#toddy answers

[fredmundo]

For tommy double booking buck and eddie means double the cock

he's a homewrecker i love him

[urhoneycombwitch]

love light gleams

rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader Eddie and the band are stranded for Christmas. at least the pay phone's working.

foreword: haven’t heard from these cuties in awhile!! here’s my other fic of these two but not necessary to read beforehand. just a bit of schmoopy holiday fluff for the soul <3 (in the timeline, this is set in the early days of Corroded’s first tour where they’re just on the cusp of public notability/recognition)

cw: holiday fluff, alcohol/drinking, R is referred to with occasional she/her pronouns, R is related to Joyce (no specificity), Eddie gets a public boner™️, implied smut

wc: 3.1k

___

Goddamn Murphy and his law.

First, the tour bus breaks down in the middle of Where the Fuck Are We, Idaho, and Jeff maybe could’ve fixed it in time to get them over the next leg of the trip- if it weren’t for the giant snowstorm blizzard from hell. 

After much pulling of hair and frozen appendages, the band decided to call it quits and splurge some of the quickly dwindling Road Fund on a motel for the night; the idea of ones own room and a hot shower swiftly smothered by the front desk clerk. 

“Four rooms, the night before Christmas?” The man looked about as haggard as the rest of them, but Eddie couldn’t find it in his heart to feel too bad with the way the guy was chuckling mirthfully. “Got a better chance of seein’ Santa himself.”

Eddie grit his teeth and paid for a single. Without cussing. A feat that should land him on the Nice List, forever. 

When the group finally trudged into the lone spare room (spreading out as much as could be allowed, they were all sick of each other, at this point), Eddie used the phone to get ahold of their tour manager, who managed to top the evening off with the worst news of all.

“Christmas show at Garter’s is cancelled,” Eddie had announced to his sullen men after slamming the phone back on its hook. “Looks like we’re sitting ducks for the holidays.”

After dejected calls home and a few last desperate, futile attempts to charm airline employees over the phone, Corroded Coffin trooped through the bitter weather to hole up at the only bar in town.

Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob all settled into a booth with minimal complaints, gloved hands wrapping eagerly around mugs of hot toddies while Eddie simmered and stewed at the end of the bench, unable to sit still.

He should probably make the best of a bad situation, buy his boys another round and muster up some goodwill, but Eddie isn’t ready for an attitude adjustment quite yet.

He’s thinking of you, nearly two thousand miles east, cozy at home in Hawkins. In Eddie’s mind’s eye, you’re curled up by the fireplace in soft flannel-print pajamas (the pair he let you ‘borrow’ years ago), munching on sugar cookies and looking deliciously peaceful. 

Jeff throws him a bone, slides two quarters down the table to Eddie, saying- “Go call her, man. You’ll be annoying as hell until you do.”

Emerson chimes in, pointing towards the front doors a touch too gleefully- “Only pay phone’s out front.”

Eddie scoffs- figures, they’d try to get rid of him- but he can’t blame them too much, seeing as Jeff is right. 

Damn Murphy and his damn law. Eddie scoops up the change with an exaggerated flourish and stomps out, icy wind swallowing all the noise of the bar the second his boots hit snow. 

He follows the gravel trail that leads to the glass phone booth, the whole structure at a poorly-crafted slant that makes the door stick; Eddie shoves his shoulder against the iced-over seam four fucking times before it cracks and gives. 

Shoulder smarting, Eddie closes himself inside the booth, and with movements made clumsy by mittens and cold, loads the quarters and dials home. 

The trailer landline’s dial tone drones. With each ring, Eddie thunks a mittened hand against his forehead and watches the frost of his breath suspended in the air. 

You don’t answer. 

His shoulder stings, and he rubs at it, petulant, quarters clinking back down into the tray. He reloads them, grizzling all the while, and punches in Jonathan’s number, banking on the fact that you might be at your aunt’s place for Christmas Eve festivities.

No luck there, either. Eddie’s close to using the returned quarters as eye covers and laying down in the snow, letting hypothermia guide him to the afterlife- when suddenly, inexplicably, the phone on the hook rings.

The first time, Eddie thinks he imagined it. The second time, it jolts him into action, hardly daring to hope as he snatches the receiver up and speaks, breathless- “Hello?”

“Eddie!”

He doesn’t get caught up in the logistics, the why and hows just yet. Upon hearing your voice on the line, full and sweet after so many droning tones, Eddie slumps with relief against the booth’s angled window pane. 

“Sweetheart. Hi. Holy shit, are you a sound for sore ears. God, I fucking miss you.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose between clothed fingers, biting back tears of joy when your giggles like tinkling bells surround him.

“I miss you too. So much. Gareth called earlier to give me this number, said you’ve been a pest and might benefit from hearing my voice,” you tease, sounding like you’ve cupped the phone around your mouth to hide your words from others.

Eddie is basking in it, the simple act of you speaking doing wonders for his whole system, like a mug of cocoa for the soul. He makes a mental note to do something nice for Gareth, at a later date when he’s not sick of looking at his bandmates. 

“Bet he did,” Eddie concedes. “It’s been a total nightmare shitshow from hell over here, babe. I’m barely holding it together without my handler.”

“Poor thing.” You’re sympathetic but there’s still a playful edge to your voice when you ask, “Don’t you know it’s almost Christmas? Being a Scrooge only gets you so far.”

“Noted.” Normally, Eddie would be better at matching your energy, but he feels like all the wit got sucked out of him somewhere between here and the bar. “Keep talkin’. The tips of my ears aren’t quite warm yet. Wearing anything slutty on this holiday eve?”

You laugh, again (a balm, a blanket, et al cheesy romantic idioms), and Eddie can practically hear the eye roll this time- “Oh yeah, dressed real sexy for Aunt Joyce’s family supper. Light wash Levi’s and everything.”

Eddie makes various dramatic horny noises and you snicker. In the following lull, the noise from the party in Hawkins plays muted in the background. Glasses clinking, indistinct chatter from other people he loves, puffs of your breath quiet in comparison.

“Sounds noisy,” he says, and when you sigh, there’s a weary undertone that plucks a chord in Eddie’s heart.

“Yeah. It is. Gonna come rescue me? My knight in shining armor?”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie groans, hard plastic receiver pressing into his temple. “You know I would in a heartbeat, princess. Gareth told you all the flights are fucked?”

“Yeah. Guess we’re just shit outta luck, this year.”

“Two more weeks,” Eddie says, clawing at the only hopeful thread he’s got left. “Two more weeks of this horseshit and January third, baby, my ass is on a plane to you. If it kills me. Seriously.”

“It’s not gonna kill you.” Buttery soft and gentler than he thinks he deserves, you say, “However much you’re missin’ me, I’m feeling the same. I know it sucks to be apart right now, but I’m so proud of you. And the band. But mostly you. I’m probably too partial.”

Eddie grins and lets the praise wash over him, tucks it away for a dreary day (which’ll be tomorrow, at this rate). “Good thing somebody is. Keeps me sane in this godforsaken wasteland.”

He’s being dramatic and you both know it- but since Eddie’s much worse off in terms of post-call comfort, you let it slide. After drawn out, gushy goodbyes and promises to call sometime tomorrow, Eddie treks back reluctantly into the heat of the bar.

In the time it took to make the call, the place had filled out- mostly farmers and locals eager to celebrate the upcoming holiday with whiskey and gossip; Eddie squeezes through a sea of knit scarves and bobbled hats to get back to the table. 

Upon their Fearless Leader’s return, Jeff’s the only one with balls enough to look Eddie in the eye when he says, “There’s a fan of yours at the corner booth who wants a signature.”

“Gotta be shittin’ me.” Not yet seated, Eddie leans into his fists on the table, but he’s quick to swallow his irritation, even as he mutters expletives under his breath. Bona fide fans of the band are still rare enough to be exciting, and he really, really doesn’t want to be an asshole to anyone, especially not a fan, not on Christmas.

Plus, Eddie’s feeling softer, more charitable, since he got to speak with you. Unfortunately for his not-yet-curated rockstar persona, you make him a better person. Even from across the country.

To show his displeasure with the general situation, Eddie swipes a tall-necked beer from Gareth’s collection and downs a quarter of it on his way across the bar. There’s a line of booths along the back wall, partially hidden by the centralized bar; strings of Christmas lights and tinsel twinkle from the rafters along the path Eddie takes, while an old stereo system plays local holiday FM. 

Eddie winds his way between tables and the bustling bar, trying to come up with a game plan to make this interaction as friendly and speedy as possible- but when he rounds the corner and sees the booth, he freezes.

There you are. Sitting in a bar booth in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho, wearing your downy winter jacket and a smile bright as a homing beacon.

It’s like his brain is on a ten second delay, everything between his ears a high pitched ring as he takes you in while anything that isn’t you melts away into insignificance. 

“Hi,” you say, beaming, rising out of the booth, brimming with excitement.

Eddie almost trips over his own boot to close the distance, pulling you into his arms, wrapping them tight around your shoulders. He buries his face into the side of your neck, breathing deep, memorizing for the next time you’re not this close.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs, hoarse against your hair, and he feels the giddy laughter tremble through your whole frame. 

You’re clinging to him, too, a big handful of his flannel in your left hand, the outline of his skull in the other, thumb sweeping under all those curls, soothing. “Hi, baby. Hi. Couldn’t stand being away from you any longer.”

Eddie pulls away to kiss your cheek, then mirrors the action, then behind your ear and down down until you’re giggling, pushing at his forehead in protest- “Don’t you wanna know how I’m here?”

“Santa,” Eddie says, confident, squeezing your hips. “Or God. Who I will totally believe in and pledge my soul to for bringing you here.”

“I don’t think you can pledge something that’s already mine.” You punctuate this with a poke to his ribs, then a pull of his hand, and Eddie follows you into the booth, sitting close enough to keep a hand tracking a soft path over your thigh. 

It was Gareth’s idea, apparently- he called home a few days ago, confirmed that you were equally eager to pull off the surprise. The original plan was to meet at the band’s next tour stop, but when the Christmas Day gig got cancelled and a blizzard rolled in, your plans went hinky.

“It was Uncle Wayne, in the end.” You kiss the back of Eddie’s knuckles, and he feels a tender part of his heart thump in response. “He covered the extra cost of a last-minute ticket, figured out the bus route to this place for me, too. Said to tell you Merry Christmas.”

Eddie could cry from the wave of gratefulness that swells in his chest, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shimmering line of tears in your own eyes, and he can’t have that, so in lieu of words he leans in and kisses you.

Your lips slot perfect and familiar against his own, tasting the sweetness from an earlier candy cane. Eddie’s tongue traces the contours of the inside of your mouth, probably a bit too familiar for a public setting but fuck it, it’s Christmas and no one’s watching.

The two of you are mostly sequestered in the corner of the big room, the added bulk to Eddie’s frame from his jacket doing a perfect job of shielding you from view, happily backed against the wall with one leg draped over his thigh.

When Eddie finally pulls back, just enough to see you, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt, fingers warming against his ribs. There’s an inked sparrow you find by memory, one of your favorite places to touch and kiss.

Your thumb runs over the familiar spot, the signals of his skin decipherable to you alone. 

Eddie fills his lungs with air and tries to quell the stiff wave of arousal, and in the same breath, winces, remembering- “Well, sweet thing, I’d invite you back to my place but I’m sharing a one-room with a whole pack of miscreants.”

Eddie’s about to suggest raiding the motel’s blanket stock and sleeping in the van, just the two of you, when something like guilt pinches at your features. “Um. Yeah. About that. I may have bullied Gareth into getting me your manager’s number, and I also may have called him from the airport and chewed him out a bit.”

When Eddie’s brows shoot up in shock, delight, you wince, cutting him off before a word can get in edgewise- “It’s not right that he left you all stranded out here, on fucking Christmas, no less- you’re the ones funding that asshole’s cozy little vacation.” 

With the strength of your conviction, you tilt your chin up, eyes glittering and defiant- “I told him if he wasn’t gonna take care of you boys, I’d take care of him. Get right on a flight just to kick his ass.”

The hand still at Eddie’s ribs flexes with residual anger, your nails digging a quick flash of welcome pain that helps tether him to the present, mind almost completely fogged over with lust at the thought of you bitching out his piece of shit manager. 

“So…” Eddie starts, clears his throat, tries to tug at his pant leg subtly but catches the moment that sharp spark of your hostility melts into a smirk; you drum your fingers against him with a tilted head as he finds his voice- “So he’s gonna, what, promise to be less of an asshole in the new year, is that the deal?”

“Yeah. That and a couple of hotel rooms magically opened up for my favorite rockstar. Four of ‘em, enough for the boys to each have their own- if you don’t mind sharing with me, that is.”

Eddie wants to swallow the coy tilt of your mouth but settles for kissing you again, veins zipping with glee and good cheer; he pulls you in impossibly closer, tugging by the lapels of your coat, nose to nose while you giggle, smothering his affections- “Holy shit. Babe, you’re the rockstar. Replace me with a cardboard cutout and I don’t think anyone would know the difference. What in the fuck are we still doing here?”

Eddie moves to pull you both from the booth, overzealous in his excitement; you shift to keep your weight on the bench, Eddie plopping back down with a little oof while you chastise, “Hold on, I have to give the boys their room keys and I wanna wish them a merry Christmas! Plus, you should probably give yourself a second to- uh- settle down.”

You’re doing a poor job of concealing your amusement and Eddie groans, arms wrapping around his middle and hunching forward, head hitting the table with a dull thunk. “Fuck’s sake. I’m a short walk away from getting you alone in a warm room with a real bed and you’re telling me not to pop a stiffy at the thought? I’m but a mere mortal, have some compassion, jesus christ.”

“Nope, just me.” An escaped lock of dark hair gets caught between your fingertips, then tucked behind his ear. When you lean in to kiss the exposed spot shivers erupt down Eddie’s spine, even more when you whisper, “Can call me whatever you want once you get me in that room, though.”

After a few more minutes in which Eddie attempts to recall every unsexy thing that has ever happened in the span of his life, you’re both presentable enough to weave hand in hand back to Corroded’s table. 

There’s a flurry of exclamations and hugs, well wishes and present-distribution (because of course you packed everyone’s gifts, seeing as you’re some sort of angel or perhaps a fae being from Valinor, Eddie hasn’t decided yet). 

Eddie buys another round of drinks for the troupe, and tousles Gareth’s hair while the other two are distracted with Jake’s new Lego set. “Merry Christmas, kid. I owe you one.”

Gareth’s cheeks are rosy from the heater and the alcohol as he gives a nod of acknowledgement; they clink beers, and all is forgiven.

Once everyone is set up with the hotel address and their individual room keys, Eddie plucks at your elbow, patience stretching thin until the two of you are finally, finally borne out into the cold on a wave of goodbyes.

The snow is blindingly white, even in the low light of a winter’s eve; Eddie blinks, the image of your face tipped up to the sky burned into the black of his eyelids.

A perfectly-formed snowflake lands on the high point of your cheek, dissolving into your skin. Eddie kisses the spot and winds an arm around your low back, pleased when you bundle into his side.

“Our chariot awaits,” he declares, sweeping a grand arm at the endless snow and empty street, which makes you laugh again.

“Come on.” Your eye roll is fond as you pull Eddie’s steps in line with yours, setting off in the direction of a hot bath and silk sheets. “Let’s see if we can’t find us a little Christmas cheer.”

Eddie thinks he might be starting to like Idaho.

[ragingbookdragon]

Life becomes a bit simpler after her chat with Price; the others definitely notice as she’s not calling Ghost “sir” consistently, and she’s also not avoiding him like the plague. It’s almost upsetting for both Gaz and Soap, mainly because it gave them something to tease Ghost about—it was hilarious watching the way his jaw would clench when they did so. She may not be avoiding Ghost like usual, but she doesn’t go out of her way to directly engage him either. She’s calm, cool, collected when he speaks to her, even smiles at him from time to time, like she used to.

It’s her eyes that unnerves Ghost though.

She knows. And he knows she knows because his skin crawls when he recognizes the look in them. He used to hate it when he saw that. Saw it in every soldier, every superior, every civilian’s gaze when they whispered in the halls about him. But where theirs held pity, hers shine with understanding. With grace. With welcoming.

It makes his stomach churn uncomfortably and weight like lead settle in his bones.

***

Ghost has a routine when he can’t sleep. Usually wakes up at one, drinks a cup of decaffeinated tea, and goes back to sleep by three. No one else is usually awake during those hours except routine security and he trudges into the kitchen, intent to make himself a cup in his tired state, when he stops at the entrance, eyes widening when he sees her sitting there with a steaming cup of tea in front of her, and a bottle of whiskey.

She looks up at the intrusion and smiles tiredly at him. “Hiya LT. Funny meeting you here.”

“It’s one A.M.” he mutters. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Can’t sleep,” she replies, looking back at her tea.

Ghost takes a step into the kitchen, goes to the kettle when his eyes fall on the table again, and he realizes she has two cups of tea ready.

“You’re a piss poor liar,” he says under his breath, abandoning the kettle as he pulls out the chair and plops down beside her. “You makin’ hotty toddy’s?”

“Those don’t have tea in them,” she answers, but pours a decent amount of whiskey in his teacup. “But yes, I am.”

He hums, lifts the mask above his upper lip and takes a sip. “Not bad,” he cuts himself off with a cough and she purses her lips, trying not to laugh at him. “Not bad,” he wheezes, eyes watering, but he feels something light in his chest when he sees her smile.

It’s a comfortable silence they find themselves sitting in, drinking tea and staring at the board on the wall across the room in front of them. It’s Soap’s turn on dishes for the week. He’ll probably try to smooch his way out of it—he hates washing dishes. He’ll most likely ask her to switch duties with him; he’ll probably win.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day.”

She blinks and looks over at him, but his eyes are still on the board, moving like he’s reading. “It’s…it’s okay, LT.”

“No,” he answers back immediately. “No, it wasn’t. And I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve acted like an adult and instead I acted like a ten-year-old.”

A laugh passes her lips and he looks over at her curiously; she shakes her head. Price said something like that.” Her eyes meet his. “I’m sorry I’m always up your ass. I know it can be annoying.”

Ghost shrugs. “I’m used to annoying.” He catches the way her expression pinches and he corrects, “You’re not annoying, you’re just…”

“A lot?”

“Will you let me try and dig myself out of this hole, please?”

She smiles and reaches over, patting his leg. “I know what you mean. I’ll try to not be it.”

Ghost blinks and looks at her hand then back at her. “I miss it, y’know? You being…you.”

“Really?”

He nods. “It’s too quiet around the base. I realize how much your laughter makes us all feel when I don’t hear it.” He sips his tea.

She stirs the spoon in hers. “…Price told me about your family.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He shrugs. “I figured he’d said something.” He nudges her in the side. “Gave you a talking to, didn’t he?”

“You’re one to talk,” she retorts, and he grins for a moment before he lets out a sigh.

“My old man was a drunk arsehole.”

“LT, you don’t—”

“No, I do,” he interrupts and leans back, staring at the ceiling. “He was a complete cunt. Beat me and my mum and brother. Tommy was a drug addict, started stealin’ from mum.” Something flickers in his expression. Cold. Old hatred. “I beat the shit outta my old man. Kicked him out for good. Got Tommy into rehab.” His tone eases somewhat. “Things got better. Tommy married Beth, had Joseph. Things were good.” Ghost’s eyes take on a sadness, an ache, a wound that has never seemed to really heal, just scab over. “Things were good,” he murmurs.

“And then…”

He inhales and exhales, swallows, tries to speak, until all he can say is, “I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout Mexico.”

She lays her hand on his. “You don’t have to.”

“I got vengeance for the blood that was spilled from my family.” He inhales and exhales again, closing his eyes for a moment. “…I’m claustrophobic. An’ I hate being around people. I hate bein’ in a room where I don’t know the exits. I hate gettin’ new people ‘cause I’m afraid to trust ‘em.” When she gives him a funny look from the last statement, he adds, “The people you know can hurt you the worst.”

“LT, I would never betray you.”

“Don’t ever say you won’t until you’re in a—”

“Simon, I would never betray you,” she repeats firmly, gazing at him intently. “I would rather die than betray any of the people on this team.”

He searches her gaze for some kind of lie before he turns his head back to the wall. “I’m afraid to let more people in ‘cause I’ve already lost so much of myself from it. I don’t know how much more I can take losin’.”

She goes quiet for a moment, thinks on his words, then counters, “I’d rather lose the people I care about than never know what it was like to love them in the first place.” She can see the way the man beneath Ghost aches to wish he could still be that man. “I’d rather lose you as my friend than never know what it was like to know the man beneath the mask.”

“I’m not a good man to know,” he murmurs, and she scoffs lightly.

“That’s your prerogative.”

“It’s the right one.”

She turns in her chair, her knees brushing against the outside of his thigh as she affirms, “Whether or not you think you are, you are my friend, and I am a better person for knowing you.”

“Puffin,” he mutters. “You gotta aim higher, love.”

“Or you can let me in.” She watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m not going anywhere. You can either accept that and be my friend, or you can reject it and ignore me forever, but I’ll still be here.”

Ghost‘s face pinches and he gripes, “You’re a pain in my arse, you know that, don’t you?” Her smile is bright as he sits straight again and leans against his arm, her head on his shoulder.

After a moment, she whispers, “LT, do you think…do you think in a different life we’d be better people? Happier?”

He tears his gaze from the wall to look down at her and he thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, pet, I think we’d be better.” He shifts his arm, wraps it around the back of her chair and adds, “But I think you and me are doing just fine in this one.”

[unlikelynerdsweets]

Jason Toddy X y/n

Fluffy

Jason Todd stumbled into the small apartment, grimacing as he leaned against the window frame for support. His usual confidence was dampened by the blood soaking through his shirt.

Y/N, busy in the kitchen, hadn’t heard him come in until the soft creak of the window. She turned just in time to see him try to stand, though he was clearly struggling.

"Jason?" Her voice was immediately concerned as she dropped the spoon from the pot she was stirring. "What happened to you?"

Jason's lips curled into a faint smirk, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, you know, just another night. Nothing too bad."

Y/N didn’t buy it. She rushed over, her gaze scanning him quickly. "You’re hurt. Sit down, now."

Jason hesitated, but then slowly lowered himself onto the couch. He winced when his side pressed against the cushions.

"You're really lucky I don't let you get away with this," she muttered as she knelt beside him, grabbing the first-aid kit she kept ready for moments like these.

Jason smirked weakly, eyes darting toward her as she carefully began to clean his wound. "I'm sure you'd love to play nurse every night, huh?"

"You're an idiot," she replied, gently applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Her touch was gentle but efficient, something that came naturally after dealing with him for so long.

After a moment of silence, Jason let out a low chuckle. "You always know how to handle me, huh?"

Y/N didn’t answer at first, focusing on her task, but then she looked up at him. "Someone has to, considering how reckless you are." There was a quiet affection in her voice that she didn’t bother to hide.

Jason met her eyes, the faintest hint of something vulnerable beneath his usual bravado. "Guess I’m lucky you’re around."

Y/N finished patching him up, securing the bandage in place. "There. You’re all set. Try not to do this again, okay?"

Jason leaned back against the couch, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "No promises."

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled as she grabbed a glass of water from the counter and handed it to him. "You're impossible."

"That’s why you like me," Jason replied with a smirk, taking the water gratefully.

For a moment, they both relaxed into the quiet of the apartment. The rain pattered softly against the window, and Y/N sat down next to him.

"You know," she said, her voice softer now, "you don’t have to do this alone, Jason. Not anymore."

Jason’s eyes flickered toward her, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, he muttered, "I know."

And for just a little while, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of them, and that was enough.

[nesaluvstherecoms]

𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Sickness, mentions of vomiting, Miles and Lyle being a bit sexist?, mentions of death in battle, descriptions of dead Recombinant bodies, foul language.

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖: 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

“Ya know…. Ya ain’t had ta tell ‘er.”

Toddy’s voice comes out softly, her tone filled with sadness that she tries conceal, coming from her small form on the folded bed. Her delicate fingers gently move over the strings of the guitar that’s resting on her lap, testing the notes and tightening them as needed. Meanwhile the male Recom watches carefully from the doorway, his Na’vi eyes cascading over the beautiful human girl, her figure tiny in contrast to his as she remains sat up on the medical wing bed, with her back leaning against the raised cushions behind her.

“They hadn’t refrigerated your insulin properly again, had they?” Henry replies instead, ignoring her statement as his dark pupils follow the woman’s gorgeous face, paler than usual. By looking at her, he can tell what has happened. She throws up for hours on end if the insulin she takes for her diabetes has gone bad, her body forcing her to expel out everything and anything that’s in her stomach during those hours. It drains her body of any strength in her muscles, and she becomes as pale as a ghost, ending her up in the medical wing each time.

Hearing that, Toddy’s dark brown eyes hood over either in sadness or disappointment, the Recom can’t tell.

“Yeah…” She whispers softly, before adjusting the position of the acoustic guitar to rest against her thin body so she can start playing it. Soon, the gentle notes of the music fill the cold medical room, bouncing softly against the dull colored walls. Henry watches as a small smile forms on Toddy’s plump, scarred lips, the music comforting to her. Her wavy blond hair falls forward on her shoulders as she leans onto her guitar, her long fingers stroking the strings expertly.

“I know how to hold a grudge.

I can send a bridge up in smoke.

An’ I can't count the people I've let down, the hearts I've broke.

You ain't gotta dig too deep.

If ya wanna find some dirt on me.

But I'm learnin’ who you've been.

Ain't who you've gotta be.

It's gonna be an uphill climb.

Aw honey, I won't lie.”

Henry listens to the girl’s beautiful voice as she sings her comfort song, the melody of her tone immediately calming his racing mind as well, his tail no longer stiff and now slowly flicking from side to side behind him. He remains silent, just watching her from the doorway while he sips some carbon dioxide from his Recom Breather, mesmerized, as she seems to momentarily forget her troubles while she continues, her angelic voice steady and controlled despite what her body has been enduring for the day.

“I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.”

The melody from her guitar continues as her nimble fingers dance upon the strings, accompanying her singing voice. She soon closes her eyes, focusing her mind on nothing but the notes that are coming from the instrument.

The Recom uncrosses his muscular tattooed arms and slowly walks over to the hospital bed she’s sitting up on, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling, before sitting down at the end of her bed, by her feet. He then rests his elbows on top of the military knee pads strapped to his legs, before turning to look at her, his tail flicking once behind him, draped over the bed and falling on the other side.

“She had a right to know, Toddy. Sometimes, people need to prepare for the death of someone, emotionally.” He explains to her softly, addressing her earlier statement. The girl doesn’t answer. Instead she continues playing the song on her guitar, her elegant fingers not stopping their beautiful strokes upon the strings.

“I've pinned a lot of demons to the ground.

Got a few old habits left.

But there's still one or two I might need you to help me get.

Standin' in the rain so long has left me with a little rust.

But put some faith in me.

And someday you'll see.

There's a diamond under all this dust.

I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.

I ain't no angel.

I still got a few more dances with the devil.

I'm cleanin' up ma act, little by little.

I'm gettin’ there.

I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see.

I ain't as good as I'm gonna get.

But I'm better than I used ta be.”

She finishes her angelic singing, accompanying it with a bit more music from her guitar as she beautifully plays the end notes. After a few more seconds, her movements halt, the music dissipating with her hand hovering over the instrument. Silence falls. Then she speaks.

“She don’ care about ma death. She don’ know me that way. Ya didn’ have ta tell ‘er. Now she gon’ treat me differently.” She replies as she raises her voice slightly at him, her pretty eyes, thickened by contact lenses, mirroring the sadness in her tone. Henry frowns, his cropped ears folding back at her words.

“Why would you say that?” He asks, his eyes looking at the tiny human’s beautiful face. A shiny coat of tears forms on the girl’s waterline, wetting her long lashes.

“It’s the truth.” She chokes out, her soothing voice running out near the end of her sentence. The Recom’s frown deepens, his brain working to figure out why the hell she would even think this way. He leans towards her, his upper body weight shifting to his left elbow, as his amber eyes focus on her tearing up, human form.

“Toddy, do you know how many people on this base get to spend time with Y/N?”

The girl raises her head at that, her pretty, wet eyes, looking over curiously at the large Recom sat at the end of her bed. Henry’s frown then falters, slowly turning into a soft smile.

“None.” He says, his own eyes looking over at her gently. “Not me. Not our team. Not even Captain Keller. Yes, we do interact with her, and yes, we all care about her and she cares about us, but Y/N is a loner. She doesn’t like showing people anything else than her commander side. And there’s no one else who she prefers to spend more time with besides her and herself. Meanwhile only some months in, and she has already been friendly with you since you met. Joined you in one of your direhorse riding afternoons, and rode one herself no less! Do you know how many times I have begged her to even come check out the botanical labs’ gardens with me? And you got her to do that, form a neural bond for the first time AND ride a direhorse in less than two hours!”

Toddy giggles sweetly at Henry’s enthusiastic and amazed expression, lowering her head to look down at her guitar with a beautiful smile. The Recom tilts his head at her reaction, a gentle smile of his own on his lips as his cropped ears slightly tilt back. He slowly reaches towards her, placing a comforting hand on her thin but firm right shoulder. She looks up at him, her doe eyes staring into his amber ones.

“Besides, she keeps coming back to you. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have even spared them a glance. You’re more special to her than you think, Toddy.” He tells her gently, squeezing her shoulder. A small smile forms on Toddy’s plump lips, her cheeks blushing lightly in a beautiful soft red.

“I… I didn’ know that.” She whispers softly, looking down. Henry gives her a gentle smile, before shifting in place, going back to leaning with his elbows on his knees. He takes a moment to take a sip of carbon dioxide, the gas feeling like pure relief in his lungs as they expand to receive it. His ears twitch for a moment, while his wrapped tail flicks once behind him.

“Tell you what. In two weeks, Y/N has two days off. Courtesy of Ardmore since she has done an amazing job throughout these months. Why don’t you take her to that special spot in the forest? The one where you go to when you want to escape the world?”

Toddy’s dark brown eyes light up at the idea, as she immediately raises her head to look up at Henry. Her heart starts pounding in her chest, and she clutches the instrument on her lap.

“D’ya think she’d come with me?” She asks, a certain glint in her pupils, clearly excited but unsure about it. The handsome Recom soldier smiles sweetly at her, leaning over to gently brush a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try now, would it?”

“What’s this?” Y/N asks with a raised brow, staring down at the slim stack of printed papers that the large man in front of her just passive-aggressively put down on her desk, right in front of her.

“The report you requested, ma’am.” Miles replies, an almost irritated tone in his raspy voice as he speaks. Y/N takes a good look down at the thin stack of papers on her desk, before raising her eyes to look up at him instead, one of her elegant brows remaining arched.

“And you finished, this early? It’s only been two weeks.” She more states than asks before lowering her eyes down again. “Paper? Really? Where are we, the 20th century? Where did you even find it?” She adds, gripping a corner of one of the white pages to tug at it in annoyance. Miles purses his lips, his eyes following the movement of her elegant hand, encased in a fine, black tactical glove.

“It’s an important report. It ain’t worth risking havin’ it in a database where other people can access it.” He replies, moving his head to look over at her face. But that answer does not seem to impress Y/N.

“You do realize we have the most secure database in the entire Universe, right?” She states back, raising her head to look up at him like he’s slow.

At that, Miles’ tail twitches behind him in annoyance. He takes a moment to reach below his neck and pick up his Recom Breather mask, bringing it up to his face for a sip.

“I don’t understand why you’re makin’ such a fuss out of this.” He replies, looking back at her more intensively now, as the first tingles of irritation creep on his blue skin. Upon receiving that response, Y/N’s sharp eyes narrow down at him.

“Watch your mouth.” She warns calmly but firmly with her ears slightly folding back, before her right gloved hand slides the stack forward on the smooth, polished surface of the desk, towards him.

“Remake this.” She then orders, staring down at the papers, before her pupils move up to his face again. “And next time when you’re finished, I want it in my datapad. I don’t want you storming into my office again for insignificant matters like this. I don’t care how you remember things being done around here, but it’s been fourteen years and things have changed. How can you call yourself a Colonel and not even be able to write a report correctly?” Y/N then adds in annoyance, not missing how Miles’ eyes narrow down at her as she gives her verdict.

“You want me to remake it? Ya ain’t even spare it a glance.” He retaliates as he tilts his chin down, his deep voice laced with slowly flaring up anger.

“I don’t need to.” Y/N replies back, continuing to stare up at him as she remains seated on her desk. “I know it’s not good enough. It’s approximately five pages long. And considering how much you fucked up at the Three Brothers alone, it should be at least twenty pages long.”

“Twenty pages?! Ya want me to write twenty pages on what I did wrong? Are you kidding me?! Do ya know how much twenty pages is?!” Miles’ voice raises in tone, his brows furrowing deeply at the woman in front of him, still sat comfortably on her spacious office desk.

“Is that a problem?” Y/N replies, her own tone now lowering dangerously, her sharp saffron eyes narrowing at his large form, pinning him. Her gloved hands clasp together on the surface of her desk, slim fingers intertwining.

Miles’ jaw clenches tightly, his masseter muscles contracting at the sides of his handsome face as his long tail twitches behind him in agitation. Now he remembers why he disliked her so much that day of the meeting. He hates how she speaks to him. All high and mighty in her comfortable chair, sitting in one of the most luxurious offices in the entire base, treating him like another rogue soldier, like a pest she can’t seem to get rid of. She seems to think she’s better than him, way above him in every single aspect. Well not by a fucking long shot. He earned his rank, honorably, while she was handed hers like candy. She has no right to even let her eyes look down on him like that. What the hell was Ardmore even thinking, making this spoiled bitch Major General?

But somewhat, he is used to the constant reminders of his failed mission by now. The most prominent being how the Deja Blu dorms are completely empty, with only him and Lyle occupying the space. The laughter and chatter of his team and Spider doesn’t fill the halls anymore, doesn’t comfort him, doesn’t snap him out of the void when he’s thinking. When he’s in his room, alone, questioning his identity, his purpose. It’s just quiet. Dead quiet.

His large, veiny hand reaches forward, gripping the thin stack of papers firmly, and picking it up from her desk.

“No, ma’am. No problem. I’ll remake it.” He replies in a low tone, his deep voice now smooth and controlled again. He makes eye contact with her one last time, his pupils lingering a bit more than they should on hers and her beautiful eyelashes, before saluting her briefly out of respect and turning on his heel to walk out of her office, long tail flicking behind him. His heavy combat boots thud on the hardwood floor as he walks out, the sound filling the large, otherwise silent space. When the sliding door finally closes behind his tall, muscular frame, Y/N brings her gloved hands up to rub her temples, elbows resting on her desk as she sighs heavily.

“God, he’s insufferable.”

。。。

The metal door slides closed behind Miles with a click. As soon as he’s in the clear, his fists clench, the report easily bunching up, the paper crumpling to a crisp in his left hand. He stands in the hallway outside her office, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His right hand moves up, soon his long fingers running through the short strands of his black hair, out of habit. They’re longer than he remembers. Looks like he needs a trim. How long has it been since the last one? Weeks? No, months.

He’ll have Lyle do that later. The man might be bald but he’s good with a trimmer. The corners of Miles’ lips curl up a bit as a memory suddenly resurfaces at the thought, his cropped ears twitching in amusement. Lyle might be good with a trimmer but he never got to cut those god awful dreadlocks from Spider’s head. He even chased him around multiple times, going from suggesting - to threatening- to practically begging Spider to let him give him a haircut, insisting that his hairstyle was borderline a biohazard and a breeding ground for fleas. But the boy never faltered, instead flipped him off each time while cursing at him, sometimes in English, sometimes in Na’vi, telling him that he’d rather have this hairstyle than look like a striped blue ballsack. Miles lets out a soft huff of amusement at the memory, his problems momentarily forgotten, before his smile soon falls again, and his piercing stare hardens, the light in his amber eyes draining completely in a flash at a new memory.

“Son… come with me.”

He reaches out towards the boy, his palm open, waiting for him to grab on. He pants hard, his lungs still burning painfully from almost drowning to death in the icy waters of the sea, as the metallic tang of fresh blood lingers heavily in his mouth. His banshee lets out a heavy grunt, its neck vibrating, as it senses its owner’s state, beaten and battered to a pulp.

Spider also pants, his stripe-painted chest heaving up and down with each breath, the fresh cut from that animal woman’s blade now deeply engraved upon the human’s flesh. Miles’ eyes are vulnerable, pleading, just wanting the boy to come to him, like a father yearning for his son’s warmth, and Spider has never seen something alike. He hesitates for a second, hypnotized at the sight, at the desperation in the man’s pupils, before his brown eyes soon harden through the oxygen mask at the Recombinant, filling with anger, resentment. He leans forward just slightly to hiss threateningly at the man, as best as a human can, before forcefully throwing upon the rock below them the yellow rescue vest that he used to pull him out of the water. He turns, turning his back towards the Recom, then he jumps. The cold water splashes, foaming at the surface, and just like that, the boy is gone. His boy is gone. Miles’ amber eyes immediately sadden deeply, staring at the ripples on the surface as they disrupt the waves of the sea, splashing forcefully against the shore.

“Spider!” He calls out, letting out a final breath of desperation. He has no other choice but to quickly gather himself, and turns to climb on the saddle of his banshee, his chest now weighing painfully from the inside.

Miles lets his eyes squeeze shut for a moment, trying to calm down his heart that seems to have started beating rapidly at the memory. He brings his Recom Breather mask up, and takes a few deep breaths, clearing his mind. Soon enough, his eyelids lift again, his demeanor returning to normal, as if nothing ever happened. He can’t think about that. At least not right now. He has a bigger problem.

He lowers his head down, his sharp eyes falling on the thin stack crunched up in a death grip in his left fist. He takes in an annoyed breath, shaking his head in disbelief before exhaling through his feline nose with a sigh.

“Goddamnit. She gets under my skin like no one else.” He mutters to himself, before his boots move from their spot on the hallway floor, and he starts heading for his own office, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

Lyle Wainfleet knows what it feels like to be watched. Especially in the bitter forests of Pandora, where all kinds of eerie, alien creatures keep their multiple pairs of eyes on him every breath he takes, their ears moving in rhythm with the crunch of every leaf or plant that he steps on. He knows what it feels like to be the center of attention in a mission, where human soldiers keep their focus on him, taking in his actions in the battlefield, some looking for guidance, while the rest look to judge. He knows what it feels like to have the natives watch him, yellow Na’vi eyes following him in fear as he moves while others following in hatred, their black pupils filled with the desire for blood, to hunt him down, kill him. He knows what it feels like to have Quaritch’s sharp, intense gaze on him when he’s given an order, ensuring that his team lieutenant and his right hand man completes it flawlessly to the last word. And let him tell you, the sheer pressure in the Colonel’s crushing stare is enough to make the toughest of men cry.

However, none of the experiences above seem to have been quite like the one he’s experiencing right now…

“God, he’s so bald.”

“Is he just like that or does he shave it? I mean his neural whip is covered by hair.”

“That’s just an odd fuckin’ combination, innit?”

“Wot is he even doin’? Bloke’s been at it fer forte minutes already.”

“God, give me patience…” Lyle mutters annoyed and under his breath, the heel of his gloved palm pushing the freshly reloaded clip of the handgun he’s holding into the magazine, its click ringing through the artillery room. He tries to tune out the voices of the four large Recom men behind him, instead focusing on the task at hand as he grabs the next pistol out of the pile of guns on the table, before carefully dismantling it for cleaning.

After the clusterfuckery of a mission at The Three Brothers, Quaritch has been busy twenty four-seven with the punishments laid onto him by the Major General. The training has proven to be hard on him, especially since Second Lieutenant Jones insists on engaging him for prolonged hours every day, straining every last one of his muscles to the point of exhaustion. Apparently, General L/N was not happy with his report either, as Lyle learned later on that day when Miles came back to the dorms around midnight, after having locked himself in his office all afternoon, trying to redo the document to her standards. He was huffing and cursing under his breath, calling the General all the names in the book, and Lyle doesn’t blame him. This is just excessive at this point. She is blowing this completely out of proportion, acting like Quaritch killed those men by his own hand. I mean what does she expect? This is war, of course things will go south sometimes. But this is just making things more complicated. Lyle huffs. Women. Always so damn dramatic for nothing.

But after Quaritch was given his reprimands, Lyle didn’t escape unscathed either. The General’s right hand man, Captain Keller, took it upon himself to hold Lyle responsible too. In his words: “For enabling an officer to act against rules and regulations, and aiding him in unauthorized war conduct.”. And for this, he gave Quaritch’s right hand man a whopping four months of weaponry maintenance and cleaning duty, along with discharging him from his position until the Colonel is given back his privileges.

Lyle’s jaw tightens in dissatisfaction as that conversation starts replaying in his head. It’s not like he could’ve done anything besides following his Colonel’s orders, it’s his job after all. With Lyle being his team lieutenant, then what Quaritch says goes, and who is Lyle to defy orders? I mean, Quaritch’s punishment was fair to some degree because some of the fault was his, but of course somebody had to share the blame. Still, to Lyle, this whole ordeal is just bullshit blown out of proportion. Punishing Quaritch for something that was ultimately out of his control, and then going after his trusted aide for good measure? How were they supposed to know that the mission would turn out that way? How were they supposed to know that suddenly the tulkun that had never in years been aggressive towards them, would suddenly bellyflop their shit when they had just gained the upper hand? So every time a mission fails, people get punished for it around here? Is this what the RDA has become? A bigoted hierarchy?

Lyle had tried arguing with the Captain, but Keller had immediately shut him down, making it clear that his opinion was worthless in the matter. And now, Lyle sits in the artillery room, taking care of the weapons for the lower raking soldiers, while four of General L/N’s men stand a few feet away, judging him from the distance. The embarrassing part is that he’s not even taking care of Recom weapons, but just the regular ones, used by your everyday RDA soldier. The reason for this apparently was that ALPHA have their own artillery man, some German Recom, who they trust most with their guns and equipment, and would never let anyone else touch their stuff besides him. It’s a tedious and thankless task for Lyle, but he pushes through, reminding himself that he could have it worse. Like the Colonel.

However, the chatter of the four men behind him is slowly getting on his nerves more and more as days go by. They’re always somehow there, judging every single move he makes, watching him like hawks. And it’s incredibly frustrating. In a military environment like the RDA, hierarchy is king and these men are slowly pushing him further down the ladder, putting him at a great disadvantage. He also has learned their names by now, hearing soldiers salute them and all. First Lieutenant Fernando Álvarez, Sergeant Major Diego Silva, Master Sergeant Oscar Bailey, and First Sergeant Scott McCaskill. They’re all already higher in rank than him, but no higher officer has ever been on his ass like this. Especially Álvarez. He’s the worst. A complete ass if you will. He’s arrogant, loud mouthed, aggressive, and has a tendency to want to humiliate Lyle in front of lower rank soldiers. He never misses a single opportunity to insult or belittle him, making snide remarks and condescending jabs at Lyle’s expense, and seems to take great pleasure in seeing the other Recom struggle with cleaning duty specifically. The tasks Álvarez assigns him are no better. They’re endless. Routine. Degrading. He assigns him to clean the artillery and training rooms regularly, help the weapon technicians with taking care of the gun and missile systems in the Armor Bay, and sends him to clean the sloppy mess of Na’vi arrows and mud caked on the vehicles that come back from the battlefield. It’s constant tiring work, over and over again, and just when Lyle thinks he’s done, Álvarez is right on his ass piling more exhausting physical tasks and checking on “calvo’s” work.

But what can Lyle do? Álvarez is L/N’s third in command, his orders are practically law. His authority and skill in the battlefield are said to be unmatched, he’s a bully by nature, and while Second Lieutenant Jones torments the recruits coming from Earth and makes them cry, Álvarez has made multiple of them piss themselves. Nevertheless, the man is an insufferable prick whose favorite pastime seems to be tormenting Lyle, and reminding him of his place in the chain of command at every opportunity he gets. At least that’s Lyle’s perception of him.

The three other Recombinants are annoying, but not as bad. Sergeant Major Silva is the only one out of the bunch that’s tolerable. He doesn’t really bother Lyle, except for the occasional jabs when Álvarez spurs him on. But sometimes he comes by when Lyle is working, and like a cat giving you a dead bird it just killed and thinking it’s a gift, he hands Lyle some form of equipment that would make the task at hand easier for him. He does this discreetly and doesn’t really speak to Lyle when he does it, just stares at him, holding out his hand and waiting for Lyle to grab the tool. Actually in some form of way, it reminds Lyle of Lopez. Friendly bullying him in front of others, then being nice to him one on one.

Lyle’s brows then furrow at that thought. No. What is he thinking? These pricks don’t even come close to his old comrades.

He actually hasn’t met the rest of General L/N’s team yet. Well at least up close. Because they were all there the day of the meeting after the failed mission, and they’re always moving around base like rats.

Lyle takes a deep breath as he puts away the freshly prepped gun he just handled, placing it nicely by the rows of other firearms he has taken care of in the past hour. He slides his chair back just enough to arch his back and lift his toned arms to stretch upwards, the joints in his spine popping while his tail raises in an arch behind him. The Recom lets out a sigh of satisfaction as he straightens his back again, his broad shoulders relaxing, and takes a blank look around. The smell of gun oil and cleaner is practically imbedded in his sensitive feline nose by now, and he squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He can still hear the chatter of the four men behind him, but it seems like they aren’t paying attention to him anymore, rather focused on their own conversation amongst each other. Lyle then stands up from the chair he was sitting, his long legs feeling sluggish as he supports his body’s weight on them. Some fresh air would actually do him good, he hasn’t had his break since starting work that morning. A can of cold beer wouldn’t hurt either. He doesn’t ponder too much on that thought, and within seconds he’s already heading out the room before Álvarez can notice, the metal doors sliding shut behind his broad frame.

。。。

The base’s large bar is the only location in Bridgehead where everyone unites together, whether that be military, scientists, scouts, Avatar or Recombinant, or any other division within the RDA. It’s the one spot where everyone can come together after a grueling workday in Pandora, and have a drink or two to calm their nerves and ease their muscles. The place itself is quite large, with rounded tables, booths and lights, which have a lit cozy orange hue during the day, and a dim purple durning the night. And as most people on base, Lyle is no stranger to this place either.

Quaritch and his team used to come here quite often after missions. They all would sit at the largest booth in the corner and order food and drinks, while reminiscing about the past and usually celebrating their accomplished missions. They even brought Spider with them a couple of times, watching as the human boy shoveled food in his mouth while the Recoms laughed in amusement and spurred him on. Meanwhile Quaritch’s brow would twitch each time as he stared at the bill, going higher and higher with every item that the boy devoured.

But now, Lyle is sitting alone on a bar stool, recalling these happy memories of his now dead comrades, as he waits with slumped shoulders for the bartender to finish pouring his beer. His jaw is clenched, his long tail flicking gently behind him, while he blankly stares down at the wooden surface of the bar where he has rested his elbows on.

“Rough day?” The human bartender asks with a polite smile as he puts down the Recom sized beer mug in front of Lyle.

“Like hell.” The Recombinant replies, immediately grabbing the handle of the mug to lift it to his lips and take a large gulp. The cold alcohol flows down his throat nicely, quenching his thirst and cooling down the heat in his chest. He sets it down on the surface of the bar with a satisfied exhale, his tail flicking behind him in appreciation.

“Start me a tab.” He then murmurs, his voice low and raspy, as the bartender moves to the screen of his tab system to do as instructed.

Lyle lets his eyelids close, his large hand sliding over to the beer mug again. His long fingers grip the cold handle, bringing it up as this time he takes a normal sip, just trying to enjoy his drink and the few moments of peace he has managed to acquire. He sets the mug down gently, the glass thudding as it comes in contact with the wooden surface of the bar. The Recom keeps his eyes closed as he continues leaning on his elbows in front of him, his tail moving behind him gently. His breathing is soft, ears folded back lightly as he takes his time to try and unravel his thoughts.

It’s been about a month since the battle at The Three Brothers. Lyle hasn’t had much time to himself, to process anything that’s happened. He’s been so busy during the day, and just exhausted during the night that he hasn’t even had time to think let alone mourn his comrades. Yet some nights, after he has closed his eyes and laid beneath his sheets, he sees them… in his dreams.

First he finds himself submerged in the icy waters of the sea, where he almost lost his chance to life again. He swims desperately, trying to not let his head sink beneath the surface, but the raging waves make it hard for him to stay afloat. His arms and legs burn, the muscles beneath his blue skin begging for some relief as he continues using them mercilessly to survive. He finally reaches the shore, gasping for a breath and coughing out salty water, his hands desperately gripping the rock beneath him for support. And then he turns his head, blinking rapidly to squeeze the water away from his pupils. But as his vision clears, the sight before him makes his water filled stomach drop, his heart pounding harder in his chest. He finds Lopez and Ja there, on the shore, their uniforms drenched. They’re both laying on their backs, with an arrow deeply lodged in Lopez’s chest as his now soulless eyes stare at Lyle, mouth slightly agape. Next to him, Ja’s own eyes are closed, his head turned towards Lopez, his body unharmed. He looks calm, like he’s in deep slumber but his chest isn’t moving, and he isn’t showing any signs of life. Lyle flinches, his eyes staring into Lopez’s, his breathing getting more and more rapid. And for a moment everything around him stops.

Other times he’s still on the ship. He quickly replaces the clip of his Recom M69-AR, lodging a new one into the magazine as he takes position to start shooting again. He hides behind a pile of discarded tulkun hunting machinery, trying to listen through the chaos of the ship burning and turning over. And then he hears something. He clutches his long gun, droplets of sweat mix with the sea water on his skin, as he takes sharp inhales. His chest heaves, his ears ring, but he must push forward, he must survive. Immediately he jumps into action, pointing his firearm at the source of the sound.

His blood then runs cold.

A spear is skewered right through Prager’s chest, the Recom laying on his side with the head of the weapon having come out of his back, crimson blood pooling beneath him. Zdinarsk’s lifeless body lays just a few feet away from him, fingers still clutching her long gun, with one arrow lodged deeply in her left side. An open wound is visible through her right eye, past her eye socket and into her brain, as it gushes out blood from the second arrow having been yanked off after fatally hitting her. Her other eye is open, her mouth slightly agape, as she stares blankly into the void while the surface of the pooling crimson beneath her head reflects the scorching flames around them. Lyle’s own eyes burn, a thin coat of wetness forming on his waterlines. He wants to rush over to the both of them, try to do something, anything. But he can’t. He’s frozen in place. He can’t move. He tries to turn and call out to Mansk, but he’s nowhere to be seen, no sounds coming from his side of the moon-pool either, only silence. Lyle then presses his throat comm, desperately trying to connect to Miles but the line goes dead, no reply from his Colonel. The Recom then lowers his hand slowly, his fingers sliding over the long gun in his other hand, clutching the cold metal. He’s all alone now.

Lyle takes another sip from his beer, trying to drink the memory of the nightmares away as he swallows thickly. He places the mug down, his jaw settling tight as he lowers his head again.

He hadn’t actually seen them in the ship. He was too focused on fighting and they each were spread through the moon-pool. Their bodies were only recovered about two days later, a miracle they were even found really. Wainfleet and Quaritch were called in later to pay their tributes one last time before they took their bodies away. That’s when he saw them, in that sterile medical room, the scent of antiseptic filling his nose and the white lights above making everything look so unnatural. It wasn’t his first time in that room. He had been there before, after their first altercation with Sully and his bitch, where Fike, Walker, Zhang, Warren and Brown had lost their lives. He had been there with what was left of his team, the same team who now found themselves in the same room, but on the opposite side.

The doctors had pulled back the white sheets covering them one by one, just enough for the two still living Recoms to be able to see their faces. They all looked so peaceful, so calm, like they were just sleeping soundly, with Zdinarsk’s right eye sewed shut and patched up as she rested, her other eye closed peacefully. But their faces were unnaturally pale, and for a moment Lyle had become nauseous as his pupils took in the grimy blue their skin had turned. He had immediately moved his eyes to Miles, who on the other hand had no expression on his face. He was just staring blankly at them with his jaw firm, his sharp eyes moving over each one separately, while the pathologists described to them their causes of death after having performed the needed autopsies. Then the two remaining Recombinants had paid their tributes and left without another word, turning their backs to the corpses of their comrades, never to see them again. After that, it was never brought up between Lyle and Miles. Not that they even see each other often anymore, especially last week during a particular couple of days. Miles had locked himself in his room every night for three nights, doing God knows what, while Lyle would catch the scent of something on him as he passed through the hall to get to the shower. He’s not quite sure what it was, he just knows that it smelled good… a bit too good in fact, as it was mixed with Miles’ natural scent…

Lyle swallows down thickly the last of the alcohol, setting down the now empty beer mug, as he motions for the bartender to come over again.

“Make me a Black Russian. And double the vodka.” He grumbles, his voice low. The bartender opens his mouth to say something about not being allowed to serve highly alcoholic drinks to soldiers on duty, a rule the Recom knows too well, but Lyle shoots him a glare and he immediately flinches, moving to comply. Despite their usually friendly behavior, Recombinants are still absolutely terrifying to humans, and the poor guy behind the counter doesn’t seem to want to test the large Na’vi’s patience, especially not today.

As the new drink gets put in front of him, Lyle immediately takes it, bringing it up to his lips. The cold coffee liquor mixed with double the usual vodka burns his tongue and his throat so nicely as he swallows it down, his brows furrowing lightly in satisfaction before the glass gets set back on the table. The Recom soldier then takes a deep breath, his brain returning to sifting through the thoughts in his head.

It’s not always nightmares. Sometimes he’s just hanging out with them, having a calm conversation as they finish some sort of task at hand. He sees them as they run through the lushness of Pandora, playfully trying to push each other off vines and branches, his mind probably recalling their training with Spider in the rainforest, bringing those memories into his dreams. He joins them as they all fly through the colorful skies on their banshees, yelling and laughing like kids as they try to do tricks midair, while Quaritch who always rides in front of the group snaps back at them to stop behaving like reckless idiots.

Lyle swallows another gulp of the strong drink, his large hand tense as he settles the glass down gently. He doesn’t know why, but since that day at The Three Brothers, he has felt the constant need to want to talk to Miles. Whether he wants to admit it or not, this whole ordeal is slowly eating at him from the inside, and Miles’ silence on it is not making things any better. They haven’t shared more than a few sentences since the day of the meeting, not even after having seen their teammates’ lifeless bodies. Lyle usually comes home earlier than the Colonel. He sits in the shared living room and just stares at the ceiling, the same thoughts roaming his head over and over again until he falls asleep on the couch. He then gets woken up a few hours later from the sound of Miles returning from training, or from being locked in his own office all afternoon. They exchange a few words, a bit of bland chatter, before Quaritch heads to shower, and immediately after; falls asleep exhausted on his own bed with the towel still wrapped around his trim waist, snoring throughout the night. Lyle is then left to drink himself to sleep to try and silence out the thoughts in his head, sipping from a stash of whiskey bottles he paid quite a coin to get, that he keeps hidden in his room.

And it’s the same thing, over and over again, for an entire month now, as nothing has changed. Lyle doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this. These weird emotions are foreign and highly unusual for him. He never dwells on the deaths of the people around him, he’s a Marine after all, his skin is thick and tough. But for some reason this time it seems to have left a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked, much bigger. Something is bothering him from the inside, and he can’t even identify what it is exactly. He just knows there’s an emptiness in his chest; he’s feeling lost, stranded… alone.

“Hi, can I have a tall glass of sweet tea please, iced?”

“Of course Toddy.”

Lyle’s ears perk up at the feminine voice a few seats away from him on the bar. It catches him off guard for a moment, because he hadn’t noticed or heard anyone come near. As the bartender moves over to prepare the requested drink, the Recom lifts his lowered head, turning it to curiously take a look at the owner of the voice.

His jaw drops to the floor. About two seats away from him is the most drop dead gorgeous Na’vi woman he has ever seen in his entire fucking life, sitting with one of her elbows leaning leisurely on top of the wooden surface of the bar as she waits for her drink. Lyle’s breath gets stuck right in his throat, his tail starting to flick rapidly in fast strokes behind him as he stares at her like a deer caught in headlights. Her black hair looks silky soft and smooth, tied back into a low ponytail that includes the long braid of her neural whip. A small hairpiece, which has hand crafted beads and a bunch of long feathers, sits on the right part of her head, above her long right ear. Her face is absolutely gorgeous; with elegant soft arched eyebrows, long lashes, plump pink lips, beautiful doe eyes and a feline nose in a shade of soft pink that Lyle has never seen in a Na’vi before. Holy fuck, he’s come across plenty of beautiful women before in his life, but this girl takes the entire cake and more.

He immediately darts his eyes down to check her out. Her body has the usual appearance of a Na’vi woman, very thin, toned and elegant. The top she is wearing is dark blue with a thick dodger blue stripe on both sides that forms half a circle, with black utility straps which have been sewed on to the rest of the fabric, the entire piece hugging her upper body so well, leaving the perfect opening for her collarbones and cleavage. The lieutenant’s mouth waters as his amber eyes follow a silver gothic cross necklace, from the base of her thin neck where she has a black choker on with a tiny viperwolf charm, to right above her cleavage. He swallows thickly, then lets his eyes travel further down, looking past the black modular shooters belt where she has strapped multiple pouches and a gun holster to, to stare at her long, toned legs. Fuck, she’s got a nice ass. Those black pants are doing wonders for her-

“Here you go, Toddy. Would you like me to start you a tab?” The bartender asks as he sets down the tall glass full of sweet iced tea in front of her. She gives him a gorgeous smile, her five elegant fingers wrapping around the item.

“No, that’s not necessary. How much do I owe you, Clint?” She replies as she takes out her personal datapad from her belt. The guy behind the counter takes a look at the receipt.

“Ah, that would be-“

“I got it.”

Those words left Lyle faster than he could think about them, his amber eyes darting to the bartender.

“Put it on my tab.”

The guy turns to look at him for a moment but then complies, putting the order in the requested tab in the system, before giving them both a smile and moving away to continue what he was doing before. The girl then puts her datapad back into one of the pouches of her belt, her gorgeous eyes moving over Lyle’s face.

“Thank you.” She says with a beautiful smile, and Lyle nearly breaks his tail by subconsciously slamming it down on the bar stool he’s sitting on. He clears his throat, ignoring the pain in the appendage behind him and swallowing down thickly.

“You’re welcome.” He replies with a charming smile of his own, before turning to his own drink in front of him. He makes short work of it as he lifts the glass, swallowing what’s left of it down with a single gulp, and sets it in front of him again. The woman also turns to her drink, taking a small, relaxed sip. Her brows furrow in satisfaction as the incredibly sweet drink fills her tastebuds, her own tail flicking behind her slowly in approval. Lyle watches her through the corner of his eye as she swallows, his amber eyes running over her pink plump lips, now wet from the drink. He gulps thickly, his Adam’s apple moving as he forces down the saliva that seems to have rushed again in his mouth.

“I didn’t know they made ladies as pretty as you ‘round here.” He says with a smile, turning his head to look over at her directly. The girl chuckles sweetly in response, the sound immediately prickling goosebumps on Lyle’s striped, blue skin, as her ears fold back shyly.

“Yeah well… the scientists try their best with the Avatars.” She replies, bringing the glass to her plump lips again to take a sip. Lyle chuckles at her words, his head tilting as he looks at her.

“What’s your name, buttercup?”

The girl puts the glass down gently, before also turning her head to look at him directly, her beautiful doe eyes staring into his.

“Williams. Toddy Williams.”

Lyle's pupils glint with interest as Toddy introduces herself to him, her voice soft and pleasant in his cropped ears. So she’s an Avatar. He can’t help but feel his tail involuntarily flick at the sound of her name. He takes a moment to bring the mask of his Recom Breather up, sipping some carbon dioxide.

“Toddy." He repeats slowly, lowering the mask from his face, his voice raspy as he tests the feel of her name on his tongue. It suits her well, he decides, warm and friendly, just like the woman sitting beside him.

"That's a pretty name, buttercup." He says, his lips curving into a charming smile. “What department are you a part of?”

Toddy takes a nice sip of her sweet tea before answering.

“Science department, Scouts division.” She replies, her tail flicking slowly behind her as she tilts her head. “What about you? I think I’ve seen you around actually, with Colonel Quaritch?”

Lyle chuckles, his ears perking up at the mention of Quaritch. Of course she's seen him with the Colonel, almost everyone in Bridgehead knows who he is.

“Yeah, you've got it. I'm SecOps, one of the Colonel's men."

He leans back slightly, motioning for the bartender to come over and make him another drink. He feels his tail thump on the stool once, his eyes turning back to her pretty face.

“My name’s Lyle. Lyle Wainfleet.”

Toddy smiles back, her own long tail flicking once behind her as she brings her CO2 breathing mask up to take a sip.

“Lyle…” She repeats, the way his name rolls off her tongue making Lyle’s tail shiver.

“So you’re one of General L/N’s men then?” She adds, her ears perking up in interest as she turns her pretty saffron eyes to look at him.

Lyle’s own ears fold back at the mention of the Major General, and he clears his throat, his pupils darting to the bartender who sets a glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of him.

“Ahah… yeah technically. I mean, I have never worked directly under her but, she is one of my commanders.” He replies, lifting the cold glass of whiskey to take a sip from it, while he misses how Toddy’s enthusiasm seems to fade at his answer. “So, Scouts division, huh? What’s that?”

Toddy slowly leans back, giving herself room to place one leg over the other, and Lyle can’t help but watch transfixed as her toned thighs press against each other.

“We’re environment experts who go out into the wild to gather requested samples for research or medicine.” The Avatar replies, bringing her glass of sweet tea up to her lips to take a nice sip, her throat bobbing as she swallows down the cold drink.

Lyle's eyes rake over her form, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way her throat moves as she swallows. He's sure she has noticed the way his eyes roam by now, but he doesn't really care. She's absolutely gorgeous, and he can't help but openly admire her.

"So you spend a lot of time out there in the bush, huh?" He asks as he lifts the whiskey glass to his lips, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "You ain’t afraid of running into any trouble? A pretty lady like you, all alone in the forest?"

Toddy shrugs, setting her own glass down on the surface of the bar counter as she leans forward more comfortably.

“Not really. It’s my job to roam around the forest, I know what I’m doing. As long as I keep a low profile and follow Eywa’s order of life, there’s really not much danger for me out there.”

Lyle’s ears immediately fold back at that. He nods once, cringing internally as she mentions the “Eywa” entity that every delusional native believes so hard in. He swallows down another sip from his drink, trying to ignore how her acknowledgment of the “deity” as if it was a real thing just turned him off immensely. Sometimes he forgets how delusional science chicks are. But it’s been too long, and he needs a piece of that ass, so just a small quirk be damned. He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.

"Yeah, Eywa, whatever." He says, his voice a bit dismissive. "But still, there's a lot of nasty creatures out there. And those natives ain't exactly friendly either."

He takes a larger swig of his drink, his eyes moving down to wander once again over her pressed thighs. Toddy’s own pupils move over the ice cubes that peak over the surface of her sweet drink, not paying the same attention as before to the man beside her.

“The natives aren’t friendly because we’ve dug up their dead to run experiments on them, obliterated their homes, slaughtered their animals, created Avatars which are frighteningly uncanny to them, blown them up, tortured them, burned their forests, and an ongoing list of other crimes against them which I’m sure would be insanely illegal back on Earth. So, I wouldn’t be friendly to us either.” The Avatar replies, the tone in her voice calm despite her sharp words.

Lyle's tail flicks irritably behind him at Toddy’s answer, his amber eyes narrowing slightly. He's heard this spiel from the scientists and the bleeding heart hippies many times before, and every time it makes him roll his eyes to the back of his fucking skull. He takes another swig of his drink to resist the urge to bite back at her, his brows now furrowed lightly in dissatisfaction.

"You really believe all that bullshit, huh?" He growls lowly as he sets his drink down. "You think the Na’vi are all innocent little angels, and it's all our fault? Well, we’ve tried, sweetheart. We’ve tried making peace with them a million times before. We gave them medicine, equipment, technology, we built them schools, taught them English, all that shit. And they repaid us by lighting up our machines, with people still inside. The RDA is here to develop this planet, to make it habitable and useful for humans. That's our mission. And if some monkeys get in the way, well, that's just collateral damage."

At his last sentence, Toddy’s head snaps over at him, her pretty eyes now narrowed dangerously as she pins him down with an angry stare.

“Collateral damage?! Really?!” She exclaims, her grip tightening around the tall glass of sweet tea in her hand. “Ya think that the lives of innocent people who you and yer fellow brute head folks have fucked over fer decades are just collateral damage?”

Lyle scoffs in annoyance at her outburst, also taken aback by the sudden southern accent she just spewed as his ears fold back in irritation. The grip he has on the whiskey glass also tightens dangerously, his tail lashing angrily behind him. He's never been one to shy away from confrontation, and he's not about to back down now.

“Innocent people? They’re savages, buttercup." He scoffs, leaning towards her slightly as he speaks. “We’re bringing them civilization, order. We're doing more for them than their primitive beliefs ever could. And if they can't handle it, well, that's not our problem."

Toddy’s eyes narrow tenfold, her own long tail now lashing behind her rapidly. She leans back slightly in her seat, taking a moment to calm herself down by bringing her carbon dioxide mask up to take a sip.

“Ya really haven’t comprehended the circumstances of yer own situation, have ya?” She replies as she lowers the mask, her tone still irritated but much calmer than before. “Tell me, do ya really believe that the RDA gives a single fuck about’cha and yer kind, Lyle?”

Lyle is half taken aback by that question, and half irritated beyond measure. Why must this happen to him right now? He just wanted to get laid once after such a long time, goddamnit. Why does she have to be so attractive but so stubborn and opinionated at the same time? He glares at her as his ears flatten against his skull, his brows furrowing, the idea that the RDA doesn't care about him and the other Recom soldiers hitting a bit too close to home for comfort.

"What kind of dumb ass question is that?" He replies, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "Of course they do. They went through the effort and expense of making us Recombinants. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the RDA. They gave me life, a purpose. They literally brought me back from the dead. Yeah, we do part of their dirty work, but they give us everything we need; food, shelter, clothes, technology, medicine, equipment, a future. I don’t know what the hell you’re implying but I’m not gonna sit here and listen to any anti-corporate, hippie bullshit you have to say.”

Something dies in Toddy’s eyes at his response. She shakes her head slowly in disappointment, her stomach churning in disgust at his answer as she grabs her drink to take a final, angry gulp. The Avatar then sets the now empty glass down with a rough thud, the ice inside clinging within the object.

“They’re probably gonna put a bullet right between your eyebrows as soon as the greater mission is accomplished.” She replies as her beautiful amber eyes stare down at the melting ice with a hint of foreboding, her voice low and accent gone again, her tone filled with dismay. “They’re creating a future for humans, not for you. Even if they do leave you alive, the world they will create will be unlivable for the Na’vi, including your kind. You and the rest of the Recombinants are just expensive weapons to them, nothing more. But you’re all either too fucking dumb or blind to see that.”

With that, the Avatar woman hops off the bar stool she was sitting on, her black Tactical Side Zip boots thudding on the polished wooden floor of the place as she begins walking away, her tail flicking behind her slowly. Lyle watches her, his heart suddenly pounding, his stomach churning uncomfortably with a feeling that he can’t identify.

“And yet, you wear an RDA badge.” He speaks out at her with a hint of irritation, his amber eyes narrowed and glued on the back of her head.

Toddy stops on her tracks at that. She remains still for a few moments, her tail flicking behind her rapidly. But she doesn’t turn, doesn’t say anything else. She then just continues forward, until she’s out of the bar and her form is no longer in Lyle’s field of vision, leaving him alone once again.

“Damnit.” The Recom grunts as he turns back around towards the counter, grabbing his drink angrily and downing what’s left of it with a single gulp. He slams the glass down on the counter, almost breaking it, before calling the bartender over to pay the tab. His ears stay pinned back as he pulls out his datapad, tapping it against the payment device, holding it there until the transaction is complete.

Every word she said, he wants to dismiss as bullshit. As tree-hugging hippie crap, as lies. But there's something in her words that gnaws at him, a sense of unease, of doubt that he hasn't felt in a long time. It makes his stomach churn, his heart pounding in his chest uncomfortably; the same feeling he’s been having for a month since his entire team were killed bubbling again in the pit of his core. And despite the anger and frustration he feels, there's a small part of him that can’t understand why her words have gotten under his skin so easily, why her opinion seems to matter more than he wants to admit.

He hops off his seat, giving the bartender one last nod of acknowledgment, before turning around and walking away. His heavy steps thud on the wooden floor as he leaves, cropped ears relaxing while his long tail starts flicking slowly behind him. Fuck this shit, he thinks as he takes an aggressive sip of carbon dioxide from his Recom Breather. There’s no time for such crap, he needs to go back to work before Álvarez is on his ass again.

“Come in.”

The massive doors of the conference room slide open, letting Miles’ large form pass through. He steps inside, sharp amber eyes scanning the place intently to find the woman he came here for.

The main conference room of the Admin Zone is the largest one out of all in Bridgehead, placed on the highest floor of the tallest building. It’s reserved for important meetings between the top members of the chain of command; usually Ardmore, L/N, their men, corporate officials, and head shareholders. The room is massive, as it was built in consideration of the Recoms’ sizes, made out entirely of expensive Italian wooden panels, the walls adorned with royal style framed oil paintings and accent spotlights. A lush red carpet decorates the entire floor, where upon it rests a massive oak conference table with exactly twenty cushioned chairs, all enlightened brightly by a large semi flush ceiling light. Another much smaller oak table faces the room from the right side of the doors, set upon a lifted platform where seven other cushioned seats are placed, seats reserved only for the highest in authority. From the current military personnel on base, this includes only Ardmore, Y/N, and also would include the Lieutenant General who’s still on his way to the extrasolar moon. The five other seats are meant for the people who own the RDA as a whole, who are supposed to arrive only after General Ardmore has succeeded in her greater mission and has fully colonized Pandora, that’s why this table has never been used. Yet. On the opposite wall on the other side of the room, a large panel touch screen is placed, the surface now black as the device was turned off before Miles stepped in.

The Recom’s eyes find the woman he’s searching for, her smaller form standing in front of the wall made out of glass windows, opposite the sliding doors and facing the entire view of Bridgehead as eclipse has just fallen. He takes a few steps closer to her, letting his long legs carry him as he watches her wrapped tail flick behind her slowly, until he’s an appropriate distance away.

“General L/N.” He greets firmly, his blunt fingertips pressed against his right temple as he salutes her. Y/N turns around slowly from watching the view of Bridgehead, her elbows bent as she holds with both hands a crystal glass filled with ice and a drink of some sorts. Her beautiful eyes land on him, dark pupils focusing on the features of his handsome face and for a moment, something twists in the pit of Miles’ stomach. He swallows thickly.

“At ease.” She says calmly, motioning with her head towards him for him to relax. “You wanted to see me, Colonel?”

Miles nods, lowering his muscular arm, as he grabs the mask of his Recom Breather and brings it up to his face. He had indeed asked to see her. She has just finished an important meeting with the heads of the other departments, and Quaritch was waiting outside for her agenda to open up until now. He lowers the mask after having taken a filling sip of CO2, and clears his throat before addressing her.

“Did you receive my reflection report, ma’am?” He asks, his voice low and raspy as usual as his amber eyes search her beautiful face for an answer. Y/N lowers her own pupils to stare blankly at the carpeted floor, still not facing him properly as the right half of her body remains facing the windows.

“I did.” She replies, her tail flicking once behind her, as her ears tilt back slightly. Miles nods, waiting for her to continue. But after some moments of silence he raises his brows, looking at her expectingly.

“Well… did ya read it?”

The Major General nods slowly in response, her pupils trailing over one of the oil paintings in the room. Now that Miles notices, she looks tired… her pretty eyes half lidded as they roam anywhere but on him.

“I did. You didn’t do a great job, but for what you wrote it wasn’t half bad.” Y/N replies, taking a slow sip of her drink, stopping for a few seconds to let it flow down her throat before she parts her lips to speak again.

“I want you to remake it.”

As soon as that sentence leaves her mouth, Miles’ brows furrow deeply, his eyes immediately darting to pin on her form, before he takes a slow, calculated step forward.

“Excuse me?” He asks, lowering his head to stare at her fully, his deep voice firm, yet filled with disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend what she just said. But Y/N doesn’t falter.

“I know you’re not hard of hearing. Remake it. You did good on what you wrote, but you still missed a lot. I can name you at least seven other rules that you broke that you haven’t included in your report.” She replies, sparing him one single glance as she speaks, before turning her head towards the windows again.

Miles’ jaw clenches tightly, his sharp amber eyes now glaring daggers at her. This shit again?! No. It happened once, he tolerated it. This time, he won’t.

“Are you serious?" He speaks up, frustration clear in his voice. "Why the hell are you being like this? I spent weeks on it, writing every goddamn detail in that report like you asked me to, and now you're tellin’ me it's still not good enough?" He takes a step closer to her, his large frame tensing as his eyes narrow in irritation, the frustration from what he has endured for almost five weeks now slowly starting to boil over. "Is it some sort of sick game yer playing? Ya wanna see how much you can push me before I snap? Do you enjoy this? Makin’ me run around like a damn lapdog, undergoing training with a psychotic Brit, and write and rewrite the same thing over and over again for your amusement?"

Y/N now turns her head towards him, her features falling serious, beautiful amber eyes pinning up on him through long black lashes.

“Well, what did you think? That you could just mess up however you wanted and then get by with just a slap on the wrist? Is that what you think this is? That you can do whatever the hell you want without any consequences just because you hold the rank of Colonel, and you carry the identity and experience of someone who called the shots fourteen years ago? Well, that’s not happening. Not as long as you’re under my command. You fucked up. Badly. Because of you we lost countless lives. Lives of our soldiers. Our people. Deaths that could’ve been prevented easily. And much more. Not only that, but you went right ahead and started a war with the sea clans. Someone amongst my ranks who is supposed to be my right hand, and who is the Colonel of the organization saving humanity, should know what mistakes he did and how he should’ve acted, so that they don’t repeat. I didn’t give you the task of that report for nothing. And you didn’t do it well. How can I trust you to lead my soldiers when you can’t even identify your own errors? So if I tell you to remake that report because it’s not up to my liking, then that’s what the fuck you’re gonna do. Period point blank.”

Quaritch takes one step closer at her response, his head lowering down to focus his sharp eyesight on her shorter form, cropped ears folded back against his head. His broad shoulders are now tense, so are his muscular arms.

“Do you think this is a game, General? You think I enjoy wasting my time on this bullshit?" He finally snaps, his voice low and cold. "Just because you hold a higher rank doesn't mean you can treat me like I'm your goddamn puppet." He steps even closer, his chest now nearly touching the edge of her left shoulder as he glares down at her. “I’ve been out there, fighting for this company, for humanity, and you’re in here askin’ me to write a fucking novel on why I did what I had to do. I've fought my way through hell and back. I've bled, and sweated, and worked my ass off for the RDA, way before you were even handed that shiny new title. I’m good at my job, you damn well know that. And ya talk to me as if I'm some rookie who just stepped foot in this place yesterday. While you're in here, playin’ General with rules and regulations.” His voice then lowers in irritation, but remains firm. “You know, showing some respect wouldn’t hurt. I’m only one goddamn rank below you.”

Y/N takes a slow sip from the crystal glass in her hand, now unbothered yet again, taking her time to swallow down leisurely before replying.

“You’ll have my respect when you’ve earned it. And at the pace you’re going, that day is getting further and further away.” She replies, not even sparing him a glance as she turns to continue watching the night view of Bridgehead. “Besides even if I did, where would it even go? Straight into the never ending pit in your heart, filled with fragile ego?”

Quaritch’s lips press into a thin line at her response. His eyes glare daggers at the side of Y/N’s beautiful face, as she sips from the crystal glass in her hand. Swallowing down, her soft lips purse momentarily as the cold liquid flows down her throat, and she continues.

“You’re lucky you still have your life, let alone your rank after all the shit you’ve pulled right in front of my face for months.”

She finally turns her head towards him again, her saffron eyes focusing firmly into his own, her stare pricking surprisingly pleasant goosebumps upon Miles’ skin.

“Keep fucking up and that too will be taken away from you.”

Quaritch clenches his jaw tightly, a cold wave flowing down his veins, breathing now intensifying with the anger that is starting to flare up in him.

“Is that a threat, General?”

“It’s a promise.“

Miles’ teeth grit as he listens to her speak in that calm, infuriating tone yet again. His large fists clench at his sides, thick veins bulging in slowly piling up anger. He sneers down at her, his cropped ears folding back.

“That so? Well let me tell you the reality of that, General. You can’t take my rank or my life away from me even if you wanted to. You’re second in command, with Ardmore’s boot still up yer ass you cannot make a decision like that even if your life depended on it, and you know that. But if by some miracle you did; I am a pillar of this organization, I have more experience and expertise in this goddamn death trap of a moon than you or any of your ass-kissing men have combined. I've been doing this longer than you've been fuckin’ alive, and I know what I'm doin’. I am your most valuable soldier, deny it as much as ya want, and “getting rid” of me will do nothing but shove your head ten feet deep into the cold, wet mud of Pandora, General. So go ahead, “get rid” of me. Let’s see how well that works out for ya.”

An amused chuckle comes from the base of Y/N’s throat at his words, her head tilting slightly. Her ears raise up and her tail swishes behind her, slowly, as if to add to his irritation. She turns around, walking towards the conference table, to place the cold crystal glass upon its polished wooden surface, the object chiming with a clack as it makes contact. She then slowly, makes her way back, steps long and calm as she returns, this time facing him. Miles’ eyes follow her movements, his breathing heavier as she steps in front of him, raising her head to look up at his handsome face. She then speaks, gloved hands clasped behind her back, resting above the very base of her long, wrapped tail.

“You haven’t grasped the gravity of the situation you’re in, have you?” Y/N starts, her smooth voice calm, yet ice cold. “I don’t know where you constantly find the audacity, but let me check your fragile fucking ego for a moment, Colonel. You are certainly not my most valuable soldier. That would be my Captain; John Keller, who is currently trying to fix the sloppy mess of dead bodies and horrid damage you did to the sourcing of our most profitable and precious material, while you were trying to assassinate a single target that’s twice your age; lives with savages and that still beat you into a pulp. Adding on to that; while you were spending months running around the forest, barefoot, riding wild animals, learning Na’vi and bonding with nature like you’re fucking Pocahontas, I was breaking my back in the front lines, wiping out entire clans with natives’ arrows sticking up my ass. That earned me more respect from Ardmore alone than you’ve ever had in your entire fucking life from all of your troops combined. Yeah, that’s right, I’ve been out there too. But how would you know that when you haven’t even stepped foot properly on base for months? And guess what; not only can I take away your rank and even your life, but I can skin you alive, torture you to death and wipe your entire existence from this Universe, to the point that God himself will have to crawl into the deepest, darkest hellholes of Pandora’s asscrack to find the endless ditch of insecurity that is your soul. And on top of that, not only would I not be affected in the slightest, but Ardmore would fucking praise me for it. So let me rephrase in case your slow, infant brain still hasn’t grasped it yet; you are not a valuable soldier, you are a failed experiment. You had your chance to prove that you’re someone, that you’re the commander that our people deserve; and you failed, miserably. Now you’re gonna spend the rest of this war bending over while I shove my fist up your ass; and you’re gonna enjoy it.”

Quaritch’s lips press tightly into that thin line again, as his sharp eyes widen to glare daggers at the woman in front of him. The veins in his neck pop out with the sheer amount of force that he is using to clench his jaw and ball up his fists at his sides, his frustration mounting tenfold, muscles shaking. For a moment, he's speechless, completely taken back by the sheer audaciousness, the sheer disrespect in her words, her tone. Nobody, NOBODY has ever had the balls to speak to him like that in his entire fucking life. And coming from a woman no less; from this stuck-up, arrogant, condescending bitch of a woman, it's all the more infuriating. Who the fuck does this whore think she is?!

“Is that right?” He more states than asks, his voice filled with pure venom as he nods his head once towards her, as if to give her one last chance to take whatever the fuck she said back. But she doesn’t budge. Not even one bit.

“You bet your striped, blue ass.”

Quaritch’s stare upon her turns deadly, maintaining the icy, poisonous glare between them for a few more seconds, before his right foot then slides backwards, and slowly he puts a bit of distance between the two of them. His fists remain balled up tightly, large muscular arms and broad shoulders tense, feeling the adrenaline course through his flared veins; the urge to retaliate with a fiery temperament threatening to overtake his judgement. His whole frame seems taunt, shaking lightly, his muscles ready to snap like rubber stretched too tight. It takes all of his physical and mental strength to restrain himself from pouncing on her and slamming her bitch ass against the large glass windows that she finds so fucking interesting to look at. But Miles knows better. Y/N’s own expression dares him to challenge her with set eyes and a firm jaw, prodding him to fuck around and find out if he dares and Quaritch takes the deepest breath of his life to ground himself before he does something that he will later on immensely regret. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, turning his entire body away from her for a few seconds, and taking his time to bring his Recom Breather mask up, calming himself down. After some moments of tense silence he puts the breather down and turns towards her again, having found the mental state and energy to speak to her without committing a number of consecutive, insanely illegal actions.

"You want a long report? Fine. I'll give ya a long report. But don't you dare question my methods or my experience ever again. You want to know why I did what I did? Why I spent months in the forest, tryna live like a savage? Because it worked. Because despite the failed mission, I got one step closer to understanding our enemy, and I got most of the job done with what little was given to me, before every odd turned against us. I did my duty, and I did it well. Something you seem to have forgotten how to do, General.”

He gets close to her again, his large form towering over hers with amber eyes holding piercing venom, getting all up in her space with no care.

"You know, you're damn lucky you outrank me," He growls, his voice low and laced with disdain. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be havin’ this little discussion. Not even close. I didn't spend over three decades in the Marines to be treated like some rookie recruit by a spoiled brat, General.”

After a few seconds of poisonous eye contact, he then pulls back again, long legs dragging his body to create distance from her. Having gotten so close, her scent lingers in his nose and he can’t quite figure out why it smells familiar, but for the moment he’s too tense and irritated to pay attention to details. And if Y/N has something in her mind, she doesn’t express it. Instead she stares at him unamused, with half lidded eyes, before slowly she turns, going back to facing the large conference room windows. Quaritch watches her for a few more seconds, his long tail flicking rapidly side to side behind him in agitation. When silence fills the space, he gives her a slow nod and then a firm salute just out of procedure, before turning on his heel and starting to walk away without another word, fury still coursing through his bulging veins. His heavy footsteps echo through the dim conference room, bouncing off the pristine walls as he leaves without waiting for her dismissal. Just as the doors of the entrance slide open for his large, barely contained seething frame to pass through, Y/N’s calm yet cold voice is heard again behind him, entering the eardrums of his heated cropped ears.

“You’re in my house now. Don’t forget that again.”

He halts in his tracks, his large fists balling at his sides, and he doesn’t turn around, his broad muscular back still facing her direction. But Y/N does turn her head, her sharp yet beautiful amber eyes staring at him over the carrier plate utility strap on her shoulder as she continues speaking.

“I was nice, just this once. Next time, I won’t be.”

The doors then slide closed behind Miles.

Title explanation:

Spit and Polish - Extreme individual or collective military neatness, extreme devotion to the minutiae of traditional military procedures or ceremonies; from spit-polishing boots and dress shoes. In this case it describes exactly how Miles sees Y/N throughout the entire chapter; as this procedure freak and rule obsessed General who never considers or leaves room for things being done outside of the book.

End of chapter notes:

The song that Toddy sings in the beginning: Better Than I Used to Be by Tim McGraw

Also poor Lyle, he got cockblocked so hard. R.I.P to his chances to get sum. (︶︹︺) <\3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

[kteezy997]

Co-Eds pt. 2// todd anderson

Warnings: this is cheesy af, also glimmers of fluff? enjoy!

“Alright, now that you’ve got your partners, I’m going to give you some time here in class to discuss your topic with each other.” the history teacher announced.

As the room filled with up with the sounds of scooting chairs and footsteps, Neil tapped his friend on the shoulder, “Go to her, Todd. She’ll like that you’re taking initiative too.” he kept his voice low so no one else would hear.

Todd, a bit flustered, gave Neil a simple, reluctant nod, gathering his books and getting up from his desk.

Y/n was about to stand up as he approached her desk, “Oh, hello.” she giggled when she saw him.

“Hello.” he said back, a nervous grin sneaking its way onto his lips.

“Well, sit down.” she instructed with a small gesture to the empty desk behind her as she settled into her own seat.

“Right, yeah.” he muttered nervously under his breath as he sat down. “So, um w-why did you pick me? As your partner, I mean, you could have picked anyone.”

Y/n shrugged, “Well, I guess the obvious choice for me would have been to pick my friend Marsha from my old school, but I think that would have defeated the purpose of coming to a new school. Us girls should be getting to know you boys right? And you seem nice, Todd. Maybe a little quiet,” she shrugged lightly, “but nice. And you go here, so obviously you’re smart too, and I want a good grade on this paper.”

Wow, she talks a lot, it’s so cute.

“Do you wish I would have picked someone else?” Y/n asked, desperate to make sure she didn’t make a mistake, desperate to know that he didn’t already dislike her.

“No!” he shook his head, “No, not at all.”

She grinned, quite pleased with his answer. “Okay, good. So, do you have an idea for our research topic?”

Todd’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought about the paper at all. All he really knew was how her silky hair cascaded over her shoulders, how sweet her headband looked, plaid to match her skirt. “Oh, uh, no, I have no idea.” he replied.

“Okay, well maybe we can pick something that happened during World War Two, I mean, there’s a spot to narrow down our topic right?”

He was finding it hard to respond to her, he was so lost looking in her eyes. Her eyelashes were so long, she batted them so well. He nodded, “Mm-hm. Yeah that sounds good.”

Y/n smiled softly. “Great. Now, the paper is supposed to be ten pages, so let’s map out how we want to write it.”

……….

By the end of history class, Todd Anderson was in love. But he would never admit it. Not to himself, or to anyone else, especially not to her. No, she was too lovely, too smart, too perfect for him to bother her. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend, he thought, even if it were something she would consider. He didn’t think she would find him to be any fun. He wouldn’t be worth her time, he told himself.

The bell rang, the boys and girls huddled out of class like cattle with the roar of eager feet on the floor and flirty exchanges between the sexes.

“Man, did you see the tits on that blonde girl?” Charlie boasted, the rest of the guys laughing. “She is hot!” he exclaimed. “Neil, you make progress with that redhead or what?”

Neil grinned, there was a twinkle in his eyes, “No, no, but there’s still time.”

“Nice, nice.” praised Charlie. He hustled a little bit to catch up with Todd, “Toddy, what about you and your girl?” He leaned in close, wanting to know every detail.

“She’s not my girl. She’s a girl.” Todd mumbled.

“Yes, and she picked you for a partner, and why is that?” Charlie had no issue with probing. It was his mission to get the girls here, after all. He wanted his boys to make good on it.

“Because she’s just being nice.” The blonde haired boy insisted.

“Hmm.” Charlie wasn’t fully convinced, nor satisfied with Todd’s answer. “You’ll come around, Anderson.”

Neil followed close behind, asking Todd, “Hey, you’re coming to the meeting tonight right?”

“Yeah, Neil, I’m a member.” Todd grumbled in slight annoyance.

“Just making sure. Jeez, is your new girlfriend the only one who gets your good side now?”

Knox happened upon the boys, “Wait, Todd has a girlfriend now? Boy, you move fast, the girls just got here today.”

The rumble of laughter made Todd’s cheeks flare up. “Guys, just shut up okay?” he snapped, stopping at his locker.

“Hey, take it easy. We’re just messing with you, Todd. It’s okay if you like her.” Neil insisted, trying to comfort his friend.

“Well, I don’t, okay? So just stop.” Todd warned. He shut his locker door, heading to his next class.

…….

It was the last class of the day, and Todd, like the rest of the students, was drained. It has been a long first day back.

The final bell rang, concluding the school day. As Todd got up from his desk, he was startled when y/n walked over to him. Of course, he knew she was in the class, but what was she going to say to him?

“Hey, so I was just wondering if you’d want to get together in study hall to work on the history paper?” she looked at him, slowly turning on her heels to walk out of the classroom with him.

“The paper…yes.” he stammered, “Yes, we could do that.” he answered following her lead.

“Cool, so you wanna start tomorrow?”

Just as the shy boy opened his mouth to speak, he heard the familiar chatter of his charming friend group.

“Todd!” called Neil. Charlie, Knox, Meeks, and even Pitts were in the herd.

Todd rolled his eyes, knowing that this interaction would cause nothing but embarrassment for him.

“Y/n, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Neil. This is Charlie Dalton.” he went on introducing each of the boys, then continued, “And we, along with Todd here, are all members of the Dead Poets Society.”

“Neil, what are you doing?” Todd asked him, urgently.

Neil hushed his concerned friend, keeping his attention on y/n.

“What’s the Dead Poets Society?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m glad you asked.” Neil, ever the to put in a show, put an arm around each guy that was next to him, which happened to be Todd to his right, and Steven Meeks to his left. “It’s us, we are the Poets. See, what we do is, we meet up at night in cave down by the bridge, and we recite poetry. It’s an older Welton tradition that we revived last year. We read our own original works, classics, even little blurbs that we might see in a magazine or something, but what matters is that we are seizing the day. That’s what it’s about: passion, beauty, making your life extraordinary.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool. That sounds like Mr. Keating.”

“Yes, exactly! He’s the one that started it when he was a student here. So, would you like to come to a meeting? There’s one tonight.”

“Um, maybe. Would it be alright if I brought my friend Marsha along?”

Charlie butted in, “Of course, please, bring as many friends as you like. The more the merrier.”

“Okay, Charlie, she gets it.” Neil gently pushed the eager boy back. “Remember though, it’s basically a secret society, so discretion is preferred. We will meet you out back at 7:30 sharp.”

Y/n giggled, “Okay. I understand. We will be discreet.” she nodded.

“Great, we can’t wait.” Neil said as y/n gave the boys a kind smile and walked away. She gave a little look to Todd before she turned her back.

“Neil, what are you doing?” Todd demanded, he was dying inside during the whole discussion with y/n.

“Helping you and the rest of us get girlfriends.”

“It’s not meant for girls.”

“Welton has welcomed girls, so the Dead Poets can give it a try too.” Neil insisted.

March 11, 2025

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl

[takenbypeter]

I'm dying for more x men evolution brotherhood x reader please I'll give you my life

Our Own World

Todd Tolansky x reader

Words: 609

Rocking back and forth on your heels you stood at the entrance waiting for the front door to open. 

You knew the brotherhood was home, you could hear the tv and laughs coming from the other side. So of course you knocked again. Louder and harder until finally, “what? What?” Pietro whined as soon as he opened the door.  

You threw him a somewhat friendly smile before entering the house. Pietro reclaimed his chair while the other boys barely looked away from the screen. 

“Is Todd here? He was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago.”

“He’s probably still in his room,” said Pietro. 

“Really?”

“Lance said he was two-thirds monstrosity in him,” Fred said, immediately tattle tailing from his spot. 

“Hey, I was just messing around, Pietro’s the one who called him a greasy, vile creature.”

“You’re the one who started it though.”

Rolling your eyes at the group you mumbled out a, “jerks,” just loud enough for them to hear before pointing to the stairs. 

“Which one is he?”

“Second on the left,” revealed Fred, which you thanked before heading up. 

You knocked on the door first, “Toddy! I’m coming in,” you shouted, turning the handle. 

Looking around trying to find the mutant, you spotted him, hiding underneath his bed. 

With a small and confused smile threatening to appear on your lips you closed the door behind you and walked up to the him.

“What are you doing?”

Toad gave you a sheepish smile, “I’m late aren’t I?” 

“Yeah you are but that doesn’t matter right now, why are you under the bed?”

He shrugged his shoulders, which was slightly hard for you to see given that that part of him was nearly hidden by the bedframe.

“Sometimes it’s more comfortable here.”

You nodded and then titled your head before bending down to meet him down there. You noticed how he scooted further, slightly distancing himself from you. 

“Are you okay? I heard what happened with the guys.”

“Oh that,” he pointed, his expression giving off nonchalant. “That’s just what we do, they rag on me, I rag on them it’s cool.”

“Okay, then why are you hiding under your bed.”

“I’m not hiding…sometimes it’s just nice down here. I don’t have to act, I can just be by myself.”

You understood that, with you being used to putting on a face yourself at times. 

Looking at him and the open space beside him, you couldn’t help but ask, “…do you have room for one more?”

Toad looked behind him back under the bed before giving you another nervous smile, “I mean yeah, if you don’t care about the mess.”

Taking that answer, you went to the floor scooting yourself next to him. 

He looked at you and you looked back at him. With you just laying that close to him, he had to smile, “this is weird isn’t it?”

“A little bit but that’s okay, it’s nice under here.” And you were being honest, it was comfortable, cozy, sure a little messy but that’s alright. 

After another lull fell over the room you spoke up again, “I’m sorry your friends ragged on you, they’re jerks.”

He stays silent but shoots you a thankful smile before his expression turns wide, “what am I doing ? I’m ruining our date!” He pushes himself up only for his shoulders to be met with the bottom of his bed and he’s once again sent back down. 

“Ow.”

It takes you a moment to control yourself from laughing, “relax our date is fine, we can just relax here for a few more minutes. In our own little world, just me and you.”

[fnafhssucksassihateit]

Matching outfits (Toddoy)

For @fhs-event-week's Valentine's shipping week

It'll soon be their second anniversary, and of course, they wanted it to show! They'd spend hours at the mall looking for the perfect outfits to celebrate their Dating anniversary in. Unfortunately, they weren't very lucky, sure, they already had some shopping bags in their arms, but they didn't find the perfect thing to wear yet.

They decided to stop to a coffee shop in that same mall to take a break, plus, they were feeling more than hungry.

"you should have got the strawberry cheesecake; they make it so tasty here!" Joy said as her girlfriend sat before her, "I'll have it next time! Plus, you know me, I've gotta steal a bite or two of yours." Toddy replied with a wink, and Joy laughed.

They sat and chatted while enjoying their meal, the conversation casually turning into gossip.

"I can't believe she had the audacity to say that!"

"I know, right? And you won't believe what he did!"

The girls kept chatting, and laughing, even after their food was finished. Joy got up and paid for both, in the meantime, Toddy got up and tidied up the table a bit, then they both went out of the cafè, still smiling to each other.

That's when Toddy's eyes dropped into something; a clothes shop, right in front of the pastry shop they just got out of (honestly, Toddy had no idea how she didn't notice it before). On the display window, two dresses, the same design, but completely different colours; one had a dark brown crop top with asymmetric shoulder, paired with a mahogany red skirt and matching tights. The other was similar, but the top had a turtleneck line and the colour scheme was a light blue with a baby pink, plus, the skirt had gold details. The thighs in the red and brown one were opaque, while in the other they were white fishnets. Simple, but Toddy knew they had accessories at home that would make them beautiful.

"oh. My. God." Toddy said, excitedly, slightly pulling joy's arm to herself.

"they're so pretty!" Joy exclaimed, Toddy pulled the girl impatiently to the direction of the shop, both of them not noticing the red "closed" sing on the door until they got nearer.

"What!?" Toddy exclaimed, Joy got to take a better look at the sing, and what was written on it.

"looks like it will be closed for a full week." Joy said, Toddy sighed, frustrated.

"so, now what? We went through the mall, like, twice."

"we should head home now, we both have homework to finish... And the mall's gonna close soon."

The two took each other's hand, and started to walk to the mall's exit. Toddy had an unhappy expression on her face, and Joy soon noticed.

"Toddy?"

"yeah?"

"are you sad because we couldn't get those dresses?"

"maybe... They were just so pretty! And I bet you'd look marvellous with the pink and blue one!"

Joy laughed lightly, a bit flustered by the compliment. They already were outside, heading to the parking lot where Golden's car, which he generously let his cousin borrow, was parked.

But Joy took a second to stop, and hug her girlfriend tight.

"you know, I'm disappointed too, but we don't need new clothes to make our anniversary special, right?" Joy's voice sounded softer than usual, as she held toddy by the waist. Her own shopping bags hanging from her wrists.

"yeah... We just need each other." Toddy answered, letting out a sigh and finally smiling. Joy was happy about that answer, and let her go.

They spent the night at Toddy's place, her mom made them dinner, and after that they watched a movie - or better, rewatched 2004 mean girls for the millionth time - and then went to sleep together. Joy borrowed one of Toddy's pijamas.

The next morning they were late for school and got sent in detention. What a way to celebrate the day before their anniversary.

[kristetch21]

Due to me feeling under the weather, I decided to make headcanons imo, on how the rogues handle being sick.

🎩Hatter

Drinks tea and adds herbs to help get better

Blanket piles, yes piles

Has a favorite hat and tie for when he's sick

Has "gone" to wonderland and saw new residents while having fevers

🎃Scarecrow🐦‍⬛

Shout out to @voiceboss I love your Crane's view on Frontier medicine and miss ikky so..

Uses hot toddies(whisky) to get better and reads a lot

Has layers on he gets bone aches from the cold

Tries to work, however ikky pesters him to rest

Imo the man runs on gremlin energy and spite, so definitely forgot to eat but has 3 coffees

Is more grouchy if that's possible

Has tried ft to take his mind off being sick

Uses a crusty handkerchief

🪷ivy

Finds a secluded place and let's nature aid her

Usually never sick but does recover from injuries

Takes things slow and visits Harley

Tends to her gardens around Gotham

🐧penguin

Sleeps in luxury

Has maids and private Drs aid him

Works from home for the first few days, back at the lounge by night 3

Like crow, uses brandy and a cigar to feel better

Secretly craves junk food when sick

🐱Catwoman

Has hot chocolate and watches tv

Cuddles with her 3 cat and orders food

Plans next heist but falls asleep with her pen drawing randomly on the page

Has favorite sweatpants and sweater for the occasion

Sometimes accepts Bruce taking care of her and her fur babies

🦄Harley

Comfy clothes for days, fuzzy socks and leggings that are lined

Movies and games

Can't sit still for long, gets antsy

Will cuddle her mista j and bud and lou

Wants pancakes and pretty water(bubbly with edible glitter)

Hates the taste of medicine so she pinches her nose to hide the taste

❄freeze

Doesn't get sick but does have stomach aches sometimes

That being said he will sip jagermister and jot down some notes

When he's tired he sets up a chair near Nora and catches some sleep

Has caught himself talking to Nora as if she's there to answer, he remembers how she used to fuss over him

🐊croc

Stays in a closed off area and self medicates with stolen cold syrup

Tries to rest but usually can't sleep from the meds keeping him wired

Gets better though by the end of 4 days

🃏joker

Doesn't get sick

Has injuries or tummy pains(poor diet)

Has Harley play doctor

Refused to rest so it takes time to heal

Gets hyper and weird the less sleep he gets

His motto is walk or run it off

🥊bane

Has tea and protein to repair his body

Rests for a day before he gets back to work

By rest, he travels to the next location and sleeps maybe 4 hours

Ice baths and gym

🧩Riddler

Gets more annoying to his fellow rogues

Lives off soup, complaining about bats and drinks loads of water (Q/E won't let him have caffeine)

Works on his phone or sleeps with puzzle book in hand

Has trouble shutting his mind up enough to fully rest

By day 3 he has annoyed crane so much that he might get "cured" by ft

Has live streamed while sick to troll people (it lifts his spirits)

[irregularcollapse]

seven sentences/last lines

tagged variously by @survivedthenight and @swifty-fox and @blixabargelds waaaaaaaah thank you

it's crimmis :) merry chrysler :) happy crisis :)

not proofread, still working etc. etc. have Bucky tipsy on hot toddies and deep in the sauce (Paulina's pussy)

She shifts, hips tilting against Bucky’s mouth and hand, and he gives her what he thinks she’s asking for—a rough, solid fuck; harder suckling—when the clear whisper-thunk of glass on marble signals that she’s put the wine (perhaps all drunk) on the bedside table. Both hands in his hair now, fingers tugging and nails pricking, new ache also with a viscous cushion. He’s hard against his sheets, not exactly humping the mattress but not stopping himself from idly grinding down, head feeling all drowned: the liquor, the lingering weed, the musky-rich scent of her, her equally rich taste. She clenches around his fingers, three now, and sighs another of her sultry, pleased noises, and he wants to fuck her again. The sheets are sex-damp and body-warmed, softened even while silken anyway, the friction against his cock simple and easy and maybe enough to get him off, but not a quarter as good as the sleek heat of Paulina. His mouth is wet, his tongue slicking itself generously and desperately, and the groan rises up from somewhere deep and dirty.

“Why can’t I eat you out and fuck you at the same time?” he growls, muffled and heavy into her folds, and her answering moan is cut with breathy laughter.

tagging @london-cowboy and @feyd-meowtha and @weimarweekly three for three, no pressure. 'tis the season.

[cptsadist]

What are your SFH boys (or all your murder OCs if you want!) like at taking care of someone who's sick?

How do they behave when they are sick and how would they want to be taken care of?

(Thinking more physical illnesses rather than mental health/comfort stuff which I think you've answered before!)

How they would act if MC is sick:

Trance (+Seiren): Trance will bedrot with them. He'll cuddle up with MC, and would have Egon bring them snacks and warm dishes. He'll take a nice long bath with MC.

Egon: If it's an MC he's decided to keep around, he's gonna be a little annoyed that they're sick, but he'll cook them their comfort dishes and make sure they're taking medicine so they get better soon.

Wraith: Probably gonna make fun of MC for being sick.

Jet: Jet is gonna do what he can to care for you, and he's not leaving your side at all. He doesn't really know any remedies or anything so he'll be googling stuff to try and help.

Hauer: He's gonna be masked up and gloved up around you constantly, and his experiments will have to be put on pause since it would mess with any results. He'll pump you full of drugs and medicine to ensure you recover quickly.

Ralph: Ralph will be extra protective, and he probably knows that they're sick before they even show symptoms. He'll be very affectionate, insisting he be wrapped around them to try and keep them warm.

Bogy: She'll baby the fuck outta you. She'll call out of work and give you anything you need to be comforted, make you tea, anything. You have her full attention.

Lias: Finds it kinda pathetic. But he'll reluctantly care for them, making sure they're eating and taken care of.

Rey: Is surprisingly very good at taking care of you. He may have some unconventional home remedies that he grew up with. "This always helped us when we got sick", and then gibe you a hot toddy. But he's actually gonna be real attentive, making soups and checking on you frequently between farm work.

How they would act if they were sick:

Trance: He's not gonna wanna leave his bed and probably won't unless you drag him out. He may be a bit needier but not overly so.

Egon: He won't admit that he's not feeling well, and he'll probably just try to sleep it off, so you'll end up being stuck with Wraith until Egon is feeling better. He's gonna be extra grumpy.

Wraith: He is insufferable. The absolute worst. He's whiny, he's needy, he's always needing something and complaining about another. He's too hot, he's too cold. He's hungry - no, he doesn't want that, he wants that. Rip MC.

Jet: Jet is gonna wanna be extra affectionate (and probably accidentally get you sick) and he's gonna wanna stay home. He'll wanna just watch TV and relax with you until he feels better.

Hauer: He hates being sick. It interrupts his usual workflow and he sees it as a draw back. He knows that the best thing he can do is rest, which pisses him off because he doesn't want to rest, but he will. He also may be a bit snappier but he also wouldn't mind being taken care of a bit.

Bogy: She'll complain a bit but she'll just feel really low energy. She'll wanna spend time with you but she also wouldn't wanna get you sick. If you decide to spend time with her though, all she asks is if you'll make her some tea and cuddle up on the couch with her.

Lias: He's always sick.

Rey: Also doesn't like being sick. There's too much to do, he can't afford taking a break. So he's gonna try to push through and force himself to work, and probably just make himself feel even worse in the process. He'll keep saying "nah, I'm fine" while he's actively coughing up his lungs or whatever. You'll pretty much have to force him to rest.

( Ralph doesn't get sick, and Seiren will just be dormant in Trance until Trance is feeling better. )

[jrooc]

🍁Weekly Tag Wednesday- Sweata Weatha Edition👻

(shhhh it's still Wednesday 🤫 ) Welcome to this fake magical Wednesday✨ It's a Fall edition. So grab your fave hot drink and settle in.

Name: Jess

Location: Canada, suddenly realizing what day it is

Favourite season: Funny I should ask, its fall! 🍁

Favourite hot drink: Coffee but I love a Hot Toddy or some Mulled Wine

Pumpkin: Yay! 🎃 or No 😔

If no? Another fall flavour you prefer:

If yes? What is your favourite pumpkin treat: All of it. Love Pumpkin pie, PSL's, pumpkin bread. Pumpkin in oatmeal. Love. Gimme.

Favourite Fall activity: Reading under a cozy blanket or going for walks to see the leaves

Favourite Fall Movie or Show: Practical Magic or Gilmore Girls

Fave Fall Fanfic: Book U-Up by @notherenewjersey (it's published now) (Go buy it or here is the podfic)

Fave outfit: Sweaters! Anything cozy

Do the leaves change where you are in the world? Yes 🍁

What are you most looking forward to in the next couple of months: Been a weird week... not sure? Maybe some vacation in October.

What's your one hope for Fall? Some smooth sailing. I could use some calm in my life.

*Sorry to anyone who isn't in Fall!! Swap out your answers for your current season! I see I tagged like 7 of you 😂 do it anyways 🙏

Tags below the cut but if you see this! Do it!

@deedala @energievie @spookygingerr @michellemisfit @celestialmickey

@gallapiech @roryonic @palepinkgoat @darlingian @gallawitchxx

@mickeysgaymom @gallavichsuperfan @heymrspatel @such-a-barbarian @crestfallercanyon

@creepkinginc @ian-galagher @transmurderbug @transmickey @guinguin1984

@blue-disco-lights @stocious @sgtmickeyslaughter @bawlbrayker @wehangout

@too-schoolforcool @suzy-queued @deathclassic @whatthebodygraspsnot @francesrose3

@mybrainismelted @spoonfulstar @look-i-love-u @rereadanon @thepupperino

@runawaybrainsc @burninface @andthatisnotfake @kiennilove @annarowyn

@takeyourpillsbitchh @sam-loves-seb @samantitheos @mmmichyyy @vintagelacerosette

@transsexual-dandelions @gallavichgeek @ms-moonlight-inn @bawlbrayker

If you see I missed anyone tag 'em in!

[joypawz]

Hey Joy, I have two things to ask you:

1. What are the personalities of your interpretations of the fallen children?

2. Can you please make more art of them whenever you have the time?

Okay second time answering this... First time my phone ran out of power right at the end T-T

Anyways thank you for reminding me!

They were just about done with only a few details and Justice left but I think we all know they were just going to be Clover lol!

Quick note!

I couldn't decide on why Odile fell so she's not finished technically she also has Undertale Yellow spoilers!!! Also the monster friends from the Ruins have no designs cause I'm bad at designing ruins monsters 💀

Onto the art!

If you could guess yet Toddy and Hailey are my most developed characters out of these! They both have stories and they both have monster friends! Which I will post! I swear!!!

If you have any specific questions on these guys I can answer them!

Personality wise...

Alice was a sweet but very quiet kid that often tried to tough it out. Especially towards the end of her life when her illness got worse (Don't ask me what the illness was. I have no clue myself)

Toddy was loud and boisterous but underneath it all Toddy is quite unsure about things. Often being bullied doesn't help either.

Odile... Odile was oddly quiet... Her focus was impressive but intimidating... She's not cruel but she does believe in self defense and that when it comes to self defense you can't hold back no matter what. She's firm in her morality and won't shake from it... Until she does of course. But then it's too late.

Pax is a complete nerd. With a love for history and learning it's not hard to guess why Pax would want to go see the monsters. Plus it help being charismatic, funny and having a can do attitude too!

Hailey is a smiley kind of child that always has a hand out to help people and believes that everyone deserves to be spared. Maybe not always be the way you think though :) all together a lovely kiddo!

Sorry if the grammar or spelling is bad 💀 my excuse is dyslexia lmao

Edit: I won't be posting them soon I tried to but I disconnected right as I was posting it and I am tired.

[candiedspit]

Chocolate Cherries

Toddy was talking his shit again. As we were fucking reversed missionary style, I might as well have been a microphone. Above us, I knew there were those cheesy plastic stars splayed across the ceiling. Toddy’s idea. I watched the freckle on his chin bounce up and down as he spoke. The only way to keep myself sane. 

And then, we’ll go to Cuba and smoke some fat cigars, get twisted on the fumes. And a thousand shots. And billiards. And hot women for me, hunks for you. I want to fuck you on the beach. I want to drive a cadillac. 

I stopped moving and simply laid on top of him. Once he started, there was no stopping him. I could hear the vibrations of his voice rumble through his chest. I loved Toddy; silly little man. He was sweet though he tried to act tough for reasons I still can’t wrap my head around. Maybe he thinks that’s what men do. I got off him after a while and put my clothes back on and went to piss and sat in the love seat, reading from the Bible. 

What are you reading that thing for? Toddy asked, wiping himself with a towel. It’s full of ghosts and lies. It’s basically a fairy tale. 

That’s why I like it, I said. Who thinks of this stuff? I wanna be Christ, with my magic powers and wine and healing people, dressed in white like a baker. He’s like a rockstar; the first rockstar.  

Toddy turned on the television, arranged the antennas so the picture showed up clearly. Then, took a seat on the floor and worked at his thousand piece puzzle. A lion covered in roses. 

Around seven, the phone rang. I picked it up then regretteted it when I realized it was my mother calling. I answered the customary questions. Yes, we were fine. Yes, not too bad. Yes, we had pizza. Yes, I’d like to. When I hung up, I put the phone back on the receiver and rubbed Toddy’s head. 

My mother wants to take us out to lunch next week. 

That’s alright. 

As the evening settled in, I did a little. I stuck the needle into my elbow and Toddy watched. 

A little more at an angle, he said with a hand on my back. 

I nodded and he pulled the needle out as the black magic hit me. As though a witch had wrapped a nest around my head. I couldn’t see. 

Are we in Antartica? I asked, crumbling to the carpet. Toddy rubbed my head. 

No, we’re in America. It’s beautiful here. I love you. And there is chocolate cake in the fridge. Not too sweet. Just how you like it. 

I looked at the window and began to cry. 

Outside, It was starting to snow.

[kidcanines]

the bird - a regressor reader & cg mav + ice (with goose appearance) fic

x - x - x

—DNI NSFW—

The sun was low on the skyline when you guys finally made it to the car. Maverick had decided to spend the night after copious amounts of begging on your part- and the annoyed act that Ice liked to put up. You told him that you’d stay up till the sun rose again and watch movies with ice cream. Even scary ones! Whatever he wanted. He humored you, pinching your nose with an “oh really?” With some more planning on Ice’s behalf, Mav agreed, picking you up and swinging you around in the air. Your open-mouthed laughter like pleasant little peals of church bells.

But now you were beginning to doze off in your car seat. Drool sliding down the side of your mouth, half-lidded eyes obscured by Ice’s aviators. Both men were sitting up front, sun visors down to block the setting sun. Your eyes momentarily jump open to the sound of a resounding smack of skin on skin and the badly whispered reasoning of something you have no interest in.

“Drivers have control over the radio Mav, you know this- you came up with the rule??”

“I just want to play one! One singular song!”

“Get your hands off my radio? Or else you won’t be sleeping anywhere tonight??”

“Oh really? I’m sure a lucky little someone would have a few objections to that.” At this Mav swings his head to the backseat, eyes scanning the entirety of it before they eventually land on your slumped half asleep form. It’s perfect timing as Ice rolls his eyes around to lock onto Mav before quickly switching directions and setting them on you.

Wordlessly, Mav whips out his phone- a star struck look of utter awe and adoration on his face. He snaps a couple quick pictures, Ice’s uncontrollable snickering coming to a halt when he finally turns around to sit properly in the seat.

“You’ve never seen him asleep before?”

Mav stays silent, flicking through the dozens of pictures that were all just you. His eyes narrow and he turns back around to get a good look at your hands before turning back to his phone. This action continues on for a couple more seconds, the now incredulous look on his face becoming more and more obvious as time passes on.

Finally, Mav whispers, barely audible over the quiet murmur of the now untouched radio- “Say…perchance…has your kid been hanging around my RIO?”

Ice, confused, snatches the phone from him as they come up on a red light- brakes squealing to a stop. He scrolls through the frankly ridiculous amount of pictures before finally finding the reason for Mav’s question. Then he promptly bursts out in a poorly hidden attempt at quiet laughter- (he snorts.)

“Well? Maybe? Sometimes I take them around the school but..yanno…”

——

Goose likes to get to Top Gun early in order to keep his schedule organized- something he, to Mavericks' knowledge, has just started doing. Nevertheless, the pilot storms into his RIO’s classroom the next day, waving your picture around and demanding answers.

“Wait- wait, Mav I can’t see- lemme see.” He grabs onto the pilot's hand to get a good look at the picture. It’s you- eyes concealed by aviator glasses, setting sun shining prettily on your skin. A drip of drool caught in time just about to fall from your chin- legs dangling over the seat. You look as peaceful as a little toddy could be. But, the main focus is on your hand, fist curled up and your middle finger sticking up out of it very much so noticeably. It’s in every picture that Mav scrolls through and shows to Goose.

He’s stuttering out obscenity after obscenity on how you could’ve possibly received the motor skills to pull off this, frankly, amazing feat. Goose almost drops the phone when he bends over, full belly laugh ringing through the classroom. It continues on like this for a couple of minutes before a knock on the door forces the two to regain a semblance of “composure.”

Sure enough it’s you and Ice coming to say Hi and Bye. Goose can’t help his snickering as he bends down to your level, hands on his knees as you sleepily walk into the classroom. One hand in Ice’s, the other softly fisting at your eyes.

“Don’t you just hate it when it does that?” He whispers silently. Both Ice and Mav scoff, the latter with a loud smack to his forehead.

He starts poking you in the tummy, a playful effort to get you out of your sleepy stupor- ”oi, what happened to sticking your tongue out you little bugger??”

Sure enough his efforts are rewarded when you try to escape from him by running behind Ice who simply puts his hands up. A fond smile on his face as you squeal in happiness. Goose leans on one of the desks, watching you attempt to escape the wrath of Maverick.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Bucky looking after his boyfriend when he’s sick in bed please? (Being unwell and not being able to do anything makes me stressed and sad).

(Sorry to hear that, buddy! I was recently laid up too with COVID so I feel ya.)

"Trust me, this'll do the trick." Bucky says, putting some cold medicine in a little cup for you, with some hot tea with lemon and honey. "Leaps and bounds better than the stuff they used to say would work."

He chuckles at your look of confusion. "They used to sell these 'cure-alls.' I spent a hell of a lot of money buying them for Stevie and they nearly killed him - those things would never get past review today."

You wince as you take the medicine and try to wash it down with the tea to warm your bones and ease your throat and stomach. "Then there was the hot scotch. Or, hot toddy, they call it now? My ma used to give me a mug of hot whiskey with water, lemon juice, and honey. It was real watered down, and she said it would help. Do you think people still do that stuff? Or do they do tea more often? Or just water?"

"Don't answer that." Bucky laughs, gently leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "I'll look it up. You got some healing to do. I promise I'll be back to hang out with you after I take care of some stuff. We can watch some of that show together, okay? Try to do some resting till then."