cheeks heated in embarrassment immediately after his ramble because Tyler didn’t acknowledge him. He likely thought Jamie was lame, or weird. Probably both, actually.

“But, the night is still young. Want to go somewhere?” Jamie asked in a hopeful voice, feeling the need to redeem himself.

“No, actually I, uh…kinda wanted to hang out here with you… if that’s okay?” Tyler asked shyly. Jamie had never seen Tyler like this before, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“Oh, um, sure,” Jamie hummed, unable to keep the surprised tone out of his voice.

Tyler sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, this is… stupid. I can go. I’m sure you want your alone time. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Tyler sat up straight, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to push himself up. But before he could finish standing up, Jamie was over at his side with a hand on his bicep to stop him.

“Hey, no. I want you… to hang out. I just thought you were… never mind.” Jamie mentally kicked himself for not being able to formulate a sentence like a normal person, so he thought it would be best to stick with simplicity. “Sit,” he hummed and gently guided Tyler back down onto his bed.

“You sure?” Tyler asked, looking up at Jamie through his eyelashes. He looked like a kicked puppy that was hesitant to trust again. It took everything Jamie had not to wrap Tyler in a big hug to make it better, whatever it was.

It was hard for Jamie to explain his feelings for Tyler. Jamie’s never liked another guy before, but he’s also never had a girlfriend. He just figured he hadn’t met the right girl yet. But when Jamie had met Tyler, he’d started questioning things. He would never admit that to another soul, not even his brother, Jordie. It was just… Tyler was like a beam of light to Jamie. Whenever Jamie saw him, he suddenly felt so warm inside, and when Tyler smiled, Jamie swore he’d never seen anything so radiant in his entire life. He loved every minute they spent together, especially those accidentally-on-purpose moments where their arms or legs brushed against one another on the couch. Jamie lived for that, for all of that, and he loved it so much.

“Of course.” Jamie sat down next to him. They sat there in silence for what seemed like hours, staring at the muted TV with their elbows pressed up against one another. The Pens-Flyers game was on, but neither of them were really watching it. Jamie could see Tyler playing with the hem of his shirt out of the corner of his eye. Seeing Tyler in the dumps was throwing Jamie for a loop. He knew he should say something, anything.

“Hey, Jamie?” Tyler asked, his voice sounded soft and somewhat vulnerable. Jamie was relieved he didn’t have to be the one to break the silence.

“Yeah?”  

Tyler stayed silent, so Jamie turned his head to look him in the eyes. Only Tyler’s eyes were cast down towards his lap, eyebrows knitted together.

“Do you think I’m… trouble?”

“What? No. Why would-“

“Do you think I’m worth the hassle?”

“Hey, what are you even saying right now? Where is this coming from?” Jamie asked, quickly realizing that was a dumb question. They were in Boston, and it was the first time Tyler had been back since the trade. Of course Tyler would be distraught. Jamie had thought Tyler would meet up with his old teammates and go to dinner and drinks. He had friends on that team, right? Suddenly, it clicked in Jamie’s head. He couldn’t believe how oblivious and stupid he had been.

“Did someone say something to you?” Jamie asked. His mood was quickly changing from concern to protective. He could feel anger starting to bubble in his chest.

“No. The opposite.” Tyler frowned even deeper. “No one called me, Jamie. Not a single guy asked to hang out tonight. Not even, Marchy. I thought… I don’t know.” Tyler sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Maybe, they were told not to?” Jamie tried to be the voice of reason, but he knew the minute it came out of his mouth that it sounded ridiculous and Tyler didn’t buy it. Tyler brought his eyes up to meet Jamie’s. He hated that he could see the pain in them.

“Look, Tyler. Fuck what they think.” Jamie paused when he saw the shocked expression on Tyler’s face. Shit, Jamie even surprised himself with the sudden outburst. He wanted Tyler to know he was being genuine. That he cared. Jamie took a breath to finish what he was going to say in a much softer tone. “It’s their loss.”

“You mean that?” Tyler asked, his voice still quiet, vulnerable.

“Yes.” He was looking into Tyler’s eyes, so Tyler could see the genuineness in them. He figured Tyler would break eye contact when he was satisfied, but they were well past the three-second rule now. Jamie’s stomach started flipping nervously, so he decided to change the mood in the room.

“Now stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Tyler said, giving Jamie his best mock-offended look.

“You are pouting, but you should be excited,” Jamie stated matter-of-factly.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re hanging out with me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Tyler chuckled and raised an amused eyebrow.

“Yes, and take your shoes off. If you get my bed dirty, then you’re sleeping in it.” Jamie said before unmuting the TV. He could see Tyler smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. Finally.

~~~~~

Tyler was in his own world, blasting music in his ears through his headphones to drown out the thoughts and nerves he had about stepping onto his former home ice. The whole thing was weird to him, being in the opposing locker room in Boston, but also feeling at home with the people surrounding him despite only knowing them a couple months. He tried desperately to listen to the words of the song, but the harder he tried, the louder his thoughts became. He just wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d receive from the Bruins fans, coaches, and players, and that was the worst part. He wished it would be one of those feel-good moments with a standing ovation and a tribute video played on the jumbotron for the entirety of the arena to see his accomplishments during his time in Boston. However, he fully expected to be booed every time he stepped foot onto the ice because of the negativity surrounding his departure from the city.

“Fuck it,” Tyler thought to himself. “Who cares what they think?” He and Jamie’s talk last night served as a reminder that he was in fact in a much better place now. He really didn’t know what he would do without Jamie through all of this change and hardship. Jamie had been the first one to greet Tyler when he’d touched down in Dallas after the trade, had never judged him before getting to know him, and had made the new city feel like home quicker than Tyler could have ever imagined. Jamie understood Tyler like nobody else. He was a godsend.

“Shit,” Tyler hissed and yanked his ear buds out. He didn’t even realize he was biting his nails until he bit too far down on his thumb. He sucked on it to relieve himself of the stinging pain, but the taste of iron from the blood quickly became evident on his tongue. 

“Hey. You okay?” came a soft voice in the stall next to him. He knew Jamie was keeping a close eye on him since last night. He hadn’t told him about his little episode that had caused him to nervous-puke his brains out, but Jamie was a quiet observer. He figured Jamie knew he had had a rough night before going over to his room, which was probably why he had let Tyler sleep in his bed after passing out in the middle of the movie they’d watched. Tyler had been surprised to find Jamie asleep next to him when he woke up to his alarm the following morning, but they were a good distance apart in the king-sized bed, nothing weird about it. Unless Jamie could read Tyler’s mind and saw just how hard Tyler was crushing on him. Then, that would’ve made the situation much more awkward. But, Jamie didn’t need to know that. Not yet at least.

“Yeah m’fine,” Tyler sighed, wrapping some stick tape around his thumb to stop the bleeding. Jamie probably knew that was a lie, but he was also too nice to prod and call him out on it.  

“Just you and me out there, yeah?” Jamie said, giving an encouraging tap to Tyler’s thigh.

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded, and he believed it.

~~~~~

Tyler would be lying if he said he didn’t hear the crowd when he first stepped onto the ice for warm-ups. There were lots of boos, but he spotted a couple posters welcoming him back to Boston. It was just about how he expected the reception to go, and now that the first lap around the ice was over, he could put the anxiety behind him and focus on the game at hand.

Tyler was going through his usual warm up routine; he was a creature of habit like most NHL players. While stretching out his legs at the center red line that separated the two teams, Tyler saw a yellow and black jersey headed his way out of his peripheral.

“What’s up, Seggy? You miss me?”

“Can’t say I have, Marchy.” Tyler was smiling, but inside he kind of meant it. Nothing against Brad Marchand, but ever since he found Jamie, or Jamie found him, he hadn’t thought about his former teammates.  

“Don’t be like that, Segs. I know you do.” Marchand smirked and gave Tyler a tap on the shin pad with his stick. It wasn’t a hard tap, but it was a little more aggressive than Tyler had anticipated. Before Tyler could come back with another chirp, a flash of white and green stepped in between the two of them.

“Don’t touch him. He’s not your teammate anymore. If you want to talk to him, do it after the game.”

“Oh that’s how it is, huh, Benn?” Marchand gave Jamie a quick look up and down, as if he were sizing him up. Jamie almost laughed because of the approximate six inches he had on Marchand.

“Yeah, that’s how it is.”

“Segs, you just let this guy boss you around like that?” Marchand chuckled and made a gesture at Jamie with his hand, which Jamie didn’t particularly care for. He found himself chest to chest with Marchand within an instant.

“Why don’t you just go back to your side?”

“Yeah? Why don’t you fucking make me?” Marchand said with a little shove to Jamie’s chest. Players from both teams were at their sides in an instant pulling their respective teammate back before a pregame fight could transpire.

“Alright, guys, save it for the game.”

“Yeah,” Jamie muttered under his breath. “You can count on it.”

~~~~~

Tyler glided to the center dot to take the initial faceoff, and to his dismay, Patrice Bergeron was already waiting for him on the opposite side of the circle. The two hadn’t had a great relationship when they were teammates, and then when Tyler was traded, Bergeron added salt to the wound with an interview he gave saying Tyler needed to grow up. Tyler had a few words he wanted to say to him, but he decided to keep his eyes fixed on the ref who was doing his last minute checks before starting the game. Unfortunately, the silence was interrupted by that dreadful and all too familiar voice.

“How’s Dallas treating you?”

Tyler’s head snapped up, because what the hell? All of a sudden he was going to act like he was concerned? No, fuck that. He couldn’t wait to see Tyler go, and Tyler wasn’t about to act like they were buddies.

“Why do you care?” Tyler spat, shooting eye daggers Bergeron’s way. If only looks could kill.

“Well, it looks like you’ve found your fit. I mean you said it yourself, only steers and queers in Texas, right?” Bergeron chuckled.

Tyler felt his heart rate rise to a dangerous level. That bastard. Tyler knew he was going to come up with something snarky, but this? This was way worse.

Patrice had been onto Tyler and his private life ever since the end of Tyler’s rookie season. After they had won the Stanley Cup, Tyler went out by himself for some drinks, because what 19-year-old wouldn’t take advantage of the free underage drinking when it was handed right to him? Anyways, Tyler had drunk until he had felt the familiar buzz and was his usual flirtatious self. What Tyler hadn’t known, though, was that Bergeron was also at said bar. That is until he had made eye contact with him right in the middle of a friendly lap dance he‘d been giving to the random guy he’d been chatting up all night. It was an innocent joke, at least to the other guy, but Bergeron’s eyes had pierced through him as if he was letting Tyler know he could see past the act he was putting on.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He wanted to yell, and get in Bergeron’s face, but he knew he needed to keep his voice down. He didn’t want anyone else to hear the exchange.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Tyler swallowed back a nervous lump in his throat and looked away. He needed a distraction to calm his nerves down.

“Does your buddy, Benn, know? ‘Cos you two are awfully close.” The question hit Tyler like a truck. He didn’t realize Patrice had been keeping such close tabs on him. And for what? Blackmail? He knew Bergeron was just trying to get into his head, to throw him off his game, but the thought of Jamie finding out about Tyler’s sexuality nearly sent him into another panic attack. It would ruin their relationship, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He just couldn’t.

“Shut the fuck up. You can shit talk me all you want, but you better leave Jamie’s name out of your mouth,” Tyler spat through gritted teeth.

“So he doesn’t know?” Patrice chuckled and shook his head. “That’s a shame, because if I were him, I’d want to know.”

“Are you gonna talk all night, or are you gonna play hockey?” Tyler knew that was a shitty comeback, but he didn’t know what else to say without outing himself.

Finally, the head official made his way over to the two of them, allowing Tyler to break his eye contact with Patrice and get ready for the faceoff.

“Alright, boys, here we go. Let’s play a clean game.”

Yeah, there’s no way in hell that’s happening, Tyler thought to himself. He quickly shook off Bergeron’s comments when the whistle blew and got ready to win the faceoff. When both sides were ready, the puck dropped, and the first period was underway.

~~~~~

The game was just as intense as a playoff game, which was unusual since it was only one month into the season and between two teams in opposite conferences. It immediately started off physical, mainly from Bergeron hitting Tyler any chance he got and Jamie hitting Bergeron in response. Once the physicality was consistent between two players on opposing teams, it was like a domino effect for the rest of the players. Then, once the grittiness was present, the need to win the game became so much more important.

Jamie opened the scoring just over three minutes into the first period, but the lead was short-lived when Torey Krug responded with a goal thirty seconds later. The rest of the first period and the entirety of the second were filled with tough, back and forth hockey, but the score remained tied at one going into the third.

Jamie and Tyler jumped over the boards simultaneously when it was their line’s time to play against the Bruins top line. Tyler was the first to the opposing player with the puck, catching the Bruin off guard by his speed. He managed to tie up the puck against the boards, struggling to gain possession. Val Nichushkin came to Tyler’s aid not too long after the puck battle began and was able to kick it free up the boards. After a lucky bounce, the puck found itself against Jamie’s stick with a wide-open net. Suddenly, Jamie felt like life was in slow motion. His eyes grew to the size of golf balls while he instinctively snapped the puck towards the net. Life quickly resumed back to normal pace as he watched the puck go wide of the net and ricochet off the boards.

The Stars’ top line continued to battle for the puck, but to no avail. The Bruin’s defense was able to gain control and break out into a rush out of their zone. Tyler, exhausted from the full shift, made his way to the bench for a change. Jamie, panting equally as hard, followed behind Tyler. But before he made it to the bench, he felt an unexpected, sharp jolt against his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

“Gotta be aware, Benny. Especially of who you associate with. Don’t want people thinking the wrong thing. Unless you swing that way, too,” Bergeron muttered to a doubled over Jamie. Jamie was too injured to respond, and his head was spinning too much to even process what was said. All he could do was focus on the ice and try and catch his breath.

~~~~~

Tyler stepped onto the bench but quickly turned around to face the ice again when he heard a commotion from the crowd. He immediately caught Bergeron’s smug look that was directed right at Tyler and Jamie on all fours on the ice. Tyler knew. He instantly knew what Bergeron had done.

“What the fuck?!” Tyler screamed and swung his leg over the board with the full intention of beating the shit out of his ex-teammate. But before he could get his other leg over, he felt a hand wrapped around his arm to hold him back.

“Tyler, don’t! It’s not worth it; we need you.” Tyler knew Rous was right. If he hopped onto the ice just to fight Bergeron, he’d be kicked out of the game and maybe even suspended by the league, but he couldn’t calm down. He knew Bergeron attacked Jamie just to get to him. The more he thought about it, the more physically sick he felt.

“He… He just-” Tyler’s emotions prevented him from being able to finish his sentence, but seeing Jordie and his other teammates who were on the ice quickly spring to action to defend Jamie helped him stay on the bench and not do anything stupid.

When the refs started to put the fires out in the scrum, a Stars trainer was able to help Jamie off the ice and down the tunnel to the locker room. Tyler watched as he disappeared down the hallway, wanting to run after him and do what he could to help make him better. But, he was stuck on the bench with a game to somehow finish.

Tyler sat back down on the bench, stick gripped tightly beneath his gloves. He felt completely helpless, which made his jaw clench. Tyler knew the next time he stepped onto the ice he had to have his revenge. That was the only thing in his control right now. He was determined, more than ever, to make the Bruins regret it.

~~~~~

“Tyler, first of all congrats on the win. How does it feel to get the game winning goal, not only against your former team but in an intense game like that?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean it’s obviously nice to win against your old team. Especially in a heated game like that. When your captain takes a bad hit you want to win that much more.” Tyler hummed, trying to keep the anger he still had at bay.

“When Jamie exited the game after taking the butt end of Bergeron’s stick, what was the message to the rest of the team going into the final minutes of the game?”

“Finish the game. Jamie couldn’t be there to fight with us, so we knew we needed to fight for him. I thought we obviously responded well, and I’m glad we didn’t let them take the game after taking our captain from us.” Tyler ignored the bewildered expressions he got in response to his non-cookie cutter answer. He could care less if the Bruins saw this interview. Actually, he wanted them to see it.

“Tyler, last question. What did you think about Kari Lehtonen’s performance in the net tonight?”

“It was everything. He kept us in the game, and I wish we could have given him some more breathing room, but he stood on his head and didn’t allow anything past him.”

“Thanks, Tyler.”

“Thanks,” Tyler parroted before getting back to peeling his sweaty equipment off his body.

Instead of hitting the showers, Tyler slipped back into his warm-up clothes and made his way down the hall to the medical room. When he walked in, he saw Jamie sitting back against the examination bench with an ice pack wrapped around his ribs. Jamie turned his head when he felt another presence in the room, a smile spreading on his lips when he saw who it was. 

“Hell of a wrister, Segs,” Jamie croaked out. Hearing the pain still evident in Jamie’s voice made Tyler want to cry.

“You gonna be okay?” Tyler asked. He didn’t want to talk about himself. In fact, feeling like Jamie’s injury was his fault caused Tyler to be disgusted with himself.

“I’m fine, just some bruised ribs,” Jamie replied while looking down at his ice pack covered ribs.

“How long will you be out?” Tyler’s voice was quiet, scared to hear the answer.

“I don’t know. They said we’d monitor it tonight and make a decision tomorrow. I’m sure I won’t miss the game,” Tyler could tell Jamie was lying, positive Jamie was trying to protect him, to not let Tyler’s concern grow. He made a mental note to ask the doctor on his way out what timeframe for recovery he’d actually given Jamie.

Tyler crossed his arms over his chest and nodded slowly. He was glad Jamie’s condition wasn’t worse, but he still couldn’t shake the ache in his own chest. Tyler couldn’t believe he was actually taking Bergeron’s words to heart right now, but he couldn’t disagree with it. He wanted to tell Jamie exactly why Bergeron hated him so much, and he wanted more than anything to tell Jamie how he really felt about him because Jamie did deserve to know.

“Tyler,” Jamie said softly, “what’s wrong?” Tyler mentally kicked himself for allowing his body language and facial expression to be read like a book.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” Tyler sighed and leaned against the doorway. He cast his eyes downwards so he didn’t have to make eye contact with Jamie’s concerned stare.

“It’s hockey, Tyler. It happens.”

“That wasn’t hockey. That was a cheap shot against the wrong person,” Tyler argued. “I don’t know why he didn’t just come after me. I’m sorry you had to pay the price for my battle.”

“Your battle is my battle, Segs.”

Tyler snapped his eyes up to look at Jamie, because that response? How could he not? God, why did Jamie have to be so noble? And so damn attractive while looking at Tyler with his body all banged up from protecting him. If this was a rom-com, they’d be making out by now. But it’s not, and Tyler needed to stop picturing it while making eye contact with Jamie.

“I’m your captain, dummy. It’s what I do,” Jamie chuckled and tossed a small wad of tape in Tyler’s direction, as if to say ‘lighten up.’

Tyler let out a sigh of relief, or was it disappointment? Either way, he forced a small smile and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, Chubbs,” Tyler teased, gently tossing the tape ball back at him to avoid injuring Jamie more. “You ready to get on the bus?”

“I still need a minute. Save me a seat?”

“’Course,” Tyler answered, and Jamie smiled in return. Tyler turned out of the room, shaking his head as he walked back to the locker room to gather his things.

“Well, fuck,” Tyler thought to himself. “Stupid love.” 

#bennguin #oneshot #jamiebenn #tyler seguin #dallas stars #au

[pennylanefics]

Insecurity - Taron Egerton

a/n: this was so easy to write! also, this gif is too damn adorable. if you have any requests for taron, i’d be happy to take some!! i’ll write for Eggsy as well, possibly Eddie :) one last thing, just want to say i love Taron the way he is. this is in no way pointing anything out of focusing on the negative, just a fluffy idea i had in mind ❤️ :)

summary: Taron has a few struggles with changes that are needed to portray his roles

•••

“Babe, I’ve got the part!” Taron yells out from the kitchen. You were sat on the couch in your shared apartment, watching some random movie that was on TV. Upon hearing Taron’s voice, you sat up and waited for him to enter. A small smile appeared on your face as he soon walked back in, his phone still in his hands.

“That was casting, I got the part! They apparently loved my ability to be as awkward as can be,” Taron explains. Your smile widens and you stand to jump into his arms.

“I’m so proud of you, T! You are a perfect actor for this role, I honestly can’t think of anyone else to portray him,” you say to your boyfriend. He pulls back and grins down at you.

“Thank you for supporting me through everything. I love you,” he whispers, although his excitement is still evident in his eyes.

“I love you too. Now go tell your family, they’ve been dying to hear!” He chuckles and removes his arms from your waist and focuses on his phone as he calls his mom’s number. You take your place back down on the couch and watch with happiness as he talks, his back facing you. You grin softly as he turns around and you finally see his huge smile as his mom congratulates him. He catches you staring and winks cheekily, which makes you blush.

Taron recently has been wanting to take on a much different role than Eggsy, so he decided to audition for Eddie Edwards, for a ‘biopic’ of the Olympic skier. It was a very drastic change from the outgoing and cocky character of Eggsy, which is why he wanted it desperately. As much as he loves being apart of the Kingsman franchise, he doesn’t want to be type-casted as just that.

“Alright, talk to you later mum. Thanks! Love you too, bye.” He hangs up his phone and joins you back on the couch, where you two were sat before he got the call.

“Wow, I can’t believe I got it,” he breathes out, still in a daze from what just happened. You giggle and cuddle up in his arms.

“You deserve it, T. You’re such an amazing actor, and as I said before, I can’t imagine anyone else playing this role. I know you’ll do great,” you reply. He glances down at you and leans in to press a kiss to your lips.

“And I’ll be right here with you, cheering you on,” you add, reaching up for another kiss.

—

After a few first meetings with the cast, crew, and production team for Eddie the Eagle, Taron was still high off happiness. That lasted until they told him he had to gain some weight for the role. He was of course up for it, but to say it was easy was an understatement. He was put on a diet, was instructed to stop working out. This put a huge strain on himself and your relationship.

You noticed he started wearing baggy shirts, he wore hoodies more often, and he wouldn’t cuddle with you much anymore. It started to worry you, but since it was winter, you didn’t pay attention to the clothing aspect of it; you paid attention to the fact that he had been getting less and less intimate with you as shooting went on.

Unbeknownst to you of his insecurity problem, you began to think it had something to do with you. Did he not feel the same way anymore? Did he think you were getting less attractive? Was he cheating? You didn’t believe the last one, but you couldn’t help as it trickled into your mind.

You push it aside though, knowing he’s most likely under a lot of stress and pressure with the film. So, you put up with it. That is until he starts sleeping farther away from you, declining any hug you go in for, and making sure you don’t touch his body, at least not his midsection. You finally have had enough when he refused to cuddle with you during your usual Saturday movie night.

You sit on the far end of the couch, as far away as you could get from Taron. A single tear falls down your cheek and you quickly reach up to wipe it away, making sure Taron doesn’t notice. Unfortunately, your movement catches his eye and makes him pause the movie.

“Love, what’s wrong?” He asks, moving closer to you. He reaches out to touch your arm, but you snatch it out of his grasp. He has a look of hurt on his face, but now he knows what it feels like.

“Taron, is there something wrong with me?” You ask quietly. His eyes widen a bit at your question.

“Of course not, what makes you think that?” He responds in disbelief. You sigh and stare down at your hands.

“You haven’t let me hug you or cuddle with you, you’ve been sleeping far away from me in bed at night, we haven’t been intimate in the longest time, and you won’t even let me touch you!” You try to stay calm, but you can’t help it. He takes a deep breath and tries to prepare how to explain his problem.

“Love it’s not you, I promise,” he says. You finally look up at him, tears now streaming down your cheeks. His expression softens as he realizes how much he hurt you because of his own insecurity.

“I promise, darling. It’s just, I-they,” he pauses, trying to find the right words. You sit and wait for him, knowing that he just needs time.

“They have me on this strict diet, they aren’t allowing me to work out, and I hate how I look. I have a chubby belly, my chest isn’t chiseled or defined, and I guess I was just worried that you would leave me because of how awful-”

“Stop right there!” You demand before he can finish his sentence. He gazes up at you, tears now pooling in his eyes as well.

“You are so fucking perfect, Taron. And I fell in love with your personality as well as your looks. You don’t need to have washboard abs and huge, broad, defined shoulders or pecs. I actually prefer you having a little weight on you, you look much more cuddly and soft,” you explain as he chuckles lightly at your last comment.

“If you think I would leave you because you put on weight for a role, then you’re batshit crazy,” you laugh, trying to lighten the mood. He smiles and looks down at your hands, entwining his with yours gently.

“I know you wouldn’t. But my insecurity got the best of me and I couldn’t get the thought of you being repulsed by me out of my head, because I sure am,” he says in a hushed voice. You sigh and bring Taron into your arms, running your fingers through his hair.

“Taron, you need to stop putting yourself down. Just think about the end result. You will be in another amazing movie. And I guarantee you that there are women, and men, out there who love your body like this. Hell, they might even prefer it over your toned body. You need to give yourself more credit because you are so handsome and attractive, okay?” He nods along to your words and smiles softly.

“Now, how about we cuddle and finish watching this movie, yeah?” You ask in a more chipper mood. He chuckles and nods, bringing you into his arms and finally letting you get a feel for his newly changed body.

“I love you, Taron. No matter what,” you whisper as he holds you closer to his body, much more happier with himself now.

—

You and Taron are still going strong, six years together and still counting. He has had so much success, with the release of Eddie the Eagle, Sing, the second Kingsman, Billionaire Boys Club, preparing for a press tour for Robin Hood, which he recently just got done filming, and now getting ready to take on the role of Elton John in Rocketman. You are so proud of how far he has come since you two got together, and you knew this upcoming role would be the role of a lifetime.

Filming started in August, and with that, came early meetings, early days on set, and late nights at which he would come home at close to three or four in the morning. You two managed to get through the first couple months with ease, which has always been difficult in the past. He is so excited for this part, he has told you everything that has happened on set since day one. And you are more than happy to listen to him every single time.

But, just like Eddie the Eagle, this role came with some changes to his looks as well. He did have to put on a little weight again, but that was something he was used to. This time, the changes included thinning his hair out for the first few scenes to be shot. He of course wasn’t happy, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The day he came home after being given the news, he was clearly upset, but tried not to let it seem like it was bothering him; he was so grateful for this role, and would do anything to keep it.

As the filming continues, his hair grew thinner and thinner, and his hairline was shaved back as well. You made sure to remind him every day that you love him and he’s perfect, even with thin hair. You continued to run your fingers through it, running your nails against his scalp, something you know he likes. He seemed okay with the transition, until the scenes were finished, and that specific hair wasn’t needed anymore.

You were sat on the couch watching The Office when Taron storms into the apartment, tears clouding in his eyes. You turn around to greet him but your expression drops when you see how distraught he looks.

“What’s wrong, T?” You ask worriedly, beckoning him over to sit with you. He sighs and tugs at his hair, the tears finally falling down his face.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with this, (Y/N)! I look like a fluffy egg!” You take a deep breath and run one hand through the short, thin hair.

“It makes me so insecure. Richard and Jamie asked if they wanted to get drinks after shooting, and I declined because of this bullshit. I can’t fucking walk around looking like this!” He exclaims.

“Hey, calm down,” you whisper, stroking your thumb against his cheek. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of your skin against his.

“Why don’t you start wearing a hat until it grows back?” You offer, already having an idea of how to make it better.

“Because I look awful in hats. Maybe I’ll just shave it off,” he says, falling into your lap. One hand went straight to thread through his hair, which eventually put him to sleep, due to how exhausted he is.

As he slept, you messaged his usual barber and asked if he could stop by tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully, Taron had the day off, so he wouldn’t have to stress about seeing anyone with the hair he currently has.

-

The next morning, as Taron slept in, you quickly ran to a store and bought him a fashionable hat, one that you thought he would look great in. When you returned, he was still sleeping, so you decided to make him some breakfast for when he wakes up.

“Hmm, smells amazing, darling,” a voice spoke from the doorway of the kitchen. Taron comes up behind you, resting his hands on your waist and his head on your shoulder. He presses a chaste kiss to your neck and removes himself from you, seating himself at the kitchen table.

“You have anything planned for today?” You ask him as he begins to scroll through his phone.

“No. I was just planning on hanging around. Don’t exactly want to go anywhere with this hair, and I left my hats on set, but it’s closed today.” You smile softly, knowing that his problem would soon be solved.

As the day carries on, you grow more and more anxious for the time that Sean, his barber, is supposed to be here. You could see how awful Taron felt about himself, and you really hope that shaving it all off with help with his confidence.

Finally, the time came, and Sean was knocking on the door.

“You expecting anyone, love?” Taron asks, standing up to let whoever it was in.

“No, not that I know of.” He opens it and immediately pulls the man into a hug, since they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

“What are you here for?” You hear your boyfriend ask. You stand up to greet the man and nod for him to follow you out to the back porch.

“Your girlfriend asked me to come,” Sean says, winking in your direction. You turn towards Taron, who has a confused look on his face.

“What’s going on, darling?”

“I asked him to come and shave your head. I noticed how insecure and self-conscious you’ve been because of your thinned out hair and receded hairline, so I thought it would be best for you to just get rid of it,” you explain as he smiles widely and pulls you into a hug.

“I love you so much, baby. I can’t think you enough,” he whispers against your neck.

“Go on!” You playfully push him towards the back. He chuckles and taps your bum before heading outside, where Sean just finished setting everything up.

You leave them to it and go back to typing on your laptop in the living room. After about ten minutes or so, you hear the sliding door open and their voices echo through the kitchen. Setting your laptop aside, you stand and quickly skip to the kitchen to see your boyfriend’s new hair-do. You gasp and run up to Taron, who was now completely bald.

“You like?” He asks as he runs his hands over his head. You laugh and nod your head, replacing his hand with yours. It felt like peach fuzz, and you absolutely loved the feeling.

“The important thing is that you like it,” you respond. He grins and leans down to kiss your cheek.

“I really do. Thank you so much for asking Sean to come here last minute,” he says.

“It’s no problem. I didn’t want you to deal with your hair any longer.”

“The only thing is now I just look like a damn egg, instead of a fluffy one,” he chuckles. You laugh and shake your head at him.

“Which is why I went and got you a present.” You run off to your bedroom before he can respond. Grabbing the bag that contains his new hat, you quickly run back downstairs and see Taron saying goodbye to Sean, who was walking out the door. He shuts the door and turns back to you, a confused look on his face when he sees you’re hiding something.

“Here,” you simply say, handing him the bag. He cocks his eyebrows but takes it and opens it. The bag drops to the ground as he examines the wide-brimmed hat.

“When did you buy this?” He asks, not taking his eyes off of the object.

“This morning, when you were still asleep.” His smile widens when he places it on his head and walks over to the mirror hanging above a table against the wall.

“Holy shit, babe. I love it!” You cheer to yourself and walk over to him, rubbing your hands up his chest from behind him.

“I knew you would. It looked like something you would like, and I thought it would look good on you; I was right,” you brag as you smile up at him. He glances down at you and gives you a genuine and loving smile.

“I really do appreciate you doing this for me, love. I cannot thank you enough,” he says in a hushed voice.

“No need to thank me, babe. I want you to be happy, just being a good girlfriend.” He leans down to capture your lips with his and places his hands on your hips, slowly moving them lower and lower until they rest on your bum.

“I can think of a way to thank you, love,” he says suggestively, pulling you upstairs and into your bedroom.

“Hope you’re gonna be okay with not being able to pull my hair anymore when I go down on you.”

•••

taglist: @loveharrington

#taron egerton #taron egerton imagines #taron egerton x reader #taron x reader #taron imagines #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[bookishbea]

Black Friday Reaction

Okay so I’ll be live tweeting Black Friday but none of it will have any sense to it but it’ll just be my reactions

1. The Paul thing is really bothering me

2. I really love the mention of the other characters

3. If Jane is mention is the story about the mom mentioned some more

4. Is the delivery man ted (cause he’s also a sleazeball

5. It’s weird seeing Cory not play a pure bean

6. I love California MIA

7. The little sister (Im sorry I’m bad at names) I self project as autistic and she something else idk

8. Did anyone else noticed Robert’s Australian accent come out?

9. Like I said this is out of order so yeah but I personally think the second song in the show was very shocking as I’m not used to very serious starkid songs

10. When Robert gestures smoking i think its lowkey a refrence to the smoke club

11. I have a crush on lex

12. I love Lauren’s charecter so much

13. I love the name linda becuase it could be like a karen without using that name

14. Not to get poltical but i choose to belive they made an antivax joke

15. Also the marvel nerd in me loves the name becky barnes

16. I know its probaly not on purpose but joeys charecters costume in line looks like the homeless guy’s one

17. Jaimey is great as always

18. The conversation is so cringe i love it

19. I kinda hope torture porn is a fanfic refrence (i know most people would want me to say spies are forever but nope)

20. I love Lauren but shouldnt her accent be included when she sings

21. I love Jeff’s reaction

22. I may get some hate for this but what was bothering me in tgwdlm and i notice in starkid is lack of fan comments in the captions

23. As a theatre fan i love the toy zone song (i am not sure if thats the right name) espcially the do wop becuase it reminds me of older musicals

24. Also since i watched tgwdlm and black friday a day apart its weird to come from songs happening because they are infected to songs happening cause its a musical

25. i love the love the line we are not relaibly to anyone who dies becuase they clearly show in the trailer that someone will die (this is not a spoiler if you watch the trailer for Black Friday)

26. I love Corey but when he dances i notice a bulge (i am not a perv he makes it very obvious)

27. So i rewinded it to make sure i wanst going crazy and realized something as lex says the pepper spray line. She would be good as janis ian

28. I love the touch money part its so cute even if its not supposed to be

29. Jaime plays a perv really well

30. I love Jon’s charecter its hilarious

31. Also i love jon and lauren interactions so it was cool seeing them together not as paul and emma

32. I love seeing more of Jon because although hes reaally good at playing paul paul doesnt have any flavor and its cool seeing jon do something diffrent

33. Jeff’s fuck you

34. Okay I was right it was the homeless guy and i bet the money is paul’s money

35. And this is not a sterotpye as i am jewish myself but i bet Laurens charecter is jewish

36. Its sad that the price thing is true

37. So i am a theatre fan and do not watch got but that music kinda reminds me of got

38. Cant tell if jeff’s charecter is gay and a perv or just a perv (i realzie this could be mmisinterpreted as homophobic i just mean to say that jamie’s charecter just seems like a full out perv where as i cant tell with jeff’s)

39. Obviously you shouldnt be that insane but i do like the lines about how you are in charge of life and dont care about what others think. its goood life advice

39. Looks like Paul’s boss got his wish

40. They are all idiots for holding up the doll when everyone wants to get it

41. Corey’s charecter is like shit, money isnt that imporant

42. Becky why are you a part of this you have moral high ground (yes i am ignorning the fact that cast usually join in dance numbers even if their charecter isnt a part of it)

43. Shouldnt tom get ptsd (see above)

44. Lex you already have one (see above)

45. So i may be overthinking things but how curt says never should settle is in the tune of spies are forever

46. Is it just me or did anyone else notice when the security guard comes in the tune of show me your hands comes in

47. I dont know why but i do love soft bullies because hes like hey im punching you but only for the kid

48. Some may say its schizo or something hannah has but its anxiery or something from how shes expressing it

49. I feel like hannah has a superpower and can tell whats happening

50. Maybe webby is actually wiggly

51. Baby (both hannah and robert)

52. Please tell me my babies not dead

53. Jon’s eee is adorable and silly

54. Wait hes alive

55. Wait no hes dead, im sad liek starkid is supposed to be fun and happy this is the darkest star kid yet. Even oregon deaths were silly

56. I love starkid but this is making me anxious i cant tell if its good anxious or bad anxious

57. Also i relate to the black and white thing not fully but liek whenever i dont feel well sometimes my brain is overstimulating but only in my head its very hard to explain 

58. Also i think sometimes kids on the spectrum and im not an expert but i do have it kind of make a friend in their head and i do that too sometimes just to give me advice

59. Also i hope they dont get rid of the black and white as sometimes people go more crazy without the figurative voice in their head

60. Like i said this is going to be random order so i like that emma adopted paul;s Okay and no im not making a tfios refrence

61. Poor Tim

62. Poor becky but even less

63. i thought they were supposed to be mad at g-d but in this and tgwdlm they like g-d

64. I cant tell the other pins on joey’s jacket but the first two i notice are mr wiggly and paul

65. I love Lauren’s acting you can see the very sublte sadness in her

66. Lauren and Joey together ahhhh

67. I know its probaly not a big deal but they should give a seziure warning before the tv scene

68. Did they reuse curts spies are forever outfit

69. Really starkid the obama refrence seriously, i cant tell if im mad or laughing 

70. How did Bob get one

71. I do realize they are talking irl but i cant help but wonder if the nazis were a spies are forever refrence

72. Does wiggly have a special power or something 

73. I think its similar to the metero the closer you are the more power it has over you

74. The starkid special effects we all know and love

75. Also is that mcnamara

76. Also maybe shooting it (the doll) does the same thing that shooting the affceted does. Give them no power

77. I cant tell what the music reminds me of exactly but the tune does kinda refrence a diffrent star kid song

78. Jeff looks so proud of himself for the peeps line

79. I love the purposeful i presume reuse of lines

80. Is peip like men in black

81. Also hatchetfield kind of reminds me of night vale

82. Is the black and white like the upside down?

83. I wonder if the point was purposeful since someone was filming or just choreographed

84. Yes Jon Singing!!!!!

85. I love the act two opener

86. Did his parents really name him christmas?!?

87. Oh hes literally related to santa

88. I love lauren and joey as eleves

89. Noel another christmas name

90. Isnt the little dance move like a genie move or something

91. Its so cute that she insitincitvely went to their seats

92. Also carving is goals

93. Even though its a penis its still goals

94. I know what you are, say it, santa clause

95. Tom dont yell at your girl

96. Poor Tom

97. But also dont make this about you

98. They probaly werent the head of the school since they were nice, i am sorry but thats true

99. Yass girl fight his ass

100. Also the theatre kid in me is picturing all that jazz

101. he ran into my knife he ran into my knife ten times

102. Yes Becky’s husband (i forget the name sue me) is bad but i feel like becky is more sinister then we realize

103. Becky’s line even if it isnt meant to be is so funny

104. The girl who plays Becky could play Barbara

105. I love how Joey and Lauren look into the camera

106. Jamie saying santa awww such a pure bean

107. The person in the wiggly onsie is goals

108. Matrix glasses for the win

109. Is wilbur a refrence to Charelots Web?

110. Its a cult a cult of wiggly

111. I feel like Sherman young is around 30-40

112. I love how its mommy to sound less pervy

113. Oh wait never mind Linda is mom

114. Shit thats fucked up they killed him

115. I am right a jew no non jew says mensch

116. To quote jared klienman kinky (shoe kiss scene)

117. Also i love this song the adore song

118. Why does them picking up Lauren give me Draco vibes

119. Wait he isnt dead?? im so confused

120. Wait he is dead???

121. Also ethan is creepy now

122. But Roberts expressions are goals

123. Robert your proffesor hidgens is showing

124. What the how does he know her name

125. Savage Wiggly

126. Wiggly is more funny than scary

127. But my poor baby dont be scared

128. What the fuck tom

129. Also poor baby number two

130. At first you think becky is made about him hurting a child but no its about the doll

131. What the fuck Becky

132. Also I wonder if thats the same serum that Hidgens used

133. Tom yelling at the audince is hilarious

134. Also Becky singing is giving me little shop vibes

135. Becky are you drunk or something you so stupid

136. But yayy my baby doesnt get hurt

137. More starkid special effects

138. Also the lighting nod to tgwdlm

139. Also why did they take my baby (see i told you random)

140. So the perv is wiggly

141. Also if he can appear in regular formation on earth why does he need to be the doll

142. Oh wait never mind he explains it

143. Joey talking to the audience and making them hold the apple is goals

144. I love Joey’s song

145. MIA = Missing in Action = Made in America

146. Wait im wrong Joey cant be Wiggly unless he has super powers he cant be in two places at once

147. I know they dont mean sex but still wtf

148. Lauren looks so done i cant

149. Seziure warning after mr presidnet leaves the black and white

150. Unless it was purposeful they should have hidden the dolls better backstage

151. Wait didnt hannah say something about two doors earlier?

152. Seriously Sherman ponies

153. I love the going back line

154. My poor baby lex

155. No Lex dont die not you too

156. Haha throwback to tgwdlm

157. Yes baby you got the gun

158. Also die perv die

159. Eagle screeching is goals

160. Yes lex use that logic

161. Also it makes sense only the adults can be brainwashed

162. There were only adults no children, scary (not sarcastic i promise)

163. Seriously starkid Fortnight

164. Thats why you should never fully grow up

165. Woah what Lex says is deep

166. Yessss Tom

167. Wait Tom dont hold the gun

168. Wait is Charolette alive or just a reuse of costume, if so why would they have jaimie wear it

169. No dont take her magic hat

170. Haha stupid hats cant be magic only dolls obviously

171. Does lauren say something like fucking knife in another show too?

172. Lauren screaming gives me my father will hear about this vibes

173. Also give my baby her hat back

174. Yass Lauren get it girl (i do realize shes playing the villian but still)

175. Yass Robert get it

176. Even though shes a viilain i dont like seeing Lauren get killed

177. But also how did they get the bullet wound on her so quick im impressed

178. Haha the way Gary stops everything to talk to gerald is goals

179. Like hes like oh shit money

180. And then hes like oh wait i have to pretend to care

181. I love how exagerated their dying is

182. Thats an impressive quick change

183. Yess Emma Hidgens

184. But also no hell fuck up again

185. Also Paul interupting is goals

186. Haha hannah you go girl

187. First off I love the song

188. Song off Hannah’s voice

189. Is paul scared normal or because of the hive

190. Wait all the tgwdlm charecters are back like nothing happened im confused

191. Haha the Hatchfield band is back

#black friday #starkid #tickle me wiggly #the guy who didn't like musicals

[thepunktheory]

Why GoT Season 8 sucked - Welcome to my TED Talk

I hadn't been a GoT fan from the first minute. However, once I had watched my first episode, I was all in. I binged all season, devoured the books. Needless to say, I was both excited and anxious about the final season. We could clearly see a decline in quality once the show had left the charted territory marked by George R. R. Martin's books. So, I had dialed down my expectation for the final season. Nevertheless, Benioff and Weiss managed to fuck it up beyond my wildest imaginations. About three episodes in, all I wanted was for the show to be over. It was almost painful to watch! So, what did Benioff and Weiss do to ruin it all?

What has Game of Thrones always been known for? Unforeseen plot twists, cleverly crafted stories, impressive characters along with intense character development, epic battles and (very important) strong female characters who seriously kick ass. Let me tell you in detail how all of that went down the drain with season 8.

I'll begin with the amazing female characters as that is what pissed me off the most. I have thoughts on Dany, Arya, Brienne, Sansa, Yara, and Cersei so prepare for a longer rant.

Brienne had always been one of my favorites in the show. She was strong, smart, stood up for herself and others. I was cheering for her when she finally got to be a knight in this season. Well, my joy was short-lived. After the big battle, Jamie, Brienne, Tyrion, and Podrick play a drinking game and Tyrion assumes that Brienne is a virgin. She stalks off into the night only to be followed by Jamie who ends up sleeping with her. The next he leaves a weeping Brienne behind as he heads for King's Landing (and Cersei). Let dissect everything that is wrong here. First of all, the fact that Brienne is a virgin is presented as something that appears to be a problem. Problems need fixing. So, of course, good guy Jamie is there to help her out. Seeing her cry because of some dude is jab the character that was built over 7 seasons. Don't try to tell me it was to make her human. We already know that. Brienne isn't perfect, she's also had her share of heartbreak. This scene only served one purpose: to remind us that in the end Brienne is a woman, weak and governed by emotions. No matter how amazing she is on the battlefield, she's still just a weeping girl. The scenes I mentioned have absolutely no relevance to the bigger story, don't do anything in terms of character development and were altogether simply unnecessary. Also, I was rooting for Tormund and was really sad to see him cast aside.

Next, some quick thoughts on Yara. Well, where was she this season? We get to see her for half a heartbeat before she's shipped off to the Iron Islands, never to be seen again. The fact that she was there in the final episodes, to say just about one sentence, felt more like a concession to fans than anything else. Her story arc doesn't really get any form of closure. It's like Benioff and Weiss had completely forgotten about her this season.

Just like Brienne, Arya had also been one of my favorites. I cheered when she killed the Night King (more on that later) but was somewhat flabbergasted during the penultimate episode. For the last 7 seasons, she trained to become this badass assassin and now she was headed to King's Landing. Killing Cersei had been one of the main driving forces that have kept her going and in the penultimate episode of season 8, she was closer to her goal than ever. Anyhow, once she and Sandor get to the capital he basically tells her to skedaddle as there's only death to be found here. Arya is like "K, bye." Her whole story was building up to this and now she just turns to leave. One could argue that she finally overcame the hate inside her, her thirst for revenge or whatever. But this is not the way it's presented here. A man tells her it's too dangerous for her and ever the good and obedient little girl, Arya decides to leave. Something sound off here?

With Sansa, I think I get what Benioff and Weiss wanted to say but their writing is just terrible, so it comes across the wrong way. I love that she ended up as Queen in the North but before that, we have one scene that really irked me. She’s talking with Sandor and kinds of says "well, it's really good that all this shit has happened to me. Otherwise, I'd still be a little bird." So, I guess, what writers were going for was for her to come to terms with her past and embrace who she is now. How it came across: being a little bird is a terrible thing, (There's nothing wrong with living a sheltered life, are you arguing that the only good way to live is to be mistreated?) ultimately all the shit that happened to her was okay anyways (it was not okay).

Now what you all have been waiting for: Dany. Benioff and Weiss really murdered her for good. She's always been an intricate and complex character, not without flaws but with a desire to become a better person. Writers decided to take all that, wrap it up real nice with a bow and throw it out the window. What we get in season 8 is a mad Queen with no feelings and no remorse. I was so angry when Benioff and Weiss claimed it was foreshadowed that she'd go mad. Why? Just because the Gods toss a coin when a Targaryen child is born? It wasn't foreshadowed that she'd go batshit crazy within the blink of an eye. We knew she struggled with her heritage, but in the past seasons, Dany always made a point to distance herself from her father's actions, made a point to not be like him. Remember when she was heartbroken because her dragons had grilled an innocent child? Over my dead body is that the same character who burns down an entire city without thinking twice or without the slightest hint of internal conflict.

When it comes to Cersei Lannister, I was equally disappointed. We barely get to see her this season, she has just about 6 sentences and isn't quite herself. I was already pissed during the first episode. Euron Greyjoy (don't even get me started on that twat) wants to bed her. And Cersei holds a more or less elaborate speech, basically telling him to go fuck himself. However, he cocks his head to the side and claims that he'd rather have a go with her. So, of course, Cersei gives in without further discussion and sleeps with him. That is not the Cersei we know. I talked with some people about it and they argued that she had to in order to convince him that the child in her belly was his. Well, I beg to differ. It's just written terrible and out of character. Cersei has always been a strong character, she doesn't bow to no-one. In this season she's but a shadow of herself. Especially the penultimate episode was a letdown. Her life ends with Jamie holding her and Cersei keeps muttering that she doesn't want to die and she doesn't want her baby to die. Well, Cersei had faced death before and we know this is not the way she deals with it. She's always held her head high, unwilling to give, strong to the very end. The Cersei Martin created never would have cowered like that. 

As we were talking about foreshadowing with Dany. Does anybody remember the prophecy Cersei got back in the day before she was married? It stated that she'd have three children with golden crowns (Joeffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella) but Cersei would have to watch them all die. Thus I am convinced that however much she wanted the baby in her belly to live, Cersei knew that it wouldn't happen. That's another reason I am convinced her final scene is absolutely out of character. I won't even talk about the rest of the prophecy as Benioff and Weiss really fucked up that front. This leads me to one thought that was also expressed by Martin himself.

Writers nowadays try so damn hard to surprise the audience, they don't even care that the stories often don't make sense anymore. The fact that somebody might have guessed the correct ending isn't a bad thing. It means that what you wrote/produced so far paints a picture of the characters it's coherent. You can't build a story, fill it with clues and then just take another route because you feel like. What you get from that is endings like GoT Season 8 (or Captain Rogers in Avengers: Endgame).

So, what else did I hate in season 8? The battle of Winterfell. Sure, the battle scenes were rather epic but there were just so many things wrong in that episode. The first 20 minutes were almost black, meaning most viewers weren't able to see a thing. I heard the explanation that you simply need a super expensive TV, then the episode looks fine, that's what the colors were calibrated for. If that's not a big fuck you to all the fans than I don't know what is. Next, there were so many strategic mistakes in there. We don't have time to unpack all of that, but who had the brilliant idea to put all the women and children in the crypts? With the dead people. When the Night King is coming, whose best trick is to resurrect the dead. Also, killing the Night King didn't seem that big of a deal. After 7 seasons build-up for that battle, I expected him to be a bigger problem. I mean, I love that Arya was the one to take him down. But one dagger was really all that was needed? Somebody could have sent a sharpshooter in season 1 and the problem would have been dealt with

Finally, let me give you some examples for the lazy ass writing done by Benioff and Weiss. Do you remember that in the past seasons it was actually hard to kill a dragon? Well, in season 8 Euron Greyjoy kills a dragon with a single freaking bolt. Why does that happen? Because Danaerys forgot about his fleet (According to Benioff and Weis). Are those guys seriously trying to convince me that nobody in Dany's council remembered that Greyjoy is still alive and kicking? What the fuck?! Another example is the scene were Missandei gets executed. Had it been written by Martin, Tyrion would have held a smart speech and pleaded with his sister (nope). More importantly, Missandei would have had some inspiring last words for Dany. All she says is Dracarys. You know how that felt to me? I bet this was Benioff's and Weiss' thought process: "Well, we could let her do a speech. But then we have to come up with a speech. Let's just make her say Dracary and the audience can come up with the rest."

I’m sorry to say that it's obvious how overwhelmed Benioff and Weiss were with writing season 8. They clearly lacked the skills to bring the show to a worthy end and I'm sad to see so much money being wasted on that. Honestly, it felt like they didn't even care anymore and just wanted it all to be over. HBO should have just hired some fanfiction authors to do the job. They would have done infinitely better. I don't even think that all the decisions made in this season were bad. They were just terribly executed. You know, I can imagine Dany going nuts even in Martin's version, just not the way Benioff and Weiss portrayed it. It's the kind of story arc you can only pull off if you are an excellent writer, otherwise, you just slaughter your characters. You need internal conflict, development - more than CGI effect and dragons. As we are speaking of dragons: I had hoped the dragon would turn Jon into a piece of steak and grill him instead of the Iron Throne. But of course, the golden boy had to survive...

Season 8 is a really unworthy end to a show that had once been great. My only hope is that now George R. R. Martin has some motivation to finish his books. Hopefully, he'll show us soon how it was meant to be and how you get the job done properly.

Thank you for listening to my TED Talk.

#on a scale of 1 to joeffrey #how much did you hate season 8 #game of thrones #got #season 8 #spoilers #got spoilers #rant #danaerys #dragons #brienne #jon snow #arya stark #review #analysis #george r r martin #benioff #weiss #d&d #fucked up #a song of ice and fire

[romanticsuspense]

Man of Worth

By the time the end credits started rolling on ‘Man of Worth’ I had the biggest, most idiotic grin on my face.  Then I shut the TV off, turned to my dog, who was the only one in the room at the time, and said to him “People are going to hate this episode. But, I loved it.”  Which kind of perfectly encapsulates my entire Outlander viewing experience this season.  

I didn’t intend to write a separate review for this episode; my original plan was to mention it briefly in my Season 4 review.  But, as I started writing, I had a couple of revelations, and it became too long to not be a separate post.  So, here it is, my thoughts on ‘Man of Worth.’

“I’ve chosen this.”

Ian giving himself up to the Mohawk was one of my favorite scenes of this episode.  I loved seeing the look of triumph and excitement on his face when he makes it through the gauntlet.  I’m proud of him for making this choice.  I don’t have much else to say about that scene, except it was really wonderful and emotional and I’m going to miss John Bell’s Young Ian, and of course Rollo.

I am currently reading A Breath of Snow and Ashes, and it’s making me really curious about how they’re going to write Ian into future episodes.  I think it would be really cool to do an Ian-centric episode as the penultimate episode of Season 5.  The episode could cover his entire time with the Mohawk, and end with him walking up to Fraser’s Ridge.  Then the finale opener would be a big Ian reunion.  I don’t remember enough about the timeline of The Fiery Cross to know if that would even work, but I’m pretty sure he returns very close to the end of the book?  Anyway, that’ just a thought I had.  I would definitely watch an entire hour of television starring John Bell.

“You’ve a fine, braw lad.”

In case you haven’t read the book, in Drums of Autumn, Jamie and Claire make it back to North Carolina in time for the birth.  The chapter is told in Claire’s point of view.  As such, the focus of the scene is on Jamie and Claire becoming grandparents.  Gabaldon also uses the birth as a way for Jamie and Brianna to reconnect after the Rogergate debacle.  Brianna demands that Jamie stay in the room with her, and they bond through this shared experience.  The birth is great the way it’s written in the book.  But I, personally, didn’t care much if this was a scene that got changed.  So, going into the episode, I didn’t have very strong feelings about who I believed should be there or not.  I was curious about it, and I hoped that Roger would be there, but I wasn’t going to be disappointed if he wasn’t.  

Once word got out that there was going to be a change to the birth (it was hinted that it was timing related), speculation began as to who, exactly, would be present while Brianna gave birth to her boy.  Would Roger be there?  Or maybe Claire rides ahead and Jamie misses the birth?  Then we all picked apart the 30 second teaser trying to figure out who an un-pregnant Brianna was running to, and whether or not you could tell if Brianna was still pregnant in the short clip of her talking to Claire on the bed.  How would it all play out?  What changes would they make?

When the close-up of Brianna’s pained face showed up on screen, all that speculation just flew out the window for me.  I wasn’t thinking about Jamie or Claire, or even Roger.  I was thinking, “Holy crap, this woman is giving birth without any pain meds!”  and then “Aw, how sweet for Phaedre, Lizzie and Jocasta to all be in the room with her!”  and then “Holy crap, Brianna is a mother...a MOTHER!”  I wasn’t distracted by thoughts of who should or shouldn’t be there.  I was caught up in Sophie Skelton’s beautiful acting, and enjoying seeing this woman who has already been through so much, go through yet another life-changing moment.  I saw a young woman become a mother.  I saw the three women who have supported her and shown her great kindness during her pregnancy, by her side.  I saw a mother’s joy holding her son for the first time.  Yes, the way Gabaldon wrote the birth in the book is beautiful.  But, the show writers have done something beautiful as well by shifting the focus back onto Brianna and her newborn son.

Part of Brianna’s journey this season has been learning that she can be independent, strong and capable, while still leaning on and opening up to those around her.  Brianna has spent the majority of her pregnancy in a strange place, in a strange time, surrounded by strange people.  But, she eventually opens up to a relationship with Jocasta.  She forgives Lizzie.  And she grows close to Phaedre, Murtagh and Lord John.  I really loved seeing Brianna go through this mostly by herself, with the help of her new friends and family.  It’s just another example of Brianna adapting to her circumstances and soldiering on.  I’m not mourning the fact that Jamie and Claire weren’t there.  There will be plenty of Fraser Family bonding in Season 5.

[Side Note: While I didn’t mind Jamie not being there for the birth, I will acknowledge that I found it very strange that Jamie hasn’t held a baby at all this season.  He didn’t hold Germain.  He didn’t hold Brianna’s boy.  I wonder if that was directors’ choices that in the moment didn’t feel very significant?  I don’t know.  I’m not mad about it.  But I do think it’s weird.]

Another great example of Brianna’s character growth is the scene where Jamie, Claire, Murtagh and Jocasta are waiting for her to come down to dinner, and she finally arrives, giving them a small smile as she sits down, in between her father and mother.  That’s not Brianna “getting over” Roger.  She’s still heartbroken.  That’s Brianna soldiering on.  That’s Brianna reaching out to her family in a time of need.  That’s Brianna knowing that she can handle whatever life throws at her next.  She may be heartbroken, but there’s dinner to be had with her family.  

"I need time.”

One of my three wishes for the final episodes of this season was that Roger would come straight back to Brianna with Jamie and Claire.  When I read Drums of Autumn, I never understood why he didn’t just run back to Brianna as soon as he could.  I felt this was out of character and figured Diana only wrote it this way to prolong their separation for the drama.  Why would he hesitate?  What on earth was he thinking?  I just didn’t get it.  But, one of the great things about this show is that it’s a visual medium, which means I pick up on things that I don’t necessarily catch in the books.  Roger’s motivations finally clicked for me when I noticed parallels between Claire, Roger and Jamie’s conversation in this episode and Brianna and Claire’s abortion conversation in ‘The Deep Heart’s Core.’

Now, to be clear, I’m not saying that Brianna’s abortion decision is equivalently difficult to Roger’s decision.  I’m just saying that they are asking themselves the same question: “Can I raise a baby that may be the child of a rapist?”  And the two conversations which raise that very question definitely had some parallels. 

“I know this is an impossible decision.” || “I know this is a huge decision, Roger.”

In ‘The Deep Heart’s Core,’ Claire “walks Brianna through the surgical steps of ending her pregnancy, never once mentioning herself as a grandmother or her own wishes. Her selflessness and willingness to put Bree’s choice above her own reservations tugged at my heart. […] Claire is just as detailed and careful in her description of her other option: traveling back before the baby is born and still in her body, lest it be torn from her in the passage through. When both options are presented, she expresses sympathy and holds her peace.” (source: TV Kills Time)

Claire approaches the conversation with Roger in much the same way.  Carefully and slowly giving him all the information he needs to ultimately make a decision.  First, she tells him that Brianna was raped.  Then she tells him that Brianna is pregnant.  And then finally that he may not be the father.  Claire remains objective, and doesn’t pass judgement on Roger for what happened with Brianna, even though she obviously feels sympathetic—it’s written all over her face.  Claire could, as Brianna’s mother, demand that Roger come back with them straight away. She could force a decision out of him, much like Jamie is trying to do.  But, Claire remains neutral.  You can see every time Jamie jumps in, that Roger reacts by turning back to Claire.  Claire is the safe zone.  She wants Roger, much like Brianna, to know all of his options and make an informed decision, and she doesn’t want to influence that decision. She knows that if she pushes him to choose before he’s ready, that he wouldn’t be making the decision on his own, and she knows it’s not her decision, or Jamie’s, to make.  While Jamie pushes for Roger to decide quickly: “Make up your mind.”  Claire understands that Roger needs time to think: “Well, if you need time, then you should take it.  Because this is our daughter.  So, you’d better be sure.”  Roger replies, “I know.” 

So, Roger is presented with the same conundrum that Brianna faced: “Can I raise a baby that may be the child of a rapist?”  Where does his hesitancy come from?

We know Roger loves Brianna.  Roger has given us no reason to doubt his love for her.  When Jamie says that he mistook Roger for the man who raped Brianna, Roger replies, “How could you think such a thing?  I love her!” With zero hesitancy, he says he’ll take her home, back to their own time. 

Then Claire tells him that Brianna is pregnant and glee flashes across his face.  When Jamie points out that Brianna has to stay, but Roger doesn’t, Roger says, again with zero hesitancy: “What, you think I’d leave her?  We’re handfast, She’s my wife.  And now she’s carrying my child.”

It’s only when Claire gently reminds him that he may not be the father that Roger begins to unravel.  “Bonnet.”  Bloody fucking Bonnet.  This is when he says “It’s all too much.”  This is when he hesitates.

So, it’s not a question of whether or not Roger loves Brianna or whether or not he wants to be with Brianna, like I originally thought.  In fact, he loves Brianna so much, that he knows he has to do right by her and give this decision due diligence.  It would be unfair to Brianna, if he were to go back to her with any doubts in his mind whatsoever about how he feels about the baby. Brianna understands that this is a decision he will have to make, because she had to make the same choice—that’s why she tells Claire to tell him everything—“Brianna wanted you to know so you would have the choice.”  

Roger and Brianna both wrestled with the question “Can I raise a child that may be Bonnet’s?”  They both took the time they needed to process it, alone.  And they both came to the same resolution—to accept and love the child regardless of its paternity.

Brianna: “I’m keeping it.  [...] If there’s even the slightest chance it’s his, then I’m gonna keep it.  And not just for him, but for me, too.  And if it’s not his, then I’ll love it anyway.  I know I will.”

Roger: “Take me to see my son.”  

I know there are still going to be many people who don’t like Roger for his hesitancy here and will use it as yet another reason to hate him.  But, I don’t fault him for it, and I’ve made peace with this part of the story.  He takes the time to make a difficult decision.  He doesn’t put the burden or the emotional labor of that choice on Brianna, which he would have done if he hadn’t taken the time to make the decision on his own, before returning to her.  That would be entirely unfair to Brianna, and he knows it.  When he returns, he wants to be able to promise her that he will be, in every way that matters, the baby’s father.  There’s a quote in the book from Brianna that didn’t make it into the show, but when Roger proposes she tells him, “If I make a vow like that, I’ll keep it, no matter what it costs me!”  Both Roger and Brianna hold vows and promises sacred.  When Roger returns and claims the baby as his own son, he is making a vow that he intends to keep, no matter what it costs him.  

Apparently there was debate in the writer’s room about whether to include Roger taking the time to think.  But, ultimately they decided to include it because: “We have story in the future that we have to think about, so when we’re dealing with a moment now, we have to think about what’s going to happen down the road.”

Hearing this gives me hope that the writers will explore the “love or obligation” motif from the end of Drums of Autumn in Season 5. There’s still quite a bit of story from Drums that didn’t make it into the finale.  Including a couple of really great conversations between Roger and Bree, and my all-time favorite Outlander quote, delivered by Roger to Bree.  None of these conversations would have made sense if Roger had come back immediately.  So, keeping Roger’s “thinking time” in this episode sets up the “love or obligation” motif quite nicely for next season.  

I can’t move onto another scene without singing the praises of Sam Heughan, Caitriona Balfe, and Richard Rankin.  This scene was so wonderfully acted by all parties and these were some really interesting character dynamics.  Roger and Claire automatically share a trust, and easily fall back into a familiarity, even though they haven’t seen each other for, what, 2 years?  But, this is the first time we’re seeing Jamie and Roger interacting.  I know Claire wasn’t too impressed by their brawl, but I loved it.  I’m glad Roger finally got a chance to throw a few punches, considering it wasn’t a fair fight the first time.  I can’t wait to see more of them together next season.  

“You’re Here.” “I’m Here.”

In the book, when Roger returns, there isn’t a sweeping romantic reunion between Roger and Brianna.  He simply walks into the cabin, sees the bairn in Brianna’s arms, cuts the palm of his hand to draw blood, and…“Roger knelt in front of her, and reaching out, pushed the shawl aside and smeared a broad red cross upon the downy curve of the baby’s forehead. ‘You are blood of my blood,’ he said softly, ‘and bone of my bone. I claim thee as my son before all men, from this day forever.’” 

It’s a quiet, yet profound moment in the book and I love it.  But, there’s a part of me that always longed for something a little bigger between Brianna and Roger, not just Roger and the baby.  A hug, a kiss.  Something.  I know that it’s important for Roger to make it clear right away that he intends to be the child’s father. I understand that they haven’t seen each other in nearly a year, and there’s going to be some shyness.  But both of them also spent those months apart taking solace in memories of their night together in Wilmington.  I just wanted something more between Roger and Brianna when they were reunited.  

Well, I got more in this episode.  I fucking loved their reunion in the show.  I think I’ve already posted, like, thirty edits from that scene.  It was romantic and lovely and grand.  Yet also intimate, and a great callback to their reunion hug in ‘Wilmington.’  And even though we didn’t get the blood vow in this episode, or even Roger holding the baby, his line “Take me to see my son” succinctly says everything that needs to be said in that moment.  I’m still hoping that they’ll include the blood vow in Season 5.  But, whether they include the blood vow or not, one thing I’m certain of is that we’ll get to see Roger as a father in Season 5.  And that’s something to be excited about.  

This scene was pure perfection, and the perfect ending to the season.  

#outlander #episode thoughts #man of worth #outlander talk

[paladin4theright]

Of Birthdays and Relationships

Music sounded loudly throughout Stan Marsh’s house. It was mostly death metal with words unintelligible to anyone who hadn’t read the lyrics. The tv was playing loudly with video games on the screen and other teenagers, anywhere from fourteen to nineteen, were drinking, smoking, and having a good time. Stan had a half full bottle of Jameson in his hand which he’d been drinking straight for the last ten minutes or so. It was amazing how much alcohol the eighteen-year-old could intake but then again, he came from a family with odd but amazing skills. He greeted new people at the door with slurred words and turned around again. He was feeling really good about everything tonight. His parents weren’t home, Shelley was off at college, and he had all the freedom in the world. He started to walk around, stumbling over his own feet occasionally. The only thing that would make tonight better was if he could find his super best friend. “K-Ky?” He called, “Ky-el.” He called, finding it difficult to say Kyle’s name.

Kyle sat alone in the kitchen. He’d just finished his last shot of whiskey and his cheeks were rosy. He decided he had had enough for the night. He had left his fuzzy green trapper on the table and tangled his fingers in his kinky curly red hair. It was a school night and he had a test damn tomorrow morning. He knew if he went to school hungover he would flunk and that was just unacceptable for himself. It was a bummer too, because he was having a lot of fun. He released his hair, grabbed his hat and prepared to tell Stan he was ready to turn in for the night. He stood up, and the walls did waves. “Ooh.” He groaned as he closed his eyes. Maybe he had already pushed his limits. He had decided he definitely needed to go to bed when he heard his name, or something close to it, being called. “Huh?” He called out in reply. When he opened his green eyes, the room was back to normal.

Making his way to the kitchen, Stan smiled to himself and stumbled as he passed Butters and someone else making out on the stairs. He vaguely heard Cartman and Heidi getting into a heated argument about something, but then again, when were they not? When Stan saw Kyle, the biggest, stupidest grin he could muster forced its way out of his lips despite not being able to feel his mouth. Immediately he almost felt like throwing up as his heart thumped loudly in his chest. Man, fucking liquor makes me feel weird around Kyle. He walked up to the red headed teen and placed his right hand on Kyle’s left shoulder to steady himself. He took another swig of Jamie and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Dude...dude, why...” He began, then thought of his words. “Why are you all alone?” He asked, looking around the kitchen. It had been abandoned for the time being.

“I dunno dude.” He replied honestly as he shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t realized there wasn’t anyone in the kitchen with him. “But I gotta go home.” He admitted putting a hand to Stan’s stomach to help steady him. “You got yourself fucked up dude. You are going to regret it tomorrow.” He added thoughtfully with a small smile. “Maybe I should help you into bed before I leave?” He worried about his friend trying to make it up the stairs drunk and alone. He could only imagine his friend falling down the stairs and winding up with a broken neck. That shit happened all the time in South Park. Fuck he hated it here. He needed to do well in school so he could get the fuck outta Dodge.

“Nah, nah, I gotta clean before Randy and Sharon come home.” Stan slurred, wobbling a bit. The Irish whiskey in the Jameson bottle sloshed a bit but it was low enough that there was no worry of it spilling unless it was dropped. “All...also, you can’t leave. This party is bumpin.’ Everyone’s making out and arguing. Fuckin’ even Butters is kissin’ on someone.” Stan laughed boisterously. He was probably a lot louder than he meant to be. It was so difficult to control his volume. “You can’t go. Like, if you’re tired, sleep here. I’ll let you sleep in my...my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Becoming apprehensive, Kyle said, “I’ll get in so much shit if my mom finds out...” But as he thought about it, maybe spending the night at Stan’s would be the best thing. He pulled out his phone and texted his mom so she wouldn’t worry. He slipped it back into his jeans pocket and then wrapped his arms around Stan’s waist. “Alright, cool dude. I’ll just spend the night here...but we have to go to bed. We all have tests tomorrow.” He reminded Stan. “Wait, Butters is making out with someone too?” He asked, definitely surprised. “Why am I not making out with anyone?” He wondered aloud in mock curiosity. “Oh yeah, it’s because I’m the only one being anal about school tomorrow morning. You know, in six hours.” He stressed vocally.

“Don’t...don’t worry.” Stan grinned, closing his eyes. He smiled so big the tops of his cheeks made his eyes turn into little crescent moons. With Kyle’s palm against his stomach it reacted by doing little weird flipflops. “I-I happen to k-know...” Stan hiccupped as he tried to ignore the nausea wash over him. “Know that this test you’re so scared of right now, you’ll fuckin’ do so good.” He told his best friend. “You do so damned fuckin’ good at all the stuff you do.” He noted with sincerity. “Now c’mon.” He grabbed Kyle’s hand, walked them both to the living room and looked around at all his friends. Seriously, who is makin' out with Butters? Was Butters fuckin' moanin'? “Fuck.” Stan stared for a moment and then turned around. . He noticed Craig and Tweek pouring a couple more glasses for themselves. Both of their eyes were bloodshot and they looked to be enjoying themselves. “H-hey hey hey,” Stan hiccupped loudly enough for everyone to look at him. He let go of Kyle’s hand and walked to the stereo to down the volume. “Get out.” He slurred. “I’ve had a shit ton of fun but everyone needs to leave so I can go to sleep.”

With that, people started nodding their heads. Tweek clutched his shirt and looked to Craig. “-Ngh!- Shit man, I have a fucking test tomorrow, Jesus Christ!” He shrieked and looked around him. “How the fuck can I take a test if all I can see are -nng!- the underpants gnomes?!”

Craig wrapped his arms around Tweek comfortingly and shook his head, “Don’t worry babe. Everything will be alright.” He droned out as he pulled Tweek along with him to leave. "You can stay over with me."

There were some additional moans and groans from people who did not want to leave the party but everyone began to pile out.

Stan smiled and nodded his head. “Yeah, tests and shit. Everyone, get out.” He repeated and began to show everyone the door.

Once all of their peers were out, Stan looked to Kyle. “S-see, everyone is...” He hiccupped, “Everyone is gone now.” He smiled that big, doofus like grin again.

Kyle nodded as he relaxed a little more. His hands rested on his hips as he turned around and looked at the state of the house. It was a fucking wreck. “C’mon dude, we gotta clean this shit before we go to bed.” He stooped over and began to pick up trash, empty beer cans and liquor bottles. Kyle walked to the kitchen and dumped what he had in his hands in the trash can. He picked up the can and walked back to the living room so he could more easily clean up.

It wasn’t long before he wiped down some of the beer spilled on the walls as well as the puke on the floor. Despite being grossed out, Kyle still managed to keep his cool and clean it all up. “There dude.” He hummed quietly as he made it over to Stan who seemed to barely hold his composure. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

That stupid smile never left Stan’s rosy red face. The eighteen-year-old felt good. He felt guilty for not helping Kyle clean but he could barely move without falling over so he’d gone and sat on the couch while his best friend picked up. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of the other teen as he cleaned and it made Stan want to hurl in the best possible way. His heart quaked every time his green orbs fell on him. “You gonna hold m-my hand?” Stan murmured, reaching his left hand out in attempts to grab onto Kyle. He squeezed his fingers open and shut, motioning that he wanted Kyle like a child, he hoped his friend would take the hint. Standing up from the couch, Stan closed his eyes for a moment and almost stumbled backwards. He held tightly onto the bottle of Jameson and grabbed onto the arm of the couch to catch himself. Eyes still closed he reached it up to his lips to take another drink. Some of it spilled onto his shirt but he grinned as he drank a little more. Whiskey was good.

Kyle grabbed Stan’s hand as he rolled his eyes. “Dude, I think you’ve had enough. You are so wasted.” He scoffed as he held onto Stan’s hand tightly and carefully led him up the stairs. They took it one step at a time. Kyle made it halfway and felt a little dizzy himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, preventing himself from swaying. Once a few seconds passed by, Kyle opened his eyes again and the house stabilized itself once again. He led Stan up the stairs and to his room, looking back and checking up on him every so often to ensuring his best friend was still standing and not throwing up or something. Kyle pushed open Stan’s bedroom door and pulled Stan along, closing the door behind him.

“H-hey, we’re in my room.” Stan slurred and looked to Kyle, stumbling backward a bit. “And it’s super quiet in here.” He looked around, then to his own bed. A smile crossed his face. “Bed...I fucking missed you, Bed.” He spoke to his bed as if it were a person. He then turned to Kyle. “Kyle...I fucking missed you too dude.” He mumbled, taking a step toward his best friend and placed his hands on Kyle’s shoulders with a wide grin. “So, like...we’re all alone now.” He commented, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s neck. “I been wantin’ to talk to you all night but couldn’t ever see you.”

Kyle put his hands firmly to Stan’s hips and tried to push the taller boy away. “Yeah dude, that’s because I was in the kitchen.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. He looked out the window and grimaced at the smell of Stan’s breath. It smelled heavily like a mix between a bit of weed and Jameson. It wasn’t that it smelled all that horrible but he shouldn’t be close enough to smell his best friend’s breath. “Dude.” Kyle finally said, his brow furrowed as he looked right at Stan, meeting his deep blue eyes with his green ones. “What’s wrong with you?” He growled, growing frustrated. His heart fluttered up into his throat as he watched those half-lidded blue eyes watching him through thick black lashes.

“Dude, I fucking love you.” Stan hummed softly, looking right into Kyle’s eyes the best his own inebriated ones would let him. He stumbled a little bit at the attempt to push him but Stan stood his ground, again to the best of his abilities. Stan was tall, broad, decently strong in stature. He was the star quarterback for the South Park Cows so that really did stand for something. It helped him keep his balance when Kyle had tried to push him away. “I really fucking love you but I can’t let you know that.” He admitted with a sheepish, drunk grin. He leaned forward without warning and placed his chapped lips to Kyle’s smooth ones; his grin when he kissed his friend never left. God, it just felt so nice. So fucking right. Finally, he was kissing someone and that someone was Kyle. Stan felt like throwing up as nausea started settling in, making a home in the pit of his stomach and Stan couldn’t tell if it was because of Kyle or because he’d been drinking. Still, he moved his arms even with them being heavy as they seemed, around Kyle’s neck.

What the hell? Kyle’s stomach flipped and his heart suddenly went wild in his chest. This was his best friend. Super best friend. What was he supposed to do? He stood there for a moment, watching Stan, whose eyes had fluttered closed. He looked so peaceful, happy even, and super, super fucking drunk. Kyle’s face flushed with color that matched his hair and his ears were hot to the touch. He was almost mad at first but he couldn’t find it in his swooning heart to stay that way. He took in a deep breathe through his nose and forced his eyes closed. He pushed his lips against Stan’s just to make his taller best friend happy. His heart hammered in his chest so hard it almost hurt and he was sure for a moment that maybe he was having a heart attack. If he didn’t want it then why was his heart taking a giant shit?

When Kyle kissed him back, Stan grew excited. He began to peck gently at Kyle’s lips, trying to get the other teen to open up to him. His arms tightened around Kyle’s neck and he couldn't help but grin. He moved his head a bit to begin covering Kyle’s face in more kisses, starting at the side of his lips and moving up to his cheeks, forehead, nose and down back to Kyle’s lips. His kisses were drunken and sloppy. Kyle was warm which thrilled the wasted quarterback.

Kyle was complete thrown off guard. He thought maybe it was a joke: Cartman was probably hiding in the closet videotaping this and Kenny snickering under Stan’s bed. Stan genuinely seemed excited, though, and was really into it. Kyle had no words for how he felt. He kissed Stan back a few times but he kept his hands to Stan’s hips to maintain their distance apart. Stan was bigger, stronger than he was and it was difficult fighting against the drunken teen. He felt as though his entire body was engulfed in flames, all lit on fire. Every nerve ending was on edge, acutely aware of the static that lit through the air. Goosebumps ran down his legs and arms and, holy fucking shit, it was kind of turning him on. He finally caved and opened his mouth to the kiss Stan kept wanting.

Giggling when Kyle finally opened his mouth, Stan captured Kyle’s bottom lip in his own and sucked for a moment before letting go. The kisses he gave his best friend were sloppy and drunken but he enjoyed the feeling of Kyle’s soft lips against his own more than he ever thought possible. He could feel the tug of the front of his torn-up jeans. Stan licked lightly at Kyle’s mouth, feeling the warmth that was Kyle’s breath ghost across his face, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and the slight tang of whiskey on his lips. He never wanted this moment to end.

A moan escaped Kyle’s throat before he could catch it. He felt dizzy. This wasn’t right. This had to be a fucked up dream, right? He had known Stanley all his life - he had never had these thoughts or feeling before now. Had he? His lower half was warm and strained as he starting to grow hard. He released one hand from Stan’s hips and pulled his orange jacket down to hide his growing bulge. He kissed back, though, despite himself. Stan’s tongue invaded his mouth and he wrestled his tongue with Stan’s. He wanted to prove that he could be dominant as well. All these feelings were driving Kyle crazy.

Stan moaned behind the kiss and reached in front of Kyle to begin unzipping the other teen’s jacket. He heard the zipper move downward and he grinned. He pulled away from the kiss to pull Kyle’s jacket off him. “Dude, I fuckin’ love you.” Stan’s voice was gentle as he tossed the orange jacket to the floor. “I’ve always fuckin’ loved you.” He sighed and reached up under the hem of Kyle’s shirt. He looked to meet Kyle’s dark, dilated green eyes and watched the other teen through his own ocean pools. He was hot, needed his clothes taken off, and he really wanted to throw up. He thought he’d outgrown wanting to throw up because of crushes. Guess not. He smiled and began to shimmy off his Letterman jacket.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking shit. These words repeated themselves in Kyle’s mind. This was really about to fucking happen. He helped Stan peel off his Letterman jacket and tossed it to the floor close to his own bundled mess of a jacket. He breathed through his mouth, his heart squeezing and collapsing on itself until it was sore. He suddenly felt nervous, excited. He had so many emotions at once and he was fucking hard. “Fuck, Stan.” Was all he could expel out of his throat and his damn voice cracked. Was this all serious? Should he say he loved him back? Obviously, he did but he wasn’t so sure it was in the same way. Or was it? He didn’t know what the fuck was happening but that it felt so right. And wrong. He crashed his lips against Stan’s, breathing heavily through his nose as he began to unbuckle Stan’s belt.

Strong knees buckled to Kyle’s intense kiss. Stan knew he was hard and as soon as he felt his belt come undone, he moved his own hands to undo his pants, dropping them to the carpeted floor; all he was left in was a plain black t-shirt and a pair of red and black plaid boxers. Once he kicked his pants to the side, he moved to begin undoing Kyle’s belt as well, all the while kissing his best friend. He couldn’t believe they were doing this. Stan felt satisfied, relieved, and continuously queasy at the same time. This felt so good, so right, so natural. This is where he decided he’d belonged when suddenly Stan tore away from Kyle. . He groaned and looked to his best friend with half lidded eyes. “Fuck...” He muttered softly. “Fuck...” He placed his hands to his head and lowered his eyes to look at the ground, closing them as he let out a long exhale. The biliousness came in full force. It made Stan’s stomach tie in knots and he just did not feel very well at all. “Shit, Kyle...” He moaned softly, looking up to his best friend. Stan must have moved his head too quickly because he felt the rush of vomit come up into his throat and he ran for the small trash can he kept next to his desk. He hurled. All the alcohol, all the food, all the kisses which he would miss most of all. He chucked everything up.

Kyle blinked a few times, coming out of his reverie and missing the warmth that had surrounded him. His face slowly turning from a bight scarlet to a light pink as he heard the undeniable sounds of Stan vomiting. Hurling was definitely a mood killer for Kyle. “Shit dude.” He breathed as he buttoned and zipped his pants back up quickly then travelled over to his best friend’s side. “T-told ya you had too much.” He quietly scolded. The room seemed to be spinning, even for him. Was it the alcohol? Or was it a head rush from all the making out? He and Stan were almost going to…Jesus Christ. His cheeks immediately flooding to a bright scarlet and his stomach flipped. “You okay dude?” He asked as he lazily rubbed Stan’s strong, wide shoulder blades.

Stan continued to empty the contents of his stomach. He shook his head during a break in regurgitation and looked to Kyle. His eyes were bloodshot and he felt like death. No way was he going to get any sleep tonight. “Dude,” Stan whined, reaching for some Kleenex that was conveniently placed next to his computer. “Am I dyin’?” Stan had so much concern in his voice. He felt like death was right at his door step. He turned back to the trash can and spit a final time before looking back at Kyle. “Kyle...I feel like shit. And I love you.” He leaned against the nice feeling of his back being rubbed. “You wanna lay down?”

Stan repeating that he loved him made Kyle’s stomach do even more acrobats. By the end of the night his damn stomach could join the circus. Surely this was some kind of joke? Hopefully Stan threw up just because he was super drunk. “I’ll lie down with you as long as you don’t throw up on me.” He gave a meek chuckle as he continued to rub Stan’s back, patting it gently ever so often. “Also, no you are not dying. You drank too much, dude. That’s why you keep trying to profess your gay love for me.” He joked dryly.

A laugh escaped Stan’s throat. “Dude, I do. I fucking love you.” He watched Kyle with a smile on his face. He wiped his mouth with the Kleenex again and then looked to his bed. “Okay, let’s go lay down so I can die in peace.” He joshed. He picked up the trash can and started to stumble towards the bed. It was so strange. When he was kissing Kyle, he felt so steady and his movements seemed so sure. When he wasn’t kissing Kyle, he could barely see straight. Kyle was right. He was definitely going to regret his decisions in the morning, especially since he had to get up for football practice. Ah fuck. Stan sat on the bed and smiled at Kyle. He patted the spot next to him, indicating he wanted Kyle to sit next to him. It felt good sitting down. Stan didn’t feel quite as warm when he wasn’t standing.

Kyle moved over to where Stan indicated him to sit and plopped onto the bed. “Dude, you are too drunk to be saying that.” He responded to Stan telling him he loved him. “I mean, I love you too dude, but seriously.” He declared with a chuckle as he shook his head and tapped Stan’s thick shoulder comfortingly. “Lay down, you need to sleep.”

Stan nodded his head and pointed to the pillow on the other end of the bed. “‘Kay, dude.” He whisperd. He put the trash can beside his bed and smiled at Kyle. “You wanna spoon me?” Stan chuckled, cheeks getting redder as he laughed. “I’ll let you be th-the big spoon.” He laid down, resting his head on his pillow and picking his legs up slowly. He turned so he was laying on his back. He spread his legs so one was to the side of Kyle and the other was off the bed again, foot flat against the floor. His semi-hard on was still evident in his boxers. He grinned to the red headed teen.

Acknowledging Stan’s words, Kyle tried his damnedest to not notice the slight bulge in the boxers as he laid down next to Stan, wrapping his arms around his torso. He put his hands to Stan’s chest, lightly tapping it to a beat that he made up. It felt normal but he knew it wasn’t.

Stan had always been okay with gay people, animals, and things since that time in third grade where he went on Big Gay Al’s Big Gay Boat Ride. The boat was no longer a thing but Stanley had learned a lot from his adventure alone that day. He’d learned to accept his dog Sparky just as he was and homosexual people were alright too. Stan had been called queer and fag all his life for being an emotional, cynical person and he was fine if people thought of him that way because there was nothing wrong with being gay. He looked to Kyle and moved so he could wrap an arm around the red headed, green eyed teen. He grinned, leaning forward to place a kiss to his best friend’s head. “I love you, Ky.” He remarked genuinely. “You’re my best friend in the whole world. Don’t wanna know what it’d be like without you...”

Kyle smiled, almost immediately turning red at the remark. He felt his heart shit itself for the second time that night. God dammit. What the fuck was wrong with me? He leaned into the kiss and closed his eyes. “You are my best friend too, dude. We have to die at the same time so we never find out, right?” This was something they agreed on in when they were young as well. “I love you too Stanley.” He meant it, whether or not it was platonically or homosexually; at this point, he couldn’t tell which one it was anymore.

*~*~*~*

An annoying and loud noise woke Stan from his slumber and upon waking up, he had the worst kind of headache. Stan reached for his phone to turn off the insistent alarm. Stan’s limbs were curled around Kyle’s but Stanley was determined to make it out of bed. It was five in the morning and the quarterback couldn’t miss practice in an hour. Head throbbing and muscles feeling wobbly, Stan moved as gently as he could to not wake his hard-sleeping best friend. Once out of the human entanglement, he looked at Kyle and smiled. He reached down to cover up the red headed teen and tucked him in. When Stan deemed Kyle sufficiently tucked in, it was time to get ready. Stan, every morning for the last seven years, had put on a football uniform first thing in the morning for practice. He’d pick out his clothes for the day and change after practice at school. Every night he would wash the uniform and then do it all again the next day. As he got dressed, he looked to Kyle again. He was feeling a lot of things for his best friend today, though unsure why. All of the night before had been a blur. He figured he was lucky that he woke up in his own bedroom this time.

Another alarm went off on Stan’s phone, causing the young man to swear and start heading down the stairs. Off to school he went, ready for 5:45 AM football practice.

*~*~*~*

Kyle had an alarm for 6:00AM sharp. As his phone went off from his jeans' pocket, he rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. He reached into his pocket and turned off the alarm and noticed that Stan’s football jersey and Letterman jacket were missing. Good. That meant he should have made it to practice. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to bid the headache good riddance when he remembered the actions that happened between he and Stan. On more than one occasion, Stan had confessed feelings for him. Just the thought created scarlet red cheeks on the ginger haired boy. He got out of Stan’s bed and found his green hat and slipped it on, not worrying about how his hair looked now. He stood up and grabbed his orange jacket that had been discarded on the floor and put it on before going to brush his teeth (Stan always had a spare toothbrush for his best friend) and started to walk to school. The morning air was crisp and dry. His breath could be seen as he let out a sigh and shoved his hands into his pocket. He walked to the bus stop where Kenny, waving at him, already waited patiently.

“Crazy night.” Kenny mumbled happily, muffled in his orange parka. His face was, as always, somewhere lost in the hood. It seemed as though he were in a good mood. As if he had no hang over at all. Asshole.

“Yeah dude, no joke.” He replied softly. Eric walked up, but for once had nothing really to say. Kyle looked at Eric’s puzzled facial expression, but didn’t have the energy to deal with him. The bus pulled up before long and the boys got on to head to school.

*~*~*~*

Football practice was difficult and cold for a hungover Stan Marsh. He’d overdone it on the drinking the night before but hell, it was his birthday. What else was he going to do? His parents had been gone so he had to throw himself a party. Was it his fault his birthday was on a Sunday? Of course not. Though he supposed he could have thrown it on Saturday. But he’d spent all day with Kyle on Saturday and that would have cut into their super best friend time. He smiled, thinking of Kyle. God, he was so fucking cool. Even though he knew he had a test today, he still came and Stan was sure he was taken care of by the ginger teen.

A football came hurdling toward Stan’s face. He caught the ball and started to hurry past Clyde and Token who were both on the “shirts” team during their football drill.

*~*~*~*

The boys made it to school and Kyle was honestly lost in his own world. Kenny and Cartman argued about pointless shit the whole way, which was unusual as it was usually Kyle and Cartman who argued. Kyle decided he had to see Stan. Maybe they should talk about what happened.

“Kyle? Where ya going dude?” Kenny asked, his voice still muffled.

“Going to see Stan. I’ll see you in class.” He replied. Cartman had nothing fucked up to say about it. Was Cartman alright? He usually had something to rip on him about. Kyle shrugged it off and walked for a few minutes. He’d found Stan out in the practice field and he was hoping they would wrap up soon because it was fucking cold outside. Kyle kept his hands in his orange jacket pockets.

Stan pulled his helmet down and adjusted his mouth guard. He rushed past Clyde and Token as he ran their play against the “shirts” team. Stan scored, crossing the touch down line and he looked to Token who’d taken off his helmet and Clyde who was kicking the dirt in anger. Stan grinned at the two guys as Token went to comfort Clyde. Stan looked around for a moment, seeing Kyle, and didn’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot, waving frantically as his heart thumped awkwardly in his chest. Coach blew their whistle to indicate that their mini game was over and that first period athletics period was to begin.

“Get your boyfriend off the field, Marsh. He’s got fuckin’ class to go to!” Coach yelled and Stan nodded, jogging up to Kyle.

“Hey dude,” Stan happily greeted his best friend. A big smile was on his face despite how horrible he felt. He really suddenly felt nauseous again. He placed a hand to Kyle’s shoulder. “Coach doesn’t want visitors today. Pretty sure he didn’t get laid last night because he’s been a complete dick.” Stan laughed. “How ya feelin’?” He asked finally. If he felt like crap then Kyle must have felt like crap too.

Kyle nodded and looked down at the ground, kicking at the grass a bit before looking back up at Stan’s blue eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he thought of those curvy chapped lips on his own. He felt heat rush up to his face and he blinked. “Uh,” He began as he swallowed hard, “I feel alright.” He lied smoothly. “I was just checking up on you really quick. You got really sick last night. Do you...remember?” He asked. Kyle felt face grow bright red at just the thought. They almost fucked last night and Kyle was going to let it happen.

Stan watched Kyle and smiled as he patted Kyle’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Dude, I don’t remember shit from last night. The only thing I kind of remember is seeing Butters sucking on someone’s face.” Stan watched Kyle, still feeling kind of nauseous. He wanted to throw up but he held it back. He wasn’t sure why he felt so sick all of a sudden. “That was hella fuckin’ weird.” He said with a chuckle.

“Marsh, what the fuck did I tell you?!” Yelled Coach. “Get Broflovski off the field and do ten laps around. C’mon!”

Stan smiled back at Kyle. Ten laps around the field was nothing of a punishment so Stan would be fine. “I guess you better get to class, dude. They’ll be missin’ your brains anyway. Thanks for checking in on me! You’re a real friend, dude.”

Kyle blinked a few times, his heart felt like it was physically falling. “Oh, yeah dude. Go run.” He retorted with a fake chuckle. He whipped around, putting his back to Stan, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets and started off towards the school. Fuck. FUCK. Stan didn't remember. His face grew red with frustration. Fucking really? His brows were furrowed as he stared hard at the ground as he walked. What the fuck was he thinking? Did he think it was real? Of course, it wasn’t real. Stan was just fucking around with him last night. He fucking knew it. He held back the biting sting in the corners of his eyes as he headed back to the main building of the high school.

I’ve got quite a few more chapters of this on AO3 if you’d like to read more!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720008

#south park #south park fanfiction #sp stan #sp stan marsh #sp style #sp kyle #sp kyle broflovski #south park stan #south park stan marsh #south park style #south park kyle #south park kyle broflovski #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #stan and kyle #stanxkyle #stan x kyle #revenge au

[cristinablackthornkingson]

1) Are you excited for the TID TV show? Why or why not?

No because I’m terrified they’ll fuck it up big time like Shadowhunters and I cannot bear to see some of my all time favorite characters messed with like that.

2) What’s your favorite quote from tsc?

“Spoon!” James said, running at his Uncle Gabriel and jabbing him in the thigh. Gabriel mussed the boy’s hair affectionately.  

“You’re such a good boy.” he said. “I often wonder you could possibly be Will’s.” 

3) Which character is most like you and why? (Physical appearance or personality)

Looks wise, Lucie, Dru and Tessa. Personality wise, a mix of Matthew and James, I love books and reading and I’m really shy and socially anxious but I also love the arts and can be very dramatic. 

4) Any theories on what will happen in Queen of Air and Darkness?

Nope.

5) Any theories for The Wicked Powers?

Julian will be the villain .

6) If you were going to get a shadowhunter chronicles tattoo, what would you get?

The fearless rune because I suffer really badly with anxiety and I’m working hard to try and overcome it and I think the fearless rune would be very appropriate in this situation. 

7) Shadowhunters TV show fan or not?

No I absolutely hate it, I love most of the casting but the plot and the acting and the chemistry is just a mess I can’t stand it. 

8) How long have you been a fan of CC’s books and have you been in the tumblr fandom as long as you’ve been a fan?

I think I started reading them when I was around 13/14, so I’ve been a fan for 5/6 years. I dipped in and out of the tumblr fandom through the years and only really started to be involved this year, so less than a year. 

9) Favourite ship, brotp and notp

Ship: Tessa/Jem Tessa/Will Malec, Helen/Aline Sophie/Gideon Henry/Charlotte

Brotp: Tessa/Magnus. Jamie/Matthew. Lucie/Thomas. Anna/Matthew. 

Notp: Clary/Sebastian 😷

10) Which characters do you think are underappreciated and why?

Sophie for sure, there’s hardly any content on her out there and she’s such a lovely amazing person but also bad ass and fierce af and so loyal, I love her so much. Also Jessamine is such a good character, she has good reason to hate being a Shadowhunter and has been through so much, she was so desperate to escape The Institute and Shadowhunters where she constantly had reminders of her parents and their death, that she married Nate who she knew was bad news, but she didn’t care, she just wanted to be happy, and yes that was a bit selfish but it’s still so interesting and she’s such a great character overall. 

11) Three things you associate with/love about your favourite season

Extreme heat, the feel of the hot sun on your bear skin, clear blue skies. 

12) What’s your Hogwarts house, Ilvermorny house and patronus?

No idea I’m not a fan of Harry Potter. 

13) What’s your favourite song, lyrics or band/singer?

It’s so hard to choose a favorite song, I have so many and it changes all the time, but right now it’s probably Dancing Through Life from Wicked. My favorite lyrics are 

Fuck with gender bend the rules don’t surrender. From Sasha Velour’s verse of the Season 9 remix of Category Is. 

I don’t have one favorite singer but I adore Carrie Hope Fletcher. 

If you’re in high school (or an equivalent) and you want to go to uni, what do you want to study?

I’ve been out of high school for almost 3 years, I went to college and did performing arts and want to continue studying that in uni. 

15) Coffee, tea, water or soda?

Soda.

16) What’s your favourite mythical creature?

Probably faerie. 

17) What TV show/movie do you refuse to watch?

Thirteen Reasons Why (Trash and extremely harmful) 

18) What could you do a 40 minute presentation on with no preparation?

Any of my favorite musicals, like Wicked and The Book Of Mormon. 

19) If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you move to?

Somewhere with really good weather all year round, so probably Spain or Thailand. 

20) What ‘dumb’ accomplishment are you proud of?

Finishing a 400+ page book in two days. 

21) What’s your name?

Rather not say. 

I tag:Anyone who sees this and wants to do it. 

[unharmeddrudge]

Staying Up Late

A short story for an RP I’m writing with a friend. Besides writing well, they’re also an amazing artist. I, being unable to draw, have opted to just write a lot. I also need to write more as practice. Thus, this. Nothing heavy, just a domestic fluff for fun.

For context: The Soyuzi are a race of Russian space lizard people. Vokachaian is a human ethnicity. 

The house is quiet. The TV is off, it’s dark out, and no one has entered or left all day. A faint chill gives the house a temperature that makes blankets quite comfortable. The only significant sound comes from the mechanical clock on the wall.

“Drew, it’s almost eleven o’clock.”

“I know, I know, let me… let me just wrap this up. I’m almost done—you go to bed first.”

The half-Soyuzi eyes the translator carefully from a short distance, across the great peaks and valleys of books and papers surrounding the Vokachaian. He isn’t willing to tread that field just yet. It looks as though a printing shop had exploded, with the boy at its epicenter.

“You say that, but…”

“The longer you talk,” the Vokachaian snaps, refusing to look up from his book, “the longer this will take. Just go already.”

The corner of Sasha’s lips twitch irritably. “Fine. Ten minutes, hurry up,” he says, stomping off to the bedroom in a huff.

Lately, Drew had been pushing their regular ten o’clock schedule to unacceptable limits. He’d been too engrossed in the translation of some damn books, enough to make it feel like he was ignoring Sasha. As much as the half-Soyuzi enjoys watching Drew’s passions stir into a fever (especially at night, in bed), he knows all too well that this sort of behavior is a bad habit that only ends up with a sleep-deprived Vokachaian, and possibly also a sick one.

Sasha falls onto the bed. He can lie there as comfortably as he wants, but in the end, he just can’t fucking sleep. Not without him. The room is cold, as Drew always likes it, but it’s uncomfortable to be alone in. The still and quiet chill is so lonely. He stares at the ceiling for a while, complaining about Drew’s slightly workaholic tendencies, among his other faults. In it, though, he remembers some advice his sister-in-law once gave him.

“When he starts to work instead of sleeping, he’s probably upset about something,” Emily had said one night at the Yodrezhka family household having dinner. Drew had left briefly to buy dessert with his mother. “Trust me, I’ve seen it a thousand times. He did for a few days one time when the kids were bullying him at school, making him buy lunch for them.” She sat back, locking her fingers together and turning them outward to crack her knuckles. “Slept fine soon as I dealt with ‘em, heh.” She smiles, confidently throwing her hair back and examining her fingernails. “He’d done it another time when his last boyfriend broke up with him. He’d lent a book to the guy—never got it back, actually.”

Sasha listened amusedly to the bold young girl. He liked her style. “Huh. Yeah, I think word boy’s done that once or twice, I’m pretty sure. Thought he was just a workaholic.”

“Nah, that boy loves to sleep. There’s always something else. Something’ll be bothering him. Though, I guess work could bother him, too.”

“I see… Good to know, little tiger. But how will I… y’know, fix him?” Sasha grinned, waving a hand in the air.

“Well, look, he’s not one to share his problems so easily. I had my way, and it involved locking the room and playing Jamie Lockensteiner until he fessed up. He hated that stuff,” she smiled back.

“Oh, you’re a cruel sister. His music is terrible.”

“Hey, watch it. He was on the top 20 list in 3284, so obviously, you’re wrong,” she pointed threateningly at him. “Anyway, I suggest a slightly different tactic for you. If he ever gets like that: first, pull him outta work. I mean, really pull him out. Make him forget it exists for a moment. By, heh heh, you know—” She elbows the man suggestively, making a ring in one hand and poking the index finger of the other hand through, “—any means necessary… but just before you get down to the nitty-gritty—deny him! Surprise him with questions, make him talk. Hold your ground, and don’t give him anything until he spits it out.”

“I feel like you been reading too many—what’s it called—’doujinshi’ lately, Emily.”

“No, trust me on this! You just gotta surprise him, and be firm about it. Works one-hundred percent of the time. Promise.”

Sasha takes a moment to pause and thoughtfully reflect on Emily’s advice, formulating a plan. She’s a bit of a perv, but she definitely has some good ideas.

He looks at the clock. It’d been eleven minutes already. Man, he’d been lenient with his time. How nice is that? He gets up and walks down the hall.

The translator hasn’t budged. His brows are deeply furrowed, brown eyes staring into a book, probably puzzling over something esoteric and profound. Maybe.

It won’t be easy to transverse the defensive obstacle course of new and ancient documents surrounding the male. Sasha had once tried to simply trample over them—he’d certainly gotten over, but it left him with a distinct bruise on his face and a pain in his groin, as well as the option of sleeping on the couch. Best to avoid that tonight.

Taking a detour, Sasha enters their small kitchen. Coming up with a plan as he went along, he opens a cabinet, finding a large can of Kharzakyt beans.

Perfect.

Returning to his spot across the paper moat in the living room, the half-Soyuzi squats, facing Drew, who appears to be ignoring him. Shitty brat. Opening the can, Sasha picks a bean out, and tosses it.

Drew doesn’t flinch.

Huh. He’s really committed to this, is he?

Sasha tosses another bean. It hits the side of Drew’s face, then falls onto his book.

Drew blinks, brushes the bean away, and continues reading. He picks up a pen, takes a note on a notebook to his right.

Sasha narrows his eyes at the translator, stubborn with a vain and futile resistance. He’ll break that. He grabs a couple more beans and throws them at his target.

Drew pauses in his notetaking, expressionless, as if physically stunned. He looks up slowly at the offender with a displeasure. “...Are those Kharzakyt beans?” he asks quietly.

Sasha answers with a smug grin. “Yah. Gonna do something about it?”

Drew just looks at him for a long moment. Agitated, likely, under that suppressed exterior. That smug motherfucker has no power over me, he thinks. After a while, he shakes his head slowly, and looks back at his book.

It’s too late, though. Sasha’s got Drew caught like a rabbit in a trap. He tosses another handful of beans.

The translator tries not to react. The Kharzakyt beans are making a mess.

The man tosses another handful. And another.

They’re starting to cover the books. The floor around the boy is almost totally hidden.

Finally, with a maniacal smile, Sasha stands, and fucking spikes a handful.

Holy shit. It stings. At his wit’s end, the Vokachaian stands and lunges across the papers and books, missing the half-Soyuzi as he backpedals.

Joyfully, Sasha continues tossing beans at the other while retreating backwards down the hall to the bedroom while Drew clumsily chases after him.

“Who do you think you are, you scaley bastard? I’ll skin you into a fucking wallet!” Drew growls, continually failing to grab the man as he is lured into the bedroom.

Sasha’s thrill ends as he trips onto the bed, where Drew is finally able to jump and grab him.

Sitting on the Soyuzi’s legs, Drew grabs the man's shirt collar and pulls him up close to his face. “You are an enormous pain in the ass,” he hisses.

In contrast to the incensed raven-haired mess, the brunet is barely managing to contain his laughter. He leans forward, capturing the angry lips with his own. He brings a hand up to stroke those tense cheeks with the back of his knuckles. Drew's hands move down to the other's shoulders. They break, with Drew pouting and Sasha smiling. “Oh, kotyenok, you only have self to blame. You make it so fun to mess with you!”

The translator's grimace never softens, though his face surely reddens. “You're a fuckin’ bully.” He grabs the wrist of the hand touching his face, then proceeds to push Sasha down until he's flat on his back, making out with him along the way.

Sasha lets it happen for a while. He's cute when he's all feisty like this! And it feels good, to boot. He doesn't need to put any work in. Drew's hands run through the brunet's hair and over his chest, while Sasha's hands travel across his partner's back and touch his neck, slyly reminding the boy of the many marks there.

Drew is very intense. Very touchy. Feeling around a lot. Quick to take off clothes, but not willing to part lips for very long. He seems desperate. Frantic, even. Like he's still distracting himself. Just like when he was working.

Damn. He’s just replaced with his books with Sasha. It’s no good.

By now, Drew has managed to remove the half-Soyuzi’s shirt and unbutton his own. It would probably be best to stop him now.

Groaning internally, Sasha pulled Drew’s face off his own, sighing. The Vokachaian tries to continue, but ends up simply furrowing his eyes at the other, confused. Soon enough, the taller man grabs the shorter’s hands before flipping their positions around. Drew gets plopped onto his back, hands caught above his head, with Sasha between his legs, leaning over him.

“Okay, enough of that, Dryushka. Gotta talk,” he grumbles reluctantly. Personally, he’s not too happy about stopping, but he knows it’s the quote-unquote “Right Thing to Do.”

“Hey, what the—let go of me,” the Vokachaian whines, trying fruitlessly to free his hands and reach downwards. He’s way too weak, though.

“Come on, shortstack. Hold still. Let’s use our words, yeah?”

Drew stares in confusion at the other for a moment. “...H-huh? Fuck that, I don’t got anything to say. Take off your pants.”

“Not like that, word boy. “You have been skipping bed-time, and you look like you’re trying to ignore me. Is not okay. If something is the matter, you need to tell me.”

“Fuck you.”

“I think you have this backwards.”

“—Fuck me.”

“Right, but no.”

“I—ugh! Why are you so difficult?!” Drew squirms around a bit in another attempt to get free, before deciding to wrap his legs around Sasha’s hips. If he isn’t going to get free, his making the most of where he is right now. “What do you want from me?”

Oh, this cheeky bastard. He’s got some nerve. This is a rather precarious new adjustment, but Sasha isn’t letting up. “L-like… Like I said. I know something is bothering you—spit it out.”

Even in the cold darkness, the Vokachaian’s deepening flush is pretty obvious. “Wh-what? No, you’re… you’re mistaken. Misinterpreting. I’m fine. Let me go.”

Sasha just laughs. “No way. I don’t believe you. Ever heard of… ah… communication? We’re doing that. Now.” He punctuates himself with a prick on the neck with teeth. “So… How was day?”

Drew sucks in air through his teeth, turning away. He doesn’t have to answer a dumb question like this.

The brunet sighs against his partner’s neck. So much trouble. “I thought we’ already worked this whole ‘talking’ thing out.”

The captive Vokachaian doesn’t even squeak.

“Come on, kotyenok. At least look at me.”

He doesn’t budge.

It’s starting to get frustrating. They should be able to talk now! What could possibly be so troubling? So embarrassing?

“Say something, Drew. Honestly—there is no one else here, so whatever it is… you can tell me,” he coaxes in a firm, slightly impatient, yet reassuring voice. “Just tell me.”

Silence. Cold and hard silence with unhappy lips pressed firmly closed.

Sasha shakes his head. He might just have to give up. Can’t force anything.

“...’s stupid…”

“Huh?” The brunet’s eyes widen. The boy has spoken.

“I said it’s dumb… Don’t worry about it…” Drew still won’t look Sasha in the eye, but he’s certainly finding the blank darkness around them quite entertaining.

Sasha smiles once again, bringing their foreheads close together. “Why are you so embarrassed? If it bothers you so much, I have to care about it.”

“I told you it doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” Sasha exclaims, releasing Drew’s hands to embrace his torso. The freed hands end up on Sasha’s back. "You just don’t want to tell me because you’re afraid I’ll make fun of you.”

“Won’t you?” Drew mutters, looking wistfully out the window.

“I will. But it’ll be good for you.”

They lie like that for a while. It’s warm and comfortable, at least. The cold air lets them enjoy each other’s heat without getting all sweaty, though they still got sweaty for other reasons.

Finally, Drew sighs, looking down at the half-Soyuzi. “Alright, alright…” He looks very cute and flustered from this angle. “There was… a book at the convention last week. I wanted it, but I couldn’t afford it. Someone else took it… and… yeah.”

Sasha laughs quietly running a hand through the other’s messy black hair. “Oh, you poor, entitled brat, you. Now was that so hard?”

“It was, and my life has depreciated because of it,” he mutters, pouting. “This is why I didn’t care to tell you, you piece of shit.”

“Oh, but it meant so much to you! All week long… It’s okay Drew. I guess I feel sorry for you.” Sasha rises once more, giving Drew a kiss as a reward for his honesty and bravery. “And look, see—I’ll make you feel better.”

“As if. I’m not in the mood anymo-more—” Drew says before a shiver from Sasha’s touch cuts him off. “...Oh, h-holy shit, I guess I am.”

#writing #original #short story

[itsnotresilience]

How I Dealt with Divorce...the first time

A reflection on selected essays, poetry, journal entries from 2000-2003

In 1999, I met my first husband, Dylan. Lots of people don’t know I’ve been married three times but many do. I don’t hide it. If people want to understand how that happens to someone who’s 42, I’m willing to share the story I think is appropriate. Most people get the, “ he was my starter husband story”. We were young, naive and not right for each other and in the end we figured it out quickly. That’s a generally true tale, but not the right one for people who really want to understand how things like that happen.

Dylan was pure magic. He was joyful, silly, and incredibly talented. He was an amazing singer and guitar player. He was at his best playing jazz or picking folk songs for kids. I was drawn to his positivity. I can still say today that for the most part, he loved me, he was utterly kind to me, and he tried his best. I met Dylan while we both were working at Cellophane Square. He was 9 years older than me (22 to 31). He still lived with his parents and with his older brother Jamie (if I remember Jamie was 36 or 37). It’s important to know all that because he was at a somewhat arrested state of his life because his mom really coddled him. She was a great lady but didn’t push her men to move on, namely because her relationship with her husband sucked. It took awhile for Dylan and I to get together but looking back, he was a rebound that went too far.

I was just out of an emotionally and toward the end, physically, abusive relationship. That’s the sort of relationship I was used to though. After I broke up with my high school love early in my senior year (1994). I had a string of horrible relationships. It’s what I felt “ I deserved”. We will talk about that era some other reflection essay, but just know that’s where I was coming from. In a state of heartbreak, depression, and insecurity, I saw this light, this magical Dylan and he was my redemption from darkness.

I was incredibly strapped for cash during this time (I ended up getting a second part-time job to supplement my income while STILL going to school). I had to give up my apartment twice in a year and my ex ended up with our cats because I had to move in with Dylan, who was allergic to cats. It was devastating to give up my cats. I knew my ex wouldn’t abuse them. He was always loving to the animals, it came down to what I felt I had to do.

Living with Dylan’s family in now one bedroom of space that was mine but shared was odd. I’m not someone that’s used to a loud and active household. I had been living with just my parents for a few years before college and even before that, the most activity was fights between my dad/mom and my older brother. The loudest thing in our house was the TV if my dad was home because he’s deaf in one ear. People talked loudly in our home but it wasn’t a house filled with talking.

Dylan and I lived with his family for a year. If I had paid attention, I would have seen the signs that he wasn’t the right long- term partner for me. His mom took care of everything for him and wouldn’t allow me, beyond a meal here and there, to do things for ourselves. It made me uncomfortable to be taken care of at that age. My mom might do my laundry or buy me some groceries if I came to visit from Bellingham but I was fairly used to managing my own life by that point. We had decided to marry and that wedding turned into an elopement to Reno.

There’s not a lot to share about the wedding. I ended up having strep throat. After we got married, we moved to south Edmonds. It was familiar territory for me, but not Dylan. He had to start over in many ways, and I wished I’d recognized that more. Nearly all his friends were in Bellingham. He only had one friend that lived in Fremont at the time. He got a job at Top Foods and I finished school and went back to working at the eBar at Nordstrom’s in Alderwood. I was doing night school so I would work from 6-3 and then go to school from 5-8 or 9. It was long days and honestly, even reading my journal I don’t know how I managed it all. I wrote, “I’m tired” nearly everyday. My poetry is about what I was learning or the roles we take on in marriage and household.

Eventually, we moved to the UDistrict to a very nice townhome. Dylan got a job at Trader Joe’s, where I still believe he works at in Bellingham. I had about a year left of school in 2001. I was immersed in political science courses at the UW, studying for my LSAT and planning for law school. I don’t recall ever asking Dylan if he cared where we lived. I was dreaming of UC Berkeley and working toward the LSAT score. My days at that time were full. During this time, my journal entries talked about my law school plans, meandered about the magical box sets of music I created for my friends and talked about how my husband never did any chores in the house ( he couldn’t even use a dishwasher!).

Then, very early in that year, 2001, around March, things start taking a dramatic turn. I had lost a few pregnancies with Dylan. I frankly lost count. I have a entry that says, “ I lost another baby I’m not sure I wanted.” I wish I could tell you now what I felt. It seems clear now I was going through the motions in some state of grief. Dylan’s mom was particularly high-pressure about grandchildren and every time we talked to her I felt like a failure and she would offer super helpful advice like, quit school or slow down or work harder on getting pregnant. Getting pregnant felt like something I should just do, and not what I wanted. And on a side note, how the fuck do you explain to these type of people that with each loss, I’m reminded of my sexual assault and what those boys did to my body. My body again didn’t seem to belong to only me. I began to harbor resentment toward Dylan, pull away my affection and love. I have one poem that’s four lines in June 2001.

“Why can’t you see me

Why am I just a vagina with a smile

You play guitar and sing this song I can’t stand to listen to,

do you know I’ve hated you for awhile?”

It is clear to me that I was in turmoil between what I was socialized to be and the woman I actually was. I wasn’t having dreams of being a housewife. I was dreaming of changing the world and affecting the lives of women like me, women who were altered irrevocably by men. Some of you who know me now or even met me 10 years ago, know nothing of this Meghan. I only have two friends remaining from this period of my life, one a friend from high school, the other, a friend from college and weirdly also high school. I still keep in touch with friends fro western but we didn’t interact much during this time. I didn’t even interact with my family much, save holidays.

Then came 9/11. My journal entries starting in 9/11 became very long and I wrote long essays everyday until September of 2002. My day started by driving to work around 5 am to get to Lynnwood and open the bar. I prepped all the salads and sandwiches so had to get that all done before opening the gates. I was running through my mind the days stuff that needed to happen. I was starting school again in a few weeks after going to school over the summer. I was thinking about the books I needed to buy and the other ducks I wanted to have in a row. Around 6 am, while I was driving, the first plane hit. I remember thinking, and I wrote it down later, oh that’s good, no one is in there. I hadn’t registered the time change and it was still possibly a terrible accident. I got to work and got busy. I didn’t have a radio in the kitchen workspace upstairs in the Grill, but turned it on when I got downstairs as was my habit while setting up before I had to start the Muzak.

I wasn’t really listening to the radio. My first customer who came in (nearly always another Nordstrom employee) looked pale and sick. I said, isn’t devastating about the plane? She said, and I’ll never forget it, ever, I wrote it down for safe keeping (I should note that I carried around a pocket notebook everywhere at this time I didn’t have a magic device to store my ideas on the go), “another plane hit the other building.” And we just sat there in silence for what seemed like forever. I thought I’d said, “ what?” But I didn’t. I made her coffee and then in kind of a trance turned the radio back on. I was now aware this wasn’t an accident and there were thousands of people trapped in these buildings. There was no turning back or avoiding. This had happened.

My boss came in next and elected to send me home. Everyone that came in was in some state of shock. I believe Nordstrom’s at least closed around 10 that day. I came home and for the next amount of what seemed like forever, I watched the news. I cried. I felt so much loss. I didn’t know one person, but you don’t need to. The shots of people desperately flinging themselves out of high story windows was enough to see human devastation in real time. I didn’t really register how this would alter my life so drastically, this moment. When my husband came home, I was crying, I was scared, I was anxious about war and now, my future. I’d spent all day imagining what was going to unfold from this moment. And he said, (yep, wrote it down), “ everything will be ok. The sun will be out again. Tomorrow we can smile.” I sat there and just stared at him in amazement. I said, “it’s not going to be ok tomorrow”. We got in a huge fight because he kept pushing me to snap out of it. It was very clear we weren’t in the same place, and now I’m convinced, not even the same planet of emotional and mental interaction. It was his natural predilection to be his way and really I was reacting the way I would.

I had registered I think in August maybe but it was definitely pre-9/11. I had had interest in taking more classes focused on international politics. My magical choice for first quarter 2001? Middle Eastern politics. I had three classes, one on the history of Middle Eastern politics, one on the role of Islam and Islamic Fundamentalism on the politics in the region and one deep-thinking not-gonna-solve shit class on the conflict between westernization, globalization and Islam. There was part of me that was excited, to have a place where I could figure out why these suicide bombers did what they did, why they were filled with so much hate and rage. Little did I know it would be my means of isolating myself, from everyone and everything.

I had one professor who was a Yemen expert. He was white. It strikes me know that they were all white men telling the stories of the many distinct cultures and ethnicities and religious beliefs of that region. The western culture elites, deciding what the experience of these people were. It still offered a perspective not found on our TV at the time. By now, we were at war and enacting the worst civil rights infringement law in decades, the Patriot Act. In exchange for “security”, we gave up privacy. To combat “terrorism” we signed away the civil rights afforded to suspected criminals- allowing a suspect to be questioned without much more proof then their religious preference and quietly allowing the long term imprisonment and torture of political prisoners/network terrorists, without any access to representation or contact with family. I had a friend at the time, a Syrian born American who was held with her brother for two days because she checked out a book on islamic fundamentalists at the university library. She was on an FBI watch list- a 20 year old American citizen who’s worst crime was being from Syria.

I started to feel angry about my two realities colliding so drastically. I developed empathy, not acceptance, toward the terrorists. This is hard to communicate reader, and likely hard for you to read. I was immersed in another side of the same story we were living, I didn’t believe we were at war with the right country for the right reason. I didn’t think people were justified in their broad statements about Muslims, the Islamic faith, or Middle Eastern countries. The Middle East, for Americans, was just some homogeneous blob. I felt in conflict with nearly everyone outside of school. Anytime I attempted to share context or information, I was told, even by family members, to go march in those peace protests with my little sign. I was extremely isolated. I moved through the world that way, even though I took different courses, for the rest of my BA time.

I did well on my LSAT and got accepted to my dream school, and told NO ONE. I wrote in my journal only a short entry that day in February 2002. “ My dream seems like a nightmare. I have no future, that’s what the news keeps telling me. There is no job for me. I will waste my money and change nothing.” I didn’t make a decision to not go so much as avoided it all together. In May, I quit my job at Nordstrom and got a soulless job at Key Bank. I hated every second of it. I, felt, well, that’s that. I’d also developed a pretty hard partying lifestyle. I was done with school, so I had less structure. My husband worked nights, so I was lonely. I didn’t want to sit with where my life was, so I escaped with a friend from work who was involved with a band. After one hard night of partying and sleeping at her home, I woke up and the drummer of the band was there and he expressed interest in me. Not in that hitting me sort of way, but was interested in who I was. I hadn’t had that feeling from a person who I wasn’t in school with for awhile. I decided in that moment my marriage was over.

Lots of other things happened between Dylan and I that really broke things but they seem less important than they used to be. We damaged each other in our own ways, unnecessarily. He made unchangeable choices, and I was living a separate life. My dad attempted to talk us into therapy and reconciliation but we were both angry and done. It took another 4-6 months for our divorce to happen. I moved out to an apartment in Ballard with a faux brick wall. I spent nights either partying hard or at home crying. I moved on to the drummer rather quickly. I’m not ashamed of that now, but was in 2002. I felt like I was heartless and messy and a failure. I didn’t care about tomorrow, let alone my dreams I had flushed down the toilet.

This is where things get really tough. I’ve only told my closest friends about what’s coming. One night, in November of 2002, I was struck by loneliness, heartbreak and the abusive relationship I now found myself in. I had given up the person who at least didn’t put me down, for a man who thought it was funny to call me a bitch then demand sex, then demand that I fix his problems and then not call me or answer his door for a week. When sober, I felt every inch of my callous, naive, and rash decisions. That night, while on the phone to a friend, I said I wanted to die. I really felt that. I didn’t want to live in the mess I’d created. I didn’t want to be stuck in that place anymore. She said she would call 911 and I hung up on her, angry at the perceived threat. Approximately 10 minutes later, EMTs were knocking on my door. I was asked whether I’d attempted to hurt myself and whether I was a risk to myself. I don’t even recall nodding yes, but I must have because they took me to Harborview. I was left handcuffed to a gurney for what seemed like hours. No psychiatrist or doctor ever came to talk to me. A nurse and an SPD finally came by to see if I wanted to be held for psychiatric evaluation and I said no, and was released. That was a mistake. That was my opportunity to avoid what later would develop as the breaking point, my rock bottom. That night should have been my wake up call to call my family, my friends and ask for help. I didn’t do any of that. Instead I wrote in my journal about this friend, “ I fucking hate you and what you just did to me”. I escaped to my anger toward that friend which was a relief from my depression and anxiety. I lived in that anger towards her, blindly making the same mistakes, until early January 2003.

I know, this is like a whole chapter of my book by now. This is more than you think you might want to know. I hope my sister reads this because she needs to and I hope she understands why. This is strangely cathartic spilling out the build up to my second of four major Meghan meltdowns. My ability to burn absolutely everything down is about reach epic proportions.

In late December of 2002, I found out I was pregnant. I had this thought of rolling the dice and seeing if I’d just lose it. I also had this delusional idea that maybe this would make the drummer love me. He’d want a life with me. When I told him, that delusion ended fairly quickly. He immediately asked me how quickly I could get rid of “it”. He asked me if “he needed to be involved”. I am not sure how I did not already hate this person but it’s likely because I hated myself far more. I developed a plan to get the pill and spend the weekend with a mutual friend of myself and the drummer. They were and are a lovely, big-hearted couple who were happy but cautious to help. Cautious because they knew I had these ideas of getting love and support from the drummer but they knew his capacity limits.

The first day at their home I took the pill and the couple made me fried chicken which was my chosen comfort food. We watched some movies but I mostly cried and obsessed about the drummer, where he was, what he was doing, why he wasn’t there and checking on me. Eventually, he contacted the male of the couple and said he wasn’t coming to see me. I was devastated, in pain, hemorrhaging and aborting a pregnancy. I ran into the room I was staying in and took a half bottle of ibuprofen with several guzzles of wine. My friend kept pounding on the door, pleading for me to answer. I finally came out and said, I took something because I want to die. The couple took me to the emergency room and I had my stomach pumped and was asked again if I wanted a psychiatric hold and I again refused. We went home in silence with my woman friend only saying, “I’m so mad at you right now.” I didn’t hear that really. I didn’t see what I had just put them both through. It took her a very long time to talk to me about it and that friendship never recovered. I won’t ever forgive myself for putting them through that, for being so wrapped up in what was happening to me, I saw no one else.

The drummer came to pick me up then took me to his apartment and broke up with me, saying he couldn’t handle what the relationship had become. I begged and pleaded with him to love me or at the very least, let me stay the night and not let me be alone. I woke up at his apartment with him passed out drunk on the floor. I got a call from my boss letting me know I was fired because my attendance was abysmal and I’d called in the night before. The drummer took me home.

I walked into an empty apartment and suddenly felt the rush of everything that had happened in the last 48 hours, the last few months, and the last few years. I sat on my couch crying and shaking and just thinking about death. I knew in my heart I would try again, that this misery had taken a hold of my body, that the tide was too strong to stop me from being pulled under. I remember getting a pamphlet from Planned Parenthood with a contact for emergencies related to my procedure, so I called it and I said, “I don’t feel safe, I need help. I want to kill myself. “ I may have said other things but I don’t remember and I didn’t write them down, I was sent to a counselor who asked me tons of questions and I proceeded to spill my guts about every real and perceived wrong done to me. I said whatever I needed to say to make this person want to help me. She asked if I had someone who could come and help me make decisions. I had her call my sister. I won’t ever know what that was like for my sister, at the time an active SPD officer, to sit there and hear the real and the unreal things my mind had concocted as evidence of my illness but I’m assuming she had to know I was very unwell. It was agreed I’d be admitted to inpatient psychiatric care at Swedish on Cherry.

The next ten days of my life were surreal. I lived in scrubs. I took regulated medication morning, lunch and dinner. I ate cafeteria food. I had group sessions, individual therapy, art therapy. I could call friend or write them emails. My roommate was a woman suffering from debilitating postpartum depression. Another woman in my group was schizophrenic and not allowed to use utensils while eating- she taught me the most of anyone during my stay. I picked up a smoking habit because it was something to do that wasn’t controlled by someone else. I called the drummer over and over, leaving him desperate messages for him to come see me and I know now I was asking him to confront me. My sister came and brought me clothes. I spent Valentine’s Day in therapy and then crying and pledging I’d get back at everyone who’d wronged me, abandoned me, rejected me. I was filled with rage for the drummer. I was going to show them all I wasn’t a loser and a mess. I’d get my life together.

When my sister came to pick me up, she let me know we were going to get me a cat. She said it would give me something to take care of and live for. That was the day I picked up Coltrane. We came home with him and life felt a little less empty. I was starting a new job in a few weeks so I had time to become friends with him. He became my reason for living.

Several months later, the story of the drummer finally ends. I was bound and determined to get some priceless records back from him and half the cost of the procedure. He dodged me for weeks and finally set a time for me to come. I picked up the records and stood there while he wrote me a check. He asked me how I was doing, I lied, and said, “great”. He asked me if I hated him, I lied and said, “no”. He then handed me the check and said, “ it’s not enough I had to go through this I now have to pay for it too”. This statement is seared into my memory. I’ve never had to write it down. That night in April 2003 I wrote only this, “never again.” In July, the drummer called me and wanted to make an apology tour. I made the date, walked up to where we were supposed to meet, made sure he saw me outside, waved, and then left. I got in my car and wrote this in my pocket notebook, “I’m not here to make you feel better anymore. You deserve your guilt”.

My life over the next several years slowly got better. I created new boundaries that I thought were permanent- things that couldn’t, and wouldn’t, happen again. I still deal with the trauma of this period. Much of it is still painful to share. I hate the drummer as much as I did in 2003. I hate him so much I refuse to say his name. I believe him to devoid of human decency and a sociopath. Maybe someday, I’ll turn that corner and I’ll find a way to forgive how I let him treat me. Maybe some day, I’ll forgive myself and hate myself a little less for what I put myself through. Maybe I’ll forgive myself for taking all my chances and privilege for granted. Maybe I’ll tell my sister how sorry I am I put her through that and how she saved my life that year (hey, if you’re reading this, I love you).

My life got better. I saw that I could keep myself together and be a better person. I could love my family and friends more and open my heart. I did all that, but still kept a part of that rage always with me, waiting, in the wings, to come to life again in 2009.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 311

It kind of took all I had not to fast forward through the first half of this episode. But whatever. Survivalist!Claire’s aesthetic does things for me. Drunk!Claire is my everything. And hey, not-a-dick!Jamie is back. There are only two episodes left so y’all are almost done having to scroll past my profanely-expressed disappointment with how that character has been written in the back half of the season.

But yeah. The first half of the episode, my shallow feelings about Claire looking nice while traipsing about in the jungle aside, is pretty much pointless. But I’ll take the fluffy second half. Same disclaimer as usual though about watching it as its own thing and not part of the larger season. (Is it just me or does this season feel like just a series of episodes rather than a larger overarching story like the other two did? Obvi every season is a series of episodes. That’s how TV works, duh. But idk, there’s something different about this one and for me it feels like there’s something missing...)

Anywho... DRUNK!CLAIRE AND SECKSI TIMES AND DRUNK!CLAIRE AND FERSALI AND DRUNK!CLAIRE AND MIRRORS AND DRUNK!CLAIRE AND MARSALI STARTING TO LIKE CLAIRE AND DRUNK!CLAIRE AND CHECKING THINGS OFF JAMMF’S SECKSI TIME BUCKET LIST AND DRUNK!CLAIRE!

*clings to scraps because otherwise why bother*

Claire napping/passed out on her raft reminds me of the time I literally fell asleep while floating in a pool. Because it really is possible to nap anywhere. Naps are great. #TeamNap

Ok so the fire ants are gross but that sequence did result in a reminder that Claire has really nice legs. So thanks for that, ants.

*pours one out for Coco’s dead relatives*

Why bother having Mamacita notice the zipper and then not have it even be a thing?

Hated the stuff with Fogden in the book. Hate it in the show. His only purpose is to marry Fersali and foreshadow the cave so the amount of time spent on him makes me roll my eyes like whoa.

Every time Claire tells someone she’s a doctor, have a drink and smash the patriarchy.

Ok. Tom Hanks literally had no one to talk to when he went all in with Wilson. Fogden has a fucking human woman living with him. And animals. And a town like a day away. WHY THE FUCK IS HE TALKING TO A COCONUT. STRANGER DANGER. RUN THE FUCK AWAY, CLAIRE.

I’m apparently a bit salty about sitting through so much with him.

Like we spend what feels like forever on his story about Ermenegilda. (It’s really like two minutes, but when you give no fucks about the story, it feels like 20.) We know more about this rando fucker who means nothing to Claire than we do about Joe, her best and only friend who was like the most important person in her life, besides Bree, for more than a decade. You make weird af choices, show. #TeamJoe

Of course the guy who fucking talks to a fucking coconut is also menacing af. Jfc, Claire. Get the fuck out of there. There is literally nothing stopping you. Mamacita will gladly point you in the right direction. Why are we still here with this dude.

Can Mamacita not call Claire a whore though? Can we just generally stop having people call Claire a whore? Cool.

Aaand now we get more about his dead girlfriend. Yes, loving people and missing daughters, yada yada. I still don’t care about this character. Didn’t need Sandy’s sob story. Don’t need Fogden’s. Stop trying to make fetch happen.

YOU DON’T NEED TO CONVINCE FATHER FOGDEN TO LET YOU GO, CLAIRE. JUST FUCKING LEAVE. IT’S NOT LIKE HE HAS YOU LOCKED UP. ASK THE LADY WHO WANTS YOU GONE TO POINT YOU IN THE GENERAL DIRECTION OF THE TOWN AND JUST BOUNCE.

Oh hey, Abandawe again. That’s probs not going to be a thing later...

See, look! Look how happy Mamacita is to give you general directions that transcend the language barrier, Claire! Oy. Moving on...

Well golly gee willikers it looks like the boys have somehow showed up at the beach equivalent of Galavant’s Forest of Coincidence! How fortunate.

(For serious. That scene is great.)

(I mean the one in Galavant. Not the boys on the beach.)

“Ye may have impure thoughts... But wi’ a pure heart, ye will have His forgiveness.” Ok this right here basically sums up my issue with second half of the season Jamie. Yes, it’s a comforting thing to say to Fergus, but it’s also how Jamie apparently rationalizes his not-stellar behavior. That one NYT recap said the show had a Jamie problem because he never had to answer for anything he did, and this is Jamie basically being like yep. That’s correct.

Apparently Claire has “freakishly accurate with mirror signals” in the special skills section of her resume. Wat.

It’s ok though because LOOK AT HER FACE WHEN SHE SEES JAMIE COMING FOR HER.

Their hug is magical, but I can’t stop giggling over Jamie going all phoebe buffay running dot gif.

“Mac Dubh’s wife turns up in the most unlikely of places, does she no?” “Aye. She just drops out of nowhere.” Thanks for that oh so totally necessary bit of on-the-nose meta, Lesley and Hayes. I still am in no way invested in you.

Obligatory “I love Yi Tien Cho” bullet. Like obvi with his acupuncture skills, he has some knowledge of medicine. But he just fixes Claire’s arm up like a boss. I really do love the two of them together.

Also I’m so fucking happy they cut the nonsense with the pirates. Like there are a bagillion ways for Claire to hurt her arm and thank fuck they decided on a way that’s so much better and less time consuming than fucking pirates. That said, no brownie points for fixing things that obviously needed fixing. That’s literally the job of the adaptation.

Oh right. Searching for Young Ian. That’s what all this is about. I’d forgotten that, what with all the side-quests...

I still don’t get why Jamie like considers himself to be all magnanimous for giving Fergus and Marsali his blessing. Like there really isn’t a good reason for him to object? Whatevs.

Yi Tien Cho giving Fogden the chicken is basically like “Jamie, you’re lucky I like your wife so much. Because fuck you for making me do this.”

THE SCENE WITH CLAIRE AND MARSALI IS MY EVERYTHING. GIVE ME ALL THE SCENES WITH CLAIRE AND MARSALI.

CAN MARSALI PLEASE STOP CALLING JAMIE “DADDY” THOUGH? IT’S SO FUCKING CREEPY.

Pretty sure Claire forgets to actually tell Marsali about ye olde timey birth control though, lol, because she is basically just constantly preggo for the rest of the series. (Yes, I know in the book Claire does tell her. But if we don’t see that convo in the show, I’m headcanoning that they forgot because Marsali basically gets pregnant every time Fergus like looks in her general direction.)

THEIR LITTLE SMILES AT EACH OTHER WHEN MARSALI SAYS MAYBE CLAIRE IS NOT THE DEVIL AFTER ALL. I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

I love Marsali being sassy at her wedding. And Claire and Jamie being all proud of their first child in the background. And Jamie giving Fergus the name that’s basically been his since before Culloden. And apparently Fergus share’s his dad’s affinity for ridiculous scarves. And Fergus’ little smile at Jamie and Claire after the ceremony kills me in the best way possible.

OK GUYS IT’S HAPPENINGGGGG. I love this scene and word-vomited about why way back in August and it’s finally here. The actual plot at this point in the season is not something I give a single fuck about. I’m here for fluffy smut.

DRUNK!CLAIRE IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE DECLARING THAT SHE IS IN FACT A DOCTOR IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE’S FACE WHEN SHE SPITS OUT THE THINGY FROM THE SYRINGE IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE SUCCESSFULLY PUTTING THE NEEDLE ON THE SYRINGE ONE HANDED AND BEING QUITE PROUD OF HERSELF THANK YOU VERY MUCH IS MY EVERYTHING.

JAMIE BEING AMUSED BY MAKING THE NEEDLE JIZZ A LITTLE AND DRUNK!CLAIRE BEING STARTLED BY SAID NEEDLE JIZZ IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE BEING LIKE YES, STAB ME IN THE ARSE PLEASE IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE STABBING HERSELF IN THE ARSE BECAUSE BOYS ARE USELESS IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE “MMM”-ING AT JAMIE IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE DECLARING THAT DAMMIT SHE *IS* RESPECTABLE IS MY EVERYTHING.

DRUNK!CLAIRE CRAWLING ACROSS THE TABLE IS MY EVERYTHING.

BOLT THE FUCKING DOOR, JAMIE! BOLT THE DOOR! BOLT DOOR! BOLDOR! BODOR!

CURRENT SEXUALITY: DRUNK!CLAIRE GIGGLING AS SHE GRABS THE D.

DRUNK!CLAIRE BOLTING THE DOOR HER DAMN SELF BECAUSE BOYS ARE USELESS IS MY EVERYTHING.

GUYS JAMIE FINALLY GETS TO DO IT THE BACK WAY. YOU KNOW, LIKE HORSES.

DRUNK!CLAIRE’S “NO, SHE HASN’T” IS MY EVERYTHING.

BANG ON, FRASERS.

#* #drunj!der yells about outlander #outlander starz #outlander 3x11