#but i immediately thought of the eleventh hour when he said 'does there have to be a reason?'

[expelliarmus]

[tennessoui]

(checks notes) enter qui-gon in the eleventh hour of fpfh

“Anyway,” he says pointedly, pushing his braid over to Qui-Gon. “I meant to give this to you then. It’s yours, Master. Thank you for the opportunity to be your apprentice. To, ah. Learn from you about the Force and my place in the galaxy.” It’s an awful thanksgiving, but truly they have never been the pair for overly emotional speeches. The thought crosses his mind that perhaps he should kneel and offer up his padawan braid like some High Republic Knight offers up his saber for his lady’s use, but the ceremony would make the both of them uncomfortable, and the floor looks hard and unforgiving. Perhaps if Qui-Gon had a nice, plush rug beneath his table.

So instead, he pushes the coil of his padawan braid across to his master, who takes it into his large palm and thumbs over the bottom-most bead. Master Nu had seen that bead granted to him after Obi-Wan spent an entire month on a besieged Mid-Rim planet, coordinating the smuggling and protection of the planet’s historical archives as the Separatists closed in. 

“I must admit,” Qui-Gon murmurs as if to himself. “I did not expect to see this again.” 

Obi-Wan blinks and then tucks his hands into his lap so he doesn’t cross his arms over his chest in offense. “I wouldn’t have forgotten forever,” he says mulishly. “If you have to know, I only recently finished unpacking the boxes the droids filled for me. One of them dropped it in.”

One of Master Jinn’s eyebrows goes up, and his amusement in the Force seems to grow, though it becomes laced through with something much heavier. “I never said that you would forget it,” he says, settling it gently on the table in front of him. 

It takes a moment for Obi-Wan to realize what Qui-Gon is implying: that he thought, when Obi-Wan did not immediately give him his braid, that Obi-Wan had taken it to someone else. Given it to someone else.

“Master, of c—”

“There is much said to Masters and Knights when they decide they would like to choose a padawan to train,” Master Qui-Gon says lightly. “There is much we are warned about. A padawanship can be terribly impacted by a master who discovers too late that he does not want to train a padawan he has committed himself to.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is somehow both wet and dry at the same time, his stomach impossibly tight and empty and yet somehow full and bloated too.

“Not much is ever said about padawans who are assigned a master they did not want. What impact that can have on their padawanship.”

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Death is Not a Teacher

a reflection on lessons human beings cannot learn

I put my grandfather in the ground last weekend. His death prompted the usual sorts of things that, as you will know from your attendance at funerals and experiences with people in mourning, tend to occur when someone dies. You know, as I know, that people say a lot of things, not because they are useful to say, but because one cannot escape the feeling that something must be said. You have perhaps tried to remain silent—but only for a time—as you will have found that it simply does not do. Eventually you say the same kinds of trite things that everyone else says.

His death cannot be said to have been unexpected. I watched his decline for what must have been at least twenty years. My wife remarked upon seeing him in his casket that he looked surprisingly like he did in life—a reflection of how very nearly dead he had been in his twilight.

I say that to say, now, that even watching his death come, as it were, from afar, even at a leisurely pace, when the end finally came, my father probably articulated best the sense among our branch of the departed man’s family.

“I really took him for granted.”

—

Because death involves reflection on life, and the life of the deceased, as one encounters people who knew the departed for longer, or in another capacity, were more or less close, we come to appreciate something we could have realized if we’d thought about it—that the person was in many ways unknown, that we mistook our small piece of their existence for a whole, that their life in its complexity and interiority involved many stages and many experiences they never shared with us. We didn’t know them at the time, they never volunteered the information, we never thought to ask.

But all this is well known. The piece upon which I wish to focus is the always implicit, but often explicit, pang of regret, and attendant call to action. We ought to have spent more time with them. We ought to have asked them the questions it never occurred to us to ask. We ought to have told them how we felt about them.

We ought not to have taken them for granted.

—

These pangs and appeals add to their triteness a certain edge when death arrives suddenly. A friend’s mother recently passed; she’d had a cancer diagnosis a year or so prior, but one Friday took a dramatic turn for the worse, and by the end of the weekend she was gone. He reported with gratitude he had some time to tell her, as she laid in bed, how fortunate he had been to have her as a mother, &c &c. When my wife was 16, her mother died at 40. She’d gone to the hospital for what appeared to be a severe panic attack and was gone within hours. No goodbyes.

Be sure to tell people how you feel about them, because you do not know how long you will have them. So the wisdom goes.

In my final year of undergrad I became an eleventh hour addition to an honors colloquium that I had learned late I needed to take to complete the honors program. That spring the course was to be taught by a literature professor I had seen but did not know, and I and some two dozen students were to read The Brothers Karamazov. The course immediately took on a mystical significance; professors saw me carrying the book and gave me strange looks, cryptically referring to it as the greatest novel ever written. One class the professor mentioned the example of the novel had prevented a fellow professor from suicide. The novel appeared to carry and to portend mysterious powers.

It is perhaps impossible to overstate the significance of this man to my life. We became Facebook friends soon after I graduated and I stayed on that website in large part to maintain contact with him, commenting here and there on his posts, but, eventually I felt like I didn’t really have much to contribute to his conversations. They tended to unfold between himself and some old friends and I felt like I was sort of a third wheel, and so my admiration took on a greater distance.

I learned recently that in the spring of 2023, that professor threw himself from a bridge.

Suicide makes the question stranger still, because suicide carries a sting of implication. I have observed suicides in other circles, and we are often admonished that we must check in with the people we love and assure them we love them. We are told the warning signs but are told the warning signs are not obvious, and the formal resources our society has for the suicidal are so dramatic and themselves so life-altering we question when it is appropriate to summon them.

I ask you, if he had known that I love him, do you really suppose that would have stopped him from jumping?

Try to find someone in your life and tell them how you really feel. Think carefully of everything they mean to you, stare into their eyes, and say those unspeakable things. Can you even do it? Will they even believe you? You cannot, as you yourself know if you have lost someone, even know—know—what they mean to you until they are gone, in the same way that you cannot know what food means to you until you are starving, and what air means to you until you are suffocating.

—

Death’s lessons do not stop there. Consider this lyrical example from a song that I hate:

He said "I was finally the husband That most of the time I wasn't And I became a friend a friend would like to have And all of a sudden going fishin' Wasn't such an imposition And I went three times that year I lost my dad Well I, I finally read the Good Book, and I Took a good, long, hard look At what I'd do if I could do it all again And then I went skydiving I went Rocky Mountain climbing I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu And I loved deeper And I spoke sweeter And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying" And he said "Someday I hope you get the chance To live like you were dyin'"

The twee sentimentality of this saccharine appeal hides more than it shows. None of these things require a death sentence.

What do you suppose it would really mean “to live like you were dyin’” ? Would it look like this? If you knew death was a week away, if you could grasp that rue oblivion waited and soon, where would your time and your money go? Would your posture toward your credit cards change? How would you eat and drink? Where would you go? What would you say to people? How do you imagine a society that embraced this posture on principle would look? Will you go on living that way now?

As G.K. Chesterton wrote in Heretics of life under the shadow of Death:

Many of the most brilliant intellects of our time have urged us to the same self-conscious snatching at a rare delight. Walter Pater said that we were all under sentence of death, and the only course was to enjoy exquisite moments simply for those moments’ sake. The same lesson was taught by the very powerful and very desolate philosophy of Oscar Wilde. It is the carpe diem religion; but the carpe diem religion is not the religion of happy people, but of very unhappy people.

The threat of Death carries rather a more sinister implication than even Chesterton allowed. It is not solely a question unhappiness numbed through hollow pursuit of transient pleasure. For this we will turn to The Brothers Karamazov and the philosophy attributed to brother Ivan Fyodorovich, summarized in this instance by Pyotr Aleksandrovich Miusov:

Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis that the whole natural law lies in that faith, and that if you were to destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would be lawful, even cannibalism. That’s not all. He ended by asserting that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not believe in God or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognized as the inevitable, the most rational, even honorable outcome of his position. From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of our eccentric and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch’s theories.

The lessons of Death include not merely fear but terror, narcissism, immiseration, dissipation, desperation, and resignation.

But it is not merely evil to take Death as your teacher, and to internalize these lessons.

I wish to submit to you, as you yourself know, that it is impossible.

—

Whenever anyone tries to take Death as their master, to live out these lessons, reality soon presses against them, and they set themselves at odds with the life they are seeking to cherish to its fullest. Those who “seize the day” in the form of the hedonism that the carpe diem religion encourages invariably hasten the very thing they seek to defy, their embrace of momentary pleasures soon landing themselves and others in misery, and often an early grave. We simply cannot live like we are “dyin’”.

More abstract but no less important, I rather doubt that you or perhaps anyone who has ever lived seriously believes that you will die someday. You know it will happen. Sometimes perhaps the awe of the realization creeps up on you and you become very close to grasping it but life itself soon whisks it away. Even when the philosophers and the theologians tell you memento mori, they are setting you up not to die, but to live. They tell you to remember this to impel you to orient yourself toward what follows your death, which is to say the thing you wish to outlast you, to live on, or else to mind your own eternal destiny.

Which is to say, they say it in expectation not that you will die but in fact that you will live for ever.

And here we come to an odd point. One of the exquisitely pious mourners at my grandfathers funeral said at one moment as an aside and with significant tone, “well, it is just sad, because, well, we tried to get him to go to church but he was just never very open to it, and so, it is sad...”

Did that person seriously believe he was in Hell? Does anyone seriously believe in this place? No, for the same reason that nobody seriously believes in Death. It is so astonishingly incapacitating that life simply refuses to allow you to go on in this posture. You may feel yourself come close to grasping it—close enough even for conversion—but the most devout, the most relentless, the most frantic evangelist cannot even at the very height of their exertion truly live out a belief that the vast majority of souls are destined for eternal misery. The magnitude of the prospect exhausts individual capacity far before it exhausts itself.

We find ourselves, when faced with That prospect, wondering things that sophisticated and dogmatic theologians tut-tut—asking simple questions to which they have powerful refutations, while forgiving quite easily offenses we know cannot be forgiven. We are faced with the impossible prospect, the great heresy, that we desire their good more than God Himself desires it.

As I reflect on my grandfather, who bore no visible sign of faith, I ask even as I know better, is it possible that I am more merficul than God? I reflect on my professor, who died committing a mortal sin, is it possible—is it possible—that I love my professor more than God?

—

The point that I wish to make is not a philosophical or a theological one, though it is those things, but a practical one.

Life itself forces us to live as though we will go on living. To connect as though we will connect forever, to love as though we will love forever.

Even to take people for granted, because we feel—even when we think we know otherwise—that it cannot ever be The End.

We will see them again.

[witchofthemidlands]

Thanks to a ✨depression haze✨ taking its sweet time to vamoosh from my mind i am only now able to form words about the Doctor Who trailer.

Fifteen has been in the grand total of the last quarter of The Giggle, The Church On Ruby Road & (2) trailers & he’s my second favourite Doctor of all time. I. Love. This. Version. Abolish UNIT's flooring king & leave the bill for your younger self <3 Every time I think of Fifteen, I think back to 2021 where me & my housemate were standing in the kitchen saying based on our mutual love for Eric Effiong that Ncuti Gatwa would be a good Doctor Who.

THE MUSIC 🎵 CHANGES🎵 honestly I went feral as soon as it started playing. For YEARS I have associated different Bowie songs with Twelve, Bill Potts & Danny Pink so I was screeching like a person deranged.

Will say though considering The Goblin Song, the musical notes around Ruby & the trip to The Beatles I wonder if music will play a core theme in this season? Little things like words on posters & names said aloud throughout the first RTD era turned out to be vital elements so I’m wondering if we’ll get something similar like that again.

VERY happy to see Cherry & Carla back. I always thought they would be seeing as RTD clearly loves his companions to have families & love that he’s returned to writing about & showing the importance of found/adoptive families like he did for The Sarah Jane Adventures 😊 did not get great vibes from the “I’m still her mum, I need to know she’ll be ok.” Line & the promise but again it’s RTD’s writing, he made it seem like Rose & Donna would be dead within their respective seasons & both of them are thriving with their respective versions of the Doctor.

THE SHOT OF HOLOGRAM!TEN/METATEN/FOURTEEN/FOURTENTH?!? love them, love him LOVE THEM but I hope it's just an image or someone flickering through & showing Fifteen pictures of his past selves like they’ve done in The Eleventh Hour, Nightmare In Silver, Twice Upon A Time, The Timeless Children etc & not a “Fifteen & Fourteen work on a UNIT mission together via holograms.” To me at least, it seems a little too soon to do another multi Doctor story especially when it’s only Fifteen’s first season.

THE CALLBACK TO MARTHA JONES & BILL POTTS WORRYING ABOUT STEPPING ON THE BUTTERFLY 😂🤩😂 me & my mum laughed so hard at this but at the same time, it’s adding to my theory that “doing the salt” at the edge of the universe IS responsible for myths/legends/theories actually happening in the Whoniverse now like the salt, the bi-regeneration, The Goblin King because in the song there’s a line that gave me this theory the “he’s not a myth, he’s an actual thing.” This will definitely be me reading too much into it but that’s just the conclusion I’ve come to.

I saw Indira Varma in (1) frame 😳 I had IMMEDIATE ✨gay thoughts✨ she is so beautiful 😍 BUT she started turning into a creature & I am not & never shall be a monsterfucker (even though admittedly the carrionites had me questioning things) but it will be a TEST OF STRENGTH.

There was what looked to be a flesh bowl & I immediately thought of The Gangers & seeing as Moffat’s emerging perhaps they’re making their return. After what happened with Bill Potts, Danny Pink & certain favourite characters of mine from my second favourite book in the entire world back in 2020 I am on the ✨fence✨ about The Return Of Moffat but he is ultimately incredible at writing a good horror story so if he does another one episode horror that’ll traumatise me for life & after, fair enough.

The alienvenom being in the corridor near made me yeet behind my sofa so I’m looking forward to seeing that story.

I’ve seen horror films I’ve gone through an ACTUAL HAUNTING & still nothing prepared me from how i nearly expired when i realised that THERE'S SOMETHING STANDING IN THE BACKGROUND IN TWO RUBY SCENES 😨

I’m gonna talk about ✨the scream✨ @ the Ruby of it all in another couple of posts.

Saw the Tardis console sparking: immediately wondered if there was any left over coffee in there 😅

I AM GOING TO LOSE IT WHEN I SEE ROSE NOBLE AGAIN 🥹 MY BEST GIRL IS COMING BACK 🥹 Lovely to see Mel! Hope this means more Classic Who companions will return at some stage (for the sake of how funny it would be unleash a NewNewWho Doctor on Jamie McCrimmon whilst the actor is still alive & willing to be part of the Whoniverse)

Fifteen saluting in his regency outfit (In the realm of fanfic in my head I am imagining Captain Jack Harkness being on the receiving end of that salute) but maybe it’ll be Jonathan Groffs new character? Whoever they are I hope him & The Doctor have enough gay activity between them that’ll make my family members who don’t like Fifteen when they “come across as gay” uncomfortable <3

The weathered Tardis near the sea reminds me of The Ghost Monument. I hope they make a figure/pop of the weathered Tardis, I need it for my collection 😅 I hope we get a The Ghost Monument mention just to annoy my family who still actively talk about how much they disliked 13’s era.

I am going to go a new level of feral in May, Fifteen ily so much 🥹

[ejsandfarkleslovebot]

CHAPTER FIVE, big time school of rocque

Andi had never been a fan of school. She was smart and a good student, but she hated the drama and the busy hallways. She was so relieved her mom put her on online school and she no longer had to deal with the craziness that was public school. It was a blessing. She was also grateful for online school because it allowed her to work on the songwriting with Gustavo easily. Plus she had more free time and she could work on it anywhere. Which was why she was at the Palm Woods out by the pool. She and her mom has lived here her whole life and she had to admit she loved it here. The apartment her and her mom had was perfect for them and she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

She sat in a lounge chair with her laptop open and her headphones around her neck. She was working on homework and somewhat paying attention to her friends, who were goofing off as usual. The boys had gotten the great idea of pranking James so now they had put him in the pool when he fell asleep on one of the chairs.

"This is a bad idea!" She called out to them, shaking her head when they didn't listen.

"Okay, boys," Kendall grins, looking at Logan and Carlos who were besides him. "It's time." He looks at Carlos with a smile. "Carlos, do the honors."

"Whoa!" Carlos shouts, cupping his mouth with his hands. "Free hair gel!"

James immediately wakes up, yelling 'Where' as he falls off of the chair into the pool. James stands up and rolls his eyes when he saw the boys were laughing at him. "Yeah, funny. Real funny. Now, where's the free hair gel?!"

"Buddy," Andi gets his attention, looking over at him while shaking her head. "There is no free hair gel." James groaned and pushed some of his wet hair out of his eyes.

Carlos grins. "How sweet is this? It's like a vacation with singing. It's a singcation!"

Andi looks over to her right when she hears footsteps and saw her mom walking over to them. "Okay, guys, dry off and get dress." Kelly said to the boys. "It's time to go to the studio."

"Kelly!" Kendall greeted, raising his arms dramatically, and he dropped his arms when he noticed Kelly already didn't look happy.

"This should be interesting." Andi mumbled, closing her laptop. She picked up her laptop and walked over to stand besides her mom.

"What does the great Gustavo Rocque has in store for us today?" Kendall asked.

Logan looks at Kelly as James stands besides him with a towel. "Harmonies?"

Carlos does a small dance with his arms. "Breaking down some new dance moves?"

"Is it a big Hollywood party to get us some Red Carpet exposure?" James questioned.

Kelly nods. Close." Looking at the boys, she put her hand on her hip. "You're going to school."

Andi rolls her eyes when the boys screamed as they look terrified at Kelly. She got up, carrying her laptop as she walked beside her mom in front of the boys back to the hotel.

"School?" Carlos looks at Kelly in disbelief. "You got to be kidding, right?"

"Carlos!" Kelly exclaims in annoyance, wanting him to stop asking that since he has been asking that since she told the boys they were going to school. The boys stop in the lobby and the girls stand in front of them. "For the eleventh time," Kelly looks at Carlos, shaking her head. "I'm not kidding."

"I can't believe you guys thought you guys weren't going to have to go to school." Andi shakes her head, putting her hand on her hip. "Seriously?" She raised an eyebrows at the boys, who just shrug in response.

"It was more of a hope than thought." Kendall sheepishly smiled.

Kelly pulls out a pamphlet. "According to the 'Actors and Performers Associations.' kids under 18 in the entertainment industry must attend 4 hours of school a day."

"Did you even look at the pamphlets I gave you?" Kelly asked them.

Andi chuckles, shaking her head. "Mom, we both know they didn't." She looks over at her mom and then glances back at the boys. "Am I wrong?"

"No." The boys mutter, shaking their heads.

"That's what I thought." Andi chuckled.

She looked over her shoulder when the bell rang and watched as kids started to walk past them.

"Tyler!" Kendall calls out to him when he saw him walking by. Tyler walks over to them, looking at them with a smile. "Where is everybody going?"

"To school at the Palm Woods." Tyler replied and continued following everyone else. Andi rolled her eyes, noticing the Jennifers walking by and saw that the boys were staring at them.

She looks over to where the boys were standing, sighing whenever she saw they weren't standing there anymore. "Come on, let's go get the boys." Kelly sighed. Then the mother-daughter duo walked to the room where the Palm Woods School was at, knowing they would be there.

Andi grabs James' shoulders while Kelly gestured Carlos, Kendall and Logan out of the room. They pulled the boys back before they could walk in the room. "Nope. You guys aren't going here." They looked at Andi with confusion.

"Well, what school are we going to?" James asked the Puerto Rican girl.

Andi sends the four boys a sympathetic smile. "At Rocque Records."

Once they get back to Rocque Records, Andi went to sit on the couch in the lounge area and worked on writing a four page paper for her English class. It had only been a few hours, but the boys had gotten rid of a lot of teachers to the point where Gustavo got Chris Masterpiece. Andi had to admit she was impressed and amused by how easily the boys got rid of the teachers. It was entertaining. Plus it was annoying Gustavo and the boy's antics annoyed Gustavo most of the time, so it was hilarious.

****

The next day she went with Kelly to pick up the boys. She honestly felt bad for them knowing how bad they wanted to go to Palm Woods School and after hearing from them that they had to lift their desks she didn't blame them for wanting to go to Palm Woods School.

"Come on, guys." Kelly snaps her fingers in their faces whenever she saw that they were daydreaming. "You're gonna be late for school."

"Mind had Globe beach balls." Kendall sighed.

"Mind had pool pie." Carlos grinned.

"Mind had a low student teacher ratio." Logan chimed in.

Andi looks at them weirdly, not for sure if she even wanted to know what they were talking about. It looked like they were daydreaming. "What are you guys talking about?"

"We sorta had the same daydream of going to the Palm Woods School." Kendall replied.

Andi chuckles, shaking her head. "Of course."

"Okay," James got Carlos', Kendall's, and Logan's attention. "How are we going to get rid of Chris Masterpiece?"

"My mom packed us corn chowder today for lunch, right?" Kendall questioned and the boys raised up their lunch bags in response.

Andi raises her eyebrows, and cringes, not liking the grins on their faces. "I'm not even gonna ask what you guys are planning, but let's head over there before my mom or Gustavo gets mad."

****

Later that day, Andi was in the control room sitting besides her mom as Gustavo walks in, holding two ties. "What tie makes me look more Principally?"

Andi and Kelly looks at the ties with a disgusted expression. "The ugly one." They both said, high fiving each other for saying the same thing at the same time just as they noticed James and Kendall walk in with backpacks.

Andi tilts her head to the side, wondering what they were up to. She grew more confused when they dumped out clothes into some boxes that were in the room. She also noticed that Kendall was holding a big book in his hands which made her more curious.

"Oh, hey, Principal Rocque." Kendall greeted. The boys waved, left the backpacks in the room, and walked out.

Gustavo looks at Andi and Kelly as if they knew what the boys were doing, but they both shrug their shoulders. Gustavo dropped both of the ties and ran out of the room with the girls following him.

"Hey!" Gustavo calls out to Kendall and James. They turn around to face them while he continued to speak. "I hope there is a good reason why my control room is filled with your dirty socks!"

"Well," Kendall said, opening up the book he has in his hands. "ASPA Rule nine states that 'All students must have etiquette storage for personal belongings.'"

"Which the School of Rocque hasn't provided." James pointed out.

"I don't like the sound of this." Kelly shook her head.

Andi shrugs her shoulders with an amused look on her face. "I think this could be interesting."

The three of them look over seeing Logan and Carlos walks past them looking awfully happy. She raises her eyebrows whenever they walk into Gustavo's office and Logan then closes the door. Gustavo pushes Kendall and James aside and runs towards his office. Andi and Kelly follow him, wanting to see what was going on.

"Hey!" Gustavo shouts seeing they were hanging clothes everywhere. "That shelf is for my awards!"

"You wouldn't want to be in violation to ASPA Rules would you?" Logan asked him while Kendall and James walked in.

"You could lose your business." Carlos told him, holding onto some clothes.

Andi's eyes widens, looking over at her mom and Gustavo with shock. Kelly takes the book from Kendall and skimmed over the page it was on. Kelly looks over at Gustavo and nods. "They're right."

Gustavo looks at Andi and Kelly. "Find a place for the dogs to keep their smelly stuff which is not in my office!"

He looks at the boys. "And where is your teacher?"

"Yeah," James grins. "We told him ASPA insures teachers five paid sick days and two personal days a year."

"Woohoo!"

Gustavo runs out of the room and everyone follows him, seeing the boy's teacher was wearing beach clothes and even had a surf board with him.

"See ya later suckers!" He yelled and ran off.

Kendall puts his hand on Gustavo's shoulder with a grin on his face. "Sounds like a personal day to me."

Andi couldn't help the small giggle that left her lips. It was pretty amusing watching everything unfold. Kendall's heart skipped a beat as he heard her giggle and couldn't help but smile, happy that he was the reason for her laugh. He glanced over at her, locking eyes with her and he felt his face heat up when she smiled at him. He quickly looked away, feeling his face heating up. She was just so cute.

****

Andi isn't sure how the boys did it, but somehow they had got a basketball court in the studio. She currently sat on the benches, cheering the team on because she didn't have anything else better to do and she finished her homework. She was amused by the fact the boys had even gotten a goat for their mascot and she was curious to see Gustavo's reaction about this.

The boys get back in the game and even though they were losing this game Andi was starting to think they were starting to win against Gustavo. Gustavo looks, noticing Andi in the stands. "What are you doing?!"

"Cheering them on, duh! What does it look like?" She retorted, raising her arms in the air as she cheered.

"Go Goats! Woo!" Her mom, who was now sitting besides her, cheered.

Gustavo looked over at Kelly with surprise. Kelly just shrugs her shoulders. "Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Andi watches Gustavo with amusement while he walks in and tries to get everyone out, but that resulted in him getting pushed to the ground and the players walking over him.

One of the girls from the other team dunked a basketball and knocked the basketball net on top of a drum set that was near by and Gustavo screamed. The boys helped up Gustavo and Kendall puts a hand on Gustavo's shoulder.

"Sorry, Gustavo. We will get them next time." Kendall tells him, but Gustavo just angrily stares at them.

"Principal's Office, now!" Gustavo shouted.

****

"I am the Principal of this school and I am not giving into demands and hooliganistic tactics don't scare me!" Gustavo yelled at the boys who sat in front of him at his desk in his office. Kelly stood besides him and Andi was leaning against the wall.

"You. Can. Not. Beat. Me." Gustavo points a ruler at himself. The boys look at each other, not believing that one bit. "Now, this can not and will not go unpunished. Which is why I hereby expel you!"

The boys look at him with confusion. "What? What does that mean?" James furrowed his eyebrows.

"It means," Gustavo stands up and points to the door. "You are kicked out of the School of Rocque! Now, get out!"

The boys didn't believe it at first and glanced over at Andi with confused and hesitant looks. She just shrugged her shoulders, not knowing what to tell them and they glanced back at Gustavo.

"Well, go on!" Gustavo exclaimed and that's when the boys finally get out of the office.

Kelly stands in front of his desk as Gustavo sits down. "That wasn't easy, but they needed to be disciplined." Gustavo said.

Andi rolls her eyes and sarcastically comments, "Yeah, you did such a great job."

Kelly looks at Gustavo and asks, "So from now on I'm going to pick the guys up from the Palm Woods School and bring them here at 12:30?"

Gustavo nods. Yep."

Andi chuckles lightly while her lips tug into a smile when she hears the boys cheering out in the hallway. She wasn't surprised that Gustavo gave in. She knew he would eventually. And she wasn't surprised that the boys were listening in on the conversation. She knew they would do that. But she was happy that they finally got what they wanted and could go to the Palm Woods School. 

[arctic-hands]

Long, depressing, bipolar rant ahead lol. This ended up being longer than I wanted it to be but I couldn't decide what to cut out.

I was also an "early bloomer" for bipolar type 1–meaning my bipolar came with psychosis. I started hearing voices as a toddler, constantly asking who said that, who was whispering in my ear? My mom told me it was my guardian angel whispering how she'd always protect me, and that was that. I asked her as an adult who was diagnosed why she said that, she said she didn't want me to be scared.

Eventually the auditory hallucinations stopped, but in its place came paranoia and depression. I was 8 when 9/11 happened, and like every American child I was very scared, but unlike any other child in my class, I blamed myself entirely for what happened. I thought I should have been there, on a plane, in the towers, rescuing people. And I don't mean in a child-playing-superhero kind of way, I really honestly felt that people had died because of me. I went so far as to express I wished my birthday was on September eleventh, because I didn't feel I deserved to have a happy birthday ever again after my failure. As a teenager, I idly read a psychology magazine where it detailed an account by a schizophrenic woman who was a young child when JFK was assassinated, and she had voices and feelings and guilt telling her that she was responsible for everything. I still didn't make the connection, and I was still many years from a diagnosis.

It was at 9 when I suddenly stopped my work in class and asked the question out loud, "Does time feel suddenly faster to anyone?" Time wouldn't slow down again until I was on antipsychotics as an adult. Adults thought I was remarkably patient for a child, the truth was that an hour could pass by in five minutes for me. After being put on abilify, I became a highly impatient adult as time stopped zooming by and making me confront my fast impending mortality in any quiet moment.

I was also nine when I started fantasizing/ideating about dying. I wondered what it would be like, how I would do it, how many people would miss me, how much it would hurt, what came next? I was ten when my class was in line to get our books about a disabled dog signed by the disabled author who came to our school. He was asking us as we approached him what we wanted to do when we grow up. I blanked, and mumbled how I wanted to die. He immediately grew concerned, but that doesn't matter because my teacher physically grabbed me and yanked me into the classroom where she proceeded to scream in my face about what an embarrassing little dramatic brat I was who had no right to say that, and then she locked me in the classroom for the duration of lunchtime and recess. I spent my time writing poetry about dying on the chalkboard, which she immediately erased upon returning. She never told my parents about what happened. I didn't either, because I didn't want to be screamed at again.

It was around this time I started, in what my parents called, throwing temper tantrums. These were not unprovoked, my parents had grown tired of having to deal with a child with lifelong health problems and became more abusive than just unthinkingly spanking me like they had been taught by their parents. I fought back, and the trauma for that combined with my high temper meant I was always getting in trouble when someone else started provoking me. My parents, in an amazing lack of self-awareness, blamed the steroids I was on for my Crohn's, and demanded I be taken off them and when my pediatric gastroenterologist told them truthfully that it was the only thing controlling my illness, they transferred me to another hospital entirely. I nearly died because my new doctor kept me on a medication that hadn't worked for years at that point, and no one ever listened to me about how it was making me feel worse until it nearly killed me.

Anyway, before all that I was labeled by my parents and teachers a bad kid, and shunted from one therapist to another, all for my parents' benefits. It was never about asking me what was wrong or what I felt like or anything about me. It was always "why are you being so difficult to your parents", and my insistence that my parents had started it went ignored and unreported. The final straw was the therapist I had at thirteen, who after my second appointment with her, told me I was a bad kid who should be ashamed of myself. My parents were so, perhaps hypocritically, incensed on my behalf that they called her to bitch her out over the phone and I never went to therapy as a kid again.

(Even tho in high school I was so stressed out my hair was thinning and I was having sobbing breakdowns every few months. I told my father I needed therapy again, and he–who had a bout of depressing that required medication, and therefore he was obviously an expert on mental illness–told me that I was too happy to need therapy. He did jazz hands as emphasis. Eventually I mentally shut down and refused to get out of bed, and eventually my parents stopped trying to physically and violently drag me out of bed, and I officially dropped out of school a month before my junior year was over. I never even went back to get my things out of my locker.)

This isn't to say my life was constantly doom and gloom. There were periods in between where the guilt and paranoia that the government would kill me that I snapped out of depression, promised myself I would turn my life around and be a good kid, that I could just do it and be happy and, idk, become an athlete despite my disabilties, become president. There was a three year stint where I became a born-again Baptist and was convinced (not without reason from this completely insane place) that I was God's chosen and I would lead the crusade into changing the world in God's image. And during these periods I was really, really happy and hopeful and knew things would be different now. These were all manic episodes.

I was twelve? Thirteen? Middle school aged, when I finally had enough and I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried to crash my mom's car while she was driving. Didn't work, she hit me, then reported what I had done to my school. Nothing was done, other than one of my teachers (she refuses to this day to tell me who is was) told her that if I was their kid they would beat me senseless.

To wrap this ramble up, I didn't get therapy again until I was twenty-one, got a bipolar 2 diagnosis at twenty-two, upgraded to bipolar 1 about half a year later, tried killing myself twice a few months after that, moved out of Indiana and all the shit I had to deal with there behind, got put on mood stabilizers less than a year later, got put on an antipsychotic in twenty-sixteen when I thought nuclear war would happen on election night, and with some minor paranoia relapses from time to time that went away after a dosage increase aside, I've been pretty stable and even thriving mentally (physically my body is still ehh, lol). My parents even reached out and apologized for everything they did to me, the fact that they acknowledged it at all is a rare miracle. I'm not angry anymore, but I still carry some resentment over every sign of bipolar I had that went ignored or glossed over. I have spent more of my thirty years of life being suicidal and psychotic than I have being stable, and I do resent all the adults who failed me–my parents, my teachers, my neighbors who commented on my behavior but never stopped to be concerned about it, all my pediatric therapists and the high school counselor who told me to stop crying, I had it made. If I had the support from adults that I needed, would I have dropped out? I got my GED about six years later, only after receiving therapy as an adult. I've never been to college. I knew I had at least two scholarships lined up for in-state university had I not dropped out, I have no idea how much tuition they would have covered. I def can't afford it now. I'm not angry at my parents anymore, but I don't think I've forgiven them either. And if I ever return to Indiana and run into any teacher I had again, I have my bitchy speech already planned.

Oh and by the way, bipolar is the only thing I have that's genetic. Half of my mom's side is diagnosed with it, the other half needs to be diagnosed with it but are in denial. My mom is in the denial half, and I pity her for it if nothing else.

There's this idea, fairly common in society, that mental illness is for teens and up. Children are happy little creatures, generally, right? Sometimes they're abused and the trauma can make them mentally ill, but that's not common.

There are two fundamental problems with this attitude. One, it's incorrect to assume that trauma is the only reason a young kid can be mentally ill. Two, trauma is more common than people think. I'll be covering the first problem in this post through the lens of my particular experience.

Where I live, you can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18 years old. You cannot be diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a minor. This poses a problem because my age of onset was in first grade, roughly six years old. Because of the fact that I was very young and new to the world, this was also the age of my first suicide attempt. Thinking I wouldn't be able to pass a spelling test genuinely felt like something worth trying to die over. So, I ate some hemlock, since I'd read about Socrates being killed with it. Luckily, I ate western hemlock, an unrelated species, and just felt kind of sick.

I'm not recounting that for fun or pity. I'm recounting it because children with mental illness are in genuine danger because they have little to no experience with managing their emotions, have little to no concept of the idea that their life can change and improve, and are dismissed by adults. I told a teacher that the test made me want to die, though not that I'd attempted to, and it was brushed off as little kid hyperbole. If I had used a method that was effective rather than one I thought would be, I would have been dead at six years old.

I would not receive medication that worked even a bit for another two years. I would not receive treatment for bipolar disorder specifically for ten years, and that required my PCP fudging the reason for the medication because she was afraid I would die if she didn't, and diagnosis was still two years off at minimum. I received a formal diagnosis at age 19, thirteen years after onset.

But surely that's uncommon, right? This story is a huge edge case, right? I actually have no idea, because age of onset and age of diagnosis are massively conflated for most disabilities. Policies like the one in my area that restricted bipolar diagnoses by age can artificially raise the age of "onset", in my case by thirteen years. The general idea that children are somehow immune to mental illness can also delay diagnosis by several years, perpetuating the idea that young children can't be mentally ill. The data on when people start experiencing mental illness is inherently skewed upwards, and I frankly don't have a good estimate on how bad that skew is. If anyone does have that data, please chime in.

Listen to children. If they're saying they're sad all the time, that they don't care about anything, that they don't see a future for themselves, those are signs of depressive symptoms. If they say that tests make them feel sick, that they can't do anything because they're scared, that they can't breathe and freeze up, those are signs of anxious symptoms. Many children talk about imaginary things, and that's just fine, but slip in a question or two about them to make sure that the kid is just playing, and not experiencing psychosis.

Children are new to the world and vulnerable, and they don't know what's normal and what isn't. They need people who are more experienced watching out for problems they might be having, and listening when they talk about having problems. If you can, try to be the person who perceives them, and tells them that things can be better.

[craptsukii]

genshin boys and terms of endearment they'd use

a/n: this is my first time writing headcanons and ngl i found them quite difficult to format :( i’m liking this style for now, but things might change later on teehee anyway, lemon cake update next week, i promise!

♡༚࿐ 🇩‌🇮‌🇱‌🇺‌🇨‌

let’s get something out of the way first

diluc is not a jerk

sure, he might have tsundere tendencies but he’s definitely not as cold as people make him seem

in my opinion anyway

i like to call him a classy, but also a very private, softie

i can totally see him as someone who’d use terms such as darling, love, doll

a major factor here is the time and place

in public, he tries to seem more indifferent and will most likely refer to you by your name

however, in a more private setting, he has no inhibitions and actually prefers using nicknames!

I feel like diluc would want to really reassure their partner he truly cares about them, but in a direct yet indirect way

and calling you sweet things seems to get the message across.

listen to this while reading!

If only time could pass faster. Who knew waiting could be such an agonising activity? Such a simple but repetitive thing. Waiting for your cake to finish baking, waiting for the morning to arrive and even waiting for your lover to come home turned out to be much more of a challenge. It wasn’t unusual for Diluc to spend hours on end at Angel’s Share, but it was rather odd of him to break his promises.

A sad smile took over your features, remembering last night. Remembering his words, so sweet and benign, promising to dedicate you all of him and his time. His crimson red eyes, full of love and admiration for the person he held so dearly to his heart. His voice, so demure and nothing but a soft whisper, as if raising it would ruin the moment. The moment he shared with you in a little dark corner of Mondstadt, away from curious eyes and sharp ears. The moment he so desperately wanted to hold onto. Yet, the darknight hero was nowhere to be found.

By the time he finally arrived, your eyes were already closing. It was a gloved hand that pulled you out of your somnolent state. Yet again those same red eyes were looking into yours with the same devotion, if not stronger than the night he made his promise.

“Forgive me, love,” he pleaded in a shushed tone, “Kaeya came in and started causing a commotion and I couldn’t just leave.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your cheek delicately.

Too tired to say anything, you placed your hand over his, silently asking him to join you in bed. You had all the time in the world to discuss tomorrow... Hopefully. After discarding his black coat on one of the chairs and taking off his shoes, Diluc plopped in your shared bed, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable. Soon his arms were around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. His smell reminded you of grapes and it completely enveloped you as you nestled into him.

“If only I could turn back time…” Diluc murmured to himself, kissing the top of your head. “Nothing will come in between us and our time together tomorrow. I promise you, darling.”

Turns out that, in the end, he does keep his promises.

♡༚࿐ 🇽‌🇮‌🇦‌🇴‌

listen to this while reading!

my very polite baby

like sure, he’s straightforward

but he be treating everyone with respect

you might be wondering why that matters

well that's because i think xiao would see it as a little rude to not refer to someone important to him by their name

names play a major part in xiao’s past

with rex lapis re-naming him after taking him under his wing and such

so, in my opinion, xiao finds calling out your name way more meaningful than nicknames

although if he were to use one it would probably be dear

it’s short and he can still address you as “dear (name)”

it does sound quite formal at times though

Moments like this were rare. Usually, sleep doesn’t concern your lover in the slightest, as it rarely comes to him. Although you couldn’t help but admit how much you loved it when he did come and sleep. Cuddled up next to you was the vigilant yaksha, the well known protector of Liyue. And dare you say, it was truly a divine sight. In the wash of the morning light, his face took the appearance of an old photograph, so nostalgic, so at peace. Slowly, one of your hands brushed past his face, placing the few rebel aquamarine strands that were cascading down his cheek behind his ear. For a moment, you find yourself in perfect silence, Xiao’s soft breaths being the only sounds that could be discerned. Without realising, you started softly rubbing his back, your heart leaping at the content purr that followed shortly after.

It was almost impossible to put into words the joy this brought you. Although it was such a simple, mundane thing, seeing Xiao so at ease was by far your favourite memory with him. The more you studied his features the more your sight fell upon his lips. The sudden urge to kiss him overwhelmed you, wanting nothing more than to cherish and show your lover the affection he deserves.

If only the sudden chirping of birds didn’t scare you, barely a few inches away from his face.

Curse those birds and their awful timing! And so, you backed away, laughing to yourself in self-consciousness, thankful that no one was aware of your little mishap.

Or so you thought.

You felt your face get warmer the moment you saw Xiao looking at you, drowsiness still coating his eyes. Yet again, for another short moment, no sound could be heard.

“____ my dear” he said, his voice deep and hoarse, snaking his arms around you as he brought you closer to him, “if you won’t do it, I will.” it was then the flush across his cheeks became apparent to you. Shame you didn’t have time to savour it, his lips immediately finding yours in a sweet, dream like kiss.

Moments like this were truly worth treasuring.

♡༚࿐ 🇨‌🇭‌🇮‌🇱‌🇩‌🇪‌

in contrast with xiao, childe loves calling you cute nicknames

in fact, he barely uses your name!

sometimes he likes to tease you and pretend he forgot your actual name

of course that’s not true,he could never do such a thing

I can totally see him use pet names such as comrade, girlie, cutie, shawty, sweetness, princess/prince, baby

ok i know shawty is kind of random, but i think he’d use kind of ironically?

I think he’d also use big sister/brother just to tease you, even if you’re younger than him

he heard teucer refer to you as such one time and it honestly melted his heart a little bit

as a side note, seeing his siblings get along you makes him genuinely happy.

listen to this while reading!

Spring was such a beautiful time. Especially in Liyue. Especially on a date with the one and only Childe, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers. For someone with such a fearsome title and reputation, it wowed you to no end just how charming, just plain adorable, Tartaglia can be. Albeit, it was only your second date, it was expected of him to at least try to be nice.

And on time.

As you waited, under that beautiful sky, a hue so gentle between cloud and baby blue, you watched each bird upon wing. It was one of those spring days with a kiss of coldness that somehow heightened the warm rays of the sun. You paused to admire the flowers, to sense their aromas, to be in the moment with their transient beauty.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” asked Childe from behind you, a shy, perhaps slightly embarrassed, smile painted on his lips. “Sorry I’m late, I really overestimated my juniors’ capabilities and I had to step in.” he continued, gingerly taking hold of your hand, kissing the back of it.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his gentlemanly antics, although you enjoyed them nonetheless. “Don’t worry about it, you’re here now.” you reassured him, as you took a hold of his hand, already leading him towards nowhere in particular.

Another thing you liked about him. Things were so casual, so easy-going. One might call this date nothing but a hangout, but not every date has to be a luxurious five star dinner or a fancy show. Sometimes just a simple walk along the Liyue port was enough. Enough for you to get to know Childe, enough for you to like him even more.

Suddenly, Tartaglia was in front of you, his hands lightly taking hold of your face.

“Hold on cutie, there’s something on your face,” he answered your silent question, seeing as you looked a little confused. The next thing you knew, his lips descended upon yours. It was a sudden but very much welcomed kiss. A kiss that unfortunately ended just as abruptly, “it was me.”

♡༚࿐ 🇿‌🇭‌🇴‌🇳‌🇬‌🇱‌🇮‌

favourite peepaw

also prefers using your name rather than nicknames

but he’s not completely against them

he finds them quite nice actually

and he actually enjoys being referred by one!

like imagine going for a stroll with him and all of a sudden you go "darling, look!"

he'd look so content oh my lord

in my opinion anyway

he’d usually call you honey, my beloved or even my one and only!

you could be doing the simplest of things like reading with him under a tree

and he'd go "you're my one and only love"

no, he isn’t aware of how cheesy it sounds.

listen to this while reading!

Who knew the God of contracts could be such a romantic? Usually, Zhongli wasn’t a big fan of fancy, elaborate dates. He’d usually say something along the lines that “spending time with you was enough for him to feel like the richest man in the world”, which he technically was even without your presence. But, quite frankly, it was because he lacked the funds to do so that he didn’t pamper you every moment of the day.

So when you found yourself face to face with an array of different foods, meticulously prepared and arranged on a soft picnic blanket, you couldn’t help but wonder —

“Why the sudden change?” you asked, sitting down on the plush cover, to which Zhongli only chuckled.

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?” he replied in a teasing tone, flopping next to you.

“Oh, you are more than welcome to do so,” you winked, pouring some tea for both of you. It smelled like chamomile, “I was just trying to say it’s a nice change.” you continued, taking a few sips of your tea.

Zhongli only hummed, content with your response. Sometimes, sitting in silence, all while eating delicious brunch foods and drinking sweet tea, was much more enjoyable than small talk.

And so, you spend the rest of the day with your lover, basking in the sunshine and each other’s company. In his embrace, there was something so right, something that felt right, smelt right. You let your body sag, your muscle become loose. In that embrace you felt your worries loose their keen sting and your optimism raise its head from the dirt.

“You’re so beautiful, my beloved,” he whispered, cupping your face and kissing you gently.

♡༚࿐ 🇰‌🇦‌🇪‌🇾‌🇦‌

avid user of nicknames

partially because he finds them cute

and partially because he loves teasing you

he’d use them in public and try to get a reaction out of you

like let’s say all of a sudden kaeya is back hugging you, pampering your neck with kisses

saying something like “what’s wrong, baby?”

he’d also use hot stuff, sweet cheeks, gorgeous, handsome, cutie pie, treasure

sometimes they’re really sweet, other times they’re really silly

side note, i feel like this one got a little out of hand sorry yall i lowkey can’t take kaeya seriously

listen to this while reading!

There was something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain, a tender moment that just wouldn’t wait. It was that burst of love that is expressed, not caring if the water soaked through to chill the skin. You felt yourself gasping for air as Kaeya’s lips left yours, doe like eyes searching for his. Behind that brilliant shade of blue sparkled a glacial attraction. So complex and mysterious, it was magnetic. It made you want him even more.

Upon seeing your dazed state Kaeya smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His hands found yours. “Let’s get you of here before you catch a cold.” he said, leading you down the streets of Mondstadt. It was the middle of August, and you got caught in nothing more than a summer rain. You weren’t even cold, but alas you let it slide, enjoying seeing Kaeya worry about you, even if it wasn’t as serious as he made it seem.

There is something about a rain-washed pathway that invites playful feet, that says each new step will be rewarded with a splash. And soon, you found yourself splashing around, making the most out of this accidental rain shower.

The moment you finally reached your home, Kaeya wasted no time, his arms already wrapped around you in a tight embrace. Yet again, a gasp escaped your mouth, Kaeya’s cold lips leaving goosebumps behind each carefully placed kiss on your neck.

“You know what’s the best way to get warmed up, treasure?” he asked, his hands ghosting over your hips.

You shook your head softly, awaiting his answer.

“A good old dance party!” he exclaimed, spinning you around as he started humming a cheerful. “Nothing gets the blood going like a little movement!” it was obvious he found great pleasure in seeing your more than confused, if not disappointed, expression. Still, he paid you no mind and continued dancing with you all while singing a cheery melody.

It was quite save to assume there was never a boring moment with this man.

♡༚࿐ 🇦‌🇱‌🇧‌🇪‌🇩‌🇴‌

my favourite elevator boy

doesn’t love nicknames but doesn’t hate them either

i see him as an action speak louder than words guy

and although he’s aware that, as his partner, you know that

he still feels sorry for not being as vocal as other people when it comes to talking about his emotions??

so cute terms like these are a simple way he can show his appreciation for you

for some reason, i think he would really like using diminutives??

he’d call you things like little star

or baby or lovebug

i think it really matches his vibe ngl

listen to this while reading!

The breeze blew warm announcing the coming of summer's hottest days. The aroma of the tall grasses were an intoxicating perfume and the starry night above was a painting more sublime than any man could create. The clarity above became reflected in your mind.

Being with Albedo meant putting up with the unholy amount of hours he’d spend on whatever research he’d be conducting at the time. And luckily for you, his next big discovery involved the stars. On the black sky above you, there were a multitude of stars and there were lighter patches, clusters of faint and bold light, the constellations altered according to the time of year. These were the same stars that greeted the ancients, the same ones that would be there in millions of years.

As you enjoyed your little midnight snack, your gaze fell upon the chief alchemist. His eyes were fixated on the landscape above him, utterly fascinated by the world’s mystic beauty. Seeing him so consumed by his studies made your heart feel warm. It was adorable to see him like this.

Your sudden yawn made both you look at each other. Albedo’s gaze was filled with compassion, and perhaps a little remorse for making you come with him so late in the night just to stare blankly at the sky.

But you knew this wasn’t such a trivial thing.

You pet the spot next to you, silently asking him to sit down with you, to which he immediately obliged. As his head found its place on your shoulder a little sad smile made its appearance on his face.

“Sorry for making you come here with me, baby.” he said, his hand drawing patterns along your thigh. “I know this isn’t your idea of quality time.”

“Any time spent with you is quality time, silly.” you giggled, kissing the top of his head. “And besides, who doesn’t enjoy a little bit of stargazing?”

♡༚࿐ 🇻‌🇪‌🇳‌🇹‌🇮‌

ok now for venti

i feel like with him the tone he uses is very important??

i mean this also applies to the rest of the guys

but for venti even more so

he could simply refer to you by your name and it would still feel all special and bubbly

nonetheless, he loves using pet names!

i mean as a bard, he can come up with poems and such on a whim ( flashback to the signora moment :) )

so his nicknames for you always have a certain meaning or funny story behind them

oh, you love pumpkins or had an unfortunate accident involving one? now he calls you pumpkin all the time

he’d also call you things like sunshine because to him you bring so much joy and you warm his heart just like the sun.

with that being said, good luck to those pulling for him! <3

listen to this while reading!

“There you go! You’re really good at this!” Venti complimented you, observing in great detail the way your fingers touched the strings of his lyre.

Judging by the curious stares and even odd looks you’d get from time to time, that wasn’t really the case. What was supposed to be a simple walk around the city turned out to be a full concert. Although Venti couldn’t find it in his heart to tell you, who asked him so eagerly just a few moments ago if he could teach how to play a song, just how… Poor was your attempt.

A relieved sigh could be heard the moment your fingers left the strings, although Venti’s reassuring smile never left his face. “Don’t let a few strangers discourage you! Even the greatest geniuses had to start somewhere!”

“Are you saying I’m a genius?” you asked teasingly with a raised eyebrow, laughing at his flustered face.

“Let’s not go that far…” he murmured, winking cheekily.

“And here I was, thinking I could wow you with my insane musical skills…” you whined sarcastically, handing him his lyre as you continued your stroll. It was then Venti stopped in his tracks. Upon his face, shock was written all over, his expression soon turning sympathetic. For a moment, he left you alone, diving into the crowd of people, only to return to you with a single cecilia flower. Its fragrance was sweet and fresh and its color a perfect white. Shortly after, he gently placed it behind your ear, smiling to himself while looking at you.

“You don’t need fancy tricks to win over what you already have,” Venti said, kissing your cheek lightly. A cheerful tune could be heard across the street, Venti’s soft melody attracting a lot of attention, “I’m all yours, sunshine.” he said loud enough for more than a few people to hear.

He has such a way with words, doesn’t he?

[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 5

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, ALL THE ANGST. AND MORE TO COME! Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @edlothia-baby @soul-end @willieoo @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy

Author's Note: I have nothing to say for any of the emotions y'all are about to get from this. Enjoy!-Thorne

She wasn’t sure what she expected when she sat down, but the stretching silence growing between her and her estranged family wasn’t it. She tried to look anywhere but them, not because she was ashamed—far from it. But it was more than awkward sitting across from three brothers and a father she’d not spoken to in three years, let alone tell them she was even alive.

Her eyes found Wally’s as he sat down beside her eldest brother and if looks could’ve killed, he’d been dead and buried.

“Glare at me all you want, but I’m not going to apologize,” he shrugged.

Scowling, she turned her attention to the skyline. “Fuck you,” she spat, crossing her arms.

“At least talk to them, (Y/N).”

“And why should I, Wally?” she questioned, glaring at him. “I don’t have anything to say. If I did, I wouldn’t be here in Central.”

“You’re not leaving until you talk to them,” he finalized with a firm look and she growled low in her throat and resigned herself to her fate.

Her eyes darted to her father’s and she couldn’t for the life of her decipher what was in them. “I’ll talk for an hour,” she told him. “I’m not talking about what I’ve been doing in Central City, so don’t ask. I’m not talking about the life I’ve been living, so don’t ask. You’re only allowed to ask me about my departure and that’s it. But after one hour is up, I’m leaving.”

“Who said you get to leave,” Wally questioned, and she shot him the darkest glower she could muster.

“So help me God, Wally West you’ll either take me home or you’ll fix that fucking elevator and I’ll walk myself home. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the world who every vigilante is at this table.”

For once she managed to stump him because his eyes went wide—so did her family’s but she didn’t care—and he finally nodded.

“Alright. One hour.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she turned back to her family, more specifically her father. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Maybe for you to come home, (Y/N),” Jason answered, and she glanced to him.

“Not a chance. Next?”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be hostile. We’re not going to force you here,” Dick said, and she looked at him now, eyes narrowing.

“The manipulation tactic isn’t going to work on me, Dick. I’m not here for to be tricked into coming back. I’m never coming back.” She cocked her leg over the side of the table and reclined, biting out, “Give me your anger. I’d prefer that instead of whatever this pitiful bullshit you’ve got going on.”

In the eighteen years they’d known their sister they’d never heard her say such a callous thing, but her words had practically slapped Dick across the face because hurt etched onto his expression, then immediately turned into anger.

“You want my anger? Fine.” He stood and pointed at her. “What the hell is wrong with you! Why would just up and disappear like you did! Do you have any idea how scared we were for you! How distraught!”

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Knowing how you like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders because you can’t help but be a hero? Probably a lot.” She made a dramatic show of looking at her watch. “You’ve got forty minutes. Keep it up.”

Her eyes shifted to Bruce’s. “Did you let them read the letter? Or did you just throw it away after you read it?”

Dick, Jason, and Tim all turned to Bruce at that.

“Letter?” Tim repeated. “What letter?”

(Y/N)’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape and then she smiled knowingly. “Oh, you never showed them the letter, did you?” She looked to her brothers. “I wrote dad a letter the night I left to explain why I was leaving. It’s sugarcoated bullshit but it is the truth.”

Dick’s face contorted in anger. “(Y/N) left a reason behind and you didn’t tell us about it? Three years and not a single word?”

Bruce merely stared at her as he pulled the letter out of his coat pocket. “I was going to burn it when I found her again. Talk to her before anyone else could.”

Jason snatched the letter from his hands. It had faded a bit, softened around the hard edges, like someone had opened it and read it every day for three years.

His eyes scanned the paper, and he met her gaze, voice chock-full of hurt and she had to fight tooth and nail to keep herself from externally reacting. “You left because you thought we didn’t care about you?”

Dick reached over and took the letter. With furrowed brows and a frown, he started to read aloud, and Bruce gazed at (Y/N) as the memory came back to him.

***

Mornings at the manor were unusually quiet in comparison with the evenings. Everyone was typically too tired to argue so it accounted for a peaceful breakfast of soft words and chewing. Everyone had an assigned seat and every child had learned early on not to take the seat that belonged to another brother or their sister because there would be a fight about it.

Dick and Jason sat next to each other and (Y/N) took the seat at the end of that side; Tim and Damian took the other side—oldest to youngest, just the neat and even way Bruce liked it.

It was rare for any of the boys to be awake before him or Alfred and (Y/N) was usually the first kid to the table, the boys wandering in just minutes after her. Oddly enough, that morning she hadn’t come down for breakfast—which she always came to.

Bruce looked at Alfred. “Is (Y/N) coming down?”

Alfred hummed and gently maneuvered Tim’s arm to the side to he could set down the plate. “When I went to her door, it was locked, and I received no conversation from inside.”

Jason snorted and sipped his coffee. “Probably had a long night with her friends and is still out. I know I would be.”

“How would you know?” Tim interrupted. “You died before you got to the eleventh grade.”

“You’re one to talk, dropout,” Dick countered, and Damian sighed.

“Richard, you dropped out of college. The only son of Batman who has actually completed an entire bout of schooling is me.”

The three boys turned on him with scowls and retorted, “No one asked you, pipsqueak.” Damian glared back at them.

Bruce rolled his eyes, using the side of his fork to cut into his omelet. “Let’s try not to start a free-for-all here in the breakfast room, please.” He glanced at Alfred. “She’s probably tired from all the ceremonies. Let her sleep.”

Alfred nodded. “Of course, Master Bruce. She should be well rested this evening.”

But when the evening came, Alfred still hadn’t been able to get (Y/N) to unlock her bedroom nor speak to him. He certainly wasn’t worried, but it was off for her to be so reclusive. When Bruce and the boys came back from patrol, he mentioned it to him.

“Miss (Y/N) hasn’t come out from her bedroom, Master Bruce. Nor has she said a single word all day.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed and he tugged the cowl off, rising from the seat at the Batcomputer. “I’ll go check on her,” he replied. “You deal with…” his steel eyes drifted to Dick who had Tim in a headlock and Jason who was giving Damian a noogie. “Them,” he finalized, leaving the poor butler behind.

He knocked on the door to her room and pressed his ear to it. “(Y/N)? You haven’t come out all day. Is everything alright?”

Nothing. Not even a breath.

“(Y/N), are you in there?” he asked again and when he didn’t receive a confirmation, he raised his arm, running his fingers along the doorframe until he touched a small metal piece. He pulled it down and stuck it in the door, wiggling the knob for a second before it clicked, and he opened the door.

“Sweetheart, we’ve been trying to—” Bruce went silent when he saw the kempt room. Bed neatly made, everything organized and put away. Even her clothes hamper was empty.

He blinked and walked into the room, quickly heading to the bathroom to check for her there. It was empty as well, and just as clean, leaving him stunned as he exited the bath.

Wandering over to her desk, he saw an elegant envelope sitting on top of her laptop, his name written in beautiful penmanship. He picked it up and unfolded it, pulling out the multi-page letter. He drew his eyes along the golden lines, reading her words.

Dad,

I don’t really know how to start this letter. Truth be told I’ve written at least six before this one, and even then, I’m not entirely happy with it. But if you’re reading this, I’m not here anymore. I haven’t hurt myself in anyway, you don’t need to worry about Vicki Vale or Jack Ryder reporting the discovery of my body. I mean it in a literal sense—I’m not in Gotham anymore. Neither am I ever coming back.

Don’t think this is your fault. You’re a good father, the best I could’ve been given, and my brothers are good siblings. But the truth is that I’m not fit for this family of heroes. And I never have been. My best when trying to be what all of you are, was never good enough and I’ve spent eighteen years staring at your backs, waiting for you all to realize that I’m still here, that I still matter even if I’m not like you. And I don’t want to feel like a stranger in my own home any longer.

I don’t want you to look for me. I know you will, but I wish you wouldn’t. This isn’t some spur of the moment thing I decided to do the night after graduation. If you look at my bank records, I’ve been withdrawing cash from my savings since freshman year—this is four years of planning, so please understand that I’m doing this because I don’t want to be found—ever.

I’ll leave the story for the media up for you, though I doubt that they’ll care long enough to make a deal of it. It’ll pass like winter does spring and they’ll move on to the next bigger story.

Thank you for everything dad, and good luck with Gotham—keep it safe like you always have. And I hope that one day when you think of me, you won’t feel disappointment. I’ve only ever tried to be something that when you looked down on me, you’d only be proud, and I hope one day I’ll achieve what I always dreamed about. Eighteen is young to be on your own and I’m scared. But I’ll be okay—I always have been.

So do me a favor and don’t spend too much time over this. There are plenty more younger kids that need a parent’s hand on their backs to steady them like you once did for me. Find one and fill my spot. Let them shine brighter than I ever could. Let them be the one worthy to be a Wayne—I know I never was.

-(Y/N)

Bruce barely had time to grasp the back of her chair to keep himself from falling to his knees in shock. The letter was clenched in his hand and his lungs wouldn’t take in air like he wanted them to, his heart aching with each palpitation. He looked around the room to her dresser drawers, willing the strength into his legs to moved over to it. He opened every drawer and to his astonishment, they were empty. Hurrying to the bathroom, he noticed the drawers in there were empty as well. She was really gone. And he had no idea what to do.

***

Tears were in Dick’s eyes when he finished the letter and he looked up at her. “How could you ever think we didn’t care about you, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to sit there and explain every time she asked her brothers if they wanted to do something with her and they conveniently had something else to do. Didn’t want to explain every school and extracurricular performance that went unattended and left a little girl standing in front of a crowd barely managing to stave off the tears as she bowed and thanked them for coming. She didn’t want to remember all the memories that chipped away at her heart with every disappointment that occurred. All she wanted to do was leave.

(Y/N) had earlier returned to her original position, hands in her lap and she clenched her fists until her nails bit into the skin of her palms, eyes directed anywhere but Dick’s.

“I think it’s time we call this little reunion done,” she said, standing to her feet. “We’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Not if you run again,” Jason muttered, unconsciously wiping a tear from his eye.

She pointed at him, hissing, “I didn’t run the first time, Jason. I left. On my own accord.”

“You ran instead of coming to us, (Y/N),” Tim said, and she threw her hands above her head in disbelief.

“What the fuck did you want me to do! Wander down into the cave and beg at your feet for someone to pay attention to me! To at least pretend like I was a sister! I did! Every day!”

(Y/N) picked up her purse and yanked it up her arm. “Cassandra seems to be fitting in better than I did. So go and dote on her as the younger sibling. I’m not interested in the position anymore.”

“It’s not a competition,” Dick explained. “We love you just as much as we love Cass.”

She paused and gazed at him, voice laced with disappointment as she disagreed, “Then you should make sure she’s content in the manor, because if you love her with any semblance of how you loved me? It’s not at all.”

Her eyes shifted to Wally’s. “Fix the elevator. Now.”

He stayed seated for a moment, the two of them staring each other down, then he nodded wordlessly and moved to the elevator, starting it again. Her family stayed seated, and she gave them one final look before she followed Wally, silently waiting for the doors to open.

When they did, she stepped inside and turned around, hitting the button. Just before the doors closed, Wally stopped them and murmured, “You’re making a mistake.”

“My worst mistake was becoming friends with you.” (Y/N) blinked at him, then reached up and shoved his hand away from the door and as it closed, she remarked coldly, “And you can go to hell for all I care.”

[chocoholicannanymous]

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) Pt XVII

This is the penultimate part. The last one is written and drafted - I did finish while on vacation. Expect it for next weekend.

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, pt VI, pt VII, pt VIII, pt IX, pt X, pt XI, pt XII, pt XIII, pt XIV, pt XV and pt XVI.

It's as everything happens in May. Kurt feels as if he should be used to it by now, but this year is worse than any before. It's understandable, he guesses, what with it being his senior year, but understanding doesn't help. Some of the squares on his wall calendar has so many things on them they're barely legible, and there are days when he wants to just quit it all.

He can always work in his dad's garage for the rest of his life. Surely that's not the worst thing ever?

The only reason he's not a complete wreck when Nationals comes is the Warblers meeting held right after Regionals where David had used logic (how dare he) and suggested their approach to Nationals.

Kurt's first, immediate reaction is “we're never going to win with that” which he also says out loud, only to be met by “so what”.

“I don't say this lightly. I've been a Warbler for four years. It's been amazing to be surrounded by all of these talented people, and make music just because we like it, and that's why I've kept it up even with all the hints I've gotten that my 'future career' would be better served by me spending that time on learning another language or studying harder. After all, what use is singing and dancing for a lawyer?”

There's a bitterness in David's voice, and it's echoed in a number of murmurs around the room.

“This is the one thing I do for fun, that I do just for me, and some days the only thing that makes slogging through my mountain of homework bearable is knowing that once I'm done I can go enjoy Warblers. This year's group hold more talent of all my years here, which is why it hurts to say that I don't think we can win, no matter what setlist we go on with. We're simply not the kind of group that wins a contest like this.”

Which, probably true. The Warblers are good, yes, but they're an all boys a capella group performing in uniforms. They don't have the productions that teams who wins Nationals do. Doesn't mean that it hurts just as much to hear as it hurts to say.

“The truth is – and I'm sorry, I know we don't talk about him, but I have to – the truth is that we didn't even compete before Blaine.”

Kurt expects it to sting to hear his name. It does, but not much. He's moving past that.

“Blaine walked in here and wanted to compete so badly. He spent his first semester here trying to talk us into trying, even with all the reasons we had for not going so, and he got his way. That doesn't change the fact that this is only our second year competing, and we've surpassed all expectations by making it to Nationals.  To do so again and win, or even place in the top... I don't think we can do that, not even with all the talent in this room.”

No one likes hearing that, but no one's disagreeing either. They aren't going to win. That's just how it is.

“So why not do that we like? Why don't we pick songs we like and that showcases our strengths? Why don't we sing a song that will make you happy, Kurt? And if it knocks us down in the ranking to do so, who cares? I don't.”

To hear someone say that Kurt's happiness should matter more than placement – to hear David say it, after everything the year before – causes tears to well up in his eyes. To hear every single Warbler agree make those tears fall.

They'd walked out of that meeting stronger than they'd gone in, and Kurt lets himself gather strength from that memory for a few seconds before he steps forward and lets his voice soar.

“Something has changed within me, something is not the same / I'm through with playing by the rules, of someone else's game”

They finish eleventh. It's better than they'd dared to hope, with all the absolutely excellent teams competing. It the joy is tinged with a little bitterness? Who can blame them? Maybe, more than one of them wonders, a more conventional setlist could have placed them among the top ten. At the same time they're all aware that maybe it would have have placed them dead last. There's no way of telling, and no use speculating.

They did their best, enjoyed their performance and finished eleventh at Nationals. That's nothing to look down on. In fact...

“We did better than New Directions last year” Kurt says with a smirk.

They've beaten  his old team, his so-called friends, in every way possible and he allows himself to see that as a win.

Finn posts video of all their songs on his Facebook and is proud (and smug) enough to also post the “Defying Gravity” performance in the Glee group with a comment about how Kurt obviously could hit that note, tagging both Rachel and Mr Schue. It's petty, and Kurt should be big enough of a person to ask Finn to remove it, but no. If his brother wants to stand up for him Kurt isn't just going to let him, he's going to be grateful.

Feeling loved and protected is not something he's ever going to scoff at.

Nationals is followed by finals, the less said about the better, and then prom. Or well, “the Dalton Academy and Crawford County Day Joint Spring Formal”. Same thing right?

Wrong.

The spring formal is every thing junior prom wasn't. It's not really the fact that Sebastian asks Kurt properly to be his date for the formal, and compliments his outfit. It's not that even without decorations Dalton's auditorium is more grand than McKinley's gym. It's not even the grand dinner with lit candles, waiters and three courses before the dance or that there's a band that plays waltzes and foxtrot for the first two hours before the DJ is allowed to take over.

It's that even before they've entered the transformed dining hall Kurt spots half a dozen same-sex couples, a number that keeps going up during the evening. It's the fact that he gets to dance the whole evening, not in a group or with a girl, but with Sebastian and the occasional Warbler. Mostly it's Sebastian's arms he's in, and it's amazing.

It's so far from his junior prom and Blaine that it almost hurts.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. Everything is... This year everything is perfect.”

Sebastian doesn't look entirely convinced, but decides to drop it and instead lean closer for a kiss.

The evening really is perfect.

The morning of his birthday Kurt walks into the dining hall alone only to be met with a table full of Warblers that stand up and sing for him as soon as he clears the door. There's one place left at the table, next to Sebastian, set with the kind of breakfast not even Dalton serves (fresh croissant, strawberries, a piece of brie and a one-person pot of tea) with a rainbow rose in a vase. Kurt sits down with a smile and leans over to kiss his boyfriend's cheek.

“So, rainbow roses are going to be our thing, is it? I love it.”

He spends the day with a smile on his lips, because his boyfriend took the time to do something special for him on his birthday and his friends have promised cake in the Warblers' room after dinner, and he feels loved.

“Cake” turns out to be cheesecake and presents, and more singing, and so much more smiling. Afterwards Sebastian walks him back to his room. There's no kissing though, which Kurt finds unacceptable.

“Isn't there some kind of rule that you get kisses on your birthday? I would have thought that was a part of the boyfriend experience, and to be honest I'm feeling very much unkissed.”

That nets him a crooked smile, but still no kisses. It's almost enough to worry him.

“You can have all the kisses you want, and not just on your birthday, you know that babe. However, there's something else I wanted you to have first.”

Sebastian pulls out a small package from him pocket and hands it over with a smile, which begins to fade when Kurt doesn't immediately take it. It's just, well.

“Another present? You shouldn't have.”

“Another? What do you mean?”

The truth is that Kurt fully expected breakfast and a rose to be the whole of Sebastian's congratulations, and he doesn't quite know how to take getting more than that. He doesn't really know how to explain it though, and definitely not in a way that won't start Sebastian on another rant about how Blaine was unworthy of Kurt's affection. Especially since it's not just about him.

Turns out he doesn't need to say anything – and apparently he's getting yet another present in the form of the absence of that rant.

“Breakfast was a treat. This is your actual present, which I hope you'll like at least as much as that.”

Sebastian looks a little worried as Kurt removes the paper and opens the small box inside (and if he's a little shaky to open a jewelry box from his boyfriend no one needs to know). It's a pair of gorgeous cufflinks with just the right balance between classy and unique and he absolutely loves them.

“These are amazing! They're too much, really, but they're so gorgeous that I'm going to pretend they're not. I love them!” I love you. But that's a bit too early to say, and so instead he leans forward and does his absolute best to communicate exactly that through kissing.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-8: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

"You've caught me red-handed. Looks like all I can do now is to kidnap you back to Baker Street.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night *T/N: MC’s indirectly calling Osborn “Sherlock”, and he lives in Baker Street!

MC: Is that guy the same one from the recent rumours of…

Osborn: Those "vampire attacks"? Most probably.

His laid-back expression suddenly turns serious.

Osborn: He used to only act at night in the past. I never thought that he’d decide to do it in broad daylight today.

MC: Why do you know this?

Osborn: I bumped into him before, but he fled. This time, I won't let him.

MC: You want to capture him!?

Osborn: I tagged a tracking device on him earlier when I dealt the blow.

MC: !

He woke the screen of his phone. Displayed on it was a slow-moving bright dot.

Tracking device? Capture? Why does Osborn want to do that? Isn't he an R1 Racer?

My thoughts were all over the place. But amidst the mess of thoughts, I managed to pick out the most important one; the one that started it all.

That's right; it was the day we first met.

That day, back on the rooftop… He'd been the epitome of mysteriousness, wanting to speak, yet hesitate to do so. Thinking about it now, he hadn't seemed like he was searching for the missing items back then; rather, it was as if he was tracking something, or someone, down.

I couldn't help but whip back around, only to find that he was also looking at me.

☆Light Choice: Are you really just a racer?

MC: Osborn? Are you really JUST a racer?

MC: I've had this inkling ever since I met you, but why do you feel like…  a detective?

MC: Are you hiding another identity that no one knows about?

Osborn hesitated before looking away. However, he soon returned to his casual and laid-back self in no time at all.

Osborn: You've caught me red-handed.

Osborn: Looks like all I can do now is to kidnap you back to Baker Street.

MC: ……

Although he was joking, I could see the adamant determination in his eyes. Hence, I understood. He didn't intend to tell me anything about it at all.

★Night Choice: Suspicious; but I won't ask

MC: Osborn, you—

Osborn: Hm?

Rooftop. Capture. Tracking device. Those blue flames… Just how many secrets are you hiding?

I was sorely tempted to grill him about it right now to come to an understanding about it, but the words died on my tongue.

Because I saw the way his eyes were determinedly set… He knew that I'd ask, but he too knew that he wouldn't be replying. Since he chose to keep his lips tightly sealed, I decided not to prove further into the matter.

Osborn: Listen. I have something I have to do right now, and it might be dangerous for you to head back alone like this, so I'll bring you back to the training area.

MC: Are you going after him?

Osborn: Yeah.

MC: Can I go with you?

Osborn: Why? You worried about me? Or, do you not trust me?

MC: I trust you.

MC: But I've seen that man before, and I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of who he is; so I might be of help.

I told Osborn about everything that had transpired back then, at the photoshoot studio.

MC: Also, I can't help but feel like he isn't just attacking me out of a whim; but rather, I think he's targeting me.

MC: When he attacked me, he said "Finally, I can live".

MC: So I might be the key clue to the case.

Osborn: So, you think that he attacked you on purpose, yet you want to send yourself to his doorstep on a silver platter? Aren't you afraid of danger?

MC: A little; but I do want to clarify this point since it involves me.

Osborn: If so, then there's no going back from this.

MC: Gotcha!

Osborn: I won't care about you if anything happens.

MC: Rest assured! I won't get in your way. If the eleventh hour ever comes to pass, I will run immediately if you so ask.

MC: Besides, who said that you had to be the one protecting me? I can protect you too!

I quickly raised a hand in a salute, only for Osborn to catch it and lower it back down, but not letting go.

Mirth sparkled within his orbs. It felt as if he was telling me through his eyes that he trusted me.

Osborn: You have me here. I won't let you get hurt.

Osborn: Now, get on.

He neatly plopped the helmet down on my head, sliding the visor down with a wave of his hand.

The vehicle zipped forwards. Osborn lowered his body, streamlining himself; his black hair fluttering freely along with the rushing winds

❖☆———————————★❖

Having gradually gotten used to the speed he was going at, I no longer felt scared, only tightening my grip around his waist.

The wind whistled past, enveloping us within its airy tendrils like enshrouding fog.

No one knew where the road before us would lead to.

❖☆———————————★❖

❖ Location: Evan's Office

The blinding sunlight shines into the room through the huge ceiling to floor windows and landing on the marble floor.

A knock sounded. Zhou Yan entered the room, a pile of documents in hand and his face set in utter seriousness.

Zhou Yan: Sir, we've confirmed HCP18407's location.

Evan's long slender fingers tapped twice on the document. The tightly sealed window at the side suddenly crackled faintly as a couple of cracks started to crawl up the wide expanse of glass.

Evan: Let us prepare. Things are about to begin.

❖☆———————————★❖

The vehicle slowed down after rounding a corner. We'd arrived at the destination of the marker. Removing the key from the ignition lock, Osborn shifted his gaze to the dilapidated building that stood before us.

The crooked sign that hung before it was nearly falling off and the walls were filled with fading posters. There were even stacks of rubbish and other junk items piled up on either side of the entrance... The whole place just screamed desolate and abandoned... 

This place looks like it used to be an escape room…

I was just about to push open the door when Osborn grabbed onto my arm.

Osborn: I know that you're brave and all, but no leaving my side. Got it?

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 3-5) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-11)

[speuradair]

Rantaro, Fuyuhiko, Korekiyo, Kaito With An Overworked S/O That Gets A Bit Delirious From Caffeine

Definitely the most caring and attentive

It’s just his big brother nature

Rantaro understands being overworked, and in turn, he understands turning to caffeine to push through the resulting exhaustion 

He’s done it so many times, both in her personal adventures and in his school work 

He has a habit of pushing himself too far in his adventures

Leading to him switching back and forth between all nighters and sleeping way more than most people do to recover from said all nighters

That being said, Rantaro doesn’t support you doing the same thing

It’s a bit hypocritical, but hey- do as he says, not as he does

He’s definitely the type to cut you off from caffeinated drinks before you can have too many

Not to be controlling, but to make sure you don’t make yourself sick later

However, Rantaro can’t be with you 24/7

That’s how you end up drinking enough energy drinks to get a bit ridiculous 

He comes over to check on you or to hang out, only for you to quickly greet him before beginning to ramble about whatever nonsensical question you were debating mentally 

“Ah, you’re here! Awesome, I need your opinion-  If life is unfair on everybody, isn’t life technically fair...?”

He just kind of blinks, processing what you said for a second before immediately scanning the room to see what you’ve been drinking

The pile of discarded energy drink cans next to your snitches on you

“Babe- how many have you had?” he raises an eyebrow at you, trying to speak quickly so he can ask before you start on another tangent

You hesitate, both because you know he’ll cut you off and because you’ve honestly lost count

“Like, three. Or four? 6, maybe. 10 tops?”

“...”

“...”

“You’re done now”

He doesn’t even ask, he just insists that you’re stopping whatever you’re working on, and you’re going to start relaxing, at least for a bit until the caffeine overload wears off

Rantaro makes you take a break, even if he has to physically pick you up and make you sit with him 

He picks you up bridal style if he has to, all while you’re still rambling incoherently

“How do you throw away a garbage can?”

He’ll bribe you with your favorite snacks, favorite shows or videos, and of course, cuddles and affection

This usually results in you both wrapped up in a blanket together, cuddled up on the couch or bed

Rantaro knows what he’s doing- he’s not just bribing you to get you to do something else

He knows that after a little while of sitting still, curling up together, and him holding you, you’re gonna fall asleep

It works every single time

Once you do fall asleep, Rantaro just smiles to himself, shifts to get more comfortable, and falls asleep with you-

But not before pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead

Fuyuhiko is the most confused by your behavior

Like he understands feeling the need to work really hard for long hours

He works his ass off too

but man-

Even he thinks that you’re not sleeping enough

Fuyuhiko walks into the room and he can already tell you’re overtired before you even say anything

“Just take a fuckin’ break, (name), how much caffeine have you had??”

He swears he can see you literally vibrating right now

“Uhhh, I lost track after my eleventh- speaking of which, what do teeth taste like? Do you think that everyone’s teeth taste different?”

He just blinks, giving you the most confused look he can manage

“What the fuck does that have to do with what I asked-”

“What does water taste like?”

“You’re done, you’re going to bed.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to agree or reply at all, he’s dragging you to lay down

Fuyuhiko protests cuddling, bc ya know, he has an image to keep up

But he’ll use the excuse of keeping you from getting up to lay with you, holding you tightly

He claims it’s to force you to sit still and sleep, but he also just enjoys the affection

He is not above laying on top of you until you fall asleep if you keep insisting on getting up to do something

Once you do fall asleep, he lets out a sigh, sounding more aggravated than he actually is

You’re ridiculous, but he wouldn’t take care of you like this if he wasn’t absolutely head over heels for you

He shifts to lay beside you, huffing superficially, but still gazing at you with pure adoration in his eyes

“You’re a dumbass sometimes, ya know? You need to take care of yourself, idiot. You’re gonna make yourself sick if you keep this shit up, then what are we going to do?”

To an outsider, his words sound harsh, but if you were awake enough to hear him, you’d know how sweet and loving those words are

He’s rough about it, but he just means that he worries about you

Fuyuhiko would be terrified if you got sick or hurt in anyway

He wants the best for you, and he wants you to be safe and healthy

Korekiyo isn’t exactly the type to overwork himself

More accurately, he has a tendency to hyperfixate on something for hours and hours at a time

It’s not uncommon for him to disappear into the library or his office all day, reading books about humanity and societies

But he’s also very sensitive to his own discomfort

Once he pulls himself from his studies. he knows that he needs to take care of himself

He’s also very sensitive to caffeine, so he just tries to avoid it

Which is why he’s quite concerned by your energy drink-fueled chaos

While he’s quite interested in your thought provoking questions, he’s more concerned about how delirious you seem

Did someone slip you something?

Are you sick?

Are you drunk?

It’s... caffeine? 

How odd

Korekiyo definitely stops whatever he’s doing to take care of you

He makes sure you drink water and do something calming and safe

However, he is observing you the whole time, studying each odd thing you do 

This is such a fascinating facet of humanity, isn’t it?

How a simple chemical can put you in such a chaotic daze

“Hey, Kiyo- Being “up” for something means the same thing as being “down” for something.”

He doesn’t look away from the show you both are watching, but he nods thoughtfully

“That is odd, isn’t it? Linguistics rarely develops as one would expect-”

Now he’s the one rambling, and you’re the one nodding along

His voice is super soothing though, and you’re energy is crashing

It’s not long before you’re out like a light, your body slumped against his side

Korekiyo raises his eyebrow as he feels your weight fall against him, his words trailing off as he notices you’ve finally fallen asleep

He just chuckles to himself, kissing your head gently before pulling a blanket up around the two of you

Humans are such perplexing and interesting creatures

This man absolutely gets overloaded on caffeine with you

He’s not going to be much help in calming you down, unless you’re making yourself upset or sick

Seeing you hurt or uncomfortable activates his protective mode, and then he’s very attentive, trying to get you to fall asleep and rest

Other than that, Kaito is just as chaotic as you are

Hopefully you two can balance each other out, because usually, neither of you are going to stop yourselves

Kaito isn’t necessarily the type overwork himself, but he just enjoys energy drinks and caffeine 

So when you get ridiculous after having coffee or energy drinks, it just hypes him up too

“If you’re waiting for the waiter, aren’t you the waiter?”

“Oh my god you’re right”

Most likely you two just end up crashing together, getting each other more and more hyped up before you both collapse on the bed in exhaustion

Then you two sleep for the next 14 hours, trying to make up for your previous lack of sleep

[natrogersfics]

After All - Chapter 1/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc​ Read on AO3

​In the history of work-life balances, The Daily’s has to be the most bizarre of any company, and Natasha knows that it has nothing to do with the reasonable work hours Pepper is a stickler for implementing. One would truly be hard-pressed to find another work environment where the people get along so seamlessly. Sure, they have their disagreements, and their instincts are always to engage in debate rather than shy away from it, but for the most part, the second the clock strikes five p.m., all spats are forgotten in lieu of brainstorming which watering hole to head to (Dalton’s, always Dalton’s).   

To say that her coworkers are like family seems like a banality on the surface, the type of line an HR Department would print in the welcome packet for a new employee before their first day on the job. But as she stands by the doorway of Tony and Pepper’s living room, watching the very people she works with on a daily basis joyously mingle with members of her actual family, she does not know how else she could possibly define them. These people are the best of the best in the respective subjects, their combined accomplishments the envy of anyone with even a scintilla of ambition to succeed in the media. And yet here they are, holding plates filled with rainbow cake and sporting unicorn party hats, all because these happen to be her daughter’s latest obsession and they’re all powerless to deny her – especially on her first birthday.

In some ways, she knew they would be fond of Isabel, but she never expected them to adore her quite like this – for Thor to bring her a strawberry cupcake every eleventh to celebrate each new month of her life, or for Stephen and Christine to insist that they come over so the latter can personally perform routine checkups, or for Tony to customize a double stroller for when he takes both Isabel and Maria to his workshop. What’s more, they’ve all rallied around her as well, none of them ever more than a text message away when she’s in need of anything, which proved invaluable as she navigated motherhood for the first time. 

This outpour of love from a group of people who are not by any stretch obligated to go so above and beyond is an anomaly, she knows. It’s going to take some kind of miracle for her to find another group of genuinely kind people who would go up to bat for her and Isabel. And it’s that very thought that wrests the sadness she’s been trying to keep at bay all day as she ponders how this may be the last time in a long while that they will gather like this. 

“Are you sure you have to go?”   

The question breaks her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Darcy next to her, holding up two forks in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. She chuckles, reaching for the other fork as they both take a bite and moan at the perfection that is Sarah Roger’s baking. “I already paid the security deposit on the flat we’re staying in,” she says. “So that’s going to be a yes.”

“Flat, huh? Look at you, getting in on the lingo,” Darcy teases before groaning. “But until your butt is officially across the pond, it is an apartment. And it is take-out, not take-away. Which, coincidentally, we happen to have the best of here. Where are you going to get your Nom Wah fix in London, Nat, huh? Where?”

“They have a Chinatown there too, last I checked,” she counters, laughing when Darcy rolls her eyes. “Besides, I have to go anyway on the account of me being out of a job. I do have a child to support, you know.”

“First of all, the only reason you’re out of a job is because you got a big promotion,” Darcy says matter-of-factly. “Stupid corporate ladder.”

“Big words coming from the newly minted editor of The Daily’s International section,” she says, suddenly brimming with pride.

“Only because I learned everything from you,” Darcy says quietly before sighing in concession. “Ugh! You better not forget us when you’re out there being a hotshot editor-in-chief. And you better make sure Boss Baby doesn’t forget who her favorite is!”

“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” she says, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the first person to truly become her constant at work. “You are many things, but forgettable is not one of them.”

“Yeah, true,” Darcy concedes easily, causing them both to laugh.

“Speaking of the Boss Baby though,” she says, checking her watch. “It’s almost her bedtime, so I better go make sure none of her grandparents have let her eat all the icing.” 

“I think what you really have to be concerned about is an aunt and uncle helpless over her charms,” Darcy says, smiling knowingly. “Last I saw her she was in the kitchen with Bucky and Wanda.”

She’s about to thank her, but before she can, Darcy’s already running towards the center of the living room at Thor’s roaring announcement that a game of Pictionary is about to commence. For a second, she allows herself a moment to watch the pandemonium unfold as her friends – her fully grown adult friends, no less – vie for the positions of team captains. “Hooligans,” she says, shaking her head fondly before making a beeline for the kitchen. She pokes her head in, finding Bucky and Wanda poring over the cheese and cold cuts selection laid out on the island before knocking on the wall to get their attention. “Any of you know where Izzie is?”

“Nat!” Bucky exclaims, “you have to try this cheese. It smells like something died in it, but it’s so damn delicious!”

She tilts her head to the side, the corner of her mouth tugging up in amusement. “Maybe later, Buck.” 

“Ignore him. He’s inhaled too much cheese,” Wanda says over the rim of her wine glass before pointing upwards. “Steve took her upstairs for a diaper change.”

“Thank you,” she says, turning to leave. She makes it to the stairs, climbing it two steps at a time until she reaches the top and stops in front of the framed collage of Maria on the wall. As her eyes scan the plethora of pictures, she can’t help but smile. She’s seen this frame countless times before, can practically name where each photo was taken and how old her goddaughter is in every one of them, but for some reason, she finds herself lingering before it, as if she needs to recommit everything to her memory lest she forget. She gives herself another minute, and with a sigh, forces herself to look away and walk down the familiar path to the nursery.  

“Do you know how much Daddy loves you?”

Steve’s words stop her dead in her tracks, and through the door left cracked open, she catches a glimpse of him sitting on the rocking chair with Isabel across his lap, their daughter staring up at him as he feeds her a bottle. The sight of them gazing affectionately at each other punches the breath out of her lungs, and it’s only by instinct that she moves out of view, pressing her back against the nearest wall.

“I don’t even know if I have the right words to describe how much,” she hears Steve confess with a little chuckle, to which Isabel coos, and in her heart of hearts, she knows that she should not be eavesdropping on this moment – it isn’t hers, and yet, she finds herself unable to move. “I guess it’s a good thing that you don’t understand me all that well yet, so I have some time to figure them out...” He sighs, long and winded. “Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I ever will. There couldn’t possibly be words in existence that will encapsulate how much I love every little inch of you.” Steve’s voice cracks by the end, followed closely by a sniffle. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, fig. And I’ll call you all the time, so please don’t forget Daddy while you’re over there, okay? You’re my whole world, baby girl…”   

The hallway and the stairs and the foyer are all a blur as she bolts, the air around her suddenly too thick. She makes it out the front door, but by the time she gets to the bottom step of the brownstone, her legs feel too heavy to keep herself upright and she slumps down, placing her head in her hands as the Summer night’s air blows by and the sound of the traffic on the Upper East Side rings ambiently around her. She sighs. Steve’s words weren’t even meant for her to hear. It shouldn’t affect her this way – shouldn’t hurt her this way – especially when they’re full of adulation for their daughter. And yet, it’s as if she’s taken another dagger to her already crippled heart.

“Natasha.”

She looks up in time to see her mother take a seat next to her, and in the warmth of Melinda’s embrace, she finally lets the tears fall. “Would you believe me if I said I was just tired?”

“Oh, Nat,” Melinda says, reaching over to thumb her tears away. “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

“Only I do,” she says, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost immediately. “He’s had a year. Heck, he’s had more than that to say something, give me a sign.” Melinda’s expression softens at her words, and she knows that it’s because despite offering her a way out only moments ago, Melinda’s one of the few people who knows she’s right. It’s been too long since that fateful night she asked Steve if she had a reason to stay, only to be met by silence. It was damning then, and it’s even more so in the time that’s passed since they’d agreed to postpone both her move to London and the implementation of their custody agreement until Isabel turned one. If he wanted her, if he felt even a fraction for her of what she felt for him, he had countless opportunities and ample time to say so. But now here they are, their daughter past her first year of life, and a day away from each of them getting her six months out of the year. She shakes her head. “He loves her so much. That’s more than I could have ever asked for, and in some ways, that’s always been the deal.” She turns to Melinda, smiling sadly. “I can’t keep hoping anymore. I have to move on.”  

With a sad smile, Melinda drops a kiss to her temple. “Okay.” 

In the months leading up to this day, there were countless times Natasha had caught herself imaging how it would play out. She expected a tear or two to be shed – Sarah and Melinda being the most obvious culprits – but at the very least, she thought the massive crowds at JFK would prove a compelling enough reason for them to not only keep it together, but also to keep their goodbyes short and sweet. But here, on the tarmac in Teterboro, with the Stark Industries jet before her and her entire family close by, she realizes that this is quickly morphing into her worst-case scenario – drawn out goodbyes, too many sad eyes, and her heart feeling all too heavy in her chest.

“You tell T’Challa that I will never forgive him for this.”

Pepper’s words elicit a laugh from her. “Oh please,” she says, scoffing even as she wraps her arms tighter around Pepper and pretends not to feel the warmth of the tear that drips down to her shoulder. “If you were at all capable of holding a grudge, the three of us would’ve stopped being friends long ago.”

“That was before he plotted to steal my best friend from me,” Pepper mumbles, making them both laugh. “Do you realize that this is the first time since college that we’re not going to live within a subway’s ride from each other?”

“We’ll drop by for Christmas,” she offers quietly, unable to trust that her voice won’t falter if she dares answer the question directly. Over Pepper’s shoulder, her eyes quickly glance at the group by the stairs of the jet – Sarah, Nick and Melinda, and Bucky and Wanda all gathered around Steve and Isabel – and she finds herself relieved that she had already said her lengthy goodbyes to most of them last night. She takes a step back from Pepper as she says, “These next six months will fly by.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony interjects as he comes up next to them with Maria on his hip. “Let’s not act like there’s not going to be a Stark Industries emergency in the London office in two weeks that only the CEO can solve.” He eyes Pepper and then her knowingly before nodding towards the jet. “Best not to misuse company property more than we already are.”

She rolls her eyes, breaking away from Pepper’s embrace completely. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who insisted on this whole spectacle?”

“You were gonna fly commercial,” Tony says, his expression twisting in disgust. “We’re not savages, Red.”  

Her lips quirk up at that. To anyone else, Tony’s quip drips with arrogance and reeks of privilege from a life defined by exuberant wealth. But she’s known the man for over a decade now, and though most of the time his tact leaves much to be desired, she understands him enough to know how to read between the lines. Their friendship has never been defined by heartfelt tête-à-têtes, and part of her is glad that he doesn’t seem keen on starting that now. Nevertheless, she knows that making sure she and Isabel are nothing short of exceedingly comfortable on an already difficult trip, is Tony’s ultimate way of showing just how much he cares. 

“Come here,” she says, stepping forward to engulf both him and Maria in a hug.  

“Oh, we’re doing this?” Tony says. “Okay, we’re really doing this.” She ignores him, but it only takes a beat before she feels his free arm wrap around her as well, squeezing back. When they pull away, he has his signature smirk on his face. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She chuckles just as she drops a kiss to Maria’s forehead. “Bye sweetheart,” she tells her goddaughter before turning back to Tony, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does that list even exist?”

Tony winks at her, prompting Pepper to shake her head at the both of them. 

“Indeed, it does not,” Pepper says, linking arms with her. “Come on.”

The pit in her stomach that she’s been trying to ignore since she got up this morning rears its ugly head once more. It’s for the best, she reminds herself. These four words have become her mantra ever since she uttered them that night in Steve’s office when she had first given him the custody agreement, and though her heart had never felt as eviscerated as it had in that moment, the fact that she’s only minutes away from jetting off to a different continent is testament to the fact that there’s truth in it. That, despite all that she’d hoped would change, this is how their lives must play out if they are to make their arrangement work. She sucks in a breath at the thought, at the finality of it all, and as she huffs out, the reassuring squeeze from Pepper grounds her enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Sarah is the first to notice them as they near, and she’s quick to offer her a warm smile before turning to Steve, whispering in his ear and giving Isabel one last kiss. 

“Be safe, darling,” Sarah says when she makes her way over to her, cupping her face in her hands. “And please, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” she says, smiling earnestly. “Thank you, Sarah.” Sarah’s barely stepped away from her when she feels two pairs of arms wrap around her simultaneously, and she can’t help but laugh when she finds herself sandwiched between Nick and Melinda. “Sucking up all my oxygen here, guys.”

“Call us the second you land,” Melinda orders. “And not a second later, you hear? We have your flight plan.”

“Or by God, I will order an F-35 to come find you,” Nick adds.  

She scoffs. “You’ve been saying that since I was sixteen.”

“It was true then and it’s even truer now that you’re taking my grandbaby with you,” Nick says, eyeing her pointedly. “Don’t try me.”

“Fine,” she says, chuckling softly. “We’ll FaceTime you the second we land. How’s that?”

“Excellent,” Melinda says, hugging her tightly once more. “Our girl, we love you so.”  

“Love you too,” she says to each of them. Wanda and Bucky are last in line, and as she accepts a hug from the former and a kiss on the cheek from the latter, she begins to make her way towards the landing of the stairs where Steve stands cradling a sleeping Isabel. She stops a foot short of them, tucking her hands into her pockets and mustering the best smile she can. “We should get going.”  

Steve nods, turning to nuzzle the top of Isabel’s head. “Be a good girl for momma, okay?” he says, and she has to avert her gaze elsewhere at the way his voice breaks at the end. “Daddy loves you so much, fig.”

Just as she had the night before, she finds herself once again an intruder in a moment she has no business being a part of as she listens to Steve whisper sweet nothings to their daughter. But despite the feeling of being so unwelcome, so unwanted, she swallows it all down along with the lump that’s formed in her throat in an attempt to keep it together. It’s only when she hears Steve mutter a soft okay that she dares look back, watching as he steps forward to place Isabel into her arms. 

“Shh,” she says gently when Isabel stirs at the movement, carefully shifting her so she can rest her head on her shoulder before turning to Steve. “I’ll text you when we land and again when we get to our flat, so you know she’s safe.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, letting a beat pass before shaking his head. “Natasha…”  

For a moment, she can only stand there, letting his utterance of her name hang in the air between them. Where she finds the courage to look in his eyes, she isn’t certain, but she does. The pain in them is clear as the sky above them, but for whom it’s for, she can only surmise. Surely, for being separated for the next six months from their daughter, who’s oblivious to the loaded silence between them as she slumbers peacefully against her. And though she knows she shouldn’t, she lets herself wonder – wish, really – if only for a fraction of a second, and perhaps for the last time, that maybe that pain is for her, too. And that maybe, just maybe, now he would say the words she’s been longing to hear.

Steve sighs, and she holds her breath as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Knock ‘em dead, Natasha Romanoff.”

Her eyes fall shut at that, and though he’s close enough that she can smell the familiar scent of his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin, they might as well be continents apart already. “Thanks,” she whispers, giving him a final nod before she turns to ascend the stairs.

There’s only the whirr of the jet taxiing towards the runway as she settles further back against the softness of the leather seat. Across her chest, Isabel sleeps peacefully, her curls glowing russet in the sunlight streaming through the window and her weight a welcome distraction from the hollowness burrowing deep inside of her, settling in. By now, she realizes, the sensation is just an old friend. She sighs, running her hand up and down Isabel’s back, holding her closer. “It’s just you and me, fig.”

I’m not freaking out, you are!

Steve’s brow arches as he reads the words in the blue bubble, and he does not waste time pressing down on the file attachment, eagerly waiting for the video to take up the entirety of the screen. Once it does, Isabel comes into view, sporting a gray Dodgers jersey with her hair pulled up in two symmetric pigtails as she clings onto the edge of a coffee table. The sight pulls his lips up into a beaming smile, all but threatening to split his face. 

“Come to momma, fig,” he hears Natasha encourage in the background. “You can do it!”

Despite Natasha’s message alluding to the fact that this had been a fruitful exercise, he finds himself holding his breath as he watches Isabel blink, her eyebrows furrowing in suspicion as if she’s contemplating her mother’s words. On the lower part of the screen, her foot inches forward ever so slightly, though whether it is to test the waters or tease her mother, he can only guess. But then her dubious expression fades as quickly as it had come, making way for a toothy grin, and then his eyes widen as he witnesses her take one wobbly step and then trot the rest of the way.

“Yay!” Natasha cheers, eliciting an elated giggle from Isabel, and he can’t help but laugh along as the camera flips to show Natasha with Isabel now on her lap. “We’re walking!”  

He types back a quick Yes! followed by But also, uh oh! 😬 before pressing play on the video once more, this time watching Isabel walk on her own without the nervousness that had plagued him only moments ago. It seems ridiculous – though he’s willing to bet that most parents feel the same way – but he feels pride surge right through him. Isabel was just beginning to get the hang of walking while her hands were being held up during her first birthday, and now, less than six months later, she’s already cruising along by herself. Time, he muses, truly does zip on by.

Placing his phone down on the counter, he stops to ponder his last thought. If there’s one thing he’s come to realize about time, it is that it can be a real conundrum – moving faster than you wish it would when you least want it to and slowing down to an agonizing crawl when you’re all but begging for it to fly. Only, these two facets seemed to be happening simultaneously in the last six months since his custody agreement with Natasha had taken effect. On one hand, Isabel is growing and changing faster than he can keep up with, becoming her own person with every day that passes. But at the same time, it feels as if his turn to have her, to witness these milestones unfold in real time, is an eternity away.

“I don’t like that face. Not one bit.”

He turns towards the sound of the voice, chuckling when he sees his mother walking into his kitchen, a box from her bakery in hand. “So much for a face only a mother can love.”

“Of course I love that face,” Sarah says, setting the box and her purse down on the island before hopping on the stool next to his. “I made it.” Sarah snickers as he rolls his eyes. “What I don’t love is when it’s all broody and scrunched up” – she points to his head – “means something’s going on up there.”   

With a sigh, he unlocks his phone, opening the video back up before pushing it towards Sarah. His mother squeals upon seeing her granddaughter, picking up the device to get a closer look. 

“She’s gotten so big!” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Goodness, she’s walking. Really walking!”

“She finally fit into the jersey Thor gave her before she was born, too,” he adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now it’s just right.” It’s probably the tone of his voice – crestfallen, though he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way – that causes Sarah to look at him, her eyes rueful. He waves off her concern. “I’m fine, ma. Some days are just harder than most. Technology’s great and all, but I still feel like I’m missing so much. And now...”

Sarah reaches over to place her hand over his. “I’m sorry they’re not going to make it for Christmas, darling.” 

“It’s fine,” he repeats. While he isn’t due to have Isabel until after New Years’, with some cajolery from Melinda, Nick, and Pepper, Natasha had agreed that she and Isabel would come visit for Christmas. That’d been the plan even before they left for London almost six months ago, and if he’s being completely honest, it’s been the day he’s been counting down to since. But then an emergency at Natasha’s work came up, preventing her and Isabel from traveling until after the holiday and successfully upending everything he had been looking forward to. He sighs. “It’s still technically Natasha’s time with her and she was being really magnanimous about sharing Izzie for Christmas anyway.” He swipes his hand out, as if to dismiss his melancholy, but even that is half-hearted. “I was just really looking forward to it, you know? Bucky already bought her a beanie with Reindeer antlers that light up and I thought maybe she could still see the Rockefeller tree.”

“Still might,” Sarah says, to which he gives a non-committal nod. “They don’t take it down right away anyway. But have you maybe considered asking Natasha if you can fly there for Christmas?”

“What?” he nearly spits out the word in surprise, tilting his head to the side as he looks at his mother like she’s grown three heads. “What’re- I mean, what in the world makes you think she’d agree to that?”

This time, it’s Sarah’s turn to look at him incredulously. “You two have been getting along great these past few months, haven’t you?”

“We text about Izzie,” he says, “and yes, Natasha’s there when we FaceTime too, but that’s because she has to hold up the phone on the account of Izzie wanting to put everything in her mouth. That is not the same as getting along great.” He sits up straighter, shaking his head. “Besides, spending Christmas together? In London? That’s not even remotely in our-”

“Oh please,” Sarah interrupts. “I don’t care what you two have written down in your contract-”

“Custody agreement,” he corrects.

“Semantics,” Sarah counters. “Like it or not, you and Natasha are forever bonded by the beautiful baby girl you two brought into this world. That makes you family, and families spend Christmas together.” Sarah shrugs, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and seemingly deliberating her next words. “Unless…”

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. “Unless?”

“Steven, hon, you know I don’t like to pry,” Sarah says carefully. “But ever since… well, okay. I suppose I thought that maybe things between you and Natasha… especially after Izzie was born… I thought maybe you two would give it a chance. But then nothing happened, and I said I’d leave you two to it. It’s your lives. But now she’s over there, making a life for herself and you know what? Good on her. But then I see you, and I… It just seems to me like you’re stuck. And I feel like I’ve seen this before, so I have to ask… Do you maybe still have feelings for Natasha?”

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “That is not what-”

“And that is not an answer.”

“I…” he begins, only to pause to collect his thoughts. “I have had the tremendous opportunity of curating for a successful gallery and overseeing its expansions. And that is on top of my day job at the paper and making sure I am pulling my weight as a co-parent. I’m barely in the same place for five minutes, so quite frankly, ma, by definition I think that’s the opposite of being stuck.” When Sarah’s pointed glance does not let up, he sighs. “Look… if the lack of two more seats at our Christmas table this year is any indication, I’d say my feelings weren’t any good on a one-way street. If I were stuck, I’d still be standing on it, but like I just said...”

Sarah puts her hands up. “Well, if all the hatchets are buried…” she says as she moves off the stool and slings her purse over her shoulder. “No harm in asking then, is there?” She reaches over to the counter, pushing his phone back to him and nodding towards the screen. “You don’t get any of these moments back, Steve. So if there’s any chance you can be a part of them instead of watching from afar, try.” With a smile, she leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you Sunday at brunch.”  

Sleep eludes him later that night as he watches the shadows dance across the ceiling, his mind replaying the conversation he had with Sarah. As he ruminates on its substance, he’s suddenly transported back to that night almost two years ago when Natasha had received her award from the Journalists’ Guild. At that point, their relationship had plunged into this strange and confusing pitfall. They had gone from living together as Natasha recovered from her awful fall, falling into domestic bliss as they did, to her serving him a custody agreement in his office seemingly in a blink of an eye. When he approached her that night for a dance, all he truly wanted was to erase the distance and the silence that had grown between them. But sometime in the middle of them swaying along to a soft string tune, she had informed him that she was going to take the job in London, and as he remembers how her words had made him feel then, hurt washes over him anew. She had pulled the rug from underneath him, sending him into free fall that, by the time she was accusing him of having never wanted their child in the first place, and asking him if she had a reason to stay, he was frozen. Speechless. Powerless to stop her from walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

Navigating their relationship after that night was incredibly difficult. They were both hurt, and understandably so, but giving each other space became nearly impossible when Natasha’s pregnancy spurned more health complications. They weren’t grave, thankfully, but it was enough to bring them to the sober realization that regardless of what had transpired between them, they couldn’t let their feelings get in the way of prioritizing the one thing that meant the world to the both of them. And by the time Isabel was born, the effort they’d both put in to make their circumstances work was so much that he told himself that it did not matter that his feelings for Natasha were not only lingering, but also brewing deep – rocking the boat was the last thing the three of them needed.

Further, what he had told his mother hadn’t been a lie. Feelings are no good on a one-way street. Perhaps there was a point where Natasha had felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but that was all moot now. In the end, she had gotten on the plane to London, and though he wanted nothing more than to tell her how he truly felt as they said their goodbyes at the airport, he still did not know with a certainty if that would have been enough. That, his love was a compelling enough reason for her to forego an opportunity that she’d been working towards her whole life. So instead, he told her the one thing he knew she’d do anyway – go and succeed. And if the reviews of the paper she’s helming and their cordial co-parenting relationship are anything to go by, it’s clear that staying mum was the right call. 

It’s then that the merit of Sarah’s earlier argument becomes clear. While spending Christmas together isn’t something they’ve ever discussed, with the both of them moving forward, perhaps there really was no harm in asking. Perhaps what’s in the past can stay in the past. Perhaps Christmas didn’t have to be so somber this year.Before he can change his mind, he reaches for his phone. 

Natasha holds her breath as she creeps out into the hallway, relief crashing down on her like a ton of bricks when she successfully clicks the door shut without hearing a cry. With a sigh, she brings a hand up to the bridge of her nose, pinching down and letting her eyes fall shut in exhaustion. Isabel’s been restless the last couple of days, waking up intermittently and distraught for reasons that she cannot seem to figure out. To top it all off, despite the holidays fast approaching, her workload only seems to grow exponentially, and with the recent lack of sleep, the fatigue is getting harder to stave off.With a heavy exhale, she straightens up, willing herself back to her living room and to where she left her laptop on the couch. 

The words on the open document on her screen are ones she’s read enough times that she can recite them verbatim from memory, and yet, as she tries to come up with the next sentence, her mind draws a blank. With a groan, she pushes her screen down shut. Writing has always been her outlet of choice, allowing her to clear her head by losing herself in the topic of her current piece, and for it to fail her now when she’s most in need of a catharsis, she can’t help but feel even more untethered.The ding of her phone cuts through the silence, and she looks towards where it’s resting on the cushion to see an email notification pop up. 

Picking it up, she glides a finger over the bubble on the screen and sighs when she sees the subject line read: 

URGENT – Meeting w/ PR tomorrow

Without reading the contents, she closes her email app, deciding that at two in the morning, she just does not have the mental bandwidth to deal with any more work woes. But as she does, her photo stream appears, and a video begins to play. The camera zooms in, showing Steve carefully lifting a six-month-old Isabel up to blow bubbles on her belly, and she stops to watch Isabel giggle. In her desperation to soothe Isabel tonight, she had decided to play the video as she rocked her to sleep, and much to her relief, it had worked. Within minutes, and with Steve’s voice on loop in the background, Isabel had finally gone to bed.It’s when the frame switches to Steve and Isabel playing peek-a-boo that she finds her throat tightening. When she had moved six months ago, she had believed that not only was it the right decision, but also that the challenge of a new job and readjusting to a different country would aid her in moving on. But as Isabel’s soft coos and Steve’s laughter from the video fills the room, the sounds only seem to further underscore how big and empty her flat feels.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the audio cutting off, and she glares at the screen in anticipation of another work-related email, but her eyes only widen in surprise when she sees a text from Steve.

Hey, do you have time to talk tomorrow morning (late afternoon your time)? Just had a question…

As she reads the text, her eyebrows furrow. While they communicate several times a week, it’s only so he can video chat with Isabel or so she can send him Isabel’s latest photo. It’s not like him to shoot her a text out of the blue, and it’s even more so unusual for him to be vague about the subject. She bites her lip as she contemplates a reply, typing something out only to delete it. By her fourth attempt, her mind begins to race with a deluge of questions. With a huff, she puts her phone down, and finds herself almost grateful when she catches the porch light next door flicker on through her window. Hurriedly, she gets up, running through her foyer and hastily throwing her door open just as her neighbor is about to place their key into the lock. “Any chance you’re up for a nightcap?” she asks, biting her lip. 

Her neighbor turns, looking every bit as tired as any reasonable person returning home at this hour should. Nevertheless, he smirks. “When you’re offering?” he asks. “Always.”

“Long week, huh?” she asks later on as they sit on her couch, each clutching a glass of wine.

“Endless,” he says as he angles to face her. “Two back-to-back shifts with a twelve-hour surgery somewhere in between that nearly went critical, to be exact.”

“Nothing the great Dr. Laufeyson couldn’t handle, I’m sure,” she says, eyeing him knowingly.

“The patient survived, if that’s what you’re alluding to,” Loki says, prompting them both to laugh.

Her gaze falls to her wine, watching the dark liquid swirl as she rotates the glass in her hand. “Must be nice, though,” she says, “knowing what you do saves lives.” She looks over at him as she adds, “That of children, especially.”

“It is,” he agrees. “They’re wonderful and pure, as I’m sure you know. Not yet privy to the trickery and harshness of the world at large like we adults are... But that’s a conversation for a different time.” He takes a sip of his wine before arching a brow at her. “So, tell me, Miss Romanoff. What is it that has you keeping me from my bed?”

She scoffs. “Didn’t realize I had the power to make you do things you didn’t want to do.”

“I’d do anything for you and that little angel of yours,” he says before shrugging. “You know that.”

Loki’s words bring a smile to her face. For all her struggles in the last six months, meeting and getting to know him has been one of the bright spots that’s kept her going. That, and the fact that he lives next door and is up at ungodly hours like she is, is convenient – especially on nights like this when she could really use someone to talk to. It’s with that reminder that she sighs and goes about catching him up on everything that’s been plaguing her mind since the last time she saw him. When she finally gets to Steve’s text, she hands him her phone. “I’m probably just over analyzing it,” she says. “For all I know, he probably just wants to FaceTime with Izzie more.”

“Then why not just get to it then?” Loki challenges. “Natasha, let’s be honest about what this is really about.”   

She shakes her head. “I just said that he-”

“I don’t mean about him,” Loki says, sighing when she stares confusedly at him. “You’ve basically just admitted to missing the man-”

“I said no such thing!” 

Loki shoots her a withering look. “Do you’ve any idea how many parents deny how much sugar they’ve fed their kids as I hold the results of their child’s blood work in my hands?” He scoffs. “It’s easy to say things, Natasha, but you cannot deny what is so. I assume you sulking in the dark and watching videos of him and Izzie aren’t just because you’re feeling nostalgic.”

“What do you want me to say, Loki?” she asks. “That I’m freaking out about this because I’m... lonely? Tired? Tipsy?” She chuckles, but it’s humorless, hollow. Her voice is barely above a whisper as she adds, “or that moving thousands of miles away was for nothing seeing as I’m still so pathetically in love with someone who clearly doesn’t love me back and who can seemingly pull me apart with a single text?”

“Only if that’s the truth,” Loki says, making her shoulders sag in defeat. “Natasha, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He takes her hand in his, causing her to look at him. “I simply wanted you to be honest about what’s at play here.” He sighs. “I don’t claim to know what or how he feels. And for that matter, what you truly do, and I will not pry. But what I do know is that you are smart, strong, gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to have you. The ones that don’t see that? They’re idiots and they don’t deserve you.” Her lips quirk at that, and he smiles. “Remember that the next time you think one text from someone can pull you apart, hm?”

Loki punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze to her hand, and as she lets the gravity of his sentiment sink in, she nods. “Thanks,” she says, laughing when he only winks and brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles.  

By the time Loki bids her goodnight and she makes it to bed, her mind feels a little clearer. Maybe she’s right and that whatever it is Steve wants to ask her is something as small as wanting more time to talk to Isabel, but the reality is that she’ll never know if she doesn’t find out. And if it turns out to be something that takes a wrecking ball to her heart all over again, if what Loki said is anything to go by, then maybe she isn’t giving herself enough credit. She has made it this far – scars and all.

With that in mind, she reaches for her phone and searches for Steve’s message to type out her reply.

Sure! Talk to you then.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[uwua3]

hi bunnie!!! i’m simping over juza again (but when am i not) so may i request some soft juza dating hc’s?? anything is fine 🥺👉👈 ilysm 💕

hi, mel~ ♡ i hope you’re doing well! :D i know you’re a fan of genshin impact, so i hope you enjoy this !!! <333 this isn’t as #Soft as i wanted, but i hope it makes you smile regardless 🥺 i love you lots !!! so does juza~ ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ♡°◌̊ (ahhh can you ever date a fatui harbringer though? hopefully some day TT)

summary: before juza leaves, he gives you a dream he will defend until the end

warnings: genshin impact spoilers(?), mentions of death

author’s note: no, i will not elaborate on why i have this extreme association of juza with childe. please do not ask me, as i will write *too much*. however, for any of my a3! genshin fans, please enjoy this piece for 11th fatui harbringer, hyodo juza! (there are no MAJOR spoilers for childe’s story—just his personality/family relations!)

+ i do NOT ship childe/traveller !!! childe is a young adult while traveller is canonically a teenager, i do not support the actual ship itself. please note juza is 18 in this writing :)

word count: 1,566

music: who are you, really? – mikky ekko, killer – the ready set

until we meet again, in snezhnaya.

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

They call Hyodo Juza, “Defender of Childhood Dreams”.

Because if you make a promise, you keep it. If you make a mistake, you apologize. If you give someone a dream, you defend it ‘til the end.

Despite always being away from his home country of Snezhnaya, Juza found himself keeping his word no matter where he went. As one of the older brothers of the Hyodo household, Juza could clearly remember his younger siblings’ tears as he departed all those years ago.

“Toymakers go all around the world for the best toys! I’ll send home lots of gifts, promise.” Juza swore on his life before disappearing away in the snow, wielding the emblem of the Fatui at eighteen.

“Brother Kumon, I will be home soon. I will take the first ship home, just as I promised—and you know how I always keep my promises.”

Yours faithfully, Your loyal knight

Juza sits in Liyue now, the ink staining the parchment against his will as he carefully signs his name. Gifts of all kinds sat beside him, such as kites, rattle drums, porcelain dolls, and snacks. After all, Juza did make a promise to send gifts. His younger brother, Kumon, deserved the best.

Before Juza could remember the chill of the snow down his spine and the numbing cold of frostbite he hadn’t felt in so long, the surface of his tea became unevenly rippled. At a distance, Juza could already tell it was you. Your rather odd companion, Paimon, could be sighted a mile away with how loud she was. On the other hand, you attentively listened as you stood out amongst the crowds.

Placing his quill down, Juza placed a pleasant smile upon his face. For a second, Snezhnaya disappeared. The frozen binding of his loyalty to her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, melted to reveal a heart longing for you to turn your head.

Even if it was for a moment, Juza’s head cleared of it all. His family waiting for him to conquer the world, his brother awaiting his latest toys, the expectation of laying all seven stars upon the Cryo Archon’s feet. All of it disappeared and all that was left was your face.

Honorary knight of Mondstadt. Hero that slayed Dvalin, or Stormterror. Lost twin looking for your sibling across Teyvat. You, a person from a different world, had made Juza forget why he had been fighting. Ever since he was fourteen, Juza fought tooth and nail just to survive. Now, Juza almost felt like he didn’t have to even move a finger as you met his eyes and returned his smile.

Juza would go through the abyss again, for three years even, to keep that smile.

When you walked over to his table of one, Juza lifted his hand in a wave as he called your name. Like you two were just friends, and nothing more. However, friends... wasn’t enough, not for Juza.

“Finally! My only worthy opponent, have you come for another fight?” Juza half-joked, his voice betraying his rumbling excitement and passion to be beaten once again. You always managed to gain the upper hand despite everything, and the rush of feeling like he was about to die gave him a thrill like no other.

But, you just shook your head as Paimon rolled her eyes, crossing her little arms mid-air. “Gosh, Juza, all you think about is fighting!” Juza held his hands up as if he surrended (he never actually would) and rested his hand on his spear, feeling the cool metal. Juza could imagine the electric sensation of his delusion, crackling for a fight regardless.

Only you could get him so worked up, Juza thought.

“No, I. . .” You trailed off, pausing to look away. The lowering sunset reflected in your eyes, like waves of Liyue’s harbor. Juza watched as your heart beat faster, uncertain, which was strange for such a renown legend in the making. Finally, you met his eyes with the confidence he knew and loved.

“I wanted to see you again before you left Liyue.” You honestly admitted and Juza let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The bustling merchants of the city of contracts continued to thrive around the two. Carts of many merchandises wheeled past them, children ran by making up fantasies beyond the ocean, and business never stopped as trade went on and on. This was Liyue at its finest, and Juza was sure he’d miss it. Or, more specifically, you.

“Really? Perhaps I’ll have to take you home to my family one day. In the snowy hills where everything is cold.” Juza spoke like he was telling a story, as if he was speaking to Kumon back in their one-room hut. As if the snowflakes were in their hair, gloves keeping their hands functional, and makeshift fire was burning weakly between them. You seemed to change, posture weakening as if you were... safe.

You relaxed and didn’t have that subconscious to fight, not when you were with Juza. While you and Juza were two opposite ends of the spectrum, you two had one similarity that bound you together: being born into a life where fighting was the only option. Your hand that always hovered above your weapon fell to your side, and you took a seat across from Juza.

Juza, eleventh Harbringer of the Fatui, feared by all for his chaotic wild card battles. Yet, here he was, writing back home and drinking tea with a traveller who had done the impossible. You made him feel like putting down his weapons and running away, you made him want a second chance at life. As long as it was with you. Only you.

“Snezhnaya... tell me about it.” You said and Juza’s fingers twitched. Visions flew by his mind rapidly, mostly unpleasant and hard to speak of at a place like this. Juza wouldn’t dare tell you about the droughts of hunger when the war left the people to fend for themselves, the iced-over corpses serving as markings in the mountains, nor the everlasting pine trees that spoke of disaster with each collapse. Juza couldn’t say it, not when you were looking at him so wholeheartedly.

“My favorite thing to do is ice-fishing.” Juza started and launched into a whirlwind of his number one hobby. Spoke of the early morning hours cutting holes into thick layers of ice, wobbly legs shaking on the large expanse of the frozen lake, and sitting in silence as wildlife swam beneath them. Juza told you about the spike of adrenaline when he could feel the ice crack haphazardly, the jagged splits uncommon but exciting every time. When Juza shared his most beloved memories, he couldn’t help but feel the Snezhnayan cold with the closest possible feeling to joy.

You listened once again, face pensive and eyes focused on Juza’s hand motions, content tone, and honesty above all. You could almost see the nameless lake, the snow banks, the shadows of fish. You exhaled, and despite the warm atmosphere of Liyue, you swore you could see your breath solidify as if it was Dragonspine.

When Juza closed off his story with a smile, you spoke without a care in the world. As if your sibling wasn’t missing. As if you didn’t have to find all seven archons. As if the fate of Teyvat wasn’t upon your shoulders. Right now, it was just you and Juza. Juza and you.

“When I come to see you in Snezhnaya, I want to have your best fish dish.”

Juza propped his elbow upon the table, before holding his pinky out. You took it with your own, and Juza shot you a wink of many unsaid words. A contract, if you will. Fitting for Liyue.

“It’s a promise. You know I always love testing my limits for my opponents.”

If you make a promise, you keep it.

Juza pulled back first, as he always did. Standing up, Juza paid the bill generously with his excessive Mora. The words “goodbye” left a spicy taste on his tongue, so Juza refused to say them. You two held each other’s gaze for a moment too long, but didn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry for leaving you so soon.”

If you make a mistake, you apologize.

You didn’t react immediately, you just nodded as if it was okay. It wasn’t, really. You both knew Juza’s sudden departure was shrouded in unknown mystery. Neither of you had the courage to properly address it, however.

“But, I’ll see you again. I promised, didn’t I?” Juza began walking away, knowing he was due to leave and run far, far away to his next assignment. Liyue had no place for him anymore. Even when the stars of Teyvat claimed there would always be a place for adventurers, Juza wasn’t so sure if they meant him as well.

All you wanted to do was run after him. Sprint towards Juza and make him stay, even though he never would. You wanted to stand up and weave through the crowds to see his back one last time. But, you didn’t. You didn’t want to make this harder on yourself than it already was.

Before Juza disappeared for a long, long time, he looked over his shoulder with a wave.

“Farewell, my friends. Until we meet again... in Snezhnaya.”

If you give someone a dream, you defend it ‘til the end.

[pointnumbersixteen]

A Head Cannon Biography and Character Analysis and of the Captain, Part 5: Everything the Captain Does Wrong in the First Flashback of Reddy Weddy in Sixteen Points

Which finally gets us back to the flashback scenes in Reddy Weddy.

Is this about to be over 2,000 words shredding the command performance of my favorite character? Yes, it is, but I do it with all the love in the world.

I’ll start with the first scene, which starts out as a morning brief. It shows just how awful he is at the whole ‘leader of men’ thing. What did he do wrong? This is going to go on for a while. The TLDR version is: literally everything. There is not a single word or action of his in that scene that went right. And it had to be intentional, as Ben Willbond is an admitted military buff, he has to know what proper military bearing is supposed to look like, and he wrote the episode.

I should preface this with saying that I absolutely adore the Captain in this scene, with his silly, over-excitable and ridiculously awkward self. But the first time I saw it, the part of me that spent four years in the US army was screaming inside about how terrible his performance was as a CO. Just picture yourself as one of those respectable and sensible young military personnel sitting in the seats listening to him with the thought, ‘if the Germans come this is the guy that’s going to be responsible for me in battle,’ and try not to cringe just a little.

First, starting with a bit of background: morning briefs are torture. They are the most boring things in the world. Everyone hates them. They’re one of those situations when you can just feel yourself slowly dying. Good commanders know that and try to keep them as short as possible. Bad commanders who don’t mind that their troops are silently hating them the whole time go on a bit longer, but even then, I don’t think I ever sat through one that made it through more than five or six points. The Captain’s very first line in the episode states that he is on POINT NUMBER SIXTEEN (the absurdity of which gave me the handle for this side-blog). His subordinates are blank faced. They’ve probably been tuning this tedious BS out since point number four.  

Second, point number sixteen is, to paraphrase, “Why am I still hearing laughter after hours? We are at war. Fun is banned.” In a stern lecture tone. No, Captain, pet, just because the army probably sucked all the joy out of your life, doesn’t mean that no one is allowed to be happy in the military, even during wartime. My dear, actually you should be encouraging them to decompress however they can, as long as it isn’t inappropriate or interfering with their duties, because war is stressful, even if you’re not on the front lines. The military in general is stressful, even when you’re not at war. Joking and horseplay- as long as it isn’t the sort of thing that isn’t going to get anyone injured- is good for morale. And modern militaries have morale officers for a reason. At this point, the man in the middle of the front row breaks his blank face momentarily to give the woman next to him a ‘can you believe this crap?’ look.  

Third, the Captain goes on and backs this up by essentially saying (again paraphrased), “I understand you all are bored, I’m bored, too, this shit is boring, but this is where the army stuck us so we have to deal.” Which again is the wrong answer. That is precisely how NOT to motivate people to do their best. This is a situation where the officer should try to generate enthusiasm amongst his subordinates for their roles. Even if he wanted to provide a similar sentiment, the word ‘bored’ never should have entered the equation. Everyone is bored most of the time in the military, but it’s not something the higher ranks acknowledge, because acknowledging it helps nothing. His statement should have been something more like, “I understand that some of you are frustrated that you’re not serving in combat, but what we’re doing here in support of the war effort is important, and it will take all of us doing our parts, both out there on the front, and back here in England, to win this thing.”

Next, when Havers comes in with the message for him, he speculates out loud about it being an answer to his pistol requisition. He shouldn’t have done this, and gets two wrong points for it.

The fourth is because while I find his excitement about that pistol endearing, like a little boy hoping for just the right present from Santa at Christmas (and still pining for it 75 years after his death, as noted in the ‘going to the shops’ game with Fannie in s2e4), it probably comes off as foolish or childish to his subordinates. The gun he really wants to have probably should not be the first thing that comes to his mind when communicating with command. There’s a war on. There have to be at least one or two things that are more important.

The fifth is because you’re not supposed to reveal any of your command requests to your subordinates until you know how they’re going to turn out, and then only the ones that are approved, because if you reveal you’ve requested something and it isn’t granted, particularly something as simple as being issued a side arm, it starts to look like higher command doesn’t favor you or have confidence in you. Which in his case is probably true. But that’s not something he should reveal to his troops by way of letting them know he requested a fancy new side arm and then never received one. He might as well have put a sign on his back that said, “Command trusts me so little they won’t even give me a gun.”

Sixth, when he reads the actual message, he just blurts out something to the order of, “good god, France has surrendered.” Which is not how the other people in the room should have received that information. There should have been some sort of measured, more dignified, official sounding announcement. “It’s my duty to inform you all that unfortunately France surrendered to the Germans yesterday,” or something of the sort at the bare minimum. But no, he just blurts it out. Well, Havers asks him what’s wrong after the “good god” part, but he still shouldn’t have blurted it out.

Seventh, and after blurting it out, he doesn’t add anything to it. France surrendering was a disaster for the British during WWII. It meant Germany was coming for them next. This would have been the time to reassure his men- and women- that although things might look grim, he was confident that high command had a plan and would have everything under control and that there was no way Germany would make it across the channel and that even if they did, the army would be ready. But no, he says nothing of the sort.

Eighth, in fact, he says nothing else to the people who had been present for his briefing at all. After Havers enters the room, he has neither eyes nor words for anyone else. Which is not professional at all.

Ninth, the way he looks at Havers throughout this scene, his face lights up, his voice cheers, his whole demeanor changes. He might have well had a neon sign glowing above his head that screamed ‘I’M GAY FOR THIS MAN!!!’ It would have been the only thing that could possibly be more obvious. When, again, being gay wasn’t okay at all in 1940’s England, and particularly not in the army. I love how incredibly unsubtle he is about his attractions while he clearly thinks he’s being subtle, but that’s not the way it would have been viewed by the people in the room.  

Tenth, in his excitement, the Captain just drops the message on the floor. Drops. It. On. The. Floor. He doesn’t even bother to pick it up. Even Havers gives him a funny look for this one. I say again, I find over-excited Cap adorable. His subordinates probably find this ridiculous, though. And if this were a man who was in charge of me and he’d just been giving me a tedious lecture about not laughing at night as part of a sixteen point morning brief, I’d find him ridiculous, too. At best.

Eleventh, then he immediately scrambles to the window and looks around wildly like he expects the Germans might be marching up Button House’s driveway as they speak. Which is plain silly, as Havers has to point to him. It’s obvious to anyone with sense that even if the Germans are going to invade, it will take them a while to organize an invasion, and Button House is unlikely to be one of the early strategic targets. But the Captain seems to forget this momentarily in his excitement and ends up looking silly in front of his subordinates. I’m pretty sure a few of them are laughing at him in the back.

Twelve, the fact that the Captain is clearly ridiculously excited about this development at all is another point against him, because he shouldn’t be. Of course, he’s excited about the renewed prospect of getting a chance to actually fight (see the previous part of this analysis for why he desperately wants such a thing) but that excitement is not good look. He’s thinking about what it means to him personally, rather than what it means to the military and the country as a whole. Again, the fall of France was a disaster for Britain. It means they’ve lost all of the battles they’ve fought to try to hold back the Germans in France. It means they’ve already lost thousands of men attempting to hold back the Germans in France and for nothing. It means they’ve lost their main ally, the ally the spent years successfully holding back Germany with in France in WWI and therefore implies that this war is going to be even worse than WWI, which was already unprecedentedly catastrophic. It means they’re alone against Germany and there’s a good chance that Germany will be invading soon. So, when they get this news and the Captain’s reaction is over-excitement, that does not look good for him. Nothing in this brief looks good for him, of course, but he just keeps digging the hole deeper.

Thirteen, his officer’s bearing (which as I mentioned in an earlier post as one of the indicators before Reddy Weddy of him probably not being a very good officer, as he maintains it well in emotionally neutral situations, but once emotions enter the picture it collapses) starts out fine when he’s actually giving the brief and then goes downhill once Havers enters the room and by the time he’s at the window, his body language is just… what are you even doing? He’s practically bouncing. Also, Cap, why are you randomly shouting? And what are you doing with your hands? (I wonder if he started carrying his pointy-stick everywhere because he couldn’t figure out otherwise what to do with his hands.) Of course, all of this is because he’s a magnificent over-excitable creature, but still… not a good look as a CO.

Fourteen, when they show the rest of the personnel in the room during this part of the scene, you can see clearly on the faces of the two men in from to the left of Havers (at ‘I don’t think they’ll be here just yet, sir’) that they think the Captain’s behavior is a joke… they fix their faces back to blank very quickly, but it’s there. I imagine what most of the men under his command felt for him was either ridicule or contempt, sadly. I feel sad for him, because I want my poor gay son to be loved and respected. But he isn’t in this situation and he doesn’t seem to either notice or care about this.  

Fifteen, Havers has to remind the Captain that protocol states they’re supposed to lock down the estate at this point, as the British actually were expecting the Germans to invade after France fell. He shouldn’t have had to have been prompted, particularly not in front of their subordinates.

Sixteen, Havers also has to pretend that the Captain ordered everyone else in the room to go carry out the lockdown, when he didn’t, just shouted vaguely about it being a good idea. Havers then sends them on their way, as it’s clear that in his own excitement, the Captain seems to have forgotten that he’s the one in charge and supposed to be leading and commanding. But I suppose it’s good that Havers took the initiative to get everyone else out of the room as quickly as possible, as this has been literally only like a minute of time, and I’d hate to see how much Cap could embarrass himself in two minutes.

 And there it is. I made this sixteen points long as an illustration of just how ridiculously long sixteen points actually is.  

 I won’t cover the part where the Captain and Havers were alone at the end of this scene, yet, as I’ll include it with the next written bit, which is going to be my analysis of their relationship. That might be a minute, because we’ve reach the end of the parts I actually had significantly written out. I’ve only outlined the Havers relationship section.

[meabd]

Tricks of the Trade

Chapter 2: A Complicated Dance

It was nearly five o’clock when you approached the Heyu Teahouse. As you neared the entrance you caught sight of the slender form of the Eleventh Harbinger as he leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed, a look of concentration on his face. He startled as you stepped into view, his expression morphing into one of surprised pleasure.

“[Y/n], you look ravishing ,” he winked, offering you his elbow. You bowed instead, ignoring the gesture.

“Thank you, Tartaglia ,” he rolled his eyes at the use of his code name.

“None of that now. Call me Childe,” it was your turn to roll your eyes as he ushered you through the front door, one hand at the small of your back to direct you. The hostess was deferential to the young man, guiding you quickly to a private chamber on the second floor. The view over the harbor was breathtaking, and you found yourself distracted by it as Childe ordered for you both.

“You know, if we’re being honest I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” his comment broke you away from your thoughts, though you did not turn to acknowledge it.

“It’s funny,” you mused, eyes trained on the setting sun, “for as long as I have lived here I still haven’t gotten used to the beauty of it all,” he hummed in reply. Finally you turn to look at him, your gaze flickering over his formal Snezhnyan suit. He had no business looking as good as he did. “Why did you really ask me out this evening?” He cocked his head, his lips quirking into a bemused grin.

“Because you’re a beautiful woman with impressive connections with the highest powers operating out of Liyue Harbor,” his voice was matter of fact. The waitress returned with the bottle of wine he’d requested, pouring two glasses and bustling away.

“I’m not an idiot, you know,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass as you waited for him to taste it first.

“And I never said you were,” he countered, taking a healthy gulp of his own wine. “So who do you work for?” You took a small sip from your glass before answering.

“Lady Keqing oversees my work for—”

“I would appreciate it if you did not insult my intelligence,” he cut you off.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you sniffed primly. The charming smile had not slipped from his face, but there was a newfound tension around his eyes.

“Come on Miss [y/n], whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in it’s nothing the Fatui can’t handle. I’m sure we can, what is it you said? ‘Come to an equitable agreement’?” His smile was soft and comforting—and entirely false.

“Just what is it you’re implying, Master Childe?” You weren’t sure exactly what it was he thought you were, but you were glad to hear he wasn’t either.

“[Y/n], hails from Wuwang Hill, father deceased, mother deceased, brother jailed for petty crimes in Fontaine—is that who it is? Your brother is being held hostage and Fontaine's struck a deal with you?” Your mouth hung open, an expression of sincere shock. Childe leaned back, hands behind his head to enjoy the fruits of his detective work.

Little did he know, your shock was not because he was right, but rather that he actually bought your Cover. Sure, [y/n] was your real name, but it was also the name of a little girl who’d gone missing during the Wuwang Hill landslide. A little bureaucratic magic was all it took to assume her identity.

“It’s okay,” his expression softened as he leaned forward again, laying one hand atop your own, “I know what it is to care for family. You would do terrible things to keep them safe…” his voice trailed off as if he were remembering his own misdeeds. “I want to help you,” his voice was earnest. He was a damn good actor.

“I… appreciate the offer,” you gulped, attempting to tug your hand away to no avail.

“...But?” he pressed you.

“But they’d kill me,” and that part wasn’t a lie.

“Snezhnya is a formidable country. We have ways of helping… people like you,” he squeezed your hand in what you assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture. It felt claustrophobic.  

“I don’t know,” you bit your lip, dropping your chin a scant inch so you could look up at him through your mascara thickened lashes. “I couldn’t possibly give you an answer right now,” he nodded, withdrawing his hand.

“I understand, of course. Take some time to think about it. The Tsaritsa is a strong Archon, you would be safe within our ranks,” you pursed your lips, hoping the tension in your face read as nervousness and not amusement. A silence fell between the two of you, though not one as uncomfortable as before. When the server arrived with your food, all seriousness bled away from Childe’s face as he thanked the young woman before refilled your wine glass.

The conversation shifted as the two enjoyed your meal. You weren’t completely at ease, but that was nothing special; you never were. Childe, having gotten his ‘proposal’ out of the way was a regular chatterbox. It was really quite impressive how much he said without revealing anything of substance.

He was a charming man, that was doubtless; his conversation skills were remarkable, he was an active listener, and his flirtations (though inappropriate, in your opinion) managed to steer clear of any touchy territory. He was beautiful, to say the least, with striking eyes and a well formed figure that would send any woman’s heart aflutter. He was the perfect Honey Trap.

But then again… so were you.

“This has been lovely, thank you,” you smiled at him with a bit more honesty than was advisable.

“Why does that sound like a goodbye?” He stepped closer into your space, his fingers grazing the delicate bone of your wrist.

“Because it is? I have to go to Master Shizhuong’s,” you backed away from him.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” he cajoled, “come take a walk with me, we could revisit that tree,” his eyebrows twitched up at the suggestive remark.

“No, thank you. Perhaps next time. I’m going to be late as it is,” you turned to leave but were halted by a hand on your elbow.

“When I asked you out tonight I didn’t just mean to dinner, [y/n].”

“That’s all well and good Master Childe, but I do have work to do. Now if you’ll excuse me—” he yanked you forward, pressing his body against yours. His lips brushed the shell of your ear and you shuddered to feel his warm breath against it.

“You don’t honestly think I’d let you out of my sight now , do you? That banquet doesn’t start for another hour at least,” there was a threat in those words, no matter how soft the tone was. You pulled back from him, shifting your features into what you hoped was a neutral expression.

“...I’m the dance coordinator. There’s a Yayue performance before the feast, I have to be there for the arrangement.” Childe’s smile was contrite and his grip on you loosened.

“Sorry, sorry, just being cautious you know,” he laughed. You huffed an incredulous sigh.

“Come on, ‘you don’t honestly think’ I’d run off to wreak havoc at a banquet immediately after your oh so considerate offer,” you tossed his turn of phrase back at him and he frowned.

“I would certainly hope not,” he brushed a stray curl out of your eyes. “See you there, then? That is if you have time for me,” he winked. Despite your better judgement you nodded your assent before making your way to the estate.

As you approached the back entrance to the mansion you let your fingers trace over the wood of the exterior until you found the right panel. As quickly and discreetly as you could manage you lifted it off its hinges and swapped the bottle that was inside with the note you’d had strapped to your upper thigh. You took a moment to lean against the building, one hand pressed against your chest. You took several deep breaths before straightening your qipao and heading inside. To any wayward onlooker it would seem as if you were merely collecting yourself. If who you thought was tailing you actually was, then you’d just solidified your cover as an indecisive and reluctant operative.

Inside the mansion you passed the dancer’s dressing room to enter Master Shizhuong’s private chambers. You removed the bottle from your bodice, dripping its contents onto the bottom edge of an ornately framed painting. Behind it lay the Master’s safe, containing valuable and important documents. Documents that you had on good authority were to be stolen by a Fontainèse spy that very evening.

You re-corked the bottle and returned to the dressing area, satisfied with your work. Launching into your Cover role you helped apply traditional makeup, tied ribbons, tightened bodices and arranged hair as the dancers gossiped amongst themselves. Ming, one of the youngest dancers of your ranks, sat quietly in the corner. You approached her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright there?” You inquired. Her large doe eyes met yours and you could see the fear in them. She nodded.

“Are you… will you still help me tonight?”

Ming had come to you the week before with a sob story about needing money to help her sick mother. She shared with you her (rather convoluted) plan to bed Master Shizhuong, then blackmail him into providing her with the necessary funds. She’d asked for your help, imploring you to distract the middle-aged politician long enough for her to ‘prepare herself’ in his chambers.

You had, of course, readily agreed. You would never turn down a chance to take out an enemy operative. You almost felt bad—almost because, frankly she just wasn’t very good at her job. Her Cover was flimsy at best and her true intention—stealing classified documents from your host—was laughably easy to suss out. You smiled gently at the girl, a warm and comforting expression.

“Of course Ming. Anything for you. Please be safe,” you hugged the younger woman and felt her tears on your neck.

“No crying now,” you murmured, wiping a tear off of her cheek. “You’ll smear your makeup. Be strong; think of your mother and be strong ,” Ming’s smile was watery, but she nodded.

This is entirely too easy .

The entertainment had gone off without a hitch (because of course it had, you were damned good at your job) and you were engaging the Master of the house in a spirited discussion on the merits of the use of Cor Lapis in the production of chopsticks. You noticed your host’s eyes drifting over to the clock and you ran your finger down the seam of his sleeve, a coy gesture. Just as you were about to switch topics you felt a hand on your back.

“If I may be so bold, I believe Noctilucous Jade to be the superior material,” Zhongli’s smooth voice cut in and you inwardly groaned.

“Yes, yes, right as always Master Zhongli,” Shizhuong nodded with enthusiasm. “But—ah, excuse me please, I’m afraid I have an urgent matter to attend to,” he bowed before beating a hasty retreat. You hoped you stalled him for long enough for the poison to take effect. You’d be very disappointed if Ming lived long enough to get any of it on your host. You actually quite liked him.

“Hello Uncle,” you smiled pleasantly, using the honorific you reserved for when he was getting on your nerves. Zhongli’s head cocked to the side.

“My my, you’re in a mood, aren’t you? I take it your sortie with our resident Harbinger was not to your liking?” You blanched.

“I—you—he told you?” Zhongli chuckled.

“Bragged about it is more like it,” Childe’s voice came from behind you as an arm snaked its way around your waist. You fought hard against your instinct to flinch away. Zhongli inclined his head in greeting and Childe returned the gesture. “And I thought we had a lot of fun, didn’t we [y/n]?” You knew you were blushing but didn’t bother to fight it.

“Yes, ah, it was quite enjoyable,” your voice wavered just the slightest. Enough so that Childe’s grip on your waist tightened a bit.

“I must admit, I did not see this particular turn of events,” Zhongli remarked, his golden eyes lingering on the fingers tapping against your hip bone. “[Y/n] has never been out with a man, not once in the five years I’ve known her.”

“Maybe I was waiting for the right one,” you grit out from your teeth clenching smile.

“ Ming !” Master Shizhuong’s startled cry was muffled, but audible. The three of you turned in unison to stare at the hallway leading to the dressing rooms.

“Ming… no ,” you gasped, attempting to break away from Childe.

“Hold on—” he started but you pushed him away.

“Ming is one of my girls, I have to— I—” you shook your head before running towards the sound of the shout. You flung open the dressing room door, stopping only for a moment. You knew Zhongli and Childe were following you and you had to make a show of searching.

“Ming!” You screamed, continuing down the hall, throwing doors open as you went. Finally you made it to the master bedroom, your hands flying up to cover your mouth as a strangled sob escaped. You sagged against the door frame, making sure to hold your position until your companions had caught up. In the bedroom Ming laid slumped against the wall, dressed in nothing but her undergarments. The picture frame had been moved and the wall safe was clearly visible. Master Shizhuong sat on the bed, head in his hands.

“Oh no, no what did they do to you?” You stumbled into the room, dropping to your knees in front of her body. You reached out, hands shaking, as if to touch her, but felt yourself being yanked away.

“Don’t,” Childe’s voice was tight. “She may have been poisoned. Don’t touch anything ,” he barked. You felt your breath hitch as tears came to your eyes. These, at least, were more genuine than the one’s Childe had previously called you on. You liked Ming, you really did—she reminded you of yourself when you first started out.

You let that kernel of truth slip through your mask as you sobbed in Childe’s arms. He ran a soothing hand through your hair, pressing your face into the crook of his neck so you couldn’t look at her corpse.

“Shh. It’s okay,” he whispered. “Zhongli, can you handle this?” He must have nodded since you found yourself being tugged to your feet.

“No. I have to—I have to help her,” you protested softly. Childe shushed you again and led you from the room. “That could have been me,” you whispered, your voice hollow.

“It could have,” your companion agreed, though not unkindly. You allowed yourself to be dragged into the adjoining study. Gentle hands prodded you into an overstuffed chair and Childe knelt on the ground in front of you.

“I’m sorry [y/n], but I have to ask—did you have anything to do with this?” You tried to breathe in but the air stuck in your throat. Wordlessly you shook your head, tears still streaming down your face. You were certain your makeup was a disaster and you regretted your choice in mascara.

“Alright. Okay. Stay here. Zhongli and I will handle the rest,” he soothed, moving to stand.

“No,” you choked out, standing as well. “No, I have twenty nine other girls out there that need me,” you sniffled, wiping away the moisture on your cheeks. Childe stared at you, his face unreadable.

“Fine. But wait for me. You’ll need an escort home tonight,” you didn‘t argue. He turned to leave and you reached out without thinking. He stilled, looking down at your joined hands.

“I’m sorry. I… thank you,” you startled at the soft brush of lips against your forehead. He said nothing in reply, sweeping out of the room in a hurry.

Report;

Things have progressed well with Agent Pisces. Target believes me to be operating under duress and has made overtures to turn me. Agent Swan has been eliminated, Millelith on high alert. Will proceed with caution.

Dead Drop at Blue House compromised, Sanitized documents have been left there, please convey a new rendez-vous point ASAP.

Operation Blowback Intercept on hold until further notice.

I await further instructions.

Swallow

[recurring-polynya]

Hey an AU request for you:

During Renruki separation what if the roles were reversed. Like if Renji gets adopted (in some rival noble clan) and Rukia is left behind. Or else if Renji is going to be executed instead of Rukia. Want to feel the angst from Rukia's POV.

Let me know if these scenarios are good enough.

Thanks as always ☺️❤️

Hello, yes, I realize this was not precisely what you were asking for, but here is a scene that has been charging me rent in my own head since at least 2019, and it’s close enough and I am using this as an excuse to get it out. Thank you for your indulgence.

The actual role swap in this scenario is what if Renji had gotten Sode no Shirayuki, a zanpakutou who embodies patience and planning and thoughtfulness, and Rukia ended up with Zabimaru, a zanpakutou who just wants to fuck shit up.

Read on ao3 or ff.net (this one felt substantial enough that I made it a standalone and also I finally had an excuse to name a fic after one of my favorite Oh Hellos songs.)

🗡️     💔     💀

The air is heavy and thick in the World of the Living. It is oppressive, as if this very plane has its own reiatsu, as if it intends to oppose their mission. It’s just a thunderstorm gathering, though, a combination of atmospheric pressure and electrical potential.

Kuchiki Renji, Lieutenant of the Sixth Division and Heir to the great and noble Kuchiki Clan would like to finish this up before they are drenched, but he isn’t optimistic.

He stands on the roof of a human house, looking down at a nearly identical residence across the street, although this one bears signage indicating that it is also a neighborhood medical clinic.

Renji cannot feel her, but he doesn’t expect to. When Rukia doesn’t want to be found, she doesn’t get found, end of story. Renji can feel the human though, the human whom Rukia has given her powers. He can’t fathom why, but all of Rukia’s ways are inscrutable, they always have been. From the morning she saved his life from an enraged water vendor to the evening she walked away from the adopted family that gave them both names and a place in the world, Renji has never understood a single thought that entered her thick skull. Even if he can’t understand her, though, she is transparent to him, predictable.

He just needs to draw her out. And that part is easy.

Byakuya says nothing. Renji has explained his logic, and Byakuya is giving him the six feet of rope he needs to hang himself. Byakuya is also inscrutable, yet predictable. Sometimes, Renji wonders how the man managed to live in the same house as Rukia for as long as he did.

“Nii-sama,” Renji says softly. Byakuya does not like being asked for reassurances, but on this point, Renji requires it. “The orders said capture or kill.”

Byakuya waits.

“Shall I strive for the first?”

Byakuya makes a tiny throat-clearing noise. “I have fulfilled my obligation to that girl. I owe her nothing. Do what is necessary.”

Byakuya would never come out and tell Renji to kill Rukia, but the message is clear enough. Despite separating herself from the family thirty years ago, a trial, a jail sentence will be an embarrassment to the Kuchiki, an exhumation of old mistakes. Rukia will always be an inkblot on Byakuya’s conscience. Byakuya has never held this against Renji, which is probably the only sign of affection his adoptive brother has ever shown him.

Renji has done nearly everything Byakuya has ever asked of him. He is an obedient brother, hardworking and respectful. He practices the family sword form, he studies the history of Soul Society, he respects his elders. He has risen in the ranks of the Gotei, he has gained his bankai, he wears the kenseikan, even though they bite into his scalp. But Renji was only adopted into the family for one reason: to ensure Rukia’s compliance, and in that, he failed.

It is time to make up for that.

Renji jumps lightly from one rooftop to the other and over the ridge of the roof. The boy’s window is on the rear side of the house. He drops down onto the windowsill. His Hell Butterfly hovers at shoulder height. “Go on,” he urges it forward, to create a passage through the wall of the house. He hopes his hunch is correct. He does not relish the idea of murdering a young human in his bed.

It is not an issue. A dark shape rips itself from the shadows, but Renji has his zanpakutou from her sheath in an instant. Instead of Zabimaru’s wicked serrations, however, he finds himself blocking the worst shakkahou he’s seen since Byakuya sent him down to Shin’ou to scout out next year’s crop of students. It’s enough to momentarily blind him, though, and he leaps down to the ground to find steadier footing.

This isn’t right. Although Rukia prefers to rely on her sword, it’s not out of her M.O. to use kidou for a sneak attack. But why bother with a distraction when she could have just blown his head off? Rukia’s kidou are rarely elegant and Renji isn’t sure she even knows the chants, but what she has is power. Or rather, what she had.

Renji scans the backyard slowly. The grass at his feet is freezing over in a slowly widening circle. Careful, careful! Sode no Shirayuki sings in his mind.

Suddenly, he feels the crackle of hainawa and he leaps out of the way just in time, flinging an avalanche of ice in the direction of his attacker. Rukia’s kick catches him in mid-air, but he blocks it with a forearm. It doesn’t ring through his bones the way it should, though.

Renji lands on his heels and skids a few feet. Rukia’s toes hit the dirt just a second after. For a moment, their eyes meet. The air is so humid, it’s thick enough to swim in.

“Abarai,” Rukia snarls, baring a sharp canine. “Of course, they would send you.” She snorts. “Scratch that, I bet you volunteered.”

Renji sneers at her, but ignores the dig at his name. “I’m impressed, Rukia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone botch a patrol mission so thoroughly.” He sheaths his sword.

Rukia barks out a laugh. “What’s this? Your sense of fairness? Gonna try to kill me with your bare hands, then?”

He’d rather not kill her at all. Byakuya will be peeved, but Renji doesn’t like the idea of running through an unarmed woman. “What is this, Rukia? You’ve given a human your full powers, haven’t you? Why?”

“It was an accident,” Rukia mumbles, her eyes darting to the side.

Renji narrows his eyes. “Where did you get that gigai?”

“A friend.”

“There was an intelligence report from the Stealth Force. A Menos showed up, just for a few minutes before it was driven back to Hueco Mundo with a sword wound. I assumed that was your doing, but you don’t seem to have a sword at the moment. Unless the Menos took that rusty piece of--”

“Fuck, Renji, don’t you ever get sick of listening to your own stupid voice?” Rukia spits, and in a second, she is on him, a blur of fists and feet.

Renji didn’t put his sword away because he thought he wouldn’t need it. He put it away because he knew that he would need two hands to deal with Rukia in hand-to-hand, even at 2% of her power, or whatever dregs she has left.

“I’m trying--” he backpedals furious, blocking blow after blow, “--to help you! I realize that your brain has probably atrophied down to the size of a walnut-- ouch! -- but doesn’t any of this seem fishy to you?”

“The only thing fishy is you questioning an order!” Rukia snaps, as Renji narrowly avoids getting his feet swept from under him. “We may not have much for brains in Eleven, but unlike the Sixth, at least we use what we’ve got!”

Suddenly, Renji manages to loop one of his arms under hers and spin her into a half-nelson. Her feet pedal furiously in mid-air. His spare hand presses her wrist against her rib cage to keep her from clawing the skin off his arm, and also to try and support her weight. “Can you breathe?” he makes sure, as he tries to figure out a way he can hold her still with one hand long enough to get a binding on her.

“Yes,” she grunts angrily. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know you’re gonna be in trouble with Nii-sama if you bring me back alive?” She spits the honorific like venom.

“You’re wrong,” Renji mutters. He hates this. He hates how stupid this is. He hates that after all this time, her stupid arrows still find their mark, every single time. “You’re wrong if you think he’s spent even a second thinking about you since you threw away everything he gave you. You’re trash to him.”

“Is that what I am to you, too?” Rukia asks archly.

“You’re--” Renji starts to say, and then hits the deck as a sword whistles through the air where his neck had been a moment before. He loses his grip on Rukia, and she rolls away, but Renji’s got more immediate problems. He shifts to a crouch, his hand loose on Sode no Shirayuki’s hilt as he scans the shadows for his assailant.

As it happens, said assailant isn’t exactly subtle. “Hey, Rukia, this guy wears the same pajamas as you. Friend of yours?”

It is the boy, the one who buzzes with reiatsu that both is and isn’t Rukia’s. He is a gangling puppy of a human being, all elbows and ears. His hair is an unnatural orange and sticks out from his head as though he has just rolled out of bed. Given the hour, perhaps he has.

“Get out of here, Ichigo, this guy isn’t a joke!” Rukia screams, and Renji realizes that she is genuinely frightened.

“He sure looks like one,” the kid, Ichigo declares, hefting his sword up onto his shoulder. It is clearly a zanpakutou, but it is absurdly large. He can barely lift the thing. “And people say my hair is a dumb color.”

“My name is Kuchiki Renji,” Renji informs him. “Assistant Captain of the Sixth Division of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. I am here to take Kuchiki Rukia, Sixth Seat of the Eleventh into custody for the crime of transferring her shinigami powers to a human. I do not wish to kill you, human, but if you interfere, I will not hesitate.”

“Wait, what?” Ichigo sputters. “Rukia, I thought your name was Inuzuri? Is this guy your brother? If so, he sure got all the height genes. I am so, so confused.”

Rukia rises to her feet. Her face is pale in the moonlight. A line of blood shines on her forehead, glassy against the black of her tattoos. “He’s my fiance.”

“Your what now?”

Renji snorts. “Former fiance.”

“I don’t recall breaking up with you!” Rukia barks.

Renji wants to laugh. He doesn’t know which is more typical Rukia-- the idea that rejecting his family and not speaking to him for thirty years would somehow not count as a break-up, or that now is somehow an appropriate time to talk about this.

There are a lot of feelings pumping through Renji’s heart, but he freezes them to ice and pushes them away. There is no room for feelings on a battlefield. “I am taking Rukia back to Soul Society. If you do not resist me, I swear to it that no harm will come to her before her trial.” Byakuya wanting Rukia dead is just a feeling, too. The Kuchiki must stand for justice, right? This is a good compromise, Renji rationalizes. I cannot kill her in cold blood in front of a witness, but if they force my hand, things happen. Surely even Byakuya would agree with this line of logic.

Ichigo’s eyes dart to Rukia. “What about after the trial? Is this, like, a thing where you pay a fine, or…?”

“I’ll be executed, most likely,” Rukia replies dryly.

Ichigo’s jaw clenches.

“You’re a valuable asset to the Gotei,” Renji corrects. “Central may be lenient.”

The two strongest young shinigami in their generation, people used to say, when Rukia and Renji entered the Sixth together. His iron nerves tempering her volatility, her fiery passion igniting his cold aloofness. The next Kyouraku and Ukitake. No wonder the Kuchiki plucked them from obscurity.

Renji doesn’t know what people say about them now. Now that he is the sole Heir to the Kuchiki. Now that she fights among the animals of the Eleventh. People’s voices go quiet at his approach. Byakuya says it isn’t wise to listen to gossip in any case.

“Hmmm,” Ichigo shifts his sword to an attack stance. “I don’t like the sounds of those odds. I think maybe I’ll just beat your ass instead.”

“Ichigo, move!” Rukia starts, but Renji has heard the words he needs to hear.

Renji’s favorite parts of the Kuchiki sword form are the quick draw techniques. He is not as fast as Byakuya, but he is very, very fast, and his reach is better. In an instant, he has closed the distance between himself and the boy. Maybe it was a lucky reflex or maybe it was Rukia’s warning, but Ichigo manages to get that huge sword up just in time to avoid having his chest sliced open. Renji’s assault is merciless. If it weren’t for the stupid power limiter, which Renji isn’t used to, he’s sure he would have cracked the boy’s zanpakutou clear in half. Despite her appearance, Sode no Shirayuki is not a delicate sword and Renji swings her with the inevitability of a glacier.

As Ichigo backpedals, his foot catches on a loose paver, and he stumbles. Renji raises his arm, preparing to deliver the killing blow, when suddenly, a knee in his back punches the air from his lungs, and his elbow is jerked forcibly backwards.

“NOW!” Rukia’s voice bellows in Renji’s ear.

The stumble was a feint, because Ichigo is Rukia’s student, and of course she has taught him all her dirty tricks. Renji realizes he has made the mistake of thinking he could beat Rukia, just because she has no powers and no zanpakutou. She still knows him better than anyone, though. She knows his moves and she knows what a rank fool he is. As Ichigo’s sword plunges towards his stomach, Renji flares his reiatsu as best as he can, and hopes Rukia’s pet human isn’t strong enough to pierce it.

But before the blow lands, Ichigo’s eyes widen. He lets out a gurgle and falls sideways.

“Renji,” says Captain Kuchiki. “What is taking so long?”

It seems as though time is standing still, except that the pool of blood surrounding Ichigo’s prone form is growing, growing.

“No,” Rukia murmurs. “No, no, no.” Suddenly, her feet scrabble up Renji’s back, and she launches herself off of his shoulders. “You!!” she screams.

There is nothing she can do to Byakuya. Her hands glow with raw kidou, but she is weak. It is the desperate, useless move of a cornered animal.

Renji knows that animal instincts are useless, which is why he has trained every day to eradicate them. To ignore his fear, to replace his body’s natural reflexes with the kata of his sword form. So even though he knows Rukia’s attack is hopeless, he cannot help but react to an attack against his Clan Head.

Rukia hits the ground next to Ichigo with a dull thump.

Her body is wrapped in the glowing chains of hainawa.

Renji’s hand shakes, his breathing is heavy.

Rukia is screaming filthy obscenities at both of them.

Byakuya regards Renji silently. His eyes linger on Renji's sword, naked in his hand. A different reflex, and there would be two corpses on the ground.

“She should face trial, Nii-sama,” Renji says softly. “If we do not uphold justice, who shall?”

“The law, Renji,” Byakuya corrects him. “We uphold the law.” He jerks his head at the screaming woman on the ground. “Pick her up. Others are coming and you will only become more sentimental if I am forced to kill additional humans.”

Renji kneels and gathers Rukia in his arms. She does not make it easy, probably in hopes that he will toss her over his shoulder instead of this humiliation, but she is the brute, not him. He will not give her the satisfaction.

As Renji narrowly avoids a headbutt, though, he realizes that this is not merely a display of defiance. It is a distraction. “Nii-sama,” he says as he straightens up, “I do not think the human is dead.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Byakuya sighs. “I have severed his hakusui and saketsu. Even if he survives the wound, he will be powerless, and Rukia’s power should return to her.”

Byakuya considers his lieutenant’s full arms for a moment, makes a disgusted face, and then draws his sword to open the senkaimon home himself.

While Byakuya’s attention is turned, Rukia leans into Renji’s, her breath hot on his jaw. “I will kill him for this,” she spits in his ear. “And if you get in my way, I will kill you too.”

“Then we are enemies,” Renji replies quietly, “since I am sworn to protect him.”

The first fat drops of rain begin to fall from the sky.