#I don’t know how I can rebuild this if I can’t even bear to look at it

[whenthecagebirdsings]

The Prince of Egypt returning to Netflix was not on my 2024 bingo card, but it far outshined any other I could have ever included.

[clavissionary-position]

Ikeprinces As Ranked By Gilbert

**Best enjoyed after reading Gil’s route. There are also spoilers of varying degrees from some sequel routes (Chev, Licht).

1. LUKE

Luke: I’m surprised I got the top spot. Don’t you and Chevvie go way back? Gilbert: That’s true, but you’re my adorable little kid brother. I’ve carried you on my back. You’ve carried me on your back. Good times. Luke: Aw, Dad… (bear-hugs Gil) Gilbert: (pouts as he struggles to breathe) Did you even… hear a word of what I said… Luke: I heard ‘kid’. That makes ya my dad, right?

2. CHEVALIER

Gilbert: So? What do you think? Chevalier: (ignores him and continues doing paperwork) Gilbert: (high-pitched voice) “Please, oh please, Gil! Please trample my country to the ground, rebuild it in your image and then run it for me!” Something like that, right? Gilbert: (dodges pebble) Ahh, sorry, sorry. It would probably be more like “Please, oh please, Eyepatch!" Gilbert: (dodges another pebble) What is going on here? Do you roll around in the garden before coming to work every day?

3. CLAVIS

Clavis: (stiff smile) I baked you one of my most sought-after creations as thanks. I’d be honored if you’d try it, Lord Gilbert. Gilbert: Hmm, it looks as unappetizing as I expected but smells delicious. Oh, and... (sniffs) ...you even infused it with my favorite poison! Clavis: Hahaha! Well, I didn’t want you to get the idea that I’d learned nothing about you during all our years working together. Gilbert: Of course, of course. Would you like to share this with me Clavis: (stiff smile) No, no, no. It’s best enjoyed alone. Please, I insist.

4. RIO

Rio: If you’re trying to use me to get to my mistress, then I’ll— Gilbert: You misunderstand me. (Sets down two plates of pain perdu and places his hand on Rio’s) I really do commiserate with you, you know. It’s not easy seeing the one you love go off to be with another man. And yet you gladly sacrifice your own happiness. As though it were someone else's joy to give away. Rio: It is. My joy belongs to my mistress. Gilbert: Hmph? Let's see. Pain perdu means ‘lost bread’, right? Poor, poor abandoned little toast, molding under the table. Gilbert: Oh, by the way. I asked the little rabbit if I could bring these to you on her behalf. (Proceeds to eat all the pain perdu himself) Rio: (smiles brightly) So I’ve heard you love exercising!

5. SILVIO

Silvio: (kicks down the door) Where's the list? Gilbert: (innocently sips tea) So you can tear it up? Did you think I didn't make copies to send to every one of your little merchant friends? Silvio: My real friends know what's up. Gilbert: What a hurtful thing to say. I’m just honoring our friendship. And buttering you up for future manipulation. Silvio: Tch. I don’t know what game you’re playing— Gilbert: Human chess. Silvio: —but I’ll buy up every damn piece before you can get your filthy little mitts on 'em. Gilbert: Hehe, splendid. (Sits back with a smile) What’s more fun than controlling someone who controls everything else?

6. KEITH

Keith: Picked me over the other guy, did ya? Gilbert: Oh, he’s on the list too, of course. But I can’t stand how much of a do-gooder he is. And besides, you’re much more fun to play with. Keith: That right? I’m usually the one doing the teasing around here, though. Gilbert: (looks around dramatically) Around here? Where only a handful of people even know you exist? Tell me, if a tree falls and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound? Keith: >:0

7. KEITH

Keith: (hangs head) So you know… about him… Gilbert: Ahaha, there's no need to look so down! You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? It’s all him, right? If only he’d just disappear and stop taunting you from Spot #6. Keith: N-No! I don’t want that! I don’t… think I want that… Keith: Yes, I’m sure of it. He and I can share our friends. Gilbert: (stops smiling) Sharing only works if you can fully trust the other person to not take advantage of your kindness. You may think you can do that now, but people change. Circumstances change. The galette must one day burn. Keith: :’(

8. JIN

Jin: (thoroughly unamused) How kind of you. Gilbert: Isn’t it? But you should know that I’ve got nothing against you personally. Whatever enmity there is between us stems primarily from you. If you weren’t royalty, we might have even co-brothered Luke together. Jin: (throws up in his mouth) I don’t see how that has anything to do with this. And you’re the most detested royal figurehead on the continent. Gilbert: (shrugs) I’d say I’m sorry you can’t see past that, but I’d be lying if I claimed there was anything there to be seen in the first place. Thanks for the lollypop. Jin: What? HEY—

9. SARIEL

Sariel: (stops as soon as he enters his office) What are these vermin doing here? Gilbert: (sitting in Sariel’s chair) Just a little gift I brought so I could congratulate you for making it onto my list. Would you like to do the honors? Sariel: (plucks him up by the fur) Am I to understand you’re giving me a chance to correct my oversight before you take things into your own hands? Gilbert: (brushes himself off) I expect you to do most if not all of the work since my hands are tied while I’m a visiting guest here. But I’m happy to take them under my wing if you can’t even do that much. Sariel: “Kill them, or be forced to kill them,’ is it? (glances at the tied-up assassins) I wonder which one of us they would consider a fate worse than death.

10. LEON

Leon: (glares) I take it you only stuck me on here out of diplomatic courtesy. Gilbert: Haha, maybe. But there’s something about you that’s always reminded me of someone I know. Leon: Whoever it is, I feel bad for the guy. Gilbert: (bittersweet smile) You might be right. Maybe I need to do better by him…

11. LICHT

Licht: Do I know you? Gilbert: I was wondering the same thing, to be honest. But I’ve seen you around the palace enough times that I figured I might as well throw you on here. Gilbert: Nice eyes by the way, hehe. Licht: Oh no you don’t. My only family is Nokto.

12. NOKTO

Gilbert: Oh. There are two of you. Must be nice having an identical twin. (Resting his chin in his hand) Do you two switch places a lot? Nokto: You never noticed before today? Never received a report from one of your spies about it? Gilbert: Oh no, what sort of boring activities do you think I have my spies do all day? Nokto: Well, for starters, you sure seem to have paranormal insight into the contents of our kitchen at any given moment. Gilbert: So you'd rather I left all the carrots where they are? Nokto: ...

...

.......

................

Yves: Prince Gilbert!

Gilbert: (stops but doesn’t turn around)

Yves: I saw your list, and I couldn’t help but notice—

Gilbert: No, I believe you noticed everything you were meant to.

Gilbert: (leaves to go find the little rabbit to fix his bad mood)

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Trusted Loss (Dean W.)

Summary: Dean finds out you cheated on him with lucifer.

WC: 679

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating

Read on AO3!

--

“Dean…” you swallowed hard as he read the text message he was sent ten minutes ago. He hardly spoke a word to you, only glaring at you. The look made you want to burst out in tears. He’d never given you that look before… But then again, you’d never been foolish enough to send risqué texts to Lucifer and think you’d have nothing to worry about.

“When?” He finally growled out, throwing your phone on the table. “How long have you been…?” He couldn’t even finish his question before his fists clenched and he punched the wooden table in front of him. The impact echoed in the silence of the room, and your heart raced at the ferocity of his reaction.

“Dean, please!” You stepped forward, desperate to bridge the widening chasm between you. “It was a mistake! I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think?” His voice was low, almost trembling with anger. “You didn’t think sending messages to him would come back to bite you? To bite us?” He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, to explain how it started as just playful banter, a way to escape the weight of everything around you. But the words felt hollow, even to you. “I was stupid. I know that now.”

“Stupid doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he snapped, the hurt in his eyes almost too much to bear. “What were you looking for? A thrill? A way to get back at me?”

“No! It wasn’t like that! I—”

“Then what was it?” he interrupted, the sharpness of his tone cutting through you like glass.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean. I was feeling lost, and… and Lucifer just made it easy to forget for a moment. But I don’t want him. I want you.”

His expression softened just a fraction, but the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. “You think I’m going to just let this go? That it doesn’t matter?”

“No, I don’t expect that,” you replied, your voice trembling. “But I need you to understand that I messed up. I’m not the only one who’s been hurting. You’re the one I care about, not him.”

Dean’s gaze flickered to your phone, the source of all this chaos, then back to you. “You should’ve thought about that before you sent those messages.”

“I know! I know!” You stepped closer, your heart aching. “But please, can we just talk? Can we figure this out together?”

He hesitated, the conflict raging behind his eyes. “What if I can’t trust you? What if every time I look at you, I see him?”

“Then I’ll do whatever it takes to earn that trust back,” you pleaded, tears threatening to spill over. “I’ll fight for us. Just give me a chance.”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he let out a slow breath, the tension in his fists easing just a bit. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Neither was I,” you whispered, heart in your throat.

Dean ran a hand down his face, frustration etched into every line. “You really think you can just undo this?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “But I’m willing to try. If you’ll let me.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, searching for sincerity in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly, though the anger still lingered. “Okay. But it’s going to take time, and I’m not going to forget this easily.”

“Time is all I need,” you said, relief flooding through you. “I just want to start over, to show you how much you mean to me.”

“Then we’ll see,” he said, the edge of his voice still raw but softening. “But you better be ready to prove it.”

You nodded, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but at least now you had a chance to rebuild what had nearly shattered.

--

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

SPN FOREVER PERM: @amelia-song-pond @kenzieam @flamencodiva-reblogs @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

DEAN WINCHESTER: @fandom-princess-forevermore

[dailydragon08]

headcanon post idea: everyone’s reactions when you tell them you’re proud of them (ex. after a tough mission or bc they’ve been having a hard time mentally/emotionally)

Although she’s used to the spotlight from being royalty and a revered leader in the rebellion, Leia isn’t very used to genuine praise. She’s usually the one praising someone else (or yelling at them, more likely) and the most she’s gotten in the last few years is a quick “good work” when she delivered the plans for the first Death Star before the Battle of Yavin. So when you first make her look you in the eye and genuinely tell her that you’re proud of her, she freezes for a minute. The last time she really heard that from someone who meant it was her parents, so it hits her a bit harder than she expected and she doesn’t completely know what to do with the feeling. She’s so used to being the rock for everyone else – and keeping her inner thoughts a secret was part of her job and how she stayed safe for a long time – that she takes a while to show any sort of big emotion in front of people, and even then will only do so in private. She gives you a small smile, nod, and quiet thanks before redirecting the attention to you, how much you helped, and says how she’s proud of you. But she will concede to an “I’m proud of us” before giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

Luke also hasn’t heard a genuine “I’m proud of you” in a long time (not that the OT gang isn’t proud of him, they just typically don’t say it in words), but he tends to be a bit more emotionally available than his sister on a more regular basis. He can’t keep the emotion off his face and for a second, you’re afraid you said the wrong thing as his big, blue eyes start getting glassy. It means the galaxy to him, especially from someone who knows everything that happened with Owen, Beru, his father, and the emperor, not to mention all the weight on his shoulders in regard to rebuilding the Jedi Order from scratch. He collects himself soon after, but still gives you a warm smile and “thank you” before wrapping you in a tight hug. He tells you he’s proud of you as well and there isn’t anyone else he’d rather have on his team, holding the hug for a bit longer than you expected (but you, of course, would never be the first to let go).

Han pretends to be affection-averse, even though he isn’t – but, hey, he’s got a reputation to maintain. He splutters for a minute before recovering and saying something along the lines of, “Yeah, I am aware how awesome I am, kid, and I’m glad you’ve finally realized it, too. Ya know, I’m gonna remind you that you acknowledged my greatness next time you get on me for somethin’ – in fact, here,” he holds his comm right in front of your mouth and hits record, “why don’t you say that again so I have some proof?” You bat the comm away and tell him how insufferable he is before you both go back to what you were doing before. But, when he thinks you’re not looking, you can see the dopiest smile across his face.

Lando takes it the most in stride. He looks surprised for a minute, before smiling, thanking you, and putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it an affection squeeze and light shake. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says before remarking on how you two make a great team, even going so far as to list specifics of exactly why you work so well together. He wraps his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk back to base, a new spring in his step that you can’t deny is adorable.

Chewie (platonic) immediately says something in Shyriiwook that you think (hope?) sounds happy before enveloping you in a bear hug that almost crushes your ribs. You hang on for dear life, half laughing and half struggling to breathe, patting the Wookiee’s back before begging him to put you down before he accidentally crushes you. He mumbles something that almost sounds like the cadence of an apology in his language before setting you down and affectionately petting your head.

R2D2 (platonic) chirps, whistles, and wobbles on his two outer legs happily and is then adorably glued to your side the rest of the day. Han and Lando tease you about how you’ve found yourself your own personal servant, but Leia and Luke think it’s adorable, and even Luke comments on how much R2 loves you when he’s out of earshot. C3PO translates at some point, telling you how much R2 appreciates the compliment and that he enjoys working with you before the astromech is zipping away again to refill your water bottle for the third time.

C3PO (platonic) gives you a surprised “oh, my” before thanking you profusely. He even gives you a little bow and says, “You’re too kind. I enjoy our work together as well and you do a marvelous job at everything you set your mind to.” You give him a smile and a thanks before turning back to what you were previously doing, laughing quietly to you overhear him walking down the hall going, “Oh, Master Luke, you won’t believe what just happened!”

[joezworld]

Christmas Story

December 11

The next morning broke over a very subdued Arlesburgh yard. While Bear, the station staff, and the engines of the Small Railway were very concerned about the disruption in traffic, the trucks seemed… unnaturally quiet, in a way that Bear didn’t quite understand. 

“You’re askin’ me?” The yardmaster said, as crews from the Works moved purposefully around them. With the line blocked, they were going to try and fix Bear “in situ”, so that he could help with the rebuilding efforts at the tunnel. 

“Yes,” Bear said, somewhat firmly. “It’s your yard.”

The man scoffed. “People don’t get on with trucks, and neither do engines if you’ll remember.”

Bear scoffed. “I’ve found that being nice tends to work wonders - ow!”

“Sorry!” cried a workman from deep in his engine bay.

The yardmaster raised an eyebrow. “And where has that gotten you? Nowhere fast, perhaps?”

Bear glowered. I see why he’s in charge of freight and not passengers. “Quite far, actually. I’ll speak to them myself.”

“Yeah right. Let me know how well that goes.”

Bear glowered at him, but held his tongue.

--

With the rest of the railway inaccessible, the workers had called in a crane to help extricate Bear’s transmission. It was located inside his engine compartment, and accessing it meant removing part of his roof and lifting it out with a crane. 

To do this, the men first had to get Bear into a position where the crane could safely lift the transmission out of him. 

There was a critical problem with this plan… Bear couldn’t move under his own power. 

And the only patch of ground that was both level and firm enough for the crane was near the Small Railway’s transfer platform. 

“This is gripping.” Mike was grinning wide enough to split his smokebox as two groups of workmen, each armed with a large ratcheting lever-like device, slowly inched Bear forward across the yard. The levers were shoved underneath Bear’s rear wheels, and each push would move the wheel a fraction of a turn. They’d started two hours ago, and weren’t even halfway across the yard. 

“I would keep your mouth shut,” Bert advised. 

“Why? It’s good fun!” 

“It’ll be sundown before they finish moving him.”

“Yeah? So?”

“A man can get awfully anxious when his work stretches into the dark and cold. His tedious, long, and manual work.”

“Spit it out already.”

“Oh, would you look at that?” Bert said brightly. “An entire railway, with engines in steam! Surely we could get a long enough chain and have them pull?”

“They wouldn’t.” 

“They won’t if you keep your yap shut and look busy.” Rex hissed from the station platform. “Now go rearrange the coaches or something!”

--

The men finally inched Bear up to the lift site shortly after sundown. It was bitterly cold, the sea air whipping across the ground, and with the crane not due until the morning anyways, Bear was left alone by the chute for transferring stone from the small railway to the big railway. 

Well, he wasn’t entirely alone. 

“Hey,” He whispered to a nearby truck. It was one of the bigger fish vans, long retired from the Flying Kipper with the introduction of bogie trucks. There was a sort of hierarchy in the yard, with bigger or older vans being deemed “leaders” in whatever way the trucks considered such a thing. 

“What’s it to ye?” She whispered back. “Can’t ye see we’s in mourning?” 

Bear blinked several times. “No… I hadn’t. That’s actually what I was trying to ask about.”

“What? You think we don’t mourn the passin’ of our own?” Light but beady eyes looked at him suspiciously.

“I didn’t know you cared enough to.” It sounded cruel, but trucks seemed to appreciate honesty over saving face. 

A scraggly eyebrow raised. “Yeh, I suppose you’d have tha’ impression.” There was a sigh. “Bein’ honest, we’s don’t much care about those bigg-uns. They’s almost coaches really. Proper fusspots.” 

“The siphons?” Bear tried to remember anything about the old milk/mail vans. He realized that he didn’t know a thing about them, other than where they were stored. 

“Yeh.” The truck looked ambivalent for a moment, before a wistful expression crossed her salt-stained face. “It’s the little ones we be weepin’ for. The old dames.”

“They were institutions!” A nearby tanker whisper-yelled. “They didn’t deserve what they got!” 

Murmurs of assent came from other trucks. Seemingly the entire yard could find only good words for the late three axle vans. 

Bear marveled at this, but kept his comments as far from patronizing as he could. “I’m-I’m sorry. I had no idea they were so well regarded.”

“Yeh,” the van scoffed. “None o’ your kind did.”

“They wouldn’t have done it if they did!” A hopper yelped, his voice high and reedy. 

“Ignorance!” Cried a flatbed.

“Carelessness!”

“Forgetful!”

“Blind as a bat!”

“A bull in a china shop!” “A right menace!”

“It was murder!”

One voice was louder than the rest, and its cry of murder lingered over the yard for a long moment. Eyes from across the yard turned to look at the speaker. 

It was a brakevan, although definitely not Toad, who was looking at the speaker with jaw-dropped shock. They were a big Southern Railway “Queen Mary” bogie van, hitched to a low-loader flatbed on the other side of the yard. They’d arrived from somewhere beyond the Island last week, a shipment of farm equipment lashed to the low-loader. Bear dimly remembered seeing them sitting in the yard, waiting for an outbound train - the low loader and the van together were long enough to cause problems with both the holiday traffic and the already long “Truro Trains” clogging Haultraugh station. 

“It was murder!” The brake van yelled again, voice manic and high pitched. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

“No it wasn’t!” Shouted a nearby hopper who was clearly fed up with the brake van, shedding any pretense of preserving the stillness of the night in the process. “It was a mistake! An accident! Idiocy! You think that an engine can put vans that out of order onto a train without notice? People saw and they didn’t care - just like usual! It might be negligent, but it isn’t murder!” He said the last word mockingly. 

“Oh fine!” The van fired back. “Don’t believe me! I’ve only been watching what’s going on! Observing that green and gold snake come in and out of this yard over and over again with the sheer purpose of causing havoc! Just ignore 286, he’s just an old fool!”

“Enough!” The fish van shouted, bringing silence to the yard. “Wha’s all this about then? Wha’d’ya mean it was a murder?”

The hopper started to make a noise, but was silenced with a glare. The brake van took this as an invitation to speak. “I saw it! We saw it! Those vans were in their spot so long that there were weeds growing through the leaf springs! Then one day, out of the blue, that doubletalking serpent comes over and whispers things to them, and shoves them halfway across the yard. Next thing you know, the blue one takes them away; and trust me, he had no idea what he was doing, that much was obvious.”

“And this is murder how?” The hopper shot back. “Things get moved by accident all the time!”

“Oh please!” the brake van cried. “He downplayed ev-er-y-thing! No inspection, no questions, no orders - he just said they were supposed to go someplace else, and someplace else they went!”

“It’s true,” The low-loader added, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. “The green one, the famous engine. He was asked if anything was amiss with those vans, and said they were not. They were to be moved to their appropriate spot, or so he claimed.”

The yard broke out in a chorus of furious murmurs, and nobody spoke up to stop it. The Fish Van stared down at the rails, expression inscrutable. Toad, who had been shocked at the proceedings up until now, looked deeply, deeply horrified. 

As for Bear, her was… well, surprised wasn’t the right word. Curious, perhaps? Or maybe befuddled. He could imagine that Truro had done it, but what he didn’t know was why. 

“Why would he do that?” He asked, after a moment. “Did he not know?” Was this really an accident?

“He had to have known.” Toad said, in a slow and halting way. “There… It… “Weeds betwixt the wheels!” They nearly had a tree growing between them!” He grew more manic, the words flowing out like he couldn’t stop them. “That violates… four different sections of The System!”

“Weeds?” Called another truck. “Betwixt? System?”

About half the stock in the yard groaned. “It’s part of the shunting system!” Said a “Mink” van from across the yard. 

“Miscellaneous 2:1!” put in a “Macaw” flat wagon.

“And Storage 1:10!” said an “Open A” coal hopper.

The rest of the trucks - all of those who weren’t originally built for the GWR or the Western Region, stared in bafflement. 

“Does someone mind explainin’ what you’re all talkin’ about?” the Fish Van barked, glaring at trucks indiscriminately.

Bear cleared his throat, and the evil eye was turned towards him. “It’s an organizational system, from the Great Western. It’s very long, and very detailed, and it is referred to in the same manner as chapters and verses of the bible.” 

There was an incredulous pause. “Is yer entire lot like this?” 

“I’m afraid so.”

A deep sigh. “So, there’s… verses to this shunting system? That mean he should’ve known better?”

“Yes.” The trucks started to chatter again, before being hushed. “What was it, again? Miscellaneous two, and what else?”

“Storage!” Several trucks shouted at once. 

“Ah yes.” Bear dredged deep into his memory. “Miscellaneous 2:1, “If there are weeds betwixt the wheels, speak to the oldest shunter.” Storage 1:10 is, “If it looks like it belongs, leave it.””

“And he’d know this? Isn’t he some prissy express engine?” 

“He’s City of Truro, the Greatest Westerner. He knows.”

There was a deep exhalation of breath. “Jesus Wept. He really is doin’ this on purpose, ain’t he?”

“It fits. I just don’t know why.” We’re going in circles, but it’s like accusing God of murder. What reasoning does he have?

“You can’t see it?” The Van asked him. 

“See what?”

“Why he’s doin’ this. He’s got all the reason in the world.”

“What reason is that?” Bear, and most of the yard, were listening intently. 

“It’s like what all those diesels said, back in the bad old days when the steamer’s asked ‘em why.” A momentary look of apology was pointed at Bear. He didn’t notice, his mind suddenly racing with dozens, hundreds, of encounters with those kinds of engines. 

“Why?” he interrupted. “Because they could, that’s why.”

-

December 12

The next day was cold and gloomy, but with very little wind, and the crane arrived promptly at nine in the morning. London had authorized the hiring of an enormous crane, easily twice the size needed and capable of lifting Bear himself, so it was somewhat anticlimactic as it lifted away one of Bear’s roof panels, the broken transmission, and then lowered in a replacement that the works had sent by road. It was work of maybe half an hour, and then the crane was pulling in the stabilizers and readying to go back from wherever it had come. 

“Now all that’s left is to put humpty dumpty back together again.” Leigh Hunt, the Works’ diesel foreman, said to Stephen Hatt as men began pulling tools from the back of a van. 

“How long should that take?” 

“‘Bout three days, with testing. Gotta make sure that nothing else broke when the gearbox went.”

Stephen mulled that over. “I see. Hopefully we’ll be able to use him on the tunnel repairs, after that.”

“Don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t. S’not the worst failure in the world, just more difficult considering we’re working in the field.”

There wasn’t much else to say at that point, and Stephen excused himself. Making his way into the station building, empty and desolate with no trains or passengers, he placed a phone call at the vacant porter’s station. 

-

The phone scarcely had time to ring before Charles Hatt answered it. “Speak.”

“Everything is proceeding apace.” He never put much stock into unnecessary pleasantries on phone calls, much to the annoyance of his wife. 

“Excellent. How goes the tunnel?”

“Better than expected. It seems that the heat damaged the masonry of the portal itself rather than the tunnel lining.”

“I see. How does that effect the engineering work?”

“That is going to come down to you.”

“Elaborate.”

“From what I’ve been told, if the decorative structure around the portal is torn down, that will solve the structural instability concerns. Apparently it won’t compromise the hillside around it. Our other option is to repair the structure, which could take some time.”

“How much time?”

“They’re not sure, but presumably longer than a teardown.”

Charles paused for a moment. “What do you think? Is it worth saving?”

“An ugly hole in the rock is still a tunnel.”

“I understand.” Another pause. “Bring me firm time estimates for both options. We’ll discuss them tonight.”

Stephen was about to say something else, but it was obscured by a cacophonous noise from the platforms below Charles’ office. 

“What was that?” 

“I believe I am about to have to relitigate the second world war,” Charles looked out the window at the exact culprits. “I shall call you back.”

He hung up, taking one last look out his office window before making haste to the stairwell. 

He emerged onto the platform, now a scene of chaos. The German “musicians” had been attempting to “tune” their electric pianos and other piano-like instruments (one was being worn around the neck like a guitar), in the process producing sounds that couldn’t quite be called music. 

City of Truro, still relegated to shunting duties, had spotted the coaches for the Limited directly next to them, and had decided it would be an excellent time and place to tell them exactly what he thought of their music. 

The Germans had responded by playing louder. 

-

“- THAT INFERNAL SOUND!” Truro bellowed, as the door to the station offices swung wide. The Fat Controller, coat billowing behind him, emerged with a frown that rapidly turned into a grimace. 

The leather-clad “musicians”, who had been using a synthesizer to make jingle bell noises at increasing volume, stopped abruptly, their faces impassive but still recognizing that Charles was a man of Stature. 

Truro, on the other hand, was both distracted and pompous (a dangerous combination, as Gordon long ago learned), and continued raving about “common musical decency” and “soothing sounds of a building site” long enough for Charles to find a stool, stand upon it, and clear his throat in a dramatic manner. 

“And another thing! You lost the w- oh hello sir.” Unlike Gordon, who would have acted like he’d just swallowed a lemon, Truro’s entire countenance changed in an instant, the firebreathing dragon subsuming into a well heeled express engine. “What may I do for you?”

“I believe you’ve already done it.” Charles was quietly impressed by the quick change. There are engines who could learn a thing or four. “But for the future, I would appreciate it if your… complaints were made at a quieter volume.”  

“Of course sir.” Truro even had the grace to look contrite. “It shan’t happen again sir.” 

It was at that moment that the band began to play again, this time with an un-melodic sound that could only vaguely be construed as “jingle bells”. Truro’s face contorted, and an eye began twitching. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen?” Charles quickly brought the “music” to a halt. “Perhaps you could play at a later time? Thank you.” It wasn’t a request, and some of the larger and burlier porters were summoned to make sure that the band took a tea break. 

Truro looked faintly relieved, a feeling that Charles shared. “I must admit that they are already trying my patience.” He said quietly to the engine. 

“I completely agree, sir.”

Charles let the next moment drag itself out, slowly polishing his reading glasses with a handkerchief. “Truro, if I may?”

“Yes sir?”

“I’m sure that you’re aware of the derailment on Monday?” 

“Yes sir. I was wondering if you would speak to me, sir.” 

That brought Charles up short. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Truro’s face was impassive. “From what I’ve heard, the derailment occurred when some out-of-service vans were accidentally put on a train. If that is correct, and it was the train and vans that I’m thinking of, then I made a mistake in judgment and shunted those vans out of their siding.”

Charles blinked, slowly. This was not going how he thought he would. “Is that how it happened?” 

“Yes.” Truro looked… genuine, in a way that made Charles suspicious. None of his engines would admit to anything that readily. “My mind was elsewhere, what with that diesel’s gearbox failure and all. I assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“Yes,” Charles said, suppressing the reeling sensation he felt. “See that it doesn’t.” He stepped off the stool and walked back to his office. “And Truro,” he turned at the last moment. “I appreciate your honesty on this matter. It speaks volumes to your character.”

If there had been any doubts he had about Truro’s sincerity, they ended with the broad smile the engine gave him. “Thank you, sir.”

--

December 15

Bear spent the rest of the week being repaired and thoroughly tested by the works staff. He felt like an animal afflicted with fleas, there were so many men crawling about his engine compartment. It was a most uncomfortable feeling, not helped at all by the small railway engines being… themselves. 

“Oh! Lookit that one! He’s carrying something with tubes and wires!”

“Mike! Will you shut up and shunt your trucks already?”

“Who asked you, Bert?”

Eventually, the men finished their work, and declared Bear fit to operate once again. Without a moment to spare, he was sent up the line with a train of empty hoppers

“Goodness me,” he exclaimed as he reached the site of the derailment. “What a mess.” 

The tracks between Bulgy’s Bridge and the tunnel mouth were a haphazard mess of jointed rail resting on loose sleepers and disturbed ballast. They creaked and groaned ominously under Bear’s weight, and a decision was made to go back to Haultraugh station, run around the train, and push the trucks from behind. 

The trucks didn’t like the damage any more than he did, and it was a quietly nervous train that edged up to the ruins of the tunnel. 

It looked quite different than before. The decorative stone of the tunnel mouth was being chipped away by teams of men with jackhammers, block after block falling to the ground like stone rain. Soon all that would be left was the tunnel walls, framing a gaping hole in the side of the hill. Above them, men with surveying equipment and shovels were poking around, driving spikes into the ground for soil nets, to keep the ground from shifting. It was a surprisingly hand-done operation, with few machines bigger than a portable generator cart. A steam shovel and bulldozer seemed to be the exceptions, and they sprang into action once the trucks’ brakes had been set. 

“Damnit Ned!”

“Sorry Byron!”

Well, sprang was perhaps too broad a term. The bulldozer was quick on his treads, and soon had a pile of rubble ready to be loaded, but the shovel seemed to be swinging his bucket anywhere but the intended location. Stone and dirt flew everywhere, and only after some very stern instructions from the bulldozer did anything seem to get done. 

And even then, it was a slow and tedious process. The steam shovel, whose name seemed to be “Damnit Ned!”, was very slow with his bucket, and yet somehow was still dangerous with it. Men jumped out of the way as stone flew from wherever he dropped his arm, and then once he’d filled the bucket, he would swing slowly towards the trucks with the arm at whatever height and angle he felt like. Oftentimes this was lower to the ground than the sides of the hoppers, and it would be only at the last second, after some shouting, that he’d bring the bucket high enough to actually clear the tops. 

The trucks were very displeased about this, and “Sorry Byron!” the bulldozer soon had to run interference between the trucks and their desire to not be physically hurt, and Ned, whose feelings got more and more hurt with each round of yells. 

“Oi!” He eventually called to Bear, who was waiting for a brick to come flying his way, as the trucks started up a very insulting and ribald rendition of Drill, Ye Tarriers Drill. “Can’t you make them shut up?”

“Can’t you make him do his job right?” Bear retorted. “Or get someone competent? That sounds like the easiest option.”

The trucks burst out laughing, Ned looked even more offended, while Byron the Bulldozer growled menacingly. “Now don’t you get snippy with me, mate!”

Bear, quite fed up with people speaking rudely to him, growled very loudly in return. “I think that I will get as snippy as I want, thank you,” he said to the now pale-faced dozer, before turning his attention to Ned. “Mind my trucks, understand?”

---

With Bear now actively intimidating the workforce, the rest of the loading went much more smoothly. By the end of the day, Bear had made four more trips with seemingly every empty hopper wagon in the yard, much to the relief of the workmen. 

“Now, we can lay the rails.” Said the foreman gratefully. “You’ve put us at least a day ahead of schedule. Imagine if we’d had to haul everything out of here by lorry!” 

Bear smiled. “I only wish that I could’ve been ready sooner.”

“Ah, there’s that Great Western work ethic at it again! You’re a good ‘un, Bear.” The foreman didn’t notice how Bear’s smile grew strained at the mention of the Great Western. 

But the trucks did. 

“Hey,” said the hopper closest to him, as the train reversed away from the work site. “You alright? You got a look when ‘e mentioned the-”

“I know.” Bear said quietly. 

“Thought that was all your thing?”

Bear looked down, at the sleepers whizzing beneath him. “It was.”

“Was?”

“The Great Western is an idea, a dream.” He said slowly. “And I always thought that it was one of hard work, and perseverance. Doing the job the right way, even if it’s harder that way. We all worked towards that.”

The entire train was now quietly listening, their anticipation and interest flowing through the brake line. 

“But,” He continued. “I don’t think it is. At least not anymore.”

“What is it?” A truck further back in the train asked. 

“It’s a memory. Of what used to be.” The train slowed as they neared Haultraugh station, and they slid past the Western-styled station canopy, the benches with GWR inlaid into the metal, and the hand-lettered sign that said “GREAT WESTERN RLY” on it. “It’s what they had, back before the grouping. Before the war, even. When you had Kings, Castles, Manors, and Paddington.”

“And the world ended in Cornwall.” Another truck said, the west country accent giving away which railroad they’d been built by. “And had Swindon at the centre.”

“That’s right.” Bear looked sad. “And do you know what that world didn’t have back then? Me.”

The trucks digested this. Quite a few of them were old enough to remember those times, and those that weren’t remembered the bad old days of modernization, where that time period was dragged out back and cut up on the spot. “You think that they don’t want you in their little club?” A truck near the back asked, his voice echoing down the brake line. “Sounds a bit out of character for Ducky and Ollie.”

“Maybe for them,” Bear agreed. “But not Truro, and he is the Great Western. If the Greatest Westerner acts like I’m not, then…”

He trailed off at that point. The trucks wanted to say something comforting, as they were quite uncomfortable with this quiet and introspective sorrow, but at the same time, they couldn’t help but agree. They’d seen how Truro had treated Bear. It made sense now - the Great Western was a Victorian idea, one of steam and steel, polished brass and crack expresses to the west country. 

A diesel had no place in it. 

“That’s alright,” A voice spoke up from somewhere in the middle of the train. It was an unexpectedly perky voice, and the rest of the trucks wondered if they were going to have to bump someone severely. “You don’t need those rotters anyway. You’ve got us, and the rest of the island. Who needs the Great Western when you’ve got British Rail?”

It was such a shockingly naive statement, from such a young truck, that a laugh was forced out of the rest of the train as if by magic. What a stupid idea! BR, being the better option! Ha!

However… as they kept rolling towards Arlesburgh, everyone had much the same thought:

Hang on, he might be onto something. 

British Rail wasn’t perfect, or even good, but it was… home. It was their home. Their family. It was what they had, and sometimes that’s all that could be asked for.  Bear’s thoughts were slowly spinning into a whirlwind of ideas. “That’s right. I do have you all.”

[a-crack-in-the-universe]

Reflection

Terraqua Week Day 2 - Reflection

@terraquaweek

They are home, but nothing is the same.

Aqua is afraid of her own reflection. Terra cannot bear to look at his for fear of seeing silver hair and golden eyes staring back.

One day, Ven has gone to Twilight Town to visit Roxas, Xion, Axel and Namine. Terra and Aqua stay behind in the Land of Departure to do some much-needed cleaning (and also have some alone time together). They spend most of the day either playing command board, sparring, cleaning, or cooking, and they are content.

At one point, late during the day, they are sitting at the kitchen table eating some fudge brownies that they’d baked—well, Aqua baked and Terra helped—and chatting about various things, like what’s going on in the other worlds, missions they’ve been on, and what plans they have to rebuild the Land of Departure. They don’t speak of Master Eraqus—that is a forbidden topic, at least for now.

Then one of them accidentally knocks a glass of juice off the table while animatedly gesturing while trying to recount a particularly entertaining mission they went on in Atlantica, and Aqua goes to get a dustpan and cloth to tidy up the glass and wipe the spillage away.

It happens so quickly. One moment Aqua has left the room; the next, Terra hears Aqua scream.

A terror he’s only felt once or twice before strikes him. He can’t lose Aqua again, not now. He runs as fast as he can toward the storeroom, hoping and praying that he is not too late.

He finds Aqua curled up on the floor. The shattered glass remains of a mirror lay next to her.

‘Aqua?’ He approaches her tentatively, unsure what to expect from her. ‘I’m here.’

She jerks her head up and stares at him with wide eyes. ‘Terra? You’re supposed to be in the Realm of Light!’

‘I am in the Realm of Light. We both are,’ he reminds her. ‘Don’t you remember? You came back from the Realm of Darkness, woke Ven up, we all fought Xehanort and after it was all over we came home, to the Land of Departure.’

‘Home…’ She squints at him. It takes a long moment, but understanding fills her eyes. ‘Yes. I remember.’

He kneels on the glass-ridden floor and tries to hold her in his arms and still her trembling body, but she just jerks away from him with a wary, almost scared look in her eyes. He tries not to show how much that hurts. Xehanort used his body to cause so much pain to a lot of people, and he doesn’t blame anyone if they are wary of him at first. But it’s especially painful when Aqua shies away from him. Aqua, who usually is the first to defend him. It makes him wonder what she really thinks about him.   

‘What happened to the mirror?’ he asks gently. He has a fairly good idea of what happened, but he needs to hear it from her.

‘Mirror?’ Aqua frowns at him, then appears to remember. She looks at the broken glass on the floor. ‘I destroyed it. I saw her, my shadow… in there. She’s haunting me. I can’t escape her, even here…’

Then she cries. It breaks his heart to see the normally cool, collected Aqua crying, especially knowing that it is his fault. She would never have this trauma if she hadn’t been trapped in the Realm of Darkness, and she wouldn’t have been trapped there if it weren’t for him being possessed by Xehanort. So, it is his fault, no matter what she might say about that.

Part of him is unsure what to do, but he knows he can’t just leave her like this on the floor. So, to hell with any protest she might have. He pulls her into his arms, holds onto her tightly, and carries her out of the storeroom and to her bedroom. She doesn’t resist this time, to his relief. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if she’d fought back or refused to move.

He carries her to her bedroom and settles her in her bed. When he turns to go, he feels a cold hand grab his arm and hears Aqua rasp, ‘Don’t go. Stay with me. Please?’

So he stays. He crawls underneath the bedcovers next to Aqua, and Aqua sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, as if she can relax with him there.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there together like this. Neither of them says anything and Aqua eventually drifts off into a surprisingly peaceful sleep. He on the other hand is plagued by unwelcome thoughts. Thoughts of Xehanort, of the darkness, of the damage he’d caused and the lives he’d ruined, and everything the old man had done while using his body. Aqua and Ventus had forgiven him (Terra), but he isn’t sure he can forgive himself. Especially after everything he did to Aqua.

Just past sunset, Aqua awakens and smiles tiredly at him.

‘Sleep well?’ he asks her.

She nods.

‘Good,’ he says, trying but failing to smile back at her. He can’t stop thinking those dark thoughts.

‘Thank you,’ Aqua breathes out. ‘For being there. And for staying.’ She smiles at him again, and he can’t help but think that she is so beautiful and he doesn’t really deserve her. How he could hurt her so easily with one twist of his big hands.  

‘You’re welcome,’ he says. ‘Always.’   

-------------- 

Three days later, Aqua walks into Terra’s bedroom to find him staring at his bedroom mirror.

She knows instantly what this means. He’s done this a few times already in the past since they came back, as if searching for any sign that Xehanort is still within him. He’s gone into some place deep inside of him. It doesn’t happen often, but that doesn’t make it any less scary to her.

‘Terra, he’s not here. Xehanort’s gone. You’re free.’

He doesn’t respond. Her heart clenches painfully. There are many things she can endure, but she couldn’t bear to lose Terra, especially not to whatever darkness he is in.

She grabs his hand, shakes it. Then she does the same to his shoulder. ‘Terra, please… he’s gone. You’re not him.’   

She’s practically begging, but she can’t help it. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she loses Terra again, and she doesn’t want to find out.

She keeps begging and eventually he finally comes back to himself and notices her there. But the only thing he does is turn and hold her close and bury his face in her hair. He’s trembling—she can feel him shaking, and his tears dampening her hair.

It hurts to see him like this. They haven’t talked much about what they both went through while separated, but she’s seen enough of his nightmares and moments like this one to get an idea of how bad it had been for him. She wishes that she can wipe away all of his pain, but she can’t. She can only hold his hand and help him through the worst of it.    

‘You scared me,’ she murmurs, once they’ve both calmed down enough to speak. ‘What happened?’

Terra draws a shuddering breath. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispers. ‘Not really. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything he did in my body, everything I helped him do. And I thought… How do we know he is really gone? I’m back to myself, but I have memories that I shouldn’t have. What if something went wrong, and a piece of him is still inside of me?’

She keeps hold of his hand, anchoring him to reality. ‘Terra, look at me,’ she orders. He looks. ‘You need to trust yourself. Xehanort’s gone, and he’s not coming back. He’s not going to hurt you or anyone else ever again.’  

‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘I can’t trust myself. Not after everything that he did—that I did.’  

‘If you can’t trust yourself, then trust me,’ she says. ‘I know you, and I know you’d never hurt me or Ven. Remember when you came back in the Keyblade Graveyard? Xehanort attacked us and was about to let us fall to our deaths, but you swooped in and saved our lives. We’d both be dead if it weren’t for you.’

‘I remember.’ Tears stand in his eyes. ‘Bits and pieces. I knew he was about to kill you both to get at me, and I couldn’t let that happen. I had to protect you somehow.’

She squeezes his hand gently. ‘You did protect us. You’ve always wanted to protect us. You would never hurt us. Ven and I have always known that.’

And he believes her—because he does trust her, more than he trusts himself at this point, probably. She can see it in his eyes. It scares her a bit, because she did fail at pretty much everything she set out to do, except keeping Ven safe. And she treated Terra badly in the days leading up to his possession and her imprisonment in the Realm of Darkness—she can see that now. It bewilders her sometimes that Terra can still trust her or even like her, but she’s also just happy to have him in her life again, so she never mentions it at all.    

‘Yeah,’ Terra sighs. ‘You’re right. I just have trouble believing it sometimes.’

‘Then believe me,’ she says. ‘You’re the kindest, most protective person I know. You would never hurt anyone, least of all us.’

He takes a deep breath, nods, and smiles tearily at her. She smiles back. She loves seeing him smile. It lights up his entire face.

Now that he’s calmed down, she supposes that she could just leave him, but somehow she doesn’t like that idea. What if he spirals again? He needs someone with him to remind him that he is not alone. Besides, she wants to be there for him like he’s been there for her in her darker moments.

And so she leads them both to the bed and settles down on it. Terra follows suit, though he hesitates at first.   

‘You don’t have to stay,’ he says quietly.

‘Of course I do,’ she responds. ‘You need me. We need each other. We support each other—that’s what we do.’

And so they lay on the bed together, Aqua resting her head on Terra’s shoulder and smiling.

They both close their eyes, and before they drift off to a much-needed sleep Aqua thinks she hears Terra mumble under his breath, ‘Thank you, Aqua.’    

[ridiasfangirlings]

K universe completely normal except each king is an eldritch creature set in stone on a temple that varies on matter of which clan they represent.

Example: the blue temple has a lot of water, in a cave that seems utterly harmonical. And the king creature in it has a set of blue orbs for eyes that glow each time a worthy member encounters it.

I'd imagine that when the king's sword begins to wish colapsation, the king's stone would slowly but surely crack and fall, taking it's temple with it. And the temple would need to be rebuild by the next king or by the clan members itself.

(I'd like for you to also imagine the Munakata rock saying "oyay?" As someone shows up.)

I also wanna inform that the rock has a little "mobility", for instance, the Munakata rock can play chess with massive mossy rocks with Saruhiko in their meeting. He uses magic to move the huge rocks, and Saruhiko needs to word his moves to Munakata in other to proceed.

Please tell me that eldritch Munakata has a tiny pair of glasses for each of his many eyes and when he’s interested in something they all shine at the same time, and he’s able to push them up with his innumerable tentacles. Imagine that rather than choosing humans as Kings the Slate like imbues its essence into many parts of nature, and those with strength are able to ‘awaken’ and become Kings, transforming into hideous beasts of stone who will drive those unworthy mad by the mere sight of them. For those who are worthy though they’re able to take on a bit of the King’s power and become one of their worshippers. The King temples have like an outer side that they show to the populace, where all the clansmen live, but then behind the temple is a wider cave area where the King actually resides and which was created by the King.

Munakata’s cave is filled with fancy statues and water everywhere, and is so logical and orderly that normal people can’t stand being there. Munakata himself sits in the center of the temple, in a way that keeps both sides of the temple perfectly symmetrical except for the giant stone formations in the water in front of him which are his latest puzzle. No one knows where his puzzles come from or how he always has a new one but he does. His clansmen can only understand his ancient language if they’re worthy of getting his power, otherwise all they hear is a string of syllables that sound something like ‘oya.’ Despite being a giant eldritch beast of the abyss he enjoys spending time with his clansmen and maybe he can even create this unsettling humanoid ‘avatar’ that allows him to partake in bonding experiences with them. He does prefer to bond ‘in person,’ so to speak, so poor Fushimi is often sent to the cave to keep Captain busy playing chess with giant stones.

By contrast Mikoto’s cave is so chaotic it drives men mad, and full of forever burning fires that are too hot for the unworthy to bear. His actual form is hazy and indistinct, constantly changing like flames. Even his own clansmen are unable to entirely stand the heat and can’t touch him themselves, except for Totsuka who has trouble wielding Mikoto’s power but can somehow touch him without any problems (please imagine Totsuka calmly petting a horrific beast of flame and shadow and looking a lot like an old lady with a vicious Doberman telling everyone don’t worry, he’s just a big softie really). Mikoto’s power is so volatile that it makes the whole temple shake and he has to keep himself in a constant state of rest in order to keep from losing control of his powers and breaking through the rock that contains his soul, which would destroy the temple and everything within a certain radius of it. Mikoto also has his own avatar, which is a lion of flame and sits by the steps of the temple watching those who decide to step inside and take his test.

Hisui’s temple meanwhile is ever-changing, staring at it too long is impossible for most humans. His temple is probably like underground but despite that there’s all this lightning constantly dancing along the walls. His power is so strong that his rock is always cracked and restrained by all these sutras and such, and when he wants to release his power his clansmen have to remove the restraints. Iwafune’s temple is probably near Hisui’s and is already half destroyed from when the Red King Kagutsu brought down his temple years ago. Most people assume Iwafune’s temple is just a destroyed cathedral, unaware of the beast that lurks in the shadows and who will swallow up the unworthy into this hazy void from which there is no escape.

Kokujouji’s temple is probably big and prosperous, like there’s gold all over the walls and ceiling. People constantly try to enter the temple to steal its treasures, only to catch a glimpse of Kokujouji and lose all their memories and wits. Even his own clansmen can’t look upon him with their naked eyes, they have to wear special rabbit masks and look at him through those.  Meanwhile Shiro’s temple floats in the sky on like a suspended island, no one has ever been able to get close enough to enter it while it’s in the air. Every now and again it will rest somewhere on the ground and it’s like a legend, of the mysterious temple that appears out of nowhere and then disappears again. People who have safely entered it on accident come back feeling oddly refreshed and are known to live long lives, but those who enter with malicious intent will die days later of mysterious unknown causes. One day a little kitten wanders in and somehow becomes Shiro’s first clansman, happily sitting on his rock while Shiro hums quietly and glows silver.

[badwritinghabit]

Chef's Kiss | Carmy x fem!OC x Luca | Chapter 4

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Ao3

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, Carmy panicking

Word Count: 2,501

Summary: Sophie and Sydney bond over dealing with Carmy's bullshit. And Sophie and Carmy get close in the kitchen.

Sophie started building a friendship with Sydney, the sous chef in Carmy’s kitchen. Their short time cooking together at The Beef acted as an introduction and when Sophie ran into Sydney at a farmer’s market, they reconnected and ended up spending the afternoon together. They wandered the market and eventually decided to chat over coffee and pastries at a coffee shop nearby.

The two bonded over their experiences in restaurants, exchanging stories. Sophie learned about Sydney’s catering experience and her time in culinary school. Sophie shared about her time in San Diego, how she missed California but had to admit Chicago had its own charm.

Sydney updated her about the restaurant. Carmy and the crew at The Beef had found money Mikey was hiding in cans of tomatoes. And they were planning to rebuild into an entirely new fine dining spot, with a window to keep hold of their roots and still sell their famous sandwiches.

Sophie was happy for them. Carmy had talked about his dream to help Mikey turn the restaurant into the Bear for so long. Syd was also excited to be working in a restaurant more fitting of her experience. She deserved the role of CDC and Sophie was thrilled for her.

“I needed this,” Sydney sighed into her coffee mug, looking at Sophie after she vented some of her frustrations. “Carmy is driving me insane.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s been even more unresponsive lately. And I know after his brother– I mean, I can’t imagine.” Sydney had quieted. “Tina was telling me how close they were. How Mikey had been a little unstable but no one ever expected–” she trailed off and Sophie went cold.

“Richie told me he had passed but I didn���t realize.. he- Mikey killed himself?” Sophie asked, feeling her heart start to race.

“You didn’t know? Oh shit. I assumed since you and Carmy were friends you must’ve– it was all over the internet too. With the Beef. There was a couple articles. And Carmy being Carmy…” Sydney was clearly uncomfortable, feeling guilty for spilling something she worried she shouldn’t have.

“No it’s okay, Syd. Carmy and I hadn’t really talked since he went to work at Noma. And I hadn’t really kept up with his career,” Sophie regretted not trying harder to keep track of where he had ended up.

“It’s hard because I know it explains some of this. I can’t blame him. But also, this is my future too. I can’t risk my career if he isn’t all in. And he keeps leaving me hanging.”

“You are absolutely right. Even if he has a reason it doesn’t make it okay for him to abandon you,” Sophie agreed, head still spinning with the news of Mikey’s suicide. “Damn, sorry Syd. I wish I could help. I don’t think me talking to him would be any help though.”

“Did something happen between you? It seemed like you two were talking and now you’re avoiding each other,” Syd said, leaving it open for Sophie to respond.

“It’s a long story. We had a bit of a disagreement,” she paused. “But I wish I knew about Mikey. My dad– uh. My dad also took his own life. A few years before I met Carmy actually. So I know what it’s like,” she said, softly. “Should have given him the benefit of the doubt. He has other things on his mind,” she explained.

“Oh I’m so sorry Sophie,” Syd was instantly sympathetic and Sophie nodded. “I’m sure you and Carmy will work it out,” Syd smiled at her encouragingly.

Sophie hoped she was right.

---

It seemed as though Sydney must’ve said something, done some urging, because Carmy called Sophie a few days after they spoke. He asked her to visit, to come see what they were doing with the new restaurant. And to discuss their decor decisions. He said she had the better eye for art and design. She disagreed, Carmy was one of the most detail oriented people she’d ever met. But she did enjoy it and it was a good excuse to put what happened behind them.

Her visit was fairly short and Carmy was quiet, as usual. She learned a little about the stress of kitchen prep, getting all of the permits, making sure the new space was up to code. She met Carmy’s sister Sugar and offered her help where she could.

She still felt a little awkward around him, a little annoyed at him and herself. But she wanted Carmy’s restaurant to be successful. He deserved it.

She left before they could ever interact without Sydney or Sugar also there.

---

Weeks later, Sophie received a call. Carmy’s voice sounded through her phone. “Soph. I– I know this is sudden. But I have an idea for a dish and I was hoping I could cook it for you.”

“A new dish for the menu?” she asked, confused.

“Yes. I had this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. Could I come over? I want you to try it.”

“Oh– of course, Carm. Tonight?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay,” he sounded unsure. As if he just realized he was making a strange request.

“Yeah. That would be fine. You can come over whenever.”

Carmy called when he got to the front door and she found him outside, looking slightly flustered, holding a giant bag of groceries. She grinned at him and led him upstairs.

“I won’t get in your way but let me know if you need help. Or a taste tester,” she said. She walked back to sit on the couch and tried to work a little on her laptop.

Something about the sounds of Carmy cooking in her apartment made her feel at peace. Like all of the nights in New York, shuffling around in her tiny apartment, cooking into the early hours of the morning. She missed it. The comfort of just having him around. Eventually she stopped pretending to work and found herself just looking over at him while he cooked.

“This feels a lot like New York, doesn’t it?” he asked, as if he could feel her attention on him.

“I was just thinking about that”, she admitted, walking over and leaning against her kitchen island to get a better view of his cooking. She hummed. “Do you remember that night we made those god awful ginger prawns?”

Carmy laughed, loudly, caught by surprise. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“My roommates were so mad. Our apartment smelled terrible for a week.” She shook her head with a grin.

“This smells amazing though. Almost like–” She stopped for a second when she saw the chicken and herbs in the cast iron skillet on her stove. “Chicken Paillard?”

“It is. A little bit of a twist. Because you used to be obsessed with potatoes. And bacon lardons.”

“This is like our lazy sunday dish.” She was astonished. “But French.”

“A little French. A little Danish. Mostly just– our dish. It’s what I want the Bear to be. All of the things I love.” Sophie blushed at the softness in his voice.

He had started plating it, his hands sure as he placed the chicken over the salad of greens, roasted veggies, and crisped polenta– alongside the small caramelized potatoes. An herb and lemon scented pan sauce carefully poured over the top. He turned and handed it to her.

She bit her lip but took the plate and looked it over. Devouring the details, the mix of colors, the golden potatoes and the bright greens and the crispy, browned chicken. She took a bite.

“It’s amazing,” she said, knowing she was blushing. After another moment of thought, she looked up at Carmy with wide eyes. “I remember these potatoes. The Danish recipe.” He had cooked them for her the night he told her he was applying to Noma. She remembered so clearly sitting and watching him cook for her. Sad about his possible departure but happy for him. He was so excited. And he deserved good things.

This dish was all of it. It was New York. It was them, sitting in the kitchen at 2am laughing over complete nonsense because they were so exhausted they had become giddy. All of the quiet joy they had found amidst the chaos. She took another bite. Then she slid the plate over to him. He reached over and took a bite as well, looking at it thoughtfully. “You’re too talented for your own good,” she said, voice too intense for what she meant as a way to play off how much it meant to her. For him to make this dish.

He smiled at her, his own cheeks flaring pink. “I’ve been so fucking lost. Making the menu for The Bear. Syd has helped a lot but we’re both just taking swings wildly, trying to make something memorable. But for some reason this afternoon I couldn’t get our chicken dish out of my head. And I wanted to make something that felt like that. I wanted it to feel like your kitchen in New York.”

Her heart pounded. She was getting caught up in him again. She didn’t want to mess it up. She knew what he was going through. With Mikey. Didn’t want to make things worse for him.

“It’s perfect,” she blinked and looked away, trying to cut the tension. “But you improving on our dish feels a little like that terrible Bobby Flay show,” Sophie joked, lightly. He huffed out a laugh before looking at her with his unbelievably emotional eyes. “I think this is my new favorite dish,” she said, thoughtfully. His eyes lit up and she decided to tell him just how much she loved his cooking– had always loved his cooking. “For years my favorite has been that veal saltimbocca you made for us on our last night in New York,” she admitted quietly, hoping he didn’t feel odd about her obsession with his food.

“That was your favorite?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Are you kidding me? It was simple but perfect. Back to basics, that’s what we talked about back then, remember? I was so annoyed with fine dining then, turning everything into foam. I feel like that conversation, that dish changed my career. It has stuck with me ever since.” She realized she had rambled, gotten too passionate, and bit her lip.

Carmy had stepped closer to her. “That day– those dolma you made? I tried for months to get that recipe right,” he said to her, eyes burning into hers. She felt the air leave her lungs. It had changed– the energy between them. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, nervous. “And those caneles– I get a canele every time I see it on a menu now.”

She blushed, feeling nervous energy shoot up her spine as he stood in front of her, hands on either side of her hips against the counter. “I remember wanting to make something so you wouldn’t forget me when you were off traveling the world,” she responded softly.

He was standing so very close and shifted even closer, she moved slightly, making space between her legs so that they were on either side of his hips. Her heart pounded. He moved his hands and the feeling of his palms on her thighs burned through her jeans. “It worked.” It was a whisper.

And then his lips were on hers, the taste of lemon and smoke still on his tongue from the dish. He was soft and gentle, hands unmoving on the outside of her thighs. But she wanted more. She lifted her hand and tangled it into his hair.

Her thoughts had found her here numerous times before but none of it compared to the reality. The feel of his lips against hers. His hands as they smoothed up from her thighs to her hips, pulling her against him. His hand traveled up the curve of her back and cupped the back of her neck, fingers entwined in her hair. She was burning, every inch of her he touched suddenly alight.

And then it was over.

He pulled back and she found herself looking into his eyes. Something had changed. He was pulling away again.

“Wait.” He stepped back and pushed a hand to his forehead. “Shit, I shouldn’t have.” He was panicking, eyes wide. Gripping his hair, he turned and cursed to himself.

She reached out to him, still breathless. Her brain struggled to catch up but something kicked in, seeing Carmy’s clear distress. “Carm, it’s okay. I know you are about to start a restaurant. Not a good time to make things complicated,” she said, quickly changing to comforting mode. She was still thrown for a loop, her lips and fingertips tingling from the kiss. But she was worried about him. “It’s fine,” she said, again. Trying to mollify whatever feelings he was having. Remembering what she learned about Mikey. Knowing he must be so fucking exhausted with it all. She didn’t want to be another problem.

“No.” He shook his head, hands running through his hair. “Fuck. I ran into Claire. From high school.” She recognized the name, of course. The two had talked about their childhoods and she came up. “We ran into each other and then I helped her move some furniture. And she took me to a party.” He had let go of his hair and it fell across his face. He looked disheveled and broken and apologetic. She realized what was happening. He was choosing Claire. Then why did he kiss her?

Her heart raced. Shame burning the pit of her stomach. But she forced herself to respond. The embarrassment and hurt could come later. “Oh that– that’s good, right?” She asked, her voice sounding much more clear and confident than she expected, even with the stutter. “I know what she meant to you,” she said when he remained silent.

Why did you kiss me? She wanted to ask. Wanted to rewind and have him take it back. It wasn’t fair to do this to her. Make a dish for her. For them. Kiss her. Then say he was with someone else.

“I’m–fuck.” His hands were shaking. “Fuck I’m so sorry, Soph.” He walked over to the table and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going.” And he ran out the door.

She stood there in the kitchen as he left. Eventually she turned to look at the plate of food. Their relationship on a plate. Their hopes and dreams as young chefs. The little safe friendship they had built. She grabbed the plate and threw it into the trash.

She felt tears streaming down her face before she realized she had started crying. She walked over to her couch, grabbed her cellphone from the table, and called Mallary.

“Hello?” her sister’s voice answered almost immediately.

“Mal,” Sophie’s voice wavered, a sob escaping before she could help it.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“He kissed me.”

[kiankiwi]

(home) imagine jerry and e are fighting when e’s big (and whatever the problem is it was e’s fault). we convince him that he needs to apologize to his best friend. he calls jerry to come to the house and apologizes and of course jerry accepts his apology and they hug it out. but e was so stressed about it and the relief of having his best friend back makes him slip. and jer’s just like “okay buddy let’s go watch cartoons with mama” but e clings to jer like velcro for the rest of the day. lots of “i love you jer” and “i love you too buddy” <3

He’s so afraid he’s gonna lose his best friend, his jer bear (he only calls him that when he’s wanting to get under Jerry’s skin) Jerry’s the only friend who really takes proper care of him besides us so he knows he can’t him. Baby boy is sooo stressed about their argument and if course he’s stubborn about it but he knows he needs to make it right with his buddy.

He may even just do apologize silently (the way he did in Jerry’s book when Jerry was packing) bc finding the words to apologize makes him feel too vulnerable so he just the guy thing and like offers him a beer or cigar and once here looks at him after his offering, jer can see in El’s eyes how anxious and upset he is and Jerry’s like “cmere bud… I’m not going anywhere okay..” he rocks E a bit as E let’s out some relieved tears onto his buddy’s shoulder…

OR he gets nervous when he sees Jerry just folding his clothes and thinks he’s packing to leave so he gives him a bear hug and rushes out “don’t leave jer! I can’t lose you!” (Since he came home from rehab, he felt like he lost himself and had to rebuild everything. He can’t lose his buddy **again**)

And he cautiously goes “mama didn’t send you in here to apologize?” And E shakes his head “no… needed to do it myself..” and everything’s good again. They end up watching Clifford and wresting a bit when E cheers up

[fairlyabookie]

Curse

Author’s note: added a little reference in this one ;) Day 6 of Promptober!

Content warning: Major character death, body horror, platonic undertones

“Big brother, come play with me!”

“Big brother, let’s eat lunch together!”

“Big brother, have you eaten yet?”

“Big brother, big brother!”

Repeated footage of Ortho calling for his older brother plays on a large monitor. A forlorn look lists upon two individuals’ features, appearing much older from the light of the monitors.

“Idia…”

[Reader] bites their lips, tears threatening to fall by the corner of their eyes. They couldn’t bear to see Idia like this, a hallowed shell of who he was before. A big brother grieving for his lost sibling, not the first time, but for the second time. Frigid numbness permeates every inch of his body, a familiar numbness that anchored his body to stillness. Grief was a curse he couldn’t shake off, his emotions a tumultuous storm of regret and anger, his thoughts teetering to something unruly and unsettling. Even for the first time Idia managed to rebuild “Ortho” to a robot body, but now, he is gone..

“I don’t know what to do.”

Fatigue seeps into his body, the words barely audible from his lips. Could he afford the luxury to grieve? Time could tell..

“Idia, is there anything I can do for you?”

[reader]’s voice sounded dull to his ears. Idia peers over to them, his eyes catching a silhouette in the distance.

“It’s fine. I’m tired, so just leave me alone for a while.”

Idia musters a heavy sigh. [Reader] complies, sparing a concerned look before leaving the third year to his devices. Desperation could easily describe his following actions, inputting keywords into a series of code for memories. If he could find a way to bring Ortho to life once more.

“[Reader], [Reader]!”

“Ortho?”

[reader] couldn’t mistake the voice; rather, it felt as if Ortho was with them. They had to make sure..

“Ortho, is that you?”

“Yay, you can hear me!”

[reader]’s blood ran cold - how was it possible for Ortho to achieve a function of a disembodied voice? They had the urge to call for Idia.

“Don’t call for Big Brother yet!”

Something was off.

“Why not?”

[Reader] couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread as they looked for the boy.

“You see, I can’t move on to the afterlife, so my spirit is still here.”

[Reader] had an idea about what that meant; they risk a guess by a singular question.

“Are you saying that you can’t move on because of a grudge?”

“Exactly!”

Ortho chimes happily. They can picture a wide grin on the boy’s lips. Dread claws at [Reader]’s heart. Now, the boy couldn’t rest in peace, all because of a grudge.

“[Reader], it’s not that bad! Now, I can watch you and Idia forever!”

“But Ortho..”

“I don’t mind it, [Reader]..”

Upon the last word, a form resembling what was left of a young boy, a cross of robotic and human features smothered by ink. Sharp teeth decorate a sinister smile. Before [Reader], this was not Ortho they were familiar with; rather, someone who was in between life and death.

[Reader] could picture Idia’s face if he were to see his younger brother right now. Instead of letting ‘him’ go and accepting the fact that Ortho had passed, both [Reader] and Idia clung onto the hope that he can be brought back; now, this ‘Ortho’ came back not only as a returned spirit, but a curse attached to the wishes of the two.

“[Reader],”

says the imposter Ortho with the crooked smile,

“Can you take me to Big Brother right now?”

The haunting image of Ortho imprints itself into [Reader]’s memory, reminding them of a fatal mistake they wished for.

[where-is-vivian]

The Summer Star

from @jegulus-microfic's prompt, mistake (582 words)

cw: mcd.

It’s winter. It’s cold up in the Astronomy Tower. The wind passes through the room. Regulus shivers.

“Regulus is observable all year around. So you can see it all the time, but in summer.”

“Isn’t Leo a constellation of summer? With zodiac signs and all?” James asked.

“No, you don’t get it,” Regulus chuckled. “It has nothing to do with that. In August, after the 10th, Regulus is invisible, because of the Sun.”

At that, Regulus poked James’ chest, with a wry smile.

“Why are you pointing at me while talking about the Sun?” James giggles, gently grabbing his hand, to intertwine their fingers.

“Oh, fuck that, you know why. We had this conversation a thousand times. I’m sure you’re still asking me about Regulus just so you can listen to me talking about it. It’s not possible that you have such a shitty memory.”

“Hmm,” James hums, before kissing his hand fondly. “You’ve seen right through me…”

Regulus is shining, bright, perfectly visible, in the winter sky. And now, when Regulus looks at it, he doesn’t think of him and how he got that name; he only thinks of James constantly asking him about it, in the most wonderful way. How James did his utmost to make Regulus like himself again; how he applied himself to rebuild the shattered pieces of him, to make him feel whole again.

But this is not enough.

Now Regulus has this horrible constant burn on his arm, that reminds him that he doesn’t deserve James. That he doesn’t deserve to feel whole; because that’s how they’re built in the Black family. He was born shattered, and this mark is here to remind him of it.

There’s something worse than the burn though. The icing feeling of James’ eyes on him now. Since he knows. The shame and the conscience are too heavy. Regulus can’t bear it. He never did, and that’s the sick feeling he’s had in the pit of his stomach for the past two days. He can’t live like this. More than anything, more than the disappointment of his parents, more than the hope to get out of this in one bit, more than anything Regulus has ever dreamt of — more than fame, more than reconnaissance, more than power —, Regulus can’t live with James looking at him like that.

He can’t live with him hating him like that.

Not after all the love he gave him.

Regulus is selfish; he knows he is. He refuses to take anything else than love from James. He took. He took love, he took affection, he took attention, he took time and energy. He took comfort. He refuses to take anything else.

And if it means he has to make everything stop, if it means he has to put an end to all of this — to his life — then he’ll do it.

Regulus stands up, takes off his coat. The wind blows on his skin, pushing his hair on his face. He doesn’t hear anything but the wind, up there, facing the horizon. That’s for the better. This is the best thing I can do.

Under the sad gaze of Leo, Regulus steps into the last page of his life; if he stops shining tonight, at least Regulus will continue to shine in the firmament.

And even when he falls, Regulus feels guilty, because even in his end, he needed to pretend, for himself, that he was doing all of this for the good sake of others.

[obiwanwhat]

Nothing Can Ever Be Simple Snippet #3

It’s not until the final day of the briefing, right before they part ways, that he makes the request she’d been dreading.  

“Will you come with me? Help me rebuild the Jedi Order? You know where it went wrong…you could help me make it better,” he begins, but she’s already shaking her head.  

“I made my choice when I walked away from the Jedi all those years ago.” She says. “I’m not a Jedi, and I don’t think I ever could be one again.  I wish you the best of luck with rebuilding the Jedi Order but I can’t be a part of it.” He nods, disappointed.

“I understand,” he says, but he doesn’t, not really. How could he? He has stars in his eyes when he says the word Jedi.  To him they’re a myth, a larger than life legend that he’s trying to bring back to life.  They’re wonderful and magical and the saviors of the universe.  Even now, even having heard her story, she can tell he still can’t quite convince himself that the Jedi Order could have made mistakes.

To her, they’re the deeply flawed people who raised her and loved her who still looked her dead in the eye to cast her out, not because she was guilty, but because it was easy.  

When he hears the name Anakin Skywalker, he thinks of his final moments with his father, when Anakin triumphantly returned to the Light and killed the Emperor to save him.  When she thinks of Anakin Skywalker…well, it’s a lot more complicated than that.  She knows that’s not fair to Luke - Vader tried to kill him too, after all, many times.  He bears the physical scars of that more than she does - she still has both her flesh and blood hands, after all. But it’s easier to forgive a father you never really knew until he saved you than it is to forgive one who saved you hundreds of times only to betray you in the end.  

She doesn’t think he understands that.

She wishes they could be family.  It would have come easily to them, she thinks, in another world. It’s what Anakin - the old Anakin, the real Anakin - would have wanted.  It’s what Padme would have wanted.  But he needs her to be someone she isn’t, and she doesn’t know how to stop resenting that.  As long as that’s the case…she doesn’t think family is possible.  

[kennak]

The new boss of a J-pop agency disgraced by the extensive sexual abuse committed by its late founder Johnny Kitagawa has also been accused of sexually assaulting young boys.Noriyuki Higashiyama said he could not remember the reported acts which he said may or may not have occurred.He was named the new boss of Johnny and Associates after Kitagawa's niece stepped down on Thursday. He will lead the agency's efforts to compensate victims and seek amends.Japan boyband boss resigns over mogul Kitagawa's abuseHowever, on Thursday at a press conference announcing Julie Fujishima's departure and his appointment, he was also faced with questions about his own reported abuse.Journalists asked him if allegations published in a book saying he massaged the crotches of boys, exposed his genitals and told them to "eat my sausage" were true.He replied: "I don't remember clearly. Maybe it happened, maybe it didn't. I have trouble remembering."Alluding to claims that he had bullied younger performers, the 56-year old added it was possible that he had been stricter with them, and that he may have done things as a teenager or in his 20s that he would not do now.Mr Higashiyama, a household name in Japan, was one of the first talents recruited by Johnny and Associates. Online, many users have criticised his appointment, noting his long history with the company."It will take time to win back trust, and I am putting my life on the line for this effort," he said. He added that he had never been a victim of Kitagawa's abuse but had been aware of the rumours."I couldn't, and didn't, do anything about it," he admitted to the news conference.Mr Higashiyama's decades-old ties to the Johnny and Associates brand have also led many to question how he can change the company and, more crucially, protect its talent. On Friday, Kauan Okamoto, one of Johnny's victims who went public, broke down while speaking to the media, and said the person hurting the most is his mother. "She has to live through it over and over and hear things that were done to me. There are things I can't even say to her. I don't want her to have to go through this ever again," he said. He also said he "respects" Mr Higashiyama and considers him "brave for taking this job that nobody wants". While Mr Okamoto said he hated Kitagawa for what he did, he is still "grateful to Johnny" for introducing him to the world of music. "I know some would say this is grooming but this is how I feel," he added.Kitagawa was arguably the most influential and powerful figure in Japan's entertainment industry. His agency has for decades been synonymous with J-pop culture, and was the gateway to stardom for many young men.But Johnny and Associates now bears the name of a sexual predator. At Thursday's press conference, when asked if there were plans to change the company's name, Mr Higashiyama said there were none.On social media, a user questioned how he would be able to "rebuild the agency when everyone will be looking at you with coloured lenses?""Is this the end for the company?" the user added. Image source, Getty ImagesImage caption, Johnny Kitagawa (pictured on screen) was a J-pop titan who used his immense power to sexually abuse aspiring boyband idolsLast week, an independent inquiry found the pop mogul abused hundreds of boys and young men over six decades, including while head of the boyband agency.He died at 87 in 2019, having never faced charges and always denying wrongdoing. Kitagawa's death was a national event - with even the then prime minister sending condolences.Although reports of his abuse were an open secret in the industry, for decades mainstream Japanese media did not cover the allegations.But a BBC documentary this year about Kitagawa and the J-pop industry sparked national discussion and prompted more victims to come forward. It led to the independent investigation, which last week recommended that the agency's boss resign.The BBC investigation that led to long-awaited abuse admissionOutgoing chief executive Ms Fujishima acknowledged Kitagawa's abuse for the first time on Thursday.She said the pop mogul had been so powerful that many in the agency, including herself, kept silent. The company also has considerable power over many media outlets, said Soichiro Matsutani, a journalist who has covered the Japanese entertainment industry for years. He told local media in May that declining revenue for TV stations and magazines have made them overly dependent on Johnny and Associates' idols for ratings. In 2019, for example, a Japanese regulator issued a warning to Johnny and Associates after it found that the agency had pressured TV stations not to showcase idols who had left the company. Mr Matsutani added that unless the root of the problem is addressed, similar things could happen at other talent agencies.Additional reporting by Derek Cai and Akane Furukawa

Johnny Kitagawa: J-pop agency's new boss Higashiyama also faces abuse allegations - BBC News

[neerdokells]

This New Life, Part 13

Back at the hotel, Portia got a shower to wash off the dirt from the hike while I ordered our dinner. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, I was naked on the bed and she was at about half-mast. She climbed on top of me and began kissing me, working her mouth down to my breasts, where she lingers and worked each one individually. She continued to kiss down my belly until she reached my clit, which she gave focused attention until I was squirming and begging her to use her cock. Instead, she pulled away and looked me over.

“Not like this,” she said. “I want my fairy.”

“As you wish, my love,” I replied, changing into the human-sized version of my base form. She smiled and leaned back down, kissing me passionately as her hands explored my fur and played with my larger tits. She slipped into me and slowly pumped, savoring every inch of moving in and out of me. I moaned and dragged my claws down her back, inducing a low growl out of her as she began to speed up. She pulled out, picked me up, and pressed my chest against the wall with me feet off the ground before entering me and thrusting hard, bouncing me on her cock as I begged for more, harder, faster. She obliged.

After we each finished, I was laid back on the bed and she rested her head on my chest. Her hand idly played with the fur on my belly as we laid there, catching our breath.

“Mistress,” I asked, finally, “what will happen to me when you pass away?”

“I…I hadn't thought about that.”

“I didn’t want to, either. But learning that I'm immortal and unaging, it just…it seems unavoidable.”

“Maybe,” she said, softly. She rolled off me so her face was next to mine. “But what if it wasn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the only fairy in the world, but maybe you don’t need to be. What if you made me like you?”

“You want to become a fairy?”

“Think about it.” She slowly began to drag her finger from the space between my breasts down my stomach, pausing to play with my fur from time to time. “We could leave human life behind entirely. Live in the wild, take on whatever forms we want. Fuck as rabbits, hibernate as bears. Rebuild the fairy population, even. No longer mistress and slave, just partners, lovers.” As she reached my clit, she slowly began to toy with it with her finger. “We could do this forever.”

“I would like that very much,” I said, breathlessly. “I can do that, if you wish.”

“Not now,” she said, slipping two fingers into me and continuing to rile me up. “It’s something to consider, for later.”

“I will do as you desire.”

“Oh, good,” she whispered, climbing on top of me. “Because I certainly have some desires.” Round two was gentle, passionate, and slow. We fell asleep in each other’s arms when we were spent, and slept in late the following morning. As soon as we woke, I turned back into her and we packed up, checked out, and started driving home. “We need to pick up Malcolm,” she told me on the way home. “He can’t be left as Brutus’ chew toy for nine months.”

“Assuming the gestation period isn’t changed when I become something that isn’t human.”

“Oh, God, I hadn’t even considered that! But you’ll know when the baby is due, right?”

“I should expect so. But what are we going to do with him? What are we going to do about us?”

“Well, let’s start with what we know must happen. I want you to carry and deliver this baby. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying that because you want to, or because you are serving my will?”

“I want to, and I’m excited at the prospect. I don’t know how to tell how much of that is from you, but I am fully on board.”

“Okay, I guess that will have to be good enough. But that means you’ll have to be me whenever you’re in public, so people can see the pregnancy develop and are expecting this baby. And you have to be not me whenever you can, ideally your true form, to ensure you don’t get stuck.”

“So Portia in public, shapeshifter at home. I can do that. What about you and Master?”

“I don’t think I can give Malcolm this life back right now. Maybe he’s learned his lesson, but I’m not ready to trust him yet. I’m not ready to leave you entirely in his care, and I’m absolutely not ready to take on a form that would be fully under his care. But, geez, his job is so fucking boring.”

“What about a probationary period? You can take a vacation, I’ll turn you into whatever you want, whenever you want. He can be himself during the day, go to work, begin to return to his life; but at home, he’s still under your watch and required to be a form of your choosing.”

“Hm. That’s an option. Let me think about it, and see if he’s to a point where I’m willing to give him that much leeway.” We talked about other matters the rest of the ride, and we reached Charlie’s shop about a half hour before close. Master was in a cage near the sex toys, hogtied, with a different vibrator installed in his ass, pussy, and mouth. There was another set of three devices connected to electrodes, with one set of electrodes on each breast and the third attached to key positions around the pussy and inner thighs. There was a drip tray on the bottom of the cage, and the controllers for all the devices hanging on the outside facing customers. He had the earplugs in, but his eyes were not covered, and they grew massive as he saw us approach.

“It’s been great for business!” Charlie said, explaining the set up to us. “I’m so glad they agreed to it. We change the toys each day, and people can come in and test different ones to see how they work and what they do to the body. I’ve nearly sold out of my stock, I’ve got nothing left in the backroom until delivery tomorrow! And they’re so worked up by the time we get home that they basically throw themselves at Brutus. He has never been so well behaved.” He removed Master from the cage, took the toys to the back to clean, and gave us an electrode toy and two vibrators that had been used and cleaned the day before as a thank you for all Master’s hard work. Portia packaged him up in the suitcase, we thanked Charlie for taking care of him, and headed home. Once we were back to the house, Master was dumped out onto the living room floor and we sat on the couch. He sat up, in a canine pose and pushing his tits forward, trembling as he faced us.

“Malcolm,” Mistress said, calmly, “are you in there?” He stared at her, as though trying to piece together what she was asking, and then slowly nodded.

“I think the experience has had a massive impact on him,” I said. “It makes it hard to think clearly, to even really know who you are. He’ll probably agree to anything we say right now.”

“Is he broken? Have we lost him?”

“Assad said that humans have a more durable basic nature than fairies do. I think he can be brought back, but it’s going to be a process. In the meantime, we probably shouldn’t let him be used much, if at all, and probably shouldn’t put him through the shock of changing his form.”

“You can’t just magic him past this?”

“I have no idea, and it seems awfully risky to try to use it in one big hit.”

“I guess I’ll be Malcolm for now, we’ll work on his therapy and talk about the future when he’s ready.” She looked him over, and I saw her expression soften. “I’m so sorry, Malcolm. I lashed out in anger, and now look at you! I didn’t realize it would go this far.” She knelt down and hugged him. He responded to the physical contact by rubbing himself against the carpet, apparently seeking sexual stimulation. Portia pulled back and watched him. “Oh, this is going to be rough.”

[ejaydoeshisbest]

Why I Cut Off My Best Friend After Years of Loyalty.

Two laughing babies with toothless grins bathing in the same basin of water, their mothers behind them, supporting their backs. 

That’s the image that surfaces when I think of the beginning; when our friendship was pure, untouched by the slow unraveling of who we’d become. 

He was my first best friend, the boy who lived just beyond the wall and thick trees that separated our houses, the one I’d call for from the top of the water tank. If he was free, he’d respond, and I’d race to his house, where we’d spend afternoons on his PlayStation 1, praying the game wouldn’t crash as the loading logo and music blared, and that the memory card hadn’t failed us. We shared merienda, sipped warm Milo, the Philippines’ staple chocolate malt milk with condensed milk, read Harry Potter, and talked about everything as we sat on his bed.

Fast forward to 2024, and I’ve done what I never thought I would: unfriended him on Facebook, cut him out of my life, and now, I’m on the brink of blocking him everywhere else. I want to erase him, sever the toxic tether that feels like it’s dragging me down, too.

It’s not just that I hate who he’s become. 

It’s disappointment and a deep disgust for what he has become. 

Years—YEARS—unemployed, his potential bleeding out of him as he gets older. He’s wasting a sharp mind on endless distractions, gaming, comics, and mindless entertainment. He is numbing the consequences of his wrong choices. 

It stings to see someone who could do so much just… rot. And it isn’t just him; those who orbit his life look worse, like his apathy is contagious. There’s no accountability, no responsibility, just a self-assured facade that he lets life happen, leeching from those willing to support him.

The arrogance, the quick flashes of anger. Those infuriate me most. 

His misplaced confidence, the way he presumes to know what’s best for me, barking out instructions and sulking when I don’t obey. It’s as if the weight of every wrong turn, every moment of failure he’s refused to confront, is carried in that anger. It’s there when he looks at me, and I can’t bear it.

I hated that he abandoned me when I needed him the most. When I was at my lowest, needing someone—anyone—he abandoned me and left me with a cold, apathetic, dismissive message. 

I hate how he still talks of games and shows like they’re crucial information in life. I mean, I’m all for sharing your passions to the world, but all I see when I hear him talk about things that interest him in a man-child slob who refused to grow up and take action.

Yet he had the nerve to tap me on the shoulder one evening, rain slicking our hair as we both ordered hotdogs at a barbecue stall. He smiled like nothing had changed, like years of hurt and silence didn’t matter, and he laughed when I turned away.

Eff you, Ace.

Some part of me pities him. Worries, even, that this will be the rest of his life, stagnant and small. I hope not. Even though I hate him and want nothing to do with him, I hope that he’ll snap out of it; that the mind I once admired will realize just how much time he has wasted and now must rebuild. He could. If only he had the will. 

But I’m done pretending that I don’t see what he’s become; that it’s fine to continue watching him sponge off the kindness of others. I’m done, Ace. Maybe one day you’ll face the world and find people who will push you to fix your life instead of standing by and allowing or encouraging you to be this messy. Maybe you’ll claw yourself out of this hole.

But for me, I hope this is goodbye. I hope that if I ever see you again, it’s not in this pitiful state. Because I can’t pretend anymore, and I refuse to drown alongside you.

Conclusion:

Letting go is never easy, especially when it means releasing the first person who ever felt like a true friend. But sometimes, choosing yourself is the most courageous thing you can do. It’s not about hatred; it’s about survival, about seeking peace when ties have become chains. Rebuilding begins with knowing what weights to drop. And though I hope my first-ever friend changes, grows and finds his way, I can’t afford to wait. I’m moving forward without him. He is a dead weight I refuse to carry.

[hellmouth-manor]

A Dog's Feeling || Hibiki || Trial 3.2 || Re: Her, Masks, Performance

It is a blessing and a shame that this is happening in public.

Hibiki Shinobu is reassured that this is all real, that his reactions are normal. That his heart breaking into a million pieces isn't weakness, no matter how much it feels otherwise.

It is so deeply impossible to pretend this isn't happening anymore. Even that kindness can't be afforded to him, Cassie—Cassansdra—Yukiko. Yukiko. It's such a nice name, isn't it?—she's elected to take everything in one fell swoop.

And she'd known. She wouldn't be shoving that stupid demon's stupid note in his face otherwise.

He'd opened nearly everything in him up to that that specter who promised she'd accept him. There were two things kept close to his chest, one of them being feelings he barely knew how to process. Gratitude that gave way to affection, a hopeless infatuation with someone who seemed hellbent on caring about everyone here no matter how little he—how little they might have deserved it.

Affection gave way to gratitude once again; he'd been thankful to simply exist alongside that brightness he'd never seen before. He'd dropped shameless comments about her kindness being dangerous for him—a catalyst for him to fall even harder, something he was so afraid of. He was so afraid to allow her to know his affection, taint that kindness with pity and let him down gentler than he deserved. He was scared to do that to her, put someone so nice in that terrible position. Or maybe he was scared of how it would feel to know heartbreak after learning heartache.

It was a decision he'd never had the power to make in the first place, it turned out. You don't get to decide your relationship to a mask, you simply get to admire the craftsmanship, enamor yourself with the performances it can enable. It's not your choice when it falls, what its owner does with it when the show is over.

He'd called himself her number one fan.

She'd performed so impeccably, too.

It wasn't just his hurt to bear, though. As was made clear by everyone else's reactions, Cassandra Adams would be mourned by so many. Tears continue streaking Hibiki's face as he processes this, as he ponders the blessing of shared hurt while his head hangs down and he hides his expression. Everyone would bear this together, in whatever ways they deemed most effective. Most necessary.

The shame was in how spurned he felt. To fall apart so messily in front of this audience, body wracked with repressed sobs as he leaned against his podium for support. It was so sickening to let everyone else see this. So perverse, to display his selfish hurt so brazenly.

To pretend he had any right to feel so indignant that anyone else would lay claim to these feelings.

To want, so desperately, for this all to end and the joke to reach its punchline. Sorry for scaring you, it wasn't me, I just thought it would be funny.

You can still be a hero.

Hibiki has to say something, the Shinobu in him still burns bright enough that his tears won't extinguish that rage. That wrath.

The warm familiar. The only friend he can trust. That which can't burn out.

He holds onto the things he can be mad at. He could flare indignantly over how fucking funny it must look. Heather is having her laugh, why wouldn't he assume Hisashi and Olwin aren't having just as much fun? Their stupid audience? Watching him lose everything that kept his head above water in one fell swoop. Laughing. They could burn.

He can't be mad at Yukiko. Not yet. He doesn't know how to hate, right now. His heart wails with grief and shame and loss and yearning.

But he can pretend too, can't he? Pretend he can go on and he can survive. Pretend he doesn't want to forgive and forget and do whatever he has to for this connection not to sever.

Shinobu chokes down his tears, swallows his grief and feeds it to the fire, funnels it all into a forge that will offer back the steel he might rebuild himself with. Nobody will see him break down again. Nobody will ever see him cry again.

Nobody will ever hurt him again.

A deep breath in. Ten seconds. Hold. Ten seconds. Out. Ten seconds.

"...The joke is on us, then. We…we lost your stupid game. Fine. You…you threw your life away for it, fine. It isn't like you had anything waiting for you outside anyways. Maybe this is the place you want to be in most. I wouldn’t know. I don’t know what to trust anymore. But this...isn't the breaking point. Call us stupid. Look down on us, and laugh, and laugh, and...remember. We've made it through every one of these. We...we started our stay here, with one of these."

In.

Ten seconds.

Out.

Five seconds.

The mask doesn't break

It does crack.

"...You're going to go down, and then you'll be right back here to deal with the fallout, and nobody is going to make it fun for you. It’s going to hurt. It's all going to hurt. I hope it does.”