#i have nothing else set for the day aside from a quick call i think but besides that. i can go get lost in penacony for a while LMAO

[elegyofthemoon]

welp! i finished catching up with 2.1 thankfully but -

[delulujuls]

aussies do it better | op81, dr3

heeeeey (louder than anyone else) im serving today the koala bear and the honeybadger duo and im hoping y'all will like it!

at the beggining i was hoping for making this a smut but it turned out so wholesome, even though im thinking about still making it smutty, maybe in second part?? idk lmk if you like this one and if you would like to have more of them in a maybe spicy way

anyway pls enjoy and have wonderful day x

summary: sometimes we forget that the best things are often at our fingertips, danny ric being the best wingman possible, pastry boy being pure babygirl

warnings: cheating on a reader (but not them they could never)

pairing: bff!fem!reader x oscar piastri x daniel ricciardo

"Guys, quick break," Oscar announced, stepping aside and setting down his paddle.

"In the next set, we play together, we'll show them how it's done properly. In a Aussie style," Daniel said, grabbing some water and taking a few sips, to which Oscar chuckled, wiping his hair with a towel. It was a pleasant, warm evening. Oscar, Daniel, and a few friends decided to take advantage of the last free day before the frenzy of the home Grand Prix and relax in the company of friends. But Oscar's thoughts were far from relaxed. When he picked up his phone and saw a few missed calls from Y/N, his friend, his smile instantly faded, not escaping Daniel's notice.

"Something wrong?" he asked, glancing at him attentively. Piastri, still focused on his phone, just shook his head.

"I have no idea, but I hope not," he replied, quickly typing a message to his friend.

"Sorry for not answering. Is everything okay? Should I call back?"

He didn't have to wait long for a reply, as it came seconds later.

"No, nothing happened. I just wanted to talk for a moment."

Seeing him nervously tapping on the keyboard, Daniel approached him and glanced over his shoulder.

"Translating to our language, something definitely happened. She just decided not to bother you," he said, scanning through their recent messages from a while ago. "Girlfriend?"

"No, a friend. A close friend."

"Then you should call her back even more so," he remarked, looking meaningfully into Oscar's eyes as he raised his head to meet his gaze. Oscar returned his gaze to the phone in his hand and after a moment's hesitation nodded.

"I'll be right back; start without me if you need to," he informed, then quickly clicked the camera. As he left the court and stepped outside, the girl picked up. She was hastily wiping her cheeks, but it was futile, as Oscar easily noticed her distressed state. It was evident she had been crying.

"Hey, what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked, concerned, gazing attentively at his friend. After his question, she just shook her head and buried her face in her hands. A sob escaped from his phone.

"Y/N, please tell me why you're in such a state," he calmly requested, though his heart was pounding like crazy. He had no idea what had caused his friend to be in such a state, and the fact that he was on the other side of the globe and couldn't just come over to check on her only amplified his worry.

"Mattias," she managed to squeeze out just one word, but it was enough for Oscar to know what had brought her to tears.

"What happened? Where are you?"

It was clear that the girl was outside. It was dark, and she was walking briskly, her face illuminated only by the glow of her phone held in her hand. Her hair were messy and her mascara was smudged on her cheeks.

"I'm waiting for an Uber. I'm coming back from Natalie's birthday party, the one I told you I didn't want to go to."

"You ended up going?"

"Yes, and it was a mistake," she replied, sniffing. "Mattias was there too. I didn't even know he got an invitation. Turns out he did, and on top of that, he was having such a great time he forgot he had a girlfriend."

Oscar didn't even realize when he started nervously pacing, waiting for his friend to continue.

"I went there," Y/N continued, her voice trembling "after all, it would be stupid if I ignored my friend on her birthday. Then suddenly someone comes up to me and asks if I'm Mattias' girlfriend, and I answer yes. And he says I guess not, since on the balcony he's been kissing someone else. And he was actually making out with some girl! When he saw me, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. It didn't occur to him that I might be at my friend's fucking birthday party!"

"Did he react in any way?"

"Of course," the girl snorted, "baby, it's not what you think, we were just talking, I didn't have my hand in her panties at all! Fuck, of course not!"

"Hey, calm down," Oscar said, knowing his friend's emotions well. "How long until your Uber arrives?"

Y/N calmed down for a moment and glanced at her phone, swiping through her notifications.

"3 minutes."

"Alright, the most important thing is for you to get out of there and be home soon. Don't hang up until you're inside, okay?"

"Why me, Oscar? What's wrong with me?" she asked, looking back at her phone. Despite the thousands of kilometers between them, as Oscar looked at the screen of his phone and saw his friend's sad eyes, he felt as if she were standing right in front of him. The downside was that he couldn't hug her and provide the physical support she needed right now.

"It's not your fault, Y/N. It's not your fault at all."

Despite his words of support, Oscar knew that his reassurances were just empty words. He talked to his friend until she got home and let him know she was safe. He offered to continue talking until he noticed her condition had slightly improved, but it was clear she was exhausted.

"I think it's best if I go to bed," she said softly. He heard the sound of keys turning in the lock and the rustle of things being put away. "Although I doubt I'll be able to sleep."

"You should rest," Piastri agreed, nodding. "Text me as soon as you wake up, okay?"

"Sure, but then you'll be sleeping, it's 9 hours' difference," she replied, returning her gaze to the screen of her phone. "Besides, you have more important things to deal with tomorrow."

"Nothing is more important than you," he said, but she just scoffed and shook her head. "Nothing, you hear me? I'll keep the sound on while I sleep, call if anything happens in the meantime. Okay?"

Y/N sighed and nodded.

"Thank you, Osc. It's good to have you here."

Piastri smiled warmly at her.

"Of course I am."

When the call ended, Oscar sighed deeply and rubbed his face with his hand. When he returned to the court, the match was already underway. So, he sat on the bench and clenched his phone in his hand, trying to gather his thoughts somehow. His heart ached at the thought of his friend and what she had gone through. He had known Y/N since their school days when they shared a desk. A friendship had easily developed between them, and they had become practically inseparable. Despite Oscar's busy lifestyle and constant travels, they had managed to maintain constant contact, meeting as often as possible. In such situations, however, their friendship, separated by kilometers, could not cope.

"It's everything alright?" Daniel interrupted Oscar's thoughts, approaching him after the set ended.

"Long story," Piastri sighed.

"I'll gladly listen, considering I'm out and Blake is subbing for me in this set," he replied, sitting next to him and wiping his face with a towel.

For some reason, Oscar began to tell him about what he had just learned over the phone. He and Daniel weren't exceptionally close, sure, they were buddies on the paddock, sometimes playing padel together, but Oscar had never thought of confiding in him about anything. But perhaps this situation overwhelmed him a bit, and he needed advice on how he could help his friend.

"How long have you known her?" Ricciardo asked, when a moment of silence fell between them.

"Over six years, we met back in school."

"For your age, that's almost a quarter of your life," he joked, but after a moment, he looked at him with a slightly more serious expression. "Do you like her?"

"She's my friend, of course, I do."

Ricciardo snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, I figured, but I mean, do you like her?"

Oscar blinked several times, and it wasn't until Ricciardo emphasized the penultimate word he said that Oscar understood what he meant.

"We're friends, I never, uh—," he stumbled a bit, not knowing how to respond.

"So I guess that means yes," Daniel grinned widely, seeing his reaction. "You should invite her here. It would be good for her to occupy her mind with something else now. And she'll appreciate being able to talk to you face to face, not just over the phone."

"I don't know if she'd want to fly all this way just to see me," he replied, causing Daniel to look at him indulgently. "She's never made me feel like I'm anything more than a friend to her."

"Maybe this is the moment to show her that she's had the right guy in front of her all this time," he said, getting up as the set ended. "Cause Aussies always do it better, right?"

Oscar pondered Daniel's suggestion for a long time, but when he went to bed, he decided to offer his friend a visit to Melbourne. Before he went to sleep, he sent her a message with an invitation, honestly not knowing what reaction to expect from her. Of course, he assured her that he would cover all the costs of her transportation, but he still wasn't sure if she would agree to travel such a distance just to see him.

When he woke up in the morning and picked up his phone, he had to rub his eyes in amazement several times. She agreed immediately. She even asked if she could fly to him on the fastest plane, to which he naturally agreed. As a result, she was already at the airport the next evening. Unfortunately, Oscar couldn't pick her up personally, but someone was willing to offer their help on-site.

"Hi, you must be Y/N," Daniel's wide smile and his Australian accent were the first things to greet the girl on the new continent. "I'm Daniel, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

She nodded, returning his smile and shaking his outstretched hand.

"It's very nice to meet you too, and I'm sorry Oscar roped you into this," she replied as he silently took her suitcase. "I could have taken a taxi."

"Absolutely no need to apologize, I'm just glad I could personally welcome you to our beautiful country," he said with a smile. It was past midnight, and Y/N wondered where her newfound companion got so much energy from. "First time in Australia, am I right?"

"Yes, I've never been here before. Actually, it's only the second time in my life I've flown on a plane."

"Really?" Daniel looked at her in shock, and she just shyly nodded. "And Oscar managed to convince you to take such a trip?"

"Actually, I was very excited about the invitation," she admitted, but at one point, she bit her tongue. However, when she glanced at Daniel again, she got the impression that he wouldn't be too concerned about some stranger girl occupying him with trivialities. "A lot has been going on with me lately, and I'm glad to have a reset here."

"I'll gladly join as your local guide and mood lifter," he offered, opening the car door for her. "Of course, if you're up for it and if Oscar is willing to share his best friend."

The girl chuckled, genuinely for the first time in a few days. She eagerly nodded at his proposal.

"I'd love to. And I don't think Oscar will mind."

The journey passed in lightning speed with a conversation that looked like they had known each other for ages, not just a few dozen minutes. When Daniel parked in the driveway, Oscar was already standing in front of the house, waiting for his friends.

"Everything you've learned from me, you haven't actually learned from me," Daniel said, throwing a quick glance at Oscar, which brought a smile back to the girl's face and her hasty nod. Both got out of the car, and Daniel, without taking no for an answer, took her bags. The girl smiled even wider at the sight of her friend, who started walking towards her. She hugged him tightly without a word, and he closed her in a tight embrace.

Daniel smiled at the sight and just raised his thumb. Oscar returned the gesture.

The trio entered the house, and Daniel left the girl's things in the living room doorway before stretching.

"I'll be off," he announced, looking around at them. "It was very nice to meet you, and I hope we'll see each other again soon."

"You can stay if you want," Oscar offered. "We probably won't go to bed soon anyway, and I owe you a beer for today."

"I definitely won't be able to sleep anytime soon, despite the hour," the girl added, checking the time on her phone before shifting her gaze to Daniel and Oscar. "But I have the least to say because it's not me facing the home Grand Prix in a few days."

"Well, why not, gladly," Ricciardo replied, agreeing to the suggestion with a smile.

Shortly after, the three of them were sitting on the terrace. The evening was pleasant, so they decided not to disturb Oscar's family and spend time outside. The conversation was already flowing smoothly, and with each subsequent beer, any inhibitions and barriers disappeared more and more. At some point, it looked like a meeting of three close friends after years.

"He acted like a complete dick," Daniel summed up Y/N's story, taking a sip from the can he held. "Look at it from a different angle, you could have skipped this party and not confronted him. He would probably cheat on you behind your back if he wasn't already."

Oscar looked at him meaningfully, not wanting him to further distress her. However, she seemed to come to terms with the whole situation. She certainly looked better than she did a few days ago when she tearfully talked to Oscar on the phone.

"Possible," the girl sighed, holding her own can. Her head was a bit fuzzy, but she liked this state better than feeling sadness. "Oh God, how could I be so stupid."

"It happens to the best of us," Daniel smiled reassuringly at her.

"The worst thing is, you told me many times that he's not the right guy for me, that he's not a good person at all," she continued, now looking at Oscar, who was sitting next to her. Daniel, sitting in the chair opposite, looked at him meaningfully, but he had his gaze fixed on the girl. "And I still thought I knew better. I'll never question your instincts again, Osc. Never."

She said, then hugged him tightly. Oscar returned the hug, rubbing her back. "It doesn't matter now. It happened, and that's it."

"You said he's not the right guy for you," Daniel began, and Oscar looked at him at the moment when he released his friend from the hug. He shook his head slightly, knowing where he was going with this. But this train couldn't be stopped. "Is there any guy you think would be right for you?"

The girl thought for a moment, turning the can in her hands. However, alcohol placed a certain thought in her head, which made her smile. She just nodded in response, raising her gaze to the man sitting opposite her.

"Oh, you're flattering me," Daniel laughed, taking another sip of beer.

"For the past few minutes, I've been noticing that I kind of like Aussies," she added, glancing at Oscar. He was so shocked when she subtly announced that she liked Daniel in an unexpected way that he didn't even notice when her gaze lingered on his lips. However, Daniel noticed it perfectly.

"And you, Oscar?" Ricciardo asked, stretching his legs out in front of him, a moment after he took another sip of his beer. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

Piastri almost choked on his beer when he finished it. His cheeks were instantly flushed, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol he had just consumed. Y/N raised her gaze to her friend's face, curious herself about his answer to the question, as Oscar had never shared his romantic affairs with her, even when she repeatedly asked about them.

When he, embarrassed, couldn't utter a word, Y/N's gaze returned to Daniel, and she decided to answer for her friend. "Oscar probably hasn't met the right person yet," she said, taking a sip of beer. "He's never told me that he likes any girl, even when I asked hundreds of times. Recently, I even started asking if it's not a girl, then maybe a boy? After all, there's nothing wrong with a relationship with two boys or two girls. And Lando," she looked at her friend again, "he's quite charming. And it seems to me that you two have a good relationship."

"Landoscar? Oh definitely, I've been thinking about it many times myself," Daniel interjected, pointing his finger and agreeing with her words.

Oscar, seeing how they were encouraging each other, knew he had to act. And since words got stuck in his throat, and he didn't know how to defend himself, he silently touched his friend's cheek and turned her head towards him, kissing her. Despite her shock, she returned the kiss. Daniel smiled. He felt like giving himself a high-five.

After a moment, Oscar pulled away from his friend. His heart was pounding like crazy, and her questioning gaze wandering over his face didn't make it any easier for him to gather his thoughts.

"You, Y/N, I like you," he finally said. "I've liked you since you invited me over to work on a biology project in eleventh grade. We were just starting to be friends, and I already felt something more for you. Nothing has changed since then."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked, looking at him, but he lowered his gaze.

"I always felt like I was more of a brother to you than potential boyfriend material,"

"Oscar…," the girl sighed, looking at him indulgently. "Do you know how many broken hearts you would have saved me if you had told me earlier?"

Oscar looked up at her. And just as he felt like an idiot when he decided to make his bold move, now he was wondering if there was a chance she felt the same way about him.

"I thought I was just your friend. And that you didn't want someone who couldn't keep up with your pace of life. After all, why would you need a girlfriend you couldn't have by your side?"

"I would spend all my money to have my girlfriend by my side,"

After these words, silence fell. Oscar and Y/N looked at each other in silence, and Daniel, sitting next to them, pressed the cool edge of the can to his lips and watched the whole scene with bated breath.

"Do you want us to be together?" the girl asked after a moment. She decided to put everything on the line.

"Yes, Y/N, I want us to be together," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier and spared you so many broken hearts. But I assumed that a long-distance relationship would break your heart even more."

Oscar lowered his head. He wasn't lying. The truth was that one of the reasons he didn't confess his feelings to the girl was that he already found it hard with a long-distance friendship, let alone having the possibility to see his girlfriend once a month or less. Oscar had countless layers of love within him. However, he was afraid that if he turned on the tap, he would cause a flood, injuring not only her but also himself.

"Come here," she whispered softly, pulling herself closer to him and hugging him tightly. He closed his eyes and embraced her just as tightly, burying his face in her hair.

"Surely you'll be happy with such a guy," Daniel spoke up after a while, smiling. "If not, you know where to find me. However, Aussies always do it better."

[collecting-stories]

Blueberry BBQ - Carmen Berzatto

Request: no.

Summary: reader works at The Bear balancing their books and has a major crush on Carmy but they never talk aside from business. A dinner party brings them closer together.

A/N: Just some nonsensical drabble cause I love Carmy.

The Bear Masterlist

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

“Are you making that bbq sauce for the burgers this time?” Marcus asked, turning away from his chocolate cake for a split second to look at you.  

Mikey had hired you a week before he died to help balance the books at the Beef. After he was gone Richie stuck you on the counter, waiting on customers like you didn’t have a bachelors in finance, and telling you not to go in the back office. Now that Carmy was around, and attempting to make the Beef float, you were back were you belonged, in the office and away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.  

You were no chef…you’d hesitate to even really call yourself a proper cook…but you knew what you liked and you knew how to make it taste good. “I don’t know…last time Angel complained.”  

“That’s because Angel puts ketchup on everything like a five year old,” Tina called from her station, the distinct chop of onions echoing after her comment.  

“What are you making?” Syd asked, adding a quick, “behind” as she passed Tina to grab a pot.  

“It’s Sunday night dinner,” Marcus replied, ignoring the headshake Tina gave him. No real offence to Sydney but you knew she’d tell Carmy and whether or not he actually would come, you kind of didn’t want the pressure of thinking he might show up. Even with your job at The Beef you were far from understanding the “food world” but you’d tried Carmy’s cooking a few times and it was leagues better than anything you attempted on a good day. There was no way you wanted him even thinking you set foot in a kitchen, let alone trying something you made.  

“Sunday night dinner?” Syd echoed.  

And then the cursed, “what’s Sunday night dinner?” Carmy’s voice. He’d come in from a smoke break and you took three large steps back to the office, as if you hadn’t set foot in the kitchen to begin with. Marcus looked at his boss and then at you (wide eyed and trying not to visibly shake your head at him) and then back to Carmy.  

“It’s uh,”  

“Nothing.” Tina cut in. “It’s nothing. Get back to work eh, Jeff?”  

“Yeah,” Carmy looked like he wanted to say something else but instead just nodded, blue eyes a little glazed, “yeah.”  

In the comfort of the office, you get back to work on payroll for the week, slipping your airpods in to drown out the sounds of the kitchen. Just over the softer lull of Evermore you could hear Carmy yell at Richie, his brother’s best friend shouting right back. It wasn’t always (or ever) the best environment for working but you liked it. You liked it when Mike was working there and you somehow managed to like it a little more now that Carmy was running the show, though that could just be that you liked Carmy. Outside of work, you didn’t have too many conversations but he was pretty to look at and you liked the brief interactions the two of you had, even if it was just asking about accounts and other boring stuff he didn’t have the patience for on his own.  

The whole incident (that might be an over exaggeration of the event though you’d honestly be tempted to call it a debacle and it probably wasn’t that either) had been mostly forgotten by the time the dinner rush was rolling around and you were clocking out. More than thrilled to both be home before dark and to continue your mostly Carmy-free shift. He was so busy out in the kitchen and fighting with Richie that you hadn’t seen him. Though by now you were positive he had forgotten the mention of Sunday night dinner.  

You waved to Syd, promised to text Marcus, and slipped out the back door into the alley. If you went out the front Richie would stop you and then you’d be listening to his bullshit for another hour (at least).  

“Sneaking out?” Carmy’s tone was teasing and you spun around to find him sitting on a milk crate, smoking what was probably his sixth or seventh cigarette of the day.  

“Didn’t wanna hear about Richie’s date,” you shrugged, the strap of your backpack digging at your collar momentarily when your shoulder went up and then dropped back into place.  

“It was a bust.” 

You nodded, “kinda feel bad for him,” you mused. You didn’t hate Richie, in fact you found him kind of funny. Even when he’d kicked you out of the office and relegated you to the counter you’d liked him too much to complain.  

“You wanna date him?” Carmy asked, raising a brow as if he was issuing some kind of challenge.  

“Oh, I don’t feel that bad.” You laughed.  

Carmy smiled and you were ready to say goodnight when he opened his mouth again. Maybe you should have gone the front way. “So what’s this Sunday night dinner?”  

You shook your head as if the whole ordeal wasn’t that major to begin with. Maybe if it sounded lame, if you sounded like you weren’t that bothered with it, Carmy wouldn’t want to go. Not that you thought he wanted to spend his time off the clock hanging out with you. “Oh it’s nothing, I’m just…making dinner for like, Marcus and Tina and everybody.” 

He frowned. An actual, eyebrows scrunched, hooded eyes drooped, frown. “You cook?”  

“Not, no, not like…I mean…it’s probably cardboard compared to you.” You laugh, “not that I’m, ya know…comparing myself to you or anything.” You replied, stumbling slightly over your words.  

“Must be pretty good…everybody’s going.”  

“Well, anyone’s invited…I mean, if you wanted to come you could. I think Marcus is bringing some dessert and Tina and Ebraheim usually bring something too.” You shrugged again, an impulsive movement as you tried to make yourself sound cool and collected. It was just Carmy…the guy looked like he was homeless, he shouldn’t be as intimidating as he was.  

“What are you making?”  

“It’s just burgers.” You replied, downplaying the fact that you’d specifically overpaid for waygu beef because Marcus claimed it tasted better. Who were you to know. 

“I’ll bring something.” The offer sounded more like a sure statement. Not only would he be there but he would bring something.  

“Okay…” you trailed off, “well, see you tomorrow.” 

You were pretty sure you’d never left The Beef so quickly in your entire life. Sunday was supposed to be a relaxing day off and an attempt to actually be somewhat sociable because god knows quarantine was rough, even with a steady job.  

But now Sunday was just anxiety bubbling in your stomach while you made the plum bbq glaze that Marcus liked so much. You’d imagined nothing more than calling up your mom to complain about how often you put your foot in your mouth but as you reached for the telephone you realized the only one around to listen to you talk about this weird crush you had on Carmy was your cat. The monster in question was a long haired black cat that the lady on the top floor had adopted before covid. She’d named him Rigoletto after the Italian opera and then decided she didn’t want him anymore.  

“That place down the street is hiring…although I’m not so sure I wanna work at an H&R Block.” You mused, scratching under Rigoletto’s chin before leaving him on the arm of the couch to finish the bbq sauce. “And I do really like the Beef…but what if Carmy hates this? And he fires me or something…is that crazy?”  

The cat didn’t have the chance to answer because the buzzer by your door went off. It was a little too early for anybody who usually showed up to arrive though you suspected it could be Syd (she’d been invited now too, along with Richie who had to decline because it was his Sunday with his daughter).  

You hit the button to unlock the front door without confirming who was there. Not a great habit but you were technically expecting someone and you tended to get a little lax with security every now and then. You propped the door to your apartment so that whoever you’d buzzed (Syd surely, maybe Ebraheim) would be able to just come right in.  

But as luck would have it, it wasn’t Syd that came through the door to your apartment. It was Carmen, holding two foil trays cause he promised he’d bring something (and okay, sure, maybe he over did himself for just a hang out in your apartment but so sue him if he wasn’t trying to impress you).  

“Hey uh…your cat looks like it’s gonna climb me.” He half greeted, half warned, staring down at the cat that had jumped off the couch and come over to greet him. Yellow eyes stared up at his blue ones, back hunched like it was ready to pounce and Carmy briefly imagined the cat jumping right into the trays in his hands.  

Before any worst case scenarios could happen you scooped the cat up in your arms, apologizing and telling Carmy he could lay the trays on the small island in your kitchen. “He’s super friendly,” you promised though you left him in your room and closed the door, “he’s a big fan of Chester.” 

“Marcus’ roommate?” Carmy almost laughed.  

“Yeah he uh, what are you doing?” You speedwalked the short distance back to the kitchen when you realized that Carmy had moved over to inspect the sauce you were making, spooning a tiny bit out and taking a bite.  

“It’s good, maybe a little maple syrup?” He offered, as if this was The Beef’s test kitchen. Without waiting for your okay he went to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a bottle of maple syrup. You wondered briefly if he had some sort of psychic sense that let him know you had maple syrup on hand or if Carmy just expected all the ingredients he needed to be right where he needed them at all times. “What’s this?”  

“It’s salad dressing,” you supplied, shifting awkwardly as he shook the bottle of salad dressing he’d plucked off the shelf. 

You watched him pop the lid and stick a clean butter knife in the jar, pulling it out and taste testing the dressing. This was objectively worse than you imagined inviting Carmy to your house would be. “Shit, that’s fire.”  

You could feel your face heat up at the compliment, though that was immediately out of your mind as Carmy continued his inspection of your fridge. When he started eyeing a tupperware of soup from last night, you reached over and closed the door on him, “okay; let’s be finished going through my fridge?”  

“Sorry,” he held his hands up in surrender, the bottle of dressing still in one hand. “I didn’t know you cooked.” It was the same thing he’d said to you earlier though it didn’t hold the same genuine surprise as it had earlier. Instead, he looked almost contemplative, as if finding something out about you that he hadn’t known before meant something you weren’t aware of.  

“Nothing serious,” you promised, going back to check on the burgers and looking back at Carmy, “would you…check these. I know it sounds dumb but, cooking meat gives me anxiety.”  

“It gives you anxiety?” He said it like he was trying not to laugh, a smile threatening his features as he set the dressing back in the fridge and came over to stand a little too close to you.  

“If you don’t cook it enough you could kill someone and if you cook it too much it’s gross,” you replied, glancing half over your shoulder at him as he leaned in to check the state of the burgers.  

“Alright…if you let me try the soup.”  

You caved, “fine.” Passing the wooden spatula and stepping to the side. “If Marcus asks, I totally cooked them myself.”  

Carmy nodded, grinning, “yeah alright.”  

Cooking with him, without the imminent pressure of a working kitchen, was more fun than you imagined it would be. When you’d wandered into the kitchen area of the Beef back when Mike was still around, he was always joking and talking shit with Richie. Carmy didn’t necessarily run a tighter ship but he was more serious about food and cooking and there was less time for bullshitting. You assumed the quiet intensity was how he always was but you realized that was an unfair judgement. He was relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen him be, that confidence in his food coming through with quiet remarks about this meal or that, shitty food he’d eaten while he was working in New York and stories about the CIA.  

- 

By the time everyone had finished eating and gone home, leaving you with a mess of plates and cutlery, you were a little tipsy but genuinely happy. It hadn’t been as stressful as you were making it out to be in your mind and Carmy relaxed on a Sunday night was completely different from Carmy in the kitchen at work.  

“You have a system or?” His voice broke your train of thought as you wiped the last crumbs off the table and realized that he was standing at your sink, kitchen towel over his shoulder.  

“You don’t have to help me clean up,” you tossed the crumbs and came over to the sink, “I mean you fixed the burgers.”  

“I didn’t ‘fix’ them,” he almost looked like he was gonna laugh. “I just helped them along.”  

“Well either way, you shouldn’t have to clean up too.”  

“I don’t mind.” He promised, “now, you got a system?”  

“Not really,” you shook your head, “but I don’t have a dishwasher so everything’s by hand.”  

“I got time.” Carmy promised and you couldn’t help feeling like your heart was going to thud right out of your chest, “besides you promised me some of that soup.”  

“You just ate like a whole meal Carm, you’re not seriously gonna have soup at midnight are you?” You asked though honestly you didn’t think you would be surprised if the answer was that yes, he would have soup at midnight.  

“Yeah if it’s good,” he joked.  

You shook your head, not answering and instead focusing your attention on drying dishes too large to fit in the rack beside your sink. The frying pan went back on the stove with the pot beside it. While Carmy finished the very last of the dishes you let Rigoletto out of your bedroom, the cat stretching languidly as he appraised the room.  

“My mom had a cat once,” he mentioned, eyeing Rigoletto as he approached the kitchen area, “ended up giving it to the neighbor cause it jumped on the counters all the time. Nothing like cat hair in your chicken picante.”  

“Rigoletto’s too fat to make it to the counter.” You replied, “if he did I’d be too impressed to be upset with him.”  

“What are you doing?” Carmy watched you curiously as you got a bowl out of the cabinet and grabbed a bag of granola.  

“Homemade granola,” you shook the bag, “it’s for the top of the soup.” When he didn’t say anything you added, “just trust me.” 

“It’s your recipe.”  

“I feel like that wasn’t as confident sounding as I wanted it to be,” you laughed, passing the heated up bowl across the counter to him, granola sprinkled over the top, “it’s apple and brie soup.”  

“Apple?” 

“Okay, like you’ve made some weird fucking shit before Carm. Don’t act like this is the craziest thing you’ve ever heard of.”  

He raised his hands in surrender, spoon teetering between his fingers briefly before he was leaning forward to take a bite. “To be fair, I rarely see you even near the kitchen at work.”  

“Well I’m not as good as anyone there, I just like trying different stuff on my own time.”  

“This is really good,” he mentioned, taking another spoonful, “you have a recipe?” 

“Yeah, I have a notebook somewhere.” You weren’t a hundred percent sure where you’d placed your notebook though you knew it was floating around somewhere in the apartment.  

“Show me?” He asked, then, “not right now…just whenever.” The request was vague and you knew that ultimately you could just take it to mean showing him the actual handwritten recipe that you used to make the soup that he was almost finished eating but it could also mean actually cooking with him. Something that, 24 hours ago would have definitely scared the shit out of you. Cooking with someone like Carmy? That was out of the question.  

“When do you ever have free time?” You kept the question light, a joke more than an observation of his life, “I was surprised you came tonight.”  

“I thought about not coming,” he shrugged, “figured if you wanted me to you woulda asked yourself but…” the sentence teetered off and you took a few seconds silence to really weigh how your relationship with Carmen looked from his end.  

“Sorry, it’s not that you aren’t invited or anything…just that you’re kinda intimidating and if you were coming over than I’d wanna impress you and if I didn’t at least make edible food I’d be embarrassed.”  

“It could use a little fine-tuning but it’s not bad by any stretch.”  

“Okay,” you almost laughed at the bluntness of his statement. Ask him anything else and he clammed up but ask him about food and he was direct.  

“Sorry I-” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head quickly, wanting him to understand that you weren’t at all bothered by the comment. Maybe if you were in an actual professional in a kitchen...you’d heard him and Syd go at it before over a dish and you knew that Carmy could be mean when he was in ‘kitchen-mode’. “I mean, aside from you, the only people who eat what I cook are like...my parents. And what are they gonna say?” 

Carmy didn’t say anything, taking the empty bowl and placing it in the sink. He looked like he wanted to say more but instead he reached for his coat, “thanks for letting me invite myself.”  

“Hey, anytime you wanna come over...” You admitted. Tonight hadn’t been as scary as you thought it was and, in all honesty, you kind of liked having Carmy here. Getting to see him more relaxed was nice and cooking with him was somehow better. “Besides, I promised to show you the soup.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. Trying to fix the Beef, pay off Jimmy, and generally just exist didn’t leave a whole lot of free time but he didn’t think he would mind making some just so he could stand around in your kitchen with you again. It felt almost the way he used to feel when Mike was still alive and everything still had a layer of candy-coating on it. That sort of simple, ‘if I don’t leave this moment nothing can go wrong’ feeling that tightened his chest and made him feel warm.  

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” You phrased it like a question but it was a fact.  

“Tomorrow.” He agreed.  The possibility of it already making him eager for the morning.

[acewritesfics]

Did you just call me Honey? | TOMMY SHELBY (18+ ONLY)

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST. ⚠️

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No. Was sort of inspired by the song A Little Wicked by Valerie Broussard.  

Fic Type: Imagine.

Warnings: Poorly written smut. Murder. Swearing.

Word Count: 1,368

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST

Hands red, hands red   Just like you said I am, I am   A little wicked   No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne   No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne 

Y/N's head is rested on Tommy shoulder, a hand on his knee as he drives home from the races. The newly married couple had been enjoying their day, but she got the feeling something was about to go wrong. Her feeling was proven right as Tommy pulled over to the side of the road.  

"Is everything all right?" she asks as he stalls the car. 

Before he can answer her, a man with a gun is stood on Tommy's side.  

"Both of you get out 'ere now," the man orders them.  

"We better do as the man says," Tommy says looking at her, silently asking if she's got her gun on her.  

"Of course," she says, climbing out of the car, holding her hands up in the air to make him think she has no weapon. 

"Stand right there," the man orders again, his gun on Tommy. 

Y/N goes to follow her husband but the gunman stops her. "Boss only ordered for Thomas Shelby to be done away. He said nothing about Mrs Shelby." 

"What is your boss paying you?" she asks. "I'm sure we can double it if you let Thomas live." 

"Honey, I suggest you shut your mouth or I won't hesitate putting a bullet through your head too," the gunman shouts at her as she tries to reason with him.  

"Did you just call me Honey?" she glares at him as his attention falls back on Tommy, ignoring her. It was as if hearing the word 'Honey' triggered something within her. She hated that nickname her father had given her. He was an awful man and she didn't want to be reminded of him. 

Slowly and carefully she pulls she starts hiking up her skirt, her eyes not leaving the scene in front of her. Tommy's eyes meet hers. She gives him a subtle nod of her head, her signal for him to distract the man currently holding them hostage. 

Y/N reaches under her skirt for the gun she keeps there for protection. Being Tommy's wife came with a target on her back but she was willing to live with it if it meant she got to be with him.  

Pulling the gun out, she aims it at the gunman's head and pulls the trigger. Neither Y/N nor Tommy flinched as a gunshot rang through the air and the gunman collapsed to the ground. Crouching down, Tommy takes the gun from the gunman's hand and places it in the waist band of his trousers.  

"And that's why no one calls me, Honey," Y/N says as Tommy makes his way over to her. "Are you alright?"  

"I'm better now," he replies and places a quick kiss to her lips. "Let's get home before someone else arrives." 

She nods her head and follows him back to the car. 

Tommy's lips were on Y/N's as soon as they walked through the door of their home. With one hand on the back of her neck and the other resting on her hip, he holds her close. Her arms move around his waist, and she pulls the gun out from the waist band of his trousers  

Breaking the kiss, she sets the gun aside before lifting her skirt to remove her gun that she had hidden there. "Wouldn't want those to accidentally go off on us," she chuckles as she places her gun next to the one that they took from the man who tried to kill Tommy.  

Tommy moves behind her, his fingers pulling the zip of her skirt down before undoing the button and letting the silk garment drop to the floor.   

He moves her hair to the side and starts trailing kisses from her shoulder to her earlobe. She bites her lip to suppress her moan, loving the feeling of his lips against her skin. His arm wraps around her waist. One hand moves under her blouse, the other moving to the waistband of her underwear. His fingers toy with the hem before he moves his hand inside them.  

A breathy moan escapes her lips as two of his fingers ran over her most sensitive part. He strokes her bud a few times and gathers some of her wetness that was already pooling inside her underwear before he buries his fingers inside her.  

Moaning, she clutches on to his arms, her nails digging into his skin as his fingers start moving faster and he starts using his thumb to rub her bud again. His arm around her waist held her tighter against him, keeping her steady as she became overwhelmed with pleasure. Tommy always knew how to work his hands and have her begging for more.  

“I’m almost there,” she moans feeling her getting close to hitting her peak.  

But before she can get there, Tommy removes his hand from her underwear and turns her around. She looks at him with a bewildered look, wondering why he stopped.   

He just smirked as his hands moved to her blouse and started undoing the buttons. In a flurry of movement, clothes are removed, and Tommy is hovering over her on the sofa.  

“I want to pleasure you,” she smiles seductively at him as she reaches down to stroke his erection.  

“You can make it up to me later,” he tells her before crushing his lips to hers again, stopping her from arguing with him about it. He pulls away a moment later, moving his kisses to her chin, ear and neck.   

“I love you so fucking much,” Tommy whispers into her ear, nudging his knees between her thighs. His lips meet hers again before she can say 'I love you' back. One of his hands moved from beside her head to her thigh. “I want to be inside you right now.”  

“Fuck me, Tom, please, fuck me,” she moans as he slides his cock between her folds to coat it in her wetness  

Kissing her softly, he grips her thigh, and holds it against his hip as he slides himself inside her. Y/N’s breath hitches, her lips ripping from his and a low moan leaves her throat as pleasure ran through her body. His free hand cups her head and turns it to the side to get better access to her neck as he trails kisses up her neck as he moves his hips, pushing himself further inside her with each thrust.  

His thrusts are fast, deep, and hard making her breath catch in her throat. She wraps her legs around him pulling him as close to her as she can. Her body was tingling from his touch and the way his body moved with hers. She loved that he could always make her feel things she never felt before, even after the amount of time they’d been together.   

“Tom,” she gasps as her arms move around him, one hand running through his hair and the other digging nails into the skin on his back. “Oh, fuck,” She breaths, one hand moving to his ass, groping and urging him on. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much.”  

His grip on her thigh tightens as he moves his lips back to hers, kissing her more passionately. Picking up his pace, he takes one of her hands in his and entwines their fingers together and squeezes her hand.  

She can feel herself starting to come undone again as her walls started to tighten around him. He pumped in and out of her a few more times before she reached her peak, her toes curling as she comes all over him  

Tommy hits his peak after a few more thrusts, spilling his seed inside her before he collapses on top of her.  

Catching their breath, Tommy lifts his head and moves some of her hair out of her face and kisses her lazily, "You're my wicked queen. Thank you for saving me back there."  

"You're my wicked king," she smiles, keeping him close to her. "And I'll always be there to save you." 

CREDIT: support and mdni dividers made by @/cafekitsune. Razorblade dividers made by me .

[brewsterispunkk]

Hello!!! Could you write an angsty drabble about Benny returning without the money after the events of Triple Frontier?

“Benny, I don’t care about the money. You think I’m with an MMA fighter for the money?”

Ooo I LOVE this.

sunshine state

“I DON’T CARE”

pairing: benny miller x f!honey!reader,

summary: set after the events of sunshine state, when Benny returns from Colombia. (can be read as standalone, but better if you’ve read sunshine state first!)

WC: 1.3k

He’d been in the shower for nearly forty minutes, something nearly unheard of for Benny.

In your three years together, you’d never known him to take showers that surpassed twenty minutes long. In fact, he often chastised you for taking too long and “racking up the water bill,” as he so lovingly put it.

This wasn’t like him. Something was wrong—you knew it the minute he’d walked through the front door.

It’d been the early hours of the morning when he’d pulled in the driveway in the old pick-up that just wouldn’t die. He’d told you when he’d called you nearly twelve hours before from Bogota that you didn’t have to wait up for him, but he knew you better than to think you wouldn't. Especially after the hell that had been the last week.

It was supposed to be the usual: a quick in-and-out mission in Colombia that promised millions—much more than Pope’s little stints had provided before.

You hadn't liked it, obviously. After the last mission Benny had gone on about a year ago in which he narrowly missed a bullet to the head, you’d made him promise he’d never do it again. This, according to him, was the exception.

“A chance,” he’d called it. “A chance for us to really make it. We could finally move to the city where you could get the big museum job, honey.”

What he didn’t know was that you were content with your nine to five and the little duplex you had and your old cat and big dog and him. You didn’t need anything else. But Benny was Benny. He had a big heart but was stubborn as hell, and once he’d made his mind up about something, there was no going back.

When you’d gotten the phone call after nearly five days of radio silence, you’d sobbed with relief; You never cried.

He’d explained how the job had gone sideways, how they’d all gotten out alive, barely. That he’d be home in twelve hours. You’d been numb until you saw him walk through the door, all disheveled and travel-worn. The two of you barely talked before he excused himself to shower.

“Ben?” You called, seated on the bed you shared.

The sound of the shower faucet greeted you, with no words from him.

You shook your head.

Hell no, you thought. He was not going to push you away–you wouldn’t let him.

You opened the door to the bathroom, letting the steam calm you. You were sure to make enough noise so as to not surprise him. The last thing you needed was to trigger something.

Wordlessly, you stripped off your shirt and underwear–your pajamas– and pulled aside the curtain to join him under the stream of water.

Benny’s head was hung as you entered, the water running down his broad shoulders. His back was to you, and he said nothing at your entrance.

You ignored the shiver that went down your spine at the temperature change as you yourself stepped under the stream.

“Hey,” you began softly, wrapping your arms around his middle from behind. You rested your forehead on his spine, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You washed your hair yet, baby?”

Turning to you, Benny shook his head. As he faced you, you saw his chin wobble, his eyes wet with something other than tap water. His brows furrowed as his eyes met yours.

“Oh, babe.”

You pulled him to your chest, and when you did, he broke down, chest heaving a heavy sob. His arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressing into your neck.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he sniffed, voice warbly. “I’m so—”

“Shh, shh,” you raked your fingers through his hair. “I know. I know, baby.”

“I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t, babe.”

“I should’ve listened to you, I’m so stupid. Please don’t leave me–”

“Stop it, Ben, breathe.” You raked your nails over his scalp. “That’s it, deep breaths.”

He stopped for a moment and squeezed you harder, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Where is this coming from, Ben?” You asked after a minute. “Why would I ever leave you?”

He sniffed and pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Pope thinks Ev is gonna leave.”

“What?” You pulled back to look Benny in the eyes.

After their wedding a year ago, you thought absolutely nothing could pull Everett and Santi apart. You knew Everett was done with Santi’s “business” overseas, but you didn’t know he was this done with it.

“He said he thought he’d pushed him too far, right before we left Colombia.”

“Fuck,” you breathed. “How bad was it, Ben?”

Benny’s lip wobbled a bit before he spoke.

“Bad, honey.” He looked down. “Real bad.”

Your stomach plummeted.

How much danger had he been in? You weren't sure you wanted to know. What if he hadn’t come back? Tears filled your eyes at the thought.

“Honey, I’m sorry—”

“Let’s talk about this later,” you whispered. “C’mon, we gotta wash that hair.”

“Honey…”

“Ben, I’m not going anywhere. Now please, hand me the shampoo.”

- - - -

You did talk. For almost two hours.

For the most part, you raised the issue of “how he could put himself in danger like that?” Also, what that meant for you.

“Benny, do you know what would happen to me if you’d died out there?” You asked. His face crumpled.

“Honey I know–”

“No you don’t,” you said. “Obviously, you don’t or you wouldn't have even risked it.”

“Baby–”

“What if it had been me out there, almost dying halfway across the world?” You asked. Bennt just stared at the floor. “Or me who had a bullet graze their head last year in Bolivia? Huh? What would you do?”

“You know what I would do, honey.” Benny’s voice was gravely. “I’d tear the world apart to get you home.”

“So what makes you think I’d do anything less to save your life?” Your hands were on your hips as you stood in front of where he was sitting on the side of the bed. “Imagine how fucking helpless I felt here, waiting to hear if you were alive or dead.”

He was quiet for a moment, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” he said finally, and it was perhaps the most sincere you’d heard those words spoken.

“Don’t ever put me through that again, Benny.” You said, voice stony. “Or I swear to god, I will kill you myself.”

“Okay, honey. I promise.”

Now, as you laid beside him in bed, you couldn’t help but feel that something was still off.

To begin, there was a good six inches of space between you. Usually, as soon as Benny’s head hit the pillow, he was reaching for you, pulling you to his side or his chest.

Secondly, he hadn’t said a word, and you knew for a fact that he was awake.

Finally, you decided you couldn’t handle the silence.

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” You tried to sound nonchalant.

“I’m sorry about the money.” He said sullenly. His voice sounded shot, dejected. You started.

“What?” You asked incredulously.

“I promised you millions,” he said softly. “It was the only reason you were even a little okay with me going back out there, and I came back with nothing—”

“Benny, stop it.”

“I’m sorry baby. You deserve—”

“Do you really think I give a shit about the money?” You turned over suddenly to face him in bed. Your voice was hostile, you knew it, but you needed to get your point across.

“It was millions, baby.”

“Benny, I thought you were dead,” your voice strained. You reached out a hand to palm his face in the dark. “Anything more than that is a blessing by my count.”

“Still—”

“I don’t care about the money,” you pressed your forehead, trying to get the point through his thick skull. “You think I’m with an MMA fighter for the money?”

“Guess not,” he chuckled.

You pressed a deep, long kiss to his lips. He tasted like mint and cigarettes. He must’ve taken up smoking again in Colombia. Pulling back, you smoothed his hair from his forehead.

“God, I love you.”

“I love you,” you whispered. “Now sleep.”

He kissed your nose and pulled you closer, before drifting to sleep.

[humbledragon669]

S1E6 – The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives P2 - from the dissolution of the Horsemen to Sunday (the very first day of the rest of their lives)

OK, cool. Nuclear holocaust avoided. That means that everything is going to be just fine and dandy now, right?

Oh, bloody hell Crowley, why’d do you have to be so pessimistic (realistic) all the time? I was taking my cue from the nice soothing music that this was time to relax. Well, before we go down the doom and gloom route again, let’s take a quick look at Crowley’s choice of words here, shall we?

Nothing’s over.

Hmm. Strange thing to say. Or is it? Remember this?

What if.. what if… this little speech from Crowley isn’t just referring to Armageddon? If he is in fact well aware that there were things that were said on the bandstand that need to be addressed? That he does not accept that he and Aziraphale are through? And that they are still going to have to be very careful about spending time together? His expression when he points out that Heaven and Hell are still on opposite sides conveys an air of disbelief that the angel could actually be naïve enough to believe that the avoidance of this particular Armageddon would fix everything.

After all, if Heaven and Hell are still desperate to get at each other’s throats, that means that he and Aziraphale are still expected to be pitted against one another, doesn’t it? You have to feel a bit sorry for the angel though, he genuinely does look like he thinks things are absolutely tickety-boo now.

As a side note, I got a little hung up on Aziraphale’s interrupted line here:

It’s as I’ve always said, at bottom…

Is it me, or is there no linguistical situation where that combination of words makes sense? The scripted line is actually a slightly amended line from the book:

If you take the trouble to look, deep down inside anyone, you’ll find that at bottom, they’re really quite…

I mean, the original makes a little more sense, but not really, or at least not to my mind. “Underneath it all” or “at heart” would make sense sure, but “at bottom”? Feels weird to me.

I can fully appreciate Crowley’s reluctance to try and relay the tale of the dissolution of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse to an ordinary human when he’s challenged by Anathema, but what I find interesting is Aziraphale’s storytelling. Setting aside the fact that explanations are clearly part of the role that it is customary for the angel to play when it comes to his and Crowley’s involvement (for that, see the expectant look that Crowley sends his way when Anathema won’t take no for an answer), why does he start “in the beginning”? I know Crowley said it was a long story, but 6000 years long? That’s a bit of an understatement. See, I can’t help but feel like Aziraphale is actually launching into the tale of him and Crowley, and that he sees this non-Armageddon simply as part of their own story. Notice how he sets himself and Crowley up as the main characters from the very start (not to mention the attempt he makes at flattery, calling the demon “wily”)? And if you didn’t notice it, Madame Tracy certainly does:

The fact that Aziraphale launches into the story so quickly, and at such a fine level of detail, I find myself wondering if he (or in fact, they) have actually spent time constructing this story in the event that they ever are asked about their relationship. Or indeed, if he has already told that story to someone else before. I’m sure that we as the audience know that his timing and understanding has fallen pretty wide of the mark here, just like Crowley does.

Isn’t this just adorable? Crowley could have told him, shouted at him even, to be quiet, even to shut up, but instead he takes control of the situation (you could almost say he was rescuing Aziraphale from making a fool of himself…) in a way that conveys a great deal of familiarity and kindness. I suspect that this is a moment, similar to him saying “nothing’s over” earlier on, where the things he doesn’t say to the angel are much more poignant and revealing than the things he does, non-spoken communications between this pair being the running theme throughout the show that it is.

Side note on the soundscape that accompanies the arrival of Gabriel and Beelzebub: we can hear the typical miracle noise as Gabriel appears but there isn’t one to signal Beelzebub’s arrival. I do rather like the noise that’s been chosen to represent the closing up of the earth that she emits from though – it’s like a cross between a crackling file and a creaky door. Feels very apt.

Quick question: how does Gabriel know Adam’s name? He didn’t know which of the children was the Antichrist at all in the first place, never mind any of their names.

I feel like Gabriel’s assertion that “you can’t just refuse to be who you are” is a pretty obvious reference to two things. Firstly, the running theme that to be human is to have free will. Gabriel’s insistence that Adam has no free will suggests that he does not consider the child to be human in any way at all. Secondly, that he does not accept that Aziraphale or Crowley could be anything other than what they are expected to be by others. With those two factors in mind, I find it interesting that this is the point at which Aziraphale chooses to speak up, and I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that anybody that misses the expression of blind panic on Crowley’s face as the angel steps forward really isn’t watching properly.

The demon shouldn’t panic though, because Aziraphale has a plan. Which he desperately tries to communicate, again without words, to Crowley:

If that’s not a massive indicator that this pair being able to communicate without words, I don’t know what else you need. At the very least it makes clear that they can understand the subtext that is being sent their way. And hasn’t Aziraphale stumbled across the most amazing loophole here? Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the bind he manages to put Gabriel and Beelzebub in and start with the definition of ineffable (which, until watching this show, I didn’t know).

So, the very fact that the Ineffable Plan, by its very definition, cannot be expressed in words, means that it cannot be the same as the Great Plan, which has not only just been described by Beelzebub, has apparently also been written down somewhere. Genius, Aziraphale, really. And his point really hits home once he’s joined by Crowley, whose presence fills in all the gaps of credibility that the angel has. It’s another instance of us being shown how they work so much better together as a team because they complement each other perfectly. And they know it:

We’re being given a clue that the situation is de-escalating here through the music, which is a replaying of the “Man with a Harmonica” styling we heard earlier in the episode, except this time it’s less prominent, slower, and less heavily orchestrated. It signals to us that the stand off is resolving, not in a mass of fire and flame but more like a tyre with a slow puncture. The music also serves to underline the moment of comic irony from Crowley and Aziraphale with their gleeful acceptance of the “blame” for putting a stop the war (as if that was something to be ashamed of).

Whilst we’re on the topic of sound (again), I just want to say that the noise we hear Gabriel and Beelzebub disappear makes me giggle. I think it sounds like someone, maybe even a child, making a fake retching noise. No idea why I find this so funny.

Quick note: Anathema really needs to work on her consistency of information that she holds to be true:

NEWT: Perhaps it’s a volcano. ANATHEMA: There aren’t any volcanoes in England.

Well, it wasn’t that long ago that you were Newt told you the same thing about tornadoes, and look how that turned out.

So, Armageddon was avoided but now Satan’s on his way to kick some butt. That about sum things up as they stand? That’s certainly how Crowley sees it, and he is all out of options for any of them. But here’s where things get interesting for us.

There is only one thing that Crowley needs to do in what he likely believes are going to be the last moments of his existence – look at Aziraphale and tell him, in as few words as he possibly can for time purposes, that he values him. And for the record, I am of the belief that “that was that” is not a reference to Earth, or even to his own existence, but to the relationship that he and Aziraphale have shared. Stings a bit that line if you consider that to be potential subtext, doesn’t it? What stings more is the realisation that Aziraphale, still holding out hope that they can fix the situation, is doing something that he has been doing for Crowley for a long time – being Crowley’s hope as well as his own. He is, in an incredibly beautiful way, bringing light to Crowley’s darkness. And he is fully invested in their partnership here too:

We can’t give up now.

Not I, or you. We. Did I get any of you with that light into darkness thing? Maybe I’ll have you with this instead.

There are a couple of things to say about this little stand Aziraphale makes for himself, and I’ll leave the one that always makes me feel like there’s something in my eye until the end of the paragraph. This demand from Aziraphale that Crowley is the one that finds a solution to the problem is a strong indicator, as has been discussed before, of the demon always being the one to save the day. It’s part of his role, given to him by Aziraphale, and one that he happily plays because he enjoys rescuing the angel. There is, of course, a lovely subtext in this that the “bad” one is actually the hero. The fact that Aziraphale picks up the sword here (no longer flaming now – is that to do with intent of the bearer?) is a clear sign he’s giving Crowley that he knows he’s not getting out of this situation without making some compromises of his own. Despite the fact that the sword was his originally, the idea that he’s picked it up with the intent of using it to fight offensively rather than defensively goes against his gentle nature. It’s meant as a message to Crowley to show that he means business. And it does the job – we can see Crowley registering the out-of-character nature of the action and rallying himself a little to try to replicate it. Lastly, there’s that threat:

Come up with something or… Or, I’ll never talk to you again.

Except. Except. It’s not really a threat, is it? Let’s have a quick look at what the original script had down for this line:

Come up with something or… Or, I’m never going to talk to you again.

It’s a very subtle difference. But it makes it a lot clearer that this isn’t a threat – it’s a statement of what will happen if they don’t find a way out. This isn’t the angel throwing out the only thing he can think of to say out of spite, it’s him spelling it out for Crowley the real consequences for them. And you can see how frightened he is by the realisation of it:

The stage directions at this point are pretty clear about both the intended effect of those words, and the resulting action that are to take place:

Crowley nods. That one hurts. What the hell. Crowley snaps his fingers … and time stops.

Obviously there was a bit of scope creep on the mechanism for Crowley stopping time between the script being written and the end product. Interestingly, this stopping of time appears to take Crowley a lot more effort than the previous instances we’ve seen him do. It’s also missing the trademark noise that has accompanied this particular brand of miracle (the popping noise), but there are some elements of the more generic miracle noise underneath the epic-sounding choir in the soundtrack. This is the first time we’ve seen Crowley also transporting himself and others to a different place whilst time has been stopped, and we are given no explanation of where this place is. The script suggests it’s all in Adam’s imagination, or possibly Crowley’s. If it’s Crowley’s I can understand why both he and Aziraphale now have their wings, as it would help convey to Adam that their intentions are good. If it’s actually Adam’s imagination, that would suggest that he himself has pictured them with their wings, which would further suggest he is aware of their true nature, despite this never having been addressed (at least in the series, there is a line in the book that spells this out a bit more clearly – “I know all about you two.”). Interestingly Aziraphale’s sword is flaming again now (which would pose some questions depending on who is responsible for that – Aziraphale? The person whose imagination they’re residing in?) and it’s only now that Crowley chooses to adorn his glasses.

Despite the perilous nature of the situation, Aziraphale still manages to have not one, but two realisations of his own in the time bubble. Yes, that’s right I had said two. The first of those is something he has been winding his way inevitably towards for most of the season – that he can see that the virtues of being human make for a better being than one that is solely of Heaven or Hell. That realisation is quickly followed that the realisation doesn’t just apply to Adam but to himself and Crowley too. Not onboard? Check out the knowing glance he throws Crowley’s way when he delivers the line:

He knows that, morally at least, the pair of them are both much closer to being human than angel or demon now. I suspect he also knows that the admittance of that is both a compliment to Crowley and an acknowledgement of something that the demon has known for a long time.

I do not think it a coincidence that Adam is pictured with an angel on one side and a demon on the other in both this and the previous scene (on the tarmac): that image has been the stereotypical image used to depict a conscience for a very long time. What I do find interesting in this particular representation of that is that both the angel and demon are there in order to support the human they are tasked with helping, and that they intend to work together.

Side note: Crowley uses the tyre iron from the Bentley to restart time. Again, I find it interesting that this instance of him stopping time appears to be quite a strain for him given that previous (and future) instances will be easily started and stopped with the click of his fingers.

Really quick side note (just in case you didn’t know): Satan is played by a certain Benedict Cumberbatch, though you’d struggle to recognise him beneath all the CGI.

Ah phew, Satan has been dismissed just like the Horsemen. Perhaps it was just a necessity of shooting that Crowley and Aziraphale were stood so far apart prior to Satan’s dismissal, but they certainly don’t waste any time before they’re standing together again.

Either way (and I choose to believe they made a conscious decision to stand together), it would have been difficult to get this shot if they’d still been standing eight feet apart:

It’s a shot we all deserved – Crowley smiling (actually smiling!) whilst Aziraphale gazes lovingly into his eyes.

Quick note: Aziraphale does not wipe the top of the bottle after Crowley has been drinking from it before taking his own swig (this interaction is slightly different in the script, where Aziraphale passes the bottle to Crowley instead, and actually does wipe the bottle top before he does so). Also, where has that bottle of wine come from?

Just a few lines ago I wrote about how there was no time wasted between these two in coming back together. Well, now we see Aziraphale wasting no time in returning to flirt mode. This cheeky side-eye he gives Crowley when he tells Lesley that he’s been sitting on the sword is priceless:

Or how about this once-over he throws over, with the cue word from Lesley being “wife”:

And Crowley does appear to have noticed – he turns his attention to the angel at the first chance he gets, disguising the turn of his head as him simply following Lesley’s departure.

Prior to Aziraphale’s discovery that his bookshop has actually been burned down, there’s a moment where you can see him physically deflate with disappointment that he and Crowley are going to be apart.

You can see how difficult this is for him to say – he doesn’t actually manage to say the whole sentence until his second attempt at it. I can’t help but feel like this is a nod to their break-up on the bandstand – whilst he said what he did with honest intentions, it’s all come back to bite him in the ass now that the World hasn’t actually ended. It feels to me like the subtext here is along the lines of “I understand if you don’t want to be around me”, but I also feel that this is him fishing for a rejection of this idea from Crowley, like he’s really desperate for him to say “no, don’t be so ridiculous, all is forgiven” (no pun intended. Well, maybe a little bit of pun intended). You can see him waiting for the verdict, albeit in a very blurry fashion, in the foreground of the shot. It’s pretty heartbreaking that not only does he not get what he’s looking for, but that Crowley has to deliver the soul-destroying news of the bookshop being gone for the second time, which he does in the kindest and most compassionate way that he can. It’s at this point that he offers his apartment as a place to stay for. My question about this little section is this: had Crowley, mistakenly believing that Aziraphale knew he couldn’t go back to the bookshop, already assumed that the angel was going to stay with him that night? I think that’s highly likely. There is the tiniest flicker of a smile from Aziraphale at Crowley’s offer, and why wouldn’t there be? Crowley’s invitation suggests that things can be worked out between them, that he hasn’t completely bolloxed things up with his declaration that “it’s over”. He also looks pretty devastated when he realises that it’s probably a bad idea to take him up on the offer.

Crowley’s not taking no for an answer though, is he? And he wants to make sure that his message is getting through to Aziraphale loud and clear - his assertion that they are now on their own side is really his way of saying “I forgive you”. Well, Aziraphale does get the message loud and clear – he sits beside on him on a virtually empty bus and, we are led to believe, holds his hand. And I do choose to believe that’s exactly what happens – you can actually see Aziraphale’s hand reaching down towards Crowley’s, which looks as if it’s rested on his knee or thigh.

I understand that there was a Tweet at one time where Michael potentially confirmed that this had happened, but I have been unable to find it. And on that delightful Aziracrow bombshell, I think I’m at a really good place to wrap up this part, not least because I can create a banner from noticeboards from the next scene to start the next section instead of making up my own banners. As always, questions, comments, discussions: all welcome. See you next time 😊

[orionsangel86]

Who do you think is better suited for dating Morpheus: Johanna or Hob?

Lol controversial ask! Jokes. I am guessing this came off the back of my response to the Calliope post the other week where I mentioned that I am loosely a Dreamling shipper but lean more towards Morphanna currently. I guess I need to specify that it very much depends on my mood because I am a Sandman multishipper at heart but feel different ships serve different purposes regarding Dream. I struggle to stretch them beyond the purposes I have set aside for them. Also it's Dreamling week and so one look at my blog would definitely give the assumption that I am a huge Dreamling shipper but that isn't actually the case. What I am is a Morpheus stan and everything else is peripheral to my focus on him and his story.

But sure lets dig into this. Honest answer? Neither because Morpheus is terrible and his track record alone is enough proof that he should never date anyone ever.

(jokes)

If we want to be sticklers for comic canon here, neither is suited because there are particular blockers in place for both ships.

For Morphanna the blocker is the rule that states that an Endless can not love a mortal. We have the Nada situation to show us what happens when they do. (Sun gets big mad and throws fireballs at the Earth)

For Dreamling the blocker is less carved into stone but its still gonna be a biggy for certain readers/audiences, being that Morpheus is not gay/bi/pan/queer whatever you wanna call him. For all intents and purposes in comic canon he's as straight as a ruler. However whilst we only ever see Morpheus's lovers as powerful, confident, beautiful female presenting immortal beings, we can throw in the tried and true argument we can apply to all of Neil Gaiman's non human beings which is that since he is not a human cis male, he technically can't be straight and since he has multiple forms and is as old as the universe itself, attraction is probably a very different thing to Morpheus than it is to any of us. It's entirely plausible that he could fall in love with a man shaped being (I actually have a meta in progress about Morpheus' potential queerness - sure it may ruffle some feathers but since I do this for fun and not to please anyone but myself I don't give a damn and will post it one day).

Anyway, that said the show could easily do away with both these blockers. We haven't had Nada's tale yet so whats to say the Endless are forbidden from loving mortals in the show universe? Nothing. The show could also easily confirm Dream has had past male presenting lovers (my money would be on Oberon in a threeway situation with Titania - or Pharamond if he shows up.)

So putting those elements aside, who is better suited to Morpheus?

In Johanna's corner we have the following;

She generally fits the archetype of past lovers and therefore could be considered Morpheus's "type" - beautiful, confident, argumentative, not phased by his status, not submissive to him, puts him in his place (listen we all know Morpheus has a submissive kink its practically carved into comic text lol).

Well versed with his "world" and supernatural creatures and can hold her own against them - being a Constantine has its benefits.

She cares - underneath her tough exterior its clear she has a good heart. She was able to bring him down to Earth, to give a human perspective that he needed at that point.

Flawed characters - Johanna considers herself a bad person and compares herself to Roderick Burgess. But Dream is quick to dismiss this. The truth is that Johanna may be messy and a bit of a disaster, but she is very selfless and good at her core. This could be a good thing as it could help Dream to see the good in humanity that he has been missing. Its clear she already helped with this in the show, but going forward, a relationship between them could help even further accelerate his change and make him a better being.

She encouraged the development of his relationship with Matthew. Something else he needed which she saw before he did. Basically she's smart enough to figure out what he needs, and when to press the issue or not. (she dropped the topic of his imprisonment as soon as he deflected to her photo).

She understands heartbreak and messy relationships - I think Johanna would be well suited to Morpheus because she is just as broken as he is, with almost as messy a relationship history. They have common ground there.

"It never ends well does it?" "What? Love?" She's realistic about relationships, which Morpheus - being Dream - needs. She can ground him, at least for a little while.

Johanna is also a powerful ally to have on side, it makes for excellent storytelling to bring her into the narrative regarding Lucifer and the stories revolving around Hell. She's competent, highly skilled, and I think he finds her impressive.

For Hob consider the following:

Friends first - for someone with such a terrible track record of past lovers, finding love in a friend is something Morpheus doesn't appear to have tried before, and this could be exactly what he needs. Dream and Hob have a shared history over 6 centuries, and those are strong foundations to build a relationship on, especially since they've already basically been through the big break up fight and heartbreak and are already in the rekindling phase.

Stories for the storyteller - the beauty of Hob's role is that he is Dream's respite from his world. The visits with Hob are the one time the Prince of Stories gets to sit and listen to stories himself. There must be peace in that, and we all know Dream desperately seeks peace.

Blind Devotion - Hob is patient, and he will wait for Dream. One thing that I think a lot of Morpheus's past lovers had in common is that they struggled to stick out the periods of time when he would throw himself into his work and basically forget about them. The relationships fizzled out after the honeymoon phase because Dream couldn't sustain that, even though once you have his love you have it forever. With Hob that wouldn't be an issue. He is the man who waited. Who never gave up hope that Dream would return even after he was stood up, and when he did return, Hob smiled and joked. It was all okay. Morpheus needs a relationship with that level of chill.

Flawed characters - Unlike Johanna, I think its safe to say that Hob is a very flawed character. He is selfish, greedy, self centered and ignorant to a lot of what takes place around him. Whilst he does grow and improve over time, his flaws are still a huge part of his character. Morpheus is also very far from perfect and it is this that makes them so well suited. There is almost an equal footing there. Hob could potentially see Morpheus's POV when it comes to the grander schemes, but at the same time, it is clear from their journey together in the show that they have a tendency to make each other better.

Grieving fathers - now this is an important one and its something I feel the comic failed to see the potential of. A huge part of the Sandman story is Morpheus struggling to come to terms with his grief over his son. Grief is a central theme. Of all the characters in the comic who Morpheus comes to meet, Hob is one of maybe two that share that experience - being a father whose son died too soon. I think the other character in comic who suffers this same grief is Shakespeare, which is an interesting parallel and one worth exploring. The show adds Roderick Burgess into the equation - making a fathers grief for his dead son the trigger for Dream's own imprisonment. The show emphasises the theme of grief far beyond the comic, which is definitely worth further exploration in a separate meta. The point is that Hob sits in this very small circle of characters who have shared Dream's experience. Hob is therefore in a prime position to help Dream where they can grow and learn to heal together.

Whilst he doesn't fit the archetype for Dream's past lovers, the differences Hob provides could prove to be just what Dream needs. He is still a handsome man (and God knows Dream gave him bedroom eyes in 1789) and he still ticks certain boxes regarding dominance, confidence, and an ability to hold his own in a fight. "You need not have come to my defence" suuuuure Dream but you did enjoy it nevertheless! Therefore attraction isn't an issue.

Conclusion?

Both Johanna and Hob tick certain boxes to meet the requirements for "love interest" and could easily be positioned that way for Dream. When I really dig down into it I think it depends on what fans are looking for in a Dream ship as to which character is best suited.

I love Morphanna for how messy it is. Yes, Johanna cares and has a good moral centre, but placing her into a certain role within the bounds of the canon story could actually be bad for Dream going forward. I see it as a dramatic relationship. It would be passionate, fiery, dramatic, chaotic, and will end in heartbreak.

I say this because ultimately Johanna doesn't do commitment. This is a clearly defined character trait in the show. Commitment is something she struggles with. Whereas Morpheus is all about commitment. He doesn't appear to do anything BUT commit to people and comes on extremely strong. I love exploring this dynamic between them. I think it would work brilliantly as a canon ship and I am still resolutely behind the idea that Johanna should replace Thessaly in canon and be the trigger for the rainsoaked Dreaming and the Brief Lives disaster trip.

So whilst I 100% ship Morphanna, I think I only ship it on a temporary basis. I struggle to imagine a future where they can have a happy ending and be together long term. Instead I see an ending where after all is said and done, Johanna stands and tells her story at the Wake, and mourns the creature she loved, and has to go on struggling to understand her role in his downfall. If we are seeking an alternative ending where Morpheus lives, I still struggle to see him settling down with Johanna as she is a mortal and I cannot imagine her ever choosing immortality or giving up her job as someone who saves people from the supernatural. She will never be Morpheus's queen. It just doesn't suit her character.

When it comes to Hob, as much as it sometimes irks me to admit it, he is very well suited for Morpheus even in an endgame/alternative happy ending way. Foundations based in centuries of growing friendship, his patience and ability to wait for Morpheus to get his head out of his ass, his being unphased at practically all the weirdness and oddities that Dream's world brings with it. The fact is, Hob is Dream's best friend. This is something that Dream needs so much more than a lover. Not only that but he is a friend who has shared history, shared grief, shared pain, blind devotion, and he is immortal. Hob will stay by Dream's side forever if he has the chance. So long as he still gets to live. Whether you see it as purely platonic, queer platonic, non sexual romantic, or fully romantic and sexual, they are in it for the long term.

Whereas Morphanna for me is a quick burning fiery passionate love affair that ends in tears and A LOT of rain, Dreamling is a very slow burn. I struggle with canon based fics that have them falling into bed shortly after the 2022 reunion because it feels out of character to me. If Dreamling were to happen, it would need to take practically the entire comic run story to get to that point. Hob's devotion to Dream is clear, but his awareness of its romantic potential is not yet there. I always return to Hob's dream in Sunday Mourning when I think of Dreamling, because for me, that is where a relationship between them would actually start, rather than end. Because I think it would take a huge event like Morpheus's actual death for them to pull their heads out of their asses and get together. Because you see even with all the arguments and debates and highly emotional opinions thrown around, I still feel deep down like Sunday Mourning is telling us that Morpheus escaped. He got out the narrative and is free from his cage, and now he's set for his own adventure off in the stars. The only person I can realistically imagine him taking with him is Hob Gadling.

At the end of the day these are my opinions. I want canon Morphanna, I just want it to end with a horrible messy break up because I want that drama. I am unsure if I want Dreamling in canon, but I do hope that if the show ends similarly to the comic, that we will get those scenes in Sunday Mourning and have them be extremely emotionally charged - if ever there is a Dreamling love confession, that is where it belongs. I can only really analyse my opinions on these ships based on canon but I am aware that fandom is a big sandbox and people can do what they want always with these characters. Please don't ever let my opinions deter you from shipping them to your hearts content in any way you feel like.

So I guess the TL:DR is that they are both suited in different ways. Morphanna is a mid story passionate love affair that I adore and want to end in disaster. Dreamling is an endgame slow burn friends to lovers that has the potential to go long term.

I love them both for their specific purposes, believe they both are suited for those purposes, but never the other way around. I hope this satisfies your question! :)

[differenteagletragedy]

With the Baxter angst with mc drowning in a riptide, I’m curious as to what Cove’s (and our family in general) reaction is when we’re found and the days/weeks after our death. Thanks, I love your writing

Thank you so much! Here you go :)

"You ok, son?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine."

Cliff watched as Cove came into the house, his arms full of shopping bags. He was most definitely not fine.

It had been a little over a week since you'd drowned, and Cove was just not himself. Not that Cliff expected he would be after such a traumatic loss, but his behavior was becoming more concerning every day and he wasn't sure what to do.

That night you'd gone out for a swim, your moms came knocking on the Holdens' door frantically around 10:00. Cliff had answered the door and hearing the commotion, Cove came out of his room. Pam and Noelani explained how you'd wanted to go to the ocean by yourself, but then you didn't come home and you didn't answer your phone. When they went to check on you, your things were on the beach but you were nowhere to be found.

Both men had set out to help look for you, as had many of the other neighbors. Authorities were called -- it was an unusually chaotic night for the quiet little street -- but by the morning, your body had been found.

Cliff was pretty sure Cove hadn't slept since.

He hadn't been down to the beach, which was understandable, even though it had been a nearly daily activity for him. But he also hadn't showered. Cliff had taken time away from the shop to be there for his son, but when he'd gone out for a quick grocery run one evening, he came back to a pile of sand in the hallway.

"It's time we got this out of the house," Cove had muttered, broom in hand.

Cliff didn't want to be overbearing -- honestly he had no idea how to help Cove through this -- so he'd watched as Cove did an overhaul of his bedroom. He took out his surfboard and tucked it somewhere out of sight, then packed his swim trunks and wetsuits in a trash bag and set them by the curb. Cliff did grab those up and put them away for him, sure that someday he might want to return to the beach, but as the days went on he stopped being so sure.

That day, when Cove had come in with his bags after a trip to town, Cliff followed him to his bedroom. His son didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care that he had an audience. From the bags, he pulled out bubble wrap, a pack of rubber bands and some smaller plastic bags. He left again without a word, went back to his car, and came back with a cooler.

"What are you doing?" Cliff finally asked.

After taking the time to sort out his newly acquired supplies, Cove knelt down and grabbed a box from under his bed. He opened it, grabbed a few more items, then pushed it aside. He used his free hand to grab one of the smaller bags, and that's when he answered Cliff.

"I'm getting rid of the fish."

Cove was expressionless as he began the task of getting each individual fish into its own bag, securing it, then placing it inside the cooler. Cliff was taken aback for a number of reasons, a big one because he knew how much his son loved his pets. Another was that he was taking the fish off, with everything else that was going on, without a single tear falling.

"I think we need to talk," he said at last, but Cove wasn't interested.

"There's nothing to talk about. I don't want them anymore. Some guy in town is taking them, I'm going to drive them down there in a little bit."

"Cove," he said softly, reaching out to grab his son's shoulder. They both stayed silent, then the younger man let out a shaky sigh.

"I can't sleep, Dad," he said, looking at him for the first time that day. "I can't sleep with them in here. The water ..."

He glanced over to the tank, the little piece of the ocean he'd been so excited to have in his own room years ago. But now, since you were gone, it wasn't welcome anymore.

"Is that why you haven't been showering?"

He nodded.

"Have you been drinking?" Cliff asked. He'd known Cove hadn't been eating that much, but if he was developing this deep of an aversion to water, he wanted to make sure.

"I haven't been thirsty," Cove answered.

Cliff sighed, then decided it was time to take charge. He emptied Cove's hands, setting the scoop and net on the floor, then took him in his arms.

Cove started crying almost immediately.

"You have to take care of yourself," Cliff told him. "And if you can't right now, then you have to let me help you."

"I don't want to," Cove replied, his body wracked with sobs. "I don't want to do any of it."

He cried for a long time, sometimes slowing to a a near stop before starting up violently again. Cliff cried too, feeling utterly helpless. But eventually, when he didn't have any more tears, Cove went a little limp. He was exhausted.

"Come in here," Cliff told him. "I'll take care of it."

He moved to stand beside Cove, letting him lean against his side. He took him to the living room and laid him down on the couch, then grabbed the blanket that was thrown on the back of it to cover him up.

"I'll take care of it," he told him again. "Just sleep for now."

He kneeled on the floor next to Cove, stroking his hair until he drifted off. Then he went in his own bedroom, cleared off his dresser, and began the task of moving the fish tank in there.

When he was almost done, he heard a knock at the door. He moved quickly, not wanting to wake Cove, then quietly opened it and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. It was then that he saw Liz standing there stone-faced, a box in her arms.

"Hey, Liz," he said, trying for a smile but failing. "How are you all holding up?"

"Not great," she answered frankly. "Ma won't get out of bed. They're talking about selling the house but they want to think it through."

He nodded, not sure what to say to that. Liz looked down at the box, then back up at him and asked, "How's Cove?"

"About as good as you'd expect," he said.

"That bad, huh?"

Without waiting for a reply, she held up the box to Cliff.

"What's this?" he asked, taking it from her.

"It's ... it's for Cove. I think he'll appreciate it the most."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Liz excused herself, walking back across the street and going inside. After she closed the door, Cliff lifted the box's lid and took a peek.

Seashells, all different kinds and colors. He remembered you collecting them with Cove when you were younger, how much time you'd spent together on the beach looking for the best ones.

She was right. Cove would appreciate it the most.

He snuck back inside, box in hand, and moved past a lightly snoring Cove. He went back to his bedroom and put the box safely on his dresser by the tank.

Someday Cove would be ready for this again. He'd be ready for the water, and ready to remember you. Until then, Cliff could keep these memories safe.

[wishcamper]

Squeaked in at the last minute for Day 6 of @gwynweekofficial!

Here's the first chapter of a modern Gwynriel grad student AU. Read below the cut or on ao3!

Dark Matter

CW: referenced sexual assault, language, Nesta smoking weed lol

The effects of lucid dreaming on PTSD-related nightmares (as well as waking symptoms) have been discussed in several studies collecting anecdotal data from amateur practitioners (Gibbons et al, 2016). Further research has been conducted on brain activity during lucid dreaming as well as PTSD-related nightmares. Both phenomena demonstrate brain activity in the amygdala, where the brain stores emotional memory (CITATION), and lucid dreaming introduces activity in the prefrontal cortex often absent during nervous system dysregulation (THAT ARTICLE I CANT FUCKING FIND REMEMBER TO ASK ANAKE). 

Traumatic memory reconsolidation through techniques such as eye-movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) indicate therapeutic value in ‘re-living’ traumatic experiences in formats that promote autonomy and agency for the victimized person (CITATION) (IS THIS LANGUAGE RIGHT?). Preliminary data using the Nightmare Protocol (Rothschild, 2000) in closed lab conditions show a decrease in symptoms of hypervigilance, waking flashbacks, and PTSD-related nightmares (Merrill & Berdara, 2023). This study will explore the possible link and therapeutic benefits of

“Think fast, bitch.”

Gwyn looked up from where she’d been typing feverishly, blinking at her friend who was looming over her on the sofa, waggling a fuzzy blanket and an unlabeled prescription bottle stuffed with weed. Nesta sat down next to her so their thighs were touching and wrapped the blanket around them both without asking, blocking out the chill of the A/C blasting full throttle.

Yet despite the sigh that escaped her, Gwyn knew Nesta didn’t need to ask - this was exactly what she’d come over for, whether she regretted the request or not.

“I texted Cass to see what his plans are, I’ll let you know when I hear from him,” Nesta said. Her voice was sharp, articulate, and it always reminded Gwyn of the ladies from period dramas, though there was nothing demure and blushing about her. Nothing but fierce determination in the woman who lifted the laptop from her hands and scooted it out of reach before grabbing the rolling papers from the coffee table drawer. Nesta rolled a neat joint with the same dedication as she did all her cases, the same way she’d taken Gwyn under her wing all those years ago.

They’d met in a class called Children of Divorce, which turned out to be more boring than depressing, but the two had formed a quick bond bitching about the dumbass professor, the limits of academia in general. 

Nesta had been very protective of her from the start, which had confused Gwyn at first, but she’d come to accept the stubbornness of her friend’s care, the deep privilege of having someone so loyal on her side. Along with their friend Emerie, Gwyn had never felt more solid in her relationships, more held and loved by the people in her life.

Which was fortunate giving what a fucking train wreck that life had become in the past year.

Gwyn heard the front door open, a tired grunt and the sound of a heavy bag being dropped on the floor. She felt her shoulders tense reflexively and tried to relax them, picturing the sparkling blue of the bay where she’d vacationed as a child.

“Hi baby,” Nesta called from the couch. “Gwyn’s here.” 

She grabbed the laptop and typed something quickly before setting it aside, tilted toward Gwyn, and heading into the kitchen. Gwyn saw the Google search bar on the screen, the words entered there: do you need him to find somewhere else to be?

Her heart swelled at her friend’s kindness, her consideration. Nesta had been so good from the very beginning at helping Gwyn feel comfortable without making a big deal about it. She half-listened to the couple greet each other, unable to help the small smile that rose to her lips. 

“How was training?”

“Awful. I’m slow as shit right now.”

If Nesta’s ferocity was clear when she spoke, Cassian’s overall bigness was evident in his voice, the happy boom of it reverberating like the subwoofers they used to dance on top of at house parties in undergrad. They’d gotten a lot closer this summer given how much time she spent at their townhouse, and Gwyn felt lucky to call him a friend even though she was still uneasy around men.

“You should run with Az again. Last time you were so mad he was faster, you got better out of spite.”

“Oh my god, why did you tell me that? That’s exactly what I have to do. You’re so smart.”

 Gwyn heard the sound of Cassian kissing his wife’s cheek, her answering noise of disgust.

“And you smell horrible.”

“Yeah I’m gonna go shower, my running rival is coming to pick me up in a bit.”

Nesta appeared back in the living room, pointed her thumb down and then up - a question. Gwyn returned a thumbs up, and Nesta smiled.

“Why don’t you hang out here?” she called back into the kitchen, and Gwyn heard cabinets opening, the rush of water in the sink.

“Is that cool with you guys?”

“I told Gwyn all I wanted to do was get high and eat Thai and watch Love is Blind. So if that’s your pleasure, feel free.”

Cassian appeared around the corner with a big cup of water, the plastic splashed with an image of Nesta’s face twisted in fury, a souvenir of his bachelor party. He grinned at Gwyn, his gym clothes and swept back hair damp with sweat. “I’ll text Az. We were gonna get food I think, but maybe we’ll come back after,” he said before disappearing to the bedroom, and she heard the shower starting, the whoosh of the pipes in the wall.

Nesta was already nestled into the couch when Gywn came back to herself, remote held aloft, drawing long from the joint she’d left smoldering in the ashtray. She held it out across the sofa but Gwyn shook her head, diving back into her literature review instead, for as long as Nesta would allow, anyway.

Not that she was above smoking, but it made her paranoid and jumpy, didn’t give her the mellow feeling she craved. Gwyn had tried everything and anything to help her sleep by this point, though her darkest hours were still plagued with dreams of cramped elevators, wine-stained lips, the cold click of wheels across hospital floor tiles. During the disciplinary hearing, she’d gobbled Xanax like Emerie’s dog devoured any food left unattended. She’d even tried going to church a few times, though the looming figures on the altar felt like they grew bigger and bigger with each breath she dragged into her lungs, her florid prayers condensing into a desperate mantra of Please don’t do this, please don’t, please, please, please..

Those days were behind her, thankfully, though the scars still lingered, both within and without. Gwyn vaguely heard Cassian calling out his goodbyes, waved an idle hand over her shoulder in his general direction.

Things were looking up recently, the slow plod of time eroding the sharp crags of her memory. Since the hearing in May she’d had three blissful months of a deserted campus to get back into a routine, to start scraping together a sense of normalcy. But now the undergrads were back for the semester, as well as her.. well, she didn’t know what to call Him anymore. 

Former advisor, erstwhile lover. 

Executioner. 

His face flashed in her mind, a pastiche of all the times he’d praised her, poured the balm of his attention over her neglected heart. The hard set of his jaw across the conference table, the drunken fury when he’d -

“Oh, what the fuck?” Nesta yelled at the TV, jolting Gwyn from where she’d paused in her typing mid-sentence. “You’re gonna propose and then talk shit about her behind her back? Men are trash.”

The show was garbage, ten thousand percent so, but as her mind slowed down from its frantic rememberings Gwyn could admit to herself that she needed this. Just as she needed Nesta’s arm to reach out then and wrap around her shoulders, encouraging her to sink further into the corner of the threadbare couch, snuggled once more under the giant blanket. 

It was a testament to Nesta’s goodness that she hadn’t hesitated to invite Gwyn over when she called her this afternoon mid-panic attack, hadn’t made the slightest fuss when she could only choke out I saw Him before dropping the depositions she’d been reviewing and plunking her friend on the sofa.

“He’s growing out his beard again.” 

It felt like a stab wound, knowing he was out there still, carrying on while she was a fucking wreck. Gwyn was despondent as she gave up and finally shut her laptop, setting it on the side table. It felt like every time she got her feet under her something would sweep them away, leaving her bruised once more.

“What an asshole.” Nesta’s scowl could stop a man’s heart. “At least it makes him look like the fucking groomer he is.”

All the breath had left her when Gwyn saw Him across the quad that morning - he’d been talking to a very young student, the tiny cherries on her sundress like drops of blood. 

“I should transfer.”

“Fuck that. You deserve to be here. You deserve to finish your education.”

She didn’t protest, knowing arguing with Nesta was useless anyway. Instead she rested her head on Nesta’s shoulder, heard the hum of approval as her friend took another long drag, blowing out a dense cloud of smoke. Gwyn felt her phone vibrate and patted around on the cushions for a second before finding it.

Emerie: love you Winnie, i have my phone on for a client anyway so you’re not allowed to feel guilty for calling me

Catrin: Hey I have time this weekend if you want to facetime!! Noon my time/midnight yours?

Cassian: Gwynnie do you want food? Nes is demanding Thai, but we can drop it off if you need some space

Gwyn: No you’re fine, I don’t want to kick you out of your own house

Cassian: shut up

Cassian: Az said he wants to see you if that changes your mind

Cassian: 😏 

Gwyn declined to respond to his last message, unsure what the hell to even say to that. The thought of a guy even looking at her was enough to make her skin crawl these days, but beneath it now there was a tiny thrill, a part of her that came back online. She puzzled over it through the next episode before Cassian burst through the front door once more, his crooning call accompanied by the rustle of plastic bags. 

“Oh, love of my life!”

The wedding was a requirement to move in together, given Nesta’s family’s conservative leanings, and everyone looked at each other sideways when the two got married right after undergrad considering their litany of very public breakups and makeups. But Cassian and Nesta were the most solid couple she knew, and they both seemed to delight in collecting waywards souls and stuffing them full of food and aggressive affirmations.

That truth was evidenced by the mountain of sweets Cassian poured out onto the couch from a CVS bag, the mile-long receipt fluttering to the floor. “We didn’t know what you’d want so we got everything,” he said before burying his face in Nesta’s neck. “I missed you.”

“You saw me forty-five minutes ago,” she groused despite her smug expression, and she allowed her husband to deliver her pad thai on one knee, cracking the plastic container open and revealing the noodles with all the flourish he would a diamond ring.

Azriel, for his part, had enough decency to look embarrassed by the whole thing, and Gwyn couldn’t help smiling at the way he rolled his eyes and sloped into the kitchen to grab a beer for himself and Cassian. He gave Gwyn a questioning look and she shook her head, tried to ignore the flush that threatened to stain her cheeks.

It hurt sometimes to see how in love her friends were. 

She’d been in love with Him, at least she’d thought so at the time, though now she could only view the memories through the stain of the aftermath. He was married, and thirty years her senior, but he made her feel special, as pathetic as that made her sound in her own head. The world wouldn’t understand, he told her, and she’d believed him even as the guilt ripped at her, the sense that at its base what they were doing was deeply wrong.

She wished she could say her conscience caused her to break it off, but it had taken the threat of his wife discovering them to make her end things for good. She’d been unable to hide her heartbreak, and confessing the relationship to her friends was horrible. Gwyn expected them to blame her, to tell her she was asking for it. That she knew better than getting involved with a married man, that she was a homewrecker, a whore, the thousand slurs she hurled at herself every day.

But once the initial shock wore off, her friends’ sorrow surprised her, as did the rage they felt toward Him. Emerie, in her gentle but no-nonsense way, taught Gwyn a lot about abusive relationship cycles and coercive control, and she began to comb through the illusions he’d weaved through the cracks of her fragile sense of self.

But only after she’d untangled herself from Him did the worst of it happen. Now she could barely think his name without starting to tremble.

Too late she registered the people on TV were no longer making sound, the turn of eyes toward her. Gwyn didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt Nesta’s hand tightening around her own.

“Oh honey. Oh, it’s okay, come here.”

She felt Nesta’s arms wrap around her shoulders, her now-heaving breaths shaking them both.

“I’m sorry.’ The shame lay thickly on top of her, paralyzing. Nesta only squeezed tighter, trying to ground her.

“Shut the hell up, I love you. You’re allowed to feel like this.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Cassian shift slowly, picking up her water bottle and setting it beside her. Gwyn clutched the handle like it was a life raft.

“I just don’t think I can stay here much longer,” she choked through her tears, mortified that the mess was showing on the outside. “I can’t keep getting knocked over every time I see Him.”

Azriel’s fist clenched against the sofa arm but he was otherwise still, an unreadable expression on his face. Then his eyebrows softened and Gwyn heard the rush of her own blood in her ears, the fear pounding.

“I’m so tired,” she blurted out, unable to contain it. Everyone kept silent, letting the tide flow out of her. “I’m on edge all the time, I can’t concentrate. Merrill is breathing down my fucking neck. And it’s clear he isn’t going to leave, so if I want any peace of mind I have to leave myself.”

“You know what’s best for you better than anyone else,” Azriel said quietly. “But I also think you’re trying hard not to take the help that would be happily given to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You say you’re tired. So let the people who love you take some of the weight.”

Nesta made a noise of agreement, and Gwyn turned to her, taken aback.

“You agree with him?”

Nesta shrugged and brushed Gwyn’s hair back from her face, reached around her to pluck a tissue from the box on the end table, a remnant of her last breakdown. “I mean, you always act like the things I do for you are such an inconvenience for me. They’re not. I’d do literally anything for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it.” Cassian’s stare was even from where he was sprawled on the floor, and even as the guilt twisted in her stomach Gwyn felt the truth of it, of the way they were all holding her up. 

“What would it even look like?” They’d been so constant, and she promised herself to consider the help for their sakes, even though she knew she’d never accept.

Cassian shrugged. “However you want. You can move in here if you don’t want to live alone.”

“No, I’m not getting in your way like that.”

“I’ll move in with you, then.”

“Nesta, no.”

“I could escort you on campus if that would help,” Azriel offered.

Gwyn faltered, both from surprise at his willingness and because it actually sounded great. “I’ll be running my sleep study the next few weeks, my hours are too weird.”

“Az is pretty much nocturnal, he’s perfect for the job.” Cassian reached up and ruffled his friend’s hair, leaving Azriel looking like a disheveled crow. He scowled but turned back to Gwyn, his deep voice sincere.

“If it’s because you’re uncomfortable with it, that’s fine.”

“But if you’re saying no because you’re stubborn,” Nesta added. “Then you’re outnumbered here, babe.”

Cassian began a chant of One of us, banging his hands on the coffee table, and Gwyn laughed in spite of herself, tears still leaking. “I don’t want to be handled like I’m something fragile.”

“No, no.” He paused his banging and looked thoughtful, considering. “Think of us like the Secret Service. We got your back so you can focus on saving the world.”

“I think I should talk with Amelia about this.” Her therapist was good at giving it to her straight while still empowering her to trust her instincts.

“Okay, I’m gonna hold you to that,” Nesta said sternly before wrapping Gwyn up again. “Lovingly, tenderly hold you.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me.”

“Because you do too much for other people to carry this shit alone. Because there are people in the world who want nothing more than to bring you Belgian chocolates,” Nesta said, picking up a box from the pile on the sofa and waving it in front of her face. Azriel’s eyes darted toward the carpet. “Don’t let one fucking horrid asshole man take that from you. Now are you going to help me verbally abuse these trash bags or not?”

Gwyn laughed again, the knot in her throat easing as Nesta unmuted the TV and the others settled back into their places, the bounce of conversation returning once more. 

“What’s wrong with this lady? What does she have?”

“I can’t diagnose anybody,” Gwyn said offhandedly, the answer rote as she dug through the chocolates. “Sorry, I’m overwhelmed by choice at the moment.” She puzzled over the map on the inside of the box lid, the whirl of vague descriptors about the chocolates’ depth, the passion of their creation. “I don’t think I can start with one of the ‘intense’ ones, they’re too intimidating. Like, intense compared to what? How do I prepare for that?”

Cassian tipped his head back and laughed. “See, if you were gone, who else would say shit like that? You make the world better, Gwynnie.”

And damn it if Gwyn didn’t feel herself begin to unspool as they watched, the idle commentary warming her through. Eventually a very stoned Nesta started using her experience in divorce settlements to determine which couples were the real deal and which were goners, and apparently the overall odds were grim.

“No, see, they disagree about lifestyle priorities. They’re fucked.”

“How can you tell?” Azriel frowned, and Gwyn couldn’t help watching the shift of his long legs, clad in black jeans despite the August heat.

“Look at the way he’s dismissing her. He’s gonna be like ‘oh I’ll convince her I’m right, she’ll agree with me eventually’.”

The contestant in question appeared in a confessional and said the same thing Nesta predicted, nearly verbatim. Cassian shuddered.

“That’s spooky. You terrify me.”

“Good.”

Gwyn smiled as Nesta grabbed Cassian’s neck playfully from behind, putting him in a headlock. She glanced at the sun setting beyond the balcony, orange streaking the sky. “I feel like we are going to see him eat those words. AND I’m going to check that all the doors are locked because it will make me feel better.”

Weeks ago after a similar meltdown, Gwyn had promised her friends to be more unapologetic about the things she needed to do to feel safe since the assault. Eventually she’d learn to let the security blankets go, but she needed them right now and that was okay. 

So it was with a feeling of lightness that she popped up from the sofa, that she heard Cassian say, “Yes queen,” through a mouthful of drunken noodles at the same time Nesta assured her, “Do whatever you need to, babe.”

It wasn’t always simple and it was difficult not to let the hard days win, but her friends had been awesome. Including, surprisingly, the brooding guy settled back into the far corner of the couch. 

Azriel.

What the hell was she going to do about him? She’d only known him as Cassian’s friend before her world explored, was shocked a few days after when he visited her in the hospital. He’d brought her socks, saying he knew hospitals could be cold. It was sweet, and she’d held the memory close in those dark days that followed, a small spark in the blackness.

She locked the back door, rotating the handle twice. She did the same to the front door, and was halfway down the basement stairs when Azriel started up, meeting her on the landing in the middle. 

“I got the sliding door,” he said.

Gwyn flushed with anxiety, felt her eyes burn with inevitable tears. “I need to check myself.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

She brushed past him and checked the door, made sure the bar was down and the pin in place. Rattled it twice. Azriel was hovering at the bottom of the stairs when she turned, hunched like he wanted to make his lanky frame smaller. She swallowed as she started to cry, trying to keep down her shame at her body’s natural reaction. 

It was normal. She was okay.

“I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because you wanted to help me and that’s just really nice of you.”

“Gwyn, I-”

“Thank you. It really means a lot to me.” 

His skin was cool when she laid her hand over the tattoo on his forearm, the swirl of geometric shapes wrapped around it. Sacred geometry, he’d told her once, the ‘tree of life’. Before her now he stayed deathly still, as if not wanting to startle her, though his shadowed eyes didn’t stray from her face.

“Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But.” He seemed to think hard on his words. “I care. About you.”

He placed a hand over hers, and for the first time in forever Gwyn didn’t feel tired to the center of her bones, didn’t feel like a damaged, fucked up cast-off too weak to survive in the world. She felt like just a girl, standing in front of a boy, trying to remember how to breathe because he was really, really unfortunately good-looking.

“Did you mean to abandon us up here?” 

Cassian’s voice resonated from the living room, making Gwyn jump, her gaze snapping toward the stairs before Nesta said, “That’s so rude, you know we both have abandonment issues.”

She heard Cassian’s booming laugh and turned back to Azriel, who looked chagrined and yet nervous somehow, like his face couldn’t decide how much it wanted to show. She wiggled her toes against the concrete, grounding herself with the fuzzy fabric of her socks, the first thing that ever helped. 

“I was just saving Azriel from a robber,” she called up the stairs. “Poor thing, I think he needs an escort on campus at night.”

She felt some of her old self resurface as she smiled at him then, at the way he’d half-frozen in surprise before his mouth curled into a lazy smirk.

“Guess I’ll be seeing more of you, Berdara.”

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump Day 2

Flinching – Med OC/TBB

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, borderline panic attack.

WC: 2,753 - might do a second chapter of pure fluff, but this was getting long already

When the call came to offer temporary support on a covert mission of mercenaries, I’d been shocked at how the others had balked. Echo’s reluctance to let me go was understandable – over the past several months, we’d developed a friendship I’d come to depend on, but the almost possessiveness the others expressed through varying degrees of annoyance and frustration, and mumbled quips about the republic’s inability to ‘find their own medic for those karking nat-borns’ left me stunned. It was true that, with time, they’d grown less cold toward me, even allowing me to patch them up on occasion, but that sense of being the odd one out had never truly quelled. Foolishly, I’d even caught myself thinking that them being without me for a couple weeks wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I never paused to consider the danger in finding myself without them.

The mission was a brilliant success. I didn’t even need to bandage a scraped knee. What happened after, however… CF99 had been cleared to pick me up after the merc leading the mission reported the successful capture of a seppy outpost. It was three days before they finally arrived, and I nearly sobbed upon hearing the familiar hum of the Marauder’s engine. Carefully garbed in my full set of armor, I had to still myself against dashing from the merc ship, movements carefully controlled as I neared the ramp.

“About time. We were beginning to think this was going to turn into a rescue mission - figured we’d have to take the outpost ourselves.” Even Crosshair’s taunt was a welcomed relief as I finally let my steps quicken in those last few feet.

“Can’t have you lot winning the whole war by yourselves.” If he heard the slight quiver in my voice, he said nothing about it. I barely paused to hear the warm welcomes that should have left me a blubbering mess before quickly slipping into the medbay. The familiar buzz of the overhead light was a mockery to the way my heart raced, torn between dread and relief. I was safe here – safer than anywhere else in the galaxy, and I was so, so desperately tired, but I couldn't escape the terror seizing my chest.

My entire body flinched at the soft knock before the door hissed open, and I found myself counting my blessings that I hadn’t yet begun removing my armor as Echo stepped in.

“Hey, Doc – you ran off pretty quick. Everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I had to whisper the word on a quiet sigh lest it catch. With a quick inhale, I turned back to my supplies, carefully focusing on unpacking to keep my mind from wandering. “Just tired – think I’ve grown so used to Wrecker’s lullabies that now I can’t sleep without his snores shaking the whole karking ship.” Echo let out a polite chuckle, but I could feel the doubt nagging beneath his gaze.

“I’m fine – just need a quick nap, then I’ll join you up front. Okay?” Safely hidden behind my visor, I turned back toward him, knowing he couldn’t see the red of my eyes or the way my chin shook.

“Okay.” The gentleness of his reply nearly broke me, but I managed to keep myself still until the door slipped shut behind him.

-

The fleeting few hours of sleep I managed to steal between flares of panic offered no relief, but I couldn’t bring myself to risk closing my eyes again. Beyond the comforting hum of the Marauder’s engines and Wrecker’s telltale violent snores, the ship was quiet. Aside from whoever was currently taking watch at the helm, it sounded as though the others were asleep. Good. If I couldn’t sleep, a cup of strong caf would have to do. It wouldn’t take long – just a few minutes. I could be in and out before any of them noticed. Not long enough to warrant dragging myself back into my armor.

As I’d hoped, the hall light was dimmed for the others to sleep, and I was able to silently tread into the small kitchenette without attracting attention. Focus locked on my own unsteady movements, I started the caf machine and retrieved a mug, gaze staring blindly at the stream of dark liquid pouring into my cup.

Even as the others slept, then engines continued humming, burning, sending us lightyears from that wretched Sergeant. I’d gotten away – fought my way free and painstakingly ensured I never found myself alone with him again throughout those long three days, but the bruises of my escape still ached fiercely against even slow movements. I’d recorded everything, was mentally prepared to report the event as soon as we made it back to Kamino… I just had to last another couple days. If Echo learned what the man had tried to do… kriff, after how they’d all reacted to my temporary reassignment, I couldn’t risk any of them finding out… But I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t close my eyes without felling the icy strength of his grip, without feeling how he’d caged me against the wall…

It wasn’t until after I felt my body shy violently away, heard the cup clatter from my hands as caf splashed over the floor that I realized what happened. Crosshair. Had he said something; tried to get my attention before merely reaching around me to fill his own cup? I hadn’t noticed him enter the room, and, when his arm appeared over my shoulder, the flood of panic sent ice through my veins, heart slamming against my chest as my body simply reacted, every muscle snapping in a desperate attempt to distance myself from him before he could trap me once more, eyes darting around to find him, to fight.

I’d never seen that look in the sniper’s golden eyes. Shock left us both frozen for several seconds, and dread sank through me. Teeth clicking together against the tremble already stealing over me, I quickly dropped my gaze to the puddle, turning away with all the subtleness of a bantha as though there was any hope he hadn’t seen the bruises.

“Kriff!” The curse belated tore through clenched teeth as I snatched a rag from the counter. “Need to tie a karking bell on” The threat died as his fingers whispered beneath my chin. I knew it was him – knew that beneath that rude, snide front, he was kind and loyal and safe. Still, I couldn’t keep from wrenching away from that touch, wide eyes darting back to his as though there were some chance I’d find the merc standing over me.

The cold rage in those golden eyes stripped me of even the façade of denial. Once more, his fingers ghosted over my chin. This time, he didn’t pull back at the small flinch, instead carefully tilted my head to the side to fully view the dark bruises. Still, I felt myself trying to fight him, twitching against his hold as though I might yet hide the evidence of my assault from him.

“Who did this?” Quiet. The words were so quiet despite the violent rage burning through them, and I couldn’t pretend anymore, body shaking in earnest now. His other hand slowly began to raise, fingers frightfully gentle as they settled carefully around my arm.

“Who did this?” He asked again, body curling ever so slightly around mine.

“I… I’m taking care of it.” I don’t know where I found the strength to manage even that wanting attempt of evasion, but he merely scoffed, lips twisting into a small scowl.

“Hunter.” His voice carried intentionally through the ship, and my heart sank.

“Crosshair, please.” I loathed the defeat in my voice even as I turned up to him, pleading with weary eyes, and his jaw ground until I could hear his teeth creak.

“I read the report – zero injuries. Right? That means this happened after the Separatists were pushed out.”

“You… read…” I felt the beginnings of a question stutter over my lips, mind staggering to grasp what he’d just said. Why would he read the report?

“Right?” He pressed, ripping me from my thoughts, and my head automatically nodded, stoking that rage into something dangerous. “One of those damn nat-borns roughed you up? Why?” He snarled. I could feel the tension rippling through his towering, lithe form, watched the faint tremor steal over him, but his touch remained impossibly gentle where he held me. Still, I couldn’t help but turn away in disgust and shame at his question. That was all the answer he needed, breath hitching as he quickly pulled away from me.

“Wa-wait.” I gasped, vainly struggling to force myself to talk – to explain before things got worse. “He didn’t”

“What happened?” Hunter asked from behind me, and another curse caught over my tongue.

“Look.” The sniper growled, chin jerking toward me. Some feeble dismissal vied for breath, lips just beginning to part when the Sergeant tread around the room to face me, expression suddenly darkening as his eyes swept over the patches of deep bruises.

“Those aren’t from droids.” It wasn’t a question.

“One of those nat-borns figured they were owed something more for a mission accomplished.” Crosshair snarled.

“What?” The word barked from Hunter’s lips so sharply, I couldn’t help but shy slightly, teeth catching the inside of my lips in some vain attempt to still the way my chin trembled, gaze quickly dropping to the cooling puddle of caf slowly spreading beneath our feet. Ignoring the mess entirely, Hunter lowered himself onto a knee just in front of me. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him; couldn’t risk seeing the anger or pity or disgust I feared I’d find there.

“Doc, I want you to tell me exactly what happened.” I wasn’t expecting the gentleness of his plea; the depth of concern quieting his words into something just above a murmur, and that gentleness is what finally broke me, tears slipping mockingly down my cheeks despite how forcefully I ground my teeth in a desperate attempt to hold them back.

“I said I’m taking care of it!” Even as guilt twisted through my chest, the anger fueling my words was safer than fear, so I found myself clinging to it, finally meeting Hunter’s eyes with a piercing glare. “Yeah, that asshole tried to-” even now, I couldn’t say it, voice catching in my throat before I forced myself to continue lest my mind falter and freeze, “but I’m not some damn helpless civilian! I fought back, and I got away, and he’s sure as shit just as kriffed up as me because of it!”

I couldn’t just stand there, skin crawling at the mere thought of that night, heart slamming painfully against my chest. Arms locking around my chest, fingers burring into the black fabric covering handprints I feared I’d never be free of, I stalked to the far corner of the mess room, legs pacing restlessly as wide eyes darted between the two of them; blind to their stillness as they merely watched me.

“Good.” The sudden praise from the normally impartial sniper stopped me in my tracks, shocked to see the approval shining through those golden eyes. “Still, think we should head back, though,” He added, glancing to his brother as he pushed himself back to his feet, “Make sure there’s no… misunderstanding.”

“No!” I barked, dread returning en force, but he seemed not to notice.

“What’s with all th…” Dammit… Echo stood frozen midstep in the doorway, jaw parted in a silent gasp. “What the kriff happened?!” He demanded, storming into the room towards me. I managed to hold my ground until he raised his hand, reaching towards me as though the bruising might simply vanish beneath his touch, but I couldn’t still the way my head jerked away at that last second, eyes slamming shut beneath a strike I knew would never come.

“Echo.” Hunter called, a quiet warning in his voice, but I could hear the tension in the arc’s suddenly ragged breaths.

“Who the kriff did this?” The quiet growl sent a tremor down my spine, eyes hesitantly peaking up at him. Echo held my gaze for barely a breath before looking sharply over his shoulder at their leader.

“We’re going back.” He stated with such absolution, it wrenched a sob from me. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

“N-”

“Goin’ back where?” In my frenzy, I hadn’t noticed the quiet in the absence of Wrecker’s snoring, and looked in horror to find the jovial man filling the entirety of the doorway. His eyebrows rose sharply upon seeing me, a huff of air catching against a smirk. “Well, someone saw some action!” The glee in his voice quickly faded as he took in the darkness of his brothers’ expressions. “Wha… what happened?”

“Nothing.” I stated forcefully, but it took mere seconds for that same rage to sharpen his gaze as understanding dawned on him. “No! No, Dank ferric! Listen to me!” I finally shouted, “He’s a karking Master Sergeant! If any of you even lay a hand on him-”

“You think we give a Sith’s tit about that?” For a moment, I was too shocked to hear that kind of language from Echo to respond, and Crosshair’s comment only further robbed me of any means of speech.

“He hurt you.” The sniper growled, as though that was all the justification any of them needed to throw away their lives for vengeance. Some broken attempt at pleading with them stammered from my lips, gaze darting from Crosshair’s seething rage to Echo’s terrifying fury, to a quiet hatred I hoped to never see in Wrecker’s eyes again.

“I’m afraid our good doctor is right.” A hopeful gasp escaped me as Tech pushed his way into the room, hair hopelessly mused from sleep, hand absently rubbing the weariness from his eyes before slipping his goggles back on. “Seeking out our own justice would do little more than pose a temporary unpleasantness – assuming we didn’t kill him outright – but it would likely see each of us decommissioned for assaulting a commanding officer.” My heart seized at hearing my fears spoken aloud, but the reluctant defeat that settled over the others freed some of the tension from my stiff muscles.

“I am curious, though,” Tech continued, turning his attention to me, “You have ample bacta. It seems clear you’d hoped to keep this from us until after we’d returned to Kamino, so why not treat your own injuries before we could see them? I assume you’ve taken pictures as evidence of the assault?” Heat pooled over my cheeks as my gaze fell.

“I didn’t…” The words choked over a broken gasp, and I had to force myself to draw a deep breath before trying again. “I was afraid the pictures wouldn’t be enough.” The words were mumbled, logically knowing the reason to be unnecessary but the doubt and fear that had poisoned my mind with ‘what if’s’ had been more than enough to steady my hand against anything that might lessen the bruising. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them as I spoke, but, even from the corner of my eye, saw Echo’s shoulders slump.

“They’ll be enough.” He whispered; promised in a way I couldn’t bring myself to argue against, and fresh tears clouded my vision. Stretching my jaw against the stiffness lodging in my throat, I forced myself to take a deep breath. “Can I help patch you up?” That gentleness I so treasured him for robbed the lingering tension from me along with what fleeting strength it brought, body wilting before him beneath the utter exhaustion I simply couldn’t continue fighting. Finding those eyes, seeing the purity of his concern and worry… I couldn’t deny him, head nodding listlessly.

“Come on.” He slowly motioned his arm toward me in a silent offer. I hesitated mere seconds before letting myself nearly collapse against him, hands clutching his forearm and bicep while my forehead nearly hid against his shoulder. I vaguely noted his other arm move as well, before his mind caught up with the action and he purposefully lowered the scomp back to his side. With slow steps, he guided me between his brothers and into the hall just as Hunter’s voice rumbled dimly over that distant hum of the engines.

“Tech, as soon as we’re out of hyperspace-”

“A message is already pending transmission to Commander Cody detailing everything we know.” Tech interrupted, earning only a quiet hum.

Fanart!!! by @mythical-illustrator

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[onskepa]

I see DJ'Otxang as a bad bitch who can do rap, trap, street dancing and many more. Can she show the sully some street dancing or hip hop??

I like to imagine O'txang teaching the na'vi kids how to spin their feet and spin on their heads. Gonna try with street dancing! Hope you and everyone likes it!

DJ O'txang in the house! , Rhythm of sound

-------------------

DJ O'xtang: Hot Feet

O’xtang has gotten some fame from the young na’vi. Being able to make human music while crafting something new from it, music soothing and up beat for the na’vi to dance with. Can even form interesting sounds with her vocal chords. Sounds that no one can ever recreate. Her talents have made her stand out and be popular. The youngsters always hear her music, her sounds. Isnt there anything else O’xtang can do? Is there any other talents she is capable of? 

And the answer is: yes. 

What other talent would that be? 

A little thing called street dancing. A form of dance still holding strong and still being free of any form of control.

“Ok, 3, 2, 1-” 

���What are you doing?” 

“HOLY SHI-DONT SCARE ME!” 

O’xtang put her hand on her chest in a dramatic way as she looked at tuk who scared the living crap out of her. Tuk just giggled at her behavior as she held Kiri's hand. Everyone stood watching O’xtang doing….whatever she was doing. 

“Yeah, what are you doing?” Lo’ak repeats the question. 

“Street dancing” Spider replies casually as he passes by them. The sully eyes were on him since he was wearing regular human clothing. “Wait, what is going on? O’xtang you are swinging your legs and spider is that human clothes you are wearing?” Kiri asks in bewilderment. 

Both humans nod. 

“Why?” Neteyam asks. Such an odd day already. 

“Well O’xtang has been teaching me how to street dance, getting the hang of it” 

“Eh not really no” O’xtang answers honestly. 

“Ok hold on, back up. What is this ‘street dancing’ you keep saying?” Lo’ak asks. Spider stepped aside and turned on the music player, a familiar version of musical beats escaped the speakers. But new waves of deep vibrating sounds came through, and each thrust of a beat, O’xtang started to dance at the exact timing of it. 

Her hands sway in smooth motions but also sharp and quick. Thrusting her body side to side, lowering down and rising back up. But the most impressive part was laying down and swinging her legs in a circular motion, almost as if her legs had minds of its own. Spinning around and around. Her head on the floor spinning as well. 

O’xtangs moves were oddly hypnotizing in a way, Nothing like the siblings have seen before, yet it somehow fits with the rhythm of the music. And just as the music started, it ended with O’xtang hand standing like nothing. 

An immediate applause broke from the kids. Praising her for the fun entertainment. 

“And that is street dancing, one of many versions” O’xtang says while catching her breath. Wiping the sweat off of her brow, she take a seat. Everyone gathered around her, intrigued of what they just saw. 

“How did you learn it?” 

“Why is it called street dancing?” 

“How do you spin yourself like that?” 

“Don't you get dizzy?” 

So many questions at the same time. O’xtang hand to shush them. 

“Ok how about a few videos? I think watching it is better explained than describing it” the dancer offers. Everyone nods so she sets up the projector and looks for specific videos to play. 

There were a mix of feelings. 

Grossed out, excited, confused, curious, intrigued, horrified, baffled, etc. 

It is odd how and weird how humans can contort their bodies to move certain ways. Almost as if they don't have any bones. And the speed of it, very fluent yet quick. And dance battles to see who can dance better? The most peaceful fight they have ever seen. 

“And that is street dancing, any questions?” O’xtang asks as she turns off the projector. There was a few seconds of silence until lo’ak raises his hand, “can you teach me?”. Everyone turned to his direction, eyebrows raised. 

“You? Street dancing?” Kiri asks, almost not believing it herself. Lo’ak nods enthusiastically, “why not? Looks fun” he reasons. He looks back at O’xtang, almost a pleading look. Spider and O’xtang shared a silent conversation between their eyes and shrugged. 

“I don't see a problem with that, spider is just learning two so you guys will be on the same level. But lo’ak, are you absolutely sure? Because I won't give you baby steps” O’xtang says, giving the full warning to lo’ak. However, being too excited, he nods, either not hearing or not caring about her warning. 

“Ok, the rest of you guys can sit wherever on the cushions. This might take all day” 

Neteyam, kiri and tuk sat where the pillows are as they get ready to see lo’ak perform those silly human dances. 

“Ready? 5, 6, 7, 8!” 

“HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!” 

“Oh my god…” 

“Just give up lo’ak” 

Everyone was either laughing or cringing at lo’ak’s silly actions. 

Lo’ak’s face was planted on the cold floor, his legs tangled in themselves as well as his tail. Grunting, he gets up and glares at spider who was having the time of his life by laughing at his failure. O’xtang did her best to hold back her laughter. But clearly she thought it was funny too. 

“I don't get it, I followed your exact instructions. Spider did it well, how come I didnt?” Lo’ak asked more to himself rather than to O’xtang. She stood in thought until she snapped her fingers. 

“It's your tail,” She points out. 

Lo’al looked at his tail, his siblings also looking down at theirs. “How?” He asks. O’xtang walks over to him to observe his tail and rewind how he was moving in her mind. “When swinging your legs around, you were too low to the floor, thus dragging your tail. Me and spider don't have a problem since we don't have a tail. But It will be tricky to do some moves with your tail swerving around. Not only that but when making a sitting position, you almost bent the base of your tail. However you were able to do the rest perfectly since you have extra fingers and toes. Helps a lot with your balance” O’xtang explains. 

Lo’ak listened well and thinks of how he can learn to dance. “Maybe we can make adjustments. Figure out a style that doesn't require hurting your tail” O’xtang suggests. 

“Maybe lo’ak can cut off his tail!” Tuk says happiled. Everyone turned and looked at her with horrified expressions as she smiled ever so innocently. 

“No” was what everyone said. 

“Wait, how about a mix of hip hop with freestyle? Yeah that could work, the style is different but it's flexible” O’xtang says while putting a finger on her chin. Liking the idea more, she changes her music settings to set the mood. 

“Ok, this spider will show you some examples and see if you can replicate it, ready spider?” O’xtang asks, spider nods, “ready!” 

“Ok, in 5, 6, 7, 8!” 

“That's it! You are getting better!” O’xtang cheers for lo’ak as he posed perfectly after his dance. He was breathing a bit heavy, street dancing does take the breath out of you. Wiping off his sweat, he sits down and spider pats him on the back. 

“Not bad for a beginner” Spider teases, it earned him a small side push from lo’ak. 

“Shut up, you are a beginner too” He replies. Both chuckle as they drink huge jugs of water. 

Tuk claps rapidly and runs over to O’xtang, playfully tugging at her arm, “can you teach me too? Please please , pretty please??” she begs. O’xtang looks at tuk, tilting her head slightly. Well tuk technically is tall enough and has the energy to keep up. 

“Sure, but with you, I will go baby steps” O’xtang accepts. Tuk cheers out happily, already making silly moves as to copy lo’ak and spider. 

“You know what? I want to learn too, "Neteyam says as he gets up. Seeing spider and lo’ak dance seemed a lot of fun. Wouldn't hurt to join them too. O’xtang nods in approval and turns to kiri, “and you kiri? Want to learn too?” she asks. 

Kiri shakes her head but smiles, “no thanks, I am good just where I am, laughing at my brother's foolishness”. 

After a 10 minute break for lo’ak and spider, they all got in line waiting for O’xtang’s instructions. 

“Alright, now the music I used for lo’ak is a mix of hip hop and freestyle rap. A good combination to let the beats flow within and move with the sound of each note. You don't move with your mind, you move with the music. It guides you to the flow. The music is your dance partner. Now there are many ways to dance, there is no limitation. Creativity is key. But since tuk, neteyam and lo’ak have tails, we are going to keep that in mind”. 

It wasnt an easy task, but it was a fun one. O’xtang managed to teach the sully’s some interesting moves, no tail injury necessary. 

“Ok now follow me lead, careful, cause I got hot feet, now 5, 6, 7, 8 lets go!” 

Aaaaaaaaaand that is all! I did my best with this one. Hopefully it is to everyons satisfaction! Until next time! see ya!

[cherishedproperty]

Bend or Break

When I was in first grade, we read a book about an oak tree and a fir tree. The oak tree was so proud of how big and strong its trunk was, while the fir tree was little and had a thin trunk. Then a big storm came. The oak tree broke from the force of the wind, while the fir tree was able to bend.

This story came to mind today when I was thinking about structure and flexibility in power exchange. When I first started in the lifestyle, I wanted strict rules, tight control and punishment for even the slightest rule violation. I wanted to feel my Dominant's control in every moment, with every move. Anything else felt like role play, not the "real D/s" I wanted.

But now, that kind of intense control feels completely unrealistic. Monsieur and I have a whole three-dimensional life together, with parenting and work and laundry. There are days when I have more to give as a submissive and days when I have less. It's the same for him as a Dominant. The idea of a lot of strict, unchanging rules doesn't hold up very well to the realities of our life.

And yet, we both love the structure of our D/s dynamic, with its clear roles and expectations. We both miss it when it's less present in our lives. That's why we wrote our contract six months ago. When power exchange is your love language, feeling the structure and control is really important. I feel more loved when he takes control, and he feels more loved when I surrender it.

But it's tricky to get the balance right between structure and flexibility. How can we build a dynamic with enough structure and control to make us feel loved, but not so much that it drowns us and sparks resentment? What does a healthy, sustainable dynamic look like?

He says he wants us to build a dynamic that will last decades. The only way I know to make it sustainable is to allow things to bend. That means nothing—no specific rule or protocol—is absolute or unchangeable. Our needs may change over time, and even from day to day. That's why Monsieur requires me to tell him anytime I'm struggling with the rules. Sometimes he decides that rule isn't serving us today, and he tells me to set it aside. His priority is my wellbeing and the wellbeing of our relationship. Sometimes that means making adjustments.

We've also built mechanisms for change into our contract. We can adjust it either during our monthly conversations or at the end of its six-month term. These mechanisms help us make sure our dynamic evolves with our needs and can weather whatever challenges we face.

Then there are the rules themselves. We've put a lot into defining the scope of Monsieur's control in a way that works for us. This means selecting rules that reinforce our connection, but also one we can imagine doing every day. Even on the hard days. In the end, we landed on a set of rules that felt doable across a variety of circumstances—small but consistent actions to bring us together through power exchange.

For example, he initially suggested me waking him every morning with a blowjob. To me, that felt too time-consuming and potentially invasive to be sustainable. But when we talked about why he wanted this rule, he explained that he wanted me to start every day by reaffirming my submission. So we landed on me kneeling by his side of the bed at the start of every day. Sometimes he chooses to use me sexually, when there's time and desire for it. But sometimes it's just a quick moment of connection. He looks me over to see how I'm feeling, then calls me good girl and offers me his hands so I can stand up. In this way, we have solid structure and the flexibility to bend.

Our dynamic doesn't have the kind of absolute, unending control that some people crave. But that's not what makes it strong. Its strength lies in our constant communication and willingness to bend as needs change. This is how I know we are built to last.

[lacontroller1991]

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 20: Gordo Stevens x F!Reader

Day 20: "Wait, you love me?" "I always have."/Emotional Angst Masterlist Warnings: GA, mentions of hangover, a little mention of vomit Word Count: 635 Author's Note: God I haven't written for Gordo in a long time, but I hope you all enjoy!!!

Gordo groans as his eyes flicker open. From what he can tell, it’s got to be around midmorning judging by the neighbors mowing their lawn, but he’s not exactly sure. In fact, he’s not entirely sure of where he is. Confusion replacing his grogginess, Gordo sits himself up in the bed and rubs his eyes. He drank too much, again, and now he’s in someone else’s bed, again. At least he’s still clothed, which is a positive sign.

Stifling a yawn, Gordo looks around the room, trying to find anything of identification. Aside from a dresser with a tv and a few knick knacks here and there, there’s really nothing that clues him in on where he is.

The door opens suddenly, causing him to jump slightly as you walk through the door with a tray full of food paired with coffee, water, and medicine. “Oh good, you’re up. I was wondering if you were going to sleep the whole day.”

“(Y/N)? What happened last night?” Gordo reaches for the water and medicine, quickly popping the pill before chugging the water to coax the pill down his throat as a small frown twitches at your lip.

“Oh, do you not remember?” Shaking his head, he finishes the glass of water, gently setting it to the side as you sit at the edge of the bed, the light from the window creating a halo around your head. God she’s gorgeous. It’s been rough on Gordo since the divorce. Everyone knew it. Between him missing more and more sims, being taken off of the flight list, his increasingly high intake of alcohol, he’s been on the bender and you’ve been the light at a very long, dark tunnel. He doesn’t want to say that he’s in love, but you have been the best thing that has happened to him in a while. “Well, you were at the Outpost having drinks with Ed, got drunk, again, and then called me. I almost couldn’t recognize you over the drunken slurring, but Ed had helped. So I got in my car and collected you, bringing you back to my place so you didn’t disturb your kids,” your explanation causes Gordo to cringe.

Sighing to himself, he dips his head to avoid meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry I called. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” A hand finds a place on the top of his knee, causing Gordo to look up at your smiling self.

“It’s okay. Everybody needs some help sometimes. I’m just glad you weren’t stupid enough to try driving. I know you have in the past, but you were down bad last night.” Heat blooms under Gordo’s cheeks in embarrassment as you push the plate of food towards him. “Eat up. You threw up quite a lot last night so I figured you’d be hungry.” At the smell of the food, his stomach grumbles in reply. Traitor.

“Thank you for this. I owe you big time.”

“Ah, you don’t owe me anything. It’s just things we do for people we love.” The words slip out of your mouth and it causes the both of you to freeze, a palpable tension in the air. “I- um.”

“Wha-”

“I think Imma go, holler if you need anything,” you make a quick move to stand up but in his hangover haze, he’s quicker, grabbing onto your wrist, preventing you from leaving. “Let me go.”

“Wait, you… love me?”

Looking away from him, you bat tears out of your eyes. You had confessed your feelings for him last night and of course he doesn’t remember. How stupid are you? “Yeah, Gordo. I always have.” With a quick jerk, you manage to break away and slip through the door, slamming it shut, leaving Gordo to dwell in his thoughts. 

[azzura]

i'm so sorry your ask got lost!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA but here you are!! (sorry for any errors, i did my best to proofread)

requests are open! read more here and send an ask!

pairing: bubbline length: 1.3k words

-----

caffeine and butterflies

Sometimes, in the midst of chaos, Bonnie can find comfort in the storm. An infamous type A with a nasty habit for neglecting her personal life, (often in exchange for achievement), Bonnie’s only social interaction these days comes from her job at the university coffee shop. 

Rush hour could not come sooner. While it was nice to do idle busy work— restocking napkins, refilling the various creamers and syrups— Bonnie would much rather prefer making drinks and manning the register: Being so busy, she wouldn’t have time to think. 

Hi, how can I help you?

Room for cream?

Would you like that pastry warmed up?

While Bonnie is already an accomplished individual— a known fact, given the amount of awards and recognition she’s received since her high school years, grad school has served her no greater solace in her imposter syndrome. Nagging feelings of feeling mediocre, or questioning the validity of her intelligence, stir in the foremost point of her mind. A brilliant mind no less; Bonnie is nothing short of a genius. Though she has enough confidence to recognize she is some form of one, everyone is their own worst critic. 

It’s a late Tuesday morning when the chaos begins to die down. Bonnie finally has time to catch her breath, and with it, she’s quick to begin tidying up the cafe. Her sense of accomplishment is short. Though Bonnie did everything with pride, the contentment she received from having another successful rush (with no one else but herself, mind you), does not last long. Soon enough, she begins to think again. What is she going to do about her thesis? What sort of innovative topic could she bring to the table? Being a woman in STEM is difficult enough, but Bonnie wanted more than that. She wanted to be a pioneer in her field. 

Wanted? Or wants? The thought is unclear; waxing and waning like the moon.

Bonnie is pulled out of her thoughts when she hears the doors swing open. A regular that Bonnie often remembers. Long, coarse braids are tucked behind the woman’s ears, sporting numerous silver earrings. Her ears are stretched and her nose is pierced with a tiny stud. Tattoo ink coils around her skin, earning the rather obvious gaze from Bonnie. Bonnie feels her heart thump in her chest, butterflies fluttering. Her grip tightens on the wooden stick of her broom. 

Bonnie recognizes her. The regular doesn’t come in often, only once or twice every week or so, but Bonnie recognizes her face every time. Bonnie has seen plenty of people, faculty and students alike, cycle through this cafe like revolving doors. But this girl? Bonnie can never get her cheeky smile out of her head. The silkyness of her voice is sweet like honey. Bonnie’s gay little heart wants to say more than just drink preference and work, but like a coward, the words are caught in her throat.

“Good morning,” Bonnie calls out, making the executive decision to focus on her job rather than the cute girl in front of her. She sets the broom aside and hurries behind the counter to wash her hands, keeping her back turned to allow her some time to catch her bearings. 

Bonnie can feel the warmth spread on her face; Her fair skin made it terribly obvious when she was nervous— a flush of pink on her cheeks. But Bonnie hoped the girl wouldn’t think too much of it. 

“‘Mornin,” She replies, taking her sweet time with approaching the counter. Her eyes wander on the menu, despite it not being the most diverse. Even so, the woman hums, swaying side to side on her feet as she considers her little options. 

Bonnie hovers behind the register, anxiously twiddling her thumbs. “What can I get you?” She forces a smile– It’s small, genuine of course, even if it quivers at the ends. The girl hums some more, clicking her tongue, “Do you have any more of the ‘lil Halloween cookies?” “Oh!” Bonnie lights up, a little too suddenly as she overlooks the empty spaces inside the display glass. Too busy between orders, Bonnie did not have time to restock the front. But did they have any more? Bonnie would bake hundreds of batches if it meant spending a little more time to get to know this beautiful stranger. She crouches down, checking the cabinet beneath the counter. Unfortunately for the girl, there doesn’t seem to be a smiling pumpkin, ghost, or vampire in sight. “No– I’m sorry, can I get you anything else?” Coy, the girl cocks her head, exposing her neck. “Maybe your name. You guys don’t have name tags.” “Um…” Bonnie’s heart might as well explode right then and there. Instead, she chews the inside of her lip and replies with her name, “It’s Bonnie… Did you… wanna order something to drink? We have a couple bagels left…” She looks over her shoulder to motion at a small stack of poppyseed and cinnamon raisin bagels. “Bonnie,” The girl echoes back. Pointed canines peek out of her smile, “It’s funny– You’re cool like a cucumber when it’s busy. Is it too presumptuous to ask why you’re nervous?” Sirens go off inside Bonnie’s ears. Nasty little devil! Sure, the girl was right, but that didn’t mean Bonnie wanted her to point it out! “I-I!” Bonnie stammers, fumbling over her words. Normally, she’s much more poised. Precise in everything she did and focused. It feels so unlike her to unravel so easily– especially for something as juvenile as a little crush. “Relax– I don’t bite,” The smirk on her face suggests otherwise, but Bonnie keeps her thoughts to herself on the matter, “My name’s Marceline. Marcy works too, if you prefer. Just a chai latte, please.” Surprisingly, steam does not appear above Bonnie’s head. She taps away at her screen, inputting Marceline’s order for her charge. Tongue-tied, Bonnie can’t think of much else to say. If she wasn’t blushing before, she definitely is now. Bonnie mutters Marceline’s total and sheepishly takes her card to swipe it. “I was wondering if you had plans this weekend– or maybe after your shift if you’re not busy. The rest of my day is pretty much open. I wanna get to know you.” Marceline takes her card, selecting a little more than generous tip for the cute barista in front of her. “Plans?” Earth to Bonnie. Bonnie’s eyes widen. Suddenly, Bonnie’s memory of her (well designed, handwritten) planner ceases to exist. She shakes her head, shrugging off whatever important event or plan she might have had, “No, I don’t have any plans. Did you have something in mind?” “I guess it would be a little silly to invite you to a coffee shop, wouldn’t it?” Marceline laughs, shrugging her shoulders. “How about lunch? Have you eaten yet.” Bonnie shakes her head. “How do you feel about sandwiches? There’s this place nearby that makes the best sandwiches. I’m friends with the owner’s kid too. Unless…” There’s a hint of mischief in Marceline’s eyes, “You’d prefer something with a little more… ‘pizazz for a first date.”

(continuation here [my reblog])

[chaotic-super]

For Her Sake - Chapter 4

Read For Her Sake on Ao3 here!

Kara sits at her desk, thumbs anxiously twiddling against the wood and her mind running in untidy circles, unable to do anything except worry.

Winn left a while ago to go and pick up Lori from school and check on Alex but she hasn’t heard from him since. She’s sent him a text asking him to get back to her soon and let her know how everything is with her two favourite girls but as of yet, she’s heard nothing back from him.

He hasn’t gotten back to her yet and she’s not sure what to do about that. He’s probably just taking Lori out for ice cream like he admitted to doing earlier but something feels off.

With her expressing to him how she’s worried about Alex, she’s been expecting a quick message at the very least to tell her what’s going on or confirm that her sister is still alive but as of yet, it’s nothing but radio silence.

It’s taking every bit of her willpower to resist texting him again. She’d call him if she didn’t have work to do, scheduling for Ms Grant and she’s got a busy week coming up.

She can’t help but watch the clock, unsure of what else she can do. Kara was expecting today to go smoothly after the news that Alex’s hospital bill shave been taken care of, Lena Luthor has saved them from complete financial ruin and somehow, that’s not what she’s thinking about right now.

Looking up, she can see Ms Grant glaring at her through the glass separating her office off from the rest of the bullpen and rushes to duck her head back down and force herself to get back to work, pushing her worries aside for the moment so she can focus on what she’s meant to be doing, knowing that she was just caught zoning out in the middle of the workday, something she never has and never will be able to get away with when Ms Grant is around.

Sighing, she opens up the calendar app on her tablet and starts arranging the meetings, planning out who she has to call to inform them of changed meeting times and dreading each and every one, just waiting for the day to end so she can check on her sister and daughter.

-

Kara finds herself rushing to get home from the grocery store, her steps fast and unsteady, her heart racing and her anxiety overwhelming, like there’s a siren going off in her head that she just can’t silence. She wanted to come right home but they’re in dire need of a restock so she doesn’t really have a choice.

Her heart is in her mouth as she storms into the building, a bag in each hand, worried more than ever since she still hasn’t had a message from Winn and it’s been hours. Something has to be wrong and she’s about to be devastated she just knows it, she can feel it in her bones.

She slams the door open much harsher than she intends to but she’s in such a rush that she barely gives it a second thought until her eyes focus on the scene before her.

Alex is on the couch and Lori is at her feet, perched on a cushion with a colouring book open on the coffee table, crayons spread across both the table and the floor as she messily scrawls the colours onto the page, both completely fine.

Her shoulders sink and she has the awareness to cringe at the whack of the door against the wall and pulls a face of pure guilt as she feels two sets of eyes fall onto her.

“Mommy!” Lori pushes herself up to her feet and sprints towards her, throwing herself up into the air and trusting that Kara will catch her, which she does, dropping the grocery bags in order to do so.

“Hi baby, how was your day at school?”

“Good, I learned about dinosaurs!”

“Your class is learning about dinosaurs?” Kara asks, incredulous because she’s never heard of classes teaching kids about dinosaurs when they are only six, she thought that would come later, if ever.

Lori shrugs. “I don’t know what everyone else was doing but I learnt about dinosaurs.”

Alex and Kara share a look of fond exasperation. “Lori, baby, we’ve spoken about this before. I know you find school boring but you have to listen to your teacher and learn what everyone else is learning when you’re there. If you want to learn about dinos at home, me or your Aunt Alex will help you.”

Lori pouts, “but they learn about boring things, like math.”

“And math is very important.” Alex jumps in, opening her arms to accept Lori as Kara walks over and holds the little girl out. “Do you have any homework? How about I help you out with it? It might be less boring if you understand it better.”

Lori nods, “yeah, but I have until Thursday to finish it so I can do it Wednesday.”

Kara sighs, burying her head in her hands while Alex tries not to laugh.

“Hey, Kara?”

“Yes, Alex?”

“You definitely can’t deny she’s your daughter, that’s exactly what you would be likely to do.”

“I wish I could argue that.” Kara resists the urge to smile. “Lori, go get your homework and we can help you with it and once you’ve finished it, you can finish your colouring.”

Lori pouts again, a deadly weapon if there ever was one, but she does as she’s told, getting up to go and fetch the worksheet out of her backpack to bring back to Alex so she can help her.

Content that the pair of them are alright, Kara excuses herself to put away the groceries and to throw a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven before heading off for a shower. Normally she’d try and cook something more substantial and healthy for Lori and Alex but today has been a day and she’s tired so pizza it is.

She lets the warm water flow over her, rejoicing in the way she is able to relax under the heat and wash away the grime of the day, the office feeling particularly stuffy today.

“Oh fuck.” Kara whispers to herself as she massages her shampoo into her hair, the feeling sensational after the day she’s had.

Kara is careful not to stay in the shower for too long, aware of the pizzas cooking and aware that while her daughter is a little princess most of the time, she’s a monster if her pizza gets burnt and she’d have to make something else.

She trudges into the kitchen, smiling slightly at the sight of Alex and Lori cuddled up together working on Lori’s math homework, both of them the epitome of cuteness.

The pizza isn’t quite cooked so she heads over to join them on the couch, squeezing in next to Alex and resting her head on her hand, her elbow on the back of the couch. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Lori says, using a crayon to sloppily write out her answer on the page that is resting on the back of one of Kara’s larger books so she has something to lean on.

“It’s going great, she’s always been good at math,” Alex confirms. “I think that’s part of the reason she finds it so boring.”

“I see.” Kara hums. “You do have to participate though, kiddo, if you don’t then you’ll fall behind and they’ll make you do extra math classes, they did it to me and I still regret not paying attention.”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that true? “

Kara smiles. “Yep, my parents were so mad at me that they made me take math classes through summer to make sure I’d never do it again. My dad wasn’t too pleased that I made him help me with all of my homework even though I didn’t need it, it wasted his time but he never said no, he always sat with me through my petty revenge on him. They never made me do extra classes again though.”

“You’re a bad influence,” is all Alex has to say about that but her lips are quirked up into a fond smile.

Kara leans her head against Alex’s briefly. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, Kara.” Alex retorts before remembering something. “Please don’t burn the pizzas.”

“Oh sh…”Kara trails off, eyes latched onto the back of Lori’s head, “sugarplums.”

Alex snorts, watching her sister scramble to her feet and skid across the floor in her fluffy socks, pulling the oven door open and relaxing at the sight of the pizzas.

“Not burnt at all, perfectly done. Set the table please.”

Alex and Lori work together on setting the coffee table up how they do most nights, covering it with a tablecloth and setting cushions on the floor in front of each setting they create with the silverware and cups of orange juice.

Kara carries the plates over, having separated the two pizzas onto three plates and adding a little bit of salad onto each one even though she knows she’ll be the only one that actually touches it by the way both Lori and Alex crinkle their noses up at the sight of it.

“It’s good for you, you know?”

“I don’t want it,” Lori says, digging into her pizza instead.

Kara glares at Alex, who does the same as Lori and just goes right for the pizza. “Just try two bites and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to finish it. The same goes for you too, Alex.”

Alex’s shoulders slum but she does as she’s told, she wants to be a good influence on Lori, and she needs it now more than ever with her dad out of the picture for good. She might not have liked Mike but he was a damn good father and he brought a lot of joy into Lori’s life before he passed. She’s grateful she didn’t join him in passing, grateful she got away with the injuries she has.

“So, I managed the walk just fine,” Alex announces halfway through dinner, directing her statement at Kara. “I think I might actually be able to handle it every day now and I can just let you know if I have a flare-up so you take over on those days.”

“Really?” Kara’s face lights up and Alex is glad she’s stretching the truth a little bit. The walk wasn’t easy. She managed to get there fairly easily, Lori’s energy helping to keep her spirits up and her need to appear strong for her niece keeping her going but on the way back with nobody to put a brave face on for, she had to take a half-hour break on a nearby bench, her legs pulsating in a dull, achy pain for the first ten minutes.

That didn’t stop her from getting right back up again and making a few pitstops on her way back to the apartment though. She took her resume into every store and business she passed on her way back, even slipping some into the letterboxes of bars that aren’t open at that time in the morning.

She’s got her phone ready with her now, waiting for calls she’s not sure will come but she’s hopeful. She needs something to help Kara, she can’t cope on her own for much longer and something needs to give.

“Yeah, it was fine, I took a break on the way back for a couple of minutes to catch my breath but that’s all, totally doable. You get to sleep in a little longer every day from now on.” Alex bends the truth a bit and usually, Kara can pick up on it when she does that but Kara’s so exhausted that she’s willing to grasp at any good news she can.

“Thank you, Alex, if you’re completely sure, that is? I need you to be certain, you could make your recovery longer if you overexert yourself.”

“I know. There’s plenty of places to rest on the way back though so I can always take a few minutes and then head home, it’ll be good for my sanity to get out a little more too anyway.”

Kara places a hand over Alex’s, watching Lori out the corner of her eye, the little girl oblivious to anything other than the pizza she’s shovelling into her mouth. “Ok. I’m really glad you’re getting better.”

“Me too.”

-

With Lori tucked into bed, Alex and Kara can finally talk openly, their voices quiet and the lamp dimmed as to not disturb the little one sleeping not far from them.

“So, I have some good news.” Kara fiddles with her sleeves, apprehensive about the fact that she’s about to lie to her sister, even though she’s fully aware that she can’t tell the truth either.

Alex perks up a little. “You got a raise?”

“No, not that. I actually rang the hospital earlier about the payments.” Kara speaks slowly, taking each word carefully so her voice doesn’t quiver and give her away. “I managed to get the insurance to cover the whole bill.”

“What?” Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “When you say the whole bill, you mean…”

“The entire thing, your hospital stay, the treatments, everything. I don’t have to keep paying back horrendous amounts of money and we can start saving for a better place, Alex.”

Alex sinks into the couch, her hands coming up to rest on her head as she resists the urge to jump up and holler in excitement before a thought crosses her mind. “Kara, I still have all of my physical therapy appointments though, those will still cost a bomb.”

“Not as much as those on top of the hospital bill, besides, the insurance is going to pay for six months’ worth. Alex, I have no idea how I managed to get it to work and why they suddenly changed their minds after so many phone calls, I really can’t explain it to you but I’m happy and you should be too.”

“Happy? Kara, I’m ecstatic. I couldn’t care less how you managed it because it’s incredible. Does that mean that all of our payments to the hospital will stop now?” Alex beams at her, pulling her into a quick, tight hug before releasing her so she can question her some more.

“It does.” Kara grips Alex back just as tight. “Can you go over the finances tomorrow to recalculate without those payments coming out? Maybe see if we can pay off the rent we owe so we don’t get kicked out?”

Alex nods. “First thing in the morning when I get back from taking Lori to school, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Thank you, Kara.”

Kara clasps onto Alex’s hands, keeping her sister close. “You’re welcome. You know that I’d do anything for you, harassing the hospital and insurance into dropping the charges is just one of those things.”

Alex snickers for a moment before jumping as her phone starts ringing, startling her.

Both women scramble to find the offending device so they can turn off the sound, the music blaring from the speakers will wake up Lori if they aren’t quick enough and they’d like to avoid having to read the little one another bedtime story because she always insists on them doing a different voice for each character as they read.

Kara finds it first, holding it up triumphantly and handing it over to Alex.

It’s an unsaved number and Alex really hopes it’s a potential job. Even with the hospital bills no longer coming out of the account each month, they need a second income to pay off their other debts so she needs it to be a potential employer.

She can’t exactly answer the phone in front of Kara though, it would give her away and Kara won’t let her get a job that she can’t sit for, out of fear of her hurting herself mostly.

“I’m going to take it outside. I don’t know who it is but it might be the hospital since you sorted the bill out today.” She says, hopping up from the couch and rushing for the door to get out.

Kara is a little baffled by Alex’s sudden exit but since she did just drop a big piece of news right into her lap, she can excuse it, especially if it is the hospital ringing, Alex probably wants to hear the news for herself.

She’s not sure how long Alex will be on the phone so she decides to start getting ready for bed herself, brushing her teeth and washing her face before setting up a bed for herself on the couch, letting Alex take the bed with Lori tonight.

She settles down quickly, pulling the thick blanket over herself snuggly, ready to sleep now because Alex is much less likely to complain about her taking the couch if she’s already asleep. With a little luck, Alex will give in and just take the bed to avoid waking her up.

Kara does one last check of her phone, making sure there’s no messages from Ms Grant asking anything more of her than usual that would mean she has to wake up earlier than normal. There isn’t.

There is, however, a text from an unknown number.

‘Kara, it’s Lena. I know how you can pay me back. Can you meet me tomorrow? Lunchtime?’

Kara really isn’t in any kind of position to decline. She can take a long lunch tomorrow to go and see Lena for the first time since that night.

There is a level of gratitude that Kara feels for being able to have a chance to pay Lena back somehow but there’s a big question mark hanging over her head now because really, what can a lowly assistant do to pay a CEO back?

Still, Kara will make it work, she has to, if only to ease her own guilt that’s eating her up from the inside. She did something awful to Lena and she has to make it right because what she did and attempted to do, that wasn’t her, not the real her anyway.

‘Anything you need. I can take an hour lunch break tomorrow, 1 to 2PM sound ok?’

Kara tries not to overthink the message, sending it before she has the chance to read into her own words too much.

‘I’ll pick you up.’

Yep, this is really happening. Kara swallows harshly before putting her phone away, nervous about her next meeting with Lena. It’s certainly going to be interesting.

Read more chapters of For Her Sake early on Patreon! We're up to Chapter 9 so far!

[kellanved-ammanas]

Valentine's Week Angst Day Four: Engie/Pyro - 'Til Death do us Part

Day four of @dontneedadispenser Valentine's event.

Content Warning: Major Character Death

~

It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous contract. Just a quick in and out to burn a building to the ground and make sure a loose end was truly taken care of. Everything had been going well right up until the building exploded. Too large of an explosion to be anything else it could only have been a bomb, presumably left there as a trap. It had destroyed the building as was their intent but… where was Pyro?

The blast had knocked Engie off his feet even though he’d been a healthy distance away from the fire. Pyro, of course, in his fireproof suit, had been much closer, possibly still even spreading flames around. How close had he been to the bomb itself though?

“Pyro,” Engie shouted again, loud enough that his throat hurt. He paused holding still and silent, hoping for an answer even if it was just the sound of shifting rubble. But, other than for the crackle of flames all around, there was nothing to hear.

With a grunt, he set to searching again, using his metal hand to grasp a large burning piece of timber and push it. Not an easy feat, especially one handed, but thankfully he only had to move it far enough to ascertain that Pyro was not underneath it before moving on.

“Pyro!” Calling probably was a waste of breath though. Even if Pyro could hear him, he was likely too injured to make himself heard in return. So Engie would likely have to find him on his own no matter what.

What if he couldn’t find him though? That would mean he was likely underneath the larger piles of rubble, the ones too big for Engie to move by himself. What if he was being slowly crushed to death or suffocated underneath one with Engie just…

Red! There, partially covered by some fallen rubble was the distinctive red of Pyro’s suit.

Engie sprinted over and shoved it aside. None of it was particularity heavy, thank goodness for Pyro’s sake as he lay underneath. Blood was leaking out of his suit from somewhere, pooling beneath him. It didn’t look like a horribly dangerous amount but that didn’t mean anything. There could be significantly more within the suit and when it came to explosions, internal bleeding was a very real and dangerous possibility.

Thankfully though, once free, Pyro’s hands twitched as he turned his head to look at Engie. He might’ve tried to say something or maybe it was just a groan, either way the mask muffled it. He was alive though, not out of the woods yet, but as long as he was alive, there was hope.

Engie, sunk down to his knees beside him. “Okay, buddy, I need to know how bad you’re hurt. So I need take off your mask so we can talk, is that all right?”

Pyro nodded. It was weak, barely a thing at all but he was aware enough to understand. That could only be a good thing.

Carefully, oh so carefully, Engie undid the clasps and pulled the mask off, revealing Pyro’s face. A sight he’d seen many times before but in this context, it felt wrong; Pyro didn’t show his face when out in the open, only in private. Blood trickled out of his nose and from the corner of his eyes. Bad signs but his gaze was clear as he focused on Engie.

“What… happened?” His voice was weak, barely audible even with the mask off.

“A bomb, I think. How you feeling? You think you can stand up with help?”

A short pause. “No. Hurts… hurts a lot.”

“I know… I know. It’s gonna okay though, all right? It’s gonna be okay.” Hopefully anyway.

What could Engie do to make that happen though? The truck had medical supplies and a radio that would allow him to contact Medic, who would hopefully be able to get here soon and, more immediately, talk Engie through stabilizing Pyro’s condition and how to keep him alive until then. The medical supplies could be taken out of course, the radio however could not, and thus getting Pyro to the truck would be ideal. With all the rubble around, getting the truck here would be nigh-on impossible. So that only left one option. Moving Pyro in this condition was dangerous but… what else could Engie do? Especially since in the middle of an exploded building, parts of which were still actively on fire or smoldering, was not a good place to administer first aid.

“All right, Firebug, I’m gonna pick you up and move you a bit. Then we’re gonna call Medic and he’s gonna tell me how to keep you alive until he gets here. We’re probably gonna have to find a way to get the suit off you for that but we’ll cross that bridge we when get there, okay?”

“O- okay.” Pyro even did another weak little nod.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Gently as he could, Engie slid his arms underneath Pyro’s legs and back. He stood, lifting him in one smooth motion into a bridal carry. All those years hauling his sentry gun and dispenser around various battlefields coming in handy.

Pyro let out a pained whimper.

“You okay?” A dumb question that Engie could just about kick himself for.

Pyro nodded anyway as he reached a hand up to lightly grasp Engie’s shirt front. “Yeah. Love you.”

Engie didn’t like the way that that sounded as if Pyro thought this might be his last chance to say that. “I love you too,” he said anyway… just in case it was. It probably wouldn’t be though, not as long as they had Medic on their side. Yeah, he wasn’t here right now, but Engie was one of the smartest men on the planet, he could handle this situation until Medic did get here.

Wasting no further time, Engie started walking. Tempting as it was to go fast as he could, he should do his best to jostle Pyro as little as possible. He kept his pace to a steady fast walk instead.

Fortunately, they were relatively near where the building’s outer wall had stood less than even an hour ago. Once across that threshold they only had to walk around it to the east a little before the truck was a straight shot away. On flat ground, Engie picked up the pace a little, reaching it in a matter of minutes.

He carefully lay Pyro in the trunk. Laying him on something, even just a pillow for his head, would’ve been nice but they didn’t have anything. Later, Engie would manhandle the passenger headrest off its seat and put that under his head. First came more important stuff though, namely stabilizing him.

Engie opened the passenger side door to grab the medical kit. It was a bit more robust than a standard first aid kit but unfortunately still only designed to deal with fairly minor injuries, broken bones at worst. This wasn’t meant to have been a combat mission after all so why include more than that? In the future, Engie would prepare for the worst more often.

Before going around to the other side to turn on the radio and contact home base and thus Medic, “How you holding up?” Maybe dumb to ask but… Pyro hadn’t said anything the whole walk over here. Not unusual, especially given the circumstances but… worrying.

No response.

“Pyro?”

Silence.

Trembling, Engie walked back around to the rear of the truck so he could get a better look Pyro laying in its bed. … He was still, far, far too still.Blood still dripped from his nose but not as much as before, almost as if it had stopped flowing. His eyes were still open but… the longer Engie stared into them the less sure he was that they saw anything anymore.

“Pyro?” he tried again in a whisper.

Nothing, not even the smallest of twitches. … Pyro was dead. Engie hadn’t gotten to him in time or perhaps moving him had been the wrong choice or maybe, as soon as the bomb went off, Pyro’s fate had been sealed and there was nothing Engie could’ve done to save him. Regardless of what it was though, Pyro was dead and even with his vast intellect, Engie couldn’t do anything about it.

“God dammit!” He kicked a nearby rock, sending it flying away. “God fucking dammit! I’m gonna kill the sons of bitches that planted that bomb. I’m gonna make them regret ever having even thought of it.” Heck, he was going to make them regret having been born by the time he was done with them. Anyone who thought they could get away with hurting the folk he loved were the world’s dumbest idiots.