#might do a front shot as well I love drawing her mechanical parts

[luckylsoer]

“Much more efficient than dragging my eyes down there” — Senna

Also, Happy New Year y’all :D

[synnthamonsugar]

*puts a water gun to your head and smiles sweetly* Crow/Amanda

It's my unwavering belief that proper Crow/Amanda MUST involve ship repair and maintenance. Do YOU want ME to write/draw something outside my usual body of work? Asks are open!

“It’s all ours,” Amanda Holliday beams, gloved hands on her hips, as she regards the abandoned jumpship. A true specimen of retro engineering locked in time by the desiccated atmosphere of 10 Pallas, they've been called out by its owner, who asks for nothing in payment except its removal. 

“If we can get it to move,” Crow reminds. “Do you really think we can?”

“No ship’s bested us yet.” A determined smile spreads across her face as she opens the hood. "I don't intend for her to be the first!"

Crow approaches, already assessing the motor. Everything he knows about ship repair he learned from Amanda — an impromptu boot camp she insisted on after he almost blew up the Accipiter bringing it to jump-speed without sufficient coolant. So too had he gotten all his gear from her: the toolbelt and safety goggles and mechanic's jumpsuit all rummaged from her workshop. The heavy canvas garment is a smidge short on him and bears Holliday in red embroidery across the breast pocket. Somehow, the signs it's hers makes him cherish it even more. 

"Looks pretty good, considering how long it's been here," he says, leaning into the engine bay. Amanda is already chest-deep into the compartment, fiddling around with … he can't see past the parts in front of him. "Maybe a little corrosion on the rotors."

"Stators," Amanda corrects.

"Stators, right." 

"Gimme the wrench, would'ya? Blue handle," she specifies, and Crow rummages through the toolbox to find it. Hands it to her, their gloved fingertips brushing as he passes it off. 

While she works on that, he tasks himself with cleaning rust, checking wiring against schematics sent to Glint, and sweeping out a long-abandoned bird's nest in the turbine. Hours of pleasantly monotonous work pass. Amanda eventually emerges, smudged in more grease than usual, and climbs into the cockpit to run system tests. Finds the power shot.

Crow rotates sternward, locating the fuel cell. Disengages the lock, and pulls the handle — nothing. He gives the block a second yank, two-handed this time, and still cannot move it.

"We might have a little problem," Crow hedges, and Amanda wanders out back. "The cell's stuck. Like, stuck-stuck."

"Ah, for the love of—" Amanda mumbles, bracing herself against the ship with one leg, and giving it a pull. She doesn't unseat it, but manages to budge it slightly. 

"Maybe if we both pull. . ." Crow approaches behind Amanda, "May I?"

Amanda nods. There's no way not to press against as he wraps his chest around shoulders, gripping the pull on either side of her hands. She counts down, three-two-one, and they heave together. The flex of her muscular triceps against his sinuous arms flusters him enough that he has to remind himself to hold on —

There's a heavy mechanical clack as it slides from the receptacle, both giving a long exhale of relief. 

When they finally replace it and finish diagnostics, the ship starts easily. Amanda excitedly springs from the cabin, practically jumping into Crow's arms with jubilation. "We did it!" She exclaims, as he swings her around in a hug. 

"I'm so happy I could –" she looks into his eyes, and flicks her gaze away with a rosy blush. "Well, I could kiss y–"

He presses his lips to her forehead in a quick, sweet kiss. "I could too."

[neworleansspecial]

shielding the other one with their body with Buck x Eddie

thematically relevant to the day / under a read more//

Bobby gave them both the day off. Buck knows it's from a place of love, and that he's trying to give them the ability to cope with the day in whatever form that takes, but he'd rather be at work where he doesn't have to spend the whole day on edge.

He used to love the Fourth of July. When he was a kid, it meant the fireworks and the sparklers and running around with his friends in the middle of summer. Since meeting Eddie, though, he's come to learn more about the negative side of it. Lots of veterans have a hard time with the fireworks, he learned over the course of his research, and in fact many of them go through that fear and memory alone. He doesn't let Eddie. In the past he'd just come over after his shift and make dinner with Eddie and Christopher, and the three of them would draw the blinds, turn off all the lights, and sit in the living room together to watch the fireworks on TV.

Really, Buck gets Bobby's concern. Everyone is still on edge from the sniper, and Buck and Eddie had been there at the center of the chaos when it all started. Dr. Copeland warned Buck that he may have a strong reaction to the fireworks this year, like a lot of people who have trauma regarding explosions or gunshots. He asked her if she thought he endured a trauma. She asked him if he was ready at that moment to unpack it.

And if this might be hard for him, he can only imagine what it will be for Eddie, who already hated fireworks and was the one actually shot by the sniper. It makes sense that Bobby doesn't want them on shift today, when their minds might be elsewhere and they're both on edge.

He arrives at Eddie's house a little after eight bearing gifts. He has ingredients for a simple dinner they can cook in the house, rather than on the grill outside, beer, ice cream, and his overnight bag. Rather than knock on the door, he lets himself inside with his key and begins unloading the grocery bags in the kitchen while he listens to the Diaz boys going about their morning routine at the other end of the hallway.

"Good morning," he yells, for good measure.

They both call back, bringing a smile to his face.

It's a relatively calm day, all things considered. They play video games together and watch the new Pixar movie with two heaping bowls of popcorn. Christopher had been invited to go see the fireworks in person with Abuela and all her cousins, but he said he wanted to stay here with his dad, even if it meant all the fireworks were relegated to the flatscreen. He's a good kid, Buck thinks. Dinner also goes off without a hitch, the three of them eating at the table while Christopher talks about the latest part of that new chapter book series he's been devouring. Buck bought him the last three books when he saw Eddie hesitating in the book section of Target, looking at the numbers on the back cover.

The first firework comes a little before dusk. Neither of them are prepared for it, even though Buck knows that people tend to shoot them off early- especially people who don't know what they're doing, like the assholes who light fireworks in the middle of a fucking cul-de-sac.

Buck doesn't know exactly what happens between one moment and the next. He hears the sound, and the next thing he knows, he and Eddie are on the floor, legs tangled together, his body poised over Eddie's, hands at either side of his face. His heart is beating out of his chest and all he can really think about is that moment when he himself was pressed face down on the asphalt. He was safe, in that moment. Eddie wasn't.

"I- I'm sorry," Buck stutters. "I had to- I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," Eddie interrupts. "Just let me up?"

Buck gets on his feet first and holds a hand out to help Eddie back to his. He's embarrassed. Guilty. But he's not sure exactly where the instinct came from to do something like that. The two of them go into the kitchen to get a beer instead of straight back to the living room.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eddie asks while he searches for the bottle opener in his drawer of random kitchen items.

"I don't know why I did that."

Eddie pulls out the bottle opener and fumbles with it long enough for Buck to see that his hands are shaking. "You watched me get shot."

"Exactly, I didn't get-"

"No." Finally, he gets his beer open. "Comparing traumas isn't healthy for either of us. Frank and I have talked about that a lot. PTSD is defined as experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event. You just heard a noise that sounds a lot like a gunshot like a month after I got shot in front of you, of course you're going to react."

It takes Buck just as long to get his bottle open. He takes a sip before he considers his response to that. Eddie's right, always is, and in fact said something similar to what Dr. Copeland has been, but it's still hard for Buck to really believe. He's working on that.

"I'm sorry I did that, though."

"It's okay. I'm not mad."

"Are you okay?"

Eddie takes the exact same pause as Buck. "No. My heart is still beating out of my chest and I feel like I need to hide under the bed for cover."

"Would it help you if you did?"

They both glance back to the living room, where Chris is coloring while the news shows the parade in wait of the fireworks soon to come. That first firework won't be the last- in fact, things are just going to get worse and worse as the evening goes on until it finally calms down much later than it should. Buck means no judgement- if Eddie feels safe under his bed, Buck will help him crawl his ass under there and sit watch next to it until the cows come home.

"No. I'd feel trapped."

"What would help?"

"I don't know."

While they finish their beers, they stay quiet. There aren't many words for a holiday seemingly designed to bring flashbacks and terror. If he was home alone when he heard that first firework, Buck would probably have broken the good liquor out of his cabinet and gotten drunk until he passed out and slept through it all. It's not a healthy coping mechanism, but hey- he's still working on those, and he made the choice to go somewhere safe tonight rather than tempt himself with something like that.

"Well, if you figure out what you need, I'm here."

Once they throw out their bottles to head back to the living room, Buck holds out a hand. Eddie doesn't say a word as he takes it, but he doesn't let go for the rest of the night.

[officialgomezaddams]

Cabin House

if this dosen’t take im shooting myself $wag no TW except usual sadness. Slight simp anakin and breeding kink but iykyk

She sat outside on the porch in her rocking chair, watching the ship in front of her lower its self onto the meadow surrounding the cabin that she lived in with her husband. She smiled to herself, her hands rubbing her pregnant stomach in relief that he was home. It was a new feeling to both of them, homeliness. A family that is now back together. Or at the very least, the start of one. 

They had met when they were both young, Anakin was in Jedi training, and Y/n was a mechanic at the same temple. It was a decent gig, she reasoned with herself. The many hours and days spent watching and learning from her father in his shop had paid off. 

Born and raised in the capital of the galaxy, the high life never slowed down. There was always loud traffic, busy trade; the planet never slept. Anyone could go to a party or club; some festival was always happening. The temple was different, a little peace in the concrete jungle. As the war started, the need for maintenance shot up—the urgency to fix whatever droids or ships needed to be rewired or mending broken welds. Simultaneously, the Jedi and the politicians tried to restore the balance, maintenance fixing everything else. 

A job was a job, and getting herself out of her father’s small auto body garage was a priority for her. Pulling night shift sucked, but the lack of staff and management who wanted to do nights meant she could get away with a lot. 

It started when the shy padawan walked up to her, the shift partner in the area she worked with was sleeping in his chair, and even tho he was older than her and had more experience, Y/n didn’t wake him up. It was her first real interaction with someone who was force sensitive, and she was thanking the stars that this boy somehow made his way to her.

It wasn’t because he was lost. Anakin had been at the temple long enough to know it by hand and could probably draw blueprints of the entire layout. The way around maintenance wasn’t that hard, as he often borrowed material from them to fix small stuff he could handle. Anakin had caught glimpses of her, he would stare at her for the few seconds it took to pass each other while he was leaving the ship and for maintenance to check it for any repairs that needed to be done.

“What’s up, Starboy?” Y/n teased. Even though she had never met him formally, he was quite well known for his destiny. 

He shuffled his feet around, and all the confidence he once had was gone. He looked at her before looking down at the table she was in front of, watching her set down the wrench she was fiddling with. 

“I need an arm.” He shot out, not even knowing how to ask for such a thing. 

“An arm?” She had responded, wanting to make sure he had said the right thing. “Why do you need an arm-” She asked but quickly stopped as he dropped his robe, and she realized he was missing the very thing he had asked for. “Oh. You need an arm.”

It took about six months for the arm to be built. It took a lot of measurements, calculating, and many, many nights for it to be made giving Anakin time to grow his confidence back up and flirt relentlessly with her. Telling her that it didn’t bother him that he would almost get little to no sleep because ‘being with you is a dream I never want to wake up from.’ On the nights he didn’t see her he would tell her, ‘Even though I couldn’t be with you, I still see you in my dreams. The best dreams I will ever have will always be the ones where you are in it. My dreams with you are so sweet to the violent reality of being a Jedi.’ 

The last night the two spent together working on his arm, or to be honest it was just her while Anakin would pour his heart out to her, hoping for something, a kiss, or even the simple statement that she returned his feelings. 

“If I have any problems with my arm, I’m coming to you. For my arm and my heart, you are the only one who knows how to fix them. Help me Y/n, my heart hurts, it burns for you. Every time I leave you or think about how you aren’t mine it aches. It’s so painful. Fix it, please. Tell me you don’t feel the same way, that your heart beats differently to the tune of mine.” He told her, watching her with doe eyes as she concentrated on wiring the last few things together. 

“Isn’t that against your rules?” 

“Attachment is forbidden, possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi’s life. So you might say I am encouraged to feel this way about you.” He stated, awkwardly biting his lip which made her giggle. 

“In three days, I have time off, maybe then you can teach me about this new teaching, and I can teach you something about how to use the arm.”

Neither of them expected it to be like this. Married and expecting. The moment she had told Anakin the news, he had immediately begun thinking of moving. Getting away from the city life and going somewhere more quiet and peaceful. Somewhere the war could not disturb them, so they landed in Alderaan. The whole planet was pulled right from a painting, and the moment they settled on the cozy cabin, they both realized that after years of running around, they finally found their home. With each other, in their soon-to-be family, and in Alderaan. 

As the ship lowered its self to the ground, the woman awkwardly got out of the chair and stood up, holding onto the wooden frame of the porch. Anakin swiftly got out, smiling from ear to ear as he saw her waiting for him. His feet moved on their own as he ran to her, watching her take careful steps to meet him. Before she knew it, his arms were around her, pulling her into him. “Don’t strain yourself for me.” He whispered, kissing her head. 

She was thirty-three weeks into her pregnancy with twins. The two babies growing safely in her womb had made things more difficult for her in terms of moving around, and she had long forgotten her shoes. 

They didn’t move in right away. They waited until work became difficult for Y/n, getting down to work on something wasn’t easy anymore, and she couldn’t be on her feet for more than an hour and a half until her feet started hurting. On the other hand, Anakin wanted to move in as soon as they got it. ‘You shouldn’t have to work, you’re pregnant with our babies, and I want you to enjoy this.’ He also knew how chatty the maintenance section was and was not looking forward to any rumors that could be spread about his wife. ‘Tell them they are mine. I’m not going to let them disrespect my children by disrespecting you. Tell them that I got you pregnant, that you took me in, and this is what my seed is doing to you.’

“How are you, my angel?” He asked, watching as the moonlight hit her face. He had been gone for most of the pregnancy, being forced to leave after her first doctor’s appointment that confirmed that Y/n was with child. Only then, she was nine weeks far too early to be showing anything. He came back to her a few weeks later, and the first thing he did when he greeted her was to kiss her fourteen-week stomach, but he didn’t stay long. The three days they were together were spent moving quickly into the new house. Only the important things she needed were to stay back at the temple so she could continue with work. They didn’t have much, but Anakin insisted on carrying everything, telling her that she was not even to lift her jewelry box because he didn’t want anything to happen to the babies. 

“Bored. I’ve been itching to get back to work; there’s only so much you can crochet before you want to stab yourself with the needles.” She joked, making them both laugh. 

“And the babies?” He asked, his hands dropping to rub the sides of her stomach. It brought him pride to see her like this. Seeing her carrying his child, seeing her full belly, smiling at the thought of the stretch marks that clung to her round belly, knowing that her body was adjusting well. The few times he was able to see Y/n through the hologram, he always admired his wife’s new changing body.

“Restless. I’m hoping now that you’re home, they’ll calm down for a little bit.” Anakin pulled her into a soft kiss. The whole time he had been away, she and the babies were always on his mind. He would wonder if they were kicking or thinking about what to name them. He would think about Y/n, if she was sleeping and if she was pushing herself too hard. He felt terrible for not being there to hold her hair back through morning sickness or walk her around to make sure she got the proper exercise she needed. He felt so useless. 

“How long do I have you back for?” She asked. It was an impossible question because no matter what time frame they had, it wouldn’t be enough. She just wanted him to be here with her, safe. The only good part about being away from the temple was she got away from all the rumors about her husband being dead or being held somewhere and tortured. She wanted him here in their home, enjoying the moments and milestones that she was going through alone. She had convinced herself that if - stars forbid it- something happened to Anakin, she could do it by herself. She could raise the kids and do what she could to make ends meet. It’d be challenging, and she understood that. But in her opinion, what could be harder than going through this pregnancy alone? Forcing herself to get the rooms ready, forcing her co-workers at the temple to help her in the later stages because she couldn’t depend on Anakin. 

He quietly led her to the house, purposefully ignoring the question because he knew that it wouldn’t be the one she wanted to hear. Only when she asked again as they reached the front door, he answered. “A week. Then I have to go back, and I don’t know where the council is sending me. Probably to Hutta.”

“You’re gonna be here for the births, right?” She pressed, stepping into the warm cabin and away from the cool breeze of the night along with his arms. 

“Y/n, I promise that once our children are born, I will be there for everything,” He reassured her. He knew it was a promise that he couldn’t keep. That the Jedi council would most likely tear him away from his family sooner or later. With war, or keeping the force away from the Darkside, he knew that it would be something. “Don’t look at me like that, Angel. You know how hard this is for me. You knew what you were getting yourself into.” He took a step towards her, but she shook her head and stepped back, turning around and began waddling herself towards the shared bedroom. 

“But I didn’t expect it to be left by myself throughout this.” His wife began, with Anakin following her quickly. “All alone and pregnant just to have you, my husband, show up for a few hours or a few days if I am lucky. Then to have him leave me alone again.”

“Am I not here, in our home when I can be?” 

“Our home?” She raised her voice, “It feels as if you are no more than a guest.” Finally turning around to look at him before walking over to the bed and sitting down facing away from him, looking out the window that gave a view of the spacecraft out front. “Anakin, I want to go back to the Coruscant.”

“Going back wouldn’t change a thing.” His words were forced, trying to stay calm and not lose his temper. He was a good husband, or at least he tried to be. It wasn’t easy - for anyone. But he tried, skipping meetings and purposefully doing stuff to get close to you, reporting ships and droids as broken so he could sit with you as you worked on them. Even now, with the war, just being on the opposite side of the same planet was enough for him. “You know that I can’t control what happens out there. I don’t get to pick and choose when I get to stay home!” His anger was cut off by the sound of her whimper. 

“Y/n, Starlight,” He was cautious with his words now, “Y/n?” She would not face him as he sat down next to her on the corner of the bed, his head down in shame. “Please tell me you don’t regret this.” Any of this, he thought to himself, knowing it was always her who got the short end of the lifestyle they had to hide. 

“Anakin, our love is like the Coruscant. It’s messy at first glance, and it’s hard to understand why it hasn’t just fallen apart in chaos. It doesn’t make any sense. But if you squint hard enough and really focus in,” She began slowly, trying not to fall apart. “You can see how nice and beautiful and all of the great things you can get out of it.” Her lip quivered, and her voice broke, letting the painful tears she was holding in anymore. “But I’m so tired of squinting.”

Neither of them looked at each other. While Y/n cried into her hands, Anakin just sat there, trying to figure out what to do. “I-” The reality that this could be it, this is all about to end, made him re-think his words. Did he miss something? Was he too happy that he was starting a family with the girl he fell in love with at nineteen to realize that she was now, what? Fallen out of love for him while she was right about to give birth? For once, Anakin was speechless. He could still fix this, right? I have to fix this. She’s fucking pregnant with my children. Our children. 

“What do you want then? I’m here, now, Angel. I -I don’t know what you want.” His voice was pitiful, but she was strong. She had to if she was going to do this alone.

“I want you to get in your ship and leave.” 

As soon as she said it, he was protesting, ”Go where? Baby, please, don’t make me go back.” He was the one crying now, tears falling mercilessly down his face, realizing that this was it.

“I don’t care where you go, Anakin. Just- you can’t stay here. You make me too sad.” 

[n0wornever]

Meet Cute (pt. 2) - Luke Patterson x Reader

Read Part 1 here

So....I got a little carried away with this. If you don’t like it, pls don’t ever tell me lolol (also, yes, the lyrics included are Miss Taylor Swift’s)

Y/N placed her bag down at her usual table. She took a look around the room, trying to draw as little attention as she could as she looked around the room for those hazel eyes. Unsatisfied with her assessment, she sits down at the table and opens her book. 

Within a second, a soft voice tickled her ear. “Looking for someone in particular?” She felt her ears burn as he giggled softly close to her face. 

She turned to be met by the smiling barista, coffee splattered all over his apron and flour attached to the sides of his arms. She tried her best not to smile too quickly back at him, tucking a piece of her falling hair behind her ear. 

“Nope.” She stated, scrunching her nose up at him. He rolled his eyes, leaning on the table in front of her. 

“Well are you going to order something or do you plan on freeloading all afternoon?” She popped her jaw as his eyes bulged, raising his eyebrows at her. 

She set down her book and placed her hand on her chest, mouth ajar in his direction “Not with this kind of customer service.”

His smile grew even wider as he shooed her gaze off of him with the towel in his hand. He slid the open chair toward her, sitting down and leaning his elbow on the granite below. 

Can I at least get a chai ready for you, miss comedian?” 

She brought her finger up to her face, tapping her cheek a few times before nodding. She moved to grab her wallet out of her bag, but by the time she did, he was out of sight. 

She leaned over to look at the bar, where she saw him running quickly to the machine, booting his coworker off of it with a push of his hip. She smiled dreamily as he worked quickly, steaming milk, and then flipping over to the other side to start steeping the tea. He eventually poured something into an orange mug with a smile on his face. She watched him carefully sprinkle cinnamon on top of it, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he did. As his eyes moved away from the cup, she leaned back over to face forward at the table and lifted her book to her face again. 

It took a few seconds for him to walk over to her table. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the words in front of her until the glass actually hit the table. She lifted her eyes to meet it with a small smile. She looked up to see him beaming down at it with his hands out.

“Ba daaaa…” He said with jazz hands shaking at his creation.

“Thank you,” She said simply, picking her card up from the table next to her “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head “I get a free drink a day, this one is yours.” 

She frowned at him, pushing the debit out toward him. “No, Luke come on…” He rose his hands, refusing to take the card from her once again. She moved her feet, preparing to get out of her chair but Luke took off on foot back toward the bar. 

She looked down at the ground, shaking her head before rotating back to her book. She leaned over to her bag, pulling out her pencil and tucking it behind her hair. She had created a habit of spinning her shoulder-length hair around writing utensils to make a makeshift ponytail. She pressed down on the middle of her bun to make sure it was secured before bringing her hands back down to the table. She chewed on the middle of her lip as she finally dove into her first poem of the evening. 

A moment passes before her phone buzzes against the table. She finishes the line she’s on before picking it up. She looks at the message from an unknown number with furrowed brows. She swipes it open, eyes falling on the word “purple.” 

Unknown: “Hey purple, it’s your favorite barista.”

She smirks down at the device, quickly typing her response. “Shouldn’t my favorite barista be working and not texting customers?”

Unknown: “Yeah well...we’re dead and I want to talk to you without being whipped by my boss again.”

She giggled, her mind falling back to the sound of the towel slapping back and forth on the barista’s back. “You are making it quite difficult for me to focus on my reading….” 

Unknown: “So studious. I guess we can talk later. :(“ 

She rolled her eyes, not responding to his pouting. She placed her phone face down on the table and gripped the book in her hands once again. 

Y/N eventually finished the book in one sitting, with extra time she planned to spare. She pulled out her notebook from her bag and flipped to a fresh page. She leaned over to rummage through her bag for another pencil. She felt her hair collapse around her face and sat up straight, she turned to see Luke holding up the purple mechanical pencil in his hand as he hovered over her.

“Need this?” He winked in her direction, his eyes drawing over her features. “I think I like your hair better down anyway,” 

She pulled her curls behind her ears and shook her head up at him as she reached for the writing utensil.  

“Unbelievable,” She muttered.

A smirk reappeared on his face as he held out the pencil, shaking it between his fingers. She reached over and he caught her wrist with his free hand. She tried and failed to hold back the audible gasp that came with his sudden touch. He flipped her hand over, place the pencil in it before closing her hand around the small object. He placed his hand on top of hers for a moment before letting her go.

She turned back to face forward, hoping the growing redness on her face and ears weren’t as apparent as it felt. He slid into the chair in front of her, catching her eyes again. He set his elbows on the table and leaned his chin in his palms. 

“So you’re actually writing tonight?”

“Are you on break?” She rose an eyebrow at him. 

He shrugged “Kind of?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was unbelievably determined. She watched as his eyes fell to her open notebook and back to her eyes. 

“What are you writing.” 

She sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “That’s the problem, I’m not sure yet.”

He nodded, propping his hand under his chin as he looked over in the distance. Almost as if a lightbulb turned on in his brain, his expression changed to one of excitement. “How about I help you?”

She shook her head “You’re going to get yourself fired if you just sit here and try to help me brainstorm…” 

He laughed again, digging into his pocket “I’m not going to just sit here….I have…” He pulled out a square piece of paper and pushed it over toward her. She stared at it for a moment before looking up at Luke in confusion. He lifted the paper into his hands and unraveled it, pressing the open paper to the table before pushing it over to her once more. She read through the chicken scratched lines as he spoke to her.

“These are lyrics I started writing last night. Maybe you could respond to them?”

She rose an eyebrow “I don’t write music.” 

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes at her “I meant write-in in your medium of choice. Write a poem or just a few statements in the way that someone may respond to what’s being sung.” 

She moved the paper back toward him “Luke I can’t just take your work like that.” His hand moved to cover hers as his smile grew.

“I want you to take it, use it if you can. I’ll be waiting…” He stood up from the table, running over to his very unenthusiastic coworker. 

She held the paper in both hands as she started to read the lyrics. She felt her heart pick up even staring at the writing, feeling like she was reading directly into someone’s diary. 

“And you stood there in front of me just, Close enough to touch, close enough to hope you couldn't see what I was thinking of. Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.”

There was a large space between paragraphs. He must have pieces missing still, she thought. She let her eyes fall to the next line, a small smile forming on her lips. 

“I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild. Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, its just wrong enough to make it feel right. And lead me up the staircase, won't you whisper soft and slow? And I'm captivated by you baby, like a fireworks show.”

Y/N sat there in awe as she read through the short lines over and over. Whoever Luke was talking to, he was really in deep. His cool demeanor didn’t give away this kind, vulnerable sound that came through his lyrics. She tapped her pencil as she began to think thoroughly about these short lines. 

Luke has to be extremely infatuated with this love interest he’s writing to, she decided. So she decided to write from the perspective of the girl, who is hesitant to be as confident about the possibility of a relationship budding between them. Her hand wrote frantically across the page as her mind ran wild. 

“The way you move is like a full-on rainstorm, and I'm a house of cards. You're the kind of reckless that should send me running, but I know that I won't get far.” 

She thought these lines might sound a little corny, but she loved it already. She sat and gazed over at Luke at the counter. He was already leaning over the ice cream area, smiling in her direction. She shot him a quick smile, looking into his brown-green eyes before looking back at the table and putting the pen to paper again. 

“Get me with those green eyes, baby as the lights go down, give something that'll haunt me whenever you're not around, 'cause I see, sparks fly, when you smile.” 

She wanted to go a bit deeper than the fluff, so she concentrated on the next part being the girl’s nerves. She’d never felt like writing had ever come this simply to her, practically overflowing in her mind before she’s able to capture it in words. 

“My mind forgets to remind me, you’re a bad idea, You touch me once and it's really something, you find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be. I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, I know its no good. And I could wait patiently, but I really wish you would.”

She decided to end it with a call and response to Luke’s initial lyrics, rewriting “Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” 

Y/N put down her pencil and read it back a couple of times and she couldn’t help but beam at the paper below her. 

“Is it going well?” A voice boomed over her shoulder, causing her to jump up in her seat, hearing a familiar laugh behind her. 

She turned to him with wide eyes “Do you ever like to enter a room quietly?” He shook his head at her, the two laughing together as Luke took a seat at the table. He put his hand out toward her notebook. 

“Let me see what ya got, Y/N.” 

She hesitated, playing with the red ribbon that sat in the middle of the page. Luke’s face softened as he noticed her anxious tick. “I promise I won’t judge, and if I do...you have every right to never speak to me again.” She sighed, meeting his eyes, Luke’s teeth atop of his bottom lip. “Y/N, I understand how vulnerable creative work can be, I promise you...it’s between you and me.” his finger pointing back and forth between the two.

Y/N gave in, sliding the notebook his way and bringing her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t want to see his reactions quite yet to her quick writing. She’d had only an hour to start scribbling, so she wasn’t convinced that it would drop jaws. Her internal monologue was stopped by her eyes when they looked over and saw Luke’s wide smile as he ran his eyes down the paper. She let them linger there for a while, taking in his animated expression. He looked up at her for a moment, the smile staying put before he darted back down to her words. He pointed to a specific spot on the page and brought his gaze back up to her again. 

“I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, But with you, I know its no good.” He sang quietly, his eyes fixated on her face. He spun around in his chair before he opened his mouth again.

“Y/N, this is so good. This...is music. At least to me. I can hear this.” 

She knew her face was a perfect shade of pink by now, but she tried to ignore her elevated heart rate as she asked him a question. “You, you mean that?” 

He nodded “You have to sing this with me.” 

She shook her head profusely “Luke, oh no, absolutely not.” 

He giggled, touching her hand again. “Come on Y/N. My house isn’t far from here and I’m off in 10 minutes. It could be as private as you need it to be.” 

She thought about her former voice lessons, her years of choir and her short time in the drama department. She wasn’t a terrible singer. For some reason, the mixture of her finally being able to put something on paper and the way Luke was looking at her right now made her want to say yes, so she did. 

She finally nodded his way, whispering a quick “....okay.”

Luke’s smile grew as he stood from the table, “Wait for me here, I’ll be done in a few.” 

She spent the last 10 minutes painstakingly over-analyzing every single possible situation that may come from this encounter. She was about to be alone, with a boy she’s met all of two times, giving one of the most vulnerable parts of her to him. What if he hated it and never wanted to see her again. Did she want to see him again?

What was happening to her? She tried to focus on the lyrics/poem or whatever she’d written. She started to hum along to a line to calm herself down as she waited for Luke to finish. As soon as she’d hit her second stanza, a hand touched her shoulder. 

“Let’s get out of here.” He said, pulling on his coat. 

She got up out of her seat, placing her notebook in her bag and throwing her coat over her body. She followed him out the door into the cold autumnal air. He turned to her, pointing to the left side of the lot. 

“Ride with me? I’ll bring you back to your car later.” She nodded at him, following him across the street. 

As she got into the passenger side seat, the smell that wrapped around her felt familiar. It smelled like him, like dark woods and coffee mixed together. She took a silent breath in, exhaling as he got in next to her. 

“You okay?” He asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“Just preparing for my 9 p.m. news abduction story.” She said, grabbing onto the handle near her chair. 

He pursed his lips together, obviously holding in laughter as he put the car in drive. He pulled out of the lot and onto the road quickly. As they moved past homes and office buildings, Y/N brought her attention out toward the window. She listened to Luke’s light humming as she took in what passed them by. 

He turned onto a street lined in trees that were shedding their summer green. She almost wanted to take a shot of the leaves, but she didn’t want to feel invasive. Instead, she mentally took note of their beauty, something she’d hope to at least get to write about later. 

Luke hopped out of the car quickly, lightly jogging her side to open the door. “Ma lady,” he slightly bowed at her and she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car. 

He walked next to her toward the wooden door with a large wreath hanging upon it. Shades of yellow and orange and green sprinkled around it. He put the key in the door and guided her inside. The place was quiet. Table set, rooms clean but no sight of anyone around the first floor. 

“Where’s your family?” She asked.

He held his hand out to take her coat. “Dunno, probably at one of our relative’s houses. It’s poker night.” She shrugged off her jacket, placing it in his palm. 

He pointed at the stairs “Let’s go to my room.” She followed his lead up the winding stairs. He moved toward the door straight in front of them and spun the handle open. He gestured her in first, and her eyes met walls of musical artists and ticket stubs. She turned in a circle, taking all of it in. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

She smiled at him “Quite a collection you’ve got.” He held her gaze for a moment before walking over to his guitar stand. 

“Here’s my baby, let’s get to singing!” He ran his fingers down the strings once before sitting back on his bed, tapping the spot next to him for her. 

She moved slowly, sliding next to him and leaning back on the wall. She handed him her notebook and he strummed away as he looked at their combined words. Y/N watched him in awe as he combined words and melody in front of her. Her eyes fixed on his closed expression, shaking his head enthusiastically to the notes he played.

He smiled back at her, laying out some poorly drawn notes on paper in front of them. “Okay, so I already had something in mind for this piece. Let me know if you need any help as we go through this.”

He started to play the opening notes, leading up to the first verse she came up with. He hummed his thoughts on the first stanza, and then looked at her, nodded her along. She tried to avoid looking at her shaking hands as she quietly repeated that first line. His warm grin boosted her confidence, next coming in stronger and the following even brighter than before. 

As they hit the chorus he counted down from three for her and then they sang together. “ Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” His velvet voice eased her worries as they continued down the page, eye contact staying consistent.

By the time they got to the end, Y/N and Luke were simply looking at each other as his playing faded out into the background. His gaze always made her a bit on edge, but the way he looked at her right now, with that dreamlike trance, was enough to make her feel like the room was spinning. She finally diverted her gaze from his to look out his window and she heard him exhale.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah.” She said lazily, letting her eyes slowly migrate back to the bedframe he laid against. He set his guitar to the side and moved over to the edge of the bed near her. She watched as he slid his hand closer to her, inching it toward her own. When he finally closed in, his grip was soft and gentle, bringing his fingers between hers. She looked up to meet his eyes, trying to dissect what he was doing. 

She watched as his body leaned in toward hers. She felt her breath hitch at the proximity. Finally letting her gaze meet his. She watched as his gaze moved from her lips to her eyes a few times before he closed the distance, hand reaching for her neck. She shut her eyes, leaning into him as their lips moved together. As they pulled away, his dark eyes glistened at her.

“Like music.” He repeated, touching her cheek gently.

.

.

.

.

Tag list: @xplrreylo​ @lovesanimals���, @anythingandeverythingfandom​, @crybabyddl​, @oswin05​, @themaddies-obx​, @lukeys-giggle​, @bumbleberry-pie​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​  @marinettepotterandplagg​, @lolychu​, @bathtimejish​, @dasexydevitt13​ @musicconversedance​, @txrii​  @bestdressedandstressed​ @daisiesforlacey​  @epikskool​  @bookfrog247​ @carleywhittaker​ @princessvader15​ @rudysbay​ @spooky-season-bitch​ @kcd15​ @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall​

[zodiyack]

Opposites Attract; Act IV

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Female!Pierce/Petrova!Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 901

(Series) Summary: The younger sister of Katherine was the true owner of Damon’s heart, Katherine only being his worry in 1864 due to the sister’s bond, the bond that fueled Katherine to force Y/n to join her when she escaped Mystic Falls and left Damon to think they were both in the tomb.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @lady-salvatore, @sana-li, @lawlerek, @caseysalvatore, @jenepleurepasbaby, @thecraziestcrayon, @thewarriorprincessxo, @agustdpeach, @yolobloggers, @tranqs-main-mami, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @dpaccione​, @iclosetgeek​, @rosiesimone819​

Masterlist | The Vampire Diaries

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI.

Two Weeks Ago

Cleaning the glass was the first thing he started on. Stefan didn’t need to find out what happened, and he wasn’t going to. “Heartless bitch.” He mumbled with every sweep of the broom until he was finished. Hands on his hips, he looked at the glassless window pane and huffed. Now to compel someone to fix the window...

Present Day

Damon didn’t want Stefan nor Elena to know about his murder and rescue plans. Maybe it was because he thought they would interfere or worse, tell Katherine. He wasn’t quite sure why he prevented their knowledge, but he did. Too much at risk. Too much he couldn’t afford to lose.

The days after their run-in felt oddly elongated, and far too so. He yearned to feel Y/n in his arms again, hold her close to him where he knew she’d be safe and warm. But he also yearned to show Katherine what she made him feel for the last century without Y/n.

Damon wanted to do something Damon-like for the first time in a short while. The hospital in Mystic Falls was alerting Stefan and Sheriff Forbes on the daily, large amounts of blood bags gone missing. Reason being, Damon was stockpiling his strength. He was serious about getting Y/n back.

“It has to be a vampire.”

“I thought it would be.” Stefan agreed. “But why do they need that much?”

Although Damon was 100% supportive of his plan, the others were too oblivious to agree. Their blindness to his plotting should’ve come as a forewarning to their reaction. If only Damon cared for things such as those.

With the mysterious disappearance of the blood bags came an inspection. Damon had fingers pointed at him, but not at the start. Stefan and Liz checked everyone, and no one turned up guilty. They knowingly shared a glance when they left the final house. It was blatantly obvious now.

“Stefan-”

“I know. Unless, we missed some vampire we don’t know about, it’s Damon.”

Liz shot him an empathetic look. Damon being involved with something wasn’t always the best news, but they were used to it by now. Together, Stefan and Liz went to the old Salvatore Boarding House, a hurried pace and all. Upon reaching their destination, Stefan decided it was a matter he needed to deal with himself. Brother to brother, vampire to vampire.

“I’ll deal with it.” He tried to reassure the sheriff.

She sighed heavily, thinking over their options. Hesitantly, she gave in. “You promise? We can’t have people picking up on what really happens.”

“You can trust me.” He nodded before walking into the boarding house, running into the person he just so happened to be looking for.

“Hello, little brother.”

“Damon.” His tone was stern and unamused. “So I have Liz outside...”

The raven haired brother let out a scoff-like-chuckle, “And?”

“And, she informed me of a little...situation.”

“What ‘situation’ might that be? What does it have to do with me?”

“A lot, actually. Can you, um, explain to me why the hospital is reporting a massive amount of blood bags as missing, Damon?”

A sound of shock, followed by a matching expression- which both strongly lacked effort, escaped Damon as he lied back onto the sofa. “There’s a new vampire in town?”

“Liz and I checked everywhere and everyone we could. I highly doubt there is.”

“Uh-huh... Well...then nope! Sorry, can’t help ya.” Damon rested his arms behind his head. His eyes shut and he grew used to the momentary silence. Then Stefan spoke, drawing a scowl from Damon as his tired lids snapped back open.

“We know it was you.”

“Ugh. Listen, I already told you, hero-hair. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Stefan rounded the couch, determined to draw the truth from his brother. He’d been fooled one too many times to let this go. If anything, Stefan learned from the past, each time he was fooled was when he shrugged it off after few attempts. “I doubt that as well.”

“And I can’t help you with that either. Learn from me, Stef, some things a better just,” he brought his hands up, his expression holding a dream-state-like touch, “let go.”

“Not this.”

“Yes, this.” He stood up and began to walk to the stairs when Stefan grabbed his arm.

“Tell me the truth.” His eyes were pleading, and his insistence was starting to annoy Damon. “Please, Damon.”

He looked around, then sighed. “Fine. I’ve been stealing the blood because a war is about to begin brother.” He pat Stefan’s shoulder, “and I’m on the front lines.”

The words repeated in her mind, over and over, like a song on loop. “What does he mean, ‘a war is about to begin’?” Elena’s face scrunched in confusion. Stefan shrugged, just as puzzled as her. They’d been at it all day, trying to figure out what Damon was up to. “Does he have any enemies that you know of?”

“Who isn’t Damon’s enemy?” Stefan scoffed. He smiled to himself. Then, it hit. The thoughts clicked together like a puzzle, or mechanical gears. His smile faded. “That’s it-”

“What’s it?”

“More like who’s it.” Stefan rushed to grab his coat. A new urgency joined his actions. “Katherine. Damon wants to fight Katherine.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No, it’s not. Y/n might be in love with Damon, but they’re still sisters. If he kills Katherine, she’ll never forgive him.”

[mizelophsun11]

Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 12

Pairing - General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner is still the pairing, however with each chapter it gets closer to the switch over to Kaz Brekker x OC Sun Summoner

Summary - Crossing the Fold was not easy, but a band of 4 was able to make it with no casualties. Now a plan, get into the Little Palace, a heist for something that would get them closer to the target. The closer they get makes his wonders about Anna closer to the front of his mind.

Word Count - 2012

-

They had made it through the Fold, another step closer to completing their goal, now they had to find a way into the Little Palace.

Arken appeared with a poster in his hand “this is our way in, The Little Palace Winter Fete. However, a fair warning that it will be crawling with Second Army, but they will most likely be too focused on the party”

“If we do go during the Winter Fete then we need to know the outlay of the Little Palace, that way we can get in and get out” Inej said, knowing that they could not go into this blindly

“A way in and a way out, that means blueprint” Kaz was beginning to think through a plan

“I know that the Kribirsk archives house has the Little Palace blueprints, unfortunately they are guarded under lock and key. Extreme precautions to make sure that they are kept away from the prying eyes of the public” Arken sighed, not thinking anything could be done about it

Jesper smirked “well, far away from the public, needing to break in, you all know what that means” Kaz and Inej both smiled, seeming to be in on the inside understanding

Arken looked at them confused “what does it mean persay?”

Jesper was getting excited “time for a heist”

However, before they could start their plans for the heist, Jesper had to do something very important. He eventually found someone that would take Milo and give him a home, a nice barmaid. He was slightly heartbroken by having to send Milo away, as he handed Milo to the barmaid he placed a necklace with a bullet around Milos neck.

“Goodbye Milo, I leave you with this bullet to remember me, never forget me Milo and I will never forget you. I must go, this lovely barmaid has promised to take you in, she needs your support” Milo bleated for Jesper as he was taken by the barmaid and all Jesper could do was watch

“I have a job for you, we need a ride east to the Little Palace, make friends” Kaz told Arken

Arken chuckled “that’s the hardest job”

Kaz smirked a little “you won us over, didn’t you?”

The trio went to a table closer to the back of the room to figure out what they would be doing, this heist was an important step towards the bigger goal, they could not fail.

“Royal Archives heist, here's the plan. Watchmen are always walking the halls, the key is to get in and out as quietly as possible. Jesper that means no guns” this heist was all about stealth and so using guns at any moment could blow their cover

Jesper pouted “fine”

Kaz looked to Inej “the dome on the roof is directly above the repository where the blueprints are kept”

Inej nodded “my way in”

“I’ll set a phosphorus trail that will help lead you to the correct compartment where they keep the blueprints. The repository has a two-part lock mechanism that is secured at all times, so Inej you have to leave the way you came. Sunset in two hours, Jesper you will need to blend in”

Jesper already had a plan in mind “I think I have an idea” Kaz nodded

“The second floor is where the light valves are” Kaz looked between Jesper and Inej

“Lights out is my cue, then follow the trail to the blueprints” Inej realized that this mission had her playing a big role

“The archivist has to pull them a number of times in a day, meaning we can’t steal them or they will know something is up. We will have to make a copy, buy carefully, if a heavy had is used the ink could bleed”

“Don’t worry I know what I am doing” Inej said, they finished up going over the plan, now it was time to take action

Kaz got into a costume to make him look like a painter. He walked with his cane into the Kribirsk archives house entrance where he walked up to the desk.

“Hello, my name is Ivanovski, The sculpture.” Kaz gave a fake enthusiastic smile

The archivist looked up “alright.. Do you need something?”

“Yes, I desperately need your help, I am working on a real show stopper for the Winter Fete, the Little Palace entrance dimensions are what I need. It would be quite awful if my grand masterpiece could not fit through the door frame. The king would have my head if his statuary must be kept out in the courtyard” Kaz said

“Damn fete..” the archivist sighed “having to pull the blueprints everyday.. Wait here”

Kaz tossed the phosphorus pad which landed underneath the archivist's foot, he waited at the desk. For the moment that he had to himself he thought about Anna, if she really was the Sun Summoner, this heist was just the next step to her. He needed time to think about what would happen when they were face to face, the anticipation of her possibly recognizing him was on his mind. Right now he was ready to use their childhood friendship to his advantage for the kruge, but that was now, things could change.

The archivist came back “the dimensions to the entrance of the Little Palace”

Kaz put the fake enthusiastic smile “may the Sun Summoner bless you”

“I honestly don’t believe” the archivist said

Kaz leaned in “truthfully, I don’t either”

However, Kaz was not sure what he believed. Answers that he so desperately wanted were in the hands of a childhood friend that had meant the world to him. Days where he missed her had brought him to the present and with her being labeled the Sun Summoner made things interesting. Eventually he would have the answers, but that would come in time.

A few hours later the sun had set allowing for Inej to sneak in through the dome of the archives room. Inej used a rope to get down into the room, the darkness allowed her to see the phosphorus footprints on the ground. She followed them to the drawer, opened it and pulled the blueprints out and laid them onto the ground. Pulling out a blank page out of her bag then laying it over the blueprints, she sprayed it with perfume and applied the slightest amount of pressure. Through this she was able to make the copy of the blueprints without the original ink bleeding. Inej put the original away then the copy went into her bag, but suddenly the lights came back on. She ran to the rope and pulled it down so then no one would suspect that someone had gotten in. A guard came in and began to inspect the room, Inej was able to get behind the man and just barely stay out of his view. When the guard went to leave he turned around one more time, Inej hid behind a desk to make sure her cover was not blown. Everything was once again locked, Inej went to the gate and tried to open it, but it did not budge. Jesper in his disguise went up to the gate and tried to see if he could open it, he noticed that the clock was about to chime.

“Inej stand back” Jesper pulled out his gun and at the chime of the clock he shot the lock, which then opened

They both made their way back to the courtyard where they were going to be meeting Kaz, but a guard was standing there. Inej brought her hand up for Jesper to stop and took one of her knives out. She slowly snuck up to the cladded stranger and just as she was about to strike but a recognizable cane stuck out, it was Kaz.

“Bit slow on the draw there” Inej said

Kaz smirked a little “or just in time”

They left with what they needed, now they had to meet with Arken and figure out what the next steps would be. Once they got back to the tavern they went back to a more private part and laid out the map to get a better look.

Jesper looked over the map and pointed to a section “you think this?”

Inej shook her head “it wouldn’t..” she pointed to something that would allow guards to see them which would lead to their capture

“Oh..” Jesper said and went back to thinking

Inej pointed to a hallway “what about here?”

Jesper shook his head and pointed to a guard tower “they would see us”

“No way in..” Inej sighed

“No way out..” Jesper said

“We will have to come up with something else” Kaz motioned to Inej to close the map, they were done looking at it and he wanted to make sure no one suspected them of anything

Arken sighed “well, I thought this plan might not work..”

Suddenly, behind them a performer slipped from her silks and onto the floor, definitely injured. Arken had a certain look about him, like he knew why that girl had fallen, but made sure that he didn’t see, incredibly suspicious. The trio went up to the bar to get a drink, something to hopefully fuel some sort of crazy idea to get them into the Little Palace.

Jesper sighed “I mean, Kribirsk isn’t all that bad. Maybe we could even open a bar, brew East Ravkan beer for Westerners?”

Inej and Kaz looked at him “shut up Jesper” they said at the same time

“I miss Milo” Jesper was still having a hard time with parting from his goat friend

Arken approached them with a smile “Friends”

Kaz looked at him “and what could you be so cheery about?”

Arken motioned over to the other man standing close by “this is Marko, he is the leader of a traveling troupe known at the Pomdrakon Players and his group has been invited to this year's Winter Fete. They have the wonderful opportunity of getting inside the Little Palace, however, one of their star performers was injured in a freak accident. They have become desperate in finding someone with the same set of skills and as Ketterdams’ premier talent manager, I came up with an idea”

Both boys looked at Inej “a good friend once said, ‘if I can’t crack this, none of us are going anywhere” she got up and went to were the silks were

Through Inej talent, she performed an extraordinary routine that had the room standing on their feet applauding.

Marko walked up to her “the Saints must have sent you, yes! The show will go on” he snapped his fingers and one of his assistants brought over a very colorful leotard “so, do you think you can fit into this?”

Inej looked at it unsure but Jesper walked up to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders “of course she can, in fact those are her favorite colors! However, Inej is what you call, a package deal”

“No free rides” Marko said “does anyone else in your group have talents?”

Jesper was able to shine by using his guns. He sat on a chair with his back to Inej and his gun resting on his shoulder pointed towards her. She was hanging upside down with a card in her mouth, Jesper cocked his gun and shot the card in Inej’s mouth splitting it in half. The people clapped and cheered, impressed by the talent that had suddenly fallen into their laps.

“What about you sir? Got any talents for us to see?” Marko asked

“I’ll make my own way” Kaz was already coming up with a plan for himself to get in

They had found their way into the Little Palace, it would only be a few days for them to finish up the details of their plan. Kaz knew that he would have to prepare himself for possibly seeing Anna after all this time apart. He was feeling something that he normally wouldn’t before anything, nervous, the great Kaz Brekker was nervous.

-

Author Note - Hello Everyone!! I am looking forward to giving you this chapter, it might be a bit more of a filler, but it is all building up to the important Winter Fete. Please let me know what you think if you have the chance, I would greatly appreciate any feedback people would like to give. I would also like to let anyone who is new to my story, or if you would like to, be added to my tag list. Feel free to message me or leave a comment, I will make sure you are added if that is what you wish.

Tag List - @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders @benbarnes-supremacy @graciefullygracie @aleksanderwh0r3 @klaudosh @herbatkazmilosica @hiddenbisexuell @atemgirl94

[winterhawkwonderland]

2020 Exchange Round up!

It’s here!!! An easy to find complete list of works from our 2020 Winterhawk Wonderland Exchange event. It is listed by title of work and author or artist, and includes rating, summary, and word count (if applicable). Our event excluded any of the AO3 Big Four warnings, but please do check tags and warnings on each work before diving in, just in case you find something there that squicks or triggers you!

Once again, thank you all so much for participating and making this a great event! Love the Winterhawk fandom!

If you do not see your work listed, please contact the Mods and we will update the post - all works were pulled from the AO3 Collection, but it’s possible we overlooked something or made a mistake! Additionally - Tumblr (in true Tumblr fashion) would not let us tag some creators - their names are on the list but the hyperlink doesn’t work. We apologize for the technical difficulty, but have no way of fixing broken Tumblr links. Please know that no offense was intended. 

The 300 Club by @fosterthefuture for @gwhell. Rated T, 10,109 words “Me here?” Bucky asks, a little hysterically. “What do you expect me to do, be the one to haul your frozen body in from the snow bank you inevitably fall into and die in?”Clint chuckles, as though what Bucky’s asked is completely illogical, which it decidedly is not. “Nah, you can suit up if you want to come along to make sure I stay on track, but I’ll make it back just fine. I really just need you to be here to make sure the door stays open, help me get my boots off and into those blankets when I get back.”“Clint,” Bucky asks, eyes now closed. “Please tell me you wouldn’t do this if you were completely alone.”The silence that emanates from the sauna is telling.“Well,” Clint finally says, “I’m trying to not get into the habit of lying to you, Barnes.”

40k misunderstandings by @verdantbogmoth for @flawsinthevoodoo. Not Rated, 3,280 words. “Are they real?” Bucky gasps. “Who keeps bags of real rose petals just lying on hand?”“Tony, for special random events and for us to steal to have fun with,” Clint supplies helpfully. “Where do they go?”“Everywhere,” Bucky decides. “The couch, the table, the fucking tv stand.” Clint pops the bag and they spend several minutes turning Bucky’s living area into a very perfumed, petal draped nightmare. “Oh, my god.” Bucky says gleefully. “It looks like a porno,” Clint claps. “A serial killer porno!” Bucky amends. “This is fantastic. Why aren’t rose petals everywhere, always. Why don’t more people just throw them around for any old event?”

[ART] Christmas fluff by @elynehil for @chekov-in-a-dress. Rated G. Winterhawk Wonderland gift :)

[ART] Cooking By The Book by @not-the-blue for @thegrowingwordsmith. Rated G.  Clint attempts a holiday recipe from Bucky's childhood. He... might need a second attempt.

[art] i (heart) hawkeye by @gwhells for @lantaniel. Rated G. Art for lantaniel for the Winterhawk wonderland gift exchange!

[ART] i still feel this way when light catches your face by @quicksillver for @sevdrag. Rated G. Winterhawk Wonderland gift! :)

An Affinity for Elf Culture by @bella-dahlia for @trekchik. Rated T. 8,501 words. When Bucky Barnes was told he would be doing press and community outreach as part of his prosthetic program, no one mentioned to him it would involve dressing up like an Elf from the North Pole.The hella cute blonde elf in head to toe purple hadn't been brought up either.Hiding in his hoodie wasn't going to be an option, was it?

All I Want for the Holidays Is You by @merelypassingtime for @flowerparrish. Rated G. 7,205 words. Clint obligingly took the last name in the hat. Unfolding it he read the name, Bucky. Crap. What was he supposed to do with that? When Clint draws Bucky’s name for the Avengers holiday gift exchange, he struggles to find the perfect gift.

as long as it’s with you by @theproblemwithstardust for @theonlyceeceej. Rated T. 2,651 words. Clint didn’t know when the thing between him and Bucky became an actual thing. At some point the banter had evolved from a fun and engaging way to pass the time into a weirdly competitive game of flirting chicken.

A bad day turned good by @gabrielsammysangel for @misterknife. Rated G. 1,115 words.  Clint Barton was having a bad day, one kiss to take it all away. Aka how a full bad day can be wipped away when you have a good boyfriend.

Bandages and Soot by @fanbinbun for @hawkguyandthewinterdude. Rated T. 2,358 words. “Oh, you’re new. Hi! I’m Clint. I come here often.” “I have been warned.” Bucky said with amusement curling his lips. “Got a name, or should I just give in and start calling you ‘hot nurse’?”

Because of Coffee and a Chocolate Doughnut. by @jazzrose343 for @loonyloopylisa. Rated M. 5,257 words. Bucky is an Actor. Clint is stunt actor and coordinator. Shenanigans Happen

Better Than Fine by @vexbatch for @theproblemwithstardust. Rated T. 4,439 words. Clint promised Kate he'd bring a plus one to her engagement party, but now he needs to find one. Maybe Bucky will do him a favor? Maybe Clint's crush on Bucky won't be a problem for said favor?

[ART] The Cat doesn't agree by @misterknife for @Inktastic1711. Rated G.  5 words. Clint was determined to get the best family photo this year. Except now he's pretty sure that fighting alien hoards or doombot armies might actually be easier than wrangling a cat into a sweater.Bucky says that Alpine's sorry.Clint thinks she might kill him in his sleep.

cause it's just what you must do by @sevdrag for yamyamyam. Rated T. 3,399 words. Clint ducks away at Tony's holiday party for a breather. Little does he know this closet is occupied.

Christmas With the Barnes's by @jstabe for @claraxbarton. Rated T. 3,163 words. He knows Clint is nervous. If he’s honest, he is a little too. He and Clint have been dating just shy of two years but with their hectic work schedules, it’s rare for them to have full days off together so Clint isn’t used to large family gatherings.

The Common Room by @trekchik for @nana-evans. Rated E. 1094 words. No one knows they're together. Right?

Communication is key by @averyrogers83writes for @harishe-art. Rated G. 3,434 words. Bucky screws up and pisses Clint off possibly ruining any chance of having more than a working relationship with the archer.

[ART] Cookies For Two by madnerding for @hopelessly-me. Rated G. 29 words.  My prompt was for cookie decorating and I hope I delivered. Enjoy!

Coping Mechanisms by @mariana-oconnor for @feathers-and-cigarettes. Rated E. 4,321 words. After the events of Freefall, Clint Barton is exhausted, bruised and on everyone's Most Wanted list. Luckily, or unluckily, it's Bucky Barnes who ends up finding him.

Cover Me by @downwarddnaspiral for @feedmecookiesnow. Rated M. 8,618 words. Clint and Bucky end up off the grid and in close quarters. Featuring the world’s crappiest safehouse, a semi-retired spy, and an assassin with strong opinions about the cold.

Delicate, hand wash only by @mollynoble for @pherryt. Rated E. 6,074 words.  “Hey, Buck, what do you need?” Clint moved closer, he wanted to reach out but he resisted the urge, that could be a bad idea right now. “What can I do to help?” He pitched his voice low and soothing. There was a pause, then Bucky's eyes focused on him. “Right now all I want is a bath and then sleep.”

Draw Me Like One of Your Frenchmen by @alchemistdoctor for @thwip. Rated M. 1,410 words. This is written for andthwip in the winterhawk wonderland exchange, who requested sexting during inappropriate times, date night ends in trying a new kink, or getting off in the field. I managed the first two!

Fate or Natasha by bear_shark for @kidd-you-not. Rated G. 1,663 words.  How it ended: Bucky watched the rise and fall of Clint’s chest while he slept. Every few minutes, he would snuffle and rub his face against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s phone pinged, and he carefully checked his texts. Natasha: How did your date with Clint go? Bucky sat up quickly, jostling Clint. “What the hell?” 

The Fight Before Christmas by @theonlyceeceej for @jstabe. Rated E. 4,040 words. Now, don’t let it be said that Bucky couldn’t take a joke. He could. Really. But sometimes it was just too much. Clint was just too much. Clint is the epitome of a schoolboy with a crush; Pulling pigtails, calling names, the lot! Ok, maybe it was more than a crush, judging by the many thoughts about being thrown around by the Winter Soldier. He just needed to get his attention... But will it work?

For This by @endof-theline for @elynehil. Rated G. 5,652 words. Bucky and Clint are moving in together and it's not just the boys we have to worry about, because Lucky and Alpine are moving too!

Getaway Car by @feedmecookiesnow for @genderfluid-and-confuzled. Rated G. 4,405 words. The guy regains his balance and starts running again. He slips one more time, slides a little more, and then suddenly he’s right next to the car, fumbling at the handle of the passenger side door. A blast of cold wind comes as he yanks it open, practically falling into the seat in a swirl of snowflakes. “Go, go!” he yells, and Clint goes. He doesn’t even question it, just slams the car into drive and shoots out into the street, skidding a little on the ice.

Guardian Angel by @chrissihr for @spacetimeconundrum. Rated T. 3,469 words. Clint attracts strays like moths to flame. All he wanted to do was bring home a puppy he found in a box marked ‘free’ in crayon. It was just sitting out in the rain under the awning in front of his neighborhood pizza place.He couldn't just leave it there ... right?

Hit Me With Your Best Shots by @thegrowingwordsmith for @fosterthefuture. Rated G. 2,185 words. As a barista, Bucky has witnessed a lot of crazy customers and their creations. He has made drinks with so much syrup that there was barely room for coffee, and gotten orders with so many modifications that it had to print on multiple stickers. None, however, even came close to the strangeness of Too Much Caffeine guy.

[ART] How do you like them apples? by @lantaniel for @vexbatch. Rated G.  Because Clint is incapable of 1.doing a calm activity, and 2.not climbing a tree.

Howl by @drgrlfriend for @mariana-oconnor. Rated T. 9,729 words. Excerpt: Bucky gets that uncomfortable feeling again, like he missed something. Lost time maybe. It’s been happening less and less, but it still happens. “I don’t know what you mean.” The man runs a broad hand up the back of his neck, mouth pulling to the side as he seems to consider his words. “Skin feels too tight sometimes? Feels like you gotta keep moving, but no place feels right? Got an ache deep in your bones that you just can’t seem to get rid of?” “What —” Bucky swallows, the rest of the sentence jagged in his throat. He knows there are Avengers who are witches, or telepaths, or whatever, but he’d never heard of Hawkeye being one of them. “How are you — are you in my head? —”

[ART] I got you by @vexedbeverage for @gabrielsammysangel. Rated T. 100 words. I decided I wanted to do some art but then my writing brain told me I couldn't stop there. I've never done a drabble before so I thought I'd give it a try!

I Love How Your Soul is A Mix of Chaos and Art by @flawsinthevoodoo for @merelypassingtime. Rated T. 5,745 words. This is basically a 5+1 where Clint "Borrows" a great many hoodies as a coping mechanism and Bucky decides Clint needs to be a part of his life, not just his laundry.

if these wings could fly by @flowerparrish for @hawksonfire. Rated M. 4,018 words. He waits a few moments, pretty sure he’s going to have to start knocking again, when the door swings open. There’s Bucky, shirtless, disheveled, wings spread out behind him like some kind of tragic painting of an angel. Not that Clint knows much about art, but with the dark colors and dim lights he thinks this could totally have been something one of those old dudes dreamed up.

It Must be Winter in my Heart by @harishe-art for @jazzrose343. Rated G. 3,055 words. It's the holiday season and for some reason Clint and Bucky keep getting mistaken as a couple. They hadn't even planned to meet up most of them time. Why does this keep happening to them?

It was Only a Winter's Tale by @harishe-art for @averyrogers83. Rated G. 1,628 words.  Clint and Bucky prepare to celebrate their first winter holiday together when Bucky has a realization during an argument.

it was peace by @loonyloopylisa for @drgrlfriend. Rated G. 1,932 words. “Um, hi, I’m Bucky?” he said, hating himself for the way it came out like a question. “Hi Bucky,” the man answered, a wide smile on his tan face, “I’m Clint. What can I do for you?” Inwardly thankful for this therapist for making him practice he said, “I was wondering if you had any volunteer opportunities?” Clint gave him a considering look, bright blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Bucky was sure he was assessing him and finding him lacking, taking in the missing arm and coming up with a reason Bucky wouldn’t fit in. He was bracing himself for the rejection when Clint said, “sure.”

A Kind of Magic by @sian1359 for bear_shark. Rated G. 7.034 words. Bucky has some help adapting from being Hydra's Winter Soldier to becoming the Avenger's Winter Soldier

Lilac you a lot by @hawkguyandthewinterdude for @harishe-art. Rated T. 6,490 words.  It starts with one purple sock and just escalates from there.

Lost Time by @lissadiane for @vexedbeverage. Rated T. 10,029 words. Clint’s always known the universe doesn’t like him all that much. But all he knows now, as his heart beats out a rhythm and there isn’t a heartbeat to harmonize with it, is that he’s found his soulmate -- and he’s been dead for over 70 years. It’s ironic. It burns. It shouldn’t surprise him. Barney won’t be surprised. Barney’s been saying the universe has it out for them for Clint’s whole life. And this is just further proof. In which soulmates exist but Clint's parents are proof that sometimes, they go terribly wrong.

The Maybe To Your Story by @kangofu-cb for @mollynoble. Rated E. 5,162 words. Bucky walked out of the shared bathroom whistling under his breath, happily ignoring Steve’s groan as he whipped off the towel around his waist to half-assedly swipe at the water droplets on his shoulders. “Oh, you’re still here?” he asked blithely, toweling at his hair. “Might want to shake a leg before you get an eyeful of something you want to see even less than my dick.” “I’m going, I’m going,” Steve grumbled. “Fuck. Can’t believe I’m getting sexiled for the third time this week. For Barton.” Or, instead of talking about their feelings, Clint and Bucky decide to fuck about it.

my hands no longer an afterthought by @shatteredhourglass for @quicksillver. Rated T. 2,922 words. Bucky's moving on with his life. Shaking off the Soldier. There's still that one nagging, blond idiot-shaped regret, though.

Nowhere to go but with you by Lacerta for @sian1359. Rated G. 5,905 words. Clint fights the urge to cross his arms, keeping them hanging loosely by his sides instead, and forces himself to relax his shoulders. It’s just a small precaution in case he needs to react fast but, god, he hopes it doesn’t come to that. He doubts any precaution that doesn’t include a loaded weapon would help him last more than a minute. He watches the man sitting across the kitchen table from him, curled in on himself under Clint’s warmest blanket with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, and tries to wrap his head around the very unusual, very alarming situation he has gotten himself into.

On The Fifth Day of Christmas, The Winter Soldier Stole For Me..... by @ch3ls3ara3 for @alchemistdoctor. Rated T. 8,178 words.  “Are these pears? Why the hell is there a pear tree in my apartment?” he asked Lucky who was now sitting patiently, staring up at the bird with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging. “What is happening?” Clint Barton knew he was a disaster, it never really shocked him anymore when he ended up in strange situations. These twelve days leading up to Christmas, though? Those days he would have never seen coming.

the one where Clint hates christmas horror by @thwip for @bella-dahlia. Rated M. 2,898 words. “We take turns, Clint. This week is Nat’s turn, next week is yours,” Tony quips, sipping from his own mug. “We can watch The Holiday, for the third year in a row, then.” Clint opens his mouth and starts to protest Tony’s eye roll because The Holiday is a cinematic masterpiece and Kate Winslet may give her best performance yet, Tony! Not to mention Cameron Diaz! Singing Mr Brightside! It’s a great film, when the front door opens and Bucky and Steve walk in, laughing about something. Clint's mouth snaps shut and his eyes immediately flicking towards Bucky, admiring the way the navy fabric of his henley clings to the thick biceps that are almost bursting out of it.

Operation Snowbound by RedTeamShark for @heartonfirewrites. Rated G. 4,048 words. The mission is a simple job: tag a convoy as it drives through the pass and then skedaddle back down the mountain. Easy enough that Clint could do it in his sleep. And he doesn’t even have to pull the trigger, that’s what Bucky’s there for. Until an unexpected weather event leaves the two of them stranded on a mountainside in a blizzard, battling the cold, Clint’s taste in coffee, and Bucky’s idea of idle conversation.

Outside the World by @pherryt for @verdantbogmoth. Rated G. 4,767 words. Bucky doesn't really remember who he is, and what little he does remember is impossible. All his therapists have said so. There's no way he can be who he thinks he is - a character from a children's book.And yet, the world around him just doesn't *feel* right - its too dark, too colorless and doesn't match the vibrancy of his dreams. Dreams he tries to capture both on paper and on his walls.Bucky doesn't have any answers he can count on, just the hat he's kept all these years, but that guy that started following him - as vibrant and eye-catching as the pieces of Bucky's dreams -Well, he just might.

The Prince's "Delivery Boy" by allyouneedissleep for @endof-theline. Rated T. 4,917 words. He wouldn’t have any issues at all with the secrecy rules stating that only people in confirmed legal marriages could tell their significant other about their job if he was planning to marry anyone except the Prince who was first in line to take over as King of Brooklyn after his marriage went through. Clint was about to effectively become Queen of Brooklyn and he couldn’t even tell his fiance what he did for a living. As far as Bucky knew, he was a delivery boy. A DELIVERY BOY.

[ART] Snow Way Out! by @inktastic1711 for @fanbinbun. Rated G. 24 words. Prompt: While on a mission, Clint and Bucky end up on an impromptu sledding trip down the snowy hill/mountain to escape the bad guys. Bonus points if the sled isn't actually a sled.

Snowed In by @chekov-in-a-dress for @ch3ls3ara3. Rated T. 4,332 words.  Secret Santa Story for CarafeOfColdBrew! Dad Bucky and his daughter Nat are on their way to Bentonsport where Bucky is supposed to check out a possible site to build a resort when they get overwhelmed by a snowstorm. How lucky that they get pointed to a bed and breakfast owned by a certain handsome dork.

So much to say (I just can't speak) by @hopelessly-me for Allyouneedissleep. Rated T. 3,260 words. Bucky has never considered himself the jealous type. But when Steve and Clint start hanging out more and more, Bucky starts pulling back to protect his own feelings.

Some Luck by @claraxbarton for @not-the-blue. Rated T. 3,558 words. “Cowboys?” he asked. Judith smiled at him. “I love to give my darlings what they want.”

a storm is comin' in by @heartonfirewrites for @chrissihr. Rated T. 9,686 words. Sasquatches don’t exist. Clint is sure of it. So what’s that fuckin' bigass yeti doing outside Tony’s upstate cabin in the middle of a nor’easter, looming ominously and ruining Clint’s plans for a quiet Christmas alone with Lucky?

Time and Time Again by @pherryt for @shatteredhourglass. Rated E. 6,497 words. The past has a way of catching up to people and Clint knows that better than most. Despite that ingrained life lesson, he still doesn't expect it when a part of Steve's past turns out to also be part of Clint’s. He's... not sure where to go from here.

too cold to feel (but i know you're there) by @hawksonfire for @trashcanakin. Rated T. 1,983 words.  Clint’s been cold his whole life. He doesn’t mind, really, has learned to always keep a pair of gloves on him, even in the summer. He gets weird looks for it, but he stopped caring what people thought of him a long time ago. His apartment has always got spare blankets laying around, and his dresser is jam packed with thick pairs of socks.

[ART] A Walk in the Woods by @spacetimeconundrum for @downwarddnaspiral. Rated T.  One finds the strangest things in the woods...

What's a Guy Like You Doing in a Place Like This by @sevdrag for @kangofu-cb​. Rated T. 8,091 words. A 5+1 fic for Winterhawk Wonderland: Five Times It Wasn't A Date, and One Time It Actually Was.

Word Search by yamyamyam for RedTeamShark. Rated T. 3,858 words. Bucky doesn't understand why he should have to see a doctor about a measly little bullet wound. Steve doesn't understand why that would be optional, Jesus Christ, Buck, we can have nice things now. Clint doesn't understand why he can't visit Bucky in the super-secure lockdown ward. The NYFD doesn't understand why Clint can't get out of a baby swing without the jaws of life. Natasha doesn't understand why she puts up with any of these idiots.

[ART] You Come Here Often? by @trashcanakin​ for Madnerding. Rated G.  winterHawk in the vents.

You had me at Loathing by @kidd-you-not​ for Lacerta. Rated T. 5,715 words. "What?" he asks absolutely no one, completely baffled. Movement to his left catches his eye and he twists around, still hanging from the balcony railing by his legs, and gapes. There, right there on the adjourning apartment building, is a man. A man clad all in black, with chestnut brown hair falling to his chin and a mask covering the lower part of his face. Holding a sniper rifle in his right hand and giving Clint a mocking little salute with the left. "Motherfucker!" Clint screams. Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier work for competing companies. Unfortunately for everyone involved, they cross paths on more jobs than either of their handlers can endure.

Honorable Mention:

The Opposite of Love by @teeelsie-posts for @loonyloopylisa. Rated E. 10,000 words. You know that social media post where the guy says he’s a felon and he’ll come terrorize your family for Thanksgiving in exchange for a free meal? Yeah, that’s what this is. Except that Clint is Clint, and Bucky is Bucky, and they’re both Avengers, but Clint’s family is a bunch of assholes and Bucky decides to help him out with that. Oh, and it’s Christmas, not Thanksgiving. Mod Note: This fic was begun for last year’s exchange then discarded for another idea, but Teeelsie finished it unexpectedly and asked permission to include it in this year’s collection and we were happy to allow that. Please enjoy!

[vercopaanir]

In For a Credit

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 19

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: Fellow Mandalorians teach you how to handle weapons.

Words: 3.5

Rating/Warning: G, I think. Some references to death.

Notes: So, this originally was going to include a lot more. However, the chapter was nearly 7k words, and I didn’t feel like it was fair to post the entire thing because so much happens. So it will be split up. The nice thing is that the next update will be on Monday night. Thank you all for your patience and support!

AO3

The Tribe is a working society, and you quickly become fascinated in the opportunity to occupy yourself. You are no stranger to work, and the constant inner need to be doing something of value, to be useful, to earn your way is so ingrained that it borders restlessness. The morning when the Mandalorian says he’ll be taking his collected bounties to Greef Karga in town, you look up from the book where your fingers pause over the raised indentations of braille, tilting your head. Corde and Venka follow your eyes upward, nibbling at their food, and watching him curiously.

“What should we do while you are away?”

He pauses his adjusting of his vambrace, glancing between all of you, four pairs of expectant eyes, and he explains that there exists many skills that the Tribe hones together as a collective, from fighting to healing to child rearing.

Watching the small green infant play with his stuffed bantha toy perched on the warrior’s lap, you straighten your back and lay your hands on your knees. As a servant and slave, you have performed a variety of tasks. You can clean, cook, mend, garden, and farm. As a handmaid, you’ve developed skills that were fine tuned for a lady of an older age. You’d taken care of her hair and nails, you’d seen to her correspondence, fetched her tea, and kept her company. Having taken care of children before, you knew your strength as a caretaker is hard to rival, blinking at the three children surrounding you.

But this was a chance to learn something new .

A decision settles within you, and you hold your chin level.

“I would...like to learn about weaponry.”

The Mandalorian’s visor trains on you for so long, you think perhaps you have said something wrong. You begin to wonder how you can explain away the whim when he stands suddenly, placing the baby in his pram. He clicks a button on his vambrace to program it’s tracking before holding a hand out to help you to your feet. Venka and Corde shove the remainder of their breakfast in their mouths to follow behind you both as he leads you through the passages of the enclave. The child floats between you and the siblings, large inky eyes blinking curiously.

“Will we get to learn, too?” Corde asks, her eagerness palpable.

“No. But there are foundlings here that you should find. They can teach you games I’m too old for,” the Mandalorian grunts, and she gasps, rushing around to stop in front of you both. You feel his fingers tighten over yours when you both halt suddenly.

“Can we go find them now?”

You hesitate, the idea of the two children disappearing somewhere in the tunnels making you uneasy, but the Mandalorian tilts his visor down at her, taking her measure. “So long as you stay together, and do not leave the covert.” Corde’s eyes light up, but before she can bolt away as if on an invisible speeder bike, the Mandalorian grabs the back of her collar, keeping her in place. He squats down in front of her, still slightly taller in stature, and you hold your breath as you watch them. “I mean it, ad’ika,” he repeats, his voice pitching deeper in warning as he looks down at her. “Promise me.”

Venka is quick to promise, holding a hand over his heart with a bowed chin as if taking an oath for life, and Corde nods so fast her hair comes loose from her braid. “We promise.”

“Go.”

You watch their small shapes disappear from your line of sight, the slap of the shoes you’d sewn them echoing off down the rocky walls of the passageway. They will not be alone, you remind yourself, forcing down the nerves twisting your stomach. If the beskar clad warrior at your side trusts his people to watch over them, you will, too. The Mandalorian watches them until they’re out of sight, nearly jumping out of his armor when you slip your hand in the curve of his elbow.

“And where will you be sending me?” you ask softly, walking alongside him when he seems to remember his feet. He lays his other gloved hand atop your fingers, and you think he might be smiling.

“You said you wanted to learn about weaponry.”

You never see him without a weapon, his blaster ever present against his hip or the ominous rifle slung across his back like a saint’s marker. It is not a leap in judgment to assume protection is important to him beyond his profession, and knowing what you know now, you realize the level of trust he holds for you when he had shown you the weapon’s locker aboard the Razor Crest.

But the memory of how helpless you’d felt holding the blaster and aiming at Toro Calican had not left you. The blurry recollections of Cantonica leave you sick, and you silently wonder, at night when you are alone with your thoughts, if things could have been different had you not been such a foolish thing. That is something Mandalorians are not-and now, you are determined to change it.  

“I would like to not be so afraid of weapons,” you finally manage in a quiet tone, resting both hands on his arm now and leaning your weight into him. He inclines his head in your direction. “I think fear is disrespectful for something that can save your life.”

He moves his hand, the warm leather covering your fingers that rest on his forearm, and there is a feeling he seems to radiate that washes over you. The backward set of his shoulders, a near defiant tilt of his chin, and you’re surprised when he comes to a brief stop in the middle of the passage. The child coos from his pram, blinking owlishly between you both and perking his ears upward.

The Mandalorian turns you toward him with a gentle, crooked finger beneath your chin. You expect him to say something, his thumb grazing your chin in such a slow, delicate sweep. Your eyes feel heavy as his other fingers uncurl against the warm flesh of your neck, sliding to cup the side of your throat beneath the thick veil of your hair. You keep your eyes upon the shine of his visor as he leans his beskar covering to whisper over your brow, and the complete tenderness in such careful, quiet movements makes your heart speed up. You think he must feel it, your pulse fluttering beneath his fingers where he’d once sunk his teeth out of passion born from fear and admiration, and you swallow hard at the memory.

For a single, still moment, you think he may take your hand and drag you back to your quarters.

The sound of approaching boots has the Mandalorian calmly stepping back from you, and whatever spell had blanketed you both is broken. Feeling flushed, you drop your head away as a fellow Mandalorian passes by both of you, nodding towards your bounty hunter in silent greeting. You draw some hair behind your ear, looking back at the child who grins up with all of his teeth at you as if privy to a joke you hadn’t heard.

The tunnels that interconnect are not twisting or turning as much as you expect. They are large, wide and windy, and you try to remember your way back the way you’d come to begin memorizing the layout. You give up just before the Mandalorian stops in front of a short flight of steps hewn into the rock. He wordlessly offers his hand to you, and in the distance you hear two male voices bantering back and forth.

The armory is large, spanning the same length as the Razor Crest at least, and it is filled with every kind of weapon of all shapes and sizes. Blasters, rifles, blades, and contraptions you have never seen before. There are lights ensconced upon the surface of the rock walls that allow your vision more opportunity to open to your surroundings, and you follow behind the Mandalorian as he comes to stop near a large bench littered with blaster parts, tools, oil, and dirty rags.

Across from you are two Mandalorians, and they stand upon your entrance. The slightly shorter warrior wears armor the color of moss with so many silver nicks and dents that you wonder if he hadn’t been thrown down the side of a cliff face. The taller, broader of the two is covered nearly head to toe in dark grey armor that’s shined to a shimmering gleam. You smile uncertainly, feeling shy as you stand just behind the Mandalorian.

Well. Your Mandalorian.

“Su cuy’gar,” greets the green armored warrior, his thick accent making you tilt your head. “Didn’t think we’d see you here again.”

“That’s because you don’t think much,” shot the grey armored Mandalorian, putting his hand out to grasp the forearm of the man beside you, shaking firmly in welcome. His voice is much smoother, deeper, and you can’t help but feel intimidated a bit by the magnetic presence when he turns his reflective visor upon you. “Tion’cuy?”

The Mandalorian rests his hand upon the small of your back, ushering you to stand properly beside him as he gives your name. “This is Briinx,” he tells you, nodding to the Mandalorian in green before gesturing with his hand to the other. “And Rhalaz. They are valued warriors, firearm instructors for foundlings, and the covert’s mechanics.”

“‘Mechanic’ makes it sound like we’d tinker with any ship that flies in, Djarin. We modify weapons that you can’t quite get through strictly legal means,” Briinx says, twirling a vibroblade between his gloved fingers. “I think we’re artists.”

“No, no,” Rhalaz shakes a hand, sounding completely put off. “Weapons sing. We are musicians, if anything.”

“Then we’d be conductors-”

“Look,” the Mandalorian sighs loudly, interrupting what you assume is going to turn into a conversation he’d rather not be a part of. “You have someone who wants to learn about weaponry. Think you can stay focused long enough to teach her something?”

“I’m offended you think otherwise,” Briinx says suddenly, dropping the blade on the workbench without ceremony. You can’t help the small smile tugging at your mouth. “We might bicker like an old married couple-”

“You are a married couple,” the Mandalorian growls.

“-but we always deliver,” Rhalaz quips, tilting his helmet towards you before settling his visor on the bounty hunter at your side, almost predatorily. “We’d be happy to teach her, but...well, why aren’t you teaching her? Cuyir dar gar riduur?”

Your eyebrows lift curiously when the Mandalorian goes completely still beside you, and you suspect that he stops breathing. The three warriors stare each other down for such a long, tense moment that you’re afraid to even blink. You can’t begin to guess what the implication is of what was spoken, but when the Mandalorian’s hand curls against your back, you feel his unease.

“Sa jate sa,” he finally mutters, staring steadfastly forward. His voice is full of annoyance, bristling and testy. “I have business today, and she wants to learn. Any more questions?”

Briinx puts two hands up in surrender, and Rhalaz’s helmet shakes with laughter.

The Mandalorian turns you both away from the other two warriors, resting one gloved hand on the middle of your back and inclining his helmet down towards you. “I’ll be back by the evening to find you.”

A small furrow forms between your brows, and you tilt your head. “I’m sure I can find the children if I just ask-”

“No!” You jump at his sudden whisper, blinking rapidly when he almost shuffles nervously. “No, I’ll...I’ll come find you.”

You frown after him, his shadow disappearing up the short flight of steps with a snap of his cloak. When you turn around, the other two Mandalorians survey you with their arms crossed across their chests. In for a credit, in for a pound, you think. You take a deep breath, folding your hands in front of you and stepping forward. You haven’t held many conversations with people since you left the cantina outside of the Mandalorian or the children, and it feels very odd.

“Ever held a blaster before?” Briinx asks, picking up one of the hand guns from the workbench that shines beneath the light. It looks freshly oiled and cleaned, and you swallow at how dark and foreboding it seems in his gloved hand.

“Yes,” you murmur, thinking of Toro Calican’s blurry form lying dead on the floor of the Razor Crest’s hull. “And I’ve shot one, too.”

“Well you’re already ahead of most of our students,” Rhalaz chuckles, seeming to sense your discomfort. His tall frame comes around the bench, and he pulls out a stool for you to sit on, patting it.

As daunting as the idea of learning weaponry seems, the two men are accommodating teachers with very different styles. Briinx is more hands on, insisting you hold every weapon, part, or tool you learn about while Rhalaz gives you in-depth explanations for what the parts of a blaster do, how a flash grenade detonates, and even the benefits of using blaster energy versus slug bolts.

“Blasters don’t have the same kickback as a slugthrower,” Rhalaz says, bringing down a long rifle that you immediately recognize. Your face must betray you, because he chuckles and sets the firearm in your hands, braced across your lap. “Where do you think Djarin got his rifle from?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” you admit, feeling the weight of the amban sniper weapon. The familiar pronged end feels awkward and precarious as you heave the gun upward, testing the weight.

“One of my favorites,” Briinx chuffs from across the bench, coming around to show you how to brace the stock pad against your shoulder. He fixes your hands, tilting your head up from hunching over, and correcting your overall posture with a sharp eye.

“Disruptors are one of the most dangerous kinds of weapons. They can short circuit an entire space station if you know where to aim,” Rhalaz tells you sagely, watching his husband adjust your stance.

You swallow hard, wishing you could put the rifle down and far away from you. “What would you need such a thing for?”

“For short circuiting a space station,” Briinx huffs as if the notion is obvious.

“This model and its modifications use more energy than your average blaster, so it...well-”

“It disintegrates people,” Briinx deadpans, moving your hand that cups the stock beneath the gun further out to give your grip balance.

You gape helplessly. “D-Disintegrates?”

“Or electrocutes, if you don’t want to kill the target,” Rhalaz sighs, seeming annoyed with the other Mandalorian. “That’s what the prongs are for.”

“It sounds like these should be banned,” you mumble as Briinx comes behind you to straighten your shoulders once more. You shudder to think what the Mandalorian would need such a weapon for.

“Oh, they were,” he chirps, tilting your head up again. “Now, see this here? It’s the scope. Allows a sniper to see his target from miles away.” His glove floats over the eyepiece and turns the dial. “It’s got heat sensors, too. Maybe Djarin will take you out sometime so you can see for yourself.”

You frown curiously, leaning forward to press your eye to the scope. It’s not nearly as blurry as you expect, and when he flips the dial again, your vision lights up with various shades of color. Rhalaz walks to the far end of the room into the darkened corner of the armory, and you see his heat signature fill the screen. He waves, fluttering his fingers so you can see him.

Excitement tingles along the back of your neck at actually being able to see what has been described to you, and you can’t help the small smile that curves your lips. “Oh.”

“We don’t give these to just anyone, mind you,” Briinx stipulates, patting the crown of your hair as you sit back. “Djarin only got one because he’s the best sharpshooter in the covert.”

“Really?”

It occurs to you that you know very little about the Mandalorian’s skills as a warrior. You had seen him move with precision and even witnessed his deadly reflexes, but you’d never actually seen him fight. The few times he’d killed, you had not been conscious enough to witness it.

“Can’t fight hand to hand worth a damn, but we all have our helms to wear,” Rhalaz sighs dramatically, earning a grin from you as Briinx takes the rifle from you and opens the barrel with a satisfying crack. “Alas, if you do learn to shoot, it should be from him.”

“I...I shot someone once,” you confess, and the armory goes very quiet. You don’t know if it’s from your confession itself or the tone of regret you can’t keep out of your voice. You take a deep breath, your eyes watching as Briinx’s gloves cradle the rifle like you might cradle the child in the crook of your arm. “It...he was going to kill us.”

A firm hand on your shoulder draws your eyes up to the shimmering stormy grey helmet, and Rhalaz tilts his visor down to try and meet your gaze. “There is honor in defending yourself, vod’ika. And the ones you love.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whisper, curling your hands in your lap. Your heart begins to pound, face flushing with a cold sweat appearing behind your ears. The words must sound so foreign to seasoned warriors as the ones flanking you, and your quiet confession sinks your shoulders. How could you claim to be the companion of a Mandalorian when you couldn’t even protect yourself?

Surprisingly, Briinx is the one to allay your fears.

“No one wants to truly hurt another,” he says with his unique accent, his green helmet tilted conspiratorially towards you. “And if they do, they are the ones you should keep in your line of sight.”

Rhalaz nods once, grim and somber, and you frown gently. Had you not been able to fire the blaster at Toro Calican, would the Mandalorian have been able to gain the upper hand? Would the child still be safe? The two questions chill you, chasing the flush from your face, and you decide that you would never be in the position to ask such things again.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you murmur, conviction making the words sound stronger than what you truly feel, but you straighten your back and breathe deeply. “But...I want to protect my child. The children. M-My clan.”

Rhalaz thumps his fist once on the bench, and Briinx chuckles happily, “ Mandokarla! ”

“That we can help with.”

When the Mandalorian descends the steps that evening, you are sitting on the workbench, legs crossed at your ankles as you work to put a WESTAR-34 blaster pistol back together after taking it apart. Briinx stands with his back against the wall while Rhalaz holds several throwing knives in one hand, balancing one in his other. a

“Don’t forget to slot the spring in. You don’t want to jam it, because that will wear it down.”

Thud.

“Your aim is getting worse, old man,” Briinx chides, a teasing note in his modulated voice. “I’m supposed to be able to deflect it, and you have to at least try to hit me.”

The Mandalorian clears his throat, and you look up with a bright smile in greeting, swinging your ankles from your perch.

“Djarin! Welcome back. We did half your job for you,” Briinx declares just as a knife thunks against the side of his helmet, skittering across the floor. “She’ll make a deadly ver’verd yet.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” the Mandalorian deadpans, inching around behind Rhalaz as he gears up to throw another knife at his husband. You smile wide as the Mandalorian approaches you, and one hand comes to rest on the bench beside your thigh, the other resting on his belt. He leans his weight on one foot, visor tilting toward you. “Having fun?”

“I like this one,” you declare to him, your hands deftly slotting the slide over the barrel and finishing the job. The blaster gleams nearly platinum beneath the light, weighing it in your carbon smudged hands. “It’s very light.”

“You have good taste,” the Mandalorian compliments, taking the pistol from you thoughtfully. You watch with fascination as his gloved hands expertly charge the slide, tilting his head. He looks back up at you. “They teach you how to handle it?”

An offending huff comes from somewhere behind him, but you grin proudly. “I know how to put it together, take it apart, clean it, and reload it.”

“Good.” He straightens, offering a hand to you that you take gratefully. You didn’t realize how much you’d miss his companionship until you were apart, and you squeeze his fingers with a gentle sigh. That is, until he speaks next.

“Now stand up, and I’ll show you how to shoot it.”

-

Mando'a Translations:

Ad'ika - little one

Su cuy’gar - "You're still alive." A greeting or form of hello.

Tion'cuy? - Who's this?

Cuyir dar gar riduur? - Is she not your wife?

Sa jate sa - As good as

Vod’ika - Little sister

Mandokarla - Showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mandalorian virtue.

Ver’verd - mercenary

-

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[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Then and Now - Smells Like Home

AN: It's been a while since I’ve written Supernatural, or Dean, but I'm back now with a new Series. Gonna be 10 parts in total with a lot of feels and fluffs. I've been toying with this idea since I started re-watching spn earlier this year (thank you quarantine) and then after reading a series by the amazing @percywinchester27​ I got inspired and started writing. Shout out to my awesome beta @thorne93​, you da bees knees. 

AN2: I'm doing a thing where I raffle off a personalised drabble every month. How do you join? Easy, just hammer that reblog button. Reblog is one entry, reblog with comment is two entries. So you help spread my work and you might get a little sumpthin’ in return. Win Win

Pairing: AUDean x Reader

Warnings: None I think. 

Wordcount: 2494

Summary: It's 2010 and you’re back in Lawrence to settle your family’s affairs after your mom passed. You hope to be in and out of town before anyone really knows you’re there, but that doesn't go as plan. Will a certain green eyed mechanic convince you to come back to the life you once had in Lawrence? Or are you going to return to the real world as soon everything is settled?

The small town air in Lawrence was so much different than the polluted, exhaust filled air in New York. Here, you could actually breathe and not feel as though your mouth and lungs filled with whirled up dust and fumes from the constant traffic. It was something that you had gotten used to doing as the first thing when you reached a new place, to draw a deep breath through your nose and smell the town. It sounds weird, but every town and city had its unique smell, and Lawrence? Well… Lawrence smelled like home. 

It had been a long time since you called Lawrence home though, and now, considering the circumstances, you didn't know if this place would ever feel like home again. Even though it smelled like it. 

The town passed by the window as your cab made its way through it, some of the small businesses that you remember going to as a kid had been replaced by others, but some remained just as you remembered them. Like Rufus’ Hardware, where your dad got all his tools and things like that, and Harvelle’s Scoops where you used to hang out after school. The memories made in that place brought a smile to your lips. It had little to do with the fantastic ice cream sundaes they served, and all to do with the group of friends you used to hang out with. At the edge of town, you passed the Winchester Auto Shop, and again you smiled. The facade hadn't changed since you were here last, and neither had the clutter that surrounded it. Dean Winchester ran it now, your mom had told you not to long ago. John had passed away about a year earlier, in his sleep of all things. You had thought then about picking up and calling Dean, to offer your condolences, but it didn't seem appropriate after all this time. 

A knot started to form in your stomach as the cab turned from the main road and started down the gravel path that led to your childhood home. This place would never be the same again to you, not now that you were the only one left. The words your father had preached so many times echoed in your ears as the house came into view, and all of a sudden you felt the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes. ‘A home is not created by four walls and a roof, it's the family inside that makes a home’, but there was no family left in that house, and therefore it was no longer a home. 

It smelled like home though, moreso out here than it did in town. It smelled of freshly cut grass and flowers, and somehow it still smelled of the livestock that hadn't lived in the barn in many years. When your father had died about six years ago, your mom had discontinued the run of the farm, she just wasn't up for the task anymore and you weren't willing then to come back and help her. It was a huge mistake you had made back then, something you'd have to carry the guilt of for the rest of your life. 

As you climbed the few steps up to the front porch of the house, the planks creaked just the way they had always done, and a weird feeling of comfort crept upon you. It was soon washed away though, as you saw the wilted flowers in the pots on each side of the door. Memories of planting the flowers every spring with your mom played in your mind, bringing with them a hollow sadness that you couldt allow yourself to feel right now. The flowers before you had wilted away, just like your mom had done, alone on this farm without anything or anyone breathing life into them. 

You had abandoned her when she needed you the most, and that was something you could never take back. And for what exactly? Your career? The illusion of love from a man that turned out to be something else entirely? The starry eyed dream that a city like New York promised to make true? No. It was all for nothing, and it was too late to make things right now, you could never fix this mistake. 

Pushing away your emotions wasn't easy, especially as you walked through the old house that hadn't changed much and the memories from your childhood threatened to bring you to your knees. No, you had to push it all away. You were here to get things in order so that you could sell the place and then haul your ass out of town again. A week. Two at the most, and then you could return to the messy life you had left back in New York. 

***

It was early in the morning when the sun crept through the curtains of your room, making you groan in displeasure. Back in New York, tall buildings surrounded yours making it so the sun didn't reach your window until 11am. Something that suited your lifestyle perfectly. You were a night owl, always had been. 

As you opened your eyes, you saw the five members of Backstreet Boys smiling down at you and you couldn't help but laugh. The poster you had once hung in the ceiling had been long forgotten, as had the girl that hung it up there. It was barely past six am as you begrudgingly dragged yourself out of bed, but the sooner you got started, the sooner you could get out of here and back to the big city where you belonged. Nothing had changed in your room in the past - what- 13 years since you lived here. Your parents hadn't touched it, and whenever you visited, you never stayed long enough to bother changing anything. 

In your closet you found your old flannel shirt, the one that a certain green eyed boy had given you one night when it was cold. You took it from the hanger and ran the rough fabric through your fingers before you, as on instinct, brought it up to your nose. It didn't smell like him anymore, but you hadn't expected it to either. You threw it on over a white tank top and shimmied into a basic pair of jeans, and then you spotted them. The brown cowboy boots your dad had gotten you as a going away present when you left. The boots that you had left behind because they didn't fit into the style of life you were pursuing in the big city. Unused and filled with guilt they stood there and basically mocked you. With mixed emotions you slid your feet into them, like if it was an effort to make up for past behavior or something. Nothing changed, your dad would never know how much you appreciate them in this moment, but you still wore them, completing the farm girl look as you set out to start the day. 

It was nearly noon before you took a break, the scorching sun forcing you to find some shade to hide in for a little while. Tomorrow you had a meeting with a realtor, she would help you with everything that came to selling the place, what you would have to get rid of beforehand, and what could be sold with the property. So until then, you just went around and cleaned things up a bit. Now it was lunch time, but you hadn't done any shopping yesterday, and there was a limit to how many granola bars one could have. 

Inside you found the keys to your old truck, and with a nostalgic giddiness you practically skipped outside to the garage to find it. It was an old Ford pickup truck, blue with a white trim around it. Your father had kept it running for as long as he was alive, but now it probably hadn't even been started since you were last here. Two years had passed, but you had unrelenting faith in this truck. “Come on, baby. Show me what you’re made of,” you gently coaxed as you slid the key in the ignition. As you turned it, you closed your eyes and prayed to a higher power you didn't believe in. A meek noise came from the engine, but the engine didn't turn at all. “It was a long shot,” you conceded.

There was a greater chance of getting your mom's car to start, a shaggy, old Volvo that she had had forever, but it was well kept so you had a home there. But no such luck. 

You thought for a moment, but it was abundantly clear what your next move had to be, and you didn't really look forward to it. 

As you waited on the front porch, you looked at the hammock chair that hung there. The ropes that came with it had been exchanged with chains that had started rusting. Visions of your mom reading while she rocked back and forth flashed across your eyes, remembering how the creak of the chains had reverberated and amplified up to your room and annoyed the shit out of you. How you had yelled out the window and how she had apologized. You also remembered how your dad had caught you and Dean there one night, way past either of your bedtimes. That particular memory brought a smile to your face. If your dad only had known where Dean's hand was a minute before he came crashing through the front door. Oh to be young and in love again. Or young. Or in love. 

The roar of an engine pulled you from your little trip down memory lane, and as you got to your feet the sleek black car came into view. Part of you wished he would just send someone else out here, but somehow you knew that he would be the one to come. 

As he excited his car, you ascended the few steps from the porch, a weary smile on your lips. “The allusive YN YLN,” he said with that cheeky grin of his. 

“In the flesh,” you responded before you gave him a hug hello. “It's good to see you, Dean,” you offered. So good in fact that your heart skipped a beat as you laid eyes on him. He looked exactly the same as he had done all those years ago, the only difference was that his leather jacket had been discarded somewhere in exchange for a simple black t-shirt. Knowing Dean, though, and you did, the jacket was still somewhere waiting for the summer heat to ease up so that it could be used again. 

Five years had passed since Dean saw you last, but you hadn't changed much, if at all. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again,” he half joked. 

“Well…” you started, but let your words trail off. “Thanks for coming so soon,” you said to change the subject. 

“You kidding? I haven't seen you in forever, couldn't let that chance go to waste,” he noted. “The old Ford?” he wondered, pointing to the open garage. 

“Yeah. The engine’s not turning, so I'm pretty sure it's the battery. I probably just need a jump,” you explained. You weren't an expert in any way, but growing up on a farm you learned a thing or two about engines. 

“The battery?” he asked with a chuckle. “YN, this thing was old as sin back when you got it. I'm not sure it has any more miles on it.” 

You tried really hard not to notice the freckles across his nose, or the bright green of his eyes, or the scruff on his jaw, or how his muscles moved under the shirt as he opened the hood. “She might be old, but I know that she has more in her. She's younger than yours,” you retorted. Trying really, really, really hard not to notice the crinkle of his eyes as he smiled. 

Dean didn't respond to your comment, he just made his way to the driverside to get in and try starting the car. He listened intently as he turned the key, and then he jumped back out. “We can try jumping her, but from the looks of this battery you’re gonna need a new one,” he noted. 

It took a few tries, but it finally started. It wasn't the confident engine roar you were used to from this car though, it was more like a cough and a stutter before it settled into its idle rhythm. 

“Can I drive it into town like this?” you asked, looking up at Dean who was still listening to the engine sounds to make sure it was alright. 

“I wouldn't stop it though. I'm not sure if you'll get it started again if you do.” He looked up at you as he wiped his hand on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “I'll get you a new battery. Might be good to let her sit until then.” 

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair, holding it away from your face for a moment. “But it’ll be fine if I don't cut the engine off, right?” you asked, a hopeful look in your eyes. “I need to go shopping,” you explained before he could discourage you. 

Dean sighed. “You have my number if you get stuck in town,” he offered. 

“Can I ask you something? If you’re not in a hurry, that is?” 

Dean checked his watch and then motioned for you to go on. 

“I'm here to settle the property,” you started to explain. “And I'm not sure if this is in your wheelhouse or not, but I wondered if you could check out the farming equipment that we have, the tractors and such? I just want to know what I can sell and what's a good price.”

“You’re selling the place?” he asked, eyes widening in surprise. 

“Yeah. I get that it might be out of your expertise, but maybe you can recommend someone who knows about these things?” 

“I can take a look,” he offered. “But not right now, I'm already late for something. Can I come back later tonight?” 

“Of course,” you said eagerly. “How about I make us some dinner… as a thank you?” 

Dean furrowed his brows. “Are you gonna cook?” He thought back to all the meals you had prepared for him over the years. It was sweet and all, but you could hardly call it food.  

“I know what you’re thinking, but I took some classes and I'm actually a pretty decent cook now,” you said proudly, but Dean's face was full of scepticism. “Okay. I know how to cook a few things.” He still looked right through you after all these years. “Alright. One thing. I know how to cook one thing. I hope you like chicken parm.”

“Can't wait,” he said with a chuckle. 

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[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG183!

- I’m not sure I can manage to put it into words quite right but: sounds-wise, this episode’s domain didn’t feel mind-blowingly new, it wasn’t something that felt “Oh! I’ve never heard something like this before!”? But the echoes, grinding and scratching were timed so well, giving so much strength and gravitas to the conversations, that it perfectly scratched an itch. I could hear that there was something close to Jon and Martin, that it was big, and mostly deserted, that it stood eerily in the overall wasteland, that they were two people alone against a whole world, a whole machine with gears and a mechanism ready to crush anyone?

- I LIVE for artist!Martin giving his commentary and overall throwing shade at the Fears’ taking of artistic licence liberties:

(MAG183) MARTIN: Oh, bugger off! ARCHIVIST: Everything all right? MARTIN: Oh, no, what e–, what e–, what even is that? It, it’s like Escher ate a bad cathedral and threw up everywhere.

He had shown interest in the Stranger’s carousel upon learning that the statements had been a poem, but shots fired for that tower, uh.

- Jon and Martin were so cute starting the episode! Their quick banter was adorable!

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s a building. A tower. … In a sense. MARTIN: Oh yeah? A–and what sense might that be? ARCHIVIST: [FAINTLY OMINOUS] … The Tarot sense. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERS WITH LAUGHTER] Really? ARCHIVIST: Wha–? No? Sorry, it… felt like a good line…! MARTIN: No, no, it was, I just… I dunno, I… [FOND EXHALE] You did the look, and…! It’s fine, sorry.

Martin being IN LOVE and appreciating Jon’s cuteness! The return of Jon showing that he’s an occult/horror nerd! We had seen in season 2 that he was generally very knowledgeable about anything related to the supernatural, and in season 4 that he was into Neil Lagorio’s movies, I’m happy to get another trace of it!

(MAG076) MELANIE: So I came here to dig a bit deeper. ARCHIVIST: Really? Our… our library is extensive, but it’s hardly focused on the Second World War. MELANIE: No, but the most detailed description of the crash that I could find came from the report of a man called William W. Hay. And later in life William Hay… ARCHIVIST: Became a noted occultist, whose memoirs and researches were only ever published in a heavily edited form. And we have unexpurgated copies. MELANIE: Exactly.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Statement ends. Hm. Neil Lagorio… You ever see any of his work? DAISY: No. Not really into films. ARCHIVIST: Oh, they were… Well, let’s just say that it’s not a complete shock there was something unnatural to them. Didn’t know we had copies in the Institute, though; let alone original cuts. [CHUCKLE] Records indicate they [PAPER RUSTLING] ended up in… Artefact Storage. DAISY: Probably best that they stay there. ARCHIVIST: … Yeah. Yes, of course.

But SOB x2 since:

* Tower-in-the-tarot-sense meaning ominous stuff… and change. (While Jon knew they would soon come face to face with the choice to take the route through Martin’s domain.)

* Crying over the fact that we’ve seen and learned quite a few outside-of-the-job aspects of Jon this season, comparatively to the previous ones? He’s cute! He’s making jokes! He mentioned his student days a bit in MAG165, and visiting Upton House as a kid in MAG180! And this is happening when the world has been forked over and Jon&Martin certainly won’t survive together past MAG200, which means they have at most seventeen episodes together remaining. Martin, and we alongside him, are seeing so many different, more casual aspects of Jon, and it’s at the end of things…

- I really like how information bounced around in this episode? It felt even more dynamic than usual, quickly shifting depending on some reaction, or going from an association to another:

(MAG183) MARTIN: What, what’s the deal, though? Parts of it almost look like– ARCHIVIST: The Institute. MARTIN: Yeah…! ARCHIVIST: Yes. [INHALE] It makes sense, after all it was… built on the ruins of what Robert Smirke constructed…! MARTIN: Smirke? … What, no! But, but, surely he’s– ARCHIVIST: Dead, yeah, I mean, yes. [CHUCKLING] Very much so! This place is… an homage, shall we say. A monument. To him, and those like him, who tried to… categorise the world with themselves at the centre. In so doing, constructed the architecture of its suffering…!

Ohohoh about Martin feeling like the tower looked a bit like the Institute, and Jon drawing similarities through Smirke – the Institute being built on the ruins of a Smirke building, and the current domain being dedicated to people like him. The Institute is coming closer and weighing on their minds, isn’t it? I really like that Martin immediately worried about Smirke potentially being alive-ish, since:

(MAG138) MARTIN: “The Eye has marked me for something, of this I have no doubt. My… humble hope is that it may be a swift death, an accidental effect of your own researches, which I once again implore you to abandon. It is likely too late for me, but I will not…” [PAPER RUSTLE] Uh… [INHALE] The, hum… The letter ends there. Uh… Ap–apparently Robert Smirke was found collapsed in his study that evening, dead of, uh… [FLIPPING THROUGH PAPERS] Apoplexy. Mm. I–I don’t know how the letter reached the Archives, I mean… Well, I can guess, but…

… he had read Smirke’s last words before he died. (But Martin has seen enough by now to know that there is always a risk for people to not have actually died; on that front, we’re safe, Jon confirmed! Loving Jon’s chuckle: ah yeah, no, Smirke, “very much so” dead from Jonah.)

(Also loved the “[those] who tried to categorise the world with themselves at the centre” shade: yep! That’s West-Eurocentrism and Smirke’s little gang for you!)

- About the way the world works now since the Change, I’m curious about Jon’s wording as “the architecture of [the world’s] suffering”, since it’s echoing the title of Smirke’s statement, “The Architecture of Fear”: my understanding is that right now, the world is mostly running on a loop of people’s fears => feeding and shaping the landscape => which hurts people by turning those realised fears against them => squeezing the fear out of them => feeding the landscape, etc.

What is quite curious is the status of Smirke’s taxonomy in the current world. Jon went off on a rant about how Smirke and people who attempted to classify had been wrong all along because it was meant to fail… while he himself has persistently been using the very same classifications during this very season:

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Look, we can talk about it later, we’re– coming to a… “domain of The Buried”, and [STATIC RISES] I would really rather… […] God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] “Knowing”, “seeing”… i–it’s not the same thing as… understanding. Every time I try to know what The Web’s plan is, if it can even be called a plan, I see… a hundred thousand events and causes and links, an impossibly intricate pattern of consequences and subtle nudges, but I–I can’t…! … I can’t hold them all in my head at the same time. There’s no way to see the “whole”, the, the point of it all. I can see all the details, but it doesn’t… provide… context or… intention. I suppose The Web doesn’t work in knowledge, not in the same way.

(MAG173) MARTIN: That’s the avatar for this place? ARCHIVIST: Callum Brodie, thirteen years old. He guides the children through their fears of The Dark.

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, it’s The Vast. The clue is in the name! MARTIN: Yes, all right…!

(MAG176) MARTIN: … Besides, I thought The Hunt was meant to make you go faster. ARCHIVIST: Depends on the type of pursuit. [INHALE] Besides, the chase isn’t… really the point of this particular place.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Bad therapists. Let’s just say it’s the fear of bad therapists, filtered through The Spiral. BASIRA: That’s… a lot more nuance than I’ve gotten used to since everything went wrong. ARCHIVIST: Yes, well. The Spiral is nothing if not insidious. […] You just heard what The Spiral does to people, you can’t… trust her.

“constructed the architecture of [the world’s] suffering” kind of implies that they did manage something, even if it doomed the world? Is it specifically about Jonah using the division into 14 in his incantation? We’ve seen that that one had limitations, since The Extinction also got there anyway… But at the same time, true that at this point, we would still force-apply Smirke’s labels to anything anyway.

- Loved Jon sounding awfully pedantic and (fake-)poetic at the same time:

(MAG183) MARTIN: [SIGH] Bit of a mouthful. ARCHIVIST: Would you prefer I described it as a… “cascading recursion of shifting arrogance and hubristic dead-ends”? [STATIC RISES] [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [CONSTANT HIGH-PITCHED FREQUENCY] HELEN: I would. [FOOTSTEPS] [THE DOOR SHUTS] [STATIC FADES] MARTIN: [SIGH] Hello, Helen.

AND HELEN HAVING THE BEST ENTRANCES. It also cleared up something for me (unless I had already realised it and forgot about it since then): the high-pitched sound we hear when she’s around is the mark of Helen and Michael, not of the corridors – if the door is open or characters are inside of the hallways, we’ll hear some of the usual crackling static, but we heard it rise when Helen arrived and fade when the door shut behind her (and same thing with her departure, it was briefly heard when she opened the door).

- Shots fired, MARTIN PLEASE:

(MAG183) MARTIN: [SIGH] Hello, Helen. Might have guessed you’d be into weird architecture. Very much your area of expertise, no? HELEN: Hmm, depends! Would you describe “petulant poet” as your area of expertise? I am weird architecture.

And Helen went equally incisive on that one, but also UUUUUH WAS IT A SPECIFIC REFERENCE TO PETER’S COMMENT ABOUT MARTIN…

(MAG158) MARTIN: I’m… saying no. I refuse! Game over. [KNIFE CLATTERING ON THE GROUND] PETER: Martin, this is not the time for petulance; there are bigger things at stake, here.

This was the only time someone referred to Martin as (acting) petulant… I mean, Helen not missing one second of MAG158 wouldn’t be surprising (she did tell Jon at the end of MAG157 that she would be enjoying the show), but ;; Little chilling when remembering Elias-Peter-Martin in the Panopticon and Martin refusing to kill Jonah there…

- I was right to suspect that Helen might have been unable to know where Jon&Martin were over their stay at Upton House, and that she wouldn’t be pleased about it!

(MAG183) HELEN: Anyway, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you, but you both just vanished. ARCHIVIST: Aaah… Right, I see…! HELEN: I was so looking forward to catching up after that whole Basira and Daisy thing, but then, pfft! You both disappear. I’d be very keen to know how you managed that little trick. MARTIN: Why, it caught us by surprise too, I mean, we, we actually ended– ARCHIVIST: [FIRMLY] We found somewhere to rest. That’s all. MARTIN: … Oh, yeah. Ah, yes, hm. HELEN: Fine. Be like that. I can appreciate the particular pleasure of a kept secret. ARCHIVIST: I’m sure you can.

* Salesa’s zone seems to be protected as long as you don’t physically find it? I wonder how Annabelle managed to find it, still, since Jon only become aware of that blind spot when they arrived nearby; how did she become aware of it in the first place? Did it feel like a hole in the world’s web?

* Awww for Jon keeping the secret and conveying to Martin that they should keep quiet about it ;w;

* AHAHAHHAHA for Jon’s “aaah”, which was absolutely a mischievous grandpa sound. Jon ready to cause trouble, with a smug smile on his face.

- … I love how Helen could observe that the dynamic of the exchange was slipping out of her control (Jon&Martin knew something that she didn’t, didn’t feel threatened by her, and Jon was amused to keep it out of her reach) and immediately tried to go for the throat again:

(MAG183) HELEN: Anyway. Such a shame about Basira and Daisy. I was really rooting for them to make up. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERS] Since when? What happened to– I mean, how did you put it… a, “a quick shot to the back of her head, and then back in time for tea”, or whatever?

Martin: Forgive and forget? NO, RESENT AND REMEMBER AHAHAHAHAH.

Direct reference to the fact that Helen indeed ~offered her door to Basira~ to quickly get to Daisy and execute her:

(MAG177) HELEN: I can offer a shortcut. Take you right to that murder machine you call a partner. MARTIN: Basira… Jon can’t go through Helen’s doors, we, we couldn’t come with you. HELEN: Basira is a strong, independent woman. She doesn’t need you two holding her hand. Anyway, it’ll be dead quick. Two minutes, door-to-door, quick shot to the back of Daisy’s head, and we’ll be home before you know it!

Laughing that Martin added the tea mention (Martin, you single-track minded tea-aficionado), but I’m glad that he remembered it full well to throw it in her face; it wasn’t even a personal attack towards Martin, it was something Helen tried to do to Basira, I’m glad that Martin is still absolutely offended about it ;w;

- I felt like Jon and Helen had two definitions of “what we want”: Helen potentially talking about quick, short-term wants (even if they turn out to be self-destructive), while Jon was more about well-thought decisions and choices?

(MAG183) HELEN: [EXASPERATED SIGH] Oh, give over. I was obviously just prodding her, trying to make a point. She didn’t want to kill her. ARCHIVIST: What we want doesn’t matter much these days. HELEN: Oh, [RASPBERRY NOISE], nonsense. What we want is the only thing that matters these days. And Basira wanted to join Daisy. ARCHIVIST: She made her choice. HELEN: With your assistance. ARCHIVIST: It was still her choice. HELEN: [SIGH] What a waste. ARCHIVIST: No. [INHALE] It wasn’t.

There have been a lot of discussions about “choices” and “wants” throughout the series (with big moments in MAG092, MAG117 and MAG147), so it felt a bit nice that Jon seems to have reached a point where he could draw a line between both? Jon, Martin and Basira didn’t want this world, don’t want the way it operates and what it inflicts on them; it doesn’t mean they can’t weigh options and make specific decisions – Basira, to honour her promise to Daisy and kill the monster she had become; Jon, to not smite for revenge (and Martin, to face his own domain).

I LOVE HOW JON WAS FIRM ABOUT BASIRA’S CHOICE MATTERING ;w; It once again reminds me of Martin’s line to Simon: “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.” (MAG151); the little things, the individual existences and choices, their own stories, still having value in the expanse of the universe…

- Martin! It’s a delight to see him so firm, having faith in Basira although he’s been so worried for her:

(MAG179) ARCHIVIST: Martin, this is what she needs. MARTIN: No, no! I–it’s…! BASIRA: It’ll… MARTIN: It’s completely– […] … We’re not doing this. BASIRA: [SOFTLY] Martin. Please. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … [SIGH] You’d better look after yourself. BASIRA: I will.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: How are you doing? About… MARTIN: Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m–I’m not sure how to feel; just… pressing on, you know? ARCHIVIST: I do. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you think she’ll be okay without us? ARCHIVIST: Oh, she’s made it this far. MARTIN: … Yeah. I just worry.

(MAG183) MARTIN: Basira is… She’s going to be okay.

And then pointing out that he was involved in the discussion too and that he wanted to know what the other two knew already and not be kept out of the loop:

(MAG183) HELEN: Oh. Is she? Do you want me to tell you what she’s been up to while you were “resting”? Where she is right now? ARCHIVIST: You don’t need to. I already know. MARTIN: I don’t. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s currently moving through, uh… “The Void.” [STATIC FADES] Hungry shadows drifting in the dark. She’s been there a long time now, struggling to find the path. MARTIN: But she will? ARCHIVIST: I think so. HELEN: Yeah, she does always seem to manage, doesn’t she? It’s impressive. Although a little bit… tempting at times.

I’m not absoooolutely sure about Basira’s status: is “the void” a space between domains, or is it a Dark domain that Basira is having trouble finding the exit of, since unlike Jon, she can’t just “know” the paths? I suspect the latter but I’m not 100% certain. If it’s indeed The Dark, that’s a close to home one for her, since she had a few brushes with it over the course of the show – the Section 31 expedition to save Callum Brodie, leading to Rayner’s death and Basira’s decision to quit the police, her research to find out more about the People’s Church of the Divine Host (as shown in season 3) and her overall worry about them, which allowed Elias to convince her that they would attempt another ritual in Ny-Ålesund, leading to her discovering what “Rayner” was and travelling there with Jon, finding Manuela and the Dark Sun mid-season 4…

;ww; for Jon having faith in Basira, too… And the fact that once again, Basira has it a bit rougher than Jon&Martin (Jon had already told Martin that it had been a difficult journey for her, before they reunited). Helen does have a point that Basira seems to manage to find her way out in general: she had successfully escaped The Unknowing on her own, she had survived The Flesh’s attack on the Institute, she had pursued Daisy in the apocalypse… Basira has already gone through Helen’s corridors (offscreen at the end of MAG143, to return to the Institute), I’m YIKES about Helen implying that it would be “tempting” to grab her. (… But at the same time, why hasn’t she done it already, if she is capable of doing it? It might be a bit more complicated than that?)

- … I love Martin, I love that he was RIGHT to point out that Helen had just waltzed in to try and steer chaos:

(MAG183) MARTIN: Look, Helen, what do you even want? Okay, you keep turning up like a bad penny and, honestly, it, it seems like it’s… it’s just to be a dick! HELEN: Gasp! I am trying to be friends, Martin. Forever is a long time. And I occasionally like to have some company that isn’t… screaming. MARTIN: … What do you even think friendship is? HELEN: I dunno, do I? The only personhood I have is from someone I ate.

It feels like Helen has REALLY tried hard to make up for the weeks(?) she couldn’t find Jon and Martin? She went extra-hard on them: first with Basira, then implying to Jon that he had manipulated her into killing Daisy, then pointing out that Basira was not safe at the moment and still at risk of falling prey to other Fears (including herself), then trying to mock Martin about his domain, trying to guilt-trip Jon for not having told him about it yet, and when she finally managed to get Martin shocked and upset… job done, byebye.

Is it that she’s trying to get Jon so riled up he ends her? “Helen” used to like Jon and to turn to him (MAG101: “Helen liked you so… there’s a lot to consider. But I will help you leave.” / MAG115: “Before, talking to you made Helen feel better.”), before she was absolutely Down With Doors And Murders (MAG146: “We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? … Don’t we, Archivist?”), is it a remnant of that? Or is it really just an attempt at confusing Jon and Martin further, feeding from them Spiral-style?

- More about Martin’s domain later, but the reveal was BRUTAL, and yet not coming out of nowhere; we knew he had one, we knew he had almost been trapped in the Lonely house in MAG170 and the question was whether or not it had been (/was still) his domain once Martin got freed from it, but there was also the question of how Martin was able to walk in the apocalypse unharmed (was it due to Jon’s proximity, Martin’s connection to The Eye as an assistant, etc.), and Basira’s own status after Daisy’s death… so, yay! Answers and clarifications, and as usual, nothing feeling like a plot-twist, just things that make sense, and that we already had most of the information about!

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: Are there people, Jon? ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: Are there people in my domain? ARCHIVIST: Not many. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you need to do your… your thing? Make a statement about whatever’s going on in there? … I could use a moment to think. ARCHIVIST: Sure thing. Yeah, I–I’ll… [INHALE] Yeah. [EXHALE] [BAG JOSTLING] [DEPARTING FOOTSTEPS]

Sobbing a bit about Martin’s priorities (“Are there people, Jon?”) and Martin asking for a quick me-time. It wasn’t ice-cold, Martin turned it into something useful for both of them (expecting that Jon would have to give his statement anyway), but aouch, he sounded absolutely shattered inside while blank on the surface…

- Yes, yes, yes, reminder that Smirke’s categorisation is arbitrary and just like the Doctor’s theory, sometimes just doesn’t work, because it’s trying to force-apply rules and a classification over something that resists it (and because the classification is not perfect from the start), but hey, that’s most theories and classifications out there anyway, so: Escher reference, the functioning of the Tower reminding me of the Great Twisting, and the reasonings sometimes reminding me of Gabriel’s work (MAG126), plus Helen popping by – it was Spiral stuff, right?

Well! I felt like it looks like Spiral, but the Doctor’s fears by themselves:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “But it is not the fall that terrifies him, not the pain of the impacts, but the fact that none of them should be there. That it doesn’t make sense, and it must make sense, there must be a system, there must be, because if there isn’t– [THE BODY LANDS WETLY] He lands with a heavy smack onto rough limestone, and lies still, his body twisted and broken. He knows it will knit itself back together, slowly, painfully, as it always has before. But the thought of starting over, of composing yet another theory, fills him with a deep dread.”

… are more something I would identify as Eye (fear of a truth) and Hunt (fear of having to return to the start, to have to elaborate a new theory from scratch, again and again, of being trapped forever)?

It was really reminiscent of Smirke thinking back over his life, his hubris and the pride of being the one who would have found the answer, to the point where he would reject reality if it didn’t match his taxonomy (refusing to, well… do what you do with a theory: change, or evolve and perfect it when its flaws are pointed out):

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “I believed then, as I still believe now, that these places I saw were the Powers themselves, expressed in their truest form, far more entirely than any ‘secret book’ can claim. And if, as I came to believe, the Dread Powers were themselves places of a sort, then surely with the right space, the right architecture, they could be contained. Channelled. Harnessed. So yes. Hubris. Not simply in that, I suppose, but in believing that those I brought into my confidence shared my lofty goals. […] Would you have me separate The Corruption between insects, dirt and disease? To, to divide the fungal bloom from the maggot? No. No, I… stand by my work. And thus, we must conclude that the only explanation is a new Power, created from what was once others, yet also distinct. And if such change is possible, how then can any “true balance” be achieved through immutable, unchanging stone…?”

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “If they are feeling very confident, they may lean down and stretch a curious tongue beyond their chipped teeth and rotten gums, desperate to add another sense to their observances – more evidence to support their declaration of what the world must be. […] They must simply study and learn, if they are to escape the labyrinth. They will be the first to escape. The one who sits in the central chamber cannot remember his name. But he knows that people called him “doctor”. He made sure of that; to ignore it would have been the greatest disrespect, and he will not be disrespected. […] He knows, for a fact, that this is the central chamber because he is the one sat here. […] They’ll all remember him forever, the first to escape the Monument. His name will be hallowed with the greats: Doctor, uh… Doctor…”

Same old pride, Leitner knew that well too (MAG080: “But I think, in my heart, I dreamed of my work becoming known. That ‘The Library of Jurgen Leitner’ would stand as a symbol of courage and protection. Hubris.”) and Gerry didn’t have many nice things to say about it (MAG111: “Flamsteed, Smirke, Leitner. Idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing.”). Loved how the statements came for Smirke’s life and was absolutely ruthless about it – but maayyybe a bit too ruthless, even? Jon didn’t express much sympathy for “fools like Smirke” either, and this is a rare case in season 5 where I find that the statement was a bit lacking in empathy for… people who were technically victims. I mean! Insufferable pedantic academics sure are a type, they’re really not having the worst life out there, but it makes me feel a bit weird, with season 5’s overall tone, that the episode had that vibe of “serves them well, they’re insufferable” about people who were technically still trapped in a domain and suffering from it?

… I still laughed a lot about the Doctor vs. Professor rivalry and how they solved their argument:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “The doctor that lies on the floor has recovered, just enough to laugh. ‘You’re still working on mineral theory? How painfully outdated.’ A flash of genuine fear crosses the face of the professor at this dismissal, before he picks up his chunk of granite, and begins to smash the doctor’s head in, yet again.” [SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PEER REVIEW]

Academia unleashed.

(- OKAY, I HAVE TO CONFESS that when the character could only remember his title as “Doctor”, with Smirke having been mentioned earlier, my mind just jumped to Doctor Fanshawe… ;; He had left a strong impression on me, okay.)

- ;w; Over the fact that Martin got his me-time and that it was enough: he was clearly tense, but he came back with direct questions and knew what he wanted cleared up…

(MAG183) MARTIN: Finished? ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: Good. … I need you to explain something to me. ARCHIVIST: All right.

- I can’t believe that Martin Global Heartthrob Blackwood made The Eye FALL FOR HIM too:

(MAG183) MARTIN: How do I have a domain? That doesn’t make any sense. ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means…

Jane, Peter, Simon, Elias, Salesa, Annabelle, now Beholding – do you have any limit, Martin.

!! I’m excited over the fact that Martin’s entanglement with Beholding stuff was acknowledged! Comparatively, Melanie had read 2 statements (MAG086, MAG106) and Basira 1 (MAG112). Meanwhile, Martin had read 12; plus, although Tim, Melanie, Martin and Basira had taken (… or tried to take) one live statement each in MAG100, Martin had also taken 3 additional full statements:

MAG084, Adrian Weiss (Corruption) MAG088, Enrique MacMillan (Buried) MAG090, Ross Davenport (Flesh) MAG095, Luca Moretti (Slaughter) MAG098, Doctor Algernon Moss (Dark) MAG100 (live), Lynne Hammond (Desolation) MAG104 (live), Tim Stoker (Stranger) MAG108, Adonis Biros (Lonely) MAG110, Alexia Crawley (Web) MAG134, Adelard Dekker (Extinction) MAG138, Robert Smirke (Eye) MAG142 (live), Jess Tyrell (Buried, Eye) MAG144, Gary Boylan (Extinction) MAG149, Judith O’Neill (Extinction) MAG151 (live), Simon Fairchild (Vast) MAG156, Adelard Dekker (Extinction)

With Simon highlighting that Beholding had compelled him through Martin:

(MAG151) SIMON: Hm! No wonder I’m so sympathetic to The Lonely. You know: this really is a place for self-discovery, isn’t it? [CHUCKLE] “Statement ends”, I suppose! MARTIN: Uh… I’m sorry? SIMON: Oh! Nothing, just my own hubris. I should have known. When I came here, I said to myself: “Simon,” I said, “you’re going to answer this young man’s questions, but you’re not going to give The Watcher a statement. You’re better than that.” But it’s a hard one to resist, isn’t it? You get in the flow of talking about yourself, and it all just… tumbles out. MARTIN: Mm, does seem like it.

Elias might have been eyeing him as back-up Archivist, too (although since then, we’ve learned of his bet with Peter which would have already been running at the time – it might have been that Elias mostly wanted to ensure that Martin wouldn’t die during the Unknowing because he’d be needing him afterwards):

(MAG116) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] What about Martin? MARTIN: What about me? ARCHIVIST: He should stay behind. MARTIN: What?! ELIAS: Really. MARTIN: Why? ARCHIVIST: Too many people might attract attention. MARTIN: No, no, I can help, I’ve been reading the statements! ELIAS: … Quite right, er, probably best he does stay behind. BASIRA: What, so you have a backup if Jon doesn’t make it? ELIAS: I’m sure that won’t be necessary.

Martin did a lot of research, read these statements aloud, took live statements, was hinted as a potential replacement; tape recorders have spawned around him like they do with Jon, even outside of statements, and Martin had been exceptionally kind towards them on multiple occasions; there had been that little moment of Martin somehow knowing that Jon was alive back in season 3 (MAG088: “It’s the not knowing, you know? I mean, Jon’s still alive. Not sure why, but I’m sure of that. But Sasha, I…”), shortly before we had learned about Jon’s own Knowing powers developing; we don’t know why and whether that was Beholding or The Web or something else, but Martin had been able to know how to get Jon out of the Coffin in season 4:

(MAG134) PETER: What does puzzle me, though, and I mean that genuinely, is… why you were piling tape recorders onto the coffin, while Jon was in there. [PAUSE] It’s a question, Martin, it’s– it’s not an accusation. MARTIN: I don’t know. And I just… felt like it might help. He’s always recording, I thought… it–it might help him… find his way out. PETER: Interesting. Were you compelled? MARTIN: [SULLEN] … I don’t know. … M–maybe? I–I, I definitely wanted to do it… PETER: But? MARTIN: I’m… I’m not sure where the idea came from. PETER: You should watch out for that. Could be something dangerous. MARTIN: Sure.

… And Peter’s whole plan relied on the fact that Martin was initially touched by Beholding:

(MAG134) PETER: [BREATHES] I’m still working out some of the kinks. But I believe I have a plan. However, it requires this place, and it requires someone touched by The Beholding. Elias was, perhaps unsurprisingly, unwilling to help.

(MAG158) PETER: It’s quite simple, really…! I want to use the powers of this place to learn about The Extinction: what it’s doing, where it’s manifesting. Then we can stop it. MARTIN: And you need me for this? PETER: Correct! Without a connection to The Eye, any attempt to use it would likely end… very messily indeed! But thankfully, it just so happens that you hold such a connection. MARTIN: So that’s it… Both “lonely” and “watching”. PETER: You must admit you’re the perfect candidate. MARTIN: I suppose I am.

Beholding baby!! Now coming in an additional Lonely flavour.

- Mmmmmmmm… The way Jon put it, it seems that Beholding is consciously rewarding its servant and:

* It could be Jon trying to make sense of something else, that he doesn’t understand? Gertrude didn’t think that the Fears were able to “think” at all (MAG145: “Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do.” “I’m not actually convinced they “think” at all.”); reward&affection could be primitive enough feelings for a blob of terrors to work out (Martin fed Beholding as an assistant by reading statements => Beholding grants him things in the hope of getting fed even more?), but I don’t know, I can’t help but wonder if this is just Jon humanising the Fears a bit too much? It’s curious that Beholding got “fond” of Martin precisely when Jon himself fell in love with him – could Jon’s feelings have influenced Martin’s position in the apocalypse, could Jon be having a bit more power over the landscape than he realises?

* … If Beholding is rewarding its servants, that doesn’t bode well for Elias. WELL, no, I mean: it might mean that Elias is having a Great Time as a Beholding acolyte, which means it doesn’t bode well for my desire to see Elias get absolutely wrecked and wrong about being the “king of a ruined world”. I want him to have miscalculated, damnit! x’D

- I’m having so many feelings over Martin himself being unsure of what he wants, whether it’s better to know or to remain ignorant…

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means… MARTIN: [QUIETLY] That one of them belongs to me. But that’s… Ho–how can I be a “Watcher”? I, I didn’t even know it existed! ARCHIVIST: But you’ve suspected for a while now, haven’t you? MARTIN: Maybe? But that’s not “watching”! ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH]

Is it a remnant of his discussions with Tim in season 3? He’s basically gone the reverse of Tim about it:

(MAG098) MARTIN: Y’know, I think he thinks that the distance keeps us safe, you know? Like, like, if he just makes sure that we’re not involved, we’re somehow fine. TIM: He’s an idiot. Look, we didn’t know what that door was, and it still trapped us. Ignorance isn’t going to save anyone. MARTIN: No, I mean, you’re right, I guess.

Martin has seen enough to know now that ignorance doesn’t protect anyone, but also that knowledge can be used as a weapon – that the horrors are just made to hurt. I feel like, in his situation, noping out of Jon’s statements was one of his only ways to assert his boundaries (which had been denied from him — and from others — for a long time)? But here, the situation is different; it’s about Martin’s own involvement, he knew the knowledge would hurt anyway… but it’s also his load to bear? To at least face what is happening, since he’s benefitting from it, since he’s been made complicit (without ever wanting to)? It still goes perfectly with the exploration of exploitative and oppressive systems: Martin, unknowingly and unwillingly inflicting hurt, still being in a better situation than others… while not being directly responsible for it, not wanting to benefit from it. It really makes me want to see Jon&Martin find a way to reverse or improve things, to get people out of the domains or giving them the keys to escape them, and I don’t know if I can even hope something about this ;; (On the Jon&Martin front, things are so good; but it still feels so unfair for… everyone else.)

- Martin having a domain and being classified as a “watcher” finally explains why he hadn’t been impacted by the apocalypse since the Change! He had been able to get out of the domains’ grasp even when he wasn’t around Jon (he had fallen behind at the end of MAG163, he wandered around in the Web’s theatre, he left Jon alone for most of the statements), and there was still the question of… how he was still surviving without eating, and at the same time wasn’t (at least as far as we knew) trapped in a domain:

(MAG161) MARTIN: [MIRTHLESS HUFF] What about food? ARCHIVIST: What about it? When’s the last time you thought to eat, o–or even felt hungry? MARTIN: [FAINT] What…? Wha… Uh… I don’t know. ARCHIVIST: No. Whatever is sustaining us now doesn’t need us to eat. MARTIN: That… that can’t be possible– ARCHIVIST: It’s a new world, Martin, the natural laws are whatever they want them to be. And I suspect they don’t much care to keep humanity fed and watered.

I was wondering if it was Jon’s influence, or Martin being “trapped” in Jon’s domain, and Jon had also alluded to the possibility that they were themselves trapped in their quest towards the Panopticon:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “Free” doesn’t really exist in this place. MARTIN: Apart from us. ARCHIVIST: I suppose. I–in a sense, though… [CHUCKLING] how much of that is because we are trapped in our own quest to– MARTIN: Okay, let’s, let’s not dive into another… ontological debate right now, not here. ARCHIVIST: Fair enough.

And Jon had even specifically told Martin that he had a domain, shortly before Martin got almost imprisoned in the Lonely house:

(MAG167) ARCHIVIST: We all have a domain here, Martin. The place that feeds us. MARTIN: Oh. [PAUSE] Where’s yours? ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLE] I mean, we’re… traveling towards it. MARTIN: Oh! Right, obviously. [CHUCKLING] Duh. Hum… What about me? ARCHIVIST: … Would you… like me to… ? MARTIN: No, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. ARCHIVIST: … Okay!

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: I, I didn’t want to… look too ha–, I–I–I promised I wouldn’t… know you, and, and with the fog in all–all the rooms, I’ll, I just, I lost y–, I… I–I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. ARCHIVIST: … No, I… I tried to use the… to know where you were, but… it was… You–you were faint. It was so strange, i–it took me so long just to find you…! [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: Jon, it’s… okay. I promise it’s okay. This place tried, it really did, and honestly I… I wanted to believe it. But I didn’t. ARCHIVIST: This… “place”, i–it… [STATIC] My god…! […] I, I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew what this place was. MARTIN: It’s The Lonely, Jon. It’s me. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Not anymore. MARTIN: Hm! No. [LONG INHALE, EXHALE] No…! Not anymore.

And alright, that finally answers it: the Lonely house wasn’t his domain, wasn’t meant to be (but he was susceptible to it, got almost trapped in it as a “watched” although he eventually managed to reject and break free from it). His own domain was elsewhere, and Martin himself was amongst the “watchers” all along; Martin is living a bit like Helen in this apocalypse, having a fixed domain, but able to navigate elsewhere.

Aouch for Martin, since he had been encouraging Jon to smite domains’ rulers as soon as he discovered that Jon could do it; it was already murky territory for Jon himself (if the “avatars” and “monsters” just deserve to die, what about Jon?), it was awful with Callum (Martin himself drew the line at smiting a kid)… but now, we know it was directly including him, too, and that he had been fed through people’s pain all along. No wonder Helen had encouraged the smiting so hard, if she already knew they were kind of neighbours…

… Double-aouch for Jon, because he had offered twice the option for Martin to stay elsewhere, permanently:

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: M–Martin, if you… did; i–if you wanted to forget… a–all of it, stay here and just… escape. I… I would understand. MARTIN: … N–no…! It’s comforting here, leaving all those… painful memories behind, but… It’s not a good comfort, it’s… I–it’s the kind that makes you fade, makes you… dim and… distant.

(MAG181) ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry, I… It would have been nice to stay. MARTIN: [WISTFULLY] Yeah… I’d almost forgotten what it was like, you know? A bit of peace, eh! ARCHIVIST: I mean, you could have… MARTIN: No, don’t say it, Jon. You know I never would. I–I can’t just “forget” about all the people out here! Besides, I’d rather be trapped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with you than spend one more moment in paradise with her.

And Jon probably didn’t know what Martin’s domain was exactly, back then, since we heard the knowing static kick in when he described the domain in this episode? But he probably knew, already, that Martin having a domain didn’t mean that he belonged to it as a victim, but as a ruler, and that it would hurt Martin so much. (“No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.”, indeed ;;)

- I AM HAVING SO MANY FEELINGS OVER THE DESCRIPTION OF MARTIN’S DOMAIN…

(MAG183) [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely. Inhabited by a few lost souls whose fear is not of their isolation or their agonies, but that no-one… will ever know of them. That they shall suffer in silence, and be mourned by nobody. That’s why you can’t really see it. It’s why even if we do travel through it, you won’t be able to see… any of the people trapped there.

… It reminds me so much of what Martin probably experienced in his own flat, when Prentiss besieged him for two weeks and Martin was unable to contact anyone, and nobody came to check on him? Did Martin’s domain grow from his own old fears…?

It also reminds me a bit of Naomi’s brush with The Lonely:

(MAG013) NAOMI: The fog seemed to follow me as went and seemed to swirl around with a strange, deliberate motion. You’ll probably think me an idiot, but it felt almost malicious. I don’t know what it wanted, but somehow I was sure it wanted something. There was no presence to it, though, it wasn’t as though another person was there, it was… It made me feel utterly forsaken.

Overall, the description is extremely… typical from what we’ve seen of The Lonely: there was Naomi’s misadventure, Ethan disappeared and nobody even claimed his backpack (MAG048), Yetunde Uthman had “disappeared a year ago. And nobody noticed” (MAG150)…

(But from that description alone, it doesn’t sound very Beholding, despite what Jon said? I’m curious about the Eye aspect of it…)

- Can’t believe that Martin canonically turns out to be the Lonely Eyes love(hate)child, gdi. It really was a custody battle in MAG158.

- Extra-sad that Jon warned Martin that there was meaning in the fact that Martin didn’t know anything about his domain, and wouldn’t even be able to see people in there… It’s just so cruel, both for them, and for Martin, to learn that he’s been unknowingly contributing to their misery (because they fed him and he didn’t even know about them)?

Pretty sure that Martin will stay with Jon to hear that statement, at the very least ;; (Or could he ask for something more? We’ve seen Jon extracting Breekon’s statement in MAG128, I wonder if he could put something into someone’s head like Elias had done, allowing Martin to give that statement himself…)

- I’m wondering about Jon’s own domain, too, now! He said they were heading towards it, so it’s either the Panopticon, the Institute or the Archives, or a mix of those… or something close to it, on their way to it. If Martin’s domain is a mix of Lonely&Eye, is Jon’s pure Eye? A mix of the 14/15? A Web&Eye mix, given Jon’s own personal fears?

I know that Jonny (lovingly) called out the obsessive classification in this episode through Jon, who went off on a rant about the “neat little boxes”, but he’s still using the Smirke classification this season:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely.

(AND IN THIS VERY EPISODE… Jon…)

- On the one hand: feeling directly called out by Jon’s rant about how the divisions between avatars/monsters/humans/victims wasn’t and isn’t working, that reality escapes that division because it’s much more complicated than this:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: [HEATED] Avatar isn’t a thing, Martin, it’s not–! It’s just a word. A word used by… fools like Smirke to try and sort everything into neat little boxes, to reduce the messy spray of human fear into a checklist: Human, avatar, monster, victim. Only now, now, there’s a binary. There’s finally a clear dividing line and… [SIGH] Well. I’m sorry you’re not happy with which side you’ve ended up on.

(It felt especially relevant with Callum Brodie: could we really tell that he was an “avatar” when he was still a freshly wounded kid, even if a tormentor himself?)

On the other hand, well, that was still a useful distinction to have to identify servants, and mostly, I’m not extremely convinced by Jon arguing that there is now a Clear BinaryTM in the new world, between the “watchers” and the “watched”, since:

1°) Helen herself explained the dichotomy to Martin (MAG166: “And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid.”). Given that she mostly tries to confuse them… that’s a red flag.

2°) Despite Jon defending that binary, we’ve run into plenty of examples of things… not fitting into that new classification. He himself acknowledged that Basira’s status wasn’t established yet; we’ve seen Salesa, protected by his camera from the chaos; Jon has been unable to know about Georgie and Melanie, only hypothesising that they might in what-used-to-be-London; Martin, a watcher, could still have fallen prey to another domain… That’s already a lot of special cases around that “clear dividing line”…

3°) Somethingsomethingsomething about how it’s in Beholding’s best interest that Jon believes in a clear, unchangeable, dividing line which serves Beholding’s own interests. If things feel fixed and unchangeable, then there is no point trying to fight against it or find a loophole, right?

Given that a Watcher can get trapped in another domain… does that mean that it could be the case for Jon, too? We got a threat of it in MAG172, when Jon began to give the statement of the following act – if Martin hadn’t interrupted him, would Jon have ever been able to stop?

- Confirmation that Daisy had “trapped” Basira in her Hunt! I was suspecting it since Jon’s first wording:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Is Basira alive? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Is she… in… o–one of these places? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s alive. Out there, not… trapped in a–a hellscape, but… moving. [STATIC DECREASES] Hunting. She’s… she’s looking for Daisy. She’s a few steps behind.

(MAG183) MARTIN: … What about Daisy? Or Basira? ARCHIVIST: Daisy carved through the domains of others. Basira… well… In a very real way she was a sufferer in Daisy’s domain. Maybe the only one. Hunting, following, hurting. Now Daisy’s dead, she’s… free. Sort of. She’s inherited something of Daisy’s ability to move through the other domains. For now, she’ll… feed off what she sees in them. As to whether the Eye ultimately gives her a domain of her own… I don’t know yet.

* And now, Basira seems to have a peculiar status… Is it because she killed Daisy? Is it because she killed the ruler of her domain? Jon explained that a ruler’s death didn’t change much for the domain itself, but maybe it operates differently if a victim kills a ruler (… they become the new ruler?)

* Another reminder that Jon cannot see the future.

* Big Eyeball didn’t immediately give Basira a domain, but Martin got one. I see that favouritism, uh. (Joke, it does make sense given how Martin recorded a lot of statements and had worked at the Institute for years and years.)

- I love how Jon managed to explain why he hadn’t told Martin everything, and how Martin… indeed agreed that Jon had been mostly trying to respect his wishes about not knowing ;; It’s true that Martin had been adamant about not hearing much of the horror:

(MAG163) MARTIN: J–Jon, enough! Enough! [STATIC FADES] … Please don’t tell me these things. ARCHIVIST: I… I’m sorry, I– There’s just so much! There’s so much, Martin, and I know all of it, I can see all of it, and I– It’s filling me up, I need to let it out! MARTIN: I’m sorry, but tough. Okay? Tha–that’s not what I’m here for. [VOICE IN THE DISTANCE: “No… No!”] MARTIN: I can’t be that for you, I–I just can’t.

(MAG167) MARTIN: Oh! Right, obviously. [CHUCKLING] Duh. Hum… What about me? ARCHIVIST: … Would you… like me to… ? MARTIN: No, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. ARCHIVIST: … Okay!

(MAG183) MARTIN: You didn’t tell her any of that. ARCHIVIST: I didn’t think the metaphysics of her place in the fear ecosystem was something she’d be particularly interested in at that moment. MARTIN: Fair. But you seem very reluctant to tell anyone any of this stuff. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I did try, right at the start, but y–you didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I didn’t push it. It’s hard, I have so much knowledge but… how do I decide what people want me to share, and what they never want to know?. MARTIN: I guess that makes sense.

But Martin seems to acknowledge that indeed, Jon had been trying his best about it…

(And now, I wonder if there is still other stuff that Jon hadn’t told Martin, in the same vein…)

- First choice for Martin:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I was going to bring it up at the crossroads. Inside. I only just realised we would be going this way. […] MARTIN: I guess that makes sense. … So what did you mean about the crossroads? When you were talking to Helen. ARCHIVIST: It’s a maze in there, something between a, a Rubik’s Cube and a Magic Eye picture. I can find us the way through easily enough but… well. For us, there are two ways out. Two paths to London. MARTIN: What are the choices? ARCHIVIST: One would be a long, winding route, we’d see a lot of horrors, but remain… personally untouched. MARTIN: And the other is my domain. ARCHIVIST: Eventually. It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen. MARTIN: I thought Helen was her domain, wi–with all the doors and that? ARCHIVIST: She is, but she has a… position within this pseudo-landscape, like any other. MARTIN: O–okay. [INHALE] So, so, I mean, I suppose we’ve got to do that one, right? ARCHIVIST: We don’t have to, w–we–we could just– MARTIN: What, what? We could, we could dodge around it? Take the path of denial? I guess, but… what is it you keep harping on about? “The journey will be the journey”? [SIGH] I mean… It’s pretty obvious that this one is my journey.

! Glad that Martin didn’t hesitate and immediately understood what it was about – that it mattered to do it that way, that Martin had to face it, that this is how this world works. No hesitation about it. He got a demonstration with Basira, but still, he was quick to accept it.

I’m expecting a few episodes before Martin’s domain, so… with the overall rhythm of the season, they might reach the Institute by MAG189? And Hill Top Road during Act III?

- Since Jon mentioned that the path Martin ended up choosing had:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Eventually. It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen.

I wonder about those “faces we know”, since we’re running super-low on ~avatars~. Different options:

* Institute staff. Rosiiiie?

* Melanie&Georgie. A bit unlikely, given that Jon had trouble knowing what was the deal with them, I feel?

* Since Helen will be there, people who gave live statements to Jon and were trapped in his nightmare zoo. I’m mostly thinking about this one, especially since Jon’s “No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.”… (And if it’s about an internal and metaphorical journey, I feel like having to face people that Jon hurt, first unaware (he didn’t know about the nightmare zoo when he signed to become the Head Archivist), then partially unwilling but still doing it (he felt guilty about it but still hid it, still chose self-preservation instead of warning the others about it), would have its place…)

- In the same fashion, who is trapped in Martin’s domain? Unrelated people? Live statement-givers? (;; I’m thinking of Jess, who had the misfortune of being compelled by Jon and of giving a statement to Martin…)

… Given that it’s confirmed to be a “journey” for Martin too, I can’t help but squint at Jon’s wording, because. “Faces we know”. The only thing we know of Martin’s father is the fact that he looks like Martin… (MAG118: “The thing is, though, Martin: if you ever do want to know exactly what your father looked like… all you have to do is look in a mirror~ The resemblance is quite uncanny. The face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life, watching over her, feeding her, cleaning her, looking down on her with such pity–”)

- I’ll be having Annabelle’s words stuck in my head (ha) for a long time but:

(MAG181) ANNABELLE: Don’t worry, Martin. We’ll meet again. Hopefully when you’re feeling a little bit more… open-minded…! MARTIN: I wouldn’t count on it. ANNABELLE: I would. MARTIN: [SIGH]

… Was it a reference to Martin learning about his own domain and about how the world operates, his place in it? I think that Martin might be even more resolved to turn the world back at whatever cost, now that he knows that he is himself sustained by fear…

(LISTEN, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY HOW WEB!MARTIN CAN STILL WI–)

- !! Footage of Martin saying “I love you” for the first time ;w; I love how it was the thing he was certain about, both a slight decompressing joke and a true statement, a reminder that he has faith in Jon, that he has something to cling to?

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: If you’re sure. MARTIN: … I’m sure I love you. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I love you too. [FABRIC RUSTLES] Let’s go.

(He had mentioned that he was “in love” in MAG170, I’m happy to hear him telling Jon, too!) And the fabric RUSTLED, SO LONG AND SO HARD, AND AT LEAST TWICE!! I love how the tension from right before and after the statement had faded by the end of the episode ;w; Rollercoaster of little emotions…

MAG184’s makes me think of something Leitner had said (more lore about the Fearpocalypse?), and of Vast and Corruption… with very different vibes. If Corruption, and keeping in mind that Jon has announced that they will be encountering “faces [they] know along the way”, it cooould contain Jordan Kennedy, the exterminator from Pest Control…? Especially given that both Jon and Martin had met him (Jon took his live statement, and Martin pleaded offscreen for him to get them the jar of Prentiss’s ashes to comfort Jon).

(Yessss, I am absolutely aware of the irony of still using Smirke’s categorisation after another episode in which we were told again that it is bollocks, but if Jon himself still occasionally labels the domain as one of the 15, so can I ♥)

[blackjack-15]

Death, Philosophy, and the Runs — Thoughts on: Legend of the Crystal Skull (CRY)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. Like with all of the Odd Games, there will be a section between The Intro and The Title called The Weird Stuff, where I go into what makes this game stand out as a little strange.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: CRY, mention of CUR, mention of ASH.

The Intro:

 It’s time for New Orleans, y’all.

Legend of the Crystal Skull is a game that’s often rated highly by the fandom, especially for its atmosphere (which is among the most well-done and pervasive of the whole series). Honestly speaking, were it not for the mental health/death/immortality storyline(s), CRY would simply be a Jetsetting game a bit out of order, given its fascination with its location (even if the amount of locations is slightly smaller).

One of the high points of this game is honestly its location and ambiance. CRY takes the idea of the “dark and stormy night” and plays it to perfection, cloaking everything in such thick atmosphere that the players, like Nancy, can’t always see the way ahead, and have to take leaps of faith every once in a while.

The characters contribute to the thick atmosphere; Bruno is a shadow, Henry’s hiding everything under a guise of nonchalance and a fishnet glove, Renée is all gardening grandma hospitality but never says anything about herself, Gilbert has Southern Manners while avoiding saying anything bad even when he means it, and Lamont refuses to get involved in anything outside his shop. They aren’t perfect suspects, but they’re good characters, and it elevates the game.

Bess’ hesitance to delve into this atmosphere makes her the perfect partner for Nancy who begins by investigating just who the Skeleton Man was who attacked her before spiraling deeper and deeper into the mysteries surrounding Bruno Bolet and his crystal skull.

But while the costumes, pageantry, puns, and secrets all contribute to the atmosphere, nothing quite reaches the same level of Sheer Aesthetic as Bruno’s last years being dedicated to finding a crystal skull. Glittery and gothic with power over life and death, it’s easy to see why the game is named after it (which, of course, I’ll get into below).

This isn’t to say that CRY is all sizzle and no substance — far from it. CRY doesn’t attempt to teach the player the entire history of New Orleans, the complex background and practices of voodoo (or any of its other sister practices), nor does it get into iguana physiology or the mechanics of how to make someone sneeze or get the runs.

While education is of course present in CRY, it’s more centered in philosophy than in hard, straight facts. Professor Hotchkiss – a returning character perfectly suited to the French-influenced New Orleans and her love of slightly sinister history – gives the mission statement of the game, summing up its central philosophical question – “Does this mean that there mysterious external forces at work in the universe of which we do not and cannot ever have full knowledge? Or does it all boil down to us? If the human heart desperately wants something to be true, does the human mind have the power to make it true?”

It’s a fascinating question, and touches on all sorts of real-life phenomenon – the power of suggestion, the placebo effect, intelligent design, among others – without ever seeming like HER is trying to Teach a Lesson. Out of all the edutainment elements in this series, CRY (and I would add ASH in here as well) features some of the most subtle work that HER ever accomplishes.

The Weird Stuff:

Of course, a discussion (one-sided as these metas mostly are) of CRY wouldn’t be complete without addressing the things that qualify it to be a truly Odd Game within the Nancy Drew franchise.

The first and most obvious is that we’re dealing with death – and a recent death at that — for the first time in a while. We’d have to go all the way back to CLK to see another death of a relative not long before the mystery starts, and Emily’s mom’s death and Josiah Crowley’s death don’t hang over CLK the way Bruno Bolet’s death hangs over CRY.

Bruno is given instead more weight – part of the mystery is figuring out who he was, what he liked, what he wanted, and what he did every day, especially leading up to his death. The house is almost a stand in character for Bruno; it reflects him perfectly, including all the things that were important to him, and just as determined to keep his secrets. A lot of Nancy Drew games have the house/location as a character, but only a few associate the location with a specific character, and CRY does it possibly the best.

The second thing that makes this game so odd is the showcasing of an abusive relationship. Sure, Summer doesn’t hit Henry or anything, but is just as abusive all the same, and the game doesn’t shy away from showing her horrible behavior and the effect that it has on Henry. He stays with her because, like a lot of abuse victims, he doesn’t think he can do ‘better’ – that somehow this is what he deserves – and the only slight problem with how it’s portrayed is that we don’t get to see Henry leave her and be happier.

Lastly, in an oddity for Nancy Drew games so far, mental illness is put at the front and center of the game (rather than being a one-off random thing not really mentioned like in CUR). Henry, separate from the abuse he receives from Summer, is obviously depressed, and the game doesn’t really shy away from showing it. Sure, they might not use the term “clinical depression”, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not acknowledged. Henry’s depression, his sadness, his feeling of being out of control and yet still tied down – that permeates every moment of the game, and especially his conversations with Nancy. The whole reason Nancy’s there at the Bolet mansion in the first place is because Ned was worried about his shy, depressed classmate.

Gosh, Ned is such a good guy. He deserves so much better than Nancy “Lacks Tact” Drew.

Unlike a lot of the “Odd” games, the odd things in CRY don’t detract from the game; they make the game what it is. It’s a bit more mature, a little more introspective, a touch less black and white than most of the Nancy Drew games have been up until this point. No characters are simply caricatures, there’s very little stereotyping (for a ND game), and it’s not pointlessly spooky or try-hard in any way. CRY is the rare game that simply is what it aspired to be; while what it aspired to be was odd (and it is Odd), it doesn’t make it bad. It makes it feel genuine and honest – and after ICE, I can’t think of anything better for a game to aspire to be.

The Title:

We’re getting to the portion of Nancy Drew games where, regardless of the quality of the actual games, their titles are smash hits every time. “Legend of the Crystal Skull” is an incredibly good title on multiple levels.

First, it tells us what the game is about – not the Crystal Skull itself, but the legend of it – the myths, mysteries, and effects of the Skull. Not only does it (correctly) indicate that this game is a little more about philosophy than it is about something concrete.

The second thing it does is establish a sense of mysticism that is reinforced the second the game begins. We’re in New Orleans, we’re learning about this Crystal Skull, it’s dark, rainy, and spooky, there’s death and specters and possibly more afoot…and this doesn’t start with the Skeleton Man cutscene, or the phone call, or even the warning on the screen to play with the lights off – it starts with the title.

The Mystery:

We begin with Nancy and Bess visiting New Orleans – the French Quarter, to be specific – for a fun little vacation, only to be met with a Dark and Stormy Night. Ned, knowing of his girlfriend’s plans to visit New Orleans, asks her if she can check up on a classmate of his who’s going through a hard time: Henry Bolet.

Determined to get the visit out of the way, Nancy leaves Bess back at the hotel and traipses over to the Bolet Mansion. When she walks in – I know, honestly, Nancy –  the open door, she’s greeted by a person in a skeleton costume in the front room, rather than a miserable college student.

She’s soon knocked out by the Skeleton Man, coming to when an elderly woman offers her an odd concoction and the Skeleton is long gone. Soon, Nancy discovers that Henry’s dead uncle was in possession of a Crystal Skull that was to protect its owner against any source of death other than murder, the plot starts to thicken quicker than a bubbling roux.

CRY is home to an incredibly solid mystery, full of atmosphere, colorful characters, and even a food minigame as if to draw me in specifically. While I don’t think it’s the best Nancy Drew game by a long shot, I would say that it’s definitely the best of the Odd games, and by far the most successful mystery + atmosphere combination that we’ll have until we reach SAW, quite a few games later.

Now, let’s move on to our colorful characters.

The Suspects:

We’ll start with Renee Amande, as I think she’s our first character who is properly introduced post-cutscene (with her concoction). Bruno’s elderly housekeeper, Renee is a practitioner of voodoo (kind of) and a believer in the crystal skulls – she wants to reunite all thirteen of them to move the world to a higher plane of understanding.

Our villain, yet not our killer – not directly at least – the only thing Renee is guilty of other than attempted murder of a plucky Illinois detective is falsifying a letter. The shock of the “false” crystal skull shocked Bruno so badly that he had a heart attack and died, but Renee didn’t actually kill him. She’s one of those villains in Nancy Drew stories who commit a minor crime, and jump immediately to murder when she’s discovered.

As the villain, Renee is actually the only suspect that could even work. The game plays with Dr. Buford and the mysterious Skeleton Man, but in reality Renee’s the only one with motive and opportunity. But, given that Nancy spends 3/4ths of the game trying to figure out what crime has actually been committed, rather than working with cold hard facts, that works out pretty well.

Henry Bolet, on the other hand, is apparently catnip to a good section of the Nancy Drew fandom, and is the closest thing to a living victim that we actually have in this game. When his parents died, he was shipped off to live with Bruno – and Bruno shipped him off to military school, so he should be a bit more muscular than he is – and he’s never gotten over their deaths.

Like, “Nancy finds him crying over his parents” kind of never got over their deaths.

I’ll be honest, while I know lots of people who did Love him with everything in them, I never really saw the appeal of Henry Bolet as a love interest for anyone, or even as a compelling character. His voice actor – Brian Neel – does a great job, with his voice definitely being the part of him with the most obvious appeal, but otherwise…maybe it comes from my distaste for underdog stories, maybe it’s that I’m no good with crying people, who knows.

As a suspect, Henry’s pretty much out from the moment that he confesses to Nancy that he sold a trunk for quick cash for his abusive girlfriend. HER isn’t bold enough to have that be a lie, nor are they dumb enough to make him the culprit after that. Henry’s out of the running for most of the game, but he never really becomes Nancy’s confidante, not like other early-clear suspects.

Henry’s an interesting puzzle as a character, but that more comes from his place as the central piece of CRY’s “Oddness”, rather than any interest in him as a possible suspect.

On the other end of fandom appeal lies Dr. Gilbert Buford, whose greatest sin as a character is declaring an obvious heart attack an obvious heart attack and using regular, polite Louisiana manners for a man of his age while interacting with a character who obviously has no problem with it at all.

Dr. Buford is hard at work giving the majority of Bruno’s characterization that doesn’t come from his house to him, as well as giving a truly excellent scare when finding Bess in the Secret Meeting scene. As a suspect, Buford is a moderately good one – cagey, a doctor, knows about the Skull – but ultimately falls short as he just has too many of his own secrets to carry.

I personally like Gilbert Buford as a character, and find him an entertaining source of exposition – but then, I grew up around Southern manners (and military manners, which aren’t too dissimilar), so that might be the reason why.

Rounding out our suspect list – though barely qualifying himself, honestly, is Lamont Warrick, owner of a curio shop and intensely vulnerable to hot sauce and sneezing powder.

One can only imagine the Horror that would occur if Nancy were to mix those two allergens. Well, one can also Giggle at the mental image, but still.

As a suspect…well, even HER knew that he was a non-entity; his biggest part to play is actually after the game concludes, where he closes his curio shop in order to search for Bernie, who has swallowed the crystal skull.

I guess someone had to search for it? I’d love a follow-up with him, maybe over Labor Day, or Memorial Day, where Bess goes back to see if he’s had any luck, only to find that he found a dead body along with the alligator, and in order to not get suspected for the murder, they have to bring the body with them and pretend that it’s alive, taking it to bingo games over the course of the 3 vacation days.

Yes, that was all to set up a bad “Weekend at Bernie’s” reference. Hush.

The Favorite:

As you might have guessed from…well, most of this meta, one of my favorite parts of CRY is the sheer atmosphere that the game embodies from its beginning through the closing puzzle.

The Bolet mansion is just the right amount of cluttered yet comfortable, shadowy yet detailed, and gloomy yet homey to be a nigh-perfect location. The graveyard isn’t hard to navigate, is filled with puns, and does a lot of the character work for Bruno and (to a slightly lesser extent) Henry while allowing both characters to be private and a bit mysterious. The greenhouse is simultaneously cozy and elegant and yet slightly cage-ish and slightly claustrophobic.

Even the locations that Nancy stays away from — the hotel balcony, Zeke’s, the food truck, the secret meeting — are thick with a different kind of atmosphere: less wet, less foggy, more brightly lit, more French Quarter than haunting mansion. Bess’ locations are welcoming yet secretive, perfect for the reluctant amateur-amateur detective who just wants her vacation to be fun and mystery-free.

Adding to the atmosphere is the sheer number of cutscenes/cinematic camera usages in CRY. The opening with the Skeleton Man, Bess getting caught at the meeting, opening the final crypt, Renee shutting the tomb…they’re all so perfect, and do a great job at making you feel really immersed in Nancy’s New Orleans experience.

My favorite puzzle is honestly finding the glass eyes. CRY isn’t really a game I remember for its puzzles; they fade a little bit into the background (with the exclusion of a couple I don’t like) because they’re well integrated into the story, and because the game doesn’t really grind to a halt to make Nancy complete minigames like in, for example, CUR.

My favorite moment is split between two very different moments. The first is, unsurprisingly, the conversation with Hotchkiss mentioned above where she lays out the theme of the game. It’s a shockingly nice moment in the game, coming in the start/middle of the mystery and being a familiar face – er, voice – for Nancy to get help from. It’s a moment that lets you stop and think about what Nancy’s actually dealing with, rather than effectively pausing the game through a rhymed puzzle about the skull or other such nonsense.

The other moment is a little more obvious and a little flashy – the moment when Bess is discovered at the Skeleton meeting. The tension right before, the sudden pop-up of the skeleton mask between the boxes, the conversation afterwards…it’s just as close as possible to a perfect scene. It’s long enough before Bess is discovered that the player can kind of get comfortable, but not so long that it drags on. The moment of discovery is startling, but not scream-worthy or too scary to replay over and over or in the dark. It’s just great.

The Un-Favorite:

There’s not a ton to complain about with CRY, but I do have a few small things that make replaying it somewhat of a chore.

The first is my least favorite puzzle: the loquat bug spraying. It takes a long time, it feels shoved in the game just to have an extra puzzle, and Nancy can only take one loquat at a time. I feel like the player should be able to take up to 3, and then come back and do it again if they need/want any more loquats. Honestly, it’s a puzzle in a place where a puzzle really just shouldn’t be.

My least favorite moment in the game would probably be the chest that Henry sells to Lamont. After selling it and building it up for quite a few minutes, it’s kind of a letdown that it only has a few things it in. This would have been a great place to have more character-building work done, but instead the focus is on “how do we find it/open it” and less on “what can this do for the story”.

Finally, I mentioned it above, but I’m not a fan of how Lamont pretty much is a non-entity in the game. I’m fine with one suspect being less suspicious or having less ‘dirt’ on them than the rest, but Lamont really doesn’t have anything on him. He’s never a suspect for the Skeleton Man, he doesn’t really do anything sketchy…he’s just underwhelming.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Legend of the Crystal Skull?

I think really the only fix that I would attempt is to give Lamont a little more plot significance. Sure, his curio shop is beautiful and wonderful and important to the plot, but Lamont himself really isn’t. In order to include him more in the plot, make Lamont a bona-fide treasure hunter that manages the curio shop for cash in between expeditions. He’s heard that Bruno has a treasure that people have killed for, but couldn’t figure out what it was before Bruno’s death. He buys the chest from Henry and searches it top-to-bottom trying to figure out if it’s hiding something since it’s obviously Bruno’s personal chest.

To add a bit more importance, I’d place him at the Bolet mansion on the night of Bruno’s death as well. Renee’s there, Dr. Buford is there, Henry we’ve already written off completely in the actual game as a suspect, so Lamont should be there as well, snooping around to try to figure out what treasure Bruno’s got and if he can persuade him to sell it (or at least let Lamont see it). Nancy can match footprints in the garden to his boots, or some other method of proving he was there. I’d just like for Lamont not to drop off the map early on. It also makes his canonical ending that much neater.

Honestly, that’s it.

Sure, I’d appreciate the loquat bug spraying minigame to be fixed as well, but CRY is honestly a pretty character-based game, thick with philosophy and legends, and it doesn’t need a ton of help in that area. Make all the suspects viable for most of the game, and I think an already entertaining and atmospheric game would be just a little bit better.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #6

Ziva ran a hand across his back as she moved behind him and exited the bathroom. He heard her mumbling to Tali in the other room some phrases in English, some in Hebrew. Then he heard a hollow thump followed by few seconds of silence. 

“Tali? What do you have there?” 

More silence. 

Then a breathless, “Oh.” 

His heart stopped as his brain worked through what was likely happening just 15 feet away from him. He pushed off the counter and moved out of the bathroom at a painstakingly slow pace.

He was right. He saw Ziva sitting on the bed, Tali in her lap, staring down at one of her hands. He didn’t have to look any longer to know what she was holding. The surprised look on her face said it all. 

“Abba!” Tali squealed, alerting her mother to his presence. 

Ziva’s head whipped around, her mouth hanging open slightly as she watched him move to sit beside her on the bed. 

“I knew I should have hidden that better,” he mumbled. 

Her eyes drifted back to the black box in her hand, open and letting the light dance off the diamond. 

“It is beautiful.” 

He grunted, “Well, I knew I had some high standards to meet. It was you who told me never to question an Israeli about diamonds.” 

She didn’t respond, and he started to wonder whether she was even listening to him. 

But suddenly she snapped the box shut and held it out for him.

“Here. I’ll let you hide this again.” 

“Huh?” 

“I’ll be sure to act surprised next time I see it.” 

“Next time?” 

“Yes, Tony. I know you. You must have something planned.” 

He looked down at the box as he moved it from one hand to another, “I do.” 

“And I don’t want to take that away from you.” 

He looked back up and found her watching him, her eyes clear and honest.

He chuckled slightly, looking away again under the weight of the situation, “It involves champagne. And some ridiculously expensive dinner reservations.” 

She smiled, “Sounds like fun.” 

He watched as she adjusted Tali on her lap, moving her around so she could brush extra curls out of the little girl’s face. He kept watching them for a minute, seeing the gentle way his girlfriends hands moved and jostled their daughter. 

He finally shook his head, shifting his body off of the bed and moving to kneel in front of her. 

“I don’t want to wait. I want to do this now.” 

She tucked a patch of curls behind her own ear, peering at him through those impossibly long lashes. A smile spread across her face that reinforced everything he had been thinking over the past few months. It made every second of their decade long love story worth it to see her look at him the way she was right now. 

She picked Tali up off her lap and set her gently on the bed beside her. She leaned forward, letting him grab her left hand and hold it gently between them. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her shoulders rise and fall dramatically before meeting his eyes again.

“Okay,” she whispered, “I’m ready.”

He licked his lips as he dug through his brain, accessing the monologue he had been rehearsing and editing for two years, making it perfect for the day when the time was right. 

“Miss David,” he started, the corners of his mouth curling upward as he realized this could be one of the last times he called her that. With any luck, she wouldn’t be a Miss or a David for much longer, “If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would be here today, on one knee in front of a woman as strong and beautiful as you, I would have laughed in their face. If they had told me that woman would be you, my hot israeli partner with a steely eyes and a knack for knives, I would have blown a blood vessel.” 

She laughed, and the sound sent a wave of calm over his body.

“But, by some miracle, I am here, and so are you, and we have been given an entire decade of memories to prepare us for this moment. Sure, they haven’t always been good. We once got locked in a metal box of death together - twice actually if you consider the elevator. And then there was the time I shot your boyfriend.”

“In self defense,” She interjected, knowing that decision and the events afterwards still weighed on him, though he would never admit it. 

“Of course. But then came Somalia, and a summer from hell when I thought you were dead, followed by months of you thinking you would rather be.”

She winced at the memory. 

“But you got through that. How, I still don’t know, but you did.” 

“You played a big part in my healing afterwards,” She reached out and ran her fingers along his jaw, “I could not have done it without you.” 

He smiled and squeezed the hand still resting in his, “That’s sweet, but I’m not so sure it’s true. You’re strong, Ziva. Stronger than the rest of us.  And you’ve been through so much in your short 33 years, and you still manage to light up every room you walk in to. You have every reason to hate the world, and yet you still choose to be happy.”

“I have many reasons to thank the world as well, Neshama,” she tilted her head towards their babbling toddler who clearly had no idea what was going on, but still felt the need to be a part of it with her mumblings. 

“Yeah, I’m getting to her. But first, not only do you choose to be happy, but for some reason you choose to love me. And as if that alone isn’t enough, you choose to let me be a part of your life, of our daughter’s life.” 

“She is your daughter, Tony. I can hardly take credit for that.” 

“But you didn’t have to tell me. You were half a world away when you found out you were pregnant. You could have stayed in Israel and raised her yourself. But you didn’t, and I don’t thank you for that enough. This - Tali, this house, our life together - is everything to me. And you have given me all of it. You’re my best friend, Zi. My partner. The love of my life. My Beshert.”

Her smile grew at the Hebrew word: soulmate. One made specifically for him. Her mind flew back to what felt like a lifetime ago in a dimly lit break room, both of them retrieving snacks for what was looking like a long night of research, when she asked him if he believed in such a thing. His answer had been in jest, as all his answers back then seemed to be, and she had grown annoyed with his coping mechanism already, causing her to walk away before he had a chance to give her a better one. She didn’t know him well enough then to know she should have stayed a few seconds longer and let him get serious. He always got serious eventually. She absently wondered what would have happened if she had waited. What would he have said? Was he as aware of the gravity between them as she was, even back then? Would they have closer to 8 years of love under their belt instead of only 3? 

“We have grown up so much over the years, and I can’t help but think we were growing together the whole time. And now, well, all I want is to grow old with you,” he pulled the small ring out of the box and held it up, “This was my mother’s” 

She nodded, “I thought it might be. It seems she always had great taste.” 

He slid it onto her finger and twirled it around, “Looks like we need to get it resized.” 

She placed a finger under his chin, drawing his attention up to her face, where he saw a look of excitement and growing impatience, “You have not asked the question yet, Ahava.” 

He chuckled, looking away to hide the blush rushing to his face, “Right. I got excited..” 

He pulled her hand closer to him, the ring still on her finger, shining in the low light of their bedroom at night, “Ziva David?”

“Yes?” She beamed down at him, the same look of pure love and affection in her eyes that he saw the day Tali was born. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Tears threatened to breach her eyelids as she looked down at their joined hands. She opened her mouth to answer-

“Muh!” Tali chimed from her spot on the bed where she had managed to turn herself over into a crawling position. 

Ziva turned to her, “What do you think, Tali? Huh? Should I agree to marry your father?” 

“Abba!” she wiggled her way into her mother’s lap, forcing their hands apart, “Abba!”

“I think that was a yes,” he laughed as Tali reached for a handful of Ziva’s curls. 

“Well,” she started as she fought to free her hair from the toddler death grip, “Who am I to disagree with such a sweet face, huh?” 

Tony stood, finding a spot on the bed next to her and reaching for her, running a hand up her cheek and into her hair, gripping the strands much more gently than their daughter had, “So?” 

She smiled, “Yes, Tony. I will marry you.” 

He pulled her lips to his hungrily, jostling the toddler halfway off her mother’s lap.

Ziva caught her effortlessly, not even breaking their contact. Her lips moved against him eagerly, and he started to see the downside of proposing during a late night rendezvous with their kid in the room. However, the proximity of the bed had the potential to be a real convenience. 

Tali did not agree. In fact, she had moved herself to a standing position on Ziva’s legs and was now clawing at their joined faces. They pulled apart reluctantly, glancing down at their daughter as she leaned out toward Tony and tried to press her tiny lips against his. 

He leaned into her and gave her a quick, dramatic kiss before reaching over to take her onto his lap. She laughed, always happy to be closer to her father, and he sat her down with her back against his chest as she pulled at the hair on his arms. 

Ziva sighed, though the annoyance in her voice did not make it to her face, which was still beaming at the two of them, “Always the daddy’s girl, huh? Well, I’ll have you know, he was mine first. It is you,” she tapped Tali’s nose lightly with her pointer finger, causing the little girl to laugh joyfully, “who stole him away.” 

Tony smiled, securing his daughter on his lap with one arm and reaching out to his girlfriend- no his fiancee, with the other, pulling at her waist to get her to inch closer. She did so happily, ducking her head to rest on his shoulder, her warm breath causing goosebumps even through his cotton t-shirt.

[peach-jaehyunie]

80 Days Out

Part: 2 {read part one here}

Pairing: Kim Doyoung x Reader

Genre: Horror, AU, Zombie Apocalypse

Rating: Mature for violence and coarse language

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood and gore, major character deaths

Words: 5,550

Synopsis: You set out to survive the zombie apocalypse with a group of strangers. After saving Kim Doyoung's life; he makes it his mission to save yours.

——————————————————

Day 14: September 22

The sun tried to peek out from behind a cloud as you washed the suds out of your hair into the water. The stream carried the foams away until it ran clear again. Your skin prickled from the cold water, you could feel rocks and pebbles between your toes on the creek bed. You watch Mallory dunk below the water surface, and Mina watches you both from the shore as she inhales deeply from her last cigarette. A bow and a quiver of arrows rest in the grass next to her. Water rolls off your bare skin in beads dripping onto the grass and then being absorbed into the towel Mina hands you, which you secure to protect what little modesty you have left. Mina slowly finishes her cigarette while you dress, before she undresses and joins Mallory in the water. You stand alert with your sword, the bow lying at your feet because you are not yet skilled enough to use it. ...Despite Doyoung’s daily efforts.

One foot in front of the other, mechanical movement nothing more. Some of the grass is yellowing among the other green blades you notice while trodding back to the house. You were alone amongst strangers, not a friend or loved one left in the world. Or if they were, you didn’t know about them. Mallory and Mina walk back side by side, arms brushing as they sway with each step. Mallory had moved out of your room to be with Mina earlier that day. Even though you were with people you felt more alone than ever. Doyoung sat on the porch steps, his eyes closed and the golden Autumn sun shining upon his face. Voices raised in an argument came from within the cabin. Every day they shout at each other, sometimes an object goes sailing at someone’s head. Seth refuses to have meals with Kevin, refuses to scavenge with Kevin: he calls him a murderer.

“If it weren’t for me, you might be dead! It’s like you wanted your little girlfriend to kill us all.” Kevin’s words sound harsh,

...But is there some truth behind them? Three zombies seemed manageable, but had Lou come after you would you have been able to kill her? Was Kevin’s ability to put any personal feelings aside a positive trait that had possibly saved all your lives.

“Oh my god, I can’t listen to them like this anymore.” Mina angrily purses her lips as she runs up the porch steps and yanks the door open.

Three voices yelling now, and the sound of a chair being loudly dragged on the floor.

“Ah, yes, that’s an improvement.” Mallory sarcastically quips, though her tone is despondent.

Doyoung rests his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. Mallory’s eyes begin to water and her head drops as tears stream down her face, before she too runs up the steps and into the cabin. Her voice does not join the others, and you think it likely that she has gone to her room.

“Why does she always cry?” You ask Doyoung quietly.

He doesn’t look up at you when he shrugs his shoulders in response.

———————————————————————-

Day 15: September 23rd

Journal Entry

I sit in the woods. Hiding from my housemates now. I feel alone and in the way. If a zombie came and jumped me now, I might just let it do what was natural for it without putting up a fight. But I think of that and feel that I don’t want death, and I feel guilty for not trying hard enough when my parents died to protect me. Must I go on for them until I find the strength to go on for myself?

I wonder if my disappearance has been noticed. I feel sick thinking about anyone coming out to find me. I don’t understand why we haven’t tried to move on to find one of the safe places. I don’t even know where they are, but it just feels like we’re rotting here.

Last night Kevin drank the last of a bottle scotch that was in the cabin when we came. I met him while I was going downstairs and he was staggering up them to go to bed. He said he was upset about Lou and Erica but he felt ostracized and like we all hated him now. He was crying. And I hated it. He cried as he thanked me for listening to him and then told me that he thought I was beautiful. And I hated it. I just wanted to be nice, and make him feel like he wasn’t all alone like I feel, but he kissed me...and I hated that too. I don’t think he remembers kissing me last night, at least I hope not.

Yesterday late afternoon a zombie came wandering near the cabin. I wonder where they’re coming from.

I hear something

———————————————————-

Day 15: September 23rd

“What the hell were you thinking!?”

You closed your journal quickly, a blush rising to your cheeks in shame. Doyoung’s breath was uneven as though he had been running, and he looked extremely annoyed.

“It’s dangerous to go off by yourself! We don’t know what’s—“

“I wanted to be alone.” You said curtly, standing up and brushing plant matter from your clothes.

Doyoung remained quiet as you tucked your journal under your shirt and partly into the waistband of your pants. He stared at the ground, his feet uncomfortably toying with long grass next to the flattened spot where you had been sitting. It looked as if a deer had slept there.

The two of you walked in silence, eyes surveying your surroundings and nerves waiting in anticipation for you to jump into action. It was beautiful here; just trees and fields, little animal paths disappearing into the undergrowth.

“I thought you had run away,” Doyoung finally breaks the silence.

You don’t say anything at first, watching as your ankles and calves disappear in the tall grass with each step. You wanted to run away: just take the car and go. But, where? What was beyond here, was it just more of what you had left behind. And if it was: did you want to see it and face it on your own?

“Would you prefer the life of a vagabond or a hermit?” You stop and watch as he stops a few steps ahead.

Doyoung turns to you, he’s not frowning but his face is set in a grim look that he wears daily. He looks around before looking at you, he switches his bow from his right to the left hand, his eyes soften when they meet yours.

“Well, a hermit I guess—for the long term, but a vagabond could be okay for a bit. I want to really LIVE, you know? I’ve never felt like this before, but I feel like I can survive and more importantly I want to.”

——————————————————————

Day 18: September 26th

Your bow skills have improved to be just above abysmal, but Doyoung is persistent with his lessons.

“You really suck at it, huh?” Mina says as she takes the bow away from you just as you’re packing up to go in because of the fading light.

“Yep,” You dryly reply, pursing your lips as she aims and looses an arrow that cleanly strikes the target.

“Took me a year to hit a bullseye,” She nudges you, handing back the bow with what may qualify as a smile from her.

Mina’s dark hair falls past her shoulders, half pulled back to keep it out of her face. Dark circles under her eyes tell of her nightly struggles, and her shoulders slouch under an invisible weight. You see Seth up ahead, kneeling beside recently turned soil. As you and Mina draw nearer, the graves of the two lost come into focus. Stones rudely carved serve as gravestones; they are irregular in size and colour, but each is decorated with a wreath of grass and wildflowers.

“Look,” You say pointing and reaching out to Mina.

A solitary figure is visible in the distant field, stumbling and disoriented: a zombie. Where they wander from you don’t know. If they have a special sense to know where to find you, you don’t know. Yet they come; wander from near or distant in search of a beating heart, of a conscious brain. You and Mina crouch in the grass as you make your way nearer, never gaining its attention.

“Do you want to do it?” Mina asks when you’re both close enough for the shot.

“No, you should.” You whisper to her, handing over the bow.

Mina’s movements are fluid, her fingers deft and her eyes piercing.

“Ooh, nearly missed,” she says as the body slumps to the ground.

——————————————————————-

Day 21: September 29th

A wolf howls. A lonesome wavering note followed by another deeper howl. It did not crescendo into a pack of howling wolves, but the sound did build in a typical dream-like way. The wolf was running, its footsteps heavy and loud mixed with another sound—a strange thick howl—

Hands were shaking you, trying to wake you quickly while a scream stuck in your throat.

“You have to get your stuff, we have to leave: quickly!”

It’s Doyoung pulling you out of bed and grabbing your things to stuff in your hands. They are not the footsteps of a wolf, but the footsteps of people.

“Where the FUCK ARE THEY,” someone yells from somewhere in the cabin.

You stuff everything you own into your backpack, slipping your shoes on and grabbing your sword from the bed. Doyoung’s silhouette is distinguishable in the low light, his head turned to hear what is happening outside of your room. You here a crash followed by glass shattering and an angry yell.

“Mina and Mallory are gone,” Doyoung whispers to you as he grabs your ACVIM medical bag to swing over his shoulder.

“No,” You say to him in disbelief.

You are frozen, your heart drops: they left you. You feel sick and you want to cry at the prospect of being left alone with Kevin, Seth, and Doyoung.

“We don’t have time to lose,” Doyoung pulls you out from your room “Load as many supplies into your—“

A growl and aggressive yell that you both know far too well reaches your ears. Your eyes meet his, both understanding that at least one had found you again.

“Get to the car,” Doyoung says as he shoves your duffle back into your arms.

You follow him downstairs watching as he loads his bow while running. ”Mina and Mallory are gone.” gone. Gone...gone were they dead? Had they run away.

Your limbs feel numb and weightless but you know your feet move quickly. Thoughts seem to go through your head at a lightning-fast pace—you slip on the floor. There's something wet on the floor but you don’t dare stop to find out what it is. Your heart pounds in your ears and the sounds of fighting are muffled. The night is pitch black and you spare a glance at the austere stars in the sky. They are not really suns you suddenly think; they offer no warmth or light, they are uncaring strangers visible only during the most vulnerable hours. You will not find help in this darkness.

The key has remained safely on your person in an inside pocket, gasping as the overhead light blinds you when you open the door. You hope no nefarious thing in the darkness saw it, you thought once you had managed to shut it off. You lock your bags back inside the vehicle. You turn back to the cabin—it seems much brighter than before, a glow emanating from some of the windows. Your ears listen for a nearby rustle, groan, or breath...any sign that you are not alone. You nearly jump as the doors of the porch burst open: Kevin and Seth yelling as they pull bags and boxes out of the cabin. Fire: that’s the glow coming from the windows. They are grabbing and taking out all the supplies to save them from the fire.

“Where the hell are you coming from?” Seth barks when he spots you.

“I was out making sure there were no more zombies.” You lie. Doyoung is nowhere to be seen, but they don’t ask you further.

“Come and help me—“ Kevin pulls Seth back into the cabin. The entire living room appears to be engulfed and the upstairs barely accessible.

Your limbs feel less weightless as you carry all the supplies away from the burning cabin. You can’t keep track of thoughts at all as dread fills you, unsure of whether you’re all leaving or what happened to Doyoung.

“I feel like I can survive and more importantly I want to.”

No, you were leaving: alone or with them. You glance behind you, making sure no one was looking, before hurrying with a heavy box of cans to the car. Kevin and Seth return, dropping what looks like a camping tent on the ground. The crackling of the fire is louder now and you hear the tinkle of glass breaking.

A yell pierces the night air: Doyoung. It sounds like it came from the other side of the cabin.

“Stay here and keep watch!” Orders are shouted at you as they both run off. The cabin pyre must soon be attracting everything in a two-mile radius.

Tears of fear or maybe smoke stings your eyes and you risk another trip to the car. You could leave now; what were you waiting for? Just get in the car and go. A feeling in your stomach made you stay...at least you should try to take more supplies if you really intended to leave. You ran back to the supply pile, you catch movement out of the corner your eye in a thicket of trees. A breath catches in your throat, your tongue tastes of smoke as you peer through the darkness looking for the source of the movement.

You abandon your post, the only sounds being the fire and your heavy breathing. Are they still alive, or are you waiting for no one? You grip your sword with both hands you creep around the burning structure, waiting for movement...waiting for rotting hands to reach out for you.

You come across a body, your stomach flip flops but you don’t recognize the mass on the ground. Movement; it takes you a moment to distinguish the upper body of a zombie pulling its torso along the ground. It’s fifteen feet away but it raises a pitiful hand at the sight of you, reaching out to a hopeful victim. Anger bubbles up within you: this thing had ruined your life, this was why everyone you knew was dead, this was why you were alone and scared stranded in the middle of nowhere. Large strides, your mouth forming curses that your tongue does not utter: what was once a young teenager hideously bites and growls at you—before you rid them of their head. You wipe a fallen tear away—braces were on their teeth. They were as much to blame for all of this as you, you didn’t want to think of their last moments of life or how they had already come to lose half of their body.

You hear voices and run towards them. It’s Seth and Kevin, your heart drops as Doyoung is nowhere to be seen. They don’t see you, and you grimace as a huge zombie nearly manages to knock the baseball bat out of Kevin’s hands. He looks stunned and partially trips and for a second you think it might be all over for him before his friend’s ax comes to rescue as it embeds itself into the zombie’s skull. The corpse drops in front of Kevin and he scrambles to his feet and away from it.

“Thanks, man” Kevin turns to Seth, his hand outstretched for a shake. You can feel someone behind you just as a sickening thunk pierces the air. Strong arms wrap around you from behind, covering your mouth to muffle your scream as Kevin falls to his knees: Seth’s ax firmly planted between his eyes.

“That’s for Lou,” and Seth spat on the newly lifeless body at his feet.

“We have to go,” Doyoung says into your ear, his arms pulling you away from the scene before your eyes.

Guilt pooled in your stomach and wreaked havoc with your limbs. Kevin’s pitiful crying and feeling outcast, to a sloppy kiss that never should have been shared flooded your mind as you stumbled after Doyoung. Once in sight of the car, you dropped to the ground as the contents of your stomach emptied out onto the dry autumn grass. Your throat burned as you gagged and the acid parched your mouth and throat further. Doyoung’s hand was there to help you up, warm with a tight grip. Just as you were feet from the car an angry yell stopped you both: Seth had run after you, dragging his beastly ax. Your fingers fumbled for the keys hidden in your clothes.

“Don’t move a step closer,” Doyoung yelled across the distance, drawing his bow and aiming at Seth.

“You fucking bastard!” Seth raised his ax as if to throw it.

“Me? No, I’m not the fucking bastard, but I’m looking at him. You’ll be dead before that ax can even leave your hand.” Doyoung’s words sounded forlorn, firelight danced across his face highlighting his somber features.

Your fingers found the keys and you grimaced as the car lights flashed upon unlocking.

“Lou was already DEAD! Would you have preferred that she kill us all?” Doyoung said this while taking a small step back closer to the car.

Seth’s words were indistinguishable, his head shook angrily but his arm that held the ax aloft showed signs of wavering. You feared to move, not wanting to provoke a violent reaction from him. It seemed that life and hope breathed out of Seth, his anger quelled and his head and weapon that he had once confidently held high dropped. The three of you stood there in the crisp night air, flames illuminating your bodies as you all bore witness to the destruction of humanity. Fear had eaten hope and compassion, it had torn away supporting another person and sticking together when times got hard.

You and Doyoung got into the car and drove off without a word: abandoning another human to his own destruction. The line between bravery and cowardice was thinner than you had expected.

——————————————————————-

Dawn broke the long night, but tremors still coursed through your overwrought body. The steering wheel a victim to your hands harshly grasping it as you drove on an unfamiliar road past unfamiliar signs. Begrudgingly you watched as the fuel dial shifted closer and closer to empty. Doyoung had a road map out of the entire country—something left behind by your father—on his lap, though he never offered any directions. There had been a safe place on the other side of the country and so you drove towards it. Abandoned vehicles scantly littered the highway, their owners left to wander into the unknown.

“Turn off at this exit.” Doyoung finally chirps as he glances at the fuel gauge that hovers above the large E.

The sun rises to reveal the autumn colours that paint the countryside. The seasons move on, plants in nature persist where animals in nature appear to be failing. The birds of the sky seem to remain unscathed. You follow Doyoung’s directions until the engine begins to fail, sputtering to a halt and dying. Another metal corpse to be seen on the roadside. You both pack all you can carry, needing free hands to protect yourselves. Food weighs your pack down, and Doyoung leads you through the woods. Fallen pine needles that carpet the forest floor lightly crunch beneath your boots. Sunlight easily penetrates the boughs of trees and bathes your face. A clearing up ahead opened to reveal a comfortable small house next to a large open field that boasted one decrepit old barn. Flowers sat dying in their boxes and a paved driveway was flanked by a lawn in need of mowing on either side. The air smelled of rain with the underlying scent of rot. Doyoung sighed, and you watched his face soften and his eyes drink in this little house with a sense of familiarity. Wood neatly sat stacked along the south face of the structure, three solar panels absorbing the sunshine from atop the roof. His dark eyes solemnly searched the upstairs windows. You noticed a dark smear on a pale blue door and recognized it to be old blood. A scraping of glass pulls your attention away from the dark stain and up to a window: a zombie stands to peer through a window on the second floor of the house, watching you and Doyoung with pale dead eyes.

“Doyoung,” you say in a voice barely above a whisper as your eyes avert to his still figure.

“That’s my uncle.” He cuts you off, stating it quietly and matter-of-factly. The former world’s condolences sound empty in this new republic of death and destruction.

Doyoung’s head drops as he shakes it, “You old, dumb bastard,” you hear him mutter. He turns to you, grimly offering a smile before jerking his head for you to follow him.

You enter the little barn in the field after him: it’s scarcely more than a toolshed. A lawnmower sits on the rotting floorboards with browning grass clippings still on the mower deck from its last use. He pulls at a ripped tarp that is thrown on the floor before moving a piece of plywood that presumably had been set down to replace a particularly bad patch of the floor...to reveal a metal hatch. Oddly, there appeared to be a manhole cover near the back corner of this little building.

“What is that?” You ask as Doyoung drags the plywood away to lean against a wall.

“Well,” he hesitates and his brows furrow as he decides how to begin “A couple years after my uncle bought this place my brother and I came to visit and found this while we were playing. At first, our parents wouldn’t let us check it out or anything, but finally, my uncle decided to go down and found that it lead to, like, an old cold war bunker.”

“Is it still there?!” You ask him in disbelief.

“Well, I mean, it should be but it’s been a couple years since I’ve been here.” His face is not devoid of humour as he looks at you, obviously somewhat pleased with your reaction.

You help him lift the metal cover up, greeted by a very dark hole disappearing into the ground. You fished a flashlight from a pocket, shining it down to reveal a rusting iron ladder and then another hatch.

“How do we know that someone else isn’t down there?” You ask looking across the hole into his eyes.

“We don’t,” Doyoung replies without breaking eye contact.

—————————————————————————————-

Day 26: October 4th.

The day is overcast and you are thankful that you need not squint against the sun as you take aim at a makeshift target on the side of the old barn. Every day Doyoung insists that you practice with his bow—you can hit a bullseye when you’re lucky now. A breeze flutters the first of the fallen golden leaves. Doyoung’s light laugh catches your attention and you glance at him, suddenly struck by how much of a shame it is that the day isn’t sunny and the sun can’t shine off of his dark silky hair.

“Look where you’re aiming,” he frowns at you before you can revert your attention.

Everything had been moved from the car into the bunker. Despite its age, it still seemed to have maintained its structural integrity. There were signs of age, but Doyoung and his brother had fully turned it into their playhouse to hang out in when visiting their uncle. It had been well stocked with water and a few non-perishable food items as well as alcohol camp cookstoves and batteries. Doyoung’s uncle had proven to set up the solar panels on the house roof to charge batteries that powered the bunker. There was scarcely anything to power above the few lights and a ventilation system. The bed was soft but comfortable. Childishly drawn maps you found on a shelf were from games that Doyoung and his brother had made up. A forgotten Gameboy was found between the wall and the bed. There were a handful of books to read, a deck of cards and a couple board games. It felt very much like being the only two people in the world down there. It had taken a few days to grow accustomed to the wholly engulfing silence of living underground.

————————————————————————————-

Day 29: October 7th, 

Journal Entry

I finally hit two bullseyes in a row!

Though we haven’t made any preparations to leave and try to find a safe haven for humanity, I don’t feel as restless and useless as I did at the cabin. When Doyoung and I are hanging out or playing games I feel like for just a little bit that everything is normal...and for the first time in a really long time, I don’t feel lonely.

Yesterday I told him what had happened to Mom and Dad, and he said that he felt lucky because he didn’t know what exactly had happened to his parents or brother.

He likes to play music a lot in the bunker on his phone, and we get to listen to music together while we eat at the table.

I am still having some trouble with sleeping at night, for I feel that every time I try to settle down to sleep I re-witness... well you know what. I had a horrible thought last night...that maybe it would just be easier for us to stay here. Safer. But, I also know that there isn’t enough food to last us the winter.

————————————————————-

Day 34: October 12th

You wake up tired. The room is pitch black, the bed slightly too soft. You can hear the slight whistle of Doyoung’s breathing. You smile, feeling a weight in your chest as you sit up and look over to where he is sleeping. You can’t see him, but it is a comfort to know he is there. Your limbs are weighed by familiar fatigue as you sit up and settle against a firm pillow. It is your daily ritual. Wake up in the dark to escape the night terrors. Or just to listen to him. His sleep sounds peaceful, but can it really be? You sit and drift in and out of a light sleep until Doyoung wakes up. At first, he curls into a ball with a soft groan, you can only tell this because his body seems to shrink on the mattress before he is sitting up in a groggy position. You pull your knees into your chest, hugging them, knowing it will take a long time for Doyoung to fully awaken. In the dark, you live like moles in their burrows. Every breath can sound as loud as a gasp, a muffled footstep is a stomp. Only above ground does it feel right to talk above a whisper.

But the silence can be deafening, and hearing the ruffle of blankets as Doyoung gets up in the morning sounds like calming music. With a grimace, you turn away and hide your eyes as he searches for the light switch in the dark. The light is so bright that it is an assault to your eyes each day, you keep your eyes closed while letting the light penetrate your eyelids. Doyoung’s weight settles on the bed again, and without even looking you know he must be shielding his sensitive eyes as well. You both share a can of warm tomato soup for breakfast—a soup you had once hated, but you had very few options now. The rationing of food had made you less picky as your body remained in constant starvation mode.

A map with a lightly penciled in trail lays between you and Doyoung on the table. It’s the backcountry woods trail to an army base that had been safe 30 days ago. It felt like years ago, but was it really only a month? Doyoung was scarcely more than a stranger, but what had life been like before you met him? Could it really be that 6 weeks ago you had been preparing to head back to college, and you were going to parties, and working part-time? The last dinner in your house with both your parents had been the end of August—if you only knew. But, no, it would have been impossible to fathom.

The morning is crisp, the air is damp and the ground squelches beneath your feet as you run. The open field has become a training ground, though the only zombie around is the one in the little house—who sometimes is heard scraping against the upstairs windows. Your body aches at the end of each day, and a rainwater barrel serves as your ice-cold washbasin.

Neither of you brings up going into the house: it’s better left alone. The small unkempt garden is ransacked for anything edible—a few tomatoes that seem unmotivated to ripen, potatoes, and misshapen carrots. A few fresh potatoes are a glorious feast boiled on the alcohol cookstove, but the rest are stored for later.

“How do you not...break your neck?” Doyoung rubs his neck and then stretches it side to side with a wince.

“It’s got nothing to do with your neck!” Your voice rises a bit, mostly with humour “it’s a tuck and roll—not throw yourself onto the ground and tuck your head.”

“But there must be a neck tuck! You tuck your chin into your chest a bit—like this” he demonstrated how you looked when you tucked and rolled. You bump into him with a laugh when you see the wide-eyed and insistent look he gives you.

“Yes, but you just threw yourself down onto the ground on your neck” you could quell your laughter but not the smile on your lips as you brought your hand up to his neck brushing against where he had landed on his spine “of course it hurts doing it like that.” You frown upon feeling something with your hands.

“What?” Doyoung strains his neck to try and look over his shoulder where you are looking.

“You have dirt on your spine and grass stains on your shirt.” You chastised.

“Well you have them on your shoulder and knees,” he gestured to your own clothes. You nod in agreement, looking at him in a matter of fact way.

“Then I guess that’s where you have to land,”

——————————————————————

Day 40: October 18th

You cry out, the blanket sticks to your clammy skin—suffocating your body. You force your eyes open, your heart beats rapidly in its skeletal prison as you push back the hair that adheres to your face. While regulating your breathing your eyes find Doyoung’s form on the edge of the bed; his back towards you and his weary head rests in his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with his breaths, his lengthening hair messily protruding in every direction and falling into his eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat, a nagging question finally finding purchase on your tongue.

“Do you think we were right leaving Seth behind?”

Doyoung doesn’t make any effort to answer for a while, you begin to think that maybe he won’t answer at all until he shifts on the mattress to look at you.

“I don’t really know if we were right or wrong...” he licks his lips, looking down at his hand that squeezes the blanket in his grip “But I couldn’t accept what he had done that day; fuck, I can’t even accept it now.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath when he abruptly turns away from you again. Doyoung’s hand still rests on the blanket and you turn your head to the side to quietly study it. His fingers are long and narrow, his palms soft and veins just visible on the back of his hand. His posture relaxes and his grip softens on the blanket, he clears his throat:

“Do you feel okay with what we did?”

Shifting below the covers, you think back: ”Thanks, man,” followed by a sound and vision you couldn’t forget. Your memory was like a home movie reel of horrific deaths. How could you accept what Seth had done? But you can’t forget what he had looked like as you had both abandoned him: defeated, left for little more than dead. If you couldn’t justify your actions, you at least had to accept them.

“No,” you finally reply, reaching out and laying your hand on top of his “But I think I would make that same choice again if I had to.”

Doyoung turns his hand over and intertwines his fingers with yours with a squeeze.

[mshermia]

No. 03 - Nothing Left To Lose - Part I

Whumptober Prompt No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY

Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

The reversal of the Snap added 3.5 billion people back to Earth’s population. 3.5 billion more people to house somewhere, 3.5 billion mouths to be fed, 3.5 billion people who return to a world that was not expecting them to ever come back.

In the aftermath of the victory over Thanos, Peter Parker finds himself in a bit of a situation. Instead of helping the "little guy", what is he supposed to do when the "little guys" start helping themselves to the property of others. Tony finds out that his billionaire status doesn't really help that particular situation.

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I'm using my own Fix-it to Endgame "Like You'd Know How It Works" as a basis for the timeline, though the prompt will work fine without having read that story. The important part is, that Tony's not dead.

Baseline: 2 weeks after Tony is brought back from the multiverse.

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AO3 Link

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People never did tell you what it would feel like to come back from the dead. Possibly because people had very little experience with things like that. The odd person being found after they had gone missing for a long time, maybe even been presumed dead, that was one thing. Something like that might happen from time to time. But full-on coming-back-from-the-dead? Well, Tony had always been a pioneer when it came to living through the weirdest shit.

To be fair, to him it wasn't a resurrection per se. He hadn't been dead after all, just his other-dimensional self. Well, just... And the other version of him remained quite dead still, thank you very much, and in all honesty, he wasn't anywhere close to being cool with all that yet. Possibly ever. So there was no way he'd let that big brain of his even start to muse over what was basically his corpse that lay buried not too far off their house. Chances were, he'd never be cool with thinking about that part. So, he didn't. Didn't think about it. Didn't talk about it. Just waiting for it to go away. Which it would. In a few years. 50, give or take.

He rubbed both hands across his face, an active effort for his brain to change the channel. He was supposed to be paying attention to the furry beasts in front of him.

"Seriously, Gerald, you're acting as if it wasn't in your best interest to keep your neck un-wrung. Fluffy, Tiny, let's go."

Gerald didn't like the barn. He was used to grazing wherever and whenever he wanted, nobody's schedule to follow. A free spirit after Tony's own taste. But there was a reason why their stock had grown from one fairly independent alpaca to a flock of three. Damn poachers. Or rogue hunters. Something along those lines, he hadn't inquired in that much detail. They had decimated the two herds in the near-by village, only Gerald's new barn-mates had been able to flee.

And apparently, the Stark's had expanded their life-saving services to the community's life stock now. Well, Pepper had decided they would and Tony wasn't going to question whatever it was that made Pepper happy, not any time soon. His family was the only thing that mattered now. Not the village's life-stock-politics, not any kind of politics. He had retired from everything that didn't directly involve making the people he loved forget about that little death-mishap.

Tony grimaced to himself. Semi-officially retired at least. Yes, in the long run, he was likely to consult for the team and there was always Peter's neighborhood-avenging to support. He'd never leave the Spiderling hanging, no pun intended. But right now, there was some healing he had to supervise. Emotional healing that could only be done with lots of hugs and kisses. With hot chocolate by the fire and glasses of cold wine by the lake. With breakfast in bed and comfy afternoon board game sessions. With nights spent sitting next to his kids' beds, for their benefit of course, not just his own. That was why he had come back with his little protegee after all. For them. And Tony would do whatever it would take, even if it involved wangling three alpacas at once.

Those very alpacas who were very reluctant to move into the barn. Even with how remote the cabin lay, they weren't safe outside anymore, not with the sun slowly setting in the west. But all the pulling on Gerald's head-collar just didn't get him moving, not until Pepper took pity on her dear husband and lent a hand. While she was pulling on the leash, Tony was pushing against the stubborn buck's backside. Alpacas didn't usually tend to kick with their hind legs. That was horses... right?

He groaned, rolling his stiff neck from one side to the other as the gate clicked shut behind Pepper. "Remind me again... Why did we agree to this?"

Pepper didn't bother to send him a scolding look as she wrapped the security seal around the gate's locking mechanism. "Because we're good neighbors?"

"We are?" He smelled like damp fur. When did wet fur and barn animals become his life? "Since when exactly? Was there a house meeting? Did I miss it?"

"Mh... do you need a reminder of the process of negotiation?" She took a step towards him, one hand in his shirt pulling him close against her, their lips almost close enough to touch. "You smell like wet alpaca."

He pulled in an affronted gasp. The hand that was still holding his shirt pushed him away from her, her lips stretched wide in amusement. "Come on, Cesar. Maybe I'll remind you after a hot shower."

"Hey!" He followed after her. "Cesar? Really? First of all, Gerald is not a dog, second... how about during the hot shower?" He had caught up with her, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. "I could think of a couple of other things that—"

"Boss." Tony froze as FRIDAY's voice rang in his earpiece. "Captain Rogers is on the line."

"Oh, but whyyy?" He cringed, not just because it was evident from Pepper's face that whatever road that moment had been leading them down on, was gone. Replaced by the kind of dread he was supposed to shield her from.

"He is asking to speak to you. Immediately."

As Tony groaned again, Pepper blew out a shaky breath. "Everything okay?"

He only pulled a frown as he told FRIDAY to put the man through and didn't bother with any niceties. "What's going on?"

"We need you." Rogers' voice was low and solemn.

"Excuse me? I'm retired." The nonchalant quip was second nature to him but he couldn't deny that the Captain's voice gave him the creeps.

Pepper stepped a little closer and whispered a pained "No!", worry radiating off her like someone had flipped a switch.

"Yeah, we don't really have time for that right now, Tony." Rogers seemed even less inclined to take Tony's demeanor in stride than he usually was. "It's your pet project."

Deep down, Tony had suspected something like this. They knew not to call him for anything but this. "What happened?"

"He's in the middle of a bit of a situation. You need to get here. Now."

"Tony, what's going on?" The way Pepper's hand curled painfully tight around his wrist, she seemed to instinctively know what was up.

There should be a process, how he made those decisions. There should be but in all honestly, it was likely redundant since there was no question as to what he would do if the kid was in trouble. Whenever the kid was in trouble. He didn't hesitate, not even for a second thought. "I'm sorry, honey." He pressed a kiss on Pepper's cheek - any light-hearted banter about alpaca-smell forgotten - as he tapped the nano housing unit hidden underneath his shirt.

"Gotta make sure the kid's safe." He pried Pepper's fingers off his arm. "I'm sorry, honey."

The thrusters engaged before Pepper could draw a breath to argue. He was so retired. He was so retired and they all knew that. It could only mean one thing: the kid was in deep shit.

His heart was racing. This shouldn't even be happening. The kid... he had given the kid the best protection anyone could imagine. The Iron Spider had held up against the ugly purple Grape. Nothing on Earth could... he swallowed hard. He had just been back for a couple of weeks. He was just getting some normalcy back. His family.

Time seemed to crawl by as he shot across the New York sky. The route took him straight to the coordinates that FRIDAY had extracted from Peter's suit. Tony had sent out a call to the kid. When Peter didn't answer he sent out another. This one Peter rejected outright. Still too far out to access the team's comms, Tony and his thoughts had another couple of minutes to imagine the worst until they finally arrived in Queens.

The location was a rather unremarkable looking warehouse, some windows smashed, a couple of doors off its hinges. A little more prominent was the number of police cars parked around the property. There were at least 12 of them, more sirens approaching from the distance. None of them attempted to intervene or even talk to him after the suit had touched ground within the police's perimeter and he made to walk into the building. The picture that presented itself in front of him didn't match what Tony had been expecting. Not in a good way. In fact, it came very close to giving him a heart attack that was going to get in the way of all the supervised healing he still had to do.

Rogers and Barnes in full Super-Soldier outfits stood opposite his boy. His boy had his back turned toward his teammates and stood smack in the middle between them and a whole group of people, their faces mostly covered with scarfs or other contraptions. Some of them were frozen, eyes wide as they were staring at the Avengers in front of them. Others behind them were quietly emptying the shelves of the warehouse. Boxes upon boxes were ripped open and their content vanished in backpacks and large carrier bags. One of the looters however had a very tight grip on a middle-aged dude, a handgun pressed against the man's temple.

Tony froze where he stood, still hidden in the shadows of the entryway.

"...and I get that." Peter's arms were stretched wide. One in front of him at the crowd of people, the other towards Rogers and Barnes like he was urging them to stay back. "This is just not the way to do it, okay?"

With a pressing need for more information, Tony's eyes roamed across the warehouse. Besides the guy on his knees with the gun to his head, a few more people - he counted 10 of them - had been cuffed to three of the large storage shelves. Only a couple of people were standing guard over them. Most of the other intruders were busy stuffing their bags with everything they could— Food. It had just dawned on Tony what was stored within this facility. Canned goods and boxes of what looked like pasta, beans, or rice. These people were stealing food.

"You get it? You don't get anything!" It wasn't the guy screaming those words, just someone else in the crowd, a young woman. "When's the last time you had a warm meal, huh? We came back to nothing!"

"You have every right to be angry." The kid had turned a little away from the hostage, his arm still signaling for calmness. "Coming back to this was a shock. For me too, okay? But this... you don't want to do this. Just... just take the food and you can let him go, okay? This isn't you!" Tony's eyes shot back towards his Spiderling, frowning. "This is— hey... stop! Don't!"

The guy with the gun was pulling on the hostage's shirt, forcing him to balance himself a little more upright on his knees, squirming in his hold.

Rogers had shuffled a little closer. "You don't want to do anything rash now, son."

"Fuck off, traitor," the man spat back at the Captain.

"Stop, just..." Peter's eyes were still on the hostage and his abductor. "I told you to leave, Captain! You're not helping!"

"Spider-Man—" Rogers was interrupted, Peter's voice echoing off the warehouse walls.

"I said, leave!" The boy almost seemed to be panting.

"FRI," Tony whispered inaudible to anyone else because of his suit. "Vitals on the kid."

His heart rate was high, unnaturally high for Peter even during a mission. A close-up provided by FRIDAY confirmed that the boy's hands were positively shaking.

"I can help you, okay?" The kid swallowed hard. "I know that you wouldn't do this if you didn't have to. I can help you and I will, but you have to let this man go. Please."

The group's leader turned from Rogers back to the boy. "You don't know shit about what we want! People are dying because of this jackass! Because of people like him!"

The guy's eyes had found Tony and that seemed to be his cue to advance out of the shadows.

"What the fuck is this, Robin Hood?" Eyes still studying the scene in front of him, a murmur went through the crowd.

Peter spun around, his spider-eyes wide as he looked straight at Tony. "No, no, no, no, no!" He mumbled, his voice echoing in Tony's earpiece.

"You know I can still hear you on the comms, right?" Tony shook his head, sticking to the team-only communication himself now. "Kid... what the fuck is going on?"

"It's... it's fine." Peter's head spun back and forth between Tony and the looters. "Just go home. I got it all under control!"

Tony kept his eyes on the kid, fighting the urge to step any closer. "The dude over there has a gun pointed at this other dude's head. Nothing about this looks like anything's under control. Can we just..." Tony dipped his head to the corner of the room.

"How about I drop, erm..." Peter swallowed hard, still looking back and forth between Tony and the ongoing hostage situation. "I can just drop by when I'm done with all this, okay?"

"How about no?" Tony made a face even though behind the face-plate, it was only for his own benefit. "How about you web this dude up and get some actual control of the situation instead?"

"I got this!" Peter's voice walked a tight rope between urgency and badly suppressed panic. "Just go home, Tony! Please, please just leave!"

There wasn't much that could stun Tony Stark at this point, but an outright dismissal by his intern slash mentee would do it. "Excuse me, did you just—"

"Get the fuck away from us!" Tony's eyes shifted to the looters behind the kid, the guy with the gun was getting antsy. "This is none of your business!"

To Tony's right still a little ahead of him, Rogers inched a step closer to the scene. "Let's just stay calm and figure this thing out, hm?"

"S-stay back!" Another guy from the crowd of looters stepped a little closer toward the main action. He, too, was holding a gun though his arm was dangling loosely next to his body. At a closer look, Tony could spot quite a few weapons, shotguns, knives, and bats in the hands of everyone not currently ransacking those shelves. The group was made up out of a variety of different people, young and old, he could even see some children stuffing tote bags in the back. It was starting to dawn on him, why neither Peter nor the two Super-Soldier's to Tony's right had jumped in guns blazing, not yet.

A whole group of seemingly normal people brought their children to loot this warehouse for all the food they could carry. All of a sudden, the decimated numbers of his neighbor’s alpaca flock left him with a different kind of headache. There seemed to be more to this than he was presently privy to.

Tony cleared his throat, speaking to the whole room. "Unless you want to eat this dude, too, how about we talk about some of your demands, hm? Find a compromise everyone is happy with and nobody gets hurt over?"

For a second, the man's gun twitched towards Tony before he pressed it back against the temple of the man kneeling in front of him. "Shut the fuck up, you murderer."

Ouch. Tony pursed his lips. He hadn't heard that one in a long time.

"Hey!" Peter stepped closer to the crowd, clearly an attempt to shield Tony from their view. "Watch your fucking mouth, asshole."

His jaw popped open and Tony was quick to make an abortive motion towards Rogers and Barnes to stop them from advancing like the kid had done. This was escalating quickly.

"Of course, you're protecting your sugar daddy, you insect. You stopped being a hero when you started wearing this guy's fancy suits. You don't give a shit about us! You haven't in a long time!"

The Spiderling flinched back from the open hatred spewed at him. "I... that's not..." He shook his head, pulling in deep breaths. "I don't want to hurt you, okay? I want to help. We can still all walk away from this."

"Hurt us?" The young woman's voice from before was shaking but still rang harshly through the otherwise quiet building. "We haven't eaten in 2 weeks! We have no place to stay, nowhere safe to sleep!" She pointed a hand at the man on his knees in front of her accomplice. "People like him are selling the little food that is left in the city for 10 times the regular price. We have no money! Nobody helps us!"

"We're here to help now, young lady." Rogers' deep voice always rang with such sincerity, they could only hope it would convince at least some of them. "What you're doing right now is not going to help you!"

"You're not helping us, you want to help him." She pointed at the man on his knees in front of them. "You care more about his property than about the fact that we're starving!"

"Right now," Barnes' low growl surprised Tony more than most of the things happening around them. "We care more about the gun that your buddy there is pointing at the man's head, darling."

"I'm not your darling, jackass!" She spat at Barnes.

"Stop. Stop this." Peter sounded almost scared. "Please."

"He doesn't deserve this kind of money." She barked out before her eyes landed on Tony. "Nobody does."

Tony's eyes stuck with the young woman, his mind racing. Money... was that what they wanted the guy for? His money or plain revenge... maybe a little bit of both. Time to find out what their priorities were.

"You want to take all this out on someone, huh? Alright, Let's do that. How about you let the civilian go and take this up with a bigger fish, hm?"

"No." Peter spun around. "What are you doing? Don’t!"

Tony got a step closer, his focus shifting back to the man that was the group's apparent leader.

To Tony's undeniable satisfaction, the guy's feet shuffled back a couple of inches though his eyes never strayed from Tony. "While you're hiding behind your tin can?"

He had expected as much and his hand was ready to fly up and tap the nano-housing unit. Jaw set, his PR mask in place, the nanites retract just enough for Tony to exit the suit, leaving his armor behind him but still perfectly ready to engage if necessary.

"Stop!" Peter's voice was far from strong now, only a panicky high-pitched squeak. "Mr. Stark, don't!"

Rogers was next to Tony with a couple of long strides, his voice low. "What do you think you're doing?"

Tony cleared his throat before he dragged his gaze away from the looters towards the Captain. "Hostage negotiations?"

"Put that suit back on!" Rogers growled next to him. "That's not why I asked you here."

"You asked me to help." Tony was holding his hands up just below his shoulders, fingers spread wide. "So, I'm helping."

Roger's chest was heaving with deep long breaths. "Getting yourself killed is not helping, Tony."

"I'm not getting myself killed." He had his eyes still steeled on the group leader, careful not to be caught off guard by a trigger-happy hippie. "I'm taking a calculated risk."

"No, you're not." The Captain's hand shot out, holding Tony back with a strong grasp on his arm. "If anyone will be offered up to trade places it—"

"I don't think your bank account will be as attractive to them as mine," Tony hissed. "No offense, Capsicle." He pulled his arm free from Rogers' hold and advanced a few more steps before the kid could get a hold of him. "So, here I am. Let this dude go."

### 

Thank you guys for reading!

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I'm always happy to hear everyone's predictions and theories, so let me know how you think Peter and Tony might get out of this one in the comments. Likes and Reblogs are really appreciated!

Hope you liked it! More whump and more for this timeline will come soon! You can find more from this timeline on my WIP Page.

The Fix-it this is based on: Like You'd Know How This Works

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

okay when I’m with you

Summary: a continuation of the story ‘okay’ of @reddie-fangirl24​, where Richie and Eddie get home after the car accident, and Eddie is still a little upset. 

the first part: https://reddie-fangirl24.tumblr.com/post/190168324075/okay-a-reddie-fanfiction 

They finally make it home after a checking Eddie out in the ambulance, and determining that the only thing that Eddie is suffering from is shock. The car ride was quite, only filled with soft sniffles from Eddie and the occasional sorry he aimed towards Richie.

The thing is, Richie doesn’t want any apology. Sure, the car was his favorite, and it does kind of suck that it’s ruined now, but that’s absolutely nothing compared  to Eddie. Richie would happily have every material thing he owns be destroyed, for as long as Eddie’s okay. After being a nip away from losing Eddie forever, Richie’s been filled with this anxiousness that he still might lose him, and he hates it. The last thing he wants to do is appear to be like Myra or Sonia, but he can’t help but put his head on Eddie’s chest at night, to hear his heart beat and feel his chest rise and fall.

Which is why when Eddie called sobbing on the phone, and it was just his stupid car, Richie bursted into tears the entire ride to the scene of the car accident. It must show on his face, He’s always been an ugly crier, but Eddie interpreted his crying as for the car, instead of him. He could be really dense sometimes.

Richie wants to say all of this to Eddie, and do what he needs to do to prove it, but he has no clue how or where to even begin. Insults and jokes are mostly the way Richie communicates, the truth hidden within the inappropriate comments he makes, and he’s gotten so accustomed to making them, that he has no idea how to say something straightforward anymore.

He supposes that it’s a coping mechanism, a way that he can play off what he said by claiming that he was only aiming for laughs and it’s one that he is working on changing. He tries to be serious, to say the words that form in his brain but he’s too scared to say out loud, especially after the third time Eddie apologizes, but when he insists that Eddie has nothing to be sorry about, the latter doesn’t believe him.

He’s so relieved though, when the paramedics checked him out and concluded that besides being in shock, that as soon he opens the front door, he pulls Eddie close, and kisses him passionately , trying to convey the things he’s not saying. I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m not mad, as long as you’re here with me I could never be mad.

Eddie stands silent, looking dejected, as if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. The tiredness on his face is evident, though he still maintains that he is doing fine. At the very least he stopped hypervelenting and subtly reaching for his inhaler, like he was doing at the scene. 

He has to refrain from creating a diversion, a way to avoid talking about serious issues, ushering Eddie towards their sofa instead.

‘Do you want some tea Eds?’

There’s no visible reaction from Eddie, who staring blankly ahead, but he loves tea, so Richie decides to make some anyway.

Mint tea isn’t Eddie’s go to choice, but it’s the only one they have at their disposal, and Richie refuses to leave Eddie alone, even if it would be to please him. It’s not that Eddie hates the drink, and considering how blank his eyes appear to be, he probably won’t taste the difference anyway.

While the water boils, Richie enters their shared bedroom to grab a t-shirt and some sweatpants, Eddie’s usual attire to go to bed in.

He places it on the edge of the couch where Eddie is seated, an offering to help make him feel comfortable without pushing him to do anything.

‘For if you want something comfy’, he explains, before turning back to the tea. Times like this make Richie question everything he does, down to the smallest details. Every action, every word he puts under great scrutiny. Not that that’s any different than usual, but whenever Richie tries to take care of Eddie, it’s another defined way of overthinking. He never wants to do any of things Eddie’s mom and soon to be ex-wife did, even if he has a clear idea of what he wants to happen.

The paramedics told him that Eddie would be in shock, and that the best thing to do was to get him relaxed and if possible even sleeping. When Richie has suggested doing just that, Eddie had shaken his head determinedly, and Richie dropped the issue in favor of avoiding more stress on Eddie.

When the water is boiled, he adds some fresh mint, and three table spoons of sugar, just the way Eddie likes it, and grabs a water bottle too. Richie too sits down on the sofa, close to Eddie, but not enough to be suffocating, and presenting the drink as if it’s a gift, with his dramatic flairs present. ‘Your tea, my good fellow.’ The British accent falls even flatter than when he first started to use it, worry seeping through in every single word.

Eddie glances up then, accepting the mug without a smile, and letting it rest of his upper leg while watching the way the mint leaves float around in the warm water.

It’s silent for a long time, much longer than Richie usually is able to bare, but it’s Eddie, and if Eddie needs time, then Richie will give him exactly that. He can’t say he’s not relieved when Eddie starts muttering sometime later however.

‘Are you mad at me?’

Richie scoffs, unable to prevent himself from doing so.

‘I told you before Eds, it was just a stupid car. Nothing is as important as you are.’

When the two of them make eye contact, Richie notices the tears glistening in Eddie’s eyes, red rimed and more distraught than he has seen them in a while.

‘Why don’t you believe me?’

A sob tumbles from Eddie’s lips, as he skootches closer to Richie to bury himself in his loving embrace. Richie reciprocated instantly, his arms hovering above Eddie’s shoulders, debating whether or not he should hug him tighter.

‘Why not? You have every right to be, I wrecked your car’, Eddie says miserably, his voice muffled from where his mouth is buried in Richie’s chest. Eddie looks impossible smaller this close to Richie’s body, and for a moment he looks like a child again.

When Richie takes a deep breath, he steadies himself for being honest with Eddie, despite how terrifying the prospect looked.

‘Because I don’t care about my car, I care about you. As long as you’re fine, I’m fine.’

‘Well you should be, it’s my fault. You’re an idiot if you’re not mad at me’, Eddie scolds, lifting his head up and glaring at Richie like the time Richie forced him jump in the quarry with his clothes still on. Then it disappears with a blink. His scowls drops, his mouth opens slightly and his face screams how distraught he is with being rude to Richie out of the blue, despite the fact that Richie had anticipated this.

That’s a side effect from the trauma.

‘It’s fine’, he soothes as he presses a feather light kiss on Eddie’s forehead.

‘The other driver was at fault too, he was speeding. You weren’t paying attention but that happens Eddie Spaghetti, do you know the amount of times I did something stupid or reckless? It could have easily been me who had the accident.’

‘Yeah, but I wasn’t paying attention because of Myra.’

At her name, Richie feels anger course through his veins. At first he found it funny, to see her get worked up over the divorce, a younger miss Kaspbrak who Richie had a ton of jokes lined up for, but as time went on and she was still finding ways to interfere with their lives, Richie started to get annoyed with her. The divorce was almost completed, but she kept drawing it out to torture her former husband for as long as possible. Over time, Richie started to dislike her as much as Eddie did.

But it’s not about her, Eddie’s not doing well, and she was not ruing something else for them.

‘Hey Eds, looks at me.’ He waits until Eddie complies to continue. ‘This has to end. Next time she calls, you tell her to deal with your lawyer, and you block her phone number.’

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but force once Richie won’t be deterred about this and so he teed he’s through.

‘I’m serious, she’s doing this because she can. If you’d stop returning her calls, she’ll have no choice but to give up. Stop letting her dictate your life.’

Eddie lets out a sigh, muttering an agreement, and even if Richie knows that it’ll take more than one conversation about this to convince him, he lets the subject go for now, choosing to focus and Eddie’s well-being.

‘I’m really not mad okay, just please get some rest okay? Drink your tea, put on some sleeping close and let’s cuddle, how does that sound?’

Regardless of the tears still lingering, Eddie nods with a barely noticeable smile, leaning in towards Richie, the lips meeting halfway. It’s less timid than the one they shared before, but still just as much filled with love and in sync with the other. Richie dares to poke his tongue out, and Eddie opens eagerly, causing the supposedly shot kiss to become a full on make out session.

Richie puts a stop to it before it can go any further, gently pushing Eddie a bit away from him, motioning at the lukewarm mug that is still in Eddie’s grip.

It takes a few minutes, but when they finally make it to bed, Richie turns to lay on his side, his body flush against Eddie’s, spooning him from behind. They always fall asleep like this, Eddie falling asleep protected, and Richie falling asleep knowing that if something were to happen, he had Eddie in his arms.