#i know in my heart that compress cooks for all them except hes one of th ppl thats like ‘this bananas sloppy n brown but watch this throw it

[5oz-mud]

i thought i was gunna draw more of these but didnt. anyway shoutout to my fav dumpster diver.

[its-karma-bitches-00]

ENDGAME

Chapter 4: Back to you.

Description: So... I know many Daminette fans don't like Damian being younger than Marinette so 🚨SPoiler AleRT 🚨 Damian is gonna be younger for a while but an event happens that gets their ages exchanged. (Sort of)

Warning; swearing, angst, fluff.

Summary: Where the world reunites with their loved ones..

Previously

"They're back!, They're back!, They're back!" Maps yelled excitedly, almost jumping at him

"Who's back?!"

"The people who disappeared 5 years ago!"

Damian blinked at the short girl in front of him before narrowing his eyes at her "this is no time to play games Mizoguchi."

"I'm not!" Mia huffed "ask anyone else."

Damian looked at her and he knew she wasn't lying, he gave her a small nod before heading back towards the washrooms.

"Wait!" Mia yelled, holding his wrist "Can you drop me to Olive house?"

"No." Damian deadpanned

"Can I at least have your grapple gun?"

"No" Damian sighed "Sorry Maps, I've gotta go"

Mia nodded "fine. you owe me a waffle bar!"

Damian rolled his eyes at her before running back, wasting no time. "Plagg! Claws out!"

"Aw come on!" Plagg hissed, before disappearing into the ring.

***

Damian ran across roof tops, he felt sick. Where they really there? how did they disappear? What if he went home and found out nobody was actually there? what was he going to to say? So many Questions jumped around his head, but he kept moving either way. He jumped over the large compound of his house calling out "Plagg claws in!" His black and green suit dissolved and was replaced with his uniform. He landed on the soft grass smoothly Before running around large fountain in front of his destination.

Damian panted, looking around. Jason's new bike was spread on the ground carelessly, and the car was literally half-hazardously parked.

He ran towards the large doors shoving it open...

to meet his family laughing and crying in Joy.

They were here. They were all here. Dick, Cass, Steph, Alfred, Selina, Kate, Chloe and Marinette.

Damian could only stare, They looked like they never aged a day, except Alfred who seemed to look younger.

"Damian?" Dick asked, a shocked look on his face which quickly dissolved into a bright smile "Oh my god you look so big!" He yelled, tackling him to the ground "Did you miss me?"

"TT, of course not."

"Liar" Tim laughed with tear stained cheeks "he cried everyday for two years."

"I didn't!" Damian hissed, still in the embrace of his older brother. "Uh-huh, sure." Bruce smiled his arms around Selina

"Father!"

"Wait, wait, wait." Chloe interrupted "what do you mean two years? We've just been gone for like, five minutes"

"Yeah! What's with that?" Steph asked in confusion

"You guys have been Gone for 5 years" Tikki said slowly while the others were nodding in agreement

"That's impossible, I was definitely there for 15 hours"

"It felt like five minutes for me" Chloe said as Cass nodded

"You guys sure you didn't hit your heads on your way back?" Jason joked

"Do you remember where you guys were?" Bruce asked

"Yes" Marinette nodded "It was-It was beautiful, it felt like you were in the middle of the universe without any care and so many different colors were there. Just like stars and galaxies"

"The quantum realm!" Fluff exclaimed "of course! Why didn't I think of that?!"

"What's a quantum realm?"

"The Quantum Zone, the realm where all the energy of the universe come from, and the Microverse, which consists of many different sub-atomic dimensions all accessible through the same means as they are in the Marvel Cinematic Universe." Fluff thought out loud

Jason blinked in confusion "I didn't understand a single shit."

"Language" Alfred warned.

"The Quantum Realm is a dimension that can be entered from Earth by compressing a human's mass to a certain point. Entering the Quantum Realm could potentially cause the person who enters it to shrink forever. Due to the nature of the realm, time passes differently and is more fluid. As a result, with the right equipment, the Quantum Realm can be used for time travel though its impossible to change one's own timeline when traveling into the past in such a manner." Fluff continued

"Still don't get it" Jason shrugged

"You would if you were smarter." Damian snorted

"In a simpler way...A person needs to be really tiny to enter the quantum realm and time passes differently for each person" Tim explained

"Ohhhhh, I get it now!"

"So you're telling we've been stuck in time?" Kate asked

Fluff nodded "except for Alfred, who seemed to travel back in time." which made chaos rise.

"You're telling me we've been missing for five years?!"

"Wait so technically I'm the oldest" Jason laughed evilly

"No you're not! I'm still a year older than you!" Dick smirked

Damian almost gave out a smile, until he noticed Marinette sitting silently on the ground staring at her hands. He crawled towards her, out of Dicks grip and sat next to the girl muttering a small "hey"

"Hi" Marinette mumbled back, glancing at him.

"What's wrong?"

"I-it just seems so unreal, five years? That's like my teenage life. Tim's all grown up! How old is he? 22? and-"

"Hey! hey! Calm down, it's fine. if it helps you feel better, You can always taunt them on how young you are."

"-And you've grown up all tall and muscular and pretty-"

"Pretty?" Damian asked, his face turning red.

"The world has obviously changed! I don't know how you lived without Alfred or Me and Selina because you guys don't know a shit about cooking, and why didn't our miraculouses fade away with us? I could've done something to come back earlier"

"Stop it!" He said grabbing her shoulders "you've done the best you could And what really matters is that you're home"

"Oh and you've gotten soft." She gave him a teary smile before Pouncing on him, giving him a bear hug.

He wrapped his arms around her small body, rocking her back and forth questioning "Do you really think I'm Muscular and pretty"

"No!" Marinette squeaked quickly as she pulled away from their hug "I'm just really tired, and floating in space is really exhausting"

"Mm-hmm, sure" he smiled pecking her cheek, which made Marinette melt on the insides "you hungry?"

"Do you even know how to cook?" Marinette asked

"Hey, we learnt a thing or two when you guys disappeared." Damian chuckled, pulling Marinette to her feet while looking at his brothers questioningly, who were busy wrestling on the couch "You idiots need anything from the kitchen?"

"Yesss" Dick grinned "I want cereal."

"Noodles please!"

"Same here!"

                                                           ...

So how was the it ?....

Okkkk, I know it was pretty lame and all, The only reason I posted this was because I've had this draft for some time and I didn't have the heart to delete it because that would mean I only wasted my time. Soooooo I posted it. Kill me. My dignity is dead, I've got nothin to lose.

But if you guys want another chap... just ask 😉... and please comment and vote!

😊✨♥️

Byeeeeeeeeeee

This was taken from my Wattpad account

@Aquaqueen2020

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

[jojo-reader-hell]

BRO I JUST A TOP TIER GAY IDEA. SO OUR FAVORITE HAIR STAND BABE GETS JEALOUS BECAUSE SOME CHICK KEEPS LIKE LOOKING HER AND KOICHI UP AND DOWN. SO SHES ALL "BITCH KOICHI IS MINE STEP OFF", AND CLASSMATE IS LIKE "Girl I ain't checking HIM out boo 👀"......IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITES

THIS WAS A BAD IDEA TO REQUEST THIS WHEN IM BEING A SAD PINING GAY FOR MY GIRLFRIEND.

You think she didn’t notice you staring at them? Staring with those big ol eyes?

Wrongo bucko.

You stared in class at them. Stared when they walked out of the school building, stared when she showered her handmade gifts on him. It was nauseating.

The smell of infidelity, it was something she could get a whiff of in the air like a beagle locked on the scent of butthole balloon cocaine at a TSA checkpoint. Be it if Koichi had a new love interest, or someone was interested in him. Not something someone as paranoid as her would be able to miss even if there were thousands of life’s distractions to put her off the scent. She caught you the first time when she had finally invited Koichi to a cozy little cafe setting, waltzing on by like you didn’t follow him part of the way and glance longingly at their love. She wasn’t fucking stupid. Yukako knew what a longing glance was, and she was going to wring your neck out for it.

Every single time she caught you staring you ran, face turning red as a beet as you scurried away from the scene. At one moment she got so caught up in Koichi’s hesitation that she spilled her coffee and screamed at him.

She also decided after that date and confession got tainted that she was going to slam your face into the pavement, because after she returned from showing that class rep bitch who Koichi really belonged to, she saw you sucking up to him, trying to get sympathy from her one true love. You both were in an empty classroom, Koichi patting your back as you wailed in agony at his feet, kneeling on the floor.

How dare you... how dare you make a move on him behind her back.

You were twisting your skirt in knots, probably trying to make sure he got a peep of your underwear. From where she stood she could see it was a rose print pattern. What a fucking... you were just after one thing weren’t you?!

“How could anyone love me?!” she heard you blubber like a dying walrus. “I... I’ve never even had a boy like me. I’m so stupid and ugly and worthless-...”

“Hey hey hey!”

Yukako was seething. Spewing lava and hate when she saw Koichi lunge to hold you, rubbing your back gently as you got your filthy pedestrian tears all over the blazer of his uniform.

“Don’t talk like that...” Koichi’s voice was so soft, so kind, nothing like Yukako had ever heard before.

“You’re not any of those things. I think you’re beautiful and smart, and funny, and anyone who can’t see that has got to be blind! I think you’re very sweet and lovable too.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah! Totally, I mean if you were even interested I’d even go out with you!”

Now, it didn’t help that you had essentially turned the knife counter clockwise in her chest, sealing your fate forever to be just another teen casualty. Because her mounting rage was of Friday the 13th proportions, ready to burst through the window of your room with a machete in the dead of night and hang your entrails like fairy lights around your wall. She knew when she’d do it too. She was going to patiently bide her time and wait for your little “heart to heart” to end, lurking at the edge of the shadows and planning to ambush you when you least expect it.

That was the plan originally. She was waiting for you after school when there were no witnesses, confident she would get you. But how could she have any clue... Not the faintest idea of what to do came to her mind when she heard you cry out her name.

“Yukako! Yukako Yamagishi, I love you!”

She whipped around, almost too angry to hear what you said until she found herself immobile. You’d taken her hands, nearly falling out of your penny loafers when you leaned in, and you kissed her right on the mouth.

The whole time her eyes were wide open in shock. The mounting rage she felt... the burning flames of hatred, where did it go?! Suddenly her first kiss was gone and she noticed you didn’t really know what else to do from there because all you did was give her a quick peck and you were already shaking and out of breath.

She didn’t even focus that long on her kiss being taken by another girl, too busy wondering what had changed as she watched your eyes glitter wetly with tears.

“Yukako, I’ve loved you ever since the first time I laid eyes on you. I think you’re wonderful, and I don’t care if I’m weird or wrong or whatever, because I love you so much it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

Yukako blinked. That’s all she could do. Didn’t really have the coherence to do much else except blink owlishly at you. All her feelings were in such a jumbled mess, like clothes in a dryer.

“I... I’m not good at sewing or cooking, I can’t give you material things like a sweater with love in the stitches or some adorable box lunch... I don’t even have money to buy you expensive presents. All I have is a heart full of all my love to give, and I’d do anything to make you happy. Will you... will you be my girlfriend?”

It was as if the fire that burned brightly in her heart had burned so hot and fast that every bad feeling, every negative thought or psychotic fantasy she had about you had suddenly gone up in smoke. Every single part of Yukako’s consciousness seemed only left to ash. You didn’t want Koichi. She heard that part as you continued to babble on helplessly despite her silence, completely unsure of how to respond as she learned the obsessive thoughts she had about one person had been the thoughts you had for her. You continued to pour out your heart, not giving her one opportunity to speak. Anyone could hear it in the way that you were talking to her that you were on the verge of breaking down into tears. Your face was contorted into embarrassment, from the kiss she could feel the heat of your cheeks radiating on her clammy skin. You were still holding her hands and she felt her whole body vibrate because of your nerves.

“Yuka-... I... Yamagishi?! I... I’m sorry...!” Now your voice was starting to crack when you realized she was immobilized. “I... I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have kissed you... I...”

Tears. Great fountains of tears and bubbles of snot appeared and melted like ice cream down your cheeks, lips and chin. Your voice only got more choppy and your legs started to give. Her silence was deafening. She didn’t even know what she felt anymore and could only just watch as you sank to her knees, still holding her hands and not making a move to wipe your face.

Without thinking, she squeezed your hands.

The shock of her touch made you squeak like a mouse being crushed under a combat boot. Yukako knelt down to the floor with you. One of her perfectly embroidered hankies peeped out of her skirt pocket, and she only let go of one hand to fish it out as she carefully wiped every tear and bubble, wordlessly telling you to blow your nose as she placed the cloth over your face.

A soft, pale hand touched your burning cheeks. Her skin was so clammy and cold, like a compress when you had a fever it helped soothe you into calming down. A hiccup sounded in your chest, making you look small and vulnerable.

You looked her in the eyes. Locked with her. She saw the passion. The love. The devotion and pure worship. Everything she wanted staring her in the face.

Still unsure, but willingly, Yukako leaned into your space. Her lips cushioned yours, begging for another first kiss.

[eirist]

A Taste of Summer II

SAFE HAVEN

One-shot #: 3

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T (Teasing still)

Note: A super, duper late entry for ZoNami Week 2020 @zonamievents. Day 3: Water Gun Battle. I hope you don’t mind if I still tag you in these works even if it’s waaaay past the deadline.

I wanted to finish all the prompts in time but work has been hectic lately. I already have the draft for the 4th one and the plot for the 5th. All I’m missing is enough time to actually write it.

Summary: Then a sudden realization hit her as they stared at each other in their temporarily safe haven.  

Nami squealed as she ducked back down the table-turned-makeshift shield, wincing when another splash of water hit it; exploding into tiny, hundred droplets all around them.  

Her shoulder banged lightly against her companion.

"Oi watch it." Zoro complained when she collided against him.

“Shut up!” Nami hissed at him. “This is all your fault!”

Zoro stared at her disbelievingly. “Me?” He growled at the orange-haired navigator. “How this is my fault? Aren’t you the one who grabbed a water gun first so you can splash Luffy on the face?”

She spun her body towards him abruptly. “I have to get back at him somehow! And what did you do huh?!”

“I got us something to prevent them from hitting us, witch!” He pointed at the table, lying sideways on the deck where they are currently crammed together.

“This is a stupid game.”

“Then why did you even grabbed a water gun in the first place?”

Nami glared at him. And Zoro glared back at her as well.

She aimed said water gun at his face and squeezed the trigger.

“Pwaah! Damn it Nami!”

She grinned evilly. “Quiet now Zoro,” she shushed him and tried to peek from behind their cover. Usopp and Luffy where on the other side of the deck waiting with water guns loaded, hiding behind another toppled table just like them…. much to Sanji’s chagrin.

They were supposed to have a nice lunch on the deck. Sanji was bringing the tables out when Luffy water-gunned him as well, straight in the face… just right after the idiot targeted Zoro and Nami.

There was a lot swearing and vicious threats then table throwing from the cook as the other Mugiwaras started to gather in the lawn deck.

And just like that it turned into chaos almost immediately. Especially when Franky—with a big smile and all—deposited a bunch of water guns on the lawn deck… right after Usopp’s big announcement.

Almost immediately everyone grabbed one. Actually, Nami grabbed two; blasting water on Luffy’s face in retaliation before throwing the other gun at Zoro while shouting ‘take cover’.

And for the life of him, Zoro didn’t even know why in the world did he followed her order.

He found himself catching the water gun and making a fast grab for the overturned table to use it for cover.

That’s how they ended up compressed together behind it with water guns in hand, on the other side of the deck and peeking to see if the enemy team is in range.

A splash of water hit their improvised refuge making Nami squeak in surprise. The sudden jolt of her body made her bump into Zoro again.

“Watch it!” It was his turn to hiss at her as he nudged her back, miscalculating his strength and sending the map maker out of their safe haven.

“Zoro!” Nami screeched as she tumbled slightly forward…

… just right in the line of Usopp and Luffy’s water gun range.     

“Target’s out!” Usopp’s voice rang across the deck, aiming the water gun on her. “Shoot!”

Nami’s eyes widened. Oh crap!

She yelped when she was suddenly tugged—no, more like lifted—back into safety before any of the water can hit her.

“Phew. That was close,” Zoro muttered over the top of her head.

Nami elbowed him sharply on the ribs. “This time it really is your fault!”

“Hey! Ouch!”

The arm wrapped around her waist loosened and she immediately realized that she was practically resting against Zoro and was situated on the space between his legs.

Nami felt the air sizzled a bit.

She sharply twisted her body so she was facing him and ignored the way her heart leapt a lit-tle when he did not removed his arm.

Instead of being irritated what she did, Zoro was grinning wickedly. “Thanks, we needed bait.”

“WHAT?!”

“Managed to hit Usopp, our idiot captain,” he bragged. “And Brook.”

“Why you…!” Nami took the opportunity of being close to him to water gun him on the face again.

“Shit! Nami stopped doing that!” Zoro barked, reaching out to wipe his face with his free hand.

The one that was still wrapped around her.

In doing so, she was literally pressed closer to him.

Damn it! Why does it feel sooo good?!

And it is not helping that they are both wet… and he’s top naked.

“Temee… you’re supposed to be aiming at our opponents,” the swordsman groused as he continued rubbing his face. Hell… some of the water entered his nose.

That seemed to snap her out of her momentary trance.

Nami tilted her head to look at him. “Serves you right,” she meant for it to come out snootily; not in a whispered, almost intimate way like she was going to affectionately nip him on jaw.

Why was it so close?!

Why was he so close?! Damn it all!

The sizzle in the air earlier was now sending delicious shivers on her skin as she felt her body slowly heating up.

She pulled away from him before she cannot stop herself and do something she wanted to do to him all along.

And in front of all their nakama too.

Sanji was shouting from somewhere in the deck. “Why are you targeting Nami-swan? Don’t make me kick your asses to kingdom to come you hear m—warck!”

“Aww! Nice hit Usopp!” Luffy cheered.

“Damn you shitty sniper!”

“Oi! Diable jambe’s not allowed!” Usopp screeched as the sound of Luffy’s laughter and a table breaking in half filled the air.

Nami crawled on all fours towards the side of the table to check what was happening. “Idiots,” she muttered, when she saw the racket on the deck.

Chopper ran past their improvised shield, screaming for Luffy—who was running after him—to stop spraying him. Sanji was threatening to skin Usopp alive with his kitchen knives if he ever tries to shoot her again.

Brook was chasing their captain, while Robin was calmly sitting on a deck chair, strategically situated on the terrace in front of their bedroom with a book.

Nami frowned. The archaeologist had refrained from joining the fray… but she saw her grabbed one of the water guns earlier. Why wasn’t she…?

Oh fuck! She has that small, secret smile on lips. Robin was just waiting for the right time to use her powers to add her own share to the current madness.

If she was right… then they are all damn going to get really wet.

She wiggled a little to slink back to their hiding spot.

There was a choking sound from behind her and her brows furrowed as she sharply swiveled her head towards Zoro.

He was peering on the other side of the table.

The hell was that? She went back to sneak a quick look at the deck again, checking to see if there was an opportunity to bombard those idiots with water.

This time, it was Luffy and Brook who was running away from Chopper, who was now in his heavy point and holding two water guns, spraying the two devil fruit users. On the other side Usopp was still running away from Sanji while blasting him with water hoping to make him stop.

Good. They are not paying any attention to them.

“Zoro now!” She uttered, nudging him with her foot. He responded an affirmative by slapping it lightly, irritably. “They are all defenseless!”

“I know!”

They simultaneously shoot out of the table, aiming at their friends and water gunning them mercilessly.

Shouts of protests filled the air as they hit every single one of them.

“Nami!”

“Nami-swaaan! Idiot marimo!”

“Yohohoho!”

“Ack! Zoro and Nami are hitting me!”

“Down, down.” Zoro urged her as Luffy ballooned up after swallowing most of the water aimed at him.

Nami obeyed, ducking back into the table just as Luffy expelled it towards them, much to the trepidation of everyone.

This time the shouts that rang out across the deck were mostly out of disgust.

“That is just gross Luffy!” Nami screamed as the water from their captain’s mouth splattered along their shelter. She turned to Zoro, who also crouched beside her. “Remind me to punch him later once this is over!”

“Gladly.”

Luffy was laughing so hard at his antic as Chopper gushed in amazement at his captain’s ‘amazing’ ability.

“Aho!” Sanji roared as he kicked the rubber man’s head. Luffy just continued laughing as his head ricocheted at the impact.

Usopp’s mouth was hanging open as he stared at the table where Zoro and Nami were hiding.

Damn, it was a good thing he wasn’t on the other end. That was really kinda nasty.

Suddenly an arm sprouted just on the side of Usopp’s body and the water gun was promptly slapped away from his grasp.

“Hey!”

The others followed his exclamation as one by one the water guns was smacked away from them.

In the span of a few seconds, the water guns were all in the clutches of disembodied hands growing on the white railing where their archaeologist was currently reading.

“Robin!” Luffy shouted.

“Uh-oh…” Usopp intoned. They were now gun-less and defenseless.

Robin peered from the top of her book, sliding her sunglasses up before giving them a smile.

The water guns simultaneously fired, drenching all the Mugiwaras on the deck, all except Zoro and Nami, who are still safe in their hiding place.

“Robiiiiin!” Chopper cried running all over the lawn deck to escape the water.

“Not fair!” Usopp hollered. “Are you even in the game? You have no partner!”

“Robin-chwaa—glurrrg!” Sanji swallowed a mouthful of water as it hit him directly in the face.

“Run minna run!!!” Luffy’s shouted, laughing enthusiastically as he darted back and forth the deck.

Nami and Zoro carefully peered from their respective spots.

“Robin,” the swordsman muttered, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he retreated back into their sanctuary.

“I knew it! I thought she wasn’t in the game!” Nami cried out as she drew back as well to look at the green-haired man. “Who is she teamed up with?”

“Franky?”

Nami’s eyes widened. “Franky isn’t anywhere in the deck. Do you think…?”

Zoro shrugged.

“Oooh those two probably have something up their sleeves!” Nami dropped on all fours to peek again at the side of the table. “Sneaky Robin.”

Zoro glanced sideways at her and promptly blushed.

That is a very fine and nicely shaped ass.

He instantly glanced away and closed his eye.

Why in the world did she have to bend over like that, right beside him, while wearing only a skimpy bikini bottom?

Wasn’t seeing her in the lake top naked enough?

Now even his eye is drinking in the sight of down below.

He stole a glimpse at her again; just in time to see her butt wiggling as she tried to adjust her position.

Zoro fought back a groan.

She’s making this hard. Really. Hard.

He already managed to control the unrelenting urge to kiss her. But he honestly didn’t know until when.

Not when Nami seems to be aware that he wanted to and was giving him every opportunity to do it.

Why is her cute butt still wiggling? It makes him want to touch it…

…rip off that tiny piece of cloth covering it and just get down and dirty with her.

Drat. It already escalated into another level. Maybe he should point the water gun towards himself and spray his face.

Nami suddenly shrieked, backing up against him when water exploded just right above their table. “Robin is in for the kill.”

Zoro snorted. “Expected nothing less from her.”

Their shoulders bumped into each other as they settled back on their hiding place, listening to the sounds of their friends getting water massacred by the raven-haired historian.

“Let’s stay quiet so as not to attraction her attention.”

Zoro rolled his eyes at her logic. Robin already knew that they are behind the table and is probably taking her time before swooping in for the kill.

“You are wearing my shirt.” Zoro suddenly said.

“What?!” Nami’s head whipped towards him in surprise.

“I said you’re wearing my shirt.” He repeated. He noticed it earlier when she walked out of the room she shared with Robin and nearly tripped on his workout equipment. He marveled at how it was turning him on, seeing her wearing something that belongs to him.

“I didn’t know it was yours.” Nami huffed. “It was in our clothes pile.”

“Hnnn…”

“What? You’ve got a problem with me wearing it?”

He didn’t answer and just regarded her in a way that made her raise an eyebrow.

And made her skin prickle all over again as the urge to taste his lips resurfaced.

She gazed back at him, studying his face and his expression, trying to guess what is going on inside his mind and what his next move will be.

Then a sudden realization hit her as they stared at each other in their temporarily safe haven.  

She pointed the water gun at him again and pulled the trigger.

“Damn it Nami!” Zoro snarled as he snapped out of his daze and instantly retaliated.

The water hit her face and she ended up sputtering as she wiped it off with her hand.

“How’d you like that?” Zoro asked. He had a totally nasty grin on his face. “Not fun right?”

“Oh. You want to play huh?” Nami glowered at him. She pointed the toy gun on his face and squeezed the trigger…

…and it promptly dropped from her hold when one of Robin’s hands appeared suddenly from the table to smack it away.

“Robin?!”

“Hey!” She heard Zoro protested as well when Robin did the same to him.

As if on cue, the table covering them was pushed down as well, leaving them open for Robin’s water gun attack.

“Oh no!” Nami gasped.

Zoro was automatically on his feet, scooping Nami on the waist and tucking her under his arm before making a dash for the other side of the deck.

Robin was relentless; shooting them with water continuously. It wasn’t helping as well that Usopp and Brook was able to get the cleaning hose working and aimed it at everyone on the deck soaking them to the bone… skull joke.

Nami squealing and giggling as Zoro tried to evade the attacks while carrying her at the same time. It was stupid yet fun and exciting. Amidst everything she can hear every Straw Hat laughing and cackling, with Luffy being the loudest.

Zoro hoisted her up a bit, still dodging the water shooting at them. He had a wide grin on his face, meaning he was enjoying this as well. Sanji was screaming from somewhere at him to drop her down and not to handle her like he was just hauling a sack of potatoes.

“Left Zoro left!” Nami shouted and laughed when he turned towards the complete opposite direction that she was yelling. Water hit one of her legs.

Zoro skidded into a halt when he saw Franky suddenly appeared out on the deck… with an almost triumphant grin on his face.

“Aaaw…” the shipwright shouted. “Time to unveil this supeeeer weapon!”

“Uh-oh…” Usopp whispered.

“Franky water cannon!” He announced dramatically as the cannons on his shoulder emerged.

Everyone stilled at that. Water guns are one thing.

Water cannons are another.

“Oh my gosh!!!” Usopp shouted. “It’s awesome!

“Yet I don’t wanna get hit!!!” Chopper wailed.

“Run for cover! Run for your lives!”

“Sugoiiiiii!!!” Luffy yelled, pumping his fists into the air, eyes turning into stars from being too impressed.

“Yohohoho! I guess it is safe to say that Robin-san and Franky-san will win this game.” Brook stated calmly, accepting defeat as he watched his younger friends scamper everywhere to avoid getting hit.

“First up,” Franky lifted his sunglasses, winking at the swordsman and the navigator who were standing near him. “Zoro, Nami.”

Nami perked up at that. “Zoro! Get away! Get away!”

“I know woman quit yelling!”

Robin continued blasting them with the water guns she grabbed from everyone earlier.

“Where are you taking Nami-san aho kenshin?!” Sanji exploded as he watched the idiot marimo sprint back to the other end of the deck with Nami still tucked under his arm.

“FRANKY WATER CANNON!”

“Kyaaaaah!!!” Usopp and Chopper cried out as they jumped out of the way.

Zoro hopped on the railing.

Nami’s eyes widened when she realized what he was planning.

“Zoro don’t you dare!”

The wicked, shark-like grin on his face made Nami’s heart leap to her throat.

No!

“Heads up Nami.”

And with that he made a jump towards the ocean with her still tucked on his arm.

“Nooo!” She screamed as they plunge down towards the cool, blue water. “I will kill you Zoroooo!”

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Skies on Fire

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2905 Alternate: AO3 Summary: "'Okay, Mister ‘I don’t like the 4th of July.’ What’s your opinion on fireworks?' Chim asks.

Eddie shrugs and scrunches up his nose in that way Buck finds adorable. 'They’re loud.'"

It's the 4th of July and Eddie hates fireworks. Warnings: 

PTSD

Mild Hurt/Comfort

Eddie Diaz has PTSD

Author's Note: I can’t believe no one has written a 4th of July Buddie fic (that I could find using the search function at least. If there is one, please send me a link because I would love to read it.) So, obviously I had to write one myself. Enjoy!

Buck loves the 4th of July. He loves the excitement that it instills in everyone, he loves the celebration of it, the food that is served during the cookouts, and most importantly, Buck loves the fireworks that are set off at night. Overall, the day is usually filled with good spirits and lots and lots of food.

 The first year Buck was in L.A. for the 4th of July, Bobby had hosted it at the firehouse, cooking for the entire team. The second year, Athena had hosted it at her house, inviting Buck, Hen, Chimney, Maddie, and Eddie over for the cookout in which, again, Bobby was cooking. Eddie, however, had declined the invite, claiming he was going to spend it with his own family but when Buck asked Christopher about it later, Christopher had informed him that Eddie had not gone with him to his Abuela’s and that Pepa had brought Christopher there. When he then questioned Eddie about it, the man had completely avoided answering. Buck filed it away as an Eddie Diaz mystery he’ll probably never get an answer to and moved on. This year, they all are scheduled to work.

Buck struts into the station, clothes bag slung over his shoulder. It’s going to be a long 24-hour shift but Buck isn’t going to let that ruin his mood. Bobby had promised to cook for everyone again and he’s honestly looking forward to it. Plus, if they’re lucky, they’ll be out on a call, outside, when the fireworks start. Of course, Buck doesn’t want a life-threatening call to happen just so he can watch the fireworks, but if there’s a scared cat stuck up in a tree then he’ll take it.

He walks into the locker room where Hen, Chimney, and Eddie are already halfway through changing. Buck tries to not watch Eddie as the other man gets dressed, approaching his own locker to get into his uniform. “Who’s ready for the 4th of July rush?” Buck asks enthusiastically, giving a quick glance towards Eddie who is currently shirtless.

Eddie gives him a wary, curious look. “What do you mean?”

“People are dumb on the 4th of July,” Hen answers for Buck as Buck forces himself to look away from Eddie and opens his locker to start changing. “There’s always more calls than on a usual day because people like to set off fireworks that they got illegally or play with firecrackers that end up blowing up in their hand or in their face or in their pants.”

Eddie’s head tilts at that last statement, blinking in confusion. “Their pants?”

Hen shakes her head. “You don’t want to know.”

Buck chuckles, shucking off his pants and pulling on his uniform bottoms. “I love the 4th of July.”

“More like you love Cap’s cooking,” Chimney states from behind him, shutting his locker a little too loudly.

“I do,” Buck agrees, pulling his shirt off and turning to Chimney. “But I also love everything else to do with the 4th of July.”

“Here we go,” Hen mumbles.

Buck turns to her, smile in place. “Come on Hen, you have to agree that fireworks are awesome.”

Hen gives him a small smile. “Okay, the 4th of July isn’t that bad but I just hate how stupid people get during it.”

“Well, I’m with Buck,” Chimney says. “I love the 4th of July. It’s one of the few days you actually have a valid excuse to get absolutely drunk off your ass.”

Buck turns to Eddie. “Eddie?”

Eddie looks up from where he was studying his button up to his uniform. “Hmm?”

Buck smiles at him. “Do you like the 4th of July?”

“I hate it.”

All of them look at Eddie with surprise. Buck’s eyes go wide in shock. “What! No, Eddie, no one can hate the 4th of July!”

“I’m pretty sure other countries hate it, Buck,” Hen comments.

“Okay, if you’re an American, you can’t hate it,” he amends. “You’re, like, obligated to like it.”

Eddie watches Buck as he slides on his button up. “Sorry, Buck, but I just don’t like the 4th of July.”

“But why?” he asks but Eddie just shrugs. “Okay, what about fireworks? Everyone loves fireworks. Hen?”

Hen finishes tying her boots and stands. “They’re pretty, I guess.”

“Come on, Hen!” Buck pouts at her. “I love fireworks! They’re amazing, you know! With all the colors and how big they can get.”

“They do have a certain appeal to them,” Chim mentions with a small laugh before turning towards Eddie who is staring absently into his locker. “Okay, Mister ‘I don’t like the 4th of July,’ what’s your opinion on fireworks?” Chim asks.

Eddie shrugs and scrunches up his nose in that way Buck finds adorable. “They’re loud.” He quickly looks at all of them before turning back to his locker to dig around in it.

Buck’s heart drops as realization starts setting in while Hen huffs a laugh, heading towards the door. “Yeah, and they scare animals all over.” She leaves the room, Chimney following her with an amused smile, both apparently oblivious to what Eddie is implying.

Buck watches them go, frown now set in place on his face. Turning back to Eddie, he watches silently as the man continues to dig through his locker, looking slightly panicked. Buck thins his lips, deep in thought, before reaching into his own locker and picking up a small packet of earplugs. He walks over to Eddie and holds them out. “Here.”

Eddie looks down at them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His eyes lift to Buck. “How’d you know?”

Buck shrugs. “Good guess.” Eddie gives him a thankful smile and takes the earplugs, fiddling with the package.

Eddie gestures towards his locker, not meeting Buck’s eyes. “I thought I had brought some but I guess I forgot. Why do you have some?”

Buck smiles at him reassuringly. “I wear them when I try to get some sleep here. I can still hear the bell if it goes off but not everything else.” Eddie nods at his explanation and Buck wishes he could make this easier on Eddie. He’s obviously feeling a little embarrassed. “What did you do last year?” Buck tries, hoping he won’t be shot down this time.

Eddie sighs heavily and shuts his locker, shoving the earplugs into his pocket for later. “I closed all the windows in the house, turned on the TV full volume, and blasted music in my ears.”

“Did it work?” Eddie just shrugs. “Are you going to be okay? I’m sure Bobby wouldn’t care if you went home.”

Eddie shakes his head, walking past Buck. “I can’t let this dictate my life, Buck. You guys need me today so I’m going to be here.”

“But Eddie-”

“No, Buck,” Eddie stops him. “I’ll be fine.” He walks away then, clearly ending the conversation there.

*~~~*

As Hen had predicted, it’s a busy day. Since eight in the morning to eight at night, there have been fifteen calls. From fires to car accidents to people having firecrackers blow up in their faces, everything that is going to happen seems to be happening. They are just getting back from their last call of a child stuck up in a tree that the nine-year-old decided to climb up, when they get another call of a possible drowning in a pool.

Buck has noticed how on edge Eddie has been all day; quiet, more so than usual, and hyperaware of his surroundings. He can’t seem to relax and as Buck sits next to him on the firetruck, he can feel just how stiff Eddie is holding himself. He wishes he knew how else to calm his best friend down but knows that anything he says won’t help in the slightest.

Buck nudges Eddie’s shoulders, getting his attention. “Hey, you might want to put the earplugs in now. The fireworks are going to be starting soon.”

Eddie nods and reaches into his pocket. He frowns, removes his hand, and reaches into his pocket on the other side. This hand also comes out empty. “They must have fallen out at some point.”

Buck is frowning now as well, full of concern. “You going to be okay?”

Eddie nods curtly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Buck can feel Bobby’s eyes on them from the front, the older man glancing over his shoulder. Neither he nor Eddie acknowledges Bobby’s look. Buck figures Bobby has probably figured out the problem already anyway.

It doesn’t take them much longer to arrive on the scene. Hen and Chimney pull the ambulance around, parking it in a way that will make transporting the injured party into the vehicle easier. They all rush over to the scene, following the wife of the man who almost drowned.

They get to work right away, Chimney doing chest compressions as Hen and Eddie work on hooking him up to fluids and air. The husband comes back quite quickly to everyone’s relief and coughs up water. Moving him onto a backboard and then to a gurney, they all make their way over to the ambulance, loading the man in and letting the wife follow. She says her thanks and Chimney shuts the back doors, Hen driving away with the sirens blaring. Overall, it’s a smooth mission and nothing goes wrong.

That is, until the first firework booms in the air, bright and loud.

Eddie flinches so violently, that he knocks into Buck, and, Buck not having expected that, they both go tumbling down to the ground. Buck lands on his bottom, catching himself with his hands and causing pain to shoot up into his arms from his wrists. Bobby is crouching in front of them, asking them if he’s okay and another firework soars in the night sky and explodes in a beautiful hue of blue.

Buck ignores Bobby’s questioning and turns to Eddie who is also sitting on the ground except that his legs are drawn up close to him and his head is dipped between his knees with his hands covering his ears. He’s stiffened up even more than he has been all day and Buck can see tremors running through his body. Buck scrambles up, reaches out to touch Eddie, but then stops short. He quickly pulls his hand back.

“Eddie?” he begins gently. “Eddie, it’s Buck. Can you hear me?”

Eddie doesn’t give Buck an answer, doesn’t even look up at him, but Buck can hear Eddie’s heavy breathing and quiet sobs. Bobby places a hand on Buck’s shoulder, getting his attention. “I need to get back. You got this?” Buck nods. “When he’s back, bring him home. You two can end your shift early.”

“Are you sure?” Buck asks.

Bobby nods towards Eddie. “Take care of him.” He then gets up and leaves, giving Eddie one last concerned look. Buck knows that if Bobby could, he would stay too, but he can’t. Not on one of their busiest days.

Buck watches Bobby leave before turning his attention back to Eddie. “Eddie? Can I touch you?” Still, he gets no answer. “I’m going to touch your knee, okay?”

More fireworks are shooting up in the sky, getting closer to the grand finale. He knows they aren’t helping the situation at all. Another loud and bright firework makes Eddie flinch again and his entire body shudders as a whimper escapes from his mouth.

Buck slowly stretches his arm out, gently placing a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie doesn’t react to it, doesn’t look up at Buck but also doesn’t jerk away from the touch so Buck figures it must be fine to do so. He continues to talk to Eddie, keeping his voice low and calm. “Eds, you’re out on a call. You’re in someone’s backyard, near the pool. What you are hearing are fireworks. They are not bombs, you’re no longer in Afganistan, you’re safe.”

The finale to the fireworks starts up and Eddie curls into himself more, pulling away from Buck’s hand. Buck doesn’t try to touch him again, waits the finale out, and then tries again when everything settles.

“Eddie, it’s still Buck. Can you hear me?” A small nod. “Okay, listen to my voice. Again, you are not in Afganistan anymore. You’re in L.A. and those were fireworks, not bombs. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re not in danger.” Eddie lifts his head some but doesn’t look at Buck. His eyes are far away, not really focusing on anything. “Can I touch you again?” Another small nod. Buck crawls a little closer, places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Can you feel the ground?” Eddie nods. “Can you feel my hand?” Again, a nod. “Okay, what do you see? What do you see around you, where you’re safe?”

It takes Eddie a few tries and Buck repeating the question again before he can answer him. “You.”

“What else?”

Eddie swallows and lifts a shaky hand to wipe the tears away. He’s still not very focused, blinking rapidly. “You.”

“Okay,” Buck says, moving on. “What can you hear. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“What else can you hear? What else can you hear in this backyard where you’re safe? Where you’re safe with me? You’re safe.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut and his face scrunches in agony. “Open your eyes,” Buck tells him and he does. “Can I hug you?” Eddie nods and Buck maneuvers himself so he’s sitting down at an angle to Eddie, wrapping his arms lightly around the smaller man. He wants to be sure Eddie can still see him but also ground him more in the present by giving him more physical touch. “Now what can you hear besides my voice?”

Eddie is still shaking but his muscles relax. Still he doesn’t answer Buck, staring off into the distance. “Eddie?” Eddie snaps back.

“The pool. I can hear the…” a long pause as Eddie blinks. “The pool.”

“Okay, good. Can you hear the water in the pool?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you still hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“What can you smell?” Buck asks, moving onto the next sense. “What do you smell around you, here and now?” He carefully rubs a hand up and down Eddie’s bicep, gauging Eddie’s reaction. He doesn’t reject the movement so Buck continues doing it.

“I can smell…” Again, Eddie quiets, staring at the ground. His body is relaxing though so Buck decides that what he is doing must be working at least a little. 

“Eddie, what do you smell?” he asks again.

Eddie blinks, doesn’t answer, and Buck asks for the third time. “I smell your cologne or… or deodorant.” He sinks into Buck, blinking slowly. “I smell… I can smell the pool. Freshly cut grass.”

“Good, now I want you to describe to me, if you could choose any place, where would you want to be at this very moment?” Buck chuckles. “It doesn’t even have to be attainable.”

Eddie licks his lips, rubs a hand slowly over his knee, and looks like he might dissociate again but then he starts talking, voice slow and slightly slurred. “At home with Christopher and you.”

“Yeah?” Buck smiles. “What would we be doing?”

Eddie does dissociate again, staying quiet for several minutes before Buck can get him back and ask the question once more. “Watching a movie.”

“What movie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Describe to me the scene you’re thinking.”

Eddie’s hand rubs over the ground and he lifts his hand to look at his palm. He stares at it for a few seconds before placing it down on the ground again. Buck repeats what he said. “Christopher would be sitting on the floor in a heap of blankets. You and I would be on the couch, sitting close.”

“Like this?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. One of us would be holding the other and…” he trails off.

Buck runs a hand through Eddie’s hair, deciding to end it there. “Can you stand?”

Eddie swallows and nods. They both stand up, Eddie swaying in his spot. Buck can tell he’s not entirely back with him, the other man looking around his surroundings as if confused as to where he is. Buck orders an Uber and when it arrives, he carefully guides Eddie inside it.

They arrive at Eddie’s place and Buck immediately transports Eddie to his bed, helping him to undress and lie down in it. “You’re home now, Eddie. Do you know where you are?”

“Home,” he answers. “I’m home.” He’s coming back now, getting more alert. Still, he looks exhausted with his eyes droopy and slow movements. “Thank you for helping me, Buck.”

Buck sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a hand through Eddie’s hair. “I’ve got your back, Eddie.” He shrugs. “And next year, we’ll be more prepared. No more losing the earplugs.”

Eddie chuckles at that, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal.”

They stare at each other for a long time before Buck finally asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No.” Buck nods, accepting that answer. “But I would like it if you stayed.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll stay.”

“No, I mean in the bed.”

“With you?” Buck asks.

“I feel safer with you.” Eddie is avoiding eye contact but the statement makes Buck smile nonetheless.

“I’ll stay, then.”

Eddie smiles, small and soft, eyes closing slowly. “Thank you.”

Buck leans down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “Always.”

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: And there you have it. Though I do think fireworks are pretty I also think they are obnoxious and loud, and, since they are literally bombs going off in the air, I can’t imagine Eddie not having some kind of reaction to them.

Thank you to this website that helped me write what Buck should do for Eddie during his flashback.

Thank you for reading!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Silent IV

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: John Tracy, Scott Tracy

Part 4 of my response to @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Taste challenge. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Answering reader’s questions?  Only halfway through a fic?  More likely than you think.

Sleep didn’t come easily for John.  It never had done, not even before last weekend, but now he couldn’t sleep at all until he knew all his brothers were safe in their rooms.  That indicator was Scott; until Scott came into their room and settled down in bed, John could be sure that at least one brother was still up.  As Scott would never go to bed until Virgil and Gordon were settled in the room next door, and Alan was asleep in his own bed, dragged in to their room almost as soon as they’d got home, his eventual stumble into bed was the sign John needed that the others were all as okay as they could be right now.

Even the stars had abandoned him.  Sat in the window, a favourite seat of his, with a neglected book in his lap, there were no pinpricks of light shining through the darkness.  Clouds had stayed gathered ever since the avalanche, blocking out both the sun and the stars.  Somewhere beyond them was Dad, on a mission to the moon.  John wondered if he knew, yet.  Grandma had said she’d contact the space agency, but communications from Earth to the moon were difficult.  It had always been a sore point between the older boys and their father – off again for months, two year old Alan barely knew who his Daddy was – but now it was a gaping wound.  John had always been fascinated by space, but he swore he wouldn’t go until he knew he could keep in contact with his family.  Always.

Equally as difficult as getting a message to the moon, apparently, was trying to travel when so snowed under even the cars couldn’t move, and planes refused to fly.  There was no snow here, and if John never saw a snowflake again it would be too soon, but Grandma’s state was snowed in.  Grandma was adamant that she’d find her way to them soon, and John knew she was doing everything she could to move in with them, but it felt as though the world itself was conspiring against them.  Every day that passed, Scott lived in greater and greater fear of uninvited visitors arriving on their doorstep.  John refused to admit it to anyone except himself, but he did, too.

Alan snuffled in the corner, clutching his newly inherited but tatty and old teddy bear close in sleep. The two year old didn’t understand what was going on, and John and Scott were both painfully aware that he was the most likely to bring the uninvited guests to their door with an innocent comment. From the conversation he’d heard when they’d got home, something Alan had said on the way home from playgroup had been too close for Scott’s comfort today.

Scott hadn’t been himself, either.  None of them were themselves, Gordon retreating into himself, Virgil pretending everything was fine but flinching at every reminder of Mom with tears in his eyes.  John wasn’t even sure what had happened to him; he could barely remember what life had been like before the avalanche now. Life and responsibility had ganged up on him and Scott all at once and now any free time he might have had was taken up with cooking and cleaning while Scott handled their younger brothers. But John didn’t think all that – Mom’s death, new responsibilities, three brothers in need of assurance and a sense of normality where there was none to be had – was the all that was preying on Scott’s mind.  Not after Alan’s loud complaints about Scott being stinky and Scott’s perfectly reasonable explanation.  Perfectly reasonable, except for one thing.

Scott didn’t have gym on Wednesdays.  John knew his brother’s timetable, even if Scott didn’t know that.  No gym on Wednesdays, just after-school basketball he’d quit at the start of the week.

Whatever had driven him to empty an entire can of deodorant over himself, it wasn’t gym, and John highly doubted it was an accident, either.  But he knew Scott wouldn’t talk to him about it, even though his eyes had been red when he’d come out of his too-long shower and he’d caught the smallest glimpse of something dark on his arm when his sleeve had ridden up during dinner.  Alan had jumped at him from his chair after they’d eaten, as per usual, and normally Scott could catch him with ease.  This time, there’d been the flicker of pain as Alan had collided with him, before he’d covered it up with some light-hearted scolding for being reckless.

John didn’t like the theory forming in his mind, and knew that tonight he wouldn’t sleep until he put it to rest, one way or the other.

It was midnight by the time Scott stumbled into the room, assuring him that Virgil and Gordon were both asleep and put that book away and go to bed now, John.  John hadn’t turned a page all evening, but dutifully obeyed, placing the bookmark back in the same place he’d retrieved it from hours earlier and setting the book on the bedside table before sliding underneath his covers and closing his eyes.

Waiting.

He heard Scott pad over lightly to check on Alan, making sure he really was asleep, before his big brother finally shuffled into bed himself, turning the lights off.  He’d shared a room with Scott for years, knew how his breathing shifted as he fell asleep.  The shift happened, and he counted the minutes in his head.  Five of them, and then he couldn’t wait any more, the burning need to know slipping him out of bed, palming his under-the-covers reading light (a present from Scott, two years ago, after he’d got fed up of John insisting on having a light on to read when he just wanted to sleep; Mom had laughed and told him he still wasn’t allowed to read all night) from under his pillow and slipping across the room to Scott’s bed.

Scott was a light sleeper, and John shouldn’t be doing this, but he needed to know.  The comforter folded back easily, and holding his breath John reached for the hem of his brother’s top, lifting it up just enough to see his fears realised.

Mottled bruising splattered across his torso, deeper and darker in some places than others.  It was painfully familiar – John had had the same, last year, until Scott found him out in a similar way and dragged names out of a tearful eleven year old in the middle of the night.  They’d both been in the same school then; Scott had made it perfectly clear the next day that anyone who so much as touched a hair on any of his brothers’ heads would be dealing with him and his friends, who would be delighted to return it with interest.

John didn’t have bruises any more, but now Scott had moved up into the world of high school and there was no big brother to make fearless challenges on his behalf.

A hand caught his wrist.

“Go back to bed,” Scott said flatly, tugging at his arm lightly until he let go.  The fabric fluttered back down, hiding the incriminating evidence again.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” John asked instead, keeping his voice down.  The last thing they needed was for any of their brothers to wake, especially Alan.

Scott scoffed, but John’s reading light caught pain in his eyes.

“Tell who?” he demanded, sitting up and wincing as he did so.  John didn’t think it was a good thing that Scott hadn’t even attempted denial first. Scott always denied it when things were wrong and he wasn’t okay.  Then again, none of them were okay.  None of them would be okay for a long time.  “A teacher? They’d just try to call Mom, and when they don’t get through they’ll be breaking down the goddamn door.  Grandma?  She can’t get here any damn faster.  Dad? He’s not even on the fucking planet!”

“Shhh!” John hissed as his voice get louder.  A sleepy snuffle came from the corner of the room, and they both froze.  It was several long minutes of silence before they relaxed, assured that Alan hadn’t woken up after all.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He knew why.  It was the same reason he wouldn’t tell a teacher, wouldn’t risk any adults realising that there was a family of five children living without a single guardian in the state.  Scott had been trying to protect him, projecting an air of invulnerable big brother so John would relax and forget the very real fear social services might catch a whiff of abandoned children.

Scott wouldn’t admit that, of course.

“What could you do about it?” he demanded instead, remembering this time to keep his voice down. “We don’t even go to the same school, and even if we did, we can’t draw attention to ourselves!”

“I can handle Alan so he’s not kicking you in your already busted ribs whenever you pick him up,” John retorted. “I can cover for you while you get pain killers.  Just because I can’t help you outside doesn’t mean I can’t help you at home, Scott.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” Scott protested, and John rolled his eyes.

“I’m offering,” he pointed out.  “You have taken some pain killers, right?”

“How do you think I got all of two seconds sleep before a pesky little brother stripped my bedclothes?” Scott grouched.  “Yes, I took some tylenol when I was in the shower.”

“Cold compress?” John asked, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Right little rescue scout you are, huh,” he grumbled.  He knew as well as John they’d had a first aid session only two meetings ago.  It felt like two lifetimes ago.  “Shower.”  John reached for his top again, only to get batted away.  “It’s fine, John.  Stop fussing and go back to bed.”

John scowled at him.

“We talk about this now, or we talk about this at breakfast with Virgil, Gordon and Alan listening in,” he promised.  From the flash of anger in blue eyes, it was only the fact that Alan was sleeping in the same room that restrained Scott from exploding at him.

“What’s there to talk about?” he ground out instead.

“Who.”  John stated.  “How long. Why now.”  The glare he got promised retribution later, but less than a week ago John had watched a wall of snow crush a skiing hut with his mother inside. Maybe Scott’s glares would be scary again one day, but their ski trip from hell was still too raw.

“You don’t know them,” Scott muttered after a moment, and John knew he wouldn’t have caved if he wasn’t also raw from the loss of their Mom, and the responsibility crushing his shoulders.  “I thought they were my friends, until yesterday.  Apparently they only liked me because the team kept winning whenever I played.”

“They’re beating you up because you quit the team?”  John wished he was surprised, but while sport had never been his thing, enough of his schoolmates were sport-mad that he could see them doing exactly that. Scott didn’t answer, but his eyes gleamed with tears in the faint light.

It made John angry. Who measured friendship by how successful someone was at a sport?  Who dropped their friend right when they were needed most?  Even if they didn’t know what was wrong, surely a friend would accept a change in hobbies?

He might not know them, but these unknown so-called friends of Scott were going to go down. How dare they make his brother cry?

The tears Scott turned his head away to hide could have just been grief about their Mom, but given the context of their conversation, John knew better.  It was also the sting of betrayal, and he wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Scott,” he said, muscling his way onto his brother’s bed and tugging gently but determinedly on his wrist until he caved and lay down.  “As soon as Grandma’s here, you have to tell her.”

Stony silence greeted him, and he pulled the comforter over the pair of them, nudging insistently at Scott until he had enough room to be comfortable.  “If you don’t, I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” Scott lashed back, rolling on his side to face away from John.  “Get out of my bed.”

“You didn’t let me suffer in silence,” John reminded him, staying where he was.  He wasn’t as clingy as his brothers, but right now he didn’t want his own bed.  “You’re right, even when we do have a guardian here, I can’t stand in front of you and threaten everyone that wants to hurt you.  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let it happen.  Grandma will do something.”

“Grandma has the four of you to worry about,” Scott mumbled, and John rolled his eyes.  Whoever said older was wiser had clearly never met his older brother.

“Grandma has five grandsons and she’ll worry about us all,” he reminded him.  “She’ll find out somehow, even if we don’t say anything. You know she will, and then she’ll be sad you didn’t tell her straight away.”

Scott groaned in defeat, then rolled back over with another, pained, groan.  How long did Tylenol last?

“I know,” he muttered, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves.  “I know.”

John shuffled a little closer, pressing their shoulders together.  Once they got bigger – Scott was already hitting a growth spurt – they wouldn’t be able to fit easily on the same bed, but for now, they both fit well enough side-by-side.  After a moment, Scott’s head rested against his on the pillow, and fingers tangled with his own where their arms were pressed together.

“We’ll survive,” Scott muttered, squeezing lightly.  John nodded, and squeezed back.  “Grandma will be here soon.”

It was both a promise and a plea.

Part V

[garryspolicememories]

                                       Policing Memories of

                                 Garry Crawford Circa 1962

                                                 Part XV

     When I first arrived in Wawa in the Spring of 1971, to the best of my recollection there were no civilian radio dispatchers. I believe it was sometime in the next year or so that they started hiring dispatchers. I mention them because they are the unsung hero’s. They are the lifeline for the field officer. They are the ones who would answer the phone and get the necessary information that could mean life or death to so many. The caller in a domestic dispute, or life defining incident. The Officers who would be dispatched to know just what they were walking into. The information they received and dispatched could make all the difference. They received little or no training. They worried about the civilians and their officers on the road. They knew what was happening, where the dangers were and did what they could to support us. If they had not heard from an officer for a certain length of time you would get a check call. At the end of the day, they had to take all of these pressures home with them and they were not to speak to anyone about them. Please remember them and thank them where you can.

     I am listing the names I remember in the early days, some of them moved on the Sault Ste Marie and other Districts. I apologize for any I have missed or have mistakenly listed. These are the ones that come to mind. I thank you all for having our back. Olga McCluskie, Joyce West, Ray White, Roly MacDonald, Dave Doucette, Mullen, Kathy Toop, Rose O’Hearn, Marilyn James. I can remember so many times I would have conversations with these people that were so helpful. The smart ones would ask a question in a very diplomatic way, so often they would make you take a  second look at your decisions and adjust accordingly.

      Linda Skorniak was our secretary and filled in, in so many ways. Brian Ringrose was one of the custodians who was our chief cook on some of our larger bush searchers. Without his volunteering we would have had a pretty hungry group. He always added to the espirits of the group

     I have to tell a little story that comes to mind when I think of Linda Skorniak. One day I was working in the back end of the Constables Office. Linda was also in the office at that time. A lady came in to the front desk and on seeing me she asked Linda if I was Corporal Al Jordan.

     Linda replied: No Al Jordan is a really good looking guy. I forget just what the lady wanted, but between the two of us we satisfied her query and she left the office. I then said to Linda: Linda I overheard what you said to that lady about Al. If Al is the really good looking one, what the hell am I. Linda kind of stammered then replied: Oh you are a more rugged looking guy. To this day I am still trying to understand whether that is good or bad.  I do know I appreciated Linda.                                

         The Sinking of The Edmund Fitzgerald

     The Edmund Fitzgerald was an American Great Lakes freighter that sank in a Lake Superior storm on November 10, 1975, with the loss of the entire crew of 29. When launched on June 7, 1958, she was the largest ship on North America's Great Lakes, and she remains the largest to have sunk in Lake Superior. This occurred in Canadian Waters Off Whitefish Point. The following day there were many OPP members involved in walking the shoreline in search of debris or survivors from that wreck. No one was ever found from the wreck. Gordon lightfoot wrote his song: The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald a couple of years later which most Canadians can recall.

     During the summer of 1977 we received word at Wawa Detachment that a human leg bone had washed up on a small beach on the west end of Michipicoten Island. Michipicoten Island is located in Lake Superior about 60 km off shore from Wawa.  A request was submitted for the use of a force helicopter. Permission was given and an OPP helicopter piloted by Norm Kerr was dispatched to Wawa. Ed Zelionis District Dive Master, Bud Brennan of DHQ Identification Branch and myself, proceeded to the scene. A human leg was recovered, all of the bones were still attached with the exception of the last little toe appendage. A search was made of the beach and shallow water area for further items. Ed and Bud remained at the scene while Norm and I flew to the West End lighthouse where I arranged with the light keepers to make periodic searches of the beach should further remains wash up. The beach was quite narrow. On our return to the beach from the lighthouse, Norm made his round out over the water. He then drifted the helicopter sideways at an altitude of just a few feet. His intention was to set the helicopter down as soon as we were over the beach.

   When Ed had completed his dive he had removed his wet suit and left it lay on the beach to dry. We had not noticed it and as we edged closer to the beach, the rotor wash started to lift the wet suit. The danger being, if it was to lift either into the main rotor of the tail rotor, it could result in serious consequences. Norm attempted to back away from the wet suit. As he did there was a very loud bang. We were parallel to the beach; which meant the back up action moved us down the beach. There was a dead spruce tree that hung out over the beach. We had hit it. Norm and I both had mikes on. I remember when I heard the bang, Norm said: Do you know what that was? My reply was very quick. Ya sit her down, sit her Down.

I had to laugh afterwards as Norm is an excellent pilot and he did not need me to tell him what to do. All I could think of was, we had hit with the tail rotor. Damage to that would cause the helicopter to start to spin. Spinning and crashing you don’t stand much chance as the jolt when you stop usually breaks your neck. Needless to say Norm did a good job of recovering and did set the helicopter down on the beach. I remember examining the main rotor. It had several small wrinkles in it at one point. Norm advised it was fit to fly and we were able to return to Wawa. Before we left Bud Brennan took a photograph of the three of us sitting on the beach. If you look carefully you can see the white end of the overhanging spruce tree behind the helicopter. The photograph from L to R shows Ed Zelionis hugging his wet suit Lol, Garry Crawford and Norm Kerr the pilot.

     We did not have DNA analysis available at that time, so there was no way of making a definite determination as to where the leg had come from. It did make a lot of since that the there was a high probability that it came from the wreckage of the Edmund Fitzgerald. The extremely cold water of the lake would explain the remains surviving intact for that length of time. The counter clockwise circulation of the lake current would explain how it ended up on that small beach so far out on the lake. An examination revealed that the find was from a man estimated to be approximately 65 yrs of age.

     Lake Superior is extremely deep, however the currents are effected by weather to great depths. I remember another case where a fishing boat had sunk and Ed Zelionis had recovered the bodies. The boat had sunk in excess of fifty feet of water. I believe it was a month or so later Ed was approached by the fishing company to assist in recovering the boat. The boat had been relatively undamaged when Ed made the original recovery, however when he returned to recover the boat. There was extensive damage where the boat had rolled over several times on the bottom.

     A Typical Drowning Recovery In 1970’s

     Prior to the mid 1960’s most under water drowning recoveries were made using Dragging Irons. These were lengths of pipes with short lengths of chain attached that had large treble hooks attached that we use to refer to as Sturgeon Hooks. Where a search area was identified a series of parallel passes would be made dragging the irons behind a boat. The hooks would hopefully snag on the victim allowing his recovery. They were quite difficult to use as they snagged on everything they passed over.

     In the latter part of the 1960’s the OPP decided to form Underwater Recovery Teams. I think it was George Orser from Kenora who travelled around doing the testing and selection for the job. I remember I was a very strong swimmer and wanted to try out for the group. When they did the testing for the Sudbury District Members, I attended but was not allowed to take the test, mainly because I had no experience using scuba equipment. The main part of the original test consisted of putting on the tanks mask etc. Diving to the bottom in about fifteen feet of water removing mask and tanks. Then putting your mask back on clearing the mask and repositioning the tank on your back. I thought I could hold my breath long enough to do all those activities even if I didn’t use the scuba. George justifiably rejected my opportunity. Little did I realize at that time just how much scuba diving required you to know.

     In later years I did obtain some knowledge of that occupation. I also learned that scuba diving should not be done by the faint at heart or the fool hardy. There are numerous dangers to be aware of. As an example most people that have not taken up the sport do not realize that a lung full of air from a tank of compressed air at 30’ doubles its volume at surface. So if you are working at 30’ and your tank went empty, then you returned to surface holding your breath you would seriously damage your lungs or worse. The deeper you dive the more the expansion and the greater the danger. One must always keep breathing as you come to surface or exhale if out of air as the air you have increases as you come up. Working for extended period at depth requires you to use a careful formula to avoid air in your blood or what they call the bends which can also be fatal.

     I remember in the mid 1970’s receiving a call at Wawa Detachment that there had been an alleged drowning on Hobon Lake, south of Franz, Ontario. I proceeded via a bush road to Hobon Lake with Ed Zelionis and one other District Diver whose name I can not recall at this time. Our equipment consisted of about a fourteen foot outboard boat with a 15 hp motor. The two divers; diving equipment including extra tanks. About 150” of ½” rope. A large number of javex bottles with string attached. Two diving fins which were made out of 5/8” plywood. They were approximately 2’wide and a 1’ deep, with straight sides and back, curved from the centre area down back to the sides. There was a slot cut from the front centre almost to the centre of the board where there was a hole to attach one end of the tow rope. There were hand holds cut about centre on both sides.

     The first thing one does when attending a body recovery site is to try to make an educated guess as to just where the body may be. This is done considering where the person may have entered the water, plus taking into consideration the water temperature, wind direction, current, What they may have consumed etc. and body buoyancy. Any of these things can effect where the body may be. I have seen cases of fast water where the body is recovered right at their point of entry and others where they were recovered twenty miles away. Usually one starts at the established point of entry plus and you work your way down stream or downwind from that point. I say plus because there is always that chance that your information is a little incorrect and the person entered the water upstream or upwind from where your information led you to believe.

     In the recovery at Hobon Lake, the occurrence involved a Native man who had allegedly fallen out of a canoe about half way up the Lake. We started taking into consideration where the canoe came on shore and working upwind from that point. I ran the boat. We attached one end of the rope to the back corners of the transom, placing one rope on each side. Each of the divers took one of the fins on the end of the rope and was dragged behind, using the fins to take them up or down and side to side. The visibility of the water dictated just how wide a strip we could cover on each pass. Hobon Lake is a long narrow lake. So we started at centre of the lake and worked towards the shore on the side where the canoe had been found and upwind. I dropped off Javex bottles as I proceeded south in this case. The attached string had a weight secured to the bottom which anchored the bottles in place as I dropped one. This gave me direction and reference. As I reached a point where I would return, I would similarly mark it and make a parallel return pass. We had to be careful as there were fallen trees etc, on the bottom that I could not see. A close watch was kept on the diver’s bubbles. I remember on one pass having to stop as one of the divers had been pulled into a down tree that tangled up his line. We had completed about ¾ of the selected area when the body was recovered. I remember that with all of the diving equipment, and the three of us there was no room in the boat for the deceased. We placed him in canoe and towed him down the lake to where we had left our truck. We then carried him and the canoe up to the truck and placed him in the box of the truck, wrapping him in an emergency blanket. The body was then transported out the bush road to Dubreuville; where we were met by a local undertaker. Who then transported the deceased in his hearst to Wawa. I mention this as in so many cases during my career I was either party to or actually involved in a strange method of removing a deceased. In some cases it was in the box of a pick up truck, others holding them upright on a snowmobile, tied to a stretcher then lowered out a window. In one case before snowmobiles I remember using and old army truck that had a mounted A frame and no box. We wrapped the deceased in a mattress wrapping chain around to hold everything in place. Then laid it over the front fender like a deer. There was no disrespect meant. It was simply a matter of making do with what we had. I also remember a skier who froze to death being brought out frozen in a sitting position in a helicopter. These were things we had to do.

     A question I remember being asked by people who witnessed some of the macabre situations that we were involved with was: What do you do at the end of the day? My answer was always the same. As police officers, you do what you have to do. If you are lucky and have a clear conscience. You do what everybody else does. You go home cook your supper, go for a walk or cut the grass. You enjoy your family, the same as everyone else.

     If you wish to read my previous submissions, they are all stored at the following URL: <garryspolicememories.tumblr.com>

[wordsablaze]

Twice Bitten

What if Walter had also been bitten by a second snake and the venom had just taken longer to show its effects? Set as a continuation of S01E18... enjoy!

A/N: I recently got into Scorpion (I adore it) and I end up writing many angsty drabbles since there's just so much potential (despite having other fics to write -oops) so here's the only one I currently deem acceptable :)

Special Agent Cabe Gallo is a lot of things and protective over his more or less son is one of them.

Said son, namely the one and only Walter O'Brien, had willingly allowed a venomous snake to bite him earlier that day and nothing about that was okay.

Granted, he'd factored in the chances of his team successfully making an antidote and he'd brilliantly prevented a world war but that didn't mean he was okay.

Who would be, though, after falling into a box of venomous snakes and having to make the choice of being poisoned?

So, when Paige smiles gratefully and disappears to take her exam, Cabe’s attention is solely focused on Walter.

“Hey, kid, you doing okay?” Cabe asks as gently as he can.

Walter turns back to him and nods.

Then promptly collapses.

Cabe vaguely hears himself call out Walter's name as he watches the genius’ eyes flutter shut before, along with the rest of him, disappearing from view.

He's out of the car in record time, as if they'd just tempered with his brain again, forgetting everything in favour of trying to help the man he considers his son.

He's too late to stop Walter from hitting the ground with a painful thud but he kneels beside him, practically cradling him as he gestures to the policeman currently pulling out his phone.

“Don't call an ambulance, he'll be long gone by the time it gets anywhere,” he orders, then taking Walter's temperature.

Walter shifts in his arms and mutters something about codes before slumping again, and Cabe's heart almost misses a beat before he can identify a pulse.

Dialling the Garage, he starts talking as soon as he hears the click of the phone being picked up. “Get your best medical equipment ready, Walter's just collapsed and his fever is through the roof.”

Tired swearing echoes down the phone and then Tony's firing questions at him that he tries his best to answer as he manoeuvres Walter into the passenger seat of his car but how on earth is he meant to provide a rough estimate of just how high Walter's blood pressure is currently reaching?

“Uh, you've got roughly ten minutes before it'll be too late for us to cook up an antidote in time, especially since we have no idea which snake bit him, so get moving right now!” Sylvester softly yells down the phone.

Walter groans suddenly and Cabe freezes, glancing over him and noticing the way his hands are slowly clenching.

“Hold on, kid, it won't take long.”

“G’llo?” Walter mumbles, struggling to sit up properly.

“Stay still, Walter!” Cabe all but orders, not meaning to shout but unable to help it in his concern.

Still, regret stings in his heart when Walter flinches, seemingly resigning himself to whatever situation he believes he's currently undergoing.

“Hey, Cabe, how red are his eyes?” Tony's voice rings out from the car's speakers even though Cabe definitely hadn't reconnected them; that's just how it is when he practically fathers a gang of geniuses.

“Hang on,” Cabe mutters before reaching towards Walter, who flinches again but stares directly at Cabe in unneeded defiance.

“I wasn't going to hurt you, son,” Cabe whispers, then turns his attention to Toby. “His eyes are perfectly fine, aside from them leaning towards closed most of the time.”

He hears Sylvester's voice in the background and decides to turn back to Walter, noticing the way he's still staring in anticipation.

“What's your favourite colour, kid?”

Walter blinks. “Colours are a product of sensitive cones and rods in our eyes and mostly serve to identify the surroundings around us. We cannot experience one colour without knowledge of each other option and a typically favoured colour is usually just symbolic to the absence of any others so I can't really answer that question.”

Of course, he slurs half his words and Cabe has to make some educated guesses for them but the general idea is perfectly clear and this may be the only time he's truly happy about that.

“You just don't give up, do you?”

Walter shakes his head but his skin seems to be paling at an alarming rate and there's only so long the two of them can pretend he's fine.

“Cabe, does he have a rash?” Happy's voice this time.

“Negative. But he's slowly losing consciousness, you guys had better be ready for when we get there,” he warns as nicely as he can.

“Hurts,” Walter mumbles almost too quietly. “Burns worse than coffee…”

“Don't you dare!”

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry,” Walter slurs, then repeats that for just over a solid minute in which Cabe breaks at least six traffic laws.

As soon as he's pulling up to the garage, Toby and Happy are opening the door and pulling Walter out, Toby supporting him and rambling to Happy, who runs ahead and starts yelling at Sylvester.

Cabe takes only a brief moment to appreciate how loyal the team is before sprinting into action as well, locking the car door and following the others.

Within seconds, everything is shoved off the countertop in favour of Walter being placed there. He winces at the harsh landing but Cabe's here to stop him falling off, gently steadying him as he clenches his fists, clearly in pain.

“Pupils are still dilating, cross off the options I told you!” Toby yells to nobody in particular but Sly hums affirmatively anyway.

“Where's the homogeniser?” Happy asks from upstairs.

“Second grey cabinet!” Cabe calls back, unsure of how he knows that.

He stands next to Walter and takes his hand, unfurling his fist and squeezing gently. “Come on, son, don't be taken out by a snake…”

Walter groans, his eyelids fluttering. “Ankle,” he rasps shakily.

Toby gasps. He rolls back Walter's trousers, allowing them to see two small puncture marks and a purple hue creeping up the surrounding veins.

Cabe curses to himself as Toby pokes the area next to the bite and Walter hisses in pain, his limbs circling inwards.

“It's okay, we'll fix this, you know that,” Cabe reassures him, simultaneously reassuring himself as well.

“I don’t-” Walter cuts himself off, coughing, and Toby jumps back in alarm, crashing into Happy, who just about avoids dropping the machine in her hands.

“Toby!” she glares at him, then grimaces at the sight of Walter. “That does not look good.”

“He’ll be fine,” Cabe says firmly, clenching his jaw.

As if on cue, Walter moans in pain and starts shaking, his eyebrows furrowing as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Sly!” Toby yells, running off to his desk and rooting through a drawer.

“Got it! Happy, here!”

His voice sounds so urgent, even Happy can’t linger any longer, but at least that means they’re getting somewhere.

“My fault....” Walter mumbles softly, his eyes opening ever so slightly and meeting Cabe’s concerned gaze.

“What? Son, this isn’t your fault,” Cabe whispers, the quietness of his voice surprising him.

“Should- Should’ve known…”

Cabe lets his eyes shut for a second before shaking his head, pushing Walter’s hair back even though it’s not nearly long enough to be in the way. “We’ll fix this.”

“I'm not-” Walter cries out suddenly, his back arching off the counter and his muscles going taut.

“Guys!” Cabe doesn’t take his eyes off Walter for a second, watching him carefully even as Happy declares that she needs a minute, hoping that his visible difficulty breathing doesn’t take a turn for the worse any time soon.

“Stay with me, son,” Cabe says, slightly desperate.

Walter stills so abruptly it seems surreal.

“O’Brien?” Cabe asks, then places two fingers on his neck to take his pulse. Except that his pulse isn’t there and his skin feels as warm as embers.

“Breathe, kid!” Cabe shouts.

Walter does not.

Cabe’s about to start chest compressions when Toby crashes into him, breathless. He pauses for a split second before plunging a syringe into Walter’s thigh, emptying the contents into Walter’s bloodstream before actually taking a breath.

“C’mon, c'mon!”

Walter’s breath hitches and he splutters, coughing violently.

“Oh my- Walter!” Happy catches him just as he rolls sideways, narrowly avoiding him toppling onto the floor and giving himself a concussion.

Cabe’s there in an instant, ignoring his galloping heart in favour of steadying Walter and giving Sylvester, who looks too hesitant to come any closer than a metre away, a grateful nod.

“I- I ha- hate snakes,” Walter manages, groaning.

Toby lets out a nervous laugh and pulls the empty syringe out, placing a comically bright plaster over the tiny wound. “Well, for the right fee, I can help fix that for you.”

“Seriously?” Cabe asks, but everyone knows a small comment like that was well-needed to relieve the tension.

“No more stupid plans,” Cabe orders, mock-glaring at Walter because he knows the genius will never change, no matter how many times his life hangs on the line.

Walter nods anyway and with the support of Cabe and Toby, he just about manages to sit up, his breathing evening out a little.

“Well, uh, on the good side, your chances of surviving another snake bite are statistically higher than the average person now,” Sylvester mutters.

Walter smiles weakly. “Good… to know. Thank you.”

As if gratitude had tired him out, Walter then all but collapses backwards onto Cabe, his eyelids fluttering rapidly again.

Toby holds up a hand before anyone can express concern. “It’s fine, he should be knocked out ‘til morning. Perfectly normal.”

"Nothing about this is perfectly normal," Happy mutters, either bemused or irked; nobody can quite tell.

“Right, well, I’m taking him upstairs. Thank you all,” Cabe says, nodding at the three of them in turn before frowning at Walter and choosing to simply scoop him up bridal style because one or two compromising pictures are worth quicker comfort for someone who’d essentially just died.

He can hear a camera shutter click as Walter’s head falls against his shoulder but he just ignores it, carrying the idiotic genius up the stairs and placing him on the bed, exhaling slowly.

“That was too close, kid. You’ve got to stop risking your life like that…” Cabe finds himself whispering again, glancing over Walter in both regret and relief.

Walter’s too unconscious to care but he does stir slightly, curling toward Cabe. He might not even know he’s doing it but that brings a genuine smile to Cabe’s face and so he chooses to settle beside Walter, knowing he’s not about to leave before morning.

“Sleep well,” Cabe murmurs gently.

It’s the closest he’s felt to being a father in a very long time.

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

[doctorpariahdax]

New Years Mr. Machairi.

His home was small, not as small as when he was a child, this was an actual home - not something transformed into a living space from an outhouse. It smelled better too. He had moved around - he wasn’t exactly on the run anymore...he just wasn’t used to settling in one place - he wasn’t used to having ‘neighbors’, he supposed.... When he awoke in the morning his neck was always a bit stiff, though it never hindred his movement. Across from the narrow space of his bed there was a stove, in the ground an ice box covered by a whetstone, and the door to the shop.  He always kept the door locked, even when he was just outside the room. The few people who meandered into his shop thought that was peculiar, but he was a quiet, older man, he was bound to have a few quirks. After he’d made an unsubstantial breakfast, usually having several cups of coffee throughout the day - he briefly tried to abstain from alcohol, but he ended up drinking at night - he’d dress modestly in an overshirt, suspenders, trousers and maybe a jacket if the weather was cold. He didn’t often have enough money at the end of the week to buy wood for the stove. Most of the wood he bought was for his craft. All the accidents he’d use to cook and heat his hovel at the end of the day. The store wasn’t bad, it had few shelves, nothing in the center except a rug for guests to wipe their feet on, though that was often wishful thinking. He’d mostly get older women coming in. It didn’t escape him that they’d flirt with him in their own gentle and subtle ways, never really meaning anything by it, most of them were married besides. It wasn’t as if Daud actively tried to show any interest. They understood one another in some fashion, and without a bother, the hints of flirtation would continue. Sometimes children would come in but it was always a specific type - the bookish ones, looking for something less gaudy to have as a toy, or maybe as a model as they’d try their own at whittling and carving.  His wrists started to hurt more. The joints would pop, uncomfortably. Maybe arthritis wasn’t something the Outsider’s mark protected against. Hah... No one asked about the scars on his hand or the compressive bandage he had over the palm and back of his left hand. Marks of the trade, everyone supposed. They treated him nicely. A few of the older boys and girls tried acting rowdy around his store before, he didn’t mind them so much until they tried smashing his windows. It took a very quick second thought to not blink to them just out of habit. But Daud was always careful. He had to pretend to act his age, his stature, but he was a broad looking man, people figured maybe he was a port master or a sailor before hand. Either way, no one was surprised he had the endurance to chase the shit-buggers and scare them with threats made so quietly the wind would barely hear. They didn’t bother with his shop or bugging his customers after that. Everyone’s attitude towards him changed a bit too, he wasn’t just another ‘old man’. After his hair greyed, turned silver, even though he didn’t have much of a relationship with anyone, customers and neighbors down the street would bring him things from time to time. Sometimes a whole meal, a pot of stew for him to heat up and they’d come back for the container. People he hardly spoke to started to take care of him, loiter around his shop, try to start a conversation with him...and naturally, since he didn’t have to try hard to make the conversation halt, they’d just talk about themselves, their family. People were too trusting...but it was nice. Calming. Made some part of him feel delighted and peaceful. But he wasn’t satisfied like this, not truly. While he did not look it there was a piece of his heart, in ever fiber of his muscles that wanted him to have an urgency to move, to run, to hunt. Sometimes he could calm the urge with a cup of tea the girl with the black hair would bring, or listening to the elder ladies gossip around his wooden owls and wolves every Tuesday as they’d come to buy something for their grandchildren. His life for a time was quaint. Erula was a nice young girl who didn’t talk much either and rarely came to his shop, but she brought him nice gifts, treats more than anything; a bottle of brandy, seasoned raw salmon, buttered goods so sweet they’d probably kill him in another 5 years.... His store was closed around the end of the year. People would be out and about either praising or cursing the teachings of the abbey. Erula came in on the new year. He was back in his room, the door locked, reading one of the many books he kept stacked beneath his bed. He hardly heard the knocking. When he unlocked his door and opened the store door, Erula came in with a rare smile and handed him a larger package. They sat down in his store on the counter, and underneath there were fine winter clothes, and a stamp for wood purchasing. Her father worked at a lumber mill a few towns over, near Karnaca. She told him the clothes were for him, and the stamp, hopefully it’d tide him over for a while. She had found a job around the ports. Free housing, free food, subsidized pay, but that was all right for her. She’d be working with a fair number of other women, married to the miners. She’d be hunting and cleaning the whales off the port. They’d give her leather clothes and a mask to protect her from the factory fumes.  “You’re a whaler?” He said, not so much asking... “I will be, yes, there will be training, and it’s not so much as dangerous as it used to be. There’s more safety precautions. I heard whaling was dangerous in Gristol, in Serkonos they take a few more precautions, divide the labor more.” she gave a small smile. “I’ll be gone for the better part of a year, but I just wanted to say goodbye to some of my neighbors. And, and happy new year, in advanced...just in case.” she gave a small laugh. He opened the door for her an thanked her for her kind thoughts. She stopped before going up the street. “You know, I heard they stopped calling it whaling for a time after that one Queen died?” “...Ah, Empress.” Daud nodded. “Yeah....” Erula hung her head for a while. “It was a gang right? But they called themselves ‘The Whalers’. But someone renamed the profession after that to whale butchers, or something like that. Now it’s back. I just....I don’t want to project too much, but, I really enjoy your company Mr. Machairi. My grandfather died from blood flies two years ago, and I think you would’ve liked him. That’s...that’s all.” Daud chewed the inside of his lips and gave her a small, quick, smirk. “I’m sure you’ll be safe. You can always quit and come work here if you decide you don’t have sealegs....” he held up the clothes to her with a nod. “Thank you. Safe travels, kid.” Died after three months. Daud wasn’t surprised, but the rest of the block was. What bothered Daud was how attached he became to her. Erula was like Thomas and Billie, and the reason she died was because she had all the wrong parts of Thomas and Billie; Thomas’ naivety and Billie’s impulsive fortitude. And none of the Outsider’s aid, or Daud’s for that matter. Daud was getting bored of the quaintness of his carver’s life.

[binglesbanglesbabies]

Pcos, an ovarian mass and laparoscopic surgery Part 2, operation to 4 weeks after

Part 2

I wasn’t asked to do anything special pre-surgery to make the surgery any easier, except no eating/drinking after midnight.  I still went ahead and ate lightly the day before, tried to keep it to mostly liquids so that my bowels would be smaller and more out of the way, but again, it wasn’t necessary, just what I felt would be better.

The surgery: Jan 28th

I had read so many accounts I was horrified that the laparoscopic removal would fail and I would need to be cut open hip to hip. Of course they had to have someone there to drive you home, so I brought my mother and step-father.  The pre-surgery was the same for anything else, height and weight asked/checked.  They did an ekg to check my heart was ok for surgery, ran through the 100 odd questions of allergies, a urine test to make sure I wasn’t pregnant, pertinent medical info, yada, yada, placed an iv.  Asked me if I had stomach upset/acid reflux (I do/did) so they gave me some iv pepto (their words not mine lol). Surgeon came in to “pep talk” us through the procedure. Then the interminable wait to be wheeled in to surgery.  On the way, I was stopped at a nursing station for the anesthesiologist to give me a shot (he told me what it was for, I’m sorry, it’s a blur now). In the surgical suite they literally wrapped my upper torso up like a burrito.  They told me it was to keep me warm, but I can almost guarantee it was to keep me from twitching and messing with the machinery while they were messing around in my abdomen.  Anesthetic and a few deep breaths later I was being wheeled back into my room post-surgery.

Here things get SUPER foggy.  I don’t remember much but feeling rushed out of the hospital.  It probably took a LOT longer than I feel like it did, but I was literally falling asleep on myself the whole time, so big chunks of time are missing during this period.  I barely remember getting dressed, except I had to have my mother help me, because I couldn’t bend over to put my pants and shoes on. This is one of the first times I have EVER been super happy they had a wheelchair for me, because I never would have made it out otherwise.  They warned me I may bleed, because whenever you mess with the reproductive system, it tends to kick up a fuss.  There may also be pain in your upper arms and back if any gas is not removed.  I had none.  My obgyn said if this happens, try to lay on an incline with your feet elevated, head down, to move the gas away from the diaphragm, which causes the pain.  But again, I got lucky, I had none.  And yes, they did shave my abdomen, sorry guys whoever did it, blame the pcos for the hair!

What they do during this surgery is make a few small incisions in your abdomen (for me it was three), one in the upper end of my belly button, one on each side of my abdomen, several inches above the hip.  They blow air into your abdomen to expand it so they have room to move around and then use a machine with small arms and rods with cameras and surgical tools to operate inside of you so they don’t have to cut you open too far.  It’s much less invasive and patients heal faster.  In my case they also took samples of the fluid filling the mass before removal and tissue samples of the mass, ovary, etc to check for cancer (came back negative).  They also took a look at the left ovary, it’s pretty bad, I have the pics to prove it.

For the rest of the day after surgery I was in very little pain.  My stomach was extremely shrunken in from the compression caused by the air.  I’ve never been that skinny and probably won’t again lol.  The incisions were covered in surgical glue.  I slept off and on most of the day, trying to get over the anesthetic.  The next day is when the pain kicked in.  Woah buddy.  I was heavily bruising, the swelling began, I was incapable of bending, pulling/pushing, taking a deep breath, laughing, coughing, sneezing.  You’d be surprised how much you use your abdominal muscles, whew!  I did not have any bleeding until I was using the bathroom, twisted to get the toilet paper (bad mistake!) heard/felt a tiny pop internally and then woosh, it started.  It was scary/bad enough I almost called the obgyn, but the paperwork assured me bleeding was normal, and I wasn’t bleeding enough according to the paperwork to call, so I gave it a day, and it did get lighter and lighter over the next few days and stopped.

In addition to the pain from the actual surgery site(s) my uterus decided to go into panic mode and cramp like hell for about a week.  I have NEVER been more glad for narcotics.  I took those for about 2 weeks before going back to the motrin I had been on for kidney stone pain.

What I was NOT prepared for was the sudden smack-down by my emotions.  I swear my hormones were in crazy flux. By week 2 I was crying over stupid things, moody, angry, it took about a week for all of that to clear up, ugh.  Still don’t know if that was because of the ovary removal, or because of pcos. I went through everything from crying they wouldn’t take my left ovary, to crying that it was necessary to have the right removed (which logically I know is ridiculous, because I don’t want kids (re: hereditary fun stuff I’d rather not pass on, also being ace plays into that, but that’s another story for another time).  Also, having to sit and sleep in awkward positions was horrible.  Made my back ache.  Sitting up is murder after having an ovary removed because it causes groin pain.  Laying flat all the time causes your back to ache.  I found a semi-reclined position that I sat in for over two weeks that worked for me, but my best advice is: use pillows, get creative.

Also, constipation is a thing. Your bowels will need some time to decompress, laxatives help.

Expect weird random twinges of pain. It's caused supposedly by your nerves healing. It's a thing. It's ridiculous.

Here’s some SUPER IMPORTANT information.  GIVE YOURSELF TIME TO HEAL.

I was so expecting to jump up and get gong a few days after surgery.  The first week I mostly slept.  It took me at least 2 weeks to start feeling better.  3 weeks to feel almost normal.  Over 4 weeks now and I still have pain in my groin if I sit too long.  Turning/twisting still pulls in my right side and groin and surgery sites.  Bending is STILL hard, bending to pick something up: PLEASE be careful.  Still not attempting to pick up heavy stuff.  Squatting is a little easier, but not ideal.  I still find engaging my core (abdominal muscles) to push/pull/pick up heavy items is still a challenge, and will cause squeals of pain from my surgery sites.  My abdomen swelled quite large, especially around the incisions.  Conversely, where they removed the mass sunk in.  My stomach is only now starting to “deflate”, so slowly.  For a week after surgery, I didn’t eat much, then I was ravenously hungry for about 2 weeks.  Externally the glue started to fall off almost a week after surgery.  The incisions weren’t even healed yet, caused me to get quite worried, but at the post op visit with the obgyn, she assured me this was normal, and they’d close over time.  The did leak, and were filled with white granulomas (white blood cells) which looks like pus, but isn’t.  The middle one’s glue popped and bled, filling my belly button with blood, but the glue still hasn’t entirely broken loose on that one, though by week 2 the other surgical glue had fallen off.  Check with your surgeon if you’re worried, but again, this all seems normal at this point.   At 4 weeks , the incisions are still not entirely closed up.  I have been covering them with bandages to help keep out bacteria and minimize rubbing from clothing.

PAJAMA BOTTOMS ARE YOUR FRIEND.  Also elastic waistbands.  It took me over 3 weeks to even try on a pair of jeans, and they still have the tendency to rub right across those incisions and the button to poke the incision in my belly button: not fun.  Today was the first day I didn’t feel discomfort wearing jeans while standing, sitting on the other hand...

I was also not prepared for the general weakness.  Without engaging your core, your limb strength just does’t cut it, lol.

AGAIN GIVE YOURSELF TIME TO HEAL.

Walking helps.  Seriously.  Don’t do like I did and try the whole 30 mins thing 2 weeks out of surgery.  Try 10 mins at a stretch after a couple weeks.  Then, walk 2 10 minute stretches during the course of the day.  Then 3 10 minute stretches or increase the time in the other split portions. If you feel pain, stop, don’t push yourself because you want to get better all at once.  I’m still not 100% back to normal activity, and I read it can take up to 12 weeks to be to that stage.

Tips/tricks to prepare:

If you have pets/children: if you can afford it, make sure you have a supply on hand for at least 3-4 weeks of food, litter, whatever.  Anything heavy you may need to lift is going to be impossible, especially if you don’t have help.

Try to see if you can get someone to help you if possible.  Trying to walk your dog or clean litter boxes, or care for small children is going to be very difficult for a while.

Be prepared to not be able to lift very heavy things, push/pull open heavy doors.  My discharge paperwork said not to even lift a full gallon of milk/water, and trust me, for the first week or two, it just ain’t happenin’

Listen to your body.  It will tell you when to stop.

Buy some laxatives for post-surgery constipation.

Buy some pads/panty liners for post-surgery bleeding.

Get your laundry done before surgery, you’re not going to want to do it for a while.  Wash small loads after surgery, laundry is heavy, don’t strain yourself.

Rest.

Buy some meals you don’t have to cook (think something you can slap in the microwave or oven for a few minutes and be done, or sandwich material, cereals, etc.) Standing up and cooking is going to be difficult for a while.

Be prepared to have family members (especially the males), act like you should be over it in no time. Especially with “3 tiny cuts”.  They don’t understand that there’s a lot of complicated healing going on below the surface that can’t be seen, not that that’s any excuse for being an unsupportive douche.

Just don’t push yourself to be better all at once, even if family/friends insist you should be “over it by now”.  There’s a mini tornado of healing happening inside you, let it do what it needs to.

[thevampirediariesdiary]

1.13 Children of the Damned

I remembered this episode being slower, so I thought I could write a normal length recap again...I was wrong

The episode opens in 1864, at night on a lonely section of road.  Katherine is knelt over a prone body, exercising her gift for histrionics (a gift which, according to my first boyfriend, I share).  “Please, my husband, he’s hurt!” she begs a passing coach driver.  He tells her it’s not safe to be out, she agrees, and eats him: “And that’s how it’s done!”  The previously-prone body sits up, and to my everlasting shock (this episode gets me every time), it’s Damon.  He is visibly shaken, a little bit put off, but stubbornly sticking to his guns: “I’m ready, I want you to turn me.”  “When it’s time,” Katherine tells him.

Back in the present day, Elena wakes up in Stefan’s bed.  She wishes him a good morning, he answers, “I could get used to this.”  “Rise and shine,” pipes up Damon, who has invited himself to the sleepover, as per usual, and is sitting on the end of the bed.  “Damon, please!” Elena complains; “What are you doing?” Stefan wails.  “Stop being smutty,” says Damon, nonsensically.  “Get out of here,” Stefan repeats. “If I see something I haven’t seen before, I’ll throw a dollar at it,” Damon says.  Elena and Stefan make the following hilarious faces. 

Damon brings everyone up to speed on the current plan, and ropes Elena into finding the Gilbert journal, because she’s a Gilbert and also because Stefan’s helping and she’s “taken up residency in Stefan’s bed”.  She agrees.  “Y’know, I really like this menage a threesome team thing,” says Damon, “it’s got a little bit of kink to it.”  

Later, Elena asks Stefan if he thinks Damon believes that they’re really trying to help him.  “Trust isn’t something that comes naturally to him,” Stefan says.  “You know,” Elena says, thoughtfully, “I really think that Damon believes that everything he’s done, every move he’s made, he’s done for love.  It’s twisted, but...kind of sad.”  Stefan dismisses this with the non sequitur that Damon has no regard for human life.  This is true - but it doesn’t make Elena’s point any less true.  Stefan could do with reading some Aristotle.

Alaric does his grading at school.  At first I thought this was depressing, but then I thought maybe it’s just because school is where he’s stashed his compressed air stake gun.  He hears something, grabs the gun out of a duffel in a locker, and shoots - but Stefan snatches the stake out of the air.  It’s pretty cool.  Stefan convinces Alaric to tell him what he knows, finds out that Damon killed Alaric’s wife, and tries to warn him off of revenge.  But the purpose of Stefan’s visit - the Gilbert journal - is already gone, taken by Anna, who, for a homeschooler, spends a remarkable amount of time lurking around the school.

In 1864, Giuseppe Salvatore tells his sons it’s finally time to fight back against the vampires, even though he doubts Damon’s ability to commit to a cause.  “Damon left the Confederacy on principle,” Stefan says, “it was his choice and it should be respected.”  His sweet defense of his beloved brother goes unheard: “Hard to respect a deserter,” Giuseppe says.  “I never asked for your respect,” Damon spits.  It’s more clear than ever that he’s already picked a side in the vampire-versus-human fight, and his father’s needling only pushes him further in that direction.

The next scene change is gloriously random and unexplained.  Damon is chopping a tomato, and says “My father never approved of anyone I dated, which only made me want them more, of course.  What about you?”  And who should he be talking to?

It’s JENNA, drinking wine and sitting on the counter!!  They banter back and forth about romantic histories, and Logan Fell, whose disappearance Damon asks about idly.  Jenna says he’s on vacation, not missing, and badmouths him while Damon very attentively refills her wine glass.  As evidence in the Can-Damon-Cook-Or-Not discourse, which might be purely between @septembersung and I, this scene is actually kind of neutral.  Later we’re shown Damon tasting what looks like a tomato sauce, so that’s probably the end goal, but here he has tomatoes, chopped mushrooms, green onions, garlic, black olives, and parmesan.....I dunno, I wouldn’t put all those things together...maybe the Salvatores are from a different part of Italy than I am??  Damon says hello to Elena before she enters the room, she enters, looking very confused.  Jenna cheerfully tells her they’re cooking dinner - I’m pretty sure she’s not even compelled, she’s just having fun.  Damon asks after Stefan, Elena says he’s on the way.

Cut to Damon and Elena maneuvering around one another in the kitchen.

“Don’t do that,” Elena says. “What?” says Damon, innocent.  “You know what, that move was deliberate!” “Well, yeah, I was deliberately trying to get to the - sink!”  She just rolls her eyes.  “Speaking of Stefan,” Damon says, even though they weren’t except insofar as Elena told him not to flirt-run-into her, “where is he?  He’s missing family night, which I am enjoying immensely.”  Elena again doesn’t answer, just sort of sighs - likely because despite Damon’s always-sarcastic tone, he clearly is enjoying himself, and based on her earlier comment, she clearly does feel sorry for him in his loneliness and desperation for love.  Into the silence, Damon says, “Is it real?”  “Is what real?” she asks.  “This renewed sense of brotherhood.  Can I trust him?”  “Yes, you can trust him,” Elena says.  She’s almost as awkward a liar as Stefan; they deserve each other.  Damon vamps over to her, she turns to face him and isn’t even surprised at his closeness, where only a few episodes ago she would have startled.  “Can I trust him?” Damon repeats.  “I’m wearing vervaine, Damon, it’s not going to work,” she says.  “I’m not compelling you!” says Damon, looking peeved that she would accuse him of trying:

“I just want you to answer me, honestly.”  “Of course you can,” Elena says.  Damon flashes back to 1864, begging Stefan to promise not to tell their father about Katherine.  “There was a time when I trusted him more than anyone,” he tells Elena.  “Trust breeds trust,” says Elena, “you have to give it to get it.”  “Are you lecturing me?” he asks.  “Do you need to be lectured?” she counters.  “I just want her back,” Damon says, “I’m sure you can understand that.”  “I can understand that you would do anything for her,” Elena answers, her I-learned-how-to-lie-from-Stefan voice back.  “Then you understand what I will do if anyone gets in my way,�� Damon tells her, standing close behind her and speaking into her ear.  

Barely-veiled threats out of the way, family night continues: Damon and Jeremy play video games.  Jeremy pauses the game to read a text without warning, Damon looks utterly betrayed:

They discuss girls, in particular the one Jeremy is texting, whom he admits is hot, but who can be weird.  “Hot trumps weird, trust me,” Damon says.  I literally have no idea if he is referring to Katherine, Elena, or himself.  In the next room, Jenna tells Elena, “He is ridiculously hot.”  Damon is pleased:

“Shhhh!” Elena tells her aunt, and then looks over at Damon and enunciates in tones she knows aren’t hushed enough to go unheard by vamp-hearing, “he’s an ass.”

This goes in the same category as the sweet grin and eyebrows after asking Stefan to dance in the last episode.  She’s antagonizing him, in a playful way that shows she trusts he won’t retaliate violently.  Anyway, Jenna doesn’t seem put off.  In fact...I kind of ship it??  help

Stefan finally arrives, and is lowkey HORRIFIED when Damon and Elena open the door together.  All three of them go to interrogate Jeremy about the Gilbert journal and who knows about it.  “Why is everybody so obsessed with that thing??” says Jeremy.  He has a point.  TVD loves its macguffins.  Damon and Jeremy drive to the grill to meet hot-weird Anna; Damon sees her and flashes back to 1864 again, talking to Anna’s mother Pearl while arm-in-arm with Katherine in the apothecary shop.  There’s also a great bit when Katherine says Pearl is “saving herself for Jonathan Gilbert”, and Pearl replies “I am beyond saving, we know that”.  Present-day Damon and Anna have a moderately violent heart to heart; she suggests working together, since they both want the tomb opened.  “Sorry,” says Damon, already walking away, “I work alone.”  And with good reason, because Stefan and Elena have already betrayed him, and are in the cemetery digging up Stefan’s dear old dad on information they got from Alaric.

We learn at last that the townspeople took down the vampires by dosing Stefan with vervaine; it’s the same strategy Stefan used when he dosed Caroline, and Giuseppe knew it would work because Stefan broke his promise to Damon and tried to counsel his father against fighting the vampires.

Damon confronts Stefan and Elena in the cemetery.  “I can’t let you bring her back, I’m sorry,” Stefan tells him.  “Well so am I, for thinking for even a second that I could trust you.”  “You’re not capable of trust!” Stefan says disdainfully, “the fact that you’re here means you read the journal and were planning on doing this yourself!”  “Course I was gonna do it by myself, because the only one I can count on is me,” Damon shouts, “you made sure of that years ago, Stefan.  But you...”  His voice breaks and he turns to Elena, who has the grace to look ashamed.  “You had me fooled,” Damon tells her, looking genuinely shattered.  Honest-to-goodness twinkly score music plays.  They stare at one another, Elena drops her gaze, Damon works his jaw manfully.  “So what are you gonna do now?” he asks. “Because if you try to destroy that I’ll rip her heart out.”  “You won’t kill her,” Stefan says, confident in this fact despite everything.  Damon nods almost imperceptibly; Stefan shakes his.  Damon vamps over and grabs Elena.  “I can do one better,” he says calmly, then bites his arm and force-feeds Elena his blood.  “Give me the book, Stefan, or I’m snapping her neck, and you and I will have a vampire girlfriend.”  (You and I?? you and I?????? Katherine who)  “Let her go first,” Stefan says, shaken.  “The book.”  “I’m not gonna give this to you until she’s standing next to me.”  “The problem is,” says Damon, sounding increasingly desperate, “I no longer trust that you’ll give it back!”  “You just did the one thing that ensures that I will,” Stefan says.  Damon appears to acknowledge this; just like Damon would do anything (almost) to get Katherine back, Stefan will do anything to keep Elena safe.  There are some things you can count on, things you can trust, and love is one of them.  

Stefan puts the book down between them.  Damon...appears to toy with the idea of kissing Elena’s head??

Then, very gently, he lets her go, running his fingers through her hair before guiding her towards Stefan.  She runs into his arms; they look at Damon like they can’t believe he went that far - or maybe can’t believe he didn’t go further.

There’s a brilliant bit of face acting here by Ian; he doesn’t look sorry, exactly...but he doesn’t look proud, and he certainly doesn’t look uncaring.  He looks like he did what he had to do, and he’s not happy about it, but he would do it all over again.  

He knows he gave something away when he didn’t kill her.  But I think he also knows he lost something by threatening to turn her.  She betrayed his trust, so he betrayed her right back, and like his move in the kitchen, it was completely deliberate.

Other stuff happens, I guess.  Stefan admits that Damon put his faith in him, and he destroyed that, so it is his fault.  Elena tells him he didn’t do anything wrong.  I don’t agree with her, but whatever.  Stefan wanders downstairs to get her some aspirin, Jenna tries to flex her legal-guardian muscles and tells him he’s not staying the night, and to keep the door open.  I’d be more impressed if we hadn’t already been told Elena’s taken up residency in Stefan’s bed.  But when Stefan goes back upstairs, Elena’s gone - stolen away by the friend Jeremy invited over, Anna. 

Eyebrow Watch: domestic edition

previous episode  // next episode

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Fear of the Subpar” (Rated NC17)

Kurt is having doubts about his manuscript. Sebastian helps him overcome those doubts the way he does best - with a heart to heart talk, a lot of positive affirmations ... and sex afterwards. (2134 words)

So, after I discovered that a couple of people described my work as subpar, and apparently the reason why they no longer search the Kurtbastian tag on AO3, I decided to take that to task using one of my favorite writers as my mouthpiece - Kurt from Deliver Me. Call me petty, but my work is my outlet. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it, but you also don't have to be rude about it. This comes somewhere in the middle of Special Delivery, but that doesn't really matter so much. Not knowing where this falls in the timeline really doesn't make this confusing or anything. Also, as a side note, I have disabled anonymous reviews for this one-shot on AO3 and FF.net - not for me, but for you. If you feel the need to be critical of or mean about my work, you should have the balls to sign your name to it. So I'm just helping you along. But, you know, it's always better to build someone up than to tear them down. Remember that any time you're moved to comment on someone's writing. Your karma will thank you <3

Dedicated to @kurtbastianalways

Read on AO3.

“Whatcha got there?” Sebastian set two mugs of freshly brewed coffee on the coffee table and flopped down beside Kurt on the sofa. It was raining outside, and a good, torrential, New York rain storm went perfectly with a mug of steaming hot coffee … and sex. All day sex. Dirty couch sex (which Sebastian was hoping for), and slow, passionate, under-the-covers sex (which they could certainly get to later). But in the middle of making coffee, Sebastian had gotten struck by a case of domesticity, and ended up cleaning the kitchen while Kurt worked on his manuscript. When Sebastian returned to the living room (shaking his head out how much of a homebody he’d become), Kurt did have a manuscript on his lap, but it wasn’t his. This one was thinner, the font was wrong, and there were red notations scrawled all over it.

Kurt always did edits on his own manuscript in blue pen, and with the aid of a yellow highlighter.

“It’s a manuscript I started reviewing a long time ago and never got the chance to finish.” Kurt hummed when he sniffed in and caught a whiff of mocha sitting in front of him, but he was too caught up in reading that he didn’t put down his pen to reach for it.

“I thought you were going to put your job on pause for a while and focus on your own book?” Sebastian slid an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and sat back against the cushions, dragging Kurt with him, trying his best to pull Kurt away from other people’s work that shouldn’t matter to him as much anymore.

“I know,” Kurt said, resting his head on Sebastian’s chest, but bringing the manuscript with him. “And I am, I promise, but … I don’t know. I feel like I owe it to some of these people.” Kurt tilted his head to look up at his boyfriend. “You know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, gorgeous. I know how you feel.” Sebastian kissed Kurt’s forehead. If Sebastian were in Kurt’s shoes, he’d say, “Fuck everybody else! This is my time!” but he had no reason to argue with Kurt over this. They were both dealing with their pasts in their own ways. And even though Sebastian wished that Kurt’s ghosts would go away once and for all and leave him in peace, he had no right to criticize. “So, tell me, is it any good? Is this one the “hidden treasure” you search for? The “diamond in the rough”?”

Kurt’s eyes returned to the manuscript. He laughed sheepishly. “Nope. Not even close.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s …” Kurt picked through the pages, trying to find words to describe it “… I don’t know. It’s passable. Subpar, I guess, is the word I’m looking for? I try not to be too harsh with my criticism, but it’s just … it’s lazy writing.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s really trope heavy. A lot of smaller publishing houses are fine with that – you know, strictly for ebook publication. But for ink and paper, it’s not worth the money. There’s a ton of exposition in the first paragraph.” Kurt one-handedly flipped a few pages, searching for examples to back him up. “They didn’t take the time to build a world. They just took the entire setting, condensed it into four lines, and then slapped it at the beginning of the story. I could forgive that maybe. It’s an anthology of short stories, so each installment is going to be compressed to a degree. But then we have repeating dialogue – three whole instances of Look, I’m not an idiot in three out of six stories, and by a character so similar, they’re interchangeable. We get it already! You’re not an idiot! Say something else!”

Sebastian chuckled at the way his boyfriend became passionate over things; anything, not just his work – cooking, art, musicals, America’s Next Top Model ...

… Sebastian …

“And it rushes,” Kurt continued, flipping more pages. Sebastian felt guilty for not paying attention to the parts of the manuscript that Kurt so fastidiously hunted down to show him, but Sebastian was too focused on Kurt’s head on his chest to concentrate on much else, the warmth of Kurt’s cheek seeping through the cotton of his t-shirt, the way Kurt shifted up, then snuggled into the softer rises of Sebastian’s relaxed pecs. “Like … in this one - we’ve got some decent build-up, we get to the meat of the story here, I finally become the teeniest bit interested, and then boom. Just a straight rush downhill. They wanted to get to the H.E.A. …”

“The H-E-what now?”

“The happily ever after.”

“Ah. Continue.”

“They wanted to get to it so quickly that any chance they had to give the characters depth or purpose or true conflict goes straight out the window. So by the time person A tells person B I love you, not only does it not sound authentic, I’m not even invested. I couldn’t seriously care less if these two get together. It’s like they’re assuming the audience knows something that they haven’t bothered to show us. I’m all for not leading readers by the hand, but clues would be nice, maybe a little exposition. A satisfying ending doesn’t matter worth snot if everything else is blasé.” Kurt closed the manuscript and sighed heavily, sinking not only deeper into the sofa, but inside himself.

“Okay, those are fair points ...” Sebastian had been rubbing a hand up and down Kurt’s back, and felt tension knotting Kurt’s spine, winding tighter as Kurt spoke. It radiated off his body. “But why do you seem so upset over it? It’s almost like you’re taking it personally. This isn’t your manuscript.”

Kurt laid a hand over the work as if to protect it. “The person who sent this in probably didn’t realize it had these flaws. They didn’t have an editor, didn’t get it proofread. This could be the best work they could turn out, and they were proud of it. Proud enough to send it in. Except, it’s not up to the caliber of being published.”

“So …?”

“So, that’s my opinion. It’s an educated opinion, one that comes from years of experience. And I get paid for that opinion. But it’s not everyone’s opinion. There’s no industry standard - not really. What I do is very subjective. I’ve seen books that I would have personally never approved get published, and become famous. What if all of those things I feel about this work are what people are going to think when they read my book? I mean, it’s my first work officially. I want everyone to love it, but I know that’s not realistic. You know what they say about those who can’t do, teach? My job so far has been to critique other people’s work, but I don’t take criticism all that well. That’s probably why I’ve been hiding behind other people’s names for so long.”

Sebastian wrapped an arm around Kurt’s body and gave him a comforting squeeze. “That definitely is a lot to think about.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed. “And, unfortunately, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I happen to think that your work is incredible. And yeah, there are people who aren’t going to like it, but you can’t worry about them. You can’t please everybody. You became a writer for you and no one else. Recognition is nice, and you deserve all the recognition in the world. But in the end, you have to be proud of what you’ve put down on paper. What you attach your name to. That’s all that matters.”

Kurt nodded. He knew Sebastian would say something along those lines. And Kurt agreed that it was true. But he’d hoped that it would feel a little more reassuring. Give it time, he said to himself. Kurt had spent so much of his life being judged by others. At one point, his safety relied on their opinions of him. Now he had to start doing for himself, pleasing himself.

And, possibly, one other person.

“And what about you?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian smirked. He held Kurt hard against him, breathing in when Kurt breathed, getting as close to Kurt as he could. “You please me just fine, gorgeous.”

“I mean, my writing!” Kurt chuckled. “What do you think about my writing?”

“It moves me, Kurt,” Sebastian admitted. “The same way you move me. Your words weave a certain magic. I’ve never read anything like it.” Sebastian remembered the first time he’d read Kurt’s manuscript – the fear it invoked, the pain. It tightened around Sebastian’s heart, tormented him in his sleep, forced him out of a warm bed in the middle of the night and brought him to Kurt’s front door. Nothing in the world has ever touched him the same way. “Now, I may be a little biased, but you are, by far, my favorite author.”

Kurt smiled at him, eyes bright. “Really?”

“Absolutely. James Patterson, Michael Crichton, Danielle Steel – not a single one of them has a thing on you.”

“What about J. K. Rowling?”

“Well …” Sebastian hemmed and hawed, but only for Kurt’s benefit “… she comes close, but no. No cigar. But that’s just my humble opinion.”

“And don’t forget, it might be biased.”

“A little bit. But that doesn’t mean I’m pulling your leg. Your work is amazing, Kurt. Really. And the world deserves to see it.” Sebastian put his hand over Kurt’s where it rested on the manuscript. “You said you feel like you owe it to the writer of this manuscript to read it, but you really don’t. The only person you owe anything to is yourself.”

“And what do I owe myself?”

“Time,” Sebastian said, the word catching in his throat, swelling with gravity. “Patience. Forgiveness.”

Kurt turned his head into Sebastian’s chest and laid a kiss on the spot above Sebastian’s heart – Kurt’s favorite place by far on Sebastian’s body. It’s where Kurt felt the most connected to Sebastian. He felt Sebastian’s heart beating, and knew that a part of it beat for him. “Thank you.”

“For what, gorgeous?”

“For making me feel better.”

“I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Well, thank you for telling me the truth.”

“You’re very welcome.”

They sat there together in silence, listening to the rain beat against the window. The sound became stronger as the sky grew greyer. Lightning flashed above the building across the way, and thunder shook the sky. A smile blossomed on Sebastian’s face. In the midst of all this heavy talk, Sebastian had nearly forgotten his plans for the day. Now would be a good time to implement them. “But, you know, I think I know something else that might make you feel better.” Sebastian tugged on Kurt’s shirt, dislodging it from his jeans, and slid his hand underneath. The first touch of Kurt’s skin was always Sebastian’s favorite - especially since Sebastian was the only person who got the honor - though every touch after tied for a close second.

“Really?” Kurt sat up a hair, untucking the front of his shirt to help Sebastian along. “And what’s that?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you ready to ditch this manuscript and get a little naked?” Sebastian gave the papers lying on his abs a flick.

“A little naked?” Kurt asked, his eyebrow arching up.

“Okay, maybe a lot naked,” Sebastian said, his hand creeping down to grab Kurt’s ass.

Kurt jumped at that and laughed. He still had a bunch of work on his own manuscript to finish - work that he’d been avoiding - but he had to concede to Sebastian’s superior plan. A day like today wasn’t made for sulking … or working. It was made for making love, as many times as humanly possible.

“Why not?” Kurt smiled, his eyes going over Sebastian’s reclined body once like he was already pulling off Sebastian’s t-shirt, already unbuttoning his fly. He stood, even though that meant dislodging the hand from his right cheek, but Kurt reasoned that it would feel much nicer without denim between them. “I’ll just leave this …” He went to drop the manuscript on the coffee table, but Sebastian intercepted it.

“No, no, no. Allow me.” Sebastian stood, too, following his boyfriend’s lead. Kurt performed a flirty spin and sashayed away towards the bedroom. So, slow, passionate, under-the-covers sex it was.

Sebastian could roll with that.

He waited until Kurt slipped through the door to their bedroom. Then he diverted to the kitchen and tossed the manuscript in the recycle bin. “There you go,” he said, covering it with toilet paper rolls and shredded mail to hide it. “Right where you belong.”

[not-a-space-alien]

Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 10: Feast

Art by @petimetrek (link for bigger version cause tumblr compresses it)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Series masterpost 

On AO3

Crowley excused himself from the clean-up job halfway through and did not return.  Aziraphale thought he had probably found some excuse to get distracted and stay inside the shop, since he had been complaining that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him use miracles to get most of it done.

When the job was finally finished, everyone joined him to go back inside, dirty and sweaty.  As soon as he opened the door, a delicious scent wafting through the air hit his nose.

Aziraphale went upstairs and popped his head into the kitchen in the adjacent flat to see Oryss at the hob stirring an enormous pot.  Crowley was there too, tossing a salad, as well as an angel who was balancing two trays of dinner rolls on his arms and seemed to be listening to some directions Oryss was giving him.

“What’s this?” said Aziraphale.

“Angel!” said Crowley. “Oryss wanted to cook dinner for everyone tonight.  Thought it would be nice to celebrate and all that.  Wouldn’t do to leave her in the kitchen all by herself with all these mouths to feed.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “That’s wonderful.”

“My lord,” said Oryss shyly, and with her gesture Aziraphale realized he was in the way.  He stepped to the side, and Adramelech came into the kitchen past him carrying an enormous bag of potatoes, which he set about washing off.

“Ah, anything I can do to help, then?” he said.

“You could take a bath,” said Crowley, gesturing with the salad fork.  “You’re filthier than those potatoes.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, drawing a nice hot bath and finding it so relaxing that he accidentally fell asleep in the tub.  He was only woken by Botis’s concerned queries as to his wellbeing.

It was starting to get late by the time he came out, and they were still working in the kitchen. There was only one oven, and he suspected they must be cheating judging by the amount of food coming out.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked Crowley, who was rolling croissants on a tray.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low hiss.  “You shouldn’t help cook.  You’re the lord; it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh,” said a disappointed Aziraphale, who had been picturing a small accident in which Crowley smudged something sweet on his face and Aziraphale was responsible for cleaning it off, perhaps with his tongue.

He shuffled out of the kitchen, not feeling much like a lord of anything.  He eventually lost himself in a book in his study, although he found it especially difficult to concentrate when they started dragging furniture around.

When it began to grow dark, Botis appeared in the doorway, still fully dressed in his armor.  He saluted.  “Lord, I was sent to inform you dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, sliding his chair back, quite hungry by now.

He followed Botis into the flat next door.  The dining room had not been big enough to hold such an enormous banquet table or this many people, he was sure.  Angels and demons lined the table and the walls. The demons all cheered when he came in.

“Goodness,” he said to Botis quietly.  “What are they cheering me for?”

“Our lord has kept us alive and safely seen us through a battle with an archdemon,” Botis answered him.

“I didn’t really do anything, though.”

“Lord,” said Botis, directly into his ear, pushing him towards the head of the table, “it is a rule of thumb that one never gets anywhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth without taking credit for things they are not responsible for.  Let them celebrate.”

He noticed with astonishment that everyone was here.  The entire garrison of angels had gathered alongside his demons, and they were mingling.  Rosia and Rava were feeding each other pieces of fruit, and the angel and demon Aziraphale had caught in the closet before were getting just a bit too handsy for public view.  Adramelech was trying to explain something about the food to the angel next to him, who listened with the bare minimum of polite interest, more focused on the turkey leg that was just barely out of reach now that someone had moved the tray.  Even Victoria, who had been in the habit of staying relatively aloof, was there in the kitchen doorway helping Oryss bring in the remainder of the food.  Maltha and Beth were squished together in one chair, their words lost in the general buzz of conversation, but looking very content with each other.  Noah was sitting on Adam’s lap, drinking what Aziraphale sincerely hoped was apple juice out of a wine glass.  And Michael was in the corner, holding Angelo’s hand, and for once nobody looked nervous around him.

And there was Crowley, his beloved demon, smiling at him with those glittering yellow eyes, in the seat next to the head of the table. He felt his heart swelling.

He took his seat and watched as the last few trays of food came out. The table was, if anything, too small. It reminded Aziraphale of a feast he had been to in ancient Greece.  It was the only thing he had been to that rivaled this atmosphere.  

A few years ago—even a few weeks ago—he would never have believed this were possible.  And here they were.

“That’s everything,” Oryss said, nudging a wine bottle aside to make room for a bowl of rolls.

“Let’s give our compliments to the chef, everyone,” said Aziraphale, and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Oryss gave a slightly embarrassed bow.

As everyone scooched their chairs in and piled food onto their plates or poured drinks, Aziraphale felt like it would be proper for him to say something.  He tapped a fork on his wine glass until everyone settled down, looking at him expectantly.

It was only then that he realized he did not know what to say.   “Ahm…  A toast!”

He lifted his glass, and all the angels and demons followed suit.  “A toast to…” he continued.  “To, ahm…”

He looked over at Crowley, who had amusement dancing in his yellow eyes.  Aziraphale knew then what he wanted to toast.

“To love,” he said.

Everyone murmured low approvals, tapping their glasses against each other, and drinking.

Aziraphale regained his seat, preparing to tuck in.

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Aren’t we going to say grace?”

The room fell coldly silent. Aziraphale had no idea what in Michael’s fever-brained mind would have made him think that was an appropriate suggestion.  Even Victoria was cringing, waiting for the reactions of the demons in the room.

“Actually…” said Oryss. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Murmurs and whispers peppered the room.

“If the angels are used to saying grace before they take their meals,” said Adramelech, “then we can suffer through it for their sake.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale.

“Why not?” said Abraxas. “It’s merely a formality.  It’s not like He actually pays attention to it.”

Nobody made any objections.

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale cautiously.  “Let’s join hands.”

Hands reached out and found each other, from beside one another, across the table, across the aisle, occult and ethereal beings partaking of a gesture that had probably never occurred before in history.  Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in one and a second angel’s in the other.

Aziraphale bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale lifted his head to look at the room

Everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Except Maltha.  She was holding Beth’s hand, but she had flatly refused to take the hand of the angel next to her, and she was staring straight into Aziraphale challengingly.

Aziraphale gave her a pleading look.

He felt a tentacle in his brain as Maltha inserted her thought directly into his ears without speaking.  I’m the only one here who looked God Himself in the eye as I fell, and I will die before I bow to Him even one more time.  You’ll be waiting a very long time indeed unless you proceed without me.

Aziraphale looked at the faces of the lesser demons around him, heads bowed in respect for someone who had rejected them, and he could sense that perhaps they had wanted to do this all along, but like Oryss approaching Michael, they had been too scared and needed his help.

But Maltha.  She was too proud.  That was just who she was.

Aziraphale nodded at her. That’s fair.

He bowed his head once more and began.  “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”

The generic grace prayer seemed ill-fitting for this group. But what he really wanted to say, he could never say aloud in this company.  So he started a separate prayer in his head, sincerely, that maybe God would listen to.

Lord God, I know I cannot question your ineffable judgement.

“…which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Be present at our table, Lord.”

But I care very much for those around the table with me here now.  They are kind and merciful and so good.  I do not know why you would cast them out…

“Be here and everywhere adored.  These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee.”

...But perhaps you could find it somewhere, in your infinite mercy and grace, to forgive them—forgive us all—and to bless this strange gathering.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.  In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful.  Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Angels rarely pray directly to God, because they simply get their directions from their supervisors and few of them have anything important enough that they would dare speak to God about. And God does not really speak to one, per se.  When He wants to communicate with someone, He puts His words directly into the recipient’s brain, similar to what Maltha had just done, except He does not put words in, because that would not be ineffable enough.  When one hears from God, they more are left with a sort of impression that they just suddenly remember hearing Him speak a few seconds ago, and are now left with whatever thoughts and feelings they would spawn from hearing that, since He presses it directly onto their brain in a way that’s hard to describe.

And the feelings Aziraphale had as soon as he finished his Amen were associated with the following message God sent to answer his prayer:

Fuck off, you disgusting little creature.

Aziraphale’s hand clamped on Crowley’s, so hard Crowley flinched.  Whatever opportunity there might have been to say something to the group as a whole after the prayer was lost as the meal finally began amid the clinking of silverware and the buzz of conversation.

“Angel, are you all right?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes roved the dining hall, then finally came to rest on Crowley, bewildered. Crowley’s serpentine eyes grew serious with concern.  “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…”

“Did…”  Crowley returned his grip just as fiercely.  “Did He answer you?”

It was a mistake. Just a mistake.  He had gotten a message intended for somebody else.  Haha.  Of course God wouldn’t have said something like that to Aziraphale.  Not to him. He was an angel. That kind of talk was only reserved for demons.

Right?

“Angel?  Talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed.  A demon nearby put down their silverware and looked at him with concern.

“He said something I rather did not expect,” said Aziraphale quietly.  “But I would prefer not to share it.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again.  “Okay.”

“Now why don’t we enjoy this delicious meal our friends have prepared for us?” said Aziraphale.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang.

Aziraphale’s phone never rang.  His number was not really a secret, but there were not many people who wanted to get ahold of him.  He had thought all of them were here with him.

He still had on the generic ringtone, and its beeping was barely audible in the loud room, but it was insistent.  He felt his stomach sinking deeper with each ring, as though the call would be from God himself.

“Angel, you’re phone’s ringing,” said Crowley.

“I-I’d better take this.  Please continue on without me,” said Aziraphale. He stood and wobbled out of the room unsurely, holding the vibrating device in his hand.

Crowley watched him go, concern growing in the pit of his stomach.  In his absence, Crowley made do with sucking down the hors-d’oeuvres.

Relax, he told himself.  Just relax.

Crowley had no idea what response to his prayer Aziraphale could have gotten to unsettle him, but surely it couldn’t have been that bad, right?  Otherwise God would have smitten them all by now.  Surely it was just something that startled him.  And that phone call could be from anyone.  A human customer, even.  There was nothing to worry about.

He should just enjoy the meal.  Everyone seemed to be having a good time already.  He took a breath and steadied his nerves, determined not to be shaken so easily.  He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass, and began to drink it, resolved to enjoy the evening if it killed him.

Botis appeared in Aziraphale’s seat.

“Botis,” said Crowley, eyeing him strangely.  “You can take your armor off, you know.”

“I’d rather keep it on, sir,” said Botis.  “I’m going to keep watch after I’ve eaten.”

“….all right,” said Crowley, thinking it was rather unnecessary, but knowing personal defense of his lord seemed to be Botis’s hobby.  And with that phone call, who knows, it might be a good idea…

“Sir,” said Botis, colouring.  “I…um, I didn’t recognize you until I saw you in your armor.  With your staff.”

“Recognize me?”

“The healer.  The only healer besides Maltha who fell.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to flush red.  He had never been treated very well once other demons found out he was a healer. “What’s your point?”

Botis ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword.  “I…I was among the group of angels who pressured you to join the rebellion in Heaven.”

A shockwave of recognition flashed through Crowley.  Take away the horns…Yes, he had known him as an angel.

“You must hate me,” said Botis.  “I’m so, so sorry.  If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have done it.  We were all young and stupid.”

Botis had a look of genuine sorrow and distress on his face.  Crowley could tell it had been eating at him.

He put a hand on his shoulder.  “Botis, that is quite literally ancient history.  I think you’ve redeemed yourself by now.  The way you threw yourself in front of me and Aziraphale when you thought we would have to fight Agares is plenty.”

Botis’s face dissolved into relief and happiness, but he suppressed it with a serious expression soon enough.  “Thank you, sir.  I’m just doing my duty.”

“Of course you are.  Now, why don’t you get smashed while you have the opportunity?”

Botis saluted and marched off.

Aziraphale did not come back for a worrying long time.  Crowley sipped his wine slowly, tension building in his stomach.  Victoria caught his eye, staring at him from down the long table.

Crowley broke eye contact and went back to his wine, but Victoria got up and navigated the crowded space to him anyway.

“Is everything all right, Crowley?” she said, slipping into Aziraphale’s empty seat.  “You look nervous.”

“Aziraphale got a phone call,” he said.

“Oh,” said Victoria, “is that all? For a minute I thought you were concerned Michael was going to start a fight.”

Crowley looked over at Michael. He could not help but notice the archangel was not eating anything and was starting to look like he was enjoying the meal progressively less and less. Crowley hadn’t been concerned about that before Victoria mentioned it, but he was now.

“I wanted to reassure you I’m committed to making sure everything stays peaceful,” said Victoria.

Crowley nodded. “Thanks.”

Victoria’s fingers idly reached out for a handful of grapes on the table.  “So why is it so concerning that Aziraphale got a phone call? Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know.  Not many people have his number.  I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

“Intuition?”

He shook his head, then occupied himself with emptying his wine glass to avoid meeting the power’s eye. She had taken another handful of grapes by the time he set it back down.  “Hey, Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“What for?”

“For saving my life when Kabata attacked us. When we showed up in Heaven and you took me back down and got Raphael to treat me.”

“Oh, that?  It already feels so long ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

Crowley peered into his empty wine glass, swirling the remnants on the bottom.  “To be honest, Victoria, when I opened the portal to get into Heaven, I didn’t expect anyone to save me.  I figured the odds of anyone in Heaven being both willing and able to treat a demon’s injuries and being available right then and there were low enough.  And that was assuming the person at the gate cared enough about me to try and keep me alive, if they didn’t actively kill me first.  When I saw you come out, I half expected you to take Aziraphale off me and then leave me there to die on Heaven’s doorstep.”

Victoria flushed with embarrassment.  “Crowley, you really think I’d do that to you?”

He did not dare look up to see her expression.  “It wouldn’t be the first time Heaven’s gates closed on me when I needed help.”

“You thought Heaven would let you die, but you still went there?”

Crowley looked away, pretending like he was trying to find a refill for his wine glass.  “I knew you’d save Aziraphale.  He may not be very popular, but he’s still an angel.  I figured at least one of us could survive the attack.”

Crowley took the ensuing silence as a cue that he should finally look up at her.  He was shocked to find that her eyes were watering.

“Crowley, I had no idea demons were capable of such selflessness.”

He could have been insulted by it, but he knew she had meant it as a great compliment.  He did not know how to respond.  So he lifted his wine glass and tipped it to get at the leftovers on the bottom.

“Crowley, you are a creature of great honour and nobleness,” said Victoria, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad that I could get to know you.  I’d save your life again in a heartbeat.”

Crowley looked down at her hand; it took a moment to realize she wanted him to shake it.  He took it, slightly embarrassed, not feeling very noble at all.  “Erm, thanks.”

After the handshake was over, they both just sat there, slightly awkward.  Victoria sniffled and pushed her chair back.  “Well, I’d better—I’d—Look, your friend wants to talk to you.”

He saw that Maltha was motioning to him to come over.  

“I’d better go see what she wants.  Thanks, Victoria.”

“Hey, um, Crowley?”

He turned back towards the angel.

Victoria refused to meet his eyes.  “Your friend. Beth.”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell her it’s orange?”

“What is?”

“My favourite colour.”

He smiled.  “All right, Victoria.”

Crowley navigated his way through the packed room until he could wheedle his way into the space in front of the archdemon.  “What is it?”

“I was just talking to Beth,” said Maltha.

“Maltha told me that all demons have an animal form,” said Beth.

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. “Nobody’s really sure why, it just kind of works out that way.”

Maltha downed an entire glass of wine in one go and then continued, “Yes, and I told her—”

“I asked her what your form was—” Beth slurred.

“But I didn’t tell her—”

“She made me guess—”

“She thought—”

“Shh, babe, I want to tell him!” said Beth, slapping Maltha’s arm.

It was at this point that Crowley noticed the gaggle of empty wine glasses surrounding the pair and their flushed faces.  “Are you two drunk already?”

“Yes,” said Maltha, while Beth simultaneously answered, “No.”

“How are you finding the wine?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Crowley,” said Maltha as more wine appeared in her glass.  “Of all the things I put effort into learning about in my time on this plant.  Planet.  Alcohol was not one of them despite my fondness for it. Once I tried to get drunk off of sparkling grape juice.  Beth had to explain to me why it wouldn’t work.  That’s why I keep her around.”

“Awww, babe,” said Beth as Maltha shook her with drunken revelry.

“My point is I don’t know good wine from grape juice,” said Maltha.  “Anyway, that’s not important.  I made her guess what your animal was—”

“I thought you were a cat,” said Beth between bouts of laughter.

“A cat?” Crowley exclaimed. “No, no, no.  If anyone were a cat, it would have to be Abraxas, wouldn’t it?”

Maltha sloshed wine out of the glass in her hand as she leaned in closer to Crowley.  “Abraxas thinks I don’t know what her animal form is, but I do.”

“Erm…” said Crowley. The two of them apparently found it totally hysterical, because they were having trouble breathing between fits of giggling. Abraxas was across the room letting Mittens eat turkey off her plate, too far away to hear them.

“Tell him,” said Beth.

“A mouse,” said Maltha in a strangulated voice.  “She’s a mouse.”

“What?  No!” said Crowley.

Maltha nodded and waved her wine glass.  Beth had been trying to give her a refill and missed.

“No wonder her cats like her so much,” wheezed Maltha.  “They’re probably waiting for her to turn her back so they can eat her.”

“And I wanted to ask you,” said Beth.  “Crowley, since you’re a snake—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“Have you ever eaten a mouse?”

“Well of course!” said Crowley, a tad irritated.  “I had to eat while I was in a snake’s body, didn’t I?  Couldn’t exactly prepare a sandwich with no hands, could I?”

“No, no, I meant while you were in a human body.  You suppress those reptilian instincts all the way?”

Crowley grabbed the wine bottle out of Beth’s hand as she spoke and took a swig from it.  “I’m not answering that.”

“You did, didn’t you!” said Beth, unimaginably delighted.  

“I’m not answering that.”

“Hey, Crowley, are you all right?” said Maltha.

“Your girlfriend is harassing me.”

“No, seriously, though. You look a little…”  One of Maltha’s red pupils drifted off to the side drunkenly while the other remained fixed on Crowley.  “On edge?”

Crowley set the wine bottle down.  “Maltha, you’re the only one in this room who can protect us, but you’ve gotten too drunk to walk straight.  I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Maltha put a hand on his arm.  “Crowley, I can sober up at the drop of a hat.”

Crowley flushed with embarrassment; he had nearly forgotten about that.

“Nobody can get in at us.  And I’m sure by now word of Agares’s death will have spread, and that will make everyone think twice about coming after us.  I wouldn’t be surprised if even more came over to our side because of it.  Nobody is going to attack us so quickly after that. We’re as safe as we can be right now. Relax.  Enjoy yourself.  You’re always so tense.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that Aziraphale got a phone call.”

“Why is that a problem? Expecting trouble?”

“Only because it always seems to chase me.”

Maltha agreed that was fair enough and left him in his tension.  Beth also remarked about Michael’s apparent decline with concern, which did not help his nerves at all.

As time passed and the food disappeared, the wine bottles emptied and refilled multiple times, and the drunken merriment climbed higher and higher.  At one point, when there was enough space on the table, some board games came out of the closet and appeared amidst the food, and those nearest entered an intense competition.  Maltha and Beth decided to play as a team, but they wanted to use the dog token, which one of Michael’s angels had.  The angel said he would only give up the dog in exchange for the hat token, but Adramelech had the hat piece and wasn’t willing to part with it no matter what. Maltha ordered him to give it to her on her authority as an archdemon, but Adramelech said the sacred ritual of dibs was of utmost important on Earth and superseded even Hell’s authority. Maltha looked taken aback and believed him, and Beth couldn’t explain anything to her because she was laughing too hard.  The Monopoly game started considerably later than the game of Sorry! across the table, which was already in full swing with several murderous eliminations in the bag by the time someone had purchased their first property.

Crowley found himself unable to take Maltha’s advice and let himself relax.  Michael got up halfway through the festivities and exited briskly, Angelo chasing after him a minute later.  And Crowley kept his eye on the door, hoping Aziraphale would come back soon and tell him the call had just been a wrong number or something.

Aziraphale moved to the bedroom to answer the call, but it was too late and it went to voicemail.  The caller did not leave a message, but his phone vibrated in his hand with a call from the same number a few seconds later. He had to steady himself for a few deep breaths before flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice.  He knew that voice.  He had taken orders from it.

“Camael.”

There was an animalistic hissing on the other end of the line.  “Do not call me that.”

“Kabata, then.”

There was silence, as though he hadn’t expected getting Aziraphale to use his preferred name would be so easy.  Aziraphale felt like he wanted to catch up.  Haven’t spoken in a while.  How’s it been?  How’s life as a demon?  But he thought that it would be inappropriate.

“I know you have the antichrist,” said Kabata.

“I’m not denying that I do.”

Another pause. Perhaps Kabata was struggling because he was still new at being evil.

“Give him to me.”

Aziraphale actually had to stifle a laugh.  “No, I’m afraid you won’t get him that easily.”

“What happened the last time we met wasn’t personal, Aziraphale.”

“‘What happened’?  You mean when you tried to murder me and Crowley?”

Another hesitation. “Yes.  But I don’t have any interest in getting revenge on you, Aziraphale. I want the throne.  Now that Agares and her crew aren’t lurking about, you and I can talk about it.”

Aziraphale choked back laughter again.  “Kabata, you just fell.  Doesn’t that seem a bit…ambitious?  You’re competing with archdemons who have served under Satan for millennia.”

“I’m aware,” snarled Kabata. “Which is why I need the antichrist. If I can ignite the apocalypse with his son, Satan’s forces will have no choice but to recognize me.”

“You’re seriously trying to convince me to just give him to you?  Surely you must know that won’t work.”

“Well, I’m not just asking for him,” said Kabata.  “I’m offering you a deal.”

“…a deal?”

“You can be my second in command in Hell.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll let you keep all your demons.  Unharmed. Just as they are now.  I’ll personally guarantee Crowley’s safety against any of those still thirsty for his blood after what he did.  I’ll even let you keep any of those angels who strike your fancy.”

Aziraphale considered it. Just for a moment.  He wasn’t proud of that.

“Ahh…” said Kabata. “I see I’ve struck a chord.  I know what it is you want.”

“No, Kabata,” he said.  

“I’m not going to hurt Noah. I’m going to give him power. Aziraphale, there’s so much we could gain from this.”

“I will not ever participate in any plan that involves the destruction of Creation, do you understand?” Aziraphale shouted.  “That’s always been the point.”

“Please reconsider.”

“Kabata,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am currently sitting in a building laced with occult sigils that bar your entry, surrounded by a legion of Heaven’s finest warriors, including the archangel Michael—who I might add has been raring to kill an archdemon for weeks now—as well as a horde of demons that would die fulfilling my commands if I needed them to, and the archdemon who almost bested Satan for his throne while he was still alive. And you are alone, newly fallen, and have made enemies of everyone powerful in Hell already since you’re competing for the throne.  I very much doubt you have any ace up your sleeve.  If you want the new antichrist so badly, you are free to come and try to take him.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath after this outburst.  Kabata was silent.

“Even when I had authority over you, you never did as you were told, Aziraphale,” said Kabata’s voice, which seemed to ooze out of the telephone and prick his neck with a slimy tendril.  “And when you’re at your lowest moment, when you’re asking yourself why things turned out this way for you, I want you to remember it’s because you do not do as you are told.”

The line went dead. Aziraphale kept the phone at his ear for a few extra moments, his mind racing.

He snapped it shut, wishing he had not gotten quite so mouthy.  Kabata had deserved it, but still.  He lay back on the bed and sat there for a while, his head in his hands, feeling positively overwhelmed, not sure what to do.  

He lost track of time as he lay there.  He heard heavy footsteps thump in the hallway, and he levered himself upright just in time to see Angelo scurrying past the room looking concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale called.

Angelo stopped.  “Oh. Um.  Yeah, everything’s fine.  Michael’s just not feeling so well.  All the noise was getting to him. We’re going to keep watch on the roof.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking that might be a good idea.  “All right.  Thank you. Let me know if you see anything.”

Angelo disappeared. Aziraphale flopped back onto the bed, then suddenly realized the time.  He’d better go tell everyone about the call so that they could be on alert.

When he walked back into the dining room, he saw that the food was mostly gone, and that several board games had appeared.  The group closest to him was boisterously fighting over candy-coloured money and small plastic houses and metal tokens in the shape of shoes and cars.  

They were all drunk and happy.  He could not bring himself to interrupt them.  He turned back around, going down the stairs quietly, the loud noises and warm smells fading with the distance.

He found Botis in the main shop standing facing the door, silhouetted against the night through the glass shopfront, weakly illuminated by moonlight.

“Evening, lord,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, obviously also a bit drunk.

“What are you doing down here?”

“He’s keeping watch,” said Crowley’s voice behind him, appearing on the staircase.  He padded down the stairs and across the shop, coming up beside them.  “I told him to relax for once, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I just want to be sure my lord is safe,” said Botis.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.  “Thank you. Botis, Crowley.  Will you help me strengthen the anti-demon sigils on the shop?”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve gotten a call from an old friend.  Nothing to be alarmed about.  But I’d rather make sure he can’t get in.”

Crowley seemed to immediately understand who he meant and did not ask questions.  Botis did not see any point in asking too many questions of his lord, so he also did not ask questions.

They tightened the glyphs so that no demon was able to enter, full stop.  He was sure that Kabata wouldn’t have somehow grown to love the Earth so quickly, not someone like him, but he wanted to take no chances that he would be able to exploit any loopholes the exception might allow.  Aziraphale was sure that everyone was already inside the perimeter, and Botis assured him he would make certain nobody left that evening.

He could have a talk with everyone tomorrow about the change.  There was no way Kabata would be able to get in, no way he could make good on his threats.  And they could pass the night in safety, laughing and drinking, and deal with him tomorrow, whatever pathetic move he decided to try and make.

The universe would have to pull out a lot more than this to scare Aziraphale.

“Michael.  Michael, look at me.  Look at me.”

Michael was panting, his wings drawn out, his eyes half lidded, covered in sweat.

“It’s okay,” said Angelo. “You’re okay.”

“I wanted to kill her,” said Michael.  “Me, I should have killed Agares.  I’m the bearer of divine wrath.”

Michael seemed to have a bit too much wrath built up inside him. Angelo took Michael’s head in his hands. “It’s okay.”

“Metatron said this was going to happen,” said Michael, wiping an eye with his palm.  “That my bloodlust was going to get worse the longer the war was put off.  That I would start to deteriorate.   Because I’m…I’m…”

“How can I help you, Michael?  What do you need?”

“I need to kill something.”

Angelo could only say “It’s okay” so many times when it obviously wasn’t true.  He moved a strand of hair out of Michael’s face.  “I’m here.”

They both caught a spark of light and a fizzle out of the corner of their eyes.  A piece of parchment fluttered down, landing seal-upright.  It was from Gabriel.

Angelo picked it up. It was addressed to Michael, but he opened it anyway. And then he tried to hide it from Michael, but it was too late, because the archangel had been reading it over his shoulder.

“Michael, don’t.”

Michael pushed him off and drew his sword.  “Get out of the way, Angelo.”

[piarou-neelix]

Surviving VidCon Europe 2017

So, I am slowly getting back to being alive again. So far since crawling out of my bed (for the second time today) at one pm, I have only tripped twice, bumped my head thrice, and spilled/dropped stuff (drink/bread/butter/washing-powder) four times. So yay! :D Now to try and put these past days into words. In only one word is easy: AMAZING. But there is so much more to say than just that it was probably the best weekend I have had in years. So many feelings to describe, so many emotions to be conveyed. And so many people to thank.

Let's start this tale at last Thursday, April 6th, 2017. Under an indecisive sky I waited for Johanna, the fellow Vidcon-volunteer, whom I had only talked to through Skype for an awkward half hour before that day, that was going to stay at my place for the coming nights. With a delay of five hours her bus from Vienna finally arrived at Sloterdijk, and I got to meet her at last in real life. And what luck I had in having her for a guest. Johanna is a young woman with a base state of happiness that is so heart-warming and mind-soothing to undergo and be around, it is almost unreal. That being coupled with a sharp mind and a smart wit made her one of my favorite people I know through the power of the internet almost immediately. The lively and intriguing conversation we had during our short walk through the woods in Castricum after dropping off her bags at my place was a confirmation of my first instincts. After the walk we cooked together, ate our prize, and then played two rounds of Kahuna before going to bed early-ish. Friday we got up at what felt early for me then, but was to become a blessed long sleep compared to the days after. ;) Following a typical Dutch breakfast with bread with 'hagelslag' we took the train to Amsterdam. We started the day with a tour of the more typical touristy locations so Johanna could check them off of her list, after which we went to the Vondelpark where an International Nerdfighter Meeting was organized by good soul Richard. It was the first time in years that I was at a Nerdfighter meeting where I knew less than seventy-five percent of the people. The sun was a bit unsure about it all (though managed to burn me nonetheless), but I think all had a great time. There was songs being sung, games being played, and friends being gained. Johanna, me, and several others had to leave the gathering for a while, because there was a volunteer-training scheduled at the RAI. Other than finally meeting Nick who was our coordinator, I didn't learn much there and then. But I did get to meet more of my fellow volunteers, which was cool. A whole bunch of them joined us at the pizza-place that evening, which made us a group of over 60 for a reservation of 20, but after splitting in two we still had food for all, spread out over two restaurants. All in all, a good day, filled with loads of nice people. Okay, I felt a bit tired from the somewhat too much walking I had done, and my forehead almost gave light from the sunburn, but I figured I would manage. Then again, Vidcon hadn't even started for real yet, for me. :D That happened on Saturday. And oh wow, did it start. So many people eager for an event they had been waiting for for months, if not years. Lines of fans waiting for a chance to meet, touch and take pictures with their heroes, whom they had so far only seen in digital form. And that sea of enthusiasm was compressed to a stream of roiling emotions in the meet-and-greet-wristband-distribution-line. My original shift was a bit over-staffed compared to the understaffed situation at this bottleneck of the first morning, so I was transferred to help out there. And thus I got a first glimpse of what this weekend would entail for me. Hard work, and loads of smiling faces filled with anticipation and joy. In an attempt to entertain the masses while they waited, and to keep myself awake as well, I did some frolicking and goofing around, doing impromptu little dances and pirouettes whenever I had the chance. But as time moved on, it became clear that the lines were filling way faster than we were clearing them, so an extra line was created, and the time for whimsical folly was over. I know for a fact that I was by far the worst wristband-attacher of all times, but looking down and me are not the best of friends. ;) As my shift ended, my neck and eyes were hurting, as well as my fingers. But still, I was filled with an overflowing sense of warmth and happiness just because I was helping people get the best days of their lives. After a short break, and catching the first half of The Vlogbrothers' Q&A, I started what eventually became my favorite shift of the weekend: The Vidcon Booth. Seriously, I was born to stamp passports-of-joy. Enticing people to just go that one more step to get not five, but ten stamps was such fun. Coming up with creative reasons why/how people earned the stamp for “Awesomeness” was the most energy-giving thing I have done in ages. Being on various selfies I had 'forced' people to take for yet another stamp, or just seeing the weird/cute/tender/beautiful selfies being taken right in front of me to earn that precious red blob of ink. Encouraging people to write or draw something on the wall, and then later realizing they had made a little piece of art. All that and more made it the best few hours of 'work' I have ever had. I went across the street for a quick Dirk-van-den-Broek sandwhich for dinner, and then it was time for the Saturday-evening featured-creator-show. Being blown away by the facial expressions and amazing voice of Carrie Hope Fletcher and the wonderful poetry of Savannah Brown made up for the somewhat cringe-worthy Max and Harvey performance. Matthew Patrick closed the night with words of power and honesty that made me want to hug him to make him feel better, and thank him for making so many others feel better. And then it was time for the trip home. The NS had decided to work on the tunnel between Amsterdam and home, so we (Johanna and I) were fearing a replacement bus-service was to be our lot, but luckily the whole weekend we managed to time our travels thus perfect that we could catch the rerouted intercity home. Five hours of sleep is a lot more than four-and-a-half, so we were quite happy with that, indeed. :D My Sunday shifts were a lot less exciting to me. I was room-monitor in the morning, and auditorium monitor in the afternoon. But to be fair, I don't know if I could have handled much else after I started the Vidcon-day with a tumble on the concrete floor. Both my knee and my shoulder were scuffed, and turned stiff quite rapidly. But hey, the show must go on, so I kept doing my utmost best to make everyone around me have the bestest of times at this first ever Vidcon Europe. The morning-shift I decided to be the outside-monitor, as that ensured me to have a quiet start of the day, and meant less walking around with the microphone. But the auditorium was too big to be handled by one mic-walker. And at that point my energy had been adequately replenished by the many awesome fellow volunteers. So I happily went were the panels wanted me to go. The two panels during which I had my shift were very interesting and I will certainly take some of their words with me. In between all of this, there were of course the meet&Greets I myself had the opportunity to have. On Saturday I got to hug Emma Blackery, and give her a bag of fizzy peaches, proving that not all forty year old followers of her are creepy af. Sunday in the afternoon I hugged Hank Green (@edwardspoonhands.tumblr.com this is what I meant when I said I still blame you: http://piarou-neelix.tumblr.com/post/153356577720/i-blame-you), and between my last shift and the volunteer-thank-you-party, I met Hannah Witton, whom I had already met almost exactly two years earlier in Amsterdam. After hugging her, it was straight to the Nedfighter-special event, but that was a bit too noisy for me, so I retreated to the volunteers' little safe-haven of calm and quiet next to registration, where I doled out my ever-present new addiction, Verkade Bites (seriously, don't eat them, or don't blame me). Then it was time for the aforementioned volunteer-thank-you-party, where I managed to grab a bite of food as well. I was amazed to realize I hadn't even met all volunteers yet that were in the room. And all were amazing, seriously. So much friendliness and warmth in one room was invigorating to the soul, and strengthened my already high trust and belief in humanity. A (not completely) surprise-visit by Hank Green, where we caught him in a circle of high-fives, and some completely unexpected gifts were nice unneeded bonuses to an already awesome event. It all ended with the logical end, the Sunday-evening featured-creator-show. We had missed the beginning due to our 'private' party, but saw most of it anyways. Dodie and Jon Cozart were, in my humble opinion, the stars of the evening, and Kwebbelkop surprised me with the way he filled his time on stage in a positive way, but all on stage were amazing this evening. Except maybe for the herring. ;) But as with all things, even the best of the best events have to end some time, and so it went here as well. After hugs and farewells Johanna and I took our leave of the Rai to once again travel to Castricum, and our much needed beds...

...for four hours of sleep. :( Johanna, adventurer as she is, had to go to her next big memory-in-the-making, and had to be at Schiphol at six in the morning. So after a short night, and a very weirdly quiet train-ride, it was time for me to say goodbye to my new friend (for now). She took the one train, that being her first step on the road to India and a new adventure, and I took the other back to Castricum again, and to another couple of hours of sleep. And then, it was all really over. But in my mind, the event will never end. My heart, head, and soul has been changed by all the wonderful people I have met during these past four days, the new friends I made, and the words I heard. Especially the awesome group of volunteers I will not soon forget. Once again I have seen the proof that the world of the interwebs is a powerful world indeed, and that it can do the most beautiful things, and knit the most awesome communities out of yarn from many different types of stories.

[pigletsmiddlefinger-blog]

Day One

Conversations are starting to echo through the same loop. Experiences are turning from a physical and emotional presence into observations. Any form of patience that exists is interrupted by an uncontrollable jolt of anger similar to a grumpy old man possessing my body. Anxiety is mutating and has created a permanent structure - a pump stationed in my chest compressing, pumping, stabbing, and radiating tension through my veins as quickly as possible while tiredness is causing notes, passions - everything that’s truly important - to slow and dull through my fingers. I find myself reaching for words in songs as if I can physically touch them - similar to trying to grab someone’s hand as they dangle off of a cliff in a 3D movie.

I find myself seeking truth in scanning body language and the expressions of others. Art has never looked so beautiful. Each line represents a thought or emotion someone else had and lived through. Songs have never been so alive. I’m able to be fully immersed in the exact emotion that was created for each song. They cradle me and then carry me back in time like the ghost from Christmas past giving me a second chance to walk through each unique moment only this time with a heart of love and wonder. A reminder of how special life can be even when you may have previously thought a specific event to be insignificant. A catalog of experiences recorded on tape over time. Each tape assigned to an emotion that I can draw from my collection and press play at any time. Pure Imagination, Good for You, Mad World, Mia and Sebastian’s Theme, The District Sleeps Alone Tonight, Mouth of War, Love is a Losing Game, All I Want is You, Violin Concerto: II, I’d Rather go Blind, Cochise, I am the Highway, One by One, Ex-Factor.

Wait..wait wait wait. Shit…Shiiiiiiit. Dissasocistion, irritability, mood swings, internalization, vacations to 1998 la la land via the Third Eye Blind express. It happened again. I’ve been stuck in this cycle for a week comparable to a slow motion car crash from the movies. Another doubt caused my body and brain to prepare for failure by shutting down in order to have the strength to process and survive the predicable yet unavoidable situation on the horizon. Unfortunately the impact has already passed and the car has stopped moving. I can tell because I’m able to focus on the broken and smoked glass laying on the asphalt as it cuts into my face. I can tell because I wake up feeling nauseated and hungover without the fun that usually goes with it and I have no memory of the actual impact. Surely I should’ve been able to record the event that I survived that caused so much destruction but maybe there wasn’t an event to begin with, maybe there wasn’t a start, end, beginning, purpose…just pure failure. I’m without a doubt alone again. Heart ripped out. Stomach gutted. Chest crushed. Yada yada.

Day One. Day One. Day fucking One.

I’ve been here many times before (hence my preference in music as previously outlined) and each effort to process my experiences and move forward has become less and less productive considering the end results are all the same.

First comes butterflies, chase, connection, the idea that this time it’s real, followed by actions and words that reinforce that it is real. From today’s top ten hits such as “You’re the best”, “My Dreamgirl”, “My dear”, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met”, “I want us to be honest with one another” to the classics such as “I’ll always love you”, “I was put on this earth for you I swear”, “I’m going to trick her into marrying me”, “I haven’t had a girlfriend in forever but I think you might be the one”, “If anything ever happens to us I wouldn’t know what to do I’d probably have to move to another state in sadness”, “You’re meeting my mom”, sprinkled with home cooked meals, introduction to friends, romance, and talk of future plans. You can throw the he’s just not that into you rulebook out the window for today’s love bombing men. That book practically handed men a manual on what not to do if they wanted a woman to fall for them…and shit they serioisly had to make a movie about it that plays every Valentine’s Day just in case they need a refresher course each year…Reassurance…the ingredient that removes all doubts allowing a woman to be truly vulnerable, feminine, sparkle, and selfless. A fragile state of being that should be cherished. But this fragile state seems to only ever exist for a moment because it takes so much for a woman to feel reassured…so rather than go through the effort to keep this vulnerable mystical creature alive- once it’s been played with, it’s taken for granted and typically returned within the 30 day dating window return policy with a shock to the system…30 days, long enough to enjoy but brief enough to question any adult’s sanity who is emotionally impacted by the short duration of the experience and connection to the rented object… it’s almost as if we’re expected these days to provide a receipt with each kiss and expected to immediately hire a construction crew to constantly build emergency exists in the background during the entire period of the relationship…we’re expected to indulge but not have feelings…we’re expected to be prepared to apologize if we do in fact develop real feelings…we’re expected to expect and accept the end of a relationship…we live in a world where people completely avoid love, pain, rejection or any idea of it. They only want love and pain when they’re told that they can’t have it - when they feel rejected. Fucking golden egg children. We live in a world consumed by self preservation, entitlement, and a targeted will to survive… but there are how many billions of us? How many infinite number of potential connections? We are surrounded by people and different cultures, we have the freedom of speech in this country and all of the tools it requires to take risks, build ourselves, destroy ourselves, be exceptional, and have the luxury to fucking feel and express ourselves- yet we take it all for granted and throw our lives away.

That’s when the reminder sinks in…that no matter who you are, what you feel, what you do, what you give, it’s never enough and people suck, hide in fear, dishonesty, and selfishness. Most people don’t give a fuck about you period. You’re a wallet, a new toy, a pretty face, an accessory, a fun time, a house keeper, a cook, a nurse, a series of short stories - companionship - nothing really special nothing new; therefore, as soon as you show humanity and expect sacrifice, commitment, and or compromise as reassurance that your vulnerability isn’t in vein, you’re redefined as dead weight, a speed bump, an old toy, a clingy desperate creature, a crazy fool, an insecure puppet, an idiot, an annoying talkative child, or best yet a mere distraction. Never worth an invitation to be truly inspected, understood, or cherished. Never worth the courage it takes to let go and let someone in. Never worth an invitation to be on the same team unless you know how to play the game. The basics of the game are be impermeable to vulnerability from the start in order to have power in the relationship and never be the one who adores the other person more. My first boyfriend’s Jewish mom told me this once “In marriage, there’s always someone who loves the other person more”. I remember thinking to myself…wtf? What about everybody fucking communicating and giving it their all and seeing all of the love in each other? Not taking it for granted or using it as a platform for power and manipulation? Why can’t we chose to be with people we love unconditionally - people who can rip us apart and destroy us beyond recognition if they die? Why are relationships calculated? Every minute on this earth is more precious than the last. We are anomalies that have walked out of the stars by some miracle of events that took billions of years and more luck than winning a billion powerballs in a row.

I refuse to play the game. Never played it and never will. I either have romantic feelings or I don’t. If I don’t have romantic feelings I’m clear about it and offer plutonic friendship. Growing up looking like a boy - I’m seasoned in the art of plutonic relationships. Romance is tricky and I learned the hard way (AKA seven years of my life) you either have chemistry or you don’t. And if I do have romantic feelings for someone - feelings that appear to be reciprocated, I dive in head first into the coral hoping I come out alive. So here I am…alone again…no games…no playbook…with a few pieces of coral stuck in my head.

This is why my team gave up a long time ago and demanded so much more from me. So much more than the courage to be vulnerable and feminine. So much more than the desire to be in a partnership. They demand self sufficiency, logic, knowledge, confidence, physical strength, and all the building materials to withstand a category five hurricane. My true friends, my family, my team- they’re the real superheros in this world.

Day one after day one after day one - whether it’s starting something new by choice or being set back by others - the wheel keeps bringing me back to the beginning and never seems to end. Maybe it’s finally starting to drive me mad. Maybe it’s changing my physical makeup and turning me into rubber allowing me to be resilient like I was as a child. Maybe I’m starting to enjoy it knowing with each fresh start I have a new chapter in my life book under “how to deal with the asshole human race for dummies”. Maybe I’m starting to enjoy it knowing that there’s so much possibility with a new beginning…an infinite number souls and minds, songs, blades of grass to lay on while gazing out into each direction of infinity.

As a child I survived on this concept. I survived on the idea of infinity. I survived on the stars, the blades of grass, the asphalt that makes you feel connected to worlds away. I survived on the weightlessness of water while being submerged in pools. The strength and resistance of air you feel while being propelled through it or while sticking your hands and face outside of the window of a moving car. The untamed power of watching and feeling fireworks as they exploded, shook your bones, and damaged your ear drums. But nothing felt more infinite than human touch from someone you loved. Love can turn skin into electricity magically raising each hair from your toes to your back to your arms, to your neck. Love can make a single arm feel as heavy, protective, and as encompassing as a tank shielding you from all harm. A single touch can close your eyes without touching your face.

So here’s my attempt at deconstruction in the hopes that a literal description of the output of my configuration will somehow make me feel less alone in this world and help guide me through this journey called love.

Chapter One. Day One.

Real physical pain. The type of pain that makes you believe that life as you know it will never be the same. The type of pain that is so excruciating that it turns seconds into days making breathing unbearable. The type of pain that carves a pit in your stomach turning everything familiar to you - all your loved ones, all the places you’ve visited, your experiences, the maze of memories you created, even your own hands and your own body - turning all of these things into strangers. The type of pain that only completely satisfied people can accept…but for the rest of us it’s just a reminder for how alone, insecure, primative, and how desperate we are to survive.

This is my day one. My very first memory. My very first experience. My very first emotion.

A beautiful piece of art I couldn’t comprehend. A climb. A grab. A leap that felt like my stomach wouldn’t make it with my body to the ground. Then fear knowing something was wrong and coming down to harm us. Then strength wanting to hold and protect this beautiful piece of art I placed more value on than my life. Holding it tightly with both hands while I curled my body around it to protect it. I could feel each inch of that dresser as it got closer to me and to this day I swear I can sense things coming towards my spine before they physically connect. The crash we all fear - the moment the object makes contact - the scenes in the movies that cost millions of dollars to rectify - the scenes that are filmed at a million angles - I have no memory of this grand theatrical spectacle. No matter how hard I try to remember the sensation, no matter how hard I try to capture the unbelievable experience of living through an impact significant enough to slice a piece of your spine off- it all just goes black. But I remember being stuck, crushed, losing all patience while seconds turned into days and I just wanted the hell out of that uncomfortable crushing situation. I then remember laying in bed for what seemed like a lifetime. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. Pain constant with no escape.

A crash course in wonder, butterflies, excitement, fear, strength/protectiveness, and hyper sensitivity all taught within a couple of minutes to a blank soul followed by seemingly endless physical pain, breathlessness, and emotional frustration. The one lesson I didn’t learn from this experience was to stop climbing shit, stop being crazy, and stop monkeying around every free second...which is why my parents threw me into every activity and eventually decided professional training in how to climb and flip your body was the only option. What really got me through the entire experience was frustration. I don’t think that we give frustration enough credit. Frustration forces us to be so much more than we are - fearless, practical, grown up - giving us no choice but to put aside all other emotions as well as the depth and complexity of a situation in order to simplify it, comprehend it, focus on it and arrive to a solution before you pull all of your hair out.

Frustration demands us to move on and it doesn’t let go until we do. Maybe frustration will finally force me to to move on, shrink my heart, and give up on love. Maybe then I’ll play the game and at least get a prize at the end of the journey like the ones everyone else has taken from me…but until that time comes I guess I’ll keep finding myself laying here on the asphalt in shock, spine crushed, chest crushed, stomach carved, unable to breathe, blood fueled by anxiety…desperate and confused starring into infinity trying to find answers within these infinitely long seconds while holding onto your return receipt.

Day One