#and another bay leaf while you’re at it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

in1-nutshell · 11 months ago

Note

Hello, Another Part of this TFA Request, Bot Buddy as Wasp's twin sibling who takes his place

Where Bot Buddy, who disguised as Wasp, became a broken bot, and that now speaks like how Wasp do. She somehow escap from Autobots and didn't held a grudge of that 'incident'

Buddy came to Earth and meet the team prime (if Wasp's in Repair crew, a reunion happens between him and Buddy), also Buddy (and Wasp) reveal their true selves

I have a feeling we are going to see this Buddy a bit more in the future.

Hope you enjoy!

Wasp Twin sister meets Team Prime

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Mention of injury but nothing graphic, Cybertronain reader

TFA

Time didn’t seem to exist within the walls of the stockades.

Half of the time W-2 didn’t even know what was happening anymore.

It was better that way.

Her name was even changed while being in there, she had to constantly remind herself that she was still had a name… but even that was slowly being replaced by the shorten nickname given to her.

Just plain ol’ 2.

She rarely talked anymore and when she did, it was mainly to herself.

The guards made fun of her speech whenever they had the chance to do it.

One night 2 woke up to find the door of her cell wide open.

Thinking this was another trick, she waited a bit.

When nothing happened, she bolted out of the cell and straight to the memorized exits.

She remembered running and running until she reached the local spacebridge.

She punched in random coordinates as the blaring sounds of the alarms shrieked.

2 instinctively tried to transform, but the inhibitor claw on her back prevented her from doing so.

As soon as the bridge turned on, she leaped in, not caring now where it could lead her.

All 2 knew was that she couldn’t stand another day in the walls of the stockade.

She was free falling when she appeared on the other side.

2 landed on a pile of trash.

2 rubs her helm while throwing a greasy banana peel off her helm.

“Ow! Stinky garbage hurt 2.”--2

The garbage bot starts collecting the garbage including her.

It starts compacting.

2 starts clawing fruitlessly at the wall and screaming.

“NO, NO, NO! 2 DON’T WANT TO GO! 2 DON’T WANT TO GO!”--2

SLICE!

The machine had been sliced in half thanks to the quick thinking of Optimus Prime.

He had just been in the area when he heard a bunch of screaming coming from the garbage bot.

He thought it was a couple of humans caught, he was not expecting a bot that looked a little bit like Bumblebee to spill out. The bot in question looked at him and scurried into a corner in the alley and placed her servos on her helm, shaking like a leaf.

Optimus carefully approaches her slowly putting his axe down and getting on his knees.

“Hello.”--Optimus

The bot looks up a bit but keeps quiet.

“My name is Optimus Prime—”--Optimus

The bot curls up even more.

“Like Sentinel bot?”—2

Optimus shakes his helm.

“No, I’m not like or am Sentinel. How do you know who Sentinel is?”--Optimus

The bot shaking lessens.

“Truck bot save 2. 2 like nice Truck bot.”—2

“Your name is 2?”—Optimus

2 nods.

“Just 2.”--2

Optimus smiles before noticing her pede sparking.

“You’re hurt.”--Optimus

She looks down at the injury, wincing a bit as the spark grew a bit.

“Oh�� 2 hurt...”--2

“Listen 2, I have a field tech back on my base—”—Optimus

2 looks at him in panic.

“No!”--2

“No?”--Optimus

“Truck bot take 2 to get arrested! 2 not go back to stockades! Not go back!”—2

She tries to get up but yelps when the pain shoots up and crumbles.

Optimus catches her.

“Listen 2, your injured, I promise whatever this is about the stockades won’t happen because you get arrested when the other first see you. You have my word.”—Optimus

2 looks at him in fear and uncertainty.

“2… not get arrested on sight? Truck bot promise?”--2

“Yes. You have my word.”—Optimus

He holds out his servo for 2 to take it.

She does hesitantly.

Optimus carefully carries 2 in his arms.

2 freezes a bit before relaxing in his arms.

This… this felt nice…

Optimus sends a message to Ratchet to get the med bay ready and to prep everyone for someone’s arrival.

2 just clinging on the only source of positive touch she had received in what seemed like millennia.

She doesn’t see the bots due to her slightly buried helm in Optimus’s chassis.

She gets set on the med slab and that’s when her optics zero in on Bumblebee and Bulkhead.

“Is that W-2?!”--Bulkhead

2 starts clinging on Optimus arm shaking furious.

“Prime! You brought a spy to our base!”--Bumblebee

“2 not spy. 2 is just 2.”--2

“What happen to your voice?”—Bulkhead

Bumblebee gets up in 2’s face with an angry expression on his face.

“And why are you here traitor?! You’re ready to try and con us too?!”--Bumblebee

THUD!

2 passes out on the med slab.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead explain their history with 2 in their early days in the boot camp.

After she was taken away, many things were no longer the same.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead couldn’t believe that she was the spy all along. She didn’t look like a spy or acted like one, but maybe that was the whole point.

Her arrest took the biggest toll on Wasp.

The bot was fighting any bot that got on his nerve and was nearly expelled from boot camp if he suddenly didn’t stop.

His overall mood and attitude did change a bit.

He could still be insensitive and play pranks, but they were significantly fewer than before. Wasp even became good acquaintances with Bumblebee at one point.

It was thanks to Wasp’s recommendation that he and Bulkhead were partnered in the same space bridge repair crew when he moved a bit through the ranks.

Ratchet, meanwhile, is mentally taking note of some injuries that had been untreated in a while.

It was clear that wherever this bot came from, it wasn’t a good place.

Especially when he saw the damage made to her voice box. That explained the rough speech.

When Bee and Bulkhead are done with the story, it leaves some questions and mixed feelings about the bot.

“There is still something off about all of this.”--Optimus

“Like what?”--Sari

“You told us she admitted to being the spy when Wasp was being taken away right?”--Prowl

“Yeah?”--Bumblebee

“No spy in their right processor would through themselves under the bus for one bot, family or not. Just me kid, I’ve met plenty of spies in my lifetime. She is not spy material.”—Ratchet

“But then…”--Bumblebee

“Do you mean…”--Bulkhead

“I don’t think 2 is a spy.”--Optimus

Bee and Bulkhead share a look.

If she wasn’t the spy… then who was?

She comes around and starts to shake seeing bee and bulk

Optimus carefully moves in front of her to not let her see Bumblebee and Bulkhead.

“2 don’t want to go back!”--2

2 tries to get off the med slab but Prowl and Ratchet hold her down.

“No one is taking you back 2.”—Prowl

2 stops abruptly.

“2 not?”--2

Prowl sits down next to her.

“We have a feeling you’re not really the spy, but we can only confirm it if we hear your truth. Can you do that?”--Prowl

2 looks down shaking her helm.

“Are you trying to protect someone?”--Prowl

2 freezes and refuses to look anyone in the optic.

Sari comes next to her putting both of her hands in hers.

“Hi. My name is Sari, Sari Sumdac.”--Sari

“S-Sari?”--2

“Yeah, I really want to be your friend 2. You look like a nice bot to be friends with.”--Sari

2 looks at her with wide optics.

“Sari… want be friends with 2?”—2

Sari nods.

“But we can’t if we don’t know what happened. Don’t you want to tell someone?”--Sari

2 nods her helm weakly.

Sari squeezes her hands a bit.

“Nothings going to happen to you if you tell us.”--Sari

“Promise?”--2

“Pinky promise!”--Sari

2 tells them about how scared she felt when she saw her twin being wheeled out after an accusation that should have had more evidence.

She took the blame to save him.

Everything she said on the spot was false and she had hoped that Sentinel was dumb enough to take the bait and take her instead.

At that moment she didn’t care how it made her look, she was worried for her twin’s safety.

She is crying and refuses to look at anyone in the optic.

Sari give 2 a hug around her neck cables.

“You did a good job 2.”

2 shakingly reaches to gently hug Sari back as the tears in her optics make everything look blurry.

She feels someone sitting next to her and a servo pulling her into a side hug.

The blob on yellow is all she needs to know who it is.

“I’m sorry for calling you a spy 2… do you think—”

2 puts her helm on his shoulder trying to stifle another sob.

The message is clear.

Bulkhead starts to pat her helm making her cry even more.

Sari pulls away and looks at 2.

“Sari?”--2

“I don’t like 2. You need a new name.”--Sari

2 points at herself.

“New name?”--2

Sari nods and smiles.

“And I know just the name, Buddy!”--Sari

She tilts her helm a bit.

“Buddy?”—Bumblebee, Bulkhead and 2

Then she starts to smile.

“Buddy! Buddy like name. Buddy is new name. Buddy thank Sari. Sari, Sari, Sari!”—Buddy

Bulkhead pulls the entire team in for a group hug.

Buddy is in the center of it spilling some tears.

For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.

Buddy was finally safe…

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x reader #tfa x platonic reader

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rambleonwaywardson · 7 months ago

Text

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 10

Masterpost Read on AO3

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: Since some of you were interested in exactly how accurate some of this is, fyi the experiments Curt and Bucky implement here, LEAF and LDA, are real experiment proposals that have been selected to fly on Artemis III. Not much info is available on them though, so much of their installation processes are made up by yours truly.

---

November 18, mission day 12 Ridge near Shackleton Crater, Artemis 3 Landing Site

It’s raining.

At least, Bucky imagines it is. He imagines that there’s dark clouds rolling in overhead, pops of electricity jumping across them, flashing through the sky. He imagines he can hear thunder rumbling, a breeze ruffling through his hair the same way it did on launch day, when he stood outside and stared at the sky, no one to say goodbye to. He imagines big, fat drops of rain hitting his face, splattering on the tip of his nose and streaking down his cheeks.

He can almost smell it, the damp earth scent of a hurricane mixing with the salty air blowing in from the gulf. Home. He can almost feel it, just out of reach.

Bucky opens his eyes. He has half a mind to close them again when faced with the reality that it is not, in fact, raining. But he sighs, deciding he can’t really complain, even if he misses something so simple as weather. The lunar horizon is a decent trade-off. He just kind of wishes it wasn’t so still all the time. It reminds him of survival training in the desert, when the only movement was the heat radiating up from the ground, creating a teasing mirage to goad his dehydrated brain. Except here, there’s not an atmosphere to do even that.

It’s their third full day on the lunar surface.

“Is it raining in Houston, Benny?”

There’s a brief pause. “Is that… some sort of code, or…?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, and then realizes that his words did, in fact, sound similar to ‘are the flowers blooming in Houston,’ a coded transmission from Apollo 13. That’s what Commander Jim Lovell said in order to ask Ken Mattingly, on CAPCOM, if he’d contracted the measles, exposure to which had caused Mattingly to be scrubbed from 13 at the last minute.

“No,” Bucky clarifies. “Just wanna know if it’s raining.”

There’s another brief silence while, Bucky assumes, Benny asks if anyone knows the weather outside of their windowless Mission Control room. He doesn’t bother to ask Bucky why he wants to know. All the CAPCOMs have quickly figured out it’s easier just to answer whatever bullshit question the astronauts ask. “No. It’s colder than usual, though. Only 46 degrees now.”

Bucky’s satisfied with that answer, and he’s not really sure why. He imagines Gale, who at this moment is probably just waking up in their home on the bay. Since it’s cold, he’ll be bundled in flannel pants and Bucky’s Yankees sweatshirt, which is just the slightest bit too big for him and hangs off his frame in a way that makes Bucky want to wrap him up tight in his arms. He might even have a throw blanket pulled around his shoulders as he wanders groggily through the house. Bucky doesn’t know how that man doesn’t overheat, but he knows all too well that Gale’s hands are always freezing. Bucky usually takes it upon himself to warm them up.

Two huskies are probably trailing at Gale’s heels. Bucky hopes they keep his hands warm.

He wonders if that’s a weird thing to think about. He decides it’s not. He mindlessly grabs at the wedding ring dangling from his neck, only to remember that he’s in an EVA suit. His ring is in Starship.

“Quit whatever the fuck you’re doin’ and help me out over here, Bucky.”

Bucky blinks and tries to turn his head to look at Curt, and then remembers that that doesn’t work in the suit either. He awkwardly turns his whole body before bounding several steps towards his crewmate, who is standing beside their rover. That’s the only way to move on the moon, bounding. Bucky used to mimic the movement as a kid, pretending to be Neil Armstrong in his backyard. But he’s learned in the past few days that it’s actually, literally, the only way to get anywhere in these bulky suits with almost no gravity to hold them down. Especially while they’re still early on in the EVA. The pressure in the suit is almost as high as it goes and inhibits their range of motion.

“What’s up?” Bucky stops in front of the open, unpressurized rover. They may be the first Artemis crew members on the moon, but as far as transportation goes, they drew the short straw. Starting with Artemis 4, surface crews will have a fully pressurized rover for long-distance drives. Bucky and Curt get basically the same piece of shit (sorry, NASA) that Apollo got, but bigger and supposedly less shoddy.

That last qualification has yet to be proven. Curt drops to his knees by the front left wheel. “Hold the damn tire while I replace the lug nuts.”

Bucky joins him on the ground and holds the tire in place. During their EVA yesterday, they took the rover on its inaugural drive, and that damn wheel is already causing them problems. But hey, at least they have the equivalent of a truck bed for hauling things.

Except, you need functioning wheels to haul things.

He grumbles about it the whole time, but Curt manages to get the wheel secured, though he’s still suspicious of it. “Well, good as we’re gonna get.”

Bucky stands back and stares at the wheel, agreeing that it’s still not quite right. But whatever it is is beyond what they can fix at the moment. So Bucky steps onto the rover, turns it on, and drives it forward. Curt takes a couple of bounding steps to catch up, jumps on beside Bucky, and they get on their way. It’s drivable, so they’ll take it.

–

“Oh shit. Fuck. Shit.” Bucky tries to reverse the rover, then tries to go forward again. Reverse, forward, reverse, forward. “Fuck.”

“Shit?” Rosie’s voice buzzes in Bucky’s ear. He and Alex are well on their way into deep space, approaching the furthest point in their orbit.

“Why the fuck are you here? Don’t ya have observations or somethin’ you could be doin'?”

“This is so much more interesting.”

Bucky has gotten the front left wheel of the rover stuck between two rocks. They’re not even very big rocks, so it’s embarrassing in that same kind of way as when you get your hand into a small space but then can’t get it back out.

It’s also the same wheel that he and Curt just fixed. Curt looks on, judgmentally. “If you break that wheel again I’ll murder you with a hammer.”

Brutal. Bucky’s mouth moves on autopilot, like a parrot repeating something unhelpful, as he conducts a pathetic million-point turn, shifting the angle of the tire by mere degrees every time he changes gears. “If iron can kill a star it sure as hell can kill you.”

There’s a pretty lengthy silence as Bucky continues his sad attempt at getting out of this predicament. Personally, he’s thinking about how, at this point, it would be faster to walk to their destination. Everyone else, however, is still hung up on his little proverb.

“What the hell does that mean?” Alex finally asks. Oh great, he’s here, too. Witnessing Bucky’s failure.

“It’s something Buck says,” Benny offers helpfully. “Something about stars dying when they start fusing iron.”

There’s a chorus of understanding hums that rise and then trail off as everyone realizes that it still doesn’t really make sense.

Alex: “Is that… a threat?”

Curt: “Can it be a threat if no one knows what he’s sayin’?”

Rosie: “Kinda makes it more of a threat, doesn’t it?”

Alex: “I don’t usually know what Buck is sayin’.”

Curt: “That’s just cause he don’t say much.”

Alex: “Or he’s too smart for us.” The others make noises of agreement. Major Gale Cleven. Mr. High school valedictorian, graduated summa cum laude with a degree in aerospace engineering and a minor in physics. Whatever.

Bucky: “Got it!”

The rover lurches forward, nearly throwing Curt, completely unprepared, off the side. He reaches out at the last second to grab Bucky’s arm, and for a moment it seems like they both might take a dirt bath on the moon, but Bucky holds tight to the steering wheel and keeps them both on their feet as he drives triumphantly into the distance.

They’re heading in a straight line towards the sun on the horizon, and in Bucky’s mind they’re cruising at high speed like Thelma and Louise (though, ideally, not off a cliff). In reality, they’re bumping along pretty slowly towards a little greenhouse that’s going to house their little plants for their cute little moon experiment.

Bucky parks the rover outside of the greenhouse. They spent much of the day yesterday setting it up, flipping NASA’s assembly directions this way and that as they tried to make sense of them like a piece of IKEA furniture. It’s kind of laughable, how such an unassuming little structure can look so damn out of place. It’s not even pressurized, having to do nothing but stay standing and block some of the solar radiation. It reminds Bucky of the Wizard of Oz, as if a tornado just picked a greenhouse up off the Earth’s surface and deposited it in the middle of the moonscape, where it sticks out like a sore thumb.

He steps down off the rover and walks around the back, where their first experimental payload is sitting on the bed. “LEAF” is printed across it in huge letters, and underneath, “Lunar Effects on Agricultural Flora.”

Curt meets Bucky at the back of the rover and pulls down the little cart they’d brought with them. Together, they heave LEAF off the bed and onto the cart and wheel it, inelegantly and with a lot of swearing, to the door of the greenhouse.

“Okay, you go in, I’ll cover you.” Curt steps aside and presses his back to the greenhouse wall, holding his hands together in front of him in what Bucky assumes is supposed to be an approximation of a handgun. The effect is lost with the EVA gloves.

Bucky glares at him – though that effect is also lost through an EVA helmet – as he opens the door and struggles to drag the cart over the threshold. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

Benny chuckles over coms. “Don’t let Buck hear you say that.”

“Buck ain’t here,” Curt says.

There’s a crackle, and then a warm, tired drawl. “Buck’s right here.” Bucky’s got no idea what time it is – that’ll happen when the sun stays basically in the same spot all day – but Mission Control must be in the middle of a shift change.

Curt: “Shit, our cover’s blown.” He lowers his hands and steps away from the wall.

Bucky: “Hey babe.”

Gale: “I’m watching you, Curt… Hi, John.” John smiles. It’s not darling or babe, but he grudgingly accepts Gale’s insistence on trying to speak professionally on shift. Even if Bucky refuses to do so.

Curt: “Actually, you’re only listenin’ to me.”

Benny: “That’s my cue to leave, boys. Have fun with your plants.”

Curt: “I will, thank you very much.”

Curt finally decides he’s had enough of watching Bucky struggle on his own and grabs onto the back of the cart, giving it a good shove that sends it the rest of the way into the greenhouse, narrowly avoiding knocking Bucky on his ass.

Curt: “Hey, Buck, wanna know what else I’ll have fun with?”

Gale: “No.”

Curt: “Bein’ Bucky’s big spoon since you ain’t here.”

Bucky: “Buck’s the little spoon. So that means you gotta be my little spoon.”

Silence.

Bucky wonders how hard Gale is blushing, and how many people just turned to stare at him in Mission Control. He wonders how many of them will start calling him Little Spoon, at least for the day. He feels a little bad. But only a little. Everyone’s always told him that he doesn’t have a filter, so it isn’t his fault that Gale married him anyways.

Gale: “I want you to know, the only reason I’m not gonna give you both the silent treatment is because it’s my job to keep you alive.”

It’s a good thing Bucky won’t be home for dinner tonight, or any night in the near future, because he’s pretty sure Gale “everything you say is being transcribed” Cleven would give him the silent treatment for embarrassing him like that.

Gale: “Get to work, boys.”

Bucky’s not sure exactly how LEAF works, but they’ve been tasked with it anyways. It’s a little space-age terrarium straight out of a sci-fi movie that’s being housed within the greenhouse structure. Inside is an enclosed growth chamber, in which a few different crop species that Bucky has quite frankly never heard of are supposed to grow hydroponically. The chamber protects them from the lunar environment, allowing NASA to study the effects of space radiation and partial gravity on plant growth and stress.

Bucky and Curt have been instructed to give the seeds inside LEAF water and nutrients through some elaborate external insertion mechanism as well as monitor their progress every day. By the end of the week, they’ll hopefully be able to harvest some of the faster-growing plants.

Once LEAF is in place, Curt sets to work ripping strips of duct tape off the roll he keeps strapped to his EVA suit. He sticks them on the glass above each crop species and labels them: Duckweed, Field Mustard, and Thale-Cress. Bucky is setting up the cameras and sensors they were instructed to deploy around it. Gale is grudgingly forced to speak to them – and act nice about it – so he can relay instructions on what the fuck they’re supposed to do.

“Is it working now?” Bucky asks. He’s spent far too long trying to get this one specific camera in front of the growth chamber to record.

“No,” Gale answers. “Did you turn it on?”

“Yes I fuckin’ turned it on.” Bucky crouches in front of the camera and gets as close to it as his helmet will allow. “Wait. wait wait wait.” He presses another button. “Okay now it’s on.”

Gale stays quiet for a moment, presumably waiting for video feed to pop up in Mission Control. “We see it now, Bucky.”

“Alright,” Curt says. “Let’s grow some moon plants!”

–

Thankfully, Gale doesn’t follow through with his threat of the silent treatment even after he finishes his shift and hands the console over to Helen. Thirty minutes after leaving Mission Control, he’s tucked into a small room at Johnson Space Center that they’ve designated “the Family Room,” where NASA has a direct two-way audio/video line set up for Artemis astronauts to talk to their family members, even on the moon. His tie is loose, top buttons undone, and his hair gel has given up. Exhausted, he takes a sip of his coffee. His… fourth? Fifth? Of the day? Maybe?

Bucky has told him time and again that if he drank alcohol the same way he drinks coffee, he wouldn’t be sober a day in his life.

With Curt off in another corner of the lander, headphones on as he watches a movie downloaded on his NASA-issued computer, Bucky is in his commander’s seat. He’s looking back at Gale through the webcam on his own computer, for once able to talk to each other with some semblance of privacy. And they can see each other.

When the video call first connected, the first words out of Bucky’s mouth were that Gale looked like shit. Gale glared at him until Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him a more appropriate greeting. Then, and only then, did Gale drop the iciness and take the opportunity to talk to his husband.

“So you know how in The Martian they say once you grow crops somewhere you’ve colonized it?” Gale’s not entirely sure what part of their present conversation – about their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Mason’s suspected torrid affair – caused Bucky to ask this question.

To be honest, though, the ability, as CAPCOM, to disregard the why of an astronaut’s question and simply follow up without a second thought, is a trained skill. And Bucky has always been the only training Gale needs. “Pretty sure that’s not just from The Martian.”

Bucky narrows his eyes and shrugs. “Okay. But yeah?”

Gale nods. “Okay.”

“Are we colonizing the moon?”

“No.”

Bucky eyes Gale suspiciously and leans closer to the camera. “Why?”

Gale sighs and leans back in his chair, thinking about it for a moment. “Shouldn’t the plants be in the lunar soil to call it colonized? Yours are growing hydroponically above the surface. And they haven’t grown yet.”

“Are you just sayin’ that cause you’re still mad at me?” Bucky knew he wouldn’t escape his ‘little spoon’ comment unscathed.

Gale lifts his coffee cup and takes a sip to hide his smile.

They sit in a familiar and comfortable silence for a moment before Bucky runs a hand through his hair and leans back. “I wish you could see this, Buck. I wish you were here with me.”

“I’m with you,” Gale reminds him.

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky glances out the window of Starship, and he looks so wistful and beautiful. His eyes are wide with love and wonder, at the beautiful alien world around him on one side of the camera and at the wonderful man that keeps his world turning on the other. He looks excited with a child-like awe, just like he looked on the station. Just like he looks every time he flies a plane. Just like he looked so often in college when Gale was still falling in love with him bit by bit. And just like he looked on their wedding day. That same wild wanderlust and love for the universe that has always blown Gale away.

When Bucky looks at him again, Gale says, “Tell me about it.” He’s been right there with the crew almost every step of the way. He knows the mission plan inside and out. He’s seen the footage they’ve taken and he’s heard their reactions to almost every milestone. But he wants to hear it from Bucky. Not from Mission Commander Major John Egan.

Bucky grins at him. “It’s like a dream, Buck. Like… nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s better than I thought it would be.”

“Even the whole being stuck in a space capsule and you die if you leave it without a suit thing?”

Bucky shrugs. “If I had to die, the moon isn’t a bad place to do it.”

He knows he made a mistake the moment the words are out of his mouth, and he’s not usually one to admit that. But he watches Gale deflate, his brow crinkle as he works his jaw and looks away from the camera. “Don’t say that,” Gale whispers at the same time that Bucky raises his hand and says “Sorry, not the time.”

Bucky knows that Gale is a little scared, no matter how much he tries to hide it from everyone else. He won’t say it out loud, and he would hate it if Bucky did. So Bucky doesn’t. He’d be afraid, too, if the roles were switched. And one day they will be. Gale gives a curt nod to his apology, and they don’t speak of it again.

“The sun is always so low in the sky,” Bucky says instead. “Like you’re always waitin’ for it to rise but it never does. The shadows are something out of a nightmare, I swear to God. They’re huge and fuckin’ dark. We use flashlights to walk through them. You know that.” He tells Gale every detail he can think of about what it’s like on the moon. The way the shadows streak the landscape like spilled ink. The way the soil feels under his boots, sinking and crunching at the same time like the sharpest grains of sand. The way Earth looks so small and unassuming, how peaceful it seems even though they know it’s anything but, a little blue oasis in the middle of a dark universe. He tells Gale that he looks at that planet in the lunar sky every night before he sleeps, and he thinks about him. Gale was right, after all. He is sappy. At least about his husband.

He tells him about the parts of the EVAs that Gale missed, when Benny was CAPCOM instead. He talks about the rover breaking not even a full day into its life cycle, the tire somehow coming clean off when it got caught on a rock and causing Bucky to tumble into the dirt (“I’m fine! Gale, I’m fine. Benny would’ve told you if I wasn’t fine”). He talks about the strange rock formation that he and Curt found yesterday morning – several giant boulders stacked on top of one another in a way that doesn’t look a) natural, or b) balanced. Then they start discussing the other experimental payloads that Curt and Bucky are scheduled to install in the coming days, but they quickly agree that talking shop can wait until they’re actually working.

When Gale yawns and rubs his eyes, looking distractedly off to the side, Bucky frowns. “Hey, doll, look at me.” Gale blinks and then does as he’s told, lazily tilting his head and raising his eyebrow in a way that says ‘happy?’ Bucky wants to reach through the screen and brush back the loose strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right?”

Gale huffs and nods, allowing the smallest smile. “Yeah, darlin’. I’d tell you. Just tired as hell.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

As their call comes to an end, they spend a minute or two simply staring at each other, taking each other in. Neither of them know when, or if, they’ll be able to schedule another call like this during the mission.

“Stay safe out there,” Gale finally says. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Bucky wants to say ‘don’t count on it,’ flash a shit-eating grin, like they used to before either of them did anything remotely dangerous. It’s their little morbid joke. Their way of dealing with the uncertainty and worry without having to think too much about it.

But he knows this time is different. This mission isn’t like the others, and there’s no use pretending it is. Looking at Gale, seeing how exhausted he is and knowing how tirelessly he’s working on the ground, how much sleep he’s probably losing between his job and worrying about Bucky… hell, Bucky can’t bring himself to say it. He doesn’t want to risk making his husband’s face fall again today.

So instead, he says a quiet, “I miss you.” It makes the corner of Gale’s mouth pull up in a sweet little smile, and Bucky thinks he did something right.

Gale presses his fingers to the corner of the camera. “I love you.”

“Talk to you tomorrow, angel.”

–

When Gale gets home that evening, he grabs the mail out of their mailbox. Flipping through the various advertisements and envelopes, he stops short at the front door. Tucked into the middle is a piece of paper with unfamiliar, messy handwriting scrawled across it.

“Praying the queer dies on the moon.”

Gale stares down at the message, then glances up and down their quiet, friendly neighborhood street. They’ve lived here for a few years now, since before Gale’s ISS mission. They’ve gotten to know their neighbors well. Other than Benny, who lives at the end of the road, it’s mostly a collection of young families – many of which are associated with the space center in some way – and retirees who have never been anything but kind to Gale and John. Everyone has always been very neighborly, and Gale would go so far as to call most of them friends. They have dinners together, throw a block party here and there, do the usual neighborly favors for one another. Hell, Gale’s even babysat for some of the families from time to time. John taught a couple of the kids how to ride a bike.

Certainly, none of them have ever expressed something like this, and Gale doesn’t believe for a moment that this message came from anyone around here. He has half a mind to go next door and ask Mrs. Mason if she saw anyone stick this in his mailbox. Aside from the fact that Gale is fairly certain the widow is having an affair with a much younger married man, she’s always looked out for him and John. She also takes it upon herself to play neighborhood watch and always seems to know everything about everyone on their street. If anyone saw this happen, it’s her. But he doesn’t want to worry her, and he certainly doesn’t want her telling their other neighbors about it.

He’s done a decent job of avoiding the worst comments on social media, mostly because he barely goes on social media unless Marge tells him he needs to keep up his online presence. He knows the naysayers are still out there, though. And now it’s crossed the digital line.

If we’re lucky, the fag…

Disgusted, Gale grits his teeth, crumples the paper, and tosses it straight into the recycle bin with the rest of the junk mail. He takes a breath and tries to push down the anger. Then he walks into his house, the one he shares with his wonderful, brave husband, and he laughs as the dogs rush to greet him.

–

November 19

It’s close to 3am in Houston. Benny’s desk is littered with empty coffee cups, gum wrappers, and an empty takeout container from what he supposes is technically lunch. Meals don’t make as much sense when your work schedule is from midnight to 8am. Nothing makes as much sense when your work schedule is from midnight to 8am. He finds it funny: he used to eat tacos at 3am when he was in college, but that was a product of burning the candle at both ends rather than working the night shift. Night shift for NASA Mission Control.

Except, it’s not technically night shift either, because according to GMT, the time zone that Mission Control and the crew operate on, it’s actually nearing 8am. Which is a far less acceptable time for eating tacos.

The crew has been awake for two hours now. This morning’s wake-up alarm on Starship was Hot To Go by Chappell Roan. No one has admitted to choosing that song yet, but most people are betting on Curt. Benny, however, thinks it was all Bucky. He has to admit, there are few things funnier at 1am than a room full of extensively trained, highly professional, and terribly exhausted flight controllers in business clothes singing “H-O-T-T-O-G-O, You can take me hot to go” over and over.

“Missing the wife, Egan?” Benny asked once Bucky had shut off the alarm. There was quiet snickering from the flight controllers behind him. Bucky didn’t dignify that with a response.

Gale really doesn’t know what he’s missing with these wake-up calls.

While Rosie and Alex are nearing apolune, the point in their orbit farthest from the moon, Bucky and Curt are now out on the lunar surface once again. They’re just about 15 minutes into their morning EVA, which is scheduled for 5 hours. Their first stop is checking in on LEAF.

Bucky: “Is that…”

Curt: “Yes.”

Bucky: “Hi there.”

The flight controllers look at the video feed in awe.

Inside the growth chamber, two little seedlings have sprouted, tiny green leaves reaching up towards the sunlight. No matter how small, there’s something about seeing life take root in an environment designed to take life away that feels extraordinary.

–

40 minutes in, and Curt and Bucky have driven the rover further out from Starship than they’ve gone thus far. That busted wheel is holding, but they’ve brought a repair kit with them, not liking the way it rattles here and there over the uneven terrain. “Ain’t no Triple A on the moon,” Curt had said as he tossed the kit into the rover. Then he looked at Bucky a little too pointedly. “But don’t think for a second that this is permission to do somethin’ stupid.”

Either way, they made it to the other side of the connecting ridge next to Shackleton, and the rover is still intact. They’re surveying the surface, trying to hash out where they should install their second of three scientific instruments. The Lunar Dielectric Analyzer (LDA) is meant to use electric currents in the soil to detect the presence of water ice below the surface. The astronauts are also collecting soil samples for the geologists back home, dumping dusty regolith into bags and labeling them with their coordinates.

In the pitch black shadow of the connecting ridge, they have to work by flashlight. They were instructed to check a variety of sites, both light and dark, but they’re starting with the ones that receive less sunlight, since they’re colder and more likely to have the right conditions for ice to exist. Shackleton itself was identified by scientists as having ice deposits, making the ridge an ideal mission site. However, short of rappelling into the crater, which they will not be doing, this is the closest they can get to those known deposits at the moment. Bucky is closer to the crater, up on an incline with the rover, while Curt is further down, about 60 or 70 yards away.

“Note,” Bucky says. “Site B, sharp gray dust that won’t get the fuck off my gloves.”

“Hey, that’s what I have at site C!” Curt exclaims. He pops up in the distance, shining his flashlight up towards Bucky. Bucky shines his back, and Curt waves.

Bucky: “Houston, site B doesn’t seem any more promising than A, and I don’t like this incline. Thinkin’ we should stick to flatter surfaces.”

Benny: “Roger. We will eliminate site B as an option.”

Bucky: “Okay, I’m gonna head back down to Curt.”

Bucky steps up onto the rover and turns it on, waiting for the headlights to flicker to life. Then he eases into drive, and starts to slowly descend the slope.

–

Benny sips on his coffee and jots down a few notes about the LDA candidate sites. They’ll have to make a decision in the next hour or so in order to stay on track with the EVA schedule. But with the issues they’ve been having with the rover, he doesn’t want to rush them along too much.

“Bucky, how’s that rover wheel doin’?”

“Seems fine,” Bucky replies, but Benny doesn’t like the hint of uncertainty coming through. “Still seems off, but goin’ smoother than it was.”

“I’ll check it when you get down here,” Curt says. “Might just need tightened again.”

Benny makes a note for Red Shift that they’ll have to build in time to troubleshoot that wheel a little better during the afternoon EVA. He relays the thought to Red Bowman, the Blue Shift flight director. He agrees.

“Alright Bucky,” Benny says. “We’ll get you guys some time to work on that wheel this afternoon. For now just take it easy and-”

“Fuck!”

“Bucky?”

Benny hears Bucky’s breath catch, followed by a few aggravated grunts, and then silence.

What the fuck just happened?

“Bucky?” Benny glances around the room. Red and several of the other flight controllers are doing the same, many looking right at him. He blinks and looks at his console. His own heart rate is creeping up. “John? John, do you copy?”

Nothing.

He pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t stand sitting down all of a sudden. He tries to keep his voice steady as he watches the seconds tick by on the mission clock. “John, come in John.”

“Flight?” Smokey, the Blue Shift flight surgeon, looks first to Red, and then to Benny. All three of them are on their feet, forming a triangle that stretches across Mission Control as they stare at each other in alarm. The rest of the room is silent.

Smokey looks down at his console. “Major Egan’s vitals are all over the place. His suit pressure-”

Benny is suddenly aware of a very faint beeping noise coming in over Bucky’s coms. A suit alarm.

He’s very worried, just for a moment, that he might pass out.

–

From where he’s kneeling in the darkness of the ridge, Curt can hardly see anything. Since the moon has no atmosphere for sound to travel through, he also can’t hear anything other than the voices over coms. He scrambles to his feet the moment he hears Bucky yell “Fuck.” One word, but the tone in which it’s said is all too familiar to Curt, a fellow pilot. It’s a tone that’s, all at once, as horrified as it is resigned. The moment you know you’re going down and there’s essentially nothing you can do about it.

His flashlight beam barely goes far enough for him to make anything out for certain, but he can see glinting metal flashing through the darkness. Its pattern isn’t consistent enough to be the rover easing down the slope like it’s supposed to.

He squints, watching it for a few more seconds, before he says “Oh god.” The rover is tumbling end over end down the slope, and part of him can’t help but think how wrong it is that there’s no crashing sounds, no sound of metal banging and bending. It’s just quiet. Like a silent movie. Benny’s in his ear, trying to get John to respond, and Curt realizes that, wherever John is, he can’t respond. John’s not going to respond. And he knows he needs to tell Mission Control what he’s seeing, but there’s not enough room in his brain for that. All he can think is run.

So he fucking runs.

His boots slip and slide in the regolith as he takes awkward, bounding steps up the slope, too much effort for not enough gain. His suit is still stiff, keeping him from bending his joints enough to run, but he has to. He has to.

Smokey must note that his heart rate is spiking, because Benny’s saying “Curt, are you okay? You’re using too much oxygen.”

“I’m not concerned about my fuckin’ oxygen,” he growls. The slope is getting steeper, and he starts stumbling over his own feet after about 20 yards. The beam of his flashlight is shaking uncontrollably, but he can see the metal of the rover somewhere ahead, reflecting the light. It’s finally come to a stop, about 15 more yards away.

He hears Benny ask, “Curt, do you have visual?”

“Uh huh.” That’s all he gives them, trudging on even as the loose dust and rock under his feet falls away, making it near impossible to get anywhere. He’s practically running in place like a damn cartoon. He slips and goes down on his knees, catching himself with his hands. His flashlight tumbles away and he lunges to grab it before he gets himself lost in the darkness. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

He rips a piece of duct tape off the roll looped to his EVA suit and uses it to secure the flashlight to his shoulder. He adds a few more pieces over top, ensuring it’ll stay, and then he drags himself to his feet again. He’s breathing too hard. He knows with sudden clarity that if he doesn’t get himself under control, he won’t have enough oxygen to get back, just like Benny said. And if he can’t get back, he can’t save John.

He takes one more deep breath and then forces himself to calm down.

Benny is still saying John’s name.

When Curt finally makes it to the rover, though, he knows there isn’t going to be an answer. All there is is a quiet beeping noise buzzing around Curt’s brain like a fly.

The rover is on its side but, somehow, miraculously, still on, headlights shining into the shadowed unknown. That stupid left wheel is laying flat on the ground right beside it. All of the materials they’d packed, including the LDA payload and the repair kit, are scattered across the slope, and Bucky…

Bucky is lying on the ground, face up and half under the rover. When Curt gets to him, he drops to his knees and puts one hand on Bucky’s shoulder. With the other hand, he rips the duct taped flashlight off his suit and shines it on his commander’s face. “Bucky?” he whispers, even though he knows it’s useless.

Bucky’s eyes are closed, and Curt can’t tell if he’s breathing or not. He realizes that the quiet, incessant beeping he’s hearing over coms is an alarm from Bucky’s EVA suit. In the glow of the flashlight, he sees something dark glistening inside Bucky’s helmet, above and behind his head. After a second, he realizes that it’s blood, seeping through his com cap. It's smeared across his forehead, too, trailing down his temple.

For all the oxygen he was using before, Curt can barely breathe, now. “Benny?”

“Is he awake, Curt?”

Curt freezes, trying to sort through that question. Is he awake means he’s not dead. Houston still has his vitals. He’s not dead.

Curt swallows and clenches his jaw. “Benny, we have a big, big problem.”

–

Alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

For how much longer?

Benny is forced to remain calm, something he’s familiar with as a pilot. It’s just, usually, as a pilot, your crew members aren’t on another planetary body hundreds of thousands of miles away.

But he works through it anyway. Work the problem. Work the fucking problem.

He guides Curt through getting the rover righted, through pulling Bucky’s unconscious body away from the wreckage, through tracking down the repair kit, through reattaching the wheel. He’ll barely remember any of this by tomorrow. He barely remembers any of it now.

He looks at Red across the room as a horrible, urgent thought strikes him right in the chest. “We have to tell Gale before Red Shift comes in.”

Usually, when an astronaut gets hurt on the moon, they wait until the situation is under control to contact the family. It’s just, usually, when there’s an astronaut involved, the family members aren’t scheduled to come in for a Mission Control shift in two hours.

Red's eyes lock on him, and Benny sees them widen almost imperceptibly. He nods. They both know: it has to be Benny. There’s no other choice. Red turns to the nearest flight controller and grabs them by the arm. “Get Helen here. Now.”

–

It’s raining.

Fat, heavy drops pounding on the roof of the house in Nassau Bay. Pops of electricity flash through the sky, jumping from cloud to cloud, and the smell of damp Earth mixes with the salty air blowing in from the Gulf.

But none of these are what wake Gale Cleven.

It’s not even the dogs, with their wet noses and hopeful eyes and insistent whines. Instead, it’s a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. John?

No, not John. Can’t be John.

“Buck, wake up.” The voice is calm and low and yet… sad. There’s only two other people with a key to this house. One of them is Marge, and the other… shouldn’t be here either.

Gale opens his eyes and stares out the window into the eerie, rainy night. Slowly, he turns his head to squint at Benny in the dim light of his bedside lamp. “Benny? Why…? Am I-”

Why are you here? Am I late? Did I oversleep? That’s not like myself. It’s still dark outside.

These are all thoughts that don’t make it out of his mouth, stuck in the quicksand of his brain as he groggily turns his head and looks at the clock on the bedside table. It’s only 5am. He wasn’t even planning to get up until 5:30.

He stares blankly at the time for a few solid seconds, trying to understand, before his entire world comes to a screeching halt. If Benny’s here…

Benny would’ve told you if I wasn’t okay.

Gale’s heart starts pounding before he feels like it drops clear out of his chest, nausea rising to take its place. His lungs stop taking in air, and his hands scramble at the bedsheets as he tries to sit up straight.

No.

Benny’s hand slides off Gale’s shoulder in his panicked movement, and the disappearance of that warm, comforting touch is another shock to Gale’s system. He’s untethered. A feeling of loss swells through him as he looks up at his friend.

Benny is looking down at the floor, though, avoiding eye contact. He isn’t saying anything.

The room spins.

No.

When Benny looks up again, Gale is staring back at him with the widest, most horror-stricken eyes, sitting there, looking exhausted and confused and wrecked and frightened, gripping too hard at the fabric of the old Yankees sweatshirt that Benny knows doesn't smell like Bucky anymore. Benny’s own heart breaks into pieces. He wants to fall apart right there and then, but he can’t. It's his job not to. Instead, he sits there calmly on the edge of the bed, puts his hand back on Gale’s shoulder, and he realizes that there’s a faint trembling there.

He takes a deep breath as he looks Gale in the eye.

“No,” Gale whispers. He shakes his head. His breath starts coming back in slow and shallow spurts, like his body is trying to boycott oxygen until he knows that his other half is still breathing, too. “Is- Is he-”

Talk to you tomorrow, angel.

If we’re lucky the fag will die up there.

Praying the queer dies on the moon.

I love you.

If I had to die, the moon isn’t a bad place to do it.

Don’t count on it don’t count on it don’t count on it...

“He’s alive.”

Gale makes a terrible noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob, his heart and lungs going back to work in fast-forward as he bows his head, clutching it in his hands.

Benny swallows. “But it’s bad, Buck. It’s bad.”

…

Part 11

#clegan astronaut au #clegan #clegan fic #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #bucky egan #buck cleven #curt biddick

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vintageshanny · 7 months ago

Text

Waiting for Love - Part Ten

Is This It?

Content: April 1971-August 1972, smut, fluff, and angst (as promised).

Thank you to everyone who’s still reading this. 😘 This is more angst than I usually write, and I’d love to hear any thoughts or feedback! ❤️

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

April 1971

“So how long can I stay?” Vivien whispered as she played with the tendrils of chest hair escaping Elvis’ pajama top. She was delighted to find a few stray silver ones mixed in. It was like finding four-leaf clovers in a patch of shamrocks.

“Actually baby, I told ‘Cilla I’d fly out ta LA tonight so I can spend Easter with her, I-I-I mean with Lisa,” he corrected quickly.

“So is this it?” Vivien asked softly. “Is this how it will be forever? Just a day together here and there?”

Elvis sighed a little bit, trying not to let his exasperation show. “Baby, I’ve told ya, it ain’t gonna be like this much longer. I jus’ need ta get the timin’ right. Ever’thing’s more complicated when you’re in the public eye.”

“I know, I’m sorry I need you to keep reminding me.” Vivien laid her head on his chest, feeling the soft thud of his heartbeat echo through her eardrum, sending its sweet rhythm into her own body.

“Ya ain’t gotta be sorry, baby. I know it’s hard. Us havin’ ta be apart just means our love knows its own depths, remember?”

Vivien nodded at the familiar words and breathed in deeply, trying to inhale every molecule of his being so she could take him home with her.

*************************************************

January 1, 1972

Vivien was startled out of her sleep by a pounding at the door. What in the world? She glanced in the mirror as she headed toward the door. Her face was still streaked with dried tears, and vague memories of crying herself to sleep the night before came flooding back. Another year of being a kept woman, only seeing her love while his wife was away or for a few nights at a time during his Vegas residencies. Last year at this time, she’d felt so hopeful that things would change soon. Now it felt like she was trapped in this cycle of elation and torment forever.

“I’m coming!” she called out as the pounding grew more adamant. She knew it must be Roxanne, Elvis, or a drunken neighbor pounding on the wrong door. She flung open the door to find Elvis standing there, his own face a mixture of emotions. It almost looked like he’d been crying too, but he wasted no time in closing the door behind him, pinning her up against it, and sticking his tongue in her mouth, his hands wandering over her body through her thin cotton nightgown.

“Woah, Elvis, what’s going on?” Vivien gasped when he finally came up for air.

“It’s time, baby. You’ve been so patient, and it’s time,” he whispered into her ear, still holding her body tightly. “Priscilla said she wants a divorce. I knew she was almost there, and I needed it to be her idea so I’m not the bad guy.”

Vivien’s mouth hung open in shock at this news. “Oh, Elvis! Are, are you okay?” she asked as she tried to keep her excitement at bay, her first thought always for him.

“All I wanna do is be with you, Vivien. I’ve never loved or been loved like this before.” He locked the deadbolt and walked her back toward the bedroom, never once letting go of his grasp on her.

“We can really be together now? Me and you?” Vivien could feel the reality setting in as he pulled her nightgown over her head and laid her gently on the bed.

“Me and you, baby. Forever.”

Vivien propped her pillows up against the headboard and leaned back so she could get a full view of Elvis as he stripped off his clothes. Usually he was somewhat shy about undressing, but tonight he seemed so eager. She could see that he wasn’t fully erect yet, so she reached out to touch him as he climbed up on the bed and straddled her legs with his own muscular thighs.

“Oh God, Vivien,” Elvis moaned as she pumped her hand, his foreskin rolling gently with the movement. “I jus’ wanna make love to ya so badly, baby. Ya still been takin’ those pills, right?”

“Of course,” Vivien whispered as Elvis spread her legs open and lined himself up to enter her.

“Baby, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this moment for so long. Ya officially belong ta me now, okay?” Elvis thrust gently up inside of her, her tight little hole inviting him in, coating him with arousal, stretching around him.

“Elvis, I’ve always belonged to you,” Vivien responded breathily, trying to savor every moment of this feeling. The way he filled her so completely, her body and soul craved his presence inside of her. “I need you,” she moaned.

“I-I-I need ya too baby,” Elvis stuttered out as he began to pulse inside of her, thrusting harder. As he made sure she was taken care of, a single tear rolled down his cheek and plopped onto Vivien’s shoulder. She smiled up at him lovingly and brushed the wetness from his cheek with her fingers.

“I love you so much.” She wished she could stay wrapped in the warmth of this lovemaking forever, all the conflicted emotions of a dying relationship left safely on the other side of the door.

*************************************************

August 1972

“So you’re really going on another tour without me?” Vivien tried to hide the hurt and pain in her voice.

“C’mon now honey, ya know I like ta have ya waitin’ for me when I get home. It gives me somethin’ ta look forward to.” Elvis grabbed her hand and stroked it softly in an attempt to reassure her. “Plus it’s not really a tour, it’s jus’ another boring residency in Vegas.”

Vivien bit down on her tongue, trying to will the tears away that she could feel springing to her eyes. “And who do you have waiting for you out on the road?” The acidity in her voice surprised even her, and she could see immediately from the stony look in Elvis’ eyes that she had crossed the line with this bold accusation.

“Hmm.” Elvis made a strained grunting noise in his throat as he dropped her hand and rose to leave the room.

“Elvis, wait, I-” Vivien tried to apologize but faltered when she could find no sincere words to say she was sorry for asking what felt like a perfectly valid question at this point.

“I ain’t got time for this mess right now, Vivien.” His jaw clenched as he looked back at her, trying the best he could to control his temper. “We can talk about it when I get back home.”

As he walked out the door, Vivien felt the hot tears start to slide down her cheeks.

*************************************************

“Rox?” Vivien’s voice came out as a pathetic little whimper.

“Vivien? What’s wrong, honey? What happened?” Roxanne breathed anxiously into the pale yellow phone receiver.

“I just, I don’t think I can do this anymore. With him. It shouldn’t be this hard, right?”

“Oh, Viv, I’m so sorry. Relationships can be hard, though, and it’s not like yours has been smooth sailing from the beginning.”

“I know,” Vivien sniffled as the tears kept flowing down her cheeks. “But it was supposed to be easier once he left her. I thought I made it through the hard part. He was supposed to be mine now. But he never really will be all mine, will he?”

“Well, I think you fell in love with someone who sort of belongs to the world, y’know? But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you and need you and want you, Viv.” Roxanne kept her tone soothing, even as she tried to wrap her mind around how it must feel to constantly see other women throwing themselves at your boyfriend. She didn’t know if she could do it, either.

“Sometimes it feels like he doesn’t want me around. At first he wanted me with him every second, but then it’s like something changed. He did two short tours without me, and now he’s back in Vegas again. I wasn’t invited.” Vivien couldn’t stop the bitterness from creeping into her voice.

“That really stinks Viv, but he did just get separated not too long ago and he’s probably trying to figure out his feelings. Plus it’s not like Priscilla really went on tour with him, right?”

“Exactly! Because he didn’t like having her around,” Vivien retorted.

“I just mean-”

“Why are you defending him?” Vivien snapped. “Can’t you just be on my side? Or are you trying to get in his bed too?” Vivien gasped at the words that flew out of her own mouth.

“Woah, Vivien, that’s not it,” Roxanne tried to keep her tone steady, but an icy edge had crept in.

“I’m so sorry, Rox. I didn’t mean that, I know you would never do that. I just, he’s making me crazy.” Vivien’s voice trembled again.

“I can tell, Viv.” Roxanne softened her tone at the apology. “I was just trying to talk you down, but you know I’m always on your side. If you need a break from there, from him, you know you can always come stay with me. Even if it’s just to clear your head for a little bit.”

“Thanks, Rox. I might do that.” Vivien’s head felt a little clearer already just at the thought of a break from the once-again deserted Graceland.

*************************************************

“Elvis!”

Elvis turned his head at the familiar sound, wondering if he was just hearing things after an intense performance. He wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his paisley shirt as he looked around. There was no mistaking it a second time.

“Larry?” Elvis asked incredulously. “Larry! How’ve ya been?” He pulled his old friend into an embrace as if no time had passed.

“I’m good, man! I’ve missed our talks, though.”

“Me too,” Elvis said sheepishly, hanging his head slightly. “Y’know it wasn’t me, I-I-I mean I didn’t-”

“I know, man. I could see the evil forces at work,” Larry reassured.

Relieved, Elvis cleared his throat and jumped ahead to his usual mode of apology. “Hey, I got somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ ta give ya.” He led Larry through his suite and into the large master bedroom. After rummaging around in his jewelry case, he pulled out a large gold ring with a deep emerald stone. “Ah, I knew it was in here somewhere.” A big grin spread across his face as he pressed the gaudy ring into Larry’s palm. “The tranquility of the emerald made me think of ya.”

Larry nodded and accepted what he knew was a heartfelt apology. He didn’t really blame Elvis for icing him out five years ago; he knew it was the hold of the Colonel’s influence. Still, it was nice to know he’d been thought of.

“Speaking of tranquility, how have ya been, man? I hear you and Priscilla separated?”

Elvis ducked his head in a slight nod as his jaw tightened. “It was a long time comin,’” he muttered. “Although I’m sure ya know that better than most. Ya know she made me burn most of my spiritual books? I managed ta hide a few away, but it was a sad day, man, I’ll tell ya for sure.”

“Well, we can just rebuild your library,” Larry said calmly, although he was inwardly seething at Priscilla’s actions. In his mind, she’d always fought against Elvis’ growth. “It should feel like a weight off your shoulders for it to finally be over, right?” Larry studied Elvis’ expression as he asked the question. “It looks like you still feel conflicted, though.”

Elvis furrowed his brow in thought and twisted one of the heavy gold rings on his finger. “Nah, not conflicted ‘bout her really. I mean, I-I-I miss havin’ my family together, but we ain’t really been together in a long time. It’s jus’ that I , uh, I-I found out that she left me for some other guy, a-a-and it’s really messed up my head.”

“And what about you? Have you been seeing anyone special?” Larry tread carefully, knowing Elvis would not view his own affairs and Priscilla’s in the same light.

Elvis’ expression softened a bit as images of his Vivien sprang to mind - the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him, how she hung on his every word, the feel of her soft lips around his…” Elvis drifted back to the present moment to find Larry still waiting for an answer.

“Vivien,�� he whispered softly, as though her name alone might convey everything he was feeling.

“Vivien,” Larry repeated with a smile. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Uh, ‘bout two years,” Elvis admitted. “I-I-I knew in my heart that this thing with Priscilla, that it was jus’ a matter of time, y’know? And Vivien, she’s everything I’ve been lookin’ for, I really mean that, Larry. She’s beautiful, she’s warm and affectionate, she wants ta be a wife and mother. I fell in love right away when she had a copy of The Prophet with her at the movie theater.”

“That’s great, man! I’m happy for you.” Larry smiled and looked around the suite for signs of a woman staying there. “So where is she? I’d love to meet her.”

Elvis lowered his head and mumbled, “Uh, w-w-well, she’s at Graceland right now. I, uh, told her to jus’ wait for me there.” His jaw tightened again as he remembered their argument right before he left.

“Did she not want to come and be with you?” Larry asked in surprise, hoping this wasn’t just another fling that Elvis had built up in his mind.

“Naw, it’s not like that, she did wanna come, but I told her not to.” Elvis blushed a little bit as he continued. “I mean, I told ya man, this thing with ‘Cilla and this other guy, it’s got me all messed up. What if this happens again? I fall hard and then she decides I’m not, y’know, not enough for her? Or not what she wants? I can’t live up ta this image, ta these expectations all the time.”

Larry nodded in understanding, remembering a previous conversation they’d had where Elvis admitted his discomfort with being thought of as a sex symbol. Elvis might not admit it to the guys in so many words, but Larry knew he felt insecure at times. “Has she ever indicated she might be, um, disappointed in some way?” He didn’t want to push too hard after being back in Elvis’ life for all of five minutes, but he knew none of the other guys would say anything to actually help Elvis deal with his issues.

“No,” Elvis admitted. “She always jus’ tells me how amazing I am. I’ll tell ya, Larry, I’ve actually never felt so connected ta someone physically like this. When we’re, uh, bein’ intimate, it’s like a spiritual experience. She had never been with a man before. It was so beautiful when she gave herself ta me.”

“That doesn’t sound like someone who might feel disappointed and want another man,” Larry pointed out. He decided against adding on that four weeks alone would be more likely to make a woman seek another companion.

“Well, ya might be right about that, but I still didn’t know if it was right ta bring her. I worry about her bein’ able to deal with my life, seein’ the way these fans act around me, the way the guys can get on tour. I’ve been down this road before where a woman wants ta own me and gets real hurt when she doesn’t understand how I have ta live. We’ve already had a couple arguments cuz she don’t understand why I need all my medications.”

“I don’t know, Elvis,” Larry started out thoughtfully. “You’re saying this woman is different. Everything you’ve told me makes it seem like you two are really in love. Maybe you should give her more of a chance to show that she understands how crazy your life can get. And as for the medications, it sounds like she’s just worried about you. That’s not a bad thing to have someone care so much. It sounds like you’re letting your feelings about Priscilla sabotage a beautiful relationship with the right person.”

Elvis sat contemplating for a few minutes before responding. “Lawrence, I think you’re right. Vivien is completely different from ‘Cilla. I should be embracing how much we enjoy each other’s company. See, this is why I need ya back in my circle, man. Let’s talk about ya doin’ my hair again.”

*************************************************

Vivien heard a car pull up right as she was pulling her two suitcases down the steps to the foyer. She hoped the guard wouldn’t be in trouble for letting Roxanne in as she’d instructed.

“Vivien?”

Oh shoot. That was definitely not Roxanne’s voice.

“What’s all this? Where are ya goin’?” Elvis almost sounded more hurt than angry as he took in the suitcases and processed what was happening.

“You’re not supposed to be back for another week,” Vivien mumbled, as if this was somehow an answer to his question.

“I came back ta get ya. I missed ya so much, baby.” Elvis stepped toward her, but she quickly grabbed her bags when she heard another car pull up.

“Elvis, I just need a break. I can’t sit here for weeks at a time and wonder why you don’t want me around.”

She glanced at his face long enough to see his expression turn icy, although his eyes seemed to be brimming with tears. She quickly headed for the door, knowing he was about to explode with rage or tears. She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to stay and find out which.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer @arg-xoxo @i-r-i-n-a-a @returntopresley

#elvis #Elvis smut #elvis fan fic #elvis fan fiction #Elvis x oc #waiting for love

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martyrdeer · 21 days ago

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SANGLANTE IMMORTALITE

synopsis: wracked with cultural fears and personal dreads of the aging process, elara retreats from the world behind her lover, isolde. the two take comfort in one another, sharing tender dinner preparations and solemnly wordy discourses on the nature of beauty and immortality within their silent house. but buried beneath the apparent serenity is a dark reality: their search for eternal youth obtained by consuming the vital essence of others. while elara is battling the haunting whispers of society's expectations, isolde's mysterious charm and their shared rituals become at once a source of refuge and a chilling epiphany regarding the extent they will go to preserve their ageless beauty.

tags: my original characters!! themes of aging and societal beauty standards! cannibalism, implied violence, mentions of murder, body horror, & dark romance!!

word count is 1.2k!!

The smell of the comforting melancholy rainfall took residence in my bathroom. I opened my window ajar earlier because the weatherman on the radio predicted a storm. Now I'm sitting at my vanity staring into my pale complexion. I look rather sickly, my purple eyebags betraying me. I roughly drag my fingers against my cheek. They leave a faded red mark afterward. I started to get that unsettling feeling that the patriarchal society was right. That women start to become ripe at thirty. All of my precious dollars flushed down the drain along with the false promises of those nonsense anti-aging creams.

“Elara?” My darling, Isolde calls out to me. Her soothing voice snaps me out of the madness. My head turns to the side where the door is. My senses come back to me. I hear a muffled Nina Simone play on our record player. I glance back at my reflection before slipping back out to my kitchen. My silk robe fluttered behind me as I paced to the kitchen, Isolde doesn’t like to wait. Once I got into our kitchen, I smelled a new yet delectable scent. I beamed as I saw Isolde stirring something in the pot. I sneak up on her with a devious smile on my face. When I was up against her, I slipped my hand down her back.

I lean in to look down in the pot & I chuckle. Surprisingly I didn’t frighten her. Her stiffened back eased into my touch. I sniff again, taking into the smell. “What’s this one?” I whisper to her. I felt her lovingly glance as she lifted the spoon. She stayed silent as she held the spoon up to my mouth. I slid my hand under it, tasting it. “Les poumons de notre ami,” Isolde finally tells me. I smile as she says it, she’s always naming her crafts in French. “It's incredible,” I insist, my grin still plastered on my face. She nods as a thank you, “I thought it would be nice to have a friend for dinner.”

I huff while preparing the table, “You’re right. And I’ll always provide the ingredients. Anything for you, my dear.” I place our wine glasses next to our plates. My eyes seem to trail back to Isolde. She’s pouring the soup into the bowls cautiously. When she was done, I strolled back to assist her. Isolde hands me the bowl, I glance down at it while taking it to the table. The soup has Gruyère & bay leaf melted on its surface. If I wasn’t smiling enough, I was now. I place my bowl down as I sit. I look up at Isolde, patiently waiting for her.

When she sits, I am reminded of her immortal beauty. I recall that December night at my father’s work party. The first time I saw her across the room drinking her white wine and talking to a relative of mine. I never understood Sappho’s ramblings until I met Isolde. She was so breathtaking that it made me envious. I remember staring into her perpetual virtue, cursing myself for letting my looks slip away. I asked her how she stayed so fresh-faced, dying to let me in on her secret. The way the seasons change with her. How she had the universe under her control. I will never forget how she batted her eyes at me. Spoke softly in my ear with a gentle laugh, “If I told you, I would have to kill you.”

I came home the next day around noon. My day was shorter than usual, I struggled to walk without aching through the door. Some days I begin to feel my age. I was met with a silent welcome. Others would become worried if their partner didn’t come to them. But I’m not that codependent of Isolde. I can still feel her presence throughout the home. That’s what comforts my pain. I slip off my shrug as I stroll to my living room, I search for her. I find her resting on her wool chair peacefully reading. Like many times before I sneak up behind her and kiss her cheek. I mumble against her cheek, “Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh.”

Isolde’s eyes lit up as I spoke, she stared down at me as I sat next to her. “I feel I stand in a desert with my hands outstretched, and you are raining down upon me,” She quoted to me. My eyes scan her face while I smile sweetly at her. I feel like an idiotic fool when I stare at her. I want to devour myself into her beauty & soul. Isolde grazes my face with her hand, her touch is gentle. She brushes a strand of my hair out of my face and pushes it behind my face. My vulnerability starts to grow as her thumb hovers over my cheek. She whispers to me, “You have a cut.” I raised an eyebrow when Isolde’s thumbnail pressed into my cut. My voice is low because I am lost in her touch, “I didn't even notice.”

That night, Isolde was cooking dinner like clockwork. And I was doing my daily routine where I mindlessly gaze into my reflection. The leftover rain smell began to rust in my bathroom. My main focus is my cut, I fear that it might scar. Despite being the size of my nail, it was deep. Isolde promised me that if it did, she would kiss it every day for me. And she gave me a quote along with her oath. “Scars are the threads that weave beauty and bravery into our souls." I wonder where she got it from. After I was done with my insecurities, I went back to where Isolde led. I watch her as I rest my chin on my hand. I temporarily forget everything else in the world while watching her prepare the food. “And this one is called?” I politely pander, referring to the food. She beams up at me and says, “Coeur de ton ennemi.”

At dinner, we eat in solitude. A beguiling harmony plays in my head as I feel myself age backward while eating my meal. I take a sip of the white wine that tastes so rich & refreshing. I can taste Isolde’s endlessly laudable remedy in the meat. The constraint from a chauvinistic coterie that found its way into society’s consciousness was lifted off my shoulders. I start to smile as I take another sip of my wine, feeling celebratory. Isolde notices my happiness and she dittos my simper. “Why are you so happy?” She questions, a hint of curiosity in her voice. I sigh as I collect my words, “The explorers of the Fountain of Youth are so oblivious.” I see the confusion on Isolde’s face. I continue to explain, “They don’t know the real answer to immortality.” I place my wine glass down as she catches on. She nods with a chuckle, “Eternal youth comes from within. The flesh gracefully blurs. Somebody’s instrumental chamber of existence becomes our orchestra. In their grim slumber, we craft a melody of beauty. We absorb their souls & reservoirs. We battle against Father Time. And so far, it seems like we’re winning.” I see a smirk on her face before she sips her wine. I began to feel giddy as I opened my mouth again, “Dévoreurs d'existence."

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schrodingersdragon · 2 years ago

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For all closeted witches: I feel your pain, here’s my attempt to help you guys out

Whenever I first started practicing, I was kinda all over the place, just looking for anything I could do that would get the job done but be discrete enough. There are tons of good videos on ways to make secret altars and little ways here and there to do hidden spells, and those are good sources and good things to do, but here are some specific types of witchcraft you can do that don’t look like magic at all:

1.Art magic

Not only is it really easy to get away with as it is literally just making art with magic/ magical intent fused into it, but there are so many things that this covers. Any form of art is acceptable, so not just drawing, but sculpting as well, and things that fit under this umbrella are even music magic and knot magic. Knot magic is infusing your intent or spell into every knot or stitch and can include crochet, embroidery, macrame, hand sewing, knitting, and rope bracelets. Music magic is using music that you either play on your phone or on an instrument to cast your spell or cleanse your space. If you do use an instrument or even sing, write your spells in song form and say the words in your head. It doesn’t even have to be original- just take the melody of an existing song that you either really like or has something to do with your spell and rewrite the words to suit your needs.

2. Kitchen witchery and/or herbalism (/plant magic)

Literally just get into gardening and grow plants and flowers that you pick and use in spells. Or work with the spirits of what you plant. Or both. And if you wanna go further, get into cooking so you can plant herbs in your garden, and use them in kitchen witchery. And you don’t really even need an herb garden if you wanna just do kitchen magic, just use what you have and buy the dried versions of the herbs you need as you go on.

3. Energy witchcraft

You’ll also hear this called energy work, but it’s a form of witchcraft that’s entirely invisible. It is completely built upon the manipulation and usage of your own energy and the energies around you. I’m not the best at explaining things but look up “Ivy the Occultist” on YouTube and watch everything she has about energy manipulation and her video on how to cast a spell and you’re good to go so long as you regularly practice. If you can hide books and your purchases from your parents, I recommend a book called “Psychic Witch” by Mat Auryn. I haven’t been able to read it myself but I’ve heard good things from the witchy YouTubers I trust and it has a lot to do with mental magic

4. Tech magic

This ones kinda difficult to work with, as a lot of it feels more like things we can use as an add on or guide to our practice rather than actual means to cast spells or whatnot, but there are a few things I’ve been trying out or a little while. First, if you can’t have an obvious tarot app, find this app called #SelfCare. It brands itself as a mental mindfulness app, and a lot of it is, but theres also a tarot feature that allows you one card pull a day along with its reversal and tells you what it means. There’s also this flower that you spend like twenty seconds growing and then this other thing where you take clouds away from the moon, and both these features could work as an oracle of sorts. There’s even a candle where you can set intentions with a bay leaf. Charge the app the way you would a real life tool or charge each feature individually, and you’re good to go. I also use another candle app with different colors, and a wedding bouquet maker if I want to use just flowers in a spell. Got Minecraft or some similar alternative? Make your altar in there. Cast your spells in there. There’s a ton of plants and crystals to work with, and even bones. Hell, give the spiders eye a correspondent. Go feral. An alternative to that is setting up your spell in a collage in whatever way best suits you, and whenever you do the thing where you double click your phone button and swipe up to completely close the tab, make that symbolize you sending that spell to the universe or a god or goddess. Use the shit outta emoji spells and send them off the same way. You can even make a summoning circle your notes app, they just won’t be as powerful as irl ones (but only by a little).

5. Glamour magic

Last one I swear. Glamour magic is most commonly used to alter the way one is perceived by others. It’s used a lot by people who need to come off really well to others in their day to day lives, but some parts can be used as cleansing. I’m starting to lose stamina but just look up “The Witch of Wonderlust” and “Chaotic Witch Aunt”’s videos on it and you’ll be good to go.

Misc tips

I lied there’s a little bit more:

Cleanse and charge all your jewelry with whatever intent you desire. If you find you’re very sensitive to other peoples energies, consider making your favorite piece a protection charm.

Get really into crystals. Just say they look really pretty and want them as room decor or even get a bunch of jewelry with them. Even ones that are actually just plastic or glass will work so long as you’re sure to cleanse and charge it with intent

Light candles. There are tons of uses for candles, and I once again recommend researching this on your own

Make sigils and hide them in places you know no one will look or in pen barrels if you write to manifest

BATH/SHOWER MAGIC. I love it so much. And if you live in Louisiana near Lafayette, go to the farmers market by that strip mall that has Twins (the burger place) and the old bowling alley and a few other places and pick up some epsom salt it is homemade and DIVINE. You don’t even need that tho- just imagine all the spiritual gunk from the day washing off you or chant a cleansing mantra

If you can, make moon water or sun water but make sun water SAFELY

If your home is hella catholic, use that. Use the rosaries and those little things you pin on the sun blockers in your car and any religious things you may own to your own magical advantage. Use prayers as spells. Find “Chaotic Witch Aunt”s video on Christianity and witchcraft and it will all make sense but in short: you don’t have to reach out to any of the Christian entities, you can simply use the power those things have to your advantage.

That’s all I’ve got for now, but know that it won’t always be like this. Know that one day you won’t have to hide what you love anymore. You’re not alone, and you will get free one day

#witchbr #closeted witch #witches of tumblr #witches #witchcraft #art witch #music witch #kitchen witch #herbal witch #glamour magick #energy witch

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sabraeal · 1 year ago

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Just a Second Away from Being In Love (Or Alone)

[Read on AO3]

Written for @another-miracle, who asked for any Obi POV in Wide Florida Bay-- but hopefully an obiyuki one 🤣. It actually took me a while to circle in on which one to pick; there's a few that I had my eye on earlier in the timeline, but when it came to obiyuki bits...I knew it had to be this one, which starts off a small mini-arc in the established relationship part of this fic!

It takes him two hours and two pounds of eggplant, but after five minutes of this newest crisis of morale, Obi finally gives in: he going have to use his Phone A Friend for this one. Or at least someone friendly. Ish.

“Tell me this is gonna be worth it,” he huffs, contorted into nature’s worst pretzel shape; his newest attempt to locate anything that could pass for another pie plate in this place. No way Doc’s lived here for three years without putting at least five of the most grandma-worthy vessels for piping-hot fruit somewhere in the cabinets. “Tell me this is gonna be the best thing I’ve put in my mouth my whole life. A fucking paradigm shift when it comes to food.”

“It’s eggplant parmesan. You’re gonna wish it was chicken.” Kelly Ann clucks her tongue, and god, she can be a thousand miles away, but he knows she’s got a knee balanced up on her desk, head tipped back because her eyes can’t roll far enough. “But you just spend half an afternoon drying the most finicky vegetable known to man, so you can’t turn back now. You’re committed.”

That’s the sort of talk that would have given him a life-threatening case of the hives years ago, limping around Atlanta’s unforgiving streets looking for an Urgent Care more quickly than taking a jab to the gut. But now he just asks, “But she’ll like it though, right?”

Kelly Ann sighs, already sick of him. “Yes. The poor innocent you’ve tricked into thinking you’re boyfriend material will think it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten. Even Cal’s officer buddies eat it, and they’re more picky than the four-year-old.”

“I dunno,” he hums, hand-pulverized breadcrumb scattering over sea foam ceramic. “She cooks really good. Have I told you about the Cornish hens? They—”

“I have heard all about the Cornish hens. I am sick of hearing about the Cornish hens.” Obi’s mouth twitches. Gotta be hard for her, having to share the pedestal for Gayle’s Favorite Child. At least with someone who isn’t her own kid. “What kind of guarantees are you look for here? That it’s going to get you laid? It will definitely get you laid.”

“Kelly Ann.” If his hands weren’t covered in egg, he’d be pressing one to his chest, scandalized. “I wasn’t— I’m not doing this for sex.”

She snorts. Which, frankly, he’s earned. But he’s turned over a new leaf. Become a new, better man. One who knows that the most important part of a relationship isn’t what happens between the sheets.

But it certainly helps hedge your bets, especially when you’re as much of a fuck up as he is. Hell, if sex was an option, he wouldn’t be here, debating which hand he’d used for the wet ingredients and which was for the dry. Oh no, he would have been far too busy making her see shrimp colors to worry about whether eggplants stayed crispier fried or baked. But since he’d had fallen for her absolutely genius— though, as Yuzuri warned, biologically inadvisable— beach-dinner-sex seduction strategy, Doc’s on the bench for the next quarter, sexy-time wise, and he’s—

Well, he’s got to show her he’s got talents out of the bedroom too. Or, er, off the couch. And shower. Sometimes even—

Ah, well, non-flat surface based talents. Cooking’s supposed to be one of them.

At least, it would be, if his eggplant slices weren’t eating floor. “How are you supposed to even get these slippery bastards over to the tray? They just keep— fuck.”

“Just go slow,” Kelly Ann informs him with an aggravating amount of patience. “It’s not a race.”

“I am going slow,” he snaps, gingerly transferring his next slice to the rack. “There is no possible way I could be going slower. I’m going to be here for days just doing this. Years from now, archaeologists will find my body and wonder why I’m only halfway through—”

“If there was an Olympic event for complaining, you’d take gold five years running.” She can tease him as much as she like, but there’s no bite to it anymore, no sharp teeth waiting to take a nibble. No, he’s pretty sure that the stretch on her vowels means she’s smirking; the closest thing to a smile when she’s aimed in his direction. “Maybe you should be doing this for sex, it sounds like you might need—”

“You keep this up and I’ll ask Gayle when you’re thinking you’ll have round two.” His mouth is all teeth as he adds, “After all, Laila would make such a cute big sister.”

He can’t see her, but he can hear her seething on the other end of the line. “I know where you live.”

“It’s a fourteen hour drive at best and I’ve got Mom on speed dial.”

Her scowl radiates from the speaker. “Fine,” she grits out. “Guess I’ll just have to tell her we’re waiting until number two could have a playmate.”

Obi blinks down at her picture. “Huh, Toddy’s found some girl? That’s fast. He was single at—”

“I’m not talking about Toddy.”

There’s enough silence in the kitchen to make his ears ring. “…What?”

“Oh, come on, Obi,” Kelly Ann sighs, as if he’s the one being obtuse. “The only people you two were fooling at Christmas were yourselves. And now you’re spending a whole day pampering eggplant to impress her?”

“I had a day off,” he murmurs, knees suddenly as solid as his egg dredge. “And I don’t think battering and frying count as a spa day.”

Kelly Ann grunt, unconvinced. “Sure, sure, we can sit here and have you deflect all day. But when it comes down to it…you’re serious about her aren’t you?”

As a heart attack. Which would be fine, if they weren’t barely two months in to the longest relationship of his life. “I think it’s a little soon to say that, uh…”

“That you love her?” His heart beats so loud in his ears he can hardly hear her ask, “You do, don’t you? Love her?”

“Yeah.” It’s a miracle he can even speak with his mouth this dry. “Of course I do.”

“Have you said that? With your Big Boy words?”

He has to press his hands against the counter to keep them from shaking. A strategy that would go better if both of them weren’t covered in egg gunk.

“Ah, gotta go,” he gasps, already reaching for a towel. “Making a real mess of all this.”

“Obi—”

The first finger clean shoots out, cutting off the call.

“There,” he sighs. “That’s enough of that existential crisis.”

The eggplant’s fresh out of the oven and sauce just off the heat when the door opens with a shush, his own personal problem stumbling out into the living room, trying to toe her sandals into the tray. If he weren’t elbow deep with this casserole dish, he’d saunter out to appreciate her attempts; there’s a lot on TV nowadays, but none of it can compete with Doc nearly giving herself a concussion trying to unlatch one of those little buckles. TLC used to say you learned something new every day, and listening to her grumble approach swears without ever intersecting, Obi agrees.

“Oh, really.” Most people might be happy just to hurl abuse at inanimate objects, but not Doc. Oh no, she’s got to reason with them. “This sort of…of…tomfoolery is very…rude. I think you should just…stop…if you would…”

He waits until the first tell-tale clatter and clunk, to call out, “Welcome home.”

“Obi!” she yelps, and oh, he might not be able to see it, but he knows that shocked look: mouth as round as her eyes, skin flushed down to where it meets the swoop of her collar. Extremely kissable, is what he’s saying. “You’re here?”

A tap of the sauce spool sends a chunk of it skittering across the stove, but he grins anyway. “Am I not supposed to be? Did you have plans? Maybe even naughty—?”

“No!” It’s more of a croak than a gasp. “No, I mean…you’re supposed to be here. I’m happy your here. You” —her voice drops, soft, like her pillows— “belong here.”

He thought he’d known all the ways a heart could ache these past few years, but when she talks like that, ah, he’d never thought it could feel this good. Or this terrifying. “You’re not denying the naughty plans thing.”

And she still doesn’t, going so quiet a guy might get suspicious, if he didn’t know— keenly— that she was still in the shop. Taking her nice places and making delicious, boyfriend-worthy dinners has been great; a bigger rush than sex in a bathroom stall. But still, when most of their nights involve staying in, settling into the couch the way they always did, just with the new, heady knowledge that they both are wanting the same things…

Well, there’s been a few inadvisable make out sessions. Exciting ones, the kind that involve hands going under shirts and down pants and wearing hoodies in eighty degree weather the next day. But every time they wandered beneath her shorts— or, more than a few personally exhilarating times, skirts— the mood swerved off the rails, ending things before they— or well, she could get anywhere. After a three-year dry spell, Obi thought a few weeks would be a breeze, a quick breather between rounds, but after a month of having her moan his name at just the simplest touch—

It’s a special kind of torture, he thinks as the other shoe drops. Especially when Doc’s never been one to behave.

“You are home early.” Doc doesn’t often get the jump on him— in shitty childhood vs playful girlfriend, there’s a clear winner every time— but this time, when her sweet voice pipes up from his elbow rather than the galley window, he does. “And cooking dinner?”

“Yeah, I, ah…” She’s always been a curious little squirrel, skittering hither and yon, but when she leans around him to catch a peek of his hard work, her breasts brush against his arm, and, well— like he said. It’s been a long time. “Haah…just needed to let some data compile for a diagram. Thought it might do better on my laptop on our internet.”

He should be playing Tetris with these eggplant pieces right now, but Doc doesn’t make it easy, not with the way she tucks herself against him, her front pressed to his side, a burning line from shoulder to hip. “Are those eggplant?”

One small hand traces a path across his belly, just below his navel, and— and Obi can read a room. Really he can. It’s just not possible that she’s putting down what he’s picking up. “Y-yeah.” He clears his throat, willing it back into an actual, grown adult’s register. “I, uh, got the recipe from Kelly Ann. She…”

Her wrist twists, just enough to dip the tip of her finger beneath his waistband, and oh god, okay, he can’t take it. “Can we talk?” he asks, desperate, one hand gripped around her wrist. “Just for a second here. Because I…I need some clarification, I think.”

Doc flusters, every visible inch of her skin red as she tries to slip from his grasp. Which is absolutely not happening, not if she’s barking up the tree he thinks she is. “S-sorry! I just…I thought…”

One tug sends her careening back into him, every inch of her pressed against every inch of him. Or well, most of them. He's got ten or so that don't quite match up “I’m not complaining about the thinking here. I’m confused about the doing, because I thought we weren’t supposed to, er…”

Do the doing isn’t really where he wants to take this sentence. “I thought,” he starts again, a shade more collected, “that you were in the shop.”

“No.” Her cheeks flush so pink he’s half tempted to bite them, just to see what she’d taste like against his tongue. “I-I mean, I was. But I went to my doctor today, and um…?”

Every muscle in his body stiffens, tense like a cat ready to pounce. “And…?”

Doc might be bold enough to throw herself out windows and into swamps full of at least three of his most deadly fears, but at the twitch of his dick against her hip, her eyes skitter back toward the counter. “A-are you at a good place to stop?”

The eggplant’s going to get floppy in the sauce, and none of it will be as good as it would be if he finished getting this in the oven now, but he can hardly care, not when she lets out a delicious little gasp as she bumps into the counter.

“What exactly did the doc clear you for?” he rumbles, leaning in to give her parted lips the barest brush. “This?”

Her fingers clench at his shoulders, as frustrated as the moan that slips from her throat. “Obi…”

There’s a warning in that, a promise for what will wait for him if he keeps up his teasing, and it only makes his next taste all the sweeter.

“This?” It’s a whisper against her lips, one lost when she swallows it whole. Those fingers yank him down, trapping him in this endless drag of lips and tongue, each one teasing out another moan, another shiver, until he’s nearly drunk from it.

One of his palms scrapes up her side; the silky material of her dress catches on his calluses before he dips beneath it, her nipple already pebbled against his palm. “This?”

His mouth drops to catch it, and oh, if he thought she’d been close before, there’s nothing but cloth between them now, her body arched to fill the curve of his. “Obi!”

She’s trembling in his grip, only the arm at her back keeping her upright, and oh, it’s nothing to trace his fingers up her thigh, to trace the edge of her panties. “This?”

His only answer is a whimper and the bite of nails at his shoulder. It’s enough; he shoves them to the side, the small hairs there tickling his palms. And when the tip of his finger slips between her folds—

“Jesus. Fuck.” His forehead rests against her shoulder. “You’re…?”

Wet. Soaked. His mouth is too dry to get out the words. He doesn’t need to, not when she nods, wiggling against his hand. “Uh-huh.”

“Hah.” He licks his lips, hoping she can’t feel how he trembles now, every part of him drawn as tight as a bowstring. “How about this?”

His fingers dip inside, two sinking straight to the last knuckle. God, he nearly cums right there, from the noise she makes. “Is this what the doc cleared you for, Shirayuki?”

She whines, a pathetic, frustrated sound. One he’d be happy to tease out of her again, if she didn’t reach down and pump his fingers into her again, like he might need the help.

“Haah,” he breathes, hard. “Yeah, I think I can help with that.”

By the way she’s moving, it won’t be enough. Not nearly enough for either of them, not with his cock straining his jeans, soaking them where it’s trapped up against the band. He grinds against her hip, trying to get some relief, pulling her even tighter against him as his fingers work, and—

“Obi,” she gasps, pushing his shoulders away. “We eat on these counters.”

He’d argue that, if they weren’t already sharing space with dinner. Instead he leans in, giving her one, long kiss as he drags his fingers out of her. “Your room or mine?”

“Whichever,” she sighs, hopping up into his arms, “is closer.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #lime #my fic #modern AU #college AU #ans #set just after Something Real (the beach date)#I had a whole very smutty part planned for the very end here but instead there is just a teaser for it #because this first scene got LONG and then I wanted Shirayuki to dither a bit #wrap around his legs like a cat in heat while he wondered whether he was getting a green light or was just colorblind #so just a little taste!#next time i have an opportunity to get to this mini arc there will definitely be smut #the plot bearing kind #🤣

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zestyhu · 4 months ago

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Exploring Sage and Oregano: Uses, Substitutes, and Benefits

Sage and oregano are two well-known herbs in the culinary world, each offering distinct flavors and health benefits. While sage is often used in savory dishes like stuffing and meats, oregano is a staple in Mediterranean cuisine and boasts medicinal properties. This article will explore both herbs, their substitutes, and answer common questions about their uses.

Sage: Flavor and Substitutes

Sage is a fragrant herb with soft, gray-green leaves and a strong, earthy flavor that pairs well with poultry, pork, and various root vegetables. It’s commonly used in holiday stuffing, sausages, and rich meats due to its ability to cut through heavy flavors.

However, if you don’t have sage on hand, you might wonder, what can you substitute for sage? Several herbs similar to sage can provide a comparable taste. Thyme, marjoram, and rosemary are excellent alternatives, each offering a slightly different twist but still blending well in recipes that call for sage.

If you're looking for a substitute for sage, one of the most common choices is thyme. It has a mild flavor that mimics sage’s earthiness without being overpowering. Another herb to replace sage is marjoram, which has a delicate, sweet flavor, making it an excellent option in more subtle dishes. Rosemary, with its piney aroma, can also be a good stand-in when you need a bolder flavor. This answers the question, what is a substitute for sage spice, whether you’re preparing meats, vegetables, or sauces.

When comparing bay leaf vs sage, the two herbs have very different profiles. Bay leaf offers a more subtle, slightly bitter flavor and is used to infuse stews, soups, and sauces. It doesn’t provide the earthy, intense taste that sage does, but bay leaves can complement many dishes when sage isn’t available. For slow-cooked recipes, the two can be used together, with bay leaf providing a background note and sage contributing a more pronounced flavor.

Oregano: A Versatile Herb with Medicinal Benefits

Oregano is another staple in the kitchen, especially in Italian, Greek, and Mexican cuisine. Its robust, slightly bitter taste works well in tomato-based dishes, meats, and pizzas. Besides its culinary uses, oregano is also known for its health benefits, particularly in the form of oil of oregano.

Oil of oregano has gained popularity for its potential health benefits, particularly for its antimicrobial and antifungal properties. Some research even suggests that oil of oregano can be useful in oral health, specifically in preventing cavities. The oil contains compounds like carvacrol and thymol, which may help reduce bacteria in the mouth, preventing tooth decay and gum disease. While it’s not a replacement for regular dental care, oregano oil can be an excellent natural supplement to maintain oral hygiene.

If you’re out of oregano or can’t find it, there are several options for an oregano substitute. Marjoram is a close cousin to oregano and is slightly sweeter but works well in most recipes that call for oregano. Thyme is another good alternative, offering a similar flavor profile, though it’s more subtle. If you need a stronger flavor, basil can be used as an oregano substitute in Italian dishes, providing a more fragrant, peppery taste.

Sage and Oregano in Your Kitchen

Both sage and oregano are versatile herbs that can elevate a wide variety of dishes. While they each bring something unique to the table, knowing how to substitute them can be incredibly helpful in a pinch.

Sage’s earthy flavor is irreplaceable in some dishes, but with thyme, marjoram, and rosemary, you can achieve a similar effect. For those interested in the health benefits of herbs, the antimicrobial properties of oil of oregano may offer surprising benefits, particularly in maintaining oral health and preventing cavities.

Meanwhile, oregano is a key player in many Mediterranean and Latin American recipes. If you're missing oregano, marjoram, thyme, or even basil can step in to provide a comparable flavor.

By understanding these herbs and their substitutes, you can experiment with flavors and enjoy their health benefits while ensuring your dishes always taste amazing. Check out the antimicrobial effectiveness of sage and oregano oils in this National Institute of Health article.

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homeimprovement31311 · 11 months ago

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SMART HOME Yellow Leaves On Tomato Plants

Whether you’re an experienced green thumb or just starting out, seeing those vibrant green leaves fade to a sickly yellow can be disheartening. But fear not! In this blog post, we’ll explore the various causes of yellowing leaves on tomato plants and provide you with practical tips and solutions to bring your beloved tomatoes back to their healthy, verdant state.

For more: SMART HOME Yellow Leaves On Tomato Plants

Causes of Yellow Leaves on Tomato Plants

One of the main culprits behind yellow leaves on tomato plants is nutrient deficiencies. Tomatoes require a balanced diet to thrive, and when they don’t receive adequate amounts of essential nutrients like nitrogen, potassium, or magnesium, their leaves may start turning yellow. Ensuring that your plants are receiving proper nutrition through regular fertilization can help prevent these deficiencies.

Environmental factors can also contribute to yellowing leaves. Excessive heat or cold stress, as well as fluctuations in temperature and humidity levels, can cause leaf discoloration. Insufficient sunlight or too much shade can also impact the health of your tomato plants. It’s important to provide them with an optimal growing environment by placing them in a sunny spot and protecting them from extreme weather conditions.

Pests and diseases are another common source of trouble for tomato plants. Insects like aphids, whiteflies, or spider mites can infest your plants and damage their leaves, leading to yellowing and wilting. Fungal infections such as early blight or powdery mildew can also affect the foliage. Regular inspection and prompt treatment using organic pest control methods will help keep these issues at bay.

Prevention is always better than cure when it comes to maintaining healthy tomato plants. To prevent nutrient deficiencies, make sure you use a balanced fertilizer specifically formulated for tomatoes. Test your soil regularly to determine any deficiencies beforehand and adjust accordingly.

Proper watering practices are crucial too – overwatering or underwatering can stress out your plants and result in yellow leaves. Water deeply but infrequently while ensuring good drainage.

When you notice yellowed leaves on your tomato plant, it’s important not to panic! Removing some lower leaves occasionally is normal as part of the plant’s natural growth process; however, excessive leaf loss could indicate an underlying problem that requires attention.

By identifying the causes behind those pesky yellow leaves on your tomato plants promptly and taking appropriate action through preventative measures such as proper nutrition, environmental control, and pest management, you can enjoy a b

Nutrient Deficiencies

Nutrient deficiencies can be a common cause of yellow leaves on tomato plants. These plants require a balanced supply of essential nutrients to thrive and produce healthy foliage. When certain nutrients are lacking, it can affect the plant’s ability to carry out important biological processes, leading to symptoms like yellowing leaves.

One nutrient deficiency that often causes yellow leaves is nitrogen deficiency. Nitrogen is an essential component of chlorophyll, the green pigment responsible for photosynthesis. Without enough nitrogen, the leaves may appear pale or yellowish-green.

Another common nutrient deficiency in tomatoes is iron deficiency. Iron plays a crucial role in the production of chlorophyll and other enzymes involved in energy metabolism. When iron levels are insufficient, new leaves may develop interveinal chlorosis – a condition where the veins remain green while the rest of the leaf turns yellow.

Magnesium deficiency can also result in yellowing leaves on tomato plants. Magnesium is necessary for chlorophyll synthesis and helps facilitate various enzymatic reactions within the plant. A lack of magnesium can lead to overall leaf discoloration and stunted growth.

To address nutrient deficiencies in tomato plants, it’s important to provide them with a well-balanced fertilizer that contains all essential nutrients. Soil testing can help determine which specific nutrients are lacking and guide appropriate amendments.

Incorporating organic matter into the soil can also improve its fertility over time by enhancing nutrient availability and promoting beneficial microbial activity. Additionally, regular watering practices should be maintained to prevent excessive leaching of nutrients from the soil.

Remember that prevention is key when it comes to nutrient deficiencies in tomato plants! Providing adequate nutrition from seedling stage through maturity will help ensure vigorous growth and minimize issues related to imbalances or deficiencies.

Environmental Factors

The health and vitality of tomato plants can be greatly influenced by various environmental factors. One common cause of yellow leaves is excessive heat or sun exposure. When tomato plants are exposed to intense sunlight for prolonged periods, it can lead to leaf burn and discoloration.

Another environmental factor that can contribute to yellowing leaves is improper watering. Overwatering or underwatering can stress the plant, leading to nutrient deficiencies and yellow foliage. It’s important to find a balance and provide consistent moisture without overdoing it.

Additionally, poor soil quality or lack of nutrients in the soil can result in yellow leaves on tomato plants. Soil pH levels that are too high or too low may prevent proper nutrient absorption by the roots, causing deficiency symptoms like yellowing leaves.

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javi-reno · 2 years ago

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JR: Javi sat outside his quarters rocking himself, banging his back against the wall, counting under his breath. He knew the ESR had gone to find either Lilly or Joe even though he has said not to. It was his Job after all. He had made the mistake of returning to his quarters to See what needed to be done to make them habitual again and has instantly gotten overwhelmed. Everything was damaged by cold and smelled a bit like a cold graveyard. He had backed out quickly but knew it was to late to prevent the overload which was coming

LB: Lily heard the beeping from the ESR, and got up to follow them back to wherever Javi was at the time. She found him outside his quarters, and immediately sat next to him on the floor. She looked at Javi, and projected calm vibes. “Are you alright? I know it’s a massive clean up, and we’ll get through it. You’re also welcome to stay in our quarters until it’s been sorted.”

JR: Javi just let out a whine from between his teeth, slapping his hand on his thighs as he rocked. Part of his mind reminded him that Lily hadn’t see him have a meltdown before and wouldn’t know what was going on. That she didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to talk

LB: She truly didn’t know what was happening, nor did she know how to help. While still projecting calm, she looked at the ESR for guidance.

JR: the ESR bleeped at her before nudging at Javi’s bag. Inside was Javi’s padd, a sketch boot and a small drawstring bag. It bleeped again and showed a computer emoji

LB: She nodded and reached for Javi’s bag, bringing out the pad and other items; setting them next to Javi.

JR: the ESR beeped and the Pad screen lit up. A folder called autism was on the screen, partially filled with colourful slides. It looked like Javi had been making it for lily

LB: Lily sat silently and read through the slides on Javi’s pad, reading slowly and being silent. She knew he must have seen his quarters and it was overwhelming. Turning to Javi, she asked, “Would you like to go to the cultivation bay?…” She continued to project calm, as she had done when he was in med bay.

JR: Javi looked at her, unable to make any decisions, words just going straight over his head. The lights in the corridor were too bright and he could here them humming. He could here the whole ship humming

LB: She spoke softly, “Computer, dim the lights and muffle the sound.” Immediately she noticed the lights dim and the ship sounded a bit quieter. There had been no judgement that he didn’t answer her, and she sat next to him silently.

JR: Javi wanted pressure and to curl up but the corridor wasn’t the place for it, but words still weren’t possible and he couldn’t work out how to communicate with Lilly. He rocked harder into the wall

LB: She looked at Javi again and spoke softly, “Would you like a hug?” She remembered what she had read, and thought it a good question to ask.

JR: Javi leaned into her instead of answering, clicking with his tongue

LB: She wrapped her arms around him and held him, still projecting calm.

JR: Javi takes her hands and try’s to pull her arms tighter round him. When in this state, the firmer the pressure the better, to light of a touch would send him into an even bigger spiral

LB: She followed his lead and hugged him as tightly as she could, while hopefully not restricting his ability to breathe.

JR: Javi’s hands were shaking like a leaf, another side effect of a meltdown. He spotted his padd and grabbed at it frantically being up a program. Tapping it, it started to speak- “Need quiet, pressure, soft.”

LB: She noticed his hands shaking and she listened to the program on the pad as it played. She remained where she was, silent and hugged Javi tightly.

JR: -Javi tapped again- “people will come. They will see. Need to hide.”

LB: She listened and spoke softly again, “Computer, open the doors to my quarters.” The doors opened, and she waited without making any sudden movements.

JR: -Javi flinched at the sudden noise of the doors, slamming his hands over his ears-

LB: She remained silent and sat there hugging Javi.

JR: -the pad spoke again ‘cuddle pile somewhere softer? Yours?’

LB: She nodded, “Yes, my quarters are open.” She made no sudden movement and answered the questions the pad had spoken.

JR: ‘Help. Legs not co-operating’ -Javi bit his own hand letting out a loud whine in annoyance-

LB: She gently tried to help Javi to stand, though she didn’t want to interfere with his ability to decide for himself what he wanted to do.

JR: -Javi tried to help, his legs shaking as much as his hands. He wanted to get somewhere safe he could curl up warm, everything was screaming at him to get into lilys quaters, that it’s safe in there, but his body wasn’t co-operating-

LB: She slowly attempts to stand while trying to help Javi stand as well.

JR: -Javi is up right but unsure about how to get any further-

LB: She smiled at Javi, and began to walk slowly one step at a time toward her now open quarters.

JR: -Javi closes his eyes, clicking his tongue, letting lily lead. It was easier to balance if he muted one of his other senses/

LB: She walked slowly, one step at a time until they reached the sofa in her quarters. The living room was dimly lit, the stars shining outside in space. Her two cats had been having a nap in a hammock attached to the window. Her pillows and mushroom duvet were on the sofa, as well as a mushroom stuffie. She sat down slowly, hugging Javi tightly when they did. Hopefully ESR had followed and didn’t remain in the hallway, her focus was on Javi.

JR: -Javi moved himself so he was curled round lily, his head in her lap, face hidden in her stomach. He would move if she wanted him to and held himself stiffly waiting for her approval-

LB: She reached for the blanket and wrapped it around Javi, gently rubbing his back. The cats continued their nap, not making a sound.

JR: -Javi let tears fall as whining started in his throat. He let himself fall apart properly knowing he was safe-

LB: She kept holding Javi, gently rubbing his back and singing an old Gallifreyan lullaby that she used to sing to her children.

JR: -it seemed to take forever for the wave of overwhelming feeling to past and for Javi to stop crying. His head was pounding and everything was still to much but he felt slightly more in control-

LB: She remained sat where she was, making no attempt to get up though she wanted to offer Javi some tea.

JR: -Javi looked up at lily, his face white and tremors occasionally running through his body- “Hi” -he wasn’t fully verbal yet but one word answers he could do-

LB: She smiled, continuing to gently rub his back and kept the blanket wrapped around him. “Hello.” Thinking about the tea again, she decided to ask. “Would you like some tea? It can wait if you’re not ready.”

JR: -Javi thought for a moment- “Jasmine” -his go to post meltdown tea-

LB: Looking at Javi she spoke softly, “I’m going to get up to get the tea, and I’ll be right back.” She still made no sudden movement, waiting a moment before trying to stand and leave the sofa.

JR: -Javi still flinched at the loss of contact but nodded. He hadn’t had a meltdown like this for sometime-

LB: She hugged him before she left to walk to the replicator, bringing back two mugs of tea and handing him his before she sat down next to him again.

JR: -Javi’s hands shock round the cup and he looked at lily quickly- “help”

LB: She nodded, her mug already set aside on the end table. Gently she held his hands while he held the cup.

JR: -he looks from the cup to lily- “sorry” -he swollows hard- “useless” -he half wants to run and hide in a Jeffers tube but knows his legs won’t let him-

LB: She looked at Javi, “It’s alright, and you are not useless.” She wasn’t sure if was an aftershock of what happened nor why he thought that of himself when he had thought ahead and provided her instructions to help him.

JR: -Javi could feel himself spiralling. He couldn’t hold a cup or speak more then one word at a time. He was making his friend baby him when she should@be spending time with Joe-

LB: She felt her hearts breaking, and tried to be what Javi needed at that time. She continued to help hold the cup, holding his hands. Joe was on the bridge, she knew everything would be alright.

JR: -Javi knew drinking straight out the cup wasn’t going to work. The ESR carried silicon drink straws but he was currently MIA. He looked at lily- “straw?”

LB: She nodded and would stand up in a moment. “I do keep some in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.” Looking around she noticed the ESR wasn’t in the room with them.

This was concerning, because it was usually close.

JR: -Javi pressed the pendent round his neck. It was a call button for the ESR. It wasn’t responding. He flapped his hands waiting for lily to return-

LB: She quickly walked to the kitchen and retrieved a straw, placing it in Javi’s cup for him. The ESR not being there also had her alarmed, and she looked at Javi. “I’m going to check the corridor for ESR.” Again she waited before getting up again.

JR: -Javi again clicked the button. If ESR was within 250 meters he would have responded-

LB: She stood and walked to the doors of her quarters, looking around. The last place she had seen ESR and she was concerned because it hadn’t responded to Javi’s call.

JR: -Javi could feel himself starting to panic but tried not to let it rise. Maybe the ESR had thought they needed extra support and gone looking for joe.-

“Joe?”

LB: She tapped her communication badge, @Joseph_Bede “Have you seen ESR recently?” While waiting for him to reply she held her breath.

JR: -Javi wrapped the blanket more tightly round himself and laid curled into a ball on the sofa, still seeking pressure-

LB: She returned to the sofa, sitting on the floor and hugging Javi.

JR: -Javi moves himself enough so his head is off the sofa and resting on lilys shoulder-

LB: She gently rubbed his arm, beginning to sing softly to him like she did earlier.

JB: While he had been on the bridge he heard a beeping, and turned to have a look. Knowing this was important he stood up to leave the bridge. He would use the teleporter, first checking the cultivation bay before checking their quarters.

JR: -Javi closed his eyes, abstantly biting at his thumb, his body still shaking randomly, half dozing-

LB: She continued to hug him and sing to him, keeping the blanket securely wrapped around him.

JR: -even in his half awake state Javi was wondering were ESR was-

JB: He walked into his quarters, immediately walking over and sitting on the floor next to his wife and where Javi could see him. “Are you alright?”

JR: -looks at Joe and shakes his head. Without removing his hand from his mouth he touches the calling pendant round his neck again to no effect-

JB: He nodded, looking between Javi and his wife while remaining sat on the floor.

LB: She remained where she was, still hugging Javi and resting her head against Joseph’s shoulder.

JR: -Javi hadn’t noticed he had drawn blood where he was chewing at his thumb, his eyes unfocused, stil shuddering at random intervals. Beeping was heard from near by-

LB: She continued to hug Javi while resting her head against Joseph’s shoulder, and she heard the beeping which she hoped was ESR.

JB: He held his wife and rubbed her back, unsure of what he could do for Javi at the moment.

JR: -The beeping got louder and the little robot skidded into view. He was filthy and leaving dirty marks wherever he want but he skidded straight up to Lilly and opened his compartment. Stuffed tightly inside was something fluffy and blue-

LB: She turned to look at the robot, taking out the stuffie and setting it on Javi’s midsection. “What happened?” She asked ESR.

JB: He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking that the room could be sorted later.

JR: -Javi eyes cleared slightly as he grasps the stuffy and hugs it tight to his chest and uses the odd to talk- “this was in my room, hidden, he must have gone through the air ducks to get in and find it”

LB: She listened and hugged Javi, “That explains where he went.” Again she turned to ESR, “Were you able to take photos of his quarters while you were there?”

JB: He sighed, thinking of the upcoming court martial.

JR: -The ESR bleeped and Javi’s padd lit up with pictures causing him to drop it and scramble away-

LB: She reached for the pad that had been dropped and passed it to Joseph, more focused on Javi then the pad. He could sort it.

JB: He smiled, watching his wife and trying to keep his mind out of the rubbish bins. When he had the pad he stood up and began to scroll through the photos. He was livid though he knew to let JAG sort it, they had evidence past his ears hopefully.

JR: -Javi curled into himself. His dinosaur trapped against his body, his arms wrapped around his legs, trying to provide as much pressure as possible as he rocked. He couldn’t get the images out of his head. The cold damage was terrible but it was obvious someone had been in there again and just trashed the place, it was 10 times worse then when he had done it. His art work destroyed, the slurs rewritten on the walls-

JB: He glanced from the pad to Javi and his wife, and scrolled through the images again. He was livid when he seen the art destroyed and the slurs especially enraged him. Shaking his head he swore in Gallifreyan.

LB: She continued to hug Javi, and blinked back tears as she seen the images due to the bond she and Joseph shared.

JR: -Javi had gone mostly numb which was possibly a good thing with the waves of colours coming from being touched by lily. His mind was slow, like walking through thick fog, and everything seemed far away-

LB: She was hurt by seeing the destroyed art and the slurs, humanity hadn’t evolved any though she hoped by now they would have. Now she only focused on Javi, trying to be comforting and soothing.

JB: He sent copies of the photos to his pad, and set it down on the table. Rather than walking back over he sat down in his chair for a few moments, trying to calm himself down.

JR: -Javi looked up suddenly his face covered in silent tears but his voice a monotone- “you should both stay away. I’m obviously a danger to everyone.” -the ESR immediately started beeping and showing angry emojis, obviously trying to tell Javi what it thought of that idea-

LB: She looked at Javi, “No, we won’t say away unless that is what you want. The ones who are responsible for this, are the danger to everyone.” She continued to hug him, feeling as though she had failed him.

JB: He looked at Javi and also his wife, hearing the ESR beeping. He agreed with what his wife had just said. Leaning forward he rested his head in his hands, “The only danger onboard is the cunts who think those slurs are acceptable to use.”

JR: -Javi folded in on himself, retuning his head to its previous position on lilys lap, needing to be close to someone. He didn’t know what to think or do.-

LB: She continued to hug Javi, and began to sing to him again in Gallifreyan.

JB: He stood up and walked to the replicator, getting cups of tea that he had seen were previously on the table. The new cups he set down on the table, and he sat down on the floor again by the sofa.

JR: -he reached out and tentivly started to play with Joe’s hair, ready to snap his hands back the minute he sensed any disapproval from the other man. The ESR started trying to match it a beeps to Lilys singing with limited success-

JB: He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, smiling. He was thankful for the distraction from his thoughts.

LB: She smiled, continuing to hug Javi as she sang. ESR could be taught Gallifreyan, as could Javi.

JR: -Javi firmed up his fingers slightly, smiling even as he shuddered, glades to be surrounded by friends-

JB: He reached for his wife’s hand and also extended his other to Javi. They would get through this, together.

LB: While she continued to hug Javi she also held Joseph’s hand, resting her head against his and smiling. There was still light in the dark.

JR: -Javi took Joes hand nuzzleing lilys leg where his head rested and giggling slightly as ESR tried to do a stunt only to hit a wall

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thetorturerwrites · 3 years ago

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Lamb Ch 13 - The Truth

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: You jolted awake, shivering and covered in sweat. Holding your breath, you strained to hear even the whisper of a leaf turning towards the sky, but there was no one to offer you comfort. The bed beside you was unoccupied, which meant Kylo was out ending another planet. The thought of so many lives ending the way of your dream added to your discomfort. The weight of the room, the keep, and Hosnia itself crushed down onto you, constricting your chest horribly.

“My kingdom for a fucking puppy,” you muttered to yourself, slipping from warm sheets to the cold floor and wishing for anyone, anything to talk to.

It was times like these you usually did something stupid; but rather than face another punishment for simply trying to escape your own thoughts, you pulled on a large sweater and padded down the hall towards the throne room. The chilly slab floor anchored you to the here and now, keeping the anxiety from your dream at bay.

Because dreams were never just dreams for you.

Author’s Note: Well hello. Been a while. If you’re still here, I appreciate you.

***

The world was red.

There was neither light nor shadow. Neither shape nor form. Only the living, pulsating, consuming blood of existence. You felt it in the pounding of your own thundering pulse, felt it burn down your gullet and into your belly. It was you, and you were it.

The red that is death.

The red that comes at the end of pain. The culmination of torture. The resolution of a life.

The red for which warriors long and bards craft songs.

The red that is eternal.

Panic gurgled up and out of your throat. Your fingers gnarled with the determination to fight. You thrashed and scratched and clawed. Desperate, you howled to the hidden moon, begging her to break through this haze and help you. Because for all the peace it offered, for all the times you’d wished it before, you did not want to die today…

You did not want to leave him.

You jolted awake, shivering and covered in sweat. Holding your breath, you strained to hear even the whisper of a leaf turning towards the sky, but there was no one to offer you comfort. The bed beside you was unoccupied, which meant Kylo was out ending another planet. The thought of so many lives ending the way of your dream added to your discomfort. The weight of the room, the keep, and Hosnia itself crushed down onto you, constricting your chest horribly.

“My kingdom for a fucking puppy,” you muttered to yourself, slipping from warm sheets to the cold floor and wishing for anyone, anything to talk to.

Because dreams were never just dreams for you.

Nona told you, since you were a child, that you had the prophecy sight. She loved to regale you with stories of how, even as a child who could scarcely make sentences, you’d announce visitors moments before they set foot on your property. Or how you knew the big earthquake would destroy the church a day before it collapsed. She’d been able to convince the parishioners to abandon it by the skin of her teeth. She loved it. It made you her special little priestess.

But for as much as you loved her, you hated it.

Your childhood was a tapestry of destruction and uncertainty. You dreamed of disasters and violence, mayhem and murder. You became a raging insomniac at a young age because sleep meant you’d dream of some fresh hell you couldn’t unsee. You never dreamt of marriages or babies. Always excruciating poverty, loss, rape, and death.

It didn’t help that your peers used this affliction to torment you. Jeers and taunts of burning witches followed you home. Stones thrown turned to pinches and, ultimately, punches as your bullies grew up, and there was a bottomless well of sarcasm. ‘If you can see the future,’ they taunted, ‘Why can’t you stop me from hitting you?’ No matter how many times Nona told you to turn the other cheek, to bear your burden with grace for it truly was a boon to the community, you seethed night after night, wishing it was someone else touched by a bastard god you didn’t believe in.

Burdened by this terrible sight, you spent many years forcefully ignoring it. You stopped talking about the things you saw, stopped confiding in Nona about the dreams regardless of how many times she asked. You locked it into your mind’s closet and swallowed the key. You took the first opportunity that came along to get as far away from it all as you could. Far, far, far away.

You worked so hard to forget, ran so far to escape, that one day, the dreams stopped. You hadn’t noticed it happening; but one day, they were gone. For years, your head was blessedly, blissfully quiet.

Until the day it wasn’t.

Feeling - guilt - slammed into the back of your head like a nail, a pounding you couldn’t ignore. You wrapped twitching arms tight around your middle to keep from doubling over. Remembering everything was too hard. It made you ache, right down to your teeth, but you forced yourself to relive it daily because the hard truth was you’d dreamed of the Resistance attack for days before it happened. Nausea welled up because this sad, concrete fact was the ultimate torture. It didn’t matter that you raced to your planet, bartering and begging your way back across the galaxy. You were still too late.

They died because you left them and weren’t there to warn them. Because you took your sight and fled for no other reason than it was hard for you.

It was this guilt that drove you to Chandrila. You knew that now. It was the never-ending barrage of self-hatred for what you’d done and failed to do. Perhaps this was your fate from the first breath you took. Dreaming of the dead having led you to bargain with Death himself. Instead, this allowed your dark gift to bloom.

Here, under Hosnia’s forever nightfall, your dreams changed and deepened. You still hadn’t told Kylo you dreamed of him fighting Solo because it was the first time your prophecy sight showed you something in real time as opposed to a flash of premonition. It was also the first time your body bore evidence of the havoc inside your sleeping mind. You’d not told him how what he called your dreamless sleep had not been so dreamless. Each time, your ghost hovered nearby as he decimated planets and star systems, living all of it alongside him from light-years away.

You bit back a grimace because keeping this secret from him felt ugly. It felt like a tumor on the smooth surface of your soul, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’d fought so hard to know him, pleaded with him to give you some shred of insight, but he wouldn’t. And so, you withheld arguably the most important thing about yourself. Worse still, you didn’t tell him for spite. Because it was the one thing that was wholly yours in a place where you still felt like an accessory. Kylo knew everything about the dead. Eons of human history passed through him, telling the story of creation from its very beginning. But you were not dead, and he could only know you by what you shared with him.

It felt vindictive and wrong, but how could you give more of yourself, your passion and spirit, to a creature who would give so little in return?

It was all of this, these heavy, malignant thoughts, that had you in front of the basalt wall before the subdued dawn of Hosnia broke. You needed to see them again. To remind yourself of your crime and re-cement the reason you’d come here.

You also needed proof that you were intact. Lifting the dark gray sweater, you turned from side to side looking for fresh injuries. Thankfully, all you saw were the bruises on your hips from Kylo’s fingers digging into the meat and the roundness of your belly. The darkling inside of you had begun to show, and you filled out in response. Rounder hips. Heavier breasts. Skin that had begun to stretch. Minute by minute, your body rewrote itself to be a hospitable host; and though it unnerved you, it was endlessly fascinating.

Blowing out a drained sigh, you slid to the floor and reached out to touch the mirror. Your family danced onto it, explosions of color and laughter and love. And as every time before, you chewed on your remorse so hard your teeth creaked. Anger bled into the hurt. Sorrow and suffering and fury all melded together. You missed your family more than you missed breathing, more than you missed candy or singing, but you didn’t deserve to grieve. You’d left them, and you deserved nothing but to watch them as they were when they were alive.

It was, and forever would be, your penance.

With your fingertips pressed against the sleek black wall, you watched Nona cradle your mother as a baby. It had taken some time to figure out how to work the wondrous wall, but you’d mastered it, and you could see the line of your loved ones back generations. It was this that kept you connected to your humanity as you spent your days surrounded by tranquil vacancy. Their voices filled the throne room when Ren left you behind to do his work or further his master plan for revenge.

The weeks since you’d awoken from torpor fell into a rhythm of rustic life, vaguely familiar to your life before coming to The Ren’s lands. You ate. You slept. Your belly grew, and you watched your family. Everything moved at its own pace. Even Kylo seemed to have settled, albeit slightly. He continued terrorizing planets in his cosmic plan to draw out Grandfather Sky Walker, but he returned to you with less fury, less bombast than before.

He cradled you as you slept, stroking your hair throughout the night until you woke the next morning, as though he wasn’t entirely sure you’d do so. He watched you, hawklike and fierce. He seemed to know that the twitch of your lips signified a pang in your back or stomach, or a pull in your side, and each made him grumpier than the last. He was only satisfied when you bundled up in his bed, sleeping peacefully, or beneath his hulking body, quivering and crying at the end of his cock.

The thought of Kylo's broad body crushing against yours sent ribbons of want fluttering through your insides. Remembering last night's kisses almost chased away the bitter dark, and you traced your fingertips along your perpetually kiss-bruised lips.

As if your yearning called to him, the otherworldly portal to your left crackled, signifying its Master’s impending return, but you did not rise to greet him. The nest you’d built here at the foot of the wall was nice and cozy, and you had no intentions of vacating it. Too soon, Ren’s fingers would dig you out of the warmth, and you’d savor every second you could.

True to form, the cracked black helmet came flying through the doorway a moment before he followed, grousing and cursing. He stomped through on muddy boots, followed by his patrol. Indignation tinted his cheeks a rosy hue, and it set his brow into hard lines; but when he saw you, he stopped in his tracks to stare. Something unusual happened. Something incredibly recent, and it stole your breath.

His features softened as he looked at you. The massacre in his eyes abated, and the grim set of his mouth eased. Moving towards you, he slid the thick cloak from his shoulders and tossed it onto the neglected throne. Pretending you weren’t watching was pointless after all the ways he’d turned your body out; so, instead, you tilted your head slightly to appreciate the deity as he descended. Cowl, belt, and boots joined the cloak in a dusty heap. Looking like the most original of sin, he towered over you, clad in naught but his black pants. Beautiful and solid and more real than you could have ever imagined. Your eyes lingered upon his weapon, the massive red saber he carried when he collected, and you watched curiously as he ignited it and sunk it deep into the upper left corner of the wall. It crackled to life and sent a shiver across the surface of your mirror.

The thought threw you into a new turmoil. When did it become your mirror?

As you knew he would, Ren slipped his fingers under your arm and lifted you out of your burrow without so much as a hello. Holding your chin in place, he quipped with an almost-grin.

"Is there no end to your thievery?"

He meant, of course, the sweater. His sweater. You both knew you'd carry right on stealing them, though, because he had no intention of clothing you properly. Ignoring the flippant way you rolled your eyes, he brushed his lips across yours, silencing the sass that sat on the tip of your tongue. Curving around you, he nuzzled his nose into your hair and wrapped his long arms about your middle, pulling you in close. He hummed as your belly grazed his, and you knew he loved the feel of it almost as much as the knowledge of what it was.

You daren’t say it aloud, but he was so goddamn proud of himself. His near delight was obvious whenever you caught his fingers grazing the roundness of it or his eyes lingering too long. What started as a plan for vengeance now looked awfully similar to affection, understanding, family.

Covering up the sadness you'd been forcing yourself to relive and chasing away idiotic daydreams of happily ever after with the Merchant of Death, you cleared your throat and did the very thing he loved to hate you for.

“Why do you carry a weapon?”

It was a perfectly logical question to pose of someone who could not die, but you’d never had the gall to ask it outright. Kylo stiffened but didn’t outright tell you to shut up, which was a relatively new thing you’d been enjoying. He knew that you knew he didn’t truly loathe your questions the way he put on; even so, he tried to lure you away from the conversation by trailing kisses up the length of your neck and stepping into your line of sight. It was a wicked, wicked diversion, and it almost worked.

You had something he wanted, though. Something you’d discovered though he would definitely disagree. Up to now, it was a theory, but there was no better time to test it.

Letting your arms drop idly to your sides, you stood stock still. You felt the annoyed blast of air against your jaw as he harrumphed, displeased. He nipped at your earlobe in an attempt to shake your resolve, which was awfully enticing as it shot sparks to all your body’s best places. But you were determined. He grazed his knuckles along the side of your breast and licked at your lower lip, but you stood stone still. No response. No expression. Not even a blink. You stared at the ceiling, ignoring the way his lips turned into a frown against your shoulder.

Barely hiding the triumphant smile, you cocked your head and waited for him to answer. Inside, you danced gleefully because you were right, and this was working wonderfully well. The night he figured out how to rouse you from your coma, you’d unburied a secret.

The Ren craved your response.

Before then, he’d spent weeks taking you without worrying for it. He fucked you cross-eyed again and again without so much as a kiss or a care. But when he finally had it, when he finally felt what it was like for you to want him, to desire him on your own, he hated not having it.

And because you knew it, he was finally going to give you some damn answers.

He tipped your chin up once more and looked hard at you, perturbed and calculating. You had to mash your lips together to keep from grinning like a fool because this felt like victory. It felt like intimacy, and you wanted to celebrate. Blowing out a low breath, he let go of your face and shook his head.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, I think.”

Begrudgingly, his hate for your questions had morphed into appreciation. Couched inside of his complaining, he told you more than once that your question was keen or insightful. Perhaps it was simply that he had someone to talk to now that made your curiosity appealing; or, perhaps you’d worn him down by asking the same thing eleven thousand times. But you liked to think it was because you wanted to know him. Not Hosnia. Not the intricacies of death or his brother or his job. Him. The holy being that was Kylo Ren.

Deciding to play your game, large, warm hands turned you about, tucking your back against his chest. Taking a breath as though to harden himself, Ren delicately pressed his palm to the mirror, sending waves where you could produce little more than ripples.

Your mouth dropped open as the thing came alive from floor to vaulted ceiling. The obsidian ocean billowed, crashing at the edges of the structure as though it were the shore. Immediately, you understood that the shimmer you could conjure was your family line. But The Ren could call forth all the information there was - ever. He, himself, was the vast catalog of every creature that had ever lived. Long moments passed wherein the thing dug deeper and deeper, working harder to uncover what it was he searched for until finally, from the fathomless depths of eternity, something concrete took shape.

The picture filled in, and your astonishment multiplied.

It was Kylo but not as he was now. He was ageless, but he looked younger there. Perfect skin, a smooth smile, and a sculpted brow that lacked the heaviness you knew. The man looking at you from the other side of the mirror did not carry the weight of generations upon generations, planets upon planets of death. That man had kind eyes and a look about him that spoke to openness. He turned away from you and sat at the bed of an old man. Clad in plain black trousers and a loose tunic, he looked more like a relation to this man than his guide to the afterlife. Kylo’s musician’s fingers held the man’s hand a long time, thumb stroking the weathered skin softly; and then, the color in the man’s eyes faded.

“The first,” he whispered against the crown of your head.

Shock settled into your bones. Kylo had shown you man’s first death. You wanted to look away from this heavy, private moment, but it was impossible. If you blinked, you’d have missed Ren leaning in and pulling the spirit from the husk. You stopped breathing as he cradled that old man the same way he cradled you - with a tenderness one would not assume him capable of. It was wondrous and lovely and melancholy. What else could it be called but love?

As he walked from the house, the image shifted to another death and another soul Kylo carried to the beyond with his own hands. One face morphed into another and another and another until hundreds of them flew across the mirror. Perhaps thousands. But the picture remained the same. The Ren carried the dead to what awaited them as though each was the most important thing to him in the universe, with their heads tucked against his broad chest and his lips resting atop their heads. He was their protector, their ferryman, their shepherd.

The knowledge that he carried them in his own arms was thunderous.

That Kylo Ren adored humanity. He cherished every life he claimed. He loved them enough to hold them close as he took them away from their lives. He soothed a million fears and dried a billion tears, all with his bare hands. What was that if not worship? If not love?

Tears sprang to your eyes as you watched his head grow heavier with each passing. As his hands clenched harder and harder before he would pull the soul to him and take them on. When the mirror again stilled, it was to show him donning the black gloves he’d thrown at you once. The ones he never left without. You tried to choke back the sob, but it escaped. Your soul hurt for the man whose heart had fractured one time too many before he finally put a boundary between himself and those he handled.

You tried to look away, but his insistent fingers wouldn’t allow it.

“You wanted to know,” he murmured into your ear. “Look.”

The position was eerily familiar. He held you the same way when he'd forced you to witness his cruel tirade against the universe. Then, you'd been afraid. Stomach in your throat petrified. Now, you lurched for an entirely different reason, and you couldn't tell which was better. This was so overwhelming, but it was his way of communicating. All show. No words. It was all you'd begged him for since you arrived in his midnight land. This was winning, wasn’t it? It was the victory you’d been so pleased you’d won, but it was breaking you apart bit by bit.

The mirror surged over and over, frothing and whirling to show each new way Kylo protected himself from the job he could not escape. Thicker clothing so he could no longer feel their skin against his. Heavy boots putting another inch between him and the trail to the afterworld. A cowl and a mask to make him less human-like than he was to start. Something behind which he could hide. A costume into which he could withdraw to not feel the damnable weight of his work.

Piece by piece, Kylo became The Ren.

And at the end, there came the saber. The ruby weapon that leeched a soul from a body so he no longer had to touch them at all. He could do his duty without being affected. You wept openly when you realized it was because he couldn’t carry them anymore. His nature would no longer allow it. With all the buffers in place, he created Hosnia. A place where he could retreat. A home where he could take off all of those guards and simply exist. A silent seclusion that should have been healing but ultimately was more punishing because there was no one with whom he could share this beauty.

Gutted, you looked away, feeling like you swallowed glass that shredded you from within. You knew regret and loneliness, but they were pitiable outbursts compared to the enormity of what Kylo had endured. You searched for something, even something asinine, to say, but what was there? Everything you thought you knew about The Ren was wrong, twisted. They had taught you to fear him, to fear the meanness in him because he was ruthless, evil, and calloused. But that wasn’t the whole truth. The truth wasn’t that The Ren was hollow.

It was that he felt too much.

You knew his spirit now. Millennia of loss colored his entire personality, painting him desolate and heartbroken. It was easy to work out that every interaction he ever had was suffused with grief. The crying and wailing of family members, lovers, parents as he took someone away. The bargains offered if he’d give someone back. The anger and devastation when the icy reality set in. The Ren was an afterthought, second, third, or last to one’s own suffering.

You'd never counted his grief, however. It didn't occur to you he would have feelings about every soul he carried, about the endless stream of caretaking.

It was unfair. Solo had the kingdom of the living. The joy of birth, when that triumphant breath breaks free on a wail to signify the journey has begun. Making beautiful things and beautiful people. Laughter, jubilation, joy. Creating. But death was a miserable affair, and that was Kylo's realm. There were never happy tears at his coming. It was defeat and regret and angst. He was the Eternal Visitor - always on the threshold, never welcome.

In the private depths of your own heart, you understood his hatred for Grandfather Sky Walker now. You understood why he wanted to be free. He'd suffered so much loss, so much pain. And all of it alone because he could keep no company save the dead.

Unexpectedly, you turned in his hold. Slithering your arms around his neck, you pulled him in tight and crashed your lips to his. Through the taste of your tears, you whispered babbling, nonsensical apologies against his tight lips.

Sorry I didn’t understand. Sorry you were alone. Sorry I wasn’t here. Sorry sorry sorry sorry…

He was so startled by your affection that he did not react for such a long time you thought you’d made a mistake in offering him this comfort. But when he rebounded,his mouth was hungry against yours. His lips were heaven and his tongue candied. It was a taste you hoped you never grew to dislike. His fists gripped the thick, coarse fabric tight at your back. For a moment, you wondered if anyone had ever shown him want or passion first or freely. Or had it ever been dread, bartering, or resigned acceptance?

“Wait…” He ignored your first plea outright, choosing instead to bite at the corners of your mouth until you whimpered. “Kylo, please. Wait.”

As it had every time you’d said it, his name on your lips drew forth a soft grunt. Begrudgingly, he relented and set you on your feet, watching you with wary eyes. His desire to not hurt his child won out over his desire to push you too hard or be overly rough, despite his obvious need. That he still craved you after you’d fulfilled your part of the agreement amazed you, but you wanted something else right now.

Pressing one hand to your chest to calm your nerves, you took a deep breath before looking up at him. The gentle way he brushed away one of your tears melted your insides, and the smile you offered him was genuine. Why were you more nervous now than when you came here? Shoring up your resolve, you snatched up his hand and turned towards the hall. You had to tug at his arm to get him to follow you, and he kept his features guarded as he did.

He didn’t know what game you were after, but he was willing to let you play it. At least for the moment.

Down the hallway and to his suite you crept, pulling the Puppeteer behind you like a petulant child. When he tried to take over and herd you to the bed, you darted out of his embrace before he could pin you down.

“Sit,” you ordered softly, pushing at the column of his chest. “Please?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes for longer than you liked, and you realized he didn’t trust you. Realizing you did not know what you were doing, and you didn’t trust yourself either, you acted without thinking. Lifting onto your toes, you brushed a kiss against his cheek and pushed at his chest again with more force. A smirk danced across his beautiful lips, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. You amused him; and for the millionth time, you wondered if he would see you as a weak babe forever. Ridiculously ineffective and immature. You brushed those thoughts away, however, as the man complied and sunk down onto the corner of the bed, much to your amazement.

“Stay?” You cocked your head to the side, uncertain of how many more orders you could get away with. His eyebrow piqued over one starry-night iris, but he didn’t argue, which strengthened your conviction. “Yes, stay.”

Practically running from the room, you made a bet with yourself on whether you’d actually find him sitting in the same spot when you returned. If you won, he’d probably bend you over that same corner of the bed and tell you he’d do the commanding around these parts. If you lost, he’d still be there looking at you like you were a meal he was biding his time for.

Either was an ideal scenario.

Gathering up what you needed for this hodgepodge of a plan, you poked your head into the room, eyes already narrowed as you expected to find him elsewhere. But he sat right where you’d left him, head canted to one side as he eyed you dubiously.

Setting the basin on a chair that you dragged over to his side, you maneuvered yourself between his knees and shooed his hands away when he slid them up your hips. Dipping the soft cloth into stolen bath water, you inhaled a sharp breath and faced him. Half of you felt this was lunacy. He would never see you as more than an idiot and a thief (who has added bath water to the list); and if he was once capable of feelings you could recognize, they were long morphed into something else. The other half of you, though, pined for the young soul he’d been once. The budding god who had wanted to comfort.

Deciding to jump off the metaphorical cliff, yet again, you lifted the corner of the cloth to his forehead and began wiping away the accumulated grime and sweat. His mask might hide his face, but it did a poor job at keeping the debris away as he decimated worlds.

Looking spooked, his hand shot up to yours, stopping you.

“What are you doing?”

For once, his voice betrayed his alarm and confusion, making water pool at the corner of your eyes anew. A sad smile curved your lips as you pulled your hand free.

“Being nice to you.” It was little more than a whisper, but it was all you could manage. “Let me.”

He watched you warily, judging your intent, and you realized you couldn’t blame him. If you’d lived his life, you wouldn’t trust you either. It had always been uncomfortable to look him straight in the face because he was so splendidly good looking, so much more than any person you’d ever known, but you made yourself do it. Schooling your features into calm, you stared back at him while he discussed the idea with himself until he nodded his head subtly.

“Why?” He couldn’t hide the bluntness, nor his suspicion.

It occurred to you he wasn’t much unlike the rabbit your brother kept as a pet when you were children. Watching with a keen eye. Ready to dart away should the circumstance become too much or too loud. You set one hand upon his shoulder to calm the nerves, wondering to yourself how someone like this could ever be nervous at all.

“Someone ought to.”

Ignoring his derisive snort, you soothed the silky water gently down his cheek, making tracks in the soot on his face. Absurdly, you felt more compelled to fill the empty than ever before in his presence, but what fell out of your mouth couldn’t have been predicted.

“When I was young, Nona would take me to her temple every day.”

He expelled a low breath, and you felt the tightness ease out of his shoulders slowly. Another victory - the sound of your voice gave him a measure of peace. You swiped the moist cloth along his lower lip as a reward.

“She told me that when she was a girl, her nona had taught her all the same things she planned to teach me so that she would be ready to take the vows. And the nona before that and the nona before that.”

Gently touching his chin with your finger, the way he so often did with you, you tipped his head back. Your breath died in your lungs at the way he looked at you. Head tilted back, eyes drooped low, black lashes framing his incandescent stare. Arresting. There was simply no other word for it.

Trapped in that gaze, you forgot what you were doing for so long he nudged your knee with his. His full lips pulled into a smug smirk, but he did not scold you for losing your place. Clearing your throat, you made a warm, soapy swath across his throat and continued.

“She told me it was our duty to care for people, that they were our flock, our responsibility. She would say ‘It is your job, beloved. And one day, you will teach it to your daughter as I have taught it to you. There must be someone to do the work.’ A million times she said that to me, I think.”

Storm clouds appeared in Kylo’s eyes, and the temperature in the room dropped so low you could see your breath. But he did not move. He did not throw you across the room in his irritation, and all you could think was that this, too, was victory.

Every battle won made you feel as though you could win this war. But what was the war?

“There is never someone else to do the work, lamb.”

He gritted the words out and twisted away. Contempt twisted them into thorns so real you swore you could feel barbs where his fingers had been.

“But there could be?”

It was a question you didn’t expect to ask, but it drew his head up so fast, you stumbled backwards. Bracing yourself on his shoulders, you dropped the cloth into his hands, which might be the only reason he didn’t throttle you. It was too late to turn back, though.

“Isn’t that the point of all this? So that there is someone else to do the work?”

A breath ago, he was languid, loose, and loving. Now, he was razor wire barely covered by silken skin. You argued with yourself that he wouldn’t kill you now, but no part of you was wholly convinced.

"No other would do this work," he sneered. "How many millennia did I wait for someone to come challenge me to take over? For my brother to share the load? For Sky Walker to come back and help? No one comes. You're a fool if you think anybody would want to…" He paused, clearly not intending to be cruel but wanting to make sure you understood. "... relieve me of this burden."

“I would,” you whispered.

You hadn’t meant to say it, but there it was. Abruptly, you and everything around you were different, and you knew what the war you’d been fighting for was about. It was him, and he was your gravity. The feelings you’d been trying to ignore or contain were too big now. All of it was too big.

The raging tempest inside peaked, filling you to overflowing with absolute righteousness. You were here for a reason, for this reason. You belonged to him in a way no other ever had. You knew it to your very marrow.

“Not my child. Me. I would,” you said more clearly, with more resolve than you knew you had.

If your display of affection earlier surprised him, the current look on his face could be described exclusively as stunned silence. The surrounding air grew thick, making it hard to breathe with a chest that felt too heavy. You did the only thing you could. You stared back at him with glassy eyes and hoped that he could see your anguish on his behalf, that he would know you didn’t pity him but would bear it with him - fuck even for him - if he’d allow it.

But when he said nothing, you felt a fool for believing he had more than retribution to give. For hoping he had just that - hope. Your wobbly lips turned down into a sad, aching smile. Shaking your head, you bent to pick up your cloth and waved a hand as though to erase the things you said.

“Anyway…”

Before you could find something inane to chatter on about and pretend you didn’t just offer your guts on a platter for him to reject, his thick fingers threaded into your hair. Palming the back of your head, he drew you further into his orbit, and you had but a second to draw in a breath before his lips found yours in an unusual kiss.

It was soft, barely there. As though he’d never tasted you before, he pressed almost chaste kisses to lips he’d fucked a thousand times.

“Sarta ilohira,” he crooned, tipping your head slightly so he could slide his tongue in against yours and back out, too quick for you to fully taste. “Sa vola tayensa yem?”

You still didn’t know what the words were, but they made your insides clench tight. You swore you could feel the timbre of his voice inside your bones because it was beyond simply hearing it. Maybe it was the language of the Gods. Maybe it was his darkling responding to something it already knew. Or maybe it was that he only said sweet things to you in that forbidden, unknowable tongue, driving you crazy by teasing you with something you wanted so badly.

With you properly in his arms, Kylo laid back into the plush mountain of blankets you’d been steadily building for weeks upon his bed. You fell into his chest, limbs akimbo but spread on either side of his wide body. It was a position he’d never given you leeway to try before. But now that you were here, you found you didn’t want to take control of him. You didn’t want to dominate him the way he did you.

You wanted his partnership. You wanted him to meet you in the middle where there was something akin to harmony. Unsettled by all the things that were suddenly true, you hesitated, drawing your fingertip along the length of his jaw. You couldn’t profess to love him while keeping secrets from him. Even you, in your youth and with what little experience you had, knew this to be true.

It seemed as if he knew of your need to confess because he lay beneath you, quiet and still. His raven’s hair fanned out over a matching pillow. He played idly with your collarbone. For the first time since you’d met him, Kylo wasn’t in a hurry. He wasn’t distracted or upset or harboring an inner wrathful fire. He was simply here. With you.

You gulped down a whale-sized lump in your throat.

“There’s…” Breathless, you worried your lower lip and wondered where the hell your earlier conviction had fled to. “There’s something I need to tell y–”

A loud boom interrupted, curtailing any coherent thought. Your face scrunched up in confusion because it sounded like a bomb, but that couldn’t be true. Could it? Hosnia was uninhabited save for Kylo, yourself, and the Knights. Certainly, the Chandrila nuns had no enemies. All they did was guard The Demarcation and make cookies. Who would want to destroy a bunch of nuns?

A second blast shook the keep’s walls, and Kylo shot up to his feet, forcing you deeper into the bed. His fingers took hold of your face in such a harsh grip you whined, but he shook your head violently until you concentrated on his scowl.

“Stay here.”

The look on his face frightened you because you saw something new there, something you didn’t think you’d ever see on his face. Concern. Anxiety. Fear. He was worried for your safety and that of his child. Something was definitely, really, and truly wrong. Smashing your lips together to keep the stupid and certainly unwelcome questions on the inside of your mouth, you nodded timidly.

But he said your name and dug his nails into your chin, drawing out another whimper because you couldn’t remember him ever saying your name out loud.

“I mean it. You. Stay. Here.”

And then he was gone. A wisp of charcoal in a bleak, black night. A third blast sounded, driving home the reality that someone was actually attacking Hosnia.

But who would be that stupid? And beyond that, what could they possibly hope to gain?

He who has seen all, Holder of Secrets, Seeker of Souls He who breathes in my last breath, Last King of Kings Banish my fear; chase away this chill For there I see my kin And I would go to them, take my place among them If you would but show me the way

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #lamb

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gallawitchxx · 3 years ago

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ficlet friday 🖤🔮

part two of tarot reader!mickey & psych student!ian. had to give those boys a date... read part one here or the whole thing on a03.

- - - - -

“So you, uh, learn anything neat in that book?” Mickey asked, lifting the beer Ian had brought him to his lips in a way that was designed to get Ian to look at them. “While you were waitin’?”

Mickey’s last appointment of the day was also his most difficult. As hard as he tried to focus on the cards in front of him, his mind kept wandering to the door. To the couch that sat in the shop lobby and freckled fingers flipping through satiny pages.

He typically ran the show during his readings. Over time, he’d cultivated a way of walking the fine line between frank and empathetic. Clients came to him for his no bullshit delivery and because he understands the fragile nature of the space he’s tasked with holding. What folks are really putting in his hands when they take a seat in the armchair across from him and unwittingly send their energies his way.

He’d have to make it up to Karen on the next one.

“Yeah, actually,” Ian answered, eyes glued to the pink of Mickey’s tongue dipping inside the neck of the bottle as he took a drink. He forced himself not to look at the movements of his Adam’s apple as Mickey swallowed. “Apparently, if you write an amount of money down on a dried Bay Leaf, your wish will come true. What do you know about that?”

“Well, knowin’ and doin’ are two different things,” Mickey said with a grin. “Personally, I ain’t ever seen foliage cure systemic poverty, so not really my style, but—different strokes, man.”

Ian thumbed at his own beer, where the label had begun to peel. “What is your style?”

“What you didn’t get enough today?”

“I’ve always been the kind of guy who needs to do things more than once to really get it, you know?” He said with a shrug.

There were questions and answers in the looks that followed, stories swapped silently between two pairs of sparkling eyes.

“Fuck Gallagher, you better watch yourself,” Mickey said, leaning back in his seat, spreading his legs just a bit and biting the corner of his lip. “A guy could get the wrong idea about you.”

Ian smiled. Warm, open. Disarming.

“Think you already know enough about me to form your own opinion.”

Mickey nodded, taking another sip of his drink. Apparently, he was making quite a few exceptions today, as he didn’t exactly make a habit of going out with clients after reading for them. Aside from it being wildly unprofessional, he didn’t know what to do with the intimate information shared outside of the confines of the shop’s back room.

But here they were. Sitting across from each other at a very different kind of table, one where they both held cards. In their hands, on their sleeves. To lay down or withhold as they wished.

“Yeah, I, uh—I appreciate you tellin’ me all that stuff earlier. Didn’t have to do that. I’d already given up the goose without all the details.”

“‘Course. I mean, it kind of just happened,” he said with a chuckle. “Did I plan on it? No… But do I regret it?”—Mickey’s eyes met Ian’s—“Also no.”

“So’s that why you’re taking that psych shit? With Mandy?”

“Yes and no,” Ian answered, tilting his head softly from one side to the other and pursing his lips. “Too early to say where it’ll lead, but eventually I would like to be able to help out kids like me. Or worse. Who don’t have anyone when they’re diagnosed. Get ‘em through those first hard steps. There’s so much shitty care out there, it’s unbelievable.”

“Man, don’t I know it,” Mickey offered, blowing out a breath. “There’s a fuck ton of grifters playin’ my game too, and besides that crap bein’ a surefire way to royally mess with your karma, it’s takin’ advantage of people. Ain’t right.”

“I’d do it different,” Ian said, his demeanor growing serious. “Explain it in a way that doesn’t make it seem so scary. Come at it from a place of having gone through it myself and try to just…be there.” He threw Mickey a soft smile. “Like you do.”

Mickey flushed. Embarrassed. “Yeah, well, they say don’t go to a witch who doesn’t also have a witch…”

“Oh, they say that, do they?” Ian played.

“Yeah, asshole,” Mickey volleyed. “They do.” He took another drink, clocking that he was nearing the end of the bottle and Ian’s was still nearly full. He pressed on. “So, one reading and I made a believer outta you, huh?”

“I’m not saying that exactly, just… There are similarities. What you do and all. Except that when I hear voices in my head, I have to call my doctor. Get shit adjusted.”

There was a glimmer of something deeper there—slippery—but it was said with such ease. Mickey ached to touch him.

“Kinda think there’s room for all. Magic and Medicine,” he said, thumbing at his eyebrow and tapping at the table. Keeping his hands busy. “I’d never tell a client to go off their meds or stop seein’ a doctor—that would be fuckin’ irresponsible. But, it’s not everyone’s bag to see a shrink. I provide a service, a tailored service. It ain’t one size fits all, and just ‘cause I didn’t waste my precious time and money gettin’ some whack degree don’t mean I don’t help people.”

Ian looked down, sheepishly, his hands coming up in lighthearted defense. “I don’t doubt that for a second, Mickey. You already helped me.”

Mickey felt the same rush as when he first looked at that Five of Swords from the bottom of the deck.

Don’t miss what’s right in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah, drink your beer,” he said with a roll of his eyes, trying to mask the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Shit, you’re almost done with yours. Want another?”

“Naw, man. It’s cool, I can wait for you to—Unless you don’t want—“

“Oh, I want,” Ian reassured. “Just taking it slow.”

The sentiment was dripping with so much meaning it had Mickey’s head swirling again. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask—

“So how’d you get into all of this?” Ian asked, quickly changing the subject. His voice was lively. Interested. “Couldn’t imagine anyone from the neighborhood being into this kinda thing.”

Mickey huffed. “No shit, I’d be fuckin’ dead as a doornail if my pops was still alive. Thought being a “pole smokin’ queer” was bad enough.” He looked up, so Ian would know that he meant to reveal himself. Test the waters. Extend a bit too after all that Ian had shared. “I dunno, man. Always kinda just knew shit? Like the thoughts were just there? They call it bein’ ‘Claircognizant.’”

“Sounds official.”

“Just a big ass word for not bein’ able to explain myself,” he laughed. “Uh, Mandy actually had a deck of cards, hidden in her fuckin’ sock drawer, and I—I got my hands on it and it was like…lightning. Something clickin’ into place. Like all that stuff I knew could actually make sense if I just followed along.” Ian watched wonder dance across Mickey’s features, his eyes calm and almost pleased. Like he was floating away and into the memory itself. Then, he shook it away and returned back to the table. “I don’t understand all the ins and outs of the whole thing, but I’ve been doin’ this long enough to trust what pops into my head.”

“You have a gift,” Ian said with a wink. “I’m sure people see that.”

Mickey cocked his head. “Not gonna be turnin’ anyone into toads or anythin’. Some do come in lookin’ for a show, but like I said before—I’m a glorified translator.”

“I think you’re much more than that, Mickey.”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t think your review’s exactly unbiased, Gallagher.”

Ian’s face srunched. Cute. “It’s true though. You’re clearly very good at what you do.”

“Shit’s rough, man. We all need a little insight. I just try to… explain it in a way that doesn’t make it seem so scary. Come at it from a place of having gone through it myself or whatever.”

Mickey fidgeted, hoping that Ian would hear his words repeated back to him and know what they meant. That he’d be able to read between the lines and maybe even read Mickey.

“I’m really glad I decided to come in today,” Ian said, a bit breathless. “Almost didn’t.”

“Woulda been a fuckin’ shame if you hadn't," Mickey said, and meant.

They talked some more as Ian slowly finished his beer—Mickey about opening the shop and how fucked it was to get the government involved in anything, let alone magical care, and Ian about school and his part-time job at the research library on campus. It was simple between them, the tendrils of all they’d shared creating a quilted foundation upon which to build.

When Ian stood to grab their empty bottles, Mickey was suddenly and inexplicably overwhelmed by the need to kiss him. To catch his perfect bottom lip in his teeth and pull it into his mouth. To taste him, consume him—be consumed by him.

He slid out of the booth, coming to standing in front of him, their chests brushing slightly as Mickey caught his balance.

“I can grab the next round too, Mick, don't—“

“Can I kiss you?” Mickey asked, wholly unsure of himself and yet forward as fuck.

Ian’s face broke out in a warm grin, white teeth flashing and green eyes glittering. He set the bottles back on the table and stepped in towards Mickey, one hand moving to hold the back of his head and the other resting on his neck.

“Would be a fucking shame if you didn’t,” he said, leaning down.

Mickey’s breath hitched as Ian’s soft lips landed on his. Sweet. The pressure fucking perfect.

Then, Ian opened his mouth to Mickey, slotting their lips together, their tongues meeting in a delicious slide of want and trust and something more. Fuck. Already. As if they’d known each other their entire lives. Today. Yesterday. Forever.

It felt like…lightning. Something clicking into place.

#i have ideas for 2 more chapters...#thanks to everyone who wanted more of these boys!#i hope you love!#the self inserts good lord #ficlet friday #witchy mickey is the only mickey #shameless #shameless fanfiction #ian x mickey

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castletown-cafe · 3 years ago

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Castletown Café Episode 1: Rouxls Kaard’s Mac & Cheese

The idea that Rouxls Kaard is so determined to make the ultimate macaroni and cheese actually isn’t canon, but a fandom joke and meme started by one person who did a video edit of him announcing that “nobody could stop him from making mac and cheese” (not the exact words). Considering he may just be the Deltarune equivalent of Papyrus (love of puzzles, incompetent at almost everything, thinks he’s greater than he actually is), it’s no surprise the fandom took this joke and ran with it, as one of Papyrus’ character traits was his determination to master spaghetti cooking, so it makes sense to associate Rouxls Kaard with another pasta dish with the same determination of perfecting it.

I imagine if Rouxls Kaard actually did attempt mac and cheese, not only would it be inedible, but it would probably have worms inside, given his affinity for worms! Lancer would probably love it, anyway, however. He’s such a sweet kid.

Going with this idea, I knew to incorporate sausage “worms” into mine. Being a vegetarian however, I used plant based meatballs and rolled them into wormy shapes (unfortunately, I could not find plant-based breakfast sausages at my local grocery store). But if you eat meat, just go with good ol’ breakfast sausages! I suggest the regular flavor though, not maple.

The cheese is a mix of Parmesan and cheddar, with a blend of the two on top, forming a nice, cheesy crust. The Béchamel sauce recipe is a little more complex than a regular one, but it’s soooo much more flavorful this way. The secrets include a clove, a bay leaf, 1/4 cup onion, a hint of nutmeg, a small amount of Worcestershire, and yes, some ground mustard powder - all these flavors combine with the cheese to give it an extra zing.

Ingredients:

4 tablespoons butter

6 tablespoons flour

1 qt (4 cups) milk (Any milk works)

1/4 sliced yellow or white onion (your choice)

1 whole bay leaf

1 whole clove

A pinch of nutmeg

Salt and pepper to taste

2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

1/2 teaspoon ground mustard powder

1/2 cup grated Parmesan (get a solid block, not the powdery kind from the pasta aisle)

1/2 cup grated medium cheddar cheese

(You can always add a little extra)

Regular breakfast sausages (or plant based sausages/ground plant-based protein)

About 1 lb elbow macaroni

Equipment:

Frying pan

Pot

2 Saucepans

A casserole dish

A small bowl

A spaghetti strainer

A HUGE colander

1. If using ground plant-based protein, now is the time to form it into sausage shapes or “worms”. If using breakfast sausages however, you get to skip this step entirely.

2. Slice up some onion, you only need a quarter of a large one. Make sure the skin is removed, since this will be strained, you don’t have to chop it thoroughly, just a little.

3. Heat the milk in a large saucepan over medium heat. Make sure you watch it so that it doesn’t boil, scald, or curdle - thankfully, it should be slow to heat as you’re heating cold milk. While that’s heating….

4. Make the roux by melting the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Once the butter is completely melted and starting to bubble, add the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for a couple minutes. The longer you cook it, the darker the roux will get, so put your roux into a bowl and…

5. Pour some of the milk into the roux, to prevent your sauce from getting lumpy. Then pour your mixture into the milk on the stove. Keep doing this until you get as much of the roux as possible into your heating milk.

6. Add the onion, bay leaf, and single little whole clove, and have it simmer for 30 minutes. Give it a good stir and keep watch over it, reducing the heat to medium-low and continuing to turn it down when it starts to bubble to keep it simmering, but not boiling, as you….

7. Fill up a large pot with plenty of water, about 6 quarts, and bring that to a boil on high heat. You can add a little salt water if desired, and open the box for the macaroni so you’re prepared to add it to the boiling water while you…

8. Brown or cook the sausages. Follow the directions on the package, whether you’re using real meat or plant-based. ‪Simply follow the directions‬ on the package (plant-based meatballs may have directions, which is what I used). If you're more experienced with cooking meat, real or not, put those skills to use browning your sausages!

9. ‪Is that water boiling yet? Good! Add in the macaroni‬ and let it cook while you finish browning the sausages. Put these sausages on a plate and set aside. After 5 minutes, turn the heat down to medium-high and keep your pasta cooking until al-dente or tender.

10. Your sauce will be done when it’s nice and thick and clinging to the sides of your saucepan as well as your spoon when you stir it, the skin that forms on the top of your sauce is totally natural. Now’s the time to grab one of your strainers and pour your sauce through it into a large mixing bowl, getting as much of the creamy sauce in there as you can, while making sure the onion, leaf, and clove do not. Add a small dash of nutmeg, just a pinch, and then your salt and pepper to your desired amount.

11. Hope you’ve got another, bigger strainer on hand because if your macaroni is done cooking, turn it off the heat and pour all that into a strainer! You may need an extra set of hands because this is a large amount and can get quite heavy. Also, you may need to strain it in batches. Add your strained macaroni to your biggest mixing bowl.

12. If you haven’t grated your cheese yet, now is the time. Grate plenty of Parmesan and cheddar, you’ll need at least 1/2 of each cheese, so you have one full cup total, and add that to your Béchamel sauce. Stir to melt and incorporate the cheese, then add your Worcestershire and mustard powder. Don’t forget to grate more cheese that’ll go on top!

13. If you have too much macaroni, take out about 2 cups - I know I did, because there was no way that was all gonna fit in a casserole dish, let alone the mixing bowl with the cheese sauce. That’s right, you’re going to be adding, a little at a time, the pasta to the cheese sauce and stir until your pasta and sauce are fully incorporated. Grease your casserole dish with butter and pour in your mac and cheese, adding in the sausages and stirring, until you fill the casserole dish completely. Top with extra grated Parmesan and cheddar, and bake at 350*F for 30 minutes, or until that meal is thoroughly cooked and heated, cheese sauce is bubbling, cheese on top is melted, and sausage is completely cooked through.

There you have it! Maybe if Rouxls Kaard followed this recipe, he might make mac and cheese that’s edible. Knowing him though, he’d probably think he could do better. After all, he is the rules card, and he makes his own rules….lousy as they are…..

#deltarune #deltarune chapter one #deltarune ch 1 #rouxls kaard #castletown cafe #rouxls kaard mac and cheese #deltarune inspired recipe #recipe #mac and cheess #macaroni and cheese #mac & cheese #cooking #my art

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aohendo · 2 years ago

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The Gumbo Recipe

@fearofahumanplanet

This recipe pretty much exactly serves four, with no leftovers. Perfect for two or three people (or one if you’re just gonna go on a gumbo binge for a few days. It gets even better sitting in the fridge!).

Recipe translated from my shitty handwriting (with additions I just... haven’t written down) below the cut. If pictures of the steps would be more helpful (especially on the roux), I’d be happy to oblige (gives me an excuse to make another pot of gumbo)!

The Recipe: Ingredients

1 cup-ish dark roux* (1/2 C oil, 1/2 C flour)

1/2 onion, chopped

1/2 pepper, chopped

1-2 celery, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

Tony Chacheres**

3-ish cups unsalted chicken stock/stock of choice

1 bay leaf

2 chicken thighs/meat of choice, cut small

1/2-1 sausage, cut into slices (or other meat/veg of choice)

1/2 cup dry red wine***

Rice

Other items needed: knife and cutting board, large pot, pan for roux, rice maker/small pot, roux scrape-y spatula thing, ladle, tasting spoons :)

Directions:

1. make the roux*

2. cook chicken and sausage (want a nice browned layer on sausage) and set aside

3. add roux to a large pot, add veggies to this pot, and cook veggies in the roux for approximately 5 minutes over medium heat (be sure to keep the roux moving--you don’t want it to get burnt)

4. add garlic to roux/veggies, cook approximately 5 minutes (keep the roux moving!)

6. add the meat, chicken stock, bay leaf, and some Chacheres (I’d start with a tablespoon or less and adjust upwards once the gumbo’s had time to think about its life choices). Blend together and bring to boil. (no need to worry about the roux anymore)

7. Once boiling, reduce to simmer, let cook (3-8 hours. 4 works nicely if you can wait that long).

(add in any other veggies you want in this thing somewhere in this range. In the past I’ve done zucchini, green beans, broccoli, carrots, more pepper, potatoes, and corn. Haven’t done okra yet because I like okra less than I like zucchini, which is saying something.)

8. If you remember, stir occasionally to avoid weird crusty bits and films. Scrape off excess oil as you go, but not a concern.

9. Within 30 min to 1 hr of time to consumption, if you’re adding wine, stir in wine. Not too much!! You want just enough wine to bring out the flavor.

10. make some rice

11. serve over rice

(if you can find them or have time to make them, toasted garlic slices are delicious on this. Similarly, a very quick shot of Worcestershire sauce actually works very nicely in this)

Asterisks and Notes

*dark roux = Worcestershire sauce range. Don’t stop at golden. Go till burnt. On a kind of shitty cheap apartment stove, it takes me an hour or more to get the roux this dark. Recommend using veggie/canola oil, or anything else you’ve got with a high smoke point ‘cause it’s about to get smokey. If y’all need roux directions happy to help. Also, the roux can be made well in advance and refrigerated/frozen. It’s literally oil and flour... Also, I tend to make my rouxs thick (can scrape along the bottom of the pan and not have the clear scrape fill in for about a second). This creates a thicker gumbo. If you prefer it thinner, make a thinner roux, or add more stock while cooking. Also also, if the roux is a little too much to prepare that day, I think stores carry pre-made roux, although I’m not sure how burnt it is. You want this thing considerably darker than peanut butter.

**(or Cajun seasoning of choice) This one you measure with your heart. You want enough to have it salted, but not enough to be spicy on the front of the mouth. Spicy on the back is good though. And for those who have never heard of Chachere’s, it’s pronounced shaa-sher-eez.

***this isn’t really a standard addition but man is it good. Feel free to ignore.

I normally do this gumbo with chicken and sausage because I am cheap. If you don’t want to get store stock-of-choice, 10/10 recommend just picking up a rotisserie, making a stock out of that, and using the meat for this (and whatever else you’ve got going on)(you’ll already have celery and bay on-hand for the stock, and honestly if you throw a carrot into the gumbo, the gumbo doesn’t mind). If you can get andouille for the sausage, fantastic. If not, generic beef sausage works pretty nicely.

Adjust the ratio of pepper-celery-onion as you see fit. Everyone’s got their own ratio and this is the one I like.

NO TOMATOES

#not? writing #hendo rambles #trust me if you have the time one day MAKE THIS #and make that roux DARK!!!!!!#if you google how to make a roux online most sources will say that making it this dark is burning it beyond comprehension and they are liars #the roux is key #once everything's in the pot just treat it like a stew

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sophie-jen · 3 years ago

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one of us kissed the other accidentally

answer to @jilytoberfest prompt: We aren’t dating but we are so not platonic right now and one of us just kissed the other in public accidentally

(I modified the prompt slightly because I live by my own rules)

read on ao3 / ffn

James set his quill down, rubbing at his eyes under the rims of his specs. Outside, the dreary October weather persisted. Rain lashed at the window panes, the forceful patter almost drowning out the distant howling of the wind. The library was bathed in shadow, the only light emanating from the soft glow of the candles placed throughout the library.

Leaning back, he stretched his arms above his head and caught sight of Lily on the floor, her back against the wall. The two students had decided an hour ago that the table they were sharing was far too small for the both of them along with their frightening number of books, so she had relocated, which in their tiny secluded corner meant sitting practically underneath the table.

He watched as she leafed through the potions book propped on her knees, sighed at something she read, then vehemently crossed several lines out on her parchment. Next to her, another large tome lay open, surrounded by broken quills and what looked like ink stains.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked after a moment.

Lily started and hit her forehead against the edge of the table. “Ow!” she groaned, rubbing at the bruise while trying to stabilize her book. “You mean other than getting concussions?"

He grinned sheepishly at her. "My bad. Here, I finished the transfiguration questions."

She smiled, her head resting against the wall behind her, neck exposed, face upturned towards him. “Bless you,” she said, taking the offered paper with what they both knew were the correct answers and dropping it in her bag. “Stupid questions almost gave me a stress ulcer.”

"You're not going to read them?" he asked, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

"I will, but I've got to finish this first.” She turned back to her books, quill scratching rapidly at the parchment.

James hesitated for a moment while Lily wrote. After a few seconds, he extricated himself from the tiny table and settled down next to her, peering over her shoulder. “What are you writing?” he asked quietly, so as not to disturb her too much.

She let out a surprised huff at the sudden proximity. “Potions,” she responded softly.

“Exciting,” he muttered.

“Why are we whispering?” she murmured, turning to look at him.

“You’re awfully close,” he whispered back.

They were in fact seated so close now that they were practically nose to nose.

The two students stared at each other in silence. Something was tugging at James, but he remained motionless, afraid to disrupt the tenuous balance that had suddenly made itself known. Leaning forward meant plunging into an abyss he didn’t want to, or simply couldn’t, take the first leap into. He couldn’t, however, bring himself to lean away. Time had stopped, taking a running leap out of the window and leaving them trapped in limbo.

Except.

Lily’s eyes, which had been fixed on James’, suddenly flicked down to his mouth. The movement was swift, her eyes gone from his for only a fraction of a second, but James caught it, the way he caught every minute detail about her, collecting them like treasures.

His heart began beating so hard that he could feel the thumping throughout his entire body, pounding in his limbs and making him ache. He watched, uncomprehending, as Lily leaned in, her face so close to his that his eyes had to dart from feature to feature, the freckle beneath her eye, the smudge of ink on her cheek, her slightly parted lips…

James lurched to his feet. "I should go," he said, taking a step back and gripping the edge of his chair to steady himself. Lily didn’t respond, taken off guard by the sudden flurry of movement. "I'm done, so I'll just get out of your way and let you finish up," he muttered, throwing his books haphazardly into his bag.

"Sure…" she responded. She straightened, looking bemused and a little hurt.

"Bye, then," called James, already disappearing from view.

“Bye,” she whispered hoarsely.

Lily sat in a stupor for what felt like hours, though it was only moments before she was frantically stuffing her belongings into her school bag. She had waited far too long, and far too patiently, for this to be it. Pushing her apprehension aside, she threw the bag over her shoulder and rounded the bookshelf, only to come face to face with James.

They both froze. As she watched him draw shallow breaths, steadying himself, all Lily could do was hope against hope that the warmth spreading in her chest wasn’t unfounded.

“James–” she uttered, just to fill the silence, and then James was crashing into her, lips settling on hers. She melted into him, her bag dropping off her shoulder and hitting the ground with a thud. His palms ran down her face and onto her neck, one hand gripping the back of her head while the other rested in the hollow of her throat, fingers splayed like he wanted to touch as much skin as possible.

Lily made a noise which caused his fingers to tighten, and she gripped his hair in response, pulling him closer. Every one of his touches seared through her, making her brain short-circuit and leaving her mind blank, but none of it mattered because the smell and taste of him were enveloping her, keeping all her worries at bay. All she could do was kiss him harder, reveling in the delighted hums she elicited, feeling his groans everywhere.

James’ mouth slid from hers down to her jaw and she took a deep breath, suddenly realizing how little air she had left. “James,” she gasped. The thought of pulling away was unbearable, but James had started wheezing as he buried his face in her neck, though he was valiantly trying to hide it, so she covered his cheeks with her hands and pulled his face away.

“James,” she said again, waiting for his eyes to refocus. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

“That was an accident,” he blurted, though his hand was still buried in her hair and his gaze lingered on her swollen lips. Contradictory feelings battled it out across his face. He vacillated between looking distinctly pleased with himself, shocked at what he had started, and terrified at the implications.

But not even James’ idiocy could pull Lily down from the fluffy cloud she was floating on. “It didn’t feel very accidental,” she stated with a smirk.

The boy turned even more pink, though his face was already so flushed that it was hard to tell.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” she prompted, feeling immensely pleased with herself as well but choosing to act mature for his sake.

“Can’t talk,” he said quickly, reluctantly releasing her and taking a few steps back. “Got to sleep. Goodnight.” He turned on his heel and sped away as fast as his long legs permitted.

Lily watched him go, knowing a goodbye wasn’t necessary. They weren’t done here.

#accidentally #pah!#this one involves snogging!#jilytober #jilytoberfest #jilytober2021 #jily #james x lily #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #lily evans #james potter

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echotrinityme · 2 years ago

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Choose Me, Henry Chapter 26: New Parts

Henry was carrying Rupert back to the helicopter, Rupert was still whimpering as he used his remaining hand to clutch Henry's black shirt. Henry looked down at Rupert to survey the damage, Rupert lost an arm and a leg. Henry also spotted a slash across Rupert's left eye, he didn't notice his cut since he was too busy focusing on Sven. The question is... who slash Rupert's eye? Henry walked past a room, he took a once over in the room and was about to head out when he saw a corpse.

Henry took a closer look and his eyes widened in shock, it was Carol Cross but she was dead. Henry put two and two together and he smirked in triumph. Truth be told, he never liked Carol. He thought she was too temperamental and he felt like he was walking on eggshells with her. Rupert must have killed her, Henry felt a sense of pride in him as he went outside the building. He looked around and saw the remaining toppats being arrested by the soldiers, he then spotted the General talking to Charles, Dave, and Victoria.

"H-Henry..."

Henry glanced down at Rupert who open his uninjured eye to stare up at him, Henry's heart broke when he saw his eye red and puffy from the excessive sobbing. Rupert's hair was messy, and his clothes were tattered. His uniform was covered with blood and he looked pale. He was trembling like leaf beginning to fall out of the tree during the beginning of the fall season.

This is the most vulnerable position Henry had ever seen Rupert in and he knew Rupert hated feeling vulnerable. "Shhh," Henry cooed softly, "I know how much you're in pain right now, don't worry, you'll get better soon."

Henry headed over to the helicopter, and as he walked over to the helicopter, some soldiers saw Rupert's state. They gasped in shock and horror. When Henry got to the group, the General looked in his direction and his face fell. The others gasped in horror when they saw Henry carrying an injured Rupert, Victoria and Dave immediately went over to Henry.

"What happened?!" Victoria demanded in worry.

"Sven cut off his arm and leg and one of his minions slashed his eye," Henry responded coldly as Dave got a stretcher to put Rupert on it so he can get medical attention.

Dave went over to get Rupert but Henry hesitated in giving him away to Dave, Victoria saw this and she gently placed a hand on him. "Hey, he's going to be okay, Henry," she said softly, "He will be fine."

Henry nodded as he gave Rupert to Dave, Dave, and another soldier strap Rupert onto the stretcher and they got him into the helicopter. Charles was waiting for the order to leave when he heard Dave and another soldier talking about Rupert. He perked up when he heard Rupert's name and he glanced behind him, his eyes nearly bugged out of his brain when he saw Rupert's injured state. "What the hell happened to him?!" he thought as The General ordered everyone to the helicopters once the remaining toppats were in custody, then they all headed back to the base.

A couple of hours later, Henry was pacing anxiously in front of the medical bay.

Dave, Charles, and Victoria were with him. They watched him pace as they heard him muttering, Henry also started to have a panic attack but Dave immediately went over to him to calm him down. "Hen, breathe," he instructed calmly, "He's going to be fine."

Henry stared at Dave incredulously, "How can you be so sure?!"

Dave smiled, "Because he's a fighter, and Dr. V. is taking good of him."

Henry sighed heavily as looked away from Dave, "I know but..." he murmured, "If it weren't for me... he wouldn't be like this."

Dave, Victoria, and Charles stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" Victoria asked gently.

Henry close his eyes as he took in a deep breath and he open his eyes as he exhaled, "I stood frozen while Sven was injuring him... I just stood there frozen... my brain was telling me to move but my body was not moving, I could have just stopped Sven sooner if I had just moved my damn body!"

Henry was trembling as he felt tears blur his vision, he started sobbing.

Dave pulled him into a hug and Victoria put a comforting hand on him. Charles stood a few feet away from them, he was staring at them apathetically. He wanted to comfort Henry but knew Henry was still mad at him for nearly ruining his relationship with Rupert. Charles debated if he should talk to Henry or stay quiet when Dr. V came out of the medical bay, Henry saw her and quickly went up to her. Dave, Victoria, and Charles went over to him.

"How is he, doctor?" Victoria asked in worry.

"Is he alright?" Dave added.

"Can we see him?" Henry questioned, his voice cracking.

"He's fine," Dr. V responded gently, "I replaced his arm and leg with cybernetic parts and his slash is going to leave a scar but he can still use it."

"May we see him?" Henry asked again.

Dr. V shook her head, "Not right now, he's asleep. You should come by later."

Henry's face fell as so did the others, Henry nodded in disappointment as Victoria thanked her. Dave gently took Henry's hand and they left the medical bay.

Rupert groaned as he shifted, he open his eyes but the brightness quickly made him close his eyes. He open his eyes again and his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he sat up and looked around where he was at. He saw tables with medical tools and syringes. He blinked in confusion as he put a hand on his forehead, he blinked some more when he felt metal and not skin. He looked down at his hand and gasped softly. His whole left arm was replaced with cybernetics, he stared at it in awe.

Then he felt metal brushed against his left leg, he lifted his sheets and his eyes widen when he saw his right leg was also replaced with a cybernetic leg. He took note he was wearing a hospital gown and he realized he was in the medical bay at the base. He furrowed his brow in confusion as he kept staring at his cybernetics, what happened to him?

"Ah, Mr. Price. You're awake." said someone with a Russian accent.

Rupert stared up to see Dr. V standing in front of him with her arms crossed, "What happened to me?" he asked.

Dr. V pulled a chair over to him and sat down on it. "Sven Svensson attacked you and cut off your arm and leg," she explained, "And your eye was slashed presumably by his right-hand lady whom you killed."

Rupert listened to the story, processing the information she was giving him. "Sven was killed by Henry and he brought you back to me to fix you," she continued, "The remaining Toppats were put behind bars at The Wall."

Rupert stared down at his lap, he then had a thought. He quickly looked up, "Where's Henry?"

Dr. V smiled and she stood up to head to open the entrance to the medical bay, she motioned for someone to come in. Henry came in rubbing his cybernetic arm and his eyes red. Dr. V left them alone as Henry stood a few feet away from Rupert, he looked down at the floor to avoid meeting Rupert's eyes. "How are you feeling?" he murmured.

"Fine," Rupert responded as he held up his cybernetic hand, "Come here."

Henry did as he was told, he sat down on the chair Dr. V sat in earlier, but he still wasn't looking at Rupert. "Oi, are ya okay?" Rupert asked in worry.

Henry shook his head.

Rupert sighed as he lift Henry's chin with his robotic hand, he saw Henry's eyes were red and puffy. His heart broke, was Henry crying earlier? "Oi, why are you crying?" he asked softly.

"I-I'm so sorry," Henry said as started to sob, "I should have stopped him but I didn't! I'm so sorry..."

Henry put his face into his hands as he cried, Rupert saw this and he knew what Henry was feeling. "Oi, shhh, calm down Hen," Rupert said gently, "I'm fine now, you should be glad I'm not dead."

Rupert chuckled, "I certainly am."

Henry stopped sobbing and stared up at him in disbelief, "Was that your attempt at a joke?"

Rupert gave him a sly smirk, "Maybe."

Henry snorted then he started laughing, Rupert smirked in triumph at making him laugh. Henry stopped laughing as he stood up to hug Rupert, Rupert hugged him back. "I'm so sorry," Henry apologized again.

"Oi, it's okay," Rupert responded as he stop hugging Henry to look at him, "I'm fine and I would have done the same thing too."

Henry looked at him, "Really?"

"Yes,"

Henry nuzzled Rupert, and Rupert replicated Henry's actions. They resume hugging each, they remain silent for a few minutes, then Rupert broke the silence.

"I know it sounds cold but I'm glad you killed him," he said happily as he held up his cybernetic arm, "The plus side is I have cybernetic parts like you."

"And you have that scar that makes you look... sexy," Henry added slyly.

Rupert's face turn a cheery red, "Henry!" he said, embarrassed, "We're in public."

Henry looked at Rupert with a smirk, "There's nobody here but us,"

Rupert shook his head as he smiled, "You're a bad influence, you know that?" he said as Henry was now close to his lips.

"Mmhm," was Henry's reply and he kissed Rupert.

Rupert kissed back, and he put his hand on Henry's cheek as they kept kissing. Henry sat on Rupert's lap as Rupert lick his lips for entrance, Henry moaned as he wrapped his arms around Rupert's neck and Rupert wrapped his arms around Henry. These two lovebirds were in their own world with no one to bother them, but alas, life can be a bitch.

"Ahem!"

Both cyborgs froze upon hearing the General's voice.

They untangled themselves and they glanced at the General and their faces were like a tomato because the General was not alone.

Charles, Dave, Victoria, Calvin, Konrad, Hank, Hayden, and an amused Dr. V stared at them with their mouth agape. But Hayden immediately became happy, "YES! I knew it!" he shouted happily, "Halleluiah!"

Hayden then turn Hank, "Pay up, Hank," he held out his hand. Hank grumbled as he gave Hayden a 20 while everyone else was laughing now, Rupert and Henry wanted to die now.

A/N: It's my birthday! This is a gift to me, and there is one more chapter to this story.

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