#lengthwise side lets say

[clonewarsahsoka]

I've just had such an awful fucking time

[firewasabeast]

You're a Piece of My Soul I Can't Let Go

10.5k; read below or on ao3; tags: presumed dead (no actual major character death), angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, panic, flashbacks, smut, witness protection, secret service

Buck didn't cry at the funeral.

It's not that he wasn't sad. He was heartbroken beyond repair.

The tears simply wouldn't fall.

He didn't show much emotional at all. Didn't listen to the speeches people gave. Didn't react when someone would give him a hug or a pat on the back. Didn't care about the words of encouragement by people who had no clue what it felt like to lose someone.

“Time will heal.”

“He's an angel now.”

“God needed him more.”

“Life goes on.”

“Hold yourself together for him.”

It was all bullshit.

The burial wasn't much different. He sat, unmoving, from his chair in the front row. Held out his hands when he presented with the folded flag. Heard the sniffs and cries from the people around him, but he remained stoic.

Nothing about this felt right.

There was a reception afterward at Bobby and Athena's place. Buck, wanting nothing to do with the limo that was reserved for family, had driven his Jeep to the cemetery.

He told Bobby he'd meet them at their place. Let Bobby wrap him in another hug before he left.

He didn't go to Bobby's.

Didn't want to talk to all those people. He had no desire to hear them laugh as they told stories about Tommy. They'd never know him like he did.

He went home instead. Back to the place he and Tommy shared.

It was Tommy's house, originally. Then Buck had moved in only five months into them dating. It seemed crazy at the time, but it worked. They were engaged two months later, married six months after that.

Four months of marriage. That's all they'd gotten. The ring around Buck's finger still felt new, and it was already over.

Seventeen months total. The best seventeen months of Buck's life.

And it was all gone.

Buck walked into the house that screamed Tommy, Tommy, Tommy everywhere he looked. There was the couch they had picked out together. The lamp that Tommy had knocked off the table twice, yet somehow never broke. The kitchen where they realized they were far too old to be having sex on a countertop. The clock on the wall that played obnoxious music every hour that Buck hated but Tommy loved, so it was only ever on if Buck had to work and Tommy was at home.

His houseplants he killed regularly.

The TV they splurged on because Tommy both loved watching movies and loved watching Buck watch movies.

The bedroom, two nightstands. One side almost empty because all Buck needed was a lamp and a spot for his phone at night. The other side with a lamp, charger, reading glasses, chapstick, and a glass of water that now had a thin film of dust covering the top.

Buck toed off his shoes and walked to the bed, lying down. He pulled his phone from his pocket and silenced it before setting it on his nightstand. He didn't want to be bothered. Maddie could see his location, would know he was fine. That was enough.

He curled onto his side, facing Tommy's side of the bed. He tugged at Tommy's pillow, moving it so it rested lengthwise against his body. He snuggled it tightly. Closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Tommy's shampoo and cologne, still fresh on the pillowcase.

He fell into a dreamless sleep.

Nothing about this felt right.

“What's the matter?” Tommy asked immediately upon entering the kitchen. Buck had his eyebrows drawn tightly together as he stared at a can of coconut milk. That was never a good sign.

“I got the wrong thing,” Buck pouted. “I was supposed to get coconut cream and I picked up the milk.”

“I'm guessing they're not interchangeable?”

Buck gave him a look that asked the question, “Are you crazy?” without saying a word.

“Right.” Tommy began searching the room for his keys, “I will go get you your coconut cream.”

“No, I can get it,” Buck put the can down and headed for the stove. “I'll let Bobby know dinner will be a little late,” he said, switching off a couple of the burners, “and then-”

Buck was cut off by Tommy wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You keep cooking,” he insisted, “I'll get the cream.”

Buck smiled softly, leaning further into Tommy's touch. “You sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Buck turned his head for a kiss on the lips before Tommy unraveled himself from him.

“Keys?” Tommy asked.

“Coffee table.”

“Right! Thank you. Love you, Babe. Be right back.”

“Love you too.”

Three days was all the bereavement pay a city employee was allotted after the death of a family member. Bobby had managed to space out Buck's shifts enough to give him seven days before he had to dip into his vacation time.

It didn't matter anyway. He hadn't used his vacation days in a long time. Had been saving them for a long roadtrip with...

It didn't matter. He didn't need those vacation days anymore.

A part of him had thought about going back to work. He had gotten dressed and everything. Had his keys and was headed out the door. He couldn't seem to make it past the doorframe.

He typed a simple text to Bobby, taking vacation day, silenced his phone and got back into bed. Bed, bathroom, kitchen, bed, bathroom, kitchen, the same path for the next week.

People would come to the door, knock and knock and knock, but he made no effort to let them in.

When they'd text, he'd respond so they knew he was alive, but also knew to leave him alone.

I need some time, he'd text them, please let me have time to myself.

That worked for a while, until Eddie decided to screw it all and use the spare key he had to let himself in.

“Buck?” he called out as he gently opened the front door. “Buck, you here?”

He walked into the dark house, all the curtains drawn and not a single light on. After peeking into the kitchen and living room, he made his way to the bedroom. The door was cracked, so he nudged it open until he could see Buck lying on the bed, facing away from the door.

He was under the covers, cuddling a pillow close to him.

“Buck?” Eddie whispered.

He waited a few seconds and was just about to head out to the living room until Buck woke up, when he heard a, “Hm?”

“You awake?”

“I'm not a sleep talker,” Buck muttered grumpily. He turned just enough to look at Eddie. “Why're you here?”

“To check on you.”

Buck folded himself back over the pillow, closing his eyes. “Told you I'm fine.”

“Yeah... don't really believe you, bud.” Eddie walked over to the other side of the bed so he could face Buck. Sunlight peeked through the curtains enough for Eddie to see that, surprisingly, Buck didn't look like he'd been crying.

He just looked tired. Staying in bed for two weeks could do that to a person.

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie said, “let's go out to the living room. Get you something to eat.”

“Already ate,” Buck mumbled into the pillow.

“When?”

Buck sighed. “What time is it?”

“Three o'clock in the afternoon.”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

Reluctantly, Buck sat up in bed, sending a glare to Eddie. “I ate at one.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “On what day?”

God, Buck hated when he got all parental with him. Made him feel like a child. “Wednesday.”

“Up,” Eddie demanded, snapping his fingers. “Now.”

Buck was too tired to fight him. He knew the quicker he went along, ate whatever Eddie wanted him to eat, talked about whatever Eddie wanted him to talk about, he could get him out of his house.

He pulled the covers off of him and got out of bed, scooting his feet as he walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

Eddie couldn't help but noticed how much weight Buck had lost over the last couple of weeks. It made him feel awful for waiting so long to force himself into Buck's home. He was trying to be respectful. Trying to give Buck the space he kept requesting. He'd get those texts from Buck every time he knocked on the door, and he'd leave because he was asked to. That's what they'd all been doing. He knew now that was a mistake.

“I don't wanna eat much,” Buck said, staring straight ahead at the TV.

“I already ordered some wonton soup from China Wok. It'll be here in a minute.” Eddie sat on the other end of the couch. “Talk to me, Buck. Please.”

“About?”

“Anything.”

Buck's eyes scanned the living room. Dead flowers were scattered around, all sent somewhere between the day after Tommy's body was found up until a few days ago. Buck had managed to bring them into the house, just so no one called in a wellness check on him, but he didn't bother with keeping them alive.

What was the point? They'd die eventually anyway.

“I haven't dreamt since he... since they... you know.”

Eddie was thrown off guard by the admission, expecting it to be harder for Buck to confide in him. “None at all?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Used to. Used to have a lot of dreams. Not anymore.”

“Buck, I know what it's like to-”

“Don't,” Buck interrupted, looking at Eddie for the first time since they sat down. “Please, I- I've gotten so many 'I know what you're going through' texts from people and it doesn't help.”

Eddie nodded. “I understand.”

Buck turned his attention down to his hands, thumbs twiddling together nervously. “Can I- Can I tell you something really dumb?”

“Sure!” Eddie exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “I love hearing dumb things.”

Buck managed a small smile. It faded faster than it had appeared. “I- Sometimes it doesn't feel, um, feel real to me. Like, I don't believe he's gone. That, um, that feeling that you get when someone has- when they've died. I- I don't have that.”

“Accepting it's happened is one of the hardest things to do, Buck. That's normal.”

“I haven't even cried,” Buck admitted. “Not since the day I was told he... he was gone.”

“That's normal too.”

Eddie didn't understand. Buck knew he wouldn't. “I don't know,” he breathed out, more to himself than to Eddie.

“Don't know what?”

The doorbell rang, pulling them out of their discussion. Buck was grateful. He didn't feel like talking anymore.

“Ready to eat?” Eddie asked, clapping his hands together as he got up and headed for the door.

“Mhm,” Buck lied. He leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. He just needed to get through this meal, then Eddie would leave, and he could go back to bed.

He needed to get back to bed.

“It doesn't make any sense to me. At all.”

“You're not letting this go anytime soon, are you?”

“They didn't end up together in the end, Evan! Why'd they even say the movie was a romantic comedy? What's the point?”

Buck reached over and took Tommy's hand from where it rested on the center console. “I think they did it on purpose,” he surmised, “to spite you.”

“I agree, those bastards.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Buck gave Tommy's hand a squeeze, “they are fictional, so you know, they didn't really mind that they weren't together in the end.”

“Hm.” Tommy thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, that doesn't make me feel any better at all.”

Buck shrugged. “I tried.”

“They had everything planned, Evan,” Tommy said, continuing his rant. “They had their whole future planned and they threw it all away in the end? Ugh, I can't.”

“Maybe it was to show that she found herself, you know, without him. That's not a bad thing.”

“It's not a bad thing at all, if I'm properly warned that that's what the movie is going to be about. It is a bad thing when you call the movie a romantic comedy.”

“Is there someone we should be writing a strongly worded letter to?” Buck asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

Tommy shot a meaningless glare in his direction. “You joke now, but I wasn't the only one crying in the theater.”

“Who said I was joking?” Buck asked. “I- I love a strongly worded letter. We can whip out some paper and a pen the second we get home.”

Buck could feel Tommy's body start to relax. His face softened as he stole another glance at Buck before turning back to the road. “I love that you're my husband.”

Buck brought Tommy's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I love that you're mine.”

Buck stared down at his wedding band. It had been a month now. A month since he'd last seen Tommy. A month and five days since their last date.

“Buck... Buck?”

Buck looked up to Hen watching him from across the truck. They were on their way to a call. Some small fire in the middle of nowhere with no people around. It'd be an easy call. Buck was grateful for that. This would be his fourth shift back at work, although it was his first full 24-hour one.

“Yeah?” he asked, ignoring the fact that Chimney and Eddie were giving him side glances as well.

“You good?”

He'd be angry at the question if anyone else had asked. He knew his temper was shorter than it ever used to be. Knew even the smallest things could set him off. He often had to force himself to stay calm. Take some deep breaths and count to ten before responding to someone.

He didn't have to do that with Hen though. Her voice was soothing to him. A calm against the stormy sea that was his mind.

Buck nodded. “I'm good.”

“You want in?”

He paused, dumbfounded. He had no idea what she was talking about. “In on what?”

“We're placing bets on what caused the fire,” Chimney explained. “I said kids smoking in the woods.”

“I'm going with the sun beating down on a glass bottle.” Eddie looked proud of his choice.

“Old fashioned illegal campfire for me.” Hen smiled softly at Buck. “You?”

“Oh, um, nah. I- I'm good.”

“Oh come on,” Eddie reached over and nudged Buck's knee. “Take a guess.”

Buck took a deep breath. Thought for a moment. “Fireworks, I- yeah. Fireworks.”

“In the middle of the day?” Chimney questioned.

Hen shrugged. “Wouldn't be the first time. Okay, Cap,” she said, fiddling with her headset, “what about you?”

Buck phased back out as Bobby made his guess. He tugged at his ring, twirling it around and around on his finger. He thought about the inscription on the inside. One Four Three. Had to force himself out of that memory before he could even start to get into it.

It all felt like too much. Too overwhelming. He needed to get himself together.

He sat up straight and cleared his throat.

He could do this. He could get through this shift. Get home. Get into bed. Stay there for forty-eight hours before he'd have to pretend again.

...He didn't even care that he won the bet.

“I've tried calling him like five times,” Buck said. He was sitting on the couch, his leg bouncing nervously up and down, Bobby and Athena sitting across from him. “I- I'm sorry about dinner, guys-”

“Don't even think about it,” Athena interrupted. “Bobby, you having any luck?”

Bobby shook his head. “I've texted him a few times but they're not going through.”

“Something's wrong. He wouldn't... Something's wrong. His location isn't on anymore either.”

“Okay.” Athena pulled out her phone. “Where did you say he was going?”

“Ralph's. He was just getting me some coconut cream for my recipe. I- I said I'd go but he insisted. That was over two hours ago. I, um, I should drive there and check.” He went to get up but Athena held out a hand to stop him.

“I'll go,” she said. “You and Bobby stay. Let me know if he shows up. I've got my badge and everything out in the car, so I can ask around at the store if I can't find him. His phone probably died and they were out of the right stuff at Ralph's, so he went somewhere else.”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe,” Buck replied, but he could see the look Athena gave Bobby out of the corner of his eye.

He knew nothing in his life was ever that simple.

He stumbled upon the video by accident. He was looking for a picture of a recipe that Maddie had asked for when his finger hit the wrong thumbnail and the video began to play.

It was one he took without Tommy knowing. A rare rainy day in Los Angeles gave them the opportunity to relax at home instead of run errands or make plans.

Buck was splayed out on the couch, head on the armrest and his legs on Tommy's lap. Tommy had a crossword over Buck's legs, staring at it with an intensity usually reserved for flying into dangerous situations.

“If twenty-one across is evergreen, then eighteen down can't be carpet.”

“I thought you said eighteen down had to be carpet?” Buck asked off camera.

“It does, Evan,” Tommy placed the pen between his teeth. “It really does.”

“Then evergreen is wrong.”

Tommy shook his head. “Nope. It's gotta be evergreen.”

“We've been going over this for almost an hour now, Tommy,” Buck said, huffing out a laugh. “Give it up.”

“I've never been this close to finishing a Sunday crossword!” Tommy whined, the smile on his face betraying the seriousness of his voice. “If I give up now, I'll never forgive myself.”

“If you give up now I'll let you blow me as a consolation prize,” Buck offered cheekily.

Tommy gasped, glancing at Buck with a look of betrayal. “Sabotage!” he exclaimed. “I have to finish this, babe, or my name isn't Thomas Andrew Kinard!”

“Your name isn't Thomas Andrew Kinard,” Buck replied, the video shaking with his laughter. “It's Buckley-Kinard.”

Tommy froze. He clicked his pen closed and tossed it, along with the paper, on the coffee table. He turned to Evan, his eyes darkening, “About that consolation prize?”

Buck found himself smiling as the video ended. He'd taken it only three weeks after their wedding. The video wasn't even old, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Suddenly, the living room felt cold. Buck's spot on the couch now uncomfortable. The silence a stark contrast to all the life in that memory. For two months now he'd had nothing but silence in his home, besides the far too occasional visits from his friends and family. It wasn't the same though. It wasn't the same as having Tommy.

The smile on Buck's face faded. He got up and headed to the bedroom to lie down.

Maddie would have to get that recipe another day.

“We're all set to clear out here,” Bobby said over the radio. “Great work everyone.”

The call had been a big one. A four alarm fire that required the assistance of multiple stations.

“This is Firefighter Pilot Kinard of Harbor Station for Firefighter Buckley of 118, over,” Tommy's voice came over the radio. He had been providing assistance from the chopper, now hovering above them as he set to head back.

Buck glanced around at the rest of the 118, all stopping what they were doing to watch him and listen in. “Go for Buckley.”

“Looking for confirmation on a code one-four-three.”

“One-four-three confirmed and returned.”

“Excellent. Returning to Harbor Station.”

“What the hell is a one-four-three?” Chimney asked once the sounds from the chopper were off in the distance.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “It's their way of saying 'I love you' after a big call.”

Buck smiled. “We usually text it to each other,” he explained, a blush rising on his cheeks, “just to let the other know we're alright. Guess he couldn't get to his phone.”

Hen put a hand to her stomach. “That's so preciously sickening I might throw up.”

“Okay, okay, come on guys,” Bobby said, waving the group toward the truck, “give Buck a break-”

“Thank you, Cap.”

“-for now. We can make fun of him on the way back to the station.”

“Hey!”

It was the longest, most grueling shift Buck had had since he could remember. He had only managed a couple hours of sleep, and that was often in fifteen minute increments. The worst part was the majority of calls were from people being stupid. Accidents that could have been prevented had a single person with half a brain been anywhere around.

All Buck wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.

Which is why he was not so pleasantly surprised when he pulled up to Maddie's car in his driveway.

She greeted him at the door with a hug, and he faked a smile as he hugged back. “Why're you here?” he asked, trying to sound polite.

“Well, you've been working so hard lately, I figured I'd come over and help with the housecleaning.”

“Oh, uh, um, thanks.” The overwhelming smell of cleaning supplies made him feel a bit lightheaded as he walked further into the house, dropping his duffel on the dining room table. “It looks great in here.”

That wasn't a lie. She had made the place spotless. He wasn't a messy person himself but he couldn't deny he'd let certain things, like mopping and dusting, go over the past few months.

“It's the least I could do,” she replied. “I won't stay long, Howie texted me about how busy you guys were. Needed an excuse to see you though. It's... It's been a while.”

Two and a half weeks, to be exact. No fault of Maddie's either. She'd make plans with him, and he'd cancel last minute.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “I've been, uh, trying to get things back in order. I'm just- I'm still kind of...”

“It's okay,” she assured him. “Really. I understand.”

“Let me, um, let me go put my jacket up,” he said, tugging at it, “and we'll talk for a little bit before you go.” He didn't want to. No desire for small talk, or talk of any kind, but he couldn't kick her out of the house after all she'd done for him.

She smiled. “Okay. That sounds good.”

He headed to his bedroom, but stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the doorway.

“Did you... Did you wash my sheets?”

“I did,” Maddie replied, coming up behind him. Her voice was far too nonchalant for the blinding rage that was slowly seeping up inside him.

“All of them? Like, the pillowcases too?”

“Uh, yeah? Why would I only wash some of your sheets, Buck?”

Buck hurried over to the far side of the bed, throwing the comforter and sheets back to get to Tommy's pillow.

He didn't care if he looked like a crazy person. He brought the pillow up to his face and took a deep breath in.

It smelled like Gain.

It made him want to throw up.

“Buck, what's wrong?” She was clearly worried, standing uncomfortably in the doorway.

“I didn't ask you to do this, Maddie,” he said angrily, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “I- I didn't ask you to do any of this.”

“I know. I just wanted to help. Buck, I'm sorry if I-”

“I need you to leave.”

“Buck-”

“Leave!”

She stood firmly in place. “I'm not leaving until you tell me what I did wrong.”

“I- I, everyone keeps trying to help me,” he huffed, “and I don't want it! I don't want Eddie coming over for dinner! I don't want Hen taking me out for drinks! I don't want Chimney taking me to a movie! I don't want Bobby texting me every damn day! And I don't want you to be my maid!”

“We're just trying to help you, Evan-”

“Don't call me that!” He spewed.

He was breathing heavily. The stinging in his eyes surprised him. It'd been so long since he had last cried. He didn't particularly feel like crying right now, but apparently his body did. He groaned, sitting down on Tommy's side of the bed and staring out the window. He brought Tommy's pillow to his chest, and began to sob.

Maddie was by his side in seconds, wrapping her arms around him and enveloping him in a hug. 'I'm so sorry, Buck. I'm so sorry.” She was crying too. Buck could feel her tears wetting his shirt. He wasn't even sure why she was apologizing. She didn't have anything to be sorry for. If anything, he should be apologizing for snapping at her so harshly.

If he could speak, he would have told her as much. Would have told her that his head was a jumbled mess that he couldn't seem to clear. That nothing about this felt real. That he felt like Tommy was still there, somewhere, with them.

That it'd been four months since he'd had a dream. How he missed dreaming. They were always so vivid, him and Tommy, living their lives together.

Now, there was just darkness. An endless abyss of black every time he closed his eyes.

He'd tell her how his memories haunted him. The dreams may not exist, but the memories would appear out of nowhere at the worst times. They'd plague him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape them.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he was able to find his voice. Before he was able to bring himself out of Maddie's embrace. He kept a tight hold on the pillow, fingers messing with a pulled thread at the edge. “It s- smelled like him,” he said, his lip still trembling. “I'd... I'd wash everything else but, um, I- I couldn't wash this.”

“Oh, Buck, I'm so sorry. I didn't-”

“I know. It's okay. I- I know you were trying to help. It's okay.”

“Do you still have some of his cologne?”

Buck nodded and Maddie got up to go into the bathroom.

“Where?” she asked.

“Far sink, open the cabinet, black bottle.”

She returned a few seconds later with a bottle in hand, held out for Buck to see. “This one?”

“Mhm.”

“Want me to spray it?”

He laid the pillow out flat and Maddie sprayed it a couple of times.

“I really miss him, Maddie,” Buck admitted quietly, inhaling the scent of his cologne as it passed through the air.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

“Bobby, it's been twenty-four hours of nothing. I'm freaking out.”

Bobby hadn't left Buck since he'd arrived the day before. Athena had worked all night putting out alerts for Tommy and his vehicle, but hadn't gotten anywhere.

He and Buck had left two different times to go driving around. The rest of the 118 had gone searching as well, going to places he frequented, driving down any and every back road they could find.

Nothing.

Now, back at the house to rest for a minute, and make sure Tommy hadn't come back home, Buck was in a full blown panic.

“I know, Buck, but we're all doing everything we can,” Bobby replied, leading Buck to the couch. “Athena's got officers searching the whole city for his car. He'll be found.”

“But what if-”

“No,” Bobby sat on the edge of the coffee table so he could face Buck, “you're not gonna think like that, Buck.”

“Bobby,” his voice was pleading and his eyes red. “You know s- something's wrong. H- He wouldn't do this. You know that.”

Bobby sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what he could even say, when the doorbell rang.

Buck's heart started pounding right away. Athena wouldn't ring the doorbell. She'd knock. So would anyone from the 118, except Eddie. Eddie would come right on in.

He was shaking as he got up and walked to the door, Bobby close behind him.

“Detective John Farrow,” a man introduced the second Buck opened the door. “Are you Evan Buckley-Kinard?”

Buck nodded. “I- Yes. I- I am.”

“Mr. Buckley-Kinard, I'm sorry to inform you...”

The sound of the detective's voice was replaced by a ringing in Buck's ears. He felt dizzy. His vision blurred. The last thing he remembered was Bobby catching him as he fell.

Agreeing to lunch at Maddie's with his parents was a mistake. He knew that from the moment he said yes. He'd been working on controlling his temper. Not overreacting at the small things.

There was still more work to be done.

“So,” Margaret began, everyone settled at the table. Maddie looked up to see her eyes on Buck. The look Margaret was giving him already made her want to scream. “There's really no easy way to say this, Evan-”

“Then maybe you shouldn't say it,” Maddie suggested. Chimney placed a hand on her back, rubbing gently to try and ease the tension.

Buck remained quiet, eyes directed toward his mother with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I'm simply asking,” Margaret continued, “if you've, you know, gotten back out there any?”

“Margaret,” Phillip warned under his breath. Maddie knew that if their dad wasn't even on their mom's side, this was never going to end civilly.

Maddie swore Buck's eyes went dark. “Buck-” Maddie started, but he cut her off.

“You're not seriously asking me if I'm dating six months after my husband died, are you, Mom?”

“Not dating, but getting back out into the world. I- I've heard so much about you staying holed up in your house, only leaving to go to work, and that worries me, Evan.”

“Stop calling me, Evan,” Buck demanded.

Margaret raised her hands in surrender. “I'm sorry,” she said, and she meant it. The name sometimes slipped out without her realizing it. She had been warned that the name triggered Buck in a way it never had before. Even though others had used it on occasion before, Evan had become Tommy's name for him. And with him gone, Buck didn't want to hear it from anyone. “I'm sorry, Buck. I just don't want to see you wasting away. It's hard for a mother to see her child suffer like this.”

“Were you over Daniel's death in six months?” Buck asked bitterly. “Were you back out there? Cause I seem to remember it being about thirty years before you even mentioned his name. And you only did that once Maddie told me about him.”

Tears filled Maddie's eyes. “Buck,” she spoke softly. She desperately wanted this conversation to end.

“That's not fair, Buck,” Margaret answered, her voice shaking. “Daniel was my child.”

“And Tommy was my husband!” Buck slammed his napkin on the table, rising to his feet. “We had planned a future together! We were saving up for a house, we were planning on having kids, we talked about what we'd do when we retired! Hell, we planned weekly grocery shopping trips together! All these things got ripped out from under me, and I'm supposed to just get back out there? Are you crazy?”

“Hey,” Phillip stood across from him, “that's too far. Your mother wasn't trying to be malicious.”

Buck shook his head, then began to head for the door. “This was a mistake. I- I'm gonna go.”

“Buck, wait-” Maddie went to get up, but Chimney placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me,” he said, walking out after Buck.

“Wait a minute, Buck!” Chimney jogged a few steps to catch up to him.

Buck stopped at his Jeep, hand on the door handle. “I'm not going back in.”

“Wasn't gonna ask you to. Just want to make sure you're okay.”

Buck let out a humorless laugh, turning back to Chimney. “Well, apparently I only stay holed up in my house except to go to work, so you tell me if I'm okay.”

“Maddie didn't say it like that to them, Buck, please don't be mad at her. She's worried about you. We all are.”

Buck scoffed. “Just leave me alone for tonight,” he said, getting into his Jeep. “I'll see you at work on Friday.”

“He flashed the ring three times today,” Eddie said, scooting back into the bench. After work they'd all met Tommy at the bar for a few drinks before heading home.

“Four,” Hen corrected.

“Nope.” Chimney took a sip of his beer. “Five.”

Tommy grinned at Buck. “Really? Five times? Can't say I blame them, I do have a hot fiancé.”

“Oh, my guy was not flirting,” Chimney stated. “Buck asked him if he liked the way the ring shimmered in the sunlight.”

“Mhm,” Hen agreed. “My girl wasn't flirting either. Buck noticed she had an ultrasonic ring cleaner in her bathroom and asked if she was happy with her purchase because, and I quote, 'I just got engaged and I want to make sure my ring stays perfect forever.'”

“Okay, guys,” Buck said with a groan, “we get it. I'm lame.”

“I don't think it's lame.” Tommy rested his hand on Buck's knee. “I think it's adorable. I love that you're excited to get married.”

A blush rose on Buck's cheeks. “I am excited,” he agreed, leaning in for a kiss. “Very excited.”

“Before this gets pg-13,” Eddie interrupted, “the two men I had were definitely flirting, but they both got the hint after the first 'fiancé' was thrown out there. Buck threw in two more for good measure. The other person- not flirting.”

“What about you?” Hen asked Tommy. “Did you get any offers you had to turn down today?”

“Well, I was thousands of feet in the air for both of the calls I went on, so any prospects would have had to look at me through some really good binoculars and then steal a radio to tell me they were into me, so no. No offers.”

“The guy in the bathroom definitely flirted with you like ten minutes ago, Dude,” Eddie said with a laugh.

“What?” Tommy asked incredulously. “No he didn't.”

“He for sure did. Man was jacked and he was asking for your workout routine.”

“He said he wanted to switch things up!” Tommy exclaimed.

Eddie snorted. “Oh, he definitely wanted to switch things up.”

“What? Who is this man?” Buck eyes darted around the bar. “Where is he?”

“Don't worry about it Buck,” Eddie reassured him. “Tommy didn't even realize it. Gave the guy a five minute rundown of how he gets the perfect squat. Your man only has eyes for you.”

Buck settled back into his seat, leaning into Tommy's side as Tommy pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to his temple. “That's true,” he whispered into Buck's ear.

Buck rested his head on Tommy's shoulder, ignoring the teasing gag sounds that came from the others around them.

If it were possible, he'd stay like this forever.

He should have expected this.

It should have happened sooner, if he were being honest.

He was lucky to go seven months without a call that hit too close to home.

There had been a hit and run. The car that was hit had flipped twice, landed right side up, and immediately burst into flames.

The man in the driver's seat never stood a chance.

Buck was okay while they hurried to get out the flames. He'd ignored the glances from the rest of the team, ignored Bobby's suggestion to stay by the engine, ignored the thoughts in the back of his head telling him to sit this one out.

It wasn't until the fire was out and he saw the man's body, burnt so severely he looked more like a halloween decoration than a human, that Buck lost it.

No matter how much he wanted to look away, his eyes were fixed on the body. His heart rate was speeding up quickly, each breath short and sharp and painful.

He hadn't even realized that tears were falling down his face. Or that he was letting out little noises similar to a dog's whine. He had his helmet in his hand, shaking so much it was vibrating against his leg.

Buck didn't even notice the bystanders watching him, some of them whispering, others pulling out their phones.

It felt like hours, but Bobby was in front of him within seconds. “We're gonna walk away, Buck,” he said calmly but firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. “We're gonna walk away and go sit behind the engine. Come on.”

Buck let Bobby guide him to a quite spot behind the fire truck, sitting on the curb. Bobby took his helmet from him and tossed it somewhere, then sat down beside him.

“I'm sorry,” Buck breathed out, wiping over his face with his hand.

“You don't ever have to apologize for being human, Buck.”

“I don't know how to do this,” he confessed through sobs. “I don't- I don't know how to keep g- going.”

“The path through grief isn't linear,” Bobby explained. “Hell, it's not really much of a path you get through at all. More like a loop.”

“So this is... This is m- my forever?” He asked, voice rising in despair.

“No. Not exactly. You do learn how to manage it better over time, but it takes time, Buck. And it takes letting the people around you help you, instead of pushing them away.”

“I don't mean to,” Buck said as he began to calm down. “It just takes so much energy. Everything is exhausting. Talking to people is- is so exhausting.”

“I know. Buck, you've seen grief. It's been around you since you were a baby. I'm not saying there's any right or wrong way to grieve, but I think you know how dangerous it is to lose yourself in it.” Bobby put his arm around him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “No one expects you to be exactly who you were before you lost Tommy. I'll never be the same person I was, Eddie won't be the same person he was, Chimney won't be who he was before losing his brother, I could go on and on. But we- I need you to realize you're still here, you're still breathing, and Tommy wouldn't want you to disappear.”

Buck nodded, a new wave of tears taking over him.

Bobby pulled him close and let him cry.

“How many kids do you want?”

Buck and Tommy were sat on the front porch steps watching the sunset behind the trees across the street.

“Uh,” Tommy paused, caught off guard. “I don't know. Haven't really thought about it.”

Buck shrugged. “We've talked about wanting kids, but we've never talked about how many we want.”

“Hm. Two sounds nice. Kinda close together so they can grow up with each other. You?”

“Two's good,” he agreed. “But we'd need a bigger house.”

“Oh, for sure. This one barely fits the two of us.”

“And I'd like for us to be married a while first. Settled, you know?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “You proposing?”

“Ha! Like this? No.” Buck took Tommy's hand in his and they settled into a comfortable silence. After a couple minutes, Buck squeezed Tommy's hand to get his attention. “I have, um, I've been thinking about it though. Um, about proposing,” he said, staring deep into Tommy's eyes to see what kind of response he'd get. When Tommy appeared surprised, Buck panicked a bit. “Is that, um, is- is that weird? To be thinking about it so soon?”

“What? Oh, God, no, Evan. I,” he laughed, “I've actually been thinking about it too. For a while now.”

Buck looked as shocked as the night Tommy first kissed him. “Really?”

“Really. I've been googling rings, looking for the perfect one. Kept trying to talk myself out of it because I wasn't sure if you'd think it was too fast but-”

Tommy's words were cut off by Buck's mouth on his, so forceful it nearly toppled them both over.

“Oh! Mmm,” Tommy moaned into the kiss, resting his hand at the base of Buck's neck.

“Yes,” Buck said, dazed as he pulled back far enough to speak.

“What?”

“Yes.”

“Bu- Evan, I didn't ask yet. Not the- I don't have a ring.”

“I don't care, Tommy. Yes. I'm saying yes. Yes?”

It took Tommy's mouth a second to catch up with his brain, but once it did he was nodding, his eyes filling with tears. “Yes. Of course, yes,” he replied, both of them laughing giddily before crashing their lips back together.

Everyone except for Hen was upstairs relaxing between calls. Bobby and Buck were at the table, planning out next week's meals. Eddie was fixing himself a cup of coffee. Chimney was on the couch, reading a book.

“We're all going out for beers after our shift,” Eddie said, glancing at Buck. “You in?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah, I'm in.”

He'd been trying lately. Trying to do things other than work and sleep. He'd gone to the zoo with Jee a couple times over the past month. He'd gone to Bobby's for dinner. Watched a game at Eddie's place. Met Maddie and Chimney for brunch. He'd even gone over to Hen's one night when she was home alone and they'd gotten hammered while discussing their various traumas.

Every one of these occasions had ended with him in his car, or a cab, sobbing uncontrollably.

But he was trying.

Hen walked up the stairs, a worried expression on her face. “What's up with you?” Chimney asked, first to notice.

“Uh... Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“There's a... a secret service agent here for you.”

All eyes were on her now.

A... a what?”

Before Hen could get in another word, a man in a suit walked up behind her.

Buck stood, recognizing the man right away. It was the same man who had come to his door to let him know about Tommy. His heart sunk. How could this possibly get worse?

“Detective Farrow?”

“Mr. Buckley-Kinard,” he greeted. “It's actually Special Agent Farrow, but you can all me John.”

“I- I don't-”

“I know this is a bit odd,” he continued, “and was not something I actually wanted to do. I was going to hold off until you were home, but he refused to wait another minute.”

“I- what are you talking about? Who?”

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs interrupted whatever John was about to reply.

Suddenly there was a very familiar, very alive Tommy standing in front of them, smiling brightly at the sight of Buck. “Hi, Evan.”

“Holy shit.” The words escaped Chimney's mouth without him realizing.

Hen followed right after with an, “Oh my God.”

Eddie felt his coffee cup slip from his hand and shatter against the countertop. No one even noticed.

Bobby was standing right beside Buck, thankfully, because he had to quickly reach out and grab onto him before he fell to the ground. He managed to whip a chair around and get Buck seated as he stared, mouth agape, at his husband.

His alive husband.

His breathing husband.

His not-buried-in-the-cemetery husband.

“Evan,” Tommy stepped forward, but Buck held his arm out to stop him.

“What the hell is going on?”

Tommy was confused. Buck sounded angry, and scared. He looked around at all the other faces staring back at him. “Why... Why do you all look like you've seen a ghost?” he asked.

Chimney walked up to Tommy, poking him on the shoulder. “Because you're dead. At least, you're supposed to be.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “I'm what?” He turned to John. “Why would they think that?”

John cleared his throat, eyes gazing downward. “There's a lot we need to discuss, Mr. Buckley-Kinard.”

“Why would they think I was dead?” Tommy repeated, angry now.

“Because that's what we were told,” Hen answered.

Tommy stepped closer to John. “You told them I was dead?”

“We couldn't risk anyone knowing-”

“You told my husband I was dead?!”

“-that you were alive. It would have put everyone-”

“And you lied to me to keep me there?!”

“-in danger. It was easier this way.”

“That was not the deal!”

“Everyone shut up!” Buck's voice rang out over the station. He got out of his seat, Bobby keeping a hand near his back until he was sure Buck was steady.

Buck cautiously moved toward Tommy, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You- You're really here?”

All of the anger Tommy had for John fell away as he looked into Buck's eyes. He nodded. “I'm here. I'm so sorry, Buck, I didn't-”

Buck shook his head, “I- I don't care right now.” He brought a hand up to Tommy's chest. Felt the thump-thump-thump of his heart. The firmness of his chest. He felt up until he reached Tommy's collarbone, poking ever so slightly out from his shirt. Felt the warmth of his skin. The slight dip that led up to his neck that Buck always loved to linger on when they were alone in bed. He felt the roughness of a two day old beard as he felt up his neck and toward his jawbone. “My God.” The words were hushed, breathed out through trembling lips and red-rimmed eyes. He pressed their lips together so quickly, so urgently, that Tommy didn't even have time to register it. He moaned into the kiss, finally reaching out and wrapping his arms around Buck's waist, finding their home at the base of his back.

“Let's give them a minute,” Bobby said, gesturing for everyone to head downstairs.

“I need to brief them,” John replied, earning him a glare from everyone else in the room.

“We're giving them a minute,” Bobby demanded.

John didn't try to protest any further. He simply followed the others downstairs, allowing Buck and Tommy time to reconnect.

“I didn't know,” Tommy began, he and Buck seated on the couch. “I was never told that you thought I was dead.”

“I am so confused, Tommy, I don't... I'm not even sure if this is real, to be honest. Am I dreaming? I haven't... I haven't had a dream since you died. Is that what this is?”

Tommy shook his head. “It's not a dream, Evan.”

“Then what the hell happened?” Buck asked, going from anxious to frustrated, “Cause I'm kinda pissed.”

Tommy scooted closer to Buck, cautiously holding out his hands for Buck to take. There was hesitation, but Buck gave in.

“The night I went to the grocery store, I saw something. I, it was a murder.”

Buck's eyes widened. “A what?”

“Yeah, I know. When I was leaving the store, I went out the back way to avoid all the traffic at the main entrance. It was getting dark, and when I passed by the dumpsters out back I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I- this guy had shot another man. I got a good look at him, and he got a good look at me too, but he ran. I got out of the car, called 911, and tried to help the other guy, but he was dead.”

“I... My brain feels like it's about to explode, Tommy. I don't understand how this leads to me planning your funeral.”

Tears came to Tommy's eyes at the thought. He continued, “The police came first, and they were asking for descriptions and any information I had. Then, the FBI shows up, and the CIA, and suddenly I'm surrounded by agents from every agency that goes by initials. This guy, whoever I saw, was apparently a hitman. A good one. Like, ties to Russia and shit. Anyway, I'm being tossed into a van and told my life's in danger because this guy saw me.”

“This sounds like a really bad cop thriller, Tommy.”

Tommy let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I know, believe me. But these agents are telling me that I need protection, this man has killed for less before, blah blah blah. They said he'd killed an entire family because the mom had witnessed one of his hits.”

Buck scoffed. “Apparently he's not that good if he keeps getting caught.”

“Evan,” Tommy said, eyes pleading, “they showed me crime scene pictures of what this man had done. Told me he'd do the same to you if I went home. It was... It was horrific.”

“They wouldn't even let you call me? Tell me you were okay? I was- I went through hell these past eight months.”

“They took my phone, said anything electronic was a risk. Said if I declined protection, if I went home to you, I was basically signing your death certificate. But I told them- I told them that I had to let you know something and they said to write you a letter. I wrote one every week. They said they'd deliver it to you.”

“They did not deliver any letters.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that now. Evan, I swear I had no idea they were going to tell you I was dead. No idea.” Tommy clung onto Buck's hands tighter, and Buck couldn't ignore the pang in his chest at having Tommy in front of him. Alive. With him. Beside him. Holding him.

“I believe you.” He was being honest. He did believe Tommy. He knew Tommy would do anything to keep him safe. He also knew Tommy would never agree to making Buck feel the way he had felt for the last eight months. “I am just... I am so confused right now. This all sounds so crazy and over- overwhelming, Tommy. And I really wanna punch that John guy, whoever the fuck he is. And I want-” he cleared his throat, eyes red with unshed tears. “I wanna go home, Tommy.”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he leaned into Tommy. They met each other halfway, their foreheads pressed together. Buck reached up and cupped Tommy's cheeks, brushing his thumbs against the rough stubble. They closed their eyes and breathed each other in. Buck whispered, “Can we go home?”

John wanted to sit with them and go over everything before they left, but the boiling over rage from the both of them was evident, so he made a plan to speak with them the next day.

After brief hugs and hello's, along with endless apologies to everyone at the 118, Tommy and Buck left.

The ride home was oddly, but comfortably, quiet. Neither were totally sure what to say. Tommy had basically been a prisoner in a safe house for eight months until the FBI found this hitman. Buck had been living in a prison of his own, thinking the love of his life had been burned and buried.

“Home sweet home,” Buck said as they pulled into the driveway. He let go of Tommy's hand long enough for them to get out of the car.

They were interlaced once again as soon as Tommy walked around the Jeep.

Buck needed the touch. Needed to stay connected to Tommy somehow, so he didn't wake up from whatever dream he was in. If this wasn't reality, he wanted to stay wherever it was for the rest of his life.

They walked into the house slowly, Buck a step ahead of Tommy, leading the way.

Once the door was shut behind them, Tommy began looking around.

Everything was... the same. Besides a few of his houseplants being gone, but they never stood a chance in the first place.

Tommy stepped in front of Buck, gave his hand a squeeze before letting go, and continued further into the house.

Buck's body ached at the loss of Tommy's touch, but he let him go. Knew this was overwhelming for him too.

“You kept all my stuff,” Tommy noted, moving into the living room.

“Of course I did.”

“Even though you thought I was-”

“A part of me didn't believe it. I kept telling people that something felt wrong. Everyone said I was in denial; that I'd move on when I was ready.”

“God, this is so fucked up.” Tommy turned to face Buck. The space between them felt as though they might as well be a thousand miles apart. “It's okay if you're mad,” he said. “I understand.”

“I- I am mad,” Buck admitted. He moved closer to Tommy. Everything still felt so surreal. He wasn't even sure if this was actually happening right now. “I don't think I'm mad at you though. I- I'm mad at them.”

“Who?”

There were so many to choose from. “Everyone who took you away from me.”

Tommy nodded. “I'm mad at them too. They wasted eight damn months of my life. Our life.”

Buck cleared any remaining distance between them. He brought his hands to Tommy's waist slowly, dragging his hands up and down his sides, feeling the defined muscles that rested just beneath his shirt.

Tommy sunk into the touch. He watched Buck as he stared at his body. Looked over every inch of him to make sure Tommy wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Tommy brought a hand to Buck's chin, gently tilting his head up until their eyes met. “Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

Buck sucked in a breath. “Please.”

Tommy brought their lips together gently, both of their bodies shaking with the need to be closer. Feel more.

Buck fisted Tommy's shirt in his hands, pushed their bodies as close as they could go with how they were standing.

Tommy brought his hands to the nape of Buck's neck as the kiss deepened. Their tongues met with a moan, teeth clashing together before Buck pulled back just far enough speak against Tommy's lips. “I don't want to be mad right now,” he whispered like a secret.

Tommy kissed him again. “What do you want?” he asked.

Buck slowly raised Tommy's shirt, just enough to get his hands underneath. He scratched his fingernails down Tommy's abs, causing Tommy to suck in a sharp breath. Chills covered his body.

Buck kissed Tommy's lips, then his cheek, this nipped at his jawline until he reached his ear. “I wanna to fuck you,” he answered.

They clumsily stumbled into the bedroom, stripping themselves of their clothes before falling onto the bed. “You've been working out a lot,” Buck noted between kisses, hands roaming over Tommy's body.

Tommy pressed himself against Buck, their cocks rubbing together, eliciting a groan from them both.

“There was quite literally nothing else to do,” Tommy replied.

Their bodies moved together so perfectly. Just like always. Like they had never been apart at all.

Tommy sucked on Buck's bottom lip, listening to the stunted gasps that escaped him with every thrust.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” Tommy said breathlessly. He bit at a spot on Buck's neck, Buck's hands tangling in Tommy's hair and tugging firmly.

“Tom- Tommy,” he whimpered out. “You gotta. I wanna- You gotta stop,” he managed to get out.

Tommy whined, but stopped his movements. The sound earned him a laugh from Buck. He caressed Tommy's cheek until he looked at him. “Wanna fuck you, remember? Not gonna last long if- if you keep going.”

Tommy nodded. He was seconds away from coming himself. It was easy to get lost in the feeling with Buck. Easy to lose control.

With one swift movement, Buck flipped them so he was on top. He may not have been working out as much as Tommy over the last few months, but he did have a lot of sessions with a punching bag recently, and right now he felt ready to take on the world.

Buck ran his hand over Tommy's chest, let his fingernails drag over his nipple, Tommy arching into the touch. He felt over every ab, traced Tommy's scar, moved down to his stomach. It was all so torturously slow, but so fucking wonderful.

He kissed his way down Tommy's body, stopping at his cock. He stared up at Tommy with heavy lidded eyes as he spit, letting the drool drip down from his mouth onto the head of Tommy's dick. “The first time I touched myself,” Buck said, finally taking Tommy's cock in his hand, dragging his hand up and down leisurely as Tommy's eyes fluttered shut, “after... you know.”

“Mhm.” Tommy managed to open his eyes again, trying to focus on Buck and his words instead of the warm, wet hand gliding over him.

“I had to stop. I tried to- to touch myself the way you always touched me, but I- I couldn't do it.”

“Oh God, Evan.” Tommy fucked himself into Buck's tight fist. He brought their lips together sloppily. “Wanna touch you like that again.”

Buck nodded. “You will,” he promised. “But not right now. Right now I need to be in you.”

“Please.”

Buck let go of Tommy long enough to reach into the bedside table and grab the lube. He put some on, Tommy spreading his legs as Buck reached down and slowly began inserting his finger.

“Ah,” Tommy gasped. He reached up and pulled Buck down for another kiss as Buck slowly pumped his finger in and out.

“You're so tight,” Buck panted into Tommy's mouth.

“Been a while.” Tommy began to grind down against Buck's finger, moaning loudly when it hit the perfect spot.

“Shit,” Buck whined. “You haven't... You didn't?”

“A finger or two.” Tommy planted his feet on the bed, getting better leverage to work himself up and down on Buck. “A- Another, Evan, please.”

Buck obliged, adding another finger along the first, eliciting a string of curses from Tommy.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking shit! It was never the same,” he added quickly, going back to the conversation. “Didn't- God, didn't feel like this. Evan, more!”

Buck silenced a moan with his mouth as he added a third finger, grinding his cock against Tommy's thigh. He knew he wasn't gonna last long. Knew Tommy wouldn't either. It didn't matter though. They had plenty of time to make up for what was lost.

“I- I'm ready. Just... I need-”

“I know.” Another kiss and Buck slipped his fingers out of Tommy. Tommy grabbed the lube from the side of the bed and tossed it in Buck's direction, getting a laugh out of him.

Soon enough, Buck had Tommy's legs on his shoulders and his cock was slowly, slowly, so fucking slowly, entering Tommy.

They stared into each others eyes, Tommy slack-jawed with tiny, breathy grunts escaping him every time Buck inched closer.

After what felt like an eternity, Buck bottomed out. He stilled, breathing heavily. “I gotta. Just. I need a second.”

“S'okay.” Tommy reached out and grabbed for Buck's hands, which were currently gripping Tommy's thighs. “S'okay,” he repeated.

A few seconds later, Buck began to move.

Slowly at first, letting Tommy get used to the feeling again. Hell, letting him get used to the feeling again.

“Ev- ah- Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“I- ah- I. I need-”

“What? What do- do you need?”

“Oh shit!" Tommy yelled as Buck snapped his hips forward. "Fuck me, Evan!”

That was all Buck needed to hear. He pushed himself up slightly, to get a better position, and began moving faster, faster, faster, harder, harder, harder. Each thrust pulled a new sound out of Tommy. Low, guttural groans.

The sound of their skin slapping together, the feeling of the sweat covering their bodies, the heat between them, the desperation over all they thought they'd lost.

It was too much.

“Evan, I- I'm gonna come.” He'd never been able to come untouched before. Always needed a hand on his cock to get there. Not this time though. He came with a sound so loud, Buck was sure the neighbors at the other end of the street could hear.

Tommy's legs dropped off of Buck's shoulders, but he quickly wrapped them around his back to make sure he didn't go anywhere.

“Tommy,” Buck gasped, each movement now with far less rhythm. “Tommy, i- is this real?”

Tommy pulled Buck closer, his fingernails digging into Buck's back. He moaned as Buck drove in deeper. “It's- I'm real,” he managed to breathe out. “I'm here, Evan.”

Buck groaned loudly, mouth pressed close to Tommy's ear, coming deep inside him. After a couple lighter, gentler thrusts, Buck stopped. He practically dropped all his body weight on top of Tommy. Tommy kept his legs wrapped tightly around him. Neither could seem to let the other go just yet.

Buck hid his head into Tommy's neck. “I missed you so much,” he whimpered out, both men trying to catch their breath. Tommy could feel the wetness of Buck's tears on his neck. “God, I- I missed you.”

Tommy brought his hands to Buck's head, carding his fingers through his hair. “I missed you every damn second of every damn day,” he replied.

After they cleaned up, Buck curled back into Tommy, intertwining their bodies at every point he could manage. Tommy wrapped Buck into his arms, and Buck laid his head on Tommy's chest. They laid in silence for a while, allowing themselves to feel and be felt for the first time in so long.

Buck was the first to break the silence, letting the words fall out like a secret admission. “John came to the house the day after you went missing. They... They said your car had been in an accident. That you, um, that it had caught on fire w- with you inside.”

Tommy's body stiffened underneath him. “Baby, if... if I'd known-”

“I know,” Buck assured him. He ran his hand up and down over Tommy's chest until he relaxed again. “I know it wasn't you.”

“I'm gonna ask John if he still has my letters,” Tommy said.

“You really wrote me letters?” Buck asked, stealing a glance up at Tommy.

“Mhm. I'm sure they all thought I was an absolute idiot, especially seeing as it was all a lie, but yeah, every week.”

Buck pressed a kiss to Tommy's pec before lying back down. “I hope they exist somewhere. I'd love to read them.”

“They were really fucking depressing. Turns out I don't handle being without you very well.”

“Oh, you should've seen me.” Buck traced circle patterns along Tommy's chest. “This was the first month I started trying. Trying to get back out and do things with people... I'm glad I don't have to try anymore.”

“That's probably something we should talk about, especially with our jobs.” He snuggled further under the covers, wrapping Buck even tighter in his arms. “Not tonight though.”

“No, not tonight,” Buck agreed.

They still had a lot to talk about. A lot of things that had to be sorted. Questions that needed answers. Issues that would need to be resolved.

But, for tonight, the only thing they needed was each other.

Each other, and the first good night's sleep for them both since the day Tommy disappeared.

That night, once sleep took over, Buck dreamt.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

cooking together date night with jason using the “here, let me show you trope” while you’re trying to idk cut something up and he comes up behind you and takes your hands and guides you “like this” he says and kisses you on the head while you’re just cutting up veggies together

This is based off a distaste I have. If you do like it, fight me

—

You didn’t like onions. The smell, the taste, the crunch.

Unless it was incredibly unnoticeable in a dish, you despised it. Which means you may not have liked a lot of foods.

It bugged you, but Jason wanted to convince you to try it in different ways. What’s an easy way to mask the flavor and texture of an onion? Cook it down in a soup.

Now, here you stood fully convinced in front of a cutting board with a knife in hand, staring down a yellow onion like it’s a demon without its disguise. You did this for the promise of warm soup inside a bread bowl to combat the cold night outside the foggy windows.

“It’s not pointing a gun at you.” Jason’s comment throws you off, though you knew you looked more stunned than terrified.

“Need help, buttercup?” He approaches after coring out two sizable caverns into fresh bread. Your pleading gaze says it all, giving you a heartwarming smile.

“It’s easy, just gotta get the hang of it.”

His palm brushes along the back of yours. His fingers cradling your hand, reinforcing around the black handle.

After chopping off the top to rid the onion of its papery skin, he quickly cuts it in half, believing he’d only need about half of it. He turns the onion and proceeds to cut lengthwise over the top, making small, thin lines along the bulbous body.

“Watched Alfred do this little trick once,” Jason comments as he worked, fighting back a growing smile every moment he’d feel a nervous little quiver within his gentle grasp.

He shows you that this little hack essentially dices up the onion without the tedious work. You were too occupied in the movement of his hands along yours, expressing his knife skills through your inexperienced fingers.

“Not too hard, was it?”

Your head cranes back a bit, your lashes fluttering with beady tears.

“What?” His brows furrow in concern. There was no way you got cut, right?

“This burns.” You couldn’t help but laugh, embarrassed by the stupid chemical reaction out of your control. “This burns really bad.”

“Aww, poor baby.” Jason chuckles after clicking his tongue before he takes the knife out of your hand, sliding the demented cutting board off to the side.

He steps closer and settles an arm over your front, leaving you sinking into the warmth radiating off his torso against your back. A toasty fire, cozy company, and he’s all yours.

His lips settle along your head, kissing you twice for good measure. “I got it babe. You did good.”

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 4

Summary: Charlotte realises that she doesn't know her employer as well as she thought she did. Clouded by indecisions, she takes a path that may have unexpected consequences when things take a turn for the worst

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Mentions of PTSD. Tommy gets violent. No beta reading we die like John

Author’s note: I have NO excuse. Not even I know why I dropped the ball on this, but I will just say that 2024 has been sucker punching me in the face since January 1st and has not given me respite. I am hoping that this time I will be able to post more consistently, but again, who knows with me?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY GRAMMAR ERRORS

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark  @zablife

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Bright sunlight peeked into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, bathing everything in golden warmth. Blackbirds and nightingales chirped in their branches, their cheerful songs mingling with the sounds of the daily bustling of the state; horses neighing in their paddocks, hounds barking at the sight of wild rabbits; the old truck coming up the road bringing fresh meat and groceries for the week. It all sounded so typical, so average, not a toe out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Except Charlotte.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed under her aching body was not hers. Albeit top quality, the mattress she slept in had obviously been used before; softer around the middle and with a characteristic indent in the exact position where she sat every morning to slip on her stockings and shoes. But the one under her was much firmer and sturdy, and her back had definitely noticed it. The pillows also felt different, as did the sheets. The sun shone on the wrong side, not landing on the bed like she preferred. But it was all forgotten when she noticed a hand clinging to hers, fingers intertwined with her own on a gentle grip.

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up so quickly bright lights danced in her vision. She was used to being awoken in a startle; injured and dying soldiers didn’t wait for her to wash her face and tighten her corset before coming in. But waking up in Tommy’s bed, dressed in only her nightgown and robe and with his hand laced with hers surpassed any startle. 

The memories from the last 24 hours flooded her mind like a horror movie. Doctor Keller’s visit, the uncertainty of the wait, the abrupt waking up with Thomas moaning in pain in the dead of the night, and the horrifying discovery of the punctures on his back, crimson blood soaking through gauzes and clothes onto the bed sheets. 

The man next to her slept so peacefully, face buried in the pillows and soft snores escaping his lips, one could hardly believe the suffering he had been subjected to just hours prior. The laudanum dosage Charlotte administered should keep him out of it until midday at least, but that didn’t worry her; he definitely looked like he needed that rest.

Carefully, with the same gentleness one would handle a newborn with, Lottie turned him on his side, propping his body with pillows to properly assess the damage. At least he hadn’t bled through his clothes again, but that small relief did little to placate the cold feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach after she cut off the bandages. 

The wounds on his back had already begun to scab, surrounded by near black bruises of various sizes, from his mid back all the way down to the top of his tailbone. The punctures were evenly spaced both sideways and lengthwise, and Charlotte soon realised they were meant to follow the length of his spine. She could not even fathom the pain those must have caused, nerve damage or not.

Charlotte didn’t know how to proceed from there. Every fibre of her being urged her to run to Mrs. Gray, expose Doctor Keller for a charlatan, and let the Peaky Blinders dispose of him as they saw fit. But on the other hand, acting behind his back would surely shatter the feeble bond of trust Lottie and Tommy had developed. It didn’t matter that she only did it with his best interests in mind; he would perceive it as betrayal on her part, and would set back the small but significant progress she had made with him. She had a duty with her patient, but that duty had divided in two widely different roads, both pulling at her with equal strength.

A firm knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. In a panic, she realised it was a quarter past 10 in the morning, much later than the hour in which she usually fetched Tommy’s breakfast tray from the kitchens, a little after 9. A second, much larger panic overcame her as she took note of her state of dress, or rather, undress. She had no proper excuse to be in her nightgown only, and even if she explained that she had spent the night watching over Thomas, it still did not give her reason to look like she had just risen from bed, his bed. 

She paced back and forth, debating whether to answer the door or just feign deafness and pretend she wasn’t there. She could not hide there forever, but she much preferred to step out with no witnesses present. And God forbid it was Mrs. Gray on the other side; she held the woman in high esteem, and being found by her in such a compromising situation was mortifying, even if nothing less than honourable had happened. 

A third knock urged her to make a decision, and a small, female voice coming from the other side

“Nurse Tindall, are you in there? I’ve brought up the breakfast tray for Mr. Shelby, may I come in?”

Lottie breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised the voice of Ella, a new maid who was as sweet as she was witless. It would not be hard to distract her, as she did anything she was asked to, no matter how stupid the request sounded. Charlotte cleared her throat and walked closer to the door, making deliberate sounds around to appear busy.

“Mr. Shelby is getting dressed, come back later please” She did her best to sound firm in a kind way, not wanting to trigger another of the girl’s crying episodes over feeling herself scolded. But much to her unluckiness, Ella seemed committed to delivering the food, surely not wanting to unleash the cook’s wrath upon her. Peeling a cartful of potatoes surely drivers the lesson home to not let the eggs go cold.

“But I’ve already brought the tray over, and Mrs. Bird will be upset if I go back down with it. May I come in? I promise I won’t look!” Lottie could hear the distress in the girl’s voice; she knew that Ella would not survive long in the house’s service like that.

“I said no, Ella. Mr. Shelby needs his privacy” Her words came a little harsher than she had originally intended, and she could practically see Ella flinching and the wobble of her lower lip. Not wanting to send the maid back down defeated and in tears, she spoke again, a little softer this time “Leave the tray on the side table and I’ll bring it in once we’re finished here”

Lottie waited with bated breath, ears perked up as she heard Ella push aside some ornaments to place the silver tray down, catching even the soft tinkling of saucers and teacups. Her relief lasted only until she heard footsteps going down the stairs, for soon a deeper, slurred voice came from behind her.

“With that level of quick minded resourcefulness, you could work for my company”

Tommy was awake, no doubt aroused from his slumber by her banter with the maid. Charlotte had been certain that the sleeping tinctures would keep him under until at least after lunch, but again, what could half a cup of laudanum do against a man who had been using morphine and opium freely for the best part of the last five years?

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she immediately rushed to his side, taking a motherly stance as she gently brushed hair away from his forehead, discreetly checking for any rise in his temperature; although he felt sweaty, he didn’t seem to be running a fever. Her fingers circled his wrist, counting the steady beats of his heart, and her ears perked up, ready to detect any change in the pattern of his breathing.

“I am not dying, not yet at least” Thomas huffed, in what turned out to be a poor attempt at lightening the severity of the situation. But even then he couldn’t deny he had been left extremely weakened; even opening his eyes appeared to be a struggle, and the dark circles under them cut sharply against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

Charlotte felt grief tugging at her heartstrings at his sight, alongside an overcoming sense of guilt for not having stopped Doctor Keller; she should have trusted her gut and dragged them all out by the ankles the second they kept her from accompanying Thomas through the treatment. Nothing good ever came from things happening behind closed doors. And certainly nothing good could ever come from a treatment that required him to be gagged and held down.

She reached over to the basin to retrieve a damp cloth, gently dabbing away the sweat from Tommy’s temples and brow. His eyes closed again, tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. Lottie wanted to ask, she needed a what, a how and a why, but she didn’t want to push him when he looked like that, so miserable and battered. The sight of his back pierced and stabbed, his limp body lying on blood soaked sheets, and the helplessness and vulnerability in his eyes, had been forever engraved in her memory. To see a man like him brought down to that, it made her heart ache.

“Are you hungry?” She asked quietly, swallowing down her other questions and worries to focus first and foremost on his comfort. “I could ask the cook to make you something light if your stomach is upset. Maybe some soup and toast?”

He shook his head, opening one eye just enough to gauge Charlotte’s expression. Just like his aunt’s, there was something unsettling about Thomas’s gaze. While Mrs. Gray looked like she could know all your secrets with just one look, Thomas had a certain determination in his eyes, a glint of mischief added with something that Lottie couldn’t quite pinpoint; but she knew for certain that Mr. Shelby could convince anyone to do his bidding only by staring them down. But she also noticed he possessed the same perennial shadow that all war veterans did; a mark that they all shared and would never fade.

“I suppose asking you for a glass of whiskey and to pass me cigarettes won’t work even now, eh?”

Charlotte had always had more than a few opinions about Thomas’ average diet of eating nothing, but the fact that he felt well enough to joke about it did manage to lighten her spirits. She noticed he kept trying to dampen his lips and his tongue appeared quite parched; with a teaspoon she managed to give him some sips of water, since she didn’t feel confident enough to sit him up just yet.

A pregnant silence hovered in the air, with Charlotte knowing both had things they wanted to say. Her thoughts continued to swirl around aimlessly, torn between rushing straight to Mrs. Gray to tell her everything she knew so far, or to wait to hear the complete story from Tommy’s lips. But would he be willing to tell? Did he remember even, or had the memories been wiped away by the trauma and the pain medicines?

Even if she wished to avoid it forever, she couldn’t. She needed to redo the dressings on his back, and she had learned through experience the way some veterans reacted when their wounds were touched, as if the contact triggered the memories they so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down. And so, she figured she might try while the laudanum still lingered, hoping that the remaining opioids in his system would keep him tame should he lash out.

“Tommy, there’s some wounds left on your back from your…treatment” Calling that medicine left a bitter taste on Charlotte’s mouth, but she couldn’t go and call it torture to his face “I need to bandage them again but I promise to be careful. You need to let me know if anything is bothering you, is that okay?” A part of herself felt she was talking him down like a child, but that had worked before with other veterans in similar situations, and at worse, Thomas would get mad at her, which would be no different than usual.

But much to her surprise, Tommy appeared awfully calm with the information she had just given her, as if the notion of having been poked full of holes didn’t faze him at all. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine as she began to consider the option that Tommy knew what had been done to him, or worse, that he had willingly submitted to it.

While she gathered her supplies, she noticed some dried blood lingered under her nails from the previous night’s ordeal. The sight of all that blood, gauzes dripping with it, the liquid pooling since the sheets could not soak up any more…She had seen ten times worse over the years in the front, and had faced it all with a sternness that unnerved even her colleagues. Why could she not detach herself this time? Was it because she could not stand the desperate being taken advantage of? Or had she grown attached at last to her insufferable patient?

Suddenly her common sense decided to abandon her. She dropped what she had on her hands and rounded the bed to face Thomas, leaning down until she was eye to eye with him. She had to gauge the truth from him, she needed the story straight so she could put a stop to this.

“Thomas…Thomas do you know what that doctor did to you?” She breathed through her nose once, to keep her voice from faltering “Did he tell you what he did exactly?” She reached to take one of his hands. The previous night the contact had been an act of desperation, and now it bore similar purpose “I don’t know if you remember but last night you woke up and..and you were-”

“Bloodied and in pain? Yes, I remember” The way he said it, with such carelessness as if he were simply saying he woke up thirsty, didn’t sit quite right with Charlotte. Far too calm, even for a man like him. “Doctor Keller warned me that the first couple of nights would be difficult to get by. He told me to rely on the laudanum, but I thought I could toughen it out. I should have listened…the doctor always knows best.” 

His dovish words confirmed her worst fears, and Lottie felt her stomach drop to her knees. He knew. He knew everything that had been done to him. How could he not? Thomas Shelby wouldn’t let a doctor put a single finger on him without knowing first what would be done to him. 

Her grip on his fingers tightened, and she leaned closer, far closer than their faces had even been before “Tommy, what he’s done to you is inhuman. It’s barbaric. I’m sure men who have been tortured have endured less than what you did yesterday. You cannot let him get away with it, or he will do it again to others. I will tell Mrs. Gray to deal with him, we won’t let him get close to you again”

“No” That time, his hand gripped hers, with such strength that made her fingers ache. “You will not do such a thing. You will leave that man alone, and let him do what he must. Understood?” There, in that moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what Tommy used to be like, when he was the man that terrorised Small Heath and had half of Birmingham bending the knee like he were some sort of king. A man who had built an empire from scratch and, rumour had it, ruled it like a tyrant. 

“Thomas, look at yourself!” She protested, not allowing herself to be intimidated “Look at what he’s done to you. What treatment can be worth being punctured by needles the length of your hand all down your back? Do you even know what’s been injected?”

“I don’t need to know. All I need it’s for it to work” He had to have lost his mind, That was the only answer as to how Thomas could so blindly trust Keller. That quacksalver had sweet spoken his way into Tommy’s mind, and had used his fear and hopelessness as grounds to plant the seed of hope. He saw Tommy as a drowning man, and appeared before him offering him a raft, which turned out to be only a rotten piece of wood.

“No” Determination laced Lottie’s words “I will not allow this to continue. You have been taken for a fool, Thomas, and it is my duty as your nurse to make you see reason when you can’t for yourself. I know a trickster when I see one, and God knows I’ve seen plenty” She felt anger loaded in her words; but not directed at her patient. Rather directed at Keller, and the dozens of men like him who saw chance for profit in the suffering of the war veterans who had lost everything fighting for their lives “I will not allow that man to set foot here again. I’ll barricade the door myself if I must, and I know Mrs. Gray will agree with me” Charlotte knew that Mrs Gray tried to antagonise her nephew as little as possible, only in extreme circumstances; well, this was definitely one of those.

What happened next took Lottie completely aback. Thomas let go of her hand, but instead gripped her chin, his fingers holding her with such strength that she felt the pain radiate up her jaw. His eyes were pure ice, cold and unforgiving, and he pulled her face down, forcing her to meet his gaze

“You won’t do shit. You will do what you do, what you are paid to do, and nothing more. For everything else, you keep your head down. I believe Polly told you that you would be expected to turn a blind eye for some things; well, this is one of those things. You are not family, you are just a worker, and you do what you are told, eh?”

“But-”

“But nothing” His grip tightened even more, if possible, forcing a whine out of Charlotte’s lips. She had never seen him like this before, not even during her first days in the manor when he did everything in his power to be a nuisance to her and scare her away. He had screamed, he had slammed tables, he had thrown to the wall cups and glasses and trays, but not even once had he laid a hand on her “You do what I say, and nothing more. If you tell Polly, I will fire you on the spot. If you try to interfere with Doctor Keller, things can get very ugly very quickly. Am I clear?”

Charlotte felt fear. For the first time since her arrival to Arrow House, she felt fear. Her heart hammered her ribs and her knees felt weak. This man before her was not the Tommy who had shown weakness just the night before, asking her to keep him company for the night and holding her hand; not even the man who had flipped over a table because she begged him to eat. Lottie recognised in him the first tendrils of the madness proper of someone with nothing left to lose. Tommy saw Keller as his last chance, and he would not let anything or anyone take that chance away. He had become obsessed, and obsession was just a step away from madness.

She nodded at his words, if anything to get Tommy to let go of her face. After a few more seconds of staredown, in which she felt diminished to the size of a mouse, Tommy let her go and laid back down

“Good. Now fuck off. Doctor Keller said that the wounds need to be aired to heal faster, and I want to sleep”

Somehow, Charlotte found enough control of her legs to stand and walk away, tripping on the carpet and crashing against an armchair on her way out. Her heart beat rampantly, the thumping booming on her ears and temples. She held herself until she had closed the double doors behind her, and only then collapsed against the panelled wall, burying her face in her hands. She had been threatened before, plenty of times, by men far too deep in their cups, or their drugs, or in the demons inside their heads. 

But never before by a true threat.

She knew as well as any what the Peaky Blinders did, and she knew they had no qualms on the choosing of their victims. And something in the way Tommy said those words, the intensity of his gaze, the strength of his grip, told Charlotte that he wouldn’t doubt acting upon his words should she cross him. 

She immediately thought of telling Mrs Gray everything. Every last detail, her position in the house be damned; Thomas could fire her but he could not rid himself of his aunt. With that steely determination Charlotte walked down the stairs, her steps resonating in the emptiness of the house. But that lasted only until she reached the landing. Would Mrs Gray side with her? Or would she let her nephew entertain his false hopes, if only to give him a false sense of happiness? Would she find in the older woman an ally, or would she just waste her time and her job entertaining her sense of justice? After all, just like Thomas said, she was just a worker, not family, and she should not speak above her station.

And yet.

Clinging onto her morals as only support, Charlotte set out to find Mrs Gray and tell her exactly what had happened; it might cause her to lose the best job she had held since the war ended, but at least she would leave that house at peace with her morals. But her mission finished as quickly as it began. She asked Frances the whereabouts of Mrs Gray, and a bucket of ice water was dropped upon her head when she was informed that Mrs. Gray had left to tend business in London and would not return for at least a week. Speaking face to face with her, locked in the privacy of the older woman’s office was one thing. But telephone her all the way to London, and possibly interrupt her affairs to basically snitch on her nephew…

A week. She would have to wait a week. And Charlotte hoped her resolve would last that long.

~

She felt out of place, wearing her blouses and skirts after spending the best part of half a year in only her nurse uniforms. Lottie sat on the terrace of a fancy French cafe, enjoying an espresso and a small assortment of pastries. She had a few magazines before her, and pen and paper to finally write down those letters she had due for weeks, but she simply could not concentrate, not on a day like that. The bells of a nearby church rang five times; in the blink of an eye two hours of her life had escaped her, for it was a few minutes past three when she sat on that chair, feeling her knees weak and her hands clammy.

After Tommy’s threat, things had gone down as well as one could expect. Charlotte spent the following week walking on eggshells around him, scared to even look him in the eye. Tommy had been a particularly obedient patient, dutifully drinking all his medicines and eating all his meals like he had never done before, but he had once more condemned Lottie to the silent treatment, not giving her more word than the occasional command to bring him something or, more specifically, to leave him alone. She had anxiously awaited the return of Mrs. Gray, hoping his aunt would help him see reason where she had failed so spectacularly. 

The showdown between them had surely been heard all through the county, the tone of their argument escalating steadily to the point Charlotte could clearly listen to every word they said, even sitting at the foot of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees and her thumbs pressing on her brow in hopes of alleviating what had become a chronic headache. Perhaps she had committed a calamitous mistake telling everything to Mrs. Gray. Or perhaps her first big mistake had been taking that job.

When Mrs. Gray finally came down to meet her, she looked absolutely defeated; and Lottie knew right away that she had risked it all for nothing.

Thomas had absolutely refused to back down on his treatment, quoting over and over that Keller said it had to get worse before it got better. He had said horrible things about his aunt and Charlotte, about how they wished him ill and had no desire to see him recover his life because it suited them better to keep him chairbound. Mrs. Gray had let the hurtful words sweep past her like breeze, but Charlotte felt them more like stones thrown to her face, even if they were just lies. 

In the end, Lottie had not been fired, her job position saved by Mrs Gray’s resilience to not let go of the first caretaker who had made it past the three month mark. She did however insist that Lottie cash in all the days off she was owed, plus an extra paid day on the house. That gave her exactly a week of holiday, and therefore, would keep her away the day Doctor Keller was scheduled to come for his next appointment. 

When she boarded the car that would take her to the station that Sunday morning, wearing her navy blue coat and her prettiest hat, a part of her wondered if she should leave for good; mail in her resignation and have someone else pick up the rest of her belongings. She could not envision what future she could have there now, as her relationship with Tommy had surely been permanently and irreparably damaged by their rift. He would never trust her completely again, and she couldn’t stand by idly and watch him pay himself into an early, horrific death.

Not wishing to spend her week in good old Birmingham, Lottie decided her salary allowed her to take her time off in London. She found lodging on a small bed and breakfast near Camden, and put her time to good use, hoping to keep herself distracted. She got new books to read, dined in a different place each night, and finally gave her wardrobe a much overdue refresh. But she could never shake off the knowledge that, each day that passed, was a day closer to Doctor Keller returning to Tommy’s side. It remained a perpetual nagging feeling on the back of her mind. She could not go a single day without something reminding her of it.

Charlotte felt her blood boil whenever she thought about how many men had been tricked before Thomas. Perhaps if she found one or two who had undergone the same treatment, with obviously less than satisfactory results, they could help her convince Tommy to abandon before it was too late. Hoping against hope, she set aside money to post a few small, as inconspicuous as possible advertisements, avoiding directly mentioning the doctor by name. At worst, it would all end in a few wasted coins and nothing else. 

Saturday she spent in a continuous fright, obsessively checking the hour everywhere she could. By 3 pm, she knew that awful man and his equally awful aids would be crossing the threshold. By 6, she figured they would be done cleaning up whatever gruesome mess they had left behind, with Tommy tucked in bed, absolutely knocked out by double and triple doses of opioids. 

She couldn’t find sleep that night, tossing and turning until the blankets were tangled in her legs. Even through emotional exhaustion her mind refused to quiet down. Was Tommy sleeping well? Was he comfortable? Would he wake again in the dead of the night in agony and alone, with no one to wipe his brow or change the sheets? Charlotte tried and failed again and again to force the thoughts out of her mind, but they refused to budge; even if she chastised herself for caring so deeply, she couldn’t help herself.

Sunday she spent no better, and after a short walk she decided to return to her room and give herself a lazy day, rearranging her suitcase and indulging in one of her new books alongside some cookies she bought nearby. She wasn’t expected back on the manor until Tuesday morning, yet she kept all her belongings packed and ready to go fleeing out the door.

After a humble dinner in a nearby pub, Lottie returned to her lodgings, deciding to indulge herself with a long bath, taking advantage of having a private bathroom. But just as she had crossed the entrance, a bellboy came to meet her, telling her there was a call for her on the front desk. 

Puzzled, Lottie followed the boy, wondering who could be calling her at that hour, since no one knew her whereabouts. Trepidation creeping up her spine, she picked the apparatus, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in her gut

“Hello?”

“Charlotte” Mrs Gray's voice resounded from the other side. Despite the familiarity, the knowledge that it was her calling didn’t reassure her one bit. A woman like her didn’t call at that hour to talk about the weather

“Mrs Gray, is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother to ask why or how she had Charlotte’s current address. They knew everything about everyone; they probably knew more about Charlotte than she herself did.

“No, things are not okay. Doctor Keller came yesterday; only God knows what he did, but Tommy didn’t wake up until today after midday, and he didn’t let me or any of the maids touch him or feed him”

Charlotte sighed, sensing immediately where the conversation was heading “Mrs. Gray, if you think that I can get past his thick head-”

“No” The older woman cut short “I don’t think you can, and that’s not why I called. Around dinner I went to check on him, try to get him to eat. Force feed him if I must. And I found him” Charlotte could hear her sigh slowly “I found him unconscious. So pale he was grey, laying in a pool of sweat. He had vomited too, I think. Couldn’t even wake him with a slap to the back”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her heart raced at the information she received, immediately noticing how bad the situation had turned “Mrs Gray, that is very serious. He needs to be seen by a doctor! Did you-”

“I called the ambulance. They’ve taken him right away. It’s the hospital I’m calling from. The doctor says he has an infection and that it’s reaching his blood”

Charlotte swallowed. Infections of the blood never had a good prognosis in the field, not even in the hospitals. Yet she clung to false hope when she asked her next question

“Did he…did he say it was bad?”

The pause that followed seemed to stretch for days, but that wasn’t half as bad as hearing Mrs. Gray voice crack for the first time

“They say he’s likely to die”

[severelystrangewriter]

Cooking Together (Flufftober 2023 Day 10)

Pairing: taiju shiba x reader

WC: 734

Warnings: none

Summary: what it’s like to cook with taiju

Note: i feel like cooking with a guy who owns multiple restaurants would be a nightmare not even gonna hold you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooking together with Taiju Shiba was an impossible task. And when I say impossible, I mean it. He had a very strict method when it came to being in the kitchen, and honestly, you felt that you were just in the way more times than not when you tried to help. He wouldn’t even let you chop the vegetables or boil the water without hovering over you in some way. Like, you understood that the guy ran multiple restaurants, but come on.

“Babe, I know what I’m doing!” You finally snapped one evening as you cut some carrots, “Trust me.”

“I do trust you!” Taiju argued, “...But your knife technique could use a little work.”

You pointed the blade at him jokingly, “Do you really wanna say that to the person holding the knife?”

Taiju looked completely unfazed, “Will you just let me show you?”

You sighed heavily but handed the knife over and stepped to the side in order to give him free rein on the cutting board. Crossing your arms, you watched as he took your place. He shot you a thankful smile and got started right away.

“You’re supposed to cut them lengthwise first,” Taiju instructed, “Then dice them like this.”

You nodded your head, trying really hard to find the will to care. But this was important to him, so you bit back your sarcastic remark. He finished dicing the rest of the carrots and then moved on to the onions. You figured you weren’t going to get to chop up vegetables anytime soon.

With another sigh you picked up the peeler from the counter and held it up, “Can I at least peel the potatoes?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and you swore that if he said no you would scream, but then Taiju nodded his head.

“That should be fine.”

With a breath of relief, you got to work right away. But after the first potato, your boyfriend was by your side again.

“You know, there’s a trick to peeling them more smoothly,” He commented casually.

“Is there now?” You grumbled with a huff.

“Yeah, here, let me-”

“Touch my potatoes and I’ll throw one at your head,” You threatened, causing him to retract his hand. “Just tell me how to do it.”

“Well for one, you need to fix how you’re holding the potato,” Taiju explained.

“And just how am I holding it wrong?” You exclaimed in exasperation.

“You need to firmly grasp it.”

“I’m grasping it as firmly as I can!” You protested, “It’s too big to get a proper grip!” At Taiju’s smirk, you squinted, realizing how that sounded out of context. Shaking your head, you said, “Don’t you dare laugh, I’m getting annoyed.”

“You’re cute,” He replied with a slight chuckle, throwing you off guard.

Feeling your face heat up at the compliment, you shook your head again and pointed the peeler at him this time, “Flattery will get you nowhere. I’m peeling these potatoes whether you like it or not! You just worry about dicing them.”

He put his hands up defensively, “Alright, alright.”

And so you both went back to working on your respective tasks. The silence that fell over the kitchen was actually peaceful for once. When you finished peeling, you decided that there was not much else for you to do but watch him take over. He quickly got the ingredients in the pot and while that was cooking he went ahead and started washing some of the dirty utensils that were used. You took the opportunity to come up behind him and wrap your arms around his middle.

“Thanks for letting me help. Even if it was reluctant,” You told him, squishing your cheek against his back.

“I wouldn’t say it was reluctant,” Taiju scoffed, drying his hands and turning in your hold.

Now facing him, you gave your boyfriend a blank stare, “You literally took over chopping all of the vegetables.”

“You peeled the potatoes,” He pointed out.

“Only after I threatened you!” You argued. Then you groaned and buried your face into his chest, “You’re lucky I love you.”

One of Taiju’s hands came to rest on the back of your head and the other on your back to hold you closer. You smiled when you felt him press a soft kiss to the top of your head in response as he murmured, “That I am.”

[eddiespornstache]

Buddietommy, 600 words

~~just a cute little short whatever to try out writing these characters. pov eddie diaz and featuring the couch gag cuz im unoriginal. enjoy (hopefully)!~~

“Come here,” Tommy whispers, lips just brushing the shell of Eddie’s ear, the softest touch that nonetheless lights up every nerve ending in Eddie’s body. He goes back easy, sinking into Tommy’s strong arms and giving into the feeling of being held.

“That’s it, baby,” Tommy says, nosing behind Eddie’s ear and down his neck. “I got you.” Eddie shivers so acutely he can feel his eyelashes flutter.

He peeks down toward the other end of the couch, where Buck is perched, turned inwards to face them. He’s studying the two of them with that soft, focused Buck-ness that he has, his lips just slightly parted. Eddie kind of wants to slip his fingers between them, but he has no desire to wrest himself out of Tommy’s firm but gentle grip.

So he settles for asking Buck, “You like this view?” His voice rasps on the last syllable. All of this, being queer, being intimate like this with other men, it still feels so new to Eddie, but he already can’t imagine not having this, not when it feels so right.

Buck’s lips quirk apart even further. “You know that I do,” he says, so sweet, so solemn. “God, you’re so beautiful together.”

Eddie feels Tommy chuckle into the pulse point of his neck. He looks at Buck, all flushed cheeks and tousled hair. He can’t believe it took him so long to let himself want this. He can’t believe they’ve let him want this, bringing him onto their dates and onto their couch and into their bed like it’s not even a question of Eddie belonging here with them.

“Be more beautiful if you came over here,” he says, making grabby hands until Buck crawls down the length of the couch to press a chaste kiss to Eddie’s lips, to curl his fingers into Tommy’s where they rest over Eddie’s stomach.

“Mmm, firefighter sandwich,” Eddie giggles slightly deliriously. Buck’s shining above him, adoration in his gaze. Tommy licks a stripe behind his ear, an unshakable counterweight.

Buck’s lips twist before he swoops down to kiss Eddie again, then off to the side to find Tommy’s mouth. Eddie tries to turn himself to get a better view of his boyfriends—his boyfriends, now isn’t that thrilling—but shifting his weight causes Tommy to wheeze and Buck to lose his balance.

Buck catches himself before he can actually fall to the floor, but rebalancing takes him farther out of Eddie’s space. Eddie unconsciously lets out a low whine. Tommy strokes his side soothingly, but then manhandles him so they’re sitting side by side instead of pressed together lengthwise.

“I might need to get a bigger couch,” Buck says. Then his lips flap like a fish. “I need to get a bigger couch,” he repeats. “I don’t know how I missed that. It’s obvious. How could I forget about the couch?”

Tommy’s grin is a bit bemused. “If you really want a new couch, Evan, we can look online in the morning,” he says. “But until then, we do all fit in your bed.”

They’ll have to explain the couch thing to Tommy—but he’s got a point, there are more pressing matters at hand. “Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says. “Take us to bed.”

His stomach is full of butterflies when Buck pulls him up, when Tommy keeps a hand on his shoulder, steady as anything. Eddie tries to savor the feeling, the shape of this, something so unexpected, yet right under his nose the entire time.

He breaks away from them, headed toward the stairs. “Come on, you two,” he calls over his shoulder.

They come.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS ZERO Animate Tokuten Drama CD “A Vampire’s Late Night Snack Terror” [Kanato ver.]

Original title: 夜更かしヴァンパイアの食テロ飯 [カナト編]

Source: Diabolik Lovers ZERO Vol. 5 Animate Tokuten CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: Maybe this is a thing in Japan but the dessert/sweet in this track did not sound appealing to me at all. I thought she was going to make caramelized bananas at first but then this girl added PIZZA CHEESE to bananas???? I guess the unholy amount of maple syrup and cinnamon which Kanato poured on top in the end would probably mask the cheese flavor but that still didn’t sound like something I’d dig into. I’d much rather just eat a normal banana to be honest. 

You enter the kitchen.

“Uu...Hic...Uu...”

You rush over to his side.

“What’s wrong? What brings you to the kitchen...?”

You explain.

“I see...You came looking for me...But I don’t feel like going back to my room right now. Please just leave me be.”

You ask what happened.

“What happened...you ask? Can you really not tell by looking at this empty container...!?”

*Thud*

“Somebody ate my pudding! The pudding I kept in the fridge to enjoy as my bedtime snack!! I bet they’re watching from somewhere right now, snickering as they see me suffer from not being able to sleep as a result! It really pisses me off...!!”

You ask who did it.

“Kuh...I don’t care who the culprit is! ...I’ll burn everyone in this manor to ashes...No, that won’t do it. Instead I’ll smear wasabi on top of a cream pie and throw those in their faces! At once!”

You stop him.

“...Why are you stopping me? Could it be...Aah, I get it now. It was you, wasn’t it? You are the one who ate my pudding, aren’t you? Unforgivable...I won’t let you get away with this!”

You shake your head in denial. 

“Do you truly believe you can talk yourself out of this? I am enraged right now. Being deprived of my beloved sweets is basically torture! Uu...How could you...This is simply too much...! I was...looking forward to it so much as well...Uu...My pudding...Uuー”

You try to comfort him.

“You will...make some for me...?”

You nod.

“Really?”

You nod again.

“ーー Please say that sooner next time. Just think about all the unnecessary energy I wasted on crying.”

*Rustle*

“Come on. What is taking you so long? Chop-chop!”

You seem surprised how he stopped crying at once.

“Those were obviously fake tears! ...More importantly, get started on that pudding for me already.”

You open the fridge.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me...we don’t have the right ingredients?”

You chuckle nervously. 

“Are you...making fun of me, perhaps? Is it fun to give me hope first only to crush it into a million pieces afterwards? Are you so desperate for a severe punishment, is that it?”

You shake your head.

“Hah! Your shamelessness knows no limits, does it? Fine then! I’ll use your blood as the sauce to drizzle on top of my shaved ice!”

You offer to give him another type of candy.

“Are you trying to butter up to me like that? Those sweet words don’t make me happy in the slightest right now! Some store-bought candies won’t calm this anger I feel. ...Unless you serve me something worthy to be on the menu of a high-rate cafe, I’m not eating it!”

You promise to make that. 

“What do you mean ‘fine’? Did you not hear me when I said that I’m only accepting something exceptional?”

You say that you will make that.

“Haah...? You’ll make a dessert when you don’t even have any milk or eggs?”

You nod.

“I won’t believe you right away. Prove that you can make it. I shall put your punishment on-hold until then. ...You better believe I won’t forgive you if you serve me something vile.”

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle rustle*

“Hm...”

*Cling cling*

“Are these the ingredients?”

You ask if he would like to help out.

“What nonsense are you spouting? As if I would ever help out!”

You agree. 

“Exactly. If you understand that, hurry up and get those hands moving.”

*Rustle rustle*

*Thud*

*Chop chop chop*

“Hm? You halved a banana before slicing it lengthwise? Hah! What a strange thing to do. You’re repeating that process several times...Let me be so kind as to give you a little warning. If you’re thinking about making something as boring as a fruits parfait, I will boil your blood and make jam out of it, do you understand?”

You ask him to have faith in you.

“I cannot have faith. I can already tell what sort of dessert you will serve me. Do you truly think you’ll be able to exceed my expectations?” 

*Cling cling*

“Eh...? A frying pan...? Don’t tell me...You’re going to fry those!?”

You put some butter in the pan.

*Pshhh*

“...! I can smell the rich aroma of butter. It’s finally starting to look a bit more like it. At least for now, that is. ...You’ll add the cut-up bananas from earlier into this pan and fry them, correct?”

You nod and add the banana slices.

“Hm? Why are you arranging them neatly next to one another like that?”

You explain.

“Good point. A good dessert should look pretty as well. If you plate it in a cute way, it’d fit my tastes better. Mmh. I can tell that you put some actual thought into this. I wouldn’t mind getting my hopes up somewhat. ...So, what will you do next?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Did you just sprinkle some cheese on top? It’s the type that melts easily when exposed to heat, correct? ...It’s starting to gradually crisp up, almost like the crust of a pie.”

*Pshhh*

“You’ll flip them over and fry the other side as well, right?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Then put even more cheese on top...Hmm~ It’s starting to smell delicious. I cannot get enough of this aroma of cheese and butter. Say, how much longer before it’s done?”

You tell him it just needs a few final toppings.

“Ah! I will put the final toppings on there!”

You frown.

“Are you talking back? I’m the one who will enjoy this dish, so do you have an issue with me seasoning it to my personal tastes?”

You shake your head. 

“Fufu, glad you understand~ ...Let’s douse the whole thing in maple syrup~! Next up is a generous amount of cinnamon, no need to hold back with it!”

He adds his toppings.

*Thud*

“Now it’s perfect! ...Melt-in-your-mouth sauteed bananas ー seasoned with maple syrup and cinnamon, all done! ...I can’t wait to dig in! Come on, please put them on a plate!”

*Rustle rustle*

*Cling*

“Ah...Well then, bon appetit~”

He takes a bite.

*Nom nom*

“Mmh~~~!! ...Mm...So sweet...~~ The crispy cheese melts in my mouth...It pairs incredibly well with the maple syrup as well! And the richness from the butter has properly seeped into the banana! The warm bananas are super soft as well, melting on my tongue...This is pure bliss!”

*Nom nom*

“Mm, mm~~ ...Hm? Hmph. You can look at me like that all you want, I am not sharing any with you. This dessert is mine. ...However, if you insist, I suppose I could consider it.”

You seem surprised. 

“Yes. I happen to be in an excellent mood right now after all. I suppose I can let you have just one bite.”

He cuts up a piece for you.

“Come on, open your mouth. ‘Aahn’...Fufu~ I fed it to you, so make sure to savor it thoroughly, okay?” 

You tell him that it’s delicious. 

“Of course! I acknowledged this dessert, so of course it is! Besides, the banana slices have been plated to resemble a flower, so it’s also pretty to look at! ...Say, did you decide to fry them in this shape because you thought I would enjoy it? Of course you did, didn’t you?”

You confirm it.

“Fufu. I see. You are so cute like that. ...Right, let me praise you. You worked hard for my sake after all.”

*Cling*

“Allow me to pat your head. ...Accept your reward, okay?”

*Rustle rustle*

“Fufu...You are so docile tonight. Just like a doll, it’s adorable. The thing about the pudding pissed me off, but I suppose it no longer matters now. I realized that the sweets you make are my favorite after all. I suppose I no longer need Reiji then. I’ll have you make all of my desserts and snacks from here on out.”

You flinch.

“Hm? Do you have an issue with that? Just look at how thoroughly satisfied I am, so you won’t possibly turn down my request, right?”

You shake your head.

“Fufu, good girl. Haah~ I truly feel great tonight. ...I’ll have a sip of your blood as well once I’ve finished my dessert, okay? I’m on a roll right now, so I’ll have plenty.”

*Rustle*

“Please entertain me until the morning dawns, okay? Fufu...”

ーー THE END ーー 

[barbex]

Febuwhump 2024

I know, I know, it's basically over, but I wanted to at least post one fic for @febuwhump. I'm not even sure this is whump, I'm clearly not an expert in these things.

This is for 15. "Who did this to you?"

Dragon Age 2, Fenris x Anders

---

The nights in Kirkwall are strangely calm. Roaming groups of bandits can occasionally still be found in Lowtown, but everyone seems to have learned that attacking one of Hawke's group usually ends in fatal injuries. 

Fenris walks through Lowtown undisturbed. He's been to the Hanged Man, but neither Hawke nor Varric were there and he Aveline was leaving just as he stepped inside. He paid for an ale but didn't finish it. It lost its taste without company.

Lowtown isn't exactly a pretty place for a walk and night, the stars hidden behind buildings rising too tall and too close to each other, but when he finds himself in front of the rusty elevator to Darktown, he begins to question his sanity. Darktown is the last place anybody should want to be. Still, he steps on the platform, listening to the rattle of rusty chains as it carries him down. 

Darktown is quiet, even the poorest robbers and bandits need to sleep sometimes. Fenris walks down the familiar path, jumping over sinkholes and climbing up and down rickety stairs. He really only ever has one destination down here, the mage's clinic, and he goes there more often than he likes to admit. At first, it was to prove that the abomination would definitely turn against them all one day, then he wanted to see the mage use his powers for his own gain, and when none of that happened, he still returned to the clinic again and again, just watching. Not that he would ever let the mage know any of that. 

He cannot quite explain why he still watches the mage and frankly, he doesn't want to analyze it.

The lantern above the clinic's door is dark and no light spills out from under the door. Maybe Anders is with Hawke and Varric tonight, it's not like he knows what kind of jobs Hawke takes up nearly every night. When he turns around, something moves in the shadow and he has a dagger out before he even blinks. 

"I wants no trouble, Serah," the person says, a boy, probably not older than ten. 

Fenris sheathes his dagger and nods. "You should not sneak up on people like this then." 

"I was just watching if the healer comes out."

Looking at the dark lantern, Fenris shakes his head. "I don't think he is in." 

"But he hasn't left."

"Have you seen him go in?"

"Yeah, and later some other guys came and they left again but the healer has not come out."

The feeling of unease is like a tangible force on his neck. He turns to the clinic's door and presses the handle down. It opens with a creak. The inside is dark, not even a fire alight in the cast iron oven. He carefully steps inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The main room looks fine, but towards the side, where Anders' private room is separated by a ratty curtain, one of the wooden cots lies in pieces. He steps carefully, avoiding the sharp splinters. Slipping through the curtain, he finds more destruction, a broken chair, the wooden board Anders used as a table split lengthwise, broken bottles strewn around.

He turns around to leave, when a noise makes him turn back. There, on the wall, what he thought to be just a shadow in the uneven wall, a person is tied up. Before his mind can quite register what he sees, he's already there, cutting rope wrapped around Anders' neck and wrists. He sinks into Fenris' arms, whimpering. 

Fenris freezes. Nobody touches him, nobody sinks into his arms, especially not the mage. He doesn't remember the last time he held someone ins his arms. With a careful step, he lowers Anders on the miraculously undamaged bed. 

"No, don't leave, please don't leave." Anders clings to him like a man drowning.

"I am not," Fenris says, hesitating only for a moment. "I will not leave."

Anders sinks back, staring at him. "Fenris?"

"Yes."

Turning away from him, Anders rubs his wrists. "I thought... no matter." 

Fenris lights a lantern, hanging it on a hook on the wall. Now, with light, he can see that the mage is naked, his whole body screams of injuries. There's blood everywhere, dried in rivulets from knife cuts, spots of dark purple forming on every part of his body from beatings with fists or worse. 

"Who did this to you?"

Anders rolls on his side, turning his back to Fenris. He also has cuts on his back, longs strokes with a knife, cutting through old scars. "Who did this?" Fenris asks again, unable to control the anger in his voice. 

No answer. Anders pulls a blanket up over his body, hiding the injuries. 

"Let me clean your wounds." 

"You can go," Anders croaks. 

"I will not." Stomping into the main room, he finds a basket with clean cloth and bandages and a flask of water and carries it back to Anders' room. The mage hasn't moved and Fenris kneels next to the bed and wipes the blood on Anders' back away with a wet bandage. "Tell me who did this."

"What? You have to be more specific," Anders spits out. When Fenris doesn't say anything, he glances over his shoulder at him. "The scars are from the circle. Templars don't like it when you run away or contradict them or don't kiss their boots or —" He stops, only hissing through his teeth when Fenris touches a fresh wound.

"Why don't you heal yourself?" 

"Can't. They had magebane."

Fenris isn't sure where the anger inside of him comes from, but it burns like fire, like it wants to consume him. Anders stares at him and in the reflection in his eyes he sees his markings glow. "Who were they?"

"It doesn't matter."

Fenris' fingers clench around the bedframe. "It does matter!"

Throwing the blanket away, Anders sits up, grabbing the wet bandage from him. "Why, because you want to know who to thank?"

The flame of anger in his chest turns sharp and white. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Sorry, did I miss something?" Anders wipes over his arms, grimacing at the pain. "I haven't seen you in weeks, last time I checked you hated all mages and especially me. Oh yeah, and the last thing I heard you say was, 'what has magic touched that it didn't spoil?'. Such a nice statement, made me feel all warm and — ahh, fuck!" He throws the bandage away, biting his lip as he cradles his arm. 

Fenris stares at him. For weeks he has watched the mage, waiting for him to fulfill his worst expectations, only to see him be compassionate and selfless. You cannot see someone literally give away his possessions and food to children after healing them and still believe he is a murderous magister. But he never told Anders about that, never even spoke to him. 

"Why are you still here?" Anders asks, his voice so quiet that he almost didn't hear him. 

"I cannot explain," Fenris says equally quiet.

Anders frowns. "If you could find a health potion, that would help." 

Fenris looks through the shelf in the main room, cursing himself for his inability to read. 

"It's green and has an drawing of elfroot on the label." 

He freezes with his hand halfway in the air. "Why does it have a drawing?"

"Not everyone can read," Anders says without looking at him.

Fenris lets out a breath and gives him the health potion, watching how his face relaxes as the pain recedes. "Was it templars who did this?"

Anders laughs, much too light and easily. "Surprisingly no, not this time."

The slight emphasis on 'not this time' has Fenris' hair stand up. "Have templars..." He doesn't even know what to ask.

"No, I'd have to move the clinic if they did. But I'm sure they know where I am, it's just a matter of time until..." Anders makes a vague gesture with his hand.

"They will not have you." He will not allow it.

"Why? Because you want to kill me first?"

There had been a time when he held his sword tighter when the mage was around. But not anymore. But Anders doesn't know that. "I do not wish you dead." 

"Since when?" 

"Since quite some time." 

Anders narrows his eyes. "I don't understand. I'm still a mage and an abomination, in case you've forgotten. Actually —" he holds up his hand watching with a smile as a yellow glow spreads on his palm — "my magic is back." He looks at Fenris, the smile falling from his face. "You don't have to stay, I'm fine and I'll be doing magic now."

"I'm staying." 

"Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Anders' magic tingles in his markings and the mage heals his arm and the various cuts. He picks up another piece of cloth, wetting it to clean up the dried blood, but Fenris takes it from is hand and washes him. But Anders puts his hand on his, holding him still.

"Why are you nice to me?" 

Fenris stares at Anders' hand on his. "You do not deserve this. You are a good man." 

Anders blinks at him, his mouth opening and closing several times. 

"Tell me who did this."

 "No." Anders picks up the cloth and wipes something from Fenris' cheek. "I don't want you to go around and kill stupid people for me." 

"But they hurt you!"

"And now I'm healed." He picks up two cups from the floor, wiping them clean and puts them on the broken board. "I rather have some tea with you."

Fenris lets out a breath. "I would like that too." He will find the people who did this to the mage and make them suffer. But for now, he would rather drink tea with him.

[tribbetherium]

The Middle Temperocene: 150 million years + 1000 years post-establishment

Hello, Neighbor: Fellow Travelers

The Longest Darktime had come to an end.

Now the golden glow that illuminated the horizon now brought forth the yellow-sun, not merely a tease like it had before, when the faint light simply returned to darkness. The great yellow sun, dwarfing the scarlet gleam of its red companion, did not rise very high in the sky, nor did it stay for long, but the little daylight it bestowed was relief for those who had endured the horrors of the near-endless night.

Sharpstripe was the first to stir.

The warm rays that dappled upon her spotted coat roused the pack's lead female from a light sleep. She glanced about at the cove which for now they called shelter, at her mate, and young, her family which still lay reclined beside her.

Her attention, however, turned to her two youngest. Now christened Dawn-Light for the female and Two-Blue for the male, they huddled together tightly in a corner, twitching, kicking, crying in their slumber.

She quickly moved to their side, her warm, reassuring form resting against the two.

She could not blame them.

What peace of sleep could a young pup possibly have, when they had bore witness to a horror no youngster their age ever deserved to witness?

Pale-Beard had been the one to reassure the two when they suffered troubled nights. But now, there was only silence.

She could have laid by their side all day, a warm pillow to soothe their inner pain, but the sound of calls-- voices-- in the distance brought her rising to her paws. She gently nudged the pups aside, toward their elder brother Switch-Eyes, before hurrying around the edge of the cove, bearing her wood-tooth, to investigate.

A cry broke from her clenched jaws when she glimpsed the flicker of a glowing flame, waved upon a branch by a strange houndfolk.

Strange-Eyes, her partner in watching over the pack, was alerted by her call and hurried over to where she stood, her back fur bristling and tail held straight up in warning.

"Outlanders?" Strange-Eyes asked.

"Not know," Sharpstripe responded. "Not sure."

It certainly seemed that way, with the manner the passerby carried themselves. Hoisting a flaming branch, that trailed a streak of smoke, it caused both their hairs to stand on end, remembering the terrors of the fateful night.

But something seemed different this time, as Sharpstripe listened to the voices. Her pack had traveled well inland, long before she had met and bonded with Strange-Eyes, and she had learned some of the local dialect.

These were not chants of war, like the Outlanders had cried out before. It was a light, and simple song, whose note was certainly far too cheerful and friendly to be coming from the murderous warmongers of the Longest Darktime.

"Come, yellow-sun, shine above sky,

Come, small red-sun, join friend light,

The long dark is done,

The big night is gone.

Come both suns, keep warm, bright."

It was clearly by no means something the Firethieves would be singing.

Strange-Eyes gave a small relieved whimper, and let down his guard. Yet Sharpstripe remained stiff, fierce, on watch.

They were still strangers whom she did not know, and she was wary.

The southhounds, the grey houndfolk, were not one people, but many. The ones who dwelt in the mountains. The ones who roamed the plains. The ones who lived by the edge of the sea. To say nothing of the lesser factions of each, of packs or small groups of packs that stood apart--and against-- the others.

A divided people.

The travellers settled nearby, and Sharpstripe got a good look at the newcomers. By their pale grey speckled coats, dark brown manes that extended to the tops of their heads and tails striped in three colors lengthwise, she recognized them as the plains folk, a nomadic people that did not stay in any one place for long, and followed wherever food was plentiful.

One bearer of the torch, at the front of the group, noticed the pair hiding by the edge of the cove. She seemed scarcely apprehensive.

"Hello?" she barked in the baywulf tongue, for the wide and far travels of the plains folk taught them many foreign words.

Her tone seemed welcoming, even friendly, but Sharpstripe was not taking any chances. Gripping her wood-tooth tight in her jaws, she slowly, warily approached, seeking to demand their intentions.

"Stop! Not need," Strange-Eyes pleaded, gently biting the blunt end of the wood-tooth and tugging it lightly. "Them peace."

"Not know sure," Sharpstripe insisted.

Sharpstripe made her way over to the new arrivals, and sat down a few paces away, leaving much room between them. The rest of the plains folk seemed taken aback, and mildly agitated at her stern, serious approach, but the leader of the group simply calmly sat down, a gesture to the rest of the pack not to worry.

At last Sharpstripe spiked her wood-tooth into the sand, and spoke.

"Why here?"

The leader paused with a quizzical tilt of her head.

"Come by," she replied, in the baywulf tongue once more, yet heavily accented with the sharp squeaks of the plainfolk's dialect. "Only passing. Look for food."

"Look other place," Sharpstripe demanded.

Strange-Eyes stepped in, realizing the foreigners could understand them.

"Sorry for her," he apologized. "She afraid."

"Have right to be afraid!" Sharpstripe cried. "After Longest Darktime! Very right."

"We not harm," reassured the plainsfolk's leader. "We come peace."

"Make sure," Sharpstripe snarled. "Do not try." She grabbed the wood-tooth once more, and tapped it twice against the sand. As a warning, that she meant business.

With a huff, she wandered off, bearing the wood-tooth, while the rest of the plains-pack murmured among themselves in their own dialect, perplexed at the sudden, unexpected encounter.

That evening, as the yellow-sun grew dim and the red-sun now ruled with its crimson rays, the plains folk settled onto the opposite end of the cove. There, they dug out a small pit in the sand, filled it with twigs, and ignited it with a torch: setting the pit ablaze, around which they gathered for warmth.

Sharpstripe went on edge as she watched their flames from afar.

"Mother, why?" asked Switch-Eyes, sensing his mother's discomfort.

"Nothing. I ok." she grumbled, though Switch-Eyes knew that was not the case.

The shadow of the Longest Darktime still hovered over the pack, Switch-Eyes felt. He, especially, with Whitesmoke's dying yelp still echoing in his ears from time to time. But he could tell his mother had been scarred as well, with the way her fur bristled, the way her tail pointed stiffly behind, as she gazed upon the yellow flames of the newcomers from far away.

The youngsters, however, seemed intrigued.

"Who them?" Brushtail asked.

"Come see," Sunbeam urged, eagerly.

"No! STAY AWAY!" cried Sharpstripe fearfully, but the two had already trotted off in the direction of the newcomers, seeking to investigate.

"Mother call back!" Shade cried, for she, too, had become very wary of strangers.

But Sunbeam and Brushtail were already on their way, curiously headed toward the plainsfolk huddle by the fire. They had been foraging near the coast all afternoon, and had collected a fair catch of seafood, a fair achievement, Sunbeam thought to herself, as they were poorer swimmers than the coastfolk.

"Hello?" Sunbeam shyly piped up, standing a few paces away.

The plainsfolk all pricked up their ears and took attention. Some of them, too, were wary, others intrigued, and still some others paid no heed and went back on their business.

The leader of the pack, the same old torch-bearer from earlier, rose to her paws and came forward to meet them.

"Hello," she greeted warmly. She seemed curious, and inviting, and the two felt safe enough for an introduction.

"I, Brushtail. Sunbeam," Brushtail introduced himself, and his sister.

"Narooo-a," the plainsfolk leader replied.

The two siblings looked at one another in confusion.

"What that mean?" Brushtail asked.

"Not mean none," replied the bemused elder. "Just sound calling me."

How strange, the siblings thought. For their names were words. Words that meant things, that described them, or compared them in analogy to another concrete thing that could be felt or seen. Like a bristly tail, or a warm disposition.

Narooo-a. A sound that meant nothing but a name itself. How different they were.

Yet as they looked at the rest of the pack, eagerly feasting on their catch by the fireside, speaking to one another, enjoying one another's company as they barked and chirped and chattered among themselves in their foreign speech, they couldn't help but see how they were also same.

Sunbeam was just about to ask another question when suddenly, Sharpstripe came bounding over to her side, bearing a wood-tooth, with Strange-Eyes in hot pursuit.

"GET BACK! LEAVE HER!" she snarled at the startled plainsfolk, nudging Sunbeam away.

"WHAT IS PROBLEM?" snapped Strange-Eyes at his mate, finally tired of her unwarranted hostility. "They peace! Leave them be!"

"They carry fire. Like...like--" She struggled to spit out the foul name, "--like Outlanders."

The plainsfolk froze for a moment.

Save for Narooo-a, few of the plainsfolk knew much baywulf. But there was but one word in all the local tongues to name the dreaded ones.

"Us...not them," piped up one.

"Us...right owners of flame," Narooo-a explained. "Us brought fire from roaring sky-light. From storm, touch ground. Then flame."

"Flame keep warm, scare off bad beasts. But not destroy. Them. They steal fire. They use to harm, kill."

"They tell same story, but tell wrong. They tell of gift of sky-light, but tell it for war. Strongest ones. Fiercest ones. Lead all."

"Tell stories wrong. To spread hate."

Sharpstripe fixated her eyes upon the flame.

"Still flame. Flame...destroy. How Us, trust Them? Use flame, like...O-Outlander!"

"Us? Them?" snarled Strange-Eyes.

"If anyone like Outlander...YOU ARE."

The words pierced Sharpstripe like the spearpoint of a wood-tooth.

She was.

Long had she despised the Outlanders for their cruel ways. For the hatred they bore to those unlike they.

Yet was she beginning to hate like them?

"I just want best for Us!" Sharpstripe cried despairingly, yet as she spoke the words she knew she sounded even more like an Outlander.

She angrily threw her wood-tooth against the sand and rushed off, crying into the crimson twilight.

Throughout the evening, Strange-Eyes and Narooo-a traded stories by the fire. He brought over the rest of the pack to meet them, and under the red-sun the two groups mingled, telling tales, teaching words.

The plainsfolk had pups of their own, and Dawn-Light and Twoblue romped excitedly with their new playmates, tussling and wrestling and chasing each other about.

Two peoples, united for a moment.

Save for one.

From a distance, Sharpstripe watched in silence. Never had she felt more ashamed of herself.

Was she wrong for wanting to protect her pack? But was she right for branding all unlike an Outlander? Did that make her like an Outlander too?

Troubled thoughts raced through her mind all night, as she sat all alone on the sand, until, exhausted by painful memories and inner struggles, she at last drifted off into a lonely sleep.

------

Over time, Narooo-a and her pack became a regular sight. They were nomads, and were frequently on the move. Yet an acquaintanceship had been forged, and there was reason to return: and where Strange-Eyes and his pack had at last settled, not far from the cove where they met, the plainsfolk returned, from time to time, bearing gifts of interesting objects, or stories to tell.

Friendships were made between the visitor's pups and theirs. Youngsters, growing and learning, every experience a lesson, they quickly learned one another's words, to which they came to speak both dialects fairly well. Thus was one of the gifts of the plainsfolk, on the move since youth, exposed to many tongues, and speaking several upon adulthood.

Amongst all this, Sharpstripe kept her distance.

She felt she was wrong in distrusting them, yet she couldn't help it. Not after the Longest Darktime. There were wounds that would never fade, like the battle scars she and her young ones had suffered. Or the loss of Pale-Beard, whose absence was still felt.

She grabbed her wood-tooth and sauntered off to the shoreline. Perhaps hunting for some breakfast would help take her mind off things.

South of the cove was a small rocky bay, where the small sea-creatures gathered in the mornings. She was skilled with the wood-tooth, when it came to spearing her quarry, frequently the small shelled swimmers, though the bigger grunting sea beasts that sometimes rested on the shore, shaped like land-beasts but rounder and with fins instead of feet, were a welcome occasional addition when she had assistance.

She headed to the peninsula where an old dead tree stood, its dessicated trunk still standing where the salty sea had now encroached. It had been a favorite fishing spot of hers for some time now.

But today, it was occupied.

-------

From far off, Strange-Eyes heard her calls of distress.

"Sharpstripe trouble", he grumbled. She had been acting strange lately, and it had taken its toll on Strange-Eyes as well, who, for the first time in many seasons, had not gotten along with her and her recent behavior since that fateful night. Yet she was still his mate, and they were a pack, no matter what.

"I come. Help." Narooo-a added.

Strange-Eyes knew his partner well, and where she liked to go fishing. He made a beeline for that spot, with a wood-tooth of his own, while Narooo-a followed close behind, carrying her lit torch in case it was some kind of deadly beast, like a fold-paw, whose kind were repelled by flame.

Yet it was anything but.

It was fellow houndfolk, like their own kin. Yet they too differed: both from Strange-Eyes's people or Narooo-a's. They were taller, and more heavily built, with thicker and shaggier coats. Their ears and tails were dark, their coats were striped, not spotted or speckled, and, most telling, a dark stripe that ran between their eyes, dividing their faces down the middle.

A distinctive mark Sharpstripe remembered all too well.

The mark of the Outlanders.

Strange-Eyes, too, recognized the mark of the unusual intruders, who called out to each other in a language he knew not. Theirs was deep, guttural and throaty, rumbling to one another as they backed off from Sharpstripe, bearing her wood-tooth as she slowly paced backward, reluctant to turn her back to them.

"Stay back. Go away. I warn!" she called. Yet the strangers seemed not to understand. In return, the largest of the group, an old male, put himself between the pack and Sharpstripe, grunting out a few warnings of his own that Sharpstripe, in turn, did not understand.

Yet Narooo-a seemed to.

Hurrying forward, in an attempt to cease the conflict, she called out to the old male, in the same deep notes that he had spoken.

Now, he seemed to understand, and stood down.

"Why? What happen?" Sharpstripe asked.

"They not Outlander," Narooo-a explained.

"They are the snow-giants, the south-folk. The dark-ears. They...peace people."

Strange-Eyes took a pause, and observed them more closely. They did seem different from an Outlander. Their fur quite more brown, their coats thicker and their bodies bigger. Around their necks, they wore cords of dried grazer-beast gut, armed with thorns: fearsome to behold, yet meant to defend--not attack.

Sharpstripe was not convinced. "They look Outlander." she noted.

"Not all different, Outlander!" Narooo-a snapped, even her kind, accommodating self now beginning to lose her patience with Sharpstripe's hostile judgement. "They snowfolk, kind people. I know. Met before."

"They tell many stories. They speak of the stars. Tell time. Tell seasons. Much to learn, if not judge quick."

"Put wood-tooth down," Strange-Eyes advised.

But no sooner had Sharpstripe dropped her weapon did the old male darkear suddenly approach her, sniffing her scent in close proximity. She gave a startled yelp and leapt away, equally frightening the old male who flinched and stumbled backwards.

Narooo-a chirped in amusement.

"He not harm," she encouraged. "Snow-folk stay close. Like to close together."

The darkears were a physically affectionate group, borne of a need to huddle in the colder weather of the south. Yet their lack of sense of intimate space was offputting to Sharpstripe, who was uncomfortable with their close approach.

"It is us different," Narooo-a explained. "Each us differ. Coast folk. Plains wanderers. Snow people. All differ. But same."

Narooo-a made a few grunts to the darkears' leader, who responded in kind, not a single word of what was said coherent to the baywulves' ears.

As a show of trust, the lead darkear allowed Narooo-a to remove the thorny collar he wore, leaving his throat exposed. He gave a few stern grunts and rumbles.

"He says drop wood-tooth then us talk," Narooo-a translated.

"Ask him why here," Sharpstripe demanded.

Narooo-a and the darkear exchanged a few more grunts and grumbles, before Narooo-a spoke in the baywulf tongue once more.

"He is escaping."

"From Outlanders."

The darkears too, in their southern tundra home, had gotten word of the conflict that had broken out in the north-east. A few had moved away, westward and around, as fast as they could. They would not stay and wait for the war to come to them.

"He is Graahahan," Narooo-a introduced. "It mean Star-Watcher in snow-people speak."

Graahahan. Star-Watcher. A foreign sound, like Narooo-a. A meaningful word, like Strange-Eyes.

Names all so same yet all so different.

Graahahan gave a few rumbles to Narooo-a.

"Come," she said. "Something that he want show."

He led them to a small patch of shore where the ground was silt, not sand. The mouth of a river, where fresh water met salt and blended in the muddy shallows.

Strange-Eyes watched as Graahahan, or Star-Watcher, rolled himself about in the muddy soil, all undignified like a playful pup in stark contrast to his earlier, composed self. Finally he was coated all, snout to tail, and he turned to Narooo-a and gave an eager rumbling howl.

"He want us join." she said.

Reluctantly, Strange-Eyes waded out into the mud and, with a knowing nod from Star-Watcher, he too tumbled himself in the mud, though he felt silly doing so. What relevance did such a childish activity, fit for pups, have in a serious treaty of peace?

He glanced aside, and saw Narooo-a doing the same.

At last the three stepped back onto the solid ground, covered entirely in the river mud.

"What is point of this?" Strange-Eyes asked.

Star-Watcher, as usual, gave a few throaty grunts that Narooo-a was all happy to interpret.

"Look in river."

Strange-Eyes did so, and saw three reflections, caked in mud.

It took him some time to see which one was him, until he saw the eyes, one blue, one brown. Yet that brief moment, when all he saw were three houndfolk, was when he realized.

Cloaked in mud, there were no spotted shore-people with the round eye spots. There were no snow-people, with stripes and dark ears and a band across their face. There were no plains-people with three-toned tails and speckled coats.

Their differences shrouded, they were all just...people.

"Do you see now?" Star-Watcher said through Narooo-a's interpretation.

"Why hate another for something mud can hide?"

Sharpstripe, too, began to see.

The hate for the different was what made the Outlanders weak. That made them act as cruel wild savage beasts. Not as story-telling hunt-beasts that knew and acted better.

She did not want to be like them.

And so, in a show of support, she, too threw herself into the mud and rolled in it, much to Strange-Eyes bemusement.

-------

The sun was beginning to set in the late evening, now that the Longest Darktime was far, far since past. Now it rose earlier, and set later, as the days once more became longer.

"Grar-ar-ar," Twoblue babbled.

"Graahahan", Star-Watcher corrected.

The receding orange light cast its glow upon the three packs, who in the time had began to spend more time in each other's company.

Star-Watcher had found a new home.

Narooo-a had found new friends.

And Sharpstripe heart had softened, and her mind opened.

There was many they could learn from each other. Stories, words, dialects, skills. The darkears wove collars for protection, and read the stars. The coast-folk crafted tools and weapons, and told stories and sang songs. The plains-nomads brought song and story from far away, and brought the fire that kept them warm at night. Each brought something new, and all began to become more like each other.

In the fading orange rays of the setting yellow-sun, the colors of the southhounds faded to the same tangerine hue in its waning embers.

It was hard to tell the stripes from the speckles and spots-- for, like with the mud, there were only people.

--------

[nukaposting]

Nuke's Atomic Baked Potatoes

sometimes you want to feel like you're in a skyrim tavern taking shelter from the cold and paying the bard to shut the fuck up. maybe you just have some potatoes sitting around and wanna make em go prompt nuclear. well boy do i have the recipe for you

i love baked potatoes but i've seen so many people make them with no love. no soul. they just toss that bitch in the oven. happily enjoying dry potato covered in toppings to make it palatable. i say NO MORE. here's how to make the most bangin baked potato you'll ever have. it's soft and buttery and goes crazy with cheese but you can add whatever you want. there are no limits. set yourself free

ingredience: -potato -cooking oil -salt -butter -the toppings of your dreams

let's go

preheat oven to 350F. sorry europeans

stab the potato with a fork. make sure the fork goes at least 2cm in but there's no such thing as too deep. stab it all over. make sure to get all sides and both ends, but don't overdo it

fill a mixing bowl with water and add salt until it tastes like the sea. if you don't want to taste saltwater you can just eyeball it. stir with a wooden spoon until the water is clear. put in the potato and wait for 10 minutes

take out the potato and dry it with a paper towel. put it in the microwave for 3 minutes on each side. you can adjust the time based on how big your potato is

once it's done in the microwave, take the potato out with kitchen tongs because it will be HOT. brush it with oil and salt the entire outside, including the ends

NOW toss that bitch in the oven for 20 minutes on each side. if either side is still oily after both turns, give the side(s) 5 more minutes

put the potato on a plate and cut it evenly in half lengthwise

take your knife and cut slits in the potato's flesh down to the peel (but don't cut the peel itself). make sure you cut in a grid, like crosshatching.

spread butter on the potato to your preference and salt both halves. it should melt easily and drip into the cuts you made.

add whatever else you want. i just add cheddar cheese and it's perfect, but go crazy with whatever you want to put on top. the texture will be creamy with a crispy skin.

and that's it!!! as an irishman by blood i approve of this recipe wholeheartedly and i think some of you guys might love it too. maybe. if u want. if u like me

[madaboutmunson]

Again - Part 8

Part 1 | Part  7 | Part 9 | Full list of Again series links inc AO3 Link

Steddie fic where Steve and Eddie are in their mid 30's and everyone has sort of drifted apart

Taglist: @adaed5 @grtwdsmwhr @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mightbeasleep

================================================

Crisis averted, the food was doing great, Steve had checked the safety of the hoop by hanging off it, probably more times than he needed to, but he just wanted to make sure. Steve dribbles the ball around the perimeter of the practice area. Lengthwise, it was just shy of half a court. Jenny had deemed a full court too excessive for their needs at the point they got it installed, and though they had the space out here, she'd been right. The kids only used it for shooting practice and a little one-on-one, never a full game. On his second go-round, he picks up speed and, once complete, turns onto the 3-point line and takes a few shots. A few suck and a few make it. He wasn't at his best anymore, but he could remember enough drills from practice to help Morgan. If he needed any help, that is. The kid could be a natural.

Beans barks, pauses and barks again, letting Steve know there are what she deems strangers approaching the house. He secretly smiles happily before reaching to open the door. About to take the first step into something he thought would never happen again. He wasn't alone in inviting someone else to see his sanctum. Eddie had parked his right outside. Though this would be the first time Eddie would see a genuinely Steve home, not a showroom, not a reflection of his parents, not someone he thinks he should be. That was exciting and worrying at the same time. What if he didn't like who Steve was? What if he was too much compared to before, when he was barely anything? He switches his focus inward to outward and marvels at the motorhome through the now-open door. Beans sits eagerly at his heel, looking up at him, waiting for permission to sniff the very essence from these non-Harringtons. It looked like a reasonably new model, a Hurricane, it said on the side, which someone and Steve could likely guess who had written "Rock you like a" above it. Steve can't repress the smile that breaks when he reads it. Eddie liked to do that where he could, use something else to break the ice for him.

Something louder than himself always hits you before Eddie does, and if you're lucky and patient, he will peel back all the other layers for you. It wasn't a facade for Eddie, though. It was just a crutch. Blast you with his loudness before he'd ever show you his quieter, softer side. He’s prodding and testing you to deem you worthy and safe. Steve wonders if he'll get there again this time or if that version of Eddie is long gone. Steve sighs and decides to focus on something much easier to stumble through the analysis of. The RV looked roomy, and the glimpse of the seat as Eddie jumped down from it seemed comfortable, but more than anything, it screamed something that eluded Steve. Freedom. He wasn't so much tied down by his family, work, bills, or ties as other people. On paper, Steve could get his own and do just that, tour the country, but he also couldn't. Even thinking about it set his stomach into an uncomfortable churn. Home. That's where he belongs.

Eddie pushes his aviators into his hair and splays his arms at the motorhome. "My moving castle!" he says enthusiastically with a huge beaming grin, which Steve mirrors like a reflex, "Glad you've got a big driveway, Harrington. She's a whole lotta woman," he says, patting the vehicle. Morgan emerges in a complete basketball kit similar to Corey's, and Eddie falls in next to him, walking towards Steve. It's clear from his outfit Eddie has no intention of playing any kind of sport today unless that sport, of course, would be trying to wedge anything into one of his pockets. Those jeans were an unholy level of tightness from the hips to the knee, and then just casually flared out a little at the bottom like the rest of them wasn't causing an all-out riot in Steve's mind. He was ever grateful for Eddie's slashed arm t-shirt, the lower hem of which swayed at his hip as he moved, revealing that these jeans were so low-slung they were never meant to grace a waist. Any more snug of a fit top might have rendered Steve useless. He tries not to think about the scars underneath it.

"Hey, guys!" Steve smiles and waves, "Just stay right there, please. Sorry about this. We have a process" he nods towards the very serious-looking mass of fur next to him. Now Morgan looks incredibly nervous, but Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile. "Everything ok, Morgan? Are you scared of dogs? You can say, don't worry about that. She's a good girl. If asked, she'll keep her distance”.

"Oh, er, it's not that, er, Sir, it's um…." Morgan struggles over his words.

Eddie shakes his head, "Look, I'm eager actually to get in the house, so allow me. Morgan here is worried about the dog not liking him."

Morgan sighs and explains in a forlorn tone, "They just don't like me sometimes. Maybe because my mom has a bunch of cats or something, I guess, or maybe it's my washing powder, I don't know." Though he has been trying to hold it in, Eddie lets a laugh spill out, and Morgan frowns deeply at him. "It's not funny, man. People think you're evil if their dog doesn't like you," Morgan whines.

Steve tries to hide his own laughter at how adorable this kid is but empathises with him that Eddie is openly teasing him, "You know Eddie, Morgan's right. Dogs can tell if you fit or not, and their opinion affects the whole house."

Eddie stops chuckling, and for a moment, a glimmer of worry appears on his face, but it quickly falls into a narrowing of his eyes and a half smile, indicating he is onto Steve's game.

"Beans, Check," Steve says to Beans, who approaches Morgan first because he's nearest. She circles him a few times, sniffling him all over. Then she moves to Eddie and does the same. Finally, she sits beside Morgan and looks up at him, and he returns the glance down. Beans pads her feet several times on the driveway, her tongue falls out the side of her mouth, and her tail beats hard against the ground. "Well, Beans has selected her favourite. Come on in." Steve chirps.

Morgan gives Steve and Beans a big smile, which she immediately takes as an invite and jumps up, so her paws are on his shoulders. Morgan instinctively puts his arms out to ensure she doesn't fall back and gets a lick up the side of his face for his effort before she drops back to the floor and walks back into the house. 

"Oh no, absolutely not!" Eddie exclaims with his hands on his hips, "Get her to check again!"  Morgan shakes his head at him, and now he mirrors back the smugness Eddie had exhibited moments ago. The tilt of his head that makes his shoulder-length dirty blonde hair fall to the side as he smirks over at Eddie is a stance so very reminiscent of the man he's aiming it at.

"D'awww, You want Beans to tell you you're not the favourite twice?" This is the first time Steve has seen Morgan exhibit this kind of playful confidence around Eddie, and it makes him think of his kids and how they sass him often, but he loves it because that means he's done a good job. His kids are comfortable around him, and it seems Eddie had cultured the same environment for Morgan. Steve's heart beats a little harder, transferring all his fondest memories with his kids to Eddie and Morgan. He wishes he could have seen that. They must have been excellent parents to raise a good kid like him. Steve steps out and puts a friendly hand on Morgan's shoulder.

"She's never been wrong so far, Eddie, sorry", Steve smiles a little smugly at the exasperated metalhead, "Come on in," Steve says, waving them into the house. Morgan heads in first and looks around before finding a spot on the couch, where he is immediately joined by Beans sitting next to him. As Eddie walks past, he pokes his head around the door, checks where Morgan is, and then takes a step back to pause in front of Steve. His bottom lip pushes out a little in thought as he looks Steve up and down.

"Well, maybe she's not the big dog I'm after the favour of today," He says quietly, but that rasp in his voice is still very present, and Steve bites his lips together like he's afraid of what might fall out of his mouth. At first, he thought it might be words, but when Eddie reaches out to play with the lower hem of Steve's shirt, he thinks it might have actually been his tongue, "Little more overdressed for basketball than I remember, Steve" a smirk appears on Eddie's face before he looks back up to Steve's eyes, with that insane level of confidence. It's your turf, Steve. His brain helpfully reminds himself as he huffs out a laugh, which also helps release the breath he'd been holding.

"You know, I was only thinking about some of our old sports gear earlier, and I'm honestly deeply concerned." Eddie laughs at Steve's revelation causing his eyes to twinkle, and if he wasn't on the flat of the front doorstep, Steve might have lost his balance and dove headfirst into them. Instead, a surge of courage runs through Steve, and he gives Eddie the same once-over treatment. "At least one of us had to move into a looser fitting wardrobe," Steve says gently, smiling, and for a second, he thinks he has Eddie on the ropes, his surprised expression and blinking big eyes, until, of course, that confident smile spreads across his face. He sways into Steve's space a little more. God, they were so close now. Steve gulps down his nervousness.

"Oh, you noticed?" Eddie's hand clasps onto his belt buckle, and shamefully, Steve's eyes follow, "I was beginning to think skipping breakfast to squeeze into them hadn't even been worth it" he tilts his head at Steve, whose eyes are back where they should be—entirely lost in Eddie's. The silence between them makes Steve's pulse boom in his ears, accelerating, urging him to mirror this space invasion.

"Oh my god, gross!" Corey complains. Eddie's head swivels towards him, and Steve's body relaxes.

"Corey, Eddie. Eddie, Corey. You've met before, not that you'd probably recall, being absorbed in your Gameboy at the time," Steve says, pretending to be slightly annoyed.

Eddie salutes Corey, "Cyborg", he dubs him with a smile as he steps inside, throwing a wink over his shoulder at Steve as he does.

Then Steve finally steps inside, "Corey, Morgan. Morgan, Corey" At the sound of his name Morgan and Beans turn towards Steve at the same time, and Steve has to hold back his laughter again because they both have the same vacant expression on their faces.

Morgan gets out of his seat to shake Corey's hand, but Corey takes a step back to look up at him and smiles hugely. "You're good, man. How tall are you exactly?”

“Uh, 5’9” last I checked”, Morgan answers.

“Awesome. Wanna go warm up?” Corey asks with a mischievous grin on his face.

Morgan is about to agree when Steve stops him, "Remember what I told you, Cor! Play nice!" It earns him an eye roll from his son, who waves Morgan towards the outside, "Morgan, don't let him push you around. Let me know if he starts getting feisty out there."

"Come on, man. Let's go already!" Corey complains with his hands on his hips at the sliding glass doors to the backyard, and Morgan follows him out.

Steve turns to Eddie, "He'll be ok. Corey is currently having a tough time with his height. I keep telling him he's got tons of time to grow, but for now, he just has a vendetta slash obsession with kids taller than him."

"Stretch will be fine. He's kinda used to it" then Eddie gets distracted by his surroundings, "So this is the Harrington abode, huh?"

"Not what you were expecting?" Steve says, motioning into the kitchen, "Coffee?" He offers pleasantly as if the unknown of Eddie's thoughts wasn't coiling up his insides into an impossible knot.

"Please!" Eddie enthuses at the offer of something caffeinated, "Yeah, you could say it wasn't what I was expecting", his voice getting louder and quieter, meaning he's turning around in the living room, investigating the bookshelves and such. Steve pours the coffee into two identical mugs and delivers one to Eddie.

"What did you expect?" Steve asks curiously, offering a mug to him, who accepts with a nod of thanks before taking another look around.

"I guess, I dunno, something about you is different from when we were younger, and I figured maybe you weren't so loaded any more. It was a dumb thought and also," he holds a hand up to his surroundings, "wildly incorrect," he smiles, "I'm glad I was wrong though" he sips his coffee and makes a noise of approval.

Steve looks confused, "You're glad I'm not poor. Is that what you're saying?"

Eddie thinks for a second, "I'm glad you didn't have to struggle through life, that's all" he gives Steve that soft blink and smile of fondness that translates his words only to have the best intentions. This gentler side of Eddie thrilled Steve as much as his intensity at the door. Sure, flirtation had its merits but combined with being cared about and loved, now that was something he yearned for so deeply. This is what made Eddie so very dangerous, he could do both, but he could also leave, like the last time. He was both mallet and velvet padded case to Steve's heart of glass.

"I'm glad you're doing so well for yourself too. Please don't take this the wrong way. I always knew you had tons of talent and ambition, but your national business and Morgan, for starters…I wouldn't have guessed that in a million years for you. I feel like there is so much I don't know about you again," Steve says with a smile, finally revealing a deep truth in a shallow way.

"Ever the enigma, huh?" Eddie chuckles, "What did you think I'd be doing?" His big brown eyes focus on Steve from the mug's rim as he lifts it to take a drink.

"Going on the last bits of information I had on you, I was surprised not to have seen you on a magazine cover or a late-night talk show. You always seemed destined for something else, something so much beyond the everyday grind, you know. I couldn't see anything less for you." Steve answers, looking out of the backyard window, lost in his thoughts a little. It's true that until the library, the last time he'd seen Eddie was in those engagement pictures, and he looked every bit a rockstar, as did his fiancé. Then Steve got so absorbed in his attempts to forget Eddie and his own life that he stopped asking their mutual friends about him. It was painful then, and he was pursuing something else with Jenny, something he could succeed at, not chasing after a guy who had just gotten up one morning and left him. Left him was a bit dramatic. They were never together, not like an item, not really, never even kissed. It might have been close a few times, but Hawkins, Indiana, in the eighties might not have been the ideal place to feel safe exploring those things. It wasn't entirely clear to Steve if Eddie had felt the same, had been high, vulnerable, or just confused when they were younger. He seemed to have no confusion right now.

Eddie was definitely flirting with him, but Steve needed to figure out what his end game was and who he was dealing with these days. Was Eddie simply out to tick a box? Was he even monogamous? That was a new question to ask on the modern dating scene, as Steve had found out. Shit, Steve didn't even actually know if he was single. Their limited interactions at the library still showed he had that sweetness about him, especially for others, but fifteen years can do a lot to a person. When you still looked the way Eddie did in your mid-thirties and had his confidence, maybe sweetness wasn't required in what he wanted to achieve relationship-wise, especially when you moved around so much. 

Steve thinks back on the last few years of attempts at dating, and honestly, if Robin had popped up one day with her old scoops ahoy whiteboard, the tally from 1985 wouldn't have been way off the mark. Sometimes the online profiles and the people you'd meet up with were wildly different, not just in looks but in their whole personalities. Steve had met a few people at evening hobby classes, and it was either they were more into him than he was into them, or vice versa, and lastly, the one-night stands, too many to mention honestly. Often Steve had gone home with them either out of pity because he wasn't going to ask them out again or because the other person had wanted the same thing he had in that desperate moment. Steve just couldn't seem to get it right. He couldn't help but wonder what shape of failing this whole Eddie thing might result in.

A single sharp bark brings Steve back into the room.

"Uh, sorry about that", he immediately apologises to Eddie, who doesn't look the slightest bit phased this time when he turns to face him. He's just drinking his coffee, looking at Steve with endearment, and this time Steve tells him, "I just, er, zone out sometimes, but it's not dangerous or anything. It's just when im-" he covers quickly to reassure Eddie he wasn't a hazard to anyone.

"When you're thinking about things? You get tangled in them, huh?" He asks so gently that it makes Steve look away to the floor bashfully.

"Yeah, something like that," he says, still looking at the floor, pushing his hair behind his ear. Then, finally, he takes a breath and tries to get back to normal mode, "We should get out there. I'm sure they're fine, but I said I'd help, so…" he trails off but just his words this time, his brain only really has one thing on its mind right now, and he feels like it's going to burst out of him, and it does, "You know I'm really looking forward to us spending some non-kid time together. I feel like I know you, but I also don't. Does that make sense? Sorry, I said that already, right?" He laughs a little at the rushed jumble of words that just left his mouth as he searches Eddie's face for understanding, whose smile just broadens, and he nods.

"Me too. I've been trying to think of someplace to go, but I don't know what you like these days. I was gonna just ask, but I thought that was kinda lame. You know, not surprising you with somewhere? Then I thought about what day would be best and…” Eddie huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and it’d like he switches modes. “So, what day do the kids go to their Mom's house?" Eddie says with one of those small steps forward into his space again. He was such a duality. His words, to begin with, had been a little on the unsure, vulnerable side. His cute worries about Steve thinking his approach was lame, like a teenager. But then switching to all the eagerness of an adult who was very aware that time waits for no man, and when was the first opportunity they could be alone together. Steve tilts his head curiously at Eddie for a moment. Eddie's words repeat through Steve's thoughts again. Was this a date? Or at least not just a typical platonic hangout that Eddie had in mind? It felt that way, but Steve isn't sure about it, so he doesn't ask.

Steve clears his throat, "Ah, well, they go back Sunday, but I won't be back until late because I normally have dinner with Jenny, Val and the kids" Steve recognises the computing look on Eddie's face, "Jenny being my ex-wife, Val being her boyfriend, but honestly he's basically her husband." Eddie gives him a sympathetic smile, and Steve tries to fix it, "It's alright, you know, he's good at it…being a husband to Jenny. It's good. Honestly, the kids get on well with him. I'm really lucky." Steve sprinkles on the pep in his voice to assure Eddie that none of this made Steve resentful or upset. Steve taps his cup a few times and sets it down "You know, I don't think my likes have changed all that much.” he says giving Eddie a brief smile before clearing his throat again. “Shall we?" He waves his hand in front of him for Eddie to exit out back first and falls into step next to him, guiding him over the little grassy hill to the practice area.

[fluffnflightillustrations]

Here are a couple of writing suggestions, in case any of these strike your fancy: (1) Rukia takes Renji on a date in the World of the Living (possibly to show off how much she knows about the WotL). (2) Rukia gets an extremely minor injury and Renji patches her up. (3) Rukia is wearing a pretty outfit and Renji loses his entire mind over it. Good luck with your writing practice!

I couldn't choose, so I'll do all three! I combined the first and the third for the last one though. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (Minor Injury drabble) Rukia sighed loudly, brows knitted together in irritation as her husband fussed over her, wrapping a big bandage around the small scrape just above her knee that she had recently earned, courtesy of an unfortunate run in with the side of the coffee table of their new shared home. "Renji. Babe." He ignored her, unwrapping the bandage quickly upon forgetting the antiseptic. He was in intense concentration, so much so, that he acted as if he hadn't even heard her. She rubbed her temples. While she could understand wanting to be careful and extra safe whilst carrying a child to term, this was getting incredibly exhausting. They were warriors; they risked their lives on the battlefields together, their lives were built on death, hunger, and hardship. And now, after they had almost lost their lives in the Quincy War, Renji was fussing over the most minor scrape she had ever had. It was sweet, but sort of also pissing her off. In fact, she wasn't even that far into her pregnancy, so he was being extra ridiculous. "Babe." He rubbed the antiseptic on her carefully, and looked up at her, finally hearing what she had to say. "Hmm?" His ministrations slowed down, his gentle touch moving away from the wound to grab at the bandage again. "We are soldiers... do you know how silly this is, over a single little scrape?" She couldn't stay too pissed at him, not with all the worry in his gaze, unfounded as it may be. "You're a little too paranoid." He shook his head, and continued securing the bandage. "I mean, yeah, I know we've been through nastier, but Hanatarou was pretty clear about watchin' your immune system while expecting. I ain't taking a chance." She let a slow breath out of her nostrils, rubbing her temples again. "I don't think he meant it like this." Renji finished with the bandage, securing it in place by tucking it in between her skin and the other layers. He sat next to her on the sofa, pulling her gently to the side, to carefully rest her between his legs and sit together lengthwise on the sofa, her head nestled under his chin and his arms wrapping snugly around her shoulders. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Rukia..... we're going to have a family again soon. Me, you, and this little tyke." His arm drifted down, resting on her stomach. "I know it seems kinda minor, but I don't want to mess this up. I'm not gonna take a chance on anything happening to you, and I sure as hell ain't gonna lose this kid from an infection from a scrape. I don't want a coffee table to take away my chance at a family." Rukia tried not to laugh, really, but he was still being a little ridiculous. "Whatever you say, babe." If he wanted to schmooze all over her, then she would let him schmooze. If it made him feel better about it, then she would deal with it. She sighed, placing her hand atop his. "After this kid's born, I'm not sitting around for this, though." He was too schmoopy for his own good.

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

I’ve always been a fan of the Hamlet Sr and Claudius are identical twins for a few reasons (one, the hypocrisy of HJr when comparing the two, and two, in the months following his father’s death, HJr might occasionally turn a corner or catch a glimpse and for a moment, think he sees someone else. and then after the quick realisation that it’s Claudius, hate Claudius more for these moments. he swears the two of them are not identical to him. the difference is glaringly obvious. Hyperion to a Satyr. but although he denies it, his heart has almost stopped one too many times at the sight of someone he mistook for his father)

but I’d like you all to also consider, in a visual adaptation (I like to imagine an animated mini-series) of the play, the only difference between HSr and Claudius is that Claudius has a large, un-ignorable scar across the right side of his face. Doesn’t have to be explained, doesn’t have to be like intensely detailed or a horrible near-gaping wound or anything, just a noticeable scar across his right eye, perhaps. An easy identifier. If you were to approach him from the left, or even if you weren’t paying attention, still quite possible to mistake him for his better. (And well, perhaps a Lion King reference if you will).

Hamlet (Jr) can’t help but almost fixate on this scar. It’s bad enough as it is that it looks like he could be Claudius’s son, so he’s drawn to what sets them apart. What sets his father and him apart. Even if he won’t admit it, it’s practically the only difference between the image of his father and the image of this vile, incestuous murderer. It sticks out to him. It leers at him; it’s the difference between the idolised good and damned evil in his mind. It might re-contextualise some of the things he says, but it’s not like he hasn’t been nasty to other types of people (like women) before.

Let’s say he ends up in, I don’t know, some kind of fencing match. One where his opponent wields a blade secretly sharpened past what’s safe, for the sake of this hypothetical. If this opponent had the intent to wound him, and hadn’t had luck in the actual fencing part of duel for the past two rounds, he might be tempted to strike at Hamlet while he was unaware, and not facing him. But if Hamlet, upon hearing something slice through the air behind him, turned around; well, he might be a little too late to stop the blade’s interception, but he might be able stop the rapier from wounding his shoulder by unknowingly shielding it with his face.

And if the blade were to make contact, and one of his eyes were to go red as blood leaked into it from a fresh wound, a shallow but clean slice lengthwise along the right side, he might have a number of things running through his mind. Pain, blinding anger, shock, realisation. He might hear Horatio’s gasp from somewhere nearby, which he could take as a sign that it looked bad-

If he didn’t already know exactly how it looked. What he looked like.

Who he looked like.

[softquietsteadylove]

can you write some Thenamesh fluff? like, the two of them sleeping in front of a fireplace, snuggled up

Gilgamesh tossed another log into the fire as the door opened and shut, the air from it flickering the flames into a little dance. He leaned back on his elbows. "Hey."

"Hey," Thena smiled as she walked over to him, dropping the cloak and heavy robe behind her as she did. She shuddered once rid of the fine dressings of a royal war advisor, but that allowed her to hurriedly burrow under the blankets Gil had spread out for them.

"How's she doing?" Gil asked as Thena settled herself into his side. He asked it casually, the way he would ask about Sprite or Makkari or Sersi.

But they were referring to Olga, the current queen regent of Kievan-Rus, and freshly widowed due to Drevlian attack. The regent took the killing of her husband - cruel and undeniably torturous - personally.

She had asked her revered and unearthly war advisor how she should proceed. Ajak and Sersi had both moved to set the slander aside--for peace. And while being an advisor didn't mean Thena could incite grand wars between humans, she had answered honestly.

"What would you do?" Olga had looked up at Thena from her throne. "If it was your husband?"

Thena had thought about Gilgamesh in an instant, imagining his smiles, his hands holding hers, the warmth of him as he banished the unrelenting cold from bothering her.

"I would burn the world to the ground and then reshape the ashes in their likeness so they could beg my forgiveness from beyond the grave."

"Thena," Gil raised his brows, although for whatever he was feeling about the declaration, he did not look surprised about it.

"She may do with that advice what she desires," Thena mumbled, the warmth of Gilgamesh already soothing her like a cat in a sunbeam.

"Ajak is gonna be mad," Gil teased quietly as he leaned forward and reached into the fire with his bare hand to adjust the position of a log. He wiped the ashes off on the rug before pulling Thena into his lap.

"She already is," Thena sighed, although she did not care if their Prime thought she was being too violent in her suggestions. Olga had asked her - human woman to Warrior Eternal - and Thena had given her honest answer. She tightened her arms around Gil's neck.

He rubbed her back. She wasn't saying as much, but the thought of what she would have to do without him always tended to shake her. They were Eternals--it wasn't something they had to consider often. But they were also Fighters, and it was technically possible for them to perish. And that never seemed to bother the Warrior Eternal until they were on the subject of him.

"I can't imagine what she's feeling," Thena finally confessed in a whisper, the crackling of the fire underscoring her words. "If I had to worry about you dying from an attack by a handful of humans-"

Gil let her burrow into him deeper, her face pressed to his neck, her hands clinging to him. He was happy to let her, bending one of his legs and letting it cushion the curve of her back. He tucked the blanket over his shoulders more around her, even at the cost of having his other arm exposed to the open air. "So, we're going to war, huh?"

"I doubt they'll need us," Thena sighed, unwinding slowly. She pressed a hand to his chest. "Olga has...other methods in mind."

"I don't wanna know," Gil snorted as he adjusted them again. He laid himself lengthwise, parallel to the fire. He rested on his back with Thena stretched out on top of him. His hand raised to push her hair behind her ear. "I'm sure I'll be horrified at what she's about to do."

Thena pursed her lips, "I think they'll be somewhat deserving of whatever she is about to enact."

Gilgamesh chuckled, raising his head just to touch the tip of his nose to hers. "You menace."

Thena purred as she melted into him, under the blankets, close to the fire, listening to the beat of his heart and the rise of his lungs under her. "Olga was rather creative with her plan, actually. She needs no assistance from me."

"That's a little scary," Gil snorted. He gave her waist a squeeze. "You're beautiful when you're violent."

Thena laughed, all of her teeth showing.

Gil rolled them to the side, letting Thena's back be closest to the fire. He didn't need the extra warmth; he pulled her closer to him, burying his nose in her hair. "My Solnyshkuh has started another war, hm?"

Thena inhaled against his chest, running her hand up his flank and over his pectoral. "I do not start wars, I finish them."

"Well," Gil let out a loud sigh, the comfort of their position also lulling him into rest. "Whatever you ladies have planned, you know I'm around if you need me."

"Hm," Thena pressed her smile into his shirt, "yes, my ever helpful husband."

It wasn't the first time they had been taken for a married pair, and it would be far from the last. It wasn't as if it was out of the question for them.

Gil twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. "We should really get around to that."

"I suppose so."

"Olga could marry us."

"She's busy, Gil."

"After, I mean."

[conjuremanj]

Lemon Break Up Spell.

Before you begin do a reading to see if you can Break up that person. Have a consultation with the client.

There are many different hoodoo spells out there with the intended purpose of breaking a couple apart. Now that can be breaking someone up from a relationship, money,etc

This is a simple working that uses a lemon to sour the relationship with a name on papers, some black thread. I added a few details to help spell just to make it work a little faster and more dramatically.

You will need the following items for this spell:

A piece of paper with Pen.

Knife

1 Lemon

1 Confusion Powder or oil

1 Black cross candle.

2 figure candles. (Appropriate sex) blue for him red for her.

Box of pins.

A saucer.

Start by tearing the paper into two strips small enough that they would fit entirely in the lemon without folding them. Write the name of one person in the relationship you want to break up on one strip of paper. Write the name of the other person in the relationship on the second strip of paper. On the back of each paper write break up. Set these aside.

Using the knife, cut the lemon in half lengthwise.

As you do so, speak aloud against the two people in the relationship that you are breaking up. Pray for them to argue, lie, fight, back-bite and more. Make sure to use lots of emotional intensity as you do it. Set it on the saucer.

Next, take the black cross candle and carve one person's name on one arm of the cross, and the other person's name on the other arm of the cross.

On the stem of the candle carve "Break up!" or "DIVORCE!" (if they are married). Add Confusion oil on the candle stroking the oil away from your body as you again speak on the relationship saying that they will betray each others' trust, hurt each other, lie, scream, fight and break up once and for all.

Then insert pins into the arms and top of the candle. Each pin that you insert is an argument, a fight, a miscommunication and more irritations for each of the people in the relationship; irritations they will not be able to get past.

Set the 2 figure candles side by side facing away frome each other. Baptize them saying " In the name of the Father son and the Holy Spirit I baptize you and name you. (name here) on the other candle repeat " name of the father and a son and of the Holy Spirit I name you (name here) Tie a string around the top of both candles because the two are tied together in this relationship. Add the lemon slices one next to each figure candle.

Set the black candle on the dish behind the lemon. ( You can also make a sigil on paper for break up then place the plate on top of it.) Use your rattle or bell or both. To summoned spirit and ask for guidance and for protection.

Light the candle and pray with intensity and desire for these two people not to be together.

Light the figure candles every hour. Allow the string burn out so the ties can be broken.

After continue to move the candles further and further apart until you reach the end of the plate. Each time you light the wick.. (Depending on how strong their love is it can take 3,5,7 or 9 days.

Once the candle is done burning, take the remains of the candle and pins and dispose of them.

After you've done your spell, it's important to clean the energy from the Confusion products off of you. You don't want to carry that energy around all day.

You can use the packet of Spiritual Purification Herb Bath in the traditional manner to cleanse away the evil from your system. Or you can use smudging.

Keep the lemon at home and place it on a sunny windowsill. As it sits and dries up, the love between the people in the relationship will sour and dry up. They will argue, fight and scream at one another until they cannot stand each other any more - at which point they'll break up and go their separate ways. Then disposed of the lemon.

After do a reading to see if it worked if it was or wasn't powerful enough etc.

If you use this let me know the outcome.

[sfrecipes]

Parker House Rolls

The headnote says, "These soft, fluffy, and buttery yeast rolls will disappear soon after they are pulled from the oven. Named for their creation in the 1870s at the Parker House hotel in Boston, these rolls differ from regular yeast rolls in that they are folded into layers, brushed with butter, and baked close together. The dough will be very soft—one reason these delicate rolls are so tender. Start with 3½ cups of flour; if the shaggy dough is still too sticky, add the remaining ¼ cup."

Makes 16 rolls

1 cup whole milk

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

3/4 cup unsalted or salted butter, cut into pieces and divided

1/2 cup warm water (105 degrees to 110 degrees)

1 (.25-ounce) package or 21/2 teaspoons active dry yeast

1 large egg

3 1/2 to 3 3/4 cups all-purpose flour, divided

1 teaspoon fine sea salt

Flaky sea salt (optional)

1.  Place milk in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer. Remove from heat; stir in sugar and 8 tablespoons butter. Let stand until butter melts. Transfer to bowl of a stand-up mixer and let cool.

2.    Combine warm water and yeast in a small cup and let stand for 5 minutes or until foamy. Stir yeast mixture into milk mixture.

3.    Stir in egg, 1½ cups flour, and fine sea salt with the dough hook attachment or paddle, mixing until smooth. Add remaining 2 cups flour, ½ cup at a time, mixing until smooth (dough will be very soft). Knead for 3 minutes with dough hook or paddle, or transfer dough to a floured surface and knead lightly for 5 minutes. Place in a lightly greased (with butter) bowl, rotating dough to coat all sides. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place for 1 to 1½ hours or until doubled in bulk.

5.    Melt remaining 4 tablespoons butter. Brush bottom and sides of a 9x13-inch (3-quart) baking pan lightly with some of the butter.

6.   Roll or press half of dough out to a 12x8-inch rectangle on a floured surface. Brush with melted butter. Slice dough in half lengthwise, then fold each piece in half lengthwise. Cut each piece into 4 pieces, creating a total of 8 folded rolls. Arrange tightly in half of prepared pan. Repeat with remaining half of dough, creating 16 rolls total. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rise for 45 minutes or until puffy.

7.          Preheat oven to 350°. Bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Brush with remaining butter and sprinkle with flaky sea salt, if desired.

Recipe and photo courtesy of :