#It might look like she is using egg incorrectly

[scoriarose]

It is a friend

She peek

Hello!!!

[familyvideostevie]

tlou hbo season 2: episode 1 thoughts

well, some of you (like, three people) asked for my thoughts on each episode of the last of us on HBO so, here we go! as a disclaimer i am a game fan first and foremost and am perhaps predisposed to be critical of the show, but I'm also here for a good time. and if you're enjoying it fully i love that for you. my thoughts are divided into good, iffy, and bad.

spoilers for tlou part ii and tlou HBO below!

EPISODE 1: FUTURE DAYS

GOOD -the opening scene of our time jump was great. i love seeing the physicality of ellie -- this will, hopefully, come into play later. she is scrappy and she is brutal and perhaps she doesn't see just quite what she is capable of. also, love how bella pitched their voice down a bit in this scene! i wish it carried throughout the episode but what can you do. -dina and joel: while i think this relationship is being used very incorrectly, i always wanted more of the two of them. i think it tells us how joel is viewed in the community, which adds to the sense of loss once he's killed. in the game we get really slight mentions of joel from jesse and dina but i have to imagine he's quite a community figure, and this shows that. -when dina said "are you in fucking therapy" i felt that because i also said that out loud -Ellie and Tommy with the rifle: i have a hunch that this is going to be a replacement for the hunting flashback because it largely serves the same purpose (tommy conveying to ellie joel's worry, ellie being petulant) and while the content of the scene will be in my iffy/bad section, i like them together. -Joel paying gail in weed is hilarious -Ellie's garage: love the details here and how it's got its own life outside of her garage in the game. i think the space looked lived in and very her. also, the shot of her cleaning the gun at the workbench was a nice easter egg for gamers. also, her tattoo! love. ALSO her shoes! love. -Jesse. I actually loved every single thing about him. I think they're giving him a bit more of a big brother slant -- he's established as older than i thought he was according to Dina, and you get the sense that he's running patrol because he's responsible. i wonder if that will be why he goes after ellie and dina more than as a friend. -the grocery store. everything about this sequence was great to me. the set, the outside, the bottle, ellie killing the clicker in a very part i way. the stalker. my god, did i love the stalker. i have mixed feelings on the reveal of it being a new-to-jackson infected but read on for those thoughts. i loved the movement of the actor, the SOUNDS, and the makeup. really captured the dread of the scene. -Ellie and her notebook! don't fuck it up don't fuck it up don't fuck it up. so lovely. -The dance. So, the cut scene from the game occurs in a very different place, and I have a lot of (negative) feelings about it coming so early here. But the way it was basically a 1:1 (minus the context) to the game...gorgeous. I cried. The outfits, the shot of Ellie's head and the lights, the dialogue, and the music. God, I'm so glad they used Crooked Still (even if the album came out in 2006. who cares! no rules).

IFFY -Salt Lake Crew reveal: I am not sold on this introduction so early. Having the flashback of Abby and co before the time jump is...interesting. I think it ups the conflict level, sure, since you know something is coming. They become a looming threat. Since we aren't told who any of them are aside from Abby and we're not told why they are hell-bent on revenge yet, it might shake out. That, at least, parallels the game in many ways. I think it will depend on how much of them we get next episode in the lead-up to Joel's murder. I can't figure out if I think it would be better to have them just...show up in Jackson, or if knowing they are Fireflies who are after Joel specifically matters. -Tommy & Ellie: Tommy lies to Joel about being with Ellie, but he is honest to Ellie about Joel's feelings. Again, I think this relationship and the way they're talking about what's happening between Joel and Ellie is diluted by the fact that Ellie and Joel are not estranged (I'll talk more about this in the next section). This scene and this relationship feels more powerful to me when she's younger -- and the way Tommy handles her desire to go on patrol was off but I can't figure out why (might be a consequence of the timeline mixing). I also don't know why he lies to Joel, especially when there is already clear tension between Joel and Maria and Joel and Ellie. Joel and everyone else important in Tommy's life, clearly, except Benji. -Dina & Ellie being silly: One of my issues with s1 is I don't think it struck the right balance for Ellie of being someone who lives in A Very Hard Time and has Seen Shit and being 14. I think that shows here, too -- she and Dina are 19. They function as adults in a community where they have responsibility and respect. But I just felt like they were flippant. It's obviously not a bad thing for young people to feel joy and be silly even when the stakes are so high, but to me it feels just a little off-center. Dina's purpose, in my opinion, is to remind Ellie of reality. The world outside of her own head, of her own sadness, her own trauma. To set her on a path that leads her somewhere good, rather than what she ends up doing. Maybe this will become clearer when they are in Seattle! -The council. LIke, yeah, obviously there are 10000 details about Jackson that are interesting because how does it even function? The council, the house building plans, the patrol structure, the refugee crisis (mentioned in the next section). I think it's worldbuilding that will matter because clearly Jackosn will become destabilized, but my god, I just don't care.

BAD -joel the angry man. i won't rehash this but here's the ask i answered about it (very long and very all over the place). -joel in therapy: listen. I know that this is a nice idea. I really, really do. Therapy is great. However, you cannot convince me that Joel Miller would go to therapy. Has he been through some shit? Some serious, serious, shit? yes. Has he functioned for 20+ years with and through that shit? yes. It obviously goes hand-in-hand with his relationship with Ellie -- because this version of Joel is trying to fix it, he needs help. So he goes here, and thus takes action to better the broken bond between them. I just fundamentally disagree with this character choice for him on so many levels. It's a really nice idea that he would seek help and work on repairing the rift but i simply don't buy it because, as I say in my really long post about joel the angry man, he does not regret his choice even if it means he loses ellie. cause she's alive. so, no need for therapy. whatever. i think it's so stupid. -Ellie yelling about her immunity with Tommy. This was ...weird to me. Immature and unnecessary. If there is one thing Ellie understands, it's the stakes of hiding her immunity. Yeah, it annoys her, we know that. It's annoying but she works hard to be a valuable member of the community. And she clearly understands the weight of it --she cuts herself to make the bite she gets from the stalker look like a clean slice. Like, she knows, so why have her stress Tommy out like that? -the refugee plot. Okay. I think it's clearly meant to be tension between Joel and Maria, as well as making us consider how good of a person we think Joel is (for whatever reason). I think the theme here is really interesting in like, any other show. How do you draw lines between our people and other people, how do you protect a community while maintaining its integrity, how do you choose who lives and who dies (central pillar of tlou!). But. I think this would be much better interrogated with the Seraphites and the WLF but we all know that sure as shit ain't happening for reasons I cannot begin to explain here. Choke, Neil. -Sorry pedro but I hate your Texas accent -Curtis and Viper: So, while I like the idea of Joel and Dina being familiar because it indicates Joel's larger role in the community, I HATE that she is involved in the movie night. I do not understand why -- is Ellie supposed to be jealous? Is she supposed to feel bad about the boundaries she's trying to set that he is not responding to? I do not understand this change and my confusion is compounded by the mixing of the timelines of the day or so leading up to Joel's death. (It occurred to me this morning that he might not die right away -- maybe in a few days, maybe a week or so. Which changes the potency of so much of this anyway. we'll see!) -Discovering stalkers: It's just petty of me but the fact that stalkers are new to the universe of the show is Mazin covering his ass for not writing enough infected into season one. but so help me god if we don't get shambles too...come on. I think it's just lazy and obviously, they can't fix it now but the idea of a "smart" infected feels so so so lazy to me. -the dance/ellie and the porch/abby and co arriving to jackson. I do NOT understand the timeline we are working with. Obviously I am having a hard time because i am comparing it to the game -- so maybe they'll convince me. But again, using the dance so early feels like being punk'd (anyone remember watching the original tlou part ii gameplay trailer? similar feeling of dread here) cause like, what else are they doing? and then the way ellie goes to the porch but not up it -- it makes sense in the context of their relationship in the show but fuck me it broke my heart to think that we aren't going to get that emotional journey because it's so so so beautiful in the game. i just. don't get it. also abby and co arriving that night -- i wonder if this means they will camp out for a few weeks and we actually have more time for joel/ellie to fester before it's all over.

so! there we have it. i did not reread this so sorry for all the typos/misspellings. would love to discuss, feel free to comment/dm me/send an ask. i love tv i love tlou i love talking out of my ass and analyzing. so excited for what's to come. let's seeeeee how it goes!

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.”

— NYT OPINION: Look What We Made Taylor Swift Do

[spyoikawa]

still on that saiki k brainrot so hear me out-

metori, saiki, teruhashi, aren and hairo with an s/o who really loves to bake/cook-

no thoughts just Reader learning how to make coffee jelly for saiki (like maybe they make him a tower of coffee jelly for an anniversary or his birthday-). no thoughts just Reader cooking something for metori who pretends to not want to eat it cause it’s ‘peasant food’ but ends up really enjoying their cooking. no thoughts just cooking/baking date with teruhashi. no thoughts just teaching aren how to cook/bake and having a food trade with him, bringing him lunch/a snack to school. and no thoughts just hairo hyping Reader up while they cook/bake and making stuff for him to bring to class rep meetings-

thank you! <3

the excitement I got got I saw teruhasi- i don't see a lot of writing for her and I get happy when I get to do less than common things! Thanks!

I'm running low on creative juices, so please I hope you don't mind if I use the exact scenarios you suggested 💀

Note: some of the things I wrote felt really rude so please don't mind the tone tags in parentheses, also i have not edited this yet

Saiki, Teruhasi, Hairo, Aren, and Saiko with an S/O who can cook/bake

♡romantic♡

Saiki Kusuo (italics = saiki telepathy)

Although it was undeniably tasty, your boyfriend's obsession with coffee jelly was not only getting out of hand but also quite expensive-

I mean he spent 3,000 yen for one serving-

But yanno what it's ok, coffee jelly is easy to make, and this gives you an excuse to hang out (not that you need one)

"Ok Ku, i had an idea"

I like it, just make sure you teach me how to do it too

"Rude. I wasn't finished"

You did in your head

As endearing as it could be sometimes, Saiki's mind-reading could be a pain occasionally

You wound me.

"Good. (/j)"

After a long debate over recipes and serving sizes, there it was, in all its glory, your first batches of coffee jelly

it was heaven

You did end up sharing the recipe with him, but it still became a little tradition to make the coffee jelly together

It just tastes better that way :)

Kokomi Teruhashi

In the midst of your TV and cuddles date, Kokomi huffed and turned off the TV

But of course it was rude to just turn off the TV, so she offered to play a board game instead

You did play with her, but your curiosity was begging as to why she wanted to change the activity

"Hey Kokomi, this game is fun, don't worry... but why'd you turn off the TV so suddenly?"

"Oh, it was nothing! I just thought you would like this game, and I wanted you to enjoy yourself more!"

Now, that's the answer the most perfect girl in the world would give

But Kokomi is still human, there's gotta be something wrong

You spent a while thinking to yourself about what you were watching, you two agreed on a documentary, then after the documentary, the channel played a cooking show with a guest baker/cook Makoto Teruhashi- oh.

So that was it

At the end of the round, you stood up and offered your hand to pull up Kokomi with you.

"Hey, wanna make a bet?"

She looked up with a bit of curiosity.

"I bet you, I can make your favorite dish, far better than Makoto can"

She smiled a bit, "sure!"

Her favorite food was simple, so you taught her to cook it and added in some other things just for fun (and so she can't recreate it without your secret ingredients)

Now you guys have cooking dates often and always find ways to spice up foods (and beat Makoto at whatever he was doing on tv)

Hairo Kineshi

my thoughts and prayers go to you

we all saw what happened when he tried to make crepes

but in his mind, it was a learning opportunity

You guys were taking an after-school stroll, the weather was really nice, it would be a shame if you two just went home and did nothing. Walks like these tend to get sentimental and nostalgic, so your conversation subconsciously started to drift towards school life.

"And do you remember that time we had to get kuboyasu, kaido, and nendo to play on a baseball team? Oh my god thank god it didn't go too poorly, that one player really pulled through at the end..." you laughed out

"Haha I do remember that, I can't believe we got them to play, it really could've gone worse" He smiled as he remembered that day, but then his eyes drifted up to a bakery across the road. "Speaking of poor experiences..."

after he explained to you he and kaido's crepe disaster, you couldn't help but tease fun at him for a bit

but you did agree to teach him more about cooking and baking

he's a bit too passionate about cracking eggs, but hey, at least you can work faster

after many, many burnt crepes and pans, there it was, a fallen appart, incorrectly folded, but still a properly cooked crepe sat there in all its beauty

it kinda looked like this

Although he does learn many different things with you, crepes will be the thing he makes over and over again, even when he has it down to a science, just because it's the first thing you taught him, and he will keep that sweet memory forever (get it. sweet? Cause crepes? Im funny i swear.)

Aren Kuboyasu

He actually knows how to cook pretty well

He's not really sure when he picked up cooking, its kinda just stuck around, but he enjoys it, it makes him seem more goody

and he can treat you :)

I will die on my "aren lives for the most basic/domestic activities hill"

cooking with him is always an experience, he will play music in the background, and pull you aside to dance at random times

also does that really hot thing where he stands behind you, reaches around to hold your hands, and basically has you in a cage while showing you how to do something

it's one of those spontaneous things to do, if there's nothing else to do, might as well make something to eat

firm believer in "if you have to eat to live, you might as well eat delicious foods" so he will always try out new things with you if its healthy and tasty

"bab look at this show" you called out from where you were sitting, there was a cooking show/food documentary on, and it was showing a special food. "it says this chicken has a secret sauce they dip it in"

he walked over to the tv and watched it for a couple seconds, thinking a bit.

"...wanna figure it out?"

"yes. I'll make the chicken if you figure out the sauce?"

"deal."

will you ever know if you got the secret sause? Nope, but you did figure out a chicken recipe that is good as hell

he probably writes down all the recipes you "invented" together for safekeeping and so he can return to it later, but he refuses to show it to anyone

Saiko Metori

as much as I love him, we all saw in that one episode how picky he is while eating, and is probably a bitch to please while cooking/baking

so after a lot of convincing, you got him to sit in the kitchen with you so he can watch you bake for the two of you

in reality, all you have to do is give the dish a fancy rich-sounding name, you just have to be really careful with what you say

like this 💀

you decided to bake for him today, baking is a lot more "by the book" than cooking, so you thought he would take a bit of comfort in knowing it was done in a professional way

"alright tori, so I think I'll make a heavy pastry made with fine cacao and extracts, baked into a rich dessert for a fine sweet palette"

"you're making brownies aren't you"

"🧍‍♂️"

Told you, you have to be as specific as possible

He does eventually get interested in what you're doing though, as he never really sees his personal chef cook, and wants to help you by the end

He really did enjoy it! It quickly became one of his favorite treats

But funny enough, no matter how many bakeries he tried or how many times his chef tried, they never tasted the same

(you put in special spices as your own little mark on the treat)

so he ends up having you over for more cooking dates

Which he really does enjoy btw

as a tsundere he will look all annoyed and probably call you a plebe, but these are his favorite types of dates

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (15)

word count; 13,807

summary; a tough kill and an injured firefighter bring you and thomas closer than ever, but something else might get in the way..

notes; y’all are gonna love me and hate me.

warnings; injury description, blood mention, infection mention, reference to explosions.

Stripping off a single glove, you wiped a hand over your forehead, sweat built up there cleared away by your palm. Your legs were aching, your lungs were burning from smoke inhalation, and every bone in your body felt like it was turning to jelly. There were sore patches along your skin where you’d come a little too close to raw flames or brushed against hot exposed metal framework, and you were sure that you were covered in bumps and scrapes from falling over broken debris in your rush. 

Your eyes were stinging from how you’d been rubbing at them during your time in the collapsed building and your throat felt torn raw from the gritty and smokey air you had spent the last several hours inhaling. Bracing your hands on your knees, you heard the scuffling of Newt’s boots behind your own, stumbling out in the heavy gear of fire equipment you’d been hooked up with before ever going in, the lull between city planners and demolishers getting the correct blueprints giving you enough time to suit up before you’d been sent into the rubble. 

He coughed, following much the same position as you as he hunched over, head between his legs as he crouched, heaving breaths, and you forced yourself to stand up, rubbing gently at his back. The heatproof jacket he wore was warm to the touch as you did, still letting heat escape onto your sweaty palm, and when he stood tall again, you stripped off your other glove, both held in your hand, and you cupped a hand over your eyes to block the sun, and actually taking in the state of the building. 

The flames that had been curling out into the fresh air were extinguished, you’d known that much from the water that had been dripping through in streams to where you’d been working for hours, the internal flames unable to be dealt with until you, Newt, and the other paramedics had all cleared the trapped victims. 

You’d never seen anything like it. A demolition of old industrial buildings that had been due to be cleared since before you’d ever even moved to the state, finally put in action, buildings that were created in the early twentieth century, and the crew had been provided with outdated blueprints of the layouts of the buildings. 

The space where one of the buildings had once been was entirely gone, the smell of gas from the pipes that had failed to be shut down was finally beginning to clear from the air, the explosions it had caused being able to dull down at last, as all traces were evaporated or was burned from the air by high-rising fires. 

The building had crumbled, old foundations crumbling the way they should and worse when the gas in the mains that had been incorrectly shut down had all but turned to powder, trapped crew inside on floors that never should have been touched were caught in the crossfire, sections of the building that hadn't even been due to be demolished had gone up in flames, and there was several other houses dotted around, using up the supply of water in their trucks as all fire hydrants were miles back on the roads, and never came this close. 

The sun was now sitting low in the sky where it had been high up in the middle and directly overhead the last time you’d seen it before crawling into the building to provide first aid. With a register done and a fireman called ‘Mikey’ in your ear for hours over the radio checking off every construction worker that came out until the building was clear, like an Easter Egg hunt for injured builders, but instead of chocolate in the garden, you got blood and partially severed limbs in the burning wreckage. 

You’d seen more blood and bone today than you had for the last month, maybe two, all together and the feeling of jolting bones being snapped back into place was still running in shock waves along your spine, making you shiver every so often. Clouds of smoke from extinguished flames were blocking the sun a little, your throat dry and scratchy each time you tried to swallow down on it. Newt simply chuckled, patting your shoulder before slinging that arm further across, and clearing the lump from his own with a cough. 

“Let’s go and get a drink, yeah? I’ve been fantasising about the cold water bottles in the ambo’ for three hours now.”

“A cold water sounds better than sex right now. God, the condensation on the bottle is like porn.” You mumbled, Newt laughing loudly, despite the rasp that lined his voice as he struggled to make such a sound without breaking into a coughing fit, squeezing you a little tighter in acknowledgement of your joke. 

Wandering over together, you were already peeling your jacket down your arms as soon as you had the chance to. Newt unhooked the back of the ambo, all others having cleared from the scene with the more brutally injured builders. Stretchers full and passengers benches loaded up too, the rest of the firetrucks all lingering, but there was little left that any of them could do when the rubble was so unstable, the fire just had to burn itself out now that it was clear of civilian casualties. 

As soon as both doors were open, you were shucking your fire jacket from your arms and dropping it down to the floor, barely scooping it up to lay in the back of the ambulance behind you as Newt followed suit. Reaching to your left, you scooted up a little closer to him to be able to open the fridge, and he was leaning with his eyes closed and head balanced on the leg of one of the stretchers, cheek pressed to the cold metal. 

Plucking two bottles from inside, you presented one to Newt, nudging him with your elbow, and he groaned as he forced his eyes open again, taking it from you, hands shaking a little as he untwisted the cap, he brought the edge to his lips. You held onto it for a moment longer, pressing the edge of the cool against your flushed skin, and revelling in the chill that swept over every nerve. None of the burns were serious, they’d be gone within the hour, it was simply skin that got a little too close to a source of heat that was a little too warm, but you’d been through worse.

You felt better now you didn’t have the heavy protective coat on, not like you were going to overheat anytime soon, and your head wasn’t spinning as much, the thudding pressure of a headache building behind your eyes starting to recede. Taking a sip of your drink, that rapidly became a swig, which in turn became half of the bottle, unable to stop yourself now that you were cooling down and getting relief on a sore throat, icy cold water soothing the stinging sensation you were burdened with. 

Your body felt weak, hauling rubble out of the way and off of builders had taken its toll, and you were just glad you’d been wearing gloves, because your hands would have been torn to shred and burned to a crisp without them. The metallic smell of blood was still present in your nose as a phantom memory each time you inhaled deeply, and so your lips parted, opting to breathe through your mouth instead, as your eyes fluttered shut.

Leaning back and into the coat you’d left on the floor, you lay down, legs dangling out of the truck and swinging lightly in the air with every cool current that passed by, letting you take several deep breaths in a bid to steady a still racing heart and calm the effects of the adrenaline surging through you. Newt followed suit, his arm pressed to yours as he lay down, letting out a long and slightly exaggerated groan as he did, before his body was turning to jelly and mush much like yours. 

You jumped when a hand landed on your knee, squeezing a little, before sliding slightly further up, and you huffed out a response to the intruder. 

“You got a visitor,” Newt muttered, and your lips twisted into a smile at the edges, one hand thrown up over your eyes to block out extra light. 

“Maybe he’s here for you.” 

You knew it was false, Thomas chuckling a little as well as his fingers inched down over your calf, squeezing lightly as stiff muscles twitched under his touch. He pulled your leg up, balancing it against his thigh, before his touch was pulling away, and a second later, he was tugging on your laces to get them undone. Giving in, you dropped your arm, propping yourself up on your elbows instead to be able to look at him, and he offered you a dazzling grin upon fixing eye contact. 

He was covered with a little soot, dirt on his skin that made his stubble stand out a little more, smeared with sweat and tracks made in it where his gloves had wiped across, but he looked just as good as ever. His skin was still shining slightly, his hair messy from under his helmet, and patches of sweat were forming along his t-shirt now that he’d stripped down his jacket, suspenders hanging by his waist as he’d pushed them from his shoulders. 

“You’re eye-fucking me.” Thomas beamed, pulling one boot from your foot and dropping it to the ground, letting you flex your socked-toes in the air as he switched to the other one.

“I am not eye-fucking you, don’t be so crass.” You grouched, sitting up a little further, and Newt gagged loudly, the sound cut off when you smacked him in the stomach. “I was just seeing if you looked as rough as me and Newt, and I’m proud to report, we look worse for wear. Get on our level, Tommy.”

“Oh, she’s got attitude, now? Is that the fireman’s jacket, made you feel real power?” He teased, and Newt kicked out a foot, aiming in the vague directions of Thomas’ voice, but missing as the man jumped back, taking the second boot with him.

“‘Real power’, shut the fuck up. Any fool could take a hose and put out a fire, I’d like to see you snap a builder’s broken leg back into place as half of his guts hang out in your hands.” Thomas wretched, a disgusted look flashing over his face and Newt’s gory description, and you only laughed at the pair. 

“Okay, well, I’m sorry that the idea of holding someone’s insides in my hands now they’re on the outside repulses me. Not all of us are psychos, Newt.” 

“Hey! That’s me you’re talking about, too! You frowned, sitting up a little further, and taking one of your sneakers from the two pairs that had appeared, seemingly with Thomas as he must have brought them over from the truck where they’d been left. 

“Well, I already know you’re a little bit crazy.” Thomas mused, and you scowled at him, the expression fading when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling your face up a little, until he could brush the tip of his nose against your own, smiling widely. “But I like your brand of crazy. I really like it.”

“Yeah, well, I should hope so.” You mumbled back, twisting your head up a little to peck the tip of his nose, and you resisted the urge to coo at the way his nose scrunched up when he pulled back, a blush settling over already pink cheeks. 

Once you had one shoe back on and laced up, you moved to the other, letting out a little sigh. Newt was rotating his ankle, his leg tensing and un-tensing quietly, but the moment never stopped, and he was stretching out as best he could. It was no surprise it would be sire, after the unceasing stress put on both of you, all you could really do was admire that he was still on his feet at all. 

Finishing up the second shoe, you hopped down from the van, Thomas only taking a step back, and smirking a little as your movements made you almost flush up against him. He licked over his lips, staring down at your coyly, and you rolled your eyes. “Oh, cut it out. Time for that later, but for one, why don’t you help me hand out water bottles to the rest of the team so that everyone gets a drink?”

You nodded your head to Newt, hoping he got the message that you wanted to do as much as you could to keep Newt off of his feet, and he nodded. Stepping back a little to let you pull out the rest of the plastic packaging from the mini-fridge, you handed it to Thomas, before another unopened packet was following, and he held both of them in his arms. 

He was happy to simply follow you, letting you find each firefighter from your teams as you walked along. Almost all of the Truck crew were huddled together around their van, making it easier for you to hand them out to them all, their faces lighting up at the offer of cold drinks and relief from the heat you felt. The Squad team were all scattered around in various locations, some leaning against the vans, and some sitting down on the edges of the chaos, muscles too weak to hold themselves up. 

Despite the previous joking, everyone looked a little worse for wear, and you knew they’d been just as busy out here as you had been under the jagged concrete surface, trying to uncover rubble and shift unstable patches to make sure it didn’t collapse in, as well as putting out fires, and working on freeing up the trapped civilians closer to the surface. 

“Where’s Gally?” You looked around, not having seen the tallest lieutenant as you’d been handing out drinks, and Thomas was swigging from his bottle, finally leaning against the edge of one of the trucks to take a moment's respite himself. 

“Doing a final sweep with Fry, they should be out any minute.”

You nodded, leaning up to wipe a stray drop from his lip without really thinking about it, and your cheeks flushed when you realised what you’d done, but Thomas only smiled a little wider. 

“How are you feelin’?”

You shrugged, a yawn seeming to answer it all, and he only grinned, watching as you rolled your head from side to side, one hand reaching up and over your shoulder to rub at sore muscles. You were sure there was a crick forming in your neck from the way you’d spent the entire day staring down at injuries and keeping your head ducked and body crouched low to weave through tunnels left between crumbled chunks of building. “I’ve felt better.”

“You’ve looked better.” You raised a brow at him, his eyes widening for a second after he realised what he’d said, shaking his head and lifting a hand to settle over your neck, thumb brushing against your jaw. “I just mean that you’re all dirty and you look exhausted.”

“Nice save.” You whispered, his head ducking a little bit, and he only nodded, his eyes dropping down to your lips. His hand slipped a little higher up, rounding to rest on the back of your neck, daring to pull you a little closer, until he was smiling, and letting himself sink down far enough that his forehead was pressing to your own. 

“I was worried about you today. Running into a burning pile of debris that I couldn’t help you with.”

“I like it that you worry about me.” You mumbled, tipping your head up until your nose was bumping with his own, lips brushing together, and he let out a rumbling sound of agreement. 

“Yeah, well, you make it a hobby to make me do so. You’re a little bit reckless.”

“I prefer to call it adrenaline chasing. You have to take a few risks in life, keep it exciting.” He let out a soft breath, amusement you assumed, at your joke. Smoothing a hand up along his chest, your hand settled over his heart. “You gonna’ go ahead and take a risk right now, Tommy?”

He pulled back, just a fraction, raw dropping slightly, and you heard his other hand reach to put down his water bottle on the edge of the truck you were leaning on, his hand coming up to grip your hips tightly. You gasped, watching the cheeky look that flickered over his features as you did. “A risk implies that it might go bad, are you saying you wouldn't kiss me back? I’m not so sure I want to try now.”

He took another step back, lifting his hands away from you entirely, held up in a surrender motion, and you rolled your eyes at him fondly, despite the beaming smile that was forming on your cheeks. The hand on his chest tightened to a fist, a handful of his ‘House ‘21’ tee scrunched between your fingers, before you pulled him back into you and he was stumbling over his own feet, bracing a hand on the edge of the van as you turned your back to it and tugged him into you.

“Y’know that was kinda’ hot.” He teased, a hand coming up over your own to undo your fingers, pressing your hand flat against his chest again as his own rested over the top, heat flushing your cheeks, before there was a throat clearing loudly, and a feminine cheering to follow. 

Minho looked appalled, his arms crossed over his chest and an empty water bottle in one hand, Brenda’s still open as she stared at the two of you with wide eyes, taking a sip of her water after the cheering ended. 

“Kinda’? It was totally hot.”

Thomas groaned, turning to glance over his shoulder at the pair of them and you couldn't help the laugh that you let out as Brenda winked dramatically, your giggles only increasing, and the hand on your hip flexed. “Will you two fuck off?”

“We’re here for the show! We’ve all been waiting for you two morons to stop dancing around one another for months now, the sexual tension is suffocating.” Minho taunted the pair of you, and you lifted a hand from where it had been placed on Thomas’ shoulder to flip them both off, and the pair wandered away, cackling and staring back at the two of you as they did. 

Thomas sighed, eyes flicking over your face, and he reached up to tuck a strand of stray hair back out of your face, his thumb smoothing along your cheek and down your jaw to your chin as he did. The radio on his shoulder crackled, your eyes flicking to it for a second, and Thomas paused, knowing that while none of you was still needed for assistance, he should still listen in. 

“Okay, looks like we’re all clear in here, there’s nothing else really at risk. It’s all a bit crumbly, but it’ll burn itself out, there’s no more gas or fuel.” 

It was Gally, his voice a little distorted over the radio waves, and you could hear Fry in the background with him, making jokes about the dust and the grit in the air that he was inhaling. You chuckled at the pair of them, standing up a little straighter from where you had slumped down, and Thomas’ hand loosened on your waist, leaning back slightly and letting you o so as the environment between the two of you changed. 

“We’re on our way out now, I assume it’s all clear out there, and-” He was cut off, the screeching of metal loud, and you winced as the sound came over the airways, before everything went silent again, Gally having let go of the trigger that allowed him to talk. There was a shift in the rubble pile that was still smoking feet away from you all, and Thomas backed off to look at it, tensing up once again as you followed, the chatter around you all going quiet as you turned to look at it, and you assumed everyone had been listening to the radio chatter that had fallen silent. 

You waited, your heart thudding in your chest to measure the beats that were passing, before the radio was coming on again, the frantic voice of Fry this time through his own receiver as you heard Gally groaning painfully in the background. “It moved! Some rubble moved, Gally isn’t so good, we need a paramedic in here because he can’t get up?”

Your hand found Thomas’ radio before he could, his hand closing over the top of your own as you leaned in, squeezing gently as you pushed down on the button. “Fry, what happened?”

“A pole fell right through his shoulder, it’s stuck in the ground and he’s pinned down. Do I just pull it out? I could pull it out, I mean, it’s unstable in here, we need to get out, an-”

“Okay, Fry, whatever you do, do not pull it out, I’m on my way, okay?” He gave a shaky assertion, nervous as he waited and you told him to hang on, and that you were on your way. Newt was staring at you, wide-eyed from the ambulance as he stared at you, holding up your bag as well as his as he silently questioned which one you would go, and you nodded to him, pointing at yourself. All eyes were flicking between you and Newt, and you rocked back down to sit properly on your feet from where you’d rolled to your tiptoes. 

“You’ll be careful in there, right? Don’t make me worry too much?”

“You’re not gonna’ be worrying about me from out here, because I need you with me, Tommy. Grab the cutters?” He nodded his head, switching back to being a lieutenant as he let you go, and you felt like you were stumbling over your own feet as you made your way back to the truck. 

Pulling on the jacket you’d abandoned for protection, you grabbed your bag, slinging it over one shoulder and setting off towards the pile you’d already vacated once, Thomas still searching through the lockers on the Squad truck to find the cutters. 

He was only a few steps behind you, long strides from his taller stature helping him to catch up with you quickly, and he flicked on the head-torch on his helmet, holding the portable cutters in hand and placing an arm out in front of you as you made to step forwards. 

“Let me go first, alright?”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, but he did take your hand in his free one, gloves palm sliding against your own as he held onto you, before stepping back into one of the gaps. The ground was unstable, and you were hunched over to move, the difference between light and darkness in the tunnels startling as the sunlight was blocked out by clouds of debris, ash and dust making everything hazy and blurred, and you raised a hand to cover your mouth in an attempt not to inhale anymore. You coughed lightly, his hand squeezing around yours gently as he heard the sound, and you squeezed back. 

It was harder to navigate inside when you weren’t wearing boots, every jagged piece of the concrete or lumpy floor made you feel as though you were walking with bare feet, and you could already feel the hat absorbing through the soles of your shoes, never realised just how much difference those fire boots made until now. 

Your toes caught on a slight lump of concrete, tripping forwards and your hand was ripped from Thomas’ as you felt, falling at an angle as you went down, and feeling the skin on your palms scrape against warm stonework as you hit the floor roughly. Your knees took a hit too, but your body was protected by the jacket, a feat you were grateful for, and your head was stinging along your hairline, as you fell at the odd angle, before hands were catching you under your armpits. 

Letting out a huff, you allowed Thomas to haul you to your feet, shaking yourself down, and in the rush of it all, you felt all the more panicked as everything sounded muffled for just a second, the shock of the fall clearing only when you shook your head to force it to sharpen, and his eyes were wide as he stared at you. 

“You okay?”

“I am, I’m fine. I swear. Radio Gally and ask him where he is, because the corridors split into three not far ahead.” You pointed forwards, remembering this pathway, the maze of jagged tunnels and pathways carved out seemingly burned into your memory from navigating them all, and Thomas nodded. As he spoke into the radio, you brushed your hands on your pants, checking your palms and noting the scraped on the heels of your hands, dotted with blood but nothing serious, and nothing that would cause any kind of long-lasting injury or impede on your work, and so you left it alone, the throbbing on your forehead from a developing headache more of a bother than the grazes. 

“Second tunnel, third left, and Fry will come meet us for the rest of the way.”

“Let's go.” Thomas took your hand again, smoothing a clothed-thumb over the back of your palm, before tugging you along behind him once again. “Don’t trip again, okay? We don’t need two of you getting injured.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You teased, covering your mouth again as you got a mouthful of dust, and you felt bad that Thomas had no free hand to cover his own mouth with, watching as he took shallow breaths as not to inhale too much each time, but you supposed he was used to it. 

You followed the directions given to you by your colleague, making your way forward as fast and safely as you possibly could, until you found the man you were looking for, fear written all over his face, gloves stripped away and hands a little bloody, with wide eyes that were lined with unshed tears. 

You knew there was a deeper bond between Fry and Gally, a friendship that connected them both, and you’d heard the story of how they’d been each other’s first friend at this firehouse, and always stuck by one another’s side. 

“He’s right this way, he’s balancing, because the pole is sitting at a really weird angle, I don’t know how long he can hold the position without falling.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding your head and letting him guide the way, anxiety flooding your system because no matter how good of a paramedic you were, these weren’t exactly the optimal working conditions and you weren’t sure how much you could do in the limited light and space, but you needed to get him out, and he was too big to drag through cramped tunnels. 

It was an awkward position indeed, your eyes widening as you laid your sights on him. He was leaning backwards at a very uncomfortable angle, with his good hand reached out behind himself to keep himself propped up, legs bent and back arched, face screwed up in pain with shallow breathing. 

“Oh, Gall..” You mumbled, his eyes cracking open, and he offered a strained smile. 

“You here to fix me up, because that would be real nice?”

“Gonna’ do my best. Always running around after you boys, cleaning up your messes.” You tutted, stepping a little closer and running your fingers along the bar to take a look at it. It had torn right through his clothes, blood strained on the other side as it had gone right through his shoulders, and he panted slightly, watching you move. “Okay, well, first of all, let’s get you out of this interesting pose you’ve got going on, so we don’t mess your back up, huh?”

He only nodded, licking over his lips and attempting to stand, before he was crying out loudly with pain, and retreating back to an even worse position to take the weight off of his shoulder.

“Tommy, Fry, each of you grab a side of the pole, carefully, okay? When I tell you to, you’re going to hold onto it, and hold the weight of it so it’s not pulling on Gally’s shoulder, and hold it up until he’s kneeling, and don’t let go, or it’ll tear up his arm.”

“Please don’t fuck my arm up, I kinda’ need it, guys. This is my good hand.”

Thomas chuckled, Fry following as the tension eased just barely, and then your lieutenant was putting down the cutters to take the front of the pole while Fry took the back. Holding on gently, you grabbed Gally’s hands, pulling him forwards now that he didn’t have to hold onto the weight of the pole, and sinking slowly to his knees. Once he was kneeling there, they kept a hold on the pole, and Gally was able to take deeper breaths as he took the pressure off of his muscles. 

“Uh, so, I feel like I should bring it up,” Gally started, watching as you knelt beside him, bag lowered to the ground as you opened it up and began to dig through it. “I can’t feel my arm. That’s bad, right? Like my fingers aren’t moving. I can’t move them.”

There was a tremble to Gally’s voice, higher-pitched and shaky and it hurt you to see someone so strong being so scared, and you shook your head, pulling out some of the tools you needed, before placing your hand on the opposite shoulder, and squeezing gently. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve never lied to you, Gally, it could be bad. It could be really bad. However, it could just be your body’s response to the shock. You’ve probably cut off nerves and got some trapped, you may never regain full feeling, maybe the arm doesn’t work, or maybe it gets totally fixed up. I can’t promise any of that. What I can promise, is that I’m gonna’ get you out of here, and I’m gonna’ do my damn best to get you patched up so nothing extreme happens.”

He swallowed thickly, tears lining his eyes a little, and he sniffed it away. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse, from the smoky atmosphere and the emotions, and you only nodded. 

“So, I’m gonna’ start with a numbing spray. It won’t help much but it’ll do a little, because this isn't going to be easy. If you want to keep that arm and get it recovered, I can’t risk taking this pole out, the hospital needs to do that.” 

“So, what is the plan?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” You lifted your scissors, trimming away the fabric surrounding the cut to expose the jagged and torn flesh more, the wound a little bigger than that of the post from all his movements, and blood was seeping out from torn flesh and muscle. “I’m going to clean it up and spray it, and then Tommy is going to cut away as much of the pole as he can, as close to your body as we can get without making it worse. Once there’s enough that you can move, we’ll get you out of here, and to the hospital, alright?”

“Oh, God, it’s gonna’ be like a bone drill. What if I throw up?”

“That's okay, I’ve had worse.” You hoped it comforted him, and it seemed to, his lips flicking up in a pained smile. He nodded his confirmation, allowing you to proceed, and you shook the can of numbing spray, before lifting it up to the empty spot. Dousing around the pole as best you could, he let out a sharp hiss at the feeling, eyes screwing up in pain, and you whispered an apology. You repeated it on the other side, his reaction much the same, a layer of it settling over his skin, but after a few minutes, his features smoothed out as the spray began doing its job. 

“Y’know, that’s actually a little better.”

“I’m glad.” You picked up the first packet of gauze, tearing it open, and tipping some antibacterial onto it, but trying not to soak the pieces through. One packet at a time, you placed them around the entrance of the pole, catching the blood and taping them down to secure the pole a little more, until it was layered up with thick padding all over, and wouldn't budge an inch, both front and back secured. “Okay, I cleaned it a little, but you’re definitely going to need some shots when you get to the hospital, to make sure you don’t get any infections. Now for the hard part.”

“What about this piece of the pole?” Thomas spoke up as you were packing the bag back up with litter and bottles of chemicals. 

“I’m gonna’ hold it steady, while you cut the rest of the pole away.” You zipped the bag up, moving it out of the way for now, and standing back up. Your knees were aching from kneeling on the rock, and you brushed the dust from your pants, rubbing at the sore flesh slightly for just a brief moment. Taking over from Thomas, he held on a few seconds longer, letting you get a better grip, before finally daring to let go. The pole was heavier than you expected, and you felt shocked by it, hoping that the flinch you made wasn’t felt by your friend. 

Thomas placed a pair of goggles onto his face, before he was stripping off his jacket, and grinning at Gally with a cheeky smile, before covering his friends head with his jacket. You turned away, the loud sound of the cutter starting up, and from the second it touched the metal, your teeth were grinding together, muscles tensing as shivers ran along your body. It was just like a bone saw, and it went through you every single time, the screeching sound of the metal being cut and the feeling of it shaking as Thomas cut as close to the shoulder as he could without making it vibrate too much, and there were only eight or so inches left on this side, where there had been more like eight feet of pole in total. 

When it finally snapped away, you jerked slightly, your body jolting when the pole came loose in your hand, and the saw stopped its buzzing for a moment, the metal clattering on the stone as you dropped it to the ground, and Gally let out a muffled but relieved sigh from under the coat as the weight came loose. 

Moving to stand behind him, Thomas repeated the action, another shake running along you as your guts twisted at the nerve-shaking sound, and you admired Thomas for being able to hold so sure and steady while he did it, but you were certain that it came with a lot of practice. Once the second half came free, Gally swayed a little, the lack of the weight he’d grown accustomed to carrying presumably feeling liberating now that it was gone. 

Thomas lifted his coat back from Gally’s head, the man blinking back to the torchlight of the room, and you picked up your bag, adjusting it on both arms as Thomas put his coat back on. Getting to his feet with the help of Fry, the two began to stagger forward. 

“We’re good to go?”

“Yeah, we’re good to go. As soon as we get out, go straight to the ambo’, we need to get that to the hospital, and quick.” Thomas folded away the protective goggles he’d worn, shutting down the saw equipment he used, and making sure it was all cleaned up, Gally and Fry beginning to take slow steps forward towards the exit. Reaching for the radio on your shoulder, you pressed down on the button, listening to it crackle and connect. “Hey, can one of you guys get Newt?”

You paused a few seconds, before there was a signal coming through in return; “I’m already here, love, been waiting to hear from you. Can I expect to be making a trip to the hospital?”

“Yeah, you might wanna’ call ahead. Let them know it’s pretty bad, they’ll wanna’ take him straight to surgery, and he’ll need a tetanus shot, maybe some others. It’s messy.”

“I’ll call it in now, see you soon.” The line went dead, and there was nothing else left to be said. Wiping at the ache on your forehead, you gasped a little at an unexpected sting, a trail of blood smeared across the back of your hand when you pulled it away, and you frowned, or aware that you’d cut yourself when you’d fallen before. Thomas watched you, an even deeper frown on his face, but he resisted reaching out to look at it properly with dirty gloves, lowering his hand back to his side when he’d lifted it. 

Instead, he took off his helmet, the torch on it moving wildly and sending all different casts of shadows around the room, a dizzying array of motion, before it was going calm once again as he placed the helmet down on your head. Pushing it up out of your eyes, you looked up at him, a softer look on his face as he adjusted it, and reached down to take your hand again. 

“C’mon, let's catch up with the other two and get the hell out of here, and hopefully, you don’t get yourself hurt anymore.”

You could only nod, body beginning to scream out in protest with aches and pains from the day, following after him as he tugged you along, leading the way by the torchlight you offered, until daylight was finally visible. Fry and Gally had been easy to catch up with, the two walking slowly as Gally’s good arm was slung over his friend's shoulder, balancing as he slowly began to lose consciousness, the shock fading away and pain seeping in, and his body was shutting down to deal with the injury. 

Newt was already waiting with the stretcher, chewing on the nail of his left thumb, and perking up considerably when the four of you came into sight. You blinked rapidly, the daylight a harsh adjustment to the darkness of the tunnels, and despite Gally still being injured, you felt a hell of a lot better knowing that he was out of there, that all of your team were out of there. 

No longer were they in danger of being crushed or injured further, and your friend sat on the edge of the stretcher, sitting up and swinging his legs onto it, he was being quickly wheeled away to be strapped into the ambo’ by Newt, Minho and Fry, the other firefighters all following, nervously questioning their friend’s well-being.

Taking off the helmet and handing it back to Thomas, he switched off the torch, and you shrugged off your bag and jacket too, handing the coat over to him, watching as the stretcher was wheeled up the ramp, being clicked into place, the ambulance only second away from departure. 

“I have to go, I’ll see you back at the firehouse, alright?”

“Yeah, of course, go.” His lips tipped up at the sides, and you didn’t even bother putting your bag back on properly, lingering for just a second as they put away the ramp, folding it into place. With a hold on his elbow, and the other on his shoulder, you leaned up, pressing a sure kiss to Thomas’ cheek, and he let out a soft breath at the feeling, pressing into you slightly, before you were pulling away and taking a few steps toward the van, the doors slamming shut loudly. “See you soon, angel.”

“See you, Lieutenant.”

Your words were followed with a wink, and his cheeks were pink as you turned away, jogging away to the ambulance as Newt was climbing into the driver’s seat, and you climbed into the passenger one quickly, dropping your bag down to the floor and strapping yourself in safely. 

“How you feelin’ back there, Gall?”

Your words were answered with a groan, and you looked back in the mirror to the back of the van, noting that Gally was strapped onto the stretcher, half laying back as he was propped up on a lot of cushioning and Newt’s bag, an awkward collection of belongings as not to disturb the pole lodged through his shoulder. 

The sirens switched on, and Newt was backing out of his space, driving as carefully but speedily as he could over the bumpy industrial roads, not tarmac-ed and smooth like real roads, but filled with dips and potholes as they were simply covered in gravel. One hand was braced on the dashboard, the other on the door, jolting slightly as he moved, and you let out a huff, hating how terrifying this must all be for the injured man in the back, trying not to get hurt any further. 

Once you were out on the main roads, it wasn’t too bad, and in your mirrors as you pulled back out onto the highway you could see the red vans of the fire trucks pulling out and going in the opposite direction of you, Newt and Gally, through the flashing lights and wailing alarm on the top of your van, a direct juxtaposition to their calmness. 

The drive to the hospital was only six minutes and thirty-two seconds, you timed it against the clock on the dash, adrenaline and worry seeping through every inch of you, lighting up every single nerve you had as you all but shook in your seat, but it felt more like six hours. The nurses were waiting outside when you got there, and you were grateful for it, catching sight of a familiar redhead who seemed or have been promoted after passing her exams because the colour of her scrubs had changed, and you made a mental note to congratulate her when you were in a better state of mind to do so. 

You watched as they took Gally away, swapping him from one stretcher to another once they were inside of the hospital, and Newt disappeared for a few moments, finding Derek who was working in the clinic, leaving you to fill out all the details for Gally at the main desk. It only took you a few moments to do so, your friend long-since taken away to surgery, and you were finally able to let out a relieved breath, as everyone you cared for was finally safe, or in good hands, at the very least.

You waited patiently by the vending machines until he appeared, biding your time by staring in at the chocolate and cereal bars that were attempting to coax you into a purchase, your stomach grumbling a little with hunger, and you gave in. You’d been able to scrounge up enough spare change in the bottom of your bag and your pockets to purchase two candy bars from behind the glass, already eating your own as Newt arrived, and a sparkle passed through his exhausted eyes as you handed one to him, the two of you wheeling the stretcher back out in silence. 

When you finally climbed back into your seat, stretcher strapped in, and Newt slumped in his seat, he let out a slow breath, hand behind your head as he reversed out of the parking space and onto the pathway to leave, the day beginning to show it’s drag on you both. 

“So, how do we feel about leaving the ambo’ cleaning for the other team? All in favour, say I.”

“I!” You cheered, but it was weak, and Newt’s laugh was equally so. Your eyes went to the clock on the dashboard, noting that it was less than an hour away from the end of your shift, less than half an hour, actually, and you relaxed back into your chair, a little sleepy. 

You’d probably regret leaving the work for the others, it would hang over you in the night and you’d be cursing at your current self the next time another team left it for you to do, because cleaning down the van was no fun, but you were beginning to feel practically boneless, and there was no way that you could handle doing it now. You were sure they’d understand, and besides, it wasn’t like it needed mopping or anything, just disinfecting.

The journey had slipped by quickly, the station coming into view soon, and Newt was tapping his fingers against the wheel, humming a song to himself as he reversed into the garage. You liked being in such comfortable silence with Newt, he was always a soothing company to be with, your head rocking to the side to take in your friend as he shut down the engine and pulled the keys back. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Just thinking about being your friend. Things are weird. Didn’t mean for you to be important to me, but here you are, one of the most important people in my life. That’s all.” He smiled a little, his hand coming down to squeeze over your own. 

“I love you, I really do, but I’m way too tired for the heart to heart right now. Rain-check feelings for the next time we’re drunk?”

“Deal, my feelings only come out when I’m tired or intoxicated anyway.” He beamed at that, nodding his head in confirmation, before opening his door, and practically flopping out of it. You had to peel yourself out of your seat, dragging yourself after Newt as he hung up the keys, but once entering the main corridors, he set off to the locker rooms, and you made your way to the common room. 

The firefighters were all milling around, waiting for updates, and they all turned to look at you, silence falling over them, from the second you entered the room. 

“How is he?”

It was Fry that spoke, understandably the most shaken by it all, and you tried to muster up the most reassuring smile you could. “He’s gone straight into surgery, and they have high hopes. I think it’ll be a good outcome, I really do. He was awake the whole journey and when they took him in, which is a really good sign. They’re going to patch him up and give him his shots, keep him in for a week or so, of course, but we should hear some news tomorrow, when he wakes up from the anaesthesia and they can run some tests and check him out.”

Relieved sighs went all around the room, everyone absorbing the information they’d been given, and the silence only lasted a few moments longer, before quiet chatter was taking up again, as everyone went back to what they’d been talking about, finishing up their shift and praying no calls came in within the next ten minutes, because everyone was absolutely exhausted.

Thomas was coming over to you, feet scuffling a little on the tiles, and you turned to look at him, shoulders slumping as the last of your tension slipped away, looking up to him as his shoulders slumped, finally being able to let the last of the day’s stress melt away now you were back at your station with the people you cared for being safe. His eyes swept over you, head tipping to the side a little, and you waited for him to speak, whatever it was he wanted to say practically on the tip of his tongue.

“You got a cut on your forehead.” He mumbled, hand cupping your cheek and thumb smoothing over the space above your brow, tipping your head to the side a little. 

“I know, it’s from when I tripped. I can take care of it later.” You mumbled, exhaustion seeping through every inch of your body, muscles aching from climbing over the piles of debris and crawling through small spaces to get to trapped workers. 

“Or, you could let me take care of it now,” Thomas whispered, hand dropping from your face to your hands, pulling you over to the kitchen counter, and using his foot to pull out one of the stools for you. Climbing up onto it, he slipped your medical bag down your shoulders and placed it onto the marble before you both, slipping a hand under your seat and using the grip to pull you forwards. “Just let me take care of you, for once, alright?”

“What do you mean ‘for once’?” You mused, watching as he shifted through the contents, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to identify some of the bottles, before choosing a cotton wool ball and a bottle of disinfectant that you’d used on him before. Soaking some of the liquid into the small ball, he pushed strays strands of hair out of your face and pressed the ball gently down on the spot. 

It stung, and you figured you must have made a face about it, because he frowned, whispering an apology as he cleaned it up, wiping slowly and clearing the blood from the small cut you’d gained along your hairline. It was nothing severe, you’d felt it happen, and it would be healed in no time and was probably already scabbing over, but he was caring for it tenderly nonetheless. 

“Kinda’ feels like all you do is take care of me, actually.” You continued on after a while, and he raised an inquisitive brow, before he was taking the cotton wool pad away, and switching to the soothing gel for healing up cuts that you kept in the front pocket of the bag. 

“Well, our shift is almost over. How do you feel about letting me take care of you some more later? Takeout and movies at my place.” He smirked a little, pulling back and putting the cap back on the gel, tucking it into your bag with the bottle of disinfectant and zipping it up, moving away to put the cotton ball in the bin while waiting for your answer. 

When he approached, you placed your hands gently on his hips, pulling him in a little closer, and he smiled, his arms sealing around your shoulders to pull you in, close enough for him to press a kiss to the top of your head as he hugged you. “I will accept, but only if I can wear that comfy green hoodie.”

“I just washed it, so you can definitely wear it. It’s probably still in my laundry room.” He grinned, you could feel it pressed to the top of your head, before he was pulling back, wide eyes as he looked at you, and a soft smile. “If you want, you can stay the night, too.”

“Sure you wanna show me your bedroom? That's a private space.” You were teasing him, and he picked up on it straight away, that fond look morphing into something cheeky and playful, and he pinched at your arm in retaliation.

“Who said you were sleeping in the bed? Maybe you can just have the couch.”

“I’m not a couch kinda’ gal.” You sighed, shrugging at his request, and he chuckled. 

“Well then, guess you get the bed with me.” He leaned down, bumping his nose against your own, and the single bell alert sounded over the speakers to inform you that your shift was ending in five minutes, and that the next team was due to arrive and take over any time now. You placed a hand on his chest, his heart thudding steadily under your palm, and you pushed him backwards slightly, hopping down from the stool and groaning under your breath at the new pressure being placed on your muscles. “Go grab your stuff, I’ll meet you at the front, I’ll drive.”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll drive you back to pick it up tomorrow. Unless you’re planning on a quick getaway?” He joked, but his words from weeks ago flashed in your mind, and you placed a hand on his cheek, shaking your head. 

“I won’t be going anywhere, I promise. I’ll be by your side all night, honey.” He shuddered slightly at the sweet name, melting a little under your touch, before nodding his head and licking over his lips as a shy heat brushed his cheeks. “Meet you at the front in five.”

“I’ll be there.”

You grabbed your bag, taking it with you to store properly in your locker for the next shift, and swap it for your clothes, waiting to get changed into something more comfortable than smart shirts and trousers. Undoing the metal latch, Brenda bumped her hips against yours as she entered the room, already beginning to undo the bun she’d done in her hair and weave her fingers through the ends. Undoing the buttons along the front of your shirt, you shuffled the sleeves down, letting it fall away to leave you in your vest, and Brenda whistled as you did, making you roll your eyes as you folded your shirt up and put it into your bag. 

“You know, if you decide to quit being a paramedic, you should totally be a stripper. You’ve got the hips for it.” She teased, and you scoffed, smacking at her hand when she poked your waist, but unable to avoid your grin from breaking free as she giggled all the way around to the other side and opened her locker. 

Unbuckling your belt and popping the button on your work pants, you kicked off your shoes, pants falling way to the ground and left pooled on the tile temporarily so that you could pull on the comfortable and somewhat baggy pants you’d worn this morning, a silky material that was nowhere near as formal as your work pants had been.

With sneakers back on and your cardigan pulled up onto your body with only one button to hold it closed, you packed everything else away, swapping your med-bag for your home-bag, and closing your locker for another day. 

“Bye, Bren!”

“Bye, stripper!” She yelled back, voice sounding more like it was coming from the bathroom than the other side of the lockers, and you figured she was doing her makeup, seemingly having more active plans than you did for the evening. Stepping out into the main foyer, Thomas was waiting, hands tucked in his pockets as he leaned against the open garage door, talking to a member of the other team as he waited. 

You vaguely recognised him, you’d seen him a couple of times during hand over shifts and house meetings where everybody was required or be present, and Thomas offered you a smile as he caught you approaching from the corner of his eye. Approaching, he stood more fully, the conversation inching towards an end and you were more than happy to wait, not bothering to tune in to the workout tips Thomas was giving to a younger fireman who was thinking of taking his lieutenant’s exam. 

He was passionate about it, clearly happy to share his knowledge, it was evident in the excited tone of his voice and the twitches along his expressions as he spoke, animated movements, and once his hand was back by his side, you dared to reach up, fingers curling a little around his forearm. He paused his movements, stuttering a little, before continuing with what he was saying, and lifting his hand up a little more, fingers flexing slightly. He seemed to have caught onto what you were wanting, but wasn’t sure he was correct, and he squeezed your hand back tightly as your fingers linked with his. 

Newt wandered by while Thomas was still talking, texting on his phone and chewing on half a sandwich in the other, but he slowed in his steps, eyes sweeping along the pair of you, pausing for a second, before he was shoving the remnants of the food into his mouth until his cheeks were puffed up, but smirking through it all. Rubbing his fingers together to dispose of crumbs, he made his way over, the team member Thomas had been talking to bidding you goodbye as he walked away, Newt arriving only a second later to fill the gap. 

“So, what are you two up to tonight?” There was a sickly-sweet undertone laced in his voice, something like seventeen innuendoes ready to be spilt from him you had no doubt, but you smirked back just as widely. 

“Taking a page out of you and Derek’s book. We’re having a sleepover.”

The look on Newt’s face quickly fell, smirk becoming a scowl, and his eyes narrowed. “You know what? When you two still hated each other, I didn’t get mocked like this. Go back to hating each other.” Thomas snickered, brows raising slightly, but he didn’t bother to add anything on, just watching the interaction taking place. Your partner scoffed, before gagging falsely, and then after taking a step back, he was giving a softer smile. “Have fun, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He gave a salute, two fingers tapping his forehead before pulling away, and then he was turning his back on you, long strides that were slightly uneven with every other step he took on a sore leg from a hard day’s work, but he was lifting his phone to his ear a second later, and grinning as he began to speak. There was a tug on your arm, Thomas pulling you along, and you fell into step beside him, wandering over to the car he was pulling out the keys for. 

Letting go of his hand as you approached the vehicle, you reached for the handle, beat to it by another hand, and Thomas opened the door for you, winking when you looked at him, his eyes twinkling, before sinking into the seat. Once the door was closed, he rounded the car and climbed in himself, strapping himself in as you put your bag down into the footwell, before he was starting the car up. 

His hand tucked behind your headrest as you adjusted your seatbelt, getting comfortable in the leather seats still holding heat from the afternoon sun. Backing out of the parking space, the car spun around, engine revving slightly as he did, and then he was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road. 

“So, do you fancy Chinese or Indian food? There are two great places near me.”

“Any pizza places?” He turned to look at you, just for a split second, following the signs toward the highway, and you shrugged in your seat.

“Two, actually. One does a really great stuffed crust thing, but the other has more topping choices.” You grinned, settling back more comfortably, and as you arrived on the highway, his hand came down to land on your thigh. You watched his fingers move, flexing a little against your skin, digging slightly into the muscle, and you reached out a single finger, the rest curled away. Stroking slowly along one of the prominent veins in his hand, the nerves underneath twitched, before you were brushing right up to the tip of his finger, and back along another, to his wrist. “So, pizza and a couple of movies? Not the most exciting of dates, we can do something else, if you want?”

“Tommy, if you’re going to date me, you’re going to have to get used to the idea of napping together and eating takeout on the couch rather than going to restaurants as dates.” He only chuckled, something hidden below the surface that was more than just humour at the joke you’d made, and you settled your hand over the top of his to squeeze it. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just remembering something you said a few months back.”

“Yeah? Because I can barely remember half of the things I said an hour ago.”

“I was thinking about when Newt thought you were on a date with Derek, just before you got called out on a case.” He continued on, his hand taken from yours as the two of you began to approach the intersection in which you’d take off for his, his hand on the gear shift instead. “I remember you saying that you had no time to date, and you had no idea where you’d even meet someone when you’re in our line of work, and I also remember thinking that you were missing what was right in front of you.”

“Technically, by that point, you were behind me, because I was walking out.” You teased, and he let out a grunt, swatting your shoulder with the back of his hand, before slowing down a gear again, as the roads began to narrow as he pulled up towards his apartment building. You’d recognised the area you were driving through, vaguely, from your trip to the vets, proud of yourself for being familiar with it. 

“Yeah, whatever, technicalities. If you follow that logic, now I’m by your side.”

I hope you stay there for a while, though.” He faltered slightly, before letting out a soft and shaky breath, and nodding his head.

There was a barricade across the entrance to the building's parking spaces, and he rolled to a stop, car humming under you both as he rolled his window down, cool breeze sweeping into a warmed car, and you watched as the pad lit up and awaited his entry code. As soon as it was punched in, the barricade was lifted, squeaking and letting out a groan under its weight as it did, rising high enough in the air to let the car through. 

Pulling into the building car park after the barricade had raised high enough, and rolling the window back up, cruising slowly as he searched for a parking space, and remaining quiet. When he finally found one, he paid attention to parking in it, before the engine was going dead, and he was turning to face you more. 

“Do you really mean that?”

“Mean what?” You echoed, brows raising as you forgot where the conversation had been going, and he unclipped his safety belt, and twisted more in his seat. 

“Do you really want me to stick around? For a while? You see this going somewhere?”

You sighed, lifting a hand to rest on his cheek, and he leaned into your touch. “Tommy, you saw my record yourself. If I didn’t see a future in this firehouse, or with you, I wouldn’t still be here. If I’m sticking around, it means I found something worth sticking around for.” His smile was shaky, nodding his head and licking over his lower lip, before he was leaning across the centre console and unclipping your belt too, his nose bumping against yours, and he hummed at the soft laugh you let out. “Don’t you dare let our first kiss be in your car, after all of this waiting around, in the parking lot of your building.”

He whined slightly, nudging his nose with yours again, bumping together teasingly, and you rubbed back, before he was sitting back into his seat with a false pout. “Then get your cute little butt out of the car, so I can get you upstairs.”

“Impatient, much?” You mumbled, taking your bag with you as you went, and closing the door once your feet were out on the concrete flooring, arms stretching above your head to loosen tightened muscles. Meeting Thomas at the end of the vehicle, you reached your hand out for his, his touch bypassing you entirely to cup your cheeks in each of his hands, and pull you in, close enough to press his lips to the top of your head in a soft kiss. 

“C’mon, then. I believe I owe you a hoodie.” you could only nod your head. His hand finally found yours again, warm palms pressed together tightly, and he guided you through the compound towards the doors. 

He stuck to his word, keeping himself composed in the elevator and in the halls, longing looks cast in your directions, before he was using a different key on the same ring that held his car keys to open up the door to his apartment, and you couldn't deny that you were excited to see within. He excused himself, to go and get himself changed and find your jumper, leaving you with another lingering kiss to your cheek this time, and telling you to make yourself comfortable. 

You did just that, hanging up your cardigan and your bag on one of the coat hooks, and taking off your sneakers, leaving them loose and unlaced to sit on the shoe rack by his door, sock-clad footsteps almost inaudible against his polished wooden floors as you wandered a little further inside. 

It was different from your place, the corridors split the rooms where your kitchen looked straight into your living room, and there was a set of wide sliding doors on one side. Running your fingers over the edge of the wooden frame, you peered inside, soft couches with black cotton cushions and throw pillows in bright splashes of colour. It was a surprising mix of minimalism in sleek shades of black and white with pops of colour. One wall was covered with brightly coloured pictures, all blown up large in custom prints, and you could pick out all the faces you knew, as well as some you couldn't.

A face much like that of Thomas’, but older and more feminine, the same shade of brown hair and eyes that twinkled like his own, his mother, clearly, and pictures of them that couldn't be any older than a year. Pictures of Thomas and Newt from when they were younger, you’d never mistake that shaggy blonde hair and toothy grin for anyone else, he looked exactly the same, just younger. 

There were pictures of the whole team, one that must have been years ago, before Chuck had ever become the candidate and back when the position was filled by someone else, Thomas wasn’t wearing his lieutenant’s shirt, and there were crew members' faces that were unfamiliar to you. Standing next to one of the trucks, sweaty and dirty and looking exhausted, it was a trimming from a newspaper, an article you were sure reflected their heroism properly. Newt was standing by the ambulance, thumbs up and gleamingly wide smile, as Teresa stood by his side, looking a little more relaxed. She had a simple smile, fixed look and slightly forced, seeming to stare just beyond the camera instead of at it. 

She wasn’t in many of the squad photos, a collection of selfies and pictures from group events, some with fun stories and backgrounds like mini-golf or the beach, and others with the bar or Minho’s place. There were a couple more with her in, though. 

One with her and Newt and Thomas, that seemed to have her in as an improvisation, crammed between Thomas and Newt as they all sat on the edge of the ambulance and ate sandwiches, still wearing half their uniform, looking over the edge of the river on a bridge. 

The other was one of her and Thomas sitting on the couch at the station, one that was old because it didn’t match the ones you knew, but you recognised the kitchen in the background. They were both asleep, and behind them was Gally and Fry, pulling faces and giving them both bunny ears, and your lips flicked up into a smile as you observed the antics of your family, messing with one another and always keeping it fun and light.

Your vision was blocked for a second, everything going black and soft material brushed over the bridge of your nose, before you were popping free again, and the smell of fresh laundry detergent and Thomas’ aftershave was overwhelming. Pushing your hands through the sleeves and turning when his hands found your hips, you looped your own around his neck, eyes scanning over his change of outfit. 

Black sweats and a grey jumper, cosy-knit socks and holes in the sleeves that one of his thumbs had gone through, hair mussed from the change of clothes, and you smoothed down the stray strands that were sticking up at odd angles. 

“You look so cosy.” You mumbled, a rumbling sound of agreement in the back of his throat, and one of his hands smoothed up your back, rubbing gently and pulling you in a little closer, nodding his head, and letting the tip of his nose rub against your own. “I was looking at your photos.” 

He smiled, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, before he was stiffening a little, and pulling back, eyes snapping open once again. “Some of them are old, they need replacing-”

“I think they’re all really sweet.” You whispered, leaning in again, and he let out a shaky sigh, his forehead pressing to your own. He let out a sigh, his hands sinking from your waist to your hips, pushing you backwards slightly, and walking you back through the sliding doors to the living room. 

“So, now, you’ve got my comfiest jumper, and you’re all settled in. Maybe I should give you a tour?” He mumbled, your feet moving underneath you, legs tapping against the back of the couch and you grinned, judging a little closer to him until your lips were brushing. 

“Oh, I think we can get to that later.” You pulled him down, one hand on the back of his neck and one hand on his chest, pulling him down a little until he was sitting beside you. He was beaming, pressing you back into the arm of the couch, curled over you as one hand supported him on the cushions behind your head with the other sitting on your jaw, thumb stroking over your skin gently. 

“Good, because there’s something important that I’ve been meaning to do, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Get on with it, then.” You whispered, feeling him barely nod, before he was closing the distance. His lips brushed your own softly, teasing at first, and you gasped a little, before he was pulling back, licking over his lips and pressing in more firmly. His lips met your own, noses bumping a little as you pushed back into him, chaste and testing the waters, the pressure built up forcing him to take it slow, despite the way his grip got a little tighter on your jaw, and a shiver was running along him continually. “Relax, Tommy.”

Your words were whispered against his lips, a breathy laugh following, before he turned his head to the side, pressing in with a little more confidence, and moving his lips with your own this time. It was sweet and naïve, like kids sharing a first kiss, innocence in the connection as you slowly tried something new together. He relaxed, then, his hand on your jaw sliding down to sit on your neck, lowering you a little more against the couch, and you giggled as you caught your breath, his lips trying to find yours again as you smiled, and puckering your lips for him once again. 

He settled against you more comfortably, leaning over you further, and one of your hands smoothed up his back to scratch lightly at the base of his neck in short hairs, daring to slip a little further when he took that step, his lips parting a little as he kissed you more firmly. Wet lips sliding together, scarcely begun, before knuckles against wood echoed through the apartment, and Thomas let out something between a growl and a curse against your mouth, pecking your lips once more, and pulling back to sit again. 

He blinked for a second, the interruption confusing him as he shook his head slightly, and looking through the walls in the direction of where the front door was. 

“We didn’t even order food yet.” You pouted, a knock sounding again, and Thomas chuckled, reaching out a thumb and finger to sit on your chin, attempting to pull you back to him. “Ah, ah, ah. No way, this so doesn’t count. Go take care of whichever neighbour is at the door, and then come back and give me the kiss you promised.”

“I’m nervous, I’ll get there.” He huffed, rolling his eyes, and you chuckled as you settled back into the couch cushions and throw pillows. “Stay here, I’ll be right back, and when I do come back, I’m gonna’ give you the best damn kiss you’ve ever had in your life, just you fuckin’ wait.”

He wandered away, cursing at whoever was still knocking every so often, delicate knocks, and you took a deep breath. Despite your teasing, your own heart was racing, and you lifted a finger to press over your lips, brushing against them. Your fingertips were tingling, blood rushing with excitement, and you felt heat flush over your features. There were muffled voices, whoever Thomas was talking to, and it gave you a second to calm yourself and steady your heart for the moment he’d return. 

It was a step you were confident in, a step you were more than ready to take with Thomas, already missing the feel of him holding you so tenderly and pulling you in, and the way his lips felt pressed to your own. Now you’d had a taste, you wanted more, you wanted to kiss him whenever you felt like it, to silence his worries with soft kisses and to giggle against his mouth next time he flirted with you cheekily, or to kiss him before a call each time you told him to stay safe. 

You wanted to kiss him goodnight later on, and to hug him from behind when he cooked for you and have dates with naps where his lips would seek out yours sleepily, to hold his hand and put a label on it. You’d never been one for labels, because you’d never had anyone to label. Friend, best friend, boyfriend; they were all new to you, the last year has changed your life so radically that you felt unrecognisable to the person you’d once been. 

Your eyes found the clock on the wall, at least five minutes have passed, and you found a great deal of internal humour as you pictured the polite look on Thomas’ face that you’d seen so many times before as he struggled to ever be able to end a conversation without feeling rude, and never wanting to offend a person. 

Standing up, you rounded the corner, aiming to save him, his back still turned to you, looking tense as he stood in the doorway, door held close to his body as he spoke to whoever was on the other side. 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, instead of relaxing, he seemed to tense even more, white-knuckled grip on the wood as he turned to you, brows slightly furrowed. 

“Hey, you were gone a while, thought I’d see what was up.” Your hand moved down to his arm, and he paused a moment longer, before releasing the edge of the door, letting out a slow breath as it swung open to reveal more clearly who was on the other side. 

Peeking out, you were greeted with a familiar face, and you felt a little put out at her composure. Tight jeans, a fitted jumper and a coat that looked like it cost more than your food money for the week that suited her well as it fell to her mid-calves. Dark curly hair that sat perfectly and wide eyes, that only widened a little more as she took in your presence with equal shock to you taking in hers. You took a steadying breath, before reaching a hand out, and trying to be polite. 

“You’re Teresa, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not sure whether to take that as a good thing, or a bad thing.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, humour lacing a tone, and you forced a laugh to sound realistic, before shrugging. 

“I’ve heard you were a great paramedic at our house before you moved on.”

“I try my best, I’ve heard good things about you, too.” It was a polite smile, but there was nothing friendly underneath either of your tones, and her shoulders slumped a little, her hand returning to tuck into her pocket to match the other. “I’m sorry to invade on your evening, I didn’t know you were here, or I wouldn’t have come over. I was hoping we would have that catch up you promised me.” Her attention turned back to Thomas, and despite not saying it, you sensed there was something else under her words, the way Thomas hesitated with his answer, stumbling a little on his words. 

“I can’t right now. You should have texted, or something.”

“Well, I would have, but you never called when you said you would.” Your lips pursed, clearly a lot of unresolved issues between the two that never got solved that you hadn't caught onto until now, and you stepped back slightly, your mind spinning. “You haven’t called in months, but your mom said you talked to her about what happened between us on your last visit to her, stuff we haven’t even talked about.”

“You’ve met his mom?” The words were blurted out before you could stop them, her eyes finding you again, and she seemed a little more confused about it. 

“Uh, yeah.” She smiled again, polite again, and you tried to return it. “Our moms went to college together, it’s how I found out about the job at the station, we went to see her a couple of times at the care home.”

“She’s in a care home?”

“I feel like I’m telling you a lot of personal stuff here that’s not mine to tell, I just assumed you knew, I’m sorry..” She stopped herself, Thomas still standing silently beside you, and you shook it off. 

“It’s alright, no worries. You two clearly have a lot of things to talk about, and I seem to have no idea about, like, ninety percent of it. I should go.” You pushed your foot into one of your sneakers, Thomas’ attention finally snapping back to you and you looked down to find the other. 

“No, I can come back another time, I really didn’t intend to get in the way.” Teresa insisted, and as your foot settled into the second shoe, you offered her a genuine smile now. 

“You don’t have to go, really. We were about to order food.” Thomas insisted, his hand coming out to sit on your arm as you pulled the jumper up and over your head, hanging it on one of the hooks and ignoring the look Thomas was attempting to give you in persuasion to stay. 

“Yeah, but, we didn’t yet. So, it’s fine.” You gave him the best smile you could, taking your jacket from where you’d hung it up and patting your pockets for your keys and phone once putting it on, finding them both where you’d left them. Reaching for your bag and pulling one strap up your shoulder, you nodded to yourself, and Thomas settled a hand on your arm once again, turning you to look at him. 

“Please, don’t go.”

Anxiety and confusion were all you could feel now, and you stepped a little closer to the door once again, stomach twisting into knots, before you were taking a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our shift. I hope you guys can get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s up.” 

Teresa offered you a soft ‘thank you’, at least having the courtesy to look a little apologetic for the ending of your evening, and you stepped into the hall. Turning your back on the pair of them, you didn’t bother looking back, hearing them talk for a few moments longer, before the door to his apartment was closing. 

Pausing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive at your floor, you glanced back over your shoulder, the empty hallway making a pang of something cold and nauseating run through every single one of your veins. A chime sounded overhead, and then the doors in front of you were opening up. 

As you stepped into the elevator, you pressed your back to the wall and hit the thumb for the lower floor, a sting in the back of your throat making you feel pathetic for letting something get to you so much. There was a taunting voice in the back of your mind suggesting that none of this would have happened if you hadn't let your walls down and got yourself into this. You were tempted to just go straight home and put them back up, to deal with it all alone, and shut out everything else to rely on yourself. 

Instead, you pulled out your phone, rubbing at your nose as you sniffled, and the numbers over your head were flashing differently with each floor you passed. It only went two rings, before a cheery voice was picking up on the other end, and you let out a watery laugh at the teasing enthusiasm she’d held as she’d clearly heard about your impromptu - and now failed - date night. 

“Hey, stripper! What can I do for you? Calling for tips? Because I’m pretty sure you drive him crazy already, wear your cute panties and swing your hips and he’ll be on his knees.”

“Actually, Bren, I was wondering if you wanted to have a girls night? I know you probably have plans, but if you’re free, I would love to hang out.”

She was silent for a moment, crackling on the end of the line as she moved, before she was back; “I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes, and I’ll bring loads of alcohol and take-out food.”

“Sounds awesome.” You sniffed, stepping out of the elevator and feeling a little relieved and not having to be alone, but having your best friend to rely on. “One more thing, though. I need you to pick me up, because I just remembered that I don’t even have my car.”

[goodgirlsfanficawards]

We’re closing out our fic promo posts with one last Motivation Monday! If they aren’t on there already, make sure you add these five authors to your reading list! 

softbrio ( @softbrio ) started writing Good Girls fic in April 2020 and have posted 32 works since then featuring a lot of fluff and soft Rio.

but tonight i'm gonna hold you so close

06 Mar 2021, T, 3.3K, 1/1

"But after everything, I don't hate you. I was scared, if anything," Beth said, staring at the wall in front of her. Her eyes fixated on the tiny crack in the wall. It was like them--together, but not perfect. "Scared of what?" Rio asked. "Getting in too deep, then driving you away,"

they say she’s gone too far this time

22 Feb 2021, T, 1.4K, 1/1

beth needs the gun that rio made her touch back, and he has a lovely idea of how she can *win* it back

after hours

18 Feb 2021, M, 1.6K, 1/1

He started to push her hair that was dangling into her view away with his hand, and he leaned in even closer. So close that she could just barely feel his breath on her neck, and it reminded her of when they were in that bathroom—and her bedroom. inspired by the s4 trailer.

Hereliesbethboland writes Brio fic for every occasion, from one-shot to multi-chapter, T to E, canon to AU, fluff to angst and everything in between. 

Table It

02 Mar 2021, T, 1.8K, 1/1

Rio shows up before Beth leaves for Vegas. s3 canon divergent ficlet.

In the Loss In the Gain

28 Feb 2021, E, 18K, 3/3

After handling her rotten egg Beth is ready to get back in the game. Can she gain the keys to the kingdom without losing herself? (Season 2 canon divergent after 'Slow Down Children at Play')

Scream

21 Feb 2021, E, 35K, 4/4

a little AU fic featuring Rio as Dean's boss and Brio lust at first sight…

Sdktrs12 ( @sdktrs12 ) has posted 24 Good Girls fics including from hefty multi-chapter AUs to canon divergent one-shots plus a number of holiday-centric fics.

A (very) Charlie Brown Christmas

14 Jan 2021, T, 2.1K, 1/1

“What is this?” Rio looks up from where he’s seated behind his desk, taking Beth in, who leans against the doorjamb on the other side of the large office space from him. She thinks for a minute she might have to clarify just what it is she’s referring to, but then he’s following her sightline and he rolls his eyes as he drops his pen, settling back in his chair with his hands folded in front of him. “Looks like a Christmas tree.” He answers glibly, rolling his shoulders back as she steps further into the office and Beth scoffs. “This is not a Christmas tree.” She laments as she gets closer to the desk, holding out one of the glasses currently occupying her hands to him, which he takes with a small nod before settling back into his chair. Her fingers come out to poke at the blue blanket that’s wrapped around the base of the small pathetic (supposed) tree, that’s currently sitting atop the desk. “You really are the grinch.” - AKA - A Brio Christmas party (but like, barely)

I Put A Spell On You (and now you're mine)

01 Jan 2021, E, 32K, 24/24

31 Days of Hauntober (A ficlet for every prompt from the #Hauntober Prompt list for October.)

Touch (without leaving a trace)

27 Dec 2020, E, 3.4K, 1/1

Kink Prompt 50. pre-brio. beth’s short at a drop and offers herself to the gang to negotiate more time. rio only watches as she get passed around, turned on but refusing to touch her. he comes to her later that night. alone. Gangbang, exhibitionism + GG Kinkfest Author Bingo Board #1 - Re-use a canon quote in a different context, Write a kink you haven’t written before, Include a scene with no dialogue.

delicatelingon ( @delicatelingon​ ) has been writing Good Girls fic since January 2020 including a number of one shots and a four fic PWP series.

A snowflake fell (and it felt like a kiss)

31 Dec 2020, T, 2.7K, 1/1

A small road trip out of state, only they don't make it all the way back…

Thunderstruck

03 Nov 2020, E, 1.5K, 1/1

Beth’s shitfaced. She’s so drunk she can’t stand without swaying, it’s like she’s on an endless rollercoaster and she doesn’t know how to get off. Relaxing a little, she lets him support some of her weight and she can’t help but nuzzle his neck a little. Rubbing her nose at his short hair, she lets out a kitten sigh, he smells heavenly.

What Mama Say (Life is Good)

03 Nov 2020, E, >1K, 1/1

“Thank you?” This was not going where she thought it were, but if this was something he’s into… then he looks up to her and she sees the vulnerability in his eyes and she thinks, yeah, maybe he needs this. She can do this for him. She makes her voice all soft, the way she’ll talk to her kids when they’re upset or just before bedtime, “don’t worry, you’ll always be my baby. Why don’t you come up here for a cuddle?”

Itsfatebaby has been writing a long-running kid fic series since April 2020 featuring Beth and Rio spending time with their own and each other’s kids throughout their lives.

Birthday Dinner

21 Nov 2020, M, 1.6K, 1/1

Just a nice birthday dinner.

“Adult”

21 Nov 2020, M, 2.1K, 1/1

Just someone who thinks they are an adult.

June 18th

03 Sep 2020, NR, 2.7K, 1/1

No matter what it comes once a year.

If you know of anyone’s tumblr/twitter and we haven’t found it or tagged incorrectly, please send us an ask to let us know.

[lastbluetardis]

And Baby Makes Seven (10/?)

Things don’t always go as planned. Faced with an unexpected pregnancy, James and Rose have to work quickly to get everything prepared for their fifth child, and to prepare their eldest children for a new addition to the family. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: teen, 5200 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 34, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: 6, Twins: 7.5 months

If you like reading my stories, consider leaving me a tip? Or leave a reply on this post to tell me what you thought? And as always, reblogs are very much appreciated so more people can see this.

AO3 | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Now that Ainsley had been let in on the secret of the new baby, Rose and James didn’t need to work as hard to uphold the facade. Sianin, bless her little heart, had no idea what was going on, but was glad that her mum wanted to laze around the house, which translated into Sianin getting plenty of snuggles on the sofa as they watched cartoons.

James seemed to be taking “over-protective” to a whole new level. He jumped at the chance to care for their children, either taking over or joining Rose in all bedtime routines. If a twin awoke in the middle of the night, he sprang out of bed before her groggy brain could even realize Hannah or Maddie had made a sound.

But when she brought it up to him, he flashed her a charming grin that never failed to melt her, and simply asked, “You’re upset that I want to care for my children?”

And really, when he put it like that, her irritation with him evaporated. She had to keep reminding him to let her help, though, lest the twins forget they had a mother.

James and Rose also used the opportunity to place more responsibilities on Sianin’s shoulders, to the girl’s displeasure. Since Rose wasn’t supposed to do most of the normal household chores, James taught Sianin how to vacuum, wash the floors, and a host of other minor but daily tasks.

Rose, though guilty that she was lounging around the house all day when she ought to be cleaning, was glad that Sianin was at least performing the tasks James assigned to her with minimal complaining. 

Ainsley, meanwhile, took it upon herself to help her dad with anything he was doing and to check in with her mum to see if Rose needed anything.

“How long d’you have to rest for?” Ainsley asked as she settled in with Rose and Maddie on the couch for her nightly reading. Hannah was already in her crib for the night, but Maddie was stubbornly refusing to fall asleep in favor of getting snuggles and kisses from her mother.

“A few weeks,” Rose replied, blotting at the drool dripping down her baby’s chin with her jumper sleeve. Maddie scrunched her nose and turned her face away. “We’ve got a follow-up appointment next week to check the status of the bleed.”

Ainsley tilted her head to the side. “Why do you always do that? Make it plural? You said we’ve got an appointment, not I’ve got an appointment.”

Rose snorted. “You’re right. But your dad is joining me at the appointment. Plus, it’s an appointment to check on the baby, who is both his and mine. It feels wrong to claim sole ownership.”

“That’s actually really cute,” Ainsley admitted. She sighed dreamily. “Dad takes such good care of you when you’re unwell.”

A flood of adoration overtook Rose, squeezing her chest until inexplicable tears burned her eyes. She listened to her husband, who was in the kitchen assembling the girls’ lunches for tomorrow. He was humming to himself as he worked, the notes slightly flat and offkey.

“Yeah, he does,” Rose croaked.

“I hope I find someone just like him one day,” Ainsley said with a wistful sigh.

“I hope that for you, too.” Rose kissed Ainsley’s temple. “I hope that for all of my children.”

“How do you think it’ll work with Sianin and her soulmates?”

“What do you mean?”

Ainsley shrugged. “It’s hard to imagine having two soulmates. How can she love two people as equally and intensely as you love Dad?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? Who knows whether Sianin’s relationship with Elena and Juliette will evolve into a romantic one.”

“I suppose,” Ainsley allowed. “But for argument’s sake, how would it work if they decided to let it be romantic? It seems so strange to be involved in a relationship with two people.”

“Strange as it might be to you, it’s normal for others. Love in all its forms is a beautiful thing, remember that.”

“It feels like it would be hard to make sure you aren’t showing favoritism to one versus another,” Ainsley said.

“Well, your dad and I have four children—we love you all with equal intensity and try not to show favoritism. I imagine it’s something similar.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I would want to be in a relationship with more than one person,” Ainsley admitted. “I want one person who is mine, and mine alone.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Rose said. “You need to decide what works for you, just as Sianin will decide what works for her.”

Ainsley was quiet for several long seconds, but Rose could practically hear her daughter’s mind churning. While she let Ainsley think, she used the time to give kisses to the baby in her arms. The baby was finally getting drowsy; she had her cheek planted above Rose’s left breast, and her head rose and fell with her mother’s breaths. Any time Maddie’s eyes began to droop shut, she wrenched them open and gazed up at her mother.

Being the singular focus of her baby’s attention always made her heart squeeze with love and gratitude. She was the whole world to this tiny, perfect little human, and for a moment, as Rose got lost in her baby’s blue eyes, Maddie was her whole world, too.

“Do you think her eyes will stay blue?” Ainsley asked.

“I think so,” Rose said. “Usually if they change, they would’ve changed by now. All of my babies’ eyes started out blue. In Sianin’s case, they turned brown after a couple months. Yours stayed more or less the same color. And the twins’ appear to be brightening… they kind of look like Gran’s, don’t they?”

Ainsley peered down at Maddie. The baby shifted her sleepy eyes to her big sister, and offered a smile that widened into a yawn. Ainsley snorted and rubbed Maddie’s back. The baby grunted and wiggled around before face-planting into the crevice between Rose’s breasts.

“Silly girl,” Ainsley murmured. “Yeah, they do look like Gran’s. How does that work? I mean, I sort of know how it works. But her DNA is half you, half Dad, and yet she has Gran’s eyes. And apparently I look like Dad’s mum.”

“My DNA is half my mum and dad, and your dad’s DNA is half his mum and dad,” Rose said. “There are bits of all of our past family swirling inside of us, and it’s a lottery draw as to which traits get passed on to a baby.”

“That’s kind of neat,” Ainsley said. “It’s so fascinating that so many things have to happen perfectly to create a baby.” She paused, then continued in a rush, “We had the talk at school today. Y’know, how the girls and boys should be starting puberty soon, if they haven’t started already. One girl in my class had her first period months ago, which is mad. She’s nine! They also explained how in a couple years we’ll all be sexually mature and be able to make babies and so we all have to be very, very careful to prevent unwanted pregnancies as we’re exploring our bodies.

“They went over how a baby is made. Just the basics. Y’know, penis in vagina, sperm meets egg equals baby. I didn’t know that men released millions and millions of sperm when they had sex. That seems like overkill, doesn’t it?”

“What seems like overkill?”

Rose jumped at the sound of James’s voice right behind her. Her mind whirred, trying to wrap itself around the sudden turn their conversation had taken, as well as the fact that her baby was old enough to be learning the basics of human reproduction in school already.

“Did you know you made and released millions of sperm at a time when you have sex?” Ainsley asked, her eyes bright.

James was silent for a beat, cheeks pinkening and mouth going slack. He cleared his throat. “Er… yeah. Yeah, I did know that. But where did you learn that?”

“They gave us the talk in school.”

“Ah,” he said, wincing.

“Why do you make millions of sperm when only one will actually fertilize the egg?” Ainsley asked, cocking her head to the side. She then glanced down at Maddie, who was drooling into Rose’s shirt. “Er, or I guess two?”

“Actually, it was just one sperm,” Rose corrected.

Ainsley frowned. “But… there are two babies.”

“But they’re identical,” James said. “Genetically, they’re the same. Basically, one of my sperm met your mum’s egg, then that egg divided somewhat incorrectly to begin producing two separate babies with the same exact genetic code.”

“Oh. So your egg accidentally made a clone of itself?”

Rose snorted. “Something like that.”

Ainsley looked impressed. Then she said, “But still. Why make millions of sperm? That’s a bit wasteful, isn’t it?”

“It’s all about statistics,” James answered, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Would you rather try to hit a target with one arrow or many? What if that one arrow is defective somehow? Or your aim is slightly off? By releasing tens of millions of sperm in one go, you increase the odds of fertilization; and the egg can be a bit choosier by only allowing the strongest of the bunch to fertilize it and begin making a baby.”

“Oh. That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Ainsley said. “What stops all of the sperm from penetrating the egg and creating a million babies?”

“Once a sperm meets the egg, it basically walls itself off from getting fertilized again,” James explained. “When sperm meets egg, a biological cascade effect begins. The woman’s egg recognizes it’s been fertilized, so it begins producing chemicals and hormones that tell the rest of the body to prepare for the oncoming baby. And it shuts down egg production so there’s no chance of multiple fertilized eggs trying to grow a baby after one is already growing. Imagine how cramped it would get in there. And imagine how hard it would be on the woman to have multiple babies all at different stages of development in her uterus. Evolution has figured out how to control everything so that doesn’t happen.”

“That’s so cool,” Ainsley said.

“It is a bit cool,” James said, smiling.

“It’s weird that women are born with all the eggs they’ll ever have, but men keep making more and more sperm ‘til they die. That’s way more efficient. What if something happens to the woman and her egg supply is damaged? At least with men, they can regenerate their sperm.” Ainsley cocked her head at her father. “In theory, you could help make a baby when you’re a hundred, right?”

James choked. “I… well… yes, technically. But my baby-making partner would also be a hundred—well, ninety-five—and since she would no longer be fertile, I wouldn’t be helping to make any more babies. Besides, the… ehm… the quality of sperm deteriorates over time. It’s not usually a good idea to procreate after a certain age. And, ehm… the act of making a baby gets… ehm… more difficult in old age. So… ehm… I’m not sure we’d… that we’d… Although I would truly love to be with your mother in that way in our old age, statistically it’s not all that probable so I’m not really expecting to… not that I wouldn’t want to… but…”

Rose kneaded the heel of her hand into her eyes as James’s gob ran without stop and without filter. She eventually reached over and pinched him. He squeaked, but snapped his mouth shut. Ainsley, meanwhile, was in stitches on the sofa, cackling madly as both her parents’ cheeks blazed.

oOoOo

Two weeks and two days after learning she had subchorionic hemorrhage, Rose walked into her OB-GYN, this time with her husband at her side. Despite the fact that her bleeding and cramping had stopped nearly a week ago, she was a little nervous to see what Elizabeth would have to say.

James must have sensed her anxiety, because he threaded their fingers together and rubbed at the back of her thumb while they waited for Rose’s name to be called. He talked to her about nothing in particular, filling the silence between them. Rose let the soothing rhythm of his voice calm her until Elizabeth appeared in the waiting room and called name, gesturing for her to follow.

“How are you feeling?” the midwife asked as she took Rose’s height and weight. “You’ve lost some weight since I saw you two weeks ago. Nothing worrying, but something to keep an eye on. Especially since you ought to be putting on weight as your pregnancy progresses.”

“My appetite is still finicky,” Rose admitted. “Nausea is mostly gone though. I’m hoping that will help. But otherwise, I feel fine.”

“Any bleeding? Cramping? Dizziness?”

Rose shook her head and stepped off the scale, following Elizabeth down the corridor to an exam room. James followed silently and settled into the chair beside the exam table. An ultrasound machine already sat in the corner of the room, and, familiar with the routine, Rose reclined on the table and exposed her belly.

Déjà vu settled over her as she remembered the utter terror of two weeks ago, certain her midwife was about to confirm her worst fear. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she began to tremble as her mind warred with itself, half of it trying to calm her, and the other half spinning out of control. James scooted his chair closer to her and leaned his elbow onto the table above her head. His warmth and scent surrounded her.

“You’re okay, love,” he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“What a cute little bump,” Elizabeth cooed, squirting cool gel onto said bump between Rose’s hips. “Let’s see the cute little baby inside it, eh?”

Rose reached over and grabbed James’s free hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing tightly. He bent down to kiss her forehead again, then he brought their joined hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles one at a time.

“Here we are,” Elizabeth said, tapping a few buttons into her keyboard.

Rose looked at the monitor and her heart clenched at the sight of her baby. They seemed to be about the same size as before, but Elizabeth was pleased with the baby’s appearance.

“They’re rather active,” the midwife noted, readjusting the probe when the shifting baby went out of focus. “Are you able to feel them, Rose?”

“Not yet,” she croaked. She desperately wanted to, though. She wanted that little flutter of life between her hips. She wanted the undeniable proof that her baby was alive and healthy and growing, because what if the scan was somehow wrong? Rose squeezed her eyes shut and focused deep within herself, trying to sense any ripple of movement in her uterus.

Her eyes shot open when the midwife tapped a few buttons and the heartbeat echoed around the room. 

James let out a soft, “Oh,” his grip on her hand turning vice-like.

Rose glanced up at her husband, but his gaze was locked on the monitor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. The sight of them made her own eyes prickle. She would never tire of seeing the awe on his face as he beheld their children. He treated each day with their kids as though it was the most precious gift he’d been given; this baby was no exception, and Rose could already see how in love her husband was with the tiny fetus inside her. She could plainly see him, seven months from now, weeping as he held their newborn for the first time, curling his body around theirs as though he could physically shield their baby from any harm the world might bring to them. She could see him sitting with the baby in the dead of night, half asleep himself, yet holding their small child to his chest as he rocked them.

God, she wanted that, was impatient for these visions to come true. Even though she regularly saw him holding and snuggling the children they already had, Rose was desperate to give him his fifth child and bring completion to their not-so-little-anymore family.

“Our baby looks healthy,” James said, his voice hoarse. Rose blinked away the visions in her mind’s eye and was brought back to the present, where her husband was no longer looking at the baby on the screen, but rather down at Rose. She flashed him a small smile that he returned before he focused on the midwife, his gaze intense. “But how is Rose? How is the hemorrhage? Is she healthy and safe?”

“Let’s take a look at that next.” Elizabeth zoomed out away from the baby, and instead shifted the focus of the ultrasound probe to the gray masses surrounding the baby. “Here we go.”

After taking a few seconds to orient James and Rose to what she was talking about, Elizabeth pointed to a black blob along the edge of the placenta. “Here’s the clot. And yes, it is just a clot now. It appears to no longer be actively bleeding, which is excellent news. The placenta is intact, which is also great news. Sometimes a concern is that the bleeding will cause the placenta to pull away from the uterine wall, but that is not the case here. I am very, very happy with what I’m seeing.”

Rose let out a deep breath. James, too, relaxed a fraction.

“Can I go back to business as usual?” Rose asked.

“Let’s not be hasty,” James answered instead.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Rose drawled, reaching up to pat his cheek.

Elizabeth pursed her lips around a grin. She wiped the expression off her face and said, “I see no reason why not. Obviously you are limited as any other pregnant woman is, and I would try to take it easy for the next couple weeks as the clot dissolves, but yes, you should be able to resume all activities as normal.”

Rose was fairly certain she’d read between the lines correctly, yet she asked, “Sex too?”

James let out a little squeak that had Rose rolling her eyes. Elizabeth’s entire profession revolved around people having had biologically-successful sex. They themselves were here because they’d had successful sex. Nutter.

“Yes, you may resume your sexual activities,” the midwife answered.

Rose nodded. She hadn’t been in the mood for sex lately, too concerned was she with the baby and will following the instructions to rest. She knew that James’s sex drive had mirrored her own in his double concern for her and the baby. While she still didn’t have the desire to drag James straight into bed when they got home, Rose was glad it was at least an option, if the mood struck. She’d find other ways to satisfy James if or when his sex drive returned while hers remained elusive.

“Is Rose okay to travel?” James asked. “We were planning to take the kids up to Scotland for half-term break next week. Probably travelling by train.”

“I’ve been cleared to shag your brains out, but no, the movement of a train will be far too vigorous for my delicate condition,” Rose muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

James flicked her nose but didn’t reply.

“Yes, she should be fine,” Elizabeth said, pretending not to have heard their exchange. “Just listen to your body, Rose. It will do a good job of telling you what it needs. Try not to overexert. Rest when you’re tired. Make sure you’re getting enough vitamins and nutrients. Things like that.”

“Thanks,” Rose said. “And while we’re talking about it, do you happen to have any connections with midwives in Scotland? Near Glasgow? James and I are going to be relocating our family. The move isn’t happening next week or anything; we’re getting the kids used to the area and the house we’ll be moving into.”

“And you say I’m chatty,” James teased.

Rose rolled her eyes.

“Funnily enough, I do,” Elizabeth said. “One of my very close friends. We went to school together. I can send you her contact information, as I don’t have it on hand right now. I can also reach out to her to see if she can see you next week, if you’d like? A consultation visit, mostly, assuming she is taking new patients and is near enough to where you’ll be living.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Rose said, accepting the moist towels the midwife handed to her and cleaning off her belly.

Elizabeth made a few notes on her computer, then printed out another scan of the baby for them, despite them having one from two weeks ago. She also scheduled Rose’s twenty-week appointment, which would be shortly after the holidays. Rose was already impatient for January sixth to be here; it would be the appointment when she and James would learn the sex of their baby, something Rose always loved learning. But this time was the added game of being able to tease James for his apparent inability to produce a Y-chromosomed sperm. As though that was something he could control. (A fact he liked to remind her of often.)

“As always, you can call us if there are any questions or concerns,” Elizabeth said as she walked them to the front lobby. “But I’m very pleased with everything I’ve seen today.”

After thanking her, James slipped his fingers between Rose’s and guided her out to their car.

oOoOo

The following week, James and Rose willed themselves to have endless reserves of patience as they readied their children for the trip to Scotland. It felt like they had to pack up their entire house to ensure they had enough supplies for all the kids, including toys and games in addition to the endless articles of clothing.

Robert, bless him, was accompanying them, to help with child care and to give his opinion on the work they might want done to the manor house. James had reached out to half a dozen different remodeling companies to have them come out and take a look at the work he and Rose wanted done; they were due to arrive at the end of the week, since James and Rose wanted the first few days to walk around the house and make lists of repairs and upgrades that could be done, both internally and externally to the grounds.

The train ride went as well as could be expected when travelling with four children. Ainsley was content to read for the entire journey, but Sianin loudly proclaimed she was bored barely an hour into the trip. The twins were awake and wanting to crawl around, but there was only so much space in the compartment car. James, Rose, and Robert took turns walking a fussing baby up and down the length of the train, introducing the infant to cooing passengers who fawned over how beautiful she was. The passengers were extra delighted to realize they were identical twins.

Finally, the train docked in Glasgow, where the Tyler-McCrimmons picked up a rental vehicle and made the half-hour drive out of the city proper to the manor house.

The excitement at the prospect of permanently living in the “castle” evaporated Ainsley and Sianin’s travel exhaustion. As soon as James unlocked the front door, they bolted inside and began chattering to each other about where their playroom should be and calling dibs on the bedrooms.

“I want this one,” Sianin announced, gesturing to the master suite.

“That one is off-limits,” James said lightly, tweaking the end of her braid. “Available to mummies and daddies only. Same with the guest suite on the other side. That’s for when Gran or Grandad stay to visit.”

Sianin deflated a bit, but perked back up when James reminded her that there were plenty of other bedrooms to choose from.

Rose, meanwhile, immediately began to visualize how she would decorate. The current color scheme of the manor was dark, but not gloomily so. Even still, Rose thought that brightening the wall colors from burgundy to a rich cream or ivory would help open up the space and blend the rooms together. It would also make the house feel cleaner, and with five children tearing it apart, Rose knew she and James could use all the help they could get in that department.

The floors were in excellent shape, having been replaced shortly after Ainsley was born. Robert had come to her and James when he was having the work performed so they could help pick out the color and style of the various hardwood, tile, and carpeted floors in all of the rooms. Belatedly, Rose realized that Robert had done so because he knew this home would belong to them in the near future.

From the foyer, which was lit from the warm glow of the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, Rose stared straight ahead into the formal dining room that used to be a ballroom; the kitchen extended beyond that through a set of wide oak doors that were currently closed. She already knew that the kitchen was huge and open, thanks to James’s grandmother having remodeled it to use up more of the defunct ballroom space. The kitchen housed a long table that would easily fit their large family; therefore, the formal dining room wouldn’t be necessary until they hosted holidays or had friends over. Otherwise, that could easily be a place for the children to do their homework.

To her right was what used to be a receiving room, but had evolved over the last century to be the living room. It was already furnished with a couch, a love seat, and a few reclining chairs placed strategically around a television. A fireplace sat along the far wall, and Rose could already see herself sitting in the rocking reclining chair and nursing her new baby, or snuggling with one of her other four children or husband as the fire crackled merrily beside them. Goosebumps prickled along Rose’s skin at the thought of her and James making love by the fireplace, a vision straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

Blinking away that fantasy for the time being, Rose continued her mental mapping of the manor. Behind the living room was another room that had been a different receiving room—most likely, she presumed, a space for the gentlemen when the ladies had overtaken the first receiving room. Because God forbid men enjoy their wives’ presence.

James’s parents had converted that into a study area for James; Rose thought it would make a nice playroom for their family. It had plenty of room to store the kids’ endless number of toys, and it had a closet where they could keep their games. The flooring in there was currently hardwood; Rose made a mental note to chat with James about replacing it with something softer.

Extending beyond the living room was a narrow hallway that opened up to what had once been servants’ quarters. Rose knew that James’s grandmother had remodeled it and created a larger footprint, converting the area into a spacious a guest suite; it was where Robert always slept when he visited, unable to stomach being in the master bedroom ever since he’d lost his wife.

To the left of the foyer was a long, wide corridor with several rooms branching off of it. One of those rooms was a library that Rose already knew Ainsley would practically make her second bedroom. Rose planned to outfit the room with a variety of comfortable furniture and a desk. Directly beside the library and connected with a door was a formal study; she figured James would like to make that his space, filling it with textbooks and knickknacks and turning it into a place he could mark papers and exams on the weekends or weeknights.

Directly beside the study and again connected through a set of doors was a secondary study. This one was at the end of the manor, and therefore had windows on the two external walls. It was filled with plenty of natural lighting and Rose thought it would make a perfect place for her to set up her art studio.

On the opposite side of the corridor from the library and studies were a series of small rooms. There was a half bath that was mostly just a closet with a toilet and a sink, and two small rooms that Rose genuinely didn’t know the purpose of. They were far too big to be closets, but a tad too small to be bedrooms. Rose didn’t care what they used to be; instead, she planned to make the rooms a nursery: one for the twins, until they were big enough for proper beds, and the other for the new baby. It would be perfect, since the last room at the end of the corridor was the master suite. 

Rose already knew the suite was enormous, yet it took her breath away to behold it. The room would easily fit their king-sized bed and all of their bedroom furniture, and still have room for more. Perhaps they could put a cushy rocking chair in this room as well as the nurseries; there could never be enough cozy furniture to cuddle her children, Rose thought.

There was a giant walk-in closet connected to the bedroom, as well as a double-vanity ensuite. The bathroom, too, was huge, outfitted with a tub and a walk-in shower stall; both the tub and shower had plenty of room for her and James to share, which would be perfect for intimate date nights.

Moving from room to room, Rose catalogued how she would arrange furniture and paint colors that would look good in each room and blend the entire ground floor of the house together. She took note of the flooring, and which rooms should be outfitted with carpets rather than hardwood floors or tile, or vice versa. When she and James helped Robert pick out the floors, they’d only had Ainsley; at the time, she hadn’t been able to imagine having five children. Now, she couldn’t imagine anything differently.

“I can see that beautiful mind of yours at work already.” James came up behind her as she weighed whether the library ought to be carpeted or left as it was with hardwood floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist and casually splayed a palm on her lower belly, kissing the side of her neck and sending pleasant tingles across her skin. “What are you thinking?”

Rose leaned into him, tilting her head back to catch his gaze. His eyes were bright with joy and soft with love; she found herself falling in love with him all over again. She turned in his arms, draping her forearms over his shoulders.

“I’m thinking,” she murmured, pushing up onto her toes so that her mouth hovered mere inches from his, “that this already feels like home.”

And though she planted a kiss to his lips as she finished speaking, his answering smile was dazzling.

[aion-rsa]

Star Trek: Lower Decks Season 2 Episode 1 Easter Eggs & References

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This Star Trek: Lower Decks article contains spoilers for Season 2, Episode 1: “Strange Energies.”

The mission of the USS Cerritos is to do the jobs other Starfleet ships can’t; following up with all sorts of minutiae and boring outer space logistics, long after the Enterprise or the Defiant has warped out. But whether it’s Lower Decks or Picard or Discovery or Strange New Worlds, the mission of hardcore Trek fans is the same: Pause the screen and see what deep-cut Easter eggs got slipped in this time!

In Season 1, Star Trek: Lower Decks earned the reputation for the most meta-textual Star Trek ever. There are layers and layers of Trekdom within every frame of this series, making it hard to look at one episode and catalog all the references. But if you thought Season 1 went deep into the wells of Trekkie references and Easter eggs, Season 2 is here to make Season 1 look tame. The Season 2 premiere of Lower Decks — “Strange Energies” — is one giant Easter egg with a bunch of reproducing tribble-ish Easter eggs inside of it. Unless you’ve got ESP powers on the level of Dr. Elizabeth Dehner, there’s no way you caught all of these. 

Cardassian ships

The episode has a cold-open on some kind of prison inside of an asteroid field. This is surrounded by two kinds of Cardassian ships, the Galor-class and the smaller Hideki-class scout ships.

“The Keep Showing Me Lights”

Hologram Boimler says the Cardassians “keep showing me lights.” This line, and the existence of the secret Cardassian facility references the famous Next Generation two-parter, “Chain of Command,” in which Picard was kidnapped and tortured by the Cardassians. If you somehow haven’t seen that episode, the whole idea is that the Cardassians try to gaslight Picard into thinking there are five lights in front of him when there are only four. Lower Decks referenced “Chain of Command” in Season 1, too! In Season 1, Episode 7, “Much Ado About Boimler,” Mariner joked about the Cerritos getting a “Babysitter Jellico-type,” for a subsitute captain, which referenced the temporary captain the Enterprise got in “Chain of Command.” Freeman, Shaxs and Ransom whore the all-black special ops outfits in that episode, too, and Tendi did the same in “Veritas.” 

Too Many Ships to Count 

As Mariner escapes from the Cardassian facility, there are soooo many ships being stored in this particular hanger. It’s all the ships. Here’s just a few we caught

A Federation runabout

Jem’Hadar fighters

A Nemesis-era Romulan warbird

An old school Romulan Bird-of-Prey from TOS

Federation fighter craft (like the ones seen in TNG’s “Preemptive Strike.”)

And many, many more.

Miranda-class USS MacDuff

Mariner steals a Miranda-class Federation starship with the registry NCC-1877, and the name “USS MacDuff.” There’s a lot going on here.

The Miranda-class was first seen in The Wrath of Khan, in the form of the USS Reliant. That film also featured someone stealing a ship like this with ease.

The bridge for this ship is basically identical to the Reliant.

Lower Decks showrunner Mike McMahan said in 2020 that he was inspired by the Reliant for the design of the Cerritos. 

The name “MacDuff” might reference the TNG character, Kieran MacDuff, from the episode “Conundrum.” In that one, the crew has temporary amnesia and MacDuff manipulates them into fighting a war they’re not supposed to be involved in.

Jennifer 

Jennifer is back! Mariner is interrupted during her holographic work-out by Jennifer, an Andorian crewmember from last season. In the Season 1 finale, “No Small Parts,” Mariner runs through the halls and pushes this character out of the way, saying, “Move Jennifer.” As far as we know, Jennifer is the only Andorian named Jennifer, but you really have to wonder, was this an Andorian name, or a human name? 

“I know we’re not supposed to have interpersonal conflict”

Mariner’s dislike of Jennifer is punctuated by her talking to herself saying, “I know we’re not supposed to have interpersonal conflict…but I really hate that Andorian.” This references a long-standing rule from the TNG–era of Trek TV; that Starfleet officers weren’t supposed to have petty differences with each other. This rule was apparently implemented by Gene Roddenberry and drove several writers, including Ron Moore and Jeri Taylor, nuts. 

Slightly new opening-credits

In Season 1, we saw the Cerritos running away from a battle involving a bunch of Borg cubes and Romulan Warbirds. Now, that same battle includes a Pakled ship from the Season 1 finale, a few Klingon Birds-of-Prey, and seemingly, fewer Borg. 

Fred Tatasciore’s name in the credits?

Although Shaxs died in the Season 1 finale, Fred Tatasciore’s name appears in the opening credits…hmmm…will this ever be explained? 

Rutherford’s date with Ensign Barnes

“Strange Energies” directly parallels the 2020 Season 1 debut, “Second Contact,” in several ways. The crew is involved with a second contact mission that goes horribly wrong and Rutherford starts dating Barnes for the “first” time. In the Season 1 finale, Rutherford lost his memory, which is why his relationship with Barnes seems new to him. This is why Mariner says “that sounds familiar.” 

Hating pears…a Doctor Who reference? 

Tendi is concerned that Rutherford used to hate pears, but now he doesn’t. This is possibly incorrect, but this could be a Doctor Who reference. In the Doctor Who episodes “Human Nature,” “Twice Upon a Time,” and “Hell Bent,” the Doctor (both David Tennant and Peter Capaldi) mention hating pears. In fact, in “Human Nature,” when the Doctor’s memory is erased, he asks Martha Jones to “never let me eat a pear.” 

Sonic power washing 

“Sonic showers” have long been a thing in the Star Trek universe, making their debut in Star Trek: The Motion Picture. But, we’ve never seen sonic power-washers before!

“Ever heard of Gary Mitchell”

Ransom’s possession is very much a tribute to Gary Mitchell’s god-like powers in the second TOS pilot episode “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” Dr. T’ana’s insistence that Kirk beat Gary Mitchell with a “boulder” is accurate. For whatever reason, the very first canonical Kirk-adventure ever, established that rock beats god-like powers any day of the week. It should also be noted that Mariner referenced Gary Mitchell in the first episode of Season 1, too.

Possible Harlan Ellison reference?

While Ransom is starting to work out, you can briefly hear him say, “The trick isn’t becoming a God. The trick is staying a God.” This could be a reference to the axiom attributed to Harlan Ellison: “The trick isn’t becoming a writer. The trick is staying a writer.” Ellison wrote “The City on the Edge of Forever,” for TOS. In Star Trek: Picard Season 1, Soji traveled on a ship called the Ellison, which Michael Chabon revealed was an Easter egg meant to reference Harlan Ellison. So, you never know? 

“The Trick isn’t becoming a god, the Trick is staying a god”

Harlan Ellison reference?

Ransom on the Mount

Mariner says that Jack is “going all Ransom on the Mount.” This almost certainly references a hilarious fan video called “Shatner on the Mount,” in which a group called Fall On Your Sword remixed a behind-the-scenes interview with William Shatner (promoting Star Trek V: The Final Frontier) into a hilarious kind of talking-rap song. It has to be seen to be believed. 

Giant God Head

A giant God head coming out to grab a starship might seem silly, but there are several precedents for this kind of thing in Trek canon. In the TOS episode “Who Mourns For Adonais?” a giant green hand grabs the Enterprise, which is later revealed to be the hand of the god Apollo. In the TNG episode “The Nth Degree,” the giant head of a Cytherian finds its way onto the Enterprise-D bridge. And, of course, in The Final Frontier, the crew meets “the God of Sha Ka Ree” which also, is a giant floating head. 

My older sister got a symbiont 

Barnes and Rutherford joke around that her Trill sister has a symbiont, but she doesn’t. This references the idea that not all Trill are joined, which was established in both TNG and Deep Space Nine.

Cetacean ops

Barnes mentions going swimming in “Cetacean ops,” a part of the USS Cerritos that we’ve never seen, but we have to assume has something to do with sea creatures. This is the second time Lower Decks has referenced Cetacean ops, which itself derives from an overheard line in TNG’s “Yesterday’s Enterprise.” Again, with yet another parallel to its Season 1 debut, “Cetacean ops” was last referenced by Lower Decks in Season 1, Episode 1, “Second Contact.”

“LDS thing”

Rutherford incorrectly refers to SMD as “LDS.” This references a few things. First, for most fans, the official abbreviation of Lower Decks is LDS. But, that abbreviation also references a joke from Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home in which Kirk incorrectly refers to the drug “LSD” as “LDS,” saying that Spock “did a little bit too much LDS back in the ‘60s.” 

Nightengale Woman 

At the end of the episode, Stevens tells Ransom he’s going to read him “Nightengale Woman.” This too is a reference to “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” which Gary Mitchell quotes from the poem “Nitengale Woman,” from memory. In Trek canon, the poem was written in 1996 on “the Canopus Planet.” In real life, the poem was written by Gene Roddenberry, who originally wrote part of the poem to describe flying a plane. 

Riker’s jam session

As the final moments of the episode cut back to the USS Titan, Captain Riker says “This jam session has too many licks and not enough counts.” In jazz, a “lick” refers to a pattern or musical phrase which is predetermined, but open to interpretation. Usually, a lick could result in a long jazz solo.  A “count” on the other hand, is more about the beat and form of a piece of music. Riker’s obsession with jazz began in the TNG episode “11001001.” In the season finale of Lower Decks Season 1, Riker’s catchphrase for sending the Titan into warp was a jazz count.

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Lower Decks Season 2 airs new episodes on Paramount+ on Thursdays.

The post Star Trek: Lower Decks Season 2 Episode 1 Easter Eggs & References appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[jeogiyall]

𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞; 𝒍.𝒕𝒚

❥ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟾.𝟻𝚔

❥ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖿! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝗀

❥ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐! 𝖺𝗎, 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺.

❥ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 + 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾𝗌; 𝗈𝖻𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽.

❥ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ: 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌-𝗍𝗈-𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍; 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇, 𝖮𝖢 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒/𝗇

❥ᴀ/ɴ: 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍!! 𝗂'𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀! 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖽𝗈. -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

‘The Great International Bake Off’ was not something you were expecting anything to come from. Being a pastry chef in France, you were used to having doors slammed in your face. Everything, even things meant for beginners, were handed off to the people with a name and a home full of trophies. Even getting through to the final round of auditions, you were just hoping that the callback would be enough to get you a better job (it wasn’t).  

You had actually expected so little from it that you had actually forgotten the result date. You went into work normally, made simple chocolate cookies, spent your lunch break whipping up a complicated cake. It was a normal day, until your coworker (and team mate,) Amelie burst through the kitchen doors. Her smile was gigantic as she pulled you into a bone crushing hug, your cake falling to the floor in a mess of raspberry puree.

“What in the world?” You had whined, frowning at the mess of chocolate and fruit on the floor.

“We did it!” Your eyebrows had furrowed as you moved to grab a towel. Amelie grabbed you by the shoulders, her dark brown eyes wild. Slowly, realization of the date crept into your head.

“Oh, a-are we-” She jumped up and down, squeals piercing the room.

“We’re on the show!” 

Needless to say, you were getting a better job.

*

On the first day of filming you wore high waist jeans with a black turtleneck sweater. The blue haired boy on the Korean team had giggled when he met you while all of the contestants waited to enter the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” He began through his laugh. There’s an accent in his English that causes the words to slur together almost sweetly, “you just look very French. Like how people imagine French girls to look.” You laughed along with him, glancing down at your outfit.

“You’re right, I do.” His laugh is soft and squeaky. You notice his cheeks turning pink, “It’s the turtleneck, I think.” He nods in agreement with you before the large metal doors to the studio swing open.

You’re concentrated while cooking, like always, but you can’t help that you hear slurred English and a squeaky laugh permeating the room.

*

“So I saw you talking to Lee Taeyong before we went in today.” Amelie pokes as you lounge on the bed of your shared hotel room. She’s in the bathroom, washing the day off her hands. 

“Is that the Korean boy?”

“Oui.” She sings, shutting of the faucet. You stare at the magazine page in front of you, eyes glazing over a bite size dome cake covered in edible flowers.

“Yea, he’s sweet. Charming.” She laughs as she enters your bedroom, tossing a different magazine onto your bed. You can’t read the text since it’s entirely in Korean, but you see Taeyong on the front; He’s smiling with an arm wrapped around a glass mixing bowl. His hair was pink in this photo, “What does it say?” Amilie shrugs, flipping a dark strand of hair over her shoulder.

“Son of five star chef to represent Korea in international bake off.” You pull your eyes from the picture to smirk at your friend.

“When did you learn to read Korean?” She swiftly flips her middle finger up at you, sticking out her tongue childishly.

“I ran it through a translator app.” She answers, snatching the magazine up from it’s place in front of you, “It’s weird though, right? He’s like basically a celebrity.” 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of cool. If we beat them we’ll get major bragging rights.” She laughs, thumbing through the foreign glossy pages.

“True that, Korea will definitely be our biggest competition.” Your eyes glaze over as she rambles on, the feeling his sweet laugh had left in your chest dying.

You become a different person when fueled by competition, it’s what made you top of your class in culinary school. You knew you couldn’t win if you were also trying to keep up someones opinion of you, or fantasizing about blue hair and kind eyes. Best to nip it in the bud before anything happened.

“Yea,” you creek out while nodding, “beating them would be tough.” A small smile cracks onto her lips.

“We can do it.” A lump takes form in your throat. Amelie doesn’t notice “I’m getting dinner with Antonio and Maria, from team Mexico? Are you coming along?” You nod, pushing yourself up from the bed. 

All night long your minds drifts helplessly to the smiling pink haired boy from the magazine cover.

* 

You’re melting chocolate over a stove top in an industrial hotel kitchen at three in the morning when you settle on the fact that it’s difficult to not pay attention to Taeyong. It’s not as if he’s needy for the attention like his teammate, Donghyuck, but he gets it anyways. When it’s not for his ridiculous, angel like, appearance, it’s for the sheer beauty and sophistication of his desserts. He utilizes both his own culture, modern techniques, and a certain rustic quality while still keeping a certain refinement about whatever goes on the plate. You don’t want to say that you’re jealous of him, you’re rarely jealous of anyone about anything, but watching him present his desserts every other day makes your chest swell with something ugly. He captures everything in a dessert, leaving everyone wishing for a taste.

It would be nice to say that you are indifferent towards him, but that’s clearly not true. You’ve always had somewhat of a competitive streak. On your first day of culinary school your teacher announced that the class would be making pastry dough the next day; “If you can’t make this... Why are you here?” He had stated gravely, staring you dead in the eyes. You were the only girl in the entire class.That night you spent hours making the dough, three batches of it. You made it until it was perfect, reveling in the sight of your teacher eating his words the next day. You loved to win, and you hated anyone that tried to keep it from you.

A part of you finds it sad that you can’t bring yourself to like him anymore, he’s so sweet. One day in the kitchen you notice his sky blue hair falling into his face in delicate curls, then proceed to kick yourself while beating the devil out of a bowl of egg whites. In every place where you are competitive, Taeyong is docile. You often wonder if he even notices that dish of the day is always between your teams. He always cheers whenever Team France is announced as the winner for the episode, it makes you feel like an ass.

You throw in the last bit of your chocolate and fruit zest, trying not to notice the way your hand trembles. As it melts into rest of the liquid the large steel door of the kitchen creeps open. You don’t pay much attention to it, the staff is far too familiar with finding you here by now.

“Oh,” That voice is definitely not a hotel cook. It’s low and warm, the vowel long and messy, “Y/N! I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine.” You interrupt quickly, turning around to see pastel blue hair and dewy skin, “I’m almost done, then you can have the kitchen all to yourself.” Taeyong is standing in front of you in plaid patterned pajama pants and tight black t-shirt with Korean writing across the front. When you return to your chocolate you can feel his deep brown eyes drilling a whole into your skull, He might actually be more tense now than he is in competition. 

“What are you making?” He’s peeking over your shoulder, watching intently as you measure out heavy cream.

“A dark chocolate ganache and raspberry tart.” You dump half a cup of cream into the bowl, a tuft of Taeyongs bedhead tickling the side of your face.

“I love raspberries, I haven’t used them much here.” You hum an answer, focusing on the bowl in front of you. A thick silence settles in the room, allowing you to work quietly how you always like. Taeyong can’t seem to leave well enough alone, “Congratulations by the way, about your dish today.”

The fact that he said that surprises you, so the “Thank you” muttered in response comes out as a question. He cocks his head at you from over the mixing bowl he’s begun working at.

“What? Did I say something incorrectly? I meant-”

“No! I understood you.” You wipe your hands on your apron, shoulders tensing, “It’s just... Well, I didn’t win. Why are you congratulating me, shouldn’t I say that to you?” His eyes soften. You want to throw something.

“Because you plated a beautiful dessert, one that you worked really hard on. I noticed, we... We all noticed. It’s not about winning.” You scoff, heat rising to your face.

“Of course it’s about winning! It’s always about winning.” His eyes grow even softer. It reminds you of the way your culinary teacher had looked at you; patronizing.

“That’s terribly sad.” You swiftly pull your hair into a ponytail, suddenly recalling the night you told your father that you were going to be a pastry chef, that instead of going to a traditional university you were going to culinary school. You remember the voice that used to sing you to sleep telling you he was disappointed. You remember how terrible every Christmas has been since then.

“It’s how it has to be.” You pick up your whisk and continue with the chocolate sludge.

“It doesn’t have to be-” Something inside of you snaps. In a whirlwind you turn around, whisk still in hand. The chocolate mixture flies across the kitchen, a dollop landing in Taeyongs sky blue hair.

“Some of us don’t have daddy’s five star restaurant to fall back on if they lose. Some of us have nothing to fall back on if we lose. Nothing. So don’t stand there and act like it’s not about winning, because while that may be true for you it’s not true for me.” Hot tears are welling in your eyes. You decide right then that your worst trait is the fact that you cry while angry.

“Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Yea, no. It’s whatever.” Your face is burning as you turn back to the mixing bowl. You want to leave, “You know what, the ganache split so I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

“Y/N wait-” You dump the half finished ganache down the sink, tears now pouring freely down your cheeks. Your throat is so tight that it’s a miracle you haven’t choked yet. 

“Goodnight Taeyong, I’ll see you in two days.” You take long strides to the exit, stopping as your hand comes to rest on the door handle, “By the way, congratulations.” 

*

“Y/N,

I suppose I should start with an apology. It was never my intention to offend you, but that’s the thing about offending people. You never mean to do it.

So; I am sorry. Sorry for forgetting how privileged I am in this sense, sorry for interrupting your midnight baking, inexplicably sorry for making you cry. And for your lovely ganache getting caught in the crossfire. You were just trying to have an escape and I came in and rained all over your parade. I feel like an absolute poop.   

I think you are a ridiculously skilled cook. I genuinely envy how you breathe life into traditional, stuffy desserts. Last night was the first time I drooled over a plain chocolate ganache in ages, where did you get the idea to put orange zest in it? Absolute genius, I’m honestly rooting for you.

That being said, I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I will respect your decision, but I do hope you want to speak again. I’ve always wanted to work with French cook.

Either way, I hope you will accept these tokens of my apology. I doubt mine are as good as yours would’ve been, but I do hope you enjoy these raspberry and white chocolate tarts. (There’s a bit of matcha in the ganache; I drew inspiration from the finest.)

Truly, apologetically, sincerely, Taeyong.”

*

You manage to avoid the kitchen again for a week. It’s a week filled with ignoring sad smiles from Taeyong. He thinks you don’t notice the big starry eyes that are constantly staring holes in your skin, but it’s impossible not to notice. The gaze isn’t even necessarily sad, or apologetic, just... Longing. It makes you want to die; the thought of facing him makes you want to die. Which is why solitary midnight cooking was out of the question, no matter how erratically your heart thumps after winning dish of the day, or how long you stare at the stark ceiling of your hotel bedroom. The thought of even going back to the kitchen and possibly running into the sweet boy is so daunting that it makes you feel sick.

You’re determined not to give in, until you find yourself hurriedly pulling on pajama pants and socks while laying in bed after a particularly long day. Glancing at the alarm clock, you think to yourself that he’s probably not even there. He’s probably tired after such a long day of filming. You’ll be fine.

*

You were wrong. Taeyong is already in the kitchen; head bent over a        saucepan simmering on the stove. The entire kitchen smells painstakingly of key lime pie. 

He doesn’t even notice that you’re there until you get two bowls from the island and begin separating eggs. When he looks up he turns red, offers a meek smile, then returns to the stove top. 

In the next hour you find yourself watching the way he cooks, admiring how his shoulders release tension every time he scrapes the edges of his pan. His hands skate across everything he touches, his breaths come out in long bursts. You almost think of writing a book based on his mannerisms.

Neither of you say anything until he turns to the counter top where you’re working, pouring a translucent mixture (presumably lime curd) through a sieve and into a bowl. You turn to the counter behind you, clicking a mixing bowl into the kitchen aid and turning on. As it whips your eggs and vanilla a deep sigh wrecks through your chest. Your palms firmly plant into the white counter top, you allow the contact to be grounding.

“It was my mom.” You finally say, bringing one hand up to wipe the tension from your forehead. He let’s out a confused mumble, shuffling from his spot at the island.

“What?” You turn around to face him, being greeted immediately with a furrowed brow and noticeably tired eyes.

“My mom, she’s where I got the idea for orange in the chocolate ganache. It was always her favorite flavor combination. I make it that way when I’m homesick. For her, or for... For childhood, I guess.” He stays silent, elegant hands throwing the lime curd into the refrigerator, “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s just a sensitive subject, I get defensive when someone comes close to knowing how much I actually need. A-and then there’s you. You’re so talented, and hard working, and kind, and you don’t... You don’t fight like I do, but you still succeed. It reminds me of the boys that I went to school with, but you make it so damn hard to be upset with-” “Y/N, it’s okay. I was rude to you, you don’t have to explain yourself. Not to me or anyone.” You shake your head, guilt settling into your gut. 

“Yes, I do. Even if you had been a dick, which you really weren’t, it doesn’t give me a right to yell at you. Or call you spoiled, or guilt you-”

“Why do you care so much?” A smile plays at his lips, you notice quickly that they’re not as thin as you previously thought. More puffy than anything, like a dolls.

“Because you work so hard!” The words spill out of you like air, flush rising to your cheeks, “And it’s unfair of me to assume that you do have something to fall back on, and I shouldn’t lose my temper, and... And... And I’d really like to be your friend?” The smile on his face intensifies, yet his eyes become even softer. You try not to let them tear you apart. 

“Oh... Um, then you’re forgiven. You never had to apologize in the first place.” He giggles, hands diligently returning to his work, “Did you enjoy the tarts?” You exhale a laugh, remembering the sweet note that you read over and over while sitting on your bathroom floor.

“I did! Actually, I hid the second one from Amelie. It was too good.” For the rest of the night you treasure how he giggles at all of your bitter quips. You two dance around the kitchen and talk for hours, time slipping into early morning. He tells you about what it’s like to grow up in a restaurant, whining on about never having junk food at home.

(“Wow,” You had laughed while shoving cream into a piping bag, “I’m jealous.” He playfully rolled his eyes, carefully layering lime curd and lemon sponge cake with pistachio honey ice cream.

“It’s nice. Sometimes I just want normal food, though” You had properly laughed, beige coffee cream splattering onto your hand, “I’m serious! I’d come home from school and ask for a snack and my dad would hand me something with eyes!” Your head arched backwards, laughter settling comfortably in the room.

“Aw, I’ll make you an after school snack Yongie.” He had cut his eyes to you, putting on a proper mischievous grin.

“Like what, crepes?” Your cheeks had gone pink, hands frozen as a laugh bubbled in your chest.

“... Yes?” A laugh ripped through him, all squeaky and warm.

“That’s hardly junk food.” He wheezed, words slurred together in sleepiness.

“I’m French, leave me alone.”)

When you finally get to taste a bite of his creation it’s via him spoon feeding it to you while you pipe chocolate buttercream flowers onto an opera cake. It’s wonderful; the citrus flavors making your lips pucker while pistachio and honey danced smoothly across your tongue. You barely even register the moan you let out as you savor every flavor on the spoon. 

“Taeyong,” you whine, swallowing the bite of heaven, “You need to make thousands of those. And give me at least ten, it’s amazing.” He flushes red, taking a bite from his own spoon. He smiles around the spoon, another warm laugh starting in the base of his throat.

“It is pretty good, but I’m ready to try yours!” You roll your eyes and smile, carefully placing the plate in front of him.

“Bon appétit!”  

*

“Taeyong,

The way that you so effortlessly execute flavors that have made me cry in my kitchen at 3am (no, I am not speaking from experience!) infuriates amazes me. I would have literally given a leg to try your desert today, who even thinks to make wasabi mousse? Like, ever? I’d love to live in your head for a day. 

This is nowhere near as innovative as anything you’ve made, but it is a classic. You’ve told me you like French classics.

I sincerely hope you enjoy: The Madeline. Don’t ask why they’re shaped like shells, it has to do with pilgrims. I can tell you at our next baking session:)

(Slightly) jealous, Y/N”

* 

“It was a what?” Taeyong questioned, a warm laugh bubbling in his throat.

“An emblem of Saint James.” You were separating edible flowers with a set of tweezers as Taeyong made batter for a green tea cake. Lately you had started working on desserts together, then debating once you were done if you should leave them at the doors of the judges hotel rooms. 

(“Oh my gosh, Taeyong please!” You had whined the first time he suggested it, giggling around your mouthful of chocolate.

“I was kidding! A joke! Haha, laugh, funny!” He answered, words spilling out like he was a wine glass someone knocked over. A large smile broke across his panicked face as you rambled on.

“Come on Yong, I could write a dessert ransom note and everything!” He clapped his hands, fork clattering to the counter as he trembled in laughter.)

“Would they just wear like... A shell? A straight up sea shell?” You laugh again, looking to his furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes catch briefly on the small scar on the right side of his face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It’s weird when you notice something that reminds you that he’s a human, it’s often easy to forget.

“I’m not really sure, maybe?” He tied his apron in a neat bow, nodding along with your answer.

“Well, I loved the cookies so much I’m about ready to go make myself a seashell emblem. I’ll make it a pin and wear it every time I’m in a suit.” His voice is muddled with sleep, low and warm. It reminds you of when you snuck out of your house as a teenager to go to a bonfire on the beach; the way that the fire grumbled on as the waves crashed softly. He has a lovely voice, you think.

“And how often do you wear a suit?” You quip, causing him to poke his tongue out at you.

“Every. Night. When I eat at my fathers restaurant.” He put on a posh British accent, pulling an I take myself way too seriously face while splaying a hand across his chest. You laughed so hard that you damn near snorted.

“Okay, Draco Malfoy!” You manage once you can finally breathe again, “We can make seashell pins when you come visit me in France.” The room settles, something friendly seeping into the kitchen tiles.

“You want me to come visit you in France?” He’s smirking, yet his eyes are inexplicably soft. They’re so shimmery that you almost think he’s going to cry.

“Of course I do! How else am I going to stuff you with sweets?” You want to keep joking, but he’s staring at you in a way that makes your heart hurt. You’re not stupid, you know what this is. Heat is rising to your cheeks, your palms are sweating, the two of you are staring at each other like someone is speaking gibberish. You’re stuck between feeling guilty and never wanting this to stop.

(‘Korea will definitely be our biggest competition.’)

In an instant you sink your eyes to the flowers on the counter, taking to organizing them by color. The air you breathe in feels heavy.

“Well,” He breathes out, wiping his hands on his apron. He hadn’t even touched anything since putting on, “you might just have to come visit me in Korea.” He smiles to you, a smile that could calm storms. You say nothing, allowing the butterflies settled in the pit of your stomach to flap their wings freely.

*

“Dear Y/N, 

I’ll have to ask you to forgive me if this is too forward, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you mentioned France. Is that silly? I haven’t thought much about leaving here, about talking to people when I do leave here. I’ve kept brief contact with Johnny since the American team left, but I wasn’t sure of what you’d want. We don’t really talk outside of cooking together, but I cherish your friendship so much. 

I never had many friends while growing up. Even now, I’m only really friends with Donghyuck (and he’s annoying!) You’re the first person that’s let me be silly, let me enjoy my craft, reminded me of my privilege. It feels like everyone is so scared to say anything to me, but the second time I talked to you you scolded me! You're like a force of nature, and not in a ‘gentle breeze’ kind of way. 

I was honestly a little bit worried that you would never talk to me again once we left here. Clearly, I’m glad that’s not your intention. 

Anyways, I think I’ve rambled on long enough now. I hope you enjoy Hotteok; it’s basically a pancake stuffed with cinnamon, brown sugar, and peanuts. 

Sincerely, happily, Taeyong.” 

*

The next time you enter the hotel kitchen past midnight you’re slightly tipsy and finding it nearly impossible to not tackle Taeyong (or anyone, for that matter) into a bear hug. The crew had just finished the third to last day of filming, which meant it was down to the final three teams. Mexico, France, and Korea.

Naturally, Amelie wanted to get smashed. Her and team Mexico were actually still getting smashed in the lobby along with Donghyuck. You had nursed one gigantic glass of wine for the whole duration of your presence, feeling solemn without your sweet friend. When you started blowing bubbles into your glass while slumped in a big leather chair, Donghyuck rolled his eyes while reluctantly leaning over to you.

(“You know he’s waiting for you in the kitchen.” Your had eyes widened, a smile spreading across your face like an infection. Donghyuck had laughed so hard at you that he snorted, slapping your knee while he doubled over in laughter.)

“Hi.” You say now, head spinning. Taeyong grins at you, leaning against the white counter top, “W-why weren’t you downstairs?” He shook his head, blue strands of hair bouncing with the movement.

“I’m not feeling up to it. I was going to make something, but I don’t know what. Like... I think I’m having a mental block.” His knee is bouncing as his knuckles rap against the cutting board. Before you really know what’s happening you’re standing next to Taeyong, shoulders bumping together. He exhales a laugh, looking at you through a set of long eyelashes.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out unbelievably calm considering how much wine you had slurped down. Taeyong digs the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning then inhaling sharply. 

“Just surprised to be here. Final three, I mean. It’s a lot of pressure.” It’s clear that there’s something he’s not telling you, his words falling flat.

“Tell me what’s actually wrong.” He smiles sweetly, it feels like you’ve done this with him thousands of times

“It’s nothing, I’m just having a block. That’s all.” It’s clear that he’s still only telling half of the truth, but you decide to leave him be. Instead you move to the cabinet under the island, pulling out a steel mixing bowl, “What are we making?”

“I am making a family recipe, you are keeping me company.” He laughs, a smile fixing comfortably onto his face. You can almost feel a bubble form around the moment as he pushes himself up to sit on the white counter top.

“I think I can handle that.” He kept his promise. The next two hours were filled with soft, tinkling laughter, and quiet conversation. He keeps his voice as low as whispers, a rasp seeping in through the edges of his words. He asks what you’ll do when he comes to France, it makes your heart skip a beat.

(“Well,” You began, voice shaking, “obviously we have to go to the beach. It’s like eight minutes from my house, and we’ll go to a proper French bakery. Not the one where I work though, that’s gross.” He had chuckled, the same laugh you remember from the first day of filming showing up again.

“Unless you win.” He adds, eyes asking a question, “Then we’ll be at your own bakery, everyday.” Your heart had soared at the idea, hopes stacking themselves far too high. The warmth that rises in your chest at the thought of Taeyong sitting with you in a space that is your own, piecing together a creation through shared anecdotes and pitchy laughter makes you almost drop your whisk. The thought of making something with him in a place where you are just you and he is just him had always felt like an unobtainable fantasy, but you had realized then just how close it was to being reality. In a week you both would be back in your own kitchens, the high stress of this competition replaced with idle everyday life.)

“Here you are!” You announce, placing a baking tray filled with perfect white circles in front of him, “My personal favorite, lemon meringues.” He immediately pries one from the sheet, moaning as the soft shell dissolves in his mouth.

“You outdo yourself every time.” He says, reaching for another one, “I’m going to weigh a thousand pounds when I leave France.” You giggle, grabbing one from the sheet and popping it into your mouth.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you start after swallowing, “not everyone’s as good as me.” He chuckles lowly, grabbing a third sweet.

“I’m sure.” A comfortable silence settles between you two, Taeyong eating nearly four more before he speaks again, “Y/N?”

“Yes?” His voice had been so soft, you were surprised you even heard him.

“How badly do you need this win.” His disposition shifted to one of quiet determination, steely eyes tracking your own.

“Pretty badly. I’ll be able to get by without it, I still have my job thankfully. It’ll just be a while until I can really do what I want. The bakery we work at is nice, but it’s clearly meant for tourists. Winning this means I could actually make what I like, even the gross stuff that you only order if you’re French.” He smiles as you bite into another petite meringue, “Without it I’ll probably be stuck in a baked goods assembly line for two more years, hopefully by then I’ll have enough to buy my own shop.”

“That’s so messed up.” He sighs, voice tired, “You’re the most talented chef I’ve met; more than that, even. The most hardworking. I hate that this all depends on hopefully. You deserve more than hopefully” He looks genuinely upset, pouting from his perch on the counter. You’ve lived with hopefully for so long that the idea isn’t disappointing anymore.

“I’m sure everyone has their own sob story of why they need it.” He shakes his head, a hand clamping the back of his neck.

“I don’t. If I lose, Donghyuck and I will return home to jobs where we make and design desserts for the best restaurant in Seoul. We need it the least, yet we’re one of the last teams here.” It’s hard to tell where he’s going with this, but it’s clear to you that he feels guilty.

“I mean yea, but don’t you want something for yourself?” He looks you dead in the eyes, gaze making you feel small in an unfamiliar way.

“Not if it means you have to keep doing less than what you love.” The words settle heavy like an accusation.

“W-what are you trying to say? If you’re trying to say what I think you are then-” He rests one of his hands onto your shoulder, teeth worrying his lower lip.

“What if I drop out? I’ll never forgive myself if I keep you from what you’re meant to do while I live comfortably.” You shake your head, bringing a hand to cover his own.

“You’re not keeping me from what’s meant to be! What’s meant to be is, and what’s meant to be is you and me head to head in the finale. You’re not throwing away the chance of a lifetime just to preserve feelings.” You don’t remember when you gripped the front of his shirt, or when the hand that had steadied your shoulder snaked around your waist. His breath was fanning across your cheeks, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Are you sure?” Taeyong is almost two inches taller than you, it had never been evident until now. He borderline towers over you, keeping eye contact through drooping eyelids.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to win because I deserve it, so don’t you dare go easy on me either!” He laughs as you jab a finger into his chest, grabbing your finger with his hand. He slowly laces your fingers together, quickly adverting his eyes to the floor.

“You’re so ridiculous, you know that? I gave you a free shot at winning and you turned it down.” You laugh, ruffling his pale blue hair.

“You’ll understand how it feels to win something and know you’ve earned it.” 

“Don’t say that.” His pout returns, reminding you of the dog you got for your sixth christmas. 

“You said it earlier!” 

“That was different! I said unless!” You giggle at his defensive response, heart soaring as high as the clouds. 

“Whatever.” He was swaying slowly, your body moving with his. You weren’t too sure when that had happened. Similarly to how you weren’t sure when your hand had found a home on his shoulder, or when he had started humming a sweet lullaby. You were, however, sure of the way he was looking at you. It was the way your parents looked at each other while drinking wine on the terrace of your childhood home. 

As if all the stars were hung in your eyes, and he was endlessly searching for constellations.

*

“Dear Taeyong,

It’s official, final two! I’d hoped it would end like this, try to remember me in your next life. You know, after I kill it tomorrow;)

Just kidding mostly! I’m excited to see what you make, and for you to spoon feed it to me when you get to France. You have to keep in contact with me once we’re home! Texts and emails will suffice, but I think I’d like to keep up our letters. It’s nice to have a physical thing that shows how much you care, I’ve never had that before. I don’t think many people really have. Since I’ll be home, I can even send you real French junk food and not just crepes!

Sorry for the lack of sweets this time around, as you can imagine I’m just a little busy. I promise I’ll make up for it when you visit me! 

After tomorrow, it’ll be so long until we actually see each other again:( How will you survive without me?

I’m gonna miss your dorky self, (Y/N)”

*

Losing doesn’t hurt as badly as you had anticipated. When Taeyong and Donghyuck had been announced Amelie had turned to you, eyes sad.

(“We came so far.” Her hand rubbed a circle on your tense shoulders, a knot releasing in your throat.

“We did.” You look to her, offering a watery smile, “I’m proud.” She had nodded, swallowing tightly.

“Me too.” Her mood was... Uplifted by now, to say the least. She was curled on a couch in the corner of the after party, sipping on champagne and clinging to Antonio of Mexico’s arm. It turns out you weren’t the only one who had taken a liking to competition.)

The party was stuffed into your hotels ballroom, which had been decorated with black and gold bunting on anything that would sit still. Everyone was embellished in cocktail dresses and suits, drinks flowing freely from the bar into manicured hands. You were currently sipping on an apple martini (read: trying to lick the cinnamon and sugar from the rim of your glass) while team Americas Johnny laughed incredulously at you.

“You know, you’re kind of hilarious when you don’t have that whole ‘get in my way and I’ll bite your head off’ thing going on. Though the dress definitely adds to that. ” You rolled your eyes, swallowing a mouthful of gritty cinnamon and smoothing the silk of your short red dress. You had downed about four decorative drinks, allowing every one to think that you were drinking away your sorrows. It wasn’t quite true, but there’s no harm in letting people assume.

The truth was, you were doing absolutely anything to distract yourself from the fact that you hadn’t seen so much as blue shock of hair all night long. Apparently, you weren’t the only person that wanted to speak to Taeyong at his victory party. It’s not like you were expecting to have the whole night with him, but you were hoping for at least a minute alone. It would be terribly depressing if the last time you saw him for months was while soothing tears from your best friends eyes.

“I know, right?” You take a deep swig of your martini, successfully topping off the fifth drink of the night, “You were all too scared of me to realize my real potential. Nice and hot.” Johnny bites on another laugh, a brown strand of hair sweeping into his eyes. 

“I guess so.” He takes a long sip from his drink, swallowing with a sour face, “Taeyong was never scared of you, though.” You exhale a short laugh, lip still toying with the rim of your empty glass.

“Really?” He leans into his black chair, rubbing a hand over his face while exhaling sharply.

“Yea, he just talks about how skilled you are. He never viewed you as competition, just a sweet girl to learn from.” You try to suppress the pink rising to your cheeks, which is not easy considering all the drinks you’ve downed.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all, sounds just like Taeyong.”

“It really does.” He casts you a mischievous glance, lips quirking, “ You know, he would also always talk about how pr-” 

The boy is cut off by a low voice shouting something in Korean. Even if it weren’t for the hand snaking around your waist, or the blue hair that tickles your cheek, you would know immediately that it was Taeyong. Hearing him speak small Korean phrases had been one of your favorite parts of midnight baking.

(Had been, had been, had been)

“Johnny! So good to see you not embarrassing me! Mind if I steal (Y/N) for a minute? Nope, okay thank you” In a flurry he grabs you by the wrist, dashing to the exit while towing you behind.

“Taeyong!” You shout, laughs ripping through your chest, “Taeyong! Slow down, where are we going?” He laughs, warm and squeaky as always, refusing to let up.

“Just follow me, come on!” He whips you two around a corner, grip tight and relentless. At this point you’ve taken a form similar to that of a rag doll, Taeyong dragging you along.

“I’m trying!” You snort while dashing through the lobby, wrist almost ripping from Taeyongs hand, “It’s kind of hard to run in heels!”

“OH MY GOD! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize!” 

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?! It hurts!” Your whining only makes Taeyong laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Come on, we’re almost there.” He drags you straight through the lobby, into the kitchen bustling with caterers, and finally through a tall glass door leading outside.

“The pool?” you question, pulling off the clasp of your thin black heels, “I didn’t think it was open this long.” He’s clambering to a lounge chair, grasping his heaving chest.

“It’s not, that’s why we took the employees entrance.” You nod, rubbing the raging blister forming on your ankle.

“And the running?” He looks up at you from his spot on the chair, eyes glimmering.

“I didn’t want anyone to follow us?” You deadpan, dropping your shoes.

“Oh, you are a dead man!” You lunge at him with the small bit of energy left in you, immediately ghosting your fingers over his ribs. One thing you had learned from Taeyongs countless childhood anecdotes, was that he was ticklish to a (nearly dangerous) fault.

“Stop, stop!” He cries, writhing under your fingers, “I’m sorry! I’ll feed you!” The shrieks are muddled with squeaks and snorts as he grasps desperately at your wandering fingertips. Hot tears stream down his face while he jumps to his feet, placing your hands in an iron grip.

You find yourself in the same position as your last baking session, bodies pressed together like there’s no space left in the world. He giggles at the sight of you wiggling your hands, trying desperately to break them free.

“Taeyongie, I’m done! Promise.” His makes a short tsk tsk with his tongue, pulling you even closer.

“Im sorry (Y/N), you’ve broken my trust! I’ll never lo- Be happy again!” Despite the claims, he lets go of your hands. They immediately rest on his shoulders, one of his own hands poking a piece of hair behind your ear. With your limbs entangled, you chat idly for at least half an hour. It feels almost like you’re drinking up the final drops of him, heart growing heavy every single time he mentions Korea.

“How badly are you going to miss me?” You ask, eyes glimmering playfully. He laughs, thumb rubbing a circle on your cheek where his hand is still rested.

“More than I miss kimchi right now. You are the highlight of my day, every single day, and I have no idea how I’m going to cope without you.” The words are punctuated with a pout. You can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, maybe the strict stare of moonlight. Perhaps the breeze that grazes your thighs, or the heavy weight of Taeyongs beautiful hands holding you as though you’re something precious, but fat tears start to well in your eyes. As soon as Taeyong notices he becomes panicked, dropping his hand from your face, “What’s wrong? Did I say something?” Tears start to fall, your chest clenching so tightly that you have to gasp for air.

“No, no. It’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught in the gel. It sticks up in every direction, like he’s been struck by lightning. If it weren’t for the tears in your eyes you would’ve laughed.

“You hate me now don’t you? I’m sorry, I wanted you to win. I thought you were!” 

“What?” You blubber, Taeyongs chest starting to heave.

“I’ll give you my share of the earnings!”

“Oh goodness, don’t be an idiot!” You move a hand from his shoulder to wipe away a blackened tear, “That’s not w-why I’m crying.” Your lip quivers, rather pathetically. Taeyongs eyes are frantic, like he’s trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. He wants to fix it, you don’t know if he can.

“Oh... Um, then why are you crying?” His sweet voice combined with the way he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows makes you cry even harder, wet sobs wrecking through your chest. He says nothing, simply pulling you into a bone crushing hug. If it weren’t for your already subpar air supply he would’ve squeezed the breath out of you. 

“I just don’t want to leave!” You eventually force out, words bouncing around, “You make me s-such a nice person, I’m literally unbearable when I don’t have someone reminding me to be kind. A-and I don’t want us to not talk again, like I know you’re coming to France and all of that but I want t-to see you before then. I-i don’t want to not s-see you Taeyong, a-and I don’t want you t-to forget me a-” He swiftly brings a hand to the back of your neck, wrapping his long fingers around the curve.

“(Y/N), I will never forget you. Even if we didn’t talk for thousands of years, I will never ever forget you.”

“That’s what everyone says.” You look up as he sighs, coffee brown eyes flicking swiftly to your quivering lips.

“I’m not everyone.” He wipes away a tear, eyes gluing themselves to your lips, “I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?” The words don’t fully process, your brain still rambling from where your mouth was cut short.

“I don’t think you want to, I was just-” He drags you in from the waist with his free hand, heavy breaths hitting your wet cheeks.

“(Y/N)?” He’s taken on the same determined look he had earlier today in the kitchen, like he’s going to settle something.

“Yes?” Your voice comes out small, barely a whisper.

“I want to.” You don’t register nodding, or closing your watery eyes. The only things that exists within the next ten minutes are Taeyongs lips and yours. 

He tastes intoxicating, like expensive red wine and homemade pastry. Taeyong is not a selfish person, and this kiss is no different. He’s going out of his way to make you feel safe, fighting against any needy instinct.

You wrap your hands around his neck, thumbing his jaw while trying to say ‘it’s okay’. When he pulls away your chests are heaving, lips aching for him to come back.

“Should we get back?” He asks, breathless. His lips are puffy, you swipe over them with your thumb just because you can.

“Um, yea. Sure.” He nods, pulling his hands away to straighten his blazer.

“Okay, alright. But first, this.” He presses a matter of fact kiss to your lips, your hands taking over and grasping him like he’s a necessity. They travel up and down his torso, pressing into crevices and dips. You’re trying to find which of his buttons to push, taking a mental note for later (the base of ribs. He turns into jelly when your thumb presses into that valley,) “You are handsy!” He giggles, linking together your arms and moving to the tall glass door.

Before you return to the party, you both flee into the bathroom to freshen up. He thought it might be inappropriate to return looking like he had just run a marathon. Or stung by a bee on the lips.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, curled hair now disheveled. Your cheeks are wet and stained black with flaky mascara, cupids bow shining. (Hopefully it’s not with snot.) 

In that moment, you are positive that Taeyong is in love with you. 

*

“Dear Taeyong,

“Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, Be calm – love me – today –yesterday – what tearful longings for you – you – you – my life – my all–farewell. Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved. Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.” - Beethoven to ‘Immortal Beloved’.

Ever yours, (Y/N)”

*

"Hurry up!” 

“I’m trying, let me park the car!” You’re dashing onto the hot sand of the beach, shoes hanging precariously from your fingers. Taeyong clambers from his rental car, toting along a wicker picnic basket and plaid blanket. The sun is setting over crashing waves, sea salt piercing the air. You firmly plant your feet into the shore, inhaling deeply while taking in the view.

It’s almost weird to have Taeyong here, watching him assimilate so perfectly into your world. When he had landed last night the very first thing he had said was ‘Hello my love, I’m so excited to see you’ in flawless French. You crushed him in a hug, smothering his tired face in kisses. Having him here felt right, like the fairy tale ending on the last page of a book.

“This is my favorite sight.” You sigh, Taeyong wrapping an arm around your waist. He presses a kiss to your cheek, squeezing tighter.

“Mine too.” You snap your head to meet his gaze, affirming that he was staring lovingly at your profile. A giggle bubbles in your throat while you turn in his arms to match the embrace.

“You’re so cheesy.” He laughs, wind whipping blue tufts of hair in every direction.

“That’s why you like me, now help me set this up.” 

When he finds perfectly circular lemon meringues at the top of the picnic basket  a wide grin spreads across his face, immediately reaching into small bag they’re packed in. It makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, you decide that’s your favorite thing about him.

“That’s not all.” You sing, reaching into the mesh bag. Resting at the bottom of the package are two petite seashells, gold pins hot glued to the back.

“Oh my gosh, you didn’t!” An innocent laugh slips through your lips at your sweet boyfriend and his childlike excitement. You nod, leaning forward on your knees to secure the pin into his shirt.

“I did, and we’ll have madelines tomorrow.” He hums, quickly pecking your lips, “I wouldn’t recommend doing that  while I’m handling a needle, you might get poked.” He giggles, leaning back on his hands.

“I’d get poked a thousand times if it meant I could kiss you once.” You roll your eyes, finally fastening the pin.

“You’re so drama-” He surges up, kissing you soft and slow. One of your hands cradles his neck, the other dropping to the base of his rib cage. He smells overwhelmingly of cinnamon and vanilla, the taste of lemon meringues heavy in his mouth. 

“What were you saying?” He questions, a smirk toying happily with his lips. Taking in the sight of your sweet boyfriend relaxed on his elbows, the wind pushing his hair while waves crash mere feet away from you, makes something beautiful bubble in your chest. If weren’t for your grumbling stomach, you would sit there and kiss him until the sun set again.   

“Oh, be quiet. I’m hungry.” You relax onto the blanket, Taeyongs hand traveling with you. It rests on your thigh, rubbing noxious circles. 

When he secures your seashell pin into your white button up top his hands are shaking, knuckles softly brushing your jaw. You cover his hand with yours, offering a comforting smile. He giggles bashfully, turning his head to the sea. You sneak a kiss onto his jaw, then to the high point of his cheekbone, then again to the tail of his eyebrow. Taeyong finally looks back to you, something warm emanating from his smile.

“I love you.” He exhales, eyes sparkling. It reminds you of when you used to bake together, the way he would shine every time you would manage to slip into friendly banter, or the time that you accidentally turned the mixer on high after putting in a huge batch of flour. You remember your first kiss, the way Taeyong held you like the world was ending. The way he asked if it was okay. 

“I love you too.”

You decide then and there that those two phrases, uttered while basking in sleepy sunshine, are the only things that matter.  

[harcourtholmesii]

Unintended Purpose (Part II)

Pairings: As Of Yet; Unknown

Warnings: - Swearing - Slavery (Whether Characters Realise It Or Not) - Mentions of Violence

Words: 2110

Enjoy!

The ride to breakfast was a strange one. ‘Connor’ had taken a seat in front, staring ahead and with back ramrod straight. Hank had been worried the thing had broken the moment they had entered the car, but he was relieved to see it turn its head as he switched on his music.

 In the backseat, Cole was excitedly asking about what working as a police officer was like, and even if the android was about to answer, Cole was quick to ask something else. Hank watched the android with some suspicion, a little frustrated that it had not even attempted to answer Cole’s questions or humour the kid even a little. He had to keep reminding himself that this was not your standard model. Fucking thing probably didn’t understand the concept of ‘small talk’.

 Hank pulled up to Chicken Feed, Cole dashing out of the car with a wave at ‘Connor’, barely waiting for Hank to stretch his legs. He turned, opening his mouth to order the android to stay behind, but decided against it when the damned thing didn’t even turn its head to acknowledge him. It reminded him of some pompous blue blood from the higher ranks in the force; some cock-sure asshole who ordered officers around from the safety of his desk.

 He met Cole by the food truck, lifting him up so that he might have a proper view of the menu. Gary was a close acquaintance, always willing to shirk some dollars off the bill in return for Hank not taking him in. Not that Hank would. The Chicken Feed truck served only the best burgers in Detroit, and he wasn’t going to let the police force take it away.

 With their food in greasy paper bags, Cole and Hank returned to the car. And to ‘Connor’. It confused Hank why, of all times, did the android wait until they had left to turn its head and acknowledge them. Warm, brown eyes peered at the bags in their hands, and for a moment, the LED blinked a bright yellow.

 As they took a seat in the car, ‘Connor’ finally spoke.

 ‘Lieutenant.’ Hank nearly jumped in his seat, glaring at the android beside him. How the fuck did he know about his rank? ‘I would not recommend eating what food you have purchased. The food has been prepared in an unsanitary environment, as the owner, Gary Keyes, has a criminal record of violating hygiene regulations.’

 Hank just stared.

 Cole just gaped.

 ‘The food may not be toxic to the human body, but the calories are twice the amount recommended for a man of your age, and may cause indigestion for Cole Anderson. I understand that you have a history of minor egg allergy, suggesting that you may have passed the condition onto your son. The condiment, mayonnaise, has egg as its base ingredient, and may cause illness if either of you should ingest it.’

 ‘Connor’ reached across and grabbed the paper bags from Hank’s hands, the man too stunned to say anything. The android returned them just as quickly, running leftover grease from the bags between his fingers and licking it from his synthetic skin. Hank felt a little sick.

 ‘It appears that Gary Keyes had been drinking before-hand. He has also left traces of blood in the grease from an open wound, presumably from a cut on his hands.’ The android’s mouth snapped shut, as it tilted its head to look at Hank, almost innocently. ‘Perhaps you should arrest Gary Keyes, as he is still operating the establishment without a license.’

 Silence.

 The android returned to peering straight ahead, Hank just completely astounded by what he had heard. Yes, he was familiar with the conditions the Chicken Feed worked with, but he never knew so much detail. In fact, he still didn’t understand how the Hell this fucking android knew half of what he did. He shouldn’t have access to those kind of files.

 Cole was suddenly pushing himself half into the front seat, babbling on at a hundred miles a minute.

 ‘How did you do that?! That was so cool! How did you know my dad works with the police?! Did you work with him?! Can you tell me about the criminals you busted?! Did you use a gun?! Can you do that again?! What do you know about me?! What do you know about Dad?!’

 ‘Cole!’

 Hank felt a little guilty when Cole shut his mouth, and slowly slipped back into the backseat. Hank would apologise later, but he just wanted to get the android’s attention and work out what the fuck had just happened.

 ‘Hey!’ No answer.

 ‘Connor!’ Those eyes turned onto him. They seemed so emotionless; cold. It unnerved Hank. He didn’t trust this thing. Not even a little bit, and normally Hank’s gut was pretty good to trust. ‘What the Hell did you just do?’

 ‘Are you referring to what I said, lieutenant?’

 ‘What else?’ The android tilted its head once more, seemingly confused by the response. ‘Yeah, what you said. What was that?’

 ‘I simply relayed to you the details of what I scanned of the premises and the staff. It is my duty as your assisting android to aid you in what ways I can; including preventing you from causing potential harm to yourself and your son, or potential endangerment of your career.’

 Hank couldn’t believe this. This fucking robot thought that a couple of burgers were practically poison and that ignoring this one man was going to get him fired from his job? That was rather insulting. Hank may no longer have been as popular or as young as he used to be; he had gotten a bit lazy as to who he would bother to bring in, but that didn’t mean he was about to get fired over something minor.

 ‘Do you scan everyone you see?’

 ‘Of course. If there is the potential that someone is a threat to you or your son, lieutenant, I must be ready to act. If I fail to search for threats and you are placed into danger, I will have failed my purpose, once again.’

 Hank had forgotten about that. If the thing was human, he wouldn’t have been surprised if failure scared it. A human failing once was not often the end of the world. Normally it meant something minor, such as answering a question on a test incorrectly, or mistaking how many steps in an apartment stairwell, causing them to trip. But for an android, failure often meant deactivation, and being torn down for parts.

 ‘Can you scan me?’ Cole asked, peering up at ‘Connor’.

 ‘I already have. If you wish me to relay to you what data I found; you are nursing a slight limp in your left leg. Still recovering from a minor shock and minding what pain is there. Perhaps you tripped. Your hands have traces of isopropyl alcohol, and minor stains to your fingernails would suggest you were using a colouring book, specifically, a paper-back book. Fine hairs on your clothes, primarily white, bare the DNA samples of a St Bernard, and from the wear on your trousers, one that is small and excitable. A puppy.’

 Holy shit.

 ‘I am correct?’ It sounded more like a statement than a question, but Hank nodded slowly all the same. Instead of bursting into another round of uncontrollable questions, Cole simply sat there, mouth agape as Hank pulled off the curb.

 The drive was a slow one, almost drawn out by the silence in the vehicle. Hank really wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, this android was far more advanced than the ones that worked at the precinct; able to gather such in-depth information with a single glance. It was beyond impressive, and Hank would have given most anything to have that power.

 On the other hand, he was pissed. The android hadn’t spoken a word since he introduced himself and then he was suddenly telling Hank that he was putting his son in danger?! Well, whilst it had not been specifically stated, it seemed implied. Could androids even imply things? Either way, Hank wasn’t sure how he felt about an android being able to ‘scan’ Cole or himself.

 When they finally pulled onto Michigan Drive and then up the driveway, Cole rushed out of the car and practically pulled Connor out with him. Silence broken, he started babbling like mad about how ‘mom’s gonna love you’. Hank doubted it.

 Entering into the house, Hank was thankful for the smell of crispy bacon and the sweeter scent of pancakes. He hurriedly tossed out the paper bags full of burgers, and let Cole run over to the kitchen to greet Renee. Cole practically dragged her out by the hem of her skirt, until she was facing Hank. And ‘Connor’.

 ‘H-Hank…’ Oh, fuck. He knew that tone. It was one of some disappointment. ‘W-What’s this?’ She crossed her arms, indignant at the sight of their new android. Before Hank could answer, ‘Connor’ had stepped forward.

 ‘Renee Anderson née Tuppens. I’m the RK800 android as made by CyberLife. Intended purpose; a failure. New purpose; home assistance. May my work be satisfactory to you.’

 One dark brow arched, red lips pursing as she all but glared at ‘Connor’. Her lips stretched to accommodate a strained smile as she gestured Cole to the kitchen table and then took a step forward, around ‘Connor’ and over to Hank.

 ‘It’s ‘intended purpose’? And what exactly was that?’ Hank should have known she would latch onto that. It was why he had hoped to speak first. Perhaps, knowing from him that the android was once a police detective, she would have considered it another layer of protection, or some shit. But then the idiot bucket of bolts had to open its mouth.

 ‘It… It was a police android.’

 ‘A police detective; a prototype for the new RK900 models due for release in December.’

 ‘Oh?’ Renee turned her angered gaze onto ‘Connor’, and Hank cringed for him. ‘And, how exactly did you fail your original purpose?’

 Hank, admittedly, was just as curious. But he didn’t want it to become another argument between himself and Renee. The last thing he wanted was for her to stress for Cole’s safety because the android had failed some multiple choice quiz.

 Both pairs of eyes on ‘Connor’ took notice of how the LED ring lit up almost immediately neon yellow, and then briefly flashed red. Hank knew that was never a good sign. He raised one hand to rest it on Renee’s arm as if to pull her behind him. Of course, she just shrugged it off, too pissed to care.

 Sumo, though excited to greet them at first, had slunk away, and was hiding beneath the kitchen table and Cole’s dangling feet. Cole was watching the confrontation, mouth half stuffed with pancakes looking between the three of them.

 ‘How did you fail your original programming?’ Hank asked, resting one hand over his jacket where his holster would have been.

 A moment of silence.

 ‘It was my first mission; I was supposed to capture a deviant android for questioning and eventual deactivation.’ Hank knew about deviants; very few people didn’t. Androids that ‘broke the bonds of their masters’, or just ‘completely snapped’. Most deviants turned violent, triggered by something that would be traumatic for a human, and sometimes killed their owners.

 ‘I found them. However, I made a mistake when I confronted them.’ Deviants were often unpredictable, and had the power to turn the tables of a confrontation or the ability to blend in once the LED was removed. Perhaps, an android that was not turned deviant would struggle to predict most courses of action, even one as advanced as ‘Connor’.

 ‘There had been a human officer that was injured in the crossfire. Though the deviants were incapacitated and eventually destroyed, it was determined that it was a miscalculation on my part.’ Hank didn’t like where this was going. Suddenly, Renee was clinging tightly to his arm, when before she had been so willing to ignore it.

 ‘I had shot him in the shoulder. He was in critical condition when they shut me down to be wiped of my programming.’

 ‘Oh my God.’

 ‘I do not know if I killed him. But I did cause him damage, and as an android, I was fortunate not to be scrapped immediately.’

 The LED was bright red.

 ‘Thank you for allowing me into your home.’ By the way Renee’s fingers tightened, and how her nails dug into his skin even through the jacket, Hank knew he had fucked up.

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 16

Warnings: Language.

We parted ways in the café parking lot, only for a brief hour or so, giving me just enough time to swing by my building to swap into the proper apparel, and shove some small essentials into a ratty gym bag from high school.  I was whispering regretful murmurs to myself as I pulled into the lot of Temple Fitness.  I draped the bag over my shoulder, water bottle in hand, and hesitated towards the main entry. It was a newer structure, but it’s reputation of cleanliness, a well-stocked weight room, and a staff equipped to provide nearly any fitness services on the market had flourished by word of mouth throughout the tristate. The atmosphere of this establishment leaned way more pristine than the damp, mildewed basement ambiance at Mac’s place. Skylights haloed the front lobby with welcomed July sunlight, and I heard the whine of a juice machine in the corner where I turned to discover a small juice bar. Teal round arm sofas lined walls down each side, and what I would assume were artificial potted plants were carefully arranged about. Clearly, this place had a woman’s touch.  

“Hey Elliott, you showed,” I heard the familiar voice of the very person who had suckered me into this plan. “C’mon, I wanna introduce you to a few people.” 

She motioned me to follow, and we marched down a narrow, quiet hall that eventually opened up revealing what seemed to be a training room of some sort in the back of the building. There were a couple guys going through the motions of what my very amateur opinion would’ve gathered to be Muay Thai, or perhaps Jui Jitsu? I was clueless in that moment, but something told me by the time Tia and her crew were done with me, I’d be able to effortlessly distinguish the difference between the two, along with most likely being able to demonstrate them as well. I was lagging behind Tia’s strides trying to get a handle on all the yoga studios, and the saunas cutting the halls, as she greeted a woman, and two men she was waiting to introduce me to.

“Ok, so Austin, Cal, Willow, meet Liv,” she pointed down the line naming out the strangers. “Liv, meet my team.”

“Nice to meet you all,” I indirectly smiled, making friendly eye contact with each individual set of eyes, and wiping my clammy palms over the slick spandex of my joggers.

“I gave them a little play-by-play on our chat from lunch LC, and we decided it’d be best to stick you with Cal here first for a while. A while will be determined by how long you think you’re gonna stick this out, ya’ wuss. He’s my personal trainer. He’ll be essentially laying the ground work here to see what you’re made of. Doing some basic cardio, and weights, oh, and gettin’ a meal plan in place for you, too.” Tia’s laugh turned dark at her ending remarks, and mockingly menacing. She knew what a hopeless, dedicated foodie at heart I truly was, and that I wouldn’t take kindly to someone limiting my calorie and carb intake all the live long day. “How much do you weigh, anyhow?”

She didn’t waste any time, ay?

“Um, I don’t really know like, exactly. Around 130, I guess? And 5’3”.” I spoke back to the peanut gallery hanging on my every word.

“Okay, okay. So that’ll put her at bantamweight, I think. Right, Cal?” The sculped man towered over me by nearly a whole foot, dressed in black from dri-fit shirt to sneakers.

“That’s right. We’ll start there at least, then I’ll leave the final decision to you and Willow once you guys see what she can do in the ring. Liv, you feel comfortable with cutting some weight if need be?” Cal rubbed his palms flat together. These guys weren’t playing pretend with all this, it was clear. But, I elected if I was going to step into this world, I might as well commit fully, and skip the lazy dabbling. “You guys are the experts, I’m just the silly girl behind the computer.” I saluted them lightheartedly.

…….

The first two weeks I spent under the watchful eyes of Tia and her three ruthless minions wasn’t a walk in the park by any means, but I made it through with only two bouts of splintering muscle cramps, and one upchuck all over the crisp white tile floor of the weight room. My past in athletics familiarized me closely with cardio, so the 3 miles a day on the treadmill, along with 30 added minutes on the stair climber hadn’t killed me. Definitely wounded, and maybe caused me to develop asthma, but hadn’t killed me. My visits to the weight room however might as well have been sure fire, mortal combat. Cal had precisely mapped out a specific regime to suit me, and scheduled each day to target a specific area. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays were upper body strength, leaving us to work on muscles such as bicpes and traps, and some brutal core exercises as well. Wednesday and Friday, had very abruptly became the very most dreaded days of my always demanding week. Legs. Cal seemed to get particular delight in leg day. He and Tia would watch idly by and smile like Cheshire cats as I grunted, and sobbed my way through 3 sets of one-leg barbell squats, and 4 sets of lying leg curls.

“You’ll thank us when you’ve got a fine ass man pinned between those legs of steel, Liv.” Tia piped and cheered alongside Cal as he coached me through the punishing onslaught.

As much as I wanted to break both of their smiling jaws for dropping the bombs of leg day, I was very much mastering the 4,000 calories a day he’d laid out as my goal to keep building my muscle mass. It may not have been the ideal menu, but eating was one step in this whole process I felt I wouldn’t falter. I carried what felt like pounds of almonds in my purse to work daily, snacking them with the power bites I discovered online of peanut butter and oatmeal. I should’ve bought hefty amounts of stock in chicken farms considering the quantity of eggs I cooked for myself. Scrambled. Poached. Tia even pressured me into downing a raw one if I needed a quick intake.

My new team of the 3 amigos decided to settle with a game plan of at least a month of basic training with Cal before I was passed on Willow and her Muay Thia, and fight training. During the given time that had passed the first few sessions, I began to notice miniscule results as I dressed in front of my floor length mirror. Only a slight thigh definition, and a barely there tightening of fabric through the spans of my blouses over my biceps. I was happily surprised in the progress I was making in adventuring this previous unexplored territory. In the short days spent in shadowing Tia, the respect and admiration I already had for her, flourished immensely. And although I was losing sleep due to the nerves that had commenced in thinking about actually stepping into a sparring session possibly sometime sooner than later, was also a growing thrill in the thought as well. I contemplated what the danger, and power, and adrenaline, and ferociousness would feel like swimming through my own veins, and it caused carnal arousal to flicker to the center of my belly. I understood now the orgasmic energy of command that Tia and Colton must feel when they step toe-to-toe with an opponent.  The fuming high fell quickly at the thought of him. What would he think of me now? I blushed a little, and surging tears burned into my eyes wishing Colton was walking this quest at my side.

 It was day one of expedition with Willow and Tia on the mat. I made sure to fall into bed at a decent hour the Friday night before. We determined the Saturday day before a Monday holiday was the most appropriate day to dive into the more rigorous aspect of my training, in case I took a face to the mat, or hyperextended some sort of body part from incorrectly executing a kick to the punching bag. The long weekend would give me time to recover if necessary, and soak in lots of Epsom salt and ice baths, as Tia said I would definitely be needing it, along with making a trip to the market to hunt down some Turmeric, a natural inflammatory she suggested. I had taken a shopping trip earlier in the week only in search of some seemly attire for the kickboxing I gathered I’d be learning, and that particular morning I pulled on a thin gray spandex short, and tossed a lightweight zip up over my elastic sports bra. Chocolate almond milk protein shake in hand, I headed in pursuit of the Temple. It was barely 6 a.m., and traffic on the commute was next to none at this weekend hour, so the drive was soft and refreshing. The brown-noser in me, I arrived a little over half hour early, just minutes before Tia turned into the spot beside me. I gathered my necessities to head inside with her to the torture chamber, but halted opening my door when Tia jumped enthusiastically through my passenger side.

“Morning, you. Ready for this?” she sighed with a toothy grin.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” I cocked a look of genuine contemplation toward Tia. “But, I think I am. I mean, I’m excited, but I feel like a could hurl up those two raw eggs I smashed down this morning.”

“You’ll probably do that anyway before the day is done, my dear.” Swarms of busy butterflies flapped inside my nervous, roaring belly at her harsh truth.

“God, I saw Colt project some barely digested broccoli right in the face of his partner during an intense sparring session the before his championship match. I’ve hated the color green ever since.”

I reminisced aloud to my friend next to me swiping through her phone. She turned her attention to me at the mention of my missing other half.

“You heard from him lately? I mean, does he try to reach out to you?” she pried, more with concern than displeasure this.

“Nope, haven’t seen him since the conference that night. He doesn’t have any cards coming up though. News usually travels fast around the city when he’s got a fight. Why? I mean, is there something I shoud’ve heard?”

My peculiar, shaky tone didn’t go unnoticed by Tia, I’m sure. Did something happen? What had she heard, and why I hadn’t I heard it too?

“No. Not really, I guess. Cal…uh, he just mentioned that he ran into him at some bar last weekend. They apparently went to high school together, strangely enough.”

Then, she just, stopped. Didn’t make another peep, just peered blankly out the window, watching the parking spots fill up as the city woke up.

“Oh, gotcha. Well, did he say anything else? Like, did Cal talk to him? Was he alone, or…?” I was waiting timidly for my lecture, like a child who’d just said a curse word to their mother.

“He was with his trainer, and a couple other guys, Livvy. And yes, Cal said they talked briefly……” The look in Tia’s eye gave away that she had more to say, but she was stifling it with much reserve.“I don’t know that I should spill the rest though.” She chewed her lip.

“Oh no you don’t, ma’am! There’s no way you can’t finish what you started now. Go on.”

“I just, I don’t want you to get sucked in, Liv. You’ve seemed so clearheaded the last month. Happy, ya’ know? I don’t want you to get all heavy, and emotional again. You’ve worked hard to get things pretty close to normal.” She was fidgeting. The snarky, loud, poignant spitfire I knew, was brutally stammering on her words.

“Wait a minute, Tia. It wasn’t long ago that you told me, if I’m recalling right, that it was okay for me to love him still. You said that. Your words.” My rebuttal instantly sounded thornier than I had intended once I unleashed my tongue, but it was too late to pull it back in now, so I waited for her comeback.

Tia nearly snapped her head right off her shoulders when she threw her daggering eyes at me. “You’re right. And I meant that, but it doesn’t mean I want you running right back to him either, LC. He’s fucked up. That’s not news to you, or anyone else. He may have treated you like a queen in the beginning, but the way he dropped you, Liv? Damn it, you didn’t deserve that! I just don’t want it to happen again, okay?” Her angry, heeding eyes were visibly softening as she trailed on, the anxious hands that were nearly rubbing the hide right off her sculpted arms, had now slowed. “And I’m afraid once you hear all the shit he was talking to Cal about, you’ll peel outta this parking lot on two wheels to find him…” What could he have possibly said to my now trainer. I firmly settled on the fact that Colt must’ve been incredibly tanked for him to go spilling his feelings to some other dude in a bar. It was the only logic behind the scenario. He wasn’t the man always in touch with his feelings, and he certainly wasn’t the man to let outsiders be involved in his feelings. Unless his feeling being that he was seething, fuming and wanted to smash your orbital bone, he’d let you know that emotion one way or another. Rage and darkness were two emotions he was well acquainted with.

“Please, Tia. For the sake of my sanity, just tell me.” I took a much more pleading, and soft approach with her this time, partially because I felt shitty for being so short with her a moment ago, and partially because I knew she’d cave in.

“Cal just asked how he’d been since they hadn’t crossed paths in a while, then Colton dug into him about how he’d lost to Mendez, but he was keeping the ring hot with all the fights he’d had scheduled, the usual fighter talk, I guess. But apparently the small talk led to him asking Colt if he was with anyone, had kids, how his parents were doing, things like that…”

Okay, T, let’s get to the gist here.

“Cal said he went on for about 10 minutes, spilling about a girl he had fucked over, and he hadn’t been right ever since the whole thing went down. Said he scared the only good thing he ever had away, but she was probably better off. Something about him being too twisted, and mad all the time, and had too many issues to ever truly give any woman what she needed.”

Tia hadn’t looked at me until that second. She finished the details of what she knew, and now waited reluctantly to gauge my reaction. I could almost hear the prayers silently passing through her mind, hoping what she said hadn’t just sent me spiraling back into Colton Ritter’s black magic trance. I situated in the seat to face her, and nudged playfully at her left arm, I wanted to tell her that truth about how I felt hearing the news, and I intended to do exactly that. For the most part, at least.

“I mean, yeah, that tugs at my heart strings for sure. I wouldn’t be human if I said it wasn’t a relief to hear that the first man I ever loved, regrets stomping on my open heart then practically spitting on it. Yeah, it’s good to know he has the balls to finally say out loud what I knew was true all along. He did love me, and it scared the coward shit out of him. He let his emotions from the loss cloud his better judgment, and yours truly just happened to be the weakest link in the chain for him to place that anger on.”

I was muffling the cries I so, so desperately wanted to express, but I was finished, bound and determined to never shed another ounce of salty pain over him.

“BUT, he said those things to the wrong person, T. Where’s MY explanation? My closure? Colton Ritter is going to have to do a lot better than professing his apologies in regards to me, to some dude in a bar, babe. There’s a lot of love for him in here for that foolish asshole.” I stroked open palmed over my thrashing, unsteady heart, “but it’s been smothered and stoned with a harsh hatred. Hate that I don’t know will ever go away. And as long as I’m holding any hate for him, no amount of love can overtake that. And I won’t be with a man who I hold all this resentment toward.”

Tia seemed a bit cautious at my words, hasty to believe honestly what I had admitted to her, but her clouding anger seemed to have subsided.  

“Alright, alright. I’m gonna take your word for it. Only because I love you. And, as a matter of fact, I love you soooo much, that I’m ready to go inside and rip you to shreds in the ring with Willow. Hope you are your Wheaties this morning, Elliott. I’ve got 911 on speed dial for ya’.”

Tia exited the car as quickly, heading inside without so much as a glance back to me. I sat in the silence alone for a moment with the white noise. A smile had snuck like a thief in the night across my quivering lips. I’d never say it to Tia, or Sara, or anyone for that matter, but hearing then and there, receiving the needed conformation that Colton was still with me, heartstrings still intertwined with mine in a steadfast Fisherman’s Knot, made my body temperature rise with hope of what may come. But, the itching question of forgiveness was one that just wouldn’t go away.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[rennarenofao3]

Psycho-Pass Week 2019

Day 2: Yellow/ Joy

After so many years spent surrounded by nothing but unyielding white, Kagari will always remember how amazed he was at how colorful the world outside was. All of the colors stood out individually in his mind but particularly among them that first warm, cheerful shade of yellow.

This story can also be read on AO3.

The first thing Kagari noticed as he stepped outside after leaving the rehabilitation center was the vibrant tone of the light that illuminated the area. Rather than the harsh whiteness that he was familiar with, a subtle, cheerful yellow hue seemed to glow in the air around him. A wide closed-lipped smile stretched across his face as he held out a hand, turning it back and forth in front of himself as he noted the difference in his skin’s appearance in the new shade of light, leaving it looking warm and alive for once instead of sickly and washed out.

 Tilting his head back Kagari shaded his eyes against the brightness, noting that the sun above him too shone with the same yellow hue. After being surrounded by so much unyielding white for year after year, he was pretty sure that the change was one he could quickly grow used to.

 “Don’t stare at the sun Enforcer Kagari,… you’ll damage your eyesight.” came a curt voice from behind him.

Turning Kagari blinked away the bright spots that dotted his vision, revealing the form of Inspector Ginoza once they had cleared. He presented the Inspector with an overly broad, toothy smile along with a mock salute. “…Sure thing, Gino-san.”

 Ginoza sighed, pushing his glasses further up his nose with one hand as he frowned faintly. “You are to address me as Inspector Ginoza, enforcer.”

 Kagari’s smile faded, his lips instead pursing themselves in an unseen pout behind Ginoza’s back, as he followed the Inspector toward the waiting car.

 Even Inspector Ginoza’s irritated tone could not dim Kagari’s mood for long however. As they drove through the city it was all Kagari could do to keep from pressing his nose against the window beside where he was seated in the back of the car, as he took in the bright flashing lights of the signs and displays that surrounded them with unbridled excitement.

From all angles a variety of colors ranging from pinks and reds, to blues and purples blinked and flickered at him, interspersed with vibrant yellow flashes which caught and held Kagari’s attention until they moved out of sight as the car traveled onward. As they passed by a sign that Kagari dimly remembered from his childhood, he leaned his forehead against the window for a better look, after a moment determining it to be for a restaurant.

 Kagari looked away from the window just in time to catch sight of Ginoza’s eyes watching him in the rearview mirror before they turned away, some emotion that Kagari couldn’t quite place but still found rankled him, flickering in their depths for an instant. Kagari turned away from the inspector, his lip curling.

 A slight huff preceded Ginoza’s next words, which were spoken a moment later. “Have you eaten?”

 Eyes widening with surprise Kagari’s gaze jerked back to Ginoza, words failing him at the moment. It was well past lunchtime, and as the rehabilitation facility had been informed that Kagari would be picked up by an inspector by that time, the bland lunch Kagari would normally have been given had been deemed unnecessary, with the assumption that he would have been transferred to MWPSB headquarters by then. He could only shake his head in a negative response still shocked over the unexpected question.

Kagari’s surprise only deepened as Ginoza replied with a quiet grunt, shifting the car to manual control before diverting their course away from headquarters and onto the nearest off ramp.

 As the car came to a stop in the parking lot of the restaurant and Kagari was ordered out, he looked around curiously at his surroundings taking in the sights and sounds more intently during the few more moments he was being granted to remain outside of confinement. Following Ginoza inside the building Kagari stared in wonder at the colorful menu of meal options that appeared and vanished before him, already beginning to salivate. Everything he saw looked so good in comparison to the tasteless, colorless meals he had known for the majority of his life. Feeling like it might be impossible to choose just one Kagari jabbered enthusiastically about each new item to Ginoza as it appeared.

 “…Just choose one Enforcer Kagari…” ordered Ginoza, his growing impatience becoming more and more obvious the longer Kagari’s comments went on.

 “Aww Gino-san,… how can I pick just one?!” retorted Kagari, his eyes still fixed on the brilliantly colored menu. “I mean just look at that one, it looks like it’d be great. …And that other one has some sort of toy with it. It looks like it’d be kind of a small portion though. How am I supposed to decide?”

 Ignoring being addressed incorrectly once more for the moment, Ginoza looked at Kagari with an incredulous expression. “…Are you a child Enforcer Kagari?”

 Heat sprang to Kagari’s cheeks instantly at the tone in Ginoza’s voice, hoping that his embarrassment was not actually visible on his face. “…No…” he muttered, cramming his hands in his pockets as he turned his head to glare at nothing.

 After Kagari had placed his order, Ginoza directed him to sit at a table that was within his sight, and well away from any of the restaurants other patrons, warning Kagari that he was watching him and any inappropriate behavior would not be overlooked. Falling into a seat at the table with a huff Kagari folded his arms across his chest, turning his head slightly to watch out of the corner of his eye as Ginoza spoke with the person taking people’s orders for a few moments longer before heading toward where Kagari was seated.

 A short time later when a serving drone arrived with their meals Kagari was stunned to see that on the tray with the larger meal he had ordered, sat a small yellow egg shaped toy identical to the ones in the set that had been pictured with the children’s meal. Kagari’s smile lit up his face as he snatched his toy from the tray, his mouth already open to speak as he turned toward Ginoza, who glared at him fiercely for a moment before looking away.

 “Finish your meal quickly Enforcer. We’ve wasted enough time here already.” said Ginoza sharply, using his fork to stab at his own meal with unnecessary force as he spoke.

 Kagari’s smile twisted toward wryness as he remained silent, tucking the  brightly colored toy away in his coat pocket and patting it once to make sure it was secure, before he turned his attention toward his food. During the ride back Kagari took the toy back out of his pocket once more, happily playing with it and the miniature figurine inside, as he continued watching the colorful lights of the city flash past the car’s window.

 This might not turn out to be so bad after all… thought Kagari as he looked down at the lemony shell in his hand. In spite of ‘Inspector Ginoza’s’ fairly prickly personality,… at the very least things could be worse.  

 Eventually he managed to collect the rest of the set of toys and all of them, that first cheerfully yellow one included, found a place of dubious honor tucked under the edge of one of his workstation’s computer screens.

 ~~~~~~

 During the weeks he spent recovering from his injuries after the sparring match he had proposed with Kogami, Kagari occupied his time settling on the décor and furnishings for the quarters he would be occupying as an enforcer. After all he had little else to do while stuck in the office all day, being currently barred from working in the field. And besides, that last thing he wanted was to end up stuck living in a boring, colorless space like he had been during his years in the rehabilitation center.

 As a result the selections for the furniture he was scrolling through were all either brightly colored, or boldly patterned, with his favorites so far being a pink and blue striped couch with a set of chairs each matching one of the stripe colors. Or the second option he was considering, which Kagari decided he would ask Yayoi’s opinion on.

  “What do you think about this, Kuni-chi?” asked Kagari as he swiveled slightly toward where Yayoi sat turning the tablet he was holding so that the female enforcer could see the selection of potential furniture that was displayed on it.

“…Really?” asked Yayoi as she looked up from the music book she was idly flipping through, her nose wrinkling almost imperceptibly at the nearly incandescent yellow shade of the couch and chairs that were displayed on Kagari’s tablet.

 Ignoring Yayoi’s reaction, Kagari’s grin only broadened as he punched in the confirmation of his selection. “They’re perfect!” he stated, nodding to himself as he set about picking more things to fill out the rest of the décor for his quarters.

 Yayoi continued eyeing Kagari for a few moments longer before going back to her own reading.

 ~~~~~~

After the décor and furnishings for Kagari’s had been settled on and put into place, he was finally beginning to feel as if he were beginning to become adjusted to this new life outside of the rehabilitation facility. The other enforcers in Division One had decided to throw a ‘quarters-warming’ party to welcome Kagari to the group, now that he was fully healed and allowed to start working in the field with the rest of them. Old man Masaoka had insisted on cooking for the event, and Kogami had somehow persuaded Ginoza to let him off shift a half hour or so early, so that he could assist Masaoka and Kagari in getting the food for the party ready.

 Kogami had been assigned to cut the vegetables that were needed, while Masaoka handled the majority of the cooking and seasoning of the meals himself. In spite of Kagari’s supposed role of helping as well, he had been told to do little beyond occasionally stirring the contents of a pot or pan while Masaoka was busy with something else, and had spent the majority of his time sitting on the other side of the bar watching the other two work and admiring the vivid colors of the food that was being prepared. He especially was enjoying watching the bubbling golden surface of the oil that bubbled in a pan that had something frying in it, and the vivid yellow of the pepper Kogami was currently slicing up.

 “Do the different colored ones taste different from each other?” asked Kagari finally, leaning forward a bit over the countertop as he paused in swinging his legs.

 A half smile twitched one side of Masaoka’s mouth upward as he chuckled motioning toward Kogami with the handle of the spoon he was holding. “Why don’t you try them and find out for yourself? …Hey Ko, give him a bit of each of them.” Instructed Masaoka, snatching up a small dish from beside the stovetop, placing it a bit closer to where the other enforcer was working.

 Kogami’s gaze lifted from the cutting board in front of him for a moment, his eyes flicking toward Masaoka before he picked up the dish, putting a small slice of the yellow pepper on it before moving to flick a slice of the green and red peppers that he had already cut onto the dish as well. Stepping back toward where Kagari was he placed the dish in front of him, his expression unchanging though Kagari noticed that even as Kogami resumed his work he was still watching, waiting to see Kagari’s response.

 Ignoring the continued sensation of both Kogami and Masaoka’s eyes on him Kagari caught up the bit of green pepper and took a bite, his nose wrinkling a bit at the unfamiliar flavor before moving on to sample the others. As he bit into the yellow pepper slice Kagari’s eyes widened.

 “…Woah, this one tasted kind of sweet!” exclaimed Kagari looking back up at Masaoka in surprise.

 A broad smile split Masaoka’s face as he nodded, motioning toward the remaining bit of red pepper that was still on the dish. “And that one is even sweeter.”

 “Weird…” murmured Kagari his enthusiastic smile drawing an amused sounding huff from Kogami as he turned back to dicing the last of the vegetables.

 By the time that Masaoka had finished cooking the others began to arrive, the room quickly filling with unrestrained laughter and chatter as they settled in. To Kagari’s surprise even Inspector Ginoza came, staying for the first part of the party and bringing with him a small, unusual looking figurine as a housewarming gift.

 As the evening wore on and the food and celebratory drinks were consumed freely by nearly everyone, Kagari found himself to be pleasantly tipsy. He assumed that the others were as well, given that Kogami had taken to entertaining the group with card tricks accompanied by terrible jokes and puns that had Kagari doubled over laughing so hard that tears had come to his eyes. And Masaoka had taken to chuckling in quiet amusement at Kagari’s retorts, even going so far to ruffle his hair once or twice, while Yayoi simply smiled slightly, trading out her usual kicks to Kagari’s shins for elbowing his side instead.

 Where the food was concerned, Kagari thought that old man Masaoka’s cooking was probably the best thing he had ever eaten and had already decided that he wanted to become just as good a cook someday.

 Later on, after the party had come to a close and the others had wandered off to their own quarters with lazy calls of good night, Kagari let out a satisfied sigh, spreading his arms as he let himself fall backwards onto the yellow leather of his couch.

 Cleaning up could wait till later… he decided, shifting so that he could stretch himself out fully on the couch. Wrapping his arms around himself as he tipped his head back against the arm of the couch, Kagari was unable to stop the large, genuine grin that spread across his face when he thought back over the evening. He felt as if small sparks of excitement and happiness were dancing under his skin, while at the same time feeling as if he were wrapped up in a warm, fuzzy blanket of contentment.

 He wondered if this was what other people meant, when they talked about feeling joy.

[douxreviews]

Supergirl - ‘O Brother, Where Art Thou?’ Review

Lena Luthor: How can you pay your debt to society if you’re already dead?

An enjoyable episode, back to the basics of the comics – but not much depth for Kara.

The episode follows several storylines. Lex Luthor has been let out of prison (but with lots of guards) because he’s dying of cancer. He visits his sister Lena to seek a cure for his cancer, especially as he knows she’s been working on a drug based on the magic stone from Krypton that just might do the trick. It’s interesting to watch the half-siblings interact. Lex doesn’t seem like all that bad a guy and he doesn’t seem that dangerous. He eggs Lena on, but also tells her some truths.

The B story is concerned with James, who was shot at the end of the prior episode. He gets rescued immediately, by using the watch that I remember given to him in one of the Superman comics which I read many decades ago. The watch has to be activated to send out a distress signal, so I spent the whole episode wondering who activated it. James couldn’t and a killer wouldn’t, so what was going on? Turns out the shooter wasn’t trying to kill James, but it wasn’t a loose plot thread either. Anyway, the friends of James (including ex-girlfriend Lena) gather in the hospital, and are joined by Kelly, James’s sister. James is alive, but in bad shape, and the question is – operate on him (probably paralyze him but save his life) or give him Lena’s drug (perfect health but possibly kills him)? Kelly, as next-of-kin, has to make the decision. She doesn’t trust the Luthors. She opts for surgery, quite reasonably pointing out that Lex Luthor has been trying to kill her brother over and over. Then the power at the hospital fails while James is in surgery and Lena rushes in with the improved-but-untested drug, which is now James's only option. And saves her ex-boyfriend. Whew!

The C story – not very interesting – are J’onn and Supergirl following Manchester Black – who they assume (incorrectly) shot J’onn. Manchester Black is managing to infiltrate J’onn’s thoughts and visions, and provokes J’onn into attacking him and apparently killing him. I say “apparently” because, you know, how often do characters really die in these series? Anyway, the ring that Black stole from Brainy falls to the ground and it gets returned to Brainy, while J’onn realizes/decides that he’s not a man of peace after all. Honestly, I didn’t really care, although the action scene does give Supergirl the chance to say: “Dam it,” on TV. We seem to have finished with Agent Liberty in the last episode; does this mean that we’re done with Manchester Black as well? I wouldn’t mind.

I was actually a little relieved not to be having to follow too many storylines. The end, where we learn that Lex took advantage of the threat on the dam to engineer a power outage that compelled Lena to test her drug on James before he tried it on himself, was just convoluted enough to be pleasantly surprising without being confusing (and his henchman, the one who shot James Olsen to turn him into a test bunny, was the guy who summoned Supergirl with his watch). But the sweetest reveal was when Eve Tessmacher pulled a gun on Lena Luthor. “How long have you been working for him?” Lena asks, and Eve replies, “Always.” Of course, she was his sidekick/love interest before, so that was perfectly reasonable.

The episode ends with Lex Luthor – after murdering a whole bunch of people – flying away in a helicopter and seeing Supergirl hovering outside.

Title musings: “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” is also name of a movie that I have not seen, which was apparently based on Homer’s The Odyssey, which I have read. I can’t see any similarities between the episode and The Odyssey. We can take a literal interpretation as the helicopter flies off with Lex and so Lena doesn’t know where her brother is. It also applies to Kelly, who probably often wonders where James is.

Bits and pieces

Lex Luthor quotes Epicurus and says the Greek philosopher lived 230 years ago. But it’s more like 2300 years ago. Big mistake.

Fun to see Jon Cryer as a very sick Lex Luthor, a role so different from his role as sidekick and a whiny, younger brother in Two and a Half Men.

Now we know why Katie McGrath had so little to do as Lena in the last episode. Because of all her work in this episode.

The make-up folks did a great job of making Kara and Alex look absolutely horrible for J’onn’s hallucination.

Nice to have Nia kiss Brainy. However, there was not enough Brainy in the episode. They weren’t offering much support, just hanging around the vending machine.

Quotes

Lex Luthor: I am the man of tomorrow. Not him! Not him!

Lex Luthor: If the Latin fits.

Lex Luthor: I want you to know with certainty, that while I came from poison, you came from love. And if the rest of this family stands steadily in darkness, you will always fall into the light.

Kelly: Jell-O really is the best hospital food.

Brainy (after pounding with futility on vending machine): I usually get along so well with machines.

Kara/Supergirl: Dam it. (Closest she gets to being able to say damn it, but there was a literal dam breaking. Noticed they had no closed captioning, at least on my screen, at that moment.)

Overall Rating

The episode was enjoyable and Lex Luthor was great. The problem, however, is that they’re not giving Supergirl anything emotional to do; she hardly ever has any quotable quotes. Even her tension with Alex’s not knowing her secret identity was lame. Two and a half out of four bowls of Jell-O.

Victoria Grossack loves math, Greek mythology, Jane Austen and great storytelling in many forms.

[bluerene]

river, part four [starx]

whew, okay, I’m home, it’s late, but I’m putting this out anyways. Linking parts one, two and three, aaaaaand dividing this chapter up a little bit because formatting and length were bothering me. Next chapter should be up by Tuesday night. I work both jobs back-to-back tomorrow so no chances of updates then.  As always, all my love for @fireflyxrebel who literally inspired this whole thing and is practically the only reason I wrote it (the other being a sad lack of StarX content and my need to change that).

Let me know what y’all think! 

bless <3 

blue

Friday didn’t go by fast enough. I woke up and called in sick to work, first thing, intent on decrypting the files I’d stolen the night before. Made myself some eggs and toast, turned on the TV for morning news, set up my laptop, and plugged in the flash drive. Well, no, not true - I burned the toast, forgot to replace the batteries in the remote, and tried to set up the drive incorrectly. Twice. I was distracted. I had a date in twenty-six hours and nothing was ready.

I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, or why I was so invested in making my time with her perfect.

It didn’t help that I hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss since it happened.

The thing about fireworks erupting in the background and angels singing is complete bullshit, by the way. There’s nothing earthshaking about it. The kiss didn’t send me to the heavens and back. It just felt right. There was this feeling of comfort that gripped me. She was warm and lovely. Her mouth moved agonizingly slowly against mine. It was torture and bliss and everything I imagined it would be.

And then it was over. She ended it, blushing as she unwound her arms from around my neck. Starfire stammered something about seeing me later and backed away, before shooting into the air.

I waited to hear the tell-tale raven’s call that so often signaled their departure, before teleporting back to my room and flopping onto my bed.

Needless to say, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. I drafted the same text about fifty times, hoping to engage her in conversation.

hey babe. Gross, delete.

that was some kiss. Too forward, she’ll get skittish, delete.

i had a really nice time last night. Where’s the charm? Delete.

i can’t stop thinking about you. It’s not a lie, but it might freak her out. Delete.

saturday, 11 am, key cove. see you there. A little dull, but it’s effective. Sent.

So yeah, stressful evening. Nervous morning. Once the files were finished loading I focused on combing through them. I didn’t like what I saw.

There were blueprints and notes, pdf versions of hastily scribbled equations and messy theories. Plans for some kind of incubation chamber. A complex formula for what appeared to be a chemical virus that could eradicate mutations in DNA. Footnotes that listed the unpredictable factors that could occur, and the ones that had occurred in test subjects.

Where they saw the likelihood of medical innovation, my clients would see the potential for biological warfare.

Shit.

I disconnected the flash-drive and wiped the files from my laptop, initiating a self-diagnostic run to sweep for any bugs that may have come with the folder. Not good, not good at all. The trade was supposed to go down later tonight. There wasn’t enough time for me to come up with an alibi or skip town.

I grimaced, already imagining the beating I would take for backing out of the exchange.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Laptop was clean, so there was a silver lining. I still had to destroy both drives and set some sort of trap for the meetup. I needed that money. I wasn’t going away from this without it.

There was a beep coming from my bedroom, which meant my burner phone had received a message. I put my laptop away and shoved the flash-drives into my pocket, curious as to who had contacted me.

12:34 pm - unknown: bring the drives tonight @ 2 am, 811 lilac rd, construction zone. we have the money.

I knew better than to respond.

My cell rang not long after, and for a moment, I was struck with the fear that they’d somehow gotten my private number and figured out who I was and where I was staying.

But the ID was different. I couldn’t help but grin as I lifted the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh...Red X?” Starfire confirmed, sounding a bit taken aback.

“The one and only, cutie.”

“Your voice is different.”

“I don’t live in the suit,” I replied, amused by her curiosity, “why are you calling?”

“I would like to see you tonight.”

Ahhhhh, no, beautiful, we can’t do that.

“I thought you couldn’t sneak out at night.”

“It will be difficult, but I believe I can make it work. If it is convenient for you,” she added hastily.

It really wasn’t, but how could I tell her that?

“Not a problem,” I said smoothly, “meet me at Key Cove tonight, whenever your patrol gets done. Wear something comfortable.”

“Very well. I shall see you then.”

“Sounds good.”

“X? Thank you,” she said softly.

I hung up without another word.

It was not turning out to be my day.

I took a couple of deep breaths and set my phone down, thinking hard about what I was going to do. As far as the date went, I had most things prepared. There was an Italian restaurant down the road, a little bistro called Vinum Domum. It was locally owned by an elderly couple, who were more than happy to offer me a free meal on account of the fact that it was for a date and I apparently needed all the help I could get.

Patrols usually ended between nine and eleven, depending on the route taken and the amount of crime occurring. Jump had a fairly quiet night-life. Starfire would probably show meet me around ten. I’d take her to the planetarium, we’d have a nice dinner, watch the movie I’d selected, hopefully kiss again, and wrap up just in time for me to make the deal. I had enough hours before to try and edit the files so that they were missing the doomsday parts. It would be shitty, and probably a bit obvious that I’d tampered with the drives, but it was significantly better than handing over Jump City’s death certificate.

Plan set, I put it all in motion.

I called Rosalie and Pietro Alexander right away, requesting a bottle of cider and two meals for pick-up in the evening. They made me swear to bring her by the restaurant the next time I had the chance. I laughed, trying not to entertain the idea because if I did, it would be stuck in my head forever.

I retrieved various things from around my apartment - a couple of blankets and pillows, plates, cups, utensils, the DVD I was planning on playing, popcorn, candy, and a pack of battery-operated candles. Stuffed most of it into a bag and set aside the rest to load onto my motorcycle when it came time to leave.

I worked on the files for a couple of hours. Chopped up the uglier parts, patching it up with glitching copies that (hopefully) looked like a virus had eaten away at the documents. I redacted portions of the formula, fiddled with the numbers. Deleted a couple of footnotes, added a few that emphasized the unpredictability of the science and made the data look less reliable. I kept enough information to satisfy them but removed enough to keep people safe. That was all I could really do.

I showered at eight and got a little dressed up. Black fitted jeans and shoes, a maroon button-down, an old woven bracelet that belonged to my mother around my wrist. Packed the Red X suit into the bag I had already filled, keeping the mask and belt ready for use.

All that was left was for me to wait, and I did.

An hour later, I got her message.

10:12 pm - unknown: i will see you shortly

Okay, fuck.

It was now or never.

-

Raven was quick to notice the scarlet blush I was undoubtedly wearing but knew better than to comment until we were safely in the confines of her room.

We teleported to the common room, where Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy were still waiting.

“All good?” Robin asked, rising from the couch.

Raven shrugged, sparing me the trouble of responding.

“Didn’t catch him, he was long gone by the time we arrived. Nothing was stolen, but the security officers received an alert that the main lab was breached so there’s a chance some research may have been copied.”

Robin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “okay, we’ll have to deal with that later. Thanks, guys.”

He was rarely so collected when an instance like this occurred. I couldn’t help the warmth that filled me when he turned my way.

“You okay, Star?”

“Hmm?” my blush deepened as I realized what he was asking, “oh, yes, I am the o and the k.”

“Lookin’ a little flushed, princess.” Cyborg teased, nudging Beast Boy with a grin.

“I am simply tired. I would like to turn in for the evening,” I replied in my most dignified tone.

“Good idea, I vote we all do it,” Raven said.

Beast Boy raised an eyebrow, “it’s not even midnight.”

“You could use the beauty sleep,” she shot back.

I giggled behind my hand, grateful for her ability to distract while I composed myself. Cyborg laughed loudly while they bickered, which had become rather frequent as of late. I believe all of us were waiting for them to ‘kiss and make up’, as Cyborg so often told them.

“Guys,” Robin interrupted, shaking his head, “it’s late. If you’re tired, go to bed, if not, make sure you lock the tower down before you leave the common room.”

“Sure thing, Dad.” Beast Boy replied, flopping back onto the couch.

Robin grumbled under his breath and cast me one more glance, before turning and exiting the room.

Raven curled her fingers around my wrist and tugged gently, “we should talk.”

“I believe that would be prudent,” I said, following her into the hallway.

She pulled me into her bedroom and onto the floor, crossing her legs and looking at me expectantly.

“Well?”

I touched my fingers to my lips and smiled faintly, “he kissed me.”

The lights flickered and Raven’s eyes flared for a moment.

“What?” She asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

I explained that I had messed with his belt and arrived at his home, where we had a short conversation.

She waited until I was finished speaking, her mouth pressed in a thin line by the end of my narrative.

“So you guys are dating?”

“We are going on a date,” I corrected, “it may not lead anywhere.”

“But you kissed.”

“Yes.”

“And you enjoyed it,” she confirmed.

I blushed, “surprisingly, yes, very much.”

She leaned back on her hands and sighed, “wow, okay, that’s a lot.”

“I do not mean to burden you-”

“It’s not that,” Raven reassured me, “it’s just...what about Robin?”

My heart fluttered, my stomach churned, my head ached at the sound of his name.

Raven’s eyes widened as I let my emotions flow through me, “I see.”

“Indeed,” I murmured, “my feelings for Robin are complicated. They are still there. I do not think I will ever be rid of them. But Red X makes me feel...desired. Powerful, even. He sees me differently.”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how terrible of an idea this is?”

I smile, “I am well aware of the repercussions at hand, Raven. I will be discreet.”

“Azar, I hope so,” she muttered, allowing a half-smile to quirk upon her lips, “If this is what you want, I have your back.”

I squeezed her hand gratefully and stayed with her for a little while after, eager to chat about her developing relationship with Beast Boy. She kicked me out of her room shortly after, advising that I go to sleep, warning me that it would not come to me easily.

She was correct. I tossed and turned, contemplating various messages I could send him. Nothing came out of it, except for a single, full thought - I wanted to see him soon.

Just as my eyes gave way to heaviness, the sound of a message pinged from my phone, jolting me awake.

3:26 am - unknown: saturday, 11 am, key cove. see you there.

I bit my lip, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard. X’hal, how could I possibly wait another day and a half? I could barely make it through this night, let alone another.

If I could establish a means of escape, I could attempt to see him tomorrow.

I opted to set my phone aside and try to sleep. I hoped the next morning would bring some clarity.

I continued to fret quietly for an hour, recalling the kiss over and over in my mind until it was seared in place.

I had never been kissed properly. The others might tell you they witnessed it in Tokyo with the boy on the street, or when I assimilated Atlantean from Aqualad, or when I first met Robin, but that is not true. Language transference, while not unpleasant, does not evoke any enjoyment from me. It is a skill I have used many times with many beings, regardless of how I might feel about them.

But kissing was different. It was not the hard connection between unmoving mouths, guided by a tight grip on the person’s shoulder or neck. There was no rush of thought, no compounded headache as a side-effect.

It was much softer and gentler, like the first kisses I saw so often in films and on television.

One of Red X’s hands had found my waist while the other held my wrist, rubbing circles on my skin with his thumb. His mouth moved sweetly against mine, coaxing movement from my frozen state.

I tugged my hand from his grip and wound my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers along the bottom of his mask to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He squeezed my hips and pulled me closer, drawing a squeal of surprise from my lips. He deepened the kiss, shaking with silent laughter at my enthusiasm.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it was not the time, nor the place. Reluctantly, I drew back, stumbling through a goodbye before darting into the air, fighting the urge to look back at him.

I felt angry with myself afterward, for too many reasons. Angry because in a way, I had betrayed Robin. Angry because I had let it go farther than I intended. Angry because somewhere, I knew with full certainty, Raven was correct. Somewhere, something in me had attached itself to Red X. And I was happy because of it.

I slept fitfully through the night, coming in and out of lustful dreams that left me flushed and nervous and exhausted. I was no stranger to these feelings, but with Robin I felt in control, certain of the boundaries and lines we had drawn, comfortable in our established relationship. Now, every rule I had given myself had vanished. I did not know where X’s feelings stretched or where his walls were built; I did not know where he felt comfortable being touched or what he saw in me. It was unexplored territory, and it ignited a delicious fear in me that I could not help but enjoy.

Now, I suppose this was a side-effect of the many romance books I indulged in, where heroines had their hearts stolen by handsome thieves as they were rushed into a whirlwind love story. It was an idea that I found both charming and delightful on so many levels.

I woke when the first rays of sunlight peeked through my curtains. I opted to stay in my room and observe the sunrise on my own. Robin usually liked to join me on the roof most mornings, but I could not bear to be around him while I was feeling so guilty and confused and struck with the love.

Not that I was in love. But I have learned, despite what the phrase implies, that you do not have to mean you love something just because you say you do.

Once dawn had fully broken through the clouds, I considered going back to sleep, but I was too restless to crawl into bed. So I began the day.

I selected some casual garments from my closet - a pair of cropped running pants, a bright purple sports bra with black straps, and a soft blue zippered sweatshirt - and changed out of my sleepwear. It seemed like a pleasant day for a run around Titan Island. Perhaps I could practice training in the simulation hall. I felt charged by the sun, my fingertips tingling with unspent energy.

Quietly, so I would not disturb the others, I slipped out of my room and made my way to the stairwell that led to the rooftop. Robin did not usually linger there unless I was also with him.

I spent a few hours outside. I have always loved the cool taste of the air, salted by the sea breeze. I dove from the tower and allowed myself to fall until I caught onto a large gust of wind and flowed in its direction. I twisted and turned through the air, pushing myself to go faster until everything around me blurred into unfamiliar shapes.

My communicator beeped loudly from my waist and I stopped immediately, hovering in the clouds while I flipped my device open.

“Raven?”

“Starfire, where are you?” she asked impatiently, raising a hand to quiet someone beside her.

“I went out for a morning flight. Why?”

She sighed and shook her head, “Robin got worried when you didn’t join him on the roof this morning. And you weren’t at breakfast, and your communicator indicated you were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

I blushed, averting my gaze, “I may have flown farther than I intended. Please do not worry, I will return shortly.”

“You know,” Raven said quickly, before I could hang up on the call, “Things will never be the same between you two, but you should probably talk to him. Avoiding an issue doesn’t make it go away. He’s starting to feel like he’s losing you.”

“You cannot lose what you never had,”  I said, smiling sadly, “I will see you soon.”

I did not rush back to the Tower. An ugly feeling had settled in the pit of my stomach at the prospect of seeing Robin, who would undoubtedly be frustrated and concerned for my well-being. Raven did the lessening of the situation when she explained it to me - she would only ever call to check on me if something serious motivated her.

I let myself drop lower, nearer to the surface of the water, and dipped my hands in, enjoying the cool after-splash that followed. I spied a trio of dolphins surfacing in the distance, their glistening fins cutting through the rippling sea before they burst through the blue.

I sighed, envious of their freedom. To be with the one you wanted, free to go as you pleased, unburdened by who you might hurt, or who you already have.

I knew I could not delay the inevitable for much longer.

I landed on the rooftop of the tower almost thirty minutes later and hurried to the common room, biting my lip as the doors slid open.

Raven and Robin were in a deep, seemingly heated conversation at the breakfast table, while Beast Boy and Cyborg were cooking something at the stove, their backs turned to me.

I plastered on a cheerful smile and threw my hands into the air.

“Good morning friends!”

Robin’s head snapped up at the sound of my voice, his expression alarmingly blank.

“Good morning to you too, lil’ lady,” Cyborg said with a grin, “where have you been?”

“I merely went for a flight. I apologize, I did not mean to travel so far.” I said, smiling back, “I hope I did not cause any of you concern”

Robin pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Don’t worry, Starfire, you didn’t.”

I dropped to the ground, abandoning all pretenses of happiness as he stalked past me.

“I’m not very hungry, Cy. Got work to catch up on,” he said loudly.

The doors slid shut as soon as he exited the common room, and I felt three pairs of eyes lock on me.

I slid into a seat at the kitchen counter and sighed, resting my chin against my fist.

“He is angry,” I murmured.

Cyborg and Beast Boy exchanged a glance.

“Well, y’know, Star, you’ve been kinda weird around him lately,” Beast Boy offered, rubbing the back of his neck, “he’s probably just worried about you.”

“Is everythin’ okay between you two?” Cyborg asked, touching my shoulder.

I wanted to laugh. Things had never been less okay or more uncertain with Robin and I. I felt sick to my stomach when I thought about where things were headed for us. And worse, the guilt I had felt when I kissed Red X was fading, vanishing so quickly it was as if there had only ever been happiness.

I did not tell Cyborg this. I promised him things were the O and K, and that I was the same, and we would be as well. I excused myself from breakfast quickly and hurried towards my room. I could hear heavy, angry grunts from the gym when I passed it, and the muffled sound of fists attacking a weighted bag. Robin was undoubtedly in there, forcing his fury out in a way that would protect him. I lingered by the doorway for a moment, recalling all the times when I pulled him away from his training or studied his movements with undisguised admiration.

Now it is easy for me to float by, barely sparing a glance as I catch the shadows of his form in the pale lights. This is what it feels like to bury your love so deep it cannot break from your chest. I wonder if this is what Robin feels when he glances at me, in all the moments he thinks I have not noticed his attention.

X’hal, what was I doing to myself? It was not fair to me or Robin or Red X. I could not continue to pine for one boy while tempting the other. It was not right.

The pit in my stomach grew heavier.

-

NEXT: what’s up with Starfire?, some Robin insight, and (finally!!!) the date

[dancingkirby]

In which Bolin plays with toys and Eska fails at flirting

I’m going to have to think up a title for this story soon.  I was thinking maybe “Into Open Waters.”

“How dare she? How dare she?”

Eska paced around the room, trying her hardest to keep her voice low so as not to disturb Kinalik.  The stress of the previous sleepless night, their escape in the wee hours, the sheer physical effort required to waterbend all the way to Republic City with a toddler and luggage in tow, the energy required to interact with people in a strange place…all of it was consuming her.

She collapsed in a chair, her body shaking and angry tears streaming down her face, which made her feel all the worse; like she was no more mature than her daughter.

Did their courtiers think that the twins did not hear the snickers and whispers of “half breed?” And yesterday…they had all looked at Kinalik like she was a monster. They felt that their only option was to get her out of there.

“I was trying to explain, but she wouldn’t listen!” she moaned to her brother.  

“Perhaps she felt the same about you,” Desna offered cautiously.

“Perhaps,” Eska muttered, making an enormous effort to control her crying.  “I have no harsh feelings towards our cousin’s significant other; she is not nearly as uncouth as the others.  I was just…trying so hard not to cry in front of them that I forgot to thank her.   People only seem to care about what I do incorrectly; not what I do the appropriate way.  Yes, I know you are an exception, brother,” she hastily added to ward off his protests.  She furiously scrubbed the tears away.  

“I recommend that we go to sleep right now and ponder the matter further in the morning,” Desna said.

“Yes…that would probably be wise.”

Eska was worried that she’d have problems falling asleep like she often did in locations that weren’t home.  However, the rhythm of Kinalik’s breathing soothed her, and the trio was soon huddled together in a deep slumber.

When Eska woke up who-knows-how-late in the morning, her back was throbbing in pain.  She supposed it was to be expected with all the exercise and lifting that she did yesterday. Even attempting to roll over caused her to moan. Thankfully, Desna had already awoken, and was ready with the bowl of water. He and Eska silently healed each other, then Eska also healed Kinalik, who was uninjured but wanted to do what the grownups were doing.  It didn’t get rid of all the pain, but reduced it enough to allow her to perform the usual morning functions and help Kinalik with hers.

When they got downstairs to the breakfast room, Korra was sitting there alone.  She had finished her own meal, but there was still a pot of tea and a plate of steamed buns filled with bean paste on the table. Eska was impressed to see that they’d remembered about Kinalik’s noodles, and that the child’s chair had a pile of cushions on it in lieu of a booster seat.

“Asami’s in the shower,” Korra said in response to their unspoken query.  “She likes to fiddle around in her workshop first thing in the morning when she’s feeling upset.”

Even Eska could tell that the last few words were pointed.  “Hm,” was all she could trust herself to say in response as she grabbed a bun.

“Does she eat anything else?” Korra asked, referring to Kinalik.  That was a somewhat safer topic, at least.

“Rice. Eggs.  Apples peeled and cut to slices exactly ¼ inch thick.  Arctic hen.  Some types of fish; she seems to change her mind about exactly which types by the day,” Eska answered.  She stopped to think.  What else was there?

“We have been having modest success in getting her to eat kelp,” Desna reminded.

“Oh yes.  The first time she ate that was a triumphant occasion indeed.  And before you ask, cousin, we do give her a daily multivitamin.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Korra said quickly.  She took a sip of her tea and said, “I wonder if she’d like Narook’s?  They have a kid’s menu.”

“Is it noisy?”

“Dinner can be…lunch is usually quieter.”

“We will consider it.”

They were spared from doing further chatting for the moment by Asami entering the room, fully dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head.  Korra looked at Eska expectantly.

Eska supposed that this was her cue to apologize.   Damn it.  She’d never cared about the feelings of anyone outside of her family before.

“I’msorry,” she mumbled while looking down at her hands.  This seemed to satisfy the requirements for now.

“It’s okay,” Asami said.  “I know you must have been under a lot of stress.  Now, is this enough food for you?  We could have the cook make something hot…”

“This is sufficient,” Desna assured her.

Asami sat down as well and got her own breakfast, and apparently decided that it would be best to get right to the point.

“So…Korra said that you were concerned about Kinalik’s safety…”

“That is one way to phrase it.”

“So exactly how deep into hiding did you want to go?”

Good question.

“We hadn’t thought things through that far yet,” Desna admitted.  “All we were hoping for was to buy a few days of time to strategize. That was why we chose not to stay at a hotel.”

“Simply arriving at this destination was the main objective.  They will discover our location sooner or later, but I doubt that they would take our lives here.  Nevertheless, we should take precautions,” Eska added.

Korra and Asami stopped to think, and then Korra said, “Well, you do have one thing going for you.  You’re fairly obscure.  Probably all that most people in Republic City know about you is that you’re those creepy twins.”

Eska clenched her jaw, and willed the angry words ready to spring from her back down her throat. She didn’t want another argument to start so quickly.  Desna appeared to be having a similar struggle, but was able to state in an even tone, “We do like our privacy.”

While they had been talking, Kinalik had finished her noodles and was getting bored.

“Down!” she commanded.  Eska rose to help her off the cushions, and sat back down with her daughter in her lap.

“And that’s another thing,” Asami said.  “I didn’t even know of Kinalik’s existence until yesterday, and I don’t think Korra did either.”

“They may have mailed something,” Korra said.  “But I was kind of distracted at the time.”

“We did air a birth announcement on the radio,” Eska remarked.  Granted, it had run only once.  At 6 AM.  Neither the twins nor their advisors had wanted to call much attention to it.

“Well, anyway, if all that the general public knows about you is that you’re twins, we’d want to make you look as unalike as possible.  Plus, the weather’s much too warm right now for your regular wardrobes. We’ll need to shop for new clothes, and one of you might have to cut your hair.”

Asami looked over at Desna, but Eska quickly said, “I’ll do it.”  Desna had done so much for her; it was only fair that she should be the one to make this sacrifice.

“I have to go get the rest of my stuff this morning, but…hold on, let me write this down,” Korra said.”  She retrieved a notebook and pencil from a side table.

“Asami, could you take them downtown this afternoon?  I’ll probably want to rest, and you’re the one with the style sense. And um…I still can’t drive that well.”

“Sure, but maybe one at a time?  Whoever is after them would be looking for twins.”

“No prob. Desna, you okay with waiting until tomorrow?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Desna answered, albeit apparently with some unease about them being separated.  The twins squeezed hands under the table.

“Bolin might want to join us,” Asami remarked.  “You know how he is about makeovers.”

“Oh, yeah, whoops, I forgot about Bolin.  And we were going to do a proper introduction today.”

“I wonder…” Asami trailed off as Korra scribbled away.  

“Hm?”

“I was just thinking about how to make all this more pleasant for Kinalik.  I think I have an idea.  You go over to Air Temple Island.  I can take care of arranging things.”

“’Kay, love you.”

They kissed.  Eska was relieved.  All of the talking had been making her dizzy.

After Korra had finally departed, Asami got Eska, Desna, and Kinalik situated in the living room. Unlike the more formal parlor they’d seen on the tour yesterday, this room was stocked with comfortable furniture, which was a blessing for Eska’s back.  It was decorated with plush carpeting, wooden paneling, several paintings, and a tall bookcase in the corner.  Eska made a beeline for the latter and thumbed through the selection.

While Eska was busy with her browsing, Asami used one of the mansion’s many phones to call Bolin.

“So what do you think about coming over here shortly?  Makeovers may be involved.”

Eska could hear Bolin’s shriek of joy from clear across the room.  Asami had to hold the receiver at arm’s length until he calmed down.

“I take it that’s a yes?  Okay, what time?  Yeah, I think we can do that.  So see you…oh?  What is it?”

She listened for a few seconds, then said, “Well, I’ll ask them,” and covered the receiver with her hand.

“Eska, Desna, Bolin says that Opal wants to come meet you.  Is that okay?”

Eska was intrigued in spite of herself.  She wanted to see just what sort of powerful woman had managed to ensnare her ex’s heart.

“It is all right with me.  Desna?”

“Me as well.”

“Great!” exclaimed Asami.  She turned back to the receiver and said, “That’s a yes from both of them.  See you in a few, then?  All right.  No, Pabu had better stay at your apartment this time. Bye.”

She hung up the phone, then left the room, saying vaguely that she had to “get things ready.”

Eska, in the meantime, had found several recent issues of Republic City Style.  She had first encountered this publication in the storage room of the library back home, and knew that it was trash, but had been unable to stop reading these chronicles of uncivilized famous people and their clothing.  And it definitely wasn’t because she was jealous of them and their hedonistic lives!  No, if ever asked, she would claim that it was simply anthropological studies.

“All right, let’s see who Ginger is dating now,” she murmured as she sat down to look at the pictures with Kinalik.

“May I have one?” Desna asked.

“You may.”

They were deeply engrossed in their reading material, with occasional snorts of incredulity from the twins and squeals of “Pretty!” from Kinalik, when they heard something being hauled down the stairs and dragged into the living room.

“I found that box of t-o-y-s that I was telling you about yesterday!” Asami said as she beamed. She had removed her towel, and looked no worse for wear from the exertion.  Eska wished that she could look that put-together.

“So I was thinking that Bolin could help Kinalik look through these, and that maybe she would warm up to him more if she associated him with a positive thing like that.”

Kinalik perked up at the mention of her name.  Eska thought that this was actually a clever idea, and wished that she could have thought of that herself.

“Shall we see what is contained in here?” Eska asked Kinalik. Her daughter didn’t answer verbally, but appeared happy for the first time since they’d left the palace.

As Asami left to get some scissors with which to open the box, the doorbell rang.  The door was opened shortly thereafter, presumably by the butler…what was his name again?

“We have arrived!” Bolin announced as he bounded into the living room, followed closely behind by Opal.  “And…hey neat, what’s that?”  He gestured at the box.

Asami explained her idea to him as Kinalik removed the first item from the box: a stuffed animal in the form of a cat-owl.

“Great, sounds great!” Bolin enthused as made to sit down right next to Kinalik, then caught himself in time and picked a spot a respectful couple of feet away.

Asami had certainly never been lacking in any amusement as a child; Eska felt a twinge when she remembered how her own toys had been taken away when she wasn’t too much older than Kinalik.  There were stuffed animals of all sorts (yes, including a turtleduck and a koala otter), dolls, and Satomobile models.  Thankfully, nothing was in that box that would pose a choking hazard; Eska presumed that Kinalik was smart enough not to put toys in her mouth, but one never knew for sure.

Kinalik was insistent on doing the unpacking herself, and kept most of the toys to herself, but every so often she would shyly offer one to Bolin.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed at her latest offering of a stuffed animal that was so worn that Eska couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.  “Do you wanna know something, Kinalik?  I don’t remember what toys I had when I was your age.  I wish I did.  So this is really as exciting for me as it is for you!”

Kinalik scrunched her nose, and either because she didn’t know how to respond or didn’t have the words, settled for “Okay.”  But she did hand over a toy truck to him.

“Oh, she’s just adorable!” said Opal, which slightly startled Eska because she’d been so focused on the scene across the room.  She was seated at the opposite end of the couch from the twins.

“Yes,” Eska answered.  She and Desna switched places so that there would be no one between Eska and Opal. Then she remembered.

“I have on my possession a copy of Kinalik’s birth certificate,” Eska stated as she took the piece of paper out of her pocket.  “It contains proof that Bolin was not being unfaithful to you.  Not with me, at least.”

Opal didn’t move to take it.

“It’s okay, I believe you.  Really,” she said.

It was just that easy?  Eska had been anticipating a more frosty reception.

“So what do you think?  Can we be friends?” Opal asked as she smiled gently.  She extended her hand, and Eska forced herself to make eye contact while tentatively reaching her arm out as well.  But she only had the nerve to brush Opal’s fingers with her own.

Just then, there was much excitement from the duo on the floor.  Having removed all of the toys from the box, they had reached the best part…the packing paper.  Kinalik reached for a particularly large piece and gleefully ripped it in half.

“That makes a cool sound, doesn’t it?” Bolin observed.

Kinalik studied the two halves in her hand, and then crumpled one up, walked over, and reached up to place it on Bolin’s head.

“Oh wow!  A hat!  Just what I always wanted!” Bolin said with all evidence of sincerity.  He tossed his head ever so slightly, and the paper fell to the floor.

“OOPS!  It fell off!  How clumsy of me!”

Kinalik looked at him, then at the paper, then back at him.  And she laughed.

This was something that even Eska herself rarely elicited from her daughter.  She wished that she could telepathically transmit to Bolin the significance of this event.  But as he glanced over it her, it seemed that he already knew to some extent.

Shortly thereafter, Korra returned, and while the servants transferred her things, Asami herded them all into the main dining room for lunch.  Evidently, Korra had informed her partner of Kinalik’s preferences, because the meal was omelets…plain for Kinalik and with vegetables for everyone else.  Kinalik actually ate most of hers, and even sampled a piece of mushroom from Eska’s plate without spitting it back out.

When that was concluded, Desna put Kinalik down for a nap while Eska ventured out into the great unknown.

For what felt like the millionth time, Eska felt the ends of her now shoulder-length hair.  It felt exceedingly strange to not have it hanging halfway down her back.

Also, the hairdresser had insisted on using hair clips to pin her bangs back.

“You have such a perfectly-proportioned forehead!” the older woman had gushed.  “And such delicate eyebrows.  Why would you ever want to cover that up?”

At least it might work as a disguise.  And Asami and Opal had wholeheartedly agreed with the stylist.  They had tried to get Bolin’s opinion as well, but he held up his pointer finger for silence.

“Please don’t disturb me.  I have attained manicure Nirvana,” he stated in an exaggerated whisper.

When Bolin had finally descended back down to Earth, they went clothes-shopping.  First they got some everyday items.  Eska was rather embarrassed that she had to wear clothing from the Juniors section due to her petite frame, but she managed to tolerate the shopping long enough to attain several new outfits.  The store had a changing room in case one wanted to wear an outfit out of the store, so Eska had changed her regular tunic and leggings for a sky-blue shirt with cap sleeves, white pants that fell just below the knee, and white sandals.  It was odd to have so much of her skin exposed in public, but it was amusing to imagine how the dreaded councilors back home would react.

She was taken aback when she realized that she would have to help carry her own belongings for the first time in her life, but decided not to argue.

Then Asami had remembered about Korra’s party, to which Eska hadn’t realized that she was invited, so they went to a more upscale boutique that specialized in Water Tribe inspired designs to find a dress.  Of course, the one that caught Eska’s eye was too large for her, so she would have to come back later for fitting.

By the time that was over, all of them were loaded with shopping bags and getting tired, and Eska’s back was acting up again.  She still didn’t understand why some girls and women did this for fun.

“There’s a bubble tea shop just down the street.  Let’s stop there,” Asami suggested.

Eska was about to inquire what bubble tea was, but her thoughts slammed on the brakes as a horrific sound rose from the corner next to the tea shop.

“What. Is.  That?” she demanded as she jammed her fingers inside her ears.

“That’s a trombone,” Opal answered.  She and Asami rolled their eyes at Bolin, who was edging nervously closer toward the tea shop door.

Even leading such a sheltered life, Eska had heard of street musicians.  But she had been under the impression that most did it for money.  There was no tip box beside this man’s feet, so either he was just doing it for fun or wanted to cause all pedestrians an agonizing death.  Probably the latter, she thought.

“I am going to ambulate over there right now and inform that man that he must cease and desist immediately,” she declared.

“Maybe…just going inside would be a better idea?” Bolin offered.  “Come on quick, before he sees us!”

Bolin dashed inside, and the three women had no choice but to follow, Opal and Asami both making noises of disapproval.

They got their orders and sat down.  Eska had assumed that the bubbles would be some form of carbonation, but they were actually solid spheres.  She guessed that it was not called “sphere tea” because it didn’t roll off the tongue as easily.  In any case, the spheres had a pleasantly chewy texture.

Meanwhile, Asami was still scolding Bolin.

“He’s a much better person now and you know it!” she said.

“He still scares me!”

“Well, I invited him to the party, so get used to him.”

“You what?  Oh frick…here he comes.”

The door abruptly swung open as if accompanied by a musical cue, and Trombone Man walked in like he owned the place.  To Eska’s relief, he had put away that torture device for the present.  Wait…why was he making a beeline to their table?

“Hi, Tahno!” Asami said cheerfully as Opal waved.  The latter elbowed Bolin, who squeaked out a “Hi!”

The name rang a bell.  Eska tried to recall where she’d encountered it.

“Now who is this lady here?” Tahno the Trombone Man asked.  “I don’t believe that I’ve seen you here with the Uh-vatar’s crowd before.”

Eska assumed that he was referring to Opal.  But after several seconds, she realized that he was looking at her.  Just in time, she remembered how she knew of him.

“I saw you in the magazines,” she said.  “Except then you weren’t there anymore.  And then you were, but not quite as often.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Was he flirting, or just making fun of her?

Eska rose from her seat and affixed her best glare.

“Your subpar pronounciation irritates my auditory receptacles.  As does your so-called musical talent.”

The look she was giving him would have sent a whole room full of courtiers fleeing.  But Trombone Man just laughed.

“Oh, did I offend you, Ice Queen?”

Did he know?  At any rate, Eska realized that he towered over her by at least a foot, despite her drawing herself up to as full a height as her back would allow.  This would not do.

“If I am the Ice Queen, then you are my subject.  I demand that you swear fealty to me by kneeling.”

She heard three sharp intakes of breath.  But kneel Tahno did, after only a brief pause.  He kept his eyes and his smirk on Eska.  Eska remained outwardly composed (at least she hoped so), but her heart was starting to pound…from anxiety or from something else?

“Of course…you do know what this means, Ice Queen?  Now I must kiss your hand.”

Eska barely had time to process the words before Bolin leapt in between them.

“O-kaaaayyy!” he exclaimed louder than he had to.  “I know we’re all having a wonderful time here, and it was great seeing you again, but look at the clock!  We really have to be going now, so bye and see you at the party, I guess!”

He herded the trio of women out the door, drinks, bags, and all.  Eska didn’t know whether she wanted to thank him or throttle him.

“That was interesting,” Eska mused as they walked back to the Satomobile.  “However, I doubt he would show the submission required to be my husband.”

Bolin choked on his last sip of tea.

“Mental images, Eska!  Mental! Images!” he gasped out.

At least he was starting to show his true self around her.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Taking Care of the Back of the House

1,300 families, 120,000 pounds of food: How No Us Without You feeds LA’s undocumented restaurant workers

At 11 a.m. on a hot Tuesday in October, cars began to line up at a pair of tents pitched in a deserted stretch of downtown Los Angeles. At the first tent, Damian Diaz greeted every arrival with cold Topo Chicos and bright greetings in Spanish. He handed out sandwiches donated by a local shop, bagged-up snacks, and juice boxes; some families received books carefully sorted by reading level. Next, the cars pulled up to a second tent, where volunteers loaded boxes of food into open trunks, back seats, and any other space they could find. Each family received two boxes totaling 100 pounds of food, and many cars were picking up for multiple households. Diaz teased one arrival about the full-sized bottle of Tapatio in his cup holder; he greeted dogs; volunteer Mykle Casarin handed a Star Wars book to a little boy and made him promise to tell her what he thinks next week.

That day, the nonprofit No Us Without You would distribute food to 300 families of undocumented restaurant workers. Founded by Diaz and Othón Nolasco, veteran bartenders behind some of Los Angeles’s hippest cocktail bars and co-owners of consulting group Va’La Hospitality, the group is dedicated to helping the most vulnerable workers in an industry in slow-motion collapse. No Us Without You serves 1,300 (and counting) families and distributes almost 120,000 pounds of food a week, fueled by official relief programs and massive amounts of donations. The USDA program, provided through Vesta Foods, ends on October 31, but even after that program ends, using their fluency with wholesalers and suppliers, No Us Without You can feed a family of four for $33 a week.

From top left: Nolasco behind the wheel; rice, beans, and chorizo; volunteer Cedric Ransburg packs a food box

Nolasco says the project was born out of a moment of anger. When Los Angeles locked down in March, Nolasco and Diaz watched restaurant GoFundMes sprout across social media for front-of-house employees, who tend to be better paid and have citizenship status, making them eligible for government relief. “Who was taking care of back of house?” Nolasco wondered.

According to a 2014 Pew report, roughly 9 percent of the hospitality workforce is undocumented; in Los Angeles, that number is undoubtedly higher (advocacy group One Fair Wage puts it at 40 percent). Many of these workers have taxes withheld from their paychecks, but when the COVID crisis arrived, the vast majority could not access the unemployment system they contributed to. As restaurants shut their doors en masse, Nolasco and Diaz reached out to 10 undocumented restaurant workers they knew personally; all of them needed help feeding their families.

As they expanded to 30 families, then 100, then 500 through Instagram and word of mouth, Diaz and Nolasco strove to build a system that respects the people they’re helping as skilled restaurant workers who know good-quality food, and who are often the first to help their colleagues. “When you come in hungover, who is putting away your liquor order? Who’s making posole for family meal, even at a Japanese restaurant?” Diaz says. He is personally in touch with all 1,300 families weekly, checking in on what they need, vetting and ushering in newcomers (the group turns down anyone who is not a restaurant worker), providing a listening ear, and generally building the trust essential to working with people who are both vulnerable and tend to resist help. Sometimes, when a member of a family finds work, they ask to leave the program, but Diaz urges people to keep accepting food so they can pay off deferred rent or any debt they’ve incurred.

To run a bar is to be a master of cold logistics and warm hospitality; it requires the ability to haul kegs and pour a drink for a regular who’s had a bad day; it requires individual ingenuity and a love of working as part of a team. It’s difficult to imagine a set of skills better suited to running a nonprofit. No Us Without You works because it embraces the pandemic’s ethos of mutual aid, not only in its explicit mission of helping former colleagues who once helped you, but in the structure the organization provides for people who have no idea when their industry might come back.

From top left: Checking in a new arrival; a volunteer loads food boxes; a box filled with vegetables, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs; a volunteer hands out juice boxes for kids

The volunteers — bartenders, bar managers, chefs, liquor reps, and barbacks — are all former colleagues of Diaz and Nolasco’s, and the trust built in the bar trenches makes the operation hum. Before the families arrived that Tuesday, the team loaded USDA food relief boxes, filled with staple vegetables, dairy products, and hard-boiled eggs, with rice, beans, chorizo, pasta, and marinara sauce. Ally DeVellis, a bartender, said building out the boxes is not unlike being behind the bar on a busy night, though the stakes are higher. “If you mess up, it’s different than garnishing incorrectly — a family doesn’t get rice for a week.” DeVellis is currently on unemployment, which covers only her basic necessities, and she bemoaned the government “fighting with itself.” But she said volunteering with No Us Without You was good for her own morale; she takes solace in the hard, sweaty work, and its mission.

In the nonprofit’s scrappy early days back in the spring, Diaz and Nolasco had distributed the food boxes from Va’La Hospitality’s office in the working class Latino neighborhood of Boyle Heights, across the river from downtown. But they worried inviting undocumented people to the same location week after week risked attracting the interest of ICE, so now the team goes through the extra steps of packing and unpacking a refrigerated truck and setting up in a rotating series of locations known only to the families they serve. (Diaz scouts for new locations on his bike.)

No Us Without You is nimble, and that nimbleness, combined with an abundance of out-of-work and furloughed workers eager to help, has allowed them to grow rapidly, and offer much more than boxes of food. At first, they distributed out of Nolasco’s pickup; then they were able to snag a truck. Va’La hospitality’s office, with its exposed brick walls and stylish bar, now looks less like a clubhouse than a relief center, stacked with crates of rice and beans, the bar scattered with children’s books. Contacts from the beverage world offer everything from corporate sponsorship to makeup kits.

For every need that arises, Diaz, Nolasco, and their core volunteers try to meet it. Their organization now feeds the families of mariachis and street vendors, two other groups hit hard by COVID-19. They run a community fridge, maintained to restaurant sanitation standards, to help those struggling in the nonprofit’s immediate neighborhood. If a member doesn’t have a car? Delivery. If their phone doesn’t work? They text over WhatsApp, when the person can get free Wi-Fi at McDonald’s. They’re piloting a tutoring program; growing out their library; surveying their membership about pet food needs (there are several iguanas).

Co-founders Othón Nolasco and Damian Diaz

That Tuesday, Nolasco made a surprise trip down to South Los Angeles, after a man who usually picked up for a large group of families fell ill. As the day grew hot and the line of cars grew longer, Diaz grabbed a wheeled cooler of Topo Chico and ran cold water down to the people waiting, running up and down in the heat over and over, a smile on his face. No Us Without You gives out water first explicitly to recall the hospitality of a restaurant. “They keep trusting us because they see us wanting to bust our butts for them,” Diaz said.

Diaz and Nolasco aren’t sure they will go back to the bar industry. Undocumented workers were exploited, underpaid, and discriminated against before COVID-19, and the hospitality industry has done too little for the people who power it for too long. Daniel Zarate, a bar manager who has been part of No Us Without You since the beginning, said, “I don’t see us going back to the industry. I see us after COVID, we will keep helping families.” He cracked a smile and added, “This is the first job my parents are proud of.”

Meghan McCarron is Eater’s special correspondent. Samanta Helou Hernandez is a multimedia journalist and photographer based in LA covering culture, identity, and social issues.

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1,300 families, 120,000 pounds of food: How No Us Without You feeds LA’s undocumented restaurant workers

At 11 a.m. on a hot Tuesday in October, cars began to line up at a pair of tents pitched in a deserted stretch of downtown Los Angeles. At the first tent, Damian Diaz greeted every arrival with cold Topo Chicos and bright greetings in Spanish. He handed out sandwiches donated by a local shop, bagged-up snacks, and juice boxes; some families received books carefully sorted by reading level. Next, the cars pulled up to a second tent, where volunteers loaded boxes of food into open trunks, back seats, and any other space they could find. Each family received two boxes totaling 100 pounds of food, and many cars were picking up for multiple households. Diaz teased one arrival about the full-sized bottle of Tapatio in his cup holder; he greeted dogs; volunteer Mykle Casarin handed a Star Wars book to a little boy and made him promise to tell her what he thinks next week.

That day, the nonprofit No Us Without You would distribute food to 300 families of undocumented restaurant workers. Founded by Diaz and Othón Nolasco, veteran bartenders behind some of Los Angeles’s hippest cocktail bars and co-owners of consulting group Va’La Hospitality, the group is dedicated to helping the most vulnerable workers in an industry in slow-motion collapse. No Us Without You serves 1,300 (and counting) families and distributes almost 120,000 pounds of food a week, fueled by official relief programs and massive amounts of donations. The USDA program, provided through Vesta Foods, ends on October 31, but even after that program ends, using their fluency with wholesalers and suppliers, No Us Without You can feed a family of four for $33 a week.

From top left: Nolasco behind the wheel; rice, beans, and chorizo; volunteer Cedric Ransburg packs a food box

Nolasco says the project was born out of a moment of anger. When Los Angeles locked down in March, Nolasco and Diaz watched restaurant GoFundMes sprout across social media for front-of-house employees, who tend to be better paid and have citizenship status, making them eligible for government relief. “Who was taking care of back of house?” Nolasco wondered.

According to a 2014 Pew report, roughly 9 percent of the hospitality workforce is undocumented; in Los Angeles, that number is undoubtedly higher (advocacy group One Fair Wage puts it at 40 percent). Many of these workers have taxes withheld from their paychecks, but when the COVID crisis arrived, the vast majority could not access the unemployment system they contributed to. As restaurants shut their doors en masse, Nolasco and Diaz reached out to 10 undocumented restaurant workers they knew personally; all of them needed help feeding their families.

As they expanded to 30 families, then 100, then 500 through Instagram and word of mouth, Diaz and Nolasco strove to build a system that respects the people they’re helping as skilled restaurant workers who know good-quality food, and who are often the first to help their colleagues. “When you come in hungover, who is putting away your liquor order? Who’s making posole for family meal, even at a Japanese restaurant?” Diaz says. He is personally in touch with all 1,300 families weekly, checking in on what they need, vetting and ushering in newcomers (the group turns down anyone who is not a restaurant worker), providing a listening ear, and generally building the trust essential to working with people who are both vulnerable and tend to resist help. Sometimes, when a member of a family finds work, they ask to leave the program, but Diaz urges people to keep accepting food so they can pay off deferred rent or any debt they’ve incurred.

To run a bar is to be a master of cold logistics and warm hospitality; it requires the ability to haul kegs and pour a drink for a regular who’s had a bad day; it requires individual ingenuity and a love of working as part of a team. It’s difficult to imagine a set of skills better suited to running a nonprofit. No Us Without You works because it embraces the pandemic’s ethos of mutual aid, not only in its explicit mission of helping former colleagues who once helped you, but in the structure the organization provides for people who have no idea when their industry might come back.

From top left: Checking in a new arrival; a volunteer loads food boxes; a box filled with vegetables, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs; a volunteer hands out juice boxes for kids

The volunteers — bartenders, bar managers, chefs, liquor reps, and barbacks — are all former colleagues of Diaz and Nolasco’s, and the trust built in the bar trenches makes the operation hum. Before the families arrived that Tuesday, the team loaded USDA food relief boxes, filled with staple vegetables, dairy products, and hard-boiled eggs, with rice, beans, chorizo, pasta, and marinara sauce. Ally DeVellis, a bartender, said building out the boxes is not unlike being behind the bar on a busy night, though the stakes are higher. “If you mess up, it’s different than garnishing incorrectly — a family doesn’t get rice for a week.” DeVellis is currently on unemployment, which covers only her basic necessities, and she bemoaned the government “fighting with itself.” But she said volunteering with No Us Without You was good for her own morale; she takes solace in the hard, sweaty work, and its mission.

In the nonprofit’s scrappy early days back in the spring, Diaz and Nolasco had distributed the food boxes from Va’La Hospitality’s office in the working class Latino neighborhood of Boyle Heights, across the river from downtown. But they worried inviting undocumented people to the same location week after week risked attracting the interest of ICE, so now the team goes through the extra steps of packing and unpacking a refrigerated truck and setting up in a rotating series of locations known only to the families they serve. (Diaz scouts for new locations on his bike.)

No Us Without You is nimble, and that nimbleness, combined with an abundance of out-of-work and furloughed workers eager to help, has allowed them to grow rapidly, and offer much more than boxes of food. At first, they distributed out of Nolasco’s pickup; then they were able to snag a truck. Va’La hospitality’s office, with its exposed brick walls and stylish bar, now looks less like a clubhouse than a relief center, stacked with crates of rice and beans, the bar scattered with children’s books. Contacts from the beverage world offer everything from corporate sponsorship to makeup kits.

For every need that arises, Diaz, Nolasco, and their core volunteers try to meet it. Their organization now feeds the families of mariachis and street vendors, two other groups hit hard by COVID-19. They run a community fridge, maintained to restaurant sanitation standards, to help those struggling in the nonprofit’s immediate neighborhood. If a member doesn’t have a car? Delivery. If their phone doesn’t work? They text over WhatsApp, when the person can get free Wi-Fi at McDonald’s. They’re piloting a tutoring program; growing out their library; surveying their membership about pet food needs (there are several iguanas).

Co-founders Othón Nolasco and Damian Diaz

That Tuesday, Nolasco made a surprise trip down to South Los Angeles, after a man who usually picked up for a large group of families fell ill. As the day grew hot and the line of cars grew longer, Diaz grabbed a wheeled cooler of Topo Chico and ran cold water down to the people waiting, running up and down in the heat over and over, a smile on his face. No Us Without You gives out water first explicitly to recall the hospitality of a restaurant. “They keep trusting us because they see us wanting to bust our butts for them,” Diaz said.

Diaz and Nolasco aren’t sure they will go back to the bar industry. Undocumented workers were exploited, underpaid, and discriminated against before COVID-19, and the hospitality industry has done too little for the people who power it for too long. Daniel Zarate, a bar manager who has been part of No Us Without You since the beginning, said, “I don’t see us going back to the industry. I see us after COVID, we will keep helping families.” He cracked a smile and added, “This is the first job my parents are proud of.”

Meghan McCarron is Eater’s special correspondent. Samanta Helou Hernandez is a multimedia journalist and photographer based in LA covering culture, identity, and social issues.

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