#I’m a dog killing birds but you know I don’t understand

[thelonelyraven]

Ok so I need to gush on main about Punisher because THAT ALBUM

The more I listen to it the more I fall in love with it.

And it’s like a slow burn too. At first I was really into I Know The End which is great and that I coupled with Phoebe’s cover of That Funny Feeling cause they fit so well together

but like

Then I got big into Punisher itself when I kinda got into Elliott Smith from Rick and Morty of all things, well vibing to Between the Bars and realising I’d had Everything Means Nothing to Me for years that I’d heard on Mr Robot and loved.

ANYWAYS I looked things up and saw that Phoebe had this song that’s a kind of love letter to him and I also saw about Third Eye Blind’s There’s No Hurry to Eternity which damn I didn’t expect something instrumental and with those kinds of feels from the band that made Semi-Charmed Kinda Life and like Slow Motion (don’t get me wrong, great song, but completely different vibes). Also somewhere on the internet I read the TEB song is also for Jeff Buckley whose music I love (especially his darker stuff like Dream Brother and that amazing a capella You And I, also his cover of Calling You is really impressive) but I couldn’t actually confirm that. Anyways so uh yeah Phoebe. Punisher and Between the Bars are also perfect songs to fall asleep to and that means I get more listens out of them and I think it helps them become earworms for me, idk.

So after all this I kinda get into Kyoto. Again, bit of a slow burn but I also vibe with the remix and stuff.

And more recently I also had a couple days where I kept listening to DVD Menu cause I think it burrowed deep in my brain (I blame some level of similarity with Dexter’s Blood Theme) and then when doing stuff around the house I put on the whole album cause I felt like listening to Kyoto and maybe Punisher too and I just discover the lyrics to Chinese Satellites there and then in the garden while shovelling dirt for some trees and I am floored. I vibe with this so much? Idk it’s wild. Note that chloe moriondo’s song Plastic Purse and the lyrics “I’m a punisher call me Phoebe” helped me vibe even more with her and the Kyoto remix is just hyperpop enough I put them together and it was great.

But yeah so I’m standing here getting hit by lyrics and the Moon Song bit about Tears in Heaven resonates with me personally for… reasons I won’t get into and also Lennon who was like a massive influence for me growing up like musically (I didn’t know much about his life at like 8 or 10 years old but damn did I know a lot of his songs by heaaaa— eeeh, well, I knew the music and like some words I thought were the lyrics but might have been mostly yoghurt as I very much am not a native English speaker believe it or not and didn’t speak the language properly till age… 13 to 15 ish?)

But yeah like… the whole album and lyrics and level of detail? Care? Just… the… the lyrics? And all the links between the songs on the album and songs on her previous album/EP and to other people and songs and the thread of the relationship between the artist and the fan and all the implications for us, fans, gushing over her lyrics and the references to dozens of other works??

That album is SO GOOD?!?

And I wish I could spend hours just analysing it but I can barely sit down and read the lyrics as I listen to it because these days I’m too unfocused (I really should see about that adhd diagnosis Jesus) but yeah uh

Fangirling i guess. But what else is new on tumblr?

(Also keeping the proud tradition of someone who barely uses tumblr putting random shit in the tags like they’re just an excuse for fun little phrases you can’t fit in the text — an ungodly post scriptum of some kind)

[lychniis]

⚘ ― EVENFALL ! ( valentines day event ).

( # )ㅤ evenfallㅤ —ㅤ twilight ; dusk. the period or the light from the sky between full night and sunrise or between sunset and full night.

syn. a valentines day / white day event inspired by hozier lyrics ( and also seconding as my 1000 follower event i suppose XD ). feel free to drop by and select a prompt from the list below alongside a flower / genre. you could always opt for more flowers. however please note that minors are not allowed to request for / interact with nsfw works. please note that the maximum character limit is three.

this was more of a last minute bout of silliness, but i'd love to write some requests for you guys after supporting me and my bs for nearly two years now XD. so hey hey, my inbox is open to be raided! i'm currently taking this event for genshin impact and honkai star rail!

prompts. the prompts and flowers available are listed below. you can request a single prompt + one of more flowers of your choice! you could also add some additional suggestions if you'd like, say a setting or an au or a scenario! requests close by the 20th of febuary. i'll start posting on white day, march 14th.

daisy — fluff.

hyacinth — angst.

tulip — crack / humor.

orchid — smut.

i. ❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

ii. ❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her. ❜

iii. ❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

iv. ❛ some like to imagine. the dark caress of someone else. i guess any thrill will do. ❜

v. ❛ honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes. i feel like a person for a moment of my life. ❜

vi. ❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

vii. ❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

viii. ❛ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty, oh my sunlight. ❜

ix. ❛ you don’t understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❜

x. ❛ idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword. ❜

xi. ❛ honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. ❜

xii. ❛ i'm so full of love I could barely eat. ❜

xiii. ❛ honey you're familiar, like my mirror years ago. ❜

xiv. ❛ i know who i am when i’m alone. i’m something else when i see you. ❜

xv. ❛ there’s something tragic about you. ❜

xvi. ❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

xvii. ❛ still my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man’s beliefs. ❜

xviii. ❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜

xix. ❛ screaming the name of a foreigner's god, the purest expression of grief. ❜

xx. ❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now.

xxi. ❛ the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you. ❜

xxii. ❛ i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

xxiii. ❛ i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. ❜

xxiv. ❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

xxv. ❛ i had been lost to you, sunlight, and flew like a moth to you. ❜

xxvi. ❛ it’s not my arms that will fail me, but this world takes more strength than it gave me. ❜

xxvii. ❛ i need you to run to me, run until you feel your lungs bleeding. ❜

xxviii. ❛ i will not ask where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

xxix. ❛ be still, my foolish heart. don't ruin this on me. ❜

xxx. ❛ honey, i wanna race you to the table, if you hesitate, the getting is gone. ❜

( all the dialog prompts presented here are taken from songs by hozier. i own none of them. )

EVENT WORKSㅤ •ㅤ ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

[live-laugh-legolas]

hi!! may I ask for some headcanons of the members of the Fellowship dealing with a puppy? or any pet, that is, whoever you think suits each of them :3

Omg so cute!!

The fellowship with a puppy

Aragorn:

-He probably found this puppy in a box in a town he was passing through

-He had no intention of getting a dog, but it was raining and he couldn’t leave this sweet thing out in the cold

-He’s really good with animals so he knows how to care for it

-Honestly I think he is good at not allowing himself to get attached, but puppies don’t have that skill

-The puppy adopts herself

-Seriously she won’t stop following him and cries when he tries to give her away

-And well, he’s a bit of a pushover sometimes

-Maybe Arwen would like her? Yeah, it will be a gift for Arwen

-He won’t want to take the puppy with him wherever because he doesn’t want her to get hurt

-Talks to the puppy like a person

Legolas:

-Ok this is kinda a story sort of thing, but he found a mom and her babies

-The mom isn’t doing well, so he promises to her that he will take care of her babies

-Does he know how, no, but he will die before he lets these puppies come to harm

-He has a quiet funeral for the mom and he takes the pups home

-His father is not impressed

-He finds homes for all but one

-Well he found a home for it, but it’s with him

-He fell in love with going out on runs with him and definitely goes hunting with him

-He lets his dog kinda roam wherever, kinda like a barn cat

Gimli:

-He was planning to get a dog

-A big fierce one to stand by his side

-But when he goes to the shelter he falls in love with a little guy

-I’m talking a tiny little yorkie

-He dresses her in the finest bows and gold incrusted collar

-Would kill for her

-I just love seeing big tough guys with their little dogs in bows

Boromir:

-He was looking to get a dog as a gift for Faramir

-He thought it might cheer his brother up to have a furry friend to take on patrols

-But he becomes attached to the puppy and refuses to give him up

-He says he is for both of them, but Faramir knows better

-He absolutely baby talks his puppy

-“He doesn’t understand I’m talking to him unless I speak to him like this”

Frodo:

-I think he would agree to foster a puppy to help someone out

-He takes very good care of it and trains it well

-He has every intention that he will adopt it out, but once someone says they are interested he realizes he can’t part with it

-I think he finds a lot of peace with the routine that comes with caring for a puppy

-Although I honestly see him as the type to have more unique pets like some sort of lizard

Sam:

-He didn’t really want a dog

-Rosie brought one home for their kids

-But it ends up being the situation where the dad doesn’t want the dog but then they become best friends

-The puppy tries to eat his flowers, and Sam tries to get it to pull weeds instead

-I imagine he would end up with a really lazy dog once it grows out of the puppy phase that just chills with him while he gardens

Merry:

-He literally squeals

-He’s such an animal lover

-How could something be so cute

-Absolutely the type to never shut up about his puppy (me too tho)

-Trains it to do tricks, possibly to steal…

-Would have an instagram for his dog in modern day

-Also side note, I think he would be the type to have birds, like parrots and such

Pippin:

-He just picked up a stray puppy once and was like “uhm you’re coming home with me”

-Dresses him up and takes him on lots of walks

-He doesn’t understand why everyone is scared of his little puppy

-He doesn’t realize until the puppy just keeps getting bigger that this is not a dog

-It’s a wolf

-But it’s his wolf and he loves him and he is his baby

PS: I mention giving puppies as gifts, but in general this isn’t something you should do unless it has been discussed prior :)

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐡𝐨𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  lyric  dialogue  prompts  taken  from  various  hozier  songs.  free  to  change  how  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ i’ve walked the earth and there are so few here that know how dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow. ❜

❛ i’ve no more kept my warmth than blood upon the snow. ❜

❛ it’s not my arms that will fail me, but this world takes more strength than it gave me. ❜

❛ the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you. ❜

❛ i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

❛ i’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. ❜

❛ good god, let me give you my life. ❜

❛ so tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes. ❜

❛ every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside. ❜

❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

❛ would things be easier if there was a right way? ❜

❛ honey, there is no right way. ❜

❛ i fall in love just a little, a little bit every day with someone new. ❜

❛ when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes, i feel like a person for a moment of my life. ❜

❛ you don’t know what hell you put me through. ❜

❛ there’s something tragic about you. ❜

❛ i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. ❜

❛ i have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me. ❜

❛ i’d be home with you. ❜

❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her. ❜

❛ what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth? ❜

❛ i will not ask where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

❛ just put your sweet lips on my lips. we should just kiss like real people do. ❜

❛ i know who i am when i’m alone. i’m something else when i see you. ❜

❛ you don’t understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❜

❛ don’t let me in with no intention to keep me. ❜

❛ don’t feed me — i will come back. ❜

❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜

❛ still my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man’s beliefs. ❜

❛ i need you to run to me, run until you feel your lungs bleeding. ❜

❛ when i was a child, i heard voices... some would sing and some would scream. ❜

❛ i learned the voices died with me. ❜

❛ don’t you ever tame your demons, but always keep ‘em on a leash. ❜

❛ you’ve done me wrong for a long time. but after all you’ve done, i never changed my mind. ❜

❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

❛ nothing fucks with my baby. ❜

❛ if i was born as a black thorn tree, i’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies. ❜

❛ ain’t it warming you, the world going up in flames? ❜

❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now.❜

❛ i’m almost me again, she’s almost you. ❜

❛ i’ve had no love like your love. from nobody. ❜

❛ make your good love known to me, or just tell me about your day. ❜

❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

❛ that’s the kinda love i’ve been dreaming of. ❜

❛ i fell in love with the fire long ago. ❜

❛ with each love i cut loose, i was never the same. ❜

❛ i had been lost to you, sunlight, and flew like a moth to you. ❜

❛ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty, oh my sunlight. ❜

❛ i have never loved a darker blue than the darkness i have known in you. ❜

[compacflt]

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father. 

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley��s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life. 

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots. 

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.���

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.” 

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.” 

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation. 

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.” 

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.” 

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is. 

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie. 

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm. 

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well. 

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady. 

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.” 

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.” 

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider. 

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens. 

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

[yuechicake]

regarding the nature of your affection.

summary: mhin runs into vere at the bar. li goes to kuras for medical assistance. neither conversation ends well.

notes: 1.2k words, depictions of stitches and stitching flesh, typical casual mentions of violence

Mhin has the distinct sense that Vere only comes to them when he’s in desperate need of entertainment, batting them around like a fox playing with a startled bird in a cage. 

Normally, they know better than to play his games, but there’s something about the slink of Vere’s posture, his knowing smile while lounging on a seat at the bar in the Wet Wick, that pisses Mhin off.

“So, where’s your little dog?” Vere purrs, words as clean as silk, and Mhin’s hands itch in an urge to remind him of what their dagger feels like, slotted against his heart.

“Shut up,” they snap, but it’s a weak insult, a childish retort whispered in class.

“Well?” Vere says. “Shouldn’t she be here, nipping at your heels?”

“Li is capable of making her own decisions,” they say sourly. “I don’t have any say in what she does. If I did, I wouldn’t be anywhere near her.”

“Yes, but…” Vere’s lip curls with practiced, poisoned elegance. “If she’s really such a pain in your uptight ass, just stab her so she can take a hint. Or kill her.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Don’t you have something to do other than run your mouth here?” Mhin says, drawing their hood over their head, shadowing their face. “Maybe put it to good use somewhere else?”

“I’m putting it to plenty of use here, don’t you think?” Vere counters. He raises his drink from the countertop, liquor sloshing lazily as he raises it to his lip for a long taste. “Come now. We all know the truth here. For all your misanthropic games, you’re attached.”

“We work commissions together,” they say evenly. “That’s all.” But perhaps there’s a hitch in their voice, some flush to their face, or maybe Vere doesn’t need any tell other than their willing participation in the conversation, because his smile splits his face.

“That’s all?” he mocks, pressing on, digging his fingers into whatever soft bruise he’s found. “How long are you going to hide your cowardice behind pragmatism?”

Mhin’s hair flutters behind them as their hands fist into the slippery silk of Vere’s clothes, pulling him eye level to them in a fluid, violent gesture.

They  can’t string the words in their head together for a coherent argument, as their knuckles turn white from the force of their hold, as they can feel the dig of their dagger’s sheath into their thigh, as Vere tilts his head, smile sharpening, as if daring Mhin to try anything at all.

But they’ve already lost, because whatever they do next will only prove Vere right. The momentary satisfaction of enacted violence will only be outweighed by the humiliation of such an emotional reaction in the first place. 

“You’re a waste of time,” Mhin says derisively, unfurling their hands from Vere’s clothing. 

Vere smooths a hand down the fabric, flicking his fingers at the end as if to shake off the dust. “Am I?” 

“You are. In fact, I think the Senobium is missing their dog right around now,” they continue, calmly, and Vere’s ears prickle back. A minor, petty blow, lacking in any grace, but a blow nonetheless. 

Mhin slides away from Vere, melting into the crowd, unwilling to entertain him any further. Hedonistic, selfish, cruel, and vain: he’s everything they have always despised about monsters and creatures who live only for their own pleasure. He’s like Li, but there’s nothing innocent nor incidental about his malice. 

It’s people like that who they can’t understand at all, who they never want to understand.

—

It’s somewhere between the second and third stitch that Kuras says something unexpected as he threads his needle with expert precision through skin until there’s a dull tug on Li’s flesh. 

“Do you care about Mhin?” It’s a delicate question, framed like a blossom in cupped palms.

The needle pierces through her back again with a pinprick familiarity as Kuras’s voice floats somewhere above her head. She hadn’t asked for anesthetics, and Kuras has long since stopped asking if she needs any. Pain is something she’s always lived with, and her tolerance for it has been trained to be remarkably high.  

Li drums her fingers on the edge of the stool she’s sitting on, hands placed between her spread legs, head lowered and hair brushed to the side so Kuras can stitch her broken flesh back together.

Small talk isn’t something she’s come to expect from Kuras. What’s more likely is a long sigh, and clinical, cold hands, efficient in their work before he sends her out the door with a warning to be a bit more careful in her job—warnings she rarely takes to heart.

“Yeah,” she responds. It’s not quite the right word, “care,” but it’s close enough to the truth for someone like Kuras to understand.

Kuras finishes another stitch before he speaks again. “It’s important that you do. Though they refuse to speak of it, I can sense they’ve seen their share of tragedies and sorrows.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

Kuras’s hands still against the skin of her back for just a single beat before they resume their steady rhythm. “Because if you care for them, you should care for their personal struggles.” 

“Hm.” It’s an uninteresting line of reasoning from Kuras, but he’s always been uninteresting in this aspect. Pedantic in his morals, didactic in his lectures, and altogether dull in his repentance. It’s why Li doesn’t seek out his company more than she has to, for there’s no joy to be found in a life like his. He wouldn’t even provide an entertaining fight. 

Besides, Mhin’s past is of no concern to her. What is there to be found in excavating memories and unearthing secrets that have no bearing on their relationship together? What Mhin does, what they feel, what they desire—none of it matters to her as long as they still haven’t run from her by the end of the day. And if they ever tried, it would only give her an excuse to chase them down.

Kuras snips the last stitch. “Try not to be back so soon, Li. If not for your sake, then for Mhin’s.”

“They wouldn’t care,” she says matter-of-factly. “They’re always telling me they’re going to leave me to bleed out and die if I keep bothering them.”

“I… see.” 

Li stands, stretches, the stitches tightening painfully in response: neat, and inhumanly tidy. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in us, Kuras. You have to look after yourself at the end of the day. There’s no time for other people.” 

“I’m not sure why I am, either,” Kuras says, and there’s a mirthful note to his voice. He murmurs something else, too low for her to hear.

“Did you say something?” she asks innocently, shrugging her shirt back on, the white fabric rusted with dried blood. 

“It’s not something that you would find worth listening to,” Kuras replies. 

What an odd man. Most would say he cared too much, but if they did, she would say they don’t understand Kuras at all. She can’t quite put it into words, not in the same way Mhin might have, but there's something distinctly distant about him. As if he’s just watching them from afar, an eternal observer.

He’s a little like Mhin in that aspect: the tedious guilt and the irrational desire for atonement. Maybe, if Kuras could give Li half a reason to wrap her hands around his throat, to shatter his pristine facade into pieces, she wouldn’t find him quite so dull.

[goodday-goodmorn]

Little blurb that’s been sitting in my Docs for while based on @auspicioustidings idea from a while ago now i think— But yeah! I’be got like zero motivation to continue this- butttttt i liked the scene a lot so it shall be seen now! (Plus it’s Mhari’s Birthday!!! Happy Birthday Mhari! :> Even though i’m a few hours late into the day Hope you’re having a wonderful birth celebration!)

Based on a a scene i cooked up where reader finally gets caught by none other than the Ghost himself:

The weight of a gun in your hand is familiar.

So is the quiet sounds of a break in. You point at the door, watching, waiting. Like clockwork it creaks open, and there he is.

“Don’t move.”

You say sharply. Making the gun in your hand well known to the intruder.

Silence. He stares at you, you stare back. How many times have you done this dance? Tense words and a dashing messy escape. (The poorly wrapped bandages around your abdomen throb answering you question for you. Too many then.)

You sigh, and lower the gun.

He doesn’t even look suprised.

With a soft, Thump! ,you plop backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched. The gun is still in your hand but it’s dead weight. (Just like you.)

“…You’re not gonna ever stop are you?”

It’s said up at the shitty hotel ceiling. Hushed in the darkness of the room.

“No.”

He says it so simply.

You hum, pulling your knees and legs up onto the bed and rolling over. Back facing him, on your side. You snag a plushie on the way, hugging it close to your chest and settling your chin atop its head.

“Well shit. Turn all my red flags to white then, i give up.”

Defeated. Hushed. Tired. It sounds so unlike your normal voice. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

There’s a dip in the bed, true to his namesake- he was silent as he walked to sit. You haven’t even heard him.

“…Who did your bandages?” Gruff bastard with his gruff voice. Sounding way too passive for talking with you, an enemy, his target actually. He should be barking orders and threats to you, you’ve heard the way he speaks on a mission before, all bite and harsh. But he shows none of that tension now. Not a lick of hostility.

“Who do you think?” You snort out, tucking your face into the head of the plushie and vehemently ignoring him.

“Kid, you need help. You can’t survive on your own.” Straight to business it seems.

Without even turning to look at him, you halfheartedly raise your middle finger.

He sighs.

Silence. Blissful, damning, silence. You’ve no more fight left to give and he knows it. Months on the run, months of constant near death escapes, months of being hunted like a dog. You’re tired. So tired.

“Ya know, Torture isn’t an effective way of getting info outta someone: statistically speaking.”

“We’re not gonna torture you.”

“But you do want that info don’t you?”

More silence.

You hum knowingly.

“And what happens after you get your precious information? You’ll kill me? Maim me like all the other fuckers who end up in your shit list?”

“No. Never.”

He says it with such ferocity it almost takes you by surprise for a second. If you were to be facing him, you would see the hardness of his eyes. The pure conviction swarming in his gaze.

“Not you. Never you.”

…

Finally you turn to him, feeling far too much like a young little kid on the playground who just can’t understand-

“Why?”

Something in his gaze softness. He wants to tell you this because he cares. The team cares. All of them- that they saw you, a prickly, panicked little bird in over their head and flying blind- but he knows it an answer you won’t accept. One you won’t understand. Not at this stage. Not yet. You don’t believe in words, you’ve been lied too far too many times for that.

So he says something you will believe. A watered down version of the truth that feels like such a disservice to everything that makes up your very being.

“You’re interesting.”

You seem to digest his words. Turning them over and thinking in that little head of yours.

‘How long is that interest gonna last?’

That's what you want to say. You want to scream at the top of your lungs that he doesn’t want you. No one does. He’ll get sick of your brashness eventually- he’ll learn and grow used to your tricks. And when your spontaneity grows old, you know what’ll happen.

But you don’t.

You say nothing except—

“…Can I at least pack my bags? …please?”

He knows you don’t have much to pack. He also knows you’re one tricky, flighty little bird. However, he heard your small plea, sees the defeated look in your eyes, the way your hand is so lax around the gun.

Gently, oh so gently, he takes the gun from your hand. You don’t even try and fight him.

“Sorry little bird. Can’t trust you to pack.”

The sad look on your face nearly makes him reconsider. But he can’t risk you getting away again. Not when you’re so easy to catch right now. So vulnerable.

“Can’t you restrain me and then i’ll tell you what to pack?”

That, he can do.

“Up.”

Commands come so naturally to him. You’re almost jealous at how easily they fall from his lips.

Like the old defeated dog you are, you listen, sitting up and presenting your hands to him to restrain. You don’t meet his eyes.

He takes no chances, you are securely bound with a pair of handcuffs. He tugs on them, standing you up and nudging you to the common area of your hotel room. It’s a sizable room, a nice hotel, though truthfully you hadn't really been thinking when you booked it. Brain to frazzled and exhausted to think about anything beyond a clean bed and a hot shower.

The lights are flicked on by his gloved hands, flooding your vision. You hiss blinking and adjusting while he nudges you to the center of the room, down into your knees.

“What am I looking for here, bird?”

Your gaze flicks to him, then to the corner of the room, a vent right by a little corner desk with a lamp.

He follows your gaze and then, (with one last hard look towards you that screams ‘stay’), he walks over. Inside the vent is a crumpled up backpack, old and raggedy. It looks out of place amongst the clean cream colors of the hotel amenities.

He prods at the thing, trained caution. (You don’t blame him after your last stunt with explosives.)

Unceremoniously he opens up the bag and dumps all its contents on the floor. You wince, watching your whole life be scattered on the ground.

A journal, a thermal blanket, a lighter, cash, USB sticks, Your laptop in its thick padded casing (thank god), stolen hotel amenities, nicotine patches, several pill bottles, a half empty water bottle, a pocket knife, bullets…

Your own personal little horde of trinkets.

“Was that necessary…?” You mutter, as he stuffs some stuff back into the bag.

“Can’t blame me for bein’ cautious.”

“Well- i could.”

He turns to look at you. Just… stares at you, all you can see is his eyes at that dreadful mask, boring into yours. He doesn’t need to say anything. You both know you could but you never. Been through too much to really blame him.

You’ve saved his life before, even though he was hunting you. You both know you would never blame him for doing his job. Not at this point.

(Just as he would never blame you for running.)

[magicbystarlight]

Venomous - Part Nine

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3,386

Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage, age gap relationship, assault, a bit of ptsd, terrible parenting, war, sickness. Minors DNI.

“I thought he knew—I’ve written him about it! Three times! I don’t understand why—you’re his best friend!”

The air in the room was thick, each breath laborious as you paced. Rick had been taken somewhere. Your mother and Abraxas’ parents had followed Theseus. You would have too, but Velena had shooed you into this room with Abraxas.

“Take care of your fiancé, dear.”

He’d been taken care of. Some witch had fixed his nose and cleaned the blood before you’d even made it to his side. Gods, the amount of people fawning over him should have given you some time to figure out what the fuck happened.

“In front of so many people! In front of his boss! At the Minister’s home! What was he thinking?” His entire career thrown away. For what?

“He wasn’t thinking,” Abraxas said. He was calm. So very calm. “He’s been away so long he only remembers you as the child you were when he left.”

“He didn’t give me a chance to explain—if he’d read a single letter, he’d have known!” Hadn’t Dumbledore seen him since? Would he not have told him? He’d been busy fighting the tyranny of a mad man, yes, but—

“You’re going to wear a path into the floor, Little Bird.” Abraxas stood in your way, taking your hands. “He’s been at war. If he felt even a sliver of what I did when I thought of you marrying someone, I can’t blame him for it.” His lips pressed against your knuckles. It brought little comfort.

Still, you let your head fall against his chest. "He threw away his entire career, Brax."

"I'm not pressing charges."

“It doesn’t matter.” Not to anyone else but you. “It’s going to be in the papers tomorrow.”

“It won’t.”

“Someone took a picture!”

“Keeping one measly picture out of the tabloids is nothing.” His chest rumbled with a laugh as he rubbed circles on your back. “Not when you’re a Malfoy.”

A knock on the door had you twisting out of his hold. Annoyance blistered at the sight of Azar. You hadn't even known he was at this godsforsaken party. "They're asking for you." His hand raised when you moved towards him, shaking his head. "For Abraxas."

He left with a promise that everything would be fine. And with Azar’s assurance he’d stay with you.

“What did Rick say?” you asked when the door shut.

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in either.”

It was quiet for a while. Your pacing resumed without Abraxas to interfere. Five minutes passed. Then ten. How long did it really take to say he wouldn't press charges? Azar stood by the door like a guard. The walls shrunk as the minutes continued to pass, the air too thick. This was stupid. Waiting. You had a right to be in that room, figuring this out. It was your brother and your future husband.

You took a step towards the door and Azar moved in front of it swiftly.

"Oh come on, Az!"

He shrugged. "This is your own fault."

“Funny. I don’t remember decking my fiancé.”

“Tom offered you a way out of this,” he said cooly. 

“Cut the shit.” You shook your head, nostrils flaring. “If Tom had stayed the fuck away from me and if you hadn't been his little lap dog, there wouldn't even be a fiancé." The pent up anger seeped through the cracks. He was your uncle. Your blood. How could he not have protected you? How could he not understand? "You know what happens when we turn our backs on family. It doesn’t matter how great you think he is, he’s not one of us. I’m not risking my future for some teenage prick with a hardon. Especially not after he fucking tried to kill me.”

Azar flinched. A crack finally in the mask. “He what?”

Rubbing your neck, you forced yourself to breathe. “It doesn’t matter, Az.” 

“It does.”

You couldn't look at him. Not after his part in everything. “He cornered me. Tried to tell me that I was his. When I told him I wasn't going to be some Half-Blood's whore,” another breath had to be forced out through the tightening in your throat, “he choked me until I thought I was going to die.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill you.”

A half-hysteric laugh slipped out. Of course he was taking Tom’s side. You knew, you knew he wouldn’t believe you.

“I'm not saying he didn't hurt you, it's just,” you stepped back as he stepped forward, "he wasn't thinking. His family's a sore spot."

Your head shook. "You weren't there. You didn't—you didn't see the look in his eyes. He didn't hesitate." Swallowing down a sob, you tried to steady yourself. He wouldn't see you cry. You wouldn't let him. "You can make all the excuses for him you want, but I won't."

"Let me talk to him. It had to have been a misunderstanding."

A tear escaped before you could stop it. A misunderstanding.

"Do whatever you want, Azar." The Stunner hit him square in the chest before he'd blinked. "Just stay out of my way."

—

"So I'm an adult when it comes to getting married, but a child still when it comes to figuring out why my brother assaulted my fiancé?"

"Lower your voice," your mother hissed, eyes flitting to the end of the hall where Minister Fawley was in a heated discussion with Theseus. They'd seemed eager to pass off your mother when you'd arrived. It was doubtful that they cared much what you were saying. "This is sensitive. The fewer people involved the better."

You scoffed. "The entire party saw it! Don't you think I should have something to say when people ask?"

“It was a misunderstanding, that's all."

A misunderstanding. Everything gone wrong in your life brushed off as misunderstandings. Selene was as useless as her brother. It was pointless to continue with her. And you couldn't dispatch her in the same way you'd done Azar. You could only wait for the moment the door would open and you could ask Warrick himself what in the bloody hell he had been thinking. 

Only that moment did not come. For Abraxas and his parents had opened it alone, surprised to find you waiting. Warrick, they had said, had already left. Too embarrassed to face anyone else. 

Liars.

The voice echoed again in your mind. Not yours, but someone else's who didn't know Abraxas. Because Abraxas had proven time and time again that he could be trusted. So when he told you that it had all been a misunderstanding, you'd silenced the voice and smiled.

—

The shortened Christmas edition of the Daily Prophet arrived a few hours into the early morning. It was a terrible discovery to find you plastered across the front. The picture had been taken only a few minutes after you'd arrived at the party, greeting the Minister with your engagement ring on full display. A grin plastered across your face, hair pristine, teal gown complimenting your skin. A picture perfect Pureblood.

Future Mrs. Malfoy Stuns at Minister's Christmas

It made your stomach turn.

They hadn't mentioned your actual name once in the article.

—

Your father made his first appearance that afternoon, staying only long enough to be considered polite before leaving again. Warrick did not come to see you.

—

Letters came. The story hadn't made it to the paper, but gossip spread as it always did. Your hand ached from writing the words "it was a misunderstanding" over and over. Warrick still had not come.

—

The manor had never felt so small. Abraxas had never been so...overwhelming.

—

We've decided to visit my sister in Sweden and won't return in time for New Year's.

~Elin Avery

You wondered what your mother had said to convince your grandparents to forgo the annual lunch that had been a tradition from before you were born.

—

Warrick never came. Abraxas insisted he would reach out when he was ready, but for now he didn't need to be guilted with letters.

—

"Are you sure I can't come with you?" Abraxas asked for the seventh time that morning. "I'd love to meet these mysterious friends of yours."

You finished pinning the last braid into place, turning to admire your efforts in the mirror. "They're not mysterious. We were in a fight and weren't talking. Now we're not and we are."

His presence at your side had been a constant following the Christmas party. You'd only left the Manor once, making a brief appearance at the Greengrass' New Year's party. Fashionably late and gone before the clock struck midnight. On his arm the entire time. 

The promise of shared time in his library had finally been fulfilled, but the disappointment of finding nothing soured it. He'd even sat with you through all your mothers' wedding talks. A date had even been settled. The sixth of July 1946. A little more than a week after you complete school.

“That’s the mystery,” he said. His immense figure took up the space in the mirror behind you. "What you were fighting over."

You smoothed out your skirt. It had been a gift from him. "It was nothing, just some silly little fight."

His hand fell to the nape of your neck, caressing the skin. 

"But like I said," voice higher at the familiar scene in the mirror, "we've made up. And I've been waiting to tell them all the horrid details of the old man who's laid claim to me as his bride.” 

Abraxas laughed, the tension falling out of your shoulders as his touch retreated. "Do your best not to turn them against me before we've even met, will you?"

—

It took less than fifteen minutes together, crammed in a corner of The Leaky Cauldron at a table meant for only two, to shed the awkwardness of the past few months. Abigail’s dry humor mixed well with Larissa’s animated storytelling. They’d been together since the day before New Year’s, Larissa coming down from Cambridge to spend the last few days of break in London.

"It is sad though," Larissa said, as she ended a story of their exploits in an unauthorized Muggle club the night before. "Walking around and seeing all the rubble and stuff."

You blinked at her, confused. "What rubble?" Were Muggles that bad at building things they just collapsed?

"From the bombings," she said matter-of-factly before finishing off the last of her mashed potatoes.

"Still? It's been, what, three—four years?"

Abigail shook her head, covering her mouth as she tried to quickly swallow her own food. "Since it started, yeah, but they're still going on. Manchester got hit Christmas Eve. Think it's nearing forty dead."

Nausea rolled over you. There hadn't been news of bombings in the Daily Prophet. You knew they weren't publishing much about the war with Grindelwald, but not talking about attacks on the soil of your own country? You still remembered the pictures they'd splayed throughout the entire paper the day after the first attack a week into Second Year. It had disrupted classes for more than a week, fights breaking out between classes over grotesque comments made to people with Muggles in their family. Abigail had been in a panic for a day not knowing if her family had been hit and only calming when she'd learned they'd gone to the country.

The news of new bombings had come less and less until after a few months stopped entirely. People stopped mentioning war in the corridors. Abigail's family had returned to London. You thought it was over.

Good friends that they are, they saw the gears turning in your head. "It's Muggle stuff," Larissa said too kindly. "We don't expect you to know much about it. Especially with, you know, your brother and everything."

Like the terrible friend you seemed to be, you only nodded and let the conversation turn to other less horrid things. Because one of your supposed best friends lived in the Muggle world. Abigail had a little sister that was only—Merlin, how old? She should be coming to Hogwarts soon, right? Was it her father or mother that was the Muggle? Could—could they still use magic if there was an emergency? Did she also have people she cared about fighting in a war?

The thoughts distracted you through Diagon Alley. You didn't feel like a normal eighteen year old witch. You felt spoiled and sheltered and selfish. 

You hadn't even gotten them Christmas gifts. 

"You know," you began, looking out the window of the sweets shop to Twilfitt and Tattings, “I’ve been meaning to have my measurements retaken. Mind if we go there next?” It took very little convincing to get them to have their own measurements taken. It was easier still to keep them distracted looking at fabrics while you ordered a few new robes, dresses, and sweaters for you all. Larissa wouldn't mind, but Abigail would object if she knew. 

"And will these be to the Selwyn or Malfoy account?"

"Selwyn," you answered quickly, pulling your hands off the counter. 

She scribbled something down on the order forms. "You are all set with these, Miss Selwyn. And if you would like, I could set an appointment during your Easter holiday to have Mrs. Wright come see you about wedding dresses."

The taut smile on your face ached as you declined, excusing yourself quickly and pulling your friends out of the shop. "If I hear another thing about a wedding, I may Obliviate myself."

"Like that would save you from your mother," Abigail chuckled, linking her arm with yours as you walked along the cobbled street. 

"At least I've been good today," Larissa said, mimicking Abigail on your otherside. "Not a single word about it even though I've been dying to ask!"

"And for that, I'm grateful."

Abigail, a little softer, asked, "Has your break been good though?"

"Warrick decked Abraxas in the middle of the Minister's Christmas party."

An echo of, "What?" sounded from them, pulling you to a stop just before the entrance of Knockturn Alley.

The story came out rushed beginning in the middle and skipping back and forth to parts, but it felt so good to just say it outloud again. It had been trapped inside for days. Their response made you feel less alone. They too questioned why. Why would he do that? Why wouldn't he talk to you after? Why wouldn't he write? Why didn't he know? Why? 

"I mean, you are his little sister. I get being upset about it, you know, the circumstances, but that's an extreme reaction."

"And shouldn't he be happy it's Abraxas? They were close, right?"

"Incredibly close. They were together all the time."

"Did they have a falling out or something?"

"I don't think so. I haven't heard about one."

"It's weird." Larrissa bit her lip, seeming to debate on something. "Do you think maybe," she paused again. Larissa very rarely thought through the things she said, more akin to speaking her mind than worrying about how it came out. "Do you think you're not getting the whole story from Abraxas?"

"I have no reason not to trust him."

"That's not the same thing as actually trusting him."

You didn’t know what to say to that and avoided looking into their eyes by watching the dark alley over their shoulders. A mistake. Or maybe a sign you had to be more observant of your surroundings. Because leaning against one side of the alley, just down the stairs, was Robert Goyle. One of Tom's lackies.

His hand around your throat. His lips against your ear. Malfoy isn't what you want.

You reached into your pocket, curling your fingers around your wand. It wasn't a coincidence he was here. It never was. “I trust Abraxas. He would never do something to hurt me."

"Maybe not on purpose," Abigail tried to start, but you were shaking your head.

"Rick's been at war. I can’t begin to imagine the things he’s seen there, the lies he’s uncovered, the people he might’ve trusted that turned out to be Grindelwald conspirators. Of course he'd be suspicious, a little violent even. And of course he doesn't have time for me right now." You crossed your arms, sticking your chin up."Brax is only trying to look out for me, keep me from realizing how in my own head I've been and let Rick have the space he needs. By time I'm Mrs. Ma—Malfoy, everything will be alright."

"I hope so."

"It will be. And I've realized that I do, in fact, need to set that appointment if I want my dress to be ready for the wedding. Did I tell you we set a date?" Your eyes shot back to Robert who still stood there watching. "Sixth of July next year." 

Child bride.

The nausea from earlier returned. The image of Robert unfocused. Heat prickled at your skin. The air was too thick to breathe. A whistle in your ear. 

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know. She was fine and then she just started swaying."

Your eyes tried to open, but it felt as if they were weighed down. When had they even closed? Something touched your face. You tried again. They opened this time, only to slam shut against the blinding light.

"Hey, come on, wake up, please."

You tried to say you were awake, but your mouth felt like cotton and the words sounded wrong to your own ears. Slowly, you opened your eyes again prepared for the assault of light. Ralph McLaggen was kneeling in front of you. Where had he come from? His face contorted in—some expression. You couldn't pinpoint which. Larissa was next to you, Abigail on your other side, both with their arms around you to keep you sitting up. 

You were sitting. Hadn't you been standing?

"Thank god," Abigail breathed, letting her other hand drop from your face. "What happened?"

You went to stand despite the protests of everyone, but couldn't lift your own arse off the ground without the world spinning. "I don't know."

"You fainted," McLaggen said.

"Yeah, no shit." There was a pounding in your head now. "I don't know why I fainted. I was fine.”

He smiled. He smiled? Merlin, were you seeing things now too? “Lots of things can cause it. Dieting, sickness. Stress. See that all the time before a game." His hand reached forward, the back pressing against your forehead. "Doesn't seem like you've got a fever, at least."

You flinched away from his touch.

"Stay here, I'll be back. You need to drink something before you go walking around again."

Abigail spoke before you could reject his offer. "Thank you Ralph, that's very sweet of you."

You watched him disappear around the corner, trying to ignore the curious stares from the wizards walking past. With a groan, your head fell into your hands. This was not how today was supposed to go. 

Abigail rubbed your back soothingly and you leaned against her. “So much for a normal day, huh?" "This might be the most normal thing she's ever done," Larissa disagreed with a laugh. She poked you in the arm, grinning wider when you turned your head to stick your tongue out at her.

Merlin you’d missed them. 

A familiar voice called out your name. Abraxas? He appeared from the crowd going through the street, nearly knocking Larissa over as he rushed to take the spot in front of you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him, leaning away from Abigail to let him press a kiss against your forehead. “What—um, what are you doing here?”

“Thought it would be nice to introduce myself to your friends, hopefully dispel any horrid rumors you’ve started on my behalf before they stick.”

You should have bantered back. All you could muster was an awkward laugh. Your friends were better, introducing themselves and saying they’d heard all good things. Abraxas was pleased with the praise, at least. But his pleasant expression faded. “Ralph McLaggen,” he greeted coldly, squaring his shoulders.

McLaggen had returned, four bottled Butterbeers in hand. His tone was equally contemptuous when he responded, “Abraxas Malfoy.”

The nausea finally bubbled over and the contents of your stomach ended up splattered across your fiancé’s shoes.

Next

HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant @squishytomatoes @benonlinear @byelannie @itsccc @bluegiraffeplushie

Venomous Tag List: @pearlsofme @fck-this @ambria @sheeple @strangunddurm @weirdowithnobeardo @emberenchanted @iluvweasleys

[ovaruling]

You made a post earlier about how you are feeding stray cats. Since it seems like you're very concerned about the environment I wonder why you are doing this. Aren't stray/outdoor cats horrible for the environment? Mostly because they kill animals that are actually important for nature like birds and rodents. Not trying to be rude just wondering why you think feeding them is a good idea, because it's basically helping a population that has no place in nature and does nothing but harm.

look, i’m not without my weaknesses—i can’t look at a starving stray cat and not feed it. maybe others can, but i can’t. i never claimed to be a paragon.

however, i must clarify something and also point out that i think im doing my part more than your average stray-feeder—i spend 1-2 hours each day trying to trap the cats. every day, from 4-5pm and sometimes later. i drop what im doing to spend time on it.

i have a folding chair to sit on and stake them out, a new implement of a bathroom mirror from a construction site that i set up next to the feeding station (to see the cats without startling them), and a large dog crate in which i put the food.

i recently caught 2 of the said stray cats last week and had them fixed and they will no longer be contributing to the environmental decline, nor will they ever produce litters. i’m working on a third.

i feed on my own property and i have caught and fixed and thus removed from the environment approximately 20 or more cats since i was like, i can’t remember—10, 11, 12. somewhere around there—i was in some degree of childhood when i started. i still use the same large dog crates i had back then to catch them. it takes weeks, sometimes months. sometimes a year or more in the case of my toughest one, an aggressive feral male who was causing issues in the neighborhood and who is now my housecat and best friend and wreaks no more havoc. i didn’t give up on him and it ended up being for the better bc no one else was going to give enough of a shit to spend the time it was going to take to catch him. (i’ve said this before but, i had to go on 3 rounds of antibiotics bc he kept biting me horribly every time i tried to catch him)

all this to say: my success in catching stray cats is owed largely to my patience and my willingness to spend hours gaining their trust by feeding them and having them associate my presence with food and fresh water.

so i know it’s not without criticism to feed them, but i do put in hours and hours each week feeding these strays specifically to try to catch them—and i often succeed. (edit: i don’t always. there are a few cats i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to catch, but i won’t stop trying.)

this is what ive been doing my whole life and i will continue to try to make an impact on my local environment in this unique way. i don’t expect others to understand my methods and the specific way that i do things (it’s different for each cat depending on how i assess their personality and needs and habits etc etc), but the fact that i’ve removed 20 or more strays from my neighborhood over the last decade or so is an impact that matters, i think.

especially since i pay out of my own pocket to take them to the vet, to fix them, vaccinate them, and treat them for any and all ailments, and i also have housed them myself or rehomed them. it’s a huge drain on my resources but it’s one i am happy to do for the rest of my life. not least bc no one else in my area is bothering to do anything about them.

so—take that for what you will. that’s my contribution and it’s not perfect but i think i do a good job at reducing the number of stray cats in my local ecosystem and i have to conclude that because of that i MUST have reduced a lot of the environmental destruction that they would’ve otherwise done. much better than anyone else who lives around here, that’s for sure.

tl;dr—i am basically doing the job my local animal care & control is supposed to be doing about stray cats, for free, by myself, at my own expense and on my own time—and i 100% cannot do that job without feeding them

edit: i didn’t mean for this to sound as defensive and doth protesting as it did—i realize i’ve never quite explained exactly What it is i do with regard to stray and feral cats, and of course i can’t expect others to read my mind or know my life and motivations just from scattered posts i make lol. i hope i answered your question somewhat, and im happy to answer any more that you have.

[littleesistler]

more tickle questions beucase I’m bored 😂

Glitch's Tickle Questions | Volume 1 |

Trying my hand at the tickle question creating game 😋 Calling it "Volume 1" in case I end up making more, don't know for sure if I will yet, we'll see how this one goes. Did my best to come up with some fun questions, I hope you all like them!

Feel free to reblog this around to receive some questions from your followers, just as my followers can send some to me if they'd like 😜

🥞 If you could make one spot more/less ticklish, which would it be and why?

well I’d make my ribs less ticklish because I’m so insanely ticklish there to a violent degree. When I was a kid my dad tickled me a lot until he tickled my ribs to harshly and I kicked I’m him the jaw. So he bit his lip and bled a bit (not a lot). So my point is I don’t like to be ticklish to a violent degree. I don’t wanna hurt my poor ler 🥲

🍦 Can you tickle yourself, and if so, do you do so often?

well when I have acrylics or press on nails, I tickle my tummy and wrist every time before bed. Since I love to be tickled there. Also if I turn of all my light I can tickle myself with an electric toothbrush on my ribs and in my bellybutton since these spots are so sensitive.

my mom tickles be before bed usually but because she’s also chronically ill sometimes she’s to exhausted. So that’s when I step in 💅

🔪 Are there any ticklish spots you have that you'd prefer not to be tickled?

well I’m kinda not into feet stuff, especially when it’s with tools or motion tickles. Like fine tickle my feet but I’m not comfortable with my feet being the main focus. Like when I watch a tickle video I usally skip the feet portions 🦶😷

🍿 If you could have any superpower, what would it be and how would you use it for tickles?

well I’ve always wanted to talk any language, including animal ones. So think how funny like I give lots of teases in an ancient or just a rare or uncommon language my Lee can’t understand. So when they pull out google translate and literally have a fluster attack. Especially if they don’t know how to spell the words and say it themselves 😈

also think how funny like I’m tickling someone and I hear a fly or bird or heck their dog just tease the Lee to and I translate it heheh 😝

🍭 If you could choose one spot to be magically continuously tickled, which spot would it be and for how long?

my tummy, and here’s my essay form me as an educated zookeeper:

you know when a puppy or kitty shows you their tummy is a sing of trust. And the reason for that is most of the body is protected by bones. Like a rib cage, but the tummy doesn’t really have any bones except for like hips and spine but these bones more give structure. So my point is when you tickle or rub someone’s tummy you’re right on top of their digestive system and reproductive system. That’s why in the animal kingdom showing the tummy shows you trust them since you give them free access to hurt or damage your organs. That’s why tummy attention is one of the most vulnerable ones.

and since you are right on top of their organs tummy tickles and rubs helps with digestion and period cramps.

so my points is, if I let you tickle my tummy or someone else let’s me tickle their tummy. It’s an honor ❤️🤲

🌶 Think of a crazy wacky way you can think of to tickle/be tickled that you wish you could experience. No logical constraints. What is it?

Hunger games but with tickling instead of killing.

people get to enter and a friend can sign you up as a surprise, but consent to participate it needed

its a televised show in a secluded or closed of area

the crates from sponsors have tickle tools or restraints

food, water, hygiene and medical care is included

When someone safewords they “die” (not for real) and get disqualified

last one standing of the games is the ler of the year

🍞 Look around wherever you are while reading this. You can choose one item to come to life and tickle you. What item is it?

electric toothbrush…

🥯 If you could choose any fictional character(s) to team up with you to help tickle someone, who would you choose and why?

the dream them, like I got obsessed with the Dsmp during the pandemic, so yeah and I love the fandom’s head cannons.

Dream - more Lee then ler and will probably just hold me down and cuddle me to help me relax ☺️

Sapnap - a true switch and he’s very gentle and teasing, lots of games since he’s the youngest they play lots of games with him😉

George - more ler then lee and he’s ruthless, tickling any spot he can reach and siding in his bony figners 😈

🧇 If you could have an animal friend that loved to tickle you, what animal would it be and how would you want them do it?

a golden retriever ❤️🥹

Decent sized dog that can pin me down

has a long snout so the puppy can blow lots of raspberries and nuzzle it’s nose in my belly button and give little nibbles on my sides

a long fluffy tail that’s like a feather duster tickle tool

flappy ears so when the doggi shakes its head during nuzzling it tickles more

the playfulness so the dog will give lots of teasing

that slight smile or smirk on some individuals

and those puppy eyes

🍟 If you're feeling brave.. which friends, mutuals, and/or other tickle blogs would you want to tickle and/or be tickled by?

oh Noo hahah here we go again I guess, I love to expose myself, let’s see if my favorite blogs find me🫠

@kikibumblesqueaks

@the-shy-ler

@covenofwives

@fluffallamaful

@awkwardtickleetoo

@wishitweresummer

@eldelascosquillas-blog

@emmadoodlewrites

@kasey-writes-stuff

@mushiewrites

@missamyrisa2

@trashyswitch

@sleepysheepytea

nothing personal I just love your works and everything, so I wouldn’t mind if you guys wrecked me or I could give you a little tickle 👉👈 ummm yeah. I got so flustered when a few responded to me last time and guess what I wanna get even more exposed hahah 😍

[ryuichirou]

Replies

More replies~

Anonymous asked:

I know that we put a lot of emphasis on ignoring antis but sometimes there are days where I read one of their comments and get so disheartened and tired. I do try to report and block as many as I can but it's just really difficult to pull through when a majority of them are minors who are calling for us to drop dead or be assaulted or kill ourselves.

Anyway, I'm grateful for you and your art! It really brightens my day, especially when I'm going through it.

It could be tough sometimes, Anon, I get it. You’ve said it well – if anything, it’s tiring. Even if you know for a fact that it’s just some kid trying to hurt you because of their own issues, you (and none of us) shouldn’t be forced to tolerate it just because they didn’t figure their shit out yet. And they sound so deranged sometimes that it becomes obvious that they don’t really understand what they’re saying/implying and they don’t care.

Thank you so much for your support! I am happy it makes you feel better. We’ll do our best to keep posting as long as we’re having fun, and I hope you’ll keep having fun too <3

And don’t forget that whatever they do or say, it’s not really about you – it’s about them trying to earn favor with their lame-ass friends who do the same type of shit, because creating meaningful earnest connections is much more difficult than gathering an angry mob, as well as creating actual content that can make other people happy and helps you to express your love for the media.

Anonymous asked:

What do you think is the reason for the octatrio visiting the Scalding Sands, is it just a business trip? Or maybe Azul is organizing his wedding, and wants to share his happiness with his old friends by inviting them in person! I'm sure that this isn't also one last ditch effort to get Jamil to reconsider their "relationship" (Oh, but he looks so misty-eyed after hearing the news, is that maybe a tear they see?... Ah, wait... He's just yawning...)

Ohhh, of course Jamil wouldn’t be misty eyed over this loss, Idia basically took the bullet for him… Honestly, good riddance, these two deserve each other 😭 The line between the Mafia AU and the Marriage AU is a bit blurred, but I didn’t think it was the case with this particular sketch; THAT BEING SAID, Azul is absolutely going to invite Jamil (alright, Kalim too) in person. He just HAS to see Jamil’s face when he hears that Azul is getting married! (Jamil’s face: completely unimpressed…)

When I was sketching it, I was thinking that it was a business trip; whether he is a mafia man or just an enterpreneur, Azul always has a lot of business in the Scalding Sands. And if they’re there anyway, why not pay a visit to their dear former classmates? <3 Jade and Floyd are always excited for that lol Poor Jamil.

Anonymous asked:

i love your riddle smut (especially the stuff with trey it’s so good <3) but honestly i find any nsfw of riddle a bit funny bc i can imagine him thinking something as innocent as a kiss is how babies are made. take responsibility trey!

You heard them, Trey! Teach Riddle about the birds and bees! But in general I’m sure Trey feels very responsible and probably even guilty, Anon….

Thank you <3 I love drawing Riddle in smutty situation, he is my ultimate sheltered homeschooled kid at his first party lol I really like the contrast of his innocent easily embarrassed self and his deeply hidden desires.

Anonymous asked:

My sister thought Idia was Aoba, at first…

Gotta love them blue-haired twinks with funky boots and huge-ass jackets and headphones and 10 boyfriends one of which is an AI dog…

Anonymous asked:

I think 'Kalim Overblots' plots should take advantage of their surroundings more often. If Kalim is overblotting in Scarabia, there's no reason why the dorm can't turn into Octavinelle 2.0 thanks to Oasis Maker. Especially if the Octa Trio is involved.

Yeah, using the environment is a great way to make a scene way more engaging. I wonder if Kalim could drown his dorm completely by the time he’s all out of magic and filled with blot; it would be interesting to see underwater Scarabia… lots of space for the fishies to swim in…

Anonymous asked:

If Jamil has a best man/woman in his wedding, it would be Najma because while she is annoying to him at least it is better than any of his school mates. Floyd and Ace are too troublesome to take care of. Ruggie will only just busy with the food than being best man. Kalim, if he isn't who he wed, would feel much more troublesome to take care of and wouldn't care if Kalim wanted to be his best man.

I'm sure if Kalim wasn't wed to Jamil, he will be make him his best man. If not, I'm sure Silver, Cater, or Lilia will. Except Silver, I can picture Lilia and Cater fighting for position. Then again, there will be many weddings for Kalim and they took turns.

I can’t even add anything to that, Anon; I haven’t thought about this scenario at all, but everything that you’re saying makes sense. Honestly, this is just another reason for Jamil to never bother with getting married – the thole thing is going to be so fucking annoying lol but I’m all for Najma being a best woman.

I can also picture Kalim saying stuff like “ah don’t worry, I’ll make you my best man next time!”

Anonymous asked:

I have returned from the trenches of forgetting my password and then finding out I had no access to that email anymore. So now I come back bringing some foods for thought in what can be called a part 4 of my shenanigans.

Ruggie is the campus whore, don't know where the idea came from but I feel like he'd sell his body for some quick cash.

Rook x Idia has been inching its way into my brain, I feel like Rook would find him to be a straight up sexual conquest. Idia would be an unsuspecting deer in his eyes and I don't think Rook has much impulse control lmao

Random story time rabbit hole : Your ranking for their levels of whore inspired to give Divus a pretty bastard son because I feel like Divus wouldn't discriminate on gender in his teen age years. Which made me realize Divus is not dad material, and led me to this conclusion after a friend of mine mentioned it; he would probably sleep with his son on purpose or by mistake. If he's the one to raise the kid on the other hand, its more emotional incest. On that note, my pretty boy deserves justice against his daddy (not, he is used to it by now and probably can't function without it lol)

~ The one and only, 🐩 anon

Welcome back, 🐩 anon! I’m glad to see you again :)

Ruggie would definitely sell his body; I think the only reason he would stop is if he gets himself a deal with Leona and has to protect his exclusive rights and all lol Other than that, Ruggie doesn’t see this whole thing as anything other another business.

100% about the Rook/Idia thing, we love thinking about these two, god it’s such a pity I never finished our sketch with these two LOL but it’s exactly like you described: Idia is such a rare unsuspecting deer that’s so skittish and fearful and difficult to catch. At the same time, whenever they interact, if Rook manages to keep Idia around long enough for his initial scare to pass, he seems to know just the right stuff to say to Idia to keep him invested in a conversation. He’s working on it, he’s working on this deer~

Oh god, the Divus-the-dad scenario was the one I wasn’t expecting lol I’m not even sure which one is more cursed (=better); but I feel like Divus sleeping with his bastard son on accident is more plausable, at least at this point in his life. When he gets older, he might get into the emotional incest thing….

Divus and his emotional incest era…

[katesmemes]

feel free to change any pronouns, etc. || may contain some nsfw!

“I want something that says ‘I’m sorry he’s dead, but not that sorry; he was just a dog, and you shouldn’t have loved him more than me,’.”

“Nobody knows, and nobody cares, so would you for once in your little life just—”

“I have a like-life; it suits me fine.”

“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”

“Did you get the vibes that she likes me?”

“My name is [Name], but you can call me anything you’d like.”

“We fit nice, don’t we, together?”

“They say fairy tales have happy endings even though the passage can be rough.”

 “Do you want to come to dinner?”

“I think they’d be perfect for each other; don’t you think they’d be perfect?”

“You know when you’ve just met someone but straight away you feel as if they’re going to be your friend?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying; do you know what I mean?”

“Have you finished work already?”

“I’m busy tonight.”

“Tea dances, reading groups, bridge clubs… tragic attempts by lonely old coffin dodgers to meet someone before they give up and peg out…”

“No, I’m depressed; there’s a difference.”

“I wish you’d get a life… I wish you would.”

“Sorry I’m late, Beautiful Person.”

“You look spectacular.”

“How was work?”

“She’s not really my bag of chips, darling, but yeah, I suppose…”

“Saved by the bell, but you’re in a lot of trouble later…”

“You can’t put a price on comfort.”

“You see? A woman after my own heart…”

“How much better is sex after marriage?”

“I’m not a one person person.”

“Y’know, they teach the birds and the bees about me.”

“I think you know immediately. As soon as your eyes meet... Then everything that happens from then on just proves that you have been right in that first moment. When you suddenly realize that you were incomplete and now you are whole…”

“Later on tonight we are going to fall madly in bed.”

“Well, you’ve got something on your mind, that’s obvious…”

“Have you ever met someone and just… but they’re with someone else, already?”

“You and me…it’s not gonna happen.”

“You have to go, right?”

“Am I glad to see you… The morning I’ve had…”

“I love the smell of hotdog in the evening… Smells like…hotdog…”

“I do believe I will be with one person for the rest of my life, but…that person will be a woman.”

“I feel like dancing.”

“That was fun; wasn’t it fun?”

“Are you gonna talk all the way through this?”

“You make me feel something—something I absolutely cannot feel.”

“I can’t do this—I can’t actually do this, so whatever it is or was, it’s got to stop and it’s got to stop now, do you understand?”

“I just think I’m doing something wrong, is all…”

“I can’t ask [Name] if there’s anything wrong because it’s way too scary…”

“Tell me to go. Tell me that’s what you want and I will walk away and you will never see me again.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you…”

“Don’t forget me…”

“I won’t remember anything else…”

“It makes me sick, you just lie—lie…”

“I don’t like my girlfriend; I wanna breakup with her…”

“I met this girl…but she’s with someone else…”

“Y’know when you’re holding a hot cup of coffee and you realize you’re going to sneeze? That’s how I feel.”

“I want to talk to you…”

“I want to talk to you because this thing happened…”

“I wasn’t looking for it, it just happened, and though it’s over, um…you have a right to know…”

“I went crazy for someone and it wasn’t you…”

“I’m sorry… I’m so very sorry, so—please believe me, I…”

“I can’t say this more than once…”

“I’m staying… I couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave you…”

“You’re my best friend… It was enough before; it’ll be enough again, so…”

“Do penguins have knees?”

“It’s not you leaving that’s going to kill me, it’s you loving someone more…”

“No, you’re not walking away—don’t walk away from me!”

“I want you to be happy…”

“More than anything else, I wanted to be the cause of happiness in you…but if I’m not, then…I can’t stand in the way…”

“What you’re feeling now is the unstoppable force which means I’ve got to move…”

“What did [Name] mean when he said you’re in love with someone else…?”

“I��m in love with someone else…”

“So the two of you are…lesbifriends…?”

“It doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s not going to happen…”

“Whatever you choose to do from here, we will support you; we always will…”

“Please, my darling, follow your heart…”

“Y’know what I wish? You wouldn’t grow up so fast…”

“Hey, you did nothing wrong…”

“Why don’t you have pudding after breakfast? You have it after lunch and dinner, so why not in the morning as well…?”

“You’re still sad, aren’t you…?”

“I bought you sweets…”

“Maybe in ten years, if you’re still lonely, we could get married then.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid, [Name], you can do anything…”

“I knew after three seconds…”

“If you could, perhaps…be a little kinder…?”

[ambriel-angstwitch]

DogBird is Zukka Coded

Sorry that I’m scared of thunder like a dog I know that you love rain

I’ve seen fics where Zuko loves the rainy season because it reminds him of his childhood but I raise you Zuko being afraid of storms due to trauma because what comes with thunder (lightning which two of his family members have tried to kill him) with each roll of thunder his scar burns. On the other hand I think Sokka would find the rain interesting coming from a place where it only snows, now that he doesn’t have to worry about camping in it he’d be able to see more of its beauty.

But I cry when something shakes the walls Tail between my legs I scratch while you relax Ruffling feathers watching storm clouds pass

Zuko has so many problems beneath the surface that come out at night as he can’t help but dream of them. Sokka to Zuko seems perfect, seems like he came out of this fine, relaxed he might even comfort Zuko when they happen. Zuko worries he’s ruffling Sokka’s feathers that he’s damaging him or at least inconveniencing him.

Hoping I’ll make you hate the thunder too Digging in my claws will make you hate me too

Zuko can’t help it though. He lashes out. He tries to make Sokka hate him sometimes because that’s what he deserves

I can’t stand you in my bed You’re too gentle I need you to hurt me back instead

Zuko’s not used to the gentleness that Sokka provides. He grew up in a household where hurt was common and love was less so. He knows he’s hurt Sokka and he doesn’t understand why Sokka won’t hurt him back. He needs Sokka to do it so things make sense.

I wish I could take you back to California Where you’ve never heard of creatures like me Little Bird won’t you fly away Little Bird won’t you fly away

Zuko doesn’t understand why Sokka sticks around with all that he’s done. He thinks it would better if he just stayed in the Water Tribe where he didn’t have to deal with any of the Fire Nation’s problems

And sorry that I roll over to my folks It’s not that I’m ashamed But they keep me on the leash to choke

Zuko feels bad that he keeps their relationship secret. He loves Sokka so much and he isn’t really ashamed of it. But years of his family and nation telling him that all this is wrong isn’t going to go away instantly. His advisors likely also urge him against making his relationship public as it would make his rulership even more unsteady.

I’m a hunting breed And bird is all they eat If they sniff you out, they gnash their teeth

The Fire Nation is a warring country. Zuko was taught for years to see Sokka as lesser, as something to be consumed to better the nation. He knows this aspect of his nation. Many of the Fire Nation nobles probably don’t respect Sokka.

I’m a coward scared of living outside Even if it means I crush you at my side

Being sent outside is a punishment used on misbehaving dogs which is the analogy used for the first lover (Zuko). Zuko’s afraid what the Fire Nation would do to him and Sokka if they found out about their relationship so he pushes Sokka away at social functions

When the bell rings My mouth waters I’m a habit That won’t alter

This lyric is so Genius it’s in reference to the Pavlov’s dog experiment. Zuko has behaviors that his dad instilled in him that are still there because they don’t just go away.

I’m an instinct Don’t you fear me? Hunting songbirds in my sleep

Zuko doesn’t understand how Sokka doesn’t fear him all the time despite what he’s done. This would be made worse if Sokka had nightmares about when Zuko hunted them (hunting songbirds in his sleep) Sokka doesn’t consciously fear Zuko but his subconscious still remembers being a kid who constantly feared sudden attacks.

Sorry that I don’t treat you like I should I only lick my wounds

Zuko feels bad because he can’t be everything that Sokka needs. He never really learned how to be soft and how to comfort Sokka. Sokka’s always there for Zuko after a nightmare but Zuko doesn’t know how to reciprocate especially considering he’s part of the cause. He only ever learned how to treat his own injuries which also makes it hard for him to accept when Sokka tries to help him.

Teeth bared, and snap “You’re all that’s good”

Zuko is convinced that Sokka is the only thing good in this entire relationship, the light of his life, he doesn’t bring anything good to the relationship, he’s nothing good

If I chase you away I’m back to chasing tail Running circles after what was real

If Zuko with all his jagged pieces convinces Sokka to leave him he’ll be back to chasing hopeless dreams of honor, and of earning love from everyone in his nation

And maybe one day I’ll catch it, and I’ll cry Wishing that little songbird was still mine

And maybe someday he will gain the love of all his nation, all the assassination attempts and the uprisings are over, but he’ll still have lost one of the only people who loved him unconditionally despite all his wrongdoings and harsh features

This song was too perfect for Zuko with its narrative of lashing out because of the homophobic household that Dog grew up in.

[kaito-kid1412]

The Culprit Hanzawa notes

10/10 it was so funny. I love how Beika is just muder town. Kaito AND Hakuba make an appearance so anything less than 10 is unfathomable honestly.

This is so funny wtf

I love that Beika Town is Murder Town haha

Ran’s hair spike thing being in the top of her head is weird tho :/

Conan being called the grim reaper is so perfect lol

Why is Hanzawa so funny tho. Like he’s so incompetent and weirdly adorable?? Even when he’s having instructive thoughts about murdering people??

The ending song is lo-fi beats to plan a murder to lol

-

If you’re gonna murder someone, be considerate!!

HAHAHAHA

‘Put down a tarp or something’

‘I’ll have to be considerate which might be stressful.’

Him blushing at Hanbayashi also wanting to kill the landlord LOL

Awww ‘sleepover’

He made a friend lol

CONAN IN THE DREAM HAHAHAHA

Bento box fax machine pffft

DID HE DREAM THE MUDER???

HE’S PSYCHIC!!!??

-

He listened to his mum’s advice haha

The line to leave hahaha

NO ONE CAN ESCAPE THE DEATH TOWN!!!

100% CLEARANCE RATE!!!?? DAMN CONAN! ‘Collective of special crime fighters’ lol

All officers are out on the field hahahaha

They all hate Kogoro hahaha

His mum is the best :))))

The jet black shower scene

Pffffft

-

It still hasn’t said who he plans to kill. Is it Kogoro? I thought it might be because he moved to Beika specifically for a crime and idk if he would know someone who lives there, but he would know a celebrity and it’s definitely a ‘he.’ But he had no reaction to Mori’s name last episode…

Awww self-love :)

Pffft Hattori and Conan

CONAN IS ROUND AGAIN!!!!

Heiji’s squint haha

He doesn’t know where to buy shampoo?? What a disaster man

They’re tailing him but Heiji’s hat is backwards

‘Drugs are scary’…I love him

Conan has ice-cream and Heiji gave him head-pats :)

Heiji just holding him while he aims his watch hahaha

Smol sneeze

They followed him into the bath house ToT

-

‘Crime prevention goods’

Hahaha

Why is Beika Gotham??

The money his mum gave him :(((

RAN!!!!!

BULLET CATCHING LETS GO!!

SHE’S THE BEST YEAHHH!!!!

-

They party because they’re gonna die???

Lol

Agasa lets go!

Professor this is why Haibara’s telling you to be more responsible with your money…

Wait Kogoro did grow more tolerant??

AN ELEPHANT??? WTF HOW IS HE NOT DEAD???

Are you trying to kill him…

…is he dying??

THREE WEEKS??!!

HAKUBA!!!! MY LOVE HAS RETURNED FROM THE WAR!!! FINALLY!!

Is the bird in the opening Watson the Hawk then?? I thought a bird was a weird choice and the dog appears in the ending…

Also why is he in Beika? I know it’s not that far from Ekoda but like… why??

WAIT A MINUTE BEIKA ISN’T REAL!!!??? WTF I THOUGHT IT WAS!!!! I SEARCHED UP HOW FAR FROM BEIKA TO EKODA BUT WTFFFFF!!! Idk shit about Japan’s geography so I thought it was just another ward in Tokyo.

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I love how he always sounds so sinister when he’s just talking about regular stuff.

He doesn’t know where his victim is? I guess it’s probably not Kogoro then…

He’s so enthusiastic for his job lol

On his first day as well hahah

HAKUBA!!! IN HIS FULL HOLMES COSPLAY LETS GO!!

Okay so Hakuba is 17… his birthday’s in August right? So he’s like a year older than Kaito then?? Since I’m guessing this is school time. If Kaito is born in June and Hakuba is born in August and Hakuba is 17 then yeah that’s nearly a year apart… weird :/ And Aoko is born in September and turns 17 wait is that AFTER Kaito turns 17?? I don’t understand the Japanese schooling system… Kaito and Hakuba should be in the year above then… unless Kaito is 16 when Aoko turns 17, then just Hakuba should be in the year above… unless they’re all in their last year now and went up a year since Aoko’s birthday / the blue birthday heist. So Aoko is the youngest then.

‘Blah blah blah’ LOL

Yeah Habuka IS brilliant :D

They’re ALL detectives??!

Aw he admires them lol

Their detective senses are tingling!!

Ofc Hakuba left haha. Bet it was a KID heist note

WATSON!!! THE MVP!

Was that a Moomin cosplaying Sherlock dvd?? That would be the best crossover EVER!!

Damn detectives…

-

Be a good BOY. IS WATSON A BOY?? I WASN’T AWARE WE KNEW HIS GENDER??

Heck yeah Watson ATTACK!!!

Wait… I recognise that cowlick… is he trying to kill SHINICHI???

Watson has a ‘taste for blood’. Hakuba what does that mean. What have you been doing in England?

He took that so literally lol

Does Hakuba brag about his dad?? Hahha

…dogs can… lock doors? I mean I knew he was an idiot but what??

Solid 10 seconds of silent eye contact lol

Yes get the fluffball….

Haunted by the dog…

480,000 yen is ~£2600… Hanzawa don’t do it… how will you afford rent…

Why are Agasa and Haibara at a pet shop?

THEY’RE GETTING A DOG?

Hakuba’s house is so fancy. Why is there a horse carved into it?? Ofc he has an old telephone.

Woah hi Baaya!!

Yes Hakuba threaten him!!!

Ofc the dog is silly what did he expect??

Awwww he loves it anyway!

Does Hakuba really just trust Hanzawa with Watson? He can obviously take care of himself but still

Gin??? and Amuro??

…why can Pometaro talk…

-

Don’t make fun of him :(

His mum bought his clothes…how old is he?? Older than college age I guess…

Oh and now he’s insecure…

‘Hippie style’ lol

That’s from a corpse…

‘What exactly is being trending?’…same honestly.

What do you mean you don’t sell black clothes? Oh ofc. Conan would definitely be suspicious.

I love how we don’t see him wearing any clothes. It just makes it so much funnier. Especially when he was talking about his hair being messy and just patting at thin air.

AMURO HE’S JUST AN IDIOT DON’T KILL HIM!!

Aw his mum comes to visit?

‘Have them buy you the entire manga series’ lol

-

The woes of customer service.

His mum is so nice :(

…is she also a criminal or is it just to show that they’re related.

He’s so mean to her :((

In the English translation/sub her accent doesn’t seem that strange.

:,(

He talks like Beika town is sentient lol

Yeah spend time with your mum!

-

I love that Watson is just living with him now. Like Hakuba where are you?? Are you back in England?

Does he think the gods are gonna help with his murder plot?

Why are there so many needles there? Conan what have you been doing?

Is he gonna kill Kogoro for littering? Deserved honestly :/

He recognises Ran by her hair spike lol

That’s definitely Kaito. No one else wears such clashing colours together. Also his smirk.

In the preview KID’s hair is brown… is that not Kaito then? Or does DC not make KID’s hair black like MK does?

-

AOKO!!! (For 1 second :()

Sonoko what is this? Why are people practicing KID’s tricks? Especially one he’s already done before?

He thinks Shinichi’s/Kaito’s voice is nice? Lol

Oh it is a different trick… but it’s still walking on air… I think

Wait so they want KID heists to happen to stop the murders… HAHAHA

Wait no Kaito’s hair is just brown

What does Hanzawa want revenge for? What did Shinichi do to him?

Also why is KID there? What is he stealing?

A clover… haha for luck

Ofc he’s blushing at KID lol

Bro he’s right behind you

‘See you next criminal’ hahaha stealing Kaito’s catchphrase lol

[deancasswitchbang]

You, Me, and the Dog Make Three

Author: nickelkeep (@nickelkeep​) Artist: Hexentaenzerin (@hexentaenzerin​) No Major Archive Warnings Tags:  AU - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers to Friends to Lovers, Dean and Cas need to use their words MORE, Dean and Cas raise a dog together, Past Cas/Inias, Brief Cas/Inias, Angst with a happy ending, Comfortably Queer Castiel, Comfortably Bi Dean, Team Everyone Switches forever

Summary: Cas thinks he has it all. He has a great job, he's got some of the best friends a guy can ask for, and the most loving, devoted boyfriend one can ask for.

Until it all comes crashing down.

When Inias dumps Cas to take a job across the country, it'll take a Miracle to bring the pieces back together. A miracle in the form of a four-legged fluff ball, brought to Cas by no other than his best friend Dean. Can Dean and Miracle help Cas heal? Or will something come between them and cause everything to fall apart?

Preview: “Impatient much?” Cas called back as he unlocked the door. “And loud? My neighbors are going to kill you.” He opened the door, finding the spot where Dean should be standing strangely empty. Cas looked down, and his eyes widened as he saw Dean crouching next to something small and fluffy. “Dean? What are you doing? What’s that?”

Dean looked up and smiled before letting go of the mysterious item. “Surprise?”

“Wha—” Cas gasped as a small, tan puppy with curly fur ran to him and started jumping on him, resting its paws on his leg and yapping happily at him. “Dean? What’s this?”

“This is your new best friend, Cas.” Dean stood up, groaning as his knees popped.

“That eager to replace yourself?” Cas laughed as he choked back a sob. “I mean… I don’t understand.”

“Dude. You’ve always wanted a dog. Inias wouldn’t let you have one. That asshole’s gone, and you mentioned last night that you didn’t want to be alone.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck as he smiled. “I figured, two birds, one stone.” He pointed into the apartment. “Can I come in? I got some stuff for you and your new girl.”

Cas stared a moment longer before nodding. “You didn’t have to do this, Dean.”

“Sure I did. You remember my parent’s neighbor, Missouri? Her dog had puppies, and they needed a good home. Everything lined up perfectly.” Dean bent down and grabbed a bag before walking inside. “I made sure to get you some food and some toys for her. She’s already housebroken, but I got you some pads, too, just in case. She is still a puppy, after all.”

“Dean…” Cas walked over to the sofa and sat down. His smile grew broader as his puppy followed and tried to jump on him again. He leaned down and picked her up, placing her in his lap as he scratched behind her ears. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I mean, you can say ‘thank you,’ but it’s not really needed.” He reached into the bag, pulled out a small stuffed toy, and squeaked it, causing the puppy to bark excitedly. “She really liked this one in the store.”

“You keep saying ‘she.’ Didn’t you name her?”

Dean shook his head. “No. She’s your dog, Cas. I may have picked her, but she’s all yours.”

“It’s a miracle how everything just fell in place.” Cas felt the proverbial light bulb go off over his head. He scratched behind the pup's ears again and spoke to her. “Hey there, Miracle.”

“Interesting choice of name there.” Dean handed the toy to Cas, a smile on his face. “I’m glad I wasn’t entirely presumptuous when I got her. It was kind of a last-minute decision.”

“You got me a Miracle when I needed one, Dean. That says a lot about you.” Cas squeaked the toy, causing Miracle to yap and pounce at it. “While she doesn’t heal everything, she’s a very welcome balm.”

POSTING BETWEEN APRIL 23rd AND MAY 6th, 2023!