#But they aren’t a catch all like these other ones

[endless-ineffabilities]

the other side of the door (2/3)

Ewan Mitchell x bestfriend reader

a/n: the way this turned into a 3-parter because I found myself writing an abrupt ending where she just runs off with [redacted]. Oh well. They still have some things to work through. But I would love to hear what yous think about the sweet chaos in this part! <3 — also, that gif up there accurately represents how our Mitchell was acting up in one scene! heh.

main masterlist ▪︎ part one

The one where you try to move on from your best friend.

Ewan leans back against the headboard, having to cool down from one too many drinks, yet Louise's persistent laughter cuts through his calm.

She’s close, so close that he is enveloped in her vanilla scent, commenting at something he said downstairs—he doesn’t remember what, exactly, only that he retreated upstairs for a moment and she’d followed him.

He’s too tipsy to be decisive, his mind too scattered to sort through her words, but she’s clearly interested. Her hand grazes his shoulder as she flirtatiously jokes about how much of a lightweight he is, lingering before sliding up to cup his jaw.

“Hey! I’m not a lightweight,” he finds himself saying, surprised by how animated he still sounds.

“Oh yeah?” Louise becomes more real, more solid as she comes onto him. “So you’re sober enough to come here and kiss me then?”

He blinks, half there, half somewhere else, drifting in and out of the moment. Where are you? Did he leave you with Phia? Then her lips press against his, her fingers threading through his hair. There's something oddly mechanical about his movements. Of course he feels a sense of desire—he is a warm-blooded guy in the end, and when a barely-clothed lass offers herself to him, his body will react.

So he lets it happen and hopes that Louise won't notice his minimal engagement.

He's aware of the rustle of the mattress as they settle back, the sensation of her body on top of him—but it's not what he expected. His mind drifts, and before he knows it, he's thinking of you.

“What about the girl you came with?” Louise asks coyly, her face hovering over the crook of his neck, peppering kisses. 

His eyes flutter open, and in the dim room, he sees a different face in his mind, feels your presence instead of hers. The way your hand feels when it lingers on his arm, the warmth in your eyes when you catch him in an unguarded moment.

His mouth moves before he can properly formulate a response. “What… girl?” He hears himself, and he knows the automatic thing to say next. “Oh, she’s… she’s just my friend.” Because you are, aren’t you?

Then why doesn’t it sound enough? He’s been with a few other girls all throughout your friendship, and he didn’t give them much thought. Because it was never any of those girls with whom he would want to spend entire weekends. He didn’t want to call them right before he went to bed. He didn’t instinctively feel like pulling them close and kissing the crowns of their heads whenever they would be upset. 

He remembers the night on the couch, your head tipped back against the cushions. As Louise kisses him, he thinks of how your lips tasted like peppermint tea. 

And, just like that, his mouth moves, and he murmurs your name. Louder than he thinks.

He blinks himself out of inebriation, feeling a rush of heat. Not from the alcohol, and certainly not from Louise.

But from the fact that he just moaned his best friend's name out loud.

“Wait—what?” Louise pulls back, staring, her brows knitting. Fortunately, she had been so preoccupied with the thought of pleasuring Ewan that she didn’t hear exactly what he said. “Did you just say…?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I…,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head, unable to meet her eyes.

But he's not sorry. He just needs to clear his head. And he needs to see you right away. He has to make sure you don't mistake his unusual absence from your side as indifference.

But Louise just shakes her head, scoffing softly. "Are you not into this? We can... try something else...?"

Ewan just looks at her. She's pretty, someone who definitely turns heads as she walks down the street. But does her entire face adorably scrunch like yours does whenever he says something ridiculous? Does she also take her coffee black with oat milk and two sugars, the way you always do? Would she stroke the bridge of his nose to wake him up if he fell asleep on her couch?

Stumbling back into the hallway, Ewan feels an unsettling hollowness. He doesn’t know why he feels so shaken—he has always firmly believed that his friendship with you was just that. Friendship. The best one he will ever have. But now, a nervous urgency pounds in his chest as he stumbles downstairs, scanning the room for you. Instead, he finds Phia in the kitchen, sipping water and looking unimpressed.

He approaches her, trying to gather his words. “Phia, do you know where—”

“She left,” Phia says, barely glancing up, her tone pointed. “Fabien walked her home. She came up to find you, but you were busy.” Her smirk is ice-cold, and it’s clear she doesn’t intend to spare him.

The words hit him hard, shame and dread twisting in his gut. You came looking for him, only to leave with Fabien. He imagines you peering into the guest room to find him and Louise, and he practically feels his heart drop. That thought lands heavier than he expects, and Phia’s words sting as they settle in his mind.

“I… I wasn’t busy…” he says weakly, but Phia raises an eyebrow and scoffs.

“We heard you, Ewan.”

Oh, god. Phia says something more, but her words barely register due to the ringing in his ears. He’s never been put in a position where he could lose you, and if he does…

His fingers shake as he forces a cigarette between his teeth, stalking out on the balcony. The protracted lungfuls he takes in make him feel sick, but not as sick as the thought of you possibly hating him. Guilt overwhelms him, and he doesn’t know why. You’re just his friend. His best friend. He can kiss whoever else he wants, can’t he? But the thought comes back around to mock him, in a way that he doesn’t quite understand.

You’re only the one who knows him better than anyone in his life. You’re only his other half. You’re only the one he…

You’re only the one.

The night air is cool as you walk alongside Fabien, a welcome relief from the chaos of the party. He seems to sense your need for quiet, and you’re grateful for the space he gives you. But his caring nature wins over, and after two blocks, he reaches out in an easy tone.

“Ewan, huh?” he says, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off with a faint laugh. “It’s nothing, Fabs. Just a stupid crush. He’s my best friend, and I get it. He doesn’t want anything more. I’ll be fine.” The phrases sound heavily punctuated and clearly forced out. The person you truly need to convince is yourself.

Fabien contemplates pressing further—he knows, as does everyone else in your circle, that your bond with Ewan is special. But they’ve openly hinted at it, time and time again, often bringing it up as a lighthearted quip. 

Are you sure you two are not together? Maybe you’ve tried dating in the past?

In response, you or Ewan would dole out the line as if rehearsed, “We’re just friends.”

Fabien decides to take on a new, calculated approach. “You know… maybe what you need is a distraction. A real one. And I know just the thing for you.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? And what is this distraction you speak of? Or rather, who?”

“Well, I happen to have met this guy, Mat, during filming in New York,” he says, trying to sound casual but you’re sensing a determined undertone. “Plays professional hockey. He’s in London for some training stuff and could use a local guide. Think of it as a favour to him. And it’d give you something—someone—else to think about.”

“A hockey player? You sure about this, Fabs? Those types are trouble.”

Fabien laughs. “Yeah, maybe. But who knows? It might just be what you need to get you out of this Ewan mess.” Fabs doesn’t tell you, but his aim is also to rile Ewan up, which is precisely the nudge the guy needs to make him realise how much you matter to him. 

So Fabien remains Team Ewan, but he’s not averse to using Mat as the necessary turbo boost to get Ewan across the finish line.

The idea catches you off guard, but something about it appeals to you—a small, flickering spark of excitement in an otherwise bleak evening. Maybe this is just what you need to finally put an end to your era of pining for your best friend. You nod slowly, smiling up at him.

“Alriiight…” You hold a hand up when he immediately beams. “But I’ll need time to think about it!”

The next few days, Ewan is everywhere—texting, calling, ‘accidentally’ showing up at places he knows you’ll be. While it’s not exactly unusual behaviour for your best friend, this time, he’s taking it to a new degree. You would force a smile, acting nonchalant, brushing off his apologies and reassurances with an ease you obviously don’t feel.

“I’m not mad, Ewan,” you say lightly one morning when he stops by your place looking anxious, and a bit hungover. “I don’t care who you hook up with.”

He’s slumped down on your kitchen counter, propped up on his forearms. Perhaps he had nursed that bottle of whiskey a bit too much last night, after you ignored his seven successive attempts at ringing you. He narrows his eyes at you as you stand on the opposite side, like the two of you are in some kind of face-off. In these situations, he would have been able to count on you to be his remedy—your hand sliding up and down his back in that soothing way you always do, having a Paracetamol or three at the ready, pumping him with electrolytes, tucking him under a duvet then pushing his hair away from his face. 

But when he showed up that day, you only greeted him with a snide, “You look terrible, Ewan.” and “Want some coffee?” Just that. Coffee? Like he was some typical house guest. Even the hug you shared was drab, with him firmly wrapping his arms around you while you just stood there, and eventually patted his back twice after a moment. 

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” Another shrug.

“Really? Shit, you can’t even look at me. What are you looking at back there? You talking to the cupboard, love?” His growing frustration does not do wonders for his hangover. 

“Look,” you finally meet his eyes, and place your hand on top of his. “You know how I feel about you, and I… I suppose I’ve accepted it, that you don’t feel the same.” You swallow thickly, your mask of indifference threatening to crack. You convince yourself to press on, and that it'll be okay once you lay it out in the open. Maybe things can go back to normal. 

“But it’s okay—” you say, pausing for his reaction. He leans back slightly, his face falling. “—it’s really okay! We’re best friends, and we always will be. I really do care about you, Ewan, and that’s what matters. But I think I just… I need time.”

“Time?” Ewan’s voice comes out weak when he asks. “For what?”

“To get over you.”

Your words echo, cold and distant. Ewan’s shoulders slump, his expression pained. He tries to say something, but the words fail, and he eventually gives a tight nod, though he looks unsettled.

Yet as the week drags on, he doesn’t give up. On Friday evening, he appears at the coffee shop you frequent whenever you want to get work done, startling you from the email you were typing as he sits on the chair across. 

“Hey, love.” He looks spent, the bags under his eyes deepened from sleepless nights, the hoarseness in his voice a result of the packs of Marlboro he’s been mainlining due to his increased anxiety.

“Hey,” you mutter, eyeing him with concern. All you want to do is reach out and pull him against you, but what good would it do? In your defense, you did not think that some time apart would affect him this intensely. Hadn’t you reassured him that you would still be friends, that you will always be? So why is he acting like he has lost you completely?

“I know you need some space, but… I don’t want us to drift apart,” he says, leaning forward and taking over the small space. “You’re… everything to me. I can’t stand the idea of losing you.”

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. His sentiment is heartfelt, but it’s still not enough. So you give him a polite smile. “You won’t lose me, Ewan. I’m not going anywhere. Like I said, we’re friends, right? That’s what you wanted.”

He flinches, a flicker of regret crossing his face at the bitter reminder, but he concedes with a sharp nod, his jaw tightening.

Each encounter is the same: he’s pulling out all the stops to get back in your good graces, while you do your best to keep your distance. And each time he leaves, you can feel his disappointment, his frustration growing more palpable, but it doesn’t stop him from seeking you out again and again.

By the time the next week rolls around, you’re tired of the emotional tug-of-war. In an effort to move forward, you casually mention something to him as you have dinner together in your flat, not quite meeting his gaze.

“I actually have a date soon. With Fabien’s friend from New York. Mat. So, if you’re free, maybe you and… you and Louise could join us?” you ask, hoping he doesn’t notice the catch in your voice.

Ewan goes quiet, frozen on the kitchen stool. “A date?” he repeats, his voice a hoarse croak, the colour draining slightly from his face.

You nod, trying to keep your tone friendly. “Yeah. Fabien’s idea. You know him; apparently he thinks I need to meet new people.”

Ewan’s hand clenched around his fork, but he releases it slowly, letting the utensil drop to his plate with a shrill clang. A taut smile forms as he nods. “Sure. Maybe… maybe we can make it a double date.”

You agree, grateful that he doesn’t push back. After he leaves, you feel your phone buzz—a text from Fabien, checking in. You realise you’ll have to call him to set the date up for real, but for the first time, a small thrill of excitement flickers in your chest. Finally something new, something to look forward to, instead of looking to the past for what could have been. 

On the other hand, all Ewan feels after that moment is a sinking sense of dread. 

You give yourself a last once-over in the mirror, checking the outfit you’d carefully chosen and then doubted a dozen times. Casual but cute—at least, that’s what you’d aimed for. After all, it’s just a pub, albeit a bit on the upscale side. But you’re actually going to go out with a famous professional hockey player, so you want to make an impression. 

You have to admit it: you did a little recon on the Mat Barzal. Nothing major, just a peek at his Instagram, a few Google searches to catch up on his NHL stats, and maybe one (okay, ten) YouTube videos. He’s as impressive on the ice as he is off, all speed, poise, and confidence. And, sure, you’d skimmed a few articles too. He seems almost too good to be true: grounded, funny, that little bit of mystery that has you wondering what he’s like in person. 

And soon enough, he is standing right in your hallway, looking even better than the glossy photos online.

He’s taller than you pictured, with that easy, devastating smile that says he is able to feel completely at home anywhere, leaning casually with a certain charm that almost makes you forget the other guy you two are meeting.

There’s a light, playful tension between you as you head down the street, Mat walking close beside you, as if it’s just the most natural thing in the world. You make a mental note not to blurt out any ‘accidentally remembered’ trivia—like how he’s the Islanders’ points leader or that he grew up in Coquitlam. Nope, you’re playing it cool tonight.

You immediately find that he’s chatty, but in the best way. He talks easily, as if he’s known you for years, telling you about his day—something about getting hopelessly lost trying to find a decent cup of coffee and then spending twenty minutes looking for his rental car because apparently all the streets in that area of London look exactly the same. You’re laughing before you even realise it, and it’s nice, especially because he doesn’t ask for more than you want to share.

At one point, you catch him glancing down at you as you talk, a slight, interested tilt to his head.

“What?” you ask, feeling the warmth of his gaze lingering.

He shrugs, his eyes holding a mischievous spark. “Just wondering why Fabien didn’t introduce us sooner. Seems like kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully as you walk. So you’re at that point of the date, huh? “Maybe he didn’t introduce us because you live all the way out in New York.”

“Ah, well, maybe I can drag you back home with me, then.” He grins impishly, then gestures ahead as the pub comes into view, cozy lights glowing just beyond the doorway.

Mat glances down at you, offering his arm with a little flourish.

“Shall we?”

You hook your arm through his, feeling a spark of excitement as you step through the door together, into the welcoming glow and noise of the pub.

Ewan stares at his phone, rereading the draft of his message to Louise for what must be the tenth time. Every word feels off, and a bit pathetic if he’s honest. He knows Louise will say yes, but right now, that’s almost worse. He doesn’t know why he even agreed to this double date, just that he needs to be there, to see you, to… what? Compete with Mat Barzal?

It still stings, how easily you’d brought up this date. A guy like Mat, an NHL star who has half of New York swooning after every game? Ewan tries to shake it off, the words on his screen blurring together. He shouldn’t feel jealous—this is bloody ridiculous. But if the only way he can be there tonight is by bringing someone else along, he’s going to do it. Even if it means swallowing whatever pride he has left.

Taking a deep breath, he hits send: Hey, Louise, would you be up for drinks later? Thought it’d be fun to go out with you and some friends… He cringes at how formal it sounds, but it’s too late now. The message is out there.

It barely takes a full minute for Louise’s reply to come in, her enthusiasm palpable through the screen: YES! Totally! Can’t wait to see you. Let me know when to meet :) 

Ewan feels both relief and dread. Louise seems to have brushed off whatever weird vibe he’d given her at the party, chalking it up to the drinks or his own brand of awkwardness. He wishes he could just stay home tonight and pretend this wasn’t happening. But he wants to be there, if only to make sure… to make sure of what, exactly? To watch as you fall for some impossibly confident athlete, a guy who’s good-looking, successful, and probably charming as hell?

He takes a long breath and scrubs a hand over his face. It doesn’t matter what happens. He’ll be there as your best friend. Or whatever version of that role he’s reduced to tonight.

Later, Ewan’s leaning against the side of the pub, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance when Louise arrives. She’s dressed casually but clearly put effort into her look—hair styled in soft waves, her smile wide and warm as she spots him from across the street. He tries to muster a similar smile but feels it fall short.

“Hey!” she calls as she nears, giving him a playful bump on the arm. “Ready for tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ewan laughs awkwardly as he pushes himself off the wall. “Didn’t think you’d say yes so fast.”

Louise grins, taking his comment as a light tease. “Why wouldn’t I? Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. I’m glad you asked me out, Ewan.”

The words should feel good, flattering, but instead, they land somewhere hollow inside him. He musters a smile. “Glad you could make it.”

They start walking toward the entrance, Ewan trying to ignore the tight knot of anxiety in his chest. He knows you’re already here with Mat—he checked the time about ten times before finally leaving his place, running every possible conversation he might have with you through his head, looking for any way to seem unaffected, unbothered. But as he holds the door open for Louise and steps into the pub, it hits him: he isn’t sure if he’s more afraid of seeing you or of you not paying any attention to him at all.

The night starts out better than expected. Mat effortlessly becomes the unofficial leader of your little group, buying drinks for everyone as if it’s his duty and keeping the conversation light. With him, there’s no pressure, no assumptions—he’s just a genuinely nice guy who’s clearly here to show you a good time. Louise, meanwhile, is totally swept up in Ewan, hanging onto his every word, and you wonder if she’s even noticed that his attention is… not exactly on her.

For the first half hour, Ewan’s his usual reserved self, quietly nursing a pint and nodding along as Mat talks. You catch his eye once or twice, sending him a silent question, Are you okay? Each time, he just looks away, tapping his fingers against his glass, a little too focused on the froth floating near the top. But as the night wears on and the drinks keep coming, he’s not just tapping anymore—he’s interjecting. Little comments at first, almost harmless. But soon, it’s obvious: he’s countering Mat, line for line, almost like it’s a game.

“Right, so you like to box in your spare time?” Mat asks you, grinning. He’s been curious about every little detail, giving you that ‘first-date glow’ that you’d been sure was reserved for movies.

“Yeah, it’s kind of my stress reliever,” you say with a shrug, already feeling your cheeks hurt from smiling.

But Ewan cuts in with a half-smile. “We actually started that together, didn’t we, love?” he says, giving Mat a look like he’s testing him. “I practically had to drag her into the gym at first. But now she’s a total menace with the gloves on.”

Mat just plays along. “Good thing you’re into it now then,” he says mildly, unaffected.

And you can see that only irritates Ewan more.

Mat’s generosity doesn’t stop at drinks. He orders an array of finger food and slides the plates toward you, making sure you’ve had a bit of everything. It’s thoughtful, and your heart swells a little at his attentiveness.

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you, Barzal?” Ewan murmurs with a slightly bitter laugh, clinking his glass a little too roughly against his empty one before looking at Mat. “Though I guess you have to be, right? With all the eyes on you all the time?”

Mat raises his brows, unruffled. “Just don’t like to let people go hungry. Especially not her,” he says, his tone sincere, smiling at you.

Ewan doesn’t bother hiding his scoff. “Oh, so that’s the bar now? Bringing someone snacks?”

Your face heats in embarrassment on behalf of your best friend, and even Louise nudges him, whispering something in his ear, but he just takes another long sip, leaning back as he watches you and Mat across the booth with a look that’s bordering on possessive. He keeps this up over the next round, seemingly unable to hold himself back. When Mat jokes about taking you to a hockey game back in the States, Ewan clears his throat.

“Does Mat know you don’t actually like crowded places?” he asks, his voice sharper than intended. “Or maybe you’ve changed?”

Mat looks between the two of you, amused but silent.

“Is that so?” Mat says smoothly. “I could have you set up in a box. Nice and private.”

You can feel Ewan bristling in front of you, his grip on his glass a little too tight. He leans over slightly, his voice low and challenging. “But Mat wouldn’t know that you’re actually scared of heights, would he?” he says, letting it drop as if it’s some kind of winning play.

“Ewan,” you say under your breath, trying to keep a smile on for Mat’s sake. But Ewan doesn’t hear you, or doesn’t want to. He’s just watching Mat like he’s daring him to make the wrong move. If he knew just how rowdy hockey players get on the ice, he’d probably think twice before attempting to rile Mat up.

Mat clears his throat, obviously picking up on the tension but shrugging it off. “Good thing hockey rinks are nice and low, eh?” he jokes, draping an arm around your shoulders, trying to bring you back to the easy atmosphere you had before Ewan started butting in.

“God, Mat, must be nice to not have a single care,” Ewan says with a bitter smile, tipping his glass toward him like a scornful, mocking salute before taking another sip. “Just float through life without worrying about, you know, things like actually knowing the people you’re dating.”

It’s the last straw. You look between him and Mat, irritation simmering hot in your chest. Mat looks at you, giving a slight shake of his head, as if to say he’s fine, but you’re not fine. You turn to Ewan, leaving no room for refusal.

“Ewan, can I talk to you? Outside. Now.”

He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but when he sees your expression, his face drops, and he sets down his drink. He rises slowly, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, but he just follows you out without a word.

As you step outside into the night air, the noise of the pub falling away behind you, you feel your anger finally bubble to the surface.

“What the hell is your problem, Ewan?” you snap, your voice cracking from the raw emotion clawing at you. “What was all that in there?”

He stares at you like he’s trying to figure out what to say, his eyes flicking from the ground to your face. You can see him wrestling with himself, and it makes your blood boil even more.

“Are you really asking me that?” His voice comes out tight, like he’s barely holding it together. “What, am I supposed to sit there while he… while he puts his hands on you, looks at you like that?”

Your chest suddenly aches, and you shove past him, walking in a tight circle, trying to get the tension out of your limbs. You don’t even know why you’re still standing here, letting him say these things to you. But you can’t help but want to hear how he’s going to explain it all away. “What are you talking about, Ewan? Why should it matter to you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he shoots back as he steps closer, eyes dark with something you haven’t been at the receiving end of before. “Do you think I’m just going to let this happen? That I’d let you walk away with him?”

“Walk away?” you laugh bitterly. “You’re unbelievable. You pushed me away! You said we were just friends! You told me you didn’t want us to happen! And now you’re acting like you have the right to say this to me?”

His hands shake, and he clenches them into fists, eyes burning with frustration. “I was a fucking idiot, okay? I—” He stops, taking a deep breath, like he’s trying to keep it together. “I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’m not gonna lie, I was pushing you away because I was scared. Scared of what we could be, scared of screwing everything up.”

You try to pick apart his words in your mind, and no matter how you spin it, they come back with the same message. He wants you.

He wants you?

“So what?” you mumble, as if asking yourself, “now, after all this time, now you decide you want me? Now you want to admit it? You had your chance. You had so many chances.”

His face twists in pain, and for a second, you think maybe he’s finally hearing you. But then his eyes flash, and it’s like the storm inside him is rising again. “Are you just going to…move on, just like that? Pretend I don’t matter? Like I don’t know you better than anyone?”

“I’m not pretending you don’t matter. I’m not pretending anything! But I can’t just sit around and wait for you to figure your shit out. I won’t do it. I’ve been waiting for you… all this time! And I can’t do it anymore.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence as he stares at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and realising he might lose you in the same breath. He notes the way you fight back tears, your eyes glistening, the way you do when you’re pushed to the edge. You see that almost imperceptible twitch of his palms, fingers yearning for the ghost of a cigarette, the way he does when he’s on his last straw.

That pout of your lips that he adores. That clench in his jaw muscle that you want to trace with your fingertips.

You see each other, know each other like the backs of your hands. It’s a connection that has always made sense, that neither of you ever dared question it. What is left now is to finally call it what it is.

He takes another step closer.

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t… what…”

Ewan’s hands find your arms, pulling you toward him. “You don’t have to wait anymore. It’s always been you, my love. Always. I was a goddamn idiot, and now I’m losing you because I couldn’t see what was in front of me.”

“Ewan—”

“I love you.”

It feels like the ground has been yanked out from under you, like you’re falling but somehow still standing there. A thousand memories flash through your mind in that instant—the way he’d glance at you across crowded rooms, those late-night calls when he’d barely say anything, just needing you to be on the other end of the line. The way he’d pull you close in the rare quiet moments, just you and him and this unspoken thing you thought you’d made up. 

All those years of thinking you were crazy, that you were seeing things that weren’t there. He was your best friend, the one person you trusted, but somewhere along the way, he became something more, and you couldn’t make sense of it because he’d never given you anything solid to hold onto.

And now… here he is, standing in front of you, saying the one thing you’ve always wanted him to say but thought he never would. You don’t know if you want to scream at him or fall into his arms. Maybe both.

It’s too much—the ache of loving him, of wanting him, and the pain of having to hide it behind easy smiles and casual laughter. And now, he’s standing here telling you he feels the same.

“You can’t—” your voice shakes as the words spill out, your disbelief palpable. “You can’t say that. Not now, after everything. After you told me you didn’t want this, didn’t want me. I was so ready to be yours, Ewan, and you just… And then I find you with her, and—”

Ewan’s hands reach up to cradle your face tentatively, his thumb caressing your cheek. “I know, my love. But I was scared of losing you that I pushed you away. I thought it’d be easier that way. I didn’t… I didn’t think it would end up like this. I’m sorry.”

In a last ditch effort of self-preservation, to keep from falling straight down the pit of no return, into the promise of him, you offer the words that sound right. “We’ll be okay, Ewan. We always be… friends…”

“Oh fuck that, my darling.”

And before you can think further, before you can even decide what to do next, his lips crash into yours, hard and full of every unspoken feeling, every wasted year, every goddamn minute you spent wondering if he’d ever feel this way about you—gone. His kiss is fierce, filled with so much need it almost hurts. And you’re kissing him back, your hands clutching at his shirt, feeling him press you tightly against his body as if he could make up for all the times he pulled away.

But then, just as abruptly, it all comes rushing back. The weight of years of hoping crashes down on you like a wave. 

You pull back, breathless, hands pushing against his chest, and he stumbles back, his eyes wide, face flushed and full of surprise. 

“I can’t,” you whisper, barely able to look at him, your mind still buzzing from the intensity of his kiss. “I can’t do this, Ewan. Not like this. Not now.”

“But—”

“We have to head back inside. We’re both on dates, remember?”

This time, it’s you who breaks away.

tagging Ewan's angels: @darktrashsoulbear @mamawiggers1980 @feed-my-downfall @leftoverp1zza @msbyswife @katherine93 @littlehannekin18 @nurtargaryen @aemondswifeisme @barnes70stark @garden-in-the-rain @salermotatis @lina-lovebug @strangersunghoon @hydrationqueensworld @eclecticqueennerd @kckt88 @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @primroseluna @sillysillygyal @b00kw0rmsworld @raging-panda @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aspookiepookie @peachysunrize @dreamygirli3 @callsignwidow

[doeeyeseddie]

Piaaaaaa "brushing their arm against the other's, hoping the other would finally catch their arm and hold it close" please, we already know they constantly brush arms anyway!

fridaaaa this took me, once again, many months to get to and i sort of only vaguely filled the actual prompt, but i hope you still enjoy it <3

5+1 things, rated t, wc: 4k

[read on ao3]

I.

Eddie’s first day as a probationary firefighter is…interesting. Captain Nash welcomes him with the same warm smile he gave him the first time they talked, then leads him inside and shows him around the app bay.

“We’ll give you the full tour later,” he promises, “after you’ve met the rest of the team. You’re the first one here, if you want, you can change into your uniform now.”

He points towards the locker room – which has glass walls for some reason – and Eddie nods.

He’s just finished buttoning up his shirt when Captain Nash ushers a group of firefighters inside. Eddie runs a hand through his hair to make sure it’s tidy and smiles as Hen and Chimney introduce themselves to him with warm smiles and handshakes, welcoming him to the team.

There’s a third person with them, hovering in the background and glowering at Eddie. He’s young, probably around Eddie’s age, tall and very built, and despite his hostile expression, he doesn’t give Eddie the impression of being an asshole. It’s like the expression doesn’t fit on his face, like he’s not used to wearing it.

Chim grabs him by the arm and pushes him forward, giving Eddie a commiserating smile.

“And this guy is Buck,” he says. “He was our probie before you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says politely, stretching a hand out to offer a handshake. “You’ll have to show me how things work around here, then.”

Buck glowers down at his hand, and when he finally grabs it, he squeezes it too tightly, like he’s trying to prove something. Eddie squeezes back, amused by the pretense this guy is clearly putting on.

Behind Buck’s back, Hen rolls her eyes, but she’s also wearing a fond look, which only confirms Eddie’s assumption that Buck isn’t half as bad as he’s pretending to be.

From Captain Nash, he knows that they’re supposed to work together a lot of the time, so that’s gonna be interesting. He doesn’t know why Buck is acting like this, but he’s gonna find out, and then he’s gonna figure out a way to work with Buck anyway.

He didn’t come here to make friends, but he’ll be spending 50 hours a week with these people, and he has to trust them with his life for a lot of that time, so they at the very least need to bury whatever hatchet Buck is carrying right now.

Eddie lets go of his hand with a nod and a polite smile, and gives himself a week to figure Buck out.

II.

The days between the accident and the funeral are kind of a blur.

There’s too much to do and think about, too many decisions to make, too many people to call, too much to organize. He has help – Abuela, Pepa, the entire 118, but it still feels too much.

Shannon was 27, she didn’t have a will, they never talked about any of this. How is Eddie supposed to know how she would like to be buried, or if she’d rather be cremated? What kind of music she would want them to play at her funeral? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for a very, very long time.

But it did happen, and now Eddie is somehow supposed to know all this about her, his wife, the woman he’s only just let back into his and Christopher’s lives, the woman who asked him for a divorce and completely pulled the rug from under his feet just a day before she died.

Sometimes, he feels like he didn’t know her at all.

His parents are here “to help”, which should be a relief but really isn’t. They never liked Shannon and aren’t making a secret of it, even now that– now that she’s gone. So Eddie can’t involve them in the funeral planning, and he can’t even leave Christopher with them because he’s scared that they’re gonna take the opportunity to grab him and run, and someone needs to make sure that Shannon’s memory is honored, but she didn’t have any family except him and Christopher, and Chris is seven, so Eddie has to be the one to make this funeral beautiful, something she’d deserve, but he doesn’t know– there’s so much–

“Eddie,” someone says next to him, snapping him out of his spiral. “Come on, breathe with me.”

Eddie stares at Buck’s chest as it rises and falls with exaggerated breaths, trying to match him. When did Buck get here? He doesn’t remember letting him in, doesn’t really remember what he was doing before he started hyperventilating on his couch.

“Chris,” he gasps when he realizes that also means he’s not sure where his kid is. And of course he’s the kind of father who would do that only days after his kid lost his mom, maybe his parents are–

“Is with Hen and Karen,” Buck says firmly, grabbing his forearm. “He’s gonna spend the day with them and Denny, probably getting spoiled rotten. I borrowed Pepa’s key when we went over there so they could pick him up, she told me you might not open – sorry for barging in here, but I’m glad I did. I know you– I wanted to– Bobby and Athena are running interference with your parents. And I’m here to help you with all that.” He gestures towards the couch table that’s covered in forms, leaflets from funeral homes, and cards from grief counselors. “After Abby’s mom– I helped plan her funeral. So I’ve got some experience.”

Eddie just stares at him, biting the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from crying. He trusts Buck, but he still doesn’t want to cry in front of him, doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone. But he does think that maybe he should give Buck his own copy of a key, so he won’t have to borrow Pepa’s next time.

Buck squeezes his forearm and gives him a small, sad smile. “We’re all here for you, Eddie. I got your back, remember?”

Eddie blinks against the tears in his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat that’s keeping him from saying anything.

Instead, he twists his arm from Buck’s grip and grabs his hand instead, squeezing it in a silent thank you.

Buck squeezes back and keeps holding on.

III.

Buck gets to go home earlier than anyone expected, but Eddie has been to his new apartment, so he isn’t surprised when Buck texts him a picture of his couch with a sad face. It’s not ideal, but at least he has a bathroom downstairs and a girlfriend who can help if he struggles with anything.

Until he doesn’t have that girlfriend anymore.

Eddie doesn’t find out until after his shield ceremony, days after, actually, once his parents have finally gone home to Texas.

Buck says he’s fine, obviously, but Eddie starts going over every day he doesn’t have a shift anyway, because he knows Buck and can see how much he’s struggling with the whole situation, with the uncertainty of when and how he can return to work.

He brings Christopher most of the time. They’re not having the best summer either, Eddie still worries that he’s not doing enough to help Christopher deal with his grief, when he can barely keep his own head above the water of grief, guilt and fear.

Carla is doing what she can, watching Christopher whenever Eddie’s working, she found him a grief counselor and is even looking into more permanent therapists.

None of it changes the fact that they’re grieving. 

But when Christopher gets to hang out with Buck, he lights up every time, and so does Buck, which makes this a two birds with one stone kind of situation. Hanging out with Buck helps them both, too, makes their grief not the first thing on their minds for a little while.

Buck can’t move much, so they play board games and try to find one they all enjoy equally – it’s not easy, since Eddie likes luck-based games (he plays poker with his abuela and tía whenever he can), Buck prefers trivia and games relying on knowledge, while Christopher likes strategic games most.

But everyone gets to pick sometimes, and when they don’t want to play board games, they switch to video games instead.

Eddie knew that Buck and Chris get along well, they have ever since the first time they met, when Buck drove Eddie to Chris’ school after the earthquake during Eddie’s second week at the 118. But with how much time the three of them are spending together now, he can see them growing closer every day – and he loves it.

Buck is his best friend, and he genuinely cares about Christopher in a way that feels completely independent from Eddie.

One evening, while they’re playing a few rounds of Christopher’s current favorite video game after dinner, the kid falls asleep between them on the couch.

Buck smiles down at him and lowers the volume of the TV, which means he loses even more clearly to Eddie, but he had the win in the bag anyway, he’s sure.

Buck rolls his eyes at him when Eddie celebrates his victory with big, silent gestures, but he’s smiling, too.

Eddie grins at him, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind Chris, and Buck twists a little to face him. His leg, resting outstretched on the couch table in front of them, moves with him, and Eddie slides Christopher’s glass of water out of the way in a practiced move.

“I know you’re here to keep an eye on me,” Buck says, “and I should probably be annoyed. I– I was kind of annoyed, at first. But it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s here, right?” He nods down at Christopher. “And I guess you’re okay, too.”

“Wow, thanks,” Eddie says, but he knows his glare isn’t convincing. “To be clear, we’re all keeping an eye on each other.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand, still on the backrest between them, and squeezes it – just for a moment, like he’s trying to get Eddie’s attention, like he doesn’t already have it anyway. “Thanks.”

IV.

Everything sucks.

It’s the uncertainty that gets to Eddie most, the not knowing how to help, how to stay safe, how to keep his loved ones safe. How long this is gonna last.

Every day, they have to see people die from a virus they know nothing about, and can’t do anything against.

And afterwards, they can’t even go home.

Christopher is part of a high risk group, and Eddie risks exposure at work every day, so obviously, he can’t endanger him by living with him. Chimney feels the same way about Maddie, and Hen also wants to keep her family safe, which is how the three of them ended up at Buck’s apartment, where they’ve been camped out for the past three weeks.

It’s generous of Buck to let them all stay with him, but the loft is not made for four people to live there, and they’re all feeling it.

Eddie loves his friends, but spending every minute of every day with them is starting to wear on him. They all try to give each other space, using the balcony as an extra room or going for runs outside, but there’s only so much they can do. 

He hates being separated from Chris, it makes him feel like he’s breaking his promise to never leave him behind again. Christopher says he understands, but Eddie worries anyway. He trusts Pepa, who’s working fully remote and offered to stay with Chris, and they talk every day, but it’s not the same as being there.

Whenever he talks to Chris on the phone, he feels better in the moment, but worse the second they hang up. While they’re talking, he can almost pretend that things are normal, but it all comes crashing down afterwards.

He hasn’t hugged his son in weeks, and he has no idea when he’s even gonna see him in person again.

Buck joins their calls most of the time, at least for a few minutes, and he sits next to Eddie on the bed now, shoulders slumped where they’re touching Eddie’s. In a world where he has to keep his distance from almost everyone, except the patients he’s treating and the people he’s living with, touching and being touched by Buck is a real comfort.

“This won’t be forever, Eddie,” he says, almost desperately. 

“But for how long?” Eddie asks, and it comes out sounding a little wobbly.

He’s not embarrassed by it anymore – Buck’s seen him in all kinds of situations, and they’re currently sharing a bed, so he’s seen him cry anyway.

“I–I wish I knew,” Buck says. “I wish I could– fix this.”

Eddie wipes at his eye and laughs a little. “The whole pandemic?”

“If I could, yeah.” Buck shrugs.

Eddie presses even closer to him for a moment, a gentle pressure of their shoulders, arms and thighs against each other. “I wish you could, too. But even if you can’t – I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course.” Buck smiles at him and places his hand on Eddie’s thigh, palm up.

Eddie smiles back and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I think it’s our turn to make dinner tonight – you ready?”

“Ready when you are,” Buck says, but he doesn’t let go until Eddie does.

V.

After Chris has gone to sleep, after Eddie has finally stopped crying, after Buck has wrapped his knuckles and cleaned up the worst of the mess in Eddie’s bedroom – the shards, the pieces of drywall, the fallen furniture, he makes up the couch for Eddie to sleep on. Eddie wants to help him, to tell him that he’ll just sleep in his room, but he can’t seem to move from his seat at the dining table.

Everything feels like too much, his hands hurt and his head worse, and he can’t stand the thought of Buck leaving. He’s exhausted, but he knows he won’t sleep if Buck goes home now.

But he can’t ask him to stay, not after Buck already dropped everything because Eddie couldn’t keep it together. He probably had plans, and Eddie ruined those too.

He can already feel the hot burn of tears behind his eyes again and drops his forehead onto his arms, folded on the table in front of him.

Buck’s hand lands on his back, warm, then travels up to squeeze the back of his neck gently.

“You ready to sleep?” he murmurs, and Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. “Come on, you must be exhausted.”

Eddie shrugs and Buck’s thumb brushes along his hairline.

“You don’t have to go in there, I can get you anything you need,” Buck says quietly. “And I’ll be right next to you in case you have a nightmare.”

“You’re staying?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Buck’s hand stays where it is.

“Of course, Eddie,” Buck says, like it’s that easy.

And maybe it is that easy, Eddie thinks when they settle in next to each other in the living room, Eddie on the couch and Buck on a makeshift bed next to it. He’s pushed the couch table to the side to make room for it and it looks like he’s dragged Eddie’s mattress here, so at least Eddie doesn’t need to worry about him sleeping on the floor.

They’ve been by each other’s side through so much shit, maybe it’s not such a surprise that Buck wants to be here now too. He’s just not sure he deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Buck. “You had plans– I’m sure you didn’t want to–”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Buck says firmly. “Of course I’ll come whenever Christopher calls. O–or if you need me. I’m here, okay?”

“I keep thinking about her,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the heels of his hands to his burning eyes. “Mills. Last August– I should’ve– if I’d picked up the phone earlier–”

“This isn’t on you.” There’s rustling and then Buck is gripping Eddie’s forearms, trying to gently pull his hands away from his face. “I d-don’t know what Mills was going through, but I know that you couldn’t have known how bad it was. It’s sad, and it’s unfair, but it’s not your fault. And I know you’re feeling all these things now, but Eddie– I’m so happy you’re still here. I need you to– know that. Okay?”

Eddie finally lowers his arms, but instead of letting go fully, Buck just grabs his right hand and holds on. His eyes are wide and scared, and Eddie has scared too many people he loves tonight.

“Okay,” he says, even though– well. What makes him special? Why should he be the only one to get out? He’s not a better person than any of them, he doesn’t have a right to happiness or whatever he’s been deluding himself into believing he could have. 

But he knows that he can’t tell Buck that now (or ever), knows that it’s a dark road to go down.

Maybe for tonight, with Buck by his side, he can keep the thoughts at bay for a little bit longer. After that– he has no idea. But Buck is still holding his hand, and Eddie may not deserve him, but he trusts him.

He thinks it may just give him enough hope to get through this night.

+ I

“This was nice,” Buck says, holding the door for Eddie as they leave the restaurant. “You, uh, you really didn’t have to pay, though.”

“I wanted to,” Eddie says with a smile, glancing right towards their cars and then left to where the beach is only a short walk away, and finally back to Buck’s face, finding him already looking back. “How do you feel about taking a walk?”

Buck grins, turning left. “Let’s go.”

They’re not on a date, or at least they haven’t called it that, but Eddie has been thinking that it feels like one all night. Technically, they’re two friends trying out a new restaurant together. They drove here separately, no one pulled anyone’s chair out, they talked the same way they always do.

But Eddie spent half an hour picking something to wear tonight, Buck is wearing a shirt that looks new and gorgeous and fit for a date, and every time their eyes caught across the table, Eddie thought that maybe, Buck wouldn’t pull away if he reached out and took his hand.

It’s not the first time Eddie has thought that. Ever since Buck and Tommy broke up, it’s felt like maybe they’re heading towards something, familiar touches lingering and turning into something new, gazes catching and then holding instead of looking away.

Buck was upset for a little while afterwards, but he admitted to Eddie that it was more about another failed relationship – and his first one with a man, after he thought he’d finally figured out what was missing, than about Tommy as a person.

He went on a couple of dates, with men and women, but nothing ever stuck.

Eddie was going through his own stuff at the time – he eventually came out to Buck a week before Chris finally came home, and Buck hasn’t been on a date since.

Sometimes, Eddie wonders (hopes), if the two things are related.

Still, neither of them has called tonight a date – yet.

Eddie glances at Buck’s profile while they’re walking, and wonders what he’s waiting for.

Yes, it’s scary because Buck is the most important person in his life right after Christopher, but it’s also not, because this is Buck. Who has been by Eddie’s side through the worst, most painful, most humiliating times of his life, and is still here. Buck, who Eddie trusts with his life, and his son, and his heart.

Buck smiles at him and Eddie smiles back, heartbeat picking up. He’s doing this, he’s gonna tell Buck how he feels. Any minute now, he’s gonna be brave enough.

“Hey,” Buck says, “it’s just me.”

“I know,” Eddie says, and his heart thumps against his ribs. He lets his fingers brush against Buck’s on their next swing and watches as Buck bites his lip, smiling down at the ground. Hushed, like a confession, he adds, “Are you nervous, too?”

Buck looks back up at him then, eyes glittering in the dark. “Y-yeah. I am.”

They’ve reached the edge of the beach by now and bend down to take off their shoes without having to talk about it.

When they start walking again, they’re even closer than before, the backs of their hands, their elbows and shoulders all brushing with every step.

Eddie keeps stealing glances at Buck, and almost every time, Buck is already looking back.

There aren’t many people at the beach at this time of day, so they don’t come close to anyone else, and all they hear is the sand beneath their feet and the waves crashing a few feet away. The moon is big enough to be reflected on the sea, a beautiful sight, but Eddie still can’t look away from Buck for long.

“So, this is, uh, kind of romantic,” Buck blurts out after a few quiet minutes. “Right? I–I’m not misreading that?”

“No,” Eddie says. “I mean– you’re not misreading it.”

“But you’re nervous.”

When their knuckles brush again, Eddie stretches out his fingers and catches Buck’s, holding on. Buck’s own fingers tighten immediately, and it gives Eddie the last bit of courage he needs.

“Well, yeah. Buck–” He stops walking, and Buck follows, turning so he’s facing Eddie. He’s close enough that Eddie can see his expression despite the dark, and he looks terrified, hopeful, nervous and excited at the same time, all of which Eddie feels, too. Eddie takes a deep breath. “I’m nervous because– nothing…no one’s ever been this important.”

A smile spreads out across Buck’s face, slowly deepening the crinkles around his eyes. “So this was a date?”

“Did it feel like one to you, too?”

Buck’s smile widens. “Yeah, i–it did. And I’m–I’m nervous too, of course. Eddie, if we do this, there’s no going back for me. I can’t– lose you. You and Christopher, you’re too important.”

He pulls on Eddie’s hand a little, and Eddie takes another step closer, drops his shoes in the sand and places his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb resting against his collarbone.

“It’s the same for me,” he says quietly. He shivers when Buck grabs his waist, the warmth of his hand seeping through Eddie’s shirt. “I– We don’t know what’s gonna happen. But, Buck– I love you. I love you so much, I have for…way longer than I was aware of it, and I just don’t see that going away. And I don’t think it’s fair to us to deny ourselves when I really think we could make each other– so happy. I know I can make you happy, and I want to prove it to you every day of my life, Buck.”

Buck is just staring at him with a dazed expression, his lips slightly parted, and Eddie suddenly can’t stand not kissing him for a second longer.

He slides his hand from Buck’s shoulder to the back of his neck, watches Buck’s eyes flutter shut and feels his fingers tighten on his waist, and then he’s finally, finally closing the distance between them.

Buck makes a soft sound against his mouth, like he’s still somehow surprised this is happening, but he gets on board very quickly, and Eddie stops thinking entirely.

When they pull back breathlessly, Eddie’s hair is a mess – he can feel the loose strands on his forehead – his lips are still tingling, and Buck’s got both arms wrapped around him tightly.

“In case that wasn’t clear,” Buck gasps, and lifts a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s chin and caresses his lower lip, and Eddie presses a kiss to the pad of it. “I love you, too.”

[hrrtshape]

FAME DR — weird, little problems

⋆  forgetting where i last put my designer sunglasses almost every day, which means my assistant has 7 extra pairs on standby – and half of them aren’t even mine. i think.

⋆  chipping a perfectly manicured nail right before a photoshoot, then having to hide that hand in every single shot. it’s not diva behaviour if it’s just a matter of survival, okay?

⋆  getting the cutest, keeeeeewlest gifts from fans, but they’re wrapped like fort knox!??!! i end up spending 15 minutes trying to carefully open everything without ripping a single bow or little note.

⋆  that eternal (sisyphus mentioned) inner struggle of “is the vintage dior too much for buying soy milk? what if i get spotted?” and realising it’s already 7 PM and i’m still in that closet, no closer to getting groceries.

⋆  finding a way to stuff a giant PR package from hermès into my handbag while also managing keys, phone, and fan mail that i promised to keep safe.

⋆  putting on the most basic hoodie and jeans (and even a cap….) to blend in, but the cashier still goes, “wait. wait, wait, wait. aren’t you that famous actress? OH MY GOD!!!” so much for being “low-key.” i just wanted soy milk, hello?? 

⋆  walking into an event in the perfect lightweight dress only to find out the AC is set to antarctic levels, and now i’m shivering while trying to look composed.

⋆  trying to angle my face for selfies with fans because of that one side i’m convinced is my "best," and they never seem to choose it. so much for scripting “i look divine in all angles……..”

⋆  having a full lineup of glorious, beautiful, fantastic, bewitching lipsticks to choose from and still somehow going with the same one every day. guess that signature look isn’t so much a choice as it is reality.

⋆  saying "thank you" to fans in a raspy post-performance voice, only to have it crack halfway through like i’m in middle school. cute. also a bit pathetic, but i hope nobody noticed it (it’s already on twitter. okay. fml). 

⋆  catching a glimpse of myself before an interview and realising i lost one of my statement earrings somewhere in the makeup chair. so it’s off with the other one, and fingers crossed no one notices !!

⋆  stumbling into clouds of fans’ perfume that just won’t leave, so now i’m a weird medley of their scents instead of my signature one. WHO’S WEARING DIOR SAUVAGE, GET THEM OUT.

⋆  thinking i’ll just take a “few quick pics” after an event, but that “few” turns into 70 fans waiting in line and smiling with them all. i’m happy to do it, but babygirl….. those cheeks start to hurt by #27.

⋆  walking the red carpet in sky-high heels and reminding myself NOT to look down because one glance and it’s wobble central and then god knows i’ll be crying off sheer embarrassment, guilt and shame and then sticking that heel into my neck (medieval girl with sword in neck recreation, well yes!).

⋆  trying to sneak a snack in between takes but terrified of crumbs, so i’m eating chips with the slow precision of a surgeon.

⋆  constantly having that goddamn phone on 5% because i forgot to charge it while on set, so now it’s a frantic hunt for a charger before the next event.

⋆  pulling my hair out at night only to realise my hoodie has taken a chunk of it with it. fan photos the next morning with that bald spot are just not the vibe, i fear.

⋆  jet-setting for events means my phone calendar is permanently confused, and i’m somehow late to things happening in my home time zone. 

[sepublic]

As I talk about Luz visiting a host culture and learning to appreciate it, to respect and submit to the grace of her hosts, I think there’s similar potential in Vee doing the same in a reverse way; She’s a demon entering the human world, she’s engaging in human culture and learns how to be human on their terms.

Now granted, some of that human culture Vee encounters has issues of assimilation and imperialism and the like, so the onus on Vee to be respectful is much smaller. Plus she’s a refugee who had little choice, persecuted by an older branch of that culture in Belos, so really she’s entitled to do as she pleases with Gravesfield; She’s not like the Coven Heads, who expected to fuse the realms, and be treated like royalty for it by both inhabitants.

But then we get to the Noceda family, who aren’t from there, who are Dominican immigrants, whose forebearers come from a country that struggles with imperialism, whose struggles in this American society hearken back to that. With Luz needing to learn magic on the terms of the witches and the Titan and whatnot, I think there’s potential in Vee acclimating herself to the Nocedas’ Dominican customs, learning Spanish, all of that. Camila very much chose to adopt this scared child who had to go along to survive, but it’d be neat to explore Vee understanding Luz in hindsight, and how her decision to leave home was informed by racism and other factors.

Like imagine Vee getting to apologize/make it up to Luz for saying she had it good and abandoned her mother for nothing; Imagine Vee reflecting on how she didn’t even want to be here specifically, just away from someplace else so she could survive. But now Vee can catch her breath and find stability, so now what? Does she do the same as Luz and embrace another world?

Imagine Vee taking Spanish lessons, imagine Vee partaking in the family traditions and music and culture. Appreciating what the Dominican heritage that adopted her is like. Being grateful to be included, wondering if she even belongs or deserves to, if she’s just an impersonating thief like her creator. Eda tells Luz to her own kind of witch, maybe Luz and Camila comfort Vee in a similar way.

I can see it being a touchy subject that requires care, but it could be something the Noceda sisters bond over, that question if they really belong and if their presence is inherently harmful; Luz wanting to do her witch fantasy led her to helping Belos find what he needed to become an emperor and enact the draining spell, to establish a genocidal regime.

Vee stole Luz’s life and contributed to a lie that devastated Camila when she found out, created a temporary rift between mother and daughter that contributed so much to Luz’s suicidal depression, which of course pained Camila. Luz and Vee both hurt people who took them in, who they grew to love and vice versa, without meaning to in a grand butterfly effect.

Because again, people understand Luz, a lot more than she realizes, it’s her greatest comfort, a fantasy even deeper than being Azura because even that was about finding people who shared the same interest in magic as her. Camila knows what it’s like to make mistakes, Willow knows what it’s like struggling to be the perfect friend everyone can depend upon; Amity knows what it’s like to hide your greatest sin for fear your new friend will reject you for it. Etc.

So Vee knows what it’s like to have to leave a place, finding a new one, stumbling your way into the arms of a mother and learning enthusiastically about how to be this world’s people as you make friends from them. But all the while you question yourself if you belong, if you’re some impersonating thief. Luz saw herself in Belos, maybe Vee saw herself in other white colonizers like him, the ones who came shortly before in conquering the Americas, contributing to the Dominican culture as a side-effect.

Vee’s ability to shapeshift could make her ask, Am I just an imitator? This makes me think of how Hunter is really good for episodes where he and another character bond over similarities; We were both cloned by Belos to aid in his genocide (While Hunter was technically in the spotlight and meant to be a nephew, Vee was hidden at all times and a loathsome tool). We both feel the weight of being colonial in some regard. We both have to rely on the identities of others, so who does that make us? In a timeline where Gus was not as mindful about the Grimwalker secret, I could see Vee helping Gus with Hunter’s clone angst.

And if there’d been more time, maybe Vee could’ve helped Luz with her own guilt, her own worry of being an outsider who doesn’t belong and is inherently harmful whether she means to be or not. Camila could bring up Vee and say that it’s not the same, there’s a difference between an immigrant and a colonizer, esp when the native chooses to accept. And Vee would feel validation as an example, but still wonder anyway. Shouldn’t they be conscious of it?

But maybe that’s what they’ve already done, with Luz learning to earn magic the way wild witches do, treating witches and demons as people and not side character tropes in her story. Those friends affirm that she’s already done the work, and the butterfly effect of being manipulated is not equivalent to malicious, intentional colonization. And if Vee feels she hasn’t done it, she can begin now, when it comes to Dominican culture and being a Noceda. And the Nocedas have always loved weirdness, so Vee’s already halfway there! Manny would’ve loved her and appreciated the joy Vee brought to his family.

Between everything that needed to be established for the plot and for Luz’s own depression, plus clone troubles, and Camila’s backstory and like. Yeah there was no time for a Vee storyline like this when Luz was isolating herself the whole time, and would only start to let people in when she was returning to the Demon Realm or was there. But imagine a full S3 where we could’ve it all…

This could make good grounds for a fanfic, the Noceda sisters bonding. It’d have to take some cultural sensitivity that the characters would have in-universe, but a writer might struggle out-of-universe. I could see this being after the finale, when Luz has a relapse because that’s always a possibility and has happened before; And for Vee, her storyline isn’t necessarily addressed and they can both bond over a shared fear together!!!

[ameliathornromance]

“(Y/N),” A short, but sharp wrap hit the lid of your coffin, earning a groan from you. “Suns gone down, it’s safe for you to come out now.”

You let out another groan, rolling over in the cramped space of your coffin and onto your stomach, “Noo.”

“C’mon, love, patrol will only take an hour. That’s a second in your immortal lifespan.”

With a sigh, you opened your eyes and creaked open the lid of your coffin and gave your Orc Boyfriend a bleary eyed glare. “You say that,” You pushed open the lid fully and sat up right, “but it can feel like an eternity.”

“Even with me?” Your Orc gave you a feigned look of hurt.

“That’s not what I meant! You’re putting words in my mouth.” You said grumpily.

Your boyfriend chuckled at your expression before he reached to a table behind himself, snatched up a copper flask and handed it to you.

Taking it from him, you took a swig of its contents, the cold irony liquid going down your gullet swiftly and smoothly.

He stood and stretched his arms above his head as if he was just waking up himself. “I’m going to go and grab a weapon. Don’t take too long getting changed.”

The two of you are quite the odd couple, aren’t you? It’s not every day that you see an Orc, big and brutish, together with a hauntingly elegant vampire.

When you two had first met, he was instantly taken by your disturbingly dark beauty, the way that you seemed to glide over to your victims and tell them a gorgeous tapestry of lies, before tearing it to shreds in the wake of your hunger for that sweet life blood that coursed through your victims veins.

He often wondered why you were hunting at this grotty little Tavern he frequented, you appearance was just so… out of place amongst the withered regulars, tired from the days work.

He had watched you for a few days, noticed a pattern of your victims – mostly people who were disrespectful to those around the bar staff and, if the opportunity presented itself, a monster hunter or two who were foolish enough to walk straight into your territory.

Once he felt sure that you wouldn’t take him for a target, he approached you.

It was like a spark had gone off the moment the pair of you got to chatting.

As he got to know you, he was surprised by how normal you were as a person. He had expected you to look down on him and all the other filthy mortals that surrounded you. But you didn’t act like that at all. He was also shocked to learn that you don’t sleep in a giant mansion or in a crypt in a graveyard like he had expected. “That’s a really funny stereotype.” You had told him when he brought it up to you. “I mean, it makes my life a lot easier, because it means that people don’t see me coming.” You’d laughed. “It just sucks that I have to return to a morgue every day. Just because I’m undead doesn’t mean I want to sleep next to corpses every night.”

You had wrinkled your nose, “and don’t even get me started on trying to lie in the exact same position that the coroners leave you in, it’s a nightmare. And I have to change morgues every week to make sure no one catches onto why my corpse hasn’t been buried yet.”

The moment he’d heard that, your Orc knew that you had to come and live at the encampment with him. Sleeping next to dead bodies? And having to move every week? At least when the encampment moves itself every few months.

When your boyfriend first turned up to the encampment, with you in tow, a lot of the Orcs freaked out. You found it funny that these giant creatures, born walls of muscle and ready to fight as soon as they could crawl, could be so easily frightened by something like you.

“You’re all being dramatic!” Your Orc Boyfriend had told them all, as the Orcs all crowded at the other side of the encampment as you sipped on a copper mug full of red liquid. “Look at her, she’s not going to hurt you!”

When you had smiled at them and waved – trying to be reassuring, but forgetting that you had bloodstained fangs from your beverage – all the Orcs had curled up even further away from you.

But, after a few weeks of you taking over night patrols and not drinking anyones blood – other than your boyfriends of course – everyone had decided that you could stay.

The thing that really convinced the Orcs that you would be a good ally, was when they woke up one morning, when the sun was just rising, to find that you had decimated a group of monster hunters, all of which had their throats ripped out or had been sucked dry, not even having a chance to defend themselves from your wrath.

From that point onward, all the Orcs in the camp saw you as one of their own and treated you like it.

With your new found acceptance into the camp, your Orc Boyfriend felt a wave of relief and reassurance that everyone had finally accepted you. He was worried that his feelings for you would be invalidated if he confided in any one of his friends about the nature of your relationship together, and whether or not your relationship would be accepted by the rest of the clan.

Even being with an Elf or Human would have been seen as a more acceptable relationship in their eyes over a Vampire.

But thanks to being accepted into the camp, he didn’t have to worry about anything like that now.

However… there was just one other fear.

Your boyfriend was snapped out of his memories of you, the flaps of your shared tent flying open as you stretched your arms high above your head and yawned. Fangs glinting in the faint torch light, you scratched the back of your head “Alright,” you said, “let’s get this over with.”

After picking up the axe that your boyfriend had been leaning on and grabbing a torch from one of the nearby guards, the pair of you set off to do a perimeter check.

Your Orc sank back into his thoughts as the pair of you walked around the camps wooden walls, tied together tightly with twine.

Just because his fears of you being accepted by the camp had been laid to rest, didn’t mean that there wasn’t anything else for him to worry about. There was this nagging, restlessness that writhed in the back of his head whenever he was left alone too long with his thoughts.

He knew it was stupid of him to ignore it. Your boyfriend had known it the moment the pair of you had gotten together and knew it was an inevitability: you would outlive him. Perhaps hundreds of years into the future… and forget about him.

Your Orc found it particularly difficult to ignore when the pair of you would go out on Patrol like this.

In the silence, where there was nothing else to be heard other than the hooting of owls or the trill of crickets, it was hard to distract himself with other more important matters, like guarding the encampment.

Of course, whenever you started a conversation, he would participate and reply… but that didn’t mean that the anxiety went away.

Your boyfriend was sure you were aware of your immortality too, but he supposed that you were just used to it. Another fear on top of that, how many other lovers had you loved and forgotten? Was he doomed just to become another one of those people? A small mark in the long life that would be yours?

“Babe?” Your voice broke him out of his spiralling thoughts. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring out into the darkness for ages now.”

Your Orc Boyfriend turned to look at you, meeting your worried eyes, brows furrowed with concern. “I’m fine.” Your Orc said with a smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him, doubtfully. “You’re hiding something.” You said, observantly.

His eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow. You were just too good at reading people.

“Really, it’s nothing.” The last thing that your Orc wanted, was to make you feel guilty for his anxious thoughts. He knew you had no control over your memory, or for your endless life span. It was only natural that over time you would forget things… even if they were once important to you.

His answer, clearly didn’t satisfy you. “Babe, please talk to me.” Your voice was tinged with hurt. “I don’t like it when you go quiet on me. It makes me think I’ve done something wrong.”

That made him smile. Even though you’d been alive for so long, you still acted like any worried girlfriend. Sighing, he stopped in his tracks and looked at you.

You stopped beside him.

“… How long have you been alive?” He asked you.

You recoiled, surprised by the question. After a moment, you frowned and curled a thoughtful finger under your chin. “Let’s see…” You murmured. “I was turned when I was twenty five… and that was… around four hundred years ago?” You guessed. “It became difficult to keep track of, so I stopped thinking about how old I was a long time ago.”

The next question your Orc Boyfriend wanted to ask caught in his throat. He swallowed, “and how many people have you taken as a partner?”

You pursed your lips, tilting your head. “Why does that matter?” You asked, suspiciously. You knew that your boyfriend wasn’t the kind of person to judge you based on your body count… murder victims or otherwise, but it was still strange that he was asking.

“Please, answer the question.” Your Orc pleaded. “It’s not anything weird I’m trying to get at, I promise.”

Sighing, you searched your mind for past love affairs, prospective partners names and anything else like that. “None that I can make a note of.” You said, truthfully. “All of them were flings or creepy weirdos who wanted to become a vampire.”

Upon examining your boyfriend’s face in the dim torch light that he held in his hand, you observed something sad behind his eyes. “What’s this really about?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“I… I sometimes think about what will happen after I die.” Your Orc’s voice came out in a whisper, as if he thought his words would draw danger near. “What will you do? You’ll be on your own again, to live the next few centuries… In that time, are you going to forget about me? About what we have?”

The question surprised you. You shouldn’t have been, as it was a very valid question to come from your mortal partner. It was the sad truth of being a Vampire. All the people you knew, friends, family, lovers, children – if you had any while mortal – will die. You will outlive them all.

You had grown used to it, moved on from the deaths of your family… Forgotten their names. The thought of the same thing happening to your Orc boyfriend sent a chill down your spine. An uncomfortable pit opened up in your stomach.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” A lump had formed in your throat.

It was always a possibility. That you would forget… But how could you forget someone like him? This Orc, who had the audacity to approach you in the middle of a Tavern – knowing and recognising full well what you were – and decided to chat you up? How could any Vampire- no, how could anyone forget that?

Even your creepy vampire obsessed victims hadn’t caught on until you had tried to take a bite out of them.

“You don’t have to be concerned about that.” You said, firmly. Taking your hands, you placed them on either side of your boyfriend’s head and pulled him down to your height. “You are not just anyone. You are the love of my life, and I will never ever, forget this. You decided to approach me,” You let out a small chuckle, “a bloodsucking monster-“

“You’re not-“ Your boyfriend began, but you shushed him. “I’m not done yet!” You hissed. “… and took the time to get to know me. How could I ever forget someone so brave and accepting? This is the most alive and happy I’ve been in years.” Pressing your forehead against his, you whispered, “you have made me feel mortal again. And I will never, ever forget that, so long as I live.”

The lump in your Orcs throat rose again as he pulled you close with his free arm, squeezing you tightly against his body. Although you are cold to the touch, your skin waxy and frigid, there was still a warmth glowing inside you, he could feel it against his own skin.

“I love you, you know?” You told him firmly, holding his gaze. “With all of my undead heart.”

“Even when I’m old and wrinkled?” Your Orc smiled.

“Darling I’d love you if you were a worm.” Pressing a kiss onto his lips, you smiled

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Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

[neve-rook-datv]

The Trouble Within - Neve Gallus’ Personal Notes - Part 3

The Lighthouse has become our sanctuary, a place where we regroup, share stories, and patch up wounds—both physical and unseen. Its walls seem to shift and breathe, adapting to the lives and emotions we bring to it, and at the center of it all, there’s Rook.

Here, within these ever-changing walls, I witness Rook’s patience in subtle ways that others might glimpse, though maybe not in the same way I do. She has a way of listening that makes each of us feel seen, as though she’s anchored in every word, no matter how tense or chaotic the room might be. When someone voices a frustration, she doesn’t push back; she responds with a calm steadiness, sometimes even with a quiet joke or a mischievous smile that has a way of breaking through the tension. Her humor, subtle and warm, draws people to her. And she leads us, not by pushing or pulling, but by embodying a quiet confidence that feels both fragile and unbreakable.

Yet beneath that easy-going surface lies a core of steel—a resolve that drives her forward, even when the path is uncertain. She makes choices with a clarity I find both reassuring and disconcerting. She’ll take risks others wouldn’t dream of, yet somehow, her decisions feel like the only logical path, as though she sees a future we don’t. I’ve seen her face down choices that would make others falter, and each time, she makes us trust her judgment, makes us believe that whatever she decides is the only way forward.

And then there’s Assan, Darvin’s griffon, who seems to have developed a fondness for her. Assan isn’t hers to claim, and yet Rook treats him with a gentle care that still catches me off guard. She slips away when she can, spending quiet moments by his side, scratching behind his ears, whispering to him in that low voice that’s soft enough to make even the griffon still. I see a different side of her in those moments, something raw and unguarded, and it’s almost too intimate to watch. And somehow, it only deepens this image I have of her—a leader with a heart she guards fiercely, yet can’t help but reveal in these stolen moments.

Watching her, I feel a weight settle within me, something I can no longer ignore, no matter how much I wish I could. Every time we leave this place, we face threats that could tear any of us from this fragile unity we’ve built. I tell myself it’s safer to keep my distance, to guard my heart from the possibility of loss. But then I see her, standing at the center of us all, carrying burdens that aren’t hers to bear, giving everything she has, even when no one asks her to.

It scares me, this pull I feel toward her, this desire to step closer when every part of me knows how easily it could all be shattered. She’s Trouble, I remind myself, but the word feels hollow now—a flimsy defense against something deeper. The Trouble is what she awakens in me—the hope, the vulnerability, the longing for something I know I can’t guarantee.

And there’s a gnawing fear beneath it all. I find myself caught in this quiet struggle, wanting to reach for her, to let myself fall into this connection that grows stronger with each passing day. But every time I feel that pull, that instinct to move closer, a darker thought settles within me—a reminder that we live on borrowed time, that every mission we embark on could be our last, and that, one day, I might lose her. It’s an ache that refuses to fade, and it only grows stronger the more I let myself believe there could be something beyond these walls.

I’m afraid of what it means to want this, to want her, knowing full well the risks we face. And yet… I see it in her eyes too, that same pull neither of us can seem to resist.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Twenty-One: Friend Or Foe, Part II

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: amnesia, needles, guns, death, guilt

[A/N: since the last chapter showed what steve was up to, i figured we should find out what was happening to mini hopper over here... *hint* it's not fun]

Friend Or Foe, Part II

“Which is why I’m sorry.”

You push him, the faceless boy, into a void. There are so many noises echoing across concrete walls, a splintering boulder bashing against the door, your only exit.

At first, you just stand there, staring as the open wall closes itself, a cry of your name thrown from the other side. And then you hear snarls, growls, monsters. You run.

But there is nowhere to run.

You’re caged in a corner, creatures drawn from the shadows, covering your face as you prepare for the end.

“WAKE UP”

You wake up with a gasp, twisting the soft cushion below you and immediately open your mouth to call for- Your breath stops in your throat. Who were you calling for?

Leaning on your elbow, you take a look around the furnished room. You fell asleep on the couch again. How many times was this now? At least eight, you think. You aren’t entirely sure how many days you’ve been down here.

You send a quick glance to the new pile of clothes waiting on the armchair opposite, a soft frown pinching your eyebrows. You still didn’t know where Brenner got them from. He left a different assortment every so often. You tried not to think about if they came from a deserted store, or somewhere much more morbid.

As you walk past, you grab a grey sweatshirt and pull it over, staring down at the sleeves.

You’ve worn something like this before. A hoodie of some kind. You remember it brought you comfort. You remember… it wasn’t yours.

A frustrated sigh echoes the room as you drag your hands down your face. Once again, you couldn’t locate the boy your brain so itched to find.

Brenner was helping you with your memories. Every day, you would do some mind exercises, incredibly mundane but so so important to you. At the end of each session, you’d take your medication and try to continue what he was teaching. You didn’t want to be stuck in this bunker forever, but how were you meant to leave when you couldn’t even find the door?

Besides, Brenner treated you with kindness. There were worse places to be in an apocalypse.

You take a deep breath, nodding to yourself. Today would be the day. You were going to remember.

The door creaked a familiar welcome when you leave the room, staring down the hall. You wonder if you have enough time to go exploring again.

A consequential part of the bunker you couldn’t wrap your head around was the lack of time. There wasn’t a single clock on the walls you so often wander around. Brenner always seemed to know exactly when everything should happen, however. Your tests, sleeping schedules, appropriate times to eat. And yet, you’ve never managed to catch him with a watch on his wrist.

You find the central part of the building, staring up at it with awe, as you did every single time. Here, there were separate floors for separate doors, all circling you as you stand in the middle. This section of the bunker made it seem much bigger than you had assumed it to be. In fact, the label bunker didn’t seem to match the grand scale of it. Although, you weren’t sure what else to call it now. A base, perhaps.

None of the doors here opened, windows blacked out with paint. Whether they were like that before or after Brenner moved in, somebody didn’t want you seeing inside those rooms. You were curious about them, as anyone else would be, but they weren’t a priority for you; finding the missing pieces of your memories were.

You’ve had several flashes of your forgotten past flash into your mind at random points over the past few days, but none gave you enough information to decipher what you were seeing. Just yesterday you had been staring down the same hallway you were now stood facing, imagining the lights flickering wildly with a panicked thrum of your heart beating against your chest.

You wondered when you would give up trying. It was silly, really, to constantly be wondering that when Brenner always told you positive thinking would better the results. You couldn’t help it. You supposed part of you must have always been expecting the worst outcome. You didn’t even remember who you really were. Did you really want to remember?

...Were you worth remembering?

Do the people who you left behind want you to remember-

“Why do you do that? Act like you aren’t someone important, when you most definitely are.”

You blink, footsteps frozen. It had just been a whisper in your mind, a calming voice. You’d been hearing it a lot lately, mostly in your dreams, sometimes when you’re overthinking like this. He was still faceless, whoever it was ushering sweet words of emotional relief. If you could just see him, the boy in your dreams, you’re sure you’d finally find that missing piece.

“We should rethink this.”

You stop again, head turning to the hallway with a confused expression. That voice most certainly wasn’t in your head. And it didn’t belong to anyone you knew, either.

“Calm down, this is what we’ve wanted since we started this whole thing.”

Brenner’s voice drifted down the hall this time. Without another thought, your feet are guiding you to the murmurs of conversation, curiosity proving it had you rather than reversed.

The speech between two men was louder when you reach the door at the end of the hall, concealing yourself around the corner and peering into the room.

From the gap in the door, you could make out a face you hadn’t see before. He seemed to be similar in age to Brenner, sporting a long white lab coat. His right hand was fiddling with the pen between his fingers, a nervous trait if you ever saw one. He was a little shorter than the man stood in front of him, his face twisted into some sort of conflicted emotion. From the discussion you were overhearing, it was clear he was in the opposition.

“Can it not wait longer?” He persisted, taking a step forward. “We can find another way. I just need time-”

“We’re out of time.” Brenner interrupts, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, my friend. Think of all the things we can…”

His voice trails off, retracting his hand and straightening his back. You can’t see his expression from where you’re stood, but the man he was with seemed confused by it.

“Y/n.” Brenner suddenly turns around with a smile. Your stomach drops in shame. You obviously weren’t as inconspicuous as you hoped. “Please, come in.”

You take a few tentative steps into the room, observing the machines with various enticing buttons. There was a giant window at the back, replacing the wall. Except, you couldn’t see out of it. A giant shutter was rolled down, stopped just before completely covering the space and leaving a slither of light at the bottom. You frown at the sight. A giant window. In a control room…

“Okay.” A girl breathes out, slotting the key into a metal door. “We lock the door anytime we leave, just in case. We take shifts so some of us end up sleeping between. Don’t wanna be blind-sided.”

“It’s a good idea.” You say and she smiles.

“This way.” She announces as she swings open the door.

It was like stepping into a sci-fi movie. Lab equipment everywhere, some now lifeless machines, a large glass window overlooking rows of metal staircases, cages.

And a giant gate to hell staring back at you.

“This is Dr. Owens.” Brenner interjects the swirling memories, stepping forward. You peel your eyes away from the shutters and finally acknowledge the men standing in front of you. “I have brought him here to help with your memories. He’s very skilled in this area.”

Owens was happily nodding, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. You think you’re pretty good at reading people, consequence of the years you would sit and observe on the outside of many conversations. This man looked… sad, in some way.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope my sudden appearance isn’t alarming in any way.” He offers a hand and you shake it, feeling the slight tremor in his grip. Something felt wrong.

“Well, shall we begin today’s session?” Brenner claps his hands and Owens retrieves his, nodding and walking out of the room.

You watched as he turned right towards the centre of the base rather than left to the room you’ve been conducting these sessions for weeks.

Brenner notices your confusion and places a hand on your shoulder. “We’re moving to a different room this time. Nothing to be worried about, I assure you. We just need some better equipment for this.”

He barely gives you time to think, the hand on your back guiding you out the door before you can even remember the window at the back of the room, holding a secret the universe didn’t want you to find.

“Before we begin today’s session, I’ve been meaning to take blood samples from you.” Brenner announces as you sit in an uncomfortable chair, the metal entirely different from the plush sofa you usually rest on.

“Blood samples?” You question, and Brenner smiles that same smile he’s shown you since your coma. When you think a little harder about his kindness now, did his show of comfort feel… forced?

“Are you sure she’s ready for that now?” Owens surprises you with his interjection, stepping into view beside you. “Maybe you should give her a little more time with the medication, I’d hate to-”

“Why don’t we ask her how she feels about it?” Brenner suggests, leaning forward to meet your eyes. “We don’t have to do this today. It’s simply to help us monitor if there’s perhaps something a little more medical than amnesia happening.”

More medical than amnesia? You think to yourself, glancing over at the tray of needles. This contrasted the last sessions dramatically. Every nerve in you screamed ‘no’, to refuse their help. But that crippling fear seemed to outweigh it; what if you never remembered?

Maybe this was one of those risks you have to take for the better.

“It’s okay.” You nod, turning to the man beside you. “I’m willing to do whatever.”

You assure the new doctor you’re alright, but his eyes were racked with an emotion you’ve witnessed and felt numerous times. Guilt.

It sends a shock of a memory: holding someone’s hand, tears running down your face, a hospital bed you didn’t occupy. Your sister. Sara. How your heart ached with her absence. How guilty you felt when you assumed your father would replace her. The girl was so sweet, she didn’t deserve your hostility. The girl. Who was she?

Who was she?

A number.

9?

10?

1-

“We must start.” Brenner interrupts, and the memory is fading.

“Wait!” You stand from your seat and Owens pauses with the needle in his hand, waiting. Brenner wasn’t so patient.

“Did you change your mind?” He questions, tilting his head. He had barely moved from his seat, even in recognition to your outburst.

“No, no, I-” You glance between them, scrunching your face. “I remembered something. My sister. I have a sister.”

Brenner seems to be personally interested this time, not a usual trait he displayed. He shifts to sit a little straighter, attempting to fashion it out by placing down his clipboard and nodding.

“What about her do you remember? Anything important?”

“I…” And your voice trails away with the image of a young girl, disappearing. Your next words came out a little defeated, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Brenner leans back, crossing his legs. “Let’s continue, then.”

You practically deflate back into the chair, staring down at the ground with an unwavering sense of helplessness.

“No.”

Both of your heads whip to where Owens was placing the needle back on the table and shaking his head.

“She’s not ready. We’ll do it tomorrow, let her prepare herself.” He aims his declaration to the man sat in front of you, eyes holding more warning than you had expected.

“But it’s just a blood test.” You say, leaning forward. Neither of them reply. “Right?”

“Perhaps Dr Owens is right.” Brenner eventually says, standing from his chair and peeling his eyes from his colleague. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar phial, the rattling noise echoing in the uncomfortable silence. “We’ll continue this later. Just take your medication for now. Dr Owens and I will confer on what’s next.”

You realise your voice wasn’t to be heard here and allow him to shake out two pills, clutching them in your hand. You held them tightly even as you left the room, weaving back through the hallways to the comforting hue of a furnished room.

Your feet took you to the water bottle on the desk by the door, instinctively raising the pills to your mouth, just like you did after every session. But this time, something makes you pause.

My sister.

You try to focus on the image of your sister, almost forcing yourself to place her features piece by piece. She was the same age Sara would have been. Oh god… Sara. How could you have let yourself forget about her? How did you let yourself forget about anything?

Hopper will be so disappointed when you find him. He taught you better. Whatever caused this amnesia was probably the result of your own stupidity. If he was in your position, he would have left this place already, regardless of memory or not. You knew he would.

So why were you still here?

Maybe you were just afraid there was no one waiting for you on the surface, dead or alive.

The little white pills were long forgotten, discarded on the desk as you trudge your way over to the couch, sinking into it like your forlorn attitude. Your eyes close with the last slip of a tear. Of all the things to forget, why couldn’t it be how awful you felt?

You didn’t realise you had drifted to sleep until the sound of the door shutting echoed through the room. You turn your head to find Owens is stood there, running a hand down his face and clutching a notebook.

“Hello?” You prompt, sitting up.

He turns to you in surprise, your unexpected presence sending a mix of emotions onto his face.

“My apologies.” He says, walking back over to the door. “I didn’t realise you were sleeping.”

“No, it’s okay.” You say, smiling. “I’m not meant to be sleeping in here anyway.”

Rather than respond, he stands awkwardly in front of the door, eyes shifting between his notebook and feet as he decides between staying and leaving. Even though you didn’t know this man, you could tell something was weighing on him, as it was you also.

“Can I ask you a question?”

His eyes dart up in surprise but he nods, clearing his throat “Of course.”

“Why are you here?”

The question lingers, his hardened expression softening into contemplation. It was almost as if he wasn’t certain of his presence here either.

“May I sit?” He asks after a little while and you smile timidly, shuffling further down the couch to make room. When he finally sinks into the cushions, he adapts a more comfortable posture, tilting his head in your direction. “I’m here because Dr Brenner asked me to be.”

“I assume you’re friends?” You ask, fiddling with the sleeves of your hoodie. A nervous habit.

“We’ve known eachother a long time.” He responds, eyes never fully meeting yours. It seemed he was dodging the truthful answer, whatever that may be. “We worked in a lab together a while ago, trying to make a difference. But before we could really do anything, I… I left.”

“Why?”

“My wife.” Owens smiles this time, a fond memory playfully tugging at his lips. He twists the silver ring on his left hand, “She was the most supportive person I knew. She was the reason I really started all of this. High school sweethearts, if you can believe it. We were going to change the world. But she got sick. Cancer. She fought for such a long time… after that, I didn’t have the energy to continue my work.”

“I get it.” You say after some contemplation. He frowns, eyeing you with curiosity. “My sister…”

His eyebrows raise, a stillness to his exterior. You pretended not to notice, pulling back at the sleeves of your hoodie.

“Grief is a very powerful thing.” He says, sighing. “Especially when you believe you have the power to save them. I just… I never had the resources.”

You nod along to his words, an unexpected similarity between you and this man you’ve never met. Just remembering Sara’s face was all your heart needed to start aching. No one really understood that before. Other than Hopper. You never gave him a chance to connect with you over her death. You suppose he didn’t, either.

After a moment, a groan leaves Owens’ mouth and he runs his hands down his face, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to help people.” He admits quietly. “God, it was all I ever wanted. I was ready to find new ways to better the lives of everyone around us, to find cures, to- to discover endless possibilities of the human mind…”

“Did you?”

“In a way.” He sighs, looking at you. “Just not the way I wanted.”

You watch his smile fade into sadness, his eyes drifting to the ground.

“Are you okay?” You ask, shifting to face him on the couch.

“I am.” He states, closing his eyes. “But you aren’t.”

You frown, tilting your head. “What?”

“Brenner isn’t who you think he is.” Owens says solemnly, scared eyes burning fear into yours. “He isn’t trying to help you.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“You didn’t take the pills, did you?” He glances over at the little white capsules collecting metaphorical dust on the desk. “And now you’re already starting to remember your life.”

Your eyes widen at his implication, turning your head in horror at the ‘medication’ meant to be fixing you.

“Antipsychotics.” Owens answers before you can even ask, tightening his lips. “They’re designed to lessen the effects of extreme psychosis but only in smaller doses. The pills Brenner has administered to you are… they are more than anyone should take, especially those with amnesia. They aren’t curing you, Y/n. They’re making your memory worse.”

“Why would he do that?” You shake your head, unsure who to trust. But this man in front of you had more emotions than Brenner has displayed to you in the past two weeks.

Trust no-one, your dad would say, only trust yourself.

But how could you do that when you quite literally couldn’t remember who you are?

Owens tries to answer when he suddenly looks up at the door, panicked.

“Hide.” He says, gently tugging your arm and ushering you off the sofa and towards the closet.

“Here?” You question, but you make no effort to stop him guiding you over to it.

“Behind here is a vent system. I cut out a panel of the closet so you should be able to access it. It’ll lead you to the other side of the lab- bunker. You need to get through it quickly and pretend like none of this happened. It’s not an escape, but it’ll make it look like you were never in this room, you hear me?”

“What? Why?” You stumble into the wooden structure, turning to catch his arm before he could close the door. There were so many questions you needed to ask, but there would never be enough time to have them answered. “What’s going to happen?”

“Look, kid.” He says almost sadly, a small smile on his lips. “He isn’t who you think he is. I need you to act like everything is okay. Don’t take the pills, radio your friends- I’ve heard them on one of the frequencies before. But, most importantly, don’t let him catch you.”

“Don’t let him catch me.” You repeat, but it wasn’t a question. Don’t let him catch me. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Protect yourself, protect your friends. You’ll need eachother if you ever want to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

A rushed echo of footsteps can be heard from the other side of the door, pulling away Owens’ attention. Your heart sank. It was too late.

“Room 237. He needs you.” He whispers, grabbing the closet door before you can object. “Now, go. Don’t look back.”

Owens carefully shuts it and plunges you into darkness, only a slither of light peeking between the cupboard doors. You turn around to see exactly what he had described, crouching to carefully remove the cover. It barely made a sound and you sigh in relief just as a louder noise filled the room.

Brenner swung the door open and closed in one swift motion, stepping onto the carpet where he found Owens sat at the couch, skimming through a notebook.

You place a hand inside the vent, testing its structure. Rock solid.

“Did you tell her?” Brenner questions and despite every instruction you were given, you paused.

“Tell her what?” Owens responds with a casual tone. But even you could hear the slight incline in his voice behind the wooden doors, a tell-tale sign he was hiding something.

“Where is she?”

“She hasn’t been here. I’ve been sat here for a while waiting.” He shrugs. “She’s probably wandering about again.”

“Hm.”

Silence. You wince. You couldn’t make an escape if you didn’t have the tone of their voices to distract it.

“I heard the transmissions.” Brenner states lowly. “I know what you’ve done, Sam.”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Don’t lie to me!” He suddenly roars, making you flinch. You haven’t ever seen him like this. You weren’t even aware he was capable of it.

“Fine!” Owens yells back, standing from the couch and throwing his notebook onto the cushions. “Fine. I sent out a call for help. She doesn’t deserve to be locked up in here, Martin. None of us do. You’re going too far.”

“Too far? This could be our only saviour.”

“No. It’ll be your saviour.” Owens raises his chin.“You’re the only one that needs this. Let the girl go. I won’t ever speak of this again. I’ll be out of your hair.”

Brenner sighs. He stares at his friend for a moment, something dark lurking behind his eyes.

“You’ve been a good friend to me all these years.” He smiles. It was unsettling this time. Almost like it didn’t belong to him. “I do hope you understand.”

Owens frowns, lips parting to inquire his cryptic words. The question never hit the air.

Brenner pulls out a gun from behind his back and shoots Owens directly in the chest.

Your hands fly to your mouth in a quick motion, suppressing an urge to scream out. You watch Brenner through that tiny little gap, tears pooling in your eyes as the man looks down at his former friend with nothing but disgust.

“We could have changed the world, Sam.” He says as his final farewell.

A twitch of Owens’ hand on the carpet catches your attention. You can just hear the choked gasp of breath leave his mouth in response.

It doesn’t return.

Brenner swiftly pockets his gun again and fishes out a key in his shirt. Without a second glance, he leaves the room, the click of a lock echoing back through.

All you could hear was your thundering heart beat against your eardrums, arms tight around your legs. Brenner just killed him. He killed him. And if he knew what you had just witnessed, he would surely kill you too.

You take another look at Owens’ body, shuddering at the thought of dying the same fate. You shouldn’t leave him like that. What if he was still alive?

Don’t look back, he had said with the last remaining urgency in his soul. He told you to leave. So that’s what you had to do, even if every cell in your body was screeching for you to sit here in a puddle of your tears and wait until someone came to save you. You knew even if you gave in to your fear, no one would come.

So, instead, plant your shaking hands on the cool metal of the vent and climb your way through, choking back the sobs scratching at your throat.

Chapter Twenty-Two: coming soon...

taglist:

@sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore . @carolineesnell .

[jesswritesthat]

can i request a kuroo x reader where reader is bokuto’s sib? that would be so funny and how would he act towards them? and HOW BOKUTO WOULD REACT AT THIS😭😭 love yaa

A/N: omg I love this idea!!!

>>>>——————————>

Kuroo Dating Bokutos’ Sibling Headcanons:

• Ironically Bokuto was the one to introduce you to Kuroo, and he would never have shown you off so proudly if he could predict the future.

Alas - you walked into a busy Fukurōdani Group Training Camp during their second year equipped with a bento box and a string of curses.

“See how amazing my family is Rooster hair? My biggest fan brings me lunch!” Bokuto slings an arm around your shoulder beaming with grateful pride.

“Ugh, yeah yeah. I figured you’d need energy and I wanted to see Akaashi too…” You retort, looking for your fellow first year in the gym.

• Bokuto issued you an expression of feigned hurt, hand on his chest and putting you at arms length as he hunched over.

“You wound me!”

“If that’s all it takes, I need to take notes.” The Nekoma player commented, this leaving Bokuto barking back at him before returning to ‘normalcy’.

“Anyway, this is my wonderful sibling (Y/n) and this is Kuroo Tetsurō. A middle blocker for Nekoma.”

“Nice to meet you Kuroo.”

“Likewise.”

• It was meant to be left at that, and each of you involved in that situation would’ve agreed too. Except, you found that the way he matched your wit magnetic, and how he’d join you when teasing Bokuto became a highlight of your time spent at the camp.

• Akaashi had noticed it too, addressing it rather bluntly since he was the one you lingered around most often.

“You and Kuroo-san get along well.”

“I know, he’s kinda cool. I’m glad I got to met players from other teams, no wonder Kōtarō likes these training camps so much.”

“You’re right, they are fun.” He’d dismissed is as friendly acquaintances. For now.

• It wasn’t until the next practice match between Fukurōdani and Nekoma that you saw Kuroo again (and you’d ensured to come by the gym before the match to see them). This time warmly greeting each other like friends rather than strangers. A ritual that continued very time Nekoma were involved in Volleyball events.

• It’s near the end of second year that Bokuto finally started to notice, this wasn’t how ‘just friends’ acted. Your brother was oblivious to this stuff usually, which is why it had taken an interaction longer to catch on, but when it came to you he was more observant with such things.

• It’s written in the way Kuroo leans in to listen to you; how you refill his and Kenmas bottles; that you seem to be laughing together more often than not; and in the way you look at each other. It incurs a narrowed analytic gaze from the Fukurōdani Ace.

• When you felt hands clasp your shoulders and steeer you away with an intimidating undertone to his upbeat voice, you figured he was on to your little crush.

“I’m taking (Y/n) away rooster hair, my sibling and I have things to discuss. Don’t we?”

“Crap.”

“Oh yeah, you’re damn right.”

• Golden eyes boared into you intently as if expecting you to spill all your secrets, Akaashi also present to such painful tactics.

“This isn’t going to work Bokuto-san.”

“Give it time Akaashi! I‘ve been unbeatable since we were kids.” The Ace dismissed, not breaking stern eye contact with you.

“Kōtarō, you’re an idiot.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Oh nothing about Kuroo hm? That scheming bastard not charming enough huh?”

“Yes he— I mean no— argh this is so unfair!”

“HAHA! See, told you I’d get ‘em.” Bokuto smugly nudged Akaashi who looked far too tired for your sibling antics right now.

• Well at least you’ll only see each other at volleyball events, which aren’t too frequent to build on. Especially a long as Bokuto lives and breathes.

“I got his number.”

“YOU WHAT?!” He’s dramatically shaking your shoulders as of its going to realign your senses.

“He — gave — number — in touch.”

“I’ll spike his stupid face!”

“You’d do that anyway.”

“Not the point (N/n)! I’ll do it 100x harder now!” It was rather eccentric, but you’d like to think he would actually commit to such a thing ‘purposefully’.

• So your secrets out. Bokuto isn’t happy about it. And Akaashi is the embodiment of Switzerland but with more conspiracy.

Oh you want a moment to talk to Kuroo without Bokuto knowing? He’ll distract him. Bokuto can’t supervise all the time? Akaashi is monitoring Kuroos interactions.

• However you manage to meet up in Tokyo without the pretences of volleyball games or training camps. It’s purely to see one another and through this developing friendship, and with each outing creating a level of comfort, it was natural for the flirty banter to start.

• Such a tiptoe game preceded to their third year, and it became dangerously obvious that the pair of you had a thing for each other but neither of you had acted on it. At first Bokuto was relieved and eager to pettily drag you away whenever the opportunity arose. But now he’d kind of understood that the growing feelings were more genuine than he’d originally assumed.

• It’s still a surprise when Kuroo charismatically pulls him away to an empty gymnasium after training, only to take a more awkward and serious tone when the nerves set in.

“Bokuto, you know you’re one of my best friends right?”

“Yeah man, but I’m not into you that way.”

“Woah, you wish frosty tips.” Kuroo breathed out with a smirk, more at ease thanks to that remark. “I was gonna ask for you blessing as lame as that sounds.”

“Eh? What for?”

“To ask (Y/n) on a date…”

That’s when the humour tainting his expression fades, when the amber in his eyes burn, and the muscles of his crossed arms tense up.

“I see.”

• It takes you a moment to grasp the situation too, of Tetsurō actually asking you to hang out with him after the camp ends - with the specificity of it being a date this time. It doesn’t take long for you to accept, even if you did tease him a little.

“Has becoming Captain made you braver?”

“Oya, I asked before you did (Y/n). Let alone the fact you couldn’t resist my offer~”

• Kuroo finds the situation the easiest to deal with you think, he acts natural even if he is a bundle of nerves underneath it all. His existing relationship with Bokuto and teasing personality make it easier to adjust to. Although sometimes you’ll over hear conversations between the two.

“Thanks for asking rooster hair. Anyway… how’s (Y/n)?” Bokuto asks, slightly more apprehensive than their previous conversation about teams.

“Happy I hope, though I annoyed them the other day - ate the last snack from the packet.” Kuroo snickered, only for Kōtarō to cut in.

“Yeah? You should try taking a bunch of photos, that really gets to (Y/n).”

“Hey?! Don’t help him!” You shout down.

• It amused you in the beginning, one specific time when Kuroo came to your door to pick you up only to find an expectant Bokuto.

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in. I can’t possibly allow my beloved sibling—”

“I have fried chicken.” Kuroo held up a warm takeout bag, conniving smirk in place.

“Deal, take ‘em wherever you want.”

“Kōtarō?!” You explained, your brother accepting the food without a second thought and ushering you toward the door.

“Eh? You haven’t bribed me in a while, rooster hair is my favourite right now. Out you go, don’t keep the man waiting.”

• They also go shopping together whenever it’s a celebration that involves you. They gladly put yen together for a big gift, or give one another recommendations - yet act completely innocent about it when you call them out on it.

• Sometimes you even feel like you’re third wheeling if Tetsurō visits the Bokuto household, their bromance truly was one of a kind. Though you didn’t mind, grateful that your brother and boyfriend got along so well.

• Bokuto still had that big brother protectiveness though and Kuroo was a scheming bastard when exploiting it. He’d playfully kiss you or show affection in front him - Kōtarō immediately pulling you into him with a look of utter disgust.

“How dare you lay your hands on (Y/n)?”

“Kou, he’s my boyfrie—“

“He knows what he did!”

• Overall it’s a positive experience, and it feels like Kuroo is already apart of the family due to the connections you each already share. They both make the effort to ensure you are happy when they can, and keep in touch fairly often. To be honest your certain they let the other know if your in a bad mood… so much for loyalty y’know?

• However, one thing you haven’t discovered yet, is that when Kuroo asked for Bokutos’ blessing, he readily accepted.

“I see.”

A look of contemplation, and then a beaming smile.

“Finally man! Course you have my blessing bedhead, I can tell you care about (Y/n) and would protect them like I would. Plus I know they’d be happy.”

“Thanks Bokuto, I’ll give it my best if they accept.”

“You better. Else I’ll kill you.” This was sinister, it was that deranged look he got when lost in a match, the one before the most earsplitting spikes - suddenly replaced with his usual carefree grin.

“Whatcha waiting for huh? Get out there and ask (Y/n)!”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[alchemicalwerewolf]

I’ve finally gotten ok enough to tell this story so time to break out the Jeremy tales.

So basically the first thing that happened when I got to dance on Friday morning was this girl’s boyfriend came in with her breakfast and then in front of everyone was like oh hey btw I’ve been cheating on you with a 15yo for six months and imma leave you for her now. He was like nineteen. So ofc we’re all like

And the girl is like

And so then he leaves and that girl is crying and so a bunch of people are consoling her and the people who aren’t are warming up for dance and they were messing around and doing a lift we do like all the time where you kinda stand on each other’s hand and then they throw one person up and catch them. Well whenever they went to catch the girl they threw they slipped and so the girl landed on her head and like blacked out and I saw it happen and she was like twitching and then one of the girls started screaming for the teacher. And ofc I’m like

And then the teacher runs over and after a few minutes the girl woke up but she was like I don’t feel good and we were all like no fr she has a concussion and so the teacher called her mom and she went home and we went through class. But everyone is like uhhhh this day isn’t weird at all.

And then in tap someone’s tap shoe broke and they got a nail through their foot. And I was like oh. Blood. Let me just pass out now.

So then it was hip hop and we’d done warmups and were on a break so me and one of my dance friends Dylan were messing around doing flips and he was like ok let me try my Ariel which is like a cartwheel with no hands and he gets it sometimes but not always he’s still working on it so I was like ok do it. So I’m watching and his head was like super close to the floor so he put his hand down instead of doing it right but he put it down weird and I watched his arm just snap and he stood up and was like

oh my god I broke my arm I think and I was like

no duh it’s at a 90 degree angle you idiot

And it was like bleeding and it was horrifying but the shock and adrenaline made it where we were both super like calm seeming so nobody like payed any attention to us so I was like ok we need the teacher so we go over there and I’m like uh Dylan broke his arm and she was like what and then Dylan stopped holding his arm in place and it just like fell and she was like omg that’s insane so she called his mom and she was like fifteen minutes away so we’re all just like omg did that actually just happen and I’m basically the only one that isn’t Dylan that actually knew what happened so everyone was like crowdin me and asking about it but I’m like lowkey about to throw up because of what I saw

And so finally his mom gets there

and takes him to the doctor and everyone’s like ok what do we even do now like is dance cancelled? And my teacher is like

If you run the dance really well

I’ll let you guys just chill until your parents pick you up.

so we all ran it straight up perfectly because like we have to and we’re all like omg there’s some weird vibes going on here so some kids went home early and then the rest of us are like flinging holy water and crap around because like what else do we do

And then I had to do contemporary and we had to do a big lift but for some reason the girl we were lifting twisted for no reason and so it made us impossible for any of us to catch her so then I managed to grab her shirt to slow her fall but she still hit the floor and got the wind knocked out of her.

And when I grabbed her shirt it yanked my arm, which I thought just made it sore for a moment

Yeah Jeremy I know, stupid thought. It dislocated my collarbone. And I was like ow but it’s ok I’ve done this before and it can’t possibly get any worse!

Another incorrect assumption. Found out today I partially tore a muscle in my back. Not enough that I need surgery but enough where I’m literally not allowed to dance for at least the next two weeks.

And also the only mildly comfortable position to be in looks something like this

Which for some reason people don’t appreciate it when you just randomly lay on your stomach in target.

So now I’ve taken unholy amounts of pain medicine

And this is how I feel.

@emmaspersonaldiary since you wanted me to do this lol

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Arthropoda - Branchiopoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Branchiopoda is a class of small, mainly freshwater crustaceans that feed on plankton and detritus. They are comprised of 9 orders: Anostraca (“Fairy Shrimp”), Anomopoda (“Water Fleas”), Ctenopoda (also “Water Fleas”), Cyclestherida (“Clam Shrimp”), Laevicaudata (also “Clam Shrimp”), Spinicaudata (also “Clam Shrimp”), Haplopoda (“Predatory Water Fleas”), Onychopoda (“Water Fleas” again), and Notostraca (“Tadpole/Shield Shrimp”).

Branchiopods are found mainly in freshwater, including temporary pools and hypersaline lakes, and some in brackish water. Those that live in temporary pools are known for having eggs that can dry out for long periods of time and hatch once they are submerged in water, as an adaptation to drought. Only two families, one in Onychopoda and one in Ctenopoda, contain marine species. Most eat detritus or plankton, catching them in the setae on their appendages. Notostracans are opportunistic omnivores that will feed on algae, bacteria, other branchiopods like Anostracans, and even small fish.

Branchiopods are characterized by the presence of gills on many of the animals’ appendages, including the mouthparts. Most have compound eyes and a carapace. In the Clam Shrimp, the carapace prevents the use of the legs for swimming, so the antennae are used for locomotion instead, as they are in nauplius larvae.

The oldest known branchiopod was Rehbachiella kinnekullensis of the Upper Cambrian. Notostracans in particular have a good fossil record, with the oldest known species being Strudops goldenbergi from the Late Devonian. Notostracans are often described as “Living Fossils” due to their lack of major morphological change over 250 million years.

Propaganda under the cut:

Both Triops (a genus of Notostracan) and Artemia (a genus of Anostracan) make popular low maintenance aquarium pets, respectively called “Dinosaur Shrimp” and “Sea-monkeys” in the pet trade.

Triops longicaudatus helps control the West Nile virus, as they prey on Culex mosquito larvae.

In Japan, Triops cancriformis are used as biological pest control, kept in rice paddies to eat weeds.

Most branchiopods feed on small plankton and detritus, but some are large(r) predators, and Notostracans aren’t the only ones! The Giant Fairy Shrimp (Branchinecta gigas) can get up to 86 mm (3.4 in) long, lives in hypersaline lakes and rivers, and eats copepods and other branchiopods: mainly other fairy shrimp.

The genus Artemia, also known as Brine Shrimp, are commonly bred to feed fish and crustacean larvae, both in fish farms and in aquarium tanks, due to their ease of rearing, richness in nutrients, and tendency to be the preferred snack of small fish. Daphnia, a genus of Anomopod, are also often bred as fish food, as well as for amphibian larvae.

Artemia urmiana was once abundant in Lake Urmia of Iran, but drought has caused their population to drastically decline, leading to fears that they were nearly extinct. However, a second population has been discovered in Koyashskoye Salt Lake of Ukraine, giving hope for their recovery.

Scientists have taken the eggs of Artemia salina to outer space to test the impact of radiation on life. The brine shrimp eggs traveled on U.S. Biosatellite 2, Apollo 16, and Apollo 17 missions, and on the Russian Bion-3 (Cosmos 782), Bion-5 (Cosmos 1129), Foton 10, and Foton 11 flights. On Apollo 16 and Apollo 17, the cysts traveled to the Moon and back. Unfortunately, the results showed A. salina eggs are highly sensitive to cosmic radiation… 90% of the embryos died at different developmental stages.

Clam shrimp convergently evolved a shell similar to a bivalve. Both valves of the shell are held together by a strong closing muscle. The animals react to danger by contracting the muscle so that the valves close tightly and the crustacean floats motionlessly to the bottom of the water.

Daphnia are used in scientific studies as a model organism. Because they are nearly transparent, their internal organs are easy to study in live specimens. They are often used to test the effects of toxins and climate change, assisting with the assessment of ecological impacts caused by human disturbance.

One time, while looking at pond water under microscope, I saw a Chydorus sphaericus and squealed out loud cause it was so cute, and my professor made fun of me. But look at this. The Cheat lookin ass:

[wisteria-lodge]

wait there are no house elves in malfoy manor? i mean it's possible that during the time voldemort and the others where there the house elves could just be in prison or they are there and jkr just didn't mention them

because let's say there aren't house elves and voldemort and the death eaters are there, who would have prepared the meals or whatever things guest needs when they visit or stay in someone's house

In Harry Potter, we see a few other strategies for maintaining and running a magical house. Let’s go through them. 

OPTION ONE: NON-MAGIC PEOPLE

Yep, we are going to be dropping some Filtch lore today.

So in canon, it’s really hard to explain why that man (who isn’t able to do magic) has that job (caretaking an entire magical castle.) But I’m going to do my best to make it work. Because pre Statute of Secrecy, it actually makes a lot of sense that old medieval buildings like Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor would have been staffed by muggles. 

I mean, the only reason you build castles (big, easily defensible fortresses) is so they can be the last line of defense if anything happens to the serfs who are renting and farming your land. The peasants supply food/clothes/weapons/luxury products to the Lord of the Manor/Castle, and in return, they are protected (in theory.) That’s feudalism. If anything, being a wizard would just make you a better Lord. There’s no way the Malfoys or the Founders would have been sitting at the center of a community of only wizards, there aren’t enough wizards. Also, if you want someone to run/maintain your house and you’re choosing between Muggles and house-elves… muggles are actually better.

Like yes, house-elves are slaves, which means they would be cheaper than Muggle peasants, but like… not a lot cheaper. Also, there’s got to be some upfront cost of time/money/effort in order to catch a house-elf and bind them to your house. Once you start getting generations of house-elves that’s not a problem, but when you’re setting up a household… yeah I think getting in a staff of muggles would be quicker and easier.

The thing house elves do have in their favor is that they’re really really powerful. A single house-elf is much more effective than a single human servant. But… they’re also kind of too powerful? If you have a human servant who betrays you, does a bad job, or that you just don’t like… you can fire them, imprison them, and (if you’re a wizard) oblivate them so they can’t tell anyone your secrets. 

None of that works with house-elves. Unlike a human you can’t bribe them (because they have a culture that doesn’t value money.) You can’t imprison them (because whatever magic prevents wizards from apparating doesn’t work on them. Dobby gets into the Malfoy dungeons just fine in Book 7.) I’m also assuming you can't obviate them, because if you COULD then oh my god, Barty Crouch Senior would have 1000000% obviated Winky. 

And okay, until house-elves are freed they do seem to have some magical compulsion that prevents them from speaking ill of their masters…  but they can clearly still mess their masters up pretty bad if they want to. Dobby spends all of Book 2 undermining Lucius. Kreacher spends all of book 5 undermining Sirius (and honestly is the catalyst for the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.) This doesn’t even seem out of the ordinary: Tom Riddle framed Hokey for Hepzibah Smith’s murder, and apparently everyone bought it. That's another reason a muggle would be a solid choice: even if they wanted to kill a wizard, it would be nearly impossible. But Kreacher and the Hogwarts house-elves actively fight wizards during the Battle of Hogwarts.

So if you have a house-elf that you can’t trust, basically your only response is to free them. Which is bad, because they know all your secrets and can now talk to whoever they want (Dobby absoutely bad-mouths the Malfoys after he's freed.) It’s super plausible that Winky could’ve said something about Barty Junior while she was smashed off Butterbeer.) So really… the only truly safe option is to kill them. And it seems like you have to kill by hand, like with a sword. The Blacks did sign up for this, and we can see their wall of decapitated house-elf heads as proof. House elves do make more sense for the Blacks, because I'm thinking if they became powerful at around the same time as the Statute, they would have been setting up new households, not adapting old ones to the new paradigm. But then, not everyone is as hard-core as the Blacks. The Malfoys, for example, actually seem quite squeamish about violence.

Now, Hogwarts also has house-elves, and they don’t seem to kill them. Of course it's a school rather than a house - if one of those elves went rouge, what damage could they really do? Compare that to Dobby who like, if had wanted to put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban… he could give some really damning evidence. Lucius Malfoy’s defense was that he was under the imperius curse. Dobby knows that’s not true. Dobby knows where all the contraband in that house is, Dobby knows that diary belonged to Voldemort, he knew Lucius was threatening Hogwarts on purpose? Maybe elves aren’t allowed to testify in front of the Wizangamot, but oh my god Dobby, bring that info to Arthur Weasley. Bring it to Dumbledore. If I were Lucius Malfoy, I would be terrified. Even if I had other house elves, I don’t know if I’d keep them around after second year. 

Hogwarts also has Filch. And I guess I could see an interpretation where if Hogwarts was initially designed to be run by Muggles, then maybe there are certain functions of the castle that can only be performed by Muggles. Like, there’s something weird going on with Mrs. Norris. She’s too smart, she’s the only animal who shows up on the Marauder’s map, she’s telepathically bonded with Filch. So, maybe she is some magical function that oversees the castle, and maybe you need someone without magic to properly access her magic. If a witch/wizard bond with her/communicate with her… then their magic gets in the way of the castle’s magic. I’ll buy that. 

Eventually though, Salazar Slytherin started becoming wary of Muggles, so he might have started a process of phasing out any muggle servants working in the castle and replacing them with house-elves. That makes sense to me. And if the castle needed non-magic workers… squibs would be a good compromise. 

OPTION TWO: AUTOMATED MAGIC

So we know you can cast a spell on an object, and then that object will just sit and do nothing until the spell is triggered. Fred and George’s hats don’t do anything until you put them on - and then they turn your head invisible. You are not doing anything to cast the spell, it’s all in the hat.  Presumably their cloaks and gloves that deflect curses work the same way. 

We also see a lot of this kind of delayed-action magic when it comes to magical protections for locations. Dumbledore has spelled Grimauld Place to send specters at anyone who comes through the door (until they say the password.)  Muggle-repelling charms don’t do anything until a Muggle comes in proximity. Voldemort’s inferi trap in the cave is filled with magical objects that don’t activate until certain conditions are met. Also, these are not single-use protections that you need to replace every time they’re triggered. Once they're set up, they keep working until they're taken down.

We also know that there are plenty of spells to make running a household easier. We see Mrs. Weasley use spells to cook, to make clothes, she has a whole books full of household magic. So my thought is - if you can bewitch the outside of a house to respond to certain conditions, then why not the inside of a house? How hard would it really be to bewitch a fireplace so it turns on every time someone walks into the room? I bet you could get beds that make themselves, carpets that clean themselves, make it so that certain meals are always cooked at certain times, and served in specific places. The house probably cycles through a set number of meals, and some of the food options would be slightly eccentric because that piece of food-magic was cast in 1702. But it all seems very doable, in a programmable smart-house sort of way, especially if you’re the Malfoys and have nothing but money, time, and a love of the ~*~*aesthetic*~*~ Because the aesthetic of a house like this would be absolutely peak. Very spooky fairytale, invisible servant, romantic Beauty-and-the-Beast castle vibes. 

I think this is the option that Malfoys would have chosen, when they no longer had access to Muggles to run their house for them. Apart from the heightened security and a cooler aesthetic, the Malfoys were really against the Statute of Secrecy, so I bet that (for a while at least) they were kind of hoping that it would be reversed and things would go back to the way they were. So, not as motivated to start building up a household staff of house-elves, which is a pretty irreversible decision. 

The Malfoy also like to keep secrets. In the present day of the book, we know they have contraband cursed objects, contraband poisons, a hidden room to keep all of their contraband in underneath the drawing room floor. I don’t think this is a particularly recent state of affairs. Going back to the 1700s, if the Malfoys were ordered to cut off all these very profitable ties with the muggle world… yeah they’re not doing that. They are definitely hiding income coming in from the muggle world, or muggle retainers that they were kind of supposed to obviate and didn’t. 

In the main timeline of the books, I think it makes a lot of sense that Dobby is a Black family house elf that came over with Narcissa when she and Lucius were first married. And I say that because… Dobby is a mess, and Lucius Malfoy takes care of his things. The Hogwarts house elves look neat and presentable. Out in public, Winky’s tea-towel toga looks clean and neat. Dobby is shambling around a snot-stained torn pillowcase, is Lucius not embarrassed? 

My thought is that he kind of resents Dobby: he’s the Black family passive aggressively saying that Lucius can’t take care of Narcissa, or maybe he suspects that the Blacks are sending Dobby over as a spy, or whatever. But, he can’t get rid of him - first because he doesn’t want to offend his in-laws (Dobby is the equivalent of an ugly lamp that you keep in the closet unless the people who actually gave you the lamp are visiting.) Then Dobby witnesses the entire war, which makes him way, way too much of a liability to free. 

So that’s my answer. tl;dr - the Malfoys are a very private family with a long-standing distrust of the Ministry, with a house that was set up to be run by Muggles. It makes the most sense that they have retrofitted that house with automated magic, until it’s basically able to run itself. And then, whenever they’re throwing an event, or something a little too complicated for the house is magic to handle… just hire in a staff of wizards to work one or two nights.

[homelander-rp-blog]

The next morning Ben wakes them up by slamming pots and pans together while making a simple coffee, you could say he’s only doing it for irritate them more then he brings every good gun he has stashed around the house to their living room and dumps them all on the table in front of tv with a groan of complaining he had to be the one carrying them here and those two didn’t even help!

“come here, kids!” he yells from where he’s standing, holding up and examining a heavy crossbow. John, still only in his pyjama pants, hair a mess when he trails in the living room after his father. Winnie’s words last night made him feel soft and warm in his heart, it was just good to know there’s someone who’s ready to back him up in fights with his father but he although didn’t want Winnie and his dead keep head-butting each other for every small argument. His dad can be a real asshole sometimes but he’s a good dad sometimes.. it just occurred to him that Winnie could be a version of his dad but if he could reborn in a girl body and goes few years younger.

“dad.. can we drive Winnie to her home first?” he rubs at his eyes a little. Ben rolls his eyes “I called the sheriff and his dad isn’t home now, he’s probably out getting drunk or looking for the same thing we’re going to look for today!” he happily loads bullets in a shotgun that from the look of it, it was handmade.

John goes pale in the face “I don’t want to leave Winnie alone in the house-“

“-we’re going to take her with us” Ben says a little too rushed, grunting as he moves the guns around to set them in arranged row on the table.

John swallows “dad.. I don’t think where we’re going is appropriate for a girl”

Ben rolls his eyes “you aren’t even like your mother! She was a really wild one.. huh, we need a Philips in our team. Those sons of bitches are good at finding wolf trails! Did catch you as her boyfriend, no? we need someone that actually have the gut to grab a gun and shoot! And I want to know what she wants to say for herself, John” the way he said his name left no option for more argue but John really wants to tell him not to say his girlfriend’s name like that.. after all he wanted to protect her and it all was opposite of what he had on mind!

A part of her wanted to punch Trevor in the gut for not telling her what was going on in the background of her life. He was putting her life in danger too, just by not telling her what was going on. Maybe she could look out for stuff if she did know, some sort of clues or something but he didn't tell her. And honestly, that made her pretty angry. Though maybe he has good intentions. He was always one to make sure she was safe, despite her being a hellion most of the time.

John's dad wanted them to speak more about it later, and she understood. It was a lot to take in and quite a bit to talk about this late at night. People died. People were attacked... It was something that was mind boggling. She had no idea even paranormal things like werewolves existed. Now it had blown her mind that her boyfriend slash best friend was a werewolf... goodness gracious.

Winnie padded her way with her bare tootsies on his floor and grabbed the home phone, dial Trevor to tell him where she was. After getting an earful of yelling and disappointment, he tells her to stay put and get some rest. With a quick ' I love you ' she hangs up the phone and finds John again.

"It's okay, John... I'd rather him take out some of the anger slash agitation out on me than you. I didn't like what he called you earlier. But it seemed like he was just worried." she nuzzled into his shoulder and sighed. "I get to spend the night I guess. We can get some more cuddles in."

[you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be]

Alright then smarty pants what kind of weird niche of characters do YOU love?

Oh far weirder

fucked up guys with bats see

1 the batter from off

2 little slugger

3 any angery woman

any coward character (dustfinger, Douglas Effiel, ect)

sentient landscapes. Is it a town, a spaceship ai, and haunted house? Does not matter I love them

this is less of a love more of an annoyance of tropes but hate the whole thing with parasite characters that want a body being treated as evil. Bestie you want your body too?

anyone who is at least a little unsettling or outright creepy but in a fun happy autistic way (RAT ARCHIVE 81 MY BELOVED, L death note, mob psycho sometimes, mister teatime from discworld)

Class clown with bpd or something similar and trauma, makes references to voices in head (Hawkeye, Eiffel again, sometimes Juno Steele but he isn’t intentionally funny enough for this maybe)

any mute character I almost always fall in love with immediately no questions asked. Love me a mute character

NARRATIVES. The thing controlling them or people who are in them and know it. Narrator from Stanley parable, sans undertale, David Ward of Eskew, literally if you break that fourth wall and make it a little sad I WILL go feral.

give that bad boy parentification issues. Not parental abuse, parentification. (Martin Blackwood, Dean Winchester, ect)

Bad ass pushover who grows out of being a push over (David 7, Guillermo de la Cruz, Martin again-)

Any baby monster. No I don’t just mean Frankensteins where he legit did very little wrong and just needed love though he is included, I’m talking I watched Vivarium and saw that little coocoonest child destroy those peoples lives as part of a long chain of doing that and went “well maybe raise him better”. This also applies to species that are grown but are new to humanity and commit atrocious by accident.

characters who have so much love in them. Not necessarily babyish optimistic characters, but characters that will stop on a walk to check out the plant coming out of it and tells people openly that they love them and that’s their whole thing. Thinking Nona the ninth and Hawkeye Pierce again. Also Henry Oak Garcia

Any character that’s chill with death. Not suicidal, they just genuinely do not mind dying and see it as a very natural, easy, if not upsetting part of life when it happens to them ((still are against other people dying they are simply not scared of doing so (do not get me started on the graveyard book do not I am loosing my mind) thinking of Nona again also leave me alone))

my interests are very very specific but also I am very basic and will automatically eat this out of the palm of your hand if given to me

[laniidae-passerine]

see I am very disjointed from a lot of nine/ten fandom discourse because I genuinely believe that in a different world where space boy was not to be seen, had an older Rose gone to the hospital and bumped into a certain Doctor Jones by a vending machine or as she was taking Rose’s vitals, she would have instantly hit it off with Martha. and probably flirted with her a little on accident and then on purpose when Martha flirted back

[quietwingsinthesky]

making mass effect OCs that are such fail loser idiots i love them

[nathsolkyoako]

Dear lord someone help me