#bakcr

@frexnds​ | @godsmuses​ | @bakcr​ | @13thx​ | @dirtylimerick​ | @riiisefromashes​ | @ofcreamcustards​ | @elveswithoutears​ | @queenofthewarehouse-archive​ | @its-capt-jackharkness | @katebaikiru | @saphirafoxgirlspost1 | 

   It is late at night, and Aella should be alone. These are the two prevalent thoughts the moment she hears something creak on the ship behind her. Her current starship is well-crafted, indeed, but there are still tells when it is near silent, and there is only the hum of the warp coils to keep one company. 

   The first time she heard the movement, she bid it away. She was imagining it. It was the play acting of  her ill mind. The second time, her fingers clenched against her screen, but she still did not look. 

                    𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒  𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃  𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄  𝐀  𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃.  There  are  unspoken  secrets  of  course,  on  both  sides;  the  link  that  ties  them  together  and  builds  the  foundation  of  their  friendship,  the  troubles  sleeping  and  the  nightmares  that  frequently  recur,  is  at  the  same  time  the  only  aspect  of  their  lives  where  experiences  overlap.  And  perhaps  it’s  better  that  way,  there’s  something  relievingly  mundane  about  not  asking  too  many  questions.  It’s  easy  to  invite  her  out  to  a  pub  –  to  drag  her  there  if  necessary,  lest  she  wilts  in  the  presence  of  her  own  misery.  Nightmares  can  easily  be  replaced  by  sleepless  hours  spent  listening  to  breathy  singers  on  a  small,  dusty  stage  and  a  few  shots  of  liquor,  preferably  surrounded  by  just  as  enthusiastic  patrons.  She  doesn’t  have  to  think  about  her  work,  doesn’t  have  to  think  about  her  worries,  and  quite  frankly,  the  times  that  she  indeed  manages  to  make  Elenore  laugh,  it’s  contagious.  Although...  perhaps  too  contagious.  

There’s  hardly  ever  a  reason  to  not  trust  her  instinct.  But  when  Elenore  leans  against  her  shoulder  this  time,  she  knows  –  knows  before  the  younger  woman  nuzzles  her  neck,  still  snorting  in  laughter,  that  she  should  have  better  pushed  her  away.  Instead  she  lingers,  gaze  cast  over  Elenore’s  cheeks  reddened  by  liquor  and  elation,  and  slowly  travelling  to  the  curve  of  her  lips.  Withdrawing  just  a  little,  to  prevent  a  disaster,  would  have  been  better.  But  she  doesn’t.  Lips  meet  briefly,  almost  reluctantly,  before  she  pulls  back  and  rubs  across  the  inner  corners  of  her  eyes.  It’s  not  that  she  regrets  it,  but  Elenore  might.  Enough  friendships  have  been  ruined  by  alcohol-induced  escapades.

                    “  Come  on,  it’s  late...  I’m  walking  you  home.  ”

@bakcr​ asked:  *gives him the quickest peck bc he saved her life or something...but kisses!*

             𝐈𝐓'𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓   𝐎𝐅   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓    --   that   is   the   saying  ,    isn’t   it  ?     the   height   of   excitement   at   the   end   of   a   thrilling   or   otherwise   threatening   event .      𝐈𝐓'𝐒   𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐇𝐄'𝐒   𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃   𝐎𝐍   𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅   𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄  !    a   freak   impulse   to   show   a   display   of   happiness  ;     he   doesn’t   think   there’s   anything   wrong   with   that .     why   should   there   be  ?     the   lips   that   part   from   him   leave   him   with   a   gentle   smile   to   show   for   it .

        he’s being aggressive and he knows it ---- but enoch can’t bring himself to care. ( or maybe it’s that he cares too much. that must be it, that’s always what it comes down to with him. ) he’s used to routine, and order, and everything staying exactly as it is, the status quo. they exist -- the five of them -- in a little bubble, one that enoch is not keen on allowing to be punctured. their lives, invaded by someone new. someone who takes up space in the heart of a person he’s been shut out from. 

and then ( and then!! ) she has the audacity to suggest that they’re all a family, and something in the hologram just snaps. even as she stutters out an apology, or an explanation, or whatever it is she’s trying to convey, his expression remains dark; he snaps back.

     & teeth bite down on her lower lip as her shoulders slump. blue eyes lift to look at the lieutenant in front of her. souffle seemed to be the only dish that she couldn’t get right - ellie wondered if it was what she was working with, or if she truly just didn’t have the talent for it. ❛ this is my fourth one, ❜ the brunette gestured to the deflated bowl, lower lip now jutting forward in a pout.

        ❛ i just can’t seem to get it right, ❜ ellie huffed and threw off the oven mitt, as she slumped further down onto the bar stool. ❛ not the most pressing thing to be upset about but i mean… i have to feed the crew something. ❜ & no the replicator was NOT an option.

   At this point, it was likely most logical for Aella to submit sympathies and take her leave. After all, she was not particularly handy with food -- any food further than soup, that was. She did not believe she needed vast knowledge in the area of food preparation to recognize that soup and... ah, whatever it was that was in the bowl before her were quite different dishes.