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madtotry · 9 months

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and if i could let it ride i'd take my time and free my mind one. — two. — three. — coming soon.

hiccup haddock x reader

a/n. gn reader. theres one mention that implies reader believes in gods. we're pretending night furys aren't quite as fast as they are in canon/or you can imagine elsa is just somehow even faster if you want. unlike the past chapters, this one ends abruptly because part 4 will be set immediately after this ★ 1.7k

the air tastes like freedom, and with the way elsa pierces through the wind with more enthusiasm than you've seen since last winter, you know she feels that same magic.

depending on where you go, the air is always crisp and biting, but it isn't always new. there's a time of year where something beautiful lays to rest her weary head until next year, leaving way for something magical to rise in her wake. it's the feeling of knowing the snow is fresh and the world is stopping just for a special moment, to say, "look at this, look at me, look at everything i can do." and you thank the gods every year, that you have lived to see another one of these seasons.

your arms whip up to feel the cold air run through your skin as elsa whips through just above the surface of the ocean, playfully dropping a wing to spray water up at you.

you laugh brightly, tilting your head up to gaze at the clouds racing by, and it takes everything in you to not fall and lay down on elsa's back — the idea in theory representing a perfect pastime, but in reality the one thing that could ruin your mood right now would absolutely be taking an unforeseen dip into the freezing sea lest you slip.

your eyes shut for a moment as you just sit like this, balling your hands into fits before thrusting them in the air excitedly and leaning down on your chest to rest your head atop elsa's.

she chirps at you in greeting, and flies a little further up from the sea to spare you from being splashed.

"i feel so alive," you whisper to her, a tradition at this point; ever since the first time the two of you flew through a day just like this, and you'd declared you'd never felt so alive to her. the sentiment still reigns true every year, and elsa always agrees.

on days like these, you're reminded just how fast she can fly and for just how long she never seems to tire — especially if she's close to the sea.

you don't know for sure how long you've been out here, but you near the island you've met hiccup halfway on in the past up ahead, and feel the same sensation you do when anticipating a new season as you approach it.

"what do you think?" you mutter to your dragon, and she's already dipping to graze the cold water of the ocean to fly just above the surface, circling the island.

the season is absolutely — at the very least partially — to blame for your boldness in going as far as to seek out someone you are usually terrified of looking your way. the world feels safer at times like these, and you almost feel as though you can be yourself, as though you could act like a normal friend.

elsa makes it halfway around the island before you spot hiccup and toothless flying past it, and you find yourself overcome with the urge to yell out jovially to get their attention.

however you bite your tongue, already seeing elsa's own bold plan of sneaking up on them unfolding, and you find you like her idea much more — it feels more like you.

"shhh," you playfully whisper to your already deadly silent dragon, as she glides just far enough behind and below them that she's gone completely undetected.

you have to hold a hand to your mouth to contain a giggle as she slowly rises; still completely unseen.

they finally notice you at the exact same time, both with an identical whip of their heads to your direction.

your hand falls back to hold onto elsa and the other raises to wave, leaving your wide grin on show as hiccup's brief distress at a possible threat becomes his own bright smile.

"you!" he exclaims, like he wants to say a proper greeting but the pleasant surprise caught him off-guard.

"me!" you reply so easily, talking freely having never felt so natural.

"i didn't think you'd be here," he says.

you shrug happily, "i'm always here," referring more to being in the sky this time of year than just the small island.

beneath you, elsa and toothless seem to have been staring at each other this whole time, not in any aggression, but you see toothless's eyes and recognise the glint of competition in them from elsa's own.

hiccup picks up on this a moment later after quietly asking his dragon, "what's going on, bud?" and spares a glance to see you almost smirking with both hands securing themselves on elsa.

in the blink of an eye, the unspoken race begins, and elsa is surging forward and swiftly surpassing toothless, dipping almost imperceptibly closer to the surface of the ocean, knowing she's even faster the closer she gets.

your hearing is enveloped by the strong wind racing past, but a quick cheer from hiccup breaks through the noise as toothless flies past you, now ahead of elsa by a significant distance.

this doesn't discourage her though, and if anything it draws your dragon to grow even more determined, flapping her wings with a vibrating strength followed by bringing them close to her body. you lean down as flat against her as you can, holding on tight as her now tearing through the air like an arrow makes you feel like you could be flung off at a single wrong move.

(you'd laugh at the memory if the wind in your face wouldn't whip your breath away, knowing full well you have been hurled off her back after not being fully prepare for just this.)

she reaches toothless, and flies just a bit further past him when she unfurls her wings to do the heavy lifting once more.

your eye catches hiccup's own mirthful ones and you can tell it's only a matter of time before he pulls a trick out of his sleeve to get ahead again.

you have to crane your head slightly to get a good look at them as elsa gains a lead, and frown when you notice them slowing down ever so slightly as hiccup's hand runs down the back of toothless's neck.

"they're up to something," you whisper to elsa as you try to keep a watchful eye on your competition, but it gets caught in the breeze when the night fury that was just trailing behind, now has caught up to you. he growls proudly, not-so-subtly showing off his new "v" shaped flaps that run from his neck to his tail.

hiccup seems proud too, especially when the two suddenly dip out of your view. you whip your head up and down, left and right, trying to spot where they disappeared to — gasping when toothless appears on your other side swiftly, and hiccup winks.

your mind stutters for a moment, not even realising the two have flown ahead of you again, and instead suddenly acutely aware of the freezing tip of your nose being drowned out by the growing warmth across your cheeks.

elsa, however, grumbles at your disracted demeanour, and speeds up as much as she possibly can, before making a warning 'yelping' sound to you, telling you to prepare for what she's about to do.

her sudden plunge breaks you out of your stupor, and as soon as her downward motion ceases, you sit up straight — this being something you've rarely seen in action and have grown confident in, but all the well familiar with the consequences if you don't raise yourself as far up from the sea as possible.

you know elsa has hit the water from the way her body grows colder, like ice, and you quickly feel the rest of her body submerge with your feet all the way up to where your knees dangle by her sides.

the water rushing past you nearly reaching your hips is heavier than the air above, and you know for yourself it would feel like trying to fly through honey, but for elsa, the water surrounding her only serves to fuel her.

even as the freezing water engulfs the lower half of your body, you reach a hand out to graze the surface. flicking the water with your cold fingertips, you imagine it absorbing into your skin with an ethereal glow, wondering how it feels for elsa to have something so simple yet so powerful coursing through her — funnily enough — like a fire.

toothless is still ahead of elsa, but she's now hot on his tail with her built up speed, and you're regaining focus from the coldness sinking away from your body, holding on tight in preparation for the light show elsa will embodying and soon zoom by her competition.

you find, as elsa rises, that your mind had been just as enveloped as hers in the water — for the moment your feet hang back out in the open air and the water is already dried off your hand, you can suddenly feel hiccup's gaze on the two of you, a heat you'd have quickly and self consciously noticed in any other situation.

you can't find it in yourself to look away from him now, and you can't stop examining his every facial expression — the wonder in his eyes, his surprised smile, and the way you swear it grows when he notices you're looking at him again — as elsa reaches the same height as toothless again; bringing the two of you face-to-face

you can tell the way his eyes are lit up he's curious about every intricate details of what elsa is capable of, his mind reeling at the sight of something he's never even imagined before. it's like he's been shown the stars for the first time, like the constellations are forming before his eyes, and you don't miss the way his eyes flickering from your dragon to you with warm cheeks impacts your heartbeat.

it only lasts a moment though, because the second elsa is side-by-side with toothless once more, you're holding on tight and she's soaring past in a blur.

the world around you feels secondary to the floating feeling of moving this fast, and your eyes shut protectively in face of the air pinching at your skin — but the smile on your face is unstoppable, as elsa's speed leads the two of you to a well deserved win.

#i listened to “dragon racing” from the the httyd 2 soundtrack on repeat while writing this and and it absolutely enhances the experience #and apologies for the wait between chapters #taking flight (my writing)#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #httyd x reader #how to train your dragon x reader #httyd imagine #httyd fanfiction #hiccup horrendous haddock iii x reader #hiccup horrendous haddock lll x reader #hiccup horrendous haddock the 3rd x reader

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positivelyholland · 1 year

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We need more of Maverick x daughter!reader 🥺🥺

Plagued by the Past

pairing: pete "maverick" mitchell x daughter!reader

genre: all angst

warnings: borderline child neglect, death of a parent, school bullies, mention of a plane accident

summary: your dads been through a lot, but you still can't help but wish he'd pay a little attention to you

~~~~~~~~~~~

As you walk down the hall of your high school, you see the same scene play out before you for what feels like the hundredth time. Kids whispering and giggling as you pass them, snickering and pointing behind your back.

You know what they're saying without even hearing the words. It's always the same.

"There she goes, little miss no one wants her, not even her dad."

Growing up with your father was tough. He was always gone, always flying. You spent most of your childhood in various military bases around the world, always the new kid in school.

You never really had any friends, except for your dad's friends, who were all pilots. They would always tell you stories about your father, about how he was the best pilot they had ever seen.

You were proud of him, but at the same time, you were angry. Angry that he was never around, angry that he never talked about your mother, angry that he seemed to care more about flying than he did about you.

It's been years since your dad, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, was the hotshot pilot that everyone idolized. But his legend lives on, and you're the living reminder of his past glory. You try to ignore the whispers and the stares, but sometimes it feels like you're drowning in them.

You never really knew your mom. She died when you were just a baby, and your dad never talked about her much. He was always so distant, so lost in his own world of planes and flying.

You remember how he used to take you up with him sometimes, how you'd feel weightless and free as you soared through the clouds. But those moments were rare, and fleeting, and now they're just memories.

It wasn't until you were older that you realized why he was so distant. It was because he was still grieving for your mother. He had loved her deeply, and her death had broken him.

He didn't know how to cope with it, so he threw himself into his work, into flying. But you were his daughter, and he loved you too, even if he didn't know how to show it.

Your dad's never been the same since the accident. You were too young to remember it, but you've heard the stories. How he pushed his plane too hard, how he lost control, how he crashed and burned. How he came back broken, physically and mentally, and how he's never really recovered

He's still a pilot, of course. He still flies for the Navy, still takes to the skies in his F/A-18.

But it's not the same.

You can see it in his eyes, the way they're always distant and haunted. You can hear it in his voice, the way it's always clipped and cold. You can feel it in his touch, the way he's always pulling away, always keeping you at arm's length.

You don't blame him, not really. You know he's been through hell and back, and that he's carrying a burden that most people can't even imagine. But it still hurts, the way he shuts you out, the way he never talks to you, the way he's never there when you need him.

You try to fill the void with other things. You're a good student, and you have plenty of friends, and you're involved in all sorts of extracurricular activities. But nothing can replace the love of a parent, especially when that parent is Pete Mitchell.

Sometimes, when you're alone in your room at night, you imagine what it would be like to have a different dad.

A dad who's there for you, who hugs you and tells you he loves you, who helps you with your homework and cheers you on at your games. A dad who's not haunted by his past, who's not weighed down by his own guilt and pain.

But then you remember who your dad is, and you feel guilty for even thinking such a thing. You know he loves you, in his own way. You know he's proud of you, even if he never says it. You know he's doing the best he can, even if it's not enough.

And so you keep walking down the hall, shoulders hunched, head down. You try to block out the whispers and the stares, the constant reminder of who your dad is, who you are.

You try to be strong, like your dad, but sometimes it feels like you're just pretending.

Sometimes, you wish you could just fly away.

#maverick x daughter!reader #maverick x reader #pete mitchell x daughter!reader #pete maverick mitchell #x daughter!reader #mitchell!reader #positively holland #top gun maverick #pete mitchell x reader

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amazingmsme · 9 days

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If Hermes ever worked up the courage to tickle the main three (assuming they’re at least slightly ticklish SOMEWHERE) do you think he’d succeed?

Assuming he does, I can totally see him having to go for unconventional spots or something (like Poseidon having ticklish shoulder blades, etc.)

(Also I LOVE your blog, you are so talented.)

Are you kidding me, OF COURSE Hermes has tickled the three of them just so he could say he did, he is obsessed with bragging rights & also causing trouble. & it’s my blog & I make the rules, so I’m saying yeah, they are ticklish I don’t fucking care if they’re big scary gods who are all powerful & “untouchable” if they can get hurt they can absolutely get their shit wrecked

Ok so blood of Zeus might be clouding my judgment a lil bit, but I feel like he wouldn’t be that mad if Hermes tried. He’s his son, so he can have a free pass every now & then. Zeus is more amused by his antics than he likes to let on, & he’s kinda curious to see how far Hermes is willing to go with a joke, even if it’s at his own expense. If he manages to get a really bad spot, he will immediately turn the tables, but that just lets Hermes know that he was letting him do it all along so he’s not REALLY as mad as he’s pretending. & Zeus totally uses some of his lighting when he’s getting revenge, so Hermes definitely paid the price

Fuck you Poseidon, I’m making him the most ticklish out of the big 3 because I think it’s funny & he’s a lil bitch who deserves it 💙 Hermes loves how easy it is to get under his skin & annoy him, & he gets soooo pissy & fed up when he tries to tickle him. He’s so defensive & tries to use his trident to block him, but Hermes is always just a lil too fast & zips around to poke at his worst spots & send him into a fit of giggles. He’s got this really deep rumbly laugh that gets louder the longer it continues. Hermes will try to make air bubbles in the water when he flies around him & that alone really tickles, so add in some mischievous hands to the mix, & Poseidon really can’t do anything but laugh. Afterwards tho, he will absolutely try to strangle him or maybe even use his trident calm DOWN Zeus, I barely scratched the bastard!

Again, boz got me tweaking my characterization, & since we haven’t really seen Hades in epic, I’m gonna lean on that & some other characterizations I’ve seen. But Hades is more quiet & calm than his brothers & even when he’s annoyed & pissed off, he tries to appear cool & collected, so it takes a while for Hermes to really get under his skin with his normal methods of bothering people. But Hermes had kinda psyched himself into believing that there’s no way Hades is ticklish, until he accidentally tickled him & now he never knows peace. He claims he’s just trying to lighten the mood, he needs to smile more, etc. etc. & Hades honestly doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. Probably because it’s Hermes, & he knows that’s just his way of having fun. & hey, he realizes that he’s rarely happy & when he is, it doesn’t last, so the fact that Hermes actually wants to check in on him & make him feel better is kinda comforting. So for the man in charge of ruling over the underworld, he can appreciate being made to laugh against his will, as long as it’s a rare occasion & Hermes keeps his fuckin’ yap shut

I’d love to write more fics with the gods, whether it be for epic or boz! Right now I only have 1 boz fic written, & I have a Poseidon & Odysseus prompt as well, but I’d love some more! & thank you so much, that’s so sweet!! I’m so glad you like it! These were so fun to do, thanks for sending them in!

#asks #anon ask #epic headcanons #hermes #zeus #poseidon #hades #epic #epic musical

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disaster-j · 1 month

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okay bestie here you go take your pick (or don't 👀): 👑 😈🔮☣️

(because the royal bucktommie au has a corner in my mind and i will NEVER not go 👀👀👀 at any mention of the labrats OR the demon white au <3)

I had the most fun with yours negl just kept hopping from au to au xD

👑 magical royalty au

It’s hard for them both to look the other in the eyes after the things that were done in the library.

Buck, for one, cannot look at the king’s thick, calloused hands without the heat rising inside him yet again. But he must not let his earlier mistakes recur. The carriage is far too tight a space to hide anything from anyone.

He doesn’t even have a coat to cover himself up, for heaven’s sake!

Buck catches the king staring at his neck yet again, at the bruises he’d carefully drawn across Buck’s skin. His gaze lingers long enough for Buck to feel the purpling patches tingle under it.

He shivers, tries not to look directly at his majesty, so as not to imagine up the hunger he’d misinterpreted from the man earlier tonight.

Without notice, the gaze drops down to his wrist. Or, more correctly, to the cursed iron wrapped around them.

😈 Demon!White (this one is funnier if you read the snippet from this ask first hehe)

White pats himself on the back for his choice in men when Sean sends him the location pin for where they should meet. It’s a place he knows extremely well. Sean must have done his research, asked around to find out what White loved best and now he was gonna give it to him.

10/10 what a date!

He shadow hops his way to the cafe-lined street by the canal that he spends most of his free evenings strolling through and sees Sean is already waiting for him, right in front of the best place in the world.

There’s a little skip in his step as he makes his way to Sean, ignoring the annoying shrieks that tend to follow him every time he shadow hops to crowded places. Sean is smiling at him as he takes his hand, drops a quick hello kiss on his cheek and-

Pulls him away from the restaurant. What?

“There’s this cute cafe just down the road,” Sean says cheerily as the distance between White and his favourite McDonald’s outlet grows and grows.

A mountain of despair weighs him down as he mourns the McSpicy Chicken he already had his heart set on devouring. But then he catches a glimpse of the nervous smile on Sean’s face and the doom and gloom fades away.

The cloud chasing them shrinks into nothing before Sean even notices it's there.

It’s fine. It’s all good. He can always get McDonald’s after the date.

🔮 psychic!Buck

“That was how I knew it worked,” Eddie could have spent a lifetime watching that smile take over Buck’s gorgeous face. “Because after I told you, I started seeing you instead of her. You were talking to your son, slurring really, but I just knew you’d be okay.”

Eddie didn’t remember talking to Christopher that day. He never did get those memories back. But there’s a sense of comfort in knowing that moment is safely buried somewhere in Buck’s incredible mind. A piece of Eddie only Buck will ever truly have.

No one had wanted any part of him in a long, long time.

☣️ Labrats!

“Nope, I’m good,” Black says, pushing the plate of omelette and rice away from him. The fish sauce smell alone makes him feel all weird.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Yok asks, mouth already so full of rice that some of it flies out and lands grossly onto the table they’re all gathered around. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

And he’s the freak here?

“Correction,” Todd yells from somewhere in the back. “He hasn’t eaten since Tuesday.”

As if summoned by that fucker’s inflammatory words, hia Kumpha appears behind him.

“Eat your rice.”

“I’m not hungry. I don’t need to eat!”

“Everyone needs to eat!”

“Not me!” he says, “The scientists didn’t feed me all the time and I was fine!”

Everyone stills. He gets the sense that he has, once again, said the wrong thing. Fuck.

(make me write!)

#bucktommy #buddietommy #not me the series #not me #offgun #buddie #labrats au #psychic buck au #magical royalty au #demon white au #writing ask #make me write

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perpetualcontrolleddrowning · 4 months

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Blackbonnet Soulmate AU - Part 19

The Nettles in the Garden Don't Go Away

JRaylin441

Summary: We're back, baby

Content Warnings: alcohol use as a destructive coping mechanism, violence, threat of gun violence, self-deprication. All pretty par for the course with this fic. Feel free to message me if you want any further details!

Read on AO3 (x)

Read Part 18 Here (x)

Read Part 10 Here (x)

Stede Bonnet, the Gentleman Pirate, sets off on his newest adventure on a summer day at sunset. He runs into the surf, the dinghy scraping along behind him, throws himself into the waves, and starts to build a life he’s actually properly excited to lead.

How strange, to be pursuing the things he wants while fully aware that the choices he is making are not hurting anyone else. To know that he gets to chase after this, and everyone that he cares about is going to be okay. Might even think fondly of him, knowing all that they know. Might even miss him.

This is not to say that people may not still be hurting, from choices he made back before he actually stepped up, took ownership of his actions, got his shit together.

It’s going to be okay. He’ll make his way back to Ed. They’ll talk it through, as a crew, as co-captains. Stede will apologize until he’s blue in the face and then they can go back to the lovely life they were starting to build for themselves. Sure, he fucked up. Stede has done nothing but fuck up every moment of his life.

But Ed. Ed is different. He’s so kind. Absolutely lovely. The first person to ever seem to actually understand what’s going on inside of Stede’s head. He’ll listen. He’ll empathize. He’ll take Stede back. They can be best friends again. They can be co-captains. They can be soulmates. Maybe, even, something more?

Stede doesn’t know what that would look like. He’s never taken the time to imagine a romantic relationship between two men. Probably because, as soon as he’d seen it as a possibility, it’s pretty much the only thing he’s been able to think about. Must have been self-protective. Can’t get anything else done when all he can think about is kissing Ed again. Waking up in the morning and seeing him there too. His dark hair spread across a pillow. Making breakfast in bed. Sitting in quiet companionship for hours. Gasping breath and warm skin. Playing games. Sailing and watching over the prow as the ocean flies by. Naming constellations and clouds until they have a language only the two of them can speak.

It’s all he can think about.

No wonder he had to keep this hidden from himself. None of this would have fit inside the box his father built for him. He would have suffocated, trying to squeeze all of this inside.

How awful that it took this long.

How wonderful, to have found it at all.

*~*~*

The Kraken is pacingpacingpacing. It wants to set something on fire, and it’s lucky that they’re coming up on another merchant ship, because otherwise it would have happily turned that on the crew, just to feel something.

The raid is bloody and frenzied. The Kraken wets its teeth with viscera, maims and slashes and doesn’t even look to see if it killed anyone. What does any of it fucking matter. The Kraken throws one of those flouncy, weak merchant sons over the side of the ship. Just to feel something. Just to exalt in the strain of muscles pushing against something struggling. Something fighting. Overpowering the resistance of someone else.

The rest of the crew is screaming around him. It’s all just ringing against The Kraken’s eardrums. Pushing it to higher, slavering heights. And still, it’s not enough. None of it is enough. He’s ruining these people’s lives and it’s all ringing hollow through him. A gong echoing in an empty room.

The Kraken raises its head to the sky, howls in impotent frustration. In the noise of battle, it’s hardly distinguishable from the screams of pain and terror.

The Kraken scrapes its knife along the gunwale, digging it in and adding resistance to every step, ripping it free to stab into the soft flesh of anyone who tries to approach. They could be friend or foe. None of it fucking matters. Besides, most of the crew has learned by now to keep their distance during the blood fury of a raid. After the first few times he stabbed Fang or Frenchie and left them crumpled on the deck, carried back over to their ship by the crew with the rest of the treasure.

Who even cares. Genuinely, who gives a single fucking shit about any of this?

Ed was raised by a monster. He’s had a monster inside of him his whole life.

But not even just inside him, is it? The Kraken isn’t some small part of him that comes out now and then. The Kraken fucking is him. Ed was just the bed sheet he pulled over its head. The mask he created to desperately try to deserve a place in this world.

It’s not Ed’s world. It’s The Kraken’s world. It’s about time he stopped trying to pretend like he’s worth anything more than this. This ripslashkillbleed of a raid.

They make it through the raid, and The Kraken doesn't even pay attention to whether or not they found something worth finding. What does any of this loot matter, when they won't be stopping to spend a cent of it? What use does a monster have for material goods, beyond building a hoard of wealth on which to sleep? What does Ed even need, other than more alcohol to keep him numbed out of his mind? And he can get drunk on the expensive shit just as easily as he could on the piss that comes at a dime a dozen.

He lets the crew handle it, decide what to keep and what to throw overboard.

The Kraken staggers its way back to his cabin and flops back down on the floor, onto the rank pile of blankets and pillows he's made into a nest. Why bother putting any more effort into this?

Why bother with any of it?

*~*~*

Stede starts to realize that things might be worse than he thought in the moment that he finds the majority of his crew marooned on an island in the middle of nowhere. It's near where they were captured by the British, but there's no trace of The Revenge.

The Swede sees Stede's approach and hurls himself into the surf, away from where it looks like Roach and Buttons have been chasing him. Stede gathers up the Swede and then paddles in closer so that he can check in. Get everyone on the same page.

It's Olu who lays it all out. He and Lucius have always been the ones most willing to sit down with Stede and explain things that everyone else seems to be able to understand on their own.

He tells Stede about Izzy limping in with a bloody bandage around his foot.

He tells Stede about all his fine things thrown overboard.

He tells Stede about the plan for a talent show, ending in half the crew sailing away without a word.

Stede has this dream that he's been starting to cobble together, from all the revelations of the past few weeks, from a lifetime of repressed desires. He's been picturing what it would be like to come back, sweep Edward off his feet, be the epic wandering romantic hero from all the books he used to read.

This is closer to what life has always been, and it's yanking that dream from Stede's fingertips and dashing it upon the rocks. Forcing him back into the stark reality of it all. Just because he's found this out about himself, that he is capable of the kind of love that could inspire sonnets, does not mean that he has stopped being Stede Bonnet.

But here is a difference: he's finally found something he's not willing to let go of quite so easily. Stede has always been fighting to fit into a mold that he didn't actually want. Hard work for a goal that he didn’t even want to achieve. Prior to this, the only thing he ever actually chased after was his dream of being a pirate.

But Ed. Edward. Captain Blackbeard. Stede is in love with him, and he didn't even know he was capable of feeling like this for another person. Honestly, he had accepted decades ago that people wrote about love in an exaggerated, over-the-top way for the sake of drama, not because anyone was actually capable of that level of overwhelming feeling.

He knows now just how wrong he was. Has known since long before that conversation with Mary, but now he finally has a word for it.

So no, he's not letting go this time.

Ed is upset. That's understandable. He's probably off destroying a thing or two and himself in the process. Because Stede was so caught up in his own panic that he didn't pause to think for a second about how to say goodbye in a way that wouldn't hurt everyone further. He goes through life and makes the same mistakes over and over and over.

He's going to fix it. Sure, Ed threw everything overboard. Sure, Stede's navigational skills will be stretched to their absolute limits to manage to track him across the open ocean.

None of it matters.

He's going to find Ed and apologize and confess all this love he didn't even know was bottled up inside of him. Ed doesn't have to accept it. He has every right to turn away, forget about Stede completely, piss on his boots.

But whatever he has to say, Stede is going to hear it face to face.

*~*~*

The days slip by. He's drunk most of the time. He stays up late into the night, when the rest of the crew has gone to sleep and there's only one other person up on watch.

It's easier, being awake then. No one to stare at him as he paces angry lines through all the hallways of the ship. Hard even for the one other awake person to see him, with all the kohl on his skin and black leather worn old enough not to creak.

He stays up late, paces around the deck, waits for the sun to rise. He's a snarling, furious thing. Wakes the crew up, bickers and threatens Izzy until they've decided on a course for the day.

Goes back to his quarters. Drinks until he falls asleep, the sunlight turning the backs of his eyelids red.

He's a nocturnal thing, these days, fully reversed from any lifecycle of the living. Either intoxicated, violent, or isolated.

He's a monster, a monster, a monster. What's the point in trying to deny any of that anymore? He tried to change into something different and Stede left without even putting in the time to say goodbye.

Must have been able to smell all the rot beneath his skin. The mud and shit ground underneath his fingernails.

Ed's always known it was there. Ever since that night in the rain with the rope, he's known what kind of thing he is. The kind of life he deserves.

He just thought, for a moment there, that Stede saw something different. That maybe he could be something different.

The Kraken rears its head again, draws Ed back under, drinks until there's not enough braincells to hold onto a thought.

It's better this way.

*~*~*

Stede didn't mean to blow up his relationship, exactly. He didn't mean to ruin the only good thing he had ever built. The real problem here is that he didn't even realize what he had while he was in the middle of it. How was he supposed to when he's never had anything like it to compare to?

Of course, he knew at the time that he liked being around Ed. That it felt good and made him happy. That wasn't a mystery. But that just felt like, maybe, a coincidence of being around someone that wonderful for so much time. Or the natural outcome of running away and being a pirate.

He had known he was happy and that he was chasing his dreams. It was heady, sure, but parts of it were also a burning, slow building joy. And he didn't even realize just how wonderful it was until he had already walked away and was trying to learn how to live without it.

Things are different, without Edward there to comment on life or tell him he's doing a good job or listen when he speaks. Stede needs to go out and beg for his good thing back. Not just because he desperately needs him back in his life and isn't sure how he could possibly carry on without, but also because he may have fucked up and hurt Ed too. That's the truly unacceptable part.

Stede is still trying to figure out a plan for all of this. He's going to work with his crew to make it happen. In the meantime, though, he has another tool at his disposal, that very few of them know about. He has a soulbond.

Not that he's ever properly figured out how the soulbond works. And Stede put quite a significant amount of effort into that, back when he was still a schoolboy.

Still. More information now, certainly. He thinks about all the things that have happened with the soulbond over the years. It's hard, only having one half of the information. The first time he remembers actually realizing that the gifts were from his soulmate was when he was getting all those scraps of fabric from Ed, just after the incident with James.

It had been such a comfort, then, waking up to something tied around his hand every morning and reminding him that, even if he didn't know who the person was, there was still one person on earth who had the potential to care about him. One person who would likely know and might even be disappointed if something bad were to happen to him. He had never dared to even begin to imagine someone like Ed.

All to say: Fabric tied around his hand. And, back then, there is no way Ed could have known that Stede needed something like that. Or who Stede even was. Or what was going on in his life. He likely wasn't even choosing to send the scraps.

After that, there had been little baubles and treasures. The whale paperweight. Some gems and maps and trinkets that Stede now realizes were likely from a raid. Little keepsakes from a life of piracy. Beautiful, joyful things that would sometimes bring Stede an immeasurable amount of comfort and would, other times, make his chest hurt so deeply that he didn't know how to even begin to look at them. To the point that sometimes he had to carry them to a box and hide them away before even opening his eyes and seeing what he was holding. Always something he desperately desired, not always something he could bear to look at head on, considering the cramped box Stede had lived in for most of his life.

Stede is starting to suspect, as well, that the knife that appeared in his hand when he was being hung by the Spanish was also a result of the soulbond. It seems that treasures only arrive when one of them is unconscious, whether that be through sleep or asphyxiation. The knife was certainly something he desperately needed in that moment. So, perhaps, need plays into it?

But, then, of course, there was the red handkerchief. The one that arrived while he was still home, trying to cram himself back into a box neither he nor anyone else wanted him in. He hadn't needed the red handkerchief then, not really. He was already in the process of figuring things out with Mary. He was already going to decide to go back to Ed.

So not just need.

It’s difficult to know what the bond was like on Ed’s end, considering they have never spoken of it. Stede knows that he used to watch his food or drink disappear right before his eyes, presumably traveling to wherever Ed was in the world. That never really happened the other way. Is that because Ed didn't want Stede to have his food or drink? Is that because Stede never needed someone else to provide food or drink?

The adventuring bag as well, the one that sparked all of this. Stede isn't even sure when that ended up in Ed's hands or what the situation would have been like. There are very few situations that would have made Stede willing to give up the bag. Do his intentions play into it at all? Does it matter that he was absolutely devastated when he found it had vanished?

He doesn't really have answers to any of it. It seems like intention and need maybe play into it at some level but don’t make all the decisions. The person receiving the gift needs to be unconscious. The other person can be awake or asleep. Sometimes the person would willingly give up the thing, other times it would not be something easy to give up. So, potentially, the person sending the gift doesn't get a chance to pick.

Ed likely wouldn't have chosen to send Stede the red handkerchief, considering how genuinely angry he seems to be about anything and everything related to Stede. Stede certainly did not willingly send over his leather bag. He also wasn't particularly eager to send over his food.

That said, Ed probably didn't want to send over his baubles and trinkets from his raids, before he even knew who Stede was. And, when they arrived, each and every gift set something aching inside Stede, but they were never something he would have thought or even known to ask for. They were things that he desperately craved, though, whether he knew it or not.

So. Something in the desires of the person receiving the gifts. Less to do with the desires of the person sending the gift. Maybe the thing the person needs but doesn't know that they need.

And that makes things tricky. Because he wants to send something to Ed, but he doesn't know what Ed needs in this moment, and it doesn't seem like he gets to make much of a choice about what he will be sending. If he's sending things at all.

That was a whole lot of thinking with very little to show for it. Which may as well be the summary of Stede's life.

*~*~*

The Kraken wakes up hungover, dizzy, and dehydrated in the rats’ nest of a pile of blankets and clothes it's made on the ground of its quarters. There's a perfectly good bed over in front of the window, but that was Stede's bed and there's no way he can make himself take it now.

So, instead, it's this. He usually just gets too fucked up to notice where he is going to sleep and then collapses into an exhausted heap wherever he's been. Wakes up with the mother of all headaches, not like it can't be cured with a little more of the hair of the dog that bit him.

The last time The Kraken went into a full drunken bender like this, he would wake up sprawled on the floor or the wood of a bar and find a plate of warm food and a cup of water within his reach. That's the kind of service he's become accustomed to in his life, when he starts down the path of really destroying his own body.

Once or twice, this time, he's woken up to a half-empty waterskin or a small portion of food. Nothing like the feasts of old. He doesn't know where Stede has gone. Did he just leave Ed? Or did he leave piracy entirely? From the things he's providing through the soulbond, it looks like it was just Ed, just the crew, just The Revenge. Ed knows the kind of fine-china teacups that would arrive for him if Stede had returned to living in the lap of luxury.

He's still being a pirate. Just not one that Ed gets to see. Not a pirate anywhere near where Ed could join him.

During previous benders, Ed would have gratefully knocked back the water and slammed down the food before returning to his drunken spiral. This time, he's about fucking done with taking anything Stede Bonnet is trying to dish out. The few times he has awoken to food or drink, he's opened the porthole and thrown it out into the waves, to founder and drown just like every other one of Stede Bonnet's beautiful things.

This afternoon, Ed does not wake up with a snack or a drink in front of him. At first, he thinks that he's made it through a night's rest without any unwelcome input from his wayward soulmate.

And then, as he's stumbling to his feet and scrubbing his hands over his face to get the gunk out of his fucking eyes and try to soothe some of the headache raging in his temples, Ed feels the rough drag of fabric over the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands away to look closer, he can see a long strip of dirty and sun-faded blue fabric wrapped and tied in a knot over the heart of his palm.

And that's, God, but he doesn't want to fucking think about any of this. Stede fucking Bonnet is coming back again to destroy every part of Ed's life. This fucking bond between them, stretching who knows how fucking far over the sea, ripping open any scab that tries to grow over the aching hole in Ed's chest.

He ripped his heart out without even noticing it, left it safe in Stede's hand, there on the moonlit deck while he spoke of fine things. If his fucking soulmate is going to send things, he may as well send the fucking heart back.

Not that The Kraken needs anything like a heart, really. When you think about it. Who cares about the manner in which it was lost? It can all add to the mystique. The Kraken, scourge of the high seas, who ripped his own beating heart from his chest and cast it away.

Let Stede do whatever he wants with the heart. It doesn't matter. It's gone now. Pulled bloody and raw from his chest and disconnected in every way. Stede can throw it overboard. Stede can crush it beneath his boot. It doesn't matter. It's been pulled out and written off already.

Ed knows some of the stories people tell about him. His head is made of smoke. He can disappear and reappear like the wind. His ship is followed by a fleet of bloodthirsty ghosts. He's done quite a bit of intentional work in developing those legends. The fuckeries, the leather, the candles in his beard.

What's one more legend on the pile? Captain Blackbeard, demon escaped from hell who ripped his own still-beating heart from his chest to keep anyone from being able to influence or bargain with him.

In fact, someone needs to summon Frenchie, the one who can sew. Because Ed's got a new idea for the fucking flag.

*~*~*

"I understand that this is not what you signed up for when you joined the crew of The Revenge. I promised you regular pay and adventure on the high seas. If you want to move on to a different crew, I would completely understand and would be more than willing to send you on your way with a glowing letter of introduction and recommendation for your next captain. You've been an absolutely essential part of this crew and I want to support you in whatever you determine would be the best move for your well-being in the next few years."

"Um, okay," stutters The Swede. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't go anywhere else right now, since we're on a beach without a ship and also I don't want to move to a different crew."

"Oh," Stede smiles, trying not to allow himself to get carried away with excitement. "Well obviously the offer would still be available once we're able to make our way back to port and there are other opportunities for employment."

"Are you kicking me out of the crew?" And the Swede is starting to panic now, and Stede is starting to panic, and the conversation is already falling apart.

"I mean, I certainly don't want you to leave. You're more than welcome to stay. But if you wanted to leave, I would understand, is what I'm trying to tell you."

"Can I please stay?"

"Of course, of course. You're a part of the crew of The Revenge, even if we don't currently have The Revenge to crew."

"Okay, okay. I'm just going to go now. If that's okay with you. But I'm still part of the crew, right?"

"Right, the Swede."

"Great, okay. Okay, goodbye Captain."

The Swede was sitting with Stede in a little side area of the beach, where Stede had managed to set up two benches made of driftwood, settled a few feet apart from each other and several hundred yards away from where the rest of the crew is currently working to argue about which direction they should be traveling next. As Stede watches now, the Swede runs across the hot sand and integrates himself back in among the rest of the crew, who turn to check on what could have made him so upset. Stede smiles awkwardly, because he can't think of any better way to respond, and raises his hand in a wave before gesturing for Roach to come talk to him for a moment.

Stede wants to spend the next year sitting in a room, writing love letters to Ed and focusing until he can find a way for him to wake up with them in his hand every morning.

But, unfortunately, that's not the only thing he's responsible for. Stede may have been an utter failure of an uninvolved father figure, but he really is working to change that. He has his crew around him, he's pulled them from where they were marooned, but they are still entirely without money and without transportation or options. He's spoken with each of them one-on-one, trying to give them the choice to leave or stay without having to go through the pressure of talking about that in front of the rest of the crew. No one has asked to leave yet.

Stede can still feel that light within him. It's still expanded to full lighthouse status. Hasn't stopped since the minute he started to understand a way that he could leave and have all of this again without anyone getting hurt. It's shining shining shining out of him, and what a responsibility this all is: building a life for himself when he's actually decided to care about what he wants and who is around him, rather than just joylessly working to jump through the hoops in front of him.

His crew is around him and he loves them, loves every single one of them, missed them like a limb while he was gone. But that is a heavy thing. A weight around his neck. Because they are all looking at him, waiting for him to have a plan that will take care of their needs.

You said you wanted to be Blackbeard. This is what it’s like.

Stede is starting to realize that he does not have many skills that help make a lot of money quickly, especially when he's given up the family fortune he always relied on.

What does that make him? A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy, presumably. The same as he has always been. Except, actually, not even rich anymore. Just weak-hearted and lily-livered and spoiled to the point that he has no idea how to even begin to go about providing for himself without all the help he's received from generational wealth.

But, well, they're all looking at him. They're all trying to figure out what the plan is and they're waiting for Stede to say something.

So tighten up, man. Get it together, Baby Bonnet. It's time to step up and figure out how to solve this.

Stede decides to set a course for the Republic of Pirates. And, since they have no ship other than one dinghy, that starts with all of them setting off to walk through the woods.

*~*~*

"You told me you can sew," The Kraken growls, gesturing lazily with the gun in its grip. Frenchie takes one look at it and flinches away. Poor, soft thing from Stede's crew. He'll toughen up while he's here, but for now he's a cringing, anxious mess in front of Blackbeard.

"Yep, yes, that's right. Been sewing for ages."

"I need you to sew something for me," The Kraken snarls and Ed digs through the nasty pile of fabrics in his nest on the floor. There isn't anything left of Stede's finery, all thrown overboard and the memory of him along with it, but the crew has been running raids for days. It's not hard to find something bright red and fine. He'd use the handkerchief if he still had it, but Stede took that just like he took everything else and isn't that just fitting, when you think of the gaping hole in Ed's chest?

Frenchie stays silent, nodding his head like a marionette on a string and refusing to look away from his captain. Maybe he'll learn faster than Ed thought. Even so, better to put the fear of fucking God into him now than risk him running off and getting any ideas in his head later.

The Kraken saunters forward again, the gun still loose and dancing in his grip. The trick to being properly fucking intimidating with a gun is to not particularly care whether or not you accidentally shoot it. So what if Frenchie gets shot? There are more lackeys that would jump at the opportunity to work with Blackbeard. So what if Ed gets shot? Maybe he'll finally fucking feel something.

Frenchie is watching with careful, terrified eyes. The Kraken waits for a good long minute, lets the silence stretch into something awful and tense, far longer than anyone would want it to last, before he finally breaks it by throwing one of the bright red capes he's found toward him. Frenchie flinches back as it covers his line of sight for a moment but is calm and predictable in his motions when he reaches up to move it out of the way. Very interesting. Ed is starting to realize that he might need to be keeping a closer eye on this one. Or, more realistically, he needs to make sure Izzy is keeping a close enough eye on him.

"You're going to expand the flag. I want a heart at the end of the spear." The Kraken leans in even closer, making sure to unnerve Frenchie even more. "See where the skeleton guy is aiming? I want him to be stabbing a bright red heart."

"Yes, sir, Captain Blackbeard, sir," Frenchie says, clearly shifting his sitting position to make sure he's keeping the gun in his line of sight. The Kraken gives it a little bit of a wiggle, just to keep things exciting. A panicked, strained smile is spread across Frenchie's face. "Do you have a certain fabric that you want me to use for the extension."

The Kraken raises the gun, strokes the barrel of it across Frenchie's cheek, because he's about done being asked specific questions about this. He doesn't want to think about the flag or his heart or what it might be doing getting stabbed somewhere outside of his body. He wants Frenchie to understand exactly what he wants from this and to make it happen without bringing a single other question to him. Is that so much to ask?

"Just find something that matches, kay?" He infuses some false, chaotic brightness into his voice, leans in too close and relishes at the way Frenchie flinches back. How comforting, to be so feared now. How familiar, to be treated as the monster he and everyone else knows he is.

Frenchie makes a quiet little humming whimper of agreement and nods his head even faster. Ed steps back, moves out of his bubble, gives him back the personal space he is clearly oh so fucking desperate for. Who gives a shit anyway.

He stomps down the hallway, swings by the galley for another bottle or two of whatever alcohol Izzy's picked up from these raids. It's all strong as paint thinner and the same mysterious, ubiquitous brown. He pops the cork with his teeth and takes a long, burning swig to purify all the rotten putrefaction that's crawling up his chest.

That's fucking better.

*~*~*

They're making it to The Republic of Pirates with good time, all things considered. It's a long, hot trek and Oluwande and Black Pete are back to bickering even worse than they ever did when this all started. Stede knows it’s the heat and the physical exertion and the dehydration and the lack of food. It's a miracle anyone is managing to get along, and those two never managed it with a steady income, room, and board.

"I bet Lucius and Jim are taking the ship over as we speak. They're probably going to come sailing back to where we were. I’m telling you guys we shouldn't have left."

"They're not coming back, Pete. Shut up."

"They could be! I'm just sorry you don't believe in them as much as I do. They could do anything they set their minds to, and if everyone would just listen to me then we would be back on the ship in no time."

"Oh really," and Olu's voice is getting waspish and petty at this point. "They'll probably just go up against all of Blackbeard's crew all on their own, huh? Wasn't it you who was telling us just a few weeks ago about how impossible it is to beat any of them in a fight?"

"Well obviously I said all of that before we were in a situation like this. But they're going to come back-"

"Oh my God," Olu groans the words so that they interrupt and overpower Black Pete's. "We were all going to starve on that island and we need to get somewhere safe before we can try to go back and save Lucius and Jim and Frenchie."

"We wouldn't have starved if everyone would-"

"Oh really? Well then-"

"Hey guys!" Stede shouts over his shoulder, because they've all been walking in a messy line and Olu and Black Pete are on opposite sides of it and shouting their disagreements across the whole crew. It started with everyone listening in and exchanging scandalized faces, but it's never going to stop and Stede is getting so tired. "How about we remember to either say something nice or not say anything at all."

They're both on him, immediately, calling for him to justify his interruption, tell them which person is right in the first place, and Stede is so tired that he wants to lay down right there on the forest floor and stop moving until everyone has walked past him and the waves erode him away.

"How about," and he's straining his self-control to its very limits, trying to remember that all of this is his fault in the first place. He made the choices that got them all here, and it's completely understandable that the crew would be upset and easy to irritate. No one's fault but his own. "We all just keep quiet. Or we can play a game of I Spy. Black Pete, you go first."

They're resistant to it at first, but one of the many things Stede loves about his crew is the fact that they are willing to do something silly just for the fun of it, once you get them started. The game goes on for a few miles before it descends once more into bickering and Stede needs to interrupt all over again. It's fine. It's all fine. He just needs to make it to The Republic of Pirates.

*~*~*

Frenchie lets Izzy know when the flag is done, and Izzy stumps his way over to find Ed. He's rolling his eyes, small and furious and confused and in pain and frustrated with this whole endeavor. It's so easy to read every piece of that on him and Ed could kill him for it, the hypocrisy of it all. If no one else on the face of the earth was going to be happy at the return of The Kraken, at least Izzy was supposed to. Everyone else was supposed to leave and run screaming and terrified before Ed could ever delude himself for long enough to forget all the rotten, monstrous, blackened parts of himself.

Izzy, though, they're supposed to be a team in this. They made Blackbeard together.

But, well, that's the core of it, isn't it? Izzy wants Blackbeard, not The Kraken. They're so similar. Blackbeard is the bloodthirsty persona that he and Ed have made and touted all across the seven seas for the past few decades. That's part of the show, the part that everyone gets to see, when the performance is on and playing out. They built that together. That's what Izzy wanted back.

The Kraken, though, that's all Ed. That's been a part of him since long before he ever met Izzy. It was stupid to forget that. The Kraken is the awful, ruthless part of Ed that pushed his mother away, killed his father, held a knife to young Izzy's throat and kidnapped him from his home.

Sure, Izzy is the one person who ever seemed to move closer in response to The Kraken, when everyone else ran screaming. Well. Izzy and Stede, for just a little bit there, before he got tired of it all and left for something bigger and cleaner and better. But Izzy was the one who stayed. The one who somehow seemed to like it. The one sure thing.

It doesn't fucking matter. The Kraken is unpredictable and vicious to the point that it's impossible for them to consult on what their next fuckery might involve, or what the big strategy is. The strategy is that Ed is pissed the fuck off and he's going to burn the world down making it clear and maybe, if he's very lucky, he'll end up as a footnote at the end of Stede Bonnet's day, when he hears about what a disaster he left behind.

There's no consultation and there's no teamwork because The Kraken isn't a fucking team player. He's going to rip out the throat of every pissant who tries to tell him he's wrong and he's going to burn the corpses behind him and let them try to stop him. Let them try to tell him that he has to slow down, stop drinking, calm himself.

Ed stands on the deck and swigs his mystery liquor, feels it burning the taste buds off the surface of his tongue. Leaving him as ravaged on the inside as he feels. He watches in calm menace as Frenchie raises the flag up the mast. Watches in satisfaction as this new myth of Blackbeard is born: the man who ripped his own heart out of his chest and destroyed it. The man who can't be touched or known. The man who could love no one.

He clenches his hand tight around the bottle, takes another deep drink, refuses to read into any of this. Let someone else on this deck try to say a single fucking word about it. He'll kill them where they stand.

He clenches his hand tight around the bottle. He's wearing his leather gloves and trying to pretend that they aren't swelteringly hot and a frustrating barrier between himself and the rest of the world. He's trying not to let himself think for even a second about what it was like to live for a few weeks however he felt most comfortable. Dressing down a little, taking off the gloves, not having to sweat his ass off every minute in head-to-toe leathers. Of course, whenever he tries to not think about something it just makes it stronger and louder, and it's all he can think of now, sweat dripping from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, uncomfortable and agonized and drunk in the summer sun.

He clenches his hand tight around the bottle. He watches the new flag wave bright and long in the wind, feels the leather press into his hand. He feels the strange press of a knot of fabric pressing into the dip of his palm. It's crammed under tight-fitting leather. That's what happens when you wear something leather for years. It starts to reform itself to fit exactly into the spaces you fill. Adding a strip of fabric tied into a knot shouldn't be that much of a difference, but it was effort and work to slip it over his hand and get it settled into place. Even now, every time he makes a fist or moves his hand, the leather moves and pulls in a different way than he's used to.

He could take it off. He should take it off. Cut that fucking shit off his hand and throw it out of the porthole along with everything else Stede has sent his way.

He's Blackbeard. He's a fucking killer, man. He ripped his own still-beating heart out of his chest and left it behind so that no one would ever be able to touch him again. He's made of smoke and mirrors and fuckery and rot. He doesn't need a soulmate and he doesn't even have the necessary anatomy to feel something as soft as love.

He's going to cut it off and get rid of it.

In just a minute.

He will.

*~*~*

"You got a lot of nerve, finding your way back into my bar, Genital Pirate."

Stede maybe should have stopped for a wash, meal, and nap between the time he got into The Republic of Pirates and ended up going to Spanish Jackie'z. He can see that now. Although, at the same time, he doesn't have any of the money to make that happen.

"Spanish Jackie, I would never want to disrespect your fine establishment-"

"Good," she cuts him off before he can get a full sentence into his sales pitch. "Then get the fuck out before you end up in my new nose jar. Since you ruined the old one." She's got a knife twirling between her fingers. All the other patrons of the bar are staring. Stede is so tired. He needs to make this work.

"I hear you, and I can leave in just a moment. But, before I go, I would be remiss if I didn't offer you the chance for me to help you remodel your bar."

"Get out." She's advancing on him with the knife in her hand. Some of the other patrons are standing up too, walking behind her, making it very clear that Stede is the outsider here and the island would be on Jackie's side unhesitatingly. As if Stede didn't already know that. He starts backing up anyway, hands raised in front of himself, begging for her to take the time to listen.

"Okay, so maybe you're not looking for that. And it's such a lovely place I can hardly blame you. But surely you need someone to scrub the floors. Or maybe someone to run errands for you. Deliver things. Carry messages. Organize your wardrobe." He trips and falls, because he's an idiot, and the only comfort at this point is the fact that he had several of his crew wait outside and only brought in Olu and Buttons, so only a small number of his crew will see his utter disgrace in this room.

He's on his back on the stairs leading down into Jackie'z. She's over him with a knife and Olu and Buttons are watching with dread from the sidelines. For so much of Stede's life before this moment, he would have laid there and accepted whatever fate wanted to deal out to him.

But now. He can't die yet. He doesn't want to die yet. Not before he's tracked Ed down and talked to him. Not until he's been able to explain himself and the choices he made. Not before he can confess his love and beg on bended knee for Ed to accept his apology.

Then, after that, the fates can do whatever they want. Ed could slit his throat right then and there and Stede would deserve it. He could turn Stede away and leave him to spend the rest of his life in the quiet joy of piracy and rock-solid certainty that he will never find anyone ever again who can understand him so well, who is so worthy of love, who shines so brilliantly in the endless drudgery of life.

He'll do it. He'll follow whatever it is that Ed tells him to do. That's what he deserves. He deserves some power, some control, the ability to sentence Stede however he sees fit.

"Please," it bursts out of his chest, wet with the tears on his cheeks, and it's all so embarrassing and ridiculous but that should really just be the subtitle of Stede's autobiography at this point. "I'll do anything. Anything you want. I need help and I can't think of where else to turn."

He's crying, because of course he is. Stede knows he's an ugly, flushed, sweaty crier, so he tries to pull himself together but it's only making it all worse. He knows this. He can't make it stop. Jackie towers over him. She's immaculately dressed. Her bar is full of patrons who seem quite happy with the set up. It's authentic and pirate-y and fine just as it is. She's got the island on her side and twenty husbands to hold her at night. She doesn't need anything that Stede has to offer. "Get the fuck out of my bar before my husbands kick your ass." And, well, Stede gets the fuck out. Presumably Olu and Buttons follow behind him. He doesn't slow down to check. He's doing what he can to get away from the sound of a group jeering in laughter. It's all a little too close to the way he felt as a young boy, running from people that clearly didn't need him, and why did he think that this would be different, now that he's gone and fallen in love and put even more of his vulnerability and soft innards on display?

He leaves.

*~*~*

The Kraken stands on the bow of the ship and relishes in the spray of summer ocean breeze on his face. It'll salt and crust his hair in great bushy waves and make him look one half as feral as he feels inside.

There's a ship on the horizon. Too far off to determine if it's a merchant ship, naval, another pirate. It doesn't matter. They're out here destroying anything that moves. He's not picky.

The Kraken gestures behind himself, calling for Izzy to notice the speck and direct the ship. The sails creak, the wind shifts, and they're on their way.

The Kraken leans into the wind, lets it howl through the hole ripped through the center of him, lets it set him to singing.

There's a piece of fabric wrapped around Ed's hand.

He's going to burn the fucking world down with him.

#ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #ofmd ed #edward teach #blackbeard #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #blackbeard x stede #stedward #edward x stede #ofmd fic #soulmate au #my writing #nettles

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inbetweenhours · 2 years

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My gift for @tev-the-random for the @mcytblrholidayexchange :D This has a a wip attached as you can see, it was my first draft of your prompt before I settled on the finished design above :] There is a written component I added because I wasn’t sure how to match your prompt well with just art aha. You had a lot of options and variety :] Also uh, if it wasn't clear this is based on the finale of Season 1 so yknow :v:

[ID: Image 1 is a digital drawing of Empires SMP season 1 Roseblings sat together riding the back of a white dragon high in the clouds. Gem is in front, a tense expression on her face. A baby ender dragon, Violet, is in her lap. Fwhip is sat behind her, looking conflicted down.

Image 2 is a screenshot of the gates of The Crystal Cliffs. Its opacity is low and over it Gem and Fwhip are sketched. gem is closer to the foreground, staring is horror with a purple barrier of magic above her, protecting her from falling rubble. Violet, a baby ender dragon, is in her arms. In the background Fwhip leans against the gate opening, mask drawn over his mouth.]

The sound was the first thing to reach them. A mighty boom ripping through the air as a warning for what was to come. For many seconds the people of the Crystal Cliffs paused, curious of their neighbours' practices, and turned back to their days. High Wizard Geminitay did much the same as any other citizen. Looking up out the high window of her tower and squinting at the horizon line to the north. Wondering absentminded what trouble her brother has gotten into. She huffed, rolling her eyes and turning away from the darkening skyline back towards her deskwork.

Only moments later she look up to the sound of screams below, and is blown off her chair by the force of her window shattering.

Scrambling to roll behind her desk does little to shield her. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, she watches as her paperwork is blown awry. The Crystal Cliffs are usually safe, even with such explosive neighbours. The Grimlands have never been a threat. She scrambles for her staff, hiking up her skirt with a free hand as she sprints down the stairs of her tower. She pauses when she can, muttering incantation after incantation for protection as the building shakes around her. Tall buildings don’t do well with Grimlands-brand disaster. She needs to get to low ground, fast.

As she breaches the landing of her home, throwing the doors open, she immediately regrets it. Gasping and swinging her staff in wide strokes to sweep an arcana barrier before her. A chunk of debris shatters on impact, throwing her backwards with the weight, but luckily without injury.

She pushes onward to the steps overlooking the Cliffs, and feels her breath cut short as she does.

Masses of debris are raining through the city. Every man, woman, and child running for their lives, wands raised and luck held close to their chests. A mass of roof disrupts Gems' view, nearly crashing into a student she had seen only days prior. She feels a sickening sense of pride with the speed at which their wand flies up to protect them.

Then she looks up, gut swirling with dread as she finally takes in the distance. Nauseous black smog rippled over the forest. Grimlands is obscured completely from view, not a roof or wall in sight. It draws something hard to grip her throat.

Her parents are over there. Her brother, and their childhood home. Their parents forge where they played as children. Where Fwhip once burnt his hand and where he first trusted her to cast a spell on him. Not as a prank, but to help. The streets they used to run through, sparklers in hand in celebration of their country’s founding.

The Crystal Cliffs are Gems pride and joy, where she learned and thrived and made something of herself. But The Grimlands was her home. And not a single piece of it can be seen through the smog.

She blinks, taking a shuddering breath and turning towards her own empire. Her heels click dangerously as she sprints, avoiding debris with light steps and a strong barrier spell over her head. She shouts encouragement to students and citizens alike, corralling them in groups to protect one another. They call to her for guidance.

“Get to the academy”, she advises in return, authoritative and knowing in all the ways a mentor must be. “It has a lot of room, and together your spells may keep you safe!”

“What about you!” A young girl calls, her braids all twisted up. A new student calls out to her, from Gilded Helianthia if the tan complexion and sunflower embroidered skirt are any indication. Oh how far from home she is.

“I’m your headmaster, I will be fine.” She smiles as honestly as she can. The student nods shakily, and is ushered away by her upperclassmen and the young man that runs the crystal shop.

Gem turns her gaze just slightly to the caved in remains of a roof and various shards near her heels, and winces. Perhaps ran the crystal shop is a more apt description.

She doesn’t dwell on it much longer, no time for such things. Making a sharp turn for the dragon stables as another chunk of debris disrupts the stone pathways. There's a cry from nearby as it makes contact with the street and Gem tears her eyes away as she spots blood seeping through the cracks of the pathway.

Gem has never been one for worship, growing up Alatristic. She still refuses to give herself to any god, even seeing the purple of her academy’s uniform peeking from beneath the debris.

It’s many steps past the atrocity that she succumbs with a heavy heart, and hopes that The Copper King and his vigil is watching.

She hardens her gaze as she meets the stables, beckoning one of the three grand white dragons from their perches with care. They’re curious about the calamity outside, she sees it in their eyes. Violet seems less enthralled and more afraid, half flying from where she had been curled up alongside one of the greater beasts.

“Awe, Violet— come here!” Gem coos, wrapping the hatchling up in her caplet carefully. She flinches, curling over the baby as a crash hits close outside. She hardens her expression, grappling for the mighty white dragon's muzzle and leading it out.

She watches over her kingdom for a long moment, and considers her choice. Citizens running for cover, clammering up the steps of the academy in the distance. She should go to them. They need guidance, they need someone to tell them it will be okay and lead them through these dark spots in the Cliffs' history. That would be the right thing to do, as their leader, as their mentor.

Gem whistles, sprinting towards the gates of the city, away from her people. The great white dragon flying overhead with her call. She points clamouring citizens in the right direction, even as she pushes past them.

And there, at the gate of her empire, Gem feels the air leave her lungs.

Count Fwhip stands, leaned against the walls of the gate, goggles cracked and scarf drawn over his mouth as he coughs. Gem can’t find it in herself to care that he is coated in soot as she runs towards him. She grapples his arms, and drags him away from his post. He stumbles in her hold, coughing up a storm of soot and smog.

“You’re okay— you’re alive—” Gem stumbles over her word, pulling her brother haphazardly along. “Are you insane? Of course you're insane— come along quick!” She rambles scoldingly.

Fwhip manages a wry chuckle, before dissolving into hacking again. “Ah— Gem, my legs hurt. Just— just give me a second—”

“At least you have legs,” She hisses, pulling her brother along despite his stumbling feet and protests. She keeps her eyes up and ahead as she navigates, watching for the great white beast above as it circles, high above the peak of the debris. “Do you have any idea what’s happened? We need to go— now.”

“It wasn’t— it wasn’t meant to explode. I don’t know why it exploded—” Fwhip rambles, wincing as his heels are clipped by pebbles. The shaking of the earth throws him off balance and Gem barely grapples his arm before he hits the fractured rocks beneath them.

The look Fwhip gives her when he looks up solidifies something in her. The desperate shaken smile as he continues to ramble. Incoherent and wild eyed, and she knows this is his fault. This isn’t any random malfunction from any odd project. This was her brother.

Her lips pressed together, and she can see his expression waver, his excuses dwindling as yet another crash echoes amongst the screams. He whips up to look in its direction. Whatever he sees drains any colour left in his skin. Gem doesn’t follow his gaze, keeping her eyes on him as she realises what exactly she is feeling.

Disappointment.

Her lips tremble as she thinks it, and she knows maybe she is also frustrated. Staring down at her brother, who she loves and who she will choose again and again, over and over. Who she will defend the behaviour of to anyone— from Guardian Katherine to The Codfather. Who she has stood by through trial and tribulation, war and alliance. Nothing has made her turn her back on him.

And this is what she gets. An accident that shatters her country, her responsibility. That finally puts her in the crossfire. Maybe it’s karma, for never holding Fwhip back. When he rains explosives upon their enemies, tearing riffs in the land and biting enough to match his bark.

She remembers something The Copper King had once said to her, at the tail end of a negotiations meeting between their allies. They have a saying in Pixandria, “To hold the fire is noble, but beware of its burn”. It is meant to warn the countless watchers of the vigil not to burn themselves lighting candles and lanterns, to be careful handling the flames. It has evolved to mean that when handling something dangerous, put yourself before others. Choosing to guard a fire is good, to watch it so it does not get out of hand. But to stand so close to something so dangerous means you will be burned eventually.

Gem had brushed the King off as cordially as she could at the time. She has her own sayings, ones of loyalty and eternity and entirely unconnected from the gods.

She wonders if she had listened at the time if she would still be here in this mess, choosing between her country and her brother. She wonders if it would have changed her choice at all.

It doesn’t now, even if she knows better.

She grabs Fwhip’s shoulder, not speaking as he winces, and draws out her staff. She looks up, hoping that the sky does not crush them in the moments she needs to let down her protective spell. She draws around them sigils on the ground, and thanks all she knows that Fwhip has given up on speaking.

Moments later they alight into purple wisps, and find themselves unsteady on the back of the great flying white dragon. Fwhip nearly tumbles off before Gem drags him back by his scarf.

“Thanks,” Fwhip mutters, spitting some remnant of soot from his mouth into the sky below. Gem grimaces, sitting in front of him and looking down over her people.

“Hold on tight,” is all she says, tucking her chin over Violet as she curls up around her neck.

They don’t speak after that.

Fwhip tried. Asked where they were going, asked what the plan was. Gem didn’t know. For once she didn’t want to be the one with the plan, and didn't want to clean up everyone else's mess.

“Away,” is all she said. Maybe it was her tone, or the dry closed off choke of her throat that gave it away, but Fwhip stayed quiet after that. Barely dared to breathe or cough as they soared away.

Away from their homes, and their responsibilities. From their friends, whatever may have remained of their family. Gem thinks to herself, amongst the expanse of clouds, if her people will be alright. She gave them direction, they are strong together. They will elect a new headmaster soon enough. They surely saw her leave.

Saw her abandon them.

She doesn’t bother asking if there's anything left of Grimlands. Too afraid if she opens her mouth it will only spit anger. She’ll get over it. She knew she would the second she made her choice.

Fwhip is her brother. She would die for him and she knows he would just as easily do the same. She has never claimed to be a selfless person, and she refuses to have guilt for choosing Fwhip over her students. She always would, and they would be fools to think otherwise.

That doesn’t mean she can’t be angry. Can’t be disappointed with the efforts of her defence returned so cruelly. The accidental nature makes it only worse. One day she will let Fwhip explain himself. And maybe that will make it better. Maybe it won’t.

For now she grits her teeth and stares into the blue expanse ahead, Violet in her lap and her brother at her side. She moves forward.

#mcytwinterholidayexchange #empires smp #empires smp 1 #geminitay #roseblings #fwhip #art #fanart #fic #fanfic #kinda #empires season 1 finale spoilers #hourspost #hoursart #hoursfic #cant believe i forgot my own tags lmao #id

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sakkiichi · 1 year

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MATCHUP FOR MY LOVELY 🥞 ANON.

hi, love ! i’m sorry this took so long but thank you for sending your request <3

when i read your matchup info for the first time i had someone in mind who could click well with you, but then i was thinking back on it and someone else popped into my mind and i was like ‘wait he’s even a better match’. i hope you won’t be disappointed…

so, your genshin impact match is someone who likes to protect beautiful things. he is free spirited and passionate, very charming and assertive, and he is fascinated by your quieter and gentle nature. while he flows freely like a summer breeze, he is not one to let others overstep his boundaries, and he wants to keep you safe as well. he is not fazed in the slightest by the sharpness in your gaze, for, he can see through that, your inherent softness so evident to him.

i think you might already have an idea about who i’m thinking about, no? well, on the case we have…

✧ SHIKANOIN HEIZOU

To Heizou, what you call reserved and timid is synonym for adorable and precious. He thinks you are so bright in this world filled with corruption, robbery and bloodshed… he wants to keep you always safe and happy, always smiling.

The famed detective is pretty talkative and easy going too, even flirtatious without it ever being uncomfortable (he’s a total charmer), so I do believe he’d help you get out of your shell a little, glimpses of your more energetic and cheerful self resurfacing with the soft pink cherry blossoms he likes to watch with you.

Your hard gaze and not exactly approachable exterior were never an obstacle for Heizou, quite the opposite, in fact, you were not unlike a mystery he wanted to solve; who was that pretty stranger dressed in pastels, with a faraway and dreamy expression?

Perhaps he’d find out today…

—

The sky above Inazuma city is reminiscent of a clear lagoon. No clouds are spotted in the blue expanse, the occasional bird flying high haloed by the resplendent sunbeams bleeding into the heavens, finding respite in the cotton-candy pink of the cherry blossoms lining the streets.

Under the rosy rain of flowers, she stands there again. Her white skirt flutters in the late summer breeze, swaying in tune with her light hair. Her night sky eyes seem lost in thought, the falling petals reflected in the glasses perched before them, like a million sweet constellations.

Beautiful, the detective thinks, a hue not unlike the fluttering blooms coloring his cheeks.

And maybe because he was too entranced by the sight before him, one of the papers from the stack he was holding flies away.

It follows an arching trajectory, until it lands right next to where she’s sitting.

This is no coincidence, Heizou thinks making his way to you. He’s a detective, he didn’t believe in fate. It was his choice to linger there for a few instants more, after all.

“Excuse me!” He calls from a distance, not obtaining an answer. “Hello!” He tries again.

Question marks dancing in the emerald irises of his eyes, the Tenryou commission detective takes a few steps closer to where you sit.

Then he spots them. Headphones. Its soft hue almost merging with you and the scenery from a distance.

No wonder you didn’t react when he called.

Crouching by your side, Heizou lightly taps your shoulder.

Seconds later, he’d be stumbling backwards.

You gasp, scrambling to your feet, sliding your headphones off, picking up the notebook and papers you were writing on.

“W-who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?” You ask, gaze hardened and guarded, arms protectively tightening around your belongings.

The young detective rises his arms. Standing up from the grass, he dusts himself off.

“I’m a detective with the Tenryou commission.” He observes how your breath hitches, eyes widening, the steel of your stare cracking. “No, please, don’t worry, I’m not here to involve you in any case.” He pleads.

You have to admit his voice is both soothing and entertaining to listen to, in a way. It’s nice.

“It’s just that, well, one of the papers I was carrying here,” he shows you a worn folder. “Just flew to the pile you had scattered around you.”

“Oh.” You sigh in relief, checking the stack of papers you haphazardly shoved inside your notebook.

Then you spot one you don’t recognize. Printed font fills the page, with a few black and white pictures stuck to it with tape. On the top right corner, a name is typed in. “Shikanoin Heizou.” You read out loud. “I guess this is yours.” You offer him the report with a smile.

“That’s right.” He smiles back, sincere, vivid green eyes shimmering in the midday sun. You can’t help but get lost in them for a few seconds; his stare is hypnotizing in its mischief and the twin beauty marks underneath those knowing eyes of his.

“Thank you.” Heizou chirps, his voice pulling you out of your little daydream. The more you hear, the more pleasing you realize his tone is. “May I know your name?” The detective asks, hopefulness written in his expectant expression.

—

No matter how close you and Heizou get, he always finds so much wonder in your escapist and daydreaming tendencies. To him, you feel almost magical, and even though he claims to have an aversion for fighting, he won’t hesitate to throw hands with whoever dares pop the fantasy bubble you’ve built around yourself.

He adores the soft colored clothes and accessories you wear and loves, loves, loves the fact that you like perfumes and scented things. It’s just something so precious to him, and he’ll be more than happy to try and guess which perfume you’re wearing today.

Plus, if you ask him for advice when purchasing a new one? His eyes sparkle in joy that you trust him with something like that.

As cheerful and carefree as Heizou appears to be, the truth is he struggles too sometimes. That is why I think your comforting personality would go very well with him. When he’s with you, he doesn’t feel the need to put on a smile if he is breaking inside, he can just be Heizou, in all his rawest emotions.

In the same way, I do believe Heizou can be a good voice of reason and comfort you as well, preventing you over exhaust and drain emotionally. You mention you like complimenting others, but mister detective Shikanoin here definitely does have a way with his speech as well, and he will undoubtedly use it to make you flustered.

And well, he always loved to shower you in gifts, so your spending habits are not a problem to him. From flowers to cute bags to plushies, to anything that reminded him of you, it’s not uncommon for the famous detective to come home to you after work with some surprise or other.

And not only is he glad to spend money spoiling you with presents that make you happy and that you deserve, but the smile and affection you give him every time are certainly priceless, he’d do anything to protect it.

If we think about a modern au, I can totally imagine you both exchanging memes, pictures or videos that reminded you of each other; hours spent texting feeling like seconds, matching smiles illuminated by the glow of your respective phone screens.

Being an entp, Heizou shares with infp intuition and creativity, and even though you both use it in different ways, I think you’re a good match. While he puts his wits on the case to solve mysteries, he is drawn to your more abstract ideas of escaping reality. To him, they are beautiful, you are beautiful. And because I think neither entps nor infps are worried about being unusual, you two would find comfort in the other.

Due to his personality type and witty nature, another aspect Heizou enjoys a lot when he’s with you is your way with words. From writing, to teasing, to comfort, he could never get bored or tired of you.

Being a 7w6 enneagram, Heizou is spontaneous and very free-spirited, which I think can go very well with your 9w1’s peaceful nature. Last minute plans or on the spur of the moment outings would not be rare; he feels happy and fulfilled, and you, at ease with him by your side.

Heizou is extroverted, but not overwhelmingly so; he can be very cheerful but he’s not excessively loud, which I think goes quite well with the sensitive and idealistic traits of infp.

✧ RUNNER UP: KAVEH

He initially was my first choice, but then, thinking back on the info you sent, I just envisioned Heizou as your first match.

With Kaveh, I picture such a sweet fun-loving relationship. You both are kind and comforting, to the point of putting others first sometimes, so I think you could understand each other quite well in that sense.

Much like Heizou, Kaveh can be extroverted, even bordering on dramatic, but never overbearing, thus being a good combination with your more reserved nature.

Our famed architect here would definitely break his bank too buying you anything you like, for which you sometimes feel bad, but he just wanted to make you happy; he doesn’t mind if he has to work on extra commissions to pay it all off.

Kaveh would be so gentle with you, making sure not to startle you with unexpected touches or loud noises.

I feel he’d be super into perfumes too, and would often join you when you’re buying them or anything scented.

He definitely has an eye for beauty and good taste, so he’d also love helping you choose the right colors for your outfits (for you, he’d even be willing to try and design them to your personal preference).

#genshin impact matchups #genshin matchups #genshin impact matchup #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #kaveh x reader

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emeraldzephyr · 1 year

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Glory Days: A Baseball AU Fic

Part 1 of my Baseball Player Steve Harrington Fic!

Eddie Munson was at the last place he thought he would ever be on a Wednesday afternoon.

After arriving in Chicago for the next stop on Corroded Coffin's Raising the Dead tour, their manager, Nancy Wheeler, presented them with suite tickets to the Chicago Cubs game.

"One of the player's brothers is a huge fan" She said as she passed over the envelope, "It would mean a lot to go, and it's good press."

"Nancy," Eddie started, and the rest of the band sighed, preparing for his rant, "We are not sports sorts. In fact, it was those same types that made our lives such hell in school. And yes, that was 10 years ago but I have a very good memory, and even a few scars to remember it by!"

"Look, it's 3 hours tops, there will be food and drinks in the suite, and if you get pics at the game I bet you sell out the rest of those tickets before the show on Saturday. Chicago loves the Cubs, and Steve Harrington is their golden boy."

Eddie looked to his band members, eyes darting between the three of them.

Gareth shrugged "Might as well, maybe it could be fun."

Eddie frowned, and glared down at Jeff, "Weirdly enough, I kind of like baseball."

Eddie gasped, murmuring traitor under his breath.

Finally, he leveled his gaze to Frank, who gulped before sputtering out, "I mean, free food and drinks is nice."

" Ugh… .fine!" Eddie snaps, throwing his hands up and flopping down on the couch in the hotel suite," but don't expect me to be happy about it."

Which brings us to the present, where Eddie sits in the cushy Legends suite at Wrigley Field. At least the day was nice, the sky a bright blue with fluffy clouds, a chill breeze just enough to cool the warm rays of the sun.

A bat cracked, and Eddie flinched. He knew there was netting keeping the balls from getting to them but that didn't stop his anxiety from expecting every single one of those fuckers to come flying at his face like some kind of jock powered magic missile.

“I would say you get used to it, but you really don’t.”

Eddie turned to see a woman with short brown hair and blue eyes seated two seats over. Her long legs were propped up on the seat in front of her, and she wore a white and blue striped jersey with HARRINGTON across the back.

“I mean, I’ve been going to Steve’s games since college and I still flinch every time.” She said, chuckling to herself, “I’m Robin, by the way.”

“Ah, so you must be Harrington’s lucky girl!” Eddie exclaims, sweeping his hands open in a dramatic bow, “Eddie Munson, pleasure to meet you.”

“Eww, no.” Robin clips, “Steve is my very platonic best friend. And roommate, but I am but a humble graduate student and he makes fuck you amounts of money.”

Eddie barks out a laugh at that as the loudspeaker in the stadium crackles to life.

“Batting Number 4, Your Shortstop Steve Harrington!!”

The crowd roars to life, Robin cheering enthusiastically next to him, and Eddie’s jaw drops open as he hears a familiar drum and guitar riff before his own voice shouts through the stadium “I don’t need your crown!!”, the fans echoing his words as the guitar and drums kick into a fast and heavy riff. When Jeff explained the concept of walkout music to him earlier in the game he never expected to hear one of their own songs blasted through the stadium.

“Holy shit!” Gareth shouted, shaking Eddie by the shoulders “Harrington has our song as his walkout music!”

Eddie looks up to the jumbotron screens to see a close up of Harrington as he steps up to the batter's box, a beaming smile on his face as he taps the end of the bat on each shoe before bringing the bat up and squatting slightly to get in batting position, his eyes focused like a laser on the pitcher.

The first pitch flies in just below the strike zone, the second in the dirt.

“Ooo, they’re scared of him.” a curly haired man says, plopping into the empty seat between Eddie and Robin.

“Scared of him?” Eddie questions, tilting his head at the new arrival.

He turns towards Eddie and a look of recognition crosses his face, “Holy shit, you’re Eddie Munson! Steve said he was giving you and the band tickets but I didn’t think you’d actually come! I’m Dustin, his little brother!”

Dustin grabs Eddie’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically as Steve fouls off the third pitch.

“They’re scared of him because he’s a damn good player,” Robin fills in, sitting up just enough to make eye contact with Eddie over Dustin’s head.

“Yeah, they don’t want to give him anything he can get ahold of,” Dustin muses as the crack of the bat against the ball rings out through the stadium.

The ball rockets up the middle, cutting between the second base and shortstop and rolling through center field. Steve takes off at a sprint, rounding first base and making it comfortably to second before the ball flies in from the outfield.

“Hell yeah Steve!!” Dustin shouts, with Robin whistling.

* * * * *

Eddie spends the majority of the game talking to Dustin and Robin about a variety of topics. Eddie learns that Dustin is working at a tech company that does…something with radio waves. Honestly Eddie was lost on that one after about three words. He also learns Robin is studying linguistics at the University of Chicago. Eddie talks to them both about his music, their tour, and a few early ideas for songs.

The group always stops when Steve comes up to bat. It’s endearing how much the pair cares about Steve, contrasting with how little they care about the rest of the game. It honestly surprises Eddie how good of a time he is having.

Steve’s next two at bats are a sacrifice fly, putting the Cubs on the board but still behind. His second at bat ends in a double play, giving Eddie precious little time to admire the man as he ran the bases. And Eddie was a weak, weak man, and those baseball pants hugged just right. He should honestly know better than to crush on the straight jock, but looking was fine, right?

It was the bottom of the ninth and the Cubs trailed 4-1 when Steve came to bat, bases loaded. After Steve’s walkout music cut off you could hear a pin drop in the stadium. Pitch one was a fastball, rocketing in right down the center of the strike zone. Steve stood completely still, taking the strike. The next, a breaking ball down and left, outside the strike zone. One and one count.

“Holy shit this is stressful,” Eddie said through clenched teeth, twisting the rings on his fingers nervously.

“No kidding,” Robin mumbles, her knee bouncing anxiously as Steve stepped back into the batter’s box.

Pitch three was a fastball that floated just outside of the strike zone, pitch four a curve ball fouled off into the first base stands. The count was even, and it felt as if the stadium itself was holding its breath.

Pitch five was where the pitcher made a grave error. It flew straight down the center of the strike zone, but Steve was ready for it this time. The ball cracked off the bat, soaring towards right field. The stadium erupted, growing louder and louder the further the ball flew, until it landed in the right field bleachers.

“HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A WALK OFF GRAND SLAM!!” Dustin screamed, as all of them jumped to their feet, shouting and cheering as Steve and his teammates all rounded the bases.

The entire stadium was whipped into a frenzy, the team included. Steve rounded third base and beamed as his entire team waited for him at home plate, where they instantly swarmed him, multiple coolers of gatorade dunked on his head as the team celebrated.

Eddie and the Corroded Coffin boys couldn’t help but be swept up in the kinetic atmosphere of the stadium, jumping and cheering. His eyes locked with Gareth’s when the entire stadium began to sing.

“Go Cubs Go! Go Cubs Go! Hey, Chicago, what do you say, The Cubs are gonna win today!”

“They have their own theme song?” Gareth exclaimed, “We gotta do a cover.”

“Wouldn’t be the first!” Jeff shouted over the crowd, slinging an arm around Gareth’s shoulders, “Pantera wrote a song for the Dallas hockey team that they play when goals are scored.”

The crowd continued singing as they all filtered out of the stadium, while the suite that Eddie and the others were in continued their libations. After a few minutes, the door swung open and a chorus of “Steve!” rang out from the box.

Eddie may as well have looked right at the sun with as bright as Harrington was beaming as both Dustin and Robin threw their arms around his shoulders, both speaking lightning fast at him in their excitement. His eyes darted between the two of them, trying to keep up with the separate streams of conversations, when his eyes finally settled between the two of them on Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Frank.

“You must be Corroded Coffin!” He greeted, slipping between Robin and Dustin and walking over to shake hands, “I’m really glad you could make it, Dusty and I are both big fans.”

“Gotta say,” Eddie started as he shook Steve’s hand, “I didn’t expect a pretty boy jock like yourself to be a metal fan.”

Steve flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, well Dustin was the one who got me into it in all honesty. That plus a smidge of teenage rebellion was the right combination I guess. Plus, it makes great workout music.”

A woman’s head popped into the door as the group chatted, “Steve, we have a presser in 5.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder at the door, “If you don’t have plans after the game, we are doing a barbecue at my place.”

The Corroded Coffin boys all looked between each other, Jeff nodding enthusiastically. Frank shrugged, and Gareth smiled mischievously at Eddie. He didn’t like that look one bit.

“I guess we can swing by,” Eddie said, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at Gareth’s expression, then turning to smile at Steve.

“Great!” Steve beamed, clapping Eddie on the shoulder, “Robin can give you the details.”

Steve walked up to Nancy just before leaving, giving her a hug and lifting her slightly off her toes.

“It was good to see you Nance Pants,” he grinned, “See you at the barbecue!”

"Nance Pants?" The band choruses in unison.

"We are NOT talking about it."

#baseball player steve #musician eddie munson #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stobin #baseball!au #stranger things #emerald writes

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kirby-rarepair-tourney · 1 year

Text

Round 1, Set 4, Poll 3!

Spearbuddies and Craftbuddies: Zanfilis VS Craftyarn!

Which one's rarer, and which one's pairer? Vote now, for your favourite rarepair!

Propaganda:

Zanfilis

Imagine, if you will, a former woman of god. She has recently left the order that once was her life, and has stepped into a new, much wider world to discover. Everything is a bit strange, highly curious and deeply interesting. Modern technology is addictingly fascinating. The mere act of dining is enthralling with friendly company. The world seems so much larger. Bit by bit, her hardened shell cracks, letting fulfilment bloom. One day, she meets someone new. A soul reborn and reformed, liberated from their own prison. The woman is asked to guide them. To show them the wonders of existence that they had been denied for a million years. The student has become the teacher. She shows them the lush, green countries of a dreamland. She shows them the stars she used to traverse, a barren void when among them, now a rich tapestry when seen from below. She flies with them among cotton candy clouds and bathes with them under pristine, crystalline waterfalls. And she sees them for the miracle they are. A psychic person so vast and magnificent, powers so enthrallingly amazing, yet critically, not a god. Such a revelation unlocks her own enlightenment. Perhaps that wonder is attainable for all mortal life as well. Even herself. The living enigma is gifted the freedom to ponder once more. There is an open world to process things in. To think. To falter. To regress and panic. Things are too quiet. Spaces are too tight. It's too little. It's too much. Their powers, equally awesome, equally terrifying, collapse in on themselves as they retreat into their own, extra-dimensional mind. Back into confinement, a mental scar carved by the jailers that abandoned them. But now she is there. She is there to comfort them. To comprehend and understand the million-year death they suffered. She understands the desperation to escape. She knows it too well what it means to scale a tower and giving up if it means avoiding the horrors. Now, they can coalesce, never again alone. They can cross the sky and stars together, infinitely boundless and free. Both once conquerors from the stars, their shared solitude can now cultivate something new for them. also they both use spears

Craftyarn

Listen they're both kinda fruity villains from craftwork spinoff games. I swear I'm the ONLY person that sees this potential.

[Added by Poll Runner] The rainbows in their designs have to stand for something. These two got SO close to their ultimate missions and have banging boss music. Their wacky designs work so well together as utter clashing vibes, and it just. God this was eye-opening!!! Imagine them sharing their own little twisted art hobbies together!! Evil guys who run an Evil Hobbycraft together. Though an Evil Hobbycraft is just Hobbycraft.

#poll #tournament poll #kirby #kirby series #kirby ships #zanfilis #craftyarn

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sethnakht · 2 years

Photo

darth vader (2020-), #26 (pak/ienco)

it’s a podrace! darth vader pilots a podracer through an artificial sandstorm to save sabé, the former double for queen amidala, who has been lost in its center. vader flies alone through a maelstrom manufactured by the empire; as he steers and slices his way past dark obstacles, his mind dwells on the podrace he won as a child slave to help queen amidala, then represented too by sabé while padmé masked herself as a handmaiden.

before he won that race, vader remembers, he could find his mother even in sandstorms, and promise her he would never leave her. in the subsequent panels, we see the contrasting results of winning: it meant separation from his mother, interrogation by the jedi council over his fear of losing her, his mother’s death, his own subsequent choice to murder the villagers who’d held her hostage, and finally, separation from padmé again because of jedi and sith. specifically, vader remembers how she’d fallen out of their ship into a sand dune, and his jedi master obi-wan ordering him to leave her behind (so they could pursue the sith lord count dooku instead). surrounded by sand with his mother, he was never closer to her; alone in the jedi temple, before his mother’s grave, a smattering of sand kernels was all he had left.

[image caption: panels from two different pages showing vader’s memories of losing his mother - first when he was taken to the temple, then when she died. anakin’s hand is shown in close-up, stray grains of sand in his palm.]

vader wins this race as well. as he once helped queen amidala and her handmaidens leave tatooine, so too does he now save the queen’s shadow. when he arrives at the site where sabé disappeared, he finds anakin’s childhood friend kitster (more context below), who learned how to build pods from anakin and put together the pod that vader has just raced. kitster shows him that sabé has been buried alive under a toppled cylinder. vader lifts it with the force; as she rises from the shallow grave, he remembers his power from before he won the tatooine race and was taken to the jedi - the power to tell his mother, “don’t worry, we’re going to be fine,” and, “I’m not leaving you.”

[image caption: vader saves sabé with kitster’s help, and remembers finding his mother in a sandstorm.]

but it’s not that easy. generated by an energy-eating machine (I think? again, don’t ask me about the lore), the storm doesn’t respond to vader’s attempts to quell it with the force. he realizes that sabé will be consumed by it - he thinks back to leaving padmé behind, her body half-buried in sand - if he fails to call on machine power.

using the cylinder-gravestone from which he’d just freed sabé as armor for himself, sabé, and kitster, vader directs his orbiting flagship to fire upon his location with maximum incinerating force. the result: all the sand in the storm fuses and flattens into a smooth ground of glass.

the sand still caught in his glove slides down his palm; vader looks at it, looks at it for a long time. this time, it seems, it is not all that he has left: he has saved sabé from death. letting the sand fall from his hand, he lifts sabé and carries her over the glass into the light horizon.

[image caption: vader steps out from an armored shell into a landscape he’s had incinerated; sand has transformed into black glass. some sand that was caught in his glove falls from his hand; he lets it, then takes sabé from kitster and walks towards a sunlit cloud.]

so ... why is kitster here? vader has come to this place because sabé is as haunted by his mother’s death as he is. troubled by the fact that anakin, a child slave, won a podrace to help royalty, and that his mother was nonetheless left behind in slavery, padmé had directed sabé to find shmi on tatooine. never having met shmi before, as queen amidala did not leave her starship on tatooine, sabé failed to locate shmi on that mission. she did manage to free a small number of slaves, however, including anakin’s childhood best friend kitster, and relocate them. the more immediate context is this: these ex-slaves are now under threat from a crimson dawn operative masquerading as an imperial, or something (don’t ask me about the lore-related details of the plot, I can only grasp at relationships between images). and since vader has vowed to end crimson dawn in the name of restoring “order”, sabé was able to convince him to visit this community, and work with people like kitster to destroy the imperial/dawn weapon that caused the sandstorm in the first place.

in summary. we are here because of shared grief over shmi and padmé, over shared grief about the results of that first podrace. we have a second race with a parallel result - vader has helped the former queen, again; helped padmé, in a way, again - and a contrast: there is no jedi betting on vader’s freedom, now. but in some sense this is another parallel. for as winning the race led vader to coruscant and the jedi temple, the comic now cuts to the former temple, now the imperial palace, on coruscant.

[image caption: it is night on coruscant; the former jedi temple, now the emperor’s palace, is shown in dark profile against a sky lit pink-purple from the city lights.]

the emperor is speaking, speaking to himself, ignoring his red-robed guards, who gaze at each other questioningly. vader, the emperor mutters, couldn’t save his mother, nor padmé. but now he thinks he can --

well, the emperor doesn’t finish the sentence. you might say the emperor is betting on failure; he is delighted by what he anticipates, for he closes the issue with his cackles. you can fill in the blanks.

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officerjennie · 10 months

Text

Tied Together

A MadaTobiIzu CYOA

Chapter 1, Path 1 - which path will you choose?

Voting Open! Survey closes on 12-7 at 5:00pm CST

Sunlight filtered through the clouds, dabbled light shining on the path that wound its way through the village. Up ahead, the hokage’s tower stood watch, its offices mostly empty, lights off and curtains drawn as they were every weekend.

Peace. It was everything Madara had hoped for, had dreamed for years and years that they could claw their way towards. For just a moment he stopped, readjusting the scrolls that he had tucked into the crook of his elbow and stared up at the clouds that floated overhead. One hand shielding his eyes, and a deep sigh that let him smell the air that was free of sulfur or the smell of blood and war.

They could have lived like this much sooner, if only he’d not been so stubborn. So afraid to lose the person who meant the most to him. But the thought of losing Izuna, his anchor, had haunted his nights and had pushed him onto the battlefield every day.

As if the battlefield wasn’t the place that threatened him the most. Madara snorted at himself - his past self, the one who’d drawn his blade against his foes and unknowingly endangered his family more than the Senju. Peace had found them anyway, and for the first time in decades he felt like he could release the tension in his shoulders. He could relax, knowing no one was going to burn his clan to the ground in the middle of the night, or-

“Just gonna stand there like an idiot, huh.”

“What the fuck.”

As a light tap touched his shoulder out of nowhere, Madara flung himself back, reaching for the gunbai that was no longer strapped to his back. With the startle, his eyes flashed red, and in that split second sharingan seared the image of Izuna, his last living brother, grinning like a mad man at his expense into his memory for the rest of his life.

“Are we children again?” Madara straightened out of his defensive stance and crossed his arms over his chest, willing the fight response to calm its ass down while Izuna continued to snicker at him.

“I was under the impression you never grew up. Just treating you accordingly.”

“Little shit.” As he cursed at Izuna, Madara tried to grapple him with his elbow, but Izuna easily ducked right out of the way fast as a snake. Stubborn and annoyed as he was, Madara didn’t try again.

Izuna was a predator, not prey. With his growing network of spies spreading across the country like a web, Izuna caught so much and so many. Lies, betrayers, enemies hidden in the trees, missives that were supposed to go to other officials, and where Madara had hidden Izuna’s birthday present just a week after he’d bought it. Flies didn’t catch the spider unless the spider wanted to be caught.

Between them, their shadows danced in the dappled light. Wove around each other and darted away again, never still, as if a fire burned and the flickering flames forced their movement. It had been like this between them since Izuna’s birth, reaching for each other but darting away all the same, as if the shadows were unwilling to settle.

Madara frowned, and let his arms drop to his side. “What are you doing here, otouto? I did not expect to see you until dinner.”

“I was on my way to see someone,” Izuna admitted, his eyes drifting away to the side. Though he felt no shame he loved to play coy, especially when it got under his brother’s skin so effectively.

“Just checking in on you.” Stepping around him, Izuna kept his eyes on his brother, and Madara had the distinct impression he was being measured. “Bit early to be out on a day off, isn’t it?”

#madatobiizu #mywriting #tied together cyoa

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archangelween · 9 months

Text

Since god is a liar, let's go over when she lies.

S1e1

Here is the opening monologue.

Good Omens, being a narrative of certain events occurring in the last 11 years of human history, in strict accordance, as shall be shown, with the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

I don't think Agnes can predict whether people followed her prophecies or not, because the title page of the book says "more complete than ever before published", and we already know there's inconsistencies in s1. Anathema also says "sometimes I fail her", and obviously the book can't change after it's been published. In god's opening monologue, I think there's evidence that god repeats her games until she gets the result she wants--god isn't controlling people like puppets, so it must be that if people screw up her games, she repeats them rather than being dissatisfied. I think that's what the infinity symbols are.

In the shot above, we are seeing a LOT of gray, which is some hedging rather than outright deceit of black. We also see green and a bit of brown. I think that adds up to god not exactly lying about events following the prophecies, but as stated, she makes sure they follow. That's the game, and it's built on that deceit. She wants a certain result and she's not above cheating to get it. She calls this choice, but it's really not--hence the dark storm clouds over the sands of free will turning them dark, to fate; and the fact we know that Eden is cut off from that. God does not play fair. She's claiming things follow in strict accord; from our POV they do, but that's only because she goes back to replay things such that they do, not because they follow by themselves.

Eden is also implied to be the beginning of all humanity, but was it? OR was it just one "civilization" among many others, as Australia and other places went about their business? In the same way god drowned Noah's place with a flood but not everywhere else? We know the dinosaurs existed. Why not Egypt while Eden was happening?

Two demons lurk in the graveyard [...] for a final burst of lurking around dawn.

This is a flat out lie, and it's said in pitch dark. They are not pacing themselves, they are impatient that Crowley is late.

It may help to understand human affairs to know that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.

Also said in mostly pitch dark. From "triumphs" to "good", it's said in the white light of the Bentley's headlights, which are cracked into thirds. So, "triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good" is true in itself as a fragment of a sentence, but taken as a whole isn't. "Fundamentally bad" is said looking at Crowley. This is again false.

It would be nice to think that the nuns had the surplus baby discreetly adopted. That he grew to be a happy, normal child, and, then, grew further to become a normal, fairly contented adult. And perhaps that is what happened. He probably wins prizes for his tropical fish.

Said in an apparently black and white hallway, where baby is in the black portion. This is Greasy Johnson, this is probably Jesus; from the book, I don't know if you'd call him a normal child or happy, but you sure could; he sure was normal until he found out he was Jesus, when he realized he never was normal. This is likely one of those wordplay things: normal means both average and human. "It would be nice to think"--half true, half false, good luck on which is which and how.

S1e2

I think it matters that the opening of this episode flies down from the sky and through a bunch of fog. That fog is no there in s2. That fog seems to end god's bullshit rampant in e1: there are no more outright lies. I wouldn't call the fog a truth serum so much as a strict contract: you can still wiggle within the rules just like Aziraphale does, but it's harder to do.

Among the folk from the next village there was much subsequent debate as to whether this disaster had been sent by God or by Satan.

WAS THERE, GOD???? WAS THERE??? She's saying this to shift blame, implying without outright lying.

Said in a nearly completely blacked out screen. The fire killing the villagers was dark orange and black: god did it.

However, a note found in Agnes’s cottage suggested that any divine or devilish intervention had been materially helped by Agnes’s petticoats, in which she had concealed fifty pounds of gunpowder and thirty pounds of roofing nails

Where did Agnes get her visions, god? Who watched over her family? Why do the prophecies appear in gold, GOD???? Why is there so much GREEN everywhere, hmmm???

The lines about Crowley talking to his plants: not what they seem, because it's about how god herself treated him, but also not outright lies. These are said as the view has a lot of gray/dark.

The Them's expositions are given odd zoom/coloring like the flashbacks in s2. They seem to be gray? Pepper's has a noticeable "reel" sound. The actual flashbacks in s1 to Crowley's and Aziraphale's past are not given any odd coloring.

The lines about "management and training". They're about herself.

Most books on witchcraft will tell you that witches work naked. This is because most books on witchcraft are written by men.

I don't know what's wrong with this line, but something is. God is also a man sometimes, notably "father" in the bible, which Jesus uses in the next episode. Satan is also a man who uses "he" according to Crowley. Her chief archangel is a man. I would bet god had men write those witchcraft books just to see what people did, as she started the angelic war just to see what happened.

S1e3

Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale, to guard the Gate of Eden?

The implication is that Aziraphale did a bad thing. We know he didn't.

S1e4-e6

Nothing of note for god. The fog shows up again when the Summoner meets Death, whom we see break the fourth wall just like god does and address us, the audience.

#good omens #s1e1 #god

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snowdrrops · 1 year

Text

TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS OF LOVE

FEAT : cytham WC : 1.8k SUMMARY : They are bad at feelings. Things go unfixed for two weeks. Cyno dyes his hair. [read it on ao3 here :)]

Haitham traces a soft line along Cyno’s jaw, eyes clouded over and thoughtful. Cyno’s gaze doesn’t falter from Haitham’s, as if he could see the challenge in his eyes.

“Intimate relationships between Akademiya officials are strictly prohibited,” Cyno says, keeping his tone steady and voice devoid of desperation for more.

“I am well aware,” Haitham answers, his hands inching further down towards Cyno’s collarbones and caressing them in circles. “But I am the Grand Sage after all, and whatever I say goes. I could make it so that nobody would bat an eye if we held hands in public tomorrow.”

Cyno holds back a smile. He knows Haitham will never do such a thing with his authority, but it’s nice to give it a thought or two. Being able to be honest about their relationship with his subordinates and everyone in Sumeru. Maybe in another reality.

Rays of sunlight poured beneath half-drawn curtains of the Grand Sage's office, where the two sat side by side on a couch. Cyno persuaded Haitham to purchase it a month ago, and it had not been for naught since Cyno spent any free time he got in that office. Schedules were tight, and compromises inevitably had to be made.

Some days, Cyno would simply sip on a piping hot cup of tea while watching Haitham go about his daily routines of entertaining officials and filling out paperwork. Some officials would raise a brow at Cyno, while others were taken aback at the presence of General Mahamatra.

When they did get time alone, their conversations were far and few between. Seeing one another in person was sufficient for both of them.

“Abusing your authority now, aren't you?”

Haitham tugs a loose strand of hair behind Cyno's ear. “That depends if you want me to proceed with it.”

A knock sounds at the door, and Cyno literally flies to the other end of the couch.

“Grand sage,” a scholar greets Haitham when the door opens and catches sight of Cyno, “Oh… and General Mahamatra?” Their unwanted guest stares at Cyno for a few moments and Haitham realises Cyno doesn’t have his jackal hat on. He’s been so accustomed to Cyno without it that he doesn’t realise everyone else hasn’t seen him with it off before.

“What is it?” Cyno asks, his expression stoic and emotionless, but Haitham didn't miss the red that tinted his features just a few moments before.

“Your hair…” the scholar trails off, eyes as wide as saucers.

Cyno glances at his locks that fall right above his shoulder and realisation seems to hit him. “Ah, what about it?”

The scholar seems to finally snap out of his trance, face turning red at an alarming rate and shaking his head vigorously. “I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know what just came over me. I’ve always found you incredibly good-looking, and now even more so…”

For a brief moment, Cyno is struck speechless. No one has spoken to him so honestly about his appearance before, especially not those of inferior ranks to him. Even Haitham finds himself impressed at the display of frankness.

Haitham thinks- wait, he knows Cyno won’t have a positive response to this. He’ll give this uncouth scholar a harsh lecture on etiquette, surely. He almost smirks because of the satisfaction it’ll bring him when it actually does happen-

“Usually, I'd administer the appropriate consequences for such unrestrained words,” he starts, “But I can let you off this once. I appreciate the compliment.”

Haitham almost chokes on his own spit. He raises his head to look at Cyno, who he realises is smiling. At the scholar. Has Cyno ever smiled at him that way?

Instead of the usual fluttering that erupts whenever Cyno smiles, Haitham feels his stomach drop. Jealousy builds hot and heavy and he feels his heart hammer in his chest. His eyes narrow at the scholar, and he makes a mental note to find out everything about this unwanted guest by the end of today.

“General Mahamatra…” he says, looking at Cyno as if he was a god.

“Well, you still have business with our dear Sage, yes? Do carry on, I'm afraid I have duties to attend to now,” Cyno states as he stands, shooting Haitham a wink, “See you later.”

“You look as if there's a storm brewing in that head of yours,” Cyno says the moment Haitham slips into the seat beside him.

“I'll take whatever he's having,” Haitham orders the bartender, who gives a nod before hurrying to get the drink ready.

“How did work go?” Cyno asks.

“Fine.”

“That was convincing. What did that scholar want from you?”

He doesn't remember and can't care enough to. He offers a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

“I might head to Aaru village next week to check up on the situation there. In case my help is needed,” Cyno continues.

“I don't think I'll be needing you in the city, anyway. So take your time while you're there,” Haitham snaps, barely registering the words before they're out of his mouth.

A few moments of silence pass between them.

Cyno tosses his drink back and empties it in one shot. “Alright then,” he says almost too casually as he stands, a bit unsteady on his feet, “If that's the case, I might as well be off now.”

Haitham knows he has messed up, but his apology gets caught in his throat. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is a quiet, “Yeah, bye.”

Cyno seems disheartened by this, as if he was expecting an apology of sorts, and Haitham could see his shoulders slump in disappointment from his peripheral vision before he disappears.

Cyno has clearly changed his mind sometime during his stay. He's been gone for fourteen days. A week more than he had initially promised.

Haitham has had a lot of time to reflect on his impulsive actions. He wishes he could take back the things he said in the heat of the moment, but what was done could not be erased. The only way to amend his mistakes was to apologise.

He's never felt so deprived of Cyno in so long. With him gone, it was as if he'd taken all of Haitham's discipline and self control with him. He would find himself staring off into space from time to time, and hoping the clock would tick faster in the midst of filling out paperwork.

In short, he misses Cyno a lot.

When Haitham is finally off the clock, he leaves his office in a hurry to ask the Matra if Cyno is back. If anyone dared to question him, Haitham would merely state that it was out of sheer curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less.

Luckily for him, he came face to face with a member of the Matra when he turned a corner.

“Ah, Grand Sage. Heading home, I presume?” the Matra greets, giving a slight bow.

“Yes. Has General Mahamatra Cyno returned from his expedition yet?”

A look of surprise flickers across the other’s face. “He returned last evening, has he not informed you of the details of his expedition?”

Oh. “Not yet, it seems. Thank you, I shall be heading off.”

So they weren't on speaking terms. Haitham felt a twinge of guilt again, knowing that he was the cause of his current suffering. There was no one to blame but himself.

The walk home is made up of ways to make it up to Cyno. Perhaps a bottle of wine? No, Cyno didn't drink much. Or how about a new cloak, specifically tailored to his preferences?

As Haitham turned the key in the door knob and entered his home, he heard several voices from inside.

He threw his keys onto the coffee table. Kaveh was having friends over, then. On any other day, he would've gone in to torment him a little. He plopped himself down onto the couch and shut his eyes.

A burst of loud, boisterous laughter pierces the silence of the living room. Kaveh.

Haitham sighs and turns his noise canceller on, but another bout of laughter disturbs his peace again.

He gets up, and follows the noise to the bathroom.

“Keep it down in here-” Haitham pushes the door wide open and pauses mid-sentence, breath caught in his throat.

His roommate turns to him with a frown and glare. “Hey, don't you know how to knock, Haitham? Can't you see we are busy here?”

White strands of hair are clustered on the marble tiles.

Tighnari gives him a polite nod, a pair of scissors in hand.

And in the middle of the whole mess was Cyno, sitting on a stool with his top off.

Haitham cannot take his eyes off him. Not that he wanted to, either.

His bangs were cut shorter now, just a few inches below his eyebrows, making both of his eyes visible. They still framed the sides of his face, but no longer hindered his vision. But that wasn't the most obvious change. Streaks of his hair were now dyed black.

Cyno meets Haitham’s gaze and to his utter surprise, he smiles.

“I still can't believe these two have a thing going on,” Kaveh whispers not so softly to Tighnari.

The latter merely laughs and drags Kaveh out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

“Do you like the new look?” Cyno says, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I owe you an apology,” Haitham blurts out. He doesn't want to delay this any further. This is what he should've said two weeks ago.

Cyno nods. “Go on.”

“I'm sorry, I snapped at you in a spur of anger. Even if Sumeru city doesn't need you, I do.”

A snort disguised as a cough could be heard from outside.

“How romantic. Have you been reading poetry while I was gone?” Cyno teases, intertwining his fingers with Haitham's.

“No, I was going through immense suffering.”

Cyno laughs. “I forgot to mention that Aaru village really did need my assistance. The eremites launched a coordinated attack the day after I arrived. It took a lot of time to repair the damage done.”

“...Ah, that's what happened.”

Cyno raises an eyebrow. “Haitham.”

“Hm?”

“My question remains unanswered. Do you not like my hair?”

He chuckles and pulls Cyno towards him, pecking him on the lips. “You've always looked incredibly attractive, and now even more so.”

The following Monday, Haitham sets a stack of papers down and clasps his hands together.

“This is the third report of a scholar who wanted to research a topic banned by the Akademiya. How many more of these will I receive?” Haitham says, resignation lacing his tone.

Cyno pours him a cup of coffee and sets it down on the desk. “When will they understand that they will Cyno improvements in their results? They’ve got to give it up already,” he replies casually.

“...”

“Do you want me to explain the joke?”

“No. Was that your attempt to lighten the mood?”

“Yeah, did it work out?”

“Please don't start telling even more jokes if I say yes.”

#genshin impact #sumeru #alhaitham #cyno x al haitham #cytham #haino

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