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everythingelseisextra · 9 months

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Come Home (Tommy's Perspective)

Part Fifteen: David and Goliath

Description: Tommy doesn't tell you everything. So much gets stuck in his mouth, including his business. Warnings: PTSD, language, Tommy being angsty I guess Word Count: 4796 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @Majesticcmey @Optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

12 Hours before the attack on the barn

When she leaves, my mind clears. I think differently when she’s here. Softer, like a spell cast to make what I’ve learned and what I’ve made myself less important. She leaves out the front door, and I walk back through the house. Footsteps echoing through the halls like a heartbeat. It’s easy to slip back into a routine, to abide by the list that creates itself somewhere in my head. I find the phone and dial the number without thinking about it. Pick it up, hold it to my ear, wait.

“Hello, Tommy.” Arthur, the usual rashness to his words drowned out by the phone’s crackling. His drawl is recognizable to me like I’d know my own hand, and it’s something of a comfort after the talk I’d had with her. “Why’re you calling me at this hour?”

I forget he’s not awake nearly as early as I am. My day, and her day, too, starts before the sun. I don’t give it any pause. He doesn’t care about the real reason I’m calling him. Wants his orders from his sergeant major and to put his head down and do it. “I need you to start what we talked about, Arthur. With the girls. Talk to ‘em, get what you can out of them, see if you can find any of the men who hold their leashes.”

“On it, Tom.” A rustling of movement tells me he’s just finishing getting dressed. “That all?”

“Tell John to do the same. Stay on the outside, don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” I can smell breakfast in the air. All I want is a drink and a cigarette. Too early for that. Need to eat. “Tell me what you find.”

“All this for that woman who sprayed you with the hose, eh?” There’s amusement in his tone that I don’t like. Like he’s caught me on some trick I took, like he has something on me. Maybe he does.

“Yep,” I say shortly, not inviting more questions.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. Just looking out for you, Tom, that’s all.”

“I know what I’m doing.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop my hand. “Goodbye.”

“We’re worried about you here. Seems a bit soon, doesn’t it? After Grace and all that—”

“Goodbye, Arthur.” I put the phone down and huff out a breath.

Seems a bit soon. Maybe it is. Maybe I’m all up in my head, afraid to be alone at night, so I attached to the first kind face I saw. Maybe our meeting was some mistake made by me to draw her into the dark.

No. She carries the same burden as I do, in a different form. If our meeting was anything, it was mercy. If some cosmic mistake is what brought us together then it will take another one to tear us apart.

—

Alfie Solomons leaves after the briefing on the Russians. The door remains open. My brothers stay. Their eyes flick down to the ground and stay there, and I slowly sit back down onto my chair. None of them want to be the first to talk. I look to Arthur, let him feel my gaze. If I feel something at their reluctance to leave, it’s too deep for me to be aware of it. I shy away from feeling too deeply. Nothing set in stone, and yet, everything a dirt road. Tread the same path too long and it will become the only path there is. I refuse to be limited by my own emotion.

“So, Russians, hey?” Arthur tries at skirting away from whatever shames him. I stare up at him, unamused. “We— we uh— we fucked up, Tom.” Arthur stumbles over the confession and John shoots him a look of venom. “I fucked up.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“One of the girls— well, you know how they are— I had some drink in me and she— she asked some questions. Shouldn’t have answered them, Tom. Should’ve kept my bloody mouth shut. It doesn’t matter now, they know. I told it to ‘em, and now they know. Nothing to do but—”

“What do they know, Arthur?” I keep my voice even. My head throbs where the stitches were taken out months ago, another sign of my dawning insanity.

“You know how it is, they act all nice to ya and—”

“He told them about hose-girl.” John cuts in. “He told them that he knows about the one that got away.”

My eyes lock onto the drawer in the desk where my gun sits, hidden. “How much did you tell them?”

“Ah, well, it was all very— I mean, I told them—”

“Get to the fucking point.” Inside that drawer is a weapon I’ve held to the temples of many a man, myself included. Inside that drawer is the hope I have of protecting my own. Including her.

“I told them she has horses. That’s all. That she has horses and doesn’t live in town. All I said, I swear it.” His voice carries bravado, covering up for the anxiety I know he has. He doesn’t like displeasing me, and he certainly has.

My words come short and quiet. “You gave them definitive information about a woman they’ve been trying to find for years.”

His silence resonates.

“Answer me, Arthur.” I tear my eyes from the drawer to pin him down, trying to lock onto his shifty eyes.

“Yes, sir, I did.” He looks to John for support, pleading with him for backup. He finds nothing but a stony face.

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this before I planned to meet with the fucking Russians?” My voice threatens to raise and his eyes grow furtive.

“I thought—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you thought!” I stand, slamming a hand down on the desk in front of me. Arthur flinches. “Her blood is on your hands, and you’re standing there telling me what you thought?”

“It was my mistake, Tom, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking sorry. We’re all fucking sorry.” I grit my teeth, grind them, and walk out from behind the desk. They turn on instinct, soldiers at attention, their eyes on my back. “We go to the Russians, and we go to save what’s left of her. Understood?”

“Yes.” John’s voice.

“Arthur?” His name is rancid on my tongue. I grow antsy, a green horse on its first ride, flinching and preparing to bolt. I should be by her side, getting her out of there. I should be hunting down the man who thought he could own someone like her.

But I have business. The world slowly lowers down on my shoulders, and I am not Atlas. I cannot shrug.

—

I leave the Russians with the scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and Tatiana’s perfume lingering on me, and the thought of Grace stuck in my head. I was careless, and now I’m hungover, disorganized. The night is still young, and we reach home before the moon is bright in the sky. First thing I do is pick up the phone and call Moss. I ask him about a woman in a barn outside of Birmingham, and he tells me they found two dead bodies with her.

“She’s safe?”

“She is for now. She won’t talk and she has no record, Mr. Shelby, we gotta take her in.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Keep her. See if she’ll talk. I’ll come get her.”

I need an ally. I need help, with everything, not just the quiet things. I need someone who can stare down the barrel of a gun and keep their mouths shut. I need someone who ignores the urge to run, who knows that they’re a monster, too. Two dead bodies found at the barn. One smashed, one shot. When I close my eyes, I can see myself pulling the trigger, smashing the skull. When I think about it, I can feel her fear and determination. My brow furrows, my lips part. She sits alone in a cell while men she doesn’t know interrogate her.

“Is that all, Mr. Shelby?”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, a headache stretching between my temples. “Don’t make her talk. Let her wait. I’ll be there.”

“Yessir, Mr. Shelby.”

“That’s all, Moss. Goodnight.”

I put the phone down and make my way to the bathroom to clean myself off, to rid myself of the smell of other women and spirits and the taste of Grace on my lips. So that she doesn’t smell it, yes, and so that I can forget it ever happened. So that I can wash off the shame and fear and overwhelming sense of loneliness. So that the path I tread doesn’t become beaten.

—

After I’ve cleaned the wounds on her head, after the blood has been washed off, after the sins of my war have been confessed, she sleeps in the bed next to me. I’m on my back, but my head is tilted. Her eyes flutter beneath her eyelids. Her lips part slightly. Moonlight shines on her skin. A swollen bump grows underneath her chin, skin broken.

If I could love her, it would be heavy. Something to carry with me. My love, I’ve learned since Grace, has teeth. Maybe it isn’t love. Maybe possession, maybe control. I can grip with clenched, white knuckles. I can force someone to come back to me, not because they want to, because they have to. I want to love her but I doubt that I can. When I try, something hurts, and I cannot tell her where, only that it does.

A desperate part of me that I do not visit often wants to know what it’s like to be consumed. I am always the possessor, not the possessed. I want to be claimed. I want her love to have teeth, like mine, that can show me that my armor is only skin. If she was the one to cut me, I would bleed forever. That desperation believes that, even with Grace’s death, there is a person out there made exactly for me. That desperation believes that the war I fought in might be echoed in someone else’s. That desperation believes that I have found her and I am ruining it.

I get up from the bed and my body aches. Faint bruises form on my trachea, where Tatiana pressed down. I look at myself in the mirror and empty eyes stare back. There is fear behind them. I want to lay back down with her and forget about last night and tonight and all the regrettable nights I will undoubtedly have until she is brave enough to touch me.

In three days time I crawl back into a tunnel, deep underneath the earth, with the pressure of the world lying over me, precarious. I brave the underground for the sake of a robbery that could make or break my career. I promised Grace to stay legal. She’s dead. And the company runs.

—

“We have your son. Get in the car.”

Rain patters on the outside of the car. I’m in a tinfoil box, and my son is out there. “First. Is he safe?”

“Of course he’s safe. All children are dear to me.”

Michael’s voice, his confession, speaks to me from memory. My son, in the hands of men who have little respect for physical boundaries. Who have little respect for children themselves.

“You have all the cards. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will certainly do it.” My words are choked at the ends, not broken, but holding anger and panic.

“You ever drive one of these beasts?”

“I’m asking you to conduct business.”

“I borrowed it. Lent it. By a lord. For the duration of this business.”

My head bowed, my eyes unblinking, staring forward, waiting for the order that will save my son. I breathe heavily. I have no choice. I have to comply. “I will certainly do what you need me to do with no complaints.”

“We were forced into doing this awful thing. We did warn you that your son would be in danger if you deviated from the plan.” The priest speaks to me like I’m thick, words slow and gentle and pretentious. “It was you who made a mistake, you understand that?”

“Yes.” Anything. Anything to get him back.

“What mistake did you make? Do you even know?”

Now it’s a game. A show of power. I have no choice. I must comply. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You made a deal with our enemies.”

“I will do what needs to be done.” “You went behind our backs to stop the Soviets from blowing up the train. But it’s alright. It’s alright. We’ve rectified your mistake. You ask me ‘what do I need to do?’ Well, here’s what you need to do, you fucking mongrel, you.” He hands me an envelope. I take it with shaking hands. “But since the Bolsheviks will not be blowing up the train, you’ll blow up the train yourself. It’s always been about the explosion. From the beginning. The bang. The outrage. Understand?”

I nod, unable to do anything else. A mechanical movement, trained into me, comply, comply, comply.

“Those are notes and fragments for you to scatter in the wreckage. Implicating named officials from the Soviet embassy.”

“I will scatter them. It will be done.”

“Good. Our friends at the Time and the Daily Mail will do the rest. And once the British government cuts diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, that will be our mission accomplished. You’ll have been part of a fine adventure.” His eyes land on me. I can feel his gaze, despicably soft brown eyes, a red herring. “To help with the outrage, we need people to die in the explosion.”

I feel nothing. I am an empty shell of a man, puppeteered by a God that despises me. “How many?”

“Let’s say; six? Rail workers, perhaps. Men from the factory.”

I nod. That's all I can do. “And I want my son returned to me within an hour of the explosion.”

“Oh, it’s conditions now, is it?” The amusement in his words sends chills down my back. I shift forward.

“We need to fix the handover in advance.” Firmness. Clinging to what little power I have.

“I haven’t finished with you yet, Mr. Shelby. We also hear you’re digging a tunnel. Mining for precious stones under Wilderness House. I’m told they have a faberge in the strong room. The Lilies Of The Valley Egg, made in 1898. One of the Odd Fellows has a wife who’s obsessed with faberge. He wants to give her the egg for her birthday…”

“He will have it.” Comply.

“And the economic league will take all the jewels that you steal, to cover our considerable expenses. The fight against communism isn’t cheap, you know? So if you want to see your—”

“I will bring you all the jewels.”

“A bang first. Then bring everything you’ve stolen to your office at dawn.”

I shake my head. “No. No. I’ll not be able to get the jewels to you by dawn. The tunnel has hit clay.”

“If the Saint Andrews clock strikes 5:00 am on the night of the robbery, and we don’t have everything that we’ve asked for, the bell will be tolling for your boy.”

Thunder rumbles. I nod, closing my eyes. My son. The last piece of Grace I have.

“Now get out of my fucking car.”

—

A day has passed since I’ve seen her. She has her horses. She’ll think of me when she has the time, wonder where I’ve gone off to. I have no doubt she’ll worry tonight. She’ll pace the room we share and think she’s made a mistake, some blunder that’s chased me away. I think as I drive that this might be the end. My disappearance, my lack of communication, my lies, might be the final straw for her. She knows nothing of the Russians or the Soviets, knows only little of the priest. I’m sure she expects me back when the sun starts to go down. I’m sure her sleep will be fitful or impossible without knowing where I am.

I won’t be going home tonight. She will rise before dawn, when I crawl out of a tunnel, and she will wonder where I am. Perhaps she’ll call Ada, who’ll tell her nothing. I am Midas. When I touch her, she turns cold, so I don’t. I don’t tell her of the business I conduct because she doesn’t deserve to be part of this bloody fucked up world I’ve created. So, she’ll wake up, and I’ll be gone. No explanation, no contact. And I’ll come home when the sun has risen and I’ll explain nothing. I protect my own.

I protect my own, but I’ve chosen Charlie over her, and of that I am guilty.

There’s gray in the sky when I arrive at the tunnel. Johnny Dogs shouts at me, seeking an explanation for my sudden appearance. I shout back something about my boy and the priest and midnight, and before he can stop me, I climb down into the tunnel.

I don’t feel. I try to chase away the ebb and flow of my head during daylight, above ground, when the danger separates itself from the soldier I used to be. I’ve built a dam between myself and whatever wave of emotion comes crashing in. I can see it come, but I am never drowned by it. Not when I’m on top of the world instead of underneath it.

I am trapped in a birth canal of mud and the sound of picks against clay. I cannot move in any direction without being pressed against some wall. I watch the only way out disappear behind me. There’s no escape except to complete my mission and pierce through the earth. Some nightmare shakes the earth around me. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m covered by dirt and it staunches the blood from the abrasions; from the axes, from the rough stones, from myself, that mark my shaking body.

The single lantern flashes shadows and I can hear the Germans against the barrier in front of us. A race against time begins. No apparatus supports us, all we have are pickaxes to eat away at the earth in front of us. Tunnel warfare springs to life, and my head pounds, and the dam is broken. My hands shake and my eyes are wide and there’s no doubt that I am terrified. Doesn’t matter. I can be scared and still work, still function, still complete the business I’ve forced myself into. There are men by my side that inch forward with every second, who I trust, who know the tunnels as damn well as I do.

I am ripped into being alive. Sensations, doubts, fears, absolute terror, things I have not felt since the war. On hands and knees, chipping away at impossibility, the earth rumbling with soldier’s feet and mines exploding on the no-man’s-land I tunnel beneath. Strangely, there is fear, and next to it a sense of belonging. This is my grave that I dig, and I am meant to die here, underground. This is my home, the first place I learned to run from, the first place I promised myself I would never return.

One of the men seizes and I do nothing to help him but send him out. On the edge of the shakes myself, I am wired to do nothing but dig. Forcing the wet clay apart, blood and sweat dripping from my forehead, inching forward bit by bit with the other men.

I remember rot. I remember bodies buried in the clay. I remember the sun being a dream. I remember each shake of the earth a bad omen, each sound of picks on the other side a forewarning to our deaths. God watched idly as I buried myself and other men in a grave I dug myself. We told each other not to listen when we screamed, when we convulsed at night, when we broke from the pressure of the world on our shoulders.

I can feel sludge beneath me, slipping, and I know I’m going too fast. My men build supports with timber to hold up the earth on weak substructures. Condensation drips onto me. The ground around us shivers, rocks tumble from around the supports, and we pause, waiting, expecting to be buried. Nothing.

Gasping for breath. Body bruised and battered. Swimming in the suffocating pressure of the earth surrounding us. Trying desperately to dig upwards, to save our own lives. To survive. None of it real, just the sound my picks and the men building supports.

I reach the end and plant an explosive. Backing away. Blinking the blood and sweat out of my eyes. It goes off, and I expect to be buried but have no time to fear it. Before the smoke clears, I’ve escaped the tunnel, and I can breathe, if only for a moment. My shaking hands scoop jewels into a canvas bag, giving no thought to what I grab, where I grab from. I take and take and take.

There’s a shout that I don’t have much time. I suck in a breath, snatch blindly at the last few jewels. Crawl back into the tunnel, throwing the bag of jewels in front of me, following the men as they begin the creep back up.

I’m the last out. The other men have gone to clean themselves up. Panting, I lie in the dirt where I belong, and roll onto my back to stare up at the black sky. My breath fogs the air. Bits of my body stings where the skin was scraped off. And I pant.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

—

Somehow, I manage to drive. I don’t see the trees around me, don’t see the grass or the hills, just look straight ahead as my destination grows on the horizon. A single phone booth on the side of the road, resolute. I don’t turn off the car, stepping out and walking unsteadily over to it. I place a coin in, turn the handle, and wait.

“Let me speak to him,” I say.

My son’s babbling fills the phone and I smile. “Hello, Charlie.”

He’s unharmed. He’s safe. The nightmare, for now, is over. A lump forms in my throat and I don’t understand it. I’m smiling. I’m relieved. My hand shakes. There’s extra liquid in my eyes.

“Hello, Charlie,” I say again. He responds with a quiet dadda and nothing else.

“Can you hear me?” I sniffle and fend off the rising pressure in my chest, holding it off until I’m done, until I know he’s safe.

He mumbles something about being tired and I smile again, heart simultaneously filling and being stabbed with something cold. “Yeah. You go to bed. Good boy.”

The call ends and I put the phone down. Something in me bends and bends and bends and then, finally, snaps. My brow furrows and I squeeze my eyes shut and a small sob wracks my body.

It was a success. My son is safe. The jewels are ready. I should be fucking grateful that I survived this. That we survived this.

There’s a sense in me that there was no success, only what appears to be one. There’s a sense in me that tells me I’ve pushed those I want close further and further from me. There’s a sense that I will never be the man I hope to be because it’s hard when I’m always fucking unwanted. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel unless I blow it up. There’s no joy to be had unless I force it.

And I sob, because I feel everything. There’s an ache in my chest and a hole in my heart. There’s pain through my body and a horrible loneliness in my head. There’s relief, pure and unadulterated, and there’s terror lingering from the tunnel, images flashing through my mind of what burned itself into my mind in France. Claustrophobia burns through me. I sob over what I’ve destroyed like I want to stop and worship it, and soon, I’ll be back with a pick in my hand and explosives waiting.

My son has grown up barely knowing me because I’m consumed by business. My heart has been broken too many times and I fear that it will never be made whole. I am a soldier with only the cause of ambition to guide me. And I feel everything, even though I try to hide it.

I take a breath, pressing my eyes closed, then pull myself together and straighten. I call her. I suspect she won’t pick up, but I try anyway.

There’s a click and her voice, distorted by the distance, says my name in a tone I can only describe as fearful. “Tommy?”

“Yes,” I say, words still choked.

“Where have you been?” Not steady, not brave, not the tone I know from her.

“Business.” It’s the only explanation I can give.

“Business? For two days straight?”

“Yes. For two days straight. You need to know who I am.” I squeeze the earpiece, stopping my voice from wavering. “You need to know that I can’t give you what you want.”

There’s quiet on the other end of the phone. My hand continues to shake.

“What happened?” The fear is gone, in its place, worry.

“Nothing happened,” I lie. “Do you understand me? I can’t be the one you need. You think I’m going to change but those fuckers out there are worse than I am.”

“I’ve never wanted you to change. I’ve never asked for that. And no one can be everything to someone. I’m not expecting that from you. I just want you to tell me when you’re going to be gone like this.”

“They’ve issued an arrest for my family and I have to let it happen.”

“What?”

“For my brothers, for Pol, for Esme and Linda. I made the wrong enemies.” Please, forget about me, choose to leave. “You should go before it all goes to shit.”

“Tommy. I’m not going. I’m staying with you. You’ve made a mistake, that doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you. I told you I would forgive your rottenness and I plan to keep that promise.” Her voice is strained. “Tom, just come home, we can talk—”

“I’ve gotten mixed up in something too big for me.” I close my eyes, a small tear dripping out. “I won’t have a family after this.”

“Thomas Shelby, I swear to God, if you don’t come home, I’m tracking you down and dragging you here myself. Okay? So get back in your car and drive your ass home. You’re gonna be fine, you’re not gonna end up without a family. You’re going to be fine.” Her voice softens towards the end and I feel myself drawn towards her, despite everything. “You won’t be alone.”

“I fucked another woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Quit trying to make excuses for me to leave you. Come home, we’ll calm you down, and we’ll talk about it.”

“My brothers told them where you were. The attack was my fault.”

“I get what’s happening here. Something scared you, and you think you’re hurting everyone around you, so you’re self-sabotaging. Come home. That’s all I want. Don’t you want to give me what I want?”

I do. I always want to give her what she wants. There are better men out there who could love her. There are better people who could protect her without making the mistakes I did.

They’ll have to get through me, though.

“I’ll come home.” I open my eyes and blink hard, ridding them of their bleariness. “I’m not the man you want, love.”

“So you keep saying.” Her words grow wry. “You forget that you don’t get to tell me what I want. And I want you. I don’t know how to make that any clearer to you.”

I nod and give in to the words she speaks. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon, Tom. Yes?”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

I put the phone down. This shallow world, this twisted and broken body I live in, this mind that I cannot control, somehow she is a master of all of it. Somehow she puts me at ease. Love, I think, is two people inspiring each other to live. And she gives me a reason, and she stays by my side.

Dawn breaks, and I walk back to my car in silence.

#only the wild ones #tommys pov #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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loving-family-poll · 4 months

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Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 2

Propaganda under the cut:

Hikaru/Kaoru:

notable for actually leaning into the incest thing because twincest was their entire schtick while working at the host club

the twincest ship that defined a generation. taking the bait seems obvious when their performance gimmick for club guests is to fawn over each other and play up the affection tenfold, but it just gets better when you learn that for most of their lives they didnt have other friends and really only had each other until joining becoming members of the host club. so on top of being willing to flirt in public for attention, they're also codependent as hell <333

They're twins. They sleep in the same bed. They pretend to be in forbidden love to bait fujoshis but are maybe also in forbidden love for real. They were in high school before they met a single person who could tell them apart. They were devastating to my middle school psyche

Rick/Morty:

INCEST ICONS!! They've somehow got a MAJORITY of their fans on one of the most popular shows on TV to root for a guy who is CLEARLY sexually abusing his grandson ~subtextually~, but also sometimes ON SCREEN, and it's hilarious and fucked up, and Morty would kill anyone who tried to take his grandpa away <3

they're codependent in so many universes, they've gotta be fucking in a few

They get married!!!!! It's right there!! I wish I had more coherent thoughts about them but just. They. It's awful. It's abusive. It's twisted and cruel. It's a comedy duo. It's the best thing either have going for them. Rick will never fully respect Morty. Morty will never fully respect Rick. I want them to run away together. They're Something

the power dynamic is crazy! Morty's deeply lonely at the start and his grandfather takes advantage of that, rick pulls the kid out of bed, out of school, whenever he wants and gets him to do whatever he wants, covers up their activities, threatens and endangers and inflicts pain upon morty with intent and cruelty. he shapes morty according to his needs, the entire show is about the space adventures of an old man and his 14 year old grandson and you just gotta wonder, isn't it fucked up that this guy's sidekick and best friend and life partner is a kid? and it is!

Since morty is traumatized on the daily rick sometimes takes his memories, he controls what morty can remember (and therefore who he gets to be), the memory gun is just sci-fi gaslighting i say. and there's transdimensional travel and at one point it's revealed that ricks from different dimensions work together to "breed" mortys, ensure they're born (clone a bunch of them too) because a morty by nature is loyal and forgiving and makes the perfect partner that's easy to manipulate, easy to use. i will forever think of the "bred for forgiveness" line as perverted horrifying incest bait<3

Also one time they were hosts for alien parasites and they fell in love and made out and in the Very First episode rick gets morty to stick giant seeds (that rick needs for an experiment or smth) up his ass to smuggle them through security. they had some kind of dragon soul bond orgasm together. my point is it's borderline incestuous abuse and it's crazy that they imply these characters are tied together cosmically.. if they are it's rick holding their red string of fate like a leash

they are together (sometimes romantically/sexually, sometimes not explicitly so) in EVERY universe there is canonically a club on the citadel called The Creepy Morty. Miami Morty has an R tattooed on his asscheek they love each other they hate each other they cant stand being together they cannot be separated Rick loves grooming Morty. like. he has literally pushed Morty into comitting genocides and conditioned him into becoming desensitized to all kinds of sexual and violent things. Rick keeps a memory vial of Morty's entitled "virginity" Rick C137 (the main one in the show) has sacrificed his life to save Morty

#tumblr polls #tournament polls #incest poll #hikaru/kaoru #ouran high school host club #rick/morty #rick and morty #incest tw #round 2

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anitalianfrie · 3 months

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so, after trials and tribulations and many many insults thrown the way of bad quality vhs, i proudly present you: the translation of the video of vale's eighteen birthday!

when there were long pauses between the dialogue, i put the timestamp before it. my comments are between [] .

video and translation under the cut :)

youtube

Vale (VO): the “Valentino Rossi production” presents, in collaboration with the idiots of Tavullia, this epic footage.

Vale(VO): Valentino Rossi, the man, the rider, the moron, turns eighteen

Vale(VO): there’s a new name in the register of the Carabinieri [cops] of Tavullia, it’s him, Valentino Rossi, the kid with a man’s body and the IQ of a boiled zucchini. He gets from his father a great shaft and the brain of the chicken he used to keep on a leash. Valentino Rossi, the man, the rider, the moron, when he gets interviewed he says about himself “I’m Valentino Rossi” and then he loses his focus. He doesn’t like to define himself a nepo baby because he doesn’t know what it means. The one who merges the spirit of a rider with the hair of a folk drummer. Everybody seeks him, everybody calls him, but once they get to talk with him they mourn the loss of the answering machine.

Vale(VO): contacted by the Philip Morris International for a contract of billions, he declines the offer because he doesn’t smoke. Valentino Rossi, he rocks! And the Aprilia makes a wheelie.

Vale(VO): the next one will be his second year of competing in the world championship, but he still thinks he’s riding on a minibike, and he’s perpetually desolated because after the chequered flag he can’t find the turtle on his helmet. Nowadays, he’s the only rider paid by the Japanese to stay with Aprilia. Let’s enter his kingdom, his home, thing that sometimes he can’t do because he topples over in his ape car in the parking lot below.

(4.44)

Boy1: Marshall

Boy2: Oh, let me look at the video

Boy1: Marshall

Boy2: C’mon, get out of there

Boy1: Marshall. What then?

Vale: How are you?

Boy2: Nice, with the Marshall starting

Vale: Cosmic

[i have honestly no clue what this conversation is supposed to mean. It might be an inside joke, or they could be taking about an actual marshal of the Carabinieri]

Int: Valentino Rossi, how does it feel to be eighteen?

Vale: eh, how does it feel... eighteen years old, it’s an important age, we’ve all become a bit older, I have – rather than we have – gotten more mature compared to when i was younger, you don’t do the things you used to anymore, we’re all way calmer, basically now is... now it’s time to leave the fun behind and to get serious

(6.26)

Vale(behind the camera): Come on! Super risky!

Vale: Do it here!

Vale: Go again!

Vale: Now it’s sure [unintelligible] get down!

Vale (after the guy “jumps” with the bike): You need, you need the feeler gauge to measure how high he jumped! We measure it with gauge! (laughs)

Boy: even the wheels!

Boy: vale?

Vale: eh?

Boy: turn it off

Boy: incredibly-

Vale: wait, wait- okay, now go, a comment on this sensational jump- super high, a jump out of this world, done by Michele

Boy: incredibly, the wheels touched the ground even on the [unintelligible]

Michele: that’s thanks to the suspensions, really... optimal, that let me-

Vale: a question Michi, wait-

Michele: -all this speed, and...

Vale: I’m zooming on you... but how did you do it?

Michele: Oh God, i don’t-

Vale: fucking hell, it was sensational, a-

Michele: the good thing is-

Vale: -mind-blowing jump

Michele: did you see how i got down?

Vale: ah- fuck, no

Michele: you didn’t see it?

Vale: it was out of the thingy, out of the lens and.... now we try the calibre and we measure [unintelligible]

Voices: Whooo, let’s go!

Vale: show off!!

Vale: now we will show you a trick, that even Orfei [name of a famous circus]- Orfei came to Tavullia and asked us to perform it. Look. It’s on the verge of the unpredictable

(8.46)

Boy1: Oh god

Boy2: another Panda

Boy2: three motor scooters, incredible, incredible!

#valentino rossi #motogp #lesbian vale #finally finished it oh god the audio it's barely intelligible half of the time

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gabessquishytum · 3 months

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Lucifer kidnapping Hob to show off their new pet human at their birthday party, then Dream showing up in order to win back his helm has so much potential. Like there are so many things that Lucifer could make Dream or Hob do in that situation. How would Dream react initially? Half of me wants him to be perfectly stoic and the other half wants him to react the exact same way he's drawn in the comics reaction to his realm having been destroyed.

I can see so much negotiation between Dream and Lucifer, and Hob doesn't understand half of what they are saying.

Dream: This immortal is under my protection, you must return him to me

Lucifer: You missed your meeting with him in 1989, I think that removes any claim you might have on him

Dream: I did not miss it of my own free will as you very well know, Lucifer Morningstar

Lucifer: Be that as it may, the laws of hell dictate that your claim is void

Dream: He is also under Death's protection, you might not think my claim valid, but do you deny her claim?

Lucifer: Where is she then? If she wishes to prove her claim on this human, then she should speak for herself

Hob is watching the negotiations with interest and confusion because why are there three different cosmic entities fighting over him. He's also processing many things at once, like the fact that Dream is currently trying to free him from hell, and the fact that he didn't miss the meeting intentionally (then why did he miss the meeting????? Hob is very concerned)

Meanwhile Lucifer is very interested. They did not know that Dream of the Endless was so attached to this mortal, the fact that he's currently in hell practically naked, on a leash, and is a human pet for Lucifer's birthday party, is a total coincidence. But they are very interested, how far would Dream go for this human? They definitely want to find out.

Dream is genuinely not sure what to do. He is in hell, with only his sand and a very stubborn raven, trying to negotiate with both Choronzon for the helm, and Lucifer for Hob. And he fears that just by revealing his claim on Hob and trying to negotiate for his freedom, he has let his cards slip just enough that Lucifer has an even bigger advantage over him than when he started.

I have a few ideas for how Dream wins Hob and the helm back. One of which is that Choronzon, who would normally challenge Dream to the oldest game, but given the mood of the party.. challenges him to let Hob, a human, fuck his face while humping his leg like a dog. Now this was mostly in attempt to demean and humiliate Dream as much as possible. Little does Choronzon know how little the act in itself bothers Dream, like sure maybe it's not his preference to be having sex in hell as entertainment for Lucifer and those they invited to their party, but as a trade for the helm it certainly could have been a lot worse.

So Dream agrees before Lucifer has a chance to say anything, because they too know how little phases Dream. Dream has always seen himself as a sort of tool for the greater good, mostly this leads to lots of self sacrificing and self destructive behavior on his part, but it also leads to him having no shame along side his pride.

Hob is not sure how to react to Dream kneeling before him. The person he knew had to be a god of some sort, who had always carried himself with so much pride. In all of Hob's fantasies, he never expected that Dream would be the one on his knees, even if it was because of a deal he made with a demon. He had no say in any of this, but he's never really been opposed to sex with Dream and well, if this is his only chance, he's going to take it, even if they are in hell serving as Lucifer's entertainment. And as much as Hob would prefer to be gentle with Dream (cause he's not a fool, Dream looks like he could really use some soft emotional sex), he's well aware that being gentle won't cut it when Lucifer is their audience. So when Dream leans in to take Hob's cock into his mouth, Hob puts Dream's hand to his thigh and tells him to squeeze if it gets too much.

Dream of course, was not expecting that kindness, he would have thought that Hob would be too eager to get out of hell to bother with such things. But also, the very idea that anything that Hob could do to him would be too much for him, he finds very funny, so he just smirks at Hob, puts one of Hob's hands in his hair and then leans in to lick the head of Hob's cock.

Lucifer isn't fooled by their performance though, they know that it takes a lot more than that to humiliate Dream of the Endless. Luckily for them, the deal was only made for Dream's helm, meaning that they get their own turn with having both Dream and Hob (nearly) at their mercy. And Lucifer and Dream have a long history, they are in a unique position to know exactly what gets to Dream.

Of course, whatever they decide to do, it ends with Dream strutting out of hell the same smug shit he was when he walked into hell, but this time with both his helm and Hob in tow. Hob and Matthew are both not sure what to think

🪐

Thank you for sharing your ideas on this one!! I agree, it could go so many ways. I like the way you've outlined it - although I must say I feel bad for poor Matthew. All this sex stuff is NOT what he was expecting on the second day of his job!

Lucifer may know Dream very well indeed (intimately well, let's be realistic) but they don't really know Hob at all. Hob has had plenty of sinful thoughts and deeds under his belt for his entire life, and no doubt he belongs in hell, but Lucifer can't really get inside his mind. Hob is alive, human, and he also happens to have a fair bit of good in him too. Lucifer can't wrap their head around him. Whatever they order Hob to do, he seems unbothered. Nothing is too humiliating or degrading. Hob just says something like "I practically lived in a fet club in the 1990s, this is kinda tame by comparison?" Lucifer tries to torture Hob with images and illusions, but he's just like "eh, I've had nightmares much worse than this!" While Dream preens and watches on with quite a sense of pride. Seems like there's nothing Hob wouldn't do to secure a place out of hell at Dream’s side.

Even if Lucifer themself challenges Hob to play the oldest game with them, he can't die. And I think we all know that determination would will out against all that anti-life bullshit. Just imagine Lucifer's face when they get two bratty bows from Dream and Hob. It's enough to make anyone quit their job and go to open up a club in LA...

#🪐 anon #the sandman #dreamling #lucifer

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l0velylecter · 1 year

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Could you do it where the MW2 men find out that one of their S/O relatives is in the military like their brother or sister maybe by recognizing the last name is the same as there S/O( preferably their older brother) and how they would react thank you

(Preferably with Alejandro, ghost, soap, and Graves)

how the cod:mw ii men react to finding your relative in the military

characters : simon ‘ghost’ riley / reader , john ‘soap’ mactavish / reader, alejandro vargas/ reader , phillip graves/ reader fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii rating : t for teen and up audiences warnings : brief mentions of blood and violence, tags : mostly fluff, light-hearted, some angst, gender neutral ! reader

01 | Alejandro

When it was time for Rudy to take a rookie under his wing, just as Alejandro had done with him, the captain was eager to see how it would play out. He'd watch from a distance as his second command walked the fresh-faced cadet through training, occasionally stepping in to give input before leaving them be. And when the rookie took down the sniper on the water tower and saved his ass, Alejandro was proud to witness that he was, after all, a good mentor.

The more time the three spent together, the more that Alejandro started to suspect something was off — nothing urgent enough for him to distrust the man but enough for him to start shivering from the de javu. The two dimples on the side of his smirk, the way he carries himself, the hard-to-miss accent whenever he speaks: the familiarity of it all, despite having confirmed that, no, the two men haven't met previously, made Alejandro feel excluded from the punchline of one, big, cosmic joke.

And the funniest part was that he'd come home to your arms and complain to you, oblivious of the dimples peppering your smile as you patiently listened to him go insane over the obvious — " I swear on my life mi vida, I've met this man before."

You would have put your partner out of his misery if it wasn't for the fact that he found out before you : when the rookie told them the same childhood story you've recited to Alejandro so often that he could recite it word by word. With a sudden step on the brakes and Rudy's nose colliding into the dashboard, Alejandro nearly lunged into the backseat to choke your brother for not telling him sooner.

Alejandro couldn't even be angry when Rudy made hundreds out of their little bet — " I told you it would take ages for him to notice, no offense, capitán."

When Alejandro came home with your brother in tow, uniforms stained with dirt and dust from the little roughhousing they had, you had no choice but to drag them inside by the ears. Angry at your brother for enlisting without your knowledge and Alejandro for not noticing sooner.

02 | Graves

Graves has always believed that a certain amount of disregard for authority is healthy. If he has to be honest with himself, taking orders from Shepherd is irritating enough, but taking orders from his orthodox, headstrong, and almost dictatorial second-in-command is a pain in the ass, if not pure, fucking torture.

The minute he received the file in his office, Graves knew right off the bat that he was your father. If the name hadn't been a dead giveaway, it would be that underneath the cold, calculating gaze of his headshot, you shared the same eyes. The curve of your jaws, the slight tilt of your heads, the similar phrases you shared when speaking, Graves didn't have to know that the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

So he did what every potential son-in-law would do: he tried to impress the general, even if it pained him to behave like a dog on a leash. Weeks of training turned into months on the field, and it took Phillip half a year to finally get the man to ask — "What's your name, soldier?" and another half a year for him to say — " Maybe you and your men aren't as useless after all."

Phillip hated groveling more than anything, but he had to keep his cool and play his cards right: he was playing the long game here. Every time he came home, you would bite your fingernails by the door, anxiously waiting to interrogate your boyfriend about his day — " Did he suspect anything? Did he ask? Did he hurt you?"

Imagine Phillip's satisfaction when Christmas rolled around: it was time to meet the family and the sight of his commander's usually stoic face crumbling at his wife doting on him with sweaters and laughter enough to inflate the CEO's ego and fly him to the moon. And when you held — no, gripped, Phillip's hand under the dinner table as a silent way to beg for him not to say anything that would trigger the silent yet ticking time bomb in the room, he had disregarded it with one, single movement.

" Daddy, can you please pass me a fork ?"

When both Phillip and your father reached for the utensil, you could feel your mother place a hand across her mouth next to you. Let's just say none of the shadow company members knew why they were reassigned to Shepherd the next day — not that their captain and his bruised lip were complaining.

03 | Soap

When a new sniper was assigned to the task force, Soap was first in line to make conversation with the lad, and although Ghost was stern in reminding him that 'friends aren't in the manual book', the lt.'s words were disregarded ( as usual ) the moment the two men clicked.

He had written to you about how well he got along with the new rookie, enjoying how it was now his turn to guide him through the steps, the same way Price had with him. Due to the covert circumstances of the mission, he had to send his letter by mail, and by the time he received a response, it had been months and nearly a year of the two running assignments together. When you explained to Soap that your last name had been your mother's maiden name and that you actually had a different last name, the sergeant had put two and two together in an instant — eyes falling onto the nametag by the sniper's uniform.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. The Scotsman would have started cheering if they weren't already embracing each other by the shoulder, fondly talking about you by the fire.

He'd send back polaroids of the two of them in their gear post-mission, sharing a pint. It definitely made you feel like the third-wheeler.

Johnny would grow to become protective of your brother, and vice versa : they would always look out for each other, making sure that you wouldn't have to open the door after missions to just one of them.

The day Soap told you that he knew about your embarrassing childhood stories was the day you considered writing to Price.

04 | Ghost

The moment Ghost saw the rookie's name tag, he immediately knew. Briefly, there was a cold, heavy, sinking feeling settling inside the pit of his stomach. Yet, he remained passive under the mask, ordering the rest of the men to board the helicopter as takeoff was in five. Once they were in the air, he stole another glance at the man, noting that you shared the same nose, chin, and hair color. Fucking hell, he cursed internally. He shouldn't be here.

There was no denying it. The brother you've spent years searching, mourning, thinking that he's either dead from his previous deployment or MIA from how he's never kept contact, is going to be deployed into what most men call a suicide mission.

He shouldn't interfere. He shouldn't reach out: even if Simon cares about you. And dare he confess — loves you, this wasn't the time and place. Trying to protect the rookie will get him killed, but he did it anyways. Without thinking twice, his body moved on its own, telling your brother to follow him when the team gets split in four. And when they had to go in pairs, the lieutenant had dragged him by the arm, ignoring Soap's look of surprise.

The catacombs were narrow and long as they dwindled further into the shadows: even with their night vision, the darkness was almost blinding as they ventured into the abandoned mine in search of Makarov's old base. Your brother tells him as a matter of factly it was because of the radiation, and even if there were no active nuclear activity at the moment, previous experiments conducted by Makarov's men were at risk of contamination, which would need to be contained. And Ghost hated how he spoke just like you, eyes bright and curious of the world. Simon didn't feel sorry when he told the rookie to shut up.

As if the oxygen thinning wasn't already suffocating enough, the pressure that gripped the air made your brother's breathing turn shallow, immediately alerting Simon. Just as he was about to suggest that they return to the surface, a cluster of bullets flew past them: causing flashes of red and yellow to echo down the halls, sending tremors everywhere. Simon gripped your brother by the collar, pulling him down to duck.

The fighting probably only lasted for half an hour, and by the end, the cave was already on the brink of collapse, barely supported by old, rotting wooden pillars. Sion had to jog with your brother's limp body against his, the rookie's breathing barely there, his wound seeping blood onto Simon's uniform.

When they made it out, it was already nightfall: the last rays of sunlight tethering on the borders of the horizon. Your brother demanded Simon to put him down, face crumbling in the fear and acceptance that he wasn't going to make it. The helicopter was still two hours away, and the rest of the team was on the other side of the tunnel. Simon was many things, but he wasn't a liar, and so he wasn't going to force-feed the cadet hope if he truly didn't stand a chance.

So Simon did the next best thing. He laid him down atop the soil, supporting his head with a makeshift pillow he had made with his jacket. He listened to the man speak about his regrets, eyes dropping when he mentioned your name — " I wished I could've told (name) how fucking sorry I am for leaving. I've been meaning to reach out, but I just couldn't… I was afraid of what they’d think. They must be disappointed in their big brother. I let them down."

" They're not. They never stopped looking."

A heartbeat passed where he didn't react to Simon taking off his mask, a brief silent moment where it was just the breeze, the night, and the branches humming. His pain-stricken face turned into a smile, and a laugh, followed by a sputtering of coughs — blood pooling across his lips.

" Holy shit...what are the odds, eh? T-take care of them, okay?"

Only when Simon nodded did he let go of his hand, fingers turning cold and numb against the sand. And when Simon gave you the dog tags, he didn't have to say a word. All he needed to do was hold you as you cried: his own regret, cold and heavy against the pit of his stomach.

a/n : thank you for requesting ! i hope this lives up to your expectations <3 this was very fun for me to write, the entire time I was writing graves’s prompt, I was thinking about the scene in ‘22 jump street’ lol. and the garden fight in ‘crazy stupid love’. the little shit would definitely be a menace to in laws.

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stuckasmain · 2 months

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Dave’s old life is cast aside and he is reborn (semi-literally) as a star child. It is an ending that has left many baffled, including me, but is ultimately a touching end and beginning.

Dave ends the story an evolved being, yet not so far detached from his human origin. He still has a great deal of emotion and curiosity - he becomes a baby because he simply is one when it comes to understanding the universe. He could go anywhere, do anything and yet he goes to earth. He goes and watches over it like a shiny toy, while his physical ties have been severed he’s still attached to it- almost like a mother, if we stay with the baby metaphor.

Eventually he will move on from it but for now he is a protector of sorts. The guardian of earth. He stops the bomb not for his own sake but because he simply wants humanity to continue on- he stops a potential doomsday!

It’s too bad this is completely uprooted in the following bits of the series. He is “beyond” emotion, he is on Europa. I would be fine if the evolution or planet was focused on even remotely besides the same few paragraphs, he’s transformed and cast aside. All of the prior meaning is rebuked, all of his humanity removed. See it wasn’t the transformation that did it but the story itself— as it decided to pivot and couldn’t just have him watching. He must be a blank slate. He must be elsewhere- he can’t even enjoy watching the other planet or if he does we don’t really hear of it.

Dave becomes more of a plot device than a person, as a star child there’s so many facinating things you could do with him. For one thing a dressing the trauma that came from that and before, and — again either guardian of earth - self chosen- or we actually see his involvement elsewhere. He becomes a just as much of a tool as the monolith.

Not only is his humanity stripped but his agency, in 2010 he describes himself as a dog on a leash a good number of times. While I absolutely adore that metaphor, it’s so tragic and not even acknowledged as such?! (Again so much could be considered cosmic horror and it’s either had waved or blankly accepted) he went from a near omnipotent being to LOSING LARGE CHUNKS OF TIME AND BEING USED AS A PROBE. He’s suddenly beyond humanity when he was so attached before; he becomes apathetic incredibly fast. (Which, as a immortal being is understandable but it’s absolutely unearned and not in character) -> my issue isn’t with him becoming a tool of some higher power it’s that it’s sort of hand waved “it is how it is” and not addressed how messed up and interesting it is.

Now I’ve yet to read 3001 but my point here broadly stands. I fully believe it should’ve ended after 2010, as it comes across as very very clear it was a two book story and 2061 is a whole separate one with some characters tossed into it.

Arcs were over. There was a bit more explanation as to what happened in the first one; we got closure alongside Heywood. Things were set up for the future but it was more in a way for you to view them as fully developed not exactly a sequel. (Like the Hal 10,000 idea). It’s frustrating because Dave as a Starchild can lead to so many interesting things and it was a beautiful idea in 2001 but … after that it mistreats and mischarectetizes Him so fast in a way that frustrates me to no end. Maybe if there was an actual focus or exploration I could understand the direction but making him a cut out god figure is such a sad end.

A child of the stars still clinging to its former life, its humanity…

Oh what could have been. I’d like to imagine Dave would’ve never completely… not been Dave, yes over centuries he may subdue emotions, his interest may waver but what we get is a name and maybe some memory.

—

Clarification:

I fully enjoy 2010, my issues with Dave in that are minimal just that it’s a little sad he swaps guardianship but I can understand. I was excited and interested in Europa… only for that too also get sort of ignored.

There’s also some interesting points to come out of 2061 - how the monolith works, conversing with Hal and he does seem to have a genuine interest in study but it’s also where he’s sort of a name drop and little else

It’s the stripping him of his emotion and character that really gets me - as it’s a route that isn’t earned as Clark absolutely does not write about trauma or if he does it’s a off handed “ok so everyone dying and the monolith was a little scary but now I’m blue and don’t care” it’s even true for human characters idk

I pick and choose what I want to keep from the further books honestly, we’ll see if 3001 fixes this or if this rant grows longer. I’m just sad, Dave’s such a fascinating character and he’s so mistreated?

#2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso #2010 the year we make contact #2061 odyssey three #3001 the final odyssey #dave bowman #David bowman #2001 meta #fandom essay #rant #ramble #space odyssey series #space odyssey books #arthur c clarke

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eridanidreams · 3 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour and @artemis-crimson

I'm late to the party tonight, so enjoy!

from stars through my fingers like grains of sand

Lillian agreed, then took a deep breath. "But Sam, I need something. I need to see my daughter more. These messages, they're just a tease."

"And she misses you," Sam countered, before Cait could draw breath to speak herself. "But, Lillian, the last three times we planned something, you bailed twice. Twice." His jaw set, his eyes burned the hot blue of stars, and his anger fueled the embers of her own. Before it could go out of control again (she'd wanted to—what? the memory had gone up in smoke), she leashed it, channeled it into words.

"Cora knows you're not really invested in her, Lillian," Cait said, choosing every word with exquisite care. "She certainly knows that you put being a Ranger over spending time with her. And pretty soon now, she's going to figure out that you aren't actually interested in your reading club. Right now, she just thinks you're a slow reader."

Lillian flushed. "How dare you say that?"

Cait felt a slow, angry smile cross her face. "Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome: Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you." Lillian still looked confused. "That's only one of the most famous quotes from the book you're supposed to be reading right now."

"Do you have any idea the looks I get when I'm reading Dumas around the other Rangers?" Lillian demanded.

"If you really cared about Cora," Cait said softly, "it wouldn't matter."

"For crying out loud, Lillian," Sam added, "where do you think the whole 'Rangers always have each other's back' thing comes from?" Lillian looked at him in complete astonishment. "I'm not the reader Cora or Cait is—" His anger was dissipating, replaced with a sort of grim amusement that damped Cait's anger like a fire extinguisher "—but I'm not immune to a rousing adventure. Like, oh, The Three Musketeers." He let that hang in the air.

"All for one, and one for all," Cait murmured.

"And books aside, what this all boils down to," Sam said, "is that every time you bail out on Cora, it destroys her. And I'm the one left to pick up the pieces." Now that her own anger was more-or-less quenched, Cait could clearly sense the memory of Sam's devastation as it shivered coldly through him.

"Be honest with yourself, Lillian," Cait commanded. "Do you really think you can put Cora first? Every time? Because if you can't, then you need to stop pretending that you can."

Lillian winced, shaken to the core by Cait's brutal honesty, as Sam added, "Whatever you've got going on with Cora right now, I won't stand in the way of that. But we're not going to make plans again if you can't be sure you're going to make them. Even if there's an emergency."

Lillian sighed. "It's so often a matter of life and death, you know that—" There are other Rangers, Cait thought, but did not say. Lillian needed to make this decision herself. "—but you're right. Maybe—maybe when she's older." When she's older, Cait knew, would never happen; Lillian had just driven a stake through the heart of any hope of a closer relationship with Cora. Unless she changed drastically, and soon, this was the most she would ever have. Cait couldn't find it in herself to be sorry—at least, not for Lillian. Silently, she vowed to do everything she could to make the inevitable easier on Cora.

Sam nodded solemnly; Cait wondered if he'd heard the same thing she had. "Okay. Friends, right?"

Lillian set herself, and underneath all the turmoil, the anger, the resentment, Cait thought she heard a faint note of relief. "Friends." She gave a soft, rueful laugh. "You and me—we were over before we ever began." Cait hadn't expected the turn of conversation, and now she did feel like she was intruding. She took a half-step back, intending to make a discreet exit, but the ice cracking beneath her foot betrayed her. Lillian offered her a soft half-smile, but her emotions had sharpened into something almost—speculative. "No need," she said. "Sam and I—we didn't really choose each other, we just sort of—fell into it. I admire him, and he's one of the few people in the Systems that can make me laugh… but he's right. What we had, was never love. Not then, and not now."

"Truth," Sam agreed.

"All right," Cait said, feeling like the ground itself was shaking underneath her. She was teetering on the edge of emotional overload, and she knew it. "Do you think you two can go on from here? Is there anything else you need to address?"

Sam shook his head in silence. "No," Lillian met her gaze without flinching; after a moment, a half-smile curved her lips. "Sam's found himself one hell of an advocate."

Cait shook her head. "Sam didn't need me to support him—he did just fine." Sam's surprised appreciation curled up through her, adding itself to the storm already raging inside of her. "He needed it for Cora." She breathed deeply of the cold air, trying to use the shock to steady her for just a few moments more. "I'll go take a walk while the two of you finish up whatever you need to. Lillian, I presume we're dropping you back at Neon?"

"No need," Lillian said. "I've arranged for pickup. But I will make sure to say goodbye to Cora before you lift off." She gave Cait a long, considering look. "And thank you. You've given both of us a real gift. Not a comfortable gift, but…" she let out a sigh. "Honesty is the best way to go... however painful. As if I didn't owe you already."

"I'm not one to keep score," Cait said. "But I'm glad I could help. If you'll excuse me…" She nodded to them both, then walked away quickly before either of them could draw her back in.

#starfield #sam coe #fanfic #starfield fanfiction #eridani writes #caitlyn lynch #coemancer #wip wednesday #stars through my fingers like grains of sand

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