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frannyzooey · 2 years

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In The Dark: Epilogue

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader

Rating: None

A/N: We are finally at the end of this story - thank you to every single person who read it, who supported it, who sent in asks or reblogged or liked or lurked. I couldn’t have done it without you all. Dedications at the end, along with some bonus extras. Thank you all so very much - I love you, and Happy New Year!

Series Masterlist

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

“So, how is the new place going?” You rest your cheek on your knee, smiling at the immediate change in her expression on your screen. Your dorm room is behind you, warm and cozy in contrast to the starkness of her bedroom.

“It’s okay,” Cee says. “It’s still kinda weird, ya know? Living with different people?” She shrugs, resting her chin in her hand. “It’s kinda cool, since they’re my own age and sometimes we have these amazing parties and there is this girl who is moving in next week who I am totally eyeing, but also the extra chores suck? No one ever does their dishes around here.”

You nod in sympathy, having been in that situation before.

“I feel like it’s not that hard?” she continues, and you laugh.

“It’s really not. How is that new class coming?”

Rolling her eyes, she launches into detail about her writing professor and the pain of her weekly workshop group and you feel a pang of longing to experience those things with her, so you could truly commensurate. Not that you couldn’t, since you were going through those specific pains in your own program right now, but it was different then - when you were going through it together.

“Anyway, it’ll get better. I don’t wanna talk about it though.” She sits back, piling her fine blond hair on top of her head in a bun cupped by her hands for a moment, before letting it drop. “Tell me about next week. What are you doing again? How long are you off for?”

“Two weeks.” Just saying the words out loud makes you grin in relish, an eagerness for it to begin coming through in the dreamy tone of your voice. “I wanna see all the cheesy tourist spots for sure, but I am literally itching to get into some of those bookstores. And the museums, definitely those. And oh my god, the food.”

Shoreditch had all of these things and you had slowly been exploring them, but the vastness of London had been calling to you. Your workload too heavy to explore the way you’ve wanted to, you’ve been earmarking various spots for months and now that your break is finally here, you feel like you can truly tour around. And also look up from the screen of your laptop for a change - that would be nice.

You let out an aching groan of pleasure at the thought and she smiles on the screen.

“After that, I don’t know? Don’t laugh, but I kinda wanna rent a car and drive to Cornwall? Don’t ask me about navigating while driving on the other side of the road because I don’t have an answer for you, but the views are supposed to be gorgeous and……”

“Poldark,” you both say at the same time, dissolving into giggles.

“God he’s gorgeous. I mean, I know he’s not there, but I’ll be able to sense him. I just know it.”

She sips her tea on her side of the screen while you list off the rest of your itinerary: Persephone Books, for their quaint, romantic store front and unique events, Dishoom for a bacon naan roll and to feel like you’ve stepped back into time into 1940’s Bombay, The London Eye to get some pictures, but first Gloria: a restaurant by your new place that you’ve been dying to try. You just knew the pictures online wouldn’t do it justice; the opulent, busy, lush setting of rich carpets and mirror paneled walls and greenery climbing down from the ceiling like sparkling, light strung ivy at the top of your wishlist.

Eventually, your stifled yawns interrupt your spoken dreams, and she finishes her tea, stretching in her perch on her chair. She glances at the time in the corner of her screen and frowns.

“Yikes, it’s gotta be so late there for you. You better get some sleep, so you’re not exhausted in the morning..”

You mirror her stretch, nodding. “Yea, I still gotta finish packing.”

She leans closer to the screen, a look of affection stealing across her delicate features.

“Well make sure you take a bunch of pictures, okay? I wanna see everything you’re seeing. Send me the view from the Eye on Snapchat or something and if you go see those guards, take a selfie with one of them just for me.”

You laugh, assuring her that you will and when you say your goodbyes and hang up, a smile lingers on your face. Just like her to ask for something weird like that.

Standing, you close your laptop and leave it on your desk, walking over to your bed. The layout of your new place is tighter than the last; student housing always a bit cramped. You’ve never minded close quarters, liking the overall coziness it forces and resting your hand on the corner of a small bookshelf that already has a substantial collection growing on it, you crack the window, letting street sounds waft in on the night air.

Changing into your pajamas, you switch out the light while yawning yet again and checking your alarm is set, you crawl into bed. Opening your white noise app, you select “city sounds” and closing your eyes, quickly fall asleep.

–

Anticipation wakes you early, and similar to New York City, Shoreditch is alive with people already when you leave your flat. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you slip into the crowd, making your way to the tube and as you walk, you run through a mental checklist of everything you want to do today, so as to not waste one minute.

Not quite as many people on these streets as there had been in the city, the sights and sounds were so similar it was comforting: brightly scrawled murals over aged brick, trendy restaurants tucked into small store fronts, young people walking effortlessly down the sidewalk with their faces buried in their phones. Spotting the iconic circular sign that gave you a thrill when you saw it for the first time, you made your way down the damp stairwell, following the crowd to the platform. Getting on your train, you find a seat by the window and digging in your bag, you fish your earbuds and pull up a playlist, relaxing into your seat.

The steady, smooth rock of the train as it pulls away from the station comforts you, reminding you of home after all this time. The transit systems are similar, the people that ride them even more so and watching scenery pass by, you think about your first time navigating The Underground. The thought, and the events planned for this morning, bring forth other memories.

Your first night crawling into your new bed: slipping on the shirt he tucked into your bag, the longing for your apartment and all its familiar noises was a real, tangible ache in your chest. The ache for him was felt even deeper, the image of his face as he said goodbye only ten hours old and fresh in your mind at that point. A few tears slipped free into that new pillow of yours; the first of what would be many more.

Your first weeks navigating your new surroundings: testing out the transit, finding your new travel paths, exploring the restaurants within walking distance.

The nervous hesitation you felt when sharing in your new workshop for the first time, the tiny tables in new restaurants where you sat alone on your computer, your delight at the discovery of East African food.

Tea: something you never came around to. By your measure, it had nothing on coffee and for weeks, you would have killed for a latte from your favorite place, with a dash of cinnamon on the top.

All the while, you had missed him.

Your new surroundings had been seen through Ezra tinted glasses; a wash of him over everything you saw. Everything reminded you of him: the antique shop on the corner, the Persian restaurant you passed while walking to class, every bookstore or record shop or furniture gallery or men’s clothing shop or every dark haired man, your eyes searching for his confident gait everywhere.

At first, it was so intense you couldn’t hardly breathe, but with time, it lessened. Friends, routine, school, new experiences, dinners, parties. You still thought of him often, but it was no longer the crushing weight of a wave forcing you under. With each new day that passed, the waves calmed more and more; overwhelming, then bearable, then ripples that came and went.

Cee had eventually come around, writing you an email about your letter about a month after you left. When you replied, she replied back and it slowly evolved into more emails and then texts and then FaceTime, on your computer at night. She had reached out to you for writing advice, wanting your opinion on something she was going to turn in and it was like her story was an olive branch — which was fitting, for two people who first bonded over the words scribbled in her notebook.

The two of you never had a formal discussion about what happened, but rather an acknowledgment through email about the roles you each played. Understanding that sometimes it was easier to talk about difficult things through writing versus speaking them out loud, you were thankful for it. She needed time to think about it, which you gave her, and in the end, she forgave you.

Still, you never spoke directly about Ezra if you could help it.

Four months into your new surroundings, you had just walked in the door after a late night library session when your phone buzzed in your bag. Pulling it out, the sight of his name on your screen made you freeze. You can still feel the heat you felt, your heart picking up as you hesitantly tamped down the excitement that immediately rose in your chest and when you answered it, he could hear it all in your voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Birdie.”

He said those two words, letting the silence hang for a moment and you were immediately back in your apartment, the memory of when he used to call felt so strongly you shut your eyes.

He had been drunk and lonely, missing you. Trying so hard to keep his distance for your sake, he finally caved and called; his low, husky voice sleepy and quiet through the phone, but warm with affection. You talked to him for a long time: about the city, about your program, about what he had been up to. When it came time to hang up, he asked if he could call you again and when you said yes, you could hear the smile in his voice when he said goodbye.

He did call you after that, and you stayed in touch a lot. It wasn’t as intense as it was before — no phone call every night before bed, no FaceTime videos, no partially undressed photos — but rather an easy intimacy between two really good friends. Ones who knew each other inside out, and had fond memories of the time they’d shared together.

Not to say that you didn’t get yourself off to the thought of him still, after all this time.

You tried going out and meeting people, tried going home with someone a few times but after you slipped back into your clothes and made your way home, you never felt that longing to be back in their bed and in their arms the way you always felt with him. Eventually, you stopped trying and just focused on school.

The train slows and pulls into King’s Cross, and you rise from your seat, waiting your turn to alight. Stepping off, you make your way to the escalators and a sort of nervous anticipation thrums wildly through your veins, making your limbs jittery. You try to take a calming breath, checking the time on your phone - your train running a few minutes behind, you hope you’re not too late.

Finally stepping into the atrium, light floods the space. People are everywhere: gathered in clusters as they check maps in their hand with suitcases and backpacks at their feet, business people walking briskly around and between them, travelers and students and children and shop vendors; the murmur of the collective crowd a loud one. Your heart beats faster in your chest, your eyes scanning the room and they land on one person after another, trying to keep track as they move. A bright flash of yellow there, a brown mop of curls there and suddenly, you see him.

The familiar breadth of his shoulders faces you, a backpack that you’ve never seen before only serving to make him look broader. For how long it’s been since you’ve seen the nape of his neck, you’d recognize his stance anywhere and you simultaneously want to stand there for a moment and admire him from afar, while also fighting the urge to run.

Not being able to help moving automatically in his direction, when he turns and his gaze catches yours, he grins and you feel a sudden wave of emotion so strong you want to cry. He looks just the same - the unruly dark curls, the crumpled cotton t-shirt even more so from traveling, the face you know so well and that dimple. It had only just started to fade from your memory, and the sight of it makes your heart burst.

“Hey, Birdie,” he smiles when you reach him, opening his arms and you step right into them, like no time has passed.

So solid, so strong, so affirming in his touch - your hello is muffled against his shoulder as you breathe in the familiar musk of his warm skin and when you pull back, you can already see the possibilities of these next two weeks in his warm, albeit travel worn smile: his laughter in a dimly lit restaurant, the weight of his arm across your shoulders when he pulls you in for a selfie, his profile as you drive through the country, the firm slide of his skin against yours every one of those nights.

He looks like he wants to kiss you and your mouth longs for the same, but you both stand still, savoring the beat of anticipation; the crowd moving around you.

“You ready?” you ask, lacing your fingers with his.

He tightens his hold, grinning.

“Ready.”

The End

Bonus: Birdie’s Travel Pictures

I have so many people I want to thank for this story:

@mourningbirds1, first and foremost, who sat with me through every single one of these chapters and who is the world’s best and most patient teacher. You made my writing better with every single soothing message you sent, every comment you left on the document, every lesson you taught me in your kind and patient way. This story wouldn’t be nearly what it is without you, nor would I have had the courage to tackle it in the first place without your constant validation and support and I love you so very, very much. Having one of your favorite writers as a mentor is the literal dream come true, and you did that for me. <3

@krissology and @charnelhouse - without our group chat and your constant support, I wouldn’t have made it through this. You both inspire me in so many ways every single day, and you’re always there when I need to rant, vent, work out a plot line, hash out an idea, and I am so grateful to have both of you in my life. I love you <3

@highsviolets @imaswellkid @dazedrhapsody and @psychedelic-ink - thank you so so much for your constant enthusiasm and your magnificent playlists for this story. They inspired me in so many ways - a number of scenes in this story were directly inspired by your songs, dreamt of while I was working or driving, and I am forever thankful for you sharing them with me. They are beautiful, just like you all. I love you <3

To anyone that made art, to anyone that sent me a message, to anyone who was patient and kind and validating while I tried to take my time and try new things and grow - thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you all, and this community. I love you <3

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #pedro pascal

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adachicuto · 1 year

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last date before wedding with skz

warning(s): food and wine mentions

↳ bang chan: your relationship would be filled with date nights at the studio and even though chris would want things to be much more special, the two of you would plan for there to be hiccups and would decide not to make any reservations etc. so, he'd be so proud of himself bc he'd get everything done at the studio a lot sooner to ensure he was completely yours for the day but of course, he'd get a call just as he was leaving the studio and he'd text you to let you know. this wouldn't be a problem for you as you both planned for something to come up and you would even have to finish up some work as well so it'd be okay but you'd have a feeling that chris would beat be hard on himself about it. so, you'd make sure to reassure him about it when he'd get home and the two of you would make homemade pizza. i could see him goofing around and trying to toss the dough and would nearly drop it. there would be lots of back hugs, soft kisses, and excited giggling when the pizza would come out much better than you'd expect and chris being excited about the cookies you'd surprise him with.

↳ lee know: i think a nice meal and a movie would be the type of date that you'd both enjoy but a few days would've passed and neither of you would leave due to all of the planning. so, i think a nice outing and getting some fresh air for a few hours would be good for both of you. you'd decide to go to a place that both of you would like and would order your usual meals and you'd both decide to get smoothies or something after. on your way to the smoothie place, you'd happen to notice a cat cafe which would look fairly new. minho would notice you staring and he'd smile before grabbing your hand and walking in the direction of the cafe. you'd go to a cat cafe minho wouldn't really care for super fancy dates. it would be difficult for both of you to not smile, especially when a bombay cat would rub against minho's leg and he'd look down and grin. minho would leave to get some drinks while you'd find a table near one of the many cat trees and maybe you'd take a quick photo of the cats lazing on it just as it would start to rain outside.

↳ changbin: with all of the stress from planning your wedding, a little getaway would probably benefit both of you. so, you'd leave the city and stay at a hotel in a cute little town a few hours away. the bed and breakfast you'd stay at would be so nice and homey that you'd both be in awe the entire time. even though it would be pretty early in the day and the two of you would plan on exploring as soon as you'd arrive, both of you would end up crashing. so, the two of you would explore the next day and would start out your day with breakfast and iced coffee. then you would go see the tourist attractions and even go wine tasting. to end off the day, the two of you would get dinner and wine at a local restaurant and you'd both get so excited about the free dessert. overall, you'd enjoy yourselves and finally get time to relax before you'd start counting down the days until the wedding.

↳ hyunjin: even though the two of you would be very busy with wedding prep, hyunjin would decide to paint a few pieces for a local animal shelter and even a preschool. you'd gladly help him, even if you wouldn't be as good as a painter. it wouldn't really matter to you because it would be a welcome distraction. there wouldn't really be a set deadline for the pieces so, you'd pick a day or few out of the week and paint together with glasses of wine and your favorite snacks and it would become mini date nights for you. even after you'd finish up the pieces, you'd still continue to paint together. then, hyunjin would come home one day with a huge canvas and he'd suggest that the two of you could work on it leading up to the wedding as a little project and you'd hang it up in your new home. so, then you'd work on filling up the spaces with different things together some days and would end your nights with face masks, your favorite drinks, and a show you'd get into.

↳ han: you and jisung would probably spend most of the day inside napping because there would be so much to do and so little time when it came to wedding planning, even if you'd want the wedding to be more on the simple side, there would be so many details and things to take in consideration. when both of you would decide on going on out, you'd go play mini golf together and you'd both get a little competitive but then one of you would miss badly, and then you'd both have to try and catch your breath from all of the laughing but then jisung's laughing/wheezing would make you laugh even more. so, it'd be a good thing that any other mini golfers were too far away to witness that lol. after that, jisung would take you to get something to eat at an amazing family-owned restaurant and you'd have to stop yourselves from wanting to order everything on the menu. when you'd leave the restaurant it would still be pretty early out and you'd happen to pass a sign advertising a pottery class. it would take both of you a minute to decide on going and you'd get lucky because the class wouldn't be full. within an hour or so you'd have matching coffee mugs that would be far from perfect but the decorations would make up for it.

↳ felix: it would be pretty fun for the two of you to spend most of the date recording tiktoks but make a date out of it and only if you'd be comfortable with that. it would be more of a comfort food crawl because of all the wedding planning and stress that comes with that. so, you'd try a few foods from some of the different restaurants and bakeries near your apartment and rate them while also pointing out what made the foods really good. the first place you would go to would be just for appetizers and the portion sizes would be huge, which would earn it an extra point, so you'd probably only have to get one. the next place you'd stop at would be a family-owned restaurant and you would both become fast friends with the owner because they'd be so sweet and would even give you something free after they'd hear you talk about the wedding. of course, you'd take funny pictures of each other getting really excited about the food and then changbin and minho would text the group chat and clown felix lol. you'd finish up with an iced coffee bc hot coffee in this heat? no way, or maybe, and the trending s'mores cookies and brownies.

↳ seungmin: seungmin has always given me coffee shop meet-cute and coffee date vibes so i think that's what kind of date you'd go on. seungmin seems like a realistic person so, i think he'd realize that neither of you would really have much time for a super fancy date, not that he wouldn't try bc, of course, he would, but i think he wouldn't want to rush things, mainly since you'd both be limited on time and something familiar would work. so, no matter how many coffee dates you'd go on during the course of your relationship or how often, they would never feel the same. even though you'd be in the midst of planning your wedding, both of you would still have jobs and work to get done. so, you would leave your place a little early one morning with your laptops, chargers, etc. and since the coffee shop and bookstore wouldn't be very far, it'd be an enjoyable little walk to get coffee and breakfast. after his first cup of coffee, seungmin would open up his laptop and work on a song that he and the rest of skz were planning to release soon. you'd also get some work done as well as catch up on a show that you missed. an hour or so would pass and then you'd move to a booth and naturally, seungmin would inch closer to you and rest his chin on your shoulder to see what you'd be working on. he'd notice your laptop wallpaper, a candid picture of the two of you at the beach smiling at each other with stars in your eyes courtesy of jeongin, and he'd have the biggest grin on his face.

↳ i.n: both of you would agree on going to a local fair. the rides and the smell of fried foods would take both of you back to your childhood. for whatever reason, you'd both get on the gigantic slide and would have matching smiles on your faces after. then jeongin would rush towards the bumper cars and you'd laugh the entire time because neither of you would be able to move from the spots you started out in and get bumped into constantly. after that, you'd get slushies and a bunch of other snacks before heading toward the photo booth. the first few pictures would be silly and you'd both stick out your blue tongues and the last would be of him kissing you. you'd end the night off by getting on the ferris wheel and you'd rest your head on his shoulder and he'd interlace your fingers, a huge smile on his face.

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fatehbaz · 2 years

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It took a lot of effort to get ice around the globe. [...]

This guy Frederic Tudor, he basically dominates the American ice trade across the nineteenth century. He develops technologies for insulating ice in the hulls of ships [...]. So he’s harvesting pond water from the American northeast in Massachusetts and Maine. Typically, he’s using sawdust as just a byproduct of the Maine lumber industry [...].

The majority of the ice trade goes to cool down sweltering British colonialists who are in Bombay and Calcutta and really desiring a nice cold drink.

Speculative shipments go off to South America, to the Caribbean, to the American South. [...] Not a ton of it goes to Hawai’i. But to get ice to Hawai’i from the East Coast required going all the way down the east coast of South America, [...] back up to San Francisco [...] and then across the Pacific Ocean to Hawai’i. [...] Probably took at least 3 to 6 months. [...]

But what really blows my mind about these particular shipments and these journeys is that you kind of think that they would be going through all of this effort to preserve something, right? To keep maybe a particular product cold and fresh on the way across.

No. They were going there to make cocktails. [...]

---

So basically, it’s arriving speculatively. [...] That means, folks are sending ice across thinking that there might be a market, but not having previously established a market [...].

Tudor, when he first came up with this business idea, he was trying to send it down to places in the Caribbean, particularly Cuba. And sending it to, like, bars and saloons to be served. And actually nobody had developed a taste for it yet, and nobody particularly was interested in having cold drinks. So he had to bribe bartenders to automatically start putting it in peoples’ drinks and did that for several months before folks developed a taste for it.

So we have these ideas that, like, it’s inherently refreshing to have these things, but it was actually a learned social practice and he had to bribe people to start to like it. [...]

---

So ice kind of shows up to this particular social landscape of elite businessmen [...]. [T]he consumption of cold, alcoholic drinks really got attached to ideas of leisure and implicity, and adversely, ideas about race and labor. So if we think about the plantation industry, ice and iced drinks come to refresh the plantation overseer, but not the plantation laborer. And a lot of ideas about Blackness and brownness, at that time, were correlated to who was best adapted to work in the hot sun and who was best adapted to sit in the shade, have a drink, and oversee that work.

---

Words of Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart. As interviewed by Jonathan Van Ness. “What’s The Cold, Hard Truth About Ice in Hawai’i? with Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart.” An episode of Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness. 7 December 2022.

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bomberqueen17 · 6 days

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Liveblogging the Aubreyad: HMS Surprise pt 2

Yeah yeah i really wasn't going to do this but I had to split it. We left our heroes limping toward Bombay in a broken-kneed Surprise with every last rat eaten and scurvy breaking out again and their dead reckoning so far out that it's telling them they should be in the Himalayas. (The master on this ship is not a gifted navigator.) But Jack knows math now, and consulting with Tom Pullings who has been here before [see the breakout running tally section] they make their landfall dead on, and reach Bombay. The Admiral there immediately removes Lt. Hervey to promote him, but by recompense gives Jack free run of the naval storeyards, so they can repair the Surprise.

And there's somebody ostensibly in Bombay, who doesn't know they're coming.

Stephen goes ashore and goes native, delighting in the city's diverse ways of life, and is adopted by a young street kid named Dil, who takes it upon herself to make sure he does not come to harm.

He finds Diana quite by coincidence. It had been said that she and Canning were traveling and would be out of town until the 17th, and this rumor had reached Jack, but she had grown bored and ridden home early, so she sees him in a crowd, is astonished and delighted, and tells him he must come to her house. He does so, they talk, she confesses unhappiness in her situation here-- Canning is violently jealous, the other women all refuse to see her socially, there is vicious gossip. Stephen asks her to marry him. She is so shocked she turns him down. He is completely shattered by this.

Canning walks in as they are still talking, and Stephen cannot tell how much he heard. He acts friendly enough but not quite right. He must suspect Stephen's motives.

Stephen goes back to his lodgings, finds out Jack has been furiously trying to make him come back on board for several days. Jack wants them to leave so that Stephen won't see Diana, it's clear, and has been relentlessly driving his people through the repair and refit of the Surprise to make it happen. But Stephen declines to return with the messenger, and goes out to tie up his various bits of business.

He finds his little street kid dead, so he pays for her funeral, and sits by the pyre until it's gone.

Meanwhile the new 1st lieutenant comes aboard-- Stourton, who had previously been in a floating hell ship under a flogging captain, obliged to carry out that kind of discipline. Jack knows this and doesn't make the mistake he did with Parker of trying to be subtle-- he immediately tells Stourton explicitly that the Surprise almost never flogs and he won't stand for trivial hard-horse bullshit. Stourton is inexpressibly relieved, and proves to be a thoroughly decent and competent chap. He is leery of Pullings, who he is painfully aware he is supplanting (precedence of lieutenants depends entirely on seniority in the service, not seniority in the ship)-- and Pullings it was who did all of the exhausting, driving work of the refit, of course-- but Tom is such a nice kid that he never so much as looks at Stourton cross-eyed, because he never would.

Stephen shows up finally, and Jack is ready to be furious with him, but at his obviously devastated, gray aspect, Jack wisely says nothing. A little later he endeavors to cheer Stephen up by taking him into the foretop and showing him where he carved his initials on the cap as a midshipman. Stephen is touchingly delighted by the view.

Jack writes to Sophie; they could live modestly in a charming little cottage, if only Jack can get free of the last of this debt which he surely can in short order. Pullings knows about the earth and advised him on gardens, they could live like that, surely, living off the land in deep frugality. It pleases him to imagine it. (He also mentions Babbington being on the sick-list but does not elaborate that it is because of venereal disease acquired in Bombay. Time for an update to that young man's running tally...)

The envoy has a medical crisis. Stephen says they must get to solid land within 24 hours. “Pulo Batak, sir,' said Pullings at once, touching the coast of Sumatra with the dividers. 'Inside Pulo Batak. We watered there twice in the Lord Clive, both coming and going.” which means another update to that tally as well.

Tom is given more or less complete control, and as part of the approach he has to anchor them in deeper water than Jack has ever anchored in, against a very powerful ebb tide, and Jack is dubious but believes in Pullings's seamanship. Pullings claims confidence but is horribly nervous about it. Babbington comes and cheers him up supportively, which earns his gratitude.

Alas, alas: they make it to land, and land the envoy, and set up to operate on him, but he does not survive long enough. Mr. Stanhope dies at 3am from, well, a medical person could probably make it out but the terms Stephen uses are incomprehensible to me.

They put back to sea-- homeward bound now, there's no reason to continue to Kampong, as they have no envoy now. Their mission is ended. And they soon encounter the East India Company's China fleet, bound for the very long haul to England.

Pullings takes the littlest midshipman, Church, up into the tops to behold the riches of the Orient-- six million pounds or more, in that convoy. He also tells Church that if he is careless in his speech the Captain will nail his ears to a plank and cast him adrift in the ocean, solemnly attesting that he saw the captain do this to no less than three young gentlemen in the Med.

(Pullings made two voyages in the Lushington, apparently, which brings his tally up to an improbable eight. I don't think Pullings is meant to be lying about the Indiamen, despite him practicing on Church's credulity about the young men cast adrift, but he has to have been in some sort of chronological anomaly to do this.)

The China fleet has seen them, and signals them to come aboard to dine. Officers in the East India Company are well-paid and eat well; they are fond of the Navy, if a bit self-conscious in an inferiority-complex kind of way-- the proper long-haul Indiamen are designed to look as much like men-of-war as possible, to deter piracy and privateers, and there's a bit of mutual friction on the whole between the merchant and martial fleets. But Jack isn't given to that sort of thing, and Pullings is very well-disposed toward them, so they have a lovely dinner, all the young pretty women in the fleet having been signaled to come aboard to make up the numbers ("repeat: young, repeat: pretty"), and all the officers being eager to make a good impression.

Young Church eats so much his dining companion is afraid he might hurt himself. The ladies withdraw, and Babbington makes a pretext to follow them of course. Upon their return to the ship, Church hurries down to the midshipmen's berth to eat a second dinner.

The wonderful outcome of this meeting is that they offload most of the envoy's suite into the Indiamen, which can provide much more luxurious accomodations. This frees up a ton of space in Surprise and also rids them of the obnoxious Atkins.

They have not long parted ways with the China fleet when they sight sails again-- in his haste to report, Babbington trips and sprawls headlong at Jack's feet, and Jack tells him this is carrying deference too far. But the upshot is that these sails are the French-- Linoir's squadron, very clearly on the hunt for the China fleet, who would be a delicious fat prize for them and is the main incentive for them to haunt these waters.

Surprise must try to lure the French away, then double back to report to the China fleet so there is time for them to defend themselves. Linoir has four ships, most of them far too large for Surprise to hope to defeat. Jack gets up to his favorite kinds of capers, rigging a drag sail so the ship can be seen to be cracking on while remaining eminently catchable-looking, and other things to lure them to chase thinking they'll be able to catch and take him without imperiling their search for the China fleet.

In the course of the chase (Jack repeats a move he used unsuccessfully against Linois in the Mediterranean, doubling back to dart between two pursuing ships, and is this time more successful), they close with a small corvette, the Berceau, which fights them far more aggressively and gallantly than they expect, taking shocking damage. Jack has had Babbington rig one of the large sails so that it can be let go suddenly (though secretly will land without harm), to pretend the Berceau shot it away, to give them more reason to limp and look tempting, luring the Frenchmen on thinking they could catch him. Babbington makes a great show of this, with tremendous flair and style and the enjoyment of all the hands involved who love a caper, and they also make a fire amidships in one of the kitchen coppers with slush and tow to burn very smokily, everyone acting panicked and running around shouting and hollering.

They keep up their capers until dark, and then change direction rapidly and crack on to reach the fleet, but Jack knows Linois and does not assume the intelligent, experienced admiral will necessarily be fooled. But they did their best, and he turns in.

Indeed Linoir guessed at their capers, and had sent one brig northwards in case the Surprise doubled back that way, so they are spotted near-immediately. But it did divert the main body of Frenchmen, giving them enough time for Surprise to come up with the China fleet well in advance of the French approach, and Jack immediately calls in all of the Indiamen's captains for a council of war. They do have guns, they can fight, and if they organize themselves strategically, they have a real hope of fending Linoir off-- out here the French do not have ready access to resupply, and if any of the French ships are badly damaged they will not be able to repair them. Jack firmly believes that if they puff themselves up enough, if they act sharp and aggressive, the French will not engage, or will be driven off by a determined resistance.

He is incredibly nice to the merchant captains, very respectful of them, lays out all the amiability he can muster to keep from offending them, because he knows what a situation this is. Were he not there, the fastest of them would probably run, and would probably escape, leaving the weaker ones to be snapped up-- but it is some of these faster ships that he has to implore to stay against their immediate best interests and help defend the others, in hopes of a good outcome for all. It's a hard sell, but the fleet's commodore, Captain Muffit of the Lushington, speaks eloquently in Jack's favor, and convinces the other captains. The fleet divides up into a leeward squadron of the smaller, weaker ships that will sail as far away as they can to try to get well out of reach of the French, and a windward squadron that will form a line of battle, the largest among them being given as much help as possible to look like real Royal Navy ships. Jack strips his quarter-deck, sending even his purser to one of the ships, as the man is an avid seaman and can point a gun beautifully despite that not being his job-- and very delicately makes offerings such as all his officers' spare coats for the captains of the Indiamen chosen for disguise to wear, man-of-war pendants and blue ensigns for the ships-- it is illegal for them to endeavor to deceive in this manner on their own account, but with Jack there to countenance it, this is technically legal, but it is hard to overcome their resistance.

But he does, and their commodore, Muffit of the Lushington, had liked him from the start and is very cooperative.

“I admire the regularity of your line, sir,' said Jack. 'The Channel fleet could not keep station better.' 'I am happy to hear you say so,' said Muffit. 'We may not have your heavy crews, but we do try to do things seaman-like. Though between you and me and the binnacle,' he added in a personal aside, 'I dare say the presence of your people may have something to do with it. There is not one of us would not sooner lose an eye-tooth than miss stays with a King's officer looking on.”

The ruse initially works; the windward ships, fifteen of the big long-haul Indiamen, form a proper line of battle, wearing in succession with snappy Royal Navy promptness, three of them very convincingly disguised as frigates down to Jack's second-best coat on the captain on the quarterdeck of one of them (Pullings recognizable to Jack on the quarterdeck of the Lushington solely by his huge grin), and the French decline the engagement that first day, sailing away for the night in an obvious attempt to beat up overnight to get the weather-gage so they can control the engagement on the morrow.

They do, but a swell rises, which Jack had hoped for-- it means the French cannot accurately point their guns at long range, which will spare the English ships a distant hammering to which they cannot reply.

The next morning the French come on, and Linois intends to break the line, which cannot be allowed to happen, pointing his flagship Marengo at the weakest point between what he has accurately guessed to be the two lightest-armed, poorest-sailing ships. The Surprise comes out ahead, alone, to engage; the Indiamen only have cannonades, which are short-range inaccurate guns, and cannot fight effectively at any range; they must stay in formation so their overlapping fields of fire can repel the French ships.

The Marengo is a 74, approximately twice Surprise's size, and she can only hope to hold her off briefly. This they do, at the cost of a shocking drubbing from Marengo's much heavier guns. All seems lost, but three of the Indiamen come off the line in a pretty manoever that lets them still reinforce one another, and they come up to hammer the Marengo from both sides, which she cannot endure, rescuing Surprise and in turn breaking the French formation. The Indiamen force Marengo to turn, and Surprise manages to give her enough of a pounding that her rigging is badly damaged and the French lose heart for the engagement-- Jack is correct, they cannot afford damage, they cannot refit, and so they turn and flee. The Indiamen chase briefly, but they are not designed for speed and Surprise is too badly damaged to sail fast, and once the French are too far to come up on the leeward ships, they turn back.

Muffit is horrified to realize how torn up the Surprise is, and offers all the help he can. Mostly, Jack just wants his officers back-- he relies on them and it was difficult to fight an action without Pullings, Babbington, and the others.

So-- he won no prizes in this engagement, took or sank no Frenchmen, but neither did the Frenchmen win a single penny from the entire China fleet, which is preserved intact. The East India Company is absolutely delighted with him, and the fleet escorts him into Calcutta victorious though inches from foundering most of the way, pumping heavily.

There the Surprise is lavishly repaired at the Company's expense, and all her people wined and dined, a purse of gratitude-money distributed among her sailors, and Canning comes and offers Jack a very delicately-put reward for himself-- freight. A Royal Navy captain that consents to carry "freight"-- necessarily small, precious items, so as to be worth the doing but not cumbersome enough to interfere with the running of the ship-- will be repaid according to a percentage of the cargo's value, and the Company has a shipment of precious stones that will answer the purpose admirably. It is more modest but far more sure than prize-money, as there is no fighting and no legal questions surrounding it.

This will be enough for Jack to meet the terms of the engagement as set out by Mrs. Williams, so he takes advantage of Canning's offer of a fast overland mail courier to send her a letter begging her to come out to Madiera and meet him there, and another letter to his friend Heneage Dundas asking him to carry her to Madiera.

Meanwhile Stephen goes to see Diana. She is in a fluster; from what she says it is clear she thinks he is only interested in taking possession of her because she is otherwise so trapped that she has no choice, and what she believes his motives to be I am unsure, but he has been at such pains to discipline himself against sentiment with her that she certainly cannot understand his feelings for her with any clarity, and he does not understand her hesitation.

“Why wait till now? Anyone would say I had brought myself so low that you could do something quixotic. Indeed, if I were not so fond of you - and I am fond of you, Maturin: you are a friend I love - I might call it a great impertinence. An affront. No woman of any spirit will put up with an affront. I have not degraded myself.' hcr chin began to pucker; she mastered it and said, 'I have not come down to… 'But in spite of her pride the tears came running fast: she bowed her head on his shoulder, and they ran down his bloom-coloured coat. 'In any case,' she said between her sobs, 'you do not really wish to marry me. You told me yourself, long ago, the hunter does not want the fox.”

Canning walks into the room and demands to know just what Stephen thinks he is doing. Stephen demands to know what Canning thinks he is doing, when anyone knows that Mrs. Canning is on her way and will arrive on the sixteenth. Where then will be your "protection" of Mrs. Villiers?

Canning is furious (he had not told Diana of this, though it had clearly been weighing on him), says Stephen has been tampering with his papers, and in a passion he strikes Stephen. Diana throws a table between them and tries to break them up, begging Stephen to take no notice of the affront; Canning runs out of the room after smashing a chair.

Stephen leaves, and then goes to the Surprise's captain of Marines to ask him to be his second in a duel.

He does not tell Jack, but instead asks him to play a duet, and they play the Boccherini in C, the best they've ever played it. Jack is delighted. And then Stephen gives him his confidential papers and asks him to dispose of them as directed, "the usual things", as he is to duel Canning in the morning. Jack is unhappy, but insists he will come along.

Stephen resolves to shoot Canning in the arm, but his aim is not what it was ever since the torture in Port Mahon. Canning fires first, striking Stephen in the ribs. Stephen staggers, puts the pistol into his other hand, changes his stance, and fires in return. His shot hits Canning in the chest, piercing either the aorta itself or his subclavian artery, and the man dies within moments. Stephen is horribly downcast, and is bandaged and driven away.

Jack takes a letter to Diana. He is coldly angry with her, blames her for the whole thing. She asks if she might come back to England in the Surprise and he tells her it is impossible. She knows this is a lie and tells him he is a scrub. He leaves.

The pistol ball is lodged in Stephen's ribcage and must be extracted. Stephen insists on performing the operation himself, and commissions the ship's armourer to make him a custom-designed extractor for the purpose.

“No, sir. I do this with my own hand.' He looked at it critically, and said, more or less to himself, 'If it could undertake the one task, it must undertake the other: that is but justice.”

Jack holds him while he performs the operation, and nearly faints at the end; he is used to wounds but the cold inhumanity of it quite unsettles him.

“Christ, Bonden,' said Jack, 'he opened himself slowly, with his own hands, right to the heart. I saw it beating there.' 'Ah, sir, there's surgery for you,' said Bonden, passing the glass. 'It would not surprise any old Sophie, however; such a learned article. You remember the gunner, sir? Never let it put you off your dinner. He will be as right as a trivet, never you fret, sir.”

Stephen is ill, feverish, for a long time. Diana comes aboard, and, told not to upset Stephen, she lies and says she simply did not think to ask Jack if she could come aboard in the Surprise, but she is happy to go in the Lushington instead, it will be just as Stephen wishes, she will see him in England, and so she leaves.

Jack sits with Stephen, who is delirious and ranting and says many, many things in many languages. Others would be happy to sit with him, Jack knows, but he has begun to understand how much of Stephen's life is confidential, and he does not wish anyone else to hear the things Stephen is saying, knowing that it would mortify Stephen to know anyone had heard them. Some of them are unkind things about Jack, many of them are about Diana. Jack is grateful on the occasions Stephen lapses into other languages, because he does not understand any of them. Jack is also deeply grateful that he can rely so thoroughly on his officers to run the ship, Pullings especially but Babbington too, because it means he can just sit and listen to Stephen's ranting and not have to expose these secrets to anyone else.

But eventually the fever breaks and Stephen progresses disagreeably (he is a truly horrible patient) through his convalescence. They go ashore on a remote island that Jack wishes to properly survey, and Stephen discovers a truly massive land tortoise unknown to science. He immediately names it after Jack (testudo Aubreii) and they take it aboard, and this turns the corner for him into recovery as he is so cheered up by it.

They are following the path the Lushington took, and hear news that the ship has passed everywhere that can have recorded said news. They reach Madiera, where Jack had written to Sophie to ask her to meet him. But she is not there. And what's more, the Lushington had touched there, and Diana disembarked from it, leaving Stephen a note in which she returned the ring he had given her. She has gone instead to America with a man named Johnson who had been trying to court her in India, there to be married to him, and she will never see Stephen again, though she will always remember him fondly.

Stephen takes this as well as can be expected-- he goes up a mountain to read it, knowing since he can feel the ring through the envelope that it is a Dear John letter, and lies there in a hollow in a rock all night, and then comes down and admits what has happened to Jack. Jack is similarly bereft, as Sophie did not come. Stephen tries to cheer Jack up-- perhaps she did not get the letter in time-- but Jack had sure news that the courier had arrived, so that cannot be the case. No, she declined to come.

So they get back on the Surprise and continue homeward, most of the ship in high delight at the prospect of home and sweethearts, but both Stephen and Jack mute and downcast.

But at night they meet two English frigates, and the second is the Ethalion captained by Heneas Dundage, who signals to Jack that he has women for him, a rather puzzling and yet heart-stopping message.

“The Surprise shot across the Ethalion's bows and rounded to under her lee. He gazed across with a look of extreme apprehension, trying to believe and to disbelieve; and Heneage Dundas called out from her quarterdeck, 'Good morning, Jack; I have Miss Williams here. Will you come across?' The boat splashed down, half-filling in the choppy sea; it pulled across; Jack leapt for the side, raced up, touched his hat to the quarterdeck, crushed Dundas in his arms, and was led to the cabin, unshaved, unwashed, wet, ablaze with joy. Sophie curtseyed, Jack bowed; they both blushed extremely, and Dundas left them, saying he would see to breakfast.”

This is notable because it might be the only time Jack hugs a man of his own volition in this entire series, I hadn't been tracking it but had noticed several notable lacks. (Anyone else who is reading these please do send me examples I've missed, as I said I wasn't looking for it! Tangent: Jack is canonically bad at sex but would probably be amazing at hugs don't you think?? We'll get to that in Yellow Admiral.)

Jack has a parson aboard and offers to marry Sophie right now, but she declines, she has promised her mother to marry at home in the local church.

And so they set off for home.

#liveblogging the aubreyad #HMS Surprise #Jack Aubrey #Stephen Maturin #Tom Pullings #William Babbington

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sammy-hammy · 2 years

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hi! Do you take requests? If so, could you do one where luis practices the waltz for the readers quince with her and then skips to the party?

𝐌𝐢 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧

“Ow…” Luis winced and groaned for the millionth time.

“Ah! Sorry!” you panicked as you stepped back.

“Yn you have to stop watching your feet! You aren’t going to see them with your dress on so it shouldn’t matter.” your choreographer, aka Luis’s mom, shook her head. “The same goes for you, Guy. You’re supposed to be taking the lead, not Connie.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Mendoza.” Guy’s face turned red as Connie and the other Ducks laughed.

“Ok from the top everyone!”

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

Ok do not mess this up. Do. Not. Mess this up.

Luis leans in to whisper to you, “Relax querida, we’re gonna de great.”

You smiled as the music started playing. You felt your face heat up a bit when Luis held your waist. He smiled as you two danced and he spun you to your next partner.

Your childhood friend, Averman, gave you a smirk before fake sniffling, “My little girl is all grown up.” You laughed quietly as he spun you again.

You danced with the male members of your court until you were with Luis again. As you waltzed you saw your family members tearing up. You looked back at Luis and saw his soft expression.

“You look gorgeous, love.” You once again felt your face heat up. A little voice in the back of your head was worried about dealing with your nosy tias later, but now, Luis took up most of your thoughts.

The music was approaching its end and you both took a deep breath. “Get ready,” He whispered. he gently grabbed your waist and lifted you up.

You clutched his shoulders as you stared into each other’s eyes. He set you down as your court made a semi-circle around you and Luis. You bowed to each other as the music ended.

The guests clapped and your court bowed before going to talk with the guests. Luis gave you a kiss on the cheek and went to talk to his mom.

“You did great sweetie,” Your dad smiled and gave you a hug. “Now go with your friends.” He gave you a kiss on the forehead before you walked towards the Ducks.

“With how aggressive you are on the ice I’m shocked to see you all glammed up, Ln.” Goldberg swung his arm around your shoulders. “Shut up, Goldie. You should all be grateful my cousins agreed to be your damas. I doubt all of you would’ve gotten dates.” You rolled your eyes.

“I am so offended, Ln!!!” Kenny had a false pout on his face. Goldberg backed up while wiping away fake tears, “Guys, it’s still our girl Yn.” Averman also wiped fake tears, “It’s a miracle!”

“Oh look, here comes Mr. Loverboy,” Dean, your dearest cousin, smirked. “If they get all lovey dovey I’m leaving.” Jesse fake gagged as Luis hugged you from behind. “Hey I think it’s sweet.” Dwayne said smiling at you.

“See he’s the only supportive one.” You shook your head. Fulton shrugged, “You guys make it very hard with stupid lovey dovey stuff. We already had to deal with Guy/Connie and Charlie/Banksy then you two decided to get together.”

“Aw come on. We’re not that bad.” Luis complained. ��Hey are you saying we’re bad? Have you seen how Banksy and Charlie act?” Connie defended. Guy nodded in agreement. “Oh come one there is no way we compare to you guys.” Charlie scrunched his nose as Banksy held back a laugh.

“Ok, ok. Enough arguing, guys.” Coach Bombay walked over. “I’m glad you could make it, Coach.” You smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ln. Now let’s get a picture of all of us!” Bombay called over the photographer and all the Ducks, including you, got ready.

Luis kissed your cheek as the photographer snapped the picture, leaving the moment as a permanent memory.

᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥᪥

𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍, 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾. 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗂'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍.

𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗎𝗉:

𝗀𝗎𝗒 - 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝖾 - 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌𝗒

𝖽𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗇𝖾 - 𝗃𝗎𝗅𝗂𝖾 (𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌)

𝗄𝖾𝗇𝗇𝗒 , 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗌 , 𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗀 , 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 - 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗌

𝗃𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗓 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗌

𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗇, 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇, 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗒𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗈𝗇

𝖺𝗅𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇. 𝖼𝗒𝖺!

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

#the mighty ducks x reader #the mighty ducks #luis mendoza x reader #luis mendoza #the mighty ducks 2

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gaffney · 4 months

Note

USER GAFFNEY MAY WE GET HALLWAY / 9-LINE HCS FOR PRIDE MONTHS? doesn’t even have to be headcanons, just anything you want to say about them.

talking about them is like my favorite hobby so i love this ask. i'm gonna start with hallway and then write up another for 9line later

alright so you know how there’s this stereotypical family dynamic on tv that’s always like kids: mom can we go get ice cream mom: no you’ll ruin your appetite kids: dad, mom said we can go get ice cream dad (without bothering to double check): ok let’s go get ice cream mom (holding dinner): literally what the fuck

that’s jesse & charlie with the ducks. they’re team dads where the kids only listen to charlie when jesse’s not there lmaooo. at least until that part in d3 where charlie has a meltdown and the ducks are like wtf and file for emancipation…

BUT fulton & julie are always team charlie. guy & portman are always team jesse. russ, kenny & connie switch sides based on who knows how to bribe them better. averman plays both sides bc he's always trying to start something. adam tells charlie “of course i’m on your side” and then turns around and tells jesse the exact same thing while charlie’s still standing there going wtf. dwayne actually takes both sides which never makes any sense

jesse’s never called charlie spazway because he thinks it’s a stupid nickname (and being the king of GOOD nicknames, he’s totally right) and also because he’s been picking charlie’s butt back up whenever he trips since kindergarten so he knows that it bothers charlie more than he lets on. also, i wanna point out how in the novelization jesse never doubts charlie’s ability to take the last shot and even says “you’re our man” so all of the above is actually canon bc jesse believes in charlie’s capabilities as a player

also in the novelization jesse is the only other duck who also executes a triple deke so i like to hc that he practiced them with charlie 😌

they look for each other first!! d2 being a great example—when charlie is asked to round up the ducks, the person he starts with is jesse. when jesse doesn’t want to start the flying v because he’s still pissed with bombay, he looks charlie’s way because he doesn’t know what to do. and then there’s a couple of background scenes where you can see them look @ each other whenever something happens like they want validation. it’s cute

no one on the team talks about it but everyone knows jesse has a soft spot for charlie. this is also canon because in d2 there's that montage where everyone's paired off while adam's got his arm in a sling, right. it's hard to see but off to the side there's jesse, charlie & an unknown (who i assume is averman because everyone else is accounted for) as the only kids working as a trio (probably bc adam's out of the running and luis is trying to learn how to stop). anyway you can see jesse yank at the hockey stick that's connected to averman, causing averman to fall flat on his face, but is just letting charlie skate around peacefully lmao. it's true jesse hall plays favorites

also bombay pairs them off for drills so they can bother each other instead of bothering him this is 100% true

their families are close and charlie & casey spend a lot of christmases with the halls. jesse’s dad thinks charlie is literally the best kid in the world (he is) bc charlie’s always polite and considerate and helps jesse with his homework. casey thinks jesse is literally the best kid in the world (he is) because jesse’s kinda polite and considerate and helps charlie with his homework. at least until jesse's dad and casey get called into the principal's office because apparently they've just been copying each other's notes and playing video games

also for two people who are pretty emotional and combative, i think it’s pretty telling how they’ve never gotten mad at each other despite having conflicting views. jesse doesn’t pile on top of charlie to try and make him feel bad (like peter/karp do) despite being one of the first people to walk out on bombay. charlie doesn’t try and stop jesse from taking a stand against adam despite wanting to put the past behind them by accepting him into the team. like, even when they don’t agree with each other’s takes, they respect each other and i think that’s huge

anyway you know how you’ve got that one person who can basically read you like an open book (even after you haven’t seen them for a while) because they grew up with you and have been there for the weirdest shit? that’s charlie & jesse. like, fulton would be the best man at charlie’s wedding, but jesse’s the one who’d know charlie wouldn’t want a wedding in march because that’s when his grandpa got stung by a bee and died bc of an allergy or whatever. yes, charlie’s absentee dad is anthony bridgerton, you heard it here first

jesse isn’t a fan of pda unless he’s the one to initiate (which he does!!! sometimes!!!), but he never says anything when charlie blatantly disregards this and goes full-on clingy panda anyway. when confronted by this by the other ducks who totally think this is unfair, he acts like he has no idea what anyone’s talking about

charlie literally stopped talking to jesse for the entirety of d3 because he was still upset about him moving or rejecting the scholarship or whatever the reason is that he's not there, which is why the ducks never bring jesse up because i simply reject the canon where everyone ignores that he ever existed. when they make up, the team barely sees charlie for weeks bc he's holed up in jesse's room

SPEAKING OF. i’ve talked alot about charlie’s personality transplant but i think the problem with him taking center stage in d3 is that every conflict that spawned didn’t seem like it’d be a conflict d1/d2 charlie would have, except for his resistance to change (aka bombay/his father figure leaving). bc he was never the ducks’ ringleader. and not to dunk on his skills bc i am a nhl player charlie conway truther, but canonically he was never a great player either (to the point where it seems like in d2 he already made a full switch to assistant coach). he also never held a grudge against ‘cake-eaters/preppies’ – that’s all jesse. the writers were clearly aware of it and i think that’s partly why the movie’s a little jarring at times, because they had to “level up” charlie and pretend that person was always him (and i think this is also the reason why jesse was cut from the movie altogether). he even starts wearing pinky rings like jesse!!! anyway, all this to say that i think the writers are cowards, but i really do headcanon that charlie’s simply trying to emulate jesse in d3 because he (at first) doesn’t know how to lead the ducks without jesse there to take charge and also he misses him 😔

lastly some random stuff i basically always refer to in my fic: charlie always steals jesse's shit. jesse likes charlie's curly hair. they know how to read each other's body language but suck at actual verbal communication. i also think the idea of jesse hitting on linda because charlie never introduced them bc REASONS is hilarious, as per my latest fic. and that's it for now!!! stan hallway besties and boyfriends

#bashslash #the mighty ducks #charlie conway #jesse hall #hallway #as i always say i truly believe they're two sides of the same coin #yes i rambled thank u for ur time

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wookieeoftheyear · 6 months

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I was tagged by @greenwhitehobo and @nebraskahoneybee Thank you! 😊

Rules: pick a song for every letter of your URL and tag that many people

Wide Awake - Parquet Courts

O.R.B. - ORB

Obstacle 1 - Interpol

Keasby Nights - Streetlight Manifesto

Inspire the Liars - Dance Gavin Dance

Everlong - Foo Fighters

Escape from Midwich Valley - Carpenter Brut

One - Metallica

Fallen Leaves - Billy Talent

Turtles all the Way Down - Sturgill Simpson

Hard Times - Paramore

Eat, Sleep, Wake - Bombay Bicycle Club

Your Love (Deja Vu) - Glass Animals

El Condor Pasa (If I Could) - Simon and Garfunkel

Arise - Chevelle

Rivers and Roads - The Head and the Heart

I love talking about and thinking about music so I’d love to see what y’all are listening to. Tagging some people with shorter usernames tho lol @quannaix @cour5t @dranamichelle @moss-wizard @gainsaf No pressure of course!

#tag game #music #thank you! 😊

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jlf23tumble · 4 months

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Hello Jen! I noticed you always share songs by non-american/english speaking artists, and I’ve been wanting to expand my music taste for a while because I’m sure there’s a lot of great stuff out there beyond what I’m used to hearing on the radio and good old favorites, but I just don’t know where to start. Have you got any tips, recommendations or some favorites of yours to share?

Ooooh, I love this!!! I tend to go more vibes vs. lyrics, and because of that, I end up with a lot of vintage, but if you want more modern, I think spotify can really help? I'll just share some random musings via YouTube, if that helps, too, no real order.

One of my very favorite songs is Waters of March, which is pure vintage Brazilian, but any bossa nova, sign me up. For modern Brazil, I'm more recently obsessed with Ludmilla, who KILLED IT at Coachella. If you want to explore all things Brazil, I have to shout out my beloved Bhia, @aboutmetamorphosis, who not only gifted me with the world's best spotify playlist, but also regularly introduces me to some AMAZING shit, like this list.

If you're looking for modern Belgian/French, I'm a huge Stromae fan, and he has too many songs to count, but you can listen to my fave album here, Racine Carree. For vintage French, where to even start?? I'd say Francoise Hardy, then spin out from there, dig deep into the various artists making up the Ye-Ye Girls (and Boys). Similarly, there's some fun vintage Italian, like Mina or Raffaella Carra. Allllll of that stuff can be found/dug deep into via scopitone collections.

Generally speaking, collections are the way to go, I'm a big fan of Skatalites, which I want to say I found through some of the Cult Cargo CD collection/sets from a while back? I'll bet it's all on spotify, but I still have rando CD collections covering, Bombay the Hard Way, Nigerian funk, funky Fraulines, you get the picture, lmao. For more modern music, I was honestly surprised to hear so much new stuff out of Coachella, like the aforementioned Ludmilla and Saint Levant, whose Nails song killed me.

And yeah, I know I'm not even TOUCHING kpop, but it's so vast, so deep, you don't have to dig to far to find current/past glory...if you find new faves, lmk, and if this is way off the mark, lmk that, too! Happy to dig with you!

#music #god the vintage vibes on so many of my faves thrills me #but so does modern shit!!!#the world's your musical oyster!#don't let shitty domestic music fool you!

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haggishlyhagging · 8 months

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[Note: Woolf wrote the below as one paragraph. Unfortunately this website’s formatting is incompatible with such repleteness.]

My aunt, Mary Beton, I must tell you, died by a fall from her horse when she was riding out to take the air in Bombay. The news of my legacy reached me one night about the same time that the act was passed that gave votes to women. A solicitor's letter fell into the post-box and when I opened it I found that she had left me five hundred pounds a year for ever. Of the two—the vote and the money—the money, I own, seemed infinitely the more important. Before that I had made my living by cadging odd jobs from newspapers, by reporting a donkey show here or a wedding there; I had earned a few pounds by addressing envelopes, reading to old ladies, making artificial flowers, teaching the alphabet to small children in a kindergarten. Such were the chief occupations that were open to women before 1918.

I need not, I am afraid, describe in any detail the hardness of the work, for you know perhaps women who have done it; nor the difficulty of living on the money when it was earned, for you may have tried. But what still remains with me as a worse infliction than either was the poison of fear and bitterness which those days bred in me. To begin with, always to be doing work that one did not wish to do, and to do it like a slave, flattering and fawning, not always necessarily perhaps, but it seemed necessary and the stakes were too great to run risks; and then the thought of that one gift which it was death to hide—a small one but dear to the possessor—perishing and with it my self, my soul,—all this became like a rust eating away the bloom of the spring, destroying the tree at its heart. However, as I say, my aunt died; and whenever I change a ten-shilling note a little of that rust and corrosion is rubbed off; fear and bitterness go. Indeed, I thought, slipping the silver into my purse, it is remarkable, remembering the bitterness of those days, what a change of temper a fixed income will bring about. No force in the world can take from me my five hundred pounds. Food, house and clothing are mine for ever. Therefore not merely do effort and labour cease, but also hatred and bitterness. I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me. So imperceptibly I found myself adopting a new attitude towards the other half of the human race. It was absurd to blame any class or any sex, as a whole.

Great bodies of people are never responsible for what they do. They are driven by instincts which are not within their control. They too, the patriarchs, the professors, had endless difficulties, terrible drawbacks to contend with. Their education had been in some ways as faulty as my own. It had bred in them defects as great. True, they had money and power, but only at the cost of harbouring in their breasts an eagle, a vulture, for ever tearing the liver out and plucking at the lungs—the instinct for possession, the rage for acquisition which drives them to desire other people's fields and goods perpetually; to make frontiers and flags; battleships and poison gas; to offer up their own lives and their children's lives. Walk through the Admiralty Arch (I had reached that monument), or any other avenue given up to trophies and cannon, and reflect upon the kind of glory celebrated there. Or watch in the spring sunshine the stockbroker and the great barrister going indoors to make money and more money and more money when it is a fact that five hundred pounds a year will keep one alive in the sunshine. These are unpleasant instincts to harbour, I reflected. They are bred of the conditions of life; of the lack of civilisation, I thought, looking at the statue of the Duke of Cambridge, and in particular at the feathers in his cocked hat, with a fixity that they have scarcely ever received before.

And, as I realised these draw-backs, by degrees fear and bitterness modified themselves into pity and toleration; and then in a year or two, pity and toleration went, and the greatest release of all came, which is freedom to think of things in themselves. That building, for example, do I like it or not? Is that picture beautiful or not? Is that in my opinion a good book or a bad? Indeed my aunt's legacy unveiled the sky to me, and substituted for the large and imposing figure of a gentleman, which Milton recommended for my perpetual adoration, a view of the open sky.

-Virginia Woolf, ‘A Room of One’s Own’ in Alice S. Rossi, The Feminist Papers: From Adams to de Beauvoir

#Alice rossi #virginia woolf #money #male psychology #western civilization #freedom

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budgiesunset · 2 years

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Broken || Reader x Mighty Ducks

•Summary• When reader gets injured during practice and acts fine but the team starts to catch on but just shrugs it off as reader having a bad week but the injury is more serious then reader realizes.

•Warning’s• broken bone, not proof read, un edited, swearing.

Y/N/N - Your nick name

Y/B/N - Your brothers name

You had, had a bad fall during practice your ankle getting twisted the wrong way. Even though it hurt like hell you continue to skate since you have a big game coming up next week.

After practice you were taking off you skates in the locker room when you winced at the pain in your twisted ankle causing a couple concerned glances between your team mates.

“Y/N/N, you ok?” Charlie asked sitting down next to you.

“Yeah I’m fine.. Probably just twisted it when I fell.” You replied not wanting your friends to worry. As you left the locker room you missed the worried looks your teammates shared.

When you got home you decided to ice it seeing how red and bruised it already looked.

The next morning your ankle hurt to put almost any pressure on it but you couldn’t miss practice with the game next week and it should be healed by then any way… right?

You go down stairs wincing at every step you go to the medical cabinet grabbing some pain killers before strapping your ankle and heading out to practice hoping no one will notice the amount of pain you where in.

When you arrived the rest of the team was in the locker room so you decided to sit at the back so no would notice your strapped ankle… That backfired and the entire team noticed you limping to the back of the room. And it wasn’t long until your bestie Connie was at your side giving you the ‘don’t tell me you’re actually going to skate on your ankle’ look.

“Don’t worry I’m fine.. it’s just a little bruised.” You said sensing her concern and gave her a reassuring smile.

It wasn’t long after you had put your skates on the coach Bombay came in. “Ok ducks start with laps” the entire locker room filled with groans and sighs.

You were the last to leave but you were stopped by Coach extended arm in front of you. “Not so fast.. You’re not practicing with your ankle.”

“Coach I’m fine.. see” You said as you walked up and down the locker room as normal as you could pushing all the pain deep down.

Even though you could tell he wasn’t buying it he let you through anyway.

•Time skip cause I’m Tired• After practice you were first to the locker room. Taking off your skates and moving the bandages a little bit you saw the area was bruised and you knew that it was worse then you thought.

“Y/N/N you know you shouldn’t probably get that checked out… it looks painful.” You looked up seeing Adam sitting next to you.

“I’m fine, it’s probably just sprained.” You responded as you took off the hockey pads and put on a clean top and shorts before grabbing your bag and walking out. As he watched you walk out he turned to the rest of the team and he could tell they where just as about convinced as he was.

When you got home you unwrapped your ankle seeing that it was swollen and you knew it was most likely broken but you couldn’t get it checked out or you would be benched from the game.

“What the hell happened to your ankle… It looks like shit.” Y/B/N said standing in your door frame.

“Get out of my room!” You said hopping to your door and shutting it in his face. As much as you hated to admit it you knew he was right your ankle did look like shit and you had to get it checked out before it got worse and affected the team. So you decided tomorrow after practice you would go to see a doctor.

<Time Skip because why not> You knew your ankle was bad but it wasn’t until today’s practice when your ankle completely gave in and you couldn’t walk anymore that you realised just how serious the injury was.

You where trying to get the puck when all of a sudden your ankle fully just gave in collapsing under the pressure you fell to the ice hitting your head on the hard surface as you clutched onto your ankle your teammates surrounded you but it was all a blur everything merged it one and you couldn’t tell what was really happening as you fell in and out of conscious while a medic was helping you onto a stretcher before wheeling you out of there.

<GUESS WHAT… Yep another time skip> You must have lost consciousness in the ambulance because when you woke up you where in the hospital. You looked around seeing Connie in the chair beside the bed reading a book.

“What happened?” You asked voice raspy and dry.

“Hey Y/N/N you’re awake you were out for a couple of hours.” She said getting up and moving to sit on the side of the bed.

You try to sit up but feel something around your leg that feels like it’s weighing you down deep into the mattress.

“Careful, the doctor said it’s broken and you can’t walk on it for a month or so.” She said helping you sit up.

And that’s what you did… sort of the moment she turned around you did try to walk only for you to endure pain running up your leg. So for the next few months you would sit on the bench and help coach Bombay with whatever you could since your leg was in a cast.

———————

AN: Hey guys sorry the ending was shit I’ve just been dealing with a lot lately and actually have maths homework due tomorrow that I haven’t even started yet but oh well… I might also have another fic be published today or tomorrow who knows. But I hope you all have an amazing day/night. Time for me to go read fanfics and procrastinate until 4 in the morning where I finally decided to do the math homework and get like 30 minutes of sleep before getting up school. Bye love you guys❤️❤️

#Mighty ducks #mighty ducks x reader #Mighty ducks platonic with the team #x reader #x reader story #Reader x team #platonic relationships #readers injured #Angst #Hurt reader #comfort

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beating-beetle-heart · 2 years

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Writing Practice: X Reader Based - Robot partner

NSFW

I've never really done an explicit work before. I'm trying to get better at it, so I'm going to start doing some one-shots to help grow.

I decided to make this one more short and sweet between the two, which means next one will probably be extremely kinky, to keep the balance ;). Hope you enjoy!!

Minors DNI

You sat on a bed full of plush pillows and weighted blankets that needed re-distributing. Instead of a nice layer of warmth, the blanket's beads were lumped into two hard corners. Luckily, and quite confidently, you were certain your partner would sort the lumps out by morning. He was adorably sweet like that. Rather everything he did was adorable. You smile, honeyed memories oozing slow, delicious warmth through your chest. Years really do pass quickly when you spend them with care and happiness. You nestle into the bed, velvet smooth, laced with sheer curtains hung up with beads. The walls are a striking bombay mahogany, decorated by pictures of their life framed by gold with white detailing, while several potted plants cradled in rope hang from the ceiling. The room paints a picture of wealth turned comfort. Money used not for unwanted abstract paintings and empty spaces ready for a photo shoot, but for personal taste and awakened dreams. Looking at it all gives you a swell of pride, just as it did when it was first finished. You sigh, content, a smile so big on your face that your cheeks are starting to hurt, but a gentle whoosh interrupts you from your thoughts.

Heavy footfalls grow gradually closer until they're at the foot of the bed. You turn, still smiling, to greet your partner. "Evening, Fuir."

He tilts his head and gently shakes his plating, rumbling with his version of a laugh. He stands six and a half feet tall. While that would normally be an issue, your blessed genes had made you six foot yourself, a perfect match. Fuir's plating was a beautiful snow white. His design consisted of an open spine, enticing lights running down its length. Layered plating made his chest, opening to more spacey armor strips nearer his torso, and thick, black duo cables (almost like a gas mask, connecting underneath the plating of where his jawbone would be) ran loosely to his back. Those were fun. Fuir brought his hands up to rub your shoulder. His hands was large, but not disproportionately so. They had long fingers, black on the underside, with black highlights around his palm and joints. They weren't completely smooth, being interrupted by ridges and more spacey armor in a beautiful combination. You feel your breath pick up speed. You blood runs a little faster, faster, and you roll over, propping on an elbow to give him a full look-over. You can picture yourself, eyes narrowed in sharp lust, mouth parted just a little as you reach up to grasp one of the cables. His rumbling stutters and he lets out a delicate sound of surprise. You feel the hand on your shoulder tighten, scraping the fabric across your skin. You nearly whimper when it brushes across your nipple.

"I didn't realize you'd be merciful enough to give me such a greeting," his voice echos. You smile, knowing full well his kind doesn't feel urges to fuck like humans. They enjoy it, oh how they do enjoy it, but they don't feel a need to chase it if its not offered or in their lives. Fuir hadn't been sex-starved while you slept, but you enjoy how he plays it as such. Especially at times like this, where your body is begging to grind. You stroke the cables, smirking at Fuir's little gasps. His hand comes to stroke your jaw. You lean into it.

"N-not hungry?" he inquires.

"Only for you." You crane your neck, guiding him the rest of the way with little tugs that elicit the familiar whirring of his fans kicking into gear. You snicker. "You're adorable." You nip around the cable's connection points and brush against receptive neck wires. Fuir grasps your back with both hands, sending rolling shivers down your spine. You groan and arch into him, a different, more personal heat comes on, born from the way Fuir holds you, careful to not hurt, from the way he fondly allows you to pull him closer despite being indescribably strong enough to stop it.

"Y/N," Fuir's voice hitches. Static fuzzes the words.

"Come over here," you breathe. Fuir's plating shifts, expanding to allow as much access into his seams as possible. You catch one of his neck cables in your mouth and suck, laving tongue over warmed material, coating your saliva onto it, marking. He whines, high and loud, the sound laced with static. You feel a growing wetness stain your underwear. He's shaking now as he climbs on top of you, messily trying to keep your mouth at his neck. He's careful, but his plating still pinches in a few places. Each time you give a small squeak, breaking apart to share a laugh and quick "sorry". You stare up, heart thrumming as he looms over your soft form. The light catches on him, drawing your eyes to the angles of individual plates. His winter expanse is overtaken by scattered rainbows. He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. To be together, each the others, was more than you thought possible, a dream come true.

Your fingers run along the top of his chest. They follow well-known paths and dip into seams that spark roars from his fans. Your teeth nip harder at Fuir's cables. He gasps, body jerking. You let the go cable go, eyes boring into him in amusement. "I know you want to say something, Fuir."

"Hha..." He shivers, plating groaning in its attempt to open wider. "Harder." He pushes his head closer when you don't move. "...Please," he groans.

You'd be lying if you said having Fuir, so much stronger and more resilient than yourself, than any human, beg wasn't a delicious ego boost. "Such a good play-toy," you tease.

"You'll r-regret that."

You close your eyes when he pushes you against the sheets. "I'm counting on it." Baring your neck, you moan and clutch at him when you hear the telltale sounds of tendrils extending from compartments along his upper back. "Show me," you whisper.

Fuir's multitude of thin cables wrap around your legs, heated metal nearly uncomfortable against the already-risen temperature of the room. Beads of sweat begin to run down your thighs, mixing with your wet arousal. Your legs quiver when the tendrils widen them, giving slow, swirling strokes as they inch closer to your groin. You buck against him. Fuir leans down and lets his main coil duo rest against your face.

"Suck," he commands, a deeper reverberation commanding his voice.

You dutifully take one, than the other, into your mouth. The tendrils suddenly slap the inside of your thighs and you have to bite down, lest the electric mix of pain versus pleasure make your mind too groggy to remember your task. A pitiful whimper escapes your mouth. You slide your tongue against the cord's ridges, working on stroking the seams along his back in tandem, your tugging of wires rewarded by Fuir's quivering and fuzzed sounds of pleasure. His tendrils begin to stroke faster, the tips stimulating both of you, winding your heady whimpers with his stammering engine, a mix more lustrous than the best music. Your bodies wound around each other, an orchestra of desire guided by a conductor of love.

Your noises are nearly loud enough to match his fans. Your hips push into Fuir's tendrils, relishing his succulent, desperate noises, his eagerness punctuated by quicker strokes and growls. He digs his helm into your neck and your eyes squeeze shut. A burning heat in your gut roars louder, the brink's edge so close you can hear it, see it, taste it from the coil in your mouth and the heat in the air. "You're beautiful," you gasp at Fuir, having just enough oxygen left for those two words before the two of you are grasping at each other, screaming into the other's void and coming together, two black holes colliding in a storm of fervor. You're still clutching him, and he you, many minutes after, all through the wind down of his systems and the after-sweat of yours. Fuir nuzzles against the soft skin of your neck, allowing you to simply close your eyes and breathe, and be. You bask in the fog shrouding your brain, nearly laughing from its tingling effect, Somehow, in all the world and worlds beyond, you had found someone. You had found someone to love, to cherish, and to trust that the person loves and cherishes you back. You make each other happy, the most anyone can ask for in life.

You snuggle into him, wanting, knowing, that the moment will never end. You will always be together. Happy and safe as the universe intended.

#exophilia #nsft #robophilia #robosexual #robot bf #monsterfucker #x reader #writing #robot x reader

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