#off gun fun night season 2

[namtanlovesfilm]

[scarefox]

👀

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.   

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[hearts4werka]

The Devil Herself

Summary: You’re the famous Ghostface killer in the town of Boston while your ex-bodyguard Christopher is also an FBI agent investigating your murders, you overhear his conversation with his mother about a set up date with another woman so you decide to pay the woman a little visit after the date… Genre: Horror, slasher, age gap (it’s not a big one), female killer, obsessive stalker, crime investigation, The FBI, arranged date Warnings: This fic contains darker themes that may trigger some readers like gore, kidnapping, acts of torture, illegal possession of various of dangerous weapons ( don’t do this irl ) obsessive female!character, cursing, murder, detaching-limbs. Read At Your Own Risk! authors note: this turned out wayyy longer than I expected it to. I started to write this last night still kinda shocked how I finished it in one day. I’m already writing pt.2 to Missing and need to finish that but here’s a long Chris fic for while you guys wait for it. There might be a pt.2 to this too but I have to see if y’all will want one. Hope you enjoy!

— ˗ˋ ���୧ ˊ˗ —

The Halloween season is right around the corner and I’ll have to do some work to set the atmosphere for the lovely town I’ve been slashing for couple of good years.

I am called ‘The Ghostface killer’ around this town, known mostly for the gruesome crime scenes I create which I’m proud to said in know for that, how I always manage to cover up any evidence that could lead to discovering my identity.

There’s been many before me, some were better some worse. Dating back almost centuries, I can say I’ve been through some stuff in the past. I don’t want to get into detail with it but let’s just say I’m on a revenge mission, murdering and torturing the people who’ve hurt me in the past.

But there’s a little problem flowing in my mind… my ex-bodyguard, Christopher.

He’s an FBI Agent, often a bodyguard or guarding something. The FBI are currently investigating ‘The Ghostface Killer Crimes’ how do I know? Oh it’s obviously because I stalked him, unfortunately I also found out some unpleasant things too.

His mother has set up him with another women for a date. And it’s fucking tonight.

I may have hacked into his chat logs as well and overheard him and his mother talking over the phone when I was just watching him on the cameras with sound recorders I’ve installed along with the cameras.

As much as I try to let go of him, when I manage get him out of my mind and focus on other things at hand he just latched onto my brain and messes with it, just coming back each time like a boomerang.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

I’m getting ready to discretely stalk Christopher’s date, dressing up normally but keeping my mask on me since I’ll be doing some dirty work today and I can’t get blood on my beautiful face, can I? But mostly to hide my real identity from her.

I walk into my closet, picking out a black corset along with some matching black jeans that make my body look amazing together with the corset, I want her to see something pleasant to look at before she will go out.

Adding the finishing touches such as jewelry, a black leather jacket draping it over my shoulders and black boots I glance over at the mirror of my bathroom and fix my hair. I almost feel like I’m getting ready for a date to which I chuckle internally at the fact I’m going out for a completely different reason. ( outfit here )

I grab my bag off the bathroom counter it was sitting on, walking over to a big black duffel bag dropped on my bed I pick out what weapons I would like to use today.

Picking the classic and iconic knife along with a small electric saw but also a gun for extra fun, I shove the gun into a hidden pocket in the leather jacket and drop the knife and saw in the bag of today’s choice.

Inside of the bag already resides my phone, a digital camera I take pictures of my beautifully gruesome crime scenes and of my victims for little pieces of memories.

After I’m done preparing, I make sure everything is in place and locked as I finally walk out of the house.

Time to start this little shitshow

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Im in my car, sitting in front of a fancy restaurant the date was planned at with my laptop sitting my lap, watching them through the restaurants cameras I’ve managed to hack into. People really need to make their security devises have a stronger protection because this was easier than I thought it would be.

My blood boils with jealousy as she reaches out with a napkin in her hand to wipe off a piece of the food they’re eating that got left on his upper lip. If she puts her hands on him again, I’ll cut the motherfuckers off and give them to him if he continues to allow it.

He’s very aware of having a person stalking him but he doesn’t know who it is even being an FBI agent he couldn’t simply figure out who it is, I grab my phone out of my bag and open the messages app. Typing out a simple text I send it over to him and watch him on the cameras for his reaction.

Me : Is someone running off with other women? Keep having her hands all over you and you’ll see what happens next.

Seeing him excuse himself to check the message on his phone I’ve sent, a look of horror and caution creeps into his features as he looks around nervously but he hides them with a tight smile from the woman that’s completely oblivious of what the message contained nor why he suddenly changed in demeanor.

For the rest of the night, he avoided her touch as much as he could but slip ups did occur. At the end of the date he cautiously walked her back to her car, I was parked not far away from her so I saw everything with my eyes. When they say their goodbyes she leans in and places a gentle kiss on his cheek before getting into her car and proceed to drive away.

He returns to his own car and just sits there lost in thought, the look on his face etched into his features, more evident now that he’s alone. After a few minutes he starts the car and drives away.

Now it’s time for the fun part to start.

I tracked the woman’s home address before they went on the date and found out all of the basic knowledge about her without unnecessarily digging too deep, putting her home address into the gps now it’s finally my time to drive off.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

After a while of driving I finally reach my destination and park in front of an old-money house thats a pretty good size for someone who lives alone. Looks like mommy and daddy’s wealth payed off for her.

I have a feeling she’ll be fun to torture.

I grab my bag with all of the supplies I need and get out of the car in one swift open of a door, walking around the car I face the trunk. Opening it I take out a cloth along with a small bottle of sedative.

Popping the cap off the bottle I pour some of it onto the cloth, glancing around the containments of my trunk if I won’t need anything else, grabbing my signature mask as the last item I need and slide it over my head now concealing my face.

With one efficient and swift move I close the trunk and finally head towards her house, time to do some breaking in now, put the bitch to sleep and drive her to my house. After I’m done with that I’ll have some good old fun with her.

Going through the back door that thankfully was left open behind I quietly enter the building, checking if anything besides me is lurking in the dark shadows covering her house and find nothing, no sign of any animals too to which I sigh in relief. I really hate killing peoples animals. ( don’t actually kill animals irl )

I slyly maneuver my way through the darkness and up the stairs, them creaking as if I’m in a horror movie. Getting up the creaky ass stairs I see light coming out of one of the rooms, assuming that’s where she’s currently located I decide to put more of the sedative on the cloth in my hand to make sure she doesn’t wake up during the ride back to my house.

Scanning the surrounding area I can’t help but wonder if she left the door unlocked, she does live alone so no one could technically get into her house and into the bathroom while she’s in there, right?

As I come closer to the bathroom my ears suddenly get assaulted by music coming out from the slightly opened bathroom door, she has shit taste in music.

Creeping up to the bathroom door I widen the open hole with my hand as quietly as possible to not draw any sudden unwanted attention to it.

I take a small peak inside and see the shadow of her figure through the shower curtains she’s concealed behind, thinking this is gonna be easier than I thought I slowly enter the room and make my way towards the shower.

Pulling open the curtain my eyes are met with my target being completely nude while water rains onto her naked body from the shower head secured to the wall in front of her.

Without giving her anytime for further reaction than the horror slowly spreading across her features I slap the cloth over her mouth to muffle her screams pouring out of her mouth.

When she falls asleep I get her out of the shower and put the clothes she left in the bathroom onto her body, tossing her over my shoulder again I carry her back to my car and drop her into the backseat.

I drive off from under her house and on the path back to my house.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

We arrive at my house and I check into the backseat to see if she’s woken up.

“Still knocked out.”

I exit the car and take her out of the backseat, tossing her over my shoulder again and carry her into my basement or how I like to call it ‘The secret layer of crime’

Walking down the stairs and underground I drop her from my shoulder and into a bloody wooden chair in the middle of my basement or torture chamber, tying her down to it with a thick rope that was sitting next to it on a small wooden stool so she doesn’t get away when she finally wakes up.

Next to the chair is a white plastic table with various torture weapons I usually can’t carry around with me, opening my bag I dump out the weapons I took with me earlier.

I wait for her to wake up because I need her to be fully conscious during the whole process, I’m gonna make this painful for her. Mentally and physically.

After a few minutes of waiting she finally regains her consciousness and looks at me with the same horror on her face as when I took her, she tried to scream but realizes her mouth is ceiled shut with a cloth taped to her mouth.

A sinister laugh rumbles in my throat at her desperate tries to pry her way free or scream for help, this basement is sound proof so no one will hear her even in the slightest mumble.

“Oh are you trying to escape? You poor little thing, how sad.” I say with mockery lacing my tone, my eyes settle down on the table full of weapons and her eyes follow right behind, her horror spreading further and becoming more evident.

She violently shakes to try and loosen the thick rope she’s secured with tightly to the chair, grabbing a knife off the table I walk over to her. My shoes creating echoing foot step sounds that bounce around the walls of the basement.

Leaning down and getting up close to her face I raise the knife to her jawline and slowly trace it, the cold blade leaving goosebumps behind its path.

Her eyes become glassy and tears roll down her cheeks, a smirk spreads across my face at the beautiful sight of her being scared.

“You know why you’re here?” I ask, knowing I won’t get a clear answer out of her, the cause of it being the cloth taped to her mouth.

Shaking her head negatively, meaning she’s saying no and I become amused by not having a lack of an answer from her as I expected. She’s really desperate to stay alive, how pathetic.

“Well you don’t have to know but let’s just say you might be loosing some limbs today, hm?”

Her eyes widen at my sudden statement as her horrified state intensifies along with her desperate tries to escape, the sight is complete gold or a rare find that can only be dug up deep in the cold mines.

I slide a small stool with some blood covering the surface of it and place it under one of her hands, extending my hand behind me onto the weapon table I grab the mini electric saw.

Without hesitation I flip it on and it starts up with a roar, bringing the circling saw blade to her wrist and saw right down which detaches her hand from her arm. Blood sprays out from her arm and onto my clothes and everything around it as I take the severed hand and place it onto the weapon table.

Grabbing the stool and putting it where her other hand is and copy the same procedure of detaching the hand as on the other.

When that’s done I put the new severed hand next to its sister on the weapon table along with the now blood-covered saw. She’ll die a slow, painful and torturous death after I’m done with her.

I hover my hand over the weapon table and select a weapon at random, I grab onto something long and sharp, knowing what it is already I grasp the leather handle of it and bring the blade to her neck, slicing it open but not enough to kill her yet.

Putting the weapon down back onto the weapon table I walk over to a chest and open it, taking out a small carboard box among different body bags, trash bags and gloves I’ve left in here because I was too lazy to throw it out.

I close the chest and place the box on top of it, walking back to the weapon table I grab the severed hands and then go back to the box and neatly place them inside.

Thinking of what to add to it I decide or grab my camera from my bag I dropped onto the ground after taking out the weapons I took with me earlier I take a picture of the tortured and slowly dying woman on the chair. Just a little memory for him to remember.

I take the Polaroid out of the camera and grab the knife off the table, stabbing into what’s left of her hand to draw some blood onto the blade of it and I write a small letter with it on the back of the Polaroid.

After I’m done with my little letter I return back to the box, closing it and ceiling it shut with some tape I had in my grasp.

Grabbing the box and the Polaroid I exit the basement and go into my car to give Chris a little surprise. By the time I exit the basement the sun is already coming up and starting to illuminate the world.

I drop the box next to me in the passenger seat along with the polaroid and drive off to his house. He should be awake by now since he usually wakes up when the sun comes up.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Arriving at my destiny under his house I take the box with the Polaroid and get out of my car, walking over to the front door of his house I place the box down onto the doormat that has ‘Welcome!’ written across it in black bold letters on a white background.

I neatly place the Polaroid on top of the the box that’s slowly leaking blood from one of the bottom corners and onto the white and black doormat, I ring his doorbell and walk back to my car to drive off from under his house before he saw me.

The note on the back of the Polaroid says is bloody letters.

‘Like running off with other women so much? Here’s a little surprise for you but I’ll say one thing. You are mine and no other woman is allowed to lay your hands on you. Ever again.’

- Your lovely Stalker

Guestlist!

@slutforsturnioloss @sturnioloblues @sturnsxplr-25

Comment under this post to be added!

[bleed-more]

My Updated Headcanons for Seth Wilson

Since a lot of my attention is on Seth right now, I'm writing some updated headcanons for him with things I've learned over the past 4 years! I'm starting with my HCs with evidence and will write my HCs without evidence later >:3c

HEADCANONS WITH EVIDENCE:

- Seth's dog name is Link (Joseph mentioned in a livestream that's Seth the actor's dog's name so in typical MH fashion I imagine dog actor Link also plays dog character Link)

- Seth is about as tall as Brian (this isn't even really a hc but I used to draw him short so I wanted to clear that up)

- Seth did all the TTA entries that include fried images and red motifs (based off of Night Mind's theory that Tim-themed entries are black and white, Brian-themed entries are stereoscopic, and Seth-themed entries are deep-fried/red. They used these colors to both communicate who's speaking AND to let the recipient know who the message is for.)

- Seth used to be Christian but fell out of it by Season 2 (I think Seth is responsible for all the Christian iconography in the first season i.e. stigmata, ark, deluge, etc. considering neither Brian nor Tim were part of TTA yet, and he slowly abandons that faith because.......)

- ...Seth thinks he is a messiah of some kind (from TTA's "Forecast" where he says "AMIAPROPHET." [TW DEAD ANIMALS & ANIMAL CRUELTY FR PLS READ WITH CAUTION] Forecast uses footage from the USSR's "Experiments in the Revival of Organisms: 1940" in which you see a disembodied dog's lung being inflated and deflated by a machine in an effort to keep a dismembered dog's head alive. I don't think it's a coincidence TTA used a dismembered dog to refer to Seth ((or what Seth has become)) and that Seth is both alive(-ish) and has saved others from death, but only in the same fucked up corrupted way you see in the USSR's footage. Which leads me to...)

[END TW]

- ...Seth is trapped somewhere between the line of life and death and is sticking around for the unfinished business of revenge killing Alex (in the TTA entries, while many things are convoluted and unclear, one thing that is very consistent is TTA's hatred of Alex. Seth is vengeful for the death of himself, the attempted and successful murders of his friends. From TTA's "Decay" where Seth is clearly addressing Alex, he says "HE[Jay] WILL LEAD ME[Seth] TO YOU[Alex], LEAD ME TO DEATH[because his job will be done then], LEAD ME TO THE ARK[salvation and an end to his and Alex's suffering])

- Seth is the one responsible for Brian, Tim, and Jay surviving during Alex's first murder attempt (Alex couldn't bring himself to *actually* kill his friends back in 2006, so he lured them to the park and used blunt force trauma to knock them unconscious hoping leaving them for dead out in the park would be enough. Seth, however, had already caught on that something was wrong after Sarah's disappearance (I am going to write a whole thing about this eventually hehehe) and so he knew to be at the park, and after Alex left them, Seth made sure they were safe (there is also info I have here about a lake but that's worth a whole other post, send an ask if you're curious <3)

- And finally, Seth had been well ahead of everyone else in figuring out what was going on (Seth was the camera and tech guy, so it would make sense he would be the first to see what's happening on these cameras, and investigating what might be causing all of this. Seth was the one who coined the term OPERATOR. He understood Alex's actions were being influenced by this creature Seth was seeing while editing Marble Hornets. And I also think Alex knew Seth was catching onto his murder attempts, and that's why Alex took no chances and shot Seth (the first instance of Alex using a gun in the series) instead of hitting him over the head with a pipe and leaving him for the Operator like the others.)

I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOU GUYS HAVE ANY OF YOUR OWN THEORIES THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE AND I CANT WAIT TO MAKE PART 2 <3

[saltsicklover]

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic

Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 14k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST

---

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. The weekend before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A cellphone is tucked between Monsoon's cheek and shoulder, the line trilling. She carries her duffle bags and kit, feeling like a battering ram as she makes her way through the crowd of people. The airport is packed and she can feel just how humid it is form how sticky she feels.

The hallways of the airport wind as she follows the crowd out of the baggage claim. The people around her move just a bit too slowly as they wheel their bags behind them, just begging for someone to trip over them if they dare pass. If there is one thing Monsoon did not miss about being at Top Gun, it's the trip in.

Fuck flying coach.

Fuck PSC Season and all of the families taking all the seats on the military flights.

Fuck the crying lady sitting next to her, who wouldn't stop sobbing at the shitty romcom she was watching, and fuck when she decided to start it over, just to watch it all over again.

But the best thing about coming back has to be seeing her surrogate father, Beau Simpson. Their relationship has only grown stronger since that night at the bar. They have spent countless meals together, drinking at bars when they are in the same place and always sending 'check in' emails. Phone calls have always been a bit dodgy between time zones and deployments.

Neither one knew exactly what they were getting into when the bond between them grew, neither really sure exactly what a parent/child relationship looks like, especially when the child is really an unrelated adult. But as the days went on, and the email chain got longer and longer, things seemed to just make sense.

The pair talked about everything, from work to dating, friendships and recipes. Cyclone opened up about June and their baby, sharing his favorite stories of their marriage. From how they started dating, to the day that June passed, Monsoon heard it all. 

Calla lilies were June's favorite, the only flowers that Beau believes should ever be given to a woman, and Monsoon smiles at the memory of her graduation from Top Gun, and the way Cyclone smiled at her with the bouquet of lilies in his lap.

When Monsoon found herself in Vermont she carved out time to visit June and Baby Boy Simpson at the cemetery. She showed up with two bouquets of calla lilies and a speech to give them. Monsoon cleaned their headstones and laid the flowers delicately across their plots, speaking to them the whole time about herself, and Cyclone, and the world they live in.

Cyclone's phone buzzed in his pocket while in a meeting. When he snuck a peak, he was met with a photo of Monsoon, a light smile adorning her face as she sits just in front of the burial plots. The message read "With Mama June and Bubba, thinking of you, Pops". Cyclone had to excuse himself from the table with tears in his eyes.

As the years went on, the surfaces in Cyclone's office slowly began to fill with more photos of the two of them. The collection of frames started out sophisticated, it really did, but as time went on, the frames became more eclectic, more fun. 

It's juxtaposes the rest of Cyclones office in a way that is almost comical. As he is shouting at someone for their latest fuck up, there are shelves full of silly frames just a few feet away. Cyclone's favorite just so happens to read "Clown College Class President" while Monsoon's favorite is one of those irregular shaped ones, with an oval opening for the photograph.

There is a photo of the two of them tucked in the cockpit of Monsoon's jet. It catches the mechanics off guard every time, but no one dare says a word about it- mostly out of fear that word would get back to Admiral. The photo depicts the two of them at one of those giant truck stops, posing with the large dinosaur sitting out front. She is sat atop of it, like a cowboy, with Cyclone leaning up against it, his shoulder near her thigh. They both wear larger than life smiles as the sun beats down on them. It was a silly thing, really. Both stuck in at little forgotten Air Base in middle America for a flight test, but the pair managed to make the best of it, remembering to take photographs as they went.

There is a postcard folded up in Cyclone's wallet. Once upon a time, it read the catchy saying "Why Not Minot?" printed across the front of it, with a cute little photo of a town square, a little forgotten town in North Dakota. It's one of those bases that people dread being stationed at, that much has always been true, but the little photo on the front of the post card sold a different tale. It wasn't the cutesy saying or the photo that made him keep it, the edges now worn and fibrous. On the back, written in neat blue ink, underneath a little blurb about how there is absolutely nothing to do in North Dakota, the sentence "I love you, Pops" sits next to a scribbly little heart.

The staticky, tolling, phoneline picks up after a few rings as Monsoon pushes around a family with one too many screaming toddlers. They have on those little backpack leashes and Monsoon almost gets close lined as a little dark haired child bursts in front of her without warning. She dodged, but she catches one of those damn rolling bags with her toe. Monsoon barely notices the glare the lady sent her way, but the lack luster wrath of a stranger isn't going to stop her.

"Hey, Kid," Cyclone greets over the line, the smile on his face evident through the sound of his voice. There is no need for an official "hello" to begin the conversation, both knowing full well that Cyclone had been watching the flight itinerary like a hawk to make sure Monsoon wasn't going to be delayed. The call upon landing is just expected at this point, though neither of them have mastered the cool,casual, its good to see you.

"I just landed," A woman walks right into one of the duffle bags hanging off of Monsoon's shoulders, throwing her completely off balance. She hikes the bag higher up on her shoulder, trying to rebalance the hefty weight she is carrying. Monsoon sways like she is at sea, attempting to get her balance back. There is something so familiar about the way she sways a bit, just like the jet carriers do as the waves bash against the metal of the hull.

"Fuck" she curses under her breath, steadying herself once again. For a Seaman, one might think Monsoon would have better balance. Cyclone rolls his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'll be over for dinner tonight, if that's still the plan,"

"Sure is, I'm making your favorite,"

"Steak and potatoes are your favorite," Monsoon corrects.

"You can correct me without the side of guilt, you know," Cyclone is chuckling through the phone, earning him a roll of the eyes.

"I only meant to tease," There is a nonchalance to her voice, though she is the furthest thing from cool. Cyclone isn't either. His kid is coming home and they get to sit down for a meal for the first time in months and he is beyond excited.

"I'm going to drop my stuff off at my rental, then I'll be headed your way, you better be ready for me to eat enough for a small village," Monsoon heads right for the exit, ready to look for a taxi. "And Pops, maybe think about adding a-" The word "vegetable" fails to make it's way out of her mouth as Monsoon looks up as the double doors in front of her slide open. Cyclone is standing on the other side, a large sign reading "WELCOME HOME KIDDO" sits loosely in his hand, the other holds his phone up to his ear.

It's like one of those cheesy scenes from a movie, both wearing matching grins and laughing. Cyclone knew the whole thing would be a surprise; he took a leave day to make sure he would bet there to pick her up.

"Pops!" The name still makes Cyclone's heart swell, even if he had been responding to that very name for the past few years. It's funny, really, how easy it was for the pair to adjust to the name, though Monsoon waited for him to acknowledge it first before she actually said it.

The acknowledgement came from a recorded phone message, shortly after her first move after her Top Gun Graduation. Cyclone got stuck in on the highway with a dead car and no cellphone. The call came in from a payphone, an unknown number. Cyclone left a message, "Hey, kid, it's Pops, my car died and I am stranded. I could use an assist. Do you know anyone in Missouri?". That message is still saved on Monsoon's phone to this day.

"Hey, Kiddo!" And then Monsoon is stumbling closer, her bags swinging her center of gravity all over the place. He reaches a hand out to take one, ready to throw it over his shoulder, but instead, each one hits the pavement with a hard thud. Monsoon is quickly wrapping her arms around his body, one over his shoulder, one under his arm, meeting around his back and squeezing him hard.

The hug is returned in kind, both damn near trying to squeeze each other to death. It's playful, as they share "good to see you's" and "I've missed you's" .

"I hope you don't mind, Kid, but I invited another one of the recruits to dinner tonight," He speaks the words into her hair. Monsoon pulls back to look up at her Pops with furrowed brows. She doesn't have to say a thing, he already knows exactly what is going through her mind.

"I know it's unorthodox, but, Kazansky said it might be a good idea, and when the good Admiral says something like that, you set another place at the table,"

"Yeah, unorthodox is definitely a word for it," Monsoon is pulling out of Cyclone's embrace, dipping to grab her discarded bags from the pavement. Cyclone grabs one before she can, which earns him a roll of her eyes.

"Be nice, would you?"

"To you or the mystery guest?" Her words are dripping with sarcasm.

"Preferably both," Cyclone chides, poking her in the side with the welcome home sign. She swats it away with a quick hand, both laughing.

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky orange with wisps of pink the lower it sinks behind the curve of the Earth. Monsoon is spread out on one of the lawn chairs, relaxing, well, more like waiting out her Pops' little outburst. She had opened the grill to check on the steak, making sure the edges wouldn't be too crispy, and Cyclone all but snapped the lid shut in the middle of her investigation. He banished her to the other side of the patio to wait for the food to finish cooking. Then, and only then, would she be allowed to touch the grill again.

If there is one thing to be true, Cyclone has a method when it comes to grilling. Monsoon had it all explained to her the first time he grilled for the pair of them. He has it down to a science, all from the temperature and the kind of charcoal to use, to the length of marinating time and spices to make even the worst cut of meat from the Commissary the most perfect dinner.

And Monsoon couldn't exactly tell him he was wrong. After all, every single thing Beau had ever placed in front of her tasted delicious, delectable even. Not only that, but Monsoon really couldn't have done it better if she tried. Her Pops wouldn't let her try, either, but that is beside the point.

Soon, everything is pulled off the grill and the pair are inside, Monsoon tasked with setting the table. All of the windows are open, the evening breeze cooling the inside of the house. As she places another fork down, Monsoon takes in the way the breeze dances across her skin. Goosebumps threaten to crest over her exposed arms at the chill the air carries. In that moment, she is thankful for the California air, the smell of the freshly made sides sitting in the center of the table, and the fact that she is setting the table in her Pops' house.

It has been too long since the pair got to sit together and share a meal. Cups of coffee over video chat were no where near as nice and Monsoon couldn't lie, she missed Cyclone's cooking. As she sets down the last knife, Cyclone is bounding down the stairs. His causal jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a nice pair of brown slacks and a cream polo shirt, tucked in with a belt. He's even sporting loafers.

"Hey Pops, there is something I want to talk to you about tonight," Monsoon shouts down the hall. She tries to shake the bit of nerves rumbling through her chest like a handful of loan bees.

"Okay, kiddo," Cyclone calls back as he is rounding the corner into the kitchen, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, promise,"

"Okay," It's a simple response as he walks further into the kitchen. He pats her on the shoulder as he passes, a loving gesture.

"Got a hot date?" Monsoon chides as she looks him up and down. She sets the bundle of flatware down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Cyclone is shaking his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her words. "We are having company tonight, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, but I didn't think some random Lieutenant, that is only coming over because the good Admiral all but ordered him to, was someone worth dressing up for."

There is a shrug of her shoulders as her head sways down nonchalantly. Cyclone crosses his arms, mirroring his kid, with a stern look on his face. It's a look that Monsoon isn't used to seeing out of uniform. Maybe it should worry her, but the vein that would usually protrude from his forehead is nowhere to be seen.

"Remember, kid, you too are just 'some random Lieutenant'" Those words stir a bit of anger within Monsoon, but it dissipates as fast as it came.

"Well then, Admiral Simpson, sir," Monsoon stands up a bit straighter, dropping her hands to her sides, "Let me find something more presentable to wear for the strange man who's crashing out family dinner," She grimaces a bit, but they both laugh. Beau is just laughing, in that way that make's his whole body shake, his eyes scrunched closed while whole hearted giggles escape his lips.

"Go on, kid," He waves in the general direction of the hallway, towards the front of the house where she dropped her bags by the front door.

The zipper of her duffle bag slide open easily, the separation of the teeth vibrating her fingertips. Monsoon fishes out a sun dress and a cropped sweater, something to keep her warmer as the sun sets below the horizon. It's a nice enough combination, something that will surly look like she gives a fuck about her appearance without looking like she planned too much. Monsoon changes out of her sweat shorts and t-shirt in the half bath, emerging looking like a brand new woman, though the feeling  of the plane still lingers on her skin.

Just as she is stuffing her travel clothing back into her bag, the doorbell sounds throughout the house, the bells tolling just a bit too loud.

"Jeez, Pops, could that doorbell be any louder?" Monsoon is yelling just as she reaches for the door. She pulls it open with a swift movement, a smile on her face. Then it falls as soon as she sees who is standing on the other side of the threshold.

Clad in a button down shirt, one with a pattern that would rival any rodeo clown, with one too many buttons undone stands Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw; a man she hasn't seen since a deployment five years ago, about six months after she graduated from Top Gun.

There is a gold chain hanging around his neck. It's just long enough to graze over the tops of his collar bones. His shirt is untucked, the bottom a bit wrinkly, like he has tucked and untucked it a couple of times trying to decide which looked better. He made the wrong choice, by Monsoon's calculation, the patterned shirt covering the top of his dark khakis. He looks a bit silly, really, from the chain down to his boat shoes. The thing that catches her the most off guard though, is the fucking mustache he has decorating, no, vandalizing his upper lip.

Her own mouth hangs open just a bit, her hand tightening it's grip on the door handle. Bradley shoots her that mega wat smile, that million dollar, dentist office poster smile- the one that made her swoon all those years ago. But now, now it makes her fucking angry. Or maybe it's resentment that she feels boiling up inside of her, steaming her insides with a sort of sick feeling that she hasn't felt in years.

The last time this strange, queasy feeling flowed through her she was wrapped up in the white sheets of her mattress on an aircraft carrier, somewhere out in the pacific. Her naked body feeding off of the warmth of spot that Rooster once occupied. When she awoke, there was a feeling of contentment that spread over her skin, until she reached over to find the spot next to her cold.

Their deployment relationship ended with a fucking post it note, "Duty Calls" is all it read, scribbled down in a mess of black ink, the pen itself skipping. Hell, the pen couldn't even bother to work long enough to get a complete message through- their relationship simmered down to nothing more than steamy nights together in a twin size bunk while the ocean waves rocked against the carrier.

The contentment drained from Monsoon faster than than the anger could take over, and for a moment there was nothingness in the spaces between her ribs.

And now, Bradley fucking Bradshaw is standing on her Pops' front porch, smiling at her like nothing has ever happened between them, holding a bottle of wine, and somehow she is just supposed to let him in!

"Hello," He scratches at the back of his neck, his brows pinched together just the slightest bit. "Is this Admiral Simpson's house?"

Words are caught in the back of Monsoon's throat, each individual letter sticking her in the esophagus. Monsoon stands there looking at Bradley, each growing a bit more uncomfortable as the seconds go by. But, she is on the inside of the doorjamb, she has the upper hand. Just as she goes to slam the door in his fucking ugly mustache, Cyclone catches the door.

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Beau booms, his tone friendly as he sends Monsoon a what the fuck look. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, though it does nothing to relieve the rapidly growing headache that's taking over her skull.

"Come in, come in!" Cyclone practically ushers Bradley into the house. "This is my daughter, Y/N Mitchell, she is in the new Top Gun class as well!"

Beau is doing his best to defuse the tension in the room, between Monsoon's anger, and Bradley's overall discomfort from being in an Admiral's house, the vibes are askew. Bradley crinkles his brows at the information and Beau quickly jumps in with a chuckle, "No relation, but I claim her anyway. Introduce yourself, Son,"

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

The pair speak at the same time. Monsoon's tone is full of distain, like the words taste bitter and unforgiving on her tongue. She pushes past Bradley's outstretched hand and past Cyclone. Bradley can't help the fact that his face twists up in confusion as he wracks his brain trying to figure out where exactly he knew her. 

The woman's definitely too upset to be a recent fling- hell, Bradley hasn't even managed to bring a girl back to his place in such a long time. Deployment really limited his prospects and she sure wasn't on the mission he just finished. 

"Please, this way," Cyclone guides Bradley back to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from the younger man. They follow the path Monsoon took, down the hall and back to the large kitchen. She is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter top.

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Bradshaw. If you'll excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second." Cyclone is moving before Bradley can acknowledge him. So, Bradley pretends to be very interested in the view just outside the kitchen window.

"What the hell, kid?" Cyclone carefully grabs Monsoon's elbow, leaning in just a little bit closer to fake some sort of privacy. He sets the bottle of wine on the counter. With all the tension blooming in the air around them, Cyclone decides alcohol is the last thing they need. 

"It's complicated, Pops, just leave it be, okay?" Monsoon is running a hand through her hair, a shallow attempt to ground herself. "I can play nice for one dinner,"

"What the hell happened between you two? And it's not just one dinner, it's the next few weeks."

That fact is met with a grumble from Monsoon. It took her only a few seconds to convince herself that she would be able to make it though a dinner, but the idea of having to see Bradley fucking Bradshaw every day for the foreseeable future had a mixture of nausea and frustration swirling through her. 

"Pops, trust me, this really isn't something you are going to want to hear about, nor do I feel like discussing it in your kitchen, at a whisper, while the man who doesn't even seem to fucking remember me is only a few feet away! No thank you," Monsoon pushes past Cyclone once more, picking up the bowl of salad from the kitchen island and bringing it over to the table. Cyclone is hot on her tail, speaking lowly after her.

"Y/N" That gets her to stop, Beau never uses her first name, "We are not finished discussing this,"

"After supper then," The words leave her tongue sharp, but they are met with a nod of approval. Then Cyclone is moving, ready for the night to move on as planned. 

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Cyclone is turning his attention back to their guest, a makeshift smile plastered to his face, "Please, take a seat, I am just going to grab the food off the grill,"

And then Cyclone is disappearing out the back door, leaving Monsoon and Rooster alone, the room already threatening to burst from the rapidly accumulating tension. Monsoon chances a look at Bradley as she finished setting out the flatware that had been left abandoned earlier, suddenly a little bit glad that her Pops hinted at her to change clothes. She looks good, that much she knows, if only it mattered at this point.

Maybe, if it mattered, Bradley would look at her and realize just how much he walked out on. Maybe he would see the way Cyclone cares for her, and their little family that they've created and know that he threw away his chance to be apart of it. If only he could see just how happy she is now- yet he doesn't even fucking recognize her, and that makes her heart burn like cheap kerosene. It's like gulping down saltwater, the feeling of being forgotten, drowning right out in the open for everyone to see.

As Monsoon is drowning in thoughts of Bradley, he is just trying to remember her.

Bradley takes in the slope of her nose and the freckles that are smattered across her legs. His eyes wander over the frizzy bits of her hair, down the line of her shoulder and ending at the tips of her fingers. The way that she glances at him, her face still turned down as she adjusts the table settings, strikes him as familiar- but in a far off sense of the word. Familiar in the way his own face is reminiscent of his father's. 

His father, Goose, and Maverick... Pete Mitchell... Mitchell!

"Mitchell?" Bradley breaks the silence, his gaze  a bit wider, still locked on her downturned face. Monsoon's eyes shoot up at the name, locking with his dark brown eyes. They bore into her the same way they always had and a part of her aches. 

"Are you-" The breath he sucks into his lungs burns a bit with hazy memory, "Are you Pete Michell's kid?"

An audible, pained groan leaves Monsoon's throat at the question. 

"Not anymore," Are the only words she can manage, the flames of anger licking at her legs.

"But you were, once?" There is almost a ribbon of hope laces somewhere in his tone, but Monsoon pays it no mind. She walks away from the table, keeping her back to Bradley as she attempts to calm the heat of rage that's licking at her legs. 

Why couldn't Bradley just ask her about normal things? Why aren't they talking about work, their partners, their friends. Hell, he could hit on her at this point and it would go over better. 

If he wanted to talk about Maverick- Pete Michell, there were countless times when they were tangled up together in blankets, in the dark save for the crack of light breaking into the room from under the doorway.

He could have asked as they scurried up the stairs of the carrier, their gear smacking against their chests as they ran. Bradley could have asked then, as they bounded out into the early morning, salt soaked air.

Hell, Bradley could have asked over coms, high in the air as the wind whistled past their wings. They were just test flights after all, no enemy to contend with. He could have asked her then.

But he didn't.

"That was a very long time ago," She's turning to the fridge, pulling a pitcher of lemonade out. The sigh that leaves her lips is nothing but tension attempting to escape from the confines of her chest. It doesn't work, and Bradley doesn't catch the hint to just shut the fuck up and leave it be.

"We knew each other, right? When we were kids?" The question catches Monsoon off guard, almost as much as his initial presence did. She wants to laugh, really she does, at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

He didn't remember that fact when they met on the carrier five years ago, and Monsoon tried not to let that bother her, especially when he was buried inside of her, moaning filthy things into her ear. But now? Now he remembers. But somewhere, the memory of their torrid love affair escapes the great mind of Bradley Bradshaw.

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

Though the whole thing is laughable; Bradley isn't laughing. He's holding his breath, too caught up in the scene in front of him, in the soreness of his chest and the way his heart thrums against the backside of his ribcage. 

Fuck how his chest aches. 

There is this part of his past, this piece that he once knew like the back of his hand, that's just in reach now- again, and Monsoon is laughing at him. The memory of her was erased with the sounding of artillery, the three volley's fired into the air. And now, he craves this memory like he craves the memory of his father, the pieces of his innocence having crumbling into his hands like ash.

It still stains his hands that sickly blackish gray, gritty against his skin, though he is the only one that can see it.

The sliding door opens once more and Cyclone is slipping though, holding a large platter of steak in his hand, the meat is grilled to perfection and he looks proud. Bradley looks at Monsoon with furrowed brows, questioning the words that she let slip past her lips. Cyclone steps between them, setting the plate of meat down on to the dinner table, more than enough food to go around.

"Please, Y/N, come and join us," Cyclone is pulling out a seat right next to Bradley, offering it to her. Reluctantly, she pads over, taking a seat next to Bradley who can't seem to take his eyes off of her face. He runs his hands up and down his pant legs, more out of anxiety than anything else. Cyclone takes a seat across from the pair, a tight smile on his face. 

In any other world, it may look like a child introducing their significant other to their father, the way the tension hangs in the air between the trio. Cyclone awkwardly dishes himself servings of the food before passing it to Monsoon, who does the same before placing it down next to her, leaving Bradley to fend for himself. It's petty, that's true, but to Monsoon, it's a small act of defiance. A small fuck you for not remembering her, or the nights they spent together.

The Admiral knows something is going on right under his nose, just out of his understanding. He can see it in the way Monsoon shifts awkwardly in her seat while Bradley's gaze gets overly friendly with the plate in front of him. There's a question on the tip of his tongue, "kid, is Bradley your boyfriend?" but he knows better than to ask it. As he observes longer, he takes in the way his daughter tilts her shoulders just a little further away from Bradley, the arm closest to him resting elbow down on the table. The moment Cyclone notices the unpassed dishes sitting between the pair, he just knows. 

"So," Cyclone clears his throat, "Are you two excited to be back at Top Gun?"

It's a reasonable question, very middle of the road. Monsoon opens her mouth to answer, but Bradley beats her to it.

"Yes, sir. It's good to be back stateside. Hell, it's good to be back on solid ground. I've been stuck on a carrier for the past nine months and I was beginning to lose my mind!" He's chuckling now, and Beau joins in right along side him, the deep chuckles of the men filling the air. "But you know how it can get on the carriers. It's hard to pass the time, no going to the bar with friends, no dating,"

Then, Monsoon's fork hits her plate with a metallic clank against the glass. No dating, yeah, right. Out of all of the things Monsoon pegged Bradley to be, a liar was not one of them, but then again not much could surprise her after the way he left. 

"How about you, kid?"

"To be determined, Pops," The answer is genuine, spoken through grit teeth. 

Maybe she shouldn't be so upset with Bradley's lack of remembrance for her. After all, it's not always the wrong time with the right person. Or the wrong place. Sometimes it's wrong, maybe he just didn't like her that much- more a deployment fling to get him through the lonely nights than a future. 

"Well, I am excited you're back," Cyclone returns her direction, but Monsoon just shoves a fork full of salad into her mouth.

"Sir, can I ask what exactly they called us back for? And are there more of us?" Bradley asks between bites, his fork and knife busy against his plate.

"I am not obliged to share much, but I can tell you that fifteen of you have been called back, from varying Top Gun classes." The explanation leaves something to be desired, but both recruits are nodding on the other side of the table. Bradley eats another bite of steak, complimenting Cyclone on his grilling; Monsoon is just pushing the food around on her plate with the tines of her fork. It's easier than finding the appetite that was lost somewhere between the front door and the kitchen after Bradley's arrival.

"Are you teaching us this go around, Pops?" Monsoon's question is spoken quietly, in the middle of Bradley's sentence about his own grilling technique- there is no remorse for the interruption.

At her words, Cyclone visibly stiffens, his fork stilling on his plate. Then he's setting it down, eyes still locked with his plate. With a huff and a lick of his lips he looks across the table, met with two pairs of curious eyes. He knew this was going to be hard, but he didn't expect it to be quite like this. 

"No, I'm not teaching," Cyclone takes another breathe, unsure who to make eye contact with, knowing the words he's about to say are not going to be received well, by either one of them. "We- Top Gun has decided to bring in-"

The doorbell is ringing loudly through the house, startling Cyclone in his seat. It breaks though the tension like a fucking bullet, the whole thing blasting apart on impact. The trio trade glances that last milliseconds, like someone just knows whos going to be standing on the other side of that door.

"I'll get it, Pops," Monsoon is already pushing out of her seat, placing her napkin next to her plate. She is a bit too eager to get away from the tension surrounding that table, not only from her question but from the way Bradley is basically staring out of the corner of his eye. Though she can't exactly see it happening, she can feel it- the way his eyes are boring into the side of her head, almost burning. She will take anyone being on the other side of that door if it means she doesn't have to sit in Bradley's swimming gaze any longer. 

"No, you stay, I'll get it," Cyclone corrects, "You stay and chat,"

Then, Cyclone is pushing away from the table, heading right for the front door. He gives his daughter no time to protest. Cyclone leaves the slowly rebuilding tension behind him, and Monsoon is stuck having to sit back down, next to Bradley, left to simmer in it.

"We did know each other, right?" Bradley is quick to ask the moment Cyclone rounds the corner. It's a speed he's not used to- too used to sitting and waiting for the perfect timing that just doesn't come. But this isn't something he's willing to wait on, it's just something he has to know.

"Yes, Bradley, we knew each other. But that was a long time ago," Monsoon is shrugging, avoiding his eyes. The words should have hit him harder, from the way they all but flew from her lips, but the impact is almost gentle, like the comfort of them bore the brunt of it all.

"Do you remember my father?" The question is so innocent that it almost hurts; and Monsoon knows just how much throbbing pain there is inside Bradley. After one drunken night while on the carrier, he poured his heart out about his father, about how much he missed him and how he wished- hoped that Goose would have been proud of him. Monsoon sat and listened the to the whole thing, through the tears and drunken hiccups, reassuring Bradley that Goose would be proud of him.

After all, she knewhim, even if that was a million years ago- even if Bradley didn't know it.

She knows he would have been, because Goose was a good man.

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

Good men remember their lovers. They remember their old friends. They remember the people who showed up to their mother's funeral- and have the decency to show up to their friends' mother's funeral.  

Good men don't leave women in the dead of night, a break up message scrawled on a sticky note. They don't leave their friends to grieve alone. They don't forget. 

"Yes, I remember him," Monsoon chances a glance at Bradley, unintentionally meeting his eyes. God, he's looking at her like she holds the fucking secrets to the universe and all she can feel is a sort of twisted up sickness, like her sternum is bound together with poisoned ropes. Bradley can see the stars that cling to her fingertips, the secrets to the cosmos, but can't seem to find the words to beg for their translation.

Cyclone is walking back into the room a second later, accompanied by another set of footsteps. Neither Monsoon nor Bradley look up when they walk in, both too busy staring at each other. Bradley looks curious, Monsoon looks hurt. 

She looks away first. 

A tall blond walks in behind Cyclone, his gaze focused on a set of files in his hand. He's reading over the top file carefully, running his free hand through his cropped hair. There is a toothpick in his mouth, resting between his teeth. Dressed in his tan uniform, his biceps are straining against the cuffs.

He's a Stetson model type, clean cut and masculine. The line of his jaw accentuated by the clean lines of his uniform. His jaw ticks with frustration as his brows furrow at the paperwork. There appears to be a word on the tip of his tongue by the way the toothpick bobs between his plump lips.

"Hey, guys, sorry for that, this is-" Cyclone swings his hand, introduction interrupted by twin gasps.

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

Hangman isn't sure who to look at first, but his eyes meet Bradley's form first, his eyebrows knitting together at the familiar face before shooting to his hairline when his eyes land on Monsoon sitting next to Bradley.

"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"

Cyclone is whipping his head around in the way he might flip a jet. And Monsoon is pushing out of her chair again, ready to round the table and throw herself into the arms of the strong, blond man who just walked in, but her eyes meet the bewildered look on Cyclone's face, causing her to halt her movements. Hangman sets the paperwork down on the kitchen island, his eyes still locked on Monsoon, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Monsoon can tell he is holding himself back, fully aware of exactly who's house he is standing in, and the relationship between Monsoon and the Admiral.

It's been months since they've seen each other. Their goodbyes were said on the front porch of his little rental outside of Lake Hurst. Neither of them relished being in New Jersey, but they had each other and that's all that had mattered. They fostered a brand new relationship over a year, neither of them brave enough to label the nights spent together in that house. 

Then new orders came down the pipeline, on a TS Need-To-Know. The pair were being separated with the flick of a pen. So, they labelled their year long relationship through tears standing on his stoop, the night the orders came down the channel. 

They packed Jake's small house, and Monsoon's apartment, neither one knowing just what was to come. In the name of a temporary duty station, they got storage units next to each other, the closest thing to living together they'd be able to swing. 

That was six months ago. 

Monsoon did a little time in Pensacola while Jake got sent to Oak Harbor. Thousands of miles apart, their dates turned from late night dinners to quick conversations over the phone just to hear the other's voice. 

Neither of them expected their reunion to be here, in Admiral Simpson's kitchen, with Bradley Bradshaw and the Admiral watching the whole thing, confused expressions written into their features. 

"I got recalled to Top Gun!" Monsoon giggles a bit, her gaze still trapped with Hangman's.

"Me too!" The words leave Jake's lips and the pair are smiling. It's taking everything for them to hold themselves back from embracing each other, after months apart. Then, Cyclone is clearing his throat.

"Pops," Monsoon begins, clasping her hands in front of her, "God, this is weird. Remember earlier this evening when I said I wanted to talk to you about something?"

She had fully been intending on telling her Cyclone about her relationship with Hangman, in fact, she had been working up the courage for the past few weeks. But, Jake comes with a record, a reputation, and a respect problem, things Monsoon knows her Pops won't approve of. 

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" The words are leaving Cyclone's lips almost too quick, but Monsoon is quick to reassure him that it is.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I saw this going, but, Pops, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Jake Seresin," Monsoon is gesturing to Jake now, a worried smile on her face. The pair know each other, of course they do. They had met the first time Hangman went through Top Gun. Cyclone was on instructor duty and Hangman didn't take overly well to being instructed; though he did finish top of his class. 

Monsoon bobs up and down on the balls of her feet, the nervous energy flowing through her body. If she could push all the energy out of her and into the floor she would. Her soles grounding the electric current flowing through her, unapologetic and lightning hot. Monsoon would stand there in front of the three men who have played such a large roll in her life, back straight and eyes forward like the Navy trained her to do, if only she could coral that fucking energy and send it straight through the floor.

Monsoon bounces instead.

If she had the time, she could have prevented the look that crosses Cyclone's face. That look of you're not good enough for my kid that is so evident on his features. She knows that Jake saw it, clear as day from the way he almost winces. Everyone in that room knows the reputation that Hangman wears like a neon sign. The "voted biggest player" social life with the stellar callsign, the pilot known for leaving his wingman hanging, acting alone- selfish.

So much for putting off telling Cyclone; so much for easing him into the news. 

Bradley is watching the whole exchange from his seat with his eyebrows raised, like a fucking soap opera but the whole spectacle's happening in real time. He lets his eyes shift from person to person, taking it all in. Monsoon looks hopeful, though she is waiting with baited breath for her Pops to blow a fucking gasket. Jake, on the other hand, looks absolutely cool. Though he is the reason for the interruption, and for the impromptu introduction, he is impossibly collected. Then, Bradley's eyes shift to Cyclone, who has backed up a few steps. He keeps looking between Monsoon and Hangman, like he is playing some sort of invisible game of connect the dots.

Hangman and his fucking reputation are courting his daughter, and Cyclone really isn't thrilled about the news. 

Though Bradley isn't exactly thrilled to see Hangman here either, he's taking the whole thing in stride, as opposed to Cyclone, but the younger man can't exactly blame him. If it were Bradley getting this major bomb dropped on him, he wouldn't be sitting pretty, either. Bradley is bringing his glass up to his lips, his eyes still flashing between the trio.

"Monsoon-" Cyclone starts, but the sound of coughing interrupts. Bradley is coughing, choking on his water. He attempts to wave a hand, letting everyone know he's okay, but in reality, he's far from it.

Monsoon. The woman he left asleep in her bunk five years ago stands next to him now, and not only that, they fucking grew up together, at least for a little while. And she remembers his Dad, and she's Maverick's kid. And fuck, she's dating Hangman!

Things are moving just a bit too fast, and Bradley can't quite catch his breath between coughing fits. 

The glass is quickly set back onto the kitchen table, but is sent over the edge as Bradley reaches for a napkin. The glass falls in faux slow motion, the liquid flowing from the cup as it hits the hardwood, shattering like a pinprick galaxy upon the floor. Bradley, still coughing, searches the new formation of cosmos on the floor for the answer to all the mixed up bullshit he has found himself in.

"Rooster?" Monsoon pats him harshly on the back, right between his shoulder blades. Then, she is rubbing his back, her hand full of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin burns under her touch as he struggles to return his breathing to normal. There's still a knot in the back of his throat made of unsaid words and new revelations that he can't seem to swallow down. 

"Rooster, are you okay?"

Hangman and Cyclone are quick to circle around the table, Hangman taking a knee next to Monsoon, his hand quickly finding her lower back. Cyclone is on the other side of Bradley, the glass crunching under his expensive leather loafers. Bradley is red from all the coughing, but an embarrassed blush still floods his skin from all the attention.

"Mons?" The nickname comes out all scratchy as Rooster wipes a newly formed tears from his eyes. The concerned expression morphs to hold a bit of shock before settling on some sort of mix of frustration and downright sadness. Monsoon tries to school her expression but her eyes still swim with emotion as they are locked with Bradley's.

"Yeah, Roos," Monsoon shoots his nickname right back, a confirmation that all but shakes the world around Bradley. She brings a tender hand up to squeeze his shoulder before pulling back, subconsciously leaning closer to Hangman, into the warmth of his hand on her back. She finds safety in her boyfriend's touch, the warmth of his skin pooling against her through the fabric of her dress. 

The lack of contact makes Rooster feel cold, but the feeling is short lived as Cyclone is grasping at his other shoulder. A swivel of his head and Bradley is met with the furrowed brows of the Admiral.

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Yes, sir," Bradley responds, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "I'm so sorry about the glass, please, let me clean it up,"

As Rooster stands, he is pushed back down gently by Cyclone, his hand still on the younger man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it, please," And so Bradley is sitting again, in the center of the standing trio, feeling completely out of place. "As for the two of you, take a seat, we have some things to discuss,"

The sound of chairs being pulled out against the hard wood floor is accompanied by the intense ringing of the doorbell once again. The group look from person to person, once again looking for any clue as to who could be at the front door this time. Cyclone is padding over to the door, the crunching of glass less evident the further away her gets.

Bradley attempts to clear the lump in his throat, now without the luxury of his glass of water. Monsoon takes her untouched glass and slides it closer to Bradley, a barely there smile on her face. Her expression holds more sympathy than anything. Bradley takes the glass with both hands, a little too careful as he brings it up to his lips. 

"Let me get you a plate, okay?" Monsoon speaks to Hangman, her smile clearly wider, brighter, more full of life when it's directed his way. "Pops will give me so much grief if he comes back and that spot isn't set,"

So, Monsoon excuses herself from the table, leaving the men sitting in apprehensive silence. 

With a strong tug from Cyclone, door swings open and there is no time for a 'hello' as the man on the other side is pushing in, a wild look in his eye, a vein on his forehead bulging with frustration.

"We need to talk Simpson," The tone holds misplaced authority. Beau runs cold at the sight of Pete "Maverick" fucking Michell standing in his entryway, looking pissed off enough to catch a charge.

"That's Admiral Simpson to you Captain," Cyclone's teeth are grit so hard they might crack under the pressure of his jaw. "You cannot be here right now,"

The raised hand does nothing to stop Maverick from pushing further into the house. There's a folder in his hand, wrinkling under the closing of his fist. Sweat clings to the Admiral's brow, a vision of the crown of thorns, droplets running down the side of his face. It might as well have been blood from the way his stomach twists as Maverick steps closer to him, pushing the paperwork, right against the center of his chest.

"Do you know who got recruited for this mission, huh?" The words are dripping with venom, "Do you realize who you've chosen for this fucking death wish of a goddamn mission?"

Captain Michell's tone is all accusatory and full fury. He's pushing into Cyclone's chest harder, his knuckles white under the pressure. Cyclone grabs at the older man's wrist, his own knuckles paling as he squeezes.

"Captain, I will not repeat myself, you cannot be here,"

"Who is it, Pops?" Monsoon is calling from around the corner, her voice full of curiosity. Cyclone isn't a praying man, especially after what happened with June and their sweet baby boy, but now Cyclone is praying to every god, every deity that crosses his mind, even those who's names he cannot recall, that his daughter will not walk around the corner to see Pete Mitchell standing in his entry way.

"Nobody, kid, I'll be there in just a moment," He calls before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. He tightens his grip on Pete's wrist before he's wrenching it away from his chest. He pushes it back into Pete's own chest, leaning in close, "My daughter is not to see you here, leave. Now."

One might think Maverick would get the hint, since he pulls his hand from Cyclones grip. But then, Maverick is throwing open the file, pointing at the first page's photo. There is so much frustration in the action, it bounces between the two men like they're sounding boards, building and building.

"See this? Jake "Hangman" Seresin? You really want to send somebody in the sky who has a pension for leaving their wingman? You want to send someone into the air with a guy like him when the mission is already guaranteeing a loss of life?" 

That catches the attention of the trio in the other room. All motion stills as they strain to hear more. 

Wide mouthed, pointed tongue, Maverick is yelling without a care in the world. It doesn't matter who hears as long as Cyclone is hearing it too.

"And how about this," The paper tears as Maverick turns the page, "Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. You know about his father. You damn well know about Goose and you want to send his son to an early grave too?"

Jaws tick, fists tighten. Cyclone breathes deeply, thinking- choosing his words carefully as the older man continues to scream. It's not beautiful or noble like books would describe. There is no gift from God, no blessing, no one anointed with the ability to see into the future, to see just how this is going to play out. Instead, it's just words exchanged between mortal men, both too damn stubborn to back down with knives to each other's throats.

"And check out these two," Maverick is laughing now, leaning in closer to Cyclone, his breathe reeking of whiskey. Cyclone can see the way Maverick's eyes are bloodshot and weepy as he pushes him back. Sweat coats his skin leaving him clammy to the touch. 

"Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Robert "Bob" Floyd," Another strangled laugh escapes Captain Mitchell, "You really think this scrawny kid and a woman are up to the task at hand? Really? I can think of at least five better pilots and Wizzos who are better qualified than these two. And look! She's the pilot! Hell, I don't even know how they made it through Top Gun the first time around! The fucking Navy is getting soft."

"It's time for you to go, Captain Mitchell. Sober up. We will discuss this on Monday," Cyclone puts a hand to the older man's shoulder, attempting to usher him out without too much force. Cyclone can't risk Maverick being in his house any longer. He has already been gone too long and his guests are likely getting curious. "Time to go, Pete,"

"But, Cyclone, you haven't even heard the best part," Maverick can barely get the words out through drunken laughter. He's turning the page with clumsy fingers, the paper tearing under his touch.

The trio, Rooster, Monsoon, and Hangman round the corner as Cyclone is attempting to usher Maverick out the front door. They watch as the Maverick stumbles out of Cyclone's grip and further into the house.

"Pops?" Monsoon speaks as the strange man hits the floor, laughing as he does. The file has fallen open, scattering pictures of the newest Top Gun brain child called The Dagger Squad. They sit scattered all over the entry way like freshly fallen snow. Her eyes go to the paper that falls near her feet. 

"Well if it isn't the prodigal child," Maverick speaks, pushing himself further off the floor. "How many strings did you have to pull to get your own daughter onto the squad? Are you trying to send this kid to an early grave like the last one?"

The three Daggers stand speechless. Monsoon is quickly folded under Hangman's arm, her face pressed into his chest. Rooster stands just off to the side of them, his eyes flashing to Monsoon. 

The arguing doesn't stop.

"Shut your mouth," Cyclone spits, "You don't know a goddamn thing,"

Maverick stumbles to his feet, standing up at straight as possible to get into Cyclone's face, just to taunt the younger man.

"See, Admiral, that's not true, now is it? You and I both know that she isn't actually yours and this would be an easy way to get rid of her, right? Send her back to-"

His words are met with a swift punch to the face, the cartilage of his nose crunching under Cyclone's knuckles. The punch feels good, like it had been coming for a long, long time. Like it had been building within Beau Simpson for years, every single time Maverick missed out on a celebration of the amazing life Monsoon is leading. For every birthday, every graduation, every reenlistment and promotion ceremony, Maverick missed it all, and the rage built inside Cyclone. Now, it finally came out, popped like a Champaign cork, blood instead of the fizzy alcohol dotting itself over Cyclone's entryway.

A warm hand slips into Monsoon's; Bradley stepped closer, clutching onto her. He recognized Pete Mitchell the moment he got a clear view, both his anger and anxiety flaring. Bradley squeezed her hand once, nice and strong, before dropping it once more, stepping in front of her and Hangman.

"Captain Mitchell," Bradley begins, his voice firm, full of hurt.

The words make Monsoon's head spin. She leans away from her boyfriend's chest to get a better look at the bloody faced man and it sends a chill down her spine. Her Dad who she hasn't seen in years is now standing in a room full of people who can't fucking stand his existence. It's a fucking miracle that all he has is a bloody nose.

"Bradley," Pete spits a little bit of blood as he speaks, looking up at the younger man. He reaches a hand out, but it's dodged. "It's good to see you, son,"

"I'm not your son. It's time for you to go," Bradley is ready to grab Pete Mitchell by the collar and haul him out of the house. He's ready to throw him onto the lawn and leave him there to spit blood and sober up enough until he can walk himself home. Bradley has his own selfish reasons, his own grudge against the Captain, and now would be as good a time as any to feed into that frustration that he's been stewing in for years.

"I'm calling Admiral Kazansky," Cyclone declares to the room, then he's spinning on his heel the moment Bradley takes a step closer, clearly putting himself between Maverick and Monsoon.

The Admiral is ordering Hangman to move, to take his daughter anywhere else so that she doesn't have to see any more of the disaster that the night has turned out to be. He doesn't want her to see him throw Maverick out- hell, he didn't want her to see him punch the older man, but there's no going back in time. 

As much as Cyclone wishes he could have protected her from this, he couldn't. One can't stop a speeding bullet, as they say, and the shot had already been fired the moment he pulled open the front door. And as much as he doesn't want to, Cyclone has to trust Hangman with his daughter, he just has to, now. 

So, Hangman is all but carrying Monsoon away as she fights to stay put. She misses the order from her Pops, her blood thrumming too loudly through her ears. Hangman takes her through the house, dodging the pile of glass still glittering on the hardwood in the kitchen, hauling her out the backdoor and right to his truck. Monsoon flights the whole time, though it's unclear as to her reason to want to say behind.

The pair are pulling away from the house as Bradley and Beau are hauling Maverick out to the front lawn, his nose still pouring blood.

Jake drives in the direction of his apartment, holding onto her hand the whole time. He squeezes it reassuringly though there isn't much he can assure her of at the moment. Neither of them know what's going to come of Maverick, or of Cyclone's heated action against him. They don't know if Bradley is going to get caught in the crossfire, or if they are going to get called into the MP's office sometime in the middle of the night.

There is no clear answer, so, Hangman squeezes her hand and drives.

And drives.

And drives.

As far away as he can get from that house, that situation, the feeling in his chest spurred on by the broken look in Monsoon's eyes.

He drives until the sun crests over the horizon. Pulling off onto the side of the highway, Hangman kills the headlights, the world around them just beginning to come to life. That's when the tears come, falling fast and hard from the pools of Monsoon's eyes. Hangman just holds her there, inside of the truck.

The world around them awakens as Monsoon's falls apart, crumbling like unquenched Earth between her fingers. Maybe that's what the whole situation is, after all, how many times have the great authors related relationships to gardens, to plants, to life. Without nurture, without care and tending, the soil dries out, the plants die. The whole garden becoming a wasteland for the decaying plant matter; the soil turning to clay as the days roll on.

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Two weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Hangman had completely expected to pretend like the whole fight at the Admiral's house didn't happen when he met up with the other recruits at the bar, save for Monsoon. He took a little too much joy ordering drinks for the team on Maverick's tab- the older man not seeming to remember him from the incident, even after Hangman sent him a wink and a "thanks, Pops,".

When Bradley strutted in like the world was full of golden promise, Hangman took it upon himself to act like it was the first time they had seen each other in years. Bradshaw was quick to get the memo: last week didn't happen.

There's no surprise that Maverick got thrown out of the Hard Deck that night, either. Hangman sure as hell wasn't expecting to be the one to throw Maverick out of the bar, but that part gave him a sense of pride that he can't quite put words to.

The feeling bloomed in his chest as he watched Maverick hit the sand. A wide smile spread across his face as he yelled for him to "come back anytime," if that meant getting more free alcohol and the chance to throw him out again. Then, as Hangman closed the doors behind him while Rooster began one hell of a rendition of "Great Balls of Fire", everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

Tensions are high now, Hangman and Rooster's rivalry is back and stronger than ever. They have been at each other's throats since that night at the Hard Deck, though the reason wasn't the mission or the usual dick measuring contest, even if the other recruits would say that it is.

They have been battling it out over a woman. Monsoon, specifically. The team doesn't know about her involvement with Hangman, and the pair try and keep it that way. So, she sits in the back of the classroom, right behind Yale and does her best to pay attention. The mission seems more impossible by the minute, the deadline has been moved up, and nobody has been successful.

Rooster and Maverick argue about the plane vs the pilot and how he had been the only one to make it to the target, though it was a minute late.

Then, Hangman opens his fucking mouth, living up to that reputation of his. "It's no time to be thinking about the past,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rooster's expression is unreadable, though his brows twitch.

"I can't be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man!" Hangman continues through Maverick's pleas, "Or that he was the one flying when-"

Rooster is out of his seat in a matter of seconds, launching himself at his fellow Lieutenant. Hangman took it too far this time. Rooster gets one good push in before the rest of the squad are separating the two hot headed men from each other, everyone yelling for the fighting to stop.

Everyone but Monsoon, who sits in the back staring at the fight in front of her and can't seem to make herself move.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Hey, hey, I'm cool, I'm cool," Hangman reassures, pulling out of the arms of his teammates.

"He's not cut out for this mission, you know it... You know I'm right." He gets up into Bradley's face, a fucking smirk on his lips. The others are still holding Bradley back as he calms down, but it's that fucking smirk that spurs him on.

Bob's hands slip from Rooster's shoulders as he gets into Hangman's face. "You think you can talk shit about my family when it's your girl that's got the most fucked up situation of all," Bradley keeps his eyes trained on Hangman, but the blonde's eyes tick to the side, in the direction of Monsoon, who is still in her seat. It's Bob who notices the way Hangman's eyes shift, and he's the first person to look in Monsoon's direction. Then, Bob's nudging Phoenix. 

They watch as Monsoon tenses in her seat, her jaw ticking. Her hands grip the arms of her chair, knuckles white. Then, Bob and Phoenix turn their attention back to the men as the screaming match continues. 

"I'm not the one who broke up with her on a goddamn post-it note, Rooster," Hangman points out with a raise of his brows, that stupid little smirk still evident on his lips. Rooster is bringing his hands up to his temples, his expression scrunched.

"You son of a bitch," Rooster is cursing at him through grit teeth, his voice low.

The crowd of Aviators are still gathered around the two men watching them fight, Maverick's eyes flicking between them as words are exchanged. His mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when he broke down the Admiral's door and saw them standing there with Cyclone. He suddenly flashes his eyes back to Monsoon, only to be met with her piercing glare.

"What? Was taking her father for yourself not good enough for you? Did you have to break her heart too?" Hangman questions, watching as Bradley's face contorts, "You're just pissed because not only could you not keep your shit Rio of a father around, you couldn't keep the girl, either,"

"That's enough!" Monsoon shouts, her eyes finally leaving Maverick. The Daggers' eyes are locked on Monsoon at the back of the makeshift classroom, anger evident on her features. Then, with her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her, she is pushing up from her seat.

"Seresin," Monsoon begins, turning her eyes to him, "First, you will not speak about my uncle that way. Goose was a good man and a damn good Rio. Uncle Nicky would have moved the fucking Earth for Bradley, or for Maverick, or for me and my Mama, don't you dare think anything different."

Monsoon is moving closer to the group now, taking each step slowly, methodical as her words. There is a large, yellow envelope tucked under her arm as she approaches. She had been sitting with that envelope since their first class, no one having even the slightest idea what's tucked inside.

"Secondly, Rooster, my relationship with Jake is not your business, not now, not ever. What we had was over the moment you wrote that post-it and walked out the door. You didn't even remember the fact that we grew up together, for fucks sake. I get it, I was your little deployment fling, and that's all. Now, you get to live with the fact that's all I'll ever be. Hangman put you in your place, now say in it."

The crowd is too stunned to speak, but there is a rumble of laughter that escapes Maverick. He doesn't even try to hide it, thinking the tension in the air would be enough to cover it. But then, Monsoon is turning her pointed gaze to him.

"Finally, Captain Mitchell," There is a sick little smirk on her lips as she says his name, "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, Bradley had to get his pension for forgetting women from somebody."

Monsoon is standing toe to toe with Maverick now, eyes locked in on his, "After all, I've been in this class for what, two weeks, and I know you have had the roster for longer than that, considering that little stunt you pulled at my Pop's house. You think it's funny to forget someone when your own flesh and blood is standing right in front of you?"

Maverick furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. Monsoon can practically see the gears turning in his head with the way his eyes move across her features. She breathes deeply a couple of times, letting his mind piece the puzzle together.

"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.

"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.

"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.

It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.

The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks. 

The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away. 

It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.

Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes. 

That fact is almost too much for him to take. 

The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year. 

Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment. 

"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.

The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base. 

He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.

Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him. 

He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach. 

Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did. 

Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up. 

It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself. 

So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it. 

It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.

Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday. 

Or her twenty-first. 

Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions. 

Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all. 

And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong. 

He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there. 

---

When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care. 

When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks. 

"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted. 

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist. 

"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him. 

"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist. 

"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart," 

Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute. 

"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?" 

"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"

Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry. 

"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"

"He knows?" 

"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes. 

"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments. 

"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest. 

"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge. 

But he can't.

So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay. 

---

Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad. 

Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart. 

On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.  

Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley. 

"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.

"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman," 

"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will. 

"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own. 

As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile. 

Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips. 

Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.

It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.

At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore. 

She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough. 

Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go. 

Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret. 

---

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights. 

"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer. 

"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips. 

"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips. 

"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"

The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes. 

"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin. 

"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar. 

The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life. 

When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand. 

"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears. 

"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always," 

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[ashleyfilm]

Seeing Clearly - Chapter 5. Movie Night

Please leave comments, I'd love to know your thoughts. And if you feel inclined to reblog, that would be so nice.

Chapter Warnings: cursing - Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader Plus Size. F!OC was recommended to me since there's a lot of description of her but I'm writing her as You (Reader) so hopefully you can still imagine yourself. Black hair, glasses, tattoos, big body, wears dark clothes, won't stop talking. Joel is tv show Jackson Joel.

Story Summary: Joel just saved your life, begrudgingly. He doesn't know exactly why but he brings you back to Jackson and you ingratiate yourself into his very small circle and his life. This takes place after season 1 of TLOU and season 2 doesn't exist in my brain because no.

Chapter Summary: You start your job at the library, meet a new resident of Jackson and Joel takes you to the movies. 1.8K

Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the book line divider. :)

Chapter 1 Here Chapter 2 Here Chapter 3 Here Chapter 4 Here

Chapter 5. Movie Night

After stopping by the clothing swap, Joel walks you to the library in your “new” old black t-shirt, with the faded logo of Guns n’ Roses, one of your favorite bands from childhood, you can still remember most of the words to the entire Use Your Illusion II album. Your eyes lit up when you found it and it actually fits you, even a tiny bit loose, your favorite. Joel couldn’t help the smile that formed on his plush lips seeing you full of glee, like a child that never went through any of this shit. At the library, you meet an older gentleman named Doc, long grey hair, warm smile and a sparkle in his eyes. He’s hoping to retire this year and you’re just in time to learn the ropes and take over. He walks you through the stacks and what he’s been able to do with the last three years he’s spent there. Organizing, cataloguing, working out distribution to the townsfolk. He even encourages you to suggest your own ideas on how to facilitate the place. You take your time walking around and looking at the books, all in various stages of use, but mostly well held up. Sometimes there are even multiple copies of something where the beginning is in one and the end in the other.

It's magical, being surrounded by all these stories, all these means of escape. And you haven’t even gotten to the VHS tape section with the movies. You grew up going to the video store every Friday with your parents, picking out something for them and something for you. Sitting in your room and watching the stories unfold before your eyes. You even worked in a video store before the outbreak, studied filmmaking in school. This place is already healing you. You can feel it. “Ash, got a visitor here, needs help finding something,” Doc says to break you from your reverie. You walk to the front desk and find a young man, probably in his early 30s, blonde hair, average height, good looking, but kind of like the asshole in your high school that’s on the soccer team and makes fun of you in front of his friends. “Ash, is it? I heard we had a newbie in town. I’m Ryan, nice to meet you,” he says as he takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. You still at the touch, people don’t really touch like this anymore and you haven’t been touched since you got here except for Joel and that was …different.

“Hi, uh, what can I help you with?” You say curtly. “Well, I’m looking for something to read, maybe something sci-fi, think you can help me out,” he says with a smirk. This guy isn’t here to read, he’s here to get the info on the new girl, ugh fuck off. “Um, sure, follow me.” Even though you’re new, you’ve quickly made a map in your head of the library space and the way Doc has taken to organizing and grouping things. You head straight to fiction section, which is currently just by author last name, you’ll change that. Wanting to get this over quickly, you look for H.G. Wells, and find The Invisible Man and hand it to the guy. So, Brad or whatever the fuck his name is will get away from you. “A Grotesque Romance,” he says reading the subtitle on the cover. “Interesting choice,” again with the smirk. “Yup, hope you enjoy it,” you say not really looking at him anymore. “I’m sure I will,” he says looking your body up and down. “See ya around, Ash.” You smile quickly and turn to walk away. Well, that’s the first person you’ve met that you immediately dislike, you guess it was bound to happen in a town with this many fucking people. A very obvious downside.

At the end of your shift, you say goodbye to Doc and start on your walk to the dining hall that will be turned into a movie theatre for the evening for a viewing of Jurassic Park. Your tote bag, courtesy of your new boss, filled with three books. Carrie by Stephen King for you, a graphic novel called, Somewhere in the Stars for Ellie, and No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy for Joel. You wonder if he’ll like your old man joke or not. And like you’ve manifested him; he’s standing outside the library leaning against a lamppost, waiting for you. He’s stunning, standing with his arms crossed against his chest, in a green flannel with red lines and the sleeves rolled up to reveal his thick forearms and his hair wet and slicked back. And he’s there for you. He looks up and notices you walking towards him, you bite your lip to try and hide your smile. “Well, how’d it go?” He asks with his mouth in a line but his eyes, they’re different, warmer. “Good,” you answer, “Doc’s really lovely and it’s amazing how many books you all have.” He watches you speak, and you think he might see something new, and you feel it too, invigorated. You begin to walk in step with one another to the movie night.

“I got Ellie something,” you say as you dig into your bag and retrieve the graphic novel, handing it to Joel. He smiles warmly, probably thinking of Ellie and says, “She’ll love this.” After he hands it back you put it away and reach for the book you got for him, “And this …is for you.” Your hold your breath hoping he likes your choice. “Old Men, that a crack on me, sweetheart?” He says with a chuckle. Sweetheart, he just called you sweetheart. He continues, “Thank you, that’s real kind. Always wanted to read this one, never had the chance, always workin’ too much before everything happened.” “Good, well now you can.” He hands it back and your fingers brush just slightly and like this morning you feel a bolt of electricity run through you. You look away and hope he can’t see the blush on your cheeks.

When you walk into the theatre together, quite a few people look your way with curiosity. You don’t know if it’s because you’re new in town or because you’re with the big, bad Joel Miller. But soon, you don’t care because you smell the popcorn and hear people laughing and see the big projector screen. And you almost sob right then and there. Joel’s watching you in wonder. He lightly touches your shoulder, leaning in close he whispers, “Go pick out a seat wherever you want, I’ll get us some snacks.” A shiver runs down your spine and he’s gone. You find what you deem the perfect seat, close to the middle and along the center aisle. You see Ellie who gives you a wave and wanders after a pretty, dark-haired girl around her age. She looks so happy, and it makes your heart clench in your chest. You start to worry how much you’ve gotten comfortable here, it’s a lot so soon. And you worry that it could all be taken away, like everyone and everything in your life already has.

Before you can spiral too far into your mind, Joel sits next to you. “You couldn’t pick a place a little less surrounded by people?” he says with a grunt. “Hey, you said anywhere I want,” you pout at him. “That I did, I guess I shouldn’t leave it up to you next time,” he says with another hint of a laugh. Did he say next time? Did you really hear that? The movie starts to play, and you and Joel share popcorn, he holds it for you and offers it over to you every couple of minutes. You hear the music by John Williams, and it takes you back. When you were a little girl and your parents would sit you between them and watch you as your eyes lit up taking it all in, so enthralled. Popcorn now long forgotten, it comes to one of the parts you’ve never forgotten, when the girl, is about to fall through the ceiling and the velociraptors are underneath her dangling body and they snap at her legs. You jump out of your skin and grab onto Joel’s hand. After the jump scare you start to laugh, still holding onto him, then you look over at him and he’s already looking at you, a soft smile on his face, until both your smiles fade replaced with a longing gaze until he drops your hand and turns back to the movie. You worry you’ve gone too far, asked for too much, too soon. You clasp your hands back in your lap and try to enjoy the rest of the movie in silence.

As the T-Rex screams and the banner falls, the room is filled with applause. Everyone loved this movie; it didn’t matter who you were. The lights come on and everyone begins to make their way out into the night air of Jackson. Joel says he’s going to find Ellie and for you to “stay put.” Eyeroll. Unfortunately, that’s when Brad or whoever the fuck from earlier decides to come and say hello. “Hi there, Ash. How’d you like the movie?” he says while again looking you up and down. “It’s great, one of my favorites but I guess you weren’t born when it came out, huh?” You don’t even know if it’s true you just want to infantilize him, so he’ll go away. Instead, he laughs and touches your arm, “You may be right about that one.” Suddenly, Joel is back at your side with Ellie, “Time to go.” He says to you gruffly. Ellie is looking between you, Joel and what’s his name wide-eyed like she’s waiting for fireworks or a fight to break out. “Oh, hey Joel, I didn’t know you knew our girl, Ash here,” he says with a smirk, looking only at you. “She’s staying with us, Ryan.” Joel says, fist clenched at his side. Ryan, oh that’s his name. “Okay, well maybe you can save me a seat next time, Ash,” Ryan says with a tip of his hat gesture, the dumbass isn’t even wearing a hat. Idiot. “Bye,” you say as you turn to walk after Ellie and Joel. Ellie hangs back with you as Joel darts off ahead of you. With a grin Ellie says, “What was all that about, huh?” You look at her with a disgusted look on your face, “I honestly have no idea.” Over the next several days, you avoid Brad/Ryan like the plague. Haha, plague. And sadly Joel barely speaks to you, but he does leave out your wolf mug by the coffee machine every morning.

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

it’s tiiiiimeee

i haven’t watched this show in full in five years 😵‍💫but it’s october and i was gonna watch thee byeler episode aka 2x02 on halloween anyway so i thought i might as well rewatch the entire show and make it everyone’s problem

forgot about the jumpscare being right at the beginning

baby will <3

they were all BABIES and now they’re all grown and the damn final season still hasn’t premiered lmao

dustin was so adorable

“it was a seven.” “huh?” “the roll, it was a seven. the demogorgon, it got me.” the way will was incapable of lying to mike, GOD, i feel sick

fun fact: will’s adorable little “see you tomorrow!” is immediately what made him my favorite

“kiss your mom ‘night for me!” lmfao

forgot how damn good the jumpscares are

gonna need mike to see will with a gun at least once before this show is over

“damn,you look like hell, chief!” “oh, yeah? well, i looked better than your wife when i left her this morning.” HELP

“lonnie used to call him queer.” “is he?” FUCKING HELL, HOPPER 😭 i completely forgot about that scene lmfao

EL, MY BABY

benny was such a good man :( he didn’t deserve to die

that poor dog was so hated irl 😭

“you think we got a problem here?” my brother in christ, a boy is missing

“i’m the only one that cares about will!” mike loves will so much, i’m gonna cry

i completely forgot about hop’s daughter

mike sneaking out while steve’s sneaking in 😭 this show is also a comedy

winona ryder the actress that you are

chapter 2

maybe i’m going to find out in this ep i can’t remember if they ever investigate benny’s death or link it to everything else that was going on

“stop it, you’re freaking her out!” “she’s freaking ME out!” lucas was the only real one in the beginning

poor baby. el didn’t even know what privacy was before this moment.

“oh, you can speak!” she gets that a lot 😭

mike and el had so much potential as friends, FUCK the duffers for ruining them by making it romantic. now they don’t even seem like they like each other

i hope s5 focuses on more on will and lucas’ friendship

jonathan was such a good brother

brenner. always at the scene of the fucking crime.

mike naming his dino ‘rory’ because he roars 🥹

FUCK BRENNER ALL MY HOMIES HATE BRENNER

karen was such a good mom in the beginning

i hate lonnie with a passion, he’s an abusive piece of shit who should’ve been killed off

i don’t blame lucas at all for the way he was acting with el at first

“one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild? some real fine parenting right there.”

they kept pointing out so many similarities between will and el, i can’t believe they didn’t go anywhere with it

“can’t ask a corpse a question.” die. just die.

nancy: *losing her virginity*

barb: *losing her life*

chapter 3

“no one breaks in here.” yeah, they just break out

love jonathan but steve wasn’t exactly wrong about the pictures

joyce byers the mother that you are

mike wanted nothing to do with el once they found will’s “body” but we’re supposed to believe that he loved her the second he saw her in the woods.

chapter 4

i can’t believe they showed that mike has all of the drawings will has created and expected us to be normal about it

“screw his funeral!” “what?!” TEARS

jonathan loves joyce and will so much 🥺

steve was such an unbearable asshole

can we PLEASE talk about charlie being able to hold his own with winona in that scene about will’s body? we already know winona’s gonna blow it out of the water but he did just as well

completely forgot about mike doing el’s makeup this episode dkfkgjd

“where are you from, exactly?” “bad place.” 😭

that troy scene still sends

“the kid is dead. end of story.”

they put too much pressure on el. i hope when all this shit is over she’s able to just be a normal kid.

this show used to be so fucking good

i love how hop tries lying to the state trooper and when that doesn’t work he just knocks him the fuck out 😭

I FUCKING HATE LONNIE

i’m so glad they had jonathan realize that joyce was telling the truth about everything that was going on instead of just dragging it all out.

chapter 5

hate lonnie for taking advantage of joyce when she’s clearly in a vulnerable position

“wait until we tell will that jennifer hayes was crying at his funeral” lmao

all this season is showing me is how severely they’ve robbed us of joyce and will scenes in future episodes

“man, these aren’t real nilla wafers.” mr. clark must think they’re horrible friends, i’m crying. dustin is right, though, fake nilla wafers suck.

“it might even swallow us whole.” and that’s exactly what’s happening by the end of s4

“he’s wanted to go to nyu since he was six. years. old!” she should’ve killed lonnie right then & there

can’t prove it but jonathan fell in love with nancy the second she shot that can on her first try

jonathan clocked nancy’s ass BAD in the woods

forgot just how much lucas hated el this season

byeler and jancy have paralleled each other too many times for it to just mean nothing in the end.

chapter 6

the jumpscares in this show are top tier

what i love about this show is how it still has me holding my breath even though i already know what’s going to happen

“i don’t wanna be alone. do you?” “no.” i was gonna say he wouldn’t be alone cause joyce is there but i remembered he doesn’t wanna tell her til it’s all over

early jancy were so awkward, i love them <3

“i could have been killed!” “which is exactly why we need her. she’s a weapon!” but mike loves her at this point, right?

lucas loves will so much, it’s a shame we haven’t seen much more of their friendship

“you’re my best friend, too.” “okay :D” dustin looked so happy 😭

“what’s the weirdest part? me or the bear trap?” “you, definitely you.” pls

jonathan beating the shit out of steve was so satisfying

“only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart.” i’m not even gonna say anything. you all know.

we don’t give mike enough appreciation for being such a selfless person. he did everything he could to find will, he almost killed himself to protect dustin, he let el live in his basement without even knowing her, etc.

“she’s our friend and she’s crazy!” i love dustin with my whole heart

BABIES 🫶🏼

chapter 7

“if anyone asks where i am, i’ve left the country.” this season is really reminding me why mike was my favorite in the beginning

i wanna hug el so bad

“our son with a girl?” ted, to mike:

“a psychotic child broke his arm!” “a little girl, chief. a little one.” “that tone! do you hear that tone?” “honestly, i’m just trying to state a fact. it was a little girl.” this entire exchange is sending me so bad

“you couldn’t take jonathan byers.” get his ass!

it was such a great choice to have joyce be the first one to ever give el comfort because she’s such a soft, comforting person and i can’t think of anyone better

chapter 8

made it to the finale! gonna be honest, i didn’t think i’d get here in only two days but this show sucked me in the exact way it did the first time

“go to hell.” joyce is everything

waiting til this episode to give flashbacks on hop’s daughter was an excellent choice

steve just wanted to apologize to jonathan and now he’s an exasperated mother of seven. life comes at ya quick!!

choosing not to acknowledge that scene beyond this for the sake of my mental health

el is a badass but she shouldn’t have to be

brenner should’ve never made it to season 4

these kids acted their ASSES off in this show

GOD THIS JOYCE, HOPPER AND WILL SCENE

you’d think everything that went down would make nancy and karen care more about mike and pay attention to him but it doesn’t. mike deserves so much better.

will is in a hospital bed worrying about jonathan’s hand. I LOVE THIS KID.

byeler hug <3

they all really wanted to tell will about jennifer hayes crying 😭

“her name’s eleven.” “like the number?” he sounded baffled lmaooo

getting will back must’ve been so bittersweet for nancy

hop keeps throwing away lit cigarettes and all i keep thinking is that he’s gonna start a wildfire eventually

mike’s soft ‘see you, will’ 🥹

the camera!!

“your wife doesn’t have time to cook for me.” pls

the byers family 🫶🏼

my love for this show has officially been revived. rewatching this reminded me why i loved this show so much in the first place. the acting is amazing, especially from the kids, the writing was great, and the fucking jumpscares were incredible. i’m so excited to start season 2!!

[imagine--if]

Hi may i ask for a niragi dating headcannons? Thank you (^-^)

Btw, I love your work

A/N: Thank you so much ☺️ I’ve been wanting to write for you all sooner, but my laptop charger decided to stop working, so I’ve been a little restricted with working and basically did this on a different computer because it’s literally impossible for me to type everything on my tiny phone screen 💀 Anyways, enjoy!! Requests are closed now but I’ll be able to answer every one that’s come in for you in the meantime ���

Warnings: Mentions of suggestive stuff (hickeys ☺️) and violence… is Niragi a whole warning himself lol

Quick note: These headcanons are personalised slightly since I absolutely hate how he acts with Usagi (you know what I mean 😐) so let’s say he’s more of a decent person than how he’s portrayed in some scenes 😅♥️

🖤 Dating Niragi Includes… 🖤

🤍• Aaaaghhhh it’s the strutting bully in black and white who is almost as crazy possessive with you as Banda would be 😵‍💫 have fun, because once he notices that you didn’t shy away in disgust from his bold flirtatious advances and returned his attention back at the Beach, take him, boy’s yours 😂

🤍• These headcanons are typically set in Season 2, but before the fire and Niragi’s presumed death when it all burned down, with time and privacy, you somehow found the soft side of the victim-turned-bully who desperately wants you to believe that he’s a powerful, intimidating bad boy.

🤍• Jealous jealous jealous 💀 especially with Chishiya; if the smug blonde looks at you for a moment too long with that raised brow and observant eyes? He gets Niragi’s rifle shoved into his face with a barrel of insults and threats. Because deep down, he’s still vulnerable and doesn’t want anyone turning your head or seeing that he’s not done fearless trigger happy guy, he’s just Niragi.

🤍• And if you end up telling him when you’re alone that you only want Niragi, he has to a take a second to not cry. 🥲 Still, when it’s not just you two together where he lets his walls come down, he’ll persist on showing off by declaring how he dedicates his wins in games to you or something. All the survivors nod in confirmation with wide eyes at you when you question it in amusement.

🤍• He’s not one at all to back down from PDA, since subtlety is not Niragi’s strong suit, but if you’re not comfortable with him leaving massive hickeys for the world to see and his tongue down you’re throat in wide open public… yeah, okay, a roll of his eyes but he’ll tone it down and keep an arm slung around your shoulder.

🤍• He likes you playing around with his rifle, which is a wonder, since anyone else who gets too close to it has it snatched away and pointed right in their face 😅 but Niragi’s surprisingly quiet when it’s just you two in your room, him sitting behind you and playing thoughtfully with your hair, or guiding your hands absentmindedly, while you look over the weapon’s triggers and material. Occasionally his head drops in the crook of your neck with a tired pout and he gets fed up of your attention being on it instead of him, which could lead to… well, him having your full attention 😉

🤍• But after the Beach burns down and Niragi’s presumed dead, it leaves you to stick with Arisu and his group while you stay quieter than usual, watching the colours of lovebites fade from your skin over the days and your mind drifting to the cocky bastard who you’ve seen cling to you at night, neither of you saying a word about it but just letting it happen. Being the only comfort to each other, the only person in possibly years that Niragi’s let, in or even loved.

🤍• So when you see him at that evaporation game, or threatening Chishiya and Arisu with his gun, it’s a wave of relief and tears that makes him forget what he’s doing and hold onto you like he’d never let go again 🥹 he keeps saying he’s sorry, over and over, cradling you so tight you have to tell him that you can’t breathe

🤍• However, because of what happened at the Beach, he’s now terrified all over again about you hating him because of the burns on his face, so when you assure him that you don’t care and that you’re only glad he’s still alive, he’ll get that urge to break down and cry again 🥺

🤍• He’s still as arrogant and headstrong as he was before in games and with people, but a little weaker. You’re basically his nurse, cus the dude spits blood 😶 and him being him teases about that, but really, he wants to make sure he’s strong enough to carry on and get you both safe back in the real world, where he can look out for you instead of the other way around, and be a proper kind of couple

🤍• Niragi is increasingly protective now too, since he already lost you once. There’s no way he’ll let it happen again, and it’s hard to convince him to let you do things in games without him doing it all for you with you behind him. He means well, obviously, but it can be a bit overbearing sometimes 😅

🤍• All in all, once Niragi’s in love, he’s in love, and he won’t let you go. He’s actually a really great, passionate lover, all violent cray-cray traits aside - they’re never directed at you anyway, never - and there won’t be a day that goes by where you can’t tell.

🤍• I might have to write an imagine about this now 🥹 gotta love Niragi 💕

[laplaces-lovecraftian-dick]

re: arcs in touhou

this is a personal way of packaging the events of touhou for convenience. literature not explicitly mentioned, I'd place in the corresponding release chronology.

1. PC-98

We all now by now that pc-98 canon is deemed mostly canon unless contradicted. It is also quite outdated and left for much of interpretation. Either way.

- Reiiden, (The) Highly Responsive to Prayers. What do we know? Reimu can seriously kick some ass. Also, joyful spherical creature.

- Fuumaroku, (the) Story of Eastern Wonderland. What do we have? Mima was apparently unsealed from Hell, and it's established that the Hakurei is famous for better or worse. Moreover the "true powers" of the orbs are quite curious.

- Yumejikuu, (The) Phantasmagoria of Dim. Dream. What do we have? Professor Yumemi Okazaki from a world that resembles the foundation of the Hifuuture. Also some insight into the whimsy of this world.

- Gensoukyou, Lotus Land Story. There isn't that much other than the name (!!!), Yuuka, and the existence of a dream world.

- Kaikidan, Mystic Square. There is once again not that much lore other than Makai having more of a structure and Alice appearing for the first time. Perhaps the mention that Yuuka doesn't use magic is of vague interest (and so would be Mima's words about being a god if she hadn't disappeared).

2. Spellcard Arc

Immediately following the Vampire Incident (which in and of itself is quite interesting for a variety of reasons) we get to watch as Gensokyo becomes used to this new system. This is an arc for Exposition.

- Koumakyou, (the) Embodiment of Scarlet Devil. We get it, Remilia wants to show off. We are introduced to Patchouli and Flandre, who are for now important to the lore.

- Youyoumu, Perfect Cherry Blossom. Of importance, we expand upon the fact that Gensokyo has History and that it has Connections to other worlds, at least one of which seems to be manageable by Yukari Yakumo (whom we also meet here and we get some interesting interactions with Reimu). We also see Alice again, and this implies a possible connection to Makai somewhere.

- Suimusou, Immaterial and Missing Power. We meet Suika, who has a great deal of importance as an oni, as Yukari's friend, and as one of the four that once controlled the mountain.

- Eiyashou, Imperishable Night. Oh, where to even start. We get more insight on Yukari through Stage 3, we learn of the Human Village (protected by a hakutaku, mind you), we learn about the Lunarians, and we learn about Mokou. This is Chekhov's gun, I dare say.

- Kaeizuka, Phantasmagoria of Flower View. Clearly there's not really a Major Incident per se, but we do get insight on Reimu's duties, the nature of Gensokyo, how Yuuka has become relatively quiet, and we get insight from Yukari through Seasonal Dream Vision.

- Bunkachou, Shoot the Bullet. Here, I'd also place the literature of this era as more exposition with fun bits of lore.

- Hourai Doll ~ Dolls in Pseudo Paradise, Night Trip to Rendaino ~ Ghostly Field Club, Changing Dreams in the Age of Science ~ Changeability of Strange Dream, East-West Tokaido ~ Retrospective 53 Minutes, and Celestial Wizardry ~ Magical Astronomy. Boy oh boy do we have a fun ride learning about the Hifuuture and our dear protagonists, Maeriberii "Maribel" "Merry" Hearn and Renko Usami. This is of great importance for Yukari and Gensokyo lore later on, plus it's a good segue into the more philosophical arc next.

(yes I know DiPP isn't strictly Hifuu but!)

3. Religious Arc

- Bougetsushou. This expands on Lunarian lore, which is especially important when we try to understand Yukari Yakumo and Gensokyo, and it complements well the established setting in the first half of Hifuu. We also get insight on Patchouli's magic-science unification, more on religious setting (as seen in Yorihime and maybe Yuyuko loopholeing the concept of purity), and more on History such as Mokou's past and Eirin's growth.

- Fuujinroku, Mountain of Faith. Well, other than welcoming a more divine side into Touhou, we establish properly the dynamics of the Youkai Mountain, especially the tengu's presence. Moreover, we meet Kanako and Suwako, who are living proof of gensokyo's concept of adaptation and self-definition, as well as of gensokyo's sustainable balance. Sanae is also a good way to expand on the relationship with the Outside World.

- Hisouten, Scarlet Weather Rhapsody. We are introduced to Tenshi and the philosophy of the Celestials, and also we see Yukari having a bit of an obvious interest in keeping the shrine as is.

- Chireiden, Subterranean Animism. We learn about Former Hell, continue to see Yukari and Suika being suspiciously helpful, meet Yuugi, and continue the trainwreck caused by Kanako's arrival.

- Seirensen, Undefined Fantastic Object. Makai returns! Byakuren is here! With her arrival, the Trainwreck continues, there is a vague connection to the Blood Pools via Murasa, and we get to see the side of mythology about humans and youkai (as seen with Byakuren's approach to it, and Ichirin existing).

- Hisoutensoku, Unthinkable Natural Law; Bunkachou, Double Spoiler; Sangetsusei, Great Fairy Wars. Naturally, we must see Gensokyo adapting to it's new state of affairs as things change and forces tug at it.

- Shinreibyou, Ten Desires. Much more lore regarding History and self-definition as seen in Miko; also, we meet Mamizou, who can somewhat play with the Hakurei Barrier.

- Shinkirou, Hopeless Masquerade. The Trainwreck comes to a close as Kokoro puts an end to the religious wars. This event (by which I mean a tsukumogami and a satori accidentally solving everything with some nudges along the way) show the way Gensokyo works: nothing truly Bad can happen to it.

- Suzunaan, Forbidden Scrollery. This further shows that there are forces at play which ensure the balance of Gensokyo. More on that in other official literature.

4. Gensokyo Arc

We are back to seeing the nature of this fantasy land through a much larger scope. Gensokyo has been established as a setting and as a concept, so now we get to see it in full action.

- Ruins of Torifune ~ Trojan Green Asteroid, Izanagi Object ~ Neo-traditionalism of Japan, Swallow stone Naturalis Historia ~ Dr. Latency's Freak Report, Old Testament Tavern ~ Dateless Bar "Old Adam". What a better way to start this era than through the moment in Hifuu where the Renko-Merry dynamic takes a turn, and Merry's true colors start to show more clearly?

- Kishinjou, Double Dealing Character. An independent incident, really; we are given a refreshment as to what a Gensokyo Incident feels like. No intervention from any other worlds, simply put. It's quickly resolved, as expected, and even quicker does the world adapt. (Insert ISC here).

- Shinpiroku, Urban Legend in Limbo. Much to discuss! From a new Outsider in the form of Sumireko Usami, to the scale that an incident can reach when there are other worlds at play! Especially, the Moon and an Outside World that ever so slightly drifts from what Sanae knew and into what Merry will know. Also, we get a proper game appearance for Kasen, which means...

- Ibarakasen, Wild and Horned Hermit. Sure, the story began much earlier, but it's worth nothing a few things here and now, such as the insight we get on being a hermit, a sage, and an oni all from the same person: Kasen, another prime example of self-definition. Also, a fun little peek at Hell and Heaven.

- Kanjuden, Legacy of Lunatic Kingdom. Well, among many other things, this brings us Hecatia, who offers good insight on the dynamic of connected worlds, which we have been seeing quite a lot of; as well as a comparison between the rigid Lunarian culture, the unique lawlessness of Hell, and the adaptable Gensokyo.

- Hyouibana, Antimony of Common Flowers. Well, with this incident we get to see more of Kasen and Yukari's current dynamic, their relation to Reimu, and two very important points shown through the Yorigamis: anyone can cause an incident (which, we kinda already knew, but bear with me), and the Dream World takes importance. Tenshi can freely desire to reshape the world into something better (albeit through odd means), is that not reminiscent of Reimu's desire?

- Tenkuushou, Hidden Star in Four Seasons. What was that about anyone crafting an incident? Oh yeah, another sage appears, and makes incision on the nature of Gensokyo. There is also, albeit not as directly, insight into self-definition in Okina, who embodies so many concepts.

- Hifuu Nightmare Diary, Violet Detector. More Sumireko shenanigans that showcase the adaptability of Gensokyo and the meddling of the sages when things are tricky. Moreover, the importance of the Dream World for Gensokyo is highlighted: both in universe, as the Yukaribel story grows, and out of universe, for the very conception of Gensoukyou involved a dream world.

- Kikeijuu, Wily Beast and Weakest Creature. Woop woop, there's no time to keep musing about sages and dreams, Hell is here! Is this a consequence of Hecatia and Okina's quarrel? No, it was actually the Beasts. However, we do get to see a curious phenomenon involving Keiki and the human spirits.

- Gouyoku Ibun, Submerged Hell of Sunken Sorrow. Once again, the sages meddle when things are tricky. There's also something to be said about their wisdom - are they not very clever with Flandre's power? They must've quickly learnt in order to devise such a plan - Kasen learnt to solve the Urban Legend Incident, Yukari learnt to solve the Perfect Possession Incident, surely Okina can do the same. And yet... perhaps, and just perhaps, the knowledge was always there. The Vampire Incident was long ago, and Gensokyo is fundamentally an accepting place. Had they wanted to, they could've kicked the Scarlets out, and yet. This is how they built Gensokyo. This is how they work with it. But let's move on - more Beast lore, and we utilize obscure mythology to our advantage.

This, we have already seen. Vampire lore is not exactly commonplace, so they didn't know how to deal with them. Oni lore was forgotten, therefore Suika and Kasen were tricky to deal with. The sages are masters of self-definition through their mythology. The entirety of shinpiroku and hyouibana was based on working with the mythology of the incident. More on this later.

- Kouryuudou, Unconnected Marketeers. Another instance of "anyone can create an incident if they try hard enough," of "redefining oneself" with Chimata and not too unlike what Kanako herself showed, and of Reimu finding more about her own power.

- Bulletphilia-tachi no Yami-Ichiba, 100th Black Market. Whimsical instance of Gensokyo adapts. Somehow, it always does, for better or worse.

- Juuouen, Unfinished Dream of All Living Ghost. Whuh-oh! This was the for worse! Now, the beast incident brewing in the background crashes into the ever fluctuating Gensokyo. Thankfully, even the other worlds have their own measures to remain stable, just like Gensokyo does. This means both through the dutiful shrine maiden and through this strange innate balance (Aunn saves the day! Okina will surely claim it was all according to plan). Everything passes.

5. The Future.

Who knows? Predicting touhou is famously not the best of ideas. However, I'm confident there will be constants: this is a place to determine oneself, and this is a place that will persevere.

On a more specific note, I imagine that Chireikiden, Cheating Detective Satori will bring an interesting plot, whether it be a conclusion to the arc or the beginning of a new one. We recently tackled Hell, so it may be the former option.

It seems to be shaping up a lore reveal regarding the Hakurei and Gensokyo's creation. Perhaps, there will be more on its connection to other worlds, specifically the dream world. The importance of change. The nature of the shrine. The balance established by the sages, of those who embrace otherness as seen in Hifuu, in DiPP, in Forbidden Scrollery.

[monkey-network]

Pizza Tower: The Series Episodes

26 Episodes; Season 2 Coming 20XX

A New Universe: Taking place after the events of the game, a singularity has caused everything from the destroyed Pizza Tower to manifest into reality. It's up to Peppino once more to now try to find normalcy in his new world.

Nice Noise: The Noise realizes being friendlier has its perks, so he changes his ways much to Peppino's disbelief.

Pizza Pickiness: Peppino must deal with a customer that's constantly unsatisfied and that is affecting business.

Gun Safety: The Vigilante, with help from The Noise and Gustavo, educates the dos and don'ts of using firearms.

Lunch Rush Slumber Party: Peppino studies all night on how to handle a lunch rush better and becomes extremely tired on the worst possible day.

Brick and Mortal: Peppino is forced to look after Brick the rat while the Noise plans to steal from the pizzeria.

Hot Art Block: Pepperman gets inspired by Peppino for his new line of art works, who doesn't approve when he feels it ruins his image.

Noisette the Bachelorette: Noisette starts dating Gustavo after The Noise flakes on a date. The Noise plots revenge when the two hit it off better than expected.

Peppino's One Good Day: It's a day in the life of Peppino Spaghetti and it goes better than he thought. There's a catch to this, right?

Faker's Fazool: Fake Peppino invades the restaurant but only wants a real job. Peppino tries to give him a good one in fear of what could happen.

The Noise in Loopyland: The Noise finds himself stuck in a bizarre dimension and there can be such a thing as too zany.

Talk Through the Night: Before closing, Peppino has one more customer that constantly tries to chat with him. It gets annoying, but Peppino slowly grows to like his company.

The Piefather (1/2 Hour Special): Pizzahead returns with a new gang looking to run Peppino out for good. Peppino takes matters into his own hands to even the fight, but the power gets to his head.

Super Magical Bubblepop Paisanos with Extra Sauce: Noisette finds a collection of magical keychains that transform her and the others into glittery superheroes.

The Best Bite; The Topping Song: Peppino goes to a new restaurant and has the greatest meal in his whole life, which puts his career into question; Gustavo sings about every topping you can put on a pizza.

Menu-pilation: Peppino relunctantly adds more items on the menu and realizes this was the challenge he needed in life.

Brick the Rat in "Cheese Chasers": Brick hunts down an elusive piece of cheese.

We're Taking War to Gnome: An accident from Peppino has caused the Gnome Forest to plot a siege on his restaurant, which leads to everyone to join forces to protect the restaurant.

Ska-pportunity: The Noise gets into ska music and it's infectious for everybody except Peppino.

Giallo Pepato: Peppino must face the traumas of his past when forced to complete Pepperman's puzzle room.

Down in the Gutter: Peppino and John Gutter make a deal to protect the Pizzeria from The Noise, but the price starts to add up.

Five Noisy Nights at Lenny's: The Noise is locked in a fun center that's haunted. It's all good at first until he realizes he's stuck there night AND day.

We Wrecked A Zoo: Peppino decides to go to the zoo on his day off; Noisette wants to capture the perfect moment with Noise; Brick starts a rebellion.

Spaghetti Western: Peppino begrudgingly reenacts one of the Vigilante's favorite movies with the others for a birthday party.

Peppino Quits (Part 1): After the pizzeria gets destroyed, Peppino decides to throw in the towel as a chef. His new job finds him inner peace, but everything's become too quiet with him now gone.

Peppino Dies (Part 2): A moment of stress has put Peppino in a coma and everyone tries to reconcile with the idea of losing their friend. Emphasis on "tries" because they mostly suck.

[bluedalahorse]

Hi Blue!! I’m very interested in the pro choice fic! What is it about?

Okay so this was a post season 2, written pre season 3 fanfic I was working on, and it was quite angsty! Essentially Sara turned out to be pregnant, and decided to get some abortion pills and take them far away from home. She asked Rosh for help, and although Rosh was pissed at Sara, she decided she’d help her all the same. Felice (who was also not talking to Sara) ended up on the journey too. Felice, Rosh, and Sara were the three POV characters, and there would also be bonding, but also a lot of uncomfortable moments and moments of tension, too.

I think I wrote this one in part out of spite, because there were anons arguing that a teen pregnancy plotline would be oh nooooooooooo the worst thing ever, and I was like, hang on, I can actually see one being done well? And fitting into the themes of the show? Since so much of it is about parent-child stuff and cycles of generational trauma. So I started writing.

You can read the beginning of the story over here at this post.

I’m going to include two more excerpts from the story below the cut, just for fun.

Rosh explaining her reasons for helping Sara:

Rosh’s Phone

Messages with Ayub

Rosh: I’m going to be a little further out of range than expected

Rosh: but Sara’s still with me and she hasn’t done anything worrisome

Rosh: you and Simon good?

Ayub: the video games are keeping him busy

Ayub: but he’s pretty pissed you’re hanging with Sara right now, after what she did

Rosh: we’re not exactly hanging

Ayub: I know

Ayub: well. I don’t know. You can’t tell me the details. But I trust you.

Ayub: and I can look after Simon for both of us

Rosh: look I’m pissed too

Rosh: but she came to me, and she asked me to do this favor

Rosh: and I figure I’m being loyal to the part of Simon that wants to keep Sara safe

Rosh: I have to take over that for him, because he has to be angry with her right now

Rosh: and you’re going to stay with Simon and that’s how you and I are going to look after him

Ayub: three musketeers, baby

Ayub: do you think they’ll ever forgive each other?

Rosh: I don’t know

Ayub: I don’t know either

Ayub: …so weird

Rosh: right?

Rosh: anyway we’re ending up at some rich girl’s vacation cabin. Long story as to why but pray for me.

Ayub: I will be disappointed if you don’t come back with china teacups and raised pinkies and opinions on artisanal cheese boards

Rosh: shut up

Ayub: I mean Simon’s going out with the prince of Sweden, you may as well hook up with a golden coffee mine heiress

Rosh: shut UP, when have I ever gone for a posh girl

Rosh: also coffee doesn’t come from mines

Ayub: not with that attitude it doesn’t

Rosh: oh god our best friend really is going out with the prince of Sweden

Rosh: so weird

Ayub: SO WEIRD

Ayub: …do you think he can get us tickets to the Eurovision Song Contest? Or maybe the Stanley Cup?

Ayub: asking for myself

—

Felice and Sara have a really complicated conversation, content note for discussions of upsetting relationship dynamics (incomplete, but you’ll probably get the idea)

Sara plans to sleep that night with a piece of bar soap tucked into her pillowcase. She’s careful to slip it into the pillow she brought with her, instead of one of the pillows she’s borrowed from Felice. When she packed the soap into the very bottom of her backpack this morning, she wrapped it up in a scarf first and then zipped the scarf into a makeup pouch. Whether she’s hiding it from herself or others, Sara doesn’t really know. The soap is the color of eggshells, and weighs about as much as eggshells in her palm. Sara stole it off of August’s sink a few days before they all met in the field with the gun. If he knew about the soap, he never mentioned it or teased her for it.

The soap smells minty in a way that stings Sara’s nostrils. She breathes it in through the t-shirt soft layer of pillowcase, and even though her heart calms, her stomach tightens. Since Sara let a boy rewrite the way her body works, tension travels and transforms inside her in ways she can’t predict.

Of course Sara wishes that she could fall out of love all at once. Most of all, she wishes she could erase falling in love in the first place, for Simon’s sake. After the doctor at the clinic informed her, however, that she would need to take two pills over two days, and that her bleeding would diminish gradually over two weeks, Sara understood. She knows now that she is going to lose a piece of these feelings at a time, that their falling away will be like the erosion of a cliff, rather than a magician’s disappearing act.

When the morning comes, Sara wakes up to Felice sitting beside her. She is briefly hopeful, as Felice encourages her to sit up and hands her a glass of water, that the erosion is something Felice will understand, too.

They don’t talk much, at first. Instead Felice works the tangles out of Sara’s hair with careful fingers. Then, gradually, she begins to braid Sara’s hair, and as she braids she tells stories. There were a few other guys before Hillerska, all of them older. The first used to constantly pressure Felice for blowjobs. Another was a family friend in his first year at university; he was funny and liked to explain to her about the female authors he was reading for classes. He also called her exotic and kept trying to top off her wine glass when they sneaked away from their parents’ dinner parties. The last boy seemed kind and sweet—he had a dog he said he would die for, always texted her pictures—until Felice found out he was keeping a very blonde, very serious girlfriend a secret from her. The summer before Hillerska, Felice had to use emergency contraception after one of her hookups with the third guy. She had another girl buy it for her and smuggled the packaging off to a trash bin in a public park so her parents didn’t find it. She never told the guy.

Sara has heard Felice allude to other guys before, but never these details and personalities. She wonders if their other friends know the stories, and if so, why Felice didn’t tell her.

“Our friendship is still over,” says Felice, as she binds off the end of Sara’s new braid with a hair tie. “I’m just saying, I know it’s scary. I guess I don’t want you to be scared and alone right now.”

“Thank you,” says Sara, and part of her means it.

Another part of her is still at the back of the Bjärstad bus, the rough fuzz of the bus seats pricking at her legs through her school tights. Her fingers are numb and heavy now, just the way they were when she dialed the police that day. She was alone and scared, already. Still is. Sara accepts this as her punishment.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” Felice says. “About what was happening between you two.”

“I told you, I didn’t know how,” Sara replies. “I know it’s too late for anyone to forgive me.” The phrase I feel like the worst person in the world echoes in her thoughts. She closes her eyes against it, then opens them again.

“If you told me sooner,” says Felice, “We could have done something. I could have given you more time with Rousseau. Your real true love.”

Sara balls her hand into a fist and presses her knuckles gently to Felice’s arm. “Stop that.”

That’s the part that Felice doesn’t get—that the love is the same. Not in the vulgar way TikTokers claim it is, when they’re making fun of horse girls. Only the way there’s an addictive thrill in being the one person who can tame someone known for trouble.

That’s crazy, right? Sometimes Sara is convinced that she’s going crazy.

“I wouldn’t have let Rousseau get sold, at least,” says Felice.

Sara’s stomach lurches. It occurs to her, in that moment, that Felice doesn’t know what happened with Rousseau. Sometimes Sara forgets it herself, it’s so strange. Grand gestures happen in movies, not in real life.

“August bought Rousseau for me,” she says. “From those awful horse people. Not that I accepted—”

“He bought you an entire horse?”

“I said I didn’t accept. I don’t think he knows how to take care of Rousseau.” Sara presses the tail of her braid between her fingers. She presses hard enough to bring pain to her fingertips, so she can block out the image of her horse—whose horse?—alone. “And now he can’t learn how. Not since I… not since the police.”

Felice flops backward onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

“He bought you an entire horse. And you were squeamish about the riding pants we got you. So that’s why you let him do anything he wanted?”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Alright. You did report him in the end.”

“He’d done bad things. He hurt people. I had to.”

“So he got you pregnant. Did he try to like—I’m sure he told you it would feel better without a condom. So many guys say that.”

“He never said that. We were always careful. I think one of the condoms must have been defective.”

“You can be honest. Sometimes boys lie, or secretly slip stuff off or—”

“I’m not lying.”

Sara wraps her arms around herself and rests her chin on her knees. She isn’t exactly sure what she’s supposed to say, but she’s fairly sure that whatever she’s saying now isn’t what Felice wants to hear. Maybe the price of forgiveness is pretending she’s been a helpless victim all along. She’s supposed to recite lines about August like: He manipulated me and tricked me. He didn’t let me say no. I was screaming and he put his hands over my mouth. I couldn’t fight back.

That’s easier for Sara’s old friends to swallow than: I saw him take pills and I know he was lying to me about what he was doing but I also planned to ask him about it until he got help. I was sure I could do it because he wasn’t as far along as Pappa, and I know what far along looks like.

Easier than: to be quite honest he treated me like his princess and we took turns doing the rescuing and I liked that and it even kind of turned me on, okay?

Until August took the prince and princess part more literally. Sara keeps reminding herself that she drew her line there, that she was able to put her foot down and refused to go to Valentine’s with him and be publicly recognized for that reason. She reminds herself that she isn’t going to let the tabloids talk about her. That she doesn’t want to live in a toy castle even if the castle is real, even if sometimes it even seems like it would be easier living in a castle than anywhere else.

(August doesn’t actually want that either, right? His words and actions say he does, but Sara also knows his body now. She’s felt how his breathing relaxes in the brief moments that he stops holding himself to royal standards.)

[namtanlovesfilm]

a ranking & summary of my thoughts on gmmtv 2024 part 1

pluto: this is my everything already. A GL??? with two of my fave actresses film & namtan??? AND a complex, interesting plot??? I'm obsessed already!!! this looks so good I'm so happy it's happening & it will become my whole personality once it airs!!!

the trainee: I genuinely believed, even with the rumors that off, gun, view, kapook & sea would be in a show together, that we wouldn't get an offgun show this year. AND I WAS WRONG!!! is this what it's like to always fucking win??? like genuinely, my ship is THAT ship, I'm so lucky & happy and I love them so much <3

peaceful property on sale: duuuude, this looks so fun??? I was already hooked when I saw new's over the top character, but a ghost haunting show with taynew, jan & mook??? absolutely incredible! this looks ridiculous & I know I'm gonna love every second of it!

my golden blood: bruh, thank goodness I was warned about jossgawin in advance or I might have had a heart attack, but honestly????? THEY ATE THAT! and mond playing the villain????? babe, that casting is incredible & perfect, I'm obsessed!!! I usually don't like supernatural stuff but I was also a teen wolf fan bruh so atp I'm gonna EAT that shit UP!!!

wandee goodday: you might not know it, but I have a super power. every time I start being a fan of someone who hasn't done bl, they do bl the following year. this year it was nonkul, and next year it's gonna be great sapol. AND I LOVE THAT FOR ME!!! this looks really good & fun, the characters are interesting and the story not too crazy or too basic. I can feel that it's gonna be good!

ploy's yearbook: a female-led show & the return of mond as a main??? BLESS!!! I love most of this cast, this looks fun as hell, I adore my gmmtv girlies... gotta watch this for sure! love seeing earth in more roles outside of his ship too!

enigma 2: I still haven't watched season one, am planning on watching it very soon, but I've heard great things so I'll be sure to catch season two as well! especially since I really liked toey jarinporn in the recent lakorn to the moon and back so I'm excited to see how she does!

my precious the series: as you know I've watched the movie in theaters, but I'm excited for it to be out as a series too, especially since there's extra scenes! seems like it might be even more lovable, and also if it's on gmmtv's youtube channel I'll finally be able to gif the iconic scenes :')

high school frenemy: this looks interesting & I like sky, but I feel like the plot doesn't make sense if it's not a love story... idk I feel like since this is adapted from a kdrama it's just gonna be a frustrating story that should be a romance but is reduced to bromance instead... I might still watch though :')

only boo: this looks kinda cute though basic. I don't know both main leads but might watch it.

we are: this has all ships I like, especially marcpawin & aouboom who deserve more spotlight, so I will be watching, but the plot seems really basic so I'm not expecting anything out of this world...

kidnap: this plot seems interesting but the cast isn't so... yeah.

summer night: I was so confused by who is supposed to be with who in the show lol, honestly I was down for dunkphuwin lmao, but this looks too messy for me :')

my love mix-up: I absolutely despise remakes even though I enjoyed kieta hatsukoi & like geminifourth, and although I'm certain this version will fix the chemistry issues of the original, I'm not gonna be watching it.

ossan's love thailand: same thing as for the previous show but even more so bc ossan's love is such a product of its time & shouldn't be remade in 2024 imo...

[kalirarecs]

Angel's Feather (anime)

This one will be spoilery.

. . .such as it is, since the plot is a bit of a giant ???

Also kind of long? But without much reflection on the plot, because, as stated, it was a giant ???

I watched this anime (two short OVAs) with @mad-madam-m on a 'let's have fun and watch a couple of short, bonkers BL anime' night. Bonkers anime night was a definite success. XD

I actually thought this one was more likely to be good/enjoyable than the other one we watched that night (Sex Pistols; I'll eventually write a post about that one as well) but man was I wrong!

This anime is. . .

Fuck. It is very difficult to encapsulate, because it is so very batshit. As I said to M as the end credits were rolling, ‟well, that sure was an anime” and ‟that did not make sense at all, even once, even by accident”. (She laughed, but she did not disagree.)

The description I have seen for this OVA just about everywhere features the tidbit that:

A mysterious earthquake drags Hamura Shou, newly-enrolled in Yuusei Academy, and two other students, into another world, where an attack by a monster causes Shou to unfurl great, white wings.

That scene does indeed happen, but it has no bearing on the plot, it is basically a side-note very early on, before the plot actually begins. Which is not something I would have anticipated of falling into another world and fighting a monster, let alone discovering that one must be royalty of another world.

Because that is what the wings signify - The Winfield Chronicles (never defined) tells us that in the Kingdom of Winfield, the males of the royal family all have great, white wings.

(Me @ M: if all the men of the royal family have giant white wings, I am going to headcanon that the women have bat wings. There's nothing behind this, I just do. I’ve decided.)

It is a total of 1 hour long - two half-hour OVAs. However, watch it, and you will get the distinct feeling that it was supposed to be a full 13-episode anime (with a season 2 of at least the same length to follow). It lulls one into a false sense of security, as we get most of episode one . . . and then 2-10 minutes from episodes two through thirteen, at a guess.

Not ‘should have been a full anime, was rewritten to be shorter’, no no nooo, it was as though we got selected scenes from those never-existed episodes. A scene changes and you get the feeling you have missed 1-3 episodes worth of plot. With no context as to what it might have been.

Friendships and relationships appear to have developed, changed, evolved without any notice; situations happen or disappear without notice; characters appear and are treated as though they're part of the core group even though we have never seen them before.

At one point while watching this happened: he’s new, right? he’s new? red hair? we didn’t have a red hair, did we? where did red hair come from? holy shit red hair has a gun???)

That moment happened immediately after a scene change from the group in the headmaster's office being assigned to hunt down ghost rumours (no context did not make that make any more sense; they’d never been cordial with the headmaster or hunted ghosts, rumours, or mysteries) to them somewhere in a ruin (?) fighting giant werewolf things (not ghosts???).

Oh also? The headmaster? We called him Headmaster Commander Evil Bishie; his assistant was Homeroom Teacher Bad Touch Bishie. (He legitimately stuck his hand down our MC’s shirt at one point, stroking his chest/side, to pluck out his necklace/amulet, then put it back down inside his shirt and lingered, leaning close, to pet his neck.)

The headmaster’s office was the most obviously, blatantly bad guy base it could possibly be. The corridor was tiled in white and green marble, with white walls - and then there was a turn off it where the flooring is dark, with a red runner, the entire length of the short hallway was in dramatic, deep shadow, leading to very dark, looming double doors.

Our other characters included Baby Bard Bishie, The One Not-Bishie, Blue Hair A, Blue Hair B. . .

There’s implied pre-twincest featuring our MC and his long-lost brother? Only . . . not really/quite. Whether that ‘not really’ is that they’re twins or that they want to bang is up for debate. >.> (Regardless of the railing against it by one of the boys? Definitely twins. Their backstory is, of course, never explained.) They are not the pair with blue hair, incidentally.

They would definitely have started banging in S2 . . . but the one of them who vehemently denied he was adopted or could have a brother did immediately start fantasising about being kissed and petted; why are you stepping into my heart? approximately 45 seconds after their reunion *coughs* meeting.

(Also somehow despite almost everyone looking the same, the twins were the easiest to tell apart.)

There was nothing shown how our group even formed or started working together . . . or on what they were supposedly working, I guess; including two teachers (if we count the mysteriously appearing red hair, at best guess) and several students, some of whom are romantically involved, sometimes in unpredictable manners. (But not the twins. Yet.)

Sadly, that full-length anime does not exist, because M and I agreed we would, actually, watch that if it did.

(Maybe it would have had a plot . . . or more with the wings . . . or an explanation of ‘magic royalty’, or Winfield, or the parallel worlds, or what Headmaster Commander Evil Bishie and his right hand were doing, in this world or with/against our protagonists, or. . .)

. . .yeah.

[kisskissbanggang]

Jumpspace Renegade - ep. 9 ✨🚀

[7k words, 25 min. read - Brief Jisung x Fem. Reader, Brief Seungmin x Fem. Reader - Stray Kids Multi Fic, Scifi!au, Choose Your Own Adventure - SFW/Suggestive/Smut in Other Chapters - Changlix, Somewhat Tough Relationship Talk, Seungmin is a Flirt and a Fiend, Jisung is a Flake but What Else is New, Chan is a Dick but What Else is New, Banter and Tension and Light Fooling Around, Dumb and Unusual Punishment, Dating Philosophy Crisis, Finally Landing on Phaborus, Intense Action Near the End, Kidnapping, Scifi Gun Violence, Always Check the Tags]

[Special Season 2 Premiere! See A/N. Polling for this episode will close at 7PM PST on Sunday, June 18, 2023. Episodes will resume posting on Fridays 7pm pst with polling closing on Saturdays 7pm pst. 💕]

[A/N: Welcome back space chasers! This has been Season 2 in my head while developing and writing, so Season 2 it shall be. I hope you enjoy our continued adventure with our lovable crew 💕✨🚀]

[Series Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

“Well?” Jisung asked you. “What do you want to do?”

You scanned the eyes of the men at the table while you stalled with a hefty glug of your coffee. 

“Well,” you repeated, “I think seeing the market sounds fun, to be honest.”

Not to mention it’d theoretically give you a little space from Seungmin, who only sort of looked a little smug at your decision. Almost like he’d won a wager with himself. 

Jeongin finally emerged from Changbin’s cabin. 

“Come on, bro,” Jeongin urged him. “What’re you gonna do, just stay in there all day?”

Changbin's reply was indecipherable from inside his room. Seungmin got up from the table, clapping Jeongin on the shoulder and venturing in to see if he could cajole the mechanic himself. The cabin boy promptly gave up and tiredly shuffled downstairs. That left you, Hyunjin, and Jisung. 

“Well,” Hyunjin grinned, getting up before following suit. “Gotta get back to work. Nova, you’ll want to watch us land, won't you?”

And now it was just you and Jisung. You poked the angry love bite Minho left on his jugular.

“He got you good,” you laughed. 

Jisung spitefully grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you closer to search for any marks of your own. “Yeah, well, what about you? He suddenly ended up back in the brig after giving me hell all day?”

“I'm painfully misunderstood,” you pouted, squealing when Jisung grappled you into his arms. 

“So what I'm hearing,” he teased while he pecked kisses into your neck, “is there's free real estate.”

“In your dreams!” you squawked, retaliating despite letting Jisung’s lips catch yours a couple times. You were, embarrassingly enough, on the verge of making out a little, but that’s what being friends with Jisung would entail for you both, right? He absolutely seemed like the casual type, and you were all about that in this time of your life. But it was right then, when Jisung halfway moaned, halfway whined into your mouth, that you came to your senses, pushing your hand into his face and climbing out of the galley booth while you caught your breath. 

“Come on,” the pilot teasingly pleaded. “Chan and Minho can’t have all the fun.”

“Fat chance!” you defiantly refused.

“Hey, at least it’d make Chan stop giving me shit!” Jisung called after you. 

“What, so he can give me shit instead?” you razzed back on your way out. 

You were in a good mood, all things considered. The sheets on your bed were nice and refreshing, your cabin having fully cooled down after Minho’s shenanigans. You grabbed your shower supplies, scampering off to the head in hopes that everyone was too preoccupied to be in there at the moment. The water was delightfully warm, your skin still reeling from profusely sweating in the ship despite your shower the previous night. You honestly had to badger yourself to leave, but your pruney fingers were thankful for it. 

And on top of everything, the Ambler was pleasantly cold in contrast to your hot shower. Everything was simply serene. 

Until you found Felix in the workshop. 

He was too preoccupied to notice you come in, roughly packing the boat, the four-wheeler and the speed bike at the same time. A scowl cut into his sharp features. Felix didn't acknowledge you when you crept closer. He was stubbornly attempted to loop a strap around a crate in the boat from where he was standing on the floor. 

“... Hey,” you attempted. 

No response. 

“That was rough in there,” you awkwardly commiserated. 

Still nothing.

You set your things on the workbench and hopped up into the boat, grabbing the strap from him and lashing down the crate yourself. He refused to meet your gaze when you jumped back out. 

After a tense beat, though, came a sniffle.

You pulled Felix in for an impromptu hug, wrapping him into your arms and rubbing his back. It took a moment before he let out a shaky breath, and then the tears came. Felix clutched onto the sleeves of your hoodie. 

“I’m sorry, dude,” you consoled him.

“I’m so stupid,” came his muffled voice from your chest. 

You grabbed his face and made him look at you, his freckles shiny wet with the residue of blotted tears. “You’re not stupid,” you scolded him. This whole thing wasn’t really your wheelhouse, but you at least had common sense. “You know that. You’re the one who’s hurt, he's the one that did something monumentally stupid.”

Felix dragged the back of his hand across his face as he nodded. “I know,” he sniffled. “I feel dumb for still wanting him.”

“It hasn't even been half a day!” you gently reminded him. You tried to sound confident. It, at least, felt like the right thing to say. “Sit in it for a bit, you know? When one day at a time is too long, try one hour at a time.”

“Thanks, Nova,” Felix nodded appreciatively. He tried to square his shoulders and neutralize his expression again. “Now get out of here. Watch the landing.”

It felt bad to leave Felix be, but maybe you were projecting. You preferred to have company when shit hit the fan, but it was likely Felix was the opposite. In all likelihood, he’d let you know when he felt better on his own. You ventured back into your cabin and changed, loving how welcome your comfy leggings felt now that the ship’s internal temperature righted itself. Phaborus was well within sight outside your window now that the Ambler had turned to let the planet fill your view. You leaned your palms onto the windowsill, enjoying the clouds swirling over the ocean’s surface.  

A beep in your cabin made you jump. 

“Phaborus approaching,” crackled Jisung's voice over the intercom. “Crew, prepare landing protocol.”

Adrenaline balled in your chest. This wasn’t like leaving T’kaarm, despite how similar it felt. In the case of leaving the spaceport, you were leaving behind everything familiar. Going to Phaborus was your first time going somewhere entirely new. You slipped your ratty sneakers on again and jogged out of your cabin. 

Most everyone was assembled on the bridge already by the time you arrived. Jeongin was sitting in Seungmin’s office, paging through old charts with his feet kicked up on the desk. Chan was hanging out at the console behind the pilot's station. Hyunjin was lounging back in the small library, lazily reading his tablet while Changbin was finally out of his cabin, now up overhead on his ladder and working inside another ceiling panel.

Felix climbed up the stairs at that moment, wiping his work gloves off on his trousers when he spied the mechanic. He seemed to think about this for a solid beat, and then promptly turned around and left before you even thought to protest. Your gaze following him back down the stairs brought you to the couch in the back of the bridge. Seungmin was seated there, cozied up under a blanket and fiddling with the packing tubes for his charts.

“Finally done?” you brightly asked him.

Seungmin’s expression cracked. “The first one is done.”

Jisung rocked in his chair at his station and grabbed his headset again. He glanced back over his shoulder.  Even though it was originally his ship, you had to admit that the pilot’s chair fit him like a glove. “Everyone better get their butt in a seat,” he nagged. “Or don’t, I don’t care.”

The navigator patted the couch beside him, beckoning you to come sit down. You lingered for a second. Why not sit with Hyunjin? Or Changbin, or Jeongin? You were hesitant for some reason, until you saw the mischievous edge to Seungmin’s grin. This alone shifted your pause to intrigue. You settled down onto the couch, trying to keep your wits about you and still enjoy the view of the planet looming in your view. 

Until Seungmin poked the spot in the crook of your neck, practically on your shoulder. It was the one mark you'd managed to get since you came on board, one dumb little hickey that Chan had sloppily left in his fervor when you two hooked up in your cabin. You clapped a hand to the bite and effectively swatted Seungmin off in the process. He only grinned in response. 

“Got a problem?” you cheekily interrogated. 

“Just a shame you’re so disloyal,” Seungmin winked back. “I was betting you're fun on dates.”

“What,” you smirked, “so now you can’t date me?”

The ship’s engines roared further back in the ship, likely boosting the Ambler into Phaborus’ atmosphere. On the bridge, most anyone who wasn't already belted fumbled around to do so. Craning your neck to see, you spotted Changbin sitting on the desk of the nav office, casually chatting with Jeongin. Seungmin seemingly pulled a belt out of the couch and clicked it on. At the pilot’s chair, Jisung flipped on some music to concentrate, the volume at a subtle roar. You searched your side of the couch but came up empty-handed. 

Right on cue, Seungmin slid his hand down into the couch between you. He fished out one end of the belt that Jisung had no doubt installed himself, and then reached across your lap. The move brought his face mere inches away from yours. Your breath caught in your throat again. 

“Date? I’m afraid not,” Seungmin shrugged, aloof. “Not really into dating.”

“Then what are you into?” you asked, your eyes darting down for a second when you heard him work the clasp of your seatbelt.

Seungmin’s grin was infectious, but now you caught yourself scanning the room again. With how low you were talking and the ambient noise of the ship, no one was bound to hear you two, and with how you were sat in the back of the bridge, you were in no one’s sightline. “Maybe,” he chuckled under his breath, “I’m into seeing how far I can push you, since you seem to love games so much.”

Your lip curled into a small smirk. “Now I'm playing games with you?” 

He poked the spot on your neck again, the pad of his finger pausing for a moment. “Seems like it. You’ll only flirt with me but it looks like someone already took a bite out of you.”

“And you know it’s a bite?” you pouted, feigning innocence. 

What happened next surprised the ever living hell out of you. Seungmin leaned closer in, his lips gently pressing to your pulse, inches away from Chan’s hickey. You shivered then, your hand jumping to clutch Seungmin’s knee. Still, no one was the wiser. In front of you, Jisung was plenty preoccupied, accelerating the ship a bit more and bobbing his head to his music. Chan was donning a headset, shielding the mic and chatting away with Fed Patrol to keep the landing clear while he tapped away on his console keyboard with his free hand. Who knew what Changbin or Jeongin or Hyunjin were up to. 

Who cared?

Seungmin capitalized on how startled you’d been and snuck an arm down around your waist, huddling you closer. He surreptitiously passed the edge of his blanket over your lap. His teeth grazed your neck then, before you felt him briefly nip and suckle at your skin. You pulled away with a gasp now, voice far more hushed than it needed to be. “Jeez,” you laughed breathlessly, trying to get an accusing eye on Seungmin. “Not even a kiss first?”

The navigator scoffed. “You’ve had plenty of chances to try and get one the old-fashioned way.”

“You don’t seem too old-fashioned to me,” you retorted, gasping again when Seungmin reeled you in closer.

“What,” he chuckled in your ear, his lips tickling you again, “you’ve never fooled around the old-fashioned way?”

The ship rocked hard when the Ambler finally entered Phaborus’ atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Seungmin’s hand mirrored your own on his knee, except it only took a second for his fingers to drift further up to your thigh. Almost instinctively, you parted your legs an inch, if only to see what his next move would be. 

“You enjoying this?” Seungmin taunted you, determination outlining the gruffer tone of his voice. “You loving how anyone could just turn around and see how crazy you make me?”

“I’ve hardly even done that much,” you defended, your voice lower now to match his. Seungmin’s hand slid from the top of your thigh to the inside. His lips and teeth were still working your neck over.

“And you’ve done just as much to stop me,” he softly challenged.

“You want me to stop you?” you shot back. Your own hand on his knee followed suit, slinking up his thigh.

Seungmin jumped, unintentionally squeezing your leg in the process. “Not at all,” he shook his head. “Like I said, I’m really good at playing chicken.”

“And now that I’m all warmed up,” you smirked in reply, “so am I.”

The navigator’s warm hand brazenly caressed your heat over your leggings, nearly making you scramble off the couch. 

This was undeniably hot.

It was deliriously fun.

And it was unmistakably gross.

Fooling around in the potentially full view of the crew was dizzyingly exhilarating.

The last thing you wanted was to be bested by Seungmin, so your own hand ventured towards the noticeable bulge under his coveralls. Hopefully this was all imperceptible in the dim cabin, and under your blanket for added measure. Seungmin bit down a gasped curse.

“You’re fun, you know that?” he grinned, breathless.

“Enough to kiss me?” you taunted.

Seungmin instead kissed your neck for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Maybe later, if you play your cards right,” he offered. 

You wriggled in Seungmin’s grip, the way he was practically holding you down so he could work you up and tease you driving you mad.

When the cabin lights snapped back on. 

The two of you bashfully slid a solid foot apart from each other, at least as far as the confines of the couch and your seatbelts would allow. You tossed your end of the blanket back at Seungmin, who caught it and stuffed it into the corner of the couch. It was hard to tell if the red tinting his cheeks was him being mortified at being interrupted or him trying to catch his breath after being so lost in the moment.

“Touchdown in ten…” Jisung announced to the cabin before counting down, casually shouting over his music.

Chan spun around in his chair, setting his headset on the console and getting out of his seat. He stretched for a moment and tucked his tablet back under his arm.

“What now?” you asked.

“Watch,” he directed you nonchalantly, pointing out the window. The lights lining the top arm of a large gate came into view as the ship settled down underneath it. What sounded like static rushed over the hull. “Sterilizing,” Chan explained, swirling a pointed finger upwards. “Now we wait.”

“We don’t get to go outside yet?” you asked, almost whining. The port came into view once the Ambler fully landed. There wasn’t much to make out in the night, but the sparse lights out in the port town silhouetted buildings and walkways. The urge to explore was itching at you.

Chan giggled as he beeped open his cabin back at the top of the stairwell. “‘Fraid not, dude. Gotta sit overnight per quarantine protocol. Not much to see until sun-up anyway.”

“Says you,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. You tried not to keep staring outside. Instead, you glanced back at Seungmin. 

It seemed that, with the lights back on, the navigator had officially begun thinking with his top brain again. Self-conscious didn’t begin to explain his expression, but he still looked a bit smitten.

“Well?” you grinned. “You have any plans?”

Seungmin smirked back at you, about to say something when–

“Yes,” Jisung suddenly cut in, dropping his headset around his neck. “He does! I’m helping him and Hyunjin make sure we’re all prepped to get everything done in a day cycle tomorrow. Now, shoo, go to bed.”

“Bed?!” you complained. “We just got up!”

“We slept in,” Jisung argued. “If we land on a planet, that’s the new day cycle for us. Now, Nova, sweetheart, again: shoo. Away. Begone.”

“I’m not gonna sleep a wink,” you huffed, still getting up regardless. Seungmin looked like he could murder Jisung at any second. 

“My condolences,” shrugged Jisung. He cheekily grabbed Seungmin’s chart out of his hand and wagged it at him. “Come on, Seung, follow the map.”

Seungmin stiffened his jaw and firmly shoved his hands in his pockets before reluctantly following Jisung. He looked back, though, as if to give you a chance to change his mind. You offered a small wave farewell before you left the bridge, heading back downstairs.

The spraying seemed to stop the moment your feet hit the galley floor. This was agonizing, simply thinking of a whole new world outside that you’d have to wait to explore. You crossed back into the workshop. Apparently, you weren't the only one wanting to enjoy the view. Up overhead in the loft, Felix was spreading out a blanket over the couch. 

“Needed some space?” you called up to him. 

He silently nodded. His arms extended up over his arched back in a tall stretch before he crawled into his blanket nest. The bay window was open, giving you a peek at the gorgeous night sky that you’d just descended from. 

“I’ll see you in the morning?” you tried adding. 

Felix only stuck up a thumb from where he was cocooned. 

You brushed off any remaining fretting that you could manage. Felix had to cope with this in his own way, even though you still weren't all too sure how to help, anyhow. Instead, you pushed open your cabin door, and were now faced with the lights of the port illuminating the ocean behind the ship. You crowded the window. The dark waves outside in the night ominously lapped at the shoreline, white seafoam lining the tide like lace trim. 

All this, and you were remarkably tired the second you attempted to even sit on your bunk and will yourself to sleep. It was instant, the quiet rush of waves outside lulling you to close your eyes and rest. 

🚀✨🚀✨🚀

Sleep didn’t last too long this time. The night cycle really only lasted about six hours, and that had already started before the Ambler touched down. You blearily scrunched your eyes open, only to be immediately startled fully awake.

A bird was sitting on a beam outside, squawking. You stared. Again, as embarrassing as it was to admit, you’d never seen a bird in person. You bolted out of bed and grabbed your toiletries, making a mad dash to the central head and opting to brush your teeth in the shower. Another shower seemed a little redundant, sure, but you knew that if you threw off your routine more than you already had, you'd be a goner. The light shirt you picked out was sticking to your still-damp back when you finished getting dressed and ran back into the workshop, boots untied. 

The boys all stood in front of the bay door, with Changbin waiting to push the button in the outfit you helped pick the other day. You were about to join them when a finger hooked into the collar of your jacket. 

“Hey-!” you jolted, wriggling until you noticed it was Chan holding you in place. 

“Hold on a second, cadet,” he grinned. 

Manhandling you to sit down on a crate, Chan grappled your arms up so he could slip a ridiculous armored vest onto you. He next plonked a laughably big laser rifle into your hands before you could protest. Your eyes darted around. Aside from you, no one else was noticeably armed except for Changbin, who had a zap gun clipped onto his belt. Felix was wearing a much slimmer armored vest and had his blaster safely holstered. 

“Dude,” Seungmin gawked. “What the hell are you doing?” He attempted to step forward when Chan got in the way, stooping to rest his hands on his knees with that shit-eating grin directed at you. This wasn't good. 

“I second that, Chan,” Felix shifted uncomfortably. “You know the Phaborians are weird about outward hostility, especially after Fed Patrol took over the Hatchery. Subtlety’s key, bro.”

“And someone needs to learn that the hard way,” Chan nodded enthusiastically. He didn't take his eyes off you. “You wanna act like a hotshot? Think you're a professional, Miss Nova?”

You attempted a lighthearted laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude–”

“I’m talking about how you FUCKED THE BOUNTY, NOVA.”

“I– uh, well…” you trailed off. Out of the corner of your eye, the boys all displayed different levels of surprise. 

Except for Seungmin. He shook off his momentary shock with a scoff before busying himself with his packed charts. Meanwhile, Jisung was looking everywhere but at you. In fact, he was currently very interested in the ceiling. 

Chan, that asshole, he knew that Jisung slept with Minho too, didn’t he?!

“Well, how the hell do you know?!” you flustered.

“You know what Lee likes to do when I go to check on him?” Chan asked, crazed and exasperated. “He’ll talk at me ad nauseam until I leave. Will not shut the fuck up. Most annoying son of a bitch we’ve had down there in a while.”

“So he’s annoying,” you huffed, “what about it?”

“So guess what he won't shut up about today?” 

You remained steadfastly quiet. 

Chan clasped his hands together. “Allow me to rephrase. So, guess who’s apparently a terrific lay?" The captain was so proud of himself. “Now, as you know, I already know. I don’t even care that you nailed Jisung. But the bounty? Have some standards, cadet.”

By now, Seungmin’s cheeks were fully flushed. His frantic, wordless gaze darted from Chan, to you, to Jisung, all in a miserable triangle. You felt like shit, plain and simple. 

“Still doesn’t explain the dramatics,” Felix argued behind him. 

“If Nova is gonna be part of the crew,” Chan shrugged before putting his hands on his hips, “then she has to learn to be a bit more discerning. She was reckless, so she’s going to learn the hard way what difficulties that can lead to.”

With this, Chan strode over to Changbin and pushed the button for the workshop door that he was still holding. The heavy surface unsealed and rolled up, its gears grinding and squeaking in the mechanism. Outside, it was a gorgeous day on the Phaborian surface. 

“We clear, cadet?” the captain grinned back at you. 

You understood why Jisung liked the ceiling so much now. “Affirmative, Captain.”

“Next time,” Chan giggled while he pulled the lever for the workshop ramp, “if you have the chance to shoot him in the dick, do that. Now go, have fun being in the sun all day.”

The boys watched the captain stroll back towards the weapons rack. Meanwhile, the ramp extended out and reached out to the ground below.

“What about you?” Jeongin scoffed. “What’re you doing all day?”

“Me?” laughed Chan. He glanced back at you, and then at Jisung before grabbing an arm cannon off the wall. “Since I’m the only one I can trust to not fuck the bounty, I'm keeping watch. Have fun.”

You finally let out a deep sigh when the workshop door slammed shut behind Chan on his way out to the galley, but now there was a new presence to be wary of. A trio of Fed Patrol officers walked up the ramp, the misters on the slipdock’s gate activating overhead when they approached. Changbin engaged a crane arm to grab the four-wheeler and hoist it up and onto the ramp. The officers scanned everyone’s faces, checked the licenses, manifests, and inventories in Seungmin’s hands while they rummaged through Hyunjin’s pack, and then split up to check out the saddlebags on the four-wheeler while they inspected Seungmin’s charts. Each of the officers shot a hefty glance at you and the huge rifle in your hands. You quickly slung the ridiculous weapon over your shoulder by the strap to try and look less menacing. Seungmin was still not looking at you. When he was finished, he simply thanked the Fed Patrol officers and stalked down the ramp while Changbin brought down the boat through the sanitation mist to be moved onto another arm to lower the vessel into the water next to the slipdock. 

Jisung waved you over to follow him then, and you got up, really feeling the weight of the stupid vest and gun on your shoulders. 

“So, that was torture,” Jisung flippantly greeted. He slipped off his eyepatch before putting on a pair of sunglasses. “Chan must’ve been in a mood this morning.”

You nodded absently. Beyond the port, the island that made up one third of the Hatchery extended up into a mountain, covered in forest. However, these weren’t the kinds of trees you were expecting. You’d been predicting you’d finally see palm trees, but these were thick, fluffy evergreens, like Christmas trees. To be fair, you’d only seen these potted or simulated as well, but you were hoping to see a more tropical region of the planet. Morning haze gathered from evaporating condensation, giving the woods beyond the port a dreamy look.

“Sunny out,” Jisung blithely observed while he walked down the ramp with you. “It’s usually pissing rain. Phaborus has been dealing with mass evaporation from the oil drilling that started a few years ago, so that might be why it feels dryer around here, lately.”

You vaguely nodded. Just off the slipdock, Seungmin was hopping into the boat with Changbin and Jeongin. The navigator accidentally caught your eye, judging by the way his cheeks reddened again and he sharply turned his gaze away. 

“Close your mouth,” warned Jisung. You were about to question why when you both passed through the cloud of mist. Weirdly enough, it smelled artificially sweet instead of strictly sanitary.

The second your boots touched the solid ground of the slipdock, you were suddenly caught off-guard by how instantly you nearly crumpled at the knees. Jisung immediately shot out a protective hand to grab your elbow and steady you for a moment. You paused then, straightening back up. Simply the weight in your body felt different away from the magnetized floors of the Ambler, away from any magnets. This was your weight naturally held to the ground, and it somehow felt even more natural than your day to day life, only knowing dumb magnets since the day you were born. 

Minho was right. Nothing beat real gravity.

It was hard to marvel at this properly though, not with the Phaborians working the dock all staring at the weapon strapped to your back.

“You good?” Jisung asked, but he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was focused back at the ramp behind you, with Felix now guiding the speedbike on the crane arm through the sanitation mist.

“I’d be better if you took this stupid gun,” you cracked a sardonic grin at him.

The pilot sneered right back at you. “What, because I let Minho catch me in a moment of weakness?”

You reached over, pinching one of the purple spots on his neck. “Looks like it was a real fun moment of weakness.”

“Look, I’m grateful that you didn’t put any more heat on me in front of the guys,” Jisung placated you, even leaning over to kiss you on the cheek. “And,” he added, “I’d repay you right now, but I have no room.”

“No room?”

Jisung shrugged helplessly when the bike touched down on the ramp. He walked up to it and easily straddled the seat.

You gawked at him. “I thought you were coming to the market with us!”

“I am!” chirped Jisung with a rev of the accelerator. “I’ll see you guys there!”

Of course, you didn’t get a chance to retort. Jisung already stomped on the clutch and zoomed off, leaving a haze of vapor behind him.

“Come on, dude,” called Felix behind you. You whipped around, seeing the weapons specialist already seated on the four-wheeler. Hyunjin was packing a saddlebag before waving you over. He carefully seated himself on one of the mudguards behind Felix and patted the other one across him.

“No sidecar, huh?” you teased.

“Afraid not,” Felix shook his head. He reached a hand out to you. “Now come on, give me the stupid rifle before you take somebody’s foot off.”

“... You sure?” You looked around the slipdock again. Something about the Phaborians’ expressions told you they really didn’t like the look of you carrying this thing around.

“What,” Felix smirked, “would you rather hold it? A professional is offering to get you out of a bind here.”

“He has a point,” Hyunjin added. “I’d honestly rather throw it off the fucking dock but if we’re taking it, I’d rather Felix carry it.”

“Fine,” you finally resigned. “If you want to go against the captain's orders so badly, be my guest.” You slipped the strap off your shoulder and handed the rifle to Felix, who checked the safety switch and shouldered the gun himself. Huynjin reached a grabby hand over to you, unclipped the bulky armored vest, and started pawing it off of you to stow in one of the saddlebags. The thing practically took up a whole bag by itself. Once again, Hyunjin patted the mudguard in front of you, urging you to sit down.

“Chan’s such a hypocrite sometimes,” Felix rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin agreed. “You should ask him about the bounty we picked up from the Caravan.”

With the weight of the gun and vest off of you, you let your skin and bones settle into the gravity again. This was almost indulgent, feeling how natural it was just to stand like this, not feeling anchored to the ground through your feet. Easing down onto the mudguard across from Hyunjin, you practically savored the way the four-wheeler shifted on its suspension to carry all three of you. The appraiser grinned at you when Felix revved the engine and sped off. You followed suit, bracing one hand on the small cargo basket behind Felix, currently holding Hyunjin’s bag, and leaning into the acceleration. 

There was almost too much to take in, as the four-wheeler sped along the coast. The Phaborians, while humanoid in stature, stood tall and lithe, with retractable fins for swimming at their backs, arms, hips, and feet. Apparently, as you passed by, some of the denizens of the Hatchery, mostly feminine, liked to keep their fins out, decorating the semi-opaque appendages with tattoos or jewelry. A street vendor you zipped past was selling airbrushing and glitter just for fins, just like the little stalls that would pop up back home on T’kaarm. Summers growing up, you would occasionally treat yourself to a little glitter design on your shoulder or ankle. Tourist traps were the same everywhere.

This wasn’t even mentioning the ocean. There were boats upon boats out in the gorgeous bay of the Hatchery. Cruisers idled with sunbathing tourists stretched out on their spacious decks, while casual fishing boats milled around, leaving minimal wakes. Meanwhile, jet skis and speedboats weaved in between and around all these vessels, enjoying the morning waves and sun. 

This was sublime. The air was thick but felt good to breathe. 

Hyunjin reached over and gently got your attention by squeezing your hand. “It’s really your first time off the spaceport?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, still a bit dumbstruck.

“Well, you’ll know your way around the market,” he smiled. “They’re the same anywhere. Haggle hard. They tend to start really high here, even by tourist trade standards.”

You were about to ask when you were finally going to see this market, when the buildings suddenly gave way to a massive square, completely filled with stalls and tents. As opposed to T’kaarm’s markets, which were mostly tucked away into sprawling systems of alleyways, this was a labyrinth of shops and vendors all occupying a remarkable plot of land right on the waterfront. Phaborians and off-planet tourists and traders alike milled about in the busy square, bartering and shopping and chatting. Felix parked the four-wheeler under a tall evergreen and pinched his long-sleeved shirt away from his chest as much as he could with his armored vest in the way. 

“I should’ve dressed lighter,” he grimaced. “I don’t remember the last time it was hot here.”

You nodded in commiseration, yanking off your jacket and tying it around your waist. Felix quickly gave up, opting to take off his gear to remove the shirt entirely before putting the armored vest back on, but leaving the front unbuckled to allow for more ventilation.

“I have to offload some of this inventory first,” Hyunjin explained, rummaging around his bag. “You guys go have fun, I'll catch up with you in a bit.”

You nearly sprinted off, but didn't want to lose Felix. Despite him following close behind, you grabbed onto his hand and ventured deep into the market, almost immediately overwhelming yourself with the sights and smells amidst the heat. Felix dutifully kept up, occasionally reeling you back to show you something. A shopkeeper sold small robotic birds on perches. A roving vendor with a cooler was offering fishing bait, the mechanical, wind-up kind or the traditional bait made of meat scraps. Further down, a food stand carried fried crabs the size of volleyballs. You were looking through a rack of sunglasses when you finally looked through your hip bag to count your measly credits. 

Felix reached over and pushed your hand down. As it turned out, he had another pair of shades in his other hand. He leaned over to the vendor, immediately haggling down the price and then handing over his own credits instead. The vendor thanked him, but muttered something when you both left.

“What did they call you?” you surreptitiously asked. 

Felix looked back over his shoulder to you while he slipped on his new sunglasses. “What did it sound like?”

“... Clishaur?” You winced, positive you weren't close to replicating the word you just heard. 

“Glizhorr,” Felix simply corrected you. He handed you your new glasses. 

“What does it mean?” you asked, feeling awkward while you put them on. 

Felix stiffened his jaw down through his shoulders to stand tall while he walked the market with you. “War dog,” he curtly explained. 

You felt bad, letting Felix take Chan’s stupid punishment for you, but you had to admit, he definitely carried the gun like a pro. If anything went down, you’d rather he be the one carrying it. 

“Let’s change the subject,” Felix offered with a tired smile. “What were you doing at the spaceport? Aside from gigs, I mean.”

There wasn’t much to share, you explained while you walked together. Felix bought a meat skewer for you two to split. You dropped out of school when you were old enough that your parents wouldn't get fined for it, worked a bunch of tourist gigs, your siblings ran away in search of a better life, your mother ran after them, and your father was drafted. When you suddenly found yourself alone, that was when you played more fast and loose with how you made money. Your whole life had turned upside down in the space of a very long year, years ago. You did a little bit of time, got saddled with Klave for a parole officer, and that eventually led you here. 

You tried to cajole Felix into opening up as well, but he was far more guarded. His mother had said “military school or reform school” and he chose military school, which turned into a short stint in the marines before he brushed far too close to an early grave than he would’ve liked. 

No wonder he ended up with Chan.

Felix couldn’t hide the small grin he had when he told you about meeting Changbin. They were actually working together when they got recruited. Felix had been working at a host club, and Changbin was fixing slot machines when they met, and soon they were shaking down tourists and running jobs together before Chan scooped them up. 

“Changbin was the first person to never ask me to change,” Felix smiled to himself. 

“That’s because he’s smart,” you nodded. “You’re fine the way you are, dude. We’re not our choices, you know?”

“Unless you’re into murder,” Felix dryly shrugged. 

You playfully shoved his shoulder. “Thanks for ruining my point.”

A small stall at the end of one of the market’s rows was selling little hand-painted boats. The vendor started you at 50 credits and you immediately argued down to 30, praising the workmanship but citing the multiple other stands you’d come across with similar little boats. As expected, the vendor tried 40 before you pushed 30, and when he agreed, you were able to get it down to 25.

“You’re a natural,” Felix praised. He jumped, patting a hand down onto his pocket before grabbing his communicator. He read while you eagerly awaited an update. “We gotta go,” he ruled. “Hyunjin found a temple. It’s a couple blocks away so let's move the four-wheeler.”

You tucked your small souvenir into a padded pocket of your waist pack and trotted after Felix. Thankfully, as you both had been weaving in and out of aisles of the market, you weren’t too far from where you’d parked. You hopped back onto your seat on the rear mudguard of the four-wheeler before Felix took off, ducking and dodging through traffic with a practiced ease until you came upon a pretty stone courtyard only a couple minutes away. This was a more organic structure at the back of the entry, looking like it could very well be a sea stack that’d been hollowed out to serve as a temple. The space was tranquil, a quietly regal escape from the commotion only down the road.

However, this wasn’t quite the case when you and Felix entered.

“Eyes on the ground unless spoken to,” Felix furtively directed you. 

You quickly turned your gaze to the floor, a beautifully carved stone surface with complex, iridescent designs interweaving and circling each other. 

The tension in the space was palpable.

“–I’m afraid I’m not explaining this well,” Hyunjin said ahead of you. “I didn’t steal this.”

“But someone did,” came a stranger’s voice, gravelly yet feminine. “The viscount’s son has been refused marriage rites because this pendant had been taken.”

“Yes,” Hyunjin patiently acknowledged, “and that’s terrible, and that’s why I came to return this.”

“Forgive me, tradesman, it is just that it feels very convenient that the viscount’s son described the assailant as a human that shares a resemblance with you.”

“I respect that, your holiness,” refuted Hyunjin, “but I’m not a unique looking human. I’m literally just returning this and expect nothing back.”

“Nonsense,” the priest fired back. “You are familiar with our culture. You know these pendants are valuable and that we are a people who will always repay a good deed. And now you’ve brought reinforcements?”

Felix straightened up beside you, grabbing your arm and leading you behind him. “Our apologies,” he bleakly attempted. “We can wait outside.”

The attendees by the priest froze when Felix turned to leave, all staring at the rifle on his back.

“Interesting. An innocent good deed yet you’ve brought this hound to help you.”

“You misunderstand!” Hyunjin pleaded.

You looked up now, ready to intervene somehow, but Felix was already coming up to grab Hyunjin.

Except that the temple attendees suddenly had their own firearms now.

The elder priest grimly folded her arms. “Careful of your next move, tradesman,” she firmly warned.

“We’re not doing anything!” Hyunjin panicked, reaching in his bag, “just let me show you–”

Two shots rang out. One grazed Hyunjin’s hand, making him drop his messenger bag and the pendant in his hand immediately. The other came from Felix’s blaster, his aim carefully missing the firing attendee on purpose. 

The next minute was pure chaos. A firefight ensued on the spot, with you and Hyunjin making a break for the entrance while Felix covered for you. However, another attendee got in your way, raising their fins in an attempt to block you. You were thrown back into Felix, who quickly caught you with a free hand–

But left him open to catch a shot, right in his exposed waist. Felix barked out a curse and crumpled to the floor but you managed to get an arm around him, yanking the rifle off of him to try and make him easier to drag along with you. You frantically scanned the room for Hyunjin, only to see him thrashing and uselessly trying to fight in the midst of getting dragged away into a back chamber by the temple attendees. Another couple attendees reached for you then, but you quickly grabbed Felix’s blaster. You fired a warning shot at the feet of one attendee before ducking out the door and slumping Felix over the cargo basket of the four-wheeler before peeling out of the courtyard. 

This was a nightmare, but you just needed to get back to the ship.

That is, until two temple attendees came screeching onto the tight street with their own four-wheelers. You revved harder and tried to figure out what the hell to do. 

It was at that precise moment that you realized that, despite what he’d assured you, Jisung never met up with you at the market. He had no idea this was even going on. You had to find him.

Right?

But, then again, Jisung was smart and had his own ride. If you got back to the Ambler, Chan would know what to do. And Minho was a medic in the marines, wasn’t he? He might even be able to help Felix.

[livvyofthelake]

new lost ranking post the hurley episode i watched last night. episode 18? maybe. whatever

1. jack obviously. he’s never getting knocked off the top of the pyramid there’s literally nothing anyone else could do to make me like them more than jack…. nothing this show ever does will ever beat do no harm

2. sayid!!! his swag is like. so unbeatable… he just hits different AND he’s a total hottie too woah… loving his paranoid insane freak arc this season. the writers were like what if we killed his girlfriend and made him act insane. and i’m eating it up actually i mean i wish they hadn’t killed his girlfriend considering that was literally my good friend shannon who i miss deeply. but sayid is NOT moving on and i love it… need me a freak like that sorry

3. claire… maternity leave was HUGE… and that’s my friend belle she always ranks higher than she probably should because she’s my friend belle <3

4. hurleyyyyy :) my special little prince and i mean this… i’m such a hurley girl and yeah sure you can also chalk that up to the fact that hurley is the pet character of eddie and adam and i would love anything eddie and adam did forever and ever except that tron movie i could never quite get through watching. heart! anyway yeah i love hurley he’s my guy… hurley is so. me age 19 but different but the same. wow. if hurley could read some of my notes app poetry from 2020 he’d feel seen in a way that would motivate him to seek professional help. but let’s not get into that

5. ana lucia SORRY. she kinda sucks so fucking bad and yes she killed my beautiful girl shannon but that was only her fault as much as it’s a gun’s fault when someone uses it to kill someone. so i’ve never blamed her for that it’s just a bad situation which she will notttt be coming out on top of 😐. but i think she’s sooo cool in a woman who sucks way… and her cunty 2000s ass outfit is crazy… the black tank top and low rise bootcut jeans and chunky belt and zip up utility vest…. i’d dress up as her for halloween if i was the kind of person who dressed up for halloween or was willing to buy an ugly belt for a one wear costume. also her plot with sayid rn is soooo good they’re looking at each other just two paranoid FREAKS going. you aren’t crazy. and neither am i. let’s fucking kill these Others. it’s sooooo good… and she never makes the same mistake twice…

6. eko my good friend eko…. he’s so…. he’s just so kind… imagine having the patience and compassion to be nice to charlie right now. woah

7. kate. in her flop era rn and it’s DIRE. but we love her this is the highest i can put her right now i’m sorry girl you just can’t beat out eko and hurley and ana etc when you’re acting like this….

8. rose and bernard <3 soooooo excited for them next episode it’s not even funny… that’s literally rose and bernard….

9. libby. category five obsessed with that freak disease! she took one look at that loser hurley and was like he’s so fucking pathetic and weird. and i want him so bad. and i HAVE to respect her game. she said oh yeah i’m gonna talk him back from suicide and then it’s ON…

10. danielle rousseau… she literally slayed the house down in maternity leave… sorry queen for never including you in these lists before now my bad fr!

11. sun <3 she’s so. your girl friend who deserves way better but she’s so happy with her annoying and unlikeable man you can’t even tell her to dump his ass no matter how bad you want to

12. michael… where tf is michael… i miss him :(

13. new guy. i can’t very well call him henry now can i. wtf is his name… kinda like his pathetic gay swag. but he’s sooo annoying 🙄 and frankly i stand with sayid’s paranoid freak ass… but he’s kinda fun to have around i admit! love how he’s always playing mind games!!

14. locke admittedly has been slaying lately but i still think all his backstory episodes are lame and bad and also. as we say. an enemy of jack’s…

15. jin. he like. swings wildly between me hating him so bad i hope he dies and me thinking he’s soooo interesting and compelling and cool. the whole truth was a crazy episode in this way when it started i was like wow he needs to kill himself. and then by the end i was like woah why is he the most interesting man on lost island…. the way he literally can’t talk to anyone but sun as a physical storytelling metaphor for his closed off nature that prevents him from ever being truly known… wowie!

16. charlie. he’s flopping soooo hard this season. remember when charlie used to be a top five character. that’s crazy

17. sawyer. goes without explanation