#so yous can have this snippet for now

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

I’d be so powerful if I could actually finish fics

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[greenbirdtrash]

Well, isn't it my favourite animal? The-

The microwave.

[samssims]

Transcript:

Aly: What did you do this weekend? Dani: Oh, you know...

*Enter spicy montage of doing very much with a vampire*

Dani: Not much. Aly: Tch. You're so boring.

[suegodvester]

One drink and straight to bed, he vowed to himself.

“A water?” The barman scoffed. “The poor man’s choice, I see.”

Wally chuckled. “The choice of a man who just got here from a trip longer than you can imagine. D’ya got any rooms free up in this place or?”

The barman’s face softened, and he laughed as he went to grab a glass of water. Returning, he leaned in as he handed Wally his drinks. “We do, but tell me, have you ever been here before?”

A blush rose up his cheeks as Wally shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is,” he laughed awkwardly. He suddenly felt very looked at.

“Curious.” The man pulled back, then nodded to himself. “Gotham usually doesn’t show herself to people who haven’t been here before, well, unless she has plans for you. Or so they say.”

“Gotham?” Wally blurted out, eyes widened in shock. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.” He laughed, not because he was happy, but he couldn’t help himself from laughing at his own stupidity. Of course, with all the weirdness going on around here, how didn’t he realize this sooner?

He did it. He found the no-man’s-land that was particularly starting to look like an any-man’s-land to him. The place he had been looking for all along.

“You know, there’s some rumors about-” The bartender started, then stopped dead in his sentence and looked up behind Wally. Right then, Wally felt two, strong hands clasp onto his shoulders.

“You’re in my seat.” A deep, bouldering voice said, the two goons behind him snickering loudly.

Wally looked around him and noticed the two chairs besides him had indeed come up empty. Still, he shrugged and tipped his drink back. “And I was having a really good conversation.” He shot back, not getting off the chair. “Please, do continue.”

He heard a couple “Ooh”’s and “Shit”’s and snickers behind him as the saloon fell silent. All eyes fell on him, or well, them, as Wally shrugged the hands off his shoulders and leaned forward.

“Funny, kid.” The man all but growled. The bottle in his hand -some dirt cheap brand of beer, Wally guessed- came into his view as Wally skillfully -although accidentally- dodged the bottle when he turned the bar chair around. The glass made a painful shattering noise as it came into contact with the edge of the bar, sending shards everywhere.

His attacker staggered back, the intoxication visible in how he tripped rather gracefully against one of his back-up buddies. Immediately, everyone at the bar shot up from their seats and started screaming. Some people saw this as the perfect time to throw some punches around, and Wally winced as he heard the rough sound of a cracking bone right next to him.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, the way this bar fight came to be, but now everyone was in on it. Everyone, except for Wally. Shit, had he really just started this? He frantically looked around, hoping to spot a way out of this mess he had so swiftly created. Hells, he hadn’t even been here for over ten minutes and he already-

A hand slipped around his wrist, and the strong grip pulled him out of his thoughts as fast as he was pulled out of the saloon. When the cold night’s air pushed his hair out of his eyes, his mind cleared. Loud screams and thuds against the walls and floors, although a bit more muted now, made him look at one of the windows.

What just happened?

“You’re really quite something, y’know?” An amused, cocky voice startled him fully away from whatever was happening inside the saloon now, and he traced his eyes to the figure in front of him.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Astracorp AU - S2 Finale Thoughts

Lena has a soft spot for Rhea's story-- a revenant of a dying people, having lost their home planet, trying to find a new place to settle and begin rebuilding. I imagine Astra and Kara are both distracted by something other problem happening, but idk what.

Rhea and Lena meeting and working together would play out largely as it did in canon, but with maybe a Rhea manipulating Lena into keeping their collaboration secret from everyone. She slowly isolates Lena, with Astra and Kara being so distracted that they don't really notice. At least until they trace a mysterious signal back to where Lena and Rhea are doing their testing on the transmat portal.

To say Lena is confused during the eventual confrontation in the lab is an understatement. She has no idea who Rhea is in relation to Krypton, and honestly neither does Kara, but Astra does. Her rage flashes in a second, but Rhea's too quick. By the time Astra surges forward, even with her superspeed, Rhea transports back to her stateship with Lena and Mon-el in tow.

Lena awakens horrified to find herself a captive of Rhea as National City burns. Astra and Kara work together (with Lillian's help, which-- Astra vs Lillian is a can of worms all its own) to get onto the daxamite ship. Despite her relative impotence being about the same as it was on the show, I imagine that this Lena would be fucking *pissed*. This time, she has no doubt that she'll be rescued-- her lover is kryptonian, as is her best friend. They *will* come for her.

So I think she'll be far less docile, and actually aggressive in her resistance. Refusing to get dressed, 'fuck you', physically fighting back when they try to force her. Not necessarily in a particularly graceful or proficient way, just like a "kick you in the nuts way". Until Rhea loses patience and just drugs her.

Wait-- is it actually show canon that daxamite royalty used to drug their people into docility? Or is it fanon? I legitimately cannot remember. We'll just pretend its canon until confirmed.

Anyway, Lena gets herself drugged into compliance, and by the time Astra and Kara get to her, she's plenty loopy. Conscious and aware, but barely able to stand on her own without two guards holding her up on either side.

That's how Lena is dragged into the throne room as proof of life-- propped up and dragged between two massive armed guard, wrists in manacles. Rhea runs her fingers through Lena's hair, her touch gently until her hand suddenly tightens and twists in Lena's locks. Lena responds with a grunt of protest as Rhea wrenches her head back, lifting her features so Astra and Kara can confirm for themselves that she yet lives.

Despite her incapacitation, Lena manages to snarl her displeasure, even when Rhea thrusts her away by the chin.

"It's such a shame it's come to this," Rhea says. "I've so reveled our time together."

"Release her now," Astra demands.

Rhea smirks. "On the contrary." She smiles lasciviously. "I think I'll keep her."

Astra charges her, but Rhea pulls out a chunk of kryptonite. It could be silver, which would cause Astra to turn on Kara a la canon, but after some research I think amber kryptonite may also work? Which steals a kryptonian's power and gives it to whoever is holding the kryptonite.

If we go with the silver kryptonite, it would largely play out like canon, super v super style. But the amber kryptonite.... ooooooooh... Astra is de-powered and weakened, even sickly, leaving Kara with a difficult choice-- save Lena, or get Astra out of there.

She chooses Astra, because she deduces correctly that Lena has a better chance of survival if left in Rhea's hands, whereas leaving Astra there would be an instant death sentence. Not that Astra would care. She'll rant and rave against the choice, maybe even pull out the dreaded D-word ("I have never been disappointed in you, until now").

Back on the daxamite ship, we may get more of how canon played out, with the wedding to Mon-el and all, but in between those scenes, I think Rhea and Lena's interactions would be a little different solely because Rhea can now act on the jealousy she feels knowing that Lena is in love with her enemy. Do with that what you will.

In the end, Astra and Kara do get Kara back, probably with continued assistance from Lillian. But on her way out, Lena will most definitely steal the amber kryptonite, and return Astra's powers to her. Lena would stay focused on repelling the invasion, and won't actually process what happened until after the lead dispersal device succeeds in driving them away.

Only then will she pull into herself, rebuffing all attempts from Astra and Kara to reconnect. Her guilt is all-encompassing, let alone the trauma of being used as a political prisoner. She tries to deal with it all on her own, but without the support of those who love her, or a fucking therapist, Lena does not handle it well.

Astra and Kara are left standing helplessly on the outside, watching as the woman they love (romantically and platonically, respectively) slowly spirals into darkness.

[king-spite]

so it seems the poppy war has become my absolute favorite series so ofc i'm losing my mind comparing every scene with my other favorite series (red queen) and making an unfathomable amount of headcanons

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #4

He's lost everything.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was finally back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration. 

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was officially over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action. 

Cody waved the formality away with the hand sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence. 

Kelari was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens. 

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms. 

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works now that the war's over."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see --"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box. 

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through. 

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

"Sergeant?" Kelari asked quietly, stepping close to Bucket's side, "They're Commander Vertex's batchmates, right?"

The gentle nudge would have been helpful--Kelari was new, but she'd already learned what to do when another Guard faltered--except the intel she was working with was faulty. 

It was a reasonable assumption: Thire wouldn't shut up about his batchmates, so they were all known. Ponds had already stopped by to see Stone, the rest of their batch lost to the war, while Thorn's quietly deranged batch somehow managed to stay known but off the radar. Vertex was the only Commander whose batchmates were unaccounted for.

Except Vertex didn't have any batchmates.

Cresh Squad had taken heavy losses a couple weeks ago, and Bucket had been doing his own rehab with Patches in the medbay while they were still recovering. Commander Vertex had been there speaking quietly with the survivors, going between the beds with soft words and reassuring touches. It was clear that he'd done that kind of thing before, and when he'd finally taken a moment to sit down with Defib, Bucket had overheard their conversation.

'Good going with Whiskey,' Defib said gruffly. 'He would have camped outside the medbay doors if you hadn't talked him down. Tango's stable, but it's never easy to see a batcher get hurt.'

'No,' Vertex said, sounding tired. 'It really isn't.'

'Sounds like you have experience.'

Vertex was silent for a long while.

'My batchmates,' he said eventually, 'And my command. I lost them. They're...they're all gone, now.'

'Not gone,' Defib corrected gently, 'But marching far away.'

'Not gone,' Vertex had agreed, almost too soft to hear. 'Just marching far away from me.'

Patches was a medic and Bucket knew when to keep his mouth shut, and neither of them had mentioned anything of the conversation to others. Bucket was pretty sure the other commanders knew, too, but it wasn't like they'd go around airing someone's trauma like that.

Far too much trauma to go around for all of them.

Kelari nudged him again, and Bucket blinked rapidly, hauling himself out of the memory. He lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes.

The Marshal Commander frowned.

"We're here to see--to see..."

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into unease and then panicked alarm--he didn't think that it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

[justallihere]

“She’s not,” Liam interjected, “her sister.”

“No,” Violet agreed. “I’m not. I’m worse.”

[drowned-cypress]

“Do you mind if I play some music?” Robin asked, shuffling through her PDA.

“What is music?” Al-An asked.

Robin had to stop and think about that one. “It’s… a form of expression,” she answered, setting the PDA aside.

“Expression?”

“Communication. Art,” Robin clarified. “Music is a combination of sounds using rhythm or harmony or melody or words, or some combination of those, which attempts to communicate complex or elusive ideas and emotions.”

“Is this not already a function of your system of language?”

“Well, yes, but music isn’t nearly so precise, and there’s an aesthetic component to it as well.”

“If it is not precise, why utilize it?”

Robin frowned. “The value of music isn’t in its utility. Music is often very beautiful, though not always. Usually music is just… more visceral than language. We experience it on an emotional level.”

“It is instinctual?”

Robin opened her mouth, then shut it again. Oh. Al-An wanted an explanation from a biological standpoint. “There is evidence of a biological basis for music. There have been arguments that it was an adaptive trait for our ancestors–a means of social cohesion when living in large groups, to convey and regulate emotions. It’s a kind of communication that’s thought to be older than language. Some research suggests that language evolved from music.”

“I would be interested to hear an example.”

Robin shrugged and scrolled through her PDA’s menu system to put on one of her favorite songs. It was a mostly instrumental piece, but it had choral accompaniment. She always felt like it conveyed triumph in adversity and a kind of breathless elation, the joy of success. It made her feel like she was flying. She closed her eyes and listened. There was one part of the song that never failed to give her chills.

“I believe I understand,” Al-An commented once the song faded to silence. “It has an impact on your pulse and breathing. It makes you move differently. This response could come from a kind of synesthesia endemic to your species, connoting combinations of sound frequencies with specific emotions in your brain’s emotional centers.”

Robin fidgeted with her PDA as she thought about that. He had apparently been observing her reaction as much as he had been listening to the music. “You’re probably not wrong, but the experience isn’t universal. The emotional responses people have to specific pieces of music depend on the kind of music they’ve been exposed to in the past, especially during their developmental years. It’s like language in that respect: a learned social behavior. Also, musicality isn’t limited to just humans. Plenty of other animals enjoy, and even make music. For example, there are many species of bird native to Earth that produce complex melodies as part of their calls.”

“My people have encountered species with complex vocal calls before. We have determined that those calls often elicit an emotional response in other members of the species.”

Robin nodded. “Exactly. Humans are not unique in that respect.”

“So music is the vocal call of humans?”

Robin hesitated. “We don’t really think about it like that, but you wouldn’t exactly be wrong to interpret it that way. Music can serve some of the same evolutionary functions as animal calls. Though, while humans are incredible vocal mimics, we use instruments as well as our voices to make music. These days though, music is mostly viewed as entertainment.” Robin paused before asking, “Does your species have a call? Even if you don’t use it anymore, I’d be interested to know more about the evolutionary origins of your species.”

There was quiet as Al-An gave the question some thought. “No, we do not have a vocal call,” he finally said. “We did not evolve a biological means of creating complex vocalizations. However, before we evolved telepathy, our ancestors first expressed emotions through bioluminescence.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “I would like to see that. That sounds amazing. Do you still have bioluminescence? Do you make visual displays with it as an art form?”

“Yes, we have kept the bioluminescence, but while we can control it to a small degree, it is largely an involuntary part of what you would likely call our limbic system.”

“Ah, so more like body language.”

“That is accurate.”

There was a long moment of quiet between them as Robin thought about what Al-An had said. “Didn’t you describe the network as a kind of harmony of strings?”

“Ah. Yes, but in a metaphorical sense. I had not realized your species utilized harmonies.”

“But you understand the concept of harmony? That’s a musical concept.”

“It is a known phenomenon. My people find the mathematics of sympathetic resonance to be aesthetically pleasing.”

Robin blinked. They found the mathematics to be aesthetically pleasing, but they held no opinion on the actual sound? She supposed that explained why he didn’t really understand music. Or perhaps they did have their own music, but it was unrecognizable in comparison to what she had played. “But why use that metaphor?”

“It is…” Al-An made an inarticulate, frustrated noise. “Trying to describe the sensation of the network to you is trying to describe a sensory experience you have never had using a communication method that is imprecise and inadequate for the task. Your language does not contain a word for the sensation because no human has experienced it. The best I can do is use one of your own senses as metaphor. It is like describing your tactile ability to detect vibrations as similar to your ability to sense temperature. They may be somewhat similar, and serve similar functions, but are by no means the same.”

“Ah, so the network doesn’t sound like literal strings.”

“No, it does not sound like anything at all. But as a metaphor for the network, the concept of harmony is appealing. Each individual has their own frequency, and when grouped properly, interactions may produce resonance. Your sense of hearing also works better as a metaphor than any other sense you possess, because humans communicate primarily through hearing.”

Robin chewed her lip, thinking. The picture he painted of his species was very alien: they didn’t produce complex sounds, and communicated through telepathy and bioluminescence. It sounded fascinating, but she didn’t want their differences to become a wall between them. “Will you still be able to communicate with me once you get your own body?”

“You need not worry.” Al-An’s usual monotone carried a softness Robin was not used to hearing. He was getting better at picking up on her emotions. “Even if I could not calibrate my telepathy to a frequency you are able to receive, I would still be able to produce sounds in your range of hearing through my cybernetic components.”

Robin smiled. “Want to hear more music?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Al-An replied with a kind of eagerness that made Robin’s smile widen. “Please, proceed.”

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[arsenicflame]

Hornigold's Izzy was the worst, of course. A version of himself that never escaped that terrible place, who lived his life as little more than an object. He still has nightmares about all the things Baz told them, about all the things he didn't.

It doesn't really surprise him, after the first ones, not at its root. To be Izzy Hands is to be someone's after all, though seeing his own face on someone so fundamentally different to him never gets less weird. The people who these other Izzys attached themselves too often left him with more questions than answers. Jack's Izzy, he can understand, from a certain view, though the man himself felt like a fever dream. The less said about Stede's Izzy the better, he's never going to forgive him for the ideas he put in his Stede's head.

Then there was Sam's Izzy.

The first thing anyone noticed about him was that he was happy. He smiled and laughed without thought, and went through life with an ease Izzy didn't think he had ever felt. The crew took to him immediately, accepting him in a way they never did the other Izzys, and certainly not their own. They prodded him and asked him endless questions, and he took every touch without a flinch and answered every question without a hint of a grumble. This Izzy was free. He was open, unburdened, trusting. He was happy.

Sam's Izzy was the one that hurt the most to see. He could accept the worst that Hornigold could've offered, that he would have suffered and been broken. It was infinitely harder to see that he had a chance to be this happy. That it slipped through his fingers.

He's never looked back before, but now? Seeing what might've been? He can't stop himself from considering the possibility that maybe he made the wrong choice back then, going with Ed.

[fanboyzuko]

Alrighttt 3.7k written today 🔥🔥🔥

a small mostly spoiler free snippet 😘

.

“Alright! Last stop, elephant koi!” Aang leaped off Appa, thrumming with excitement. “You guys are gonna love this one!”

Sokka slid off Appa, landing in a crouch before standing and leaning against Appa in an attempt to look aloof. “On a scale of hopping llamas to hog monkeys, how much do they want to be ridden?”

“I’m not too sure!” Aang laughed as he sent a gust of air to cushion Katara’s fearless leap out of Appa’s saddle. “I haven’t ridden them yet. Gyatso said I needed to wait until I was older to try the elephant koi. And, well, I’m older now, right?”

Katara eyed the bay they landed next to warily. “I think maybe we’ll let you try this one first before we join you…”

Aang did his best to contain a sigh, then turned to Sokka with wide eyes, “Sokka?”

“No way,” Sokka crossed his arms in an X. “I’m with Katara on this one. I should have listened to her about the hog monkeys. My butt is still bruised!”

“Oh, you’re right!” Katara leaned over to get a good look at Sokka’s bruise through the hole in his pants. She rested her cheek against her hand as she sarcastically bemoaned, “But, Sokka! You’re such a big, strong man. Surely you can take on the elephant koi like you did the hog monkeys.”

The last thing Aang wanted was for them to get this argument started up again. Earlier, they both got mad at him when he offered to fix Sokka’s pants in Katara’s stead. He could understand why Katara yelled at him, since his offer saved Sokka from his punishment for being rude and pissing her off. But why did Sokka get mad?! How was Aang explaining that all Air Nomads learned basic household tasks betraying their brotherhood?

Thankfully, an elephant koi breached the bay before the siblings’ squabbling could start again.

“Look!” Aang cheered, pointing as if they wouldn’t have noticed the fish as big as Appa. “There they are! Watch carefully, you'll see. You’re gonna want to join me in no time!”

[kitsunesakii]

Two is Better than one

I went wild with this one :D

Chapter six

Sasha entered her apartment with the quiet click of the front door. She tossed her backpack onto the chair in the kitchen and started a cup of tea. A clatter from the adjacent room caught her attention. She frowned slightly before peeking her head into the other room.

It took her a moment to process the scene before her eyes.

Micheal was sitting on her living room floor, long fingers carefully curling through the fur of a content cat purring below him. She noted a secondary feline to the left, pawing at a strand of long spindly blonde hair. He glanced at her lazily, tipping his head to the side and humming.

There was only one thing wrong with this picture. Sasha didn't own pets.

"Micheal-what?"

His smile widened. "Hello my dear."

She gestured to the cat now rolling onto its back as Micheal petted its belly. "Where did these come from?"

He looked over at the one still playing with his hair. "They followed someone into my corridors. They followed me here."

Right. Sasha shook her head and sat down, the one on its back stretched out before moving towards her curiously, it had orange hair like a tabby. She pet it and it purred in response.

"Micheal."

"Sasha."

"I don't have the stuff for these guys. I barely have the room, you don't really expect me too-" Her words were cut short as she watched the grey one tangled in Micheal's hair sound out a small mewl as Micheal tenderly picked it up in its hands with too much bone and fingers that stretched too far across. The cat didn't seem to mind.

Micheal hummed as he watched the cat in his arms twist and curl, purring contently as if Micheal wasn't a terrifying monster. Sasha dared to smile.

"I believe, if I remember correctly, these creatures need food, water." He chimed lightly. Sasha rolled her eyes.

"Fine. There's a store down the way from here. They have pet supplies." Sasha sighed as she stood to her feet. "And they are cats, Micheal."

He didn't so much as stand to his feet, rather a blur of motion and colors that stretched out and scattered like sand before he was standing in front of her. "Cats. Yes."

She grabbed her bag and walked towards the door, stopping when she realized Micheal was following her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you of course." He giggled, "silly question."

"Right." Sasha smiled, "This won't end badly at all."

----------------------------------------------

The actual trip wasn't horrible.

Besides the fact that every single dog started barking at Micheal which earned them a few curious glances from the staff, they made it out with a sack of cat food, cat litter, and a box. Even more than she had expected, Micheal paid. Handing the cash to the women as Sasha looked at him with such a confused expression she partially believed he did it just to see her reaction. Laughing as they left the store with the supplies. She simply shook her head.

"I think- he had one."

Sasha looked over at him, he looked, well, human. The way his coat sat on his shoulders and down past his boots, his hands wrapped around a bag of cat food. His eyes trained on nothing before looking over at her with a sharp smile.

Sasha frowned. "Who?"

"Micheal. Before-" His words echoed and trailed off.

Sasha understood. "I'm sorry." The words felt stupid in her mouth.

"Do not be, its-" he paused. "It's a nice memory, I am not sorry to have it, amongst the fractals of everything and nothing and the not-in between, it is nice."

Sasha thought about her question a moment before asking. "What's it like?"

"What?"

"The...what you said about the fractals and the nothingness, delusion...what's it like?"

"It Is Not What It Is and it is a part of me" he said it like a broken tune from some forgotten nursery rhyme. "It is madness- throaty, hollow, the depths of doubt- madness that stirs in the mind. It is not a physicality, but, within it, there is a certain…” He paused. “Ah! Beauty. Like a fine piece of decoration in a mundane hallway." Micheal laughed long and hard as they approached her building.

"You say it's beautiful?"

He giggled and shook his head. "You tell me, my dear, what with your It Knows You, all that knowledge will never satisfy, never relief, you see all and yet-" They entered her house to the two cats scratching up her couch and seemingly content with life. “Madness floods the senses and dilutes the mind, leaving it clear. It changes perception, blinds reality. It's a song sung with all the wrong notes and the wrong tune but it is beautiful nonetheless.” He sat the bag on the kitchen table and she prepared two bowls.

“A broken melody is still broken.”

“Ah, but only you would know if it's broken.”

Sasha paused and stared at him. He was crouched down, pouring the food into the bowl she had provided. It got everywhere and he giggled. Letting out a hummed “oops.” Before moving a long finger to scatter the dropped food even further. His hair cascaded around his shoulders and swept across the floor, the grey cat already taking interest in his dubbed playtoy.

She understood what he meant. And maybe there was a relieving beauty to it. Someone’s only lost if they themselves don’t know how to get to their destination. But if someone is simply wandering, well. There could be a comfort to that. Ignorance is bliss after all. A buzz of muddled headspace that someone looks for within drugs or alcohol. A weight lifted from the mind as it's consumed by something that isn’t tangible.

“Do you understand?” He looked back at her, the pieces of food that had missed the bowl now nowhere to be seen. The two cats had taken an interest in the food and water and were quick to indulge themselves. She looked into Micheal’s eyes, the swirling spirals that seemed to impossibly dilate as he looked at her. He seemed softer, somehow. All folded up and crouched on her floor seemingly as protection to the felines happily eating away. His sweater changed and morphed in color and she half wondered where his coat went. His scarf was wound around his neck and seemed to move like a snake, continually curling over his shoulders. Twisting and bending and pulling in every direction. He was an enigma to look at. Madness. An ever shifting idea that barely took shape before it was changing again. Beautiful. She decided.

He was beautiful.

She almost forgot he was waiting for a response. “I understand.” The words didn’t feel nearly enough. Some part of her reminded herself that she was supposed to be scared of this thing that had casually dropped two cats at her feet like it was nothing. This thing that bought the supplies with money she wasn’t sure he was even supposed to have. This thing that had given her a distorted flower that she still had in the living room. This thing that followed her around with a curiosity she couldn’t explain. This thing that had kissed her cheek instead of killing her when she had been in its corridors. She ignored that voice and instead moved to fix the litter box in the washroom.

Not even an hour later she was curled up on the couch petting the tabby as Micheal played with the gray one on the floor not even a foot away.

“What are their names?” She asked him, breaking the silence that seemed to muffle Micheal’s laughter as he let the cat swipe at his long fingers, pulling them away just in time.

“Names are redundant.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll call this one Pumpkin.”

He didn’t look away from the cat, letting it catch his fingers and pull them down to bite playfully. Micheal hardly seemed bothered. “Daisies.”

“The cat? That’s a pretty name.”

“No-” He giggled. “I remembered. I was picking them up.” He drew his hand away and pointed at the mess of lines and colors that had once been a flower, sitting in a jar on the coffee table.

Sasha smiled back. “Daisy it is. Pumpkin and Daisy.”

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

[stellewriites]

part 5 of already spoken for is finished!!! just need to edit and then i’ll be posting next weekend :3

[gothteddiesdotcom]

not to brag about being good at my job but I’ve now developed two separate tools for debugging entirely on my own within my company entirely from scratch without help and A. it makes my job so much fucking easier and B. my boss is thinks im incredible just because im too lazy to want to write the same bits of code over and over just for debugging purposes