#THREE. THOUSAND. WORDS.

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[bisclavret]

like many who have suffered at the hands of bbc merlin before me, i recently indulged in a thought experiment in which i outlined my own version of seasons 3-5 that stay thematically and tonally in line with the show (except they're less fucking stupid). but then i quickly realized that focusing on details is pointless: all you need is to solve the one Big Problem the show has, and the rest will follow. the problem in question? ✨morgana✨

i like the first two seasons. s1 achieves what it sets out to do and has fun while doing it, and s2, while flawed, sets up a ton of potential that the following seasons unfortunately squander, beginning with the insidious season 3. you can only distract me with cute knights and goblins and fart jokes for so long before i start seeing through you, evil, evil season of television.

my hypothesis is that if the writers had crafted s3 morgana into anything more sympathetic than a violent half-alive poltergeist that can never be reasoned with because she's suddenly terminally off her rocker, everything would've fallen into place. a sympathetic morgana would've made real, valid arguments against uther (and arthur) that wouldn't just be the ramblings of a woman possessed. her betrayal of arthur would have stemmed from her feeling increasingly morally superior to him because of his complacency in the face of their father's tyranny. under morgause's guidance she would stop believing that arthur is capable of change, and the whole point would be that she might actually be right. arthur would have to actively try and prove her wrong, instead of getting praised for doing the bare minimum because the bar is on the floor.

furthermore, morgana's prophetic dream about arthur and gwen becoming king and queen and her decision to prevent this however she can is a direct parallel to merlin learning about that same prophecy and making it happen by any means necessary. merlin's desires about his and arthur's futures are subtextually fueled by gay love and devotion, so why couldn't morgana's be? why couldn't she properly express her bitterness that arthur gets to be with gwen in a way she can't "took gwen away" from her, instead of suddenly declaring that gwen is nothing more than a servant, after two seasons of demonstrating again and again that she loves, values, and respects gwen more than anyone else in that godforsaken castle?

following this, an angry and emotionally volatile but still sensible morgana asking gwen to stay by her side during the coup of the castle in the s3 finale and gwen going behind her back to help arthur and the knights would've hurt like a bitch. double-sided betrayal! gwen having a real plot! the proper beginnings of a toxic yuri that would shape a generation!

then there's the utter hubris of having morgana shoot arrows at the same civilians she worried herself sick over for 2 seasons — even morgan, her medieval counterpart that was rooted in every sexist trope in existence, doesn't just go around killing senselessly but instead has (often petty!) personal vendettas against gwen, arthur, and the knights. morgana had every right to be sick of the pretensions around chivalry in camelot (she was always quick to mock it, even in s1), and to lash out at the knights and soldiers after years of feeling powerless in a castle full of armed men that blindly followed her oppressor. the show conveniently forgets that morgana was victimized as a woman as well as a sorcerer those first 2 seasons.

but like i said, this is not just about morgana. allowing her to remain a real and multifaceted character even as she betrays everyone in pursuit of her ambitions would've given the rest of the core four more interesting conflict to work with: merlin because he would have to experience real consequences to his actions, arthur because he would watch his sister go against his father (and his knights, and his birthright) and experience some actual internal dilemmas about it, and gwen because she would be forced to choose between morgana and arthur without the pretense that it's an obvious or easy choice for her to make.

even morgause and gaius would come off more interesting as mentors: neither one inherently evil or inherently good, both jaded by events that happened before our protagonists were even born, both heavily influencing morgana and merlin into fulfilling roles that they think are appropriate, but that morgana and merlin may not have chosen for themselves had they not been under their care.

you get the gist. if the show followed its own setup, morgana's mistakes wouldn't lie in cheap and senseless acts of violence but in alienating the people she loves because she is too hurt and jaded to trust them. meanwhile, everybody else would feel guilt over "failing" her and yet they would be too caught up in their own (sometimes flawed!) beliefs of right and wrong to truly see her point of view.

arthur would convince himself it was sorcery that corrupted her. merlin would know that isn't true but he wouldn't be able to argue without confessing everything, which is the defining conflict between him and morgana and it's cheapened when she's just an evil witch caricature and merlin is framed as inherently virtuous in contrast. gwen, too, would become a more active participant in her own life by choosing arthur over morgana and choosing to rule camelot with him instead of just waiting politely to see where things go.

and, of course, uther's downfall and death would be quick, final, and completely earned — when and why did the show even decide he of all people was the sympathetic villain, anyway?

lastly, and perhaps controversially, i think morgana should've learned merlin's true identity by season 4. her being the first of the main characters to find out makes perfect sense considering their shared history and their interconnected and mirrored arcs. even the show seems to agree, considering she does find out a little before arthur. but the narrative itself tried pointing flashing neon arrows towards this way earlier — there is a whole entire episode in s4 where merlin being emrys is repeatedly spelled out for morgana and she still isn't allowed to see it. that episode makes her look like the stupidest person to ever live, which is pretty funny im not gonna lie, but also another frustrating thing in the endless string of frustrating things that make up this show.

morgana learning that merlin has magic would've transformed the source of merlin's anxiety from a crippling fear of being outed someday to the crippling fear of knowing she could out him at any moment. this would make him want to beat her to the punch (perhaps he'd consider killing her for a minute and decide against it because she isn't a cartoonishly insane evil person in my version of events) and maybe he would even feel some tentative excitement at the idea of coming clean, now that it seems inevitable. after all, he always intended to tell arthur eventually! and i think gaius would have to admit outright that he does not want merlin to tell arthur he has magic because he, gaius, simply cannot risk such a gamble. it would be so interesting to see gaius and merlin clash and disagree once it becomes obvious that it's not merlin that isn't ready for the reveal, it's gaius. delicious!

with morgana's knowledge looming, things would inevitably spiral into a magic reveal by the end of season 4. i picture this season as an absolute mess of miscommunication between everyone at camelot, which is, y'know, canon. growing increasingly cunning and vengeful, morgana would use this tension to her advantage, destabilizing the court from the outside while she creates alliances with other sorcerers outside of camelot (instead of living alone in a hovel for no reason — morgana le fay i'm sorry i'm so sorry they gave you agravaine instead of your all-female entourage oh my god).

and here's where the events would change beyond recognition (aka here's where the meta becomes the fanfic i refuse to write). picture it with me: a militia of sorcerers infiltrates camelot and arthur and gwen have to set aside their differences (assuming gwen kissing lancelot and arthur overreacting happens, which it should) for the good of the kingdom as well as for love. picture high priestess morgana in her element, side by side with a bunch of misfit sorcerers that aren't so easily vilified, chopping down camelot's soldiers and knights and assuredly making their way to the newly-minted king.

then, just as it starts to seem that all hope is lost, in swoops merlin (the actual merlin, not his old fart disguise) on dragonback (kilgharrah hates morgana so much i know his sexist ass would stoop to anything to stop her)!!! imagine merlin showing off the extent of his powers in front of everyone and preventing the sorcerers from getting any further, declaring loud and clear that camelot is protected by him, by emrys. imagine that display of power alone being enough to send everyone home.

imagine the loyalties clearly drawn: merlin on arthur's side, morgana on the sorcerers'. imagine arthur, feeling confused and betrayed by everyone at this point, banishing merlin despite everything he's done for him in the angstiest, most emotionally dysregulated scene the show had ever put to screen. imagine merlin starting season 5 free at last but very lonesome, an embittered dragonlord like his father. imagine the absolute mess camelot would become without him, even with gwen — now queen guinevere — there to pick up the slack. imagine arthur actually earning merlin back, finally growing into his role as king as he does so. imagine the reunion.

all this and more could've been not just possible but inevitable if morgana was allowed to remain a complex character that is neither inherently good nor inherently evil: it was undeniably the biased and one-note treatment of morgana's downfall by the writers that set the precedent for literally everything else that happened after merlin chose to poison her. the show wouldn't have even had to jeopardize its tone or the monster-of-the-week vibe, all it would've had to do is admit that even the "good guys" are capable of mistakes and what makes them good is the ability to feel remorse and change for the better. (as opposed to uther, who was miles beyond redemption since way before the pilot and deserved to lose everything and die alone. OBVIOUSLY???)

in a world where morgana remains multifaceted and sympathetic, mordred would get a better arc as well, so if we really wanted to, we could still end on the same tragic note that the show ended on. with so much harm inflicted onto so many innocent people by the pendragons for so long (including mordred and the many druids and sorcerers that raised him), it could realistically end up being a little too late for anything more than one shining glimpse of king arthur and the sorcerer merlin's short-lived golden age before fate catches up to them. glimpsing that reality just to immediately lose it would've been far more satisfying and far more tragic than whatever the writers thought they were doing with all that pointless carrot-dangling.

and finally, an ending in line with morgana's new and improved arc. in this version, rather than bleeding out on the forest floor alone, she would channel the morgan le fay we know from the legends: sobered up by the reality of her brother dying, she would use her high priestess status (and perhaps also her pendragon status) to be granted passage over to avalon alongside arthur on the boat — a one-way ride — just to make sure he gets there safely. this is her penance for the harm she has caused, the same way arthur's penance is to die and leave the true ruler of camelot (gwen) behind to achieve everything he was too slow and indecisive to build while he still had time.

merlin's penance, then, would be to stay behind and watch them cross over without him, waiting and waiting and waiting until they come back or until he can finally join them. which is a bit fucking harsh if i'm honest, so i'd at least make it slightly more faithful to the legends by having him return as an old man and letting him take a long nap under a tree by the shore, his body slowly enveloped by vines like the cobwebbed fisher king in 3x08, never fully sure if he's dreaming or if there really are strange shapes fading in and out of the fog over the lake. still tragic, but nevertheless a little more open-ended and whimsical than [TRUCK NOISES] THE END!

[capriciouslyterminal]

All I want…is for Pete to have a white streak in his hair where Wiggly touched him. Okay? Is that too much to ask? For the drama???

[conundrumoftime]

My Haladriel fics

I haven't grouped all these together before, so here's a collection of all the complete Haladriel fics I've written so far since October '22. Cannot believe it's been almost two years!

(Some of these fics also feature Celeborn/Galadriel, Celeborn/Sauron or all of them together, because I like a) Celeborn b) multishipping and c) mess. I'll make it clear here which stories those are, so if Celeborn is not your guy or if multishipping confuses or distresses you then that's! fine! just please don't read those ones and then be weird to me about it in the comments.)

Multi-chapter fics

Shadow-Bride (E, 265k words): This is my long long longfic, started in December of '22 and now complete after 43 chapters. Canon-divergence from the middle of s1.

Banquets have burned for you (M, 24k words): Written for eastwynds for the spring '23 Haladriel fic exchange, where the prompt was "one thing happens differently on Númenor, and everything changes." Went heavy on the Greek tragedy influence for this one because it felt fitting for Númenor.

A man is a god in ruins (E, 21k words): At the time this was the longest story I'd ever written and the first multi-chapter story I'd finished since the LiveJournal days. How things change! Canon-divergence from the very end of s1; what if Halbrand decided to leave Eregion before Galadriel got suspicious?

All the kinds of alive you can be (E, 13k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel, also Celeborn/Sauron/Galadriel): so loads of us have written "what if Sauron shapechanged into Celeborn to seduce Galadriel"; this is "what if Sauron shapechanged into Galadriel to seduce Celeborn, because he's furious with her and obsessed with her and sort of wants to be her all at the same time"?

So Wide a Sea (E, 6k words, also Galadriel/Celeborn): After Sauron's final defeat in the War of the Ring Galadriel remembers a long-ago day on Númenor.

One-shot fics

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed (T, 6000 words): the first Haladriel fic I ever wrote, of five scenarios of Galadriel learning his name. 'Shadow-Bride' is a continuation of one of these five; 'A man is a god in ruins' is the '...and one time it didn't.'

Tar-Mairon of the Shire (G, 3000 words): entire fix-it fluff, probably more '&' than '/', Hobbits make everything better including Dark Lords.

Tempered (M, 3600 words): written for @thecoziestbean for the spring '24 Haladriel fic exchange.

And white winter, on its knees (M, 1800 words): written for the Haladriel Winter Solstice '23, a what-if Galadriel said yes to Sauron's offer story.

Weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels (M, 4000 words): written for Haladriel Week '24. A little moment after the Tirharad battle and before the volcano.

I have loved flowers that fade (M, 1700 words): they deserved to have at least one nice time in Eregion before she found out who he was!

Weighed Against Our Future (T, 1800 words): A delirious (or is he?) Halbrand on the road to Eregion.

Shine (T, 3300 words) and its sequel Lady of the Seas (E, 3700 words): Halbrand makes Galadriel's armour on Númenor.

Silver Queen (M, 3600 words): my first 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' story, sort of a Haladriel fic and sort of a fix-it for Celebrían.

Civil Twilight (M, 10k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel): for Haladriel Week '23. A 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' and 'what if Galadriel finds her missing husband?' story combined.

The turn of the tide (T, 1700 words): For Haladriel Week '23. In the Fourth Age after travelling back to Valinor, Galadriel still feels called to the sea.

Though I sang in my chains like the sea (T, 3000 words): For Haladriel Week '23. They were on that ep2 raft for a while; so this is a gapfiller of them getting to know each other better. Or not.

Blood Sugar (M, 7000 words): the only time I've ever done a modern AU, and even then it doesn't really count because he's still literal Sauron in it. Anyway: Glasgow, professional disillusionment, and difficult relationships with your history.

Ficlets under 1000 words

You built a nest inside my soul, you rest your head on leaves of gold (M, 800 words); Numenor alleyway smut.

How shall summer's honey breath hold out (M, 600 words): and why shouldn't Galadriel get to command an army and have a nice time with the enemy general while heavily pregnant.

Gilded (G, 550 words): another 'what if she said yes on the raft' fic

Not for all my little words (T, 775 words) s1 ep8, Elrond-POV on Galadriel and her weird new friend in Eregion.

Miscellaneous fics:

Half-Maia Celebrían short fics: Suo Gân (G, 1000 words), Arda Sahta (G, 1100 words), As Little Might Be Thought (T, 2600 words). All these are Galadriel/Celeborn (and the last one is also Celebrían/Elrond) and Sauron isn't really in them, but they're all about the impact of that being his child.

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark (T, 1700 words) - another 'what if Sauron impersonates Galadriel?' fic, this time featuring baby half-Maia Amroth.

Silmarillion rather than TROP: As certain dark things are loved (M, 8000 words, also Galadriel/Celeborn, also Galadriel/Celeborn/Sauron), for @softlighter for the Sufficiently Advanced '24 exchange. Annatar in 2nd Age Ost-in-Edhil.

[starry-bi-sky]

tick tock

Highkey dedicating this to @watercolour-carnations bc they sent me an ask about my 'danny is thomas wayne' au and singlehandedly revitalized my brainrot for it. Apparently the quickest way to a starry's heart is through their ask box

Now posted on ao3 under the name 'dniwer eht kcolc'!

In hindsight, hosting a science exhibit was probably not the best idea that Bruce has ever. This wasn't even one of Bruce's galas and, yet he was still attending because it gave him the opportunity to scope out any potential rogues (or henchmen).

Damian was by his side, and Tim was on the other side of the room, inspecting some of the other inventions under the prospect of gaining new hires for R&D at WE. Something that was not entirely false. Bruce could always use new, bright minds working to make Gotham a better place.

He was, particularly, eyeing up one moderately-sized invention that a woman with cutting blue eyes and stark white hair had covered with a white sheet. An interesting choice when everyone else had already revealed their own inventions. Drifting closer with Damian, he smiles charmingly at the scientist when they lock eyes.

"And what is this interesting contraption?" He asks, looking over the sheet as if it was the invention itself and not what was underneath.

The woman curled purple-painted fingers around the sheet, yanking it down to reveal a machine that looks like a mix of a jukebox and a grandfather clock. A long wire was attached to it, and a strange, blinking, circlet-like device connected on the other end.

Bruce's brows rose considerably, and he could sense Damian's eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"This is my Holographic Memory Machine -- the name is still a work in progress -- it's a memory machine meant to allow anyone to relive their memories right in front of them, even the ones they don't remember." The woman says with a smile, her name card reads 'Dr. Casey W. Kairos'. He's never heard of her before. An out-of-townie, perhaps?

"Interesting." Bruce's hands fold behind his back and he looks down at his disinterested son, and then back up to Dr. Kairos. It sounded harmless, but even a pencil could be harmless until enough force was put into it. "How does that work?"

Dr. Kairos walks over and holds up the strange circlet device, "The user wears this headband. It scans their brainwaves and then plays a memory of their choice right in front of them like a hologram, including any voices that came with it." She explains, showing it off to Bruce and Damian. "Would either of you like to try it? The HMM has been tested and it is completely safe."

Damian scoffs and turns to him, "This is a waste of time, father," He says, "let's move on."

"Oh, don't be like that, Dames." Bruce smiles genially, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezing it. It reminds him of when his father used to do the exact same thing, and he turns to Dr. Kairos. "I can try it, Doctor."

Kairos smiles widely, looking incredibly pleased. "Come stand here then, Mr. Wayne. I can get the HMM up and working." She gestures to a spot on the floor within the circlet's range, and Bruce goes and does as told.

"Standing around and looking pretty is my specialty, Doctor Kairos." He jokes as she gets the device situated on his head. It sits on his forehead snugly, and tucks behind his ears. Kairos snorts and turns to get the machine activated.

"Father." Damian says, indignant and scowling. His arms crossed over his chest petulantly. Bruce chuckles at him.

"The Doctor said it was perfectly safe, Damian." He admonishes lightly, wagging a finger at him. "I trust the good lady to know what she's doing." Not really, but he'd rather test it out on himself if it was unsafe.

Thirty seconds passed with Dr. Kairos working on flicking on the HMM, and when it came alive it came with a low hum and a distinct, ticking like noise. "Ah, there we go." She hums, stepping away. "It's up and working, Mister Wayne. Just think of a memory and let the HMM do the rest."

"Thank you, Doctor." Bruce nods at her, and then tries to think of what to let the machine show. Nothing that would give away his identity as Batman, of course not. Nothing incriminating.

He looks to Damian, who still looked very unhappy with him. Perhaps a memory of one of his boys in the manor? Or a Brucie Wayne moment that everyone's seen. His brows furrow in thought. One of his speeches?

...No. No, he has an idea.

Immediately, the HMM begins to hum louder, the ticking drowned out by the sound of its fans kicking in. It starts drawing the attention of the other ongoers, and Damian steps to Bruce's side as a crowd begins to form.

"What is that thing?"

"What's it doing?"

"Is it safe?"

Hushed whispers scatter around them as more and more people abandon the other stalls in favor of seeing whatever spectacle was happening. Tim appears as well, pushing his way through the crowd and situating himself by Damian and Bruce.

"What's going on?" He whispers with a frown, looking between Bruce and Damian.

Damian hmphs, "Father is trying out this woman's 'Memory Machine'."

Just when Bruce is starting to think the machine doesn't work, he hears a sound that silences the spectators. A piano note. A singular note, followed by another, and another. Right before Bruce's eyes, the air shimmers, and a projection of his father sitting at the grand piano appears before him.

His breath hitches in his throat. He remembers this. He remembers this piece. It was father's favorite.

Damian and Tim are stiff at his side, and Bruce hears the crowd gasp.

There, sitting on the floor at the bench, is Bruce himself at six years old. He's resting his arms on it, and leaning his head on his arms with a look of pure adoration -- did he really look like that? -- aimed at his father.

There's no talking between them, a content silence as Thomas Wayne fills the air with his piano playing. That is-- until he stops midway through the piece, fingers stopping the keys with a abrupt jerk.

Thomas laughs, quiet and full of love, and little Bruce picks his head up with an affronted frown. "Why'd you stop? I like listening to you play."

"I know you do." Thomas says, his voice is as soothing as Bruce remembers it to be. The memory twists to look at little Bruce with a blinding smile, as if he was looking at his whole world. It's the first time in decades that Bruce has seen his father smiling like-- like that. His eyes involuntarily sting.

"But how can you hear so well when you're all the way down there?" Thomas shifts, and pats an open space on the bench. "Come sit up here, Boo. I can teach you to play."

(Thomas Wayne was always fond of pet names, he had plenty of them for Bruce, and he used them at every opportunity.)

Little Bruce perks up, "Really?" He grins, and then clambers into the bench. His father's arms wrap around him.

The voices fade as the memory slowly begins to collapse, and Bruce feels a spike of panic in his heart before the memory is replaced by another one.

He's younger, probably four years old, being sprayed down by a hose by his father. Little Bruce is squealing with laughter, trying to swat the water away like a fly, and his clothes are drenched.

Thomas is laughing as well, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks like he just came home from a business meeting. Bruce always thought he was old when he was little. But at four years old, Thomas Wayne is only a little over twenty. Barely an adult. He is twenty-four when he dies. He was so young.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Little Bruce squeals, trying to run out of the line of fire, but Thomas Wayne has a sharp eye, and the hose in his hands follow Bruce no matter where he goes.

Until finally Thomas drops the hose and runs towards Bruce, who is trying to recover from being sprayed down with ice cold water. Thomas reaches him before he has time to move, and scoops him up in his arms.

He is laughing loudly and boisterously, spinning them both around as Bruce clings to him for dear life, laughing with him. The memory fades away, and Bruce feels like there are hands around his throat trying to choke him.

A new one shows up, one he doesn't remember at all. His father is younger than before, a teenager, and he's holding a tiny bundle in his arms. He looks like he's on the verge of tears, hunched over it like a shield.

Someone, a girl with gothic attire, peers over his shoulder. "Gosh, Tom, a baby? That's a lot of responsibility." She says, dark-lipstick lips painted downwards in a frown. "And right after you've disowned your parents too?"

Another boy looks around Thomas with a similar frown and an uncertain look, "Yeah man, I'm with Sam on this one -- for once. You don't even have anywhere to live."

Thomas doesn't look like he's even paying attention, utterly smitten with the baby -- its himself, Bruce realizes -- he's cradling. "Look at him though, guys," he breathes, "he's so tiny. Have you seen his little watercolor eyes?"

(Watercolor eyes. Bruce had long since forgotten about that nickname his father gave him. hearing him say it is like a punch to his stomach.)

"You named him Bruce?"

Bruce huffs to himself, an involuntary smile twitching at his mouth as the memory dips again and cycles through another memory he recognizes.

The memories it shows are sporadic, with no chronological order to them other than each and every one is a happy one.

Bruce playing piano with his father.

Bruce stargazing with his father.

Bruce being carried on his father's shoulders.

Bruce getting ready for a gala with his father.

Bruce in the kitchen helping his dad make breakfast (there's pancake flour smeared on his cheek).

Bruce making a snowman with his father.

An apology between Bruce and his father in the form of a piano duet.

There are even a few memories he doesn't remember. Some of them are when he's old enough to, but many are when he's a baby. Some are before his father was adopted by the Waynes, when the only thing on their backs was a raggedy backpack and an oversized sweatshirt, and Bruce's baby blanket. And some are after, where he's sitting in an antique rocking chair bottle feeding Bruce with a look of sheer adoration on his face.

That look never seems to go away, ever, in any of the memories.

Finally, the HMM settles on a final memory, one that makes Bruce's blood run cold and snaps him out of his nostalgic revelry. His father is getting ready in his room, and Bruce comes barreling in with his own suit-and-tie.

"Dad! Dad! Dad!" He chants, running to Thomas, who whirls around and picks him up seamlessly. They spin twice before Thomas settles in front of the mirror, Bruce on his hip as he adjusts his tie with one hand.

"Yes, boo?" Thomas grins, wide-splitting with his shock-blue eyes looking at Bruce in the reflection. He and Bruce have the same eyes. It's shocking how much they look like each other, now that Bruce was older.

Little Bruce makes a dramatic face, a look that only lasts a few seconds before he remembers his excitement. He wiggles in Thomas' arms, "You gotta hurry up! Or we'll be late to the movie!"

Bruce's fingers dig into his palm, and he can vaguely feel his sons' looking at him. There's a feeling of impending doom square in the center of his lungs, and he forces himself to look on.

Thomas laughs, and nuzzles Bruce's cheek. "The movie isn't going anywhere, chum, I promise." He says, before setting him down. Little Bruce pouts, his lower lip sticking out. "I know how much you've been looking forward to this."

"Can you help me with my tie then?" Bruce asks, and looks at his own, sloppily done tie around his neck. "I can never get it right."

And, of course, Thomas Wayne kneels down to redo it. He always did everything Bruce asked or wanted. He measures it, loops it, and then knots the tie perfectly.

"There." He says, and smoothes out Bruce's little jacket, smiling in adoration. "Now go play, I'll call you when it's time to go."

And Bruce does just that, running out of the room with a yell of, "You better promise!"

"I promise!" Thomas yells back, laughing at his son as he turns back to the mirror.

The memory shimmers, and changes to as they're leaving. And then and there does Bruce call it quits. His eyes are glistening, his tears nearly blinding him with the swelling, overwhelming grief in his heart. He looks away, and tries to find Doctor Kairos.

(He doesn't see her switch something on the side of the machine. There is no noticeable difference in the machine, but on the inside a time rune starts to glow.)

"I think I'm done here, Doctor." He says once he can find his voice without it shaking. He can't hide the full crack and tremble laying beneath it, but at least he doesn't cry. He's almost forgotten that he had a silent audience.

Doctor Kairos nods and steps forward, reaching for the headband. "The memories should cut off once I take this off, Mister Wayne." She says, and fiddles with it for a moment. Behind her, the memory of himself and his father are walking outside. "I hope that wasn't too much for you?"

(The ticking of the machine grows louder, and the memory glitches.)

"No, no." Bruce assures with a smile that wasn't all Brucie Wayne yet. He looks down when he feels Damian's hand curl around his, and his son leans into his side. His smile softens, and he presses Damian closer. His other arm finds itself over Tim's shoulders as well, pressing him to his side.

"It was fine. Actually, it was an honor to be the first to try out your memory machine. I'm sure it will help many people." He tells her. She smiles slyly, and slides the headband off his head.

"That's what I'm hoping for, Mister Wayne." Doctor Kairos places the headband onto the table. The memory hasn't disappeared, Bruce notes with a furrow of his brows. And the audio has muffled slightly.

"I thought you said that the memory would cut off when the headband was off?" He asks. Kairos looks at him, and then behind her at the memory. She frowns.

"It should have--"

Little Bruce suddenly frowns, and looks away from Thomas. "Do you hear that?"

Bruce frowns. "I don't remember this." That wasn't in his memory. They just went straight to Monarch Theater without any issue.

Thomas looks down at his son, "What noise?" He asks, squeezing Bruce's hand. His head cranes, as if trying to hear whatever noise Bruce was hearing.

"That ticking sound." Bruce's frown deepens, "It sounds like your clock, dad."

Thomas' immediately frowns, looking so strikingly like Bruce that he marvels for a moment. He looks around as well. "...You're right. I hear it too." He steps a little closer to Bruce, his hand tightening around his.

A sense of unease fills Bruce's lungs. "What's going on?" He asks, taking a step away from the memory. This was different. This isn't his memory.

"I'm not sure." Doctor Kairos says, and her unsurety sounds so practiced and calm that Bruce's suspicion levels to her immediately. His boys look at her too with the same unease. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

She strides around the memory to the side of the machine just as a gold symbol appears on the ground. It looks like a giant roman clock, and a loud, clunky ticking fills the room.

The memories see it too, and Bruce's heart drops to his feet as he and the rest of the crowd back away from it. "Dad, what is that?!" Little Bruce exclaims, a look of fear morphing across his face as he suddenly clings to his dad's leg.

Thomas looks pale, looking at his feet and gripping little Bruce to him protectively. "I don't-- I don't know, Bruce."

(A memory that Bruce doesn’t have is his father arguing with a man named Clockwork. He does not see the man named Clockwork all but beg Thomas not to go out tonight.)

("Does something happen to Bruce?" His father asks the ghost.)

("No," the man says, "but--")

("But nothing, Clockwork." Thomas, once Danny, says firmly. "My son has been looking forward to this all week. I'm not going to crush his hopes by changing my mind last minute.")

("Thomas, please.")

("Look, if something happens tonight, I will handle it, okay?" Thomas assures him, a hand atop Clockwork's shoulder with a small smile. "I promise.")

(And then he leaves, Clockwork defeated in his wake.)

(Clockwork has seen this boy grow up from the shadows, and now he can do nothing to stop his fate like he once did before.)

The strange, clock-like circle, something intrinsically magic, begins to glow. The minute and hour hands tick faster and faster. Little Bruce holds onto his father like a lifeline, and Thomas Wayne crouches down to hold his son tighter, protectively.

Bruce Wayne turns away just as the light grows blinding, tucking Tim and Damian into his chest like a human shield. There is yelling and screams as the crowd tries to stampede away from it.

Bruce has no idea what this light will do, but he'd rather die than let his sons get hurt.

The light burns his eyelids even when he isn't facing it. And when it dies without even a burn across his back, Bruce slowly unfurls. His hands stay on his sons' shoulders, keeping them close to him, and he peers over his shoulder.

There on his knees, is Thomas Wayne, curled protectively around eight year old Bruce Wayne, much like Bruce had been. Bruce holds his breath, and his sons slowly unfurl themselves as well and peer around him.

Thomas Wayne is frozen in place for one second, two seconds, three. And then he begins to move. First, the tension drains out of his shoulders, and his head jerks, as if surprised that nothing has happened.

He looks up, his eyes open, and he and Bruce make eye contact. Bruce cannot breathe, and he cannot believe the sight before him. It's just the memory machine breaking. (Doctor C.W Kairos is nowhere to be found.)

And then recognition flickers in his father's face as his panting slows and quiets. His head tilts to the side like a fawn's, a familiar wrinkle appearing before his brows.

"Bruce?"

[skepticalcatfrog]

I have a lot of feelings about Benedikt's grief in the first bit of Our Violent Ends and how he deals with it/how it affects his relationships with other people, but I don't know how to put it eloquently so I'll sum it up by saying I want that shit injected into my veins

[fever-project]

Royal Pains of Uncertainty

@breannasfluff’s Finish the Prompt LU style - Angst

In bold is what Breanna wrote for the prompt. The rest is my own writing. I’m used to only writing in past tense so it was a fun challenge to write in present tense. Making Wild be a bit self-deprecating in this for the extra  layer of angst. Also a lot of repetition. And yelling. I am also not used to writing angst. Everyone makes up in the end because I cannot write sad endings for anything.

The crack of an open palm on a face has Wild whipping around. Legend clutches his cheek, already blooming red, and Hyrule lets his hand fall. His fists are balled to his side and his chest heaves. 

The two were in an argument before this that was rapidly growing more heated, but what could have led to this? Hyrule usually comes across as meek compared to the others on the Chain. 

Yet Legend is shrinking into himself, like something the traveler said hurt him more than the slap.

“What happened?” Wild asks as he joins them. What could Legend have done to make Hyrule so upset?

Hyrule opens his mouth to answer before shutting it in an instant. He huffs, clenching his hands even harder as he whips around, stomping off towards the edge of the camp.

“Hey, Hyrule-Link, Wait!” Wild shouts out,but Hyrule ignores him. The traveler sits down against a tree, burying his head in his knees, gripping them tightly.

Wild looks over at Legend, the pained look he had now gone, replaced with a blank stare as his hand lightly grazes his hurt cheek. Legend suddenly straightens up, looking off into the quarter distance. Wild thinks about reaching out to him, but his hand likely would’ve gotten slapped away anyways.

Legend inhales sharply and shakily, softly cupping his own cheek and walking silently towards the center of the camp. He sits down on one of the logs and buries his face in his hands.

Wild was now alone, a few mushrooms in hand. He was just scavenging for them, wanting to make something nice for the three of them. The others had gone out to investigate a nearby dungeon, the three of them staying behind to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. They all promised to make sure that nothing bad would happen between the three of them.

And look at what happened when Wild broke that promise. He’d just tuned the other two out when they started arguing, because it’s not like it would lead to anything big right? Wild was a fool. He knows this well. He’s the greatest fool out of the group, surely.

That didn’t make it so he couldn’t fix the mess he could’ve stopped, however.

Food is the key to heart, as they say, and Wild already has some mushrooms quite literally in his hands, so he should make food with it, like he planned to. He also happens to have some rock salt in his Sheikah Slate. Salt-grilled mushrooms it is then!

Walking over to the cooking pot that was thankfully already set up, Wild gets to work, humming all the while. He notices Legend looking at him over to his left from the nearby log, head slightly upturned and eyes peaking through his fingers. His eyes were red and wet, clearly having been crying. A lot. Crying so quietly that even the moss he was sitting upon couldn’t have heard him. A skill no one should have to master, yet there Legend was. Wild’s heart stung at the sight, so he gave the veteran a little wave and smile to cheer him up, even only slightly, but the veteran immediately hid his face again.

Wild sighs and turns back to his food. He was a fast cook and this was such a simple dish, so he was almost done already. Looking up and over to where Hyrule is, he was still in the same position, but his head was up and looking away from the camp. Was he crying as well? Quietly as well? Was it a skill well mastered between the two? What had happened between them? Before all of this even? Who was in the wrong and who was in the right? Why did they have to be crying so quietly?

Well, Wild was definitely in the wrong for not paying attention to the other heroes. That was on him. But what in Hylia’s good name are they even fighting about? It was frustrating for him, to not know what was going on between his friends. His crying, heartbroken friends.

But now it was food time.

“Heeeey there Leggy boy,” Wild coos out to his nearby comrade. Said comrade looks up at Wild in confusion, a vague effigy of a smirk on his face. “Wanna have some salty shrooms? That have been grrriiiled?” The oddness of Wild’s current way of speaking makes Legend smirk even more, which was the intended outcome. Sometimes, random is funny. Sometimes.

“Yeah,” Legend answers as his voice cracks, “That’s fine, thanks.”

“No problem friendo,” Wild gives Legend a nice, hot plate of salt-grilled mushrooms. He prepares a plate for himself and a plate for Hyrule. There was a little extra, still in the pot, which was all going down Wild’s throat, obviously.

Holding onto Hyrule’s plate, Wild stands up and calls out to the pouting Link. He knows he was pouting because when the traveler turned around, he was indeed pouting. Hyrule says nothing and does nothing after that. Just blinks blankly at him. With his red, wet eyes.

Wild tries to call out to Hyrule again, taking a few steps towards him, “Heya Rules, you what else rules?” No reaction. “Food! Want some salt-grilled mushrooms? They’re salty~”

Hyrule mumbles something back before looking away. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Mister traveler,” Wild speaks in a singsongy voice, continuing to walk closer, “it’s eating time~. You need lots of food to grow big and strong~”

More mumbling from Hyrule. A bit louder this time, but Wild still has no idea what he’s saying. Wild groans. He gets even closer.

“I guess you just like acting like a big baby, don’t you?” Wild jokingly scoffs, “And here I thought you were an adult-“

“SHUT UP!” Hyrule screams, whipping his head around. His face is contorted with rage, glaring eyes seething with a rage Wild had never seen from his friend before. Directed at him before. The fury was short lived, Hyrule’s face almost immediately turning into one of regret. But the image was now burned into Wild’s mind, a clear, permanent picture.

Hyrule turns away from him again, the mumbled sorry I’m so sorry he repeats on and on reaching Wild’s ears. But Wild can’t get himself to say anything back. Opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish. A foolish fish that managed to beach himself on a single piece of sand in the middle of the ocean.

Wild’s face was hot. His hands hurt from how tightly he’s clutching what’s supposed to be Hyrule’s plate. Food, food’s the answer to everything. Yes, Wild just needed to make more food. He was the cook of the group. He’s the cook, yes. That’s what’s he good at, cooking, cooking food. The answer to everything. The key to the heart.

Wild walks back to the cooking pot. He sets the plate off to the side and eats his own food, both on his own plate and from the pot. It needs it to be empty after all, if he wanted to make more food. The mushrooms are good, but they were more salty than usual. He can’t see them that well, but that was okay. Food is the key to the heart, and healer of the soul. Wild continues to eat. He’s a quick eater. He’s finished in no time. He’s still hungry.

An angry shout erupted from the left of Wild. Legend throws himself off of the log, and as Wild rubbed his blurry eyes, he could still see the veteran’s furious face as clear as day. But he wasn’t angry at him, no, thankfully no. Legend stomps over to Hyrule, hunched slightly forward, hands clenched into fists. Hyrule shot up, a less angry look on his face, fear and unease filling in for where the rest of the anger would’ve gone.

“You’re a fucking jackass, you know that?” Legend spits at Hyrule, jabbing his finger into the traveler’s chest. Hyrule sputters, anger consuming the fear that had previously held its space.

“You’re the jackass here!” Hyrule shoots back, “You’re the one who started all of this!”

“You know what? Yeah, I did, I know that DAMN WELL!” Legend grips onto Hyrule’s tunic, “At least I wasn’t the one to make Wild CRY! YOU DID!” No, they can’t fight now, Wild didn’t get to make his food, his great food, the key to the soul food. Hyrule’s tearing up, Legend’s tearing up, it’s all Wild’s fault.

No.

No no no.

He can fix things. He was going to fix things.

With a soft, quiet voice, Wild starts to speak, “Al-“ his voice cracks, “Alright you two, break-“ he coughs, “-break it up.”

The two don’t hear him, it seems, as Hyrule begins to snap back. Wild doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t hear his friends be so angry at each and not even know why.

Hyrule shoves Legend away, hard. He stumbles back, surprise quickly being overtaken by even more anger. Hyrule starts to yell, “Well, YOU’RE a DAMNED asshole who-“

“BOTH OF YOU! SHUT! UP!” Wild screams, jumping up and accidentally snapping his wooden plate in half in his rage. It was fine, he had more plates. Sky’s okay with making more plates. Wild had no more patience for these two, however. His throat hurts. Yet he continues, “I am SICK! TIRED! Of the two of you acting like THIS!” The other two flinch in fear, their anger for each gone, albeit temporarily.

Wild was fixing things. Wasn’t he? He had to be, he’s going to fix things.

“Look, I don’t know what bullshit you two were spewing at each other, but can’t you two at least TRY to talk things out like GOSH. DAMN. REASONABLE PEOPLE?!” His throat hurts, his cheeks hurts, he was hurting. But not as much as his friends were hurting. He’s going to fix things.

“This isn’t cute, this isn’t a funny little hoo-ha, people are angry, people are sad, because you two! Who just…can’t be a degree of CALM! Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you?!”

They both nod, but they don’t seem to really understand. Wild is so very frustrated. He hates being so frustrated. He’s going to fix things. He has to.

“Alright, the both of you are going to sit down, right now.” The two shuffle in place, nervously unmoving. Why. Why are they like this? “You two don’t have to sit together, just sit the FUCK DOWN!” Now they rush to their seats, on logs opposite to each other, Legend to his left, Hyrule to his right.

Wild sighs, sitting down and rubbing his temples. He speaks in soft voice like before, so he wouldn’t hurt his throat any further, “I’m sorry for yelling at you two,” he looks at the both of them, who both refuse to look at each other, “And for being rude and mean to the both of you. I shouldn’t have done that, I just-I had felt like I wouldn’t be heard if I didn’t. I was worried someone would get hurt.” Hyrule recoils in on himself, hugging his knees in shame. No, he can’t let them get sad. Food. The key to the heart.

“Alright!” Wild claps his hands, “You pouting mcpout are going to eat your…” Wild looks up at the sky, deeming it to be almost nighttime, “…dinner. Yes, dinner. Leg’, did you finish you dinner?”

“N-no, I haven’t,” Legend responds in a similarly soft voice, “I’ll…I’ll do that now.”

“Good! Now Hyrule,” Wild shoves Hyrule’s plate at him, holding it in place until the traveler finally straightens up and takes it. “Make sure you eat up! And after this, you’ll get to have some cake! Carrot cake! Cake that’s made from carrots.” Wild gives them both a deranged smile as he happily waves his hands as he goes on about carrot cakes. He feels a bit loony right now, loony and tired. He’s not even sure why he suggested carrot cake, but that’s what he’s making now. Carrot cake.

Some Endura carrots, goat butter, cane sugar, and Tabantha wheat. For cake, carrot cake-

“I’m going ducking insane,” Wild groans, running his hands down his face.

“Ducking?” Legend scoffs lightly, a soft smile on his tear-stained face.

“I think I’ve sworn too much today,” Wild shifts into a thinking pose, “Swearing too much can devalue the feelings swearing can bring.”

“Philosophy’s fun,” Hyrule mumbles as he eats.

“Don’t talk with you mouth full huU-ugh, no, I can’t say that,” Wild says as he puts the ingredients into the pot, “I sound too much like a mom.”

“Yeah, you’re not Sky,” Legend teases. They all get a good laugh out of that. A long moment of silence occurs between the three of them after that. It’s not a bad silence, but it’s not really comfortable either. Nevertheless, Wild gets to cooking. He hums the same old tune he’d always hum. He doesn’t remember why this tune was the one he always defaulted to. Was it important to him before, all those years ago? Maybe once this is over, all of this is over, Zelda would tell him. But that was a long way aways from now. Now, he was making cake for his friends. Carrot cake. He wouldn’t be able to eat this cake for a while after this. Or probably any cakes. Or carrots.

“I think I’m starting to dislike c-words,” Wild mumbles aloud, “They’re making me loose my mind.”

“Do you...” Hyrule trails off a bit, plate almost empty now, “Do you want to make something else?”

“Nope. I’m making…this, and then we’re each going to eat a third of it cut into threes, and then you two will talk through you problems. Like adults.” The last word comes out harsher than he intended, but the two didn’t react much, Hyrule continues to eat his food and Legend sits politely, plate clean, awaiting cake.

Wild tries to empty his mind before he does something bad to the food before him.

Wild cheers when the cake is finally done. He makes grabby hands at his fellow heroes’ plates, much to their collective amusement. Legend gives him his plate first, receiving three slices of cake, as promised. Hyrule next, receiving his third of the cake.

“I would’ve given ya one slice at a time, but then I’d probably eat the rest of it,” Wild laughed, scratching the back of his head. Chuckles came from the other two, who then focus on their respective plates of foods. Wild focus on his. His stomach churns as he begrudgingly eats the slices, one by one, slower than he normally would. He still finishes far before the other two.

Wild rests his head on his knees, closing his eyes. The small fire underneath the pot encourages him to sleep. Fire always made him sleepy. But he couldn’t sleep yet, he needed to fix things.

No. He didn’t need to fix things. They had to fix things. The ones who were arguing. Wild can nudge and prod them all he wants, but only they could make things right with each other.

He slows his breath. He relaxes his limbs. He’s wide awake, but his friends don’t know that. To them, Wild’s sleeping soundly. He hears the sounds of wooden utensils cutting through the soft cake, scratching the wooden plate. Sounds of them chewing and swallowing food, of their shoes’ slight movements against the short grass, of the soft breeze that barely moves their hair. A few minutes pass before anyone speaks.

“Legend,” Hyrule speaks up, “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Legend inhales, sharply, before speaking back, “Don’t be. We both know I started this.”

“But still-“ Hyrule pauses after his volume starts to increase, and Wild feels his worried gaze cast upon him. Hyrule lowers his voice, “Still, I went too far. We both know this.”

“You didn’t go far enough,” the words tumbled out of Legend’s, a sharp inhale stopping more from coming out. A few more breaths, and he continues, “I shouldn’t have said you weren’t worthy of a throne.”

A throne? Wild doesn’t move, but he yearns to inch forward, to perk up his ears. But they don’t need him right now, he’s done enough.

“I don’t even know why I asked you that,” Hyrule sighs, “I just suddenly remembered something …and want to ask you about it I guess.”

“…What did you remember?”

“I…there’s something that Impa, my Impa said at the start of my second adventure,” Hyrule takes a deep breath, in and out, “she said her and her family have been ‘waiting for a great king to come’ for generations, to save Princess Zelda.”

“So you feel pressured to be that great king?”

“A bit, a bit yeah. I…know I’ll be a king, eventually. I uh, really like…Zelda.”

“Oh. Ah. Now is not the right time for teasing.”

“I can tell by your face that you really want to,” Hyrule giggles, “but yeah, that’s…why I was concerned about being a king.”

“And you came to me.”

“Well…I figured you’d know more than Wild,” very true, Wild knows nothing about this stuff, “so I wanted to ask you. Because I…trust you.”

A long silence passes between them. Wild wants to speak up, but he can’t. He’ll mess everything up if he does.

“You…” Legend starts, “No, no I shouldn’t say you shouldn’t trust me. That’s not my choice to decide.”

“…I still trust you, you know that?”

“…I trust you too.”

Another long silence. Happier now.

“I’m a prince,” Legend drops out of nowhere. Well it felt like it was out of nowhere, and Hyrule and Wild couldn’t stop themselves from yelling.

“What?!” The two shout in unison, Hyrule yelping at Wild.

“You-you’re awake?!” Legend asks, befuddled.

“Ha ha, yeah, barely,” Wild awkwardly smiles  at the other two, “Bold of you to assume I was asleep. You know I snore.” He only snores sometimes, but that wasn’t important. “Anyways, you’re a prince? How that happen?”

Legend looks over at Wild, then at Hyrule, back and forth a few times before sighing.

“Zelda’s my half sister,” Legend said plainly, “I know the trails, and the tribulations that royalty have to go through. I’ve been through some of those things, but I’m grateful that I don’t have to. I just-“ Legend huffs out a small sob, not quick enough at covering his mouth. Hyrule tries to reach out to him, but Wild stops him. He shakes his head softly, ‘not yet’ his eyes tell the traveler. He nods back, retracting his hand and they both await Legend’s next words with bated breath.

“I don’t want you to go through all that pain. And you know me, I’m snarky, I’m the mean, rude one, I’m not good at sentimentality,” Legend runs his hands through his hair, “That’s why I just-waved you off and got so angry when you kept insisting on being a king. I said a lot of hurtful things I clearly shouldn’t have. I’m sorry Hyrule, I really, really am.”

“It’s okay Legend,” Hyrule smile softly at him, “I forgive you. It’s okay you got angry, I understand why you got angry. I know I shouldn’t have gotten angry.”

“No no, you definitely deserved to be angry Rules-“

“I didn’t deserve to HIT you!” Hyrule shouts, throwing his hands up in the air before running them over his face, “I hit you, you never deserved that.”

To both the surprise of both Hyrule and Wild, Legend starts to laugh maniacally at this.

“Sorry, sorry, I just-it’s fine. Don’t worry about it Rulie,” Legend smiles at Hyrule.

“I think you’re downplaying this a bit,” Wild interrupts, to his own surprise, “Even if you don’t care, Hyrule here definitely does.”

“But it’s fine-“

“I don’t think it’s fine!” Hyrule also interrupts him, “We’re not supposed to hit each other because of things like this! You can say you forgive me or don’t-that’s okay, but don’t tell me not to worry about when you’rethe one who got hurt. You just don’t want me to worry about you!”

Legend looks surprised at this outburst, before laughing yet again. Calmer now, gentler.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t want you to worry. I don’t like people having to worry about me, or having to worry about others.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Hyrule says in such a way that makes the other two laugh. He laughs too, whether or not he understands why doesn’t matter. “Are you feeling okay Legend, does it still hurt?”

“Of course not, I’m fine-“

“But are you reeeeaaallllyy fine?” Wild dramatically learns over to Legend, who snickers before playfully shoving Wild away.

“Yes, I’m fine, really. It doesn’t even sting anymore. Hyrule’s not that strong.”

“H-hey!” Hyrule’s cheeks turn pink as he pouts. They all laugh.

The tense atmosphere that was here before was now long gone. Things were back to the happy way they were before, with a few more lessons learned.

The stars smile at them as Wild pulls them all into a group hug.

[thehumanbeans]

goyim look up what zionism means challenge level: impossible

[lesamis]

being a fic writer is so funny. i just gave my phd thesis into print and literally my first thought looking at the final word count, the culmination of 3+ years of agony and research and blood and tears etc., was "well that's substantially shorter than the exr college au i wrote as a 19 year old in a depressed haze over six months"

[ioannemos]

1k story maybe half done at 3k words, 62 dead 179 injured

[desceros]

I feel like Donnie would be mush for his teeny, itty bitty little baby girl.

someone has been peeking in my google drive again i see....

yeah i think he (rise donnie specifically since that's the papatello i'm working on) would be one of those dads who has a big talk about how he's so strict, about the intense regiment he has his kid on to maximize their development, and he's always the most annoying piece of shit at the PTA meeting. flex brag flex brag

but then his little toddler comes up to him on wobbly legs and puts her hands on his calf, tapping at him for his attention and looks up at him with paint all over her face from where she got into the art supplies at the back of the classroom and made a huge ass mess, and he just melts at her crooked little grin (bc dad is the favorite) and is completely incapable of chastising her in any shape or form

that changes when she grows up and starts to act so much like him that he HAS to be firmer with her. the first time he has to put her in time out they both ugly cry a lot

[worldsokayestdragon]

The Transitive Property

Read on AO3

Ed couldn't sleep the first night after Greed joined his little crew-sorry, after they joined Greed.

The voice of reason in his head (sounding annoyingly like his little brother) pointed out that this was probably because he wasn't trying to sleep, but that wasn't the point. 

The point was he found himself sitting awake by the dying fire-long after Darius and Heinkel had turned in for the night and started snoring loud enough to alert all of Amestris to their location-staring at Greed while trying not to let the homunculus catch him looking.

And it was stupid! Why should he have to hide what he was doing? It wasn't like he even really cared about Greed. He was looking for any signs of Ling. His boyfriend had been possessed right in front of him (willingly, on purpose, like the stubborn asshole he could be when he felt like it) and then disappeared for months only to show back up long enough to freeload all of Ed's food-again-and have a five minute conversation before getting reabsorbed into the monster possessing him. Quite frankly, Ed thought he was more than justified in staring. He had every right to interrogate, to poke and prod, to demand to speak to Ling.

The voice that sounded too much like Al reminded him that pissing Greed off and potentially driving him away wouldn't help him get Ling back, that just because something was justified didn't mean it was smart, and that eventually he'd have to stop flying off the handle all the time and learn to be more strategic.

So Ed restrained himself to observing. It didn't make him feel better. It was Ling's face in front of him, except that it wasn't. Familiar features of a person he cared about forming expressions that were all wrong, his boyfriend's body with someone else's posture. Greed hadn't spoken for a while, but Ed knew that his voice would be too low, too rough, the Amestrian accent grating on Ed's nerves when it came out of Ling's mouth.

But there were glimmers of hope. As they sat in silence, Greed's expression changed every so often. The shifts were tiny, subtle, but Ed knew Ling's face well enough to spot them even if he couldn't be sure what they meant on Greed. The corners of his lips twitched as if fighting a smile, his eyebrows furrowed in the barest start of a frown. occasionally he tilted his head as if listening to someone or formed his mouth around words without vocalization. There was no one else around, and he wasn't talking to Ed, so all signs pointed to Greed and Ling having some sort of internal conversation. Really the fact that he was sitting quietly supported that hypothesis; the Greed they'd met in Dublith had never shut up, and this version had seemed just as chatty back in Central.

If Ling was aware and strong enough to keep a running commentary to Greed, he might be able to seize another opportunity to take back control of his body. If nothing else, maybe the dumbass could annoy the homunculus into trading a few minutes conversation for some peace and quiet.

Or maybe he'd annoy Greed too much and get his consciousness completely destroyed, pushed so deep into the philosopher's stone it would never resurface. Greed may have turned on the other homunculi, but that didn't mean he was a good person now. For all Ed knew he might hold no more value for human life than the rest of his wacko little "family". 

Ling could be in very real danger, could already be suffering, and there was nothing Ed could do about it, he couldn't even know for sure, and what kind of useless boyfriend-

Greed broke the silence with a low growl, effectively interrupting the spiral of doom Ed's thought had been trapped in. He was glaring at Ed now, apparently having caught on to all the staring and not appreciating it. The growl sounded more frustrated than aggressive, but still. Ed shifted, getting ready to jump to his feet and run or fight if necessary.

"Alright short stack, if you're gonna sit there angsting at me all night you could at least tell me what your deal is."

Ed shot to his feet, hands balled into fists as he shouted down at Greed, "Who are you calling short?! I'll kick your ass right now!" So much for not flying off the handle, but a man had to have standards.

Greed didn't rise to meet him. He looked calmly up at him from his seated position, apparently completely unconcerned with Ed's rage. He looked more amused than anything, which did nothing to improve Ed's mood.

"Yeah, sure you will," Greed agreed, too easily to be anything but patronizing. "But seriously, would you tell me what your problem with me is? As your new leader, I can't have this kind of hostility from my henchmen."

Ed bristled at the henchman comment, but bit back any retort to it. He had agreed to following Greed after all, and it really wouldn't bother him if he wasn't already so pissed.

"My problem with you?" Ed scoffed. "Well, putting aside what happened in Dublith-"

Ed cut himself off sharply when pain flashed across Greed's face, different from how Ling would wear it but still unmistakable. It occurred to him that everyone Greed had known in Dublith had ended up dead, and that Ling had been pretty vague about what had caused Greed to freak out and let him gain control.

Maybe poking that particular sore spot wasn't the best idea. Ed might not have a reputation as the nice Elric brother, but he didn't try to be outright cruel.

Before Ed could beat himself up too much about putting such a sad look on Ling's face, even by proxy, it disappeared behind Greed's usual smug expression.

"What happened in Dublith, huh?" he asked. "I thought I remembered seeing you there. Honestly though, that whole scene's a little fuzzy, so I still don't know why you're looking at me like you wanna kill me."

"You kidnapped my brother and beat the shit out of me!" Feeling bad about how things turned out didn't give Greed a pass for starting the whole mess.

Greed tilted his head. "Huh? Doesn't everyone do shit like that to you, though? I mean, you said those chimera guys were trying to kill you when you met."

"That's..." Ed faltered. Technically it wasn't an incorrect assessment. Lots of people attacked him when meeting him for the first time, and he didn't usually hold a grudge over it. Hell, Ling had ordered his personal guards to beat some answers out of Ed and Al, and then Ed had agreed to go on a date with him a few hours later. Lan Fan hadn't pulled her punches either. 

But just because their fight in Dublith hadn't been too out of the ordinary (god his life was weird) didn't mean Ed didn't still have plenty of reason to hate Greed.

"Fine then, maybe I'm pissed because you're possessing Ling! You stole his body and now you're walking around wearing his face, doing who knows what to him in there, and you won't fucking let him go!"

"Whoa whoa whoa." Greed held up his hands as if trying to hold back Ed's anger. He didn't look exactly apologetic, but he'd dropped the smirk and seemed to be taking the conversation seriously for the first time. "Couple of problems with all that. One, it wasn't my idea to possess the guy. I can't exactly control what dear old dad does with my stone when I don't have a body, and it's not like I can just leave once I'm in here. Two, I didn't steal shit. He agreed to give me his body. We had a whole conversation about it. This is my body now, and you not liking it doesn't change the fact that it was Ling's choice. And three, I'm not doing anything to him. If anything it's what he's doing to me, damn princely brat's been talking my ear off since I got this body, it's seriously annoying.”

Ed really wished he could believe that.

“So you're not torturing him to prove you're better than humans or punish him for defying you or whatever? Because I talked to Envy about how you homunculi feel about humans, and it doesn't seem like you'd be cool with sharing a body just like that.”

Greed gasped and put a hand to his chest like he'd been shot. “Did you just compare me to Envy? Envy's a fucking asshole! Their whole ‘humans are garbage I'm so much better’ thing is their own personal problem, I don't give a shit about any of that. Humans, chimera, any of the other homunculi that don't end up dead, it doesn't matter. They'll all belong to me once I take over the world!”

Ed should maybe be concerned about his new ally casually bringing up world domination, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. 

“You're serious? Ling's really okay?”

Greed rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he's fine. I keep saying I don’t lie, but no ever listens. Look, he agreed to let me have his body-which makes him my possession-and I take good care of my things. He's got nothing to complain about!” Greed paused, tilting his head slightly, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, he's great at finding things to complain about, but since I don't need to eat and I also can't control the amount of screaming from people who are grumpy they got turned into a rock, none of his complaints are my problem.”

Ed’s right knee went weak with relief. The left stayed strong, Winry's handy work as sturdy as ever, but he sat down heavily anyway, finally giving up his position standing over Greed.

He'd been trying not to think about it-and there'd been one crisis after the other to distract him-but it had been eating at Ed, not knowing if Ling was okay. And after sending his best friend and baby brother off with a literal serial killer and hoping for the best, the accumulated weight of uncertainty about the fates of his loved ones had been almost too much to bear. Now hearing that Ling hadn't been suffering horribly, that he wasn't in any danger (or at least not from the being controlling his body) had Ed feeling so much lighter he almost didn't know what to do with himself.

Maybe he was crazy for taking Greed's word for it, but he sounded so sincere. Really there was no reason for him to lie, it wasn't like Ed could do anything about it if he had been hurting Ling. If anything he'd probably want to gloat if he was anything like Envy (and it seemed like maybe he wasn’t). 

Looking back, Ling hadn't seemed that bad off at the cabin. Sure he'd collapsed, but he just kind of did that sometimes. He'd bounced right back after eating, just like he had back in Rush Valley, and Central, and Gluttony's stomach. Greed kept complaining about Ling being annoying, but now that Ed was a few more steps away from panic he realized there had been a hint of fondness in his voice as he did so. And, well. Ed could understand finding Ling extremely irritating in an endearing sort of way.

“What’s your guys’ deal anyway?” Greed interrupted Ed's thoughts.

“Our–What?”

Greed waved a hand impatiently. “You know, you’re obsessed with each other. First Ling was all ‘Stop fighting Ed, you might hurt him. No I can’t tell you where Lan Fan is, you have to find Ed and give him the message. I wonder where Ed is. I hope Ed’s okay. Hey, we should totally join Ed’s stupid little group and wander through the woods together!’ And now you won’t stop creepy staring at my face and you’re having some kinda breakdown over the idea that he might possibly be unhappy. It’s weird.”

“Ling didn’t tell you?” Ed tried not to let himself feel too hurt by that. There could be lots of reasons for Ling to keep their relationship to himself. Even if he was apparently talking to Greed all the time, there must be a good reason he never brought up Ed in the months they'd been apart.

“No! He won’t shut up about anything else. Yapping on and on about Xing, and his clan, and Lan Fan and Fu, and he mentions you constantly, but every time I ask about you he says it’s none of my business. Can you believe that? He’s my possession, his business is my business! Not to mention he’s thinking about it inside my brain, which makes it double my business.”

That made a certain kind of sense. It was probably hard having any privacy while sharing your body with another person, so of course Ling might want to keep something to himself. And, Ed remembered, Greed's stupid speech about wanting everything rather pointedly included women. He maybe wouldn't appreciate the fact that his new body’s owner was dating a man when he himself was aggressively straight.

“If Ling says it's none of your business then it's none of your business.” Even if Ed didn't love being kept a secret, he wouldn't betray Ling by giving out information he wanted to keep private.

“Ugh, come on!” Greed whined, flopping back dramatically to lay on the ground. “I'm the one in charge here and still no one tells me anything. You even looked all sad about me not knowing, and yet you're not gonna–”

Greed cut himself off mid sentence and sat back up to look at Ed.

“Your boyfriend?” 

Somehow Ed got the idea the question wasn't for him even though Greed was staring right at him.

A grin grew slowly across Greed's face.

“Our boyfriend.”

The hell did that mean?!

SMACK

Before Ed could react, almost faster than his eyes could follow, Greed raised his right hand and slapped himself across the face.

“Ow! What the hell, Ling?” Greed pushed his right hand down by the wrist before reaching up with his left to rub his cheek. “That fucking hurt, you asshole! Why–you know I can't understand the Xingese when you talk that fast. Stop yelling at me!”

“What did you mean by–”

“Give us a minute,” Greed said, holding up a finger in Ed's direction.

“No I will not give you a minute!” Ed yelled. “You can't just say some crap like that then ignore me! Explain what you're talking about right now or I swear I'm gonna…”

Greed was no longer looking at Ed. He was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused. If Ed had to guess, he'd say the homunculus was so tuned in to whatever argument he was having with Ling he wasn't even hearing Ed anymore. No amount of yelling would help with that, and despite popular belief to the contrary, Ed could recognize a losing battle when he saw one. He just usually chose to fight them anyway.

Ed picked up a twig from the ground and threw it at Greed's face. It bounced off his nose and he blinked, eyes focusing back on Ed with a startled look.

“If you're going to talk about me in front of me, at least have your half of the conversation out loud, would you?”

Greed nodded. “Yeah that's fair.” He shifted his gaze slightly, looking near but not directly at Ed as he continued. “I don't see what the problem is. He's your boyfriend, and you're mine, so it makes sense–yes that is how it works, it's science.”

Ed already wasn't crazy about how this conversation was going. “When you say he's yours–”

“What do you mean we're not dating?” Greed sounded genuinely confused now. “You agreed to share your body with me, and you asked me to rule a country with you! How is that not–Oh, so you can have fifty wives, but two boyfriends is too–”

“He's not gonna have fifty wives,” Ed interrupted. “He's getting rid of–”

“Yeah yeah, we're doing away with that custom, I know.” Greed waved a hand in Ed's direction as he spoke, still looking at nothing as he had been for his whole conversation with Ling, as if responding to both of them at the same time.

“Why are you getting so worked up over this anyway?” Ed asked. “Aren't you straight?”

Greed's eyes snapped to Ed's face, expression scandalized. “Aren't I what?” he gasped, as if this was the most offensive thing anyone had ever said to him.

“Straight?” Ed didn't see what the big deal was, it had seemed like a fair assumption. “You had a whole speech about wanting women or whatever.”

“I'm Greed.” He spoke slowly, as if explaining something obvious that he'd been forced to go over many times. “I want everything. Gender isn't even a factor for me. Honestly I don't get why humans are so obsessed with it. People would get weird sometimes if I mentioned wanting men too, so I stopped saying that part to avoid the hassle. Still, I can't believe I’ve been giving off straight vibes.” He looked down and tugged at his coat. “Maybe it's the outfit? I told his highness he should have let me pick out better clothes. There was this great vest and also these awesome sunglasses I wanted to get, but he wouldn't go for it. Kept bitching about how awful they were until I chose something more simple.”

“Oh yeah, you had something like that the first time I met you. That was such a cool look!” Ed had pretty much hated Greed's guts back in Dublith, but he couldn't deny the man had style.

“Thank you!” Greed threw up his hands. “Ya hear that, Ling? He thinks it's cool too…Hey, don't call me and our boyfriend tacky in the same way, asshole! Huh? Oh, good point.”

Greed turned back to Ed, leaning forward and fixing him with a serious look. “Hey, do you want to date me too, instead of just Ling?”

“Uh…” Ed hesitated, debating for a moment whether the personification of greed would respond well to being denied something he wanted. Then again, Ling wouldn't have had him ask Ed if he thought the reaction would be dangerous. And he had asked, rather than just demanding. “No, not really. I don't even know you.”

Greed sat back with a shrug. “Oh, okay. Was worth a shot.”

“Really? You're cool with me just dating Ling?” Ed had been expecting at least a bit of an argument.

“Well, yeah.” Greed said. “People have to want to be mine, or else what's the point? Kind of sucks that Ling will have something I don't, but that's just the way it'll have to be. You're still my henchman after all, so it's not like you don't belong to me anyway. Besides,” Greed smiled at Ed, “there's plenty of time between now and the promised day for you to get to know me.”

An hour ago Ed would have taken that statement as mocking at best, and maybe as a downright threat. But now that he knew that Ling was not only okay but on good terms with the deadly sin inhabiting his body, and after having what was by his standards a perfectly friendly conversation with the guy, Ed was willing to see it a bit more charitably. Greed's smile was genuine, nothing taunting or creepy in the expression at all. In fact, if there was any similarity between how Ling and Greed showed their emotions, he might be trying to hide a bit of nervousness.

Ed smiled back at Greed. “Yeah, I guess maybe there is,” he said, then laughed when Greed's mouth dropped open in shock. “It’s getting late. I'm gonna get some sleep. Goodnight Greed and goodnight Ling.”

The last thing Ed heard before sleep claimed him was Greed talking quietly as he threw more wood onto the campfire.

Ed got up to find a soft patch of ground to sleep on, only half listening to Greed stumble over his words as he wished him a goodnight from himself and Ling. Ed felt himself drifting off as soon as he laid down, more tired than he'd realized.

“Wow, I didn't think I'd get that far. I'm totally going to show him I'd be the best boyfriend ev–Ling, do not slap me again, you pissant, I swear to god!”

[hella1975]

ive just rediscovered an old wip of mine and im having so much fun right now. like i havent opened the document since early 2020 and genuinely forgot it existed yet there's 90k words and so much lore and elements of basic concepts that made it to my present writing in far cooler and more complex ways and the writing isn't great but there's potential to it and idk. it's been a while since i wrote something privately and while i hugely prefer the way i do it now where i actually have a community with it and dont hole myself away and act like it's a huge shame thing, there's still something hugely reasuring about knowing this is something ive always done and that actually i was always drawn to it and had potential and that's something to remember for when my writing block gets bad or i convince myself Everything Ive Ever Done Is Awful

[mel-loly]

Dont mind me:3

I- Tsu.. You didn't need to... But.. Yeah, uh... Thanks..😅💛

(no pressure, but if you can read the tags, I'd be happy! and that doesn't just apply to tsu but to everyone)

[moistcl1tikal-ao3]

mannnn sticky little fingers was such a good idea i want to write 87 more fics like that IMMEDIATELY