#i wholeheartedly don't think we get enough of these three

[transingthoseformers]

I have a massive soft spot for a carrying Megatron, any continuity, and him being completely and utterly chill about it. He got this, no problem. Just breezes through his pregnancy with basically no symptoms.

Bur the sire? A nervous wreck. Megatron grumbles once about his backstrut hurting? Better go to the medics right now!

... I wish there'd be a fic like that, at least.

Sdhj i mean you're right, that's awesome, and consider:

This but it's TFA Megastriknut. Strika's off doing her general thing and makes them swear up and down to type up some updates for her every night, Lugnut is absolutely doing his Lugnutty thing while Megatron is just so tired of it like c'mon he's a warlord he'll be fine, but he's still taking that pillow yes.

[awearywritersworld]

the three times gojo thinks he might be in love and the time he knows for sure

gojo satoru x reader summary: title says it all w/c: 1k tags/warnings: ft baby megumi. fluff, then some more fluff. gumi refers to reader as mom. one curse word. brief reference to canon typical violence. a/n: i am ridiculously soft for this man. he needs a hug masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

the first time it happens, it's the dead of winter and you're both still teenagers. it's the year before the star plasma vessel mission, when everything in gojo's life feels like it's falling into place. he has friends, real friends, for the first time in his life.

you drag him, kicking and screaming (it's all for show, he'd go anywhere with you), out to a snow covered field. you innocently beg him to turn off limitless, and of course he acquiesces, only to be pelted in the face with a snowball.

he throws himself into the snow upon impact, arms flailing dramatically. "i'm dead! you've killed me!"

you join him on the ground, arms out stretched and nudging the fabric of his coat. "hm, then i guess i'll have to drink all the hot chocolate by myself-"

"i have returned to the living realm!!" he shouts, shooting up into a sitting position. "had to fight god for it, told 'im i couldn't bear to leave my (y/n)-chan!"

"oh, you are so full of shit," you accuse with an amused smile.

you gaze at one another as the snow falls around you silently, both somehow feeling warm despite the frigidness of the air. his glasses have slipped down his nose, giving you a glimpse at his eyes. you're thinking about how the flakes blend in with his lashes before melting away entirely. he's thinking that he might be in love with you.

~~~

some time passes before the second instance, which takes place in the spring. gojo makes his way around campus, looking for wherever you and megumi ran off to. the small boy has been attached to your hip ever since gojo brought him home two years ago.

when he finds you, you're both splayed out in the grass and pointing up at the clouds.

"that one looks like a dog!" megumi exclaims excitedly.

"and that one looks like it might be his ball, don't you think?" you question. he agrees wholeheartedly with an enthusiastic nod.

after awhile, megumi sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "can we go inside now, mom?"

there's a split second he doesn't realize what he's said, but when it dawns on him, he looks down right scared. "'m sorry!"

your features soften and your heart soars before you're gathering him up in your arms.

"oh, my sweet boy," you coo.

rocking him back and forth, you hold him for a few passing moments. he hides his face in your chest, his hands gripping onto your shirt as if it's his life line.

you pull away just enough to see his face. you'd do anything to stop the tears swimming in his eyes, just like any mother would. "you can call me whatever you like 'gumi."

"p-promise?"

"yup!" you assure, bopping his nose with your pointer finger. it earns a small giggle.

gojo watches as you rise from the ground, megumi's head now resting on your shoulder and his arms around your neck. you're humming as you walk back toward the buildings.

gojo's legs are like lead and his heart feels as if it's shifted up into his throat. for the first time, he thinks about getting married, about having a family. your face is at the forefront of every image that forces itself into his mind.

~~~

the third time happens in the dead of night. megumi is asleep and the two of you decide to watch a movie, but you're yawning before he even presses play.

you sit so close to him that you can feel the warmth radiate from his body and although you fight to keep your eyes open, you can't help but be lulled to sleep.

he tenses for a moment when your head lands squarely on his shoulder. it seems as if you're both frozen, but then you let out a soft snore as your body shifts and your hand moves to his stomach. he finally relaxes.

your hair had fallen across your face and he pushes it back behind your ear so that he can see you. he tries to ignore the urge to brush his fingers across your cheekbone, or over your bottom lip. he fails.

gojo remains still for hours, and it feels strange to the usually hyperactive man, but he's terrified of disturbing you. terrified that you'll pull away from him and he'll never get to feel like this again.

he lets that stupid movie play through twice, but he spends most of the time stealing glances at you. he does eventually turn the tv off and the only sounds that remain are the trill of summer crickets outside his window and your soft, slow breaths.

he has no idea what time it is when he falls asleep, but when he finally does, he dreams about that day in the snow.

~~~

leaves fall at your feet as the two of you make your way down the sidewalk. every now and then, your fingers brush against his and it makes his heart skip a beat. he wonders (hopes?) if anyone has mistaken you for a couple.

you come across a familiar mansion, one that the two of you exorcised together as teenagers. it feels like a lifetime ago. you stop at the gate, a bronze glint on the ground catching your eye.

crouching down, you brush away shades of orange and red to reveal a memorial for all the people who had died on the once cursed property.

"for the lives that were taken here, and for the lost soul who took them... may they rest now in the afterlife."

gojo scrunches his nose, about to make some comment about how pitiful it was to commemorate a cursed spirit, but the words die in his throat when you look up at him with watery eyes.

"this is so beautiful," you remark, turning back to the engraved words.

he shoves his hands in his pockets, peering down to read over the words once more. maybe he'd missed something?

"this community was so fearful, remember? people lost friends and family here." he nods even though you aren't looking at him, watching how your fingertips move across the words as if you're considering them further. "the spirit scared them and it stole from them, but they still regard it with sympathy and kindness.. it takes strength to do that, you know?"

he feels his chest tighten as he registers your words. for a fleeting instance, he feels like an asshole for ever finding it pitiful, but that was the thing. you have such an easy way about you, a sort of gentleness he had yet to find in anyone else. the time he spends in your company seems like the only respite he ever gets from the horrors of the world.

he hasn't answered you yet, so you look back to him expectantly. "don't you think it's beautiful, 'toru?"

god, he could fall to his knees right then and there. he could roll over and die on the chilly concrete and he'd consider it a privilege to have died by your side.

i love you. i love you. i love you. those are the only three words his brain can muster.

"yeah," he finally chokes out. "it really is."

[eddiezpaghetti]

It has come to my attention that SOME OF YOU who read my last Byler post remain UNCONVINCED. So I'm gonna tack onto it this:

I'm older than fucking God and air, and I've been out and proud since 2007. Yes, I know what homophobia is, and yes, I know what queerbaiting is. I know about Supernatural and Teen Wolf and Sherlock and blahdyblahdyblah. No new ground is being covered here. I thought I made that clear in the original post, but, clearly, I did not.

I am aware of queerbaiting and homophobia, and I'm still wholeheartedly certain in Byler being canon anyway.

Okay, so there are three types of relationship I want to discuss when it comes to queerbaiting. They're all, like, "queer relationships that could have happened, but didn't".

First off, queer-coding. This isn't really a thing so much anymore, but it still crops up every once in a while. I'd argue it probably happens most with male-male relationships in family shows these days. First example that comes to mind is Mr. Smiley and Mr. Frowny from Steven Universe. You can't make a relationship canon because some shitty overhead bastard overhead said no, so you get as close as you can without compromising the show. Can't make someone gay? Well, now their comedy routine is a blatant allegory for a romantic relationship. Boom-shaka-laka. This is something I don't see being a problem with regards to Stranger Things, but I want it to be there as contrast, a demonstration of one of many things queerbaiting is not. However, one could argue that, thus far, Will Byers is, canonically, queer-coded. It's pretty fucking heavily implied in the show, and the creators have confirmed it, and you're gonna be able to see it if you're not FUCKING BLIND, but word of god is not technically canon which means that interviews don't technically make something canon, blahdyblahdyblahdyblah, technicalities, Robin has been explicitly stated in the text to be queer while Will has, thus far, not, outside of good ol' Show-Don't-Tell. Of course, anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that that's going to change by the end of Season 5, but, hey, for what it's worth, I'm throwing this out there.

Alrighty, Thingamajingama Number Two: "Oops, I accidentally made the greatest love story known to man." AKA, a genuine, honest-to-goodness mistake. Unfortunately, we do live in a heteronormative society. Sometimes people who don't think about being gay much write a friendship that's incredibly compelling and don't even consider the possibility that it could have been read as romantic. Something something Top Gun something. This is, again, not queerbaiting. This is Steddie, this is Ronance, this is Elmax, this is your favorite flavor of non-canon ship this week, this is not Byler. The creators know DAMN well what they're doing. They've talked about it. We know this. Nothing new here.

Which brings us to the topic of discussion here. Actual queerbaiting. This usually starts out as an "accidental greatest love story", and then reacts to fan response. And when I say "reacts", I mean like a goddamn chemical reaction. Like bleach and ammonia, bitch. It's noxious and it's gonna kick your fucking ass without mercy. This is when a creator is like, "Hey, let's get our queer audience invested, but we're not actually going to give them what they want because our straight audience isn't here for that/we personally think it's gross/we don't give enough of a shit to want to research a goddamn thing to write a real gay character," blah blah blah whatever excuse they want to come up with this time.

And when you think "queerbaiting", I want you to think "bullying". Because that's what it is. It's lucrative bullying, like beating us up and taking our lunch money, but it's bullying all the same. And it's a real goddamn thing, even if people misuse the word a lot, often when they mean one of the two above, sometimes when they mean "bury your gays", which is another homophobic thing entirely that I'm not going to get into here. Queerbaiting is the thing we're focused on, and it's real, and it's bullying. And here's the reason I want you to think of it as bullying:

They

Think

It's

Funny.

They are actively making fun of us.

That's why Dean had the "Cas, get out of my ass," line in Supernatural. It's why the "Do you like boys?" line happened in Teen Wolf. It's why "Lie with me, Watson," happened in the RDJ Sherlock Holmes movies. Because "It's just a joke, mate." "It was just a prank, bro." "You didn't really think it would happen, did you?" "You should see your face."

So here's probably the biggest reason I don't think it's specifically queerbaiting in this specific instance of Will Byers and Mike Wheeler.

Stranger Things has never, not once, made a gay joke. Ever.

Every single time queerness comes up, it's dead serious.

Lonnie calls Will a fag, and the show is not at all reluctant to show what a goddamn horrible person he is. And when Hopper latches onto that, it's not as "Hahah, is he gay, though?" It's because he's trying to determine a potential motive for Will's disappearance, and even if someone had interpreted it as a joke, Joyce immediately has a line that functions as snapping her fingers in front of the audience's face and yelling "FOCUS" when she says "He's MISSING." Basically outright saying "This isn't funny!"

Troy calls him a fairy, along with targeting Lucas and Dustin for their skin color and disability respectively, and Mike gets damn near murderous. Troy is portrayed as a goddamn monster and the show portrays it as justice when El makes him piss his pants and later breaks his arm.

Steve calls Jonathan "queer" as a slur and gets the shit beat out of him for it.

Billy's father is revealed to be homophobic and abusive in the same breath.

Mike says "It's not my fault you don't like girls!" and we're shown how devastated Will is and Mike immediately follows him to beg for forgiveness.

There is a joke in Robin's coming-out scene, but it's not at Robin's expense. It's at Steve's. Specifically for being heteronormative.

Jonathan has multiple scenes where he's trying so hard to tell Will that he's always going to love him as he is, whether he's gay or not, without pressuring him to come out before he's ready.

Even when there's a little bit of ribbing at Robin's expense, it's always because she's an awkward nerd who's nervous around pretty girls, just the same as Lucas and Dustin are teased when they both first develop crushes on Max, and even then, even then, it always comes as a package deal where they make fun of Steve's girl problems at the same time.

Stranger Things is an emphatically pro-gay show. It may not be the core point of the show the way it is in, say, Our Flag Means Death, but there is nothing less than respect for its queer characters. Its queer characters are always taken completely seriously. No one is making fun of us. They never have. That's why I have serious doubts that this is queerbaiting. It would come completely out of left field for the bullying to start in Stranger Things' final season.

So it's not at all likely to be queerbaiting because queerness is taken completely seriously. The creators have talked about Will's queerness, at least, so it's not an accident. And queer-coding would be silly to expect from this show when it's already on its final season. Like, what is Netflix gonna do? Cancel it? Not to mention all the explicit queerness that's in there already. And no one's gonna "What about the children?" a show that's had sex scenes in it since the first season.

There's no fakeout here. It's gonna happen. Breathe.

[ghostsstolemymoxie]

Do you have any nsfw/sfw hcs for Logan (James howlett)

I absolutely do! Though they're a little bit hodge-podge IMO I do have some HCs for him that I think align pretty well with comic and movie canon. HCs below are for Fem!Readers but I may potentially do one for Masc!Readers if I figure any new ones out.

SFW HCs first

↣ Logan absolutely goes insane when you play with his hair. Half because he gets annoyed when people mess up the style of it considering how it's a staple of his whole Wolverine-ness, but half because the sensation is comforting in a way he didn't expect. When he's drowsy and half-asleep or has woken up from a particularly bad nightmare, all you need to do is card your fingers through his hair, and as long as he's comfortable with you, he'll fall asleep right then and there.

↣ Logan isn't much of a cuddle bug, so he's not as likely to curl up and be the big spoon while you're sleeping. Mostly because he doesn't want to accidentally impale you if he wakes up from a nightmare and doesn't quite realise his surroundings. During the day though? The man will behave as if he is touch starved. Holding your hand or wrist to lead you somewhere, or an arm around your waist or his hand just tucked into your butt pocket whilst you're stood talking. Anything so that he can touch you and feel that you're there. On occasion, if you're particularly focused on something and he thinks he can get away with it, he'll just run his fingers up and down the curve of your spine, just to feel the warmth of you.

↣ This one is very X-men Evolutions coded but nobody touches the Harley. As far as he's concerned, touching the Harley means forfeiting the offending limb - especially if she gets scuffed, scratched, smeared or fingerprinted. The only exception is you, of course, since he trusts you to respect his belongings. He will still fuss over the bike though, and will offer a scowl and a grunt if you leave a fingerprint on her (though he'll forgive you as long as he gets to take a picture of you on the bike, just to keep in his wallet, of his two favourite ladies).

For the NSFW HCs

↣ Like most of Tumblr, I wholeheartedly believe that Logan eats for his pleasure. Logan's women don't go to bed dissatisfied, even if it means his jaw aches for the next three days. He's a firm believer in "Round one is for me, round two is for you" so even if he's quick off the mark first round (which he can't always help, depending on how you've been teasing him all day or just how much he's fucking missed you) you can bet that the second round will be all about you. If he's in a particularly evil mood, he'll make round two last for hours before even letting you finish, just long enough for him to have worked up an appetite of his own again and get stuck in for round three. For him, it's a revolutionary concept to be interested in the pleasure of his woman. After all, he was raised in the 1800s and grew up through the late 19th Century to the early 20th Century, where the pleasure of a lady wasn't always first and foremost. Despite appearances and how he may act sometimes, he does have a gentlemanly side to him, even if that side manifests in burying his tongue so deep in your cunt you can barely keep from screaming the walls down.

↣ Logan also absolutely gets off on taunting you about the difference in age between you both. Whether it's 2000s movie Logan who looks 30 or 2017 Logan who looks well into his 60s, both of them quite enjoy the knowledge that despite appearances, he's your goddamn elder, and you're going to respect him. That means obedience, teasing, and a lot of soft domming from 'your old man'. He'll call you 'kid' or 'bub' or 'young lady' when he's trying to reprimand you, and will revel in you calling him 'Daddy', 'Old man' or 'Sir', even if he feigns offence at first. He'll mock that "Kids like you don't fuck like we did in my day", "The only damn good thing about living this long is knowing how to make pretty young things like you squirm" or his favourite little quip "C'mon, I need a little more than an ankle flash these days, Princess" when you attempt to seduce him coyly, before finally offering a wolfish smile and a beckon with a crooked finger when you finally show him something that would be considered criminally lewd in his day.

So, yeah! Hopefully that was what you were looking for, and if you have any other questions or requests, please feel free to ask away (as long as you've read my pinned post <3 Divider credit @cafekitsune

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 9

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Parker joins Colt on set, things between the siblings gets argumentative. How hard will she try to convince everyone of something only she seems to see?

Read the story here: prev / next

Parker was dying.

Well, no, not really, but she was pretty sure that dying on the inside was the same kind of misery as dying on the outside—something Colt would wholeheartedly disagree with, but, whatever, he wasn't around to dispute such a wild claim—and as she failed at yet another attempt, she quite literally could feel her sanity evaporating like water on a hot summer day. It was ridiculous that the instructions were only five steps; even more ridiculous that there were high school art students who could do this with their eyes closed while gabbing about what the prettiest Met Gala dress of the year was and contemplating what the next Suzanne Collins' book would be.

"I think she should write more prequel books," said high school art student was blabbering on from the other side of the shelf, and while Parker's eyes went crossed and frustration welled like a heavy weight on her chest, Melissa didn't seem to notice as her train of thought continued on a cross-continental journey. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I will always love Katniss and Peeta's story, and hearing about their kids would be interesting, but there are seventy some years of Games that we haven't even heard about yet. That's so much material for her to write about!"

Parker glanced at the mess lying at her feet; tape and paint and abused shelf liner was sprawled around her as if a bomb had just gone off, and while Melissa continued on her fifth monologue of the hour, Parker almost wished one would.

"—did you see it? It was so good. Tom Blythe has to be my new celebrity crush. Right behind Tom Ryder, of course, but above Tyler Poser. Nothing against him personally, he just hasn't really done anything since Teen Wolf, you know? And—"

She was pretty sure black spots were dotting her vision, and when she attempted for a sixth time to smooth the bubbles out of her liner, Parker swore her head was going to implode.

How did one talk so much?

And more importantly—

"Jesus Christ!" she cried above the din of chatter. Melissa's voice cut off at the exclamation, but as she crossed one arm over the other—ruler clattering to the ground in frustration—the radio continued to play a steady stream of Taylor Swift and Katy Perry. "I'm so confused!"

A steady silence came from the adjacent aisle for half a moment.

"You... don't get the Hunger Games prequel? I thought you read it."

"Oh my fu—" she started, before cutting herself off. Melissa had gotten on her last week about having such foul language, and while Parker really didn't care about being a bad influence on the next generation, she did care about the stupid little jar sitting on the front counter that had collected half of her weekly coffee allowance in just three days. Pinching her nose, she swerved, "fudge, I don't get how you're doing this. I really don't."

"Doing—?"

"Not Suzzanne Collins," she snapped before Melissa could even go down that particular road. Honestly, the girl never stopped talking. "I understand that. I read those books before you were even born, kid."

"Okay, I'm not that young, and you're not old enough to be calling me kid," her voice floated above the shelves; judgmental and scornful all in one.

Parker pinched the bridge of her nose, only for some wayward tape to get stuck to her cheek, and as she ripped it off her skin with a groan, she considered sinking onto the cold floor for a nap.

Said floor was a mess of art supplies, however, and so she elected to tap her foot in an impatient staccato on the ground. Knowing there was only one thing left to do, Parker swallowed whatever pride still existed after this little art project. "...I don't understand how to put on the shelf liners," she admitted. "It doesn't make any sense, and I'm wasting material, and I'm—I'm going to set this place on fire if I have to keep doing this!"

A tut followed by Birkenstocks on hard wood before Melissa was popping around her side of the shelves. She looked too cute to be doing something misery-inducing like this—bubble braids over each shoulder, mascara and glittery white eyeshadow to balance out the glow of highlighter on her cheeks and nose, lips a soft bubblegum pink to compliment the pale color of her sweater—and Parker added it to the list of things that her employee did to annoy the shit out of her.

Teenagers were supposed to be pimply and awkward; when did the next generation start skipping that phase to jump right into cute outfits like that?

"What are you—?" she started, only to zero in on the absolute disaster that was Parker's attempts at interior design. The shelf liner was warbled and misshapen, cut too short on one side and too long on the other, and at her feet half a yard of wasted material lay sprawled. "Parker! Do you have any idea how expensive this stuff is?"

Parker blinked at her. "Do I—? Of course I do! I was the one that bought it in the first place!" she snarked incredulously.

"Then why are you wasting it?"

"Well—because—I'm not doing it on purpose!" she blustered.

Melissa clearly didn't seem to believe that if her raised brow was anything to go by. As if Parker had woken up that morning with the single goal in mind of making this process as difficult and expensive as possible.

Yeah, right.

Parker hadn't been stealing eggs and bread from her brother's when she visited just for the thrill of the grift.

"The instructions don't make any sense," she continued to defend herself; though, the fact that she needed to in the first place was ridiculous. It was her shop, afterall, and she was the owner. Oh, right. She was the owner. "I knew we shouldn't have done this. The paint and decorations look good enough. Why, oh why, did I let you talk me into doing shelf liners too? You know the books are just going to cover the pattern, right? No one will see them."

That seemed to upset Melissa, and in response, the teenager's entire face contorted into something righteous.

"Firstly," she said, flinging up a electric blue nail, "everyone will see them. The books are only so big, so the liner is still visible even when the shelf is full, and when people take books off the shelf it adds character to the store. And secondly," she continued, ticking another finger up into the air, "I've already finished three whole shelves in the time it's taken you to do half of one. Improperly, too. It's not impossible. You're just bad at it."

"Ugh!" Parker's mouth fell open. "Excuse me. I'm not bad at it."

"Could'a fooled me."

"You know," she snarked while planting her hands firmly onto her hips. Melissa didn't seem intimidated one bit, and she watched as the teenager gently pulled up her crumpled liner. "You're lucky I'm your boss because someone else might fire you for sass like that."

Melissa shot her a blithe look while dropping the ruined liner to the ground. Within seconds, she cut a new piece—perfectly sized—and calmly started lying it down. "Okay, sure, Park. Whatever you say."

"I could!"

"Uh-huh," the girl said again, clearly not buying into the power play for a second. Parker might have taken more offense to that if, well, Melissa wasn't right. She never had an employee before, but Parker didn't handle workplace confrontations well, and she couldn't imagine ever firing anyone. Let alone her best customer.

Still. She could at least pretend to be intimidated.

Before Parker could argue that point, Melissa stepped back from the shelf with a flourish to reveal a perfectly placed, smooth and colorful liner.

"Son of a..." Parker muttered at how easy she had made it look. Not to mention the fact that it did look really good. She could already picture how much character it would add once the shelves were re-stocked with their books. "How did you—?"

"It's honestly so easy. Like, I'm embarrassed for you."

And—yeah.

Parker was definitely dying.

"I liked you better when you only came in once a week," she announced, dropping the wasted paper into the trash bag. "You were a lot nicer then, at least. And you already gave me money instead of costing me heaps of it."

Unbothered, the teen popped her bubblegum with a shrug. "You were a lot cooler then, too."

"What—?" she cried, tracking around the shelf in Melissa's wake. The teenager seemed pretty pleased with herself, and as she giggled into her hand, Parker propped her shoulder against the wall with a glower. "Oh. Hardy-har-har. Hilarious. Let's all pick on Parker; that seems like a fun way to spend the day. How about this? You can finish this little project yourself since it was your idea in the first place."

That managed to wipe the smirk off of her face, and Melissa responded by stomping her foot. "This place is huge! There's no way I can finish this on my own."

"Please," Parker rolled her eyes, not buying that for a moment. "You've done six times as much as me in an hour, and better too. It's like you said—I suck at this."

"I didn't say you suck."

"Bad, suck, they're all the same insult. Are you regretting the sass now?"

Melissa scowled. "Fine. But I want to re-negotiate my salary."

That wiped whatever smug look Parker was wearing off her face in seconds, and as if this was a game of tug-o-war, the smugness transferred back to Melissa in the following seconds. So smug, in fact, that she started humming to herself as she set to work on the next line of shelves.

Shaking her head, Parker couldn't do anything but laugh. "Fat chance of that! You're already robbing me blind with the stupid swear jar. Besides, this whole thing was your idea; you wanted the job, and now you got the job. You don't get to re-negotiate your hourly pay when you've barely been here a month. That's not how employee contracts work."

"America as a late stage capitalistic society is failing and is not what you should be basing a business model on, but if that's how you want to play it, fine. This is a supply and demand market. There's nothing to say I can't negotiate my salary when my needs as an employee go up. Your demand has changed, ergo my supply for you has changed," she chirped, and not for the first time, Parker was wondering when teenagers became so socially aware. When she was Melissa's age, she babysat for five bucks an hour, and most of that was just spent making sure the kids didn't swallow their Gumby doll. Needs of an employee her ass. "Besides, we agreed on that salary when I thought I would have help doing the manual labor."

"You're awfully smart for someone that didn't read the fine print."

Melissa paused in her work to cross one arm over the other. And—fuck—how was she being intimidated by someone wearing a best friends forever necklace?

Saved by the tinkle of the front door bell, Parker broke off their stare down to give the girl a flippant gesture that would definitely not hold up in court as any sort of agreement, before moving towards the front. She didn't even care that they were closed, a customer was more than welcome at the moment. Even a neighborhood cat would do.

Melissa trailed after.

"All I'm saying is—" she started.

"Ah, ah, ah. No money talk in front of customers. It's totally kitsch," Parker chirped over her shoulder.

"It's Sunday. We shouldn't even have customers. Can't we just tell them to leave?"

"And they say good customer service is dead," said customer drawled from the front counter as he pilfered through her bowl of mints. Several clattered to the floor as he tried to dig out his favorite flavor, and with a wince, Parker watched him not-so-subtly nudged them under the counter with his shoe as if it hadn't happened at all. "Er, those were already down there when I got here."

"Ass," she rolled her eyes, bending over to scoop the mints up before mice decided to add themselves onto the list of things she had to deal with. She was already stuck between two pestering leeches, a third infestation was not ideal.

Before Melissa could complain, Parker stuck a dollar into the swear jar.

"Whatever. Tom, we were just—" Melissa pushed past Parker with an exuberance that had been lacking moments before. It deflated the moment she got a better look at him, however, and the girl's grin slipped into a sour frown. She crossed one arm over the other to peer suspiciously at the blonde. "Wait, you're not Tom."

Colt experienced a variety of emotions in a single second, and Parker couldn't help but laugh when he let out an offended squeak.

"What—how does she know Tom?" he hissed.

Parker dumped the fallen mints back into the bowl with a shrug. "He's stopped by before. She's a huge fan. Number one, apparently. She's seen all his stuff."

"Twice," Melissa added.

Parker pointed at her. "Twice," she reiterated, just knowing that it would piss Colt off.

Just as expected, he responded by rolling his eyes with a second, high-pitched groan. It sounded like he was in pain. "You're a fan of Ryder? Seriously?"

Melissa squared her shoulders at him. "Seriously."

"You do know that he wears a wig, right?"

She huffed. "No, he doesn't."

"Uh, yes he does."

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Does—"

"Okay, that's enough of that," Parker interjected with a groan of her own. What had started off as an amusing blow to her brother's ego was quickly turning into a headache. "Melissa, don't bully him. He has a sensitive ego."

Colt threw his arms up—bowl of mints scattering everywhere—to cry, "Parker! That's not—I don't—who even is this?"

"Who am I? I work here. Who are you?" she shot back, bright eyes narrowed into slits. Parker could imagine her in high-school now, scaring off boys left and right, and if her brother didn't have the mental maturity of a middle schooler, she might have let them argue a little bit longer.

Alas. Colt's weakness was women, and she didn't fancy giving him chest compressions when he inevitably choked on his pride.

"Melissa," she gestured, "this is my brother, Colt. He's a professional stuntman, and has been Tom Ryder's stuntdouble for years. That how I met him in the first place. Colt, this is my new employee, who also happens to be a teenage girl, Melissa."

In unison, the pair gave cagey hmphs.

"Nice to meet you or whatever," Colt sniffed.

"Yeah," she responded with a blithe look. "Totally."

Parker glanced between the pair; both had matching postures, arms crossed, arms averted, neither wanting to acknowledge the other, and she pinched the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. Although, to be fair, only one of the two was an actual adult. Despite how Melissa might carry herself from time to time.

Remembering this, she steered the conversation back to more important things. "If I step out for lunch with Colt, do you think you can finish the shelf liners? You can invite one or two friends to hang out. If they help, I suppose I can pay them too."

Pettiness forgotten, Melissa gave Parker a wide-eyed look. "Really?"

"Flat rate. Fifty for the day, a max of two friends. Just no posting on instagram or snapchat or—you know—anything else. I don't need social media being my downfall before I even get started."

"Oh my god, you're so old, Parker. Who would even want to cancel you?" Melissa laughed over her shoulder before disappearing towards the back. Her cell phone was already dialing, and by the time she started pasting on liners, her friends were already on their way.

With that taken care of, Parker blinked over at her brother.

"Yes."

Colt, having replaced whatever book he was pretending to read, furrowed his brows at her. "Yes, what?"

"Whatever you're going to suggest we do, yes, please take me away from here before I commit a craft-themed crime."

"Is that a crime?"

"A violent one."

He clicked his tongue, tossing another mint into his mouth with a curious side-eye across the counter. "Maybe I just wanted to stop in and see how things were looking. You were talking about it at the party so much I figured I'd have to see it eventually."

That was a lame excuse and they both knew it. Colt may have been her biggest cheerleader, but her brother didn't know the difference between paint and lacquer. Not to mention that he was red-green colorblind, and would certainly have a hard time noticing any change in paint around them.

"Coooolllltttttt," she whined.

He quirked his brow at her. "Seriously?"

"Please?" she asked, slumping across the counter. When that didn't work she attempted to flutter her eyelashes at him. That only provoked an eyeroll from him, and she deflated with a moan. "I'll ber lurnch," she muttered into her sweater sleeves.

He lifted a finger to his ear, patronizing and provoking all in a single sweeping gesture. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't get that. What did you say?"

Atop her arms, she glared before slowly reiterating, "I'll buy lunch."

That he understood.

The bastard.

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" he cooed, and when he attempted to pat her atop the head, Parker swatted him away with a glare. She was already reconsidering going anywhere with him, but a single glance towards what was awaiting her in the back of the shop had her sitting up straight. "I have to go to set today for some wardrobe fittings and thought you'd want to come with. Might as well see how the magic is made. We're gonna be late if you keep moping, though."

"We wouldn't have been late if you didn't get all mouthy with Melissa," she snarked while gathering her things. Feeling a bit guilty about leaving the kid to finish the work, she dug a twenty out of her wallet. "I'll be back later! There's money on the counter to get lunch for you girls!"

She got no response—as a mom rarely did with a teenager—and it took Colt tugging her by the elbow to get Parker to step outside. His truck was parked right in front of a fire hydrant.

She raised a brow at him, utterly unimpressed.

"What?" he asked when he caught the look she was shooting him. And, as if it wasn't a low-stakes crime that he was committing, Colt just grinned. "Relax, grumpy-pants. It's a Sunday. Fire hydrants don't count on Sundays. Now get in before we really are late."

There was a lot to say to that, but Parker didn't bother wasting the energy, and with an easy-going grin of her own, she clambered inside.

---

An hour later and Parker finds herself propped on an overflowing table filled with sewing needles, accessories, pens, papers, and a binder flush with polaroid photos of her brother from every angle. The film's wardrobe department, despite his warnings in the car, was more than thrilled that Colt had brought along his sister, and while he was poked and prodded, shifted left and right on a pedestal for everyone to critique, Parker had been set up with an iced coffee, some freshly made baklava, and front row seats to the most amusing thing she had seen in weeks.

"I think the crotch is too tight," Betty said, tugging on the material with long, sharp fingernails that Colt eyed like they were a sleeping snake. "See how it's bunching, we need to let it out, or maybe—see this? We could try—"

"No, no, no, it doesn't need to be let out," Sasha, a blonde woman with oversized cat-eye glasses tutted. "It's supposed to be tight. Remember?"

"It'll rip."

"It'll be fine."

"I suppose for standing, but I think he'll be wearing them for a running sequence—"

The ladies bickered back and forth, hands clawing too close for comfort at her brother's privates, and every so often he would wince when they tugged a little too hard. Parker, watching all of it, giggled every time it happened.

"How come I've never been brought along to fittings before?" she mused, a Cheshire-like grin in place. He had been standing up there for the lasty forty minutes, and every time she took a sip of her drink, Colt would look a little more green in envy at their difference in treatment. "This is fun."

"Fun," he said, mocking her with an eyeroll. "You come up here and try this."

"I happen to think I would look amazing in those pants. I have the ass for them, anyway," she chirped, and Sasha took a break from her bickering just to laugh at the idea. Beaming, Parker added, "I didn't realize that wardrobe fittings for the stunt double would be so... invasive."

"Yeah, well, usually the pants aren't so tight. That's all thanks to Ryder."

"I bet they look good on Tom," she said, half teasing, half meaning it. Anything looked good on Tom as time had proven again and again; from covered in sweat, puking in a toilet to wearing Gucci brand glasses, she had yet to see the guy look bad. Speaking of, "shouldn't he be here too?"

Colt, adjusting the tight collar of his leather jacket, shot her a look. "He's probably staring at himself in a mirror somewhere. That's how they trap raccoons, you know. They get so distracted by their own reflection that they forget to run off before the coon dogs get them."

"That's not a thing."

"Sure it is," he said, twisting on the pedestal as the ladies started to adjust the inseam of the pants. He eyed their gleaming needles nervously as they continued on their warpath across the fabric. "You should watch Animal Planet sometime. They did a whole episode on it."

"On how to catch raccoons?" Parker reiterated, absolutely not believing her brother for a second.

"It was a special."

"Maybe a Looney Tunes' special," she deadpanned with an eyeroll. Colt's mouth propped open in argument, only to freeze up when two pairs of hands started plucking the fabric across his butt, and she watched his face flush red. "Seriously? You're such a child!"

Being called out, Colt scowled at his sister. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am—you know what?" he caught himself before he could go on his second preschool tirade of the day. Parker sipped her drink with an impish gleam in her eyes. "Whatever. You're supposed to be amusing me, not stirring up shit. Tell me something interesting."

"Sure, Caesar," she rolled her eyes. "What would your highness like to be amused by?

"I don't know! Anything. Like—what were you and Melissa doing today at the shop that had you running scared?"

She blew a raspberry, spinning slightly on the table to snatch up an oversized top hat. She didn't have a clue what sort of movie it would be acceptable for—definitely not a sci-fi one—but she traced the stitching with a bored eye anyways. "Shelf liners. They're way harder than they look, and she can get mean when she wants to be. I swear she acts like she's the boss sometimes."

"Ooooh," he teased. "Scared of a teenager?"

"You should see her first thing in the morning. She must wake up at five am to do her beauty routine, and anyone with that sort of willpower should be feared. I think I'll have to move when she finally saves up for her car. God knows the roadways won't be safe."

"Just because you can't wake up before noon without a liter of coffee doesn't mean everyone else can't. Some people are naturally early risers."

"Says the guy that slept for nineteen hours straight once."

Colt shot her a cross look. "I had a concussion."

"All the morning reason not to sleep that long. Isn't rule number one of head injuries that you're supposed to wake up every so often for a health check?" she asked.

Her brother popped his mouth open to argue, finger poised, before he slowly let it drift down to his side. His silence spoke volumes, however, and she raised her brows at him with a smug smile.

"Oh, like you're so perfect," he huffed irritably.

To which she beamed, plopping the top hat onto her head with a flourish. "Maybe I am. Ever thought about that? I'm pretty, popular with famous people, and am the reigning champion at beerball five years running."

"You cheat at beerball," he snarked before the rest of what she said caught up to him. With a gesture, Colt flexed on the pedestal, adding, "and you're not the only hot Seavers. Look at me? See how these pants are hugging my curves? You wish."

Parker laughed at that, couldn't help it if she tried. Her brother was so ridiculous that at times the way he spewed word vomit surprised even her. Not to mention the fact that he was her brother, best friend on too many planes to count; it was hard not to be in a good mood when hanging with him. Even if she was watching him get pampered like a princess before an upcoming ball.

Speaking of, "so, you don't think Tom will be around?"

Something bewildered cracked across his features at the same time that Sasha and Betty told him to step down from the pedestal. The ladies took their notes to the table, adjusting this and that, while Colt stepped behind a privacy screen. She could hear him grunting as he tried to maneuver out of the pinned clothes without sticking himself.

"Do we need to talk about this?" his voice echoed.

"About what?"

"You. Tom. Whatever weird relationship the two of you have going on," he continued, before yelping when he did stick himself on a pin. Sasha rushed behind the screen to help him get out of the pants, and when she returned, she had the garments in hand. "It's sickening to even think about."

"How is us being friends sickening?" Parker echoed.

"Because—you—he—the guy is an ass!"

"He's not an ass," she argued back, surprising herself at how quickly she came to his defense and how little she actually cared. There were few things her and Colt disagreed on; siblings that knew each other as well as they did often had minor squabbles, but nothing ever world-changing or big. Yet, it didn't feel right to let him say those sorts of things. She could consider why later. "He's just... misunderstood."

"Misunderstood?" his voice pitched behind the screen, before he was stepping out in a totally new suit. It was black and yellow, leather, emboldened with the NASA logo, and for a moment she forgot entirely what they were talking about to ogle it appreciatively.

"Ooh, nice job ladies, I like that one."

Colt paused, glancing down at himself. "It is nice," he said in surprise, twisting and turning in the mirror. As he smoothed the material down, he added, "comfortable too. Is this worn much in the film?"

Betty checked her notes. "Looks like he wears it in a few scenes. Oh, looks like you should be wearing it for a harness drop, so make sure you tell us if it's too tight anywhere," she said as the women headed back over to him with their tape measures and pins. "Good?"

He stretched up and down, left and right, before gesturing to the armpit seams. "Probably could be loosened a bit."

She nodded, and the ladies got to work on that, as Colt returned his attention to his sister. Clearing his throat, he continued their earlier disagreement. "I can't believe you of all people think he's misunderstood."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uh, hello? Remember the whole coffee thing?"

"I think I understood him perfectly well then," she argued, top hat shifting on her head as she gestured. It was surprisingly heavy, and Parker fixed its lean half-heartedly. "He was an asshole during that encounter, and several encounters since then."

"Then what's with the whole PR parade?"

"I just think he's, I don't know... not always like that."

Colt stared at her; blinking, wide-eyed, with wheels spinning slowly between his ears. She swore she could smell the smoke from there, and Parker prepared herself for whatever ridiculous conclusion he was going to come once the spinning stopped.

"You didn't drink any kool-aid recently did you?"

And, yup. She saw that one coming from a mile away.

"Jesus Christ, Colt," she rolled her eyes, huffing. "When are you going to stop with that Jonestown shit?"

"It was a big deal! More people should be talking about it."

"Yeah, like, three decades ago. No one is trying to copy it with kool-aid. That would be a little bit of an obvious tactic, don't you think? I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I'm not in a cult!"

He held his hands up to placate her, before dropping them back down at Sasha's disgruntled tsk-ing. Parker supposed the ladies would be amused by their conversation if they weren't so intently focused on their work. That or they would be seriously concerned for the siblings' mental welfare.

"I'm just checking. Cult leaders are hard to spot you know. That's their whole gimmick. They look normal, just like you and me, and then next thing you know—wham! Indoctrination. Cult. Weird clothes and bad bathing habits and no teeth. It's a slide, not stepping stones, Park. Tom Cruise fell for it in the eighties and hasn't gotten out since"

"Yeah, well, I don't have any sort of money to give a potential cult leader so I don't really think I'm a good target in the first place. Plus, Tom Cruise seems to be doing just fine with the whole Scientology thing," she replied drolly. He didn't have an argument to that, and she shook the melting ice in her cup half-heartedly. "All I'm saying is he's under a lot of pressure from a lot of people. Isn't it possible that he overreacts sometimes?"

He didn't look pleased with her line of questioning one bit, shaking his head at her like a disappointed parent. "I don't think you should be friends."

"What?"

"I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

"Now who's drinking the kool-aid?"

"I'm just saying! It's weird," he continued, gesturing to her a second time only for Betty to snatch his arm and tug it back down with a glare. Colt didn't seem to notice, however, as he barreled on in the way that idiots often did. "First, it's the bookstore. Normal, no biggie. Then, it's the little giggling and laughter. Odd, but whatever. But then, all of the sudden, he has an invite to my exclusive birthday party—"

She threw her head back with a groan, top hat tumbling to the table. "I already apologized for that!"

"—and next thing you know, our Friday night is being highjacked by some ritzy party in upper LA where I have to wear my nice shoes and act like an adult. I'm telling you—rockslides only take a pebble."

"Are you saying you didn't have fun?" she asked with a pointed look, to which her brother hedged and hawed instead of answering. Like a guilty dog that knew it was in trouble, he avoided eye contact. Replacing the top hat onto her head, she waved her hands around. "See? So what's the problem? You got along then, too, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then isn't it possible you misjudged him too?"

"I've known him a lot longer than you."

"But you've never actually spent time with him outside of work."

"For good reason."

"Really? Because you always seem to get along when I'm around," she continued, not ready to let the point go if only because she needed it to stick. "So, how good can the reason be? Maybe he's grown up since you first met him, and you just don't want to accept that."

It was a solid argument, they both knew that.

But Colt was as stubborn as she was. He sniffed. "Well, I still don't like it. Is something going on between you two?"

"Like what?" she asked, despite knowing exactly what was going on between the two of them.

They had kissed. Once. Twice. Three times. Then a few more times until she couldn't really remember what was happening. All she knew was one moment they were kissing and the next moment she was riding home with Colt and Jody, bewildered, breathless, and giddy.

"I have no clue what you're on about," she said despite knowing exactly what he was on about, deciding that gaslighting her brother might be the best option at the moment. "We're just friends."

"Well, obviously," he scoffed, as if anything else was beyond the scope of his imagination.

Which—fair.

She couldn't exactly begrudge him for thinking that there was no chance in hell Parker could kiss someone like Tom Ryder. She could barely believe it, and she was the one that had done it. Still, she scowled at him, contemplating it she wanted to drop the subject entirely or tell him in explicit detail all the reasons he was an idiot, but before she could, the fitting room door opened, and in he walked.

He looked good.

He always looked good.

But today he looked especially good with his dewy skin and jean jacket. Or, maybe, Parker was just looking at him in a new light, and when his gaze landed on her, she couldn't help but grin at him.

"Hey, Tom," she said with a little too much enthusiasm. If he thought it was odd, however, he didn't comment on it. Just ran his gaze over her.

"Nice hat. I'm glad you're finally taking my advice and trying to improve your style, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"The—? Oh!" Parker snatched the top hat off her head with a blush, and in face of her karma, Colt snorted with pleased laughter. Ass. She shot him a side-eye before chirping, "it's Colt's, actually. I told him it looked ridiculous, but the prom is coming up, and Jody is just so exited. You should see his cummerbund. Straight out of the eighteen hundreds."

That effectively wiped the smirk off his face, and Colt started to argue just as Betty ushered him towards the privacy screen for another fitting.

Pleased, she blinked back at Tom.

"What are you doing here?"

"Colt dragged me along for his fittings. Something about being scared of the fashion department team," she joked in a half-whisper, gesturing to where he was hidden behind the privacy screen knowing that he wouldn't be able to hear her. "What are you doing here?"

"I just finished my fittings."

She perked. "Oh, you're done, then?"

He nodded just as Colt re-appeared from behind the screen. The flight suit had been replaced with a suave looking tuxedo that seemed to fit wrong in every place it could, and without knowing fashion at all, Parker had a feeling it would be a while before they finished pinning this particular look. Feeling both rebellious and like a high-schooler with a crush, she cast her brother a look. He immediately caught it, and returned one of his own.

Don't you dare, he said.

She lifted a brow testily. Oh, I dare, the look said.

And just like that, Parker faced Tom and asked, "you want to get lunch?"

"With you two?"

"I don't think Colt will be finished for awhile," she said, mock sincerity in her voice. Her brother heard it, face blustered and annoyed, as she batted her lashes across the room at him. "We could always bring him back something."

"But—!" Colt cried, gesturing at them so hard that he almost whacked Sasha in the head. He didn't even notice in his rush to argue, and it took both seamstresses to position him on the pedestal where they wanted him. "We were gonna get lunch!"

"Well, you're not done, and I'm starving."

"I—I could be done. Right?" he asked, turning his own version of puppy dog eyes towards Sasha and Betty. Unlike Jody and their mom, however, it seemed that they were immune to his charms, and together, they tutted at him. "...but—but!"

"This one needs a lot of work on it," Sasha said, as Betty patted him on the back. "And there's still four more looks to get through before we move you to hair and makeup for mock-ups."

"But—!"

"Don't worry Colt," she cooed at him with a victorious grin, and she would have felt bad for abandoning him if he hadn't been so adamant about his opinion on who she could be friends with. Plus, he accused her of being in a cult four times a year; this was his penance. "We'll bring you back something."

"Do I even want to know what that was about?" Tom asked her once they were in the safety of the hallway.

Parker gave an impish look. "Just Colt being Colt. He gets mopey when he's hungry. Is Mexican okay? I really am starving."

His amusement turned scathing. "Mexican? That's all carbs. No fucking way, I just had my fitting done this morning, and I'm not going to have my pants let out."

She rolled her eyes. "Carbs are good for you," she tutted.

"Not that many."

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

Tom blinked at her—as if he couldn't believe she would suggest such a childish solution—and started off down the hallway without another word.

"Well—we can do two out of three!" she cried in his wake, and it wasn't until he disappeared around the corner did she realize that he might actually leave her to deal with Colt alone. Yelping, she rushed after him. "Okay, okay! Fine! Sushi?"

---

"I can't believe you actually eat this stuff," Parker whined twenty minutes later, a salad with more vegetables than she could name, quinoa, and some sort of vinaigrette dousing the top set out in front of her. The lettuce is limp when she lifts it with a fork, and she can't even pretend to find it appetizing as Tom munches through his. "Like, seriously? I'm not about to be Punk'D?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "You have to be famous to be Punk'D."

"I'm with you, aren't I?" she sassed, prodding the food like a toddler not allowed to leave the table before finishing their peas. She wrinkled her nose at the idea. "I get that salad is healthy or whatever, but don't you ever eat anything that tastes good?"

"This does taste good."

She shot him a look of disbelief to which he shrugged.

"I mean, kind of good," he corrected after a moment.

"It's disgusting. Why is it both limp and hard? You know an entire ethnic community eats all the carbs associated with Mexican food and they're thriving. Have you ever seen a Cinco de Mayo party? Unreal how much fun they're having."

"That's because they're drunk on tequila."

"Well, sure," she hedged, head tipping left and right as she tried to ignore the weird smell coming from the bowl in front of her. "But you gotta live a little, right?"

"I don't want to live a little," he corrected her, spitting out the word like it was distasteful. But he had that same sort of tone that he used when he was repeating something he heard a thousand times, but didn't necessarily believe. "I want to live to be a hundred, and I want to look good while doing that."

"Colt eats Mexican food," she argued.

"Colt isn't the face of a multi-million dollar movie franchise."

"No, just the body."

"Maybe you should have just gone out to lunch with Colt, then," he said, both look and tone cross.

And suddenly Parker felt like she had ceremoniously swallowed her foot in front of him. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have a touchy relationship with food, and guilt settled on her shoulders like a weight. She felt pretty stupid for not seeing that—just like she had told Colt, the amount of pressure he was under at all times was not something either sibling would be able to comprehend—and five minutes into lunch she had already made an ass of herself.

"Sorry," she said, stuffing limp lettuce into her mouth as if to prove that she agreed with him. It tasted gross, though, and Tom definitely didn't miss the way she had to choke it down. "Mhmm, it's so... salad-y."

Whether it was her tone or the look she made while saying it, something about the act worked, and when he shook his head she caught the edges of a smile peeking across his face.

Feeling better, Parker aimed for more neutral territory.

"So, your party was fun," she said, before immediately realizing that was clearly not a neutral territory if the way he paused in his chewing was anything to go by. The last thing she wanted was to come across as some sort of lovesick teenager, and she nearly choked on her tongue to add, "I just mean—Colt and Jody really liked it. She got to network a lot. Plus, Colt has been dying to see your house for, like, ever."

"He has?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "You guys have worked together for almost a decade. I think he's always wondered what your life outside of work looked like."

Tom digested that information as slowly as he digested his food, and she managed another bite of soggy, lemon-flavored lettuce before he decided on a reaction. "I didn't realize that he really cared."

"What do you mean?"

Tom shrugged; one of the rare moments he actually looked awkward while talking about something, and Parker set aside her fork to wash the bad flavor down with some bitter tasting kombucha.

Bad. It was all bad. The health food industry had to be some sort of joke.

"I don't know; just never really thought about hanging out with Colt outside of the set. I told you the stunt guys don't like me."

"What?" she deadpanned. "You? That is such shocking news. I'm shocked."

Tom huffed, then laughed, before shaking his head at her. "Don't be an ass."

"Me? Never."

"Never," he echoed, clearly mocking her. She didn't mind though. It wasn't vindictive or mean, and if it made him feel better, her ego could handle a little mocking banter. Especially when his shoulders relaxed as if a weight was being taken off them. "Whatever. Glad they, uh, had fun."

"Well, you know—open bar, secrets about the Hollywood elite. What wasn't there to like about the party?"

He nodded, another bite taken, as Parker miserably tried to force herself to eat her own food. When he had suggested a vegan salad spot, she hadn't been thrilled, but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine it would be this bad.

"Did, uh," he cleared his throat, "you enjoy the party?"

"Hm?" she hummed, not properly hearing the question as she tried to figure out if the brown thing in her bowl was a raisin or a date. Then she did, and Parker blinked up to find Tom watching her carefully. "Oh. Yeah. Yes. I had, you know, lots of fun. With Colt, Jody, er... you."

He glanced away, nodding, before peeking back at her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it was... it was nice. I mean—not just the, er—you know. Not just when you—when I—when we..." she overemphasized, face hot and red as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. She absolutely didn't want to sound like their kiss was the only thing she had thought about all weekend, but she also didn't want to act indifferent because dating had somehow drifted into a game of tag nowadays.

Not that they were dating.

Oh god.

It was one kiss. Obviously they weren't dating, and he probably hadn't even thought about it a second time, and that's probably not what he was asking about in the first place, and—she was obsessing, wasn't she?

Oh, god.

"...um," Parker choked, swallowing some more kombucha before remembering she actually hated the taste of it. Wiping her mouth, she slumped onto the table with an embarrassed sigh. "Can you just put me out of my misery, please?"

Tom lifted a brow. "You might do that yourself. Are you having a stroke?"

"Maybe."

He passed over his cup of water, and Parker took a couple small sips until her cheeks didn't feel so hot. He was still watching her, still eating his food, but it was clear from the sparkle in his eye and the smug curve of his mouth that he was greatly enjoying the show. "Just wanted to make sure you had fun," he said.

"I would have had fun if we just played twenty questions," she said, catching the way he hesitated in his eating, before continuing. The cocky gleam was gone from his eye, and something kind remained when he glanced at her. "Not to complain about the... other stuff, but I meant everything I told you. I don't hang out with you for an open bar."

Tom's gaze swept the planes of her face before he nodded. It was a confident nod, for once, and he spoke he almost sounded... happy.

"Well, that's a relief at least. With how much you drink, I'm a little worried between you and Gail I'm going to go bankrupt this year. I swear every party costs more and more."

"Can't you set a budget?"

"It's Hollywood," he deadpanned, and she supposed that was an obvious enough answer that the deadpanning was necessary. "You think anything is ever under-budget?"

Parker wouldn't really know; the only thing she stuck to a budget for was Bath & Body Works lotions and Uber Eats. Just like he had said though, if she didn't, she was confident that she would be bankrupt within days.

Shrugging, she quipped, "next time you can just invite Jody and I. By keeping Colt away, you'll probably spare yourself a few thousand on alcohol alone. Though, he did behave himself last time since he was the designated driver, but I swear he's put a few bars out of business from Happy Hour deals alone."

Tom, another heaping of lettuce down, jabbed a fork at her. "Think I'd be better keeping you away considering how many napkins you took."

"Oh, shut up. They're, like, fifty cents each!"

"You had at least a hundred in you purse when you left."

"Well—" she threw her arms up, blustering, "it's not like I took all of them. Plus, when I sell them on eBay I'll give you a commission. Unlike when you got this fancy sci-fi role. I'm still waiting on my agent's fee for that one."

He shook his head at her. "Yeah, just hold your breath on that one."

With all the maturity she could muster, Parker stuck her tongue out at Tom, and with all the maturity he could muster, he chucked a carrot at her. It bounced onto the patio ground, and she noticed with a look of betrayal that not even the local squirrel population would touch it.

"Tom," she leaned forward, "I am begging you. I need carbs."

"You don't—"

"I'm going to die. Dramatically. And not quietly. Everyone will know, and they're going to think you killed me, and the tabloids will never let that go. Forgot living to a hundred, you'll be seventy and in a retirement home. Please."

Her pleading did nothing.

So, taking drastic measures, Parker used all of her own acting experience to flutter her eyelashes at him, eyes wide and dog-like. And whether it was the pathetic way she threw herself onto the table, or maybe it was the smell of the hotdog cart from down the street, but after a long moment of begging, Tom's shoulder sank with a sigh.

"Jesus Christ, fine."

"Oh, thank god," she slumped, a disgruntled look towards her salad and kombucha before the idea of real food had her perking right back up. She had tossed their stuff in the trash before Tom could manage one more bite of his salad, and though he tried to look disgruntled by that fact, when she tugged him to his feet with a giggle, he was fighting off a smile. "Have you ever had the monster burrito from Lolita's? It has cream cheese and pickles."

"That sounds disgusting."

"I know!" she bounced in excitement, pulling him along after her, gabbing all the way.

Tom let her drag him down the street without any complaint, let her order him her favorite burrito, chips, and Mexican lemonade without arguing—though he did try to see the calorie count on the menu before she snatched it away from him—and because they were on an empty set on a Sunday no one paid them much mind.

A good thing, too, because if someone had, they might have noticed the goofy grin she was wearing, or the amused smile he was; and if they looked closer, they might have even noticed that even after they got to where they were going, Tom Ryder was still holding her hand as they waited in line, letting her lean against his chest as they waited on their orders, before sitting awfully close to her on a little stone bench outside.

But, no one noticed.

Not until her shrill ringtone broke through their game of twenty questions about an hour later as her brother complained about how hungry he was. And though he suspected something weird was going on, not even Colt noticed the sly smiles they shared with one another when they delivered his food as promised or the spot of wet lipgloss smeared on Tom Ryder's mouth.

[lou-struck]

Midnight In the Sky

Hajime Iwaizumi x reader

WC: 1.8k

~You missed the Countdown

You missed the party

But most importantly, you miss him 

a/n: Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas to @sir-kuroo. I was think for a bit on what I wanted to do for this little gift and I thought A New Years Fic would be appropriate. 

"You're kidding me."

"I know," you sign in exasperation as you watch the large board of flights flicker as the airlines struggle to make adjustments for the winter storm. "The attendant told me that my flight won't be taking off for another 4 hours." your voice is shaky as you hold your cell phone up to your ear, trying your best not to break down in the middle of this airport.

Hajime Iwaizumi's voice softens through the speaker. "What about New Years? The party?"

"Haji, you should still go. These are your friends, and I want you to have a good time tonight. Even if I can't be there with you." although you were trying your best to sound supportive. You really wanted to go to that New Year's party. It's always fun to spend the evening with your boyfriend and his friends. They're a wild bunch and make any time a great one.

"None of those people at the party are you." he pushes back. Fighting for the happiness that he knows you deserve. "What time do you land?" he asks, the cogs turning in his head on how he can make this shitty situation better. "It's early enough we could still make it to the party."

Although he can't see it, you shake your head at his words. Your lips formed into a deep frown. "It'll be way too late then. You go to the party, I'll be too tired too anyway. I'll just get a cab from the airport, and then we can see each other tomorrow."

"This is not how it was supposed to go. I'm sorry, y/n," he says. Although his voice is in your ear, it feels like he might as well be on another planet. "I wanted to spend midnight with you."

You don't know if it's the fact that you don't get to kiss your boyfriend at midnight on New Year's Eve or it's that you have been stuck in airports for the past 16 hours after your holiday plans ran late, but nevertheless, your eyes become watery.

"Don't go kissing anyone else at midnight," You laugh, knowing that he would never do such a thing. You trust him wholeheartedly. But let's face it: your boyfriend, Hajime Iawizumi, is a snack that most people wouldn't hesitate to try to sink their teeth into.

"I'd never," he says with a bit of lighthearted humor in his voice. The shift in his tone makes you feel a little bit better, but you haven't seen him in weeks, and you miss him so badly. Even hearing his voice seems like a mockery now, especially since you were supposed to see him face-to-face hours ago. "Do you want me to stay on the line with you while you wait?"

"no, that's all right. I'm going to go charge my phone; I love you so much. Have a great time tonight."

You hang up before he has a chance to say goodbye and wonder about the airport, anxiously waiting to get back home to him.

~

"ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are beginning our descent into Tokyo International Airport. Our estimated arrival time at the gate will be, uh… 12:37 am. On behalf of the Flight Crew, we would like to thank you for choosing to fly with us this New Year's Eve. 

The Pilot's announcement is loud enough to stir you from your light, uncomfortable slumber. 

Blinking softly, you take in the darkened cabin; the soft snores of the other passengers reach your ears. You don't blame them. Traveling is exhausting, even if the plane is doing all the work. Winter weather has delayed your flight home from visiting your relatives for the holidays drastically. You've had three unexpected layovers, and the somber tingle in the back of your mind whispers to your subconscious that the odds of you getting your checked luggage back are stupidly low.

Another feeling that's hard to ignore is the cramped sensation in your neck from the way your head has been resting against the cabin walls. 

But gut feelings and neck cramps pale in comparison to the ache in your chest. It's New Year's Eve, and you should've been home hours ago. 

You should be at some glittery party wearing some Cheesy 2024 plastic glasses, drinking something sparkling, and cozied up with the person you love most. 

You miss Hajime.

You miss his strong arms.

You miss the way he always seems to smell like Tiger Balm. 

With a longing sigh, you lean closer to the small oval window next to you. The chill of the high altitude permeates the clear plastic buffer between your hand and the outer glass. Peering down through the thin cloud cover, you can see the lights of some city. 

You should be down on the ground with him. But for reasons beyond your control, you are not.

All of a sudden, you see the first streak of light fly up towards you. It doesn't make it anywhere close to your plane before exploding into hundreds of little flares of light.

People down below are lighting off fireworks. How is it possible that it's midnight already?

You grab your phone. Although it's on airplane mode, the clock still works just fine. The four large numbers of your home screen clock stare back at you.

12:00 am 

January 1st

You've missed the countdown.

Your stomach drops as the plane starts on it's gradual descent. It's crazy how when you're up in the sky, everything looks close together. The display of New Year lights is breathtaking, but your heart aches.

Can he see the fireworks too? 

You can see it now: he's at the New Year's party with a big, handsome smile on his face, laughing with his friends. he must be so happy. And he must be having the best time. Listening to live music and drinking overpriced spirits at the venue.

there are a few strands of sparkly confetti in his spiked hair. He must look so handsome in the outfit you picked out for him.

Your matching one sits unused in your closet. Maybe you can use it next year…

You are pulled from your vivid imagination when the plane touches down on the asphalt roughly, the cabin shakes, And luggage compartments fly open, but thankfully, nothing flies out.

It skirts down the runway, leaving your stomach somewhere a few hundred meters back. Looking out the window at the dark and the sky, the fireworks have stopped, but at least you're home.

People are anxious to get off a plane, standing and rushing to the door with eagerness. They must have someone to meet, too. 

From the entrance of the plane, you see one of the stages from earlier grab the intercom.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached our destination. The current time is 12:33 am. We apologize for the delay, but all luggage from connecting flights will be arriving at 3 pm the next day due to travel. If you have any questions in regard to lost luggage or of damaged items, please contact our customer support hotline available on our website. Thank you for flying with us."

A few other passengers groan, but you were expecting this. You unplug your phone charger from your seat outlet and shove the white-coated wire into the front pocket of your backpack.

After one final sweep of the plane, you stand ready to get off of this thing, ready to be home, ready to see him later today.

It's funny how the people who had been so eager to get off the plane just seconds ago now decide to be unbearably slow as they walk through the gate and into the terminal. Your little carryon trails behind as you walk through the airport. Riding shuttles, climbing escalators, and dodging those little golf cart things that drive down the center of the walkway. 

Exhaustion weighs on your travel-torn mind, And you walk as if you are in your own little world.

You don't even notice that someone is calling your name…

A gentle hand reaches out and grabs your sweatshirt-clad shoulder. You are brought out of La La Land and back to reality as your lidded eyes meet olive green, and for a moment, you are speechless.

"Hajime?" you breathe, too shocked to say the usual 'I missed you stuff' as you lunge forward and cling to him in a heartfelt embrace. "What are you doing here?"

He holds you tightly, pushing you into his broad chest. Oh, how you've missed those muscles. 

The soft fabric of his hoodie cushions your face far better than any pillow you used these past few weeks away. "Do you really think I would want to spend the New Year with anyone else?"

"How long did you-?" you ask, your jaw dropping in surprise when you take the time to take in his attire. His dryer-faded Aoba Johsai sweatshirt and blue-gray checkered pajama pants were certainly not NYE party attire.

Where is the sharp-looking black dress shirt and champagne tie?

"I was already on my way to the airport when you called earlier." he chuckles stubbornly. His calloused fingers rub little circles into your back. "Did you really think I would just go and leave you here to fend for yourself?"

"But the party-"

"Wouldn't have been the same without you." he lovingly interrupts you and tilts his chin downwards to meet your eyes. "Once I told the others that your flight got delayed, they knew there was no chance I was going to be at that party."

"And???" you ask, knowing that there is always more to the story with him.

He smiles brilliantly, and you feel yourself falling in love all over again. "So instead, we are gonna go home, get some decent rest, and meet them for brunch tomorrow."

"Sounds perfect." Your heartbeat slows and although you are still standing in the arrivals gate of the airport- you feel like you're home at last. 

"Hey," he looks down at you through his thick brows tenderly. "There's something I gotta say before anyone else does."

"What is it?" In confusion, you cock your head to the side?

"Happy New Year," he murmurs, the love he has for you coating his words like powdered sugar on the roof of your mouth. 

"Happy New Year Hajime."

His fingers tiptoe around your waist and pull you close. "It may not be midnight, but I still want that New Year's Kiss?"

It may be 12:53 am on January 1st, but who are you to care when his Carmex-dusted lips meet yours.

This is your midnight moment on the ground. 

Gone is the Baggage claim and grouchy travelers as fireworks ignite all around you as you fall under his spell. Greedy for more of these moments that are sure to come with this New Year

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[tiny-feisty-gay]

I see your a fellow Chaggie shipper. As am I. ANd I've asked other Chaggie shippers on tumblr and I must ask you: What are your FULL thoughts on Charlie learning of Vaggie's secret? From finding out in Heaven to her whole anger/hurt/confusion at Vaggie.

i wasn't ignoring this but i needed a few days to gather my thoughts because i have lots of them

between heaven and the two of them meeting back up with an army/weapons in tow, there's roughly a month's worth of time as far as i've been told/can tell, so i'm going based on that rough timeline

charlie's first reaction, imo, was shock; the way she collapsed and let vaggie shepherd her and guard her isn't the reaction of someone who's immediately jumped to anger/mistrust, it's the reaction of someone whose entire life view has just been altered.

i don't think they ever actually fought about it. gut feeling maybe, but considering what we saw (charlie curled in bed crying, vaggie saying "in our room... alone") and my personal hc that she takes after her dad in times of emotional turmoil by self-isolating and sinking into the depression... i have a feeling they didn't even talk about it for a while.

vaggie might have tried to; we got a glimpse of it right around alastor's deal with charlie. i firmly believe that after it was in the open, she probably did try to explain herself, and charlie was still half-shocked and feeling a bit betrayed and didn't have the brain space to deal with it between the upcoming extermination and knowledge that her loved ones were going to be targeted first. she probably did a ton of soul-searching on her own; remember, charlie is +/- a good few centuries, if not older, so while she's very upbeat and happy, it's not unreasonable to think she's had a good while to practice some emotional maturity. she isn't perfect, obviously, but based on how much she adores vaggie, i think she'd want to know firmly where she stands before they talk things out.

i also think vaggie was terrified the entire time that she'd just fucked up the only genuine, good relationship (romantic or otherwise) that she's ever had. we don't get much backstory on what things were like for her in heaven, but she doesn't seem to have been particularly close to anyone there, and "whatever it takes" sort of reinforces that with her "and it felt so good to be understood / but there's so much i wish that i could say." i think she wanted to tell charlie but she kept putting it off, and the longer she put it off the worst she thought it'd be, until she hit a point where she felt like she couldn't tell charlie because what would charlie think of her after lying to her for three years?

charlie did likely wonder how much of it had been a lie and whether vaggie had ulterior motives, because who wouldn't, but i think she dismissed that pretty fast. especially because there's no way angel and the rest of the crew didn't notice vaggie moping around like a kicked puppy; i'm sure they were equally unhappy with vaggie's lying, but the group sentiment didn't seem anything more than mildly annoyed by it.

she was the most hurt by the fact that vaggie didn't trust her enough to tell her; supported by her conversation with rosie. and that seems pretty fair, imo: vaggie knows how much charlie can forgive, can see the potential for redemption in people, and she's had an up-close view of that in vaggie for the last three years. and charlie trusts (trusted) vaggie wholeheartedly, so the idea of that not being reciprocal hurt her deeply.

i think they tried to talk things out ~a couple weeks in, and vaggie shut down in the middle of the conversation from a mix of trauma and fear that she'd lose charlie; i love vaggie dearly, but she's placed a ton of her self-worth on how useful she is to charlie. she very much believes she's nothing without charlie, because charlie saved her and is a large part of who she's become. there's a little bit of a power imbalance/codependency on vaggie's side, and while i don't think that's insurmountable for them nor do i think the relationship as a whole is unhealthy, that piece of it must have made it absolute torture to be pushed away.

i think she and angel may have had a few late-night conversations actually; they seem like they're on better/friendlier terms just before alastor and charlie make their deal; the whole "you ever think she's sensitive about her lack of wings? ... just like her lack of tits :D" bit struck me a lot more like friendly ribbing/trying to lighten the mood rather than actual malice. angel definitely doesn't have much experience with healthy relationships, but he does have experience with damage control, and i imagine he gave vaggie advice that basically boiled down to don't push, let her come to you, she's really hurt and needs to process. he cares a ton about charlie even if he doesn't show it, but i think he has sort of a begrudging respect/love-hate thing with vaggie lol. especially after the battle-bonding.

their first actual conversation about it was probably after the cannibal town army/weapons stockup before the battle. talking to rosie clearly really helped charlie process things, and i do think it's interesting that as far as we know, she hasn't talked to her father about it; not particularly surprising since their relationship is a bit tenuous, but still interesting, since he would likely have been a good perspective for her to have as a fellow fallen angel (ex-angel? idk if vaggie really counts as fallen). but regardless, rosie helped her a lot and most of her initial betrayal and hurt seems to have fizzled out with just the "why didn't she trust me?" piece left.

that was probably the main thing they talked about. vaggie tells her about what really happened to get her stuck here, and charlie is furious, and that alone probably helps her understand; i'd have trust issues, too, if someone i'd known presumably my whole life ripped off my limbs and cut my eye out. vaggie and charlie had an instant connection, clearly, but she didn't trust charlie enough to tell her initially and then things spiraled out of control. by the time she realized charlie might be okay with her past, she'd already been hiding it so long that it felt like too big a secret to share. and i think some part of her still believed this would be something charlie couldn't forgive.

and my favorite hc: charlie can't forgive it. we don't know how many souls vaggie has fully eradicated, but it has to be in the thousands, at least. lute's kill count from one purge was 275, and adam references vaggie being "one of his top girls." there's also a detail i saw pointed out elsewhere; most of the exorcists have plain black halos, except for lute, whose halo has a white glow as well... and vaggie, whose halo shares the same glow. there's a good chance she was high up in the ranks, possibly third in command -- and possibly quickly closing in on having a higher kill count than lute, which would explain her vitriol and eagerness to get rid of vaggie at the first sign of weakness. but obviously, that's just a headcanon. as is much of the above xD

but back to charlie, i don't think she'd be able to forgive that. the good news is, she doesn't have to. charlie is upbeat and optimistic, but she was raised in hell. she's not naive; she knows the people she wants to save have committed heinous atrocities. the difference is that she believes in change. the vaggie she knows, the one standing in front of her, isn't an exorcist. she's her partner, who while yes, eager to anger and easy to jump to violence, only does so when she or charlie are provoked/threatened. charlie is capable of still being disappointed/devastated by vaggie's past and acknowledging that it's not her present - or future.

one of the things i also think is so important is the battle scene. that was a huge test of charlie's acceptance; seeing her girlfriend step back into that role, that violence, was a big thing, one that nobody would've blamed her for recoiling from. she doesn't. she fights alongside vaggie (albeit... creatively, we'll say) and yes, the exorcists are enemies and she has a long history of reasons to hate them, but even during the battle she doesn't. she's still apologetic and doesn't really want to hurt anyone, just deter them. it takes vaggie telling her to be harsher for her to do it, and she follows vaggie's instruction. this is vaggie's area of expertise, and while she may have learned those skills by butchering Charlie's people, she's repurposed those skills. She's armor, not a weapon; she's violent only to defend, not out of bloodlust.

i think it's really easy to misunderstand charlie's acceptance of vaggie's past as naive or their reconciliation as too soon/too easy, but there's three years of history behind them and charlie actively chooses not to let this new information shatter the foundation they've built together. they're a prime example of the idea that relationships work because you continue to choose that person, to choose to work at it, and while that only works if both sides are willing, for vaggie and charlie, they are.

i do really hope we see vaggie find some self-worth outside of charlie in s2, though. she has so much potential to explore the complexity of her character and i really want to see that. i don't think they're bad for each other, but to some extent... vaggie went from serving one entity (adam) to serving another (charlie) and that level of devotion can be dangerous. charlie is infinitely better than adam, don't get me wrong, but vaggie definitely needs to find purpose beyond being charlie's right hand.

i'm personally hoping for sort of an... exorcist/angel ambassador role for her? something that ties into the hotel but is independent of charlie and something she wants to do. or maybe teaching self-defense/offense to the rest of the group (which she likely did for the battle/army, since she knows better than anyone how the exorcists fight).

honestly i probably have more thoughts than this but i hope you enjoyed my stream of consciousness ramble about Them <3

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

With Aegon's dream as well, I think he also used the dream to justify a conquest as some sort of heroic quest in his mind when his want for power was definitely part of it as well.

Yea. Imo what makes the prophecy such a cool addition to the books is that we now have something that seemingly gives the Targaryens a "divine" mandate of sorts. With this prophecy, they now have a noble calling. Fate dictates that they serve a higher purpose, them and their dragons. It instils in them a sense of noblesse oblige I'd imagine. They're the heroes, and as heroes they have a duty to the realm. But just because they're chosen ones doesn't mean they're the only ones. Far from it. Even now, with two Targaryens being central to the conflict, there still exists one Bran Stark whose magic is decidedly NOT Valyrian, but he is just as central to this story if not more so. Even Jon Snow, the last of the Targaryen heirs, uses First Men magic. Not to mention that there are so many people (i.e., the Night's Watch) who have no magical destiny, but they see a duty to the realm just the same. Don't they matter too?

Aegon's actions, or lack thereof, speak to a certain human fallacy in placing any one person as the supreme hero in this story. Because it's not until Alyssane that the Targaryens even paid attention to the Watch, an entity whose entire existence is to stop the Others/Winter. Why didn't Aegon himself do anything? Why didn't he leave instructions for his future descendants to help the Watch either? Did he think that the three conquerors and their dragons would be enough? But that would be so silly because there's no record that they held any extensive tours of the north/the Wall to try and understand what threat they were facing. The winter that brings the Others is magical, and there's the chance that dragons will have a very hard time even flying to begin with. So imagine not strengthening the front line to hold until you get there? Who knows how long the dragons would take to even get to the Wall in the first place.

We really don't know anything so it's all just speculation atp. But regardless, his actions do come off as being rather egoistic. The Watch is the first line of defense. And if the Wall falls, Winterfell is the next front line. Why didn't they even bother to strengthen Winterfell? Maybe I've read too many Wuxia stories but it's always kind of funny how a good emperor is often characterized as one who fully and wholeheartedly supports the general in charge of his front line with troops, money, and other resources. That general in this case is the Lord of Winterfell/Warden of the North. Why he did nothing to bring the Starks into the fold before Rhaegar and Lyanna is beyond me; but to Jace's credit, he did try. But imagine. Aegon didn't look north to Winterfell, but instead looked south to Dorne. You have to laugh.

Aegon reminds me of Azor Ahai tbh - or what we're told of him. It's the story of one singular hero who sacrifices someone else and gets to go down in history as the guy who defeated the enemy. Except it's so diametrically opposed to actual Westerosi legends of who ended the Long Night: legends of the last hero and the NW tell stories of a team effort, with no singular person being exalted as the one responsible for the Others' defeat. Even with the last hero, the children of the forest are the key to success.

But at the end of the day, Aegon's legacy as the conqueror will have good and bad in it. Did he have a huge ego? Sure. Did his silly chair do way more harm than good in the long run? Definitely. BUT, hundreds of years later, it's his descendant who is emboldened as a king of a united realm to go north and do his duty. Stannis is acting as the Protector of the Realm, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, legacies left by Aegon. Jon Snow, the last of Aegon's heirs in Westeros, wants to save all men. All of Aegon's kingdom. And I'm not saying that Jon wouldn't want to save humanity if the kingdoms were split up, but it's a lot easier to conceptualize duty when you have one unified people to think about. And it will be Daenerys, Aegon the Conqueror come again, who understands that a queen belongs to all people. Which may not have landed as much had Aegon not conquered and united Westeros under one king to begin with.

[wilsons-three-legged-siamese]

Another fic I wrote, it was inspired by Three Days by pleasuretoburn on AO3, so kinda credits to them

My apologies for any mistakes, it hasn't been beta'd as I don't have a beta-

Summery- House and Wilsons experience with Oreos, all the way from when they met, to when one left.

Tw- Swearing, character death

You're the cookie, and I'm the cream.

1. september 14th, 1992.

"Are you 100% sure you hung the bear bag high enough? " Wilson asked, opening the pen lid with his mouth and checking stuff off of his checklist.

"My god, you are the most paranoid person I know, yes! I have hung it high enough, " House scoffed, tieing the knot and slapping it for good measure.

"Good! Or I might have to feed you to the bears, " Wilson muttered through the pen lid in his mouth.

House rolled his eyes and snatched Wilsons clipboard, pen and the pen lid from his mouth.

"Hey! We need that! " Wilson argued.

"Stop being a perfectionist and let's actually make it up the mountain, or we'll stay here for the rest of eternity with the bears, " House retorted, chucking the supplies into the tent and grasping Wilsons hand.

House dragged Wilson up the mountain, the latter kicking and desperately trying to get back to camp. House scolded, just grasping harder and walking faster. Then, Wilson finally submitted, trailing behind House, huffing and puffing.

"Don't sulk, come on, have some light in you! " House exclaimed, letting go of Wilsons hand, walking behind his friend and pushing his back up the hill.

Wilson chuckled, walking faster as House pushed him. House smiled genuinely, giving Wilson a last push. Wilson staggered for a moment, quickly regaining his pace and laughing wholeheartedly next to House - who smirked. They both trudged up the mountain, smiling and giggling at each other's silly remarks.

"Look at this! " Wilson called, crouching next a tree and staring in awe.

House sighed and walked over, "can you stop being a horny dog with pheromones for one minute? "

"No it's a beetle! "

House crouched next to Wilson, looking exactly where he was looking.

"All I see is dirt. "

"No, there! See it just moved, " Wilson claimed giddily.

"Oh that tiny thing? It's as small as the guy I bailed out of jail in 1991's dick, " House muttered.

"That guy was me. "

"I'm aware. "

Wilson rolled his eyes and continued hiking, now dragging House.

They made it to the top, thank Lord. It was beautiful. Wilson stared in awe, looking at the colours of the sky blending seamlessly. Oranges, reds and yellows roamed, clouds sprinkled here and there. The sun still blazed, though slowly moving towards the horizon. House and Wilson took a seat on the bench, taking in the immaculate view. Even House was silent, it was truly breathtaking.

Unfortunately for them, they didn't stay long as the sun had almost set. So, they started their journey 2 miles back down the mountain. They laughed and giggled, hands brushing aimlessly and subconsciously. It was like heaven.

"We should do this more often, " Wilson blurted out, smiling.

"How long do you think it would take for us to fuck if we got stranded? " House questioned genuinely.

"2 weeks. "

"Weeks?! "

"Yeah."

"Your horniness is about the same as a teenage boy! "

"Yours is worse! "

"I give it about 2 days. "

"Okay, fine. Deal. "

They continued to walk, casually shoving each other in the process like little kids who just broke up. Until, House got a little carried away.

House stopped. He put his two hands out and completely chucked Wilson into a bush.

A Holly bush.

House covered his mouth quickly. Wilson toppled over the side and into the bush, wincing.

"Jesus House! " Wilson yelled, trying to get up as quickly as possible.

House chuckled, looking at Wilson.

"You're such an- WOAH! " House called out, tripping on a stick and falling straight into the other Holly bush.

Wilson got up and started giggling at House, holding out a hand for the fallen woe. House took it with a grunt and got up.

"You're such an idiot, " Wilson laughed, picking a few bits of Holly off House.

"Thanks, " House grumbled, plucking some off of Wilson.

Soon they made it back to camp without any casualties. Other than their food.

"I literally told you that you didn't hang it high enough! " Wilson shouted, falling to his knees in front of the mess and looking through it.

"My bad, my bad. "

House crouched beside Wilson, "hey look! The grizzly left the Oreos! "

2. september 15th, 1992.

"I can't believe we have to survive off of Oreos for our 30 mile hike, " Wilson grunted, opening the box and taking out a packet. "I don't even like the cookie! "

House chuckled, "I don't like the cream. "

They both trudged until Wilson took an Oreo, twisted it open and handed House the spare cookie. Wilson scrapped off the cream with his teeth, ate it and handed House the other cookie.

"This is how we're gonna survive, " Wilson declared, doing the same with another cookie.

"Fine by me, " House replied through a mouthful of cookie.

And somehow, they did survive, barely, but survived.

3. june 3rd, 1997.

"How do you manage stuff like this? " Wilson groaned, getting out of bed and trudging to the bathroom with the phone held up by his shoulder.

"Can you just come get me, and bring me something, I'm starving. Okay, thanks, bye Wilson! "

And with that, House had hung up the phone. Wilson sighed, splashed his face with water and began putting on suitable clothes. He put on a random polo and sweats, suitable. He staggered to his car, turning it on and driving to the 24h gas station. Once in, he searched the shelves. Though, everything was empty. Wilson furrowed his eyebrows, continuing to scan the shop until his eyes landed on the holy grail. There it was.

A beat up box of Oreos.

Wilson quickly grabbed it and hurried to the check out, managing to not have a chat with the cashier, and heading to the car again. He sped off, hoping in this time period House wouldn't do another stupid thing.

"What food 'ya get? " House asked, digging through the back seat of Wilsons car.

"Oreos, " Wilson replied with a smirk, pulling the box out of nowhere.

House smiled and took them from his friend.

"How'd you even do this? "

"I was tryna find my elementary school to prove a point to Derrick, you know Derrick! Anyway, I didn't prove my point and I was lost. "

Wilson chuckled, took the Oreos and did what they usually did with Oreos.

4. december 25th, 2004.

"Open your gift! " House exclaimed rather enthusiastically, shoving the gift into Wilson.

"I'm Jewish, we don't do gifts? " Wilson questioned, hesitantly taking the box.

"Hanukkah, han-U-kkah, just open it, " House scoffed.

Wilson looked at House suspiciously. He untied the bow, discarding of the ribbon and ripped the paper. He was met with a box of.. You guess it, Oreos. Wilson chuckled with a genuine smile.

"I guess this is Christmas-Hanukkah dinner, huh? "

"Yes, yes indeed it is. "

5. april 30th, 2008.

"Ahh! My husband! " House exclaimed, walking to Wilson and trying to plant a kiss on him.

Wilson placed his hand in between them, "friends, not husbands. "

House pouted.

The team looked confused at them, deciding to shake it off.

"I packed you lunch, by the way. Thought I'd give it to you, " Wilson declared, handing House the brown paper bag.

"Thanks? "

Wilson walked off with a smirk on his face.

House opened the bag to be met with a box of Oreos, obviously. The bag was way to shaped to be leftovers or a sandwich. House laughed and opened the Oreos, collecting the cream in a small Tupperware and scoffing the cookies.

Wilson found a little Tupperware on his desk with a note.

"For you, my wonderful, sappy husband.

Love, Greggy-pooh <3 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

Wilson giggled and took the note off, the Tupperware was filled with cream with dabs of cookie in it.

Let's say, that note had a special place on the fridge.

6. january 4th, 2012.

"I actually ordered off menu, " House declared, looking at Wilson lovingly.

The server presented a plate of just Oreos.

Wilson chuckled lightly, "great."

Wilson took an Oreo, still giggling, House followed suit.

"I did tell you that you didn't hang it high enough, " Wilson laughed.

"I tell you, the bear did untie my knots, smart bear, " House replied.

"Not so smart because it left the Oreos. "

"You survived 30 miles with only white filling, " House chuckled.

"Black stuff is overrated, " Wilson retorted.

They did the usual, definitely getting looks but, they didn't care. It was a nice tradition.

7. september 14th, 2012.

"Found some Oreos in the fridge, randomly, " House yelled, walking into the bedroom where Wilson rested.

"Hmm.. It's a sign, " Wilson grumbled, trying to sit up.

"How about you try your first full Oreo, it's better than that white, sugary stuff, " House remarked.

"No, I like the sugar. " Wilson smiled sadly.

House took a seat next to Wilson, then layed down with him. Wilson huddled into House, placing his head on the latter's chest. House grabbed an Oreo, twisted it open and ate the spare cookie. He handed the other to Wilson - who weakly scrapped the cream off and shakily handed it to House.

"I love you, House. "

"I-.. I love you too. "

Wilson weakly grasped onto Houses hand.

"I'll drag you up the mountain.. I promise. "

"I'll have a checklist.. "

And then there was silence.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Be Nice

Read on Ao3

Warnings: bullying, teasing, even though they don't mean it.

Pairings: merthur

Word Count: 6181

It shouldn't be a surprise, really, if the knights think punching each other in the arm is a viable and efficient way of cheering each other up, that they also think insulting each other is a perfectly good way to show affection. Insults are compliments, threats are reassurances, and actual bodily harm is considered good manners or at the very least the mark of genuine companionship. Basically, take everything Merlin's ever been taught about how you actually treat the people you care about and flip it on its head, because stars know that if any one of these men actually behave as though being nice won't incinerate them, the world will actually end.

Alright, maybe he's being a bit harsh.

But he's had a long few days saving the entirety of Camelot all by his-own-bloody-self, he's entitled to throw a bit of a fit when he gets shoved too harshly into the side of the stable under the guise of 'friendly greetings.' And it's not like the knights are doing it on purpose—except when they are, which they absolutely do, they have days where it seems like they all passed around a note that says today's one of those days, boys, make Merlin's life a living hell for no reason other than our enjoyment! He swears he's going to invent some kind of spell that lets him know when those days are so he can sit himself in Gaius's chambers and just stay there for all eternity. Or at least until they shake themselves out of it.

And fine, it's not as though he's never known softer kindness from them. Percival shoves and claps and punches, but he's also helped Merlin with the heavier chores and—not that Merlin would ever admit this—carried him when he's overexerted himself to somewhere safer. Elyan is an older brother, and older bother if he commiserates with Gwen, but he's not all bad when he's being protective or complimentary. Gwaine is…Gwaine, which means he commits himself wholeheartedly to whatever he's doing, be that teasing Merlin until his face is about to explode or making sure he's calming down when something really bad happens. Lancelot—listen, the main problem with Lancelot is that he keeps making this sly little face that's all you could stop us, Merlin, you could, but will you? As if he doesn't know damn well that it would go very badly if he actually did do anything. Leon is secretly a menace because he sees everything. And Arthur…

Well. Arthur's Arthur.

Look, the point is that Merlin knows he's being dramatic sometimes, really, he's self-aware enough to admit it, but sometimes…

Sometimes it feels like he's not being dramatic enough.

It's definitely one of those days. One of those days where he walks down to the courtyard with Arthur and all the knights are grinning up at them and he knows, he just knows that today he's going to be teased and pushed around and have pranks and jokes played on him every chance they get. Admittedly, with the amount of courtly stress the kingdom has been under, it's the same reason why they're going on this hunt in the first place; to give them all a break from the pressures of being in the citadel, to let them actually have a chance to relax without worrying about courtesy or diplomacy or any of that nonsense. It makes sense, Merlin's oddly grateful for the chance they have…

He just wishes he weren't about to be the chew toy for it, you see?

It starts almost as soon as they leave the walls of the city behind.

"Merlin," Gwaine calls and Merlin's shoulders immediately tense, "when's the last time you actually caught something on one of these?"

No. No, absolutely not. I am not engaging. "The last hunt we went on was three months ago."

"That's not what he asked," Percival says—oh, he's also starting early, "he asked when you caught something."

"Does a cold count?" Elyan asks and the knights start laughing. Merlin just adjusts his reins and his horse nickers.

"Come on," Gwaine cajoles when the first wave of laughter dies down, "do you want us to show you how it's done?"

"I've tried teaching him since he first arrived," Arthur calls out, "he's utterly useless at it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was forgetting everything on purpose."

"Well, with how much he has to remember to keep Princess satisfied, then—" Gwaine grins— "maybe it's a good thing he doesn't know how to hunt."

What does that even mean?

"Don't worry, Merlin," Elyan says with false sympathy as he brings his horse alongside, "we didn't bring you out here because you're good at hunting."

"That's right," Percival agrees, "best thing you can use on a fine hunt is a fine flush hound."

Despite all his instincts that tell him not to feed whatever mood they're in, his curiosity takes over. "What's a flush hound?"

He hears Arthur groan and Elyan snorts, and oddly enough, it's Leon who clears his throat and says: "A flush hound pushes the game out into the open where the hunters can see it."

He opens his mouth to ask why exactly he would be good at that when his horse steps on a rock wrong and he nearly falls off as he crashes into a nearby tree branch, making a wild grab for the saddle as a chorus of birds take off screeching into the sky. A lurch in his stomach and a mortifying yelp accompany the guffawing and cackling of the knights as his horse struggles to right itself and he emerges from the tangle of twigs and leaves with scratches all the way down his cheeks and arms.

"See," Gwaine crows triumphantly, "where else are we going to find a natural talent like that?"

Merlin ducks his head under the guise of making sure his horse is alright, running his hand over her face and neck that he can reach. Her mane rubs coarsely against his fingertips as he tries to swallow the pang of hurt as they keep laughing. His horse nickers back a moment later and he makes himself sit upright.

"Well, then if I'm so good at it," he says, "then it's a wonder you've not had much success over the last few hunts."

"Don't be so sure of yourself," and suddenly there's the familiar condescending voice from Arthur, "just because you've got some natural talent doesn't mean you don't have room for improvement."

"After all, it's as much about making sure you're in the right place as it is about making a fool of yourself."

"And we all know you're excellent at that."

And they're laughing again. Merlin's hands tighten on the reins. Is it just him, or are their barbs a little extra pointed today? Has he done something recently? He doesn't think so; he's just been, oh, saving the kingdom, like usual. Half out of reflex, half out of desperation, he glances over at Lancelot.

Come on, just—give me something. Say something, make a joke at one of them instead.

But no, Lancelot smiles wider and motions for him to turn around. Merlin does—

And almost runs face-first into another tree branch that Arthur 'happened' to pull back to swing in Merlin's direction. He just manages to dodge it, only receiving another swipe to the cheek.

"Careful," Arthur fake-scolds, "I know you're eager to show off, Merlin, but there's a time and a place. Don't know if you remember that about hunting."

"Maybe running into all those tree branches makes it difficult," Elyan suggests, and yes, there they go, laughing again.

It's not that funny.

Luckily or unluckily for Merlin, he's not quite sure which, they actually do find some game to hunt. Or rather, they find something they think they can hunt, and they start to actually behave like men who are on a hunt, not young and rude boys out to poke fun at someone who's supposed to be their friend. Grateful for the reprieve, Merlin quietly steers his horse to the back of the group, where him and his loud, rambunctious self won't be a distraction. Leon passes him one of the spare saddlebags and the reins of his horse, silently sliding off and into a crouched stance. Merlin fastens the reins to his saddle and lets the other horse draw up alongside, patting its neck.

But perhaps he's spoken too soon about them behaving like men rather than boys, because as soon as all the other knights see Leon doing the cool thing of hunting on foot rather than on horseback, they all immediately slide off their horses and start leading them towards Merlin, who is still on a horse and very much does not have the capability to suddenly be in charge of several horses.

"What are you—"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur hisses, frowning at him until he slides off his horse too, "now stay here and stay quiet. Now's not the time for you to be flushing anything."

"Don't pout," Gwaine says when Merlin opens his mouth to protest very reasonably, thank you, he is not pouting, "I'm sure you'll get your chance soon enough."

"They're close," Elyan whispers before Merlin can ask just how, exactly, he's supposed to keep all the horses organized and follow them and keep quiet all at once, "I can hear about…three sets of footsteps."

"Deer?"

"Most likely."

"We'll have venison for dinner, then."

Merlin's heart sinks when he realizes just how long of an evening this is going to be.

He gives up fairly quickly—alright, immediately on staying with them. Instead, he and the horses make a very suitable area for themselves in one of the larger clearings. He loosens their saddles and takes the bits from their mouths so they can have a bite to eat. He makes sure to check his horse's hoof; that rock must've hurt quite a bit, better to make sure it isn't stuck in there, after all. The leaves rustle cheerily overhead as a gust of wind blows through. The scent of fresh, clean water comes with it—there must be a river of some sorts nearby. That might be nice for them, some fresh water to drink. Best not stray too far from here, though, not when who knows where the 'hunters' are eventually going to end up.

He sits down near one of the tree trunks and is just on the verge of making himself comfortable when all of a sudden, something crashes out of the brush to his right and he has just enough time to scramble to his feet before the deer falls down dead in front of him.

"Would you look at that," comes Percival's voice from very far away, "it's almost like he knew where it would run."

Merlin can't tear his eyes away from the deer on the ground, not until one of the horses snuffles and nudges his arm. Then he lifts one hand to blindly pat its face and turns to look at the knights who spill triumphantly into the clearing.

"Wonder of wonders," Arthur says, coming up to clap him on the shoulder, "maybe you aren't completely useless after all."

The words lodge in some soft part of Merlin's chest and he clenches his jaw. "You didn't have to kill it."

"It's a hunt, Merlin," Arthur says slowly, as though he's talking to a child, "that's what a hunt is for."

"It wasn't hurting anyone."

"It's a deer," he scoffs, "it's not going to do much of anything except run into things."

"Not true," Gwaine says from where he's already carving the poor thing, "it'll fill our bellies tonight and that is a worthy cause if I've ever heard one."

"You'd consider anything a worthy cause if it got you bread and wine," Lancelot points out and they all start laughing again. The horse snuffles his hand again and he turns away, patting its nose and sparing one more thought for the deer, who at the very least was put out of its misery quickly.

If he thought it would be over when they started to camp for the night, he was terribly and miserably wrong.

First he wasn't moving fast enough. Then he was doing it wrong. Then he wasn't doing enough. Then there were things he kept forgetting. Then they noticed he wasn't talking very much and he was too soft-hearted, mourning for a stupid deer. Arthur's favorite insult of girl's petticoat made an appearance, followed by Gwaine's infamous innuendoes of—oh, who bloody cares, it's not like he's paying much attention at this point.

Maybe it's the fact that they've all not let off steam for too long. Maybe Merlin's been too busy saving Camelot and his tolerance of them has worn low. Maybe they're all in an especially cruel mood today and they don't realize it. Maybe Merlin's just worn himself a little too ragged and this thing that's supposed to be their chance to all relax just isn't how Merlin would choose to do that at all.

Whatever the reason, the armor that Merlin thought he had against the knights has abandoned him. Every word, every look, every laugh hits him like an arrow or a punch, lodging deep in his flesh and hurting. It doesn't matter where he goes, what he does, even when he gives into his cowardly instincts—Arthur's already called him a coward at least half a dozen times in the last ten minutes, he might as well give in and be a coward—and hides behind one of the horses, he still can't escape from it. His body truly starts to ache, starts to flush and burn and he's too hot and he's too cold and he's angry, so angry, because they're hurting him and they don't care, they just don't care.

There comes a point where enough is enough.

"Say, Merlin—" Percival tugs his sleeve a little too hard and Merlin has to steady himself before he falls over— "whoa! Easy!"

"It's a wonder we didn't mistake you for the deer," Elyan jokes, "you're wobbling around like you don't know what your legs are for."

He didn't mean it like this, but Merlin's mind fills with smoke and the sound of blades clashing over a rising chant of burn the sorcerer and he flinches. Hard.

"Be nice to him," Lancelot scolds, and Merlin's heart leaps with hope— "you know fawns are the most skittish of all."

His hands tighten until his knuckles turn white and he sets his jaw, determined to put all the bowls down and sit and actually rest for once. He manages to make it halfway across the campsite and almost to the fire to bend down and—

"Maybe you should train with us a bit more," Percival suggests, "then you could keep up more often."

Merlin doesn't even need to turn around to know that Arthur's sitting up with a fiendish grin on his face.

"Oh, he hasn't told you? I'm surprised, I would've thought they would have by now."

"Told me what?"

Not a damn thing, you prat, now shut the hell up.

"Merlin used to be Princess's training dummy," Gwaine says helpfully, and how the hell does he know about it and he hasn't told Percival? "Used to wear the padding, the helmet, everything but the straw. Bet that suited you better than the armor did, ey, Merlin?"

Merlin doesn't say anything.

"I'd have preferred a proper training dummy," Arthur snorts, and there comes the rustling of leaves as he must lean back, "at least it wouldn't have flinched every time I so much as raised my sword."

I was brand new to Camelot. I'd come to see one of my kind get executed on my first day. You had tried to kill me already and I had saved your life. You swung swords at me and I didn't know what to do.

"But hand to hand, surely," Percival says, "that must have been better?"

"Oh, no, I know this one," Elyan says, and how does he—Gwen. Gwen must have told him— "what was it, three times in as many minutes that he ended up face-first into a cowpie?"

"I can't take credit for all of them—"

"But you will."

"No, no, some credit must go to Merlin for being the clumsiest sod I've ever laid eyes on."

He flinches again and the bowls clatter to the ground.

"See?"

That does it.

Without bothering to pick up the pot, he stoops down and picks up the bowls, fumbling around to free his horse from its tether and walking off. The knights' laughter rings in the trees behind him as he ventures further and further away from the light of the campfire. The wind stings the open cuts on his face and arms. His horse brushes against him. He keeps going, not caring that the shadows start to gather around his feet as they pick their way toward the river.

He remembers those first days. Those days where it felt like Arthur was always on the verge of having him arrested, or having him thrown out for no reason, or something. Where every time he ventured outside it felt like it was punishment for something he'd done, when swords and maces and spears would be flung at him without regard for the fact that he was a living, breathing person with feelings and that he would be hurt, and then he'd go stumbling off to Gaius still hearing the clangs and wobbling from the impact and then Gaius would laugh at him too. Why was everyone always laughing at him?

They laughed at him when Arthur decided that he needed to be trained 'for his own good' too. Never mind that he could do far more impressive things and far more effective things than swing a bloody sword, no, Arthur dressed him up in that stupid bloody armor and had all the knights and squires have a go at him. He'd been pushed to the ground, hit, punched, kicked, pinned, humiliated and every time there was Arthur, either looking incredibly disappointed or trying and failing to hide a smirk. Then he'd tell him to get up so they could go again.

They reach the river.

His horse nickers gently, pulling the lead through Merlin's hands to stretch its neck down for a long drink. Merlin looks at the bowls piled haphazardly in his other hand and slowly sets them down on a nearby rock before he sinks to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and setting his chin atop them to watch the water. Some of the last of the sunlight still sparkles off its ripples as it flows downstream.

See? This, this, this is all he wanted. He wanted to go and be in the woods and just breathe. Just watch the water, listen to the sound of the breeze, not to murder some animal that wasn't doing anything and make a loud ruckus and all of that. He didn't want to be surrounded by insults and laughter, he just—he just—

Oh, Merlin realizes faintly as the horse turns to bump its damp nose against his hand, I'm crying.

Of course, as soon as he realizes that, he starts to sniffle in earnest, his nose quickly making a mess of his trousers as his horse snuffles at his hand. He shuffles a little closer, leaning against its side, as it goes back to drinking. He closes his eyes and turns his face into the warmth. He ignores the slight sting against the still-open cuts.

Why had they been so cruel today? Was he—he wasn't that useless and clumsy, was he? He never tries to be, he just—it just happens sometimes, it's not as though he can keep complete control over himself all the time, not when he has to work so hard to constantly keep his magic in and hidden and unseen and it's hard, it's just hard sometimes and it's not fair. It's not fair that they get to prance around and make nuisances of themselves and when he doesn't do anything, they insult him for it. It's not fair that they get to poke fun at him all the time for things that he has no control over. It's not fair that they get to pick the things to do and he just has to go along with it.

And it's especially not fair that they don't notice how much they really, actually hurt him.

Perhaps that's the worst part of all of this, he decides as he sniffles again, it's that he doesn't think they realize how hurtful some of the things they say actually are. He doesn't have the same sort of hurt-people's-feelings-and-get-away-with-it that they do, he doesn't have this I'm-going-to-be-mean-on-purpose instinct. He doesn't have the ability that they all have to trade blows and take it and laugh it off. He spits back at them because he can't do anything else sometimes, and then he's beaten down again. He knows he's not a knight, he knows he's just a servant but they don't—do they have to make him feel like he's less when there's no one else around too?

It hurts. Everything hurts.

Maybe he should just stay here. Here, by the river, where the sunset was soft and golden and the horse was firm and solid and the air smelled slightly sweet, like flowers that had just past their prime. No one would be mean to him here, no one would shame him for being upset, he could cry and it would be alright if he did that. He's been accused of being far more than just clumsy and useless today, after all, he might as well indulge the parts of him they would gladly spear and roast over the campfire.

He flinches at his own metaphor, startling the horse slightly until it rubs its nose against his hand again. He fumbles to pat it carefully in silent apology and it lets out a worried noise, nosing at his head too. He sniffles and lets it nibble his hair, its breath warming the top of his head until it grows bored and goes to drink again. He keeps his hand on its leg, stroking the strong muscle with his fingers. Out of habit, he finds himself picking out little bits of twig and brush, cleaning the worst of the detritus away with quick little motions as the horse shifts its weight back and forth. He finds a slightly rough patch and scruffs at it with his fingernails until the horse's coat is smooth again. It snorts in thanks.

See, he thinks again, what's so bad about this? Why is it so bad to be kind in an uncomplicated way? Why can't you just be kind for the sake of being kind, without having to disguise it?

Should he have swatted the horse and mocked it for its matted coat? Should he have shoved it this way and that in lieu of a proper grooming? Should he have laughed at it when it stumbled and hurt its leg on a rock it couldn't have seen before it was already too late? What purpose did any of that serve? Why would he want to make it seem like he would only hurt the horse when all he wanted to do was be kind?

With a courage he does not feel, he closes his eyes and wraps his arms back around himself, trying to find the scared, hurt horse in his own chest and reach out to it too.

Why are you being unkind to me, that part of him sniffles, why are you hurting me? What did I do to deserve being hurt by you? Why are you taking pleasure in hurting me?

I don't know, says another part, I don't know.

Make it stop. I don't like this, it hurts. You're hurting me. Please, make it stop.

A rock clatters behind him.

In an instant, he whirls around, trying to see what managed to sneak up on him, but in his haste he overbalances and is about to fall into the river—

A hand grabs the front of his tunic, catching him before he drenches himself. Panting, Merlin stares up at Leon, who looks just as surprised as he, his hand still fisted in the thin material of Merlin's front. He raises his other hand, palm open in a signal of sincerity, before he slowly reaches forward and tugs Merlin back to safety.

"Are you alright?"

The fear of falling into the river dwindles, swiftly replaced by a growing anger at being caught off guard again, at almost falling in and needing to be saved, and at himself for not noticing Leon's approach. He twists Leon's hand none-too-gently out of his tunic, setting his jaw and deliberately turning away. "Thanks."

Leon gives a non-committal hum. For a moment, Merlin thinks he's going to leave, or at the very least, do whatever it was that he was going to do when he came here that wasn't cause-and-prevent-Merlin-falling-in-river, but then the still-dirty bowls are being moved further away and Leon is crouching next to him on the bank of the river. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees him take something from a pouch on his belt, remove his gloves and dip something in the river.

When callused hands reach for him, he contemplates pulling away, saying no, even snapping at them—if they're going to insist he's a hound, he'll damn well act like one—but before he can decide what to do, the dry warmth of Leon's hand is turning his chin and then something soft and damp is dabbing over the cuts on his face. With the soft and steady patience that only he has, Leon tends to the open wounds without saying a word, his free hand gentle on Merlin's chin and shoulders to hold him in the right place to reach all of the right places without straining either of them. He keeps his eyes on his hands as he works, the smallest wrinkle between his brows the only indicator that something's upsetting him. Is he upset? Why is he here? Merlin hasn't been gone that long, has he?

The cloth rubs too harshly against one of the cuts and Merlin flinches, a quiet whimper emerging into the still air. Immediately he wants to claw it back into his throat, but Leon doesn't smirk, doesn't tease, doesn't do any of that. Instead he takes the cloth away and leans closer, blowing cool air over the raw and reddened skin until the ache is soothed. The tenderness of the gesture causes tears to spring to the corner of his eyes and to his absolute horror, he sniffles.

Leon pulls the cloth away but his other hand remains, thumb carefully stroking the unblemished skin of Merlin's right cheek. He lays the cloth carefully over one of his gloves before he looks back and uses his other hand to ruffle Merlin's hair just above his ear.

"I'm sorry," he says gently, "I should have realized."

A lump appears in his throat and he does his best to glare. Leon takes it, because he's a stupid kind bastard sometimes and Merlin is weak, and when Leon opens his arms and says come here in the softest, gentlest voice in the world, Merlin doesn't bother to fight it and buries his stupid sniffling nose into the crook of Leon's neck and lets the knight wrap him up in a cuddle, his stupid cape wrapped around him too like a blanket.

"There, now," Leon murmurs, one hand still scratching lightly at his scalp, "there you are…forgive me, Merlin, I didn't realize they were hurting you so much. That we were hurting you so much."

"Why are you so mean to me," he mumbles, half into, half over Leon's shoulder, not caring that he sounds like a child, "why are you always so mean?"

"I don't know," the knight confesses and Merlin just huddles further into his hold. "I'm sorry."

"It hurts, you know, when you all say those things. And when you hit me. And throw things at me."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you so mean," he sobs, making a fist and weakly hitting Leon's shoulder, "why— why?"

Leon just tightens his grip, turning to bury his own nose in Merlin's hair, and Merlin sobs again. He's being unfair, he knows; Leon isn't the only one to blame in this situation, and in fact, might be the least to blame, but Leon is the only one here and Merlin is angry, angry, so angry.

As if he can hear it, Leon shifts, putting his mouth to Merlin's ear. "Go on, Merlin, it's alright."

"But I don't want to," he grits out, "I don't want to hurt you. I know what that's like, it hurts, it doesn't feel good, I just—you just—I just want it to stop!"

"It'll stop," Leon says immediately, "it's over, now, Merlin, I swear to you. No more of this, I swear."

"It hurts, L-Leon, it—it really hurts."

"Shh, shh, I know, Merlin…hush, now, please, try and breath a bit slower." The knight's chest expands and contracts slowly, exaggerated breaths filling the small clearing. "There…in…and out…in…and out…that's it, shh, just like that."

Slowly, Merlin manages to calm the worst of his anger and tears, the whole mess unspooling as Leon keeps rubbing his back, soft words in his ears. He buries his nose in his neck again. This part, this part of the knights he's never taken for granted, this tenderness that he's only able to get when he's visibly upset. When he manages to voice that thought, Leon goes still for a moment, before a quiet and terrible sigh leaves his lips.

"I have failed, then," he says lowly, "more terribly than I could ever have feared, if you do not know how deeply I care for you."

"W-what?"

Leon pulls back, then, just enough for Merlin to see his face. "You are a dear friend of mine, Merlin, and it is an honor to serve with you. Ever since the day you arrived and saved the Prince's life—hush, shh, none of that, now," he soothes when Merlin panics, "your secret is safe with me, I swear upon my honor and my life. I mean every word that I say, Merlin, you are one of the best men I have ever had the privilege of knowing, and more than that, you are a dear friend. If I have not made that clear to you, that is no one's fault but my own."

"You'll make me cry," Merlin accuses, even though he's already crying.

Leon smiles, but it's a kind smile. "Come, then, shed your tears. I will tend to you."

Well, with an invitation like that, how can Merlin say no?

When he's cried himself out—and made a mess of Leon's cloak, which the man doesn't even let him apologize for—Leon ruffles his hair and takes off his cloak, wrapping it over his shoulders and cleaning the bowls while the horse snuffles at Merlin's shoulders. The cry exhausted the part of him that could protest, and so he watches in the quiet dusk as Leon finishes the last bowl and stands, offering a hand.

"They'll worry," he says softly when Merlin hesitates, "and then they'll all come looking for us together."

He doesn't want that. But neither does he want to lose this, whatever this is, whatever he's found with Leon on the banks of the river. As if he'd spoken the thought out loud, Leon cups his elbow through the cloak, thumb rubbing back and forth until Merlin nods and gets to his feet, going to give Leon his cloak back.

"Keep it, if you want it."

"They'll laugh at me."

"They won't," he says with remarkable confidence, only to acquiesce when Merlin raises a doubtful eyebrow, taking it back. "If you decide you want it again, it's yours."

Part of him wants to take him up on the offer as soon as they start to hear the voices from camp again, to hide underneath it and not have to show his face until next morning, but the horse calls out to its friends and the voices hush. He stops, lingering just out of sight, before Leon rests a hand on his back and silently encourages him forwards. He emerges from the tree line, already bracing himself for whatever comes flying at him, when—

"Oh, sweetheart, what's happened?"

That…that can't be Arthur. That soft voice and worried tone can't be the same man who just delighted in dictating Merlin's humiliation not three hours earlier, it can't be.

"Merlin," the voice says again, and it certainly looks like Arthur scrambling up and over to him, reaching out to cup his face, "oh, you poor thing, look how hurt you are…is this from that tree?"

Merlin nods dumbly and Arthur sweeps his thumb across his cheek. "You've been crying, does it hurt very badly?"

"No."

"You don't have to lie," he chides, but it's gentle, why is it gentle? "You can tell me."

"We've got extra salve," Elyan says, already going for one of the saddlebags, "here, come over by the fire."

"There's another portion still here," Percival adds, "if you're still hungry."

"Give him a moment," Lancelot says, standing too, "he looks a bit overwhelmed."

"Wh-what—" Merlin staggers and Leon and Arthur both surge to catch him— "what's happening?"

"Come sit," Gwaine says, already clearing a spot and shuffling a bedroll close to the fire, "you look like you're about to fall over. Leon can handle the horse and the dishes."

Sure enough, Arthur's hands take Leon's place as he guides Merlin carefully over to the bedroll, sitting him down and immediately taking a position at his elbow. He strokes his thumb over Merlin's jaw as he examines the scratches, before looking back up at him properly.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

Merlin still has whiplash from the difference between the knight before he left and the knights now, thank you very much. He swallows around the lump in his throat and mumbles something about being mean and insulting and whatever they're doing now, and Arthur's face crumbles.

"Oh, sweetheart, you know we don't mean it, don't you?"

"We never do," Lancelot says immediately, "it's only supposed to be fun."

"How is being mean to each other fun?"

"Merlin's right," Gwaine says before anyone can try and explain, "it's only fun if everyone's in on it. And Merlin wasn't in on it, that means we stop."

"What happened," Merlin blurts out, "when I left, you were all more than happy to laugh at me being humiliated or otherwise, and now you're all being nice and calling me sweetheart, what happened?"

The campsite grows quiet. He looks around. None of them seem willing to meet his eyes, save for Leon, who just gives him a reassuring nod. He's about to open his mouth and ask again when Arthur speaks.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm so sorry. I didn't—I…I never mean it. I never mean it."

Merlin swallows. "Then why do you do it?"

Arthur shrugs helplessly. "It's…it's what they all do. What we all do."

The knights make vague noises of agreement but Arthur reaches out for him again.

"But we'll stop now. I promise," he says when Merlin looks at him doubtfully, "we'll—we'll put a stop to it. At least between us, and definitely with you. You're Merlin, we never want to hurt you."

"You promise?"

"Yes." Something that could be mischief flickers across his expression and he leans closer. "And I'm the only one who gets to call you sweetheart."

"What happened to being nice?" Merlin yelps as he starts blushing furiously.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't know it would make you do that."

Merlin closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down. When he opens them again, he sees Arthur staring at him like a worried puppy and he sighs. "You don't…you don't have to stop everything. Just—will you stop if I tell you to?"

"Yes," he says immediately, and the rest of them join in, "of course, the moment you say."

"Thanks." Arthur's hand passes over his shoulders and he grins. "Besides, you were the one who couldn't speak after the barmaid smiled at you."

"Merlin!"

"Wait, Princess did what?"

"You've been holding out on us, Merlin, tell us!"

"Oi! Show some respect for your King!"

"Oh, is that what the barmaids are calling it these days?"

Merlin laughs as Arthur hucks a spoon at Gwaine and Leon comes to sit next to him, offering a warm side to lean against. Perhaps they really are capable of acting nice after all.

[coruscqte]

dear @lesbianbootheng + @sundays-wing-piercing ask and ye shall receive! i have some answers for you about xiayu under the cut :)

the astral express trio:

- xiayu’s parents! dan heng, stelle and march 7th are probably one of the longer passengers of the express, definitely spend a couple years (read: closer to a decade) still aboard the train with pom-pom, himeko and welt

- (crossing every finger on my hands himeko survives hsr)

- regardless of what happens towards endgame, the three of them are dating for quite a while before dan heng finally actually asks to mate with both of them. stelle and march (obviously) readily accepted. i think march made a bigger deal out of it than the other two intended it to be, but it was a cute little party with their friends to celebrate it.

- (perhaps the luofu races have mating ceremonies? headcanon i suppose)

- im not sure if marriage is a concept in hsr (as we still havent come across any married couples yet) but they have matching jewelry. necklaces, with jade pendants on the chain. for two people who use two handed weapons, rings were out of the question anyway.

-xiayu was wholeheartedly an entire accident. i dont think dan heng ever expected to be able to have children of his own for obvious reasons, it probably never really crossed stelle’s mind, but march mightve had some serious baby fever a few times in those ten years. just because they were cute, not so much because she wanted to raise one.

- but i also think all three of them were pretty okay not being parents because being a nameless is dangerous work. as many times as theyve come home to the express scratched and beaten to hell, it wasnt something they wanted to put onto a child.

- but again, xiayu. she’s an odd little bean. mostly because how she came into existence at all is a bit of an ongoing question even bailu's still stumped over decades later. vidyadhara shouldnt be able to reproduce, yet her running theory is that something about the stellaron + vidyadhara biology interacted and the three of them just got unreasonably lucky.

-(or unlucky, if you ask a very morning sick dan heng)

-i don't care to get into the nitty gritty or even just details of how one child came from three different people, im very handwavey in that sense. easy enough to say dh (for lack of better terms) incubated her egg, she stayed in said egg for another couple months after being “born”ish and pop goes the new vidyadhara baby lol

- egg! i hc xiayu came out of an egg just like any other vidyadhara, but she cracked out of it way earlier because she’s a brand new person. in that in between time thought, she was carried around by the three of them. one of them was always with her, whether on them or in the little nest she stayed in.

- march was no longer allowed to go shopping for xiayu somewhere around a month or so before she was born. himeko was required to go with her if she wanted to buy anything else for the baby — one kid only needed so many things, and march was not the best about staying on topic. or budget.

- stelle was also, naturally, excited. but mostly curious, after all the only vidyadhara child she’d met was bailu, so she was a little concerned itd be different from human children. still, shes the one that assembled the creche and such, as well as sitting w the egg most of the time. the stellaron helped keep it warm.

- i think dan heng was the most worried about xiayu. from the fact that he was the one who incubated her to another fact that theyd created a whole new person together, he was a bit of a nervous wreck. tried not to show it much, failed pretty miserably towards the end of that period.

- xiayu’s egg cracked while march and stelle were away on a trailblaze mission, terribly harrowing moment for everyone involved when dan heng called in a panic. thankfully, she waited to make her proper debut until her moms could be there but dan heng had never been more stressed

- i have a very clear vision in mind of their skin-to-skin session directly after xiayu cracked her egg. gently pulling the shards off their daughter, cleaning her up a little. pulled close to stelle’s chest, warm and so soft. all three of them absolutely in love. there were tears. lots of them.

- so, so small. even with the extra time in her egg she was still smaller than most vidyadhara “newborns”. certainly smaller than dan heng had been — had he ever been that small? as innocent as the little person staring up at him? he doesnt know.

- and a million and one photos taken by march afterwards. she documented all of her achievements and milestones with her trusty camera. she never wants to forget these moments, her first moments as a mom, her first moments with her daughter.

- stelle is so content with her baby. parenthood was something she’d been mostly neutral on the whole process, and yet it seemed like everything they did was worth it. healthy, cooing in her arms, these cute little fingers that all wrapped around one of her fingers with a surprisingly strong grip. oh yes, xiayu was her baby. she’d be up to bat soon enough.

about xiayu:

- xiayu was a terribly fussy baby. never wanted to be left alone, never really wanted to nap, cried probably excessively. but she also babbled plenty, was all too happy to spend some time on her parents hip or to see the stars outside the express. this is why welt coined the nickname nova for her. the way her little eyes would light up in the parlor car seeing space was just adorable.

- dan heng purrs. this is relevant because i think a content xiayu also purrs.

- floppy toddler. likes to scare her parents a little by just going limp whenever. contrary to stelle’s belief, this is not as funny as xiayu thinks it is to her other parents lol.

- stelle likes to toss xiayu in the air. dan heng is not as big of a fan. march im not sure minds, she just loves that xiayu is happy.

- stelle is more of a … hm, a mom who cares a lot but doesn’t smother. likes to let xiayu figure things out on her own, see the world for herself. of course, she always keeps an eye on her, ready to swoop in whenever.

- march is more of an emotional mum. she leads by her heart, as per usual, and xiayu usually goes to her for comfort naturally. ofc she goes to all of them, but if she just wants to be babied, its march she seeks out.

- march and dan heng are usually the ones dressing her, you can tell who did what rather easily.

- dan heng isnt … strict per se (he values xiayu’s autonomy and freedom just as much as he values his own) but he is more worrying than stelle or march. perhaps its because she’s the first new vidyadhara theyve had in literal centuries, or that a fear of the preceptors finding her scares him shitless, or just trying to keep his own fears in line, he keeps her safe the best he knows how — with his tail wrapped around her middle if she wanders too far away.

- (though, xiayu thinks this is hilarious and attempts to run away a lot. it was a curse for her to pick up toddling so quicky)

- she has a raccoon toy that goes with her everywhere lol. his name is caelus 😌

- infinite loop of “goes ask your mom” “go ask your mum” “go ask your dad”

- stelle is called mama, march is mummy, and dan heng is baba in the early years. as xiayu matures it becomes mom, mum and dad.

- auntie himeko and uncle welt! xiayu likes to see the maps and such that himeko works with, and welt usually has a different selection of books than dan heng has. it’s a treat when they visit.

- the four of them live on the luofu until xiayu is about twelve. it’s simply safer to have a baby in a more concrete location, and have a permanent home base. they disembark the astral express for a few years, but promise to return when she gets a little older.

- given they dont stay long. dan heng is far too paranoid about the preceptors doing something terrible to her, and xiayu isn’t well received by the wider vidyadhara community. people find out eventually that she’s a descendant of dan feng, and hell breaks loose. when she comes home crying one day from lessons that her playmates won’t play with her anymore, dan heng blames himself even if his partners tell him not to.

- jing yuan does enjoy her visits when they bring her around. after all, who could say no to such a cute face? (march concurs. dan heng is worried about the pair of them). a beloved baby under the watchful eye of the luofu’s general.

- bailu is just happy to have another baby vidyadhara around, though the concept is a bit foreign.

- xiayu doesnt call the luofu home, which opens up confusion when introducing herself. the express is her home, moreso than somewhere that didnt even truly accept her.

all about trailblazer xiayu:

- xiayu herself is a bright soul with a great deal of trailblazer branded curiosity about the world around her. she just loves to explore, and has a semi decent sense of direction — its rare that she gets truly lost

- if she were playable, she would be nihility / imaginary. five star, obviously.

- her tone is a little bit deeper than that of march’s , probably alongside the timbre of stelle’s.

- star carver was commissioned by dan heng for her, and march and stelle had some input on it as well. theres a three star motif on the hand grip and on the axe blades themselves. its her birthright and beloved axe, though she doesn’t use it much until she boards the astral express as a proper trailblazer when she’s about twenty.

- never a quiet moment with xiayu. she always has something to say or something to share. bit of a yapper depending on the parent shes with. she and march are usually the ones doing something together, while pompom has probably lost a vase or two in the observatory car to xiayu and stelle working w their weapons. she doesnt really do the whole silence thing well, but it is comfortable with her dad while they work on separate things in the archives.

- i do think dan heng tries his best to teach xiayu about her heritage. whether she dislikes the luofu or not, she does still need to know what his kin do. im not sure if shes terribly talented with cloudhymn magic though, considering shes only been to scalegorge a few times with her father.

- xiayu i dont think considers herself vidyadhara. only for her lifespan, but otherwise chooses not to identify with them first. i think the wider community is split on opinion, but most are just in awe of her existence.

- at twenty, xiayu is considered a full trailblazer, and begins accompanying the current passengers on missions. by this time, stelle and march are both around 50ish, so theyre not always in attendance (similar to welt) but when they can be, they are.

- i think her parents are, understandably, a bit protective of xiayu when out and about on missions. they compromise that she always keeps her phone on if she just Has to go wandering around, but otherwise theyre usually together.

- she is not allowed to touch the archive, even as an adult. only for entries not organization lol

- she does get her own room on the express! big window to space, little window rest for her to sit and more often, nap on.

- i think she takes after march the most, easily. but you can see dan heng in her mannerisms, her quiet thinking at times. its stelle you can see when shes in a fight, those swings are trailblazer brand lol. and perhaps, when she goes about collecting trinkets wherever the express has stopped — akin to stelle’s foraging.

- re: vidyadhara: vidyadhara usually live anywhere from 10 days to aeons know how long. for those aboard the xianzhou alliance, likely children remain a bit younger-minded for longer. xiayu has always considered herself an adult when her parents began treating her as one, so her experiences on the luofu are a bit skewed. to put it simply, she is not particularly happy about some things being age restricted to those a hundred years and over.

- primarily, sushang and bailu are usually the ones accompanying her out and about. this helps her get around these restrictions a lot of the time.

- now, all good things usually come to an end. by the time xiayu is barely forty, march and stelle are already in their 70s. its odd, watching your moms age and grow grey hairs and wrinkles while your father looks nearly the same as he has all forty years youve been alive.

- they return to their old home on the luofu for their twilight years, while xiayu remains on the astral express.

- stelle doesn’t live to see xiayu’s fiftieth birthday.

- (contingent on hsr not removing the stellaron from the trailblazer) the stellaron was already corrupting her since before xiayu was even conceived, and age catching up with her rapidly doesn’t help. she passes away relatively quietly in her sleep at 74.

- xiayu was with her, curled up on her side. she won’t ever forget that moment when her mom didnt wake with her.

- the rest of the family is, obviously, devastated. little spider cracks appear then and there in xiayu, trying to stay positive for her parents. arguably not dissimilar to march, but even she has to admit that things won’t quite ever be the same without stelle.

- march goes later. it’s quiet, when she goes. dan heng is the one to discover her this time. around when she’s eighty six. xiayu is barely fifty five.

- this is where i think xiayu’s brand of whimsy comes in. xiayu has always been between worlds, treated like a short lived person by her immediate family, treated like she’s live centuries by her peers. in that disconnect, xiayu’s mental cracks.

- she calls stelle and march as if they were still alive, just waiting on them to pick up their voicemails. she takes pictures for march, sending texts and just ignoring the error messages. after all the signal is probably just bad, right? she keeps stelle’s original jacket to wear and march’s hair clips, after all, theyll come back soon enough.

- dan heng tries his best to cope for the same reasons. hes known that he’d outlive his partners, but hadnt been really thinking about it until theyd moved back to the luofu. he tries to keep xiayu safe the best he can, to the point of occasionally overstepping. shes not allowed to leave into the mara struck areas without sushang or yanqing, shouldnt be away for too many days. even on the express he has her check in with him or with someone who can contact him.

- its a mess. they both love each other to pieces because theyre all the other has left, but dan heng hasn’t exactly helped much to cope with march and stelle being gone. if anything they just keep feeding into each other.

- but for about fifty years, it was truly joyful. after all, caelus still accompanies her on her travels.

edit: send in writing / art prompts for her if youd like! ill happily do even more brain rotting over her by request lol

[the-s1lly-corner]

spot that meets a autistic reader, that is talkative to themselves, but has poor social skills because (lack of good parenting + bullys, but is very smart and loves art and engineering, and dreams to be a scientist one day.. it could began as the reader first feared him over an awkward moment? to opening up about themselves and the reader's obsessive fascination over him. two very talented ppl that only wants to be appreciated, respected and loved...💔

idk is it to much?? bruh I'm trying to be creative😭 I'd be happy with whatever happens!. aNd TaKe yO tiME!! On irl things and beloved spotty <3

Spot w/ an autistic reader!

Rubs my autistic little hands

Feeling a lil drowsy but I wanna chuck this out before I fall asleep for (possibly) the next 7 hours :3

Not proof read we die like Peter Parker <\\3 we are sleepy and tumblr wont let me save drafts for asks <\3

Obligatory "I like this character so I'm hcing him to be ND like me" touch

He gets it

Anyways

I think to help make the whole thing less jarring, or whatever, is that you may have known each other vaguely before the collider incident

You weren't a scientist at alchemax, more like.

Well shoot I just forgot the term but like, you work there, but you dont do hands on experiments, not experienced enough yet

Intern?

Maybe, idk

Obviously you don't work there anymore after the collider blowing up, so... you're looking for a new job

You knew about Jonathan, but you weren't friends

You had also heard rumors about what happened to him but you kinda dismissed it as cruel rumors surrounding his death.. I mean no one could've survived that explosion.. right?

So imagine your surprise when you end up almost getting robbed by spot

Can you blame him? He hasnt found another job since the accident and hes probably living off of pity handouts; likely homeless

Now hand over the wallet!!/j

No but on the semi likely chance that you manage to defuse the situation, given Spot sucks as a criminal, you just bluntly ask if the whole

Rumor thing is true

I mean obviously it is but confirmation is important

After a few more chance encounters, you guys both finally decide to properly sit down and talk

Its tense and awkward at first since 1. How does one even act around someone like spot? He's vulnerable but also trying to do the whole. Revenge thing... And 2. Hes desperate for human interaction and it SHOWS, it's almost uncomfortable actually

But you both trudge past it and make it work

One meet up turns into two then three; then you discover how much hes struggling and

Now you're roomates

Oh my god they were roommates/ref

Anyways, that's the set up!! It kinda felt wrong to just. Jump into it without some explanation on how yall end up in the same area consistently

Doesnt mind that you mumble to yourself, he probably does the same thing. From muttering things to keep his train of thought to having a personal monologue, I wholeheartedly believe he does the same thing

Hs understands how it feels to be. Not treated very good, he likely wasnt the most respected in alchemax so it's not uncommon for the two of you to have vent sessions where you both let it all out

You ask him about his journey to becoming a scientist and not so subtly ask for advice on how to get into the field; and touching onto the whole human interaction thing, hes more than willing to talk your ear off about his entire career history

On the chance you dont want to do physics stuff, and you wanna do another branch of science he's all ears on listening to you ramble, may even lend a hand in getting you to where you need to be career wise

Yall do at home experiments as bonding stuff

Look if spot can make a mini collider in some building then I can only imagine the type of shit yall get up to at home

Oh? You're still curious about.. him? Of all things, him?

He never thought anyone would look at him with interest; usually its disgust or fear, or both

Hes hesitant at first because what if you discover something that'll totally change your view of him?

Takes (some, a little) coaxing

Bro caves fast, he misses physical touch

"So like, these holes-" you proceed to just. Dip your entire fist into a hole and watch said fist pop out from another hole

The demons are telling me to make reader like

Make it a game to try to throw stuff through his holes but I feel like that would be really mean, no one likes stuff getting thrown at them

Please dont throw stuff through his holes :(

Random but like

Idk if this happens with yall but

If someone stims do yall. Like stim back

Like I have vocal stims and mess with my hands; and sometimes my friend will be prompted to stim if I stim??

Idk but yall do that

OHOH before I post this if you're both comfy with physical touch please please please hold him, it's been so so long since someone has hugged him and he really really needs it :(

[sushisocks]

bro it makes me so mad how ppl say sean didn’t need a break after getting recused by the bounty hunters becuz he got a party but whats ur opinions on it???

Obviously, I think way too much about Sean, and read very much into a lot of smaller things when it comes to him. I imagine the people who say Sean didn't need a break after his rescue would think I read too much into his character, and I may perhaps even be hit with a 'its not that deep bro', but that has never really stopped me, lol.

And I will wholeheartedly disagree with those who say he did not need a break. I think believing that, taking this aspect at face value, is disregarding one of the game's strongest points; environmental storytelling. A lot of what we learn about the gang members in this game, is through just hanging out at camp. Not only do you get to be privy to scenes and interactions that tell us about the interpersonal dynamics, but the characters also have daily routines and habits that tell you things about them!

And see, in Horseshoe, sometimes Sean walks funny at camp even without having had anything to drink ahead of time. You could read this as a bug but I personally think there's a more obvious reason behind it. He's quick to sit down or lean against things, during his shifts on watch AND otherwise. Other people here on tumblr have pointed out how he barely eats, or clearly struggles to.

Now consider what Sean actually TELLS us, in his rescue mission. He had his teeth pulled, his feet burned. And I don't know about you, but that sure does sound like things that would leave a mark - not necessarily a visible one, but one that would affect behavior, because pain does.

When I had my wisdom teeth pulled, I was on painkillers for days after. I also had one done at a time, so that I could use the opposite side of my mouth to chew my food while one side healed, and I still struggled to eat.

Do you think Sean was shown the same courtesy?

He has a front tooth missing - in what world is eating comfortable? Do you think he has the strength, then, to be up on his feet all the time? Feet which, most likely, are still healing from being burned??? Like, what is the logic in taking Sean being fine at face value, here?? Do we actually believe Dutch is a good and competent leader, now?!?

And like, I'll say it, Sean 100% played down what he'd been through. I could go on at length about my thoughts about the reasons why, as pertaining to the role he performs in the gang, excitement and relief and adrenaline about being free again, not wanting to appear weak, etc etc. But I also do think, then, that it's almost a little bit silly to not extend him the same courtesy as we do many of the other characters of this game, and consider what this experience might actually have been like for him.

Sean, Arthur, and Javier were all kidnapped and tortured. All three of them. And they all had it real fucking bad. Can we, like, let ourselves sit with that for a moment? And acknowledge that Sean had it just as bad as the other two??

He was also stuck in that situation for the longest!!! At least two fucking weeks, minimum, while Javier and Arthur's experiences were for -- two to four days?

The difference is of course that Arthur and Javier both had their experiences shown on screen, and they both got to rest afterwards.

Sorry, that was a bit of a tangent, back to the party thing.

Ultimately, Sean is given a party because the gang needs a party. They are still recovering after Blackwater and Colter; they are in dire need of levity and fun, which is given through something to celebrate. They need a distraction. These are the things which Sean performs and gives the gang; the party isn't even really for him; it's for what he represents, and what his return represents. The party isn't what he needs, and he sure as hell was not well enough to just jump back into action.

What he needs, what he should have had, is a break after the shit he went through. He wasn't given permission for that though, not from their leader and not socially from anyone else, and furthermore he didn't really give himself permission for it. You have to do his rescue mission before pouring forth oil, because the second Sean is back, he's looking for jobs, and he wants in on the train robbery.

He's working, immediately.

(The fact that people actually believe him lazy just because he doesn't do as much as Arthur, the gang's workhorse, after returning from being held and tortured by bounty hunters, is insane to me. Yall are gonna believe Arthur about that?? According to him, all the guys in camp save Charles are lazy!)

Idk, what I find the strangest about takes like these is like... Most of the other characters are worthy of discussion, analysis, and discourse. But - not even the game, but characters in the game, who show themselves to have their own faults and prejudices as well - tell us Sean is lazy and easy-going and fun and that's all he is, and we believe it? Where did the critical thinking go??

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Death by Exposure

Written for the Phic Phight Prompts: At first Danny had been worried sick that Wes had figured out that he was Phantom, but when no one believed him it had sort of become funny. Still, after the anti-ecto act, and the GIW, and his own parents very public very violently vitriolic screeds against ghosts, Danny had to wonder what he'd ever done to Wes that the guy would risk exposing Danny to all that. (from @hpwotters-blog, or at least I think that's you're tumblr.), and Wes Weston wakes up to find an injured Phantom on the fire escape. (from @half-deadmagicperson)

Other prompts that will be included in later chapters but aren't in this one:

With how much time he spends on basketball and his delusional conspiracy theories, no one would ever suspect that Wes Weston has another secret hobby… (from @kadziduo)

And Wes has been spending more and more time around Fenton and Co. lately - hey! he’s only trying to get some much-needed evidence against them, not trying to get all buddy-buddy with them. And anyway, they’re an entirely annoying bunch, so he wholeheartedly blames them for the fact that he’s currently being monologued at by the ghost holding him hostage. (from @a-closet-emo)

Chapter 3: Expostulate

AO3 Link

[Warnings for blood (ectoplasm), severe injuries, implied abuse]

Danny was desperately clinging to consciousness when Wes' window slid open and the redhead poked his head out with a yawn. "Can whoever is making a racket at three in the goddamn morning kindly shut the hell up!?" he shouted. He started to pull his head back in and Danny, worried that Wes might not notice him, choked out his name.

"Wes," he said weakly, but it was enough to catch his attention.

The moment those green eyes landed on Danny they widened with utter horror. He looked like he might be sick. "Fenton?" 

"little... help?"

"Fuck! Yeah, okay, gimme a sec!"

Wes disappeared into his room, and Danny heard rustling like fabric. A moment later, Wes returned and climbed out onto the fire escape. Mindful of his wounds, he hoisted Danny up and got him through the window. He laid Danny on his mattress, which he'd completely stripped. Blankets, pillows and sheets were wadded up on the floor.

"I'll be right back, I gotta get the first-aid kit."

Danny didn't have the strength to respond, but now that he was safely out of danger where the G.I.W. wouldn't find him he could feel his healing kicking in. Without flying and hiding using up his energy, he was already beginning to recover somewhat. He laid back and tried to focus his eyes, taking in his surroundings. Wes' room had light blue walls. Unsurprisingly, one of them had a cork board covered in pictures of Danny, articles about Phantom, evidence that the two were linked, that they were the same. If the G.I.W. started doing home raids and saw that, Danny would be screwed.

There were stickers on the ceiling, old and peeling, some with neon colors and unicorns, skateboard stickers, a rainbow flag, price tags from fruit, a bumper sticker that said "My other car is a Maserati! Ha ha just kidding! I'm dirt poor," and another one that said, "baby on board," with a picture of a baby wearing a backwards baseball cap riding a skateboard. Danny might've laughed if he thought he could do it without choking on ectoplasm.

"I found it!" Wes returned with a red metal box and some towels. He stopped in the middle of his room staring at Danny. "Uh... so does the jumpsuit, like, come off?" he asked.

Danny let out a weak huff of laughter. "You've already got me... in your bed and now... you wanna get my clothes off, too?" he asked teasingly, the words slurring together slightly. "Don't you think... you're moving a little fast?"

"Very funny," Wes said flatly, rolling his eyes. Although, the joke seemed to shake him out of his terror somewhat, which was good. That, or he was really good at compartmentalizing. "At least you're not too badly injured for sarcasm. Now if you could phase off that butt-ugly jumpsuit so I can stop you from oozing all over my mattress, I'd appreciate it."

"Grab it and pull," Danny told him. Wes gripped the front of the jumpsuit and tugged while Danny made himself intangible so it could slip right off, leaving Danny laying there in ectoplasm soaked briefs on Wes' bed. Just that much exertion however was too much for him, and white rings of light flickered around his middle. Wes gasped when he finally saw the extent of the damage.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked breathlessly.

"Was helping some... blob ghosts," Danny answered. "The Guys 'n White caught up to me... on their patrol."

"They did this to you? Why?"

"'Cause they want me dead," Danny answered, scowling. "You were at that assembly a while back; you've... you've seen the propaganda posters. Did you think they were... running a catch-and-release program? A rescue shelter?" Wes got to work on Danny's leg first, mopping up the ectoplasm there with a towel so he could get to the wound.

"I didn't think they'd do this," he said quietly.

"What did I ever do to you?" Danny asked. He didn't want to piss off the person helping him, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. "What made you start this... beef with me?"

"I care about the truth. I think it's important."

"More important than my life?"

"What life? You're a ghost."

"I'm not a normal ghost," Danny said. "I thought you, of all people, would've... figured that out by now." Wes didn't respond, just opened up an alcohol wipe and started cleaning the wound on Danny's leg.

Danny didn't flinch even once while Wes patched his leg up, disinfecting and pressing gauze over the wound and wrapping it in bandages. He did so very calmly, his hands surprisingly steady, like he'd had a lot of practice. 

"I wasn't thinking about what would happen afterwards," Wes admitted as he finished securing the bandage. "I just wanted people to believe me."

"I don't think you were thinking at all," Danny said as Wes propped him up to clean the wounds on his back. "I mean, fuck, one of your theories is that... I'm like this because my parents experimented on me. I'm pretty sure everyone... in town has heard them threaten to rip me apart molecule by molecule.... What do you think would happen to me if they found out?"

"Okay, but that theory was low on the list," Wes defended, "and the more likely theory was that they were in on it and hunting you was a cover."

"They shoot at me any time they see me!" He tried to turn to glare at Wes, only to get a smack on the head.

"Quit moving!" Wes snapped. "I gotta disinfect." Danny clenched his teeth as he felt the sting of alcohol in the wounds on his back.

"How d'you know how to do this, anyway?" Now that the worst of the bleeding, from his leg, was stemmed, Danny was recovering even faster. His body could regenerate blood and ectoplasm without immediately losing it. He was able to speak more or less clearly now, and he didn't feel like he was about to pass out.

"Kyle skateboards, and he's an idiot," Wes answered. "I used to, too, but not so much anymore. He still bribes me sometimes to patch him up before Dad finds out he's injured, so that he won't get grounded for being reckless."

"Who's Kyle?"

"My twin brother."

"You have a brother?" Danny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had thought he knew Wes, after all the time they'd spent antagonizing each other, but he was realizing that he didn't really know anything about Wes outside of his constant insistence on outing Danny as a ghost. "How come I've never seen him around?"

"I have two brothers, actually," Wes told him. "And you probably have seen him around. You just didn't realize because we're not identical. The other one's off at college in New York."

"Are you the older twin, or the younger twin?"

"What does it matter? We're twins."

"So the younger twin, then." Wes smacked his head again.

"Maybe stop being such a dick when I'm patching up your nasty ass ghost injuries, yeah?" Soft gauze pressed against on of the wounds on his back and Wes started wrapping bandages again. Halfway down, Wes put down more gauze for the second wound and kept wrapping. "Why did you come to me, anyway? Something happen to your actual friends?"

"They're both out of town for spring break," Danny responded. "Trust me, you were not my first choice. I wouldn't've come here at all if I wasn't completely desperate." Wes scoffed and finished bandaging the wounds on Danny's back, repositioning him to get better access to the last wound, on his side.

He cleaned it up in silence, and as he was applying disinfectant, he asked, in an uncertain voice, "Do you get hurt like this a lot?"

"I don't know about 'a lot'," Danny said, although Jazz's voice in his head told him often that if it happened more than once in his life, that would probably be considered a lot to most people. "It's been known to happen."

"How?"

"G.I.W. patrols, ghost fights, my mom's aim is actually pretty good, and sometimes I don't dodge fast enough," Danny said with a shrug, then winced at the way the movement tugged on his injuries.

"I told you not to move," Wes scolded, then, in a softer voice he asked, "Your parents have done this to you before?"

"Do you think I keep my identity a secret for my own entertainment?" Danny asked. "Most of the ghosts I fight know who I am already. They're obviously not the ones I'm worried about."

Wes finished disinfecting and pulled out another wad of gauze. "Fuck." Wes breathed out emphatically.

"What? Outta bandages?"

"No, it's just... this is making me realize just how much of an asshole I've been," he said, starting to wrap up the last wound. "I mean, I knew that I was being an asshole, honestly, but I didn't think it was this bad. It was what I had to do to get the truth out there."

"I guess maybe I should've called you out earlier, huh," Danny said. "In my defense, you were smart enough to figure out who I was, I thought you'd be smart enough to realize why I hid it in the first place. Seriously. Again, my parents shoot at me all the time."

"I thought it was an act!" Danny snorted. "Anyway, I guess," Wes glanced over at his conspiracy board. "I guess it's probably time to take that down, huh?"

"Wait... you mean you're actually giving up?" Danny couldn't help turning around to face Wes in his surprise, and cringed when it irritated his wounds. "Gah!"

"I told you to stay still!" Wes griped again, having to unwrap and re-wrap a section of bandages to keep them tight. "And no, I'm not giving up. One day, I'm personally gonna make sure everyone knows you're Phantom. But I never actually wanted you to get hurt, so... I'm revising my method."

"What's that mean?"

"It means my three step plan to expose you is more like a twenty-step plan now," Wes said with a sigh. "First, I gotta get the Guys in White out of here, then prove ghosts are sentient, and convince the government to repeal the anti-ecto acts, then convince the paranormal science community at large that ghosts aren't inherently evil, and eventually, when it's safe, I'm definitely gonna convince everyone you're Phantom."

Danny chuckled, then grunted in pain. "I'll tell you what, Wes," he said. "If you can change the world to that level, I'll show everyone I'm Phantom and prove it to them for you."

Tying off the last bandage, Wes nodded. "Deal," he said. "For now though, go to the bathroom and clean the rest of that gunk off you. I'll let you borrow some pajamas. It's the door at the end of the hall. Try not to get your bandages wet."

"Thanks, Wes," Danny said as the red-head handed him a gray t-shirt and some plaid pajama pants.

"Don't thank me yet," Wes said. "You're sleeping on the bed, on your stomach, and you don't get bedding."

"Why'd you strip your bedding anyway?"

"You think I'm gonna subject my poor dad to ectoplasm-stained sheets?" Wes scoffed. "No way. I'd be doing everyone's laundry for a month."

"Right, of course." Danny stepped out of Wes' room and into the hall, smiling.

Hearing about normal problems like that was kind of refreshing. When Danny didn't want to do chores, it was because they were dangerous for him, like cleaning his parents' lab. When his parents were mad at him, they threatened to dissect him, not to make him to the laundry. In comparison, Wes' problems sounded so trivial, and yet, Danny could still relate. He didn't like doing laundry either.

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[underforeversgrace]

memories of the grave

DannyMay 2023 Day 18: Grave

title: memories of the grave

Words: 2166

Complete

Warning: Major Character Death and Everlasting Trio

Summary/Excerpt: Songfic to the song Sacred by Citizen Soldier - He frequently thought about death. His death, at least.

~~~~~~

Chasing ghosts, chasing dreams

What is next? What might be?

Never content, always hungry

Overlook this moment and you'll be sorry

It was, unsurprisingly, Jazz who first brought it up, towards the end of high school.

“You’ve gotten taller!” She said, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“Uh, yeah? People do that?” Danny answered, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. People do.” She’d responded, giving him a Look.

“Jazz, Vlad’s aged. We already knew I would. We just don’t know what happens… later. As far as Vlad can tell from the tests he ran after his accident, he’ll still die, he just may live longer than expected, though. Everything’s fine.” Danny said, waving his hand boredly as though brushing the topic away. Sure, death was something he often thought about, there wasn’t really any avoiding it with how injured he got - even if he did disregard the whole half-ghost-half-dead-kid thing. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d live long enough to have a natural death regardless, not with how often he got his ass handed to him, even if that was growing less and less often. He frequently thought about death.

His death, at least.

Don't take the ones you love for granted, not for a second

If you do you've got the rest of your life left to regret it

You're gonna miss these days, I hope you never forget it

The present is precious

It was in his mid-20s, after successfully completing college and graduating easily, his secret long since exposed, that he realized he loved Sam and Tucker more than anything else in the world. They had been roommates their entire college career and when it came time to leave, he didn’t want to. He’d lost track of the number of times they’d ended up all sleeping in one person’s bed, platonically snuggling into each other as they studied and quizzed each other until they all succumbed to exhaustion.

He’d felt nothing but relief when, three days before they were all set to go their own ways, Sam called a meeting and disclosed she felt the same way, Tucker and Danny’s confessions following. 

It helped that being ‘weird’ or doing things an uncommon way was just a state of life for the trio at this point. Side effect of one of them being a ghost superhero and his friends. So all loving each other… it had come easily. Sleeping every night in the same bed, swathed in love and happiness, was just that - easy.  

You get one life, one chance

Give it everything 'cause this is all we have

If this day was your last

Could you hold your head high? Could you live with that?

So take it in, just embrace the adrenaline

This is sacred, we'll never get it back again

It was in their 30s, when they started genuinely discussing adopting a child, that the realization hit. Danny had stopped growing. While lines and the occasional gray hair had begun to show on his lovers, Danny’s face remained unchanged. No laugh lines, no wrinkles, nothing. Still, they kept their belief that it was just Danny aged slowly.

The topic of kids never came back up. Danny always felt like that was his fault, despite Sam and Tucker’s constant reassurances otherwise.

Wasted time, wasted love

What you have now, why can't that be enough?

What you're most terrified to lose

Take it for granted when it's right in front of you

Jack would be the first person Danny ever truly lost. Sure, he’d lost his grandparents as a child, but he barely knew them. But this was his father, who had lifted him above his head and ran around while Danny pretended to be a rocket. Who helped him with his homework, who wholeheartedly accepted Danny when he’d come out to them - both as a ghost and as having two lovers.

Who didn’t listen when his doctors told him he needed to take better care of his health, who didn’t lay off the fudge when they suggested it.

His father’s grave was the first Danny had ever stood next to and sobbed, beside his sister and mom, Sam and Tucker trying to soothe him in a situation that knew only grief. Danny and Jazz had handled the burial, the finances, letting their mother grieve the loss of the love of her life.

Yeah, you're such a slave to anxiety

Your future, your past, pulling you away

It made you so blind, now that must change

'Cause right now with who you love, this is everything

Maddie didn’t outlive Jack by more than a few months. She went peacefully in her sleep at home, at least, didn’t have to suffer through heart failure in a hospital until her last breath.

Danny had taken over the funeral arrangements for his mother, burying her beside his father. Jazz kept trying to help but he could practically feel her pain and grief every time she tried to do so. There was more to do with their mother’s passing. With both parents gone, it fell to their kids to close bank accounts, to notify friends, to sort through documents upon documents, to decide what to do with the house, which had long since been transformed back into a normal family home, when even Maddie could no longer chase ghosts. They knew Danny would do it, after all. They’d had faith in him - in Phantom - even before Danny had confessed. It had been their slow acceptance of his ghost side that had allowed him the confidence to tell them, after all.

When he stood over his father’s grave again, now with his mother’s headstone beside it, he hadn’t even been able to hold himself up on his own two feet. Sam and Tucker had been just as instrumental then as they had been every other time in his life.

You get one life, one chance

Give it everything 'cause this is all we have

If this day was your last

Could you hold your head high? Could you live with that?

So take it in, just embrace the adrenaline

This is sacred, we'll never get it back again

Vlad lived almost another decade beyond Danny’s parents. It was only a few months before Vlad passed that the three of them - now nearly fifty - had to accept fact.

Danny had stopped aging. He forever looked like a college student. Sam and Tucker had begun to pull away from him. He just looked too young and it made them uncomfortable. He’d understood, when they began to pull physical intimacy away from him. He couldn’t blame them.

He’d forever be grateful they never asked him to stop curling up in the bed with them, long since used to the chill of his core, safe with the people he loved.

Vlad’s best guess was since Danny’s fusion with the ectoplasm had been so much smoother, so much more instantaneous than Vlad’s own, is why Danny stopped aging while Vlad continued. Danny was truly half and half - Vlad wasn’t.

Again, Danny was the one left handling the funeral and Vlad’s substantial wealth. Vlad had mellowed out towards the end of Danny’s high school career and they had bonded in that time. Vlad had genuinely become something of an uncle or godfather in Danny’s life. At least Vlad had a will. Danny mainly just had to sign off on some papers occasionally.

When he cried over this grave, Sam and Tucker to either side of him, he mourned more than just Vlad. He was the only halfa in the world, he was the only one of a species. And as he watched his friends, the two people he loved most in the world, age, he feared when he would be entirely alone. Even at fourteen, he’d known the consequences of immortality and been relieved he wouldn’t have to face them.

Now he was facing eternity on his own and he didn’t know what to do.

In this moment, will you live?

Embrace the unknown, your past forgive?

Every minute's a priceless gift

It's all yours, so what you gonna do with it?

Jazz’s funeral was the first he didn’t have to help with, allowed to just grieve. Her son - already in his thirties, Danny remembered when he was born - had handled everything, allowing Danny to simply be. Her son had been confused by Danny, he hadn’t met his uncle since he was a young child. That had been a decision Jazz and Danny had come to together, as ghosts faded back to myth, as his identity fell into legend.

He had never met any of her other children, all born later, though Jazz had made sure to keep him up to date on everything in her life. So he couldn’t blame them for staring at him - an apparent 20-something year old man sobbing until he couldn’t breathe over their mother’s grave.

If they recognized him from her wedding pictures, from where he’d been best man, they didn’t mention it.

Danny couldn’t help but avoid Jazz’s second son. Named Daniel, in honor of Jazz’s lost brother. In honor of him.

Don't take the ones you love for granted, not for a second

You're gonna miss these days, yeah, the present is precious

When Tucker died, Danny thought he would, too, his core ached so deeply. They’d known it was coming. Tucker had gotten pneumonia and fallen and in his advanced age - nearly eighty five now - his odds had never looked good.

Danny hated how helpless he felt then, waiting for the man he loved to die, watching him wither away the longer he was in the hospital - somewhere Tucker hated so fiercely. It was a small miracle he’d never really regained true consciousness after the fall. He’d have hated this so much. 

He had so much power yet he could do nothing against human illness, against the march of time, no matter how much he pleaded with Clockwork, how much he begged to not be left behind.

He’d lived long enough, he was ready to rest. Over eighty years was a good run, he’d had a good life.

“I’m sorry, child,” Clockwork had said, and Danny believed him. “I cannot intervene. Even Pariah Dark could not kill you now. You are strong and your core is long matured. Everything will be okay.”

Still, that didn’t keep him from crying when he was in Tucker’s room as the heart monitor flatlined and never restarted.

You get one life, one chance

Give it everything 'cause this is all we have

If this day was your last

Could you hold your head high? Could you live with that?

So take it in, just embrace the adrenaline

This is sacred, we'll never get it back again

Sam went next, several years later. Every time he’d had to fill out paperwork for her, listing himself as a family friend instead of what he was - her husband, her lover - his heart had broken. But she was over ninety when she died. And he was forever twenty five.

He’d buried them beside each other, just like his parents had been. They’d spent their entire lives together, after all. It made sense for their bodies to rest near each other forever.

“Well, that turn out was more than I expected.” Sam said to his side, pulling Danny from the graves at his feet. He turned to her and smiled. Death had returned her to her youth and she grinned at him, floating a few feet to his side, clad in clothes made of plants, gently coaxing some flowers out of the ground.

“I still had more!” Tucker protested to his other side and Danny laughed. While Tucker had accepted the pharaoh aesthetic upon his death, he still looked like an ancient Egyptian mixed with Technus, technology even now his third love (after Sam and Danny, who tied for first, of course, he insisted).

“Yeah, ‘cuz they hadn’t died yet!” Sam shot back. “You can’t compare it when half the people we knew have kicked the bucket since your funeral!”

Comfort surrounded Danny, filled the air. They had stayed, they had clung to life so fiercely after death, just so he wouldn’t be alone. And as soon as Sam had died, Clockwork had arrived and married them the way they never could have in life.

“Oh shut up, guys,” Danny joked, rolling his eyes and jumping up, letting his transformation to Phantom slide over him. “Let’s go home.”

As the three flew away, playfully chasing and dodging each other, Danny let himself feel a comfort he hadn’t in fifty years, finally no longer being left behind, and remembered what Clockwork had said at the end of the trio’s ghostly wedding.

He’d placed his hand on Danny’s shoulders and smiled. “I told you everything would be okay.”

One life, one chance

So take it in, just embrace the adrenaline

If this day was your last

This is sacred, we'll never get it back again

Song: Sacred - Citizen Soldier

[thehumanistcrusader]

I don't think we realize just dangerous Silver Snow could be for Byleth as a character.

(EDIT: Changed the title to reflect the headcanon-esque nature of this post.)

In the other three routes, Byleth has the house leaders to anchor themselves down when they receive their divine powers. In Azure Moon and especially Verdant Wind, they are able to maintain their humanity despite their rise to godhood because they have those bonds, and in Crimson Flower, they end up losing their powers altogether. But Silver Snow? Oh, Silver Snow is a whole other ball game.

In Silver Snow, Edelgard, who in another timeline would have been the one to relieve Byleth of their divinity and perhaps even fill their life with love and compassion, instead turns on them, leaving to fulfill her own ideals. Dimitri ends up going insane from his own demons and dies at Gronder, likely not in a very nice way, too. Claude is forced to leave Fodlan for Almyra in order to save himself. Worse yet, all the other students who weren't lucky enough to join Byleth are likely dead as well.

And Rhea, the one person they've been holding out for this whole time, the one person that they had hoped would be able to turn things around, is either dead, or has retired to Zanado. Byleth was just beginning to show their humanity, to warm their stone cold heart, and what did they get for it? Nothing. Their home is ravaged by war, so many of their students, their friends are dead, and the ones that did make it out will never get to see their dear Professor grow old alongside them. Even Cyril, the youngest voiced character in the entire game, will be nothing but a blink to the immortal Byleth. Sure, Seteth and Flayn are still there, and maybe Macuil and Indech could be convinced to come hang out at Gareg Mach, but even these 4 are nothing compared to the 40+ friends that Byleth has lost.

A major part of Byleth's story is the relationship between their humanity and their divinity. Azure Moon and Verdant Wind manage to strike a balance, albeit leaning towards human and divine respectively. The Black Eagle routes, then, are the extremes. In Crimson Flower, Byleth sacrifices their divinity to embrace their humanity, finding themselves in the loving arms of close friends, and perhaps eventually, family. In Silver Snow, what does Byleth do when almost everyone they know is dead, and they must now shoulder the responsibility of leading Fodlan for all eternity? Simple. They reject their humanity, and with it the memories of happier days, and embrace their divine nature wholeheartedly. There is no longer Byleth, there is only The Enlightened One.

Fodlan is transformed into a theocracy, ruled eternally by The Enlightened One, who rules with daft precision and perfection. Thanks to the technology from Shambala, Fodlan is transformed into a technological paradise. Every building is self-powered, all foods is grown in buildings with perfect conditions, all jobs are handled by machines. There is no disease, because The Enlightened One heals all the sick. There is no crime, because The Enlightened One rains divine judgement on those who sin. There is no war, because The Enlightened One destroys all who threaten Fodlan.

However, just as The Enlightened One guards those under the wings, so too do they strike down any from outside. Under their rule, Fodlan becomes even more isolationist, to the point where had folks like Petra or Claude tried to enter Fodlan, they would have been chased off like savage bears outside of one's house, because to The Enlightened One, that is essentially what they are: savage beasts threatening their precious home.

Fodlan becomes a perfect world, and yet, because of this, there is no growth, no change, no evolution. The Enlightened One has become a cold, apathetic, and pragmatic ruler in their rejection of humanity. Fodlan becomes cold, stale, emotionless, blanketed forever...

...in silver snow.