#If someone reads this whole thing I will give you a medal

[world0fmadness]

FIRE AND ICE

kimi raikkonen x cky / jackass member! wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter x ( platonic! ) oc son

faceclaim: assorted but mainly lucy liu

୨୧ okay so the timeline on this one is a little messy but please just deal with it <3 i imagine they met when they were around 21, had their daughter when they were around 28 and married when they were around 30… so their daughter is around 16 years old… is that messy? a lot of this is from the pov of their daughter and fan accounts since social media wasn’t really a thing in the early 2000’s and stuff…

reading music recommendations: lost in a contraption by cky - along comes mary by bloodhound gang

loveuyn: thinking about how in an old interview yn said she was going to keep her first ever car so it can be her future child’s first car and now tilly has it and absolutely loves it 🥹 photos from tilly’s social media

ckylvr: it’s so crazy seeing her drive the car that was featured in SO much of the early cky stuff 💔 every time i see her post it i do the leonardo dicaprio point like “ oh! that’s the car bam jumped off while it sped down a road ”

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

ynlnstomponme: i hope yn cleaned it REALLY good lmao… the amount of times people have been caught on video vomiting in it is genuinely nuts

> loveuyn: not to mention the blood lmao 😭

> ynlnsbackhand: if that car could talk…

> loveuyn: if that car could talk it’d be taking yn to court straight away for pain and suffering

tillyraikkonenln: the best part about being a late 2000’s baby is you get all your parents cool vintage stuff :D

ynraikkonenln ✔️: you’re grounded for a year

> tillyraikkonenln: i’m sorry mom :(

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

> iluvf1: teens calling stuff their parents used when THEY were teens “vintage” just to annoy them is so funny to me

> loveuyn: crying rn, the time tilly was on live and someone commented to ask yn and kimi about AOL “ what the hell is AOL”… and yn immediately giving her a whole history on how she used to flirt with boys in her school over AOL while kimi and tilly just watched her ramble from the side

> oldf1lvr: she needed to educate her baby on the old ways real quick 😭

> kimicelover: kimi had SO MUCH love in his eyes on that livestream… i want what they have

oldf1lvr: tilly, who’s your favourite grid uncle?

> tillyraikkonenln: seb!

> sebastianvettel ✔️: the greatest medal of honour! thank you tilly, come visit soon - sebastian ❤️

> lewishamilton ✔️: what at am i? chopped liver?

> tillyraikkonenln: sorry uncle lew :3

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

> jackass4ever: favourite jackass uncle?

> tillyraikkonenln: CHRIS! definitely chris

❤️ liked by chrispontious

> chrispontious ✔️: thank you very much tilly, always knew you were smarter than your mother

> ynraikkonenln ✔️: get lost 🙄

ckylvr: the amount of HIM and CKY pin badges you can spot in that pile 💔 take me backkkk

jackass4ever: what’s the nastiest thing your mom did on cky? in your opinion…

> tillyraikkonenln: kissed dico and rake 😟

loveuyn: yn’s grid milf fashion highlight ❤️

tillyraikkonenln: i don’t think i’ll ever get used to people calling my mother a milf :(

> iluvf1: lmao poor tilly 😭

oldf1lvr: kimi in the third picture in a boring ass button up and jeans… i hate m*n

> ynlnsbackhand: she’s EVERYTHING, he’s just ken

iluvf1: i miss seeing her interact with fans in the paddock so much, bring our mom back 💔

> tillyraikkonenln: she misses interacting with people in the paddock! they’ll visit soon, her and dad have just been busy with KJ ❤️

> new2f1: KJ? who is that?

> oldf1lvr: it’s their son! they haven’t revealed his name or anything yet since he’s only 5 so they call him KJ because according to yn he’s a double of kimi

> iluvf1: kimi’s genes are incredible because tilly looks EXACTLY like him too 😭

> loveuyn: she’s a double of kimi look wise but has the exact same personality as yn

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

loveuyn: gentle reminder of these adorable pictures yn posted when she was pregnant with KJ ( and the only pictures we have of him so far )

ynlnsbackhand: her comfy mom era was her best era, fight me

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

oldf1lvr: baby KJ 🥹 you can’t even see his face but you can tell he totally IS a copy of kimi

kimicelover: i wonder if KJ will be the future racer, since tilly is more into skateboarding and photography?

❤️ liked by tillyraikkonenln

> iluvf1: maybe! but is the grid really prepared for another iceman 🫣

jackass4ever: i love how whenever she’s in the jackass movies she’s still a total hardass but the second it comes to her babies she just crumbles 🥹

> kimicelover: it’s the same with kimi! he’s still ice cold to most people but the second he sees tilly, KJ or yn he just melts and there’s SO much video evidence of it 💔

ynraikkonenln: my little girl helping me and kimi celebrate our anniversary by cooking dinner for us ❤️

tillyraikkonenln: i burned literally everything… and i’m not a little girl anymore, i’m 16 :(

> kimiraikkonen ✔️: we’re still grateful and you’ll always be our little girl kulta 💙

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and tillyraikkonenln

> tillyraikkonenln: oh and did you have to include that picture of me washing up?

> kimiraikkonen ✔️: yes, she did, it’s pretty unbelievable for a teen so we need people to see photo evidence

loveuyn: yn ln… then and now 🥹

tillyraikkonenln: black and white filter on the first pictures made me think my own mother was dead for a second…

> loveuyn: sorry tilly 😭

iluvf1: goddamn, this woman has aged like fine wine…

ynlnsbackhand: just me who thinks she’s got hotter with age?

> oldf1lvr: definitely not just you…

> kimicelover: kimi too though… they’re both so hot as older people… i want them BOTH so bad 😭

jackass4ever: genuinely HOW is this the woman that let dico pee on her in her sleep and only hit him with a belt after?

> oldf1lvr: sorry WHAT?

> loveuyn: the iceland incident…

> ynlnsbackhand: at least ryan got back at him properly for her

> ynlnslighter: those belt whips she gave dico were fucking crazy what do you mean 😭

> ynlnsbackhand: HE PISSED ON HER

> ckylvr: everyone was pissing on each other in iceland, wtf was in the air over there?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

her parents are in love… gross

tillyraikkonenln: sigh… my parents are still SO in love even after like… 60 years… nasty

kimiraikkonen ✔️: cheeky girl… thank you for taking these pictures kulta 💙

> tillyraikkonenln: wonder who i get that from… you’re welcome isä <3

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

ynraikkonenln ✔️: 60 YEARS? you’re pushing your luck missy… love you

❤️ liked by kimiraikkonen and tillyraikkonenln

kimiynlover: if i don’t ever have a love like theirs i have failed at life 💔

sebastianvettel ✔️: KJ is getting big! sending my love ❤️ - sebastian

❤️ liked by ynraikkonenln, tillyraikkonenln and kimiraikkonen

[rcmclachlan]

7x09 deleted scene coda

For the anon who requested it! Hope this is as fun to read as it was to write.

When Buck sighs, it sounds despondent, even to his own ears, which is insane considering he’s finally got a medal and isn’t being court martialed for his involvement in the theft of municipal property. There’s no reason to feel this put out.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" Maddie asks, her patented kindness warring with incredulity bordering on annoyance. She used to sound like that whenever he’d get caught skipping school to go hang out at Swatara Creek.

He sighs again. "No."

"Because you’ve been staring at the dessert table for, like, four whole minutes," she says. 

"It's a free country, Mads," he reminds her without looking away from the golden idol he’s just now decided to start worshiping. It totally goes against the Ten Commandments, but according to Eddie, breaking one of those means you can just repent twice as hard. Or something like that. It’s becoming very apparent that Eddie’s whole thing with religion is kind of screwy. "I can stare at a platter of cannolis if I want. Because of freedom." 

"You know you can't absorb sugar molecules through osmosis, right? You're basically just torturing yourself." 

With one last longing look at the chocolate chips dotting the ricotta cream, he turns to her and sticks his tongue between his teeth to be a brat. "Yeah, but my Adonis belt lines can cut glass, so who’s really losing here?" 

The look she gives him is flat as a board. "Still you."

"I… don’t have a comeback for that right now, but I’m working on it," he promises, ignoring her eye roll in favor of searching for something else to focus his attention on. It usually helps to take his mind off the ketonic headache he’s been rocking for the last week. 

His gaze locks on his target with an almost audible click, and he watches Captain Vincent Gerrard stop to take a photo with some dark-haired woman and then make a face behind her back as soon as she walks away. 

That "heard you got your wings" comment has been bouncing off the walls of his mind like a DVD player screensaver for the last half hour, and hot on its heels is the memory of the muscle jumping in Tommy’s jaw in the pause that followed. Normally, Tommy would’ve stuffed that silence with at least two comments so dry and hilarious it would take a minute for anyone to realize they were the shiny wrappers around devastating insults. But he didn’t. It was like his jaw was wired shut, and it physically pained Buck to see it. Thank god Chim was there with a killer response at the ready. 

Tommy’s told him a little about his time under Gerrard and while he hasn’t exactly painted a picture he’s definitely drawn the outline of a paint-by-numbers image that Buck can easily color in. 

There are very few people Buck can say he truly hates, especially when he doesn’t actually know them himself. But he hates Gerrard. He hates him for the way he made and still makes Tommy feel like he has to be someone else, someone so incredibly different than the man Buck has come to know and utterly adore. He hates him for stealing the grin off Chimney’s face today. He hates Gerrard for getting into Buck’s own head and pulling his focus in the first place, for casting a shadow on what should’ve been a perfect day. 

Buck may not be eating sugar these days, but there are about sixty Domino packets in his pockets that will be getting up close and personal with Gerrard’s gas tank before the day’s through.

"Huh. Wonder what that’s about."

Blinking away the red haze from his vision, Buck gives Gerrard’s back a little sneer before he turns his head to see what Maddie’s talking about. He follows her gaze across the room to where Hen and Karen are standing in front of Tommy, shoulder to shoulder like they’re presenting a united front. It’s amazing how they make someone of Tommy’s height and build look small. Whatever it is they’re discussing, it looks grave. Maybe the pall of Gerrard’s presence is affecting more than just Tommy. Maybe it’s opened up old wounds from the days when Tommy was—by Tommy’s own admission—an asshole.

He starts getting to his feet to go over and assess the situation, but suddenly Tommy breaks away from Hen and Karen, and the second he’s beyond their line of sight, the corners of his mouth curve up. By the time Tommy makes it back to their table, plate of cake in hand, he’s beaming.

"Everything… okay?" 

"Everything’s great." Tommy pulls out the seat next to him and wiggles a little as he sits. Buck’s never really understood the phrase "pleased as punch," but he’s starting to get an inkling. 

Buck looks at Maddie, who widens her eyes and shrugs. "Uh, what were you talking about? It looked pretty serious."

Taking a practically pornographic bite of the cake—which is just plain mean—Tommy holds up a finger, smiling while he chews, before he swallows. He presses his knee to Buck's and says cheerfully, "I just got the shovel talk."

"The what?"

Across the table, Maddie rolls her eyes fondly and says, "You know what a shovel talk is, Evan. It's the verbal equivalent of a dad cleaning his shotgun on the porch when his daughter's prom date shows up."

Tommy nods in agreement. "You know: 'if you break his heart, I'll break your knees.'"

It feels like Buck's eyebrows are trying to make a daring escape from his face via his hairline. "Hen threatened to break your knees?"

"Not in so many words, but it was heavily implied." Tommy sounds positively thrilled about it. "They wanted to know if my intentions toward you were honorable. Although I think Karen was just fishing for details, to be honest." 

Maddie's eyes are bright when she leans forward, like this is the juiciest bit of gossip she's ever heard. Buck crumbles up his napkin and throws it at her. She peaceably lets it bounce off her head. "And? What'd you say?"

"That we're taking it slow."

His jaw drops, which only serves to remind him that it's still aching from this morning. "So you lied?"

"I did not," Tommy says primly, knocking his knee against Buck's. "But I also did some heavy implying of my own." 

The wink he tosses Buck's way is downright filthy, and when he takes another bite of his cake he rumbles so deeply with pleasure that the table practically vibrates.

Squirming a little in his chair, with the familiar heat that blossoms any time he's within ten feet of Tommy making its way down his chest and into his belly, Buck scans the room to see if there's an empty coat closet somewhere nearby. The reception's loud enough that no one would hear a thing. Probably. Buck's starting to gain a reputation for being a bit of a screamer.

A fork taps his knuckles lightly, bringing his attention back, and Tommy gives him one of those knowing looks that always leave Buck feeling breathless and exposed on an atomic level. 

"No." The corner of Tommy's mouth curls up, and he nods at Evan's plate of chicken wings. "Eat your protein."

It's truly terrible, incredible timing that Chimney comes back to the table from wherever he went just in time to hear Buck say, voice full of sleaze, "Between our shower this morning and the buffet, I've hit my protein quota for the day."

Without a word, Chimney turns around and walks in the opposite direction.

Maddie collapses into her folded arms, cackling, and Buck can't help but join in. Tommy drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking. 

"Timing is everything," Maddie practically cries.

"Well, I'm definitely getting kicked out of the group chat," Tommy says through his laughter. "Worth it."

Snickering, Buck nudges him with an elbow. It should feel like hitting the side of a mountain, but Tommy obligingly lets himself be moved, and Buck's rib cage feels like it's both expanding and shrinking at an exponential rate. His bones are going to vibrate to dust and his heart is going to be on display for everyone to see.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, he says, "Hey, most people aren't usually this happy to be threatened with grievous bodily harm, you know. Is this a rom-com thing?"

Still chuckling a little, Tommy takes a thoughtful bite of his cake and shrugs. "I'm allowed to be happy about it."

"Are you?"

"Absolutely," Tommy says, with his signature decisiveness. He slides his fork down through layers of cake and delicately cuts himself a corner with a frosting flower. "This is the first time anyone's ever cared enough to threaten me about someone I'm with. It means this is real to them."

He punctuates that by gesturing with his fork, the flower drawing a sugary line in the space between them, and then brings it to his mouth with a pleased hum. 

Buck has seen at least twenty documentaries about nuclear bombs, with enough footage that Buck could describe in great, gory detail what blast, fire, and radiation can do to someone, to a city. 

J. Robert Oppenheimer's famous quote, used in at least half of those documentaries—if the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky—suddenly comes to mind, damn near taking Buck out at the knees, and he stares dumbly as Tommy chews his cake like he didn't just devastate the entire landscape.

Maddie lifts her head from her arms and catches Buck's eye. There's something gentle and sweet lurking in her gaze, and he ducks his head a little with a smile, feeling caught out, even though he's not the one courting mayhem this time.

The knee pressed to his knocks against it again, and Buck blinks, startled out of his daze, to find a tiny dollop of white frosting held out to him on Tommy's fork. He looks just beyond it to where Tommy's smiling at him, like he knows exactly what he was doing when he said that, and is even happier about it than he was about his kneecaps being on the line.

"It's yours if you want it," Tommy says easily. It sounds like he's offering something else.

Heart pounding, Buck leans forward and wraps his lips around the edges of the tines, taking that small offering onto his tongue where it hits with the intensity of a thermonuclear explosion.

Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but it makes Tommy's gaze go dark with want. 

A throat clears, and Buck reluctantly looks away to where Maddie is sitting. She's staring at Tommy with an odd smile on her face, one he doesn't think he's ever seen before. It's beautiful, of course, because all her smiles are, but there's an odd promise in it that makes Buck sit up a little straighter.

"Maddie?" 

She doesn't even spare him a glance. "You break his heart? There's no helicopter in the world that will help you escape from me."

Tommy's eyes go wide, and Buck opens his mouth to tell him that she's kidding, that she would never, but he closes it because it feels like it would be a lie to say it.

But a grin breaks over Tommy's face like a sunrise, and the tilled-field lines at the corners of his eyes threaten to become trenches. "Good to know."

It sounds like he's never been so happy in his entire life.

Read on AO3

[alotofpockets]

My jersey | Katie McCabe

Pairing: Katie McCabe x Reader

Prompt: "You're wearing my jersey."

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | words: 1k

When Katie asked you to come back to Ireland with her to visit her family, you were very excited as it was a big step in your relationship. However, now that you had landed in Ireland, you were only feeling nervous. “They are going to love you.” Katie reassured you one more time before entering her childhood home. Your girlfriend had a big family but the following week it would be mostly her parents and her younger sister Lauryn at the house. 

As Katie predicted, her parents loved you, and you got along great. They made Katie’s favorite meal for her coming home dinner, which according to Sharon was a tradition they created years ago. You thought it was a very sweet tradition and were happy to participate with the amazing food that was served. The first day of your stay was short, since you landed pretty late, so after dinner you played some games with her family before calling it a night.

The next morning you wake up before Katie, you get up and look around her childhood bedroom, something you didn’t get to last night. Her shelves are full of trophies and medals, and the wall above her dresser is filled with pictures of her with her family and friends. Your eyes land on one with her and Lauryn, both decked out in muddy soccer gear, paired with big smiles. “Good morning, baby.” Katie says from behind you. “Good morning, darling.” You quickly make your way back to the bed for some morning cuddles, placing soft kisses on her lips once you’re under the covers again. 

Katie has a meeting with her national team coaches today, which she was currently getting ready for. “Are you sure you’ll be fine here? I would take you with me if I could, I promise.” Katie asks for the fifth time this morning. “Yes, darling, I will be fine. Now go, you’re going to be late.” You say while practically dragging her out of her bedroom. 

Once Katie was out the door you realized that her sister was looking a bit sad, you sat down on the couch with her. “Hey, Lauryn, is everything alright?” You ask her. “It’s fine.” She quickly shoots back but you could read on her face that it wasn’t. “Okay, I won’t push but know that you can talk to me if you want to.” You were about to stand up to give the girl some space, when she started to confide in you. “Katie promised to help me practice but now she’s here but is in meetings, and you’re here. No offense of course, I’m very glad that Katie has found someone, and you’re really nice, I just meant that I know she will want to spend time with you.” You nod along to what she shares. “Well, two things. First of all, Katie has been talking about you the whole week. How far you’ve come with soccer already, how proud she is of you, and how excited she is to play with you.” You give Lauryn a moment to let the first part sink in before you continue. “Second of all, I know family is very important to Katie, and I would never stand in between that. I want you to know that my relationship with your sister does not change anything for your relationship with her. You need her, and she will be there, that will never change. Not that she would in the first place, but I would never let her break any promise that she made to you.” You managed to get a smile back on Lauryn’s face. “Thank you, y/n. I needed that.” You share a quick hug. 

“Hey, I know I’m no Katie McCabe, captain of the Ireland national team, but I’ve got some experience being on the England national team and all.” You joke, “Would you like to go to the field and kick the ball around?” You both head to your rooms to change, meeting back downstairs. 

When Katie gets back she only finds her mom there. “Hi mum, have you seen y/n?” Her mom smiles, knowing her daughter had found a good one, having overheard your earlier conversation with Lauryn. “Yeah, y/n and Lauryn went to the field a little over an hour ago.” Katie thanks her mother before heading to the field.

She realizes that neither one of you had noticed her yet, so she took that time to admire the scene in front of her. You were running drills with her sister. Showing Lauryn a technique and then helping her perfect it. The interaction with her sister wasn't the only thing she was admiring. She was also admiring you in the jersey you were wearing. An Ireland jersey with her name and number on the back. 

She snaps a quick picture before she shoots the ball that had come rolling her way back your way, successfully hitting the back of the net. Both you and Lauryn turn around to see who took the shot, you smile when you see Katie. “Show off!” You yell her way.

You meet her half way, while Lauryn continues working on the technique you just showed her. “Hi darling. How was your meeting?” You say before placing a kiss to her cheek. “It was good, they wanted my opinion on some potential new recruits.” While Katie talks about the meeting, you notice she keeps looking at your outfit with a doped grin. “What's got you smiling like that, darling?” You ask pretending you don't know the reason. 

"You're wearing my jersey." She states, still checking you out. “I like it.” She quickly pecks your lips, before running off to join her sister on the field. Seeing you wearing her national team jersey felt so special to her, especially since you play for a different country. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon on the field with Katie and Lauryn, only heading back when it was time for dinner. The food was amazing, once again. All the nerves about meeting Katie's family had dissolved after meeting them, they made you feel right at home.

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[haru-dipthong]

Ep 12 of my Utena fansub is out!

私たちも今までいろいろやってきた、疲れたわね

We've been so busy the last few episodes. I'm pooped.

A juicy little indulgence on my part here - the fourth wall break here by the shadow girls does not actually exist in the Japanese (explicitly). I’ll explain why I added it.

Here’s a very literal translation of the individual words above with no thought given to context or adjusting for grammar.

We (also) | until now | various different things | have done up to this point

I believe いろいろやってきた (lit. we’ve done various different things up to this point) is referring to their various performances in a sort of meta way. If we take each appearance of the shadow girls as a semi-in-universe mini stage play, this line is referencing the presence of previous plays within the current play. They’ve played pirates, plate spinners, cowboys, an educational program, and more! Acknowledging these things is tantamount to a performer acknowledging the fact that they’re an actor rather than a character while on stage, so the fourth wall break felt appropriate.

Anya was also happy with the fourth wall break and added that it emphasises the episode as a turning point and helps close out the arc, which I really agree with!

-----

また黙秘するわけね。今のウテナってかっこ悪いよ。何か取られた腑抜けみたい。なんだかわからないけど、取られたら取り返しなさいよ！

Are you clamming up again? You look pathetic right now. Like you let someone steal from you! I don’t know what it was, but if someone took something from you, take it back!

Couple of little things to discuss about this line:

かっこ悪い is often translated as “uncool” or “lame”. This can sometimes be accurate, since it’s the opposite of かっこいい (lit. cool), but in this circumstance those words don’t hit hard enough. This かっこ悪い is more barbed than usual, so I kept the barbs by choosing a different word: pathetic.

“Clamming up” was an off the cuff choice because I felt I’d used “be quiet”, “not talk”, etc too many times in the previous scene to reuse them here. I think it fits with Wakaba’s personality and the current situation pretty well! 黙秘 is defined by jisho.org as “remaining silent; keeping secret”.

腑抜け means “coward” or something similar. I tried phrasing this line a few times to get that word in somehow, but in the end the whole rant just read so much better without forcing it in. Also cps (characters per second) was a concern here.

-----

元気な友達がいるね。

Your friend has quite the personality.

元気 (genki). What a word! Often translated as “energetic”. So often in fact, that even before I checked, I knew that the ohtori.nu translation would have used it, and sure enough!

Your friend is very energetic. (from ohtori.nu)

Along with “eyesore” and “confession (of love)”, this might take the bronze medal for common Japanese words that consistently get translated into very uncommon English words.

Of course, 元気 can literally mean “having a lot of energy”, or simply “well” (as in the opposite of “unwell”). But “energetic” is just such a bad translation for it 90% of the time. I wish I could convey why in words, but in most contexts, the word 元気 and the word “energetic” just feel so different.

Anyway, 元気 has quite a positive nuance, which emphasises the passive aggressiveness of Touga’s comment. The intent with this line is that he’s giving a vague compliment to Wakaba, indirectly (talking about her as if she’s not there), and making it clear that he wishes she wasn’t around. Everything else about the line should be secondary, including the specific meanings of each word.

I think this is emblematic of my general approach to translation — to identify the author’s original intent of a line/scene/work and then write it in a different language with the same intent in mind. Every line, every scene, is trying to do something — I believe it’s the translator’s job to identify what each line and scene is supposed to be doing and preserve that, so media literacy is very important. Sometimes that line is doing exposition, in which case a literal translation of each word is often ideal. Sometimes that line is trying to evoke a feeling, establish a character, or make the audience remember similar experiences, in which case the individual words used matter much less. In this case, the line is attempting to invoke memories of similar experiences of passive aggressive, dismissive comments. And frankly, “Your friend is very energetic” does not do that, so I consider it a poor translation.

-----

Thanks as always to my ride or die @dontbe-lasanya for their awesome editing this episode (and every episode!)

Make sure to follow the blog for episodes as they're released. Go here for all previous episodes:

[alwaysshallow]

— gorgeous, part 5

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

You attend a military gala with Simon - and you learn new things about him, as well about yourself. (5k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

You would never, ever, ever see yourself looking for a fancy dress with an intention of wearing it for someone; specifically, for Simon. Person who quite literally was nothing but your client, with his adorable cat that you already loved with your whole heart. Seemed like a joke, right? The thought of going somewhere with him. You didn't have much in common, gestures with walking you home and that mechanic situation were just being nice , you thought.

Well, it still seemed like a joke when you tried on multiple dresses, muttering under your breath comments about each one of them; trying not to go spiraling because the job was tough . You wanted to look pretty, you even needed to, considering the circumstances and the place where the gala was originally taking place in – and that's at the casino.

Pretty military choice, honestly. Odd, maybe, but military.

You glanced once again at chat with Simon, sighing to yourself; his way of asking was also odd, but when he wasn't like that? The invitation was over a text, a quick message if you want to go to a gala with him because he "needs company" and you seemed like a good one. As hesitant you were, trying to find a catch in this, you eventually agreed – and that was it. Deal done, no other words whatsoever, just a simple reaction to your message (thumbs up, obviously).

With anyone else, you'd think it's a joke – with him though, it seemed like something he'd really do, so you weren't even questioning it like you normally would, no overthinking.

All you needed was a pretty dress, heels and makeup that wouldn't scream "I don't know what I'm doing here".

You had an idea for everything but a dress.

Maybe it was your picky taste, but it was really hard to find something good enough for something like a military gala happening in the casino . You had to be representative enough to match the vibe of your partner and the others – which, to be completely honest, could be a tough job, considering you were just a civilian. Not someone important, but someone that other people will definitely look at the moment you walk into a room full of generals and such.

All in all – a room full of people that you've only heard of on the TV, when they talked about military action in a press conference. What was even more weird for you, Simon probably knew them, and they knew him, probably even worked with him at some point since he had a medal for his action in the field. That's pretty much all you knew about the whole thing and if it seemed like little information (because it was little information about it) for that skull-masked guy it was already much though.

What you learned from that one bar interaction with him, learning about him was a process no one could skip, something inevitable, no matter how he liked you, respected or something else. Many people would probably give up, but that mystery behind him was too endearing for you, too challenging and you loved challenges.

Especially when someone had a sharp tongue like him, especially when someone wasn't so clear about how he feels. A little over a month after knowing Simon, it became a bit more obvious that he's more into acts of service, quality time than words.

And it became more obvious in that bar, after Soap's slurring when he had a couple of beers and drinks, confessing his love to everyone around, but it was your observation too.

"It's a good dress." A woman behind you said, smiling a bit; you saw that in the mirror, when you looked at your image so carefully, like your life depended on choosing the right dress for the night. It wasn't even your night, night about you, but you wanted to look the best. In your head, he should appreciate it.

You cleared your throat. "Isn't red a bit... too much?" you turned your head to a nice lady. For some reason, your comment made her laugh.

"For what you've told me, red is exactly what you need."

Draped red dress, where the one arm was completely bare, and another clothed with material. Knee-length; so not too short, but not too uncomfortably long so you wouldn't freely walk around.

Seemed like a good idea, but it was still stressing the shit out of you while you drove back to your vet clinic, listening to some random pop station, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn't understand why you were so stressed about something like this, but the answer was pretty simple – Simon's opinion . After all, he was your partner, the main person you were supposed to go to that gala, a plus one for a man that won something. You wanted him to like the dress, and you didn't even know his favorite color.

A ball of stress, you were. A bit too much, but it was always a problem of yours: a weird want of approval in situations where you weren't so sure about what you are doing, and you needed someone to bring you back down to the earth. Simon seemed like a good person for doing that with demeanor of his, but you decided to not call him.

Decision changed the moment you ended your shift in the clinic, and automatically dialed his number with prepared questions in your head, such as who would drive, what should you know about people here, and how long he wanted to stay.

If it was the right decision to pick the red dress too, but you decided that's gonna be the question you would ask last. You've already felt embarrassed about it, there was no need of making it worse, feeling like a child anyway.

You've felt worse though, when he didn't pick up – so, you texted him to call later because you wanted to talk about the gala.

Ten minutes later, he was the one to call you, with a weird tone of voice. "What gala?" had you confused enough to forget all the questions. There was a possibility he wanted to joke a bit, but when he repeated the question...

"You asked me." Your voice became a bit raspy, as you massaged your temples. "To go with you, I mean. To that military gala of yours, where you're supposed to receive a medal."

"I asked you?" His tone was a bit too shocked for your liking; a cold shiver went down your spine, while you nervously gnawed on the pencil.

"Yeah. Pretty much, over the text."

The silence on the other side was defeating; you'd like more if he'd admit that he simply changed his mind about you being his plus one. Instead, he seemed to be completely clueless about you being here in the first place, which got you more than confused: you had evidence he texted you. It wasn't your imagination, nor a dream – you even checked in the meantime.

It took him ten minutes to find out what happened. Ten minutes where you were just on the line, waiting for him to say something, while he was trying to recollect what could happen. Ten minutes, where you pretty much destroyed your pencil, to find another one to torture with your teeth. Nervously because you hated this situation, and started to regret that you said "yes" in the first place.

"Soap texted you." Seemed like a nail to your coffin when Simon started speaking. "He thought it's gonna be a funny joke. I don't know what got into him, he wanted to..." the man stopped, sighing once again. It seemed like he was exhausted by this topic already, and honestly? Honestly, you were pretty exhausted too. "I don't use my phone, so I didn't even check texts before."

You didn't really know what was appropriate to say; you felt like the stupidest person alive, to be put in the position where Johnny asked you to be plus one for Simon, not the man you were interested in going with. "Mm."

"Sorry for that. Should'a keep my phone from that bast-"

"-No, no, really. It's okay. Seriously," you laughed awkwardly, interrupting him; it probably sounded to Simon like you were forcing it. He'd be right – you never felt more embarrassed and eager to end the call. "Anyway. Night, I have to close clinic."

"Addison, wait-"

Maybe it was a bad idea to end the call when he clearly wanted to say something, but the damage was done, even if you wanted to ask him what he had in mind. You were too embarrassed and too prideful to call him again, so you started cleaning your office with the intention of closing everything under ten minutes to get the hell out of here.

Hell, even that dress in your apartment you picked so carefully had no purpose other than returning it, and you really thought it was going to be her time.

Your phone rang again, and you couldn't resist answering it. "You're really a tough one to catch." Hearing that low voice had you shivering slightly, when you walked out of the clinic. "When I say wait , I mean it."

You can't help but chuckle at this authoritative tone, coming out in probably the stupidest situation ever. "I thought there's nothing else to add."

"See, if you'd only listen..." he sighed. "You wanna go?"

"What?"

"Told you before, don't ask stupid questions."

"I'm just..."

"Do you want to go with me?"

"I don't know shit about the military, Simon. I might embarrass you, maybe it's not a good idea," you mumbled out. "And I don't want it because you feel bad for me or something."

"Oh, I feel everything but bad right now," he murmured. "You don't know, and it's even better. You don't have to talk, just be here, observe, after two hours we will head back. No after parties and shit like this."

"I like talking."

He snorted. "Oh, believe me. I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'. You up or no? I can go alone."

You had nothing to lose, right? Absolutely nothing. No one would know you in a party full of rich fuckers in military with one purpose – to eat and get drunk after the official part. And there were also a lot of advantages for you; food, alcohol, company of Simon that you really wanted.

A chance to get to know him better, around different people this time. People full of authority, people that know him from battlefield and special actions, not privately. Another persona, you could say.

"Alright."

"Be ready at six tomorrow," he said after a few seconds of silence.

"Okay." You cleared your throat. "...Simon?"

"Yes?"

Question lingered on your tongue; you had to ask. "Do you have a red tie?"

"Mmm... not sure. Why?"

You took a deep breath. "We should match."

"And it's supposed to mean what, that red? Can't it be black?"

"I have a red dress."

You met with another silence. It seemed like your partner had to think. "I'll buy a red tie, then."

"Right."

Just like that, the call ended – and you just had to process it on your way home, so you couldn't help but choose a number to Rosalie. When she picked up, you added Celia to the conversation and told them the whole story. Laswell was less shocked, considering that the whole operation really sounded like Soap's mischief; she laughed more too, asking if you're really ready for that "date" with Ghost.

"He's gonna be different," Celia murmured.

"He's different in general." You shrugged to yourself, as you parked your car in the underground parking. "Besides, Rosa knows him, right? She knows the deal with him."

"Oh, I wish I knew the deal with him," she interrupted you, at which you all collectively laughed. "Yet, I think it will be interesting. You're gonna be the one person he wants to see in this gala, he hates fancy things."

So, with this attitude, you were getting ready the next day; you even practiced walking in heels a little in the morning since it had been a long time since you wore them. Make-up tutorial helped you in choosing something classy, yet, not complicated on the occasion. Hair? The most easy of them all, you just curled it a bit, so it would look slightly better and fancier.

You were pretty satisfied with the outcome; you couldn't recall when you looked at least half as attractive as you looked before the gala.

The only problem you had? You were nervous as hell. Not even slightly nervous, but nervous, where you couldn't really eat something without feeling that you're gonna vomit it in the next second. The mystery, what were you so stressed about? Being at the gala with a lot of people you don't even know about, the importance of it for Simon, or...

Simon itself? His presence? Not the first time you were supposed to be with him around people, nor the first time alone at some point . Nonetheless, you couldn't brush off the uneasy feeling, and nervous tick of playing with your fingers while you waited for six o'clock to go outside of your apartment.

He was quicker than you, though – texted you that you can go outside, so you did, just to meet with Soap as a driver, with "Ghost" in the back. Nickname suited him at that moment, considering he had a mask, similar to the first time you've met him; you could only see his brown eyes popping out.

"Going undercover?" you joked, as you took a seat beside him. What you noticed immediately, his perfumes were just perfect , just like the suit he picked. Black, classic one with a red tie – you wished you could see his face, though.

In your opinion, it would look better, but who were you to judge?

"Kind of. They don't have to see my face,” he murmured, shrugging. "Gonna take my medal and that's it."

You nodded, like you got it – and in some way, you did. The person behind the mask wasn't allowed to see by anyone else, but the people that he trusted. Man with a mask? Completely different story, you'd say – especially that he wore it out on the battlefield with his enemies and comrades, where everything happened. There was no place for a man behind the mask to come out; a man possibly so much more human and fragile. You wanted to know him this way, if he'd let you.

You said nothing in response to his statement; you thought it was a mistake a few minutes later, when he still hasn't said anything. The one person who talked was Soap, and he was pretty much talking to himself, considering that no one really answered him, and he indicated his irritation on that fact, but did nothing with it besides a few comments.

Road to the casino looked beautiful – with trees losing their leaves, everything around was just screaming with perfect, early fall. It was your favorite season; not only did it meant Halloween was coming up, but also everything was becoming... easier to romanticize? You were that person, who romanticized life to get through it sometimes, and it happened fall was the easiest for you. Baking things, trying new recipes, watching horror movies or romcoms under the blanket when it was dark outside.

Just a perfect scenario for you.

You thought for a second that it's going to be also a slow season in your clinic; besides a few pets that could catch cold or be vaccinated, nothing really was happening around that time.

So, it was supposed to be more of a time for you and helping others. Animal shelters, for example, which you've supported for a long time. They always needed help, and if you just had time and money, you tried to do the best thing you could.

Sudden braking brought you back to the moment; with you almost hitting the front seat with your head, which resulted in you feeling embarrassed as hell. Maybe if you wouldn't be so caught up in your thoughts, you'd see this coming.

"The fuck , Johnny?" Simon snarled, looking at his friend with question in his eyes; Scot nervously glanced back at you two.

"Fuckin' gooses are driving right in front of me, 's what. Sorry."

"Hopin' you're not the fucking goose," he murmured, glancing at you. "You okay?"

"Nothing damaged. Besides my dignity," you replied, giving him a thumbs up.

Simon snorted, shaking his head. "Happens to the best of us."

You raised an eyebrow, smiling under your nose. "So, to you too? I'd absolutely love to hear it someday."

"Glad that you think 'm the best, Addison," he hummed, tilting his head, while you just were absolutely bamboozled. "But it doesn't happen to me, no."

He got you, somehow. Normally, you'd just roll your eyes at this comment, normally it wouldn't make such an impact on you, but it was Simon . With his low voice, British accent and deep, brown eyes. Something definitely was in those eyes – eyes that could literally melt your heart, if he tried hard enough. You were pretty sure he also was able to convince you to do anything he wanted, and it was a scary thought.

A crush? More of an appreciation of his beauty, you liked to think.

"I didn't say that."

"Uh-huh," he snorted, shaking his head with amusement. "Apparently red looks good on your cheeks, too."

Apparently red looks good on your cheeks too.

If you could get more red at that compliment, you probably would. Maybe it wasn't a straight-up compliment though, but something hidden behind that comment; you were red as a tomato, after all. Too,  was a keyword that had you choking on his words, that got you smiling under your nose, that got you even more red so you had to look at the world outside.

It made you more confident; you rested your hands comfortably on your thighs, instead of nervously clamping at the material of your dress. Simon's opinion was more important than anyone else's – you were here for him, not for generals, not for people that don't know you, not for the people that wouldn't see you after this little military gala.

Your partner on the other hand... could see you on various occasions. In theory, in your clinic, at the visit with his cat, but you were pretty convinced he's gonna see you earlier. Maybe it was a bold statement, but you thought you've got a bond with him; silent understatement, where the two of you, even with differences, could easily get each other.

Was it because of those walks with you, where he basically protected you from getting possibly kidnapped or murdered? Maybe, maybe it was his chuckle every time you cracked a joke with him, maybe it was something about his head tilting every time he heard you talking about something that he didn't quite understand.

Either way, you liked him. Really. Maybe too much, considering that he was more mysterious than the Vatican secret archives. Your friendship with him could end up in multiple ways, you were aware of it, but it didn't really change the way you looked at him when he was on his phone, deep into scrolling through it.

His face, covered by a mask... hell, you were thankful that you've seen his face without it.

Ten minutes after this, you arrived and left Soap's car, just for him to yell after you to not make a mess and be good citizens. His friend, and your partner in one, flipped him off, and continued to walk with you towards the entrance of the casino.

Which was just beautiful.

Long, crystal chandeliers – you were pretty sure you'd be dead��if one of them would fall – got your attention first, when they sparkled like finest diamonds in the world. After a while though, you were pretty convinced that the painted ceilings were the most beautiful thing, like those in St. Peter's Basilica, but less holy ; equally beautiful, though.

Gold and white were definitely the theme of this party, when you looked at the tables and chairs everywhere, including all the games that the casino offered. There was something weird about how many men were there with way younger women by their side, treating them like a trophy. Nothing positive about their possessive touch, only the want to keep them, so they wouldn't run; but you weren't the one to talk, so your gaze was on the surroundings more than people. For a moment, though.

"Nice to see you, Simon." Seven minutes after your arrival, a stranger's voice brought you out of your awestruck back to earth. You didn't know him, but the posture and his attitude just screamed that he's someone important.

Simon's hand landed on the small of your back, like on instinct; fingers curling a bit, like he wanted to create comfort, not to cross a boundary with his sudden touch. You weren't that close with him, after all. "Likewise."

Your partner's tone spoke volumes about how much he wanted to talk with that person – officer, general or whatever ; you just saw that he had many medals on his chest, proudly, like it was something he had to accentuate for everyone. It wouldn't surprise someone like you, a citizen since you believed that military people most certainly have to be proud about their accomplishments.

The way Simon looked at him, though... It was enough for you to cling to his side more, listening to the old man rambling about various things that you had no idea about. You've only recognised that he's pratting about tanks being useless these days because the military has no funds to make them a bit "trickier" for the enemy. Only that, the other parts were like a black magic to you, why is he so frightened with it.

Especially when your partner looked quite bored in the conversation, replying briefly to him that's probably the way of the world and some things don't need to change. Wasn't a quite satisfying answer for the other guy, definitely not making him quit the conversation, he only put it in the other direction.

"So, who's your little lady, then?"

It seemed like the point Simon decided that this conversation is no longer interesting for him; as he gave him a polite look, introducing you without giving the details. He only mentioned something about you being his friend, meeting with your mutual friend, and that was it – he already snatched you away from him, grumbling something under his nose.

"Not really a nice dude?" you asked, tilting your head, as you sipped champagne, previously taken from the waiter who offered you the alcohol.

Simon shook his head. "No. He's an arse, thinkin' he's better than everyone."

Quick question, quick answer. You nodded in understatement. "Noted."

"Less you're 'round 'em, the better. Military men, in general."

Somehow, this made you smile; the thought that he doesn't want you around people like that because he knew they weren't only a good fit, but they would just make your life more troublesome. Pure truth, as you remembered Rosalie's words about military people being complicated , as well as relationships here, and Simon only added another puzzle to the picture.

Maybe it was the career and images that they saw, or just people that went to the military in general were like that, you didn't want to judge, but for some reason, you could easily spot who was a plus one, and who was just supposed to be here.

Even multiple cocktails didn't blur your vision. At least, that metaphorical one, when you mindlessly waited for Simon to come out on the stage after his disappearance. He told you he's gonna be back in five , but five went to five drinks (thanks to your new best friend, bartender). Time was just slipping through your fingers.

You could easily blame your sudden love of alcohol not only on the bartender (that was really nice and she sold you a gossip or two), but on being quite lonely . It's not like you had anyone to talk to long-term, Simon was away, and remembering you promising him to not talk to most of the people here, you didn't even try to find someone normal. Spending time on alcohol seemed like a only normal option, which was ironic, but oh well .

Sixth drink in, he finally arrived, and you automatically got up from your seat, not wanting to be disrespectful towards him receiving a medal. It was a big thing, not to mention that it was something that you've firstly come here for. For him, to show support, the most honest one because even if you didn't know him as much as the others, as his comrades at least, you wanted him to see the real happiness.

Because he deserved that. Because he deserved something more than just a pat in the back, he deserved more than a simple "good job". Medal was a big thing, especially if it was the first of bigger ones in his career.

At least, you thought it was somehow a bigger one. You didn't get a chance to ask him, but he seemed to be nervous like he was getting it for the first time.

"That's your man?" the bartender asked, as you practically bounced in one place, just to see him more clear. As you gave her a weird look, the woman laughed. "You're jumping like you're at a One Direction concert."

"I just want to see the whole thing! He's... not my man. A friend. So maybe my man. But partially. Definitely not romantically," you slurred with a drink in your hand; a shameful reminder why you were slurring, so your attention automatically went to Simon again.

It wasn't a long ceremony. A few soldiers, every one introduced separately for their action in the field, including Simon Riley (that was where you learned he lied with his surname) were given a medal. Different ones, some of them even put out a show with tearing up and all, but your partner was... just standing there. Gracefully, looking at the general, just to shake his hand and nod with such a gentleness to it.

What had a bigger meaning to you, was the fact that he pretty much looked at you the entire time; his expression practically unreadable, but his eyes spoke volumes about how he was feeling, how he wanted to step down from that stage. And at the same time, how proud he was of himself also.

Like a proud... friend , you took a photo of him. Maybe blurry, maybe against the rules (since there was a "no photos" policy on every door around), but it was something that you wanted to send him, so the memory of this night would live forever in him.

Seventh drink you ordered in toast to his accomplishment – for you and for him, when you saw that he made a bee-line to you without even looking at anyone else. He probably muttered a few thanks , and your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"Simon Riley, huh?" you raised your eyebrow playfully, as you gave him the glass. You just had to allude to it.

"Thought I wouldn't see you anymore. The less you'd know about me, the better." He shrugged, accepting the alcohol; after taking a sip, he frowned. "Bloody hell, what is this?"

"So, now you want to see me?" You tilted your head with a little smile; alcohol was getting to you, you could tell. "Piña Colada."

"Horrendous. Whisky, please. Double, if that's possible." He turned to the bartender, who quickly nodded at his request; then, his gaze was on you again. "You'd like that? For me to see you?"

At this point of being drunk, maybe a little wasted even, you could tell him anything. You could nod at his question and tell him all about how much you want to see him in private. Not in your clinic, but as friends , or something more – you saw everything happening in your imagination, but... well, it wasn't the way.

"Maybe. If you'd want to see me," you answered, shrugging so casually. "If you wouldn't be like that all the time."

"Like what?"

You squint your eyes a little. "Stern. Professional." "Why are you makin' this face?" "Answer me. It's rude to answer a question with another."

He sighed, deeply, as he looked at you once again.

"I'm not that stern, dove. And professionalism comes in handy."

Somehow, the way he spoke made you laugh, the way he said that word of endearment; dove . He sent you a look of shock, even if his face didn't change at all. It's just his brown eyes speaking right now, and by now, you've learned perfectly how to read them, even if it's tough at times. "You find it funny?"

"Your words? No, I find it pretty sweet." you shook your head. "But your accent? I find it funny. As fuck,  honestly."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Somethin' wrong with my accent?" "There's nothing wrong with it!" you clarified, almost like you were afraid that he's gonna get this whole conversation wrong; you even started gesturing with your hands. "Like... don't get it wrong. I'm American." "'Course you are," he scoffed, taking a sip of his whisky.

You gasped with theatrical manner; you punched him in the arm for the effect. Simon didn't even flinch, he just looked at you like he'd want to question your doings.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'."

"No, no. You had something in mind, you tell me."

He hummed, like he was in thought, while you patiently played with the glass of your almost empty drink, as the ice melted in it slowly.

"What's wrong with Americans?" you asked, tilting your head, when he didn't reply after a few minutes. "What isn't, though?" he barked a laugh, seeing how offended you were with that simple comment. "What? Truth hurts?"

"At least we don't have this unhealthy obsession with tea," you pointed out, leaning against the bar a bit more, to get a better view of his covered face. You could see how the whole situation amused him, and his eyes were the prettiest back then. So warm, so rich , just like the color of his whisky.

"You're so American with this comment."

You chuckled. "Is that an offense?"

"I don't know, is it?" he asked, at which you barely kept yourself from rolling your eyes again. He had to see that, considering you could see the smirk under his mask, as he took a sip from his glass.

"Seems like an offense," you answered, trying so hard to hide that smile on your face.

"Guess it is an offense, then."

"Americans are better anyway," you said after a minute, as you took his drink – boldly – and drank all of it. You frowned at the bitter taste of double whisky. "Now, this is horrendous."

"You're just not old enough to appreciate it," he pointed at you. "You like your fancy drinks, dove. I like classics ."

"Whatever, dove ," you emphasized the last word, clicking with your tongue. "Let's take another, shall we?"

"You look like you had enough, though. S'all." He put his hand on the small of your back – his enormous hand and you just felt how your cheeks are burning. "We go, now. Alright?"

And what other choice did you have, instead of agreeing?

[bekolxeram]

I woke up to a dash full of bones, and I thought to myself: What a day to be a moopsy!

But then I realized it was the same kind of bones people have been trying to force feed me since May. I'm a moopsy with standards, give me herringbone, funny bone, trombone, Jackson Rathbone (jk I've never seen Twilight), any other kind of bone.

Please don't force a moopsy into vegetarianism.

Oh, and I've read that opinion piece. It's certainly one of the articles ever written.

First of all, I feel like I'm in a time loop, I can't believe I have to dig through the vault to find this post from June. Tommy wasn't taking Eddie on an "adventure" in 7x04. Both flying and combat sports have been Tommy's passions way before Eddie showed up in his life. They happened to share common interests, so Tommy asked Eddie to tag along for the ride, but he was going to Vegas anyway, solo or not.

Exploring your partner's interests would be more like... I don't know, showing up to a groom-less (and fun-less) bachelor party while being on standby because it's important to your partner? Listening to him ramble about a dead outlaw even though you're so tired from your shift and taking care of him all night that you're basically mumbling half-asleep, yet still manages to catch that he's said "crossed" twice? Thinking your partner is stressing himself over a stupid curse but you still put on a nice suit, drive him to the cemetery and stand behind him while he gives a century old mummy a eulogy, for it to unexpectedly turn into a moment of connection between you two?

Secondly, I'm not even getting into the whole "slow burn is the only valid form of romance" thing. I just never imagined there would be a day I see the words "slow burn" and Bathena put together. They're the antithesis of slow burn. They're explosions in the form of beautiful fireworks. I understand that the author only started the show about a month ago? But literally, in the first episode of S7, Athena told the therapist that while she loved her husband, she didn't know how to just slow down and chill out with him. The cruise ship disaster arc ended with them bonding over yet another near death experience. Life's too short for slow to them.

Thirdly, 9-1-1 doesn't really do cute dates? It's either in the ending montage of an arc or it's a setup for some terrible misfortune afterwards. It's not a YA style queer coming-of-age show either, the best you'll see Buck navigating through queer spaces is speeding from "calling himself an ally while on a date with a guy" through "walking into a room full of people with a soot eating grin". (While we're on that, I guess I have to dig out another post from June about the first date closet comment. Tommy took the initiative to tell Eddie they were just hanging out, and Eddie bought it. He didn't mind keeping Buck's sexuality private, but he did mind Buck pushing him back into the closet with the hot chick lie.)

Finally, Tommy has been relatively involved in the Fire Fam circle ever since his re-introduction. He literally stole borrowed a helicopter and flew the 118 to the Pacific Ocean just to save Bathena. He was at the wedding, he was at the medal ceremony, and now he's part of the hospital vigil for Denny. And each time he's not just there for Buck, he's there for Chimney, he's there for Hen too. For someone who puts so much emphasis on "slow burn", the author seems rather hasty in pronouncing BuckTommy dead on arrival, after watching a total of 5 out of 18 episodes this season (with 2 of them heavily featuring passengers on the plane and putting the whole fire fam to the side no less). Every relationship takes time to build up, I'm sure the author understands that, welcoming a new member into your family is not a question of yes or no, it's also a question of when. Tommy has mentioned 3 times how much he wanted to have a team like that behind his back, how alone he was navigating through life with only negative influence like his father or Gerrard. Buck's story in 8x05 started as a spooky comedy about a mummy, but ended as a heartwarming tale of Buck empathizing with Billy's loneliness and declaring himself part of Billy's posse. So what do you think will be the more satisfying payoff to Tommy's story? Him being formally welcomed to the family eventually? Or having him break up with Buck then cast aside with a mere "lol sucks not being a main ig"?

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x fem reader

chapter twenty-two | here we go again

“To be honest, I think someone should just toss this woman out a window, now. Her hair’s past the point of conditioning.”

Percy looked at you ludicrously. “She’s right here.”

You’d been volunteered to take the Oracle back up to the Big House with Percy. Up close, the creepy feelings intensified. You’d have thought that after making her way down to the creek she’d have had the decency to go back on her own. But no. And here you were, gasping for breath as you walked up the stairs backwards.

“Stop pushing so much,” you grunted, heels hitting the steps. “I’m gonna lose my balance.”

“Well my arms hurt, so hurry up.”

“Men have no patience,” you grumbled. Percy shot a look at you. “You don’t! My dad’s the same. Wants things doing instantly and quickly when it just isn’t realistic.”

Percy groaned. “Seriously, B, my arms are about to drop off, here.”

“If you push me anymore I’m gonna fall and get a concussion. Or amnesia. You know how easy it is to get amnesia? At least seventy percent of people with a brain injury get it.”

“Did you eat a textbook for breakfast?” He teased.

“Did you eat some nerve?”

“You’re quick today.”

“As opposed to every other day?” A smile made its way to the corner of your mouth. This kind of bantering with Percy always improved your mood.

“Come on,” he said, ducking his head for a second. “Let’s just get her upstairs. She smells of mothballs.”

“That’ll be the decay.”

“You’re disgusting.”

After Percy hit her head off the wall—and you breathed in the dust—you made it upstairs.

You set the Oracle down in her place by the window. Up here, now she was frozen again in place, you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry. You’d hate to be stuck up here like this, only wanted when someone needed something. It wasn’t a very fair fate.

Percy’s footfall sounded on the wooden floor. Dust particles floated in the light streaming in. On tables and shelves, all topped with thick dust, trophies, medals, pictures and weapons lay. One photograph in a worn, brown frame held an image of two girls smiling with their arms around one another’s shoulders, wearing war face paint, clothes reminiscent of the seventies. You picked it up and turned it over. The date read ‘73, last day of summer. A longsword lay on a bracket on the wall, engraved with words too dusty to see.

“What have you found?” You lifted your head. Percy was crouching, sifting through a box on the floor.

He dropped something heavy-sounding back in to the box. “Just junk. Let’s get out of here. This place is giving me the heebies.”

For good measure, just in case she had anything left to say, you clicked your fingers in front of the Oracle’s face. She didn’t even flinch.

“Sure. I’ve got a feeling she won’t be saying anything for a while.”

Percy slammed shut the attic door as you descended the stairs, waiting at the bottom.

“Well,” you said, as he started down. “Glad that’s over.”

Despite your light tone, Percy still looked bothered.

“I feel like that whole thing was for nothing,” he said, meeting you at the bottom. He shrugged his shoulders. “She skipped me and went straight to Zoe Nightshade. What will Chiron do?”

Percy lowered himself and sat on the stairs. You did the same. Over the summer, as uncomfortable as the thought made you, you’d grown a little bit in ways your stepmom said was just girl nature. It made your thigh press that little bit more against Percy’s than it might have done before the summer, and you were weirdly self-conscious about it. Barely noticeable, your stepmom told you honestly, but noticeable to you.

“I think,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “He’ll do what’s best now, and that is probably going to have to do with what Zoe was told. I think this prophecy will be his priority.”

You opened your mouth to say something else, but the sound of heavy, stomping footsteps on the stairs caught both yours and Percy’s attention. The source was Thalia.

She avoided looking at Percy altogether. “Tell Percy to get his butt downstairs.”

“Why?” Percy pulled a face.

“Did he say something?” Thalia asked you. Her icy eyes were firm.

“Uh—He said why.”

“Dionysus is calling a meeting of cabin leaders to discuss the prophecy. Unfortunately that includes Percy.”

With nothing much to do while the meeting went on, you went back to your cabin. Inside, Cora—who you’d grown closer to over the months you spent at camp—was staring into space with a calculator in her hands at the table in the middle of the room. Another of your siblings, a boy named Mitchel, was doing the same thing.

“Have you guys been hypnotised?” You eyed them, walking over to your bed.

“Can’t figure out what Z is…”

The free time you had now, offered a chance to think on things that had happened so far with the both of them, and where it had gotten you now. During Percy’s quest to get the Golden Fleece last year, your only friends in camp were Travis and, to an extent, Cora. You’d grown closer to both respectably. Without Percy, you had obviously given more time to a newfound friendship in Travis.

He didn’t disappoint. If you needed a pick-me-up? Travis didn’t have to try hard to make you laugh. He didn’t push the fact that you weren’t a touchy person—granted, he’d learned the hard way after a hand on your back was shrugged away instantly. You preferred initiating any sort of physical contact—high-fives; an elbow on the shoulder—not receiving. He respected it.

You appreciated that most of all.

Over the summer, you grew closer with both of them. And Percy recounted his tales from his most recent quest with Annabeth.

Which of course meant he was closer to Annabeth afterward. Of course she cursed his name to the sisters she was closest to in the cabin. Of course you felt a little left out—it was natural, wasn’t it?

Travis would call most nights. Percy would call in the afternoon once a week, at first, and then more in the evenings, working around time zones. After a close call with a four-headed snake while out one night, Iris Messaging became the new thing.

A little too much—Percy once caught you under a mountain of bubbles in the tub with a face mask on, and always called by phone, first, after that.

“You’ve got your thinking face on.”

You looked at Cora. You hadn’t seen her climb up the bunk ladder, but she leaned over the side anyhow, hair dangling.

“Am I that much of an open book?” you lay your actual book on your stomach.

Cora hummed. She’d dyed her long hair while you were gone, a stark difference to the bleached yellow of two years ago.

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to tell you, Travis Stoll has been super loved up with you while you’ve been away in Aussie land.”

You sat up abruptly. “What?”

She grinned slyly. “I said what I said.”

“What are you talking about?”

She admired her nails, hanging upside down. “I’ll answer any questions for a dollar at a time. No more, no less.”

You looked blankly at her. “But you don’t need to pay for anything at camp. Answer the question.”

“I’ve stated my rules,” she said calmly. “Yes or no.”

“Fine! A dollar. What are you talking about?”

She grinned. “The boy’s been using up all his breath asking when you’re coming back to camp. I mean, I can’t even think of how many times he asked me the same question over and over. I think he was more worried you wouldn’t come back at all.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s loved up with me,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s a friend asking when I’ll be back.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Alright,” she drawled. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. We all know you’re loved up with Percy.”

You side-eyed her. “And you know that…how?”

“I see all. Know all.”

“You’re a freak.”

“We were literally born from the brain of mom. We’re both freaks.”

You hummed. “That weirds me out.”

“It weirds me out,” she raised a brow at you. “And I’ve been here for five years. Trust me, it just gets weirder.”

—

Percy didn’t turn up for dinner.

“I wonder who’s going on the quest,” you said through a mouthful of food. “Nobody’s said anything.”

Cora nodded, sitting opposite. The table was empty besides the two of you, your siblings either at schools or home for the winter. A few tables down, Nico di Angelo was sitting with Connor and Travis, audibly chatting their ears off. The Ares table only had the two boys, and Demeter’s table only had Katie.

Percy’s table was empty.

It was cold out, and the sky was barely lit, just a dull, cloudy grey. The same golden balls of light that decorated the cabins lit the dinner tables, and some kind of magic kept the warmth inside the pavilion boundaries. Even so, you’d dressed for the occasion in a thick coat and jeans. While it was like this, you missed summer more than anything. It was too quiet. Too still. The calm would have been nice had the events from the Oracle not been hanging over you. You sighed, pushing your food around your plate.

“Maybe I should go find Percy,” you said, pushing your food around your plate. “I feel bad.”

Cora groaned. “Listen, he’s a boy; they do weird things like this. He’ll turn up when he’s ready. Nothing you can do about it.”

She had a point.

When finished, and the place began to practically empty, you both stood to leave. That was when Chiron called your name.

You turned expectantly, smiling politely. His brown eyes looked tired, and worried. “Could we talk?”

—

The leopard on the wall above the fireplace ate a sausage, and you watched it with wary eyes. It didn’t matter how many times you’d been in the Big House; it didn’t fail to shock you each time.

Mr. D. was flipping through a newspaper labelled Olympus Weekly! with a bored face. Occasionally he would raise his eyebrows, but they would fall back in place soon after.

“You are aware of the meeting held this afternoon, correct?” Chiron began.

You nodded, tucked into the arm of the sofa, hands warm under your thighs.

“Then you know what it was for. We called for campers and Hunters to unite, as the Oracle said, and join one another on the quest to find Artemis.”

You nodded along, listening carefully.

Chiron’s eyes rose from the wall to meet yours. “Zoe Nightshade visited me a night ago repeating a dream she had. Except, until this meeting, she left a part out. It was a part which involved you.”

Your mouth parted. “And what…what was I doing? In her dream?”

“She saw yourself and Bianca di Angelo walking together through a yard, talking. And so, we have decided that you are to be one of the half-bloods to take part in this quest.”

The fire crackled. Mr. D. closed his newspaper to watch the exchange between yourself and Chiron. And Chiron watched you.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Mr. D. repeated. “That is all you have to say?”

“I’m not really sure what to say,” you side-eyed him. “I’ll go. I’d like to go. We can look for Annabeth too, can’t we, while we’re searching for Artemis?”

“We believe that while searching for Artemis, there’s a high chance Annabeth can be found too, yes.”

“Who else is going? Is Percy coming?”

Chiron hesitated. “We decided on yourself, Bianca, Zoe, Thalia and Grover. Percy…Percy and Thalia cannot work together. It would be a mistake to send them together.”

It should have made you happy to be wanted on a quest. It wasn’t every day that a demigod got the chance to leave camp and actually do something good and helpful. But Percy desperately wanted to go. He was desperate to look for Annabeth. And by agreeing to go, you felt like you were betraying him.

“When do we leave?”

“Early tomorrow morning.”

“When you find Artemis,” Mr. D. drawled, flicking open his newspaper again. “Tell her she’s caused a a complete and utter ruckus. She better not do this again.”

—

The walkway of the lake seemed like a good place for a goodbye.

You and Travis lay side-by-side again, like you did last night, except this time was a lot quieter. The gold balls of light filled you with not joy but melancholy, and Travis didn’t look at you.

“I didn’t want to leave and not say anything,” you mumbled. “Thought that would be mean.”

He hummed. But didn’t say anything.

There were no stars tonight.

Finally, his coat rustled, chocolate-coloured hair brushing the hood. “Just come back,” he said. “The prophecy says two might die. I don’t want that to be you.”

You shook your head. “It won’t be. I promise.”

He blinked, eyes on the sky. “Keep that promise.”

—

You stopped by Percy’s cabin on the way to yours. You were disappointed to find him not inside, bed still made and the lights off. You’d have to worry about him another time.

In your cabin, you quietly packed your bag again. Clothes, a spare pair of shoes, the essentials, and a small purse of money—both dollars and drachmas—and hoped that would be enough.

You climbed into bed, rolling over in the dark in your cold covers. Cora snored in the bunk above. The lights were out. You pulled the covers up to your chin, and was out like a light.

Taglist:

@bl6o6dy

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @hawkeye12 @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @luckydragontriumph @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @bugsys-bubble @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @mrswang17 @jessiegerl

B

What do we think of this one, dudes? I properly re-wrote it three times, then had to get rid of it all and start again after four tries because nothing saved. This one has been a pain in the ass.

Taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @hawkeye12 @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @luckydragontriumph @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @bugsys-bubble @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @mrswang17 @jessiegerl

[attonposting]

Can we stop to talk about the conversation with Atton where he rambles about women and the idea of love? Because good lord can this man project like a movie theater. We're talking fractal projection. Give him a frickin' medal, because it's projection all the way down.

It's a very missable bit of dialogue. You can only get it with a male Exile, and only then if you've cheesed off Brianna by causing her influence to dip 30 points below Visas's. Unfortunately, this also causes Brianna to permanently stop talking to you, so this is something you're only ever gonna see by accident. I only learned that could even happen pretty recently, and that's with maybe 6 male Exile playthroughs under my belt. I guess I'm just very thorough about exhausting everyone's dialogue options all the time.

So. Brianna's permanently cut herself off as a companion, courtesy of Kreia whispering in her ear, and that sucks. But at least your trashman pilot has something to say about it... and whoa boy is it a consolation prize. Atton proceeds to launch into an arm-around-your-shoulders buddy talk that has exactly nothing to do with your problems and everything to do with his personal issues.

Exile: The Handmaiden lost her temper with me.

Atton: Oh, there's a surprise. Trust me, she's a handful - all warriors are. They're not used to dealing with things they can't punch, kick, or break. Look, I know how it is. Me, there's no denying that I'm a good-looking guy. You have it worse, because even though you might not be as good-looking as me, you have that whole tortured past, that command presence. Women want to save you. They think they can help you.

Exile: What are we talking about?

Atton: They think that everyone can be redeemed, and that they're the only ones who can do it. And you don't know if it's you, or the idea of you that they love.

Exile: [Awareness] Are we talking about me or you?

Atton: We're just talking. Like I said, I've never understood women. It's possible they don't love you at all. That they just want to help you... help you hear yourself if you've gone deaf to your own voice. We all lose our way sometimes, and we need someone to pull us back.

Exile: [Awareness] Sounds like you've had that experience before.

Atton: Don't remember. Truth is, I still don't listen to my conscience even when it's shouting. I think there's times I'd rather be completely deaf than hear it. But all this talk doesn't matter. I'm not qualified to give advice. Besides, when I open my mouth, I'm usually lying anyway.

Like. Just. Holy shit, Atton. Yeah, he's clearly talking about the Jedi who tried to save him, but there's so much more to unpack in here. Let's break it down.

“Women want to save you. They think they can help you.” - Atton wants to save you. He wants to be the hero to your story, something he projects at Mical (to the latter's confusion), but which can also be read into a lot of his actions – when he starts taunting the assassin on Telos to draw heat off you, when he runs out on Nar Shaddaa to give you medpacs and do the same thing with the bounty hunters. The hard evidence is on Malachor. If Atton dies, he says it outright: “Did I save you yet?” And if he falls to the Dark Side, he tells Mical that “he wanted to protect [the Exile], to help her” before he lost his chance.

“They think that everyone can be redeemed, and that they're the only ones who can do it.” - Yeah, it's not really about helping the Exile. Atton needs to be the one that 'saves' you, as a balm to his own lack of purpose and self-worth, and he gets real pissy if anyone else does a better job helping you – or god forbid gets close to you. He's constantly insecure, he's unhappy with most new party members when they join up and, and seriously, the only crime Mical ever committed was being a genuinely good dude in a crew full of misfits. Too bad the galaxy's greasiest pilot reads that as a threat.

“And you don't know if it's you, or the idea of you that they love.” - Atton's attraction to you in a nutshell, and that's before you get the question of Force Bonds involved. Like, seriously. Does he genuinely love you as a person, or is he in love with you as an ideal – as someone who could stop running and face the music for their unforgivable crimes, as someone who actually tries to fix the damage they did? As someone who can still find it in them to care about people after the war broke them down? As a Jedi that actually lives up to the ideal both the Council and Revan failed to? As someone he believes he can relate to, because he thinks he knows your reasons for what you did? Are you a stand-in for his dead Jedi and his hundred conflicting feelings over her? Is he just in love with the idea of having a purpose and wants someone he can bury himself in? Is the idea of martyring himself and finally dying for a reason what he's really obsessed with? Pick your flavor, because who knows! He certainly doesn't!

“It's possible they don't love you at all.” - While this has a lot to do with him wondering why the hell anyone would have tried to save him, I also think this is him reflecting on his own confused feelings towards the Exile. They might not be romantic with an M!Exile (or if they are, he's having intense bi denial), but they're absolutely there and he does not know what to make of them.

“That they just want to help you... help you hear yourself if you've gone deaf to your own voice. We all lose our way sometimes, and we need someone to pull us back.” - This has nothing to do with the Exile, the Handmaiden, or anyone who isn't an ex-Sith assassin who had empathy forcibly shoved into their brain after years of progressively more fucked-up descent into all-consuming hatred.

“Truth is, I still don't listen to my conscience even when it's shouting.” - He almost gets away with this one, but Atton's deep in denial here. He doesn't want to hear it, but he can't turn it off, the same way he can't stop feeling things when he used to have total control of his emotions (because he barely felt anything at all.) It's all why he can't go back to who he was, even though he badly misses the certainty he used to feel. Atton is a pro at ignoring his conscience, which definitely has nothing to do with how much he hates himself, total coincidence... but as soon as the Exile gets involved, that goes out the window, because Atton's self-preservation glitches out. Their Force wound tugs on his better nature... or it yanks at his opposite. And if that happens, Atton is very aware of what's happening to him. He succumbs, but he has more to say on the Exile's fall than anyone short of Kreia. And light or dark, his (im)moral compass gets jarred from 'cover my own ass' to 'protect the Exile' and he repeatedly sticks his neck out for no gain, so yeah, I call bullshit here. He's smack in the middle of his biggest crisis of conscience since the Sith.

“Besides, when I open my mouth, I'm usually lying anyway.” Well, at least he admits it.

[spemtang]

Everything You Do & All I Try To Do

A DrakGo Fanfic.

Artwork by: Me!

Read on AO3

Summary: Drakken loses the medal he received at the ceremony months prior. He and an annoyed Shego have to go look for it. Hopefully, nothing bad happens.

Drakken tossed aside another overturned drawer, papers scattering across the floor. He had torn through the lair for over an hour, yet still no sign of it. Stupid, foolish mistake to misplace something so important.

His eyes examined the room, taking in the varying layers of dust settling on old doomsday devices. A small part of him was relieved at his own current failure. The thought of failing at something had him reminiscing, a nostalgic feeling. When was the last time he had used any of them? Weeks? Months? He couldn't remember. Time after time he had rebounded from failure; ironically, it was success that he found himself unable to recover from.

Drakken slumped into a chair. He’d foiled himself for once.

Kim Possible, his teen archnemesis, had always been the one to put an end to his plans. But lately, though no fault of her own, nothing. No thrilling chases, no banter, no imminent sense that his adversary could burst through the door at any moment to stop his world-dominating schemes.

Though not the burst he expected, the sound of a metal door sliding open was enough to alert him that someone had come in. He could quickly tell who simply by the way she walked.

“Lose something, Dr. D?” Her ever-sardonic tone permeated the quiet room, peering around at the ransacked environment that had once been the study.

“Shego.” He acknowledged under his breath, letting out a heavy yet admittedly reverent sigh at the familiar voice. “Obviously. I can’t seem to find that medallion from a while back-” His voice trailed as he tossed another book off the shelf.

Shego watched it clatter by her feet, then snorted, “Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me you actually lost that thing?” She said, forcing a snarky grin. Yet, she found her cunning remarks coming less naturally than they used to. She turned her eyes away temporarily, trying to brush it off; perhaps it was the lack of recent schemes that kept her out of her prime... mockfulness?

She's pulled from her brief introspection by the sound of a grumbled response followed by his voice, “Yes, yes. Don’t remind me.” he said, turning to Shego. “Any ideas from you as to where it could be?” She paused to think, “Uhh, not that I can remember, sorry.” She said, giving a nonchalant shrug.

A small device sitting on a nearby desk caught Shego’s attention.

“What’s up with this thing?” She asked. Drakken peered over his shoulder to look before turning back.

“It’s an electronic dog whistle I’ve been making. Commodore Puddles has been tearing up the furniture lately, I figured I should focus on training him for once.”

Shego gave him a look, “Wow...What a responsible owner you are.” She mocked, “Y’know, I think that’s the most ambition I’ve seen out of you in months, Dr. D.” She added, tone a little bitter about the lack of action recently.

He didn’t reply.

With a quiet scoff, Shego made a show of plopping herself down into the nearby armchair, whipping out a magazine. Yet, she was too distracted by the whole “missing medal” ordeal to focus on its contents. Peering over the top of her magazine, she watched Drakken scramble around the lair, tossing things aside haphazardly. He was clearly obsessed with finding that medal. Seeing him so distressed stirred a hint of emotion she couldn't quite place. Concern? Sympathy? She didn’t like thinking too hard about it.

“Y’know, hate to sound like a broken record, but you’ve really turned this place upside-down, Doc.” She commented, noticing many more books lying around than she had initially observed.

“Not without reason, Shego.” He replied bluntly, shuffling through neighboring rooms, increasing and lowering his tone to match the proximity. “If I were none the wiser, I’d think someone took it! But what business would anyone have stealing that thing? There are plenty of fancy gold vaults to steal from; why me?”

“Not sure,” Shego replied, entertaining enough weak conversation to keep him going.

Drakken deactivated the study’s remote-controlled fireplace and examined behind it, “I could’ve sworn I had it just the other day. It’s my fault I hadn’t checked on it in a while.” He continued with a sigh, “I mean, it’s got to be around here somewhere...”

He halted briefly,

“Er- Well-”

Shego peered up from her magazine to look at him,

“What?”

“Let’s say...hypothetically, a few days ago, I felt a little bored and nostalgic and was taking it to a lot of our old lairs, and I may or may not have left it at one of them-”

Shego groaned loudly, “You can’t be serious...How many is ‘a lot’???”

“About 14 of them.”

She gave him a long, hard look. Then, she sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose in frustration.

She stood, marching for the door.

“Whatever, let’s just get a move on.”

On their way out, Drakken nabbed the device he’d been working on. Despite his confidence, it’d be best to keep himself occupied if this–like Shego probably predicts–is a total waste of time.

Thrusters hummed smoothly beyond distant, quaint villages and ski resorts as the hovercraft rocketed over the landscape. They flew high above the valley below into the jagged, sky-piercing peaks of the range. Thick, perfectly white snow blanketed the steep mountainsides, gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun. The pair were blasted with its thin, frigid air, which held a crisp alpine scent.

“Come to think of it, this might just be the place.”

Shego glared, her hands flickering a threatening glow, “Are you telling me we didn’t have to go to the other 13!?”

Drakken tensed up and raised his hands defensively, “No, no! Your services are appreciated, Shego! It was perfectly likely for it to be at the other ones as well.”

Her palms fizzled, and she relaxed slightly before turning away, “Good. I can’t believe you revisited the wreckage of that stupid underwater lair.”

“I felt like scuba diving then, alright?”

“Yeah? I didn’t feel like scuba diving today .”

The two of them approached Drakken’s freezing lair in the Alps, still standing tall with its many pointed, almost pitchfork-like spires — yet decorated in a dense shrubbery of flowers, they looked to be two, no, three times as thick as the last time he was here. Surprisingly, they were not dead from the cold, though he supposed they were super high-pollinated . It wasn’t often he returned to old lairs; it would be the fourth time for this one in particular; it almost made him feel bad about the conditions he left them in.

As the two landed swiftly, he thought back a bit more. In truth, he was lying about being so sure only to make Shego feel more motivated; he wasn’t even sure if he went inside this one, the later details of the day having betrayed him.

“Do we really have to scout this garden of yours, Dr. D?” Shego asked with a noticeable irritation in her voice. Drakken hesitated, “Well, not particularly, no. But I’d appreciate it if-”

“Forget I asked. Let’s get in and out of here, and we’re done.” Shego remarked sourly. She was just about done with all the running around she’d been doing that day, and the freezing temperature certainly wasn’t helping his case.

Hiking up the side of the tall, icy glacier, not helped by the dense vegetation, Draken saw something in the distance.

“H-hey! Look! It’s one of those alien drone things!” He proudly announced, looking at the dismantled Lowardian machine in a distant snowy crevice. Shego sighed but didn’t look back, “Yeah, good job on saving the world, Doc. I’ve spent all day being reminded of your accomplishment.” Drakken almost opened his mouth in retaliation but decided against it, eyeing Shego as she trudged ahead. Frankly, he owed her for putting up with this wild medal chase. Hopefully, he could make it up to her once this was over.

For now, he decided keeping quiet and getting this search done quickly was probably the best course of action. Drakken hurried to catch up, the frigid wind biting through his coat. The sooner they got out of there, the better.

A faint green glimmer lit the black interior of the lair for a moment through cracks in the door. It was moments like these that Drakken was especially grateful for Shego. It’d be a real hassle getting all the vines off the handles without the use of her glow. There were... a lot of things to be grateful for when it came to Shego, actually.

The rickety door crept open, striking a small amount of light into the dark chamber, large patterns of vines and branches scaling its enclosure.

“A bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Drakken whispered, stepping across the cold floor and crunching leaves.

Shego looked around before spotting a faint light, “There,” She replied, blasting her glow at a dense gathering of vegetation, revealing the large hole the Lowardian Walkers had made in the wall. Sunlight poured in, brightening the room and showcasing a large shrub of flowers and vines.

“Much better.” Drakken acknowledged with an approving nod as he scanned the ruined lair.

His gaze wandered over the vibrant floral blooms now bathed in sunlight that beamed through the hole Shego had blasted. He watched, transfixed, as the petals seemed to perk up, stretching and unfurling as if soaking up the long-awaited rays.

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips. His, albeit mutant, plants had endured, bringing an unexpected vitality to the ruins. He admired the new growth sprouted from the weathered walls, winding through broken glass and overturned debris.

Then he looked back at his henchwoman, getting her hands dirty, and frowned a little. Stepping over to her awkwardly, he started, “Shego-”

Yet before he could start, a deafening crash drowned out his words. Shego’s head whipped over as their combined attention turned to a giant metallic claw that had formed a large crater before them — a booming, animal-like screech ruptured from the shrubbery across the room.

The ruined Lowardian Walker's limbs shuddered and jerked as if pulled by unseen strings. What once appeared as a mound of overgrowth stirred, vines cascading off metallic parts as the robot arose on rigid legs. Shambling forward awkwardly, its shattered frame moved with an awkward organic gait rather than mechanical precision.

Dull metal peeked through a living patina of roots and vines that clung to its body. Strange leafy tendrils protruded from joints like parasitic growths. It appeared much less a machine granted false life than a creature born of steel bones now overtaken by flora.

“Dr. Drakken? What is that thing?”

Drew paused in imminent fear; what was that thing?

Shego’s pupils thinned as the beast stirred, and she turned for the entryway. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think I get paid enough to deal with that so–!” She exclaimed and decided to hightail it out of there. Drakken nodded and quickly staggered to follow.

The pair burst out of the lair; their feet slipped on the snow-covered rock as they descended the icy cliff. The building effortlessly crumbled behind them as the giant mechanical monster stirring from a long slumber shook its already plant-weakened foundation. The reanimated monster smashed through the same entryway, letting out another piercing metallic shriek.

Before they could reach the Hover-car parked below, the Walker bounded past with alarming agility. Whether by cunning strategy or mere primal impulse, it pivoted sharply and kicked the Hover-car with all its might. The vehicle went sailing over the horizon, spinning end over end until it vanished.

The beast reared back on its hind legs, giving another enraged screech. Puppeting vines twist around its limbs, writhing in anticipation.

"And...there goes Plan A," Shego muttered, igniting her glowing green fists. "Guess we’ll have to go with Plan B." Her voice held an uneasy confidence. She leaped into action, hurling blasts of green energy at the lumbering monster. They sizzled against the metallic exterior but barely slowed its advance. It roared, charging at Shego. “Any plans, Doc?” she shouted his way, rolling away from a giant stomping leg.

Drakken blinked, "Right, yes, good call," Drakken said, peering around nervously for anything they could use. His scrambling was interrupted by the monster, quickly turning to rush his way. Shego hastily shot at a joint with another strong blast, knocking it off course with a squeal.

The two split up, trying to divide the creature's attention. Shego nimbly evaded each lumbering swipe, countering with bursts of plasma. Drakken ducked behind icy boulders, fumbling for any gadget in his coat that could help.

"Could really use one of your brilliant ideas anytime now!" Shego yelled over her shoulder.

“Ngyeehh, I’m working on it!” He yelled back.

To his credit, he was working on it. He dumped a variety of incomplete doodads from his coat, using little pliers and screws to put random pieces together. He had a raygun he’d constructed a while back on him as well, but knew it’d be useless against the exterior of one of those things.

“Think, Drew...you just have to come up with something.” He muttered to himself.

Then, he had it! Using parts from a magnetization ray he had been working on and a few emergency batteries he kept on him, he could construct some type of electromagnetic frequency emitter, totally frying that thing’s remaining systems! He just needed a few minutes to-

His momentary pride was shot down by the sound of a scream, followed by a loud crash. He’d be relieved if it weren’t for the fact that the scream was human, and Shego’s.

Quickly peeking around his cover, he saw only the aftermath — Shego tumbling through the snow before she lay limp against a clump of snow.

She didn’t seem to be getting up, either.

“S-Shego!” He called out in worry, the creature’s lumbering form snapped toward him the moment he chose to raise his voice.

Drakken quickly ducked back behind the cover, he needed to crunch those minutes into just seconds now. He rushed to shove the parts of his mechanism, pausing on the battery slot.

“Come on...! Which way, which way?” He muttered frantically, looking at the plus and minus symbols. “There!” He beamed, before throwing the device out into the open and taking cover.

Large, booming frequencies of electromagnetic energy pulsated from the device. The robot winced, slightly, but seemed largely unaffected. It stomped the device into oblivion before continuing its pursuit.

Drakken froze in fear. He was sure it would’ve worked! The machine’s systems should’ve been...completely fried.

Then, his eyes focused on its limbs, vines sliding and gripping. Overgrowth pulling and directing the Walker’s monstrous limbs.

Was it a machine at all?

No.

Its body was merely a husk, the shell.

It wasn’t a robot holding onto its functionality through botanical means. No, something lived inside. That something was orchestrating the remains of what was left in that place months ago.

Drakken, at his wit's end, did what he was best at: running away.

Drakken's legs pumped faster than they ever had before, fueled by sheer adrenaline as the monstrous walker bore down on him. He zig-zagged desperately, boots slipping on the icy terrain, but couldn't shake the thundering steps behind.

Just as a giant metal claw swiped at where he'd been seconds earlier, the beast suddenly halted. Drakken risked a frantic glance back. The creature swayed, vines writhing along its frame as if uncertain.

Drakken's mind raced — was it confused? Losing his trail? Or toying with him? He didn't intend to wait around to find out.

That thing was back to pursuing him a moment later, he ran into what he thought would be his saving grace, a crevice through the mountainside. Unfortunately, the monster was easily capable of turning its frame to follow him in. And, if things couldn’t get any worse, a towering wall at the end marked a dead-end for him. Regardless, he ran to it with no other option.

Coming to the path’s end, he whipped back around to see it looming over him.

Was this how he was going to go out? At the hands of the plants, he played a part in creating?

He pulled the dog whistle out of his coat as the Walker neared.

Tears of despair welled in his eyes, regardless of his feelings were meaningless to the simple beast before him. He hadn’t even fine-tuned the device he was going to make for his dog today.

Yet, as the device slipped from his shaky hands, it wasn’t Commodore Puddles that was on his mind, it was Shego.

Just as before, and just how things had always been. He was caught up in proving himself, proving his worth. It was the Bebe robots then, the medal now. All just to be in the disapproval of his peers by the end of it. It was his colleagues then, Shego now. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d let her down, of course. But it was looking to be the last.

He winced, taking a pathetic step out of the way as if to delay the inevitable. And as the Walker raised its claw for one final strike against its prey.

It stopped, it recoiled, and it writhed. Its heavy claw clattered to the ground out of the way as roots shivered along its metallic form.

Drakken almost thought it may have felt sympathy and spared him were it not for his eyes turning down and finding the cause: it was the dog whistle! He must’ve stepped on the activation button, and the creature was sensitive to the sound it made! He wasn’t sure why that was, but he took the opportunity to nab the device and dart away while it was stunned.

His feet slipped and stumbled as he fled through the deep snow. Behind him, a deafening roar shook the mountainside as the walker freed itself from the crevice, hellbent on pursuit.

Glancing back, Drakken noticed a gaping hole blown in the monster's armor from Shego's earlier attack. Green “flesh” writhed within, exposed. He just needed time to exploit that weakness!

But as Drakken turned forward again, his stomach dropped. Mere feet in front of him, the snow gave way to a sheer cliff plunging hundreds of meters down. Another dead end.

Whirling around, he came face-to-face with the monstrous Walker looming over him, escape cut off. Drakken desperately held out the screeching whistle, but if anything, it only aggravated the creature more.

Vines twisted furiously around the ruined parts of its metallic body. The monster's large flower appendages looked like two judgemental eyes staring down at him. A mass of leaves and petals shook, vibrating with something akin to rage. Time was running out.

Drakken's eyes darted around the narrow cliff edge. There had to be a way! He just needed to buy a few precious seconds against this unbridled fury...But it appeared there was no last-second idea he could pull to escape this situation.

The Walker reared back, shadowed by the sunlight as it prepared to deliver a final blow. Drakken stood with uneasy anticipation, but a flash of green exploded against the creature's back before the strike fell.

"Shego!" Drakken cried out in relief as the monster staggered.

She huffed, "Miss me, Dr. D?" Shego quipped, though looking a bit battered.

The monster whirled with a metallic roar, vines twisting furiously. As it charged Shego, Drakken seized his chance. He pulled out his raygun and fired at the damaged spot.

The creature screeched, whipping back toward Drakken. But Shego was ready, striking it again with her glow. They fell into a pattern — it would turn to attack one, only for the other to blast its weak point from behind.

With a final, piercing wail, the unbalanced Walker lurched toward Drakken. He braced himself, but Shego was faster.

"Hope you packed a parachute, you overgrown weed!"

She launched a powerful flying kick to the creature's back. And, unable to support its own weight, the monster tipped over the cliff's edge, plunging into the misty depths below with a fleeting, monstrous scream.

The two looked down into the gorge as the Walker plummeted into oblivion, equally releasing a heavy sigh.

Shego broke the exhausted silence first after catching her breath. "Glad that's over with."

Drakken turned to her, relief washing over him. "Shego..." he whispered.

He stepped closer, just needing to see her okay with his own eyes. "I was so worried about you. I'm glad you're alright."

Shego softened slightly, an uncharacteristic sincerity coming over her. "Yeah, I'm glad you're okay too, Dr. D."

She straightened, regaining some of her usual casual confidence. "That was some quick thinking with the raygun. I Didn't even know you had one of those."

"What sort of self-respecting villain wouldn't have one?" Drakken replied with a flashy grin.

Shego smiled warmly, head tilting. A moment of understanding silence fell between them.

Drakken broke it this time, voice heavy with remorse. "Shego, I'm...I'm so sorry about all this. For dragging you along over a silly medal."

Shego blinked, having nearly forgotten their reason for being there. "Hey, don’t worry about it. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made me do something stupid. Nor the second, or the third..." she ribbed lightly.

Drakken rolled his eyes but smiled, “No need to rub it in, Shego.”

He noticed her windswept hair.

“Let me-”

He gently brushed a loose strand behind her ear. Her eyes closed momentarily as he did so.

"There," he murmured.

Shego blinked and met his eyes, her gaze lingering. "I can make an assumption or two but," She started, “What made that thing so special to you?”

Drakken sighed lightly.

“Maybe it was pride,” He paused to think, “But, it meant a lot to me as a sign of victory, I suppose. I haven’t done a whole lot of winning in my life.” He confessed.

Shego smirked playfully, “I think I’d know that more than anyone, Doc.”

Drakken gave a weak smile, the expression vanished from her face.

“Sorry, that was-”

“No, it’s alright.” Drakken assured her, “I like your edge, Shego. You know how to keep me in check.”

Her cheeks flushed just a little, and she smiled again.

“Thanks, Dr. D.”

Drakken turned his head up and to the left, he looked over at the overgrown lair for a moment.

“I don’t think I appreciate you enough.” He admitted, “I mean, I pay you to work for me, but still. I’m not sure if I ever got around to telling you this, but I really appreciated you coming to save me from the Lowardians back then.”

Her head perked up and her cheeks grew just a smidge redder, “Oh- It was nothing, Dr. D, honest.”

“Even if it was nothing, Shego, I still appreciate that you did that for me. I owe a lot to you, a lot more than money can pay for, anyway.” He relents, “For sticking around, that is. Even when I do stupid things all the time. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Shego felt a shiver run up her spine, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Hey, uh, sorry we couldn’t find your thing.” She muttered, trying to ease the tension.

Drakken smiled.

“I’ll be alright, Shego. I feel I...found something better anyway.”

She swallowed, and without thinking, wrapped her arms around him. A sudden need enveloped her heart.

"Dr. D," she whispered.

Drakken turned to meet her gaze, taking in every detail of her face. Her fire, her strength, her loyal persistence through it all suddenly struck him. She was incredible.

His eyes fell half-lidded as he lost himself in hers. The frigid air faded away in the warmth of her embrace. Timidly, his hands came to rest at her sides, drawn in helplessly.

"Shego."

She took a small step closer, snow softly crunching underfoot. Time seemed to slow, the space between them electrified. It felt right.

Drakken leaned in hesitantly at first, then, as was routine, surrendered himself when Shego picked up the slack, confidently sealing the gap.

In the moment, he felt as if the world had fallen away. Her kiss enveloped him in an indescribable warmth, a tingling sense of belonging spreading through him- newfound purpose excavated from the depths of his timid heart. His hands moved from her sides and delicately cupped her face as he savored the intimacy. Her lips were so soft, and inviting.

Shego drew him closer, her aggressive edge giving way to tenderness. She never wanted this moment to end.

When they eventually, reluctantly parted, Drakken kept his forehead resting against hers, noses still touching. A faint smile played on his lips. Both were resistant to leaving the other's arms. Right now, they had each other- perhaps as they’d always had each other. And for them, that was enough.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He breathed.

“Yeah, I got the impression.”

Drakken clicked his tongue, catching Puddles’ attention once more. The whistle had proven quite effective for training after just a little tweaking, working out the odd frequencies.

"Come on boy, just a few more times around the lair," Drakken encouraged, pacing backward as his pet obediently waddled after.

Shego peeked up from her magazine and watched as Drakken and his dog scurried around the corner. The corners of her lips tugged upward, though she hid her expression. She gave him a bit of crap for it just the day prior but found it sorta endearing after everything.

She stood and followed after him.

“I can’t believe you’re just now training that thing after you’ve had him for...how many years now?”

Drakken scowled, some things never changed about her.

“He’s not a thing , his name is Commodore Puddles.” He remarked, pridefully lifting his pet, “And...world domination schemes get in the way, alright?”

She laughed, “Does that imply you’re retiring from world domination?”

He froze up, “Maybe...maybe not. But don’t think I’m going soft, Shego!”

She snickered still, and he grumbled at her.

“How’s this:” He started, “I’ve scouted out a museum with quite the rare artifact. What do you say we steal it together sometime?”

Shego raised a brow, “What do you plan on using it for?”

He shrugged, “I was thinking about stealing it just for the heck of it.” He admitted.

She grinned.

“I like the sound of that.”

Notes: I don't write very often, but I made this. I hope I got their character right. IDK... Here's a concept sketch of the Lowardian Walker-plant monster thing. Maybe one day I'll make a proper drawing of it, but consider this the canon-fanon for now.

[kybercrystals94]

You Promised

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 10|Prompt 10: “You promised you’d never leave.”

Rating: T

Words: 1409

Summary: Prequel to “I Miss You”, Fives goes to collect Echo’s effects from Kamino.

Kamino is always dark, always stormy, but as Fives walks past the yawning panes of glass overlooking the turmoil of waves against the gloaming night, he feels a kindred connection to its anguish. This is his first time on Kamino without Echo.

It’s been weeks since his death, and Fives is about sick of the questions, the looks, the reassuring squeezes of hands on his shoulder. Because not a single word, expression or touch will bring Echo back. Empty condolences are useless. He doesn’t need to be coddled or sympathized with. Fives is as strong and capable as the best of them.

And yet, he’s never experienced life without Echo until now, and the resounding emptiness of his absence burns with the intensity of a blaster bolt right through the heart.

When Rex suggested that Fives be put on a troops transport assignment to Kamino, the ARC leapt at the chance. He’d been quietly looking for any excuse or reason to return to his home planet to collect Echo’s personal effects; however, outright asking would mean admitting…something. That he was weak? Devastated? Heart broken? Clones are supposed to withstand the stresses of warfare, to have unbreakable resolve in the face of death, no matter whose death it was. It is literally bred and cultivated into their DNA. Maybe the Kaminoans aren’t as smart as they think they are…and maybe clones can’t be programmed because they are actual human beings.

Fives shoves away the wandering thoughts, focusing on navigating the halls to their barracks. He thanks the force that most of the troopers assigned to this barracks are off-world, and he’ll have the space mostly to himself. Activating the lock, he wastes no time making his way to his and Echo’s bunk cell. He goes to the storage shelf and pulls down the box with Echo’s CT number. Clean, cold letters.

Fives sits down on what used to be Echo’s bed and opens the box. He isn’t surprised that it is nearly empty. Practical and by-the-book Echo didn’t find much use for sentimental trinkets or useless collections. Which means the things he did keep are — were — invaluable to him. Inside is his graduation medal, his cadet data pad with all the manuals he’d memorized still downloaded, and the deck of cards he had stolen after the rest of the squad had teased him relentlessly for being boring.

Fives remembers when Echo came into the barracks that night. It looked like the kid had murdered someone by the look on his face, awash with guilt and a sheen of nervous sweat.

Echo grabbed Fives’ arm and practically dragged him over to the bunk.

“Who’s boring now, huh?” he whispered, the tremor in his voice betraying the bravado of the words. Echo shoved the deck of cards into Fives’ hands. “I took these off a trooper outside the rec hall.”

“You mean you stole them,” Fives clarified.

Echo frowned. “He wasn’t even supposed to have them. I think he stole them.”

“So, what, that cancels out the fact that you stole them from him?” Fives asked, trying so hard not to smile. It made his whole face hurt suppressing that stupid grin. “What’s the regulation against that, huh?”

Echo looked like he was actually about to answer him when the rest of Domino Squad appeared.

“What are those!” Droidbait crowed, snatching them out of Fives’ hand.

Echo protested indignantly, “Those are mine!”

“Yeah, but you can’t play sabaac by yourself, di’kut,” came Hevy, lightly smacking Echo on the back of the head.

Echo ducked away and tried to get the cards back from Droidbait who immediately tossed them to Cutup. “Hey, give ‘em back!”

“Is there nothing in the manuals about sharing?” Cutup laughed and went to toss the deck back to Droidbait when Fives intercepted.

“I’ll take those,” Fives said, giving Cutup an extra shove for good measure. He handed the deck back to Echo with a wink. “Fine. I guess you’re not so boring after all.”

Fives opens the tin and begins to lay out the cards, chuckling over the matching folds. That was the day he’d decided he never wanted to be on Echo’s bad side. Cutup had barely survived the verbal lashing he’d gotten for damaging Echo’s prized possession just to cheat at a game he was kark at anyway.

The cards are soft and almost pliable, worthless by any sort of functional standard. Shuffling had become too difficult, and they’d resorted to sifting them manually, which in turn led to arguments about stacking the deck, which – depending on the dealer – was often true. After the Risha Moon Outpost, Echo had become even more protective of the deck, grudgingly allowing Fives to use them occasionally. Ironically, it was Echo that caused further damage by dropping a card in his cup of caf one morning.

Fives bit back the laughter that bubbled up, the compulsive need to make a sarcastic comment at his brother’s expense almost overwhelming. But desire was snuffed out the moment he saw Echo’s face as he held the dripping card gingerly between his thumb and index finger.

The man’s eyes had misted over, and if he weren’t a war-hardened ARC trooper, he might have burst into tears.

“Here,” Fives said, taking the card carefully. He laid it flat on the table and patted it dry with his sleeve. “Just a little stained. We could stain the rest of them, and we’d be none the wiser.”

Echo swallowed and blinked. Hard. Fives pretended he didn’t notice. “No. I think I’ll just put this deck away. I can get a new one next time we’re in town.”

Fives picks up the offending card. Even months later, it has the faint smell of caff. “Why’d you have to go be a hero?” Fives asks. “Turns out we didn’t even need that kriffing shuttle.”

Echo doesn’t answer. Echo will never answer him again.

Fives glares at the card, refuses to acknowledge the burning sensation behind his eyes. “You said you’d never leave,” Fives growls to the void where Echo’s presence used to be. “You promised.”

After Rishi Moon, the first time they’d lost brothers, the first time the war was more than just a distant promise of action, they had sat in this room, on this bunk, and Echo tried to comfort Fives from the depths of his own mourning.

“We’re next, aren’t we?” Fives had asked, voice still hitching on exhausted sobs. “What if you die, Echo? I don’t want to be alone.”

Echo is quiet for a moment, an arm wrapped around Fives’ shoulders. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, vod,” he whispers.

“Don’t you dare make promises you can’t keep,” Fives insisted.

“I’ll keep this one,” Echo said.

Like a fool, he’d sounded like he meant it. And in the same foolish vein, Fives had believed him.

Another memory approaches uninvited. Just before they’d become ARC troopers, before the Battle of Kamino, Echo had been driving Fives absolutely crazy, following him around reciting regulations and protocols.

“Force, Echo! Sometimes I wish we’d been assigned to different units,” Fives groused irritably.

Echo smiled, unperturbed. “Give it a day, and you’d miss me.”

Fives stares at the caff stained card. What he’d give to have the culprit back, to hear another recitation of another reg manual, to goad Echo into participating in another inappropriate prank.

Fives stands abruptly and snatches his own box off the shelf. Unlike Echo’s, it is crammed past capacity with whatever junk Fives found remotely interesting. He digs through it until he finds the ink pen Echo said he’d never use because they never use paper. Gripping the pen in his hand, ignoring the way it shakes, he presses the tip into the stained card’s backing and writes: I miss you.

“There,” Fives says out loud, anger disguising grief. “Are you happy? You were right. I would miss you. I do miss you. You didn’t have to go and prove it to me, you kriffing idiot.”

He throws the pen in his box, shoves it back in its slot. He turns to Echo’s bunk, his meager belongings strewn across a regulation blanket that Echo will never use again. He gathers them up, puts the cards and the medal in his pocket, and clips the data pad to his belt.

He tries to leave the memories behind, but they trail after him like echoes of lost voices against cold, empty walls.

END

Author’s Note: I didn’t intend to write a sequel (prequel) to I Miss You, but inspiration struck and refused to be ignored…so here we are, and here it is! **There’s a little hidden Easter Egg somewhere in this post (and on my post on Ao3), so I’m excited to see if anyone finds it!

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

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[intosnarkness]

Moooooooooore asks:

How about: “I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore” for Kanej or “Well this is awkward…” for Jesper & Kaz

(1 2 or make up your own) (ask)

If Kaz was willing to be honest with himself, he would have admitted long ago that there was no world where he would be permitted to keep Inej.

If her Saints cared at all about her, they would have kept her from men like him. But there she stood, days and weeks turning to months and years, and no Saint ever showed up to save her from the worst monster in Ketterdam.

So Kaz grew complacent. He allowed himself to get used to her, to get comfortable with her in his room, feeding the crows. Her in his mind, counseling against his worst instincts. Her in what passed for his heart, guarded jealously and kept like a secret.

Until she tells him, at the moment when she's just scaled an impossible six story chimney, that she's leaving. That he's pushed her too far. That they're done, and she won't be his anymore. It shatters him, but he can't lean into that. He can't take the time to mourn the future when there might not be a future if they don't do this right.

He makes plans, though, through the chaos of the next few weeks. Through the return to Ketterdam and the Geldrenner and the auction. And when he stands on the docks, holding her hand and watching her parents disembark, Kaz thinks this will not be enough to make her stay.

So he frees himself of expectation - he meets her parents and goes to lunch and sees them to the Van Eck mansion and then he walks home to the Slat, alone.

He won't go back. He promises himself that. If this is goodbye, then it should be goodbye. Give them a clean break, a reason to remember things with the rosy glow of nostalgia. Maybe she'll forget, in time, that he forced her into the dark and made her kill. Maybe she'll only remember the good things, the laughter and the fried potatoes and the press of his desperate lips on her neck.

Maybe. 

But he won't forget any of it. He won't forget the first time he saw her, appearing like an illusion out of someone's sleeve. He won't forget the times she's saved him, protected him, kept him. But he won't hold her back. He won't force himself on her like so many have. Kaz is many things, most of them terrible, but he will never impose on Inej like that. Not when she has the chance to go and follow her heart.

She sends notes, he doesn't read them.

She comes to visit, he keeps the window barred.

It's for her own good.

He lasts three months. Three months before the ache sets in, before he can't stand to sit in his room with the window closed and her not there. Three months before he manages to acknowledge what everyone else in Ketterdam has always known; Dirtyhands needs the Wraith much more than she needs him. 

No, Kaz needs Inej. He can't hide behind personas and lies. He needs to see her. He needs to talk to her. He needs her, and it's disgusting how weak it makes him. Like his knees would turn to water if he tried to stand.

So he doesn't go to the Geldstraat that night.

Or the next.

He doesn't darken their door for a whole week after he realizes he is dying without her, which Kaz thinks he deserves a medal for. A medal for restraint, for temperance. Things he's never been exactly known for, but things he has always had in spades. He had restrained himself from shooting Pekka Rollins in the face for years. He could wait for his window to see Inej.

The night he goes, he waits for the cover of darkness before he leaves the Barrel and he watches the house from the shadows for hours. Kaz isn't going to knock on the door and sit down to dinner with his former employees. He's waiting for a light to flare in the right window. Waiting to see her silhouette.

It's a little after 11 bells when the light comes on and Kaz finds himself gritting his teeth against the pain of climbing the drainpipe, making his way across a narrow ledge to the second floor window where she's waiting. 

He opens the window with no problem, and climbs into the room, the words already on his lips. "I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore--"

Inej is there, but she's not alone. 

Jesper clears his throat. "Well. This is awkward," he says, and Kaz has a moment to take in the scene. His two best friends - two best employees - are seated on the foot of a bed, and Inej has her face pressed into Jesper's chest, her hands balled in his shirt. Jesper is holding her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders with one hand petting her hair.

Jealousy flares bright in Kaz's chest and he tastes bile. So, this is what was keeping them away from the Slat. Away from him.

"No," Jesper says, pointing at Kaz with a steady finger. "I know that face. Don't you dare."

Kaz doesn't know what, exactly he's being accused of, but he doesn't care. Because Inej has turned to look at him and she's crying, her dark eyes shining with tears and rimmed with red.

"Inej?" he asks, and she makes a frustrated noise in response. The way she's looking at him, the way Jesper isn't-- Inej is crying because of him, Kaz realizes. He doesn't know how, or why, or when, but he caused this. "Whats the matter?" he asks, afraid to move.

Jesper rolls his eyes. "You absolute podge," he sighs. "You don't see any of us for three months and then you crawl into a person's window and you don't know what you did wrong? You idiot. You-- you bastard."

Well, if the gloves fit.

Kaz shrugs. "Are you done with the histrionics?" he asks Jesper, who looks like he might want to throw Kaz back out the window.

But he doesn't, and instead Kaz gently kneels next to Inej and reaches out for her hand.

She gives it to him, and he leans down and presses a kiss into the back of her hand.

"Hello, Inej," he says softly. "I-- it's good to see you."

She rolls her eyes but turns to Jesper, and gives him a weak smile. "Can we have the room?" Inej asks, and Jesper squeezes her shoulder as he stands, still staring bullets in Kaz's direction.

The door closes like an explosion, and they're alone.

[transpersian]

I don't really blame you for trying to give Annie a chance in the past. I think your generosity and willingness to be open-minded got fucked over and taken advantage of big time by her. But if I may push back a little on something?

I think it's actually kind of important not to validate her claims of having POCD. It's not doing any favors to people who actually struggle with that. While I don't personally have this that specific subtype of OCD myself, I do have moral scrupulosity OCD and there is enough overlap that it just... does not sit right with me.

Annie has credible accusations of endangering and preying on minors. Even if she wants to backpeddle on admitting to being a MAP, she has facilitated other MAPs in being able to do harm. I've known people with POCD, and they do not do these things. They're irrationally terrified of somehow accidentally harming kids in such a way, to the point that most activately avoid talking to or being around them at all.

Morality-based OCD is driven by feelings of guilt at its core. Annie doesn't seem to feel guilt about anything she's done. All she does is beckpeddle and find ways to blame other people for her fucked up her actions. There's zero accountability.

I read the entire article she wrote after her confession to being a MAP was leaked. All it did was make her look worse. Infact, she admits several paragraphs after her POCD claim that everything she'd written up to that point (presumably including the POCD claim) was a cover story, and then changed the narrative to saying that the 19y/o Nazi pedophile she was friends with just convinced her she was a MAP. And she conveniently only realized this after said friend turned on her and leaked the confession.

I don't buy it. The whole thing is a load of bullshit and half-truths/outright lies, like everything else she writes. I believe she's a pedophile who has endangered kids. And frankly, I don't think resisting urges to molest and rape kids deserves any special credit anyway?? It's not "strong and brave", it's the bare minimum of human decency. She doesn't get a special medal for that, no matter what she's been through in the past.

I support truly non-offending pedophiles being able to get real help without persecution, but this shit is why I will never trust someone who calls themselves a MAP even if they claim to be "non-offending". Using a label meant to make being a pedophile sound less bad, and seeking out others like them to congregate into online communities and discuss their depraved fantasies - that isn't seeking help. It's irresponsible at best and outright dangerous at worst.

Sorry for the big rant, but yeah. Fuck you, Annie like actually. You're a disgusting person.

Thank you for your thoughtful perspective, anon. There’s a reason I removed the POCD bit from my final draft: I learned more about it and realized I’d been wrong.

The image she’d convinced me of at the time may have fit that label in some ways, but what I’ve learned since… well, let’s just say that the idea of it being a “support group” sort of environment rapidly faded. I can’t even imagine what it’s turned into at this point, considering what she’s become publicly. Her BlueSky account alone… ugh.

Honestly, I’ve never read that second article. By that point, my connection to her was already tangential and I was busy with my own situation. I don’t doubt your conclusions, though, and I respect and appreciate the fact that you took the time to properly check out her side of the story.

And I agree: fuck you, Annie. Completely.

I regret ever giving my good faith to someone like you.

Trust me, it won’t happen again.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

We've Had Witches and Pirates, Yes. But What About SPIES?

India Holton as an author has, with three books, become an author who I will read everything she ever writes. The writing style is cheeky and fun and beautiful, and the characters never fail to be engaging and captivating to watch. The first two books also quietly critiques institutions and what it means to be inside and outside of such organizations. This book takes that to a WHOLE other level thanks to the James Bond spoof we're in the midst of. This book also includes neurodivergent leads--Holton has confirmed that both Alice and Daniel are autistic. Overall, the way this book handles romance, sex, and institutions is nuanced and heartbreakingly good. So let's talk The Secret Service of Tea and Treason.

Hey, so...SPOILER WARNING. I'm going to spoil the ever loving hell out of this book. Either read it before continuing or be cool with SPOILERS.

This is a also a CONTENT WARNING for minor mentions of child physical abuse and an organization putting neurodivergent children and adults in arguably abusive situations.

Agents A and B are the top performers of A.U.N.T., and they both secretly imagine their rivals throughout their careers. Those constructs go straight down the drain when Alice (Agent A) and Daniel (Agent B) are assigned to pretend to be married infiltrate the Bassingthwaite historical flying battle manor to thwart an assassination attempt against Queen Victoria.

The megaweapon that the agency was concerned about ends up being a nonstarter/red herring for this universe's version of Q going full-on supervillain (I told you I was going to spoil the end), which actually ends up being VERY funny. You really shouldn't piss off your weapons expert/inventor, because if you do, then when your top two agents apprehend him, you have to give him a medal and a raise. At which point your top agents realize you're a garbage organization and defect, taking a bunch of other agents with them.

This book is EXPLICITLY clear that A.U.N.T. is not a good or even benign organization. It is deeply controlling, toxic, and super unkind to its neurodivergent trainees. Daniel was treated like a bomb that would explode if handled wrong. He is so used to armed men pointing guns at him during situations that his superiors even *think* could get heated that he barely registers them. His life is literally under threat every time his superiors put him in a situation in which he might have an emotional reaction that they feel is inappropriate. Their feelings, mind, not his reality. And there is QUITE the gap between those things.

Alice arguably had it even worse; she was regularly beaten as a child and during her training any time she became overwhelmed, froze, lashed out, or had someone violate her sensory boundaries and she reacted with the full force of her martial training.

So A.U.N.T. is objectively THE WORST at accommodating neurodivergence even as they benefit from Alice and Daniel's skills. That kind of toxic, abusive, and exploitative relationship with an organization is heartbreaking. However, as Alice and Daniel's mission and romance progresses, they gain more perspective on each others' pasts, which allows them to support each other in leaving the organization. Neither could really process or acknowledge how they had personally been treated, but they both know that they cannot stand how the other had been treated. With each other's support, and the support of their friends, Alice and Daniel get to go live happily without bosses who treat them as less than human.

Interpersonally, Alice and Daniel have an absolutely adorable romance. What I found really interesting and really wonderful, though, was how communication and needs were handled. Alice's sensory needs mean that soft touches are a hard no for her. And for most of her adult life, that has meant that after the first try, people have simply stopped trying to engage physically with her. Alice at one point explicitly thinks that people prefer to simply leave her untouched rather than trying to do the work to help her engage in sex in a way that is safe for her. And that is shatteringly common even today; people have weird preconceived notions of what sex "should" be, and if someone does not enjoy or cannot safely engage in those "shoulds," then they "should not" have sex at all. Which is patently ridiculous. Alice and Daniel actually HAVE the conversation about Alice's needs and wants, and they work together to make sure that they both can safely and enjoyably engage in sex.

I read this after watching season 3 of Bridgerton, and after watching Prudence just NOT ENJOY anything about sex or physical intimacy (but being pressured into doing both anyway), I was SO GRATEFUL that there was consent, accommodation, and everyone involved actually enjoying themselves in this book. I would MUCH rather watch two characters actually have the conversations about how to make sex work for them than watch a female character be forced into sex she does not want to have.

I also appreciated that this book acknowledged that people have weirdly specific preconceived notions about sex and who can/should have what kind(s) of it while also going out of its way to say "no, actually, people should have adult discussions about this and figure out the way that works safely, consensually, and enjoyably for them." This feels vanishingly rare in the here and now, and I adore when books do things like this.

Like the first two Dangerous Damsel books, the writing style in this book was PURE DELIGHT. I literally cannot let that go without saying, because with the rise of GenAI and some publishers trying to replace real authors with AI, I feel it's even more important to highlight it when a writer has a unique style, clear voice, and significantly above-average grasp on language. Especially in popular and romance books, because people tend to use those descriptions to describe literary fiction on the regular--but not all of us WANT to read literary fiction. And those of us who enjoy popular genres deserve to have competent writing from real humans!!! India Holton is just a phenomenal writer, and I will never not recommend her on the strength of that.

Beyond that, we also get more pirate and witch shenanagins, and that's never not a blast.

Overall, this trilogy ended strong, and I cannot recommend the Dangerous Damsels enough.

[makima-s-most-smile]

Trigun Ultimate Vol. 2 (Part 2)

Why do I have to say so much about all of this? It will need at least two other parts...

Trigun Ultimate: 1.1, 1.2, 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 2.4 Trigun Maximum: 1.1, 1.2, 2.1, 2.2, 3.1, 3.2, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 6.1, 6.2, 7.1, 7.2, 8.1, 8.2, 8.3, 9.1, 9.2, 10.1, 10.2, 10.3, 10.4, 10.5

Chapter 1: Blood and thunder

Excuse you? He wasn’t just a shoemaker? What else? Many shoemakers also work with keys, shoes and keys are a thing… So maybe he works with more fine tuning stuff like weapons and/or prosthetics?

How does Vash know, though? Our dude is much more streetsmart than we are made to believe!

Man, children in bad places is such a big part of Trigun. I feel for the girl. I know that Vash is not in the right place to help her more than this, but damn, I wish someone was. We see glimpses of all the suffering, we see the results of all the suffering in the characters we meet, but it never gets better. Kaite in the last volume, now this girl… And in the end, they are left alone after our adventure with them. The status quo still stands.

Vash must feel absolutely powerless when confronted with such a situation. He cannot help her, he knows this, his not acting is not apathy, but it may read as such when you don’t take time to read into it. I always stress how much agency Vash gives to other people, but this is not one of those situations. This is Vash being unable to do more. He is not part of the community, he cannot find her a home, he can only feed her for a day and offer to play with her and make it okay for a little while. But from her perspective, why should she trust him more than getting the food offered. Too nice men can be dangerous. *stares at the next page and Legato* Yeah…

When I was younger, I read in a prank book that a perfect prank would be to stand in the city plaza and stare into the sky as if you see something there. And people would stop and try to see what you see. I feel that this woman is one of the people that would be pranked by such sillies!

I miss those innocent times!

Lightbulb-Knives confirmed. Vash does not remember July. But it does not take much for him to put two and two together here. He remembers the wreckage and being at point zero. The only logical conclusion is that Vash and Knives had an altercation there. But Vash does not know the extent! We on the other hand get to see something more skeletal than fullbodied. 

Please, give us insight into what Meryl is thinking! We got a quick lookover to Milly, but the women must know that there is something going on and have their own thoughts. Even if that exchange is over quickly, the girls see the change in Vash and they don't see Legato.

First of all, Knives rattling on and on about Rem confirmed!

Secondly, Legato has a point there, but not the kind of point he thought he did. Rem’s memory is holding Vash back, he cannot really connect to other people, he becomes a martyr for others, he takes his own agency and puts himself into a passive receiving role towards the actions of others. Legato talks about the godlike position Knives has to him. Sure, Vash could do the same. But since Vash is putting Rem into a godlike position and thus humanity as a whole, he makes himself into a pariah. Both brothers are wrong and opposing sides on the same medal. A middle ground would be good.

Sure, Knives and his godcomplex… Knives’ twelve disciples, holding onto silver coins. Man, we haven’t met that guy, but he is already a theatre kid! At a christian school at that. Going all biblical with the numbers. Or is it Legato who decided that and wanted the Christian flavour to get gummy points with Knives?

Not gonna lie, this paper bag has perfect timing. Since I need to buy groceries with paper bags, I can say that mine wouldn’t hold a blood dripping head for such a long time without any spilling out. Plants make high quality stuff.

Chapter 02: Diablo

While I understand the sheriff, I am also thinking: Dude, has anybody seen Vash transport the head in a bag towards the square? Do you really think that Humanoid Typhoon would let himself be easily arrested if he was guilty? This is about looks and not wanting to have real responsibility to look into that.

Girl, he is looks seven at that point, max! Don’t put that existential crisis into him and the responsibility of being a caretaker! Rem is often depicted talking with the kiddos like they are adults. Well, they are the only other people she can really talk to… The S.E.E.D.S. project really didn’t take isolation and loneliness into consideration for the person on watch. While the kids depend on her as a caretaker, she also depends on them for her mental health. She is not a bad caretaker, but her isolation and the twin’s plantness makes it difficult for her to bring them up age appropriately. 

We already get a glimpse into her depression when she states that she has noone left, so it doesn’t matter where she is. I don’t think even 150 years later Vash understands her being depressed and lonely.

Another little thing, the way they talk to each other reminds me how many autistic kids talk to adults. I did it and I read that many autistics tend to talk to adults more than to kids, because they can talk about topics that their peers aren’t interested in. Granted, in this case Vash has no neurotypical friend his age. Only Rem and Knives.

Why do I remember them being much younger at the Great Fall? They look like early teens here. 

And yeah, Knives going full denial and dehumanisation on Rem because he couldn’t live with losing her. Interesting, how Knives has no real face in Vash’s memory. Only a grin.

[thestarsarecool]

John Lennon: Please, Your Majesty, Can Our John Have A Free Pardon?

Andrew Tyler, New Musical Express, 19 January 1974

Heavy breathing over the phone as ANDREW TYLER gets the lowdown from LENNON in L.A. Genius is police harassment, says the Walrus

DEAR QUEEN:

I don't know if you ever read the New Improved NME – if not, maybe some hepcat of the Royal Household will pass on the word.

Now that you've seen young Anne married off to her heartthrob cavalier, and what with Charles playing googlies with Lady Jane all around, maybe you'll have time to reflect on the dilemma of one John Lennon, a Liverpool slum-kid genius who used to play in The Beatles and who, at the peak of his career, committed a kind of revolutionary hara-kiri when he returned your MBE medal.

It was a far out medal, your majesty, ace Organic and nice on the chest, but it wasn't actually you as a mum and companion of the horses he was getting at. It was all that Services To Exports/Build A Better Britain/Screw the Man On The Factory Floor bit that brought a lump to his shaving bowl.

Anyway, after the medal-dumping ceremony he kept getting visited at queer hours by squadrons of policemen and, before you could say cold turkey John was being court-martialled for possession of marijuana – a substance he swears was absent from his life around this time.

He now lives in New York City but because of his record the authorities over there won't give him a Green residents' card, which means if he leaves the country he'll never be allowed back in.

So now, our Queen, it's all down to you. All you have to do is say "OK, you nurds, enough's enough. I pardon thee John Lennon, on your feet and have a nice new year", and everything's back to normal.

John's not one to beg and grovel at your Royal appendages, but on the phone recently he did say it would be a great way out. So what do you think? There's a whole bunch of us who'd love to see John over here again for the odd visit.

And you know something, it's the only thing preventing John. Paul, George and Ringo working together again. Paul, you see, also got busted for substances and he's not allowed into the States any more. Ironic, isn't it?

Love, etc.

"I WOULD HAVE thought I've done more good for Britain than harm, wouldn't you?" John enquired over a faint line from Los Angeles.

Yes, I would have thought so.

"Did I tell you about the commerical we've done for the new album? Hah. It's great. We have the Queen plugging the record for us. It starts inside the house with a gate swinging open, over a red carpet and then inside. It's all done in very good taste, Your Majesty. It's a friend of mine in drag, as it were.

"There's 'Land Of Hope And Glory' and someone says" (in a plummy warbling voice) "'I've been asked to do this commerical. It relates to a gramophone record...' and it goes on like that. I'm hoping her Majesty will be able to laugh at it."

He won't say who the friend is but here's a clue. He works for Apple and he's a real queen. The correct answer is not Allen Klein.

"A few vodkas and it was all over." John reports. "His identity will be revealed by himself. I'm not sure how much he wants people to know about it."

Did he see the bonding of Mark and Anne and was he profoundly moved?

"Who?"

Young Mark and Anne.

"Oh yes."

What was your reaction to that?

"I didn't really have one."

Did they show it over there?

"Yeah. They had it on from two o'clock till dawn, or something. So we had the single. We didn't get to see the album though. I thought they looked all right. But I didn't really feel that much about it. I thought Anne's figure looked nice. They should have held it in Belfast, though.

"I was thinking of writing to the Queen, you know. I hope she reads NME. Yeah. I was after a pardon for being planted by the cops and being hassled for three years and everything that happened. That's one way to solve the problem.

"That so-called bust I was involved in has left me with a criminal-record. That's the legal reason they're trying to throw me out. If that was taken away there'd be nothing they could do."

Now here's a weird twist to the murky affair. The cop who starred in the Lennon bust has, himself, been incarcerated for four years for perjury relating to a drug bust case.

Detective Sergeant Norman Pilcher has has just been put down for four years. At the trial all sorts of stuff came up. Conspiracy and the like.

But Lennon suspects the case of the malfunctioning blue meanie is unlikely to directly affect his own case...

"The thing is, that in those days we were clean. We didn't have any stuff. But they kept on hassling and hassling and bothering Yoko and the deal was that if they left Yoko alone – and she was pregnant at the time – I'd cop a plea.

"And now the real answer is for me to get a pardon...but because I'm a naughty boy I don't suppose they want to give me one."

What he's still trying to figure out all these years later is what those gloating reporters and photographers were doing outside his place when he and Yoko were being escorted to their cells. Jack Warner and Edgar Lustgarten had always intimated that an arrest was a reasonably private business...restricted to the "guilty parties" and the officers concerned. Why the jamboree?

Lennon has an explanation: "A friend of mine from Fleet Street gave me a call after he'd overheard a cop in a pub saying how he was going to get The Beatles. Yeah, was was gonna get The Beatles. Which meant me. I mean, he's not about to bust Ringo or Paul. I was really up for grabs what with Two Virgins and living in sin with a foreigner and all."

Is our Queen about to be sympathetic to Lennon's plight? Can she relate to her stone-turning expatriot? They'd hardly make suitable tango partners but they do have at least one common point of interest: The Goons.

Yessir. Like Prince Charlie, Sister Margie and Tony Legsstrong-Jones, the Queen is alleged to have chuckled along with the Goons after her Sunday joint...not unlike Lennon who recently reviewed The Goon Show Scripts for the New York Times.

"It was a bit like doing a school essay." he say. "But like all my generation I was really drawn to The Goons. In many ways they influenced The Beatles as much as rock 'n' roll – Elvis and Little Richard. They were, to my generation, what we were to the next.

"I admire them all – but I've always reckoned Spike was the real lunatic."

WHAT ABOUT the trench-coat warfare. Is he still being visited and molested by the American gendarmerie?

"A year or so back they were following me around everywhere I went But I suppose they must have got bored going to the studio and hanging around for hours at a time. And they were tapping my phone. I think they wanted me to know they were doing it too because I kept hearing heavy breathing. It scared me at first but now it's a bot of a joke.

"No, I wasn't on Nixon's list of unfriendlies but I was on somebody's list, that's for sure."

There's a pattern to it all, he suggests. Not necessarily a coordinated conspiracy but a series of connected happenings that have numbered all the leading 60's cult figures.

Lennon's marooned in America, McCartney outside of it. The Stones are having to tread very lightly indeed, and Hendrix, Morrison and Joplin are dead.

"If they can separate all the big names in pop they effectively cut off the, quotes, "revolution" at its source. No more Woodstocks. No more mass gatherings. The real changes aren't gonna come from politicians. It's going to come from the artists and musicians.

"Even Bowie is a threat in a way."

Explain yourself, sir.

"Well, if you get Bowie on TV and somebody switches on in Ohio or Bradford and they see this person looking out at them, it's going to affect their whole way of life. He doesn't have to say Power To The People Right On. He is the message in himself. It's like holding a mirror up to society. It makes people react in a specific way that's better than having them half dead listening to Sandy McPherson.

"I just think it's all great. I'm not saying I'd do it but people like Bowie are an extension of rock 'n' roll. He still rocks like shit and keeps us going until the next phenomenon, ho ho, which is going to be this year, isn't it?"

Maybe the very next sensation will be curvaceous Ringo whose single is hot stuff in the States and whose album leapt into the Billboard charts at 4 – two better than John's Mind Games.

"I sent him a telegram last week saying: 'Congratulations. How dare you. Write me a hit song.'

"It's the first real pop album he's made and it's a good album. He deserves it. He's going to need all the royalties he can get to paper Ascot" (The home he just bought from Lennon). "He's going to need that hit just to keep up the garden."

JOHN'S OWN album didn't receive quite the same dazzling response, although it's nowhere near the bunch of horselicks Tony Tyler suggested in his review a few weeks back. Tracks like 'Out The Blue', 'I Know (I Know)' and 'Bring On The Lucie' are sumptuous groovers that fairly parallel his work on Imagine. Honest.

Was he after the grumbling T. Tyler's noodles?

"I'm going to send 'im a deaf aid and a book of instructions on How to Write. Obviously I'd prefer it if he, or whoever it is, liked it – but I'm not about to cut my throat, if that's what you mean.

"A lot of times you get critics reviewing themselves, so if they do slag you off it doesn't mean anything or, if they overdo the praise bit, that means nothing either.

"Praise is never satisfactory unless you can be sure the person has actually listened to your work and knows it inside out. I'm not saying people should spend their lives making in-depth appraisals of me albums – but praise, or the other thing, doesn't count for much unless they've take the time to understand what you're doing."

Right On.

Actually John was due for a critical trampling. After the suffocating Best Album In The Universe stuff tipped over Imagine and The Plastic Ono Band LP, coupled with the knifings Paul has had to deflect since The Split. Lennon only had to put one foot wrong – as he did with Sometime In New York City – for the blades to be turned on him.

Critics were feeling remorse at the way they growled at McCartney and Lennon was the obvious target upon which to assuage their embarrassment.

"I would say New York City stands as a piece of work. It sold 200,000 instead of half a million. The whole thing's relative. If I'd been a smaller artist I'd have been pleased to get that amount of sales. I have no regrets...only that it didn't get a lot of airplay on the so-called FM stations of the Left.

"The only one that really got into it was Pacifica which has heavy programmes on politics, lesbians and things like that – anything people want to do. It's a pretty good station. Nationwide. They've even got tapes of Yoko and me from the Sixties singing Japanese folk songs."

Talking of oldies, he is now well into his Oldies Mouldies album, currently being waxed at A & M in Los Angeles with a spellbinding cast of several millions. On the guest list so far are, among others: Steve Cropper, Jim Keltner. Hal Blaine, Jose Felciano, Leon Russell, Jeff Barry, Barry Mann, and Jesse Ed Davies.

We called George the other day and said he was having a great time and wish you were here. George said he was on his way and hasn't been heard of since. Paul, of course, won't be able to make it.

"Yeah, I miss Paul a lot. It's been a year since I've seen him. He came over with Linda to me place in New York. Course I'd like to see him again. He's an old friend, isn't he?"

He says he can move around a bit more freely now...for meals and odd visit to the movvies.

"I still get recognised though. I think it's me nose. But I can generally go to the movies. The last film I saw was Behind The Green Door. (An extraordinarily rude film.)

How was it?

"The first 45 minutes were interesting, then it got a bit boring. When you've seen one cock you've seen them all."

[karizard-ao3]

Wrote this whole ass thing for my role reversal fic and I don't like it so I'm probably going to take it out.

I feel like it's unfair to the Founder Ymir for her pov to never to see the light of day, though (and also I spent a long time on it), so here it is. If I do end up using it in the fic, pretend you didn't read it already 👍

Context: it's kind of fragmented because Mikasa is seeing Ymir's story play out in memory bursts after she kisses Historia's hand at the medal ceremony. No further explanations forthcoming.

...A little girl stumbling, terrified, through the woods with hounds and hunters at her heels. The sharp, throbbing pain of an arrow shearing through skin and muscle to lodge itself in her bone. A glowing, many-legged creature scrabbling inside her failing body and giving her a new one that no one on earth could destroy. A cruel and despotic king using her newfound power for conquest and taking her as conquest. Rocking her babies and humming them lullabies, all other murmurings of maternal love muted by her clipped tongue. Looking in the mirror and seeing a woman who wanted to be free but had always been owned and did not know how to live without a master, and so she obeyed, bringing the king closer to obtaining the empire he craved and wishing that she could exist as something besides a weapon for someone else’s war. She found her way out in the path of a rebel’s spear hurled at her king, its sharp point glinting with the promise of liberation. She threw herself in front of it, taking the death meant for her master and keeping it for herself. In service to her king she also defied him, sucking in her last breath as he ordered her to live and help him complete his triumph, slipping away from his grasp as her final exhalation diffused her soul into the ether. 

How cruel it was to discover that even in death she could not escape the will of her king. She had no body but she lived on. Her children, her precious daughters, had been made to devour her body, absorbing the essence of what she had become. They carried her within themselves, keeping her manacled to existence, held in a lonely, expansive prison constructed by her own legacy. As her progeny multiplied, each new life was a chain to bind her to the Paths. She fell into her old, familiar ways, toiling on, obedient as she had always been to the commands of Eldian kings, longing for an end to her servitude, knowing that if she had suffered a little longer— if she had fulfilled her duty to see her king and his tribe victorious— she might have been permitted the sweet release of oblivion.

It was that unfinished task that had damned her, but humans were warlike and greedy and she was sure the day would come when one of her children would fulfill their long ago sire’s wishes. Little could she have suspected that one of her king’s own blood would so love peace that he would summon all his people behind these walls. She was powerless to refuse a royal titan shifter's whims and so she did his bidding and twisted the new islanders' memories, making complacent recluses of them all and closing the door on their freedom and hers.