#i watched the pilot for the first time today. i can feel it this show is going to haunt me

[butterfly-buck]

so about that neurodivergent clown show

still frame

[daechwitatamic]

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorrhansol)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Also in this universe: storm breaker by @/sailorhansol

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

– 

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills. 

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead. 

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves. 

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated. 

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better. 

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for. 

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s. 

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away. 

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No. 

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering. 

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted. 

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them. 

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate. 

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true.  “I got scared.” 

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly. 

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol. 

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you? 

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded. 

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again. 

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood. 

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low. 

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it. 

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away. 

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones. 

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces. 

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you. 

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it. 

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction. 

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that. 

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense. 

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission. 

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him. 

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling. 

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing. 

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt. 

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole. 

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight. 

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind. 

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred. 

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that. 

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome. 

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles. 

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner. 

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened. 

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call? 

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop. 

You greet the person on the line with your real name. 

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck. 

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away. 

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore. 

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response. 

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen. 

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time. 

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.” 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago. 

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh. 

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together. 

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long. 

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter. 

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival. 

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze. 

“It will be okay,” she whispers. 

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons. 

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside. 

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control. 

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat. 

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it. 

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch. 

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol. 

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it. 

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly. 

“And that’s it?” he demands. 

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight. 

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision. 

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap. 

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love. 

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness. 

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk. 

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding. 

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following. 

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake. 

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know. 

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. 

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide. 

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. 

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory. 

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.” 

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign. 

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem. 

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart. 

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly. 

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded. 

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?”  He looks sideways at you, sly. 

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

[agencyboys]

i have so much to say about dead boy detectives, but what's hurting me the most (but also keeping me the most motivated!) is how obvious it is that it was made with love.

it wasn't just made to make money! it was made to tell a beautiful story of love (in all of its forms). it's the first live action show i've watched in a long time that actually feels like it was made for the sake of making ART and sharing a worthwhile message to its audience. i haven't loved a show this deeply in well over a decade, and as an artist, it's so disheartening to see art constantly be thrown away.

i'm so sick and tired of shows that are just meant to fill our already limited time with... nothing! shows that keep getting renewed today, wouldn't have made it past a single season or even the pilot 20 years ago! the industry has ruined our attention spans just so they can shill us mediocre and unfinished projects because who is actually watching, right? we need to show them that we are paying attention and that we have no intention of wasting our precious time on meaningless "content."

i know this has all been said before, but i'm still so angry over this. i'll continue to let my anger fuel the effort, though!

keep up the great work, everyone, but please remember to prioritize your health and well-being!

[hederasgarden]

Today I’m thinking about a somehow equally nerdy navy medic with a crush on sweet Bob and Phoenix and hangman obsessed with trying to get these 2 to realise they like each other that’s all…

Hangman would be so amused, I think, and view it as his personal reality TV show. Maybe Rooster catches on because Hangman is staring awfully hard at Bob one day.

“Working on a crush there, buddy?" Rooster asks, tilting his head in Bob's direction. "It's okay, you can tell me. This is a safe space."

“Huh?" Jake asks before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "No. But someone else is," he says, drawing the other man's attention to the way you're leaning against the wall, openly staring at their WSO. You're watching him so intently that it takes you a few tries to find your straw with your tongue. It's almost endearing how inept you are.

Then the two of them end up working together to help you get the attention of a clueless Bob and oblivious Phoenix. After a few mishaps, Hangman decides a direct approach is necessary because as oblivious as his two teammates are, you’re even worse.

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Word count: 700

Rating: Gen. Humor and flirting.

Hangman first comes to you after you've finished the annual mandatory CPR training course for the pilots.

“Look,” he starts, leaning in close enough for you to get a whiff of his overpowering aftershave. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I get it, you’re a little inept at this whole thing but I’m here to help.”

“Okay, buddy...I think I know way more about anatomy than you do,” you tell him, packing away the CPR dummies. His friend with the mustache coughs and Hangman arches one golden eyebrow looking bemused. It takes you a few seconds to realize what you said. Before you have the chance to feel embarrassed or over explain yourself, he speaks.

"I get it," he assures you. "But I was referring to your little crush on Bob and Phoenix."

“That's not… what… you're crazy," you sputter, shaking your head. "You're way off base," you go on, internally freaking out because you'd been SO careful to play it cool and keep it on the DL. You were a consummate professional every time you interacted with Bob and Phoenix. Calm, cool, and collected. Smooth as butter.

"Uh-huh. There's no need to be shy, sweetheart. We're gonna help you get your man. And girl," he adds.

You're not sure if it's his insufferable smirk or the ridiculousness of the situation but your embarrassment fizzles out and you're left feeling more annoyed than anything else. Who did this guy think he was?

"First, Lieutenant Trace isn't a girl. She is a woman and an accomplished pilot to boot. Also, don't call me sweetheart. It's weird and creepy.” You poke him in the chest to drive home your point. "Also, you can tell Tom Selleck over there I don't need his help either."

“Woah, hey," the other man says, hands raised. "I'm just an innocent bystander here."

"What's your plan?" Hangman questions. "Stare at them some more?"

You scowl but before you can reply another voice interjects. “This guy bothering you?”

Your freeze at the familiar voice, your surprised expression mirroring Hangman’s. Phoenix’s dark brown eyes meet yours when you turn and oh god, she looks so effortlessly beautiful. You should reply with something witty and funny but it’s all you can do to stand there, slack jawed until you see Bob right behind her.

He offers you a bright smile and Phoenix touches your shoulder as she leans in to mock whisper, “Hangman’s not always the best at knowing when he’s not wanted. Like now for example.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Hangman asks.

“As entertaining as it was to watch you obsess over this whole thing, I decided the direct approach was easier for everyone involved,” the mustached man says.

“Okay, Tom. You’re good people,” you finally say.

“It’s Rooster actually and I know. Such a good person,” he says with a wink, nudging Hangman.

“Bye, Bagman,” Bob says, staring at the other man until he finally leaves with Rooster.

“Now,” Phoenix begins, fingertips dancing down your arm to capture your hand in hers. “What’s this about you having a crush on us?”

[raayllum]

Transcript of Aaron Ehasz Interview (Sept 2024)

Podcast link here. Transcript down below with bulk under a read more.

R: Alright so welcome back to the Wordswithdragons podcast, and today I’m joined by a very special guest, the co-creator of The Dragon Prince, Aaron Ehasz. 

A: Hello, thank you for having me today. Glad to be here.

R: Thank you so much for being here. Um, yeah, so, as we semi touched on, it is the 6 year anniversary of The Dragon Prince this September 14th.

A: Yeah.

R: Do you have any thoughts, reflections, feelings about the show having gone on for this long and being such a big part of people’s lives?

A: I mean for starters, it’s really hard to believe it’s been on for six years. Like that seems insane to me. Cause it seemed like we had — Justin and I had been working on it for so long before it finally came out because we had worked on the story and then gotten feedback, and help in improving that pitch and bringing it out and we had it set up at Netflix, and we had to — we wrote the pilot obviously, and we didn’t know where we were gonna produce it, and found Bardel. So there was so much time between even just starting to think about it and when it came out.

R: Yeah, cause that was like 2015, right?

A: Yeah, I guess we started the journey in 2015 and we got with Bardel by the end of 2016, and it got released evidently in 2018, so... Yeah, yeah, cause I remember even we were writing kind of the end of season 3 when we had that panel with Marco and named the character after Marco.

R: Oh yeah.

A: The character [chuckles] from the first episode, we only had an opportunity for him to say his name out loud in that last episode because we were writing the ending while we were showing the episodes for first time, so. Anyway, that’s my reflection, it’s great it’s been six years.

R: Yeah. I know The Dragon Prince has been a really like — both life changing and I think, like, life affirming experience for a lot of people, myself included. So we just really appreciate everybody’s hard work on the show and are very excited for season 7 and hopefully beyond as well. As well for any future projects that Wonderstorm comes out with, like Bonders sounds amazing.

A: I feel — well first of all, thank you for saying that it’s life affirming, that’s such a nice thing to hear about something you’ve worked on, but I also agree that Justin and I feel a ton of gratitude for the whole team and the work and heart that everyone put into making this. I think people wanted it to be meaningful and special and that takes a certain kind of energy and vulnerability to build something like that, that you share, and our whole team really did give that in building the show.

R: Yeah. I think for sure. I think that’s like, um, I was even — I was rewatching some of the show earlier for — for a parallel, and it was the scene between Avizandum and Zubeia when she goes to him in like her kind of corruption dream semi-nightmare, and obviously that’s such a heartfelt, touching scene, and it’s always so strange. Because on the one hand, you should hate Avizandum, he killed Sarai and Rex Igneous has rightful criticism of him, but then you watch that scene of him and he really did love his family, so I think the show being able to draw out those strong, conflicting emotions for so many of the characters is one of the reasons why it connects with people to the degree that it does.

A: And that’s one of the themes you probably see in the show — just gonna make a quick —

R: Yeah, yeah for sure. 

A: Avizandum, which is that being a good dad can make up for awful lot of [R laughs] monstrosities, as long as you’re doing it in the name of being a good dad. I’m joking, uh. Of course, yeah, Avizandum was always meant to be a complicated figure like many of our characters. 

R: You mentioned that you guys have been working on — I think season three during this panel with Marco, or Marcos, and I remember, I think you’ve said before that the seasons get worked on concurrently, that there’s a decent amount of overlap.

A: Yeah.

R: I’ve always wondered, because we know — obviously, I’m a big Rayllum fan — but I’ve always wondered, cause I know they weren’t originally planned, and then you guys were boarding season two when you were like, “Hey, maybe this should be a thing,” and then probably like shifted and tweaked things or changed things to write more towards that in the future... Um, I’ve always wondered, if there was time, like at that time, to go back and change anything in season one for them, or the season one that we see was just like that?

A: I don’t recall there was time to change season 1 — that does happen because we are working on things in parallel because we are working on something in the script and then some time later we are working on the later stage of production, like an animatic, and we’ll be able to kind of give notes or even make changes with the knowledge of what’s coming, so that has happened. But in the case of Rayllum, I don’t think so. I mean, I think — again, I remember...

R: It was a while ago, yeah.

A: We were rekindling, or when we were realizing that something was being kindled between them, it was watching an animatic so that shouldn’t have informed our writing of season one, but our later stage stuff. But we weren’t trying to force anything so it got in there naturally and I don’t think we went back and changed anything.

R: Yeah, that’s what I’ve always — they had those kind of vibes to me from like episode two and three, obviously season two brought a lot more people on board, but I was always curious. Cause in season one, like, I think, it feels so natural, it feels so organic, and like I’ve shown — one of the things I love about Dragon Prince is it’s a great way to connect with friends and family and you kind of catch up with each other like through the show, of “oh have you seen the new season yet?” and that sort of stuff. And so when I’ve shown the show to like my brother-in-law, who is not plugged in at all, he also kind of picked up on it in season one, so I’ve always been curious. 

A: You know, what else, I’ll even say, I think we initially, intentionally planned they weren’t going to be a couple. We were like “Oh yeah, no, they’re—”

R: Friends, yeah.

A: Friends, with different views of the world and they journey together, and we don’t want them to be a couple. We’re not — we’re definitely not targeting it. I think we were intentionally not targeting it, and then it was “too bad creators! [R laughs] We’re going to fall in love despite everything you’re planning.”

R: Well, that very much I think even fits what they represent to each other, of like you don’t have to do this path that you think you have to do...

A: Yeah.

R: You can be something new. I always kind of felt like Ezran and Zym were — felt very kind of like designed as foils, as like a pair, of like through Zym, Ezran learns more so like how to grow up, and they’re both like the princes who will be king, and then Callum and Rayla also kind of felt sort of like developed as a pair, in terms of like — he needs to gain more confidence, she’s pretty confident on the surface.

A: Yeah.

R: She needs to learn how to open up, he’s really good at being open especially in the beginning.

A: Right. 

R: So I was always like...

A: He needs to be murdered, she needs to learn how to murder someone.

R: Yeah! They complete each other, yeah. Uh... Some other questions that I had [rapid typing]. So I guess, maybe, I have some questions that are more season specific, in respect to time, but I also had like more general questions. 

A: Okay.

R: So, one of the things I’ve always love in general and really love about The Dragon Prince is its like use of philosophy and like its deeply interested in ethical and moral questions, and presenting some answers for some of them, but like are those the right answers? We don’t know. 

A: Right.

R: So I know King Harrow’s choosing of Lady Justice’s blindfold is a pretty apt comparison to John Rawls’ Veil of Ignorance—

A: Yes.

R: Of, you know, you strip away everything that you could have, like advantages, disadvantages, and think, would the system work for me? Which has been useful when I’ve like, had to tutor students in philosophy actually, but I was curious, were there any like philosophical concepts or ideas that people really, or you really, wanted to work into the series? ‘Cause we have a lot of trolley problems.

A: Right. Um, probably. I mean like, I should say, I was a philosophy concentrator in college so I absorbed a lot. Things like  Rawls, I had a class with John Rawls, and thought that was a really interesting concept and I liked including it, and I thought we can include it in a fun way, the idea of justice. So other philosophy probably makes its way in, it can makes its way in accidentally or subconsciously, so nothing specific right now comes to mind. I will say, as with kind of Avatar before this, I don’t like to have — I’m not trying to have a right answer, ever. I’m trying to have the characters have a deeper understanding of what they’re struggling with, and y’know, move in a direction of deeper understanding, so if anything, it’s more interesting to me to see conflicts between maybe philosophical approaches that are different and see how — Oh well, this has these kinds of results, and positives and negatives, and this has... so that the audience can have a chance to say, “Oh well okay, I have some thoughts on that,” or “here’s what I feel,” and that’s why sometimes I think we see the fandom actually kind of go back and forth—

R: Yeah.

A: On — around characters and people’s choices, and things like dark magic or Viren, which are controversial, are things where like, I do not have a strong point of view on... the kind of binary right or wrong of... Viren in the long term. He’s made a lot of wrong choices and he’s made a lot of choices for good. 

R: Yeah.

A: He is an arrogant and power hungry person and he’s also a caring and loving father and someone who wants to have a positive impact on the world, right, like?

R: Yeah.

A: So those conflicts play out in him. But similarly, I think with maybe most of the philosophical ideas I can think of, I’d rather get to like a place where everyone just has a chance to entertain those thoughts and ideas and struggle with them, or hold them in an authentic way, and then can come to their own conclusions and feelings. I mean, I have some deep feelings about like, the world, and how can people be optimistic or not pessimistic or—y’know, what it means to hold onto hope or what it means to try to move past conflict, and I have beliefs that there are conflicts that get so you know, kind of sewn in, that they feel they are impossible to untangle, and especially if the game you’re playing is who started it, or who did the worst thing, where you can’t just ever untangle it. You can’t ever find a right or wrong, so how do you get past that? That’s one of the questions I was hoping Rayla, Callum, and Ezran would try to—

R: Figure it out.

A: Struggle with. Anyway, I’m giving a very long winded answer—

R: No, no.

A: That’s the philosophy that comes to mind. If something comes to mind for you, you can bring it up and I can go, “Oh yeah, that was probably influenced by so-and-so.” [R laughs] Or maybe not.

R: Well, one of the things I loved about season six was kind of — you see, even... One of the things I thought was really interesting was we see, not quite like that return to trolley problems, but we see Aaravos at the end of season 5 is telling Viren you have to make the sacrifice so that you can live, and then we see Rayla tell Callum, “Hey, if the choice ever happens, you also have to sacrifice me,” for — so Callum can live, but also for like the greater good and that sort of stuff. And then you have Kpp’Ar, who — I love Kpp’Ar, I think he’s terrible and interesting and I love him.

A: Awesome. He is — we’ll learn a little more about him in the future, but yes.

R: And obviously when Viren’s like, “A child will die,” and this is a kid that Kpp’Ar would’ve known, and we see in The Puzzle House that he loved these kids, and whatever is up with the Staff is bad enough that Kpp’Ar’s like, “Okay. I’ll make that sacrifice.” Which feels very much in a way like he’s given up on dark magic, and to a certain degree he’s both given up on the mindset of dark magic, and maybe also hasn’t given it up in the same way. Like I love that — Claudia, you know, obviously, puts Viren above all else, is she always right to do so? Maybe not, but we get why she’s doing it, that’s a hard thing to say. And then we have Callum, who also seems inclined to put Rayla above all else, and because we like Rayla more, we’re like “Yeah, he can do that, it’s okay for him to do dark magic for her, that’s fine,” even if there’s also like, consequences. Cause most characters in the show, like you said, everybody kind of wants the same thing, they wanna have a positive impact on the world, they want to protect their loved ones, but what constitutes that world, what they think is a positive impact, or who they want — how they protect those people, that’s all very malleable and can fluctuate. Viren says “Claudia, you’re on the wrong path,” and we’re like yeah, he’s right, and Karim says the same thing about Janai, like the exact same thing, and we’re like, well he’s wrong.

A: Yeah. I mean a lot of things come to mind when you’re talking through that, but one is there’s often a conflict between rigidity and rules and some kind of compassion, or emotional decision, and those decisions are hard, right? Like I dunno, maybe Kpp’Ar should’ve said, “Okay just this once, it’s Soren,” or not, I don’t know. I mean obviously Kpp’Ar had taken himself to some deep horrible place and he really had, actually. And was like, “Okay, dark magic is just corruption when you start and keep going down this path, but this Viren’s kid so I don’t know.” One of the things here, I think there’s a relationship between — you know, sacrifice plays a role here. Sacrifice and thinking about generations and generational conflict and thinking you know maybe in a way I think is interesting. I think about the beginning of season 6 when Claudia has done all of this and sacrificed another life but also sacrifices some of her soul or whatever to save her dad and he’s like “No no! This is not the way! A parent is supposed to do this for a child but never the other way around,” right? And there’s something to that I find interesting which is — it’s almost the inverse of children having the opportunity to start anew and break cycles, parents potentially have the opportunity to make sacrifices that don’t pass by burdens onto their kids, but sort of like that’s the mirror I see a little bit, in terms of how do you have generational change and evolution? It’s somewhere in younger generations being able to not get stuck on conflicts and burdens, but also the older generations recognizing that they may have to be the one to take the — and this is I think a natural... I dunno, it’s something I think about a little bit and came to mind when you were talking. So we’ll see more about what is the meaning of sacrifice and when — when do you... trade? Yeah.

R: Yeah.

A: Side note on sacrifice. You’re familiar with Game of Thrones? You’ve watched all of Game of Thrones?

R: I’m decently familiar, yeah.

A: Okay.

R: And if not, I can have Kuno explain it to me later, so.

A: One of the things I love about the sacrifice Ned made, that we didn’t realize he’d made until I think the very end of the series, we realize — a sacrifice to his kind of reputation, right? And I’m talking about him representing Jon Snow as his bastard to protect him, right? Think about that, that’s a sacrifice, he had to go through the anger — he didn’t tell his wife the truth, he didn’t tell anyone, because it was the only way to protect the child, and as a result he lived with — even though the truth is that he was a really honest, good, or evidently he didn’t go cheat on his wife, he sacrificed that part of his reputation to protect Jon, at least how I see it. I think things like that are kind of interesting. I dunno.

R: Yeah. Yeah, I think it speaks to that idea of — one of the things I love about Dragon Prince is it’s so much about choices.

A: Yeah.

R: Like one of the things I really really liked about season 6 was that, you know, Callum is like, “Okay, I’m going to get myself purified, healed of dark magic,” and Rayla was his light, which was very validating, cause I had noticed in season two there was like some framing so I was like well “Maybe, maybe” you know? And then slowburn buildup but it was — I think that was a great moment that really paid off. And he’s told “if you ever do this again, it’ll corrupt you completely.” And whether he will or won’t — I personally think that he will, but spoilers, you know — but whether he will or won’t, I think it’s really nice because now whatever choice he makes, he’s making with the full context, of what this would do to him.

A: Yeah.

R: Whereas in season two, yes he was making his choice to do dark magic then, and I don’t necessarily think he would make a fundamentally different one if he had known what it would lead to, but there’s a different kind of awareness. Like I always of it would’ve been so easy to have Harrow not know that Viren was going to kill Zym, cause that’s such an easy way to kind of let Harrow off the hook of well Viren went off and did this on his own, and Harrow had no idea, and blah blah blah, right? Cause we like Harrow, he’s a — again, he’s a good dad, we’ll forgive a lot. And instead, it’s not his idea but he’s fully aware, he signs off on it. And I think constantly pushing characters to make hard choices — kind of like what Ezran says, “these aren’t dreams, these are choices.”

A: Yeah.

R: You can choose love, you can choose to make... It’s something that makes all the characters feel so fully developed and interesting, so I always appreciate that you guys push them to make the hard choice. 

A: Yeah. Cool. Thank you.

R: One question I did have is, uh, Karim is one of my favourite characters.

A: Okay. Unusual person. A lot of people hate — or love to hate...? I love him too. 

R: I also love Kasef, so I think I just kind of love everyone, because I’m like well, they’re really interesting. I feel like [Karim’s] arc was one of the things I loved most about season 4 because you can see him really wrestling with his choices and I love watching him fail, cause that’s kind of all he does, so that’s always fun. But I am really curious obviously now he’s been betrayed by Sol Regem, Katolis is in ashes and maybe they’ll blame Karim for that cause Sol Regem is like — dead, and now, presumably his only hope is going to be that his sister doesn’t execute him on the spot? 

A: Yeah.

R: So is there anything you can tease about Karim’s arc in season 7?

A: Yeah, so — so it’s not just Karim, there’s an army of people who betrayed Janai, and — and...

R: What do we do?

A: Yeah, what do we do? That will be something we’ll have to see them grapple with pretty much right away in the season. Especially cause [Karim’s army] showed up for this battle where they were never even — they were just planning to sweep up the ashes afterwards, so when they didn’t get the dragon support they needed, I suspect they lost really quickly. 

R: Yes, yeah.

A: So uh... Yeah, but basically as of the start of season 7 — all of them are prisoners of Queen Janai and the question is — what do you do with that? What do you do when you have an entire army and your own brother who betrayed you? And so that’s — we’ll find out.

R: Yeah. [Laughs] 

A: But yeah.

R: Yeah. Another question I had going forward was Terry and Claudia obviously I thought had a really beautiful relationship arc, particularly in season 6, and we saw in season 4 the lengths he’s willing to go to for her, and how Terry, I think, is a great example of how there’s a lot of character traits where we think “oh, if you’re a selfless, helpful, accepting person, you’re a good person,” and I feel like Dragon Prince does a really good job of how, Rayla’s selflessness can be great but it can also be kinda bad, or, um, Terry can be super accepting, maybe a little too—

A: Yeah.

R: —accepting sometimes, right? So I feel like at the end of season 6, it will presumably be him, Claudia, and Aaravos for a little bit now that he’s out of the prison. And it feels like maybe Terry might hit a breaking point?

A: Here’s what I will say — Terry is a really special character and if you watched him, he’s so good, and what we’ll find out is, he is — there is an episode called TRUE HEART and he is someone who has a true heart.

R: Oh that’s so sweet.

A: It’s very impossibly rare and special — but also we all understand what a true heart is in some way and we’ll learn a little more about that. But yeah, the question of what will Terry do, what can he do, is difficult because he has a very strong sense of right and wrong, but he has a very deep capacity for love and he loves Claudia with all of his heart. Where does that present an impossible conflict, it may... we’ll see a challenge.

R: Yeah. Yeah, for sure.

A: I’ll also throw in like I sometimes see some parallels between Terry and Uncle Iroh—

R: Yes.

A: Though Uncle Iroh I think has a very different journey. Iroh is kind of a recovered problematic person who now has some wisdom and enlightenment, so in terms of the difference between the purity of a true heart versus where Iroh is more of a later stage enlightenment, the love that they have for the kind of complicated person that they are with is similar to me. And the way that they both sometimes have to, or don’t have to but...

R: Choose to?

A: You have to give that person the space — you can’t force them to choose right or wrong, you can be there with them, you can try to guide them, you can — but ultimately you have to give them the space to fail, and eventually, you may have to turn your back on them. 

R: Yeah.

A: At some point. I don’t know. But um yeah — I still see them as connected characters in my mind. 

R: I think I can even see some of that with even the way Callum is with Rayla, like season five onwards, of like “I’ve hit my turning point, I’m not mad at you anymore, and you can steal my key, you can lie to me, and I’m not going to have you open up to me out of guilt or obligation, I want you to tell me what’s going on when you want to tell me what’s going on, and I’m going to give you the space for that.” So I think it speaks to that unconditional love that I think—

A: Yeah.

R: —a lot of the characters are blessed to have. But I do see the Terry Iroh connection. So another thing that I thought was really interesting was — obviously next season is dark magic, and I’m very hopeful that maybe we’ll learn more about the origins of dark magic or Elarion, even. 

A: Great.

R: Because I know when I was watching Sol Regem burn down Katolis, it made me think of what might’ve either happened or almost happened to Elarion in the past, you know? 

A: Yeah.

R: Even down to Ziard and Viren both die, kind of deflecting and trying to save people, with the same staff, you know, and how the cycle continues to just always repeat itself over and over again. And if there was like — yeah, cause burning down Katolis was a massive shakeup, you know?

A: Yup.

R: And what maybe the process was there, with the — Aaravos seems like he’s trying to repeat the cycle of like “Oh I’m going to take down the dragon monarchy or I’m gonna use that vacancy to my advantage, and mess with the Sunfire elves.”

A: He has a specific vendetta against Sol Regem, obviously, but it’s one where he has played it out in... What’s certainly meant to be implied, even though we’ll find out more later, is that one of the great mysteries of Sol Regem’s life is that his mate disappeared and he never found her. He’s the freaking Dragon King, and she disappeared. And though we don’t know how or what happened, while she was buried alive. He killed her. He didn’t even realize it, somehow. Somehow, Aaravos manipulated him into killing her, and he doesn’t — I dunno, I assume Sol Regem does understand when it must have happened, but that moment, it’s like an impossible — it’s meant to be just...

R: Awful.

A: He’s tortured him for 1000 years or whatever, without him knowing he was being tortured by Aaravos, and now he’s given him the mercy/cruelty of knowing the resolution to the mystery was that he killed her. And one of the things that worked well with that was that, we had sort of said Sol Regem can smell the truth from a lie, so he has the horrible curse of being able to know this is the deep dark truth. So I dunno, I think um, are we going to find out more about that? So, if we can eventually get the Book Three novel out [R laughs], we will find out more about that.

R: I did wonder, I was like “Maybe this is something that was gonna be in the book three novelization.”

A: Yes, we will find out more in the book three novel, it may be a year or so before unfortunately. And then I don’t think we’re gonna get too deep into that in season seven, that’s part of — it is involved in what we’re thinking about as the third arc, understanding and resolving the third arc, is gonna go a little deeper into...

R: Some of the history, yeah.

A: Some of the stuff that happened with Sol Regem. But yeah, no, I — it’s enjoyable to have these figures like Aaravos and Sol Regem who are ancient and operate over the course of centuries and are incredibly powerful, yet they can’t — or at least Aaravos,  they can’t conflict directly as easily, and so Aaravos has played this really complicated game. Anyway, but yes Sol Regem is part of that, but there’s — there’s more, there’s more people who — beings that took from him. He feels that Leola was unfairly punished and that that was — you know, he sees a future and he has something... All this time, a burning — it’s the twisted form of his love, in which he’s full of hate right now to the beings who brought this about. Obviously, Sol Regem played a role because he’s a rules dragon.

R: Yeah, yeah.

A: He is the one who betrayed her to the Cosmic Council ultimately — but how do you punish the Cosmic Council? That’s a bit more complicated.

R: Yeah. No, I remember finishing season six and just being so impressed with the story. Like, taking that direction, and almost doing a lot of recontextualization, because it’s one thing to have like your worldbuilding where “magic in the story works like this” and it’s just very kind of like hand of God, you know? Like oh — cause the magic system has always been unfair, that’s why we have Callum, you know? It’s another thing to say we’re going to have characters in the story who are responsible for it being unfair. And now we’re just going to have that in terms of conflict and themes of destiny. We have about seven, ten-ish minutes left I think.

A: Probably seven, if that’s okay?

R: Yeah. Of course. 

A: I’ll throw one other thing in there, which is that — cause characters experience things that change them: has Aaravos experienced — I’ll phrase it as a question, even though probably the answer is here, has Aaravos experienced much that has changed him in the last — since the death of Leola? I mean certainly some things, and is what’s happening now changing him in any way? Is it satisfaction, is it the relationship with Claudia, and what does that mean to someone? That’s a question that I think we’ll have to watch play out a little bit.

R: [Intrigued] Okay. Yeah. One thing that I really liked about Leola’s character was I felt like she had pieces of each of the main trio in her? Of this very helpful innocent well meaning child, kind of like Ezran — and I have also always seen Ezran as autistic as well cause I know that Leola canonically is — and then you also kind of have the whole oh she gave  / helped humans have primal magic, which obviously Callum has. And even just being this young elven girl punished for her compassion and mercy, that felt a lot like Rayla. And when making the choice for Leola to be Leola, was that something intentional or like the choice for it to be a child rather than another loved one?

A: It was very intentional that it was a child... And we talked through other versions of Leola that could’ve been, in other ages, genders, relationships with Aaravos that an important person was lost. Some of the things I liked about the way, Leola both as a child, children are the cycle breakers.

R: Yes, yeah. I think it was the strongest choice.

A: And in particular also, the idea of coding her autistic was a little bit like not as cued to kind of accept the social order and the order of things, but actually more open in a way to in what some people see as like — something that’s broken which is not taking those cues, something else about that — not being bound by it that allowed her to have compassion that crossed the line in terms of the perceptions of what the Cosmic Order needed to be in it — but it made her more, both as a child and an autistic person, to make that choice and do what she did that changed everything.

R: Makes a lot of sense.

A: [Her being a child] also frames it with some innocence obviously right? It’s not calculated, it’s kind. 

R: Yeah.

A: So I dunno.

R: Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been curious about how Ezran might be challenged now that Runaan is back in the picture.

A: That’s a great question. That’s a great question. I mean, it’s so weird, it’s like no one even asks that, it’s like “Cool,” Rayla’s like “I’m gonna go get him. Awesome! Runaan’s back.”

R: Yeah I’m like either — either Callum is like “Ezran will be totally fine with it,” and Ezran  is probably not going to be fine with it, or maybe Callum knew that maybe it wouldn’t be great, and kept it under wraps. Yeah, I’m so excited for that like trio, potential broyals conflict, so...

A: Well, I mean, Ezran is a very special kid and he’s very positive and kind and forgiving and all of this. But we’re talking about, Runaan is back.

R: Castle’s destroyed.

A: Katolis is rubble. Where does that leave him?

R: Yeah.

A: You know? I mean — so I’m excited about that part of Ezran.

R: I know the fandom is really, really excited for Ezran to get to be — not that he hasn’t always been complex, but to get to be like messier, of letting his emotions maybe get the better of him and that sort of thing. So people are definitely hype for that, for — cause I feel like season six really brought home a lot of things for Soren, and it seems like season seven is going to do a similar thing for Ezran, so that’s — that’s really exciting. Um, with our final couple minutes, I wanted to see — do you have any questions that you want fans to ponder or to be thinking about?

A: Um... Gosh. I don’t think I have anything specific that we haven’t talked about, but you know. On some level, like, you know how do you take the tragedies and conflicts that we all inevitably face repetitively and relentlessly and kind of learn to move forward in hope and optimism? I think that’s more of a question of like how do you personally learn to process — all the kind of bullshit in the world, and process it, and still move forward as a kind, connected—

R: Measured person.

A: —hopeful person? That’s a challenge we all face in our lives, so that’s like...

R: Yeah. Well, I think the show does a good — really good job at asking and challenging that — that question. Uh, yeah, I think — I think that’s our time for today, uh. Thank you so much, this was... 

A: It was my pleasure. 

R: This was a lot of fun.

A: It’s always my pleasure reading your theories and your—

R: [Gasps] Oh my gosh.

A: Honestly, I came on today and to tell the truth [R laughs] a little bit intimidated.

R: Oh my God. 

A: You’re so—

R: I also felt intimidated [laughing] so don’t worry.

A: You’re so insightful and articulate, that I almost am like [R laughs] what if they catch me that there’s something not as smart in the show as I thought it was?

R: Oh my gosh, no, you’re fine.

A: [Overlapping] So anyway, I really enjoy what you write—

R: [Overlapping] I’m also a writer so I know what it’s like to be like “I did this subconsciously,” it’s — yeah.

A: I love what you instigate in the fandom and the kind of conversations you support and engage in. I’m a huge fan of yours, so.

R: Oh! Thank you so much, that’s so sweet. Um. And I am a huge fan of yours.

A: Yay. That’s a great way to end a podcast.

R: That is a great way. Okay. Alright, well thank you so much, hope you have a great day, great week, uh, and — yeah. Okay.

A: Alright, and I’ll see you soon, we’ll do this again sometime, I hope. 

R: Yes! Yeah. Okay.

A: Alright. Thanks again. Alright, bye.

[lokideservesahug]

Against All Odds

Pairing: Sergio 'Checo' Pérez x wife!reader

Warnings: Mentions of crashes, children, swearing, slightly suggestive towards the end.

Notes: I'm not the most confident with this but I really hope I did this request some justice...

Request: Could you do fic for Checo Perez with wife reader? It was when he was at Racing Point when he won his first race at the 2020 Sakhir GP. She was worried when there was a crash and he was involved. But she was quickly assured that he was fine. He wanted to win that race for his wife and their children. So, he decides to fight his way through. Just something for his first win. You decide how it goes. Thanks!! :)))

°•°•°•

Summary: What happens after a driver crashes? They retire right? Well a certain Mexican driver may have a different agenda to the average pilot...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

You had never understood people when they said that their heart stop but when you saw on the big screen the racing point car hit the wall, you sure felt it. It was an accident, sure you know that but when the Renault behind him knocks his back end, you can't help but feel a brief moment of restatement towards the Frenchman that hit your husband. Your thoughts are still working in overdrive when you hear a few mumbles about lack of response. Shit. Checo hasn't responded yet. You squeeze your sons shoulder ad he grabs your leg, clearly worried about his father.

You just stare at the screen, waiting. Hoping. Praying. You can't even feel yourself breathe until... "I'm ok" the grunt of your husband made the entire mood of the garage shifts to be slightly less sombre. You can't even focus on your surroundings but when you see your husband pull back onto the track you grow slightly confused. "He's continuing?" You turn to the nearest crew member you can find. He nods his head and says something about Checo insisting on continuing to race and you can't help but smile and be proud if the sheer drive (no pun intended) of your lover.

He makes some truly amazing overtakes after the crash. And when Checo begins to come closer and closer to George you can feel yourself become short of breath for the second time today. The 63rd lap comes and goes but on the 64th lap, he completes the most glorious overtake (at least to you) and begins to lead the race. You can't stop yourself from smiling as everyone else in the garage jumps and cheers at his current P1 standing. You all continue watching on the edges of your setas as the laps race by. 70. 75. 80. 85. And by the time it reaches the 86th lap, the atmosphere in the motor point garage is buzzing. Nothing is for certain yet and anything can happen in a sport as unpredictable as Formula 1 you all know that but with Checo strongly keeping his lead for the past 22 laps and with Estaban being quite a bit behind, you're very confident in Checo's ability to keep his lead for the last lap.

You feel like electric with how much excitement you are feeling from those around you and also from your own excitement. You can't help but wonder how your children are reacting to the current predicament. Yes they are Young but that doenst mean they aren't their father's #1 supporters. They've only just become old enough to actualy form their own opinions about F1 and you can't even begin to explain your husbands excitement when they decided to support their father (even when you gave them a choice to support any driver they wanted). You turn to look at them (your son having gone to sit down next to his sister a few laps ago) only to see your son and daughter staying staying the screen in awe, with big smiles on their faces. You take a photo to show to your husband later.

And you don't even register Sergio Cross the finish line before you are being hugged by someone and then pulled to hug another person. The excitement is overwhelming and a huge grin splits open your mouth when you relapse what has just happened. Checo has won. For the first time ever, he's come out victorious. He ended lap 1 in last place, got crashed into earlier and still managed to win. Holy shit, this is unrealistic. The somehow rowdy garage manages to silence itself when your hisbands voice filters over the team radio but as you hear your husband speak his mither tongue and request that your son is watching. You can help but tear up at the sudden reality of the situation. He's really has done it.

You run out to the pit wall with the mechanics to congratulate the race winner and when he catches sight of you, he runs towards you and pulls you into his arms. The sheer happiness radiating from every direction causes him to well up and you just look at him and can't help yourself from crying. He just continues to hold you as the mechanics surround you and continue to hug and cheer for him. Your children run out, aided by a few crew members and Checo just scoops them into his arms and holds you all closely in a large family hug. You can near a few sniffles as he places his head on your shoulder but you don't have time time comment on it before he is being taken away to go to the podium.

You're at the front of the barriers with your son on your shoulders and your daughter in her little SP11 cap and pink ear defenders (which make her way too adorable) in your arms. The applause is almost overwhelming but when Checo come sout and stands on the top step, you let a few tears fall at the same time as your husband as he looks up to the sky. The Mexican national anthem fills your ears and you can help but grip your children slightly tighter to stabilise yourself and assure both them and you that this moment is real.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Unsurprisingly, there are many post race celebrations especially for his maiden win. But when your husband returns to your hotel room and changes into his pajamas. You can't help but feel like this is one of your favourite moments of the day. Your husband sat on the bed with your two children sat next to them as he reads them a book before bed. Your daughter falls asleep with her head resting on her fathers bicep and you take a photo of the cute moment and csopp her up, putting her in the room adjacent to yours. Your son grabs his fathers hand and demands that the current champion pays him to bed which causes the both of you to smile. You gently shut the door when you turn to your husband. "Why did you do it?" "Hm?" He turns and looks at you curiously, surprised that you didn't follow him straight to the large ning sized bed. "Do what mi amor?" You settle next to him in bed and he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you until your he'd is lying on his chest. "Retire after the crash." There's a brief moment of silence but clearly bot one of thought as he confidently replies "Because I ahd to for it for you all. I knew I could do it and I wanted to show to you, mis tres amores that you mean the world to me." You can't even begin to think of a response so yo just look u at him and softly bed your lips over his. He muemers in appreciation of your gesture but before he can deepen the kiss, you pull away. "As much as I would love to celebrate tonight, you deserve to rest Mr Champion" He grins at the title but pouts at the former words. "Not even a quick one?" You turn away from him. "No. Your rest is more important." You hear the rustling of sheets behind you and feel his arm wrap around your waist. "Are you sure I can't convince you sweetheart? Oh and who are you to deprive the champion of his reward?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @minkyungseokie

[final-script]

Royal In The Paddock | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x PrincessOfSpain!Reader

Sumary: The Princess of Spain for the first time in the paddock.

Warnings: English is not my first language !!!There are probably many mistakes (I will correct them later).

Gif: overtake

----------------------------

It was very unusual for the Spanish royal family to participate in this type of event.

This was because most of the time, they were busy in real duties outside the country, but this time that did not happen, at least not with you.

Your parents did have to fulfill some duties, but you were completely free, which excited you since you had obtained permission and were going to attend the Spanish Grand Prix for the first time.

You were thrilled by the power, at last witnessing, what you saw, almost every weekend on TV

(…)

In the company of your assistant and a bodyguard they received the paddock of the GP of Spain.

Many surprised faces around you and you understood them, it was not very common to see Spanish royalty in a Grand Prix.

The group moved through the terrain, meeting several of the pilots and directors along the way, exchanging a few words with each one.

The Aston Martin and Ferrari teams were the teams with which you spent the most time, these being the teams that had a Spanish driver, they were all very kind answering your questions, also surprised about your show of interest.

(…)

I thank God for the training for public events that I have had over the years.

Thanks to that I was managing to behave, if I was excited to be in a GP, but I was also excited to meet the Spanish Driver, dressed in Ferrari red.

Little did they know but you had a little secret love for him.

After today, hopefully I will be allowed to attend the next GP.

C- I hope I arrived on time and that Fernando has not overtaken me, but it would be a pleasure if you could join us and watch the race from here on the wall of Pits. I observed my assistant and he gave me the go-ahead.

I think that for a moment we were leaving aside some orders but nothing and nobody took away what I lived.

P Y/N- It will be a pleasure to accept the offer. I felt the touch of my assistant, which indicated that we had to leave, which was all for today. -I would like to stay longer, but I must go and I hope it will be a good race for both.

I shook hands with those present and left the garage with my companions.

(...)

Arrive earlier on race day so you can chat with some spectators in the area.

I was able to meet the families of Ferrari drivers and even some celebrities.

I screamed internally when Carlos came up again to talk to me.

P Y/N- How do you feel for today?

C- I want to believe that I am lucky and even more so if you are supporting me.

P Y/N- Please leave you for my mother, at least while she is not present.

C- okay, then, I want to believe that I am lucky and even more if you are present.

I could feel the heat rising up my face, I just hoped the tone didn't change much or at least I didn't notice it.

P Y/N- I don't think you need luck, you have the wit.

A couple of hours later, I didn't give him the winning trophy, but a solid second place.

After handing out the trophies to the guys on the podium, I went back to Ferrari's hospitality, where I had been offered to stay, until the people calmed down a bit and I could leave with peace of mind.

(...)

I enjoyed a snack, until I saw Carlos appear again through one of the doors, this time he no longer wore his race suit but still, he looked very good.

C- princesa (princess). It caught my attention even though I was already observing it. -I came to say goodbye, I know that soon he will leave and I wanted to wish him a good trip back.

P Y/N- Thank you for seeing you approached, it gives me the opportunity to thank you for the beautiful hospitality you have given me this weekend, the only thing I regret is not having been able to give you the winning trophy, I hope next year it can be.

C- hopefully it is, but… If you are not very bold of me, there is something I would like to ask of you, if possible and if you agree, clearly.

P Y/N- I definitely have no way of knowing if you don't tell me. We both laughed.

C- tell me if I'm being daring , but… I don't want to have to wait until next year to see her, I would like to invite her to dinner. Wow, I think I didn't expect that or maybe I did, but in my dreams.

I think I stayed quiet too long but….

C- you know that… Forget it, I'm sorry I was daring.

PY/N- What?… NO, wait, sorry, you're not being daring at all, I just didn't expect it. I managed to tell before he walked away.

C- then what does it say?

P Y/N-I would love to have dinner with you, only first I have to finish with some commitments, then maybe we can meet, although to fix that I think I will have to have your contact.

Smiling quickly he gave me his phone and I myself scheduled my personal number.

P Y/N- I apologize if we delay in meeting.

C- when it's okay, I understand you're busy, in fact I will be too, I just wanted to make sure I would see her again.

P Y/N -I can only say, I do not know when it will be but I hope it will be soon.

C- Mee too.

With our lives, I didn't know where this was going, but I wanted to find out.

---------------------------

ANOTHERS

Royal Wedding - Carlos Sainz Jr. x PrincessOfSpain!Reader

No More Secret - Mason Mount x Reader

[the-sun-and-the-sky]

The Dress

Summary: A shopping trip leaves Bob with a new obsession.

Pairing: Bob x gf!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI, making out in public places, and no beta reading so good luck

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Remind me again why I can’t just wear my uniform?” You ask, annoyance creeping into your voice. “It would make everything so much easier.” 

You gather a handful of fabric in your hand and twist back and forth in front of the mirrors. Try as you might, you still can’t properly see the back of the dress you’re currently trying on. The pale blue fabric scratches against your hand and you let it drop with a frustrated sigh. 

Behind you, your boyfriend chuckles lightly. Without having to turn, you glare at him in the mirror. Bob holds his hands up in surrender as he moves to stand next to you. 

“Because this technically isn’t a Navy function,” Bob reminds you gently. “So you’re not required to wear your uniform.” 

You sigh again. You hate shopping on a deadline. Especially when none of the options are grabbing your attention. 

“And,” your boyfriend’s voice lowers, the southern drawl becoming more pronounced. “I want to see you all dressed up. Want to show you off.” 

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. When you glance over at him, his eyes are dark behind his glasses watching you. 

You’d met Bob a few years ago when you’d both been assigned to the same squadron. There hadn’t been anything between you at first, just an appreciation for your skill as a pilot and his as a WSO. And while both of you flew with other WSOs and pilots respectively, you’d still found time to hang out and get to know each other. 

Aircraft carriers are lonely places and before long, the two of you struck up a friendship that quickly devolved into other things. And that was how, nearly two years later, you were spending your weekend in a dress shop with your boyfriend, trying on dresses for a mutual friend’s engagement party. 

“I’m just gonna…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely at the dressing room. 

Bob nods and steps back to give you your space as you gather the dress up and make your way across the large, empty room to the curtained-off section. You feel his eyes on you up until the curtain falls shut. 

Inside the dressing room, it looks like a bomb went off. Rejected dresses hang haphazardously on their hooks, a mess of colors and fabrics. The blue dress you’re wearing joins them. The airconditioned air hits your bare skin and you shiver as you consider the next option. 

Three more dresses hang on the “yet to be tried” hook. With resignation, you reach for the top one, a lovely peach dress with a long skirt and plunging neckline. But you have a hard time getting excited about it. 

The strap of the dress catches on another hook and you tug, trying to free it. A hint of red grabs your attention. You hang the peach dress back up, already forgotten, and reach to pull the red one out. Silk brushes against your fingers. You’d forgotten about this one. 

Normally, when you weren’t in uniform, you preferred to wear soft, pale colors and loose-fitting outfits. You liked how they fit and how they complimented your skin. That familiarity was reflected in the choice of dresses you’d picked out to try today. All of them, that is, save this one, which you’d impulsively grabbed and buried under the safer options. 

Quickly, and without second-guessing yourself, you slip into the red silk dress. The soft fabric falls around your thighs and the neckline gathers just above the swell of your breasts. You twist, watching the way the dress hugs your curves. The silk feels cool against your skin and you can just make out the crisscross of thin laces showing off your back. 

You take a breath, readying a quick joke, and push back the curtain. But anything you might have said dies on your tongue as Bob’s gaze falls on you. For a moment, neither of you moves as your boyfriend takes in the dress. You swear you can feel the heat from his gaze as his eyes drink in every bit of red silk and exposed skin. 

You finally break the silence. “So, thoughts?” 

You move to stand in front of one of the large mirrors spaced throughout the room. You pretend to fuss with the dress but you track Bob in the mirror as he comes to stand behind you. 

“Where were you hiding this?” He asks, his voice dangerously low. 

You shrug, feeling emboldened by the effect the dress is having on Bob. “Do you like it?” 

Bob doesn’t reply right away. Instead, his hands come to rest on your hips. You feel the heat of them through the thin fabric. The breath catches in your throat as an ache pools in your stomach and sinks lower. Bob presses his body against yours and you bite your lip, hard. 

His hands brush against your sides as they travel upwards. The silk drags with them. Your breath hitches and you lean back against Bob. He hums approvingly and you lightly shift your hips to relieve the ache building between your legs. 

Still quiet, Bob’s hands come to rest cupping your breasts. Your eyelids flutter and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder as he gently squeezes. A whimper escapes your throat. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, his breath tickling your ear. “Look at what you do to me.” 

You just manage to crack open your eyes to meet Bob’s gaze in the mirror. His eyes are dark with want. The same is reflected in yours. 

Through the haze, however, one thought is crystal clear. 

“Bobby.” He groans at your whispered use of the nickname. “We’re in public.” 

Technically, the shop attendant had left the two of you alone but there was the very real possibility that she would return any moment. And as adventurous as you were, you didn’t want to get caught going at it in a dress shop of all places. None of your friends would let you live it down. 

Bob considers this as he casts a hasty glance around the room. You watch his eyes land on the curtained-off dressing room. An idea blossoms on Bob’s face and before you know it, he’s pulling you into the small space and tugging the curtain shut. 

You giggle, watching him trip over the dresses you’d rejected. Bob shoots you a smirk before pining you against the wall, his lips finding yours. Tulle tickles your cheek but you ignore it. Instead, you throw your arms around Bob’s neck and deepen the kiss. 

Bob’s calloused hands run over your thighs, setting your skin on fire. Your breath quickens as he hitches one leg, then the other, up and around his waist. Without thinking, you tighten your legs, drawing him closer to you. He groans into your lips and you smile. 

You can feel him against your core, your clothes the only thing separating the two of you. You rock your hips just to feel something. Bob pushes his hands up under the dress to grab at your hips, making the fabric ride up and pool in your lap. His fingers dig into your skin and you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow. You hum in pleasure at the thought. 

Bob pulls back from your lips and you’re about to complain when he dips his head and trails searing kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Your head knocks painfully back against the wall, but you don’t feel it through the haze of your pleasure. Everywhere Bob’s lips press, your skin burns and you want more. You want it so badly, you’re beginning to rethink your stance on public indecency when a voice breaks through your spinning thoughts. 

“Are you doing alright in there miss?” 

Bob’s head jerks up, his expression of abject horror mirroring your own.

“Miss?” The shop attendant’s voice is closer now. 

Bob’s eyes widen, silently begging you to say something. You cough hastily, your thoughts tripping over one another. 

“Everything’s fine.” You manage to get out. 

Your voice is a little out of breath but you’re proud of how normal you sound overall. However, there are no footsteps that indicate the attendant leaving. 

“Actually,” you say, getting an idea. “I think I may need a larger size of the…” 

You trail off, fumbling with the tag of the nearest dress. 

“The Sky Lark dress, size four.” 

“I’ll be right back with that miss. Anything else?” 

“No,” you say, praying the shop attendant will leave. 

Only when you hear her receding footsteps do you dare disentangle yourself from Bob. He helps you stand on trembling legs and throws a nervous smile your way. You grin in return, relieved. 

“That was some quick thinking,” he says and you note the flush in his cheeks. 

You shrug, like making out in dressing rooms is a common thing for the two of you. “I guess it’s just my keen pilot instincts at work.” 

Bob laughs in relief as the two of you make yourselves look presentable again. After a moment of silence, he opens his mouth. 

“You’re getting the dress though.” There’s no room for argument. 

So that was how, when you finally left the dress shop hours later, it was with two drastically different dresses and a boyfriend detailing everything the two of you would be doing once you got home and back into that red dress. 

[middlingmay]

Horse Trainer!Gale x Veteran!Bucky AU

Part one of my headcanons for this AU is here!

Some warnings to get us started: slight mention of alcohol abuse, references to gun violence, war, death, PTSD and a car accident.

Something bright and cheery for your Wednesday, eh? I promise it gets cute later down the line, just not today! Today we mean business. So here we go!

Bucky couldn’t remember wanting to be anything other than a pilot when he grew up.

His ma used to draw all kinds of aircraft: jets, airliners, gliders, helicopters, even a seaplane once. John would tuck himself into her side and watch, mouth open and fascinated as she drew smooth confident lines.

She explained to him why the nose was this shape, and how the wings and tail needed to be in balance, why the placement and size of the engines mattered. She went to school for it, before he and his sisters came along. Well, before his dad came along, really.

He didn’t take much of it in, he'd be ashamed to realise later, but he did absorb her obsession with aviation. Just not for the design. He would however, try to encourage her to go back to school to finish her degree.

Mama Egan took him to his first air show when he was eight, and she had to scruff him by the neck to stop him from taking off like a shot towards the real, live WWII B-17.

Instead, he thrashed at the end of her hand, jumping around like an eel as she walked him towards it anyway, and accepted the boost inside once his ma had convinced the pilot to let John take a peek inside.

He never looked back.

He enlists when he’s eighteen, and rockets up the ranks quickly. By the time he becomes Major - and a very young Major - the new recruits look at him like he’s some kind of maverick, some kind of legend.

The higher-ups see the natural born leader he is, and the boys in his squadron know him as brave, quick thinking, and with instincts that couldn’t have possibly all come from training. He could read situations in the air like most of them read books. When John Egan had a feeling, or ordered you to do something out of the blue, you did not ask questions.

Although he joined up out of pure enthusiasm and desperation to be a pilot, he quickly sees his time in the air force as an opportunity to help people. But, almost as quickly, he realises that he and the Brass have different views on how to go about that.

He dislikes combat missions the most. Sometimes it’s pretty black and white, and John can feel pride when he sees enemy targets crumble into dust. Or when he’s lost one of his men and he feels a thrum of vengeance he knows he shouldn’t and tries to suppress but sometimes can’t quite help on the darker nights.

But mostly he learns how devastating combat missions are. He much prefers supply drops and recovery missions, but these are so few and far between, that he gives up that privilege to those in his squadron to help keep up their morale. Their morale was his responsibility, after all.

John takes to drinking, just a little bit. Never enough to affect his work. But on days when he can’t shake the anger or the gloom, the glow of whisky helps him hide it better.

Somewhere along the line, his passion burns out and he starts to want out. He’s still one of their best pilots, still a role model for all the pilots, navigators and serving men and women on base - that is to stay, he still acts the part. He signs up for his second eight-year contract, but two years into it, he can’t stomach the thought of the remaining six.

He admits as much on a tearful phone call to his ma, who promises him he doesn’t owe anyone anything, and if he needs to he better get his ass into that doctor’s office or she’ll come and drag him by the ear and drop him at the counsellor’s door herself.

“Don’t you go doing anything stupid, now, John. I didn’t raise a fool.”

And John doesn't. Do anything stupid, that is. But someone does.

Because the mission fucks up, and fucks up in a big way.

It's a recovery mission his squadron all but forces him on, all of them insisting it's his turn, and what did he do to deserve those guys and dolls, huh?

But Ken hadn’t given him the run down of his plane, because he’s taken some PTO, and his replacement ground crew chief was nowhere to be found. And from then on, John just has a bad feeling about the whole thing.

Afterwards, he can't ever remember much, but what it boils down to is two bullets in his shoulder, a dead co-pilot, a murdered political attaché left behind on enemy ground, and a package, called Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal, safe back on American soil. And his superiors patting him on his good shoulder, telling him what a good job he did.

A good fucking job. Like some green kid hadn’t died choking on his own blood, staring at Bucky like he could do something. And a fella in his late 50s, who’d been harping on about his first grandkid, was never going to meet him because his body was never going to make it home.

So, when the doc tells him the physio isn’t working and his mobility is compromised, he barely feels a thing.

Major John Egan. Honourably discharged at twenty-eight.

He’s been warned he might feel a little lost at home. But no one warns him that he’ll mistake a framed photo of his old man as that dead attaché and it would start talking to him: “You left me behind. Who’s going to teach my grandkid ball, now?”

No one tells him he’ll scare the life out of his ma coming home from ladies' brunch, to see John, who’s been standing there God knows how long, still heaving in ragged breaths surrounded by smashed glass with blood running down the hand that holds a sizeable shard of it.

So he agrees to therapy.

It doesn’t go well. Crank sets him up with a friend of his experienced in medically discharged vets, but Bucky can’t disassociate them from the military. They get all mushed up as part of the problem in his head, so he stops going and avoids Cranks calls for a while.

And the dreams get worse. And the sleepwalking hits him like a freight train, although it only happens once. Once is enough.

He ends up on a back road. It’s the only reason, Bucky thinks, he didn’t die. He veers between the grassy verge and the road. It’s dark and he’s wearing all black, and the car doesn’t see him before it’s too late. They weren’t going too fast, but they clip him all the same and he wakes up in a hospital.

And the docs have evidently spoken to his ma, because whilst they’re treating his physical wounds, someone comes for a psyche eval and he gets a stern warning that either he gets proper counselling voluntarily, or he’ll legally be forced to. A much less pleasant experience.

And he meets the driver who clipped him. A shorter guy called Curt who walks in rubbing the back of his neck and not quite able to look John in the eye until he says, “Irish, huh? That how you didn’t hit the bullseye? Too short to see over the steering wheel?”

Curt cackles and the two of them talk easy after that.

In fact, John finds it easier to talk to Curt than anyone else since he left the air force. He tells Curt about the disillusionment of it all, the anger, the dreams, all of it. And Curt understands because he used to be in the medical corps and he knows there are things you can’t unsee. Some things a man just can’t reckon with himself.

But, Curt also tells him about the horse ranch he goes to, that helped him when no shrink or medication could.

Cleven Ranch he calls it, and tells John that when he’s up and ready, he’ll take him there.

[uniquepeanutcreatorfire]

Hazbin Hotel vs. The Purge

Today, I'm going to examine and analyze HH's annual extermination by comparing it to another fictional event that I feel is similar in terms of ethical dilemma or morality, the annual purge in The Purge movie franchise. For those who haven't seen the movies, the purge is a 12-hour annual event where all crimes are legal.

Let's start with the purge and what's known about it:

Cause(s): Multiple wars led to an economic collapse and rising social unrest.

Rules: Here's a screenshot-

Outcome(s):  As a result, crime and unemployment rates plummeted to 1% and there's a strong economy. It's seen as a way for people to release their violent tendencies and aggression.

Implication(s): Lower, working classes are specifically targeted as they don't have the protection that upper classes can afford during the purges.

Sounds simple enough (there's more to it, if you don't want to watch all the movies, here's a link to the trilogy explained).

Now moving on to the annual extermination in HH.

Cause(s): This is confusing. The pilot initially presented that the exterminations were due to overpopulation in Hell. However, the actual show doesn't show any hints that the population is rapidly increasing, or overpopulation is causing any issues in Hell. The first episode stated that Heaven started exterminations to ensure sinners never rise against them. I don't see how that's possible since there aren't accessible ways to Heaven from Hell. Lucifer, a former angel, had to get permission from Heaven to get a temporary portal for Charlie so how do you think sinners are going to get up there to be a threat in the first place? Also, I wanted to point out that Charlie's plan to send sinners to Heaven only makes sense if overpopulation was actually a problem. Since there isn't anywhere else to place sinners other than the Pride ring. However, the narrative suggest otherwise.

Rules: It's not clear what the rules are for annual exterminations other than the exorcists can't kill the royal family or hellborns. Is it on a set date and time? Do exorcists go inside buildings? We see that the exterminations take place outside. This begs the question why don't sinners just hide and barricade themselves to avoid getting killed? There could be news broadcast reminding sinners of an upcoming extermination so they can be prepared.

Outcome(s): It's not clear how the exterminations affect Hell's society since the show never gives a glimpse of that. If overpopulation is an issue, it doesn't seem to help at all. Sinners don't seem to care and go on about their business. Let's not explore those who may have lost friends or loved ones. There are also the overlords who lose souls.... poor them, I guess. We can't forget the most important thing...... it's makes Charlie sad.

Implication(s): Heaven apparently never thought this would build hatred towards them, very smart. This is why Adam ended up dead. I want to bring up Lilith being the one who empowered sinners. Since she's been removed from the equation for seven years, what's the point in Heaven doing exterminations anymore? The only message I get from it is "genocide bad". But why is genocide bad in the context of the Hellaverse? There have been killings in HB/HH that are considered no big deals (including humans the imps kill on Earth that contribute to HH's problem further). There's also the black market for angelic weapons that's never brought up. I'm just not invested in the sinners as a whole to care.

Conclusion: The extermination is an interesting concept that can be explore in many aspects like The Purge. It's just not much thought went into it which makes it less compelling.

[nerfpuncher]

HAPPY MAY THE 4TH Y'ALL!!

I'd like to tell yall a story.

As well all know, 3 years ago today The Bad Batch premiered. We were in the thick of Tritcale Harvest (like we are now lol). I was too excited to wait till I got home to watch. So I propped my phone up on the tractor steering colum, used my head phones, and watched the pilot while driving tractor. It was wonderful.

At the same time, my big red mare was over due to foal by two weeks. She could release the hostage at any time. I had checked on her at 4am when I left for the field, she showed no signs of foaling.

A surprise bout of rain at 10am shut us down that day. So I went home and drove out to check her just in case.

This is what I found

He was dry, standing and nursing. I'm guessing she had him not long after I had checked in the morning.

A perfect clone of his mother right down to the star on his head. After a few days, when he mother would nicker, he would too.

So of course he had to be named Echo❤️

In the same way I have loved this show over the past 3 years and watched the fandom grow, I watched Echo grow as well.

He is curious and kind. First to meet you at the gate when called. He is playful by nature, stealing hats, gloves, or anything else left unattended.

He is a fast learner with more try than any other horse iv started (and iv started a lot of colts)

Anyway

A few days ago, I once again left my house at 4am, propped my phone up on the tractor steering colum, and watched the series final the same way i did when it first aired. It was so bitter sweet.

Then as if it was meant to be, a suprise bout of rain hit at 10am, and shut us down again.

I figures I only had one choice.

A few days shy of his 3rd birthday, I put the first ride on my ARC trooper in training. I felt how he moves under saddle for the first time.

He is a horse that very few ranchers get to ride in their lifetime. He is brave in the face of the unknown. Calm in the chaos. Everything I want in a cow horse and then some. I can only imagine him 5 years down for road

My how he has grown into his name

Why did I feel the need to write all this?

While our favorite show has ended, Echo here will live another 25 years with me if I'm lucky.

And every time I swing my leg over him, I'll think of this wonderful fandom iv come to be apart of. Of the artists and writers who put their hearts and souls into their work for us to enjoy. I'll think of the amazing people I got the privilege to know and call friends. ❤️

I'll think of all the Echo posts. Funny and angsty alike.

So while the show my have come to a bitter sweet end.

I'll have my sweet Echo to remind me of why I fell in love with the show and fandom in the first place ❤️

[blakbonnet]

hi meow and happy meowday! I hope you don’t mind us asking you a bunch of questions today (you can take your time answering!) 🥰 I’ll start with the big one you usually ask at the end:

Why OFMD? 🥹

First of all, I can't believe you've done this OHMYGOD Ida how could you 😩 you know I hate crying and tears and sobbing and wailing and all those things. But, see this is why OFMD!

It's impossible to watch this show and not be changed by it forever. We start with this loser failguy who's bad at everything at first glance but god does he try, and you fall in love with him at the end of the pilot itself.

And aren't we all loserfailguys at some point, hoping we'd find people who love us for who we are, who take us exactly as it is. But then they turn the entire thing on its head, they introduce us to Ed who's just Stede but goth. Same issues, same feelings of inadequacy, just in black and leather and princess hair.

I think OFMD - right off the bat - wanted us to know that no matter how great you think someone is, they're struggling because the world is fucked up for everyone in different ways. And to give others the grace and kindness we wish was extended to us. And you will find freaks who match you and eventually outmatch you ❤️ so hold on and enjoy the ride.

[joaoista]

《More than colleagues, they are my family》

❤️Charlos + mention of Arthur/Ollie 💛One-shot (+1.4k words) 🤍Fluff + family bonding time (sort of)

Oliver waited patiently inside the Ferrari motorhome. He had already gone through multiple interviews making statements here and there. He received congratulations from many important people in the world of motorsport, feeling fortunate to have so much support from those he admires. Even his father was there to celebrate with him this first great milestone in his career in the highest category of motorsport. The only thing missing was to celebrate with a well-known duo from the paddock that he considered equally important as another member of his family.

And it was with them in mind that the first figure crossed the entrance, giving him a friendly smile before approaching him.

“You did very well, mate”, Charles' words were imbued with genuine affability, as he watched the youngest in depth.

He already knew that look. Eyes narrowed, bright with emotion. It was undoubtedly...

Pride. Pride for him.

Ollie felt himself reverberating in his seat with ill-contained emotion. It was because of it that he couldn't help but jump out of his chair and rush over to Charles, wrapping his lanky arms around him in a tight hug.

“Yes, we were a great team today! One of the best!”, he exclaimed. Enthusiasm pouring through his pores.

However, his mind clicked. He quickly pulled away from Charles. A thin layer of blush sprinkled over his cheeks, embarrassed, mentally scolding himself for getting caught up in the emotion of the moment and acting impulsively accordingly.

He was just about to shout an apology when the Monegasque took him in his arms again, reciprocating the congratulatory embrace.

“Oh, come here Ollie”, the older man murmured. Oliver felt his eyes slowly blurring, feeling himself almost completely overcome by the accomplishment of the feat he had achieved tonight.

He was going to allow himself to collapse in the midst of Charles' comforting embrace, but an intrusion awaited deep down by him made an appearance, startling him and watching as he stole the second of the Leclerc brothers' breath away.

‘They're so obvious’, Bearman thought with amusement and affection.

“Carlos”, he's pretty sure he could hear the smitten sigh leave Charles' lips.

“P3, not bad, my Lord Perceval”, the Spaniard walked in their direction with a slow step. Appreciation painted all over the eldest's eyes as he focused on his mate from Monaco.

“I would be offended if you thought otherwise. The fight to see who can cut the Red Bulls' streak started last week.”

“As well as the other inside bet we have”, Leclerc was the one who ended up closing the distance between them, lightly tapping the other's shoulder for the joke. He then went on to take Sainz's hands in his own.

Well, maybe he was interrupting a scene that did not concern him.

“And look who's here, the golden boy from Maranello. Congratulations on your big debut, Ollie”, although, he dismissed that thought quickly. Of course, they would not turn his presence away no matter how enclosed they were in their bubble.

Eagerly he ran to the Spaniard. “Carlos!”

He was about to hug him. However, he remembered the problem the pilot was bringing with him, so he abruptly stopped his action. Nevertheless, Carlos gave him a nod, indicating that such a hug was welcome.

“Go ahead, Ollie. Just don't push too hard.”

Oliver hugged him with a little less intensity than he hugged Charles, but with the same enthusiasm and appreciation he showed for him. He was still grateful for the advice he provided before the race, even in a state of recovery he made sure to instruct him as best he could to get the most out of the car.

How can you not love Charles and Carlos?

“I'm still sorry to hear about your operation. Also, I'm so glad you're doing well.”

‘And that you're here with us.’

Sainz just denied. “Nothing to be sorry about, Ollie. You did amazing out there and you were able to get the most out of the car. I'm very proud of you.”

Proud of you.

Something throbbed inside Bearman's chest. His eyes misted over again.

“Of both of you. You did a great job.”

“Thank you, Carlos”, he murmured, trying to hold back tears. He gave them both his big smile that exposed his pearly teeth, typical of when he was very happy.

They accompanied the Spaniard to take a seat on the couch in the motorhome, settling in to have their own post-race chat without interruption from third parties and in the intimacy of their circle.

“You know, I would have really liked him to be here.”

Both pairs of eyes stared at him, instantly picking up on who he was referring to.

“You haven't talked to him?” Carlos asked, surprised.

“Curiously, from him was the first message I received on my cell phone congratulating me on my performance. He beat my whole family, even”, mention to them incredulously, but bubbling inside with raw emotion at the gesture.

“Well, I think it's time to give this to you...”, Charles mentioned, as he stood up to get a marbled gift bag. He handed it to him without further thought.

“What?”, Oliver's astonished intonation echoed through the room, still taking the gift in bewilderment. A maroon sweater, a box of biscuits, and a pink rose lay inside.

“Arthur sent it to you. He strictly told me to give it to you as soon as we finished our routine post-race activities. Oh, and he also said there's a surprise waiting for you at Maranello. Apparently, he stayed up late into the night working on this”, he held out his cell phone, showing him his gallery.

A picture of a Ferrari cap with the number ‘38’ stitched on the side of the visor, revealing the face of a small teddy bear woven with brown threads on the inside, was all over the screen. The sender? None other than Arthur Leclerc.

Ollie's eyes opened wide, intensifying that characteristic gleam in them. With trembling hands, he picked up Charles' phone, trying to process the situation. He swallowed in a vain attempt to undo the lump in his throat.

‘Oh, Arthur...’, he mumbled in his head, being a teary mess inside.

“Charles, I think that was only for you to see, not the boy”, Sainz catches his eye, pointing out the obvious detail. The Monegasque froze in place.

“Aïe... I'm sorry? Please pretend I didn't show you anything and act surprised when he gives you the cap”, a nervous laugh bursts from his lips, apologizing for the oversight over and over again.

But, for Oliver, it is more than clear that he will not be able to forget that fact so easily. If he felt his heart was already filled with so much affection for the people around him, it undoubtedly overflowed with love when he learned of the gift Arthur had painstakingly prepared for him, in addition to what he had made him get with his brother.

How to stop the growing infatuation for his former academy classmate if he took great pains every day to surprise and entertain him, even when he did not know the effect it has on him? An impossible mission that he has no intention of stopping.

“And I want to hug Arthur so much because of that...”, He added in a dreamy tone, forgetting for an instant that he was still in company. “No, I...! I...! Now you pretend I didn't say that about your brother, please”, he pleaded with a wail, the color of his cheeks matching the color of the Cavallino Rampante car.

“Now I'm supposed to call him ‘brother-in-law’?”, Carlos annoyed him with a clearly amused tone.

“Carlos!”

“Mmm... I think the four of us should have a dinner party, don't you, Ollie?”, his partner followed his lead, laughing softly.

“Charles!”, implored the Englishman, flushed with embarrassment.

Leclerc only let out another small laugh at Oliver's embarrassed expression. He wasn't going to lie; he was enjoying the somewhat familiar atmosphere that spread between the three of them. It was almost the same feeling witnessed being with his own family and he didn't dislike it at all. He liked it.

Now recomposed from his sultry moment of the day, he approached the red-clad couple and enclosed them both in a final embrace, feeling that last thread that held him fastened to the illusion that this race was a mere fantasy finally break and the bucket full of reality spilling over him.

He felt warm and very happy.

“It's good to have you on the team, Ollie”, Charles whispered, returning the hug. Carlos nodded at his words.

‘It's good to have you two with me.’

[First time posting a fic here jaja! Spreading the Arthur/Ollie propaganda, tho -gets hit-. I really enjoyed writing a fluffy moment between these three, so, I hope you like it! ^^💖]

[lewmagoo]

return to me | bob floyd

description: in which there is only one pilot you trust to bring your husband home safely

warnings: mentions of death, brief allusion to mental health struggles, angst with a happy ending, mentions of pregnancy, military/navy inaccuracies

pairing: robert "bob" floyd x wife!reader, platonic natasha "phoenix" trace x reader

notes: this story touches on the aftermath of the bird strike that phoenix and bob went through. i thought it would be interesting to explore what phoenix's feelings might have been after the fact, and show just how much she cares about bob. i didn't expect this to go anywhere but an entire fic was born from the idea, much to my surprise

Natasha’s hands were shaking. 

She hadn’t even realized they were, until the ever-observant Bob pointed it out. She looked down, and sure enough, there was a tremor. Annoyed at his observation, she folded her arms and tucked her hands under them. 

Bob only shook his head, bracing himself on his elbows so he could fully look at her. “You’re thinking too loud,” he mused, “I feel like I can hear what’s going through your mind from here.” 

“I’m fine.”

“We quite literally just hurtled through the sky to our deaths. You’re not fine, ‘Nix.”

“The hurtling through the sky thing isn’t what’s bothering me.”

“I know. My wife is what’s bothering you.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed that, yet again, he was right. She let out a sigh when he raised his brows at her. “It’s just messed up that the first time I have to meet her is in the hospital after I almost killed her husband. Why couldn’t we have met over dinner at your house or something normal?!”

Bob shook his head. “She understands. She’s not—”

But Natasha cut him off. “Does she? Or are you just saying that?”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. He could see how much she was struggling with this. 

Natasha had taken a liking to Bob from the moment they met. She took him under her wing, and he let her, because he was happy to have someone like her looking out for him. He didn’t talk about his personal life with any other squad members, save for telling Bradley a few details here and there. But with Natasha, he’d opened up to her about a lot more. Such as the fact that he had a wife and two children, not to mention another one on the way. 

Though she’d never voiced it out loud, Bob knew that she felt obligated to protect him, solely because she wanted him to be able to come home safe and sound to his family. She didn’t want to be the reason his children had to grow up without a father. So she vowed to be damn good at her job and always bring him back safely. 

Until today, when she almost failed at that. In her mind, at least. Bob didn’t view it as a failure whatsoever. She’d pulled out and they both made it to the ground with some run-of-the-mill bumps and bruises that came from having to eject from an aircraft that was spiraling through the sky. Neither of them had lost their life that day, and that was what mattered. 

But Natasha couldn’t help but picture the way you must have felt to receive that phone call. She imagined your mind had immediately gone to the worst case scenario. And she would be right about that. 

When your phone rang that day, you were at the park with your two small children. Henry, who was four, and Juliet, who was two. It had started out as a normal day. Bob had kissed you goodbye that morning, hugged the little ones, and headed out the door with the promise of being home for supper that evening. 

You went about the day as usual, but when your phone began vibrating in your pocket as you were watching your little ones play on the playground, you pulled the device, and your heart sank when you recognized what number it was, by the area code. 

Your hand shook as you pressed the phone to your ear, only to hear the words, “is this Mrs. Robert Floyd?”

You answered affirmatively, until you realized no sound came out, because your voice had failed you. So you cleared your throat and tried again. “This is she.”

You were prepared for your world to crumble. Prepared for the life-altering news, informing you that your sweet Robert was dead. 

But to your utter, all-consuming relief, the person on the other end assured you that your husband was very much alive, albeit banged up from a bird strike that had forced him to eject from his aircraft. 

“Thank God,” you breathed, placing a hand over your racing heart. “Can our children and I visit him?”

You were given the all-clear to visit, so you quickly gathered up your kids. Henry seemed to be on the verge of tears when you told him your park trip had to be cut short, but those tears quickly faded at the promise of seeing his father. 

“Daddy got hurt at work, so we’re going to go see him at the hospital,” you assured the little boy, every bit the spitting image of Bob, complete with his own tiny pair of glasses. 

“Did he need a Band-Aid?” Henry asked as you buckled him into his car seat. 

You smiled at his innocence. “He needed a few of them I’m sure. You can ask him all about them when you see him.” 

With the kids safely fastened into the car, you climbed into the driver’s seat and headed for the hospital. Your mind was racing as you drove, and you were thanking your lucky stars that Bobby was okay. It could have been so much worse, you knew. The thought of losing your husband was nearly unbearable. Especially when you imagined raising your little ones alone, or delivering your next babe without him. 

He’d been very involved in the births of Henry and Juliet, and the thought of him being absent for the birth of the one you currently carried was not a thought you wanted to entertain. 

Of course, you knew it was a possibility. Especially now, with him being summoned back to Top Gun for a high-profile mission that he wasn’t allowed to talk about. It could mean him leaving and never coming home again. But you chose not to dwell on that. Instead, you focused on the fact that he was alive here and now, thanks to the quick thinking of his pilot, Natasha Trace. 

You hadn’t met the woman yet, but Bob spoke very highly of her. He informed you that she was always looking out for him, in the sky and on the ground, and just from what you’d heard, you had grown to admire her. 

You would, of course, have to thank her when you saw her at the hospital. She deserved a thank you for bringing your husband home safely. 

Until then, you were thrumming with anxiety, all too eager to be reunited with Bob, and see with your own two eyes that he was, in fact, okay. It felt as if you held your breath the entire drive to the hospital, and you didn’t let it out until you stepped foot in the room and saw your Bobby sitting upright in bed, usually neat hair falling in soft waves, a few loose strands across his forehead. 

He looked up when you walked in, and his face lit up at the sight of you and his babies. “Oh, Bobby,” you breathed, immediately rushing to his side. 

You wrapped your arms around him, and he hummed, instinctively placing a hand over your rounded belly. “I’m okay, darlin’,” he assured you. 

You pulled back only to brush his hair from his forehead. “Thank goodness. You had me worried there for a minute.”

Two little faces peered up at him from beside you, both wide-eyed and very concerned for their father’s well-being. Bob reached out to take Henry’s small hand. “Hey, buddy.”

“Did you need lots of Band-Aids to help you feel better?” the little boy questioned. 

Bob smiled softly. “Just a few. But I’m fine, I promise. Just got some bumps and bruises.”

You noticed a woman seated on the second bed in the room. She was beautiful, with dark hair and striking features. Even in a pair of sweatpants and a stark white shirt, she had an air about her that exuded a certain assuredness. 

You offered her a smile, which she returned, but hers seemed a little forced. You wanted to say something to her, but you were interrupted by Henry asking if you could help him climb into his father’s bed. 

While you helped both children up into the bed, Natasha took that as her moment to slip out of the room. Seeing Bob reunited with his family put everything into perspective for her, and she couldn’t bear to watch the scene any longer. Not when she could have been the reason those sweet children lost their father. 

She rushed out into the hall, needing to be anywhere but that room. She walked so quickly the breeze from her movements blew her hair back over her shoulders. Finally, she found herself at the end of the hall, right by the window, where she decided she was going to remain until you left. 

One particular instance kept replaying in her mind, like a record whose needle had slipped and kept skipping over one part of a song. It wasn’t the bird strike, or the fact that she and Bob had to eject. No, she kept replaying something Maverick had spoken to her just the other day, when he was grilling the team.

“Don’t tell me. Tell it to his family.”

When he said that, she could barely stand to look at Bob, who was seated right beside her, because she was afraid she’d cry. She had never been an overly emotional person, she always knew how to keep things in check. But for whatever reason, she was deeply affected by this.

Natasha already felt responsible for Bob’s safety, and she’d already known about his family. But the Captain’s words truly put it into perspective. While she was well acquainted with the risks their job presented, that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to worry about what might happen.

She wasn’t sure if she could face you. And if, God forbid, there ever came a time when she made it out of a situation alive and Bob didn’t, she knew she’d never forgive herself. It made her anxiety about the upcoming mission spike, because the stakes were so much higher. This wasn’t a training exercise. This was life or death.

“Get it together,” she hissed to herself as she gazed out of that hospital window. She was usually able to rationalize things in her mind. She remained cool and collected in most situations. But this time, she felt like she was spiraling out of control, and she hated it.

Back in Bob’s room, you looked at him curiously, questioning Natasha’s sudden departure. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of just how much to reveal. 

“She…she’s struggling a little. She feels responsible for me.”

“Oh,” you quietly hummed in reply. “Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Give her a few minutes to pull herself together,” he suggested. “I think she needs to be alone.”

You nodded thoughtfully, glancing after her retreating form. However, you soon turned your attention back to your family. Both little ones had nestled themselves against Bob, and he spoke to them softly, calming their worried little minds. 

He was so good with them. He always knew how to soothe them, even from the time they were newborns. Sometimes they even preferred him over you for comfort. But you were okay with it, because it was truly a wondrous sight to witness.

“C’mere,” he told you, reaching for your hand. 

You gave it to him, and let him pull you over to sit on the bed. He could see the faraway look in your eyes, so he reassured you. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know. I just…I’m glad you’re here. Glad you made it back safely.”

He smiled softly, though his baby blues were glimmering with unshed tears. “I’ll always come back to you, remember?” 

You squeezed his hand. “I know, Bobby.”

His attention shifted back to your children, who held onto his every word as he described what had happened to him that day. He didn’t go into too much detail, but he explained it in a way that they could understand. That was another thing he was good at. He seemed to know the right thing to say to them at just the right time. 

Despite the stress of the situation, a sense of peace fell over the room. That was just the way it was with your little family. Were there times when you and Bob had spats, or the kids misbehaved? Absolutely. But your family unit as a whole was tranquil, and it was something that you and your husband cherished. You wanted to give your children as calm of a life as possible, especially with the career their father had. 

They already experienced enough in the form of moving from place to place and dealing with interruptions in their routines. Knowing their parents loved them, and each other, no matter what came their way, was the most important thing in the midst of it all.

But there, seated beside your husband in that hospital bed, you couldn’t help but allow your mind to wander to the woman who’d left the room. Who very clearly was grappling with something. And as you enjoyed the peace within your own little family, you felt the need to invite her to be part of it. 

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss Bob gently on the forehead. “The kids need a snack so I’m gonna grab something from the cafeteria. Do you want anything?”

“Just a ginger ale,” he replied with a smile, “the pain meds they gave me kind of made me feel nauseous.”

“You got it, babe.”

You slipped away, leaving your family in the room as you headed out into the hall. What you said wasn’t a lie, you really were heading to the cafeteria. But you planned to check on Natasha first. 

As you stepped into the sterile, white hallway, you glanced around, hoping you’d easily find her. Sure enough, at the end of the hall, there was a window, and she was perched on the sill. You stood there a moment, debating your next move, before you finally began making your way toward her.

Natasha was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear you approach. Your voice made her jump, and her head lifted to look at you, brown eyes wide, and filled with so much emotion.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you assured her, holding your hands out in surrender. You then motioned to the window sill. “Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

She was silent for a moment, and you feared she might turn you away, until she finally relented with a nod, moving over a little to give you space to sit beside her. As you did, you let out a soft sight, hoping to break the ice gently. 

“I really should thank you for making sure Bobby made it back safely today.”

That was exactly what she was afraid you’d say. “Don’t thank me,” she whispered.

“But I feel like I should. It gives me such peace of mind to know that you’re up there with him. He tells me all the time just how great of a pilot you are, and–”

“Please, just stop.”

Her abruptness made you freeze, and you looked at her, concern written all over your features. When you realized she was crying, your heart ached for her. “I’m sorry, I overstepped. I’m sure you want your space still, so I’ll let you have it.”

But when you rose to leave, her hand came out to grab your wrist. “No, don’t leave,” she said, catching your gaze. “Truth is, I’m the one that should be apologizing. I’m not the hero you think I am. I…I hesitated up there, today. And when you’re flying, you don’t have time to hesitate. But I did, I thought I could save the aircraft, and I put your husband’s life in danger because I couldn’t just pull the ejection handle like I was supposed to, and I–”

“Natasha.”

She went quiet, lifting her tearful eyes to meet yours. You reached out to place your hand over her own. “It’s okay. None of that matters now. The important thing is that both you and Bob are alive. It could’ve been much worse.”

That’s what I’m afraid of! She wanted to exclaim. I’m terrified of it being so much worse. I’m terrified of being the reason you end up a widow! But Natasha wasn’t sure why she was so upset over this. She had years of training under her belt. She’d been prepared for situations like this. Even so, she was grappling with it now.

“I-I don’t mean to be cynical, but please don’t put your faith in me. I will do what it takes to bring me and Bob back home safely every time, but I’m not some master pilot who never makes mistakes. One day, I might…might mess up.”

You realized what this was all about, and you shook your head. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m putting unnecessary pressure on you.” You could slap yourself, really. “Natasha, I need you to know something. We only just met, but I can tell you have my husband’s back. I know you’re not perfect. I know you’re capable of making mistakes up there. And that’s okay. All I ask is that you be careful up there, for both your sakes.”

She took in a breath, closing her eyes for a moment. Her hands rested on the edges of the window sill, gripping tightly. “But what if I end up being the reason you lose your husband?”

“I won’t blame you for it.”

“Why do you say that?”

You let out a soft sigh, deciding to be candid with her. “Years ago, my dad was in a crash where his WSO died, but he survived.”

That got Natasha’s attention, and she lifted her head to look at you. She didn’t say anything, so you took that as your cue to continue. 

“I saw what it did to him. He blamed himself for it, even though it was an accident.” You looked down at your hands, though your vision was blurred from the sudden wave of tears that surfaced in your eyes. Memories of that time were difficult to relive. “It really sent him on a downward spiral. He let it destroy his life. So, I say all that to say, I will not blame you if something should happen to Bob. I would never make you bear that burden. Not after seeing what that kind of guilt does to a person.”

Natasha nodded thoughtfully, letting your words sink in before she finally spoke again. “I’m sorry for dumping this on you. I don’t know why this has me so emotional.”

“You just went through a traumatic experience. It’s normal to be emotional, honey. I’d be concerned if you weren’t.”

“It’s just…I really care about Bob. So by default, I care about you, and your kids, even though I just met you. I just want to make sure I’m doing everything I actively can to bring him home to you.”

You reached out, placing your hand over her own. “Make sure you’re looking out for yourself, too. I want you both to come home safely. Bobby would be devastated if anything happened to you. And so would I, because his hurts are my hurts.”

She managed a smile, despite herself. “I’ll do my best,” she assured you.

“That’s all I could ever ask from you.” After a moment, you rose to your feet, giving Natasha a kind smile. “I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to get some food for my babes. Wanna come with me?”

She considered it before she stood. “I’d like that.”

Together, you headed to the elevator, bound for the cafeteria. 

Natasha finally felt some peace wash over her after your conversation. She had been so deep into her head, expecting you to point your finger at her and berate her for putting Bob in danger. But you’d done nothing of the sort. You’d been warm and understanding. There hadn’t been a judgmental bone in your body. Although she was still struggling with what had happen, and she would always feel that heavy weight of responsibility for Bob, the sting was eased a little by your reassurance. 

And she decided that instead of avoiding you like she initially had attempted, she was going to follow you back to that hospital room, and she was going to meet your sweet children, and get to know the people that Bob loved so deeply. She needed that wholesomeness after the events of the day. She hadn’t allowed herself to fully process it, as it was. She’d been too concerned about her backseater to focus on herself. 

For now, however, she would find joy in the fact that she and Bob were okay.

So, she followed you down to the cafeteria, and she helped gather some things as you described what each of your children liked. Soon, with an armful of food and ginger ale, you both headed back upstairs.

When you made it back to the room, Bob looked up to see you walk through the door together, and he caught your gaze, offering a relieved smile at the sight of Natasha by your side. You must’ve gotten through to her, he thought.

“There you are, Momma!” Henry exclaimed. “You were taking forever!”

You smiled as you set everything down on the table. “I had to stop and talk to a friend, first,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him on the top of the head. Only Bob and Natasha caught what you truly meant.

“Hope you and this friend worked everything out,” Bob mused, glancing between you both.

Natasha smiled then, nodding her head as she glanced at you. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

Bob felt himself relax at her admission. The tenseness she held in her shoulders had lessened, and there was a genuine smile on her face. Whatever you’d said to her had made a world of difference. He made a mental note to thank you later for taking the time to reach out to Natasha.

That evening, you all enjoyed a peaceful time in that hospital room. Natasha listened to the story of how you and Bob met, she got to know your children and their vastly different personalities, and she learned that you were expecting another baby girl, and that you hadn’t chosen a name yet.

Spending time with your little family was like a breath of fresh air, and by the time you left that night, Natasha felt a warmth in her chest. She could see how important you and your little ones were to Bob. You were his entire world, and he clearly cherished every moment he had with you. It reminded her that she needed to live in the present, and not spend so much time terrified over what the future might bring. 

She watched you bid him goodnight before you left, and it brought a smile to her face.

You’d just gathered the kids up, after they’d given their father multiple hugs and kisses and begged him to read them a bedtime story. He made one up on the spot, about a brave fighter pilot and her WSO.

Then, he looked at you, blue eyes full of wonder, as if you’d set the very stars in the sky. He reached out for your hand, pulling you in to kiss you sweetly. His warm hand stroked over your cheek, and he let his forehead rest against your own. “I love you, sweetheart,” he earnestly said. 

“Love you too, Bobby. Sleep well.”

As you ushered Henry and Juliet out the door, you turned to Natasha. “Goodnight. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” she assured you.

Satisfied with her answer, you finally left, and quietness filled the room again. Natasha let out a soft sigh, leaning back in her bed. She glanced over at Bob, and said, “your wife is something else.”

“Isn’t she?” He happily agreed.

Then, she fell serious, her brow furrowing. “I’m sorry for how I was acting earlier. I was just really in my head and this stupid fucking bird ordeal threw me for a loop. Which feels really stupid, because it could have been so much worse. But it just really messed up my head, for some reason.”

“Hey, it’s okay, ‘Nix. I get it. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I’ve got your back, Bob. I want you to know that. No matter what happens in the sky, or on this mission, I’ve got you.”

He nodded. “I know you do.” There was no doubt in his mind. 

All too soon, the events of the bird strike faded into the background, and it was back to business as usual once they were cleared to return to work. The pressure was on, and both Natasha and Bob threw themselves into doing the best that they could, preparing for what would likely be one of the most difficult missions of their lives. 

Bob had a lot on his mind, which was clear to you when he came home to you each night. He was a numbers guy; he’d calculated the odds of this mission in his head, and he had a feeling that someone wasn’t making it back alive. Of course, he didn’t tell you this, but you already knew. 

In the days leading up to that mission, you were a pillar of strength for Bob. He leaned on you for support, and you gave it all to him. He cherished every moment with you, no matter how scarce they were. And the night before he was to ship out, as you lay together in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, he whispered a promise against your skin.

“I’ll fight to make it back to you.”

“I know you will.”

The goodbye that followed was tearful. But they always were. Whenever he left, you always cried. And so did your babies. Especially Henry, who was beginning to finally grasp the idea that his father was going to be gone for a period of time.

Bob held you close, trying his best to keep his own tears at bay, only because he knew that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I love you, darlin’. Always have, always will.”

“I love you too, Bobby. You come back to me, you hear? Come back to your babies.”

He nodded before he leaned in, hands coming up to delicately hold your face as he kissed you deeply, fervently. When he broke away, he bent to leave a kiss against your pregnant belly, before he squeezed your hands and knelt to bid goodbye to Henry and Juliet. 

“I love you, buddy,” he told Henry, kissing the boy’s forehead. “You take care of your momma and sister, okay?”

“I’ll miss you, Daddy,” the boy tearfully confessed. 

It broke Bob’s heart right in two. “I’ll miss you too.”

Then, he moved to craddle little Juliet in his arms. She began to cry as well, because she saw the tears her brother was shedding. It took everything in Bob to force himself to stand. He knew if he remained here, he’d never get on that aircraft carrier. 

“Love you,” he said again, kissing you on the temple before he slipped away like a whisper in the wind. 

You watched him walk away, but when you caught sight of Natasha nearby, you were quick to call out to her. She turned, surprised to find you approaching, your children in tow. When you finally reached her, you touched her hand. 

“I just wanted to tell you to be careful. Bring both of you back home safely.”

She paused, smiling sadly before she nodded. “I’ll do my best,” she whispered. 

“That’s all I ask,” you replied, repeating your words from that day at the hospital.

She allowed you to hug her before she finally set off toward the carrier. You stood there with your children and watched until your husband, and his front seater, were out of sight. Then, you turned around, heading back to your car, silently praying that the love of your life would return home safely. 

You knew he was in good hands. Natasha would look out for him. And he, her. 

The next several days were agonizing. Bob was radio silent, and your anxiety was through the roof. You did what you could to stay busy, and to keep the kids occupied. You tried your best not to let your worry rub off on them, but inevitably, it still did. 

They felt the absence of their father, and they were both restless and more fussy than usual. But the three of you weathered through it, and eventually, there was light at the end of the tunnel. 

When they were close enough to shore, Bob was able to call you. When you saw his contact light up your phone, you lept up from your chair to grab it, interrupting your quiet dinner with the children to receive the call.

“Bobby?!” You exclaimed as soon as you pressed the phone to your ear. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he greeted. You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, thank God. I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too. I’m just calling to let you know I’m coming home.”

Your eyes blurred with tears of happiness, and you couldn’t hide the overjoyed smile that spread across your face. “Let me put you on speaker so the babies can hear.”

You hit the speaker option and brought the phone over to the table. “Say hi to Daddy!” You exclaimed. Henry’s little face lit up, and he jumped up from his seat, rushing to stand beside you and put his face by the phone. 

“Hi Daddy!” He all but shouted into the receiver. 

“Hey, buddy. I missed you!”

Juliet giggled at the sound of her father’s voice through the phone. It was a sweet moment to witness the excitement of your children. Bob continued on to assure them that he would be home very soon, and that he couldn’t wait to hold them in his arms and tell them bedtime stories. 

Finally, you stepped away to finish the call privately. You found yourself in the hallway, listening to Bob speak. “I can’t talk for much longer, but I just want you to know that everybody’s okay. We all made it back in one piece.”

“That’s really, really good to hear,” you whispered in reply, relief evident in your voice. 

He took in a breath before he continued. “I…I’ve gotta go, darlin’. But I’ll see you real soon, alright? I love you more than anything.”

“And I love you, Bobby.”

The line beeped, signaling that the call had ended, and you pulled your phone away from your ear, breathing out a sigh of utter relief. Your Bobby was coming home.

Sure enough, not long after that you were standing amidst a sea of people, eagerly awaiting your husband’s arrival. You were bouncing with happiness, unable to wipe your smile off your face. Around you, other sailors were reuniting with their loved ones, but you hardly cared about that. You just needed to find Bob. 

It took a few moments, but finally, there he was. He looked a little worse for wear, but he was handsome as ever, and when his eyes landed on you, his face lit up into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. He took off at a jog, wanting to reach you as quickly as possible. 

Once he did, his arms were around you, and you laughed with joy as he rocked you back and forth. “Oh, I missed you,” he gasped as he pulled back to kiss you. His eyes were shining with tears. 

Abruptly, he dipped down, opening his arms to welcome his babies into a bear hug. He held them close to his chest, kissing the tops of their heads and whispering how much he’d missed them. You couldn’t stop your tears if you tried. 

But while he was talking to Henry and Juliet, you spotted Natasha not too far away. Though you didn’t want to leave your family, you also knew you needed to speak with her. So you began to wave, calling her name.

She heard you over the hum of the crowd, and when she saw you, her face broke into a smile. She wasted no time in weaving through those around her, reaching you quickly. 

“Welcome back!” You exclaimed. You reached out, pulling her into a hug, which she gratefully accepted. 

While you stood there, arms around one another, she leaned close to your ear, and whispered, “I brought him back to you.”

You pulled back to look her fully in the face. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” you told her, your voice raw. 

She nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything more. But she didn’t have to. The silence spoke volumes.

“Would…would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”

She wiped at her eyes and shook her head. “I wouldn’t wan to impose on your family time.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. Please, come have a home-cooked meal. The kids would love to have you, and so would Bob.”

She relented, her shoulders dropping in surrender. “Okay. I’d like that.”

You looped your arm through hers. “Let’s go then, yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

And so, off you went, back toward your little family, with Natasha in tow. When Bob learned she was joining you for dinner, he beamed. And as she followed you out to the parking area, she couldn’t help the warm feeling that bloomed within her chest. 

Bob, the unassuming WSO, had managed to change her life in just the short time she’d known him. He’d introduced her to his wife and children, who’d welcomed her with open arms, even after she’d been terrified you wouldn’t. 

The kindness you’d shown to her had made a world of difference in her life. In the end, she was grateful you’d insisted upon talking to her in the hospital that day. It had helped change her perspective, and now that she’d brought your husband home safely, she could look you in the eyes with confidence, knowing she’d done all she could, and succeeded. Just like you’d believed she would.

After all that she’d endured in the last few weeks, she realized that she’d found a family along the way, and that made it all worth it in the end.

-

taglist:

@halfway-happyyy @natasharomanoffisbaebby @oliviabelova @robertbobfloydlover @supernaturaldawning @marrianena @mys2425 @n3ssm0nique @ice-mans-world @lovemesomevesey @straightforwardly @mochi-de-bisou @christinafaucher @emmmaturtle @fantasias-creativebubble @worldmadeofmemories @tarohemianrocketmanapsody @m0chac0ffee @not-leaprvt @i-simp-much @soaharleys @colorfultyrantearthquake @obxsuperfan07 @juniebugg @marchingicenotes7 @airedale17 @jamiedontbeacracko @monosjoons @dilfsandtherapy @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @unluckymonaghan @utterly-in-like @chxosunbound @thesewordsareallihavetogive @unordinare @currentlybradshaw @elevens-strangerthing @the-hottest-lieutenants @glodessa @peachiestkeen @alexxavicry @cherrycola27

[basicallyjaywalker]

Wanna ramble about a moment/character in ninjago you think people need to talk about more?

I don't know who you are anon, but I'm glad you asked!

I am desperate for people to character-analyze Wu. I'm desperate for a lot of character analysis including Nya but since I got a lot of my Nya feelings out with some lovely folks the other night (edit: the other night was a month ago dw about it. this took a minute) I'm going with Wu this time

Master Wu to me is such an interesting case of a character who it is so easy to ignore the bits of the show that hint at his wider issues and traumas. He is a man defined heavily by his family and by his past. A lot of criticism he gets, I think, is due in part to that.

I've mentioned before that I've been rewatching S1 with a friend of mine and intermittently pausing to infodump on them about interesting character things I notice from that season. A lot of that has been Wu-focused because despite having seen RotS dozens of times throughout my life (watching it on CN, watching it on Netflix when only it and Legacy were around, rewatching it with friends) I have only just started noticing the seeds of character written in.

I might also just be reading too much into things, but hear me out

In S1 (and by extension, the pilots), Wu is characterized as your typical old wise teacher. In the first few minutes of EP1: Rise of the Snakes, he is chewing out the Ninja for playing video games instead of training. The line he uses? "Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today."

It's a line that gets repeated throughout the series. In fact, it gets repeated that very episode when the ninja go (pun not intended) to fight the Hypnobrai and a literal pre-teen. At first, it seems to just be a piece of wisdom. Some old proverb Wu's picked up over the years, possibly one he even coined himself. However, in EP7: Tick Tock, Wu tells the story of who, possibly, first told him this.

(Source: Tick Tock/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added.)

It was Garmadon. Now, I'm not gonna dwell too long on Garmadon, if you spend five minutes talking to me you'll learn he was the first character whose story I obsessed over and I want this essay to be about Wu, but I think he plays a role in Wu's overall story, as does Wu's family as a whole.

Prior to this, Wu and Garmadon's relationship has been more of a sibling rivalry taken to a good vs. evil extreme. We didn't know why Garmadon was evil and we didn't know about Wu and his relationship as kids. However, this scene establishes the backstory. They were, as Wu puts it, "the best of friends." That is, until Garmadon gets bit by the Devourer going to get the katana Wu lost.

Now, I know the Devourer bite was destined to happen because of the Overlord or some shit, but Wu doesn't. As far as he's concerned, Garmadon getting bit was a direct consequence of both his mistake and his cowardice. He lost the katana. He was too scared to get it. Garmadon went over instead. Garmadon got bit.

The scene goes on to show the FSM tending to Garmadon in the aftermath. Wu is watching from behind the door, likely told to stay back, but concerned. And in his POV, we get this intense moment, where Garmadon turns, looks directly at him (his eyes turning bright red for the first time), and says "It's all Wu's fault!"

(This clip should begin at the start of Wu eavesdropping. If it doesn't, skip to 0:58. I highly recommend also paying attention to Wu's body language during this scene.)

The camerawork does a great job of showing how this probably felt for Wu. It zooms in, Garmadon's voice echoes, and the background blurs. We see in the flashback that this is a moment Wu has etched into his memory. Not to mention, he was likely a very young child when this happened. LEGO characters' ages are weird, but Wu in this scene has the Big Eyes, which always seem to be used for characters under 12. We don't know exactly how much older Garmadon is to my knowledge, but he doesn't have the Big Eyes, so he's probably closer to 12 and a few years older than Wu for sure.

Imagine that. Being in elementary school and your older siblings gets hurt. They're acting strange. They're lashing out at your father. Then, they blame it all on you. They're hurt because of you. Wouldn't you internalize that?

I could go on about Wu's relationship with Garmadon, but again, I think I've spent enough time on it and I don't want to only focus on that. It's an important part, but there are others.

Let's talk about Wu's relationship with his dad.

Now, I have not yet read the Spinjitzu Brothers series. I cannot speak to any development of Wu and the FSM's relationship in there. I have, however, read The Book of Spinjitzu and blogged some of my thoughts on it here, including some of what it says about Wu.

For those who haven't read it, first, there is a Google Drive folder floating around with all of the canon spinoff books/graphic novels in it. Here's the link if you wanna read them!

The FSM is an... intriguing figure. I mean, in the series he's basically god? He made the entire world. That's already a very high bar to live up to. Then, in Book of Spinjitzu, there's a few specific parts that, when I read them, signaled that Wu internalized a specific message when he was young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 3).

Wu does not want to disappoint his father. It is up to him (and Garmadon until he turns evil) to "uphold the legacy of Spinjitzu" and, by extension, his family. He says he was "very young" when this was explained to him. Considering he seems to already be training at an elementary age, "very young" means VERY young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 16).

Here, we again see Wu being very aware that he has some large burden to carry. Something else interesting here is that the thought of the Green Ninja Prophecy is already weighing on him too. His considering if he might be the Green Ninja is of extra interest because of how the Green Ninja Prophecy and the--I wouldn't call it obsession, possibly fixation?--with who it is factors into his later actions, but we'll get to that later.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 19).

This one in particular gets me because it comes after Wu mentions Garmadon becoming more evil. It is a statement of power. Wu knows that the legacy of Spinjitzu now rests in his hands alone. He cannot let himself fall the way Garmadon did. He cannot disappoint his father. Whether or not the FSM intended it, Wu always knew the fate of the world rested, at least in part, upon his shoulder. He knew this from the time he was a young boy and it remains in his mind to this day.

Now, these quotes are indirect, but they all point to one clear idea: As a child, Wu internalized the idea that he alone is responsible for keeping Ninjago safe. He will play a pivotal role in its history.

There's not evidence in this book that the FSM's was a bad father, per se. However, just because one doesn't set out to harm their children, doesn't mean they won't. I often say Wu has an "Atlas complex," which I have no idea if it is an actual concept but use it to refer to this idea. Wu feels as though he is responsible for holding up the world, much like Atlas. He must keep the balance, he must solve the Green Ninja prophecy, he must make his father proud.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 61).

I'm going to get further into what this means for Wu as a teacher to the current Ninja Team, but for now let's look at Wu's first foray into teaching.

Morro. Wu's Biggest Mistake.

That might seem like an overstatement, but it's not.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

Okay he says regret, not mistake, but I was paraphrasing.

Let's turn back to his quote about his destiny. Wu writes, "Is my life's mission to be the Green Ninja? Or maybe it will be to find the Green Ninja and protect him (or her)??"

From a very young age, Wu was not only aware of the Green Ninja but prophecy but also thinking about his place in it. We see this again when he takes Morro in and trains him.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added)

A big thing Wu is criticized for here is making Morro believe he is meant to be more. That he is the Chosen One. And Morro, being a young homeless orphan just now given some semblance of power and protection, latches onto that. And I can see it, but when you take into account the above that he was trained from (likely) a younger age than Morro and given a similar level of responsibility, it becomes more understandable. Wu is just doing what he was taught. He doesn't believe that he is harming Morro until it is too late.

This is the entire story, but I'm specifically going to be discussing 1:36 onwards here. I also wanted to add that rewatching this scene made me lay down on the floor! What the fuck! But I digress.

There's a lot going on in this scene. For one, Wu washing his hands of Morro in some ways, but not others. He turns his back on Morro when he tells him that destiny has decided, but looks at him again when Morro storms out. He goes to save Morro from the Grundal, but decides that he cannot "teach those who would not listen." Most importantly, when Morro leaves to go find the Tomb of the FSM, Wu leaves the door open. He waits for Morro to return, but never goes after him. And Morro never comes back.

Wu gives Morro's fate a dismissive response at the end of his ghost story ("I am saddened he was banished to the Cursed Realm") but it's clear he still cares deeply about him in the finale of the season.

Wu's VA in this is phenomenal btw. That "Please Morro!" and "MORRO!" make my heart ache.

Morro believed Wu stopped caring, but he didn't. Even after all he's done, even after trying to destroy all of Ninjago--destroying what Wu had spent his life trying to protect--Wu tries to save him. He begs for Morro to come with him. Morro refuses, Wu watches him perish.

Someone else Wu is close to is gone. Wu again considers himself responsible. Everything is his fault.

And finally, we reach Wu today. A cautious, secretive man. He loves his students, this much is clear. Even as early as the pilots, he drops his wise teacher persona to joke around with them.

As with Morro, he trains them like his father did him. He even uses the same methods his father used when he trains them.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 32)

While he is hard on the Ninja, wanting them to succeed and training them to help defend the Realm, he lets his guard down more than it seems he did with Morro. He also learned a valuable message from his experience with Morro when he hides the Green Ninja Prophecy from the Ninja, getting angry when they start to push themselves in the same way Morro did upon learning about it. It's clear he doesn't want a repeat.

Now, I can't speak for later seasons (I will eventually) but this fear of repeats, his students going down a dark path because they're tempted by power or greatness, losing someone else, likely drives Wu not telling them other important information. That is just a passing thought though.

Final notes:

I'm currently in the process of rewatching S7: Hands of Time. I actually got this ask right after finishing EP68: Scavengers, which opens with Wu having a nightmare. In it, he and Misako are walking outside of Yang's temple. While walking, Misako delivers this line in response to Wu reminiscing about the time they've spent together:

(Source: Scavengers/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

This line, to me, is Wu's subconscious trying to tell him something he needs to hear. It's hinting at what might be his greatest flaw. Wu is haunted by his past, by his mistakes. He finds it difficult to tell others because of both his guilt and his desire to not put that worry upon them. In this very season, he makes the mistake of trying to face his past on his own, and he nearly dies for it.

In the same episode, you see Wu trying to make sure Lloyd doesn't make the same mistakes.

(Source: Prev)

Wu stresses the important of the team. It's as if he sees Lloyd blaming himself for what happened to Wu, sees him doing the same thing Wu has, and is trying to prevent him from doing the same thing. This is further emphasized when, after Wu falls asleep (well, fakes falling asleep), Lloyd says "Wu's mistake was going in alone. So was mine."

Master Wu is, like many characters in this show, someone who is more complex than meets the eye. He is not just a wise, old teacher. He is a man who, throughout his life, has made mistakes and carries the weight of each of them on his shoulders. He is a man who tasks himself with making up for those every day. He is a man who wants better for his students, his family.

Until the day he dies, he will guide and protect his students. And possibly? Even after death too.

[causeitsagame]

SECOND/FOLLOWUP PROMPT. In case of capture, the former Remnants would be questioned about where Izuru is and where the rest of the remnants are, which of course, no one wants to reveal. Fuyuhiko lets himself get captured, because a) his pain tolerance is super high, b) he's been trained to deal with torture, c) Hajime is not being made into a lab rat AGAIN and Fuyuhiko needs to make sure of that, even if it means a world of pain. Angsty mood today! Have fun at the gardens! -xoxo hajihiko

(Torture warning, etc etc. NEVER WOULD HAVE GUESSED IT FROM THE PROMPT)

"Put his hand flat on the table."

Unimpressed, Fuyuhiko spread his hand flat before any of the special operatives in the interrogation chamber could force the matter. "Are we doing something with the fingernails, or lopping pieces off?"

For an answer, the officer overseeing matters lifted a broad, heavy knife.

"Sure thing," Fuyuhiko said. "Hey, Knife. Mind if I ask a favor?"

Knife grimaced at the nickname. "You've got some nerve, Remnant, to dare to ask for any mercy after what you've done to the world."

"No mercy. I'm just hoping that you can start here," Fuyuhiko said, and swapped which hand was on the table. He wiggled the new hand's pinky. "See the scar, there?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"I had that cut done when I was little. It showed me what I might be ordering on some asshole who let me down, y'know?" In the silence, Fuyuhiko wiggled the finger again and continued, "It feels like a half-finished job. So, mind starting there?"

Knife looked at his companions with a flat, irritated expression.

"It probably doesn't make much sense to start with something he's been trained to tolerate since childhood," mused Red, and ran a hand through his messy copper hair.

"Fuck it, let's do the fingernails," sighed Stain, who must have been in a rush eating lunch.

"Whatever," Fuyuhiko said airily, and met and held Knife's gaze. "You getting started any time soon, or what?"

"The man knows what he wants," Knife calmly replied, and put away his knife in a locked case. When he returned, his hands instead held thin but wickedly sharp bamboo skewers and a rubber mallet.

Well, this was gonna fuckin' suck.

"I see you understand what's about to happen to you," Knife said in the same smooth, level tones. "I want to see if you understand how it can be avoided."

Fuyuhiko held his gaze. "You'd better remind me."

"We brought down your aircraft after it attacked one of our vessels. We didn't have piloting skills or missile targeting in your dossier, suggesting that it was on autopilot."

"Yeah," Fuyuhiko freely admitted. This wasn't anything he needed to hide, and maybe they'd think twice about going after the others. "Kazuichi had a hell of a program in that thing. It was fun to watch it work."

"And while you were holding our attention, the rest of the Remnants vanished. Where?"

"You said it yourself: I'm holding your attention, dumbfucks." Fuyuhiko grinned lopsidedly. His head already felt fuzzy and distant as he prepared himself for the agony to come. "Why would I tell you where they went, now?"

He didn't actually know where his friends had gone, but it was best if these assholes thought he did. There'd be more pain, that way.

"Very well," Knife said, and motioned for his companions to hold Fuyuhiko in place. "Just remember: you know how to make this stop at any time."

Nodding, Fuyuhiko tensed his core muscles in anticipation. They'd really have to work to get screams out of him. As the first skewer was lifted, he pictured sobbing faces on Jabberwock pleading for him not to go. The mallet struck, and the memory exploded into raw agony and loud, screeching static.

Fuyuhiko gritted his teeth and threw back his head as black-and-white nothing scoured through him. All thought cut out momentarily like a broken television channel. But he hadn't screamed.

Knife waited a few seconds longer, nodded, and reached for the second skewer.

This time, Fuyuhiko pictured Sonia. She actually knew how to operate heavy machinery, she'd argued. She might be able to put up more of a fight before they caught her. But she wasn't trained for what came after, not like him. That was so inarguable that it'd stopped her in her tracks, and soft, frustrated crying served as her good-bye.

The mallet struck again, and Sonia also exploded into static.

Ten fingers equaled ten memories to hold onto before the mallet hit. As Fuyuhiko was thrown physically into his holding cell, having to catch himself with bleeding, raw fingertips, he was proud of himself for not mentioning a single one of those memories to the interrogators. The hardest part was over, now.

Three hours into sleep, a jolt of music woke him. Whatever godawful song they'd picked, the volume was loud enough to thrum through the metal walls and flooring like an approaching earthquake. Sleep deprivation. A classic, and not a bad technique to try against most people.

But most people hadn't dealt with Ibuki Mioda's discography for years on end.

Fuyuhiko moved his pillow so it looked like he was trying to block the noise. In actuality, he wanted to hide his face. On future nights, they'd surely crank the volume to a level that even he couldn't tolerate, but for now, he wanted to hide the fact that he could still sleep.

The next day brought electricity. "Not very good at this, are you?" Fuyuhiko coughed after Stain slammed a fist against his chest, and he felt his heart's irregular rhythm steady out. "Don't get it that close to my heart, dumbass."

"Noted. You're the torture expert, after all," Knife levelly agreed.

"Huh. Yeah, you guys aren't supposed to do this kinda stuff, are ya?" Fuyuhiko wondered. His smile up at Knife was knowing, hungry. "Or is that what 'good' does, now?"

Knife's hand flexed around the sparking wire it held. "Officially, you should be put on trial. But unofficially, we shot your plane down and killed you. You have zero advocates who will argue otherwise, and an entire planet full of people who won't care what we had to do to find the rest of the Remnants. Talk."

"I'm not gonna be able to talk if you stop my heart again."

"True," Knife airily agreed, and gestured at one of Fuyuhiko's mangled hands. Red obligingly poured water over the raw, bloody tips, and left enough on the table to form a small puddle under them. "We'll keep the flow well away from your chest, now."

This was gonna fuckin' suck, too.

Fuyuhiko clenched his jaw as he remembered Peko grimly accepting his plan. She'd been the one who held onto Hajime, and kept him from coming after the plane. While Hajime could easily have thrown her off, seeing Peko of all people accepting Fuyuhiko's imminent capture and torture broke through his outrage. This is how it has to be, Peko's agonized expression said. Respect his decision. He's made it. He understands.

The wire touched his mutilated flesh, and memory again exploded into agonized static.

After a week of pain, it was time for another conversation. "You don't have to tell us right where the other Remnants went," Knife said in a disturbingly friendly voice. "If you can point out some past hideouts they might use, we can send people to look for clues. Why not think about that as option? You wouldn't be selling them out, but we'd count that as cooperation."

"...Catacombs beneath Paris," Fuyuhiko said with feigned reluctance. That meant nothing to them, now, but Mikan and Gundham had used them like a biohazard stockpile before three generations of deliberately infected vermin exploded onto the city streets. There'd be all sorts of evidence for these assholes to dig through, and ideally, some leftover rats to gnaw on them while they did.

(And more importantly, there was absolutely no way the Remnants had fled to Paris.)

Four days later, Fuyuhiko awoke to Knife backhanding him. "Not Paris," Knife said. His eyes glinted in the darkness. "Give us a better suggestion."

Fuck. Fuyuhiko should have been awake for that. That jolt of pain was a missed opportunity. "Can't seem to remember anywhere else," he said, and wiped away blood from the lip Knife had split. "You'll have to help me remember."

"…Very well."

And so the pain began again. What memories Fuyuhiko had of love and friendship exploded into agonized static, over and over and over.

But each night when they threw his increasingly battered form back into his cell, Fuyuhiko smiled. He'd done it. He'd held their attention. And since they hadn't broken him right at the beginning, that meant that he'd won.

When he was younger, his father had taught him a very useful technique. It was one thing to simply suppress knowledge, his father explained. With tremendous pain tolerance, as men like them must develop, even the most valuable knowledge could be protected until help arrived.

What if help would not arrive in time, though? What if the knowledge would cause great harm if it could actually be carved out of them and handed to their enemies? Then, Fuyuhiko's father explained, they must go a step further. They must turn their enemies' own attempts at torture against them.

With tremendous self-control and dedicated practice, sufficient amounts of pain could be used to rewire memories. His father explained that when he'd been tortured, he pictured the shifting glint of sunlight on their backyard pond. So much pain running through him took his mind to its absolute capacity. Picturing something else—instead of the demanded information—let his brain latch onto that replacement image, instead.

Instead of pushing the memories down into some hidden safebox, enough pain could be used to scour them clean. It took enormous practice with controlling one's thoughts, and even more with suppressing pain, but dangerous knowledge could be treated like mere tinder: set alight. Abandoned. Destroyed.

Fuyuhiko had tried picturing sunlight on water, as his father had, but that hadn't worked for him. He'd found success with picturing television static, instead. And now, each time Knife and his crew tried to torture him, they were helping him to burn away another memory that was too dangerous to hold onto.

Staring up at the ceiling, Fuyuhiko did wonder where all those people had gone. It was good that he didn't know. They'd stay safe, this way.

He didn't remember much about the group, any more.

But he must have really cared about them.