#yeah politeness‚ aviation‚ politeness‚ some more politeness-

[tardis--dreams]

What if i just fill these 40 ugly pages exclusively with politeness content. What then.

[elexuscal]

Something I'm such a sucker for is characters who's greatest strength is their biggest weakness (and vice versa) and I think that's a big part of the reason I like John Granby so much

his strength/flaw combo? loyalty.

Like he's so insanely loyal. i think that's a huge part of the appeal of this character. Once Laurence wins him over, John Granby is ride-or-die besties 4 lyfe. Granby follows Laurence to Australia, to Brazil, to China.

He demonstrates that same dedication to folks like Tharkay, to Lily's formation, and especially, to his dear beloved Iskierka.

... even when he shouldn't.

That's one of the big things he has to get over, right? It's not that Granby is a push over; he's more than capable and willing to speak his mind. But he's so overjoyed to be a captain of a draogn, of a firebreather no-less, and so devoted to her, that her dominate personality trods all over his and eventually leads to the [gestures] Brazil situation.

The signs are elsewhere, though. Granby is such damn good at his job in part because he's a true bred Aviator, but that introduces some big blind spots. The whole Granby-Laurence face off in book 1 is because Granby is so loyal to Aviators over Navymen, and his old formation in particular, he comes out the gate being rude to this hoity toity Navy captain that things start escalating far past where they should.

In general, even to the end, he's just a little bit too complacent in the Aviator way of thinking. For example, while Granby knows, respects, and trusts dragons, he's also resigned to the whole 'you just gotta cull undersized hatchlings, just the way of things'.

If Temeraire is the one to radicalize Laurence, Laurence is the one to radicalize Granby. And it often feels less like Granby ever thinks really deeply about the political or ethical considerations of dragon suffrage. Once these things are pointed out, he's sensible and good hearted enough to be like, oh yeah good point and he'll throw his weight behind it, but that's less because he believes in the ideas, so much as he believes in the people championing them.

[ohtobeleah]

PL2

6 - In bed at 2am, blissfully drowsy

&

37 - “You're stuck with me, like it or not.”

With my favorite WSO good ol' Baby On Board (Sorry Fanboy)

I see you, and I raise you Bob Floyd with the Admirals Daughter.

Warnings: None :)

Bob had been freaking the fuck out ever since he’d gotten the call from the county hospital that you’d been admitted. The worst part about knowing you were in the hospital was the fact he couldn’t just up and leave in the middle of a tactical response seminar. But the second he was finished? The second Mav had stopped talking and dismissed the group of Elite Naval Aviators that sat before him, Bob was racing off down the hall, collecting his keys from his locker and making a rush to the county hospital across town. 

Because of course they couldn’t take you to the Base Hospital could they? No—that would’ve been too easy. 

“You have a patient here, Y/n Y/l/n—what room is she in?” There were two things about Robert Floyd that still seemed to shock people when they figured him out. 

“Miss Y/l/n, is resting and—“ Bob didn’t let the nurse sitting at the nurses station finish her sentence. 

“I asked what room she’s in.” The first thing that seemed to shock people about Bob was that he lost all sense of politeness and rationality when the people he cared about were in pain or in any kind of danger. Phoenix found that out one night at the Hard Deck when some guy touched her ass. Robert Floyd, who at that point had shown no sign of aggression or intention to ever engage in any sort of physical contact, stood up after he finished his last sip of lemon lime bitters and threw the hardest right hook he could. 

“As I was saying, she can’t have any visitors.” Bob didn’t like that response at all as the nurse went back to her paperwork. 

“Listen to me—“ The second thing about Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd that shocked people when they finally connected the dots, was that he was dating none other than Admiral Beau Simpson's daughter and had been doing so for a number of years before he even crossed paths with Cyclone at Miramar. “I’m gonna ask you one more time—“ But Bob already knew Cyclone from the many dinners he’d been over for during holiday seasons and family get-togethers. It didn’t however change the hostility the pair shared. “What room is my girlfriend in—“ Because there was something Bob hadn’t done yet that your father thought he should have done by now if he was serious about his baby girl. 

Bob hadn’t Proposed. 

“Floyd.” Cyclone called out from down the hall as Bob turned in the direction your fathers voice had come from. “She’s in room 1024.” Bob waisted not a second of time as he made his way towards your dad. 

“You’ve seen her?” 

“It’s locked.” 

“I don’t care—“ You were Bob's entire world, his best friend, the love of his life, his better half. “I need to see her.” As Bob tried to push past your dad, Cyclone put his hand on Bob's shoulder, catching his attention and stopping him from taking another step forward. 

“What are you gonna do kid? Are you gonna break the door down?”

“Yeah—“ Bob nodded as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If I have to.” All Beau did in response was let his hopefully one day soon son in law go, watching as he made a direct line towards your hospital room. 

“I spoke to the doctors, they said she fainted at school but she’s fine Robert.” 

“If she fainted then she isn’t alright now is she!?” Bob spat back at your dad as he continued down the hall. Cyclone stayed hot on his tail. 

“They said she’s run down and a little dehydrated but she’s okay.” 

“Alright so then why won’t they let anyone see her?” Bob asked as he stopped in his stride and turned back to Cyclone who looked just as worried as Bob. 

“Because she’s sleeping, she needs it.” Bob knew better than anyone how hard you’d been overworking yourself. Between working full time and studying you were spread pretty thin. Bob thought you needed to take a step back, he saw the way you had been neglecting your own health in order to fit study into your already jam packed schedule. “Bob, she’s fine.” Bob let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in ever since he got the call you’d been taken to hospital. “She’s gonna be okay kid.” 

“What are you even doing here?” Bob questioned your dad as he ran his hands through his hair. 

“I’m one of her emergency contacts, they called me.”

“Yeah I know that but—“ Bob didn’t mean to sound rude, he was just stating the obvious. Beau Simpson had never been an overly passionate father figure. And it seemed as though Beau caught onto what his somewhat son in law had been insinuating. 

“You mean what’s a heartless shithead like me doing in a place like this?” 

“Yeah something like that.” Bob replied, was he proud of himself? No not really, but he knew his point had been made. 

“I would’ve come for you too if you ever worked hard enough to pass out.” Cyclone tapped Bob's shoulder as he smiled softly. “But you never have.” Bob chuckled softly too as both men saw a nurse stepping out of your room, gesturing that they could enter if they wanted to. “You go, I’m sure she wants to see you before anyone else.” 

“Thanks Sir.” Bob replied as he nodded and pressed his lips together. “Thank you for caring about her enough to come.” Bob left it at that, not quite hearing what Admiral Sysmpison said under his breath.

“You too son, you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The next day after Bob had admittedly refused to leave your side overnight, you were both getting home to an empty house that had been left unattended overnight. 

However, as you slept soundly while Bob kept a watchful eye on you, he asked Fanboy and Phoenix if it wasn’t too much trouble, if they could swing by and just spruce the place up a little bit. 

They did without hesitation because they knew if there were still things that needed to be done around the home you and Bob shared, you truly wouldn’t be able to rest. And all you needed right now was rest. And plenty of it.

“Alright so here’s what you’re gonna do.” Bob cooed as he cupped your face and pulled you close the moment you both stepped through the threshold of your humble abode. “You’re gonna go upstairs and take a long, hot shower and relax while I cook us some food.” 

“I can help you cook.” You tried to argue but the look you got from your boyfriend in return was enough to tell you that he was serious about you doing nothing. “Alright alright, I’ll be in the shower.” 

“When you're done it’s straight into pyjamas, no ifs or buts.” Bob shouted after you as you walked up the stairs. You were so thankful to have Bob, someone who cared enough about you to want to take care of you and tell you to slow the hell down. You thought you were fine until you weren’t fine. Which was why Bob felt it was important and absolutely critical that he stayed home with you for a day or two to make sure you weren’t going to start back up into the almost psychotic routine you’d been putting yourself through to fit everything in. 

“Okay so I know you aren’t sick but I also know you can’t be feeling too crash hot so—“ Bob cooed as he opened the bedroom door a little wider with his foot to see you getting ready to hop into bed. “I thought chicken soup and toast might be good.” Bob explained as he padded across the bedroom, carrying two bowls of delicious soup on a tray.

“Is that your mum's chicken soup?” You asked curiously as the smell captivated your senses as Bob moved closer. “Oh god it smells so good.” Bob was as careful as he could be as he sat down beside you in bed, holding the tray he’d brought in with two bowls of soup and buttered toast to go with. 

“I didn’t have time to make it from scratch so I just got some out of the deep freeze.” You really did love Robert Floyd, and for what it was worth you’d say yes in a heartbeat if he ever did ask you to marry him. But it was something you weren’t too pressed about—you were just happy to enjoy the moments you had with him. “But here, we’re gonna sit down and we’re gonna eat this soup and we’re gonna watch Shameless because I know that you’ve been needing to find the time to finish it and now a time has presented itself.” Bob babbled as he passed you your bowl and took his own as he expertly manoeuvred his legs under the covers. “Don’t argue either.” 

“I feel fine, I promise—“ You tried to argue anyway as you blew on your spoon full of soup, sending Bob the biggest puppy dog eyes you could conjure up. “But this is perfect, thank you for this.” 

“Anytime.” Bob leaned in to kiss your cheek before the pair of you settled in for an afternoon in bed binge watching Shameless and trying to not think about the copious amounts of studying you had and the fact you had to miss work. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

2am rolled around a hell of a lot quicker than it normally did. Maybe it was because you and Bob had spent the majority of the afternoon in bed together or perhaps it was the fact that after your bowl of Bob's mum's chicken noodle soup, you felt a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Blissfully drowsy in a love filled embrace you snuggled into the warmth of Bob's exposed chest as he wrapped you into him, half dazed and sleeping. 

“I could stay like this forever.” You mumbled as you tried to get yourself back to sleep. Bob had always been a little sleeper. So much so it felt like sometimes he was always alert to what was going on around him, especially you. “But I know reality is chewing on our heels.” 

“You're stuck with me, like it or not.” Bob cooed as he pulled you in closer. “I took the next few days off to just be with you.” He explained, knowing that in the next day or two he was going to finally ask you to marry him. “So, reality is gonna have to wait, miss overachiever, because you're stuck with me.”

Smiling into Bob's armpit, you beamed at the thought. Damn, he really cared huh. 

“I don’t think that sounds all that awful at all baby.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Leah’s 4k celebration 🎊

[creedslove]

Bringing Pedro boys to meet your family for the first time. My heart is just melting thinking about those confirmed men being nervous and whispering to you in searching for some comfort and reassurance.

Featuring: Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Agent Whiskey, Javi Gutierrez, Dave York x f!reader

A/N: this is soooo cute I love it 💓❤️

Javier Peña: Javi would be nervous and praying that no one from your family has heard about his reputation or something like that. Of course once he's there, he's not gonna show it, throwing charming smiles here and there, he is able to make your mom giggle and even if he claims he is not good with kids, for some reason your little cousins are obsessed with him

Joel Miller: he's every girl's dream husband and every mother-in-law's dream son-in-law and yet he still manages to feel anxious? As if your family was crazy and wouldn't like him. Truth is: he is afraid of not being good enough, so he's worried you'd find someone better or your family thinking you could do better, but of course that would never happen because you love Joel more than anything in the world and your family knows that, and above all, they recognize how hard-working he is and how lucky you are for getting a man like himself. Also, he's very skilled at making barbecue and he also offers himself to help repairing a few things here and there. Oh, and the little kids from your family can see right through his grumpy face and beg him to bring Sarah over next time so they can play

Agent Whiskey: Jack used to be loved by his first wife's family, so meeting the parents, relatives etc wasn't much a big deal as he felt comfortable and at home with them, so he was very relaxed to meet your family too; he knows some people might like you and some might not and it's okay, no problems at all. When he gets there: driving the Bronco, cowboy boots, hats and aviators, everyone finds him kinda funny, but he is able to win them over as soon as he opens his mouth. He charms the ladies - in a respectful way, of course - impresses the gentleman with his polite and smart conversations and of course entertains the kids with his lasso tricks, he also brings your mom a bunch of fresh, sweet fruits he picked up from his own ranch and a bottle of the Statesman's finest for your dad

Javi Gutierrez: Javi G doesn't go to meet your family, he flies your family to meet him. He doesn't want to be pretentious he just wants to be nice and give your family some spoiling, because he knows they deserve it as much as you do. He would prepare the best accommodations for them, the best menus his employees could ever prepare and also yeah, he would rent an actual movie theater so you all could watch your favorite movies together

Dave York: sure, your boyfriend is an assassin and that might be a deal breaker for some people, so that's why you decide your family doesn't actually have to know that, instead, you just tell them your good, handsome government agent boyfriend is coming over on the weekend to meet them. Dave can be nervous, but he is definitely not showing it to you or anyone. He knows how to keep his shit together, so he will put on some good clothes, get his face smooth and well-shaven, and display one if his big and beautiful smiles and face the challenge. Your family likes Dave, he's very clever and nice and they are happy you found each other

____

[seasonsbloom]

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)

part 1

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics

note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???

Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.

The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.

You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.

Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.

All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.

He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”

It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.

Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.

“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”

Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.

“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”

Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”

“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”

Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”

It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.

Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?

Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat. 

“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.

“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”

The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.

Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.

“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.

You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.

So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”

“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”

His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad. 

Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.

At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.

It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.

Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.

Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.

But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.

Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”

Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”

It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.

Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”

Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. 

Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different. 

“No, I… I had this at home.”

Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”

The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.

“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”

After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.

It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.

“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”

And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.

But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm. 

“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”

And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.

So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others. 

You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”

Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”

Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.

A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”

Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is. 

Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”

You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.

“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?

Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”

“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”

“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.

You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.

Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.

It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.

You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”

It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.

For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.

Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.

And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.

+

“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.

You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.

It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.

The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.

“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”

You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.

But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.

Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.

“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”

You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.

Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.

“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.

When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.

With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.

What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways. 

You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.

You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.

Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.

Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”

You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.

And still. None of it feels real.

The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.

It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.

Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.

“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”

Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”

“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”

You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…

Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.

When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.

It makes you smile.

“Thanks,” you say and mean it.

Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.

A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.

Suddenly, you feel warm all over.

Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.

“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”

“Hello to you, too, Jake.”

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”

You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”

Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.

“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”

“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”

Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.

“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”

Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”

Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.

“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.” 

The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again. 

“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.

Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”

“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.

Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”

“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?

Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”

He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.

You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt. 

“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”

“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.

“Is… are you okay?”

You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.

Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”

“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”

Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.

Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.

So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.

Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.

Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.

+

The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.

“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”

The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it. 

And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…” 

“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”

He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.

Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”

It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.

If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”

“You… you do?”

He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”

“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”

Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”

“Who is, then?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.

“Bradley?”

“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”

A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”

“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”

He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Haidresser!Reader

Tricks and Treats and Everything In-between (Part 7)

Summary:You and Robin make your way to Steve's Halloween party where you make some new friends, and are joined by an unexpexted guest.

Word Count:2, 515 (a little longer than usual, but trust me it's worth it)

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Masterlist Series Masterlist

“Stop fussing with it, you look hot, trust me.” Robin chastised as you began pulling at the fabric of your black velvet dress.  You had chosen to dress up as Morticia for Steve’s Halloween party, and whilst you had felt good in the dress at first, the body-hugging material suddenly felt all-too constricting against your skin as you made your way to Steve's place.

"That's easy for you to say, you're not wearing a skin-tight velvet prison." You whined, pulling at your dress once more. 

Robin’s costume was quite the stark contrast to yours. She was wearing an oversized orange turtleneck sweater and a pleated red skirt that fanned out just above her knees, a pair of black rimmed glasses sat perched on her nose.

"I felt like it just made sense, y'know? I mean, there's no way that Velma wasn't a lesbian, right?" She laughs as she links her arm in yours, both of you making your way up to the grand steps of Steve’s house.

You knock your knuckles against the door, only for it to fling open with Steve standing there, smiling broadly. He’s wearing a dark brown bomber jacket that’s decorated with various patches thrown over a white t-shirt. A silver chain of dog-tags around his neck and a pair of black aviator sunglasses hang from the shirt’s collar. There’s a faint sound of some music and muffled laughter and chatter coming from behind him, the party already getting under-way. 

“Good evening ladies! Welcome to my humble abode.” he says grandly with a smirk. “Come on in!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Maverick. Where’s the drinks?” Robin teases as she gently pushes Steve aside in search of alcohol.

You step your way through the hallway and take a second to marvel at the enormity of the house, with high ceilings, and ornately patterned wallpaper. 

You turn your eyes to Steve, your eyebrows knitted together.

“I don’t mean to be rude when I say this, but I thought you lived in a small apartment downtown? How come you’ve got this whole house to yourself?” you ask, gesturing openly to the sprawling nature of the house you find yourself in.

“Parent’s house. Dad’s away on one of his usual business trips, mom doesn’t trust him not to let his hands wander, so I get this whole house to myself for a few days.” 

“..and what better way to enjoy all this than with a massive party, right?” you lead.

“You got that right” he chuckles, nudging his elbow into your arm with a smirk. “Come on in.”

You follow Steve into the spacious living area where sure enough there are already a whole bunch of people mixing and mingling. You scan your eyes over to see where Robin is, shaking your head with a smile when you see that she’s already made her way over to Vickie, the red-head from the bar, who's coincidently dressed up as Daphne, in a purple mini-dress and pink tights. 

You feel a bit out of place for a moment, until a girl with bouncy brown curls dressed up in a Wonder-Woman costume comes up to you to hand you a plastic red cup with some kind of drink in it. It’s Nancy Wheeler, you recognise her from your school years, you never really talked to her much, your circle of friends never seeming to intersect.

“It’s from the punch bowl, it’s just cranberry juice, lemonade and just a splash of vodka” she says listing off the ingredients. 

You smile politely, thanking her as you take the cup from her hands and take a sip. The sweet, fruity concoction is just the thing you need to settle your nerves.

“I haven’t seen you since high-school” she smiles warmly. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Oh I moved away after high school, went to college in Chicago and lived there for about 10 years.” You omit the fact that your lying, cheating ex-boyfriend was the reason for your return to your hometown.

Nancy nods, with a smile, quickly moving on. “How about I introduce you to some people?”

You walk with her over to a group of younger looking kids, they couldn’t be much older than sixteen. All of them dressed in their own unique costumes. The group are standing around talking to two older boys, one with shaggy sandy-blonde hair, the other with very long dark hair, falling down around by his waist.

“..And that, my little spooky friends, is why pineapple is the best pizza topping” says the boy with the long hair. He’s dressed in casual clothing, the only effort he’d seemed to have made towards any kind of halloween costume was a fake knife on a headband and a few streaks of red paint drawn on his forehead. 

A sea of groans and fake gags sound out from the rest of the group.

“Hey I’m just saying, don’t knock it, till you’ve tried it.” he says defensively holding his hands up.

"Everyone, this Y/N," You wave awkwardly, before Nancy continues to introduce the rest of the group. "That's my younger brother, Mike," She says pointing to a young boy who also seems to be unenthusiastic about dressing up for Halloween, with a vague attempt being made by a Batman t-shirt.

"This is my boyfriend, Jonathan," he offers his hand to you, and you accept it, with a shake.

"..And that's his friend, Argyle." Nancy continues. 

"And then these are all Mike's friends from school." Nancy explains, gesturing to the remaining kids in the group, each one introducing themselves in turn.

"So, Steve told me you were out on a date with Eddie last week?" Nancy pipes up with a smile playing at her lips.

"News travels fast around here, huh?" You huff.

"Oh so you're the pretty girl that Eddie was so excited to go on a date with!" Dustin butts in.

"Dude!" Lucas gently elbows him in the ribs, narrowing his eyes at his friend's choice of words.

"What? He was! I've never seen him so goo-goo over anybody before!" Dustin defends.

"..And how do you know Eddie?" You ask the curly-haired boy.

"He's our DM." Jonathan's brother, Will speaks up.

"He’s the best DM there is out there!" Dustin cheers, speaking very highly of Eddie’s dungeon master skills.

Just as you begin to slip into easy and comfortable conversation with your new found group of friends your attention is diverted by a loud voice shouting over the noise of the other party-goers.

In strolls Eddie, a case of beer tucked under his arm and a certain level of swagger to his gait.

He's gone all out for his Halloween costume. His long dark curls flowing from underneath a skull and crossbones bandana tied around his head, and a dark leather waistcoat layered over a loose-fitting white shirt, the deep neckline of the shirt peeking open enough to reveal a slight glimpse of the demon tattoo on his chest. A dark smudge of black eyeliner runs across his lower lashline, making his already dark brown eyes look even more intense. The rogue pirate really was a good look on him.

“Here you go, Harrington, these are for you” he nods, dropping the case of beer in Steve’s arms, before making a beeline for you. 

“Cara Mia, Mon Cher” Eddie says seductively, giving his best Gomez Addams impression, as he takes your hand in his, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “You look beautiful.”

You preen under his affections before coughing slightly, alerting him to the presence of the rest of the group.  Eddie smiles before coming to stand next to you, wasting no time in slinging his arm around your shoulder to bring you close to him.

“So, Dustin was just telling me how you’re the best dungeon master that they’ve ever had.” You say to Eddie.

“Yeah, well, when I saw this bunch of lost and lonely little sheepies, who looked like they needed a helping hand, so that’s where I stepped up.”  he answers proudly. “These kids are gonna be the future of Hellfire.” he smiles, playfully ruffling his hand through Dustin’s hair.

You talk with everyone for a little while longer, learning how Steve was throwing this party as a last hurrah before some of the teenagers went off to college, and how Nancy was going off to California to live closer to Jonathan after getting a journalism internship at The San Francisco Chronicle.

Just as you’re talking, your attention is diverted by a change in the music. The sounds of The Cranberries’ ‘Dreams’ filtering through the stereo’s speakers.

“Eddie!!” you jump up excitedly, tugging on his shirt’s sleeve. “They’re playing my favourite song! Come dance with me! Please!” you plead, batting your eyelashes and giving him your best puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, alright” he smiles as he rolls his eyes, allowing you to pull him towards the makeshift dance floor in the centre of the grand living room where there are already a few people dancing.    

"That is a man in love if ever I saw it, my dudes" Argyle said to the group as you whisked Eddie off, the both of you smiling brightly at each other.

You waste no time in dancing to the song, letting your hips sway and shoulders rock to the music. Eddie stands close to you, unsure of himself, his dancing skills were certainly not something that he was known for.

You notice his hesitancy, and are quick to take both his hands in yours and place them on the curve of your hips, 

 ..I know I’ve felt like this before, but now I’m feeling it even more..

You let him take his time, stepping in time with him to the beat of the music. Your eyes look into his, admiring the way they sparkle in the glow of the colourful, decorative Halloween lights.

..And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don’t hurt me..

This quiet moment between you just felt all so natural, like you were the only two people in the room, the only thing grounding you to reality is the touch of his hands on your hips. Holding you so gently as though he was frightened you were going to break.

..A totally amazing mind, so understanding and so kind. You’re everything to me..

Eddie’s confidence grows as you dance together. Everyone else fades into the background. It’s just you, him and the music.

..And oh, my dreams. It’s never quite as it seems, ‘cause you’re a dream to me..

The song finishes and you’re both standing so close, with his hands holding their place on your hips. There’s a beat of silence between you both as Eddie’s eyes quickly flick down to your lips. He leans down to you, almost as if he’s going to kiss you, before he pulls away shyly as if he wasn’t sure that you wanted him as much as he did you.

There’s a slight awkward tension in the air for a brief moment before you break the silence.

“Thanks for the dance, Eddie. I’m going to get a drink”

Eddie nods, giving you an affectionate hug, watching you make your way into the kitchen, desperately hoping that he hadn’t just ruined his chances with you.

You grab yourself a cup from the table and begin ladling a few scoops from the punch bowl into your cup. 

The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels eerily quiet. A chill rattles through as you feel a presence caging you against the granite worktops of kitchen island.

“Y’know, you are not an easy girl to track down, Y/n” A voice rasps out with a sinister chuckle.  A man in a dark t-shirt, jeans and a Friday The 13th hockey mask towers over you.

You watch as the man reveals his face to you. It’s Jacob. You’d left him, broken up with him, fleeing your apartment with tears in your eyes and it wasn’t enough for him.

“How did you find me?” you stutter out.

“There aren’t many places you can hide, Princess.” the pet-name sending an unpleasant shiver down your spine. “Hawkins is only a small town, you know that.” he taunts. “Started asking around. Tommy Hagan said he saw you in The Hideout a few days ago, gave him a few dollars and he gave you up right away. Said I could find you here, and look at that, he was right.” he says smugly, flashing you a smirking grin. “All it took was some dumb dollar-store Halloween costume and I slipped right in without anybody noticing.” 

“What do you want from me, huh?” you fight. You were not about to let him intimidate you, not after how he treated you.

“Want from you? I don’t want anything from you, but you are coming back to Chicago with me. You’ve had your fun, hiding away from me with your little friends, but where are they now, huh?” he continues to taunt you, pressing you further into the kitchen’s granite worktops, his hand wrapping around your arm in a bruising grip.

“Hey, dickhead!” You hear a voice shout from behind Jacob. “What d’ya think you’re doing huh?” It’s Eddie. He lays his hand harshly on Jacob’s shoulder, putting himself between you and your ex-boyfriend.

“You get a kick out of making girls feel small and vulnerable, huh?” Eddie says, glaring at Jacob with an intense stare.

“Oh I see how it is, you like her, don’t you pal.” Jacob retorts, poking his finger into Eddie’s chest.

Eddie flicks Jacob’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me. And I ain’t your pal, dickhead.” Eddie gravels out, the tension between the two men rising.

“You know what, freak?” Jacob flashes his Cheshire cat-like grin once more. “You can keep her. She was a lousy lay anyway.” he sniggers.

That was it. Eddie had had enough. The tension between the two men had reached a boiling point. Eddie pulls his fist back before launching it forward straight into Jacob’s nose with a crack.

Jacob stumbles back with the force of the collision, clutching his hands to his bloody nose.

“If anyone’s the freak it’s you, asshole.” Eddie spits down at Jacob, shaking his fist loose after hitting him so hard.

With all the commotion going on Steve rushes into the kitchen in a panic.

“Steve, this unwanted guest needs throwing out if you ask me.” Eddie says, nodding his head down to where Jacob sat still clutching at his nose.

Steve flicks his eyes over to you, when you give him a reassuring nod of your head, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Steve grabs Jacob by the scruff of his shirt and yanks him up to his feet, before dragging him out of his house.

Eddie turns to you immediately, checking you over to see if you’re alright.

“He didn’t try anything, did he?” Eddie worries.

“Eddie I’m okay, I just want to go, if that’s alright?” you say shakily.

“Come here, my van’s out there, we can leave right now, don’t you worry.” Eddie reassures you.

@penguinsandpotterheads @slutty-thevampireslayer @xxhellfiregirlxx @mmunson86 @avalon-wolf @ali-r3n @jesssssmaybankk

[holotapess]

━━ ch☆r's req ! 💌❄️

a/n : soz im not sleeping YET

anyways

phoenix x gn!reader ( Romantic )

UHHH I COULDNT REALLY THINK BUT SMTG WITH JEALOUSY ???!!

nah its actually just a secret relationship with her & jake flirts with reader calling those sweet nicknames and phoenix hearing him and comes up to reader and shows off their relationship by kissing them

[ this was so hard to write i cringed so much but ig this is short but hopefully u can make it longer ]

- charlie <3

TAKEN

natasha 'phoenix' trace x gn reader ; fluff

summary — ( read req )

content / cws — hangman and his horrible attempts at flirting (yes he has his own warning deal with it), hangman makes a suggestive remark about r

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

natasha smirked, making eye contact with you as she walked into the hard deck, her squadron pushing past her and right into the bar. they were always here the same time, ordering the same drinks, at the same time of week.

out of all the aviators you had enter your mother's bar, phoenix was the one that caught your attention, she was the most put together, and one of the sweetest. you had spent most of your time exchanging small smirks and glances with her, until she eventually had enough and asked you out. that was roughly four months ago.

your eyes followed her as she walked past you and to the pool table her squad usually hung out at. you smiled to yourself, handing out a drink to a random guy to ignore the holes your mother was probably burning into the side of your head with her staring. she had told you not to fall for an aviator, but she didn't tell you how god damn gorgeous they would be.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

the rest of her stay was the same as always, you'd share knowing glances every time you handed a beer out to somebody in her direction, but eventually, she got up to talk to some other aviators nearby the dart board.

"hey, sweetcheeks, we'll have another round of beers." you'd been called that more times than you could keep score of, and every time it somehow got more bitter than the last. you picked up a couple more beers, absentmindedly handing them off to the man, keeping your eyes locked on natasha.

expecting the man to be already gone, you got a bit startled when his voice came back, "what's with the look, sweetheart?" you looked at him, noticing his uniform and pin that had 'seresin' engraved into it.

"oh— just, thinking." yeah, about natasha you flashed him a fake smile, which you had mastered after months of dealing with men and women flirting with you.

"well why don't you come think over here, i'm sure penny dear wouldn't mind if you hung out with me and my friends for a bit." trying your best not to visibly cringe, you gave him another fake smile, "actually, i've gotta go get some more beers."

"i'm willing to wait till you get back." you sighed, letting out a fake laugh before politely declining and heading to the storage room.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

"hey," now that. that startled you. shifting the crate of beers in your hands, you slightly looked up, noticing it was that seresin guy again. "sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

you gave him yet another fake smile, walking straight past him as he continued trying to make conversation. "told you i'd wait." god, does he ever know when to stop?

heading straight back to the counter, you continued to ignore his comments, acting as if the music was too loud for you to hear.

"cmon, at least let me introduce my friends to who i'll be taking home later." now that made you visibly cringe. it was always the same, some dude thought he was coming up with an original flirting remark only for you to have heard it a plethora of times. not only did it make you visibly cringe, but it also caught natasha's attention, especially since she heard it come from hangman.

placing the crate of beers down on the counter, you agreed with a sigh. you don't know why you agreed, or even followed him at that, normally you'd go over and ring the bell to have him pay for everyone's drinks. honestly, a part of you just hoped that you might be able to see natasha for a moment.

unlike you hoped, natasha wasn't there. instead, you were met with a bunch of —what you assumed were— aviators, that were definitely not natasha.

"fellas, this is [n], who i charmingly swooned with my good looks." instead of the response hangman was hoping to get out of his friends, he was met with snickering and smirks. he turned around, his smile immediately faltering at the sight.

you smiled, feeling a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist and turn you to the side, followed by a pair of lips connecting to yours for a kiss you'd be sure to think about for the rest of the week.

your cheeks flushed and you hid your face in natasha's neck when she pulled away, a shit-eating grin staining her lips — "sorry not sorry bagman, but you're gonna have to find someone else to take home, [n] here is taken."

"go back to the counter, baby, i'll deal with bagman." and with that she let you out of her embrace, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before you headed back the counter.

noticing your mother staring at you with her eyebrow raised and hands to her hips, you sighed, before shaking your head in embarrassment. oh boy, she was definitely gonna give you a lecture later.

[compacflt]

okay "normie median Biden voter ice" got me. That's funny. But also so true! It prob took him a bit to vote dem too (though I believe that Ice would have never voted for Trump). Would love to hear more thoughts on Ice and Mav's politics. Also the list of who they would have voted for if you're willing to share.

i do worry that posting my extremely in-depth headcanons about some of this stuff will have the JKR “wizard shit” effect on my writing and ruin it a little, but ask and ye shall receive

copy-pasted straight from my list of “unhinged compacflt!top gun headcanons” that ive been keeping since september: on ice & mav's politics

16. Since their friendship began, Ice has always told Maverick who to vote for, since Maverick doesn't care enough to pay attention to national politics. They are begrudging ConservaDems (conservative political views, would vote conservative every election if Republicans weren’t actively sending them to war/actively promoting fascism). Ice’s voting record (and after 1988, Mav’s too) 1980-2020—note that he has always considered himself an “educated moderate”: 1980: Reagan. 1984: Reagan. 1988: Bush. 1992: Bush. 1996: Clinton (reaction to aftermath of PGW. Doesn’t care that Clinton enacted DADT because “I’m not [redacted], so it doesn’t apply to me”). 2000: Gore (refusal to vote for another Bush). 2004: Kerry (Mav votes Bush this year out of spite as he and Ice are going through their break-up). 2008: McCain (Navy loyalty). 2012: Obama (liked him as a person/worked closely with him, didn’t like his policies so much). 2016: Clinton (no other alternative). 2020: Biden (actually liked/previously worked with Biden, and now actively married to another man and therefore had to make some liberal concessions). 2024-onwards they will vote for any Democrat as long as they aren’t a “socialist.”

17. Also, Maverick didn’t vote in 2016. Partially because in my universe the TGM mission takes place that November, very near the election, and he has bigger fish to fry (something Ice will later take him to task for), and partially because I genuinely think he wouldn’t be able to stomach either mainstream candidate and probably would’ve voted for Libertarian Gary Johnson, which might have torn his relationship with Ice to shreds a few days before schedule. “Are you fucking kidding me? Johnson? Pete, this moron’s moronic party wants to abolish the driver’s license—” / “—Yeah, and then I could ride your sweet wheels with no problem whatsoever—maybe he’ll abolish pilots’ licenses, too, I’d like to see that—” / “If you vote for Gary fucking Johnson, I will very happily stop footing the bill for your piece-of-shit airplane, and you can see how useful your pilot’s license is then—” / So Mav didn’t vote in 2016. 

35. In terms of what he Tweets: I do foresee, post-retirement, Ice basically becoming a neoliberal military intellectual type on Twitter a la Mark Hertling (look him up on Twitter). Bio: “Retired @SECNAV. Advisor @WhiteHouse and @VoteVets. Contributing writer @TheAtlantic. Interested in geopolitics & modern warfare. Aviator, husband, Padres fan. [American flag emoji]” Only posts pictures of himself and Maverick at three specific annual events: 1. their wedding anniversary (“36 years with this fool and he’s still surprised to find out that I like the F-5 better than the A-4 #happyanniversary”), 2. every EAA Airventure (huge airplane convention), 3. San Francisco’s Fleet Week (which of course they MUST attend, they even headline it in 2018). Informative, analytical, highly-respected. Maybe goes on CNN or NBC all the time to talk about civil-military relations shit (aversion to FOX since the start of the Iraq War). Gonna say he had like four really viral threads about Russia and Ukraine in April or May and so has 300k followers or something like that. He has a personal website that links back to his Twitter and every essay he writes for international publications, with a pretty braggadocious bio (something along the lines of “Tom Kazansky has directly almost started global nuclear war twice in his life, and in the thirty-year gap in between, sold the Swiss half their entire goddamn Air Force and directed an entire Fleet during the Iraq War”). Lots of tweets like “Military aviation hot take: Compared to the F-22, the F-35 is a waste of money. Source: husband with 400+ hours of F-35 experience.” / “[Quote tweet of Russian Foreign Minister boasting about Su-57 production lines] Oh, so you guys finally figured out how to make more than one every other year?” / “Analysis of the failure of Russia’s Black Sea Fleet in Ukraine, from an ex-US Pacific Fleet Commander’s perspective: a short [thread emoji] [This thread gets 26k likes and 4k retweets]” / “This weekend my husband & I flew in to @EAA Oshkosh #OSH19 & took home first place for best P-51. Not to brag, but.” (A reply to this tweet: “Sir, you really know how to bury the lede that your husband is Adm. Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. I had to look it up on Wikipedia.” / @TKazansky: “What, was it not obvious? Who else could it have been?”) Also, I see him writing a whole bunch of op-eds for international political magazines a la Tom Nichols (look him up on Twitter too). Writing analyses of recent geopolitical/military events for the New York Times, the New Yorker, the Bulwark, the Navy Times, the Atlantic, Bellingcat, etc. Not so much focused on domestic issues (but VoteVets [socially progressive vets’ group] board member, and ardently pro-democracy, yay!). He’s a smart guy.

37. This is not a headcanon, just kind of a… a real-life implication. My Ice was Deputy Commander of Third Fleet in 2003, meaning he’d have been there in command of the USS Abraham Lincoln when President Bush gave his “Mission Accomplished” speech aboard that ship in May less than 2 months after the initial American invasion of Iraq. Very premature & embarrassing. Ice would’ve been in direct contact with Bush/Cheney/NSC bureaucrats many, many times during the war. I genuinely believe this is what pushed him over the edge into firm liberal territory.

[ladyelissarose]

‘A Heart With Wings’

Warnings: FLUFF!! Ahhhh!! Ladies and Gents it’s finally over!! What a ride! Thank you for your love and support. I’m very proud of this journey, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for y’all!! Thank you!!! 

Epilogue..

‘6 months later...’

 Aviators POV

“Ghosty! Give us a chance for Christ’s sake!! You keep shooting us down and making the number of our pushups increase!!!” 

  Fanboy whined to Ghosty as she replied with a cheeky smile,

 “Hey Fanboy, it’s not my fault that you and Payback made a bet on me that was way out of your league! You know I’m a Striker kiddo!”

 “Ahhh Ghosty!! Just one break please, let us win just one time!”

Throwing her head back in laughter at Payback begging her to give them a chance she finally agreed,

 “Fiiiine... just one time ok!?”

 Rooster’s voice then came through as he was flying under Ghosty with Bob and Phoenix next to him, 

“Ok so we’re starting the game all over then? Cause if we are, you gotta give us a head start this time to fly away and get some good distance at least.”

 Bob agreed with Rooster as he kindly asked,

 “Will you do that for us Ghosty? Please?”

 Another of Ghosty’s weak spots was hearing Bob be so sweet and polite. So of course she said yes,

 “Alrighty then, you all get a good five minute head start, let’s see if y’all are fast enough to get a good distance.”

 Hangman fist pumped the air as he flew above Ghosty while saying,

 “Thank you!! Though you only said yes because it’s Little Robert, the baby of the team-“

Phoenix was quick to defend Bob as she came for Hangman,

  “Hey hey Bagman, leave my Bob alone, he’s just sweeter and so cute, very polite too.”

 Bob blushed happily in the back of his seat as he heard Phoenix come to his rescue. Ghosty awed in appreciation of Phoenix’s words for Bob as she played along,

  “Phoenix is right Hangs... only because he’s sweeter I say yes to only him all the time.”

 Giggling Hangman bit back with a snarky comment,

 “Oh is that so? Cause that’s not what you said the other night-“

 Coyote was immediately fake gagging as he nearly screamed,

 “NUH UH! Not here Hangman!! You do that stuff in your guys’ room!! HELL NO!!”

 Everyone around either laughed or fake gagged, and Ghosty knew Hangman was going to pull such a comment at some point, though he was right in the end, but she cut him to the chase as she threatened,

  “Alright Hangs you asked for it, just know that you’re going to be the first one down!!!”

 “Wanna bet?! Ha! Come and get me sweet cheeks!! On three we all go!! Count with me fellas!!”

  “”1... 2... 3!!!””

Mavericks POV 

 Maverick stood outside basking in the San Diego sun as he looked around, listening to the radio as he heard his aviators play along in the skies like kids. Though as always, Cyclone came trying to ruin the fun as he approached Maverick while asking,

 “Captain Mitchell, What is this?”

Not sparing Cyclone a glance, Maverick simply replied,

  “They’re playing a game, sir.”

Looking around at the empty field of Jets Cyclone questioned,

  “I don’t see them here playing.. dogfight football? Is that what you called it?”

 Nodding Maverick replied

 “Yeah, it’s called dogfight football, but no. That’s not what they’re playing today, their playing dogfight tag, but in their jets in the sky, sir.”

  Forgetting the fact that the aviators were playing a game with the jets, Cyclone was more curious about ‘dogfight tag’ as he asked,

  “Dogfight tag? What the hell is that?”

Explaining simply Maverick put forth,

 “So basically, they all kinda like the fact of Ghosty being a Striker, so they play tag, though Ghosty is always ‘it’. They fly around each other using their Need For Speed or Danger Zone skills to try and get away from their Striker, and I’ve seen an improvement sense they’ve been playing. They’ll use special skills and ways to get away from her, I made up the game and now they won’t stop playing it during flight maneuvers.”

 Huffing a short laugh of approval, which was super weird coming from Cyclone, he then questioned,

  “And what’s happens to the loser, how do they lose?”

 “First one caught loses, and the last one to be caught picks a number of pushups they loser has to do, along with the loser has a shorter time to have a head start the next time they play.”

  “Seems fair to me... oh! looks like they’re making their way back now.”

 It the distance you could see them all coming in for a landing, so Maverick and Cyclone moved out of the way as they began to watch them all come in one by one. The wind brushed hard against them as they came by in quick speed, but they were in perfect formation and sync, as their wheels touched the ground. Maverick smiled proudly at the team he had, they were all like his family, special and unique in their own ways, he had aviators to call his own. Cyclone patted Maverick on the shoulders before walking away saying,

  “You got a great team Maverick... Iceman would be proud of you.”

 Maverick sent him a nod of appreciation as he watched Cyclone walk away. He was grateful that over time he had gotten on Cyclones good side. Soon his attention was turned towards his aviators that came walking towards him with goofy smiles and laughing amongst one another,  Phoenix had her arm thrown over Rooster’s and Bob’s shoulders, Fanboy and Payback were next to each other almost tripping over one another as they nudge each other’s ribs quite harshly but over all playfully, Coyote looked like the only drained one as he barely moved his feet acting like if he had ran a 300 meter race, and lastly, the lovebirds, Hangman had Ghosty on his back as he gave her a piggy back ride, he had a toothy grin on his face as she subtly gave him sweet kisses on his neck and head. Maverick embraced the moment as he closed the gap between them all as he asked,

  “So who’s doing push-ups today?”

Coyote took a deep breath before breathing out,

  “No one is sir, Ghosty’s time to catch us ran out, meaning we all won, she couldn’t get us.”

 Maverick’s jaw dropped at that new record as he saw Ghosty jump off of Hangman’s back as she wink at him admitting,

  “I only did that because if any one had to do pushups, we’d be here all afternoon, and I want drinks. Who’s up for Hard Deck?”

 Letting out whines and sighs of happiness and agreement they all said,

  “”I’m in!!!!””

Though Rooster didn’t let Ghosty slip up as he said,

  “Hey hey so you mean you actually let us win? Just so we can get drinks?”

 Pointing her finger on his chest Ghosty put forth,

  “Rooster if I had played fairly, you’d all be doing pushups. Now let’s go shower before we go. And don’t get used to this, next time I’ll beat you all.”

 Hangman laughed at Rooster who was rolling his eyes and pouting, he then wrapped his arm around Ghosty while giving her head a kiss,

  “Oh you setting us up for a big challenge huh?”

 Holding onto his hand that rested on her hip Ghosty smirked,

  “Indeed I am Hangs..”

Penny’s POV

Especially today the Hard Deck seemed pretty quiet, very few customers here and there, and Penny kinda missed Maverick and his wing buddies today. They usually lit up the place with their loud laughters and teasing, they all kept her on her toes, and she liked that more than anything. She even thought of closing it early, sense no one else seemed to be coming around anytime soon, that was u to she heard the door swing open and a loud voice holler out,

  “The Calvary has arrived!!! Rooster go sit your ass down and play us some music, I feel like dancin’!!”

 Of course, the one and only Hangman who sported an orange Henley with dark jeans and cowboy boots would be the crazy one shouting such just upon walking into Hard Deck. Penny’s face lit up as she came around the other side of the bar and received the hugs that were given to her by every aviator. And lastly she hugged Maverick and squeezed him extra tight as she said in his ear,

  “I really missed you guys, I’m happy you came.”

 Giving her a kiss on the cheek Maverick smiled back,

 “I missed you too Penny.”

She then saw how most of the aviators had taken a seat and ran back to her favorite spot as she shouted happily,

  “Alright let’s start serving some drinks! What are we having today, cause it’s on the house!”

 They all dropped their jaws in surprise before cheering like kids at a pizza party, they then one by one politely asked for their drinks and soon were happy drinking away while chit-chatting and playing their favorite hobby, 9-ball.

  Hangman’s POV 

 Hangman had left the pool table to go get a new drink for himself and Ghosty, he insisted that he’d get it for her, so she can stay seated prettily while talking with Phoenix were his words. What made Hangman call her pretty this time was Ghosty who wore his button down shirt as a coat over her white tank top that was tucked into her Jean shorts, so wearing that just made Hangman’s heart soar even higher for her. Upon arriving at the bar he sent Penny some dreamy eyes as he asked sweetly,

  “Penny my dear, can we get a refill please?”

 Happy to tend to one of her favorite customers Penny replied cheekily while handing him two new beers,

  “Of course sweetie, here you go.”

“Thank you ma’am, much appreciated.”

Hangman happily walked back to Ghosty who was now sitting by herself as Phoenix had gone to be with Rooster who was playing the piano with soft tunes. He placed a kiss on her cheek as he sat down next her while handing her her drink,

  “Here you go gorgeous, cheers?”

Hangman waited for Ghosty to reply but it never came, her eyes and mind were on someone else, and soon his eyes found who, it was Catherine Jeffries who was standing in the distance. Hangman looked back at Ghosty who was now tense and cowering into her seat, and he understood how Ghosty felt, Jeffries had hurt him too. But instead of shying away, Hangman brought out his usual boosted ego and pride, and grabbed her hand to get her attention on him, which she did when her eyes found his as she realized he had caught her, but before she could say anything Hangman said,

  “Don’t do that... don’t hide. You be happy and be here, present, no matter who’s around ok? You’re mine, and I’m yours.. and there’s no shame in that.”

 Ghosty nodded as she mirrored Hangman’s cute smile, then Hangman pulled her up as he said,

  “C’mere baby girl, sit here.”

Pulling her onto his lap and making her rest her back against his chest, Hangman cuddled Ghosty and began to tickle her neck with kisses, wanting to hear her laughter that he had grown addicted to. He was successful when it came out so freely and beautifully, as Ghosty held onto the arms that wrapped around her so securely. 

  Ghosty’s POV

 Ghosty sunk into Hangman’s arms as he held her tightly, and could only feel so happy to have him in her life, because together they had both learned to love one another more and cherish life, embrace their differences and grow. And the moment she knew that she had to spend the rest of her life with him, was when Hangman whispered in her ear lovingly,

  “I’ll always keep you safe, and be your wings for you so you can soar high, above everything that wants to hurt you ok? I love you so much, and I’m grateful that you’ve saved me, loved me.. and taken a chance on me.”

  Moving her head to give him a warm kiss on the lips, Ghosty then replied,

  Hangman’s POV 

Hangman didn’t realize that the next words Ghosty said, was going to be one of the main reasons of why he was sure, that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her,

  “And I love you too Jake...so much. And I’ll mend your wings and help you hold them up forever as we fly together. As much as you’re the wings to my heart, I will be for yours... forever. Because you saved me too.”

[love-anddeepression]

this is me bsing my way through diving instructing after watching an amazing hindi movie.(if yk what the movie is i love you) Since it's canon that Frankie can swim and Pedro himself is an award winning swimmer, i thought of an AU where Frankie is a part time diving instructor. This fic is self indulgent. as person with a horrible fear of water, i dream of someone like frankie helping me get over it, so enjoy :D not proofread it's 11 pm here. also the timeskips are pretty weird as i wrote it in the same way the scene played out in the movie.

tag: @jake-g-lockley

The beach wasn't so bad.

The beach was warm, the sand grounding.

You made your way to the deckchair with your bag and made yourself comfortable as your best friends, Aish and Imran ran to the sea and splashed in the water. They were real water babies, the siblings.

You smiled at them and settled into the chair, pulling out your book and opening it to your last read page when you turn right,

Oh my god, that man.

He's laughing at something the guy next to him said, and his curls shake as his head falls back and conveniently exposes his neck. He's wearing an opened shirt with shorts and the aviators make you want him more.

God stop staring like a creep, genius.

You try to read subtly but your eyes drift to where he is every ten seconds and you bite your lips when he shrugs of the shirt to reveal a tan body, a broad as hell chest and a softening tummy that makes you almost drool.

He walks over to the shore and jumps in the water like it' his bed after a long day, he's clearly an experienced swimmer. Not something I'll ever be, you scoff. The very idea sending a shudder through you.

Aish and Imran are walking towards the seats you've saved for them and she grins, "Want to take a dip?"

"Looks cold." you answer with a wry smile and Imran chuckles, "I'm going to get some ice cream what do you want?"

They tell you what they want and you walk over to the concession stands. There's a long line and you scroll through your phone to pass the time when you're suddenly knocked over by the guy in front of you and you fall back.

There's a split second of terror and you're flailing your arms around you like some maniac and then you're being held up from behind. The man in front of you apologized profusely and you nod before turning around to thank your savio-

Oh shit. It's him, it's the guy you were staring at, and he's looking at you with concern. His hair is wet and slicked back and his eyebrows are furrowed.

"Are you okay?" his voice is soft and calming.

Speak "Yeah, yeah i am thank you so much, I'm so sorry." you stand up straight and rub your neck awkwardly.

He smiles and nods, "No problem at all, ma'am."

And he's polite, "Please, don't call me ma'am." you give him your name and he repeats it, the word rolling of his tongue like water off a duck's back.

"Lovely name, I'm Francisco, but people call me Frankie."

You hold out your hand, and he grips it softly, "Nice to meet you, Frankie."

The line has moved forward and there's only a few people before it's your turn when he says, "What kinda ice cream do you like?"

"I just like chocolate, anything with chocolate on it." I'm getting a few more for my friends, though." you smile, "You?"

"Butterscotch." he smiles guiltily, "And yeah same here about the friends thing."

You're about to answer him with a jab about being the mom of the friend group when the person behind the counter gently gets your attention.

A few minutes later, you and Frankie are walking side by side with a lot of ice cream and a blond guy with an impressive beard comes up to him, "Thanks, Fish." he takes the rest of the ice cream and smiles at you before leaving and you look at him with furrowed eyebrows,

"Fish?"

"Oh my callsign when I was in the army was Catfish, so they call me Fish." he explains as he licks his butterscotch cone.

Your gazing is interuppted with shouts of your name as Aish jogs over, her hair flying in the wind.

Why does she look like she's in slowmotion?

"Re, Imran is dying for ice cream, I'll take these?" she takes them from you and eyes Frankie with a smile before winking and walking back.

"She seems nice." he says.

"She is, Aish has been my friend since college. She's actually getting married, so the three of us, her brother, her and I just came for a trip here."

"That sounds lovely, how are you liking the place?"

The both of you are walking around on the sand in no clear direction and you're able to see Imran grinning wildly, "It's really pretty. There's no beaches where I stay so its sort of a treat."

He smiles and nods, "My friend Will, the guy who came over, says that beaches are where your heart is happiest. Sounds stupid but I agree. The water is one of my favorite places to be in."

"I guess he's right. My heart fees pretty happy right now." he looks at you and you smile a little when you see his face is a bit flushed, "Would you join me, later, for a drink?" you take a risk.

He looks remorseful, "I'd love to, I really would, but I have to wake up early tomorrow, I'm so sorry."

You nod, "I understand, it's okay, don't worry about it."

He looks to where his friends are calling him, "I hope I'll see you again?"

"I'll be at beach pretty often so yeah."

He smiles before leaving and you can only stare at his figure before going to where Aish and Imran are sitting.

"Your ice cream's melted, duffer." Aish laughs.

You look her in the eye and lick the ice cream of your fingers one by one. It's petty but it works.

`````

"So! I have signed us up for deep sea diving tomorrow." Imran says as he takes a bite of his food.

"What?" your fork clatters, "Imran, what?"

"I know you're scared of water, but it's perfectly safe, I promise. I did all my research."

You purse your lips, unconvinced.

Aish speaks up, "Please, think about it. The calm water, fish around you, all the aquatic beauty, it's life changing!"

"You don't have to do it if you're uncomfortable but please, think about it no?"

You shake your head at his puppy eyes, "I'm going mad. Fine."

The both of them jump in happiness and Aish kisses your cheek, "Thank you thank you thank you i love you."

You wave her off and take a sip of your water. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.

```````````````

It's just a little pond, the water looks pretty. It's not even the ocean, it's a calm little quaint pond right next to the sea that's meant for training.

And you're just staring at it with disdain.

Aish rubs your shoulders comfortingly and Imran is dabbling his fingers in the water.

The three of you came a little early in hopes of you getting acquainted with the water and so far it doesn't seem to be helping.

A pleasantly familiar voice rings out behind you, "Uh, is Imran here?"

You whirl around to find Frankie looking incredible as he introduces himself to Imran and Aish, "You're our diving instructor?"

"Hi." he waves shyly.

Once introductions are made, Imran speaks up, "Frankie, you don't need to know how to swim right? You see she can't actually." he gestures to you.

You look down and have to restrain the urge to strangle Imran.

"No, you don't have to know to swim, it's fine." he replies and you look up to see him looking at you with a smile, "Don't worry."

You seat yourselves on a few rocks next to the lake as Frankie begins explaining the different signs and instructions, like up, down, air gauge and the works. He does it all with such care that you can't help but be more attracted to him.

The next day, you're all in your wetsuits and gear and he gestures to get in. Aish and Imran jump in but you gulp and look at the deep water. It suddenly looks menacing and dark and not like a quaint little pond.

Frankie hold out his hand and you take it, "You'll be okay, trust me."

You nod, and without a word, jump in.

Time goes by slowly as the three of you get accustomed to the water. You can hear your heartbeat and your ears are ringing. You close your eyes and try to drown out your own fears, but bit by bit, your breathing slows and the death grip you have on Aish's shoulder loosens.

``````

The day after that, Frankie takes you all to a different area of the beach to go underwater.

Before you get in, he looks at you and grabs your shoulders, "You're going to be okay." he nods as you look at him and squeeze his hand.

The water's a bit cold and everything seems big and it's as if you're being slowly suffocated. You look around and at Frankie in front of you and at your breathing apparatus.

You're not able to think coherently, you see that he's gesturing to it and his own but all you do is shake your head and he pulls you closer before taking it out and placing his own in your mouth. You take it in greedily and he puts his fingers up to slowly count to three before taking it back in and breathing as you look around and again breathe out in panic, your arms starting to flail.

Again, he takes it out and you take it in and he points at your eyes and his own, look at me.

He raises his palm to tell you to breathe in and his eyes are calm. You breathe in, looking him in the eye and taking the thing out of your mouth as he uses it himself and again breaths in.

The water around you feels calmer, and it's like only the two of you are here, in this little bubble as he gives the apparatus back to you and put it in your mouth and breathe in the nitrox.

You can see the approving nod and small smile on his face as he takes it back and breathes in, looking at you intently.

You still feel out of place, but you're not scared. It's calmer now.

````

You're in a boat, and the boat is going out to sea. Where you're going to have to jump into deep waters and swim around with oceanic life around you.

Imran is sitting opposite you and he raises his eyebrows before smiling. He knows how you feel, "You'll be okay."

You can only mimic his impression and nod.

As the boat slows, Frankie looks at you, "You're life is about to change."

You give him a half smile, "That's only if I don't die."

He laughs, "You won't. I trust you."

Again, you jump in and the water's a shock for a few seconds as your eyes are sealed shut. But then you open them and breathe in.

And it's beautiful.

It's blue and red and yellow. And it's small and intricate and huge at the same time. You swim downwards and look at the schools of fish, the coral, the rocks.

How could you have ever said no to this?

Franke gestures to a small underwater cave and holds out his hand to you. You take it and swim beside him into the dark space.

The torch in his hand shines upon the aquatic life and you can only stare in wonder as he leads you inwards and shows you more. He's excited to show you, you realize and you want to hug him, everything be damned, because it's because of him that you're able to do this. All you do is squeeze his hand and he rubs his thumb over your fingers.

You both swim out of the cave and towards each other, and you're in awe at how peaceful he looks. It takes you back to day you say him jump into the ocean like he belonged there, and it's as if he does. He does belong here, at peace, among this beauty. He takes your hand in his and his eyes express what he's trying to say. His beautiful, lovely eyes that bore into your own.

For the first time in a long time, you feel alive.

[izzy-b-hands]

my brain is buzzing with random au ideas and shit while im sitting here awake entirely too early

and i just. Fucking Niche AUs I'll probably never finish part two:

-Call Center AU: Ed and Stede are middle managers learning to work together (and falling in love of course) after their companies and staff merged in a new big ass building (for fun: many rumors it's haunted. It isn't, Buttons just hates getting up early for work so during the week he hides out and lives in the basement.) Badminton & Co are trying to buy out their newly merged company with plans to fire everyone. Is this one just so I can shove in Murray Hewitt references with Stede? Partially! It's also bc i can throw in The Office references for my mum, who thus far will only read fic if I have a few in there & it's mainly comedy, and she hasn't read like any of my stuff fic or original in ages so. Yeah skdnfng

-NTSB (National Transportation Safety Board) AU aka did u know aviation is another special interest of mine? u do now!!:

Ed and Stede lead separate teams as part of Aotearoa's TAIC (their version of the NTSB), and are called in to assist with an NTSB investigation re: a crashed plane & a dead Badminton bro as a result ( Either of the two we've seen thus far, w/subplot abt him being a dick who was super rich bc of a shit ton of rental properties in Aotearoa that he didn't keep up well and hiked rent on constantly bc he seems like the landlord type.)

However, as it progresses it becomes clear there's more at stake than just a plane accident investigation (tho obvi also v important still) bc it appears there might be sabotage involving ppl in both the states and Aotearoa (aka hi jack!! and any other random pirates or historical ppl i might add in lol.)

This is difficult tho, bc like. they didn't like this Badminton of course so him being dead is like well this will be positive for his renters at least maybe, but also holy fuck other ppl died as a result jfc what the fuck. so then it's a matter of do we or do we not reveal the whole truth & open up what would be a can of worms re: Badminton, but would be an utter disservice to the rest of the victims' families if NOT revealed.

Substitute Teacher AU:

A school has had just. horrible luck and a few scandals and now the entire staff has been fired and the district really doesn't wanna spend that much money on new ppl yet so

enter Stede and Ed as separate teams of substitutes, attempting to cover all the topics at a decently large school where tbh they could use even more teachers (enter Doug, Mary, Spanish Jackie who actually teaches French & likes how her nickname fucks w/the kids a bit lmaoo, & Jack as additional help)

Nigel & Chauncey both have kids at the school, and expect special treatment as a reward for donating generously to the school (not really that generously tho), which means they are Nightmare Parents. Like yes it's sad they're both divorced but like if u talked to them for five mins u would Understand.

Big events in it would be Parent/Teacher Conferences (Izzy and Jim end up having to manhandle a screaming Nigel outside after Roach asks him to tell his kid to stop trying to set things on fire in Home Ec), at least one school dance ("Ed, they're vaping in the bathroom, what do I do?" "Idk join them?" "Ed!" "What? They'll do it regardless!!") and the graduation of the oldest grade (I think middle schoolers would be both the cruelest and funniest option for this au) and how they'll actually miss these goddamn kids, & don't know if they'll be contracted for the same school next year as permanent or called in to sub more or what

Topics for everyone thus far:

Jackie-French as noted above. She also enjoys that the kids always think Frenchie should teach her class purely based on his name. Doesn't tolerate any bs during class & will send u to the principals, but if everyone behaves they get an extra point added to their grade just for showing up and being polite. For some kids, for various reasons, it's a life saver.

Frenchie-joint band and choir director with The Swede. Treated like a local rock star by the kids bc he tells them how back home he plays in a few bands, and plays gigs in between teaching contracts/assignments. A couple make fan shirts after they google and manage to find out the name of the band he usually performs with. They give him one too and he can't help but well up bc. kids man. one minute little assholes the next moment doing something so kind and unexpected!

The Swede- mainly choir director but helps with the band bc they have a huge class size but of course the district doesn't care abt that.

Ed & Stede-joint principals, also Theater. Ed jokes that he's the Fun Principal bc he occasionally lets the kids get away with like. smoking near the school or playing hooky. If he catches them they get a 'guys cmon if u keep this up i gotta stop u forever so like. be mindful' talk. Stede thinks he's truly the Fun One tho bc he keeps making up ideas for those funny dress up weeks schools do in the states and Ed we are teaching here so we should do as the Romans do, so to speak! (how does that work, it doesn't really as far as i know with a lot of teaching jobs but shhhhh fiction time.)

Buttons-shop related classes, any and all, including woodworking and a v basic automotive class (obvi they won't pay for a garage set up, so he has to rely on drawing and otherwise illustrating & using texts to teach.) Also serves as the lunch room monitor bc the kids are p sure the rumor that he once ate a guy is true, and no one wants to Test Him.

Jim-Gym. Took it on purely bc they think it's funny to hear the kids go 'its time for gym/Jim!' Another beloved teacher for being supportive when kids struggle with the class, and also bc if everyone has good attendance each quarter then they'll take a day to show them knife throwing (after permission slips are signed of course.)

Olu-Spanish, but defers to Jim a lot bc then he gets to talk to Jim and no he doesn't have a crush on Jim! Also occasionally bemoans to Jim for them teaching the kids to swear in Spanish. Jim finally kisses him during one such lovingly made complaint.

Wee John-Home Ec, sewing & other textile based art. One of the fave teachers bc he always has snacks in his classroom, and will let any exhausted kids nap during class so long as they turn in finished projects (first is a lil plushie, then a bigger one, finally they have to design & attempt an article of clothing. Doesn't have to be anywhere near perfect or even complete, he just wants them to try.) Once freed Stede after he accidentally sewed his finger to some fabric while mucking abt after school in the classroom.

Fang-any and all math classes. No one knows how he handles the work load, but he's always chill af abt it. Another student fave for being kind and taking extra time with kids that suck at math, or flat out have dyscalculia & require the extra tutoring as part of their IEP.

Ivan-Social Studies. He knows the kids find it boring, so he does his best to give it some extra shine by making up projects for the kids to do that are graded a little bit kinder than regular hw bc he's more concerned that they have fun (and might retain the info better as a result.) One of the kids' faves ends up being a journal assignment abt the Oregon Trail, aka write an Oregon Trail story that can be as dramatic and/or like the video game as they want.

Izzy-Head Librarian. Cannot believe they fired the library staff as well as everyone else at the school. cannot get over how little the district does to help keep up said library (books are heavily damaged & still on the shelf, new books rarely ordered, and literally the shelves are not in Dewey order. That makes a vein in his forehead twitch every day until he takes an evening to correctly label and reshelve everything.) Winds up staying late a lot to repair books, order new books (when he runs out of what little funding there is, he puts them on his own cc and just doesn't tell anyone, claiming them as charitable donations from 'an anon donor'), and otherwise do any additional upkeep to get the place up to par. Realizes halfway thru the year no one got assigned to teach the Health class, and begrudgingly takes it on as well. He teaches in a section of the library, with Mary taking over main library duties for that time. Has to deal with all the horribleness that is teaching middle schoolers that topic ("You can't all keep laughing every time I say penis or we'll never get through this chapter. And that's hell for you as much as it is for me!")

Roach-Home Ec, cooking class. also helps in the lunch room bc literally they did not actually hire any kitchen staff, the subs are told to do that too. He winds up telling the kids they can help by prepping the ingredients for their lunch in his classroom, then he'll take it all to be finished for lunchtime in the industrial kitchen. They end up loving it after the first week, bc he brings in recipes that are decently healthy but that most the kids are up to trying or already like.

Mary-painting substitute if Doug is out for a day, but mainly works alongside Izzy in the library as the assistant librarian. Yes they gossip abt Ed and Stede. Yes they have a running bet on when they'll finally announce a relationship and fill out that paperwork with HR (this immediately starts a side convo for them abt the shoddy quality of the paperwork & how slowly it gets filed. They admit to being sticklers at times, but also they're right.)

Doug-art, painting and sculpture. Always up for weird art ideas, and has the graduating grade (even if they don't take his elective course) make a mural before the end of the year. They each get a framed pic of it, and he plans to have each graduating class redo the wall each year, should he be contracted for another full year.

Jack-biology/gen science. Encourages the kids to 'really get into' the dissections. Does his best to try and get the district to agree to a field trip to the local morgue to see a full on embalming, but is told uhhhh no bud. Accidentally reveals a parentage issue for a few kids while using eye & hair color to teach Punett squares.

Lucius-Creative Writing. Has a loving feud with Pete bc most of the kids are in both their classes. Said kids have bets on if Pete or Lucius will propose to each other or not by the end of the year. Makes a point to be a safe place for any kids with writing that may point to some other issues going on in life (based off my hs lit mag teacher Dr. Brenda Werner. No joke, she saved my life as a kid, I think Lucius would be the same for his class.)

Pete-Newspaper/Yearbook. Very big on making sure stories are accurate, bc 'ppl doubt my stories a lot, so you need your details and shit in order.' The kids: ooooh he swore!!!! and promptly do not absorb this knowledge fully. But they enjoy his class bc he's chill and is happy to let them explore what options journalism can offer, and to research odder stories for internal class articles vs school paper ones (Missing: David, Where's Shelly? vs Cilantro: Should Roach Use It In Our Lunch Or Does It Taste Like Soap.)

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter. Better yet! Check out “Heart of the Game, Fredonia” and see if they can sell you those D12’s with the symbols on them. Tell them “Shujin Tribble” sentcha. And “Hail, Hail, Fredonia!” Home of the Blue Devil!

It’s been a long time since you’ve read any interesting periodicals, hasn’t it? Like, when was the last time you read any “National Geographic”s? Meaning read it for the articles. It’s been a while, we know. BUT, it’s still being made - and it’s still as heavy as you remember it being: 0.3Kg or 0.66 Pounds. So let's give you a bunch of cover titles and see what you get to learn about this week.

Aries 

Your issue is from September 2003 - and across the top of the front page it says, very proudly, “AOL Keyword: NATGEO”. Really aged like fine milk, huh? Anyway, your big, bold, red letters to get your attention says, “zebras!” And since the picture is of one zebra neck-biting another, calling these guys “Oreo Murder Horses” isn’t too far off. So This Week… Go check out “Casual Geographic” on YouTube. Don’t forget to drink water, hug your mother, and give him all the Thumbs Up. He works so hard on those videos and still has no idea what he’s doing. 

Taurus 

Taking us back to the late 20th Century, and all you Gen-X’ers can stay mad about that term, we’re pulling your issue from October 1998. No website information, no AOL headers, but the main topic is “Population”. Sub-tops are about human migration, feeding the planet, and… Uhm… Perfume. Honestly how that ended up in the mix we have no idea. So This Week… Just be glad there are no perfume sampler pages in that magazine for you to curl your nose at. And if you don’t know what a Perfume Sampler Page in a magazine is, then you’re too young. We’ll explain it when you grow up.

Gemini  

Moving up to March 2004, and yes there’s a web address on the top this time, your main topic is all about “Harp Seals - The Hunt for Balance”. They’re normally found in the cold waters of the North Atlantic and Arctic Oceans, so why is there a sub-topic called, “A Rain Forest in Rio’s Backyard”? Honestly, it makes so little sense to us too. But the stars always have a reason, right? So This Week… Be on the lookout for various rainforest ants: the Leaf-Cutter and the Bullet Ants are No Joke! Do NOT take them on. You WILL lose! 

Cancer Moon-Child 

Back to October 2003, and yes, that sad AOL Keyword blurb is back. Your topic is “Kingdom On Edge - Saudi Arabia”. And, again, NatGeo just likes to screw with everyone’s minds because another sub-topic is, “Watery Graves of the Maya”! So This Week… take your pick between political turmoil in a country that’s 95% desert, or water-logged caves in the Yucatan with human skulls in it. Neither topic really works for us, so you’re on your own.

Leo 

Skipping ahead to August 2005, you’ve got a great photo on the cover: two OLD, rusted fuel pumps side-by-side. One says “Aviation” the other says “Ethyl”. Because, you know, you used to be able to just BUY Aviation-grade fuel and put it in your gas can for… whatever. The label says, “After Oil - Powering the Future”, and it’s a good topic, really. Lots of ways to make personal transportation more affordable and ecologically cleaner - and I’ll bet they were sure it’d be a total game changer in the next 20 years, right? So This Week… Do NOT look up how to put out an electric car battery fire. (SPOILERS… you almost can’t.)

Virgo 

Dropping back to November 2004 gives us this great close-up picture of some kind of lizard’s profile. It’s got a cute snout, colourful scales, a stark white background, and big red letters asking, “Was Darwin Wrong?” To NatGeo’s credit, I mean… “Yeah”? He was about a lot of nuance. But his overall idea’s been shown to be pretty much right for over 150 years. So if you want to ask, let’s be fair - the guy died before Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture debuted in Moscow. So This Week… You’ll be asked questions intended to throw you off your game. Just accept the premise, concede that there’s missing nuance to the question, and watch your questioner get more frustrated.

Libra

Dropping back to August 2004’s issue gives us something curiously titillating. It’s a picture of a human body, from thigh to chest, nude, curled on itself, showing some rolls of skin and a hand popping out with long, stark-red fingernails. The topic is, “The Heavy Cost of Fat”, and it’s a topic that’s highly controversial for good reason. Lots of stories of people who’ve been blown off by the medical practice with the rubber-stamp of, “just lose weight and you’ll get better” without even caring if that’s where the problem really lies. And yet we’ve seen ancient sculptures of human form where there’s some pudge, some curves, something that resembles “modernly obese” - and they were normal people. So This Week… We know you might be self-conscious about your weight. What we want is for you to be happy in your own body - and if you’d like to make a change just remember, it’ll take time. Be patient. You’re worth it. 

Scorpio 

Another drop back, this time to February 2004, and its headliner, “Great Whites of the North”. If you thought it was about sharks, guess again. The cover has two polar bears fighting each other, so it’s gotta be “interesting” to put it mildly. There are reports that they can track prey for a LONG, long time - like… MILES away, by scent. Nevermind that, they have Murder Mittens larger than your FACE! So This Week… Remember the story of how Brian Freekin’ Blessed punched one outside his tent in the Arctic? Yeah, take that story with a grain of salt since in the same story he supposedly spoke with a Yeti. Oh, and do NOT try punching a polar bear. Even if you are able to succeed, you’ll fail shortly after.

Sagittarius 

It’s not common for us to be jealous of any of you in these, but this time some of us are. January 2005’s cover says, “why we love caffeine”, and a picture of a cup of coffee with a foam heart across the top. The idea that NatGeo was tackling the topic of coffee astounds the mind - and SCREW YOU! Yes, you can get caffeine from sources other than coffee, but you know what? There’s nothing more invigorating than downing cup after cup of flaming hot coffee at 7am while waiting for your breakfast burrito to finish in the microwave. So This Week… Coffee does NOT need butter to taste good. Just stop it! Stop it right now!

Capricorn 

March of 2005 has kind of a freaky picture. It’s someone with lots and lots and LOTS of electronic pickups attached to their head and scalp. A veritable forest of these things all across their skin! The topic title says, “what’s in your mind”. The question itself is just so wrong. What’s in your mind is YOU! YOU are your mind! The Mind is what The Brain does. Look, it’s simple: lungs breathe, legs run, and brains MIND, ok? So This Week… If you’d actually paid attention to your philosophy and neuroscience courses at college you’d already understand this. There’s plenty of brush-up courses on YouTube. Go sit down and take an unofficial Night College Course load. 

Aquarius 

The Summer of 2005, specifically July, asks an interesting medical question. “Stem Cells - How Far Will We Go?” It’s a wild idea - using our own stem cells to rebuild entire organs. There was a story some years back about a 3D Printed Trachea that was covered in the patient’s stem cells so it wouldn’t be rejected by the body - and it worked! So this Week… Just because we CAN grow replacement body parts for you doesn’t mean you can just blow out whatever part you like and expect it to be replaced whenever you like. Stop Binge Drinking - you keep claiming to have been knighted “Sir Ossis of Liver” when you’re drunk!

Pisces  

Finally, back to the winter weather in February 2005. The title is “The Great Gray Owl”, with a photo of exactly that owl, face on, in flight, and it’s just so COOL! But here’s where the pedantry comes up - the bird’s spelled “G - R - A - Y” - meaning the American Version of the word. Now far be it for us to be snobs about anything (Yeah, RIGHT) but this makes no sense. Americans dropping the letter “U” from words like “colour” - ok, that was because it was cheaper for the old printing presses to use fewer letters, but come ON! Why switch it from “E” to “A”? It makes no sense at all. So This Week… Try using British English spellings in exchanges and see what kind of reactions you get. We won’t care what it is, but you might find it interesting.

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know - or check out the Ko-Fi page ( https://ko-fi.com/icarusthelunarguard )! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Discord, and BLUESKY.

[mightyflamethrower]

Actor Matthew Marsden asks Twitter for Biden's greatest accomplishments, hilarity ensues

Joe Biden lies. (Excuse us ... 'embellishes.') A lot. He lies so often, it's not even news anymore when he does it. Not that the mainstream media would make it news, they're too busy covering for or ignoring those lies. Whether it is about his academic history, his political history, his family, or even his own upbringing, the man lies like most people breathe. 

Recently, conservative actor Matthew Marsden -- who is as fed up with these lies as any normal person would and should be -- decided to have a little fun with Biden's tall tales and asked Twitter/X to list some of the 46th President's greatest achievements. The response from users was every bit as funny as you would expect.

We're pretty sure Biden is old enough that this at least could be true. 

They don't call Biden 'the Maestro of the Med' for nothing, folks. 

Is that the same Sir Edmund Hillary who Hillary Clinton claimed she was named after? (Even though she was born six years before anyone knew who Edmund Hillary was.)

Those paintings of Biden and his troops rowing across the frigid, icy river that dark Christmas night have become indelible icons of America's victory over the British. 

Without Biden's ingenious method, we would have no reference point when we say, 'The greatest thing since...'

We never did trust that Al Gore. Trying to rip off Biden's invention like that. Shame on you, Al.

Yeah, the history books will try to tell you that was Abraham Lincoln. Don't you believe them? They're fake news. That was all Joey, baby. 

Our favorite passage in Exodus is when Biden boldly strode into Pharoah's hall, whipped off his aviators, took a lick of his chocolate chocolate chip double cone, and demanded, 'Let my people go, Jack.'

Biden played ironman football in that game too, offense and defense for both teams. He truly deserved to win all three Heisman trophies that year. 

And that's why Biden later had to free the slaves: he was appalled at what his invention was being used for. 

And he didn't even hide in the basement that time. 

Advertisement

It may look like an 'S' to us, but on Biden's home planet, that symbol he wears on his chest means 'hope.'

That was a busy week for Biden, to be sure. He needed a day of rest at the end of it.

Biden was originally going to be the subject of Christopher Nolan's recent movie, but the casting director couldn't find an actor handsome enough to play him, so Nolan had to rewrite the script. 

If Lincoln had kept his appointment for a chess lesson with Biden instead of going to see a play, history would have changed forever. 

Corn Pop may have been a bad dude, but Corn Pops are delicious with some nice, cold milk. Which Biden also invented. 

Many people died that day, sadly, until Biden showed up and the Germans all just laid down their arms and surrendered. Nobody messes with a Biden.

Look, not every accomplishment has to alter the course of human events, OK? Sometimes, Biden just wants to make our lives more convenient. 

Shhh. He hasn't released this one to the public yet. Don't try to steal Biden's thunder. He'll let us know about his cancer cure when he determines we are ready to receive his merciful bounty.

Hey, we know some of these things may seem farfetched, but hand to God, everything you've seen above is true. We ain't kiddin', folks. Come on man, don't take it from us. Just ask the man himself. He'll affirm everything you've read here happened, his word as a Biden. 

***

Editor's Note: Do you enjoy Twitchy's conservative reporting taking on the radical left and woke media? Support our work so that we can continue to bring you the truth. Join Twitchy VIP and use the promo code SAVEAMERICA to get 40% off your VIP membership!

[theminecraftbee]

crawls in here HI SECONd im thinking about empires earth again. sorry to ur actual current interests im thinking about That bitch. anyways.

idk what exactly your headcanons are on the empires wing situation? but in my head the vast majority of them do not have wings that are just. permanently attached. idk maybe to be born with wings and not having to use the elytra (spell?) Means Something or whatever.

then lo and behold comes this pig and Philza, who Has Wings. i can only imagine there would be some flying races perhaps? i feel like fwhip would love to study the wings too, to perfect his own elytra design. man idk. i just thought abt scott eating shit during a flying race honestly and thought it was funny <3

OH WINGS okay see that’s a fun thing to think about because. okay so I think rivendell elves sometimes have wings but it’s considered very rare. people practiced in crystal cliffs styled magic can fly, and usually have wings, but the wings aren’t like, practical biological bits—gem’s crystal wings work because magic, not because of traditional sense and logic. fwhip is currently the only guy in the grimlands with wings thanks to having Mysteriously Grown Dragon Wings, but he’s DETERMINED to figure out how to replicate it, if not with magic, then with technology. i tend to headcanon sausage hand-made his own wings after the demonic stuff went down as a step of healing after being possessed using that research but in empires earth continuity man’s still possessed so f. joey also has massive parrot wings, and wings are actually decently common in the lost empire, but the lost empire’s tendency towards isolation means that joey is the only example most people have seen.

in general, those are the common sources of flight though—either you’re experienced enough with magic to find a way to pull something like gem, or you’re born with them like scott or joey. so i think phil’s wings would be… probably a bit less unusual than they were at home for him, actually, but still very unusual, especially given that elven wings tend to be owl-like and lost kingdom wings are very colorful. big giant crow wings, while a little less Weird given how much more prolific magic is in empires, are still highly unusual. definitely deeply recognizable

flight, however, is far less common than it was at home for phil. empires world has magical flight and more flighted races, but fwhip and the grimlands (and later sausage) are the only guys doing something so sacreligeous as attempt to invent mechanical flight. by contrast, on smp earth, mechanical flight is increasingly common—I’d say we’re reaching about the late 40s-early 50s as far as aviation tech there, passenger aviation is still a bit young but is starting to really take off, and planes are being used for all kinds of military applications.

so at home for phil, while he’s normally the only guy with wings, he’s hardly the only guy who’s flown.

so coming across empires? yeah I think fwhip would totally offer for a race. it’s definitely an attempt to see how, say, techno’s fighter holds up against fwhip’s cursed wings and figure out if he can work out more about the tech to steal for his own projects, but it’s also for fun. gotta see how the new guy with the wings holds up. it’s a matter of pride, you see.

phil smokes most of them. it’s impressive. and yes, scott totally eats shit trying to keep up with phil for the sake of his pride. they all laugh about it. for all the political motivations that got wrapped up in the race itself, for all the parties involved agree at least in part for intel, for all everything else going on, it’s really really fun.

it’s been a long time since phil flew against wings that weren’t metal. he suggests they make it an annual thing. fwhip, reeling and ecstatic, agrees immediately.

[vynegar]

a few tears of themis fan theories: lilies, Svart, and giann

gonna post some interesting fan theories/speculation i saw on bilibili.

this post may contain spoilers for main story up to ch 5, vyn’s medieval suspense and brewing thoughts SSRs, and info about marius’s family (from his RRG and xmas SSRs, and probably also his personal story).

First, a comment on a video of the card story for Vyn’s RRG card, Brewing Thoughts (I’m translating the card, the most important part for this theory is part four where Vyn talks about his family’s history with the Svart church)

借个楼。整理了一宿线索发现在简遇和pv里被烧掉的那张照片中都出现了百合花，而在危情邀约中出现过教会的圣物就是百合花，所以海奥森幕后的大boss可能是教会。聂秋背叛了NXX，陆景瀚被海奥森捉去当试验品了，可能是因为原宁的病。亚宁可能在斯沃尔特有研究场所，用来研究NXX 和X03A，夏彦卷入的跨过案件可能与斯沃尔特有关。感觉以后四个男主都有刀..

Gonna borrow this post. I was organizing clues and realized that lilies appear with both Jerome and that picture that burned up in the PV, and in Medieval Suspense, lilies were the sacred flower of the church, so the big boss behind Heirson might be the church. Neil betrayed NXX, Giann was taken by Heirson as a test subject, possibly because of his mother’s illness. Crimson Biotech might have a research center in Svart used for researching NXX and X03A, the international case that Luke got involved in might be related to Svart. I feel like there’s angst in all four boys’ futures...

I’m going to try to go through each major point they bring up (part explanation, part opinion).

Jerome was that suspicious research scientist at the start of ch 5, and this post is pointing out that lilies appear to be the company’s logo, based on their lab coats and the design on the building.

An image from this bilibili post (gathering clues up to main story ch 5; warning that the post is very long and image-heavy) shows screenshots of the logo and the photo from the "Ends of the Scale" Trailer/PV (I’ll come back to discuss the photo more later).

In Medieval Suspense, Vyn said that he had actually experienced very similar events to what happened in the murder mystery. In Brewing Thoughts, we learn that , like in the story, his parents’ union was forbidden by the Svart church, his father was unable to cope with his mother’s departure, and the church’s opposition to science and change all contributed to Vyn leaving Svart.

(btw, that bilibili post was made in august 2020 and correctly guessed vyn’s relation to duke haspran)

My gut reaction was doubt towards the idea that the science-hating church might be working with Heirson on biochemical products, but X03A/NXX being used in pursuit of “eternal youth” DOES feel similar to the Duke in Medieval Suspense trying to revive the dead via alchemy rituals; both of them trying to defy the natural world through extreme means. The Duke wouldn’t really be aligned with the church, since the Vatican killed his lover, but it still adds another connection between the sinister research group/s and the story from Medieval Suspense.

Neil is stated in the main story to be suspected of betraying NXX and playing a role in Giann’s abduction.

In Marius’s xmas card, he says that his (and Giann’s) mother had an illness that worsened in the process of carrying/giving birth to Marius. (There may be more details in the personal story, but I haven’t read it yet.). I’m not sure if there’s more “evidence” on the part about Giann but i really like the thought of this motive since it’s so angsty lol.

The BDL entry for Crimson Biotech says “Since the middle of the last century, the Cromwell family has been gradually shifting its business focus abroad and its influence overseas is no less than that of the world's largest multinational group, the Pax Group.“

And the BDL entry for the Kingdom of Svart says “It has a stable political environment, an affluent society, as well as well-developed aviation, telecommunications, and pharmaceutical industry. Most multinational companies have a presence here, making Svart a hub of international trade.”

So yeah, I definitely like this part of the theory that pins Svart as the location for two international incidents; we keep hearing about large, international powers, and Svart is the only other major country that really gets focus, and it hasn’t shown up much yet in the main story. It makes a lot of narrative sense as a way to tie all the boys’ plots together.

Also, back to the photo: that long bilibili post also guesses that the man in the photo is Giann von Hagen.

Left: comparison between the photo and Giann’s silhouette; there’s not much to work with, but it’s certainly possible; the hair in particular is similar.

Right: a formal posture in both the man in the photo and in Vincent, possibly indicating that this is Giann’s servant.

Here’s a slightly larger silhouette of Giann from Marius’s RRG card, and the hairstyle does indeed look similar...

...I’m convinced.

[spinchip]

The Skirt

Pairings: background jaya Wordcount: 3700 Warnings: ask to tag Summary: Zane gets caught admiring a skirt at the store, but he knows the rules. Boys aren’t allowed to wear that stuff... right?

It’s a sweet, simple sort of thing, where it lays across the mannequins thighs. It’s a high waisted skirt in pale pink, long pleats that fold nicely. It’s paired with a tight white long sleeve shirt tucked in, and a gaudy hot-pink trench coat, and a pair of beige booties. The outfit is nice- the jacket a little much for his own personal taste, but cute in it’s own way. He glances down at his own hips and back up, imagining how the skirt would look against his skin. He reaches out and touches along the bottom of it, feeling the smooth fibers, wondering not-seriously if they had it in his size- not that he would buy it. Not that he should even be thinking about buying it, or how it might look on, or how it might feel-

Nya rounds the corner of the aisle he’d lost himself in.

Zane jumps away from the fabric as if it’d bitten him, nearly knocking over a rack of expensive sunglasses, a hot flush of shame crawling up his throat. He clenches his hands at his side and tries to play it off by switching focus to a pair of aviators with black frames. He can see Nya as she wanders up in the reflection from the lenses, looking between him and the mannequin’s outfit he’d been examining, an inquisitive tilt to her lips.

“Zane? Do you… like this?” She reaches up to smooth out the pleats of the skirt, ruffled by his own hands.

“No.” He answers right away, not giving an inch. He fumbles to pick up a pair of sunglasses just to be doing something with his hands, and doesn’t say anything more. He knows he’s tense, but he can’t help it.

“I don’t know. I think it’s kinda cute.” She hums.

It’s… a trap, or something. Zane can’t figure out how she's trying to box him in, and it’s making him anxious, “You should buy it if you like it.” He tries, setting the glasses back with firm hands, tracing the frames of another pair.

“I don’t think the pink would match my complexion,” there’s a pause, then she tries, “It would look really good on you-”

“I do not like it.” He cuts her off, lacing his voice with steel, shoulders hunching. He strides away from her without glancing back, he doesn’t want to see the look on her face, he doesn’t want to know if she was laughing at him. She’d laughed at him before, in his pink apron, and she'd called him cute then too.

Her voice had been filled with cruel edged mirth, “He’d looked so cute in it!” as he retreats from their food fight, an unfamiliar feeling he’s learned was embarrassment welling up in his chest, making his processor hot. He threw that stupid apron away. He announced his hatred towards pink over and over again. He didn’t need to lose all his progress with a moment of weakness.

He did not like how it felt when his friends laughed at him.

The others are trailing around the store at their own pace, and Zane is lucky only Nya caught him- and even then, he has plausible deniability. Except now she’s lingering around him, he can see her out of the corner of his eye, so he sticks strictly to the mens section- folding a pair of jeans over his arm and a pale blue turtle-neck he thought would go with his eyes. He doesn’t even think about looking at the lavender button up at the end of the rack- he’d learned over the years. Lavender and pastel colors, they were just as bad as pink, even if it was in the mens section, or gender neutral. Sometimes he worries about the light blues he tended to favor, but any blue was okay all the time, probably. They hadn’t made fun of him yet.

He’s looking through a pile of joggers when Nya calls out, “Zane!”

She catches his attention and Jay and Cole as well, holding up a white dress from the rack. It’s a beautiful summer dress, white straps lined with lace leading into a sweetheart neckline, eye closures down the center before it breaks into a delicate and flowy trumpet skirt, “Isn’t this pretty?” She asks, smiling encouragingly.

It is. If you had asked him what kind of dress he’d like to wear, he would be thinking of this dress while he told you none at all.

She’s making fun of him.

He wilts a little, drawing in on himself, and swallows past the painful lump in his throat, “I suppose.” He grits out.

“Hey, why not ask me?” Jay pipes up, “I’m your boyfriend.”

Nya jumps, as if Jay’s presence in the conversation was a surprise.

“It is pretty,” Cole comments, squinting at it from the tank tops he’d been pawing through, “Not really your style, though.”

Nya shakes her head and opens her mouth, “No, I-” She stalls, glancing at Zane- who’s looking increasingly upset, “I was thinking about trying something new...” she trails off.

Jay meanders over, “Well, you should probably get a different size. This is way too big.” He comments, looking it over.

“Yeah… right.” Nya says, and Zane slips away from them quietly.

-

When he gets back to his room, he sets his bags from the mall on the bed and starts to pull out his new clothes. Nya had let it go, in the end, and hadn’t teased him about his slip up after the dress thing, so the rest of the trip had been nice. They’d stopped at the food court for lunch and spent some time in the skateboard shop so kai could buy some new wheels, and then an hour and a half goofing around at the arcade before they’d called it a day.

Zane folded his new pants and tucked them into the dresser, reaching blindly into his bag while thinking about what to make for dinner.

All thoughts of food vanish from his head when he pulls out the pale pink skirt he’d been admiring.

He drops it and jerks his hands back to his chest, spinning around as if to catch Nya jump out from behind a potted plant and shout aha! Caught ya! ...but no one is there. He’s alone. He approaches the offending article of clothing cautiously, digging his receipt out from his bag while already certain he won’t see the skirt listed there. Nya must have bought it and slipped it in with his things, there’s no other explanation. It’s his size. Why? Is there a… a joke here? What is Zane not getting?

He should take it back to her and let her return it, probably. He picks it up and tosses it in the trashcan next to his desk instead, and puts away the rest of his clothes with hands he makes sure don’t shake. He doesn’t entertain the idea of trying it on. Pink and lavender weren’t allowed, skirts- skirts were worse. A pink skirt… he shakes his head, hanging up a new turtle neck, and leaves the skirt behind in the darkness of his room.

Nya sits up a little straighter when he comes into the living room, “How was… putting away your clothes?” She finishes clunky, fishing for his reaction to her prank.

“Fine.” He says without breaking stride, crossing into the kitchen and plucking his plain white apron up off the hook, sliding it over his head and getting to work.

Except, even as he chops onions and serves dinner and eats with his friends, even as they play video games and watch a movie, he can’t stop thinking about the skirt. It’s there, in the back of his mind- he’d always liked skirts, thought they were pretty and sweet. He used to dream about buying nice skirts and dresses when he could afford it, different kinds for different occasions like maxi dresses and pencil skirts, but this was before he knew it was silly and laughable. Before it was wrong.

When the night finally comes to a close, and he retires back to his room, he makes a bee line for his trashcan and delicately pulls the skirt out. He sets it on his bed and pats out the wrinkles, appreciating the craftsmanship.

He locks the door and undresses, sliding the skirt over his hips. He zips it in place and takes a step towards the mirror before he hesitates, throwing off his blue hoodie and digging up a tighter white turtleneck. It’s the closest thing he has to the outfit the mannequin was wearing that he’d liked so much. He smooths down the pleats, playing with the edge- something tight and uncomfortable in his chest loosens, and he breathes easier. It’s nice. It feels… like he always thought it would.

He steps in front of the mirror. He fiddles with the cuffs of his sweater, smiling at his reflection. He looked good, the skirt fits perfectly. He poses even though it makes him feel a little immature, striking several different stances, turning around to see all the angles. He’s got the perfect set of shoes to pair with this-

He stops halfway to his closet, standing in the middle of his room wearing a skirt he loves, reality rushing back.

He takes the skirt off, pulling on a pair of pajama pants, and folds it nice and neatly. He unlocks his door and walks across the monastery to Nyas bedroom, knocking politely. There’s a long pause before he can hear her footsteps on the hardwood. The door opens and she squints at the hallway light, blinking up groggily at Zane, “Huh?” She quips eloquently.

He holds the skirt out and drops it, she fumbles to catch it, “Return it.” he tells her, “I do not want it.”

She blinks, her sleep addled mind processing before it connects, “Zane,” She shakes her head, holding it out, “It’s yours, I saw you looking at it- it’s a nice skirt, it would look nice on you.”

He refrains from saying it does. He frowns hard, he doesn’t get it- she sounds so sincere, but he knows the rules, “I do not understand the joke. Am I supposed to wear this so you may laugh at me?”

Nya looks lost, “Laugh?”

“Like my pink apron.” He explains, huddling into himself, “Except this is worse.”

Understanding lights up her face with shame and sadness, “Zane… I-”

“Return it.” He insists, pushing the skirt back towards her, and then hesitates, “Please. Do not tell the others.”

He takes a step back and nods, turning away and bidding a hasty retreat. When he gets back to his room he stubbornly refuses to think about how freeing it was, how good it felt. He stamps down any longing as he crawls into bed, and falls asleep most certainly not filled with regret.

-

The following morning, Nya slinks into the kitchen as Zane and Kai are putting together breakfast looking like a kicked puppy. She keeps throwing inconspicuous sad eyes at Zane that he’s stubbornly refusing to acknowledge, but she thankfully doesn’t let the others catch on or else she might be forced to tell them what was bothering her.

After breakfast, she offers to help Zane with the dishes, and meets his “I do not require assistance,” With polite insistence, where she ends up washing as he dries and puts them away.

It isn’t until they’re nearly done that she organizes her thought’s enough to turn to him as he puts away the final stack of plates and says, “I think you should keep the skirt.”

He feels himself grow tense, closing the cupboard slowly before he looks at her, turning around to face her and scrutinizing her expression hard. He tries to dissect her intentions, tries to figure out why she’s saying this- he knew Nya had joined in on the teasing before, but he didn’t think she would push so hard. All his previous data suggests she doesn’t have a cruel streak like this in her, but she’s been keeping the joke going hard.

He entertains the idea that she really is being sincere, but that doesn’t make sense either, because there were rules. Zane had to figure them out fast when he was younger and newly exposed to the world- You have to make eye contact when conversing with people to be respectful, asking for explanations to jokes ruins the fun, and boys should never wear girl clothes. If you broke the rules, you were weird, and people laughed at you, and they made fun of you.

“No thank you.” He says stiffly, turning away and rinsing out the sink, “I do not like it.”

She looks miserable, “I’m sorry we laughed.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t respond, the conflicting information making his head hurt, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

-

A week later, the team has another rare day off. They’d set aside the day to go to the park, and Zane was looking forward to it. He’d spent the previous day in between patrols picking up ingredients to pack the perfect picnic. Cole throws open the door to the kitchen as Zane finishes packing up his basket, hauling a large cooler behind him.

“Hey frosty!” He greets, popping the lid on the cooler and fishing out waters and juice from the fridge, “Aren’t you gonna be hot dressed like that?” He comments.

Zane glances down at his jeans and t-shirt in comparison to Cole’s tanktop and shorts combo, “I am the master of Ice.” He points out, “I don’t get hot.”

Cole concedes his point with a dip of his head, “Speaking of master of ice, can I get a little help with keeping the drinks cool?”

Zane nods, waving a hand over the cooler and packing the drinks with snow and ice. Cole thanks him as Zane hefts up his basket, the two meeting the rest of their team on the deck of the bounty. Nya perks up as they come out on deck, and steps aside so the two can see their teammates.

Jay already looks overheated, miserably melting under the sun. Lloyd seems unbothered, dressed in a sleeveless hoodie and shorts. Kai basks in the sun, smiling brilliantly, wearing a t-shirt and…

Zanes processor stutters, “Are you wearing a skirt?” He asks neutrally, blinking down at Kai’s maroon pleats.

“Yeah,” Kai glances down at the fabric, “Nya gave it to me, it doesn’t fit her anymore. Isn’t it cute?”

Zane has no idea how to respond, so Cole beats him to it, “Looks good, dude, but how are we supposed to play frisbee?”

“I got shorts on underneath so I don't accidentally flash anyone.” Kai waves his hand dismissively, and no one else comments on the wrongness of the outfit.

Tentatively, Zane says, “You… like to wear skirts?”

Kai frowns, mistaking the hesitance for judgement, “Is that a problem for you?”

Zane looks away, “Not at all.” He says, confusion making his voice stiff, missing the way the others glance at his tone of voice disapprovingly.

They go to the park, and Zane can’t stop looking at Kais skirt. He finds himself frowning at the other man more than once, shaking the confusion out of his head and trying to ignore it. Did it… really not matter that Kai was wearing a skirt? Cole had complimented him, and Jay hadn’t said anything against it either. He finds himself not joining in on the frisbee game most of the time, focusing on getting the picnic set up to hide how he was too mixed up to focus on the sport. Soon enough, the others wrap up their game and join Zane on the blanket Nya had packed.

They eat and chat idly, and Kai sighs in content after he’s finished, sitting back, “That was amazing as always, Zane!”

Zane doesn’t look at him as he puts away his own half-eaten sandwich, “Thank you.” He says simply, lost in thought.

“Zane.” Jay says, and Zane glances up at him. He startles slightly at the way Jay is looking at him, pointedly disapproving, “Why are you being so weird about Kais skirt?”

“...Why aren’t you?” Zane asks genuinely, familiar hot shame crawling up his throat as his friends frown at him.

“Dude…” Kai mutters, clearly hurt, “Not cool.”

Shame, confusion, and guilt swallow Zane up for a long moment before it’s burned up by a flash of frustration. It didn’t make sense. They’d made fun of him years ago for his pink apron, laughed him out of the room and not bothered enough to see if he was alright afterwards because he broke the rules- he gets it, he wore the wrong clothes, it’s a funny joke… So why is Kai allowed it where Zane isn’t? Why is it funny when it’s Zane? Why does he get mocked while Kai gets defended? Defended when Zane hasn’t and wouldn’t ever make fun of him for his outfit-!

He stands up abruptly, “I’m going back to the bounty.” He announces before he turns on heel and all but runs from them.

“Zane!” Nya calls, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Let him go.” Cole says firmly, and Zane clenches his eyes shut as he boards the bounty.

His stomach churns with his tumultuous thoughts and he makes a bee line for the room they have in the bounty, crawling into his bunk bed and curling into a ball. He stares miserably at the wooden walls, thinking about too many different things.

He misses his pink apron.

He didn’t think it was funny when he saw Kai in that skirt. He thought he looked nice...

Why did they laugh at him?

-

He wakes up at the sound of quiet voices, disoriented for a moment- he didn’t remember falling asleep. He makes his way out of bed slowly, the room dark, and blinks against the harsh hallway light as he steps out of their bedroom. He rubs sleep out of his optics as they adjust to the change in atmosphere, making his way to the living room.

He stops in the doorway, looking in at his friends. Kai is still wearing his skirt, laying across the recliner sideways, his legs thrown over the edge. The others are in various states around the living room, laying on the couch or the floor asa movie plays unwatched on the TV screen, the quiet sounds what lured Zane here in the first place.

Zane’s stomach plummets as he remembers the hurt look on Kai’s face at lunch. He didn’t want to make Kai feel like he did, he didn’t want him to feel laughed at, “Kai?” He says from the doorway.

The room reacts to his voice, everyone immediately sitting up to peer at him. Jay's head poked over the back of the couch along with Coles, and Nya and Lloyd craned their heads around the couch from the floor.

“Hey, Zane…” Kai says, sitting properly in the chair.

“I want to apologize.” Zane says quietly, “I really have no issue with you wearing what you like. I am sorry I acted so oddly.”

Kai fiddles with the edge of the skirt, “It’s okay… I know.” He says just as soft, “I think we all owe you an apology too.”

Zane tilts his head in confusion, stepping into the room a little more.

Jay nods, “Yeah, Zane, we’re sorry.” He says sincerely, “We acted like total jerks about your apron.”

“My apron…” Zane’s eyes flicker to Nya, who ducks her head a little at how she obviously snitched.

“Nya told us what was bothering you, and we feel really bad about it.” Cole agrees, “We were stupid and mean. There’s nothing wrong with wearing pink.”

“Or skirts.” Kai pipes up, “I’m sorry we hurt you.”

“If you want to wear that stuff,” Lloyd adds, “No one will laugh.”

Zane blinks at the way his eyes water dangerously, looking down at the floor, “It is not… wrong?”

“No.” Kai says firmly, “We were wrong, not you. Wear what makes you happy, and we’ll be on your side.”

Zane swallows and thinks about how much he’d loved the pink skirt, how pretty he’d felt with it on, “I accept your apology.” He says with a small smile, “Thank you.”

Nya grins and with a wink says, “I think i have something that belongs to you, then.” She stands, “But first… group hug?”

Smiling, Zane holds up his arms, and the others converge on him. He hugs them back tightly, smile growing wider as he sighs happily. The frustration and hurt sliding off his shoulders makes him feel so light, and a barrier he hadn’t realized he’d raised falls to pieces.

He couldn’t wait for their next off day.

-

Which comes sooner than he expects. It’s rare to get out of patrol so often, but Lloyd insisted they make up for their slightly disasterous park trip only a few days later. Ninjago is thankfully not in terrible danger, so they decide to head to Mega Monster Amusement Park for the day- and Zane is half certain Sensei Wu allows it only because he’s craving funnel cake.

They’re supposed to leave soon, and Zane is nearly ready. He slips on a pair of white boots and laces them up, standing up and admiring his outfit in his mirror. He’s got on a loose white sweater tucked into the waistband of his pink skirt, and he adjusts it one last time before nodding in satisfaction, smiling genuinely at his reflection.

He does a little twirl because he can’t help himself before he throws open the door to his room and makes his way to the deck of the bounty, smiling as the skirt bounces and flows with every step.

He’s the last to arrive, the others all waiting for him. To his pleasant surprise, there’s no flash of anxiety as he trots over- they won’t laugh. He knows they won’t.

Nya lights up when she sees him, “Zane’s here!”

Zane happiness seems to be contagious, the others all perking up at the sight of him.

“You look really nice.” Kai compliments when he gets close, and Zane smiles so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Yeah, that’s a nice color on you.” Cole comments.

Jay nods in agreement, “Zane looks really good, yes! Can we go to the amusement park already?”

Zane laughs, bubbly and light, “Thank you all! Jay’s right, let us go have some fun.”

As they disembark the bounty, Zane makes eye contact with Nya, and smiles softly at her. She grins in return, bumping shoulders with him, and they catch up with the others.