#colt x oc

[raging-violets]

23 for colt

3 Ninjas: Hey Jealousy // Prompt // Colt DouglasxRhuben Jackson (OC)

PROMPT: Operation jealousy (High School Edition Prompts) & send a ship + kiss (List)

By: Rhuben 

A/N: I initially had the “send a ship + kiss” (from @witchofinterest) one sitting in our ask box for a while, and then more recently got the “operation jealousy” one (from anon)  specifically for Colt - that, again, sat in our ask box for a while - so I decided to put these two together. 

NOTE: When Riley and I write 3 Ninjas, I have it set in modern times: social media, cell phones, apps the whole shebang.

-

Colt would not describe himself as a jealous person. Did he get frustrated when his brothers seemed to get more attention than him? Sure. But jealous? No. Definitely not. No way. 

He knew his girlfriend’s comment about Rocky’s glasses (“You look hot, mate”) were a way to get him used to wearing them more often. If not making it so Rocky would want to wear them more often. Heck, Colt liked how she looked in her own glasses whenever she needed to wear them herself. But no matter how many times their grandpa would warn him about how Rocky’s choosing to not wear his glasses was 

Colt also knew his and Tum-Tum's teasing Rocky of having to wear glasses, despite their parents’ admonishments for doing so, didn’t help either. That just came with the territory of having two younger brothers as far as he was concerned; it was his job to mess with Rocky and Tum-Tum. What was the point of gathering ammo over the years he if wasn’t going to use it? 

(He and Rocky had both shared their surprise in how long Tum-Tum had gone without needing glasses with how close he chose to sit to the TV over the years, however. As if pressing his eyeballs right up to the glass would really help him get the timing of Mario’s jumps right.) 

Was there that little flicker of annoyance that settled in his chest when he heard those words out of Rhuben’s mouth in his brother’s direction? Sure. Not because he was jealous. Nope. Not at all. It was annoying because it was Rocky.  

It was...

Typical.  

Rocky always got positive attention. From their parents, from teachers, from other students around school. Someone who knew that he was one of the 3 Ninjas. Girls. There had even been times where (rare times, but more often as they’ve gotten older) where Rocky would take the time to want to spend time with Colt by themselves where they would be interrupted and some girl from school would drop by wherever they were and chat him up. And all Colt could do was wait and see how long he could last before he rolled his eyes.  

Luckily, ever since Rocky had started dating Riley, it wasn't much of an issue. Everyone could see that Rocky only had eyes for her, even before he realized it. Now they just didn’t want each other around on dates; even if he and Rocky were dating twin sisters who liked going on double dates. 

When she had given his best friend, Brett Summers, compliments on his clothing – going so far as pointing out his physique while wearing certain shirts – Colt barely bat an eyelash. Brett had been his best friend for years; since elementary school when their teacher paired up students with last names starting at the end of the alphabet, with kids with last names at the end of the alphabet. They had bonded over the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shoes they were both wearing. And for the whole time they’d been friends, Brett was socially more on the shy side – usually by himself or sticking by Colt’s side. Though he did know when to speak up to call Colt out on his actions or words when needed. There was no one else Colt trusted more. Unfortunately, Brett’s shy demeanor, natural intelligence, and interests in things in the information/robotics sector made him a target for Darren and his bullying antics; both verbal and physical. Colt had Brett’s back without a second thought, and always would. Compliments from his girlfriend wouldn’t break that up. 

Though, he did find himself muttering a “This is a new shirt, too,” before he could stop himself. To that, Rhuben would give a smile of amusement, her blue eyes twinkling and say, “Yeah; I bought it for you. And I was right! It looks bloody good on you.” 

So, imagine his surprise when a simple t-shirt threw him for a loop.

“Cool shirt,” he had commented as he swung his long legs over the bench at the lunch tables. After setting down his tray he slipped the straps to his backpack off his shoulders and allowed it to drop in a heap on the ground. “Another Australian band?” 

Rhuben looked down at her graphic t-shirt, lowering the egg roll she pinched between her fingers. “Shredded Silk?” she asked. “Yeah, they’re pretty wicked. Kinda metal, kinda screamo. I’ll take a squizz, see if I can find a CD you can borrow.” 

“I forgot you even had that shirt,” Riley, who sat next to Colt’s left, said as she reached for her bottle of root beer. “When’d you get it again?” 

Rhuben pulled the corners of her lips downwards and widened her eyes in innocence. “It may or may not have forcefully inherited it from Tristan,” she replied. Riley burst out laughing, and threw out a “Nice” before she tilted it back to take a long swig of her soda. 

“Huh?” Colt asked. The name was familiar to him; he was one of Rhuben’s friends from back home in Australia. Occasionally he showed up in Throwback Thursday pictures posted to her Instagram. 

Sitting across the table from Colt, Brett blinked at him behind his glasses. “She took it from her ex,” he explained. 

“Oh.” Colt slowly nodded. “That’s cool.” He grabbed his fork and started tapping it against the side of his lunch tray. “So, we have Physics next. I noticed you get cold in class sometimes. I have a sweatshirt in my locker if you wanted to borrow it.” 

“Ah, cheers, C, but I’ll be ok,” Rhuben said, waving her hand in the air. 

Riley set down her soda, and then rested her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow settled on the lunch table. She gave him a look of amusement. “Reckon I get cold in class, too,” she said, blinking her eyes innocently at him. “Do you have one for me, too?” 

“No,” Colt instantly replied. Riley and Brett both snort-laughed. “Offer’s open. Whenever you need it. Whatever.” 

“Cool.” Rhuben took a large bite from her egg roll and lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she chewed. “The music’s pretty good. T put RIles and I on it.” Colt stabbed his fork into his portion of broccoli, the prongs loudly clacking against the bottom of his tray. First the shirt and now hearing her call him “T.” His knee started to bounce as he rapidly chewed. Yeah, sure, Australians were known for their slang and cutting words short, but no one else called him “C.” Both she and RIley would sometimes call him “Col” or, to purposefully get on his nerves “Coley,” but still. Music was something he had bonded with Rhuben over, too. He couldn’t stop himself when he said: 

“I got you into A Day to Remember,” Colt reminded her. 

“I remember,” Rhuben said with a short laugh. Her eyebrows twitched towards each other. Brett struck him with a head-tilt and a narrow-eyed squint, silently asking him “What are you doing?” Colt didn’t answer. Instead, he speared another chunk of broccoli and slid it into his mouth, his teeth tightly gripping the prongs of his fork.  

She watched him rapidly chew for a moment before turning her attention back to the table saying something he didn’t pay much attention to as he continued to eat his lunch. Though he did remember giving his two cents here and there as the topic of conversation changed to homework, teachers, and weekend plans before they all immediately started moving when the bell rang indicating the end of their lunch period. 

“Wait up!” For a moment, Colt debated on whether he was going to decrease his walking speed. He and Rhuben did often walk to class together, and his long legs meant she had to work double time to keep up with his pace. “C, hold on!” 

“You don’t need to FaceTime Tristan or anything?” he asked, slowing his pace, giving her time to catch up. “I need to stop by my locker, I’m sure that’ll give you enough time.” 

“Now I know you’re taking the piss,” Rhuben commented, tucking her hair back behind her ears gazing curiously up at him. “You don’t need to go to your locker because you already have your backpack. Plus, it’s eight in the morning back home, dude. If I gave his mobile a ring now, he’d think something was wrong. And I’d have to admit I pinched his shirt. I think it looks better on me, don’t you?” 

Colt pressed his lips together before turning towards her, looping an arm around her waist to pull him towards her, at the same time using his body to back her into a row of lockers. (Yes, it did in fact look good on her. Everything looked good on her: whether she was dressing casually in band tees and ripped jeans, or more girly in a flowy sweater and skirt.) She made a noise of surprise at the sudden movement before he dipped his head and kissed her. 

Rhuben lifted up onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips harder against his, hands coming up to lightly rest on his cheeks. She settled back onto her heels after another quick peck to his lips. “C, I’m sorry.” 

“Huh?” Colt’s eyes flew open, and gazed, confused, down at her. Not exactly what he was expecting to hear after a kiss like that. He lifted his hand and pushed his fingers into his hair, moving to crash-lean against the row of lockers.

“I need to apologize to you,” Rhuben said with a sheepish smile.  

“About?” 

She grabbed handfuls of her shirt, stretching it out towards him. “See, this isn’t my ex’s shirt. It’s my brother’s. “

"What?” he asked. He couldn’t imagine wanting to borrow any of Rocky’s clothes. Their styles were completely different. 

A thoughtful look came to her face. “I don’t think he’s realized it yet, honestly. Probably should get it back in his closet soon.”  She shrugged and set her attention back to him. “I saw how broody you got when I was complimenting Rocky about his glasses...” 

“I don’t brood,” Colt protested. Rhuben made a clicking sound, giving him a half-smile of disbelief. “I don’t.” 

“You basically started flexing the second I told Brett he looked great in his new shirt,” Rhuben said with a snort. “Reckon you would’ve busted out some press-ups if given the space at the time.” She then lifted a finger and jabbed him lightly in the chest. “And, you did when I told Tum I could tell he was improving with his wrestling.” 

“Yeah, well--” 

“Hey.” She grabbed his chin between her fingers and pulled his head down to quickly kiss him again. “I like you, C. I chose to date you for a reason.” He twisted his mouth to the side as she gave him a brilliant smile. “And I’m quite happy with you, I must say. You don’t have to be jealous. Not with me, ok?” 

Colt relaxed into a smile. “Yeah, ok.” 

“I get it, you know?” she said. “Making sure you’re not lost between Rocky, and Tum. I’m a middle child, too. Technically.” Colt blinked once, and then repeatedly as he thought. Rhuben had an older brother, a twin sister, and three younger brothers. No, he hadn’t really thought of her being a middle child; just one of the oldest of her family’s six kids. “You think I don’t get frustrated whenever my parents gush over anything my brothers and sister do? Especially when it’s an activity I do, too? Like you and Rocky, and Tum with martial arts. Or whenever your dad is talking up how well Rocky is doing on the pitcher’s mound but gives you pointers in the field.”  

Colt made a non-committal sound that was almost drowned out by the bell warning them to get to class. Rhuben set her hand in the crook of his arm as they But I apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to trick you like that, and it was unfair to get Riles and Brett in on it, just to prove a hunch. I should have talked to you about it.” 

Colt gave a half-smile and leaned over to give her another quick kiss. “What was that for?” Rhuben 

“Just felt like it,” Colt replied with a shrug. He smiled. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

“And it was reassurance.” 

“Oh?” 

“I guess I get it.” Colt gave an exaggerated shrug. “I mean, I saw how jealous you got when I was around Jo so...” 

“I’m not jealous of Jo.” 

“You sure?” Colt asked, feigning . “You did say that pretty quickly. Not that I’d blame you; Jo’s awesome.” 

“Jo is awesome,” Rhuben agreed. “In fact...” She slipped her hand from the curve of his arm and quickened her pace. She turned around and started walking backwards. She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him. “I like her better than you.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hey, my ninja name is Wit for a reason.”

“You’re so not funny.”

“Get to class.”

[arinfunky]

Lil ol doodles

[thecosmopossum]

My Yellow Cat!

Their name is Merar and works in the Healing Bay. When things are slow they like to help on the farm.

Unsure if I want him to be a disciple of the Lamb, because of how it'd affect the relationship between Leshy and him.

[happy74827]

I Want To Be Your Lover

[Colt Seavers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve always felt something for Colt, resorting to a friendship as he is completely unaware. But when he comes knocking at your door… it’s hard to not connect reality to fantasy {GIF Creds: @colt-and-jody // Please go and watch the edit they made of Colt + Jody. Literally Amazing 🤩}.

WC: 2199

Category: Slight Fluff + Spice/Lime, First Kiss, {TW: Mentions of Murder}

Obsessed… I’m so obsessed with him…

FALL GUY SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

『••✎••』

His hands grasped your face as he pulled you close, your heart pounding, breath quickening. The way he could pull you up onto him without warning and how it was so effortless. The way he'd hold your thighs around him as he made out with you, his hands traveling up your thighs, then under your shirt, touching your bare back, your waist, your chest.

Then he'd lean into your ear, those stupid lips kissing the bottom of it, gently, delicately, but firm and knowing. It was the way he'd whisper something so unserious that would almost turn you off him for a minute, but then he was smiling with those stupid dimples, eyes sparkling like the stupid sea, and you couldn't help yourself from melting all over again.

That’s what you believed about Colt Seavers. That was the dream, the fantasy, the perfect little love story between the two of you; that was the life you'd created in your head. He was the love, the life, the future.

But the sad truth was, it was only a dream because the real Colt Seavers was painfully oblivious.

He would laugh, smile, and give you that wink that was meant to be sexy but was actually kind of stupid, and then he'd be gone, and you'd be left with that aching in your heart.

The one that showed the fact that you were a friend, nothing more. A good friend, a best friend, someone to be close to, someone to talk to, but not someone to love. Not the way you loved him.

So you would often find yourself in your head, where it was safe, where there were no consequences. Because in your mind, Colt did notice you, he did care, and he did love you back. In your mind, he'd wrap his strong arms around you and kiss you with all the passion that you'd wanted for so long.

In reality, you'd be walking along beside him, listening to his voice, laughing at his jokes, and wishing that he would see you, the real you, and not just the friend.

And then, one night, it was as though the angels had heard your prayer.

You were sleeping, probably dreaming of Colt if you were honest, when you were awoken by knocks at your door. At first, you thought it was your imagination, or the wind, or whatever, but it happened again, and you groaned, throwing the covers off you and shuffling your way to the front door.

When you opened it, you were surprised to see Colt standing there, looking as if he had gone through hell and back. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the most pitiful expression on his face.

You stared at him for a moment before speaking.

"Colt…?” You still couldn’t believe it was him. “What’re…what're you doing here?"

Colt shrugged and looked down. "Can I… uh, spend the night? Here?"

Your mind immediately went straight to the gutter. The two of you, alone, in your home, late at night, and no one around.

Yes, yes, yes.

But you weren’t completely lost to him. You were still aware of the situation and the fact that you had no idea what was going on.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Don’t you still have a hotel room? Since you’re working?"

He started at you, blinking, while you waited for an answer. He seemed almost taken aback by your response, but he didn’t seem surprised.

In fact, his expression turned a bit sheepish. If it weren’t for the fact that it was late and that you were so confused, you would have found it adorable.

"You haven’t watched the news yet, have you?" He asked.

You frowned. "No. Why?"

“Good, that means you’ll let me in."

Before you could reply, he took the opportunity to step inside. You watched him, eyes wide, as he made his way into your kitchen, opening the refrigerator, pulling out a drink, and grabbing a slice of pizza from your leftover box.

It wasn't until you heard him groan that you snapped out of it.

"Colt? What are you doing?"

"Eating,” he said with a mouth full of pizza. He was sitting on your kitchen counter. “God, I miss this, and I don’t know why."

Sometimes, your crush on him was questionable, especially times like this.

"That's great," you rolled your eyes. "But why are you here? And what about the news?

He paused for a second and then looked at you, eyes soft, a small, apologetic smile on his face. It almost melted your heart.

You didn’t even realize the fact that he was soaked until that moment. And was he… was he bleeding?!

"Colt, are you—”

"I’m wanted for murder, which, to set the record straight, I did not do," he answered, taking another bite of pizza.

"Wanted for—what?!" You practically shrieked.

He held his hand up to stop you and finished his bite of pizza before speaking again.

"I know, I know. Crazy, right? This pizza, by the way… amazing. Where did you get it from? Dominos? This… This is what heaven tastes like, I think. It's gotta be.”

You were stunned. Speechless. Absolutely flabbergasted.

He didn’t even seem to notice your distress as he hopped down from the counter and threw the now-empty pizza box into the garbage.

"Long story short, the world thinks I’m dead after Tom — who turns out to be even more of an asshole than I thought — tried to have me killed to be the fall guy of his murder. Didn’t work, obviously, but it's not like he knows that."

He continued talking, but at this point, you had zoned him out. Your head was spinning, and you could barely keep up with him as he paced around your kitchen.

"So, anyway, I got away, and now I have to stay hidden and all that jazz. Hence, why I'm here, I couldn’t go anywhere else. I figured you would let me crash here tonight. I hope that's cool. And hey, if not, then that's fine; I can… find a ditch of something to sleep in, or a hay bail, or a cow shed, or whatever. It's cool."

You still couldn’t process it. None of it made sense. You weren't sure if you were dreaming or not. Maybe it was a nightmare. You had been thinking of Colt all night, and now he was here, and everything was insane.

You weren’t even sure if he had stopped talking or not or if he had noticed the fact that you were practically catatonic.

You needed to lie down. You needed to think. You needed to…

You were pulled out of your thoughts by Colt waving his hand in front of your face. A normal behavior for him, but somehow, right now, it sparked something inside of you.

He dropped his hand when he noticed the stare you were giving him. But it wasn’t just any stare, no. It was one that said a million things at once.

And you were sure he saw it because he, too, had a look. One that was much different than the one he normally gave you. One that was a bit more… serious.

His eyebrows were furrowed together, he had a frown on his lips, and his eyes were softer but also darker and deeper. They were the eyes of someone who had gone through some shit. Real shit.

It was a look you'd never seen on him, and you were sure the look you gave him was a first for him, too.

Different reasons, of course.

And for a moment, you had forgotten that this was the real Colt Seavers. Not the one from your fantasies, not the one from your dreams.

But the real Colt.

Which meant you had to take a moment to collect yourself. Acting out and getting all crazy and lovey-dovey wasn't something he needed right now.

"You… can stay. Of course you can," you sighed. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed, is all."

Colt's serious face didn’t drop, but he did nod, understanding.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for barging in here and acting all crazy. It's just I had nowhere else to go, and I figured… you'd be the one to understand."

You smiled softly. "Don’t worry about it, Colt. Seriously. You can’t even kill a bug. So, a murder charge is the last thing I'm worried about."

The corner of his lip twitched into a slight smile. "Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a rat?"

"No. No, you did not."

"Yeah, it didn’t end well.”

“For the rat or you?" You grew a grin on your face.

“I’ll leave that to your imagination," he teased, glancing up at the ceiling. It gave you a chance to examine his face. Messed up and bruised, but it was still him—still your Colt.

"So… the rat won?"

"He put up a good fight, I'll tell you that."

"Did you cry?"

"Nope, I was a total badass."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. Taylor Swift would be so proud."

"I know she would."

"She'd probably write a song about it."

"Well, duh. Of course, she would. How else would she immortalize our love story?"

It was at this moment that your brain and your heart finally got in sync, and you realized exactly what was happening.

By the time you looked at him, just to see if his tone matched his expression, Colt was already staring at you. And even though he was smiling as he normally would, his eyes were different.

You couldn’t make it out, but something was there. Something that wasn’t usually there but was now, and it wasn’t a nice feeling. It made you feel uncomfortable.

It was the same feeling you had when you caught him talking to girls but then flashed his smile at you. When he'd call you his 'best bud' and then hug you for a little too long.

This was that feeling, but worse. So much worse.

You’d see this part in your dreams, but they usually had a happy ending, one that included a kiss. Well, more than a kiss.

You’d take the initiative, and he’d go along with it, slowly becoming more and more in control until it was him, him, him.

And in the dream, you'd kiss him and feel him on you, his hands traveling up and down your body, his breath hot against your neck, his lips leaving marks all over your skin.

But when you opened your eyes, usually you were back in bed, the fantasy ending. And it was hard not to feel sad.

But, for some reason, when you opened your eyes this time, Colt was still there. And his hands were still touching you, and his breath was still hot, and his lips were still kissing you.

You weren’t sure if this was reality or not. You had dreamed about him so many times it was hard to tell the difference.

But the longer you kissed, the more it felt real.

You had no idea how you got there, how it had happened. All you knew was that Colt's hands were grasping your face, your hands were in his damp hair, his mouth was against yours, and the whole murder thing was forgotten.

And it was a good kiss, too. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl, your body tremble, your mind go blank, and the only thing you could focus on was the craving for more.

It was a desperate, needy, passionate, hungry, messy kiss.

When Colt pulled away, you were breathless, and your head was spinning. Your lips were numb, and you could barely stand, but Colt had an arm around your waist, holding you up, his other hand still touching your face delicately, tenderly.

"That was the best pizza I've ever had," he breathed out. "Ever. In my entire life."

It was at this moment you knew for a fact that this was the real Colt and the real you. And you were both awake, and it was happening.

Colt Seavers, the boy or man you'd loved forever, had finally opened his eyes.

And you were going to kill him.

You were going to actually, truly murder him.

He couldn't kiss you like that and say something stupid like that?

But before you could get a word in, he was kissing you again, and you were melting, and all anger had vanished. A lot of power this boy had over you.

This time, the kiss was different. More controlled, calmer, sweeter.

He took his time and savored every second. It was a lot more intimate, and the hand on your face was gone. Instead, it was on your neck, tilting your head upwards, and his other arm was around your waist, keeping you close.

When you were left breathless, he didn't pull away. Instead, he continued kissing you, his lips traveling down your jaw to your neck.

You gasped, feeling his tongue on your neck and his hands roaming your back. It was the exact fantasy you'd imagined for so long. Except this was so much better.

Because it was real.

It usually takes me about two to three fics before I fully “understand” the character’s personality… and Colt turned out to be MUCH HARDER to write about (I kept rewriting this from the beginning at least 10 times). So, apologizes if you this sucks and is totally ooc 😬😬

I half-heartedly blame it on the fact that my memory is garbage and I’m too broke to rewatch it in theaters.

But, nonetheless, I’m happy to add and help populate the growing fandom — even if this isn’t up to par.

And to everyone who is still reading this, thank you for making me not feel alone with my Fall Guy obsession 🥹🫶

[byeeizzy]

Autumn!! Leshy and Yellow cat little chaotic child (also, do you have a headcanon name for the cat?) (Lol ignore the spelling mistake *Pronouns, It's two in the morning i need sleep)

Well the (ex) bishop family is growing up, the cult will go on fire

[nimbudcat]

Dark thoughts from Narinder float into the lambs mind in the beginning, the ex god wracked with pain and humiliation. The lamb knew he could just rip him from the afterlife, but since he rose to godhood followers have been coming back corrupted. With Narinder’s soul already in tatters, he knew he couldn’t risk damaging him any more than his betrayal already had.

Also welcome my little spider oc, she is in charge of designing the huts, tents and other buildings on the cult grounds and has been with the lamb early on in his adventures. She holds the first golden necklace the lamb found so she could walk beside him on his journey and see it to the end.

[the-three-shepherds]

Some StarShroom angst for you all

- 🪶

[matxhstixkers]

i love making my sad 30-40 year old bisexual men pine for eachother

[oautie]

Im not really one for art challenges, but since vixxies tablet exploded, I feel I have to give back to the community.

Happy LeshyCatpril

(In my Au the cat is named Felix, I saw someone call him that once an it stuck with me.)

(Here's one of just the duo)

[inkywatercolour]

Colt and his son :33 (and one Poco lmao)

[fyloe]

My CoTL AU (Mostly backstory)

BLOOD TW & Yap session warning.

[I've simplified it as much as possible and included little pictures for those with short attention spans.]

This is begins before the slaughter of the lambs and the universe's rules are slightly tweaked, just a twinge... A wee bit. (I only say this because I either can't remember or don't know everything about the game).

It all starts with a little lamb named Marrei who's living in Anura with her parents. Her mother is pregnant/expecting soon and her father works from sunrise to sunset, food is scarce and they all risk starving.

Her mother continuously tries to give her portions to her frail and weak daughter (Marrei) only for her husband to stop her and force her to eat, sometimes he doesn't succeed and instead he gives her his portions to eat.

Marrei's father eventually dies of starvation and the pair (trio including unborn child) continue to eat whatever they can get from scraps, without her father around her mother continues to give Marrei all the food.

One day her mother leaves and does not come back.

Marrei waits inside that house for a week, almost weeks, before she exits. She finds her mothers corpse, her mother had left to die next to where her father lay. He wasn't buried, used instead for compost.

(I didn't add much detail cause I'm lazy.)

It had been so long that her parents were thoroughly picked apart by birds.

So Marrei, in her little mind, was like "hey, don't baby lamb skulls make me live a long time or something?" So, she took her brother's (congrats, it was a boy) skull and brought it with her.

She just picked a random direction and walked, and walked, and walked... she just kept walking with no goal in mind.

For days.

For weeks.

Longer than she spent alone in her house, just ratting whatever berries or pumpkins she finds. She is kicked from many farms. She grows.

Eventually she happens upon a temple.

(This is where shit gets blurry as I have only got the back bones laid out, some areas have excessive minor detail whilst areas like this do not. Marrei could've gotten caught by guards or just knocked on the door, either way she ends up getting indoctrinated into Heket's cult.)

Marrei undergoes the world's loooooongest training montage to level up from beta noob to level 99 Mafia boss and through the power of toxic Yuri she becomes the consort of Heket and they are gay for each other for a couple thousand years (she gets an official immortality necklace from her shawty).

She basically becomes the words most humblest spoiled brat, getting gifts she didn't ask for all while continuing to be a nice soft person.

(Marrei looooves gold.)

(These are the years she develops relationships with the bishops that come up after they become followers + other secrets that you only get if you stick around.)

Then it happened.

Marrei didn't know much about Narinder as he had only sought her out once and once alone.

She had unknowingly given Narinder a little push, fed the thoughts festering in the back of his mind, yet was completely taken by surprise at the news of his (albeit failed) usurpment attempt.

Marrei spends a while in depression, having lost someone she considered close even though they had spoken once (she's just nice like that) and everybody else she cared about (Leshy/Heket) was badly injured.

She was then promptly kicked out without warning or reason and banished from Anura by Heket.

In a panic, she finds her way into Darkwood as it's the only other place she knows.

This is essentially a period of inactivity, things happen but nothing too serious to write about.

Well, there's one thing....

But, that's a secret.

Marrei gets kicked out of Darkwood as well and then she decides it's time to just start walking again.

So she does.

She walks and walks.

Eventually, she ends up at the clearing Ratau shows the player and attempts to set up camp.

Alas, she's jack shit at anything but sitting there and looking pretty so she struggles for a long time before meeting Ratau.

He helps her get set up and teaches her how to be an independent woman/is like her father because shes a fatherless idiot and Ratau isn't old enough to be a wrinkly old ballsack yet as he just got fucked over and fired from vessel duty.

You guys will never guess what happens next lmao

Marrei lays an egg!

*air horn sound effect*

(No, it's not Ratau's wtf...)

So yeah, that thing hatches and she doesn't know what to do. Marrei is a horrid mother and she cries all the time, she cries a lot. She is stupid, stupid woman. She is too busy living in the past and missing her shawty.

Ratau smacks her on the head with his stick a couple times... A lot of times.

Fun fact: The Lamb literally doesn't have a name, at all. Everybody just calls them Lamb, or The Lamb, or Leader.

This is because Marrei just... never named them.

Probably doing mushrooms or something lmao

Marrei pulls on her big girl pants and gets her shit together eventually because she actually gives a shit about her kid, she's just a loser who has no idea what the fuck she's doing and didn't expect bro to pop out...

The Lamb grows up to have a close bond with Marrei and Ratau who occasionally visit like a grandpa.

When Lamb turns 18 they're like "can I finally leave bro, just for a little bit, I've never stepped foot out of this camp"

Marrei is like "FUCK NO!"

And Ratau is like "bro, chillax..."

So she sighs and allows them out.

Only for Lamb to immediately get lost and be captured before being put to slaughter as 'The Last Lamb".

Lamb meets The One Who Waits and Narinder is like "lmao why u kinda godly or sum shit" and Lamb is like "brother what... Can I just die or go home like damn" and Nari like "shit calm down rude ass"

So Lamb returns home to a worried sick Marrei sobbing in Ratau's arms as the red crown's vessel.

The game mostly continues like normal, the bishops don't know the lamb is related to them and neither does the lamb.

Except after the slaughter of Leshy, Marrei distances herself from her child and then right after Lamb defeats Heket's final mini boss Marrei finally cracks and tells the Lamb everything.

Who their other mother is (don't worry how it happened, it's magic), That their half god/frog, Her upbringing, just... Everything.

(This is old art, I just thought it was fitting lmao)

Lamb does the equivalent of saving and exiting the game, leaving the cult and going fishing or working on Sozo's quests or something.

Lamb continues their crusade through Anura in which you can get a new dialogue option with Heket where she (not by name) mentions/refers to Marrei, saying the Lamb reminds her of someone she once knew. She remarks on the familiarity of his bracelets they wear as similar to ones she had given to Marrei. (As Marrei had regifted it to the Lamb.)

While the Lamb is out they end Heket without informing her of anything, that Marrei is alive or of their relation.

Once again, the game pretty much continues as normal until the bishop's revival. (Besides the fact of Narinder being a smarty pants and figuring out that Lamb was related to him and being a pissy bitch about it, yapping about the irony of his siblings unknowingly losing to someone who's their blood--things coming full circle.)

There's very minor plot that happens after the game's technical end besides Marrei getting her closure and becoming a toxic old Yuri couple with her shawty, having another kid, Leshy being a fucking goober and getting into a throuple, and Narinder trying to be a not dog shit uncle...

So yeah, that's all!

I'm probably gonna remember a shit ton of lore later and be super angry like "stupid little fucking brain fuck you!" but like this post has been deleted more than four times and I've had to redo it so this so what you get have fun

This post is dedicated to @owl-lady-lover, thank you for asking about my lore! :3>

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 10

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Parker gets to spend some more one on one time with Tom, she's left wondering how it's possible that no one else can see him the way she does. Maybe, rose colored glasses aren't so bad after all.

Read the story here: prev / next

Three weeks pass without much fanfare.

Tom, as it turns out, actually does live quite a busy life as an A-list celebrity, and when he's not recording a new paid advertisement or championing photoshoots, he's flying from one state to another to do appearances on various talk shows. It's weird going so long without seeing him—weirder even when Parker thinks about how shortly they've known one another, yet how he's somehow become a part of her routine—and though they share an occasional text message here or there, for the most part she doesn't hear much from him.

She's disappointed, but also understanding, and so rather than sit around moping about the lack of Ryder in her life, Parker uses the time to focus on tackling Melissa's ever growing list of renovations in her bookstore. The last of the shelf liners get pasted, the paint is finished, half of her tacky posters are replaced with thrifted decorations and the other half are spruced up with wooden frames. She adds a coat rack by the door, buys a new welcome mat, and even gives some life back to the tattered reading chair thanks to the cleaning underworld of YouTube.

It's a lot of work, definitely more than she had originally envisioned when propositioned by the teenager, but when it's all said and done...

Well, it's worth it.

Parker has never been so in love with her shop as she is now. She comes in early to straighten her latest arrivals, and hangs around late to sweep underneath the shelves. She's always loved her little shop—it's the only thing in her life that has ever, unequivocally, been hers—but it's better now; now it's something she can take pride in showing off.

And showing off she does. The throng of customers increases throughout the weeks. Not enough to add a couple more employees to her roster, but enough to add a modicum of business to her days. Melissa has somehow enlisted half of her high school to stop through; teeny-boppers hoping to catch glimpses of Tom, and young boys hoping to gawk at the teeny-boppers. Plus, she's been dropping flyers off at Crave Cafe on the daily that seem to be drawing in tourists and retirees alike.

It's not quite success, but it's close.

And damn if it doesn't feel good.

"What are you all smiley about?" her brother asks as if specifically trying to ruin said good feeling. "You look like you're high. Are you high?"

"You look like you're high all the time," she rebuts with a bite of her sandwich.

"That's—I have small eyes, you know that. It just looks like I'm squinty and red when it's too bright," he says in that upsettingly righteous tone of his. It's an excuse she's heard before, and when Parker arches a brow at him, he huffs. "It's—blame Mom! I didn't ask to look like this."

"Aw, Mom doesn't look like an idiot, Colt. That's all you."

His features flatten, deadpan eyes. "Ha, ha, ha. That's hilarious. Soooooo hilarious that I almost forgot to laugh. Almost as hilarious as the first time you made that joke. When was that—the seventh grade?"

She smirks around her straw, and Colt sinks in his chair to cross his arms.

"I was just trying to make conversation," he says, waving his arms around at her. The movement scares off a nearby pigeon, and she watches its flight with languid eyes. "Trying to be nice, see what's new in your life or whatever, but you just had to take it too far."

"That's you being nice?"

"Always have to take it too far," he continues, ignoring her to shove some fries into his mouth. They're sitting at a picnic table outside, a sun umbrella with bright red stripes propped open above their head, the beach in the near distance swelling with the smell of saltwater and taffy, and despite his demeanor, Parker sports a blithe smile. It's a nice day; too nice to be truly bothered by her petulant child of a brother. "Next time, you can buy yourself lunch."

"Oh, hit me where it hurts," she jokes. He shakes his head at her, more fries gone, and all it takes is her offer of an onion ring for Colt to be smiling too. "I'm just happy with how works going. We finished painting, finally, and I think I hit a record for customers this week."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, I think most of them still have braces, but I'm not complaining. If I hired Melissa a few months ago I might have been rich by now."

He makes a face at the mention of her employee, and Parker rolls her eyes. Only Colt would have beef with a high schooler.

"I suppose I can pop in after this, give it a look. See if it's up to par."

"I forgot you were an expert. Where'd you go to school again? Was it Carnegie Mellon? Or Pratt?"

Colt shakes his head at her teasing, but there's no love lost between the siblings. They argue about arguing about arguing. It was pretty much a natural response at this point in their lives. And though she was arguably better at it than him—Colt had a real problem with being tongue-tied, wit was certainly not his forte—every once in a while he gave as good as he got.

"Yeah, well, you're successful, I'm successful. I guess it's a family trait. Glad to hear the store is doing well, though. I was worried I'd have to pay your rent for Christmas again this year, and, well... I really didn't want to."

"Magnanimous as ever," she joked with a sip of her soda.

"What? Three years in a row? I'm not Santa Claus. I do have a life, and I've been eyeing this really nice mountain bike lately."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Since when do you mountain bike?"

"Since—well... shut up. Can't a guy have hobbies?"

"Why can't you ever have a normal hobby? One that won't end up with you in the emergency room or on my couch for three weeks."

He rolled his eyes to jab some fries in her direction. "That was once, and it was a hernia. It had nothing to do with my hobbies. Besides, you read for fun. I'm not going to take criticism from someone that can't even walk up the stairs without hurting herself."

"I can!"

"Oh, can you?"

Parker flung an onion ring at him, only to have it backfire when Colt victoriously stuffed it into his mouth. She probably should have seen that one coming. She half considered throwing her phone at him next, but it was at that moment that their waitress stopped by to check on them, and by the time she'd left Parker didn't feel so inclined for violence.

A good thing for her brother considering he quite literally needed his body functioning for work.

Speaking of, "how's work for you going? When's filming start?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Not for a bit, but I've been working on some stunt coordination with Dan and the other guys already. This sci-fi movie is really stepping it up from the last one. I've already had to learn a couple new moves."

"Like what?"

"Rolls, jumps, fighting sequences, jumping out of a moving car. That sort of thing."

Parker considered that, before frowning. Suspiciously, she narrowed her eyes at him. "What exactly is this movie about again?"

"NASA," he said around a bite of his burger, as if that explained anything. It didn't; not in the least, but before she could badger him some more he finished the last of his food with a belch. Any thoughts evaporated at the disgusting display, and she waved the air in front of her a grimace. "Now, I gotta go see a man about a goat."

"That's not the—"

He was gone before she could correct him, and when the door inside fluttered close with a fwap, Parker just settled into her seat with the shake of her head.

"Idiot," she said, stealing a sip of his beer now that he wasn't around to guard it. Colt got like a dog when it came to his food and drinks, and despite him always asking for some of her food, she rarely got the same treatment in return. Thoughtfully, she took another sip, adding, "bastard," just because it felt warranted.

She was almost done her own sandwich when the table shook beneath the buzzing of her phone.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get gone before...

"Hello?" she mumbles through a mouth full of onion rings, phone tucked into the crevice of her shoulder as she wipes the grease off her fingers.

Only her brother would sniff out the greasiest restaurant on this side of LA for a casual lunch.

"Are you—are you eating?" a judgmental voice asks; as if he can see her slumped at the table, stuffing her face, and sucking down soda like it was nobody's business.

Parker immediately sits up straighter, swallowing the remaining food with a grimace, before lying, "no, of course not. That's rude and gross and, you know, totally not what I'm...."

Subtly, Parker glances around the patio. There's a couple sitting at her left, a family at the table on the far right, but other than that there's not a soul to be seen besides the occasional tourist trying to catch the bus. Certainly no Tom Ryder to be found spying on her from the bushes.

"Er, what's up buttercup?" she says, then immediately cringes at how overly causal that question was. What's up buttercup? she mouths to herself. "You don't—that's—what are you doing?"

The line is quiet for a moment, but she swears she can hear Tom shaking his head at her in the interim. But, when he speaks, he sounds no more scornful than normal. "I just got back from New York. Well, got back this morning, anyways. I just woke up from a nap."

"Oh, right! You were on Fallon last night."

"You watched it?" he asks, and this time, he does sound smugger than normal. Though, she supposes his usual levels of smugness was already more than the normal person. Tom Ryder really did love to brag about himself; even more, he loved when other people bragged about him.

"Don't be ridiculous," she tuts, shaking the ice in her drink as she sips it. She tries her hand at scornful as well, but it comes across teasing and light. "Even I draw the line at late night television. Melissa was talking about it this morning."

"Oh?" he hums. "And what'd she think?"

"That you looked even dreamier than usual. And then something about barking, but, honestly, I was a little too afraid to ask what that meant so do with that what you will. Was it fun?"

"I guess. Fallon isn' t so bad. The time difference is killer, though."

She hums, not having any idea what it would be like to travel back and forth across the country multiple times in a few days, but imagining that it likely did suck. "Kudos to you for being awake at all. I think I would have just slept all day, and then been awake all night, and then the cycle would continue until I died from caffeine overdose."

He laughed, and Parker chewed on her straw to keep a stupid smile from splitting across her face. "Maybe that's a reason why you're not famous."

"Right. The only reason I'm not famous," she teased, and when he snorted, she didn't bother to hide her grin. It's a good thing she wasn't at home or she might be lying on her bed, twirling some hair, and kicking her feet in the air like a lovesick idiot.

Speaking of idiots—she glanced towards the door and sighed in relief when her brother was still nowhere to be seen. It wouldn't be long, now, as he had a habit for bad timing.

Knowing this, she asked, "listen, could I call you back later? I'm out with Colt right now and I swear to god he's like a baby when I'm not paying attention to him. Unless you want to be put on speakerphone, that is."

Tom scoffed. "You ever consider getting him a babysitter?"

"He's not up to date on his vaccinations," she joked with a dramatic sigh. "And the kennel stopped taking him after he bit that other dog."

Tom laughed again, and it felt like a victory. Especially since he had called her, and here she was asking to call back later. The guilt didn't have any time to fester, however, before he was moving on. "Well, listen, I thought maybe since I was back in town that we could, er, get dinner. Have dinner, I mean, at my place."

"Oh," she said, so thrown off by the offer that she didn't really know what else to say. She quite literally hadn't stopped thinking about getting lunch with Tom on set a few weeks back; it had been so nice, so fun, to just hang out with him—no Gail, no Colt, no drunken executives or paintball warfare to distract them—just him that she had already planned on accompanying Colt onto set as often as she could manage in hopes of doing it again. She hoped the fact that he was offering meant he enjoyed it too. "Oh! Yeah, sure! That sounds great."

"Great," he echoed. "My place? After you get off work?"

"Sure," she said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically given the fact that he couldn't see her through the phone. Her thoughts drifted to work, and immediately she wondered if she could close early or talk Melissa into pulling a double. "Do you want me to bring some more books? I know you already got the role and everything, but I could bring some more recommendations for you to talk about tonight. Or you could just explain to me the plot of the movie because I'm honestly so confused about it already. Actually, I think I still have some napkins in my purse..."

She shifted through said purse, rattling through a mess of tampons, coins, bobby pins, receipts, and collection of rocks that she thought looked cute but never knew what to do with as Tom cleared his throat across the line.

"You don't need to—" he started, before sighing. As if he there was a bigger picture here that she wasn't quite seeing. Parker, too enthralled in why she had four different buttons in her purse didn't even notice. "I'll just see you later?"

"I'll text you when I get off work."

"Alright," he said. "It's a date."

And then, before Parker could question whether that was just a colloquial saying he used from time to time, a joke, or the reality of what this whole thing was going to be, Tom hung up.

She stared at the buttons in her hand, dial tone buzzing in her ear.

In perfect timing, her brother flopped into the seat across from her, and snatched a onion ring off of her plate. He swept his gaze from her plate to her phone to the buttons in her hand.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Er," she said, wondering the very same thing, before slowly dropping said phone and buttons back into her purse. "Nothing. Just... nothing."

Colt took that in, thought it through, and then pointed to her plate.

"So, uh, are you going to finish that?"

---

Parker doesn't get to give the date versus dinner conundrum much more thought over the next couple of hours due to a constant flow of customers, deliveries, and teenagers. She thinks the sudden business might be penance for taking a long lunch with her brother, made even longer when he insisted on hunting down some iced coffee after their meal, and when she does make it back to the shop Melissa is so relieved that she practically melts on her feet.

And though the teenager does agree to stick around for a double shift, Parker finds that she's too occupied to sneak out early anyway, and by the time she gets a moment to catch her breath she's already running late.

There's no time to fix her hair or grab a change of clothes, just as there's no time to do anything about the smell of old, papery books clinging to her besides drive with the windows down at a speed likely to get her a ticket. That, of course, only seems to frazzle her braids even worse than they started the day with, and by the time she's parking in Tom's driveway, she looks likes she's just finished an eighteen hour shift down at the docks.

Please let him have gone blind, she thinks while hastily taking out her braids with paper-cut laden fingers. It's a mess of tangles and knots due to her driving, however, and by the time it's straightened out she's running even more late than she originally was.

Hoping out of her car, Parker doesn't think of anything as she rushes up the steps, knocks a hasty staccato, rocking on her feet with a wayward glance down at her dirty sneakers that certainly don't belong walking on real wood floors.

Please don't throw up, she thinks next, stomach in her throat.

Please—

Any thoughts are silenced when the door swings open, and Tom Ryder is suddenly there.

She's speechless as she takes him in; dark slacks, a white tee, jean jacket with a gold chain that catches in the light, freshly clean sneakers that put her dirty ones to shame. He looks good in the way that he always does; polished and shiny, Hollywood and new, but his hair is airdried and lacking gel, his beard freshly shaved, sleep lines dotting the skin along his cheeks.

He looks good, but he also looks comfortable and soft. Natural, in a way that she's never seen him look before.

"...hi," she says dumbly.

Tom's gaze, having been taking her in the same way that she was taking him in, snaps back up to her face, and with a characteristic eyeroll and huff, he echoes, "hi. You coming in or...?"

"Oh, right."

Parker flushes but enters, and his house seems so different than the last time she was there that she cranes her neck to gander. Without people flush wall to wall she's able to see the character of the house better, taking in the hues of orange and yellow paint, the shiny brown age spots on the wooden floor, taupe pillows and white fuzzy blankets sprawled messily across the couch. ESPN is playing on mute, music drifting from the kitchen, a mess of protein powders and vitamin bottles scattered across the marble island in addition to dirty pans.

A reminder that he's a person as much as a celebrity, and Parker smiles at the thought.

"Where should I put my shoes?" she asks.

He blinks at her, already halfway back to the kitchen. "What? Just wear them."

Parker glances down at the muddy soles of her sneakers knowing just how many questionable places they've walked through, and with nothing more than a glance at the too white couch she bends to untie them. Tom rolls his eyes a second time, and she scoffs in response. "What? I'm not trying to mess up anything here. I can't even imagine what you're cleaning bill must be like."

"You're not going to mess anything up," he says. "And if you do, it doesn't matter. I have maids for that shit. You really think I clean this whole place myself?"

She tsks, imagining how nice that must be. "Ooh-la-la, look at me, I'm Tom Ryder and I have maids and—" she mimics, only to slip on the first step she takes in her socks. "Okay, that's humbling. It's like an ice skating rink in here. What kind of polish do they use? Pine sol on crack?"

"Do you really think I have the answer to that?"

"Something fancy, I bet," she continues, head on a swivel as she ambles closer. Even the ceiling looks free of cobwebs. "You should give your maids a raise. Very nice, Ryder. Very nice. Consider me impressed and a little scared of their ability."

"I'm glad you're impressed," he drones, clearly not caring in the slightest, but she wiggles her eyebrows at him anyways, and Tom bites back a smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good," he nods, pulling a wine glass down for her. "I made paella."

"You made it? I change my mind, I'm not hungry at all, " she teases, accepting the glass from him. It's a hefty pour of red wine—not necessarily her favorite—but Parker doesn't doubt it's expensive and some sort of collector's edition so she keeps that to herself. Tom seems so used to just giving people things instead of asking for their preference that she tries not to be too miffed about it.

He shoots her a deadpan look, betrayed only by the amusement in his eyes. "You think I'm going to poison you?"

"No, I think you're going to force feed me some sort of seaweed, or, like, lemon grass salad under the presumption it's good for me."

"Seaweed is good for you."

"For facials, maybe," she rebuts with a sip of wine. It is good, just dry, and Parker takes reminds herself to drink it slowly. Tom doesn't seem all too amused by her teasing, however, and she reminds herself that food seemed to be a touchy subject with him. Still, her stomach is despairingly empty, and she's thankful for the music just so he wouldn't hear it growling. "Just tell me there's some sort of meat and I'll be happy. And not, like, tofu. I don't care what PETA says that stuff tastes like cardboard."

"Are you so poor that you're eating cardboard now? That's disgusting."

"Tom Ryder thinks poor people are disgusting," she echoes with a smile, and she can tell just from the look he shoots her that he's amused. "Who should I sell that to? TMZ or Perez Hilton?"

He shakes his head at her but moves towards the patio, and with nothing else to do, she follows on socked feet. "Hilton is a tool, you'd get more money if you went to TMZ," he said, playing along. "Anyway, you don't need to worry about that. I'm not eating seaweed on a cheat day, and travel days are always cheat days. Plus, it would just be wasted on you."

It's an playful insult, and even if it wasn't it's not one she would care about, and so Parker sips her wine with an indifferent shrug as he continues.

"Anyway, I made paella. The salad is on the side."

"You made—?"

Her scathing retort comes up empty when they step out onto the patio, and Parker is met with a table flush with food. There's a large steel pan of paella in the middle, a heaping of bruschetta on the side, brussels sprouts and green beans in a beautifully printed dish on one side, a large serving of salad on the other. There are placemats, linen napkins, fancy silverware, and a bottle of chilled water in the middle.

Parker stops short.

Tom, already seated, gives her an odd look. "What?"

She knows there's a more tactful way to frame it, but the first and only thing that comes out of her mouth is a rushed question of, "is this actually a date?"

He blinks at her, before pouring himself some more wine. He's calm, collected in his movements, but his shrug is stiff. "It's dinner."

"A dinner date," she corrects.

"It's dinner," he reiterates, glancing back at her before immediately glancing away. Clearing his throat, Tom shifts in his seat to stretch an arm over the back of his chair; a catalogue worthy pose with the dark sky of LA behind him. "It's a date. What difference does it make? Have you never been on a date before or something?" he asks in a tone she can't quite place.

Teasing, but serious. Cocky, but hesitant.

Yet, Parker is too distraught to think about the paradox that is Tom Ryder, and instead throws her hands up. "Okay," she announces. "I'm leaving."

"Wait—what?" he asks, standing with a screech of his chair as Parker turns on her heel. She makes it two steps before turning back again, head feeling like a nest of squirrels as she tries to put her thoughts in order.

"I can't—Tom—honestly! I'll be back in, like, an hour. Maybe. Probably not. Is there an outlet near here? Oh, they'll all be closed. Okay, maybe two hours then. Or maybe we could just reschedule to, like, Monday night so I have time to—"

"Parker, what the fuck are you going on about?" he interrupts her derailed train of thought. It's an innocent question, well-meaning, but honestly the fact that he doesn't know pisses her off.

She gestures at herself with a wild flap of the arms.

"Look at me! Look at you!" Her jeans are ripped and tattered, cut in places where they weren't originally intended, and faded on the butt from years of use; her sweater was found at a yard sale (five dollars, but she haggled for three) and the tank-top beneath was stretched at all the wrong spots. Even her socks—why did she insist on taking off her shoes?—were mismatch shades of orange. "I can't wear this on a date! Our date! A date with you looking like that! I mean you just got back from New York! How do you look so good?"

Tom let out a sharp breath, color returning to his cheeks. "Jesus, Parker, I thought.... you look fine."

She didn't buy that for a second, and crossed her arms at him haughtily. "You're literally always telling me my outfits are awful. I could have, like, gotten a skirt or worn a dress or something, anything, other than this. Jesus! And I forgot to wash my face this morning—"

"Parker," he said again. "I don't give a fuck. I like what you're wearing."

She raised a brow. "Really? This? You like this?" she challenged, arms thrown out so he could get a better look at her ensemble. Tom's gaze flickered down then up again, and his mouth quirked at the side. She stabbed a finger at him. "Ha! See? I knew it. I look like Chucky. Or, the bride of Chucky, or whatever—I never watched those movies. The doll reminded me a little to much of our cousin, and I didn't feel like trying to unpack that."

He clipped his smile, coughing into his hand. "You look nice."

"Don't patronize me."

"Fuck, you're so annoying sometimes."

"I'm leaving."

"Alright, alright. I think the outfit is awful. You look like a scarecrow. But that's how you're always dressed, so you shouldn't change that just for a date. You could throw a stone in Hollywood and hit somebody with no sense of style. At least you dress like that because it's who you are, and not just an attempt at getting attention. There's not many people around here like that, you know; genuine," he said slowly, and although it was an insult, Parker oddly felt better at hearing it. It was less nice and complimentary and more cocky and rude, more like him. And she wouldn't want him to change that for her either. "Now, are you going to be normal? Or, you know, normal for you. I'd like to eat before the paella gets cold."

She shook her head at him with a sour look. Part of her didn't want to give in to the asshole—not when he was mocking her, and certainly not when he was showing her up on a date—but the other part of her didn't want to leave. She wanted to stick around, eat his food, laugh and talk and joke just like they were doing.

In defeat, she slinked back towards the table. Tom made a show of pulling out her chair with a smirk so cocky it could kill. "I'm not going to get salmonella or something from this am I?"

"Colt told me about how you set the kitchen on fire while trying to bake him a birthday cake," he snarked in that self-righteous way of his, sitting himself. "I'd cool it on the shit talking. You're not exactly Gordon Ramsay yourself."

"Oh my god, that was one time and it was an accident!" she cried in her own self-righteous way. He didn't buy her excuse, however, and when Tom laughed at her, she gave up. Huffing, Parker waved a hand at him impatiently. "Whatever. Just pass me the paella already. I'm starving."

---

Dinner has long since gone cold as they talked, carried inside and stuffed unceremoniously into the fridge upon Parker's worries that the food might spoil. Tom hadn't been all that concerned about it, and she suspected he likely wasn't. She doubted that he had to worry about any sort of household chores living in a place like this, but he had worked too hard on cooking it, and she was too poor to ignore it, and so under her pestering everything had been moved inside when they did. Their first bottle of wine is long forgotten as two more sit on the table between them. There's a few waters there as well; both half-drank, and dripping condensation onto their wooden coasters. They've moved from the outdoor patio to the inside living room—the couch a much more comfortable alternative, though with an arguably worse view of the twinkling LA landscape—and Tom's jacket has been shed along with his sneakers as they volley questions at one another.

Parker's enjoying the activity a little too much; carefully prying into the life that belongs to Tom Ryder, and it seems that Tom, rosy-cheeked and smiling more than she's ever seen before, is in too good of a mood to mind.

He's answered more questions about himself tonight than she thinks he ever has on any of his talk shows, and she's told more stories about her and Colt getting into trouble than is probably appropriate for a date. But neither mind the other, and as the night just gets darker around them, they've yet to get bored.

And they've discussed quite a lot of topics.

"What would it take, then, for you to shave your head for a role?" Parker muses at one point in the night with deviously arched brows. Her head is just starting to feel heavy, a sign that she's teetering past tipsy, and she makes sure not to rush the latest pour of wine he's given her as she swirls it around the glass with careless movements. "Like, you get the role of a lifetime, maybe—oh, maybe a Nicholas Sparks movie, gut-wrenching love story, that type of thing—but your character has to shave his head."

"Shave my head?" he asks, his own head heavy and propped on a crooked elbow as he thinks. "No bald cap, I'd have to shave it."

"Completely."

His head tilts left, then right, before he shakes it. "No way."

"Seriously? Not for a really good role?"

"No. A wig? Sure. Bald cap? Fine, I've done worse for roles. But there's no way in hell I'm shaving my head," he says with a laugh and a shrug. "There's just no way."

"Not even a little? Just a bit. It'll grow back."

"No fucking way! Do you know how many gigs I get just for my hair? I'd have to give up my campaign with Old Spice. I love them."

"You love Old Spice? Seriously?" she echoed, nose scrunching in disbelief, but he either hasn't heard her tone or is ignoring her judgment, and Tom takes another sip of his wine with a confident shake of the head.

"No way, not happening. My hair is everything, you know. Tom Ryder without hair is... that's ridiculous."

Parker tilts her head, squinting one eye as she tries to imagine him bald. But it's too difficult to do, which brings her to the startling realization that he's right. His hair, gorgeous no matter the color, is part of him. It'd be like seeing Taylor Swift without her red lipstick or Dwayne Johnson without his tattoos. One doesn't go without the other. Still, the idea is funny, so she pesters, "what if it was a Spielberg movie?"

That has him pausing, but only for a moment. When he shakes his head, she can't help but laugh at his dedication. "Still not worth."

"That's—Spielberg isn't worth it?" she cries. Parker doesn't pretend to know a lot about the movie industry, but even she knew which directors were worth something and which weren't. Only Tom Ryder would refuse a chance at making history for the sake of his vanity. "You're crazy."

"It's my brand," he sniffed with a laugh of his own. "It'd be bad marketing to just shave it all off. I'm not just an actor, you know. I'm also a businessman."

She's sure that's true, but Parker doesn't care for the argument, and so she thinks hard for a moment. Snapping her fingers, she tries again. "Okay, what about Tarantino? Pulp Fiction is your favorite—you said that yourself."

He made a face. "Well, yeah, it's my favorite..."

"So...?"

He glanced at her, before a hand snaked up to his head to softly rake through his hair, as if testing the worth of it. He did that a lot, a nervous tick she had noticed, and as they sat together it was messier than she'd ever seen it before; slept on, air-dried, with no gel to perfectly coif the blonde tufts. And yet, she wished he wore it like that more often. "I mean... nah. Still couldn't do it."

His answer didn't surprise her in the least, but it was still so ridiculous, that she tipped her head back to laugh at it, cheeks splitting open for the grin that came. "You're crazy. Actually psychotic, Tom. You wouldn't work with your favorite director if you had to sacrifice your hair."

"I like my hair."

"I do too, but, come on! Tarantino?"

"It's not easy to have nice hair. I've worked on it for years to get it how I like it," he said, and then as if he she was suddenly a suspect, Tom narrowed his eyes at her shrewdly. "Do you not like me hair or something?"

Another absolutely ridiculous thing for him to say, and if Parker wasn't aware of how deep his insecurities ran, she would have mocked him. Instead, she gave him a patronizing smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Of course I like your hair."

"Then why are you trying to get me to chop it off?"

"Just trying to see what your limit is," she defended with her palms held up, as if she really was a suspect. He didn't buy it for a moment, but he gave up easily. Parker rolled her eyes at him. "Big baby. I'. just trying to figure out what is crossing the line in Hollywood. You get paid for acting gigs, so where's the line at what you will and won't do for a lot of money if it's required for a role?"

"Easy," he shrugged. "The line exists as shaving my head."

She blew a raspberry at him. "I'm serious!"

"So am I!"

"Well, what if—ha! okay—what if you got to work with Tarantino and made, like, a million dollars."

He blinked at her. "You think a million dollars is a lot?" he deadpanned.

Parker waved her hand at him flippantly, dismissing that comment with a disgruntled eyeroll as she adjusted on the couch. They had started with a full cushion in between them, but over the night, they had both been moving towards one another without meaning to—stars in orbit—and as she pulled her legs up underneath her, Parker's knee pressed against his.

But he didn't mind like she worried he might, and when he stretched an arm over the couch back behind her, Parker continued.

"Alright, thirty million dollars. You would do it for thirty million, wouldn't you? Rich or not rich, thirty million dollars is a lot of money."

His brow lifted higher, and she hesitated.

"...right?"

He laughed at her, bending forward to pour more wine into his glass as she smacked him on the shoulder. "Seriously? Yes, that's a lot of money. I'm not that rich."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, excuse me, Mr. Money Bags. So? Would you?"

He hummed, popping the cork off the bottle to pour out the rest of it. She waited impatiently as Tom then took a long swallow of the fresh pour, really dragging it out.

"Tom!" she whined.

"Okay, yes. If I got to work on a movie with Tarantino and got thirty million dollars, yes, I would shave my head," he finally admitted, looking both pleased at her irritation and troubled by the concept. He sat back while lifting a hand to run through his hair. She watched him tug on a few strands as if reminding himself it existed and when he caught her watching, Parker swung a hand up to hide her smile. Rolling his eyes, he tacked on, "but... it'd have to be a really good role. A starring role. You know? Not just some side character, something that is actually worth it."

"Worth more than thirty million dollars?"

"A lot more."

"You really love your hair," she said, then, as if only to be obnoxious, gave a mock gasp as she clutched a hand to her imaginary pearls. Tom spared her a look as if he knew what was about to come, but was amused by it nonetheless. "Oh my god, your hair is your superpower, isn't it? That's where you get all the swagger and rizz from."

"Rizz? You're spending too much time with Melissa," he commented blithely.

But Parker was on a run, and she wasn't about to let his sour commentary stop her, and so she continued with an air of dramatics that Hollywood would appreciate. "All this time I assumed you were a Bruce Wayne—you know, rich, sad, rich—"

"You said rich twice."

"—rude, egotistical, awful with women—"

He sat up. "Hang on a minute, awful with women?" he echoed in bewilderment, but Parker just continued as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"—the type of hero who gets his superpowers just from being, you know, insanely rich. But, really, all this time you've been like Superman. Good looking, obsessed with wearing glasses that you don't actually need, but with a real superpower. Your hair is totally your kryptonite, isn't it?"

She finally glanced at Tom, only to find him shooting her an unimpressed look. "That doesn't make any sense."

"What? Sure it does. It's what makes you so... you know, Tom Ryder."

"Are you saying my hair is the source of my power or my greatest weakness? Because kryptonite is his weakness. You know, the one thing that can kill him," he said as if it was obvious.

"Well—alright, your Achilles' heel or whatever," she threw her hands up with a huff. Of all the times that he didn't know what she was talking about, of course he would be a closeted comic book geek. "I bet if I cut it off, you would just fall over and die."

Tom rolled his eyes, setting his glass down on the table. "Do I need to hide my scissors?" he asked.

"Scared?"

"Of you? Well, yeah, I'm starting to be."

Parker laughed at his deadpan tone, and something smug curled his mouth as he laughed as well. She always knew that he was a bit of an attention whore, liking when other people were praising him and following him around like puppies, but the smug look didn't much feel like that. Instead, she was starting to get the distinct impression that Tom liked making her laugh in the same way she liked making him laugh.

Proud to be able to do it at all.

Parker bit her lip knowing that her face was flushing a deep red, both from his attention and from his jokes, and she took a moment to set aside her wine glass. The last thing she needed to do was spill some red wine on his expensive white couch, and knowing her history of spilling things that shouldn't be spilled, it was a miracle that she hadn't already done some damage.

"Do you want some more?" he asked, mistaking her reasons.

"No, I shouldn't. I still need to drive home," she said. Then, she glanced at the couch with a worried gnaw of her lip. "Besides, you may not care about this couch, but I do, and red wine is just a disaster waiting to happen."

"It's had worse."

"Oh, I'm sure, but not by me."

"You don't have to worry so much about that," Tom told her with a shrug and a gesture around them. "It's just a couch and you already know that I have maids."

"Well, yeah," she hedged. "But... it's still your stuff, and it's nice stuff, and I'm not trying to ruin it just because you can afford to replace it. Maids or not. What kind of logic is that?"

He shrugged again, utterly unconcerned. "This is, like, my third couch this year."

"What?"

"I have people over a lot," he explained as he ran a hand over the smooth material himself. "Shit happens when you're drinking. If it gets fucked up, I just get a new one."

She frowned. "Yeah, but, still... Accidents happen but I'd be furious if my friends ruined three of my couches in a year. That's just... Do you really not care when people wreck your house?"

Tom glanced at said house for a moment, gaze sweeping over the lavish furniture and expensive decorations before returning to her. He looked so innocent as he just said, "it's just stuff. Freddy and my boys are constantly fucking something up. You know how it is when I throw a party; people get drunk. I have an interior designer on speed dial to replace whatever gets ruined. You should have seen this place after my birthday last year."

"Yeah, but..."

"It's just stuff," he reiterated.

And that much was true. It was just stuff.

In one way, that was a good viewpoint of life. Things were just things, and they could easily be replaced. But as Parker sat there on the couch, feeling how comfortable and soft it was, examining the wooden pegs and beautiful details, she couldn't help but feel offended on his behalf. Things were just things, sure, but she would never go over to someone's house and not care about whether or not she ruined their things. Money or not, that was just shitty behavior.

Certainly not the behavior shared between friends. The idea that he would invite people over—friends, supposedly—that would trash his stuff without caring at all was so off baffling that she could only blink.

"I guess," she said after a moment.

As if he sensed her discomfort, Tom nudged her with his elbow, and when she blinked up at him, he was wearing a troublesome smirk. "Besides, women like my stuff."

Parker felt blood rush her face that didn't have anything to do with the wine, and his smirk widened at seeing it. She couldn't let him off that easily, however, and so she feigned disinterest. "Oh, really? They like this stuff? Hm."

"Oh, come on, it's nice. Just admit it."

"Well, I suppose the couch is okay."

He huffed, shaking his head at her. "Yeah, sure, okay. This couch was featured in Vanity Fair."

She stuck her nose up. "Oh? I don't read Vanity Fair, so I'll have to take your word on it," she continued to dig in, satisfied with the way his smirk twitched at the edges by her goading. "But I guess that's supposed to be a big deal, yeah? Not too bad, I guess."

"Not too bad?" he echoed incredulously, his earlier smugness gone, replaced by incredulity. It never ceased to amaze Parker how easy it was to push his buttons. "Come off it. It's a good couch. George Clooney has the same one in his house in Lake Como."

She poked a cushion, pinched the material between her fingers. "Hm. I would have thought he would get something... I don't know, classier."

"Classier?" he deadpanned.

"Like real leather. Or, oh, you know I read on Buzzfeed that some really rich people don't even have couches nowadays. They just stand all the time, and if they really need to sit, they have super big beanbags. Like, giant. Heard they're all the rage."

He huffed. "Fuck off."

"I mean, I'm not sure if they're in Vanity, they're kind of underground, you know," she continued, getting far too much enjoyment out of teasing Tom. He didn't seem all that amused from where he sat next to her, and she leaned closer to pinch the material of his shirt next. "And this? I mean... Tom. Seriously, I don't want to step on your stylists' toes or anything, but a white tee? Are you Kevin Bacon?"

His eyes grew wide as he swatted away her hand. "This is Armani!"

"Are you sure? Fake brands are a thing, you know. You have to check the stitching, the material, the tags. All of that. It's easy to get it wrong nowadays."

"Parker—"

"It's a whole scam. You might not be able to tell, but I have a great eye for detail. Plus, I've been getting scammed my entire life—I mean, the pink tax? What even is that?—so I'm pretty familiar with the concept."

"It's not—I'm not being scammed!" he exclaimed, swatting her other hand away as it tugged on the back of his shirt. He was fully scowling. Clearly, not pleased with her joking, and as she exploded in laughter, he lifted a brow at her crossly. "You think you're funny?"

She poked her teeth with her tongue, giggling. "I think I'm hilarious."

Tom hummed, eyes jumping over every inch of her face, and the moment his mouth curved into a devious smirk, Parker knew that he was up to something.

"Tom—"

She wasn't quick enough to get away, and all it took was for Tom to wrap an arm around her waist before she was being bodily hauled towards him as though she weighed nothing. She shrieked—never having been one for manhandling in all the years Colt forced it upon her—but despite trying to get away from him, she found herself sitting across his lap, an arm barred across her back to prevent her from going anywhere.

The same hand that was previously poking fun at the quality of his clothes was now firmly fisted into the soft material of his shirt.

"You're going to judge my clothes when you're wearing this?" he asked while pinching her sweater with his free hand. On the back patio, it hadn't seemed so out of place, but now that they were inside, surrounded by expensive bottles of wine and his collection of movie props in glass cases along the wall, it was impossible to ignore. "It's awful, Parker."

She swallowed, trying not to seem too flustered by the abrupt decrease in distance. "I got it at a yard sale."

"You should have put it out of its misery."

"Hey!" she cried, a soft punch into the hard muscle of his shoulder. He didn't seem all that surprised, and his smile crooked further as his palm spread wide against her back. "I like this sweater, jerk. It has character."

"That's what they say about ugly things in vintage stores."

She narrowed her eyes, only a hair's breadth away from him now, but refusing to let him win this argument just because he was looking at her like that, holding her, mouth coiled into a damning smile as if he could feel the way her heart was beating faster. "Just because something is ugly doesn't mean it shouldn't be loved."

He huffed. "No one actually believes that."

"Well, I do," she corrected him. "And I've had this sweater for five years, and I just so happen to love it."

"You've had the same sweater for five years?"

That's what surprised him? "Of course I have," she blinked, thrown by his surprise. "I can't afford to buy a new one every time I want to. I just... you know, take care of my stuff. Ugly or not. I mean, every once in a while I accidentally shrink something in the wash, but I do my best to make stuff last. Are you going to judge me for that too?"

It was a joke, but Parker didn't need an answer. She could tell just from the soft look in his eyes that he wasn't judging her. Just... looking at her.

The kitchen lights were off, the balcony ones too, and the only light in the room came from the fireplace and the small chandelier over the stairs. It cast glittering lights around them, highlighting everything that shined in the room—glass, picture frames, awards, props, and screens—yet somehow Parker swore that he shone brighter than all those other things; as if he was made to be in the spotlight.

At this distance, she could make out the miscolored flecks in his eyes; not just blue but golden and brown and hints of green that were always absent in his airbrushed ads. She could just make out the tired rings beneath his eyes, the crease of his mouth, the tiny curve of his nose, the wayward tufts of hair that he'd mussed wrong at one point in the night.

All a sign that he was human, he was no different than her.

Not really, anyways. Not in a way that mattered.

He blinked at her, and though Parker would never know for sure, there was something in the depth of his features that made her think he was realizing the exact same thing. And as the thought passed between them, their movements synched, and as she leaned up, he leaned down.

This kiss wasn't like the first one; that one had been hard, knocking the air out of her lungs and the thoughts from her brain in a single fell swoop. It had felt rushed; brought on by a moment of excitement and laughter, but lingering in sloppy kisses as if they were teenagers given only a moment of privacy before they would be found out by the English teacher. An absurd thought, that wasn't actually so absurd when the sound of laughter or chatter would drift up to their little patio from the party happening down below. Maybe that's exactly what they had been, just two kids pretending the rest of the world didn't exist, kissing like there wouldn't be another chance.

But this?

This one started slow. Just the gentleness of his lips on hers, the feeling of his hands slowly tugging her to his chest until there was no room left between them. It was hesitant in how her hand skated up his chest, his shoulders, and into his hair. Featherlight, as if afraid to touch, before becoming more confident. His mouth tasted like wine and rhubarb as she kissed him, the smokey flavor of a stolen cigarette chased by the berry-sweet flavor of her chapstick as he chased the delicate curve of her mouth.

Hesitant became familiar as the kiss evolved, nervous became excited as they realized they weren't going to be interrupted or chased away. The kiss turned harder as he shifted their bodies on the couch, pillows knocked to the floor as they became a jumble of laughter, and just as her skin had started to feel like it was on fire, hands nothing but a jumbled mess of firing neurons as they skated around the back of his neck, catching on his gold chain, before a gentle tug on his locks as all thoughts ceased to make sense—

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the...

Thoughts came back, and the pair froze with matching looks of horror.

Tom blinked at her with wide blown eyes. "Is that your phone?"

Parker glanced over her shoulder finding said phone face up on the table, vibrating a steady rhythm on his glass table as the song played aloud for them to hear.

Of course it was her brother's fucking face flashing across the screen.

"...I'm actually going to kill him this time."

"Colt?"

"Colt," she repeated irritably. Tom blinked at the ceiling as Parker glared at the phone, willing it to stop entirely, but neither wanting to move in fear of shattering the moment entirely. "It'll stop eventually," she said awkwardly.

What if I'm late? Gotta big date...

"What the fuck is your ringtone?" he asked, breath tickling her skin.

Parker flushed for more reasons than one, and cleared her throat. "Harry Nilsson," she said, but that didn't seem like an adequate answer, and as the stanzas continued, she added with a nervous chuckle, "uh, it's from a Netlix show. It's not the theme song, but there's a scene where Nadia—er, the main character—she keeps dying, you know—like an endless loop sort of thing—and this is always the song that's playing when—oh, it stopped."

They blinked at the phone screen, and together the pair let out the breath they had been holding when it finally went black.

Parker turned back to Tom, somehow more nervous than she had been before. "So—"

He kissed her before she could ramble, a good thing for them both considering just how much she could ramble, and as if they hadn't stopped at all, her entire body melted back into goo beneath his touch. It wasn't hard to pick up where they had left off, not when he held her so close, when his chest was burning hot as she skated across it with timid hands, when his owns hands skimmed beneath her sweater to leave tingling trails down her spine, or when he ducked closer, sealing away any last inch of—

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get gone before the morning...

She winced, and Tom glared at the phone so sharply she thought it might shatter. Too cowardly to look herself, she let her head fall against his chest as she asked, "is it...?"

"Colt? Yeah."

She groaned.

"Can't you just turn the fucking thing off?" he asked, and though it was a logical next step, the thought of what if had her hesitating. He noticed immediately. "What?"

"Well, I am his emergency contact." That logic didn't seem to matter to Tom at all, and Parker let out a great huff as she stretched for the phone. "He could be, like, dead or something! What kind of emergency contact would I be if I didn't pick up?"

The hand that had been under her sweater fell against her thigh with a thud. "If he's already dead, then there's nothing you can do about it," he snarked.

"Dying, then," she corrected tartly. When that didn't earn her any compassion, she tried puppy dog eyes. "Just thirty seconds."

Tom flopped against the cushion behind him with a sour look, and she rolled her eyes at his petulance. "Honestly, I can only handle one child at a time," she muttered, much to his annoyance, but he wisely didn't respond as she lifted the phone to her ear, hitting the green talk button. "Hello? This is Parker."

"What—of course it's Parker. Who else would it be?" Colt said, and the fact that it was Colt and not some hospital administrator had Parker relaxing.

Just as quickly she tensed in annoyance when she realized that this was very likely not an emergency. "Colt, is, uh, something wrong?"

"Wrong? Why would something be wrong?"

"Because... you just called me twice in a row. That's, like, something is wrong textbook 101."

"Oh," he said as if that had never occurred to him. And considering the fact that she had never had to call him in the middle of the night for a medical emergency was probably to blame for his ignorance to the situation. "Well, no, nothing's wrong. What are you doing?"

"Er, just, you know," Parker hedged, glancing anywhere but at Tom. "Just... hanging out. Drinking some wine."

"Nice. You want to go to the movies?"

Parker's eyes rounded. "W—what?"

"The movies! I feel like it has been forever since we went to the movies, just the two of us. You know, for something that wasn't a premiere, anyway, and I still haven't seen the new Alex Garland movie, so I figured we could go together."

Parker, baffled, grabbed Tom's wrist and twisted it until she could read the very expensive Rolex sitting on his wrist. He looked perturbed by her manhandling of him, but Parker didn't even notice as she huffed, "it's—it's late! What movie theater is even still open right now?"

"The one on Beumont Ave. I'll swing by your place, and we'll be just in time for—"

"No!" she said, louder and more forcefully than necessary. The line went silent as she blinked, and as Tom arched his brows at her, Parker waved her free hand around in the air in a vague gesture that he clearly wasn't able to interpret. When he opened his mouth to make what likely would have been a scathing comment about her ability to stay calm under pressure, she clapped the hand over his mouth instead. "I, uh, can't. Not tonight. Sorry. I actually have to, uh... I just can't."

"What? You just said you weren't doing anything."

"Well, technically, I'm not doing anything."

"Then, what's the problem? I'm like fifteen minutes away from your place. Just wear sweats, or whatever."

"Colt—"

"Jody can't make it, though, so it'll just be us."

"Colt—"

"That's cool, though, you know, I don't have to do everything with Jody. We used to hit the movies all the time, just the two of us, before, and I already bought some gummies from the gas station, so make sure you bring a purse so we can sneak them in. I'm definitely feeling popcorn. Maybe some—"

"Colt, I'm not going to the movies with you!" she blurted out, and the second she did so, Parker's shoulder sank in disbelief at her tactlessness. But—to be fair—she was a little overwhelmed in the moment, tipsy on expensive wine, with Tom Ryder staring up at her like that. Not to mention the fact that the moment he kissed her, her brain elected to take the rest of the night off. As if he knew he was the problem, his mouth curved into a wolfish grin. She shot him a glare. "Don't even start with me."

That caught her brother's attention.

"Are you—are you with someone?"

Tom rolled his eyes at the question, clearly put up with Colt's needling, and he tried to grab the phone from her. But Parker was quicker than he was, and in a better position to evade, and so she stretched onto her knees as high as she could as his hand tangled in her hair. "I'm, stop that! I mean, technically, yes."

"Well—what the hell, Park? Who are you with?"

"...that's none of your business," she said whilst swatting Tom in the chest when he tried to make another grab for the phone.

"Just hang up already!" he hissed at her.

"I will! I am! Just—give me a second!" she hissed back, as her brother's voice droned across the line. "I really can't talk right now, Colt."

"Oh. Oh. Sure, of course you can't, since you're all so busy having secrets now apparently. I mean, I thought we shared all our business with one another, but fine. Be that way," he groused, clearly hurt by her evasion, and as Parker twisted out of Tom's reach once more she prayed for a meteorite to come crashing through his ceiling. "But, just for the record, when I go on dates, I tell you about them."

"Yes, and I've told you before that I really wish you didn't do that."

He huffed, then huffed again. "Well, sorry."

"Can I just call you back tomorrow?"

Another huff, then a scoff. "Sure. Fine, Parker. Whatever."

"Colt—"

"No, no, it's fine! Go have your date, have fun or whatever. I mean, I go on plenty of dates that I don't tell you about, too. So, yeah, I guess we both do have secrets."

"Colt—"

"Just, you know, don't do anything you don't want to do and if he asks—"

"Oh my god!" she shrieked, misery at an all time high. "I'm hanging up now!"

"But—!"

The dial tone echoed in the empty room around the pair, and only when Parker felt like the humiliation of it all had faded enough for her to operate normally again did she dare a peak towards Tom.

"Did he just totally kill the—?"

"Yup," Tom said. "Killed it, stomped it out, and threw it in the river. I hate your fucking brother."

"Yeah," she groaned, letting her head tip all the way to the side until she was flopping off of his lap and onto the empty cushion. She brushed some hair out of her face with a grimace. Tom didn't look much better, and she watched him sink deeper into the couch with a miserable frown of his own.

Silence sat between them, thick and suffocating.

He fiddled with his watch as she counted seconds in her head, and when she got to thirty, Parker gave up entirely. "Do you... want to watch some tv?" she asked.

Tom looked surprised by the suggestion, and his gaze flickered over Parker; as if assessing how serious she was. "You don't want to leave?"

"Why would I leave?"

He didn't answer that, and his refusal to say anything was answer enough. Parker considered the course of events this evening; the food, the wine, the flirting before moving onto the couch, the kissing...

She suspected this was usually how dates went for him, just like she had a strong suspicion that his dates probably treated him in the same way his friends treated his things; without respect, and with a single purpose in mind. But she saw more in Tom than a single purpose, and so the thought of leaving hadn't even crossed her mind. Clearly, though, that wasn't a reaction he was expecting, and she fiddled with her hair timidly.

"Do you... want me to leave? Because, I was thinking I'd hang around a little longer."

Something flickered across his features as he stared at her, and as if he hadn't even thought he had a say in the matter, when Tom relaxed into the couch, he had a small smile curling his lips. "Do you watch House of the Dragon? I'm a couple weeks behind."

"I watched Game of Thrones, but haven't seen any of it yet."

"Want to watch it now?"

"You don't have to start over," she said, watching the little box drift back to episode 1 with each click of the remote. "Just tell me who is fucking who, and I'm sure I'll catch up."

But Tom wasn't having that excuse, and as he gathered up some pillows and a blanket, he tutted at her. "May as well just rewatch it. I've missed half of this season, anyway, so it won't hurt to go back and refresh a little."

"You don't mind?"

He tsk-ed, rolling his eyes in that judgmental way that he did—as if he couldn't believe she would ask something so stupid—and for some unbeknown reason to her, Parker didn't mind one bit. He wasn't acting like she was stupid, just the idea that he wouldn't want to do something as simple as rewatch a tv show for her was. And when he lifted an arm with an expectant look allowing her to snuggle against the warm plane of his side and wrap her legs with his, Parker accepted that maybe it was a stupid question.

After all, she's starting to think that there's very little she wouldn't do for Tom.

It was nice to know that he might feel the same about her.

And when she woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming in through the windows, wrapped up in Tom, surrounded in every way by his essence, to find the celebrity A-lister drooling on his white Armani shirt...

Well, Parker couldn't help but smile.

Maybe Superman was a little more human than people realized.

[arinfunky]

Leshycat I did while on vc :3

[meervalv0]

Lamb and car,, beloveds

They totally don't hate eachotherrr

[disastrousduckss]

Uhhhh, these two have been my recent hyperfixation😭😭😭 help-

[byeeizzy]

The family‼️‼️ Adaliah cant wait for her lil sis to... born? for the egg to hatch? Anyway lol

The lamb and Nari (and the crown) having to deal with a really excited kit

+ Adult Adaliah and Allani