#and that ship is a bird so there must be some surely

[rowanthestrange]

Assuming Rogue is close to the Chuldur (which seems a solid guess, he makes sure the gun’s out of the way the second there’s a risk it could actually get used on them) then they have such a good character setup right now. So good for why dancing with the Doctor’s so dangerous.

The birds have been hopping through places resembling their favourite ‘shows’, that’s what their “Season” as they called it is - we know it’s not just Brigerton, they don’t seem to have been here long and frankly don’t seem to have the attention span either, this is only the setting for the “season finale”.

We know they’ve watched Doctor Who (‘the Duchess’ knew the Doctor’s name without being introduced, and that he’d come back for some reason once the wedding/screaming at the end started).

So now you know all the birds are now thoroughly excited to play Doctor Who, cus this didn’t count, they barely saw him. And Rogue kissed him, squeeing ensues etc. ‘And it’ll be fun to have a cool character who isn’t just played by you, no offence.’

And Rogue knows he’s got a great hook to see the Doctor again. Wants to. He’s got the whole plotline sketched out.

…But he also knows that his fam only like to play their Baddy Characters Pretending To Be TV Characters, because honestly they’re not great at the roleplay thing, and even if he tries to convince them they’ve got to stay super-duper-undercover they probably won’t, and the Doctor has told and shown him directly that he will worse-than-kill them if this goes sideways.

When he’s the devilish Bounty Hunter, or Pirate Hunter, or Vampire Hunter trying to catch them, that’s one thing. He’s quick, he’s clever, he’s always two-steps ahead of them. But that’s easy, because they’re idiots. The Doctor isn’t. The Doctor is an actual threat. But they won’t want to be left behind when he plays alone either, and who knows what they’ll get up to if one of the others decides to take up his dungeon master mantle in his absence. So the question is, will he be able to balance them all and keep them safe next time too?

(My endgame would be: Ideally the Doctor has since become convinced that Rogue is the Master just pretending, but he wants to keep the pretence up cus their relationship now is working isn’t it? But either way, we get a reprise where the Doctor gets into Oncoming Storm Mode which while he usually tries to keep a lid on in front of companions, he thinks Rogue already saw so might not have the mask on so well where he’s concerned, and especially if he thinks this is the Master that could bring out the worst in him. And now the birds are actually going to die, and finally Rogue breaks character- all of the characters, for them and us as the audience- and screams for them, by name, to run. Has to throw himself after them to save them. And does he? If I was writing it, with nothing else to guide my hand, no, he wouldn’t. Those are the dangers of playing pretend in real life. Playing villains. Playing with the Doctor. And if he wasn’t the Master before, maybe now he is.)

[moondirti]

privateer! johnny mactavish, whose only job is to raid and rob foreign vessels under arms, taking them for condemnation and their crews as prisoner for exchange. he isn’t a pirate per se – he really prefers the term corsair, if the letter of marque framed in his cap’s office has anything to say about that—

finds a stowaway on his very own ship. clever little thing must have wormed her way through from another vessel during one of their assaults, because gaz makes good work of checking for hitchers before they sail off. she’s malnourished, dangerously close to developing scurvy, arms bruised in a way no bird’s should be. hair matted, face caked in gunpowder and salt. she can hardly voice her pleas when he comes across her while looking for extra ammunition.

but there’s no need to worry. johnny’s a good man, from a good name. sure he might look a little crazed, sea legs and beard veiling the hero underneath – as though he were just another buccaneer who paves their life’s path taking from innocents – but he only does so to those who deserve it. promise.

and you don’t look like you do. virtuous thing. pretty thing, like a fresh-shelled pearl who has yet to be polished. he won’t tell the crew about your transgression. in fact, he won’t tell them anything about you at all; especially not simon, who treats him as though he were nothing more than an extension of himself. no. this is for him, and for him alone.

he’ll keep you in his room. give you a nice place to rest. feed you orange slices until the colour blooms behind your cheeks. give you baths with a washcloth when he can. checks what all the fuss is about when you cover your tits protectively – he’s only cutting the dirty garbs of ye – to discover that, so long as he assures you that what he’s doing is in your best interest, you’ll let him get away with anything.

like stuffing his nasty fingers in your cunt, tongue notched down your throat to muffle your cries. like feeding you his cock after successful raids, the cork off a bottle of rum plugging your tight ass shut. like folding you in half and jackhammering into your womb, months worth of pent-up sexual energy laying itself onto your poor body.

all the while – as you grow more wary, exhausted – his delusion grows worse.

because what kind of alternative fate would you find out there, with the brutes he calls friends? better off with him, lass. even if you are constantly dripping cum, growing dizzy in his bed while he’s away. at least he was taught how to treat a woman right.

(can’t say the same about simon, who hasn’t fallen short on noticing johnny’s shift in behaviour. the new gait in his step, the dazzle of his smile. his bunk’s only a few doors away, after all. some nights, he swears that the creaks of his bed frame are too loud for even the stormiest of seas to spur.)

[b1asho]

Huzzahh, it's species number 3! (There's a total of 6, including humans. 7 if you count artificial intelligences, 8 if you count the uhh other intelligences).

An official up to date visual for everyone's favorite communist amphibians, the Kixeli.

Kixeli are a small sentient species hailing from a planet covered mostly in ocean. They are amphibious, and originally evolved to switch between swimming and climbing using their webbed hands and powerful arms.

Their skin is permeable, allowing them to extend their time underwater to hunt and gather as well as reproduce, but due to their larger body and brain size/oxygen needs this isn’t sustainable and they must return to the surface.

Alongside their frequent trips outside the water, they also have a mucus layer and several specialized glands (including in their face by their eyes) to help remove excess salt and change levels of urea in their body to help make sure they dont lose resources when in the ocean.

Kixeli are omnivorous, with a focus on fruits and sealife. many cultures have a preference against eating anything that lives above water, including birds and the like, because they see themselves as spiritual equals to those animals as fellow air breathers.

They are oviparous, and have a specific mating season.

Most Kixeli have multiple variable spawn partners and see it as strange to be nailed down to one. Anyone who participated lays their eggs in a communal tide pool carved out in their communities.

Hatchlings are entirely aquatic wirh gills until later months of age, where they will begin to poke their head above water for air and start interacting more with the adults around them, who feed them a nutritive crop milk as they have already absorbed most of their tail by now.

This period is also the beginning of their understanding of language.

Once they lose their tail and grow in their limbs, they are still mostly helpless until those fully develop and myst cling to a caretaker adult in the community (blood parents don’t necessarily always raise their own children, but as someone who laid eggs they are responsible for children as a caretaker so anyone who didn’t want eggs gets left alone).

During their puberty, they will develop adult skin markings, and some can even end up changing sexes (much for the same reason some of them grow gliding membranes, as the result of population and resources balance in their surroundings).

Speakijg of that, there are two categories of Kixeli in their communities: Kel (swimmer) and Arasit (flier).

Arasit are just a rare continuation of their life cycle, since most Kixeli kids end up growing into Kel adults.

Sometimes, though, an Arasit will develop in case the community strongly needs to seek out new territory over long distance (triggered by close proximity to many other Kixeli and a variety of other unknown gactors, like grasshoppers turnkng into locusts.) They can’t truly fly, but they can use the powerful ocean winds and even some launching technology to glide very far to scout new resources and other communities).

Arasit are highly celebrated as voyagers, but Kel are also valued as providers for their existing community and even accompany voyages on ships to help their Arasit stay alive.

Some Arasit will cut and cauterize their membranes to make it easier for them to swim to symbolize they are staying in the community, though usually, they just poke small holes in there so they can wear clothes and be sanitary.

Their blood uses the hemocyanin molecule to carry oxygen, making their blood a bright blue when oxygenated and a thin blue/clear when unoxygenated (so you can see the other warmish colored pigments in there when it’s inside them, that yellowish stuff)

Their ancestors dwelled in deeper, cooler water where this blood type was most advantageous, but a global warming period brought them up to warm waters and eventually above the surface to capitalize on resources.

During this process, they developed some ways to improve the molecule’s lower efficiency in the heat. For one, they kept a small body size so there’s less to deal with. Another thing is that they get oxygen (albeit a small amount) from all over their body constantly through their skin, also somewhat making up for it.

The main mechanism, though, is their metabolism/temperature. They can quickly adjust their metabolism depending on the oxygen conditions in their surroundings to prevent immediate failure if they don’t have access to the right conditions to otherwise cope (this, and along with hemocyanin’s natural ability to handle low oxygen and their skin breathing, means they can tolerate very low oxygen areas that would cause a human to faint, though they’ll typically be pretty out of commission too, and this can have longer lasting effects on their health from the whiplash.)

they use their surroundings for heat when they aren’t doing anything too strenuous, and because they aren’t really producing much of their own they can tolerate even higher temperatures that would normally put them out of commission (and they actually heavily rely on that heat for ease in a lot of other processes), to do anything that has bigger oxygen needs, they can dip into cooler water/shade for periods of higher activity (but can’t stay too cold for too long or else aforementioned other processes will shut down, though it does increase the effectiveness to the point where they can do a whole lot and allows them to swim/navigate cooler areas where their early competitors couldn’t return to, it only as long as they got back quickly and warmed up)

they basically swing between these two extremes but tend to stay at a warmish middle-ground, wearing heating pads on part of their body while still letting larger areas cool off, if that makes sense.

Hemocyanin’s other properties don’t automatically give them a longer life, in fact theirs is very short compared to other species, but it does make them resistant to cancers (a common threat on their sunny planet) and the spread of diseases in their dense communities

Being cold-blooded wasn’t a problem on their mostly tropical planet. It is a considerable problem once they left it, though, hence the heating pads most wear to warm up.

many also live in areas without a large body of water nearby (or an easy way to access said body of water) but still need to stay damp to maintain their music layer and trap oxygen, so many also carry spray bottles or wet rags with them to always stay damp.

Kixeli are highly social (with their name even roughly translating to "belonging together"). they rarely live in groups of less than 5.

They experience severe negative side effects from isolation. Their naturally intense empathy also makes it extremely damaging for them to see other Kixeli injured or dead, sometimes leading to their own death from shock if they were the one that did it (though this has not stopped wars over their scarce resources in the past, typically because that intense sense of kinship was naturally strongest towards those among their own community, and if Their community was suffering then they had to get rid of the source of it by any means. )

This period nearly drove them to extinction, and led to a Global Community movement that argued for intercommunity cooperation and the end of 'us and them thinking'.

Due to their sliminess, Kixeli normally keep clothing to a minimum and overall don’t have a need for it beyond temperature control and ornamentation.

They have none of their own social taboos about nakedness, having no external genitalia, but still often clothe themselves to the standards of others due to the pressure/need to be polite from other species.

They also have few class divides within their own communities, with everyone working for the good of the whole, and no sex/gender roles beyond squirter and egg layer since everyone cares for the eggs.

To humans, their language sounds like birdsong, with lots of repetitive noises and subtle shifts in pattern and tone.

Their unique vocalization makes their languages hard to learn and even harder to speak, but they themselves are incredible mimics (only surpassed in some ways by humans because lips and teeth).

The fin on their forehead is similar to eyebrows in communicating emotion or tone. They can see a similar color spectrum to humans and love bright contrasting colors similar to their own skin patterns.

They favor “fast food”, or anything that can be carried easily as you swing around in a tree or on a boat.

Payment/restaurants doesn’t really exist for them, they just have areas where food brought in by providers is available to the community (or people just eat what they catch and then bring extra to the community.)

They also don’t chew their food, though some dishes are meant to be squished to the roof of the mouth with the tongue to experience the flavor

Their clothing is often “readable” in that many individuals wear clothing that represents a certain story, event in their life, event in their community, or mythical hero that can be derived from looking at their clothing from the head down.

In the two guys up there, the Arasit is wearing the equivalent of booty shorts cut scantily close to their Hole depicting one version about the founding of the first community (though a simplified one, so it’s actually more like the equivalent of wearing a crop top tee with a little monochrome dog on it or something).

This kind of imagery is common among Arasit, even modern ones, because founding/birth/life are their associations in religious cultures.

The Kel alongside them is wearing a more complex getup meant to show the inciting incident of one of the nomadic communities mythic hero’s journey, when he was cast from the star sea by the wicked Long Arms into the deep sea.

This would be seen as all most goth since this part of the story is seen as eerie and it depicts their underworld along the hem and bracelets.

By wearing clothing associated with a specific figure//story, they can also show gender identity based on whether that figure or hod was male, female, neuther, etc(helping people draw the right conclusions despite the visible evidence of their sex written on all their skin. The clothing and any makeup done on the fin is usually their main reference point for judging how to address someone. )

[roach-works]

the five animals

First contact was going surprisingly well and no one could figure out why, until we found out about the five animals. 

“There’s what?” Dr Grace Jones asked, politely, standing on the White House Lawn. 

“All five animals,” the alien zoologist repeated, cheerfully. It ate another fancy little sandwich. The President was taking pictures with the Captain, and the zoologist had snuck off to raid the buffet and talk shop with the scientists. “It’s nice to see a planet with the whole bunch! Must keep you guys pretty busy, huh?”

“There are a few more than five animals here,” Dr Grace Jones said, slowly and carefully. 

“Really? Where are you keeping them?” the alien zoologist asked, interested. “We’ve been all over the galaxy and never found more than five.”

“I think,” Dr Grace Jones said, “you should list the animals for me. We’re having translation problems.”

“Oh, sure,” the alien zoologist--his name was something like Chem--said. “Tubes, vermin, small edible, furniture, and water.”

“Water?”

“Yeah, you know, water. Part of the water. You find them underneath the oceans and lakes. You guys definitely have that one.”

“That one.” 

Chem finally seemed to get the idea that they were not communicating. “Something weird must be going on with our translation,” he said. “Do you not have words for any of these things? A tube is something that’s long, with a hole from one end to the other.”

“We have tubes, yes. So. Hm.” Dr Grace Jones looked haplessly around the lawn, then pointed at a nearby sparrow. “We call that a bird,” she said. “There are thousands of different kinds of birds.”

“Oh! Local dialects do get pretty ornate,” Chem said, relaxing. “I think the translator’s working just fine, then. That’s a vermin. It’s eating your food, see? If you want I can set you up with our zoology module on the ship. It only takes a couple hours to get properly certified.”

“...so you’re not really a zoologist?”

“What? No. I’m really the ship’s zoologist. I have a lot of downtime between navigating and piloting because most of the time you’re just waiting for the ship to get through all the empty bits, y’know, in space, so I pick up other certs when I’m bored. I get double pay for any cycle the Captain needs an animal consult. You would not believe the amount of animals that look like rocks, out there.”

Dr Grace Jones finally, belatedly, eats her tiny sandwich, then drinks her lukewarm champagne. Then she says, very carefully, “On Earth it takes us years to get a degree in any field of biology, zoology, animal behavior. To say nothing of the kind of study veterinarians have to do.”

“Well, you locals seem to like things rustic out here, so I’m sure there’s some inefficiencies in the process,”  Chem said, and gave her a bracing pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you that module. We can sort it all out by dinner.”

“Thanks,” Dr Grace Jones said. She stared at the crumbs on her empty plate, then asked, “...What animal do you consider humans?”

Chem stared at her, then her crumbs, then the sparrow, evidently confused by her confusion. 

“What’s a human?” he asked.

[sourmiguel]

Hi there!

Biggest sterek fan here, could you recommend any Alive Hale family fics where they love Stiles and want Sterek to happen.

Bonus point if Peter plays the matchmaker and tell Derek to stop being uptight

Pretty please 🙏.

Also thank you for the amazing work you’re doing with your blog, much appreciated 🫶🏻

Hey! I have so many Alive Hale Fam fics bookmarked it's crazy! I love them so much. I'm not coming up with any Peter ships Sterek specifically, but here is a wide variety of some fun Alive/Meddling Hale Fam fics:

Blind Date With a Book by thepsychicclam (wc30361, mature)

Summary: Stiles thought the Blind Date With a Book trend was a great way to drum up business for his small bookshop. He definitely thought it was a great idea after the hot guy kept returning and buying more blind dates with books. Derek didn’t know how he kept getting set up on blind dates by his family, or why he kept going on them. The highlight of his night was when the date was over and he could go to the little bookshop in town and buy something to read for the rest of the night. He wanted to read, not date.

I’m totally obsessed with this fic. So cute. I love Derek and his aversion to his blind dates. I love Stiles and how cute and eager he is. I love their game nights. I just love this.

Follow the Jelly Beans by @afailureandamasterpiece (wc5793, teen)

Summary: Derek waves hello to everyone else who is gathered around a bare tree and hops up the stairs to his childhood bedroom to put on his soft flannel bottoms. Gracie had picked them out especially for him last Christmas and he made sure to pack them for the traditional pajama decorating party. Only his pants aren’t in the bag. In fact, none of his belongings are in the bag. It’s not his bag at all. “Oh no,” he mutters, sifting through the contents. “Who the fuck packed this?”

I love: meet cutes, Hale family love, single father!Stiles, fluff. This has all of that.

Just a Hobby by kaistrex (wc3009, teen)

Summary: Five times Deputy Derek shelters his partner from the world of the supernatural and the one time he discovers he’s just been making a fool of himself.

Silly Derek, trying to shelter Stiles from the big bad world of the supernatural.

When You’re Close I Feel The Sparks by Leslie_Knope (wc39671, mature)

Summary: The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles’ poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year. “We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

This is the best kind of HSAU - still in the ‘verse, just everyone lives. I love the progression of their relationship and the twists and turns of this fic!

Hale’s Modern Encyclopedia of Playing Cards (and Dating Humans) by thepsychicclam (wc49698, mature)

Summary: Wolves don’t date humans. And Derek’s okay with that. He’s got his Pack, his friends in the Pack network, and lacrosse. Plus, he plays cards with his grandma all the time. Stiles Stilinski definitely doesn’t factor into his life - no matter how much of a crush Derek has on him. But when bird creatures attack Derek, Stiles, and their friends in the Preserve, Stiles finds out about werewolves and things get pretty complicated. For Derek at least. And he thought school was his only problem, but now he’s grounded and Stiles is hanging around way too much for Derek to ignore him any longer.

I adore Derek and Stiles’s relationship and the growth it goes through in this fic. I think Derek with an uncontrollable crush that makes him wolf out in Stiles’s presence is so cute. I also love the Hale fam and the way Stiles (and Scott and the Sheriff) just get folded in after the crazy. So good.

Children’s Tales by @artemis69 (wc4690, general)

Summary: Be careful, little girl. Don’t go causing troubles in Beacon Hills, little girl, because the Hales live there. Keep away from Beacon Hills, little girl, or the Hales will destroy you. – Or: In a world where the Hales are alive and the protectors of the town of Beacon Hills, the humans politely fake ignorance of their not-really-human status, and they all live happily ever after. Then Kate comes in. Well. Tries to.

There are so many things about this fic that I love - the Sterek friendship, the Hales protecting the town, and the town protecting the Hales right back. So great.

Followers, let us know if you have any Peter ships Sterek / Alive Hale Fam fics for us!

[jymwahuwu]

tis i! wingweaver anon again back from the livestream with a vengeance XD.

https://honkai-star-rail.fandom.com/wiki/Transcript_of_Ten-Lords_Commission_Interrogation_With_the_Wingweaver_Xili

but i found this transcript and i realized that some wingweavers have come under the watch of the luofu. imagine a wingweaver reader from xili's clan being left behind on this strange ship. maybe you'd known xili as well, something of a mother to you perhaps, or a rather stern aunt.

even so, you are a proud little thing with your own biases and you are not fond of the xianzhou at all. but you're not one who specializes in any combat or military genius ( perhaps you are a labourer or servant class? ) so you cannot stir up trouble or run your mouth. you can no longer fly either because of the strict watch placed upon you and your clansmen, and you must content yourself with working odd jobs for a living with people who dislike you in equal measure.

but then there is a strange white haired man who comes and meets you sometimes. he likes pulling on your wings and feeding into your curious mind with stories and yummy food. and you can't say you're not impressed by him, xianzhou native or not. maybe at some point you slowly shed away that anger because it's so exhausting.

jing yuan had grown to have his own guilty pleasures, with your company exclusive to him and no one else. you're bright eyes, a little snarky, a little witty and you're such an adorable little birdie to him. surely he's allowed to be selfish, yes? and seeing you soften up and let him hold you, press soft kisses down your neck, he has an air of smug satisfaction.

but now you're trying to be civil with other people? he can't help but feel that bite of possessiveness. perhaps you've been a bit too brave in that regard, a bad little bird who has wandered too close to the bars of her cage.

he coaxes you to his home, to the coziness of his room when he finds out you're slowly going into heat. there were clear orders given to you and your clan that you were not allowed to proliferate...but really now, that was with each other, yes? you should be fine with him? and your mind and instincts do see jing yuan as a good mate. he is strong and he's proven a good companion, so you're more than happy to present yourself to him.

jing yuan does not stop till every bit of you if full with his seed. you'll bear his children soon enough and he's giddy at the thought, keeping you locked up for him to fuss, spoil and fuck. you could try to run but you learn rather quick that he's terribly good at finding you.

soon enough you do slowly give up a little and have him touch you all over, on your belly and breasts, cooing. he's so soft and kind to you and he keeps this nest you've made nice and warm. maybe you did belong here in the end, just for him. so you stay, with his ribbon tied round your neck like a pretty collar.

Thank you wingweaver anon, I absolutely love this series!! This sounds so cute <3<3

tw: dub-con/non-con, forced breeding, bird's estrus, harassment

As you were working part-time and waving your wings, attracting curious attention from the people of Xianzhou, Jing Yuan was also attracted. He's always loved furry and adorable things - kittens, puppies, birds - and now, you, with wings and feathers falling to the ground? Real wings? His heart seemed to be tickled by your feathers. Maybe this is the cuteness attack. The general couldn't help but tug at your wings, which were softer than velvet.

You screamed softly, stepped back, and turned to look at him, your shy blood rushing to your ears and heating up. "Sir, please don't touch other people's wings at will!" Jing Yuan apologized casually, "I'm sorry, I'm just curious about your wings. Are you-" The words stopped. He realizes what planet you are from. You are an enemy being monitored by Xianzhou. A little bird in captivity. So he took time to come to your place of work almost every day. Stories, tips, sweet words. There's no point in getting angry at him, you feel like an ungrateful brat - considering he is Xianzhou's general and allows you guys limited freedom here.

Some occasional display of bird habits is also nice. It felt so good to him. Jing Yuan tentatively picked up some shiny necklaces and shook them in front of you, not missing your eyes lighting up (but then, you looked away and snorted).

Some Xianzhou people, as well as your kind, want to pursue you. You are so popular, you just didn’t notice it. Most people want birdie girls like you. Chirpy, smart, sharp and cute. Jing Yuan decided to take the initiative. He was convinced that given you a chance you would fly to a safe and comfortable nest. He can provide one. On the day when you were particularly grumpy and showing off your feathers, he slowly lured you into the general's palace. Under the influence of estrus (or do you just like him? You don't know.), you can't help but stare at his broad shoulders and chest, suspecting that those are so warm and sure to keep you safe and comfortable. He's huge, too.

There were soft chains on your hands, and you were being penetrated and creampied, the feathers then scattered on his bed. It was a bed specially purchased by Jing Yuan to simulate the space and environment of a nest. "…Jing Yuan-" With the high-speed and deep thrusting frequency, you tried to form words other than moaning. "Maybe-maybe that's enough? I-I'm going back to the nest-" His hands lifted both of your thighs up. And that giggle. The cock presses deeper against your cervix. "No, you're not pregnant yet."

"Pregnant?" You opened your mouth and widened your eyes, but your reproductive instinct inspired you, and you unconsciously wrapped your body tighter around his cock, milking him. He closed his eyes in enjoyment. You rolled your eyes, "mm ah-!"

"Yes. I'm going to be the father of the baby birds," he announced during the creampie.

[jezabelle9299]

Caretaker S.R x fem!Reader

Reader is hired as a live-in caretaker for Diana. Describes when she accidentally flooded the apartment, but I kind of mess with canon and plot. Could kind of take place after prison other than that. Diana ships Reader and Spencer. Reader is a graduate student in an online program.

C-Ws: Diana slaps reader, descriptions of alzheimer's and schizophrenia, Spencer is not used to people trying to take care of him and thinks he'll scare away reader.

(I've worked in a memory care/assisted living facility, and have a few relatives with alzheimer's and schizophrenia. But this is based on my still somewhat limited experience. And I have no medical experience, mostly just hospitality and comfort based work)

You had finally gotten to the address the agency gave you, after waiting a short eternity in the Washington traffic. It was a live-in caretaker job of a woman with schizophrenia and alzheimer's, living also with her son who traveled often for work. Your contact at the agency said the son, Dr. Reid was very nice and was ok with your slightly more limited experience. You buzzed and after a little while the man you assumed to be Dr.Reid came to the door. 

“Hi, you must be Ms.Y/L/N from the agency, I’m so glad you’re here.” He looked both shocked and relieved, like he thought you wouldn’t actually show up. While you were trying not to notice (Or at least trying not to show) that you thought the doctor was particularly gorgeous. But he would not only functionally be your employer, but also a sort of roommate. Plus you really wanted this job, you were a little new to being a live in caretaker after working in assisted living facilities since high school. You were in a grad program now, one you were completing online that allowed you to have caretaking as your career. 

“I’m happy to be here! You must be Dr.Reid?” 

“I am, and this is my mother Diana Reid.” He gestured to the woman on the couch, who had yet to even look at you. I mean you were kind of invading her house, so you couldn’t blame her. But you were determined to make her like you, I mean this job is a huge opportunity, and as you were new to the city the live in position was a two-birds-one-stone situation.  

“Hi Ms. Reid, I’m Y/N, it’s lovely to meet you. Your son has told me so much about you.” You gave her a nervous wave as you walked in front of the couch, still attempting to give her space while being in her line of sight. 

“I’m sure he has. I don’t need a stranger hovering over me.” She then stormed into the adjoining room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Dr.Reid attempted to chase after her, finding the door locked from the inside and calling out to her. 

“Mom, please just meet her! You’ve chased off every other nurse from the agency!” he got no reply, and solemnly turned back towards you. He was exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and he looked utterly dejected. 

“I’m sorry to waste your time, I understand if you’d like to leave.”

“I’ll stay, unless you’d like me to leave.” confusion and hope clouded his expression, you weren’t giving up that easy.

“That was just a first meeting, I get that she doesn’t want me in her space, but she might warm up to me. Plus, one of the best ways for me to get to know her right now is through you.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much. Today is one of her worse days, she’s not usually like this I swear.” He looked elated at the fact you didn’t leave so you knew you were getting the job. He just needed the help too much, and you were determined to get this woman to like you. From what Dr.Reid had already told you over the phone, she seemed like a wonderful woman you’d actually really like to know. She just had to not hate you first. 

“It’s ok, just a bad day. I totally understand she’s upset. Why don’t you and I talk until she comes out?”

“Yes, here have a seat, and I’ll grab you some water.” He hurriedly cleared some books off the couch so you could sit, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water a few moments later. While he was gone you pulled your work notebook and some pens out so you could take some notes. 

“Thank you Dr. Reid, that’s really sweet.”

“Of course, and you can call me Spencer.” 

“Alright, really quick just like my experience and such, I’m sure the agency told you most of it. I’m a little new to being a live-in caretaker, but I have experience at a couple assisted living facilities. I’ve taken care of a few family members with schizophrenia as well as alzheimers so I have experience with that as well. I’m a graduate student so I’ll work on some classwork during times when your mother is resting but it’s all online so it shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

He nodded along patiently as you basically read him your resume, and then responded in kind. “That all sounds great, I travel as part of my work so I may be gone for a few days to a week at a time, but it should never be for too long, and as this is a live-in position I’ll leave a card you can use for anything you or my mother need while I’m gone.” 

“That’s very kind, thank you. So, could you run me through a regular day for your mother? Just all of it, the activities she likes, medications, food times, all that good stuff so I can be prepared, and not change her routine too much.” You bounced back and grabbed a pen to start taking notes to help you remember all of the information. 

“Absolutely, yeah. Does this mean that you’ll take the job?” He looked so full of hope at the sentiment.

“If you’re offering, then yes I’d love to. I can start whenever you’re ready.” He lit up and pulled you into a hug you were not at all prepared for. He smelled really good, which was only made more noticeable by the sharp inhale you took in surprise of the gesture.

“Oh. Hi.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say during the hug to cut the tension you were feeling. He clearly took this as discomfort and pulled away. 

“Sorry, I jus- Thank you. That is amazing, thank you so much.”

“Of course, I really need to thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to getting to know your mom.”

You talked about different logistics, as well as him giving you a short tour of the house before you had to leave, before Diana would re-emerge. You started the next day, with Spencer there to start to ease the transition in the morning. After he left you and Diana, confident that she was having a good day, he headed for work. 

Diana did not have a good day after getting some rest after lunch. She needed to take one more medication, but when she woke up, she didn’t remember you. At least not as you the person her son hired to take care of you, she thought that you were using her son to get information on her. She thought you were there to manipulate the both of them, so when you offered her medication she wouldn’t take it. 

You did all you could do, you waited. And then after a short window had passed you gave her a drink with her medication in it, which after she drank, she realized it was the medication. She called you a fascist, and then unfortunately, slapped you. This wasn’t the first time a confused elderly person had gotten physical with you, so you attempted to keep your professionalism in tact. She ran to the bedroom, and you sat against the wall, reading to her from a collection of poetry Spencer said she loved. 

When you went to check on her and she was safely asleep, you continued cleaning the mess from the previous day. A small flood spread through the apartment, damaging several books and leaving towels littered around the room after Spencer had collapsed from exhaustion about the time you finished unpacking for the night. Spencer came home about the same time, to towels freshly in the wash, and you attempting to start repairing the books. You had a friend who was a librarian, and between a phone call with her and extensive research on the internet you’d made some progress. Books were spread out around you, in various states of drying and re-drying. You only noticed when you heard the door shut that he had come home, not hearing the key turn in the lock like you thought you would. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, uh-what are you doing?” He was carrying a leather satchel that he was now setting on his desk, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. His brow cocked in confusion as he looked at you.

“Oh, I noticed the books that got damaged, and your mother is still resting so I thought I’d get started on the drying process. I promise I asked my friend, she’s a librarian so that I wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Wow, that is really sweet, thank you Y/N. I really appreciate it.” He was walking closer to where you were sitting on the floor in the living room, carefully avoiding the spread-out books. 

“How’s mom doing? Did the rest of the day go alright?” He turned on the lamp by the couch, before moving a few of the books to sit. You had just started talking about his mother’s day, when his expression completely changed. He noticed the small mark on your face, and sprang off the couch, moving to the floor near you. 

“What happened?” You didn’t realize what he was talking about immediately, looking down to see if something was wrong you hadn’t noticed. When he gestured toward his own cheek, you remembered. 

“Oh yeah, Diana woke up from her nap after lunch and she got a little confused. She thought I was someone else, and that I was trying to get information about her. She slapped me, but it’s really no big deal. She just got confused is all. 

“No. No, that most certainly is a big deal.” He said it firmly, like there was no room for argument. But you jumped to yours, and his mothers, defense. 

“It’s really not. It’s common when alzheimers or dementia patients wake up not knowing where they are. She didn’t mean anything by it, I read to her, through the door, that poetry collection you mentioned yesterday. I think she liked it, and she felt better after she took her meds, she at least got some more rest.”

“That’s great- but I don’t want you to feel trapped here. If something isn’t alright, you can tell me, and I would understand if you wanted to leave.” You nodded to let him know you understood, and then followed it up with leaning back against the front of the couch and a small smile.

“You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.” Your attempt to lighten the mood was not really helping. 

“No!-Believe me, that is not what I was saying. I really appreciate you helping my mom and I out, but I just want you to be here because you want to be.” 

“Well thank you, Spencer. But it’s really ok. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.” You made a small cross-your-heart motion to convey the truth of your sentiment. 

Now, why don’t you help me with these books, while I switch out laundry.” you pat him on the shoulder as you walked by. The first time the two of you had touched since the hug he thought had made you uncomfortable. His sweater was soft under your skin, his shoulders firm. But you kept walking, you were on the clock after all.

When you walked back you started gathering the restored books to put back, and tried to get back to work related conversation, or at least tangentially related to work. “Alright, towels are in the dryer, and I’m sorry I can’t quite figure out what your system is for these books. Could you point me in the direction of where these go?” You gestured to the small stack in your arms, and he immediately got up. 

“It’s a combination of the dewey decimal system, and a little bit moved around based on sentimentality, I can put these away. Thank you again for helping me dry them. I know it’s not really in your job description.” Ok has no one helped this man? He is very over appreciative of the little things, and he looks like he’s scared you’ll run away any second. It’s sweet, but my god. 

“I like to be helpful, and there was also a little selfish motivation. I was curious about your taste in books. I mean you have so many, I had to be a little nosey.” You kind of attempted to add a flirtatious tone, but you were still hoping this crush would go away. This was a job, and it would be nice if you didn’t get overly attached to him. Although it was a little late for that. 

“I don’t know if i’d call it nosey, it’s nice that you’re curious. What did you think?” He was looking between you and the floor, while blushing. Maybe he liked you too. Wouldn’t that be nice. 

“I mean I’m no profiler, but I can take a guess.” He had told you about his job and what it entailed as it required him to be gone for long periods of time. So you kept the flirty undertone, somewhat under the guise of silliness, as you two moved closer together, whether consciously or otherwise. 

“I think you read A LOT. Like more than I probably could in a lifetime, and since I know you don’t exactly have excesses of freetime, you have incredible reading comprehension. Speed reader maybe? And some were in a few different languages, so maybe a linguistics major in college? Could be your doctorate. Also the style of the books is contributing to the apartment both functionally and as a decoration. They’re as much comfort objects as they are entertainment. So if I had to guess, you were a shy kid who read a lot.”

“Alright, not bad at all. Although my doctorates are in mathematics, engineering, and chemistry. The languages are easier because I have an eidetic memory. I am a speed reader, as our subconscious minds can process significantly more than our conscious minds.” There was one part consciously left out. He couldn’t have forgotten, he told you so himself. But you couldn’t resist, you wanted to know him. More than accomplishments and accolades.

“And the last part?” He looked upset, and you regretted asking it. It must have really bothered him, really been over the line.

“Yes, I was a big reader as a kid. I was a prodigy so making friends wasn’t easy, and I’m sure you noticed I’m kind of- well- odd.” odd? I mean interesting, or extraordinary sure, but odd wasn’t the word you’d use. It felt so…negative.

“I don’t think you’re odd. The prodigy aspect makes sense though, especially since I know you have 3 doctorates instead of the 1 I assumed you had. Also, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of speaking from experience. I had more books than friends when I was little too.” You were sharing a small smile as you stood near the wooden shelves, until you heard the bedroom door open, and you stepped away from each other, gaining back the space you lost. 

“Hi Diana, did you sleep ok? Is there anything I can get you?” She gently shook her head, confused, but piecing it together as she woke up. 

“No, thank you. Spencer, who's your friend? Is she- is she your girlfriend?” She spoke in a hushed tone for the last part, like it was a fun secret between the 3 of you.” He looked like an embarrassed teenager, as he turned toward his mother. 

“No, mom. This is Y/N, she’s taking care of you, you guys spent the day together?” She started to understand, but kept giving Spencer a look like she didn’t quite believe him. 

After you cooked dinner, something Spencer also tried to convince you wasn’t necessary. Seems like he wasn’t used to being taken care of. You cleaned the kitchen, giving Spencer some time with his mom before you all resigned to bed. You didn’t cross paths again for a few days, with Spencer leaving before dawn for a case. 

When he returned a few days later, after many call and text updates on his mothers condition (that occasionally strayed to more personal topics of your life, but you wrote it off as him being polite)  he found you and his mom sitting on the couch, like the best of friends flipping through her scrapbook as she told you stories from Spencer's childhood. It was a good exercise to keep her mind sharp, as well as helping her feel more comfortable with you. 

“Hi Spencer, how was work?” He looked confused, and he was moving cautiously like he didn’t want to disturb the fleeting moment of happiness. His mother was happy, and the woman he had an ill-advised crush on were spending time together. In his home. It was perfect.

“It was good, it looks like you two had a good day?” His mother nodded her approval, and gestured for him to sit down.

“We did. Your mother read me some of her favorite books. And I didn’t know you could do magic! We were just looking through her wonderful scrapbook.” You directed the last part to Diana, wanting her to know how much you appreciated her trust. Spencer had the same embarrassed teenager look he did the previous day. 

“I’m glad you’re home Spencer, but it is late and I’m going to go get some rest.” His mother got up from the couch, and gave him a hug goodnight. Once she had disappeared back into the bedroom, you turned your attention back to Spencer. 

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge if you’re hungry by the way.” He still looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe you’d cook for him when he wasn’t even home. 

“Thank you, I have to finish a little bit more paperwork, but that sounds wonderful.” 

“It’s really no problem, I hope you like it. But before you start your paperwork, I’d like to request a magic trick.” He seemed perpetually confused. And he was. He couldn’t believe you, so happy, so sweet, and so kind. You wanted to see his dorky magic tricks and fix his books and talk to his mom. He knew you were being paid, but it wasn’t that much. Not enough for most people to go this far above and beyond. This was all you.

“You really want to see my magic?” 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen a magic trick in person, that’s really cool. And it’s a little easier to practice inside than the trapeze.” You both laughed, and his blush grew even deeper. He grabbed a set of cards from a prized spot on his bookshelf, part of the very small space not crowded with actual books.

He offered the cards, fanned out to you and asked you to pick one. You picked the ace of hearts. 

He pulled the 2 of diamonds, looking confident for maybe the first time since you met him. “Is this your card?” A part of you really wanted to lie. He looked so happy, but you just muttered a quiet no. He tried again, looking confused as to how he got it wrong the first time. This time he pulled the 6 of clubs 

“Is this your card?” You shook your head and he flipped through the deck, cards still facing down. Looking through as if something was missing, his brow furrowing as he did. You could see the moment realization struck, it was as if a cartoon lightbulb appeared over his head.

He leaned toward you and your breath hitched. Once your faces were so close you could’ve leaned forward and made contact, he pulled the correct card from your hair. And when he held it up for you, he smiled when you lit up. 

“Is this your card?” He spoke a lot quieter now, and he moved the little bit of hair that had fallen into your face during the trick back over your shoulder. When you thought you’d explode if he stayed this close without moving any closer, he did. His stubble grazed your face as he connected your lips. His were a little bit chapped, but they still felt soft the way he moved them. He sighed when he pulled away and you were worried you did something wrong. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so-so sorry.” 

“Why? I mean I know why the situation isn’t ideal, but why are you sorry?”

“Because you are currently relying on me not only for employment but for a place to stay, and I shouldn’t have just put that pressure on you. I lost control, and I’m so sorry. I understand if I made you uncomfortable.” He sat back down on the couch, but this time you followed him. You really liked him, even though you’d only known him a couple of days. 

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t feel pressured, and I didn’t kiss you back because I’m currently staying in your house. I kissed you back because I wanted to, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you hugged me when I accepted the job.” He finally looked back at you, with those big brown puppy dog eyes, and you grabbed his hand. 

“Really? Are you sure you want that?” 

“Certain. Spencer, I really like you. And if you like me too, then we can talk about how that would work logistically. We could figure something out. If you don’t want that or don’t feel the same way, we can forget about this. We never have to talk about it again, and we can just keep it professional.”

“No!” He rushed out, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture and started again. “I don’t want that, I do like you too. And I definitely want to figure this out.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. He liked you too. It felt so high school, but that made you want to either squeal with joy, or tackle him onto the couch. 

You settled on a cool neither, instead giving him a kiss on the nose as you got up from the couch. And he watched you, hesitantly letting your hand go, like he thought you said all that just to leave. 

“We are definitely having that conversation…tomorrow. You haven’t eaten and, cute as you may be, you look like you  haven’t slept in days. So we will finish this tomorrow, whenever you’re ready.” You pulled his plate from the fridge, placing it in the microwave so that he could eat something. He looked at you like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars. 

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Yes Dr. Hot stuff, I think you’re cute. I thought we just went over this?” He blushed even more at the doctor comment. You looked at each other until the timer snapped you out of it. You set the plate on the table and wished him a goodnight, as you moved to the guest bedroom. You couldn’t sleep, you were so excited. But you wanted him to be in the best possible headspace, this was a big decision. 

When Spencer finished his dinner and his paperwork he moved to the master bedroom, still buzzing with excitement. When he closed the door his mother stirred. She spoke quietly, still half asleep. 

“Spencer, you really should take Y/N out. I think she has a little crush on you. And you deserve someone who can take care of you.” Then she drifted back to sleep, but Spencer was still beaming. 

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt II our flag means death but I've never watched it

HELLO OFMD FANDOM! It's the Good Omens Mascot and Resident Dumbass, back again for part II. First, let's clear the air of all controversy!

Some of you lovely maggots were kind enough to warn me about certain discourse about a salad spoon and also about a certain gentleman named Izzy. I was warned not to make assumptions and not to take sides, and I hear some members had to leave the fandom for a while because it got toxic. Maggots. All the rest of you. Worry not about me. I'm here to unite the OFMD fandom! How, you ask? By being so undeniably stupid in my own opinions that you all will have to unite to disagree with me. You underestimate the power of my dumbassery. Well, let's not dilly dally and dawdle, here's the updated summary:

I have been informed there is cannibalism on this ship but it is not real. Someone pretends to eat someone and then their wife helps them fake their death while they run away from the ship though their lover wanted them to run to China.

There are BDSM lesbians, which is honestly such a slay, Pinterest has let me down by not informing me of that when I made Part I. I will no longer be using Pinterest a reliable source in future academic essays.

Mermaid Stede performs necromancy while a song called Kate Bush plays (I don't know who this is, a politician? Idk whether of US or UK).

Gravy Basket is a destination and Buttons is a sea witch and there is educational stabbing. Buttons is then a bird because of the BDSM lesbians.

There is a lady who is extremely beautiful and intimidating and powerful and she has twenty husbands and I assumed incorrectly that you were all talking about a Jack Russel terrier.

Let's start with the controversy! Izzy. Secondary protagonist or antagonist? Good or bad? Kindly father figure or homoerotically charged friend? Necessary death or not? No no no. Behold:

I present a new question, a hot take sizzling from the pan: Did Izzy really exist?

Personally, I firmly believe that no, he did not. I believe that the rum on the ship was spiked with hallucinogens.

Izzy was simply the manifestation of Ed's Freudian subconscious, taking the shape of a human being, vaguely resembling a humanoid potato Ed was forced to boil as a kid. I was a psychology student with a final grade of 99% and I accept only destructive criticism on my posts thank you. Feel free to discuss whether he boiled the potato in a fit of rage or whether he was forced to.

There are assorted Ned's, Mary's and an uncertain number of Jeff's on ship.

One of the Jeff's is an accountant, and there is a nonbinary talking sword named Jim. Actually I'm not sure if they talk.

Love you all, rooting for the show to be renewed.

REMINDERS. Be polite to each other in the reblogs, on tumblr reblogs spread posts and not likes (which don't do anything for visibility) unlike other social media sites, but MOST IMPORTANTLY.

I ACCEPT ONLY DESTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, THIS BLOG IS A GODLESS, LAWLESS LAND, AND ALL RAGE AT EACH OTHER MUST BE REDIRECTED AT ME. UNDERSTOOD? YAY.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 8

Holy crap the amount of likes and comments and reblogs you all have left is amazing! Thank you so so much for enjoying!

Anyway! On to the next part.

Masterlist

The sound of the native birds of your island is what wakes Mihawk. He cracks his eyes open, wincing when his back protests him moving as soon as he wakes up. He stands and moises his way to the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. Mugs and tea bags are next, and Dracule makes sure to dump some sugar into your own cup. He then moves on, collecting fresh fruits and vegetables from your garden and investigating the smoke room. He finds very little inside and decides that his haul now is enough for breakfast. 

Fixing it up doesn't take all that long, and soon, he has a platter of foodstuffs that looks similar to the one last night. Dracule makes a mental note to try and bring you some type of livestock, though he dreads the thought of anything bigger than a house cat on his ship. 

The tea is placed on the tray, and Dracule makes his way to your bedroom. He eases the door open, and a soft smile crosses his lips at the sight of you curled up with an arm around Hank. The big pooch whines and drags himself off the bed and out the door, going to do his business. Mihawk takes his spot and sets the tray away from you but still on the bed. 

“Sweet thing,” Dracule rumbles and slides his hand up into your hair, scratching your scalp just the way you like it, “It's time to get up. I've made breakfast.” 

Those seem to be the magic words for you rise like the dead and look at Mihawk through squinted eyes. He thinks she looks adorable when you rub your eyes, pout on your lips from being woken up. 

“Hawk?” You mumble out and wince when your head throbs like a bastard. You whine and lay back down, not wanting to deal with the pain, “Don't feel good.” 

Dracule can't help but laugh at your pitiful state, “Oh, Darling. I'm not surprised you don't feel very well,” he coos and gently pulls you back into a sitting position. He shifts to sit behind you, back against the wall, as he drags the tray of goodies closer to both of you. 

“One must be careful when indulging in alcohol. Is this your first hangover?” Mihawk asks quietly, and you shrug, not really understanding what he's going on about. You frown when he laughs at you again and cross your arms over your chest, only to wince when you brush across your breasts. 

“Owee,” you murmur quietly and wonder why your chest aches so badly, only to drop your head in shame when you happened to remember most of last night. 

Mihawk gently lays you back and lifts your shirt, shushing you gently when you squirm and try to fight him, “Hush, let me look. There is nothing to be embarrassed by,” he chides and sends you a look that has you ducking your head and looking away from him. Mihawk examines the seldom hickies and love bites with a smug twist of his lips, hands reaching up to gently trace the bite mark that still lingers from last night. 

You look beautiful all marked up, and a dark feeling blooms in his chest at the sight of what he did. Mihawk wants to see more of them on you, proof that you want him. That you are his. 

“Just sore, sweet thing,” Dracule comments lowly and kisses your cheek, lingering to leave a trail of hot kisses all the way down your neck and to your shoulder, “We will have breakfast and then you will have a hot bath while I do my morning routine.” 

You nod, completely at the warlord's mercy as you glance down to see that he hasn't stopped his gentle ministrations, thumbs rubbing over your nipples over and over again until you can think of nothing but the man who holds you. Even your hangover doesn't seem as bad with Dracule here. 

Mihawk glances over the tray and picks up a cubed melon slice, lifting it up to your lips and grinning when you obediently open your mouth for him. He feeds you one piece after another until you are pleasantly full and ready to go back to sleep, “Tea first, sweet girl,” he orders when he feels you shift again. 

You nod slowly, wincing when your head aches at even the slightest movements. The tea has cooled, but it still tastes wonderful to your cottonmouth. You sip until it is empty, and Dracule takes the mug away from you when he notices you finished. He taps your thigh gently, “Up you go, Darling.” He encourages softly. 

He leaves you to find some clean clothes and a towel while he goes to the bathroom and begins to run you a bath. He is surprised by the amount of modern utilities he finds in your cottage and wonders who you really are. While simple, your home was filled with older but no less luxurious items. The hot water and plumbing were just one of the many things that he's noticed. 

Mihawk's thoughts are interrupted when you appear in the doorway with a thin robe and towel. You smile at the sight of your friend starting you a bath, “Thank you for taking care of me, Dracule,” you say, and step close to press your lips to his cheek when he rises from his slouch over the tub. 

Hawkeye feels hot satisfaction curl in his chest at your thanks. He turns and pulls you in for a kiss, hand coming up to tangle in your hair and pull you close to him. Mihawk likes the way you say his name. All breathy and full of gratitude, and all for him.

 You whine at the less than soft treatment, but you can't bring yourself to care or complain about it. Not when you love it when Dracule touches you like this. He kisses you breathless, leaving you a gasping mess as he turns away to fiddle with the knobs of the faucet. You pout a little, annoyed that Dracule is never as affected as you are after a kiss like that. 

Your annoyance disappears the second that Dracule steps behind you, hands placed on your shoulders as if to slide your robe down. Nerves surge through your entire body, and you clutch the thick fabric to your chest, “I um. I can take It from here, Mihawk.” 

You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath on the back of your neck. Your hair is up in a messy bun, allowing the warlord to press chaste kisses to the flushed skin there, and thankfully, no more than that.

 “Take your time, dear one. I'll be outside if you need me.” Dracule assures you, and then he is shutting the door behind himself and leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You shrug off your bathrobe, and a relaxing sigh escapes you as you settle in the hot water, eyes closing as you do what Mihawk bid and take your time. 

It's an hour later by the time you step outside. It's nice and sunny like usual, and you grin when Hank bounds up. The big lug presents you with a stick, and you toss it into the woods for your dog to go running after. You glance around, humming wordlessly as you look for Dracule. 

You find him at the back of the cottage where the sun shines brightest. Your home is situated up a small embankment, leaving your backyard to drop off into a cliff face. Dracule stands at the edge of the cliff, looking regal and dramatic as the wind blows his dark hair this way and that. 

You wonder why he keeps coming back here. He's told you before that your island is like a safe haven from the rest of the world, but sometimes you aren't sure that you believe him. You don't know what the rest of the world is like, and when you first came to this island, you yearned to leave and explore the world. How much of the world has Mihawk experienced to say that your island in the middle of nowhere was a safe place for him. 

What did your friend go through for him to run and hide away from it all? 

“I can hear you thinking from up here, dear,” Mihawk says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. He turns and gives you a smug smirk, “What's on your mind?” 

You huff at him and step by his side, eyes flickering to the crashing waves of the ocean. Your devil fruit reacts to the sight, sending flurries scattering about the two of you. You debate asking the real question you've wanted answered since Dracule stepped foot on your island. Just who exactly was Dracule Hawkeye Mihawk? 

“Nothing, just admiring,” you say instead. You didn't want to give him any reason to leave early. 

Dracule huffs at you with a roll of his eyes, “Is that so?” He presses and eyes you, “You can ask me things, Dear One. I won't lie to you.” 

“Even if it's about who you really are?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You tense, flurries sticking to your skin as your nerves get the better of you. The silence is thick between the two of you, and you are terrified to even look in his direction. 

“I introduced myself when I saved you from those pirates, did I not?” Dracule's tone is one of forced calm, and more snow begins to fall when you hear it. You can't help but feel like you've messed up. A warm hand catches your chin, and you are forced to look into the golden, ringed eyes of your friend. His gaze is as cold as your devil fruit, and you find yourself shivering under it. 

“You did,” you agreed carefully, “But, you just… don't speak about yourself often, and I'm curious.” You swallow harshly and catch the bird following the movement of your throat. His eyes catch your own in the next moment, and you force yourself to hold his gaze. 

It feels like it takes an eternity, but Dracule relents, eyes softening just a fraction and grip becoming more tender, “I have a good reason for not doing so, Snow Angel,” he murmurs. 

You suck in a sharp breath at the new name, wetting your lips as you latch on to the pretty words that he spills. You want to say more, but your lips won't move. Your jaw won't work to form the words that you want to say to him. Dracule has you, hook, line, and sinker, just where he wants you. He traces the curve of your jaw with his thumb, then leans forward to press his lips to your brow. 

“Promise to not ask me again, and I'll tell you in my own time,” Dracule suggests softly and you lose yourself even more to him, “I do not take the sharing of personal information lightly,_.” 

And there it was. The nail in the coffin. Mihawk rarely calls you by your name, so hearing it in his sinfully melodic voice sends shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. The flurries melt, and you find yourself nodding eagerly.

“I promise not to ask again,” you say, and feel like you are about to explode when Dracule gives you a proud quirk of his lips. 

“Good girl,” Mihawk praises softly and brings you in for a quick kiss, pleased that you see his way of things. The tension in the air is all but gone, and the warlord leads his snow angel away from the cliff edge.

“Come, I didn't get those books for you for nothing, Dear One. How about you read one of them to me?” 

You let Dracule pull you back to the cottage, Hank meeting you with a happy bark at the door. His anger still lingers in the back of your mind, but you can let it go for now. 

@writingmysanity @foggyturtleknightangel @kenkenmaaa @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @djbumblebee

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: The Birds and the Bees

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader) / Ellie x Riley mention

Tags/warnings: underage child overhearing sex (but it's not weird I swear), queer thoughts, Joel is such a dad, Rough Sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, some mild dirty talk, trying to stay quiet during sex.

Summary: Ellie hears mommy (you) and daddy (Joel) have sex. I guess that's the plot.

Words: 2,257

A/N: WARNING can be a bit spoilery for episodes 6 and 7! Thanks to @rambling-in-purple for reading the Ellie part to make sure it wasn't weird <3

Ellie is almost asleep when something draws her back into the real world, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. Where did these clean sheets come from, this comfortable bed, this warmth? It takes her brain a few moments to realize that she is in Jackson, the safe haven reached yesterday. Today. What time is it?

A sound makes her sit up in bed, heartbeats quickening with growing fear. She had thought this place was safe, but that sound is definitely not reassuring. She reaches for her knife on the bedside table, just as she hears the sound again.

A creak. And it's growing rhythmical. And along with it, muffled moans.

Ellie's first instinct is that there is a fight going on in the next room. A life or death struggle between Joel, you, and a deceitful Jackson resident. Or maybe the infected finally got in? Is Jackson already overrun with infected, or did a roaming band of bandits get in?

Another creak, then a louder moan that gets cut off, and it dawns on Ellie.

Oh. Oh.

Being shown around Jackson, you seemed relaxed for the first time in, well, all the months Ellie had been with you and Joel. It was nice to see you like that, and Ellie wished that Joel could unwind a little as well, but Joel wasn't a person who did that. Maria had taken you and Ellie to the house, Joel had gone to see his brother, and returned in a huff. Ellie, in clean clothes washed hair, had gushed to him about the hot shower, but his demeanor had been so dark that she had fallen quiet. Just then, you had appeared out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and Ellie had seen the looks you and Joel exchanged. You excused yourself to have an early night and took to your bedroom - the one you shared with Joel. Ellie didn't think twice about you two sharing: she had understood long ago what you were to each other, in addition to the protectors, family, you were to her.

But it's one thing to understand that two people love each other, and know what people in love with each other do, and actually hear it.

Conflicted, she lies back down, turns onto one side, wrapping the pillow around her head to muffle the sounds. It's too intimate, too private. It's wrong to listen to it.

Still, the reverberations travel through the wooden build of the house, and she feels them on her skin. Rolling onto her back again, she lets go of the pillow and stares up at the dark ceiling.

It's not the first time she's heard people having sex. She knows what's going on between the two of you and for what it's worth, she's happy for you. There is something so comforting about your obvious feelings for each other, and how they have spilled over onto her. Ellie knows that she was more or less forced upon you but since that night in the Boston QZ, a lot has happened. You're her family now, and she's happy that you and Joel can be safe and comfortable enough in your borrowed bedroom to have sex.

And it is kind of exciting to hear it, even if it's private. Ellie may be a virgin but she's not frigid. The moans she can hear must be from you, and she wonders what it is Joel is doing that's making you sound like that. Not that she wants to think of Joel like that, God no, that's just gross. The whole idea of a man sticking his dick into her feels gross. But surely a woman must be able to make another woman sound like that? Maybe she could ask you. If she wants to talk to you about sex, and that's a big if.

It hits Ellie that if you're her family now, then it would be like asking her mom about sex. And whatever is going on right now is like hearing mom and dad have sex. And that image is just too much for her teenage brain. When the bedframe starts knocking on the wall between her bedroom and yours, she sits up again and bangs her fist at it.

"Keep it down, you two, some of us are trying to sleep here!"

The noise stops at once, and she grins to herself as she imagines your aghast faces - especially Joel must look absolutely shocked.

"Serves you right," she giggles to herself before scooting down and tucking herself in. Sleepy and amused, she wonders what sex feels like. If she will ever have it. If she even wants it. Is there ever going to be anyone that she'd care to do it with? Will anyone ever find her attractive? Her thoughts stray to Riley, and how sweet it would be to share this comfortable bed with her, whispering in the night, kissing, maybe more - but she quickly brushes those thoughts away. That wound is still too fresh.

A muffled thud is heard from the other bedroom, but she doesn't care anymore. Curling up on her side, she succumbs to exhaustion and the soft mattress.

"Shit!"

"Fuck!"

Your heart is pounding, your mouth is dry, your breathless profanity barely audible against Joel's cheek as he's buried to the hilt in you. He was in a mood when he came back from seeing his brother, and you knew there was no point in trying to make him talk about it. Even in a huff, however, the sight of you in a towel was rare enough for him to stop and stare.

"Take a shower," you told him, seeing that all he wanted to do was pull the towel off of you, "and come to bed."

Strangely enough, he did as he was told, but even hot water wasn't enough to keep him in the shower for more than a few minutes. When he came out, naked and dripping after barely having had time to dry himself off, he joined you between the threadbare but clean sheets.

"It's been too long," he told you, breath hot against your skin, hands already cupping and squeezing and claiming. You hummed your agreement as you let him cover your mouth with yours, sucking the breath out of you as he laid on top of you, his broad frame blocking out everything else. His weight on you, his clean, naked skin against yours... it had indeed been far too long for indulgences like these. You remember stolen fucks and sleepless nights in the QZ, clothed on cold hard floors during runs, but the last time you could take your time like this? And even with all the time in the world, both of you were in a desperate hurry. He sank his thick cock into you before too long and you welcomed him deeper by wrapping your arms and legs around him. When you moaned, he covered your mouth with his large hand and grunted in your ear:

"I know, pretty girl, I know, I feel it too, but you have to stay quiet for me."

You whined into his palm, and he replaced it with his mouth, swallowing your moans as he thrust into you with a renewed fury. The bed creaked but you were too far gone, too cock-hungry to care if Ellie heard you.

Which she did, of course.

Joel froze at the banging on the wall, and he inhaled sharply when Ellie yelled out her request for silence. Mirth replacing dismay as you recognize the teasing tone of Ellie's voice, you start to tremble with held-back giggles. With a grunt, Joel heaves himself up on his elbows.

"It's not funny," he lets you know in a morose voice. You raise your hands to his cheeks, feeling the heat in them. It's too dark to see, but your tough, no nonsense man is fucking blushing.

"It is a little funny," you whisper back and pull him in for a kiss. "She's fucking with us, you do know that, right?"

"We're gonna traumatize her - "

"This is gonna traumatize her, and not everything else she has lived through and seen?" you scoff. Your hand slides around to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair. "Wise up, Miller, and fuck me."

"We can't - "

"I swear to God, Joel, if you don't get me off, I'm gonna go naked into the street and find someone who will!"

Your threat, unfounded though it is, gets him back on the right track.

"Yeah?" he breathes in a low growl, lowering his face over your chest, his tongue licking a wet trail around your knotted nipple. "You'd let just anyone touch you? Let anyone do this to you?" He licks your nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, making you arch your back as you clench your teeth against the moan threatening to spill out of you.

"Joel...!"

"Hush, my pretty," he hisses, sliding one hand to your breast and burying his fingers into the plump flesh as he lowers his mouth to your ear. "You have to stay quiet if you want me to fuck you till you cum. Can you do that?"

Your whimpered yes is followed by a choked cry when he slams into you anew, this time wrapping one arm around your thigh to get in deeper. You hold onto the bedding, the headboard, willing it to creak less as Joel picks up where he left off, doing his best to resume his devastating pace yet without causing any more noise. It's difficult, but when Joel puts his mind to something, he always follows through. He braces himself against the bed and you whine when he takes his weight off of you. You want to be deliciously crushed, taken, rendered breathless and immobile, but now you are free to rub your clit as he fucks you. Your slick walls clench around him at once.

"Fuck, that's tight," he groans above you, baring his teeth. "So fucking tight when you do that."

You stare up at him through the dusk, caress his flexed neck muscles with your half closed eyes as the pressure rises inside you. You whisper bitten off words, as if Joel needed your words to know that you are so close to exploding, imploding, the mesmerizing rise and fall that you so desperately need. He dips down to steal your breath away with a kiss and you suck eagerly on his tongue while simultaneously panting for air.

He almost slips out when you cum, your slickness and spasming muscles nearly pushing him out. You press your lips together, will yourself to swallow the sounds that threaten to come out when your body trembles under him. Your body, so sensitive all of a sudden, wants to push him away, but instead you pull him down over you and move with him, desperate and wanton.

"Cum," you beg of him in a whisper that might just as well be a scream, you have no idea as the blood roars in your ears, "cum, baby, cum in me, please cum."

Your overstimulated pussy feels the heat of his load spreading inside you when your words rush him to his climax. The strangled sound he emits is one that you've never heard from him before, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you. His heart beats rapidly against your chest, where your own heart trying to match his rhythm, and when he tries to catch his breath there's only a stutter. He's sweaty but you can smell him and it's clean, fresh perspiration. His hair is still damp, and you run your fingers through it, smelling the shampoo which no doubt is handmade of herbs by someone in Jackson. He clearly took the time to wash his hair, which surprises you.

It feels nice. Normal.

"You smell nice," you murmur to him, sniffing his sideburn demonstratively.

"You do too." He brushes his lips across your face in a light peppering of kisses, each one a lingering declaration of love on your skin. "You felt so good, baby, this was good."

You hum softly as he slides out, slick and seed trailing in the wake of his softening cock.

"Might want to go again in a minute," you warn him with a happy smile that you hope he can hear, even if he can't see it. Joel groans as he rolls over onto his back next to you.

"Too old for twice in one night."

You chuckle, feeling the post-coital relaxation weighing you down in the most delicious way. Once was definitely enough. But you wish that every night could be like this.

"You think she's still awake?" Joel asks, and for a moment you have no idea who he's talking about. You had quite forgotten that the two of you were not alone in the house.

"I'll talk to her in the morning," you offer with a yawn. "Woman to woman."

"And tell her what?" Joel sounds both cynical and troubled, which amuses you greatly.

"About the birds and the bees," you giggle, shoving him playfully. "And what happens when two adults like each other very much."

He scoffs but takes your hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss before placing it over his heart. The conversation is over for his part, so you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

[marta-bee]

@outofangband liked my zeroing in on Tolkien's comparing Erendis's beauty with Morwen's in the last post. I actually made a verbal slip and used the wrong name, so that post ended up seeming more focused on Morwen than I meant. But @outofangband's comment got me thinking more about Morwen's story, and that lens is turning out to be quite interesting. So let's dig in a bit more.

(Also: This, kiddos, is why you comment, on Tumblr and AO3 and everywhere else. It's the back and forth that really makes fandom worth the effort.)

It's been entirely too long since I've read the Quenta Silmarillion, and I've not read the Narn i Hîn Húrin at all, so doubtless there's people more familiar with their story than me. But briefly: Húrin was a lord in one of the Elf-friend Houses of Men. He was part of the Union of Maedhros (First Age political alliance between elves, men, and dwarves to resist Morgoth), fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad/Battle of Unnumbered Tears beside Fingon. Said battle earned its name, Fingon and countless others (including most of his household) is killed, and Húrin himself is captured and tortured for decades.

Morwen is his wife and the mother of Túrin and Nienor. She stayed behindi n Dor-lómin (Húrin's settlement), and after the Nirnaeth Easterlings allied with Morgoth sweep in and take over. They leave her alone, at least at first, thinking her some kind of a witch. If memory serves it was connected to her beauty, which they thought was preternatural and suspected her of having dealings with elves that made her dangerous. Túrin she sends off to Doriath so Thingol can raise him in safety; Nienor stays with her in Dor-lómin until Nienor is grown and the two women go searching for Túrin at last.

*******************

It's such a different situation in so many ways to Erendis's, so it's a bit fascinating how similar their lives are here.

After their marriage, Aldarion and Erendis lived together in Armenelos, and had a daughter. They planted the elven-tree in their garden, and the song-birds settled there. "

This got long, I'm afraid, but is a good read in its entirety. "In heart Erendis was glad [to have a daughter rather than a son], for she thought: "Surely now Aldarion will desire a son, to be his heir; and he will abide with me long yet." For in secret she still feared the Sea and its power upon his heart; and though she strove to hide it, and would talk with him of his old ventures and of his hopes and designs, she watched jealously if he went to his house-ship or was much with the Venturers."

It doesn't take a genius to understand how these stories work, and it shouldn't be surprising it didn't work out that way.

Erendis learned of these things, though Aldarion had not spoken to her of them, and she was unquiet. Therefore one day she said to him: "What is all this busyness with ships. Lord of the havens? Have we not enough? How many fair trees have been cut short of their lives in this year?" She spoke lightly, and smiled as she spoke. "A man must have work to do upon land," he answered, "even though he have a fair wife. Trees spring and trees fall. I plant more than are felled." He spoke also in a light tone, but he did not look her in the face; and they did not speak again of these matters. But when Ancalímë was close to four years old Aldarion at last declared openly to Erendis his desire to sail again from Númenor. She sat silent, for he said nothing that she did not already know; and words were in vain. He tarried until the birthday of Ancalimë, and made much of her that day. She laughed and was merry, though others in that house were not so; and as she went to her bed she said to her father: "Where will you take me this summer, tatanya? I would like to see the white house in the sheep-land that mamil tells of." Aldarion did not answer; and the next day he left the house, and was gone for some days. When all was ready he returned, and bade Erendis farewell. Then against her will tears were in her eyes. They grieved him, and yet irked him, for his mind was resolved, and he hardened her heart. "Come, Erondis!" he said. "Eight years I have stayed. You cannot bind for ever in soft bonds the son of the King, of the blood of Tuor and Eärendil! And I am not going to my death. I shall soon return." "Soon?" she said. "But the years are unrelenting, and you will not bring them back with you. And mine are briefer than yours. My youth runs away; and where are my children, and where is your heir? Too long and often of late is my bed cold." "Often of late I have thought that you preferred it so," said Aldarion. "But let us not be wroth, even if we are not of like mind. Look in your mirror, Erendis. You are beautiful, and no shadow of age is there yet. You have time to spare to my deep need. Two years! Two years is all that I ask!" But Erendis answered: "Say rather: 'Two years I shall take, whether you will or no.' Take two years, then! But no more. A King's son of the blood of Eärendil should also be a man of his word." Next morning Aldarion hastened away. He lifted up Ancalimë and kissed her, but though she clung to him he set her down quickly and rode off. Soon after the great ship set sail from Rómenna. Hirilondë he named it, Haven-finder; but it went from Númenor without the blessing of Tar-Meneldur; and Erendis was not at the harbour to set the green Bough of Return, nor did she send. Aldarion's face was dark and troubled as he stood at the prow of Hirilondë, where the wife of his captain had set a great branch of oiolairë, but he did not look back until the Meneltarma was far off in the twilight.

So: two women, left behind by their husbands to raise young daughters. Húrin's departure makes sense -- he's going off to fight Morgoth, to make Dor-lómin safe. Aldarion's seems much more voluntary and optional if not downright selfish. I'm trying to remember the almost physical compulsion he had before he married Erendis, to go adventuring again. I'm trying to be sympathetic. But it's not Erendis trying to "bind for ever in soft bonds." It's what Tar-Meneldur warned him about when he first became engaged to Erendis: that a man cannot have two wives. If these are soft bonds, it's just what Aldarion chose for himself.

But for the first time, Erendis doesn't exactly seem blameless.

All that day Erendis sat in her chamber alone, grieving; but deeper in her heart she felt a new pain of cold anger, and her love of Aldarion was wounded to the quick. She hated the Sea; and now even trees, that once she had loved, she desired to look upon no more, for they recalled to her the masts of great ships. Therefore ere long she left Armenelos, and went to Emerië in the midst of the Isle, where ever, far and near, the bleating of sheep was borne upon the wind. "Sweeter it is to my ears than the mewing of gulls," she said, as she stood at the doors of her white house, the gift of the King; and that was upon a downside, facing west, with great lawns all about that merged without wall or hedge into the pastures. Thither she took Ancalimë, and they were all the company that either had. For Erendis would have only servants in her household, and they were all women; and she sought ever to mould her daughter to her own mind, and to feed her upon her own bitterness against men. Ancalimë seldom indeed saw any man, for Erendis kept no state, and her few arm-servants and shepherds had a homestead at a distance. Other men did not come there, save rarely some messenger from the King; and he would ride away soon, for to men there seemed a chill in the house that put them to flight, and while there they felt constrained to speak nail in whisper. One morning soon after Erendis came to Emerië she awoke to the song of birds, and there on the sill of her window were the Elven-birds that long had dwelt in her garden in Armenelos, but which she had left behind forgotten. "Sweet fools, fly away!" she said. "This is no place for joy such as yours."

Erendis locks herself and Ancalimë away. When the two years passed, she shut down the house in Armenelos and isolated herself in the house "ordered the house in Armenelos be shut, and she went never more than a few hours' journey from her house in Emerië. "Such love as she had was all given to her daughter, and she clung to her, and would not have Ancalimë leave her side, not even to visit Núneth and her kin in the Westlands. [...] But the women were chary in their speech to the child, fearing their mistress; and there was little enough of laughter for Ancalimë in the white house of Emerië."

This... is not healthy. This is concerning, actually, and from the outside it seems avoidable. It's not, quite, because she's been abandoned by her husband, twice now in a way. And from Erendis's perspective there was nothing compelling Aldarion to leave. If anything, he turned it around on her and blamed her for trying to imprison him on land.

Compare them to Morwen and Nienor, whose husband and father did have a good reason to leave. I'm not entirely clear why they stayed in Dor-lómin rather than going to Doriath with Túrin, except that the story needed them to be separate. Maybe they thought Húrin would escape and come back to them there? Maybe it just seemed safer than traveling somewhere else, since the Easterlings left them alone? But her isolation comes from being surrounded by enemies, and she doesn't seem to isolate Nienor more than their security requires, at least not that I remember. Whereas Erendis bars all men from the main house, makes Ancalimë's whole life surround her in a smothering sort of "love," keeps Ancalimë separate even from her grandparents.

I keep thinking about the Hobbit narrator's line, that  "things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway." This is a story, and stories require things to happen. Morgoth provides a convenient villain, whatever else he is, that drives Húrin and Morwen apart. But Númenor in these early days is a land of peace, this is the golden age, things are supposed to be happy, which is precisely what they can't be if there's to be a story worth telling. It almost seems the nature of Men that if there's not a conflict near at hand they'll invent one; or that something deep inside them, their striving nature will compel them to do just that.

Psychologically, I don't want to blame Erendis because I like her so much. She's become a kind of Blorbo for me. And I do think she's got a right to feel betrayed and abandoned, even as she's materially well taken care of. However unhealthy her actions are here, and however much she's hurting Ancalimë, it's clearly coming from some deep pain. But Morwen's isolation is so easy to understand, compared to Erendis's! It's rational in its way, whereas this just seems unnecessary. That's probably what makes the story so interesting, even if I do want to shake her a bit by the shoulders, and send Ancalimë off to Núneth's house for her own protection.

What can I say? God save us for ourselves when there's no baddie near at hand. It's all so depressingly human.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Congrats on 1k! I'd love a little missing scene fic between 2x04 and 2x05 where Stede gives some much-needed TLC to Ed and all of his mutiny-sustained injuries during his first night back on the Revenge 🥺

YES this is my NICHE!! Get absolutely cared for and cherished Ed!

Send me a prompt and I'll write a 1k word fic!

--

Ed had a thousand half-baked plans swirling through his mind as they rowed back to the Revenge.

He didn’t think Stede understood just how badly the crew would surely want him to stay gone. Ed’s current top idea for their best strategy was to pretend that he had become stricken with malaria. He’d also once met a guy who claimed to have been able to cry blood on command, and he was hoping that maybe he could do that, if it came down to it.

Fuck, but he was tired.

He’d had a hell of a day, was the thing, and he’d kind of been relying on staying moving or otherwise letting himself just drift along, and now that he had to sit still, and it was getting dark and quiet, everything was starting to rush in.

His head was pounding, and it hurt so badly he could feel it in his teeth. His split lip stung. His arm had kept getting sorer, until now he really didn’t want to move it. If he had been lucky enough to avoid a couple broken ribs, they were sure as shit bruised.

Point was: he felt like warmed over shit, and he was beginning to suspect from Stede’s increasingly worried glances that he might’ve noticed.

Fortunately, all his planning turned out to be useless.

As they pulled alongside the ship, Olu’s face popped up over the side. “Fucking finally,” he said. “What’s taken you so long?”

“Well, we stopped by an antique shop for dinner, which burned down,” Stede filled him in, reaching out to steady the ladder Olu threw over the side, “and then Buttons turned into a bird.”

“Ed with you?”

Stede pursed his lips, looking at Ed over his shoulder. “Yes, he actually-”

“Jim says they want you to lock the cabin door tonight,” Olu said. “As a precaution.”

Olu’s head disappeared, and Ed just stared up open-mouthed. “Huh. Thought that’d be harder.”

“Well, I had a feeling.” Stede held the ladder steady, motioning for Ed to go first. “C’mon.”

Ed would never know how Stede managed to get him up the ladder, because the second he put his foot on it, the world went spinning away, and suddenly the sky was on the ground, and that certainly wasn’t good.

The next thing he knew, he was laying on the deck, and Stede was saying “give him some space, please,” in that bitchy tone Ed loved so much.

“‘M fine,” Ed mumbled.

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Jim muttered under their breath.

Ed let his eyes slip closed again, listening vaguely as Roach promised to bring a few first-aid supplies to the captain’s cabin.

“D’you want me to take care of him?” Roach asked.

Before Ed could even lift his head to say no, Stede was saying, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Ed risked a peek around as Stede helped him up, supporting him with an arm around his waist as he led him towards the cabin. Fang gave him a genuine smile, but Frenchie wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Jim still glared at him.

“It’s okay,” Stede whispered into his ear. “You don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

Ed’s headache must have been worse than he thought, because he kind of drifted, half-conscious, as Stede got him seated on the couch. He heard Roach’s voice again, saw Stede sit something on the cushion next to him.

“I can take care of it myself,” Ed muttered half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to, though,” Stede said softly.

Ed sort of nodded, and the next thing he knew, Stede was sitting next to him, warm and real and there, and there was a soft cloth dabbing at the cuts on Ed’s cheeks.

Stede helped Ed shimmy out of his jacket and his shirt, whispering apologies when Ed cried out as that jostled him, and set to work soothing bruises and patching up cuts. The wound on his arm hurt like a bitch, but it thankfully wasn’t too deep for Stede to feel like he couldn’t stitch it up himself.

He should’ve felt more cautious, he knew, shouldn’t have been leaning into Stede’s side, halfway to nodding off, letting Stede see all the vulnerable bits of him so soon.

But Ed was tired, and everything hurt.

“Shh,” Stede kept soothing, so gentle and so earnest that Ed exaggerated a bit, whining like he’d never had worse pain before just so Stede would keep comforting him. “Only a bit longer, you’re doing so well.”

Roach had left something for the pain, a syrup that went down sweet as honey, and Ed was glad that Stede had taken over, because he might’ve kissed anyone who gave that to him out of sheer relief.

As it was, Ed was so tired he wound up just kind of mouthing at the side of Stede’s face.

Stede laughed, pulling Ed into his side, wrapping his arms around him, and the whole world went soft and steady. “Tomorrow,” Stede promised. “You can rest, now.”

Ed let his head rest on Stede’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, humming in delight at the feeling of Stede’s hand softly circling his waist to hold him steady.

He wasn’t looking forward to how he’d feel in the morning. He knew he’d be on unsteady footing, unsure what to say or how to say it, and Stede would probably come up with a whole speech for him to memorize for the crew, and that would go over like a lead balloon, he imagined. He wouldn’t know how to respond when the crew were upset or angry with him - as would be their right, of course. And he wouldn’t know how fast Stede would want things to move, or if he’d be angry with Ed, still, too, or…

Ed sighed, tucking his nose further into Stede’s neck, breathing in, just allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of Stede around him.

That was tomorrow. For now, he was safe.

[pluckyredhead]

For your Fourth World reading do you have a reading order you could share with us? Or recommendations on where to start? Sorry if this has been asked before

No need to apologize! I've been meaning to write up my Fourth World recs so thank you for the reminder. Also it is unfortunately a short list lol.

The Fourth World by Jack Kirby:

Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen: Kirby wrote and drew issues #133-148. This is where he launched the Fourth World, and where we first saw Darkseid and a number of other characters and concepts. It is a little tangential to the main Fourth World storyline (and some of it, like the two Goody Rickels issues, is REALLY weird and not necessarily in a good way). I would say if you are interested in the Fourth World from a comics history perspective, you should read Kirby's Jimmy Olsen, but if you are interested from a blorbo perspective and just want to read about Orion or Scott or whoever, you can skip it.

New Gods (1971): This is Orion's series. An absolute must, this is the heart of the Fourth World. The original run is issues #1-11 (there are a couple series that pick up the numbering, but the first 11 issues are the real deal).

Forever People (1971): I would say this is the other book that is really central to Kirby's magnum opus and the themes he was exploring. Again, less interesting from a blorbo perspective (I'm sure Mark Moonrider is someone's blorbo...) but it's only 11 issues so I would recommend reading it for the historical/thematic value. Do it for Kirby!

Mister Miracle (1971): The other blorbo! Kirby's original run is #1-18.

New Gods (1984) #6: In 1984 DC reprinted the original New Gods run as double-sized issues (so #1 contains the original #1 and #2 from 1971, etc.). Issue #6 reprints the original New Gods #11 and then adds new material to "conclude" Kirby's story. But you'll want to continue and read...

The Hunger Dogs (also called DC Graphic Novel #4): This was Kirby's conclusion to the Fourth World saga. It's not his original vision, but it's the most DC would allow him. He is not quite at the heights he was in 1971, but it's nice to see him get a chance to conclude his tale, and it's a must-read if you ship Orion and Lightray.

The Fourth World by people who aren't Jack Kirby:

New Gods (1991): This is Rachel Pollack's run and it's excellent. The art is extremely 1991 but the writing makes up for it. The last three issues of the series are written and drawn by John Byrne instead, and they're fine - you can read them or skip them, doesn't matter.

Orion (2000): Walt Simonson's run, AN ABSOLUTE MUST-READ. RUN DON'T WALK. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ THIS. Orion suffers so much and it's so delicious to me.

Solo #7: There are only two pages of Fourth World content in here but it's Orion betting Scott he can come up with a death trap Scott can't escape and then literally just trying to kill him for fun while Lightray has a panic attack. Orion and Scott are both lunatics and I love that for them. Brothers of all time.

Both of DC's YA graphic novels about these characters, Mister Mircle: The Great Escape by Varian Johnson and Daniel Isles and Barda by @ngoziu, are excellent.

AND UNFORTUNATELY THAT IS IT. Scott and Barda are in JLI which I will always recommend, but it's not strictly speaking a Fourth World book. Orion is in Grant Morrison's JLA which is a classic, but he doesn't have a huge role in it as I recall. You should already be reading Kelly Thompson's current run on Birds of Prey because it's perfect but Barda is especially perfect in it.

The nice (?) thing about the Fourth World is that every writer basically completely ignores all previous writers except Kirby so there's not a lot of continuity to track. If you read Kirby, you can encounter the characters anywhere else and know everything you need to know.

Happy reading!

[thegreenlizard]

What makes a military genius

Obi-Wan recognises the most qualified person to lead his battalion is not himself but his commander and acts accordingly.

Could be the same AU as “Not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising” (where Obi-Wan is presented with a battalion of slave soldiers, says please and thank you, and starts plotting how to take down the slavers).

Jedi are more like diplomats, spies, or special forces, where they have to achieve much with very little. Obi-Wan had learned to use his assets to their fullest, including—and often especially—sentient assets. Or, Obi-Wan recognises the most qualified person to lead his battalion is not himself but his commander, and acts accordingly.

I have this mental image of Obi-Wan meeting his commander and having a discussion, comparing their education and qualifications; recognising that while he’s willing to learn, his learning curve would happen at the expense of the lives of his men; and promptly reassigning duties. Cody ends up with effective command of the 212th; Obi-Wan’s combat role becomes a specialist and his non-combat role a combination of consultant (he does have applicable experience), Republic/Order attaché (slash shield/advocate for his men), and a professional banthashit processor (which allows Cody to do his job as effectively as possible). And that’s how the 212th ends up the most effective battalion in the GAR.

I love the MilitaryGenius!Obi-Wan trope, but soldiers the Jedi are not. This is one solution for how both could be true at the same time (in other words, gimme military genius!Cody). Obi-Wan has the strategic genius to recognise that he has what might be the finest army in the galaxy crippled by poor leadership—and the negotiator’s out of the box genius to figure out a solution for it. His by the book appearance is part an attempt to protect the good thing he has going on and part malicious compliance.

Bonus:

- Obi-Wan in full trooper armour.

- Obi-Wan in full armour is a trooper that doesn’t exist—the “Ghost” of the Ghost Company (i.e. his assigned company).

- I got thinking about different scenarios and when it would be more advantageous to have your Jedi look visibly Jedi for intimidation, distraction, or whatever—and when it would be more advantageous to hide him in plain sight in one of the identical sets of trooper armour. And I thought that if Cody had a Jedi who was willing to let Cody do whatever he wanted with him, that would definitely be one of the uses to make of him. You know, in addition to getting him wear armour, two birds one shot and all that jazz.

- Cody and Obi-Wan also discuss the possibility of making their arrangement public, making it known it’s a clone who’s effectively running the battalion. But for some political osik reason decide no.

- It probably so happens that the finest army in the galaxy is also compromised by the senate’s lengthy decision making process and poor logistics, but that comes later. Although it might already be apparent that some of it will become a problem—soldiers can’t function without support and logistics & I’m pretty sure not all pertinent support was included in the clone order (onboard ship mechanics yes, shipyards no). So you have a fighting force that *on paper* should be easily winning—and when it isn’t, you can blame the Jedi for something they have no power over.

- That being said, we never see what happens to the service corps during the war—they must be pressed into service as support personnel if the whole Order is drafted? So there are Jedi generals (the knights), but also navigators (Exploracorps), healers (MediCorps), supplying & feeding the army (Agricorps), etc. I wonder how much discontent it causes when those services are pressed to war and taken away from the populations they previously serviced? Probably poorer Outer Rim populations, furthering the divide between Core and Outer Rim worlds and pushing more Outer Rim worlds towards the Separatists, worsening the crisis.

- Eventually Obi-Wan’s experience from Melida/Daan comes in handy. Unfortunately, not his experience with leading troops, but his experience with total warfare and breakdown of infrastructure. That’s not something Cody was taught to expect—he was trained with the expectation of at least somewhat functional support. So Cody has a learning curve, but unexpectedly this is something his general knows.

[fanfoolishness]

the mess you left behind

Tech called Plan 99. But Wrecker's still here. Wrecker tries to navigate new grief, but he can't do it alone. Wrecker POV, Wrecker & Hunter, angst, grief, family feels, a little bit of hope. 3500 words.

-----

Something was wrong with him.  He was sure of it.

It started with the food.  At first, Wrecker thought the ration bars must have gone off.  They’d been loaded in the Marauder for months, maybe they’d just expired.  They crumbled in his mouth like ash, utterly flavorless, dry chalky stuff.  It was hard to swallow them, like his mouth had forgotten how to make saliva.  He choked them down and only ate three instead of his usual six on their way back from Ord Mantell.

But the food back on Pabu didn’t taste any better.  Shep and Lyana made them dinner that first night back, their faces shocked and sad.  Lyana brought out a tray of rockfish rolls and then ran back into the house, burying her face in her hands.  Shep stayed out with them, took them each by the shoulder, told them he was so sorry.  Hunter just nodded.  Echo looked away.  And Wrecker tried to smile but found his face didn’t work like that anymore.

He still tried to eat.  They’d gone to so much trouble, making all this food for them.  But his stomach turned, and he managed only a few bites before he shoved the food away and stared at the meal until it blurred.

It wasn’t just the food.  His tongue felt like sand, no matter how much water he drank.  Though sometimes he’d forget to drink any for hours, and realize only when he tried to talk, his voice coming out dry and cracked.  He’d drink water until he felt he couldn’t bear to drink anymore, and his tongue would still stick to the roof of his mouth.

He thought sleeping might help.  At least it’d be a break from Echo and Hunter scrolling endlessly through comms and intel, stuff he couldn’t help with anyway, focusing on that instead of anyone saying how much easier this would be if Tech was here.  He tried not to think about that, too.  Not that it made any difference.

Sleeping didn’t work any better.  He lay there long into the night, listening to Hunter’s breathing, Echo’s typing, Gonky’s soft little night-gonks.  If he closed his eyes, he could see him -- 

There is no time, Wrecker!  

Tech dangling helplessly, Wrecker’s arms straining against the railcar, his heart pounding in his chest, there had to be a way, there had to be --

Plan Ninety-nine.

No.  NO.  Not the one plan he’d never forgotten, the one plan he’d always thought he’d be the one to carry out if it came to it, the one plan he’d never wanted to hear any of his brothers call --

Don’t you do it, Tech --

And he’d open his eyes with a gasp, panting, tears damp on his face.  Okay.  So sleeping wasn’t an option, either.

-----

The days blurred together.  He wasn’t sure how to count them.  They slid past, one after the other, all of them horribly the same.  Beautiful weather.  Birds singing.  Waves on the shore.  

No leads on Omega, just an empty room and endless dead ends.

Tech’s goggles, broken and awful and so confusing.  

He tried holding them once, when Echo and Hunter had left the ship.  They were so small in his shaking hands.  He realized he’d never actually touched them before.  Tech had always kept them in such good condition, and the strap had always kept them in place even when he’d taken hits and needed patching up.  They’d been as much a part of him as Hunter’s tattoo.  

So how could Wrecker be holding them now?  It didn’t make any damn sense.  Goggles.  Tech.  They were supposed to be together.  

He half-thought he’d glance up and see Tech in the pilot’s chair, leaning in with a squint and an annoyed, “Wrecker, give those back.”  Maybe all of it had been some massive mistake.  Maybe Tech was injured, but alive.  Maybe he’d come back --

The pilot’s seat sat empty.  And Wrecker bowed over the goggles in his hands and cried.

-----

Echo left.  Wrecker had been wondering how long it would take.  Said Rex might be able to help him track down leads on Tantiss and how to find Omega.  

Wrecker knew it made sense.  But he also wondered how much of it was that Echo didn’t want to be here, where Tech’s ghost haunted the Marauder, where the ship seemed so empty without Omega’s laughter, where Hunter was grim and quiet and Wrecker was just… whatever he was.  

“I’ll keep you posted.  Anything I can find, I’ll be here in a heartbeat,” Echo said.  “We’ll find her.  I know it.”

“We’ll contact you right away if we find anything,” said Hunter, his voice rough.  “We won’t stop until we do.”  He clapped Echo on the shoulder and walked away, staring off into the horizon.  

Wrecker didn’t have anything to say.  He just drew Echo into a bonecrushing hug.  Echo hugged him back just as fiercely.  

“It’ll get easier,” Echo said quietly into Wrecker’s ear.  “Eventually.”

Wrecker closed his eyes.  Echo had told him about Fives, Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup.  He knew.  He’d lived it before.  

Now he was having to live it again.

“Hope you’re right,” Wrecker whispered.  “‘Cause I -- I don’t know how to do this.”

Echo sighed.  “No one ever does.”

-----

AZI checked on them both regularly.  He told Wrecker cheerfully one day that his neck had fully recovered and he was clear to resume his normal activity.  “However, there is something else,” AZI said.

“Yeah?”

“You have lost five kilos and are slightly underconditioned for your typical height and mass.  Your exam also shows evidence that you have been sleeping poorly and may be experiencing erratic moods.  This is one of many typical grieving responses in humans,” AZI said.  “Perhaps you would like to discuss your emotions.”

Huh.  So all of it came back to Tech, then.  

“I thought… I thought if you lose someone, you’re just sad,” Wrecker admitted.  “Never really had to do this before.”

It wasn’t quite true.  He’d missed Crosshair -- sometimes badly, especially those early days out on their own -- but it had all been tangled up in confusion, anger, frustration, not knowing where the chip ended and where his brother began.  And there’d always been hope, a thin small thread, that someday Crosshair would realize he’d been wrong and he’d come back to them.  That they would be together again.

Of course, that was a hope that no longer made any sense.  They’d never all be together again now.

“Grief is a complex emotional and physical response,” AZI explained.  “It may affect sleeping and appetite, and it may include anger, sadness, denial, and acceptance.  It is a process that is never fully completed, but time does appear to contribute greatly to healing.”  

“Well, can’t make time go any faster.”  Wrecker sighed, rubbing his face.  “How else do I fix it?” 

“Talking about the subject of one’s grief can be a great help.  I am happy to listen to any stories you may wish to share about CT-9902.  You may also wish to speak to CT-9901.”  

“Easy for you to say,” Wrecker muttered.  He looked up at the droid tiredly.  “Maybe another time, AZI.  Thanks.”

Talking to Hunter did feel like it might help.  Except that Hunter was avoiding him.  

Wrecker hadn’t been sure about it at first.  He’d wake up in the morning after his jagged, stretched-thin sleep and find Hunter already at the comms.  “Morning,” he’d say, and Hunter would wave a hand vaguely in his direction, grunt, and keep his eyes on the screen.  He’s focused.  I get it.  I want her back just as much as he does.  

But Hunter started skipping meals.  Wrecker would go for dinner with Shep and Lyana, only for Lyana to say “Hunter got food earlier.  He didn’t tell you?”  

Wrecker sat alone with them, struggling for something to say that wasn’t Sorry we lost your best friend or Want to hear a story about my dead brother? Shep would usually fill the silence with something light, talk about the rebuilding efforts or stories about the day’s events, and Wrecker would listen gratefully.  When he went back to the ship, he’d find Hunter already asleep or right back at the comms, eyes fixed on the screens.

He finally tried, one night.  Came back to the Marauder with a cup of black caf, Hunter’s favorite.  Spotted him sitting in the co-pilot’s chair -- never in Tech’s seat -- staring at a datapad.  

“Brought you something,” he said, raising the caf.  Hunter glanced at it for a second, then retreated back to whatever he was reading.  

Wrecker set the caf down by Hunter’s arm and leaned over the back of Tech’s chair.  He didn’t want to sit in it, either.  He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze off Hunter, except that meant he glimpsed Lula all alone in Omega’s room.  He turned the other way, and there were Tech’s goggles, shattered on the dash.  He sighed, settling for looking out the viewshield.  

“So.”

“...so.”

“Can we… talk?” Wrecker asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hunter lifted his head, looking up at him, waiting.  This close, Wrecker could see the shadows under his eyes, the days’ growth of stubble, the headband rumpled and askew.

“About Tech.”

Hunter swallowed, looking away.  “He’s gone, Wrecker.”

“I know that,” Wrecker said, an edge of irritation in his voice.  Come on. He was trying here.  “It’s just -- it’s hard.  Maybe it’s not as hard if we talk about him, you know?”  He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Hunter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.  “Talking about him won’t bring him back,” he said heavily.  “It’s… better to look forward.  Put everything we have into finding Omega.”

Wrecker growled, anger flashing bright and sudden in his mind.  His hand curled into a fist, just for a second, and everything that had been boiling under the surface since Eriadu came erupting up.   “Don’t you think I want to find her, too?  Of course I miss her.  Of course we have to find her.  And we will, Hunter, but I’m not gonna pretend she’s the only one we lost!  Don’t you even miss him?  He’s our brother!”  His voice rose into a shout.  

No -- this isn’t what I wanted --  But he couldn’t help himself.

“He was a soldier!  Like we all are!” Hunter snapped, getting to his feet, his eyes narrowed.  “He knew exactly what he was doing, and he made the only choice he could.  Any of us would have done the same.  Plan Ninety-Nine was always a possibility.  We have to accept that!”

“I don’t want to!” Wrecker roared, his chest heaving.  He shoved his brother back into his seat, and turned and fled out of the ship, the walls closing in, the air too thin to breathe.  He broke into a jog as he hit the cool night air, and he let his legs take him as far away from the ship as he could get.

He finally stumbled to a stop an hour later, somewhere down by the water, the soft sound of the waves a stark contrast to his ragged breaths.  He staggered out onto the sand, finding a rocky ridge up above the high water line.  He sagged down to the ground and tried to catch his breath.  

Eventually his breathing slowed.  He leaned back against the rocks and stared up at the stars.  The constellations swam and shimmered above him, splitting back and forth into two sets of starfields.  He blinked and lowered his head to gaze off into the dark.

Why won’t he talk about him?

He folded his arms atop his knees, pressing his face into them, screwing his eyes shut.  He sat like that for a long, long time, until his cheeks were wet, until his head throbbed.  He listened to the waves, and he knew he’d lost something he could never get back.

-----

Seabirds, squawking somewhere out in the distance.  A cool breeze on his face, warm sun on the back of his head.  A hand on his shoulder.

“Wrecker.”

He opened his eyes, narrowing them against the bright morning light.  He groaned.  “What am I --”  He looked around, realizing he was still on the beach.  Oh, hell.  The fight --

Hunter sat beside him on his good side, a basket of food and a thermos resting near him in the sand.  He gave Wrecker a tired smile.  

“Morning.”

Wrecker yawned, stretching, carefully avoiding looking at Hunter.  “Guess you found me.”

“It wasn’t exactly hard,” said Hunter.  He sighed, leaning back against the rocks, stretching his legs out in front of him.  

“Hm.  Guess it wouldn’t be, for you.”

“Yeah.”

They both fell quiet, looking out at the water.  A pack of moon-yos played at the water’s edge, scampering in the surf.  They chittered cheerfully at each other, completely ignoring the two soldiers in the sand.

Wrecker swallowed.  “Sorry, Hunter.”

Hunter took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, too, Wrecker.”  

“For what?  I’m the one that flew off the handle.”  His cheeks burned at the memory.  He’d been trying to get Hunter to open up at him, and all he’d done was get angry at him and run off.  Some conversation that had been.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe we just need to move on.”  

Hunter shook his head.  “No, you were right.  Ignoring it… isn’t helping.”

Wrecker looked at him in surprise, his chest aching at Hunter’s words.  Huh.  He hadn’t been expecting that.

Hunter had fallen silent again, but looked like he was struggling to figure out what to say.  This close, Wrecker could see his brother’s eyes were red and puffy.  Had he even slept since their fight?

“You okay?” Wrecker asked.

“No.”  Hunter tried giving him a smile, but his mouth twisted up all wrong.  At last he managed to get a few more words out, but they were halting, nothing like his usual direct, confident way of talking.  “I… I thought that if I could just focus on Omega… then I could… stop thinking about Tech.  That’s why I didn’t want to talk about him.”

“You do think about him?” Wrecker asked hopefully.  

“Of course I do,” said Hunter.  He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.  “Every time I sit in that damn cockpit, I look over and I --”  He closed his eyes, a muscle going in his cheek.  “It’s too hard to think about him.  So I kept trying to move on, tried to focus on something I could fix.  I know I can’t bring him back, and I hate it, Wrecker.  We couldn’t save Crosshair.  We lost Omega.  Echo’s moved on, and Tech…”

“I should have saved him,” Wrecker bit out.  “I was there.  Maybe if I’d tried something different, I could have got to him.  I could have hauled him up, I know I could have.  But the railcar -- I couldn’t figure out how to get to him --”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” said Hunter sharply.  “That’s an order.  If anyone could have seen another way out of it, it was Tech.  You didn’t have any other options.”

Wrecker’s leg shook, boot jittering in the sand.  Arms straining, trying to hold the second railcar back, he just had to keep it steady so Tech could climb up -- there had to be time, he had to make it -- 

Tech’s hand raising his blaster, Wrecker’s heart stuttering in his chest, no, no, this wasn’t happening --

When have we ever followed orders?

“Wrecker.  Wrecker, hey.”  Hunter’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently.  Wrecker scrubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, shoulders heaving.

“Damn it, Tech,” he croaked.  He broke into a rough chuckle, but it was dangerously close to a sob, and he stifled himself.  “Look at this mess you made.”

“Well, he always was messy,” Hunter said slowly.  “All that tinkering of his… the way he said he always had a system.”  He smiled a little at the memory, though his eyes were redder than ever.

“Ha.  I have a system for my stuff, too.  Remember what he’d used to say?  Something like this?”  Wrecker pitched his voice higher, tried to adjust for Tech’s accent.  It was a terrible impression, but he was doing his best with it.  “‘Wrecker, my chaos is confined to my own living space.  Yours is a tripping hazard for everyone in the vicinity.  There is a difference.’”  

He snorted, remembering Tech’s indignation when Wrecker had made a joke about the two of them being the messy ones.  Hunter had laughed fondly at both of them, Crosshair had rolled his eyes, and Wrecker had just laughed and said “Yeah, you keep telling yourself it’s a system!”

Wrecker stopped, a realization coming over him.  He’d just laughed.  He shook his head, surprised.  Was he even allowed to do that right now?

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m all mixed up.”  He shifted, grabbing a handful of sand and watching it pour from his palm, grain by grain.  “I can’t… I can’t believe we’re never gonna see Tech again.”

“I know.”

“And I’m mad at him.  He’s gone, and we didn’t even complete the mission.  It didn’t mean anything.  How could we lose him on this?  How could he do this to us?”  He closed his trembling fist, sand pouring out even faster.  

“I know.”

“And I --  I can’t sleep.  Can’t eat.  Me, can’t eat.”  Wrecker dropped his hand, let it fall open.  “Am I gonna feel like this forever?” he asked, voice going quiet.  “Echo said it gets better.  But I can’t see it.”

Hunter leaned against him, their shoulders touching.  Wrecker raised his arm, settling it around Hunter in a loose hug.  It was the first they’d shared in… a long time.  Too long.

“I don’t know if it gets better,” Hunter admitted.  “I’ve never done this before, either.  But… I think you’re right.”

“Me?  About what?”

“Maybe talking about him is exactly what we need to do.”

-----

The sun had risen high above them, wheeling toward the noontime hour, when they fell silent again.  They’d been talking the whole time.  Sometimes about the scary stuff -- turned out Wrecker wasn’t the only one struggling with flashbacks and nightmares -- sometimes about the weird stuff -- Hunter admitted he kept blanking out for minutes a time, and it was taking him twice as long as usual to get through reading anything -- sometimes about good stuff, like stories about old missions where Tech had pulled off the impossible and really shone.  

They were so proud of him.

They always would be.

They’d managed, somehow, to laugh a few times.  Wrecker had cried three times and Hunter had cried once.  Now Hunter looked just as exhausted as Wrecker felt, but in a good way, like they’d both come through something. Together.

Wrecker yawned, leaning back against the rock, hands behind his head.  “Hey, didn’t you bring something down here with you?”

“Oh yeah.  Peace offering,” said Hunter, rummaging in the bag at his feet.  He pulled out a thermos and a sturdy box made out of some of the large shiny leaves on the island.  “Got some pastries at the market square and brought down some caf.  Figured it was the least I could do.  You hungry?”

Wrecker thought about it, and surprised, said, “Yeah, I think so.  What you got in there?”

“I just asked for the variety box.”  Hunter opened the box, and sweet scents of fruit, vanilla and pastry wafted out.  His face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Wrecker asked.  “Smells great.”

Hunter lifted up a delicate pastry curled into a horn shape, stuffed with fresh custard.  Wrecker recognized it instantly.  Tech’s favorite.

The skill necessary to create the overarching layers of pastry is remarkable.  Preserving the architecture of the pastry while also suffusing it with custard is ingenious --

Hunter gave him a half-smile.  “Want to split it?”

“Sure.”  Wrecker reached out, and they tore the custard horn into roughly equal halves.  Wrecker held his up to his face, catching its sweet scent.  His stomach rumbled.  He nudged his pastry into Hunter’s and said, “To Tech.”

“To Tech.”

He took a bite, expecting it to taste like sawdust like everything else had been lately.  But it didn’t.  

He tasted butter, vanilla, sugar, egg, flour.  He tasted layers of flaky, golden pastry with a cloud-like center, vanishing sweetly within his mouth.  He tasted comfort.  He tasted home.

Wrecker finished his pastry, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat.  “That’s… that’s really good.”  He reached out, taking the thermos, opening it up and taking a drink of hot caf.  It was bold and rich, bracing without being bitter.  He glanced at Hunter.  “...you got any more pastries in there?”

Hunter laughed, passing him the box.  “Thought you’d never ask.”

They finished off the box beneath the noon sun, watching the moon-yos play and scamper in the waves.  And something shifted in Wrecker’s chest, clicking into place; not a question of if they would get through this, but a realization that they would.  He had a feeling it was still going to be mixed up, and awful, and wrong, for a long time.  Maybe always.  

But he wouldn’t be going through it alone, and maybe that was all he needed, at least for now.

[painfullyprickedandticked]

alright, so this is more so loosely related to these two posts i’ve made that are similar in subject. i really don’t know how i keep making these, but goddamn it, it’s happening yet again. my love for stolitz and fizz/ozzie aside, the whole “sticking to the same species” trend that’s always had this weird undercurrent here is... it’s just genuinely bizarre to me? and some people just don’t really take notice of it? maybe i’m slightly looking too deep into it, but… like…

when it’s just blitzø/fizz, i can understand its appeal. it isn’t really my main ship, i like it more so for the fact it was a teenage crush blitzø had on fizz, and the pain that it went unsaid. could it have been possible fizz felt the same? maybe? we’ll never know because that’s in the past now, and that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be some big thing where they slowly get back together. they’re moving on with their lives and reconnected as friends, and they have their own current love interests. but the “oh, it’s healthier” or "THE CHEMISTRY IS STRONGER" thing. that’s when it goes from some innocent “what if” to… obnoxious, almost. irksome.

blitzø’s childhood sucked, and when moving on from the past, one must make peace with it and accept that they can’t have any of what they wanted now. that includes, well, the obvious! like, explore and move onto new things. and i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again: stolitz is about overcoming the toxicity through slow burn. both have to sift through their flaws as individuals before endering a healthy relationship together. that includes prejudices, which… is why the same species thing is just so WEIRD. why should blitzø be solely with an imp or hellborn of a similar caste? why can’t he go for something grander? because it’s “above him”? what happened to bridging gaps and overcoming class differences?? fizz and ozzie didn’t give a shit about any of that!

but sure, let’s pair him with… uhhhh… the imp hybrid that’s a supremacist, and sees literally almost every other imp as inferior to him and just has a lot of weird internalized hatred that he’s never gonna cope with (striker is definitely a hyrbid and is upset he looks more imp than whatever other demon he is partially mixed with; my bets are he’s part shark bc his eyes have spirals like crimson's gay bodyguard) and told blitz, “you’re the least suckish imp” like! such a healthier option amirite. as if being both equally oppressed means they must be together / healthier, like… i can’t. i mean, at least with fizz, that’s his childhood friend and didn’t pull the shit striker did-- and i like striker but let’s not kid ourselves, guys… i can admit when i’m hypocritical, but the delusions i’ve seen. damn.

regarding blitzø and fizz, it’s just kind of going back to square one. starting over in a lukewarm manner.

then there’s what I call a definite example of this bizarre trend: Vassago and Stolas. So I’ve mentioned it before my own gripes with the rebound idea and the "Oh this is a alternative that's healthier" which is a certified way to not get me on a side of a new ship. I never really dug deep into the same species angle outside of how it would derail Stolas' character development. So here's where I dig into it as a treat thanks to a certain person who’s basically backed up the previous posts I made in spite of the bullshit that's going on.

in spite of the whole, you know, “overcome prejudice” arc... people push for stolas to be with another bird demon so badly. it’s never really diving into repercussions, what their personalities are like together, how do they rub off on each other-- how they develop together or individually as a result-- but it’s more so a surface level, “they look nice together.” and don’t give me “vassago’s a nice guy!” because then why the hell wouldn’t there be more stolas x ozzie since ozzie’s a little more cordial to stolas than most are, i’d presume? (a stretch but bare with me) cool, parrot dude is nice-- what else is there.

oh yes-- aesthetically, color blending wise, it looks good. where’s the spices? you can’t cook a meal without key ingredients. a relationship doesn’t work because they’re a similar species and one of them could be nice to the other. or even that they just know each other. relationships don’t begin with just that. and then there’s the “they have the same lifespan argument” except not really because vassago is 50, stolas is 36, so no it’s not even a same lifespan. and even then, people ship immortals with mortals all the time?? why are some of you being so weird about this one time there’s a certain type of immortal/mortal ship???

if this doesn’t apply, then let it fly. but there is definitely some that apply to this and i feel it’s such an odd trend. stop trying to make them all stick to their own species.