#i love wynne and i love marin

[vanoincidence]

Mama Mia! || Van & Wynne

TIMING: before van started to crave the great Hay. PARTIES: @ohwynne & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: wynne comes to sly slice to see van drowning in pizza! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

“This is too many.” Van stared dejectedly at the number of paper plates that were stacked on top of one another. The grease from each slice of pizza seemed to pool through to the next plate, and so on and so forth. The few tables they did have were covered in plates of pizza. “Why did you take a preorder?” The new employee, Janice, hadn’t known that they were a order-at-counter business only. Rocky wasn’t answering his phone, and the last time something like this had happened, Van was the one who got yelled at for it. 

She continued staring at the paper plates as Janice quickly ducked away towards the back. Well, this was a great start to Van’s night shift. It was a random Wednesday evening, so the hope that flocks of college students might venture in and eat hours-old pizza was a slim chance. Too transfixed by her current predicament, Van didn’t hear the door when it opened, or when they spoke aloud– something about pizza. Obviously. This was a pizza shop. Van blinked a few times before looking over at the person who had come in. “There’s so much pizza.” It was all she could say and all she could register. “Do you want hour old pizza? Discounted at 3.50 instead of the usual 4 dollars?” 

—

Customer service was far from an ideal job, that much Wynne had learned over the past two months. That was not to say they were looking for brighter horizons, as they hardly felt deserving of it (and didn’t have the energy to apply for another job, anyway). It did mean that they made a concentrated effort to be kind to any and all people they came across working a customer service job. That went for this evening, too, during which they were in need of some dinner and had little energy or drive to make it themself. So they walked into Sly Slice, quietly witnessing the stack of plates. It was a miracle it didn’t collapse.

The person behind the cash register seemed transfixed by it too, as she didn’t hear Wynne when they quietly ordered. Not that they blamed her, nor her unhelpful comment: it was something Wynne might have done, if the roles were reversed. “It is a lot. Did someone change their mind?” They imagined the coffee bar filled with cups of coffee, slowly cooling down and not being taken home. Wynne would hate such a situation. They considered the discount, then nodded. “Sure. I like it cold, too. If you have any cheese or vegetable pizza, that is?” Surely there had to be some, among all those plates.

—

She should make it a bigger discount, and Van knew Rocky would be upset if they lost any money on this, especially because it was an employee's fault. It’s that damn coven again. Van could hear the string of his obscenities in her head, and though she wanted to remind him that covens weren’t real and it was probably a group of bored teenagers, she often held her tongue. But Rocky wasn’t here to protest the discount. Janice was in the back, probably doing something not very useful, and Van was… left to deal with it all. She could cry. 

“Somebody decided to take an order over the phone, which we aren’t supposed to do.” The earlier shift leader had left as soon as Van clocked in, so she hadn’t even had time to see what was happening before she was left to deal with it all on her own. Van tapped her fingers against the counter and tried her best to count the number of plates she saw, but it was no use. There had to be at least thirty plates, if she could guess. “It doesn’t have to be cold. Janice can heat them up for you.” She spoke loudly so that she knew Janice would hear her, then she looked back over at the customer. “How many do you want?” 

—

Wynne frowned, feeling for the employee and her strange, pizza-filled situation. “Oh. And now they didn’t come to pick it up, I take?” They wanted to make sure they understood the situation, as they tended to misinterpret or misunderstand plenty of things. They pushed their lips into a sympathetic yet awkward smile, the same one people passing them on the street gave them. They did feel really bad for the other and hoped no manager would come barking at them, the way Todd had done with them before when things had gone missing in the shop.

The goal had been to acquire two slices of pizza, but they looked at the large stack and then the other’s face and decided that maybe they could do two acts of kindness. Get some pizza for the flat and maybe Emilio, and help out the other. Wynne considered how much money they had. “Maybe something like seven slices?” They should be able to cough that up. “And if you could just heat up one, then that’d be perfect. Otherwise no problem, too.” 

—

“They didn’t.” Van bit her tongue from saying, isn’t that obvious? This was a customer. She couldn’t be rude. Even if they weren’t a customer, Van probably wouldn’t have been rude. She was just stressed. That’s all this was. She tried her best to keep her expression neutral, but it had distorted into something uncomfortable as her gaze continued to wander over the mountain of paper plates. “But I’ll figure it out.” She had to, or else she might lose her job even though it wasn’t her fault. 

“Seven?” Van’s eyes lit up. That would make a dent in her problem, but she didn’t want the customer to feel obligated to buy them just because Van was about to have a breakdown about the number of pizza slices she’d been faced with. “No, no– I can heat them up.” Van held up her hand for them to wait for a moment before she went into the back to find Janice, but she was nowhere. “Again? Seriously?” With a frustrated sigh, she returned to the front of the shop and gave them an awkward smile. “I’ll be right back.” Van grabbed the seven slices, balancing them precariously on her arms like they did in the movies before heading towards the oven. She heated up the one slice, then decided to do so for the rest, before putting them in the individual to-go boxes. Why Janice hadn’t done that and instead put them on paper plates, Van couldn't be sure. Maybe to fuck with her. “Here you go.” The stack of boxes was over her head as she slid them onto the counter. She held onto the middle part, balancing them so that they wouldn’t fall over. “We have… plastic bags.” 

—

They felt a little powerless, in this situation. If Wynne had money to spare – and they most certainly didn’t – they’d splurge and buy all the pizza, redistribute it among the people they knew and those they didn’t. Instead, they just lifted their shoulders. “That’s very shitty and inconsiderate of them.” The word shitty felt a bit foreign to them, but it seemed to fit the situation. “I’m sure you’ll be okay! Maybe you can put a message online about there being a slight discount? People do love a bargain.” A Latte to Love used their social media plenty, though Wynne couldn’t say they were very good at it. It was a very good lesson in marketing, even if that wasn’t a skill they were looking to develop deeply.

“Please take your time,” they said as the other looked more and more stressed. Wynne did hope that she didn’t feel rushed, that they were being a good customer. After all the bad customers they’d handled themself that day, they really didn’t want to be in the same category as them. Once they observed the large stack of pizza boxes and wondered how they’d walk home balancing all that, though luckily the employee came with a solution. “Maybe a bag would be nice, yes? It’s okay if that’s extra.” Though it wouldn’t be a solution to the other problem starting to pop up: the pizza smelled very good, and they were afraid they’d eat the slices they’d intended for others all by themself. They gave another slight smile to the employee. “Sometimes you just have those days, right? With customers, I mean.” They frowned, concerned that that was vague. “I work as a barista, so I can kind of get it.” 

—

“Oh, you’re right. I forgot about the internet.” Rich, considering Van spent all of her time on it. She nodded, poking her pen into the air between herself and the customer. “That’s a good idea. Thank you!” She could kiss them on the forehead for the suggestion, as well as for even buying the pizza in the first place. “Thank you, seriously.” She peered over the stack of boxes and leaned around to grab a plastic bag. She shook it out awkwardly before grabbing a few of the topmost boxes. She aligned them perfectly to the bottom of the bag and lifted the handles, testing the weight to make sure that the bag wouldn’t rip. 

It seemed secure enough, so she added a few other boxes and nodded to herself as if it were some enormous accomplishment. Van looked up at them and shook her head. “Not charging you extra for bags.” That would be shitty of her to do, especially because they were helping her with a massive chunk of the slices. “Sucks that it’s not a bar crawl day. Could’ve gotten rid of these so easily.” She sighed dramatically before nodding at their comment. “I guess so? Sucks, but you’re right.” Van scrunched her nose and grabbed a second plastic bag, just in case, and began to fit it around the already bulging one. “A barista? In town?” Van looked up at them. “You didn’t go to my school.” She paused. “Sorry, like– elementary, middle, high– I was born and raised here. Are you here for college?” 

—

“Hey, it happens.” Wynne smiled a little in recognition, because there were plenty of moments where they forgot the internet was right in their pocket. They nodded, waved a little as if to tell the other not to worry about it. Then, they looked a bit more serious: “You’re welcome, of course, but you really should try not to thank people. Some people might use that against you.” They hoped the other would not ask for an explanation, as they didn’t want to seem like someone who had possibly lost their mind, but it still seemed like a fair warning to give. The other seemed nice, after all.

Wynne wasn’t sure what a bar crawl was, but it seemed that it was something that involved bars and pizza — so presumably also copious amounts of alcohol. They only ever saw the after-effects of that, but it did seem that students partook in rather a lot of drinking. “It really does suck. Maybe there will be some spontaneous people that step by, though?” Surely people would come if there was a good deal. They looked at the other for a moment, eyes a little wide as she pointed out not to recognize them. “No, I just moved here, so that would make sense. I work at a Latte to Love. Have been there for a few months!” They shook their head, then. “No, I don’t go to college.” What were they here for? They hadn’t come for anything but a pitstop, and now only remained for others. Certainly not to make coffee. “Just work at the coffee shop.”

—

“People keep saying that.” Van wasn’t sure how much more happening she could take before she lost it. It was getting harder to see through to the other side. The side without stupid melting objects and stupid situations at work. “But yeah, I guess it does.” Van mustered up the energy to return the other’s smile only for it to falter at their words. It was the same thing Cass had said. Was this person from Hawai’i, too? Not to say she hadn’t heard the same advice before, but it’d become more prominent in the last few weeks that she’d spent away from home. “I’ve heard that a lot, too. But uh, sure. Okay.” It was pretty clear she didn’t believe in whatever higher power would hold thanks against her. She’d rather be polite than not. 

“Maybe.” Van sighed, looking past the customer and towards the door. There was nobody else dropping in, even if they were staring at the massive amounts of paper plates that covered the tables. As they began to explain that they’d only just moved to Wicked’s Rest, Van perked up slightly. So maybe they were also from Hawai’i. “Latte to Love? I go there like, all the time.” She’d bought more red bull than she had coffees in the past few weeks, but mostly because it meant less social interaction. “That’s cool though. I don’t go to college either, I just work at the pizza shop.” She didn’t want them to feel bad for not attending college, especially when she didn’t think it mattered much at all anyway. There was a part of her that wished she hadn’t fucked up so monumentally, but that was what had happened, and there was no changing it. “You know my name,” Van plucked at her name tag, pulling her shirt slightly forward so that it untucked from her jeans. “What’s yours?” The nametag read Vanessa, but the essa was crossed out with red sharpie. 

—

They looked at the other inquisitively for a moment, wondering what she meant by that and whether all was okay. Wynne didn’t want to pry into the personal life of a stranger, though, even if they understood being down by the mess that life often left people in. They lifted their shoulders a little as their advice was accepted. “I know it sounds weird. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with …” They frowned. “Being cautious. Maybe it’s just superstitious, but even so. No harm no foul, right?” Though it was very annoying to not say thank you to people, especially those that deserved to be thanked.

“I hope so, anyway.” They squinted a little at the other, trying to figure out if they’d ever helped her to a coffee before. Wynne must have, but the first weeks at their job had been a blur and even now they often felt like they were living in some kind of haze. “That’s sweet! It’s a nice place, I think.” Good enough pay, even if certain people insinuated that Wynne could do better — without really clarifying what that could entail. They were somewhat glad when the other revealed that she didn’t go to university, either. It seemed like the norm to do so, especially in this college-town. “Look at us, helping so many students but not being one. I don’t mind it, though.” They did, sometimes. They took a glance at the name tag, noting the name Van. “I’m Wynne. It’s really nice to meet you, Van.”

—

“Yeah, maybe?” Van wasn’t sure why saying thanks had any superstitions aligned with it. It made no damn sense. But if it was something that someone believed, she’d keep her opinions to herself. It wasn’t like it was hurting anyone, it was just a little rude within certain contexts. Van decided to drop it, forcing an awkward smile. 

“Do you like it? I think I lasted like, a day there.” A customer had come in accusing her of not using oat milk when she definitely had used oat milk and it resulted in several of the syrup containers shattering, sending the sticky stuff everywhere. Van’s boss had blamed her, even though she knew she hadn’t done anything. “It wasn’t really my scene, I don’t think.” At least Rocky didn’t blame her for the weird shit that happened at Sly Slice. If he did, she would have gotten fired a long time ago. Somewhere at the back of her mind, however, Van stifled the voice that told her it was her fault– that all of it was.

At Wynne’s comment, Van laughed, slapping her hand down onto the counter. “You’re so right. We are the backbone of society. Fuck the professors, they don’t do shit.” She leaned forward, the pads of her fingers pressing into the counter. “Wynne? That’s a really nice name! I like that a lot. People probably don’t mistake you for a car, huh?” She frowned slightly before shaking her head. “I’m glad you came in today, and not just because of the pizzas.” Wynne had an energy about them, and while Van wasn’t typically a good judge of character, there was something that told her they wouldn’t suddenly try to stab her. It was a nice feeling. Maybe she was being a little too forward. She wasn’t used to conversations taking place anywhere but offline. Not meaningful ones, anyway. “I’ll throw four on the house, I sort of just want them gone now.” The frustration and anxiety from the situation had slowly dissipated, and if Rocky really had an issue with how she resolved the current conundrum, she’d tell him to take it out of her paycheck. 

[banisheed]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: A Latte To Love PARTIES: Siobhan and Wynne CONTENT: Discussions of cults, ritual sacrifices of flesh, body and animals SUMMARY: Siobhan wears a bone dress and Wynne experiences a case of mistaken identity that rings too close to home.

A dress made out of bones was a stupid, terrible and impractical idea…which was exactly why Siobhan needed to have one. When she’d heard that some wannabe fashion designer had put one together, she was off to steal it. When she realized that the dress was too large to fit in her duffle bag and too annoying to carry, she did what any sensible thief would do: she wore it. Thus began her current predicament: she was right in thinking the dress was impractical but she hadn’t considered just how much the ribcage of a rabbit stabing her asscheeks would hurt. She stumbled down the sidewalk, fatigue stinging the edges of her eyes. She could do this, she just needed a little liquid help. Help that would come in the form of the strongest coffee she could legally order, and maybe a pastry or two. She rattled her way through the doors of the closest coffee shop and up to the counter. “Strong,” she said, as though that was a way anyone ordered coffee. “Very strong. Lots of sugar. Do you do Irish coffee, actually?”

—

Modern fashion was strange and inexplicable, Wynne thought. Back at home, all clothes had been handmade and simple — cotton and plaid and wool. Not quite uniform, but still: there had been a throughline. Out here, though, people seemed to wear a wide array of fabrics, in combinations that dazzled and overwhelmed and most of the time, they were intrigued. They spared what cash they had left on clothing pieces they’d never dreamed of wearing. And sometimes, they thought they were going to get it: and then something like this happened. The patron that entered on this fateful day rattled with her dress and Wynne’s eyes widened. In recognition and surprise and a bit of horror too. It was almost as if they could feel lamb rib bones resting against their collarbones again. Their mouth opened, closed and opened once more. “No.” Wynne frowned at their own reply. “Um, no alcohol, I’m sorry. But we do strong.” 

They stared at their hands for a moment, before punching in the order. They were too easily unsettled, they knew it — but this was too reminiscent. Not that they or the others had ever worn this many bones at once, but still. “Anything else?”

—

“What kind of an establishment doesn’t have alcohol? It’s nearly 8am, you should be serving it.” Siobhan shook her head; humanity was strange and limited by their arbitrary rules. “I will take strong. Make sure it is very strong. If I sense even a little weakness I will complain.” She was joking, just a little, but her expression remained serious. “And no milk, unless it’s sourced from a farm that treats its livestock and-or the land well. But I sincerely doubt it. So, no milk.” Coffee was not something Siobhan drank often, she had other beverages of choice. Though, with enough sugar, coffee became tolerable. She could manage with a little less if she paired it with something sweet. Which did remind her…

“Aye, can I also get a…” Siobhan whipped her hand out to point, freeing one of the bones on her sleeve. It clattered against the counter and rolled to the other side. “Sorry,” she smiled, “can you get that bone for me?” 

—

Of all the lessons Wynne had learned in this so-called real world, dealing with entitled customers was one of the most annoying yet helpful ones. “I know, right?,” they agreed, even if their heart was far from in it. “I’ve told my manager we should get into it.” They nodded at all the requests, swallowing comments on cattle and mass-production of animal products (what a horrible thing!), as Wynne felt like their mind was still playing catch up with the bone attire. 

Not that there was much time to do so, with one of the white-yellow things falling from the dress. Poorly constructed, Wynne gathered. What a waste. They watched the thing clatter on and on before ducking behind the counter to lay their fingers on it, bringing it up. For a moment, it laid on the palm of their hand as Wynne observed its familiarity. “Did you know that femurs are beneficial for spontaneity?” They let it roll to the tips of their fingers, extending it and flushing, slightly. “Keep that safe.”

—

“Then why has your manager not implemented an alcoholic menu?” Siobhan questioned with a harsh seriousness. “I believe you are being disrespected at your position; your manager clearly doesn’t respect your opinions and you should stab them.” She paused. “Sorry, I mean speak to them.” She did not mean that nor did she really care for the plight of minimum wage earning employees, but any change that would get her whiskey at 8am was a victory. If one poor barista had to be sacrificed to get it, then she would sacrifice the damn barista. It was that sort of ambition that had gotten her far in life and also exactly nowhere. 

“I don’t need help with spontaneity,” Siobhan said, then paused again, hand frozen steadily in the air. A silent beat passed through the air, the lazy sounds of the morning muffled between the glass of the shop and the distance to the counter. “How did you know that was a femur?” Humans weren’t so good with their bones and certainly not animal bones—femurs turned to humeri, ulnae to radiuses. She took the femur from their hands, smiling brilliantly. “What’s this?” she asked, pulling another bone off her dress and then another. “Can you tell what animal they’re from too?” This barista wasn’t a fae, she knew, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t have ties to banshee culture somehow. 

—

They were a bit taken aback by the other’s words, eyebrows creasing. As if going against the wills and wishes of a superior was something Wynne was keen on doing. Despite previous bouts of disobedience, they were still fond of following rules and bending to another’s will. “Oh. Well, maybe I will talk to him about it again.” Not that they had even talked about it in the first place. It seemed this world required a lot of white lies, especially when dealing with customers. They much disliked the insinuation that they were disrespected, however, and tried to let it go by wasting no words on it. 

Wynne had expected that their comment on the bone might have been met with skepticism and confusion. They get skepticism, though the confusion was all theirs when the other smiled and dropped more bones on the counter. While taken aback, they also found themself intrigued, pulled to the familiarity of once-alive things. Remnants of a life lived. “Rabbit.” They cleared their voice, turned one of the bones over with the tip of their finger. “And this is a vertebrae.” A moment of thought, but they’re not sure what kind of vertebrae. They point at the other bone. “Scapula.” That was easy. Wynne remembered the initial question posed and circled back, not out of a wish to answer but rather politeness. “I was taught by my parents.”

—

There were a few explanations for humans that could decipher animal bones from a look: bone hobbyists, veterinarians, hunters (of actual animals) and people who had read the rare classic Animal Bone Identification for the Lazy Banshee. Though, seeing how the book only had one copy and laid unfinished in her grandmother’s study, it probably wasn’t that. And how many of those humans were taught by their own parents? Siobhan was intrigued. “Does your family scream a lot?” she asked. “Were you taught the old ways?” How long had it been since she’d spoken to a banshee or banshee-related-family-member-who-will-probably-be-used-for-ritual-sacrifice (a BRFMWWPBUFRS for short)? Too many years; she’d fallen out of touch with the euphemisms. Too tired to spare a moment for reflection, Siobhan pulled her glove off and revealed the thick scar line across her palm. “Did you give blood too?” Siobhan wasn’t one for politeness, she could be cordial if the whim struck her but, after decades of mingling with humanity, the whim didn’t strike her very often. “I’m surprised you’ve lived this long, you look to be…what? In your early 20s? Did they not take your life yet? Or are you…” Maybe they didn’t know; a few BRFMWWPBUFRS’s were raised with the knowledge of their necessary gift to their sisters or daughters, but most were not. Humans didn’t like knowing that they were going to die, after all. 

“I’m sorry,” Siobhan shook her head, pulling her glove back on. She wasn’t a banshee anymore, not like she used to be. Rules and traditions and secrecy were no longer meant to be in her vocabulary. It was for that reason that she didn’t think to temper her thoughts. “Did you run away, is that it?” 

—

They should have lied. It could have been easy to say that they were a student in the field of animal biology or something of the sort, but Wynne had somehow offered a nugget of truth and now there was question after question. They knew their eyes were growing wide, that the trepidation that spread through them must be noticeable — they just weren’t sure how to stop it from happening. The questions were simply too pointed, too fitting for the life they had tried to abandon for them not to have some kind of reaction.

Mouth opened and closed. They nodded, “I was taught the old ways. We screamed, sometimes.” How they had screamed! Of euphoria and rage and laughter, around bonfires and dressed in dead things or even in nothing at all. Wynne tended to forget that, that they had been loud once. Their eyes were glued to the scar on the other’s hand and they shook their head, as if to say no, not yet, I was meant to give my blood, all of it, but I refused. Something in them resisted answering out loud, as if doing that would be to acknowledge that there was something true here. They tried instead to focus on ringing up the other, but the idea of asking her to pay for her coffee seemed ludicrous now.

The scar disappeared from view, hidden by cloth. The bones still remained on the counter, though. Wynne laid them in the correct order through force of habit. “How do you know?” Their voice was quieter now. Defensive, in a way. “I don’t know you.” Their gaze leveled with the other, wide-eyed yet unwavering. They weren’t sure if they were talking to the other or themself. “So how could you possibly know? Are you here to collect?” But was this it, was this where it would happen? In the coffee shop Wynne hated and loved, at the beginning of a long shift? Surely not — it would be a lousy way to meet their reckoning. “I didn’t run away. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

—

The emotions that danced on the barista’s face were a shock to Siobhan just as much as it seemed her words were a surprise to them. She nodded as they went on: yes, the old ways. Yes, the screaming. And finally, yes, collection. Siobhan eyed the barista up and down, surveying the angle of their jaw and the curve of their ears. She’d been expecting a banshee, but what did she really know about Regis? She knew Regis had run away from Saol Eile and nothing more; she was issued a command and servants didn’t ask for clarification. Siobhan’s smile sharped, a knife’s edge on either side. “I was gone before you were born but I will return again, with you, to serve Death as our birthright dictates.” Siobhan held her hands out, palms up, smiling frigidly; there was no space in her to hold warmth for an insolent, ungrateful and selfish idiot. 

Her gaze moved to the swing door at the end of the counter and then to the counter itself. Should she jump over or run to the side? Siobhan stared up at the barista. “Look at how you debase yourself here. You are worth more than this. You abandoned your duty to Fate and Death and still, even a coward like you is better than all these animals. You have a place in this world. You ought to serve it.” Her hands snapped into fists as a tremor erupted across her body; a flare of anger. Regis didn’t know how good they had it. Siobhan’s penance didn’t include playing pretend at a human job with soft, unmarred skin and freshly baked goods. She lived in damp alleys. She endured the phantom pain of old punishments. She had to live with an ugliness that could never be uprooted. But together--tethered by cosmic forces beyond them--they’d been granted an opportunity for atonement. 

She leaned across the counter, betraying desperation. “Take your place as the prodigal child then,” she pleaded softly. “Be received again among our family. We can reach absolution together, child.” Perfection stood just one false marble countertop away. If the barista wouldn’t come willingly, SIobhan would make them. “Come home.”

—

Wynne’s mind returned to that state it was often in: attempting to play catch up. As if life moved just a little too fast for them. As if they weren’t supposed to be here — which might be true enough. They should be ashes and bones, drained and immortalized in oil paint like all those before them. Or if not that, they should be further west or south, not in the same state, stuck in a place that had appealed to them for reasons that seemed unjustifiable now. They felt their hands fall slack to their sides, the cash register and all others in the store forgotten. Their heart climbed up in their throat. 

Rationality was hard to come by as Wynne imagined this stately woman taking hold of them. They were only a few hours away from the lake. And there had been stories of deserters returning, hollow-eyed and starving — but Wynne was doing fine, no demon had come knocking, no end-of-the-world had occurred. The lake still stood. They shook their head, uncharacteristically adamant. “It’s too late. How can I serve my purpose now, when the time has passed? I rejected it. I won’t go back. There’s no use.” The blue moon had occurred and here they were, still breathing. Maybe there was a hint of regret in their tone, as this half-life so often felt hard to live: but it was being lived. Better the uncertainty of what was to come than the certainty of being dead.

And yet here was the word absolution, that promised word. A biblical word, that the elders sometimes spat on and sometimes dangled over their heads. God would never grant them as much, but Gythraul might, if they did what was asked. Wynne was quiet for a moment, before their voice betrayed them. “So they’re alive?” Their tone small, eyes inquisitive, perhaps hopeful — there was no way that they’d be received kindly, but if they were alive, they might be okay. “They’re okay? My family?” 

—

“There is always time,” Siobhan smiled; she was doing her best to remain friendly. If she thought too long, too much, about Regis she would remember how much the idea of Regis made her skin crawl. All the things she had ever wanted, all the things she had broken herself for were things Regis had abandoned. And why? Didn’t Regis want perfection? Didn’t Regis want love? Home was the only place for people like them to be. Siobhan had been cast out, Regis had left. “For people like us--children of powerful forces--there is always a space for us at our home. We can go there, you and me, we can become whole again and serve our higher purpose. Isn’t that what you want?” Siobhan reached out again, eager to take the barista’s hands in her; the woman of Soal Eile often had, screaming in unison. “Don’t you seek atonement? Don’t you want to be in the place where you belong? With the people who understand you? These humans…they don’t know what it’s like to be us. They don’t know how wonderful life can be--how our bodies can be used to serve Fate. They don’t understand us, they never will. Come home.”

The barista’s worries gave Siobhan pause. Regis didn’t seem like the type to be concerned about the family they abandoned; why abandon them at all then? “I don’t know,” Siobhan sighed. “I assume…” She swallowed hopelessly at the lump that had formed in her throat. When she had betrayed Fate, her mother’s reputation was on the line. Daughters were nothing but extensions of their mothers, after all. And she had made the only decision a sensible mother could make: punish the daughter. “I don’t know, honestly. I would think…I would guess that they are…we won’t really know unless you…” Siobhan let the answer hang in the air like a guillotine. “I was told to bring you back, I can assume that they wouldn’t have bothered with that at all if your family wasn’t alive and waiting.” Siobhan’s head hung low; an honesty escaped her lips. “My mother..when I…” Her body caved in on itself and she shrunk, imagining the lanky girl that she used to be. “I was insolent; disobedient. The punishment was for me, not for her, and she cleaned herself of my sins. She is alive. She is well. So is my family. Perhaps yours is too? We look out for our kind, don’t we?”

—

They had once been good at keeping their face slack, at removing all emotions from it. Wynne had sat front-row at rituals, decorated with bones and flowers and leaves, looking tranquil as ever. Emotion had not betrayed them then, but that was when they had still easily buried it. Now it raised through their body, painting their face with confusion. They did not touch the other’s hands, staring at them instead. “The betrayer’s moon has come and gone, it’s too late.” It was too late to think of returning, to think of atonement, to consider that there was still a home to return to. Wynne swallowed. “You lie.” The words are uttered in a defiance they’d not often shown their elders, back home. Was this woman like them? Someone so wise, so well-read when it came to scripture, fluent in Welsh and all things gythraul? If so, why hadn’t Wynne ever met them? “What is there for me? Not life. Sacrifice? You want me to return home just to live with my impending death? There’s no atonement. It’s too late.” It would be a decade before the next human sacrifice. A new child had already been chosen. Wynne had held Gawain’s hands plenty of times, sat in the knowledge they both shared: that their sole purpose was to live long enough to die. “I don’t belong there.”

But how could Wynne be immune to all of this? The promise of home, the image of their parents and brother still alive and willing to welcome them with wide arms? Their breathing was shallow, their stomach tense. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You must know if they’re all dead or not. You have to —” Their mouth closed before desperation could make their words tumblr out in quick succession. There was truth in the other’s words: there was no way to know unless Wynne went back to the lake and saw for themself. They hadn’t, for months. “Who told you to bring me back?” It had to have been one of the elders. Their head shook, their eyes wide as the other seemed to betray emotion herself. Wynne wanted to cry, felt it gather in their throat. How they missed this sense of kinship and community the other spoke of. “You’re not like me. It’s different. No matter why you were cast out, and I’m sorry that you went through that, but it’s not the same.” Their bottom lip trembled. “When have they ever looked out for me? You’re lying.”

— 

Siobhan had no idea what a ‘betrayer’s moon’ was, but all banshee lineages were a little different. Hers was millennia old and they had strange words for a number of things, even as they tried to modernize themselves. “You would know if I was lying—I would get hives.” Siobhan rolled her eyes, losing her patience for Regis’ antics; she ought to reach across the table and drag them back home. Yet, as the barista went on, Siobhan’s fists stopped trembling with rage. Impending death? The thought tickled her mind. Again, she looked over at the barista, eyeing them from the top of their head to the end of their apron. “Ah…” The recognition burst in her eyes, wide with the reality that laid before her. “So you are a BRFMWWPBUFRS then? I didn’t want to assume but…” Of course, the acronym when spoken sounded like jumbled nonsense and so Siobhan realized she should clarify. “They planned on killing you for someone else’s awakening?” It was true that all banshees were women. It was more true that not all banshees gave birth to daughters. What became of the other children? The idea nauseated Siobhan and as she stared at Regis, she realized just how young they were. Her family believed strongly that the children should never be taken, that was why you had fathers and friends. Not all families thought the same. What good was a BRFMWWPBUFRS except for the ‘ritual sacrifice’ part of that acronym? 

The reality of their life was grim but what did it matter to Siobhan? She dreamed of this day; fantasized the sensation of her wings against her back again. She told herself that the cost didn’t matter, she would return and become whole again. Regis was so young. But who cared? Regis had life yet to live. But why should that stop her? Everyone had their role to fulfill. “You have a duty to Death.” Regis would serve theirs by dying, giving way to the world’s next banshee. Siobhan didn’t care that they looked to be in their early 20s at best. It didn’t bother her that they had feared their fate so much that they ran away. “Yes, normally people like you are expected to live more of a life and have a family but if your death needs to come early then it should and that…” Siobhan’s voice cracked. She swallowed. The barista was right, she had been lying. She said any cost was well worth it. “I won’t take you back.” But she couldn’t justify this. “Not unless your family can reach some agreement. You’re too young and it’s not right to take the child. It was my mother who instructed me to come for you, Regis, though she gave me no details. Yes, I am not like you. I am a woman. I screamed. But I have no intention of sending you to an early grave for a question that can be easily answered by patricide or getting your sister—or niece or cousin or what have you—to make a friend. Really, there’s no reason you, specifically, have to die.” 

—

The way the woman held herself so casually and yet so tight with anger made Wynne hesitant, but their confusion won over time and time again. It was as if from the moment they’d run off and started asking questions, it had become second nature. To question everything. “A what?” It’s not really curiosity any more, but rather desperate confusion. Something wasn’t matching up, was it? “No, not for an awakening — we don’t subscribe to ideas of enlightenment, or any of that. I was to die in order …” They took a deep, shaky breath in, closing their eyes for a moment. They forbade their mind to go to these places most days, years of repression having made Wynne into a skilled escape artist when it came to their own feelings. “Because gythraul demanded it, because we needed to appease It.” It was impossible to say, it seemed, that it would have been for the betterment of their community — either the other knew and could see through their selfish lies, or they didn’t and Wynne could keep their evilness to themself. They swallowed. “Because it was time.” The betrayer’s moon had been close, the night of their abandonment. A waxing moon bright in the sky. It had been hungry and Wynne had been too.

Something seemed to settle. Like the ashes after a bonfire, falling on the center yard of the commune, the rest after rage. Wynne wasn’t sure whether it was a good or bad change and so held onto their breaths tightly. They wished to open their mouth, to exclaim that they did not want to die yet, that it was cruel and unfair that it was demanded of them — that the world still turned and they still breathed and no creature had risen from the cracks of the earth or descended from the sky to take them. But they’d learned not to petition for their own needs long ago and so they only did it quietly. And then things did settle, the woman reaching a conclusion that made Wynne’s breath slip from their mouth. “You’re not making sense. If they sent you, then you ought to know that it can only be me, that it should have happened already.” They shake their head, breathing in and pushing a hand against their collarbone to center themself. Wynne was distantly growing aware that perhaps not everything they had been taught was based in truth, or at least that there was more to it: but what their life had led up to was true, wasn’t it? “It is always a child! It has been that way for three hundred years. There is no agreement: there’s just me, alive, gone from them.” They shake their head again, look up with wide, fixed eyes. “I won’t go back.” The bridge was burned. Its ashes had settled.

—

Fainche Dolan had a theory about the world: all lives were tangential to each other, creating a dizzying pattern of never-ending curves and long dark lines. She swore that she could see it in the sky some days but most days she was lost along its winding trails, searching for the lives that were meant to meet hers. Siobhan never took anything her grandmother said seriously. Her mother asserted that Fainche wasn’t right in the head, whatever that meant. Siobhan had grown up watching the woman flagellate herself over dinner, the constant whip crack and tearing of flesh found a rhythm over the steady beat of forks against shitty paper plates. Fainche was troubled, yes, but she was also right. No one experience was wholly unique. All of it was tangential. Siobhan could see it now and with only a little embarrassment that she hadn’t noticed it sooner. 

Siobhan didn’t know a Gythraul and the children didn’t always die and an awakening was a concept so deeply related to the core of being a banshee that to deny it wasn’t just foolish, it meant that the person she was talking to wasn’t talking about the same thing. And, of course, their way of living was much, much older than 300 years. This person wasn’t Regis, but they were something so terribly similar that even now, even after she had cleared the fog of confusion from her own mind, they were still making sense. Siobhan laughed. Her head tilted up to the ceiling and she clutched her stomach, rattling all the bones on her dress. She exploded with laughter, she barked with it. She made the glass tremble around her and didn’t care. When she was done, she swiped at a tear that had formed in the corner of her eye. “You were going to die to appease someone named Gythraul!” Siobhan clutched the end of the edge of the counter. “Gythraul! What a stupid name. Doesn’t that just mean devil? The name’s not even original. That’s so embarrassing for you.” Siobhan shook her head, taking the bones off the counter. “Can you imagine if you died for some cretin named Gythraul? I think I would sooner perish from the humiliation of ever worshiping a Gythraul.” 

Siobhan, now with the bones in her hand, shook them quickly in the air. “Look, if I know anything about groups of people that worship entities that call themselves the devil, or some such nonsense, it doesn’t matter who dies. No one is that special. So you can…” She waved the bones around some more. “…rest easy knowing that your life doesn’t matter at all and that you’re going to die having worked as a barista in a coffee shop that doesn’t even serve alcohol at 8am. I’m sure Gythraul just ate someone else, or whatever happens there. Oh! Is that why you were asking about your family? Yes, maybe Gythraul ate them.” She’d meant all that as a reassurance, as the easy smile and bright tone of voice was meant to convey. 

—

The other laughed, the entire shop shaking with her disrespect and Wynne wasn’t sure what shook them more: the threat of being dragged home or the way the other spat on Gythraul so easily. Back at home, such behavior would be met with repercussions the Protherians didn’t speak of but all knew about. There was no questioning the lack of name, the lack of details, the way there was no proof that any of this was necessary. To ask was to cause dissent and to cause dissent amongst a society that functioned so well with its hands clasped together? Well, that simply made no sense. And if one were to cross that line, they never would again.

“It’s not Its name, it’s Its title,” Wynne said, their voice more strong now. They might have run from the demon’s demands, but that did not mean they had abandoned all their respect in the same move. It still remained to be a powerful being that had granted fortune to their family over the centuries, after all. They stared at the other and her ignorance, the way she put it so blatantly and proudly on display. Another heathen, like so many others — but one Wynne found easier to condemn. 

It would be so easy to lose themself in judgment, though. To revert to the old ways and to look down on all those who thought the Protherians fools. To spit on them and their naivete. But Wynne’s customer seemed knowledgeable, somehow. “What do you know, of communities that worship demons? Of sacrifice?” Their legs felt shaky, their fingers itching with the need for more knowledge and the equally strong fear of receiving it. They knew that there were repercussions for their abandonment – there simply had to be – but what they were was a truth Wynne had avoided. And yet here was a stranger, alluding that their family might have paid the price. How realistic a thought. Wynne forgot, momentarily, that their family had been content to watch them die too as their fingers were closing around the fake marble counter. “Who are you?” A beat. “I need to know. For the order.” A half-truth.

—

“Oh, it’s a title,” Siobhan laughed again, stifling the sound with her hand. “That’s even worse. Did your people bestow it upon Gythraul or did Gythraul do it? Because in one scenario that’s cute--” she emphasized the word sharp sweetness, equal parts patronizing and delighted. “--and in the other it’s just sad.” Siobhan picked at a piece of lint that had gotten stuck between two of the bones on her dress, stuffing the ones she was holding into her convenient dress pocket. As the barista went on, it occurred to the banshee that her conversation partner wasn’t thrilled. She couldn’t tell what emotion it was: fear masquerading as anger, ignorance playing into the hands of stubbornness. Could someone who abandoned a demon still hold its name in reverence? Siobhan cocked her head to the side, eyeing the barista.

Her lips curled upwards. “Of sacrifice, I know everything--” It was a hard statement to make as a fact, but Siobhan thought of it as the truth. She had been birthed into sacrifice, forged by it, watched it given over and over again. Every breath she took was a sacrifice she made; every word came with a cost to her. She had already been broken into shards and offered out bit by bit. What remained was not a woman, not a person, but an instrument belonging to higher powers. What did she know of sacrifice? It was a cruelty to be asked. Siobhan tore her gloves off, showing the thick scars across both of her palms once more. Slowly, she turned them over to reveal the scars that ribboned the back of her hands; the webbing across her knuckles, the carving of another’s initials on her right hand, the rivers of scars that ran without purpose and the valleys of once-perfect skin that were hidden between them. “There are ways to sacrifice a life that don’t involve death; there are avenues of worship that you cannot fathom. Every so often, a group of people like you emerges, worshiping some person or demon or idea. Sometimes the thing you fear is real, sometimes it isn’t. Eventually you fall away, the world forgets you and the thing you held with such reverence. Or your demon gets bored. But what I am? What I worship? It is always here. It will always be here. You’re not special.” 

Siobhan squeezed her hands into fists. “Siobhan. Spelt like--” Siobhan’s fingers unfurled. “You know what? Just spell it however you want.” 

—

They fought hard to keep their cheeks from flushing with indignation and shame. Wynne could make no sense of it, their shame in leaving the commune and how it went hand in hand with their need to defend it. “It’s just Welsh. It’s just what we call It. Its true name is only reserved for a few to know, that’s just common sense.” They would have known it, on that fateful day they escaped. It would have been their job to summon It by name, speak those secret syllables to let It know the hour was there. And then the knife would have come down and they’d have bled and never even seen it.

Their head shook in response to the others’ answer. “No, I mean — you said it wouldn’t matter to a demon, who dies? What do you mean, I’m not special?” Wynne was unable to hide their desperation, their stomach growing as tight as ever. They weren’t supposed to heed the opinions of others in regards to all of this, but the woman seemed far from ignorant. And they had always stood in the shoes of a follower, someone who took the words of their elders as truth. There had been so few guiding hands these past months. Besides, this mattered, if it was true. If they weren’t special, if their death could have been replaced by any other young or even old body … it was something their mind had played with before, the question of why them. They had asked it and met the repercussions and then never asked again. More importantly, and perhaps more harrowingly: neither had their parents. Wynne’s thoughts circled around that thought as they stared at the scars on the other’s hands. “What do you worship?” This was asked more quietly, with a trepidation. “Why would it demand this?” Even if this kind of sacrifice didn’t demand death, why did it have to exist in the first place? Wynne was tired of the thought of bleeding for another. In their naive mind, the fatigue extended to the marred skin of a customer. Even if she scared them.

Wynne took a paper cup, not bothering to ask if the other wished to have the coffee for here or to takeaway. Takeaway it would be. They wrote down Siân before starting the process of grinding beans. “I know how it’s spelled.”

—

Siobhan stared at the hypocritical creature in front of her--the compromised morals, the twisted loyalties. Why run away if they were still going to defend their little community? She watched them cling to whatever respectability they could. She saw something of herself there: how she still held her head high, spoke of fae like she belonged among them. Her body flared. She looked away. “Do you think a demon really cares who dies for it? Do you? If a train is rushing forward, does it matter who you’ve tied to its tracks? If a hungry lion needs to eat, do you think it cares what body its teeth sink into? Would a demon really care? What makes you so special? What stars were you born under that someone else could not see as well?” Siobhan faced them again. “No one is special in the gaze of Death. No one is special under the order of Fate. We are all the same, in the end. Just bodies.” Siobhan knew; she’d made this mistake before. She’d believed someone could be special--she believed Fate would acquiesce. She was wrong. This barista was wrong now. To be special was blasphemy. 

“I worship Fate, Death, nature, the turn of the world and my place in it. A nebulous concept. To assign an understanding to Fate or Death would be a disservice; those forces do not act with intention. They command. They take. I give.” Siobhan pulled her gloves back on. “Fate demands nothing, Death demands nothing; to demand is to possess desire, of which they do not. These are actions taken to assure that I am serving as faithfully as I can. In truth, I can be devout without ever spilling my blood--but I can give more like this. Fate and Death exist without me, I am not so special that they require my sacrifice specifically. I am nothing but a servant to them. It is my place to be.” Her hands fell to her sides. “Or I was. I will be, again, one day. Properly.” She looked up. “Is my coffee done?”

—

Wynne felt something twist and pull in their stomach. These were just observations spoken by a stranger, ones they should disregard and not even ask after — but they scratched an itch they had been trying to ignore for months, if not years. They had purged themself of their questioning nature, bending curiosity into something more palatable. The elders could be cruel in their guidance, when met with too much skepticism. “I was born after a betrayer’s moon, that’s what marked me and –” The sentence died on their tongue. Wynne placed the cardboard cup under the espresso machine, working on the big coffee the other had requested in what by now seemed another day. If this stranger’s words were true and there was nothing about their flesh, their being, their life that was special then someone else was dead, now. Then it made sense, why the earth hadn’t ripped in two or goat’s hooves hadn’t followed them down here or there was no word of a massacre up at the lake. They found no words to answer, all energy spent on keeping their hands from trembling.

The customer’s beliefs hit close to home too, the way she spoke of the turn of the world and how people stood outside its ways. But their religion had always been marked by desire and demand. Corwyn Prothero had demanded something and so gythraul had demanded something in return and on and on the cycle went. They were just a chip in a game. “What is it called, what you believe in?” It was the only response Wynne could come up with. Their head felt light. “I hope you can return to it.” Another thing said distantly, as if it echoed. They weren’t sure if they meant it. Maybe they were all better off without any of this, like the rest of the world seemed to be. “Almost.” The smells of freshly brewed coffee were filling the air, the machine churning on. 

They pulled the cup from underneath it, placing a lid on top and sliding it towards the other. It took a moment before they realized they weren’t quite done yet. “Cash or card?”

—

“Do you believe that your birth charts the course of your life?” Siobhan asked as though she didn’t believe the same principle. Her birth, during a war to a banshee, marked the course of her life so inextricably that the roadway of it haunted her. She knew what she was, what she was to become and what essence prescribed her meaning. She was not a woman, not a coffee drinker, she was the same as the girl who had been born under the stars in 1917; she was a tool of Death and a follower of Fate. Never once did her life deter from its goal, and eventually, she would return to it as though she had never left.

“I said already; I worship Fate,” Siobhan answered plainly. “Death. Their core essences and their unchanged presence. I worship the natural world and its proceedings. Not a name; not a face. Just this that already rules our lives.” The weight of it pressed against her shoulders; it dug in and made a home in her flesh. For so long, she had been banished from her people, but to them that was only a droplet in the span of their lives. She would go back. She would forget this encounter, as she would anything that happened in this unimportant town. “To live under the rule of a higher power is our calling, isn’t it? What do our lives matter anymore?” Siobhan stared at the barista, waiting for something that never came. 

Across the counter, Siobhan slid the femur they had identified earlier. “For spontaneity,” she laughed before she grabbed her coffee and wiggled out of the shop--her dress was hard to move in, after all. She had to go one leg after the other and looked more like a crab than a humanoid. 

She trusted that the barista understood that it wasn’t a matter of cash or the card she clearly had in her pocket, but the things that needed to be done to cling to an identity that faded with each passing day.

[declinlalune]

Not Quite a Bird || Andy & Wynne

PARTIES: @ohwynne & @declinlalune LOCATION: The common TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Andy comes across Wynne trying to interact with an aquasturge. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

The green area near their work was a nice reprieve from the endless stream of sound and smells that A Latte to Love was and thus Wynne liked taking their breaks there. Stretching their legs, digging a fork brought from home into the leftovers of a night or two before, considering the way this society attempted to integrate green into its world. While having grown somewhat used to the rhythm and look of proper towns, Wynne was still constantly finding themself looking a little closer. 

While they did long for the life in closer harmony with nature, there was a lot to say in favour of this new world too. Not the parks, that was for certain: but the phones, the accessibility to information, the wide array of choice that was offered. Wynne still found themself overwhelmed with it at times. So to keep their mind at ease, they walked, looked at plants and pigeons and a stray squirrel and then — a bird like one they had never quite seen before.

Edging towards the water, they blinked. Dropping their fork in their half-filled container of food, they dug around their coat pocket for their phone, raising it to try and take a picture of the thing. That, they liked too: the ability to take pictures with such ease. Not that they were very good at it, at present, still unaware of zoom buttons and the like. So Wynne neared closer to get a good shot and look, also blissfully unaware that this wasn’t a swan-esque creature. 

Andy, like on most days, was covered in a light dusting of flour. The apron she adorned, courtesy of Jonas, did very little to save the clothes she wore. It took her only a few shifts to realize that looking nice wasn’t necessary; that people would still buy the cinnamon rolls and the bear claws from her, even if her t-shirt had a bleach stain across the shoulder. It was better than ruining all of the clothes she actually liked, especially considering she had very little money to go out and buy more. 

But that didn’t matter– what mattered was the bag of day old bread she’d been told she could take home. Andy knew how to make something out of nothing, even without the week old cheese-whiz that was in their fridge. She held the bag tightly to her chest as she walked, lost in her own thoughts about what to do for dinner, especially since Kaden seemed to actually enjoy mealtime in a civilized manner rather than just on the couch. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, she was a little bitter that she could no longer eat her cocoa puffs with her feet kicked up on the arm rest. 

As Andy turned the corner to follow the trail up and back towards the common’s main parking lot, she took notice of a person at the edge of the water, their phone pointed towards a bird in the water. It took her a moment to realize that the bird was not a normal heron (though, she knew fuck all about birds), but an aquasturge. It had taken her a few run-ins to get the name correct, and it was coincidentally what had made her want to brush up on the creatures in Wicked’s Rest. “Hey, I don’t know if you want to do that.” Andy’s voice rang from where she stood on the sidewalk to the risk taker. 

As if on cue, Andy’s warning morphed into something more, and the aquasturge lunged.

Struggling with modern technology was a day-to-day occurrence, Wynne having gotten the hang of typing and Googling (what a great resource!), but it got more complicated in moments like these. Occupied with getting their camera to focus rather than really paying attention to what they were trying to focus on, they failed to take note of the creature's movements. No, they were mostly looking at the image on their phone and the startling lack of feathers on the creature. Was a bird even a bird without feathers?

A warning came their way, Wynne’s attention slipping from them as they turned their head. “What?” This, as they would soon come to realise, was not a smart move: the bird moved as their attention dwindled and the moment Wynne looked back, the grey thing was closing in. A gasp escaped their lips, their still half-filled container clattering on the ground as they moved backwards in tandem. 

A wing – or perhaps arm – swept in their direction and Wynne let instinct take over as they turned around and picked up their pace. Once, a mentor had explained that ignorance was bliss, that there was a freedom in being untethered to the ruined world outside the confines of their small society. It was another lesson that turned out to be wrong. Ignorance was just falling on their face, stumbling away fretfully or making a mess of social interactions — and as eyes fell on the red-headed stranger, they wordlessly wondered if she knew whether this was a normal occurrence and, if so, what was to be done about it.

“Shit!” Andy moved forward, winding her arm back, bag of bread clenched tightly. She catapulted it into the air, hopeful that her aim was still good enough to at least hit the bird right in the head. It did just that, which made it fall off center. It gave the stranger enough time to scramble away, but she knew that being this close to the water, it wouldn’t give up that easily. “Keep moving away from the water!” Andy’s voice became high pitched as a squeal escaped her just as the aquasturge turned its attention towards her. 

“No, stop that, go back into the water!” Andy dodged its rather disgusting looking wing-arm and managed to clamber back up towards the sidewalk. Its wings were extended and its beak was open, exposing its rows of sharp, pointed teeth. She felt her stomach turn with the sight and she looked over to the stranger who had fear and confusion written all over their face. 

“Not a bird, don’t take pictures.” The aquasturge flapped its wings, its long neck extended at a distorted angle before it began its journey towards them once more. They weren’t far enough from the water. It could easily drag either of them down with it if it decided to live up to its full potential. As it opened its beak again, Andy’s hands slapped to the sides of her head, covering her ears. “Cover your ears!” The sound wasn’t nearly as bad as she had expected, but it still made her stomach churn. Maybe they were lucky that it didn’t have the water to carry its sound over. “Keep backing up!” Andy instructed the person behind her. 

They didn’t question the other for a moment, the idea of getting away from the water more than welcomed. Wynne turned on their heel and picked up their pace, trying not to slow themself down by looking over their shoulder. “What is that?!” The exclamation was high-pitched too, the two voices matching up in an unified panic. In horror, they watched the not-a-bird close in on the red haired stranger, its lack of feathers and teeth enough nightmare fuel in case they needed any more.

Their phone was still in their hand, camera-mode on, but they had little intention of taking more pictures (even if it would confirm that this was really happening). Wynne, now closer to the other, continued to stare at the strange thing, breaths heaving in and out as they fought the instinct to scream. Again, they found little reason to not listen to instructions and covered their ears tightly. Whatever sound the creature produced was muffled, but enough to induce some kind of light-headedness.

Wynne lowered their hands, starting to move more, awkwardly moving backwards. “Come on, let’s go!,” they urged towards the other, panic rising in their voice still. The grass underneath their feet turned into gravel and they wondered how far they’d have to run, what the creature even wanted. This didn’t seem like an angry goose or swan, with its teeth and strange wings. “What do we do?”

“It’s a bird, but not a bird– uhh—” It’d be better for them to know, wouldn’t it? Even though Andy didn’t abide by hunter rule beneath the idea of hunting, keeping humans from knowing about the supernatural world was by far a better option than letting them run rampant in it. Then again, there was little to deter somebody from doing so, especially in this town. “It’s called an aquasturge.” Even she had wrinkled her nose at the name. “They aren’t friendly, especially by the water.” 

Andy could respect fear, especially that of somebody who had no idea what the fuck they were looking at. She never had a lot of time to be afraid– always having to make decisions in the blink of an eye for the sake of hers and Alex’s safety. Those times on the road were not unlike the one she faced now with this stranger. 

“We get away from the water.” Andy turned and grabbed the stranger’s arm, pulling them along the trail back up towards the trees and sidewalk. The further they were away from the murder bird, the better. Andy would be able to (probably) put it in a chokehold, but she didn’t feel like getting impaled by one of its stupid talons. 

Only once they were far enough away to where the aquasturge had lowered its wings and began to circle something else entirely (Andy was sure it was a squirrel) did she let go of their arm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to grab you like that.” The situation, for the most part, was silly, but Andy could see the fear on the other person’s face. “Are you okay?” It was then that it dawned on her that she’d lost her bread. Her gaze snapped back to the brown bag as it was picked at by a few pigeons who had landed just next to the water. “Ah, shit.” 

Aquasturge. They made a mental note to Google that word when home, though Wynne had a feeling this might be one of those things that wasn’t readily available on the internet. “No, I noticed.” They didn’t mean for it to sound disregarding and hoped it didn’t, but their focus was so solely dedicated to the monstrous thing that it was hard to regulate tone.

They let themself be dragged away, feet moving on their own accord — they had no interest in staying any closer to the bird, but there was something frozen about them. This forced Wynne to move. Besides, had they not always functioned better as a follower? Falling in tandem, simply moving along? Whoever this was knew what she was doing and Wynne seemed to always be unsure of it. So many of their former actions seemed clouded in a haze. So many of their more recent ones just motivated by fear.

As the not-bird got distracted by something else, Wynne offered more attention to the other. There was a shake of their head. “It’s okay.” They tried very hard to breathe a little more calmly and found that the lack of direct threat was enough to calm them down a little. “I’m alright.” They stared at the strange creature in the distance, biting down on their lip. “That’s not in any of your biology books, is it? Aquasturge, you said? I — just thought it was some regional bird I’d never seen.” 

Wynne followed her gaze, looking at the bread. There was a nervous sound, something close to a laugh. “Seems like we both lost our food.” 

It could have been worse and Andy knew it. The situation, though a little silly now that they were both safely away from the aquasturge, could have ended in real tragedy. Now, the only tragedy was the loss of her day-old bread. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched the pigeons chip away at the bread that peeked out of the bag. Not to mention she had inadvertently littered. Dammit. 

“It wouldn’t be, I don’t think– they’re not common, and I don’t think science believes in them.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, and hell, what would be the harm in lending this person a  little more knowledge about what could and would kill them if it had the chance? Andy ran her fingers through the end of her ponytail nervously before she looked back at the stranger. “They’re weird little fucks, you know? Just weird things, and it’s better to keep away from them. Did you see the talon on that guy? It’d go right through you.” 

Andy let out a soft chuckle at their comment about their lunch and she shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.” She let go of her ponytail and smoothed her hand over the top of her head, hoping to flatten any flyaways. “My name is Andy, and I’m sorry that you lost your lunch.” 

At least the pigeons were having a feast, Wynne thought. They too were lost in thought for a moment as they stared at the way the scene had transformed into something more peaceful. Their eyebrows furrowed. “Science not believing in something very palpable and real,” they murmured, shaking their head. “Typical. I mean, the bird is right there!”

But their disapproval of the outer world’s approach towards things that didn’t fit their view faded as soon as it had risen. Wynne considered the talons compared to their own person and felt their stomach drop. They had avoided death, and did not intend to face a death by bird-claw. It seemed like a rather sad way to die. “But they seem to stray away from land, right? So here, we’re safe?” 

They looked at the other, then, and offered a little shrug. “I’m Wynne and I’m also very sorry about your lunch. But my work has some pastries I could give you? I think I owe you one, for you saving my ass. And I should get back soon, either way. You wanna walk with me?” 

“We’re safe as long as you’re not by the water. Safer the further away you are. They can cut you on land, but it’s harder for them to use that blaster thing they did with their yell.” That wasn’t the technical term, but did she need to get into details? The stranger had experienced it for themself, and Andy didn’t think she needed to put out any more warnings on just how dangerous they could be. 

Andy smiled at Wynne before shaking her head. “Nah, it’s all good. I actually work at Bread Cemetery, so I’m pastrie’d out, but I’ll walk with you.” They were young, maybe Alex’s age. “Maybe I’ll collect another day though, if you really insist?” The smile Andy wore grew slightly more fond as she fell into step next to Wynne. 

Even though it hadn’t been that big of a deal– Andy had saved Wynne’s life. If she’d gotten there a second later, it was possible that Wynne would have been the aquasturge’s lunch. Andy didn’t have it in her to be proud of herself, because it was what anyone should have done, and at the very least, Andy had been on time, and there’d been no bloodshed. For that, she was grateful. 

[letsbenditlikebennett]

[pm] A lot of people haven't, actually. So most people are usually really thrown off and don't even realize they're birds at all. [...] It is really, tricky, and not always reliable... which I think makes it even trickier. Like trying to put together pieces of a puzzle without a reference photo or like the picture is blurred on the pieces or something. It's okay that it can still be hard, I think. I'm glad it helps. Google definitely comes in handy.

That's fair enough.

Yeah. [user smiles a little bit because of both girlfriend and friend group feelings] Maybe we can all watch it together next movie night. Oh, she chewed on that track 100%. Uninvited is one of my favorites, too. That I Would Be Good is my top favorite though, she even breaks out her flute for it. Ooooh, that does make it extra special. Also, that's like really cute. You and Aria are the cutest.

Of course. Whenever you're ready, I'm here, ok? That means it's still fresh, too. Process however you need to and just let me know if there's anything I can do to help along the way. [...] If you wanted books on different symbolic plant meanings or like the naming origins of plants (some are named after poems and stuff like black-eyed susans), I have a ton. Of course I'll keep an eye on Ariadne. I know especially with what happened... it's hard to feel safe. Ok, then we've got it then. I appreciate you, Wynne. <3

I think [...] it is. And hard to figure out what it is they were supposed to do. I don't know a lot, but what I do know is you're a good friend and kind person who deserves to be loved and protected.

[pm] Yeah, and I think with how much work she's put into her field, the Dr. Kavanagh title is very earned. She's kind of a badass in the field of forensic science. Perf <3

Dying is already a traumatic experience... coming back as something new. It's pretty amazing that Ariadne went through that and is still one of the most compassionate and caring people I've met. I get that, the thought of dying is more like an end. That's true. And good. See you guys soon!

[pm] I mean, everyone has plucked a chicken or turkey before, right? [...] Me too. Memory is so tricky, right? And trying to understand the past is too, so it all can turn into such a mess. It was hard at first, and sometimes it still is. But having friends and stuff helps! And it was, but technology comes with Google, which is very handy!

I'm afraid of butting heads with adults I don't really like butting heads with people.

That's so cute! I will definitely look up Dogma, and I just put on some Alanis Morrisette. I like the song Uninvited best so far! Thank you for the recommendation. I think I liked Mamma Mia better, the songs were so fun, but Dirty Dancing was very special because that's when we first kissed.

Thank you Alex. [User is crying a little, but it's a good cry.] I do want to talk about it, it's just hard. But I will tell you sometime. [...] I didn't know until recently. I didn't even say goodbye I should never have left That would be nice. I will think about a fitting plant for him. And yes, I'm sure. [...] I might go out of town for a bit in a short while and I'd really appreciate it if you could keep an eye out on Ariadne then? That's how you can return the favor. I'll take some of the plants, that's a good trade!

It's hard when parents [...] don't do what they're supposed to. Even after the fact. Right? I'm still trying to figure that out.

[pm] Oh, okay, I will just continue calling her Dr Kavanagh then, haha! Good. And I'll come help you rest.

It must be so strange to die and then become something else. [...] [...] I thought about dying a lot. But never about waking up after dying. I wish I could understand it, but maybe it's something that's best left misunderstood. I think Ariadne is good to drive over. 🥰

[dweemeister]

Whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I.

Born to a turbulent family on a Mississippi farm, James Earl Jones passed away today. He was ninety-three years old. Abandoned by his parents as a child and raised by a racist grandmother (although he later reconciled with his actor father and performed alongside him as an adult), the trauma of his childhood developed into a stutter that followed him through his primary school years – sometimes, his stutter was so debilitating, he could not speak at all. In high school, Jones found in an English teacher someone who found in him a talent for written expression, and encouraged him to write and recite poetry in class. He overcame his stutter by graduation, although the effects of it carried over for the remainder of his life.

Jones' most accomplished roles may have been on the Broadway stage, where he won three Tonys (twice winning Best Actor in a Play for originating the lead roles in 1969's The Great White Hope by Howard Sackler and 1987's Fences by August Wilson) and was considered one of the best Shakespearean actors of his time.

But his contributions to cinema left an impact on audiences, too. Jones received an Honorary Academy Award alongside makeup artist Dick Smith (1972's The Godfather, 1984's Amadeus) in 2011. From the end of Hollywood's Golden Age to the dawn of the summer Hollywood blockbuster in the 1970s to the present, Jones' presence – and his basso profundo voice – could scarcely be ignored. Though he could not sing like Paul Robeson nor had the looks of Sidney Poitier, his presence and command put him in league of both of his acting predecessors.

Ten of the films James Earl Jones appeared in, whether in-person or voice acting, follow (left-right, descending):

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) – directed by Stanley Kubrick; also starring Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, Keenan Wynn, and Slim Pickens

The Great White Hope (1970) – directed by Martin Ritt; also starring Jane Alexander, Chester Morris, Hal Holbrook Beah Richards, and Moses Gunn

Star Wars saga (1977-2019; A New Hope pictured) – multiple directors, as the voice of Darth Vader, also starring Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Peter Cushing, Alec Guinness, Billy Dee Williams, Anthony Daniels, David Prowse, Kenny Baker, Peter Mayhew, and Frank Oz

Claudine (1974) – directed by John Berry; also starring Diahann Carroll, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, and Tamu Blackwell

Conan the Barbarian (1982) – directed by John Milius; also starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sandahl Bergman, Ben Davidson, Cassandra Gaviola, Gerry Lopez, Mako, Valerie Quennessen, William Smith, and Max von Sydow

Coming to America series (1988 and 2021; original pictured) – multiple directors; also starring Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall, John Amos, Madge Sinclair, Shari Headley, Jermaine Fowler, Leslie Jones, Tracy Morgan, and KiKi Layne

The Hunt for Red October (1990) – directed by John McTiernan; also starring Sean Connery, Alec Baldwin, Scott Glenn, and Sam Neill

The Sandlot (1993) – directed by David Mickey Evans; also staring Tom Guiry, Mike Vitar, Patrick Renna, Chauncey Leopardi, Marty York, Brandon Adams, Grant Gelt, Shane Obedzinski, Victor DiMattia, Denis Leary, and Karen Allen

The Lion King (1994) – directed by Roger Allers and Rob Minkoff, as the voice of Mufasa; also starring Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Matthew Broderick, Jeremy Irons, Moira Kelly, Niketa Calame, Ernie Sabella, Nathan Lane, and Robert Guillaume, Rowan Atkinson, Whoopi Goldberg, Cheech Marin, Jim Cummings, and Madge Sinclair

Field of Dreams (1989) – directed by Phil Alden Robinson; also starring Kevin Costner, Amy Madigan, Ray Liotta, and Burt Lancaster

[deputy-buck]

Intro & Masterlist

Buck, M, 21, gay-aro, he/him. Anons are always on, requests always open

Interests:

Fellow Travelers

UFC (FreeStream link)

Generation Kill

The Pacific

Band of Brothers

Justified

Various Discovery Channel shows: Gold Ruch, Parker's Trail, Street Outlaws, No Prep Kings

Frequently Used Tags:

Buck Builds (Full-Assed Creations)

Buck Brawls (Half-Assed Creations + Rambling)

Buck Backtalks (Answering Asks)

Personal (For... Personal things?)

i don't know who's more stupid‚ queue or the hick (Queue Tag)

Ao3: Deputy_Buck

FT

Fetch (Hawk/Tim, Fellow Travelers)

GK

Sold For Temporary Use (Brad/Ray, Gen Kill)

Gracious (Christeson/Stafford, Gen Kill)

Marines on Watch (Christeson/Trombley, Gen Kill)

Sunshine (Pappy/Walt, Gen Kill)

Release Goddamnit (Gabe/Walt, Gen Kill)

Unconventional Methods of Recovery (Brad/Ray, Gen Kill)

BoB

Docile Alpha (Roe/Speirs, BoB)

Justified

Silver Wrapped (Boyd/Raylan, Justified)

MOLLE Pouch of Memories (Boyd/Raylan/Tim, Justified)

Good Coffee and Good Mornings (Tim&Cade OC, Justified)

Buck Builds: Fellow Travelers

Pup!Skip Headcanons

Pup!Skip Moodboard

Pup!Skip/Handler!Hawk SFW Fic

Catholic School Teacher/Student 1948 HawkTim FIc Idea

"You know I can't" Webweave HawkTim

"At last, he's asleep" Webweave HawkTim

Van Gogh Webweave HawkTim

Dreams/Sleep Webweave HawkTim

"You're bulletproof" Edit HawkTim

"Childhood" Webweave Hawk&Lenny

"I will keep it safe" Webweave HawkTim

Last Kiss - Pearl Jam Webweave HawkTim

"His Love, like a brand, is burned into my being" Edit HawkTim

"Treat him like a God and he’ll blind you like religion" Webweave HawkTim

"Drag Queens can read." Screencaps FrankieMarcus

Frankie 1x02 Screencaps + Stormi!

"Give him a mask..." Oscar Wilde Webweave HawkTim

Cannibalism Motif Webweave HawkTim

Devotion Edit HawkTim

Buck Builds: Gen Kill

Pup!Romeo General Overview (Ray Person PuppyPlay)

Sad Brad/Ray HC

Trombley's Authority Kink

Brad/Ray PDA

NSFW "Sunshine" Pappy/Walt Drabble

Various RarePair Snippets/HeadCanons

Gunny Wynn Headcanons

BradTrombley Headcanons/Snippets

BradPoke & PappyRudy First Impressions

Brad & Gunny Headcanon

Buck Builds: BoB

A/B/O Pain!Play BullMartin MoodBoard + Drabble

Shifty/Skinny Hunting Each Other Motif MoodBoard

Buck Builds: The Pacific

Oral Fixation Kink Bill/Jay MoodBoard + Drabble

Pup!Sugar/Handler!Sidney MoodBoard

SId Ships & some Headcanons

Buck Builds: Justified

Tim Gutterson Moodboard, Pup Tango

Boyd Crowder Moodboard, Pup Bravo

Rachel Brooks Moodboard

Raylan Givens Moodboard, two, Pup Romeo

Boyd/Raylan/Tim Playlist (Spotify)

Tim Gutterson Headcanons (sfw), Multilingual Tim Headcanon

Justified Pups headcanon semi-outline

Tim Gutterson x Wrestling-BJJ-Kickboxing-Grappling-UFC Headcanon

“Their Graves” Poem inspired by Tim Gutterson

OTP Ask Game: Boyd/Raylan 1, Boyd/Raylan 2, Boyd/Raylan 3, Raylan/Tim 1, Boyd/Tim 1, Boyd/Raylan/Tim 1

Childhood Ask Game: Tim 1, Tim 2, Cade (oc) 1

Requestable Drabbles: “The Monster Under The Bed” (Boyd /Raylan/Tim)

Cade Gutterson Moodboard

Good Coffee and Good Mornings original post

Buck Brawls: Fellow Travelers

SEPENT THOU ART LOOSE hawk

Hawk's Apartment Floorplan

Tim in lingerie

SubbyTim Yelling

“He was buried wearing your cufflinks.” FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

Tim stammers the “H” in “Hawk” when he comes.

Plant!Dad Tim

Car Sex Dialogue Sample HawkTim

HawkTim Ash Wednesday

Robbed of AgeGap Kink... sad

FT x Brokeback Mountian Bottom!Anger Parallel

Buck Brawls: Gen Kill

Match Maker Ask Game: Five Pairs GK+BoB

Buck Brawls: BoB

Match Maker Ask Game: Five Pairs GK+BoB

[gouden-carolus]

Greetings from your super secret Santa! Wishing you a great start to the end of the year. I'd love to know a bit more about your takes on your character and pairing choices.

What sort of relationship dynamic do you enjoy seeing most? Is there a fanwork that you think flawlessly portrays a character/pairing?

Perhaps you have a hot take headcanon?

How about a few songs from your playlist that in your opinion would make for a perfect soundtrack to a character/pairing?

Can't wait to get the ball rolling for you xx

Hi Santa and thank you!

My preferences when it comes to relationship dynamics aren't exactly set in stone and I enjoy seeing different takes. In general I like slow burn because I think the setting calls for it, what with the literal warzone of it all combined with DADT and the general 'warrior culture'. Fanworks that acknowledge how this environment makes it difficult to act on, or even just admit any feelings even if there's chemistry will therefore usually be a hit with me. More character-specific, I enjoy dynamics that go into exploring the difference in viewing the Marines as your career like Brad does, or as a shorter chapter of your life as it is with Nate and Ray.

Not sure if it's a particularly hot take, but I disagree with the description of BradNate as parent figures wrangling their unruly Marine children together. Mostly because Wright already reserves that description for Brad and Ray, but also because I just don't see Nate as fitting into that role. He's too young, and I find that this description erases Mike Wynn as his right-hand man.

I'm not very good at curating my music so I'm not sure how suitable for a themed soundtrack. With that being said I guess I have some songs that remind me of characters/pairings:

-The Truck Got Stuck by Corb Lund for BradRay. Mainly because I really really like thinking about Brad's reaction to Ray singing this in the Sabka field, but also because I could probably make a whole Gen Kill playlist from Corb Lund songs.

-Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots performed by The Lucky Bullets makes me think of Brad

-Hound from Hell by Mustasch, as another Brad song

-Stuck in the Middle With You by Stealers Wheel, for BradRay

-Unintended by Muse for BradNate

-Lost On You by LP as an unhappy BradNate song

-We’re All Stuck Out In The Desert by Jonathan Rice, as more of a general song

I hope some of this was helpful, but if not I can promise that I'll probably like anything you decide to make for me! :)

[mysteriouslytransparentwombat]

Hey, Have you entered this competition to win From Fake to Forever: Win a Signed Copy of THE FAKE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL and $10 Amazon gift card from Susan Lute! yet? If you refer friends you get more chances to win :) https://wn.nr/4yjmm5f

[laresearchette]

Saturday, March 11, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: GAME OF LOVE (W Network) 8:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT: GIRL IN THE CLOSET (TBD - Lifetime Canada)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA SIX (Seasons 1-2)

CBC GEM THE JUNO OPENING NIGHT AWARDS

CRAVE TV GERONIMO STILTON (Seasons 1 and 2)

WBC BASEBALL (SN1) 5:00am: Czech Republic vs. Japan (SN Now) 6:00pm: Netherlands vs. Chinese Taipei (SN Now) 12:00pm: Nicaragua vs. Puerto Rico (SN360) 2:30pm: Colombia vs. Mexico (SN1) 7:00pm: Dominican Republic vs. Venezuela (SN360) 9:00pm: Great Britain vs. U.S. (SN Now) 10:00pm: Czech Republic vs. Korea (SN Now) 11:00pm: Chinese Taipei vs. Cuba

MLS SOCCER (TSN5) 12:00pm: Charlotte vs. Atlanta (TSN5) 8:30pm: Nashville vs. CF Montreal

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 1:00pm: Orioles vs. Jays

NHL HOCKEY (SN1) 1:00pm: Red Wings vs. Bruins (SN1) 3:30pm: Flyers vs. Penguins (CBC/SNOntaro/SNPacific) 7:00pm: Oilers vs. Leafs (SNWest/SN360) 7:00pm: Jets vs. Panthers (City/SNEast) 7:00pm: Devils vs. Habs (CBC/SN) 10:00pm: Sens vs. Canucks

CURLING (TSN/TSN3) 1:00pm: 2023 Tim Hortons Brier: Page Playoff (TSN/TSN) 7:00pm: 2023 Tim Hortons Brier: Page Playoff

TENNIS (TSN2/TSN5) 2:00pm: WTA 1000 Tennis: Indian Wells - Early Round Coverage Day #4

NBA BASKETBALL (SN Now) 4:00pm: Knicks vs. Clippers (SN Now) 8:30pm: Bucks vs. Warriors

NLL LACROSSE (TSN4) 7:00pm: FireWolves vs. Rock

W5 (CTV) 7:00pm: Cocaine Cargo 2; Dog Fight

DON’T SELL MY BABY (Lifetime Canada) 8:00pm: When high school senior Nicolette disappears after deciding not to put her baby up for adoption, her teacher begins to worry that the soon-to-be teen mom may have been taken against her will.

HOARDERS CANADA (Makeful) 8:00pm/9:00pm: Lori is helped by a team of experts to tackle her hoarding issues.

LOVE MARKS THE SPOT (Super Channel House & Home) 8:00pm:  In order to save her home publishing company from being sold, ghostwriter Becca must go all the way to Arcania with famed action star Lee to secure movie rights to the popular "Lover's Quest" series.

THE COURIER (Crave) 9:00pm:  Recruited by MI6, British businessman Greville Wynne works with Soviet spy Oleg Penkovsky to obtain intelligence on the Cuban Missile Crisis.

TO LESLIE (Super Channel Fuse) 9:00pm:  A mother from Texas fights to rebuild her life after she squanders her lotto winnings.

GREEN LANTERN: BEWARE MY POWER (adult swim) 10:00pm:  When a Power Ring is bestowed upon former Marine John Stewart, it leads him on a life-changing mission. With Justice League member Green Arrow and Thanagarian Hawkgirl by his side, Stewart is thrown into a complicated galactic war.

[kathikon]

gunny wynn deserves more appreciation

LOOK AT HIM

its a goddamn SHAME that he doesn’t get more love,, dude’s playing babysitter for 20+ children grown men rolling through iraq in old humvees and so few people in the fandom appreciate him

[absentia-if]

hi hi i just wanted to come here and say that i'm extremely excited for this IF!! i was hooked from the very first time i saw the intro post and it quickly became one of my most anticipated reads. can't wait till it comes out <3

any fun facts you'd like to share about the ROs? :D

Thank you so much!!! I’m so honored to hear that 💞.

Kade/Kara:

Had been in a relationship with you since high school (the later years) but, before that, they were in a relationship with M. (A little bit more context on M’s quote in the pinned post.)

When they were first told that you were missing, and probably dead, they didn’t want to believe it. They were an absolute wreck for two months (refusing to leave the house, crying, etc). They had to be stopped from looking for you in the woods multiple times.

Has a major fear of rollercoasters because of the heights but absolutely loves going rock climbing…

Still wears their wedding ring around their neck, right next to yours as that was one of the only things they found of yours, and refuses to take it off. No matter what.

On your anniversary they visit your grave and watch your wedding video on their phone… reminiscing about happier times when they still had you by their side.

Michael/Margot:

Is a doctor within Aurora and they absolutely love their job. They work with children and have the gentlest touch (one that the MC isn’t really expecting because of how they are with you).

Goes on a run with their dog every single morning (when their schedule allows it) to allow her to stretch her legs. It’s one of the highlights of their day.

Sings along to old show tunes that play on the radio as they’re headed to work every morning. Tapping along with the beat as a bright smile pulls on their lips.

Has a semi-distant relationship with their parents/family for a variety of reasons but they’re not one to share all that much about it.

Their favorite snack is popcorn and they commonly eat it instead of having a nutritious meal (which they’re well aware is bad for them).

Blaine/Blaire:

Is a Pre-K Teacher within Aurora and has an absolute blast creating lesson plans for their students. They have a lot of the art their students have made for them framed in their house.

Is a frequent diner at the local diner within Aurora; always ordering the same thing (a cheeseburger and fries with a strawberry shake). It’s something they always used to do with you.

Used to visit your grave every Sunday in order to pay respects and tell you about their week and what they were excited for in the upcoming one— even though all they really wanted was for you to be there with them.

Loves the taste of cinnamon and gets really excited when their mother makes them cinnamon pie (a childhood favorite).

Still keeps a picture of you on their desk (both at work and at home) because they never want to forget what you look like. And it makes them think that they’re not truly alone.

Wren/Wynn:

Has a personal connection with this case which is part of the reason they want it to finally be solved.

Has an unhealthy addiction to trashy romance books that they’ll commonly read within their hotel room whenever they’re bored or the case gets too stressful.

Is an absolute terrible cook but they’re an amazing baker (scones that you’ll never be able to believe).

Is a highly decorated agent within the FBI and a highly decorated soldier from the Marines. They take honor and duty to a whole other level.

Has a cat back in DC that they absolutely adore more than anything. It’s an old little man that they’ve named Fiji (as they named him after the only bottle of water they had on them when rescuing him).

Nicholas/Natalie:

Is a complete recluse but they’re always kind to people whenever they get lost near their house. Helping them back to Aurora with Beau happily trotting by their side.

Lives out on the lake with their next neighbor over two miles away; it’s something that made them choose their house to begin with. As they didn’t want to deal with the hustle and bustle of living in town.

Is very active; taking Beau running, biking, hiking, kayaking, etc. Whatever N does you bet your ass that Beau is going to be loyally by their side for it all.

Loves to go bird watching whenever the season comes around and they also love laying out on their back deck and watching the stars; having memorized the constellations long ago.

Is very goofy whenever they get comfortable around people and is a fairly genuine person with the few people that they trust. It’s just hard for them to get there.

[seekingxanadu]

I need to talk more about Pappy and Rudy. They give me so many feelings but often, I struggle to put it into words. Pappy was the best loved TL in Bravo 2. And there is no marine softer than Rudy when he is not required to be a deadly killer. The marines are all smart, they wouldn’t have come through the hellish training if they weren’t; but Pappy and Rudy are right up there with people like Brad Colbert, Doc Bryan, Mike Wynn, Nate Fick, in being amongst the smartest guys in Bravo 2. Sniper-spotter duos like Pappy and Rudy bring a cocktail of ballistics and hard weapons knowledge, a keen situational awareness, a higher understanding of physics, and of course, empathy and emotional solidity. As we see in the show, these two are each other’s emotional ecosystem. 

All their interactions in the show, it is not just Rudy being Rudy, it is also Rudy as the more experienced sniper taking care of Pappy. He is Pappy’s moral support, his cheer leader. Pappy’s "son of the soil” earthy vibe and Rudy's more spiritual spirit make them a great pair in terms of handling the psychological impact of war. 

The scene where they take out an RPG team is one of my favourites from the series. It is a crash course in range estimation - one of the most crucial steps in getting a confirmed hit; a miss gives away the presence of the sniper team and could cost them as sniper rifles take time to reset, and calling wind - one of the trickiest jobs for the spotter and takes YEARS of practise to call as confidently as Rudy does here.  

[the-lady-general]

i love you cardassians i love you the daleks i love you 40k i love you space marines i love you the holy roman empire i love you colin robinson i love you kai wynn i love you grand moff tarkin i love you philippa(mirror) i love you that fucked up mengele cat from felidae i love you section 31 i love you scarlet o'hara i love you dios pyramids discworld i love you denethor i love you daffy duck

[papermoonloveslucy]

EASY TO WED

July 11, 1946

Directed by Edward N. Buzzell 

Produced by Jack Cummings for Metro-Goldwyn Mayer

Written by Dorothy Kingsley, based on the screenplay Libeled Lady by George Oppenheimer, Maurine Dallas Watkins (as Maurice Watkins), and Howard Emmett Rogers.  Uncredited contributions by Buster Keaton. 

Synopsis ~ When a newspaper runs a scandalous story about debutante Connie Allenbury, her powerful broker father threatens the newspaper's editor, Warren Haggerty, with a massive lawsuit. Faced with a libel suit from the socialite Allenbury, Haggerty cooks up a plan to beat her at her own game. To do this, he must rely upon the romantic chicanery of ex-employee Bill Stevens Chandler, with Haggerty's fiancée Gladys Benton (Lucille Ball) caught in the middle. Warren believes that, if he can prove Connie truly is a home-wrecker, as the article claims, he can file a countersuit against her. Warren then enlists his own fiancée, Gladys and reporter Bill Chandler to take part in a complex plan to turn the tables on the Allenburys.

PRINCIPAL CAST

Lucille Ball (Gladys Benton) is appearing in her 63rd film since coming to Hollywood in 1933.  Lucy plays the role originated by her friend Jean Harlowe in the 1936 version Libeled Lady. 

Van Johnson (Bill Stevens Chandler) co-starred in Too Many Girls (1940), the film that introduced Lucille Ball to Desi Arnaz. He was also seen with Lucy in the film Yours, Mine and Ours (1968).  He played himself on one of the most popular episodes of “I Love Lucy,” “The Dancing Star” (ILL S4;E27) and 1968′s “Guess Who Owes Lucy $23.50?” (HL S1;E11). He died in 2008 at age 92. 

Esther Williams (Connie Allenbury) also appeared with Lucille Ball in Ziegfeld Follies (1945).  

Keenan Wynn (Warren Haggerty) also appeared with Lucy and Williams in Ziegfeld Follies (1945) and with Ball in Without Love (1945) and The Long, Long Trailer (1953). 

Ben Blue (Spike Dolan) previously appeared with Lucille Ball in Thousands Cheer (1943). Like Lucy, he had a cameo role in the 1967 film A Guide for the Married Man.  They also acted together in “Jack Benny’s Carnival Nights” on March 20, 1968.

Cecil Kellaway (J.B. Allenbury) had previously appeared with Ball in Annabel Takes A Tour (1938). 

Ethel Smith (Herself) was an organist playing herself.

Carlos Ramirez (Himself) was a Columbian-born singer appearing as himself. 

June Lockhart (Babs Norvell) became one of TV’s most famous moms on “Lassie” and “Lost in Space”.  

Paul Harvey (Farwood) did six other films with Lucille Ball: The Affairs of Cellini (1934), Kid Millions (1934), Broadway Bill (1934), The Whole Town’s Talking (1935), I’ll Love You Always (1935), and The Marines Fly High (1940).  Fans probably remember him best as the art critic who visits the Ricardo apartment to assess Lucy’s talent in “Lucy the Sculptress” (ILL S2;E15).

James Flavin (Joe) previously appeared with Lucille in The Affairs of Cellini (1934), Without Love (1945), as the Pizzeria Owner in “The Visitor from Italy” (ILL S6;E5), and in 1963 Critic’s Choice and two episodes of “The Lucy Show.”

Celia Travers (Farwood's Secretary) had also appeared with Lucille Ball in Meet the People (1944). 

Grant Mitchell (Homer Henshaw) makes his only screen appearance with Lucille Ball.

Sybil Merritt (Receptionist) makes her only appearance with Lucille Ball. 

Sondra Rodgers (Attendant) makes her only appearance with Lucille Ball. 

UNCREDITED CAST

Guy Bates Post (Allenbury’s Butler)

John Valentine, Charles Knight (Butlers)

Jean Porter (Frances)

Nina Bara (Rumba Dancer)

Josephine Whittell (Mrs. Burns Norvell)

Dick Winslow (Orchestra Leader)

Walter Soderling (Mr. H.O. Dibson, Justice of the Peace)

Joel Friedkin (Second Justice of the Peace)

Sarah Edwards (Mrs. Dibson)

Charles Sullivan (Bouncer in Newspaper Office)

Mitzie Uehlein, Patricia Denise, Kanza Omar, Phyllis Graffeo (Girls at Pool)

Fidel Castro (Boy at Pool) 

Jack Shea (Lifeguard)

Tom Dugan, Alex Pollard, Fred Fisher (Waiters)

George Calliga (Headwaiter)

Karin Booth (Clerk)

Milt Kibbee (Private Detective)

Robert E. O'Connor (Taxi Driver)

Frank S. Hagney (Truck Driver)

Jonathan Hale (Hector Boswell)

Virginia Rees (Lucille Ball’s Singing Voice)

‘EASY’ TRIVIA

A remake of one of the great comedies of the 1930s, Libeled Lady,  with Jean Harlow, William Powell, Myrna Loy, and Spencer Tracy.

Van Johnson worked with Lucille Ball again several more times. He guest-starred as himself on "I Love Lucy" and he co-starred with her in the 1968 film Yours, Mine and Ours.

Van Johnson's biography, MGM's Golden Boy, states that Lucille Ball's performance as Gladys "reveals the embryo of her Lucy Ricardo role in the later ‘I Love Lucy’ television series."

Chandler's overdue hotel bill of $763.40 would equate to nearly $10,380 in 2021. The film was a big hit at the box office, earning MGM a profit of $1,779,000 according to studio records.

The duck hunting sequence with Johnson was written and directed by Buster Keaton and Edward Sedgwick, both of who proved close personal friends with Lucille Ball. 

Radio’s “Screen Guild Theater” broadcast a 30-minute adaptation of the movie in February 1948 with Van Johnson and Esther Williams reprising their film roles. Two years later, "Lux Radio Theater" broadcast a 60-minute radio adaptation of the movie with Van Johnson reprising his film role.

Lucille Ball borrows one of Samuel Goldwyn's malapropisms when she says, "Include me out!" Keenan Wynn tries to convince her of having a sham wedding with Van Johnson.

This film was first telecast in Los Angeles on September 26, 1957; in Philadelphia on October 25, 1957' in New York City January 23, 1958; and in San Francisco on Saturday January 25, 1958. At this time, color broadcasting was in its infancy, limited to only a small number of high rated programs, primarily on NBC and NBC affiliated stations, so these film showings were all still in B&W. Viewers were not offered the opportunity to see these films in their original Technicolor until several years later.

Early in this film, on the lower left of the screen, Fidel Castro (without the beard) is seen as a poolside spectator with a drink in front of him. Young Fidel did extra work for MGM, while a student at UCLA, before becoming fully active in politics. It’s interesting that Castro and Lucille should be in the same film, seeing that her husband was born in Cuba and driven out by revolutionaries. 

[lukeyhughes]

assumptions i make about you based on your fav gk character

ray: you’ve watched all of pj’s roles including the minor ones in d list movies, you have a nicotine addiction, and your dating track record has been questionable at best but at least you’re funny

nate: stark sands is exactly your type and you’re disappointed that his career didn’t really go anywhere post-gk and kinky boots, you think some brands of ketchup are weirdly spicy, and you’re super responsible/reliable

brad: you’re sad on the inside

walt: you like sweet boys, you bow at the alter of fanon, and you probably ship waltray

poke: you hate how every gk character is woobified by the fandom, you’re super socially conscious, and you fight karens at the mall

doc: you love watching people get their just deserts, you have a soft spot for kids, and for some reason moustaches really do it for you

gunny: you respect experience over authority, you have a daddy thing, and you probably ship wynn/fick

trombley: you can see the nuances of character really well, you understand what’s it’s like to be an outsider, and you know that at the end of the day the other marines really aren’t that different from trombley at the end of the day

[indigosandviolets]

Assembly and Assualt

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Word Count: 3,351

Summary: Andrew and Luz make it to the assembly area. Liebgott and Andrew have a sweet reunion and Andrew has his first taste of the food in France — a shitty cup of coffee. Andrew gets put on main assault of Brecourt Manor, where his marksmanship is truly put to the test.

Thanks again to @whatwouldidowithoutgeorgeluz for the BoB Script of Day of Days! This part would be nowhere near as good if it wasn’t for your script.

In this part, we get into some canon divergence, as I’ve inserted both Andrew and Luz into the assualt on Brecourt Manor. Luz wasn’t present for the assault, he was probably somewhere in the middle of Normandy trying to get to the assembly area.

Part Four of We Happy Few

Easy Company Assembly Area

June 6th, 1944, 0700

Andrew wasn’t going to be the one to tell everyone about the two Germans he killed. Like Luz had said, he was doing his job. He was going to have to kill Germans at some point, it was what he had to do, he signed up for it. But hearing everyone else, bragging about how many Germans they had already killed, seeing the POWs, it was a strain for Andrew not to think about it.

He lost Luz at some point due to Winters calling him over or a search for coffee for the two of them. Yeah, it was coffee. Someone had to be making it in an ammo box somewhere, and Luz was determined to get some. Anyway, Luz has left Andrew alone with his own thoughts.

“Hey, Pretty Boy!” Andrew heard someone call out. He knew who it was. He turned around to see Liebgott, a smile wide on his face.

“Hey, Lieb,” Andrew said, returning the smile. “How was the jump?”

“Not bad, not bad, aside from the plane beside us going down, it wasn’t too bad,” Liebgott tells him. “What about you?

Andrew laughed, “Not that bad. We were shot at, I’m pretty sure, it wasn’t too bad.”

“Could’ve been worse.”

“How’s that?”

“Could’ve been in the plane beside me.”

Andrew chuckled. It was fucked up to laugh at, he knew it was, but it got his mind off of everything. Andrew knew that he was off, he could feel it down into his bones.

“You talk to that Hall guy yet?” Liebgott asks.

Andrew shakes his head. “No, no, not really. Saw him, didn’t think to talk to him, why?”

“They’re calling that kid cowboy when he’s from Manhattan.”

“That’s like calling me a Cali Boy,” Andrew laughed.

“Well, at least he’s not from the middle of nowhere in Illinois.”

Andrew laughed at that. “Hey, my brother got out, didn’t he?” Andrew bore a solemn smile on his face, maybe that’s why Liebgott pulled him to the side.

“What’s wrong, Drew?” Liebgott asked, placing both hands on his shoulders. Liebgott was softer now, he could feel how tense Andrew was.

Andrew sighed. “There were two Germans on patrol last night. Me and Luz were trying to get here and they came across our path and I didn’t know what to do,” Andrew explains. “We hid behind a bush, and they stopped right in front of us,” Andrew tells. He can see every moment of it, ticking by meticulously slow. “I — Lieb, one of ‘em was a kid. Still had the safety on his gun.”

Andrew wasn’t crying over it, but the guilt washed over him like a wave washed over a pebble at high tide. Andrew wraps his arms around Liebgott’s chest, and Liebgott wraps his around the smaller man’s shoulders. Andrew winces a bit. He hasn’t taken the “posture” binding off in two days. He had flown in a plane and jumped out of it with the binding. He knew fully well it wasn’t good for him, but he had to keep it on.

Liebgott places a kiss on the top of Andrew’s head. “It’s alright, Drew,” Liebgott tells him. “You did what you had to do.”

“I’ve been trying to tell myself that all day,” Andrew says, pulling away. “I know this is war, Lieb, but I feel so fucking guilty. They’re nasty Germans, Lieb, and I still feel bad about it.”

“That’s cause you’re a human, Andrew.”

Andrew looks up at Liebgott. No one’s there. It’s just the two of them, no one’s looking. It almost feels like they’re back outside the movie, except they’ve already jumped out of the damn plane.

Liebgott takes Andrew’s chin, tilts his head up just a bit, and kisses him. It’s hungry, again, like Liebgott hadn’t gotten enough from the last time. There’s a passion there, a burning deep inside that Andrew feels as he kisses him back. Andrew pulls away slowly, looking deep into Liebgott’s eyes.

I’m so happy you’re alive, Liebgott’s face screams out. It’s like they can read each other’s minds. It’s a deeper feeling, now. That wasn’t just any kiss, it was something more complex than either of them could describe.

Andrew kisses him again, slower now. He savors it, holding onto every last second.

Liebgott breaks away this time. Andrew smiles at him softly.

“You still taste like cigarettes,” Andrew tells him.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Anything else you wanna tell me?”

Andrew thinks for a moment. I’m a fraud, Lieb. “You better get out of here before Luz comes back with my coffee.”

“And if I don’t?”

“He’ll get your ass court-martialed.”

Liebgott chuckles. He has no fucking clue, does he? “And not you?”

“He likes me.” More than that.

“Sure, sure,” Liebgott says. He goes in for a quick peck before walking away, a smirk on his face.

Andrew watched as the older man walked away and down towards Wynn and Guarnere.

You’re fucked, Andrew Marin. Royally fucked.

-

Luz eventually came back with two cups of coffee. “Un black coffee for ze handsome man,” he says in a horrible French accent.

“Needs work, Luz,” Andrew says before taking a sip of the coffee.

“Oh, mon ami, I’m just getting started!”

Andrew feels his face recoil as the liquid washes over his tongue. It’s bitter, burnt, it’s not even coffee.

Luz seems to think it’s in response to the French accent. “It’s not that bad, Jesus, I’ll quit it!”

He coughs as he swallows, shaking his head. “Who the hell made that?”

“Malarkey, I think,” Luz tells him, taking a sip. “It wakes you up, that’s for damn sure.”

“It tastes like boiled horseshit.”

“Better than boiled bullshit.”

“Isn’t that military issued?”

“Yep, straight from Eisenhower himself.”

Andrew chuckles, taking another sip. It’s not as bad this time, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t taste like shit.

He looks up from his metal mug to see Luz looking at him, his eyes soft, loving. Andrew smiles back at him, getting up and walking over to his side.

“Hey,” Luz says, quietly.

“Hey yourself,” Andrew replies.

“You’re cute when you laugh.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.”

There’s barely any space between them. Andrew can smell the coffee on Luz’s breath. Despite it tasting like shit, it’s not that bad. Maybe because it’s Luz.

The kiss is gentle and sweet, like Luz. Everything seemed smoother around Luz, like nothing bad was going to happen.

Even though it did.

“You’re so handsome, Andrew.”

“Don’t say things like that, Luz,” Andrew tells him. “I might start to believe them.”

Another kiss. Luz’s hand moves to Andrew’s neck before he pulls away sharply.

“What?” Andrew asks, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Be honest with me,” Luz says.

Oh no.

“Is the French accent that bad?”

You’ve got to be shitting me.

“It’s not...great,” Andrew tells him, sighing. “You’ve only been here for a day, you’ll get it in time.”

“Just what I thought you’d say, mon amor,” Luz says, draping his arm over Andrew’s shoulder.

Andrew chuckles. “You’re a romantic even in the middle of a goddamn war.”

“Better than what Sobel would be.”

Andrew lifts up his mug. “Better than Sobel.” he says, taking a long swig. Luz pulls the mug away from Andrew.

“Hey, now,” Luz says. “I don’t want you tasting like boiled bullshit.”

“Well, why not?”

“If I wanted to kiss that, I’d just go ahead and sleep with Eisenhower.”

Andrew let out a fake gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Luz smiles at him with the usual goofy grin. How the hell are we even doing this? Shouldn’t we be fighting a war? “Maybe I would.”

“Oh, General, please don’t take my man away! He’s all I’ve got left,” Andrew plays along.

“I’m sorry, Private, but he’s too damn charming,” Luz says, putting on a deep voice.

“Mercy me,” Andrew says before falling into a fit of laughter. Luz quickly follows, and the two of them were hunched over giggling in the middle of a war.

It only made the next few moments all the more real.

-

Being briefed was nothing to Andrew at this point. It was nothing to any of them. It was something they did, a mental prep before the full assault.

“The 88s we’ve been hearing have been spotted in a field, down the road aways,” Winters informs the men. “ Major Strayer wants us to take ‘em out. There are two guns that we know of, firing on Utah Beach, plan on a third and a fourth here,” Winters draws on his map, “and here. The Germans are in the trenches with access to the entire battery, and with machine gun cover in the rear. We’ll establish a base of fire and move under it hard and fast with two squads of three.”

Andrew only wondered what he would be put on. Probably covering fire.

“How many krauts do you think we’re facing?” Guarnere asks.

“No idea.” Fantastic.

“No idea?” Guarnere questions. He says what’s on everyone’s mind, at least.

“We’ll take some TNT along with us, to spike the guns. Lipton, your responsibility,” Winters says, and Lipton nods.

“Yes, sir,” The sergeant replies.

“Liebgott, you’ll take the first machine gun with Petty, A-Gunner,” Winters says, and Andrew’s heart flutters. A flutter. He knew damn well that Liebgott could take care of himself and he still worried about him. “Plesha, Hendrix, Luz, you take the other. Who does that leave?” Luz was on the same detail, just a different gun. They’d be fine, right?

Andrew raises his hand, along with Guarnere, Malarkey, Buck, the new guy Hall and Toye.

“Compton, Malarkey, Toye, Guarnere, Marin, okay. We’ll be making the main assault. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” they all say together.

We’ll be making the main assault. Andrew’s heart almost stops.

“Alright, let’s pack it up, boys,” Lipton says, and they all leave. Andrew’s still reeling. Main assault. Fucking shit.

-

“Three canons,” Buck says, and everything suddenly becomes far more real for Andrew. Yes, he had already killed people in this war but now it was time for what was supposed to be a mandated slaughter.

He sees Liebgott set up the machine gun. It was almost like he was watching a different person. Liebgott looked up at him for that split second with a face that screamed, Don’t get yourself killed.

“Take Ranney, envelop right, give covering fire,” Winters tells Ranney before turning to Lorraine. When the hell did he get here? “Lorraine, on the machine gun. Don’t give away your position until you have to. And I want that TNT as soon as you see we’ve captured that first gun. Go.”

Lipton replies with the standard “Yes, sir,” and they’re off to they’re position and Andrew’s back to his.

See, shooting at someone was very different than shooting at someone and being shot at in retaliation. The Germans seemed to have a never-ending cycle of bullets coming, flying by your head and shoulders and anywhere on your body that seemed to even slightly move.

Winters pulls the men away from Liebgott and Petty and through the trenches to the first 88. Then, of course, someone gets shot. It’s a damn war, everyone gets shot.

It’s Wynn who goes down and Andrew can’t tell where he’s been hit. Doc Roe isn’t here, and neither is Spina, so no one can call for a damn medic.

While Wynn is screaming about being sorry, a grenade is thrown into the trench. Winters yells at Toye to roll and he does, covering Wynn from the blast as well.

“Guarnere, Malarkey, Lorraine, secure that gun! Compton, Marin, covering fire!”

“Yes sir!” Andrew and Buck yell, and Andrew begins the fire while Buck checks on Wynn.

“Where’re you hit, Pop?” Andrew heard from behind.

“I can’t believe I fucked up. My ass, sir,” Wynn replies. The man’s been shot and he thinks it’s his own damn fault.

“Your ass?”

His ass? How the hell did he manage to get shot in the ass?

Winters and Buck haul him out of the trench and give him his gun. Popeye can make it back, he’s sure of it.

As Andrew keeps the covering fire, Buck drops his grenade.

“Grenade!” Buck shouts, and Andrew jumps out, back towards Popeye.“Toye! Get out of there!”

Except, Joe’s not out of there. Andrew’s heart drops as it goes off. Buck’s the first one back in there, to check on him, but Toye’s there, alive.

“Jesus Christ, fucking twice,” Toye says and Andrew can’t help but laugh.

“You lucky bastard!” Andrew laughs out. “Fucking twice!”

Approaching the second gun, no one expected any of the Germans to be alive after Buck popped another grenade into one of the fox holes.

“Nicht schiessen. Bitte, nicht schiessen. No make dead!” The soldier shouts at Toye, but to no avail. None of them know German. Would fucking kill to have Lieb here right now, Andrew thinks. He knows German, he can speak it too. Tell him enough to just shut the fuck up.

“Shut up,” Toye tells him, but the German doesn’t listen.

“Nicht schiessen. Nicht schiessen.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Toye points his gun at the German, which just makes him even more terrified.

“No make dead, no make dead-“

Joe finally decides to shut him up by punching him with his brass knuckles. How the hell did he keep those on the jump?

“Hey, Toye,” Andrew says. “Our goal is to kill Germans, not knock them the fuck out.”

“Got him to shut up, didn’t it?”

Andrew couldn’t argue with that.

As Andrew and Toye go back to covering fire, Andrew sees something truly bizarre come up from the trenches. It’s enough to make the Germans stop their fire.

It’s Malarkey, out in No Man’s Land, looking for something on the German’s. He’s checking their sidearms.

That man wants a goddamn Luger.

“He’s gonna get himself killed,” Andrew says. “He’s gonna get himself killed over a Luger.

Andrew swears he can hear Lieb yelling at Malarkey to come back, and he does, no sidearm in hand. Mission failed. Now get the fuck back here before the Germans realize who you are.

Malarkey rushes back, not a scratch on him, and he comes back around to the second gun with him and Andrew and Toye continue their covering fire. They’ve got to do it. Andrew feels the rush of a bullet pass over his head but he keeps firing. You have to. You’ve got no other choice.

Eventually, Andrew runs out of ammo. He looks around, frantically, trying to find something.

“Shit!” He shouts out before getting out his side arm. He’s got no other choice until someone finds something.

Andrew aims carefully and fires, hitting a German who just had his head a little too far out of the trenches. The man’s down — Andrew has either killed him or grazed him, but he’s down nonetheless.

No other Germans are up that far out. “Jesus, I need something, sir,” Andrew tells Winters.

“I’m trying, Marin!”

Like that, Sergeant Speirs was back with ammo, Some in his hand, some draped across his arms, but a good deal on his shoulders and neck. It was like he had raided the German’s supply house and took it all for himself.

“Winters, Hester said you needed ammo!” Speirs says, handing over some of it. “Mind if D Company takes a shot at the next gun?”

Winters nods and hands Andrew some ammo, but gives most of it to Malarkey to redistribute.

Andrew reloads and he’s back to his M-1, firing at the Germans.

He can only blink twice before Speirs has the first gun secured. What a hell of a man.

A bullet goes past — Andrew’s down into the ground. The wind’s knocked out of him and he’s looking around frantically. Everything is muddled, watered down. The pain is throbbing and white-hot and he can’t begin to think of where it’s coming from.

“Marin!” He hears someone shout — Lipton.

Lipton pulls Andrew up into a sitting position. Andrew can feel the warm wetness of blood trickling down into his ear and down the side of his neck. He reaches up and feels for his ear — it’s there, just not intact.

He blinks a few times. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he reassures and grabs for his gun again. He can’t stop. The pain may hurt like a bitch but you can’t stop — nothing major was hit, so he has to keep going.

“Compton, police ‘em up, then pull out! Lorraine, Marin, Toye, move out!”

Andrew follows orders and he’s out and running back, M-1 in hand, like the rest of the men. Everyone’s still shouting, but it’s all a wet muddy pile of sound in one ear.

Lieb’s gonna kill you for this.

-

Andrew’s got his own little fire going and he’s “stew” out of an empty ammo box when Liebgott joins him. He’s cleaned up all the blood and discovered that a bit off the top of his left ear is missing. It’s not a lot, but it’s a hell of a lot more than a graze.

“I thought I told you not to get yourself killed, Drew.”

“You never said it,” Andrew replies, stirring the liquid in the box. “You looked it, though.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really, Lieb.”

“Andrew,” Liebgott says, making Andrew turn to face him. “I’m serious. If that bullet was just two centimeters to the right—“

“I know, Lieb, I know,” Andrew cuts him off. “You don’t think I’ve gone over the odds of it all myself?” Andrew pauses. “That Hall guy? He died, Lieb. I never got the chance to meet the Cowboy. Why do I get to live and he doesn’t?”

It’s quiet for a moment. Liebgott moves closer to Andrew, slipping his arm around the smaller man’s waist. He presses his forehead to Andrew’s.

“Promise me,” Liebgott says, “Promise me you’re not gonna die.”

“I promise,” Andrew replies, “If you don’t die either.”

“I promise.”

The kiss is soft, and Liebgott tastes like cigarettes and whatever alcohol he had in the douche and a half.

“Are you drunk, Lieb?” Andrew asks playfully.

“Nah, just a little bit of spirits to lighten the nerves is all,” Liebgott replies, pulling Andrew in closer. They kiss again, and Liebgott nibbles on Andrew’s lip before moving down and kissing along his jawline to his neck.

Andrew stifled a moan before he felt the little bit of a bite from Liebgott.

“Joe!” Andrew says, pulling away a bit. “You can’t leave any marks, we’ll get caught.”

There was that look in Liebgott’s eyes, one Andrew had seen a million times before. It was that sheer look of not caring, but now it was backed by a hunger, a deep want for more.

“I promise no one will see it,” Liebgott says before kissing Andrew again. Andrew nods and Lieb’s back to his neck, now unbuttoning the top of Andrew’s shirt. It’s just enough for Lieb to get to a spot that no one will see, and he’s quick about it too. Andrew’s back to buttoning his shirt back up in almost a minute.

“You’re a cheeky bastard, Lieb,” Andrew tells him, getting his food off of the fire.

“Not enough of a bastard to keep you from feeding me,” Liebgott says as Andrew pours some into Lieb’s mug.

“Oh yeah?” Andrew says, pulling away the ammo box. “Keep it up and see where that gets you.”

Andrew can’t tell if it’s a joke or not, but Lieb goes back for Andrew’s neck, kissing it one last time.

“Joseph Liebgott, I swear to god, I’ll beat your ass.”

“I wanna see you try, Drew.”

Andrew hits his shoulder with a spoon and Liebgott laughs. The sound seems to carry through the Assembly Area, all around them. Despite the still muddled part of his ear where Andrew hadn’t gotten out all of the blood, the sound of Liebgott’s laugh was as clear as crystal.

It was almost enough to make you fall in love with him.

-

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