#i am so sorry i couldn't resist

[greencheekconure27]

Ok now I really want a remake/alternate version of "Иван Васильевич меняет профессию" (1973) but with princess Olga and set in 21st century Kyiv instead.

[kairokust]

Strange crossovers time let's gooo-

[itzzaira]

Hey! This is TMNT: Children of the Sky Mikey and Leo from Cabin 16 with a survey: who's the most artistic member of your AU/iteration's family?

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Mikey smiled brightly. None of his brothers were around right now- Michelangelo and Leo had been driving Raphael insane while Donnie and Raph slept. He had no idea where Donatello had gone-

And Mikey had been the first person to hear they would be holding a craft fair.

A.

Craft.

Fair.

He had only woken up a couple days ago and this was the absolute best thing he could wake up to!! Well, other than Leo being alive- that had been a tad bit nicer.

Right now, he was looking at this mini-version of himself and his brothers- so tiny!! So adorable! And they looked so cool!!! -and the box turtle couldn't help but notice that none of his counterparts had stickers. Ohhh he should make stickers during the fair and give them to all versions of himself! Because he was nice like that.

"Hey! We're taking a survey! Who's your most artistic family member?"

"Come on, there's gotta be other artistic Leo's right?"

Well. If the destruction Leo could cause in a kitchen counted, consider him the biggest artist of all. But alas.

Mikey hated to disappoint this tiny version of his brother, but not his fault Leo just didn't have it. He smiled sweetly, holding out his hand. "Well-"

-only for the limb to immediately cramp up, muscle freezing and spasming, his fingers getting stuck in that position and ow-

"Ow!" He hissed, immediately pulling his back to squeeze it with his (thankfully pain-free) other hand. He saw the concerned expressions on the other turtles, but smiled anyway. "I'm fine, this is fine-"

Was it?

This was new.

Granted, the mystic scars were new altogether, and they had ached, that was true. But the random pain as soon as he moved his hand was new.

He tried to flex his fingers- nope, fingers didn't respond.

He tried to move his arm- nuh-uh, hurt, ow ow ow-

He couldn't- his hand was stuck.

Slowly, the pain faded away. Mikey opened his eyes that he had apparently closed, then slowly, carefully, let go of his arm. It still tingled, but it didn't hurt anymore. That was... odd.

"Are you okay?" The other Mikey asked again, relaxing and smiling again once they saw the pain fading away- this time, however, the box turtle didn't smile. He looked confused.

Surely, if something was wrong with his hands, Donnie would have found it by now?

Like, okay, he thought, as he held his arm a bit closer to his face. He couldn't move his fingers still. The muscles were cramped, and it bothered him, and his hands were hard to use sometimes, that is true- but he was still the artist of the family! That was his thing! Even if his hands hurt, and they cramped up, and wouldn't... move...

No!

Okay, sure, he hadn't exactly drawn ever since he woke up from his coma, but talent doesn't just disappear!

Who needs hands to draw anyway?! Mikey didn't! He just struggled to hold stuff, dropped items all the time and couldn't touch anyone other then his brothers or else it hurt! That wouldn’t stop...

...

A look of horror appeared on his face as the realization sunk in.

You need working hands to make art.

Currently, Mikey's hands shook so much that he hadn't even been able to hold his own cup so he could have a drink. It had taken him three tries back home before he had been able to grab a spoon to eat ice cream, only to immediately drop it afterward. He didn't even want to imagine the chaos of holding paints would cause.

He... wouldn’t be able to draw anymore? The one thing he was good at? He wouldn’t be able to do anything anymore?!

As if failing to open the portal- twice- wasn't enough! He fails to open a portal, he had help from Donnie and Raph and still couldn't keep it open. He isn't smart, he's not quiet, he's definitely not the best ninja and most certainly wasn't the leader-

He cooked. He made art. That was the one thing he was good for.

Mikey's breath hitched. In cold horror, he stared at his bandaged hands.

His shaking, ugly, useless hands.

What good was he for if he couldn't make art?

Well. The answer was simple. He wasn't. Just lime how he couldn't protect Leo, or Raph, or Donnie- not to mention, his stupid hands caused this pain to his family.

His hands were the reason Michelangelo and Donatello had burnwounds.

His hands were the reason Leonardo cracked his shell open getting thrown against a wall.

His hands were the reason the Purple Dragons were even able to hurt them so bad.

His hands were the reason they lost Raph and caused him to go savage-

His hands were the reason Leo was lost.

His ears rang.

Ever since he was little 'But at least I can do art' he had told himself. 'I may not be smart, or strong, but I can cook. I can make art. That's my talent. No one else's. Mine.'

...But it wasn't his talent anymore, was it?

"Mikey?" He snapped out of it when the other Leo called his name- ohh the kids looked terrified. Crap. Oh no. "Are you okay?"

"Raph." He answered quickly, the haunted look on his face disappearing, trying to look happy again as he lowered his arms, unable to meet their gaze. "Uhm- not my Raph. Raphael. The angry box turtle with a crack in his carapace. He's the most artistic family member." Because Mikey sure as heck wasn't. Not anymore.

"Is something-"

"I gotta go." He didn't want to scare these kids any more than he already had, so Mikey smiled as brightly as he could manage, turned around, heart pounding as he tried to run- but stumbled instead, as fast as he could, away from there.

He shouldn't bring his stupid hands and ruin the craft fair.

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

[tiredassmage]

something something, back to the beginning with 7.5, something something spend nearly half your life doing something, something memories, something totally probably not at all actually related to the plot of the patch, but something something excuse for me to write cheesy flirt lines-- self-indulgent as hell little brainworm of an exchange that may or may not actually happen but i sure as hell had fun putting tyr through it xD loosely inspired by the premise of returning to hutta for 7.5 and name-dropping one of the new characters, so technically some kind of spoilers but. obvs we don't know much and this is just. deeply, deeply self-indulgent fun on my part for now, lol. [but that kind of stuff is under the cut, if that is important to your reading choices <3]

“We have been to Hutta before,” Vector recalls. They step up to the agent’s shoulder as Tyr leans into the doorway, cocking one foot over the other.

Tyr grunts, “Somehow.., I’m inclined to doubt much has changed in…” A grimace starts to pull the agent’s features tighter around his eyes, as if counting the years might make the aches settle deeper. “Oh, twenty years, almost.., isn’t it?”

Vector hums thoughtfully. “Much has changed, agent,” they remind gently, “But… not so much, all the same, we concur.” They watch the agent’s eyes scan the distant swamp for a moment, noting the restless toy of his hands along the fit sleeves of the overcoat he wears.

They recall a saying on the ways of old habits…

“We suppose not all things can improve with age.”

A sharp, loud huff leaves their companion. Vector begins to smile. It’s enough to still Tyr’s hands - they instead fold together across his waist, supporting the agent’s lean. Out of the corner of their eyes, Tyr’s own narrow as they turn on him, mockingly accusatory.

“Vector Hyllus… I’m going to assume good faith.”

“Of course, agent,” they reply. Their smile widens under the mounting suspicion. “We have known plenty to admire a fine vintage.”

Tyr doesn’t quite manage to choke back a bark of laughter beneath a hand flying up to his mouth, nor does it entirely conceal his smile and the brush of color that enters his cheeks. Vector mercifully turns their eyes back out to the smog-hugged buildings awaiting them. Shortly, Tyr clears his throat. “You know I prefer Kaasi brandy myself.”

“Of course. You’ve always had a most enlightening taste, agent.”

Tyr coughs lightly and shakes his head. “Ah… right. So.”

“So,” Vector allows. “We… are not familiar with this… ‘Yusinduu,’ agent. It will be our first time in the district.”

“Right.” And just like that, a familiar lighting bolt clarity clears Tyr’s eyes. He pushes off from the doorway and waves Vector down the ramp with him, sweeping his jacket over the holsters at his hips. “Stay close, for now. If Hutts are reliable for anything, it’s an eye for profitable motives-”

Even that brief smile was well worth the diversion. They follow after the Commander, tucking their hands into their pockets.

“Do you think there is any relation, agent?”

Tyr begins to frown - a familiar brush of durasteel and the first gasp of rain-heavy air from the horizon. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” he says.

His eyes skim the edges of the streets over Vector’s shoulders. “You know, I think you owe me a drink-” A cover for the agent’s sentiment to find a place to observe the local hum.

He claps a hand to Vector’s shoulder with a grin, eyes clear of the aged rhythms thrumming in battle-tested veins, no doubt. His fingers squeeze carefully around their shoulder and his voice drops for only a moment, “If I know anything about Hutta, it’s that we’re all good for someone… for the right price.” Stay close. Stay vigilant.

Tyr’s eyes face forward again, easily slipping through unfamiliar streets - enough heaviness in forward steps to keep their path clear and draw only the barest of curious glances. New faces on Hutt-controlled streets aren't uncommon. Nine wants them just under the radar. For now.

“Let’s see who we should be today, hm?”

[insert-the-4thwall-entity]

*Discovers @2talltales's existence*

Huh, cool. What a neat looking g/t-ish undertale au.

*Sees that one commissioned animation of Pipe and Cherry*

*Gets reminded of @raisa-drawz's old ass Amino acc and that one suspiciously similar animation of hers*

HEY WAIT A SECOND -

[the-fluffiest-trainer]

FUCK YEAH!!!!

I... what?

I just found out I got murdered and you're cheering? What is wrong with you?

Me, my friends, all of us, blasted into oblivion by that monster Tirek, and who knows how many ponies after us! Everypony else already tried fighting him – the royal guard, the Wonderbolts, everypony, and they all failed! And that was when he was weaker! My friends and I were the last resort after every other option was gone, and we failed too, and you think this is a time to say fuck yeah?

Sun and stars. You're as much of a monster as he is.

[sparky-is-spiders]

Title!

there was teeth in their kiss

Okay so I won't lie, this one really got away from me. I had like three different ideas and I was like "I'll just write a really short scene for all of them!!" only for the "really short scenes" to get... progressively longer. Oops?

I have two Lizardverse fics and one TMA (JE) fic. Because I don't want my Lizardverse stuff showing up in the JE tag and it's also The Longest One, so you can check the notes of this post to read it.

Also gonna be real I wrote these at ass-o-clock at night and Did Not Edit them, so.......

Oh shoot wait warnings! They only apply to the second one (you can stop reading at (Amaldyne)).

Body horror/mouth horror (mild?)

Non-consensual touching (non-sexual/non-romantic, but I figured I should still warn for it just in case)

(Send me a fic title!)

(Important Lizardverse Context (TM): The Overseer is a creature called a Grotle (think ankylosaurus but bigger, spikier, and omnivorous). He's also a very dangerous necromancer. His real name is Mihzarch (pronounced Miz-ark), and these are used somewhat interchangeably. Leoshgon wields a sword called the Godslayer sword. It's a very deadly semi-sentient sword that's bonded to his soul. He's also a Noctar (a much smaller, fuzzier mammal species.))

(Leoshgon) The Overseer liked to put his teeth to Leoshgon's throat. It happened in the night, mostly, when Leo was curled against Mihzarch's heavily plated body, throat bared in offering for the Overseer to do as he would. He was always very gentle, of course, and very careful. As if Leo was a priceless, fragile heirloom, not the most dangerous weapon in the world. But there was a pressure there, and Leo could feel the shape of the teeth even through his mane: the wide, shearing ones in the back; the broad conical incisors in the front, wet with saliva and dreadfully cold. The puff of chilled breath sent shivers down Leo's spine. Leo wasn't sure he liked the sensation, really. It was uncomfortably damp, for one, and also sort of boring to be held in place for so long (aside from that brief spike of fear, which really wasn't fair to Mihzarch at all, because the Godslayer Sword was the real danger here, but- that wasn't the point anyway). But he always bared his neck willingly. And when those massive jaws closed so sweetly around his throat, he leaned into it. And then Mihzarch would let out a happy rumble that sang through Leoshgon's entire body, and all would be well.

(Important Lizardverse Context (TM): Amaldyne is currently a (semi) unwilling servant of the ever-starving god of hunger. Eityr is weirdo freak bestie who want her to become as powerful as possible. Their relationship is. Uh. Weird. Amaldyne is a dragon becoming something More, Eityr is a Noctar)

(Amaldyne) "Show me." Amaldyne didn't look up when Eityr entered the room, nor did she turn to face her. In fact, she did not acknowledge Eityr's presence in any way at all. No matter. Eityr would not be so easily dissauded. Amaldyne's desk was strewn about with massive tomes and piles of documents and about a dozen bits of charcoal. It was as if some great beast of parchment had been savaged and slain atop it, and Amaldyne was trying to read the future in its bones. With a flick of her wrist and a stretch of her power, Eityr relocated them all to the floor, then hopped up onto the now-cleared metal. Amaldyne slowly raised her head to look at her with exhausted irritation written plainly all over her snout. "I want to see," Eityr said, "so show me." "Show you what?" the words were accompanied by a hiss of displeasure, but Amaldyne's wings remained loose and relaxed by her side. Unhappy, but willing to indulge. Were it anyone else, Eityr would find that infuriating. "Something happened, didn't it? There's something-" 'wrong' wasn't the right word. Whatever it was, it must surely be the opposite of 'wrong,' but Eityr struggled to think of an alternate descriptor. "Something happened to you, and I want to see it. Show me." Amaldyne nudged her down off the desk. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Eityr, and I don't have time to engage your every childish whim either, so please-" Sick of waiting and on a whim, Eityr grabbed at Amaldyne's lower jaw and yanked downwards. It split right down the middle, and the insides were coated with teeth that had not been there only a moment ago. Amaldyne let out a proper snarl then, shock intermingled with an animalistic rage. Her tail was poised to strike, stinger gleaming in the low light. But the tell-tale glow of dragonsflame never touched her throat, and so Eityr felt comfortable in running a paw along the seam where Amaldyne's mouth had split. No venomous fangs sank into her fur and no bite crushed the strength from her writs. Of course not. Amaldyne had always been content to let Eityr do as she would, why should this be any different? After a moment, Amaldyne pulled away. Her jaw clicked back together, and she watched Eityr through slitted, appraising eyes. "Satisfied?" She asked? Eityr saw no reason to lie. "No."

[pearly--rose]

Is there something in that those who made it to the Battle of Winterfell were the true knights (warriors) of the show? The others (Loras, Oberon) couldn’t fight the honorable fight?

Ok this is probably a WAY longer answer than you're looking for. I do really like that idea, but it's hard for me to analyze the decisions the show made only because I don't think the showrunners ever really understood GRRM's vision of Westeros, so I'm not sure they ever thought about it that deeply. I think once they ran out of material from GRRM and had to start making up stuff on their own, they just kept around whichever fan favorites were still alive because it would be fun to have them all in the big battle. So I don't really think they were approaching things with such a nuanced view.

I think Oberyn's story ended where it did not necessarily because he wasn't a worthy warrior, but to show the futility of revenge (they were still using GRRM's material at that point) and as for Loras...well I really disagree with the show's characterization of Loras. I think they just didn't know what to do with him. (As far as we know, Loras is still alive in the books. I might be misremembering, but I don't think he's even ever arrested by the High Sparrow, because he's stuck on Dragonstone ~allegedly dying~ after being injured in battle.)

In the books at least, Brienne is the only character embodying that ideal of the "true knight" even though by the rules of her society, she can never actually become one (by virtue of being a woman.) And events in The Winds of Winter--if it ever gets written--will challenge those knightly ideals for her. She's already starting to go through that by the end of A Feast for Crows, in being forced to choose between her vow to Catelyn and her belief in (and love) for Jaime.

What GRRM shows us in the books is that even with the best of intentions, it's almost impossible to live up to those ideals when the system that sets them is corrupted to begin with. Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard were all considered "true knights" of their time, but this was characterized by blindly following the commands of their king, no matter how immoral those commands were. Jaime Lannister broke his Kingsguard vows and killed his king in order to prevent him from killing everyone in King's Landing, and he's reviled for it. His idol, Arthur Dayne, will be remembered as a truer knight than Jaime ever was, even though he stood by and watched as Aerys burned Rickard and Brandon Stark. So much of knighthood in GRRM's story is an exploration of the rigidity of vows. Is a vow worth keeping if it doing so would be immoral?

[honestlyautomaticchaos]

I apologize in advance for the end of this post. When I learn to edit videos, I will make a complete video of this (this is a threat). Based on Lower Your Expectations by Bo Burnham.

You want a guy that's sweet, a guy that's tough,

A feminist who likes to pay for stuff

The kind of guy who gets along with your friends without being attracted to any of them

A good boy,

A bad boy,

A good bad boy,

A half good, half bad,

half boy

[mystiika]

@brxkenbeta asked: Blood (sender cleans blood off of receiver) From whoever your feeling to whoever your feeling! meme: actions speak louder than words

he both liked & hated training with derek. he understood at his core why the alpha was as hard on the trio as he was, but isaac found the constant influence of negative reinforcement made it ever so difficult to appreciate the grueling process. not that he couldn't at all, especially considering he became a werewolf to gain the power to protect himself — & knew that this was the fastest way to get there. this time it was hand to hand combat, leaving him bloody & bruised, albeit not quite so long with the latter but still. so there he sits with erika before him, wiping away the blood from his face where derek had hit so hard it broke skin as isaac rubbed along the arm that was in the midst of healing from the bone's nasty bruise; still aching from the blow he'd blocked with it ( & he leans down some, making it easier for erika to reach given the height difference even while seated ).

thankfully there was no sting accompanying the pressure of the wet cloth to his skin, but her touch was gentle all the same ( a fact he appreciated in silence ). ❝ you know you don't have to do this, i can clean up on my own. ❞ its a bit quiet, clearly a little embarrassed at his current skill level. granted he was improving & lasting longer in the fight each time, but it seemed that as he did, derek only seemed to hit him harder, faster. ❝ —but thanks anyway. ❞ 

sure, he was much stronger now, able to hold his own well enough to survive where it counted. but despite having a pack to rely on he still felt terribly lonely in it. boyd made it clear he had little interest in befriending him, & derek obviously wasn't there to be a friend or confidant. erika, however, took the time to actually get to know him, even if they'd barely even known of each other before everything happened to bring them together. & while he couldn't imagine fully opening up to her, to let her in to the turmoil the world had & continued to put him through, she was still the only one he'd been able to relax around — to feel like he wasn't a burden or an inconvenience. & he wondered if she knew, if she was aware of how much their growing closeness seemed to put him at ease.

then he closes his eyes as she dabs along his brow, leaning into the touch ever so slightly without his awareness of the fact. it was less so about it being erika behind it, but rather the concept of a touch made through kindness was so unfamiliar to him.

[askdacast]

[multifandomaceflux]

I must add that when I was looking for the pics I stumbled across this:

.

.

.

Jeremy Berett

It's Sherlock Holmes. But it's French.

[royalphantompain]

*artistically stares at you*

Erm, this you?

[heavenlyborne]

"Remember, the bonds of sisterhood can be tested; but never broken." The raven hair boldly proclaimed with her pinky finger up to the other.

Shalria stares at Layla's offered hand with an icy gaze, not moving a muscle. She notices how the older woman's smallest finger was extended, the digit crooked slightly as though offering to do something... but what? Holding hands? How uncouth. Her delicate feature twist into a pitying expression as she lifts her head up high, haughty as she was cold. "Are you offering me your finger? This custom seems so very... human." That was the trouble when one wasn't privileged enough to live within the Holy Land. Bonds of Sisterhood? Most unbecoming of a Celestial Dragon!

[thevagabondexpress]

Belial-possessed James Herondale, my brother, I am so sorry. Ellen Terry did it first, and did it better.

(Ellen Terry As Lady Macbeth, John Singer Sargent, 1889)

[kanerallels]

Hilletti + Star Wars AU

This got. Very long and I shall not apologize for it. What I shall do is put it up on AO3, and put some of it under the cut!

In hindsight, it should have been obvious, really.

Even when they were running earlier, even with blaster fire zipping past them, Emma couldn’t help but think it. And now, in the quiet of the ship, as they slipped through hyperspace, she could see the pieces clicking together, the ones she should have seen earlier.

“I didn’t actually grow up with my family— we were separated when I was younger. I met them when I was seventeen.”

His charming grin, the charisma that softened even the hardest of scowls. Even the ones that Emma had thought would be impossible to charm. His impossibly quick reflexes, from the moment they first met. The way he seemed to guess things before they happened, which he’d just passed off as intuition. “I’m a bartender, remember?” he’d told her. “You’ve got to know people in my line of work.”

You’ve got to know them in mine, too, she thought. Look how that turned out.

But all the same, she’d never once looked at all these little inconsistencies twice. Never once really wondered why his sister had given her more than a few suspicious glances, or why his parents had dropped a conversation quickly when she’d come into the room. She’d figured it was just a thing about her job. There were more than a few people out there who didn’t trust the Empire, and who trusted the ISB even less.

But this… this had never entered her mind. Not until he’d come to her on her way to work, stopped her before she could go inside.

“They’re going to kill you, Em. They know you’ve been working that case, the one they told you to drop.”

“How?” she’d demanded. “How do you know that?”

The hesitation in his eyes had only been there for a moment before he said, “Because I’m involved with it. And because I’ve seen this before.”

“What does that mean?”

He hadn’t had a chance to respond before his eyes widened, and he was tackling her to the ground just in time to avoid a blaster bolt. The next second a squad of stormtroopers were converging on them, and he was pulling out a weapon Emma had seen only a very few times before, igniting it into a blade of yellow light.

Charlie Nicoletti was a Jedi.

They’d barely made it out alive. Every time Emma was sure they were out of ways to escape, Charlie had found something else, some way of distracting the troopers or slipping through a door she hadn’t even known existed. He was good at this, she’d noted through a haze of shock and pain from the blaster bolt that had grazed her arm. But then, he’d have to be. He’s hidden from the Empire this long, after all. He’s lied to everyone around him, including me for this long.

When they’d stumbled onto the ship— a tiny shuttle, tucked away in a bay out of sight. Emma still didn’t know or care where it had come from— Charlie had steered her to one of the seats and headed for the cockpit, telling her to wait. That he’d explain everything as soon as they were safe. As soon as she was safe, Emma remembered. 

And for whatever reason, she’d listened to him. So here she was, clutching the side of the bench she sat on hard enough that it left grooves in her palms, trying to distract herself from the burn of her blaster wound and the headache pounding a stake through her temple. And from the awful truth that relentlessly came back to mind, again and again.

Charlie is a Jedi.

The man she’d told that she loved only a day earlier, the man who’d taught her sign language and sleight of hand, who had caught her interest from the moment they met in that bar a few months earlier. He was a Jedi, a fugitive from the Empire. A traitor.

More importantly than that, he was a criminal. If he was involved in Emma’s case— a case about the death of an important Imperial official, badly covered up, and the Maguire crime family who she was pretty sure had killed him in the first place— then there was so, so much more Charlie had lied to her about.

Maybe after all this time, she should have expected it. But that didn’t prevent the pain, which ran through her worse than the wound on her arm, when she thought about it.

How was she ever supposed to trust him again?

“Emma?”

Her gaze moved up at the sound, and met his clear hazel eyes. She’d thought they were beautiful since the first time she’d really noticed them, how expressive and warm they were. Right now, they were dark with concern. “You’re hurt,” he said quietly, nodding at her arm.

It isn’t the arm that hurts, she wanted to say, it’s the fact you lied to me. It’s the fact that you’re a criminal and a traitor to everything I stand for, and you knew it this whole time. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. We should take care of that.”

Emma considered arguing with him, but decided to let that particular battle go. She sat and watched him dig through compartments until he located the first aid kit, then sat down facing her on one of the loose crates stacked here and there. “Can I?” he asked, nodding towards her arm.

There was a part of her that wanted to do it herself, to push him away. But the more practical side reminded her that this would be the perfect opportunity to question him, figure out exactly what she was dealing with. Which was definitely something she needed. So she nodded her consent.

Scooting a little closer, Charlie helped her roll up the sleeve, revealing the wound. It was an ugly burn, still oozing blood a little, and Emma saw Charlie’s mouth set in a hard line.

Pulling out a wad of gauze, he doused it in a clear liquid, saying, “I’m gonna clean it out— it’s gonna sting a little, though.”

“You’re a Jedi.”

She saw Charlie pause, just for a heartbeat, at her matter of fact words. Then he shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Emma felt a hysterical laugh push its way out of her mouth. “You pulled out a lightsaber, Charlie. How does that make you not exactly a Jedi?”

“Left when I was a kid,” he said steadily, dabbing at the wound. Emma winced a little at the sting as he continued, “I was found older than most kids. Gave it a shot for a couple years, but in the end I went back to my family. That was right before the Clone War started, so I was luckier than most.”

Emma hissed as the gauze grazed a particularly tender spot, and Charlie pulled back a little. “Sorry. Okay, bandage time.”

After spraying some bacta spray onto the burn, he started to wrap a bandage around her arm, his hands deft and gentle. As he pinned the end in place, he said, “That’s not all you want to ask me, though, is it?”

“No,” Emma said. “It’s not. You’re the one working for the Maguires, aren’t you?” Which could mean… that you used me. That I was a means to an end. 

A shadow of pain crossed Charlie’s face as he sat back, and Emma felt a flicker of disappointment at the space between them. There was a part of her that still wanted to hold him close, and she pushed that part down.

“I am— but it’s not what you think. None of it is what you think, Emma.” 

“You’re going to have to be a lot more convincing than that,” Emma told him flatly, folding her arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve— you’ve been watching me. For Daphne and the Maguires.”

“No,” Charlie said immediately. “No— I didn’t even know you were involved until recently. But I heard Daphne talking about how you were getting too close to the truth, and your bosses knew it. They couldn’t let that happen.”

“I— what?”

Charlie let out a long sigh, running his hand through his hair. “This is… complicated. All of it. Listen, I promise I’ll tell you the truth soon—”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for that now?” Emma snapped, unable to hold herself back. Because she’d done it again— she’d tried to trust someone and it had blown up in her face. And it had hurt even worse this time, somehow.

The pain in Charlie’s eyes should have made her feel better. “I understand if you don’t,” he said. “But I’m telling you this to save you, Emma. Not to trap you or deceive you more. You’re an ISB agent— I could get myself, my family into a lot of trouble by telling you the truth. But I will. I owe you the truth.”

“It’s a little late for that now,” Emma said.

“Yeah,” Charlie said quietly. “I know.” A beat passed before he rose to his feet. “I gotta make some calls up in the cockpit— I’ll be back in a minute, and I’ll explain everything then. I promise. And… I’m sorry, Emma. I am.”

He left before she could respond, not that she knew what she would have said. Emma was a mess of confusion and pain and anger, all capped by the knowledge that Charlie had intervened to save her.

So what next?

She had no idea. Curling up on her seat, Emma pressed her eyes shut against tears, and tried to pretend she lived in a world where this hadn’t happened. Where Charlie’s voice in the next room didn’t send a pang of sorrow through her, and where she could still trust the man she loved.

For a few heartbeats, it almost worked.