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

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[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?

[greasergirlxoxo]

hiii! could you do ponyboy x reader hcs? i love your work so far, no pressure at all, tysm🫶

Ponyboy Dating HCs ‧₊˚💅🏻⊹

author's note ᯓᡣ𐭩 I can't tell if I like these or not, but whatever. Hope you enjoy!!!

warnings ᯓᡣ𐭩 mentions of smoking

It's cliche, but I don't care because you guys would totally meet by you dropping your books and him going to help you pick them up

He looked like a fish the way his mouth was open when he finally looked at you and just froze there for a good minute

100% quality time guy like all he wants is to be around you

You could be in different rooms of the house with the whole gang there and just knowing your presence is there, he's completely content

I can't tell if he likes words of affirmation

He's no doubt good with his words, but would he ever say them out loud, probably not

It's more probable that he just stares at you for a minimum ten minutes with a hundred of compliments running through his head

As much as he can't give compliments, he can't receive them either

He does not know how to take a compliment AT ALL

He's not big on PDA and the most he'll do is hold your hand or put and arm around your shoulder

Even when another guy's flirting with or bothering you, still no PDA, but he will go off on the person. Like I said before, he is good with his words so you can bet he'll win any verbal battle (Especially if it's to defend you)

Obviously watching sunsets together

If you aren't together during a sunset sometimes he'll call you so you can still somewhat watch it with each other

For my teen drama girlies, he loves to hear you rant about the tv show your watching. He's so invested too, he's like 'Vanessa did What?! I thought she was with Brad tho!". Similarly, he'll rant about his books to you

Hiss fav thing is when you guys are snuggling on the couch and you're watching your show and he's reading his book. And there will be ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING

Ponyboy is known to be very stubborn, especially when it comes to smoking. You've tried to make him quit, but he doesn't so you've just started hiding his cigarettes

He gets so mad and either thinks Darry hid them to make him quit or Dally stole them for himself. He would never expect it was you tho

WORST STUDY PARTNER

You'd think he'd be fine, and you'd be just working on it together like normal people, but no

He gets so distracted by you to the point where Darry kicks you out of the house if Pony has to do his hw

He hates when anyone touches his hair because it's mostly the gang ruffling it up just to mess with him, but the minute you start running your hands through his hair, he's out like a light

He's definitely a nervous yapper

Like when you were first talking, he would say anything and everything just because he was nervous around you (probably shared to much about his personal life too, especially his home situation)

Honestly, even after you two are dating he still yaps. It's less of a nervous thing tho and more just ranting to you

He definitely asked Darry for an allowance just so he could have money to buy you things (Darry said no, but it was worth a shot)

Instead he resorts to making you things like a poem or a drawing

After any track race he runs to you to tell you how he did, whether good or bad

If good, he'll be all prideful and shows off his medal

If bad, he's pouting and blaming someone else like 'That kid cut me off' or 'He had a false start'

Movie dates are a MUST

Except horror movies because he just can't. He'd rather go to a chic flick with you than sit through a horror movie, I'm sorry

Sometimes Johnny comes too and Pony feels kinda guilty. First of all for inviting Johnny on your date and second for making Johnny a third wheel, but literally he has nothing to worry about because neither you or Johnny are complaining

And if you don't get along with Johnny, you can't be with Pony

Wasn't too nervous for you to meet his brothers, but the WHOLE gang was a different story. I mean, we all know Dally, Two-bit, and Steve like to mess with Pony a little too much so when he brings you home....good luck (Darry kept them in check mostly)

Soda ADORES you

He thinks your puppy love relationship is so cute and acts like the proudest parent ever

Darry's indifferent to you. He doesn't really care that you're dating Pony. Once he gets used to you, he treats you the same as Pony tho. You're his little sister now and there's nothing you can do about it

If you forget to wear a jacket, too bad because Pony forgets his EVERY TIME, but he makes it known that if he remembered his he would've given it to you

Definitely has a secret admirer phase

He's slipping love letters in your locker, giving you anonymous gifts, buys you flowers for you to find in random places

Its also after you've started dating so you know it's him and yet he still tries to make it a secret

He insists on walking you home to 'protect' you which is funny considering he gets more scared than anyone

He once jumped out his skin just from a squirrel jumping down from a tree (He might've held onto you for dear life too)

You were his date to the school dance

He was obviously freaking out before hand because he had no idea how to tie a tie (Darry had to help him)

He's such a sweet boyfriend, but at the same time has no idea what he's doing

[right-on-therocks]

@relentlessescapism thanku for the tag :D!! Last song: Figure You Out by VOILA I believe!! stuck my liked songs on shuffle for a short walk earlier

Favorite color: the short answer is purple, the long answer is i'm a big fan of probably any colour that spans from dark red through purples through dark blues through lighter blues through teals. v nice spectrum. however blue is also by far the most common colour in my wardrobe and I Feel Like There's A Reason For That <//3

Last movie: I believe it was A Real Pain!! someone please give kieran culkin All Of The Awards

Last book: Genuinely unsure i gotta read physical books more often but the one currently sitting on my nightstand is Into The Woods by John Yorke :]

Last TV show: HIIIIIIIIIIIGH POTENTIALLLLLLLLLL <- still unwell over the finale

Sweet/spicy/savory: Savory 100%

Current obsession: High Potential in general, currently rotating Dapho'dil to a near constant degree (again. still not over the finale </3) but Gillodec also gets a shoutout

Last thing I searched online: whether alcohol intolerance is the same thing as like . having a low tolerance for alcohol. it's not! (it's for a fic i swear. and if you can guess the character i was googling it for i'll give u a medal ksdjfhsk)

Looking forward to: i get to see friends for class on thursday and then my best friend is visiting for the whole weekend :'] YIPPEEE

tossing this towards @gingerpeachtea @willowcat33 @campcomputers @punk-sharkz-zero and anyone else if you feel like it <3<3<3

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[fazedlight]

the rhea thing!!!

Lena knew she was lied to... but Rhea had a compelling story, so Lena decided to give Rhea a second chance. And that second chance resulted in Lena sending Kara's boyfriend off the planet, and Kara growing distant from her - Lena almost lost the most precious person in her life from trusting Rhea.

and think about also how this felt after she learned that kara was in fact supergirl! it turns out she tried specifically to talk to -supergirl herself- for advice about rhea, and then blamed herself for kara’s distance when kara/supergirl made her own call to send her bf off planet. and if lena hadn’t been out of the superfriend loop, she likely never would have given rhea the second chance - or maybe even the first chance; rhea wouldn’t have been able to single her out.

And then she was lied to again, but the liar was the most precious person in her life. (Just after Lena chose to kill the only other precious person in her life, to protect the liar who was using her.)

you phrase this so succinctly and so well, it really feels like the sort of thought that would tumble around in lena’s head while she was spiralling. i kind of felt that the superfriends (the writers?) were really blase about the whole death of lex situation. in other dceu shows the hero failing to save someone or killing someone - even by accident - is usually a big retrospective thing, especially given the whole supergirl doesn’t kill thing. even if kara tries to save him first, she thinks she caused her best friend’s villainous brother’s death - but there’s no reckoning at all until it turns out lena killed him, even though she knows exactly what lex meant to lena. (practically speaking i think there were probably just too many loose ends to tie up at the end of the season, but in the context of the rift it feels like it’s additional fodder for lena to feel used and betrayed.)

It feels really telling in a way that she was willing to have Andrea back in her life (in some capacity) after Kara's betrayal, given how Andrea and Kara rhyme in interesting ways. I'm still mulling over what I think of that.

i thought this also!!! andrea and kara are actually very similar in their interaction with lena: in both cases they kind of unilaterally decide ‘i am your friend now’, and afterwards that mutual devotion is there as well - lena literally shows up in argentina, andrea’s dad is still sick, and lena goes ‘i need to find this medal’ and andrea drops everything and organises an expedition? it gives the sense that lena used to rely on andrea the same way she comes to rely on kara, so the echo of that betrayal is such an interesting parallel.

the way that episode played out with andrea’s betrayal, i felt you could almost read it as lena’s break-up with jack and moving to national city wasn’t even so much in response to lex and his trial as much as it was a pre-emptive response triggered by learning of andrea’s betrayal (if i can’t even trust andrea, who can i trust? which seems to be the exact reaction she has to kara - except when push came to shove, she sought out andrea again).

(it’s also possible i am pushing a very specific headcanon because i just really really think lena and andrea have serious exes energy.)

i would love to hear your thoughts and headcanons! (thanks again for reading these really long asks, haha)

Yes to all of this, especially the lackluster way Kara treated Lex's death.

I definitely headcanon Andrea as Lena's ex. The way it played out on screen... I honestly forgot a lot of the time that that's not canon.

I'll definitely share more of my headcanons over time as the thoughts occur to me! 😉

[skywlker-sluvtt]

Your writing is pretty good (and hot) despite never feeling the touch of a man lmao. Sometimes all it takes is a lil imagination and using all the previously read smut as a template of sorts.

Tho I have to say as someone who both has sex and has written smut the funniest thing to add in are lil tidbits of personal experiences without anyone knowing. I was in the middle of a fic and I just rewrote the entire pussyeating scene cus I learned how to eat someone out. Tho having the characters praise one another for my own techniques does feel like the obama giving himself a medal meme.

LMAO THE OBAMA MEME 😭

thanks tho it it means alot ❤️ my biggest fear is that sound like a 13 year old on wattpad when i write smut.

i have to base everything off of what ive read and watched so i basically never write from experience which i hateeee.

i love it when people put really random descriptions in their work especially smutttt. it’d be something so small that lowkey makes the whole scene better and i never to thatttt. cause I’ll try and kind be like ‘bro ion think anyone would actually do that’ 💀

but totally get you w that pussy eating thing. you deserve a medal fs bro ✊

[changeling-droneco]

Some personal goy musings, feel free to disregard, I just need a moment.

I as kid had undiagnosed problems with emotional regulation and too strong empathy (this isnt me calling myself an empath, its a genuine giant detrimental thing in my life that i got with my autism) Part of this was that I couldn't handle seeing pictures of tragedies, I could read about them just fine, but pictures? videos? I had to leave the classroom or be allowed to hide my face and not look because it was just too much that I didn't have the emotional control to process it and teachers didn't have the training to help me learn that.

As you can imagine, the biggest subject this impacted was history, specifically the holocaust, because of the sheer amount of pictures. Important pictures don't get me wrong, but pictures I could not handle well at that age. I wasn't excused from learning about it thankfully, just to not have to look at those pictures or watch some videos. The only thing I was ever fully excused from doing was doing the frog dissections in biology, everything else just meant I had to do readings instead of watchings.

I still struggle with that emotional regulation around empathy, I'm a lot better at it, a LOT better, but it's still easily very draining and I have to be careful about how I spend that energy.

And yet, I am still doing better then seemingly 99% of people about antisemitism. I have genuine issues that make this shit harder to discuss and process then it should be, and yet I still am talking, I'm still trying, I'm still listening. I grieve and I hurt but I am still here. I'm at least trying even if I could be louder or do more.

And that? That's still only a fraction of the pain Jewish communities are feeling, ESPECIALLY anyone in them who might have the same emotional issues. Anyone going through that hell deserves a goddamn medal.

This isn't me like, patting myself on the back, I don't think I've done anything special here, I think I've done the bare minimum. It's all just context to the fact that so few other people can bother with that bare fucking minimum disgusts me.

If I can be here, loud and proud and supportive even if at times it feels like taking a fork to my spoons, why can't anyone else take two goddamn minutes to at least say "oh hostages bad" at fucking LEAST? Where the HELL is everyone else?! Why am I, someone who historically could not handle this kind of thing, the only one willing to put in the effort to try and do so anyways? Why am I alone?

I feel like I should have a clever ending to this post to justify its existence, to justify my being here, but I don't. I'm just confused and hurt, wondering what went wrong with the world, feeling more isolated from my peers then I have in years.

I don't have anything new to say, I don't have the magic beans to give this post meaning. I'm just tired and want to say that I'm tired even as I keep going. I just wish I could understand why people reacted like this, because if I understood, then maybe I could actually say something that could actually maybe change something, even a little.

All I can do right now is just...

May the memories of all who died in those god forsaken tunnels be a blessing, may their bodies be returned unmutilated and unparaded around, may anyone still alive down there be returned whole to their loved ones, may people keep living despite it all, may the world never forget what they let happen, and yet may peace be found both internally and externally for us all some day.

[thedeaddiscodame]

Just read the most batshit stupid tenderqueer poem of all time. Like I am CACKLING. The whole thing hinged on a metaphor- you know how poems do. But the thing is, the metaphor they were using was literally factually incorrect. It was complete and utter nonsense. Obviously, there is no one right way to write ANYTHING, especially a poem. But dude. If you're gonna write your doctorate thesis on how the earth is flat, you can't expect actual academics to peer review that shit and give you a medal. You're just an idiot. Honestly, I'm astounded- i don't know how someone could write something THAT bad and still genuinely believe that it was so deep and smart and impressive. Huge balls. The balls never passed kindergarten, unfortunately, but they are CERTAINLY huge.

[365sylviaplath]

went to the intersection of hard work and suffering and they told me it wasn't actually an intersection at all

contemplations throughout the olympic season

astrology blurb: i am thinking simultaneously about 2 things - the influence of saturn in my chart and the astrological breakdown of the signs most likely to medal in the olympics

(Source)

Capricorn

Aquarius

Sagittarius

Pisces

Aries

Virgo

Gemini

Cancer

Libra

Taurus

Scorpio

Leo

i notice how the most likely signs here are all of the "oldest" signs chronologically. leo and scorpio being the lowest is personally devastating but ultimately makes a lot of sense. profound difficulties with ego/pride and letting yourself be bad at something as part of your growth journey. there’s a lot to say here about the medal ranking, but i won’t be saying it at this moment. many other things to talk about for now.

as for the other astro topic i will add on - saturn sits in my 8th house in my natal chart and sextiles or trines a lot of my major/personal chart placements. the planet of restrictions and consequences in the house of death/rebirth sex and taxes - crazy that those are connected! i'll get into the 8th house of it all in a different post, but for now, i want to toss in this little blurb pointing out the influence of saturn on my chart and i’ll talk in plain english for the rest of the post about how i see it has made me appreciate hard work and how it often requires these ego death-like situations

i do not believe this is unique of me whatsoever. but every time the olympics rolls around, every time i tune in, i am in tears. while it's true that they often weave tearjerking tales about familial loss, injury, triumph, almost giving up, and so on, sometimes all it takes to make me cry is just seeing someone be so incredibly good at something for the whole world to see. everyone is just in a league of their own! you don't even need a training montage to know. everyone who's there is there for a reason. you can work and everyone knows it. i always fancied myself a bit more of a jack of all trades than something like the olympics could allow, mildly good at a wider variety of things, but never particularly outstanding. for most of my younger life, i was the most 85% student in the world. i showed up to school, i did enough of the reading, i highlighted enough and sat quietly in class. i was kind of the most forgettable type of student. never doing all that badly, but certainly not top of the class. i think people assume you're smart when you're a quiet brunette who wear glasses, and i think they never notice you're pretty disconnected from the class material when you're not failing. after a few years of coasting, i finally failed.

technically, a D-, on my first ever chemistry exam in my junior year of high school. i still remember holding it in my hands and walking back to my seat in shock. i studied the same way i always do! why did it go so profoundly wrong this time? and why do you get so little credit for getting more than 50% of the questions right? i went through the stages of grief in that classroom. i failed in a way that got me noticed. i had failed tests before, but somehow always in situations where the rest of the class had also done really poorly too, so it never felt like My Fault in this same way. i realized all of my prior experiences of getting an 85% on a test were me just being really good at bullshitting my way through. i was failing in much smaller ways this whole time! i was not learning the material or engaging with it in really any class, but most other classes before this point could be problem solved in a way easily accessible to me. but only at about 85% accuracy. chemistry started me on the tumultuous path of developing a relationship with failure.

once i came to terms with reality and the fact that there was nothing that could change what had already happened, i got to work on my plan for improving my situation. i couldn't undo that first test, but i could really focus on learning the material and practicing with it. i became close with my teacher and went all out. i was really fortunate that i had a teacher who was able to see beyond my initial failure and help invest in my success. i could not be bashful about needing help. i no longer had the ability to skate because i would not get through the class! junior year of high school, the threat of college was loudly looming, and failure was just not an option. after years of being a perfectly average student, i could tell that how i handled chemistry class would decide which college options would be available to me and thus, The Path The Rest Of My Life Would Take (yes i am prone to exaggeration and catastrophizing). passing vs failing chemistry would inform the friends i'd make in college, the programs available to me, the cities i could move to, the internships/future jobs i could have (again, yes, it had to be major drama). laid out in front of me like this, it suddenly was very serious.

i think the craziest thing to me about that moment of panic was how calm i was the rest of the time. once the initial shock wore off, i felt purposeful. i was honestly happy! i had a fear of failing again and what that would mean, but i really left it up to the universe at a certain point. if i gave it my all, what more could i really have done? and if i really learned everything i could, how could i fail? i had no reputation to maintain, as i had been every type of student in the past. i've gotten every possible grade they can give you. i defied categorization in that way. i knew my core self wasn't really too concerned with the grades themselves, but rather about how i engaged with the material. can i power through hardship? can i learn something and deeply understand it to its core? is the investigative mind inherently lost to the brutal nature of failure?

i felt all the noise quiet down at a certain point and i just focused on what i could control - developing thorough mastery of the material, as it was presented to me. i began to learn everything forward, backward, sideways, upside down. i was asking my teacher impossible hypothetical questions, just in case. i imagine if she ever felt particularly sadistic toward a class in the future, she would use my hypothetical questions as gag questions on exams in the future. i loved the gag questions in exams. the question put there to confuse you and make you want to quit. i learned in this journey that i love a challenge. i need a challenge. i cannot be bothered if it's simple. i need that shit that is so needlessly complicated that it pisses you off at first glance. one of my earlier failures, my 8th grade algebra exam (which the entire class failed too), i sat back in disbelief as the teacher went through solving the gag question and i did it flawlessly. one of my only unaffected test questions. i had college professors tell me i was infuriating to grade because i so clearly understood the most complicated thing, but did the tier 1 concepts so badly. i remembered the time in my elementary years when i was handed a Newton's cradle that got so tangled in transit that everyone was preparing to throw it away and i spent the next several hours meticulously untangling it. successfully, i might add. i love that shit that breaks you.

as one could imagine, i got an A in junior year chemistry class. i got myself together soooo profoundly. i was borderline performing at the end. i knew the material so well i could not help myself. i noticed how much i felt a creative energy in the chemistry classroom, even though everyone went on about how science was so rigid and Had Rules and was for Serious People and so on. on a gut level, i really felt the same way i did in my printmaking class that year. i was doing shit the teachers had never even thought of. i felt like i was born for theoretical science. that cutting edge of what is or what might be. it pisses me off that you have to be good at the linear material first before they take you seriously anywhere else. i understand why...... but i hate it still. some of us just know.

after this classroom experience, i went on to do almost this exact thing again a few more times. unexpectedly failing a class with my mediocre approach until i realized i had to get serious and i ended the class correcting the professors. i did this outside of the classroom too! getting into such a dire situation that you genuinely cannot save yourself without bossing up. the risk of collapse is what creates you anew. rebirth at the hands of doom (drama is back) (it never left). sometimes we need to die before we can be born! the old version of you is sometimes no longer supported and that bitch must go!

i'm sure you see where i'm headed here. when you allow yourself to invest in becoming Really Really Good at something (even if it's natural talent!), you will experience every high and low imaginable. and let's face it! a lot of people do not really want you to succeed! a lot of people are not yet ready to see themselves as successful and will not be able to handle your success. putting work in and becoming better/smarter/faster/etc makes people realize they just need to be doing that too to become good at something. rather than lamenting how they're the most 85% student in the world, they are forced to realize that change and doing better is entirely in their hands and not something naturally awarded. you will have to see yourself fail if you want to see yourself really winning.

the unglamorous part of being Really Really Good at something is how many times you had to be awful at it first. and how many days it feels like that may kill you. i'm the kind of guy who cannot bear to repeat myself more than once. if i'm filling out an online form and it deletes my response, i have to take a walk and come back to it. i do not like the feeling of when it seems as though my attempts don't matter. every olympic training montage i am in tears. perhaps deep cut, but i vividly remember the music video back in 2012 for that Gym Class Heroes song "The Fighter" starring 2012 olympic gymnast John Orozco. as soon as anyone calls themselves a "fighter", i fall to pieces. are you able to watch yourself fall 20 times in a row and not call yourself a failure? you can fail every single day for a year and you never have to identify with it. you never have to call yourself anything negative at all! not even once! encouraging yourself to learn more and work harder does not ever have to be "because you were bad".

i think my potentially hot take here is that, as the title of this post suggests, hard work and suffering are not at all the same thing. i'm thinking a lot here about the expression "if you love what you do, you never work a day in your life". it implies that doing something you love will not require "work"..... as though it will just come easily....... and you'll just be doing it???? to me, it's not that the work is easy, it's that you want to do it. you get so much satisfaction out of doing it that you couldn't imagine doing anything else. pursuing knowledge that excites and interests you is still hard work. it's just worthwhile! flexing my chemistry knowledge junior year was fun for me, but boy was i up at all hours. i think i slept maybe 4-5 hours most nights in high school. i knew the nick at nite lineup so well. i was dragging my corpse along, but even through the fatigue, i had contacted my inner genius. i was a fighter! i had more and more to learn and i was not afraid of my past failures. i think chemistry was my highest final grade that year. once the initial shocks of failure had worn off, i just got right to work and i ended up absolutely loving it! learning all the complex hypotheticals was genuinely enjoyable to me and i did not at all retain this feeling of failure i started the journey with. i loved chemistry so much that i took an advanced elective chemistry course my senior year. we made fireworks for our class final!

my high school gave awards to high performing students in the various categories of academics/arts/etc and i won one of the 2 science awards my senior year. i remember going up to accept the award and wondering why i was getting it. in my head, despite the death/rebirth schemes i’d been through, i was still the most 85% student of all time. then, i imagined the science teachers all getting together to decide on the award winners, discussing my class in depth, and arriving to my name. i imagined them thinking about the other high performing science-forward students, in all the highest levels of the STEM classes and thinking - no, there is a more interesting story to tell. one of a girlie who failed so badly in the beginning that somehow she became one of the highest performing and creative thinking science minds in the graduating class (humble, too). it was not easy whatsoever, it obviously did not come to me naturally, but i was there to behold! people do also really love a comeback story, and i think that won me some points as well.

i had a choice in my failures. i could marinate in them and identify with them and let them destroy me. i could suffer, because hadn't i earned the right to suffer? you never have to embody suffering and self pity and all those other fun things in order to be successful. in fact, kind of the only way you become successful is by not letting those things stick to you. people can call you anything they want, but it doesn't necessarily mean those things are true. i know that in many cases, other teachers would’ve seen me fail that first time and not given me so many opportunities to redeem myself. you know who you are and what you're capable of! and you find your joy when you allow yourself to look for it and feel it. an underrated part of self love is simply showing up for yourself. every day, even when you feel so crappy, when you're tired, when you feel like quitting, when you wonder if it's worth it, continuing to show up because you're passionate about what you're doing and you see yourself as a winner! allowing yourself to be surrounded by winners and people who uplift themselves is a huge step in that direction. yet another reason why i love watching the olympics - you know everyone in that room has shown up for themselves repeatedly for years and sees themselves as incredibly gifted at their sport. showing up and claiming your successes is such a triumph! it's so beautiful to get to witness the continued strength and hard work each time around.