#bless eric winter for looking like that

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

(x)

#god bless melissa providing us with something #the rookie #therookieedit #love this #her laugh is everything #love them #they look like they have such a blast #eric winter #nathan fillion #melissa o’neil #gif #gifs #gifset #behind the scenes #bts

[starseneyes]

Chenford - Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 5 - Ep 11

"The Naked and the Dead" AKA "Chenford is SOOOO married"

SPOILER WARNING: I will spoil the entire episode, likely the entire show, and I am addicted to details. Please proceed with caution.

Everybody primed and ready to go? Let's dive in!

"Hey, let me do it."

Timelines are tricky on this show, so I really don't think this was after the "second" date, but later. We saw in the cold open that Nolan and Celina were on a case during the day, so I think Tim and Lucy have been sneaking in dates and we're MAYBE a few days or a week past the end of the last episode.

So, that cute little glance Lucy gives Tim before uttering "let me do it" made me squee. Yes, I squee like a little girl kicking in a too-tall chair. Let me flail. I'm good at it!

Tim steps back and lets his wife girlfriend get to work on the coffee machine.

We know he's into black coffee (and clearly she knows his order after all the years on the job together), and I bet if he has a machine at home, it's either a grind-and-brew to give him whole bean goodness in a more instant form, or it's that "one cup" model I gave my husband to keep at work. Insert coffee. Insert water. Brew.

"So, what'd you guys get up to last night." "Nothing!"

Tim. Oh, Tim. Remember last week when I said you should stop lying? Yeah... maybe time to take my advice because your "nothing" is louder than a lot of "somethings".

To be fair, Nolan did say, "You Guys", which might trigger Tim's Fight-or-Flight response. Fleeing the scene might have appeared less suspicious.

Lucy slips in with her well-practiced UC skills on full display. See, she's had time to prepare, this time, and she's not going to get caught in the early stages of her secret romance.

She rattles off her love of the new Chagall exhibit while Tim suddenly gets lost in the aroma of his coffee so he can't open his big mouth, again. He seriously can't even look at either of them.

Tim finds a spec of dust on the floor to admire, sips his coffee, and hopes nobody notices.

Also, can we talk about Lucy handing Tim his coffee!? I know she could have done it at any other time in their relationship. I mean, she was his Boot and then his Gofer. She's handed him MANY a cup of coffee over the years.

But there is something so bloody domestic about Lucy Chen handing her boyfriend a cup of coffee.

"Nothing? You had all morning to come up with a cover story and that's what you went with?"

First off, I love the tone change from Lucy sending Nolan off to confronting Tim.

Second, I love how Tim immediately has to right the wrong of him being perpendicular to her and set himself directly in front of her, feet pointing towards what he desires. (Any New Girl fans out there?)

"Woah, woah. He bought it, didn't he?" "Uhhh."

I love this teasing. Both Eric Winter and Melissa O'Neil excel at something I adore in actors... the Art of the HUM. It can be "uh" or "hm" or "mm".

I don't care which of the "H" "U" "M" s you use and in what combination, a great actor can use them to add layers to a scene and make it feel completely natural rather than written-in.

Chenford fans are blessed with both actors masterfully pulling it off. Think Matthew Goode in A Discovery of Witches. If there's a King of the HUM, it's him.

But these two are pretty high up there in terms of mastery.

"What if he had asked you a follow-up question about the exhibit?"

There's that competitive spirit coming out with these two. Tim wants to prove that his excuse is more fool-proof than hers.

And, Tim, while you may be the Master of Tests, Lucy is the Master of Cover Stories. Remember Dim and Juicy's meet-cute Lucy created that made you think naughty thoughts you tried to cover up with veiled barely-there compliments? Lucy's gonna school you, former TO.

"Let him. I read the catalogue to the exhibit cover to cover."

First off, how the hell does Melissa O'Neil make that line sound hot? The world may never know.

Secondly... BOOM, Tim Bradford! You've been schooled by the master! Lucy is the queen of preparation. For goodness sake, she read psych journals trying to prepare to break up with her ex-"Work In Progress".

Lucy has a pattern, and it's a good one when your SO becomes your SO and you don't want anyone to know... o.

"Mmhmm"

See? Master of the HUM.

"I hear you have Citizens Academy today." "I do. Do you have any tips?"

She trusts him completely, and I love that he immediately rattles off information to help her. At this point, he knows exactly what she needs to hear, and what will be useful to her.

Also, Tim's disdain for screenwriters is strong. Or someone in the writer's room is really tired of unsolicited screenplays in their inbox.

"So... um, what are you doing tonight." "Nothing... I hope."

Ooooh, Velvet Voiced Tim is back! Eric Winter puts this velvety quality into Tim's voice when he's in boyfriend-mode, and it's so bloody delicious.

I did VO for over 20 years, so I get SUPER excited about these little shifts in performance. Immediately, we know what he means. Yowza.

"Nothing sounds perfect."

Okay, I have to be upfront and honest, here. My original prediction was that they would not have sex for the first time off-screen and that they would not have sex this episode.

But when this scene dropped as a promo (and I love that they did widescreen with wings when it was too awkward for the crop), I second-guessed myself. Did they... do it off-screen!?

No. Now, I firmly believe, no. But this scene had me going for a minute!

Narratively, it makes more sense to drag it out. Yes, I know that in real life some people sleep with one another the moment they meet. But I believe for these characters in this moment... it makes sense to take their time.

But when I first heard they were doing "nothing" and they'd also done "nothing" the night before with only the morning to make up a cover story... I questioned my choices hard.

And now my mind's in the gutter.

Okay, readjusting. Let's get back to Tim's beautiful smirk as he watches his woman depart. "I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave", anyone? Our kitten is smitten.

Lucy On A Mission

Lucy works at the computer, lost in thought and using that big brain and compassionate heart of hers.

Aaron slides up, completely unaware of what's on her computer. He's ready to spill the tea, and the tea is standing right beside him.

"You'll never guess who's coaching Little League." "Nolan?" "No. Sergeant Friendly."

I love the glare Tim gives Aaron. Because it's his damn fault. But I also love Aaron poking fun at Tim. Their dynamic's been a lot of fun to watch this season.

"Whu- How did that happen? Can I watch?"

Ma'am. This is a PRECINCT. Please pick your panties up off the floor and resume normal operating function.

I mean, wow, Lucy! There was some heat in that question and Aaron is right there!

Lucy Materializes Out of Thin Air

I had to watch it twice to pinpoint where the hell she came from at the ball park. So, my initial surprise was akin to Tim's.

"Hey." Hi."

How. Is. This. HOT!? They're just saying "hi" and it's so charged with electricity the baseball field lights are about to turn themselves on. There is absolutely zero chill with these two since they started dating, let's be real.

"Um... who are you?" "What?" "I... the... a lot of heart? They're kind of a mess." "They're kids. It's supposed to be fun." "Yeah..."

I hear that edge in his voice on that line.

It's the same edge that gets into his voice anytime he discusses anything remotely connected to his father or childhood. So many of his choices are informed by the scars he still bears—physical and emotional.

Tim walks away, a little frustrated, because he can see Lucy doesn't get it. To be fair, he isn't explaining it. He's not communicating with her at all here.

But, also to be fair, he's never sought counseling or therapy for what he survived. There's a lot bottled up and it can be hard to pour it out in digestible bits if you've never learned how.

Genny fills in the gaps. That's all Lucy needs to process where Tim is and what he's going through.

I grew up with a lot of yelling, name-calling, and verbal and emotional abuse. Manipulation. Control.

One of my greatest joys is breaking those cycles with my own children—giving them a better childhood.

Tim watched the anger and the volatile nature of the last coaching situation here. He remembers his own father. He wants different for these kids, even if they aren't his own.

"He's trying not to be like him." "Yeah."

Lucy deflates a little, here. It was only silly puffery meant to tease, but now she gets it. Now she sees where this comes from, and she feels a little guilty. Of course, she didn't know, but now she does.

*Tim thumbs ups a kid dropping a ball* "Well, I mean, there is such a thing as over-correcting."

Here's where Lucy knowing Tim so well comes in. She doesn't try to talk to him about it. She doesn't try to tell him what to do.

Instead, she gets in there to help course-correct so Tim can keep being supportive, and she'll provide the structure so he doesn't have to have the anxiety of in any way resembling his father.

This is such a demonstration of love, to me. She knows he's not ready to deal with all of this. There will be a day—perhaps when his father dies—that he'll start to process through everything that happened. But, in the meantime, she'll help him through.

This is where Tim and Lucy live, now. It's a "we". It's an "us". It's something neither of them has ever had to this degree, before, even though Tim was married once-upon-a-time.

Lucy and Tim are a team, now, and this episode highlights why—they complement each other. They balance each other. They sharpen each other.

And in this way, Tim's very fortunate to be falling in love with someone with a pysch degree who can understand what's needed. She's the ideal partner to help with this because she knows him enough, now, not to push. But she also knows enough to provide a safe space for when he is ready to discuss.

"What are you doing?"

You never know what your girl is gonna do, do you, Tim?

To note, the last time he asked her this was when he was in the hospital recovering from spinal surgery. She was supporting him, then, too. She has a knack for it. (and I think the time before that was when he caught her putting boots in his locker... she also has a knack for pranks, of course)

"My name is Lucy. I am Coach Bradford's... friend."

Look. At. Tim's. FACE. Look at that bemused smile when she asserts she is his "friend". There was a time when he wouldn't even have accepted that moniker.

It wasn't until they were discussing her love life in the shop during the last 30 days of her training that she said, "we're friends" and instead of refuting it, he simply made a face.

And I love that she remains his friend even as they're transitioning into everything else. I often tell my children that my husband is my best friend—and I mean it. Nobody supports me like Matthew, lifts me up like Matthew, understands my trauma like Matthew, and makes me laugh like Matthew.

I love every layer of that man. And he loves every layer of me. And friendship goes a long way to getting to that point, I think.

Lucy rattles off instructions for how to throw a ball while Tim side-eye-fucks her and thinks of other things she can do with her hands as she's acting out the motions.

Come on, I'm not wrong here, people! Look at his face and tell me there aren't a few things happening in his mind that are not baseball-related but might involve running some bases.

Lucy disperses the kids, and Tim fires off a "You heard her" which is the Chenford Coaching Team equivalent of "Listen to your mother!"

He looks her up and down and smiles deliciously at Lucy, activating her praise kink in a delightful motion of her head.

Yes, Lucy Chen absolutely has a praise kink. And there's nothing wrong with that! But I love how Melissa O'Neil has been consistent with that little head swish Lucy does.

We've seen her do it throughout the years ("Maybe one day she'll be as good as you" comes to mind), and it never stopped. It only morphed.

Look at it at Lopez's wedding when he compliments her (in his way) and then asks her for a dance. Praise Kink Activated.

She does it at the end of 5x08 as we wait to fade to black, and there's a softer version of it when she's basking in Tim's adoration at the end of their first scene of 5x09 in the Watch Commander's office. Girl's got it bad for Tim Bradford.

He offers her the ball... but no he didn't. And I'm giggling like Lucy last episode because he's such a teenager around her, sometimes.

I've heard the expression all my life, "Love makes you young". I often think of Patrick Stewart wearing the Elf Song Hat while his wife recorded him (Google it... you'll die laughing).

With Tim, I feel like it resets him to before all the hurt and heartache in his love-life with Isabelle. He can be... free. Flirty. Fun.

But, seriously, Tim's the one who is going to get them found out for sure. Because, you know who had a front row seat to that eye-fuckery? Genny, that's who.

Y'ain't fooling anyone, Timothy.

"I think you two should co-coach. You were great together." "Oh, no, no. I'm ready to hand over the reins, entirely." "Not a chance."

I've thought about the layers in this little interaction quite a bit. Genny sees something here—whether it's the romance, the layered friendship, or the true partnership they've developed over the years.

But I feel like Tim's dealing with some self-doubt, here, and Lucy catches onto that.

I have a husband who deals with self-doubt. He's an incredible human, but I can tell when he's leaning into that and when I need to pull him back out and remind him how awesome he is.

I get that feeling here with Tim and Lucy. Maybe I'm projecting. But, I feel like he's saying, "She's better than me" and she's saying "No way, no how". Because he's not bad at this. Yes, he over-corrected a bit, but kids do need the support he offered. And Lucy brought the structure. They're better together.

I mean, just look at the way they're cleaning up together. Lucy's handing the bats to Tim and Tim's putting them away. They're doing it instinctively because helping one another and working together is completely natural, by now.

It's not something they have to discuss or consider—it's instinctual.

I've seen this in nature, before. A client of mine (yes, same client from last Meta) flew me out to Los Angeles a few times for work. I stayed with him and his wife, and I got to watch them work in the kitchen together.

After decades and decades of it being the two of them together, with no kids or anyone else in the way... it was like watching a dance.

That's Tim and Lucy. They move together rhythmically and naturally. May it be so in all aspects of their life—but I'm skipping to another episode that hasn't aired, yet, now!

"No, but seriously! I saw today why you work so well together."

And, Tim, poor, sweet Tim, opens his mouth. Tim can't get words out, and one look from his wife, and he knows to shut that mouth.

"We spend so much time together on, out on the job. It's so great that Tyler has been making friends so quickly after moving here."

Anyone else thinking Lucy's UC school was solely so she could cover up for her and her not-so-secretive secret boyfriend? Because, hello, it keeps coming in handy!

This is classic redirection. I use it with my children all the time. Just this morning my 5-year-old daughter was having an unusually hard time saying goodbye to go to school. Usually, she walks in without a glance back. Today, it was CLING city.

So, I went through the room until we finally finally found something to get her mind off of me so I could slip away.

Lucy's doing the same thing. She's pointing at something else in Genny's life to let that thought of "Tim and Lucy" slip away. It gives Genny something more personal to her to focus on, and shifts the conversation gently.

"We'll make sure he gets the best seat in the house."

Just thirty seconds ago, Tim was trying to get out of co-coaching, and they were both deflecting why they're great together, but now we're back to "we". Heck, we never left "we" for Tim and Lucy. They're a unit, now.

"What's wrong?" "There's something going on with my Domestic." "You want me to come? "No, it's okay. I got it."

Oh, how far we've come. In the past, if Tim said, "What's wrong?" to Lucy, it was surprising that he was taking interest. But, this is his girlfriend, and he knows her well. He looks to her phone for a clue as she approaches.

Then, he offers his help. This isn't TO Tim who wants to make sure his Boot doesn't mess things up. This isn't Sergeant Tim who is going to be backup for Officer Chen. This is Boyfriend Tim willing to be there for his woman, but asking what she wants because he knows she's more than capable of handling herself.

That's what hits me the hardest about this—he knows she's got it, but he's there if she wants him.

And I think that's why her "No" and the head-tilt comes off as intimately as it does... Lucy knows what Tim's offering and why. It's love he's demonstrating and she's sending a "message received" with that look.

And Tim's little "okay" downturn of his lip at the end of the clip even shows how he's not worried a bit. But he was going to offer. And I bloody love that.

Tim and Lucy and Wesley

I love this scene. It's so small and seemingly insignificant plot-wise, but it's the heart of the story, here. Okay, I'm tearing up a little.

PAUSE: TW Abuse CW Abuse

I don't want to give details, but I have people in my life who have been where these women are in the story. So, to me, I don't see the characters. I see my cousin. I see my friend. I see the girl when I was in college who was murdered by her boyfriend in the dorm.

In the case of the plot, this scene isn't necessary. But in terms of the context, it adds so bloody much. It's the message. It's the truth of what happens all too often. Gabby Petito is a recent case that made national headlines, but this happens all over, every day.

And what can we do? What options are there? How can we help? There is some heavy stuff in this episode. But, it's important for us to listen and learn.

END TW Abuse CW Abuse

I love that Tim has Lucy's back, here. She could have done this alone, but I bet she asked him along for his experience and for the weight of his strips in the discussion.

And I ADORE Shawn Ashmore (the sharp-eyed twin, as I've always thought of him), and there's something so irreverent about him sitting in that suit atop the desk that made me giggle a little the first time I saw it.

"Him and Bailey are just way too nice to be landlords." "Totally." *aggressive head-nodding Tim*

And like the Fool who took the stage immediately after the gruesome murder in the Royal Shakespeare Production of MacBeth (the Scottish play for my theatre siblings), there's the levity we need to help transition to what's next.

It's the rhythm of the scene and script where somehow this writer's room is tasked with heartache and hilarity in the same space. It takes skill to do well, and this scene does it well.

"Okay, hold on, you are a complete badass out on the streets-" *Tim question's wife's opinion aggressively* "Off hours, you're a little...." "Easy target."

Nolan's indignation combined with Celina's face make that moment. But it's all the rhythm of Tim and Lucy that gets us there. Tim and Lucy are still Tim and Lucy.

Lucy wants to try to find the compassionate angle, and Tim's going to tell it like it is.

Chenford Coach a Game

Tim and Lucy have me smiling ear-to-ear for so many reasons in this scene. Look at how sweet he is with the kids, making sure they have a good experience. Look how competitive she is. Miss "I like trophies" is coming out, and it's amazing.

"God, every time!" "Be encouraging." "Good. Good job. Good try." "We're gonna work on that."

Married. So married. Beyond married. This whole interaction is gold. And the matching hats and shirts!? Normally, I wouldn't think Prison Orange would be a good look on a cop, but these two pull it off!

Tim is coaching Lucy as much as he's coaching the kids. I see a little "teacher Tim" in that "Be encouraging", though far gentler than TO Tim. And his face right before he tells her, "We're gonna work on that" has me rolling. That little down-turned mouth cracks me up.

We're getting a sneak peek into their future with this one. And, as usual, Tim and Lucy are balancing one another out.

That's one of the things I really love about them. They're not the same person, like Lucy says his ex was. They're very different people who are on a parallel path and are willing to put in the work to make this work because they're worth it.

"I'm excited." "I know."

AHHHHHHH. I know it's a TINY, tiny thing, but the way that he so effortlessly leans into her, the way he cocks his head as he says, "I know." It's so married.

And I have to call out the camera work, here, and the directing. If we're paying attention, we see Nyla and Angela showing up as Blake goes to bat. From the other angle you might note Blake's father shooting to his feet as Blake's bat connects with the ball.

The director is allowing us to discover the story-line without dumping us in at that shot of Nyla and Angela surrounding Blake's father. And I bloody love it.

James Patterson (pre-ghost writers) took the same approach with his mystery books. If you were really paying attention, you always had the opportunity to discover the answer along with the detective. That was something the ghost writers just always missed.

It's fun to have the chance to be detectives yourself—and this director allowed us that chance.

And, I just looked it up. Robert Bella, again! That explains the composition of Tim and Lucy with the fence during the night scene at the ball-field—having Eric Winter take the two steps up so he'd be framed behind the fence instead of in the gap as Melissa O'Neil steps away for Lucy's call.

Anyway.... back to Blake's Criminal Dad...

I had hoped this was the way the story-line would go (with Blake's father being arrested at the end of the game), but I didn't call Nyla and Angela being involved.

So, that gives two more people front row seats to "Why the Hell are Tim and Lucy Coaching Together if They're Just Friends And Holy Crap Were They About to Kiss on the Sidelines?"

Also love the Genny is up there, and that she's positioned behind Blake's father. I don't know if she did it on purpose to help make him easier to find for Nyla and Angela, but that's my head-canon.

And LOOK at Tim and Lucy cheer Blake on! Married. So married.

Plus, that hi-five. I know we're all talking about what Tim has in his hand. Is it cash? We've seen him bet on things before (including that his Rookie would smoke everyone at firearm re-certification), but did Tim and Lucy bet on the game?

She definitely grabs on after the high five, and we see his fingers wiggling. Is he trying to get out of giving her the money? We might need Eric Winter and Melissa O'Neil to chime in on this one...

I have to say, I am loving domestic Chenford, and watching them find new layers to their relationship. I know a lot of people want snogging every week, but I am a huge fan of dolling it out in smaller dollops, much as the romantic aspects of this relationship have been leading up to "Do you want to go on a date?".

Yes, in real life, some people sleep together the moment they meet. Then, you have me and Matthew, who waited four years and until we were married. Lucy and Tim are somewhere between that, and I think they're doing what's right for these characters in this moment.

And I have to separate Chenford back into Tim and Lucy, for a moment, to acknowledge what might not be seen as "Chenford" to most, but totally is to me... Tim and Lucy had separate story-lines this episode.

Yes, Lucy came together on the baseball story-line. Yes, they converged at parts on the Domestic story-line. But, we got to also see them handle themselves without the other as backup. And I think that's so important for us to see as an audience—Tim and Lucy are still Tim and Lucy. They don't have to be together every second.

Tim was highly organized and communicative as a Sergeant in the shoot-out. We got to see his military-level calm and control on display.

For Lucy, we got to see her compassion, bad-assery, and conflict de-escalation without anyone having to back her up. She's a confident and competent cop.

Together, we love them. But I'm someone who also lovesTim and Lucy as Tim and Lucy—separate from Chenford.

I think it's important for the show to remind us who they are on their own so that we can appreciate them both, and not let "Chenford" become the only story-line for either. Both characters are rich and complex, and deserve the opportunity to shine separate from one another, not only when they share a scene.

PAUSE: CW Abuse TW Abuse

This story-line really broke my heart because I know those women. I've been the one in Lucy's position trying to help before one was nearly strangled to death by her husband. And she stayed... it was rough.

If you are in an unsafe situation, please reach out and get help. Here is the number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline: [phone]

I like to keep these Metas light and frothy, but I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge this plot line that isn't a story for two many people in this country and in this world.

Yes, we watch television often for entertainment, but there can be some truth in the messages we receive.

END CW Abuse TW Abuse

As always, thank you for reading and joining me on this ride. I can't wait to see what's next for Tim, Lucy, and Chenford.st

#CW Abuse #tw abuse #Chenford #Tim Bradford #Lucy Chen #Eric Winter #Melissa O'Neil #The Rookie #Lucy x Tim #Tim x Lucy #Meta #The Rookie Meta

[burningblake]

i'm officially fully caught up with this show and i have thoughts

first of all, GOD, chenford kissed and i thought it would be enough to satisfy me because hey at least it's canon and not just a bunch of writers trying to bait their audience, but at the same time, i have tricked myself into endless pain because they are NOT TOGETHER YET 😭 and i have to watch their kiss scenes again and again and dream up scenarios and I'm telling you it's been a full-time job today at least and it's exhausting 😭 on second note, how PERFECT are they for each other?! I CAN'T! just the looks they give to one another, the deep care 😭 i mean he looked at her across the bullpen and my heartrate went up. we were blessed by eric winter and melissa o'neil portraying these wonderful characters.

ANGELA LOPEZ OWNS ME.

S5 is so good so far honestly. They picked up on the momentum they had in seasons 1 to 3.

Also, the Chenford moments are so good, the angst is of the sweetest brand.

ASHLEY IS OFFICIALLY IN TIM'S PAST BAHAHAHAHAHA

I read many opinions on the break-up and I agree with all of them. Yes, if Tim had done it, it would have been more meaningful, and yes, if Ashley had at least named Lucy as the reason, it would at least have made sense. But at the same time, maybe it wouldn't fit the subtle tone they have chosen for chenford so far. Hear me out, right now chenford is happening quietly in meaningful looks and acts of service. If Lucy was brought up as a reason for tim breaking up with ashley, Chenford would suddenly become loud and lose some of their slowburn quality. Tim would have to face his feelings head-on and it's obvious the guy isn't even at the point where he fully recognizes what those feelings are. So yeah, as much as I would have liked a more meaningful break-up, I think I understand why they chose this scenario.

Anyway, that's my two cents.

#the rookie #the rookie commentary #thank you all of you who read my commentary all these days and welcomed me in the fandom it made it all so much more fun for me #<3 #chenford

[luna-rainbow]

Welp, Bucky confirmed for Thunderbolts… This is troubling lol. I feel like there might be ways to make it work but I really just have no faith in these people so I guess I’ll watch it, hate it and die mad about it. Excellent!

I was avoiding all MCU news in the hopes this wouldn't eventuate =/

I'm going to attempt to look at this as objectively as I can. Firstly, neither Zemo nor Sharon were announced. This doesn't necessarily mean Zemo won't appear, but if he does this probably means it's a smaller role, which is good.

Secondly, it's a decent team of actors. I mean, in general the MCU has been blessed with fantastic actors, but I'm sure Seb will enjoy playing off people like Florence Pugh and Wyatt Russell, who are both capable of such nuance and pathos. Before anyone jumps down my throat - because fandom has a propensity to do this - I'm not saying Seb's previous co-stars were not capable of them, but Seb has talked a lot recently about how much he enjoys working with new people and learning things through that experience.

Third, the main writer announced is Eric Pearson, so let's look at his track record. On the positive side, he was one of the head writers for Black Widow, which managed to acknowledge that the Widows were victims of brainwashing and could not be blamed for what they did under that brainwashing. The script also alluded to the fact that the Winter Soldier program was working on removing the subject's voluntary control over even basic motor functions such as breathing, and drawing a parallel between that and the Widows. If I looked purely at Black Widow's script, I would be cautiously hopeful that the Thunderbolts would do justice not just to Bucky, but to Yelena and Ava as well, who were both also victims of having their autonomy taken away from them.

What worries me, though, is that Pearson was also on the team for Thor Ragnarok, which didn't deal too well with nuance and grief. He was also the writer for at least 8 episodes on Agent Carter, and I haven't seen any good neutral writing (particularly where Bucky is involved) recently from Carter fans in the MCU writers room. And finally, it's unclear just how much his Black Widow script was polished up by other writers - after all, wasn't he the one that came up with the god-awful "are you on your period" joke, and ScarJo talked about how she, Florence and Cate Shortland were all horrified when they did their first reading and felt compelled to turn it into a statement?

What really grinds my gears about the concept of the Thunderbolts is that for the last few years the MCU has gone by protagonist-centered morality. Neither Yelena nor Bucky had a say in what they chose to do, Ava was indoctrinated in a similar way to Wanda was, and you could even argue Walker was too by military propaganda and Alexei by Russian propaganda. These are not people who made a moral decision to be grey, and I don't see why they get to be called a bunch of reluctant antiheros who have to be conscripted to do something good when many of them have been wanting to do good...when rage-driven mass murderers like Clint still gets the hero treatment. Thunderbolts would be a fantastic way for people like Bucky and Yelena to address their tormentors, and for people like Ava and Walker to make a statement against large military/para-military organisations indoctrinating their people by dehumanising both them and their enemies.

But let's be real, Disney won't do that.

(Tumblr glitching again D=)

#anti thunderbolts #yes getting the new tag ready #anti mcu #bucky barnes #asks

[blacklodgemusictx]

A Nuclear Approach Pt 1: The Plague

by Liz Berry

A lot of things were supposed to happen in the last almost-three years.  Humanity missed births, deaths, weddings, funerals, human interactions both formal and casual, concerts, ball games, huge swaths of careers that had previously never seen the outside of a cubicle farm suddenly had to be tailored to the inside of private homes.  You know.  You were there.

The pandemic wasn’t supposed to happen, we all howled, though statistically we were almost overdue (“once in every generation, the plague shall fall among them,” thanks, Mother Abigail!  M-O-O-N, that spells COVID.)

For Dallas music staple, Salim Nourallah, the thing that was *supposed* to happen was his album, “A Nuclear Winter.”

***

A Friday evening in January 2020, from a table at YAM (YOGA-ART-MUSIC in Dallas) I watched Salim preview material for his upcoming east coast mini tour with Rhett Miller.  The music making machinery in Salim’s head never stops, but the part that translates that live – especially when the live bits are far from home – requires a whole other set of switches, levers and pulleys.  Material. Polish. Present to audience.  Gauge reaction. Refine.  Wonder if the reaction will stay true for 1400 miles away.

The feeling that night was hopeful.  Salim would showcase the best and ear friendliest bits from the new Jesus of Sad EP, take said show on the road, and ranks of new fans would fall in behind him – the pied piper of Indie rock astride his velociraptor, resplendent in tennis visor and bathrobe.  All part of the plan: world domination one catchy song at a time.

(Collage by me: Stickerhead Salim from: artist, Eric Edwards , Pied Piper illustration from this weird 70s human behavior book I have, veloci-Jesus is from Salim's Jesus of Sad Ep)

Easy peasy.

In February, I was fortunate enough to follow along behind Rhett and Salim for this tour.  My husband and I lucked in to being able to sell Salim and Rhett’s merch for them— bless them, what do you do when people invite themselves along to your party?  Put them to work, of course.

It was a week of shows, living the very lightest definition of the rock and roll lifestyle (for someone who’s dreamed of that very thing since age in the single digits, you might as well call have called it On the Road fantasy camp.  If they’d asked US to pay them to do it, I would have started looking for a handy ATM), taking care of Salim’s tshirts and traveling merch display case – I didn’t find out until recently that suitcase is on the cover of Rhett Miller’s: The Traveler (thank goodness Salim didn’t tell us at the time as there’s no way I could have carted it around quite so blithely with the massive extra weight of that particularly kind of responsibility.)

We raced to have as much fun as possible with the specter of COVID breathing down our necks:  a flight attendant with a runny nose, people at the airports wearing masks (and, oh dear, it hit EXACTLY where we were not weeks after).  And we were successful for the most part.  There was a blizzard in New York (blizzard to a person from Texas, at least), but even the idea of the blizzard filled me with longing after the pandemic really, truly hit – though Texas had its own Snowpocalype February of 2021 and I stopped wishing for things because the intervening dumpster fire years all seems to have weird senses of humor (like nesting dolls, each year seems to be a bigger dumpster that the previous year fits in and it’s all a-flame.  It’s fine, everything is fine).

Our friendships went almost exclusively online – since the pandemic, since the world stopped/ended, since The Plague, since the Shit Went Down… call it whatever you want, but there’s one thing to be said for these unifying kinds of experiences:  we did it together.  Masked and sanitized in line at the grocery store, small talk turned in to “remember that time we almost froze to death? Almost died?” (subtext being “… and could still die” but only if you believed in science/germs/whatever – which a lot of Texas apparently doesn’t.)

Salim would call me.  We’d occasionally wax wistful about that time we had a blast on the road:  Logistics that were annoying to plan at the time, but felt absolutely crucial afterward because I honestly don’t think I could have made it through the last two years without the amazing memories we made.  How the planned future fun was now on hold.  What about the record? On hold (though Salim has produced enough material in the time I’ve known him, at times it was hard to keep the EPs and the album straight.) 

More time passed. 

The pandemic stretched on. 

Since touring with and befriending Marty Willson-Piper (former guitarist with The Church) in 2018, Nuclear Winter was meant to be The Album With Marty.  Well, Marty Willson-Piper was a million miles away – or might as well be – doing Marty Willson-Piper things.  I don’t even remember.  At some point he was in Penzance – which I actually had to Google because I probably thought Gilbert and Sullivan made it up.  You know… for their pirates. 

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

We all had things to worry about.

At some point, humanity decided the pandemic was boring and inconvenient so we declared it over and went about trying very hard to ignore it and the wheels of life that had ground to a screeching halt chugged gradually back to life.  At some point, there had to be a reckoning.  Years of labor pain is too long not to see some sort of result or a the very least some sort of closure. 

And the signal of this?  A Kickstarter campaign.  The album would be born in October 2022 when the finish line of $10,500 in pledges was crossed.  I watched the Kickstarter tick down from Salim’s own Galactic Headquarters – the listening room next to his recording studio—as he performed a show with former Travoltas bandmate, Paul Slavens (the band called it quits in 2019, but with new perspective brought by the pandemic, suits that still fit and a desire to give people the fun they crave, perhaps a revived two-piece affair might be in the offing in the new year.  Enquiring minds want to know!)

The goal was met and exceeded by $2357:

A Nuclear Winter is go.

You, reader, may enjoy ANW in May 2023.

In one of the few times in my life where I can marvel at the truth behind these words: I am special. I have this gorgeous work right. now.

Let's begin

(see part two)

#anuclearwinter #salimnourallah #paulslavens #thetravoltas #travoltas #covid #pandemic #quarantine #kickstarter #martywillsonpiper #thechurch #dallas #texas #producer #singer #songwriter #happiness #blizzard #snowpocalypse #snowmaggedon #new album #new music #jesus of sad #yam #yoga art music #rhettmiller #plague

[farfarawaygirl]

Okay, so I saw someone say that Tim was too flustered to complement Lucy on her dress after he blatantly checked her out, but after a rewatch and some thinking this occurred to me:

Tim doesn’t comment on Lucy’s looks, but he sure as hell tells Lucy that her police work is impressive. And, listen, Lucy knows she is hot. Tim knows she’s hot. But the things that set her apart, that makes her impressive and precious to Tim, are her head and her heart. She could be in sweats and he’d still be in awe of her skills. This is so much deeper than lust, or proximity, or even a crush, Tim is in love love, with Lucy. Every time Tim gets deep with Lucy it’s all daft based and very clear. He can’t flirt, but he sure as hell can communicate.

They both believe so fiercely in each other. The fact that they look so good while doing it is just icing on the cake.

#Chenford #tim bradford #lucy chen #the rookie #tv: the rookie #emma.rants #excuse me sir your feelings are showing #they’re in love and no amount of baiting will convince me otherwise #bless eric winter for looking like that

[karihighman]

Tim in s2: “I don’t do weddings.”

Tim in s3:

inspired by this tweet

#the rookie #tim bradford #man of honor #eric winter #the rookie season 3 #this is what we call growth #angela lopez #wopez wedding #Tim in a tux #he’s the best #bless eric winter for looking like that #lucy chen #chenford

[sankyeom]

picture perfect | k.m

pairings: kevin moon x reader genre: art student au, strangers to lovers, art!student kevin, actor!reader, another secret admirer situation (yes i know we already did that in my sangyeon fit but it’s cute so idc) summary: in which you find a sketchbook filled with drawings of you, and go on a mission to find the owner word count: 8.5k (these just get longer and longer wow) series: sankyeom’s 2k followers celebration

masterlist

Your psychology professor always spoke a mile a minute, and it made taking notes unnecessarily difficult. Usually when she lectured, your wrist cramped from writing so fast, and your classmates couldn’t wait to get out of the room. On one particular autumn afternoon, you stared into nothingness as your professor gave a lecture on Milgram’s experiments, running lines in your head instead of taking notes like you usually did.

When you were cast as one of the lead roles (who didn’t even have that many lines to begin with) in your University’s winter play of An Ideal Husband, you were ecstatic to be given a new challenge. You had never been involved in acting or theatre before University, and you always felt like you were behind your peers. Your excitement soon morphed into something less productive: fear.

You were so afraid to mess up and disappoint your peers that you frequently did poorly in rehearsals and were the source of your cast’s frustrations. Perhaps it was your lack of experience, or perhaps it was because you didn’t really have any faith in yourself. Either way, it was all you could think about.

As your classmates started packing up to leave, you realised that the lecture was over and that you had just been in your own head for over an hour without learning anything from your class. Scrambling to pack up, you put away your notebooks and pencils as your phone chimed. Checking the text, you saw a message from your friend Sunwoo asking if you wanted to get lunch with him.

Getting to your feet, you texted Sunwoo that you were down for lunch as you exited the now empty lecture hall. As you left, you felt your shoe come in contact with a solid object in the doorway; a notebook that somebody must have dropped on the way out. Knowing that you would want your notes back if someone found them – especially in this class, where your professor spoke way too fast – you opened the notebook to see who it belonged to.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t a notebook, it was a sketchbook. With a drawing of you on the first page.

At first, you scolded yourself for assuming that the person in the drawing was you. It was presumptuous of you, wasn’t it? But the texture, colour, and length of the person’s hair perfectly matched yours. The person in the picture had your eyes, skin, clothes, and smile.

Perhaps it wasn’t so arrogant of you to presume that you were being depicted in the drawing.

“That’s a lovely drawing,” Professor Shin, who was on her way out, complimented. “You’re an excellent artist.”

You glanced up from the page, feeling a little dizzy. “It’s not mine,” you admitted, head spinning at the idea of somebody drawing you. Plain, simple, me? You couldn’t believe it. “I just found it here on the floor.”

“Looks like somebody admires you,” your Professor mused, smiling before bidding you farewell, leaving you standing in an empty lecture hall, clutching the sketchbook in your hands.

You tried to find a name on the other side of the cover, but there was no number or form of identification anywhere. The only thing that alluded to an identity was the small signature at the bottom right corner of the drawing.

Moon scribbles.

The first time Kevin saw you, he was seated three rows behind you in one of his Cultural Anthropology classes last semester. You were jotting notes as quickly as possible, brows furrowed together in concentration as you gripped your pen hard enough for your knuckles to turn white.

Kevin didn’t take any notes that day.

All the could do was watch you, appreciating the way your expressions changed as you understood the content, and the hesitance on your face when you volunteered an answer during class.

He didn’t mean to start drawing you. You had simply inspired him to pick up his pencil and start sketching, the soft strokes of the lead slowly but surely forming shapes that resembled your eyes, nose, lips…  

Kevin didn’t think that you’d be all he could draw from that moment onwards. Even during his art classes; if the assignment was to study the scenery surrounding the University and draw a landscape, Kevin couldn’t get the image out of your face out of his head. Whether he used paint, charcoal, ink, or lead, it was your profile that emerged from his efforts.

Today was no different; Kevin was supposed to be studying the Psychology slides from class that day – which he hadn’t taken notes on because he was too busy sketching you – and yet he only had the urge to add the finishing touches to his drawing instead of facilitating his studying. Dragging his messenger bag over to his desk, Kevin rifled through it in search of his sketchbook. He had filled many, many pages with your face at that point, and it had become a habit for him to bring it everywhere with him in case he had the urge to draw.

Kevin furrowed his brows when he couldn’t find it. His heart pounded suddenly, the idea of him having lost his sketchbook in a place you might find it seeming terrifying and disastrous. After a final sweep of his bag – which included emptying it inside-out to make sure he didn’t miss anything – Kevin could only hope and pray that he’d find it before you did.

“You found what?” Sunwoo asked through a mouthful of noodles, his eyes comically large and rounded in surprise.

“A sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you replied in a monotone voice, knowing fully well that Sunwoo had heard and understood you the first time. This was the fourth time you had explained the situation, and it was starting to get a little old.

Eric narrowed his eyes, judging Sunwoo’s eating habits, before turning to face you. “Are the drawings cute?” he wondered.

“I wouldn’t say they’re cute,” you said absentmindedly, thinking back to the drawings you saw. After succumbing to your own curiosity, you had looked through the notebook to see what other drawings there were. You knew this was an invasion of privacy but you couldn’t help yourself. Surely enough, they were all of you.

“They were beautiful. Drawn in such detail that I couldn’t even believe it when I first saw them… And I look genuinely gorgeous in them,” you paused when Sunwoo scoffed at your words. “I’m not saying that to be vain,” you defended. “Trust me, I look much better in the sketches than in real life. Whoever drew them just… sees me differently than I see myself. I look beautiful in the pictures.”

“Your Professor’s right, it does sound like you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Eric teased you, pleased that somebody other than your close friends was starting to see how great you were. He wasn’t your best friend like Juyeon or Sunwoo, but he knew you well enough. “Did you get a name or anything?” he asked excitedly.

“Nothing,” you sulked. “I can take an educated guess that this person is probably in my Psych class since it’s the only class I have in that room, but who knows? It could be anyone that’s seen me before.”

“Maybe it’s one of your fans from the drama department,” Sunwoo poked fun at your cast members, not liking how they were treating you in rehearsals.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes, finally picking at your rice and starting to eat. “I just want to know who’s drawing me in such an amazing way. It’s so detailed that I assume it might be someone will a lot of skill, maybe an art major? But a lot of people draw as a hobby who aren’t art majors as well. Maybe-”

Eric interrupted you. “You’re thinking too much,” he said, trying to clam you down. “Just… slow down a little. Maybe they’ll come looking for it next time you have Psych? There’s no name or information so you can’t do anything to find them, anyways,” he rationalised, something that was usually your role in your friendships.

Your eyes lit up. “Moon scribbles,” you exclaimed.

Sunwoo gave you an unimpressed look. “Bless you.”

You ignored his cheek, taking out your phone and going onto Instagram. “The artist signed all of their drawings with a signature that says Moon scribbles,” you explained.

“You know it’s rude to go onto your phone during mealtimes,” Sunwoo replied.

You laughed. “I’ll be sure to remember that for the next time you do the same, Kim Sunwoo.”

After typing moonscribbles into the search bar, you saw an art page by the same name pop up. You couldn’t tell who it belonged to, as the bio vaguely gave information about the artist going to your University, studying art and being a pisces. Since the account was private, you decided to risk it and request to follow them, no matter how strange that might be if they weren’t the person you were looking for.

“I should have invited Juyeon out for lunch instead,” Sunwoo decided, picking at your rice dish in between bites of his noodles.

“Juyeon would rather hang out with Eric than you anyway,” you teased your friend back, knowing that Juyeon and Eric had a deeper friendship despite Sunwoo and Eric being the same age. Eric grinned, amused that the was the topic of discussion and not chiming in to deny anything. “And excuse me, I paid for lunch, you rascal! Now stop complaining, I’m done anyway.”

“Alright, fine. Did anything come up?” Sunwoo wondered, slapping your wrist when you tried to take some of his noodles. You rolled your eyes. Typical Sunwoo: always taking your food but never willing to share his with you.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

A few days passed without any response from moonscribbles on Instagram. You checked a few times a day to see if they ever accepted your request to follow them, but nothing ever came back. They didn’t deny your request, nor did they let you follow them either. It was frustrating, but it fell to the back of your mind after a week due to your schedule.

You had started doing full rehearsals with your cast members on stage for the play. At first, you thought that the setting might help you remember your lines and act without feeling awkward, but you were wrong. Most of your cast mates thought you got one of the lead roles for an alternate reason; perhaps you were related to someone on the University’s board and the director put you in because they wanted to keep their job. None of that was true, of course, but it didn’t help you make any friends.

The only friend you made was Younghoon, who played the lead opposite you, and with whom you frequently got together to go over lines and practice. He was one of those actors who was a completely different person from his role; he could keep be totally in character while doing his lines and the second the scene was over, he was back to his smiley self.

It didn’t help your confidence that he was an absolute pro. It only made you seem less competent in comparison, and you scolded yourself for even thinking that. Of course you knew it wasn’t Younghoon’s fault that he was simply much better at acting than you, but it definitely hurt your pride even more.

After another disastrous rehearsal, your cast mates had left to go backstage so you could have a word with the director. Younghoon sent you an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder before he followed your cast mates backstage, going over his lines in a faint whisper.

“Y/n,” your director began gently. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but what’s up with you?” You said nothing, prompting her to keep talking. “Your audition was really great. I knew I wanted you to play a lead role the second you were done auditioning. But you’ve been doing pretty poorly in rehearsals.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your director sighed. “Look Y/n, I still want you to play your role. I like your chemistry with Younghoon and I think you guys could be really great leads. But if things don’t improve, I’m going to have to replace you with your understudy for the sake of this production.”

Even though you knew it was the obvious thing to do, it still hurt to hear. “I understand,” you whispered, nodding as you glanced at the floor.

“I really hope you can figure this out,” your director said, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if I can help in any way, okay?” You nodded, and your director excused herself, leaving you standing at the edge of the stage by yourself.

You groaned once you were alone, taking a seat at the edge of the stage and letting your legs dangle over the edge. Welcoming the silence in the theatre as most of the cast had left for the day, you allowed yourself to lay back and close your eyes.

Why couldn’t you get this right?

Maybe I should just quit the play, you thought to yourself. It’s probably for the best.

When you heard the gentle patter of footsteps leading onto the stage, you spoke without opening your eyes. “Let me guess, you came to tell me how terrible I am too?” you uttered, not even caring who it was anymore.

The footsteps paused. “Um, actually, I’m just here to paint the sets…” a soft male voice spoke, causing you to open your eyes and sit up.

A familiar face stood a few metres away from you, paintbrushes and paints in hand. He had black hair that slightly covered his eyes, cat-like eyes and small lips that were pursed at the awkward interaction the two of you had just had.

“Sorry,” you apologised, getting to your feet. “It’s been a rough day,” you paused. “You’re Kevin, right?”

He looked surprised that you knew who he was. “Oh. Yes, actually.”

“I’m close with Juyeon,” you explained, realising how strange it might seem that you knew his name and recognised him. “I suppose I should probably have led with that.”

Kevin smiled. “No worries. I know you as well, you’re Y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” you replied, bending down to collect your script and other belongings, pushing them into your tote bag as quickly as possible. “I’ll get out of your hair, then,” you smiled at him, implying it as your farewell.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re terrible,” Kevin confessed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and starting to mix paints. You glanced at him. “Are you in your head a little? Maybe. But you’re far from terrible,” he assured you, his brown eyes brimming with kindness.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you replied. “Thanks. Although, you seem more like an artist than an actor,” you added, teasing him just a little. You couldn’t help yourself, he was pretty cute.

Kevin laughed. “Fair enough,” he allowed. “If you want me to brag about being the lead in Aladdin in middle school, then I will.”

You placed your tote bag on your shoulder, holding your hands up in surrender. “I take it back,” you said immediately. “You have more experience than I do on stage.” The two of you shared grins.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Kevin assured you. “If I can do it then you certainly can.”

He seemed really sincere, and you appreciated it. “Thanks, Kevin,” you said, feeling much lighter and in a far better mood than before Kevin had come on stage. “I’ll see you around,” you bid your farewells before exiting the stage.

You’d have to ask Juyeon more about his friend Kevin.

The next time you and Kevin bumped into each other was after one of your rehearsals a few weeks later.

You had improved in your rehearsal times, with a lot of help from Younghoon – who practiced with you in between classes – and Sunwoo – who you ran lines with anytime the two of you were together. When you were done rehearsing, your director had expressed how happy she was that you were starting to warm up to the stage and really get into the character the way she was hoping you would. Younghoon earned himself two week’s worth of free coffee from you, and your cast finally stopped glaring at you whenever you came to rehearsals.

“Oh, hey,” you greeted Kevin, who started coming onstage to work on the sets with other people who were involved in the production process. “Good to see you again,” you told him.

“You too,” Kevin beamed, his hair falling over his eyes just slightly. You had the urge to brush it out of the way so you could see him better, but you resisted the urge and scolded yourself for being so forward. “You guys are looking pretty good out there,” he complimented, waving at Younghoon as he left the theatre. His older friend gave him a knowing look, making big eyes at him and puckering his lips to tease Kevin about his crush on you.

“Thank you,” you smiled back at him, entirely clueless to Kevin cursing Younghoon with his eyes right in front of you. “The sets are really coming along too,” you commend him, gesturing around you. “It’s certainly adding some more colour to our rehearsals.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kevin replied. “Set painting isn’t exactly my vocation or anything, but it’s a fun way to help out with my skillset.”

“Skillset?” you echoed, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Ah,” Kevin cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m a fine arts major. So set painting is a little less refined than what I usually do. Not that I’m bragging,” he added quickly.

“Not at all,” you agreed, your eyes widening in realisation. “Fine arts, that’s a really cool major. You must be pretty talented to get into fine arts here, it’s such a competitive major,” your eyes widened in sudden realisation. “I’d love to see something of yours that doesn’t involve painting sets,” you motioned to the stage around you.

Kevin almost blushed. “Really?” he asked, his heart beat hammering in his chest at the idea of you seeing his art.

“Yeah,” you nodded your head eagerly. Partly because you were really curious about his art, but mostly because Kevin was pretty damn cute. “For sure! I mean, if you come to opening night of the play, I’d love to go see your art some time.”

“How’s this Saturday?” Kevin asked, his words almost slurring together at the speed he was talking. “The art department’s putting on an exhibition and a few of my drawings are going to be in it.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed. “Do you think I could bring some friends?”

Kevin nodded, his deep brown eyes brightening at the idea. “For sure! I already invited Juyeon but you can bring Sunwoo along as well.”

“Then I’ll be there,” you promised.

“Oh my god, are you touching the art?” you heard Kevin exclaim semi-loudly. You froze from your place, pointing at the water fountain from which you were filling up a cup of water to drink.

“What?” you asked dumbly, your eyes widening as Kevin smirked, hiding his laughter.

It was the Saturday of Kevin’s exhibition and you were doing your best to blend in with all the artistically-minded people in the room; admiring the paintings, motioning at the sculptures and pondering over the meanings behind the light exhibitions.

“I thought this was just a regular water fountain,” you tried to defend yourself.

“It is, I’m just messing with you,” Kevin shrugged, causing you to exhale in relief and slap Kevin’s arm.

“That was awful of you,” you scolded, unable to hide the large grin making its way onto your face. “You suck.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kevin retorted easily. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied. “So, when am I going to see your pieces?” you asked, motioning around the room. It was filled to the brim and people were bustling around the room to get a good look at every piece.

“Right now if you’re up for it,” Kevin suggested, waving as Juyeon and Sunwoo made their way over to the pair of you. You had excused yourself to get some water when Kevin spotted you and came over. “Hey guys. Sunwoo, good to see you again.”

“You too,” Sunwoo replied courteously, which was unlike him. Sunwoo knew Kevin vaguely through Juyeon, who was the same age as Kevin and had a lot of classes with him, and Eric, who Kevin often hung out with because they both spoke English. “Any of these yours?”

“A few,” Kevin said modestly.

Sunwoo nodded, looking around. “Are they good or are they more… conceptual?” he asked, his own way of asking whether or not Kevin’s art was a piece of crap or not.

You rolled your eyes. “Your eloquence astounds me, Sunwoo,” you said sarcastically.

“Well I might as well get to the point,” Sunwoo chided, glancing back at Kevin. “So?”

Kevin, who was observing you and Sunwoo with the same amused smile that Juyeon was, motioned the three of you over as he led you in the direction of his drawings. “I’m not so sure if they’re good, or conceptual, but I suppose you could judge that for yourself,” he told Sunwoo, coming to a halt in front of a display of drawings.

The drawings were lively and bright; colours in the form of pastels and charcoal bringing richness and warmth to the image. Most of his drawings depicted a faceless person. There were multiple drawings where the person was being portrayed from the back, and ones that were head-on didn’t have any facial features.

“These are amazing,” you breathed out, enchanted by the creativity of the drawings, as well as the immense detail that went into them.

“I like them,” Sunwoo decided, causing Juyeon to nod in agreement.

“They’re really good,” Juyeon complimented his friend, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you decided to put something on display this year.” Juyeon knew all about the artistic slump Kevin was in last year, so he didn’t have any art on display.

Kevin thanked Juyeon quietly, still studying your expression. “Can I ask why they’re faceless?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied the drawings further.

“Ah, that,” Kevin began, an uncharacteristic shyness appearing in his tone. “Well, I’ve been inspired by somebody for a few months now,” he explained. “I suppose I made my drawings faceless because I don’t want people to know who my muse is. I’m not ready to face how I feel when I draw them yet, and I think it’s too personal to put in an exhibition.”

You nodded your head, understanding where he was coming from. “That’s really great. I hope that one day I’ll get to see their face,” you said kindly, genuinely enjoying his art. Your eyes widened as you realised something. “Hey, do you know the other students in your major well?” you asked him.

Kevin raised an eyebrow at your sudden change of topic. “Yeah, I think so. We’re a small major and I have all of my 300-level classes with all the same people. Why do you ask?”

“Would you be able to recognise one of your peer’s work?” you inquired, the sketchbook in your dorm room burning a hole in your mind. He might be able to solve my curiosity.

“Maybe,” Kevin drawled slowly. “Why?” he found your sudden change of pace surprising. “What’s up?”

“Well, I found someone’s sketchbook in one of my classes and I was wondering who it belonged to,” you began, hesitating before bringing up the sketchbook you found in your Psychology class. “But they didn’t put their name on it so I can’t return it to the owner. It was really detailed and skilled work, so I thought they might be a fine arts major.”

Kevin’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

His worst nightmare had come true: you had found his sketchbook. His sketchbook that was filled with his heart-felt drawings of you. And here you were, asking him if he knew who it belonged to. Somehow, it was equal parts thrilling and mortifying.

Sunwoo, having heard about your secret admirer decided to check out a different part of the exhibition, but Juyeon – who was hearing this for the first time – stayed out of curiosity. “You found someone’s sketchbook?” he repeated. “What was in it?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Oh. Well, here’s the thing… There’s some drawings of me in it,” you admitted, feeling shy about divulging everything about the sketchbook to Kevin. “I just… I guess I want to meet the person that made me feel so vibrant and beautiful when looking at the drawings.”

“You have an admirer,” Juyeon realised, beaming at you; eyes squinting into little crescents. “That’s adorable. Does it say anything inside?”

“Yeah it does, actually,” you told him, giving him a smile before meeting Kevin’s eyes again. “All of the drawings are signed with the handle Moon scribbles,” you recalled. “No name or phone number, though.”

Juyeon’s brows furrowed together. “Kev, isn’t Moon scribbles-“

“A really interesting name?” Kevin cut Juyeon off, sending him the clear message that he wasn’t ready to tell you about the fact that you were his muse and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Getting the message, Juyeon eagerly agreed, thanking Kevin for finishing his train of thought. “Um, I don’t think I’ve heard of it before. But if you show me the drawings, maybe I could recognise the style?” Kevin suggested, coming up with a solution for you to find the owner of the sketchbook.

“That would be really great, actually,” you acknowledged. “I could bring it by the next time we hang out,” you suggested, excited to figure out who you should thank for their hard work.

“Next time?” Kevin echoed, excitement filling his stomach. “Are you really so eager to solve your mystery?” he teased you.

“Well, you’re not such a bad addition,” you added with a wink.

Kevin’s heart soared.

You met up with Kevin in the library a few days later to show him your sketchbook. It was good timing because you definitely needed to study for your Psychology class after zoning out in your last few lectures, so the library was the perfect setting to meet.

“Hey,” you greeted Kevin, taking the seat next to him on one of the sofas in the more secluded area of the library.

“Hi,” Kevin mumbled in return, his voice sounding quieter and more hoarse than usual. At first, you thought it might be the fact that he had to whisper that made him sound more quiet. Then, you spotted the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he was wearing glasses, which he didn’t normally do.

“You okay?” you asked him, seeing him stretch out and yawn in his seat.

“Me?” Kevin murmured, meeting your gaze with tired, glazed-over eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Not to sound like an asshole who’s telling you that you look terrible, which I’m not, but you look really tired,” you had to tell Kevin. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You look like you could use some sleep.”

“Sleep,” Kevin said the word like it’s funny. “Sleep and I… we aren’t friends.”

You smiled sympathetically at your new friend. “Up all night studying?” you wondered.

“Insomnia,” Kevin corrected you.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding. “So sleep is… a distant acquaintance?” you played off his previous joke.

“Something like that,” he allowed, moving his glasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. “I’m good, though. I look like this most days, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so,” you trail off, your concern still not being calmed by Kevin’s explanation. “We can do this anther time if it helps, though. I wouldn’t want you to be unwell because of me.”

Kevin grinned, adjusting the beanie on his head. “But I couldn’t possibly be unwell if I’m around you,” he said, pointing his finger in the air as if he had made an excellent realisation. “Now, show me the sketchbook.”

You pulled the sketchbook out of your tote bag and handed it over to him.

Seeing it right in front of him, Kevin could confirm that it was definitely his sketch book that you had found. Although the chances of another person on campus being entirely smitten by you to the point where you became their artistic muse was slim, it wasn’t zero.

“Can I,” he motioned to the sketchbook, asking for permission to open it. It was incredibly ironic, but Kevin was too embarrassed to come clean about the sketchbook being his.

“Go ahead,” you nodded, telling him to flip through the pages.

Kevin did so, pretending he was seeing all the drawings for the first time. He paused on every page, looking over the details in the sketches and the way they realistically depicted your features. Even though he was the one who drew them, Kevin could admit that the drawings were really great. They were great because he appreciated the subject and was inspired by you. That much was clear to anybody.

“Wow,” Kevin said when he was done looking at all the drawings, holding the sketchbook on his lap. “That’s… you,” he observed, as if he didn’t already know.

“So I’m not crazy?” you asked immediately, biting your lip. “That’s me?” you glanced down at the open page in front of Kevin, seeing the resemblance between you and the person in the drawing.

“Oh it’s definitely you,” Kevin confirmed. “Unless you have an identical twin somewhere out there, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s you.”

You let out a relieved sigh, leaning back onto the sofa. “Okay, good. I thought I was being really shallow and presumptuous at first but it’s good that you agree,” you told him, feeling a weight being lifted off your chest. “So, does it look familiar?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevin replied vaguely, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this one. “Do you think I could keep this? Maybe look over it a few more times when I’m not about to pass out,” he added.

“Sure,” you allowed. You trusted Kevin enough that he wouldn’t lose the sketchbook, since all of your mutual friends spoke very highly of him. Besides, you were becoming more impressed by him every time the two of you met. “I hope something comes up. I looked moonscribbles up on Instagram but their account is private and they haven’t responded to my follow request yet.”

Kevin had completely forgotten about his private art Instagram account. Before he was inspired by you to draw, he was in a serious slump and had been spiralling downwards. In this time, he made his Instagram account private in an effort to not think about it too much. Kevin scolded himself for not realising that you would look him up on social media to find him.

“That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically. “Maybe they’ll respond soon?”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, sighing. “I just… I want to meet them.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do you want to meet them so badly?” Kevin wondered. “Because they drew pretty pictures of you?”

“Kind of?” you replied unsurely. “That’s definitely part of it. I guess I wanted to meet somebody who thought I was vibrant and colourful and beautiful,” you shrugged, glancing down at your lap. “Because I don’t think that about myself at all. It’s why I suck at acting, and it’s why my cast mates hate me. I just thought that if somebody out there really thought I was special, maybe I would have a reason to believe it, too.”

Kevin felt butterflies rising in his stomach again, but not in a fluttery, nervous way. He was anxious about what was going to happen. “I’ll do my best to help out,” he said gently. “And Y/n?” you looked back up at Kevin. “I think you’re special,” he admitted. “A lot of people do. Juyeon, Sunwoo, Eric, Younghoon… You don’t need Moon scribbles to be special, you’re already special to us.”

A grateful, shy smile spread across your lips at his words. “Thanks, Kev. For your help, and for saying that. I really appreciate it,” you acknowledged afterwards, realising that Kevin was going out of his way to figure out your mystery while he was dead tired.

Noticing the shift in atmosphere, you cleared your throat and changed the subject, heart hammering. “I’m going to stay here and study for my Psychology class, so you don’t have to stay if you’d rather get some sleep.”

“Psychology?” Kevin echoed. “Are you taking it with Professor Shin?”

“Yes,” you groaned. “She talks so fast that my hand feels like it’s going to fall off after her lectures,” you complained.

Kevin laughed. “I can relate,” he commented. “I didn’t think you were in my class. I’m in section fifteen, what about you?”

“Section twenty-two,” you said, shrugging. “Although I’m glad to hear that it’s not just my class that she’s driving crazy.”

“Ditto,” Kevin agreed. “I actually have to get some studying done for that class too. You mind if I stay?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “It always helps to study with a friend,” you added, pulling out your notes and laptop from your tote bag.

After setting up all of your work, you quickly got to studying, cross-referencing terms from your notes to the textbook to make sure you didn’t write down anything wrong in your hurry. Kevin was silent and still beside you, which you took no notice of because you were so focused. In your distraction, he soon drifted off to sleep with his pencil still in hand, head lulling back to rest on the sofa as his eyes shut by their own accord.

Forty minutes later, you had finished both of the units on Social Psychology and furrowed your brows at an unfamiliar name. “Hey Kev, did you guys talk about-“ you paused after turning to face your new friend, seeing that he was peacefully sleeping, his head now leaning to the side to face you.

The sight of him sleeping peacefully warmed your heart, especially after he had talked about his insomnia earlier. Smiling, you pulled your headphones out of your tote bag so you could listen to the recorded lectures in favour of waking up Kevin to ask him for help. As carefully as you could, you slid the pencil out of his palm and placed it to the side so he could get some rest.

You spent the next half an hour studying in silence, until you noticed Eric, Sunwoo and Jacob walking up to you and Kevin. “Hey,” Sunwoo greeted you, earning a wave from you.

“Hi guys,” you whispered back. “What’s up?”

“Are you and Kevin dating?” Eric interrupted whatever Sunwoo was about to say, an excited glint in his eyes. “You guys are in the make-out section of the library!”

You made a face. “That’s why nobody’s here?” you realised, looking around and frowning. “No, Eric. We’re just studying together.”

Jacob grinned. “Looks like Kevin’s making really great progress on that front,” he teased. “I’m Jacob, by the way,” he added, since the two of you hadn’t properly been introduced yet.

“I’m Y/n,” you replied. “Nice to finally meet you! These rascals have told me all about you,” you motioned to Sunwoo and Eric, who beamed proudly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” Jacob replied. “And I’ve come to collect Kevin. If he doesn’t wake up soon, he’s going to miss his Ceramics class,” he explained.

“Aw,” you pouted, glancing over at Kevin. “He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, though. And he said he was struggling to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. “I hate waking him. Believe me, I’m his roommate so I see it all first-hand. But attendance is graded in this class, so…” he trailed off with a small shrug before leaning over and waking Kevin up.

Kevin awoke, eyes blinking drowsily as he took in the image of four people staring at him. “What did I do?” he asked, wondering what prompted all the attention.

You grinned, finding the sight rather cute. “Your wake-up service is here to tell you it’s ceramics time,” you explained.

“I fell asleep,” Kevin realised. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, feeling bad that you were studying in silence when you were supposed to be helping each other out.

“Don’t be, I’m glad you got some shut-eye,” you assured him. “Go get ready for your class.”

Kevin gathered all of his things into his bag and waved his goodbyes, trudging out of the library with Jacob. “So,” Jacob began, a wide grin gracing his features. “That’s Y/n?” he teased.

“Yes, that’s Y/n,” Kevin replied quietly.

“The famous Y/n?”

“Oh my god please tell me you didn’t say anything to Y/n.”

“What should I have said? Oh so you’re the Y/n that Kevin has been in love with all semester! The famous muse! Nice to meet you, I’m the guy that has to listen to him gush about you.”

“Don’t make me hide your guitar.”

moonscribbles accepted your follow request!

You sat up from where you were lying down on your bed, startled at the notification you had just received. Racing to open your Instagram app, you looked at moonscribbles’s account. None of the drawings on their account were of you, so you couldn’t decide if they were the right person. But they simply had to be. They went to your school, they studied art…

Braving it, you decided to send them a private message.

Hi! I think I found your sketchbook in Professor Shin’s lecture hall. How do you want me to return it to you?

You waited for a response, which came within a minute.

You can keep it.

You were pouting over your cereal in the dining hall when Juyeon joined you, his plate stacked high with all kinds of delicious breakfast foods. “Hey pouty,” he teased you, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge when he took the seat next to yours. His smile never failed to cheer you up, which is why your frown caused concern to grow in your best friend. “Why the long face?”

“I’m never going to meet moonscribbles,” you told him, your eyes uncharacteristically sad and shiny when they met Juyeon’s.

He startled at how upset you were. “What? Why would you say that?”

“They accepted my follow request on Instagram,” you explained. “And they told me I could keep the sketchbook. Then they went offline,” you recalled. “I guess I was wrong about them.”

“I’m sorry. Whoever they are, they clearly have no idea what they’re missing.” Juyeon frowned, sympathetic of your situation and confused about what Kevin thought he was doing.

“What who’s missing?” Jacob and Eric took the seats opposite you and Juyeon, their plates equally filled with breakfast foods.

“Moon scribbles,” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into it with anyone other than Juyeon and Sunwoo. While you were starting to get to know Jacob better, you didn’t feel comfortable enough around them to discuss the matter with them. And of course you loved Eric, and he knew your situation, but you hadn’t anticipated feeling so upset about Moon scribbles’s response.

“Kevin?” Jacob asked innocently, picking up his fork and elbowing Eric so he wouldn’t steal his food. “What did he do?”

Your eyes snapped over to Jacob. “What did you just say?” you asked. Juyeon’s eyes widened, mouth slightly open as Jacob revealed Kevin’s secret to you without even realising it.

“I was asking what Kevin did,” Jacob repeated. “You said Moon scribbles, didn’t you? Kevin’s artist handle?”

“That’s clever,” Eric chimed in, innocently eating his food. “Since his last name is Moon, and all.” Then his eyes widened and he realised the situation, his gaze snapping over at you to see how you were handling the reveal.

In that moment, you’d never felt like more of an idiot.

“Kevin is Moon scribbles,” you echoed, dropping your fork onto your tray.

“Oh,” Jacob paused, reading the room as he saw the way Juyeon was staring at him. “Did you… not know that?”

“No,” you told him, having lost your already minimal appetite. “He didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh boy,” Jacob said awkwardly. “I feel like I definitely just messed up.”

“No, no,” you denied, waving your hand in Jacob’s direction. “Not at all. I’m just glad that I know who it is,” you tried to convince him, as well as yourself. “Did you know?” you asked Juyeon. “That day at the exhibition… You were trying to tell me that you knew it was Kevin, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I knew,” Juyeon replied slowly, confirming your suspicions.

For a moment, a dull pain ached in your chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, hurt that your best friend had lied to you.

“Because I figured Kevin wanted to tell you in his own time,” he explained. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, I just thought he’d do the right thing and explain it to you himself. It felt like it wasn’t my news to tell.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “I understand,” you got to your feet, grabbing your tray after putting your bag on your shoulder.

Juyeon stood up with you. “Are you upset with me?” he asked. “Because I understand if you are.”

You did your best to smile, not caring if it looked real or not. “I’m not upset with you,” you assured him. “I’m upset, but not at you. I have to get to the last dress rehearsal before opening night, so,” you glanced over at Jacob and Eric, who both looked mortified. “Enjoy your breakfast,” you told them before putting your tray away and walking to the theatre as quickly as you could.

“Hey!” your director greeted you when you came in, beaming. “You’re like a half hour early,” she observed.

“Oh, I’ve just come to go over lines and talk to some friends,” you lied, smiling at her before stepping backstage. The set design volunteers were adding last-minute touched to their sets, and you knew that was where you’d find Kevin.

“Hey,” he greeted you when you arrived in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Moon scribbles doesn’t want their sketchbook back,” you told him, as if you didn’t know that he was Moon scribbles. “So you don’t have to keep looking for them,” you added.

“Oh, okay,” Kevin nodded as if he didn’t already know this. “Did you want the sketchbook back?”

“You can keep it,” you declined, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s rightfully yours anyway.”

Kevin paused his painting. “It is?” he asked, voice squeaking just slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, Moon scribbles,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Besides, it’s the only way you’ll get to see me ever again, anyway,” you added, frowning as you turned around to go. “Bye, Kevin.”

“Wait,” Kevin put his fine paintbrush down to stop you from leaving.

“What?” you asked him, facing him with a raised eyebrow. “You know what, I actually really want to hear this. What exactly is it that you’re going to say to save this situation?” you wondered.

Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for it to go on this long,” he began.

“That’s a joke,” you accused. “You knew how much this meant to me! Just admit that you were never going to tell me that you’re Moon scribbles.”

“How could I tell you?” Kevin exclaimed, startling you with his sudden increase in volume. “How could I just come forward and tell you that it was me? What would you have thought of me?”

“I’d have thought more of you than I do now,” you retorted. “Look, I get it now. I read the situation all wrong. You don’t think I’m special or vibrant or any of those things. You just drew me because I was there, I suppose,” you decided, feeling your heart dropping in your chest at your own words.

“That is not true,” Kevin denied, shaking his head. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I suppose you might have though I was pretty if you drew me,” you allowed. “But clearly, I was putting too much onto this whole Moon scribbles thing, and it didn’t mean anything to you at all. Which is fine, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It just sucks that you couldn’t just tell me that to my face,” you confessed wholeheartedly. “But it’s fine. You can just go back to drawing your faceless muse now, I’m over it,” you lied.

“That’s not why I didn’t want to tell you that I’m Moon scribbles,” Kevin insisted. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I drew you just because you’re beautiful.”

“That worked out well,” you muttered.

Kevin sighed. “I don’t care about your looks, as ironic as that sounds. When I first saw you… You exuded an aura. I know that sounds cheesy and not everyone believes in vibes or energy, or whatever, but it’s true. You inspired me to draw and be creative,” he explained. “But I liked you when I met you. When I saw you in class and when I saw you around Sunwoo and Juyeon. You don’t get it. You are my faceless muse. You have been ever since our Cultural Anthropology class last semester.”

That stopped your train of thought. “You were in that class?” you repeated, confused.

“Yes I was. The first time I saw you… I swear, I haven’t drawn anything other than you since that day,” Kevin’s tone was uncharacteristically serious, and you felt inclined to believe him. “No matter how hard I tried. Flowers turned into your eyes, landscapes became your hair; I was a man possessed. I still am.”

“Then why not tell me all of this?” you wondered, frustrated with the situation.

“I thought that if you found out I was Moon scribbles, you’d just think I was shallow,” he paused. “Or worse.”

You rose an eyebrow. “Worse?”

Now it was Kevin’s turn to sound frustrated. “I mean, I’m not so great and special. I figured you’d be disappointed that it’s me.”

Your heart clenched for him. “How could I be disappointed that it’s you?” you asked him. “You’re great. It’s me who’s awful.”

“You aren’t awful,” he denied. “You’re so much greater than you can see. Don’t you get it? You inspired me to create after the most awful year I’ve ever had artistically. I drew you instead of studying, I drew you instead of leaving my dorm, hell, I drew you instead of sleeping. You didn’t misunderstand anything. I do think that you’re special, and vibrant.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Okay,” you spoke quietly, your mind spinning in circles. “I believe you.”

Kevin nodded. “Good.”

You nodded back at him, unsure of how to continue. “So… You have a sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you decided to tease him, just to bring some of the usual lightheartedness you felt around Kevin back.

Kevin visibly reddened at your words. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said it was just one,” he confessed.

You brightened at his words. “You have multiple sketchbooks full of drawings of me?” you exclaimed.

“I made drawings of you for the art exhibition,” he reminded you. “I haven’t been able to draw anything else for seven months. And I draw a lot, so the sketchbooks just started piling up. Plus my iPad,” catching the delighted glint in your eyes, Kevin cut himself off. “You know what, we don’t have to talk about my iPad.”

You smiled, flattered that Kevin had been so inspired by you. “Well, thank you. For filling sketchbooks and iPads and whatever other mediums with drawings of me. You made me feel seen for the first time in a really long time, and I appreciate it,” you acknowledged his efforts. “Is this why everyone acts so weird when we’re together?” you put the pieces together.

“What are you talking about?” Kevin asked, dreading your answer.

“Eric practically skips over to me whenever he sees me now, asking about you and all kinds of other things. Jacob is a lot more subtle, but he looks at me like a proud dad sometimes,” you explained.

Kevin rested his palm against his forehead. “Why are they so obvious?”

“The real question is: Why was Juyeon the least obvious,” you retorted.

“I think he just wanted us both to figure things out in our own time,” Kevin mused, earning a hum and a nod in agreement from you.

“Hey Y/n,” Younghoon poked his head around the corner. “We’re getting ready for rehearsals. Are you going to be done in time to change?” he asked, eyes flitting between you and Kevin.

“Yeah, I’m good to start getting ready. Thanks Younghoon,” you agreed, grateful that your friend wasn’t making a big deal out of what he might have overheard. Younghoon nodded, disappearing with a wink to get himself ready. “Well, that’s my cue,” you trailed off, motioning to the backstage area where you had to get changed for your last dress rehearsal.

Kevin nodded, slightly upset that your conversation didn’t come to a closure yet. “Okay,” he replied. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

You agreed with him, grabbing your bag from where you dropped it on the floor and making your way to the changing rooms. Before you opened the door, you turned back to face Kevin, who had been watching you leave. “I came to your exhibition, so you have to come to opening night,” you reminded him of the agreement the two of you made.

“I’ll be there,” Kevin assured you, taking it as a sign that the two of you could still – at the very least – be friends.

“Good,” you smiled. “And after opening night, we have a few days off so I would definitely be available, say, Wednesday?” you informed him, hoping he’d get the idea.

Kevin brightened up, his posture straightening suddenly. “Oh?” he stammered. “Would you maybe want to get dinner on Wednesday?” he offered. “Like, a date?”

You grinned, your eye dropping into a wink. “What an excellent idea,” you told him. “By the way, don’t bother asking the boys about what I like, they’re completely clueless. My favourite flowers are peonies.”

“Peonies,” Kevin repeated, accompanied by a nod. “Any preferred colour?” he asked, giddy with excitement at the outcome your confrontation had.

You shrugged. “Surprise me.”

note: okay i know you guys waited forever for this so thank you so much for your patience!! i hope you guys enjoyed it xx

#the boyz #the boyz imagines #kevin #kevin imagines #kevin x reader #the boyz x reader #the boyz scenarios #the boyz drabbles #the boyz fanfic #deobiwritersnet #tbznetwork #kevin moon #2k celebration

[ohheyitsokay]

Heyyyy 🥰

Can i request “Your parents know who your soulmate is and are not obligated to tell you but they’re not allowed to lie.” with Frankie Morales ? ♥️

Ps: have a nice day 😘

Hi, love! Of course you can! I’m not gonna lie this was so hard for me for some reason. I think it’s because because I have 0 information about Frankie's parents and no way to make a universal parent experience for the reader character? RIP me but thank you, nonetheless, and I hope you enjoy :) and have a nice day, too!

wordcount: 1.1k

warnings: none

>>

In a warped way, you felt lucky to have one of the universe's soulmate-finding options that left you a little, tiny bit of free will, so you took it and ran. Your parent’s knew, and you asked them not to tell you, to keep it to themselves, or better yet, pretend they didn't know or didn't care.

You told yourself it was because you ached for the adventures of books, even for heartbreak, and for falling in love. The looming pressure of a soulmate could ruin the picture, or so you thought. It wasn’t about control, just... trying to let one thing still be messy, in a world where most people entered their soulmate information into internet databases and took the magic right out of the whole thing.

Besides, you were young, your parents told you. Back in their day, it took decades to find your soulmate, and mistakes were still made all the time without modern technology. And it felt safe, that if you ever wanted to know, you could just ask.

Dating was hard, but wasn’t is always? You met douchebags who believed they were too great to be limited to their soulmates, people desperate for experiences, people just wanting entertainment before they’d inevitably move on, all of it. You made some memories and stories and friends, and surprisingly enough, found a little bit about yourself along the way.

You met a man named Eric, who you talked to for awhile. He had found his soulmate when he was young, before they passed unexpectedly, and he was trying dating outside of the soulmate pool. You laughed over shared experiences and warm drinks and human connection for a blissful winter, before he decided he needed to let himself be on his own, for awhile, and you were back to square one. 

It hurt more than the others.

The whole spring was spent taking yourself on dates, counting your footsteps on long walks, buying yourself flowers, and breathing in pollen-filled air. When you sneezed you imagined your neighbor’s cat, in the window, was blessing you. 

Rebuilding felt good, all through the summer, and when fall rolled around, something happened. For the very first time, you thought, “I wouldn’t mind if this was the way it was for the rest of my life,” and meant it. You were enough, the whole time. 

And then, because fate sometimes has a sense of humor, you met Francisco.

He held the door open for you at your local bakery, and introduced himself when you paid him back with a pastry for his daughter. You liked how he ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up, when he bashfully admitted he had left his wallet at home. The little girl clinging to his leg made you smile, and you noticed the tan line where a wedding band had once been. It reminded you of Eric, and there was warmth in your heart instead of pain. 

Like in a movie or storybook, you wrote your name and number on his napkin, and wondered if the universe was giving you both a second chance. 

As you left the shop, you mother called, asked if you wanted to meet her for dinner. She did that sometimes, and she was growing too, so you agreed. Not even thinking about soulmates as you fiddled with your salad and told her about your day, until she reached across the white linen cloth and grabbed your hand. You had been mid sentence talking about the look in Francisco’s eyes when you gave him your number, too distracted by the memory to catch yourself.  

You stared at her for a long moment, then a second, then a third. When you blinked, you realized your eyes had dried out, and they stung. Her hand moved to touch your cheek, not even focusing at how she was leaning over the table like she normally would.

“Don’t tell me,” you whispered, suddenly afraid. 

“I wont,” she said tartly, as if it hadn’t been on the tip of her tongue, and you almost rolled your eyes as she pulled back. There was something on her face, though, that you tried desperately to ignore.

When you got home you had a missed call, and a small pile of texts from the same number. You knew, even before you opened them, feeling a tingle every time you moved.

6:14p It’s Francisco, the guy from the bakery this afternoon

6:15p Would you want to have dinner with me tonight?

6: 22p I just realized it’s too late, sorry

6:54p Maybe tomorrow?

7:48p Hello, sorry for all the messages - I’ve been told I’m coming on to strong. It was nice to meet you. I’d like to get to know you sometime, if that’s okay. Have a nice evening.

8:04p fne-@

8:12p Sorry, that was my daughter. 

 You were laughing, but your stomach flipped, and you called your mom. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to tell you,” she said, and you were surprised at her self-control. And then, “I think you already knew, before we even met. And I think you know, now.”

You did.

-

It was your mistake, to sit on a chair in the kitchen instead of going to find Frankie. He found you, instead, and settled in your lap, careful to balance so he was almost crushing you with his weight. His arms wrapped around your head, squishing it into his chest - the perfect spot to hear the rumble as he laughed.

"Can I tell you a secret, baby?"

"Do I have a choice?" your voice was muffled, but your joy was clearly overriding your annoyance. Frankie stood, freeing you and helping you stand, before trapping you between himself and the chair. You bent to meet his eyes, and would've been forced to sit again, had you not wound your arms around his neck.

"Tell me," you said, and he kissed you.

"I didn't forget my wallet, that day."

"What?"

"That first day we met, I made you buy me a pastry?" You stared at him.

"That pastry wasn't for you." You felt him shrug, smiling.

"I already knew you, knew you wouldn't want me to just tell you I was your soulmate," he confessed. Kissing the patch of skin poking through his beard, you wondered if you should be mad that he tricked you. It didn't seem to matter much, now that you where in his arms.

"That's okay," you murmured, and he raised his eyebrows at you. "I already knew, in my own way."

Frankie kissed you again and you heard the patter of little feet running towards the kitchen and that cliche at the end of storybooks? It fit.

>>

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

#soulmate requests #Francisco Morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie x reader #catfish x reader #maybe i dont know people #thoughts from elle

[writeblrfantasy]

i am thrilled to present to you another short from acogs: khyris mi'hail, or khyris the beloved in my conlang!

i'm especially happy with this one, but i say that about all of them, don't I? this one is inspired by the story behind the hanging gardens of babylon, how the king had them built for his homesick wife.

like most of my shorts, you don't need to know acogs to understand this <3 enjoy!! word count about 5k

~

“Everybody wake up, c’mon, everybody up!” The sound of pans banging together accompanies Major Malika’s shouts.

Khyris has been awake for an hour already, but he still groans at the thought of leaving his warm cot. The other corporals in the tent with him grumble and swear at the major with more colorful language than Khyris would dare risk.

Khyris sticks his head out of his blankets, bracing against the freezing winter air and squinting into the bright morning light of the tent. A few bastards who wake with the sun are sitting on the floor drinking coffee, the smell of which finally draws Khyris out of his warm cave.

“We were afraid you were dead,” says Eric, mumbling like he’s half dead himself. “You don’t move at all.”

“Nice to know you’re watching me sleep,” Khyris retorts, pulling on his three extra layers to fight back the biting chill. “Give me some of that.” Coffee in his system makes him feel a little more human, enough to make him realize there’s a group huddled around the morning campfire just outside.

Khyris joins them, coffee in hand, and finds them all staring at a map. “What’s going on?”

“Big news today,” Aeron says, grinning, full of energy no matter the time. “The queen’s visiting.”

Khyris almost spills his coffee. “What? Why? That man couldn’t lift a sword to save his life, what does he want with us?”

“Stow your hatred for a moment, my dear Khyris. He’s here to pick a spouse.”

Khyris stares, then laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The other’s smiles slowly fade. Delia stares into her coffee like it holds the answers of the world—or more accurately, an escape from Khyris.

“You are serious. Sweet Cai.” Khyris buries his head in his hands. “Explain.”

“He’s here exactly because he can’t lift a sword to save his life. He wants someone who can. Solid strategy, I think.”

Khyris shakes his head. “He has hundreds of willing options back at court, the experienced soldiers paid too well to be out on the field. Why doesn’t he pick from them and leave us alone?”

“He doesn’t want a lazy court soldier. He wants a fieldman. Someone he knows he can trust with his life.”

“So he wants a bodyguard for a spouse, is what you’re saying. I thought he already had a team of those.” Khyris looks around. “Do you think Major Malika would notice if I disappeared for a week or two? Tell her I was indisposed. I was longing for home. Let me be a deserter, anything but having to see that bastard’s face.”

“Why are you so against him?” Aeron asks.

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about any of us. He just throws money at us, gives us more orders to build more cities, and every year checks in to see how we’re doing. He’d rather entertain the fools and artists of his court than pay mind to us.”

“So you don’t want to see him, but you’re mad he hasn’t come yet? Make up your mind, man!”

Khyris sighs. “I just don’t think you all should be kissing his ass, is all. He should be appreciating what we do for him. We just finished building him al-Hasa, he should be grateful.”

“We’re not kissing—” Aeron breaks off into a devious grin Khyris has seen before, and it’s never ended anywhere good. “You like him, and you’re mad he doesn’t like you back?”

Whistles and laughter go around the fire. “What?” Khyris sputters. “This is the queen we’re talking about, not some barmaid. You lot are ridiculous.”

Apparently happy with being labeled ridiculous, what Khyris thought were friends begin singing, “Khyris the Angrily Smitten” in an off key parody of a song he can’t remember.

“You sound like you’re drunk and it’s only sunrise,” he says in disgust, burying himself in coffee, his only friend this morning.

Later that day, he’s in the middle of a group training session and managed to forget about the queen’s newest joke. The stress of the major’s shouts during exercises in the middle of winter doesn’t leave much room for Khyris to think about anything else, though Aeron finds a way around it as always. Aeron’s only here to support his family’s farm—cooperation doesn’t matter much to him as long as he still gets paid.

In the middle of another round of hot yet cold push-ups, Major Malika calls for a sudden stop. “His Majesty is here,” she snaps. “I want to see some salutes, hear some respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Major,” they chorus, lining up to watch His Majesty Amoun’s brown and gold carriage pull up to the campsite. Khyris’ left hand goes to the side of his head like all the others, trying to keep his eyes in line as the carriage stops in a cloud of dust. The door opens with a click, and out steps a shadow cloaked in black, unusual for Kadar. Khyris’ eyes drift despite himself.

Khyris forgot how young the queen is, and how attractive, despite his own dissenting opinions. A dark, neat sheaf of hair and mustache frame a smiling face. His long winter cloak shows hints of Kadar yellow in ribbons and pins, but otherwise everything from the fur to his shoes is black.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Malika says with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Major. I’m delighted to be here.” Queen Amoun approaches the line of soldiers with his coat sweeping out behind him, just short enough not to get dirty on the sand. The soldiers drop their salutes as Amoun slowly walks in front of them like he’s inspecting them. Khyris fights not to close his eyes and disappear into a safer, less ridiculous world. He has many choice words for the queen, but keeps them all wisely to himself.

Amount is just passing Aeron and Delia, about to pass a stiff Khyris, when he stops and looks him up and down. “What’s your name?” Amoun asks.

Khyris swallows, cursing Cai in every way. He can feel Aeron’s traitorous, poorly smothered grin on his profile. “Khyris, Your Majesty.”

“Khyris,” Amoun repeats, slowly, like the sly tongue of a snake. He grins. “What a beautiful name.”

What to say to that?

Amoun solves the problem for him. “I look forward to seeing your face during my trials, Khyris.”

Khyris’ mind races, thinking of the Cairic Trials of Taru. They are Kadars, dammit, not Cairic. But, if the queen wanted to find a spouse who could defend him, there is not a much better way than that. “Trials, Your Majesty?”

Amoun laughs, a gentle, warm sound. “Wipe that fear off your face. I am not referring to the Trials of Taru, as thrilling and testing as they are. The trials I have created are much simpler, and will be much more to your taste, if that quiver on your back means anything.” He takes a step back so more soldiers can hear him.

“I wish we had a forest to do this, but alas, we are not in the north or in Tel Cairis. As you can see, there are three targets there.” Amoun gestures grandly to the three red targets being set up several hundred paces away, in the middle of the desert. “Whoever can perfectly hit the three targets”—he pauses for effect— “will get a private dinner with me.”

Khyris struggles not to laugh.

“The trials begin immediately, for all of you,” Amoun says. “You are soldiers, I’m sure you’re used to quick thinking and quicker requests. Come on, now.”

Khyris shuffles into a single file line with the others, Aeron at his back. “Not a word,” he hisses.

“Not a word,” Aeron echoes, but Khyris can hear his grin. Worst of all, he begins humming that awful song, Khyris the Angrily Smitten. He actively wishes for death even as he’s pulling his bow off his back and nocking an arrow into it.

Fail Amoun’s stupid target challenge. The easiest task in the world. He’ll be officially taken out of consideration, free to go back to the idiots at the campfire in the morning.

His focus drifts in and out while waiting for the other soldiers to shoot, even if they’ve never touched a bow before. Evidently Amoun believes miracles are possible. He seems like the type.

Amoun stands to the side of the line drawn in the sand where the archers must stay and shoot, his presence undoubtedly helping no one. Ever since he was a child, Khyris couldn’t stand people watching him practice or hunt. He savored the quiet of the northern forests where he grew up, savored the peace and focus in his heart while he hunted his family’s dinner. To have anyone else watching him, waiting, judging if he shot wrong, would ruin that sacred peace.

He sighs and shifts his weight impatiently.

“Relax, would you? You’re the best archer here, I have more reason for nerves than you do,” Delia says from somewhere behind him.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Khyris says. “I’m afraid I’ll do well.”

Someone scoffs ahead of him. He doesn’t keep his dislike of the queen private, but the way Amoun looks back toward the sound makes Khyris flush. Please don’t notice me, don’t notice me, look away.

“Then miss and make a fool of yourself,” Delia says. “You’ll be known as the army’s best worst archer, but not the queen’s spouse, a title I wouldn’t mind having. It’ll be a steady source of income for my family, at least.”

Khyris smiles. He and Delia became friends because of their similar situation. Aeron barged his way into their lives with no possibility of leaving. “I’ll be in the front row at your wedding.”

“I’d prefer your blessing on my bow.”

Khyris watches sorry swordsman after swordsman point their bows at the targets only for their arrows to land somewhere far off in another direction. Major Malika barks at them that they’ve failed, which is not an unusual thing for her to say, but they’ve never had to perform in front of the queen before.

People who have never touched a bow in their life still stutter and apologize for wildly missing. That’s the effect the queen’s presence has—not that it affects Khyris, of course. He glances sympathetically at the losers and thinks, I’ll be joining you in a minute.

At last, it’s his turn. Major Malika orders him forward with her usual grit, but Amoun is smiling with his big brown eyes and it’s every bit as unnerving as Khyris predicted.

“Let’s see what you got,” he says quietly, where only Khyris can hear. Khyris grits his teeth, mentally ordering him to shut up and let him focus.

Why is he trying?

Because it’d kill him to miss, he decides. He hasn’t missed since he was eleven, and he won’t start now. He has too much pride in his finest skill to be a laughingstock. Major Malika would know he wasn’t trying and would make him try again. He’s too good an archer for his own good.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore Amoun’s presence, and lets the bow do the work.

The first arrow hits. He doesn’t stop to check. His focus is on the second target, and a minute shift of his position readies him for the next shot. Khyris disregards all other sound but the grip of his fingers adjusting on the bow, the whoosh as the arrow flies free. He can’t quite block out the gasp Amoun makes, but shaking it off is easy.

The wind begins picking up just slightly, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Khyris knows the song of the bow like his own skin, and it’s not what he needs.

You’ve done well, says the voice in his head. No one will believe you purposefully failed if you miss. You will be free, and your dignity will be intact.

The other archers shot in quick succession, too eager or humiliated to wait. Khyris knows he’s already taken longer than anyone else, but he waits another few seconds before nocking another arrow and letting it fly.

Khyris opens his eyes to find his arrows in the center of all three red targets. He sighs in relief.

Relief for what?

All is deadly quiet, and then some idiot begins cheering. Khyris shuts his eyes again.

Aeron. Of course it’s Aeron.

Soon, everyone is cheering or clapping, Amoun loudest of all. Khyris flushes hot, looking around for him, who’s grinning like someone just handed him all the wealth of Kadar.

Khyris goes over to him and wraps him a hug, drawing laughter and ‘aw’s from the onlookers. It’s just an excuse to whisper, “I hate you to the skin of your bones,” in Aeron’s ear, who just laughs louder.

#

Khyris stands in front of a little pond where some fool spilled water outside Amoun’s tent, turning left and right to inspect his outfit. It’s the only fine thing he has, provided by the army, meant for rare banquets at the palace.

It’s a velvet jacket in Kadar yellow decorated with the few gold medals he has to his name, one for exceptional scouting, another for bringing down the largest hog anyone had ever seen, large enough to feed the whole camp for an evening.

The yellow tent flap opens and Khyris quickly snaps to a stiff position, relaxing when Amoun gestures for him to. “Khyris,” he says with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining me.”

You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Khyris thinks, though even he’s not bold enough to say that to the queen’s face. He’s wearing a thin golden circlet with soft brown gems embedded, the crown of Kadar. Khyris has never been close enough to see it; it sparkles in the evening sunlight.

He’s never been close enough to see the queen’s face like this—the kindness deep within earthy eyes, his short, well-trimmed beard and mustache, the single lock of black hair hanging down on his forehead. His black cloak doesn’t have a smattering of dust, and the long fur hairs poking out of the collar make Khyris ache for the crude fur coat he made himself the last time he was home—these velvet jackets don’t do much in the way of warmth.

Amoun even smells like the forests of the north, Khyris’ home, with a hint of soft incense.

“Please, come in.” Amoun steps aside to let Khyris slip past him. He takes a quick look around. Amoun’s tent is nicer than any camp tent he’s ever been in, a colorful carpet covering the sand, a table of golden wood with two chairs set up in the middle, a white curtain hiding what’s presumably a bed in the corner. Even the lanterns, burning with blessed warmth, are polished and new compared to the grimy ones in the tent Khyris shares with five others.

“Sit,” Amoun says softly, latching the tent flap closed to keep out the abhorrent wind. Khyris sits, happy to be out of the cold with a plate of hot food in front of him, if nothing else. The faster he can fail this and get it over with, the better.

Amoun sits opposite him and unclasps his cloak, revealing a finely woven black waistcoat over a long sleeved yellow shirt.

“Ah, so His Majesty is capable of wearing color,” Khyris says before he can think about it. He refuses to go back on it, even as Amoun looks at him in surprise. Khyris won’t be the timid little soldier afraid to even look at his queen. He respects himself more than that.

“I admit my dress is rather unconventional for Kadar,” Amoun says, slipping into a relieving smile. He picks up a white teapot and pours them both steaming cups. From the smell, it’s coffee—in the evening? Another oddity. “It’s one of many reasons for people to distrust me—or worse, dislike me.” He smiles again over the rim of his cup.

Khyris is holding his for warmth until he remembers that he’s not in the tent waking up to Aeron jabbering in his ear, he has manners. He quickly puts it back on the table. All the manners he learned from his father and his one visit to court suddenly leave him. Hopefully his country boy ignorance doesn’t show too much.

No, he wants it to show, doesn’t he? He wants Amoun to be disgusted with his choice and let him go.

Khyris grips the handle of the coffee cup again but after a few seconds of indecision, leaves it on the table.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy this meal,” Amoun says, oblivious to Khyris’ inner turmoil and the fact that this is the best meal Khyris will ever have in the field in the middle of winter. “Have you ever been to a palace banquet? Forgive me for not remembering your face—you all look the same in those jackets.” He shovels a forkful of something into his mouth—wait, what are they eating?

Khyris gathers himself and picks up his knife, reminding himself to breathe. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says after what’s probably too long of a pause. “I have been to a palace banquet once, shortly after I joined your army.” He focuses on cutting what he now discerns to be lamb, a delicacy they don’t get out here at the building sites, laying on a bed but of golden rice. It’s hot and warms him to the bone, but it’s not as spicy as the kind his father used to make.

Amoun laughs, speaking with a full mouth. “Let’s not pretend it’s my army. Cai knows I don’t pay enough attention to it. Oh, forgive me”—he smiles sheepishly— “when I’m alone with someone, especially here instead of the palace, I forget my manners. My upbringing is coming back to haunt me. Perhaps that’s another reason people detest me.”

Khyris pauses. Suddenly the food is vastly less interesting than Amoun. “You grew up humble, Majesty?”

“Please, call me Amoun. I am here to court you.”

The reminder makes Khyris bring his eyes back to his plate. Make him throw you out.

“Yes,” Amoun continues, “I came from the forests of the north. My parents were well off, and I have no siblings, but it was not a glamorous childhood by any means. Not compared to what I’m used to now.”

Khyris chews slowly, hyperaware of everything. “I also came from the forests of the north, M—Amoun.”

“Really?” Amoun’s silver clatters against his plate. “I knew I chose well. Where exactly were you raised?”

Khyris tells him about the cabin his mother built, four young siblings and a father too crippled to hunt, a mother too overworked to cook, the privilege Khyris considered hunting.

He loses track of time as Amoun talks about those same forests, hiding from great imaginary beasts that were only the howls of the wind in the trees as a child, the warmth of the curry Amoun’s mother made—the same one Khyris’ mother made for his birthday.

Khyris has never met someone who grew up in the north forests before, and he soon finds he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Before Khyris knows it, they’ve both finished their meals and wine has replaced the coffee. No attendants come in to bring them dessert, Amoun only gets up and accepts plates from them through the tent flap.

Khyris doesn’t have to leave his chair the whole time—he feels like the queen here, dipping a spoon into the bowl of warmth honey cake soaked through with cream. Amoun asks him about his friends, his family, laughs at every story of his siblings, goes somber when Khyris tells him why he joined the army.

Amoun makes him feel like everything he has to say is worth something to him, that his nods aren’t the polite, diplomatic ones he’s no doubt used to putting on. Khyris is only too happy to return the favor and admire the reflection of the lamplight in Amoun’s eyes.

And then it’s ending. The wine has faded from Khyris’ system, and the warmth of Amoun’s hand as he helps Khyris to his feet is bittersweet. He doesn’t know when he stopped trying to make Amoun dislike him, if he was ever trying at all, but now he’s foolishly praying that Amoun will ask him back.

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Khyris,” Amoun says, smiling like the witches of legend are said to do—so strong, so beautiful, they make it impossible to look away. Khyris’ limbs seem to draw closer of their own accord before he realizes and quickly puts distance between them.

“Thank you,” Khyris says, a shadow clouding over his heart as he turns toward the tent flap that Amoun holds open.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” Amoun asks as Khyris is about to leave. He stares in hopeful disbelief. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t. I would never force you into anything you would not want—I have heard the stories your companions tell. Khyris the Angrily Smitten.” Amoun’s lips curve into a smile with an unescapable hint of pain. “I think the angry part is more prevalent. You are one of the ones who would detest me at court.”

Khyris is again mad at Aeron, for an entirely different reason. Has this whole magical evening gone to shit?

“Majesty—Amoun”—he takes a deep breath— “I—I was wrong about you. I would like to go out with you again. It is possible for minds to change.” He laces his own fingers behind his back, arms held taught in the stiff jacket.

Amoun’s answering grin is brighter than the sun.

#

Amoun has to go back to Ramia, of course, and Khyris back to the city building corporal’s lifestyle, but they spend every chance they could get together, alone, in a welcome relief from life for both of them. Aeron and Delia have been nothing but evil about it, but it’s no less than Khyris would expect.

His and Amoun’s second outing comes mere weeks after their first, when Khyris thought he might go mad from anticipation. Would their next meeting be just as perfect as their first? He frets, despite Aeron’s relentless teasing about the fact that so recently, he’d despise himself for fretting about this.

He made the mistake of addressing the queen as Amoun in Delia and Aeron’s presence. At the risk of his own sanity, he’s been careful to censor himself since, though Aeron probably sees right through it.

Their second date is every bit as good as the first and more. Amoun invites Khyris to the camp where he’s staying, visiting another battalion of soldiers in the north. Khyris was happy to go just to escape Aeron’s teasing, but the smile Amoun gives him upon arrival did things to him he didn’t know were possible. After a few days together and the blistering kiss Amoun gives him when they part, Khyris knows his mind is made up.

It should not come as a surprise when Amoun proposes only a few months later. The whole purpose of Amoun’s visit, after all, was to find a spouse to court.

He’s not just falling for the queen of Kadar for all the perks of being his lover. when Amoun first announced this challenge, Khyris thought the steady income for his family would be the only reason he’d ever agree if miraculously chosen.

As soppy and awful as it sounds, as much as he’s becoming the very lovestruck fool he loved to hate, he enjoys Amoun for him, not for his money or his power or his safety. His company. His smile. His mix of ease and nerves, how he both seems to know exactly what he’s doing and has no clue at all.

Now, he’s in Ramia again for the first time in four years in the part of it he never thought he’d get to visit in his lifetime: the queen’s private palace apartments. Amoun is looking at him the warmth of the sun in those eyes and asking if Khyris will be his forever. What can Khyris say but yes?

Khyris might hang around court more often than he ever thought he would, but he still can’t bear to leave the army. He sees past the humor in Aeron’s voice when he asks, “Don’t forget about your fellow corporals when you’re the queen’s husband, alright?” Khyris spends half of the days leading up to wedding with the soldiers, working hard and crashing harder just like he did before, and the other half in some kind of paradise of luxury with Amoun.

He invites Aeron and Delia to the palace when he visits—he’s learned, as the queen’s betrothed, there’s little he can’t get away with, including sudden leave for any soldier he likes. Seeing the raw awe on Aeron’s face makes his own adjustment a little easier to bear.

He and Amoun decline to get tattoos of betrothal—that’s a Cairic tradition at heart, and the queen of Kadar couldn’t be seen with that, especially since they’re trying to move away from Tel Cairis’ traditions.

Being suddenly waited on and served food even better than the stuff in Amoun’s tent on their first date is nice, but jarring. He’s so used to the humble life, getting everything himself, being independent. The army only enforced that, even when he gained friends.

Now the clothes he wears puts his yellow dinner jacket to shame, and every bit of building has been made by hundreds of men compared to a few. He can only wonder how Amoun adjusted.

Amoun is a sweetheart, empathetic and sensitive. Unfortunately, this means Khyris can’t keep a secret around him, and he quickly notices Khyris’ discomfort.

“Mi’hail, please,” he implores one night, because of course he’d be the type to use old fashioned terms of endearment like that. “Tell me what I can do to make this place feel as much as your home as it is mine. All I desire is to make you happy.”

Khyris sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. His cheek is pillows on the silk nightshirt covering his arm, so light and soft and decadent you can hardly call it a shirt. His feet are made warm by the sheets of Amoun’s bed, the warm orange glow of candlelight turning Amoun’s skin the most beautiful gold.

This is not the first time Amoun has asked, but Khyris always tells him not to bother, he’s busy enough, he’s done enough already. “If we are to be married,” Amoun tries, “it cannot be on unequal footing. I will not have you be a sacrifice to be with me. You grew up with so little—let me repay you now.”

“Oh, and you grew up in luxury?” Khyris counters.

“Stop trying to switch the subject.” Amoun sits up against the cushioned headboard. “Tell me, or I will not leave it alone.”

Khyris knows how capable he is of that. He manages a small smile.

“A garden,” he settles on at last, thinking of the northern forests, how he loved the trees but always wished for a more glamorous, well-tended grove. “Remind me of the north, where we are from. Give me a version of our forests that’s neater, that shows the nicest parts without all the ugly ones.” He sighs, already picturing it, almost able to smell the richness of the tree sap if he concentrates. “With a fountain,” he adds. “Is that too much?”

Amoun’s eyes are shining. “Not at all. I will do it, mi’hail.”

Amoun builds him a garden. He commissions a fountain. He brings the forests of the north to Ramia.

Khyris underestimates him once again.

It takes so long and takes up so much space, Khyris is eventually banned entirely from the west side of the palace in case he catches a glimpse of Amoun’s hard work. All he knows is that Amoun is always beaming and giddy with excitement and anticipation of Khyris’ reaction.

The damn thing takes so long to build, Khyris doesn’t get to see it till three weeks after their wedding, when they get back from their trip alone to the forests of the north.

When everything is finally done to Amoun’s liking, Amoun can’t let go of his hand as he leads him out to see it. He even makes Khyris close his eyes, an incredible trust exercise. When Khyris is allowed to open them, his jaw falls open.

He’d been prepared by the sound of flowing water, but nothing could truly brace him for this. From the top of the steps leading inside where they stand, Khyris can see the whole thing: the fountain of himself holding his bow, quiver at his back, free hand reaching up to fix his hair. “Wh—how did you get a statue of me commissioned without needing me there?”

Amount just grins.

None of the trees are old enough to provide shade yet, but stone beds with soil inside house several young, green trees that will grow up to be the great sprawling ones of the north. The floor is stone, not dirt, and it’s much nicer and cleaner to look at than the leafy forest floor. The smell of the trees is absent, but it’s more than made up for with the greenery tucked into every spot, the rare pops of pink flowers from the east. Everything is well tended and trimmed, from the hedges to the plants to the shape of the trees.

Each layer up to the palace entrance is covered in some of potted plant, and an artificial river runs around every bit of it to feed them, the channel carved into the stone.

Khyris can’t fathom how he imported everything and how it’s stayed so fresh—the wont of a queen, he supposes.

“The gardens of Khyris,” Amoun says quietly at his back, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

After another minute of silence, he laughs nervously. “Speechless, mi’hail?”

“Uh, yes.” Khyris turns his head to kiss him. “I don’t know how to thank you. it’s absolutely gorgeous. I—seriously, all of this is for me?”

“I would be happy to ban the public if you asked,” Amoun confirms. “Does it take you back to the north forests as it does for me?”

“You know it does. It’s perfect in every way.”

Amoun walks him down the steps to the garden itself, showing him every carefully chosen detail. Khyris is happy to stand with him near the fountain, enough for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a sense of calm. He wonders how he could’ve ever hated Amoun.

“Khyris the Angrily Smitten, they called you all those months ago,” Amoun murmurs. Khyris’ ears burn hot.

“I find it endearing,” Amoun confesses, “but I know you find it rather—embarrassing. I’d like to call you something else.” His fingers curl around Khyris’ neck, soft and warm. “Khyris mi’hail? Khyris the Beloved?”

Khyris fights the smile threatening to break out and fails. “Better than Khyris the Great, or something awful like that.”

Amoun laughs. “I am great enough for both of us,” he says, and pulls Khyris to the sound of the water mingling with the wind. An earthly heaven without Cai.

shorts taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @lunarmoment @missingpeace

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring

#writing #writeblr #my writing #my short story #my wip #fantasy #fantasy writeblr #lila's wips: acogs #lila's short stories

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(Valentina’s POV)

Happy Harvestfest! I volunteered to host this year, meaning we had 21 people descend on our quiet little cottage out here in Brindleton Bay. I loved having my parents, all my siblings, and all my nieces and nephews around and filling up the house, it definitely brought be back to growing up at home with all 10 of us before we all got married and moved away. My mum said it was nice to have a change of scenery and be out in the countryside for Harvestfest, whilst Newcrest where we live is itself already outside of the commotion of the city since my grandparents wanted to raise their family away from worldly influences, out here where we live it’s truly the countryside where you can appreciate nature.

The family is under the cut! 

Ryan (56) and Clare (52) Paulson

My wonderful parents are still so in love with one another with this year marking 32 years of marriage for them, 10 children and 9 grandchildren later and you’d think they were still newlyweds! Dad is still working in tech programming and at this point has helped create many Bible and devotionals apps that help other Christians get closer to the Lord, his current plan is to work until he’s 65 then he can retire and support the family with the pension that he’s earned as well as the money he gets from the apps. When she’s not homeschooling my youngest brothers (the only two left being homeschooled), my mother is either writing or teaching music. She helps coordinate the music at church, with the Winterfest nativity play music being her current project, and whenever the band/orchestra play she’s usually the one that has arranged the music, as well as guiding the players through the song. In the new year Newcrest Baptist is running a music camp, so she’s been preparing for that mainly; my cousin Zoe and I will also be teaching at camp so we’re all looking forward to the new year. 

The Paulson Family - Carter (30), Madelynn (27), Lester (6), Fitzwilliam (1)

Carter and Madelynn have their 2 boys and right now are enjoying the different experiences that come with having a child and a toddler. Madelynn is homeschooling Lester as well as having him to go a christian homeschool co-op in their area twice a week, to further enhance his learning. Fitz is a year old and so just tags along with whatever Lester does, Madelynn goes through the toddler basics with him, but mostly focuses on Lester right now. This winter they’re going skiing with Madelynn’s family, her father is supporting their local conservative candidate in the election and the fundraiser is being held at a wonderful ski resort in the mountainous region.

The Townsend Family - Eric (32), Valentina (29), Aria (8), Ansel (6), Asher & Abbott (2)

We’re all good over here! I’ve started the school year with Aria and Ansel and both are progressing wonderfully, it’s amazing how much these kids love learning and I’m encouraged by their enthusiasm! I’m starting a rudimentary course with the twins to get them hopping on the learning train, they’re so interested in what their older siblings are doing that I thought it best to jump right into school with them. Eric and I have been thinking about getting some farm animals, we took the kids to the farmer’s market the other day and they were enraptured by the chickens, goats, cows, and sheep. It would be great to have the animals, we’d get fresh animal produce that’s homegrown to add to our fruit and vegetable garden produce, as well as a learning opportunity for the children to learn about animals and to learn the responsibility that comes with taking care of animals. This winter, other than learning about plants that flourish in the winter, we’ll also be focusing on learning all about animals and how we care for them. We want to be ready to welcome any animals that we might get onto our little homestead in the coming spring. I’m also working on what I’ll be teaching at music camp hosted by Newcrest Baptist in the new year, when I think of opportunities like this I can’t help but thank the Lord for my parents, had my mother not poured into us and taught us how to play instruments then I’d never be blessed with this opportunity to teach others.

The Paulson Family - Alan (28), Tessa (21), Charity (1), Edgar (6 weeks old)

Alan and Tessa have had the most recent addition to the family, 6 weeks ago Tessa had their second child, a boy they named Edgar! Tessa truly inspires me, she barely had the time to recover after having a baby before loading up to travel down here with everyone! She’s such a blessing, I was talking to her on how she handled travelling with a 2 children under 1 and she made it sound so easy! If they keep going at their current rate then they’ll have another baby by next Harvestfest - how wonderful! This winter they’re travelling to Sulani with Tessa’s family, they’re excited to have the sun and the ocean instead of frigid air and snow as they celebrate the birth of our Lord! 

The Crocker Family - Gregory (28), Kristyn (25), Kayla (1)

Kristyn and Gregory are enjoying life with little Kayla, they’ve had a wonderful time adjusting to her joining and family and love it. She’s the first granddaughter on their side of the family as Gregory’s sisters have had all boys, so she’s definitely being spoilt at home! Kristyn has always had a great love of children, and she’s been open with us sisters about praying for another child soon. They’re staying in Oasis Springs this winter and celebrating Winterfest with Gregory’s family.

The Crawford Family - Tucker (26) and Sabrina (25)

The newlyweds have been loving this new season of life together! Sabrina called me and told me that she’s been loving married life way more than she thought she would. She and Tucker honeymooned in a little cabin tucked away in the woods up by Granite Falls; after a couple gets married and goes from limited physical intimacy to being married and being allowed to do everything, it is quite an adjustment to get used to. It’s good for them that they got that time together because they’ve got a packed schedule soon after this. They’re travelling with the Crawfords to sing at churches in the area for the winter, and after that they’re back on the farm for the springtime harvesting and to prep for the summer harvest and their summer tour. It’s been great to have my sister living in the same area, during times when they are home we try and coordinate when we can see each other.

Jarrod (21) and Madison Jenkins (19)

We’ve also got a newly engaged couple on the block! Jarrod proposed to Madison when he was on a visit to see her in Evergreen Harbour, they had just finished church when he got down on one knee and asked her to marry him! They’re planning for a winter wedding, meaning that they’re also planning around our cousin Charles and his wedding; hopefully they can nail down dates so that we can all make it to both weddings. With a family as large as ours, it’s definitely going to be interesting to see how the rest of the singles do it when it comes time to plan their weddings, since Celeste is the last girl left my parents only have one last time to be the wedding hosts.

Celeste (27), Zachary (19), Conner & Jarrett (16)

Celeste is truly thriving in her singleness, when she’s not at home serving others she’s travelling around visiting those of us who moved away and investing in the lives of her nieces and nephews. She also spends time investing in the lives of those around her, she travels with our cousin Macie to different young ladies’ retreats and they both counsel and guide young ladies on how to better their walk with the Lord. This winter she’s joining Macie and a few other youths from our Newcrest Baptist on a missions trip to Selvadorada, so that’s another thing to add into our families already hectic winter.

Zachary is also enjoying his new status as an adult, he’s started working part time for a lawn services company run by a member of the church and a friend of the family. He’s also joining Celeste on the missions trip to Selvadorada this year, it’ll be his first time out of the country so he is very excited!

Conner and Jarrett are enjoying their time as the youngest kids in the family, they’re quite self sufficient at school meaning that they’re working through it quite quickly and are on track to graduate early! It’s always great when we get to see the boys, Ansel is old enough for them to bring him along when they go on outings, so it was great to have them here together.

#fundie sims #fundiesims #quiver full sims #quiverfull sims #modest sims #homeschool sims #sims 4 holiday #sims 4 harvestfest #collins family #collins legacy #sims 4 legacy #gen 3 #Carter and Madelynn #Eric and Valentina #Alan and Tessa #Gregory and Kristyn #tucker and sabrina #Jarrod and Madison #gen 4 #post #this was surprisingly easy to do #had fun changing outfits for everyone again #doing these posts gets me quite confused with everyones ages ngl

[blossom-hwa]

Blessings - Jacob

Here we start the first of nine prompts for the @starryktown Unbeleafable Bingo collaboration :) enjoy my first tbz work!!! Dedicated to @banhmi07​ because your ask about Jacob playing guitar helped inspire this :D

Unbeleafable prompt: seasonal coffee

Pairing: Jacob x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, barista!au

Triggers: some cursing

Word Count: 1k

An angel’s voice soothes your work-worn mind.

Unbeleafable Masterlist | The Boyz Drabbles Masterlist

As much as you love the café with its warm, cozy atmosphere, hot drinks, and pleasant customers, there are still days where you either want to throw yourself out of the window or sink behind the counter and lie on the ground for several hours. There’s no in-between.

Today is one of those days, where there are too few workers, too many rude customers, and to top it off, it’s the start of the holiday season and all anyone wants to order are the stupid seasonal drinks you put out to increase business during the winter months.

The words “pumpkin spice” and “peppermint” and “marshmallows” practically send you into apoplectic shock at this point. You don’t think those words have the right to exist anymore.

One thing keeps you sane, though. In the last few hours of the rush, you become aware of the strumming of a guitar floating through the open door as people come in and out. It isn’t just the instrument, either – someone’s voice, a voice as smooth as the coffee you’re pouring and as sweet as the sugar sprinkled in, flows through the air.

It’s the sound of an angel, you’re sure. One of the powers above saw you dying behind the counter and blessed you with an angel’s voice to keep you alive. So even though you feel like crying behind the plastic smile you present to each customer, handing off cups of coffee and plates of pastries, you don’t collapse and melt into the ground. You stay standing.

And, well, you have to find some way to thank the angel. It’s only proper, isn’t it, to thank the heavenly being who kept you from leaping into the void?

So when there’s finally a lull in the rush and you have the opportunity to collapse in a chair and close your eyes for a few minutes, you stay behind the counter instead. Your eyes are drooping but you force yourself to focus, fingers flying as you pour coffee, add sugar and syrup and a bit of chocolate, and pick out one of Felix’s best-selling pastries fresh out of the oven to put in a small bag.

It’s one of the stupid seasonal coffee drinks. If you were thinking properly, you might have made something different because you’re tired of peppermint-chocolate-whatever-the-fuck-this-is, but it’s one of the café’s best sellers and your hands are operating on muscle memory at this point, so whatever. Felix’s pastry will make up for the indignity of a holiday drink.

You can still hear the angel singing when you step out of the café, leaving Eric to man the counter in your absence. It doesn’t take long to pinpoint the direction the voice is coming from – someone’s sitting on one of the benches a few feet away, strumming a guitar.

Suddenly, you feel very shy, standing there with a cup of coffee in one hand and a pastry in the other. What if the person thinks you’re weird, coming over to give them food because you liked their singing? What if they don’t like the pastry? What if they don’t even like coffee?

Well, fuck it, you tell yourself. You’re already out here. You also don’t want to drink the coffee or eat the pastry, so you may as well give it a shot. And people who don’t appreciate Felix’s baking are people you don’t want to associate with.

The angel doesn’t look up at first, just keeps singing as you walk a bit closer. For a few moments, you just stand nearby, waiting awkwardly for him to finish the music.

Eventually, though, he looks up. And though you sorely miss the sound of his voice in your ears, the smile on his face is more than enough to make up for it.

With light brown hair and dark eyes, the singing angel looks unreal. He looks up at you with the sweetest smile, like the embodiment of peace and calm sent down from the sky. “Hi,” he greets quietly.

God really sent a fucking angel. He really did that.

It takes a second to find your voice, but eventually, you do. “Hi. Um, I’m Y/N. I work at the café just a few doors down. Listen, uh, this might sound really weird and awkward, but I was having a really bad day and your singing really helped me out. Your voice is beautiful.” You cough, embarrassed. “So I just wanted to bring you something as a sort of thanks for helping me get through it. It’s just coffee and a pastry.” You put them down on the seat next to him. “I hope you like it.”

You really didn’t think it was possible for his smile to get even wider but it does, a pink tint rising on his cheeks as he dips his head in thanks. “Thank you,” he says, eyes sparkling. “I’ll be sure to enjoy it.” He bites his lip as though unsure of what to say next, then smiles again. “My name is Jacob.”

He’s beautiful. He’s fucking beautiful and you don’t know what to do with this new information and your brain is short-circuiting but you finally manage to reply. “It was really nice to meet you, Jacob.” You bow slightly. “You seriously have a beautiful voice.”

He grins. “Thank you.”

As you walk back into the café, you think that’s the end of it. You’ve met an angel, he’ll return to the heavens, you won’t see him again. The heavens above sent him to you for several hours, and you’re more than thankful for that.

Which is why you nearly have a heart attack the next afternoon when Jacob walks into the café, guitar slung against his back, and shyly asks for “the drink you made yesterday, it was really good.”

(Eric and Felix snicker behind the counter as you trip your way through a response. They outright snort with laughter when Jacob dawdles at the counter for a moment longer than he has to, then slips a piece of paper over to you with pink cheeks and dashes out of the café.

The paper has his fucking phone number on it, along with a very sweet note. And if you stay up all night texting the brown-haired boy with the angelic voice, what of it, Felix? Eric? What fucking of it?)

#starryktown #unbeleafable bingo #the boyz #tbz #the boyz scenarios #the boyz jacob scenarios #tbz scenarios #tbz jacob #jacob #fluff #barista!au #drabble #blessings #scriptura-delirus

[incorrect-the-foxhole-court]

Northern Road Trip

This is my piece for the AFTG Gift exchange! I went for Andriel coz im a complete Andriel junkie, but i couldnt resist a little Renison on the side XD

This is for @andthenthefirenationattacked​ - I hope you like it! I’m sorry it’s not very good but I tried! (And if you wanna talk or fangirl about aftg at any point, i’m definitely around for that!)

Neil couldn’t remember a time he had felt this safe. Which, he had to admit, made no sense considering his current situation. Despite having family in England, an uncle who had once saved his life, the UK had never been a place that had screamed safety. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of an endless stretch of rolling green hills that looked like they had been taken from one of Matt’s fantasy novels, and he felt…safe. It was as much a disquieting feeling as hope had once been.

The sky was a bright, forget-me-not blue that, after only five days in the country, he already knew was a rare blessing. Fluffy white clouds scudded across the sky, and the relief that they weren’t even a little grey had been unexpectedly strong when they had woken up this morning. Two cars idled behind him, the engines rumbling softly, and those inside were already betting on the upcoming games outcome and snacking on junk food that Kevin had already tried to throw out four times over.

Neil sucked in a deep breath, feeling the cold air settle in his lungs like shards of ice. Beautiful, this country, but cold. And wet. This was the first day they had been there that it hadn’t rained.

He could hear his old team behind him, laughing and joking, teasing Andrew for their stopping. It hadn’t been Andrew that had wanted to stop, but the goalie knew Neil too well now – had feigned car sickness to cover Neil’s need to see something. To see something other than exy courts and press rooms from the place his mother had come from. The woman had been cold and cruel and protective and beautiful, and standing there now, in the place she had always talked about, in Rivington, he could understand. The people he had met from around here felt like they had been born from the place itself. He could almost feel his mother in the wind’s cold fingers as it raked through his hair and cut straight through his winter coat to chill the blood in his veins.

“Neil! Come on! Andrew says he’s okay to keep going now,” Matt shouted, a grin on his face that was far too smug and pleased to merely be teasing.

Dan smacked him in the ribs as she disappeared around the other side of their hire car and slid into the driver’s seat. And then smacked the wheel in frustration, got out and went round to the passenger side door, grumbling about stupid English cars. Neil tuned out Matt and Allison’s teasing, both of them needling Dan about still not being used to which side of the car to get in, and turned to the other car. Renee smiled at Andrew before going to join the others.

Neil slid into the backseat next to Andrew, Aaron on the goalie’s other side, Kevin up front and Nicky driving. Within thirty minutes of driving, Andrew was asleep, head tipped back against the back of the seat – Neil wasn’t surprised, Andrew had barely slept since the flight, as though he was more scared than Neil that some relative would show up at their hotel. It wasn’t a secret they were in the UK; the whole world had known this is where they would be. The press had been covering the US exy team’s trip to the UK in excruciating detail for weeks. They had already had their games in Glasgow and London, and tomorrow, the last game of Us vs. UK, would take place in Manchester. London had been an easy win for the US Court, Andrew had barely bothered to try. Glasgow had been significantly more difficult. It had taken bribing Andrew to lock down the goal for them to come close to winning – even then it hadn’t been enough; they’d lost by two points.

Tomorrow’s game would decide who would face the Chinese team. And the old team from Palmetto State had come out to show their support as Kevin, Andrew and Neil, played their last UK game of the season, fighting to advance closer to the title of ‘Exy International Champions’. Kevin had been training and planning nonstop. It had taken Andrew’s knives to convince him to have this day off.

“Erm…Neil…?” Nicky asked, voice tight. Neil dragged his eyes away from staring out the window as the North sped by, and met Nicky’s worried eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Satnav is freaking out.”

“Get Andrew to fix it,” Aaron grunted, “he’s the tech wonder boy.”

“Waking Andrew up in a car has never been a good idea,” Nicky warned, no doubt thinking of that time all those years ago.

Neil could feel Aaron’s smirk as the man reached over and tapped his twin on the shoulder closest to Neil. From habit, Neil’s hand was out waiting as Andrew jolted from sleep, one hand instinctively reaching out. Their fingers twined together and held on tight. No elbow in the stomach, no fists flying, not anymore – they had been sleeping in the same bed now for nearly two years; Andrew was too used to being woken by Neil’s nightmares to react violently. Now it was a grasping hand and white knuckled grip, each proving to the other that they are here – that they are safe. On Andrew’s other side, Aaron huffed in frustration and turned his attention back to the steady stream of messages between him and Katelyn.  

“Satnav isn’t working properly,” Neil explained quietly, and Andrew shook off his grip, leaning forward to take it from Kevin.

“Going old school,” Nicky muttered to himself. “Gonna have to use these damn stupid road signs.”

Neil didn’t bother to watch what Andrew was doing to fix the machine – he had learnt a long time ago that when Andrew couldn’t sleep, he and one of the cats curled up on the sofa with an instruction manual of some sort. Andrew couldn’t sleep most nights. By this point, Andrew’s eidetic memory had given him the ability to fix almost anything technological.

It took them another hour and a half to reach the Lake District. They were aiming for a shop that the Northern players on the UK team hadn’t stopped raving about since the team meets had started. By the time they finally arrived, it was raining again.

They parked in a garden centre opposite a tiny little place called ‘The Grasmere Gingerbread Shop’ and stared out through rain-streaked windows. Nicky’s phone started ringing. He took the sat nav out of its holder, tossed it onto Kevin’s lap before balancing his phone in the slot instead. Allison’s face appeared on the screen, and then the rest of the others.

“So, how do we decide who goes out into the rain to get the damn gingerbread we drove for two hours to come and try?” Allison asked and Renee, in the driver’s seat beside her, tucked a few stray blonde curls behind her ear, dragging a smile from the otherwise annoyed face.

“Flip for it?” Nicky suggested.

Matt lost to Renee. Dan lost to Matt. Allison rolled her eyes and picked at a perfectly manicured nail, but called heads when she went up against Dan, only to lose. Storm clouds gathered on her face as she waited for the other car to decide who would flip against her.

Aaron called heads, Allison, tails. Aaron won.

Neil hadn’t heard swearing like that for a long time. He couldn’t help but smile. He had missed them all. He loved being on Court and he loved his team and exy, and playing with Andrew and Kevin, but he had missed being a fox.

Renee went with Allison, smiling as the blonde tried and failed to hide under the trees from the rain. Neil could hear through the cracked window Andrew was smoking through as Allison cursed everyone and everything for her having forgotten an umbrella. Renee just laughed and tugged her in for a kiss. Neil smiled again; it had taken them a long time to realise just how meant for each other they were – but now? Together? They were a sight for sore eyes.

Andrew blew another cloud of smoke past Neil’s face. He couldn’t help the deep inhale as the smoke curled past his nose. Andrew watched, utterly unimpressed – but Neil could read the affection in the stare. Smoke was no longer the reminder of his mother, of the fire, of how it had smelled when her body had burned. Now it was Andrew, it was nights on the roof, the bite of his key in his palm, the feel of a thundering heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Andrew’s knee nudged his, and Neil smiled again.

Allison and Renee got back in the car behind and they drove to Windemere, where they had booked out all the rooms in a little bed and breakfast. The man at the desk was the most English person Neil had ever met. He was the embodiment of every single English stereotype, and Neil couldn’t get away fast enough.

Their rooms were all on the second floor, Dan and Matt disappeared into one room, Allison and Renee into another, Aaron claimed his own room, as did Kevin and Nicky. Nicky was already face timing with Eric before his bedroom door closed. And despite Allison’s usual warning of ‘keep it down’, there were delighted giggles and moans coming from her and Renee’s room.

Neil shook his head, smiling, and followed after Andrew into their room. Andrew was already lighting up next to the window, so Neil dropped the bag by the bottom of the bed and slumped onto the mattress, stripping off his black armbands and dumping them over the edge. He heard Andrew shut the window and the bed dip as he settled nearby. Neil reached a hand up, and Andrew’s fingertips trailed over his bare arms, dipping over every scar and mark.

Neil closed his eyes, even now, years later, most touches on those scars brought back the car lighter, the knife, his father’s axe…

But then Andrew’s lips began tracing every raised bump, slowly washing away the memories one by one, until there was nothing left but the two of them, Andrew’s hands under Neil’s shirt, Andrew’s lips pressed hard to Neil’s, and Neil’s fingers tight in Andrew’s hair.

He didn’t realise how much he needed it until Andrew tugged his t-shirt over his head and slowly but steadily began taking him apart. Neil couldn’t stop the moan that Andrew dragged from deep in his throat as Andrew pushed him harder and faster until Neil’s breathing became ragged and Andrew leaned up to press their lips together as though he could swallow Neil’s hard groans when he fell over the edge. He lay limp and sweating, breathing hard, with Andrew beside him, the man’s expression open and soft in a way he had only seen four times so far.

Neil reached out, “Yes or no?”

Andrew didn’t reply, just pressed his cheek into Neil’s palm and closed his eyes as Neil’s fingers played with the tiny hairs at the nape of Andrew’s neck. He wanted to say something, anything to remind Andrew just how amazing he was – how he always knew what Neil needed, usually before Neil knew himself, how even though Neil had long since learned to stand alone, it felt safe knowing that Andrew was there for him if he needed to lean on someone. But he didn’t have the words.

And he didn’t find them fast enough before Nicky pounded on the bedroom door.

“Come on, lovebirds, Allison ruined her hair to get this gingerbread, and Aaron and I went out for alcohol, come and have a drink and a snack like the old days. But put clothes on first!”

Andrew growled under his breath, but Neil smiled.

“When will he leave me alone?” Andrew said, shaking out his hand and pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“He’s been in Germany with Eric for ten months. He can’t leave you any more alone.”

Andrew just stood and stared down at him a moment. “Come on junkie. Let’s go.”

Neil stood and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up, before he joined Andrew at the now open door to the bedroom, stood in front of a very irate Kevin.

“We have a game tomorrow. Tomorrow. And they want us to drink and eat and party. Why did they come at all, they’re not playing,” Kevin said, face set; cold and hard.

“Tomorrow will be fine. We’ll win or we’ll lose, but it’ll be fine. Let’s go, it could be fun,” Neil said, shrugging. He’d never felt as safe as he was in that moment and he’d never seen Andrew as relaxed – that was all he needed. All he wanted.

They should take road trips more often.

“Three hundred and seventy-four percent,” Andrew murmured.

Neil didn’t bother to stop the smirk on his face.

----

That’s it! Again, I hope you liked it and I hope it was a good enough gift for you in the exchange! Have a wonderful day!

#aftg #aftg gift exchange #andrew #neil #andriel #the foxes #little sprinkles of renison #coz they too cute #road trip in the uk #in the north of course #in my two favourite places #hell i hope you liked this #i tried to write them #they were REAL hard to write #heres hoping i did the wonderful foxes justice #damn i wish they were real #and that i was a fox #XD

[farfarawaygirl]

My very straight brother just said this, “The Rookie is a supernatural show, because Tim is supernaturally good looking.”

I’m not usually one for paranormal shows, but I can’t argue with this statement.

#bless eric winter for looking like that #Tim Bradford #the rookie #eric winter #Emma’s family says shit

[karihighman]

Things I’m freaking out over: all of this

#the rookie #behind the scenes #bless eric winter for looking like that #eric winter #melissa o’neil #Melissa’s comment kills me #the glow up #so true tho #jenna dewan #bailey #witches of east end #instagram story #officer zaddy #hottest training officer #future sergeant energy #the rookie season 4

[burntwingsandwarpaint]

randomly generated drabbles characters: 8. daryl, aaron, & jesus tropes: 98. Curses & 84. Married to the Job

So this is a loose interpretation of the prompts, more like a general inspo. Also, warnings that this is 1) definitely not a drabble, and 2) definitely not completed. might pop back in with a part two if i’m feeling inspired, but the point of this exercise is to get myself writing again, not to get myself stuck trying to force something, so i’m just gonna post what I have so far. hope you all enjoy nonetheless 😘

In the span of a whisper the blade sank through skin, and the world shattered for all of them.

.-

Paul Rovia was a whirlwind of revelations in Daryl Dixon’s life. Infuriating, frustrating, fucking intoxicating in the span of the first few hours. Daryl’d been hooked in the second their eyes met and Paul had known it. (Hell, Rick had probably known it.) Daryl hadn’t been ready to know it then, though, and so Paul (goddamn Jesus, his salvation and damnation all at once, felt like) had twisted through Daryl in those early days like a thorn in his damn side.

Aaron’d crept up on him slower. Where Jesus had been fire, danger, frustration, Aaron’d always been comfort. From Daryl’s first days at Alexandria Aaron’d melted his way into Daryl’s life, slipping past his walls and filling all the cold empty spaces inside him with endless patience and easy acceptance. Where Jesus had lit him up, Aaron’d soothed him down, a safe space for Daryl to fall into.

If Daryl’d ever thought of himself as someone deserving good things, he’d have thought it was inevitable they’d all find their way to each other. As it was, even if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what they were getting out of it, he was just grateful they did.

It happened slow, in the aftermath of the war. The years after. They took their time with it. Toeing their way toward each other. Skirting in and back over old wounds. And when they finally did, all three of them for the first time together, it’d felt so damn much like inevitable that Daryl halfway hated every second they’d wasted finding it.

He hated them more the instant that blade slid in, and the fire faded from Paul’s eyes.

.-

There were things you learned, spending years living out in the wild. There were things in the wild that learned you. Daryl’d seen glimpses of Her in flutters and lingering shadows, in shapes of trees warped into the semblance of faces, there and gone the next time he went through. He knew the swamps were Her territory, but he’d never bothered Her much and the things that did seemed to go quiet soon after. So they’d spent the years in a comfortable sort of coexistence. Understanding, distant respect.

Until She came to him in the lonely dark of Paul’s grave.

One hundred dead each day, she’d offered, voice a rustle of leaves through winter forests, a groan of branches in the wind. One hundred dead souls each day for a hundred days, in exchange for your lover’s life.

She’d held it out to him, tempting, like a needle for a vein. A sweetness and a promise of salvation that’d kill him slow in the quest for it. 

And that night, curled against Aaron on their too-empty bed, feeling his lover’s already battered soul breaking a bit more on the pressure of choked, brittle sobs, Daryl knew his answer.

Outside the window, the leaves burst into a rush of laughter, and Daryl curled Aaron closer.

And the next morning, he set to work.

.-

Aaron wouldn’t understand, was the thing. Couldn’t. People who hadn’t lived in the wild, who didn’t have it singing through their veins, they didn’t get shit like Old Ones and Bargains and the things that were possible if you were willing to risk worse things than your soul dealing with Them. Daryl slipped out in the morning after Paul’s death and started tracking fresh Walkers. Found a trickle of them, then a herd, and by mid-afternoon he’d reached his kill count. Felt the caress of a twig nicking the back of his hand –– a deal struck, marked in blood –– and made his way home to Hilltop.

Aaron hadn’t said anything, but there’d been a glint of pain in his tired eyes when Daryl’d found him. A hesitation. And then he’d brought Daryl some food and wiped the blood and filth off him, and dragged him back to bed where they’d tried and failed to learn the shape of the world with just the two of them living in it.

.-

On the fifth day, Aaron parted his lips to talk about it. Said “I know you’re hurting, I get it, but––” And Daryl’d shaken his head, a little frantic, and caught Aaron in a too-rough kiss.

He wouldn’t understand, and Daryl couldn’t stand to hear him say the words on the edge of his tongue.

.-

Sixteen days, and Daryl didn’t make it home that night. The sea of dead around them felt endless sometimes, but even they had their limits. Every day he needed to venture further out to find them. Try new paths, weaving deeper into the wild. Every day he had to work harder to find fifty, then eighty, and by the time he’d hit a hundred he’d been scrabbling frantic, tossing himself too deep into danger, close to midnight.

He’d kept working straight through, fighting his way through the night and past dawn. Found his way back to Alexandria halfway through the next day in a daze of bloodied exhaustion.

“We need to talk about this,” Aaron’d told him, eyes stern and voice achingly soft. And Daryl’d nodded, grunted “in the mornin’” and passed out between that and the next breath. In the morning there’d been no words to begin to explain it and Daryl’d left a still-sleeping Aaron with a back soon scrawled on a strip of paper and a kiss cooling his brow.

.-

Twenty days, and She tripped Daryl with the subtle shift of a root as he dodged back from a Walker’s grasp. Twenty-six and She caught at the dead’s flesh with thorny fingers as a horde chased close on his tail. Her whims shifted with the weather, but as far as Daryl could tell he was paying his way by entertaining Her.

He did his best to give her a show.

Thirty-one days and he killed a mass of dead in an explosion. Felt like a hundred-fifty, easy, ‘til a rush of doubt set in and he spent the rest of the day killing another sixty in a panic and praying to whatever blessed damn Old One might be listening that there’d at least been forty in that first blast.

Midnight came and went, and She didn’t appear to tell him he’d failed his task. After that, though, Daryl killed them by ones.

.-

Two months and Daryl was spending more nights away than with Aaron, tracking herds and then hordes for miles. Picking them off slow where he could, counting kills under his breath like a mantra. And when he couldn’t get ‘em slow... hell.

Then he fought.

He collapsed onto Aaron’s couch (their couch, still didn’t feel like theirs) after eight nights gone. Nearly dozed off ‘til he felt a shadow standing over him.

“We need to talk about this.” Aaron’s tone was all stern this time, that soft understanding of the past weeks scorched out of him. Daryl thought about pretending to be asleep. His aching body begged him to.

He slitted his eyes open.

“I know you’re grieving,” Aaron said, and Daryl’s throat choked on a growl, denial tightening it to something painful. Grief was an aftermath. Grief was acceptance. Daryl hadn’t been grieving.

“I know this is what you do, how you process, but––”

“What I do?” rolled out, and it was clipped, aggressive. Exhausted. Daryl’s body was a wreck of bruises and strained muscle and every inch of it wanted to crawl against Aaron for comfort. But there was a chasm in their chests keeping them separated and Daryl hadn’t even noticed himself digging it.

Aaron didn’t flinch.

“Hide. Run.” He answered plainly. “Cut yourself off, like you did after Rick––”

“This ain’t that.” It wasn’t. Rick had been a hunt. This was a quest. This was different. Rick was blind hope, but this? There was a clear end in sight. Forty-two more days –– not two months, even –– and the whisper of the wind would hand Jesus back to them.

Aaron was riling, though. Tensed tight, his infinite patience worn to rags as he stalked in a step and hissed, “So what is it like, then? You looking to die? Looking to go out like he did?”

It hit like a blade sinking through. That notion. ‘Cause Jesus wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Not unless Daryl fucked up here.

But... hell. To Aaron he was.

The thought stalled Daryl’s righteous rage in its tracks. To Aaron, he was. Daryl hadn’t been grieving all this time, couldn’t be, but Aaron had been. Alone.

Daryl pushed to his feet, ignoring the protests of his wrecked body. For the first time in weeks or longer, he took in the worn lines of Aaron’s face. How much older he looked now. Exhausted. And that’s how the gulf had gotten there. All these weeks Daryl’d spent chasing the lover they’d lost, he’d lost track of the one standing next to him.

“Hey...” His hand lifted to catch Aaron’s cheek, but Aaron wasn’t ready to be calmed. He catted out of the contact, caught Daryl’s shirt. Held him for an aching beat, then shoved back.

“Paul’s gone, Daryl. He was reckless and restless and went out looking for a fight and it got him killed.” The words were blades. They were wrong. But... they weren’t. Jesus’s soul had been born for the wild, same as Daryl’s. Maybe that was why She’d been willing to deal for him in the first place. But Aaron didn’t know that. And he was all balled up exhaustion and anger and still-bleeding wounds as he snapped: “I can’t deal with you doing that too.”

It was an ultimatum. A wall building. In or out, and Daryl could feel the pressure of it hitting him straight through the middle as he dug for some loophole, some door.

“Ain’t what this is,” he managed, and Aaron looked at him, every bit as wrecked as Daryl felt as he asked plainly: “Then what is it?”

But what could he say?

A second dragged past, then another, in frozen quiet, broken finally by Aaron’s tired sigh.

“I can’t do this again, Daryl. Eric, then Paul... we lose people in this world, I get that. But I can’t just wait around watching you chase it. So you either give up whatever the hell this is, whatever revenge mission you think you’re on out there... You either stay here and figure this out with me... grieve with me... or you go.”

A branch rustled the side of the building. Daryl’s lips parted and shut. Forty-two days left, and Aaron would understand.

Daryl went.

.-

Seventy-six days and Daryl was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, wrapping gauze along his stitched arm. He’d been slow, stupid. Clumsy. Running on fumes. Tripped straight into the edge of a rusted car door and split his skin open.

He’d thought about going to Hilltop. Getting stitched up by Enid, safe and far from the still-bleeding wounds left behind here.

But Alexandria’d been closer. And gods knew he didn’t have time for damn detours.

A lanky shadow fell over him.

“Heard you were here.” The voice was soft. Soft enough Daryl almost forgot the last, brutal words he’d heard from it. When he looked up, Aaron’s eyes were carefully cold.

“Got cut,” Daryl said, like that was any kind of an answer. He watched those eyes shift to the wound, caught the flicker of something in them. Pain, frustration, aching want.

Or maybe that was Daryl, projecting.

“Still fighting, then,” Aaron said, and Daryl wondered when they’d become the kind of people who’d communicated in two and three words. Seventy-seven days ago, whispered through him like the slice of a blade, but he wasn’t sure that was right. The estrangement, the coldness, the endless gulf and the wall Aaron’d built to ward it... all that’d come after.

Daryl wondered for the first time, vague and distant, if this wasn’t the true price he was paying. Not a hundred a day to win Jesus back. Just one. Lover for a lover. Gain one back, but lose another along the way.

It had Their kind of sick humor in it.

And Daryl’d never thought of himself as someone deserving good things. Lived a lifetime of bloodied teeth and hope ground out under cruel, careless heels. He’d dealt with it all ‘cause he could. ‘Cause what the hell else could he do but take his losses and keep moving forward? But now, watching that worn, resigned look in Aaron’s eyes, feeling the gulf stretching seemingly endless between them... that didn’t feel like an acceptable loss anymore.

“He ain’t dead.” It fell out on a breath, barely a rasp of sound. But it was enough to break through Aaron’s apathy. He froze, his furrowed brows pinching deeper. Confusion bleeding past the cold. His lips pursed, a shape of a what rising and fading. And Daryl sighed, pressed his eyes shut, and spoke.

.-

Aaron couldn’t understand.

They were back in their house now. (His house... or was it?) Stood at opposite ends of a too-long couch, squared off. Daryl could see the panicked spin behind Aaron’s eyes the second he’d started explaining. Slow swirl of confusion speeding to something else. Concern. Doubt. He said “Daryl,” just that, and the careful pitch of that tone nearly broke him.

Daryl flinched.

“Don’t say it ain’t real.”

A careful pause. The coldness was gone like it’d never been there, but the thing in Aaron’s eyes now was so much worse.

“I... know you want it to be real.”

“Don’t.”

“Daryl, you just told me the wind whispered to you.”

“Ain’t the damn wind.” Aaron couldn’t understand. Daryl couldn’t explain it. How could a person explain the kind of shapes Old Things took, the subtle ways they let you glimpse them? Daryl’d had a sense of them his whole life, seen shadows and signs since he’d stepped into his first forest. Learned lessons on his mama’s lap back before he’d been old enough to have the rules of real and fantasy drilled into him. Daryl knew, deep in his bones, but there was no way of describing it.

Aaron’s eyes were the eyes of a rational man faced with the notion of a loved one’s madness. Worried. Heartbroken. Eyes of someone debating calling the loony bin on him, if there’d been a loony bin left to call.

“Month left,” Daryl tried, grit and a ragged plea laced through the words all at once. “Twenty-four days, that’s it. Then call me crazy.”

“I’m not calling you crazy,” Aaron said, soft. His eyes begged to differ. He took a step, then another, to close the gulf between them. His hand lifted to brush Daryl’s cheek. “I’m... Daryl. That’s two thousand, four hundred Walkers. That’s over two thousand risks you’re taking.”

Daryl’d never bothered doing the math. What the hell’d math ever done for him but try to stick him up, thinking on it. He pressed his eyes shut, leaned into the achingly sweet warmth of Aaron’s hand. Said, clear as he could manage: “S’one shot to get him back.”

Aaron didn’t answer, but when Daryl opened his eyes again he saw a sickly understanding in Aaron’s own. Lips parted, an argument rising and dying as Daryl watched, and then Aaron was leaning in to press his forehead to Daryl’s.

For the first time in seventy-six days, it felt like coming home. They lingered in the contact for a few seconds, savoring. And then, soft, comforting, Aaron kissed him.

“Your life’s worth something too,” Aaron murmured, and Daryl felt some fractured piece of his soul mending. A smile ghosted his lips. He pressed it into Aaron’s bushy jaw.

“Ain’t gonna get myself killed. Can’t finish savin’ his ass then.”

It was half a joke, reflexive brush-off of those heartfelt words, but he felt Aaron’s body unclench at them. Like he’d really been terrified, all this time, all these kills... really were just a suicide mission.

Daryl led Aaron to bed and kissed him soundly ‘til the last one of those notions left his head.

.-

In the dawn light, as Daryl dragged himself out of bed and dug around for his scattered boots, Aaron offered: “I could come with you.”

“Couldn’t,” Daryl answered, not glancing up from the knot in his lace. “S’my deal. My kills. You takin’ some’s just gonna make it harder.” He could feel an argument building, sleep-fogged but passionate, in the way Aaron shifted against the sheets. And Daryl half-wanted to let him. Wanted to be talked into it. Into the company, at least, or the sensible head on Aaron’s shoulders. Into having someone to watch his back when a herd caught his scent, or flash a grin at after a narrow escape.

God, the loneliness had seeped so deep inside him these past months. He just wanted something to lean on.

He set a hand on Aaron’s knee. Dragged it down his shin, soothing. “And you got Gracie to think of.”

That settled it. Daryl felt the fight go out of him, the tired sigh. Winning didn’t mean Aaron liked it. When Daryl looked over, he saw a helpless war fighting through him. Ache of an almost-plea in those eyes. Stay.

It wasn’t anything to do with Jesus. Aaron still couldn’t believe that, even if he was trying. He was too rational. Too solidly set in what the world was supposed to be like, not what it was. He was looking at Daryl, saw someone grieving. Saw someone sick in the head, probably. Was just trying to figure out what Daryl needed to keep him from snapping harder.

Your life’s worth something too, he’d said the night before.

Daryl let his boot drop, turned to lean over Aaron.

“Hey... You trust I ain’t gonna get myself killed, out there?”

There was a heavy pause. Aaron sighed.

“No one plans on getting themselves killed, Daryl.”

And there was truth in that. Painful, bitter, and too familiar on the back of both of their tongues. If planning to live meant any damn thing at all, the world’d be full right now and Daryl’d have no walking corpses to fill his deal with. Hell, Jesus would be here, wrapped up safe in this bed, and Daryl’d have no need to fill it.

His gaze softened. He leaned down, kissed Aaron. Raw and quiet against the brush of his lips, offered: “Trust I love you?”

Eight years, probably, of that being true, and Daryl’d never managed to utter it. Sure as hell never braved those words to Jesus, before he fell. Aaron stared up at him, eyes a watery gleam in the dawn light. He wet his lips, bobbed a nod.

“I trust that.”

“Good. Hold that, ‘til I come back and say it again.”

.-

#twd fic #jaaryl #jaaryl fic #daaron #desus #bwwp fic #oh hey look i wrote a thing