#hi i have no idea what fucking season it is

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 5 - Should Have Gone To Med School

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Medical stuff, descriptions of wounds, description of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, blood.

AN: Why does everything I write turn into a medical drama.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You hide the scalpel between the mattress and the bed frame. No point in getting caught with it. You’ll help Price but you won’t take them over the border. It’s too risky, you need them to trust you at least for now. Besides you’re about to maim their captain, or at least you assume he’s the captain. Gaz called him cap. 

He ordered Ghost around and you thought he was incharge. 

“Hey.” The voice at the door makes you jump. You turn to see Soap looking at you. He’s unarmed for once, maybe they are starting to trust you. “Sorry, I wanted to say thank you.” 

“For what?” You ask heading out the room. He blushes running his hand through his hair. Christ, what's he nervous about. He moves to the side to let you out into the hall. 

“For back in the vets with Ghost.” 

“So he told you?”

“Yeah, he’ll never say a proper thank you. He’s a bastard like that sometimes. But you could have let him die.” He seems nervous, you have no idea why. Maybe Ghost didn't want anyone to know he let his guard down. Probably not the best look that a seasoned SAS soldier can get jumped so easily. 

“No I couldn’t. Then you would have killed me.” You smile at him and head down the stairs. 

Maybe you should have let him die, and run. Where though? Back to Konni? To Al Qatala? You shake your head pushing the thoughts away. You'll patch Price up then you’ll part ways. No need for you to stick around longer than you need to. Fuck the asylum in the UK, you don’t believe that would happen anyway. 

Ghost is not around but Soap follows you down the stairs and Gaz is sitting on the coffee table talking with Price. He goes silent when he turns to see you, standing up and moving behind the sofa. His eyes dig into you. You swallow the nerves going over to the bag you dumped down when you came in. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask him one last time. He looks up and nods. 

“It’s worse to leave it in, right?” Price asks. 

“Yes and no. It’s going to hurt. There’s no anesthetic.” You say gripping the handle on the bag. 

“I’ve been through worse.” 

“Cap, are you sure?” Gaz leans down to whisper next to his head. You feel like you’re interrupting something.

“If you need time-” You don’t get time to finish. “No. I’m ready.” Price says sitting up straighter on the sofa. “It’s fine Gaz.” He waves the other man away but he doesn’t move, just stands back up crossing his arms.

“Take your shirt off and lie down.” You say putting the bag on the coffee table and bending down next to the sofa. 

“Do you need a chair or somthin’?” Soap asks, you turn to him and shake your head. He smiles. You look through the bag, you think you have everything. You recognise everything, you managed to grab a lot. But you only have 2 pairs of sterile gloves, which means you only have 2 chances to get this right. You will get it right though. 

Gaz helps Price take his shirt off, you look at the bandage on his stomach. Now you’re calmer, getting a better look at it, it’s not as central as you thought it was. 

“Did you have a vest on?” You ask. 

“Yeah, went right through.” Price says as he lays back on the sofa. 

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t shatter.” You press on his side where he showed you yesterday, it's starting to bruise. It really must be closer to the surface then you think.

“Lucky the guy missed.” 

“Some would argue he didn’t miss.” You say, tipping your head and turning back to the coffee table. You lay out your instruments, double checking everything. What should you be worried about? You think to yourself. It’s been years since you’ve done something like this on a dummy let alone a real person. 

Shock, he could go into shock if the pain is too much. He’s fit and healthy, well other than the hole in his stomach. 

“I can take the bullet out and stitch both the wounds. What would you like me to do first?” 

“Which will hurt less?” He asks scoffing. There’s the nerves, the break in his demeanor. You ignore it, you’d be shitting yourself too. You don’t really know how to answer that. The stitches will have to be deeper on the entry wound, but would that be more or less painful then slicing his skin open and fishing around for a bullet?

“They’re both going to hurt,” you say, it’s the truth. He sighs looking behind you at Soap. 

“Stitch the entry wound first.” A gruff voice behind you says. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Ghost. Price nods and you kneel up pulling the bandages off. As you begin to undo the tape fresh blood drips out and you need to reach over to start dabbing it up. Before you take the steri-strips off you lay out your sterile gloves and reach into the bag for one more thing.

“Here.” You hand him some wooden tongue depressors. “In case you need to bite down on something.” He takes them, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m tougher than you think.” he says. 

“It’s not about being tough.” You snap back. Now your nerves are showing, you take a breath. “It’s so you don’t bite your fucking tongue off and bleed out.” 

He nods. You start pulling the sterile gloves on. You can do this, it’s just stitches, you've done this before, you can do it again. You turn back over to him resting the tray on his chest and pulling the last of the bandage off. It would be easier if you had 2 people, you don’t want to ask any of them for help, besides you need them around to keep an eye on him. You take one last breath getting comfy on your knees. 

“Ready?” You ask turning to look up at him. 

“Ready.” He says. You angle the needle squeezing the tweezers in your hands. Now or never. You say to yourself and plunge the needle into the skin. 

He lasts longer than you thought he would before he makes his first audible groans. You snap to look up at him quickly when you’re done with the next pass. His eyes are squeezed closed, sweat building on his forehead. 

“Almost done.” You lie mopping the blood escaping from the fresh wounds. He’s going to need at least 6 more stitches before you can tie this off. It came back to you in an instant, as soon as you made the first pass through. It’s like riding a bike you never really forget. 

“Want to take a break?” Gaz asks. 

“No.” He grits through his teeth. Good, stopping now wouldn't be smart, you’re over half-way done. 

“You can have a break when I'm done.” You say passing the needle though again. It’s not perfect but it will hold, paired with the bandages it’s all he needs until he can get to a proper medic or a hospital.

“Would kill for a whisky.” He says trying to keep still. That makes you smile. At least he’s still joking, talking. At least he's conscious. You feel like you can hear people shuffling uncomfortably behind you, hushed voices you’re not paying attention to as you concentrate. You’ve been biting the inside of your cheek trying not to show your true nerves, you hope they can’t tell. 

“Almost done.” You assure him.

“You keep saying that.” He says, his breathing picks up. This is going to be the worst part, you saved it till last. You speed up as much as you dare, you want to get this over with before he starts to freak out. You don’t like how shallow his breathing has become. 

“Last stitch.” You say pushing the needle through the skin one more time. You let out an audible sigh of relief as you reach over for the scissors. “Done.” It’s all you can manage. You tie off the tread sitting back on your knees. It’s done. You look over at him, his eyes open again his head tipped back against the sofa pillow. 

You reach over for the bandages and dress the wound. You get up to your feet. 

“Take a break, maybe get something to drink. Water.” You say, swallowing the nerves rising in you. You need to clear your head. You need fresh air. You make a b-line for the front door pulling your gloves off as you pull it open letting the cool night air hit you. 

You feel sick bending over and bracing your hands on your thighs. 

“Holy shit.” You say pushing as much air out your lungs as you can. That really just happened. You just stitched up a fucking SAS officer with no ansathetic. And you’re still not done, he still has a bullet in him. 

The door opens making you jump. You straighten yourself up crossing your arms as goosebumps rise on your skin. You turn to look, it’s Ghost. He hands you a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” You say reaching out and opening it. 

“You did good.” He says after you’ve taken a few sips. 

“It’s just stitches.” You say trying to not let your confidence falter. Can’t have them losing confidence in you. 

“Are you sure taking the bullet out of him is the best option?” He asks. You turn to look at him finishing the bottle. 

“The bullet could move if he does, it could hit an organ, cause internal bleeding. It’s close to the surface though, it could just be stuck below the skin. I have no way of knowing until-” the word catches in your throat. “It’s safer to remove it.” You walk up to him and hand him the empty bottle, he nods. 

When you get back in the building you’re surprised at how warm it is, you’d never noticed that until now. Price looks fine inspecting the bandage on his stomach. 

“Looks good.” He says. He seems perked up. Gaz looks like he hasn’t moved although now he’s holding a glass of water. 

“Thanks.” You say cleaning up the stuff you’ve used and setting up the new stuff you need. The scalpel seems heavy in your hand for some reason. Your mind wonders the one upstairs. 

“Ready?” You ask looking up at Price again. 

“This one should hurt less right?” You squirt alcohol solution over the sight. It’s better than nothing.

“Yes.” You say pulling a mask over your nose and mouth. Maybe if he believes it it will hurt less, like a placebo effect or whatever they call it. You pull the sterile gloves on and pick up the scalpel. You let out a breath looking down at the skin. 

This is not going to be fun. 

“Hey.” John calls, you look up at him. “Don’t look so nervous, what's the worst that could happen.” 

He could die. 

“I’m not nervous.” You bring the blade down. “It’s going to be hard, but try to keep still.” 

You press the blade into the skin. A groan leaves his mouth, his head presses back into the sofa pillow again. You have to act fast, mopping up the blood as it spills out. You thought you’d cut deep enough but apparently not. You squeeze the skin fleeing for the bullet. It’s still there, it's not moved. You make another incision going deeper. 

You’re through the fat and it must be stuck in the muscle. You reach over for your tweezers, using your other hand to try and isolate it. 

“Christ.” Price says as you dig around. 

“I know, I'm sorry. Slippery thing keeps moving.” You say frowning. You manage to find it reaching for the clamp, if you can keep it still you can cut down to it. 

“Got it.” You say after a few seconds of poking around. Thank god you don’t have to dig much deeper. You take the tweezers and pull it out. “Look.” 

Price looks up, when he sees it he smiles.

“Free souvenir.” Soap says. You reach around dropping it with the tweezers on the coffee table. Now you just need to stitch this up. Easier said than done. 

“How’d you learn to do all this if you’re not a doctor?” Price asks, you're surprised he's talking. He looks more relaxed, you look up, he's squeezing Gaz’s hand. Poor Gaz. 

“I would hang out in the skills labs with the surgical interns when I was at the hospital. My father would be in surgery, my mother working. They would teach me. I used to enjoy it as a kid, playing with fake skin watching them work.” 

“What happened? Why did you move away from medicine?” Gaz asks. “I got bored, wanted to do something other than be stuck in a hospital all my life.” You look up at him, he hasn’t moved. “I saw how hard my parents worked. I didn't want a life like that.” 

“Is smuggling easier?” Price asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No but it's more fun.” You hear Gaz scoff, he drops Price’s hand crossing his arms, he hasn't moved but he hasn't taken his eyes off you either. 

“Ever thought about the army?” Price asks. You laugh, shaking your head. 

“I don’t like being tied down. I’m not into all those rules.” 

“I think you’d do good.” “I think it's all bullshit.” You say trying to not snap. You focus on your stitching, you can’t get it out of your head though. Like the military is so great. 

“Where’s your rescue anyway? I would have thought the UK would be desperate to get 4 SAS out of here.” No one says anything. You look up at Gaz, then over at Price. 

“We’re helping Farah.” Soap says.

“Ah, that makes sense. They’re classed as a terrorist organisation right?” You look over at Price, he nods. You’re almost done, you wipe the blood away reaching over for the scissors. 

“Why do you need to get into Russia if you’re helping Farah?” No one says anything. You sigh, tying off the thread. “I can’t help you if I don’t know why.” 

“I thought you didn’t like to know details.” Ghost says. 

“We need to find Alex first.” Price says. You pull your gloves and mask off bandaging up his wound. 

“If you lost him on the border Konni will have him.” You say as a matter of fact. Standing up and picking up the trash. No one is saying anything, you throw it in the bin. 

“You work for Konni right? Your last job was for them?” Price asks, sitting up on the sofa. 

“Yeah, well, not anymore. Thanks by the way I wasn’t really in the mood to be getting an ear full from Makarov this week.” You stand back up looking round the room. They look different, shocked, all the colour has drained from Price’s face. 

“Makarov?” He asks.

“Yeah. I mean he’s in town for something. Like I said I don’t ask, but whatever it is it’s important. Those people you killed were important.” You look round the room. 

“Holy shit. You’re after Makarov.” You say as a matter of fact. No one says anything. You scoff picking the bag up off the table and throwing it over your shoulder. You shake your head again. “Look I hate to be the bringer of bad news but even if I could get you over the border. There is no way on earth you’re getting into Konni’s compound.” 

“We don’t need to get inside anymore.” Price says. He stands up with a groan, pressing his hand on the side of his stomach. Gaz’s eyes follow him, his hands coming out to support him. You want to tell him to sit down. He needs to rest. 

“You work for whoever pays right? How about a job so big you could retire.” Price says taking an unsteady step towards you. You swallow hard, not sure what he’s about to say. 

“Help us kill Makarov and you can name your price.” He says smiling. You frown at him and shake your head. 

“You’re out of your mind. What can I do?” You drop the bag and throw your hands up. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t kill people for fun.” 

“Yeah, I know that. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill us, flee. What stopped you?” He asks, taking another step. You freeze, you’re not sure. You don’t kill in cold blood, you’ve always told yourself that. Self preservation, that's what it is. 

You could have let Ghost die. Let him die in the vets and run back to the border, told Konni about them, they would have been captured but you didn't. Maybe you believed them when they said they could get you out. 

Maybe you trust them. 

“I think you’re better than all this. You want peace in your country, you want the war to end. You need to pick a side to do that.” He reaches behind you, someone passes him something. You don’t turn, you're nervous all of a sudden. Maybe they’re about to kill you. Making you lower your guard so you’re an easier target. 

He brings the object into view. It’s the scalpel, the same one you hid in the bed. 

“I think it’s time you pick a side.” He holds it out for you to take. You could take it from him right now and slit his throat. How did they even find it? Shit. Soap must have seen you. You look up at him, he has a smile on his face. He already knows what you’re going to do. You reach out and take the scalpel.

next

Banners by plum98

[howlingday]

Disclaimers:

1. DO NOT harass the real Miles Luna and Kerry Shawcross. This is just something meant to be silly.

2. Insert less important point 2

Yang: Excuse me Kerry. Miles.

Kerry: Oh, hey, Yang!

Miles: What's up?

Yang: Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase. When do I get my own story?

Kerry: What are you talking about?

Yang: I have been on every cover for the past 9 volumes, but so far my only storyline is either about Ruby or Blake. Pretty much sidelined for someone else's story.

Miles: ...Yeah?

Yang: Don't "Yeah?" me! I'm feeling kind of ducked around here!

Kerry: Well, I'm sorry, but we need to make room for our knew idea.

Yang: And that is...?

Kerry: So, you know that guy with the monkey tail and he always has his shirt open?

Yang: YOU'RE GIVING IT TO FUCKING SUN?!

Miles: No, no, no!

Kerry: ...To his cousin.

Yang: HIS COUSIN?!

Miles: Yeah, her name is Starr, and she has a dojo, and, oh, she's so cool!

Yang: You're going to sideline me, the girl on the box, in the name of RWBY Cousins?

Kerry: ...Could we ask you to word that differently? You made it sound really stupid.

Yang: BECAUSE IT IS STUPID.

Miles: Aw, c'mon, don't be like that...

Yang: You are giving me second-billing to a character vaguely referenced and then revealed at the end of the worst RWBY novel ever written. So, yeah, I'm a little pissed.

Kerry: That's a really good point. I'm gonna reboot everything.

Yang: WHAT?! WHY?!

Miles: Yeah, we really wanna!

Yang: YOU'RE GOING TO UNDO AT LEAST TEN SEASONS WORTH OF EVERYTHING WE'VE BUILT TOGETHER WITHOUT FINISHING WHAT WAS ALREADY STARTED?!

Kerry: You're really entitled. Y'know that?

Yang: I'VE BEEN ON THE FUCKING BOX SINCE DAY ONE! I'M SORRY IF I GOT A MISCONCEPTION OF MY IMPORTANCE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO WRITE?! GOD DA- (R'bootrd)

Miles: And delete~! Okay, first things first; Jaune watches another red-head die because of him.

Jaune: (Holding Nora's corpse) WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 39/42 WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another.

PROLOGUE/1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (interlude) 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (interlude) 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 (interlude) 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

CHAPTER THIRTYNINE

              The trip back to North Island passes in a blur, his check-up in the medical bay on the carrier perfunctory, declaring both him and Maverick fit enough to transport, but requiring further assessment being followed by a quick debrief. So he knows he’s going to have to head to the base hospital, and the fact that both Javy and Phoenix fall in on either side of him tell him he’s going to have an escort until he’s declared completely fit, or delivered to his accommodation and told to rest. That’s fine, he kind of needs the support right now. Maverick keeps shooting him little glances, like he’s worried about him and Jake isn’t sure what to make of it.

              He’s just sitting there, waiting for Javy to finish his own check up, to drive him back to his accommodation when he senses someone settle in the chair beside him and he glances to his left and then does a double take. Holy shit. He’s not met the man before, but it’s kind of hard to miss the face of the COMPACFLT even when he’s dressed in civvies. Leo’s Uncle Tom. Holy shit.

              “Admiral Kazansky sir.”

              He gets handed a slip of paper and Jake frowns, accepts it tentatively, worried suddenly that something has happened to Leo and unfolds it.

Lieutenant Seresin, My apologies for the hand written note however my throat is often sore due to the surgeries I’ve had. I wanted to let you know I have taken the prerogative to allow your fiancé into your base accommodation. He is listed as your next of kin so I hope this is an acceptable course of action on my part. I also wanted to meet you and welcome you to the family. I’d like to invite you around for dinner tomorrow night.

              Then there’s an address and phone number, a little note about how he prefers texting and Jake’s mind boggles because the COMPACFLT just gave him his phone number, but what he keeps circling back to is Leo Leo Leo.

              “I – what? Sorry. He’s… here? Why?”

              Admiral Kazansky raises a single eyebrow, and he’s clearly judging Jake, because of course Leo is here to see him. Does he know what’s happened? Fuck Jake hopes not, hates the idea of Leo worrying unnecessarily. He was already itching to get to bed, but now he’s looking forward to it even more, knowing that Leo is going to be there waiting for him.

              “Thank you, sir.”

              Admiral Kazansky nods and then taps the piece of paper.

              “Dinner,” he says, and his voice is rough and scratchy and Jake nods automatically.

              “Yes sir.”

              That gets him another nod, and then Admiral Kazansky is standing and striding off down the hallway and he supposes he’s going to check in on the rest of the Daggers.

              Okay then.

              Dinner with the COMPACFLT.

…          …          …

              His body is aching despite the painkillers he has onboard, and as he slides the key into the lock and pushes the door open, has no idea what to expect on the other side. Whether Leo will be wide awake and waiting for him, or cooking out his stress and worry, or fast asleep in bed. It doesn’t matter, just the fact that he’s here is more than enough. Javy is watching him from the car, expression concerned, and he turns to wave, closes the door firmly behind him.

              Violet is sitting at the little table, fingers flying over the screen of her phone, takes one look at him and then she’s moving fast and wrapping her arms around him and he hugs her back despite the ache. Her rapid-fire Italian is too much right now, his brain officially suffering from a concussion, even if it is just a mild one. He gets the gist of the words though and he murmurs back sto bene, sto bene. I’m okay. I’m okay. Well he will be. The fact that she is so glad to see him tells him that they obviously know something bad happened. Okay then.

              “Mio Dio Jake… it’s so good to see you.”

              “Yeah. You too Vi… holy shit it’s been a few couple of weeks.”

              “Yeah. Uh… Leonardo’s passed out. Wait. Is this your uniform?”

              “Yes… you’ve seen me in it before,” Jake says, glancing down at his name plate. There isn’t anything different. He hasn’t accidentally put on someone else’s uniform.

              “I… I wasn’t paying attention. You’re Hangman?”

              “Yeah… it’s my callsign. Why?”

              “You… you?”

              “Vi… what’s wrong?”

              “I just… uh. You’re… are you kind of an asshole at work?”

              Jake huffs in amusement.

              “Only every waking moment…”

              “Oh dio… of course you are.”

              “What? You heard of me or something?”

              “Or something,” Vi mutters and Jake laughs, winces as his ribs protest the movement. “Shit. You probably want to see Bradley. Look. He… he’s had a rough couple of days.”

              “Yeah…” Jake starts, because his own days haven’t exactly been peachy but the look on Vi’s face is pinched. “How much do you know?” Jake asks, because what the actual fuck. He’s kind of angry that Leo has been made to worry unnecessarily.

              “That you were shot down and missing. He… he kind of went into shock. Collapsed. Had to drug him a little just to get him through and he’s… well. It’s still wearing off.”

              “What the fuck? You drugged him?”

              “His doctor drugged him. Just to… dampen everything I guess. He couldn’t keep food down, kind of just… shut down. Um… He’s passed out asleep in your bed. I’ve got a hotel room. I couldn’t leave him alone until you got here…”

              “Yeah. Okay. I’m here now.”

              He gets another hug, which he winces through but then she’s out the door with a concerned twist of her lips and he just stands there for a moment, lets his head rest against the door. He’s exhausted and he wants to sleep for fucking days. He looks fucking awful, cuts and bruises, bags under his eyes. He knows Leo won’t care but a little part of him wants to look good.

              As much as he wants a shower he sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through Leo’s hair, leans down to press a kiss to the middle of his forehead. When he pulls back Leo is blinking at him with sleepy eyes.

              “Hi…” Jake whispers, throat tight.

              “Hi… mmm… you’re here…”

              “Yeah… I’m right here.”

              “Oh my god, you’re actually here…”

              Leo is moving then, arms wrapping around Jake and pulling him into the bed. He’s not used to Leo’s fingers being so tight and bruising, but he also supposes his body hasn’t usually withstood an ejection and crash landing in the last forty-eight hours either.

              “Just uh, little bit more gentle baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

              Leo sobs then and Jake wraps his arms around him as tight as possible and just holds him tight.

              “Can’t believe I almost lost you…” Jake murmurs against his hair and he gets a wet sniff in response before Leo is mumbling into his neck.

              “I’m not the one that got shot out of the sky Jake…”

              “For fucks sake… you shouldn’t know that…” Jake mutters, even though he knows it’s much too late and it’s not like he can have words with the COMPACFLT, even if he desperately wants to give him a piece of his mind.

              “Uh… actually, yeah. I need to tell you something. My, uh, Uncle Tom?”

              “Yeah. I know. I figured as much…”

              “What do you mean you figured as much?”

              “Admiral Kazansky. He’s your Uncle Tom.”

              “You… I mean… you already… you know?”

              “I’m not an idiot baby…”

              “Um… how long? How long have you known?”

              “Uh…” Jake starts, tries to think back. “At least a couple of years. I mean… I had my suspicions. Admiral Kerner confirmed it. I kind of went through your dad’s Top Gun class… sorry.”

              “Fuck. No. Don’t apologize. I need to apologize to you, I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages, but I kept forgetting…”

              “Forgetting?” Jake asks, because that doesn’t sound like Leo at all.

              “Well. We usually have more interesting things to talk about. Or do.”

              “Oh… I see how it is. It’s my fault for distracting you…”

              “Just…” Leo starts, but then yawns widely. “Just saying it like it is. I was so worried you’d be angry at me…”

              “Your family is complicated as fuck. I just figured you didn’t want to talk about it. Now I really need a shower. You going to let me go so I can go have one?”

              “No. Just… stay. Please.”

              “Yeah. Okay.”

…          …          …

              He did manage to strip down to almost nothing before he fell asleep last night, and it’s the very early hours of the morning, his bladder urgently reminding him he didn’t do his usual evening routine. His mouth feels disgusting as well. Leo is sacked out beside him, an arm and leg stretched out over him, pinning him and he shuffles, grins into the darkness as Leo’s fingers curl tighter around his torso.

              “Leo baby, I need the bathroom… I’ll be right back.”

              Leo does let him go, although he grumbles under his breath; Jake moves stiffly, knows he’s got a couple of days before he’s through the worst of it. He takes a piss and brushes his teeth, realizing he should probably take some more painkillers for his ribs. He still desperately wants a shower, doesn’t know if the noise would disturb Leo or he’ll sleep through it. Then his reflection appears in the dim half-light of the bathroom, eyes wide as his arms wrap around Jake from behind.

              “You… you’re still here.”

              “Yeah.”

              “I thought I dreamt you…”

              “Not this time,” Jake says, and he wonders if Leo is somehow going to come out of this worse than Jake. If he’ll have nightmares of Jake not coming back to him. Fuck he hopes not. “You want to have a shower with me?”

              Leo nods wordlessly and Jake turns the shower on. It’s going to be a tight squeeze but he’s got the distinct impression Leo isn’t going to give him any personal space for a while yet.

…          …          …

              They’re both quiet and he’s careful as he runs gentle hands over Jake’s body, can barely see the bruises in the dim light, but he can feel the swelling and he’s extra careful. Reaches for the bottle of Jake’s body wash and squeezes some into his hands to lather up and then scrunches his nose.

              “This is… did you switch body washes? This is my one… you smell like me,” Bradley says, and he shoves and his nose into the crook of Jake’s neck and inhales deeply, and even though they’re in the shower he can still smell the familiar scent of his own body wash on Jake. Peppermint-rosemary-green-tea.

              “Uh, well… I bought a couple bottles of your body wash. It’s what I use when I’m deployed. I like smelling like you when we’re apart.”

              “Oh…” Bradley says, and he doesn’t have anything sweetly romantic to say back, just presses a kiss to the curve of Jake’s shoulder and keeps washing him, savoring the closeness and intimacy of the moment. He’s got Jake’s body wash in his apartment, and their house in Texas, a citrus and mint scent which always makes him think of mojitos. He’s used it to jerk off a couple of times, when he’s really missed him; that’s not something he wants to bring up right now. Neither of them are in the right mindset, let along physically up for anything considering Jake winces every time he moves. He can tell Jake later, knows he’ll get a kick out of it and be smug about Bradley smelling like him. Can’t believe he’s never noticed how Jake must have come home smelling like Bradley before reverting to using his own bodywash.

              “I love you…”

              “Love you too. Very glad to be home.”

…          …          …

              They fall back to sleep and when he wakes later he feels infinitely better, knows the painkillers have obviously kicked in and the sleep has helped. Leo is awake, looking clear-eyed, watching Jake with a soft smile on his face and Jake tilts his head up, smiling when Leo automatically leans forward to press a kiss to his lips before pulling back, a question clearly on his mind.

              “If you already know about Ice, do you also know about Mav?”

              “Maverick?” Jake asks, and he resists pulling a face.

              “Yeah…” Leo says with a quiet sigh. “He’s my godfather.”

              “I know. I mean… I figured it out. Figured you didn’t want to talk about it.”

       ��      “You… I. I didn’t. When we first started going out I wasn’t talking to him. But, uh, about a year ago, maybe a little bit longer, Ice got sick again and Mav called me…”

              “Your trips to California…” Jake says with dawning realization.

              “Yeah.”

              “Leo… why didn’t you just tell me?”

              “Well, I wanted to do it on person. Explain. But also, I was worried it might be a deal breaker… they’re a pretty big deal.”

              “I don’t think anything can break this deal…” Jake says, running his index finger over the ring on Leo’s finger. Inwardly though he’s really fucking glad he did in fact stick his neck out and save Maverick’s life. Although Maverick�� oh. Huh. Now his behavior makes a bit more sense, with him trying to talk to Jake, and Jake shutting him down at each turn thinking he wasn’t currently talking to Leo.

              Ah well.

              He’ll have to apologize for that next time he sees him. Explain things. He suspects Maverick would have saved any pilot’s life if he could, but his anger at Jake when they’d found each other in the snow, that was all because he was meant to be safely back on the carrier and heading home to Leo. Yeah. Okay. That also explains some things.

              “That’s really good to know… it took me a while to tell them about you, but they know now obviously. Ice told me that both you and Mav got shot down…”

              “Fuck…” Jake breathes out, and he realizes now why it must have hit Leo so hard. To hear the news not only about Jake, but also the godfather who he’s recently reconciled with. No wonder Vi said it had been a rough couple of days.

              “Yeah. I want to go and see him. Just… make sure he’s alright as well.”

              “Of course. I need to ring my family as well. And I’m meant to be catching up with the squad as well,” Jake says, although seeing the squad is definitely lowest on his priority list.

              “Your family don’t know…”

              Jake lets out his breath, grateful for small mercies at least, even as he wishes he could have spared Leo the same.

              “Still, been in blackout and I want to talk to them…”

              “Yeah. Of course. Come on, let me make us some brunch while you call them. You must be starving…”

              Jake considers his stomach and yeah, he’s been feeling nauseated for a bit but right now, he could eat. Especially if it is Leo cooking.

…          …          …

              He knows Jake’s sisters aren’t stupid, the fact that Bradley is here, in California, in Jake’s base accommodation must tell them a lot without telling them anything and he meets their eyes through the tiny screen and just nods. He’s here, and he’ll take care of Jake. They’ll take care of each other. He wonders if Vi has said anything to them, because he definitely wasn’t in any fit state to talk to anyone. God, he’s lucky she was there.

              They’ve eaten, are standing side by side doing the dishes, placing soft kisses on whatever part of the body is closest and he can feel that his equilibrium has returned. He’s fully aware that that might change as soon as Jake is about to be deployed again, but he won’t worry about that right now.

              “Admiral Kazansky invited me to dinner…fucking Uncle Tom…”

              Bradley huffs a laugh, so relieved that Jake just… doesn’t care. Knew already. He turns and presses a proper kiss to his mouth before pulling back.

              “Oh. Cool. Nice. I’ll see you there then?”

              “You’re going to be there?” Jake asks, and he seems a little surprised. Bradley grins, leans into his space and gives him another kiss.

              “Of course. Pretty sure he’s expecting me to cook dinner.” Jake huffs at that and Bradley grins. “How about we go and lie down again for a bit, set an alarm just incase we fall asleep. Then you can catch up with the squad while I go and see Mav. Sound good?”

              “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

…          …          …

              He drops Jake off at the Hard Deck with strict instructions to not drink any alcohol. It gets him an eyeroll for his troubles, but it’s quickly followed by a kiss and murmured love you and Bradley feels like he’s on top of the world as he heads to Ice and Mav’s place. He stops in at the grocery store and picks up some supplies, even though Ice said he’d go out and get whatever Bradley needed he always prefers to have a look himself. He knocks on the door and waits.

              “Hey Ice…”

              “Bradley,” Ice says, and he’s enveloped in arms that used to be bigger and stronger, but still make him think of home. He looks around, and he can see Mav’s jacket and boots.

              “He’s in bed resting. Go check…”

              He’s grateful for the permission, wouldn’t want to ask otherwise, steps quietly down the hall and pushes the door open to see Mav passed out spreadeagled across the bed. He looks older than Bradley remembers, even though it’s only been a few months since he saw him. He supposes most of his memories are of Mav over twenty years ago and it’s going to take a while for them to all catch up with the realization that Mav is nearly sixty now. Regardless he’s also alive and safe and he’s so damned grateful about the fact. Glad he’d talked to him beforehand.

              He pulls the door back closed and heads back to Ice, finds him in his study, tapping a brown folder with a finger, which he the raises to beckon Bradley closer. He goes, looks at the folder and then at Ice, who is now holding it out to him.

              “What’s this?” Bradley asks, taking it. It’s thin, and when he opens it there is only two sheets of paper, double sided and he looks at Ice, waiting for an answer.

              “Debrief summary. Classified.”

              Bradley shakes his head, closes it and tries to pass it back, fairly certain he doesn’t want to read it. Already knows how close he came to losing both Jake and Mav.

              “Why? Do you think I need to read this? Can I just not be glad that they’re both home and safe?”

              Ice clearly looks torn, obviously having already made the decision to break the law by sharing classified information with a civilian and now having to deal with him not even wanting to read it.

              “Easier for you to read…”

              Bradley blows out a breath and resigns himself to reading it through, and he starts, reading quickly. It is very matter of fact, no embellishments and there are timestamps scattered throughout when they’re known. Then he reads the part where Jake announces he’s out of flares, and then Maverick saving him…

              “Oh my god…”

              “Keep reading.”

              He does, and he feels his eyes go wide, and suddenly he feels his temper rise and he bites his lip until he tastes blood.

              “What the fuck was Jake thinking?”

              “Keep reading.”

              Bradley knows how this ends. They’re both safe and alive but there’s this whole unbelievable journey and as he reads about Maverick commandeering a fucking Tomcat he looks up at Ice disbelievingly, and he just pulls a face and waves a hand.

              “Keep reading.”

              Bradley has no fucking clue who Billy Avalone is, but he’s just made Bradley’s list of gold-star humans that will never have to pay to eat in any of his restaurants ever again. Holy shit.

              “Holy shit…”

              “Mmm…” Ice hums and Bradley shakes his head.

              “This is… is it real?”

              Ice nods, even though the expression on his face clearly reads like he is struggling to believe it as well.

              “It’s really hard to be angry with someone when their actions saved the life of someone else you love… more than once. Fucking hell.”

              He’s angry, so angry, but he’s also so fucking grateful. They were both so lucky, although he knows they’re also very good pilots, so maybe they didn’t need that much luck. Still. Holy shit. His hands are shaking as he hands back the report and he rubs his hands over his face, trying to settle himself down again. Reaches for his phone and there’s a message there from Jake, simply a string of love hearts and he quickly sends a few back in response.

              “I really need to chop some things up. Come help me prepare dinner.”

…          …          …

              “Maverick has invited us all around for dinner…” Phoenix remarks and Jake blinks, because he hasn’t been invited. And sure, Maverick probably thinks Jake has a problem with him, and he doesn’t blame him for thinking that, but still… Then again;

              “Fuck. I’ve already got dinner plans.”

              “Someone more important than Maverick?”

              “Yeah. Admiral Kazansky.”

              He’s got several pairs of eyes staring at him and he shrugs helplessly, because what is he meant to do? Say no? He pulls the piece of paper with the note on it and shows it to them, eyebrows go up, and then there are a couple of frowns. Phoenix and Bob both go so far as to pull out their phones and he hopes they’re not all taking down the COMPACFLT’s phone number. Shit. He probably shouldn’t have shared that around. Too late now though.

FORTY

[setmeatopthepyre]

Fuck It Friday Suck It Sunday?

was tagged by the amazing @rcmclachlan but I saw it a little late & have forgotten what the sunday version of this is. so. here's some antarct-fic!

“Evan? Come over here, please.”

Buck arranges his last slice of prefab cookie dough on the baking sheet, then leaves Brooke with the rest. Sure, when Lucy told him he'd be baking, he'd hoped for a little more creative freedom, but he does suppose this is more efficient.

He quickly washes his hands, then heads to the front of the galley kitchen, to where Katie is leafing through her clipboard. She gives him what he's quickly learning passes for a smile – a slight lifting of the corners of her mouth, a squeezing together of her eyes. Now that he knows what it means, it reminds him of a cat's slow blink. Except a lot less warm and cuddly.

He likes her, he does. She's just a little terrifying, is all.

“I'm going to need you to do a lunch run to helo ops,” Katie tells him. She unclips a sheet of paper and hands it to him. “This is a list of the special requests. For the other three, just get a bit of everything. Make sure to get plenty of carbs and to hit the major food groups.”

Buck takes the list, looks it over. Okay, this'll be simple enough. He can grab most of the things from the buffet and ask the galley crew up front for the rest. “Copy that. Who do I give it to?”

“Helo ops. The heliport. It's down the hill, just past Crary lab.”

“Wait, I-I need to go there?”

Katie gives him a sharp look. “That's the idea of a lunch run, kid.”

Buck is pretty sure he's sweating. “I—I can't do that.”

She turns fully towards him now, frowning. “And why is that?”

“I-- My--” He fumbles for some kind of excuse that isn't the truth, won't reveal his actual motivations for being here, but he's got nothing. Even better, the rest of the galley crew has caught wind of their conversation, and they're not even trying to hide it. Entertainment can be hard to come by in these parts, and any interpersonal drama definitely qualifies as entertainment.

He guesses he owes them that much.

“I—uh. My ex works there.”

Katie's eyebrows raise. Says, slowly, "That's a hell of a coincidence.”

“It's not.” He swallows. Meets her eyes. “I-I'm here because of him. Because he's here. He sort of. Ran away?”

There's definitely some whispering going on behind him now.

Katie looks unimpressed, and once again she reminds him a little too much of Athena. “So you ran after him?”

“Y-yeah.” He grimaces.

“But you don't want to see him?”

“Well, I mean, that's not--”

“Hm. You don't want him to see you.” It's not a question. “Why not?”

“I do want him to-- to see me. Just. Not yet. Not until I-- I know what to say to him, you know?”

Katie hums, looks down at her clipboard. “Only new helo pilot this season is Kinard. That him?”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yes. That's-- That's him.”

“Well, he's on a supply run to the dry valleys. Won't be back for another--" she glances up at the clock, "--forty-five minutes.” She jabs a pen at the paper Buck is still clutching tightly. “And that's his lunch order. Better make sure it's waiting for him.”

Relief floods through his veins and he huffs a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

He heads out towards the galley, but turns before he exits the kitchen. “Hey, Katie? Thanks.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile.

[ninthprime]

severance 2x02 thoughts (spoilers)

you all seemed to enjoy my thoughts last time. so. let’s keep doing this

not only did i accurately predict most of this episode in my last post (they let the others back because they need mark, dylan is back because he needs to support his family, etc) but i also used the phrase “occam’s razor” and devon uses the exact same term this episode. feeling like a real severance understander over here

fellow fans of the “outie irving used to have milchick’s job” theory- do we think his scene with milchick this episode disproves it? there’s nothing specific about the scene that would completely throw it away, but i doubt they’d fire irving so easily if they knew he had unsevered knowledge of the severed floor. maybe he was severed when he had the position, and they had to re-sever him/implant a new chip/whatever that would entail? and whatever went wrong there led to managers like milchick and cobel being required to be unsevered? we pretty much know that irving worked at lumon before being a severed member of MDR (he has an early ID number but has only been in MDR for three years), so it’s a matter of connecting the dots. maybe the wrongful assumption we’re making is that he’s painting the testing floor elevator from his own memories, rather than, say, a description from someone else (reintegrated petey?).

i agree with many that there’s a reason we didn’t see the immediate aftermath of the season 1 finale for irving and burt, but i’m not sure if it’s the reason a lot of people are predicting (that they know each other outside of being severed). i feel like it may be something stranger and more lore-heavy. kind of wondering if burt is reintegrated in some way or otherwise has knowledge of irving that irving wouldn’t know about. one of my questions about season 1 that i’ve never really seen anyone else ask is “why does optics & design need to be severed?” with MDR we now know it’s because their work contributes to some sort of strange experiment with testing floor subjects (ie. miss casey), which lumon would want to keep secret, but we don’t know why O&D’s work is also hidden. my inclination is that burt knows more than he’s saying.

that said if we’re supposed to get an old gay spies vibe from outie irving/burt then i think it should have the tone of chris fleming’s description of the film heat

similarly, i think they’re keeping gretchen hidden from us not because she’s someone we already know but to make us question things when dylan gets to go to that “visitation suite.” that way they can have a big reveal that the “wife” dylan gets to meet there is fake or, maybe even more interesting, that she’s in fact his wife with no tricks involved.

and one last thing that this episode purposefully keeps from us: miss huang being assigned to milchick’s old position! that’s hiding something.

i don’t think it’s important or anything but i would love to have elaboration on the lumon chain of command and on helena and milchick’s relationship. she’s his boss but he’s also the boss of her severed self? he has to answer to her outside of the severed floor but down there he can break room torment her as needed for the sake of lumon? fucking wild. really shows how much the lumon higher-ups have driven any idea that the innies are people out of their minds- milchick can do it with the heir to the company.

thought about why i’m generally enjoying mark/helly (and gemma/mark/helly) when it’s usually not what i’d be into and this episode led me to realize it’s because of how completely fucked up it could get. yeah, let’s get the outies in here, let’s make this even more potentially cursed. we ask if love can transcend severance. if that’s true, is it always a good thing? is it the way things should be? i’m excited for the answers to feel like a hammer blow.

one thing i haven’t seen people mention about the confirmation that lumon needs mark for The Miss Casey Experiment aka Cold Harbor is that it implicitly gives a time limit for this season. if mark finishes the cold harbor file and the experiment is a success, can they just fire him and the rest of the team at that point? would they feel the need to silence any of them further as outies? hell, devon tells milchick she spoke to innie mark in this episode- does that put devon and her family under threat? i imagine this may end up being the climax of the season, along with revealing whatever cold harbor is.

my loudest reaction while watching this one was a barking laugh at the first image of milchick with the pineapple on mark’s porch. incredible

“i ate your shitty fucking cookies” is an all-time adam scott line read. and it’s good to once again be reminded why david lynch’s nickname for patricia arquette was “solid gold”

[cinnamqnx]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing: sae itoshi x f!reader

summary: after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

cw: nsfw elements, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

chapter 06: match day

the day of re al’s match had finally come. you and kaia had both decided to attend while natalia decided to stay home, football wasn’t really her thing.

“well, why do i want to watch your boyfriends kick balls for 2 hours?”, she had asked, her tone full of sass and sarcasm, causing kaia’s eyes to roll at the time.

“looking good in my jersey, baby.”, oliver runs up behind kaia, causing her to squeal.

“god, oli, shouldn’t you be in the locker rooms.”, she slaps his arm gently.

he chuckles, “yeah, but i wanted to come see you, i was surprised you came.”

“y/n was coming anyway..”, she dismisses him.

“oh yeah, you’re here to see our star player, right?”, he hums, tilting his head slightly with a lazy smirk.

“mhm.”, you nod.

“he’ll be happy to see you.”, he turns to kaia, “anyway, gotta run, and you both should go sit down since the match is starting soon.”

“i’m getting popcorn, oliver.”, kaia states, in a tone like he’s dumb.

he rolls his eyes at her, “aren’t you gonna wish me luck?”

“good luck.”, she says, not turning to look at him, causing him to sigh loudly, “alright, i’ll see you both out there.”, he puts his hands on his hips, sassy, and rushes back to the locker rooms.

“god, he’s so obsessed with me.”, kaia says, turning to you once getting her large popcorn, making you giggle.

current score: 1-2

“what the fuck is oliver doing? GET IT TOGETHER!”, kaia screams from the sidelines as she sees oliver get a yellow card, causing him to turn over to the screaming holding up a somewhat angry ‘what?’ pose.

“they’re really not doing well out there.”, you say, a little worried.

“i know this is so unlike them.”

“sae hasn’t even taken a glance at me.”, she turns to kaia.

“he’s known as the star of the team and he didn’t even make the only goal they’ve scored. he’s probably embarrassed.”, she pauses, “i have no idea what’s up with them.”

“i hope he’s okay.”, you say, looking over to find him, his hands rubbing across his face, grabbing his water bottle.

final score: 1-2

the car ride home was silent and the tension was thick. oliver was currently driving with kaia in the front, while you was sat next to sae in the back. kaia glances back at you, hoping she isn’t the only one feeling awkward by the tension.

“soo, you guys did well out there.”, she says, so obviously trying to make the boys feel better about themselves after this unexpected loss. they hadn’t lost a match since starting the season.

“kaia, don’t.”, oliver warns, causing her to just stay silent.

oliver finally drops you and sae off back to his apartment, turning his keys to open the door, “are you okay?”, you ask.

he turns, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him before you even got the chance to admire his high end apartment.

“i’m sorry. i just need this right now.”, he mutters against your lips, with the next thing you know, his lips are on yours with pure desire and need.

navigation: heartbreak summer

next chapter: 07

author’s note: tysm for reading!! a lot of the chapters from now one will have quite a bit of writing since we’re getting to the climax of the story, but i try not making them too long since i personally find it hard reading with way too much detail. i’ve also added all chapters to the navigation page of heartbreak summer since i finally have it fully planned out! so you might be able to get some hints based on the chapter names 🤭

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi @megumiivs @captainshindo @evry1luvssm @alatusorrow @pookalicious-hq @gigiiiiislife @tnt-kokoo @misosoupii @whisperofae @bontensbabygirl @s4-mmy @viviinpt @werfiedeii @dinnersyummy @sccubss @nuhahani @treeguzzler

[bimbosicko]

GET HIM BACK !

when sam accidentally sees dean in bed with two girls, you decide to give him the idea of getting revenge and get him back ۶ৎ

pairings ! sam winchester x fem! reader

warnings ! season three sam winchester, sam is an awkward dork, reader is a BIGGER awkward dork, it starts as a joke and ends with sex... lmao. this is fluff!! with sex!! porn with 2k of plot 😭, let's have a shot whenever i mention cheeks or the word fuck and let's get BUSTED.

author's note ! he's so cute i love him sm (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) also the final part i wrote it sobbing so im sorry is not that good 😭

word count ! 5,1 k of words wtf is wrong with me!!

"I am traumatized."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, a chuckle escaping your lips before you could stop it. "Sam, you're not traumatized..." you said, your voice tinged with amusement, the edges of a smile playing on your lips.

"I've seen Kama Sutra positions that were easier than whatever was going on in that room," he added, your laughter echoed in the room, and for a moment, you felt the familiar ease you always had with Sam.

"God, you're hilarious," you said, shaking your head. "Don't ever change."

"I think that experience changed me," he muttered, sounding truly displeased.

"Come on," you shrugged. "He deserves to have a little fun every now and then. I mean... he doesn't have much time left." The lightness in your voice faltered as the words left your mouth, and you regretted them the moment you saw the way Sam's face darkened.

"Hey," he said sharply, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Don't say that. We'll find a way."

You nodded, though the uncertainty in your expression must have betrayed you. "If you say so, Sammy..." The nickname slipped off your tongue as naturally as breathing, like it belonged there. At this point, the bond between you two felt as unshakable as the tides meeting the shore. He noticed, of course, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your chest.

Sam rolled his eyes then, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. "You’re lucky you were asleep during all that. If not, I would’ve sent you to the room," he grumbled with a mock huff.

Your nose wrinkled at his suggestion, heat rising to your cheeks. "Well..." you trailed off, looking anywhere but at him.

His brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by well?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

You covered your face with both hands, already regretting opening your mouth. "I didn’t want to see that!" you squeaked, your voice muffled by your palms. Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of his gaze on you.

Sam leaned closer, the proximity making your pulse race. "Wait, wait, wait..." he said, his tone lighter now but with a hint of teasing curiosity. "Are you saying you pretended to be asleep?"

Your eyes widened as you peeked through your fingers, only to find his smirk growing. "Sam!" you whined, your embarrassment mounting.

He tilted his head, grinning now, a mischievous glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "So, you did. Wow, I thought you were fearless, but apparently, even you have limits."

"Oh, shut up," you muttered, crossing your arms defensively. But the way he laughed—a deep, genuine laugh—made your heart skip. You tried not to smile, but the corners of your lips betrayed you.

For a moment, the air between you two shifted. The teasing banter faded into a comfortable silence, but the unspoken tension lingered, thick and electric. His gaze softened, lingering on you just a second too long, and you felt the world narrow to just the two of you. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

"You're something else, you know that?" he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the fairytale-like spell that seemed to envelop the two of you. Sam was so close that you could feel his warmth, and staying indifferent to it felt like an almost impossible task.

"So... when is Dean coming back from the hospital?" you whispered, locking your gaze on Sam’s eyes.

"In an hour, I think." His voice was calm, but there was something in his tone that echoed in the silence that followed.

You nodded but said nothing more. A heavy silence settled between you, not exactly uncomfortable, but not easy to ignore either. The tension was palpable, as if every breath you took fed a fire that neither of you dared acknowledge.

"You should get back at Dean," you blurted out suddenly, trying to dispel the pressure that seemed to hang in the air. You pretended to be distracted, playing with your nails, but you were fully aware of Sam's every move from the corner of your eye.

"What?" His eyebrow arched, but there was something more behind his reaction, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

"You know... like, uh, Dean catching you doing that. It’d be funny," you murmured, feeling your shoulders tense as the words left your mouth.

"Do you think so?" he asked. His voice was calm, but there was something in it—something that made your heartbeat feel stronger, louder. "I wouldn’t want to involve some random girl in something like that..."

"Oh, right, totally. It could traumatize her," you replied with obvious irony, trying to mask your own discomfort. Your cheeks were burning, but you couldn’t stop yourself. "We could… do it. You and I… you know?"

The pause that followed was so thick that, for a second, you thought you’d said something completely out of line. Sam made a sound, like he had just let all the air leave his lungs at once.

"Us?" His voice sounded incredulous, but there was something deeper in it, something mingling with the surprise.

You coughed lightly, trying not to appear as affected as you felt. "Yeah, sure. We could pretend to do it, just to mess with him," you added quickly, your voice breaking slightly at the end.

"Oh," Sam said, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell what that "oh" meant. Was he surprised? Disappointed? But then he spoke again, and there was something different in his tone, something you hadn’t heard before. "Oh, right, I mean…"

He trailed off, and you glanced up, only to find him looking at you with a mix of uncertainty and something you couldn’t quite name. His gaze dropped to your lips for just a second—so quick it was almost imperceptible—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

"Do you want to? Really?" he asked finally, his voice lower, almost a whisper.

"Pretend," you corrected, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Just to mess with Dean, nothing more."

"Right," he murmured, though there was something in his tone that didn’t quite match the lightness of the situation. A small smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours, studying you like he was searching for something more in your proposal.

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, as if the unsaid words between you filled the space with more intensity than any conversation ever could.

"It could be fun," he said finally, his voice rough, and there was something in his expression that made you wonder if he was really talking about the prank—or about something else entirely.

You laughed, though the sound came out more nervous than you intended. You were trying to hide how tense you were, but the knot in your stomach was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah, sure…” you muttered more to yourself, your voice barely audible. Sam’s gaze lingered on you, scanning your figure from head to toe, and that simple gesture made your legs feel like jelly.

“It has to look realistic,” he said suddenly, his tone slightly firmer, though his eyes held a mix of shyness and something deeper you couldn’t quite name.

“Oh God—right,” you responded almost without thinking, your words rushed as you fought to keep your composure. Your hands moved to the buttons of your shirt, and though your cheeks were burning, you began unbuttoning it slowly. “Uh… like this?”

Sam averted his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat softly, as if that could somehow break the growing tension in the air. But when he looked back at you, his face was as red as yours.

“Uh—yeah, I guess… looks realistic to me,” he said finally, his voice lower, almost as if he were talking to himself. His gaze lingered briefly on your collarbones, dipping for a split second before meeting your eyes again.

Your voice wavered, though you tried to inject it with a touch of false confidence to mask the storm swirling inside you. “It’s not fair that I’m the only one without a shirt,” you said, feigning a casual tone as you rolled your eyes.

For a moment, you thought Sam hadn’t heard you, but then you saw him swallow hard, clearly affected. “Right—you’re right,” he muttered, his voice a little deeper than usual as he reached for the hem of his shirt.

Time seemed to slow as he pulled it off, revealing the tanned skin of his torso. You didn’t want to look, but it was impossible not to. The definition of his shoulders, the movement of his muscles… it all felt like too much to handle.

Damn.

He held the shirt in his hands for a moment, as if unsure what to do with it, before letting it fall to the floor. “Is this more fair?” he asked, with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as though he too was trying to ease the tension between you.

“I guess…” you murmured, though your voice barely came out. Your eyes met his, and the silence that followed was deafening. You could hear the sound of his breathing, slow and heavy, mixing with yours, and the space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he said finally, his tone attempting to be light, but the nervousness was unmistakable.

“You said it,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to shield yourself from him or from the way he made you feel.

He took a step toward you, not too close, but enough that you could feel his presence even stronger. “We can stop if you want,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. You wanted to take it back, to say something else, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you tried to smile, though it barely counted as one. “I want to keep going.” Your tone sounded far more serious for something that was supposed to be just a joke. Sam seemed to notice, his eyes glinting under the motel’s dim yellow light.

The space between you remained charged, as if both of you were waiting for something neither dared to say out loud.

“God, this feels like the start of a bad porn,” you said abruptly, making Sam laugh.

He nodded, biting his lip as if to hold back a smile. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, moving cautiously, as though afraid you’d bolt at any moment. The way his figure loomed over you was almost intimidating, but in the part of you that wasn’t scared, it made you feel warm.

“Let’s get to the bed, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and syrupy.

“Bed?” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly.

“It has to be realistic.”

Realistic, of course. How could you forget?

“Yeah sure, let's go to bed.”

Sam lifted you with ease, as if you weighed far less than you actually did, yet he dropped you onto the bed with just a bit more force than necessary, making you let out a startled yelp.

“Ouch! That hurt,” you said through laughter, trying to sound offended, though the tone of your voice betrayed you.

Sam leaned over you, his arms on either side of your face, creating a bubble that seemed to isolate you both from the rest of the world.

“Sorry—” he murmured, though there was a smile tugging at his lips that he couldn’t quite hide.

You shook your head quickly, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s not funny! Don’t laugh,” you scolded him, but the sparkle in your eyes and the smile curling your lips completely undermined your words. You could feel the warmth of his arms so close to you, and the air between you seemed heavier, thicker.

Your laughter began to fade, giving way to a silence that wasn’t awkward but felt almost… comforting. You sighed, trying to catch your breath, but that was the moment you realized just how close his face was to yours. So close that you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your skin.

“Sammy…” you murmured, his name escaping your lips almost like a whisper. Your voice sounded breathless, as though the air itself was refusing to fill your lungs.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and full of an intensity that rooted you in place beneath his gaze. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending your heartbeat into an uncontrollable rhythm.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t say a word. Instead, your hand moved hesitantly, brushing against the warm skin of his neck before resting at the back, applying just enough pressure to pull him even closer. Your breaths were shallow, your lips slightly parted. With a small nod, you finally whispered:

“It’s okay… I want to kiss you too.”

The words were like a spark igniting a flame, and before you could say anything else, his lips crashed into yours. The kiss wasn’t gentle or hesitant; it was fierce, as though all the tension that had built up between you had finally found its release.

The force of his kiss made your head sink into the pillow, and your hands instinctively moved to grip his shoulders, searching for something solid to hold onto as the intensity of the moment threatened to overwhelm you. You could feel the weight of him, his warmth, and suddenly it was like the entire world had faded away, leaving only Sam, the pounding of your heart, and the sensation of his lips against yours.

The kiss deepened, his hands framing your face as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t keep you close. The heat between you was almost unbearable, and though you couldn’t see your own face, you were certain your cheeks were as red as his.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces still so close that there was barely any space between you. Sam didn’t speak at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe, his eyes searching yours as if he needed confirmation that this was real.

You were the first to break the silence, though your voice came out shaky. “That… that was…”

“Incredible,” he finished for you, a small smile playing on his lips—both confident and a little uncertain at the same time. “But, uh… I don’t think Dean’s gonna buy this as just a joke.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, your laughter filling the room as Sam watched you with that soft expression that made your chest tighten all over again.

“Maybe it wasn’t just to mess with Dean,” you murmured, your voice quiet but firm, your eyes never leaving his.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a small smirk forming as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Maybe not,” he replied, his voice low and warm, before leaning in again, this time kissing you with a tenderness that completely unraveled you.

Your body moved before your mind, climbing into Sam's lap like your life depended on it.

He hummed softly, “You're sure you want to do this?”

Your eyes rolled as if the question had been out of place, but your expression broke with a tender smile.

“I am, Sammy, more than anything.”

He nodded softly, pulling you closer to his body and leaving wet kisses on your neck, giving a small bite that made you let out a muffled moan.

Their bodies were so close that there wasn’t even room for oxygen to pass between them. The way Sam moved was rough, deliberate, like a man with a singular goal in mind, his movements precise and calculated.

“Let me help you with this, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved toward your jeans, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt both electrifying and agonizingly slow.

His touch was so careful as he unbuttoned your jeans, like he was handling something sacred. It was a contradiction to the intensity in his gaze—a gaze so sharp it pinned you in place, leaving you no room to breathe, no room to think.

You knew those eyes. They were the same eyes he used when he was tracking a monster, honing in on his prey with unwavering focus. Without realizing it, you had become his target—a prey about to be devoured.

As he slid your jeans down, his movements were slow, deliberate, almost torturous. His lips followed the path his hands carved, planting soft, burning kisses along every inch of newly exposed skin. Each kiss was a promise, a tease, leading down to what felt like the edge of the world.

Your breathing was uneven, shallow, almost panicked, but not from fear—no, this was something else entirely. Your chest rose and fell erratically, anticipation building with every inch his lips traveled.

“I really want to take my time with you,” he said, his words breaking the silence. Each syllable was punctuated by a kiss against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But—” he kissed you again, his lips lingering. “I don’t know if I can hold back.” Another kiss, softer, yet it somehow left you trembling.

Oh, fuck.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips, betraying just how undone you were. Your hands gripped the sheets beneath you as you tilted your head back, giving him more access to the curve of your waist, the line of your hip, anywhere he wanted to be.

“It’s fine,” you managed to say, though your voice came out in a shaky whisper. “You can… God, you can do whatever you want to me.”

He froze for a second, his lips hovering just above your skin. “Are you sure?” His voice was quieter now, like he needed to hear you say it, really say it.

You let out an exasperated breath, barely managing to lift your head to glare at him, though the fire in your gaze was softened by the flush on your cheeks. “If you keep asking stupid questions, I swear I’ll punch you. Right in that ridiculously handsome face of yours.”

A laugh bubbled out of him, deep and genuine, the sound vibrating against your skin. His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your stomach. “Got it,” he said simply, his voice tinged with amusement.

And then his lips returned to your skin, softer now but no less deliberate. His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers tracing patterns that made your entire body hum. The tension in the room was thick, almost unbearable, as if the air itself had been charged with electricity.

You felt like you were on the edge of a cliff, your heart pounding, your breaths coming in short gasps, but the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered, like he couldn’t believe you were real—made you feel safe, even as you were unraveling beneath him.

The space between you seemed to shrink even further, his weight pressing into you just enough to ground you in the moment. And though the anticipation was overwhelming, there was a strange calm in knowing that whatever came next, it would be with him.

His long fingers moved the fabric of your panties to the side;

“Look at her…” he murmured, totally infatuated with the way your wet and gaping pussy called for him.

“Did you just—?” you started protesting. But you were quickly silenced when Sam inserted a finger inside you.

“God, she's sucking me so good” you whined. “She's a really good girl, just like you. Think I can put one more?” he asked you, without breaking eye contact.

“I dunno– yes?”

“Mhm.” he mumbled, “That's not an answer you know?” His voice was laced with a playful tone that made you a little angry, how was it possible that you were with your legs open and so needy and he was taking all the time in the world, it drove you crazy in the best way possible.

“Come on, Sammy.” you whined softly, starting to get desperate.

“I need to get you nice and wet baby, I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

“No, I'm not.” he nodded, agreeing with you. The way he's spreading your wet pussy with his fingers, moving them back and forth, opening you up for him is making you crazy. If this was the foreplay, you couldn't even imagine the real play.

The weight on your chest never went away, and it only deepened when you felt Sam's hot tongue licking a line up and down your core.

“Oh– fuckin’” you moaned, covering your mouth with your knuckles, biting down on them.

Sam hummed, pleased with your reactions. His tongue went deeper, exploring your soft walls, your taste was making him crazy. He could live his whole life with his tongue deep inside you and die happily ever after. You were so sweet, fuck demon blood and funk alcohol. Your fluids were his new drug.

You pushed your hips deeper into his mouth, moaning like you were on heat.

“Fuck, just like that Sammy– There! Fucking there!” His other hand gripped your hips and held you taut to his face as he ate you brutally, his lips working like a man who has been starving for months and finally tasted something worth dying for. As he extended his mouth wide to trace his tongue from your hole up to the soft bundle of pleasure, he dragged your clit into his mouth, scraped it with his teeth, and then released it with a light slapping sound.

“God, Sammy, please. I'm so close.” You left out a cry, arching your back into the pleasure as he continued his current rhythm, pulling wave after wave of pleasure from your hot, flushed body. Your hands moved to his hair, fisting it and raising his body until you were face to face.

Your fingers traveled to his pants, where you began to lower his zipper and slowly his underwear.

“I wanna ride you, can I?” you asked, sincerely. Waiting for an honest response as if you had asked something totally normal and not the most perverted words Sam ever heard you utter.

He groaned, as an answer.

“Of course you can, God.”

With a shaky hand, you line him at your entrance and reach down to gently grab him. He puts his hand on the small of your back and rubs calming circles there to reassure you.

“You got this. Slow.” You nodded, following his instructions, sinking an inch or two onto him while your brow furrows in concentration.

As you take more of Sam, his breathing turns ragged, hitching in his throat like he’s barely holding himself together. You push yourself further, testing your limits, and in one reckless move, you take the rest of him all at once. His reaction is immediate—a sharp, breathy squeak escapes his lips, completely unbidden. His fingers dig into your hips, grounding himself, his nails almost biting into your skin as if trying to steady the rush of sensation overtaking him.

“I said slow…” His voice is strained, low, barely a whisper, but the way he looks at you with that indignant, wide-eyed expression—one you know all too well—only makes you want to push him further, to see just how much more he can take.

“‘ed help,” you whimper in a low, broken voice, the sound more desperate than you intended.

His brows furrow as he stares at you, his lips parting slightly. “What?” he breathes, his voice teetering on the edge of control.

“I need help, Sammy.”

Those words seem to shatter something in him. The way he looks at you, it’s almost reverent, like you’re something divine in his lap. His hands tighten on your thighs, his grip so firm you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow—not that you mind. It feels like a mark, a claim, like he’s trying to ground himself in the reality of you.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak, and starts moving you. At first, his motions are precise, almost mechanical, lifting you up and down in a steady rhythm. But the control doesn’t last long. Within moments, his restraint begins to crack, his hands gripping harder, his breaths coming faster. His movements become rougher, more desperate, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach.

Before you can even process what’s happening, his arms wrap around your back in one swift, possessive motion, and you find yourself beneath him. His weight presses into you, the warmth of his body enveloping yours. His hips move without rhythm now, erratic, frantic, driven entirely by need. Every thrust feels like it’s meant to claim, to mark, to leave no part of you untouched.

The sounds spilling from him are pure desperation—low, guttural moans mixed with soft curses under his breath. You can feel how much he’s holding back, how he’s trying so hard not to lose himself entirely, but his resolve is slipping with every passing second, mentalizing all the laws of the penal code that he remembered to get a grip of himself.

“Sammy—” your voice trembles, breaking as the tension in your body coils tighter.

“I’m about to—”

He nods quickly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Me too,” he manages to say between ragged gasps, his words broken, his voice a strained whisper. “Where do you…?”

Each syllable is punctuated by a thrust, his control unraveling with every word.

“Inside,” you moan, your voice barely audible over the sound of skin meeting skin. “I want it inside.”

The words hit him like a freight train. His movements falter for a fraction of a second, his entire body tensing as if the weight of your request has shattered the last bit of restraint he was clinging to.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, his voice a low growl, his control slipping completely.

His hips snap forward one last time, and he’s gone. He buries himself as deeply as he can, his entire body trembling as he lets go, his moans mixing with yours.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the air between you thick with the remnants of everything that just happened. Sam’s forehead stays pressed against yours, his lips brushing against your skin as he tries to catch his breath.

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his body still trembling slightly as he holds you close, as if letting go would mean losing the connection you just shared. He doesn’t say anything right away—neither of you do. There’s no need for words in this moment, no need to break the fragile, intimate silence that has settled over you both.

But when he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Are you okay?”

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “Yeah,” you whisper, and it’s the truth.

Sam exhales, a sound somewhere between relief and disbelief, and leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips.

The sweet moment is abruptly shattered by the unmistakable jingle of keys at the door. Your eyes widen in panic, and your hand instinctively flies up to cover your mouth, muffling a surprised gasp.

“Sammy—” you squeaked, your voice trembling with worry as the reality of the situation crashed down on you.

Sam’s response was to nod—calmly, almost too calmly. His body froze like a statue, as if you both were suddenly prey caught in the crosshairs of a wild, feral T-Rex. His eyes darted to the door, his lips pressed into a tight line, and you swore he even stopped breathing.

The doorknob turned with a slow, deliberate click, and the sound felt louder than it had any right to be in the otherwise silent room.

The door swung open.

“Hey, guess what? Your theory was actually—”

Dean stopped mid-sentence, his words halting like the Impala's doors slamming shut. He stood there in the doorway, blinking at the scene in front of him like his brain was buffering the information. His eyes flicked from Sam to you and then back again, taking in your flushed faces, disheveled hair, and the unmistakable tension lingering in the air.

“Oh, god dammit,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. Then, louder: “Fucking finally.”

You froze, your face heating to what had to be an inhuman degree, while Sam just groaned loudly, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Dean,” Sam started, his voice strained and muffled against your skin, “this… isn’t—”

Dean raised a hand to cut him off, a mix of exasperation and amusement written all over his face. “Don’t. Don’t even try, Sammy. I don’t need the details. I don’t want the details. Hell, I’m already regretting walking in here.”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything to salvage whatever scraps of dignity you had left, but all that came out was a small, embarrassed squeak.

Dean pointed at both of you, squinting like he was trying to physically burn the image of you two into his memory out of sheer spite. “You know what? I should’ve known. I’ve been calling this for years. YEARS, Sam.”

Sam finally lifted his head, glaring at his brother. “You haven’t been calling anything.”

Dean smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, really? So me betting Jo twenty bucks that you two would eventually ‘work out all that unresolved tension’ doesn’t count?”

“Dean!” Sam barked, his ears turning bright red as he scrambled to sit up straighter.

“Twenty bucks,” Dean repeated with a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “And let me tell you, that girl is gonna be real smug about being right.”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Oh my God, just kill me now.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Nah, don’t worry. You two lovebirds keep doing… whatever this is. I’ll just… go burn my eyes out now.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Sam?”

“What?” Sam snapped, clearly at the end of his patience.

Dean winked. “You owe me clean sheets.”

The door closed behind him, and you stared at it in silence, your brain desperately trying to reboot. After a moment, you turned to Sam, your voice flat. “Clean sheets?”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even through your embarrassment. “Nope. Welcome to the rest of your life, Sammy.”

[beevean]

Let's see why Trevor's important... hmmm... without him, Sypha would remain stone, Grant some goblin thing, and Alucard would still be catching Zzzs in his little coffin.

Belmonts are fucking important. Without Leon, there's no Trevor, and without Trevor, no Simon, no Juste, no Richter, literally the entire line is just BLEH, nonexistent, nada. Julius? Gone. Nonexistent. Nope. Not even a spec of sperm existing. Without them, Dracula would fuck shit up real bad. What, some random kid from the streets is going to pick up some magical item and be able to take down Dracula? No, the Belmonts had a reason to exist, and when Belmonts aren't around, you KNOW people are up in arms, terrified, "fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK we gotta arm up, train for life, we're fucking DEAD if a certain asshole shows up again, we're reaching 100 years."

Trevors's KIDS marry into Helsing and Morris. Pretty. Fucking. IMPORTANT.

Ecclesia exists because, "holy shit, a Belmont isn't present to protect us, we gotta fucking do all this shit cause we are FUCKED. We are SO COOKED if Dracula gets up to his shit again, it's been 100 years, any day now, we gotta do something to beat his ass because, my god, we DONT HAVE A BELMONT WHO COULD TAKE HIM ON."

Alucard shows up in SOTN because what? "Holy fucking shit, the only Belmont around is literally fucking corrupted as shit, and since he can't protect the innocents from daddy-o, I gotta step in for him because what the fuck."

Tell me again why we are pissing all over the Belmonts in the anime? You know they literally have to make SOME excuse for Alucard and Sypha to not be able to be there with Trevor when he has to fight death. And then we see Richter. Richter, honey, are you doing good there? Yeah? Having fun? Having fun being the fucking tailbone of the series? Tailbone? No, forgive me for overestimating your importance to the story, the TOENAIL of YOUR OWN FUCKING SHOW. You, Belmont, and yet... What have you done? Besides cry at a river because oh no, mommy dead. And it isn't brought up again second season. Fuck, I guess we aren't gonna be traumatized that the only other mother figure is. A. Fucking. VAMPIRE.

I died inside when I saw Alucard in the first season, showing up to sAvE thE dAY. Oh my fucking god. No, seriously, my god, can we NOT have any moment without you, Alucard? Can we not just... not have you for a little while? Can Richter just grow the fuck up, have his little character arc, get fucking corrupted, and THEN your dumbass comes back from Hawaii or wherever your dumbass has been for the past 300 years since your threesome fucking DIED? I honestly don't even care if they decided to have him do a world tour instead of going to sleep for 300 years, just. COME ON.

They shouldn't have named it Castlevania. It should be more like: Nocturne: Fuck you, Richter, the girls called for Alucard. Nocturne: The Chronicles of a Sidekick. Nocturne: My Mommy died.

"Nocturne: My Mommy Died" made me spit out a lung because yes! Richter literally bonds with people through dead moms! 😂

writing.jpg

(but he makes sure to specify that Annette had it worse, of course, which gives me lovely S1 flashbacks of Annette looking down on him and calling him a child who doesn't know much of the world)

Anyway, I could talk about how the first show wasted the very idea they had, which is that Trevor is important to the gang because he's the Night Creature expert and because of his heritage he has all the tools and knowledge necessary to take out any vampire (since Dracula goes down attacked by his own depression, and Alucard is a massive cunt to Trevor precisely due to his Belmont heritage that he needs), or that it is incredibly obvious that the only reason the story jumped to 1792 is only so that they could bring back Alucard the fandom blorbo and provider of fanservice, who cares about some rando like uhhhhhh Simon Belmont... but your rant is a work of art and I want to print it and frame it on the wall. Beautiful. I'm in tears. I have nothing else to add.

[freedelusionshere]

Swagger. That’s what I want back from S1. But not Carmy swagger, I want Syd’s for S4. This discussion about the music in The Bear was kicked of by @ambeauty’s post here: https://www.tumblr.com/ambeauty/773403136349061120/thoughts-about-sydney-and-carmys-love-story-as

@fairestbeard brought up the Serengeti song that’s so good that drops right after Carmy and Syd first meet here: https://www.tumblr.com/fairestbeard/773696073828040704/every-song-counts-on-the-bear

The feel of S1 was wild but had a whole vibe. The subsequent seasons have great music but not as in-your-face-watch-me as S1. Which is also very much connected to Carmy’s “fuck you, I’ll show you” vibe.

I want S4 to be Sydney’s soundtrack, with her as the emotional core. The agreement that Syd and Carmy made in the alley which @whenmemorydies brings up here: https://www.tumblr.com/whenmemorydies/773676687166783488/when-the-mentor-is-a-lesson-we-all-deserve that has still yet to be fulfilled!

Which, I think the show is saying is the solution? Richie writing in his notebook about Luca > Carmy and Carmy > Syd is about Carmy needing to learn from Syd, not the other way around. Flipping that dynamic and putting Syd in the driver’s seat.

I would love to see what Syd’s swagger looks like in S4? Maybe swagger is not the right word? The Syd-specific songs we’ve had so far (most from S2 Sundae) are:

I Like The Things About Me by Mavis Staples

Secret Teardrops by Martin Rev

Twenty Five Miles by Edwin Star

Future Perfect by The Durrutti Column

Make You Happy by Tommy McGhee

Staples was a civil rights activist and Syd wears a Million Woman March t-shirt from 1997 in S2. Which is also interesting given the context of this scene and what they discuss.

Staples is also a Chicago native. So sensing that’s connected to her mom. Especially because You Are Not Alone plays over her and Emmanuel celebrating her dead mother’s birthday. It also plays over Richie and Carmy which foreshadows they are Syd’s family now as well.

There is always a lot of the promise of untapped potential/innovation in the songs we get for Syd? (Syd is more avant-garde than Carmy, he’s more utilitarian/frustrated artist).Thoughts and ideas brewing that have not been fully seen or realized (much like the cola rib risotto dish)?

Also being tired in Twenty Five Miles, but still moving forward (to a partner who sustains them, who they’ve been separated from).

I Like The Things About Me is about refusing to move/change for other people and also not measuring beauty by white beauty standards (I mean, think about that they put this song here in the episode where Carmy ditches to help Claire).

A lot of these songs suggest what is going on with Syd inside, even though she’s not outwardly sharing it all. So for S4 the guesswork needs to go away and she should have her own soundtrack with her in control.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 29: Back From Under the Ground

Summary: After a month spent traveling the hills of England together, Tommy and Lucy prepare for the end.

Word Count: 3,081

Warnings: Almost suicide attempt, medical malpractice, violence, sexual content, and past suicide attempts.

Notes: Here we are. The last chapter of season 6. This has been such an incredible journey. I truly cannot put into words just how much all of your comments, likes, and support has meant to me regarding Lucy and this series. This is not the end! I fully plan to write Lucy into the film when it comes out, so you can expect for there to be more added to this series once the film is released. I also have a few dozen or so ideas for various AUs featuring Tommy and Lucy, so keep a lookout for those if you’re interested! 

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Chapter 20: The Eleventh Hour

“Lucy.”

She made a small noise of complaint, shifting under the thin blanket wrapped around her, face scrunching with displeasure when her cheek brushed against rough grass rather than her usual pillow of Tommy’s chest. The hand on her shoulder shook her gently again.

“Darling. Wake up.”

With a small whine, she opened her eyes, squinting up at him in the bright daylight. “What?”

“The coin landed on heads.”

She was suddenly wide awake. “Oh.”

He nodded gravely, straightening from where he had been bending over her. She sat up, stretching her back and shoulders with a quiet groan. Sleeping on the hard ground almost every night had done a hard number on her shoulders. 

As she rubbed at them, she gazed out at the lush, green hills surrounding their little camp. The sky was blue and clear, the air pleasant and warm.

He kept his promise of giving them a month together before they thought of doing anything. Traveling the countryside. Sleeping and fucking under the stars at night. Catching and cooking their own food. 

It was nice. If it weren’t for the thing hanging over their heads, she would have almost called it peaceful. 

He didn’t start flipping the coin until five days ago, when they officially crossed the one month mark of being away, and they both agreed that it was time.

Tommy held out his hand to help her to her feet. She followed him silently over to the little black wagon they had been living out of.

Inside, they had set up a little altar of mementos and memories. Upon it lay dozens of pictures of all the people that they had loved and cared for. Along with little trinkets and objects of importance to both or either of them. 

Lucy swallowed harshly, watching Tommy pull off his wedding ring, setting it on top of a photo of Charlie and Lizzie.

One month alone with her, and he had not taken it off. Lucy understood why, and she decided to make no comment on it and risk spoiling what little time they had left together. But it would be a lie to say that it didn’t sting that he left it on for so long. Just a little. 

She slipped her own rings off, one by one, setting them onto the altar. Then the little gold hoop earrings she was wearing. And her pocket watch and chain from where they were stowed in her waistcoat. 

Next she reached for the little golden heart pendant on the chain around her neck, but then hesitated. He gave it to her as a reminder of his love for her. Had it charmed even to bring her good luck, protection, and love.

She could not bring herself to take it off. Instead she let it slip back down underneath the collar of her shirt, the cold metal resting just below her collarbone.

Tommy finished removing all his valuables and lit a cigarette, taking a long, slow drag before plucking it from his lips and holding it out to her. She took it gratefully, puffing on it and then handing it back to him. 

“Thank you for waking me.” He could have just as easily roused her with a gunshot, leaving her to weep over his dead body before doing herself in. She was sure that he considered it; not out of cruelty or disrespect for her wishes, but out of one final attempt to leave the door open for her to keep on living. If that was what she chose. 

He touched her cheek lovingly, the calloused pad of his thumb stroking along her skin. 

“I didn’t want that to be your last memory of me.”

She sucked in a deep breath, leaning forward until her head rested on his chest. How strange it was, to think that this was the last time they’d ever hold each other. 

“Ready?” Tommy asked, stroking her hair. She closed her eyes, and nodded.

“Ready.”

He pulled back, cradling her cheeks in his palms, and kissed her. Slowly. Sweetly. As if he was trying to telegraph to her all of his love in that one press of his lips against hers. She kissed him back just the same, hoping he could feel it: everything that she felt for him. 

“I love you more than anything.” He told her, after they parted, their foreheads touching. 

“I love you more than anything,” she affirmed back to him. He kissed her once more, this one quick but just as sweet, and then took her hand, leading her to the doorway of the wagon. 

She pulled her pistol from the holster hanging beside his on the door. Digging into her pocket, she mimicked his movements of taking out the clip and loading the bullet with her name etched into it. Their pistols clicked and snapped in unison as they loaded and cocked them in sync, their movements careful and precise. 

Tommy guided her to stand in front of him, her back to the doorway. They faced each other, hands that weren’t holding their weapons clasping together tightly. 

There are worse ways to go, she thought, staring up into his beautiful blue eyes. Together, they raised their pistols to their heads. At least this way, he would be the last thing that she ever saw. 

Tommy drew in a deep breath. The barrel of her gun felt cold against her temple. 

“In the bleak…midwinter.”

She closed her eyes, muscles tensing, finger just beginning to tighten around the trigger.  

“Wait!” Tommy’s hand shot out, grabbing at her forearm, jerking her hand away so that even if she had fired the pistol at that moment, the bullet would not have fired into her skull like intended. 

A good thing too, because the way that he grabbed her made her jump so badly that she almost did pull the trigger.  

Her eyes snapped open, mouth falling open. “What–?”

Tommy shoved past her, out of the wagon, jogging across the grass away from her. 

“Tommy, what the hell!?” she shouted after him, to no reply. Gun dangling at her side, she watched him fall to his knees in the grass a few paces away, his back to her. 

She could only gape at him. Was this a symptom of his illness, finally making itself known? She still thought it odd that she hadn’t really noticed any, especially since they’d been out in the country together. But after the same diagnosis had come back from the doctor he’d gone to for a second opinion, she’d pretty much abandoned hope that Holford had been wrong. 

She was about to go to him to make sure that he wasn’t having some sort of fit or something, when he turned back around to face her, staring at their smoldering campfire. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, making his way over to it. Lucy shoved her pistol back into the holster dangling from the wagon’s door, climbing down the steps to join him where he had knelt by remains of the fire, snapping twigs they’d gathered for kindling earlier, setting them into the pit, then pulling out his lighter and snatching up a half burned up newspaper. 

Lucy sat down heavily beside him, head cocking, waiting patiently for an explanation. But instead he just stared down at the newspaper in his hands, expression morphing into one of pure shock. 

“What?” she asked. There was no reply. “Tommy?”

“Do you remember…” Tommy swallowed hard, slowly raising his gaze to hers, “how when I first told you that I was sick, that you thought it might be a lie?”

She frowned. “I…yes? Yes, I remember that. But why–?”

“And you said that you didn’t remember doing any serious background checks on Holford?”

“Yeah…?”

“Look,” he pushed the newspaper into her hands. She frowned at him, but peered over the image anyway.

It was a picture of Mosley and Diana’s wedding. Half charred away from the previous times they used it to light the fire. But most of the faces of the guests had been spared. 

To the far left of the photo, second from the edge, Dr. Holford’s face stared back at her. 

Her jaw dropped open. 

Oh. Absolutely the fuck not.

“I think…maybe you were right.” Tommy said, though she barely heard it. Her head was spinning too fast. 

“You motherfu–” she crumpled up the newspaper in her hand, turned around, and promptly started beating Tommy over the head with it. 

“Lucy! Ow! What the fuck!?”

“I. Fucking. Told. You. Something. Wasn’t. Right. You. Asshole!”

“With each word she smacked him with the newspaper. He raised his hands to try to protect himself from the assault, cringing away from her. She leaned off of him, tossing the paper aside. “Fucking hell, Thomas!” They almost fucking shot themselves. And potentially over nothing.

Goddamn overdramatic bastard.

“Don’t…don’t get all excited, yet,” he huffed, straightening himself out. “Just ‘cos he’s friends with Mosley doesn’t mean that the diagnosis wasn’t right. There were still those second scans that came back positive.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, snatching back up the paper and thrusting it into his face. 

“Who is that?” she pointed at one of the women in the picture. The maid of honor, from the looks of her. Tommy squinted at it. She supposed she couldn’t be too hard on him for not noticing, since he didn’t have his glasses on. 

“That’s Helen Rutherford…”

“The doctor he sent you to for a second opinion.” She lowered the newspaper. “They planned this out well, I’ll give them that. Holford had been your doctor long enough, they probably figured neither of us would see much point in doing checks on him again.”

Tommy took the half burned newspaper from her gingerly, still staring down at it. 

Lucy felt her chest flex, relief rushing into her veins. He was okay. He wasn’t dying. Her Tommy was just fine.

They still had time together. 

“They know that they can’t kill you,” she murmured, stroking her fingers along the back of his skull. “So they tried to get you to do the job for them.” She poked him in the shoulder. “I told you something didn’t seem right about all of this.”

He huffed. “Yeah, yeah, fine. You were right.” He set the paper down. “I think we should go find Holford anyway. To get a real confirmation from him that it’s a lie. Just to be sure.”  

She shrugged. After this, she would like to pay a visit to Holford anyway. “Alright.”

He looked at her, face softening, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you.”

She shook her head. “They had me fooled too.”

He cringed. “We almost shot ourselves.”

“Yeah.” She brushed his fringe away from his face. Just looking at him. Appreciating his sharp cheekbones and dusting of freckles. The blue of his eyes and the softness of his lips. A giddiness suddenly washed over her, smile blooming across her features. 

Alive. He was alive. They both were. 

She took him by the cheeks and kissed him deeply. A startled sound came from the back of his throat that quickly transformed into a soft moan when her tongue tangled with his. 

“What are you doing?” he laughed as she pushed him down onto the grass near the fire and straddled him.

“Celebrating,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him again. 

∗ ∗ ∗

They parked their wagon on the top field overlooking Holford’s home early the next morning. It was about a day’s ride from where they camped the previous day, but with their white horse Phantom pulling the wagon, they made good time.

As the sun rose into the sky, they crept towards the mansion, pistols at the ready. A man was already working at readying the car in the courtyard–no doubt for Holford to head to work. Lucy approached him, pistol in one hand, smiling sweetly. 

“Hello.”

The man raised his head from where he was bent over the open bonnet of the vehicle. 

“Who the fuck are–”

Tommy shot out from where he snuck up around the car behind him. He pressed his pistol to the man’s temple, clapping a leather gloved hand over his mouth. Lucy pulled a bag of coins from her pocket, jingling it in the man’s face. His eyes stared at her widely. She grabbed one of his hands, and pressed the satchel into his palm, curling his fingers around it. 

“Walk away.”

Tommy slowly loosened his grip on him, keeping his pistol trained on him in case the man decided to try to scream or run for help. The man scrambled away, out the gate leading from the drive and down a path to the main road. 

She looked back at Tommy, and he shrugged. 

“That’ll do.”

He bent over the open bonnet of the car, from a distance looking like a mechanic or chauffeur working on preparing the vehicle. Lucy crouched down by the front of it, out of view of any windows or the entrance that led from the home into the small courtyard they were in. 

It was not long before they heard steps approaching. 

“Have you filled the car with petrol?” Holford’s voice called. At no answer, his steps slowed. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with annoyance, coming around to the side of the car where Tommy was. “I said, have you filled the car with petrol?”

Tommy shot up, seizing him in much the same way he had grabbed the mechanic earlier; a hand clapped over his mouth and the pistol pressed to his temple. Lucy popped up from her hiding spot, smiling at Holford sweetly while Tommy asked him how the wedding in Berlin was.

“On your knees, Holford,” he ordered, after laying out for him what they had discovered the day before. Holford crouched in front of them, breathing shakily with Tommy’s pistol pointed at his forehead. Lucy kept one eye on him, another on their surroundings. Just in case anyone showed up with any ideas of trying to help Holford. 

“You may not have tuberculoma, Mr. Shelby,” Holford admitted, and Lucy let out a small breath of relief. A part of her had been terrified that they were wrong; and this one little bit of hope that had landed in their laps at the very last moment was nothing but their wishful thinking. 

“But you are sick,” Holford continued. “I know you. You are sick with guilt.” His eyes darted briefly to Lucy. “Both of you. Sick of death at your own hand. Sick of who you were.”

Lucy’s breaths rattled in her lungs, his words sinking in slowly. He was right, she supposed. They were both tired; had been for quite some time, if she were completely honest with herself. The guilt had already nearly devoured them once before, when she sliced open her wrists in the bathtub and he held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

“Oh, but I am back.” A smile pulled at the edges of Tommy’s lips. “Back from under the ground.”

Lucy felt her eyes close at that. A strange feeling washed over her. Something she had not truly felt in over fifteen years. 

She died in that alley in London. Was buried under the earth, trying to claw her way out ever since. She had never escaped that hole Matthew as his friends dumped her in. Not really. 

But, finally, it felt as though she had broken through the final layer of earth covering her; just starting to see the sunlight poking through the dirt.

The bell in the tower above them tolled, snapping her out of her thoughts. Holford whimpered, his eyes closed while Tommy pressed the barrel of his pistol to between his eyes. But at the sound of the bell, Tommy froze, reaching into his pocket for his watch. He stared at it, then tucked it away again, meeting Lucy’s eyes.

“The eleventh hour,” he said to her. She nodded. She felt it too. “Armistice. Peace at last. Peace at last.” 

She and Tommy moved at the same time, his pistol aiming to the right of Holford’s head, pointing at the ground. She raised hers into the sky. The gunshots fired at the same exact moment, a duo thunderclap echoing throughout the courtyard. The bullets with their names written on them spent.

Their past selves, dead. 

Without a word, they stepped away from Holford, walking side by side to the exit, holstering their weapons.

They walked back to their wagon in silence, the understanding between them humming strongly.

When they got to their wagon, it was to see it in flames, a man hastily running in the opposite direction down the hill. She and Tommy both drew out their pistols in case they needed them in defense, jogging towards where the black wagon was slowly being consumed by the fire the man had lit. The smell of petrol was strong in the air.  

They both stopped, determining at the same time that the man was not a threat worth chasing after. Instead, they watched the wagon–the place that was intended to be their final resting place–spew smoke and flame and ash.

Lucy felt a sharp sense of finality settle over her; the punctation mark finally placed at the end of an eternal sentence. They stood side by side, watching their own funeral, observing those last bits of their past selves reduced to ashes and carried away by a gentle breeze. 

Tommy’s hand on her waist drew her away, towards where Phantom stood, skirting away from the fire nervously. Tommy pulled himself onto his back, reaching down with his hand outstretched for her. She grasped his strong arm tightly, using his strength to help pull herself up onto the horse’s back behind him. Her hands settled on his waist for balance, Tommy bringing Phantom to a stop a little ways away from the burning wagon. They each took a long, lingering look at it. The roof looked like it was seconds away from caving in. If Lucy closed her eyes, she could imagine their gravestones, side by side. Names chiseled into the stone.

Tommy pressed his heels into Phantom’s sides, steering him in the opposite direction of the burning wagon. He drove him into a steady gallop, hooves thundering against the ground, the white horse carrying them away together over the green, sunny hills.

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[we-are-dogclan]

Moon 65: Week 1

Calm

Not much to say, but sometimes there doesn’t need to be.

[puppppppppy]

:o/

Part two

[columboposting]

OK it's never been more over for nandermo but at least we got an all timer Laszlo episode

[lunarharp]

if i just told you i love you would this world change

[sciderman]

spider-man vs wolverine (1987)

[marfian]

Does Daemon fuck Viserys in a hallucination? Has Daemon fucked Viserys in a hallucination? Will Daemon fuck Viserys in a hallucination? When will Daemon fuck Viserys in a hallucination?