It's my favourite time of day! Sitting down with Animal Kingdom, pulling out my little notepad and being able to fill it with any ramble and important notes that come to mind.
I'm an avid note taker, I like it to be an organised mess and cram as many thoughts onto the page as possible; I've been doing this with the last 5 episodes, now I'm on the season 3 finale. Ironically, I have already finished season 3, but I haven't made any notes since I was so consumed. So we're doing a rewatch to make notes, and frustratedly rant on Tumblr about how much I despise Smurf, how much I love the Cody boys, and how empathetic I feel towards them all.
But this is a little peak into my life. I'm currently on holiday, so it's taken me nearly 5 days to rewatch episode 10-13, but we're here. So everybody cheer!
But it is. Smurf knows that she can't hold the same level of control and authority over most women, like she can with men. Smurf is known for using her sexuality to her advantage, even uncomfortably so. This isn't something that works on every woman (or every man, but surrounding Animal Kingdom, it kinda is). She even spreads this one sick level of control onto her sons, proving that there aren't any limits she won't pass in order to stay ontop.
Looking at previous women in the story, this remains the same. At one point we see Smurf getting down with a woman, just to get something out of it. I don't recall the details unfortunately, but she did what she had to to get what she wanted.
With Julia, Julia wasn't affected by the twisted sexuality, and Smurf got rid of her. Her own daughter posed a threat to Smurfs authority, she was immune to this allure that Smurf has spent her entire life protecting. This is threatening her, everything she has but is lying upon the control that she gathers through emotional manipulation. Yet again, women are less likely to fall for than men due to higher emotional intelligence.
Smurf sensed a weakness within her 'realm' and annihilated her. Julia was smart, she knew what was happening and was trying to disturb Smurf's built pattern of harm. She actively rebelled from Smurf's ways, and in return was essentially sentenced to death.
So please Frankie. Do not tell Craig, whose own sister died thanks to Smurf. That you don't think it's true. You don't know the family, you don't know the truth.
thinking thoughts about the scene where Deran and Adrian are in their house together and Deran is holding the pillow as he puts his head in Adrian's lap. Thinking thoughts about Deran crying into Smurfs lap in season 1. Thinking thoughts abut Deran's little "hi mama," when he comes back and he just folds over on the pool lounger to rest his head on Smurf's lap. I dont know if this means anything but I'm so normal about (LIE I'M NOT NORMAL ABOUT IT)
HI! I have so many thoughts about Deran, and he is by far one of my favourite characters in the entire show. Him and Pope are constantly fighting for first place. Deran is winning by inches.
My thoughts on these scenes are so built upon and I think about all three of these scenes ALOT. I'd like to start with the amount of softness that we see with Deran, that comes from his childhood.
More specifically his place in the family. He's about 4-5 years younger than Craig, 13 years younger than Pope and Julia (since there's 9 years between Craig and Pope). And I can't remember where Baz falls into place, but I believe that he is around the same age of Pope and Julia. Being the youngest child, by quite a large chunk, I believe that there was a lot of pressure to grow up quicker. Smurf was already claws deep into the older boys, they were falling under his will and manipulation. And there wasn't any need for a baby, toddler, or little boy.
Deran didn't have a designated place other than being the baby, and we know that Smurf had favourites, which probably meant less attention to Deran. Deran probably learnt at a very young age, that he would be better if he was older. Older people like Pope and Craig, who mama liked more, who had better jobs and were helpful, which he wasn't. This probably led to Deran forcing himself to mimic his brother's behaviours - specifically Craig's which would explain how close they are and the reliance on each other's support throughout difficult times. And Deran does naturally copy a few of Craig's behaviours.
This means sacrificing quite a few things. Sacrificing the freedom of physical attention and basic needs of a child. Hugging, hand holding, basic comforts. Refusing these physical actions to seem 'bigger', 'older' and 'useful'. He did what it took to be seen as good enough in Smurfs eyes, to get the right attention and avoid being rejected.
As he grew older, things began falling out of place. Deran didn't need to fit into this box, because he had already earnt his place. But he had also become too valuable to lose. There wasn't a need to try, because he wasn't the centre of Smurf's focus - not that he ever really was - he didn't need to appeal to these standards that had been set 24/7. Which means that about 20+ years of becoming something he isn't, he was finally able to let softer moments slide through.
We know that Deran is a naturally soft person. The moment his guard slipped, we saw it. With Aiden and the morning breakfasts, or bad days. He finds him, and just reluctantly settles against him. He's soft, and vulnerable. He isn't forcing himself to please anyone, he's just taking what he needs and is incredibly glad that Aiden isn't taking advantage of these moments. Aiden accepts these moments and holds him, or just talks with him. He is exactly what Deran needs, a soothing, trusting presence that is never going to expect anything more than Deran can give.
After the watch heist went wrong. He is breaking down to Smurf in absolute guilt, because it was his fault that Deran got hurt. He's distraught, inconsolable. Smurf just accepts these moments of weakness, comforting him sincerely until he feels better. But the separation is how the moments differ with Smurf and Aiden. Aiden is caring for Deran out of pure care and kindness. While every action Smurf has is being planned and carefully filed to use again later, each time Smurf consoles Deran, she uses his moment of weakness as her strength. 'I love you baby, I'll take care of you baby'. Filling an at-the-time vulnerable mind, with the constant reassurance that mama loves him.
With the 'hi mama' Deran has purposely separated himself for a while to try and avoid Smurf and whatever the situation was (I forgot, my bad gang). He was also separating himself from the manipulative caring and control that he's lived his entire life through. So when he returns, this subconscious part of his mind is immediately waiting for Smurf to come and find him, want him, fight for him. He just puts his all out for her and seeks comfort in her embrace because that's what he's been subconsciously trained to do.
So Deran seeks out these moments of physical contact because it's helping him reclaim, and relearn how love should really feel. That when something is wrong, he can just go and ask for help. I think we see this with Deran the most, because he is visibly fighting the hardest to escape the life he was born into.
Additionally, all three of those scenes are just really damn cute to me because I adore Deran and he deserves the world. Seeing him so unnaturally small (for him) gives a really peaceful realism to the show, after a really hard time, a lot of people seek out any level of support, his just looks a little softer and I am absolutely here for it. Smurf is an awful, awful character and mother. But at the harder moments, even with her awful intentions, she can still provide momentary comfort and relief. And I semi-appreciate that. I'd appreciate it more if she was nice 24/7, but the writers could never have written a day of peace apparently.
I have just written a hell of a lot, I don't think it's exactly what you were expecting. But I adore Deran and will always think more than I need to about him and when he is the way he is. Same with all the Cody's. But yeah, this is me thinking, I hope you enjoyed parts of it at least.
J's going on a run, and he just glances to the side and lets his stare linger for a few seconds over a group of people (presumably, they appear to be holding something) taking drugs on an abandoned sofa. I can't help but think for a second how much of his childhood he might have spent stuck between places like that with his mum.
We know that Julia faced addiction for a long time, J was surrounded by it from a very young age, and was unphased in the pilot when she was getting shot up in front of him.
Perhaps in an entirely new life, which for a teenager would be incredibly difficult to adapt too and he very much got thrown into the deep-end. There's a subconscious part of his brain that takes his runs through the odd parts of the town, because there's an uncomfortable familiarity that feels like 'home'. It's reminding him of how he grew up, where he came from and who exactly he is fighting and surviving for.
Trauma works in incredibly complex ways, I don't think it's a hot take to find comfort in disturbing scenes, if you witnessed them at safer times.
The first scene with Smurf that we see, is of her yet again waking Craig up to the sound of the smoothie blender, which we know at this point is a large point of frustration for Craig.
Directly mirroring the pilot episode where Craig runs out of his room in anger over it, even completely naked. Smurf wearing onto a dressing gown and bra - already portraying this twisted sense of control and her manipulation of her sexuality to control her boys behaviours.
This time Craig reluctantly wakes up, dresses and calmly exits his room. Making his way to the kitchen where Smurf greets him. The difference of this scene is how they are dressed and approach each other. Both Craig and Smurf are wearing a decent amount of clothing. Craig is half-dressed, covering his manhood unlike last time, while Smurf is full dressed in pyjamas.
To me, this symbolises how much has changed. Craig has matured slightly, the family tensions are running higher than ever. Every move is calculated and calm - it has to be. Smurf is losing control over the boys, who are becoming more defiant to her demands. Boundaries are being laid and enforced by her sons. She is no longer the 'leader' to the same degree.
No doubt she still holds control, but it's slipping. It's not as tight leashed as before, and she isn't the person they 100% need to rely on.
It's really interesting to see how the show is repeating certain events, but in such a vividly different way.
And Pope's entire face scrunches into itself. Eyes genuinely full of a pained rage. He's so devestated by the fact that he can't look after Lena, but more terrified of who is.
Look at the way Smurf instslt declared she needed and entire new wardrobe. Every single new item, bright pink. She is raising Lena, she's sculpting her. She doesn't want her granddaughter, she wants a miniature Smurf who she can manipulate and control into doing whatever she wants. And Pope is terrified of this. He's seen this happen to him, but to 4 other people.
And if it fails? He's probably shit scared that Lena will be forced in Julia's path. Pushed to a bring she can't come back from, turned away and shooed off to die.
Smurf, you're pushing every ounce of patience I have.
I'm currently watching Season 3, episode 11. Jesus Christ, I'm going to rewatch it immediately after to take notes. It's too good to pause and disturb, so a re-run will be incredibly necessary.
Welcome to my first smut, hopefully I don't disappoint.
Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Male Reader.
Roughly 3k words.
Submissive Pope Cody x Dominant Male Reader.
Content: Reader receiving oral, shared hand jobs, anal sex. Brief spitting, if that needs to be added? Lots of praise, a brief moment of teasing. Aftercare!! Angst at the beginning and roughly sprinkled through. Sub!Pope Cody. Reader calls him Andy, good boy, handsome and love.
Trigger warnings: Very faintly implied, previous sexual trauma. Most just mention taking it slow, and not feeling comfortable in certain positions. This is known by the reader and not done!
Honestly, this is vaguely proofread and rather freaky. Please let me know if you think anything needs adding into the content or triggers!!
It's been a long day. Smurf's back, DCFS took Lena. Billy's been Billy. Everything feels like it's falling apart at the edges, and honestly? Pope feels ragged from the amount of disturbance. Carefully built routine getting shifted without a choice, sleep distancing itself just out of reach. And to top it all off, he hasn't seen you in two weeks. Your responsibilities have been overlapping drastically, creating a forced distance. Only stitched together through daily texts and the promises of 'soon baby'.
He's pent up. Emotionally, physically, sexually. He needs grounding, and he knows exactly where to find it.
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You're sat on your sofa, flicking through evening TV. Trying to find something to tide you over until the eventual retreat to bed. Only finding crappy reality TV, game shows, or 'classic' TV shows with messy unrequited love or triangles. Rubbing the bridge of your nose with a sigh, slumping back into the couch, when the sound of your door lock being opened makes you jump.
You stand up quickly, only wearing jeans and odd socks. Looking around quickly, you grab the bat leaning against the living room wall. Wrapping your fingers around it tightly and lifting it high above your head, preparing for whoever might be there.
To see Pope swing the door open, tucking a picking kit into his chest pocket, taking a step forward before setting eyes on you. A bit of a surprise to say the least. Pope breaks into a crooked smile, shutting the door behind him, as you drop the bat. Letting it softly thud behind you.
"Missed you," he mutters, walking forward quickly, sliding his eyes shut for a kiss. A soft sigh of relief and you copy. Left hand falling to grasp his waist, right coming up to cup his jaw. Gently letting your thumb press to his right cheek, and your fingers caress his left.
"Mm, missed you too baby,' you hum back. Taking advantage of the moment his lips part, to push your tongue into his mouth. Welcoming a soft groan before a weak battle for dominance begins. Pope always allows himself a few seconds of fight, before sinking into his comfort role. Hands finally coming to your hips as you taste each and every crevice of his mouth, whimpering softly as your fronts bump. Gently rutting against you through his jeans.
You push him back with a laugh, keeping a gentle yet firm hold on his jaw. "Be good for me Andrew." The smooth dominance he craves seeping through your voice, forcing his hips to a standstill. Hands immediately going for your belt, tilting his head further into your touch.
"I am, I am. I'm being good, I'll be good for you," he protests immediately. "Please, I'll show you," you chuckle and nod, giving him a soft kiss before sliding your hand on top of his head, giving him permission to slide to his knees
"I know you will baby, you always are," and it's true. Andrew falls into submission easily for you. Hardly ever a fight, not unless he feels the need to be hurt - a rare occasion now, he hasn't begged for a stern hand with tears in his eyes for months. You're pulled away from your thoughts as you look down, Pope tugging your fly and leaning straight forward in a haze. Mouthing, licking, groaning against your boxers, almost trying to taste you through the thin material. You let him for a few moments, get lost in the midst of desperation, while you shuffle and step out of your jeans. Careful not to knee him or disturb the peace he's found. "Your safe space, huh? Right where you need to be," you softly say, affection dripping through your words. Before gently running through your fingers through his hair, pulling him off gently. He stares up at you, mouth hanging open, tounge settling just behind his lips. Eyes wide and pupils slightly blown, so desperate. Sweet cravings.
"Let me sit down. I get sat down and you can take whatever you need. Okay? My boy, right? My good Andrew." You assure, not rejection, just a place holder.
You walk back to the sofa, barely normal speed. Letting Pope come through on his knees, trailing behind you, anxious to be more than a few feet apart.
"I know baby, I've got you." You hum, kicking your trousers and boxes out of the way as you head through. Getting to the sofa and sitting down with a soft 'oomf'. Spreading your legs enough to fit the man in-between, to which Pope quickly takes his place. Finally clicking his mouth shut and staring for permission. "Words baby, tell me what you need."
"You, just want you. Need you, been good all week. Been waitin', just for this," he mumbles quickly. Pressing soft kisses to your knee, subtly making his way higher. Still keep eye contact, pining eyes. Waiting for your say so. Giving him a nod, he goes back. Softly burying his nose against your crotch, kissing every inch before finally taking you in. It's not teasing, not a second of it. It's worship, gratitude, thanks. Thanks for giving him the grounding tool he needed.
Smoothly taking you in as much as he can, glancing up every few seconds to make sure he was doing good, humming around you as you slide your fingers back into his hair. Nails smoothly gliding through his scalp and the back of his neck, reassuring him.
"Fuck baby, that's it," you gruff. Allowing your arms to follow his measured movements, tongue reaching any place it can. Soaking in your taste, the weight, letting it guide him to the comfort he's been craving all week. "Go on Andy, good boy." A soft whine accompanying each praise, making your cock twitch against his tongue.
It only takes a couple of minutes for you to start closing in on your finish, with no doubt that Pope isn't too far behind, the hand not grasping your thigh, pressed against himself, not rubbing, just accompanying the involuntary movements of his hips. Not daring to breach his waistband before you allow. The sight is like nothing you've seen before, just as good as the first time. Pope relaxed, calm, wanting for something other than quiet.
"Off baby, it's too good. I need a sec," you say, not pulling him away just yet. Letting him settle into the demand first. Pope looks up at you, almost in despair as he slowly backs off, following you with his lips, until your cock comes up to gently slap against your stomach. "That's all you Andrew, look how good you can make me feel," you say breathlessly. Keeping your hands running through his hair, keeping the contact he was breathing for. You take a few moments to back down from the edge before leaning forward, tenderly pulling his hair until he looks up. Leaning in and giving him a kiss. "You wanna follow some instructions? Show me how well behaved you are?"
"Please-" You could almost faint from how he sounded. Eager, yearning, prepared to do anything just to make you proud.
"That's my boy. I want you to get up slowly for me, don't rush," you wait for him to obey before continuing, "now this is your choice. You can get undressed however much you want. As long as I can see your dick. Okay? Go on love"
Pope's actions are quick but calculated. Pushing himself up to stand, but stressing his knees in the way that makes you frown. Slowly unbuttoning his shirt and laying it over the side of the sofa, he knows you'll iron it for him after but the thought of it crumpling still makes him cringe. He steps back again, Scarlett flush seeping to his cheeks while he undoes his jeans; pushing them down along with his boxers, until the front settled at the top of his thighs. Just underneath his balls and dripping cock, ass mostly covered.
You've been together nearly 9 months, and that level hasn't been breached yet. Other than wandering fingers during in bed head, you've been travelling at Pope's speed. Getting too close gets him anxious, squirrelly and distant, that's okay. You could be celibate as long as he felt safe with you.
"Good boy," you praise. Standing up and rewarding him with another kiss.
"Thank you sir," small, submissive, safe. He's slipping deeper into the familiar headspace he craves on days like this. He's getting what he needs.
You lift your hand slowly to his mouth, lubes in the bedroom. Only a few meters, but too far to leave him waiting. Red tip leaking, waiting for your attention. He makes eye contact as he gently spits into your hand, pupils shivering in excitement. You step closer, tips bumping into each other, rubbing when Pope automatically thrusts. Whimpering a soft apology as he did.
"It's okay, you've earned it love. Waiting so patiently, making me feel good. In returning the favour." Your hand lowers, spit trailing in the center of your palm, as you reach down. Grasping both of you together, rewarding each other with a whimper and a moan. "Try and stay still for me Andy, let me do the work," you insist, starting to pump your hand up and down. Starting off slower with a looser grip. Just enough to warm you back up to it. Veins and ridges jutting, colliding with each other. Pre and spit used as lubrication, you tighten your hand slightly, squeezing you both together.
Pope moans, leaning forward burying his face fighting into your neck. Sucking soft bruises into your skin, not to hurt you, never to hurt you. Running his tongue over then gently to relax the red areas. Feeding off your relaxed groans and soft whispers of affections, cock twitching against yours. He gasps softly, leading into a broken moan as you brush your thumb over both your heads. He leans back slightly, staring at you while a blush spreads along his cheeks and up to his head. Silently debating something in his mind. The moment he opens his mouth, you circle your thumb across the top slowly.
"Feels good? Uh-huh?" Softly teasing him, as he whines loudly and rocks his hips harder into your first.
"PleASe, I- fuck, I want to feel you. Please, I'll be good. Want you in me sir," he gasps out, voice pitching higher in pleasure, pushing his face back into your shoulder with a helpless whine.
Surprised for a moment, you carefully peel him away by the back of his neck. Dragging your eyes across his face, looking for any sign of regrets or panic.
"You sure baby? You know I will, I'll take such good care of my good boy. Only if you want too." Slowing your hand down a little bit, giving him a chance to catch his breath. He nods bashfully, leaning his head back into your hand.
"I promise please. I-I got ready, I want too. Let me be good for you, let me have it"
"Fuck," you mumble. Pulling him in for another kiss gentle this time. Reassuring.
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You eventually make it to the bedroom, exchanging messy kisses and shredding Pope of the rest of his clothing. Pressing lips against his collarbones and chest.
"On the bed Andy, hands and knees. Yeah love?" You prompt, remembering a conversation from a while back. Pope very hesitantly told you he hated being on his back, especially with someone over him. Feeling caged, or trapped - it just god it fucks with him. He said it was worse if it was someone he cares about, since then you made sure you never found yourself on top of him, making sure certain things were okay. But never fragile, not your Andrew.
Pope nods, edging him to the middle of the bed. Looking back at you with a moment of caution before moving to how he was instructed, trusting you to take care of him. His knees spread slightly, cock hard and hanging between his legs, displaying himself for you.
"Tell me I'm good," he presses quietly, bunching a little bit of the comforter in his hand. You smile, pressing a kiss to the small of his back.
"Oh Andrew. You're the best, listening to well. Obeying me, making sure you were all ready for me. Trust me. You're so good baby, my good boy," you mumble, getting higher up his back before the kisses fall behind his shoulder. "You say the word and we stop. No questions, just me and you. Safe and together." Pope nods, breathing a shaky sigh of relief before subtly arching his back. It feels like ages now since this all first began, his dick's hard and aching dripping into the sheets. He already knew what he wanted before he'd arrived. Hole subtly glistening with lube, clean and prepped. He just wants it to begin.
"Please," a breathless request that you just can't resist. Tearing open a foil and sliding a condom on carefully. Minimising the mess for after.
You chuckle and nod, kneeling behind him, settling a hand on his hip, using the other to line yourself up. Slowly pushing yourself in, rubbing a thumb up and down Andrew's flank.
"So good baby, you feel so good. Got yourself all ready for me? My good boy." Fuckk, he feels good. A slightly anticipatory tightness, warm and slick, squeezing around you, drawing a gritted grunt. "That's it baby, you tell me when to move." You say, keeping a close eye on him. Smirking slightly as his nose scrunched, biting his lip to choke back those delightful sounds you live for. "Ah-ah. Let me hear you Andy, let me know how good I can make you feel."
With two nods in a row, you begin to move. Using his waist as handles, you begin slowly. Pushing in and out for him. Getting to full hilt, watching your beautiful boy take it, head leaning down and groaning aloud in pleasure.
"F-fuck, more. Please? Please more." Begging for your touch, your movements. For your body to join together in something he'd forbidden himself from for so long. Whining and subtly bouncing himself back on you until you matched the speed he wanted.
"Little brat," you mumble affectionately. Starting to lose your breath as the clapping of skin gets quicker. "My beautiful boy, just the best for me. Andrew, my good boy." Constant affirmations, praise. Reminding him how safe and loved he is.
It doesn't take long until Pope starts tensing a little more, whimpering more regularly. You smirk, panting behind him. Cautiously leaning forward, one of your hands moves to lay on top of his, holding him securely while pressing more kissing into his back.
"F-fuck. Please- I want, can- fuck," Pope's word begin to come out in a desperate string of half formed sentences. You laugh between breaths, kissing his shoulder.
"You can come baby, come for me Andrew." A simple sentence, but the most important thing you can provide him. Permission.
Pope gasps, falling forward slightly as he finally lets out, dragging shaking breaths in and out. Tightening around you, the last final push until you reach your climax too. "Fuck-fuck Andy. Jesus- well done baby, you're so goddamn good. I love you, fuck."
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Both of you gently ride through your orgasms together. Weakening thrusts and soft twitches, until it's comfortable enough to move on.
"One more thing love, I'm just gunna pull out. Okay handsome?" Patiently waiting for a weak nod, before slowly pulling out, "my perfect Andrew, so amazing for me. You did so good baby." You assure, gently rubbing his side as you did so. Smiling at him bonelessly laying over the bed, pulling the covers to bashfully hide his face. You chuckle softly, slipping off the condom, tying it and throwing it into the bin. "Andrew, love. I'm gunna be back in three minutes. Okay handsome? Just going to get a flannel and a snack for you." You say forcing yourself to stand up, gently pulling the cover to put a kiss on his face before disappearing.
Upon return, like promised, you're holding a warm damp flannel, and a plate with apple slices and peanut butter. A blue Gatorade tucked under your arm, freshly cool from the fridge. Pope's pulled himself up slightly, hair sticking in all directions. You'll help him wash it in the morning.
"We got, glacier freeze. And some apple slices with pb. Practically fresh, I cut it up just before you come over," you hum, putting the plate down next to him and cracking open the drink. "Here baby, have a few sips for me."
"Thank you," he croaks, voice dry from the amount of sound he was making. Your neighbours might complain tomorrow, but nothing matters as much as making your man happy. "For this, and yknow. Thanks." You smile, gently slapping the flannel on his thigh to introduce the temperature, before running it along his stomach. Carefully mopping up his cum, it has practically reached his chest.
"Did you have fun baby?" You ask, gently moving to clean the sweat and lube between his thighs. Watching attentively as he slowly nibbled through the snacks and took some of the Gatorade.
"The best... You, you don't need to wait on me. Yknow?"
"Andrew. I just took you apart, it's my job to carefully put you back together." You sternly say. Making sure to get him to a good standard of clean before chucking the flannel into your en-suite. It hit the floor, but that's tomorrow's problem. "Do you want some pyjamas love?" You turn back to Pope, who's staring up at you with unreadable eyes.
"No-ones ever done this, not for me," he admits, slowly leaning forward into your waist.
"They should have, you deserve sunshine. My handsome Andy. Hey?" He nods against you, slowly standing up while holding. You smile, putting an arm around his waist to keep him steady for a second. Letting his legs get used to the calming shake and weight. "You wanna go brush your teeth. I'll change the sheets. We can cuddle for a bit," you offer. Getting a soft kiss and a nod in reply.
The apple slices are gone, the Gatorade half drank. Dirty sheets heaped onto a laundry pile and new ones laying fresh by the time Pope came back out. Wearing a pair of your sleep shorts and wordlessly climbing into bed.
"You look in my clothes baby." You get into bed beside him. Leaning up again the pillows and letting him fall onto you. Head leaning onto your chest and hugging around your torso. You let your hand softly tuck back into his soft curls as he uses the remote to flick through until he finds something pleasant to watch.
Billy instantly grabbed J and pushed him up against the wall because J said no to giving him the money. J's eyes immediately widening with alarm, tensing up and quietly telling him to let go, is killing me.
At the end of the day, no matter the roles J has taken in jobs. He is still a teenager, a child. Who is still arguably new to this life. Let alone the fact that the last time he was manhandled, it was by Jack's guys. Surely that would create an instant panicked responsibility, arguably a form of trauma response.
If you like Billy in the slightest, I hate you. Not respectfully either. He's a scoundrel of a con-man, manipulative, abusive rat. The actor did a damn good job, because I really hate him.
Me and Animal Kingdom are about to have a big falling out.
Watching Pope beg for someone to tell him where his niece is. Begging that she is okay, that she knows what's happening. That he still loves her, still wants her. That Pope is fighting for her and will never let her down. He's going to bring her home.
He is desperately trying to assure that she understands what is going on, because he never had anyone explain to him what was going on. He's fighting, even when apart to keep her safe, secure and happy.
For all of his quirks, Pope is by far one of the best parental figures I have seen in a show before. There is nothing he wouldn't do for Lena, and he will fight until he can't to make sure she is okay.
A small kid to adult fic. A brothers bond, and soft reminiscing.
Majority fluffy and comfort. With a dash of angst sprinkles in between.
Deran Cody & Craig Cody.
Tiny feet softly thud against gray carpet. Carefully shuffling forward around the side of a brand new big-boy bed, until toes gently bumped into the wooden feet of a bedside table. A soft whimper escapes, muffled behind a baby blue pacifier, while pudgy fingers begin exploring the wooden top. A little sigh of accomplishment follows, when a small click sounds and soft yellow light slowly surrounds the walls.
"I did it!" A lisped acknowledgment gently echoes throughout the silent room. Curious blue eyes turn, soaking in his room. The ocean themed nightlight on the bedside table that projected warm tones, the carefully folded clothes on his dresser waiting for tomorrow. That's his big brother, he always puts the nice clothes nice and neat for preschool. Pope sometimes hides a little candy in the pocket, but it's too late for candy now and mama might be upset, and she's already being noisy.
With a little grunt, short arms reach over the bed. Pulling his weight slightly off the ground, pyjama clad legs wiggling with a soft giggle, while the young boy reaches over for his most important items. A (realistically) small toy lamb that fills half his arms, and a teddy bear patched baby blanket that dawdled behind him, even when clutched tightly to his chest with lamby. Two tiny fingers count on one hand to account for his treasures items, before another accomplished smile.
Pulling lamby and blankie up to his chest, to protect him from the scary monsters, the blonde-haired boy slowly pads towards the door. Since turning 3, he's been a big enough boy to sleep in his very own real bed and not a baby crib. And that means he can wander whenever he wants. On days like this, with Smurf's voice getting too loud, shouty words bounding off of walls. He knows exactly where he wants to wander too.
Leaving his nightlight on, to guide his way back. The youngest son sets off on a pint-sized mission. Bare feet padding gently across laminate floors, making soft patters that only he can hear. Lamby and blankie tickling gently against his chin as he toddles through the dark. Using his left hand to carefully lean against the walls, or hold onto the small railing down the kitchen steps. Scuffling slightly faster and crouching to get across the kitchen to the other hall. Sneaking a small peak at the argument - Julia and Mama are having a row again. He doesn't really understand the words, but they don't sound very nice. They sound scary and mean, not gentle and sweet. He stares a few seconds more, absent-mindedly rubbing blankie against his chin while his blue eyes fill with shaky tears. Only flinching back into place when Mama slams a door, sending the little boy scampering up the rest of the hall and flinging himself through an open door.
------------------------------
Now, Craig is 7. A big boy who doesn't need a nightlight, or blankies to sleep. He can just roll over into his pillows and duvet and conk right out, drooling slightly and letting out soft breaths as evidence he's still here. He's a deep sleeper, it takes a few tries from Pope each morning to get him fully awake, whining and tossing in-between sheets in reluctance to be disturbed. But of course, like most children he can still be startled, which is exactly what happens tonight.
The older-younger boy had been asleep just over an hour (he gets to stay up later, because 'Deran's a baby and I'm 7, that's not fair. I'm a big boy too!' even if it's only 20 more minutes, it stops the fuss). But an hour or so of sleep, snuggled tightly into batman sheets and soft jammies. And a small weight pushes onto his bed with a little whine.
"Caige... Caige. Caiiiggee ith me?" Another softly lisped voice calls out. Struggling to climb up, the toddler uses a pair of shoes as a stepping stool, gaining a little height, eventually managing to shuffle on. Quickly putting blankie and Lamby near the wall, crawling a few inches every which way. Fighting between getting Lamby tucked up, and waking up his Craig, oblivious to the creaking of springs underneath the weight of two boys. Softly bouncing the bed and stirring Craig a tad. "Caige is me!" The toddler whines a little louder, tugging the pacifier out with a soft pop, maybe if Craig can hear him better. Crawling over his brother and lowering down, mouth straight to ear. "Caige, pease wakey wakey?" He asks, poking his face. Determined to wake his brother up.
Craig stirs awake fast after that, hand flying up to cover his eye
"Oww! That was my eye, that hurt!" He protests quickly, rubbing it with the back of his knuckles. Blinking the other rapidly to try and see who exactly was invading his bed. Not heavy enough to be mommy smurf, not subtle enough to be Andrew, or whiny enough to-
"Mama s-outin' caige," the small voice fills the empty thoughts, still half crawled half laying on top of Craig, luckily without much discomfort to the other.
"Deran it's bedtime. You poked me in the eye," Craig huffs slightly. Finally relaxing his knuckles and leaning slightly to turn on his desk lamp, and that's for his homework. He doesn't need a nightlight because he's not scared of the dark, he's not a baby, duhh!
Deran blinks at him quietly before leaning forward and putting a tiny kiss on Craig's eyelid.
"Fix?"
"Mhm, magic kisses." Baz will get annoyed if he broke the illusion of magic kisses, it's the only thing that stops Deran from crying when he gets really hurt. But Deran's really hurt isn't really hurt, it's just a little graze on his knee or a bumped head. Craigs really hurts are way worse, one time a boy at school headbutted him and it went straight into his tooth!
"Why's mama shouting?" He settles on, carefully manoeuvring Deran like he's seen Pope and Baz doing. Putting hands under his armpits and laying him down next to him, but it's tricky to do if you're already laying down. Luckily, Deran gives a little giggle as he softly thumps onto the mattress, wriggling for a little second to pull Lamby and blankie back to his front, before wriggling himself into a place next to Craig, already settling straight back down for bed.
"S-outin' too Yulia," a small moment of silence passes between the pair, "is mean?" Craig thinks for a few seconds. Shouting isn't very nice he doesn't like getting shouted at when he's been naughty. But mommy always says that Julia is naughty too.
"Maybe it's mean, but I didn't hear it. But, I don't think it was nice to be too loud to wake you up," he settles on. That sounds good, and apparently it pleases when Deran gives a satisfied hum, one hand coming forward to hold onto the front of Craig's pyjamas, the other holding onto Lamby's ear.
"Ni-ni Caige," Deran mumbles, burying his face a little deeper in Craig's side. Finding his pacifier along the way and immediately settling into a self-soothing repetitive sucking motion. Slowly lulling himself to sleep.
"Night night Deran," Craig whispers in return. Very carefully lifting his head to give Deran's head a little kiss. Like how he's seen mommy do for Pope and Baz. Maybe not him all the time, but he's naughty so that's probably okay. He lays back carefully into the pillows and silently watches the baby, his baby Deran. The baby Deran that crawls into his bed for nighttime cuddles, or gives Craig his peas because he 'dont likkkkeeeee, no hav'. Deran's back softly heaving, paci gently bumping along to mimic his breaths. He looks comfortable and cosy, and it's all because of Craig. The seven year old allows himself a little smile at his victory.
"My baby Deran, I can always make you smile." A little promise to himself, always wanting to be the person that Deran can come too.
It's over 20 years later. The sweet blonde boy is 25 with enough regrets to last til 62, torn between freedom and the family that holds him back. The older boy is now 30, battling reality with enough lines to tranquilize a small horse. Whatever gets him through the day without the words of Smurf ringing through his mind. Useless, immature, reckless, childish. I suppose in a strange way, trying to avoid it is making it happen. But that's not the story of today.
It's been a long day. A job gone wrong. Deran had spent weeks scouting out the watch shop. Eyeing out security cameras, guards, silent alarms. Every attention to detail he could think of, everything was supposed to go according to plan, nothing should have gone wrong. An easy smash and grab, just get the shit and go. No-one was meant to get hurt, let alone one of the brothers.
So, when an unexpected security car was waiting by the south end, the panic was immediate. Reversing immediately, swerving left to hit down the alley. Just racing to exit. The guard gripped to the side of the truck, the shooting. More obstacles to slide past. But when one of the shots found its way, wedged deeply into Craig's shoulder, because of Deran's mistakes? That guilt doesn't leave easily, no matter the amount of desperate apologise you spill.
It's nearing 3am. Deran's laying in bed on his back, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Trying not to submit himself to the tears threatening to spill, hands resting over his stomach, fingers entwined and stressing each other. Nails scratching over one another, trying to give a loose distraction to the charging thoughts. Lungs slowly fill and decompress, while the man attempts to soothe himself. He's not a child anymore, he shouldn't need consoling. But what would a few beers do?
Forcing another shallow breath into himself, Deran makes himself move. Already dressed into pyjama shorts and an old surf top, designated as a sleep shirt. He forces his legs to carry him out of bed. Sheepishly walking out of the lonely room, lowering his gaze slightly to the floor as he made the familiar journey to the kitchen. Pope's awake, stood outside staring up into the sky blankly, turned away much to Deran's gratitude. The lights are still on, illuminating the way to the fridge, which he tugs open. Pulling out four cold beers and carefully tucking two to his chest, grasping the other two by the neck before letting the fridge fall shut with a mellow click.
Leaving the lights on, he continues his journey. Pattered footsteps to the next hall, a soft sigh of relief to see lights shining through the cracks of Craig's door. Not bothering to knock, privacy isn't a family custom, he kicks the door open with his left foot. Taking a step forward and standing there. Words don't immediately come to his lips, frozen slightly.
"Dude," Craig's sat on his bed, struggling to pull a t-shirt on with his bum arm and raging pain shooting through his chest. A mild look of annoyance mixed with confusion passing through his face, at the brother just silently stood in his doorway holding four condensation ridden bottles, and a pale guilt-ridden face. It takes a moment for things to fall into place. "Come on then, crack 'em open." Invitation. Deran nods, walking forward and putting them down on the bedside table, shoving some crap to the floor but that doesn't matter right now.
"Are you-"
"It's fine," Craig finishes, sending Deran a cocky grin and gladly accepting an open beer with his food arm. "See? Can hold a bottle can't I? Just sit down, you look dumb." He shuffles over, making space on the bed for the two of them to sit.
"Thought you could use a drink," Deran says, sitting down with his own, shuffling back on the bed until his shoulders hit the wall. Tilting his head back and slightly to the left, keeping an eye on Craig while they spoke. "Does it kill?"
"Well it ain't pleasant," following in suit until they are sat shoulder to shoulder. "Thought about grabbin' a few, couldn't carry them if I tried though." Deran nods, raising his bottle to his brother's. Clinking them together in a silent agreement to not talk about the injury. It was a mistake, shit happens.
They stay like that for a while, sipping on bitter beers and distracting one another with crappy anecdotes about busted jobs. Deran's car theft in his teens, Craig's gas station phase. It's not his first time getting shot, probably wouldn't be his last. The time ticks slowly, men slowly finishing both beers, clock creeping towards 5, drowsiness taking over. Deran groans softly, shifting to pop his back from sitting too long. He doesn't really want to leave, the company's nice. Safe. He wouldn't say it, of course. Why would he? He's grown, doesn't need his hand held every time he's upset.
"I should go, you've gotta rest at some point." He says with a smile, leaning forward over Craig to put the empty second bottle down.
"Fuck off, you're staying. If I start choking on blood who's gunna stop me from dying? Basically your responsibility," Craig hums. Carefully shifting to lay down, gritting his teeth to disguise the after-shock of electric pain that's throbbing down his chest.
Craig's not dumb, he knows exactly how Deran works. Same way since he turned 13, too proud to say what he really wants. He doesn't mind really, he's not allowed about honesty either. He'll play into it, give the kid what he needs without utterly humiliating him. He looks up at Deran who's scowling a bit at the joke.
"Oh come on, I'm joking. Just lay down, if I wake up and can't get up. Imma need you, aren't I?" Easy enough, reasoning to get where they need to be. And it works, watching Deran's face soften and his shoulders finally relax. Awkwardly manoeuvring himself to lay next to Craig, quite different from when they were kids. Two 6 foot and counting guys shifting into one bed, it takes a few seconds to get somewhere comfortable, without Craig's arm getting nudged, but Deran's head still finding a spot on the pillow.
"You good man?"
"Yup," the younger replies, chucking the cover over Craig and a blanket over himself before sighing in exhaustion. Craig can't help but grin.
"What, you want your Lamby?" He ribs, giving his brother a playful jolt aligned with a teasing laugh, increasing as Deran scowled slightly and leaned further away with a soft huff.
"Mhm, totally. I want my lamby," he scoffs back. A sarcastic edge. With a barely noticeable softened undertone? Craig smiles in response, messing his hair up with his good arm
"Go on then, go get him blondie"
"There's this thing called sarcasm. Ever heard of it?" Deran quips back, shoving his hand away. "Dick, I'm gunna wake up and it'll look like shit"
"Come onnn, I'm hurt, I'm injuureed. Humour me. I know you got him. All tucked in your draws anywa-"
"Christ fine. Jesus Craig." He huffs, shoving his head as he carefully gets up and jumps over him and off the bed. Shaking his head with a reluctant laugh and disappearing for a few minutes.
Deran heads to his room, straight to his clothes draws. Crouching down to the bottom one, tugging it opens with a humoured smile. Shuffling a few shirts around before pulling out the childhood toy. Allowing him a small smile for a brief second, staring at the toy.
"Yeah whatever it's dumb," his quietly announced to no-one. Tucking the white, curly toy under his shirt as he made his way back to Craig's room. Trying not to giggle at the daftness of the situation. 25, curling into his brother's bed with a stuffed toy, it's silly.
Upon his return to Craig's room, the older has shift closer to the wall, good arm holding up the blanket, welcoming Deran back to comfort. No hint of teasing on his face, just a fond smile and calming silence.
"You got him?" He asks, making a little more space. Smiling as Deran rolled his eyes, pulling Lambie out and getting back into the bed.
"Shut up," he mutters, laying down and holding the soft lamb to his chest. "This is so stupid," but theres no bitterness to his voice. Just a small softness.
"You love it"
"Dick"
"Short ass"
"Oaf"
"Blondie." The two catch each others eyes and break into a small laughter at the situation before them. Two brothers huddled into the same bed, almost cuddling again with each other and a small stuffed lamb. Again, after all of these years. "Come on, go to sleep," Craig hums after a few minutes, breaking the giggles apart and relaxing a little more into the pillows as the day finally kicks in. Feeling Deran so the same a couple of inches away.
"Night." His voice is softer now, slowly succumbing to unconsciousness within the peace.
"Night"
And if Craig wakes up first, Deran's sleeping head laying in the crook of his arm, slightly drooling and still holding close onto his little lamb. He'd pin it on sleep movements, gently combing through the blonde hairs over his fringe, and stretching to place a kiss on the top of his head, just like all those years ago. Forever his baby Deran to protect.
Craig has been told since he was young that he is dumb, impulsive, reckless, immature. He heard these words so much as a young child, that it began to subconsciously cement. If he is supposed all of these things, why try and be anything else?
Craig is a smart man, with what I believe to be good intentions, even despite the outcomes. But the people around him have placed him into a box and never let him forget that fact. Craig could be so much more, if people gave him a singular chance to try. For example, with his job - the boat heist. He displayed amazing planning, executive decisions, and strategy. He was smart and worked himself to the point that they needed.
So essentially, give my man a chance. Please and thank you.
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