#Who never really taught them how to be a man

[frostfire425]

Image Descriptions...

The first image is a screen capture of tags that read, “#its the removal of identity and rejection of their place in the world btw #american men are groomed (yes im using that word on purpose) to believe that it is ther Duty and their Right to have a nuclear famiky #and to not achieve The American Nuclear Family is to not be a man. it is to be only a career man at best and fag at worst #and once they achieve that goal they aren't taught and dont realize that they actually have to try to keep that shit #they think theyve Achieved The Goal. why would they have to maintain that? the box has been checked #so they dont parent and they neglect their wife and they cheat and they dont care bc they didnt particularly care about the family anyway #but divorce is the removal of their identity and stakes and pride in being The American Family Patriarch #suddenly the box they took for granted has been unchecked #and they no longer know who they are anymore or what their purpose is or how to proceed. bc the american dream doesnt have room for them”. The tag “#so they dont parent and they neglect their wife and they cheat and they dont care because they didnt particularly care about the family anyway” has been highlighted in blue.

The second image continues with the rest of the tags, “#and thats why this mostly happens with men who havent really reckoned with the fact that the american dream doesnt actually have room #for anyone at all #so they get radicalized by groups who know that they are going through an identity death and they take advantage of the patriotism they have #and become even worse people. bc the bad people are telling them that they dont have to reckon with or process the emotions of the divorce #they tell them theyre justified in their anger and that they ARE still the American Family Patriarch. they ARE still everything they thought #they just have to beat those (insert group here) in order to get everything back. and these men fall for it bc bigotry is easier than #having to build their own identity from scratch bc the last one was borrowed from their father and refined by shame #esp since these men were never taught any kind of emotional intelligence or how to handle complex emotions and never cared to learn #anyway”.

Divorce seems to radicalize american men in a way that needs to be studied

[astracora]

The Pirate and the Siren

Characters: Pirate!Caleb x gn!Siren!mc

Warnings: Death, hints of Child Abuse, Suggestive Content but not outright smut, General Caleb warnings, Amnesia, Not Beta Read

Word Count: 12,722

Written: 27th February 2025

Notes: AU One-shot with Caleb and the main MC I write for. I'm not sure if I subscribe to Caleb's myth being a pirate one, but holy fuck do I enjoy pirates. So I wouldn't complain if it was. This was meant to be way shorter, but I got carried away. I got really carried away. It very nearly got NSFW, which isn't my go to. I hope you enjoy!

Now Playing: Master of Tides, By Lindsey Stirling

Masterlist AO3

Caleb had grown up hearing stories about sirens. Beautiful half-bird beings, who sank ships by drawing sailors to their deaths. Singing upon the rocks, so ships dashed themselves against them.

It was never something he thought he would care about, a small kid in the streets of Linkon Port. Scrounging for food, or stealing it where necessary. There was little else he could do, but try to survive. Stories of myths and legends, unimportant.

Even if he did sometimes sit on the docks and stare out, hoping, there was more. Something better. Daydreamed about sneaking onto a ship, to escape this place. This agony of the dirt and grime and hunger in his gut.

When he was eight years old, he was caught by the local pub owner, who grasped his wrist so hard his bones creaked. Demanding he pay for the bread he had stolen and eaten. With no coin to his name, and no one who could shield him from the man's wrath, he was sold to the local pirate crew.

No matter if he kicked and screamed, the choice was to be hung, or to work for them. So he accepted it. Albeit with fear lurking under his skin. Reminding him of stories of pirate violence. Of cruelty. Of short temper.

He told himself, that there was a very real chance he could escape one day. Flee if they came to a port more prosperous, more welcoming, than Linkon had been. The vague dream of his better life, more real, almost at his fingertips.

So Caleb took up work as a cabin boy. It was short lived.

Because pirates are a superstitious bunch, and he learned very quickly, that maybe there was some weight to their routines and rituals. When the ship set sail on a Thursday, the crew had shivered and complained in quiet voices. Not willing to fight their captain, but not comfortable with the choice made. The old man with his long white beard, and his crooked wooden leg, had a new map. With the location for the fountain of youth.

A pirate's dream. Above all other dreams.

The closer the ship got to the fountain's location, the worse the weather got. Thunder and lightning darkening the skies, whirlpools and chaotic waves.

Caleb learned he was surprisingly good with the nausea. When sailors threw up, he found he could carry on his work, unbothered. Several of them found him disconcerting. Avoiding him as he went about his job, mopping vomit from the ship's deck.

The captain took a liking to him, training him to be a powder monkey. So that he could learn how to use a gun and canon, though there was little use for his skills in the storms. No other pirate, and no naval officer sailed out this far. So when he was not working, he would take an interest in the maps. When he was caught, the captain taught him how to read them.

It was not a relationship of kindness, he was useful, and did not cause trouble. When he stepped out of line, or pushed at the limits of the captain's patience, he learned quickly why the man was so feared.

It was a reminder, once again, how little control he had held over his life thus far. A reminder that he was small, and the world was big. Too big.

As the ship drew closer to the marked location, there was a talk of mutiny. A desire to be in safer waters, not hunting for a myth or a legend, in cursed waters.

Pirates are a superstitious bunch… but legends, Caleb learned, were far more real than he could have ever imagined.

It started on the dawn, the crew buoyed by the prospect of a landing soon. When they began to talk about soft singing, voices in the shadows, whispers in their ears. Jumpy and on edge. Paranoid and lost.

Caleb had tried to listen out, unable to make out the sounds, and so he assumed, foolishly, that they were driven mad by the journey. After all, myths were exactly that.

He did not believe in the fountain of youth, and he did not believe in sirens. Life was dark, dirty and painful, and there was no mythic creature or magic to make it anymore than it was.

Until the first man disappeared. Lost to the sea during the night. Slipped overboard. Perhaps he had been drunk, or started a fight he could not finish. Still, he was gone.

The next one, Caleb saw for himself. Pouring out buckets of water from the storm in the early hours, a man wobbled, walking out from the cabins. Eyes drooped, not even dressed, stumbling over the deck. He debated calling out for a moment, but drunken and half asleep pirates… well he was not one for reckless choices.

He was a survivor. He had no cause to do anything for anyone who had a hand in his chains.

Then the man looked up, dazed and in a dream, and Caleb had looked past him, seeing nothing, just the empty ocean, and the unsteady waves.

Until he saw the golden gleam over the man's eyes, and then, without any hesitation, he jumped.

Swallowed up by the sea, and Caleb could only stare after him. Stunned, and shocked, and haunted.

His unsteady dreams played the vision, over and over again. The golden glow and the devouring sea. It was the first time, in all his time on the ship, that he felt nausea, and had thrown up over the side, shivering.

The day land was in sight, he watched the world change. From a moment of relief, a crew excited and ready to see if the myth was real, to the shaking of the ship. The waves so tall they rose up over the side. Washing out the canons, and flinging anything not tied down into the depths.

The crew were ordered to secure themselves, ropes tied from them to the ship itself, as it thrashed about in the storm.

He had finished securing cargo, and himself, when he saw it. The gold flickering over the captain's eyes. The dazed, empty look to his gaze.

He cut his own ropes, walking to the side, and threw himself into the storm. As the man went over, Caleb saw the rocks standing tall. The wheel of the ship began to spin, and the hard right threw the entire crew to the limits of their ropes. As he fell to the floor, ribs bruising from the force, Caleb saw it.

Creatures sitting on the rocks, mouths opened, wings extended.

He could not see any further, could not focus for long, before the ship collided with the rocks, and he was swallowed up by the water, to the song of a screeching demon.

—-----

His lungs burned, choking on air and spitting up water. Agony, and nausea. Shaking to his limbs. So, so very cold.

Caleb rolled, bracing himself against the wet sand to choke up salt water. The sting burning his throat. Cutting at his lungs and his mouth.

His eyes hurt to open, the sting agonising, his tears only making it worse. Tumbling over his cheeks, as he shook.

The image of the ship capsizing with him on, the water rising above him, the rope pulling him with the carcass of the beast, as the crew around him embraced their deaths, with the gold in their eyes.

He's barely aware, when half a coconut is pushed in front of him. It's water visible in the shell of the fruit. The slightly sweet scent helps pull him from his panic, bringing his young mind scuttling forward in desperation. Lifting it with shaking, scratched up hands, to down it. Before he tries to carve out the flesh of the fruit, with his bare hands, to shove pieces into his mouth.

It is only as he chews, that he realises he can see talons in front of him.

Looking up, to see a creature, with its head tilted. Fluffy down, and mismatched eyes, partially hidden behind more feathers.

Fear rips through him, as wings flutter, and he scrambles away. "Don't-"

You tilt your head, the other way, watching him move. He does not get far, weak and aching, before he raises the coconut like it might act as a shield.

You do not advance, and he waits, for the violence. For the cruelty. Instead. You stay, and you watch, and he stares.

"You're hurt." You finally speak, indicating the blood on his torn clothes, his wounds, and his skin prickles, goosebumps along his arms. He barely can process the words, because he cannot think past the music that curls from your lips, and wraps around his chest. He can't find his words, can't think of how to speak, so he just stares.

You are not like the beasts on the rocks. You look younger than he does, a child, with bird legs, but a human torso, your right arm is missing, and you have a human head. Feathers meld with the hair on your head, more down. Your wings are still small, he thinks about chicks for a second. Baby birds without their flight feathers.

They're speckled, and pretty. Your eyes are mismatched, but there's a small golden ring around your pupils. As he looks at them, he thinks about the man throwing himself into the sea.

"Siren."

You point at the coconut, "Do you want another one? Humans need plenty of food, right?"

He shakes his head, pushing himself further back in the sand, and watches you, but you don't make an indication you want to hurt him. Instead, you hop, and flutter flightless wings, away and return with another coconut. With sharp talons you lift it, then crack it down on a rock with some force.

Caleb swallows, hand going to his head, feeling the fear spiking further.

You hop over, not too close as soon as you see him ready to try to run, on unstable legs, and offer the halves of the fruit to him. "Eat."

"Are you going to kill me too?"

Your eyes widen, the gold gleaming, and growing around your irises, before shrinking back to rings around slitted pupils. You shake your head, "I don't want to kill you, so no."

"So you wanted to kill the crew?"

He watches as you fidget, fluff up your feathers, and then hop closer. You wet some fabric in the water, and then join him. He doesn't move, too scared to try to get away from you. The image of the capsizing ship, and the coconut cracked in talons, freezing him in the sand. You wipe at the blood on his cheek, and he watches your pupils widen and then sharpen again. "I didn't kill your crew."

As you get closer, he sees your right wing is broken. The feathers mangled and broken, the wing itself flutters weakly when you move, but does not flap, not like the other does. There are pearlescent scales over your cheeks, around your neck, and over your chest. When you move, they catch the light, gleaming. Caleb finds himself staring as you tend to his injuries, careful and gentle hands. Far more gentle than anything he'd ever felt in his life. Long lashes against bright eyes, and scars over your cheek, lips and right side. "How old are you?" He finds himself asking.

You look at him, "I've seen eighty-seven new moons."

He tries to calculate it in his head, but feels too drained to even try. So he tries something else, "Who did kill the crew?"

This time, you flinch, pulling away from him a little, fear in your eyes and he instantly misses the gentle movement of your hand and the cloth, "The others. They don't… they don't like me. I'm bad luck. I can't sing with them." Your eyes are so sad, he almost reaches out, something in his chest aching, that he can't quite understand. He just doesn't like the look on your face, the pain. He's seen it in the reflections of puddles, staring back at him. "You didn't hear their song, so I tried to save you. I can't fly, though, so I had to bring you here. Sorry."

Caleb would laugh, if it didn't hurt so much. He was almost killed by a siren, and saved by another. You resume cleaning his wounds, and smile a little awkwardly. It's crooked, like you're not used to it. "I can find you a way home, if you give me some time. There are other beings in the sea that don't hate humans."

So he gives it, because he has to. He sits on the sand, and watches you hop over to the waves, watches as you open your mouth, and let out one lone sad note. It pierces through his chest, and for a moment he fears it will drag him into the waves too. Instead it just… makes a tear streak down his cheek.

When you hop back, you look proud, the smile not as awkward, but still very crooked with the scarring on your face, "One of the Lemurians will help. They're nice, and you're small. They will help."

"You're small too." He finds himself biting back, and you blink, looking down at yourself, then at him.

Truthfully you're a little bigger than he is, but you're definitely younger, he affirms to himself. Reaching over, he pats the top of your head, fingers touching soft feathers and tangled hair. Watching as your smile turns into a frown, and then laughs as your feather puff up. "I'm normal. I think."

"You're way smaller than the other ones."

You huff, turning away, and he feels a little guilty, "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." You don't respond, sulking, and he moves in front of you, peering in at your face, "You might be a pipsqueak, but-" He swallows, "Thank you for saving me."

Your feathered tail flicks up, then down, and you finally smile again, looking over at him. His chest is tight again, but warm. He's not sure why, but you reach over and pat his head back. Hand gentle, fingers brushing back his hair and tilting your head at him. "You're welcome."

The two of you sit in the sand, and stare out at the ocean. When he cannot pull anymore coconut out of its shell, you help with a talon, offering him more pieces.His stomach is eased somewhat, and the ache in body fades away with the gentle care, and though you offer to catch him a fish as well, he rejects it. In favour of keeping the two of you out of sight of the sirens that killed the crew, and make that look in your eyes flickers.

The gulls overhead caw, and fly, and there is no storm at sea. Calm blue sky and gentle breeze, making him think perhaps he did die in the waves. This is a dream.

The dull pain reminds him he is not. The sensation grounding him, to your soft feathers brushing his skin as you perch beside him, and the salt on his tongue.

"The storm's gone."

You nod, "When they don't sing, the skies calm. This place is pretty when it's quiet."

"Is this your home?" He asks, watching you, as you turn your head tilted towards him, blinking eyes and flicking gold.

"It's-" You frown, brow furrowing, and you shake your head, "It's where I live. That's different right?"

He's not really sure, he's never had a home, or a place to live. The ship was the closest he got, otherwise he slept in street alleys, and snuck into abandoned houses to get shelter from the worst of the weather. Still, if he goes off what he hears in stories, home is warm. None of the places he's been were warm.

"Maybe."

"What about you? Was the ship your home?"

He shakes his head too, but isn't sure how to explain why he was even there. If sirens would understand, if you would. Then he thinks about the fear in your eyes at others like you, and he thinks maybe you would.

So he does tell you, he's never told anyone anything really. He's never had anyone to talk to, no people to bond with, no one to trust. If he never sees you again, and the thought makes his stomach turn worse than any seasickness could, he wants you to know him. It's an odd feeling, abstract and distant, but he feels it as sure as he knows he wants to survive. For that vague dream with no shape.

When he's done, you frown, "Humans are cruel."

They are, he thinks. Desperate, and cruel. Forged by their worst and their best experiences. Sometimes the worst are loudest.

"Have you met others?"

"No, I've heard stories. They steal from us, kill those like us, and use us as decoration." Your feathers puff up, unsettled as you fidget on your talons, "I'm not supposed to go near them- you."

"So why did you help me?"

You blink, and frown, looking down at the sand, and you look young again. Unsure, and fighting to find words. When you look up, the feeling is still there, "I didn't want you to die."

It's a simple enough reason, without a reason. He would cry, if he wasn't still so drained of strength. He doesn't think anyone has ever tried to stick their neck out for him. Let alone a creature that should want him dead.

He feels warmer, though the chill of the breeze still shivers through his skin. You huddle closer, your wing extending to wrap around his shoulders, and smile weakly, "Better?"

It is, he's still cold, but you're closer and so very warm, and he feels the ache ebb away.

It ends too soon, when a blue haired figure pops up from the waves. You droop in seconds, looking over at them, and then over at Caleb.

He sees it again. The sorrow. Unsure what it means or why you pull away from him so quickly. "They'll take you back to the humans, where you will be safe."

It's an odd feeling, he's aching, and tired, and hungry. He can't survive here, he's sure. Not with sirens at the rocks, and beasts in the ocean. Still, when he thinks about leaving behind the only person he's met that's offered him anything… he feels… sad. You help him stand carefully and hop with him towards the Lemurian. As he heads towards the figure, who offers him a kind smile, a hand takes his right one. Pulling him back. You're looking down, eyes hidden by your hair.

Your hand in his is smaller than his own, so he squeezes it, stroking your skin with his thumb, and watches as you raise your head. Looking at him with teary eyes, and he knows the feeling.

Loneliness.

Your hand trembles in his, and he pats your head again with his other one, "Don't forget me." You speak, voice breaking, the beautiful tone of your voice cracking. A broken song, full of loss. He thinks he understands, somewhat, why sirens are so dangerous. Part of his soul wants to stay here, so you don't look this sad anymore.

You're not tying him to you, though, you are not calling him with the song. Because he cannot survive here.

He's worried, you can't either.

"I'll see you again one day, I promise."

You do not smile, and this time you release him, and hop back, then turn, and leave.

"I wouldn't follow, child." The figure in the waves speaks to him, watching as he takes a step forwards, towards you. "This place is no place for a lad. If you stay, you'll join many others in a watery grave."

He pauses, and hesitates, before walking into the water, towards the blue haired creature.

"Let's return you, where you belong."

—----

As Caleb grows up, he does rejoin a crew. He trains, and he learns and he becomes a capable pirate. In his twenties, he loses his right arm in a fight. Replacing it with a hook, and taking over a crew. He has no interest in treasure, not really. He does not starve anymore, and he can go wherever he pleases. Free at the helm of his own ship. A crew that follows him, as long as he proves why they should.

Instead, he searches, for a second version of the map to the fountain of youth. His younger brain cannot remember the route, or the location in the map of his old captain. He cannot recall anything else, other than storms plague the area.

No matter how long he stares at his own maps, no matter how much he seeks out philosophers and cartographers, he cannot find the answer to his greatest question.

A way to get back to the siren who saved his life.

In his dreams, he hears the sound of your voice, and the low sad note that summoned his route back to humanity. He sees flashes of gold, and mismatched eyes. White down and speckled feathers.

Scarred lips and pearlescent scales.

Memories that he fears might fade too much with time, and his desperation to keep his promise, to you, keeps him moving. He owes you, and he intends to repay it, and with his own ship, he prays he will finally be able to alleviate your loneliness.

A condition he knows intimately, as it plagues his own steps, and has, all of his life.

What his younger self could not understand, his older self has pieced together. The sorrow at the parting, the yearning to stay, the fluttering in his chest at your kindness. He hopes the feeling is not too late now, that you are still out there. That maybe you crave to meet him again too. Waiting for the day he fulfills his promise. He has never forgotten you, and he doubts he ever can. Like you are a ghost haunting him, but he would have it no other way.

As his ship docks in a local merchant town, he leaves his crew to their work, and goes to investigate if anyone will have answers for his search. That the fountain of youth is out there, though he cares little if it exists, it is the closest he has to a location for you.

Every time, he goes through the same process. If he is not laughed at, he sits and listens to someone spout about myths at him. Each time, he bites his own tongue. To hear strangers tell him about how 'sirens are real, I swear', he cannot help but want to laugh.

Perhaps if he couldn't still feel the heat of your hand in his, he would think himself crazy as well.

Instead, he finds nothing, but the ravings of a drunk, and leaves. As he wanders through the town, watching as merchants advertise their catch of the day, supplies, and treasures, he returns to the docks. Where he finds chaos.

A large net is thrown over a figure, who struggles and snaps. Pulling at the rope with blooded hands, as swords are poked at them.

"A real beast, can you believe it?"

"We'd make a fortune, where did it even come from?"

"The ocean, the damn thing came out of the ocean."

He's barely able to approach, when he sees the creature in question raise their head, and open their mouth.

Then they sing.

A heartrending eulogy, of loneliness and heartache. A song that wraps the surrounding area, that sends that familiar skittering of his heart. Caleb watches as the crowd freeze, their eyes turning gold, and their bodies akin to stone as the music holds them.

As he looks about, he realises it has not claimed him, and it affirms something deep, deep in his chest.

An electric feeling, akin to sailing through the storm. A feeling that reminds him of every time he thinks he might get close to an answer. The rush of a fight, the rush of excitement at freedom.

Even if he would trade it for song's shackles.

When he approaches, he watches as your eyes widen, and then narrow. Your song peters out, and you pull back into the net, "Why are you fine?" You snap at him. He does not bother to answer you, pulling the net away, cutting it through with his hook, and extends his hand.

You do not take it, staring at it, then at him. Wary, and unsure. Then he sees your talon, bloodied, and torn up. When you make to stand, you stumble and wince. He sees the gold fading from eyes around him, sees your darting gaze, fear starting to re-enter it, and before you can react, he has lifted you into arms.

Then he runs.

Your yelp would make him laugh, if he were not focusing so much on where he was going. Navigating through the docks back to his ship, he grabs a covering from some cargo to throw over you, ignoring the squawk you let out, and demands his crew prepare to sail. Ignoring questions, and looks, as they watch him bring someone onto the ship.

He hopes they'll run with their imagination, and leave him be.

When he places you down in his cabin, you scrambled back from him, away from his grasp. Kicking out with your feet, though the action clearly hurts as you wince at it.

It's like looking in a mirror, from all those years ago.

Except you're different. Older, still just younger than him, but he'd make a guess in your twenties too. The down has turned into full feathers, long and decorated in speckles, white and grey, like a seabird. Your legs are longer now, you no longer resemble a chick, instead he imagines you do not need to hop about. He almost likens you to a seagull, almost.

Scales cover the majority of your torso, neck and face too, still as glistening as he remembers, and your scars are still familiar. Mismatched eyes with the pretty gold gleam to them, the ring strong around your slitted pupils.

When you flap your left wing, he is drawn once again to the right. It is far smaller, the feathers have grown out, but it does not move much in your agitation.

"If you wish to make to kill me, you best hurry. I can make you drown yourself." You snap, and he finds himself blinking, before he smiles lopsided at you.

"I know I'm older, but I can't look that different right?"

He watches, as you glare, and your eyes do not soften. Wary, anxious, and ready to fight the second he gets too close. It is a moment of waiting, before something painful settles in him. Realisation. A loss of something precious.

You don't remember him.

Not him, or his promise.

He has sought you out, all these years, desperate and desiring, and you do not know who he is.

"Ah." He exhales, sitting at his chair, the pain sinking through him, like he is trapped again. Tied by the rope to a ship going under the waves.

It is your wince, that shakes him out, the sight of a gash in your leg, that makes him move. Almost as though his body works without his soul. He goes to find his aid kit, and then approaches you. You bare fangs at him, flapping your wing, and extending your uninjured talon in threat.

It aches. Still, he owes you.

"You can either bleed out in my cabin, or let me help you. It's up to you." He tries to keep his tone level, so you do not hear the agony in his soul. He has heard the stories of sirens drawing out desires. He does not know if it's true, but he does not want to add to the complications of the day.

His words make you hesitate, and he watches as you slowly wait, then extend your injured leg. Settling your wing, and settling your feathers. You do not stop glaring, but you stop baring your fangs. He kneels at your talons, and with careful hand, tends to your wound.

You wince, and he apologises softly, hand steady, careful not to catch you with his hook. You look down at it once, and he watches you look at your own arm and wing, before you turn your head away. He wants to ask, so many things.

Why you're even here?

What brought you to a place you knew was dangerous?

Instead, he tends to you, and when you settle properly, no longer even glaring at him, he bandages your leg, and lets you test it. When you try to stand, you stumble, but catch yourself before he can help.

"This is going to make getting back difficult." You exhale as a sigh, hopping about a bit. As he watches, he sees you when you first met. Smaller and far more fluffy. Like a chick, hopping about to help him when he was injured. You're not as tall as him still, but you can stand up tall enough to reach his chest.

"Tell me where you need to go, and I'll get you there." He offers, and though you look at him with doubt, he holds your gaze. The pain of your forgetting him aside, he did not look for you to abandon you now.

If you don't remember him, it's fine… It hurts, but it's fine.

He owes you at least, he can pay back this much.

You hop over to his table, grab his knife with one hand, and look at him. He watches as you hold it, and makes no move to stop you. Even as you are closer to him, even as he can see the glittering gold in your irises. Even as it would take very little, for you to plunge it into his chest.

He knows how dangerous a siren is, you don't need a knife for him.

All it would take is a song, and his ship and crew will dash themselves upon the rocks.

So he does not fear the knife in your hand, and you must realise this as you watch him, as he makes no movement to stop or hurt you. So you nod to yourself, turning to the map, and stabbing the knife into it. At an empty point in the ocean. "Here, take me here."

"Very well, stay here. I doubt the crew will take kindly to the wings."

You scoff, turning away from him and when you smile it is still that lopsided smile, tugging at your scarred face. But you flash a fang at the same time. A threat, he notes. "You should worry more about their hearing."

"If you sink my ship, you'll struggle to get home." He reminds, then watches as you shrink in on yourself in frustration. The chances of you finding another human who won't tie you in a net, he knows, is minimal. Sirens are a myth. Where they are not a story or tall tale, they are something to hate or fear.

You don't answer him, but you do carefully hobble over to his bed, curling onto your side and wrapping yourself in your wing. "Fine, go on then human. I'll stay here, and behave."

—--

As soon as his orders are given, Caleb returns back to his cabin, this time with food. He offers it to you, and watches you tilt your head.

"Do… sirens not eat?"

You blink at the question, then laugh. A sound that prickles the back of his neck, like lightning over the sea. "We eat, mostly the bones of sailors."

"I can only offer you salted meat and beans, unless you fancy asking the crew nicely."

He does not imagine the small smile, the low laugh, and the way you take the plate from him, spearing some meat and shoving it into your mouth starving. He thinks about how he clawed coconut meat out of a shell, to shove into his own mouth. He almost laughs. Almost.

"Tastes bad." You grumble, but don't stop chewing. Starving, likely, but not impressed with pirate food.

"If you're around when we get to port next, I'll make you something better." He offers. Watches as you look at him, some pork hanging out of your mouth, as you tilt your head, and then swallow. "Maybe you can tell me what you'd rather eat."

He watches the wary look, then the glance down at your plate, then back up at him, "I like fruit and fish." It's cool and cold, said without much inflection, but he notes it down mentally.

Fruit is expensive, but he's sure there's enough treasure to sell on the ship, to pay for anything you would want to eat. He can bring it to you, whenever you like. He'll keep this crew moving for the end of time, if that would help him offer you things to bring back recognition in your eyes.

"Why help me?" You ask, "Sirens don't have treasure. We don't-" He watches you swallow, looking away, "We don't have much of anything really."

It hurts, to look at you. He wonders what happened to you since he let the Lemurian bring him back to humanity. He regrets it deeply, not going back. Maybe then you would not have forgotten.

"Someone helped me, a long time ago. Pay it forward, I suppose."

"A kind pirate… I've heard enough stories to know that's odd."

"A siren that hasn't sunk my ship, I suppose we're both full of surprises."

You laugh this time, it's softer, and you shrug your shoulder, shoving the now empty plate away from yourself, "I've never been the best siren."

He thinks of you pulling him out of the waves, cutting through the rope, pulling him to sandy shores, and breathing life back into him.

He thinks of how small you both were, and how broken. He thinks of how sad your eyes had been, and how kind you had been. How you had offered him food without a cost, and gentle hand tending to wounds.

You were a terrible siren.

Terrible really, to have forgotten him, and left him alone with this ache in his chest.

"Well, then I suppose I'm a bad pirate. Get some rest, your wound needs time to heal." He stands, and goes to leave. Your hand reaches out, grasping at his hook. It is so fast, and so sudden, he turns, pulling his hook away, and looking down to your hand, checking it frantically. Ensuring he has not caught you.

"Are you-"

"Fine, I'm fine. Sorry. I-" You are staring at his hook, then you look at your own hand, like it is a beast you have never seen. "I don't know what happened. Excuse me." You pull back and away, out of his grasp, like you're running from him, and then go to lie back down on his bed. He watches, staring down at where the hand you had grabbed, all those years ago, used to be.

It hurts to look at it, cold and metal and dangerous.

Maybe he's simply too different for you to remember. Older, changed…

It is a cruel realisation.

Are memories easy to return, or must he accept his siren has forgotten him?

—---

The journey is easy, without storms, perhaps having a siren on board made sailing far safer.

He inspects the map a little, where you stabbed it through with a knife, and wonder if the island he had been searching for really had been so close this whole time. When he asks you about the fountain of youth, you scoff, and ask if he truly believed such a legend.

He hadn't. Not really, not until a siren had pulled him out of the ocean.

Now, he thinks, he'll believe anything.

The crew assume he seeks out treasure, and you muse that they'll find some coconuts and skeletons, if they're that desperate.

Over the course of the journey, he spends time in the cabin with you. Unable to bring you out, while he worries the crew will see and attack you for fear. He apologises for it, but you shrug, as though it's more surprising he's kinder to you.

You still don't seem to trust him, glaring whenever he gets too close, or baring fangs when he almost touches you, but for the most part… you tolerate him.

Whatever has happened in the time you've been apart, has not left you as soft as you were when you met.

"Try this instead." He offers, grilled fish pushed forwards on a plate. You look down at it, and he knows he doesn't imagine the hunger in your eyes. "I tried my hand at fishing."

You laugh at this, amused at the thought, looking down at his hand and hook, "Human hands can catch fish?"

"We use nets, and rods."

He watches the curiosity in your gaze, filtering through the distrust, "Nets? Like the thing they threw on me?"

"Yes, but with smaller holes, so the fish can't swim through, and lighter."

You accept his description, sitting down to try it. He watches, anxiety churning his stomach, as you eat. When your face softens, and you devour messily, the anxiety turns to joy. A thrill of satisfaction, you do not offer feedback, but the way you lick your hand after, and then the plate, assures him his efforts to cook had not gone amiss.

Even though spices were worth their weight in gold. He can only imagine the horror of his crew, as he uses their trade for the siren he has hidden away in his cabin.

After that, you show an interest in the food he brings, curious and watchful. At some point, he sneaks you through the ship, and into the kitchen. To watch as he grills and chops. He bars the doors, just in case.

You sit to the side, stretching out your newly healing leg, and titling your head to follow his movements. "You put effort into it."

He shrugs, he doesn't always. Not really. He's only ever cooked when he has to, and he does not find any real pleasure in it. Not until he had seen the pleased look on your face. "Everyone needs to eat." Is all he says instead.

It becomes a mission, to see what he can make, that you like, and what you dislike. He cannot get you fruit, there is no port in sight before the end of the journey, but he can feed you with fish he has caught, and cooked by his own hand.

It is the night before they land, that you finally query him. Speaking up, and stepping over to him where he pours through maps for other treasure his crew yearn to go after. "Why are you helping me?"

"I told you-"

"Someone helped you… but why me?"

He smiles, unbidden, and looks at you. You're so beautiful, gleaming like a pearl under the light, the tone of your voice sings to him without you driving him to the rocks, and he cannot help but want to follow you into the waves.

There is no part of him, that would not help you. Even though you do not remember him. Do not remember how gentle your hand was as it cleaned blood off his face, and offered him coconut on the silvery-blue sand. Listened to him share his life with you.

"Why not you?"

You frown, and he laughs, "Sorry pipsqueak-"

"Excuse me?" You lean forwards, the gold around your pupils flares, swallowing your irises as you look at him, pupils widening. He can smell the sea air on you, salt and the sweet flesh of coconut. He cannot quite help himself as he looks down at your lips, partially open, bowed. Soft, he imagines. So soft.

He swallows, "What's wrong?"

"What did you call me?"

"Pipsqueak? Sorry it was-"

You move back, tilting your head, and you look like the you he met again, frowning and thinking. "Pipsqueak. I've heard it before."

He shudders, watching you, relieved and disappointed to not be able to smell you, to not be able to stare down at your lips. So close to leaning forward, despite knowing you would not react kindly. He has never felt so parched before.

It is only after you blink at him, the gold receding, that he snaps out of it, to hear you. "Well you're-"

"Smaller… than the others." You walk away, talons clicking against the wood. He feels nauseous, "I wonder where I heard it."

When he speaks, it's through a tight throat, "Who knows." It's on the tip of his tongue.

Me. Me.

Remember me.

I'm right here.

But you shake it off, shaking out your feathers, and shrugging, and when you look back at him, you're back to the you he is learning about now.

He greets the day they land with sorrow. Dragging his feet, allowing his crew to disembark and explore, at the very least, he thinks they'll find some food to bring back. He walks with you to the familiar shore. The sand is as silver-blue as he remembers.

During the walk he is quiet, and he feels you peering at him. Standing on your leg easily now, there are no other sirens, his ship has not faced danger, and he wants to ask what happened, but he is unsure if you would even tell him.

The world doesn't seem as big here now, he does not feel as wary of the sea. He is not scared of sirens.

He is, however, scared to say goodbye to you, and never gain your recollection.

"You're upset." You speak finally, watching him carefully, "Are you disappointed there is no treasure?"

There is a treasure, he thinks, but it is not gold, and he definitely does not have it in his hands. "Well, a mystery island, home to sirens, you'd expect something."

Your huff is so irritable, he cannot help but laugh, reaching his hand out, he rubs the top of your head. Watches as you freeze, the feathers puffing up, eyes wide and gold swallowing your mismatched gaze. "It's fine, pipsqueak, you're home aren't you?"

"Home…" You exhale a sigh, and then pull away from him, looking out over the sand. "Sirens aren't meant to owe humans."

"I imagine they're not, no."

You flap your working wing, and look back out over the ocean, "How do I pay you back?"

Remember me. Remember me.

"There's no need."

"Pirates like treasure, right?"

"I thought you said you didn't have any."

He watches you, as you begin to pace. It's similar to the hopping you did. Long talons strutting in the sand. Kicking it up. Your feathers rustle and do not settle, and each movement catches the light against your scales. He wants to touch your head again, feel your feathers under his fingers.

He doesn't want to say goodbye to you. Not now.

"I can get some."

He'll take anything, if it means he sees you again. He could not care less about treasure, or his ship, about a world he can explore. His dream changed a long time ago.

"I'll make you a deal, bring me the best treasure in the world, and we'll call it even."

He watches your expression, watches it morph from disbelief, to annoyance, to a pout, that almost makes him laugh. He fights it back, keeping his smile from blossoming at your glare. Watches as you snort, "My life isn't worth that much."

"Isn't it?"

He thinks it's worth more than anything.

"What if I just save your life in return?" You did a long time ago, but if you don't remember, he won't let you off his hook that easily. When you remember, you'll remember you're equal, and he'll have what he wants. Either way, he thinks he'll win.

"We'll see which comes first. You saving me, or you finding a treasure that any pirate would yearn for."

Your fangs show when you smile at him, peeking out under bowed lips, and he steps forward to extend his hand. You look down at him, then shrug, taking it with your own left hand. "Is this a covenant ritual with humans?"

His laugh is unrestrained, joy thrumming through his veins, "It's a handshake, pipsqueak."

You hum, then with far more strength than he expects. Shake his hand. He stumbles forward, his hook shooting out to try to grasp at something, and you laugh. Loud, right in his ear, releasing his hand to steady him. "Pirates don't have land legs, I see."

"Little less strength in it, next time."

As he rights himself, he tries not to focus on how you stare at your own hand. That soft smile on your face.

—-----

He cannot keep you on the ship, and when he leaves, aching and painful, missing you every moment he steps away. Caleb finds himself playing over your words in his head as he left.

'I'll come find you, when I have a treasure.'

He is less impressed, adjusting himself, when he imagines you wrapped up in rope and deposited on his cabin floor.

Treasure indeed.

When he returns to his cabin, he cleans up the feathers. Collecting them, twining string around them, and then storing them at the head of his bed. Decoration, he'd say if asked. A stored memory, he will note. If you cannot be there in person, he can find you in the scent of your feathers on his pillow.

It is a week later, when he hears a song filtering through the ship, quiet, outside his window.

He heads to the deck, ignores his crew, who gaze out unseeing into the waves with the gold over their eyes, and seeks you out, where you poke your head up through the waves. "Sirens can swim?"

"I have scales too, don't I?"

He doesn't question it further, extending his hand, so that you can take it. Pulling yourself up with his strength. When you stumble up onto the deck, steading your hand against his bicep. Shaking the water out of your feathers.

You follow him to his cabin, and he is relieved he has at least hidden the feather bundle, under his pillow, lest you see and question him. You sit on his chair, the water soaking into the fabric off your feathers, and extend to him a necklace.

"A treasure. The eye of the ocean. A pirate would like this right?"

"Would you like something to eat?" You blink, hand still extended, as he ignores you, picking up a basket from the side of his room, where he has been holding onto fruit. Replacing them in the hopes you'd return one day soon.

As he offers grapes and lychees to you. He watches the glittering of your eyes, the excitement as you lean forwards. The fan of your tail bounces as you do so. "What are these?"

"Fruit, you can try them."

He imagines you don't have much cause to see much of the world. Unable to get too close to humans. "They don't look like fruit?"

"What fruit have you tried?"

"Coconuts and limes, they grow on the island back home."

"Then you should try these, tell me if you like them."

You look at him, titling your head, and then reach out, popping a grape into your mouth. He watches, as your feathers puff up, your eyes close, and you smile, and then descend on the offering. He watches as expensive treats disappear in seconds, to greedy hand and happy preens.

You coo, trill and fidget in his chair. They do not last long, and you lick juice from your fingers. Sharp fangs dripping. "They're good." You offer, honest and warm, "Almost as good as that fish you cook."

He feels shot through the heart. Tight and aching. He wants to reach out and lick juice from your lips, his fingers twitching in his lap. "I'm glad." Choked and suffocating.

The god of tides must be laughing at him.

You offer him the necklace again, "It's worth a lot."

It may be worth a lot, he notes, it's beautiful, but it's worthless to him. If he takes it from you, he knows he will only sell it, just to buy more treats for you to devour greedily.

 "It's not quite what I'm after."

The answer makes you frown, so he changes the topic, "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

He's never been happier to hear an affirmative from anyone in his life.

—---

The next time you visit, it is with gold coins. He hears the song send his men to sleep, and while he wants to argue with you, for your methods, when he sees you sitting on the side of his ship, a wing extended out for balance. His voice dies in his throat.

It is no wonder sailors will die for you, when you gleam like gold and sing your chains around his heart.

That night, while his men sleep, he steers his ship, with you sat at the helm with him. Watching him.

"It must be difficult to have to use a big beast to move through the tides."

"Humans make do with what we have to travel."

You nod, as though you still pity him somewhat, but do not say anything else, instead staring out across the ocean as the ship moves. Cutting through steady waves.

The weather is always calm when you visit.

"They're old coins."

"I can see that."

"From a dead civilisation."

"How interesting."

"You're very hard to please, you know."

He's not. Every moment you visit, he is pleased without equal. Every time he sits with you at his side, or hears your song announce your arrival, he wants little else than to drown for you. He is very easily pleased. You just have not realised what to offer, to please him greater than any other pirate could be.

"I never see any other sirens." He comments, as you hum to yourself, comfortable to stay by his side, as you waste the hours of the night.

You look at him then, voice halting, and tilt your head, "There are none left, they left home, and never came back."

His hand slips off the wheel, before he grasps it quickly, lest he capsize them all. "They abandoned you?"

He watches as you lean back, far enough you could fall off the ship. Talons gripping the side of the ship. He knows if you fall you'll be fine, the ocean is your home, but he still very nearly pulls you back. A fear of you disappearing, embedded in his soul. "They never wanted to be around me, it's better they're gone. I don't have to worry about your ship sinking."

"You worry about me?" This time you glare, but he can see the agitation in your feathers. Wonders at your embarrassment. Thrills at the idea.

"I can't let you die, while I owe you."

"Sure, pipsqueak."

You huff, but settle back down, and he spends that night, gazing at the stars and moon with you. To the tune of the long, low eulogy, that takes him back to that beach, and the sorrow as you sought help just for him.

—--

When you visit him next, it is not on the sound of your song. You sneak through his ship, and he awakens with you stood over him. Grin on your face, and knife in your hand. He blinks awake at the sharp blade to his throat, and groans as the recognition filters in, "If you want to kill me, don't wait for me to wake up."

You laugh, bouncing back, and placing his knife down. "You're hard to scare."

"I'm used to the threat."

He'd almost died before, he has little to fear than losing you.

"Boring."

"What did you bring today?"

He sits up in bed, the cover falling down around his waist. Bare skin catching your eye. He watches, and fights the grin and pride he feels, when he notices the swallow. The way you glance down at his chest, follow the lines of scars over his skin, down to where the covers pool around his stomach.

Your feathers agitate, flutter, and flick, and you force your eyes away, when you realise he is watching you too. "You sleep vulnerably."

"It's sleep, it's naturally a vulnerable state, pipsqueak."

"Foolish. Your skin is squishy."

"Is it?"

He knows he doesn't have scales, but he's sure his body is a little sturdier than that. You nod, poking him in the stomach, and the heat of your skin makes him feel too warm. You freeze as you make the contact, then splay your hand over his abs, watching it. Feeling his muscles twitch under your hand. "Soft." You whisper, "No wonder sirens like to devour humans." He watches you lick your fangs. The gold around your pupils expands, along with your pupils. Swallowing your gaze in gold and black.

He has never felt like a meal before anyone before, he can't say he dislikes the way it burns his skin.

If you wanted to devour his bones, he'd let you. Sharpen your fangs on him, drown him with your hand around his throat. Sing him to an eternal slumber. You lean in, like you're drawn without conscious thought, to sniff at his neck. Your feathers rustle and your wing extends, and when he speaks, he knows his voice breaks, "Is that what you want?"

You shiver, as his breath skirts your cheek, nose touching the skin of his throat for a second, before you shake yourself. Pulling away, and he misses it instantly. Wants to display his throat for your fangs again. Wants to lay you over his bed, and see what noises he can draw from you.

There is no doubt in his mind, you would sing beautifully for him.

"I didn't bring anything."

"Nothing?"

You shake your head, sitting at the end of his bed, watching him. "I was bored. The ocean was boring me. So I came to see you."

You came just to see him, and the desire peters away into warmth and joy and a need to touch you. Just to touch you. So he does, reaching out, to brush feather and hair from your face, and trace the line of your cheek just a little. He's still in a dream, he thinks, wavering between being awake and being blissfully unaware. As you tilt your head just a little into his hand, just for a moment, he watches your eyes close, and your face soften.

That night, you sit, and you talk, about all the things you've seen beneath the waves. The creatures you've met that are nothing he could imagine. The world that belongs to you, but you share with him anyway.

He listens, and listens, until the two of you fall asleep, under the moon's glow through his window.

—--

He doesn't see you for two weeks after that, the feeling clawing at him. He moves through his days hungry beyond belief, and agitated at the fact he cannot just go find you, like you find him.

He's never asked how you always can find his ship, seeking him out easily in the waves.

When he sees you again, because he will, he makes a note to ask.

—---

It is dawn, when next you come to seek him out. You bring with you a box, held in talon, that he helps you heft up over the side of his ship.

"My crew get so much sleep when you're around." He teases, to try to pretend that the weeks without you, do not hurt his soul. You shrug, unconcerned with them. Your focus is only ever on him.

On your deal.

On his life?

He's not sure.

"I brought you a gift."

"A gift?"

"It's not part of our deal. You shared with me, so I am sharing with you." You push the box toward him, and he lifts it up in one arm, bringing it, and you to his cabin. When he places it down, and opens it. He finds an array of fruit he has never seen before in his life, along with some familiar ones. Sea salt soaked, but fresh.

"I asked the Lemurians, and they said it's safe for humans to eat."

A bright red apple rests in his hand. The cost of the box is beyond anything he has shared with you, despite his attempts, and he realises once again that no amount of cost or treasure really matters to a siren. You like what you like, there is no price on it.

"Do you not like them?" You tilt your head, worry coming into your voice, a frown pulling at your face, the scars over your lips.

He smiles, finding his knife to begin carving. He cuts a slice of the apple, then cuts ears into it, offering it to you. You poke it and laugh, "A rabbit?"

"You've seen them?"

"I've seen sea bunnies, but I know of rabbits." Your fanned tail flicks and you stuff it into your mouth. Speaking through your chewing, "Tasty."

It is, he thinks, as he eats a slice for himself. He's never eaten something this delicious. He shares the entire box with you, and thinks of how he can pay back the kindness.

—--

"I can tell your voice from other humans, you know Caleb."

"That's how you find me?"

"No, not quite. Each thing in the ocean sounds different, your ship has its own sound. The shape, the fabric of the sails, the way it cuts through the water. I can tell it apart because of that. So I follow the sound, to you."

"What if I'm no longer on my ship?"

Would you seek him out across the waves? Would you find him?

"Then I'd listen for your voice, and I'd find you that way. Eventually." You nod, but there's something in your voice, a demand, a possessiveness, that matches his own.

It's an assurance he can never escape from you, and he finds comfort, and satisfaction in the shape of it. The hard edge of acknowledgement, that he can never outrun his siren, not that he'd ever want to.

He certainly has no intention to release you.

—---

The next time you bring him a treasure, you're more hesitant.

Your song this time is sad, and aching, and he comes to the deck of his ship, to find his crew unconscious, writhing.

He checks them, before his gaze finds you. In your hand lies a jewel, that he knows could buy him more ships than an armada, and he feels sick.

"I don't think any pirate would not want this one." You speak, voice cracking, and the song of it breaks his heart.

He looks down at the thing, gleaming amidst your scales, and he wants to laugh. All the wealth of the world in his hand, what a pirate he would be to turn it down. When he looks at the look in your eyes, wet and aching with agony, he reaches his hand out to wipe the tears away. "I thought you remembered I wasn't a good pirate."

Your breath jumps, and you press his hand to your cheek, abandoning the gem over the side of the ship, the sorrow bleeding away into comfort and relief. The song turns to lift, and he sits at the crows nest with you, watching the sunrise, before you leave.

—---

After that moment, you bring him things worth far less. Things you find that you like, things that you can share with him. There is no drive to pay a debt, and you do not come to him full of sorrows again.

One day his crew are singing on the deck, loud boisterous voices, that do not compare to the sounds he hears from your lips. When you visit him. You do not silence them, or make them sleep, but you sit at the door of his cabin, listening curiously.

"Humans sing too?"

"Of course, it's good for morale, makes them happy."

You look at him, "It sounds bad."

He laughs, tickled by the disappointed look on your face, but he watches as the frown morphs into a softer smile, as you close your eyes to listen. "But it sounds happy."

"Not all of us can sound like a siren."

"The sirens I knew sounded beautiful."

He doesn't have a frame of reference, the time he heard them sing, they screeched their call of death and he wanted to never hear the noise again.

Everytime you speak, or sing, or breathe, he hears music. If he had to pick between every siren song, and yours, it's a simple choice. "Your voice is beautiful." He offers, honesty dripping from his words, extending a slice of mango to you. He watches your feathers ruffle, the way you duck your head. Taking it from him, and keeping your face turned away as you eat.

He wants to hear you sing and talk forever.

"It's never worked on you." You speak, "When we met, whenever I visit. You never feel it."

He had assumed you'd simply not used your power on him, left him out of your spell, he wonders if he's supposed to find you so beautiful if you cannot bewitch him. He finds no part of him cares, that whether he was under a spell or not, he's happy. Every second he spends time with you.

"Maybe I'm immune."

"But you still find it beautiful?"

"Only yours."

Only ever yours. He has travelled the world, and seen many things, but he'll only ever find beauty in you.

You gleam under the glow of candles, and he extends a hand, smiling warmly. "We have music, would you like to dance?"

Your eyes go to your talons, and then to his hand, "I don't know how to?"

"Neither do I, but it's supposed to be fun, so it's fine right? As long as you're having fun."

You blink and take his hand in yours. His hook hovers and hesitates, before you release his hand, take his hook and place it at your waist, retaking his hand in your own. "Your hook doesn't scare me."

Tight throat and desire coursing through veins, he chokes on his words. Leaning in closer to you, as he tries to force himself through the steps, he's seen others dance. It's clumsy, it does not flow, not like the music from your lips, but you laugh each time he stumbles, and you lean your head against his chest to hum along.

Caleb realises, too late, far beyond when it happened, that he's in love.

—---

"You never told me why you lived on that island alone."

"I don't really remember much, the other sirens didn't like me, they took care of me the minimum they could, but as soon as I was old enough, they left. I wasn't allowed to sing with them, and I wasn't allowed to help them hunt. They said I would bring bad luck."

"Have you ever hunted?"

"Would it upset you if I have?"

"No. Whatever you have or haven't done, it doesn't matter to me."

"Then the answer doesn't matter. I won't hunt you."

He dreams of kissing you after that, pressing you down into the sand, and tasting the salt on your lips from the breeze. He wakes up aching and desperate, burying his face in the feathers that are losing their scent, and growls against his pillow.

—-----

You find the feathers one day, amidst his pillow, and he prepares any number of excuses for why he has them.

You do not give him a response, you look at them, and place them back down, then leave.

He chases you out, but you're already gone, amidst the waves. When he is alone in his room, he debates throwing them into the sea…

But if you never return, he can't bear to lose the last thing he has of you.

It is a day later, when you return, a gleaming silver chain in hand, with new feathers tied in twine, held from it. They're beautiful flight feathers. Speckled in silver, and he takes it in hand, shaking.

"Keep them closer, maybe this siren can be good luck then." You smile, all fangs and glee on your face, watching him fasten it, and indicate where your feathers still adorn his pillow, "Then if they lose their sheen, ask for new ones, I have plenty."

He does kiss you then, biting down on your lip in desperation as your feathers brush over his heart. You bite down in return, bleeding his lip, and licking at the blood. The noise you release is a coo, a song that trembles at his hand that holds to your neck. As he suffocates for you, again, and again, and again.

When he lies down to fall asleep that night, hand around his new necklace, and your head resting on his chest, he bites down where you cut him with your fangs, and thinks about the taste of you, well into the early hours.

—---

He learns, when he tries to return your gifts, that the only thing you seem to enjoy, is time spent, and his food offered. You look at gems with no recognition for value, you have no need for clothing or expensive fabrics, and you comment that jewelry would get lost in the waves.

He cannot think of anything he could offer, that could lay his claim against your skin, like his necklace does for him.

"I'd just lose them, Caleb. It would be a waste."

He's frustrated, and he thinks about it most of his days. Stewing over the thought, wondering at it.

It is a new moon when he sees you, reclined at the helm, singing into the night, when he sees the column of your throat, where your scales glisten, and his mouth waters. His steps are unsteady, and he cages you in his arms, buries his nose in your neck and smells you like you do to him.

You always smell the same, sea salt breeze and coconut flesh. Sweet and salty, and enough to make him bite down.

Your song breaks into a whine, and you lean back against him, tilting your head so he can reach more of your neck. When you speak, your pretty voice is trembling, "You want to learn to be a siren?"

"I want to leave a mark on you, if you won't wear my gifts."

A gasp pulls from your throat when he sucks at the skin, his hook digs into the wood of the ship, gouging at it, and your hand moves to his hair, to pull him closer, or push him away he can hardly tell.

He can feel your feathers trembling against his skin, and amidst his sleeping crew, and the light of the moon, he marks up every part of your skin not covered in scales. While you sing for him.

When you return the favour, he bleeds against your fangs, and adds the sensation to one he will remember for the rest of his life.

—---

"Do sirens mate?"

You blink at him, from where you are lay, with your head in his lap. You reach a hand up, to poke his brow, "Do you believe me an animal?"

"No, no. I-" He hesitates. Caleb has long since forgotten you needing to remember him, he just needs you with him. Forever. He simply is unsure how to ask. "I was just curious, if you married, or-." He stops, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks.

You move, stretching out your legs and talons, and turn to hold his gaze, "I don't really know. I'm sure some do." You seem unconcerned with the question, looking in his face for something. Sharp gold pupils and predator gaze.

He wonders what you see that softens your face, that makes you hum a long warm note, and lean over to bite his bottom lip, "Maybe this one does." You whisper, kissing him, hand pulling him down, on top of you, "They quite like a pirate, you see."

Caleb chokes on his words, and feels the small string of his restraint snap, like it always does when you touch him, bite at him, sing for him. He kisses you, and kisses you, until neither of you can breathe. You can hold your breath far longer than he, so you chase him, and he has to hold your neck to keep you from following. So he can gasp.

You whine, and try to bite his hand, but eventually settle as he sucks in air. Laughing a little at his red cheeks, and his hooded eyes. "Perhaps I should teach you how to hold your breath for longer."

He leans in, growling against your lips as he goes to kiss you again, "Maybe you should."

He does not stop till you're gasping, desperate and ravenous. He definitely understands, above all else, how you could destroy ships. He would follow you into the abyss with ease, if drowning tastes like you, it's all he wants.

—--

"Why do you sing?"

The question halts you, from where you are sat, chewing more apple slices on his bed. The juice runs down your fingers as you pause and look at him. Sharp fang crunching through tart skin.

He swallows, and refocuses, as you offer a questioning hum.

"Your singing, you make the crew sleep when you visit, but you don't kill us. I thought sirens sang to hunt, but you sing often."

"You said you liked it." Is the only response you offer, and his heart skips and jumps and thunders.

He approaches you, moving the plate of fruit away, tilting your head up with his hook to steal the slice still held in your mouth with his own. As he chews it, sweet, and satisfying, he smiles, "I do."

"Then why would I stop?"

"I like a lot of things you do." The tip of his hook rests over your throat, where your voice vibrates, and he watches as your eyes gleam, pupils expanding. "Would you do all the things I like, without stopping, for the rest of time?" He teases when he speaks, his hand brushing feathers back, dancing over scales and skin, circling marks he has left.

Yet he means so much more than he's managed to say, so many things he's not sure he's ready to voice yet. Fear and desperation, that maybe you would run from him, if he ties you down to him. Even if it is all he wants. To tether you to him.

Your deal hangs over your shoulders, and he wonders if you want to break it. To be free.

Sirens should be free, he thinks. Yet he cannot find it in himself to do so.

Your voice comes out in a low croon, and his legs tremble. Despite knowing your spell does not work on him, he sometimes thinks it must. To tremble him to nothing, and bring him to his knees. He can lead a crew of men, kill where he must, but he would bow at your talons for eternity, if that was what you wanted from him.

As long as you want him.

"Maybe if you can make it worth a siren's while, I'll consider it." You tease back, your wing fluttering at your side.

Caleb will make every moment spent with him worth it. Offer you his heart on a platter, his bones and his flesh, his life and his blood. You care little for the material, so you can have his very body, to devour or to love, he does not care.

As long as it is you. As long as his siren never leaves him, he'll never need anything else.

—---

It is when he has not seen you for a week, that he finds his ship in a storm unlike any other. The god of the tides must wish to claim his soul, for stealing one of his sirens.

For evading death as long as he has.

For daring to want more than he was given as a grubby brat on the streets of that old port town.

When the great beast capsizes, with him and his crew, he sinks through the water, and aches. He does not fear death, not anymore, the need to survive was replaced with the need for you. A clawing desire to never have a moment without you.

Now he will die without seeing you, without saying goodbye, and without knowing if you would have spent your life with him.

It is agony, to lose his dream.

He only hopes you will be happy and safe, into the future. Though the greedy part of his soul, hopes you never find anyone who you like as much as him.

As his eyes drift closed, and the water fills his lungs, he hears it one more time. The soft eulogy of the ocean, and the comfort of the voice he adores so deeply. Carrying him to the bottom of the ocean, where all sirens are supposed to lead.

—---

There's a song on the edges of his consciousness. It lilts and it lifts. He has not heard it before, but he knows the voice. There is no sorrow, no ache, just love, and adoration. He seeks it out in the darkness, moves towards it. So that he can grasp with his hand, and hold it close.

Answer the unspoken question in the tune.

As light filters through eyelids, he is sore, and aching, like he has gone back in time. Looking up from sand at a clear blue sky, except this time, he sees you straight away. Perched beside him, singing for him, luring his soul back to you.

He tries to speak but his voice is sore, he coughs up some sea water, and your hand helps steady him, rubbing at his back. Quieting as you watch him come alive again.

When he can speak, when he can move, when his body stops screaming at him, he laughs weakly. "You saved me, I guess the deal is done."

It's all he can think to say, as he watches you. Watches those mismatched eyes, with the golden ring around your pupils, and then freezes as you smile. Soft, and familiar, and full of recognition, "I've saved you before. I think now, you owe me."

"You remember?"

"I remember you insulting my height, incredibly rude." There are tears in your eyes, as you help him sit up, as your hand takes his cheek and touches him, runs over his face, down his neck, to his chest, where you try to feel his heartbeat. Closing your eyes to the song of it. "You're not allowed to die."

He laughs, wet and rough, as he presses your hand closer to his heart, "I'll make a concerted effort, pipsqueak."

"You're not allowed to leave me."

"Easily."

"You're to love me."

"Every day."

He watches your breath catch, and leans in closer, so that he can rest his forehead against yours.

"Your soul belongs to me, and your body."

"Every part of it."

"The day you do die, you're mine to devour."

"Bones and all."

You brush your nose against his, eyes flickering to his lips, and back to his eyes, "Until the day I'm satisfied, you're bound to me, and sirens are greedy."

He kisses you, and kisses you, because his heart is yours, his body, his soul. Everything he is, is yours, and as he sees the hunger and greed in your eyes that matches his own, he knows it will be a very long time before the deal is satiated.

There is no world where he's satisfied, he will always want more, and he knows you'll want the same. A song eternally unfinished for just the two of you, just the way he wants it.

[zsakuva]

I'm sure this has been asked, but I had found your stuff recently and absolutely love how the different characters are with each being just as charming as the next. My question is what is the thought/writing process? I am wanting to be better at defining my ocs and characters without falling into the same trope and behaviors the characters have exhibit. Obviously there are different methods for different people, but I'll like to know a little bit of the process for you. Do you have any tips to make the voices distinct and consistent through out a piece of writing?

Thank you!

For me, because I have a proclivity for world-building (meaning I am absolutely obsessed and must know the lore before I do anything), I like to understand the path a character has chosen. Their past experiences and upbringing have a dramatic impact on how they shape their own life, and that informs me of how a character acts, talks, and how they both see and react to the world around them.

I'll use Isaac Rhoades as a brief example (I wrote brief but this is not brief at all, my bad xD).

From the beginning, Isaac was written with a sealed heart and a cold personality. He's an articulate and smart man, a workaholic, but he lives in solitude.

I always ask myself how and why a character is who they are, and what decisions they made/experiences they've had to bring them to this point.

For Isaac, his background paints quite the picture:

Born to loving parents, and his grandfather is a successful private investigator — The early part of his childhood nurtured love and care. His mother in particular showed him what it meant to love unconditionally.

His parents are murdered because of his grandfather's choice — Isaac was taught that even the people you love can hurt you, and that nowhere is a safe space.

Learning under his grandfather — Because of his vast portfolio and cases, Isaac is taught more about the workings of the world, and how to stay cautious. There was no space for fun or games; his only objective was expanding his knowledge in many subjects that his grandfather deemed worthy.

Getting stabbed by the maid — This reinforced the thought of a perpetual threat and the need to stay vigilant. It instilled paranoia in him to trust no one.

University in England and Andrew — Here, he remembers the love of his childhood, but also the threat of losing someone else because of his own decisions, taught by his grandfather.

Learning the reason of his grandfather's decision — Isaac was taught that there is always more to one person, for better or worse, as taught by the maid. Due to this and what he's learnt thus far, Isaac decides to seclude himself so he's never forced to make that kind of choice.

Succeeding his grandfather — Being a private investigator opened his eyes to humanity's extremes: the lengths they would go for their own desires at the detriment of others, and the yearning others had to better the world. His work reminds him of his life experiences, and these beliefs constantly clash.

Isaac is distant and cold at first because his life taught him not to trust anyone—even the unassuming—and he doesn't want to let anyone in; they could either betray him, or he could lose them. And yet, despite that, his mother's teachings managed to peek through when he saw Pickle in the alley, alluding to his true nature. Through Isaac's story, his internal struggle begins to rear: desperately wanting to feel love again, but knowing the cost if he does give in and the inevitable choice he might have to make if he opens his heart again.

Isaac is articulate and smart because of his grandfather's teachings. One can assume he stayed in that house for the rest of his teenage years until he left for university, so the only person he really interacted with was his grandfather. Because of this, he's factual, precise, and seldom makes jokes because mostly every conversation had been connected to work in some form. Small talk is a waste of time, and he doesn't indulge others unless there's a reason for it. He's meticulous with when to speak and when to listen.

Isaac is a workaholic because that is what his life has been shaped to be, also likely influenced by his grandfather. He has money, but continues to work. Why? Perhaps it's because he'd be without purpose otherwise. Or is it because he feels it's his duty to continue in his grandfather's footsteps and find the one thing that matters in the ocean of bullshit?

All of this shapes who Isaac is. It wouldn't make sense for him to have the same disposition as Andrew. Though they are similar in ways (articulation, education, work addiction), they take different forms and stem from the unique experiences they've lived. Where Andrew can engage in small talk (he had a freer childhood, a rebellious and fun twin brother, and more public school education/social interactions), Isaac can't. And though they both carry the weight of their own regrets alone, Andrew chooses to live with what he has, but Isaac chooses to endlessly bear the weight of the world and live up to his grandfather's bravery.

SO. With that being said, a suggestion I can give is to constantly remind yourself who your character is with every decision they make. Is it true to them? Does it make sense for them? But remember, humans are also notoriously contradictive, and one is not the same as another. We experience and react to the same conditions in completely different ways; who you are and what you've been through can determine the outcome.

I hope this has helped in some form of way!

Again I apologise for this monstrous post have fun writing aaaaa-

[eckswizi]

we spend so much time dunking on conservatives for being ignorant, for not seeing the evil things that the right is doing so blatantly. The republican party says things dumber than satire, and yes, their followers believe every word of it. But can we really blame them? And please hear me out on this.

The republicans prey on the uneducated. They prey on the poor, and the disenfranchised; those who don’t know when they’re being swindled. The republican party has systematically broken down the education system in the united states because it better serves their interests. Through making schools worse they create a population that is less educated and has less social mobility, meaning they’ll have lower wages and, even better for republicans, won’t know when they’re being taken advantage of. A less educated populace is easier to control, easier to influence, and better for business.

This wasn’t something orchestrated by one man. It’s the result of decades of capital-driven policies, on top of racial politics. The most clear example of this is how hard politicians fought to keep people of color out of schools, and then once they failed, out of schools of quality.

It’s not the fault of the average republican voter that they can’t see what is going on. They were never taught to. Everyone alive in the the USA today are people who were raised in an education system that failed them, because it was designed to. To make America a better country should not be about one side of the aisle trying to stamp out the other side; it should be about trying to build a system that fails no one.

Those who were failed by the education system are easy to preach to. They probably struggled through school with no help, and came to hate it. They probably never had the chance to go to college. It was never their fault. It’s easy to tell them that science is wrong; it’s easy to tell them that those colleges are the enemy and that the leftist people and ideas that come from them are bad because that validates the emotions that these people feel. And every time a massive gang of leftists clowns on someone on the internet, it just further cements the things the Republicans preach.

[fox-bright]

For eight novels, eight novels and multiple novellas, nearly every time you hear Ivan's name it's either "Ivan, you idiot!" or the "you idiot" is subtext. He acts like a buffoon, and even when they know better literally every single person around him but Gregor treats him like they believe it. He likes it that way, obviously, because it keeps him safe from the slightest possibility of being approached to take the throne, but the thing is that the reader believes it too. Even with proof after proof that he's really very much doing it on purpose. Because it's funny, right? Ivan-you-idiot, the despair of his meddlesome mother, for despite being charming and attractive he can't manage to maintain a relationship without destroying it through his own rakishness or fear of attachment, Ivan-you-idiot who is smart as hell and knows where on the scale to put his finger, but who will never, ever, outshine his genius cousin. Ivan-you-idiot who ends up in kidnappings, accidents, attacks, because of who his family is, and it's nearly always played as nearly a joke. Ivan, you idiot, the comic relief sidekick, having to pleasure three beautiful women at once for hours after getting slipped an anti-erection drug. Ivan, you idiot, touching things he shouldn't touch, breaking things, stumbling into Situations, being neatly manipulated by Miles to always be just where he wants him.

Twenty three years of this, in real-life time. Eight books.

And then we hit Captain Vorpatril's Alliance, and for the first time ever in the series, we see him through the eyes of someone who isn't Vor, who hasn't grown up watching him throw away his chances out of fear that one of them will have a crown attached to it. She sees the quick-thinking, diligent man who always knows how to read a room. She sees him and she believes in him. She's never been taught any different.

How to make us believe it, though, some of us having known Ivan-you-idiot since the nineties?

Simply, deftly, perfectly done--Bujold gave him his middle name back.

To Tej, he's "Ivan Xav." Ivan Xav is brilliant. Ivan Xav knows the ins and outs of Barrayaran culture at its most mercurial and can teach her how to thread the most complex of needles. Ivan Xav walks effortlessly through rooms full of ruffians and rooms full of royalty, and the bright expression on his face doesn't change no matter how terrifying the company.

Ivan Xav, shortly, is a hero.

And through Tej's eyes, we get to see Ivan whose mother nearly birthed him on the street beside his father's corpse during Vordarian's pretendership, Ivan who grew up visiting that spot on the street for his birthday every year. Ivan who still can't handle tight spaces. Ivan who loves so fiercely but frequently covers it up with more idle charm and handwaving charisma, because that keeps him and the people around him safe.

He's still just Ivan. He's not miraculously a different person, though I'd have a strong argument that since Gregor and Miles have both been diligently producing more heirs that stand between him and the throne, he's feeling a lot more comfortable in his skin these days and it might mean he relaxes some. He's the same man he always was. But he was never an idiot. And when we get to meet Ivan Xav, we believe it, too.

I made Vorkosigan Saga memes

[notacluedo]

more diomedes just bc

[amelikos]

Friede being that bridge between generations and the beloved student of Liko and Amethio's parents, to the point Liko's mother entrusts her daughter's safety to him and that Amethio's father acknowledged his work and kept his ID card long after Friede left Exceed and trusts him enough to let him know he always has a place with him..

Something something, once a student, now the mentor guiding their kids.

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[grinchwrapsupreme]

being super normal about White calling Billy "a dreamer"after the events of Maybe No Go

[united-under-skyfall]

growing up in a small town is like. i want to get as far away from here as humanly possible and never look back. i've been sorted into homeroom classes with at least seven of the same kids from kindergarten through graduation and i don't know that we've ever talked longer than five minutes but i'd probably die for them. this would be a nice place to live for the rest of my life, i think. you know everyone in town by their family name even if you don't actually know any of them personally. i'm tired. everyone i know is tired. i hate it here. i never want to leave. we have nothing to do here and the boredom gouges tracks in my brain. i am personally offended by anyone not from here who says there's nothing to do here. everyone here knows too much about me. i know too much about everyone here. how does it feel to start from a blank slate? i would never know. there is a quiet, hidden sort of rage that everyone plants in their gardens. the lemonade at the market tastes like five-year-old laughter, the library smells like paper and the hot chocolate they used to make for events in the basement. the local history room hadn't changed since they installed it because there's nothing else to add, nothing else to know. i am tired. they're developing things and too much is changing too quickly and this has been the same unchanging neighborhood for fifty fucking years and now it's utterly unrecognizable from the place i knew barely a decade ago. i am never sure how much this change is a good thing, how much is too much. it feels like someone is peeling back my wallpaper skin when i'm not looking, painting different shades over what i thought should be there. i'm not the only person in this place but it feels strangely like they should have asked for my permission first, like i am part of its foundation, or maybe it's part of mine. (do we ask the bricks what they want the wall to look like, too?) we all share layers of the same memories that are slowly shifting and eroding, and you can see it everywhere you look, viscerally, physically. i think it is impossible to escape this place unless you are willing to bleed, and make bleed. it would be so, so easy to just disappear. the air feels fresher here than anywhere else, simply because it is the baseline my body has learned and my lungs have loved. i am so very, very tired. i think it's this place. i think i like it. i don't know. i don't know how to be anything else. i learned from brick and mortar, from pavement, from parks; buildings that served my mother as a child, graves no one visits anymore, trees older than my family line; everything sags, the colors washed out. they are tired, too.

[werewolfbneimitzvah]

vent post. There are two stories i was told in my teenage years that even before i had a real concept of trans issues made me uninterested in discussing the supposed sacredness and safety of separated sex-based spaces.

First, when i was like 13 or 14 my PE teacher told us about a time she went to a women's public restroom, some guy was hanging out outside the bathrooms, she didn't think anything of it, went to the bathroom, and he walked in after her and like, creeped on her over the top of the stall. She was ok, she wasn't telling us this to scare us, just telling us what to do in situations like that (and iirc she was telling the whole co-ed class this, not just girls, bc it's useful for everyone), but this taught me immediately and forever that there's nothing actually keeping these spaces separate really, that anyone can be a creep in any space, and that establishing a space like that as for women only isn't actually particularly useful for safety.

Second, when i was 16 i was at an anime convention, a friendly acquaintance of mine and i ended up in conversation outside, and he showed me his bare wrist and told me he'd been kicked out. A female friend of his had stepped in dog poop outside, and between that and the stress of the convention she'd had a bit of an emotional breakdown, so being her friend, he started comforting her and ushered her into the women's restroom so they could wash the poop off her shoe together. And because he was a man who went into the women's bathroom, he got kicked out, no matter that he was doing something that was actually beneficial to a woman. Punishing a woman's friend for supporting her was supposed to... protect her somehow? This made it clear to me that a no-exceptions rule separating the sexes like that wasn't actually inherently good for everyone.

And this isn't even getting into me as a child needing to accompany my younger sister to the restroom when we were out with just my dad because she had certain support needs past the age he felt comfortable bringing her into the men's room with him. And what if I'd been born a boy, or she'd been the first born? Who's helping her then?

And of course even putting all this aside, we should always prioritize compassion and support anyway. But i never even needed to meet a trans person to know that "keeping men out of women's bathrooms" is silly nonsense. But trans people also need to pee anyway and as humans they have that right, so leave them the fuck alone. your precious women's restroom is just a fucking room with a door, holy shit give it a fucking rest, if someone is attacking you in the bathroom that's bad and if someone is in there to pee that's good and it doesn't fucking matter what their junk is or was when they were born.

a woman could have done the exact same thing to my PE teacher and it would have also been bad no matter how "supposed" to be in the restroom she was, and no one should ever be punished for helping a crying friend wash their shoe.

Anyway i know I'm speaking to like-minded folks here, i just think about those two stories literally every time bathroom gender shit comes up and it pisses me off.

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[omid-1]

BETTER THAN PHYSICS⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ —SJY

Pairing: tutor!Jake x fem!student!reader

Summary: You have always hated physics. You've tried to learn it but it doesn't work out. Will that change when you go for tutoring to the hottest and most handsome man you've ever seen?

Genre:smuttttt

Warnings: 18+, age gap( reader is 19 and Jake is 30), mdni, unprotected sex (don’t do it) , soft dom jake, fingering, oral ( fem receiving), eating out, dirty talks, swearing, fingering, squirting, hickeys,begging, nipple play, kissing, pet names (baby, princess etc.), mutual desire, missionary, big dick!Jake, multiple orgasms (sorry if I missed sth)

Word count: 3,5 k

Author note: ahhh, my first fanfic has so many likes and reblogs!!! Thank you so much!!! I’m very glad that you liked it ㅤ♡ ^^ ! I hope you will like this one too ♡

English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩.

Physics has never been your favorite subject. You’ve always passed this subject with luck. No matter how much time you spent studying it, it was always bad. When you graduated from school you went to college. You didn’t expect that there will be also physics.

You are in your first year of study and you are doing very well in your studies. Unfortunately, you are only stopped by unfortunate physics. You're writing exams in a few weeks and that includes this subject.

You studied at night, took notes and even concentrated a lot during the lectures but it didn't do anything. You just think and know that you don’t have the talent for it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

One evening you called your mom. You do it often because you are living now in a dormitory with your friend.

Your university is far from your home so you had to move away. Due to your studies, you don’t have much time to visit your family, so you often call them.

You talked with your mom. She knows very well about your troubles with physics. She told you that she knows someone who could tutor you.

At first you weren't too convinced by her idea, but nevertheless you knew that she wants good for you, and you guess this will be your last hope.

You found out from her that your tutor was to be a man who teaches physics at the school, and his name is Jaeyun. According to your mom, he taught her friend's son and he passed his exams 100%. She gave you his phone number and you wrote down.

Later in the evening after studying you were laying in bed. You mindlessly scrolled through social media on your phone. You were reminded that you need to call or text to this tutor.

You were wondering if this is a good idea. What if it's just a waste of time and money for you and you don't learn anything? Or worse it will be some old man who God knows what he will do to you?

But on the other hand, he was recommended by your mom so you trust her.

You chose his number. You didn’t want to call him so you wrote a short message:

YN: Hi, I’m YN! My mom gave me your number because you supposedly tutor physics

You were surprised how quickly he texted back:

Jaeyun: Hey! Yes, I tutor! if you want, we can arrange when to meet :)

You read his message and immediately wrote back:

YN: okay, we can even meet tomorrow if it suits you

Jaeyun: what about 6 pm?

YN: of course, it suit me!

You didn't know it would go so easily. You agreed on where to meet and decided to meet at his house. It turned out that he lives near your dormitory so you had a good commute to his place. With thoughts of tomorrow's tutoring, you fell asleep.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

You enter the apartment building where he lives. You have to admit that it’s very luxurious here and these apartments must have been very expensive. You ride the elevator and you are stressed.

It occurred to you that you have never really seen him. What if he turns out to be some kind of weirdos and you never leave his apartment again?

You walk unsteadily down the corridor and your brain is filled with thoughts. You stand in front of his apartment and softly knock on the door.

He opens the door. And my God before your eyes appeared the most handsome man you have ever seen.

He is wearing a black shirt that has two buttons unbuttoned and through this you can see that he is wearing a silver necklace, glasses in which he looks like a nerd and has lovely black slightly disheveled hair

And his face?? Goddamn,he looks like he’s some kind of Greek goddess. For all you know he's about 30 years old but he looks younger.

You know in advance that you won't learn much from his tutoring, and you won’t be able to focus since he looks too good.

You stand for a moment literally staring at him until you are shaken by his voice and he says calmly with a slight smile "Hi, are you YN?"

And when you heard his Australian accent? You literally went wild. He has the hottest voice you've ever heard.

You look at him and nod ,, yes, it’s me”

Jaeyun lets you in and you leave your shoes in the hallway. You have to admit that his apartment looks very expensive. Everything is very modern and looks new. You honestly like it a lot. It was clear that he lives alone, but this surprised you because how can such a handsome man be single?

You sat side by side in the living room at the table. You pulled out a physics book when Jaeyun said ,,so I haven't switched to you yet. I'm Sim Jaeyun but just can call me Jake”

You look at him the whole time and smile softly. Then you show him all the topics you were struggling with in physics.

,,okay, let’s start from the beginning. I will try to explain you as simply as possible”

Jake looks through your physics book and when you look at his big, veiny hands. You are getting wet. You wonder how you would feel if he choked or fingered you with them.

He starts to explain the subject to you. For the first half hour you listen and even start to understand something because he explains to you in a very simple and interesting way.

But then you are more and more distracted. You rest your elbow on the table and put your head on your hand. you look or rather stare at him.

He is so damn attractive. And also the fact that he is so smart makes you more and more horny for him. You really want to fuck with him.

,,is everything okay?” You hear his voice, which wakes you up from your fantasies about him. Probably he noticed that you’re not focused. You quickly straighten up and you say perplexed

,, yes..”

Jake smirks slightly and your heart beats faster. He starts dictating a note to you and you write it down. When he finish speaking he lean toward you. You immediately smell his perfume. He smells so good.

He is so close that you can practically hear his breath.Your heart beats even faster if it’s possible. Out of the corner of his eye he looks at you

Something tells you that he did it on purpose. You can sense it in the tension between you.

He leans back but you have the impression that the chairs you are sitting on are getting closer to each other.

After the tutoring, you leave his house. And damn, you already know that you may not learn much physics, but Jake is the most handsome and charming man you've ever seen and you need to do something about it.

On the other hand, Jake thinks about you the same. When he saw first saw you he thought that you are the prettiest girl he has ever seen. He is not stupid he noticed how you look at him. But for now he will tease you and see what comes out of it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

It's been two weeks since your first meeting and Jake is tutoring you several times a week.

Through each meeting you became closer and closer to each other . Often you dont talk only about physics but about normal topics and got to know each other.

You found out a lot of things about him. For example, he born and when he was younger he lived in Australia or that he graduated with two degrees. You have to admit that he’s really interesting and smart (plus very sexy hehe)

The other thing that is not hard to miss is the huge sexual tension between you two. Small and seemingly random touches light a fire in your body.

For example, Jake just happened to want to turn a page in a book at the time you did, and then your hands would touch, or he would claim he couldn't hear you and move your chair closer to his even though you were sitting very close.

On purpose when you go to him you put on more and more skimpy clothes. You see his gaze linger a little too long on your figure, or how he look at your lips instead of your eyes when he explains something to you.

You both know very well that you want each other. however, neither Jake nor you have made any concrete move yet. You are exhausted by this and you are thinking of doing something about it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

You sit next to each other on chairs. Today is your pre-last tutoring before the exam. However, you care more about making something happen between you. You've been horny for him since you first met him. You don't want to wait any longer.

You wore shorter skirt than usual and sweater today. You saw Jake watching you when you entered his apartment.

He explains some task to you although you don’t listen to him at all. You look at him as if he were the prettiest painting you've ever seen.

His eyebrows are slightly drawn together and he looks at you intensely. He speaks slowly and tries to explain everything in the simplest but most accurate way possible. His lips look so pretty and enticing.

You got the impression that he looks even hotter today than last time. His T-shirt showed perfectly his veins on his arms and he had different glasses than last time which perfectly highlighted his nose.

,,YN, are you even listening to me?”

You see that he bites his lip-you have noticed that this is his habit and sometimes he does it unintentionally. He raises his eyebrow and looks at you.

,, yes, I’m listening but I'm a little distracted” you answer and you look at his plump lips.

His smile widens and he looks deeply into your eyes. He asks curiously even though he knows exactly what is on your mind ,, What got you so distracted?”

You look at him and delicate blush appears on your cheeks. You know that this is your chance ,, I don’t know. I guess I've had enough of the physics. I need a break”

Jake looks at you intently and he answers calmly ,, okay, as you wish princess”

When you hear him say the pet name so naturally you get butterflies in your stomach. You lay finger on your lips and you play with your lip. You smile at him and you don’t break eye contact.

Jake when he watches you he loses his temper. He knows that he has to do something ,, c’mere, sit on my lap”

You listen to him and you sit on his lap. You put your hands behind his neck You get hot when you are so close. You look at his lips and then at his eyes. Jake notices this and grins ,,what happened, baby? Would you like to kiss me?”

You bite your lip slightly and Jake gently touches your lips with his finger while looking at them carefully. He wonders how pretty they would look around his dick.

Jake brings his face to yours and gently brushes his lips against yours. You begin to kiss each other subtly and sweetly. You have chills down your spine.

You deepen the kiss, you feel Jake exploring your lip with his tongue and you moan quietly into his mouth. You think that you've never felt so good when someone kissed you before

His hands moved sensually over your body. You felt his erection grow beneath you. You deliberately began to wriggle in his lap.

All the time you didn’t pull away from the kiss. It was more and more passionate and hot between you. You hear Jake begin to moan silently.

You pull away from the kiss and you feel Jake's hands on your waist. You whisper "bedroom"

Jake immediately knows what you're about and takes you in his arms. All the way to his bedroom you kiss and don’t take your hands off each other. When you enter the room Jake puts you on his bed.

He looks at you,his eyes darken and he delights ,,fuck baby, you look so pretty under me”

Your flushed face, reddened lips from an earlier passionate kiss and teasing smile arouses something in him. He thinks he's about to go crazy

His cock grows in his pants just because he looks at you. He thinks you're so cute when you're lying underneath him and so desperate for him.

,,Jake.., please do something” you beg him when you notice that jake is staring at you. And you honestly love it but you are desperate and need his touch.

,,for you everything, princess” he starts kissing and gently nibbling your neck. You moaned quietly in pleasure when he did it . You already know that he will leave marks on your neck

Jake begins to lift your t-shirt and looks at you with a questioning gaze asking for your permission. You nod and he pulls down your t-shirt and then your bra. He gently touches one of your nipples and licks and nibbles the other with his tongue.

You groan at the feeling. No one has ever touched you as good as jake. You squirm and whine.

Jake notices this how desperate you are. You are such a mess underneath him but he loves it. Your moans for him are like the prettiest voice he has ever heard.

He smiles, raises an eyebrow when he looks at you and says teasingly ,,tell me sweetie, where do you want me to touch you?”

You moan and look up at him. His disheveled hair from your touch, his mean grin and plump reddened lips make your pussy drip even more.

,,please… I need your month and fingers in my pussy”

Smile from his face doesn’t disappear when you beg him so nicely. He gently pulls down your skirt and you are left in just your panties. He lies down between your thighs and he puts your legs over his shoulders.

He slowly touches your clit with two fingers through your panties. He sees the wet spot on them and says in a deep voice ,, Your pussy is so wet and eager just for me, isn't it?”

,,o-only for you jakey…” you answer and keep your hands firmly on the sheet. Jake pulls down your panties and begins to touch your clit with one finger. he deliberately and gently moves his finger from top to bottom. You gasp and squirm.

,, jakey pleasee….. I need more”

At your request, he inserts two fingers into your cunt and you moan at the feeling when jake purrs ,,mmm, your pussy is so tight around my fingers”

Jake quickly and thoroughly fingers you and then adds his mouth. He starts eating your pussy like a hungry man. You moan loudly at the sensation.

He licks and nibbles your clit with his tongue and on top of that he fingers you with three fingers. He hits all the spots perfectly

,,fuck, you taste so sweet”

You have never felt so good before. You roll your eyes and hold your hands tightly in his hair. All you can hear in the room are your cries of his name and the wet sounds of your pussy as he inserts his fingers into you.

You feel that you are about to come, and you know that it will be the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced ,, fuck, jake… I-I feel s-soo goodd!!”

You moan and scream. Your back arches as you feel the knot in your stomach can burst at any moment. He doesn't stop. He starts fingering you even harder as far as possible perfectly reaching your G-spot.

,, jakeeee!!!! I’m cumming!!!!!” You scream when you cum at his face and fingers. You shout his name all the time. you have never came so intensely just because someone fingered and ate you out.

Your legs are shaking. ,, fuck doll,you’re so pretty when you cum on me” You feel Jake licking all your juices from your pussy and you moan quietly at the sensation.

You catch eye contact. you see that jake has your juices on his lips and nose. Damn, he looks so hot. You slowly sit up and jake draws you in for a passionate and desperate kiss.

You desire each other further so much. You taste yourself on his tongue. You start touching his cock through his pants and he quietly moans at the sensation

You pull away from the kiss and want to pay him back. However, he has other plans and says as he pulls off his shirt ,, baby, another time, I have to fuck you now”

You are breathing hard and your pussy is wet again just by his words. Jake gets up from the bed and pulls down his pants and boxers. You watch his every move.

And oh God. You’ve never seen a prettier body. He looks like he is some kind of god. He is athletic and you can see that he spends a lot of time in the gym.

And his cock? He is big, thick and stringy. You yourself don't know how your little pussy will take it all in.

He sees you staring at him and raises an eyebrow and smiles ,,hmm honey, do you like what you see?"

You nod and practically drool over him. He crouches in front of you on the bed and puts your legs over his shoulders. He pumps his cock a few time.

He holds your wrists behind your head and says seductively in a deep voice ,, will you be my good girl and you’ll take all my cook in your little pussy?”

your pussy is already so soaked for the second time and you want him to fuck you already. in a shaky voice you answer ,, yes!!! Please…. Fuck mee!”

His cock stands and when he hears you wanting him he puts the tip into your pussy. You moan at the feeling. He slowly enters further. You roll your eyes and moan his name.

Jake feels how warm and tight you are around him and thinks he could come already. He lays his head on your shoulder and breathes hard as he starts to move

,,mmmm j-jakeyy..” You moan as his cock thrusts into your pussy at a steady pace. Never before has anyone fucked you as well as he has. His big cock hits deep inside you in places you didn't know existed.

,,mhmm.. you feel so fucking full” He teases and and thrusts firmly into you ,, I'm sure you've wanted to have your tutor's cock pushed deep into your pussy for a long time”

You know you won't last long when he fucks you too good. You scream and purr louder and louder by the second.

He keeps his hands on your hips thrusting into you harder and harder. His cock twitches inside you and he knows he is close now

,,princess, you feel so good” He fucks you hard and fast. And whispers dirty words in your ear. He starts kissing your neck and massaging your clit. You moan his name loudly and feel that your second orgasm will be even more intense than the first.

Your lips part. You cum and squirts around his dick. You close your eyes and you feel ecstasy. Jake, meanwhile, loudly moans your name and asks in a shaky voice ,, Can I fill you up? Your pussy will be all filled in my cum”

,, yes-ss, pleaseee!!”you moan when you feel that jake paints your walls with his cum and pounding into you one last time

You breathe loudly as you feel Jake gently come out of you. cum from your pussy spills onto his bed sheets.

Jake goes into the bathroom and brings a towel to wipe the mess between your legs. Then he puts the towel on the floor.

You lie in his bed and wonder what will happen next. Jake sits down next to you and asks sweetly ,,are you feeling okay?"

You look at him and when you see how he cares for you your pulse speeds up.

You think you already know that you are in love with him.

,, yes Jake, it was amazing” you answer with a soft and tired smile. His smile widens and he lies down next to you. He opens his arms and you move closer to him.

You lie in each other's arms. Jake leaves kisses on your shoulder and cheek. there is a comfortable silence between you. Suddenly Jake speaks up ,,how about when you pass your physics exam I will take you out on a date?"

You raise an eyebrow and answer ,,it sounds amazing, but why wait until the exam?”

Jake giggles quietly and says bringing his lips closer to yours

,,it will be your prize baby”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

Thank you for reading! ♥︎

[afatkidclub]

Older Boyfriend Simon Riley

Thanks to the notes on my last post, I will be posting this blurb here. It's just for shits and giggles.

Older Boyfriend!Simon Riley who has been the best boyfriend you have ever had.

Refuses to let you call a handyman. Leaky sink? He had it fixed before you even knew there was a problem. Squeaky desk chair? Suddenly completely silent. 

Gets really competitive with Mario Kart and refuses to play again after losing a couple of rounds. Gets really into Minecraft but doesn’t let you help build things because “You’re doing it wrong” even though you’re the one who taught him how to play

Does not understand girl math. 

-- “The fuck you mean it’s not real money

-- “If I use cash, it’s free because it doesn’t come out of my account. Therefore it’s not real money.” 

-- “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” 

-- Now drops cash in your purse so that you have “fake” money to use. 

Hates girl dinner only because he knows that a bowl of popcorn or a couple crackers and cheese is not a full meal. 

A year of his life drops off every time he hears you saying “I’m doing it for the plot.” 

Refuses to download tiktok but will watch them on your phone with you for hours at a time

Went on a very long lecture about the Roman Empire and how it came to be (talk specifically about the military aspect) once you mentioned something was your Roman empire. Didn’t even notice you had fallen asleep halfway through the lecture. Still doesn’t know what you mean when you say something is your Roman Empire. 

Has absolutely no idea what you mean when you say “same.” 

-- You had to explain that it was just something you said when you found anything relatable

-- “What the bloody hell could be relatable about a plastic bag blowing across the road.” 

Has attempted to use the word slay in a sentence and it only ended with you in the longest laughing fit known to man. 

Listens to you explain celebrity beef and wonders why you talk about them like you know them personally and how you know all this information. 

Vine references, goes right over his head. 

-- One time quoted “Road work ahead, uh yeah I sure hope it does” after you had done it so many times, you nearly choked to death on air that day. 

Emojis are his worst enemy. Never gets the message when you try to hint at something using emojis. 

Learns very early on that anytime you two go out for errands, you require a sweet treat. 

-- Uses going out to get a sweet treat as an excuse to take you out on dates 

-- Also makes sure to buy you a sweet treat anytime you complete a task you didn’t want to do.

[haveihitanerve]

Bruce sends his kids little notes using carrier bats. It first started when Dick moved out and he wanted to talk to his son but didn't want to call and then have dick hang up on him or decline, didn't want to see his message be left on read, so he bought a little circus bat and taught it to fly to wherever Dick’s scent was (ie he would hang a piece of dicks clothing up at one end of the cave) and built him a nest built of dicks old bedsheets and then tied a little note to its foot, just a little question about how the weather is in Bludhaven and if hes getting enough sleep and alfred misses him, nothing that can be seen as overbearing or forcing himself into his life, and the little bat flies all the way to Bludhaven and hangs on Dicks window and Dick sees it and memories slam into him full force because bats are batman and robin and he cant, not yet. So he doesn't open the window. Ignores him. But the little bat is anything if not as stubborn as the man who trained him so he stays. And after two days Dick relents because the bat hasn't moved an inch and is probably hungry, so he brings him inside and then he sees the note for the first time and opens it and then he breaks and the tears flow because Bruce cares and bruce still wants him. And dick spends time with the little bat and takes it on missions as Nightwing because they’re both nocturnal and then finally, dick attaches a little note to the bats leg and he flies off to bruce. And bruce sees the little bat on his window and opens it, when he spots Dick standing just below, smiling faintly. “Hey b.” 

Bruce gets a bat from the cave ceiling for Babs almost immediately after her accident with Joker because he has responsibilities but he cant leave her alone so he sends her notes everyday and hopes the bat is a good enough companion and when she becomes oracle the bat serves as an exchange of information and contacts and bruce still uses him to check up on her and babs rolls her eyes everytime, but its fond

And so then when Jason comes bruce finds another little bat hanging in crime alley and uses her as a therapy animal after he dies and trains her the way he trained Dick’s but the bat doesn't have anyone to fly to and bruce tries not to cry when he sends it out with notes and it returns because it has no one to deliver to… until one day it doesn't come back. And bruce is afraid and confused and a week later the bat is back, a new note attached to her leg and bruce takes it and breaks down and he gets to talk to his son again. 

Tim already comes with his own bat because Nightwing has one, but the little girl imprints on Bruce right away and Tim pouts but he cant really be angry, not when Bruce sends his bat over to him almost daily while hes in the batcave or his room or the tower with reminders to eat and sleep and coupons for coffee

When Steph arrives Bruce hates himself for firing her but he just cant right now, but he stills gets a bat from the cave and sends it to her and apologizes because he cant bring himself to leave everything unspoken between them and Steph actually adores it and every so often she’ll send him a note and bruce knows hes forgiven

For Damian theres no need for a bat because he lives in the house with Bruce, but then they have Goliath and well… he serves as a messenger when no one else can get damian out of the training area

bruce has never named the bats, thinking that was for them alone to do and he didnt want to get too attached because theres always a chance he pushed too far and his kids wont send a message back, but one day all his kids were hanging out in the living room together and bruce had just come up to join them when he hears dick say "hey wheres b? the movie's about to start?" and jason chucks a piece of popcorn in his mouth and goes "idk, ill send him a note." but tim goes "no i will!" and all together they yell "ROBIN!!!" and all their bats come flying from the cave and fly to their specific masters and Bruce cant fight the tears and when every little bat flies towards him and delivers their note he walks out into the living room and gives them the biggest hug