#suss pastries

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

GRANT US PEACE

Opening in the multiplexes this weekend:

Heretic--One rainy day two American LDS missionaries, young women, go to the door of an ugly, rambling house in Scotland. The resident is what would be called, in door to door sales, a premium lead: he's expressed interest in the product.

The gent in question, Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant), solicitously invites the young ladies in out of the rain. They explain that, for safety's sake, they aren't allowed to go inside without a woman present, but he charmingly insists, saying that his wife will join them once she's finished baking a blueberry pie in the kitchen. So Sister Paxton (Chloe East) and Sister Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) follow him into the oddly cheerless front sitting room--it looks like the waiting room of a funeral parlor--and he locks the door behind them. But they can smell blueberry pie, so they aren't too alarmed, yet.

Needless to say, the two of them aren't going anywhere anytime soon, except farther into the house. This shocker, co-written and co-directed by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods of A Quiet Place, belongs to the horror subgenre in which one or more women are held prisoner by a maniac. Earlier examples include The Collector (1965), with Terence Stamp and Samatha Eggar, Crawlspace (1986) with Klaus Kinski tormenting Talia Balsam, the notorious Human Centepede (First Sequence) (2009) by Tom Six, or Room (2015) with Brie Larson. Heretic has echoes of all of these, but it's highly original all the same.

Although it seems to safe to safe that there's a sexual subtext to the motivations of all the captors in these movies, the overt reasons vary. In The Collector, for instance, there's a class element; in Crawlspace there's a Nazi guilt angle, and so on. In Heretic, the crazy derives from religious studies.

Mr. Reed, you see, is a fanatical questioner of all religious "iterations," and debunker of the idea that any of them represent the "one true religion" as they claim to. As the facade that his guests are free to leave whenever they like gradually but steadily melts away, he lectures them, in the manner of a raffish college professor, about the innumerable links and parallels between modern mainstream faiths and ancient religious traditions, using pop culture and popular music as analogies.

It would be a rather agreeably stimulating summary of Comparative Religion 101, if they weren't being held hostage and all. Sister Paxton even makes a brave attempt to debate her self-appointed pedagogue, but while there may be arguments against Mr. Reed's theses, the ones Beck and Woods place in her mouth seem thin and non-sequitur, which, in context, makes her desperation all the more touching. Mr. Reed, however, remains affably unmoved.

The heart of Heretic is Grant. I've always been a fan, but I've especially enjoyed his work as a comic villain in recent years in stuff like Paddington 2, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves and Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre. His Mr. Reed is a good deal darker than any of these, to be sure, but the performance is still based in the diffident, apologetic, wryly sheepish Grant persona familiar from his romcom work. It's one of the best roles he's ever had, and you can feel his pleasure in it.

His two young costars are also strong. Chloe East, hilarious and adorable as the girlfriend in Spielberg's The Fabelmans, gives Sister Paxton some of the same gushy avidity. Balancing her is Sophie Thatcher as Sister Barnes, of more worldly background and thus more reserved and alert. Thatcher also sings a haunting cover of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" over the end titles.

Eventually Sister Barnes and Sister Paxton are offered a "Lady or the Tiger" type of choice, and find themselves in the basement. From here, Heretic goes full-on gothic, and gory, and the blueberry pie re-enters the tale. And as so often when thrillers tip over from literate tension into gruesome grappling, it seems to shrink the movie a bit.

Not enough, however, to diminish the value of these performances, or of the rising dread, shot through with chilling wit, that infuses the film. The sexual politics would seem to have some slight relevance at this moment in our history, too; Mr. Reed's practice of what he considers the One True Religion appears to be devout, zealous mansplaining.

By the way, as we left the press screening I attended in the Valley, the marketing company handed us small blueberry pies, custom made for the evening by Süss Pastries here in Phoenix. I took mine home and passed it on The Wife, who proclaimed it good. I can't say, however, that Heretic particularly gave me an appetite for blueberry pie for a bit.

[consistentlyamess]

Wild Sweetness ⎮ Prologue

[1.4K]

pairing(s): luca x fem!oc MJ

summary: MJ has just settled in after opening back up a bakery in Chicago when some unexpected news

warnings: not much so far, takes place after season 3, 18+ , MDNI, swearing, eventual smut, second chance romance, pining, slowburn, flashbacks in italics, lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: heeelloo!! this idea has been sloshing around in my head since i watched season 2 and started working on it while waiting for season 3. comments, likes, reblogs are appriciated as always or just come chat at me! And as always 💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!!💜💜💜

Fic Masterlist I Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

‘Well, well, well, look what rhubarb season dragged in!’ 

‘Morning, MJ’ Marcus greeted with a big, bright smile.

‘Please, say, you have some coffee for me!’ 

‘Not even a ‘good morning’, damn, you must really be tired.’ 

‘I’m sorry, I stayed up reading again and drank two glasses of wine, so now I’m tired and also a little hungover because somewhere between re-opening the shop and last night I also became an old lady.’ Marcus laughed and shook his head. 

‘You’re not an old lady, but you do need to get out more.’

‘Weird, I don’t remember asking that coffee with a side of unsolicited advice.’ 

‘Careful, chef, you might not get the coffee either if you keep being a smartass.’ Marcus quipped back with a cheeky smile but also handing her the takeaway cup.

‘Oh, you’re a godsend, my friend.’ She took a sip and sank deeper into her place behind the counter for a second. ‘So, what's the agenda today?’ 

‘You said it: it’s rhubarb season. And we’re changing the menu.’ 

‘Excellent! Let me grab my jacket and we can go! Lucy’s is already on the fresh croissants.’

‘Hi Lucy!’ Marcus bellowed so she can hear him in the back.

‘Morning Brooks!’

‘Still no first name, huh?’ 

‘Told ya’, you gotta earn it!’

‘Be nice Lucy, I’ll be back in the afternoon!’ 

‘Got it, chef!’  

Marcus and Marjolaine (just MJ for him and most) have been doing this routine for almost a year now. With a changing of seasons came the changes of the menus and so they went out looking for inspiration. And that looking always started at the fresh, seasonal ingredients. Rhubarb was one of MJ’s personal favourites and she couldn’t wait to indoctrinate the young pastry chef. Managing a bakery could become a nightmare sometimes but having someone like Marcus, a soothing, calming presence was something she couldn’t have imagined her life without at this point. The first time Marcus wandered into the shop, they were barely open. Chairs were missing and wires were hanging from the walls but MJ set up a little stand outside. First he thought it was a little weird, operating on half-capacity, if that, but while he was drinking his coffee he asked her and it turned out to be quite the trick. 

‘Look, we've been at this for months now, right? Renovating, drilling, sawing, equipment coming in, equipment breaking, equipment coming in again. We tore down a fucking wall for crying out loud!’ She threw her hands, for emphasis and Marcus started to suspect that maybe this flare for the dramatic was some kind of common theme with people who were brave - or crazy, jury’s still out - to open a restaurant. 

‘Tell me about it.’ He said, reminiscing about Fak and Richie screaming at eachother. 

‘Right, and they know nothing about who I am, what we’re gonna do here, we’re just annoying and inconvenient as fuck. So, I thought, let’s just show them! The kitchen is almost up and running, I can also do some of it at home, some french press, some fresh pastry, bamm, nice neighbourhood bakery girl!’

‘Allright, I see you, nice bakery girl! That’s actually pretty fire.’ 

‘Well, why thank you! And while we’re at it, can I ask, where this inquiry is coming from.’ 

‘Oh, shit yeah, sorry! Hi, I’m Marcus, I work at The Bear, just down the block and I’m the pastry chef there.’

‘Sussing out the competition. Clever. Hi, Marcus, I’m Marjolaine. Yes, it’s a french name, no you don’t have to say all of that every single time. Some people call me Margie, some call me Margot, anything goes. And this place here’ she said, gesturing behind her like a circus presenter ‘is going to be the Wild Sweetness, bakery and breakfast place.’ 

‘Wow, that’s a lot of info in one breath chef.’ 

‘You don’t have to call me chef.’

‘I have to call you something, till I figure out my name for you.’ 

‘I just gave you like 4 options.’ 

‘Yeah, I know, but I want something original, welcome you to the hood properly.’ 

‘Yo, boss!’ 

‘One sec Tony! Duty calls Marcus but thanks for the chat, I hope I’ll see you around!’ 

‘Bet! Come check out The Bear sometime!’ 

‘Will do!’ 

And from then on it became a habit. Even after the Wild Sweetness opened properly, Marcus almost always started his day there. It took him about 3 weeks to come up with MJ. ‘The hair and the whole vibe. There’s something very MJ-ish about you. Comic book MJ, not movie MJ.’ 

She took it as a compliment and got to be known around The Bear as just that, MJ from the bakery. 

‘Do you have any ideas yet?’ she asked as they were walking to the market. Well, the first market that is. There was a whole routine now to the whole operation. Start at the Sweetness, since MJ was renting the flat above the bakery, but Marcus insisting that no, you’re absolutely not firing the coffee machine just for this, i’ll grab it on my way, check Frank’s, two streets down, he usually had one or two rare fruits or a new guy bringing homemade jam, so it was always worth a try. Also Frank was a staple of these mornings, in and of himself. Without fail, without a hitch greeting with a gravelly and grouchy ‘You kids are goin’ to be the death of me I swear, who wakes up like this, ass crack of dawn on a Saturday, unbelievable! Now, come on in, I got somethin’ to show you.’ Rough cut man with a thick Chicago accent, who was a real fiend when it came to very niche, hearty jams. After Frank they usually headed for the markets, browsing for hours, trying some things then getting some lunch. 

‘I’m not sure yet. A compote feels too on the nose. Rhubarb and strawberry, while a classic for a reason also feels played out. Something about, like. a deconstructed rhubarb crumble keeps popping up in my head but nothing else.’

‘Ouh, I like the sound of that. Have you talked to Carm about it?’ 

‘Not really, he’s been in a mood lately.’ 

‘Lately? I feel like he’s always in a mood.’ 

‘Yeah, fair enough.’ 

‘What’s been going on? He’s still in over his head?’ 

‘Yeah, I don’t know, I feel like he’s just, I don’t know, like he’s just stuck. He thinks that pushing himself harder is always the answer, you know?’ 

‘Yeah, I know people like that.’ 

‘Yeah, and you just can see that he’s not getting enough sleep, not talking to his people, meanwhile Nat is home with the baby, and I get it, failing is not an option but he just doesn’t need to throw a fit over how tape is cut, you know?’ 

MJ snorted a laugh. ‘Yeah, I get you. And yeah, if being hard on yourself worked, it would”ve worked by now, right?’

‘Fuck, yeah, exactly.’  

This morning in particular has been a little slower, a little quieter than usual. Marcus talking about Syd in a hushed tone while they walked from stand to stand, one she recognized immediately. She wasn’t going to meddle. Not in this anyway, but she felt for the young chef. A crush that was going nowhere. There was something so brave and defiant about the whole thing though. Holding those feelings, stepping back and still trying, still keeping an eye out for when maybe his number gets called. But it was also noticeable how he got a little quieter, a little more soft-spoken since his mother passed. 

‘You guys had that tiramisu on the menu a while back, right?’ MJ asked while looking for some peaches. 

‘Yeah, we did.’ 

‘Well, how about something in that direction? Maybe not mascarpone but something with heavy cream, make it light, little lemony, infuse it with rhubarb, ladyfingers soaked in strawberry liquor, something like that.’

‘Okay, throwing this out like it’s not a big deal. That sounds pretty fire actually.’ 

‘You give me too much credit, it might not work.’ 

‘Maybe, but you always set me on a good path, even if it’s not, like, perfect.’  

‘Allright, now you’re just sucking up.’ MJ said with a small laugh. 

They keep browsing and first she doesn’t even notice that Marcus gets lost in his phone for a minute.

‘Oh, shit!’ he exclaims, so suddenly startles her. 

‘What’s up?’ 

‘Yo, this is so cool! You remember that pastry chef I staged with in Copenhagen?’

‘Luca, right?’ 

‘That’s him! He’s coming to town! He’s taking a sabbatical and he’s coming here, to check out the restaurant and shit, yo, this is so cool, you guys can finally meet!’ 

‘Well, how about that.’ 

[mxhlon]

"Sed--" Mahlon called, but the tribute didn't pause as he stormed away. It had been a painful truth, but one he'd needed to hear: that Iggy was young, and young tributes rarely made it, especially if they were from Twelve. Sed had sent a tray of pastries clattering to the ground, his anger understandable, and so Mahlon had let him go, let him yell and slam the door to his room. He'd picked up the food, only remorseful that they'd wasted it (and then not caring that it had touched the ground, so he began to eat one). The rest he brought down to the kitchen, where he placed the tray down.

But when he turned, moving resignedly back to the elevator, he encountered a familiar face -- well, familiar in that they'd met at least one time. "I'd kill for some fresh fruit," Mahlon commented, stepping closer, trying to suss out what she was doing. He smiled sheepishly, holding up his hands. "I mean, I did kill, I guess, and all I got was hit in the head. Anyway, what're you, uh...lookin' for?"

@denverneumann

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

I was going to ask you a Cyrano or Odysseus question, but then I realised. No. I could do you one much funnier.

Could you be roommates with Edmond (and Sinbad the marin and Lord Wilmore and l’abbé Busoni and le Comte de Monte-Cristo)?

😂😂 LMFAOOOOO Nina! Asking the real head-scratchers...

On one hand, I find it morally reprehensible to be shacking up with a billionaire. I might accidentally end up talking smack abt my vampiric roommate to one of his 4 friends who randomly drop by to visit (a sailor, a lord, an abbot, & a count) & so land myself in trouble... 😅 The narrative rewards characters who scheme & manipulate, so I'd better come up w some sort of plan quick just so I don't end up a pawn in one of his! Or at least only a peripheral pawn #Eugénie ... Also he would definitely be conducting his schemes right under my nose (no billionaire needs a roommate — I'm sure I'm cover for something) but hiding it PERFECTLY, so while I never actually spot any evidence, the whole atmosphere would feel slightly...off...

On the other hand, Edmond post-Château d'If is so unused to kindness that I feel like I could get in his good graces Morrel-style by sussing out what desserts he likes & baking one like "I made these for u :)", thus saving myself. Of course, he's probably getting pastries from 3 different continents shipped in daily for elevenses & tea, but I think the gesture would stay w him! He'd be like "what......... for me?" facing the wall, & then a week later I get an offer for my dream job BGSKGHSDK

And! on a third and necessarily far more interesting hand! I am amusing myself at the thought of Edmond's multiple identities subjected to a scene à la Rochester's fortune teller disguise in Jane Eyre 😂

send me a character & a number/question!

[burlveneer-music]

My WVUD playlist and stream, 12/2/2024

Devonanon - Blood Laughing (feat. Masayoshi Fujita & Rosa Juritz) Svaneborg Kardyb - St. Pancras The Hardy Tree - September 1975 Yaryu - Sacrifice Scrimshire - Ash ganavya - A Love Supreme, Part 3: Alice Coltrane ganavya - A Love Supreme, Part 4: IONE (feat. IONE) Eve Essex - Room With a View Moses Sumney - Is It Cold In The Water? (feat. ANOHNI) Mark Barrott - Pandora Low Leaf - How to Open a Portal memotone - Catherine, On Fire Cordâme - Ostara Kronstad 23 - Feilbarlig Euglossine - Pastries Ludivine Issambourg - Manoir Sault - Act 9 - Pray For Me Mocky - Stevie's Room Suss - Flight Marysia Osu - melting timbers (feat. Plumm) O.G. Jigg - Jesus Is My Jam Posy - Dreaming In Blue (feat. Jennyfire)

Listen on Mixcloud

[alexin-wonderlust]

Day Eleven - Tokyo

17th November 2022

How much Tokyo can we do in 3 days -- LETS GO!

Today is Ikebukuro -- first off, breakfast. We found some cute pastries, but also wanted McDonalds... Surprisingly -- some of the best Maccas Ive had in the longest time. Ben had the "World Cup Burger" and I had a Chicken Teriyaki burger and a strawberry and white chocolate pastry... OMG YUM. So good.

Next up to Sunshine City -- we are going to a Planetarium. There are about 5 (?) planetariums in Tokyo and some of them have cafe's and show movies, and we really just wanted to experience one. They're not super expensive and are a cute way to spend some time. We watched a documentary about space and the Earth -- it was in Japanese but, it had lovely music and amazing visuals. It gave us a chance to relax before our day really kicked off. We went to the Food Hall and looked at the over priced and fancy groceries, grabbed snacks -- of course. I went to the Evangelion Store and spent a small fortune, then NEXT -- to Harajuku.

There was a lot of construction happening along Takeshita Street so we didn't spend long in Harajuku -- but we did get the candied strawberries again (the ones in Arashiyama were better!) and went to Harajuku Zoo -- a petting zoo with small animals like meerkats, ferrets and apparently a capybara (I didn't see him!). They were cute and stinky! They seemed to be looked after well enough, but the monkey there wasn't having a good time. :(

As we were walking back to the station we were looking in the P's First shop (Petshop) and the girl was getting sassy with us for being tourists -- a guy was walking 16 dogs at one time! So cute! SO MANY FLOOFERS!

Apparently I haven't tortured Ben's feet enough today -- so our next stop is Shibuya, and we walked. It's honestly quicker than the train at 6pm, and its a nice walk. On the look out for food always, we walked past some interesting spots to check out later... but we are going to the Nintendo Store before they close.

The Nintendo Store is part of the Shibuya Parco and its on the same level as the Pokemon Centre, as well as some other nerdy shops like Capcom and some Anime brands I don't know. The Animal Crossing merch was my favourite -- I almost cried when I saw you could buy the floor mat, the slippers, hat, shirt, fan... all the Nook branded items from Animal Crossing New Horizons. That game was so much to me during 2020 lockdown and recovery.

There was a huge line to check out, and Ben went and sussed the food options on other floors while I waited in line. We tried a ramen that claimed it was Tonkatsu, but it DEFINITELY had fish in it and it was not good. Even I couldn't stand it. Ah well. One failed meal! Not too bad?

Downstairs there was another area with bars and izakaya type places with some finger foods. We had some olives with bread and an amazing yuzu olive oil and some cocktails. Then we went somewhere else for sake tasting -- then I managed to convince Ben to go to a Drag Bar where there was a Japanese Drag Queen! It was amazing. Back to the hotel and I relised, we still hadn't really eaten much since breakfast... I got Ben to find another ramen restaurant close to us and we managed to find an absolute WINNER. The pickled ginger was crunchy, like nothing I have ever eaten before... the Melon Soda was huge. Bigger than a pint glass -- and the ramen. So good.

Ben was happy!

IG Post: "Day Ten: Ikebukuro, Harajuku, Shibuya

Now, no judgement on the maccas first up. It was actually really good! I love getting McDonald’s in foreign countries.. the menu is always different and it was amazing. I had a Teriyaki Chicken Burger with a white chocolate and strawberry pastry thing… it was AMAZING. 🥰

The rest of the day we snacked… then we were starving and tried to find some food. Ramen? It wasn’t good. I left it out of the photos. So instead we got snacks and got drunk on sake. 🍶

When Ben was still hungry, it was late night ramen adventure and we found a winner. It was so yum!"

"First full day in Tokyo so we are heading to the big ones first. Starting with Ikebukuro to the Planetarium— no photos though. It was a nice, relaxing movie about Earth and how things work. (In Japanese…) but the music was nice and the visuals were awesome.

After, we went shopping, ended up in Harajuku and visited an animal cafe and I got to hang out with a furry noodle and a meerkat, who was very lovely.

The new Pokémon game is coming out tomorrow, so I made the genius decision to go to the Nintendo store today; before it gets mental. The Nintendo store is awesome. I cried… you’ll have to wait for my vlog 😂

After, we tried to find some food… but being that both Ben and I aren’t fish eaters… it gets tricky. The ramen we settled on definitely had some sort of fish in it and we couldn’t finish it. So we just got drunk instead. Found a drag Queen bar and then walked back to Shibuya station to see the crossing and Hachiko. 🐕🥹🙏"

[lucifitzgerald]

Luci smiles at the guy behind the booth and they move to the side, standing in a spot that isn't as crowded so they can enjoy this bundt cake without getting it all over themselves. She hums as she licks some icing off and then scoops a bit onto her fork for Sun.

"Not weird at all, everyone has their quirks." She grins.

She then thinks about the question, really trying to suss out…

"Well, bundt cakes, actually, I just like using that fun pan and flipping it over." She smirks and has another bite, "But cupcakes have been really fun, I'm trying to get good at tarts…it's hard to fill them with great filling and then mastering the flaky pastry part, you know? I want them to be perfect."

Aiden chuckles softly and shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it, it’s probably a weird dislike anyway. If it’s mixed in dips I eat it, there’s just something about icing I’m unsure about.” He looks over some and then picks out the snickerdoodle, offering some cash to the man and takes the mini bundt to split with Luci.

“What’s your favourite thing to bake?” He asks her, taking a plastic knife to cut the cake in half and hands it over to Luci. “We didn’t have cakes like this…” he trails for a moment. “This good growing up. Just the store bought ones that are kind of dry, you know?”

[judeswhore]

hey can you write a jude fic where he meets reader at a local café where she works and he gets her number and everything. idk you can end it the way you want

biscoff - jude bellingham

He'd been eyeing you across the café since he'd sat down, quick glances when he thought you weren't looking, a soft smile settling on his lips whenever he heard you laugh. He didn't even have to look up from his cup to know it was you laughing, he'd memorised the soft sound in the two weeks he'd been coming in and it had quickly become one of his favourite sounds. It was ridiculous really, the fact such a simple noise was capable of lifting his mood so significantly, a flutter setting off in his stomach whenever he heard it.

Jude was aware that you'd caught him watching you on more than one occasion and he had the feeling your co worker was on to him given all the sly sideward glances and little smirks she was sending his way. You'd taken his order every day for two weeks and every day for two weeks he'd told himself he'd actually introduce himself, but here he was two weeks down the line and he was still stuck to four word sentences. He knew you knew who he was, he'd caught the whispers between you and the other girl and hadn't missed the blush that had tinted your cheeks those first few days but he wanted you to know him. There was a reason he only ever came into the coffee shop alone.

The loss against Rangers still sat heavily on his chest but he couldn't deny the fact that seeing you had lifted his spirits ever so slightly, those odd flutters kicking off in his stomach the second he walked through the door. You hadn't even served him today and he'd found himself stuttering over his order, so used to your soft "Want the regular?" that he'd actually forgotten what his regular was and it didn't help that his eyes were somehow glued to where you were restocking the pastry shelf. He'd been slightly flustered when he'd sat down but had to hide his grin behind his cup when you looked over at him and were suddenly wearing your own smile.

Jude was too busy staring down at his cup, mind dancing between how pretty you looked tonight and how he really couldn't believe they'd lost, to even notice that you'd slipped into the booth opposite him and he startled when you slid a Biscoff doughnut across to him. His gaze lifted to yours, heart giving a little skip that made him feel slightly nauseous when you sent him a lopsided smile, head tilting towards the dessert.

"I can't-"

"I promise I won't tell." You gave a little shrug of your shoulders, fingers wrapping around the take away cup you'd also brought along with you and Jude's eyes snagged on the little tattoo on your finger, his ears picking up on the teasing lilt to your next words. "Although, I'm not sure who exactly I would tell considering I've never actually seen you with any friends."

Jude tugged the doughnut towards him, trying desperately to ignore the bubble of nerves that were tingling up his spine. He was about to have his first proper conversation with you and he hated that his palms had already gone a little clammy. He played in front of thousands and here he was getting nervous over a conversation with a girl.

"I like coming here to get a bit of peace." This had you raising your eyebrows, a mischievous glint sparking in your eyes as you peered at him over the top of your cup.

"That the only reason?" He blanched slightly at that, blinking over at you as your smile grew and he was more than shocked at the outward question. Of course he knew he hadn't exactly been subtle when watching you but he didn't think you'd straight up ask him about it. He was getting the slight hint that maybe you weren't as shy as you pretended to be.

It was his turn to smile and he watched your gaze drop to his lips, those flutters setting off again when he shifted in his seat. "You sell pretty good coffee." This had you rolling your eyes and he knew full well you had him completely sussed out and he decided in that moment there was no way he was leaving tonight without any way of seeing you properly again.

"Sure we do."

"Plus the customer service is amazing."

"Yeah?" Jude hummed softly, leaning back a little in his seat as he willed himself to not mess anything up. It had been a long time since he'd attempted to flirt with anyone and he felt slightly put off at the thought you might not even be interested. The way you were grinning at him would suggest otherwise however and he hadn't missed the faint blush to your cheeks or the way you kept fiddling with the ring on your thumb.

"Yeah. There's this pretty girl who always adds extra chocolate sprinkles to my cappuccino."

"She could get into trouble for that."

"I won't tell." He threw your own words back at you and marvelled at the way your smile grew, your head turning to watch your co worker clean the table to side of you in order to avoid his gaze. He ran the tip of his finger over the rim of the mug, eyes trained on you and he wondered how it was possible for someone to look so effortlessly beautiful. "I'm Jude by the way."

"I know," You paused, turning your attention back to him. "I'm Y/N." He dropped his gaze pointedly to your pink name badge and you gave a soft laugh, his ears perking at the sound. "Right, you can read." Your laugh had him growing giddy and he wanted to keep making you laugh for as long as he could, the sound something he knew he'd pay to hear forever.

"So, you want half?" He gestured towards the doughnut still sitting uneaten in front of him and watched your gaze bounce between that and him.

"I brought it for you, you looked like you could use cheering up." Jude swallowed thickly, reaching out to tear his napkin in half, doing the same with the dessert before sliding it back across the table towards you. His lips lifted in a smile that had your own head spinning.

"You didn't need to bring anything to cheer me up, could have just brought yourself." You ducked your head, grin bright on your face and he mentally patted himself on the back for how smoothly things seemed to be going. "Why'd you think I needed cheering up anyway?" He watched you dip your finger into the icing on the doughnut, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug and he had to look away when you wrapped your lips around your finger.

"I saw the score."

"You did?" Jude knew that you'd known who he was but he hadn't really given much thought to whether or not you watched him play. A sudden wave of emotion hit him at that and he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to what it would be like to take you to one of his matches.

"I uhm.." You shrugged again, tongue darting out to wet your lips. "I check, y'know, every now and then."

"Oh really?" You caught the teasing edge to his tone and threw him a look, playfully knocking your foot against his beneath the table.

"I have to make sure I know what mood you'll be in when you get here, customer safety first, remember?" Jude snorted at this, head shaking as he brought the doughnut up to his mouth and he was shocked that you mentioning the dreaded match hadn't dampened his mood. Your smile alone seemed to have kept his spirits at a pretty high level.

"What would you have done if I didn't like these doughnuts?"

"Everyone likes them, they're our best seller." You tilted your head slightly to the side and his gaze ran slowly over your neck. "Plus you've been eying them for ages."

"Have not."

"Have too, at one point I thought I was gonna have to hide them out back before you stole one." He rolled his eyes at this, hiding his smile by taking a sip of his drink and he realised that the silly grin on his face hadn’t left since you’d sat down. He knew it was getting late and you’d be leaving soon and his stomach dropping slightly at the thought he would have to wait until tomorrow evening before he spoke to you again.

“Maybe it wasn’t the doughnuts I was looking at.”

“Oh right, the pretty girl who gives you extra chocolate sprinkles.”

“Hmm,” He leant his chin on his hand, elbows resting on the table and locked his eyes on yours, willing himself to stop letting his gaze drop to your mouth. “I like seeing her smile.”

“She does it a lot when the pretty boy with the boring order comes in.” Neither of you could tamper down your smiles, your attention focused completely on the other and it was like you were the only two left in the cafe.

“My order isn’t boring.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

“Ouch.” Your gaze slid from his to the clock on the wall behind his head and he watched your expression shift, your smile dying down slightly.

“Thanks for sharing your doughnut, Alan never lets me eat them.” You were starting to shuffle in the seat, reaching into your pocket for a set of car keys and Jude’s heart skipped because you were leaving and he still hadn’t asked for your number.

“You need to go now?”

“Not all of us spend our nights holed up in here.” You were teasing but Jude didn’t correct you even though he also didn’t spend his nights holed up in here, he always left after you did. He wiped his hands on his trousers, cursing himself for tearing the napkin in half when he could have used it.

“Wait, look I know we don’t actually know each other but I know you know I only come in here for you and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t get your number because I can’t just keep spending my time in here hoping you’ll just, I don’t know, miraculously go out with me so..” He trailed off feeling flustered and nauseous but his stomach twisted when you flashed him a smile, your tongue finding your cheek as you tried to hide it. “Can I get your number?”

“I already gave you it.” You slid the other half of the napkin towards him as you stood up, watching the way his brows drew together in confusion, fingers flipping the white material. “I’m free this weekend, y’know if you wanna go for food you’re not supposed to eat.”

With that you left, leaving Jude perched at the table, your number scribbled on the two halves of his napkin, his grin almost too big for his face as he fought back the feeling of excitement in his chest. He felt ridiculous as he scrambled for his phone to type the digits in, aware that it was most definitely too quick to text you but knowing fine well he didn’t really care. He’d been waiting two weeks for something to happen and he hated the thought of waiting any longer. His smile only grew, his thumbs sliding across the keyboard to type out the message that would be the initial starter of your relationship.

i know u said u were free this weekend but what about tomorrow?

[thegreenfaery]

Have... Have I sussed puff pastry?

[albatris]

ok ok alriiiight ok so the plot of ATDAO

this post is not, like........... well, it’s not gonna be a blurb or a summary or a nice neat synopsis, this is not Professional Writeblr Business, this is, this is, uhhhh

this is like drunk house party logan rambles

works best if you imagine ur just like “hey man how’s it going” super casual and I grasp you firmly by the shoulders and look you dead in the eye and just ramble all of this without taking a single breath

could I have explained in a nice neat concise "elevator pitch" sort of way? probably. mind ur business. that’s not how we do things here at albatris.org

anyway the purpose of this post is “hey people seem to know a lot about the characters and the worldbuilding and the premise but have no clue what happens in the actual story” so I’m not going to be talking about said characters and worldbuilding and premise in depth

in terms of rambles, that stuff’s been covered! this post assumes you know what Ports are, n what the nature of the ATDAO apocalypse is, vaguely what the MCs are like as people......... though I can fetch this info for you if you like

but yeah if you are coming into this post with zero prior ATDAO knowledge........... deeply deeply from the bottom of my heart: sorry

also if this is your first time experiencing One Of These Rambles

also @safe-in-the-steep-cliffs​ and @siarven​ I am tagging you because you said you would like to be tagged and also hi and also I hope y’all knew what you were in for

anyway without further ado

(visual representation of my approach to this rant, not of how complicated my plot actually is)

(my plot is not that complicated)

ALRIGHT

there are two viewpoint characters! and two plotlines which converge near the end of the story, but honestly there’s a very real possibility I will decide these are two separate books meant as companion stories to each other because I love making things difficult for myself yeehaw

ATDAO’s co-protags are Tris and Noa, best buds four years and counting. their friendship is one of the single most important aspects of the story, n the ongoing love and trust they have for each other despite the way unfolding events force their relationship to change is integral to the themes and making the heart of the story what it is. I will now proceed to not mention this friendship for the entire remainder of this post. they’re bros. that’s all u need to know. listen. listen. I have a lot to cover

so yeah, ur first key player is Tris Greer, whose parents are dicks but whose siblings are chill. most notably of said siblings there is Jacob, older brother by thirteen years, whom Tris believes is just about the coolest person on the entire planet. this plotline kicks off when Jacob gets caught in the midst of a freak car accident that kills a dude and wrecks a street corner and also somehow causes Jacob to just kind of................. blip out of existence entirely and without a trace?

n Tris is understandably horrified and distressed by Very Much All Of This, but hey, at least there are responsible adults who can look into this obviously Port-related weird disappearance and figure this mess out, right?

INCORRECT

the relevant interdimensional authorities are brought in to suss out the situation and these authorities are kind of like “hmmmm idk about this” but are all set to take Tris at least somewhat seriously until they learn the following:

that Jacob had already been reported missing to police in his home state three days earlier

that Jacob was in the midst of several ongoing personal crises and at least one nervous breakdown

that Jacob was allegedly tangled up in some real weird shit that would more than account for a disappearance under suspicious circumstances

that Tris is schizophrenic, prone to hallucinations, confusion, memory issues and quote unquote “letting his imagination and anxiety get the better of him”, and precisely zero people can actually corroborate his story that Jacob was even there are the time of the accident to begin with

and after some back-and-forth and Looking Into The Evidence pretty much everyone in any position of authority comes to the conclusion that this is just Ordinary Regular People Crimes and whatever happened to Jacob had nothing to do with weird apocalyptic energies, and that Tris is (at best) stressed out and delusional or (at worst) lying through his teeth because he knows more than he’s letting on

so Tris is forced to hop pretty quick from “I’m sure someone will handle this” to “no one believes me but I’m sure if I can find some concrete proof they’ll listen and someone will handle it” to Well Fuck I Guess That Someone Is Me

cue bizarre reality-hopping fantasy quest, which is ten times easier said than done when most of the time Tris is terrified enough just, like, going to the supermarket

he enlists the help of his new classmate Shara, amateur paranormal investigator and professional weird-bullshit enthusiast, who agrees to help him puzzle out what the fuck happened to Jacob in exchange for his assistance in mapping out Adelaide’s interdimensional “fault lines” as part of her ongoing quest to track down the source of the apocalypse

she’s got big fuckin dreams, ok, go hard or go home

slso worth noting at this point that there HAS been an uptick in Ports and their related reality-bending strangeness in Adelaide recently which is why this is of particular interest to her currently. gotta find out What Makes The Weirdness Tick, gotta find out Why The Sudden Extra Weirdness

..........and also Kai is there

Kai has no nice neat reason to get involved with the plot, Kai just likes drama and being all up in people’s personal business. Tris brings them on board for one single afternoon like “hey I will pay you some money to come to my house and fix my fucked up phone so I can listen to an interdimensional voicemail” but forgot the apparently key addendum “and then leave”

their first three chapters of knowing each other is basically Tris being like “stop inviting yourself into my house we are not friends” and Kai being like “that’s a rude thing to say to your friend. also your sister gave me the netflix password and I used your kitchen to bake pastries feel free to help yourself”

but yeah so Tris’s story mostly focuses on his quest to figure out where Jacob got yeeted to and how to get him safely home (y’all probably know a bit about The Unreality already maybe?), whilst also dealing with rising family tensions, whatever shifty stuff Jacob was involved with prior to his disappearance, and his own creeping doubts about his perceptions of reality

n I’m also saying flat out it’s not a plot that’s going the “oh the whole thing was just a delusion all along” route because ew

his psychosis is a fairly involved part of his character but the explorations around it are more to do with, like......... the difficulties he has in trusting himself and whether he has the luxury of letting himself get swept into some Big Weird Implausible Adventure when this has extremely different implications for him than it would someone else. n eventually to how his success and survival is not ~in spite of~ but specifically because of the different way he understands and interprets the world and the skills he’s developed

THAT TANGENT WAS A PERSONAL RANT IT WAS NOT RELEVANT I just have words to say on the subject of how psychosis is treated in fiction and didn’t want people jumping to the “none of it is real” conclusion anyway ok moving on

ur SECOND key player is Noa Yun, who has rather a lot on her plate right now. she’s broke as fuck and her mum is sick and her car is making Noises and she’s not getting enough hours at her job at Not-IKEA and everyone is on her back about her failing studies as if that’s a thing she has the energy to care about. feeling rather backed into a corner by life’s bullshit and her financial situation, she blatantly lies her way into a field job at the Department of Interdimensional Instabilities, because A) surely it can’t be THAT bad, and B) what does she have to lose?

so more or less what she’s doing is the equivalent of emergency services for Port-related weirdness, it’s going out and dealing with highly unstable otherworldly energies head on, navigating Weird Phenomena and bendy patches in reality......... it is, among other things, a job that’s relatively easy to get into because no one wants to touch it with a ten foot pole unless they absolutely have to

n the DII is a whole other post, this shit has lots of different functions and levels and branches and corruption and secrets and a tendency to view workers who have to go out and deal with the brunt of the apocalypse head-on as vaguely expendable and I’ve talked about it a bit before and in more Serious Words

things kinda kick off for her when in true Noa fashion she hurls herself into a dangerous situation to help out a coworker, n enters a pretty standard issue “overlap” where the barriers between universes are a little fucky, but hey, she seems to come out of it with nary a scratch, so it’s reasonable to assume everything is fine, right?

INCORRECT AGAIN

she basically gets some whacked-out otherworldly energies latched onto her that are now following her through her everyday life, and it turns out she’s starting to bend the reality around her the way certain types of Ports do, which is! obviously not ideal! she’s not exactly a Port herself, because she’s pretty sure that’s impossible, but it’s clear capital s Something happened to her in that overlap, and she doubts it’s good news. and to make matters even more disconcerting, she’s now being dogged at every step by strange visions of a child who speaks in an unfamiliar language and who seems Real Fuckin Pissed at her

so her thing is basically “I acquired fucked up reality-bending powers against my will and they might be lowkey killing me ‘cause Ports are notoriously unstable like that and also I’m haunted for some godforsaken reason” which all somehow ended up being, like, the least interesting part of her plotline for me lmao

oh and Noa also enlists the help of Shara, Because Ghosts

anyway yeah so her search to find out what’s happening to her re: Weird Children, being a Port-adjacent something-or-other, and whether there’s a way to stop her own unravelling leads her to (rogue computer programmer? mad scientist? general shifty bastard?) Laurence Marrick Thiele, who claims to have suffered a similar affliction in the past and now does some real interesting research on the subject. n this guy. well. he’s got some fuckin stuff going on

he definitely knows more about the nature of Ports than he should. also is he actually researching what he says he’s researching? also what’s with all the weird tech? also did he just straight up murder that guy Avery? all will be revealed later, maybe, if I feel like it

but yeah at about the same time as Noa goes “actually fuck this you’re shady as hell I’m out” she stumbles into, like, The Actual Reality of what Marrick is up to re: manipulating Ports and interdimensional doorways for his own gain, and the various ways this spells bad news not only for her but potentially for the entire city and anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire, and she shifts gear to “actually you know what I’m gonna kick your ass”

there are various reasons for this, but first and foremosterly you have to understand that Noa’s got a fuckload of pent-up rage and she will bring it in full force the moment you say some stupid shit like “some people are expendable” or “it’s inevitable for the greater good”

(there’s also a fun ongoing subplot with her work at the DII where she and her team are investigating a string of strange illnesses with bizarre symptoms that appear to be spreading via obscure radio stations so that’s. happening. I guess?)

but yeah the main story here mostly follows Noa’s attempts to undermine Marrick, bastard supreme, and find a way to fuck him up before he goes, like, Full Cartoon Supervillain, n also like........... her attempts to keep up her work at the DII despite her rising paranoia that the teammates she’s growing to care about will notice her increasingly unstable state and the fact that she’s all tangled up with the very forces they’re meant to be thwarting. n along the way discovering the reality of what happened to her in The Aforementioned Overlap Incident and about her visions and such

so that’s all that. did that make sense

n she’s got a whole arc going on about trust and learning to lean on others, like, she comes into this story as a very standoffish person with lots of paranoia, she’s spent much of her life feeling like she can only rely on herself, n she’s. well. yeah, like I said, she’s got a lot of anger at the world and at the various systems that have failed her and her loved ones, n the story puts her in a position to become even more isolated

and her plotline isn’t so much “you have no reason to be angry or afraid” or her learning to Not Be, It’s more, like........... yeah you have every fucking right to be furious and of course you’re afraid! but there are people around you who love you and who will jump at the chance to defend you and who will help you carry the weight of your anger and grief and none of this needs to be yours to bear alone which is extremely cheesy

which applies to both her Weird Supernatural Goings-On as well as her regular ordinary life goings-on

I feel like Alice and Jet deserve a mention for Noa’s plotline but also this went on and on too long already so. well. Alice and Jet exist! yep. they work with Noa at the DII. I have things to say about them. I will not be saying them today

and uhhhhhh

in general, for Tris, his plotline, you wanna think, like, fantasy/adventure vibes which veer pretty sharply into horror, and for Noa you wanna think...... kinda, sci-fi mystery conspiracy vibes with a dash of some superhero bullshit maybe except not really

and that

pretty much is it I think

also the fact that Kai just invites themself into the plot for funsies and then is dragged kicking and screaming into caring about themself and making positive changes in their life means there was no convenient place in this post to be like

"oh there's also a whole major subplot about a time loop"

but there's also a whole major subplot about a time loop

goodnight! thanks for coming to....................... whatever this was! have a nice saturday everyone

[futurepresentashes]

@ burningstarfour said: “I’m scared of ending up alone…” (from @rubyheals​ obvsss)

- The Last of Us - || Accepting

     He appreciates her. More than he ever lets on- tucked away in the corners of his heart that he thought he’d locked away. He doesn’t know when it snuck up on him; convinced himself that if he’d seen it he would have stopped it dead in its tracks. To love someone in the past would firmly plant his feet in two worlds, throwing him into the completely avoidable position of being able to give up neither Hope nor Ruby.

     But he wasn’t someone who could just turn his feelings off- no matter what he tried to convince himself or others of. Emotion ever seemed to burn within him like embers that threatened to burst into flame and consume him.

     When he lays on her table, pastry and coffee set aside, she seems unbothered as she ever was in the face of his injuries (save things like nicks and bruises where she knew he was simply there for lunch and ‘wasting my time, Nathan’). Her words catch him off-guard, amuse him even as bloodloss and exhaustion make him feel like he’s going to pass out. The reaction to a man with a bloodied shirt and metal arm dipping into the shop to pick up an order had indeed been predictably New York- a few stares, but mostly unbothered. Unflappability must have been in everyone’s leasing contracts. He laughs under her hands despite the ache it causes. When she leans down to kiss him, he doesn’t move at first. Shock’s worn off, it’s not that, it feels more like her lack of thinking about it didn’t let him hear it from her mind first.

     But he kisses her back. He would have thought it'd feel unnatural, but it doesn’t- in fact it feels almost like... catching up.

     And then it’s over. He lays back on the table and she goes back to patching him up. Perhaps they would talk about it when both felt more comfortable with it- and Nathan wasn’t bleeding on her table. For now, he was exhausted. Talking about anything felt like too much effort, much less trying to suss out his feelings and how he wanted to approach this further. Instead, he closes his eyes, feeling that odd warmth of her work healing him. He could hear her talking to herself, unsure if she thought he was asleep or if she simply needed to talk given what she’d done.

     ‘I’m scared of ending up alone...‘ He catches those words out of the rest. He wants to reassure her, tell her that he didn’t mind it, that he would kiss her a dozen more times if he had the energy. But he doesn’t, and settles for moving one of his hands to rest atop hers. There’s a pause, and he squeezes her hand as if to show that it’s not an accident. As she returns to healing, he relaxes more, though he does remember her warning from nearly a year before, and endeavors not to fall asleep. He wants to stay awake, anyways.

[gegenji]

A Minute Movement of Masks and Monsters

There was a bit of a sickening crick as Tsunene finally got up from her work and forcibly popped the stiffness out of her back. A sound that echoed a bit over-loud in the chamber she had been toiling in. A chamber that - while a few degrees less cramped than the musty cell she had been in not all that long ago - still felt a bit like a prison.

The reasoning for that was a bit complicated, of course, since it was technically different from those prior arrangements. She was... relatively free to come and go as she pleased, though she always had the strange suspicion whenever she did depart that some manner of eyes were on her at all times. And, as was promised, the facilities were decently well stocked for her purposes. Purposes that were at the behest of her strange benefactor, rather than her own desired goals.

And that was honestly the rub of the whole situation: she had wanted to make super-soldiers off of this strange and potentially profitable discovery she had all but been handed as an act of providence. She had planned to amass wealth and fame and power with her alchemical genius in deciphering the mystery and replicating its results. Not be stuck in relative obscurity, limited to trying to create the next big gimmick for the brutes of the Bloodsands to throw themselves at.

Though, to be fair, she argued with herself as she idly cracked each finger joint individually, this was still technically better than the alternatives. The idea of having a wealthy patron to fund her experiments and developments was not something she could so easily dismiss out of hand. And even being stuck doing this sort of... alchemical grunt-work was infinitely preferable to withering away in a Flames jail cell. Or, worse, having to fight it out on the Bloodsands like her former assistant D'lilac.

D'lilac who - thanks to Tsunene's gift, of course - was doing quite well on that front. An up-and-coming rising star of the gladiatorial world with a "special technique" that was "surprising, entertaining, and enticingly powerful." Or, at least, that's what all the posters about her liked to proclaim. Posters likely manufactured by that selfsame patron and benefactor.

While the alchemical genius herself was stuck huddling over beakers. Seeking to replicate some variation of the formula from sheer memory and experimentation to meet with the ever-rising standards her one successful test subject was setting. Which was certainly moving faster than Tsunene's progress. The lady Plainsfolk had managed some interesting results on the test beasts that had been provided to her, but given all the positive buzz the 'Legendary Leozaru' or whatever was getting... they didn't seem quite good enough.

It figured, Tsunene noted with an irritated sigh, that her troublesome assistant continued to make things more difficult for the lady Plainsfolk even in her successes.

All of this added up to just one thing: that it was definitely time to step away from the alchemical table and get some fresh air. Clear her head and indulge in what little freedoms she did have, comparatively. And perhaps in some of those delectable pastries from down in the markets. If she was going to be observed while out and about, she might as well be observed enjoying something sweet.

... Or that had been the plan, anyway. Tsunene had only made it halfway up the staircase that went from her alchemical workshop to the door when the latter creaked open and her way was figuratively and quite literally blocked by the hulking form of Swyrkhan. The Roegadyn wearing one of his apparently massive collection of similar-looking pinstripe vests. This one having the audacity of being a bright yellow - as if mocking the lady Lalafell with the color of the sunlight she was being denied at the moment.

And it got only more problematic from there, because the big lug wasn't alone. Moving in a dramatically sharp movement that Tsunene thought - or perhaps hoped - would've sent the lumbering behemoth tumbling over the railing to the floor below, Swyrkhan sidestepped to give way to the lady Lalafell's second guest.

None other than her ‘illustrious’ patron himself: "Master Hohoyahu."

As the name suggested, the man in question was a Lalafell like herself - Dunesfolk rather than Plainsfolk - and to stick to more... polite adjectives in order to describe him, Tsunene would likely go with "eccentric." After all, a man whose only constant was the black-and-white jester's mask on his face while everything else from clothing to hair to even eye color seemed to change at whim every time she saw him could hardly be considered "normal." And that was before one got caught in conversation with him. Something that Tsunene had a sinking feeling was an inevitability now.

"Ah, there's my masterful alchemist!" the masked Dunesfolk announced in a voice that somehow seemed to be even more bombastic than Swyrkhan's. And the Roe already seemed to speak as if he were on a stage rather than in a normal conversation. Hohoyahu paused only long enough for the echo in the chambers to begin to fade before he continued right on. "I do hope this sun has been most agreeable for your research!"

"'Twould be far more fortuitous if I was free to fetch myself some food," Tsunene grumbled quietly, deigning to not reveal that this was for sweets. And quietly hoping that presenting the need to eat in a more vague sense would allow her to escape. A hope that was quickly dashed.

"Now now now, sustenance can wait for just a minute or two, can it not?" Hohoyahu countered, waggling his finger - an action Swyrkhan mimicked, which only made the motion all the more irritating to Tsunene. They were like some sort of deranged buddy act. "After all, I have so graciously come to see what progress you have made for me! With D'lilac making such wonderful waves, the audience is ready and willing to see what else we can bring!"

"Progress plods, as per what I have perpetually presented in those superfluous reports I pen for you," the alchemist stated flatly. "Seeking to synthesize the solution from scratch without source material - let alone make modifications for your 'marketable monsters'  - is not an act I can accomplish with any sort of alacrity."

"Now now now!" came the counter, in the exact same cadence and pitch as before. "We both know you have quite the mind in there." He was in front of Tsunene in a quick flourish of a step that her eyes could only barely follow and... actively knocked on her head as if it was made of wood. "I'm sure you must have something to show for your work thus far!"

Tsunene stumbled back a couple steps, rubbing at the bruise she was absolutely sure was forming where her erratic patron had rapped on her skull. "I can present the potion I have prepared thus far, sussed using sanguine samples from your supposed celebrity," she relented, motioning stiffly back down the stairs. "But I offer no promises as to its potency. Instead, it has proved... problematic."

"Intriguing!" Hohoyahu stated with a sharp clap of his hands before motioning for her to proceed on ahead of him. "Let us go and take a look then, shall we? I'm absolutely certain that together we can solve whatever problems you're having!"

“... Delightful.”

“Indeed!”

A forcefully swallowed sigh, and Tsunene started her slow trek back down the stairs - her dreams of pastries on hold until she had sufficiently placated her patron. To hurry that process, she began her explanation once she heard Hohoyahu and his manservant following behind. Which wasn't too difficult, given the sharp clack of their shoes on the stone of the staircase. She wouldn'tve been surprised if they were wearing tap shoes or something - they seemed the sort.

"Given my former fellow's... feline features, I figured that the first flagship should be of similar stock," she explained matter-of-factually as she descended. "Her tincture turned her towards that... more primal state. So it stood that solutions sourced from her should show similar results..."

"And that's why you requested the couerl kitten!" Hohoyahu chimed in with another clap of his hands that neatly interrupted Tsunene's train of thought. "I knew there was a reason for that one."

"Impeccably deduced, sir. And lo, we provided as we said we would," Swyrkhan added with a grand spread of his hands. Or as much as he could without bashing one of them into the wall. "And many suns ago besides. So, Sunshine-" Tsunene frowned at the nickname. "-whatever happened to that illustrious little test subject?"

"Suns spent ensuring the subject wouldn't simply... succumb to an untested solution!" the lady Plainsfolk snapped, pausing on the bottom-most step and whirling around on the Roegadyn. She paused to collect herself - not willing to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her flustered - and adjusted her glasses. "I am a professional, not a poisoner."

“So! No... catdavers, then,” Hohoyahu interjected, forcing Tsunene to swallow a groan this time as her patron made a dramatic bow for his horrendous wordplay.

“No... sir...” The sarcasm dripped despite her best attempts to restrain it, and she moved to a holding cell set in the wall. Well away from everything else, for good reason. “Not as such.”

A click, and Tsunene pulled open the door and motioned inside. Inviting them in. “She has a...” She groaned a little before continuing. “Stormy disposition. So step lightly.”

“There we go, Sunshine!” Swyrkhan applauded. “By the Twelve, we might even see a smile from you at some point!”

“Unlikely.”

Hohoyahu merely laughed behind his mask, and strode through the door without nary a care in the world. And then there was a brilliant flash as a bolt of lightning crackled out from the darkness of the cell, striking where the bombastic Lalafell stood.

Or where he had been standing. There was a blackened mark where he had been, but the Dunesfolk himself was mere ilms off to one side. And, for some inexplicable reason, in a pose.

Tsunene wasn’t quite sure which part of it assaulted her sensibilities more.

“My!” Hohoyahu gasped dramatically. “You certainly...”

Another bolt of lightning sidestepped, complete with new pose.

“Weren’t...”

And a third, with similar results as Hohoyahu twirled into a flourish on the third dodge.

“Kidding!”

As the eccentric Dunesfolk pressed further onward, Tsunene could only gape in disbelief before turning to the Roegadyn manservant who seemed completely unfazed by such antics. And only one word managed to escape her lips: “How?”

“Ah, but a true performer never reveals their secrets!” Swyrkhan countered, in a cadence that instantly identified the quote as something from Hohoyahu himself. Then, with a chuckle, the Roegadyn surprised her further by obliging with an actual answer. Of sorts. “Master Hohoyahu has always claimed to be able to see a couple steps ahead in the dance.”

“And such foresight somehow allows him to sidestep being struck by lightning!?”

“You created Miqo’te able to shapeshift into a beast,” Hohoyahu responded from a couple steps behind Tsunene, startling her with the suddenness. Whirling about gave her an even more audacious sight: a striped puffball was floating lazily and purring mere ilms above the masked Lalafell’s head. The static of the cloud-couerl kitten causing his hair to stand on end.

“I would’ve thought that brought with it a far more open mind,” he sighed grandly and shook his head, the action allowing some strands of hair to escape the static pull and drift back down into place. “Nevertheless, I rather like this one. Does she have a name?”

“... Subject C-1.”

“No no no!“ Hohoyahu countered with another waggle of his finger as the kitten made lazy circles around his head. “That will not do!“

He immediately pointed to Swyrkhan. “Dear, dear Swyr, you always seem to have a knack for names. If you would, please? Show her how it’s done.”

The Roegadyn folded his arms over his chest and let out a long, thoughtful sound. As if he were observing a grand painting in a museum. Stout fingers stroked a chiseled chin time and time again as the Sea Wolf pondered. And then, as if inspired by an aesthetically appropriate bolt from the blue...

“Mjeowlnir.”

“There we go!” Hohoyahu laughed with a clap of his hands, startling the newly named kitten - who sent out little sparks of lightning all over the place in her alarm. None of which hit the masked Lalafell, of course, but also fortunately did not travel far enough to strike the other two. Though Tsunene scampered back - and behind Swyrkhan to use him as a human shield - just in case.

“Well done, Swyr. A master of words, as always,” Hohoyahu continued, reaching up to scoop the floating fluffball into his arms. “Well, I think this delightful little prize is proof enough that you still have merit. I do look forward to what else you will create.” He started his way back up the stairs before pausing a couple steps up. “Preferably a little more monstrous next time, if you please.”

And then he continued his ascent, running his fingers through the frizzy floof of Mjeowlnir.

“Do make sure to take the Master’s suggestions to heart,” Swyrkhan added in an overly dramatic stage whisper, a hand over his mouth as if to direct the words only to Tsunene. “It is... in your best interests.”

With that enigmatic warning, the Sea Wolf followed after his patron - taking the steps three at a time to catch up to the smaller man - and leaving Tsunene still wondering what all had just happened. Though the few moments of almost deafening silence that followed after that bombastic duo had left didn’t help clear that question up any. Instead, it left the lady Lalafell wishing she was just dealing with D’lilac’s eccentricities again.

... and with a desire for something to drink to go along with that pastry.

[jere-me--oh-my]

Jeremy was a bit oblivious. He wasn't completely oblivious; he'd sussed out that despite all the schemes and grand hopes, Pip and Penny were not likely to be friends any time soon (although he'd never say never. Look at Pip and Phineas, after all). But he couldn't picture anyone not knowing how crazy he was about Pip. And he thought of buying a friend a coffee as such an innocent gesture, it didn't occur to him that other people wouldn't.

But he did still manage to pick up on her hesitation. "Uh, I mean, if you're sure, then ok. Just the tea and the scone then please-" he confirmed to the girl at the till with a smile, a little puzzled.

He moved on quickly, figuring that some people just were funny about money. Maybe Penny was one of those people who didn't like feeling in debt to others or something like that.

"I mean, if I see you eat 15 pastries right now I'm mostly just going to be impressed... and a little worried about how that cooking experiment is going. They've told you about cereal, right? You can eat breakfast?" He teased.

@little-superstar-penny

Stormy With A Chance || Penemy

[pocketfulofrogers]

Be Brave

Pairing: Adam Ruzek x Reader Jay Halstead x Sister!Reader

Request: If you’re not busy can you do a Adam Ruzek from Chicago PD request where the reader is Jay’s civilian sister and she has to go undercover with Adam as her date to her high school reunion (which she didn’t plan to attend) because someone is targeting girls in her high school class which causes their feelings to come out after months of flirting?

Summary: Jay is a badass detective and Will is a badass doctor. Why would the youngest Halstead be any different? 

Notes: When I say this one got away from me, I mean it. Just shy of 4.3k words and I have no idea how that happened. Hope you like! Requests open!

The first memory Jay has of you is a fuzzy one. You’re young with pigtails and shoes too big for your little feet. The sun was high, concrete hot, and there’s a small breeze bringing in the smell of charred hot dogs from one of the neighbor’s houses. Your tiny hand is in his, sticky with dried ice cream.

You catch sight of a butterfly and chase after it, but the toe of your shoe catches the curb and you go down. Hard. When he sees the blood running lines down your shin, the tears flooding your waterline, he picks you up, cradles you to him, and carries you home.

He sets you down on the edge of the bathtub and wipes your tears. “Be brave.” He tells you.

Will wanders in with curious eyes and jumps up on the counter. Jay begins to rummage in the cupboard while Will reaches to the shelf above him to lay out a band-aid. Jay wets a wash rag and begins to clean you up as best he can. You hiss when he reaches broken skin.

He looks up at you and his heart tugs at the sight of your face contorted in pain, the silent tears coating your rosy cheeks. He wonders if he should stop, let the softer touch of your mother handle it.

You close your eyes and scrunch your nose. “Be brave.” You whisper to yourself.

Jay finishes quickly, places the bandage, kisses it lightly, and taps your nose to make you giggle. You thank him, he tells you that’s what big brothers do.

He’s spent his whole life looking after you, so when you show up at his apartment trying to convince him that two murders from your childhood neighborhood are connected, he’s clearly not thrilled in the slightest.

“Y/N, homicide is on it.” He tells you again.

“Intelligence should be on it.” You tell him again. “Lizzy had two kids, Jay.” He does his best not to look at you, knows as soon as he does, he’ll cave. “Jay.”

He turns and sees you with your wide eyes, eyebrows drawn upward, arms crossed, hip cocked. That’s his first mistake

“I’ll bring it to Voight, but you have to stay away from this. It could be a coincidence, but if it’s not, you could be a target.”

“Alright, fine.”

His second mistake was believing you.

When Jay reports that Hank agreed to lift the case from homicide, your first stop is none other than Adam Ruzek. A good man who’s skin you enjoyed getting under. He’d always tell you, “you’re Jay’s sister, we can’t blah blah blah”. You respected that, even thought it was slightly honorable. Didn’t mean you’d stop having your fun.

He opens the door in a tank top and jeans, hair still wet from a shower. You watch droplets chase each other down his skin and you find yourself frozen. Did you have the perfect witty remark before you saw him? Sure did. Did you now? Absolutely not.

“How can I help you?” He prompts, looking more confused than anything else.

You recover quickly, stretch your lips into a cheeky grin and look him up and down. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I want.”

He rolls his eyes. “Y/N- “

“Relax Ruz, I want information on your case, not to see your dick.” You say as you walk in and turn back to smirk at him.

Funny enough, the only thing he wanted was to kiss that smirk right off your lips, take you to his bed and rip your clothes off.

“We’ve been instructed not to say anything to you.” He shrugs. You groan and throw your head back in frustration, not so quietly cursing Jay’s ‘big brother’ complex. “However, if I were to leave the room and you were to read the file on the counter next to the microwave, well, I guess there’s nothing I could do about that.” He winks at you before he leaves the room.

“You’re the best.” You sing-song after him.

You pour over the files. Names, bank statements, recent communications. Out of three scenes there was only one eye witness and he was questionable at best. How was that possible? This definitely wasn’t done by a pro, the medical examiner’s report had detailed gruesome, messy deaths. Emotional and frantic.

Adam finds you on his living room floor, papers sprawled before you. You have the end of one of his pens tucked between your lips and he can’t say he’ll be mad at the teeth marks you’re likely leaving.

You’re so completely engrossed, you don’t hear his soft chuckle from behind you or even notice the scent of coffee and vanilla in the air. You only notice him when he clears his throat from above you and hands you a warm mug.

“Oh sorry.” You wince. “I suppose I’ve been here a little too long.”

He waves you off. “What are you writing down?”

“Anything that sticks out to me really. I’m sure it’s not anything you haven’t already come up with, but I just know there’s a connection between them.” You frown at the mess in front of you.

“Well, you did graduate with them, right?” He asks. You nod. “Was there maybe a person or a class they had in common?”

You scrunch your nose and begin to gnaw on your bottom lip. “I don’t know.” You whisper.

It was right there; you swore it was. It sat heavy on the tip of your tongue ready to fall at any moment, but nothing you’d just seen had jogged a memory.

You hover your fingers over the pages. “I thought files like these usually had pictures of the scenes, the… bodies.”

“I didn’t think you needed to see that.” He says softly. “Hey.” He tries to catch your attention. “You’re not going to solve this in one sitting, Nancy Drew.” You roll your eyes and he shrugs. “At least you’ll have something to talk about at your reunion.” You look to him with furrowed brows. “Your… high school reunion?”

You had forgotten. Whether that was on accident or on purpose is unknown. “Oh, yeah, no. Definitely not going to that.” You laugh. He questions you with a head tilt. “It’s just not really my scene, Ruz.” You say simply. “I’m supposed to be meeting Will and Jay for lunch, I should go. Thank you for- uh- you know.”

“Breaking a few laws to please you?” He chuckles.  

You smile softly at him and he walks you to the door, but you pause just over the threshold. “If Jay asks if you’ve seen me you say…?” You prompt.

“There’s a third Halstead?” He places a hand over his chest, feigns a shocked expression. Your laugh echoes through his chest and he marvels at the sound. Crisp and light, the perfect breath of fresh air.

Adam feeds you information over the next few days, but informs you he won’t tell you anything truly important. “Last thing I need is Jay blaming me for you getting yourself in trouble.” He’d say. “No, being detective adjacent does not make you an almost detective.”

**

You’re perched on Adam’s desk, leaned forward to offer him his choice of sugar-coated pastries. He takes one gratefully and sinks his teeth in. Powdered sugar coats the corner of his mouth and you have to stop yourself from reaching out to wipe it, preferably with your tongue.

You shut that thought down quickly.

Jay walks in, catches sight of you and you know he sees red. He’s almost as mad as that time you put bleach in his conditioner. You roll your eyes at Adam and he coughs to hide his laugh. You jump off his desk, plaster the sweetest smile of innocence you can muster, and hold the box of treats out to him.

“I got your- “

“I thought I told you to stay away from this.” He cuts you off.

“Did you? I thought that was more of a suggestion.”

He pulls you into a hallway by your arm, rough enough to catch you off guard. His eyes stare daggers at you and you watch as he balls his fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He’s afraid. You’ve never seen him afraid before.

“This isn’t a game or like one of your crime shows, Y/N. This is serious. We’ve already found two more girls from your class.”

But you already knew that.

“Jesus, Jay, I’m not a child.” You spit. “I know exactly how dangerous this job can be. How many times have I sat by your beside at Med? How many times have you called me and said,” You lower your voice, patronizingly imitating him, ““Ok, don’t freak out but…”?” You’re silent for a moment, waiting for a response. He doesn’t really have one. “Girls are dying. Girls I knew! I had dinner with Chelsea two months ago. If you’ve found two more, that means I probably know who did it. And I know exactly how to catch him.”

His eyes widen. “Absolutely- “

But you’re already gone.

You ask Hank for the floor and he grants it to you. You list out some of your more notable theories, most of which they’ve already looked into. You point out the fact that, if his last four victims were from the same high school, it’s likely his fifth would be too. Assuming he’s not done yet. What better place to grab her than the reunion tomorrow?

“Now you want to go to that?” Adam pipes up.

“Oh yeah, because walking around a gym chatting up people I never really liked who are pretending to have better lives than they do in order to impress people they also never liked is a great time. Of course I don’t want to go, but this is our best option.”

“’Our’?” Hank echoes.

You straighten your back, square your shoulders and nod. “I get a plus one, but you can’t have someone impersonate me and everyone knew Jay. Chances are I know this person. Best case scenario I suss out your bad guy.”

“And worst case?” Jay asks, clearly seething.

You ignore your brother and turn back to Hank instead. “I find you a new suspect to interrogate.”

Jay barks out a laugh. “Or, the killer is there, you’re on his list, he corners you, and you get- “

“Enough.” Hank cuts him off. “We wire her up, send her with a date and monitor the whole thing from across the street. Keep her as safe as possible.”

Jay watches you, your shoulders back, eyes alert, mouth set in a straight line and he can’t help but feel sick. The same determined look you’ve had your whole life and he knows there’s not a single thing he can do about it.

Sometimes he thinks you take ‘be brave’ too far.

Early the next morning, he corners you in the locker room. You complain about not having had any sleep with all the prepping you’ve had to do. He pulls out his phone, clicks Will’s contact number, puts it on speaker, and hands it to you.

It rings twice before he picks up.

You and Jay go back and forth explaining what exactly was going on. Most of it was you and him arguing over details. Will stays quiet, lets you hash it out. He catches the important bits, but for a moment he wonders when he became the voice of reason in this trio.

The idea of you being sent under cover to catch a serial killer or spree killer or whatever term you both had finally settled on did make him nervous. However, he’s been to a kick boxing class with you before and the only idea scarier than an angry you is a Jay with a gun.

“I’m assuming he’s going to keep you safe, so why is he making you call me?”

“I think he’s convinced I’m gonna die.” You shoot Jay a look before he can argue.

“Oh, I see. You though I could talk our stubborn little sister out of something she’s already set on, because, as we all know, if she won’t listen to you, she’ll definitely hear me out.”

“I thought you could reason with her.”

He laughs. “Because I’m known for being the reasonable one.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, but if you do die, can I get your apartment?”

“Will!” Jay chastises.

“It’s such a great view!” He adds. You’re fairly certain he’s only half joking.

“I’ll add to my testament you can only have it if you finally ask out that doctor you’ve been pining over.”

He’s quiet again. “Your death might be the best thing for my love life.”

**

Antonio runs through the school’s blueprints with you and details every exit strategy they’ve put together. Jay goes over codewords with you, Kevin tasks himself with calming your nerves, and Hank takes you through every worst-case scenario until your brain melts. He informs you he’s sending Adam with you, and you’re about to question why when Jay interrupts, asks to have a moment alone with you.

“We’re in too deep now for you to get me to pull away from this.” You say quickly.

Jay takes a moment to look at you, but can’t get the image of that little pigtailed girl leaving snot stains on his shirt out of his head. You had grown so strong and sometimes he forgets that. He’d love nothing more than to convince you to go home where he’ll know you’ll be safe, but, instead, he places his hands on either side of your shoulders and looks you straight in the eye. “Be brave.” He tells you. You take a deep breath and nod.

The next few hours are a blur of curling irons and lip liner. You pull nervously at the lace of your sleeve, begin to twirl burgundy fabric between your fingers and Kim grabs you hand, offers you an assuring smile and promises they have your back.

Adam comes in, a sarcastic remark tittering on the edge of his tongue, but when he sees you, wrapped in red like a rose, it falls off. He’s only able to mumble something along the lines of, “car’s here.”

You fill the strange silence during the car ride with back story details. You met at a Blackhawk’s game, he spilt his beer down your back when he got upset over what he thought was an unfair call, and here you are seven months later. You said ‘I love you’ first, a detail he felt the need to argue, but you agreed to move into his place. You point out that, in real life, you’d never leave your view willingly.  

He opens your door and takes your hand, but you hesitate just before the door.

He moves his hand to the side of your face and grazes your cheek bone. “Hey.” He says softly. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. You say the word and I will drive you home, no questions.”

You close your eyes, lean into his touch, and for a moment you consider his offer. “No.” you breathe out. You’re met with worried eyes and he’s about to protest when you shake your head. “I can do this.” He nods, eyes still worried, and grips your hand a little tighter.

Over the next hour you have so many small talk conversations that the people begin to blur together. You ask about jobs, kids, new houses. Most know your brother became a cop, so you don’t have to worry about trying to work the case in and Adam is strangely good at getting alibis from people without them knowing he’s also a cop. You flitter around with his hand always on your lower back and you can’t say you mind.

“Tell me, have you always been a badass?” He asks you seriously.

You purse your lips and contemplate for a moment. “No.” You answer truthfully. He was expecting a sarcastic remark, or a jab at Jay, your honesty surprises him. “When Jay enlisted and Will went to med school, I was truly alone for the first time.” He’s listening, watching you intently and suddenly the moment is too real, the air too heavy. You wiggle your brows to break the tension. “I supposed that’s when I became the best Halstead.” You whisper.

That’s when you see him. Slicked back hair and deep-set eyes, there’s something in his nauseating smirk that triggers the memory. A young boy with grabby hands and pushy words sulking around groups of girls. Those four girls did have someone in common, unfortunately so did you. He makes eye contact and stretches thin lips into a toothy smile. You do your best to mirror it.

The next five minutes include a very long string of decisions, the first being not telling Adam. You know there’s no way he’d let you get anywhere near this guy, which would keep you from getting a confession on tape and justice for those girls, so you had to find a way to lose him. You do the first thing that comes to mind. You chug your wine and his untouched drink, say something about crowds making you nervous, and tell him you’ll get the refills.

He finds your behavior odd, but then again you were a civilian undercover helping them look for a killer. Perhaps he’d be more concerned if you were completely calm. Jay told him to not let you out of his sight, but the bar was within his eyeline and he was in the middle of getting some information from a retired teacher. What harm could there be?

You hadn’t even placed your order with the bartender when there’s a tap on your shoulder. “Y/N, hey.” He stands too close to you, the smell of cigarettes and whiskey heavy on his tongue.

You hear Jay’s voice whispering “be brave�� in the back of your mind and force a surprised expression before you morph it into a sweet smile. “Richards, right? Michael?”

His smile grows impossibly wide at the knowledge that you remember him. You start with the usual questions and he tells you he’s actually between jobs now, looking to start over after things ended with his fiancé. He paints a picture of a perfect man in a spell of bad luck who seems to believe he’ll get by on just his charm.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” He asks.

You ignore the pit in your stomach and the bile at the back of your throat when you trail your fingers up his arm. “I’d love that. My car is out back, it’ll be easy to slip away.”

He smiles devilishly at you and you take a moment to make sure Adam is distracted before you take his hand and pull him into a hallway. You’re sure to keep the exit strategies Antonio mapped out in the back of your mind, and fall behind to allow a distance to form between you.

He’s in the middle of a comment when you cut him off. “Did you pull a similar stunt with Chelsea?” You ask. He turns on you. “Lizzy was married with kids. I don’t imagine you thought you’d be successful there, so you just killed her. But Chelsea? She was fresh off a bad breakup and back in town.”

“What are you- “

“Did she reject you like she did in high school?” You bite out. You can only imagine the fit Jay is throwing right now, but you just need to hear him say it. “I didn’t know those two other girls well, but I bet they did the same. Did it make you feel small? Like less- “

“Shut up!” He yells as he reaches behind him to pull out a gun. He trains it directly on you.

See, you hadn’t planned for a gun, he had never used one before. You only put the distance between you because it’s harder for someone to hit or stab you when your farther away. But now there’s a pistol pointed directly at your chest and all the training Jay has even given you for this exact moment is useless.

“Drop the gun.” Adam bellows from behind you.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!” Michael counters.

“You don’t want to do that.” He tries to reason.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he does.” You mutter. “I’m right, though aren’t I? Why now?” Your blood chills with a sudden realization. “What really happened with your fiancé?” You press harder.

“Don’t worry, the bitch will get what’s coming right after you. She wanted to break things off because I wasn’t enough. You all think you’re so much- “

“You pathetic piece of- ”

“Yeah, maybe don’t provoke the guy with the gun on you?” Adam quips. You huff, but withhold the rest of your remark.

Adam’s slightly closer now, using the distraction you’re providing to move in. You feel a breeze graze your skin and the team files in to surround him. Jay flanks your other side, asks if you’re alright.

“Give it up, you got nowhere to go.” Antonio announces from behind him.

Michael falters for a second before he pulls his lips into that same devilish grin and you swear it almost splits his face in two. “Maybe. But four out of five isn’t too bad.”

He pulls the trigger and you drop.

You’ve imagined being shot several times and you definitely thought it would hurt more. You haven’t willed yourself to open your eyes yet, but all you can feel is pressure over your torso and something soaking your dress. Jay’s yelling, but one voice cuts clear from the chaos.

“Are you alright?” Adam asks from above you.

When he gets up, the pressure disappears and his hands start searching your body for any signs of injury. He repeats the question again. You look down at yourself and press your fingers into the dark spot on your dress, pull them away, and rub the red between your fingers. It’s blood, but it’s not yours.

You sit up in a panic, almost knocking him over. “Oh my god, Adam you got shot!” You exclaim with frantic hands searching for the wound. He hisses when you find it on his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” He grunts out. “It’s you I’m worried about.” You hear Jay call for an ambulance and are almost certain his heart is still racing.

You pull out Adams pocket square and place it firmly in his wound, try to ignore the body only feet from you. “That was so stupid.” You grit out. “You actually jumped in front of a bullet!”

“Thanks for saving my life Adam.” He mutters out and you ignore him.

“Stupid.” You say again.

**

You're sat in the waiting room of Chicago Med. Will and Jay are both laying into you about how dangerous and reckless your actions had been, but you’re barely listening to them. Your attention is only grabbed when a doctor comes out, tells you the surgery to remove the bullet went well, and he was awake. You follow the Doctor back, Jay on your heels.

When you walk in, Adam gets the dopiest smile you’ve ever seen. You sit gently by his side. “Do you need anything?” You ask.

“Ice chips would be amazing.” Once he’s sure you’re out of ear shot, he turns to Jay. “I’m sorry man. I shouldn’t have let her out of my- “

“I picked you to go with her, and I’d make the same decision.” He interrupts and Adam’s surprised. “Look man, I needed someone to go in with her that would protect her the way I would. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” He’s about to protest to tell him he’d never cross that line, but Jay raises his hand. “You just jumped in front of a bullet for her. You’re one of the few people I know she’s safe with and she actually listens to you which is a miracle on its own.”

You come back in and sense the shift in the air, but Jay excuses himself. You sit back at his bedside and offer him the cup and for the first moment of that night, everything is still. The events of the night, the sound of the shot, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, it all builds up in your chest.

He hears your breathing pick up. “Woah, hey, I’m okay.” He tries to reassure you.

“You could’ve died.” You choke out.

“But I didn’t.”

“If it went two inches over, you’d be dead!” You’re panicking now.

“But it didn’t.” He says with a little more force and pulls you down to his chest. You let him. You breathe it out, allowing the sure smell of him to calm you.

“Why’d you do it?” Your voice is small. He hums his question. “Jump in front of me.” You clarify.

He’s quiet for a long time. You only know he’s awake because his fingers are trailing lines up and down your back, drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Goosebumps rise on your arms and you bury yourself further into him.

“Because I love you.” He says it as if it’s the simplest thing in this whole world. Maybe it is.

You look up at him for a while and think he’s far to calm for the moment. You lean up and place a tender kiss on the pillow of his lips before laying your head back down.

“I guess that’s a good enough reason.”

[australian-desi]

Qurbaan Hua ~ Episode 5-9: Of IVF Being Horrible, Windchimes, Cunning Aunties and Disgusting Husbands

Gonna dive right in

Episode 5

Mans has gone from “me and Meera have been dating for 6 months” to screaming “I LOVE YOU MEERA” at the top of the mountain 

Time for another coincidance - it’s purnima so he’s going to go ask for a mannat and on this day different people from different faiths go to this certain place for their wishes and prayers - and we all know what that means

Also now that I’ve watched a few episodes, I have to say I really like the styling  for Chahat they’ve given her a mix of ethnic and western wear and the fancy clothes she wears are really pretty (so far) and I hope it stays this way

I am a complete slut for mannat scenes and this one was very pure

Why can’t these people say Saraswati, it isn’t that hard

Also it’s 2020, surely it’s time we understand just because a woman is pregnant doesn’t mean she’s disabled and needs to be carried everywhere

Also, Naveli (Anjali2.0 and Neil’s cousin) is superrr suss

SHE TAPED HIS FACE OMG IM MORE IMPRESSED BY HER BY EVERY MINUTE

And she’s given him meds to give to the people he interacts with coz he causes them headaches (and he’s held onto it the whole time coz Pehle Pyaar Ka Pehla Tohfa) 

Awww our OTP has ‘Bhags stamp of approval’ 

They’ve also touched her feet how cute

Episode 6

So Ghazala has ruined Chahat’s mum’s sharara and like this is what I mean they’ve written her horribly, like why would someone go out of their way to hurt a kid like that - her mother’s dead what more does she want

And daddy dearest has another pooja to attend so he’s said no to attending his daughter’s baby shower, something Neil is now salty about

For a doctor, Chahat’s dad is quite daft 

And for a pandit, Neil’s dad is quite mean

Nice touch by Ghazala by turning this whole thing on Chahat, and thankfully her dad believes her

Episode 7

So this Kamini wannabe of a mami has said that Saraswati’s baby is najayaz, and at this point I really have got to ask - how the fuck did she jump to that conclusion?????

Apparently coz she was barren for 8 years, so how can she be pregnant now, so something must be up 

The logic fails me here, IF SHE WAS BARREN/WAS UNABLE TO GET PREGNANT, HOW TF IS THE CHILD ILLEGITIMATE???

OMFLLLLLL SHE’S SAYING THAT COZ THE CHILD WAS CONCEIVED FROM IVF, THAT’S WHY IT’S ILLEGITIMATE 

I CANNOT

I’M SO CLOSE TO QUITTING 

DO THESE DUMBASS PEOPLE NOT REALISE THAT AN IVF BABY IS ALSO A BLESSING IN ITSELF, IT’S NOT 100% GUARANTEED TO GET YOU PREGNANT EITHER BUT IT HELPS 

By this logic they shouldn’t use annnnyyyy modern technology 

I understand Neil now, and why he’s so done with this bullshit

YAAASSS NEIL, GO FUCK THEM UP 

Look Chahat, I love you and all, but like listen to Neil when it comes to his crazy psychotic family

Also do not tell me like the Oberoi family, this whole family cannot have 1 smooth sailing function/party 

We love a sibling duo that had to raise each other because their parents were dead/useless 

I’m so fucking done, now not only does your doctor have to be of the same religion, he/she has to be from the same caste 

YEH DOCTOR DHOOND RAHE HAI KE RISHTA 

Neil’s trying to talk some sense to these people, but as usual, he gets shut down for talking sense 

OMG HE’S COME OUT WITH FACCSSSS AND HAS GIVEN HIS DAD AN ULTIMATUM - His daughter or his dharm 

Also by saying that if he’s so for modern technologies in other areas, why is he against iVF 

Omg daddy pandit finally got some sense - this was an exhausting feat

Poor tacky Kamini, unlike the og, this one’s plans always fall short 

Neil, take Saraswati and just get the fuck out of here, this dumbass mami has come with a plan and is not going to rest until one of these kids gets disowned 

Episode 8

So Vyasji in a twisted turn of events has accepted Neil’s gf, as long as their kundlis meet 

Let’s be real their stars ain’t aligning in this life 

Chahat is talking to her mother through this windchime she made with her mother’s jhumke (I guess its a coping mechanisms) about how she’s gotten a cake ordered and needs to pick it up

The windchime has told her that she needs to learn how to cook to get married 

Basically even if your Indian mother is dead, her ghost will still taunt you on your inability to get married even when you are a doctor 

She has decided she will marry a chef so that she doesnt need to learn how to cook 

The foreshadowing, the cluelessness

Omg Neil’s dad writes with ink and a peacock feather (why did I think this man would write with a pen like a normal person)

He’s literally whipped out a chart and started making Neil’s (ex)gf’s kundli RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS DAUGHTER’S BABY SHOWER BECAUSE #priorities 

Anjali2.0 is literally sitting there praying as if Vyasji is sitting there calculating her Year 12 results and not a kundli

And we’ve got an “asambhav”, but we all knew that - Neil’s literally smirking coz he knew no matter what, the stars won’t align 

Omlll he’s inherited the whole “I write my own destiny” from Arnav 

“Main uss ladko ko kabhi nahi apnaunga” “Toh kya faraq padta hai, main usse apna chuka hoon” Boisss I really like this dude 

I wish I had this confidence but alas, I do not

And Neil has decided to leave the chat, go to Delhi and get married there, while giving everyone a fuck you (except his sister ofcourse)

Little does he know he isn’t even gonna make it to the bloody bus stand before he ends back here 

Anjali2.0 is begging her dad to stop him, but he’s talking about the stars and shit 

And right on cue Chahat and Neil are walking on the same bridge, none of them paying attention, they crash and just like that, the cake has fallen into the deep sea, adding to the pollution 

OMGG THIS MAN TOLD HER HOW ALL DADS ARE USELESS AND SHE GOES “oh hello, tumhe bohot saare childhood issues hai, lekin mere baba aise nahi hai ... woh mere liye taare bhi tod sakte hai” 

THIS IS WHY WE NEEDED A FEMALE LEAD IN THE MEDICAL FIELD - SHE UNDERSTOOD WITHIN 2-3 MEETINGS HOW FUCKED UP OUR DUDE IS 

and now he’s sarcastically congratulating her on her father because “aur ek mere baba hai jo hamesha taaron mein uljhe rehte hai, aur vaise tumhe tumhaare taare todne waale baba, bohot, bohot, bohot hi ziada mubarak” 

LOLLL SHE’S PULLING AND DRAGGING HIM TO GET HER THE SAME CAKE AND HE TRIED TO GIVE HER MONEY TO BUY A NEW ONE, AND SHE’S LIKE NOPE, THE BAKERY I GET THIS FROM IS CLOSED AND SO YOU WILL PROVIDE ME WITH A NEW CAKE 

Lolll I never knew he will be stuck here because of a cake 

AND NOW SHE’S TAKEN HIS BAG AS HOSTAGE AND HE’S LITERALLY SCREAMING THAT SHE’S LOST THE PLOT 

But personally, I feel she gained it 

Turns out the shop that she got the cake from, is his friend’s shop, and now he’s baking the cake himself because my man is also a pastry chef 

And he’s friend has left the chat because he doesnt want to get beaten up 

So it’s time for the kitchen romance.tm

Omg he told her he’s a chef and she’s so turned on 

OMGGGGGGG IM DEDDD 

But should’t she tie her hair #justsaying

Now back to the Neil’s crazy fam, where the only other person with sense, Anjali2.0 has also said to her dad, that Neil was always right about him 

Yesss gurlll, give it back to him

She’s telling him off how he forego his religious beliefs for her, but why can’t he do the same for Neil

I actually like her so much and the way she’s written

She’s also telling him how she tried to make sure that Neil never felt their mother’s absence (a responsibility she didn’t to take up), because her dad never let Neil feel loved 

OMG SIS SAID THAT BY BEING HEAD PRIEST, YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR DUTY AS A FATHER AND SHE DID NOT STUTTER 

Everyone is shook (including me)

I was not expecting her to give her father an ultimatum

So she said, that if he does not give Neil and Meera his blessing, he will see her dead 

OMGGG WHYYYAYFOIHFBEI THE ANXIETY 

Episode 9

We’ve begun with some cuteness regarding her rubbing flour all over face 

And like the idiot he is, he’s told her that her face is completely clean 

OMGGG HE’S GUIDING HER HANDS 

HOLY SHIT SISSS IS ALREADY IMAGINING HERSELF BEING MARRIED TO HIM 

Like same, but I also cannot 

Also I’m lolling at the fact she’s imagining their Nikaah, like his family won’t kill him for that

OMG THIS DICKHEAD HAS GIVEN THE CAKE HE MADE FOR HER DAD TO THE GAREEB CHILDREN LIKE SHE GAVE HIS SANGORIA TO THE GAREEB CHILDREN 

Awww I spoke too soon, she left the cake at the shop and he was just messing with her 

Guysss I really love their chemistry

He said that he won’t sit behind her, coz he doesn’t sit behind girls *rolls eyes*, but she’s not having it and reminded him that she beat him in a motorcycle race so he should suck it up

And they’ve had their first ‘accidental’ pressed up on each other fall 

A trope I do love with all my heart  

NOW HE’S COVERING HIS CHEST LIKE HIS IZZAT HAS BEEN LOOTED 

I’m hoping that Shyam1.5 isn’t as bad as his predecessors, but I do realise that is wishful thinking coz the couple scene where he talks to Saraswati was quite sweet

OMG THERE’S AN INTRUDER IN THEIR HOUSE AND I REALLY DON’T WANT SARASWATI TO GO CHECK, AND I’M FREAKING OUT 

She’s found Naveli’s earrings on the ground, Shyam1.5 and her are having an affair aren’t they

I FUCKING KNEW THAT NAVELI WAS SUSS AND SO WAS THIS HARAMKHOR SHYAM1.5 

I AM SO GROSSED OUT RN, WHAT IS SHE 10 YEARS OR MORE YOUNGER THAN HIM 

OMG HE’S ACTUALLY YUCK, LIKE SHYAM WAS YUCK BUT AT LEAST KHUSHI WASN’T HIS SAALI

AND WHAT TYPE OF COUSIN DOES THAT 

Saraswati please go fuck him up 

OMG OMG OMG YEH PADA THAPPAD!!!!!!! 

Well that’s another week done

[missmarquin]

Slow Healing Against a Purpling Sky, Chapter One (Modern AU, Sylvix)

Sylvain watches the beautiful West Texas landscape out the window as night falls. When he leaves the cafe, he heads for the motel. It’s small but clean, just like Mercedes promised. When he wakes in the morning and walks back to the cafe, he sees an old mechanic’s garage for sale. He pauses to look at it, head tilted to the side for a moment before moving on.

Sylvain meant to stay for an extra day, but he stays for a week because Mercedes is right, there’s just something about Pecos that’s homey and warm and loving.

At the end of the week he pauses at the shop once more before making the boldest, stupidest, dumbest decision he’s ever made. Instead of going to the cafe for coffee and a warm strawberry pastry, he goes to the bank instead.

He empties his private account and buys the damn place.

Read here on A03 for better formatting!

---

Hegira

Sylvain just drives. 

He drives and drives and drives, a random radio station blasting an eighties tune that he doesn’t really like, but he’ll listen to because anything is better than the alternative. 

His father screaming obscenities like Sylvain’s never heard before, slurs and other terrible, terrible, things flowing from the man like it was second nature. His mother hadn’t been surprised-- not really-- but she’s always known Sylvain better than he’s known himself. Suddenly it makes sense, her pursed expression at girl after girl he’d bring home, arm slung around their shoulders but enough space between them that’s as wide as the Rio Grande itself. 

Sylvain’s ears are still ringing from the slam of the front door. His father yelling as he chases after him, Gautier-this and Gautier-that, and we have images to uphold, and good Gautier boys marry well and pump out kids, and Sylvain will abide by this, he will he will he will--

His mother’s soft crying as Sylvain pulls on his leather jacket, her breath hitching because she knows the moment that he leaves that door, the moment that he walks right out-- it will be the last time she ever sees him. 

Sylvain hates that it had been such a hard choice to make, but there’s a point that you hit when you just can’t anymore, and he’s far past that, he’s been beyond that for years.

Footloose isn’t loud enough to drown out the deafening silence, so he turns up the dial as loud as it’ll go before rolling down the windows for a little bit of freedom. There’s wind in his wild red hair and the smell of the fresh prairie land as he speeds down old country highways. 

Dallas hadn’t been like this. Dallas had been large and loud, car horns honking and air like the backside of an industrial warehouse. Where high society knocks boots together at stupid state dinners, preening business ventures and futures full of empty marriages that mean nothing--

Sylvain pulls off to the side of the road, chest heaving and hands tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles bright white as they sear, fingernails digging tightly into his skin--

Sylvain breathes. He breathes again, eyes falling closed as he leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He doesn’t regret this. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t. The mantra seems to work as he calms down, letting go and breathing out a long sigh. 

He’s gone, he’s finally gone, he’s left and he can do anything he wants, and he hates that all he thinks about is how he should go right back. That he should apologize to his father for his mistake. Kiss his mother with a hug and promise that he’ll never leave again. 

But he doesn’t, he can’t, because as long as he lives in that tidy home in University Park, he’ll never be allowed to be himself and that’s--

Sylvain can’t say it. He’d finally admitted to it in a bout of anger towards his father, but despite that outburst, he still can’t bring himself to properly acknowledge it. To acknowledge his very being.

He glances at his phone. Nine missed calls, eight of them from Ingrid and one from his mother, quickly followed by a text message. It’s the latter that he pulls open and the words are kind-- the words are so kind that he can feel the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. 

He won’t cry though. He’s far too angry and bitter for that. 

Always be yourself.  

He wants to, he needs to, and now he’s given himself that opportunity, so no, he can’t go back, not when he’s finally walked free of that life and just started a new one. 

Sylvain glances at the dashboard clock. He’s driven for six hours and is nearly on empty, and as far as he’s gotten in the buttfuck middle of West Texas, he hasn’t seen a gas station in eons. He catches sight of a green billboard on the side of the road, crumpled over and dented like someone hit it and was never fixed. 

Pecos. Pop. 870.

He taps his fingers along to the beat of Africa as he thinks, mind reeling and trying to make the right choice. But there is no right choice, there’s the only choice, and it’s to finally take that freedom and just go go go. 

He shifts the car into gear, turning right at the sign and driving towards the burning red sun that drips into the horizon. 

…

“You’re not a face I’ve ever seen before. Are you from out of town?”

Sylvain jerks at the voice of the waitress, realizing that he’d been staring out the window at the purpling sunset. The woman is around his age, blond hair cut short and around her ears, and gray eyes that twinkle as she regards him with curiosity. 

“That obvious, huh?” he replies, scrubbing at the back of his head nervously. 

She’s holding a carafe of coffee in one hand, the other pressed gently against her cheek as she surveys him for a moment longer. Then she reaches out to fill his cup up. “It’s not as good as Hubert’s, but it’s coffee nonetheless.”

Sylvain’s not even sure what that means, but he takes the cup with a quiet thanks. 

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Sylvain’s surprised by the question, but motions to the chair across from him. She’s a pretty girl in her cream colored blouse and somewhat drab skirt, curvy in the right places with a bust that would be the envy of many, but as much as he tries, as much as he wants-- 

Nope, she just doesn’t do anything for him. 

“I won’t ask,” the woman says as she slides into the chair across him, “But people don’t find their way out here unless they want to.”

Sylvain finally gets a good look at her nametag. Mercedes. 

“I was just driving,” he tells her. “Ran out of gas and this was the closest town.”

“Where are you headed?” she asks him, serene and full of grace, and he finds that he doesn’t mind telling her, that he wouldn’t mind explaining things to her. But he doesn’t. 

“Anywhere,” he tells her instead, fingers wrapped around his mug to warm them. “Nowhere. I don’t care, really. Just anywhere that isn’t there.” 

Mercedes doesn’t seem to mind the vagueness of his words, only nodding with a small little hum. And then, her lips quirk into a sly little smile and Sylvain just knows that she’s a special one, this girl here. 

He looks back to the pink and purpling sunset and she follows his gaze. The silence stretches between them for a moment before Sylvain says something. 

“It doesn’t look like this back home. The sunset I mean.”

“Yeah, things tend to look a little bit different around here.” Then she turns to him, head cocked to the side. “As I said earlier, people don’t usually find this place unless they’re looking for it. I don’t know your story, but if you’re going anywhere, why not stay here for a bit? Clear your mind? The motel is clean and the food is good.”

“I’ll…” He trails off, but she waits patiently, hands folding neatly in her lap and the coffee carafe steaming between them. “I’ll consider it,” Sylvain finishes.

Mercedes smiles, tapping her finger against her lips before she stands up and leaves him. Moments later, she reappears with a small plate and fork in hand. 

“I didn’t--”

“It’s on the house,” she tells him, her voice soothing as she sets it before him, napkins quickly following. And then she flits away to take care of whatever she has to in the back. 

It’s an apple pie, crusty and golden brown. He’s never really been a pie person, but he’s hungry and he didn’t realize it and it’s free and Mercedes has just given it to him--

He doesn’t really deserve her kindness, but he takes a bite anyway. 

It’s the best damn thing he’s ever eaten.

Sylvain finishes it, watching the beautiful West Texas landscape out the window as night falls. 

When he leaves, he heads for the motel. It’s small but clean, just like Mercedes promised. When he wakes in the morning and walks back to the cafe, he sees an old mechanic’s garage for sale. He pauses to look at it, head tilted to the side for a moment before moving on. 

Sylvain meant to stay for an extra day, but he stays for a week because Mercedes is right, there’s just something about Pecos that’s homey and warm and loving. 

At the end of the week he pauses at the shop once more before making the boldest, stupidest, dumbest decision he’s ever made. Instead of going to the cafe for coffee and a warm strawberry pastry, he goes to the bank instead.

He empties his private account and buys the damn place. 

---

Sylvain stares at his phone for a long time before he finally hits call. The line rings three times and then picks up, and before he can even get a word in, Ingrid’s already yelling at him. 

“Oh so you are alive!” There’s anger in her voice which is nothing unusual, but it’s different this time, there’s something about her tone that makes Sylvain wince. “Which is good, because it means that when I finally see you, I can kill you myself!” 

“Ingrid, my best girl--”

“No,” she snaps. “None of that, Sylvain, I won’t hear any of it.” She pauses and he hears her take a deep breath, trying to suss out her words. He can just see her pressing her fingers to her brow, rubbing at the skin there wearily. “Three days.” There’s a waver to her voice and Sylvain sighs in resignation. “You haven’t texted me back and then I called your mother, and she just--”

Sylvain starts at that. “You what--”

“She was crying Sylvain! Not a word from you for an entire week and then you finally decide to reach out.”

Sylvain sighs quietly. “I didn’t call you to argue,” he says to her tiredly, already regretting the phone call.

“Sylvain, what have you gone and done now?”

“I’m in Pecos,” he tells her. “Six hours away. It’s small but the people are nice, and fuck, I had the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life. And I watched the sunset-- you know that I’ve never really done that? It looks different here though, all purple and pink and I just--” 

“Sylvain--”

“I bought this old, run-down mechanic shop. It needs a lot of work but the equipment there is solid and maybe I can finally put my useless hobby to some fucking use. You know, make a difference or something.”

“Sylvain.” The moment she says his name though, she hesitates before asking, “Are you alright?” Her voice is quieter, less angry and full of concern. She’s never been without her love, but Sylvain can count on his hands how many times he’s actually heard that tone and he just kind of breaks down and--

“I told them,” he says to her shakily and he can hear the hiccup in her voice, and the words that she really wants to say, but Ingrid just makes a squawking sort of sound instead. “Stuck it to the man and then I stormed out of there before he could do much else. I drove until I couldn’t anymore and I pulled off to grab gas here and I--” He sighs. 

“It’s nice here. It’s quiet and the people don’t judge, and the sunset really is different and it’s just kind of… magical.” 

“I’m coming out there--”

“No,” Sylvain cuts her off. “No, there’s no need for that.”

“Sylvain, you bought a garage on a whim.”

“And oddly, I don’t regret it.” He pauses. “Yet.”

“Are you truly okay?” Ingrid asks him for a second time and Sylvain considers her question. 

Finally he tells her the truth, because there’s no point in hiding it from her. She’ll know, she always knows, because they’ve been attached at the hip since they were four and nothing can really break a bond like that. “No, Ingrid, I’m not.”

“Syl--”

“But I think that I will be,” he cuts in. “I just need some time.” He hears Ingrid sigh heavily, so he adds on, “You know that I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Goddess knows why I put up with you though.”

Sylvain laughs. “Will you keep an eye on Mom? Tell her that I got her text?”

Ingrid’s mother’s been dead for over a decade, so his mom has always just been Mom to her. He’s not going to risk his father’s anger by texting her back. Ingrid sighs once more over the line, this time out of weariness not annoyance. “Of course I will.” A pause and then, “Sylvain, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Sylvain laughs again, this time sharp as it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. “Oh Ingrid, I never know what I’m doing.”

---

Sylvain’s mornings have a routine. 

He wakes up in his modest room at the Sunshine Motel. It’s clean and bright, sheets changed every few days because while he’s now a permanent fixture, he’s not picky either. The water is warm and because he’s the only guest, it never runs out.

Pecos is so small that it’s a quick walk to anywhere, so he trots across the empty main street to For Whom the Brew Tolls. He’s never put a lot of thought into his coffee, but Hubert does, and despite his gothic vampire-looking ass, he knows said coffee well. Sylvain always orders a medium A Brew, Darkly and proceeds to utterly ruin it with as much cream and sugar as possible. 

Hubert doesn’t have fangs that Sylvain can see, but he threatens with a near snarl at the idea. Ferdinand is nicer about it though, because he understands drowning the dark sludge as much as possible. And then, every day like the one before, he offers Sylvain a nice brew of tea which he takes without a thought. 

His next stop is The Grateful Bread, because he’s learned over the months that Mercedes has a wicked sense of humor and a taste for classic rock, which contradicts her sweet and demure disposition. He’s barely in the door before her hand is held out, not even bothering to look away from the morning paper. He gives her the tea and she gives him a pastry, and with a smile and wink he’s on his way again. 

She’s the best fucking baker in the world and her food is literal magic, because he’s pretty sure her pie is ninety-five percent of the reason why he stayed in this dumb town. The other five percent is more important though-- life changing, really, because Mercedes is like him. He likes it, he lives for it because no matter how much he flirts, she’ll only laugh and smile at him in return, a wide and genuine show of affection that means nothing more than that. 

It’s not a false show of Dallas socialite wealth and, for the first time in his life, being around a woman is refreshing, not daunting. 

He’s usually at his shop by ten in the morning. The town complains that he doesn’t open early enough for a proper mechanic, but, seeing as he’s the only car garage in the town, they don’t have much of a choice. The alternative is to wait, or to ask your neighbor who claims to know how to replace an engine and before you know it, you’re dishing out twice as much because they’ve fucked up the engine valves by putting them in upside down.

Buying the shop had been, admittedly, a wild and not-so-smart decision, but Sylvain has always lived life in the fast lane and he’s never done anything by small measures. It’d taken a bit of time to get it back to working order, but the place had good bones and enough equipment for a starting point. 

The first morning he’d properly opened the place, Mercedes had greeted him with a piece of that damn apple pie again and he should have told her no, he should have, but he super didn’t and if he could be in love with her, he absolutely would be. At first glance, Mercedes is kind of perfect on the outside, but once Sylvain had gotten to know her, he saw a darkness underneath that perfect surface that was well-recognized. It’s probably why they got on so well. 

And so, she gets her morning tea courtesy of Ferdinand and hand delivered by Sylvain himself. Ingrid would always be his best girl, but Merce was slowly wedging her way into a special place in his heart. 

She’s a balm across his heart, because he’s emptied his account to buy his dumb garage and he’s drowning in debt. He’s been living off of the kindness of Mercedes’ free pastries and Hubert’s half-priced coffee at Ferdinand’s insistence. Hubert’s vowed to charge him double later on when he can afford it, and Sylvain isn’t unsure that he and the ginger-haired teamonger aren’t actually a match made in hell.

The Motel insists that he only pays weekly-- and Sylvain’s almost certain they aren’t charging full price either, and the pink-haired and loud bartender at the Pecos Grill gives him free sodas with a wink. 

Despite all of this overwhelming gratitude and immense debt, it’s been a long time since Sylvain’s been able to be himself and… it’s a nice feeling. 

For the first time in his life, he’s kind of happy, and that’s saying something. 

---

The beginning of the rest of Sylvain’s life comes in the form of a foul-mouthed, dark-haired man with circles under his eyes that are sharp enough to cut a hand on. 

Sylvain’s early to the shop for once, because of a sleepless night filled with nightmares, restlessness and one angry text message from Ingrid. She’s still annoyed at him for refusing to answer her calls, but he needs time, he needs time to figure things out. 

And while he loves Ingrid and she loves him, patience isn’t one of her virtues. 

Still, early isn’t early enough for some, apparently. He’s barely got the key in the front door when he hears a scoff from behind, and he turns to find a man leaning against the hood of the rattiest looking Mustang he’s ever seen. Really, the car is a fucking travesty and the vintage car-obssessed fool within Sylvain is cringing at the rust that lines the belly of the thing.

“It’s nine in the morning. Why the fuck aren’t you open?” 

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, letting go of the key and turning to the man. “I make my own hours,” he replies smoothly. The dark-haired man sneers, arms crossed in front of his chest and foot tapping impatiently against the ground. 

“Don’t you know how garages operate? You open up early enough for people to drop off their cars before work.” The man pauses, his scowl souring even further. “I know you’re new to town, but do you even know what you're doing?”

“As in owning a garage?” Sylvain asks. “Not a fucking clue, but if you mean working on cars, then I’m your man.”

The other man’s brows raise as if he’s briefly amused. “Doubtful.”

Sylvain nods to his own car which he keeps parked at the garage. Safer than the Motel Parking lot and since he walks everywhere, he doesn’t really need it at all hours of the day. “That ‘68 Lambo didn’t restore herself.”

“I’m sure it didn’t, but the man that you paid to--”

“Are you here to drop off your car or not?” Sylvain cuts in and while he’s decent at hiding his anger, it’s hard with this particular asshole of a man. The other man starts, tching in annoyance. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” he admits, pulling himself away from the hood. “I was able to drive here, but it’s making the strangest noise and I don’t want to push it further.”

Sylvain strokes his chin in thought. “Well, I’ll take a look but I won’t know till I get under her hood.”

“Her,” the prickly man repeats. “It’s a car.”

“That’s a ‘68 Mustang and it’s definitely a her. You’re a dick, but you have taste.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then whoever she belongs to has good taste.”

“Whoever is dead.”

Sylvain frowns, the mood immediately tense, but it’s the other man who relents with a long sigh. “Look, just take a look or whatever, and give me a call when you figure out what needs to be done. Some people were expected at work three hours ago.”

Sylvain doesn’t know what kind of job would require you to be at work at literally dawn, but it's definitely not a job that he would ever want. Before he could even reply, the man thrusts a business card and keys into his hands. “I have orders to catch up on, so make sure it’s later in the day.” 

The man doesn’t give a proper goodbye, he just turns to leave and Sylvain watches as he rounds the corner without another word. Dick. But then he looks at the Mustang and there’s this pang through his heart as he steps towards her. 

“Oh honey, he doesn’t deserve you,” he whispers, running his hand along the pockmarked hood. 

He pockets the car keys and looks at the business card. “Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” he says, mouth curling around the name with a little bit of difficulty, because it’s long and unwieldy. “Farrier--” His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the words. “What the fuck is a farrier?” he wonders aloud, pocketing the card and glances woefully at the car once more.

“It’s okay,” he says, once more patting her hood. “We’ll fix you right up.”

---

Sylvain doesn’t usually trip into the coffee shop more than once a day because he values his sanity, but for the sake of the beautiful red Mustang, he’ll make an exception. 

Hubert stares at him over the espresso machine for a long moment and then says, “Why are you asking me?”

“Come on Hubie--”

“Call me that again and I’ll boil you alive--”

“I want something to bring as a peace offering. You know, to placate the man. He was angry this morning even though I opened the shop earlier than I normally do. How’s he going to react when I explain that his timing belt is so fucked that it chewed up his engine?” 

“Sounds like your problem, not mine.” Judging by Hubert’s tone though, an angry Felix sounds like everyone’s problem.

“It’s not that it’s a problem, Hubert,” Sylvain eases, “I’m just asking for a little bit of help.”

“By asking what his regular coffee order is.” Hubert looks away, pouring milk into a cup before pressing it under the steam wand. “I strictly abide by Barista-Client Confidentiality.”

“Barista-Client Confidentiality-- That’s not even a thing.” 

“It is at For Whom the Brew Tolls. Buzz off.”

“Oh don’t listen to him,” a chipper voice says from the front register and they both turn to look at Ferdinand in his ginger-haired and finely freckled glory. Sylvain’s never liked a man-bun on anyone, but… it’s not entirely awful on the man. His cable-knit burgundy and cream sweater is far more offensive… if Sylvain were one for fashion. “Felix usually has a blonde roast if he’s having coffee, black as his soul-- but I’ll let you in on something.” Ferdinand leans in close, like he’s telling Sylvain a secret. “He actually prefers tea--”

“Nonsense,” Hubert cuts in. Sylvain almost laughs aloud at the pout the Ferdinand throws on at the sight of Hubert’s scowl. “Seriously, promoting your pansy water over a nice cup of--”

“He likes Almyran Pine needles,” Ferdinand interrupts with a subtle grin, leaning against the second espresso machine casually. 

Hubert regards him coolly over the current drink he’s working on. “Pecans, maple and hints of vanilla, with enough caffeine to fuel an army--”

“Now guys, it’s not a competition,” Sylvain tries to interject, but neither man is listening, solely focused on each other. 

It’s not the first time he thinks that they’re a weird pair. When Mercedes had told him that they were married, Sylvain had honestly thought she was joking. He can see the appeal in Ferdinand at least, with his clean skin and charming smile-- but Hubert? 

He looks like he stepped out of a gothic poetry book and settled into the wrong century. But Hubert is staring at Ferdinand, like truly staring, ignoring the milk cup in his hand as he over steamed whatever latte he was in the middle of, because he’s so thoroughly distracted by his husband. The good kind of distracted, that makes you feel like you should be anywhere else, except for right there and watching.

Sylvain’s one part jealous, one part annoyed, and every part tired of dealing with them. 

“I’ll just take the blonde roast,” Sylvain finally tells Ferdinand, and it’s like they’re snapped from whatever spell they were under. Ferdinand pulls away from the spare machine. 

“I’ll have to do a pour over because we don’t keep a carafe of that--”

“You’ll ruin it--” Hubert says, but Ferdinand rolls his eyes before looking back at Sylvain.

“Three years here and he still thinks I cannot brew a cup of coffee.”

“You can’t.” 

“Maybe not to your standard,” Ferdinand says tartly, eyes sweeping over the entirety of his husband, slow and pointedly. “That’s alright though. There’s plenty of things that you can’t do to a standard just as well. Felix won’t care either way because he’d prefer to directly inject caffeine into his veins.”

That’s a feeling that Sylvain can get behind. Hubert scowls at Ferdinand’s back, but it’s not without its weird brand of affection. 

“Say, Hubert,” Sylvain asks, leaning against the counter that housed the back of the machines as he scrutinizes the slightly dopey expression the man wears. “What do you find attractive in Ferdie?”

“That’s something that I won’t answer.” A pause, followed by a threatening narrowing of the eyes. “And don’t call him Ferdie.”

Sylvain shoots him a dopey smile in return. “No promises. Also, I’m only curious.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

Sylvain frowns at the jab, but before he could ask more, Ferdinand appears at his side with a steaming cup. “On the house,” the man tells him. “I hope we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you? I come every morning.”

Ferdinand laughs at that. “Yes, well, you’re also about to enter the personal space of one angry little man. I wish you luck in your endeavors.”

Sylvain pauses, eyes narrowing as he looks back at Ferdinand. “You can’t tell me he’s actually scary. He’s like this tall.” He motions to just under his chin. 

To his surprise though, it’s Hubert that answers. “Felix is a nasty creature. Ferdinand is only trying to warn you.”

Sylvain blinks in surprise and then eyes the coffee warily. “Well, too late for that.” Then he smiles back at Hubert. “Besides, who can resist this charming smile?”

Hubert doesn’t even warrant that with a reply. 

....

Sylvain still doesn’t know what a farrier is because he’s too lazy to properly google it, but he isn’t expecting Felix’s office to be an outdoor workshop. 

He’d found the building easily enough, but had to round the entire edge of it to find the entrance, only to be surprised by a garage that was not unlike his own. The coffee is hot in his hand though and he’s already burned his thumb on dripping liquid, so he hurries into the workspace without a thought, only to look up and--

Sylvain stops dead at the sight of Felix. 

The garage here actually isn’t anything like his own. There’s a traditional if somewhat low-tech forge off to the side, blazing hot with nearly purple flames. Felix is beside it, wearing loose khakis and stripped down to a thin v-neck shirt. The black cotton makes him look paler, but his cheeks are flush bright red with the heat of the room and he’s a literal sweaty mess, dark bangs plastered to his forehead while the rest of his hair is pulled high up into a ponytail. 

Sylvain hadn’t noticed his hair was long before. Why hadn’t he noticed that? 

Felix is working, hammer heavy in a gloved hand as he uses tongs to hold a red-hot billet still, striking down in a quick stroke, lean muscles rippling with sheens of sweat and--

There’s always one point in a person's life where they see someone and time just stands still. Like, everything else just disappears and the only thing there is the person you’re looking at, and it’s like it just punches you in the gut, because they look perfect, they feel perfect, they are perfect, they are the only thing that exists and it’s all consuming and it just burns through you and--

Sylvain drops the coffee in his surprise and Felix looks up, mid stroke to watch the cup skitter across the floor. 

“Are you mad?” he snaps. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to sneak up on someone working like this?”

No, because Felix is apparently a fucking blacksmith, which Sylvain assumes the word farrier is a fancy term for and he’s probably wrong, but he’s distracted. He’s very very distracted right now.

Felix isn’t his type; his type is… well actually, he doesn’t really know what his type is because he’s never really given it a lot of thought because he’s so fucking repressed and--

“And you’ve gone and made a fucking mess,” Felix continues, carefully placing the billet aside to cool. He pulls off his gloves and throws them against the anvil, and Sylvain can just see the annoyance radiate off of him. 

“I-- uh, well--” But he’s not the most articulate, so he drops to pick up the cup instead, rubbing at his hair sheepishly. “I thought this would be easier in person than over the phone because uh--”

“And so you brought me coffee?” 

“As a peace offering? Yeah.”

Felix sighs before pulling a rag out of his pocket and wiping the sweat off of his face. All he does is drag soot across his cheek though and Sylvain wants to reach out and rub it away with this thumb and-- 

He swallows shakily at the thought, ignoring it, ignoring it. “So when was the last time you replaced the timing belt?” Sylvain finally asks. 

“The what now?”

“Oh wow, okay that explains a lot--”

“Just spit it out,” Felix snaps, crossing the forge to pull a towel from a cabinet. He drops it on the floor, using his foot to kick it around and soak up the spilled coffee. “What do I owe you?”

Sylvain winces. “In my honest opinion, you shouldn’t bother.” Felix stops at that, staring at the floor for a long moment, and Sylvain wonders what he’s said to put that kind of look on his face. 

But then Felix goes back to mopping up the mess without a beat missed. “Nonsense,” he says to Sylvain. “What do I owe you?”

“The timing belt is pretty shredded,” Sylvain says, leaning against an unused anvil and he hopes Felix won’t get annoyed. “I’m surprised that you made it to the shop actually, but that drive probably destroyed the engine.”

Felix looks up at that, blinking at him. “And how much is a new engine?” he asks, like he’s trying to draw out information from a five year old who keeps dodging around the answer. 

Sylvain supposes that Felix isn’t entirely wrong in that respect. 

“Look, you probably don’t want to know--”

“How much?” This time there’s actual bite to the words, not the annoyed-yet-slightly-teasing tone used earlier that morning.

“You’re looking at like seven thousand dollars, including all the labor,” Sylvain finally says with a wince, mentally preparing himself for whatever blowback is about to happen. “And I fucking swear to the Goddess that I’m not overcharging-- I’m actually undercharging.”

Felix leans over to pick up the soiled towel, considering. “Okay then,” he replies, tossing it into a laundry bin tucked into a dark corner. “Whatever the cost.”

Sylvain flounders for a moment. “You could buy a decent car for less. Something that’s in better shape, because even if I fix the engine, you’ve got a lot of other problems and that’s not even including the smaller things like rust and dents and--”

“Whatever the cost,” Felix repeats. 

But Sylvain blabbers on, uncharacteristically nervous in his verbose monologue. “I mean your water pump is barely hanging on, the undercarriage is literally missing entire bolts and--”

“Sylvain--”

And it’s in the moment that Sylvain realizes that he’d never properly introduced himself that morning, what kind of mechanic is he and how does Felix even know his name--

“I’m not getting another car. Order the parts and I’ll contact you in the morning for final details.” Felix’s tone isn’t mean, it’s just very… curt. Sylvain knows that it’s a fruitless effort. 

“You know, if you took better care of it, it wouldn’t have even come to this point,” Sylvain blurts. Felix’s face immediately darkens, his face twisting with a snarl and Sylvain remembers Hubert’s words about how Felix was a nasty creature, and he knows that he’s definitely said the wrong thing. “Look I--”

“Out.” 

Felix could have said nastier words, but that one is dripping with poison and Sylvain knows better than to stick around longer than invited, because there’s a very hot forge and very dangerous tools laying around, and Felix seems the type of man who would absolutely kill someone and dispose of the body personally. 

“I’ll uh-- Yeah, I’ll order those parts for you. Tomorrow then.” 

Sylvain bolts before Felix can yell at him more, and he really, really hopes that he hasn’t fucked this up. 

The job, he means, because Sylvain doesn’t have time for any other distractions.

…

“You seem distracted,” Mercedes tells him later that night. They’re at the Pecos Grill, chilling in the bar, her hand wrapped around a delicate glass of the hardest fucking whiskey that they carry. She might be sweet and loving, but she’s never been one to do anything by half measures, and that includes drinking liquor.

“Tell me about Felix,” Sylvain demands, fingers wrapped around the stem of an awfully tacky margarita glass, stirring it gently with a straw. 

She blinks at him, momentarily surprised, but then her lips quirk into a small and knowing smile, and immediately Sylvain is on the defensive. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he says quickly. “I’m just curious. He’s a very angry man.”

“Felix has been here forever,” Mercedes finally tells him, swirling her glass around idly. “And by that I mean he’s born and raised here, generations of family before him on the same plot of land kind of born-and-raised.”

“And yes, he’s an angry man,” another voice cuts in. Mercedes and Sylvain look at the barkeep pressed against the counter, indelicately leaning into their conversation. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” There’s two types of barkeeps-- those who keep to themselves and those who over involve. Sylain’s learned that Hilda is definitely the latter. Her hair’s tied up into twin buns and there’s the loud clack of chewing gum, lips smacking around it. 

“He’s all bark and no bite,” Mercedes assures him, but Hilda laughs. Sylvain regards her once more, but the woman rolls her eyes and shrugs. 

“Look, Felix is a weird dude. He usually hates everyone on principal. Whatever happened between the two of you… don’t take it personally.”

“Nothing happened--” But Hilda leaves before he can finish, flittering towards the end of the bar to take the order of a blonde-haired man with an eyepatch. Sylvain’s seen him once or twice, but stayed far, far away after witnessing the man have an in-depth conversation with himself. 

“So he did take the car to you?” Mercedes asks. 

“I was wondering how he knew my name--”

“Everyone knows your name, Sylvain.” He pauses at that, because she’s right. Word travels like wildfire through small towns and he’s been in Pecos for several months now, so he shouldn’t even be surprised. “But yes, I told him to take the car to you. What’s the damage?” 

“Too much.” Sylvain groans at the thought. “Honestly, seeing a classic in such a state, it kills me Merce. Does he even know anything about cars? He didn’t know what a timing belt is.”

She looks amused as she says, “Probably not. He doesn’t drive much.” 

“I told him that he should buy a new car. This one’s not really worth fixing, she’s a literal money pit.”

Mercedes frowns and Sylvain is immediately put off. She’s a close friend now, they spend most of their nights together chatting, but he’s never seen this look on her face and it’s off-putting in a way that makes his stomach literally crawl. 

“I knew it,” Sylvain bemoans. “I pissed him off.” He’d immediately known he’d said the wrong thing by Felix’s reaction, but by just how much did he fuck this up? “What’s up with him and the car?”

“It’s special,” Mercedes says quietly, lips pursed slightly as her gaze dips far away. Sylvain decides right then and there that he never, ever, wants to see this look on her face again. “The person it belonged to was special.”

“Got it. Former girlfriend or something.”

Mercedes is amused by the assumption, but it’s drowned out by the utter sadness in her gaze. She isn’t the type to issue any sort of dismissal, which is why Sylvain has come to love her-- genuinely love her-- so much, but he’s learned over the years when it’s appropriate to stop forcing an issue. 

He backs off, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Well, he said to fix it at any cost, so I ordered the parts after I left the forge.” He pauses. “Also-- a blacksmith?”

“Farrier,” she corrects. 

“What’s the difference?” He can tell by her face that it’s a dumb question, but his mind is a little fuzzy with drink and he’s still too lazy to google it. 

“He shoes horses, not that he doesn’t have hobbies on the side.” Honestly the idea of the prickly man having any sort of hobby was laughable. 

“Shoes horses-- Oh.” Sylvain’s not a stupid man, but he can be slow at times. 

“Family business,” she says with mirth, the sparkle settling slowly back into her eye. 

“Yeah, he seemed to know what he was doing.” 

Lithe, corded muscles glistening with sweat and-- goddess damn it’s been too long. He drowns the rest of his drink with impressive gusto, Mercedes raising her brows at the display. “I hope I haven’t wasted my money. I’m half convinced he won’t show up tomorrow morning.” 

“He will,” Mercedes reassures him. “He’d do anything for that car. 

Sylvain grunts in reply.

“A word of advice from someone who’s known the man his entire life,” Hilda says, sliding in between them once more. She leans over the counter to coyly display her low-cut neckline. “Don’t engage longer than necessary. I like you alive.” Then she winks at Sylvain and he winks back, even though he feels nothing, even though he tries. Even if it’d make this entire thing so much easier. 

Hilda drops a fresh drink in front of him and he sighs in relief, because he’s way too sober to be dealing with this. Before he can down the drink though, Mercedes reaches out, her fingers soft and warm against his wrist. 

“Sylvain,” she says softly and he caves, taking a small sip through the straw instead. 

“Last one, Merce,” he finally says. “I promise.” 

If this were back-home in Dallas and the end-of-the-night party post state-dinner, he’d be attached at the hip of the most scantily clad woman he could find, downing enough liquor so he could at least try and pretend. 

But this isn’t Dallas and as much as he likes Hilda’s margaritas, he likes the comfort of Mercedes’ warm smile and ever understanding patience instead. He won’t wake up in a pile of sheets and naked limbs, more disappointed in himself, than whoever he was with.

Instead he goes back home with Merce and they binge watch reruns of the Bachelorette, while stuffing their faces with the leftovers from the bakery. 

----

Sylvain doesn’t bother waiting for Felix the next morning. 

He’s at the shop early again, unlocking the office door at an appalling seven AM. His night had been restless once again, but he’s traded angry memories of yelling and slurs, for images of sweaty and flushed skin, rippling muscles and imagined whines, dark hair pooling around shoulders and--

Nope, nope, nope he needs to stop that right now. 

He drops his bag in the lopsided desk chair and decides to forgo any paperwork, because there’s absolutely no way that he can possibly concentrate on numbers and bank accounts and financing. So, by eight-thirty, he’s managed to haul the old Mustang into the Garage proper and hoist her up. 

He pats the hood gently, fingers catching slightly on the rust there. “Pitiful,” he sighs. “If he’s so in love with you, why’s he let you get like this?” The metal is cold under his fingers as he taps at it lightly before pulling back. “Whatever the cost,” he murmurs, echoing Felix’s ridiculous request from the night before. 

Sylvain’s suggestion hadn’t been unreasonable, but Felix had gone from sightly annoyed to angry enough to explode, in the span of several seconds, so clearly there was something more there. Mercedes had confirmed it with her comment later in the night that the car was special. 

Obviously, Sylvain thinks with a frown, but he doesn’t dwell on it longer than he has to, getting to work on the car. 

Around nine in the morning, there’s a kick to the right front wheel well, and Sylvain curses in surprise, jerking up and knocking his head against the undercarriage where he’d been situated. He slides back on the creeper, rubbing at his forehead with a soft groan, only to meet the face of a surprised Felix. 

“It’s before ten and not only are you here, you’re actually working?” Felix’s tone is sharp, but it’s not angry, and Sylvain lets out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. He sits up properly, eyes raking over Felix’s form. 

He looks good in loose track pants and a plain navy t-shirt. His hair is pulled back neatly and he looks fresh, despite the apparently permanent circles under his eyes. Sylvain has no idea why he likes the look of them, because on anyone else they’d be ugly little shadows. Sylvain sighs at the sight of him before--

“Goddess, is that coffee?” Felix is holding a carrier with two takeaway cups. 

“What was it you called it last night? A peace offering?” Felix lifts the cardboard slightly, motioning to the office. “I… figured I should apologize for--” But then he sighs, annoyed. “Just take the damn coffee.” He says the words so quietly that Sylvain’s gaze narrows shrewdly. 

“You don’t seem the type to apologize.”

“I’m not.” The testy edge to his voice has crept back in, but then Felix sighs, dragging a spare hand through his bangs, mucking up his neatly styled hair. “Look, let’s just-- let’s get everything settled. I have other things to do today.”

Sylvain pulls himself up properly, wiping at his forehead with a rag and motioning to the office. Once inside, Felix drops the coffee onto the desk before settling into the chair. Sylvain watches Felix finger the worn edge of the splintered wood. He’s not like him, Sylvain realizes, Felix just doesn’t do people well. Mercedes had told him, Hilda had told him, even Hubert had warned him but… 

Felix looks visibly disturbed at the moment, like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“You’ve tidied it up in here,” Felix finally says. “This office was always a mess.” He must have seen Sylvian’s confused glance, because he adds, “It’s the only garage in town. Do you think I’ve never had a car worked on before?”

Sylvain decides to not tell him that yes, he’d absolutely thought that, moving to open a manilla folder instead. “So the immediate problem is the engine, as I told you last night. The timing belt is what helps time the rotation of the crankshaft and camshaft, so the engine valves close and open at the proper time. So when it--” 

Felix is ignoring him, popping off the lid of his coffee to check it, before taking a sip. 

“Right uh, probably too much info. Point is, the engine’s entirely destroyed, it’s a hard model to find and it’s labor intensive. I wasn’t joking about the seven thousand at least.”

“I wasn’t joking about whatever the cost.” Felix points to the other cup and Sylvain drops the folder, gabbing at it. “Hubert refused to fix it the way that you do and wouldn’t tell me anything more than an absurd amount of sugar and cream. So I just dumped it in there until it didn’t look like coffee anymore. Take it or leave it.” 

Sylvain tips the lid, finding the color of the coffee to look satisfactory enough and a quick sip confirms. Felix grimaces, sharing Hubert’s views on how he takes his coffee. Popping the lid back down, Sylvain sighs. “The engine’s just the tip of the iceberg,” he tells Felix. “She’s got so many other problems, and all of them make her dangerous to drive.”

“So what’s your point?” 

“How much are you actually willing to spend on her?” Sylvain asks. 

“I said--”

“I know what you said,” Sylvain cuts in. “But promising whatever the cost, is vastly different when it comes down to the actual numbers. You’re looking at tens of thousands of dollars.” Sylvain pauses. “Look, I’m happy to do the work for you if that’s really what you want, but I’m laying all the cards down here. It’s a lot of work and it will be expensive. I’m asking this not to be rude, but because I’m honestly curious-- Is she worth it?”

Sylvain expects Felix to get angry like the night before and just leave, but he doesn’t. Felix is quiet as he stares at his coffee cup, like he’s trying to carefully word whatever it is that he’s about to say. 

“I’m not expecting you to understand,” Felix finally starts, suddenly weary and tired and clearly wanting to end the conversation before it properly starts.  “But the car is worth everything to me.”

Sylvain is surprised by the quiet sincerity in Felix’s voice. “Alright then,” he says, dropping the folder on the desk between then. “I’ll make a full list of work, compile a price on parts and labor, and I’ll let you know.” 

Felix nods shortly before standing to leave, but Sylvain starts again, making him pause at the door. “You know, you’re my first real customer here. The work on her alone will keep this place afloat for a while.”

Felix sighs, rubbing his fingers across his brow. Sylvain doesn’t know him very well yet, but there’s an inkling that the motion is out of character. “My apology was honest. There’s a lot that you don’t know and it’s unfair of me to expect you to.” 

Sylvain has assumed as such. “I know it’s hard for new people to come to a small town like this and just wedge themselves into everyone’s quaint little existence, but I’m happy for the work. So thanks.”

Felix hesitates before saying, “Tch. I guess.” And then he’s gone. 

Sylvain isn’t sure that he’ll ever quite figure the man out, watching the door long after Felix is gone, but there’s a desire there that makes him want to. He wants to get to know Felix better, and it’s not his high cheekbones, or silky hair, or those damn muscles. There’s something else that lurks underneath the surface of the harsh exterior, just like everyone else in this damn town, and Sylvain’s determined to figure out what it is. 

But first, the car needs a nickname.