#also the guts are on the table which is neat

[foegs]

every time I see some cool cute content from the latest in f1blr I'm also reminded by an inevitable post very close on its heels that the reason we're celebrating the little things is that max fucking won again, and then I'm out again for another month

[catiecat1320]

Chapter 7 of 11! (Seven Eleven heheh) [MasterPost]

Read Below🔽

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shadow’s ears twitched at the sound, well before he even realized he heard it. Groaning, he lifted his head in response, brain still foggy from sleep. “Eh?”

He was on the couch, he realized, rubbing his sore neck as coherent thoughts trickled back in. He must’ve fallen asleep while reading again.

Tap. Tap. 

“Coming, coming!” He shouts to no one in particular. Standing up, the book that sat forgotten in his lap thudded on the floor, splaying spine-up messily, eliciting a wince from the owner. With much more care, Shadow picked it up, straightened the pages and lined it up with the other of its series on the coffee table. 

The relentless tapping continued, and it was only then that he realized it didn’t sound like the wood of his door. 

His head snapped to the window much too late, only to see the emerald eyes of someone he would’ve never expected peering back at him. “Sonic?” 

The door was open before he registered he’d moved, the awaiting star outside giggling at his mindless haste. “Heya, Shads! Had a nice nap?”

“What? You… How are you here? D-did I ever give you my address?” Shadow stuttered, ignoring Sonic’s question. “You know what, I’m not going to ask. You’re here. What for?”

The idol only grinned cheekily, patting Shadow’s shoulder as he slipped past and into the house, never dropping the gaze he had locked on to the host. It was as if he was waiting, but for what Shadow didn’t know. He felt a little dumb, standing there with no idea why someone was in his house. Was he supposed to do something?

He… doesn’t remember how to act with guests over.

“Well? You gonna close the door?” Sonic said, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Right. The pianist reached behind him and fumbled with the doorknob, completely off put by how nonchalant his visitor was. It was as if Shadow was the one that randomly showed up in the middle of the night to a house that he shouldn’t have known the address to in the first place.

“So. This is your favorite place, huh?” Sonic threw himself onto the couch, head swiveling like an owl’s as he drank in the sights of the little house. “Pretty neat,” he muttered, sinking into the cushions, “Cozy, too.”

The more he talked, the more Shadow just… stopped working. “W…why did you come to my house again? Just to see it for yourself?”

“Ha!” Sonic sat up, smirking. “Tails was driving me up the wall— which, mind you, are pretty small in a RV— so I decided to stretch my legs and take a run ‘round the ‘hood.” He looks smug, holding his fingers up to his face like one of those girls looking at their nails, despite wearing gloves. Why did he wear gloves all the time? Shadow quietly stowed the question away for the next Q&A. “I also left my watch, so he’s probably worrying his guts out right now.”

“That…” seems a little too far. But it wasn’t his place to judge Sonic’s actions, and it’s not like he knew the context of the situation, so, “...doesn’t answer my question. Why my house?”

“Oh. Uh… would you believe me if I said I just happened to see you through the window?”

The look on Shadow’s face probably told him more than enough. “Um. Well, I was thinking of you. And I was thinking about my favorite place in the whole wide world,” the idol admitted sheepishly, scratching at his cheek. “I thought that maybe I should show you.”

“It’s nearing midnight. You could’ve come tomorrow.” Shadow pointed out. But he was curious now, his words holding no edge to them. What was so special that it would warrant this sudden visit?

“But now is the best time to see it!” Sonic argued. “Come on, you’ll understand when we’re there!”

“Alright, alright,” Shadow grumbled. “Give me a moment to get ready.”

“Okay! Make sure to wear comfortable clothes. It’ll be quite a hike to get there.”

………………………………

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?” Shadow muttered, trying to hide his unease. He didn’t usually go out this late after dark. Trailing after Sonic was easy enough, he supposed, but he’d really appreciate it if he could get a sense of direction. He would’ve appreciated it even more if they’d just taken his bike, but that was beside the point.

He doesn’t recognize this part of town. Whether it was the night messing with his senses or just a new route, he didn’t like it. The ominous lighting of the shielded streetlights didn’t help, especially not when the one down the corner was flickering like mad. Sonic didn’t seem to mind at all though.

“We’ll be there soon,” he assured. “It’s in the one and only Emerald Park. I loved running through that place when I was littler, but there’s a special spot that I call my favorite.”

“Emerald Park?” Shadow recognized the name. He’d been there when he was a child, too. But those memories had been left behind, fading with age. The most he could remember was Maria’s awestruck face as she exclaimed something he couldn’t recall, the green canopies above throwing cooling shade over her golden hair.

“Yeah.” Sonic stopped, and in the dark Shadow made out a plaque declaring their location. He was starting to have second thoughts… more like third thoughts at this point. Should they really be here at this time of night? 

A sudden warmth enveloped his wrist, and Shadow swore his heart nearly tore out of his chest. It was only when he yanked back and Sonic toppled into him with a yip that he realized it was just the other hedgehog’s hand.

“Oh! Oh, Chaos, I’m sorry,” he stammered, the cool nighttime air doing nothing to hamper the sheer embarrassment that lit his face, not helped by the fact that Sonic was now in his arms. The dancer only laughed, however, straightening and wrapping his fingers around Shadow’s wrist again. 

“Don’t worry about it! I’ll admit that this place is pretty spooky in the dark. Man, I missed it so much.” 

“Should we really be here?” Shadow breathed aloud, just to be sure, to which Sonic huffed. No verbal answer was given, and the musician found himself being led through the open gate onto worn trails. Whether that was a yes or no, he didn’t know.

He was blind now, metaphorically and nearly physically. The shadowed trees that towered over them blocked out the moon, and there were no artificial lights to speak of. Almost like a scene in a horror movie… yet despite that, the usually unnerving sights didn’t get much further than slightly raising his heart rate, adrenaline doing a fine job in activating his senses. 

He was putting so much trust into Sonic, he realized. There was every chance that the idol could do something or lead him somewhere dangerous, intentionally or unintentionally, and he would be powerless to stop it. Not out here, as much of a wilderness as he’d ever been. Yet somehow, Shadow had complete faith that nothing would go wrong.

Somewhere, sometime, Sonic had started idle chatter. Of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It was quite endearing, the way he could go on about nothing of importance with so much excitement. “...You’re gonna love this place, I’m telling you; I’ve been all over the world, probably seen everything at this point, but nothing beats this place,” he gushed, “not even those really cool landmarks everyone’s heard of! Those are honestly overrated. Or, or— I’m getting off track, hah. We’re nearly there. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve shown anyone besides Tails, so you’re lucky, Shads.” He paused along with his sentence, with Shadow stopping just a little too late, bumping into the hedgehog in front of him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, silently cursing his clumsiness.

“No need to be!” Sonic assured immediately, pressing closer. Too much closer. Almost touching faces closer. “Stay close, okay? We’re gonna go off the trail. Step where I step so you don’t trip.” He shifted his hand down, intertwining fingers with Shadow.

“Wait, wait, what?” The pianist stumbled, but Sonic had already set off, headed in between inconspicuous trees and taking Shadow with him. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back. “I know this place like the back of my hand. We won’t get lost.”

“I… okay.” And immediately, Shadow’s foot caught a stray root, sending him tumbling into the idol. The two landed on top of each other, both surprised and one embarrassed. 

“Sorry, sorry! Gosh, I’m such an idiot.”

Sonic laughed, untangling himself. “It’s okay. It’s easy to slip up here. I’ve done it even after years.” They helped each other up, did a quick once-over for complications, and started again.

The dancer took more care to lead this time… which involved holding both of Shadow’s hands. His cheeks were probably glowing with how much heat circulated there— he felt like a baby learning to walk, stumbling over his own two feet while Sonic stepped backwards, all confidence and grace, only occasionally sparing a few glances into the darkness behind him.

“We’re almost there…” the guide murmured after what felt like forever. Something flicked into Shadow’s face, making him cringe. He was sure he’d gotten several scratches from all the branches clawing at them. This better be worth it. 

“Prepare yourself…”

They entered a clearing, and Shadow couldn’t help the shrill squeak that came out of his mouth at the sight. It was as if all the breath had been sucked out of him, held captive by what lay before him.

It… it was heaven itself.

High above, stars like he’d never seen swirled around the full moon, bathing all in holy silver. The drop of a steep cliff gave way to a sprawling landscape which he recognized as the quiet nighttime Green Hill, dotted with the occasional light but otherwise inky black. If he looked closely, he could see the sky reflected in the lake, as if a portal had opened on its glassy surface, beckoning the curious to slip into a dream. 

Nearer to himself, grass tamed only by Mother Nature swayed in the gentle breeze, tickling his pant legs. Overhead, trees shifted and rustled, reminding him of their ever-reaching presence. Fireflies darted here and there, flashing their own lights to compete with the twinkling stars. 

Oh, it was a feast for the eyes, a secret paradise, a whole living fairytale, and right beside him, the blue hedgehog that opened the door to all of this, wearing a knowing grin as he let Shadow soak it all in.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

Shadow couldn’t agree more.

A gentle tug redirected his attention to the one holding his hand, guiding him further. The two settled in the grass blanketing the ridge, letting the moon shine peace onto them. 

“When… when did you find this place? How?” Shadow couldn’t help but ask once he finally found his voice. It was magical, really. Exactly the kind of place you would expect Sonic would call his favorite.

The dancer looks wistful for a second. “When I was barely a teenager, reckless and really, really eager for freedom. I don’t sleep easy, and that combined with an adventurous streak led to me stumbling across this place. It just… called out to me, I guess.”

Shadow watched as he fell backward, coming to a rest on his elbows. Pale in the starlight, Sonic’s face tilted to the swirling sky, his smile like a crescent moon. “This is where I feel most inspired. There’s… there’s a magic to this place, I’m telling you, and I was thinking you might feel it too.”

It certainly looked like Wonderland, but he got the feeling that Sonic meant “magic” literally. In which case, he wanted to shout that the idea was ridiculous. Magic wasn’t real. 

…But at the same time, a part of Shadow was compelled to agree, or at least try to understand the thought.

“You don’t get it, do you?” 

The pianist winced at the comment. But when he started to say something, he realized that Sonic wasn’t looking at him, or anything at all. Blue eyelids lay shut, a neutral expression pasted on his face as he breathed deeply, focused and detached at once. The words Shadow meant to say died in his throat. 

A moment later, a soft smile graced the idol’s lips and he whispered something too quiet for the other to hear. Sonic stood up and brushed himself off, stretching, leaving Shadow completely and utterly lost, still. 

He felt like he was interrupting something, something he couldn’t yet understand. But then glittering emeralds snapped over to him, partnered with a cheeky yet confident grin. Sonic offered a hand and he took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. His expression was more than likely the opposite of the idol’s, layered with confusion and curiosity, a desperate plea to know what the hell was going on.

Shadow’s silent inquiry was met not with an answer, but a demand.

“Let’s dance.”

[scrumptiousstuffs]

Only Friends Episode 1

I have so many thoughts, not all of them coherent. But anyway, it goes without saying I am intrigue by the first episode. I thought P’Jojo and P’ Ninew did well in introducing our 4 core besties and their connections with our other 3 main characters. In a nutshell, they are a hot mess.

I love the opening with Mew introducing himself as the table keeper. We see glimpse of how organised he is (the neat apartment) and his role as basically the mother/peacemaker of the group. BUT, despite the cute nerdy glasses and gentle smile, there is a hidden steel and somehow manipulative nature. We see this when Mew smilingly informing Ray about doing up Ray’s dad villa to be their hostel/thesis project, stating that it will be “good for him to do it as business in the future”. I think deep down he knows Ray’s massive crush on him and uses this at his (and the group) advantages. Similarly, his interaction with Top - no doubt he finds Top attractive, but he knowingly agrees for Top to step foot in his apartment, make out with the guy and then have the guts (good on him though!) to put a stop on it (while bluntly informing Top that if you want to get into my pants, woo me first. He also gave what sounds like a warning, “I’m afraid if we have a one night stand, I can be obsessive and start stalking you on IG etc…”) - that gives me hemmm….OCD vibe?? 😅

Then we have Boston, playful and definitely knows how have fun. He is confident with his sexuality and unapologetically pursues self-gratification. This man is open to basically anything including polyamory (I mean the opening scene where he was hitting the dude with red band who slyly asked whether his bf can join??? Wow!). Similarly, the way he sex-eyed Nick and then proceed to do the deed on their second meeting after Nick boldly put his half naked picture in his phone (look personally I find this creepy, but the fact that Boston doesn’t?….it tells you something about him). Plus, he is forever with a camera (and the promo with him looking almost sinisterly with the camera pointing towards the audience, followed by the trailer showing him and Nick in the dark room with photos of people in compromising positions…are the people aware he is taking them????)

I have no doubt superficially he likes his circle of besties more than other people. However, by nature, Boston seems callous. I suspect if he has to choose between himself and the group, he will choose himself. The fact that he chose to leave that night with Drake’s character to have sex without checking in on his group (or at the very least making sure a drunk Ray (cause Mew and Naumchuen don’t drive) have a ride home is telling - both on how often it happens that his besties don’t even register he left but also how dysfunctional Ray is, which I’ll elaborate later).

And his relationship with Top - it’s clear they had a one night stand. It is also apparent Boston is keen to repeat the deed (not necessarily to have a relationship per se). But Top (at present) is busy proving himself to Mew he is bf material and date-worthy. Boston seems jealous nerdy Mew can capture Top’s interest (and I think Top’s pointed comments on how he is bored with people who are experienced may be a jabbed for Boston). Similarly, that conversation between Top and Boston in the toilet - full of veiled layered meanings, which cumulate to Boston daring Top to make a move. Top, being competitive and hate losing, responded by confessing to Mew in front of the whole bar to go steady with him (not a fan of this honestly, cause it puts Mew on the spot. Should be interesting to see if Mew accepts or reject in the next episode)

Top is definitely use to being THE ONE, and like his name, Top-tier. He is rich, handsome and suave. He is also manipulative, but the question is whether Mew can out manipulate him on his own game. I don’t think Top has fallen in love with Mew yet - all the gestures he has done sweetly for Mew seems more like him trying to get into Mew’s pants 😅. But, like I alluded above, Mew doesn’t seem to be as naive as what Boston and Ray will like to believe. So, it stands to see who will fall for each other first. The conflict will be if (or when) Mew finds out Top has previously slept with Boston. And if the trailer is to believe, Boston and Top may sleep with each other again once TopMew are together.

Beautiful Namchuen is probably the sanest out of the 4 besties. She is in a relationship (red band on the opening scene!!), presumably with April. She loves her 3 male besties and supportive of whatever they want to do. She encourages Mew to pursue Top, and happily pitch in to do PR for the group’s villa project. But, she likely doesn’t know everything about the boys (and I think this holds true for the 4 of them!). Like Boston and his photos? (Still creepy for me, but I may be completely off with this matter) or how much alcohol is an issue for Ray (after all Boston and she drinks too and probably in her mind, most uni students drink and get drunk at times i.e normal uni students behaviour)

Then we have Ray. I called him my insufferable disaster muffin (affectionately). He is rich but clearly lonely. He has low self-esteem, but put a projection of being confident of himself. However it’s when he is inebriated that we see his true feelings “I love you guys. don’t leave me” - proclaiming these to his besties (which tells me he clings hard to the small circle of friends he have). Or when his circle of friends unknowingly called him a burden when he is too drunk to drive himself “yes I’m a burden”. Similarly, the fact that he has never confessed to Mew his feelings - kinda of tell me, he is afraid to change the status quo of their friendship, wanting to cling on what he knows as hard as he can.

Or when Sand drives him home “Leave me alone. I’m nobody important”. He loathes himself and uses money to buy people’s affection (and time) cause that’s what he knows. He uses alcohol to numb his feelings, goes to uni with a perpetual hangover and even his lecturer mockingly called him “rich master.”

He probably has family issues (possibly neglect? Abandonment?). Financially his parents seem to provide him with everything but it seems to end there….which again brings me to Ray clinging hard to the small circle of friends to fill the void. The fact he wakes up in a stranger room - not even worried that he may have drunken sex (straight up asking Sand! Seems funny then, but putting it in context - you have to wonder how often this happened to him that he sometimes don’t even recall if he has drunken, basically non-consensual encounters). It was only when he thought Sand robbed him he started to panic - because to Ray, his wealth is his identity.

And his relationship with gruff, sarcastic, hard working Sand (I dubbed him my prickly hedgehog, spiky on the outside but really all squishy in the inside) - yup I’m looking forward to this. Their first encounter was a disaster (“Should I pee on your head then?” 🤣). Second encounter was similarly terrible with one of the screenwriter confirming there is a good reason Sand dislikes drunkards (It will be interesting to know why as the series progresses). But despite that, he allowed Ray in his cozy flat, changed his clothes and charged his phone before kicking him out (I mean rightfully so 😅).

Episode 1 ended with Ray apologising to Sand for his rude behaviour. The cigarette lighting scene being a metaphor for new beginning (while them eyeing each other - the tension between the 2 of them!!!!), it will be interesting to see Ray opening up to Sand and vice versa (cause let’s be honest, Sand my prickly hedgehog has layers and I don’t think we have even begin to peal them off!)

I thought all the actors/actresses did amazing in their roles. I’ll always have a soft spot for FK and as usual, they nailed their roles beautifully. But Neo and Mark were superb in their roles 👌👌. Similarly, Force and Book 🫡.

On to episode 2! Is it Saturday yet? (Also, I want all of Ray’s jackets and shirts - whoever styled him has impeccable taste!)

12/08/2023

[renlyslittlerose]

Another Moonlight Serenade ‘B Side’. Based off the prompts that @ghostlingpupskywalker and @kittonafoxgirl suggested, regarding Obi-Wan’s reaction to finding out that Anakin was more grievously wounded than he first let on!

All’s Fair in Love and War (2k)

‘1944/05/23 Skywalker Queen Victoria Hospital East Grinstead, England

Dear Kenobi,

I hope all is well. Still stuck at the hospital, but I can’t complain too much. The food is warm, the beds soft, and the nurses are pretty. Did I mention we get free beer on tap whenever we want? I guess there are some perks to being wounded. But I can’t wait to get back out in the field. I miss the skies. I also feel like I’m not doing my part like I should. Rex keeps telling me that he can win the war without me, but I beg to differ.

My arm is still on the mend, as I am sure you can tell from the different handwriting. One of the new nursing sister’s has volunteered her time today, in exchange for a game of bridge later on. The RAF boys have been playing “Shove Ha’Penny” in the mess the last couple of nights. I still don’t find it all that appealing, but it’s the only thing going on, so I find myself learning the game despite my best efforts.

Well, there isn’t much doing. I’m due in for another surgery but rumour has it I’ll be discharged soon. Can’t wait. I’m getting sick of the smell here - too clean and sterile.

Wishing you well. Stay safe, and leave some fighting for me.

Skywalker.’

Obi-Wan fiddled with the edges of the letter, running the thin blue paper against the pad of his thumb. Anakin’s words stared up at him in unfamiliar, feminine handwriting. He’d been through six different nurses so far, each with their own particular way of spelling and writing, though their penmanship was universally legible and neat - unlike most of the officers’ who wrote as if they were being chased by a herd of wildebeest. Obi-Wan wondered when he’d get to see Anakin’s again - all sharp angles and the occasional misspelled word.

Anakin kept promising in his letters that there would be one more surgery - just one more - and he’d be right as rain again, but after three different hospitals and numerous surgeries later, Obi-Wan was beginning to suspect that something more grievous had happened. The facts didn’t add up, Anakin’s assurances sounding less and less comforting each time Obi-Wan opened a letter only to be greeted with the sight of another person’s handwriting.

He loathed to pry; he had no right, really. He knew he ought to take Anakin’s word as it was given, and believe him despite it all, and yet…

Worry sat in Obi-Wan’s guts, tangling deep in with all the other anxieties he’d swallowed at the start of the war. Though he’d only known Anakin a short while he already knew his habits, the little ways in which he carried himself bleeding through the letters he dictated. He was scared - scared and grieving and so terribly sad. It made Obi-Wan want to weep; to ask if he could help; to pack his bags and swim across the channel to see Anakin with his own two eyes - touch the scar on his cheek and kiss away whatever it was that had hurt him so. He wanted to hold him in his arms and tell him that it would all be okay, even though Obi-Wan wasn’t sure it would, or could, ever be right again.  

Folding the letter up, he slipped it in the front pocket of his shirt before leaving the mess tent. It was early afternoon beneath the hot Italian sun, the stink of petrol and oil thick in the muggy air. Most of the men had taken shelter beneath the trees that sprouted up in the hills, the tents far too hot to spend any time in unless you absolutely had to. Squinting back the sun he headed toward the tent at the end of the camp next to the freshwater source.

He found the field medic, Captain Buck, sat at a table, sweat beading down his forehead as he filled out a form in front of him. Next to him were a stack of other such sheets along with an opened water canteen, the contents probably long since dredged. Behind him a man lounged on a cot, bandages thick and white wrapped around his skull and his knee - a victim of an early morning motorcycle accident awaiting transport to a nearby field hospital.

Buck smiled when Obi-Wan stepped inside and sat back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him.

“I’m sure one of the boys would share his shady spot with you outside if you asked,” Obi-Wan said.

“Why?”

“It’s rather hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He smiled despite the beads of sweat that dripped along his temple.

“I suppose it’s a state of mind,” Obi-Wan remarked. He resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt. “How’s our Lieutenant doing?”

“He’s fine; just a little banged up. Probably more embarrassed than anything - I guess he got spooked by a passing goat and swerved into a ditch trying to avoid it.”

“Did the goat survive?”

“It’s who alerted the locals to his presence!”

“Perhaps we should take the goat with us - have it aid us as an early detection alert.”

Buck chuckled before sitting forward again, his hands locked together on the table. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but is there something I can help you with, Major?”

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment. It really wasn’t his business - Anakin had kept whatever it was from him for a reason. And yet…

“Queen Victoria Hospital back in the UK - have you heard of it?”

Buck nodded. “They’re known for their plastics unit - specialize in burn trauma and recovery.”

“Is that all they do?”

“No, but that’s why they send our men over there. Why? Do you know someone who’s there?”

“Yes - a fellow with the R.C.A.F. He was shot down a few months ago, but has been rather tight lipped about the extent of his injuries.”

“Stands to reason he was burned in the crash. It’s common for airmen to suffer from burns due to the fuel tanks in those things. They tend to… explode when filled with bullets.”

Obi-Wan had seen burn victims before. During his first year of service in the war he’d help drag a man from a burning Blenheim, a memory he’d tried to forget. He could still smell the scorched fabric of his uniform and hear his screams as their commander tried to put out the fire, touch brutal as he beat back the flames in an attempt to stall its quick creep up his legs and across his chest.  

The smell of his burning flesh reminded Obi-Wan of grilled pork, and he felt mildly sick for weeks any time he caught a whiff of cooked meat.

Obi-Wan’s gut twisted. Anakin was such a near perfect creature, youthful skin marred only by nicks and cuts caused by the errors of youth. The thought of his skin, bronzed and dotted with freckles and beauty marks, being twisted and torn and warped by the heat of flames made Obi-Wan want to be sick.  

“If he’s up and talking and walking, he’s going to be fine,” Buck said, his voice creeping back into Obi-Wan’s consciousness. “They’re doing some fabulous work over there; best of the best. He’d in good hands.”

“Yes, of course,” he said quickly. Swallowing the sour spit in the back of his throat, Obi-Wan smiled tightly as Buck. “I have one more question, if I may.”

“Of course.”

“Your typical arm fracture wouldn’t require multiple surgeries, would it?”

“Not if it’s just a regular break. Maybe one or two, if the surgeon didn’t know what he was doing, but setting the bone and casting it is typically good enough.” Buck sat back again and rested his hands on his stomach. “Did your friend hurt his arm?”

“Yes.”

“How many surgeries?”

“A fair few, though I’m doubtful they were all for his arm, if what you say about Queen Victoria is true.”

“Would I lie?”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied. “Though I wish you would right now.”

Buck’s smile tensed, sympathy flashing across his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kenobi, I wish I could offer you more reassurances.”

Obi-Wan nodded and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling the fabric of his shirt off of his sweaty chest. “It’s as you say - he’s receiving the best care available.”

“He is.”

“Thank you for lending me your ear.” Buck nodded, smile once again softening. “And let me know if you need any help when the truck comes for the Lieutenant.”

“I will.”

Obi-Wan slipped out of the tent into the marginally cooler air. As he walked back to his tent the letter in his pocket sat heavier.

XXX

‘I think I owe you a proper explanation for that. When I said that I was recovering, I wasn’t being entirely truthful. I’m fine, but there were complications with my arm. They had to amputate it.’

“Oh, darling…”

“You alright?”

Obi-Wan glanced up from his letter to peer at one of the men from across the table. It was late at night, the tent buzzing with men and moths as they congregated around the kerosene lamps that dotted the tables in the mess tent. Off in the distance Obi-Wan could hear the distant rumble of aircraft engines a few short miles away as night fighters took advantage of the cloudless skies.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said, his breathing catching on his throat.

“You sure? You look a little piqued.”

“I’m fine.”

Folding the letter up he stood and left the tent with haste. It wasn’t until he was in his tent, sat on his cot, with a flashlight pointed at the letter did Obi-Wan read the rest of it. Anakin’s assurances he was alright and the photograph he’d sent of his garden did little to reassure Obi-Wan that he truly was okay. Losing an arm was traumatizing enough, but losing the ability to fly was like asking Anakin to breath without air, or sing without a voice, or love without a heart. Flying was everything to him.

And Obi-Wan couldn’t reassure him; couldn’t be there to help him in the ways he knew he needed help.

Instead he was stuck in the middle of Palestine, constrained by his duties, beaten down by grief and misery, made to stay and fight in a war that had already taken so much from him, and had stripped what little left Anakin had from him. All he could do for Anakin was write useless words of encouragement on blank sheets of paper while censors held him back from declaring his foolish, delirious love for him.

Anakin deserved better; they both deserved better.

It wasn’t fair. It was all so unfair.

Those who didn’t know loss and fear like a soldier did would remark that life wasn’t fair; that life was filled with ups and downs and we were powerless to stop them. Those religious would even state that things always happened for a reason, as if to make it sting a little bit more; as if to make you feel more inadequate, more powerless. But things didn’t just happen, and life should be fair. It was easy to say that it wasn’t because then it absolved humanity from even trying - for striving for something better.

Anakin wouldn’t have lost his arm, been burned, been tortured, stripped of his life’s goals and aspirations because there should have been no war - no conflict, no death, no misery. And if there had to be conflict then let the old fight’ the men in their suits in their offices who signed the papers and made the choices. Let them take up arms and come to blows while the youth lived in peace and security.

Life wasn’t fair because they made it so.

Obi-Wan was sick of it.

Standing, Obi-Wan kicked over his cot, watching the sleeping bag fall on to the sand covered floor as the wooden frame clattered in the quiet space. Next he kicked his side table, sending documents and a compass down on to the floor next to the bag, the two creating a mess that was satisfying for only a moment. It wasn’t often he acted out in such a way - not any more - but the anger came through him, hot and sudden and biting, making him want to scream and tear, to rage and cry. It was almost overwhelming, the sudden build up of grief, like a torrent of rain and waves against the hull of an already battered ship, continual and never-ending.

But the release only lasted a moment - a sudden violence followed by a calm that Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to do with. It was almost easier to remain angry.

Taking a deep breath he looked down at the chaos he’d created, the light from his flashlight flickering off the turned over cot and messy sheets. As far as temper-tantrums went it wasn’t very impressive. The sheets could be cleaned up in moments, the bed righted in much the same amount of time. But at least it could be fixed, unlike everything else in the world.

He cleaned up the mess in the relative dark, his flashlight waving about the tent walls as he righted the bed and sorted through the papers. Once finished he kicked off his boots and collapsed on top of the sleeping bag, head cushioned by his arm. The letter sat in his free hand, the paper crinkled and worn. If he tried hard enough he could almost smell Anakin’s cologne on the sheet - cinnamon and something else, something that made Obi-Wan nostalgic for soft embraces and laughter against his neck.

He’d write a letter tomorrow, when the sun had risen and the crush of Anakin’s loss wasn’t felt as deeply. For now, Obi-Wan would wallow in his sorrow. He knew Anakin wouldn’t begrudge him for that.

[cherrydreamer]

(Warning: Contains rookie!cop Steve which I know is very much not to everyone's tastes. Also some description of Neil Hargrove inflicted abuse. Nothing overly graphic but just be aware.)

🎃 Harringrove Harvest Day 2- Gone Feral 🎃

Steve's at a loss.

It had been easy enough for him when he was right in the thick of it. Easy to know what to do. To trust his gut. Because, really, all it boiled down to was that fact that there'd been a bunch of monsters he needed to fight and a bunch of kids he needed to protect. 

But now it's all over. Monsters fought. Kids protected. Everything squared away, neat and tidy.

And Steve isn't quite sure where he fits anymore. He hovers in doorways, on the edge of the groups, drifting from the kitchen with a mug of Joyce's hot cocoa in hand- loaded with extra marshmallows because, "you look like you need the sugar, honey," over to the table where Dustin is restating his theories about d'Art and the potential domestication of Demodogs, sneaking a look back towards the couch where Nancy and Jon are huddled, heads together, in a world of their own.

So when Hopper beckons him over, it's easiest for Steve just to follow him, to step out onto the porch and accept the cigarette held out in front of him and wait for whatever favour it was that Hopper needed him to do next. Drive the kids home, probably, or maybe run out for some more food. Something useful. Helpful.

But instead of asking for anything, Hopper rests a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. It feels good. Grounding. Reassuring in a way that Steve didn't even know he needed. 

"You did good out there, kid," Hopper says, quiet but serious in a way that has Steve's gut squirming, "I know it can't've been easy, keeping those brats safe, but y'did it. And I heard the whole thing, about what you did in those tunnels. Trust me, Dustin won't stop yapping on about it, and I gotta say it was damn brave of you, son"

It's a lot. Too much praise for something that anyone would've done, most likely, so Steve tries to dismiss it, to shake it off, not feeling like he really deserves the warm glow of pride blooming in his chest. He manage to mumble something about how it'd been dangerous, really, dangerous and stupid, and Hopper laughs, a proper, deep in the gut rumble of laughter that ends in a cough.

"Dangerous, stupid and brave, huh? Not the worst combination in the world, hell, it may as well be the damn motto of the Hawkins Police Department. Might get Flo to make one of her cross stitch pictures. Have it framed for the office."

Hopper laughs again, and then he pauses, and Steve swears he can almost see the cartoon bulb lighting up above his head.

"Look, kid, I don't know what you've got lined up for after graduation. College? Or a job? Something with your dad's place, maybe?"

Steve can only shake his head, already waiting for Hopper's look of disappointment, only it never comes. Instead he nods, satisfied, like a plan is coming together.

"Well, it'd be good to have another person down at the station who knows what we're actually up against," and then he snorts, amused, "And someone like you? Someone with a bit of common sense? Well that would make a hell of a difference too. I can't say it's always this exciting," he shrugs, "But it ain't a bad job. And you've got more potential than a hell of a lot of the rookies I've seen. You think on it, son," 

And that, seemingly, is that. Hopper gives Steve's shoulder another one of those warm, firm pats, and then he stubs his cigarette out on Joyce Byers' porch railing and heads back inside.

But Steve stays put for a while longer. 

Just thinking.

—

He goes back to Hopper the very next day, asking if he was serious, surprised when Hopper doesn't even blink before he's sliding Steve an application form and a pen. And so, within a week, Steve is sitting in the break room of the Hawkins Police Station in a brand new blue shirt and a tie that Hopper had taken one look at and re-tied for him, his eyes growing wider and wider as Flo hands over a thick, official looking book.

"Just a little light reading, dear," she says, "Make sure you know exactly what you're signing up for."

Steve's regretting it all already. A regret that only grows as he scans through the first page of his new training handbook.

As expected, he starts right at the bottom of the heap, with no more responsibility than fetching coffees, washing the cars and helping Flo with the filing. But Steve doesn't mind that. That sounds doable. Achievable. 

What's worrying him is what happens next, if he proves that he can manage not to fuck up those simple tasks. Because then it gets tough. There's a whole program of training, months and months of it covering all the procedures and codes and policies that Steve is expected to learn before he can even begin to shadow an officer. 

There's reading. Studying. Questions he needs to be able to answer. Tons of shit to remember. 

Just the thought of it has him feeling sick. 

"Hey, uh, Chief?" he's standing up the moment that Hopper enters the room, tripping over his own feet in his haste to try and shove the training manual back into Hopper's hands, "Look, I think, uh, I think I made a mistake, I can't…I can't do this," Steve thumbs through the book, his face growing paler with every new page, "And there's a test? Like a proper, pen and paper- yeah, no, no, I'm not, I'm not gonna be able to do that."

He shakes his head, already feeling like a failure before he's even been here half an hour, but Hopper only smiles,

"We got Callahan through it and that guy locks himself out of his car at least twice a month."

"Locked himself in it last week," Flo calls out cheerily.

"There you go." Hopper grins, "And let me tell you this. None of this crap-" he tugs the book from Steve's hands, flinging it down onto an already overflowing desk, -actually matters." His hand is back on Steve's shoulder. Heavy but reassuring, just like before. "Look kid, far as I can see? You've done more than enough to prove that you've got what it takes. And I'm in charge here, so you pay attention to me and not that book, and you'll be just fine. Now c'mon, we've got our first case of the day and I reckon you're just the person to help solve it."

From the way Hopper's smirking, Steve knows it's a trap, but he can't help keep the eagerness from his voice when he answers, "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, big mystery alright. There's an empty space in my cup, right where my coffee oughta be. Reckon you can figure that one out, rookie?" 

And, with a sigh, Steve starts his first day.

—-

Slowly but surely, Steve finds his feet.

There is a lot of coffee fetching and filing with Flo and car washing, but he doesn't mind that. He likes chatting with Flo, hearing her talk proudly about her grandsons and their important jobs in the city and her husband, Harold and the rowboat he's been fixing up so he can go out fishing; and he likes the hum of appreciation that Powell lets out whenever Steve's spent a good couple of hours shining up his car. And it's really not long at all before Hopper is inviting Steve along with him when he goes out on a job. It's routine stuff at first, of course, dealing with shaken up drivers that misjudged the sharp corner of Cartersville and Cornwallis, or helping to calm down arguments about a few inches of encroaching ivy between otherwise civilised neighbours and, of course, there's the memorable times when Hopper gets Steve to dress up as McGruff the Crime Dog and accompany him along on his visits to Hawkins Elementary to talk to a gaggle of over excited little kids, and the even more memorable time when Hopper owed him one and ended up being the one donning the dog costume.

It's fun. And Steve finds that he's not too bad at it. In fact, he's pretty good. He learns how to approach situations. How to calm angry guys and comfort hysterical women or- more often than he'd expect- vice versa. He learns when to talk, to take control of a situation, and when to hold back and just listen. He learns what to look for, how to read rooms and faces and body language and situations.

And he learns, most of all, that usually people just want to know that someone is there and sees them and understands them. People just want someone to help. 

—

It's sometime around mid December when things ramp up. A lot. It's an evening shift, the two of them parked up in the Blazer, coffee in hand as they keep an eye out for teens speeding their way down to the Quarry, when their peace is interrupted by a crackle on the radio. 

"Here we go then, kid," Hopper says, unhooking the receiver, "First call of the night. Bet you dollars to doughnuts it'll be Beth Landingham calling to complain about her neighbours' Christmas lights being too damn bright again." 

But it isn't. Flo's crackly voice informs them both that Hopper's presence is required immediately at a domestic disturbance over at Cherry Lane, and Hopper fills Steve in on the most important detail.

"Hargrove place," he clarifies with a groan, "Not the first time, probably won't be the last." 

"It'll be Billy being an asshole," Steve says confidently. "Probably came home drunk or something. Or maybe he's finally snapped, gone feral. Wouldn't surprise me."

"Maybe," Hopper muses, his jaw set grimly, and Steve can't deny the thrill he's feeling at the thought of being there to see Billy get put in his place. He wonders if Hopper will yell. If he'll need to restrain Billy or hit him. He bets Billy will resist and put up a fight, and maybe Steve will need to step in and-

"Hey, Hop, you think I can be the one to, y'know, give him a warning or whatever?"

And Steve's already imagining it, how he'd have the upper hand. How he could flash his ID badge and stand right in front of Billy, maybe even order him to sit down, make him listen and obey. A small part of him is hoping that Billy doesn't listen, so that Hopper has no choice but to cuff him, and maybe he'sd even let Steve do that but too and Steve already knows he cinch those cuffs just a little bit too tight, enough to be really uncomfortable. Enough to pinch. 

He can't wait to make Billy squirm. Make him pay.

But Hopper's face is blank, "Let's see what we're dealing with first, Harrington."

"I'm gonna call him William," Steve says, thinking out loud, "Bet he'll hate that." 

—

But when he gets there, Steve doesn't call Billy 'William'. He doesn't flash his ID badge or order Billy to sit down or slap the cold, metal cuffs around Billy's thrashing wrists. He doesn't do any of the things he'd imagined.

Instead, Steve stands in the middle of it all, staring round. He doesn't know where to look first, where to even start. He's still coming to terms with the very real, very visceral shock of what his job could actually entrail. He knows he's been naive, and he's seeing now that it's not just going to be school visits and speeding fines and even the occasional infestation of supernatural monsters, but that some of it is going to be this kind of fucked up shit too.

Fucked up shit like Billy Hargrove being on the kitchen floor, curled up in the middle of a whole table-worth of broken crockery, his face a mess of blood and tears. The more Steve looks, the worse it gets. He takes it in, in that way he can now, picking up on the details: like how Billy's shirt is hanging open, some buttons torn and others hanging from threads, and how he has one arm twisted against his chest, bent at a sickeningly wrong angle, while the other one is raised above his head in a desperate attempt to protect himself from the man standing over him. Steve manages to pull his gaze away, checking in on everyone else: Susan, standing off to the side, her arms tight around Max who sports a scarlet red handprint on her cheek.

And then Steve turns his attention to Mr. Hargrove, Max's stepdad. Steve only really knows him by sight, but even then he'd always seemed… off, a little too calm, too controlled. Stiffly polite, but with a flicker of something cold and mean behind his eyes. 

He had known he could be a hardass though. Steve had picked that up just from overhearing Max's grumblings about him, how Neil was always more concerned with Max seeming respectable and being a 'good girl' for Susan than having any real interest in her as a person, and how he was even harder on Billy. 

Good, Steve had thought at the time. If anyone needs a firm hand, it's Billy.

Steve feels sick to think about it now. Because this man here, this Mr. Hargrove, is more than just a hardass. He's a whole different beast, and whatever facade of 'respectful family man' he once tried to project is gone entirely. His face is red, his eyes are bulging, and flecks of saliva are falling from his mouth as he spits insults after insult in Billy's face, before turning to Hopper and telling him, in no uncertain terms, exactly 'what kind of filth that son of mine really is'.

He lets fly with a whole host of slurs and accusations, each one more graphic than the last, and Steve winces at Neil Hargrove's particular choice of words, a sick feeling churning in his gut when he thinks about how often he's said some of them himself, back before. Back when he needed to prove how much better he was than the kids who didn't fit, the weird kids, the quiet ones, the ones with the wrong clothes or haircut or who lived in the wrong part of town. Back when certain insults, certain implications, were enough to have rumours flying quickly enough to turn a socially awkward kid into a social pariah by the end of the school day. 

But Neil Hargrove isn't just throwing them out as casual insults. Steve can tell, from the utter disgust dripping from his voice, that Neil means them. And that, worst of all, Neil thinks that those words, those accusations, are more than enough to excuse what he's done to Billy. The mess he's made of his own son. 

And maybe they had been before, Steve thinks with a dawning horror, wondering just how long Billy's been living with this. Maybe this isn't the first time something like this had happened, and maybe Neil got away with it then, maybe he even had the police on his side because what Billy was and what he was accused of doing, was seen as so much worse than whatever punishment Neil had doled out.

Because Billy isn't fighting back. Even now Hopper's shoved Neil away, Billy isn't showing any of the spark that Steve associates with him. He isn't even standing up. Instead he's huddling right down, curled away as much from Hopper as he was from Neil, trying to make himself smaller, trembling but not making a sound. Neil is shouting and Max is yelling and Susan's crying but Billy is eerily silent.

Like he's given up. 

Like he knows there's no point asking for help.

Like he's resigned to this.

Like it might only get worse, now that the police are here.

And that's what shakes Steve out of his stupor. Because he got into this job to help people and that's what he's always wanted to do. All he can do. All he's been good at. And even though he has absolutely no idea how to help with this, no idea how to even start with Billy, he needs to try.

So he does.

He lets his instinct take over, and he steps carefully over broken glass, kneeling down just a few steps away from Billy. And when Billy turns to face him, his eyes clouded with fear and his lashes clumped together with a mix of tears and the blood that runs from a still bleeding gash on his brow, Steve says the first thing that comes into his head, 

"So, uh, guess your Dad's kind of a huge asshole then, Hargrove?"

And god it's dumb. So dumb. Steve knows it's dumb even as he's saying it. He's following absolutely none of what little sensitivity training he's had, and he's probably made a terrible situation even worse. 

But it gets a snorty, watery huff out of Billy. And there's even a flicker of a smile, despite everything. 

And Steve thinks that maybe he is helping here, after all. 

[oldsargasso]

ficlet: divide a life

so I watched the final ep of pit babe, then I took a nap and woke up devasted anew at the lack of Dean, especially at Way's graveside memorial. ~590 words, g. Dean-centric

It's almost three weeks after the fact that Sonic lets Dean know about Way's death. Dean's been doing what he's been ordered to do: turning up six days a week to pick up rubbish and tidy gardens and at all times, staying far away from P'Babe and Charlie. The rest of X Hunter hadn't been included in the order, but they'd chosen their side fairly obviously. It's not like Dean could be angry with them for it, either; he wished he too could be far away from himself.

it was Tony is all the message reads, with a singular attachment of a photo. Pale white stone, neat letters spelling out P'Way's full name, the dear date of his birthday and the cold date of his passing. The grief of it shears Dean in two.

The functioning half of him catches the bus to his assigned park, where he puts on the gloves he's given and stows all the discarded plastic strewn across the grass into a bag that gains a new hole every time the wind ripples across it. It's the strong stoic half of him that eats lunch at the same table as the other four people who did something wrong, under the carelessly watchful eye of their assigned supervisor. Nobody talks. He's given a second bag and sent out searching again.

It's this half that holds him together, smooth as polished stone, until Dean's home safe again.

The kitchen tile is cold under his cheek; his shoulder aches from how he's been lying. The only light around is what's coming in from the streetlights. The first time he met P'Way had been at the garage: a rare moment when it hadn't been the constant package deal of Way-and-Babe. Dean had been recently eighteen and so eager he'd thrown up twice early in the morning of his first day at X Hunter. P'Way had been politely welcoming. He'd smiled at Dean, told him he was happy Dean'd joined the team, clapped him quick on the shoulder before disappearing back into the guts of his latest daily driver.

The guy who lives upstairs is moving furniture around, by the sounds of it. When Dean had won his first minor race, the team had celebrated at the bar. Well, they'd been there for P'Babe's major win, first and foremost, but Dean had also won, so it was part of the whole party. P'Way had bought him a special drink to congratulate him. It had burned as Dean had sipped it slowly, lingering over it because P'Way had stayed with him the whole time, clinking their glasses together with a grin and making conversation about life outside the track.

Dean can't actually remember which was the actual final time he saw P'Way. He'd heard the tale of what he did to P'Babe thirdhand from Uncle Alan, but it's hard to reconcile the Way that could do something like that with the P'Way that once picked him up at four A.M. from some asshole's house after he'd given Dean far more of a dose than he'd told Dean he was going to and was planning on taking advantage of that somewhat aggressively. P'Way had taken the idiot out with one easy punch and carefully shoved Dean into the backseat, letting him shake his comedown through to the sound of pointed silence.

Here and now, there's tears on his face, a tightening his chest like when his mum left, and the tenderising knowledge that one of the foundational pillars of his last five years has been taken out completely.

[writer-of-various]

ɪ'ʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ʀᴜᴅʏ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ : ʀᴜᴅʏ, ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ

"The human mind has needs to survive that correspond to the needs of the body. The human mind needs interaction, it needs to be stimulated by entertainment of another living thing, without it, the human mind cannot function properly. The subject has been confined in its cell without light, energy, or human interaction. The subject is showing signs of anxiety, fear, anger, anticipation, and early symptoms of anxiety. The method is working."

– Park, H.

Rodolfo Parra stared at the map with narrowed eyes, his gaze switching from the topography to the little symbols and objects he and the team used to estimate their moves and where the location of enemies could be. The intel they had was solid, too solid and self-reassuring, it gave him a reason to doubt it all. His boys didn't seem to be too worried, but he worries about everything, he goes over the "what if's" and the possible mistakes they can make, and have they underestimated the enemy? The mission just felt easy, too easy to plan and execute, and it is causing his nerves to spike up in anxiety.

"Looking at that map won't make the mission come by faster" a deep voice startles Rodolfo out of his trance. He turns around and forces a smile at his best friend, Alejandro Varags, hoping the older man didn't look through his facade.

"I know that, Ale. I just have...doubts." His gaze turns to look at the map and Alejandro sighs, something heavy and sad and it makes Rodolfo freeze and look back at him.

"We have a lead, Rudy, that's all that matters now. If Price trusts this lead, we can too." Alejandro says softly and Rudy can't help but feel irritated. He trusts his teammates, he trusts 141, but this isn't about trust. It's about his gut churning and his mind and body screaming danger and even though he isn't a parent, he has these stupid maternal instincts to protect his family, which is Alejandro and 141.

"This isn't about that, Alejandro! I know something is wrong, something bad is going to happen, I just don't know what. We can't go on this mission, I'm sorry, but I won't let you guys get hurt." Rudy exclaims at first before softening his tone completely, his big sad eyes triggering something in Alejandro, but the colonel knew this was important. They had a lead on Makarov, they needed to go and risk everything if it meant Makarov's head on the pavement.

"And I'm sorry too, Rudy. You don't have to go, but our hermanos and I will be leaving tomorrow. It's up to you." Alejandro murmurs almost sadly but Rudy rolls his eyes, angrily walking out of the planning room. He shoulders past Ghost when he walks out, not sparing a single glance at his friends as he retreats to his quarters. He's going on that mission, and will make sure he dies before his boys. It's the least he can do now.

February 09, 2024

0545

141 Safehouse, London

141 stands around a table, the map Rudy was glaring at almost 12 hours earlier still laying on it, and Captain John Price is giving out the brief. Rudy listens idly, as a certified medic and the sergeant major, Price usually comes to him when it comes to practicing and writing out briefs, so he knows what his captain is going to say. He can feel the excitement radiating off of Johnny MacTavish, or Soap as they fondly call him, but Kyle Garrick, or Gaz, seemed to be hesitant and nervous, his fingers fidgeting with one another and he seems to pulling at soon-to-be loose strings that Rudy would have to clip to make their equipment neat and perfect.

"Any questions?" Price concludes, looking at his boys and Rudy shakes his head to put his input. Ghost, Alejandro, and Gaz also shake their heads or murmur a quiet "no", but Soap, the ball of energy he is, raises his hand. Price nods at him and the Scot grins widely that it makes Ghost sigh with anticipated stress and anger.

"Once we get Makarov, can I blow him up?" It's innocently said, something honest despite the wild grin stretching his lips, and Price sighs.

"No, Soap, we need the bastard alive. I admire your enthusiasm to kill the bastard, though." Price says and Soap deflates the slightest for a second before becoming his boisterous self again. "Alright, if that's all, we're leaving in 10, make sure you have all your equipment and be by the transportation when you're done."

Rudy is the first to leave the room, he had everything packed and accounted for because he couldn't really sleep last night. He tossed and turned, his stomach churned and his mind screamed at him to not go, to let those idiots learn on their own, but he couldn't abandon them, he just couldn't. He packed his things, made sure his uniform was pressed and had no loose strings, he used the moonlight to clean his weapons and polish his boots, he made sure the bullet proof vest hanging by the weapon lockers with his tabs on the velcro was fitted and also had no loose strings. Loose ends. And after that thought, he began his internal turmoil of guilt and fear and anger all over again.

Rudy walked to the kitchen they had, a decent size set up that no one really used unless they made themselves a late night snack or made coffee or tea, the boys were always considerate to not wake him in the pitch black darkness of three in the morning for a cup of tea or an omelet. They fed themselves when needed, but they would always choose his cooking over crappy rations. Rudy worked to clean the rest of the dishes in the sink, scrubbing hard with the sponge, taking out his frustrations on the plastic that held their food. The water scorched his hands, steam rising as the temperature increased but he felt numb as the clock ticked and the seconds flew by, each minute a minute closer to death. The what ifs, the mistakes, the facts and doubts and questions and the ultimate vow to ensure he dies before his boys do. Alejandro liked to tease him, liked to tell him he was like a mother hen, and now he can see it, he can feel those instincts and wondered if his mother ever felt this way before she turned into a drunk, sad person.

"Rudy, you alright?" Gaz's voice breaks his thoughts and he looks over at the slightly younger male. He nods, opening his mouth to talk but he couldn't, because he couldn't worry Gaz about the mission. It wasn't his duty, his place, to spread the panic and the facts of the mission. He's just their sergeant major, he isn't an officer, that was Price, Alejandro, and Ghost's jobs.

He turns off the sink and forces a small smile, wiping his hands off on a small kitchen towel and trying to shake away the numbness in his hands.

"Yes, I'm fine." He almost whispers, and Gaz obviously doesn't believe him but he still nods, walking away after a moment and Rudy lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding. He follows after the other man, grabbing his supplies and putting on his vest, nodding at Soap and Ghost before stepping out of the house and into the crisp, winter air of London. Alejandro and Price were standing by the military jeep, sparing glances at him that he ignores, getting inside the driver's seat and mentally preparing himself for what is to come. He doesn't know what to expect, really, anything is possible in war, all he knows is that death feels so close.

He turns on the car and waits patiently for the boys to get in, Soap and Gaz riding on the back, while Price and Ghost sit in the backseat. Alejandro sat in the passenger seat by him, and Rudy prays– he isn't a religious man but he prays– that Alejandro doesn't speak or say something about their disagreement. He wouldn't be able to handle it, he would spill everything and he would inflict fear in 141. He couldn't. He too was too scared for the mission lying ahead.

It's a small drive to the nearest Royal Air Force base, the team getting out of their jeep and letting some random soldier come over and drive their jeep to the parking garage. Price gets the transportation and evac brief and gives it to them when they board the helicopter. Rudy watches as land grows farther and farther away as the helicopter rises in the air steadily, the scenery passing by when it points forward and heads off south. The gun in his hands feels wrong, his heart is beating fast like a hummingbird's wings, his mouth suddenly feels dry and his stomach turns and it feels like he's about to throw up. But he stays silent, unmoving, and continues to hopelessly pray.

They barely manage to get through the compound's main entrance before a RPG sends a rocket a few feet away from them, their bodies flying back from the explosion and Rudy can feel something warm trickling down the side of his head. He stands up, gun aimed as chaos ensues, the shouts of the enemies as they rush closer to shoot at them and he curses under his breath, crouching over to Alejandro and pulling him against a concrete barrier. 141 is up and hiding, Price shoots over the barrier and Soap is shakingly trying to take out his explosives from his equipment belt. Rudy grabs the gun lying in the ground and shoves it into Alejandro's hands before shooting at the enemies.

"Fuck!" Ghost shouts in alarm, and Rudy looks over to see an armored vehicle driving over from down the road.

"RPG!" Soap warns, and Rudy ducks back behind the barrier and the ground shakes as another rocket flies out and lands close to them, rubble flying up in the air and dust clouding around them. Rudy coughs as it feels his lungs, Alejandro immediately runs his hands all over his body, his mouth moving but everything sounds muffled and Rudy's pupils blow wide as fear eats at him. Alejandro is shouting, and he's pressing his hands against his body, but he can't feel the touches, he just knows his best friend is grabbing him as his eyes flicker back and forth, taking in the scene around him. He's thrown over Alejandro's shoulder, his grip on his gun tightening as he aims at the enemies that were closing in around him and shoots. 141 watches their back, Price's mouth is also moving but there's just a ringing in Rudy's ears that scares him.

He's put in the back of the military rover they were issued to use to travel to the location, Alejandro kneeling over him and suddenly he feels excruciating pain and a shrill scream leaves him.

"I'm sorry, amor, I'm sorry." Alejandro's voice comes clearer and Rudy almost cries in relief, the pain in his side going numb and he puts a hand there, but Alejandro moves it away and shakes his head, a shaky smile making his handsome features look solemn. "Don't touch, Rudy, you're going to be okay. Ghost, drive!"

The car starts moving and he hears Gaz, Soap, and Price talking fast, anger and panic in their voices and Rudy whines, wanting them to stop arguing. They do, turning in their seats and frowning at the sight of Rudy, immediately blaming themselves for his injury.

"Stay awake, Rudy" Price orders and Rudy nods, but his eyelids felt so heavy and the need to just take a small nap was overwhelming that he let it conquer him, but the peace didn't last for long. His body is jolted, thrown across dirt and mud and everything burns and starts aching again. He whimpers, a loud explosion ringing his ears once more and he tries holding his head up, his heart beating fast when he sees the military jeep upside down a small distance from him. He hears footsteps and muffled voices and forces himself on his back, trying to breathe but it's getting harder to.

A shadow envelopes him as black dots dance around his vision, the corners of his eyes going dark and all he could remember seeing are two, bright blue orbs staring down at him as he goes unconscious.

And the final thought of why his boys didn't listen to him.

12 hours later

When Rudy comes to, the first thing he feels is the sharp pain in his side and on his temple. He feels groggy, his movements slow and as he blinks the blurriness away from his eyes, he realizes he's sitting on a cold metal floor and the space around him is pitch black. He tries to stand but the clinking of something hitting against something else had him freezing up, his blood running cold and as he feels around his wrists, he finds them shackled. They're snug on him, no way of him sliding out or trying to force his hands out.

"Fuck" He mumbles, squinting his eyes and trying to make out anything but it was futile, the room was too dark and the pain of his wounds had him sitting back down and panicking. Were the boys okay? What the fuck happened? All he remembered was feeling like shit in the back of their transportation and the next thing he was flying, and lastly he saw something blue. A familiar blue color but he can't figure out why it felt and looked so familiar.

He felt around his body, his equipment was missing and he had no boots, and he had a matching pair of shackles wrapped around his ankles. His anxiety peaks and he tries calming himself down but he is blind and oblivious of the whereabouts of his men. Were they even alive? Yes, they had to be, if they weren't alive, then nothing is stopping him from killing himself.

Rudy is stuck with his atrocious thoughts for what felt like forever, in reality was only an hour, until a bright light blinded him briefly and the sound of metal hitting a wall echoing what he now can see is a small room. He looks up after shielding his eyes, grunting when four men storm over to him and force him to stand. He winces, pain shooting up in his right ankle and one of the men holding him lets go immediately, and Rudy barely blinks in time when a loud gun shot rang out and warm blood splattered across his face. He gasps, turning his head and his eyes widening when he sees him.

"G-graves" He chokes out, a shiver running down his spine when the supposedly dead man smirks.

"Rudy, I missed you." Phillip Graves says lovingly, a big grin on his face and Rudy growls, lurching forward but the men hold him back, their grasps gentler this time which confuses him.

"Fuck you, cabrón!" He hisses and Graves chuckles, as if he was being cute, and it made his stomach twist with so many emotions he couldn't count or even acknowledge without feeling like crying.

"I see hanging around those monarchs has really changed you, Rudy. But I know you, I know you inside and out, literally." Graves mocks and Rudy huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and staring at the man in disbelief.

"It was only a few nights, gringo. And what makes you think I would ever crawl back to your sorry ass after you betrayed me? You took my base, my men, you're stupid idiots injured me and my guests, and you locked up my colonel. A blue on blue attack isn't pretty, Graves." Rudy growls out and the American huffs, shaking his head but that smile never falters. It's unnerving.

"Don't act like that, baby. Yes, I'm here now and want you to be mine, but you're missing the bigger picture, Rodolfo. You could be on my team, you get the respect and recognition you deserve." Graves says, and he makes it sound like it was obvious, as if he was talking to some dumb teenager. It makes his blood boil.

"Fuck you! Go back to your boss, because he won't be alive the next time you plan a visit."

"General Shepherd sends his regards, and he wishes for prayers for his...untimely death." Graves' voice lowers, and Rudy's eyes widen as the words hit him. Did he really kill Shepherd?

"How the fuck are you alive?" He asks, and Graves chuckles.

"I wasn't on that tank, babe." He shakes his head, a hand placed over his heart and he sighs dramatically, his tone mocking with the next words. "I lost a loyal dog that day, though."

The men let Rudy go, stepping back and Graves walks over, his hand gripping his chin and forcing him to meet his stupid blue eyes. "It'll be so much easier if you just surrender now, Rudy. I really don't want to hurt you."

Rudy spits on his face, his features settled in a fierce glare as he pulls his face away and points his chin out defiantly.

"Vete al infierno, pendejo."

Graves wipes the spit away and sighs, stepping back and nodding at his men.

"You're making me do this Rudy. You will be mine, I found you now. You will never leave me, you can fucking change your name or mind, but you will never leave me." Graves snarls before walking away. The door shuts behind him and his Shadows, and the lights turn back off.

Rudy curls into a ball, hugging himself tightly as he sobs quietly. The darkness closes around him, suffocating him, and he suffers panic attacks throughout the night and the days following, his mind playing sick tricks as he feels the presence of something, he can hear the whispers of someone– but there was no one.

And he refused to go insane.

[haematoclan]

Um, maybe 6 with Donnie and Raph?

oh hi! i hadn't even noticed i've got one! sorry about the wait i honestly didn't get the notif? but the moment i saw this prompt i got struck with an inspiration, thank you for the ask! (also sorry for that(?))

content warnings: family death/major character death, description of a dead body (it's short and not detailed but still), grief and denial

ao3

6. “We’re gonna fix you up, brand new. I promise.”

A welder sends sparkles into the air, dancing in front of a mutant turtle's face, protected by a mask. A room is dimly lit, barely giving any idea what is going on inside. It smells of burnt metal and paper, sweat, copper, as well as something that… in the past would be, perhaps, harder to identify, but after spending ten years in the apocalypse the smell of a rotting corpse becomes obvious. And this room reeks of it.

There’s banging on the door, people yelling, begging, pleading… it’s all targeted at the engineer, he knows, although he cannot decipher what is being said in detail, his head’s stuck, swimming at the bottom of the ocean. It’s a barrier between him and the rest of the world, shielding him from hearing things that would stop him from working, from registering how his body aches and begs for rest. The murk of dissociation ensures he can finish his most important but the most challenging project yet to date.

He has to succeed. Failure is not an option.

The softshell finishes wielding two metal rods and turns the torch off, darkening the room even more. He sighs and, lifting his mask, stands up, ignoring the wobble in his legs and dizziness in his head, staying up only by the sheer force of will. He maneuvers through the metaphorical minefield on the floor full of the robot parts. He gets to the light switch and he flicks it. Weak ceiling lamps blink to life, revealing the workspace in its entirety; it’s a mess of scattered projects, destroyed and gutted machinery, drawers ripped out of the cabinets, their contents haphazardly thrown on the floor, glass and ceramic shards are everywhere, as if someone smashed mugs in rage. Then, amongst all the chaos, there are bloody and dried stains all over the place. The almost black droplets can be seen as high as on the ceiling.

Yet the most imposing and eye-catching scene is located in the center.

Here’s a medical table on which lays an enormous, spiky robot body of a mutant turtle. His green skin and red accents made of steel are shining in the light, looking surprisingly clean and neat, considering the state of disrepair and dirtiness of the workshop. There were small details that were lovingly applied during the long hours spent on this craft, like the snaggletooth was perfectly shaped and sized, every spike applied exactly where it should be and the so called “Raph Chasm” is carved ideally, just at the exact depth and size.

On the opposite table lies a nearly identical looking mutant body, the main difference being a gaping hole in his chest and the many, many, many scars the body acquired through the years that the scientist decided to ignore in his design.

Donatello turns around to see his progress on the robot, but his eyes accidentally gaze at Raph and- the moment he catches a glimpse of the gigantic carcass… his body moves in its direction almost like on autopilot, his mind’s set dead on the need to be by his big brother’s side as fast as possible. He doesn’t even register tripping over and stepping on the precious robot parts that he so painstakingly retrieved from the ruins of the civilization as they knew it. At this specific moment, this didn’t matter.

When he finally finds himself by Raphael’s side, Donatello lays his hand on the cold, decaying fingers covered in dried blood. His voice wobbles a little when he says: “We’re gonna fix you up, brand new.” He takes the much bigger hand in his two, squeezes it with trembling fingers and lays his forehead on its bony knuckles. A small whisper leaves his lips: “I promise,” and he means it. He will not stop until Raph is back with them, even if it kills him.

[juliee4everial]

"How It Feels To Be Saved"

EPILOGUE

Who in their right mind thought it would be a great idea to combine two opposing worlds?

Lilley is a distant planet in the Andromeda Galaxy where a supernatural world and a human world exist. However, due to God's betrayal, both the supernatural and human worlds are now combined, and this caused the planet to be intertwined with chaos and disparity; this action is utterly irreversible. Both worlds are now aware of one another. Hence, to keep world balance and harmony between the two indecisive worlds, the creators of the universe, the "Heavenly council," have decided to assign every mortal human being a guardian angel, which protects them from "immoralites," who are paranormal species and possess no morals and are purely made of evil and deception.

Now, amidst this new system, will two close friends be able to cope and readjust to the new changes?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 1 - This stubborn girl!

Clemione flapped her wings at her best friend's face dismissively and impatiently, but her best friend was not having it.

"I already told you, 'mione, I think he's the one for me!" Her best friend, Wisteria, gave the same energy, and was also impatiently tapping her finger on the table. Her once beautiful, chocolate hair, which she tied in a cute bun, was now as neat as a bird's nest and on the table as the poor girl tried to defend her position. 

"It's the same statement all the damn time! Tell that to the 56 guys who also asked you out but turned out to be wanted werewolves and vampires on the loose!" Clemione scoffed, feeling quite betrayed at her best friend's refusal to accept her protection. After all, she has always found herself to be right about the odd guts she'd been getting each time her mortal's been asked by plenty of boys out on a date. This girl is about as stubborn as a 5 year old, she thought resentfully. Her lilac wings, painted with violet hues, although beautiful and intricate, had a bad habit of exposing her true feelings, and so she took a moment to readjust her wings and posture so as to make herself look more firm and strict, even though her inner self screamed off fear and danger from the thought of letting Wisteria be alone with a man for more than 10 seconds. Again.

"I'll be fine, I don't feel the same vibes from him anymore! The countless men I've encountered before, I had the vibes from them as you told me… but it was because I felt forced to say yes to them! But now…." She made a dramatic pose like a princess out of dismay after finding her one and true love.

"I really think he is the one." Besides, you act too much like my mother, let me live once damn… she thought secretly, but chuckled on the inside. She knows she'll win this argument. She had a weapon.

"I've trusted you well too many times now to let you off on your own! And every chance I've given to you, you almost let yourself be in a grave situation! What will you do if I can't come protect you if I have other angel business–" Clemione suddenly covered her eyes with her wings and accidentally made them sharp by muscle memory because blinding light was suddenly being transmitted to her eyes, she carefully took her wings off of her eyes just to gaze at the cubic box her best friend was now holding. No fair! She, though, exclaimed (by her thoughts), was still staring at the box that held trillions of stars and galaxies, and in the distant corner was their very own planet system. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune were all moving on their own little orbit and glowing in accordance to their color. 

She almost, almost forgot why she was scolding her best friend in the first place until– fingers snapped in front of her face which made her look up, she hadn't even realized she was now crouching to be at the same level as the cubic box, until that was– her best friend interrupted, "Ehem, so, if you let me go out with Tray I will let you borrow this for a week–" mine.

Clemione snatched that box immediately and waved her wings cheerily at Wisteria, "Alright, you've got yourself a deal…" Wisteria was thrilled by this– "BUT that doesn't mean I won't look after you, alright?" Clemione put great emphasis on the last question so her best friend, at this, scoffed, a bit too loudly.

"Wisteria, do you understand me?" She reiterated menacingly which made Wisteria gulped.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright, enjoy your fancy date, 'Ria." With that, Clemione flew off.

(A/N): Hii! This is my first OG story post, I hope you guys enjoyed it ^^ Lmk what you guys think :))

If you guys are confused:

Clemione: Guardian Angel who's assertive and overprotective Wisteria: The (kinda stubborn) mortal in which clemione's guarding

[300iqprower]

bond CEs. i can't find the post (i'm pretty sure it was yours?) but i remember you saying something about how it'd be neat if Bond CEs were zero cost and automatically applied to the character (on top of normal CEs) when we get them to bond 10

Yeah, ignoring how mismatched or outright bad some of the existing ones' effects are, they're clearly designed to be unlockable passive buffs that were implemented in the worst way possible, from the 100/100 issue making them automatically IMMENSELY outclassed with any DPS unit even if their effect is genuinely great like with KP or Super Orion, to the way things like Spartacus's CE have the same issue as regular guts ce's where they make you waste any guts skill because it took them forever to make a stacking guts (and even then only a select few have stackable guts and Spartacus aint one of them. Which is itself also stupid.)

Part of me wonders if it was a limitation of the infamously bad spaghetti code the app is rumored to have, like they couldnt figure out how to make it work and so they went "what if we just make use the already existing system of passive effects we have for Craft Essences?". Frankly that's the most charitable explanation i can think of

Either way, the only solutions i can think of, short of completely overhauling 95% of the Bond CE effect, are these three in descending order of how realistically we'd get them:

Make every Bond CE 2000/2000 instead of 100/100. It leaves a lot of issues on the table but at least it gets rid of what is by far the biggest issue regarding the attack buff issue.

In addition to their unique effect, make it so every bond CE acts like the story support CE where it gives 50% starting battery and 50% increased NP gain. That level of NP support would certainly make up for all the potential attack being lost. One of the other biggest issues with Bond CEs is that even in non farming situations having starting gauge can be so important that you have a dozen welfare CEs automatically being more useful for the fight than the bond CE, and that just spits on them - surely a bond CE should be the perfect CE, surely regular CE's should be used simply because you dont have the servant at Bond 10. The 50% NP gain also fits thematically, basically meaning Bond 10 lets your servant spam their most iconic ability. Heck you could probably make it 30% battery and 50% NP gain instead, to break even if you have a maxed out 20% append battery.

Flat out make Bond CE's have their own equip slot as we talked about at the start, where they have zero cost and effectively act as a new passive skill that can be toggled off and on without sacrificing the standard CE slot or adding to team cost.

[sexy-lil-wizard-freak]

Dungeon Crawling without Gold

This is a bit of a train of thought post with no conclusions.

I’ve been running my newest in-person game of dungeon games for a few weeks now, a total of five sessions spread across two parties. It’s using my in-house rule-set that I’ve talked a bit about. That rule-set, Barefoot Pilgrims (BfP), was originally built to lean heavily on travel and the “journey being the destination”, but I figured I’d see how BfP ran as a dungeon crawl. After all maybe the “crawling is the destination”?

One of the big tenets of the rule-set is that an active currency should be avoided since being able to haul a ton of wealth with you would invalidate a lot of choices in what/how you pack your bags. Inventory management is a whole thing in BfP. The quick and dirty is that you lower your maximum Stamina (HP) by the Load of the things you carry. It gives a ton of weight (heh) to the decisions players make on what their character carries with them. Most OSR murder hobos will take any loot they find and stash it away or purchase better equipment with it. Which is fine and dandy, who doesn’t love that? I wanted to see what would happen when the players had to choose which of the cool things they found in the dungeon they would keep, and if selling something cool wasn’t an option what then?

This past session the players completed hauling a bunch of neat stuff out of the mega dungeon and the party immediately asks where they can sell it. I told them there was no cash in the setting, it’s all barter. We then had an out of character discussion about why. Which I always encourage at my table. (For total clarity I let them “buy” starting equipment with copper, with a note that they shouldn’t get attached to the idea of cash. I probably messed up when I offered to let them buy a house.) I explained that cash is inherently easy to carry and that would invalidate a lot of the inventory stuff they liked. They argued that the inventory was already tight, and I said yeah it’s supposed to be. I want them to have to make decisions, not making decisions is what makes inventory systems boring.

Finally we landed on a wait-and-see approach, functionally some money exists but it’s all ancient and only the wealthy have it. My gut is telling me that we are on the right track with no cash. Next session I am going to bring up the idea of no land-ownership and while in town the town will trade supplies for things they bring-up. I think that might be the right move. Functionally ripping the capitalist tendencies of dungeon delving out by the roots and see what happens.

Writer’s Note:

Any way this is less of an informative post and more of just me noodling about this issue. If y’all have thoughts I’d love to hear em. Also I am finishing up getting Barefoot Pilgrims down in a more cleaned-up state. Folks who backed Still Waters on itch a while back will get this totally for free, since BfP is an evolution of Adrift Upon the Still Waters of that Passionless Sea. If you’d like to check out my games you can see em here: https://dastardlydave.itch.io/

[dufrau]

One thing with the Bigfoot 1.5 story that I struggled with a lot was the structure. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to bookend it with the “this morning” scenes, but originally I had the breakup sort of interspersed with the rest of the story, spread out, and it DIDN’T. WORK. AT ALL. There was some neat interplay there with the way some of the scenes flowed, but it ultimately just killed the buildup of tension? It was a totally different kind of story, more impressionistic.

Eventually i just pulled everything i had written for the breakup and piled it up at the end, and that’s kind of when it started to work itself out. Like, “Oh, I thought I was making a chair but actually it has been a table all along.”

Where Nancy’s story was just the climb, literally, Robin’s was the whole mountain, with, like, a cliff at the end. (Sorry.)

(Also I was very torn on including the sex scene because i dont know? It felt like a weird place to put it? But also Robin’s POV was just pretty horny in general so it felt like there should be one and I didn’t want to just rewrite the sex scene from the first one from her side, and in this story that would have been too early for it to be impactful anyway I think. In the end I think it was the right way to escalate the tension and kind of drive home the bigness of the feelings without having them in conflict too early, which i didn’t want. It would have lessened the gut punch of the end. Which I hope felt earned but really needed to happen suddenly?)(Sorry, again.)

if anybody has literally any questions about this story i will answer them probably in a longwinded and enthusiastic fashion. it has broken my brain.

[blacktobackmesa]

"Gordon’s gut feeling was not liking the direction this was going in.

'So I took it,' Benrey continued. 'It was the story that made sense to Gordon Freeman, so it was probably the right one. If I could play the part of Final Boss, maybe I could have some story that made sense. And like, if I was secretly planning all this, that’s so much cooler than having to believe that everything about the way I work is–'

Benrey stopped himself, but seemed to realize it was already too late. He closed his mouth with a half-grumble, half-sigh.

'A mistake,' he finished. 'Being the awesome final boss was easier than accepting I don’t work.'

The metaphorical cards were all on the table. Gordon could never forget that boss fight, with the gigantic warping form of a security guard spouting line after line of a nonsense narrative in what Gordon had assumed was some attempt at scaring the team off. 

But that had never been true, had it? Benrey hadn’t been trying to get anyone to do anything. It had all been for him. He was throwing out narrative hook after narrative hook, trying to get anything to stick to the wall and establish that he was a part of the world. He’d tried every angle– appeal to emotion, nostalgia, crude humor, a grand adventure, even video game developer corporate conflict. It was all a Hail Mary toss, and it was never caught.

'Holy shit, dude.' Gordon could only whisper."

For the fanfic commentary, this was one of my favorite parts of "Don't Spell Memory Without Me" and I was genuinely blown away by how good and smart this interpretation of Benry is for the Gordon streamman series and I would love to hear your thoughts on it. <3

In response to this prompt

[cracks knuckles] FUCK yes let's go. Ramble time

So neat fact about this. I posted the first chapter of Memory in late May of 2022, and it took several more months to get to the Benrey reveal. I actually put this explanation of Benrey’s actions in a joke text post in mid April, and it got exactly twenty notes. Foreshadowing level 100. 

I have a close friend who I bounce all my ideas around with, which is a very necessary part of the creative process for me. It also makes it handy to keep track of when my ideas came around– my first discord message to them that discussed the concept of Benrey having no past and improvising everything is dated to February, and it was in the middle of a chat about the story that would evolve into Run For Your Life. So it’s been floating in Headcanon Space since before the Streamman series got a solid start. Dang, it’s been around since before I started my current job! 

Benrey’s just so interesting, you know? He’s weirdly powerful. He follows his own set of rules, and doesn’t like it when other people don’t. He’s not human. He says all sorts of stuff that doesn’t make sense, even when the stakes are at their highest. What’s his motivation? Why is any of this happening? There’s never a concrete answer, but from another perspective, it’s pretty simple. He’s in an improv scene.

I’m an ex-theater kid, and I’ve done my fair share of improv. I took a class a couple years ago held by this big-name local theater, getting back in touch with the basics. Most people are familiar with the classic “Yes, And” rule– you can’t turn down the fact that your scene partner just gave you. You have to accept that as reality, and then build on it. 

Gordon, of course, breaks the golden rule right off the bat. It wouldn’t be turning Benrey down if he just went “Oh I don’t have it, I meant to bring it today.” It’s the fact that he’s confused about being asked. As a character, Gordon (not Wayne) is a terrible improv partner, and the scene is supposed to be all about him. Benrey’s existence is defined by and contained within an improv scene, and this guy keeps turning down all his leads. So when Gordon gives him something to work with– a role as an antagonist– he has to take it. 

This interpretation of Benrey is also rooted in my own experience with neurodivergence, and with something I call the Spicy Banana effect. There’s a name for it, probably, but I like Spicy Banana. I’ve heard anecdotes about people who have gone decades without realizing they have a banana allergy since nobody had ever told them what bananas were supposed to taste like. And why would you? Everyone knows what bananas taste like, and since the affected person never got seriously ill, they just assumed that everyone tasted bananas as spicy. Among other things, I was well into my teenage years before I found out that it doesn’t take most people well over an hour to fall asleep every night. When you don’t have context, it’s easy to feel like everyone is just managing obvious problems better than you are. Finding out the truth is double sided: you have the relief of knowing you’re not bad, you’re just different, but you can also feel cheated. I’ve had to deal with carrying rocks in my backpack this whole time, and their backpacks were empty?

As a final note, I want to talk about a bit in this excerpt that I'm unsatisfied with, but refuse to change.

["]And like, if I was secretly planning all this, that’s so much cooler than having to believe that everything about the way I work is–"

Benrey stopped himself, but seemed to realize it was already too late. He closed his mouth with a half-grumble, half-sigh.

"A mistake," he finished. "Being the awesome final boss was easier than accepting I don’t work."

The final line in this part doesn't really feel like something Benrey would say. It's hard to articulate exactly, but it feels melodramatic in a very DeviantArt Sad Wolf Drawing kind of way. It's a little too honest for Benrey, like he's breaking character. But I can see how that could make it hit even harder for some, y'know? Like he's letting his guard down. It's not my favorite line, but I won't touch it. It's fine the way it is.

Thanks so much for picking my brain with this. I will always talk about my work I love it so much

[moonunitjackie]

Light Cue 56 | Techies Do It In The Dark

Track 1 | Speed of Sound

“Do any of you remember what the first play this year is gonna be?”

None of the gathered crew members spoke up. Some of them traded looks, but no one said anything right away.

“Uh…Rocky Horror Picture Show?” was Hamster’s guess.

Ms Tea gave him an unamused look. He shrugged. She continued with “We’re doing Metamorphosis.”             There was a general murmur of “Ohhh. Right…yeah” amongst the six crew members save for Coyote who was strewn out across the couch in the tech theater classroom which was – in all truths – a gutted storage closet. The couch was across from Ms Tea’s desk – both were on either side of the double doors that led into the room. Coyote was also far more interested in the lime-green Gameboy Color in front of his face.

Ms Tea walked over & snatched the device from his hands.

“Hey! I was playing that!”

“I noticed. You can have it back at the end of class.”

“Chyeah. Sure. Okay. Whatever. As if. Not even.”             “So we’re doing the Kafka play?”

Ms Tea looked over at Blue & told her “No, not that one. The Greek one.”

Hamster asked, “There’s a Greek play where someone turns into a cockroach?”

Ms Tea sighed. “No, it’s a play that’s made up of a bunch of Greek short stories. The story of King Midas is one of them.”

There was a return of “Ohhh” minus the “Right…yeah”. Again – save for Coyote who was just staring vacantly into the space above his head.

Tram was leaning against the table in the middle of the room – the same one that Kid was sitting atop. Tram said, “So what’s the set gonna look like?”

Ms Tea smiled slightly. She picked up a dry-erase maker & began sketching out something on the large dry-erase board hanging next to her desk. The sketch turned out to be a square inside of a slightly larger square.

“What’s that?” asked Roach.

“A pool. With a deck.”

Blue nodded slowly. “We’re gonna build a pool on stage?”

Ms Tea added to the sketch. She drew a bunch of squiggles right above the square with another smaller polygonal shape above that.

“Not just a pool. A deck, too. Also – there’s gonna be a backdrop & we’re gonna need to hang a chandelier over it on one of the flyrails.

Roach said “Neat.”

Ms nodded. “Should be. First though I’m gonna need you guys to build a pair of steps. That’s all you’ll be doing today. We don’t have enough lumber to start the actual frame for the deck yet. We do have enough for the steps though. I think.”

“That sounds simple enough” said Tram.

“Should be. I want all of you to work on it. Got it? I have to go run errands. I want it done before I get back.”

No one said anything until after she left. Once she was gone Coyote reached into his back pocket underneath him & pulled out a second, atomic purple Gameboy Color. He turned it on & began playing it. No one else in the room gave him any attention though Kid was likewise occupied – eyes deep in a book called The Medium is the Massage.

Hamster yawned. “So who’s gonna build the steps?”

Blue shrugged. “She said she wanted all of us to do it.”

“Yeah I heard but that’s – like – a two-person job at most. We don’t all need to do it.”

“So what you’re saying is you volunteer.”

“Shit no. I’m good homie.”

Roach sighed. “I’ll do it.”             Tram was already out of the room before Roach volunteered – he headed out to the hallway where some of the actors were loitering. Roach made his way across the hall to stage right where the lumber room was located. He found all that he needed & headed back to the tech classroom to start building the steps. Kid put her book down & proceeded to help him while Coyote remained on the couch playing his Gameboy Color.             Blue & Hamster likewise journeyed across the hall to stage right but kept going into the auditorium proper. There was no one else in it. Most of the actors were in the actual theater classroom at the opposite end of the Fine Arts Hall while the rest were playing hackysack in said Fine Arts Hall(way) with Tram.

Hamster & Blue sat in the empty audience of the auditorium.

“This is gonna be an easy year – I can feel it.”

Blue said with a straight face “Speaking of which – two randos were fuckin’ in that chair last period.”

Hamster made a face briefly before settling with “Eh so what else is new?”

Blue shrugged. “Not much yo.”

[side another: another one! ...another reupload. organization is not my, uh, strongest suit. also i don't like wearing suits]

[aquamarinescarlet]

Broken bones, healing heart

Pairing: Zooey Kern x Reader

Word count: ~4.8k

Warnings: Car accident, injuries, angst with a happy ending

Summary: After an accident you’re bound to a wheelchair for at least two weeks, and the universe seems to be playing with you when the person who’s supposed to look after you is also the one who hates you the most.

Author’s note: Special thank you to @thesoulofbell for basically co-writting this with me!! This is an enemies to lovers, since apparently that's the only thing I can write.

“Good morning Miss Y/L/N, how’s everything going?” The receptionist greeted as you walked into the building.

“Great Helen, how about you, how are the kids?” You shot her a smile.

“A handful, as always,” you chuckled and made your way to the manager’s office, your office.

The room was neat and clean as always, your degrees exposed on the wall behind your desk, a book shelf on the side, for the purpose of decoration since you’ve never actually read any of those books.

You settled in front of your computer, ogling the stack of papers someone has left on your table for you to look over. Seriously, who even uses that many papers at a time where everything can be done with the help of technology?

Through the glass wall you could see as the other employees started to arrive for the day. With a cup of coffee in hand you went over some of the papers from the pile, reports on the patients the Home Care Agency has been working with, adding all the relevant information to the system.

Ever since you got the promotion, you have hated the job. You enjoyed working with patients, their grumpiness and unwillingness to cooperate was endearing, although others could find it ennerving. Now you’d spend all day in your office, reading over the reports, contacting families, and rearranging the nurses when necessary. It was boring, but you couldn’t quit since the money was necessary.

In addition to the situation, there was Zooey Kern. The woman hated your guts, and refused to do what you told her to. It was frustrating to say the least.

A knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N,” your boss appeared at the door.

“Mr. Vega, how can I help you?” The short man stood nervously at the door.

“Kit had to take the day off since his wife just went into labour this morning and I need someone to fill in for him with Matt Ryder today,” his eyes kept looking at something on the end of the corridor.

“I’ll figure it out,” he let out a sigh of relief and excused himself, rapidly walking in the direction he was obsessing with before.

Shaking it off, you took the list of nurses and, unfortunately for you, stated that every single one of them was busy with some other patient. Just your luck. Mr. Ryder required constant care due to his cancer, which could cause relapses every so often, you couldn’t leave him without someone for a whole day.

Without any other option, you decided you’d take care of it yourself. It was a great excuse to get back ‘into the field’.

You reorganized everything, putting away the reports you’d already read, and separating those you still had to take a look at, before going into the supplies area and taking everything you needed.

Due to your position you had Mr. Ryder’s entire schedule, with medicines and quantities all laid out, so that wouldn’t be a problem. The address wasn’t hard to find too, and soon enough you were driving to his place.

As if on cue, Kit started to blow up your phone with messages about Mr. Ryder and all the specifics about his care. Telling you to beware of his blunt honesty, of his terrible habit of playing the drums all the time…

Your mouth was dry and your head felt dizzy. You tried to move but your muscles wouldn’t respond to your brain.

“Shh, honey, don’t move too much.” A female voice called out, hand touching yours.

Carefully you started to open your eyes, being hit with a massive white light. Blinking the initial shock away, you started to make out Helen’s figure. Taking in the full room, the plain white walls, the beeping of machines, the cast around your leg.

You were in your car driving to Mr. Ryder’s home, your phone blowing up with messages, how did you end up in the hospital? Your eyes searched Helen’s for some answers.

“You were in an accident, but you’re okay, everything will be fine.” She reassured and you could see the tears starting to pool in her eyes.

You squeezed her hand. Scared and alone. You took a second to process the whole situation. Your leg was completely immobilized, but for some reason moving the rest of your body felt like too much of an effort to bare.

Helen left your side to get you some water and you missed the touch, the comfort. Gladly you accepted the drink, sipping from the cup she brought to your mouth. The soreness on your throat didn’t leave though.

“Feeling better?” You gently nodded. “Good, you scared me,” your heart warmed at the confession.

Ever since you moved into town the woman has taken you under her wing. Living away from your entire family was exciting, but also terrifying, and Helen has always looked after you like you were one of her children. Unable to speak, you squeezed her hand, hoping to transmit to her all your gratitude with that simple gesture.

Your little moment was broken by the entrance of the doctor.

“Miss Y/L/N, I see you’re awake-”

“Good news doctor?” She interrupted him eagerly.

“Yes, you had some serious injuries,” he told you, “a broken leg and a stable spinal fracture, but you should be okay with the right care.”

Helen let out a sigh of relief, relaxing against the chair she was sitting in.

“We will be able to discharge you in two days, but you’ll need constant help on the day-to-day activities, forcing that spine fracture could lead to a spinal cord injury, and we must be sure to avoid that.” He explained.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, we can get someone from the agency to look after you, right?” She asked and you gulped.

You were always the one looking after other people, being the patient would be weird, especially if one of your employees were to be the caregiver. It would be weird, that’s for sure.

The doctor and Helen walked out of the room to discuss some specifics of your diagnosis, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You wanted to protest, the nurse side of your brain talking louder, but your vocal chords failed you.

The hospital itself wasn’t that bad. The food sucked, and you constantly found yourself alone in your room. The exams they ran were extremely painful as well. Okay maybe it was that bad, but at least you weren’t drowning in paperwork, or spending your day behind a desk.

Instead you spent your days in bed, in pain, of course, but somehow it was slightly better. Mr. Vega came to pay you a quick visit, and so did some of your colleagues. It was good company, despite lasting only a handful of minutes.

You were relieved when it finally came the day you could go home. Helen was the one who picked you up and drove you. Being in a car was frightening, even though you had no memories of the accident itself, but she was always there to comfort you.

She helped you settle on your apartment, the wheelchair really made moving around a difficult task.

“So, when is Mr. Vega sending the poor girl who’s gonna live with me for the next few weeks?” You asked, as you watched her struggle to push you around the furniture.

“Soon, I hope.” She flopped on the couch tiredly.

“Wow, already so eager to get rid of me?”

“You can be a handful,” she joked back, causing you both to chuckle. “Do you need anything?”

You rolled your eyes at her preoccupation, she’d been asking that every five minutes.

“I’m good.”

“Oh thank God.”

“Oh c’mon, I’m not that bad, but thank you Helen, really, you’ve been so much help.” She gave you a soft smile, taking your hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze.

A knock on the door caught your attention.

“That must be her,” Helen said, standing up to answer.

“Do you even know who it is?”

“Nope, Mr. Vega said he’d sent whoever was available, and since you had the accident he’s been running short on staff,” she finally found the keys, revealing the figure on the hallway.

“No,” your eyes went wide when you saw none other than Zooey Kern standing in your doorway, with a very displeased expression, “is this a joke?”

“I’m not happy about it either,” she simply stated, making her way inside, dropping the bags and supplies messily on the counter.

Helen just stared between the both of you with confusion, and some apprehension. Your feud with Zooey was very well known amongst the agency, except for Mr. Vega, apparently.

Before all this hate, you and Zooey were friends, really close friends. You’d both joined the company together and hit it off pretty quickly. You were truly inseparable, doing every and anything together.

That was until she and her - now - ex-husband started going through a divorce and you got a promotion. You’re not quite sure when, how or even why it happened, but Zooey began to hate your guts.

Asking or just striking a conversation always ended up with her yelling at you for no reason. After she said some really hurtful things you simply gave up on trying, there’s nothing you could do if she didn’t tell you what you did wrong.

“I have to go, please don’t kill each other,” Helen pitched, sending you a look of pity before heading out.

You didn’t say anything, just watched as she started to unpack. Reality hit you when she took out a few pieces of clothing, setting them down on the counter.

“What are those for?”

“You want me to spend two weeks in the same clothes?” She mocked.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be here for two weeks,” you made up your mind, “I’ll talk to Mr. Vega tomorrow first thing and ask for someone else.”

“Good luck with that, everyone is busy so it’s me or no one. And unfortunately for the both of us, you can’t be left alone.” You let out a scoff, the nerve she had.

“I can manage it fine on my own.” She was quick to dismiss that statement.

“You have a spinal fracture, plus your leg is in a cast, you can’t walk, or even stand up. If you force your back too much you could worsen the wound. Thinking about it, I might just let you…,” she gave you a smirk, an evil smirk.

That bitch. You couldn’t help the loud frustrated sigh that left your throat.

Turns out living with Zooey was bearable, for the first few hours. She kept to herself and so did you. That is, until the time came that you needed to take a shower.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She questioned as you rolled yourself towards the bathroom.

“Taking a shower,” you responded uninterested.

The wheelchair could barely fit on the small bathroom, making you irritated. Moving around to grab your stuff, such as your towel or anything inside a cabinet proved to be an even bigger challenge.

As your anger got the best of you, you pushed yourself up, leaning slightly on the sink, and used one of your hands to push the chair away. With the brace hugging your torso and the cast immobilizing any knee movement on the left leg, taking a step was almost impossible.

Taking a few deep breaths, making the brace feel even tighter than it should be, you decided to take a leap of faith. Hands away from the sink, you were about to do it when a pair of hands held you back.

“What are you doing?”

“My job,” Zooey’s voice came from behind you as her hands held you firmly by the waist, “you really think you can do this on your own?” Her cocky attitude was picking on your nerves, and you were not about to just let her give you a shower.

“I don’t need help,” you pushed her hands off of you, but they came right back.

“I’m not budging on this.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t you be happy if I just hurt myself even more?” You challenged.

“Yes, but if you did I would lose my job… and my license, so I’m gonna help you whether you like it or not.”

You huffed dramatically. She was right and you hated to admit that. And it has already been too hard to even get up on your own, how you planned on taking a whole shower like that was beyond you.

It was her job, and she was very useful, but damn she could’ve been gentler. Her hands were way too harsh on your skin, way too careless with the soap, and at some point you thought she was going to rip your hair off of your skull by how roughly she was washing it.

Nonetheless, the feeling of clean skin and a fresh pair of clothing was utterly refreshing. Zooey helped you get dressed, which almost ended with your arm being bent backwards, but you pushed your hatred away, determined to enjoy your first night back home in peace.

A movie played on the TV as Zooey prepared dinner. At that point you were warming up to the idea of having her around, especially if she was going to cook for you every meal. That thought was quickly thrown away as she handed you a plain boring sandwich. In revenge you decided to watch three more movies after that, keeping the woman from being able to sleep since she would be doing it on the couch.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she abruptly turned off the TV, “it’s already 2am and I want to sleep.”

“And I want to finish the movie,” you yanked the remote from her hands, turning the screen back on.

“You need sleep.”

“No, you need sleep, I’m totally fine.” You retorted.

Before you could do anything else, she got up from the couch, taking the remote from you, turning the screen off, and hiding it on the top shelf above the TV. You looked at her, dumbfounded.

“What are you doing?” You practically screamed.

“Making you listen to me, now bed.” She moved to try and transfer you to your wheelchair, which you avoided by pushing her back.

“This is my house, you don’t dictate the rules, and I said I don’t want to go to bed,” you argued.

“It won’t be your house if you die of exhaustion,” she reached for you again.

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re only using that as an excuse so you can go to sleep,” you challenged.

“Perhaps, or it’s because you have been picking on your nails for the past hour, and your legs haven’t stopped bouncing in a while,” instantly you stopped the movement, “you do this when you’re tired, plus your eyelids are trembling,” she pointed out.

She wasn’t wrong. You were tired. Especially since hospital beds weren’t the most comfortable which means you haven’t had a good night sleep in days. Truthfully, you just wanted to piss her off by staying up for so long, a small revenge for the shower earlier, but the idea of going to bed was seductive.

Begrudgingly you accepted her help, moving to your room, and comfortably laying in bed. This time, though, her movements weren’t as aggressive, she was surprisingly gentle. Soon enough you drifted off, already planning on calling Mr. Vega the next morning.

“Are you kidding?”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but currently she’s the only one available,” Mr. Vega spoke through the phone.

“Everyone is busy? Can’t you just switch them? I’m sure Zooey would be pleased to tend for anyone else,” you pleaded one more time.

“They’ve been taking care of these patients for months, some for years, switching probably won’t be the best course of action right now, you’ll just have to figure this out,” he explained, before finishing the call, leaving you extremely frustrated.

A groan left your lips just as Zooey walked in, catching her attention, an annoying smirk plastered on her face.

“Don’t even say it,” you warned while she just enjoyed watching how bothered you were by the situation, “why aren’t you mad? Wouldn’t you prefer to be anywhere else?”

“I would, but watching you like this makes it all worth it.”

You swallowed your anger, your urge to launch yourself at her, since you wouldn’t be able to do it anyways. Instead you turned around, hiding inside your room, not bearing to spend another second in front of her.

Soon you fell into a routine. You would keep to yourself, and so would she. Zooey would help you with showers, preparing meals and doing any extra shopping you’d need, while you would let her help, let her keep track of your medicine and go to sleep at reasonable hours. You stayed out of her way and she stayed out of yours.

It was fun, you had to admit. Since moving around was very limited, you took every opportunity you could to get Zooey to do the simplest of tasks. You’d ask her to grab you a cup of water every twenty minutes, to the point when she gave you an entire bottle. You’d drop random things just so you could ask her to pick them up.

Unfortunately the fun dissipated quickly, frustration settling in. You were starting to feel useless around the house, needing Zooey for everything, from simpler things, like picking up the remote from the coffee table, to harder - and more embarrassing - tasks, such as going to the bathroom.

It was no longer amusing to watch Zooey groan as she set about doing something for you, it was equally irritating.

“Can we go out?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” She mocked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I mean go out as in, go anywhere other than this place.” You explained, not in the mood to fight anymore. “Maybe a stroll through the park.”

“I’m not pushing you around a park.”

“Oh, you’re not? Then let’s see what Mr. Vega will think about me being locked inside, y’know how he is with the patients getting fresh air,” you challenged, reaching for your phone.

“Fine,” she gave in with a loud huff.

Getting you into the car was an entirely new challenge. At least you and Zooey had already figured out the best way to move you by now.

Arriving at the park was an utterly satisfying feeling. The last time you had seen anything other than your furniture was ten days ago, you were in desperate need of a change of scenery.

Zooey pushed you for a couple of minutes, and you took the chance to enjoy the smell of freshly cut grass and the warmth of the sun on your skin. But she got bored quickly, setting you beside a bench before sitting on it.

“Happy?” She asked, voice laced with annoyance.

“Yes, actually,” you responded excitedly, only pissing her off more.

You decided not to push it any further, and just enjoyed the silence for as long as it lasted, even if it wasn’t that long.

“Y/N? Zooey?” A voice coming from the left caught your attention and you locked eyes with the brunette walking towards you.

“Marie?” You were shocked, not expecting to see her.

“What happened?” She asked, taking in the state your body was in.

“Car accident,” you shrugged it off.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I see Zooey is helping you out, that’s nice of her.”

“Why don’t you fuck off Marie?” The blonde spoke harshly, but you chose to ignore her attitude.

“I’m getting better, what about you? What are you doing in town?”

“I had a meeting, I’m leaving right after,” you gave her a frown, hoping to have a chance to catch up.

“That’s too bad, next time you come let’s go for a coffee,” you pitched.

“Of course,” she sent you a smile then glanced at her watch, “actually I’m already 5 minutes late so I better get going.”

“I’m sorry for holding you,” you both chuckled.

“No worries, it was nice seeing you, I hope you get better soon.” You thanked her and pitched your goodbyes.

When she was out of sight, your eyes fell on Zooey,

“Why the long face?” You teased.

“I don’t like her, didn’t I make it obvious?”

“Why not? She’s nothing but nice,” you argued.

Marie used to work at the agency a couple of months back. She and you used to date, but broke it off when she was offered a job in a different state. The breakup wasn’t hard on you, you were fond of her, but after some time the relationship just wasn’t… working. The excitement had died down and boredom was the only thing left.

Nonetheless you had kept a friendly status with her, wishing nothing other than the best out of the new job. Zooey clearly doesn’t see eye to eye with you on this - as well as in many others things it seems.

“Nice?” She rolled her eyes. “That woman is everything but nice.”

“You never liked her.”

“And I don’t know how you did,” you shot her a raised eyebrow, “never mind.”

She got up and started to push you back to the car, but you weren’t about to drop the topic that easily.

“Why didn’t you like her?”

“She’s a pathological liar, Y/N. I can’t even count how many times she has lied about being sick or having some sort of emergency just to skip work.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice exuded more confidence on that statement than what you actually felt.

She helped you into the car, driving you back home. The ride was silent for the most part. You were lost in your own mind, repassing your moments with Marie.

Marie was never much of a sharer. Keeping most of her thoughts to herself, not very good when it came to talking about her feelings. But you always respected that, you didn’t push her, you didn’t question anything. She had a right to her privacy, right?

“She was just a very private person,” you uttered suddenly, more to yourself than to Zooey.

“You know that’s not true.”

“Not everyone has to be an oversharer,” you countered.

“There’s a difference between sharing and actively hiding things.”

You arrived home and Zooey wheeled you inside.

“How would you even know if she was hiding something?”

“Oh, please, she was always hungover after missing a day at work due to ‘family emergencies’, her stories changed every time she told them, she talked about hundreds of friends that we never got to meet…”

“Now you’re just making assumptions.” She let out a dry laugh.

“You are so innocent, it’s endearing,” her tone was derogatory, fanning your nerves.

“What does that mean?” You raised your voice.

“You were miserable when with her.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You checked your phone every five minutes, you lost your focus when she didn’t show up at the agency, she took hours to text back keeping you out of it all day,” she pointed out.

“I was just worried,” you defended,” and what does this have to do with anything?” You were almost screaming at this point.

“She wasn’t good for you and you were too dumb to notice, apparently you still are.”

You gripped the armrest on the wheelchair, your knuckles gaining a white color from all the strength you were putting into it.

“Too dumb?” You growled.

“Yes, too dumb, she was obviously toxic and-” Tears were starting to pool on your eyelids due to the anger boiling inside you.

“What would you know about toxic relationships? You were the one who cheated on your husband.” You yelled and the room fell silent.

Zooey had an unreadable expression on her face. Her breathing was uneven and your heart was going a thousand miles a second. Biting back the tears, your vision cleared up enough for you to watch her turn around and leave. She walked out the door without another word, leaving you alone to collect your thoughts.

Everything felt overwhelming. Moving. Speaking. Crying. Has your relationship really been a joke for her? For Marie. Why didn’t Zooey ever tell you about it, all of it?

Maybe she did and you didn’t listen, didn’t care cause you were so blindly in love. Maybe you knew all along, just didn’t want to see it, to accept it was true.

How did this day turn so bad so quickly? You were mad at Marie, and you didn’t even know why. The relationship ended a while ago, it shouldn’t matter anymore.

You were mad at Zooey. She was your friend, at the time at least. And yet she hid the truth from you, letting you live through the anguish that the relationship had been. Now you were over it, you were happily living oblivious to all that mess but she felt the need to throw it all in your face.

The audacity she had. Calling you dumb for accepting that for so long when she got to the point of getting married to someone that didn’t make her happy. The hypocrisy. Hating someone for their toxic behaviour when she, herself had cheated on her husband instead of talking about her problems, her feelings.

Your chest was feeling tight, your body frozen in place. It had been minutes, maybe hours, since she left, you really couldn’t tell. You wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come out. You wanted to break something, but you were bound to this wheelchair, unable to move on your own without risk of causing more damage to your injuries.

A sudden need for water took over you, but one of the wheels got stuck on the carpet. You tried to set it free, but with all these feelings boiling inside you, it was in vain. With a mixture of impatience, frustration, anger and hurt, you threw yourself off of the chair, determined to get that water.

Standing up proved to be harder than expected, your muscles not having been used properly for the past two weeks. Crawling was worse, the effort put on your arms sending waves of pain to your spine.

Tears burned on your eyes at any attempt you made to reach the kitchen. Rage fueled you. Rage towards the whole situation. Towards the accident. Towards Marie. Towards Zooey. Towards yourself. Towards the fact that you became so useless you couldn’t even perform the simplest of tasks.

“Y/N! Oh my god!” Zooey’s voice echoed once she found you.

“No,” you screamed, “I don’t need your help!”

“Really? Look at you,” she said exasperatedly.

“I said no,” you tried to push her away in vain.

“Stop being so stubborn and just let me help or you’re gonna hurt yourself,” she managed to break through your fight, helping you to stand up.

“Don’t act like you care.”

“I do care.”

“No, you don’t! You have hated me for weeks and I don’t even know why!”

“Because you took the promotion that was supposed to be mine!”

“I never wanted the promotion, I just wanted you,” you blared to her face, breathing unevenly, eyes meeting hers. “All I wanted… was you,” you whispered in the dead silent room, “but at the time you were going through a divorce, you stopped talking to me, and I just needed the distraction, and the extra cash since my brother is starting college soon.”

“I didn’t cheat on him,” she admitted and you frowned, “my ex husband, I didn’t cheat on him.”

To say you were confused was an understatement. You remember it, when she told you everything, about the man she slept with, about the divorce, it was during your first fight. She noticed your questioning look.

“We had talked about the divorce already,” she explained, “before that party. I was going to tell you about it there actually, but then I saw you kissing that girl and something- something just- it just didn’t sit right with me. So… yeah… I did it to get back at you.”

“I- I- I don’t get it,” so many things were going through your mind, you couldn’t focus on anything properly, “that’s why you yelled at me the next day?”

“Kinda, the jealousy mixed up with the anger from you taking that promotion was too much and I just exploded.”

Your breathing was uneven, your face faintly red from the tears earlier. Zooey still held your body close to hers, keeping you from falling or straining your injuries. The feeling of her hand on your torso, her eyes watching yours deeply, made thinking that much more difficult.

“So what you’re saying is-”

“Just kiss me already.”

[thefanbasewhore]

Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."