#mateys you have no idea how much I love this

[hussyknee]

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

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[smicksstuff]

welcome to the land down under. home to the poisonous snakes and many creepy crawlies. piping hot tea has been spilt, its brown liquid staining everything it touches. can yn wash the stain away or has become part of who she is ?

The Pitbox Crew Series

read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 here

Upside Down, Inside Out

(f1drivers x yngasly)

⚠️ warnings: alcohol consumption, fighting, swearing, cyber bullying.

a/n: this is a work of fiction. i do not encourage this behaviour. also i apologise for the google translate french and spanish. please ignore the typos, i will edit them soon.

meanwhile on twitter .....

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ynusername

Melbourne

liked by pierregasly, paulgasly, isahernaez and 739, 728 others.

ynusername im speechless. i have no idea what race i have just watched 😭😭😭

view 780 comments

scuderiapedrogaseoso i hope pierre is okay !!

yngaslyfans that race was a nightmare but you are still slaying in the paddock

gaslyfc can’t believe i woke up for this race !! all my guys are out ����😭

formula1girls can we take a moment to appreciate the content provided by yn. girl gave us so many bts to cure our broken heats 💔🥺

formulauno her and danny ric !! we need more of them !!!

spicychilli i mean can we appreciate her and carlos too!!

piastrigirls miss gurl giving love to all the boys!! she and oscar is an unexpected duo. 🧡

oscarpiastri matey you need to learn how to send the photos 😐

yngasly i’ll send it now ! i promise 🤞🏼

oscarpiastri ill believe when i get it 😑

mickschumacher you post all this but not you surfing 🤔

yngasly you promised not to talk about it 🥺

mickschumacher just you wait till your birthday 😁

yngasly thats a threat !!! @pierregasly micky is threatening me with the surf pics 😠

pierregasly @mickschumacher i have more embarrassing ones, i will bring them to the next race for you 😝

yngasly HEY!!!! STOPPP

mickschumacher thats awesome! cant wait!!

pierregasly what are big bros for ❤️

f1fans i like how she is ignoring the obvious! why haven’t you acknowledged the tweets yet!!!!

username7 girl you already did all the shit why are you scared to admit it ?

yngaslyfc omg i made it! You made my year! can't believe I got to meet you.

liked by yngasly and 67 others

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f1tea

liked by f1fans, username8, f1fanatics and 6,789 others

f1tea Pierre arrived in the paddock at 8.30am this morning. Melbourne walk was booming with fans having 1 last chance to get their merch signed by their favourite racers.

In non-driver news, the Gasly Princess - Yn Gasly arrived to the paddock at 9.00am alongside Joris Trouche and Charles Leclerc. As they walked through the Melbourne Walk, loud jeering and boos could be heard from the fans. Many were telling her to stay away from Formula 1 and its drivers.

Upon hearing the jeering and boos, Charles Leclerc alongside other drivers Alex Albon, George Russell and Lando Norris who were present at Melbourne Walk proceeded to try and defend their friend yn however their efforts were not enough.

Joris Trouche then took Yn tight in his grip and entered the paddock quick. Sources from inside the paddock say that Yn was in tears and Joris proceeded to walk with her to the Alpine Motorhome. Throughout the Race Day, Yn was not seen as much in the paddock.

What are your thoughts ? Does Yn deserve the backing of the drivers? Let me know in the comments

view 789 comments

f1fans She had this coming.

username8 hate to break it to you but after what she did, how could they not boo her.

username7 she is a bad influence in the paddock. she should be removed.

lordperceval Yall HAVE TO STOP !! this is cyber bullying.

chillichicas i agree! she doesn’t deserve this. yall dont have to like her but at least acknowledge she is human too

spicylovers she isnt your human punching bag

quadrantmania for petes sake. she is just a kid trying to support her big brother at races and yall are coming at her like she committed a huge crime.

landounited lando should ditch her! he doesnt need friends like her

landino and who are you to decide who lando can be friends with

pedromyman what she did was to herself. It does not affect anyone of yall. You dont like it, dont follow her. I for one do not want her to disappear from the paddock again.

vroomvroom why are the drivers even trying to defend her. im sure their teams will not support it.

estiebestie she should just leave. she is not that important anyways.

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yngasly

liked by isahernaez, pierregasly, landonorris and 567, 903 others

yngasly i thought i would come here and address the information circulating online about me.

view 893 comments

pierregasly ❤️❤️❤️

charles_leclerc Ma petite sœur toujours ❤️ (translation: My little sister always)

lancestroll always gonna be here for you 💚

isahernaez ¡Mi mejor amigo! Estoy muy orgulloso de lo lejos que has llegado. ¡Siempre estaré aquí para ti! Te quiero. ❤️ (translation: My best friend! I am very proud of how far you have come. I will always be here for you! I love you.)

chloestroll love you baby ❤️

landonorris you can try to get rid of me but you will fail 🙃🧡

yngaslyfans i may not know you personally but im always gonna stand up for you. we all make mistakes in life. its what we do after that- the learning from it that matters the most.

paulgasly ❤️

arthur_leclerc Si heureux que tu sois de retour ! Tu m'as toujours eu ! ❤️ (translation: So happy that you're back! You will always have me!)

carlossainz55 Estoy muy feliz de llamarte mi familia ❤️ (translation: I'm very happy to call you my family)

estebanocon so proud of you 😃

alpinef1team we are proud of you Yn ! you will always have our love and support 💙💙💙

scuderiaferrari one of the strong ones ❤️

lewishamilton so proud of you kid! like i told you in the paddock “dont let the noise discourage you. they dont know who you really are!” ❤️

fernandoalo_official my kid 💚

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pierregasly

liked by yngasly, charles_leclerc, f1, alpinef1team and 1,465,010 others

pierregasly Yn Julianna Gasly. My relationship with my baby sister is one of the most important in my life.

From all the pizza parties to celebrate karting wins and her football school team wins, to fighting over the PS3 controllers, to not talking to each other for months, we have gone through it all.

Yn has always been on my side through the thick and thin. At every race she be at the garage or along the fence cheering me on! (charles and anthoine too but thats beside the point) Good day or Bad Day she always made sure she was there for me. She even ditched playdates to travel with Maman to watch me race.

Anthoine’s Passing affected all of us differently. We handled our grieve separately. My biggest regret was pushing Yn away forgetting that she too was grieving the lost of her bestfriend. When I look back, i feel that the road she went down was partly my fault. But with an immense amount of help for her and the family, we got through it together. I hated that my sister was barely with us for those 4 months. But at that time i thought that was best. Looking back, I should have done more. But mistakes were made. Like I told Yn, “Mistakes are OKAY only if they happen once and you learn, and dont repeat it again.”

My sister made a mistake. It is something she cannot ignore. It happened. But she learned from it. We learned from it. Her past does not define who she is now. My Sister is my number 1 Supporter. She is my Person, My Best Friend, My Twin. What has been said online the past few weeks about her the jeering when she is out in public is simply unacceptable. It has to stop. Losing someone you love can make you do incredibly stupid things. But I know my sister, those 4 months was not her.

So please I am hoping that you can understand. The mistakes my sister made in the past is not who she was or is now. Please stop circulating the pictures and videos.

comments have been disabled

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taglist: @fangirlika @threedalla @sticksdoesart @ophcelia @gothicwidowsworld @nmw-am @h0e-xoxo @inthestars-underthesun @tyna-19 @champomiel @pitconfirmbutton @clcspeonies @67-angelofthelordme-67 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fulla02 @mehrmonga

credits: all pictures are found from pinterest and instagram

a/n: thank you for reading this far !! If you have any suggestions send them to me!! I would love to hear them ◡̈

if you would like to be tagged when new parts are released, drop your usernames in the comments!! 😁

[little-teacupss]

The Pirate and his Fairy.

Note: Thank you to everyone who liked the first part of this, hope you like this one just as much, I'm trying to write as much as possible while I'm getting ideas and am inspired because something I've learned while being a writer is I easily get writers block if I don't have ideas constantly flowing on top of that I have ADHD, so I hyperfixate, so I promise I'll do my best to update regularly or above regularly! Remember you can give criticism without being a prick.

Note 2: This universe is separate from 'their good fairy' and 'the pirate meets his fairy' they're apart of the same universe, but I got emotionally attached while writing this one, so sorry peeps!

Summary: Months have passed, but their connection has only grown stronger. But James Hook wants to be more than just a matey to Fay.

Warnings: lots of fluff, tiny bit of angst as in insecurities of not having a hand, bad pirate terminology, and British terminology because I'm a silly American, anyway British/Scottish/Irish/Walish people reading I'm so sorry.

Note 3: part two here.

___________________________________________

The two walked in the forest side by side, making their way to the Enchanted Lake, James had a surprised for the nervous fairy. He'd been planning it for quite some time, but Fay didn't know that. She turned to look at him as they walked and smiled and asked. "So what will we be doing today?"

James let out a deep chuckle as he playfully shook his head at theo so very curious fairy, before turning his hear to look at her as he placed his hook to his lip and said. "It's a secret for now me, Corsair."

He put an arm around her shoulders as he led her down the path to the Enchanted Lake. When they got close enough to the point, they could ever so slightly see the crumbling structure. He went behind her and put his hand over his eyes as he led her closer, gently guiding her so she wouldn't trip on anything.

"Just what did you plan, Captain?" .Fay giggles as she carefully takes a step forward with the help of James to get around. She hears a wolf whistle come from the pirate, clearly telling her she wouldn't be getting any answers from him until they got there.

Then they came to a stop, he had wrapped his other arm around her waist and gently rested the hook on her waist before slowly lifting her hands from her eyes, coming into view is a little wooden boat surrounded by candles wadding in the Enchanted lake, Fay's mouth drops open as her eyes get slightly teary as she feels tears prick into place, she takes in what's in front of her.

James watches her take a step forward and look around at the candles, the flowers, and the emergency boat he'd taken from his Jolly Roger for the day, he cleared his throat.

"Would you like to sail with me?" .He asked nervously as he waited for her answer, she turned around quickly with a smile, before throwing her arms around his neck pulling him close to her as she nuzzled her face against his red trench coat and softly spoke. "I'd love to, but I must add this would be my first time ever riding a boat."

She said the last part quietly as she turned her head to look back at the boat before looking back up at James, he smiled down at her and gently took her hand guiding her to the boat, he got in first, and then extending both of his arms for her to hold onto as he gently guided her into the boat, carefully helping her balance against the water rocking the boat, as he set her down across from him.

James grabbed the paddles and began to row out to the middle of the lake. He allowed a gentle smile to play out onto his face as he watched Fay's eyes light up in amazement, but also a little fear about being out in the middle of the lake, and then said. "You look beautiful, me Corsair."

Fay's cheeks turnt a light shade of pink as she heard him whisper what he thought of her appearance before giving him a shy smile, she then took in how he was no longer wearing his red trench coat and was now in his white button up with his sleeves rolled up, it also made it a lot easier to see his hair that just came to his shoulders, Fay then whispered back. "You look handsome, especially now you look in tuned to everything around you."

James chuckled as his eyes met the fairy's brown eyes as he said. "I'm glad that means I'm a good Captain."

The two talked for what seemed like forever, as if time had stopped and only the two of them existed. They shared stories about their different worlds, things they like, hobbies, everything, then Fay said. "Brave or practical, I want to be a teacher."

James hummed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the boat as he said. "Pratical."

Fay nervously looked down at her lap as she clenched the fabric of her skirt in her fists as she whispered. "I'm a magician?"

She said as she giggled nervously looking away from where James was staring her with a big smile as he said. "Brave."

Fay looked up, his brown eyes meeting hers as she felt lost in the moment. She'd never felt so free before. Being with James always made her feel like anything was possible.

They spent the rest of their time looking around and observing nature while James rowed around the lake, but what they didn't expect was for the wind to pick up, which made the water crash against the little wooden boat, James wasn't very concerned as he'd sailed in far worse weather then just the wind changing coarse, but Fay was another story as she panicked and swayed back and forth uncontrollably not used to the change of environment.

James face hardened a bit because although he was very experienced in rough waters, Fay clearly wasn't as she held onto the side of the boat for dear life and looked at the waves as they became bigger and bigger, this date was slowly turning into whirl pool, what the two didn't expect was for water to crash over the sides of the boat, and land where their feet were, before finally the boat flipped over completely.

James flailed around for a bit in the water before standing up. As he looked around for where Fay went, he felt trepidation over come his entire being as he couldn't find her near, before light tapping came from the flipped boat next to him, to which he tipped back over to find a bone soakened Fay look up at him, he looked her over and asked. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

Fay shook her head as she smiled up at the pirate who was looking at her with worry, as he continued to look her over before finally being satisfied to find she was completely unscathed, as he backed away he felt something cold splash him, looking up to Fay, she gave him a playful smirk as she splashed him again repeatedly, James decided to give her a tast eof her own medicine as he skillfully splashed her back also using his hook, clearly out doing her as he had years of experience to top her, he smiled as he watched her squirm and cover herself, the two went completely still when they heard. "Hook! I thought you said you saw him over here?"

Fay plugged her nose and went under, Hook looked up and saw Uliana and Morgie making their way over, looking around before spotting him.

"There you are!" .Morgie exclaimed as he made his way closer before giving Hook a confused look. "Why are you standing in the lake and completely drentched?"

Uliana crossed her arms as she stood next to Morgie and observed the situation before speaking. "Well come on we don't have all day."

She said before dragging Morgie off to the secret hide out, Hook gulped as he looked around desperately for Fay he heard a soft splashing sound behind him as Fay emerged from the water and let out fast pants, before giving him a tired smile.

James carefully got her back into the boat and pushed it back to shore before putting the snuffed out candles and paddles inside of it and putting his red trench coat back on before turning to Fay. "I want to see you again tomorrow in town square."

It was more of a demand then asking her out, but Fay nodded and stared up at the Captain as he shook his head back and forth like a dog trying to dry itself, she hummed before saying. "Of course I'll see you tomorrow."

She gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek before making her way back to Merlin Academy while James went in the opposite direction where Uliana's lair was. He shook himself one last time before walking in where a group of pirates were hanging out at the entrance all nodding when they saw their Captain waltz in, James made his way to the center where Uliana, Morgie, Hades, and Maleficent were sat waiting for him, Maleficent looked up at him and patted the seat next to her, she then said. "You finally made it, I see."

"But why are you soaked?" .She continued with crossed arms as the pirate took a seat next to her. He nodded before looking at Uliana, who was clearly trying to hatch a plan.

James listened as everyone pitched in on ideas. Some he pitched, but his were deemed unworthy of the great sea witch, as she kept trying to come up with a great way to show the AK's they're not just some group of delinquent's.

"What if we smoke bombed the ballroom during rehearsal for castle coming?"

Morgie suggested as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the shell seat that Uliana had put in for decoration, Uliana snapped her finger and laughed. "That's an excellent idea, Morgie."

Once they were finally done setting up the plan, they began to make their way back to Merlin Academy, but while James made his way to the dock where Jolly Roger was tied, he felt someone grab his shoulder, turning his head he saw Morgie give him an uneasy look.

"Look, I saw you, I don't know if Uliana did, I'm not telling you to stop, but you have to be careful." .He said nervously, not wanting to anger the Captain, especially so close to his boat where he could be made to walk the plank, and it's not like the pirate would care they've only known each other for five months.

James nodded as he looked out to sea while standing on the dock before turning back to the Serpentine. "Don't worry, I'll be careful."

Morgie pursed his lips. He watched Hook closely as he ran his hand through his hair before nodding to himself and then turning to Morgie. "Anything else you need, lad?"

Morgie shrugged before leaving the pirate to figure out how'd he'd be even more discreet with the fairy. He made his way aboard his Jolly Roger, before shouting. "Mr. Smee!"

"Mr. Smee!" .He heard a loud thud along with shouting as an older man came out from below and shouted. "Yes, Captain!"

The man made his way over, fixing his red beanie before standing next to James while panting, James looked at the older man and said. "I need my nicer coat for tomorrow. I have something very important to be, you know, the one with the gold buttons."

He said before waving off the older man, as he made his way to his cabin, James looked at the piano that sat in the middle of his cabin, he looked out the big window that stretched from one side of his room to the other, before taking a seat at the piano and began to play 'Cometine D'un Autre Été' about mid way through playing he heard Mr. Smee come in and lay out a brand new button up on his bed alongside the blood red trench coat with golden hems and buttons and a maroon hat with a lavender feather.

James nodded to Mr. Smee and said. "Take tomorrow off, Smee."

Mr. Smee gave him a big smile before rushing out the door, not wanting to test the Captain's patience, James turned away from the piano and looked at what he'd be wearing tomorrow to see Fay.

He got in and began trying on his formal wear before delicately placing the hat on top and staring into the mirror at himself then his eyes traveled to his hook as he lifted it up to view moving his hand in a circular motion, it was apart of himself that he'd always be insecure about because without a hand was he ever truly whole?

Would Fay ever be truly satisfied with him when he isn't even complete himself?

James shook his head and adjusted the coat so it had no wrinkles as he looked to the rest of him, his hair that came just to his shoulders, his cotton button up, the old worn boats he's had for years, his piercings, and back to his golden hook.

He carefully took what he'd wear tomorrow off before putting on a white t shirt and random pants that he'd sleep in. He then carefully took off his hook, placing it on his nightstand and turnt off the lamps in his room and blew out the candles, before laying in bed with his arm under his head as he stared at the ceiling listening to the waves crash against the ship, they weren't as intense as most he'd slept through, but it felt almost like home out at sea, he hoped that one day he'd be able to show Fay the seven seas that were his own.

- the next morning, Saturday 3:35 pm. -

Fay was walking around townsquare, looking through some merchant tent shops that had been put up for the day before heading where name brand stores were. She knew James would show up late as always because he was always distracting his crew mates or VK group from where he was actually going.

She walked down the cobblestoned path and took on the scenery of the urban town. As she passed by a more dark and shadowy area, she let out a shrill squeak before her mouth was covered. She jerked around, trying to escape before a wolf whistle started up behind her, making her realize who it truly was behind her, James separated from her leaning on one side of the alley as she stood in front of him.

James held a paper bag in his hand as he looked at Fay. He then held it out towards her with a grin, Fay carefully opened the bag, reaching in she pulled out a little biscuit, James then said. "It's a sea biscuit. My buccaneers and I eat them all the time on me ship."

Fay smiled up at him as she held the paper bag close as she shivered, James' brows furrowed before he shrugged off his coat and drapped it over her shoulder and wrapped it infront of her, buttoning some of the top buttons, he then looked up to her face, his eyes went from her beautiful dark eyes to her pink lips, nervously he leaned forward as he pecked her lips before deepening their kiss.

Fay's eyes fluttered as she gently brought one of her hands up to his shoulder as she tilted her head slightly to give him a better angle. After what felt like forever in reality, it was a few seconds. James pulled away and rested his forehead against her shoulder as he brought his hand to her waist and held her close to him.

James lifted his head up so he could stare into Fay's eyes as she stared up at him. Her face was now a light shade of pink as she let out soft pants before giving him a big smile as she played with the tips of his hair and whispered. "I'm glad I met you."

She then leaned up and gently pecked his lips as she smiled and relished in how happy she truly was in this moment.

___________________________________________

So this is a separate universe from 'The Pirate meets his Fairy' and 'Their good Fairy' those two universes are connected, this one is not.

Hope you've all enjoyed and thank you for supporting me, remember go show some love to my co-founder of the MFH ship @giveityourworst, they are the main reason I started posting in the first place go show them some love!

If you want to be on the tag list, just put mail in the mailbox!

Tag list: @giveityourworst and @brokenmilkcrates! Go show them some love as well for being one of my main supports in the MFH ship and the HF ship.

[the-octopod]

2 questions for kwazii 1 do you make biscuits when like content I guess IDK 2 what's your favorite thing about your boyfriend and I know you were thinking it no everything is in no way an answer

Okay so for the first one yes I DO knead out of habit on my pillow usually in my own downtime and yes i DO enjoy it very much. But that doesn't make me any less tough than anyone else. Its just a thing us cats do its not proof of anything. But yes, I do 'make biscuts'. Anyhow the second question I struggle to answer matey, becuse its SO hard to come up with a favrite part about my boyfriend because I dont have a faveite part i like a lot about him, but if were talking on the outside, I'd say his voice, its really calming, and his smile, it makes me so happy to see him smile, and his smile is so sweet and contageous ( I give up spelling that.) And he has a cute nose as well, heh.

Now if we're talking on the inside I have to say probably just how he knows so much but also is willing to LEArn so much more. Hes so smart! You have ONE conversaition with him and youll walk away like "wow! This fellas a genious!" But that doesnt mean he thinks hes smarter than everyone else. Hes very nice about it. I like that when hes exited to go on a mission and see a certain creature, he wont let ANYTHING get in his way, it makes me think of how us pirates live by the same idea. I also like how he can listen to me without judging what i say for the most part.

But my FAVORITE thibg about him? I dont know!! Maybe its how funny his fur looks when hes wet looks so spiky

Love,

Kwazii

[extinct-fish]

Reaper's Bride Drabble - Persona Polycule and Law of Nekomatas

Makoto was bored and decided to head to the parlor, where a group of personas were playing a card game while chatting. Izanagi and Jiraiya were sitting together, with the toad ninja sitting upon the creation god’s lap. It seems there was an argument.

“No, but like- matey’s a cool li’l guy!” a skeleton pirate protested, “Least that’s what I heard from harp boy.”

“Why are you defending that tiny human? It’s only a matter of time before he leaves!” a stripped persona huffed.

“Now, now, Loki,” a chivalrous princely persona reassured, “I’m sure Izanagi says differently.”

“He did,” Jiraiya nodded, “My partner did say that Makoto’s got a different outlook than the ones we’ve seen.”

“He is willing to stay so long as it benefits those he cares for,” Izanagi added.

“There’s nothing to worry about, mes amours,” Arsene patted a couple of the personas, “I’m sure Mr Yuki is a fine fellow, and he would do Thanatos good.”

“I hope so or I will be plucking your wings,” the striped persona hissed.

“Ah, I think you would prefer to do so as I am chained up,” Arsene teased, leaning closer, “plucking my wings clean of its feathers like the god you are stripping away my angelicy.”

“Oh for the love of Odin- Stop giving me ideas!”

Arsene laughed, delivering a peck on the cheek of the striped persona before pulling the princely persona close to him, the pirate persona putting his cannon hand around Arsene’s neck like a scarf.

“What did I walk into?” Makoto asked.

“Ah! Just the señor we were talking about! Come!” Arsene beckoned.

“Ah, hello!” the princely persona greeted, “I am Robin Hood. This is my partner-in-crime, Loki.”

“For the record, I don’t like you,” Loki hissed.

“Ach, quit bein’ such a stray cat, Loki,” the skeleton pirate joked, “I’m sure he’ll get ya purrin’ in minutes.”

Loki slapped the skeleton pirate, causing his head to spin comically before Arsene stopped it with his clawed hand.

“Thanks, lovebug,” the skeleton pirate smiled as he laid his head on Arsene’s hat.

“Amor, If your head falls off my hat, it will hurt,” Arsene chuckled.

“Then keep that ship steady, cap.”

“Oh, Kidd, you’re such a silly fool of a pirate.”

“Ain't chya the Fool? ‘S your Arcana, matey.”

“Correct, Mon Chariot.”

“You two are insufferable,” Loki huffed.

“I’m Arsene Lupin, monsieur Yuki,” Arsene introduced himself, “and this is Captain William Kidd. Kidd, Robin Hood, Loki, and myself are a group of lovers joined by a shared love for deviance.”

“That’s one way to say we’re all boyfriends, Lupin,” Kidd chuckled.

“Leave me out of your polycule, ya damned pirate, I’ve already got my partner,” Jiraiya huffed, clutching to Izanagi possessively.

“Partner, ease up,” Izanagi reassured, “They won’t lay a finger on you, not if I have anything to do with it.”

“What about you two?” Makoto asked.

“I’m Jiraiya, and this is Izanagi,” Jiraiya introduced.

“どうも,” Izanagi simply bowed his head. 

“Come join us. We have quite the gossip,” Arsene offered.

“Eh, I’m bored, so why not?” Makoto shrugged.

Makoto took a seat on one of the couches in the parlor, immediately noticing how much he dwarfed in comparison to the other personas. It was quite an interesting comparison he found himself in position with. He simply watched as the personas gossipped amongst themselves. At least until a humanoid persona approached the group, and he noticed the following things: the persona seemed female, and that it looked more like a catgirl.

“Nekotama, c’mere kitty-kitty!” Kidd called, patting Arsene’s chest with his cannon hand.

“Oww- William, you know it hurts!” Arsene scolded.

“Oh- sorry, Lupin.”

Nekotama simply scoffed before walking over to Makoto, then placed her folded arms atop his lap, looking up at him.

“What?” Makoto asked, tilting his head.

“Hi,” Nekotama greeted, “Nekotama, and you are?”

“Makoto Yuki.”

“Hand.”

“What?”

“Gimme your hand. I just need to know your scent.”

“Uhh, okayyyy?”

Makoto placed his hand in front of Nekotama’s face, to which she sniffed and then rubbed it with her face. She then gave off a light smile and laid her head atop her folded arms.

“Minty, like catnip,” she noted, appeased.

“That’s the second person to say that I smell like mint.”

“Who was the first?”

“Ryoji.”

“He’s Death, I’m cat. Big difference.”

“Yeah, but if I had a nickel for every time I was told I smelled like mint, I’d have two, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.”

“Yeah, but your mintiness is good.”

Nekotama ended up falling asleep with her head on Makoto’s lap. The other personas snickered at the situation.

“Would this count?” Makoto asked, “Does the Law of Cats apply to her?”

“Yes. You’re stuck with us,” Jiraiya laughed. 

“Goddammit.”

[kcrossvine-art]

AHOY MATEYS! Super unrelated question, would you be mad if i sneezed cutely in your ear?  Today on the Final Redwall Cookbook cook-through we have a burrowers baked good delight- Nunnymolers! 

It's been a long time coming and I don't wanna ramble up here, but y'alls support and interest in this series has meant the world to me. After this post goes up I'll be posting a poll where you guys can vote on the next series of dishes we're going to cover!

(back to the topic, you can find the original recipe for Nunnymolers at the bottom if you’d like to follow along)-

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Nunnymolers?” YOU MIGHT ASK

All-purpose flour

Confectioners’ sugar

Unsalted butter, cubed

Strawberries

Raspberries

Honey

Raspberry OR strawberry jam

AND, “what does a Nunnymoler taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Well, Unfortunately. It was raw in the center again, while the outside started burning. I tried making it again and the same issue occurred with a lower and longer cook time, unfortunately the idea came to me that my old oven may be uncalibrated to what the digital display says, but I can't afford don't have an oven-safe thermometer to double check.

...It smelled good though!

Sad and pathetically, he cries

.Dough required about 3 times amount of water to have any consistency .Dough still was too crumbly/hard to wrap around the berries

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even with an extra 40 minutes beyond what the recipe called for, the tarts didn't cook all the way through- with raw dough in the center. This has been a consistent issue with the book, giving very low cook times and sometimes very high temperatures for the  recipe. Part of me also wonders if the liquid from the fruit and jam contributed to the center not being able to bake.

I live at the same elevation as most of England does, where this was written from, which is part of my frustration with this cookbook. The author as far as i can tell is also the author of the bookseries themselves which is very sweet! But him not being a chef may contribute to some of the off measurements and under seasoning :( I can't blame him for this as its still very much a love letter to his fans but I do want to state it to give context.

My final thoughts on this book is that its an interesting piece to own, but on the scale of cookbooks from strict to loose, the recipes should be taken as loose suggestions. Conceptually I really admire that it adheres to vegetarian restrictions for almost all recipes (Legitimately i think the only exceptions to this are one instance of shrimp, and a handful of instances of eggs. Even then most baked goods make a point to avoid using eggs!), its a trait that makes it stand out from the growing crowd of other defictionalized recipes.

Not to mention all the cute story bits in-between the food itself, it follows Sister Pansy through 1 year in the Abbey, working her way to head chef. Various familiar faces share recipes with her (and us!). Each collection goes through the 4 seasons of the year, introduced by a poem.

This book holds a special place in my heart, I started it not being much of a cook and overtime it encouraged me to grow my abilities and interest in food. I cook most days of the week now and it can't be downplayed how much this book inspired that curiosity. It should also be said that half of that curiosity came from troubleshooting and adapting the recipes to my set-up, with times like these where I couldn't figure it out being the outliers that stick out. 

It'd be a fantastic gift for any fan of the Redwall series, but if there excited about cooking and also new to it, I recommend making a hangout of it- cooking together! The moral support will make the failures more fun and easier to learn from.

I can't rate Nunnymolers as I wasn't able to taste them fully, but I can rate the Redwall Cookbook by Brian Jacques- and its squirreled into my heart. I'm giving it an 8/10 overall.

Concept: 10/10 Presentation: 10/10 Instruction: 4/10 Taste: 9/10

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter or margarine, cubed

1/2 strawberries, hulled

1/2 raspberries

Honey

Raspberry or strawberry jam

Method:

Preheat the oven to 350° F. In a bowl, whisk together the flour and confectioners’ sugar. Add the butter or margarine and rub it into the Hour with your fingers (alternately, pulse the dry ingredients and butter in a food processor) until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Sprinkle in 3 to 4 tablespoons ice water, mixing with a fork (or pulsing in the food processor) until a dough forms.

Divide the dough into twelve 2-inch halls. Use your palm or a rolling pin to flatten each hall into a 5-inch round.

Spread each round with a thin layer of honey. Place 1 strawberry and I raspberry in the middle of each piece ofdough, then fold the edges of dough in toward the center, leaving a small opening in the middle, and pinch the folds of dough together. Put a dollop ofjam into the top of each Nunnymoler.

Bake until firm and golden, 20 to 25 minutes. Let cool on a wire rack before serving.

[prayers-to-hyliarceus]

G'day. Seems yer band got off on the wrong foot with our crew. We arrived here- wherever here is- without our choosing, and we just want to find a way home. No offense or fear was intended on our end, Zelda. I didn't expect ye to react in such a way. We knew the cap'n's name was tarnished in other lands, but... not like this. I assure ye, we come in peace. We're simply lost sailors, lookin' for a way home. ...But who am I, anyway? That's simple enough. My name is Daruk, and I man the cannons aboard our lovely vessel. It's a thankless job, oftentimes doing nothing at all, but it's a job I relish nonetheless. Aboard the King of Red Lions, we have a crew 'o six. We may be a small crew, but we love havin' guests, and we're always down for parties and booty- especially booty. Cap'n loves treasure. Ye don't have to join us, or even like us, but I wanted to make sure real fast-like that ye were informed of our situation. That's about all from me, so I'll see you around, mateys. // from OP: this is a Pirate AU version of Wind Waker and other stories, where Gannondorf is strictly not evil and instead is one of the kindest, fairest captains in a sea of traitors and plunderers. When they say they come in peace, they mean it. They'll find their way home eventually, but for now they're stuck in a place unknown to them. It might not be a bad idea to help them out!

...Daruk?

Im sorry I

well I. I don't know how much I can help you regardless. We're in Sinnoh, and we've hardly gone through much of it.

Daruk? Well, if you're anything like the Daruk I know, I think we can trust you.

...well hey, Daruk. how're you?

Goddess, i see you and everyone else on here and-- and I know you're not the same, but...

Sorry. The name Ganondorf just sets me on edge. Demon... Demon King and betrayal and all.

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

true. i mean the lyrics to the songs are super sad because the creator himself said we're mostly looking at things *from odysseus' pov*. of course they'd evoke sympathy and induce pity among the audience.

but tbh imagine you're a crew member who was ordered to cut off a siren's tail and let her drown. that's not even ruthlessness by dealing the killing blow as a safety net (or as a mercy to yourself as they say), that's outright cruelty. coulda just slit their throats yk. and of course this doesn't sink in because we're focused on ody's transitioning into a "different beast". he doxxed himself too, because he was "sentimental at best" and he wanted the cyclops to remember them, but he also endangered the lives of his unharmed crew by doing so.

let me put it beyond the cut because i yapped more than i thought i would (as always)

there's also the way we see ourselves vs how others see us (remember the damn johari window?) and if you were on a voyage with one goal in mind (your wife and kid/s) you'd have a compromised mentality. especially considering they were all hungry here too... hunger fucks with all your mental faculties, i swear. PLUS THE SEA? donald crowhurst is waving- annnd yeah that goes for eurylochus too. hunger is so heavy it screws with you, so everyone on this ship by this point is so weak and weary that you can't imagine them making intricate decisions. sating hunger is also a primal instinct, the math is easy.

god, going back (kinda forgot what i was talking about), odysseus sings woe is me but if we stop and take a look at his actions (without getting too much into odysseus of older texts because that's not fair to the people who aren't familiar with it! as well as those who have heard of the story only through epic :)))), he's been doing some pretty inconsistent stuff, as well as displaying a sort of whimsy. puts a lot of trust in his luck too. of course the birds will fly to land, but he doesn't really know how far that's supposed to be.

on first glance, it's easy to put your life in the hands of a man who commanded 600 men without any of them dying, but he has charisma and wit which makes his bluffs work (it worked with athena too in warrior of the mind-- that's an example of how shrewd he can get). great strategies he may have, a number of them rely on chance. if your captain loves bluffing, you're bound to start questioning his confidence when he says "we'll get home." there's a chance you'll get home and there's a chance you won't (something ody would say tbh...) so would you rather let your organs digest themselves while you're at it, or would you just kill that fucking cow?

i know i'd just start eating someone if i was desperate to survive but i guess we have preferences- but no, except my wife. i'd never. i'll just die.

imagine the confusion and uncertainty they felt in that boat. the deleterious effects of the journey thus far. sleeplessness, hunger, possible ailments... you name it. they're so far off too and the task has become seemingly impossible (what, with the idea of poseidon being hot on their heels). ody seeing his dead mateys and mom in the underworld was sad too, so for the other men it would have been equally painful. they're all just men. yall seem to love screaming you're just a man until someone else displays the attitude 🤣 sorry for the slight sass.

the men were taken to places they never bargained for. they're scared every day, and they too miss their wives who, haha, boutta make an agamemnon joke, and yeah.

my boomboom spicy slicey brain is really making it hard to explain things properly, but if you're not the type to need everything spelled out for you google style, you're fine. i think.

NO-ONE AND I MEAN NO-ONE UNDERSTANDS EURYLOCHUS LIKE I DO

HIS FATAL FLAW IS HUNGER. HE WAS THE FIRST ONE TO BRING UP HOW LITTLE FOOD THEY HAD IN THE TROY SAGA. HE OPENED THE BAG BECAUSE OF HIS HUNGER FOR A MYSTERIOUS TREASURE. HE KILLS THE COW BECAUSE OF HIS UNYIELDING HUNGER.

HE TRIED TO TALK ABOUT THE WIND BAG AT THE START OF THE CIRCE SAGA BUT ODYSSEUS WOULDN’T HEAR HIM. HE HAS LIVED WITH THAT GUILT FOR THE ENTIRE TIME.

HE WAS NOT HYPOCRITICAL FOR BEING MAD AT ODYSSEUS FOR SACRIFICING 6 MEN BECAUSE EVEN THO HE WANTED TO SACRIFICE THE MEN TO CIRCE, ODYSSEUS TEACHES HIM THAT THEY MUST FIGHT. SURE NOT ALL OF THEM WILL SURVIVE BUT THEY MUST TRY NONETHELESS. SO ODYSSEUS CHOOSING NOT TO SAVE THEM WAS THE PROBLEM. THEY PROBABLY WOULD HAVE DIED REGARDLESS BUT IT WAS THE FACT THAT THEIR DEATHS WERE PLANNED AND THEY WERE PURPOSELY SACRIFICED THAT EURYLOCHUS WAS ANNOYED AT. HE WAS PISSED THAT ODY HAD TAUGHT HIM TO BE BETTER AND THEN ODY CHOSE TO BE WORSE.

[ottspot]

The Highs & Lows of Switching To Physical Music - My Journey

Allow me to invite you in on my (in-progress) journey of switching from Spotify Premium to listening to all of my music ripped from CDs and digital purchases through foobar2000. I'm listening to the music I like and doing only that, while also owning what I listen to. No subscription expiration is gonna bar me from that. Read more below!

Streaming music through services like Spotify, YouTube Music, and Apple Music offers many benefits to the user. Listening to an album as soon as it releases at midnight, easily sharing playlists with friends, as well as their little "collected user data from the past year presented with a pretty little bow on top". Oh, sorry. I mean "Spotify Wrapped", "Apple Music Replay", and "YouTube Music Recap".

Though, there's also some downsides to using the services. One of them is the pricing. Spotify Premium is currently $12 a month at the time of this writing, with YouTube Music and Apple Music being priced just a dollar lower. There's also different features spread between all the different services. Spotify has its Daily Mixes, podcasts, and audio books, Apple Music and Tidal have their high quality Dolby Atmos streaming, and YouTube Music has… switching between the music video and audio. It's too much sometimes and things can be pretty bloated, especially when all you want to do is listen to music. Nothing else.

The biggest thing to me, however, is the fact that you don't own the music you stream. Once that subscription runs out, it's off to YouTube for you. And you can't even listen to music with the screen off or in picture-in-picture without a Premium subscription. Now, you can always "arrrgh matey" this shit and truly be a rebel against the system, in which case I won't stop you. Do whatever you want. The rest of this doesn't really concern you. But to those who prefer doing things more legally, then I'm about to tell you about how I started this whole journey, and how I'm going to keep going on it for as long as I want to.

How I Got Here

This first started when I got my Blu-ray drive in the mail. I just have this for DVDs and Blu-rays (and I even have a modified firmware to play 4K Blu-rays), but realized soon after getting it that there was another optical media I could take advantage of: CDs. I have a CD player already, and I could just listen to the songs on my large speakers, but this was my chance to back up and preserve what I own. Disc rot is very much a thing with CDs, and while it hasn't taken my discs yet, I don't want to risk anything. Plus, my Spotify Student plan was going to run out after I graduate. So, I did some research and tinkering to find out how to rip the songs from my CDs and listen to the music backed up on my hard drive. What I found is that a program I already used for listening to music I ripped from video games, foobar2000, was great at handling all of this. So, for the past few months I've been working to back up my collection and ultimately ditch Spotify to use it as my main music listening app. It even has an iPhone app as well! Though, in replacing Spotify, this means I've also been working to get the songs I love on CD, by whatever means possible. Discogs has been a big help with this journey, as it led me to discover different variants of albums that I had no idea existed. Did you know that while P!nk's version of "Whataya Want From Me" is readily available on streaming and digital stores, it's only on the German and Australian versions of that "Greatest Hits...So Far!!!" album? I didn't. It's one of my favorite songs from her, and now that's a release I'm looking to get my hands on soon.

This is unfortunately going to be more and more of a common practice for me as time goes on. Importing. A lot of deluxe editions of albums release only for a limited time on CD, only on vinyl, or just don't have a physical release at all... in the US, anyway. Japan has a lot of CDs of deluxe editions readily available to import from sites like CDJapan or sellers on eBay. I happen to have three examples of those (though, I only needed to import two). Midnights by Taylor Swift is a complicated mess when it comes to owning the complete experience physically, and it shouldn't have to be. The "Lavender" CD at Target is the only physical release with "Hits Different" and two remixes, while the "Late Night Edition" is the only release with any of the "3am Edition" songs, "You're Losing Me", and two different remixes, this time of "Snow on the Beach" and "Karma". The first problem with the "Late Night Edition" is that it doesn't even have all of the songs from the "3am Edition". It has 5 of the 7 bonus songs from it, omitting "Paris" and "Glitch". Now, I'm unsure if this was a storage issue with all of the songs, but they very easily could have just made it a second disc instead of trying to cram everything onto just one, and cutting songs in the process. But even then, you'll need the "Lavender" CD to have the other songs for the (almost) complete experience.

The second problem with this edition is that it was only ever sold in the US during the 2023 shows of The Eras Tour, starting in late May with East Rutherford. It wasn't even brought back for the 2024 US leg. It had small drops on Taylor's website during the 2023 holiday season and was available as a digital download for one day only, but outside of that, there is no other way to buy it in the US. It never even got a release in Europe, Australia, Mexico, Brazil... literally any other country stop on her tour. This has led to the CD rising in price ever since then, and even bootlegs being made to trick people. These are usually pretty cheap and ship from China, sporting darker colors for the front cover and inserts, as well as having an incorrect sticker on the front. People might have to (understandably) settle for these just to own the songs physically. Thankfully, there is another option, but time might be running out until their prices go up as well. Japan thankfully has a wide-release of the "Late Night Edition" that is more readily available. It comes in a 7-inch vinyl-like sleeve with a larger poster, a lyric booklet, and some even include a guitar pick. The disc contents are also completely identical to the US release. You can buy it from UMG Japan's store as well as YesAsia. eBay also has copies but for a bit more money.

The second and third examples are the deluxe editions of Olivia Rodrigo's GUTS and Sabrina Carpenter's emails i can't send. GUTS (spilled) has a vinyl release worldwide, but emails i can't send fwd: does not have a physical release at all. Of course, both have CD releases in Japan. They, like the "Late Night Edition" of Midnights, were released to commemorate their respective artist's tour stops in Japan. Unlike that release however, they boast that they're "Japan-only" special editions. This means that there's probably no chance of the CD ever coming out anywhere else.

The good news is that they're not at risk of selling out anywhere. You can even go to my regular site CDJapan to purchase them.

But yes, that's my long and convoluted way of telling you that if you're wanting your favorite songs physically, you're going to have to shell out a bit more money to import. Like me. There's another way to obtain the files of the songs you like, though. Sites like Qobuz let you buy the high-quality FLAC files legally, so you can download them and have them with the rest of your songs. I recommended this way if your song doesn't have a physical release at ALL (or is only on vinyl) or if you don't want to spend more money to import the CD.

Now that we're all caught up with how I got obsessed with all this, it's time to get to the juicy bits. If you want to do any of this yourself, I'm going to go in depth with what tools I use and how I do certain things so that you can have an ideal listening experience.

Ripping Discs + Playing Music

When it comes to actually ripping the discs, I'm gonna be honest. Any cheap CD USB drive is going to work (I assume), and what I have is very much overkill for this sort of task. For a disc drive, I have an ASUS BW-16D1HT internal Blu-ray burner drive, paired with a Vantec NexStar DX2 enclosure so I can use it externally. As mentioned before, the software that I use for playing and ripping my music is foobar2000. It's a completely free program that has a lot of customizability and versatility when it comes to its design and layout, as well as having plugin support for anyone who happens to make any. You can even install one that adds a Discord Rich Presence - and it looks just like Spotify!

When you load a CD into your computer for the first time, naturally you're given options as to what to do with it. You're going to want to set it so that foobar2000 opens when you put a CD in the drive. From here, your music will play and everything should work just fine. Sometimes the metadata for the album, like the artist and track names, or release year might show up immediately. Other times, it does not. If this doesn't bother you, then you can leave it alone. For me, though, I prefer having the details there so I know that I'm listening to.

So, here's how you fill that metadata out. Right-click on a track (or album) in the program and select "Properties".

You'll be able to change all kinds of data here. This is an example of a track that I filled out some of the data for. Once you've done this, you can click "Apply" or "OK". It'll do the same thing.

You can also see that you can change the artwork, but this can't be done with the tracks on the discs themselves. You're going to have to rip the tracks to your computer, and edit those files. Something I'm going to teach you how to do as well! When you right click on a track, you will also see a "Convert" option.

There are a couple of options here, but what you want to do is to go into the "..." menu.

This lets you choose what to convert the file to, where it goes, and any other processing.

In "Output format", there's a number of options. I personally use FLAC at compression level 5 for all of my music. The difference between level 0 and 5 is incredibly minimal, only a hundred or so kilobits that an extreme audiophile with crazy headphones might notice. True lossless would be converting the CD tracks to WAV files, but that almost doubles how much storage your music takes. Only go this route if you care about a 1:1 CD rip and have the storage. You can also just convert them to MP3s. There's multiple settings for MP3 encoding, so you can have high quality files while still saving on tons of space. Just right click on the option and "Edit".

Note that you will need to have the LAME MP3 encoder executable somewhere on your device in order to be able to do so. You can obtain an already-assembled version of it here. Just place it anywhere on your computer and define the path in foobar2000, and you should be good to go. Once you convert the files, it's up to you how you have them stored. I personally make folders for all my albums and set the icons of the folders as the album art. That's just a matter of converting the image to a .ico file and setting that as the icon in the customize tab in "Properties" in Windows Explorer.

This makes everything easy to visualize and nice to look at. I even have this Music folder pinned to my Quick Access so I can easily get to it. Of course, now you're going to need to have foobar2000 actually see where this all is. If you go to "File" -> "Preferences" (or just hit Ctrl+P) you'll bring up your settings. Click on "Media Library".

Here, you're going to want to define where your music is located. Click "Add" and navigate the Explorer window to where your music or folders of music are located. Select the folder, hit "Apply", then close out of the window. The albums and songs should now show up wherever your album list is located, which is usually on the left side. Now all you have to do is scroll through it, click on the drop-down menu of the album, and play a song!

Extra foobar2000 Tips and Features

I have foobar2000 set up with a few more features and settings that make everything easier to handle, just so I spend less time in Explorer. This way, you won't have to do what I used to and drag the whole album into the program every time you wanna listen to it. The first thing I want to go over is the layout. You can edit your layout in "View" -> "Layout" -> "Quick setup".

This is what "Album list + Properties + Visualisations" looks like, and is my recommended layout if you don't want to mess with anything. Of course, this isn't what mine looks like. Same colors, but a bit of a different look.

I've removed the properties and shrank the visualization portion, while adding the album art in the bottom left. This is through the layout editing mode, in the same dropdown menu as "Quick setup". I recommend you play around with it and see what you like. If this is a bit too complicated for you, I also recommend searching for foobar2000 skins. I don't have experience with installing them, so I recommend using this video here. Earlier, I also mentioned a Discord Rich Presence add-on you can install. That's found right here! Download the file from the "releases" section (I'd use foo_discord_rich-x64.fb2k-component if you're on a modern system), double click it, and it should install right away. If you want something that looks like this though, there's a few more steps to follow.

Under the "Preferences" menu, "Discord Rich Presence Integration" should be a new selection under "Tools".

These are my settings for the plugin. You can see in the first image that you can have the plugin try to find the album cover from the internet. But what if the cover isn't the right one? Or what if you want a custom one? This is where the "Art cache" window in the second image comes in. Select "Open containing folder..." and you'll find a lone .json file. It looks something like this.

The program takes the linked images and displays them in the plugin. If your album doesn't show up here, just copy the formatting and replace it with the artist name, and a link to the image of the album cover. You can get it by searching for the album cover, right clicking, and selecting "Copy image address". From here, go to "File" -> "Save", close the document, and go back to foobar2000. Select "Reload from disk" and play the song again. If you check Discord, it should show the album art you linked. If you want a custom album cover you made yourself, try something like Imgur. Make an account and upload the image as a hidden image (it defaults to this anyway). Copy the image address from that and put it in the .json file alongside the artist and album name, just like before. I also wanted to mention that if you're buying a file from Qobuz, the metadata of the files you ripped from the CD and the file you bought might not match up, if you plan on having them as the same album anyway. You can easily go back to the songs you ripped and select the metadata in the "Properties" menu, copy it, then go back to the "Properties" of the purchased file and paste it over. Make sure to apply the changes before closing the window. If everything worked, you should see that they're under the same album in your album list. Double-check the track numbers and edit them if needed. The album covers might not match, too. This is easy to fix, though. It's all in the "Artwork" tab of "Properties".

Just right click on the art, export it to a file, then go back to the file you wanna replace the artwork on, remove the artwork, then import it. It's best to remove it first so the file doesn't have multiple artworks assigned to it.

Closing Thoughts

I'm not gonna go much longer with this, so I just wanted to close with a few things.

Get the mobile app. You'll be able to transfer your music over through an FTP connection. For those who don't know, it's through the internet. I don't wanna explain all that right now, but I can recommend FileZilla as a program to use.

This is going to cost quite a lot of money initially. Buying a whole bunch of CDs and/or files at once to replace what you have on Spotify is going to be hefty. But in the end, you won't be paying a monthly subscription. Unless you buy an album a month, then I guess that's your monthly subscription.

Discogs is your friend. And mine. I mentioned the site before, but it's an amazing tool for finding what album variants have which songs, and it's even a marketplace like eBay. I've bought from the site before and I can recommend it for that purpose as well.

That's gonna be all from me for now. It's been ages since my last blog post on here, and I have two in the drafts. I'll revisit them soon and continue working on them, but for now, I'll see you guys later.

[justsayun]

I could be a Captain.

I've never been one to dress flashy. Did I wear many clothes with sequins in school? Don't think so. I didn't even own a Puka Shell Necklace. They were a thing at one time. I like to wear outfits that blend in with the crowd. But yesterday I came upon something that might change that a bit. I spotted a sailor's hat. Yep, it was just sitting on the shelf all by itself. I wanted to give you an idea of what it looked like. It was almost exactly like the one the Captain wore from the group "The Captain and Tennille." I googled it. It looked exactly the same. The Captain died recently, perhaps his estate gave his hat to some thrift store outfit. I might actually now own the Captain's hat. I see men always wearing baseball caps and little racing caps. Well, I'm going to start sporting this sailor's cap when I go out. My wife asked me why. I told her first off the hat is my tribute to the ocean and to the Captain and Tennille. Also wearing the hat allows me to use my favorite term "Ahoy" a lot more often. (Instead of just asking for another Chips Ahoy.) Plus I believe when we're out we'll be getting much better service at restaurants when I have my sailor hat on. I can also throw out terms like Matey, Shipshape, and "Let's meet back up at the dock". I can picture it now me hanging out at Yacht Clubs and Boat Shows. Just think talking boat lingo and tipping my captain's hat to the ladies, Because that's how captains behave. In the car, I'll be listening to Yacht Rock on Sirius Radio. My wife said she didn't realize I was such a Captain and Tennille fan. I told her I keep a lot of my feelings pent up inside. But what do you say tonight I put on my captain's hat, pour us a couple glasses of wine and I'll put on Muskrat Love. My wife just walked out of the room so I have no response yet. Perhaps she gets emotional about the Captain and Tennille the same way I do?

[fcntasmas-archive]

the darkness that soothes

5x17 coda // buck x eddie spoilers ahead, matey! haha. i’m sorry

--

There aren’t as many stars in Los Angeles as there are in El Paso.

Eddie’s always liked stars. Christopher’s love of space, Eddie likes to think, was born out of Eddie’s own fascination with it. Nighttime was Eddie’s favorite time of day – nighttime was when all the weight of responsibility left him, when he had no one to look after but himself, and only the stars to keep him company.

He misses the stargazing, he thinks. More than anything else in El Paso – alright, less than Abuela, sure, and he only says this because he’s still not entirely sure Abuela can’t read minds – he misses the stars, and he misses the company they kept him during the night.

It’s in the middle of stargazing that he gets a call from Buck, sometime around what should be eight his time. Eddie takes the call, because he never doesn’t.

“It’s ten o’clock here, Buckley,” he jokes immediately. “You know it’s past my bedtime.”

“Alright, old man,” Buck is quick to respond. “I don’t have time for your back-hurting jokes.”

Eddie frowns. “How did you know my back hurts right now?”

“I – did you lift something without bending your knees again?” Buck asks. “What am I saying, of course you did. You never lift with your knees, you’re like an emu.”

Eddie snorts. “What?”

“They don’t have kneecaps,” Buck replies off-handedly. “Eddie, I – something happened here, and I’m – I have no idea what to do, man.”

Eddie’s sitting up the second he hears the slight shift in Buck’s tone. It’s gone from unendingly fond to terrified, but it wouldn’t appear that way to anyone else but to Eddie, he doesn’t think. It’s a slight octave change, almost imperceptible, and yet Eddie’s heard it a thousand times over, enough so that he recognizes it instantly. “Okay,” he replies. “Go on.”

Buck launches into the story of Jonah Greenway and his serial killer tendencies, how he somehow kidnapped Hen and Chim, the perilous journey the two had gone through to take him down, and lastly, how he felt he may have had a hand in it all.

Eddie’s already back inside the house and looking for his suitcase when Buck brings this up. “What?”  

“I—” Buck huffs. “I convinced Hen and Chim to tell me with Taylor there, because I thought – I told them she wouldn’t tell, and now I think – Eddie, I think she might have said something,” he insists. “I think she might have tipped him off.”

Eddie is quiet for a second. Logically, he knows that’s probably not the case. Bobby probably reported Jonah as soon as Hen and Chim came to him with their suspicions – even if Bobby weren’t a worried paternal figure to everyone at the firehouse, his wife is a cop, who’d immediately suggest they report the asshole. Logically, he’s sure Taylor had little else to do with the whole thing other than having an immediate in when it all went down – having information no other reporter was going to have because of her relationship with Buck and his friends, and using it to her advantage. Not that it doesn’t feel – apathetic, of her, unethical, especially, but it probably wasn’t her who tipped Jonah off.

And yet—

A part of Eddie wants to be petty and add fuel to this fire. 

He’s not going to. That’d be crazy, and he thinks Buck’s had enough crazy for the night. And it’s not even something he can justify to himself. It’s a fleeting desire, one that has no rhyme or reason, so all he can do is chalk it up to spending too much time around his extended family and lock it inward.

(He’ll get to it later. Shut up.)

“This isn’t in any way your fault, Buck,” he promises, shoving clothes into his suitcase. They probably won’t be able to leave until the morning, since he doesn’t want to wake Christopher up, but it’ll still be a couple of days earlier than planned. He explains to Buck his logic behind this sentiment, then adds, “Taylor’s her own person. She makes her own decisions. Either way, whatever the truth is, whatever happened, it’ll be on her. Not you.”

There’s a silence at the other end of the line that Eddie allows to happen. Mostly because if he fills it with something, it’ll probably be something stupid and sentimental, something like—

“I miss you.”

Eddie has to make sure he didn’t accidentally say the words out loud, after all, and it’s only after a couple of seconds of this confusion that he realizes it wasn’t him. It was Buck.

He can’t help but smile. Just a little. “It’s been two days, Buck.”

“Yeah, and look what happened,” Buck insists. “I’m losing it, Eddie. I’m starting to think you and Christopher are the only reason I’m a whole person half the time.”

He says this so casually, like they’re not words that inject themselves into Eddie’s veins and feel like an adrenaline rush, but he can’t – he can’t allow himself to sit in the feeling. Less so in his parents’ house. That’s a whole other can of worms he will be touching at a later date.

“Well, then you’ll have to pick us up at the airport tomorrow,” Eddie decides to say. “I’m not sure about the time, but I’ll look at tickets in a few—”

“I thought—” Buck pauses, right after interrupting. “I thought you weren’t coming home until Sunday?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, hoping Buck feels the energy of his expression, at the very least. “You think I’m just gonna stay here after all of that? No way,” he snorts. “We’re coming home.”

Another stretch of silence as Eddie continues to pack clothes messily into his suitcase. He may have to leave some things behind, considering there’s no way he’s going back and folding this. Sounds exhausting. Sounds like more time wasted.

“I’ll be there,” Buck finally says. “At the airport, I mean. Whenever. Doesn’t matter. Give me a time, I’ll be there for you two.”

Eddie’s smile turns crooked. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d leave us stranded.”

“Never,” Buck replies, so earnestly Eddie almost bursts with it. “Is – did everything – your family?”

Eddie reads the question between the lines. He pauses. “Fine,” he replies, and it’s half-true. “I’ll tell you all about it later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buck replies, and his voice is quieter, softer. Eddie hears a small cry on the other end of the line, and he huffs a small laugh.

“Sounds like you’re being summoned,” he says, and Buck hums.

“Princess Jee awaits,” he admits. “I’ll – tomorrow, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, and he feels his heart settle into a rhythm not unlike a hummingbird’s. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep me updated, if anything – you know.”

“I know.”

“Give everyone my love.”

“Give it to them yourself,” Buck quips, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Bye, Buck.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

They hang up, and Eddie looks around his childhood bedroom, high school trophies lined up in every surface possible like prized possessions. 

Tomorrow, he’ll leave here again. Half-filled with pride, half-filled with peace. He’s got a longer road ahead of him, he knows, but the talk with his dad – it was a start. Tomorrow, he’ll leave the place he grew up in for a sunnier, drier heat, for people who run around with lettuces in cups and for a sky filled with a haze of light pollution that make stars at night a rare sight.

So. Yeah. 

There aren’t as many stars in Los Angeles as there are in El Paso.

But there’s no Evan Buckley in El Paso.

And that’s just something his hometown can’t compete with. 

[matan4il]

You are so right on the Gwen thing. Honestly, I don't know what the writers were thinking not establishing Garthur in the first season. Sure we all knew that he would end up with Gwen because of the mythology, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't have sown the seeds from the beginning. Instead they focused so much on Methur that it was bound to become the most popular ship (plus, unpopular opinion I'm sure, but Bradley and Colin had better chemistry)

And I'm so happy you like the pirate thing. I've been trying to make it a fandom term since...god, I don't even know. Since the final season of Spartacus. It's based on the pirate character who tried to break up Argon and Nasir. And considering pairing are called ships, I thought it was fitting. 🤭

Hi darling!

Awww, I’m glad to hear you agree with me on Gwen. OMG, I never knew that Arthur’s ship with her had a name. I don’t know, maybe I just never came across anyone shipping it? But yeah, I have no doubt that the writers wanted to tell Merlin and Arthur’s epic love story. It’s why the story begins and ends with Merthur, it’s the literal frame for the entirety of the show. Merlin the show wasn’t about Merlin the person. It was about how he discovered his fate lay in his union with Arthur. It’s why we don’t see his years before Camelot, or after. Garthur is the price the writers had to pay in order to get to tell this tale. But at the end, what matters in the Merlin finale is Merthur. It’s the two of them getting to talk openly about everything they’ve went through, it’s about Arthur going from shock over Merlin’s secret to acceptance and love before he falls asleep, it’s about why Merlin is going to wait for Arthur’s return till the end of time. Gwen would be gone for millennia, but Merlin will still be waiting, and Arthur will come back to him. At the end of the day, that’s what we’re left wishing for, not Arthur returning to save Britain from an unknown crisis that would supposedly be its greatest time of need. We get no clue of what that crisis might be in the finale, we see nothing reflecting the Brits awaiting this miraculous return. What we are left with is a shot of Merlin, wandering about and waiting, and on the far horizon, the shadow of the things he’s yearning for.

So I’m not surprised the writers didn’t dedicate much time to Garthur during the first season, when they didn’t even know whether they’d get a second one. I am more... I guess astonished is the word, that they cared so little about Gwen’s ship, that they so clumsily put it together with tape and leftovers from Merthur’s amazing story and dynamic. But you’re right, Merthur also had some amazing chemistry between James and Colin. And NGL, I wouldn’t be surprised if it ever came out that those two actors had a small something during the filming of Merlin (which I don’t expect we’d ever hear about, if for no other reason than it’s clear Colin is honestly a private and shy person who wouldn’t want that). Because James honestly seemed like he was crushing on Colin, flirted with him in a way James didn’t with their other colleagues, Katie seemed to tease them a bit about it as well, not to mention that one time a male interviewer flirted with Colin right in front of James’ salad, and James looked ready to kill someone, and then a video showed him putting his hand on the small of Colin’s back in a very possessive gesture. IDK if they were ever really together, but if James really did have a crush on Colin, and if Colin felt even slightly similar things, that could have played into their onscreen chemistry, too.

Well, matey, I’m here to help you with your efforts! I love the pirate term you came up with, and I’m grateful to you for sharing it and its origin story with me! I’ll def keep using it and credit you for it. Now I’m also missing Nagron, but I love that they gave you this idea. 

And like I said, I really do think we’re not gonna see a Buddie pirate in the near future. Whatever they need to learn about themselves and about being in a r/s to eventually be together, I think for now the show will look into that without bringing in external love interests. At least for a while. I would mind a pirate, if it were one brought in let’s say specifically by one of our boys to make the other one jealous. ;)

Thank you for this follow up to your previous ask, you have no idea how much follow ups make me happy! Hope you have a great day! xoxox

(If you’re looking for my ask replies, here is my ask tag! xoxox)

[lunarifie]

Rewatching Ninjago

(With no context other than the episode)

Skybound 7-8



Okay by why is Dareth out of everyone helping Nya, Cole, and Lloyd save Jay

Are Kevin and Dan self inserts-

Lloyd: who are they? Retrieval experts?

Dareth: better! Screenwriters.

I also saw these two random dudes in the jail and they were given lines and everything istg these are self inserts 💀

Also theyre voices sound abnormally normal

Everyone else in the show has a sort of distinctive or exaggerated voice

Not to mention how normal their outfits are. something I would actually wear in real life.

These are just some guys

The plan to recreate the sky pirates airship to blend in is actually a good idea

Lloyd: Ar! Yee.. matey, we be be, becoming pirates!

Dan and kevin:…

Kevin: okaaay thinking on the fly, the green one wont do dialects.

Dan: the mute pirate!

The dialect teacher: (teaching Cole and Nya)

Lloyd: (following their movement and swaying but not saying anything with a smile on his face)

I bet Lloyd loved pirates when he was little

This must be so fun for him :)

The airjitzu master after nadakhan stole him and his temple: This is me and my pupils home! You cant take it!

Nadakhan: And get rid of those peaky ghosts as well 🙄 theyre so last season

HDNSIFNSNR

The way Nya and Cole are hoping Jays okay 🥺

COLE FOUND JAY!!! WHAT I DONT REMEMBER THIS HAPPENING?!?!?!?

Jay sounds so pained :(

God I really wish Ninjago had like, a cartoon style like she-ra or spiderverse. Coles helping Jay stand and Jays voice actor is doing such a good job in sounding in pain but this would hurt so much more if we could SEE it.

They apologized to each other 🥹

Clancy (looking away): now here are the rules you need to follow new crewmates!-

Lloyd: (trying his fucking best as the mute pirate to mime to Nya that her mustache is falling)

Nya: 🤨

Lloyd: your mustache…

Clancy: hey! I thought you were mute

Lloyd: its a fucking miracle!

Huh, okay. So not only can the ninja not summon their dragons if they’re fearful, but they cant if they’re too drained or exhausted.

That makes a lot of sense actually

I love when powers come hand in hand with like health and stuff

They all got captured 😐

I hate that Nyas alone with Nadakhan

Jay: Thanks for trying to save me but maybe it would’ve been better if you guys never came…

Damn.

God Nadakhans so creepy…

Cole: Nya! Dont do it! Itll make Nadakhan all powerful-

Nadakhan: The black one goes first.

ik Coles the black ninja but the poc Cole headcanon has made me double take and go “🤨” to a few lines

DID NYA JUST FLIP DOGSHANKS HFJNSJF Holy shit

If I had a nickel for everytime an ancient item could collect elemental masters powers, id have two nickels, which isnt a lot but its weird it happened twice right?

STOP. MAKING. WISHES.

Lloyd: We have to be wiser for what we wish for!

Jay: NO. NOT WISER. QUIETER. NO. MORE. WISHES.

Coles getting his wishes twisted

Lloyds trying to think this through

And Nyas just wasting wishes💀

Like girl its not that hard to just NOT say ‘wish’

LLOYDS OLD?!?!?! 😭bfjdjfnfjsnt

Its so funny that the youngest became the oldest

Thats also scary though

Imagine the kid you swore to take care of turned 90 in a second

Lloyd: i see beyond the now..! Youll need your wish when its said from the heart

Love when age and wisdom gives you future vision

Jay: SAID FROM THE HEART?!?!? HEARTS DONT TALK!!!!

FUSION DRAGON!!!

How does that even work though

An electric and water dragon should be killing both Nya AND jay.

Wait so Cole and Lloyd used all their wishes. How is nadakhan gonna trap them in his sword now?

CLANCY NO DONT WISH THEM AWAY

Clancyyy :(

Nya riding the dragon while Jays sitting behind her is giving me movie Nya and her motorcycle vibes

so its just Nya and Jay now

And the whole police force I guess.

But what were they ever good for.

Oooooo a safe house

Wonder where it is.

Zanes dad’s lighthouse!!!

WAIT WAIT WAIT IK WHOS IN THERE

Jay: No no, let me row the boat, you saved me last time, let me do this for you :)

Awww thats sweet

Jay: Either way, a gentlemen NEVER lets a lady row.

Aaaand you ruined it.

Flintlockes getting reaaal suspicious of Nadakhan…

MUTINY! MUTINY! MUTINY!

that was kinda pathetic…

Jay: (venting his heart out about how this is all his fault)

Nya: Jay-

Jay: (continues venting)

Nya: JAY. Shut up. 😀

Jay: I know I know, you dont wanna hear it-

Nya: No- JAY. we’re not alone.

ECHOECHOECHOECHO

Jay: (cowering behind Nya)

Nya: I thought you were supposed to be protecting me?!?

Jay: I thought you were over that!

ECHO!!!!

Does anyone have any fic recs where Jay and Nya take echo with them????? Bc ik they leave with echo but we never see him again.

Clancy deserves better :(

Its actually kinda sweet how Jay wants to protect Nya

Little robot: (steals echos chess piece)

The seagulls: (trying to alert echo of what little robot just did)

Echo (looks back): Wait… How did you..?

Little robot: 🤷

Echos so cute 😭

I love Jay and Nya 🥺 theyre so sweet and it makes me genuinely like their relationship when they aren’t fighting

Nya fixed up Echo!!!

Nya: Its nothing… its just, both of you seem so convinced you have a future with me.

Nya: what voice do I have in all this? All my life , my identities been defined by someone else. First I was Kais sister, then I was your horrible girlfriend!

Nya: Even when I wanted to be Samurai X sensei told me no…

Nya: I just want the choice to be who I wanna be.

I feel so bad for her.

See THIS is why shes my favorite. I literally love her sm.

Her character is just so dynamic and well written

I really hope the ninjago writers dont tear down her characterization and make her bland in newer seasons

Fuck theyre here.

Nya: Lights, camera, ACTION! (flash-bombs nadakhans crew)

Dogshank: OW! You pulled my hair?!??! WHAT KIND OF WARRIOR PULLS HAIR???

Nya: One that is woefully undersized!!!

Jfjdjdbfhsjdnsjrn

Fuck this being about Jay. This is Nyas season.

Jay: Whatever you do! Dont pull that lever!

Doubloon: ? (looks at the lever) 😈 (pulls lever)

Jay (falls through escape trap door): Thanks! :D

GO ECHO GO

Aw echo :(

Nya: (pouring her heart out and confessing she’s always loved him and wants to protect him and for him to go through the travelers portal)

Jay: (goes for a kiss)

Nya: (fucking shoves him in the portal)

Nya. Girl. Ik this was like, an act of love. But if you marry the djinn, hes gonna be all powerful.

Like, its great that you believe Jay can save you later and stop the wedding. But you could have just left. If Jay got captured he’d still be able to make the ‘i wish you were never a djinn’ wish.

Nadakhans so creepy. I hate him and hope he dies.

[beskarberry]

May the Stars Guide You Home

Solisequious, Chapter 6

(Cyborg!Ezra x F!Reader with last name) [+18]

You were almost to the bottom of the steps now, and once you made it to the landing you’d be able to see the main entrance.

You’d be able to see the ghost in the doorway.

<-Previous

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5.8k

Content warnings: High Emotions™, sappy goopy romantic moments, angstyness, happy ending!

A/N: I am SORRY this took me so damn long to finish but I did it! It's very self indulgent, even though there's no smut (sorry, may do oneshots at another time) I'm happy with how this story ends and I hope you enjoy! Art in header courtesy of @thepoisonofgod

It all seemed so… surreal.

The memories that you’d brought home were more like a dream you’d been rudely awakened from rather than a death-defying adventure more fitting of a self-indulgent fantasy novel than the life of a waitress. The months in the Etherium had been twice as awful on the way back home with only three bull-headed bitches to sail the Dawnbreaker, but keeping busy had kept your mind clear. Clear of savory gumbo and twangy shanties, free of the memory of lingering mechanical fingers, free of alien jungles and lost treasures and legends that should have remained in myth.

And, above all, free of Ezra.

You’d done a pretty good job of putting it all in the back of your mind, far, far away from where it could break your heart, but it was days like today that it all came rushing back.

Because today was Fiona’s birthday.

The Benbow had never been so busy since the day it had been rebuilt, even with a ‘Reserved for Private Event’ sign out at the end of the drive, the shipping lane was overflowing with all manner of vessels drifting down from Cresentia since the sun came up. Compared to some of the frigates and man-o-wars, the Dawnbreaker almost looked like a toy floating next to her bigger siblings.

You didn’t get much of a chance to appreciate the sight of the beloved clipper getting some much-deserved rest as you were too busy with planning the festivities. The inn was decorated from top to bottom, live music was brought in, and extra food was ordered to be flown in fresh that day. It was going to be the biggest bash the old tavern had ever seen.

“Really, Til, I don’t need anything this extravagant!” Fiona argued affectionately, putting up a half-assed fight against being ushered through the doors. The moment she was spotted by the crowd of invitees a cheer went up so cacophonous she had to cover her ears.

“Nonsense! It’s your special day!” Tillie beamed, planting a big wet smooch on her girlfriend's feathery cheek. “Do you have any idea what it’s like sharing your birthday with three other siblings?! Didn’t think so! Speaking of, Matey you old dog! Long time no see!”

From across the room you managed a smile at Fiona before ducking back into the kitchen, loading up with more plates for all the guests. It made you proud that your own home was where Til had chosen to host the event, and you swallowed that sticky pride like you liked it; trying not to let it catch in your throat that you should be next to the guest of honor, not serving her. But you don’t mind, do you? Of course not. You’d even put on one of your nicer uniforms instead of just throwing an apron over the clothes you’d slept in the night before.

It felt good to be busy, or so you kept telling yourself.

Patrons smiled and thanked you every time you set their plates - though a little loudly, having to compete with the live music - and each one was more polite than the last. It was their captain’s birthday after all, and every immaculately-dressed officer, regardless of species, made you feel appreciated.

It was obvious with the way you waltzed through the crowds and doted on your customers that you loved being back home. Your older sister Sarah certainly appreciated the change in your attitude, though it was several months before she stopped berating you for returning home empty handed after going on such a legendary treasure-seeking adventure; but she was thrilled that you had finally ‘shaped up’.

Your hands she could see, but your empty eyes she chose to ignore.

Setting down two heaping bowls of high-end apollonian chowder, you skirted through the droves of people to fix one of the blue and gold streamers fluttering above the mantle, the shiny foil paper brushing longingly against the solarboard where the old relic had been collecting dust.

It’d been there since you hung it up before setting off on your grand adventure, the hexagonal energy pathways embedded in the neatly-folded sailcloth glittered morosely in the firelight every time you walked by, calling to you with gentle but desperate whispers.

You left it where it hung, aggressively avoiding eye contact with the photo of your grandfather whose eyes bored right into the hole where your spirit had once been. Sorry to disappoint you, Jimbo.

The moment you had the streamers hanging back where they belonged, one of the officers was politely asking for a refill on their porpwine, gracing you with a much-needed distraction. That’s all everything felt like these days, one distraction after another, but in truth, that’s all life really is, isn’t it?

You went back to the kitchen to get a fresh bottle of wine, though you distinctly remember refilling that particular specimen’s glass at least four times now. The wine was imported, needlessly expensive alcohol that had been recommended by somilers from here to the clouds of Magellan; and though it was quite tasty the damned cork always gave you such a ration of fucking crap. Bullshitery.

With the corkscrew as deep into the soft wood as it would go, you strained to pull it free. You were no weakling, these bottles just sucked ass and enjoyed making a fool out of you. Fuckin’ A. As you were struggling with the bootlever slipping constantly off the mouth of the bottle, your mind flashed back to the Dawnbreaker, to the galley, to halfway-decent grog paired with delicious home made sweets. Shit. To barrel chested laughs and deeply crinkled eyes. Damn it! To a particularly deft set of articulated fingers weedling the cork out of a bottleneck easier than an octopus escaping its tank. To those devious fingers doing the same to you.

“Fuck!”

The cork slipped loose with a mischievous pop, your distracted hands fumbling to catch the bottle as it slipped from your grip. You managed to snag it before it hit the floor, but not before it dumped half its bright purple contents all over the front of your blouse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Your sister bellowed from over a simmering pot of bonzabeast that probably should have come off the fire hours ago. “That wine’s not cheap! And I just mopped the floor last night!”

“Sorry,” You croaked, reaching for a towel to at least pat yourself dry and sponge the spill off the floor. “I’ll be right back, I-I need to change.” You didn’t wait for Sarah to argue or retaliate as you hurried up the stairs that led to the residential part of the tavern, not seeing your sister's confusion at the fact that you just… apologized instead of tearing her a new asshole. Whatever space had done to you, she could certainly get used to.

You tracked plum droplets all the way up the wooden stairs and down the hall to your room, tugging wet clothing off as you went. At least you smelled pretty now, the fruity aroma masking some of the sweat and kitchen grime clinging to your sticky skin.

By the time you got to your room you were stripped down to your tanktop and underwear, but even those had managed to soak up a few purple stains of their own. You ambled towards your bed, trying to ignore the nagging devil in the back of your mind telling you to lay down in it and just forget the party downstairs. Not like you were having fun anyway.

The meager cabin had been your room since you were old enough to have one of your own, so it took you by surprise when you pulled your tank top over your head and managed to trip over something in the decades-familiar space.

“Yowch!! Mother fucking shit ball of god damn hell shit fuck!!!”

Had there not been a rip-roaring good time downstairs, your furious cursing probably would have summoned someone to your aide as you stomped about with your throbbing pinky toe, nearly shouting the heavens down in your fury.

Free of the offending article of clothing, you vehemently scanned the floor for what had attacked you, but found yourself unable to retaliate against the monster trying to crawl out from under your bed.

Or, at least what was left of him.

Ezra’s robotic arm, the only souvenir you still possessed that proved you’d even known him, had somehow managed to roll out from under your bed where you’d stashed it. Without the cyborg it’d been attached to, the hunk of metal was as lifeless and dull as you felt on the inside, and how it’d managed to get far enough out from under the bed was a mystery you weren’t sure if you wanted to solve. Probably the vibrations from the party downstairs. Probably not haunted…right?

You hadn’t seen it in a while, though the knowledge of it being right below where you laid your head at night frequently kept you awake, but not out of fear. It hurt your heart to see it without the man it was supposed to be on, flipping appliances in the blink of an eye to serve dinner or scrape barnacles or gently set a coat on your shoulders when you slept. You missed the slight hiss that it would make when he’d fiddle about the kitchen, or the faint creak of the wrist joint when he’d place a hot meal in front of you, the iron digits brushing gently across your back…

No, now that magnificent multitool was dead, just like the man who used to wield it.

Your tears had long dried for Ezra, even after keeping them bottled for months in the Etherium on the way back to Montressor lest your comrades find you weak - though of course they never would. As soon as you’d walked through the Benbow’s doors and into the befuddled glare of your sister, you’d finally let yourself cry.

They’d poured out of you, tears of grief and sadness and fury. Tears of loss and pain, not only of the treasure but also of life. Tears of exhaustion, desperation, every horrid, gut clenching, face-reddening, heart-breaking feeling ever known to the human psyche flowed down from your eyes that day like shooting stars heading for the ground where they would explode into a thousand thousand pieces, killing every lifeform that crawled at your feet like the malevolent goddess of pain and wrath that you were.

And then, after that, you never cried again.

Yet now, staring at the dull steel fingers, slightly splayed from tripping over them, you felt that same pull of heartache tugging on the corners of your eyes. For a moment you felt those old emotions again, the sadness, the grief, and the rage, and your throbbing pinky toe had to remind you that kicking it was a very bad idea.

Picking up the heavy chunk of metal, you set it down on your bed, smoothing it out from the release catch on the shoulder ball, to the coil-spring wrapped humerus strut, down to the massive, gear-laden forearm, and finally to the hand itself.

The arm was long, longer than your own, but it had been a perfect fit for Ezra. And a perfect fit around your shoulders, around your waist. Between your legs.

The dirtier thoughts you had drowned pretty quickly in the depressive riptides of your mind, sinking into the inky black of despair. For a moment you feared you might drown too, and so, as one who is sinking below the waves does, you reached for a hand to pull you from the dark.

Cold, lifeless fingers slotted perfectly between your own, the chilly metal prickling your skin with goosebumps, but you didn’t care. The longer you held it, the warmer it became, and soon the iron palm and steely digits were almost the same temperature as you were, almost like they were alive.

Almost, but not quite.

You sucked in a shuddering breath, composing yourself before pulling your grasp free and finding fresh clothes as you had set off to do before being so rudely tripped by the ghost of a mutineer. Dressed and presentable, you made to leave your bedroom, but paused in the doorway, looking back at the severed arm lying comfortably in your bed as if to call you into its embrace, and a thought came to you.

Ezra was always so good at getting corks out, perhaps he still can be.

The roar of Fiona’s birthday bash carried up the stairs like distant thunder before you cleared the hallway, even with all the doors and windows open to let in the pleasant summer evening. There was the briefest moment on Montressor when the rains came through and thoroughly soaked the dry, cracked soil; whipping it into thick, sticky mud that eventually bloomed with gazillions of wildflowers. Were it not for the crowd, you would have been able to hear the soft rustling of the new prairie grasses and the chirp of summer insects. Sometimes this old dirtball could be pretty. Sometimes.

For now all you could hear was the walls of the inn swelling with laughter and merriment, bad jokes and deep, barrel chested guffaws of some of the officers. Better open some more wine.

Clutched tightly to your chest, Ezra’s arm seemed to hug you from beyond the grave, the padded fingers almost caressing your shoulder. You started quickly down the hallway to the stairs, hoping you could dart into the kitchen to use it as a bottle opener before Fiona saw it. The four-eyed avian had distinctly told you to throw it overboard after spending a good afternoon and a half prying the damn thing from the Dawnbreaker’s hull, and you knew that the fact you’d disobeyed orders wouldn’t be the only cause for her fury upon its discovery.

As your foot hit the first step leading back down to the main dining room, you thought you heard your sister arguing with someone.

“Sir this is a private event, you need an invitation.”

“I don’t have an invitation, I’m uh, lookin’ for someone.”

That voice. You froze on the steps. Years of clambering up and down them had taught you where the creaky boards were, and where your feet would be silent. It’d been a devious trick you’d utilized as a child to sneak up on grandpa whenever he was home, which was rare for the admiral. But now that age-old trick had you hugging the stairwell wall where the boards were silent, holding your breath so you could be the same.

“What’s the name of the party you’re meeting here?”

“Erm… Hawkins?”

“Very funny, sir.”

“This is the Benbow is it not? On Montressor? I have braved enough of Kevva’s obstacles to locate this miserable planet in this nowhere sector and I must see Ms. Hawkins!”

“Sir I don’t know who you-”

“Not you, confound it! The other Hawkins!”

Can’t be…

The drawl of the man your sister was gatekeeping from the party grated like gravel in your ear, missing all the spoonful-of-sugar sweetness you once knew it to have, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. You held the mechanical arm up, waiting for the hand to muppet-mouth back at you and explain the source of the voice, but it only flopped limply against your chest with a faint creak.

You were almost to the bottom of the steps now, and once you made it to the landing you’d be able to see the main entrance.

You’d be able to see the ghost in the doorway.

-Creeaaak-

The final floorboard squealed loudly under your uncaring final step, drawing the attention of your sister and the stranger the moment you stepped off the stairs. Sarah spun on the noise, fixing you with a confused glare, but the stranger in the door looked like he had just seen the dawn for the first time after a month-long arctic night.

“...Starling?”

Silent as the grave you suspected he’d crawled out of, you crossed the distance to the man at the door slowly, wide-eyed and dry mouthed. He was thinner than the last time you’d seen him, face gaunt, coat ill-fitting with his right sleeve pinned closed, though he didn’t need two hands to gently push past your befuddled sister. His uneven steps thump-clacked towards you, a slight squeak in the ball-bearing of his ankle as he crossed the distance to meet you. Though you weren’t sure if he looked like what the cat dragged in, or the cat itself, his disheveled state was no match for the brightness of his eyes.

An enormous dark honeywell watched you unblinking with its golden-lit twin, the mechanical eye as radiant as the heavens as they both took you in. The stranger’s bristly lips were slightly parted, the rosey pink of them dull and faded but still begging to be kissed, and you knew this was no stranger, and certainly no ghost.

“Ezra?”

The cyborg let loose a shuddering breath, caught between a giggle and a gasp that curled his lips into a breathtaking grin. “Starling mine!” He beamed, reaching for you with his single arm, his gaze flicking from your starstruck face to the contraption you wielded. “And you’ve secured my primary weapon! Will wonders never cease?” His human hand brushed against your cheek and trailed down to the mechanical arm. “Please, affix that gadget to its rightful place so I may greet you properly, beautiful.”

Ezra stepped back and pulled the pins from his right shoulder sleeve, tilting his body down so you could slide the humerus strut into the mechanical socket. The moment the fasteners clicked into place, Ezra fell forward with the returned weight. “By Kevva! I’d forgotten how heavy this thing was!” He rolled his shoulders once, twice, getting a feel for the limb. Reunited with its owner, the cybernetic hissed and spewed dust from its vents, obscuring the foyer in a cloud of soot and steam that made the three of you cough.

“Sir, you need to take that.. that thing outside!” Sarah barked through the haze, “And take ~Ms. Hawkins~ with you!”

She didn’t need to tell you twice. You grabbed for Ezra and hauled him back outside before Fiona's officers could get a better look at the newest arrival, shoving past your sister much less gently than Ezra had on his way in. Sarah slammed the door behind you, and suddenly you were alone together on the Benbow’s front porch.

Between your fingers the sharp pinch of metal squeezed for your attention, drawing your eyes away from the tavern’s front door. Your hand - fingers intertwined with steely digits you thought long dead - were pulled until you were pulled with it, dragging you to face the ghost of your beloved scallywag.

And then his arms were around you.

One soft and warm, one hard and cold, both coiling around you like you were the lifeline cast to save a drowning man. Ezra’s scruffy chin burrowed between your neck and shoulder, his skin hot -almost feverish- against yours while he cradled the back of your head, pressing your face as tightly to his own as he could.

For a moment the shock kept you still, frozen as you had once believed his corpse to be. Could this really be happening? Is Ezra really-

“My Starling,” he whined against your skin, his breath hoarse with emotion. “I never thought I would lay eyes on you again, but knowing that I may see you one day again is what kept this old heart of mine still beating! The pod, Kevva be praised, was Terran built. Constructed to survive nigh anything, and though I was cast adrift in the fathomless Etherium, awaiting rescue I knew nought would come, I continued to draw breath in that miniscule pod so long as the hope of reuniting with you again kept the hypoxia at bay. Starling, gorgeous, wonderful, sublime Starling! I am so, so sorry…”

Sorry…?

“You…you should be.”

Ezra froze, fingers tightening against your skin. “I am sor-”

“You should be!!” you roared, tearing yourself from his embrace, the hot sting of tears welling up behind your eyes. “What the fuck are you even doing here?! Captain Fiona is here, and if she sees you she’ll have you drawn and quartered, and truthfully I’m half tempted to think that’s what you deserve!”

Ezra said nothing, though the muscle in his jaw ticked a bit. His huge, puppy-dog eye struggled to meet yours, but he knew he had to accept his lashings.

“What was your plan, Ez, once you got the aurelac and the map? Were you going to kill us? Leave us abandoned on Bakhroma, or just turn us over to your crew?”

“I-”

“Shut up! You’ve got a lot of nerve showing back up here after what you did! Fuck, Ezra! I… I watched you die! Why didn’t you just stay dead?!” Every bottled up emotion poured from your bloodshot eyes, the taste of salt pulling your lips back into a snarl. “Why didn’t you just take your damn aurelac and go?!”

You wanted to punch him, slap him, bite him, anything, but all you could do was stand there, your fists clenched so hard you could feel your nails puncture your palms, arms quaking with rage and sorrow and grief. It was too much at once; the party raging behind the tavern's door, the world-weary weight on your shoulders, the explosion of emotions erupting from your hate-rended heart. You wanted to scream and cry and combust into a column of flame, burn everything around you to ash, make the world look the way you felt on the inside, and take the ghost of journeys past with you to the grave.

It was a surprise, to say the least, when Ezra breached the short distance to you with his still-human hand, the one kept warm by a still-beating heart. A heart that beat solely for you. Rough, calloused fingers alighted feather-lightly on your cheek, the shock of contact suppressing your urge to bite them clean off.

"My sweet celestial beauty, my furiously burning star, whose glory and rage I am not fit to look upon." He whispered in reverence, letting his fingertips coast up your jaw until his whole hand cupped your cheek. "My journey across the stars drove me to seek the most elusive of treasures, and I thought I had found it on that forlorn little moon, lost to time at the bottom of a caldera where it belonged. I followed in the footsteps of many a spacer, surely to my death, and I would have met it, too, had I adhered to the trail already blazed. But the aurelac was a fool's errand, a trick, a trap. Though it certainly would have made me rich beyond my wildest fantasies, my soul would have been left destitute had I not perceived the real treasure hiding in plain sight. It wasn’t until I fell into the darkness that I realized my solisequious endeavor had already been fulfilled"

His cybernetic eye flickered, unable to produce its own tears, but his ageless left eye was already misting over. His other hand -the metal cold in the Montressan night air- joined its twin to cradle your face. You reached up to grab his wrists, torn between wanting to rip them from your face, or crumple into his strong arms. You picked the middle ground, standing there, shaking as the tears fell, only for them to be wiped away by the gentle caress of his thumbs.

“Do you know what that word means? Solisequious?” he asked gently, a smile quirking his lips when you shook your head almost imperceptibly. "It's old, old Terran. It means 'to follow the sun'. A guiding star." He peppered your cheek with kisses, following the line of your cheekbone to your lips, kissing you slowly when he reached them. "A shining light, to save me from the darkness. And it wasn’t until I was swallowed by the dark that I realized I had forsaken the light."

He couldn’t stop kissing you, each press of his lips slow with devotion, even though you were fighting to keep from collapsing into a blubbering mess. Finally, he pressed his forehead to yours, sticky with sweat and grime, and took a deep breath to collect himself before confessing:

"It's you, little bird. You are the light of my life."

You heaved with an ugly sob, your face contorting grossly as the last of your resolve disintegrated into stardust. He pulled you forward, pressing his lips to yours in a desperate, world-erasing kiss. He didn't care that you were still crying, or that he was starting to cry as well, and you didn't care either. It was like nothing else existed in the entire universe but the two of you. His lips pressed against yours, quivering slightly as he fought to rein his emotions in, but to have you in his arms -something he thought he would never experience again- shook him to his very core.

You weren't ready to speak, but you did sway gently with him, a slow, comforting rock, letting the muffled sound of the band inside give rhythm to your dance. He took your hand in his, entwining his metal digits between your fingers just like you had done when the prosthetic was still severed from his body; but with Ezra at the controls again, they felt just as alive as if he had been born with it. The arm still made of meat and bone glided down your side to rest on your hip, and you let him lead you in a long overdue waltz.

The moonlight of Crescentia was the only witness to the pair of you, the icy white light cutting through the velvet summer-dark to frame you in its spotlight. Hushed evening breezes whispered through the prairie grass, stirring luminous insects from their nests, spilling lights into the sky like so many awakened stars. They rose in a glittering cloud around the Benbow, casting the old tavern in living starlight.

A beautiful scene straight out of a fairy tale went unnoticed by the pair of oblivious dancers, their tear-clouded eyes too full of each other to witness the stars join them in their reunion.Over the muted tune of the tavern music, the faint creak and squeak of Ezra’s rusted joints punctuated each graceless step, but neither of you could care. Regardless of his prosthetics, your beloved space pirate waltzed with you across the boardwalk, past the wide-open windows and in full view of anyone who was still sober.

You spun, hand in hand, past the windows towards the garden adjacent to the Inn. The summer roses were in full bloom, their fragrance sweet and sincere; warm against the crisp scent of citrus flowers blossoming in the orchard. Underfoot, the stone pathway went thud-thud-thud-clack in time with your steps, Ezra’s peg scraping slightly with each turn.

His human hand splayed against your lower back, bending you towards him as he dipped you down low, supporting your weights on an old creaky leg. The broad hook of his nose brushed yours gently, teasing a kiss, but denying you the pleasure of his lips before he brought you back up. Then, with your fingers still locked between his irons, he twirled you gently, softly, like if he spun you too fast you would rocket away into space. Once, twice, three times…

And then he let go, letting you spin yourself across the plaza. Had you been wearing anything even remotely nicer than your waitress uniform, your skirts would have flared wide and beautifully, enchanting any who witnessed. Your eyes landed on the tavern windows, on the wild party inside, catching the briefest flash of white feathers.

-creak- SNAP!- “Kevva damn it all…!”

An ugly noise behind you stole your gaze back to your dancing partner of the evening, but he was no longer at eye level to you. Instead he was halfway to the floor, his bone-and-sinew knee bent all the way to the ground, but his right peg-leg was stuck crookedly out in front of him.

“Ezra, are you ok? Did you fall?” You asked, rushing back to him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He deflected, holding his palms up in defense. “This leg has been in dire need of maintenance, but I was hoping it would last me just a moment longer…” He whacked himself in the knee a few times until the stiff joint gave, letting him down all the way into a kneel, and you felt your guts drop down to the floor with him.

“What’re you doing, Ez?”

“What I’m hoping will be the first of many proper apologies. Starling,” he pleaded, reaching into the pocket of his oversized overcoat. “There was a time in my life when the thought of doing anything for anyone other than myself would have disgusted me, but now I can imagine nothing else but pledging my heart and soul to the light of my life.” He pulled his hand from his pocket, producing something wrapped in a scrap of sailcloth. “After my vessel was scooped up by a scrapper, I managed to pry this off of the hull.”

Carefully he undid the little handkerchief, revealing his prize to the night. In his palm sat a familiar hunk of meat, the exterior shell still intact and covered in a thin coat of moss.

“Aurelac? Living aurelac?” You took the living fossil from him carefully, turning it over with your pinkie. It wasn’t much bigger than an egg, and you knew nothing about how they grew or produced their gems, but one little seedling would be all it might take to bring the species back from the edge of extinction. “Why.. why are you giving this to me?”

“Because I have nothing else to give, my starling, except my undying love for you.” He shuffled a bit on his knee, straightening his back and pulling his hat from his head. Moonlight spilled down the blond streak in his ruffled hair, and you remember it once being stained red with his own blood from a wound you had given him. It had healed nicely, though the scars that spiderwebbed out from his optic were still a faint rosey pink. He knew you were staring, but he met your eyes with his own, never breaking away as he said “It is all I have to ask for your hand with. Could…could you ever f-forgive me, my starling, and be … my starling… mine?"

“Ezra..!”

“MISTER GREEN!!”

Before you could say yes or no or what the fuck, an ear-shattering screech tore the night apart from the Benbow’s open windows. Immediately you saw four onyx black eyes glaring at you from the walkway that wrapped around the tavern, contrasting sharply against the raised white feathers of one very angry bird.

Fiona.

“Get that fucking pirate, now! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!!” The captain bellowed to her officers, though almost her entire company was sloshed from the abundance of wine. A multitude of drunken footsteps clambered down the steps towards you and Ezra, followed by the creak of him springing to his feet.

“I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome, dear heart, and though I would be most inclined to know your answ-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?!”

“Yes! Now shut up and run!” You grabbed his hand and hauled him along behind you, the creaky ‘borg stumbling and tripping as you dragged him towards the driveway that led to the shipping lane. Brightly lit vessels bobbed where they were docked in the waterless canyon, floating serenely and indifferent to the sudden outburst of chaos that seemed almost routine coming from the Benbow Inn. Between the prestigious galleons and graceful clippers you spotted the ugliest, most brokeass lookin sloop you’d ever seen in all your days, and headed straight for it.

“How.. could… you… tell… huff… that-”

“Because!” you panted back at the winded pirate as you jumped aboard the rickety little starhopper. “Looks just like you!”

“Ah.” Ezra followed suit quickly, turning the ignition over with a BANG! Smoke poured out the aft jets like rolling thunder, sputtering thick and black as the tiny ship chugged to life. “Hang on, Starling!” he bellowed over the roar of the engine, his face illuminated no longer by the moon, but by sparks erupting from behind, painting him in the coveted gold that had brought him to you in the first place.

Without the sun to fuel the sails you were blasting off on reserves alone, clunky and unwieldy but enough to get you out of the docks and quickly put distance between you and Fiona’s officers. The ships fell away just like they had the first time you had set off from Crescentia Station, the Dawnbreaker bobbing slightly next to her siblings in your wake. You could see Fiona, Sarah, and Til, along with the group of inebriated officers watch as you flew off into the night.

The Benbow, it’s windows all lit and twinkling where it sat on the cliffside, seemed to watch you as well, but perhaps with less judgement than the rest of your family. It’d seen Hawkins’ come and go for generations, and knew no matter how far-flung their adventures took them, they would always return home one day; perhaps when a certain Avian had calmed down a bit.

But tonight, tonight the stars are calling you, their celestial voices heard in the southern twang of a scrappy old spacer, in the roar of a junky little starship held together with duct tape and bubblegum, in the howl of the summer night air whipping through your hair. You could feel them, too, underfoot in the way the ship threatened to fall apart before it broke the atmosphere, in the wind rushing around you, in the warmth coming from the hand with its fingers threaded through yours.

You glanced over at Ezra, the light of Crescentia ahead and the burn of your jets behind illuminating him against the backdrop of the Montressan night sky. His gorgeous profile turned to you, the wild glint in his eye bright as his smile, and you knew he could hear the siren song of the Etherium calling his name, too.

And when the stars call, you are destined to answer.

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[janumun]

The Pirate's Symbol(s): NSFW Alphabet [IkeSen Motonari]

Game: Ikemen Sengoku Pairing: Motonari/Female Reader

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 2.5k

Warnings: stockings fetish, spoilers for Motonari’s ‘condition’, sexual intercourse, mentions of exhibitionism/semi-public sex, (non-sexual) bondage, innuendoes and dirty-talk, masturbation

Author’s Notes: Motonari’s entire self is a joy, his route gave me some much needed, invigorating enemies-to-lovers, and I officially love him! [Totally swiped my heart right up without warning!]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Motonari is quick — you’d almost say adept — at sweeping off a cloth, or container, placed by your bedside. Although, your touch and whatever fire you generate in between the two of you does not bother him, he does prefer you both cleaner of the mess and fluids when holding you close in his arms, afterwards.

Wiping up the remnants of your passionate and, often vigorous, activities off of quivering thighs he presses apart, in gentle strokes of damp fibers. Movements of the cloth soft enough it doesn’t shock you into over-sensitivity but not soft enough you relax entirely beneath him, because that scarlet gaze is always fixated on you — your body language. And if you give away even an inch, he’s ready and up for round two (or four). [Bless yer stamina, matey!]

If not, he’s still up and happy to listen to his favorite flower-brained woman’s amusing, outrageous tales she narrates in animated conversation. While he whisks up a quick, invigorating meal for her at the kitchen counter, just as she rests her happy self at the table. Garnet gaze seemingly fixated upon the task at hand — spices being tossed, ladle being stirred, eggs whipped to perfection — but his answers are prompt and alert, although still carrying that insouciant edge. Indicating his attention; equal division in between feeding you and hearing you speak.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Motonari is fond of his mouth, and before you, he didn’t think of it as much of an achievement as he believes it now, when your jittery gaze seeks immediate relief (and lust) as soon as it lands upon that obvious smirk.

A single kiss and your thoughts are all but handed over to him on an elaborate platter. Your cheeks color dark and wide; restless eyes tracing across his mouth. Your own parting; pink tongue darting quick in a swipe across plush lips: all of you demanding more of him.

Yes, he is surprisingly (or not), in touch with a far more emotional side: Motonari adores your eyes, although you’re never hearing it from him. Your entire body speaks of honesty but the way he reads your thoughts so easy, in your gaze, there’s quite nothing as exhilarating or confounding as the love he captures in them. That quick, tight knot of your brow, your anger flaring in your eyes or the equally prompt melting, when he appeases you in gentle teases. He’s been so long used to not trusting that a person he sees this clearly through, and sees how she trusts; it’s not an entirely terrible thing to feel.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As mentioned above, the man doesn’t particularly care to leave you a mess post-coitus unless you ask it of him; there is little he’s able to refuse you. So when it does come (…heh) to cumming outside of your pussy, your mouth is a pretty (very pretty too) good substitute for him to ejaculate, without having to think of leaving external stains on you. Your throat clamping, then swallowing, around his orgasm, so he feels that slick slide of saliva and semen around him, as you moan.

Yer pretty darn hot, m’lady.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There are times he descends — quick and furious — into an almost juvenile state of petty jealousy [he realizes the immaturity of it, he just cannot! help! it!] and ends up turning that lust on you, instead.

He’d never actually do it but visualizing — in almost exact, murderous details — how he’d like to drag you into an empty room whenever Kicho gets all up in your face, and fuck you so hard your throat tears through screams lough enough Kicho hears each and every single sound and moan.

Or, clasp your chin in his fingers, whenever Hideyoshi’s a little too close for comfort at an Oda banquet, and kiss you senseless and noisy [pirates crave a flashy exhibition!].

He despises making a show of you to anybody, so that idea only stays in thoughts but also it’s mind-boggling, since it does get him hard on the spot.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, it was only ever through terrible necessity (extremely dire straits) that he — if ever and very sparing — sought casual sex. The occasions hadn’t been plenty and he’d be frighteningly specific about how he wanted to take a woman to bed.

Bathed, no make-up, no perfume, no scented products or jewelry — anything extra that he could accidentally touch and trigger a reaction. A clean, unscented futon he’d provide in a bare room. Any bonds or cloths he could get his hands on (buying his own and discarding immediately after), to tie their limbs, keep their movements limited; Motonari used.

Of course, there’d be the rare prostitute who’d drop immediately after visiting a client, or one who’d perceive his conditions extreme and over-the-top and think they could ‘change his mind’. The moment they’d try and cross the line, he’d fling them off, almost violently, heart racing, sweat marking each inch of exposed skin. Nauseous and barely tapped, before he’d stride out of the room.

He’s also witnessed open and perverse brothels — and corrupt seething dens — where men and women fuck, for all to see, in his line of work, so he’s no stranger to how sex works for others either.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s learning to let go and touch (just you) without the added barrier of gloves and since you so seem fond of his hands on you, Motonari likes any positions that allow his hands to move your body upon his; he isn’t picky.

Palms curved upon your hips so that your ass slaps against his pelvis each time he pulls back, the movements of his cock into and out of your pussy — a place you are both connected and he likes that. Or even when he can spread your thighs wide, press them apart before hooking his hands over your abdomen and just focusing on moving.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a pirate he’s a vortex of a man and slips all over the spectrum. Motonari’s goading is far softened with minimum barbs, when he’s in(side you) in bed with you. More velvet — than leathery — questions, soft smirk-y and probing,: “Ya like that, flower girl?” —as his mouth hovers just close to your ear, nose barely touching and tucking sweat soaked strands away from your temple. Definitely lands firm and midway between too serious and entirely silly. But he’s all focus on you, make no mistake.

He’s still got a filthy mouth on him, but dirty romantic liners are more his style, in bed (he wants you warmed as well as turned on!), in contrast to the complete indecent filth he threatens you with (a good time!) when the two of you are out and about.

“Pipe down, m’lady. The way yer moaning, they’re gonna think I’m fucking ya, right on deck.” Those eyes are burnished rubies; smile wide, crooked and unashamed, as he ducks close. “But maybe ya feel like putting on a show.”

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s clean down below (and silver-haired, yes) — he doesn’t go the ‘complete waxed up, no-hair in sight’ route, but rather prefers keeping his hair short-trimmed and well-groomed.

He’s also kept his pubic hair short and neat, for the rare occasions he does have sex, and an unkempt mass down there would leave him more likely and exposed to his partner’s fluids staying on him. He despises that.

Motonari doesn’t mind blood, dirt and grime on the field, nor the brine of the harsh sea sticking to his skin, but as soon as he’s done with — or in between — jobs, he takes the time to wash and clean himself up thoroughly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

[Also see G=Goofy] Motonari isn’t short with words of love. He isn’t reciting romantic poems but he is quick to let you know, in exact words, how much he loves you — and is loving being inside you — in the moment. Barriers definitely lower themselves — not all down, not completely back up — with this man, in bed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

(As also mentioned in E=Experience) the man, previously, has sought intimacy only and only out of desperate necessity and when his hand is just not enough for him to relieve himself of his lust. Motonari, before you, jacked off, multiple times within a week, sometimes thrice (or more) in a single day. His desires, usually amped, following a particularly unsatisfying battle or raid.

After you, he still does take time off for some self-lovin’ (remember: stamina for daaays, and you’re mostly unable to match him so he makes do), just not as much as he used to, in the past.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

You and Motonari share a love for (clothing) imports from the seas beyond. He’s always up for sharing and discussing trade secrets, doling out clothing advice and helping you work out modern clothing from whatever fabrics are available to you.

Stockings might be one of his favorite products.

The fabric feeling absolutely exquisite against his palms when he rounds you close into his grasp, stood in between his spread thighs as he observes and hums beneath you, seated. A harmless joke you make, about a stocking fetish and the ensuing explanation soon after, has him grinning and dragging you down to test the material against his teeth.

“Yer sayin’ I got a thing for yer fancy underclothes? Heh, don’t think so. Seeing you in it just makes me wanna tear it all off, meu docinho de côco.”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere you’re afforded privacy; although a little flirting with danger is good and being pinned in between the door and his body. Watching you try and smother your moans into your sleeves, skews that grin wider, that cock harder.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. He’s got a dirty mind, it’ll do the rest of the work when its got its catalyst: you.

Nothing gets you results faster than being honest with Motonari, or expressing your affections (even chaste) for him.

Tell him he looked especially handsome, earlier on a job out: with his hair slicked back and how hard it was for you to have held back from kissing him, on the spot. That you love him—

He’s on you so fast.

“That brain’s just gotta keep sprouting its flowers, huh.” He murmurs, tugging at your chin to swipe his tongue into you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Despite his treatment of you very early on in his route (the collar, the slavery deal), Motonari’s not into putting a collar on a person, romantic or otherwise. Collaring and hearing you call him your Master wouldn’t do much for him, playful or not.

He’s had to live a great chunk of his life as the Beggar Prince; experienced the devastating dregs of human society, including and not limited to being treated as one inferior, and having to watch people around at the very mercy of corrupt lords.

In retrospect, it isn’t something he might take pleasure in, in the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving or receiving, both take some getting used to within the bedroom. He finds the taste of you pleasant, when he withdraws wet digits from inside you and takes a careful swipe of the clear fluid across his skin. And has expressed interest in, and gone down on you several times.

Receiving gets a bit more gentle coax-y and requires reassurances, with Motonari. He doesn’t particularly like seeing his release all over you. Having to work through those barriers of his mind, but once he allows you, he does enjoy the slow kisses, and the soft slide of your mouth against him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His default setting is rough and furious. The two of you are usually frustrated passion by the time you actually get to his bedroom (he likes to prod and poke much too often in public, get you riled) so there’s only one way to go and it’s up. He’s spreading your thighs apart with none too gentle hands as he pushes through and into you, your own hold on him, white knuckled and almost delirious with the way his hips rock into you and his cockhead scraps across your front wall with his onslaught.

At times, however, especially after a high-risk mission; when he’s been close enough to stare Death in the face and survive, he likes to take his time being inside you, just being able to feel you. Once, twice, several times, he’s keeping you beneath, or mounted on top of him, coaxing your hips and your moans.

“Don’t look at me like that, flower girl. I’m alive, ain’t I? Com’ere. I’ll take those tears of yers.”

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Definitely! Any time he can have you, or get you close enough in private, you’re going to be fucking each other. He loves those little breathy, moan-laughters you make in half-panic/all arousal, each time he drives up to grind your hips close together, stuffed into a hallway closet.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Semi-public quickies are a thing and the closest to risky as he gets. As mentioned previously, he’s demanding enough over you, he doesn’t like men Kicho touching you, let alone hearing you when you sound like that.

Other kinks, most kinks, he’s down to try with his favorite dirty, flower-brained woman. He does however, draw the line at any kinks that might involve him using harsh, ugly words to degrade you or your body and/or being soiled.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

All I gotta say is: Pirate’s got stamina enough to power his ships through horn alone, over an entire week!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys translate to external objects. Which are always subject to germs, and need to be (excessively) cleaned by his standards, to keep them useful and usable. That’s far much more work than he’s usually willing to commit himself to.

And he has no need of them. Not when you respond plenty to his touch alone.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A lot! Motonari’s brand of filthy talk is polished to leave you damp in between the legs. He’s pulling the nastiest most wonderful innuendoes out of the most mundane of tasks.

“Ya like that old weapon?” He might ask of you, as you admire the carvings upon the handle of one of his clan’s katana. “Didn’t know ya liked the feel of handlin’ a sword between yer hands that much, m’lady.”

Leaving your mind reeling and cheeks flushing before withdrawing with a, “What’re ya cooking in that flower brain of yers? Heh... you’ve got a dirty mind.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Heavy, sensual pants against your ears. His groans and grunts enough to fan the fires of your own arousal, to have you ready to come, from just the sounds that can leave his throat. Motonari doesn’t care to be heard outside your boundaries, but he also doesn’t care to withhold his own sounds of pleasure from you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He almost swears (but will never tell you, in very direct words): the space in between your bare breasts smells almost sweet like flowers. He likes finding his way up and nosing in between your breasts — just skin-to-skin contact at a place he finds you’re at your most fragrant. Suckling and tugging at a nipple draws those moans and your scent more intense, so he nips and teeths around the place often.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

That beautiful cock — with the evidence of just enough silver at the base — is long enough it fits and curves snug into you, without entering into any discomforting places, deep. But he is thick enough, it takes you time (and many times) to not just hold your breath and tighten up around him on reflex, upon entry.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

(Read: S)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You’re almost always the one falling asleep first. Pirates are used to night raids and this one’s no different. He does prefer watching you sleep, late into the night, once you fall exhausted into slumber.

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

♧° Link to Master List °��

[alltingfinns]

The Empty Hearse part II

This is when they started the running gag of “at least he remembers that Lestrade’s first name begins with a G”. Before this I just figured he learned Lestrade had a first name and that would be that.

Honestly I’m pretty bad with names too.

Ahh, the hug he didn’t get from John.

Who is awake at night.

Sherlock’s lucky mrs Hudson didn’t bonk him on the head with the sauce pan.

Yet another ridiculous theory. (Once again dependent on no Moriarty corpse.)

The giggling. The crummy photo print stapled on a terrible dummy. Amazing!

And the very not canon ship that “is just as plausible” as the sherlolly kiss.

Also the slash fan is the one objecting to the hat. (Hat = public image based on misconception. Introduced in the same episode as Irene Adler, who is buried in public misconceptions.) Because she does take it seriously. So while she gets it wrong, she’s still closer to the truth than Anderson.

Mary reading John’s blog like:

Seriously, she’s reading John’s (heterosexual flat matey) description of Sherlock like she’s devouring a harlequin novel.

“Don’t read that!” Someone feeling exposed?

I understand John’s annoyance with her. She’s complaining about “six months of bristly kisses” but until last night he had no idea she disliked it. So she’s the one making it about Sherlock.

She’s very pointedly needling him about Sherlock. It all looks very innocent and cute and almost supportive, until you put it in the larger context.

John has good reason to be mad at Sherlock and want to keep his distance. He has a lot to process and she should be supporting him in that or at least not poke an open wound. Yet she seems to be taking Sherlock’s side, seemingly trying to push for reconciliation when John is vulnerable.

We later learn that she is a masterclass manipulator. This ties back into the failed proposal scene when she rearranged his carefully prepared words. She is needling him about his relationship to Sherlock, explicitly comparing it to their relationship. Basically she’s feeding John’s paranoia about how obvious his devotion to Sherlock is, which activates his “no homo” reflex. “Or I’ll marry you.”

This all builds on the metaphorical facial hair of the episode; John becoming more determined to marry her now because if he doesn’t, everyone will know.

He still shaves it off though.

I love this scene with Mycroft. It is so fucking meta!!

But also I just automatically laugh when the “intellectual master strategist chess game” is revealed be operation!

“Oh bugger!” “Oopsie!”

This series is where these two are their most siblingy.

“Can’t handle a broken heart, how very telling”

Oh Sherlock

You don’t even know

But you will

You will

“I’m the smart one” is such a sibling thing. It took me forever to realize that my older brother wasn’t smarter than me, he was just better than me at some things. I didn’t realize how much better I was than him at math for one thing, so finding that out helped a lot.

Sherlock is like a new convert that wants to spread the message of the joys of friendship.

Mrs Hudson. If there’s anything that can make me doubt, it’s the passing of Una Stubbs. It’s just hard to imagine even one more episode without her.

Sherlock is just passing the time. Basically he’s bored without John. And maybe he’s hoping that Mary will “talk him around”

Making deductions without even meaning to is a family trait it seems. (Not genetically, more like enforced habits.)

“I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers”

Mrs Hudson may be sarcastic, but as a mechanical engineer who knits, I do have a crying need for this blog.

And now the final point Sherlock was building up.

“Why would anyone mind?”

Also the callback to “how would you know” cements it even further that, at least up until including ASiB, Sherlock’s not had sex. He’s basically turning the words around, which only makes sense if they made a direct hit in the first place.

Look I just need older queer virgin representation. It’s important to me. (And by older, I literally mean anyone past their twenties, which isn’t even old. It’s just treated as too old when it comes too sex and lack of experience in it.)

That cheeky wink to mrs Hudson.

“Undescended testicles.” So balls that haven’t dropped?

I kind of love this trope of two conversations = one dialogue through smash cut.

And now Molly becomes the unquestionably definitive John mirror: literally taking his place.

Solve crimes = date. So very much a mirror.

Also note how Molly, who we learn is engaged, eagerly jumps at the chance of dating Sherlock. A reminder that this is what John would do if certain pesky things like internalized biphobia and society weren’t in the way.

“You’re not being John, you’re being yourself.” She may be a John mirror, but she’s a) her own character and b) not actually John.

People call this version of Sherlock Holmes an unrelenting asshole. But personally I love his refreshing honesty. He’s not interested in the money he could be paid for dragging out the case with the rich husband who embezzled himself to have an affair. Recommending a divorce lawyer for the wife in the same breath he deduced the scumbag.

John just watching the clock tick. Even after Mary’s needling that morning, he’s still counting the seconds until he can go see Sherlock.

Also I feel this next scene corrects one big problem I had with the original version of A Case of Identity: by having Sherlock make the confrontation in front of the victim.

Say what the fuck ever you will about BBC Sherlock, at least they gave this woman the closure that Doyle never gave her.

Also the wrath in his glance to Molly. Sherlock will not suffer assholes that manipulate their stepdaughters. (Could have used more horsewhip, but the victim getting closure is far more important.)

Interesting choice to turn the titles into porn parodies.

Also John just immediately assuming it’s Sherlock.

Why are you thinking that Sherlock would pose as a patient to peddle porn to you, John? Why is that your immediate conclusion?

John? Why does an old man showing you his porn collection make you think that your old heterosexual flat mate is pranking you? John?

I love how overly obviously staged it is.

Yes, Sherlock, you clearly need to analyze this fully clothed skeleton sitting upright by a desk to determine it’s a hoax.

John’s voice in his head.

“How I did it” by Jack the Ripper.

Classic! Everyone loves putting Sherlock Holmes up to solving the most famous unsolved case in London’s history. But this highlights why it always falls flat, the case is still unsolved and attempts to come up with a solution to it will inevitably feel wrong somehow.

Of course the idea of Jack writing an OJ style tell all book, hiding it in a secret compartment in the desk and then just die…

Again, Anderson, the one with the incredibly out there theory/sherlolly fanfic. Just saying.

“You forgot to put your collar up” highlighting that Sherlock does it for John’s sake.

“Why indeed, John.”

Molly getting some really mixed signals here.

Hmm. In Sherlock’s mind being different doesn’t rule out friendships, but romance seem fantastical. How very telling.

“Nothing on any map.” Except later you’re going to be like, oh yeah, no there’s one place.

That’s some damn good resolution on the surveillance.

Instruction to the editor: Go nuts on this sequence. Pretend you’re making a fan made music video.

John oscillating on the pavement.

Also, society stepping in to prevent him from seeing Sherlock/getting the date Molly was angling for.

“Fancy some chips?” Oh god. TLD feels. I can’t.

Did he fuck the chippy guy? It’s one thing to say something that could be innuendo, but it’s the little smile when he says it. Again, I personally prefer him being a virgin. Not because I feel he should be “saved” for John, but because media actually exploring virginity in relation to queerness is interesting to me. But I will not deny reality as it is presented to me.

Plus I’m not sure Sherlock should be trusted with a power drill.

Sherlock does care for Molly.

“Not all the men you fall for can turn out be sociopaths.” “Maybe it’s just my type.”

John mirror.

Also. Foreshadowing.

Remember to check your bonfire stacks for hedgehogs before lighting them up.

Mary sees it’s a skip code. Could probably solve it herself. But she takes it to Sherlock. Because it’s her job. (Also, pretty sure Magnussen confirmed that it wasn’t him at a time when he had no reason to lie about it.) This is something else, this is what she was employed for. Maybe. Honestly, I’m still working out her motivation, because I don’t think her potential employer would care for some of her later choices.

Dropping the chips = saving John is what Sherlock will save his own life for.

Get yourself someone who will step out in traffic to hijack a motorbike for you.

I love how Sherlock thinks in vectors.

Always listen to little kids when they say cryptic shit. That’s when it matters.

This scene illustrates the difference between Sherlock and Mary.

To quote: “Should I ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of her.”

Basically, the trained assassin/fiancee is standing off to the side while the supposed “sociopath” is diving into the fire to dig out John.

Stay tuned for part III after I handle my Duolingo.