#also did i pull a reverse grease?

[thedevilinmybrain]

I knoooow submissions are over, I got here too late :( but here is my prompt in case you like it and wanna save it for later or something:

Louis trying to convince Harry he is "boyfriend material". Like they want out once or twice, Louis fucked up (not that badly) but Harry is making him pay by telling everyone they are not going out anymore cause Louis isn't boyfriend material (like a nice romantic vanilla guy) and Louis wants to prove, for Harry, he can be

Hope you like it!!

(okay it's not flashfic friday but i got this last week and i just had to write it for you and for my need of all the college aus)

"Okay, but you have to tell me," Niall leans over the edge of the table, his shirt gaping dangerously close to the chai in front of him. "What did he actually do?"

"I don't know if it's anything he really did or didn't do." Harry sighs, flips his curls back of over his shoulder. They're getting so long now, hang around his collarbones and flirt with covering his sparrow tattoos. "He just…he's a boys' boy, you know? I mean, he's always around all of those lads and they're all so rough and so loud. Louis is their king and sometimes the way he acts…"

"Peter Pan syndrome." Niall nods in understanding, grimacing a little.

"Exactly. You get it." Harry leans back in his chair, crossing one long leg over another. "It's no ones fault really. We're just different. I mean, the date was nice and all, but I don't know. Seems like a waste of time if neither of us are going to get out of it what we want."

"That's very sensible." Taking a long sip of his drink, Niall waves a few fingers. "I mean, you're just from different worlds. You're so posh and proper. Can't blame your upbringing. And Louis just seems like…hm. Like he enjoys the wild side a little."

"Right. Right. I mean, some people are just like that. Good for a few fun times but," Harry searches for the words, finally confessing. "Louis just isn't boyfriend material."

"Hot though." A smirk begins to tug at the corner of Niall's mouth. "You've got to admit. That bad boy aura has its charms."

"Oh well." At this, Harry can feel himself start to blush. "No one is accusing Louis of being unattractive."

"No one with eyes would." Niall nods along.

Harry lifts his skinny, vanilla, almond milk latte and takes a long sip, careful not to smudge up his lipstick. He knew he was just grabbing a quick coffee with Niall after classes, nothing out of the ordinary, but Harry still dressed up for it. He always goes to class in carefully curated outfits - long, ironed trousers or princess cut skirts, satin blouses all tied up with fancy bows. Today finds Harry in a vintage, asymmetrical Burberry skirt, the hem on his left side a little higher than the front. It's cute, flirty, and pairs with a collared shirt nicely.

"Hey Harry," Niall comments, that grin still on his face. "Did you tell Louis all this? Why you're not seeing him anymore?"

"I did. A little kinder but yeah," Harry reaches up, fidgeting with the small strand of pearls around his throat. "I just told him I thought he would be better off finding someone to have a fling with. That I wanted a boyfriend and I didn't think he was up for that."

"So like a challenge?" Niall's dark eyebrow raises, his gaze drawn over Harry's shoulder.

"I mean not really. I didn't mean it like that." Harry tugs at those pearls again since he can't do it to his bottom lip. "Why? Do you think I was too mean? I can call and apologize to him. I still have his phone number."

"No, mate. I don't think you need to." Niall motions with his chin and Harry turns, his stomach immediately growing hot.

Louis is still wearing a pair of jeans with the knees blown out, a pair of fairly new looking Vans on his feet. At least they're not the ones covered in paint from helping Zayn in the art studios. It's not what's most surprising about him though, it's the fact that he's wearing a cardigan, like an actually oversized, wide knit cardigan, with a slightly wrinkled button up under it. There is no way Louis just had this in his closet. And for a whole minute, Harry is so caught up in what is clearly a pretty good thrift find that he doesn't notice the pair of glasses on Louis' nose either.

"Good afternoon," Louis' usually loud greeting is somewhat subdued in the bustling cafe, tilting his head down to drop an air kiss beside Harry's cheek before rounding the table to do the same to Niall. "Fancy seeing both of you here."

"It's an after class tradition on Thursdays." Niall comments, delighted when he watches Harry's pink lips opening and closing in surprise. "We just came from World Lit."

"Oh, how interesting." Louis makes a small nod towards the empty chair beside Harry, and when Niall nods, he moves to sit down. "I just came from lecture too. It's just so fascinating, isn't it?"

"What is?" Niall is still watching Harry flounder about when he says it.

"Er…" At this, Louis nerdy little persona cracks a little, but he's too busy staring right back at Harry to lose too much cool. "Learning, ya know? The quest for knowledge. University is meant to open one's eyes to the possibilities."

"Yeah, definitely." Harry finally snaps back into it, his hands moving down to smooth over the invisible wrinkles in his skirt. "Changes your perspective about the world around you."

"You're so right, love." Louis, in a move that feels too natural, casually leans his arm around Harry's chair, not touching him but lingering like a promise. "I'm really into changing perspectives right now. Seeing the potential in the world, in people, really."

"In people?" Harry ducks his chin a little, doesn't dare turn his head because he can see Niall's wide, shit eating grin out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, of course." At this, Louis' gaze slides down from Harry's, takes him all in - his cotton blouse, his mini skirt, long bare legs and the socks and oxfords on his feet - before snapping back up with a grin. "I'm really into exploring potential right now. Challenging what I can make of myself. How people can see me if I show them I have the right material."

[rainbowhighschoolnurse]

Doll restoration: Shadow High’s Heather Grayson

Didn’t realize until after I finished that I never took before pictures x_x. She came with the first lot of dolls I got, and was missing all but one single shoe of hers.

Unlike most of the dolls I’ve gotten, which had disastrous hair but face and body in pretty good condition, she was the opposite. Her body was really dirty. I had to wash her twice to clean off all the grime and grease buildup—the second time with stronger soap than usual. There were several weird smudges on her face that I went at with acetone when they didn’t come off on the first wash (very carefully so as not to accidentally remove her makeup), which thankfully worked even though Is still can’t think what might have cause them.

She also had what appeared to be mold on the back of her arm which I dealt with by scrubbing it clean and then wrapping it in an alcohol soaked paper towel for several hours to kill any germs or spores left over. Unfortunately, it was too late to prevent it staining the plastic.

Contrary to all that, her hair was in good shape. There’s some very slight discoloration on the underside of the white half, which I thought about doing an oxy-clean wash for, but frankly it didn’t seem worth it. You can only see it if you’ve got good light and you’re really looking for it. It combed out easily, and I washed and conditioned it and let it dry.

Now even though it didn’t take me an hour to comb out the tangles, that’s not to say her hair didn’t pose any problems. See, the thing is, her original hairstyle had been taken out and her hair was down, meaning I had to part it down the middle by color. And to make matters more difficult, rather than a single rooted part, she had a rooted line of black hair on the white half, and a rooted line of white on the black half, and I had to criss-cross basically one plug at a time, alternating to get it back to the way it was originally.

It took me about 5 hours over three days to do a two and a half inch part and I was separating strands individually way more than I would have liked. And that wasn’t even the end of it because once I got to the front, she had this huge clump of gray hair right on the crown of her head that wasn’t in any of the pictures I could find of the doll anywhere, so I wasn’t sure what to do about it. In the end, i just parted about ¾ of an inch in the front without regard for colors because how the heck else was I gonna deal with gray hairs. To make it look more intentional, I also pulled a small section in the back and reverse parted it so there was a streak behind her head.

Once her hair was fully parted, I could finally tie it up in her original pigtails, and that was when another problem presented itself: the bangs. They did not want to stay separated, and they really did not want to lay flat against her face. So what I did was pull them back and tie them together behind her neck with a hair-tie so they laid against her face like they were supposed to, then I rubbed some pomade on the hair over her face and especially right at her scalp, and left it for a few hours to set. When I took the hair-tie out, her bangs sit properly. There was a slight kink in her bangs where the hair-tie held them behind her neck, which you can see in the first pic, but it has since eased itself out with time and gravity.

Although I didn’t have her shoes, I did have most of her clothes, so I put her in her secondary dress and her awesome jacket, which has extra straps inside so she can wear it just over her shoulders and not on her arms, which I thought was pretty neat. I put her in Mila Berrymore’s thigh high embroidered boots because I thought it was a cool look with the minidress, and accessorized with a blind box purse and one of Carmen Major’s fishnet gloves to complete the look.

[khajiit-reads]

hello! here to request a reading!

my name is karol/eden (any pronouns), and im looking for an advice reading from your deck of choice.

im uh, going through it, massively fucked up at uni, and im kind of at a loss of what to do next - i saw that you dont want to read for any big life decisions, so i would really appreciate just, yknow, overall advice, ideally in the form of a small spread (if thats alright!). tysm!

Well met, internet traveler!

Today I'll be using Tarot of Dragons (Caelestinus, xe) by Shawn MacKenzie and Firat Solhan.

[ kinda just stares... ] Well. uh. it's definitely messy! /lighthearted (Kind of expected from this deck... xe did volunteer xemself.)

First let's tackle what each of these mean, okay? We'll go in order of the drawn, which was in the shape of a star, starting from the top. And yes, this seems to mostly be an acknowledgement of a mistake, but I'll do what I can to receive advice from these cards or pull more cards later on if needed.

Reversed Knight of Swords: This is the burn-out and restlessness card. It foretells of being tactless, unfocused, and perhaps even arrogant and rude.

Reversed VI of Swords: This card is about personal transition, but the kind you just don't want to take. The kind you run away from. Unfinished business, and resistance to change.

Upright X of Swords: This is the card of painful endings. It is one of the worst possible omens in the deck, it is ending, it is crisis, it is ruin.

Reversed Ace of Swords: This card speaks of inner clarity, re-thinking, confusion, and brutality.

Reversed II the High Priestess: This is the secrets card, the one that says you're disconnected from intuition and are withdrawing.

Whatever happened, yeah! It's messy, a major mistake was made. I'm sorry that I can't really disagree with that here.

Oooooookay... yeah, I'm gonna have to pull more cards for advice. I think you can also see that this is mostly a "hey. here's the situation." set-up. So here's the actual advice set:

Okay... THIS I can work with! It's still not great! But I can work with this!

Upright V of Pentacles: This is the financial loss card. It speaks of worry, hardship, etc. It is guardedness against harm as well.

Upright X of Pentacles: This is the wealth and support card, particularly from family. It speaks of tradition, settling down, family matters, and the family home. Note that family isn't always blood, bond is also family.

Reversed VI of Pentacles: This card speaks of self-care, unpaid debts, and abuse of generosity. It brings strings attached gifts and inequality.

Reversed V of Swords: This card brings reconciliation and making amends, resolving past problems, while also cutting losses that can't be fixed at all.

Okay. So. Overall, you're gonna have to accept the muck up. You did make a massive mistake, and it's going to have serious consequences. You seem to understand that and accept that.

Do you have people you can fall back on? Are there bridges currently burning that you can put the flames out still and cross them safely? Don't return to people who would doom you, but go to those who can support you during this time. Even if they may not be who you want to be around per se, they may be all you got, and you're in between a rock and a hard place.

You need to tend to yourself. Yes, things got absolutely mucked. Things are currently a giant bonfire. But you're still here. It won't do you any good to wallow. It's time to get up, tend to yourself, and fix what you can. Don't let it sit any longer. Get. it. done.

There's no perfect fix. There's no happy wave a wand and the problem is gone. This is a hard fix, a mechanics hands covered in grease kind of fix. All you can do now is damage control the best you can after what's all happened.

I'm sorry it's not a kinder, or more helpful answer. I wish you the best of luck.

Thank you so much for your patience with me performing this reading.

Reviews are helpful, but optional. You can send them in replies, my ask box, or reblogging this post. Feel free to reblog this post with your thoughts in general, or without a review! You can also reblog my guidelines post if you like. If you feel particularly satisfied with my work, you may leave a tip in my Ko-fi.

Please do not reblog this post if you are not the querent. If you want something to reblog, please reblog my guidelines post. If there’s something within the post you want, you may ask, and depending on the request, I might fulfill it! Thank you!

I hope you, and all readers, have a wonderful day!

[msfcatlover]

Shadow Stephanie (Reverse Robins)

Obviously to start with, Steph was iterating on Damian's design. The very first thing she did was take the whole outfit and give it a little color, losing the grey in order to layer in midnight blues & dark purples. It's actually a better stealth design than pure black, and while Damian took a long minute to think about it when Steph came to him to show her redesign ideas, he agreed that it was a smart change.

(This is the new color scheme. Not vibrant, but practical.)

The undersuit, including the full-coverage gloves, is now black. The costume itself is predominantly purple, but with thick blue detailing on the hems breaking it up a little bit.

The hooded cowl follows this color scheme, except the inside of the hood is solid black.

Steph changed the central tunic to something more like what she did for her Robin uniform, better fitting her tastes than Damian's uneven hem & separated panels. Using her WFA costume for a reference, note that we are only talking about the central red-part here. Also, Shadow!Steph's tunic is a little longer, probably ending a little past mid-thigh.

She limited Damian's puffy sleeves to the upper arms, replacing Damian's cuffs with elbow-length padded (still fingerless) gloves. with chrome-capped knuckles

(Once again, her fingers are still covered by the black undersuit. She just wears the gloves on top.)

(Something like these gloves, but with the armor incorporated into the structure rather than being on top, as seen in the real-world example.)

Steph swapped Damian's mouth-guard-mask for a simple black neck gaiter, but she kept the grease paint (as she considers it an iconic part of Shadow's look.) She has to work very hard to keep her hair pulled tight under the hood for both identity protection and just to keep as much grease paint as possible out of it.

Steph does still have Damian's thigh armor, but it's almost entirely hidden by the tunic; she kept the padded pants, but they're blue now.. She also has a utility belt (which Damian had, but I can't remember if I mentioned it) in black with silver buckles.

She traded out Damian's boots for a pair of these with armored knee-pads/shin-guards worn over top. The boots are composite-toe (or whatever you call the variant where it fully encases the foot) for resistance & comfort... with a polished steel plate at the tip for weight & fashion.

(OG boots, armor, chrome toe example; I'd've used an actual chrome-toed boot for her to start with, but can't seem to find non-platform versions.)

I think that's everything. I continue to put waaay too much thought & research into this AU. Damn.

[realmikedirnt]

oh yeah also

went out to the barn with joe this evening to learn how to change the oil + filter on my mum's car that will eventually be mine

didnt do really much driving at all, with the exception of pulling forward in two seperate instances

tried to back up into the car shop bay but couldnt manage it (didnt hit or break anything, just was having trouble with reversing the way i needed to)

also swapped the windshield wipers and refilled the washer fluid & grease joints

and like. it went really well. he didnt crowd me and try to do every step, but he also actually answered my questions if i had one while he let me figure stuff out. explained things in a way that didnt feel condesending OR like he assumed i knew everything. just... treated me like a person. he didnt keep pushing me to try and back in, but he also wasnt angry or rushing me out of the driver's seat when he did it for me in the end.

he even - like. he broke something, a complete accident, and i totally tensed up, i was so ready to be scared. but he... didnt explode ? he wasnt scary about it. he was upset, but he didnt blow it up to something unfixable and he didnt make his frustration about me or in my direction just because i was there. he was still frustrated and i still was a little nauseated bc that's a response that's fuckin hard to unlearn but. i dunno. closing in on a decade since the year i basically lived at friends houses as much as i could because i was so terrified of him. we've both changed a lot. it's really nice.

[xwinterdreamsx]

gave you the key and let you creep under my skin

Team Fuck fill for @stevetonygames square "Bodyswap"

It was wrong. He shouldn’t. It was an invasion of Tony’s privacy.

Steve looked down at his—not his. Tony’s. It was Tony’s body. Loki had used a magical whammy to swap his and Tony’s minds into each other’s bodies. For no other reason than sheer amusement, apparently.

Thor was working on a solution, he had something Loki wanted and he’d promised he could get Loki to reverse the spell. A couple days at the most. All Steve had to do was wait it out, and not take advantage of the opportunity to run his hands all over his friend's body without his permission.

Even as Steve reminded himself of this very important fact, his hands had a mind of their own.

Steve was in his bathroom so that he could shower—awkward considering it wasn’t his body he’d be washing—but post battle, also necessary. He’d gotten as far as pulling his shirt over his head before he froze at the sight of Tony’s bare chest in the mirror. He was… gorgeous.

Steve had seen him in his grease-stained white singlets that revealed a lot of his physique, but he’d never seen him shirtless before. Completely without his permission, Steve’s hands traced every ridge of his abs, cupped his pecs, thumbed his nipples—and wow, did that feel amazing.

All the while he watched the mirror, mesmerised by the sight of Tony Stark caressing his own body. It was a voyeuristic fantasy he never could have imagined because Steve was controlling it.

He pushed down his pants next, and his eyes widened at the sight of Tony’s cock, hard and dripping, straining upwards. Of course it was, Steve was feeling aroused as hell.

His hand was wrapped around it before he could even think. It was warm and throbbing within his tight grip, and he groaned in pleasure as he pulled his hand up.

This was wrong. This wasn’t touching necessary for washing himself, he hadn’t even gotten in the damn shower yet. This was pure indulgence. Unable to resist the lure of having full access to the body he’d always wanted permission to touch, but had never been brave enough.

Steve should stop. Any minute now he was going to let go and just… stop.

He didn’t know how to stop.

The bathroom door whispered open, and startled, Steve spun towards the door, holding his hands in front of himself as if to say I wasn’t doing anything! Even though he most definitely was, and his—Tony’s—bobbing cock made that clear.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Tony said, wearing a grin that was decidedly smug.

Shit. Anyone catching Steve in this position was mortifying, but Tony catching him was bad. Very, very bad.

“I, uh, I wasn’t! I was just showering. That’s why I’m naked. Because of the-the showering.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why the shower isn’t running and you were fondling me?”

“I wasn’t fondling!” Steve burst out.

“Kay. What were you doing?” Tony leaned nonchalantly against the door frame, humour painted all over his face as he watched Steve’s predicament.

He was such an asshole. This was a fun game for Tony, let’s see how much I can make Steve squirm. And what could Steve do? He’d been caught red-handed.

“I was…” he sighed ruefully, sliding into a helpless grin. “I was touching you, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? That I pulled off your shirt and I couldn’t resist? That I had to touch you. Had to feel you. I’m sorry, alright? I know it was wro—”

“Slow down there, Cap. I don’t need your apology. I said don’t stop. I meant it.” He nodded at the mirror. “Go on. Continue.”

Steve flushed. Tony wanted him to—he wanted to watch?

He turned around to once more face the mirror, sliding his palm down Tony’s chest, his stomach, grasping Tony’s cock.

“That’s it. Make me feel good, baby.”

Steve shivered. He didn’t even care about the strangeness of his own voice telling him that—he was too turned on. He stroked his hand up down several times, before he thumbed at the slit to get Tony’s precome on his thumb.

He lifted his hand and ducked his thumb in his mouth. “Mm, you taste good.”

“Fuck. Me.” Steve saw Tony moving in his peripheral vision, and then Tony was stepping behind him, pressing his new body flush against Steve’s back. “Look at us,” Tony whispered into Steve’s ear.

Steve did. They made a sexy picture—Steve’s somewhat taller and broader frame curving around Tony, blonde hair to dark brown, Steve’s lighter skin to Tony’s darker shade.

“I imagined this so many times,” Tony continued to murmur. “Not like this, of course.” He ran his hands down Steve’s arms, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I can’t say I’m not intrigued, though.” His hands drifted up Steve’s chest, settling on cupping Steve’s pecs.

But what Steve saw in the mirror was the opposite. It was Steve running his hands down Tony’s arms, Steve hands gripping Tony’s chest.

“It’s like I’m in control of my own fantasy,” Tony continued. “What do I want you to do next?”

“I could play with your nipples,” Steve suggested.

“Ah, discovered that little secret of mine, did you?” Tony fingered around his nipples for several circles, before he squeezed them both between his fingers.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Steve cried out, the sharp edge of pain combining with a pleasurable undercurrent that travelled straight down into his balls.

“So very sensitive,” Tony breathed against Steve’s cheek.

“Mo-ore.”

“Touch yourself.”

Steve complied, stroking himself while Tony plucked, stroked, pulled.

“Make them wet,” Tony instructed, sticking first his left thumb and forefinger into Steve’s mouth, and then once Steve had drenched them with his mouth, Tony swapped them for his right.

Tony returned to playing with his nipples, with an added slickness this time. Tony really must love nipple play, Steve mused, because the sensations were amazing.

“Tony,” he whined, knowing he needed something, but not sure what.

“Pinch the tip a little,” Tony instructed.

“What?”

“My dick. Pinch it, then rub it gently, then pinch it again. I like pain with my pleasure, gorgeous.”

A little nervous, but willing to trust Tony to know what he was talking about, Steve followed his instructions.

He pinched and rubbed the slit, and then pinched it again. A jolt of pleasure seared through him. As he rubbed his thumb below the head of his dick, Tony twisted his nipples and simultaneously bit down on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, and all the warring sensations were too much—confusing but incredible—and Steve’s vision went white and he yelled out as he came and came and came.

He collapsed back against Tony’s firm hold, hips jerking, whimpering at the feeling of Tony gently brushing his now too sensitive nipples.

“Fuck that was good honey, you were so good for me. I have always wanted that to happen.” Tony peppered kisses along the side of his face and in his hair.

Steve thought about that, about the way Tony had phrased it. Not I have always wanted to do that but I have always wanted that to happen. It was Tony’s fantasy after all, what Tony had wanted Steve to do to him.

Steve imagined what that would be like, being the one to play with Tony’s body, to give him instructions about how to touch himself. Holy hell. As mind blowing as this experience had been, he really wanted a chance to do that.

“How come you never said anything?” He asked curiously.

“Fear,” Tony admitted. “I’m not as immune to rejection as you may think.” Oddly, hearing his own voice already saying it, made it easier for Steve to respond in kind.

“Same.”

“Well, good thing we’re past that idiocy, huh? Once we’re back in our own bodies, we can figure this thing out. But in the meantime, you don’t mind if I play with yours, do you?”

“Not as long as you’re only playing with me.”

“Oh you can count on it, honeybunch.”

Steve snorted. “Okay that’s just wrong coming out of my mouth.”

“What would you prefer me to do with my mouth?” Tony asked suggestively.

Stony pulled away and spun around to face Tony. “You forget, you’re the one with the super serum and fast refractory period.”

“Are you insinuating something about my ability to get it up?”

“What I’m insinuating is that it’s your turn, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, well if you insist.” Tony sighed dramatically, leading the way back into Steve’s bedroom. Steve couldn’t suppress his grin.

He was pretty sure he loved this man. And he’d tell him that, just as soon as he got his body back. Looking into his own eyes and professing his love was just too weird.

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Your Necklace Hanging From My Neck

Paring: 13th Doctor x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,494

Summary: Whilst getting ready for an adventure, the Doctor comes to you, hairbrush in hand, with an odd request.

Request: hey, I really love how you write 13! can I request reader braiding 13s hair with the prompt “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.” Prompt: Stop moving and let me braid your hair.

A/N: So, I actually can't braid hair, but one of my best friends can, and when we were kids I was often the recipient of hair braids, so, I guess I kind of just reversed my experience. I hope it still works!!

You frowned at the necklaces in front of you, trying to work out which one would be more appropriate to wear. The five of you – Graham, Ryan, Yaz, you, and the Doctor, were representing the embassy for the Tree of Cheem in the New Earth Senate. You weren’t sure exactly why you were doing it, but you knew it had something to do with a forest that the Tree People wanted to protect, and that New Earth wanted to knock down to build a city.

You also knew that it was important to dress correctly, that you had to adequately represent the Tree People, or the New Earth Senate wouldn’t take you seriously as representatives.

Your hand hovered over a necklace with a wooden pendent in the shape of a leaf. There was a certain kind of life to it, like you could feel the soul of the tree it was from. But would it be tacky to wear it? Technically it was like wearing the Tree People’s skin, they were made out of wood, after all.

You then glanced towards the metal pendent, which was a small Tree of Life. It was such an important symbol to so many different mythologies and religions on Earth, that you were sure that even thousands of years in the future, the New Earth Senate would recognise it – but if they didn’t then you were just wearing a tree pendant.

There was a knock at the door and you straightened, leaning into your chair. You called out. “Come in!”

The door opened slowly, and you found that the Doctor was standing there. She was wearing dark blue trousers, paired with a matching dark blue blazer, and was wearing a white, button up shirt with a rainbow stripe running down one side. Even with her hair sticking out in different directions, reminding you of a birds nest, she still looked ridiculously nice.

You swallowed nervously, noticing that your mouth had gone dry.

Yeah. Ridiculously nice.

“Hi Doc,” you said, and were momentarily mortified when your voice cracked. “Is everything okay.”

“Do you know how to braid hair?” She asked.

For a moment you didn’t answer, too stunned by the request. It was such an odd thing for her to ask, you didn’t think she had ever done anything with her hair a day in her life – except cut it.

And now she wanted it braided?

The Doctor spoke on, rambling. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t, I can go find Yaz. I know she knows how to braid hair, and her hair always looks good – I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you in the first place-“

You spun around in your chair, holding your hands up placatingly. “Woah Doc, it’s okay,” the Doctor clamped her mouth shut when you spoke, and you gave her a small smile. You waved a hand, gesturing to your bedroom. “Come in.”

She glanced into your bedroom, and her eyes widened slightly, which confused you. You weren’t sure what it was that she found daunting, but she almost looked like a deer caught in headlights.

You stood up  walking over to your bed and sitting on it cross-legged. Considering how short her hair was, it would be easier to braid her hair here, where you could reach it better. You patted the bed in front of her, trying to give her a reassuring smile. “C’mere.”

The Doctor gave you a single, solitary nod, and then scurried into your bedroom like she was a trespassing toddler. She arrived at the foot of your bed, and placed a hand on your bedspread experimentally, as if she was trying to determine the thread count.

Then, just as carefully, she climbed onto your bed, sitting in front of you.

She was quite close, her knees bumped against yours as she sat, and you swore there was only half an inch between your noses. You let out a shaky breath, suddenly hyper aware of your own body; where your arms were, the shape of your legs, and the way your toes stuck out from under you.

Your throat was dry. The Doctor was so close. You could see into her eyes, and you realised, quite suddenly, that you had never actually quite looked into her eyes before, not properly. You couldn’t work out what colour they were, in the light, currently, they looked hazel, almost brown, but then she tilted her head, and suddenly they were as green as the grass from your childhood school’s oval.

You cleared your throat. “How would you like your hair done?”

The Doctor blinked, and you watched her eyes refocus on you. “Oh, braids. Did I forget to say that?”

The absurdity of her response startled a laugh out of you. “Oh Doc, no, I know you want braids. I just mean, what kind?” You rattled off a couple of different versions you could do; a single braid, double braids. For her, you would even try a waterfall braid, even though her hair was quite short.

The Doctor chewed on her lip in thought. It was distracting, and you found your gaze lingering by her mouth.

“I dunno,” she said, and you snapped your head up. Her face was pulled slightly in a small frown, scrunched up in that adorably familiar way. “What would make me look most like a tree?”

“Probably tree bark,” you said, not really fully considering the question. They you realised what she meant. “Oh wait, is that a thing?”

“It’s a sign of respect,” she explained, and her eyes began to twinkle in that familiar way that they always did when she was about to explain something she thought was really cool. The topics normally ranged from anything including quantum physics or the history of jammie dodgers. “The Tree People see them as patterns, like the ones they have on their bark, and it’s always reflected in their hair. To emulate it is to show that you see the beauty in it.”

You patted your hair with your hand. “Should we all have braids then? We could even give Graham one! A little tuft on the top of his head,” you emulated a vase shape with your hands. “Like a pineapple.”

The Doctor let out a small laugh, and you saw tension ease from her shoulders. “Oh no, just me, since I’m the main one speaking.”

“Ah,” you said. “Right. So a single braid then.”

She nodded, and she seemed a lot more sure of herself now. She handed you a brush you hadn’t realised she had been holding, and twisted herself around so her back was to you. You began to run the brush through her hair, and noticed that there pretty much weren’t any knots, despite how unruly it looked. At most, you seemed to just be settling it, putting it back in its original place.

You wondered if she had tried braiding her hair herself first, before coming to you, which was why her hair was a mess in the first place. The brush went through so smoothly, as if you were brushing through silk.

Soon though, the Doctor began to fidget.

It was small at first, she fiddled with your sheets, rubbing them between her fingers, twisting them in her hands. You noticed it in the corner of your vision, but it didn’t concern you.

You set the brush to the side. Her hair had grown out a bit, and it curled slightly on the ends. You parted it by the top of her head, and paused for a moment. The Doctor’s hair was so incredibly soft, like beams of light had woven themselves into her hair.

You took a moment to just run your hands through it, under the guise of sectioning it off. The Doctor leaned into your touch, and you let yourself just stroke her hair, enjoying the feel, the texture of it. It smelled faintly of vanilla and engine grease.

Then the Doctor began to sway, drumming against your bed.

You raised an eyebrow. Every time you tried to section off a piece of hair, the Doctor would move slightly, and you would lose the strands. This was the flaw of her soft hair, it wouldn’t stay in one spot.

“Everything alright?” You asked, and you felt as if something broke, like an invisible line of tension had snapped between you. The Doctor jolted slightly, and you wondered if she had felt it too.

“Huh, oh yeah,” she said. “Just feeling a bit restless.”

“Oh,” you paused, trying to work out how you could fix that. You knew the Doctor had a lot of energy, she was constantly moving, constantly talking, it was live movement was her best friend, her total constant. “Would you tell me a story then?”

So she did. She told you of the time she had convinced Marcus Aurelius to join her band, because apparently she was band mates with a Roman Emperor, which, upon thinking about it, didn’t really surprise you.

Your plan to subdue her backfired. She made intense gestures, mimicking guitars, drums, and screaming crowds. She would rock herself one way, and you would rock with her, trying to keep your progress on her hair and not mess up.

You found her enthusiasm wonderful, as you always did. The Doctor was just so bright, and when she was excited, it just seemed to radiate everywhere, like it was something tangible, something you could hold.

Except, right now, it was making your braiding job just a little bit difficult.

“Hey Doc,” you said, amusement lacing your voice. “I really am liking this story, but you need to stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

The Doctor stilled, deflating slightly. “Oh, I hadn’t realised.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s not a bad thing,” you paused for a moment, because you really didn’t like this mood change, you didn’t want to upset her. “Here, let’s make a compromise. Keep your movements below your head, so I can make your hair look as nice as I can.”

The Doctor nodded, the verbally winced. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that.”

You laughed lightly, because it was just so like her to forget like that. “It’s alright.”

So you braided her hair and listened to her talk. She told you stories of distant, extravagant, far off places, and of grand people you had never hoped to meet. She told you about times you had never known existed, and of places you had never dreamed could be real. You marvelled in it, and couldn’t wait to see it all.

When you finished, you tied up her hair gently, not wanting to tug on it. It was a small rope of hair ending at the base of her neck, and it shone in the soft light of your bedroom.

The Doctor turned to you with a delighted grin, and she ran her hand up and down the braid. You had left some strands of hair out, and they wisped around her face, gently framing it.

She looked gorgeous, sitting there in her beautiful clothes and the hairstyle you had done. Her earring glinted in the light. It was different from her normal one, the base of it was a collection of leaves, wooden and metal interspersed, and the chain almost looked like a vine, connecting it to a claps with a wooden design. She stole your breath away.

���Oh,” you said softly. “You look lovely, Doctor.”

The Doctor blinked in surprise, as if she wasn’t expecting the compliment. “Thank you,” she said, her voice just as soft. She placed her hands over yours. They were warm, and made you feel just as warm inside. You were hoping you weren’t flushed, but the heat you felt in your face said otherwise. “I really appreciate it, and I’m really glad I got to spend some more time with you.”

You snorted, despite yourself. “You looked like you’d been caught with your hand stuck in the cookie jar earlier.”

The Doctor paled, and you wondered what was going through that brilliant mind of hers. “I’m just a bit awkward,” she said finally. “Bit weird comin’ in here, I know how you humans are with your bedrooms.”

You frowned slightly, the Doctor was always in people’s bedrooms. She hung out in Ryan’s room all the time. They played video games together. She’d also slept in Yaz’s room in her family’s house when you had all stayed there that one night, and had been fine with the idea then. She’d even camped out in Grahams room in the TARDIS once, and had turned it into a theme park for mice.

You wondered what made you different, why the Doctor felt awkward around you. Why she felt awkward in your bedroom.

Then you didn’t dare think about it, because you didn’t want to draw any sort of wrong conclusions.

There was a voice calling from outside – Graham. “Are we heading off to the senate now?”

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze from the Doctor. You pushed that thought aside, you didn’t have the time to think about it now.

“You’re welcome any time,” you said, rather boldly all things considered. “I love having you around, Doc.”

You chanced a glance at her face, and she was giving you one of the most earnest smiles you had ever seen. “Oh well, that’s quite good then,” she said. “I love having you round too.”

She looked like she was about to say more but she stopped herself at the last moment, closing her mouth.

Graham called out again. “Y/N? Doc? You there?”

The Doctor shrugged, and she squeezed your hands. “Best hop to it then.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “Let’s go end a political dispute.”

The Doctors eyes flickered towards your neck, which was still bare. “You’re not wearing one of those necklaces.”

Your hand brushed against the base of your neck. “Oh, no, I forgot.”

The Doctor hopped up, and fished for something in her pocket. “D’you mind?” she asked.

You shook your head and turned around, not quite sure what she was doing. Suddenly, her hands were on the back of your neck, and the shock of it made the hair there stand on end. She wrapped a small chain around you, and you pawed at the pendent. It felt like it was both wooden and metal, and when you eyed it in the mirror, you noticed it was a metal tree branch, with lines of wood wrapped around the silver metal.  

You also noticed that it matched her earring.

“There,” she breathed, her breath was warm against you neck. “Now we’re both ready.”

Graham called out again, and you knew it was time to leave.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s go.”

You would question this later.

The Doctor wouldn’t be getting her necklace back, though.

But, as she looked at you, all delighted by the way it sat around your neck, you didn’t think she would mind if you kept it.

[elisaphoenix13]

What Makes A Mother?

Diana had a half day at school and Tony had meetings all day so Stephen refused to let him take Lucy with him. The boys and Cassie were at school so the sorcerer currently had all three girls with him. Stephen picked up Diana from school, promptly tossed her backpack through a portal, and then walked to the store nearby. Athena was, of course, with him, which was a big help to keep Valerie close and safe since his hands were currently full with his youngest daughter. Diana was old enough to know how to stay close in the busy streets of New York, and Valerie knew to hold on to the wolf or him.

Currently Diana and Valerie chose Athena while Stephen gave some of his attention to Lucy in an attempt to keep her warm. She was too small for a winter jacket, so he made sure she was safely bundled up with blankets in her stroller. Something even now he felt kind of ridiculous pushing around even after having to do so with Valerie, but times like these called for it. He didn't have the strength in his hands to carry her, and pushing the stroller was something he could barely do in these cold months. It's why he quickly herded his children to the store to get out of the biting cold for their sake and his.

His gloves only did so much even if Tony made them specifically for instances like this. They kept his hands warm and even dulled some of the chronic pain he had on a daily basis. When his husband presented the gloves to him and Stephen tried them on...he actually cried tears of relief. He was so used to the pain that he had learned to ignore it for the most part, and when he slipped the gloves on? Instant relief. It was almost overwhelming.

Now he wore them during the cold months or when he was having an especially bad day and no one could help massage his hands.

"How come we're here again?" Diana asks as she grabs a basket.

"I just need a few last minute things before Christmas." Stephen answers as he leads the girls further into the store.

She makes a face. "You said you got everything done."

The sorcerer chuckles. "I did. At least until your father drank the last of his coffee this morning and everyone suddenly remembered stuff they needed. Since I was coming for coffee, I offered to pick up whatever they needed."

"So Uncle Scott needs juice."

"Actually, Uncle Bucky needs toothpaste." Stephen chuckles again as they walk down the aisle with the coffee.

Lucy was comfortably asleep in the stroller, undisturbed by the buzz of noise around her since Target was busier than usual. People were out getting last minute gifts and stocking stuffers and probably even doing what Stephen was doing. If there was music playing, he could hardly hear it, but the baby was used to louder noises than this. In fact, sudden loud noises rarely woke her since she was constantly found in the lab with Tony. Stephen was convinced he was trying to make her into another grease monkey. As if Harley and Peter weren't enough. Valerie and William preferred quieter activities with Stephen, Diana didn't mind either but was normally found with Cassie anyway, and Thomas...well he was an active kind of person. He couldn't really sit still long enough to tinker or put together a jigsaw puzzle.

"I found Daddy's coffee!" Dia announces and grabs the coffee to put in the basket.

"I'm not going to even ask how you know." Stephen shakes his head.

He had a feeling Cassie had a lot to do with it in the later years before the snap was reversed. Well, then and now. Stephen supposed he took her shopping for coffee often enough that she learned what they got.

"Natasha and Sam need some too." He says and grabs their favorites to drop in the basket. "Can you carry that?"

"Uh-huh."

He could sense that magic had a hand in her ability to carry the basket as it got heavier, but as there was no visible proof, he didn't say anything. "We'll grab the toothpaste on the way back."

"Mama, juice?" Valerie asks quietly.

"Yes, we're getting juice as well." Stephen says softly.

For some reason after that, his stomach dropped and he suddenly felt on edge, and before he could wonder why, the woman at the other end of the aisle answered that question. She clicks her tongue in disapproval and Stephen looks over at her incredulously at her next words.

"There's something wrong with a child that calls a man her mother. Only women who have carried their child and gone through hours of painful labor to bring them into this world are deserving of that title." She says with pursed lips.

He had no idea why it bothered him so much. She certainly wasn't the first to make a comment, but maybe it was because she insinuated that one of his children had a problem. Maybe it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Whatever it was, it had him turning to face her fully instead of ignoring her and continuing his shopping.

"Excuse me?" He challenges and to his surprise, she takes the bait instead of cowering.

"Your little girl is wrong to call you her mother." The woman repeats. "You are not a woman and you didn't give birth to her."

If Stephen had fur, it would be standing on end right about now. He didn't, but Athena was well tuned to his emotions that she did it for him. She knew better than to growl but he could sense that she was ready to and held his hand out to the side to signal that it was unnecessary. Valerie was on the verge of tears and hiding against the wolf and Diana was giving the woman a sour glare.

"Who are you to say that my daughter is wrong?" Stephen snaps. "And who are you to determine what or who makes a mother?! What about the women out there that can't have their own children? Are they not mothers to the children they adopt and love? What about the women who carry a baby to term but give up their baby for adoption? Are they still a mother even though they went through the pain?"

The woman was getting a little miffed already. "You're a--"

"A man? Maybe I didn't carry and birth my girls but I'm still the reason they exist! Maybe they weren't brought into this world in the conventional way but I'm their mother because that is what my children chose to call me! That was started by a teenage boy by the way. I feed my kids. I nurture them. I care for them when they're sick or even hurt and there have been many times that I put myself in direct line of danger to keep them safe!" Stephen was fuming and the lady actually started to look sheepish and reprimanded. "A mother isn't determined by their ability to have children, but by their ability and willingness to raise a child. The same goes for fathers. If they abandon an expecting mother, they give up their title as father because they aren't there to help raise the child. They're just sperm donors." Stephen grits his teeth. "So maybe next time you'll think before you say anything so ignorant and negative again. But maybe even that will be too much for someone like you."

And with that, Stephen turned his attention back to the juice on the shelves and left the woman standing there properly admonished. He gently pet Valerie's hair to soothe her as Athena huffed in shared annoyance and Diana...well she seemed to be searching through her coat. Stephen didn't think anything of it until suddenly he saw her throw out her arm toward the woman and dark blue sparkles clouded his peripheral vision. When he turned his head to get a proper look, he had to keep himself from laughing at the shocked expression on the woman's face as glitter covered her and Diana looked up at the lady with another scowl.

"Maybe that will help make you prettier on the inside."

The woman stomps off in a huff and Diana brushes the remaining glitter off of her hands as Stephen looks down at her. The little girl looked mighty pleased with herself and Stephen wasn't going to reprimand her for the use of glitter this time. He did inconspicuously use his magic to clean up what had fallen on the floor though since he didn't wish glitter clean up on any poor soul that worked there. When that was finished, he knelt down to look at Valerie and smile.

"You did nothing wrong." He says softly and wipes away the remains of her tears.

"She was just a jealous and mean old lady." Diana pipes up.

"Am I bad?" Valerie asks quietly and the sorcerer shakes his head.

"Absolutely not. I don't think you have a mean bone in your body." He kisses the top of her head and pats Athena's as he stands back up. "Good girl." He praises quietly.

Even through that whole debacle when Stephen went as far as raising his voice, Lucy was sound asleep and remained so until they finished shopping and were in line to checkout. The woman was nowhere to be seen and Stephen wasn't too surprised after Diana gave her the glitter shower, but he also wasn't going to complain. He didn't want there to be a second confrontation in case she thought of a clever response to the new asshole he ripped her. Especially since Lucy would be fussing for food any moment.

That moment came the second they left the store with their purchases and Stephen portaled them home. He took her out of the stroller once they were fully in the penthouse and already had a bottle in her mouth that he had premade in the diaper bag. Diana helped carry some of the groceries toward the kitchen while Valerie followed Athena into the living room, and both Stephen and Diana froze when they found Harley and William already in the kitchen.

Kissing.

"When did this happen?" Stephen accidentally blurts out.

William instantly pulls himself away from Harley, turns a nice shade of red, and then seemingly pops out of existence, making Harley groan loudly. "Ugh! Mom!"

"Sorry." Stephen laughs. "He'll come back around. Come help with the groceries in the meantime."

"There was a mean lady there." Diana's face sours as she holds the bags up for her brother to take. "She said Mommy isn't a mommy."

Harley takes the bags and sets them on the counter before looking at Stephen with an irritated look. "Who? I'll go find her and give her a piece of my mind!"

"I already ripped into her." Stephen shakes his head. "Your sister ended it with a flourish of dark blue glitter she smuggled in her pockets."

"And I missed it?!" Harley sighs and separates everything to either be picked up or taken down to whoever requested it.

"Clearly you were having your own fun." Stephen responds dryly and Harley blushes.

Diana left to join her sister in the living room once everything was being handled and Stephen told Harley what transpired at the store. His look of irritation turned dark when the sorcerer told him exactly what she had said, but then visibly relaxed a little when he told him what his response was. After everything was put away, Harley walked over to Stephen and surprised the hell out of him when he threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. Stephen stood there in shock for a few moments at the rare sign of affection from Harley, but he soon reciprocated the hug with one of his arms. Lucy squeaked from being a little smushed between them.

"You're the best mom. Better than so many out there. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise because anyone would be lucky to have you as their mom. I know we are. I am."

Stephen's heart twists pleasantly and he sighs softly. "...thank you Harley. I didn't realize how much I needed that confirmation."

"I'll literally go round everyone up and put together an emergency Mom Day." Harley says after pulling away and Stephen chuckles.

"That's unnecessary but thank you." He points to the remaining groceries on the counter. "You can deliver those for me though."

Harley grins and salutes him before grabbing everything and disappearing onto the elevator. Stephen then joins the two girls in the living room to sit on the couch and finish feeding Lucy her bottle and Valerie immediately climbs up next to him and curls into his side. He had no clue what had gotten into him at the store but he had no regrets. He had actually tasted sulphur in his mouth as he lectured the woman, and that was a sure sign that the dragon was trying to surface. That would have been overkill so he fought it down for the sole reason to not cost his husband millions of dollars for destroying Target. Tony probably wouldn't have minded if he knew what was said, but there was also the risk of not making it home because of exhaustion from shape shifting.

Valerie tugs on his sleeve and when he looks at her, she gives him her adorable pleading eyes. "Bear movie?"

Stephen chuckles and puts Lucy's bottle down to hold her up and burp her. "FRIDAY, turn on Brave please."

"Yes, Doctor." The tv turns on and Brave starts playing just as Lucy rewards him with a burp.

"How about some lunch?" Stephen asks as he gets up to place Lucy in her swing.

"Peanut butter and jelly!" Diana requests at the same time Valerie says, "juice!"

As Stephen walks back to the kitchen, a body attaches itself to his back and he sighs.

"Aren't you a little too old for this Spiderling?"

"Nope. Gotta make sure you feel loved and appreciated." Peter quips and keeps his hold.

"I'm sure we look ridiculous." The sorcerer says fondly.

"Probably. Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich too?"

"Since you're clearly five today, why not?"

"Just don't use your magic to make it true."

Stephen smirks. "Well, it would make the piggyback ride easier."

"No, suffer." Peter huffs.

[greatworldwar2]

• Panzer 38(t)

The Panzerkampfwagen 38(t), originally known as the ČKD LT vz. 38 was a tank designed during the 1930s, and developed in Czechoslovakia. It saw extensive use in World War 2.

The Panzer 38(t) was a conventional inter-war tank design, with riveted armour. The armour varied in thickness from 10 mm to 25 mm in most versions. Later models (Ausf. E on) increased this to 50 mm by bolting on an additional 25 mm armour plate to the front portion of the hull. The sides received an additional 15 mm increase of armour from Ausf. E production runs onward. The two-man turret was centrally located, and housed the tank's main armament, a 37 mm Skoda A7 gun with 90 rounds of ammunition. In addition, a 7.92 mm machine gun was in a ball mount to the right of the main gun. This machine gun could be trained on targets independently of the main gun, or coupled to the main gun for use as a conventional coaxial machine gun. The driver was in the front right of the hull, with the radio operator seated to the driver's left. The radio operator manned the hull-mounted 7.92 mm machine gun in front. Minor adjustments, such as adjustable seats for the driver and firmer footing for the commander/gunner and loader, were provided in German service. A total of 2,550 rounds were carried for the bow and turret machine guns. The driver could also fire the hull machine gun with a trigger fitted on the left tiller bar. In German service, a loader position was added to the turret by reducing the ammunition capacity by 18 rounds. All future Panzer 38(t) tanks were rebuilt according to this specification and those already in service were modified accordingly. The engine was mounted in the rear of the hull and powered the tank through a transmission at the front of the hull with five forward gears and one reverse gear. The track ran under four rubber-tired road wheels and back over a rear idler and two track return rollers. The wheels were mounted on a leaf-spring double-bogie mounted on two axles.

In 1935, the Czechoslovak tank manufacturer ČKD was looking for a replacement for the LT-35 tank they were jointly producing with Škoda Works. The LT-35 was complex and had shortcomings, and ČKD felt there would be orders both from the expanding Czechoslovak army and for export. ČKD decided to use a leaf-spring suspension with four large wheels for their new tank with an export success under the name "TNH". With small variations for each customer, 50 were exported to Iran, 24 each to Peru and Switzerland, Lithuania also ordered some. The British Royal Armoured Corps (RAC) had one trial model delivered on March 23rd, 1939 to Gunnery School at Lulworth. A report stated that "the (bow) gunner could not sit back comfortably as the wireless set was in the way of his left shoulder". The report also stated that, due to the shudder while the vehicle was on the move, it was impossible to lay the gun. As a result, the British did not purchase the LT-35 and the trial model was returned.

In the fall of 1937, the Czechoslovak Armed Forces launched a contest for a new medium tank; Škoda, ČKD and Tatra competed. Škoda Praga submitted the existing joint production export model mentioned above. ČKD also entered a prototype separate from the above, the interesting V-8-H (later called the ST vz. 39), which proved to have numerous mechanical problems. Tatra, known mostly for its smaller, wheeled armoured cars, submitted a paper entry that was a very novel concept that completely changed the layout of a tank, which concept they patented in 1938. On July 1st, 1938, Czechoslovakia ordered 150 of the TNHPS model, although none had entered service by the time of the German occupation. After the takeover of Czechoslovakia, Germany ordered continued production of the model as it was considered an excellent tank, especially compared to the Panzer I and Panzer II that were the Panzerwaffe's main tanks during the outset of WWII. It was first introduced into German service under the name LTM 38; this was changed in January 1940 to Panzerkampfwagen 38(t). The relatively small turret of the Panzer 38(t) was incapable of mounting a cannon powerful enough to defeat more heavily armoured tanks such as the T-34, so production of the Pz. 38(t) halted in June 1942 when more than 1,400 had been built. Other examples of the Pz. 38(t) were also sold to a number of other Axis nations, including Hungary (102), Slovakia (69), Romania (50), and Bulgaria (10).

The main advantages of the Panzer 38(t), compared to other tanks of the day, were a high reliability and sustained mobility. In one documented case, a regiment was supplied with tanks driven straight from the factory in 2.5 days instead of the anticipated week, without any mechanical breakdowns. In the opinion of the crews, the drive components of the Pz. 38(t) - engine, gear, steering, suspension, wheels and tracks - were perfectly in tune with each other. The Pz. 38(t) was also considered to be very easy to maintain and repair. After production of the Pz. 38(t) ceased, the chassis was used for tank destroyer designs, which were produced in greater numbers than the original Pz. 38(t). From 1942–1944, about 1,500 examples of the Marder III model were produced. It was replaced by the Jagdpanzer 38(t), based on a modified Panzer 38(t) chassis, of which approximately 2,800 were produced. The Panzer 38(t) chassis was also the basis for an anti-aircraft gun carrier, the Flakpanzer 38(t), of which about 140 were produced.

The Panzer 38(t) performed well in the invasion of Poland in 1939 and the Battle of France in 1940. It was better armed than the Panzer I and Panzer II tanks. It was on a par with most light tank designs of the era, although it was unable to effectively engage the frontal armour of medium, heavy and infantry tank designs. It was also used in the German invasion of the Soviet Union from 1941 onwards in German and Hungarian units, but was outclassed by Soviet tanks such as the T-34. Some ex-German units were issued to the Romanians in 1943, after the loss of many of the Romanian R-2 tanks. By then, it had become largely obsolete, though the chassis was adapted to a variety of different roles with success. Notable variations include the Sd.Kfz. 138 Marder III mobile anti-tank gun, the Sd.Kfz. 138/1 Grille mobile howitzer, Flakpanzer 38(t) and the Jagdpanzer 38(t) "Hetzer" tank destroyer. The German tank commander Otto Carius, who was credited with over 150 'kills', described an action in a 38(t) in July 8th, 1941: "It happened like greased lightning. A hit against our tank, a metallic crack, the scream of a comrade, and that was all there was! A large piece of armour plating had been penetrated next to the radio operator's seat. No one had to tell us to get out. Not until I had run my hand across my face while crawling in the ditch next to the road did I discover that they had also got me. Our radio operator had lost his left arm. We cursed the brittle and inelastic Czech steel that gave the Russian 47mm anti-tank gun so little trouble. The pieces of our own armour plating and assembly bolts caused considerably more damage than the shrapnel of the round itself."

The above report highlights the reason why the 38(t) was pulled out of front lines in favour of heavier Panzer III, IV and StuG IIIs. Panzer 38(t) continued to serve after 1941 as a reconnaissance vehicle and in anti-partisan units for some time. Several captured examples were refitted with Soviet DTM machineguns and employed by the Red Army. At the start of Operation Barbarossa, the Germans found Soviet T-34 tanks to be superior, as the German 37 mm Pak36 anti-tank gun proved incapable of penetrating the T-34's armour. To neutralize the T-34, the Germans mounted a captured Soviet 76.2mm gun on the chassis of the 38(t) model as a stop-gap measure and called it the "Marder III". Crews of early Marder III models fought exposed on top of the engine deck. Efforts to provide Marder III crews with more protection eventually lead to the Hetzer design.

The T-38 was the local designation for the wartime deliveries of Panzer 38(t)s from Germany to Romania in 1943. T-38 served with the forces operating in Kuban. within 2nd Tank Regiment and later the 54th Company attached to the HQ and the cavalry corps in Kuban and Crimea. T-38 tanks were still in action with the 10th Infantry Division and Cavalry Divisions in 1944. In the Slovak Army, this tank received designation LT-38. Because of the first series of the LT-38 was not finished in March 1939 and as it was seized by Nazi Germany, the army of the Slovak State, a German ally in the Polish and Soviet campaigns, initially had only LT-35 tanks. In 1940 Slovak Army ordered 10 tanks, which were used in Operation Barbarossa. Two tanks were destroyed, other 8 tanks later returned to Slovakia. After that, Slovak Army ordered another 27 tanks, and when Germans started withdrawing Panzer 38(t) tanks, Slovak Army received another 37 tanks from Germany. 13 tanks of this type were used by slovak insurgents during the Slovak National Uprising in 1944.

[griffinsmith]

Whew boy i typed up about 1400 words for my au about Dr Jackall and Margherita Vizzini escaping and post-escaping Newgate prison. Its a bit of a mess but here it is lol

Oh boy this is going to be a disaster. Au takes place directly after the events of the barkingham palace dungeon, i put it in bulletpoints to make it a little easier on the eyes

I didnt proofread this im sorry in advance

-   So obviously you don’t just hypnotize the royal guard, destroy royal property, and kidnap the queen without suffering consequences. In canon, Dr Jackall urges the player to let him “suffer his own dark path”, but that’s not happening. As soon as the royal airship was brought back to barkingham palace, about a dozen guards grabbed Dr Jackall out of it and threw him right into Newgate to serve out about a dozen life sentences.

-  All of the accomplices that Dr Jackall hired to help him execute his plan with also got slapped into Newgate (save for chief whip since he wasn’t hired into it), and Jackall got stuck in the same cell as Margherita Vizzini. You know, his “most trusted lieutenant” and (in my hc) his closest friend, who is also a very powerful dueler, and the person that Jackall personally banished to Newgate after she failed to stop the young wizard on the palace rooftops. Jackall thought that she’d understand him throwing her under the bus to save his own hide, wouldn’t she have done the same if their roles were reversed?

- The answer to that question was apparently “no”, as after he gave a half-assed apology, she wailed on him until Newgate guards had to pull them apart. Jackall had a black eye for two weeks.

- Time passes, about three months. Jackalls pretty fed up with the prison life; who knew that getting tossed into the most notorious and miserable prison this side of the spiral would be so awful and dull? He needed to get out. Of course, Newgate isn’t about to allow its inhabitants to just waltz around with wands, potions, or anything even remotely helpful to escaping…buuuut they couldn’t take away a persons magic, just their method of channeling it. However, this didn’t apply to certain species who could channel music through a specific limb, like unicorns….like Margherita. Instead she just had a magic-casting-disrupting device locked around her horn, but with a bit of elbow grease from someone who perhaps didn’t have hooves for hands, it could be fiddled off.

- Following another, slightly better, more sincere apology, Jackall and Margherita somewhat repair their broken friendship, and agreed to break out of Newgate together, deciding to leave Marleybone after their escape. Margherita figured that Jackall wouldn’t leave her in the dust again, he seemed to be remorseful enough after three months of her giving him the silent treatment. She did give Jackall another good kick to the gut for good measure before fully agreeing to escaping, though.

- Soon enough, Jackall had managed to crack open the device around Marghertia’s horn, and after one quiet teleportation spell Margherita performed, the two disappeared to her home in Chelsea Court. As the two quickly changed out of their prison garb, police sirens shattered the silence, and they both knew that their disappearance from Newgate had been noticed.

- Jackall impulsively snatched a wand off of a table and teleported over to his own home, hoping to grab a few vital things before he abandoned his old cushy life forever. Unfortunately, his home, if it could be called that, was simply a broom closet room turned lab smack dab in Barkingham Palace. And of course, there happened to be royal guards standing in it, evidently cleaning the room out. Upon the abrupt arrival of the man who used to work with them, they stood slack jawed as he quickly shoved some clothes and one spiral key into his arms and skedaddled. Now did not only most of Marleybone know that a fugitive or two was on the loose, but the entire royal guard would be after them. Fantastic.

- Somehow, both Margherita and Jackall managed to reach Wolfminster Abbey without getting recaptured, and seconds before royal guards poured into the church after them, they jammed their one and only spiral key into the spiral door and hopped to another world.

-  Jackall was unsure of which world the spiral key led to; it had been years since he’d used it last. He was hoping it would lead to Mooshu, or Dragonspyre, or even Avalon, just somewhere that wouldn’t be infested with Marleybonian expeditioners. As luck would have it, the two fugitives wound up in a land without too many Marleybonians: Wizard City. The city where thousands of eyes would be upon them, the city that acts as a sort of hub for many spiral travelers, the city where they would surely be recognized by somebody and sent straight back from whence they came. …Great.

- Jackall and Margherita practically launched themselves out of Bartley and high-tailed it out of Ravenwood, positive the royal guards would be right behind them. Running into the Commons, the Marleybone outlaws barreled over many a young wizard before diving into the shopping center tunnel.

- Every shop was closed for the night except for one which still had light coming out of it. Desperate to get away from the royal guards that were almost certainly searching for them in the Commons by now, Jackall and Margherita banged on the door. The badger who opened said door took one look at the disheveled unicorn and jackal in front of her and murmured about not getting paid enough to deal with this before grabbing a suitcase next to the door and tossing keys into Margherita’s hands. Before the two could say anything, the badger stepped out of the shop and walked away, remarking something along the lines of “you two can take care of this place, I’ve had it up to here with wizards and people like you constantly bothering me” before she teleported away.

- Jackall and Marghertia didn’t bother question what the hell had just happened, having eyes only for the new shelter they could hide in. They quickly doused the lights and ducked beneath the windows when royal guards came running past. The next morning, after they had seen guards leaving, they poked their noses around the shop that they were now evidently in possession of…the jewel shop..

- The two only realized the nature of the shop moments before young wizards began entering the store, wanting to exchange jewels and asking questions about where the old owner of the store was. Jackall and Margherita handled the new store responsibilities as well as they could, and managed to not arise suspicion throughout the day, but by the end their nerves were fried.

- Their new situation was less than ideal, but hey, it wasn’t prison. Now they just needed to teach themselves how to find ores, create jewels, and infuse them with magic, all while managing a shop. No wonder the badger gave up the store so quickly.

- Surprisingly, Jackall isn’t all that bad at finding ores in the caves past Olde Towne and infusing jewels with magic, and Margherita makes a pretty good crafter and business woman. The fake identities they’ve been using haven’t arisen any suspicion yet, and they’ve even got some new outfits from the Bazar to blend in more. After a few months, they start experimenting with jewels that bring more powerful bonuses to the wizard that equips them, like higher mana and health boosts, and even start stocking jewels for pets. Margherita and Jackall are … actually enjoying their new lives? The haven’t seen any guards from Marleybone in Wizard City in a good while, so the threat of them being hauled back is dying off. Everything is good.

- Until Sherlock Bones and Watson walk through the shop’s door. Jackall and Margherita freak out, reasonably so, sure that theyre about to get handcuffed and brought back to Newgate. But…they aren’t recognized. Watson gives a good hard stare at them, as if hes hazily seen them before, but all the two detectives want is to check out the new jewels that had been so well spoken of throughout the spiral. Dimwitted Sherlock is nothing but polite and nonhostile to the two disguised still-very-much-fugitives, and is charmed enough by their humble shop that he asks if theyd like to have tea with him sometime the following week.  

- After the two detectives leave, Jackall and Margherita are..dumbfounded. The duo that helped bring them down didn’t come close to recognizing them, and one even wants to spend more time with them? This cant be happening. Something has to be wrong here. Or...maybe there isnt?

Aaaand I think ill leave it there for now. Im exhausted and have been writing for about 2 hours, plus I don’t want to give it all away right now. Theres still a good enough bit I haven’t written about yet, and ill post about it soon enough (probably).  If you read all this, thank you so much for reading through my rambling mess.

[commander-rahrah]

Alone with You - A Ride or Die Short (Logan x MC)

Pairing: MC Ellie Wheeler x Logan

Chapter Rating: T

Word Count: 3600+

Description: It’s been two years since Ellie and Logan said goodbye. And now he’s standing in front of her. 

Disclaimer: Characters are from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, backgrounds, etc. 

Author’s Note: 1 billion years ago I said that I had re-read Ride or Die and it made me have a lot of feelings and ideas about what happened to Ellie and Logan (since ROD2 is never going to happen?!!?!!?!). Well, I wrote it. Finally.

The two have been stuck in my head for so long -- I have a playlist for them, I have a pinterest board for them. I am so happy to finally have fully written this little short out. And who knows... if people like it, maybe it can become a little mini series? 

As always any likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated. 

Taglist: @omgjasminesimone​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @choicesarehard​ (hope this is OK, I remember you three being excited for this lol)

Full choices masterlist: here

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I wanna be alone Alone with you, does that make sense? I wanna steal your soul And hide you in my treasure chest I don't know what to do To do with your kiss on my neck I don't know what feels true But this feels right so stay a sec Yeah, you feel right so stay a sec

“Ellie?”

She froze — her hands hovering on the latch for the car hood. Gulping, she snagged it with a tan finger before turning around.

It was really him.

He looked exactly the same. His brown hair, perfectly waved around his face. His puppy dog eyes were big as he took her in. A black t-shirt clung to his chest and biceps — his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his car keys dangling from his fingers.

“L-Logan?” She stammered, wiping her greasy hands on her jean shorts.

He took two giant steps, before enveloping her into his arms.

Ellie stood frozen for a moment — standing in shock. Before she blinked back to reality, and threw her skinny arms around him. He placed his forehead into the crook of her neck, holding her tighter as she hugged him back.

“What — what are you doing here?” She muttered through his wavy, brown hair. Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as she pulled away from him.

“I’ve just been driving — and I needed to stop and do some work,” He pointed a finger behind him to the familiar GT — that was painted matte black now. “I usually go to a little Ma and Pop like this...” He voice trailed off as he took her in. “You look good Troublemaker,”

Ellie ignored the feeling that nickname gave her, following her train of thought. “You were just driving? You didn’t realize you were getting close to my college town?”

He hesitated, “I—I’ve been driving for a while, didn’t really pay attention to where I was going.”

“Right.” She said, not believing him.

He peered over her shoulder to the white convertible she was working on. It was sitting half out of the garage, shining in the sun. “230SL, hey? She’s pretty.”

“Thanks, she’s mine.” She looked back at the car, licking her lips.

His dark brows furrowed in confusion, “What happened to the Panther?”

Ellie ignored the question, “Logan, what are we doing?”

He shrugged, not sure what she was implying. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — I haven’t seen you in two years, and we— we’re just, what? Shooting the shit at this garage?” Her voice started to raise a little — her emotions getting the best of her.

His dark eyes went wide, “Well, no—“

“Well, what Logan? I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again. And now you’re just here and you’re asking me about my car?!” Her arms wrapped around her torso as she started to tremble.

Logan moved his hands out to touch her — but then thought better of it. He played it off instead, running his fingers through his dark waves, “Ellie... I know this is so unexpected. If you could — just gimme two hours. Two hours of just normal stuff. I missed you — more than I want to admit.”

“I missed you too.” She croaked out, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. “We’ll trade out spots in the  garage. Take my car.”

Logan hesitated — looking back at his car with a twisted mouth.

“It’s that or you can pay like $25 an hour to park near my apartment.”

“Way too rich for my blood.” He smiled sheepishly, before unlatching his key from his belt loop.

The pair reversed and drove around each other — before Logan slid into her white convertible. His hands ran over the fine stitching on the leather seats — a smile spreading across his face as he took in the vintage car. “You have to tell me how you got this.”

Ellie swallowed as she watched him — following his calloused fingers softly touching the console and arm rests, “I bought it at an estate sale actually. This guy’s son was selling it — said his dad was working on it for most of his life. Poor guy died before he got the chance to finish it and it was way over the sons head.”

His thick brows raised on his forehead, “You low ball him?”

“For a 230SL? No. But I made sure I had enough leftover to fix it up.”

Looking over her shoulder, Ellie reversed out of the parking lot with ease and started to drive them through the streets of Cambridge.

Logan was looking through the passenger window — watching all of the brown stones whiz by, “So, you work at the garage?”

“No,” She shook her head, imagining the little two car garage mechanic shop in her head,  “I just made an arrangement with Mr. Kim, the owner. He lets me work on the car and get it fixed up when I want.”

“So you did all of this?” His mouth opened in slight shock.

“Everything but the paint.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Damn, Ellie.” A grin spread across his face as he was genuinely impressed with her. “You a grease monkey now?”

She smirked at him, “Mechanical engineer actually.”

“That’s what you decided on for school?” His voice was so genuine — it was killing her.

She nodded in reply, her eyes focused on the road. Her fingers were tight around the steering wheel.

“Good for you. I’m glad.” There it was again — and he was probably looking at her with those big brown eyes.

Licking her lips, she changed the subject, “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good thing I know the best place to get burgers in Cambridge.”

______________________________________________________________________

“Can we get also get two doubles, well done and crispy fries? Thanks Joe.” Ellie rattled off the order without looking at the menu. She gave them a smile, but then quickly her eyebrows shot up, “Oh! And no mustard on one!” She turned around to face Logan.

“You remembered?” His heart fluttered.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” She shrugged, before putting the straw to her milkshake back in her mouth — chewing it slightly.

But it was a big deal to Logan. His heart was melting because she had remembered he didn’t like mustard. Two years later.

God, he was a mess.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act right now. All he wanted to do was to hold her, to make her laugh again. To kiss her soft pink lips.

“EJ?!”

Logan ignored the voice, instead drawing his eyes away from her and looking out of the window at all the people walking by — all of them mostly students.

“Austin, hey.” Logan’s ears perked up as he heard Ellie’s voice. Turning around he watched as she was approached by a tall guy with a black cap and MIT hoodie.

His stomach burned with jealousy as they hugged.

The young man pulled his arms back from around her, looking down at her with a warm smile, “We were just talking about you,” He gestured behind him to a group of guys sitting at a table, “You heading to the track tonight?”

“Oh, uh,” Ellie clammed up, “No actually I have—“

“Hey I’m Logan.” He stepped forward — his calloused hands outstretched for a handshake.

“Logan?! Like hometown, Cali Logan? Nice to meet you man.” He clapped his hand to his, gripping it tightly.

“Yeah — that’s me.” So Ellie has talked about him to other people?

Ellie sidled up in between them, waving her hand at the guy in the cap, “This is Austin. He’s in eng — engineering with me at school.”

Logan scrutinized him quickly — he was a lot bigger then him. But that wouldn’t be a big deal — he had fought guys much bigger than him his whole life and usually came out the winner. “Austin” had way too perfect stubble and the vest he was wearing over his hoodie probably cost $250.

“EJ’s our resident brainiac.” Austin flashed a megawatt smile — his teeth were perfect too.

Logan’s first instinct was to hate this guy, “Sounds about right.” He said casually, looking over to Ellie who had her arms crossed over her torso.

“He’s just saying that.” She said, her eyes low.

“EJ, foods up!” The man working the countered yelled from behind them.

She sighed in relief, and quickly turned to get the bags. Shuffling back towards them she gave a sheepish smile, “All ready to go.”

“Enjoy you two. If we won’t see you at the track tonight, we’ll catch you at Ash’s birthday tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. Probably.” She nodded nervously, “Okay, talk to you guys later.” She waved her full hands to the table of guys behind Austin and started to walk away.

Logan followed her out, looking back over his shoulder at the group once more — his brows furrowed as he watched Austin return to the group — all of them chatting excitedly and watching them leave.

He grabbed the car door for her, before grabbing the brown bags of food so she could climb in.  Getting in himself, he couldn’t help but notice how nervous she seemed as she fumbled with her keys to start the car.

They sat in silence for a moment — the only sound was the rustling of the bags on his lap as they drove through the downtown streets. Finally he broke the quiet.

“So, EJ huh?”

She licked her lips before speaking, “Yeah. Ellie J—“

“Jane. I know.” He nodded, remembering the night she had told him her middle name. She had been curled up in his arms in his little loft above the garage — she had drawn circles on his arms as she spoke about her mother, her namesake.

“Of course...” She glanced over to him — her face was hard to read. “When I moved here I just — I wanted to be someone else. Not just Ellie. So I introduced myself as EJ.”

“So what’s this EJ like? She hangs out with people like Austin...”

“Austin’s a good guy. All of them are. We lived in the same building freshmen year.” She chewed her lip, “It’s a tough program — we all take care of each other.”

“Right.” Logan felt his stomach twist — someone had to take care of her. It couldn’t be him, he knew that.

She pulled up in front of an empty park filled with trees, and cut the engine. Leaning back in her seat, she closed her eyes as she breathed in the fresh air with the top down in her car.

He gulped as he watched her — his eyes following the line of her nose, curves of her lips and throat. Coughing slightly he composed himself as she started digging through the brown paper bags.

She handed him one of the burgers, wrapped with a napkin.

“Do you usually eat greasy take out in a priceless vintage car?”

“It’s my right as an American.” She grinned at him, before taking a big bite of her food.

Slowly unwrapping the burger, he took a bite and let out a moan, “Oh, that’s good.”

“The best.” Ellie said through chewing. Ripping the brown bag a little with a free hand, she poured out fries onto the brown bag for them to share. “Probably been a while since you’ve had decent food? Being on the road?”

“Yeah... yeah it’s been... I mean I didn’t have to do a huge drive recently. But I was trying to go from coast to coast.”

“Were you following me?” She joked.

“Right, yeah. I guess you made the same drive.” He sat the burger down in his lap and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “But I — I didn’t make it.”

“Oh?”

Shit. Okay, he was going to do this. “I got arrested.”

“Logan, I— I had no idea. I’m sorry.” Her voice turned quiet — but genuine.

“S’okay.” He mumbled out, “I mean — it was just a matter of time honestly.” He gave her a sad smile, “I made it to Colorado at least.”

“What happened?”

“I got a lesser sentence for agreeing to be a key witness against Shaw. Served for a year, got out on remission... Served a probation order.” He nervously ran his fingers through his wavy hair.

“Wow...”

“And now...”

“You’re here.” She moved her knee closer to his — her bare skin brushing up against his jeans.

“I’m here.” His dark eyes met her light ones — going back and forth between them. He had missed them, as corny as that was to admit. “I was living in New York before—“

“Before?”

“I didn’t mean to come here.” He admitted.

“You didn’t?”  She asked — a line forming between her brows.

“Not at first. Not on purpose.” He gulped as he looked up at her, “I just started driving. And this is where I ended up. And then I thought — I could just drive by your school, through the town— just see what you see. I didn’t think I’d actually find you.”

“But you did.”

“But I did.”

They locked eyes again, studying each other.

“Do you wanna see apartment?” She asked simply.

He gulped — he suddenly felt nervous and clammy. “I — sure, if you’re okay with it.”

“Mhmm.” She said with a nod, before turning the key in the ignition and starting to drive away with one hand on the wheel and the other clutching her burger.

After a ten minute drive, she pulled up in front a row of studio apartments that were in alternating colours of brown and orange.

Logan followed Ellie up the sidewalk and into the apartment complex. They padded down the empty, carpeted hallways and up a set of stairs. Her keys jingled in her hand as she let them in to apartment 2-7.

Logan’s heart fluttered as he stepped into her apartment. He had never gotten to see her bedroom in California — and stepping into her little home now was like stepping into her mind.

It was a studio apartment — just a tiny little thing. The first thing he noticed was the big window at the back of the apartment, pouring in the afternoon light. Christmas lights were wrapped around the frame, turned off at the moment.

A little kitchenette sat off to the side — scarred wooden counter tops and vintage appliances showing the age of the building. There wasn’t any where to sit — a bed sat in front of the large window, a mattress on wheels. It was messily made with a sunny yellow duvet. Night stands on either side were made of stacks of books, and a little green plant was sat precariously on top of one. He could see a few photographs taped on the far wall — but it was too small to see from the front entrance.

It was so messily organized and soft and simple — it was so Ellie.

“It’s not much.” She shrugged as she stepped in.

“I love it.” Using his toes, Logan kicked off his shoes and followed Ellie farther into the apartment. He was trying to be nonchalant about looking around — he didn’t want to seem like he was prying. But every little detail — even the magnets on her fridge shed a light onto the young woman in front of him.

His fingers trailed on a framed photo — Ellie in her red cap and gown from her graduation. Her dad standing next to her — big smiles on their faces for the photo. He could try and determine how fake the pose was, knowing everything that had led up to that photo, but he didn’t want to go down that road.

Moving his dark eyes, he let out a chuckle as he saw an extremely organized calendar stuck to the fridge door. “I see you haven’t lost your passion for organization.” He thumbed through the pages, noticing all the stickers and highlighter.

Her face turned red as she realized what he was looking at. “You have to be with my course load. I’m taking extra classes on top of my usual work load.”

“Trying to graduate early, nerd?” He teased.

Her face fell. “Uh, no. I have to take extra courses if I want to graduate on time actually.”

He raised a dark brow at her, “What? Did you take a light course load or something?”

“Yeah — light course load. An extremely light course load.” She let out a heavy sigh, “I took off a whole semester actually.”

He almost scoffed but he stopped himself. “You love school. I highly doubt you took off a semester to travel abroad.”

“I, uh, I didn’t. I went home.” Ellie had wrapped her arms around her torso, starting to hug herself.

“You went back to LA?”

“Well, I went there for the summer.” She chewed her lip, “And then I stayed throughout the semester.”

Logan studied her carefully, “Okay, what are you not telling me?” It had been two years, but he still knew how to read her.

When she didn’t answer him right away, his stomach twisted. “Ellie?”

She kept her eyes to the worn floorboards, but finally opened her mouth. “At first, it was just for summer break. But while I was there — Dad got sick.”

“Ellie, I’m so sorry.”

“He collapsed at work — apparently it had happened before, when he was home alone. That’s when the doctors found it...,” Her voice trailed off, “The cancer.”

He crossed over to her — getting closer, but not touching. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do that. “What— what happened?” His voice was quiet — gentle.

“School gave me an extended absence — they held my spot and scholarship for me. Due to family distress. I — I stayed there. I took care of him, drove him to chemo... I was all he had.”

“Ellie...,” A sharp breath escaped him — imagining the pain she had gone through. The pain she was still going through. Was he...

Logan didn’t even want to think it.

“Wh—what happened?”

“He died.” She croaked, before exploding into uncontrollable sobs. She tried to speak again but all that could be heard was hiccups and gasps of breath.

Logan didn’t know what to say. He’d never been one with words.

So instead he did the only thing he could think to do — wrap his arms around her. She fell into him easily — her face burying into his chest as she started to soak his t-shirt.

As he felt her start to crumble into him, he softly lowered them until they were sitting on the edge of her mattress — her face still glued to his shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that for — and he didn’t care. He would sit with her all night if she wanted him too. But finally she shifted around, keeping her face tucked to his chest but she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Ellie — I’m so so sorry.” He said softly, rubbing her back as she sniffled, “About your dad. And you having to go through that by yourself. No one should have to do that. And for what I put you two through — the wedge I drove between you and your dad is unforgivable I know that, I—.”

“We were okay. In the end.” She said through her sniffles — her voice muffled through his shirt, “We were good.”

He let out a sigh of relief.

“And I’m sorry for keeping my promise — to stay away.”

She turned her face up to his — her blue eyes wide as she listened. He stared into them — his heart beating faster as he thought about what he was going to say.  

“I wanted to be there in little ways — maybe a letter or even just to call, and hear your voice — heck, even hearing your voicemail would have tied me over. But I was so afraid. I’m still afraid.”

“Why?” She asked — her voice a whisper again.

“Because the way you make me feel, Ellie Wheeler, terrifies me.” He used his thumb to brush some of the lingering tears on her cheek away. “I haven’t seen you in two years — and the moment I saw you it felt like I had gotten a sucker punch to the stomach.”

“And I’m sure you know what that feels like — I assume  you’ve been punched in the stomach a lot.” She said, a smile forming on her lips. They let our breathy laughs together.

“I have. Look I have no idea what I’m doing, Ellie. All I know is—,” He gulped, “That the last couple hours I’ve spent with you ... have been the highlight of my life for the last two years.”

He hung his eyes low for a moment, his dark brows furrowing, “And I know that I’m scum. I’m trash. A freakin’ ex-convict... I know, I don’t deserve someone like you.”

“Logan, what are you saying?” She moved her fingers to his chin, moving it so he was looking at her again.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m saying that I love you, Ellie Wheeler. Troublemaker. EJ. Every side of you. The valedictorian. The speed demon. I love you.” He looked up at her through his brown waves, his dark eyes big as he tried to read her face — trying to figure how royally he had just screwed everything up.

“I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m such an id—“ But his words were interrupted as Ellie crashed her mouth onto his.

A surprised gasp escaped Logan — not able to comprehend what was happening. Before his lips met hers again — the kiss was needy and desperate. It had been so long — too long. He almost forgot what her soft, pink lips had felt like, how she had tasted. He felt goosebumps start to cover his skin as she moved her fingers up the nape of his neck and into his thick hair. He moved his hands onto her waist carefully, pulling her into him. Their kiss softened as she parted her mouth for him, deepening it.

They sat like that for a moment, relishing in the feeling of each other until Logan felt dizzy. Their lips stuck together slightly as they pulled away. He gulped as he looked down at her — waiting for her to say something.

“I love you Logan,” She said simply, her fingers trailing down his tan jawline, “You’ve always been my ride or die.”

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

[goatsandgangsters]

Connect (Con Man AU; Chapter 3)

Characters: Meyer Lansky, Charlie Luciano, Benny Siegel, Frank Costello Pairing: Meyer/Charlie Word Count: ~5,000

(also on ao3)

“How’s it looking?” Meyer’s voice—though he seldom raised it—echoed louder than usual as he entered the empty room. The ceiling wasn’t high, but the exposed concrete and beams made everything sound louder than it was, his footsteps sharp and distinct.

Benny sat perched on the windowsill before a wide expanse of tinted glass, the large Citgo sign behind him. He looked up from the wad of cash he was counting, a plastic spoon dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Not great,” he said around the spoon.

Meyer stopped in front of him and bristled. “Not great?”

Benny offered a toothy grin, plucking the spoon from his mouth. “The clam chowder, I mean. Not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

Meyer let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and frustration, rounding instead on Frank for a straight answer. “What about you?”

“I didn’t have any. Seafood doesn’t agree with me. Besides, my wife’s got me doing this cleanse, so I’m only supposed to eat—”

“Will somebody—” Meyer said sharply, “please tell me about the damn Red Sox.”

“Oh, yeah, them. Probably gonna win,” Benny shrugged. “Unless they all get sick from this clam chowder. Chowdah,” he amended, adopting a mocking accent as he tossed his half-full cup halfway across the room into an open box.

Meyer smiled wryly, clasping his hands together as he looked out the window. It was early afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, but he knew that soon those stadium lights would be burning hot and bright around the green edges of Fenway Park. “Well, don’t go slipping them any. We need them to win the World Series.”

Frank scooped Benny’s chowder cup out of the box and set it on the ground. “And don’t go messing up the merchandise, alright?”

“And this location. It’s secured?” Meyer asked as he cocked his head and peered down into the boxes. Frank was good with logistics—he knew people, knew which palms to grease, plus he had out-of-town connections in several major cities outside of New York. But, for as reliable as he knew Frank to be, Meyer knew it was better never to rely on anyone else.

“Secure and discrete, with a backdoor in case of emergency,” Frank confirmed.

From the windowsill, Benny laughed. “Sounds like a Craigslist ad.”

Neither Frank nor Meyer paid the comment any attention, as Frank continued rattling off a list of checks and information.

“Good. I want everything set up before Game 1,” Meyer said as he and Frank finished talking over the finer points.

“Where’re you goin’?” Benny asked, jumping down from his perch. The sound of his turquoise sneakers slapping the concrete floor reverberated around the room.

Frank handled moving the merchandise, buying, reselling, underselling, overselling. He took care of the practicalities of the operation with the same care that Meyer took in the planning. Meyer handled the numbers, the details, all the information they needed. They didn’t need to worry about encryption when they had the most secure data storage in the world—Meyer’s memory. Betting, selling, scamming. Credit cards. Even hacking when things got slow. Gambling was the big money-maker for sports, but any large event brought all kinds of other opportunities with it. It was all about volume. Keeping as many fingers in as many pies, but never an entire hand—so to speak. Enough to get by, to keep moving, to afford the next round of jobs, but not enough to be noticed. Not enough to raise suspicion.

“I need to crunch some numbers in peace. No distractions.” He pointed a finger at Benny as he turned back towards the door.

Benny fixed him with one of those looks that used to mean his mother was about to get a call home from the principal’s office. “When have I ever been distracting?”

Fortunately, it was a short trip back to the hotel—only a few stops by train. He had been advised by everyone to avoid driving in Boston at all costs, which was a shame. Meyer had so little opportunity to get behind the wheel back home that it was one of his favorite parts of out-of-town jobs. Certainly better than the little bars of soap he still felt wasteful leaving behind in hotels.

The hotel itself was an ornate building downtown. It was fancier than suited Meyer’s personal tastes, but this wasn’t about his preferences. Besides, he noted as he crossed the street from the train and walked across the brick plaza, the hotel was right next to the library. Not that he would have much time for reading during the World Series, but it was nice to have close by all the same. Maybe he could bring his notebook across the street for some quiet.

The doorman held the door as he entered; Meyer nodded and thanked him. It would always make him a bristle a little, being treated like some kind of big shot when he was more than capable of opening his own doors, thank you. His ego didn’t need someone to do it for him—but this was a “big shot” kind of job. The World Series was a big deal. He had a part to play.

He fished his key card from his wallet as he entered the lobby, but the woman behind the front desk waved him down. “Sir? Excuse me, sir? Your husband wanted me to let you know that he’s waiting for you in the hotel restaurant.”

“My… husband?” Meyer hesitated, keeping his face neutral.

“Yes, he said that his phone died and you’d already checked in, so he’d wait for you for dinner.”

Meyer managed a tight smile. “Thank you,” as he reversed direction from the elevators and through the doors into the plush, maroon-carpeted hotel restaurant. It was early enough in the day that there were not many people inside. A couple at the bar, one or two tables filled. At the far side, by the window, a familiar face sat with his knees up against the table, typing away on his “dead” phone.

So much for no distractions.

He walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “When exactly did we get married?”

“You’re so bad at rememberin’ our anniversary,” Charlie teased, looking up at him with a smirk. He dropped his feet back to the floor, grinning, but Meyer was all business.

“How’d you find me?” he asked, giving Charlie a steady stare. Running into each other by chance in Manhattan was one thing. Charlie finding his hotel in Boston—when he had no reason to even know Meyer would be in another state and city altogether—was another matter. He needed to figure out which security breach he had to close.

“I’m lucky,” Charlie answered with a cheeky grin. Meyer raised an eyebrow; he caved. “Alright, fine. After you disappeared on me without givin’ your number, I asked around,” Charlie explained, shooting Meyer a fond-but-grudging look that almost made it seem like they actually were a couple. Meyer had to commend his commitment to a rouse.

“I figure, Meyer ain’t exactly a common name, but nobody’s got any idea who I’m talkin’ about. For bein’ the best in the biz, you’re either way under the radar or you got everybody too scared to talk. But finally, I find a guy who tells me you work big sporting events. I’m thinkin’, 2013 World Series got your name all over it.” Charlie paused and took a sip from his glass of water. “Besides, I ain’t ever been to Boston before. Never been outta the five boroughs, actually.”

He looked at Meyer expectantly, who nodded as he digested the information. Charlie was right about one thing—he did operate under the radar. It was safer that way. He had other people who could be the front, who could strike the deals, shake the hands, meet the contacts. Meyer organized it all. “So you’ve just been wandering the streets of a major metropolitan area in the hopes of running into me by chance? You do know how many people are coming in for the game, right?”

“That’s the thing, though!” Charlie said, emphatic and excited, sitting forward in his seat. “That’s how it happened.”

Meyer raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to offer a retort, when the waiter appeared to refill their water and take their orders for drinks. Charlie—practiced and confident—ordered a cocktail involving peaches and vodka that made Meyer’s teeth ache just thinking about it. Meyer opted for pernod, while Charlie tacked on an order for pretzel bites and beer cheese with an award-winning smile.

Meyer took a sip of water and looked out the window at the people passing by in Copley Square. “Really? Pretzel bites?”

“If you don’t want any, more for me,” Charlie teased.

“I’m just surprised that a place like this even has pretzel bites.”

Charlie flipped open the black leather menu book. “What, so I should order some ‘olive oil poached octopus’ when he comes back?”

Meyer grimaced. “Pretzels will be just fine. But don’t think you’re getting out of this easily. I believe I’m still owed an explanation.”

Charlie leaned against the high-backed leather chair; he seemed to be enjoying this, retelling his detective work. At least it wasn’t hard to get him talking. Useful flaw. “Alright, so I get here, figure next step’s gotta be Fenway, maybe start askin’ around, see if anybody who’s in the business here knows anything about you.”

“Seems doubtful, considering you didn’t have much luck with that on our home turf.”

“Hey, I gotta plenty of luck, thanks. ‘Cause there I am, gettin’ a slice of pizza, courtesy of some guy’s wallet—and it ain’t New York pizza, I’ll tell you that much—”

Meyer smirked. “I don’t hear great things about the clam chowder, either.”

“That’s just it! There I am, eatin’ my shit pizza, and there’s these two guys. When’s Meyer meetin’ us, and suddenly I’m all ears.”

“I’m not the only person in the entire world named Meyer, you know.”

Charlie ignored this point and kept talking. “So the one guy—beanpole, can’t stand still—he’s all, how come Meyer gets that swanky Copley hotel and we’re in a Best Western. And the other guy—looks like an Eddie Bauer catalog—he’s sayin’, well you know Meyer, all cautious, wants to stay separate. So now I’m here and I was right.”

Charlie grinned in satisfaction, evidently quite pleased with himself and his work, even though it was nothing but stupid dumb luck and stupid dumb Benny and Frank. Meyer clenched his teeth; he’d be having a word with them about being so cavalier with their details in public, where anyone could overhear.

“Well,” Meyer said, brushing a few lingering crumbs from earlier patrons off the table and into the palm of his hand, “I’ve never had a stalker before. Is that standard in your repertoire, or are you branching out?”

Charlie scoffed, indignant. “I’m not a stalker!”

“What do you call following me all the way to Boston?”

“Skill.”

Meyer snorted, which seemed to get under Charlie’s skin.

“Come on, admit it. You’re impressed!”

He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction so easily. “Maybe I’m just creeped out.” It was unbelievable, after all, that he could come all the way to Boston and Charlie could still track him down in one afternoon all because of some goddamn clam chowder. And more than a little worrying. If Charlie could do it, who else?

“Listen,” Charlie said, sitting forward and drumming his fingers against the menu. He spoke quickly in a lowered voice, a look in his eyes as he met Meyer’s. “If I’m honest, I didn’t think it’d work, but then I found you and—and it’s like what you said. Things connect. Like us.”

Meyer sat back. “You’re twisting my words. That’s about strategy, you’re talking… fate.”

Charlie cocked his head. “You sayin’ you don’t believe in it?”

Meyer scoffed. “No, of course not. Do you? Fate is nothing more than what you make of it.”

“And I made it here.”

They fell into silence as the waiter set their drinks down on the table. The moment he was out of earshot, Charlie raised his glass with a winning smile. “So what do you say?”

“About fate?”

“About me. Whatever you got goin’ on, I want in.”

Meyer paused, tracing a finger along the outside of his glass. “I’m not sure it will work.” Rather than look at Charlie’s face—like someone had killed his puppy—Meyer riffled through his bag instead. “If you come onboard… Something tells me you’re a Yankees guy, but we need someone to be the idiot fan,” he said as he pulled out a Red Sox cap.

Charlie’s face split into a grin as he reached for the hat. “Anything for you, honey.”

Despite himself, Meyer laughed and clinked their glasses together.

*****

They didn’t order the Prime New York Strip, despite Charlie’s insistence that they have a full dinner instead of drinks and appetizers. Really, he just wanted to order the most expensive thing on the menu.

But, Meyer had said, there were better cuts.

Charlie couldn’t tell if he was being a snob or offering to buy him a nicer steak dinner later. Either way, he planned on sticking around to find out.

A short while—and several people’s wallets—later, Meyer was leading him into a building across from Fenway Park. The wallets weren’t part of the plan, per se, but Charlie wasn’t about to cram his ass onto an overcrowded, stopping-and-starting, screechy excuse for a subway without making it worth his while. Meyer noticed, of course, and said nothing; he only smirked. And maybe Charlie liked showing off a little, liked the way Meyer kept his lips in a stern little line, but his eyes crinkled in the corner as Charlie lifted a pair of designer sunglasses from a stuffy business type with a bit of bravado.

He liked the way Meyer moved through the crowds like no one could touch him, as though the sweaty ambling bodies around them were water he could part effortlessly with the angle of his shoulder. He didn’t walk into the building like he owned it—none of that swagger or arrogance. But no one was going to stop him. He looked like a Boy Scout who got a law degree in-between volunteering at the orphaned puppy shelter and helping little old ladies cross the street. But Charlie also saw that look in his eyes, the calculations, the assessment, the darting glances taking in all the details, underneath the unassuming veneer. The ultimate con man.

And here Charlie always thought he was a pro because if he smiled nice enough, no one noticed what his hands were doing. It worked, sure. But Meyer was next level.

If there was one thing Charlie learned in this business, it was to move when you saw an opening. And this was a chance he wasn’t about to let slip away.

“I still think you oughta put that table on the far wall—” Eddie Bauer Catalog was saying to ADHD Beanpole.

“Why, in case Batman repels in and steals our shit?”

“No, it just doesn’t feel right. Y’know, the feng shui.”

“Jesus, Frank, we’re only gonna be here until the end of the World Series—whoa, who’s the homeless guy?” Beanpole said as he noticed them approaching.

“I been on a bus all day!” Charlie snapped back. He wasn’t about to surreptitiously smell his armpit in front of people he didn’t know, but was he that much of a mess? Beanpole and Eddie Bauer were looking at him with uncertainty, wary in a way that had nothing to do with what he looked like.

“This is Charlie,” Meyer said, matter-of-fact. “He’ll be working with us.”

They exchanged another glance.

“Who the fuck is he?” Beanpole looked Charlie up and down; he didn’t seem impressed.

The other cut in for him. “What Benny means to say is, we didn’t think that bringing anyone else in—especially day of—was part of the plan.”

“It wasn’t,” Meyer said, a small smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes as he clasped his hands behind his back. “But he stalked me to my hotel all the way from New York because a certain set of people—and I’m not naming names—decided to announce my whereabouts in a public place.”

“I didn’t stalk—we worked together before. Once,” Charlie explained in a hurried grumble. Okay, so maybe he did stalk Meyer. A little bit. But that’s how it was in their world.

The Beanpole—Benny—scoffed. Like Charlie wasn’t even there, he turned to Meyer and said, with disdain, “Since when do you work with anyone else?” The besides us didn’t need to be said.

This was a dumb idea. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have come all the way to Boston on a fucking hunch. He’d been beyond lucky even crossing paths with Meyer again, but he didn’t picture Meyer having a little gang like this. Which was stupid, he should have figured. After all, Meyer wasn’t gonna be a big player all on his own. But somehow, he figured he was like Charlie. Maybe a shitty subpar partner here and there, the Toninos of the world, but at the end of the day, all on his own.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Looks like you got it all covered.” He turned to go, but Meyer grabbed his arm.

“He’s good,” Meyer said with such finality that even Charlie believed he meant it. He fixed the other two with a firm stare. “Any other questions?”

He was a head taller than both of them, but it was clear that when Meyer said something, they listened. The one who couldn’t stand still didn’t look happy about it, but he also wasn’t going to argue. The other one was still looking at Charlie kind of funny, and Charlie prepared to square up, when he said—“Oh! You’re that Lucania kid!”

Charlie did a double take. “How the fuck d’you know that?”

He swore he’d never seen this guy in his life, but he just laughed warmly and shook his head. It reminded him of a grandparent with little kids, like he was about to start saying shit like yea high. “Yeah, knew you looked familiar. Got my start runnin’ errands for those old country types in the neighborhood, worked the corner store on East 11th. You were always givin’ your mother agida.”

All Charlie could do was stare at him and then laugh. “Just what everybody in this business wants, huh? Doin’ a job with somebody who knows your mother.”

The other guy waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her.” He paused. “For her sake, of course. Not yours. Don’t want to put her through the stress.” He extended his hand to Charlie, with a shake that seemed to belong more in the halls of Congress. “Frank Costello.”

“Oh yeah. Rings a bell.” He couldn’t have told you anything more about him, but it was a name Charlie remembered hearing around the neighborhood. Everybody liked Frank, he knew that. He solved problems. You just weren’t supposed to ask how.

In an undertone, he nudged Meyer in the side with his elbow. “Guess you was right about one thing, huh?” He flashed a grin and pointed his two index fingers together. “About it all connectin’.”

Meyer returned the look with a wry grin. “I think I was right about more than just that.”

Benny misinterpreted the gesture. “Oh eugh. Look, I’m happy you finally got laid, Meyer, but this guy?”

“What’s your problem?” Charlie snapped back with an entirely different finger gesture. Even in his annoyance, however, the word “finally” lodged itself into his brain. From what he remembered—and Charlie did remember—Meyer wasn’t such a bad kisser for a guy who apparently wasn’t getting laid.

“Don’t take it personally, Benny’s goal in life is to get under people’s skin,” Meyer explained in a tone of voice that suggested he was used to explaining away the other’s behavior. Then, with a sharp point at Benny, said emphatically, “And no, we are not—It’s just business.”

Benny snorted. “Always is, with you.”

That was all it took. Before Charlie knew, Meyer was running through their jobs with the precision of a wartime general. Frank moved the merchandise—and no, Charlie, it wasn’t petty theft; it was more what you might term a grey market. They handled sports betting of all types, card games, credit card skimming, and some more complicated jobs that Charlie didn’t fully follow as Meyer spoke with meticulous quickness.

“And if he doesn’t keep me busy enough,” Benny interrupted as Meyer wrapped up the basic overview, “I get bored and jack a car.”

Charlie hadn’t known him long, but he already knew that wasn’t a joke.

“For the record, I hate it when he does that,” Frank said with a sigh.

Benny smirked. “Yeah but Meyer loves a good chop shop more than anyone I know.”

That Charlie didn’t believe, but the small fond smile on Meyer’s face said otherwise. He didn’t argue, instead saying, “Just as long as you’re careful about it.”

“Is there anything you guys don’t do?”

Silence filled the office space. Finally, Frank said with a considering expression, “Not murder. Usually.”

Charlie squinted. He didn’t have a good read on Mr. Eddie-Bauer-for-Senate yet. “Is he kidding?” he asked Meyer.

Meyer didn’t answer, too busy staring out the tinted windows at the glowing lights and milling crowds in baseball caps below. “C’mon. Let’s get out of Frank’s hair before the local hires show up.”

*****

By the time they left the game after the sixth inning—Meyer had work to do before the game actually ended—the sun had long since set and a chill hung in the breeze outside of the bright stadium lights. Benny and Frank split off for their hotel in the neighborhood—Benny protesting all the while that Meyer got the nice hotel for this gig. But neither of the other two paid him much mind, so Charlie figured the kid was just like that. Besides, Meyer had to fit the important businessman role for this. And he did.

“You clean up pretty nice, by the way,” Charlie said, motioning to Meyer’s clothes—slacks and a button down.

“Thank you. You look like shit.” Meyer flipped through his phone while Charlie’s face fell into a scowl.

“Alright, look, I spent six and a half hours on a Megabus, alright? Cut me some slack. You wouldn’t believe the traffic.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against some restaurant, huffing. He could clean up nice, too. Maybe not nice-nice, like a real somebody, the way Meyer looked, but he had his own kind of nice. He wouldn’t be able to do the kinds of cons he did otherwise.

The smirk at the corner of Meyer’s lips was the only sign he noticed Charlie’s pouting. “Well, you should get some rest then. Where are you staying?”

Charlie hesitated. “See, that’s the thing…”

Now Meyer looked up from his phone. They looked at each other—Charlie pulling on that puppy-dog charm, while Meyer raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Come on,” he said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it, but at least it was an agreement.

Charlie didn’t steal anything on the short ride back to the hotel, but he did slip his hand through the crook of Meyer’s arm as they walked into the lobby. He flashed a winning smile to the woman at the front desk, who returned a polite wave and reiterated the company line to enjoy his stay. Meyer tapped his keycard inside the elevator as the doors slid closed and hit the button for 12.

“Only 12?” Charlie chided. “You didn’t spring for the penthouse for our anniversary?”

“I’m saving it for the Golden Anniversary,” Meyer replied evenly.

“Well we ain’t gonna make it that long if you don’t spoil me every now and then.” He flashed a winning smile, but Meyer looked away. The tips of his ears were pink. Huh. So he could get flustered.

Charlie grinned to himself about that as Meyer swiped open the door. He dropped his backpack—crammed with his own belongings and those of a half-dozen people who had the misfortune of taking the same train as him—onto the carpet.

“Not a bad room after all,” he said, taking it all in. More of a business suite. The walls were crisp hotel white, the leather desk chair stiff and uninviting, the modern furniture chic but obviously un-lived in. “But I gotta warn you,” Charlie grinned as his eyes fell on the king-size bed against the wall, “I’m a bit of a blanket hog.”

Meyer looked startled, but regained composure quickly. He grabbed a notebook from his luggage and settled into the uncomfortable leather chair. “I don’t plan on sleeping much, so feel free,” he said, non-committal and not looking at him.

Okay. That worked, too.

“I’m gonna shower,” he announced, a little awkward, because standing in the middle of the room and not knowing what to do with himself was getting to him. And because Benny wouldn’t stop calling him a hobo all afternoon, so maybe he did need a wash.

When did he get bad at this? Had he always been bad at this? He made a living off a combination of petty theft and seduction cons—he knew he wasn’t bad at this. Meyer was just different from everyone else. Not that he was trying get anything from Meyer the way he did marks. Sure, he wanted someone to show him the ropes, pull him into something bigger, so he wouldn’t have to operate on his own anymore. But that wasn’t a con. That was just how people worked—everybody always wanted something, otherwise why bother? But what Meyer wanted remained a mystery.

By the time he scrubbed his curls with the little bottle of free hotel shampoo and washed (and rewashed) every part of him with the unscented soap, Meyer still had not moved. Steam billowed out of the bathroom door after him as Charlie emerged from the bathroom, damp, in only a pair of fresh boxer-briefs. He padded barefoot across the carpet, rubbing the towel over his hair and tossing it aside.

As he knelt by his backpack to find a shirt, he noticed Meyer looking at him, then quickly glanced back down at his notebook. Charlie smirked. “Y’know,” he said, a little too loud, just to make Meyer look at him again. “We seem to go back to each other’s hotel rooms a lot,” he said, with slow and easy grin.

“Mm. Twice,” Meyer agreed, maybe sarcastically.

He meant the comment to be flirty, but Charlie couldn’t help glance over his shoulder at the door. “Benny’s not gonna bust in and hold a gun to my head, is he?”

Meyer laughed. “Oh, he might. That’s not the plan or anything, you just never know.”

“Great. That makes me feel better.”

He pulled a shirt from his bag, but slung it over his shoulder instead of putting it on. He sauntered over to Meyer, perching on the arm of the chair. “Y’know, if you’re gonna game the whole World Series, you might wanna get some sleep.”

“Do you mind not dripping on me while I’m working?” Meyer asked with a smirk, not looking up.

Charlie swung his shirt into Meyer’s face, and they both laughed.

Meyer worked all through the evening while Charlie sat up in bed, scrolling his phone and watching the TV with the sound turned low—even though Meyer insisted it wouldn’t distract him, after his years of practice tuning Benny out. He ordered room service for dinner and insisted Meyer eat something, even though he said he wasn’t hungry. As the hubbub of honking cars from the street below finally faded into a sleepy 2 AM haze, Charlie switched off the TV.

“Will the light bother you?” Meyer asked, speaking for the first time in hours as Charlie slipped into bed and pulled the comforter up around himself.

“Nah. Got used to sharin’ a room, growin’ up,” he said back, barely stifling a yawn. The whole bus trip up to Boston had really taken it out of him.

It didn’t take long until the room slipped away, sleep starting to pull him under. But even through the haze settling around his mind, he heard the click of the light and the tread of careful feet. He dipped back into a doze to the ambient sounds of the water running in the bathroom.

The bed creaked beside him as Meyer carefully arranged himself on the other side, a wide gap between them. Charlie flipped over to face him. He blinked his heavy eyes in the darkness. “Does this mean you trust me?” he asked, voice groggy already, as they lay on opposite sides of the king-size bed.

There was a long pause. He could feel Meyer’s slow and steady breathing through the mattress in the darkness. “No,” he answered quietly. “I don’t even trust Frank and Benny.”

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: burn bright until we’re not Fandom: Star Wars Ship: Biggs/Luke AN: Remember how I complained about the lack of fanfic? Yeah.

Read on AO3!

— first

Luke Skywalker was not the first person Biggs had a crush on, but perhaps he was the first he fell in love with. The day he realized how much he adored his best friend wasn’t really different from any other day on Tatooine. There wasn’t much to do on their homeworld but to laze around, work on the farm, get drunk, repair a speeder and go racing. They had been done with their chores already.

Well, Biggs who had many siblings and less to do in general had been finished.

He’d gone over to the Skywalker homestead after to help Luke so that they could go racing after. Luke had been busy repairing droids, grease smeared over his clothes and face while he frowned at five different wires, only to lighten up as soon as he spotted his best friend. Biggs fell in love with the way Luke smiled at him.

— kiss

More often than not, kissing Luke meant tasting dust and oil. Biggs didn’t mind too much, even made fun of his boyfriend for being made out of storms and machines. Luke tackled him in retribution, they fell down into the sand, complained and laughed. They kissed the day Biggs left for the Academy, for the Rebellion, and there was nothing sweet about it. They clung to each other in desperation, torn between dreams and hopes and promises of coming back.

— final

The fighting stopped, the second Death Star had been taken out and with it the Emperor. But still, there was no sign of Luke. Biggs hadn’t been there when he decided to leave, surrender to Darth Vader so they wouldn’t have to deal with a Sith Lord killing their already few numbers. This was the final day of an era of tyranny, and Luke might be-

— numb

No, I am your father.

Luke had been desperate at first, then panicked and scared and finally angry. Now he only felt numb. When his world had been falling apart, the stories about his father had been something to cling to. He had been a good man, a hero, and Luke had wanted to be just like him.

He didn’t know who was supposed to be now.

— broken

When Luke returned from Bespin, he wasn’t the same. He was missing his friend, his lightsaber and his right hand, but something in him had broken and Biggs didn’t know how to fix it.

“He survived Vader,” Wedge assured him. “He will pull through.”

— wings

“So, uh, does everything around Commander Skywalker usually grow wings?”

Rogue Squadron’s newest recruit was short, and she doesn’t look like much, but her turns were so sharp that Luke wanted to hand her his lightsaber just to see if she’d know what to do.

“You get used to it,” Wedge sighed. “Our dear leader usually goes outside to meditate, but Biggs forbid him after he caught a cold last time.”

Luke dropped one of the floating tools on Wedge’s head.

— melody

Luke was humming. Biggs was fairly sure he didn’t even notice it, but since they had taken off, flying in the direction of the Death Star, Luke had been humming. He only really stopped when he was calling in and giving a status update. Biggs knew the song from Luke. It wasn’t a nursery rhyme, but Aunt Beru used to sing it as one. Luke always muttered it when he was trying to calm down, except for that one time he had shouted it when they’d been flying away from Tuskens in Beggar’s Canyon.

“Oh, You're never gonna be closer to the Great Water,” Biggs whispered to himself. “Than when the Master sends you into the desert, don’t cry, don’t cry…”

They’d make it out. They would survive this suicide run against the Empire and utterly destroy their weapon of mass destruction.

— rules

Luke watched Biggs leave, the japor snippet he’d been given burning warmly in his hand. Biggs had promised that he’d return in three years time, come pick Luke up and they’d be free to travel wherever they wanted. It was a nice dream and Luke wanted to chase after it, but nobody who had made it off Tatooine ever came back, such were the rules of their life. Luke felt like everything inside him was screaming at him to tell him he’d see Biggs again. Well, that could only mean that it would be Luke chasing after Biggs, so that for once in their lives their roles were reversed.

—     chocolate

Introducing his new wingman to sweets was Wedge’s new hobby. Biggs Darklighter, Outer Rim pilot, was a terror on the field. You almost wouldn’t assume he was nineteen, looking and acting much older. Right now though, his face utterly stuffed with fine Alderaanian chocolate, he actually seemed like the inexperienced young man he was.

“I have to show Luke this,” Biggs muttered.

“Who’s Luke?” Wedge asked.

Biggs smiled softly and oh- well, if that wasn’t a love-struck expression.

—     nostalgia

“I missed this,” Han said. “You, me, people shooting at us while we’re saving the day.”

“This is not the right place for nostalgia, Han!” Leia shouted at him and leaped over their cover, her lightsaber ignited.

“You’re right,” Han agreed, watching her tear her way through their attackers like an angry war goddess. This was way better.

—     heartbeat

“We’re losing him! I need a medic over here, now!”

This wasn’t their childhood adventure, this was war. It meant burying and burning their dead, staining their dirty flight suits with the blood of the people they couldn’t help, those they reached too late.

“Quick, someone, his heartbeat is weak, hurry up-“

“He’s gone, Biggs,” Luke said, his voice sounded far away. “We have to keep moving. C’mon, the imps aren’t far behind us.”

—     stranger

They hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Luke had been tracking down Jedi artifacts on his own and Biggs had been busy flying transports.

“Hey, there stranger,” Biggs greeted Luke from behind.

Luke didn’t even twitch, it was getting near impossible to surprise him nowadays. He turned around quickly and pulled at Biggs’ collar so he could kiss him. Around them, their friends shout and whistle.

“Idiots, all of them,” Biggs laughed and went in for a second kiss. He tangled his fingers in Luke’s hair. It was darker than it had ever been on Tatooine, and longer too.

“You need a haircut.”

“I need a shower,” Luke replied. “Care to join me?”

—     confusion

Han didn’t know what he was supposed to make of the kid, the old man, and the two droids. Chewie liked them, especially the old man. He’d introduced himself as Ben Kenobi and the kid as Luke Skywalker. Han had been a brat himself during the Clone Wars, but even he recognized those two last names. The Jedi magic business he was less sold on – it made no sense and it was confusing as hell, alright? – but back in the war, the Jedi had been Generals. Military titles Han could work with. Either way, the kid and the old man didn’t look like much, but perhaps they’d prove him wrong.

— bitter

The alcohol tasted bitter on Luke’s tongue, but it wasn’t the worst drink he'd ever had.

“Passable,” he judged and handed his bottle over to Wes who promptly choked on it.

“The heck, Skywalker! This tastes like the stuff I put in my tanks! This isn’t drinkable.”

Luke frowned and took back the bottle to hand it to Biggs, who also had no problems drinking it. They shared a look, then grinned.

“You should taste the stuff we drunk back home.”

“No, thank you.”

—     afterlife

Biggs stared at Luke, then at the empty space beside Luke where apparently Anakin Skywalker’s ghost was lurking, and finally back again at Luke.

“No,” he said, pulled their blanket over his head again and dropped back on their bed. “It’s too early for funky Jedi business. I can meet him later when I’m awake and coherent enough to understand dead people coming back. The world of the living is closed for any afterlife dwellers until I’ve had my kaf.”

Biggs slowly fell asleep again to the sound of twin laughter.

—     daybreak

Biggs had spent the whole day over at the Lars homestead until it had been so dark, Aunt Beru hadn’t wanted him to go home by himself. Luke and he had squeezed together in Luke’s bed, which was much too small for two teenagers, even if Luke was short for his age. They stayed up way to too late and got up before the first sun rose.

“C’mon,” Luke whispered and dragged Biggs with him outside. They climbed up the dome of the homestead and huddled together, watched the sunrise. At daybreak, Biggs decided he’d follow Luke everywhere, he’d only need to ask.

—     audience

They had an audience.

“Didn’t you say he was your boyfriend?” Wes asked. Next to him, the pilot Luke had arrived with – Han Solo or so? – looked just as flabbergasted as the rest of the team. He kept looking at Luke, as if to check that they weren’t playing a prank on them.

“You talked about me?”

Now Luke was looking up at Biggs with his big blue eyes flickering mischievously and Biggs could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Well, yes. I mean, it’s not like this is Tatooine, but I figured I should still, ah, stick to the oath, so boyfriend-“

Luke finally had enough torturing Biggs. “Yes, you did fine. And yes, we are married.”

“When did that happen?” Solo asked, throwing his hands in the air. “We arrived not even a week ago!”

Now it was Luke’s turn to blush, rightly so. “Uh, before Biggs left Tatooine, so three years ago…?”

— endless

Sometimes it felt like the fighting never stopped. They came back from patrol, someone slapped a few bacta patches on them if they could afford any, they ate if they could keep the ration bars down, went to sleep if they didn’t wake up screaming and got sent off for another run. There were moments where Biggs thought it didn’t get any better, the Alliance just tried to avoid the worst of the punches. He hated this endless fighting, the thought that this might be it for the rest of his life.

He always got back up again either way.

—     fireworks

The first time they kiss, it wasn't so much a kiss as Biggs being stupid and getting lost in his thoughts. Luke couldn’t sit still and he was always making sounds, whether he was humming or talking. Luke had turned to Biggs, asking him to hand him a tool and all Biggs could think of at that moment, was how nice it would be to kiss Luke.

So he did.

As soon as his lips touched Luke’s, he realized what he was doing and pulled back. He expected Luke to start shouting maybe, not to flush bright red, stammer and abandon all attempts at communication to dive in for a second, clumsy and awkward kiss. They made up inexperience with enthusiasm and nothing, not even the drought season fireworks, could compare.

— wishing

“So you what? Rub a lamp and get three wishes?” Leia asked skeptically.

Han groaned. “Yes, it’s an old Corellian story. Can I go on now?”

“But, Dad, aren’t there any rules about the wishes?”

“Yes, Han. There must be rules.”

There probably were, but Han couldn’t recall them. He only vaguely remembered the story from his childhood. Maybe his mother had told it to him or he had just put it together from the many stories the fellow orphans used to tell at night, he wouldn’t know.

He did know that his wife and son shared the same inquiring look that looked utterly adorable on Ben’s small round face.

“You make up some rules then,” Han decided and as expected, Ben and Leia immediately began discussion.

So much for bedtime stories.

—     birthday

Leia’s birthdays had always been overshadowed by the much more important Empire Day, a festive no planet of the Empire could escape. Her parents used to sit down with her for an hour at least, both making time in their busy schedules to have sweets with her and give Leia their presents. After Alderaan’s destruction, Leia had never stopped to think about her birthdays. She’d forgotten it twice and only remembered it when Luke mentioned offhandedly that it was his birthday while they were stuck together hiding from bounty hunters.

The war wasn’t over now, far from it, but a year after the Emperor’s death, Leia could celebrate, wanted to celebrate her birth and that of her twin’s. She’d missed enough years with him, she didn't want to miss another.

—     tomorrow

Today they partied. They cheered and danced and got so blackout drunk they wouldn’t be able to hear the desperate screams of their friends’ dying breaths. Tomorrow they would burn flags for their dead. They would pack up their base and rush to a new system to hide in.

—     oppression

Biggs could have had a comfortable life on Tatooine. His family was well-established and he’d earn enough money to live a good life, but Biggs had always dreamed of the stars. But even more than that, he’d yearned for a free galaxy. The Darklighters had kept their last name when they became free, Biggs great-grandmother hadn’t ever wanted to pretend she came from somewhere that was not oppression, but the people around them had forgotten it more and more with each year that passed.

Skywalker, on the other hand, was so glaringly a slave name, people took notice.

Tatooine bred two kinds of people, those who resisted and those who sought to establish their cruel system.  If they had just one or two pilots more, a chance to get off this planet, the rebels would be overrun with help from the Hutt space.

— agony

Leia stared at the people in front of her, wondering whether they were serious pilots or a bunch of teenagers.

“You don’t understand,” Hobbie insisted. “It’s agony. You’re our only hope, Senator.”

“I’m busy,” Leia said and walked past them. Honestly, Luke and Biggs were adults, they could solve their fight on their own. Interfering would only make it worse.

“Please! They won’t even talk to each other!”

Leia rolled her eyes. If they already weren’t talking anymore, they were already done fighting and just trying to figure out who needed to apologize first.

“Busy!”

— return

Luke wondered what it said about himself that he’d been so reluctant to return to Tatooine, even when he knew that Han was here and they had to free him. Perhaps it was because he could still smell the ashes of his burned childhood home. Or maybe because he could hear the desert scream at him, beg him to save their children.

But he couldn’t. Not today.

He’d be back again, he knew then. Free the remaining slaves as the Jedi had ought to do decades ago, teardown the makeshift grave he’d made for his parents, and maybe watch in amusement as Biggs’ mother would be forced to treat him politely as her son-in-law.

—     protection

“Don’t forget to use protection!” Wedge shouted, as always the loudest of the Rogues.

Right beside him, Hobbie laughed. “And close the doors if you’re busy!”

Wes, the last remaining member of the original Death Star Red Squadron only snorted and shook his head.  “They’re going on a mission, guys.”

“Undercover!”

“Without supervision!”

“Left alone for the first time in- uck.”

Biggs had thrown a pillow at Wedge, while Luke hadn’t even bothered to turn around. No, he had a husband to protect his honor.

— boxes

They exchanged gifts near midnight while the party showed no sign of ending, but the day was almost over.

“What is this?” Luke asked and for a split-second, Leia was angry at her parents. How could her father let them be split up? Luke should have grown up together with her on Alderaan, known their customs as well as she did.

“They’re marriage cords,” Leia explained. “Siblings make them for each other when they get married. I’m…” Leia quickly counted the years. “Nine years late, but I wanted you to have one. We usually put them in our hair during the wedding and keep them as necklaces or bracelets after.”

“Oh.” Luke examined the sky blue cords Leia had spent weeks fussing over. “Can you help me put them in? I don’t know how exactly.”

“Of course. Do I get to open my present before?”

“Yes!”

Luke eagerly pushed a small box into her hands. Leia opened it carefully and took out the bright purple crystal out of the box. Her brother looked a little sheepish, but there was an edge to his expression of which Leia knew that it meant that this was important to him.

“I know you said you prefer blasters and would leave the Jedi-ing to me, but the galaxy’s better off when we’re together.”

She grinned and elbowed Luke. “Don’t start complaining when I kick your ass, little brother.”

“I have it on good authority that I’m actually the older one-“

— hope

When Biggs finally returned to Yavin IV, he was exhausted. It was daytime on the moon, everyone seemed to be outside, running around, but all he really wanted to do was drop in his bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

“Good morning, Commander Darklighter!”

The young boy who had greeted Biggs was dressed in loose tonics, looking much happier and comfortable than he had half a year ago when they’d found him and another two dozen children in an imperial training facility. He hadn’t gotten out of his habit of calling people by their titles yet, but his night terrors had lessened considerably and Biggs counted it as a win.

“Morning, Finn,” Biggs greeted. “And who is this little lady?”

The little girl hiding behind Finn mustered him curiously. She couldn’t be much older than four if Biggs were to guess.

“This is Rey Skywalker,” Finn said. “She’s new. Master Luke found her on Jakku. He’s training with the Padawans right now, do you want me to take you?”

Skywalker, she was another one of their many nameless and abandoned children then.

“I’d like that,” Biggs said and crouched down. “It’s nice to meet you Rey. My name is Biggs. I’m usually in charge of making sure our Jedi Master is behaving.”

He held out his hand and little Rey, new hope for a new age, took it.

—     preparation

There were four of them, five if you counted Luke. Out of thirty, five had made it back from the Death Star. The other squadrons weren’t faring much better, there was a lot of reshuffling to be done.

“We need a name,” Hobbie decided, the oldest of them all at twenty-six. It seemed a little bit like a macabre joke.

“Five rogue pilots? We’re not gonna be a new squadron. They’ll split us up,” Wes tossed in, anger coloring his voice. He’d been with the Red Squadron the longest, lost the most friends. Despite his words, he had marched with the rest of them to the first empty room near the hangers, not awaiting room assignment. None of them were really preparing to be split up.

“So we tell them we’re a team,” Luke said, shrugging. “They can’t do anything about it then.”

Biggs wanted to protest. That really wasn’t how the Alliance worked, and yet when he opened his mouth, the words were lost to him. Luke got this air about him sometimes, like he knew whatever was saying was the truth and nothing but the truth.

“Rogue Squadron,” Wedge decided. “We should be the Rogue Squadron. We made the Death Star shot, we finished what they started, we’ll take their name. I’ll be Rogue Two.”

Wedge hadn’t been at Scarif, he’d been in medical at the time, but Tellem had been and they had died there. Biggs had never known what exactly their relationship was, and now it was too late.

“Rogue Three,” Biggs said instead.

“Four,” Wes added, while Hobbie claimed Rogue Five for himself.

That only left Luke and it seemed obvious now where he belonged.

—     beautiful

“You’re beautiful.”

Biggs snorted.

“I’m old and gray and no, I’m not going to go pick up the Padawans in the jungle with you. Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Skywalker.”

Luke laughed and sat up. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it’ll get me everywhere.”

After all these years, Biggs still felt like that clumsy sixteen-year-old with a crush on the loveliest person he knew. He’d thought of himself as so grown up then already, but looking back, he knew they had been children still, much too young for the decisions they would make.

“If we pick the kids up with a ship, how much longer can we stay in bed?”

Going by the speed at which Luke made himself comfortable next to Biggs again, he assumed they could stay like this at least another hour.

— lies

“He’s my father!” Luke finally shouted, cut off from the rest of their squadron, stuck in a jungle on some Force-forsaken planet in the middle of nowhere.

In the desert, you learned how to be silent, least of all you attract womp rats or raiders or even more dangerous beings. Luke rarely raised his voice but now, admitting the truth, he was shouting at the storm inside his mind.

“Darth Vader is your father,” Biggs repeated.

He wanted to tell him to stop lying, except it made terribly sense. Luke’s wanted posters never named him as the Death Star Shot, and they demanded that he was to be brought in not only alive, but unharmed.

“But you’re still Luke Skywalker,” Biggs continued.

He pulled Luke back into his arms and, as so often in the last months, hoped they’d get a break from fighting the Empire, fighting for Justice.

—     underneath

Han opened the secret compartment of the Falcon, hoping everybody would be alright. Three bright-eyed kids looked back up at him and not for the first time, did Han wonder why he of all people always ended up smuggling Jedi brats through the galaxy. He was married to Leia, Senator of New Alderaan and Jedi Knight, and he was a pretty well-known figure as well. He really shouldn’t be cut out for undercover work still after so many years.

“Thank you, General Organa,” the oldest of the brats said and climbed out of the hatch.

“Don’t sweat it.”

— hide

Watching the tiny Skywalker and Darklighter interact was one of Rex’s favorite past times. They were so much like General Skywalker and Senator Amidala, it was almost funny. Always searching for the other when they were in the same room, making eye-contact, the cheesy flirting toned down to keep an air of professionalism – Rex could go on and on.

The only difference was that they didn’t have to hide.

Commander Skywalker rushed past Darklighter and gave him a quick peck on the lips before chasing after some new recruits. Rex wondered if perhaps his parents would be here now too, fighting alongside them, if they hadn’t been forced to keep their relationship a secret.

— diary

“He knew, you know,” Luke told Leia. “Ben- Obi-Wan. He knew about our parents’ relationship, but he kept it a secret anyway because Father would have been thrown out of the Order and Mother would have lost her seat in the Senate. He wrote about it in his journal.”

Leia had wanted to get her hands on Obi-Wan Kenobi’s journal ever since her brother had given her the purple kyber crystal that accompanied Leia everywhere. It was difficult to figure out how to construct a lightsaber without any reference texts, but Luke had been busy.

“So all of this could have been avoided with a few changed laws?” Leia asked, already knowing the answer.

Of course, it wasn’t this easy. Tracking down how deep Palpatine’s machinations had ran took up most of her time. Leia still resented Vader and she didn’t think she’d ever care for him the way Luke did, but there was something horrifying about reading through a Sith Lord’s observations of a bright twelve-year-old child meant for greatness. Leia could never mourn Vader, but in the quiet presence of her brother she allowed herself to mourn Anakin Skywalker.

—     unforeseen

Biggs didn’t believe it when he saw a tuft of blonde hair, the color of spun gold, during the meeting. Wedge had mentioned that the princess had been returned by a farm boy and a smuggler, but he didn’t think of Luke. He was still back on Tatooine, waiting for Biggs to come pick him up. He’d been meaning to go a few weeks ago, but the Alliance had needed him more. Now Luke was within reach, and yet, even when Biggs could clearly see his face, just across the hall, he couldn’t believe it.

—     conditional

“These terms are non-negotiable, Skywalker,” Fett said.

His blaster was still pointed at Biggs’ temple. The bounty hunter would kill him before either could move.

“Fine.” Luke threw away his lightsaber. “I come with you, but he stays alive. Those are my conditions.”

Fett agreed and tossed a pair of handcuffs at Luke, shooting Biggs’ leg in the same motion. Biggs shouted and dropped to his knees.

“He’s alive, now come on, Jedi.”

— gone

He had missed twenty years, two decades, too much time his son should have been at his side. Padmé was gone, Vader had returned to Naboo to examine her grave, to ensure that this hadn’t been yet another trick played on him, that she hadn’t betrayed him once more.

Vader had always thought their child would be a girl with Padmé’s coloring and maybe his blue eyes. She had been fond of them. He wondered what Luke looked like beyond the red haze of Vader’s vision.

— clear

“Are you threatening me?” Biggs asked, trying to figure out why Han Solo was metaphorically waving his blaster in Biggs’ face.

Han nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest. The two of them were almost the same height, but Biggs was tired and slouching while Han was standing with his back straight.

“Yes, it’s tradition. Luke is my friend. I figured nobody else had done it on his behalf. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Biggs replied.

—     heartache

“He’s stupid!” Leia ranted. “And ignorant and arrogant and petulant and-“

“Important to you?” Luke interrupted her.

Leia glared at him, then dropped face-first onto her bed and groaned. It was strange seeing her so childish. Around everyone else, she acted much more serious, never said a word about how she was feeling. Luke thought it might be because everyone called her “Princess” first and by her rank second, making it easier for themselves to talk over her.

But the two of them clicked well. Sometimes it surprised Luke that they hadn’t been friends since childhood, teasing each other about their crushes and heartache.

“One day I’m going to kiss Han to shut him up,” Leia vowed.

— wired

There were always a lot of droids on their bases, especially around the hanger where most of the repairs took place and the pilots kept their astromechs, except Luke’s of course. Artoo always followed his Master or, in his absence, his Master’s companion.

“Your droid has some loose wiring,” one of their mechanics said.

Artoo had left one Master once, he wouldn’t leave a second.

—     insanity

Watching Luke train was fascinating. He was right in his element, all the habits that made Luke a little strange fit so suddenly. You couldn’t spent half your life in love with Luke Skywalker and end up thinking he was normal. Biggs recalled the stories the Clone Wars’ veterans on base told of the leaders they always called their Jedi, loyal to the end. They sounded like ethereal warriors with too bright eyes, always a little too aware of their surroundings. It was almost too easy to picture Luke as one of them. It wasn’t insane to imagine him bringing back the Order he belonged to now.

Biggs wouldn’t mind. Hell, he’d be right out there with him helping. If Luke set his mind on something, he could do it.

— foolish

“Marry me,” Biggs said.

“What?” Luke thought he had misheard Biggs.

“Let’s get married,” his boyfriend repeated, grinning like a love-sick fool. “So you’ll always know I’m going to come back for you.”

“We can’t. My uncle-“

“So we’ll do it in secret,” Biggs argued. “No one but us has to know.”

Marrying in secret was nothing unusual on Tatooine. It was often enough that couples couldn’t be together openly, Hutt rule prevented that kind of freedom. Luke had always thought his wedding would be different.

“We’re not slaves,” Luke said stubbornly. They shouldn’t have to do anything in secret, they were free people and few things had ever been as important to Luke as reminding others of it.

“I know. I know Luke Skywalker, freeborn child of Anakin, child of Shmi, child of the desert. I know you and I want to marry you.”

Luke stared at him in disbelief, giving Biggs a chance to take back his words, but his best friend was still serious, unwilling to budge. Luke was strong, stubborn too, but not enough to deny himself this.

“We don’t have any water!” He finally blurted out. “We need water. And japor pieces.”

“Is that a yes?”

Luke leaned forward until his forehead was resting against Biggs’. “Of course, I’m saying yes.”

— words

He was silent at his father’s funeral. He could hear the people celebrating in the distance, but right in front of the funeral pyre where Anakin Skywalker’s prison laid burning, Luke couldn’t say a word.

— study

“Master Yoda told me to pass on what I’ve learned,” Luke said and dropped the datapads in frustration. “But there’s so much I don’t know! How am I supposed to bring back the Jedi if I don’t even know half of what their Padawans had to know?”

He’d spent hours upon hours reading through his Father’s archive. He barely managed to get through one text without having to look up another and another- A lot of it didn’t make sense to him and half of it he didn’t even understand.

Whenever he told one of the others, they just said he’d manage with some more studying, but Luke was starting to lose faith. Where did one start to study without a teacher?

Master Yoda had called him a Jedi Knight, Luke wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

— love

Luke didn’t know how to love gradually. Unlike his Father, as he’d later learn, Luke’s love wasn’t all-consuming, going further than it should. He cared for his pilots, for his friends, his sister, and his father. Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader, but Darth Vader was also Anakin Skywalker or he wouldn’t have chased after his son for years. Once that knowledge settled in his mind, Luke loved his father. It gave him the strength to throw away his lightsaber, to come in peace instead of war. He’d never excuse Vader’s actions and he’d never give more than he could, but Luke loved and the galaxy was a better place for it.

— skies

“Rogue Squadron reporting for duty, Sir,” Luke said.

He knew that the rest of High Command didn’t really know what to make of him. He was young, he was short and he had a lightsaber he was only just now figuring out how to use. The sky, though? That Luke knew. He didn’t know how to be a Jedi, but he knew how to fly and soar through the sky.

He could be a pilot.

He would be.

— stars

“I want to see the stars, all of them,” Luke said, proud that his voice didn’t crack even once. It had started breaking a while ago, much to everyone’s amusement.

“All of them? That will take a while.” Biggs was teasing him, but Luke knew his friend yearned for the stars just as much as he did.

“A whole lifetime!”

Luke couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do.

— lucky

Luke closed his eyes. He had to make this shot. Failure was not an option. What was, was.

Back on Tatooine, people always said Luke was a lucky one. He may not have had the most money, but he always managed to pick the best droids and ship parts for the few credits he did have. Shooting womp rats half-blind with sand making his eyes tear wasn’t more difficult than this.

He just had to focus.

— shake

“This is Rogue Three, I’ve picked up some annoying imps and I can’t shake them.”

“Rogue Twelve here. I’m helping you out. Where’s your wingman?”

“Busy getting shot at- I just got that wing repaired, don’t aim at it, you stupid-“

“Rogue Six, has anybody got their eyes on our fearless leader?”

“Rogue Two, I’m still following Luke- kriff, shit, oh, no, no-“

“What’s going on there? Wedge, what the heck’s going on?”

“TIE fighters, three of them- fuck, that’s Death Squadron! Everybody retreat! Get out! Hail command and tell them we need back up! Now!”

—     punctual

Biggs pulled up, just in time to avoid the shot from the TIE fighter behind him and spun, just like he used to back home, causing the enemy pilot to crash into the wall. Biggs resumed his position as Luke’s guard, sure that once more he wouldn’t be able to make it. Instead of falling into a panic, remembering the names and faces of the decimated Red Squadron, Biggs forced himself to look ahead. They’d make it, he told himself. There was no fear. The winds of Tatooine carried them forward and Biggs watched as Luke made his shot. Even before the hit landed, he was already pulling up, ready to give Luke cover so they could escape in time before the Death Star blew them up as well.

Biggs knew Luke had done the impossible.

They escaped the Death Star as fast as they could, passing the wreckage of a bloodless battlefield.

“Red three, are you with me?” Luke’s voice echoed over the comms.

“Yeah,” Biggs replied. “Like I’d ever leave you alone. I promised, remember?”

They were both laughing and crying when they got out of their ships. Biggs pulled Luke into a hug, desperation and utter joy overwhelming him, so very similar to that last night on Tatooine.

They had survived.

[anousiemay]

The Angel & The Devil Ch. 1 A Lie Burns Many Bridges

Guardian and The Red Hood are hot on the trail of Black Mask. Trying to find just what he has invested in this time. In an attempt to find answers, The Red Hood does something he instantly regrets, putting his relationship with Guardian on the rocks. Can he salvage their relationship or will he lose another person in his life? Another gorgeous commission by @symeona​ and another fic by yours truly! While the moment I pictured this image doesn’t appear till chapter 4 I thought it’d be a good placeholder hehe. Another Jason x Anita fic cos I’m in love with them being in love. This fic is also on ao3!  https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anousie/ ----- "Are we going to be meeting this 'Angel' you keep mumbling about?" In the little time Jason had spent with his new teammates, he'd learnt that Artemis is not one to beat around the bush. In fact, she'd most likely beat the metaphorical bush to bits if need be.

The long flight back to Qurac had eased Jason's mind but left his body weary. It was the first time in years that Jay had ever felt so tired. Especially after facing his past and stopping a crazed Amazonian from killing hundreds with the Bow of Ra. It could be said this was all in a day's work for someone of his profession. But as the plane’s wheels touched Gotham Airport tarmac, his heart began to ache. For now, he was back in Gotham with his relationship with Anita most definitely on the rocks. "Yes, Princess. You both will, but I'd prefer if I was alone with her first." "Red Him am embarrassed by Red Her and Bizarro?" Oh Bizarro, precious, brutally strong Bizarro. Jason was much more embarrassed in himself. "No of course not, big guy. But Guardian and I probably aren't on the best terms right now." "You are lucky we are in a public place or I would have thrown you fifty yards. Do not call me princess." Artemis spat as she rose from her seat on the plane. Ah yes, he forgot about that. That's what he'd say if he was lying. "Sorry," He really wasn't. "Well, I guess I'll take you guys to one of my safehouses. C'mon, I need a shower." "Oh good, I swear your jacket was becoming a part of your flesh." "Red Him am made of jacket?" "No, Bizarro. I am not."

- - - - The safehouse was surprisingly spacious enough for all three of the Outlaws to occupy. Artemis had placed her axe in the kitchen when they arrived. To which Jason had promptly asked her to leave it in her room. Bizarro on the other hand, was fascinated by the PS4 currently humming and the controller Jason had placed in his hand. "Give it a shot, B. Skyrim's a pretty good game." Then, once sure the two were settled and not putting their weapons in kitchens; Jason grabbed some spare clothes and jumped into the shower. How good it felt to be under hot water. Jason took this moment of solitude to reflect on the past few weeks. Two weeks ago, Anita, known as Guardian to the public, and himself had been hot on the trail of Black Mask's latest investment. The Angel and Devil (aptly named by goons due to her wings and his red helmet) were scaring thugs and opening crates of 'funky techno shit' as Anita had called it nightly. But neither were getting anywhere. Dead end after unconscious thug with no real lead on just what Black Mask was planning. That's when Jason had turned to Bruce, asking him to trust his wayward son with taking down Black Mask himself. "You want me to pretend I know nothing? She won't buy it for a second, Jason." Bruce had been rather shocked by Jason’s latest proposition. "I know, I don't need her to buy it. But if she knows what I’m doing she'll hold back. It's the only way." "Wasn't it a while back you and the others were adamant, we'd be honest with one another?" Bruce uttered as he opened a few files on the Bat Computer. Jason laughed then, Bruce did too. Neither were that good at being honest. "She won't be happy, Jason. She's not like us. It was hard for her to get her around being a meta and now you're doing this?" Jason sighed, how could he forget? Anita had been a mess, he had let her down and couldn't save her in time from the bastard who implanted the meta-gene. But now she was Guardian, a symbol of hope for Gothamites and himself. She was a good person; mask on or off. But Jason well, Jason wasn't always a good person, even if she disagreed. He left soon after, his response dangling in the air. "I have to, Bruce. It's the only way."

- - - It was April 12th and the moon was hung high in the air. No clouds in Gotham meant there'd be a lot of evil out tonight. Guardian peered through her night vision binoculars for the third time in 3 minutes, she was insanely bored. Red Hood had briefed her that The Bowery had seen a lot more foot traffic than usual in the construction site across from the apartment building roof she sat on. They were to watch the place for any unusual activity. At least she had some food to keep her occupied. "So, what do you think of Gina's Kebabs?" She asked through her microphone, trying not to stain her white outfit as she took another bite.

A small crackle from her earpiece, then Red Hood’s deep voice cut through the midnight wind: "I think it's more grease than lamb, Angel. I'd give it a 3 sober. What about you?"

Guardian giggled, "Well my chicken one is actually pretty warm still, so I give it a 5 for its longevity."

"You're definitely the nicer mark out of us two." Red Hood responded, an airy chuckle leaving his throat. "Oh, Red. I'm the nicer everything out of us." "Excuse you? I have a hotter bod than yours." Guardian faked a gasp, but he had played himself into a trap: "That’s not what’cha said last night." "I wasn't sober!" "Exactly, you were drunk on this fine glass of wine." Guardian stood up and shook her hips, knowing the vigilante on the building across from her was watching. "Just shut up and watch the roads."

"Aww, you're precious, babe." Guardian teased but resumed watching the roads below. 30 minutes passed before finally, something happened: a large truck reversed into the opened shutter of a warehouse next to the construction site. 5 minutes later, two men came out on motorbikes and sped off towards Founders Island. Bingo. "Shall we give chase?" Guardian was already extending her wings before Red Hood surprised her. "No, let's see what they've left. Bats can handle them." She spotted his silhouetted figure grapple down from his building. "Are you sure the grease in that kebab didn't poison you? This is our chance to get some info!" Guardian questioned as she flew down to the warehouse, meeting her partner who was already trying to lift the metal door. "Or break some bones for absolutely nothing." He huffed out, Guardian sighed and grabbed the metal door, throwing it up with one hand. "Since when were you against breaking bones?" "Anita." His voice was stern, Red wasn't kidding around. "Jason?" She shot back; this wasn't like him. The tall man sighed and took off his helmet, he only ever did that when he wanted to get a point across. Or make out, but she doubted that was the reason this time. "I just think it'd be better for us to keep our eyes on whatever they've bought here. We can catch up with them another time, but what if what's on this truck is the answer to what Black Mask is up to?" "But why would he leave it here unguarded if it was, Jay? It makes no sense, it'd have to be some dud shipment, right?"

Damnit, she was too smart for her own good. But Jason had one more card up his sleeve.

"Just humour me?"

The two stared at each other for a few beats before Anita finally sighed and walked into the warehouse. "Fine, but you owe me a Banana Split from Freddie's when you see that I'm right." "Yes ma'am." Jason affirmed before clicking his helmet back on. The two waltzed over to the back of the truck and Anita ripped the metal back off, placing it next to them. "Your super strength is getting easier to handle?" Jason questioned, pressing their bodies close as they peered into the trucks back. "Yeah and the wings aren't playing up as much either." Anita admitted, in fact her powers had been functioning well these past few nights. Jason smiled from under his helmet, running a gloved hand along her feathers. "You do look beautiful with them, you know?" Anita blushed at the compliment, still feeling rather insecure about them. "You trying to butter me up, so you don't have to get me a Banana Split?" "No! Maybe… Is it working?" "Tell me I have a better bod than you and I'll reconsider." Anita teased as the two began grabbing crates and opening them on the warehouse floor. "I'd have to perform a full examination to know." He poked back swiftly. "Ugh, men."

After going through all the crates, Anita let out an exasperated sigh. "See? I told you it was a dud shipment. But why would he have one? What do you think Red?" Anita waited a few moments; hearing Jason unlatch one of his guns from its thigh holster. "Red?"

A small click then a loud bang. Guardian fell to the ground in pain, looking at her leg she saw a bullet lodged into her kneecap and blood staining her suit. But Guardian doesn't bleed, she hasn't since she got these wings. Just what the hell was in these bullets? Her head started feeling light but willed herself to look up at the shooter: Red Hood held his pistol at her now sweating forehead. Pulling the chamber back and wrapping his finger tight on the trigger. The only thought that passed through Anita's head was: ‘What the fuck?!’

[star-anise]

i was hoping my last ask would get me a free rant without having to make a dreaded choice uhhhhhhh do maybe washcloths or fake smile?

Hahaha no you have to specify what white person thing you want a rant about, or else I’m paralyzed by too many choices. And nb. by “white” I generally mean white Anglo-Saxon Protestant; WASPs have traditionally been held up as the cultural standard everyone else n North America or other British colonies should follow, and the “whiteness” of different European ethnicities in those colonies is generally judged by how assimilated they are to the WASP ideal. So my observations will not apply very well to, for example, other European ethnicities, or people from areas colonized by those other European groups.

WASHCLOTHS. Related to another trap, Guest Towels Guests Must Never Use. Which are usually distinguished by their elaborateness and a thin layer of dust. As a certified White Person (Anglo Canadian) I can say: This is a real actual literal thing my family does. If I stay at an aunt’s house, I don’t use her guest towels; I walk past the guest towels on the towel rack and ask my hostess, “What towel do you want me to use?” and she fetches me a new, less nice, towel out of the linen closet. 

The actual washcloth meant to be used is hung somewhere separate. When I was about 13, I rebelled against sharing a washcloth with my brothers, bought my own washcloth from a department store, embroidered my name on it, and zealously defended it against all comers. These days, my older brother has four children. When we go to his house to eat dinner, his children all wash their hands before they eat… and then wipe them dry on a single towel hung in the downstairs bathroom, which his guests also use. So we all wash our hands and then share germs. I… think? There might be a bar on the opposite wall with guest towels hanging on it?  But my eyes have been trained to skate right over guest towels. They’re decor, not things we actually use.

Why White People Do This:

1. Washing and cleanliness… have not traditionally held a central place in European life the way, say, wudu does in Islam. Although priests ritually wash their hands before performing the consecration of Mass, nobody else in the congregation has to. This is partly because in Christian Scripture, Jesus says that if something is ritually pure but spiritually suspect, it should be treated as impure, which Christians kind of took to mean “ritual purity and cleanliness rituals are things non-Christians do.” 

So in the 19th century, a German doctor discovered that you could reduce the rate of infection dramatically when doctors washed their hands and instruments between dissecting dead bodies and attending in childbirth. Doctors were OFFENDED and APPALLED by this–partly because the guy pointing it out was an asshole, yes, but partly because there was a feeling that “a gentleman’s hands are always clean”, so it was offensive to say their hands were dirty because it impugned their class and education.

Cleanliness is hugely related to class and status–I could go on a LOT more here about how in the 19th century, British and American attempts to “educate” and “civilize” poor white people and people of colour included imposing standards of hygiene on them that felt cruel and punitive–scrubbing skin raw, using caustic soap, delousing with kerosene–partly because white people didn’t have a very advanced idea of what chemicals made good cosmetics, and there wasn’t much awareness of the need for oils or moisturizers. (For a long time very few sources of natural oil, like canola, olives, or sunflowers, or even petroleum products, were available in Britain, so until somewhat recently they only really had pine tar and animal fat, which they used for everything from making soap to lighting lamps to greasing cart axels.) And the 19th century cleanliness movement did not have a good opinion of traditional bathing methods like the sauna, banya, or steam room, where sweat was scraped off the skin. So people who HAD hygiene rituals that worked for them, when they emigrated to western Europe or North America, got shamed and discouraged from using them. It was just expected that part of “civilizing” a child who hadn’t been “well brought up” was forcefully ducking them in a bath and scrubbing them while they screamed and fought you.

So for white people from everything but the highest classes, if you go a few generations back, there’s this feeling that cleanliness is something unnatural and unpleasant, something imposed by a punitive authoritarian force, and not something intrinsically desirable. Old men used to talk about “taking a bath once a year, whether I need it or not,” and fear of losing their “protective coating of dirt.” Which makes sense when you realize how awful old cosmetics used to feel.

I mean, as I type this, I’m applying Vaseline to the hangnails on my fingers, because when I use soap in the bath or do the dishes or wash my hands after going to the bathroom, the soap strips oil from my skin and dries it out, leading it to crack and bleed. This is a really common problem but the current solution seems to be “women carry tiny bottles of moisturizer everywhere in their purses, and men… suffer if they want to seem manly, and then post memes to facebook about how rough and terrible their hands look to emphasize their heterosexual masculinity.”

This also relates to why white people say racist things about people of colour being “dirty” when they use natural methods of keeping their hair or skin clean. The white conception of cleanliness is honestly really fucked up.

2. Cloth holds an especially weird place in white society. I mean, lots of cultures everywhere like their cloth to look nice! But in Europe and American colonies in the 1600s there was an extra special movement to restrict women economically and bar them from business and public life–so while a rich woman could run a business outside the home and buy and sell in 1400, that freedom was disappearing in 1600. Only women of the ~lower classes~ did real actual work. And the religious sentiment at the time really emphasized Purity, Hard Work, Productiveness, and No Fun. So women were supposed to stay inside all the time and not participate in industry! But they were always supposed to be busy. The saying was literally “Idle hands are the devil’s tools”. 

That turned embroidery from an aesthetic, decorative art into a moral act. You didn’t embroider to make something pretty; you embroidered for the good of your soul. Fancy embroidered pieces displayed in a home were meant to demonstrate a) that the house was rich enough to have idle women, and b) the moral purity and obedience to gender norms of the women of the house. (This also extends to things like quilts, lace doilies, hooked rugs, etc.)

So towels used to be made of linen, a plain flat cloth, and then embroidered and otherwise embellished. My mom, in the 1960s, learned how to do embroidery where you painstakingly pull a few threads out of a piece of linen, and then embellish the place where the threads have been taken out.

Linen, incidentally, is a strange and amazing fabric. When new, freshly starched and ironed, it is flat and crisp. But pressure and moisture can change it really easily. When I sew with linen, I just have to lick my fingers and fold it over, and it stays like that–something most fabrics don’t do. So if you actually use a linen towel to dry your hands, you will crumple it in a way that is very hard to reverse.

Therefore: Fancy linens were displayed prominently in the home as a status symbol, but a guest who wanted to stay on his hostess’s good side did not use them. There are a lot of ettiquettes around using linens when you absolutely have to, like just gently wiping your fingers on a towel, that diminished the damage the fabric would take.

So, I mean, actually rich people used their good towels, because if they ruin them, they can just get new ones. Fancy linens were intended for high-class guests who knew how to keep from damaging them. So using someone’s guest towels sent the message, “I am so high-status that I’m WORTH potentially ruining something that took a ton of work to make and maintain.” Or, if you obviously weren’t that high status, “I don’t know about the work that goes into making nice things, or don’t value the work you did and don’t care how much effort you’ll have to go to because I wanted to wipe my face.”

But that was in the days of linen. Guest towels are going out of fashion, partly because modern terrycloth towels are almost impossible to crease or ruin, so it doesn’t really matter if guests use them. But even with terrycloth towels, homeowners sometimes like to create really elaborate towel displays. I don’t know how those people feel when guests use them, but as a white girl I feel really uncomfortable taking a towel display in somebody else’s house apart, and try to wipe my hands while causing the least disturbance possible.

Oh, I guess I should mention that invisible tests no one will ever mention if you fail are absolutely a white person thing. Like, if you watch costumed period drama movies, there’s often a scene where someone is really unbearable and rude, and everyone is super polite and awkward and just sits there and says nothing. That’s not consciously an exclusive practice; from the perspective of white people it’s just an ingrained reflex, “Freeze and smile when something awkward happens and then later cut them out of your life.” 

That reflex comes because the Industrial Revolution and colonization (1600s-1800s) led to a lot of class mobility. Ordinary men could get involved in business and become wealthier than the hereditary landowners! Which the hereditary landowners felt super threatened by, so they went out of their way to cultivate manners and standards that were very unlike those used by the common people. Upperclass accents became more marked and exaggerated; dictionaries decided to make English spelling and grammar especially hard to learn; manners got super weird and unintuitive. They wanted to make it as hard as possible for common people to fit into high society.

Therefore, to enable that system, the rule became: Never tell someone when they’re fucking up. If they know what they’re doing wrong, they’ll FIX it, and then they’ll fit in better! And that would lead to the absolute downfall of Western civilization! Which would of course be a bad thing! And that got codified as The Right And Desirable Way To Do Things. A low-class person might say “Hey, you just insulted me, I’m upset,” but someone with aspirations of rising higher in life learned to freeze and say nothing. That was how you defined “polite”.

So like I said, if I, as a white person, point out to other liberal white people that the freeze-and-smile-awkwardly response is really exclusionary to people from different backgrounds, they go, “Oh my gosh, you’re right!” and we can talk about changing it. It’s why white people invented assertiveness training. It’s a thing white people have to unpack and decolonize. But it’s not commonly a conscious attempt to exclude someone by not letting them know they’re breaking the rules.

ANYWAY. Towels.

So IF someone has guest towels taking up their towel rack in their bathroom, there’s very little room left for the actual towels. (Unless they’re like my aunt, whose bathroom literally has a second towel rack to accommodate her guest towel arrangement) Therefore: The entire fucking family sharing a single washcloth because that’s all they have room for, and it doesn’t feel that important not to share.

WHITE CULTURE IS WEIRD AS HELL.

And if you come to my house? You’re allowed to use my guest towels. It’s what they’re there for.

[elisaphoenix13]

Before The Dawn Ch. 2

The next few days…weeks...all went the same. Except, as Cassie predicted, Tony didn't make himself breakfast anymore. She also was the one to get Diana when the baby woke up, and diapered and fed her before either putting her in her swing or putting her on her playmat and playing with her. Of course Tony made sure the baby monitor was on after that first night, but he hadn't been sleeping well and usually went down to the garage to further integrate Friday into the house. In the short time they had been there, Tony made video monitors to keep an eye on Diana as well as Cassie and put the receiving ends in his room, the kitchen, and the garage while he installed the cameras with audio feed in Diana's room and the living room.

He showed Cassie how they worked and the one in the kitchen was the one she used on a regular basis. Sometimes she took it with her to the living room and sometimes she took it into her room in case Tony was too distracted by his projects in the garage or he was stuck in another nightmare while sleeping. She knew that he was trying. Trying to be a responsible adult and take care of the two girls in his care, but she also knew what he had gone through. Cassie overheard the remaining adults talking about what happened when Tony got back with the blue lady, and she knew that he watched Stephen turn to dust right in front of him, and Peter…

...well, hearing him recount the story while trying not to cry broke her heart. Peter turned to dust in his arms and he couldn't do a thing about it. He had nightmares about it almost every night.

The first night he had the recurring nightmare, Cassie had woken up in the middle of the night when she heard a strange noise. It scared her at first, but when she got up to go tell Tony, she realized it was coming from him. He begged and sobbed in his sleep and when Cassie got close enough to try and wake him up, he jolted out of sleep and stared right at her. She couldn't see very well in the dark but she could feel the pain radiating off of him, and she simply moved closer to fix the blankets over him before she went back to bed.

Tony always fell right back to sleep before she left the room whenever she made those nightly visits to make sure he was okay. Cassie eventually realized that when he woke up, he was never truly awake. His body was, but his brain never caught up before his body decided to go back to sleep. She supposed she did it so Tony knew that he wasn't alone. Whenever she had nightmares, seeing her Mom or Dad with her when she woke up helped calm her down and she hoped it was the same for Tony.

This morning was one of those days that Tony shut himself away in the garage before Diana woke up, so Cassie had to be the one to take care of her that morning. As soon as the baby was secure in her high chair and happily eating Cheerios one by one, Cassie tied her hair up, rolled up her sleeves, and got everything she would need to make pancakes.

"When you're a little bigger, I'll teach you how to make pancakes." Cassie tells Diana. "Stephen taught me how to make them the right way."

Diana babbles around the Cheerio in her mouth as she watches the little girl mix the pancake batter, and Cassie carefully pours some of it into the greased pan. Instead of stirring in the blueberries, she placed them in different designs as she cooked them in the pan, and before long, she had a small stack of hot pancakes on a plate. Cassie turns off the stove and takes the full plate over to the table where she had set two places and she looks at the baby who was watching curiously.

"He probably had enough coffee already. Orange juice is probably a better idea. What do you think?" She asks Diana.

"Dada!" Was the answer followed by some more blabbering and a raspberry.

"I knew you'd agree." Cassie smiles and gets the orange juice out of the fridge and pours some in the two glasses on the table.

After she puts it back, she walks back over to the highchair, makes sure Diana is secure, and that there's nothing dangerous in reach before hurrying to the garage. Normally she would knock before entering since it was Tony's space, but she was on a mission and she walked right in. Cassie found the billionaire hunched over a workbench, and she walked over and grabbed his arm and started to pull him away, causing him to drop his tools in surprise.

"Wha--hey! What happened to knocking?" He gripes.

Cassie huffs and pulls him inside and over to the kitchen table where Diana is safely and happily eating the last of her cereal. She drops his arm and sits in her spot at the table and looks at him expectantly until he sits across from her and looks at the stack of pancakes between them. She almost expected him to scold her for using the stove without his supervision but he just smiled softly and pulled a few pancakes onto his plate.

"Took care of Dia and made breakfast huh? Geez...the roles have been reversed." He sighs.

Cassie takes a couple of pancakes and squeezes a little bit of syrup on hers. "It's okay. I like cooking and I like helping with Diana. I gave you orange juice because we think you probably had a lot of coffee already." She says before cutting some of her pancakes and taking a bite.

"Pfft...coffee was getting boring anyway." His chuckle comes out a little forced. "These are good Cass."

Tony finishes the pancakes on his plate and sticks out his fork to grab another, but when he stops, Cassie looks over at him curiously. The next pancake on the plate had a butterfly design and somehow she knew that it wasn't a good thing. So she quickly takes it and puts it on her plate, leaving the last pancake with a spiral design for Tony to take. Fortunately, he does take it and continues to eat as if nothing had happened. The awkward silence was there, but that was the norm nowadays and on a good day it was broken easily enough.

Diana happened to be the one to do it. Instead of eating her last cheerio, she threw it toward the table and it landed with a plop in Tony's orange juice, and both he and Cassie looked at the glass. The cereal puffs floated on the surface and slowly absorbed the orange juice, turning it soggy, and Tony picked it up and drank it. Cheerio and all.

Cassie scrunched her nose in disgust. "Eww!"

Tony coughed. "That's for sure."

"Why did you drink it then?!"

"I was thirsty and dumping it out would have been a waste."

"You could have at least taken the Cheerio out." Cassie takes another bite of pancake.

"Would have risked breaking it up and probably making the juice worse." Tony finishes breakfast with Cassie and he grabs their dishes and takes them to the sink to wash. "Since you made breakfast, it's only fair that I wash the dishes."

Cassie nodded, glad that Tony was up to doing something normal around the house and she grabbed one of Diana's washcloths and took it to the sink to get it wet. She waited for Tony to stop rinsing a plate to put in the rack before she wet the cloth and then wrung it out before taking it over to Diana and wiping her hands and her face. The baby made a face as she did and when she finished, she carefully took Diana out of the high chair and carried her into the living room to play on her playmat. Cassie turned on the TV to something she would want to watch instead of something for Diana but it was still kid friendly. Spongebob was colorful enough to entertain the baby if she decided to watch, and Cassie actually understood what was going on so it was sort of a win-win situation.

It wasn't very educational like the usual baby shows though.

To Cassie's surprise, Tony joined them in the living room when he was done with the dishes, and he sat on the couch next to her. "Spongebob huh?"

"Yeah. It's my turn. Diana's playing with her toys." Cassie responds.

They both look over at the baby and Diana looks back with a large plastic ring in her mouth. It soon lost its appeal and she dropped it on her playmat to reach for the plastic keys instead and the second she picked them up, she waved her hand wildly. The keys clacked together noisily and Diana laughed like it was the funniest noise in the world.

Considering the circumstances, it probably was.

"Are you going to go back into the garage?" Cassie asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"Maybe later. Not right now." Tony says.

"What are you working on in there? Aren't you finished with Friday?"

The engineer sighs. "For the most part, yeah. I'm just... distracting myself from my thoughts I guess. Having you and Diana around helps too. You've been very helpful."

Cassie smiles. "I told you. I like cooking and helping with Dia. I want to help."

"You do...and I appreciate it." Tony looks out the nearby window. "How do you feel about a garden?"

Cassie looks over at him in excitement. She liked gardening too. It was something she and her dad did during the two years he was under house arrest. It didn't take them long to turn the small backyard into a wonderland, and some plants even found themselves inside the house.

"A vegetable garden?!" She asks.

"Sure. Maybe some berries too." Tony confirms. "I'm sure the princess would like getting dirty.

"I've always wanted to have a vegetable garden. When can we do it?" Cassie wonders and Tony rubs his goatee in thought.

"I'll have to order some wood, soil, plants, and seeds…"

Cassie makes a face. "Order? We should go pick it up. Wouldn't it be better if we could choose the plants?"

Tony looked at her and Cassie opened her mouth to take it back when she saw the uncertainty in his eyes, but then she closed it when he nodded.

"You have a point. Maybe there will be someone there that knows about vegetable gardens because I don't think either of us do." He says.

Cassie heard the what's left of people in the world, but didn't comment.

"We'll go this weekend. Sound good?" Tony asks.

"Yeah."

"Don't be afraid to drag me out of the garage or away from something I'm doing if I forget." Tony leans farther into the couch as Cassie smirks.

"I won't. It's how I got you to eat breakfast!"

"I'm glad you did. It was good. How about chocolate chips next time?" He requests.

"Deal."

Diana then babbles loudly and Tony leans forward again to pick her up and set her on his knee. He played with her while Cassie turned her attention back to the tv, but she didn't fail to notice the sadness lurking in Tony's eyes. She knew why it was there. It wasn't just his usual upsets...but it was also because Diana looked like Stephen. At least, that's what she'd heard him say before everything happened. She didn't see it like the adults did but she at least knew Dia had Stephen's pretty blue eyes. Maybe that was why Tony got visibly upset during breakfast. Cassie vaguely remembered Stephen using a spell one day that made blue butterflies flutter around him and the baby.

She would have to be careful about that in the future.