#tiny spotted death machine

[nocturnal-stims]

Margays are small felines that spend most of their lives in the trees. Margays can rotate their ankles 180 degrees, allowing them to climb down trees headfirst. They have been observed jumping up to 12 feet horizontally and have been known to mimic the voices of infant monkeys so they can eat the parents.

🐾 1minuteanimals on IG

[makoodles]

ミ tìtunu

i'm so excited to be posting for my man tsu'tey, because he is criminally under-rated. (look at that gif! i'm going feral).

🍓pairing: tsu'tey x fem human reader

🍓word count: 4k

🍓tags: she/her pronouns for reader, alien courting rituals, misunderstandings, mentions of vomiting (not too graphic, but a warning all the same!)

masterlist

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part four (nsfw)

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

Life is not going how Tsu’tey had intended.

It starts with the arrival of Jakesully, the demon’s acceptance into the clan, the ensuing war against the Sky People, and Tsu’tey’s own uncomfortably close brush with death after falling from the human’s large flying machine. His whole life has been disrupted, his plans and motivations, his hopes and his expectations. Jakesully is a moron, but he is Tsu’tey’s brother now. Bonds have been forged in fire and blood as they fought together against the demon invaders from the sky, and Tsu’tey has no choice but to accept his fate. It will take time to become accustomed to his new role within the clan, no longer as a future leader but always as a protector, but he is adjusting as well as he can.

While he has suffered many blows to his pride in recent months, not least his grievous injury that has prevented him from taking part in his usual routine with the rest of the clan’s warriors, he is still a blooded male of the clan. Now that Neytiri has mated with Jakesully, Tsu’tey himself is free to pick a mate of his own, unburdened by the expectations of leadership. It’s both a liberating and humiliating thought, and he has to admit that it does his wounded pride some good to be on the receiving end of mating interest from so many attractive prospects within the clan.

Any of the Omaticayan women that have shown interest in him so far would be perfectly respectable choices. Txisma is one of the best weavers among the People, her creations sturdy and reliable while also colourful and beautiful. Ninat is the best singer of the clan, her voice bright and clear as her songs bring joy to all who listen. Even Saeyla, ever so consistently loyal despite the fact that he has already rejected her, would be a perfectly respectable choice as a mate.

But the real, ultimate indignity of it all is that Tsu’tey can’t manage to drum up any interest in any of them. No matter how much they smile at him so coyly and prettily, no matter how impressive their displays of skill are, no matter how quick and deadly and proficient they are at fighting, he can’t manage to force himself to look at them with anything more than detached appreciation.

Perhaps the Sky People had injured him beyond repair when they had hurt him and pushed him from their enormous metal bird. 

That is the only reason he can think of to explain why the one person who has captured his thoughts so wholly is you, the little human demon that is constantly lurking around the Omaticaya camp.

In the beginning, his fixation is driven by aggravation and fury. After the destruction of Hometree, the People move as one to a spot just south of the Well of Souls and set up a temporary encampment there. When the humans that remain after the RDA have left his planet are invited by Jakesully to their new settlement to spend time with them in a show of tentative co-operation, Tsu’tey spends the whole time scowling in your direction. Jakesully had proven himself a good leader and has earned Tsu’tey’s respect, which is perhaps the only reason that he initially accepted the presence of these Sky People in their new home. Even with his reluctant acceptance, he meets the tiny demons with suspicion and hostility. You, especially.

You infuriate him. Too small, terribly soft and squishy, unable to hold a bow or wield a spear or do anything useful. You came here with the rest of the Sky People, but you are not a warrior like Jakesully. Instead you spend all of your time reading books and studying the plants of his planet. But you don’t even study them in any useful way! You sketch them and take notes, and make frequent exclamations about how wonderful it all is, but you don’t do anything useful, at least as far as Tsu’tey can see.

It had taken him a terribly long time to realise what was happening. 

In the beginning, his eyes had cut towards you with animosity and mistrust – your interest in the plant life and the world around you had seemed so odd after the destruction the rest of your people had caused, and he watched you intently for any signs that you meant to cause harm to the People. But those signs never come.

You were polite, interested in his culture, and awed by nature and Eywa all around. You even learned the language of the People, though admittedly with a heavy accent. It’s… more endearing than it should be.

It takes a while for him to realise that he’s watching you far more than he watches the other little demons that study his people. It gets even worse when you decide to practise your clumsy language skills with the clan – somehow, it leads to you targeting him. Not even his fiercest scowls seem to discourage your attempts to converse with him, and soon he finds himself honestly looking forward to seeing you, to speaking with you.

It is an illness. Some sort of infection that has taken hold in him since his injury in the war against the Sky People. That can be the only reason that he is more preoccupied with you than with the very real mating prospects he has among the People.

He has come to terms with it. At first, he kept his shameful little fixation to himself, but he’s never been the most subtle of men. Others soon notice the direction of his stares, the amount of time he spends with you, the way his ears flick and his tail coils whenever he’s around you. 

Everyone, it seems, except you.

“Hello, little demon,” He murmurs as he approaches you one afternoon, his tail coiled low around his ankles.

You’re sitting close to the edge of the forest, beside one of the large anìheyu plants. All your silly little notebooks are surrounding you, and though your head is ducked as you sketch its likeness in your book, you look up when you hear his voice.

You laugh at his customary greeting, as unbothered by his gruff demeanour as ever. He is grateful that you are not offended; he has never been good at being soft, though he tries.

“Hey, big guy.” You call back, a wide smile beginning to spread across your face. “What are you up to?”

Tsu’tey’s fingers twitch. Your face may be alien, but your features are not so dissimilar from that of the Na’vi. He finds you… attractive, in your own way, though it pains him a little to admit it.

“I wished to join in on the hunt today,” He murmurs as he comes to a stop in front of you, “But Mo’at has forbidden it.”

He is still recovering from his wounds, and he has found himself with an enormous amount of free time to spend; courtesy of Mo’at, who has been borderline vicious in her vehemence that he rests from his duties to heal. It stings his pride, but he respects the Tsa’hik too much to question her orders.

Your eyes drop to his battle scars, and he finds himself flexing subconsciously under your gaze.

“That’s probably fair, right?” You ask, tilting your head. “You’re still healing-”

“I am still strong.” He interrupts, a little more forcefully than he had intended to. It’s important that you know that.

You just smile, little white teeth poking out as you bite at your lower lip. “I know that.”

That pleases him, and he rolls his shoulders back before sinking down into a crouch in front of you. Your eyes dart from his face to his torso to his legs and then back up again, and he feels his stung pride inflate under the weight of your shy gaze.

“I will not join the rest of the warriors on their hunt,” He murmurs, his gaze resting on your face as he tries to read every expression that flickers across it, “But I still wish to go on a hunt of my own. You.. are welcome to join me.”

You are difficult to read. You do not respond to his more coy flirtations; you never seem to notice when he communicates micro-expressions, his ears flicking back or the playful movements of his tail. And yet you perk up at his invitation, your eyes bright and interested as you carefully set your notes aside.

“Really?” You ask cautiously, your eyes flickering towards the longbow resting across his back.

When Tsu’tey just nods, you shove yourself to your feet with an eager little laugh. It feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders at your acceptance of his offer – though he manages to keep his expression neutral, he can’t control the anticipatory little flick of his tail.

This is an opportunity he is eager to take advantage of; as he leads the way into the forest, he makes a point of keeping you in his sights at all times. You’re so small and useless, and it’s good to feel as though he can protect someone after his close brush with death.

Marching through the jungle is slow-going. You insist on stopping several times to peer at some of the plants that you’re curious about, and Tsu’tey just stands and waits each time. He wants to display his patience, though it’s admittedly never been one of his strongest virtues.

“Come, small one.” He says, his tail flicking impatiently even as he tries to accommodate your curiosity. Patience, he thinks to himself. 

“What is this?” You ask in your broken Na’vi, your accent heavy and clumsy.

Tsu’tey’s ears twitch. He likes the sound of your stupid accent more than he should.

“Utral utu mauti,” He murmurs, stepping closer to you before saying in his own accented English, “Type of fruit tree.”

You make a soft sound of understanding, before nodding. “I’ve read about these! They grow utumauti fruit, right?”

Tsu’tey hums confirmation, though he’s not looking at the plant. He’s too busy watching your face.

“Come,” He murmurs, “You will watch me hunt.”

The two of you continue on through the jungle. Tsu’tey tracks prints, and you watch him. He adds more flourishes to his tracking and stalking than are entirely necessary; he is hyper-conscious under your curious eyes. 

You are so much smaller than him, barely reaching his navel, so he keeps his pace slow and even to ensure you can keep up with him. 

When the two of you finally catch up to a wild yerik, luckily separated from the herd, Tsu’tey feels his heart beating eagerly in his chest. This is a chance to display his physical prowess. To prove that even injured, he is a fearsome warrior and hunter.

Your eyes are trained on him as he nocks an arrow and prepares to loose. Your gaze trails along his bicep and his chest, and he feels his pride flare all over again. When he looses the arrow, it finds its mark with ease.

He leaps from the cover of the trees and rushes to the fallen animal, snatching his knife from his waist and bending by the yerik’s head to murmur the customary words of thanks before ending the creature’s pain.

Cautiously, you step out after him and stare with wide eyes.

“Wow,” You murmur, stepping close to him. “It’s so big.”

The yerik is not so large or impressive as other prey, such as a talioang, yet your awe pleases Tsu’tey greatly. He can’t suppress the smug expression that grows across his face as he secures his prey with a rope to prepare to haul it back to the village. 

He pauses halfway through tying a knot around the yerik’s middle so that he can look up to you, a self-satisfied sort of lazy smirk curling around his mouth. “I told you I am still strong.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of your mouth, and you avert your eyes all of a sudden. You’re staring down at your feet, your fingers fidgeting together, but he can see that your mouth is smiling.

“Yes,” You say quietly, “Very strong.”

That night, Tsu’tey’s catch is prepared and roasted over the cook fire alongside the catch from the larger hunt. The village is alight with celebration – the People sing and dance, children running around screaming with laughter and younglings leaping about together. The light-natured atmosphere is infectious, and  Tsu’tey finds himself feeling more cautiously upbeat than he has in a while now.

“I should probably head back to the science outpost,” You mention at some point as the village fills with laughter and chat and the smell of succulent meat cooking. “I don’t want to intrude on-”

“Stay.” Tsu’tey interrupts without thinking.

You pause, obviously surprised. He’s been most outspoken about how the small demons should not be allowed to intrude upon the People’s customs or private rituals. No doubt you’re confused by his sudden change of heart – he can’t explain it himself.

But you agree, a tentative smile blooming across your face.

Tsu’tey is not oblivious to the glances that the two of you get as he settles next to you – you’ve chosen to sit a little bit away from the large fire around which the rest of the tribe gathers. No doubt you feel self-conscious of the fact that you don’t belong here, but Tsu’tey is feeling bold tonight. He is content as he settles next to you, despite the curious glances he receives from his People.

In his hands, he carries two portions of yerik meat from his kill wrapped in a leaf – it is a wholesome, healthy meal, and he hands a portion to you with a pleased flick of his tail.

You accept your portion politely, but he notices that you don’t immediately move to eat it. Instead, you spend a moment peering at it as though inspecting the meat carefully.

The longer you go without trying the food he has caught for you, the more antsy he becomes. He bites into his own dinner, casting frequent sideways glances your way as he chews. Was it not cooked to your taste? Did you not like the way it was wrapped in the leaf? Was it the meat itself that was the problem? Perhaps you didn’t even like yerik meat. Was this your way of turning him down?

“You do not like it?” He asks at last, unable to contain himself any longer.

You look up at that, apparently a little startled. “No! I mean, yes! I like it just fine!”

And yet, you haven’t touched it. 

Too late, Tsu’tey realises that you’re still wearing your strange face covering that you need to breathe. Ah, how foolish of him. You aren’t able to take it off to eat.

Embarrassed now, Tsu’tey feels his ears flatten back. It was an obvious oversight on his part, a stupid mistake. How could he not have anticipated this problem? Such a mistake makes him look inconsiderate.

“Ah. Your face covering-” He begins, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish.

“No big deal!” You blurt hastily, sitting up straighter. 

You’re so much smaller than him, dwarfed by his stature as you blink up at him. The size difference is going to Tsu’tey’s head – he can’t stop looking at the way your much smaller hands are wrapped around your food, at the way you’ve pressed a little closer to him.

He watches as you rip some of the meat out with your fingers, before taking a deep breath. You push the mask up for just a second, just long enough to push the food into your mouth before quickly reattaching the mask over your face again. Through the strange clear material protecting your face, Tsu’tey watches as you chew. The sight settles something inside of him, and some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders as he watches you eat his offering.

He’s not the only one watching you eat. The sight of him offering you food, and of you accepting it, has caught the attention of several members of the clan. The connotations are obvious, whether Tsu’tey chooses to think about them or not – if the sight of one of the clan’s foremost warriors participating in tentative courtship rituals with a Sky Person is shocking or disturbing in any way, they hide it well. It’s mainly surprised curiosity in the eyes of their observers.

“It’s good.” You murmur, sending him a quick smile. “The spices are different from anything I’m used to – it’s interesting.”

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes with gratification, satisfied with your acceptance of his advances. He should have known you would be interested in the spices used to cook the food, too. You’re such a curious little thing, always wanting to learn more. Your intelligence is commendable, and sets you apart from the rest of the tawtute.

You take another few bites of food, stuffing little handfuls under your mask quickly before replacing it back. Tsu’tey feels his chest puff the more you eat, his pride assuaged by the sight.

“You are hungry?” He asks, ducking his head a little closer to you. “You would like more?”

“No,” You murmur, but you give him a soft smile to soften your refusal. “Thank you. This is plenty.”

Tsu’tey settles back, his tail flicking in contentment. You may be a little demon that came from the sky, but having you sit huddled at his side eases the knot in his stomach that’s been present since his injury. He tries not to think too much about it.

A quick glance around shows that the eyes that had been watching them have shifted away, and he relaxes a little further. It’s mortifying enough to be offering such advances to a tawtute without the eyes of the clan watching.

You cough, and clear your throat. The sound draws his attention back to you, his eyes flickering carefully over your face. You appear a little flustered, and his brow draws down in a frown.

“What is wrong?” He asks carefully, narrowing his eyes as he watches you.

“Nothing.” You say hastily, but he sees the way you shift next to him. Your expression has changed a little, but he can’t quite interpret it. You lack the long ears and tail of the Na’vi, and so he finds it difficult to analyse your micro-expressions, but even still he can tell that something has changed.

“Tell me.” He demands, shifting to face you head on. “I will fix.”

You smile at him again, but this one seems more forced. It’s almost a grimace. Your hand moves to your stomach, and he follows the motion with a frown.

“It’s nothing, I just…” You wince. “It didn’t occur to me before, but.. I’m not sure how well humans can digest Pandoran meat.”

Tsu’tey’s frown only deepens. “I do not know this word. Digest. What does it mean?”

“It-” You begin, but you cut yourself off as an odd tremor moves across your face.

In a move that startles him into rearing back, you leap to your feet and make a run for the woods. It only takes a moment for Tsu’tey to recover from his surprise, and then he pushes himself up to his feet too. Ignoring the heads that have turned in his direction thanks to the commotion, he takes off after you.

It doesn’t take much effort to catch up to you, considering the difference in the size of your legs. You’ve only just managed to reach the treeline before falling to your knees, and by the time he catches up to you, you’ve torn your breathing mask off to allow you to retch into the vegetation.

Tsu’tey’s ears flick back, watching uneasily as you vomit. He has never been very good at providing comfort, but he reaches out to touch your shoulder all the same.

You retch again, then fumble to put your mask back on so you can breathe.

“Oh no, don’t look at me,” You practically wail, ducking your head down so he can’t see your face. “This is so humiliating.”

“What is wrong?” Tsu’tey asks insistently, lowering himself to crouch beside you as his tail twitches anxiously. “I will call for Mo’at-”

“Don’t you dare!” You gasp, reaching back blindly to grab at him even as you gag again. 

Tsu’tey bares his teeth in frustration, growing increasingly more restless. He hates feeling helpless, and he doesn’t understand what is happening with you. “You are sick.”

“No,” You gasp. The worst of the gagging seems to be over, and you push yourself back to sit clumsily on your behind. “No, it was just… I don’t think Pandoran food is compatible with human digestive systems.”

His tail flicks again as he watches you, growing uneasy. “What does this mean?”

“I can’t eat the same food as you.” You say, before ducking your head and groaning a little as another wave of nausea hits you.

Tsu’tey goes still, watching you close your eyes and wince. The food he had provided you with has made you ill. Humiliation settles low in his stomach. So this is why you were reluctant to try it – you were unsure if it was safe for you to eat.

His attempt to impress you has ended up making you sick. The only thing that saves him from total disgrace is the fact that you’re very visibly flustered and apologetic about it.

“I’m sorry,” You insist, clearly mortified as you raise your head to squint at him through streaming eyes. “Really, it was very nice-!”

 His ears twitch low and his tail wrapped tightly around his leg in contrition. “I did not know-”

“I know you didn’t,” You interrupt hastily. It’s clear that you feel thoroughly embarrassed about the situation – you can hardly meet his eyes. “Please, don’t worry about it.”

Your reassurance helps, but only slightly. He still feels entirely humiliated, and he watches with dismay as you finally push yourself to your feet.

“I think,” You begin without making eye contact, “That I should probably get back to the outpost.”

His stomach plummets, and his pride with it. This has gone so terribly wrong. He’s not even really sure what he was trying to do here – what was he even thinking? 

“Yes.” He says stiffly. “You should.”

Your expression shifts a little, and you nod. The air between you both has changed slightly; gone was the easy camaraderie that you have both worked so hard on for the past few months, to be replaced with an awkward tension.

“I’m sorry,” You say again, your voice low and embarrassed. “I.. the meat was very nice. Thank you. I’m sorry about… you know.”

That… is slightly more promising. 

Tsu’tey stands, then reaches down to offer his hand to help you. For a moment, you just stare at his outstretched hand as though you can’t figure out what he’s doing. He draws on his patience, and is rewarded for it when you reach out and take his hand, allowing him to guide you back to your feet. Your palm is warm and dry against his, your hand so small and soft that he gets momentarily distracted.

You smile at him again, and finally this one seems more genuine, though it’s a little abashed. Tsu’tey’s ears flick towards you cautiously, testingly, and you keep smiling.The knot in his stomach loosens a little.

Perhaps his chances aren’t entirely decimated after all. Next time, he will try gift-giving instead.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Summary: A baby shower has you reuniting with Eddie (and Harris). Unbeknownst to Eddie, it's right when he'll need you most--but is he ready to forgive?

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, small allusion to sex, mentions of Grandma Sweetheart's death, mentions of learning disability

WC: 7.4k

Chapter 11/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Mid-January in Hawkins is cold, with temperatures in the mid-30s, but a bundled-up Harris Munson is unfazed. Eddie happily watches as his son practically flies across the empty playground and heads straight for the swingset. In the warmer weather, it’s a coveted spot amongst the kids and usually ends in a battle, but the chill in the air means that Harris doesn’t have to fight for a turn. 

“Daddy! Uncle Jeff!” he calls out, voice muffled by the blue scarf securely wrapped around the lower half of his face, “come push me!”

Jeff laughs with a shake of his head as he and Eddie trudge across the frost-covered grass. “You heard the man.”

“Ready to have a little gremlin of your own?” Eddie teases, hoisting Harris onto the swing, making sure his bottom is squared on the rubber surface. He catches a glimpse of the baby swing to his right, and his heart pangs at the memory of Harris being tiny enough to fit in there. “Lemme tell ya, it goes by quick. The days are long but the years are short.”

Jeff just gives a little nod, and Eddie can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. “I’m serious, man. And all that stuff they say about not knowing what love is until you have kids? Man, I thought that was the biggest crock of shit. Like, of course I know what love is! I love my music, my uncle, even you guys,” he adds with a gleam in his eyes, referring to his former bandmates. “And then Harris was born, and I was like, ‘holy shit, this is what it means to love someone.’” He positions himself behind the swing, giving Harris another big push before stepping aside to let Jeff have a turn. 

Jeff looks at him incredulously. Eddie Munson is no stranger to a good rant, but never one this vulnerable. He’s speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Th-Thanks, Ed,” he manages, offering the white paper bag he’d picked up on the way to the playground. “Y’still like peanut butter creme donuts, right?”

“Hell yes!” Eddie cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the chocolate frosted confection, taking a huge bite triumphantly. “‘M tellin’ ya: Em and Abi’s Gourmet Donuts is the best thing about this town,” he exclaims with a mouthful of peanutty filling. 

“Really?” Jeff chuckles, taking a honeycomb donut from the bag. “Better than a certain preschool teacher you may or may not be infatuated with?”

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and he hopes he can pass it off as a reaction to the winter winds. “Not in front of…” he trails off, jerking his head in the direction of his son. 

“Got it, got it,” Jeff smoothly agrees, but he still presses the topic in a roundabout way. “But, uh, any luck with that?”

“Nope,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’ve just been giving her space like you said, but she hasn’t reached out or asked about tutoring again.” He shrugs as though it doesn’t bother him, but both he and Jeff know that that can’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff gives Harris a big push, smiling when he hears the boy’s giggle. “You haven’t called or anything?” he asks. 

“Once, after I saw her during drop-off.” Eddie admits, twisting the ring on his pinky finger. “Left a message but she never called back.”

He plays it back in his head, a constant loop that he’d practically memorized before relaying it to your answering machine. As much as he wanted to resolve everything sooner rather than later, he was embarrassingly relieved when he’d heard your outgoing message. Still, the sweetness of your recorded voice was honeyed tea on a dreary day, and he didn’t anticipate his breath to hitch when it played. 

“H-Hey, Sweetheart. Shit, can I call you that? Um, anyway, give me a call when you can. I think we should talk.”

The two men take turns pushing Harris and chasing him around the playground. At one point, Harris makes his way to the pole, painted school bus yellow. He reaches out with two chubby hands, but his feet stay grounded on the platform. “‘M scared,” he whimpers, still clinging to the pole. 

“You got this, Mini Munson!” Jeff cheers, frowning when Harris remains in place. “Tell ya what: if you slide down the pole, I’ll make your dad do it, too.” He grins mischievously, and Eddie would discreetly flip him the bird if he didn’t have a better alternative. 

“Yeah, bud, and then Uncle Jeff will go after me.” He mouths a silent ha at his friend, but neither seem to mind. 

And after a few seconds of deliberation, Harris flings his body forward and slowly makes his way down, hands squeaking along the metal.

“I did it!” he announces triumphantly, turning to Eddie. “Your turn, Daddy!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, but a smile dances on his lips. He darts up the jungle gym steps and hangs onto the pole. He could simply put his feet down and touch the ground, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he lets out a high-pitched, “wheeeee!” as Harris cackles loudly. 

He claps Jeff on the back once his shoes touch the rubber turf. “You’re up, big boy.”

Jeff follows suit, mimicking Eddie and making Harris laugh even harder. 

“Uncle Jeff, you’re so silly!” he exclaims, using hands and feet to clamber back up to the top and slide down the pole; this time, there’s no hesitation. 

Harris repeats the routine again and again until Eddie catches a glimpse of the digital watch around his wrist. “We gotta leave in five minutes, Har Bear,” he reports matter-of-factly, hoping his lack of emotion will ward off any impending tantrums. 

Harris’s lower lip juts out as his pupils dart back and forth between Eddie and Jeff. “Aw, why?”

Eddie crouches down to match his son’s height, pressing palms to his knees for stability. “We’re gonna help Uncle Jeff pack up the presents from the baby shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pauses, pursing his lips in concentration. “How did the baby get in Auntie Viv’s tummy?”

Jeff’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances at Eddie, silently willing him to say something. Eddie clears his throat, wracking his brain for a response that will placate his son’s curiosity without giving away too much information. “Um, well,” he begins, biting the inside of his cheek to buy himself more time before settling on: “when a man and a woman love each other, that love can make a baby.”

Fortunately, Harris seems satisfied with that answer, and Jeff hands him a chocolate donut to distract him from asking anything else. The boy plunks down in the grass a few paces ahead of them and takes a big bite.

“How is it?” Jeff calls to him, chuckling when Harris responds with a chocolate crumb-covered thumbs up and turns his attention back to the dessert. “Nice save,” he says to Eddie, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “But what are you gonna say when he asks about his mom?”

“Jesus H; he’s gonna have to give me a few years to come up with an answer for that one.”

Despite every cell in your body urging you to stay away, you’re back in Hawkins. More specifically, you’re in Viv and Jess’s parents’ house, cleaning up after an overall successful baby shower. You’re spooning the leftover food into Tupperware while Jess washes dishes and her girlfriend, Robin, dries and puts them in their respective cabinets.

You’d returned to Grandma’s apartment last night after Jess begged you to come to the shower, lamenting that the party was going to be all of her sister’s lame friends and she needed someone actually fun to hang out with her and Robin. Her insistence, coupled with your desire to finish out the remainder of the school year, is why you’d tossed your suitcases into your sedan and made the trek. Yup, those were the only reasons; certainly nothing to do with–

“Have you talked to Eddie since you got back?”

His name alone brings a surge of emotions, none of which you have the energy to identify. “No,” you mumble, a heat blooming in your cheeks, “he left a message a week ago saying ‘we should talk,’ but I didn’t return it.”

Jess snaps off the faucet, hands still dripping with soapy water as she places them on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “What? Why not?”

“Because.” You try to leave it at that, but her defiant glare obligates you to elaborate. “Because I’m embarrassed!” you admit to Jess and Robin–and to yourself. “The guy practically chased me down the night we met, and now that he got to know me, he doesn’t want to sleep with me? Is my personality that much of a turn-off?” You snap the lid on a plastic container, desperate to end the conversation with your rhetorical question, but your friend keeps going.

“Look, I don’t know him that well–only what I’ve heard from you and Jeff–but he seems to really care about you. Jeff says he hasn’t seen Eddie down this bad, like, ever.” She lowers her voice. “Apparently, some old hookup was coming onto him, and he turned her down because he's, quote, involved with someone.” She raises her eyebrows inquisitively, though you both know that the someone in question is you.

“Wait, hold on–Eddie Munson?” Robin breaks in, nearly dropping the serving spoon in her hand when she makes the connection. “Metalhead, senior year three-peat, alleged Satan-worshiper Eddie Munson?”

“Well, the jury’s out on whether I worship Satan or I actually am Satan, but, yep, that’s me.” The familiar voice from the kitchen doorway startles the three of you; this time, Robin does let the oversized utensil fall to the floor with a clang. 

Nerves send your heartbeat into a frenzy, and you have to rest your open palm on the countertop to steady yourself. Eddie stands before you, tip of his nose tinged red from the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Wh-What are you doing here?” You whisper the words, but you might as well be shouting with the level of anxiety steadily rising in your chest.

Eddie rocks back and forth from the soles of his feet to his toes. “Jeff asked us to help him load the gifts into the car.”

“Us?”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris flings himself into your embrace, and as soon as you stoop down to reciprocate his hug, he’s wrapping his arms and legs around your torso. “I miss you! When are we gonna do the alphabet and eat pizza again?”

Eddie looks over at Jeff; you hadn’t even noticed the other man behind him until Eddie’s gaze drifted over. You watch as the two men exchange a knowing glance, and Jeff quickly speaks up. “Hey, Har,” he motions the boy over to him, “why don’t you use your super strong arms to bring stuff out to the car? I bet you have bigger muscles than me.”

Harris begrudgingly lets go of you, sliding to the floor and dragging his feet to Jeff. He heaves a dramatic sigh and grumbles, “fiiiiiine,” and you and Eddie have to hold back your laughter at his theatrics.

“He is definitely my kid,” Eddie says once Harris has left the room and is out of earshot. He walks closer to you as you turn back to packing up the food. “You, um, never called me back,” he murmurs, placing one hand on either side of you, his chest almost touching your back. Robin and Jess creep out of the kitchen as quietly as possible, leaving you and Eddie alone.

You clear your throat and swallow your fear. “I didn’t have anything to say.” That’s a lie; there was so much you wanted to confide in him, but the thought of him rejecting you again, or getting another glimpse of the hurt you caused reflected in his deep brown eyes, kept you from returning his call.

“Well, I did.” His tone is calm but firm. “I just need to know one thing, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He pauses, gathering up his own courage before speaking again. “That day…why did you ask me to sleep with you?” 

“I told you,” you say, desperately trying to keep your voice from wobbling, “because I needed to feel something.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back and crossing his leather jacket-clad arms over his chest. “No, but why did you ask me? Why didn’t you go to the Hideout and pick up some random dude?” His volume starts to rise, and he clenches his fist and drags it back down as if reminding himself to be quieter. “Was it, like, a convenience thing, or did you really think I’d be okay having sex with you while you were so upset?”

Your heart pangs at his question. It had never even occurred to you that he’d perceive it that way. Were you being selfish? Taking what you felt you needed? Admittedly, yes. But were you asking Eddie specifically because he happened to be there? Absolutely not. “No, Eddie,” you say, forcing yourself to face him, “it’s because…because I knew you’d take care of me. If I wanted to stop or slow down, I knew you’d listen. I trust you.” Speaking the truth aloud is like letting the air out of an overfilled balloon on the cusp of popping. Both you and Eddie visibly relax, easing a tension you hadn’t realized he was also holding. 

The room is quiet for a moment. Eddie’s knee softly bumps against your thigh as he wills himself to close the gap he’d created. “You said something in your message about it never being meaningless. Not even the night we…we met.”

The reminder of your confession floods you with humiliation. You—unsuccessfully—threw yourself at him for sex and then left a message saying that you’ve been clinging to the hope of a relationship since your alcohol-laden first hook-up. How humiliating. 

“I’m sorry if that was weird, but I told Jess that I’ve never been good at one-night stands. I always get too attached.” And it doesn’t help when I have to see the guy and his adorable son twice a day, you think wryly, but you store that anecdote inside. 

Eddie shakes his head, lacing his ringed fingers with your bare ones. The pad of his thumb brushes against the knuckle of yours, both comforting you and zapping electricity through your body. “No, ‘s not weird,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze. “I felt the same way, even if I didn’t realize it. I think that’s why I asked you to stay, why I held you…I’ve never done that before.” He’s sheepish but not ashamed; if he’s being honest, he’s pretty damn proud of himself for admitting it aloud. 

You tilt your chin up knowingly. “Yeah, I heard you shut down a sure thing because of your involvement with someone.”

Your emphasis of that one word has Eddie dropping his head, letting go of one of your hands and covering his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, word spreads around here like it’s the five o’clock news. But, uh, yeah, I did. Turn her down.” His tongue darts out to coat his dry lips. “Not that it’s any of my business, but did you, um, see anyone over the holidays?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head, bracing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. Even though he’s the one holding you, allowing your bodies to intertwine, it’s nerve-wracking to be so vulnerable. You forge ahead, allowing the words to tumble out of your mouth. “I…I only want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat. Want want want. Present tense, not past. “Want, like, present tense? Like you still feel that way?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t reek of desperation for a millisecond before realizing that he doesn’t care, as long as you still want him.

“Is that okay?” Your voice is small, an almost comic contrast from the bravado you used during your last in-person encounter. 

“It’s more than okay, Sweetheart.” Eddie’s whisper matches yours. His thumb ghosts over the plush of your lips as his hand slips to your cheek, bringing his remaining four fingers behind your ears and to the nape of your neck. He leans in, drawing you closer with his tantalizing smoky scent and raw desire. One step in, noses nudging together–

“Daddy, look at me!”

Eddie whips his head around at the sound of Harris’s voice, nearly crashing against yours, and you stumble backwards into the counter, wincing as you make contact with the linoleum. You bite back the string of swear words on your tongue, both at the pain and the missed kiss.

Jeff is panting as he chases after him, bending forward at the waist and resting his palms on his thighs. “I tried to keep him entertained, but I was not prepared for this level of energy,” he huffs, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. His eyes dart between you and Eddie, easily picking up on the guilty looks on your faces. He mouths “sorry” and shrugs, but the moment is already over.

Harris, oblivious to the burgeoning tension in the room, tugs on his dad’s sleeve in a demand for attention. “Daddy, wanna see me lift stuff?” He jumps up and down as he asks, making his words vibrate. “Uncle Jeff says I’m the strongest kid in the world!” He opens his arms the entire length of his wingspan to emphasize his point.

“Uh, y-yeah; sure, bud.” Eddie stammers. He looks over at you and you follow his lead, watching as Harris lifts a box of diapers with a dramatic grunt. When Eddie is sure that his son has fully turned around, he grabs your hand once more and gives it a little squeeze. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Ms. Sweetheart, you watch, too!” Harris insists; so you do, trailing after him all the way to Jeff’s car. Unable to see over the box, he walks it right into the back bumper, and Eddie has to step in and help him.

Once the diapers have been tetris'd into the trunk, Jeff closes the door and slaps it for good measure. “Well, I think that’s everything. Thanks again, Munson…Mini Munson.” He ruffles Harris’s mop of curls with a grin.

Eddie holds out his hand, pulling Jeff in for a hug when he takes it. “Congratulations again, man. I’m really happy for you guys.” And he genuinely is. He can’t wait to see one of his oldest and closest friends experience fatherhood.

He turns to you as Jeff heads back into the house to help Viv to the car. “Did you have anything to eat?” he asks. “I mean, we can go to Benny’s if you want. I was gonna take Harris.” The kid hasn’t had anything since breakfast except the donut, and he’s bound to get cranky sooner rather than later. 

You shake your head. “No, I wasn’t really hungry. But I’m down to split a stack of pancakes with you, if you want?”

“Like you used to do with Grandma?” He remembers you mentioning the tradition during her eulogy. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though his smile quickly falters when he notices the misty film glazing your eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, dabbing at your lash line with the heel of your hand. “Someone really special once told me that it’s okay to be sad, so I’m kind of giving that a shot.”

This time, Eddie’s grin remains. “Is that a ‘yes’ to the pancakes?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” You giggle when Eddie makes a fist and pumps it in celebration. “We usually got blueberry, but I’m down for chocolate chip,” you say, remembering his food preference from your first date.

“Nah, I can get behind blueberry,” he says. What he doesn’t say is that he would eat anchovy pancakes if it meant making you happy. 

“But I want chicken fingers!” Harris scrunches up his nose, and both you and Eddie know that a hungry four-year-old is not to be challenged. 

Eddie scoops Harris up into his arms, smacking a wet kiss to his chubby cheek. One day, his son will wipe them off, but Eddie’s glad that today is not that day. “Then the boy shall have the finest chicken fingers in all of Hawkins!” He declares in a deep voice before winking at you. “More pancakes for me and the pretty lady.”

Harris’s eyes widen. “So you do think she’s pretty–”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Eddie cuts him off. You duck your head as though that will ward off further questioning from Harris, but not before catching a glimpse of Eddie mouthing, “like a princess.”

You can smell the aroma of the deep fryer as soon as you pull into Benny’s parking lot. Since you drove yourself to the shower, you and Eddie take separate cars and meet there. The small diner isn’t overly crowded, and the three of you squeeze into a booth in the back corner. Eddie sits on one side and you on the other; you assume Harris will slide in next to his dad, but he chooses you instead. 

Your waiter introduces himself as Ryan and places three sets of silverware on the table. He starts to hand you the menus, but Eddie politely shakes his head and tells him, “‘S all good, man. We know what we want.” He orders a plate of chicken fingers and fries for Harris and a short stack of blueberry pancakes for you and him. “Y’want anything to drink?” he asks you, and you contemplate for a moment before ordering a hot coffee, and Eddie gets the same.

“I want a coffee, too,” Harris pipes up, flashing his million-watt grin at Ryan, who holds back a laugh and promises that the food will be right out.

 “So, Harris,” you start, taking a small sip from the glass of ice water in front of you, “how was your Christmas? Get anything good?”

“Mhm!” he chirps, swiveling his body to face yours. “I got a bunch of new Hot Wheels and some cool markers for drawing. They smell like fruits!”

“Very different from when I used to sniff markers back in my day,” Eddie jokes, and you kick his foot lightly in an attempt to silently tell him to behave. His eyes twinkle mischievously when you playfully roll yours.

“That sounds awesome!” you exclaim, bringing your attention back to Harris and adding, “I bet Mr. Will would want to see your new markers if you want to swing by my classroom on Monday.”

Harris’s face lights up, and he claps his hands together in jubilance. “Maybe I can draw something for him!”

“He’d love that,” you tell him, and the little boy squeezes his hands into tiny fists and lets out an excited squeal.

Ryan returns a few moments later balancing a plate of chicken fingers in one hand and the pancakes in the other. Your stomach rumbles; you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were presented with food. Eddie peels back the film of one of the small plastic syrup containers, positioning it over the pancakes and cocking his eyebrow to get your approval. You nod, and he tilts and swirls it as you watch it drip down the sugary stack. 

“How was your visit with your family?” He doesn’t refer to it as your visit home, because he hopes that you consider Hawkins your home now. He unfurls his napkin and pulls out the fork and knife, cutting into the stack, and you mirror his actions.

Harris stretches his arm out across you, and you realize he’s reaching for the glass ketchup bottle, so you twist off the cap and plop some onto his plate. He dips a fry into it happily. “About as good as it could be,” you answer Eddie. “Everyone kind of tried to act normal, but it was like they were trying too hard, y’know?”

“Was Grandma there?” Harris asks through a mouthful of fried potato.

You bite your lip, not quite sure what he knows and what Eddie wants him to know. Death is a tricky subject to broach with young kids, and you don’t want to say anything that will confuse or scare him. Luckily, Eddie jumps in and comes to your rescue. “Har Bear, remember I told you that Grandma went to Heaven?” He gently reminds his son. “That’s why you made that nice card for Ms. Sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harris’s expression morphs from inquisitive to concern, even as he chows down on a chicken finger. “Are you still sad?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, more to yourself than to him, “but it gets a little better every day. And being around my favorite guys helps put me in a good mood.”

Eddie presses a syrupy hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “Who, us?” He smiles and spears another cut of pancake with his fork. “How did you know flattery works with me?”

Before you can formulate a response–something teasing but not overly flirtatious–Harris poses a new question: “Ms. Sweetheart, do you have any babies?”

“Harris!” His son’s name comes out sharper than he intends, but Eddie’s too flustered to think twice. He looks at you apologetically, practically crimson from his cheeks to his ears. “Sorry, he hasn’t stopped talking about babies since I told him about the baby shower.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his hand a small squeeze to show that you truly don’t mind Harris’s curiosity. You look at the boy and tell him, “I don’t have any babies, but I consider all of my students to be my babies.”

“Me, too?”

You chuckle and take a sip of coffee. “Of course, you, too!”

There’s a brief silence as you all eat–Eddie steals a fry from Harris’s plate and shoves it in his mouth before he can get caught. While hilarious, his timing couldn’t be worse, because he has no way of stopping Harris’s next statement:

“You and my daddy could have a baby. Because you’re a woman and he’s a man.” It’s matter-of-fact, said while dunking his food in the ketchup pile, as though this is something everyone drops into normal conversation. “That’s how you get a baby in your tummy like Aunt Viv.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter, not wanting to reinforce his inadvertently entertaining assertion.

Eddie is far less amused than you are, nearly choking on his swiped French fry. “Chrissakes…” he hisses, ducking and bringing his fist to his forehead, “Harris, eat your chicken fingers, quietly.” He breathes out with a puff of his cheeks as Harris obliges, completely oblivious to the meaning behind his suggestion. 

A beat of awkward silence ensues as you eat a hunk of pancake, warm blueberry juice seeping into your tongue. Grandma used to joke around and say that the blueberries made it a healthy food. “Practically a fruit salad,” she’d tease with a glint of happiness dancing in her eyes. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is desperate for a subject change. His palms are slick from what he’s like to think is merely embarrassment, but it’s multifaceted. The idea of the three of you sitting in Benny’s just as you are now, only you’re eating for two, has his stomach in knots. And if he even dares to dream about what getting you pregnant entails? He’s a goner.  

“Harris has a birthday coming up,” he blurts out a bit too loudly, unable to control his volume. “He’s turning the big, uh, five.” 

You can feel Harris eagerly kicking his legs next to you, so you match his enthusiasm. “Wow, Har! That’s a whole hand!” You hold up five fingers and Harris does the same, bringing his palm to yours.

“Are you gonna come to my birthday party?” He peers up at you with hopeful eyes, and you’re left scrambling for a response that doesn’t give away that you haven’t exactly been invited.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s going to check her calendar and see,” Eddie offers, and you exhale at his quick save. Turns his attention to you. “His birthday is February 6, but that’s a Thursday, so we’re gonna do his party that Saturday at the bowling alley. Just me, Wayne, and a couple of the kids from school. And you, if you can make it.” Shit, is he rambling? Was that too much information? You spend every day with kids; would you really want to spend a Saturday afternoon at a birthday party surrounded by them?

He’s not overanalyzing for long before you speak. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Do grown-ups get to bowl, too?” You perch your chin on your hand, blinking to emphasize your curiosity. Bowling has never been your forte, but you imagine you’ll fare quite well compared to a group of five-year-olds. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs kindly, letting his arm cross the table so that the back of his fingers can graze your forearm, “that’s a given.”

The three of you head out to your cars—not before you and Eddie argue over who’s going to pay the bill, with you eventually winning the battle. He takes Harris’s right hand as you step off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, and Harris instinctively slips his left into yours. He walks between you and his dad naturally, as though it’s always been this way. Like you all were a little family that made regular outings for pancakes and chicken fingers.

“Har, go get in your car seat, and I’ll be there in a sec to buckle you in,” Eddie says gently, opening the door for him. 

Harris climbs in clumsily, calling back, “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” His farewell ends with a yawn, suggesting that there will be a nap in the near future. 

Eddie closes the door, shoving his hands in his pockets bashfully. It’s one of his nervous quirks, you’ve noticed, and you’re immediately inclined to reassure him about whatever’s on his mind. “Hey, um, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I talked to the people at the school,” he starts, kicking at the gravel under his feet, “and Harris has that evaluation thing on Monday. Would you…”

You don’t even let him finish his request before confirming, “I’ll be there.”

Eddie’s body instantly relaxes, relief flooding through him at your words. “You’re amazing.” He looks around to make sure Harris can’t see before kissing you, lips quickly melding together. He has to pull back before he wants to, before either of you want to, to avoid getting caught. He tastes like coffee and syrup with a hint of berries, though the kiss is too brief to pick up on anything else. A stirring inside you informs you that he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. “See you, Sweetheart.”

Mondays are characteristically exhausting; kids are home for two days on the weekends and return behaving like they’ve never seen a classroom before. Today is no exception, but the coffee Eddie left on your desk this morning certainly helps. He’d tried to sneak in, but you’d caught him, and it took everything in your power not to plant a kiss on his cheek right then and there. Scrawled on the side of the to-go cup in his messy handwriting were three simple words that made your heart soar: For my Sweetheart. 

What you didn’t know was that Eddie had thought about what he’d wanted to write for the entire car ride. Nothing too clingy, but nothing too distant. Not sappy but not brusque. Even the word my between “for” and “Sweetheart” was daunting; how would you feel about being his? 

By the time the afternoon rolls around, neither of you are too concerned with romantic gestures. You and Eddie sit in the hard plastic chairs outside the school psychiatrist’s office. He’s already answered all of her questions, so now it’s simply a matter of waiting for the observation to end. 

You can hear Harris giggling from the other side of the door, and you look over to smile at Eddie, but he either didn’t hear it or his nerves have built up an impenetrable barrier. 

He exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and leaning his head back against the brick wall. It’s a sigh of defeat, not relief, and you lean over and squeeze his hand without a second thought. The edges of his skull ring dig into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. Your only priority is keeping him calm. 

“Hey,” you murmur, crossing one leg over the other. He looks through you, not at you, and you  brush a stray lock of hair from his face to ground him. Once he’s settled, you continue talking. “Everything will be alright. Either he doesn’t have a disability, or we’ll be one step closer to getting him the accommodations he needs.”

Eddie nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses for a beat, struggling to find words that accurately convey his myriad emotions. Besides anxiety about the unknown path that lays before him and Harris, guilt gnaws at him for his past misgivings. The careless sex with Harris’s mom, the stupid fucking tour that he just had to go on while she was pregnant, the blissful ignorance that he could have his cake and eat it, too. “I hate that he can’t learn, like, normally. Like the other kids.”

Your instinct is to tell him that Harris doesn’t need to be like the other kids, that he’s perfectly and unequivocally himself, but that’s not what Eddie needs right now. 

“It’s tough,” you agree, “but Harris is a great kid with big dreams, and he’s not going to let anything stop him. All we have to do is support him along the way.”

Eddie ponders that for a moment, slightly amused at the accuracy of your statement, given what you don’t know. Beyond reading and math–both of which he’s shown improvements in since you’ve begun your tutoring sessions–Harris refuses to give up on his quest to get you and Eddie together. The hand-holding drawing was only the tip of the iceberg; Wayne’s since reported that the boy has asked multiple times about when “Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart will fall in love.” And, of course, he hasn’t stopped talking about your Saturday afternoon diner date, constantly badgering Eddie about whether or not you two were married yet.

Eddie rests his head on your shoulder, curly tendrils tickling your collarbones. All you want is to let him stay there as long as he needs, even if your legs fall asleep, but the nagging thoughts of passersby’s perceptions triumph over your desires. 

“Eddie, I…” you trail off, gently lifting your shoulder so he’ll get the hint without you having to say it aloud. Self-consciousness pinkens his cheeks as he sits up, adjusting his posture and mumbling a soft “sorry” under his breath.

“S’fine,” you rush to reassure him, praying that he doesn’t misconstrue your professionalism with shame of being seen with him. You would comfort any of your students’ parents in times of distress, but let’s face it–you would never snuggle up to Jason Carver or Carol Perkins. “Just don’t wanna be accused of canoodling on the job,” 

He lifts his eyebrows. “Canoodling?”

“It’s a word!”

“You’re the one with the fancy college degree, so I guess I gotta believe you.” 

You giggle softly, brushing his Reeboks with your flats. “Seriously, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. The words replay like an enchanting melody. You’ve got him. You’ve got him, and you’ll have him as long as he vows to hold on.

“Mr. Munson?” 

Eddie’s attention snaps to Ms. Cassie, the school psychologist. Harris darts from her office, a giant smile on his face as he leaps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, we played games! It was lotsa fun!”

“That’s great, Har Bear,” Eddie murmurs into Harris’s scalp. He looks up at Ms. Cassie expectantly. “How did everything go?” Is my son okay? Is there something wrong with him? Is it my fault? He doesn’t dare pose those questions.

The psychologist offers a smile, lacing her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Like Harris said, we had a great time. I’d like to speak with you briefly…” her gaze flits over to the hallway. “Is there someone who could keep an eye on Harris while we talk?”

Eddie’s heart sinks; privately, perhaps naively, he’d been wishing that there wouldn’t be anything else to discuss. Maybe a chipper, everything’s fine; he’ll catch up to the other kids on his own! But nothing so serious that it required an additional meeting.

“My TA can,” you pipe up, remembering that Will had stayed back to prepare an art project for tomorrow morning. Eddie puts Harris down, watching as you take his chubby hand in yours and make your way to your classroom. 

Ms. Cassie starts to wave Eddie into his office, but he shakes his head. “Wanna wait for her to get back,” he tells her, and she nods understandingly. As soon as you return, the two of you take a seat in front of her desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in piles across the top of it, and framed diplomas line the walls. Board games sit on the shelves, and Eddie can’t help but wonder which ones Harris played this afternoon.

“I want to start off by saying that Harris is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Ms. Cassie says. Her tone is even and patient, which makes Eddie more anxious. He wants to jump up and demand that she spill the bad news already, but he bites his thumbnail to calm his nerves. You notice the gesture immediately and inconspicuously grab the hand closest to yours, hiding your display of affection below the desk. Eddie grips so tightly that you have to actively suppress a grimace.

“The evaluation indicates that Harris meets the requirements to be classified as a ‘preschooler with a disability,’” she continues, “and as a result, he qualifies for special education services–”

“What the hell does that mean?” You wince at the vitriol in Eddie’s voice, and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. It brings him back down enough for him to clear his throat and apologize, but you can sense that he’s still on-edge.

“That’s alright, Mr. Munson. You’re not the first parent to react that way, and I’m positive you won’t be the last.” She taps a small pile of papers on her desk to even them out before handing them to him. “The classification means that he will get an Individualized Education Program–IEP for short–that will help us target goals for Harris to make progress alongside his peers.”

Ms. Cassie drones on about short-term and long-term objectives, but Eddie can’t focus on what she’s saying. Preschooler with a disability. My son has a disability because I left, because I wasn’t there, because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It’s all my fault. My fault my fault my fault–

“Eddie,” you whisper, but it’s no use. You watch as his ribcage expands and contracts faster with manic breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation. You shoot the psychologist an apologetic glance and pull Eddie from the office before he can launch into a full-blown panic attack. His body is like a ragdoll, and he trails behind you mechanically; if you let go of his hand, he’d probably stop dead in his tracks.

“Baby,” you say, bringing him to an empty classroom. The nickname rolls off your tongue easily despite technically being in your place of work. “Baby, it’s just you and me right now. You’re okay–”

“Harris–disability–my fault.” His words are low and gravelly, but you hear them without having to strain. They’re similar to the sentiments he’d uttered that day at parent-teacher conferences when he’d unexpectedly showed up at your door.

There’s no use trying to convince him otherwise, not when he’s like this, so you try a different approach. “I can talk to Ms. Cassie about rescheduling the meeting. We don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He nods, just a miniscule bob of his head, but it tells you that he’s cognizant enough to comprehend what you’re telling him. “In the meantime, why don’t you go see Harris? I bet he’s drawing something for you.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Y-Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t move; instead, he brings you closer to him and holds you to his chest so close that you can hear his heart beating. His body shakes, but it’s not until you feel a warm teardrop fall from his face onto the top of your head that you realize he’s crying. You wrap your arms around his lithe waist until you feel him begin to steady, staggered breaths becoming fuller. 

Wiping the tear trails from his cheeks carefully, you press a tiny kiss to his nose. “Wash your face and go to my classroom. I’ll meet you there.”

“‘Kay,” he manages, wishing he had the means to express his gratitude for your words, your presence, you. 

When he gets to your classroom, Harris is furiously scribbling on a piece of construction paper with his new markers. Eddie smiles, leaning against the door until Will spots him.

“Harris, your dad’s here!” he announces, and Harris looks up excitedly.

“Daddy!” he exclaims. “I’m almost done with my picture, hold on!” He grabs a blue marker and uncaps it, marking the paper with concentrated dots. He replaces the cover and slides the marker back into the yellow-and-green box. 

He’s always so diligent with his art supplies, Eddie notes.

“Ta-da!” Harris spins the drawing so his dad can see. There’s three people–you, Eddie, and Harris. You’re standing around a large purple rectangle with a line coming out of each corner, which Eddie recognizes as a table. There’s a circle representing the plate of chicken fingers in front of Drawing Harris, and a circle between Drawing You and Drawing Eddie with blueberry pancakes. Just like on Halloween, he’s drawn a smile on everyone’s faces.

“He’s really good,” Will says, and Eddie looks at him in amusement. “Seriously, he is. He’s got great spatial awareness when he draws, which most kids don’t develop until later. And he’s got an eye for detail,” he adds, pointing to the blue dots on the pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a little artist.”

An artist. Not a failure, not incapable, but an artist. A boy who could grow up and inspire the world with his creativity.

“I love it,” Eddie says finally, reaching out to take the drawing. He frowns when Harris snatches it back.

“This one is for Ms. Sweetheart,” he explains exasperatedly, as though this is something he’s had to repeat multiple times. “We already have one at home, Daddy. Renember?” His pout quickly becomes a grin when he sees you enter the room. “Ms. Sweetheart, I drawed this for you!”

“I love it!” You inadvertently echo Eddie’s statement as you hold the paper to your heart. “This is gonna go on the kitchen wall so you can see it when you come over for tutoring.” You turn to Eddie, eyes warm with understanding. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “Kinda sad, kinda mad, kinda relieved that there’s an answer.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheeks. “‘M just…really glad I don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You and Harris.”

Eddie’s curls bob up and down as he slowly nods. “Speaking of which, um, you said something about tutoring him? Are you feeling up to it? I can bring pizza—o-or not, if it makes you sad. We could do Chinese or something—”

“Eddie?”

“Ya?”

You look down at the drawing of your little chosen family at Benny’s. It’s certainly different from the times you went with Grandma, but you’re filled with the same feeling of belonging that you’d felt then.

“Extra olives for me, please.”

--

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[molotovmetro]

The 141 + König with a s/o who goes non-verbal

Tiny disclaimer: im autistic and have moments of being non verbal during breakdowns etc, so this is based mostly off of my own experience, but if anyone feels like ive said inaccurate or offensive things, please let me know as that would never be my intention. The way I've written this suggests this is a negative feeling (, since thats how i experience it) but I understand that might not be the same for everyone. For some people this might just be a daily or

Requested by @apocalypticseagull

Warnings: mentions of stress and the slightest hint at possible injury, besides that nothing I can think of

M!reader

Ghost

Ghost relates to you. While he wouldn't claim his experience is the same, he gets moments of overstimulation where he wants everyone to leave him alone, and will just stop reacting to people.

When he feels like this, he prefers to sit in his room, either completely in the dark or with only a small lamp on, and have as little noise around him as possible.

If you're in a stress situation, not knowing what else to do to help you, that's what he'll resort to.

He'll take you into either his room or yours, whichever you would prefer, and holds you while letting you get away from all the triggers for a bit. Unless you're dealing with life or death situations, whatever work you have left for the day can wait. Your wellbeing always comes first.

Soap

Soap is a lot more observant than people give him credit for. He's the king of avoiding stressful situations for you whenever he can.

But alas, he can't avoid it every time. Whether you start saying less and less as the minutes go on, or just stop talking suddenly, he notices immediately.

Not that he'd be quick to admit it, but he's got a written list of everything you like, even if it's just something you mentioned in passing. He absutely will use this list to do whatever he can to make you smile and relieve some of your stress.

He'll make sure to find a way to still communicate that both of you are comfortable with. He'll happily lend you his journal to write in, or he'll ask Roach for some lessons in sign language. He'd break his back bending over backwards to make you comfortable if he had to.

Gaz

No matter how often it happens, Gaz still feels a jolt of panic whenever you don't respond over coms when you're on a mission. He almost sags in relief as soon as he hears you hum, or even just hears the crackly static of you pushing your radio's button.

He knows you're a talented soldier and you're more than capable of handling yourself, he still prefers to be near you at all times. What if something happens and you can't tell him? You could be in trouble without him even knowing. He'll, just knowing you're stressed is making him want to reach for you.

He likes his job, likes helping people and ridding the world of danger, but his favourite part of every mission is when you're sitting in the exfil helo after a good mission, and you give him that wide smile he's been waiting hours, if not days to see.

Price

You and Price have been working together for so long, you both know the drill. When he starts to notice you going quiet, he makes sure he only asks yes or no questions. On your side; one click of your radio button for no, two for yes. Throw in some improvised morse code when necessary, and you've got a solid communications system.

Having this system is also a huge bonus during stealth missions, when he can't talk freely without risking being spotted.

He loves hearing your voice, but he doesn't treat you any differently when you can't talk. He'll support you in whatever way you need, without making it feel like he's babying you.

The two of you are a well oiled machine. No matter how stressful the situation, usually you can tell what the other one is thinking just by looking at them. You know you both have each other's back, verbal communication or not.

König

König doesn't mean to make a big deal out of it, and he won't if you don't, but he does worry.

After a situation like that happens once, he commits everything that helps you to his memory, and uses the knowledge to help you the next time it happens.

Even down to the tiniest detail, he'll remember. If you don't like a certain texture or can only stand a certain flavour of drink during moments like this, he's making sure you have everything you need and are as comfortable as possible. Whatever is stressing you will be dealt with by him while you're resting and calming down.

If you want to be alone, he understands and respects that, and gives you the space you need. But if you don't, there's nowhere he'd rather be than by your side.

[miniar]

Volcanic eruption on the edge of town in Iceland

January 14th update.

Early this morning a crack opened up in the earth and lava started to spill out. This wasn't entirely unexpected but it's placement is the worst case scenario for a lot of people.

You, like the people who live in Grindavík, can watch the slow flow of molten earth towards the town live, on webcams that cover the area from a few angles, on either of these two links. Remember, these are people's homes, so, while bearing witness to nature's wrath is something we may want to do, know you're doing it along side the very people whose homes those are. Don't be a ghoul. Link 1 - Icelandic national broadcast

Link 2 - Morgunblaðið

Now let me go back a couple of days and cover some preamble.

A group of people have been working hard, building a low protective wall (think sandbagging but for lava, not water) and trying to fill in the massive crack in the earth in the Icelandic town of Grindavík when one of them went missing. His tools were spotted down the crack, but after a few days of searching, the authorities gave up on finding him. He's presumed dead, swallowed whole by the earth. This is the first death associated with the situation.

When the crack opened this morning it opened across the protective barrier they had been working on. Some effort was made to try and get the expensive machinery out, making several people watching on live feeds very very nervous, as the lava started running on both sides of this little barrier. A clear black split in the bright red heat of molten rock in the dark winter morning. No machines and no (more) workers were lost, but fear rose quickly. If the lava split the barrier then what of the town?

Before the question could even be asked "officially" enough to start formulating a swift answer, a second smaller tear in the earth opened on the town's side of the wall, far closer to the nearest street, the nearest home, than the previous larger crack.

People who had been struck with fear and a panicked hope that Something could be done to protect their homes watched as that hope was swiftly set ablaze.

The search for the missing man stopped just the day before yesterday, so this has been very quick, and while the previous situation was marked with repeated and intense earthquakes and a tiny spillage of lava that lasted less than a day, this was almost gentle. People didn't get a buildup of warning as pressure rose and the ground readied itself to spill forth it's contents, not the way they did before. It seems the pressure release of December just wasn't enough for a notable difference. The town of Grindavík stands empty right now. No one is in there, waiting for the slow flowing doom. But these are still people's homes. Everyone's been evacuated, but almost everyone had been hoping, and had begun waiting, to go HOME. They are watching this now. Wondering if their home will even exist tomorrow.

This is expected to be the worst volcanic event in Iceland since the eruption in Heimaey where a large portion of the settlement was entirely lost.

We rebuilt then and odds are we'll rebuild now, but everyone who's ever lost anything close to this degree knows that no matter how well you rebuild, no matter what well you replace what you've lost, what's lost is still Lost.

So, be kind, don't be a ghoul, and maybe take the moment to respect the fierce power of the earth we all have such tendency to take for granted, and be reminded of how even in places of peace, human life both physical and metaphorical, is so very, very, very fragile, that we should be treating it gently and not as disposable.

And if you want to donate to help the people of Grindavík, I suggest you donate to help the people of Palestine instead, or to a Transgender charity, or to any other people who are face man-made horrors instead. Your kindness is wonderful, but while this is a fucking disaster, it's one Iceland's familiar with, and it's only natural. You can't counterbalance mother earth, but you can counterbalance your fellow man.

[dancing-with-the-madmen]

The Massive Aggression of Calico Jack, redux

Several kind souls have complained brought it to my attention that my failure to use cut tags is, in fact, not optimal. I don't have any good reason that I don't use cuts - mostly I'm just throwing these thoughts out here so they don't endlessly rattle around my brain. Frankly, I'm endlessly astonished anyone but me can be arsed to bother wading through them at all. So, after a truly epic tantrum thoughtful consideration, I've decided to edit my longer posts to add cuts. If you've already read them, (may endless blessings rain down upon you) there's no new content (vile lies and calumny. I'm going to take this opportunity to fix errors and add a line here or there, but nothing major). Just making it more scroll-friendly. You'll know it when you see the word "redux" in the title. So without further ado...

I’ve been trying for a while to put my finger on exactly what it is about Our Flag Means Death's Calico Jack that makes me want to crawl out of my skin and smother him to death with my own abandoned ecdysis.

I mean, I normally love me a spurned admirer/cock-blocking ex. Romantic comedies have their beats, and there’s obviously no serious danger the love interest will end up with anyone other than their intended, so I may as well sit back and enjoy the machinations. After all, the course of true love never did run smooth, and these bitches are here to rough some shit up for sure. I also love Will Arnett. Hands down favorite recurring character on 30 Rock. The second best Batman after TAS (fight me). I can even cheerfully bear his Reese’s commercials if I must bear commercials at all.

Real-life Calico Jack? One of my v. favorite pirates. He wore floral-printed cotton from India as a fuck you to the British tax man. He had an affair with Anne Bonny and offered to purchase her divorce when her husband found out. The two ran away together into piracy when Bonny’s husband refused to quit her and had her whipped for her infidelity. Mary Read was part of Jack and Anne’s crew, and possibly their lover. We love a hopeless romantic, possibly polyamorous king. 

So what is it about OFMD Calico Jack that makes him so acutely punchable?

I’ve rewatched the episode several times (oh my v. dears, I really hope this write-up is worth it. I am SO BRAVE to subject myself to this), and I think I’ve finally got it. It’s not just that he’s a loud, vulgar, hectoring, drunken jackass of a bird-murderer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have as little patience for his brand of mindless destruction and violence-for-violence-sake as Stede does, but that’s not all.  It’s that he’s also a master of passive aggression.

Jack does the little whisper-y “Sorry! Sorry!” when Stede wants to know what’s with all the cannon fire, but immediately starts grinning like an unrepentant varlet as soon as he drops his hands.

And then accepts Stede’s introductory handshake with clear derision.

When Stede says he wasn’t expecting guests and there’s only two settings at brekkie, Jack doesn’t wait for Stede to sort things out, and he’s already lowering himself into Stede’s chair by the time Stede invites him to take his spot. He then purposefully keeps steering the conversation to topics that exclude Stede from participating, and cuts Stede short when he tries to reign the conversation back.

He insinuates Stede is less of a pirate for being “store bought”

He refuses to get Stede’s name right, even when corrected. Twice.

And is just SO insincere when calling him back.

And, just, the whole pissing contest scene.

But so what? We’ve had other passive aggressive assholes on the show; Badminton with his cracks about Stede’s tiny dick ship, the French captain’s slurs, Gabriel simpering about Jeff the Accountant’s dining manners. I’m not shedding any tears for their respective fates, but none of them made me want to crawl through the screen and sew all their face holes shut. Because Jack isn’t just passive-aggressive (and aggressive-aggressive), he might just be the most savvy reader-of-rooms we see on the show, and purposefully and systematically leverages his passive aggression to manipulate the actions of those around him for the purpose of making Ed and Stede betray their better selves and make them do the work of driving a wedge between themselves.   That was a lot in one sentence.  Let me break it down.

Jack uses passive aggression to achieve one of four goals: to nettle, to undermine, (seemingly paradoxically) to reinforce connections, or to coerce. And, if he can manage to achieve different goals for more than one target with the same attack? So much the better. And he’s frankly just astonishingly good at doing so. Like, I’d admire him for it if it didn’t also make me want to make him swallow all of his own teeth.

The basic gameplan goes thusly (this is not a strictly chronological list, a lot of these tactics take place concurrently and recurrently): Stede is the primary target, so Jack nettles him with passive aggressive comments, which puts him on the back foot and undermines his self-confidence. He reinforces his relationship with Ed in ways that excludes Stede and undermines Stede’s relationship with Ed and Ed’s relationship with Stede. Jack uses coercive tactics with Ed and the crew, which undermines Stede’s relationships with them, isolating and othering Stede, which further tanks his mood, which leads him to self-isolate. When Stede eventually lashes out at Ed for falling for Jack’s bullshit, Ed has no idea what’s got Stede so out-of-sorts; Jack has so carefully lead Ed to making the choices that have alienated Stede that they seem like they were Ed’s ideas in the first place. And if Ed has made the choices to do these things, then they are clearly just a reflection of who he is, which, if Stede is lashing out against them, then Stede is rejecting him. Wedge set and match.

So let’s look at the specifics.

Jack’s interactions with Ed are like a masterclass in neurolinguistic programming for evil. First, he plys Ed with booze from the very start. Just look at the bottle in this shot from right after they blow up the dresser drawer.

That bottle or rum is over half gone, and the sky in the background is the peachy-pink of sunrise. This isn’t the bottle Jack had with him in his dinghy; that one he drained and then threw in the air and tried to shoot before coming aboard the Revenge. Which means that they’ve consumed over half the bottle between just the two of them in a very short amount of time.   Alcohol, of course, is a social lubricant - the physical warmth it produces mimicking the “warm, fuzzy” feeling of true comradery, and, more importantly, decoupling the decision-making process from inhibition (that is to say, Ed isn’t necessarily doing anything he absolutely wouldn’t otherwise do, but he might otherwise think twice).

But it’s more insidious than just having a few drinks with an old friend. Jack specifically gamifies the consumption of alcohol to reinforce the coupling of the feeling of inebriation with the comradery engendered by teamwork and excitement of success in order to encourage Ed to drink more than he necessarily otherwise would. Ed confirms to Stede during his apology that the idea to use the drawers of the armoire for target practice came from Jack, and we saw that a bullseye meant that Jack had to take a drink, but Ed didn’t. Presumably, there would have been some consequence for a “miss”, and it seems likely that it would be Ed has to take a drink and not Jack. In this way, Jack is able to exert a measure of control over how much Ed is drinking (by missing on purpose) while making it look like the responsibility lies with Ed and his skill as a thrower. This pattern of sneakily controlling Ed’s actions while making it seem like Ed is the one who made or is responsible for the decision will pop up again and again during their interactions.

After the apologies for waking Stede, Jack steps into the space where Ed is gesticulating to make himself readily available to be touched, reenforcing the bond between them, but letting Ed be the one to instigate the touching.

At brekkie, he pours rum into Ed’s teacup without asking or being asked while Ed’s attention is diverted by getting food.

Jack’s collaring of the conversation does not just function as a means of making Stede feel excluded, he’s also refreshing and reinforcing the bonds he and Ed forged under adversity. Talking over Stede also demonstrates that what he has to say is more important than anything Stede might contribute.

Note that just before Jack cut him off, Stede had referred to Ed as Blackbeard (“Blackbeard and I met on a ship”). This may be innocently explained away; if you meet a person from a facet of a close friend’s life with which you do not intersect, you might refer to said friend by their given name instead of a nickname that the other person might not know, for the sake of common frame of reference. But this is the opposite of that - referring to a friend by a nickname instead of the given name that you both presumably know. That suggests to me that the seed of the Ed/Blackbeard dichotomy has already been planted in Stede’s mind by the morning’s shenanigans. And when Jack invites Stede back into participating in the conversation by talking about something he knows Stede would find upsetting (the wanton cruelty of Ed purposefully trapping people to be burned alive, couched in what sounds like sincere admiration for his friend’s piratical prowess), Jack has picked up on that distinction and is leaning into it HARD. He WANTS Stede to see Ed as a collection of behaviors he finds palatable, and Blackbeard as a collection of behaviors he finds repulsive, and then coerce Ed into performing those “Blackbeard behaviors” in order to coerce Stede to drive the wedge by rejecting him. Fucking diabolical.

When Jack is calling Stede a “big girl,” or “store-bought,” or purposefully getting his name wrong, he’s not just throwing barbs that play on Stede’s insecurities (and with such harrowing precision, too; calling on the effeminacy for which he was tormented as a child, his body image issues that we’ve also seen him struggle with under the tender mercies of Badminton - both brain-ghost and original flavor - and the authenticity of his claim to piracy, which we’ve seen him confess that he fears he’s ill-qualified to claim to Jim, Oluande, and Ed. I mean,triple bullseye for this fucking guy). He’s also using these public declarations to undermine Stede’s authority in front of his crew, and establish himself as the real authority on things like piracy and masculinity. He further reinforces this idea by withholding the story of how he saved Ed’s life under the guise of false modesty; people never want something more than when they’re told they can’t have it. And what they’re being told they can’t have is the story of how Jack was so amazing that he even managed to save the life of the coolest, most legendary pirate they know. This withholding primes the crew to think even more highly of Jack and hang on his every word.

This puts Jack into a position where he can pressure the crew into things that sound fun at first blush (like diving off the yardarm or having a snowball fight, but with coconuts), but end up hurting more than anything. Of course, within this dynamic, no one wants to admit they aren’t having a good time, or don’t want to do it; to do so would be tantamount to admitting you are less of a man or not a real pirate. So when Stede refuses to participate, or admits his discomfort or disgust with the proceedings, he’s doing Jack’s work for him, and further alienating himself, and solidifying the roles Jack had put into place where Jack is the fun, cool guy, and Stede is the killjoy that no one should listen to.

Stede unwittingly plays right into Jack’s design when he tries to stand up for himself and wrest back a modicum of respect before things get too far out of hand. He’s well-versed in the world of passive aggression, and sees what Jack is doing. He also knows that you can’t call it out because passive aggression comes with a built in cover of plausible deniability gaslighting. So instead, he tries to push back with a little passive aggression of his own, suggesting that a real pirate has a ship and a crew. Sadly, Stede is not nearly so adroit at wielding passive aggression as Jack is. Jack uses the story (and we know that Izzy sent him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole mutiny thing is just a story; I could even easily read that slight hesitation after Stede asks his question as Jack deciding on what would be the most effective cover story, instead of hesitancy to admit to something shameful) of his crew’s mutiny to casually re-sow the idea of mutiny on the Revenge. It’s played for comedy when the crew starts talking about how they almost mutinied on Stede and probably will again, but you can’t tell me this hasn’t been a major concern for Stede ever since the first episode. So Jack’s not only got the crew trying to buoy his spirits by assuring him that his crew mutinying on his doesn’t mean he’s a bad person; it’s just something that happens! He’s also got them low-key committing to a future mutiny WITHIN EARSHOT OF STEDE.

Additionally, while Stede is well-steeped in the ways of passive aggression, his crew and Ed are not. They are not particularly sophisticated at identifying passive aggression on its own merits as opposed to the reaction it provokes, which can make it look like they don’t care when it’s being leveraged against Stede, undermining his ability to trust they will look out for him. Stede stoically putting up with Jack’s jibes makes them even more difficult to identify as hurtful. Jack’s (fake) emotional reaction to Stede’s sally might make him look momentarily weak, but allows Ed and the crew to unequivocally identify who is in the wrong and react accordingly. By positioning himself as a victim, he villainizes Stede, further undermining Stede’s authority, and placing him in a position where he owes Jack recompense. Thus, Jack is able to manipulate Stede into the trap of Dead Man’s Cove and make it look like it was Stede’s own idea. I mean, the Xanatos Speed Chess of it all.

What’s heartbreaking to me is how Jack’s wedge-driving and othering of Stede is working so well that at this point we start to hear it from other sources. As they approach the island and Stede suggests going for a swim or taking a nature walk, Ed is the one who tells him, “I think with this crowd, I think they want something a little more…” Not Jack would want something more exciting, this crowd. Jack’s exclusionary rhetoric out of Ed’s mouth.

Which is exactly the time Jack decides to up the ante.

I want to take a minute to look at the immediate lead up to yardies, because I think it’s an excellent illustration of how Jack looks like a lumbering boor, but his actions are actually so carefully considered and nuanced. He runs up from behind Stede and Ed and throws his arms around them shouting “Yardies!” literally insinuating himself between them, which interrupts anything that was going on between them, puts them off balance, and focuses the attention on him. Then, when he says “Who’s up for yardies?” he makes eye-contact with Ed - the implicit social expectation being “You, Ed, are up for yardies.” When he turns to Stede, it is to literally laugh in his face. I mean, the absolute cheek.

Until this point, the crew of the Revenge have been passive participants in Jack’s hooliganry. They watched him perform whippies, and got whipped at without encouraging him to do so. They listened to his and Ed’s stories. But now Jack is cashing in on his established expertise of what real pirates do to coerce the crew into taking part in a dangerous stunt. It’s more of the “Blackbeard behavior” dichotomy he started sowing in Stede’s mind at brekkie, but now he’s extending it beyond Ed to the whole crew. He wants Stede to feel like he’s all alone in a sea of idiocy, but he wants him to come to the conclusion on his own by making it seem like Ed and the crew are doing things of which he would disapprove of their own accord.

Once we get to the island, we see the activities take a turn from the careless Jackass-ery of whippies and yardies to the abject cruelty of turtle vs. crab. There’s no saying that Jack organized the fight, but we do see the crew handing him various trinkets to be used in gambling on a winner, which certainly suggests he was the central figure in how the game was established. We also see that, though he has been presenting himself as a drunkard, there’s no bottle in his hand or around him in the sand. There is, however, one in Ed’s hand, who is directly to his side. I can easily see him handing it off so he could handle the gambling stakes, the real intention being to keep Ed readily supplied with booze.

And then we have the pissing contest. Jack’s got Stede literally and metaphorically isolated, and now it’s time to really drive it all home. Every moment of their interaction is designed to drive Stede to distraction; the amount of derision he lays on the phrase “Your good, close buddy,” the insinuation that he and Ed are just alike, and then being as rude and crass as possible. And because he’s read the room - the intimate breakfast for two, Ed’s little touches and the way Stede smiles at them, the way they keep going off together for little chats - of course Jack’s just got to twist the knife and allude to his and Ed’s former sexual history. So now that he’s got Stede primed, it’s time to name the fear: “Maybe you don’t know him at all.”

At this point, Stede is left to wonder: does he? Blackbeard’s reputation preceded him, after all. And he’s been acting so differently since the appearance of one of his oldest friends. It’s not the violence qua violence, per se; Stede is by turns delighted and impressed by the violence he’s seen Ed and his crew employ in the heat of battle in the pursuit of piracy. It’s the cruel and senseless violence that Stede objects to, and that’s exactly the brand that Jack has been peddling, and which Ed has gone along with so enthusiastically. And it’s not JUST the violence; Ed apologizes for Jack when he recognizes Jack has crossed a line in a typically agro way (destroying Stede’s belongings, and insulting Stede to his face), but it never occurs to Stede that his insistence on persevering with quietly aggrieved dignity in the face of Jack’s slights would make it nigh impossible for Ed to identify that Jack has crossed all sorts of other lines, and Stede is hurting because of it. For Stede, it must be frustrating and mystifying why Ed keeps letting his friend get away with his passive aggressive bullshit. Doesn’t he care? 

Is it any wonder that one more failure to notice how Jack has riled him, and one more act of coconut-flavored Jackass-ary is enough to break the dam, and for Stede to spill all that built-up hurt on Ed?  Is it any wonder that Ed is bewildered at where all this is coming from? I’ve talked before about Ed’s tendency to fawn on people, and how, as an emotional chameleon, he would have difficulty identifying when the motivation for his actions is self-directed or externally dictated. Jack has further confounded this distinction by manipulating scenarios to make it seem like participation in all the Jackass-ary he has instigated was voluntary instead of coerced. When Stede says “I don’t like who you are around  this guy” what he means is “I don’t like how this guy is able to manipulate you into acting on your very worst impulses”, but what Ed hears is “I don’t like you”. For who is he, if not the collection of behaviors he chooses to exhibit? And were those choices not entirely his to make? With the rift clearly established, if in its infancy, of course Jack is going to do everything he can to foster its growth. So again, he interrupts Stede, again implicitly signaling that Ed should pay attention to what he says and not Stede. By lobbing the coconut at Ed at that moment, he forestalls any possible clearing of the air between Ed and Stede, and causes Ed to literally turn his back on Stede, in the way Ed feels Stede has emotionally turned his back on him just moments earlier. Jack reinforces this idea of turning his back on Stede again moments later when he says “Don’t go!” and immediately turns Ed around by the shoulders.

I know that I’ve been laying it on a bit thick and prolly sound like the written embodiment of the red string conspiracy meme, but I’m about to get a whole lot worse, and I’m going to ask you to stick with me, oh my v. dears. I think Jack killed Karl on purpose.

I know, I know. It was an accident! He was flailing drunkenly! But was he?

Have we seen him take so much as a single drink since the cannon fire at the beginning of the episode? Even though he’d been drinking earlier, did he not have devastating precision and accuracy when he first demonstrated Whippies - shattering every glass, snapping the cards from the Swede’s fingers, and ball-tapping Ed without permanently maiming him or even splitting the leather of his pants? In fact, while nearly every other crew member on the deck has a bottle in hand, just like on the beach, Jack does not.

Jack knows he has to get Ed off the ship before the British show up, but he can’t just say “Let’s ditch these losers” and expect Ed to agree, especially since he’s spent most of the day roping the crew into his schemes. The most effective way to get Ed to follow is if Jack is rejected for just being himself and doing what he does, just like Ed feels he was earlier by Stede. I think the original plan was to goad Olu into seriously hurting the Swede, the fallout of which would be recriminations that Jack made them do it, and Jack getting aggrieved that he was just trying to show this ungrateful lot how to have a good time, skulking off and leading Ed to follow him and reassure him that he’s really a good guy - how could he have known it would turn out like that? But when Buttons calls a halt to the proceedings and it looks like everyone is going to pack it in, Jack has to think fast. If HE maims a crew mate, that would be a bridge too far, painting him as the bad guy. But Karl? He’s just a bird. And if Jack can get a little revenge on the weird bird guy who made him change his plan, so much the better. AND, as people with far fewer auditory processing issues than I have pointed out, Jack mutters that he expected there to be more feathers. Could the evidence be any more damning?

Of course the whole ship turns on him, and then here’s Stede to order him off, explicitly rejecting him the way he metaphorically rejected Ed. But when even that isn’t enough to get Ed to follow him, Jack pulls out one last, desperate manipulation - the debt of life.

Jack’s tragic flaw is that he can’t turn it off. Once he and Ed are alone, he turns his passive aggressive assault on Ed, pressuring him into drinking the morning away by sarcastically saying he didn’t know he had an audience with the pope when Ed expresses disinterest, and, ultimately, giving up the game when he mentions with casual derision how he’d heard of Ed shaking up with Stede, and then deriding Ed for his failure to spot Jack’s machinations.

Too bad Jack didn’t know that the punishment for passive-aggressive fuckery on this show is death…

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 20 - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

📜 Everyone wants Jake's reaction to Liz's risky photo. 👀😂Well, you got it... and something else... Let me put it this way: I have to take my chance where I can....

❗+18, sexual themes, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child character, deployments, letters, verbal fights, hurricanes, near-death experiences, angst, Don't read if you have Thalassophobia/Aquaphobia cause Jake and Bradley... well, you'll find out, intense moments of peril/disaster.

#7.4k words

Part 19 | Masterlist | Part 21

Hangman could hear his breath, the mechanical exhale and hiss, through his oxygen mask as he finally set his eyes on the carrier alone out at sea.

The tension in his shoulders released, and the weight that had been pressing him down since he and Rooster launched this morning lifted slightly.

"Rooster, where are you?"

"Right behind you, Hangman," came his crackled tense reply.

The attack on the facility had been gruesome and extremely time-sensitive. They only had a few seconds to spare in reaching their destination should there have been any reason for a delay. It was one of the few things he had worried about when they were being briefed, worried if the same ghost that had haunted Rooster on the uranium mission would resurface yet again.

Thankfully, it didn't, and the pair of them managed to get to the target well on time, just to take down two enemy fighter jets before they had even managed to get above the hard deck line.

It might have helped the attack happened right around dawn when nobody was least expecting it—three weeks at sea for an hour in the sky. And the worst of what they thought would happen and what they had prepared for didn't.

You and Sadie had been with him the entire time, your polaroids pinned in his cockpit near the control panel. They were the same ones he had before, the one Sadie took of you and the other of Sadie standing in front of the F-18. 

He was looking at them now, between you, Sadie and his navigational beacon, knowing that the second his wheels hit the upper deck, he'd be that much closer to going home.

Hangman was cleared to land, his radio buzzing with the familiar voice of the control tower as he approached the tiny runway. He adjusted the F-18's flaps, feeling the jet respond instantly beneath him, knowing it wasn't over yet, not until both he and Rooster were safely on board.

He took a steadying breath, the sound echoing in his mask as he said to himself in his head, 'Make it perfect. For them."

The back wheels touched down flawlessly, catching the arresting wire with a strong tug. Jake felt himself being pulled forward out of his seat, the straps of his harness tight on his chest. But the second his back hit the chair, he finally felt like he could breathe. The weight on his chest dissipated, and Jake couldn't help the smug grin.

He was finally in the clear.

"Nice landing," he heard the landing officer say through the radio. Jake, taxing himself to the elevator on deck, watched as the officer gave him a thumbs up from the runaway below.

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good," his cheeks hurt from the edges of his mask, grin wide as he cockily gave a two-fingered salute.

If Jake heard the following tense groan coming out of his radio, he didn't let on.

Parking the jet on the elevator strip, Jake watched as he was lowered down into the ship's hanger bay, looking for his designated mechanic as he turned off the flight system. The second he reached the ground, he guided the machine into its designated spot, turning it off completely.

He popped the canopy open before going for his helmet, unstrapping the buckles with haist. He went for one of the pockets on his harness, reaching into the tight space to grab at the zip-locked bag, placing it on top of his helmet before reaching for the polaroids of you and Sadie. Holding both between his thumb, he brought them to his lips, kissing the images simultaneously before placing them safely inside the bag where they belonged.

As Jake stepped down the ladder, a mechanic greeted him, readying a list of questions as Jake started up his post-flight checks.

"It's a good thing you guys finished when you did. Radar points to a tropical storm coming in tonight."

Jake raked his fingers through his hair, trying to combat the sweat. "So we got confirmation we are moving out?"

The mechanic nodded, not bothering to lift his head as he dug for his notepad. "The second you guys were called back. We're already on route to base."

The news only added to his high spirits. Today was a good day.

He was going home.

As Jake answered all the mechanic's questions while checking the jet, out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bradley's jet ascended down the elevator and rolled into its resting spot. Bradley popped his canopy, climbing out, sliding down the ladder and high-fiving his mechanic, smiling.

He had no idea where the urge, or dare he say courage, came from when he finished walking over to Bradley as he was finalizing his post-flight routine.

Jake waited till Bradley said his last word before approaching him. Jake held out his hand, his voice clear over the commotion, as he said, "Good job flying out there, Bradshaw."

Bradley glanced at Jake's outstretched hand, then to his face, his expression inscrutable. There was a palpable pause, a pregnant beat of tension, before Bradley deliberately rested his hand on the side of his jet, ignoring Jake's overstretched hand completely.

"Don't think one mission changes everything," Bradley replied tersely, eyes sharp and focused.

His reply didn't deter Jake. In fact, he only smirked, lowering his hand. "Didn't think it would. I just wanted to see if you had the balls to acknowledge a job well done. By the way, I went to Liz and apologized. Something you probably never imagined I'd do."

Bradley scoffed, a short, derisive laugh escaping him. "You think an apology is your ticket to redemption? You must have been more rattled up there than I thought. She'd never forgive you after a stunt like that."

Jake bit his lip, contemplating what you or Sadie might say to Rooster at this moment.

So, in a rare second of honesty, in front of his rival, Jake answered Bradley.

"I never expected her to accept my apology, Bradshaw. But I had to try. For her. For Sadie." Jake paused, looking solemn before continuing on. "You know what it's like, leaving on a deployment, not sure when or if you're going to come back. I had to try, and believe it or not, I want to try to get along with you for both their sakes. It's what they would want."

Jake lifted his hand once again, hoping Rooster would take it. But Bradley didn't, nor did he reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake to bow his head and drop his hand once again, not knowing if he should sigh or roll his eyes. At this point, it was frugal to think Bradley would ever change his ways.

Least of all for him.

...

"Seresin! Bradshaw! You have mail!"

Jake looked up from his plate just in time to see the communications officer slam a white envelope down to the empty space in front of him. The officer continued her journey down to the other end of the table to Rooster, tossing a nearly identical envelope into his outstretched hands.

Bradley hadn't spoken a word to him since the hanger earlier, not that Jake expected him to. The mess hall wasn't necessarily the friendliest place, and while Jake couldn't have cared less about whether or not he was making friends, he and Bradley tended to stick together silently. They didn't really speak to each other, though. Even when they had to bunk together.

It's funny how deployments did that.

Jake slid his tray over to the side, reaching out to grab the thick piece of paper between his hands and inspecting the front.

White was probably the wrong word to use. The envelope looked like it had a rough time getting to him. There were dirt marks and scuffed-up edges, several post stamps thrown uncaringly on the front. Even a few water marks, which made sense, considering a gust front was currently pounding the upper deck.

What stood out to Jake, though, was your handwriting still perfectly intact. He'd recognize it anywhere.

Lt. Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Jake flipped it over, not expecting to see the words written across the back.

This is everything I didn't say

Jake pulled himself back in his seat, only to realize he had a pair of eyes on him. He looked over to Bradley, noticing how the chicken was staring at the object in Jake's hands. He had already opened his, two pieces of lined paper on the table in front of him.

"From Liz?" Jake finally asked, tilting his head towards Bradley's letter. Rooster looked back down at his, staring at the front. "Sadie, actually."

As if that didn't sting a little bit, Jake thought. Bradley looked back up, eyes fixed on the one in Jake's hands. "Liz?" he asked. It was almost sombre.

Jake tore his eyes away from Bradley to trace your cursive writing with his fingers. "Yeah."

There was something to be said about receiving letters or packages from family and loved ones while in service. Regardless of whether or not Jake and Bradley were on the outs, no one ever dared to mock this particular part of their job. Hearing word from the other side, the outside world, was something sacred, and Bradley knew better than to hold it against Jake- even if he did break your heart.

You had chosen to write him that letter. There was nothing he could really do about it - like he even had a choice. Bradley had to pick and choose his moments where he could.

Jake finally broke the seal, immediately going for the folded-up pieces of paper inside. He let the envelope drop, the sound heavy as it hit the table, and Jake knew you had probably stuffed polaroids inside.

He unfolded your pages and began to read.

Jake,

Everything became still the moment my sister passed away. I keep remembering, picturing it like hands on a clock, having counted the seconds away before finally coming to a stop. The days didn't matter. My next thought, my only thought, was Sadie. Then you came into my picture, our picture, and cheesily enough, that seconds hand on that metaphorical clock started to tick.

I can’t lie; I knew you'd break through my walls the first time I saw you. Not in the Hard Deck that day, but when you were playing football on the beach, me watching you from Penny’s chair. I knew who you were instantly.

Because you had a rep, and everyone had warned me about you - Womanizer.

But I knew the second you spoke to me, the second I had turned around after fixing that damn keg, seeing that mona lisa smile of yours (Yes - I have been calling it that and no, your ego does not need to grow two more sizes because of it), my heart was screaming, Hello, I love you.

(Those are in reference to a song; they don't count just yet).

I have a confession to make, which is partly why I wanted to write you this particular letter.

I put up a wall between you and myself then and there. I think that's the only secret I've ever kept from you. Because as much as I knew something was probably going to happen between the two of us, whatever it would have been, I knew you had the power to devastate my heart completely.

I didn’t get your name that day. Not until you showed up on my doorstep with my favourite flowers, asking me to forgive you, and you sat out in my backyard with everyone singing along to Southern Nights.

The first crack in the wall started when you followed me inside, helping me with the dishes. You were honest with me that night, not the person I thought you to be, and I realized you were putting on a show for others to see. And when I showed up in that long cool black dress at the hard deck that day, and you taught my klutzy ass how to throw a dart, the wall cracked further.

(I can hear you as I write, Jake Seresin. Saying I love your ass, don't diss my ass. Stop making everything sexual, you horny beast.)

Sadie knew it, too... that my walls were cracking. She sees everything. It's why she invited you on that damn hike. And there is also a part of me wondering if Ridley sent that damn sake from wherever she is now, hoping to get the two of us together - it would be something she'd do if she had the power…if she was able to rule the world to make it happen.

Then, all of you guys were deployed. And everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I don't know if three little birds told me things were going to be alright back then, but I somehow knew, deep down, they would be -  even if you fly like you have nothing to lose and everything to prove. You don't, not to me. And oh, what a night it was when you came home.

I wanted you to kiss me that night. But I'm glad you didn't. Because the night I drifted away in your arms, you might as well have shot a missile from your F-18 and made my walls crumble almost completely.

Almost. Because what truly did it was when you let Sadie hang on to you during that thunderstorm. How you cared for her and told her it was going to be okay. How good you were with her and how you might be with your own. I will never stop saying how much that meant to me- what it still means to me.

Then you rammed me up against my hallway, and I had to really hang on for dear life.

(I just realized we never talked about our futures on our first date. We were too busy screaming Let's dance to figure out if Marriage/Kids, etc., were on the table - if they are something you want. Cause I'm all in Jake, whether we do or not. All I know is that I want to be with you - you and Sadie are enough.)

Then someone made himself known, and hell would have to freeze over before I mentioned his name in a letter to you - Dream on asshole. But you loved, yes loved, me through my worst moments, Sadie's worst moments. When I sang as a Blue healer for my feelings deep blue, when sons and daughters of people long gone raged, and I had to hide in my bathtub, waiting till it was all over.

When you showed me it was okay to live and experience life through the bad moments, that it was okay to remember my sister, even in the rays of a sunset from the sky. And when you made me want to scream sex on fire, cause damn Jake, we definitely weren't taking things slow.

I won't mention the 'incident' with George or how much rain I saw when Bradley drove me home. I know; I've always known how much generational trauma you've carried in your blood throughout your entire life. I will say, though, out of all the songs that had to play on the jukebox the night things for Sadie and I finally came to an end, it had to be Come a little bit closer. (That pissed me off, you have no idea, Jake.... stop laughing, you asshole).

And although it’s been weeks for me since you left me standing at the end of my driveway, after you apologized and I felt like a Sapling, searching for an Oak, watching you drive off to go our separate ways for a small length of time, being worlds apart, I’m counting down the minutes, the hours, the seconds till I can tell you what you need to hear.

Because My sister had a box. A just-in-case box. Filled with letters, objects, and memories. I finally opened it, with Sadie, of course, on an evening I will never soon forget. I don't want a repeat of that. Of me finally visiting Ridley and reading her letter, her last words to me on her grave.

I don't want that to be us.

So Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, after breaking down my walls not once but twice, I will not write those three words down in this letter. I'd rather tell you in person. So I can see your face when I do. I’m a fair lady - if you wanted me to wait to tell you until you are home, I’m waiting till you come home.

So much of our relationship started backwards. A first kiss before the first date, an extended sleepover before the first touch. We made a promise to each other, not already realizing we had already broken it.

So, sir, if you think the second I see your face, I'm not going to try to jump you, drag you home and lock Sadie out of my bedroom, you can kiss this idea of going slow out the window. Life's too short to go slow when... well, you'll find out soon enough.

And I know you think Sadie doesn’t want to see you again. That's she's still mad at you and will be forever mad for what happened. But I know for a fact the second she sees you, she will jump into your arms. You’re her uncle - you count more than you’ll ever know. 

And while sleep deprivation is my remaining side effect from dealing with the grief I’ve shouldered, I know part of it involves counting down the days for when I can fall asleep with you next to me.

And maybe even doing something else ;)

Your darlin' Elizabeth

P.S. Sadie wanted to send some Polaroids - I promise you, she doesn't hate you, but I know you're still going to think otherwise until you come home. We went on a hike, so there are probably some bug-themed ones in there... I'm sorry for what you see... so if you have anyone lurking over your shoulder, you might want to be careful. They aren't for everyone.

You were right about one thing: he was still so sure Sadie had it out for him. The day she had cornered him at the beach haunted his thoughts. The look and level of disappointment she had on her face would forever remain imprinted in his head.

Yet, he still wiped at his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest. He reached into the envelope and grabbed at the small stack.

The first few were from the hike you mentioned; Sadie chose one of you, sitting on the same rock she had done last year. He still had the photo he took on his phone. There were some ones with bugs, no question about it. But they weren't random ones, either.

There was one of Sadie surrounded by what looked like to be monarchs. Jake had never seen her look so happy, her smile wide and beautiful, and he couldn't help the grin on his face looking down at the image.

But when Jake went to slide the image of Sadie behind the others, he did a double take, quickly hiding the following polaroid from view.

You wouldn't have, he thought. There was no way.

Jake glanced around the hall, turning the collection of pictures down to face the table in his hands, wondering if anyone had seen what he had seen. But next to Bradley, who was too engrossed in his own letter even to lift his head, the hall had cleared itself out, leaving the two of them practically alone.

Hesitantly lifting his hands, Jake slid Sadie's photo over, carefully peering down at the image of you.

You. On your bed. Half naked.

You seemed carefree, leaning back on your bed, damp tendrils of your hair half clinging to your face, half covering the sharp lines of your neck. Oh, how many times he had kissed that neck, and now, seeing it on display, only for him - Jake had to draw in a sharp breath.

And his dog tags hanging between your half-bare breasts, framed by the silk of your robe, glinting in the soft, warm sunlight from your bedroom window. And written along the bottom... Come home and take them back ;)

You cheeky... Jake could feel the heat rush to his face: surprise, desire, and pure pride. He was thousands of miles away, and you found yet another way to remind him of what awaited him when he got home.

The Mona Lisa smile, as you had so deemed, spread wide across his face as he whispered to himself in one ragged breath, "Damn, Liz."

He felt himself getting hard just looking at you.

He'd send you a message when they were closer to American soil, hoping you and Sadie would be there to greet him. But more importantly, if you'd make plans for Penny to take Sadie that night. Cause fuck the lock on your bedroom door. He wanted to find out all the ways he could make you scream for him, all the sounds you had yet to make for him.

Until then, Jake climbed into his bunk that night, reading your letter over and over, staring at the photo you had gifted him, wondering and coming up with all the ways the two of you would celebrate his homecoming. Because lying on that narrow bunk, he couldn't stop his rampant thoughts.

He could almost feel the silk of your robe against his fingertips, the wet strands of your hair brushing against his palms, and the warmth of your skin. And those fucking dog tags he gave you, nestled between the soft curves of your breasts - everything made a fierce heat coil in the lower half of his stomach.

Jake shifted uncomfortably, the rough sheets tangling around his legs, the damp are doing little to soothe his fevered skin. He rolled over into his pillow, trying to summon any other thought but that photo - anything to take his mind off the overwhelming feeling of pure want that consumed him.

You were there, in every corner he turned to, beckoning him with both those innocent and mischievous glint in your eyes, making him crave the day he finally came home. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm against the lust you had ignited within him.

But falling asleep, his dreams were only filled with you. And all the ways he'd finally have you cumming on his cock.

...

Jake jolted awake to the sound of a high-pitched beeping in his ears, almost hitting the bunk above his. His stomach felt uneasy, like it had been flipped upside down, and every sense was screaming at him something was wrong. He was off balance, unable to ground himself to a solid point.

He hated not being in control.

Rooster shouted from the bunk above, and Jake pressed himself against the tiny wall as he felt himself tilted hard to the side, masked by a shutter that shook their entire room.

Bradley wasn't as lucky, rolling straight out of his bed and landing hard on the ground with a massive thunk. Jake wanted to laugh, but even he couldn't stop the grimace as he heard the sound.

Bradley groaned a long, pitful sound, lifting himself to rest on his hands. "What the hell is going on?!"

"What do you think, Bradshaw? You've never been stuck in a storm on a deployment before?"

He knew he shouldn't be so snarky with Bradley, but this morning had left him in a sour mood. Not to mention, the storm was but another obstacle in his path stopping him from getting home sooner.

It was going to be a long night.

Bradley sat up, about to reply with a remark just as snarky, when the PA system blared above their heads.

All currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance. I repeat all currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance.

Jake tore out of bed, and Bradley stood sharply, both reaching for their fight suits, putting them on in a rush. As Bradley laced his boots, Jake reached for your letter and picture on his bed, quickly shoving them inside the packet he had in his chest pocket with the other Polaroids.

He didn't know if and when he'd be back here.

As the pair emerged from their room, they had to dodge multiple people flying past in a mass panic, trying to get to their respective stations. The added struggle of not knowing what the carrier was going to throw at them next also didn't help. All Jake and Bradley knew was that, given a storm, let alone even in a hurricane, they needed to be down at the lower docks, reinforcing the restraints on the Jets.

The ship groaned, then shook, the floor vibrating beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Bradley shouted, his voice strained with concern. Jake struggled to steady himself, gripping a nearby railing. His Texian accent was strong as he shouted his reply, "It doesn't matter. Let's just get to the hanger bay!"

It was pure chaos the second they arrived. Bright flashing red emergency lights, crew members scrambling in every direction. Next to the high-pitched alarm going off every other second, the ship continued to creak and groan, rocking enough that Jake and Bradley had to steady themselves.

"Get the damn secondary restraints on the F-18s!" A senior official shouted as they passed. Jake and Bradley's 'Yes, sir' only seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The pair raced towards the first jet, stopping momentarily to assist what they needed to do. Jake's voice was barely audible above the chaos. "We need to get the secondary straps down and make sure the wheel jacks are in place!"

Bradley shot him a disdainful look. "Thanks for stating the obvious. I was about to suggest a picnic."

Jake gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back. "Not now, Bradshaw."

Bradley only rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

As they began to secure the planes, the ground started to tilt enough to throw them off balance if they weren't careful. Jake and Bradley tried to brace themselves as one adjusted the straps while the other secured the wheel jacks.

A cry for help managed to break through the alarms and shouts, and both turned towards the sound. Bradley was closest, shouting out, "I got it!" before running off, not bothering to hear Jake's reply.

The sound of a wire recoiling, snapping hard like a whip through the air, startled Jake, making him turn sharply. A wooden crate, the height of his chest, had broken loose from its net, sliding directly towards him.

Bracing himself, Jake charged forward, holding out his hands to stop it from crashing into the jet behind him. He grunted hard as the wood slammed into his palms. Jake used as much strength as he could gather, baring his teeth and straining his muscles, to push the crate back towards where it came from.

Jake's mechanic from before suddenly appeared next to him, helping him push the crate back into the relative safety of the net.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jake shouted over the alarm system. The mechanic continued to work as he replied, "Everything! The whole ship is going to hell! We've got engine failure. Some of the airlock doors won't seal properly on the lowest deck, and to fucking top it off, one of the ballast tanks is compromised! In a fucking hurricane!"

That would explain the rocking, Jake thought, as the ship titled back, allowing for the create to easily slide back into its original spot with no more effort. The mechanic knotted the net through a few metal loops on the ground while Jake rested his hands on his knees, bent over and panting hard.

The second he finished, the mechanic left Jake standing there as he was called off towards another task.

Jake straightened, looking around to see where he was needed next, his eyes instantly landing on Rooster, who was dealing with his own crate. He ran towards him, using his weight to help Bradley push the crate back and away into its designated spot.

The two managed to secure it, and struggling to catch his breath, Bradley glared at Jake. "Didn't need your help."

"Of course, you didn't," Jake retorted, frustration evident.

"I had it handled."

"Right," Jake panted.

"Always gotta be the hero, don't you, Hangman?" Rooster grumbled.

Whatever had encouraged him to reach an olive branch earlier was long gone. Whether it was Rooster's words or the situation, Jake simply had enough.

He hit Bradley square in his chest with both hands, sending him backwards a few steps. "Okay, what's your damn problem with me, Bradshaw?!"

"Now?!" Bradley shouted, ready to fight it out. "You want to do this now?"

"Good as time as any!" Jake remarked, throwing his hands to the side in open invitation. He was tired of Rooster's animosity, of the constant back and forth, but damn if he wasn't ready for the confrontation.

"What is it? My call-sign? What I did to earn it!?" Jake cocked his head, stepping to the side, causing the two pilots to circle each other. "Or is it what I said about your old man two years ago?! You didn't even let me finish, so I couldn't have said anything that truly pissed you off. And you know what, not that it matters, but I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings."

The floor shook beneath their feet, but neither man seemed phased. Bradley only fisted his hands tighter with each remark that passed Jake's lips.

"Or is it Liz? Sadie? The fact they welcomed me in with open arms, loved me, and there wasn't a hell of a thing you could have to stop it?"

The surrounding chaos only seemed to amplify Bradley's longstanding irritation with Jake. Bradley stalked forward, slamming his hands to Jake's chest and returning the favour.

"It's everything! Everything you stand for!" he shouted, his nostrils flaring hard. "Don't you dare say Sadie's name, not when I know you are going to leave that little girl out to dry. I won't have it, Hangman!

Recognition flashed in Jake's eyes, and he knew, he understood right then, amongst all the chaos and panic, the lengths any one of the Daggers would go to make sure their bug was loved and protected above all else.

It had never been about you. It had always, always been about Sadie.

"Sadie?!" he shouted. "That's the reason?"

Jake clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "You think I would ever abandon Sadie? Or Liz? You've seen me, day in and day out, fighting for them, fighting fucking Tyler, fighting to get back to them. I would die before they were hurt. Before any one of you were hurt."

"But you did! The second your brother asked you to." Bradley's voice hardened. "Answer me this: in the heat of the moment, when you're faced with a choice, can you honestly tell me you'd put them first?"

Tyler and everything he had wrought flashed in Bradlely's mind, but he pressed on.

"Not your pride, not your ego, but them? Or any of us. Unasked or not on the job! Cause I know you wouldn't!"

Jake reeled back, Bradley's words hitting him hard. But Bradley didn't falter. His face was still lit up with all the pent-up anger and frustration he held for Jake since the day he got his call sign.

"I see the man behind the show, the guy who thinks he's invincible. But you're not." Bradley pointed his finger. "Until you prove otherwise, I won't trust you with them. Not with Sadie. Not with Liz. Not with any of us."

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the officer who gave them orders before interrupted him.

"You two, Top Gun! Quit standing around and go to the communications office and see where we are at with our navigation systems!"

Bradley stomped past Jake without another word, leaving him to silently fume for a few seconds before following him out of the hanger.

In the dimly lit, claustrophobic corridors of the carrier, the metallic walls groaned, strained by the might of the storm. Water or steam, they weren't sure which, was starting to pool in patches along the floor. With each wave and rock the ship encountered, the intermittent jolts sent the two pilots grasping for whatever was nearest to stay upright as they tried to make it to the communications office.

Following Bradley, Jake felt a spike of irritation. 'Why's he got to make everything so damn personal?' Jake thought bitterly. Bradley, meanwhile, was a simmering pot of anger.

"Why do you always have to be right in the middle of everything, Hangman?" Bradley shot over his shoulder, clearly irritated. "Can't you just once follow orders without making it about you?"

Jake gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a retort. "Look, can we just get to the comms and figure this out? We can bicker like an old married couple later."

Bradley's face twisted in a smirk, his pace never faltering. "Don't flatter yourself. I have standards."

A loud klaxon sounded, the eerie wail echoing through the narrow halls of the carrier. Jake and Bradley covered their ears, falling into the walls.

The second they managed to pull themselves up onto their feet, the PA system blared out another warning.

Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. I repeat, Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. All personnel should be on the upper decks in five minutes.

Jake turned to Bradley, his face filled with urgency. "We need to go! Now!"

Bradley snarled. He had no idea whether it was out of frustration with the current situation or Jake barking orders at him. But Jake was having none of it, grabbing Bradley hard by the collar of his suit and tugging him hard.

Jake's eyes were hard and furious as he remarked, "I'm not dying today, and neither should you."

Something flashed in Bradley's eyes that Jake could not name. But it was enough to give Bradley pause, water droplets running down his face as the anger and tension decided to leave him from earlier.

"We need to get home! For the girls," Jake roughed out. "For Liz and Sadie! Whatever hate you have towards me, we need to get out for them. Now!"

Another name came to Bradley's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, even now. Instead, Bradley could only sallow and nod. He couldn't deny Jake was right.

It was damn near impossible to sink an aircraft carrier. Jake and Bradley knew this. The things were built to withstand the roughest seas, hurricanes included. They were the most balanced and sturdiest things that ever graced any body of water on this planet. They had to be if aviators were literally landing planes on them.

But as water continued to breach the carrier, and as the pair raced through the ship to get to a proper stairwell that would get them to the relief point on the upper decks, they both wondered about the series of unfortunate events that led them to this point. The mechanics in the hangar bay had said everything was going wrong.

Bradley was on the verge of saying sabotage, wondering if they had a spy amongst their ranks. The mission had gone so much better than they had thought. But in their line of work, if something suspicious didn't happen, then their job wasn't over.

Jake just wanted to get both of them out of there.

They finally reached one of the escape hatches, a stairwell that led directly to the upper deck. Bradley was the one to turn the wheel on the door first, Jake joining in shortly after once he realized the sheer force Rooster was putting into opening the door.

A pressure vale released, and the second the two managed to open the door, Jake surged forward, followed by Bradley, who made their way into the narrow stairwell, hoping all had not been lost.

Jake paused on the small landing, looking up at the flights guided by the emergency light. There were a few fires scattering the walls, but it was climbable, and if both of them hurried, they wouldn't have any issues.

Bradley's hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Dude, we have to book it."

Jake turned his head, ready with a cocky reply of something resembling a 'you don't think I know that' until he took in Bradley's panicked face, staring at the stairs below. Following Bradley's eyes, Jake reeled, noticing the rising water levels.

Grabbing Rooster by the back of his suit, Jake pulled Bradley in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, urging him forward and shouting, Go!

The two tried not to look up as they climbed, picturing their destination in their minds. Ignoring the sound of the alarm and the rushing water, Jake and Bradley counted their steps as they tried to reach the top. And they were close. Even as the rest of the ship creaked and groaned, they still fought to reach the top, unaware if help was waiting for them on the other side.

Then something blew up on one of the upper levels, the sound, the vibration, causing Jake and Bradley to slam themselves into the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The lights flickered once, twice, then completely out, before a rotating red emergency light dimly lit the narrow stairwell. Metal crunched above their heads, snapping like twigs, and Jake didn't dare look up for fear of what might happen to either of them.

They felt it before they saw it, thin metal snapping out from underneath their feet. Feeling himself lurching forward, Jake immediately reached out for anything to hold on to. His fingers met a railing untouched by damage, and he latched on, suddenly opening his eyes to pull himself up and towards the relative safety of the remnants of the broken landing.

Bradley hadn't been so lucky.

Because the falling debris favoured his side of the stairs, the section he'd been crouching against completely crumpled under the impact, leaving only an empty space where thick, rushing water roiled menacingly below. There was nothing Bradley could have clung to, nothing that would have saved him from falling towards those black depths or allowed him to reach the warped edges of that landing.

Till his hand slapped onto a piece of a broken railing, Bradley struggled to find a grip tight enough to counteract the sweat on his palms. A panicked noise escaped his mouth as he slid down the newly indented piece of metal, finally stopping just before the end, muscles taunt and ridged as he forced breath into his body.

Jake had managed to pull himself up onto the landing as Bradley had fallen, instantly rolling himself up onto his chest to look down for the pilot.

He was within reach, and Jake extended his hand, on the verge of falling off the flimsy piece of metal. Bradley was hanging on, barely, looking between Jake's hand and the beam, the metal becoming looser and looser by the second.

And yet, Bradley still wouldn't take his hand.

"For godsakes, Bradshaw, just take my fucking hand!"

Jake purposely tried to jolt his arm forward in emphasis, hoping Bradley would finally take the leap and let go. But Bradley bowed his head, trying to force air into his lungs through his mouth as he looked down. With each pulse of red light, the water appeared to be getting higher and higher with each second.

He let out a panicked noise, trying to adjust his slipping grip. The movement caused the metal beam to drop slightly further, accompanied by a jarring clang. Bradley cried out, trying to reach for the broken edge of the landing.

Jake could feel himself slipping, sliding forward until he caught his boot on the railing, locking his body tight as he hung over the edge. Sharp, broken pieces of metal bit into his stomach as he swayed, trying to reach once again.

"Bradley! Just take my hand!" he shouted over the alarms, not any less urgent than before. "Please!"

Jake had never begged a day in his life, let alone to someone like Rooster. But there was no way he wasn't going home without him. You would never forgive him, and Sadie would never recover. He knew that for a fact.

Metal snapped, and Bradley dropped another inch, thinking this was it. That the railing was no longer attached to whatever had been holding it in place, baring his entire weight. Bradley threw his arm up towards Jake's in a desperate move.

Jake grabbed his wrist at the last possible second, a pained shout escaping his lips as he completely absorbed his weight, metal grating bending underneath him. But the grip he had on the railing with his foot held, and Jake bowed his head in relief, taking a few seconds with Bradley hanging dangerously off his arm to ground himself, trying not to think about what might have happened had he not caught him.

Jake grunted hard as he pulled Rooster up, his other hand finding a grip on the fabric of his flight suit along his back, hoping the railing from where he grounded himself would hold long enough to support them both. Bradley did the same with Jake's, using it as leverage to hoist himself up over the edge, only to roll onto his back, breathing hard.

Jake twisted his body away from the edge, laying on his back next to Rooster, staring up at what remained of the remaining flights of stairs. With the water still rushing below them and red lights spinning above them, the two dagger pilots took a few seconds to recuperate in the middle of the danger.

"You had to wait till the last second, didn't you?" Jake roughed out, panting hard. Bradley took three deep breaths before managing to gasp out, "I had to keep it interesting, right?"

Jake slammed his eyes shut, rocking his head to the side in slight annoyance. Bringing himself to a stand, Jake held out his hand again to help Bradley up. This time, Rooster didn't refuse it, instantly throwing his arm out to grasp the back of Jake's elbow, hoisting himself up.

Jake went to let go the minute he was up, but Bradley's grip remained firm.

"This is the second time you've saved me," he said, trying to make out Jake's face in the red light and dropping water. "You could have left me this time, for everything I've done, said..."

"What would be the point?" Jake interrupted him. "If I'd left you, I'd be no better than the person you thought I was. Besides," Jake added, smirking, "who else would I have to constantly prove wrong if you weren't around?"

Bradley scoffed, a tint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Asshole."

Jake shrugged. "It's in my nature. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

Bradley nodded, releasing Jake's elbow. In a dramatic fashion, he gestured for Jake to lead the way, looking up towards the rest of their journey to escape. But Bradley's eyes widened in horror as he saw the chunk of ceiling, metal, and wiring breaking loose directly above Jake.

"Jake, move!" Bradley bellowed, his voice echoing with urgency as he dropped to the ground, trying to drag Jake with him.

But in the chaos of falling water, blinking lights and cacophony of alarms, Jake was a split second too late to comprehend the warning fully. Just as he turned to see the descending danger, the heavy debris crashed down, the force of the impact throwing him off balance, rocking whatever remained of the grating they were standing on.

A metallic clang resonated sharply, followed by the splash of water as Jake was sent reeling backwards. The last thing Bradley saw, huddled against the wall, was the look of shock and realization in Jake's eyes, his silhouette disappearing beneath the surging tide of murky water, quickly consuming any trace of him.

Bradley, mouth agape, crawled over to the edge, Jake's call-sign a cry masked by the high-pitched alarms.

"Hangman!"

Bradley couldn't see him anywhere. Water continued to rush into the space, and Bradley, kneeling against the metal grating, tried to spot any area where Jake could manage to resurface. But with the power out and the pulsing red emergency lights, he couldn't see beyond the water's black surface.

Last call, I repeat, last call for evacuation and bail-out procedures.

Rooster pulled himself to stand, weighing his options.

He could jump and look for Jake. Despite the precarious situation they found themselves in, the water was still slow to fill the narrow stairwell. Bradley estimated he had minutes before the water became too much for him to handle.

Or he could leave, save himself. Say he did everything he could. That Jake was lost, the situation was too dire.

That Jake died a hero, trying to save him once again.

But it wasn't even a choice; the decision had already been made. It had been made the second your face appeared in front of his, and how it changed into a faded memory of his mom, collapsing to the ground at the news of his father's death. And Bradley, watching it all from behind the corner of a wall, forever feeling small.

But then it wasn't him as a child, but Sadie, the same look on her face the day the two of you walked up the driveway of your sister's place. The same look he found on her face the day she ran into your backyard, pulling at grass.

Jake would be another person for the both of you to mourn. He couldn't let that happen.

Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and jumped, diving under the water.

All he could see was black.

I had to cliffhanger you guys one last time with this one 😂 Please forgive me....

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Part 21 - My Fair Lady Coming Soon 👀

-Wickett ;)

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLVI

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. On AO3 here.

A week was a generous window of time; in fact, it was an overestimation for a zealous designer hired to do interior work for a Fatui Harbinger. They arrived within a few days, during which you played before bed and Zandik taught you the difference between coffee brewed in Sumeru and Fontaine. He much preferred the later; your nation's palette ran far too sweet, even for him.

Zandik's obscured gaze lingered during the initial introductions in much the same way it had on you back in the House of Daena. Luckily, or unluckily, the designer's nerves were made of stronger stuff, and it was clear they spent their time dealing with precise and demanding clients. They were unbothered, both by Zandik's stare and about the fact they were speaking to a Fatui Harbinger and their presumed life-partner.

A certain level of discretion was respectable. However, you knew precisely what being in their position meant. The right things to say, not revealing too much on one’s face, timing everything just so. No one was ever certain of your true personage and everyone was happier for the work done. Information that spread from both parties as a result was a given.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up a little at the designer's passing remark about Lord Pantalone's generosity on their retainer.

"Pantalone knows who is worth the time and mora. I trust you’ll find a way to meet the needs outlined,” Zandik remarked. “Lest you disappoint him.”

The designer’s smile was stiffer but otherwise professional, even when Zandik parted and left you in the sudden silence of your shared apartments.

The space you slept in reminded you of the tiny graveyards dotting the Fontaine countryside. Pretty, in only the way a romantic notion of death allowed, time and effort and money spent on a space never seen by those who occupied it. In another life, you might have been offended that Zandik cared so little for where he slept. It was evident he valued your comfort though and what better expertise was there when Zandik held no opinion on the matter?

You led the designer through the biggest changes, namely the bedroom, right down to the thread count on the sheets and the arrangement of the furniture. New textures, patterns, wallpaper. Such a practice was common in Fontaine, especially in second or even third marriages. You didn’t care if the designer thought your initial focus on the most intimate space was strange; even if they said nothing to allude to such thoughts, their stiffness did not melt. Perhaps they held the idea that the Second Harbinger was more machine than man, a rumor that circulated less now that you were seen with him.

If your memories were fixed, changing the bedroom wouldn't matter anyway, but you would always carry the contrary knowledge, as would the walls. Spaces held memories, too.

The sitting area was next. You needed a workspace, at least a private one, and a spot by the windows afforded not only the best light but the best view of the mountains and beyond. The peaks here were nothing like the peaks in Fontaine. These were eternally snow-capped and jagged, like the teeth of a dragon, it's maw wide open with the Palace and surrounding town in the center, waiting to be swallowed.

A tale for children, Zandik had said without explanation when you first came to the land; now you knew how true that statement really was.

As you spoke, the designer suggested, and with a few quick sketches, you understood immediately why Lord Pantalone chose them specifically. From their sketch, you could only surmise that they intended to re-arrange the sitting area in the center of the room. Even back in the dreamscape, that space always seemed so insular. You could imagine Zandik with multiple Segments sitting, all being able to face one another and look over plans, never letting anyone else into the fold.

Cold and off-putting.

Exactly what you didn't want for either of you.

"A sofa this way, across from the fireplace and a table in front of it, creates a cozy space that separates itself without being too closed off. Right now, it's more of a conversation pit but there's no warmth. Might be able to flank the coffee table with armchairs if that's a must…but what to do with…"

You were shown swatches of fabric and examples of wood finishes but visualizing space was not your forte, you admitted.

Apparently, that was the best thing to say because they were immediate in rearranging the pre-existing furniture with gusto. Soon enough, you found yourself sitting on one of the sofas, maintained but worn, the low table in front of you, staring at the grate in front of the vacant fireplace.

The idea was tempting. You could imagine Zandik sprawled out in front of the fire, his head in your lap, as it had been once upon a time. That had felt so real back then. You could only wonder how such an arrangement might feel now, tangible and warm. The familiar yearning ache flared in your chest, radiating outward into your arms and down to your feet.

Somehow, parts of this were worse now that you were near one another, and yet your mind was all the clearer for it.

You turned your head towards the awaiting designer as you said, "It's perfect."

Through sheer proximity and time together, small intimate details showed themselves to both of you, as natural as breathing.

That was not to say that everything was perfect.

You overheard the way he spoke harshly to subordinates and threw daggers (proverbial and otherwise) at anyone who wasted his time. It set you on edge and scratched at the parts of your mind you wished Omega had touched. You withdrew just as Zandik caught himself, the damage done, your body present but your mind back in Fontaine. You set your mind free again with the familiar weight of your cello bow in your hands and the notes reverberated through your very being until you felt grounded again.

As of late, you had yet to hear him do more than sigh harshly through his nose. Instead, he asked about a particular detail in your composition from a previous night to distract himself from others' failures.

And Zandik, despite the freedom from his hivemind, thought himself into circles to the point where he wound himself so tight, he couldn't even sit. You caught him on occasion checking his pulse at his wrist and frowning, annoyed at the lack of control. Despite all of his own work, he couldn't discern whether he enjoyed the way you smiled because he was meant to or because you were, in fact, such a fascinating spark in his life.

It only took a few strokes of his hair to melt the unease away just long enough to get him to bed. He didn't have to sleep, you told him, but it wouldn't kill him to rest.

Enough common ground existed that you always came back into orbit of one another.

It would never be perfect.

Soulmates were never intended to be. Some had it easier than others but even then, every relationship needed work.

And neither of you were strangers to dedicating yourself to work.

You trekked down in the depths of the Palace some days after the designer's first meeting, intent on using some of the space to practice your claymore techniques using the baton with little fear of damaging anything irreplaceable. The large and open chamber that housed a half-assembled Ruin machine would do just fine; the high ceiling and open space allowed you to test the range of your motions.

Soon enough, not even the laboratories would be a sanctuary for you, not without additional precautions. Zandik's other assistants, the ones that worked beneath the Segments, had not yet returned to their assignments; that would change within the next few days. Progress had halted long enough. Plans were in motion and the remaining parts needed to be ready.

You were reminded of it as soon as you stepped foot into the workspace. Prototypes mid-construction were spread out, their blueprints on a nearby board with various notes to pinned to the main schematic. These were projects in a pipeline, years in the making and finally being brought out of theory and into trial. It was impossible to misconstrue their purpose.

And Natlan was as unstable as ever.

Retreating to a workspace far away from any current project, you called the baton and your claymore with ease, both appearing like loyal hounds at a whistle while the Meks shuddered to life at your presence. A touch of home that Zandik programmed for you. You could feel the Arkhe energy pulsing faintly, not unlike the way air tasted before a thunderstorm.

With enough practice, the weighty and unwieldy sensation was gone and you learned to control the force with minute changes in both the speed and distance you waved the receiver. Now it was a matter of hand-eye coordination to hit your targets continuously when you were no longer up close and personal in combat.

To your surprise, the diamond blades created by your Vision appeared without much prompting other than a call on your Geo resonance. They worked with the motion of the baton, crashing down like the sword dangling over a courier in an old fable who traded places with his king for a single day.

The release of Geo energy did wonders for your mood and your mind as much as playing did as of late. You still could not dream but you were far from being as disconnected as you once felt.

That counted for something.

You slammed your claymore down with a flourish, crushing the last of the Meks, Pneuma and Ousia energy cores sputtering and failing.

With the weapon in your hands, such a fight would have left you winded and struggling to retain your grip on the weapon, muscles and tendons screaming. You still exerted yourself but without the weight and momentum of the claymore to contend with, it was easier to focus on finding patterns to exploit.

"Better," Zandik called from behind you. "Much better control. How do your hands feel?"

You turned and vanished the baton with a flick of your wrist, smiling and wiggling your fingers in response.

"Nothing's locked up so far. We'll see after a longer rehearsal, though."

A slight frown tugged at his lips, gone before you could inquire further. He was, for a rare change of pace, dressed in gray slacks, with a white shirt open at the collar with a gray waistcoat to match. If you were attending a spring wedding in the hills of your homeland, he wouldn't look too out of place. Without the metallic bird on his shoulder, he seemed to hold himself even taller, if such a thing were possible.

"I might have to increase their aggression if you're going to wipe them out so quickly," Zandik teased with a smirk. "Considering you couldn't even summon your weapon not that long ago. If you're finished, I wish to discuss something with you concerning your memories. I believe I have a solution."

A solution? As you walked with him back to the office you once wandered through, you wracked your brain, your heart still pounding and breathing heavy from the fight. The last you spoke of such a thing was the first night in Snezhnaya. Reversing the tangles that Omega created was an eventual goal, you assumed, based on that conversation. One that might be obtainable when Zandik found his feet again as a single consciousness and returned to his station properly.

Part of you hoped you never had to undergo such an experience again.

Safely in the confines of the office, your eyes fell on a jar of an organ, its label illegible, before you looked at Zandik through your face covering. His mask remained in place, his hands occupying themselves with the various piles of notes and trinkets on the desk. He paused, finding what he was looking for and tucked it into his pocket before rounding the furniture to lean against it, facing you, hands on either side of him for a moment.

"I thought we agreed to give it time," you said, tone mild. "That everything might sort itself out."

Zandik dipped his head in a gesture you knew as slight agreement before he turned a point on its head and spun it like a top for a new angle. He tucked his hands into his pockets and continued.

"Time was allotted with minimal results. Your nightmares are indicative that, to some degree, your mind understands the falsehoods but cannot repress them entirely nor bring itself to let them go so the proper ones can surface."

"It's not as if we've tried to actively stimulate my real memories, Zandik. Not truly."

It came out a little harsher than you intended and carried the weight of the last couple of months since the discussion on the terraces of the Divine Tree. You watched as Zandik's lips grew into a thin line and the muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth.

Arms crossed, you pulled your gaze away from him and took in the way the pyro lamps burned and danced to a pattern of their own making. They were bright enough to work by but never contained the true brightness of the sun.

That you weren't able to rearrange the webs and put everything back together naturally, without interference, wasn't your fault but it wasn't his, either. Going back to Fontaine wasn’t an option, or at least not one that didn’t come with more problems than it was worth.

Tackling this earlier was an impossibility when he was still processing his own death, metaphorical though it was.

"Of all people, I know how difficult it is to let go when you don't have the means nor the bandwidth."

If you were anyone else, he would have spat the sentiment with venom; instead, he sounded tired, bored even, as if the words were a given you should know by now.

"That wasn't fair, I'm sorry," you conceded, setting aside your mask and opening your arms again. "The time we've had needed to be used on more pressing issues and who's to say if we did try to provoke my memories that it would have worked?"

"Music is a powerful catalyst in driving unconscious memories forward, after all." He shook his head and then waved his hand causally. "You cannot tell me you've been able to bring anything to your waking mind from playing as of late. You do not likely have a proper reference point to try to match and so you cannot know what to play to try and awaken those memories. All you have are whatever untruths Omega painted like an artist reusing canvas, and if I offer alternatives to what you could have been doing, I am imposing a bias."

You inhaled slowly and took one hand in another, rubbing your usual sore spots to soothe your own frustrations. It was all you could do. Anything else required too much attention and you wanted to know what he had to say.

Instead of speaking, Zandik unclipped his face cover, set it on the desk behind him, and pulled what appeared to be a red star from his pocket.

A Segment's Ruin core, permanently marred with the data and memories of its owner.

He destroyed all them though, hadn't he?

Your heart sank slightly as you schooled your expression. He had reasoning, he always did. Even if it didn't necessarily aligned with your view.

His demeanor fell when recognition crossed your face but he held out his hand anyway, the core resting in his palm. You crossed the room and took it. Turning it over in your hand, you immediately noticed the symbol that marked the Segment. How could he possibly have kept…

"Omega was the only one in the entire network who held extensive knowledge of the memory grafting. I reviewed what's left on the Core—long before you shook me from my stupor—and I believe there's a way to reverse engineer the process," Zandik began.

Hands cupped yours and traced your returning callouses the way one traced a pen mark they admired or a soothing fabric.

"Your memories are the last remnant of my Segments. You carry your own version of events, ones that didn't happen, that Omega saw fit to weave. I spent many, many years using any and all means to get to desirable results; I won't bore you with such details. Regret doesn't come into the equation but as I said back in Sumeru, and as I reminded you, I needed the knowledge first. Now I have it."

"Reverse engineering would require me to undergo the same process, would it not?" you asked, flicking your gaze up to meet his eyes. "Attach me to an Akasha network, push me into my own mind?"

"More than likely. Omega was thorough in his notes on the Samsara Cycle and it was easy enough to navigate the machines and network when I found you the first time. I believe this course of action is for the best. For both of us. You should be able to dream again and the remnants of my past will cease to haunt."

After a beat, you asked "Worst case scenario?"

If you went into this idea know how bad it could possibly get, you could at least be prepared. Before, such a thought never would have crossed your mind; it certainly didn't when you were asked if you wanted to seek private patronage nor when you walked with Omega under the impression the Segment was Zandik. Foolish, really, considering what you learned about those in power in need of more.

"Omega couldn't sever our connection, although he tried," he said at last. "He wasn't your proper soulmate. It is unclear if…pruning the memories and their branches will affect more than just those memories. If removing part of myself will remove the whole. He simply laid himself on top of pre-existing memories…this may have far more ramifications."

Zandik was quiet but his hands never left yours. For a moment, you were back to damp grass and bright stars, investigative touches trying to understand what instrument you played.

"If I am to be done with my past selves, I must remove these lies from your mind," Zandik said evenly. "I believe the risk is worth it."

Risk. Such a tiny word for the gravity with which it pulled on your heart. The very thing Omega set up to complete was still a possibility despite the Segment being nothing more than ash (or mostly ash). He just never took the next step, a step that was simply pulling at a loose thread to unravel the whole.

You were about to pull your hands away and return the Core to him when Zandik's fingers tightened around yours, silently begging you to stay. He looked down at your joined hands as he sighed, squeezed yours lightly, and then looked at you again.

His eyes almost burned as he looked at you, expressive in ways that only the finest minute movements allowed; before you, he stood resolute, determined, and you could understand how even the most desperate souls clinging to their last moments of life might believe he had the answer. It was easy to mistake it for charisma, for arrogance, and easier still for it to have twisted into such things.

"I do not promise anything when it comes to my work; they're nothing more than lies wrapped up with a bow and I deal only in truths," Zandik whispered. "Should that happen, it changes nothing."

It changed everything, you wanted to scream. He would finally be able to get what he wanted, free himself from one Celestial shackle, done with the circular logic of trying to make predestination make sense amid all his own work.

Omega would win.

And you would be left hollow. Again. Left with nothing but memories of what used to be possible, of the connections ripped from you, choice truly taken from you. Either way, you lost and you didn't work for close to two decades only to…

"How would it not—" you started, the words stuck in your throat like thick porridge.

"Nothing, rooh 'albi. And no one will take that choice from me. No one."

Even from across the frozen training ground, weeks later that now marked your stay in Snezhnaya at two months, you could still feel the adamant resolution in subtle waves. Your foe this time was no Mek but a suit of corroded armor brought back from the depths of a rift in the ice further north, beyond the Cryo Dragon's resting ground. The bitter cold bit through your lined pants and warm coat, your cloak held in the crook of Zandik's arm as you pressed the soldier harder.

Sunlight reflected off the snow and made everything brighter; you were thankful your mask cut down on the glare.

You pinned the joints of the armor down with two diamond blades, Geo energy pulsing in waves as you sent a third through the seam between the body and the helmet. With a gesture for releasing a note, you waved the baton in a small circle while pinching your forefinger and thumb of your other hand together, following the motion in perfect sync. Your claymore gave a final whistling note as it cut through the air and stabbed through metal and corroded flesh.

It protested still, determined to get back on its feet despite your attempts to subdue.

Over your shoulder, you heard a familiar high-pitched whine before a glowing Cryo needle whizzed past your ear and hit its target. The soldier in starlight armor fell still, finally, its weapon turning dark as the remnants of life faded.

"One day, I'll be good enough to face you properly," you said with a smile when you approached Zandik as he finished up his notes.

Before you could retrieve your cloak, Zandik draped the thick fabric around your shoulders with practiced ease. He was either uncaring or oblivious regarding onlookers and that suited you just fine. People would talk; avoiding it would only cause more suspicion and both of you were growing tired of hiding like schoolchildren.

He opened his mouth as he smoothed out your cloak's lining and you nearly jumped when you heard another voice in his stead.

"Be careful, maestra. Our Doctor never turns down a challenge and he seldom loses."

Both of you turned your heads to find Lord Pantalone standing just at the bottom of the footpath, an accompanying Agent several steps behind, bowing low at the waist. Zandik's hand grazed your jaw as he pulled away and warm air puffed out in a cloud from his nose at the interruption. You were, for once, thankful for the cold and the fight; both burned your cheeks and hid any flush across your skin.

At least it was Pantalone, you tried to rationalize, but even the most well-behaved dogs still had teeth.

"What brings you down from your lofty office, Regrator?" Zandik drawled, tilting his head slightly.

"I take it then the Tsaritsa's couriers had as much trouble finding you as I did." Pantalone replied, his tone light.

The other Harbinger's cloak was open just enough to allow him the freedom to use his hands. He steepled his fingers together but pointed them in Zandik's general direction as he smiled, golden eyes hidden, his expression congenial.

"The Knave and Marionette returned successful from Fontaine; the Jester sends his orders for an audience with the Tsaritsa."

Zandik pulled his shoulders back, his back already straight.

"And he sent you to fetch me?"

"I thought it prudent to save him the trouble."

"You think it prudent to save the Tsaritsa an entire vault of mora but he has yet to determine if you're worthy of a higher seat. Perhaps it's time to change your strategy, Regrator."

Zandik pushed a breath through his nose, another puff of warm air escaping him the way smoke lingered in taverns in the lower reaches of the Court of Fontaine. He pulled in his arms into his cloak and made to walk ahead of the other Harbinger, his strides murderous as his cloak's hem whispered against the snow.

Pantalone turned and then stopped as you stepped to follow, at least up to the Palace. You watched as his smile grew wider and you caught a hint of gold as he looked at you. Mora was never an apt comparison you realized; his gaze was as threatening as the glimpse of a bullet in a chamber, a Duelist's final weapon ready to be drawn.

"No. Not you, maestra," Pantalone's tone was sickeningly sweet, patronizing, and your stomach burned.

He nodded to the Agent, who stepped forward and bowed to you, standing only when his Harbinger gestured to do so. The distinct unspoken air of disdain you were keenly familiar reared its head as you debated, for a moment, playing into it. You hadn't missed this nonsense, toeing the line and watching both tone and words, wondering just what step led to the path of least resistance.

"I wish to have a word with my colleague. You can take the scenic route back to the Palace. Anatoly here is quite competent in providing additional security in the Doctor's absence."

You turned your gaze up to Zandik, who had since stopped and turned back, mouth set into a frown. Other than the initial meeting in his lab, you hadn't told him about Pantalone's visit while he was disassembling the Segments. That was your battle to fight first; after all, you couldn't always rely on him.

But here, he was the one with the most authority. And the Ninth knew that, too.

"Whatever you have to say can be said openly, Pantalone."

The Ninth never looked back at Zandik, his sharp gaze trained on you. "No, I don't believe it can. Do you think me such a poor friend that I would discuss private matters as one discusses the weather?"

You smiled politely and even deigned to cross one leg behind another and give the closest gesture to a curtsy you could in a heavy cloak and pants.

"I do not wish to come between you. And your work is imperative; the Tsaritsa's Will must come first." You turned your obscured gaze to Zandik and said, "Send word if you will be further delayed but otherwise you know where I'll be, my Lord Harbinger."

Not like you went anywhere else other than the Tsaritsa's music room or your quarters anyway. The latter was probably a safer option, stifling though the notion felt.

Zandik inclined his head slightly but said nothing, instead turning around and continuing up the hill. Pantalone's smile faltered for a split second, an expression between disgust and admiration dancing across his face before he, too, turned and made his way back to the Palace.

You sought another path back up to the Palace, the Agent's footsteps never far behind as a bud of dread bloomed in your chest, invading all it could.

[angelkissiies]

e. prentiss relationship headcanons

╰╮ cw / tw : mention of death, mention of arson, fluff, tiny angst, wlw (fem reader)

* she buys you flowers every single week, whether she’s in another state or country— you can always count on a vase of flowers to find their way onto your doorstep when you get home from work. it’s the one thing she never seemed to shake, even after her alleged death by the hands of ian doyle, she couldn’t help but let you know she was still alive.

tear streaks stained your cheeks, a dark pink coloring your face as you clutched the recently departed woman’s sweatshirt— sharp cries rising from your lips as you shuddered. it was friday, a week gone since the death of emily, but somehow it felt like no time had passed. you’d been sitting in a hollow shell of your old body since the call from aaron, the one waiting for her to walk through the front door with her suitcase in tow. the one who had just placed the bouquet of baby’s breath in fresh water. the one who was still engaged to the love of her life.

a sharp knock arose from the front door, the noise numbed after the past five days being bombarded with friends and family. you couldn’t find the strength to move. it wasn’t until the person waiting spoke, “mavis’s flowers, delivery for—.”

you shot from your place on the couch, slinging the door open as you stared wide eyed and petrified at the vase of tulips in the man’s hands. as he handed you the vase, sparing an odd look at your current state, you jerked the card from its spot— in machine printed letters it read “i would never miss a delivery.”

* can make fantastic coffees and lattes, but, overall isn’t the best cook. she ends up buying an espresso machine for your apartment, as she rarely ends up staying in her own, so every morning she ends up waking you with the obnoxiously loud coffee grinder she purchased on the side.

morning light streamed through your blinds, catching slightly on your dark blue curtains before landing on your eyeline— making you ease, unwillingly, out of your sleep. as you twisted uncomfortably to avoid the streams of sunlight, your, now burning, eyes landed on the hand painted mug emily had made for you on your first anniversary. from the top, you could see small tendrils of steam rising from the liquid inside— meaning it was still hot.

you shrugged out from underneath the heavy duvet, hand clasping around the handle as you tested the warmth, taking a small sip. the taste sent a shiver down your spine, it was perfect— just like every morning.

* she takes you to work with her constantly for parties and celebrations. she can’t bear leaving you out of something to important to her. so you’ll get a text around noon, telling you to be ready for some event you can’t quite remember the name of— and you always oblige. if anyone loved the team, it was definitely you, finding yourself that evening wedged between emily and penelope as they all chatter on about something or other.

“and you’ll never believe it, but the guy actually cried! our emily made him cry!” penelope ranted, an excited smile on her face as you nodded along. the conference room was decorated for valentine’s day, though it had recently passed (reid hadn’t been able to deduce the correct decor, as ‘congrats on catching an infamous serial arsonist’ didn’t bode well with the decor company) and small paper cups filled with a mock tail were being passed around to everyone. “you should be so proud of her.”

“oh, i am.” you smiled, feeling the woman’s grip on yours tighten as she entertained a conversation with aaron and spencer.

* lets you rummage around her closet. the woman’s known to have expensive taste in clothing, coming from such a privileged background— it is to be expected. so when you’re pacing the floor, overstimulating yourself with outfit plans for work or— hell, even to go out to brunch, she simply grabs something of her own (that she knows you like) and sets it out for you to find. it never fails to put you to ease.

clothes scattered across the bed, failed outfits discarded into a pile on the floor as you eased yourself down to sit on the edge of the bed. you needed to leave in less than an hour and all you could do was try not to cry. a knock came at the door and you jumped, watering eyes shooting up to see emily slowly sliding through the cracked door with a hanger, of something unrecognizable through the haze of your tears, in her hands.

“th—,” “you don’t have to thank me, sweetheart.”

* lipstick marks. it’s like a ritual for her, especially after a long trip away, she’ll come home— still in her work clothes, gun tucked away in its holster— and find you, wherever you might be, and attack you with a dozen kisses to your lips and cheeks. she knows how dark her lipstick is and she knows how messy the two of you get after such a venture, but she couldn’t care less about the smudged edges of her own lips when she pulls back to admire the prints scattered across your face in varying shades.

“you gonna help me get this off?” you giggled, moving a hand up to swipe the lipstick off of her cheek with a gentle movement— fingers hovering slightly over her worn makeup, tracing the crease of her mouth.

“well, i kinda like how pretty you look. it’s a nice shade on you, i think maybe you need a little more.” she hummed in response, leaning down to meet your lips.

[merakiui]

Tw: dubcon, noncon, more incel!Idia, choking, attempt at running away, bdsm themes, etc.

Oh little kitten wants to take the lead? That's new, Idia obliges to let you take the lead to ride him, oh such an obedient little kitten you have become, you even want to pleasure him out of your own will!

You slowly sink on his dick in your stupidly slutty get up (a maid outfit that can spill your breasts, it doesn't matter big or small it will spill from how thin and small the coverage from the fabric is. Also a tiny skirt. Idia forbids you to wear underwear)

As you were pulsing on him, thinking he is almost climaxing, your hands grip on his neck, genuinely trying to choke him to his death, Idia passes out.

You took this chance with your wobbly legs and skimpy dress to run out of the dorm. Where should you go?

Octavinelle can provide protection but you would need to give something in return. Also there is no telling that they themselves wouldn't assault you too.

Heartslabyul would cause you to be collared and disciplined by Riddle though they can provide protection. But then again it's not worth the trouble.

Savannah Claw is the den of bullies, it would require a lot of strength to even reach out to Leona/Ruggie and they aren't even guaranteed to help you, Jack is most likely already asleep in this hour.

Pomefiore seems promising but that creepy stalker Rook is not up to any good.

Diasomnia sounds like the best choice, there is no way that Malleus would have any malicious intent against his favourite child of man right?

As darling finished pondering in which dorm to go to, you jumped into the mirror in which they end up in the hall of mirrors, they spotted teachers who would at least keep them safe until you reach a good dorm.

Flashes of horror can be seen in your eyes, not a single teacher cared nor did they want to help you, especially not in that get up,

"Isn't that the dumb mutt who ditched my class for the last 30 days? Why should I help you, from what I see, you were just busy goofing around being a slut." Crewel sneered.

A similar answer was what you got from the other teachers, as you were about to dip into the Diasomnia mirror, a long pale arm was holding your neck into a headlock.

"You think you can get away with choking me then attempting to flee?"

"How did you find me?"

"Are you stupid? I have a tracker planted somewhere on your body, you will never be able to find where, but wherever you go I will always take you back, there's no point in running. No one will ever help you."

"Let me go you disgusting creep, don't touch me!"

"You didn't change one bit, stupid slut. Just flaunting yourself to everyone in public, did you really want to be a communal cumdump? And I was being so generous to save you from these wolves."

Your body feels shivers, cold sweat all over. Why does Idia seem so scary now?

He brings you back to his dorm, this time he put a collar on you that you can't take off without his assistance, the collar electrocutes you (only enough to make you feel it but not actually hurt you fatally) when you run out of the "safe" zone. It also sets alarms all over the dorm.

He decided on actual mind break to punish this kitten. He starts by spanking you with his own hands, then an electric paddle. A vibrator taped on your nipples, clit, and a fuck machine of his exact size, no matter what he uses you still clamp uncomfortably.

It gets worse from there. You can't even talk properly, all you can do is slur his name by the time he was done, he truly has made you into his cumdump.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kinda wanted to write Azul too but I haven't had a clear image on what I should write huhuhu

IZUNA, I AM CLAWING AT THE WALLS OMG!!! this is so good... orz everyone really is against reader here. No one will bother helping, so now you're stuck with Idia forever. </3 Knowing Crowley, he wouldn't do anything because Idia's parents are rich and have probably helped the school like how the Asim family has made donations and such. And Crowley can't say no to lots of money generous donations!

Maybe the collar he puts on you has a little bell on it so you're more like a kitten. <3 by default, you have to wear cat ears and a tail plug. It would totally ruin the immersion if you didn't! He buys you lots of revealing outfits and cosplays to go with the cat look, and when you're finally, truly broken down and obedient then he can possibly trust you. Still, it's annoying you'd try to kill him and then run. Where else can you go? No one in any of the dorms is willing to help, the professors will mind their business because they're nowhere near as influential or wealthy as the Shroud family, and you're not very familiar with the town beyond NRC. Good luck trying to get off the island as well. You are, in all ways possible, trapped. And Idia knows this, and he uses it to his advantage.

His level difficulty really is that of a final boss. >:)

[ma3mae]

Love has no bounds!

Summary: Obstacle after obstacle refuse to let you and your beloved knight love each other in peace. So how do the both of you handle the biggest hurdle that has ever arrived?

Genre: fluff, angst :((( bit drama too :( also a bit smexy

Warnings: heartwreck 😭 legit teared up writing this 😭 also it gets very steamy at the end HEUEH

A/N: IM SORRY, ANON!! accidentally deleted the ask bc i posted it even tho i wanted to put it in drafts :') hope you'll see this tho!! Also only a tiny bit proofread, oops

Knight!Suehiro Tetchou

"Please, Princess! You mustn't delay your reply any longer!"

Hurried footsteps following your every move, various attempts in shacking the neighbouring empire's messenger off simply failing.

"I have already replied plenty of times and my answer remains the same!"

Turning around the corner, you hurriedly kept making your way towards your room, wanting nothing but peace.

Where the hell are the knights when you need them?!

"And stop following me already! I have been courteous enough to ignore your disrespect towards me but maybe I'd have to cut your tounge off after all!"

A hand clasping your wrist stopping you in the middle of the hall, the booming voice of your mother behind your form, echoing through the empty hallway.

"Stop with your tantrum already! That behavior is more than unbefitting of a princess!This is more than just about you. You could endanger this whole empire thanks to your foolishness!"

Deep breath, Y/N.

Deep breath.

"Why can't they just take one of my many siblings, huh?! There's a reason why you've got so many of them. Isn't it, Mother? Why must it be me, who gets married off to some tyrant who probably kills his wives off after having fulfilled their purpose as a simple birthing machine. "

A scoff is the only answer you got before feeling frail fingers grab your jaw and forcefully turning your head, seething eyes locking onto yours.

"I have been too lenient on you after all. Letting you take in sword lessons on the knight training grounds even though that is highly unbecoming of a princess. Yet your fool of a father remained stubborn, saying that a bit of self defense wouldn't hurt you. Or how you'd sometimes randomly sneak out at night, only to return at ungodly hours and miss your morning lessons. But I let you do it because I thought that maybe it would be good to let you enjoy your freedom while you can."

Wincing as the grip on your jaw tightened, she leaned in closer, her voice turning into a mere whisper, yet it only frightened you more.

"But as it seems, I've let it get over your head. That is my responsibility and you will remain so until you have joined that Emperor's side. Till then, I suppose a bit of time at home should suffice as a lesson to get your head straight."

Disbelief surging though your very core. Shaking your head at her words only seemed to spur her further into abusing her power over you again and again.

"Will you just stop solving your problems by merely showing off your power, please?!"

"If it helps correcting your ways, then yes."

"You can't just-!"

"Knights! Put the princess back to her chambers!"

As if on cue, two knights blocked your view of your mother, them putting their hands onto each of your arms.

"Please, Princess. Let us take you to your chambers."

You could hear the pleading voice of one of the knights, their grip only tightening slightly as they noticed the sharp gaze of the queen behind their backs.

"And make sure she stays in there."

With a huff you let them take you back, mind already formulating a plan on how to avoid being married off to your inevitable death.

.

.

.

Night time had arrived.

A light breeze greeting you under the moonlight, a slight shiver running through your body as you sat down onto the railing of your balcony.

"Isn't it a bit cold for you, Princess?"

A soft voice accompanied the night's wind, making your heart leap at it's sound.

Gazing down from your spot, you couldn't help but return the smile from him.

"If it concerns you so much then why not protect me from it? It is your job after all."

He merely blinked at your words, a question rising in his head.

"Is that an order?"

Tilting your head at his question, he could see the amusement dance in your eyes as a cheeky tone accompanied your reply.

"If you want it to be then yes."

With the help of a convenient placed large tree reaching your balcony, it only took mere seconds for him to reach you.

You let him approach you, admiring how the gentle light of the moon illuminated his beauty underneath it.

Eyes like the morning sun looking into yours as he took your hand into his, lifting the back of it onto his mouth before pressing his soft lips against it.

"I greet you, my princess."

Chuckling at his habit, you welcomed the warmth it brought onto your face.

"You don't have to greet me like that when we're alone, Tetchou."

He merely hummed at your words as he intertwined your hands together.

"But I like the feeling of my lips on your hands."

"I know you do."

A comforting silence accompanied the night as he sat down next to you.

Leaning your head onto his shoulder, you were glad for the lack of armor at times like these, knowing full well you'd be the only one to see him like this aside from the other knights.

Slowly but surely, you felt a lump form in your throat as you thought about the events of earlier.

The shaky exhale and tightened grip around his hand were enough for him to confirm his concerns, remembering the gossip of his knight companions inside the barracks.

"The princess seemed pretty distraught earlier. I think you might want to visit her later, Suehiro. Not like you'd do it anyway but I think she needs a shoulder."

"Why, what happened? Did she get into a fight with the Empress again?"

His companion and good friend, Tatchihara could only shake his head in frustration.

"Ugh, yes but this time it was worse. Had to drag her off to her room by her Empress's orders. Honestly a surprise that she hasn't run away yet because I definitely woul- OW HEY?!"

"Utter these words louder and you can kiss your life as a knight goodbye. Or your life in general."

Glaring at the redhead, he hissed at the feeling of a forming bump on his head.

"Yeah but it's the truth! Imagine you'd be married off to that mass murderer of a emperor in that shitty empire of his!"

Freezing at the words of his friend, he could only watch the interaction in shock, Tachihara seemingly not noticing his reaction.

Tetchou flinched at the sudden hand on his shoulder, yet the familiar ringing of a bell telling him who it was.

"If you're already gonna badmouth him then do it properly by stating it's correct name."

"You want me to be all fancy and refer to it as" Night Wandering Empire?" Nah, shove that up your ass. We call it" Port-shit" in the barracks for a reason."

Scoffing at the know it all attitude of his colleague, he slinged his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the door, ready to hit the bed after vigorous training.

Tetchou didn't fail to see the sympathetic glance towards him before the shut of the door ripped him out of his thoughts.

"He really needs to work on his temper but I can understand his anger. Just thinking about the country run by such a barbaric man already leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don't know how the people can follow a man who has killed his way onto the throne." The king died of an illness"? Give me a break. "

"I have to go."

Quickly taking his bag, he made his way towards the door, not caring to even glance at his friend. His mind too focused on one thing.

"And what are you gonna do? Whisk her away like the shining knight you're supposed to be? You know that there's no escaping it. You'll get caught from both sides. Either the Empress will banish you or that lunatic Emperor Osamu might just kill you and declare war on us after all."

The only answer he got was the slam of the door, a sigh merely escaping his lips as he frowned.

"What an idiot. He'll get himself killed before he knows it. His skill has been helping him this far but against two empires? He'll be dead for sure."

"Just let him be, Jouno. You know how important the princess is to him. She saved him after all."

"Doesn't mean he's got to gamble with his life like that. He knew what was coming yet still couldn't stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. Don't even know how he was able to survive that long om his own..."

The grip on the strap of his bag tightened as he stood infront of the door. Refusing to listen it any further, he made his way.

He knew he was just worried for him. Rightfully so.

He knew of everything. The consequences, the already existing conflict betweent the two empires.

Yet how could he let it be?

How could they just ask of him to let it be?

Wasn't the world already cruel enough?

'Just thinking of that king would leave a bad taste in his mouth'?

What was he supposed to say?

Every time he thought about it, he could feel his inside twisting and turning, his mind turning mushy and his breath stuck in his throat.

It didn't help that he knew that he was the only one who refused to let this happen.

He knew that your crafty mind would come up with a plan and he didn't care how bad it might end up.

He'll do anything if it means he'll be able to spend the rest of his life with you.

He'll forever be knight to protect and love you, just like now.

So as he gently cups your face to look into your with tears glistening eyes, he asks.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

A nod from you is enough to bring a smile on his face.

You let him wrap his arms around you, his smell reminiscing of his training.

Training to be stronger like he had sworn to become.

To protect the people of this country.

Yet ultimately, to protect you from anything that might harm you.

His embrace never failed to convey that promise, he had made years ago.

And it never failed to not make the tears run down your cheeks as he'd always be there to wipe them away.

Just like now.

"I'll help you. Anything that's in your way, I'll remove it. I won't stop until all of your worries are gone and until you're happy."

Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you couldn't stop the tremble in your voice.

"What if I'm only happy when I'm with you?"

"Then I'll make sure to be with you. Even after death, I'll be there."

The dam broke inside you, the waterworks unable to stop as the first sob unwillingly escapes your body.

Yet the lips on the crown of your head and the tightening of his arms, only spurred you further into letting everything out.

"I-I don't want to marry him. I really don't! Why is it that everyone won't let us be together?! Why do I have to be the one?! So many of my sisters and yet my mother chose me?! I've done everything to not be chosen and yet! And yet!"

"I know, Y/N. I know."

You felt him gently rock you back and forth, the sobs only slowly but surely subsiding after what seemed like hours.

"You don't have to hold back. If you aren't done with crying then don't stop."

Reeling in from your breakdown, you shook your head.

"I-I can't. If we want to get out then I'll have to get it together. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

Lifting your head, a wave of embarassement came over you as the stain on his collar was clesrly visible even as the clouds covered the moon.

"Are you in need of a new shirt?" You sheepishly asked as you wipes the tears away with the sleeves of your nightgown.

"No, it's alright. A wet shirt is nothing compared to the burden you carry. Also..."

He took your hands into his as he put them on each side of his face, letting them cup it in the end.

"You shouldn't rub your eyes so hard or else they might get itchy."

He mirrored the beautiful smile that etched itself onto your face at his yet as always caring words.

"I know you'd still find me beautiful even if they were red from all my crying but I'd still like to avoid that."

"If that's your wish then so be it."

You felt his grip on your hands tighten as his gaze held a serious look in them.

"If you wish to escape then it is best be done as soon as we can. Just like you said."

"How do we know for sure it will work? My mother knows about my random escapes at night. There will be more knights stationed around the gates."

"Then we'll find another way. The bigger the place, the more escape routes there will be."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his words, reminiscing of the time before he had become your knight.

"I keep forgetting that you actually used to be a thief."

"I only stole from bad pe-"

Pecking his lips, you gazed into his eyes, feeling the heat on your hands as the warmth spread across his face by your sudden action.

"I know, I know. You only stole from bad people and gifted your stole goods to the poor ones. Just like Robin Hood."

You felt him tilt his head at your words.

"But I'm more good looking than him. Atleast that is what you said."

"These were indeed my words and now I'll let this thief take me away, just like I'm taking him away. And it will all happen-"

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Smiling at your words, you sealed the deal as you pulled his face closer to yours, letting your lips lock and enjoy the warmth of each other.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he hooked his arm under your legs and one to steady your back, successfully sweeping you into his embrace as he walked towards your bed.

Roughly shoving off his boots, you soon felt the soft mattress hit your back, the yelp escaping you making him deepen the kiss as he slid his tounge in.

You could feel the heat build rise between your bodies as he let out a groan at the taste of your mouth and slid his knee between your legs, pushing it against your very core, a wet patch already forming in mere seconds.

Slowly the need for air became stronger for the both of you, making him to be the first to break the kiss.

Forehead against forehead, his gaze bore into your eyes as your flushed faces and the knee rubbing against your spot didn't help to calm you both down at all.

"Shouldn't we sleep to have enough energy for tomorrow?"

A smile made its way onto your flushed face, as even intense moments such as these never stopped him from not putting your wellbeing first.

"We've got enough time and more importantly, this could be the last time we'd get to enjoy it on such a nice bed like this."

"Then only a little."

He spoke before letting his lips trail from your face down to your neck, gently sucking on your plush skin as he let one hand knead the soft flesh of your body, worshipping it's every curve and promising through his touch to mark every inch of your body.

"Only a little." was your only reply, fully knowing that was the only promise he'd always be willing to break for you.

That night marked the beginning of your freedom with danger lurking ahead but at the end of the day, you knew you'd be safe.

Just as much he'd make sure to protect you, you'd make sure to do it as well.

Because tomorrow would be the day.

Tomorrow would mark the death of the Princess and the birth of you.

Y/N.

DAMN, this got long but if this gets some good reactions then i'd def make a part 2 of this <3

[misty-caligula]

So Van’s not meant to be alive. Metatextually she’s meant to be dead, and now she’s put a big crack in the show. Like, think about it for a moment.

The plot is INTRICATELY written, so many calls back and forth, so many tiny details. And now Van’s jammed in there like a... an extra cog in the machine. She doesn’t quite fit.

I don’t think this is a mistake. I think that she’s muscled into Mari’s space.

In s1 Mari was being set up as like, Lott’s big disciple. Now she’s sort of relegated to a background character. My theory is that she was meant to be taking Van’s spot. Van, propelled by her near death experience, rocketed up to become Lottie’s big right hand and Mari got pushed to the side, and it really shows. Mari in s2 seems... grumpy. Moreso than before? As if, metatextually, she knows something’s wrong, knows she’s been replaced.

Then there’s the dripping thing, the blood thing. The doomed-coded thing. I think it’d be amazing if she really is pit girl and if she ends up somehow taking Van’s place in the pit hunt, just as Javi took Nat’s. I’m not sure the details, but imagine... if Van took her place in the narrative by cheating death from the wolves, and then even stole her position on the rescue out of the wilderness by somehow getting Mari to die on her behalf, cheating death once more.

This is a HUGE throw, but find me in 2026 SCREAMING at my tv if I’m right...

[milks-thoughts]

I WAS REWATCHING ROTTMNT AND THAT ONE SCENE WITH RAPH HAD ME THINKING- WHAT IF A YOUNGER SIBLING WAS TAKEN WITH HIM? My auADHD has been KICKING MY ASS RN-

(this will be written with younger reader being a moth, they are specifically said to have fur but it’s not specified which species of fluffy moth. younger reader is around 10)

summary: Raphs younger sibling was taken by the Krang, and the horrors they must’ve endured while he was unconscious weighs on his mind

TW: mentions of SA, blood, descriptions of pain, destruction of body parts, guilt, loss of vision, mentions of death

You Will Be Okay

Raphael was the protector, the shield, he would catch everyone if they fell. He was the brick wall when life was a typhoon. He gave up his life for Leo, what he didn’t prepare for was you getting captured. Donnie hadn’t made you a escape pod because you had wings, you wouldn’t need it! (they found it beneficial for your wings to be surrounded by Donnie’s ninpō, you always helped take care of the over exerted turtle afterwards) but their ninpō was taken, and krang sister quickly found out how weak your wings were. one swipe by her tentacle and your entire wing was broken. You fell to the floor harshly, your tiny body laying limp and grotesquely bent on the concrete. Raph woke up to find you hung by your wrists, your wings completely destroyed. he didn’t care that the krang sister was crawling in him, or how his shell screamed for him to take care of the open crack. no. his brain was zeroed in on your broken body. you looked at the ground in a haze, god how long have you been awake? “ you must forgive my sister, she has a temper “ he growled at the Krang and snarled a warning when it got close to you “ You’re not human…what are you? “ it sneered Raph snarled and smirked “ let me down and I’ll show you! “ it scoffed and turned, walking over to your blank and hazy look being brought more into light when it lifted you with a gross, wet, tentacle “ this one was so easy to break “ the sludge holding you up moved to your thighs and you jolted your body tightening with fear and your eyes filled with a look, a look he wished to never see on you. A small voice escaped you, quiet and raspy “ not again- please- not again “ it was repeated over mixed with “ dont hurt him “ that made Raph sick. The krang smiled at his face “ a weak spot “ the smallest one purred in his ear. He watched as the sludge moved up your thigh more. He looked away as the Krang knocked him out.

When Raph was fully transformed you weren’t. Well- sorta, the Krang implanted on the back of your neck (like Horde Prime in She-Ra). Raph was his knights and you were simply his king on a chessboard. You didn’t move much. You moved with him, the queen of this metaphorical chessboard. You were a throne piece that he loved watching the turtles faces crumble at, the pest stare in half hung shock that leaves his mouth gulping like a fish. “ surprise! I’m here for my siblings “ Leo readied his swords and Krang Prime smiled, making a ‘ get him ‘ motion with his claw. You sat on Krang Primes lap, his giant machine claw petting you like you were a dog and your mind controlled state happily took the pets. The krang sludge on the back of your neck would tingle and make you jerk whenever he got close to it with his metal claws. maybe you were more of a feline. Leo’s face hardened with anger as he took you and Raph in. , you were blinded and forced to sit in Krang Primes lap, like a weird decoration, or a pet. And even when the family unlocked their ninpō you weren’t free, you didn’t carry the ninpō. Maybe it meant what everyone ultimately feared, that you wouldn’t be accepted into their families afterlife that you wouldn’t be given rest that lasted for eternity.. you didn’t exactly fight back when Raph took you out of the ship. The krang sludge on your neck jerked you alive, the sludge that covered your eyes opened to reveal four eyes, all locked on different opponents. You lunged at Mikey and pinned him, a inhuman growl leaving you before you were pulled off by Raph, the remains of your wings being messed up more. Your body’s legs were contorted and bent weird, like a puppet on a string you moved despite your legs crumbling under you, bone stabbing out of it after a especially hard impact. You had long gotten out of Raphs arms and went after Donnie instead, the turtle hitting you with his bō staff, hard, your body limply fell over and Donnie rushed over to block a hit from Kramg Prime, sending him and Mikey flying. Grabbing you, Raph jumped after them

Where…were you? Your pale, clammy hands gripped the blanket as your hazy and clouded eyes looked at the bed. Well, as much as you could look. You were blind now, and your legs would probably never work again, the bone being set in place and your legs wrapped up with stitches. Tears fell out of your eyes and you tried hiding your sniffles. You’ll never be able to fight, or play basket ball, or- or play Mario Kart again. You’ll be forced to just be this entity. Your brothers awoke to your sniffles. Your body trembling on the bed. Raph was the first to act, he rubbed your face with his big hand and murmured soft words to you. You pressed into his hand, the revelations of shared trauma coming to fruition. You reeled back when you felt something touch your thigh. Donnie hummed “ I’m sorry, I have to examine your wounds “ that made you pause “ do they know? “ you whispered to Raph and you felt him stiffen before whispering back a “ no “ you simply accepted that, maybe they’ll never have to know.Maybe one day you’ll have the courage to tell them. Raph was absolutely correct. Everything will be okay.

[maltmealo]

Chapter 3:analog_mannquin

Where did they come from?

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Optimus looked at the tiny human, she was asleep again. Questions upon questions ran through his mind, how was she alive? If what she said was true then she should not be here in Jasper. Optimus watched as Ratchet measured the EMF around her, Bulkhead was standing to the side nervously tapping his digits together.

“Ratchet, did I hurt her?” he asked, leaning back on the wall, “Optimus didn't get anywhere near her head though! I just kept her from falling,” he trailed off, going back to staring at the floor.

“No, you didn’t, and there is nothing there! Like she just magically healed herself, there is not even a cut on her.” the old doctor said pointing towards her now-cleaned forehead. “This is weird, a human falling out of a ground bridge that isn't an actual ground bridge, saying she got hit by a truck, and then bleeding like this?”

Optimus shakes his head, staring at the human on the cold metal table, “I do not believe she is in league with the deceptions, if she was, she wouldn’t let herself be so vulnerable, it is unlike a Decepticon to risk death for a chance that we would save them.” Optimus says, staring at the human's energon on my hand, “Ratchet are you sure the human is okay? This is an obscene amount of energon loss for a human, and I do not believe it should be red like this.”

Ratchet let out a short snort, “Optimus, humans don’t have energon, they have blood, and blood is supposed to be red,” he said smugly, “The government human that comes here made me take a human ‘biology’ class like i’d ever need to use that.”

Optimus sighed and looked up at him, “His name is agent fowler, and even if he did make you take that class, it was useful was it not?” Ratchet huffs and turns around, mumbling a yes. Optimus shook his head and turned to look at the small human unconscious on the table, she wasn’t bleeding anymore, which was good. His mind races as Optimus recalls the fresh memory of what had happened.

“Optimus, there is an unusual EMF reading west of the base,” Ratchet spoke, pointing at the screen, “looks like a ground bridge signal but it's different, stronger.”

Optimus snapped out of his daze, the dull anger building up inside him stopping as he spoke. Megatron’s army had been destroying them, the recent losses weighing heavily on his mind. Optimus walks up to him, looking at the screen, the dull beeping of machines running cutting off his trail of thought. Optimus looked around, spotting Bulkhead, the rest of the team had gone to recharge, Bulkhead almost going with them.

“Bulkhead, you and I will go to find out the source of the EMF signal.” Optimus says as Bulkhead turns around and nods, “Ratchet, open the ground bridge.”

The ground bridge opens, Bulkhead and Optimus run into the ground bridge, running off into the desert night. A faint purple glow emanates above them, a rift in the sky had opened, the rough yellow sand almost glowing, reflecting the purple gap’s light. Optimus and Bulkhead stopped, readying for a fight. But none comes, only a tiny human limply falling to the ground like a rock. Bulkhead being closer, somehow managed to catch them.

"Optimus… what do we do?" Bulkhead asks, curling his digits around their body, water dripping into the sand. They looked like they just swam through the Pacific Ocean, pale and drenched.

"Are they breathing?" Optimus questioned, hovering his hand over the human. Humans need oxygen to survive, if they didn't breathe, they would die, he remembered that. Bulkhead scanned their body, nodding.

"They're alive, should take 'em to ratchet though." He confirmed, waiting for the prime to agree with him, "Right?"

Before Optimus could answer, the loud sound of energon guns firing drew his attention from the soaked human in Bulkhead's servo. A group of Decepticons was charging at them, the Decepticons had tracked the strange EMF signal as well.

"Ratchet, open the ground bridge at our coordinates," Optimus commands into his communicator, firing back at the Decepticons. He didn't have time to think of the potential consequences of taking a strange human into their base, if they didn't leave now, they would be overwhelmed by Decepticons. “Bulkhead, we’re bringing the human with us.”

Bulkhead nodded and fired a couple of shots at the Decepticons to slow them down, keeping the human close to his chest as he began to back up. Optimus fired his energon gun at the top of the ridge, making boulders fall in front of the Decepticons, slowing them temporarily. The bright blue glow of the ground bridge opened behind them, illuminating the silhouettes of the two giants. The two quickly ran through the bridge, leaving the Decepticons, who were now over the boulders, in the middle of the dark desert.

Optimus and Bulkhead, walk into the metal hanger, Ratchet waiting for them. He almost looked offended when they produced the human, his face changing from shock to horror.

“A human was caught in between the fight?” he asked, his voice wavering between fear and shock. He quickly snatches the human from Bulkhead’s servo, setting her on a way too big, metal table meant for the Autobots when they get hurt. A translucent blue light scans over the human’s body, their scans popping up on the screen behind Ratchet, as he turned around, he visibly relaxed, although a look of confusion was on his face.

“Ratchet, is something wrong?” Bulkhead asked, anxiously wringing his servos, the human resting on the table seemed to have dried off, only being slightly damp now, they were shaking on the table, still recharging. “Why are they shaking like that?”

“I don’t know, I'm a cybertronian doctor, not a human one.” Ratchets states, watching the human, “But the EMF reading is coming from this human.”

“But humans don’t emit EMF right?” Bulkhead looked to Ratchet for confirmation, confused as to why a human was giving off electromagnetic signals.

“Not to this level,” Ratchet remarked, gesturing to the screen, “This EMF level is comparable to high amounts of Energon, it’s a wonder we didn’t find them sooner.”

“Oh that's ‘cause they fell out of a portal thingy.” Bulkhead proclaimed, an excited look on his face, “Do you think this human has magic?”

“Bulkhead, humans don’t have magic, you’ve been watching too many of those human shows.” Ratchet expressed, slightly annoyed, “It’s most likely they’ve been exposed to some sort of cybertronian device that opened that ‘portal’ and left an EMF on them.”

Optimus who had been silent up until this point spoke up, “Will they be okay?” Ratchet shrugged and turned back towards the screen.

“She needs a human doctor to tell her that,” Ratchet stated, his face plate contorting into a grimace, his voice suddenly changing from concern to fearful anger, “Did you two not consider the fact that this human might be a Decepticon spy?”

Optimus inwardly cringed at the thought, humans were small and weak creatures compared to them, but the human government had proved to be able to do at least some damage to the Decepticons, he had never thought that maybe these small fleshy creatures would be on the Decepticons side. Although he highly doubted the fact that this human was one of the Decepticons, he was ashamed that he didn’t think fast enough to think of the possible danger he just put his team in.

“Ratchet, I made the decision to bring them here, and it seemed as if the Decepticons were investigating the portal as well,” Optimus stated, unable to tear his optics away from the human.

“Are you sure that they fell out of a portal? Not that they were just thrown there by the Decepticons?” Ratchet questioned, leaning on the table the human was on.

“I’m sure that they fell from some sorta portal!” Bulkhead yelled, agitated that Ratchet was accusing the human of being a spy.

“And then you brought them here? Bulkhead, what if they were a Decepticon spy!” Ratchet proclaimed, not looking for an answer.

“Ratchet is right, bulkhead,” Optimus answered, “But then again, they appeared to be in distress, and as Autobots, it is our duty to help those in distress.”

As Ratchet was about to speak up, a scream came from the human, who was now awake. Their gazes flicked down to the tiny human who was scampering away from the middle of the table.

The flashback ended as Arcee and Cliffjumper entered the room, greeting the three. Cliffjumper gasped as he saw the human on the table, basically running over and slamming his hands on the table, leaning in to get a better look.

“A new human? Did Bulkhead crush this one’s car again?” Cliffjumper joked as Ratchet pushed him away from the table gently. Arcee came up beside him and looked at the human, asking the same question.

“Why do we have a human on the table?” she questioned, keeping her partner from poking at the small human.

“Bulkhead and Optimus found her falling from a portal,” Ratchet answered gruffly, “Why are the two of you here, weren’t you guys recharging?”

“Not tired anymore, who are they?” he ask, poking the human's side, their body jolting in response. Optimus let out a small inaudible exvent, relieved to see that the human was at least responding in some capacity. Arcee swatched Cliffjumper’s hand away.

Ratchet relays their name to the two, “Fowler has been informed and we’re running their name through this slow human database.” Ratchet scoffs, smearing at the screen.

The beeping of computers overwhelms the noise in the room, Cliffjumper trying to continuously poke at the human as Arcee prevents him, Ratchet looking through the data on the screen, various individuals of the same name popping up, but none looking quite like the human on the table. Optimus walks off, entrusting the human to the good doctor's service. He needed to recharge, at least for a moment, not really tired but something pulling him towards the alluring haze of sleep.

[admiral-mason]

SAGAU x Battlecruisers

Feat. Beidou

Disclaimer: Beidou may be a bit out of character.

Before we get into this post, lemme tell you a bit about Battlecruisers.

...Here just watch this video:

And here's the game's website:

Here's some lore from my perspective:

Humanity was effectively killed off, and robots took over the world. Said robots tend to refer to humans as meat people.

The robots also built massive warships simply referred to as battlecruisers. The battlecruiser you control is known as the Trident.

All that's left of humans is floating cities. I can also imply that sea levels have risen dramatically since the game's protagonist is capable of using his battlecruiser to Paris which is in the middle of France.

I don't think this is canon but I like to think that plastic bottles survived humanity's eradication

I know three nations that exist: The United Automata Coalition (Also known as the UAC, it's the strongest nation in the game), the Rust Nation (which builds battlecruisers of their own), and New Australia (I only know one character from said nation, that's it)

Also the protagonist is this guy (I screenshot the image myself):

His name is Charlie, but at the end of the game, his full name is revealed to be Charles Wilfred Haka V1.

So, how will I tie this to SAGAU?

The answer is simple: While you played Genshin Impact a lot, you eventually found out about Battlecruisers. After giving it a whirl, you honestly liked the game as it was nice to play something else for once.

Well, then you get yeeted into Teyvat.

Except this time, you're not in a nation or frankly anywhere for that matter.

You notice you're on the deck of a jet-black cruiser... before looking around and seeing an ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE GUN TURRET.

(This is assuming that Charlie is around the height of an average human... refer back to the Trident picture shown earlier for an idea of the scale) (I screenshot this myself and added text in Canva)

Suddenly, someone emerges from a hatch next to you.

You immediately realize that the jet-black robot is Charlie due to his slim legs and stubby arms.

Suddenly, he says something.

"Hey! You're the guy who helped me steal the Trident and survive thirty-one life-or-death scenarios!"

"...I'm sorry wha-"

(Headcanons start here)

Beidou and her crew likely would find you and Charlie on one of her voyages. It isn't hard at all to spot the Trident since it's a very large jet-black modular battleship.

Once she spots you, everyone on the Alcor would likely feel your divine presence since this is SAGAU. Beidou would order the crew to get closer, but with caution since the Trident is highly intimidating.

Meanwhile, Charlie is watching the Alcor get closer via a mounted telescope.

"Is that... a wooden cruiser controlled by meat-people and propelled by paddles and two giant wheels in the rear?"

"Hold up lemme see *notices the Alcor via the telescope* ...Oh crap we're in Teyvat."

"Huh?"

Once the Alcor finally reaches the Trident, Beidou is just staring up at the massive profile of the ship. It's massive.

Conversely, you're looking down at the Alcor's tiny profile, wondering how you were gonna talk to them. Hopefully, Beidou and her crew don't see you as hostiles.

Charlie suggests the idea of using a Steamcopter to get down to the Alcor.

(That's a Steamcopter)

"Dude, this is insane! These things only have a 60% chance of taking off properly!" You yelped to Charlie, panicking over the fact that you remembered the problematic lore bits of the Steamcopter.

"Nah, you'll be fine! Trust me!" Charlie replied as the VTOL aircraft took off. Thankfully, the Steamcopter did not malfunction and you and Charlie were able to descend onto the deck of the Alcor.

"Uhhh... hi Beidou-" was all you could make out before Beidou tackled you with a hug.

"Your grace! I cannot be any happier in any other moment that's not right now!"

"...Great! Now I'm in a SAGAU situation!" You yelped, not knowing how to respond.

"What is that?" Charlie asked as he was confused.

After the hasty introduction Beidou recomposed herself, introducing her, Kazuha, and the Alcor's crew... before asking on who Charlie is.

As soon as they found out that Charlie is a naval captain from another world they were fascinated by him and his ship.

"It has weapons, shields, and a charging station for the drones that work on this cruiser!"

Charlie excitedly said as Beidou and Kazuha continued to look at the Trident's massive profile.

"How... how did you obtain such a vessel?" Kazuha asked.

"I stole it with the help of this guy right here!" Charlie said as he pointed to you with his left arm. You just looked at him with a 'bruh' face.

"YOU WHAT?!" Beidou and Kazuha yelled at the same time.

Genshin Impact by miHoYo. Battlecruisers by Mecha Weka.

[sofiadragon]

Ever find a larger bill in the laundry that you thought you lost or spent? I feel like that. The tiny little slash fic website from the early 00s that I read "If you are prepared" on is long gone, all links broken, but I found it over on Walking the Plank, which is somehow still operational. I found it and I'm about to completely ruin my emotional state for the next several days by re-reading it.

If You are Prepared

I sure hope this is the dark, intense journey through deep lore pre-OotP Harry Potter that I think it is. I so hope this is the fic I think it is. I reposted a work of mine on AO3 and spotted a reference to the online slash fic magazine Swish and Flick while I was cutting and pasting the old rtf into chapters. That got me to googling around looking to see if there was any trace of it left after 22 or so years. Found a screencap with some links to different stories and... I know this title. It lept out at me, through a screencap taken of a half-busted wayback machine archived webpage from 2003-2004. It jogged memories two decades old.

Go ahead. I dare you to read it. First chapter is Snape's POV:

At the first sight of the Muggle neighbourhood I’m reminded of one of the reasons I became a Death Eater so long ago. I feel nauseous and I can scarcely resist taking out my wand and casting a growth spell on their perfectly cut grass. I hurry up the stone walk way, amusing myself in imagining the look on the Muggles’ faces were they ever to see my garden. I knock three times on the oak door.