#and can i just say that it isn’t scar’s first time going red so early in the series

[neo-shitty]

🚦.

[one-idea]

Here's an idea: time travel fix it, but the time traveller is Zeff.

Casually fixing what he can for his Eggplant's future Nakama, like bribing Mihawk with a nice wine to mention what Arlong is up to to Jimbe.

I love a time travel fix it with an unlikely hero. Because the Strawhats have a lot of information about what needs to be fixed. Their time travel fix it’s make sense. But the fun ones are their allies who know major events but don’t know everything.

(I saw someone try this with Mihawk and like the man only knows major events that the strawhats get into. Also he’s way more likely just to show up and watch the chaos while drinking wine.)

Zeff being sent back is so fun. 1) he’s a great character who obviously loves Sanji and would want to do what’s best for him. But also 2) he has no idea what half the inciting incidents are! How will he ever know what to stop?

He does have some information though. So let’s say he gets dropped 21 years in the past. He’s still a pirate. Ohara was just burnt last year and Rodger died 3 years ago (fact check me)

Most importantly Sanji is about to be born. His little eggplant is about to be born into one of the worst family on the sea. Well not if he has anything to say about it. He’s still Red-Leg Zeff, the pirate captain.

He knows they can’t do a full frontal assault but some sneaking around gets him to Sora. And a quick “how do you feel about taking all the kids and running?” She’s in. Anything to get them away from Judge.

And it’s stupid easy because they are babies who are only a few days old. Judge only cares about their test results he isn’t watching them. So Zeff and a few of his crew just nab Judges wife and kids, and quite a bit of loot.

Zeff is booking it out of there. But not without kick judge through at least one wall durning the escape.

He makes the decision to quiet the pirate life early. He’s got Sora and the kids to worry about. They open the Baratie early. He knows exactly which cooking staff he’s hiring.

As he separated from the crew he tells them that if they run into a girl named Nico Robin to bring her to him.

He starts establishing the Baratie as a location for all to dine in. But this time he’s focused on making connections. Keeping his thumb on the pulse of both pirate and government movement.

Raising the five kids he’s acquired along side Sora, the genetic programming takes but without it being supported as they grow eventually gets out of their systems. Sanji being the most in touch with his emotions followed by Reiju. Their brothers struggle with emotions but are a lot better and more adjusted than they are in cannon.

About two years into this restaurant one 11 year old Nico Robin is delivered by his old crew. The girl is super freaked out but he sits her down and tells her that’s she’s safe, he’s got ears everywhere and will know if the governmental coming after them, and he won’t let them take her. Plus who’s going to be looking for her at a high class restaurant. It also helps that he’s got a gaggle of children already so she can stay off the floor hanging out with the kids. Sora also dyes Robin’s hair purple and that with age is enough to make people not immediately recognize her from her bounty poster.

5 years later the red hair pirates a bouncing around the East blue and Zeff waits. Waits until one day Shanks comes in one arm short and bragging about his son. (It helps that Sanji and his siblings are helping out so Shanks and Zeff are just casually talking about their kids.) He grabs the captain and pulls him to the side and tells him that Luffy is in danger and that there is another little boy on that island, a boy who is the son of his old captain. Shanks thinks he’s crazy at first but he knows things about Luffy. The scar under his eye, and other things.

Enough to make shanks curious enough to turn around and find Luffy and his TWO new brothers. He quickly collects three children and returns to the Baratie. (Kicks door open while holding three children “you were right!” Zeff surprised by the third child but not mad) (I don’t think he knows about Sabo)

Luffy and Sanji get on like a house fire with Luffy loudly declaring that Sanji will one day join his crew as his chef. And Zeff is standing there watching them with a proud smile, because somethings are just meant to happen.

Meanwhile Shanks as turned to look at Zeff

“anything else I should know about?”

Zeff just snorts “a lot. You still friends with Hawkeyes or have you to made it official yet?”

(With the Baratie around earlier he had to witness young Shanks and Mihawk flirting, it was painful)

Shanks gets sad “he’s mad about well you know…” the missing arm. And Zeff feels bad about that but he had no clue how the man lost it in the first place so there was no way he could stop it.

“If you run into him tell him there’s a crazy kid in the east blue gunning for his title. If he wants to keep things interesting he might want to train him.” (The Baratie is Mihawk’s favorite establishment Zeff could also tell him but he has a feeling the swords master would listen to Shanks over him.)

This is how Mihawk shows up at a dojo where a 10year old Kuina and 9 year old Zoro are training. (A year before Kuina’s death) he sees their skill and hears Kuina’s father’s opinion about females and training. He knows it’s an opinion that is also popular in Wano where this man is obviously from, but it’s not the way the rest of the world works. He approaches and offers to take over the training of the girl “who won’t make anything of herself” and the “feral gremlin using sword handles for teething.” Kuina’s father isn’t to sure about all this but he can’t really refuse the greatest swordsman in the world nor will Kuina or Zoro stay once they hear about the offer.

Mihawk has now obtained one verbally polite girl who will break every rule the moment his back is turn and one backpack leash gremlin.

He and Shanks are regulars at the Baratie for parenting advice. Luffy meets Zoro’s and again claims him as part of the crew. Years later Zoro and Sanji argue over who will be the first official member (Sanji: Luffy asked me first! Zoro: but I was the first one to physically join the crew!)

But currently the three run a muck on the Baratie pulling pranks on their older siblings (Ace, Sabo, Kuina, and Reiju are all the same age) or just Sanji brothers (they are still learning emotions and will sometimes join in on the chaos, other times they are a rival faction but if they ever get to mean Luffy and Zoro put them in their place)

but eventually Luffy runs into Robin (she tries to stay out of the way as much as possible to not get the Baratie in trouble. Zeff tells her she doesn’t have to but Trauma is a thing) Luffy loves her instantly. She quitely reading a book and Luffy joins her for story time and she never gets mad at his interruption and is so patient with him. He looks at her with a grin of a small sun and tells her “when I’m captain you’re going to be on my crew!” Robin is a little freaked out because she doesn’t want to bring the world government down on this little boy. But Zeff talks to her later and tells her that Luffy isn’t a force that can be stopped. It takes time but in the next ten years Robin comes around to the idea of being on Luffy’s crew with Zoro and her little brother Sanji. As soon as Luffy claimed her he told the others. Sanji was pumped! Zoro just accept it but he comes around to really love Robin.

At the same time that the boys are all being adopted Zeff is making some calls and contacts. The Baratie has been open for over 9 years he’s got some high connections. He eventually gets a hold of Jimbei and tells him that Arlong is in the East Blue and causing trouble. (Arlong has just started in the East blue, Zeff has no clue of the time clock) he points Jimbei in the direction of Cocoyashi.

Jimbei gets their right at the time of Arlong raid in the village. He walks in right as Arlong and Bell-mére are having their confrontation. I don’t know exactly what happens (I haven’t met Jimbei yet) but he’s able to stop it.

Bell-mére asks how he knew they were in trouble and he tells them about the Baratie. The village wants to thank the man who alerted Jimbei so Bell-mére goes (she is a retired Marine and probably the best sailor.) and takes Nojiko and Nami with her. Of course Shanks is visiting with the boys and Luffy and Nami instantly hit it off. “This is my Navigator!!!” Shanks is laughing because the kids going to have a whole crew before he has a boat.

Once Luffy is ready to set sail he meets up with Zoro and the two head to the Baratie to pick up Nami, Sanji, and Robin. Zeff points them in the direction of Suyrup village to “get a ship” where they pick up Usopp and save Kaya. (This absolutely does not make Usopp’s feeling of inferiority worse by the time they get to Water 7. No way. It’s not like everyone else on the crew until Vivi and Chopper have known each other for 10 years. He’s not the odd man out in any way.)

Zeff doesn’t have a lot of information about their adventures so he can’t truly stop anything but he does know some thing. (Nami leaving the crew. Luffy and Zoro being from the east blue and having connections with Shanks and Mihawk (Mihawk totally goes the the Baratie to drink during the time skip. Zeff knows Zoro is his kid) he knows Ace is Roger’s son and that he dies. But he doesn’t know anything that isn’t in Sanji’s letters or the news paper (which is full of lies)

He makes the best decisions he can for Sanji.

He saves Sanji from Zeff as soon as possible

Accidentally saving Sora, Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji

After Sanji set sail Zeff decides to expand the Baratie. It’s a chain

Patty and Carne take over the East blue branch

Reiju runs the one in the grandline.

Ichiji runs one in the west blue

Niji runs one in the south blue

The north blue doesn’t get one until Judge is dead they all agree on that

Yonji bounces from place to place helping as he is needed

Zeff and Sora open one in the New World.

Zeff might not know everything the Strawhats went through but he knows the major events and by having a home base in almost every sea he’s got ears everywhere. His old crew is still out there acting as ears for him and bring him news.

Anything he can help the Strawhats avoid or remove from their path he sends word

He tells Shanks about Ace.

Accidentally getting Luffy, Ace, and Sabo adopted

Saving Sabo from the Celestial dragons

Giving all three boys the chance to train with the Red Hair Pirates and learn Haki early while also getting a feel for the Grandline and New World

Ace’s death is prevented because he knows about Blackbeards plans and tells Ace to watch out for the man and to not trust him. It helps that Ace grew up with Shanks who never liked Blackbeard at all.

He tells Mihawk about Zoro

Kuina is accidentally saved

Both get to train with Mihawk far before their adventure. Mihawk loves it because the two are “trying to kill him” but they are also competing with each other and it’s MESSY they are so dramatic in their own weird way and he’s living for watching this gremlins fight while he drinks wine. When Perona shows up he finally has a goth child who wants to dress presentable and drink wine while making his other children. The family is complete.

He puts out feelers for Robin having no real hope she will show up

Accidentally gave her a loving home and help her feel safe while also preparing her for the adventure ahead.

He points Jimbei in Arlong direction. He has no clue what Arlong is truly up to.

Accidentally saves village

Saves Bell-mére’s life and kick starts the Strawhats.

The Strawhats still have a lot going on but because of advance trading some received as children and the stronger bonds.

He can’t do anything to Chopper, Franky, Brook or Usopp because their trauma is already passed Franky/Brook or he doesn’t know their stories well enough to intervene, Usopp/Chopper.

But he does make the safest home possible for his little eggplant.

[sanjisblackasswife]

“ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘”

𝚉𝚘𝚛𝚘 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Black Fem Reader

Zoro Giving Body Worship Here

CW: Soft! Zoro, Zoro is a bit resistant, Sensual Massage Kissing, Oral, Praise, Talks of Zoro having an Insecurity

It’s not that he hates you. It’s not that he hates the attention, it’s just

When it’s Zoro’s turn to recieve the love you want to give back he isn’t sure if he should accept it.

“You don’t have—-“

“I want to…”

It’s so late in the night, his body is tired and slightly sore and all he requested was to call it in early with you to hold him, but you noticed how weak he was so you did get a little beside yourself to use it to your advantage

“Just relax please.”

Like the good boy he is he allows you, but still has his doubts.

You love his body and the scars that come with it. The love can get overwhelming to him sometimes so dont hold it against him when he retracts back to your touch.

You sit on his pelvis, both of you in the nude, you can feel his heartbeat go faster as you touch his chest, you smirk.

“I love you, Zo…”

You say it so often to him, yet he still flinches, wanting to tell you it back so badly, but he feels frozen. You know, you understand the dilemma and that’s why you peck his lips to confirm with him.

“You’re so loved…” Your hands massages his neck and his chest, you looked like an Angel. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he would become a believer if it meant you were the closest thing to Heaven. “And I know you know that, but it’s still nice to tell you.”

“Y/n….”

His tanned skin against your finger tips, glistening under the lamp from the oil you rubbed against him, you couldn’t help but to turn this massage naughty.

Which he knew from the way you suggested to do a simple activity naked, so he allowed it.

His hands firmly on the fat of your hips as you indulge yourself in kissing his neck, leaving pretty marks on him, surely he won’t mind. You pepper his pretty chiseled face, small huffs of laughter break from his nose feeling a little tickle from your feathered kisses.

“I love your body, Zo….so perfect.” You hold up his face for him to look at you, his cheeks as red as can be grows even redder when you softly kiss his eye scar, then down to his cheeks, back to his lips.

Zoro didn’t get choked up easily, but if he could think of a time he almost broke it would be now. His eyes slowly closing, basking in your touches and kisses, it was something he felt like he didnt deserve but loved to know he could get.

“Even with these scars I still find you so attractive.” You grab his much larger calloused hand, kissing his knuckles while staring at his low gaze before resting it on your breast. "I love every inch of you."

He smirks, caressing it giving it a light squeeze.

He knew he was an attractive man, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a bit less than worthy of being praised this much because of how he took care of himself. He didn’t mind getting dirty, getting scratches and marks. You were the opposite too, remembering how you had a meltdown just from a small bruise on your knee, which is why always treated you like glass.

“Y/N you—“

“Sh shs shhhh. This is about you.” You push him back down seeing that he was objecting to you grabbing his shaft giving it slow strokes, his spine arched a bit, feeling him grow harder in your hand you kiss his leaking tip, before taking him all in as much as you could while fondling his balls a little which always made him breathe out your name so deliciously.

Small whimpers of your name fall through Zoro's lips, cursing in his native tongue as you picked up the pace, the bitter taste of his skin and oil you still hum in delight for being able to be blessed to make a man such as him feel good.

Zoro groans in pleasure, his legs moving up and down the sheets anticipating of his first orgasm of the night, you of course don't mind, swallowing the cum that pour out and onto your tongue he reaches his hand out to you, having a sudden craving to kiss your lips again.

His strong arms holding you close you moan onto his mouth, grinding against him, there wasn't a blemish on his body you left unkissed and appreciated and your big swordsman didn't know how else to thank you.

Breaking the kiss, he holding your waist and hand and guides you down onto his tip, whimpering his name loudly it echoes in your shared room, feeling every inch slide inside you.

You try to let go of his hand, but he doesn't looking up at your beautiful brown body he kisses your tummy before allowing you to move.

It was a long yet passionate night for you both rustling against the sticky sheets. Moaning, crying, and screaming his name until the sun rose. Zoro didn't even mind you taking charge that night. It wasn't a common practice with you both but in due time he has learned that it's okay to accept the love you have for him.

[supertrxshwrites]

This is a continuation of my angsty Jason Todd x Reader fic post ..this isn’t all of it idk if I’m going to write the rest lemme know what yall think. I listened to “ceilings” by Lizzy McAlpine several times while writing this so I recommend doing that anyway enjoy the angst.

𓆩♡𓆪

During the fall and winter Jay always made it a point to drive me home from school instead of us walking. Something about shitheads waiting in the shadows. We finally pulled up to my house, he had been super excited that day, he kept telling me how Bruce was gonna let him do something he’d been begging for, for like ever. Before I got out of the car it was different with us though. When I turned to say bye he had this look in his eyes. It was serious but half joking almost like he was going off to war. I didn’t take it seriously..I probably should have.

“ I’m gonna be gone for about a week..don’t forget about me while I’m gone” he says with a laugh his eyes and nose crinkling as he smiles

‘ I’d never’ I say softly punching him in the shoulder

“Good..because there’s something I want to talk to you about when I get back but I don’t wanna spoil it by leaving” he says with a grin before looking down

“Just promise me you’ll be okay while I’m gone” his eyes were staring into my soul like he was searching for something more than an answer

‘I’ll be fine Jay promise’ I held my fist up for him to bump it

“You’re doing Knucks so that means you can’t break it” he says before fist bumping me

‘I know I know..alright I gotta go before my mom starts calling me’ I say before getting out of the car.

‘Be safe..’ I say as I grab my backpack and head inside.

Jay was so excited about his trip with Bruce, hell I wish I knew where he was going. But I guess it’s like a father son bonding thing. I didn’t want to ruin his excitement I just have a weird feeling about it.

I smile and wave as he drives off down the road, his tires kicking up slush.

I kick the snow from my boots and head inside before going to work on homework.

The next week felt like years, I mean I have other friends but when your best friend isn’t around nothings the same. Eating lunch was boring, the classes we had together weren’t interesting anymore and even after school. I took the bus because I knew Jason would lose his shit if I walked home.

After the first few days I started to feel this funk, something worse than seasonal depression. Something deeper, something scarring.

I found myself in my bed staring up at the ceiling, its old and dusty and peely. The fan going slowly. I can’t help but replay the car ride from school before Jay left.

‘He wanted to tell me something..’ I say sitting up

I shake my head before plopping back down on the bed.

“He’ll tell me when he gets back.”

Thursday felt like Christmas Eve so excited for what’s to come I had been waiting and waiting for Jay to finally get back. The school day went by fast and when I got home I actually ate instead of sulking by the window like a sad puppy.

“Friday was the day! Friday Jason will be back and everything won’t be so boring” I say as I wash my face in the bathroom.

I pull on some shorts and an old Tshirt and climb into bed. Too excited to sleep I scroll online for a bit before dozing off.

The next morning I got ready as fast as I could. Grabbed my backpack and rushed out the door expecting to see Jason’s red Nissan sitting on the curb.

But nothing.

I took the bus, still excited. I got to class early and saved a spot for him.

Nothing.

“Okay maybe he’s coming back late from his trip” I say a bit nervous but I brush it off

As the rest of the day goes on I feel a hard pang of disappointment in my chest. Crushing my heart like a soda can.

I waited at lunch.

Nothing

Even at the end of the day I waiting for him to pull up. I missed the bus I waited so long.

Nothing.

I found myself walking home. I knew Jason would be mad about it but he’d be here cussing me out as he slowly drove next to me.

Nothing.

I step in a big puddle, my shoes and socks aresoaked the entire time of me walking home.

I get home and drop my backpack at the door, I kick my shoes and socks off and run upstairs slamming the door.

“A week..my ass” I say angrily going to sleep.

The next day felt worse, then it was days and then another week. Until one day there was a knock at the door after school.

“JASON!” I run down the stairs almost breaking my neck getting down them. To finally open the door.

“Where have you been oh my god dude-“ my excitement is cut off when I’m met with a familiar frame in all black.

“..Bruce?” My stomach twists it feels sour. That same bad feeling from before when I got out of the car the day him and Jason left for their trip.

“Y/N” he sounds cold and robotic. More than usual. Almost hurt

I yell for my mom and we all sit down in the living room.

“Where’s Jason? It’s been three weeks!” I say crossing my arms angrily

“Uhm..look..y/n” there’s fear in his voice

“What is he sick or something?..spit it out Bruce!” I say impatiently

“Jason’s…gone.”

His words felt like a trigger. I felt my heart burst into a billion pieces in my chest like an airbag. This car crash got worse because Bruce got up and left. No explanation, nothing just.

“Jason’s gone.”

[shrinkthisviolet]

for the Wip Ask Game, the Savitar & Nora fic? i'm so curious!

That’s a new WIP! The basic plot is that Nora, while attempting to travel back in time to s5, lands in s3 instead.

My headcanon, btw, is that she overshot in canon anyway and landed in s4, but that she was fine because Eowells had a contingency set up (a headcanon I got from this wonderful fic by @spaceoperetta). So I figured…why not further back in s3? She has no contingency to protect her…and she has to contend with Savitar now.

Important context is that she knows about Savitar from the Flash Museum—i.e., not everything. She knows he’s big and scary in that suit, she knows about the Flashpoint metas and Alchemy, she knows about his attempt to kill her mom.

What she doesn’t know is that he’s a carbon copy of her father (with no scar here, because a) I’m always glad for the excuse to get rid of it and b) imo it hits harder if he doesn’t have one). Her father…whom she’s never met, by the way, because she never made it to s5.

Savitar offers her a deal: don’t interfere with his plan, help him if he asks, and he’ll help her get to wherever (whenever, really) she wants to go. It’s easy to agree at first—she knows her mom will kill him in the end—but…Savitar’s no fool. He’s figuring out who she is…and that can only mean trouble.

“So when in the future are you from, little speedster?”

“I can’t tell you.” At his darkening expression, she added quickly, “Because of the timeline, you know? The Speed Force isn’t kind to reckless speedsters.” As you know, if…if you’re really my dad.

“True enough.” Much to her surprise, his expression softened—sympathy lay in his eyes now, which unsettled her more than his previous sneers. “You’re a clever girl, to know that so early. At your young age, too.”

“I’m not young.” She winced at the sharpness of her tone—more demure, Nora, geez!—but he seemed more amused than offended. “How old I am doesn't matter either, though, so don't ask.”

He chuckled. “Noted. What did you say your name was, Little Runner?”

She suppressed a flinch at the nickname. “I didn’t.”

“No,” he hummed, “but usually it's considered polite to answer that question with your name. Surely that’s something you can tell me.”

“Nora,” she answered after a long pause. “Just Nora. And you’re Savitar.”

His grin broadened, and she suddenly felt like Little Red Riding Hood off the trodden path. “Well, just Nora...it's a pleasure to meet you. I’d love to introduce myself, but I see my reputation precedes me.”

Now ofc I’m not committing to a multichap 😅 this idea merits one, but I don’t have the bandwidth for that at the moment, so this is just gonna start off as a oneshot, which I might expand into a series later with more oneshots. This dynamic is truly too intriguing to leave alone, the plot bunny gnaws at me, so this is my compromise

wip title tag game!

[peninkwrites]

Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil. Ch 2 of ?

Ranboo has been going blind his whole life.

Ch 1

Ch 3

crossposted to ao3

Ranboo knows blindness is inevitable.  He’s known this since he was small.  His mothers had never said it to him directly, but it seems maybe they regretted having a child who was only half enderman.  How could they have known he would inherit his other half’s tear ducts?  They did their very best to raise a child who wouldn’t cry, but they were fighting an impossible battle.  The early years were the worst.  Ranboo lost maybe a quarter of his vision in the first six years of his life.  Six was old enough to hold back, to refuse tears through skinned knees and childish insults and getting lost.  It took him a few years more to realize that never crying would have a different toll.  Ranboo kept his emotions clutched carefully to his chest, letting them pour free not in burning salt, but ink.

Eventually it became clear that their forgetfulness went beyond the ordinary, and his book began to serve a different purpose.

Not that Ranboo remembers these finite details, things like his mothers, his childhood, where he is from.  Nor is he really sure how he arrived on the SMP, only with the vague goal of winning an election.  He remembers a few essentials kept carefully in his memory book.  Tears burn, they make his vision worse, and one day he will go blind.  Crying will hasten the process, and even as that scares him, he cannot let it scare him enough that tears fall.

So he doesn’t cry.  First he meets Niki, whose voice is soft and kind and reassuring, and she shows him around the server.  He follows her closely, and she points out different structures and places and Ranboo pretends to perceive them.  He pretends there isn’t a fog over his vision, confining his view to the prime path and a bit beyond that, depending on the brightness of the sun that day.  His peripheral is worse, but as long as he’s looking at something head on, something close enough, he can see it generally.  Niki he will remember by voice, by her outline, her hair, but not really her face.  He would have to get way too close to see what she really looks like, but he knows enough to recognize her.  He can remember people relatively well by name and vague appearance, it’s who they are, the details of what they have done together, that’s where things get fuzzy just like his vision.

This was not ideal, as the next person he met, the current president, introduces himself and rather curtly tells him:  “I’m pretty much totally deaf, so, sorry if I’m not much for conversation.”

“Oh,” Ranboo had briefly had no clue what to say, before some impulse built on the sound of this boy’s voice, his small stature, wearing a suit, by the looks of it, he felt inclined to show a little faith.  “I’m… I’m kinda blind, so,” he mumbled.

“Um, like I said, man.  I can’t hear, so.  Dunno what you just said.”

Ranboo’s cheeks flushed green and red, fumbling for his memory book and flipping to the back of it.

I’m a little blind, so.  I don’t think I’ll be very good at sign language.

He holds it out to Tubbo, who frowns at the page, reading slowly.

Instead of irritation, he laughs.  “I mean, that works out!  Sort of.  Maybe not, but, how about I help you with the seeing bit, and you can… you could be my minutes man!  If you’d like.”

“Minutes-?” Ranboo stops, going back to the page.  Minutes man?

“Yeah!  If you want, you could write down the stuff we talk about in meetings, so if I have a hard time keeping up, I can still keep track of stuff,” Tubbo says brightly.  Ranboo knows he’s staring at him.  “So, is that why..?” Tubbo’s hand goes to his own face, which Ranboo notes is slightly discolored.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“Oh! The scars?” Ranboo brushes against his own cheeks, and the deep, red divots along the corner of his eye.  “It’s okay,” Ranboo shrugs, hoping that’s reassurance enough.

“I’ve got some pretty gristly scars too, dunno if you can tell,” Tubbo says.

“Not really,” Ranboo shakes his head, and then shrugs.  He should really just write.

“Huh, you can’t even see that?” Tubbo says unthinkingly.   “Sorry, that was, well, not very tactful of me.  If you want to, I could like, I dunno,” Tubbo pauses, thoughtful  “I could describe stuff?  If that would help?”

“Uh, yeah!  Yeah, I mean, I–” Ranboo nods and starts talking before remembering, returning to his book.

I’d like to be the minutes man. I was actually planning on running in the next election, so it would be cool to work with you.  And that might be nice. If you described stuff sometimes.  I don’t know I’ve never tried that.

Tubbo reads, and sounds surprised.  “Oh!  You’re planning on running, then, Rambo?”

Ranboo almost goes to correct him, but can’t bring himself to, endeared.

“Right, well, least I can do is show you around!  Or, show you what I can,” Tubbo says sheepishly.  “How bad is your vision?  You don’t have glasses, you know?  Feel like that could help a bit.”

Ranboo tries to remember the explanation.  He doesn’t have glasses.  Because..?  Another quick scribble on the page.

I don’t really remember why.  I think it might have to do with the different types of eyes?  I’m not really sure.

“Huh.  Well, if you want, we could see about getting you glasses.  My friend Wil–” Tubbo stops, and Ranboo cannot see that his expression is stricken.  Tubbo continues, and Ranboo notices the slight tremor in his voice.  “My friend Wilbur.  He wore glasses.  So, I’m sure we could get you some as well.”

Ranboo hesitates, writing slowly.

thank you. That would be nice.  Maybe it would help.

my vision is pretty bad.  I can’t see far over distances, it gets all foggy, and my peripheral is almost nonexistent.  And things are always a little blurry unless you’re right in front of my face.

Tubbo reads it slowly and carefully, murmuring the words as he does so, maybe meant to be inaudibly, but Ranboo can hear him.  “I am also dyslexic, so, the reading stuff is a bit slow for me.”

Ranboo just nods.

“Well then, Rambo.  I will give you a specialty tour of New L’Manberg!” Tubbo had originally wanted to take him to the top of the hill, to look out over the city, but he now knows that wouldn’t exactly be much use, so instead he takes him over to the platforms.

“I built this recently,” Tubbo puts a fond hand on one of the support posts.  “Made it out of spruce, and look, can you see how new it is?”  He motions Ranboo closer.

Ranboo follows, having to crouch down, but once he does, he sees the grain in the wood, he sees the fresh bark still left on the logs and the new metal bolts holding it all together.  “You built–” Ranboo quickly course corrects.

you built all this?

Tubbo stares at the page, always a delay, but not that Ranboo minds.  When Tubbo has to lean in to read it, Ranboo can see a bit more of his face.  “Yeah, I did!  With some help from the rest of the cabinet, and… and from Ghostbur.”

it's really cool

Tubbo reads it, and for a second Ranboo thinks he might be blushing, but then Tubbo is too far for him to tell.

“Right, now over here, we’ve got a few houses set up.  This one here,” Tubbo all but escorts him to the front door.  “It’s the one to the left of the stairs up.  It’s where Phil lives.  You’ll like Phil!  He’s really great.”

Ranboo nods, and he is startled when Tubbo takes his hand, pulling him along to the next doorway.

“This house is unoccupied at the moment.  The door is also spruce, and we’ve even placed flower boxes outside!  The house is a bit small, but it has two stories.  And I dunno if you know this, but the whole city is on stilts right now.  Over a big crater.  The plan is to hopefully refill it with rain water, there’s already some starting to collect, and make it a little less… rough,” Tubbo actually guides his hand to the flower boxes, so he can touch the dirt, so he’s close enough to see the flowers clearly, and Ranboo, if he weren’t so repressed, thinks he might have cried.  Tubbo doesn’t seem to notice, moving along.  “And here’s the flag!  The flag for New L’Manberg.  Maybe I can find you an old flag and show you that one too.  The history is important, you know?”  Once more, Tubbo hands the cloth to Ranboo, so he can feel its material, and hold it up close enough he can see the colors and the heart stitched on its surface.

It’s pretty

“Thank you!  I tried, you know?” Tubbo sounds a little bashful.  “Um, maybe it could be your house!  You’ll need to have a house here if you want to run in the elections.”

yeah!

Tubbo opens the doors to the house.  “Check out the inside!  It’s got barrels for storage, and a crafting table already set up, and a ladder up to the second floor.”

Ranboo can see the outline of the walls, and the second floor, he can guess where the ladder is from how it stands out distinctly to the cobblestone.  He can see the lanterns hanging from the ceiling from the harsh streaks they leave across his eyesight.  Ranboo also finds his vision does better in the dark.  Outside in the sun, the fog gets worse.

“You’d have to buy it.”

Ranboo scribbles faster.  Wait how do I do that??

Tubbo laughs, and Ranboo wants to make him laugh again.  “You’d have to talk to Ghostbur.  Don’t worry, he won’t charge you an arm and a leg for it or anything.”

Ranboo nods.

“And down here we have market stalls built!  No one is selling anything at the moment, but Ghostbur has decorated each one with wool and these… these decorative panel things, um, banners!  Lots of different patterns and things,” Tubbo nods him over to one of the stalls so Ranboo can see the detailed weave.  Tubbo walks to the next stall, and then the next, pausing at each so he can see the decorations.

“Alright, come on.  Stick close to me.  There are railings around the main platform, but we haven’t finished adding them to the sides really yet, or the stairs.”

I can see the railings and where the edge drops off.  I just can’t see far away or details unless it’s really close.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to… to patronize or assume or anything.”

it’s ok! thanks tho

“No problem, bossman!  Up here, this is Karl’s house.  I’m sure you can hear the llama?” Tubbo says this more hesitantly.  “There’s also bright red flowers.”

yeah!  The flowers are nice.  You’re right the llama is loud.  So is the redstone track.

“Oh, right, the redstone!” Tubbo stares at the track perhaps thoughtfully.  “Forgot about that,” he murmurs, and Ranboo isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear him or not.  “Um, back over here is Quackity’s house.  It’s very… open concept at the minute.  All those big gaps over there?” Tubbo points to a large opening in the far wall.  “There’s no glass in there yet, so it’s very… airy.”

Ranboo nods.

“Right, and over his Fundy’s house, it’s across this bridge here,” Tubbo leads the way.  “And… he’s got blue carpet!” Tubbo actually sits on the floor in his fancy suit, and brushes through the woven wool.

Ranboo can see the color, he knows it’s carpet, he doesn’t actually need to know what it feels like, but Tubbo is trying so hard, so Ranboo sits beside him and threads through the wool.  Ranboo smiles.  He glances up to Tubbo’s face and is unsettled to find that he’s most likely staring at him.  He hopes Tubbo isn’t looking him in the eye.  Even if Ranboo can’t tell, he doesn’t like the thought very much.

“Right, um, anyway.  Down here is the rest of Fundy’s house.  His house is very nice, it’s properly furnished, lots of that blue carpet,” Tubbo describes it as they go.  “And outside here, under the crane, this is Ghostbur’s property.  It’s not all under water, he just… he sort of lives next to the sewers––storm drains, to be clear, nothing gross.”  Tubbo heads down into the water and Ranboo hesitates.

He fumbles with the edge of his iron armor.  He should be safe enough to make it down there.  Ranboo can’t help but cover his eyes as he follows.

“You… you alright?” Tubbo asks carefully.

“Y-Yeah!” Ranboo quickly nods, relieved to find his face is dry.  He needs to have more faith in his enchantments, and once he gets some netherite, he shouldn't have to worry about water anymore.

“Um, well, in here is Ghostbur’s house.  His thing is making invis potions, as you can tell.  Reeks of blaze powder,” Tubbo flips through barrels of supplies.  “And in here is his library…”

So it follows.

Tubbo shows him everything, every little thing close enough, at least.  He gives him things to feel, and he points out sounds he knows should be there even if he can’t hear them anymore himself, and Ranboo cannot describe the feeling it brings him to follow Tubbo.  It’s not merely caring, it’s the fact that in some way, Tubbo understands.  He won’t realize for a long time that that was where he started to fall in love.

Next, he follows around Tommy, who is an explosion of noise and energy and his hands always a flurry of motion that Ranboo cannot quite make out.  He does his best not to reveal how little he can see.  He doesn’t know Tommy well enough for that; Tubbo’s own confession had felt like enough.  When Tommy questions Ranboo accidentally hitting him––Ranboo hadn’t noticed Tommy out of the corner of his eye until Tommy was right there, he’d reached out to stop him, severely misjudged the distance, and apparently hit Tommy––Ranboo fumbles an explanation about wanting to hand him a flower.  He cannot read Tommy’s hazy expression as he says, “y’like flowers, Ranboo?” but since Tommy continues to talk to him, asks Ranboo to walk with him, he assumes Tommy wasn’t offended.

Ranboo agrees to join Tommy in his mischief.  He doesn’t realize the house is burning until he smells smoke, and Tommy drags him away from harsh yellow light and heat muttering a fierce string of curse words.  He hisses to Ranboo as they walk quickly up the prime path, “we saw nothing, got it?  We saw nothing.”

And Ranboo nods and deigns not to tell Tommy how true that is.

When they are dragged to a court house, Ranboo doesn’t remember what happened.  He remembers going somewhere with Tommy, he remembers Tommy’s panic, but he doesn’t grasp the details.  He doesn’t see Tommy’s face, but hears him defend him, and support him when he explains why he can’t remember.

So Ranboo is let go, and Tommy isn’t.

And it only gets worse from there.

Ranboo is overwhelmed by how everyone starts to panic, but he told Tubbo he would follow him, that he would try to help, so he does, and he tries to keep the minutes.

[womanlives]

if you get scared, you call me. (mercy/jie)

@tewwor im sorry i got carried away again

Mercy looks up from the duffel she’s packing. She’s back in all black. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the warm tones of their bedroom, sequestered in the upstairs corner of their house. Hidden away in the middle of their woods. Their secret. Their safety. Their place. This will be the first time she leaves it. Alone. Dinks found an opportunity, and the ghosts have started screaming again. You know what they say. All good things.

Then something about an end.

Anyone else — anyone else, even her own goddamn reflection in the mirror — would get a rebuttal. Fuck you. Scared? Insert your best impression of a blasé laugh. Not him. Not Jie. Mercy offers him a soft little smile instead, as she carefully wraps her deconstructed SIG Sauer P226 in one of his shirts and tucks it next to a small, nondescript laptop and three brand-new burners. It’s all she can manage. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, because her insides feel like they’re splitting in two. Here’s the problem: she desperately wants him with her. She just wants him far away from her fucking mess more.

Silencer, couple boxes of 9mm ammo, and she’s done. Mercy zips the duffel up, then walks over to Jie, and reaches up to cup his face in her hands. The pad of her thumb runs back and forth over his scar. Her eyes search his. Memorizing this. The stubble of his jaw, the ridge of his cheekbone. Memorizing him. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the part where she’s brave enough. Her lips part.

“Three days,” she says instead. It’s a promise. “That’s it. I can’t find find ‘em — ” a Syndicate rat, out to market, ready to squeal “ — I come home. Okay?”

It isn’t. It’s so fucking far from okay that it may as well be on a different continent. Dinks’ lead is unverifiable. Dubious at best and a downright trap at worst, but it’s all she’s got. The back of her neck burns. She owes it to them to at least try.

She pulls Jie’s face to hers and kisses him. It almost kills the whole plan then and there. That’s how fucking hard it is to break off, breathe him in, and still have the strength to pull away. Mercy backs off. Slings the duffel over her shoulder. Pats her pants down for her keys, winks. “Don’t forget about the basil.” Ducks out the doorway, and leaves.

It’s a fourteen-hour drive to the portside cesspit of a city that the Syndicate calls their home base. Mercy does it all in one go, save for one stop for a meal and a thirty-minute reset. There’s no radio. The air in the car’s too thick for that. Has been ever since Mercy turned her phone fully off, after a meme reel from Yua threatened to send her veering off the nearest exit because it was only then she realized she’d forgotten to tell her friend she’d be gone for a few days, and just in case, goodbye.

She pulls over on a side road when she’s forty-five minutes ago. Close enough to see the light pollution in the distance, but too far to make out the skyline. Activates her first burner phone. Texts Jie; texts Dinks. Gets confirmation on the contact, texts them next. Pulls out her SIG while she waits. Cleans it. Puts it together. Flicks at it out of habit — safety on, safety off, safety on. Loads it, tucks it into the holster hidden by her jacket. Double-checks her knives. Gets a message back — contact, at last! — and sets a date six hours from now. Early afternoon. Perfect.

Full recline. Mercy sets an alarm on her burner and settles back in her seat. Closes her eyes. Tries to sleep.

Flash forward seven hours, a cold coffee, and one car theft later. Mercy waits in the shop across the street from the one where Squealer wants to meet. Said over text they’d have long red hair and a long red jacket. She doesn’t see neither. One hour passes. Two. It’s bordering on three by the time she confirms she’s not being watched, so she ambles over to do a quick perimeter sweep. She spots it quick enough, off to the side of the pavement leading into an alley. A lone, discarded earbud. She shoots a quick text to Dinks. No show. GET OUT, the burner screen says. She goes in the alley instead.

Signs of a scuffle, back-right. A kicked-over pile of cinderblocks. Fresh-dried blood on the edge of the dumpster. More spatters, leading down the back-alley exit off to the right. Dockside bound. Mercy triple-checks her six, flips up her hood, and follows.

It’s just past nightfall by the time she tracks Squealer down. A woman. A girl, actually. Red hair, just like she said. Red pea coat: a testament to the coastal breeze. She looks like she’s in her early twenties, but it’s hard to tell because of what they did. Mercy finds her, propped and posed, behind a shipping crate at the back-end of a port terminal. Long-dried tears break up the dirt underneath her eyes. Her mouth hangs half-open. Hardened foam forms a crust at the corner of it. At least two dozen needles stick out from her cheeks, framed by ten times that number of track marks punched deliberately into her face, and her elbows, and her knuckles. Shoulders, too, if the rips in her shirt are any indication. Most of the needles are empty, pressed full into Squealer’s skin. Some still have liquid in the barrel, plungers half-pushed.

Freckles. Rot-Eyes, that motherfucker. He gave her freckles.

Squealer’s brown eyes stare lifelessly down at her hands, which rigor mortis keeps clamped around her smartphone. It’s on, casting a ghastly, lifeless blue glow right into her face.

And it's playing music, too. Mercy doesn’t hear it until she steps in to get a closer look at the syringes. But then, on repeat, tinny and shrill, from the sole earbud in Squealer’s left ear — ONE WAY. OR ANOTHER. I’M GONNA FIND YA. I’M GONNA GET YA GET YA GET YA GET YA

Set up. Set up, set up, set up. They knew about Squealer. About what she wanted to do. Mercy wants to take care of the body — take care of it, truly, with syringes removed, and phone turned off, and soul laid to rest, the way she wishes someone would’ve cared for her, back then, too — but there’s no time. Bile rises in her throat. She has to go. Now.

Mercy stands and dials. 9-1-1, what’s your emergen —

“There’s a dead girl behind a green shipping container with white lettering at the end of the eastside port.” Click.

The rest is a blur of desperation. She’s half-expecting to get grabbed or shot the second she steps off the container terminal lot. No such luck. She catches a taxi instead. Ditches it four blocks down, catches another, rinse and repeat, until she’s on the other side of town. Into a department store to steal a new jacket, then out the other side. Back to the streets. Bright-lit first, stick to the crowds, until the sick in her soul gets the better of her, and forces her back underground. Eventually she stops at the beach. Finds refuge at the edge of an old, dilapidated wharf and empties what’s left of her stomach into the water.

She fumbles with the burner. The adrenaline’s gone, now, and the withdrawal makes her fingers shake. Hold it together. Just a little while longer. Dials the number she knows by heart and presses the receiver to her ear. Folds in on herself as it rings, once. Isn’t sure if she can make it through the second —

The other line picks up. Mercy feels faint with relief.

“Jie?” So small. God, her voice sounds so small. She lifts a hand to her mouth — isn’t sure if it’s her fingers that are trembling, or her lips — as her legs give out, and drop her into a crouch. Her eyes close. She pictures him. It helps. “I hate this. I miss you.” I love you. Everything shakes now. It’s spreading. Mercy drops her forehead to her knees and forces herself to remember. Breathe.

“I think I’m scared. I want to come home.”

[twstingtestingtesting]

Name’s Rev. Full name is Revelation, but I was younger and more optimistic when I chose that, so now? Just Rev. I have no family name to speak of.

I was born into a group of nomadic tieflings. There were a few families that all travelled together. Not all of Faerûn is welcoming to our kind, so there was safety in numbers. I was born somewhere on the road.

I can’t say that my parents were necessarily good people, but they were young and trying their best. My mother was a bard, and my father was a rouge. She would play her violin, and while her audience was distracted, he would pick their pockets. When I was old enough, I would help them. I can’t say it was the best childhood – there was never really enough food or money to go around, but our small community was close, and we all did what we could to contribute.

My appearance makes me stick out, even among other tieflings. I’m albino – I have stark white skin, white hair, and my eyes are fully red. My vision isn’t the best – I’m particularly sensitive to bright lights. I keep my hair long, usually tied back in a topknot. I don’t have any tattoos or notable birthmarks, but I do have faint freckles, and all the scars that come with living a less than comfortable life. I also have a long tail that twitches when I’m nervous. I’m tall and wiry, though not particularly bulky.

I don’t speak much – at least, not at first. Most of the time, I prefer to communicate in gestures and grunts. A few drinks can usually loosen me up, although I’m hesitant to drink much nowadays. When I do speak, my voice is gruff, and surprisingly deep.

For most of my life, I lived the way the rest of my family had. I stayed with the group of tieflings I had grown up with, and we survived by doing odd jobs where we could and committing petty crime where we couldn’t. I was part of a trio of best friends – Hadria, Zethyr, and I. I loved the two of them with all of my heart. The three of us had grown up together. We were closer than friends, closer than siblings.

The night I ruined that had started like many others – the three of us drinking in a small pub not far outside of Neverwinter. Zethyr and I had both had too much, and we were admittedly more rowdy than usual. We’d both been showing off for Hadria, and what had started out as drunken bravado turned into playfighting, and from there, a real fight. I loved Zethyr, but we’d grown up together. It’s impossible to know someone that long without having some resentments, some tensions that never really resolve themselves. Hadria left the pub early, annoyed by our behavior. Zethyr had an ego, and I had a temper. It was always Hadria that bridged the gaps between the two of us. Maybe if she had stayed, or if we hadn’t been drinking, things could’ve been different. He and I were kicked out of the pub, but we were both only too willing to take our fight to the empty street beyond.

Even though I was pissed, I never meant to seriously hurt him. The punch I threw shouldn’t have been deadly, but I didn’t account for the slickness of the cobblestone below our feet. The blow sent him reeling back. He must’ve lost his footing on the street. I can still see the flash of terror in his eyes as he fell, and I can still hear the horrible crack as his skull clipped the corner of a stone ledge.

I didn’t go back to our camp that night. I couldn’t face my family, my community, couldn’t face Hadria. I stayed with him, held his cooling hands in my own, but I couldn’t admit to the others what I had done. I left alone, with only the coinpurse on my belt.

It’s been almost ten years since that night. I never stay in one place for long now, especially if I know there are other tielfing communities nearby. I drift from place to place – though I prefer to stay on the outskirts. There’s always someone out there who could use a hired sword, especially one with discretion, and if there’s two things I’m good at, it’s keeping my mouth shut and my blade handy. Working in a group makes me nervous, but times are tough and I need to take what I can get.

I don’t know if I deserve a better life. The shame of what I did and how I left is always in the back of mind, even if it’s faded to a dull ache. Time may have passed, but deep down I know what I am and what I’ll always be: a coward.

[kyleknight]

Bdubs Shouts A Lot

One last fic for @gingermaple's Red vs Blue/Hermitcraft AU for the night. This one sort of follows the events of that first one I posted.

wordcount: 1075

warnings: war setting

brief summary: Scar, Joe, and Oli are all ready to have a great funeral for Bdubs, but then Bdubs shows up.

ao3 link

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

It’s not much of a shock when Bdubs appears at his own funeral as a ghost— or whatever he’s deciding to call himself. He seems to be extremely proud of this accomplishment, however, so Scar decides he’ll play along. 

There’s nothing actually in the grave, but Scar isn’t about to tell Bdubs that. Or Joe, who is genuinely mourning the loss of the man he supposedly killed via tank on his second day at Blue base. Scar got up early today, dug at the dirt enough to give the appearance of a fresh grave, and plopped the marker that Joe made right on top. A very nice looking grave, although not as nice as the one they made for Cub a few months ago. 

See, the thing is, after Cub died, Scar decided it was time to fulfill his curiosity about this ridiculous nowhere canyon. He quietly slipped into his former commanding officer’s room and found a lot of impossibly-encrypted files and quite a few suspicious items. One of said items was an entire set of armor filled with a complicated mechanical chassis.

A set of armor completely identical to Bdubs’ armor. Same height and everything.

It sure provided some interesting explanation for why the other guy never took his armor off and never joined them for meals. Scar gave up on the files, but he figured things would either come to light or they wouldn’t. 

He’d call this a pretty intriguing clue to figuring out Bdubs’ little mystery.

“Bdubs!” Joe gasps. “How are you alive! I thought you died in a tragic accident!”

Bdubs seethes. He’s oddly translucent and slightly smaller than usual, but he’s strangely taking the same image as his recently departed metal corpse. He’s even got ghost-weapons equipped to his sides and back.

“Tragic accident— YOU KILLED ME WITH THE TANK!!” he shouts. “Why is the freakin’ tank attending the funeral anyway! Isn’t that a little insensitive, having the thing that killed me at MY funeral?”

“Hey, you can’t blame Oli for that,” Joe says. “He was trying to figure out his capabilities so that he could get a better understanding of himself and his identity.”

“Sorry,” Oli chimes in from where he’s parked a short distance away. There’s a fluttery dark blue flag tied to his turret, acting as a mourning veil.

“Well he sure was capable of KILLING ME!” Bdubs says. “And don’t think I’m forgetting about how it was YOU driving the tank, Joe! Great job killing someone on your second day, too bad it was someone on your OWN TEAM!!”

“In my defense, I was trying to be as nonlethal as possible,” Joe says. “I was just trying to scare off the Reds.”

“And you did a great job of that!” Scar says encouragingly. “I think they might leave us alone for a while now!”

“He KILLED me!” Bdubs yells. 

“That makes me wonder: does this return mean you’ve become a vengeful ghost?” Joe says. “If so, I think it’s kind of a shame, because it appears that you’ve been bound to the site of your violent death, unable to pass on to whatever might or might not exist after the moment of death. We can try to purify you so that you can move on and be at peace if you’d like that.”

“I’ll help!” Oli says, turning his turret towards them.

“No thank you,” Bdubs says immediately. “I’m a freakin’ ghost now and you’d better believe I’m gonna haunt every last one of you.”

“Oh,” Scar says suddenly. “I guess this means we can’t give Oli your room.”

“WHAT?!” Bdubs says. “You were gonna give the TANK my ROOM?”

“Well, you probably weren’t going to be using it,” Scar says.

“Screw that!” Bdubs says. “That’s my room, and I’m gonna haunt this base until it falls apart! Long after you’re all dead, I’ll still be here! Goodness, I can’t believe I got killed! By a rookie!”

“We were all rookies once,” Scar points out. “Joe just had an unfortunate accident. Could have happened to anyone. Oli felt very sorry about it, too. He even put a bunch of ori-grammy flowers on the crater where you died.”

“Origami— how the heck did a tank make origami flowers?” Bdubs sputters.

“Joe helped me with that!” Oli says. “I think the two of us might have a knack for it. We could start a papercraft business after the war is over!”

“Sure, sure,” Scar says. He claps his hands together, giving them all a very warm smile. “Well, since it seems like Bdubs isn’t completely dead, I suppose we can skip the mourning, head back into the base, and start the reception. The gifts from Command won’t be here for at least another week or two, but I made some cookies!”

“Cookies?” Joe repeats. 

“To lift the mood!” Scar says. “Can’t spend all day being sad! Joe, you can still recite the eulogy you wrote for Bdubs once we’re out of this awful sun.”

“You wrote a eulogy?” Bdubs says, floating closer to Joe as they make their way into the base. Oli remains outside, of course, but Scar does notice how he tilts his turret down as if admiring the paper flowers they placed around the grave marker. Scar reminds himself to take out a few cookies for Oli while Joe is reciting the eulogy. Just because Oli can’t eat them doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the gesture.

The reception is a success, as far as Scar is concerned. The food is excellent— all made by Scar himself, of course— and both Joe and Bdubs seem to genuinely have a good time now that Bdubs is starting on the path to forgiveness and mutual understanding. He’s still being a bit of a grouch and keeps repeating the fact that Joe killed him, but he’ll get over it soon enough. They’re a team, and if they don’t have each other’s backs, then anything could come and happen to them!

Later that day, as Scar takes Joe and Oli to one of the more interesting corners of the canyon to show off the cool fossils in the rock layers, he looks back in time to see Bdubs walking out of the base to stand on the roof in his usual position. He’s wearing— or perhaps inhabiting— the set of armor that Scar had so thoughtfully left in his room earlier that day.

Yep. He’ll get over it soon enough.

[pixie-mask]

So I’ve started myself onto a project. A project basically going over Joxer as he appears in the Xena comics. Which isn’t much as of me checking he appears in 8 overall. First of on the block:

Xena: Warrior Princess (2018)

So I’m doing these at random and from this run of Xena I would say they didn’t know quite what they were doing with the series. As this run is only 10 issues long and acts like a reboot with slight trappings of some later events.

For instance this is how Gabrielle is introduced

dressed as she would be after a few episodes and on her own before meeting Xena. Now she still meets Xena relatively the same way being rescued from the men attacking her. Which speaking of Xena she’s introduced

cool and badass as always but now with a red cloak. Said cloak is now a permanent part of her outfit by the way and remains for the entire 10 issue run.

Another quick divergence I want to mention is that Callisto

gets a very early introduction and as of the story following this one she’s set up almost as if she where a season one villain as the second story has her making allies with that story's villain.

But anyway this post and mini project is supposed to be about Joxer and he gets introduced in the third story alongside Autolycus as, and I love how anachronistic this series is, a Xena Fest.

Btw following the usual trappings of such a storyline no one believes Xena and Gabrielle are Xena and Gabrielle. They’re even called old over it. And this is also one of those weird moments where the story mentions Joxer early. Cause like I said this is this story Joxer is introduced so this

Is a little weird...Kind of but I’ll explain.

Now Xena Festival is organized by the one and only Autolycus

So of course wanting to know what the hell is going  on Xena approaches Autolycus and his bodyguard

and ta-da

There his is and this is the one complaint about him here. Like I said this is an introduction to what apparently meant to be a reboot. As such in this version of the story Xena already knows Joxer, which would explain (I guess) the kid that was cosplaying as him. Anyway positive points for giving him a little bit of muscles and negative points for...him. Like the art in this is pretty good-mostly good, but Joxer is the only character who doesn’t look like himself.

this is particularly bad and it’s rather annoying when set along side everyone else and knowing how he’s supposed to look.

Anyway we learn that Autolycus did this for the money but was not the one who came up with the idea. Instead it was a Xena fanatic named Sevdis. who studied every single thing about her and even wrote plays about her that was rejected by another Xena playwright. So she went further with her obsession learning even more about Xena and learning how she fights (idk how they don’t explain it that well. we’re at Xena Fest) and then learns everything she can about Gabrielle once news about Xena having a sidekick starts to spread. She kidnaps Gabrielle with the plan to kill her until she gets interrupted. 

Xena, Autolycus, and Joxer are on the search for Gabrielle as well as Sevdis.

The panel below is the closest we get to Joxer looking like Joxer

So Sevdis and Xena start to fight. Autolycus decides to start a bet among the citizens on which “Xena” will win. Meanwhile Joxer decides to go look for Gabrielle.

Eventually he finds her

He hasn’t noticed  that she’s untied herself so he’s still planning on breaking the door down to rescue her

I hate this panel.

And honestly I actually forgot when reading this comic that Joxer and Gabrielle have yet to meet until this little section.

So the two head back to Xena and they arrive just in time to stop some rando from stealing Xena’s sword

They work their way to the crowd and see the fight nearly at it’s conclusion and...

What is this face. Why does Joxer look like he’s seen something that will mentally scar him  for life.

Anyway the fight ends with Sevdis tapping out of the match and being forgiven by Gabrielle and Xena. Meanwhile Autolycus pockets all the money from the fight and tries to slip away from giving it to the winner of the bet who then proceeds to start kicking Autolycus’ ass.

The story ends with Gabrielle and Xena leaving, but with Joxer following them to the edge of the town trying to get some help for Autolycus

and yeah that’s the end of the story and 2018 series.

And you know this would be fine for a reboot. I like how everyone is introduced and because of the way they are written pretty well to their original counterparts, though Joxer has such little page time he still feels a bit not written like...Joxer. It could be said for a new interpretation, cause he hasn’t had the time, or this is him at a more serious point. He’s still clearly the comic relief, but he’s also not as clumsy or goofy as we’re used to.

[white-boy-bracket]

  "So, where were you, exactly?" 

  Xigbar had been wondering when the question would pop up. After all, you can't just disappear on your boss for like a week without said boss asking where the hell you were. 

  "Gettin' ogled, mostly." He grinned at Showie. "Got sucked back into the last tournament I was in. 'Fuckable Old Man Battle'."

  "Fucka-?" Showie snorted and let out a small giggle. "You're kidding." 

  "What? I'm hot." Xigbar poked her side with his elbow. "You and I both know it, Doll." 

  She looked Xigbar over, as if considering him. “Eh.”

  Xigbar gasped in mock offense, clasping his hand over where his heart should've been (if he had one). 

  "I'm hurt."

  "Uh huh."

  "Wounded."

  "Sure."

  "Destroyed, Showie." 

  “Yeah, I bet you were, seeing as you got sent home early,” her tone was playful.

  "Low blow!" He snickered. "It's not my fault that showrunner wanted to keep their version of Team Lit going. Without the election fraud, I would've won that one. It's all the Narrator's fault. Dude was too annoying."

  Showie took in a sharp breath, a ghost pepper hot wing halfway to her mouth, “The- I’m sorry, Team Lit? Who’s in Team Lit?” Her eyes flicked between Xigbar and the little orange dot that was Firestar down below in the arena.

  "Mostly people with connections to your Team Lit. Artemis's Butler, Alastor, a giant rat… Oh, and also now Dipper's uncle. I know the kid isn't in Team Lit, but y'know." The part about Ford came out a bit bitter. He was still salty about Ford being let into Team Lit after losing on a completely different side of the bracket. Xigbar can write.

  “A giant rat?” Showie looked thoughtful, and she nibbled the wing she was holding, “Did he have a scar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Probably Ripred, then… Did you say Alastor? Isn’t he still with Prosperity?”

  "Evidently not. White-blue fox, right? Thing was hanging out in the common area every time I went out there." Xigbar shrugged. "No idea if it's still there, though. Should be, if the whole team is going to the finals. But considering who they're up against, I don't see them winning."

  “What happens if they lose? Over there?”

  "They don't die, if that's what you're askin'. Y' just get sent home with a gift basket. This was my first time losing, though." He grinned smugly. "I'm the reigning champ."

  Showie looked at his sideways, “Champ of fraud, maybe. Um, but I don't want to risk Alastor being sent back Downstairs or to Redding.” She looked down at the match going on under their feet, seemingly pleased with how it was going. “Would you consider going back to retrieve him? He’s supposed to… I mean, he came with Prosperity, he needs to be here to compete.”

  "I gotta go back soon anyway. After the finals, I gotta defend my title." He shrugged. "Might as well grab 'im if I'm already there." 

  She seemed pleased with that answer. After a moment of silence, she said, “Out of curiosity, what team were you on?”

  "Oh, you're gonna love this. Team They Said Please (and Xigbar)." He said the word 'Parentheses' out loud, doing little dramatic jazz hand finger wigglies.

  “Ha!” She laughed, “I’ll ignore the continued blatant name theft in favor of focusing on the fact that that name refers to the loser team that needs dragged through each round by their hair.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She giggled.

  "That's just cruel, Showie," he huffed. But from the grin on his face, it was pretty obvious he wasn't being serious. "I think when you were trying to kill me hurt less." 

  She smiled, looking down on the match below, “I love it when the matches aren’t close at all. Look at them go!” She laughed, pointing to the short guy and the purple one (but not the purple one, he already got out). They were neck and neck with crowd of about 30 people each, while the Pee Pee Party (they were calling themselves “Team Litvrage”- peepee party was almost less embarrassing) only had one or two people each. They appeared to be having a conversation.

  "You know that one kid. The uh- the blond one? He joined up with them one night; started calling the group 'pee pee party'. Guess they were all going to the woods to piss or something, I dunno. The fire pole was covered in some kinda blood gunk. Honestly, I'm half convinced the kid got into my swamp sauce." He paused for a second. Then, not looking at Showie, speaking as nonchalantly as if he was talking about the weather, he said, "Pretty sure they know I killed that one guy. None of 'em have said anything yet, though."

  “That- Luke?”

  A pause.

  “...Swamp sauce?”

 Xigbar opted to answer the second question.

  "Hard to explain. It's a drink I make- Everyone but me hates it, but it'll fuck you up in two sips. Works like a charm."

  “I bet I could handle it,” She said, apparently allowing him to brush Luke’s corpse under the proverbial rug.

  “As if. Not just anyone can handle it." He grinned at her. "But if you wanna try… I'm not gonna stop you." 

  “I’m built different,” She smiled, taking a sip of her frappe, “Next round, perhaps?”

  "Alright, I'll bring it. Don't say I didn't warn you." He paused for a second. "'Next round', huh? Can't get enough of my ✨️sparkling✨️ personality?"

  “How did you say those out loud? Nevermind,” She nibbled on a wing, looking down, “I’m surprised Percy is ahead of Magnus… I like Percy better. But not as much as Firestar.”

  “Why Firestar?”

  “Have you seen him? Little green eyes? He’s even orange. And besides, the audience throws a fit about him every round. He’s my favorite of those three by principal. Percy, Magnus, and him, I mean.”

  A moment of silence passed. Xigbar stared at the snowglobe- the narrator kitty was pawing at the glass, sadly and pathetically, looking longingly at Stanley. 

  “What’d he do to you? Like I know why I hate him, but what’s your damage? I mean. His damage. I mean. What’d he do?” He asked, feeling his amulet heat up, and then return to normal temperature. 

  She was silent for a while, staring at the ghostly pale spots on her hand where she’d wiped away the make-up. 

  “Um… well, he… are you aware of the game he’s from?”

 “Game? The hell do you mean?"

  “The Stanley Parable,” she said, “He… he created Stanley, and, he- he.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line. It didn’t look like she was going to say anymore. He was honestly surprised she’d said as much as she had. 

  “So this is about Stanley?” Just Stanley? That it? (he knew that was not it, but he was seeing if she’d admit.)

  “He…” she paused, and then hesitantly looked up, directly into Xigbar’s eye, “Xigbar, can I… trust you?”

  Just then, the Narrator began to scream.

  Showie jumped about a foot, letting out a little shriek. They both looked at the arena-

  “Where did they go?!” Showie jumped to her feet, running over to the glass. “Team Leverage, where?”

  “I have a hunch,” He reached over and pulled her hood up over her face, then offered her a hand, “There's a reason I wanted to fuck with them a little bit." 

  She took his hand (hers was cold and hard), and he teleported the two of them away.

this is a chapter of keep your friends close :))))) written by me and @fuckable-old-man-battle

LORE IMPORTANT ROUND

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Uther (and Morgana): Adventures in Matchmaking Part 2 (Final Part)

Uther and Morgana’s plans take off even more, Arthur and Uther have a heart to heart, and everything works out well, in the end.

Part 1

Keeping Arthur and Merlin apart whenever possible is somehow simpler than the two of them had imagined. For the first half of the week, Uther reassigns Merlin to serve some visiting Noble, to be at his beck and call at all hours of the day (if Uther knows from experience how demanding this Noble can be... well, he’s just being thorough). For the second half of the week, Gaius is encouraged to send Merlin out to collect herbs, and see to an illness in the lower town, and collect more herbs. And Guinevere is encouraged (by a very smug Morgana) to spend as much time with her best friend as she possibly can.

[Just like Morgana thought, Gwen catches on before the Lady even opens her mouth to explain, and agrees to help with fondly rolled eyes, as long as no one gets hurt or upset.]

Of course the two men can’t be kept apart entirely, but Uther makes sure that Arthur is busy with demanding training, paperwork, and late patrols; he figures all of that should tire him out enough that he doesn’t have energy to stay awake long on the evenings Merlin can pop into his chambers. Neither of them necessarily notice that they’re spending less time together, but Arthur’s continuing habit of pouting all the way through the servant free meetings, and Merlin’s lack of chatter on his lunches with Gwen, certainly convinces Uther and Morgana that they’re heading in the right direction.

The week feels like it drags on for months and months, but when the sun peaks out from behind the clouds early Friday morning, Arthur finds himself summoned to The King’s study. Gaius allows Merlin to sleep in, knowing exactly what was coming, and the first the servant knows of the bright weather is when Arthur bursts into his room an hour before noon:

“Wakey wakey Merlin!! We’re heading out for a few days so get up, get dressed! We’re going on- ”

Merlin almost falls out of bed at the volume of Arthur’s yelling, but he manages to keep himself off the floor, sitting up with a start and letting the sheets fall down to his waist. That is what seems to catch Arthur’s words in his throat; the night before had been humid (Merlin had been expecting a surprise storm, so was pleased to see the bright sunshine through a crack in his threadbare curtains) so the servant had rid himself of his tunic, tossing it somewhere in the corner of his room. 

Perhaps he wasn’t quite as built as the knights were, but he’d definitely gained some muscle in the last few years; the healthy layer of fat from eating well, the battle scars from God knows what (Merlin may have come clean about the magic, but that doesn’t mean he’s told Arthur everything), the deceptively wide shoulders, and the curled, dark hair on his chest has Arthur choking and turning red before he turns around, facing the door:

“-uh... I... sorry. Anyway!-”

He clears his throat and claps his hands in excitement, but still doesn’t turn around:

“-My father has insisted I take one of the longer patrols alone this weekend, so we’re heading South of the City for a few days, just the two of us.”

Merlin scowls tiredly at his back, not registering for a moment what the Prince had said through his confusion. When he responds, his voice is gritty and low, lower than normal, and Arthur thanks the Gods he’d had the thought to turn around; he knows his cheeks go even redder at the servant’s timbre:

“Why are you facing the wrong way? And when Uther says alone doesn’t he normally mean... like... alone?”

Arthur clears his throat again, taking a moment to pull himself together before replying:

“Yes, well, he implied I’d have a servant or squire with me, and you’re the lucky bloke, so come on!! Let’s have you lazy daisy, isn’t that what you say? And this is... me being... respectful. Put something on, Merlin, no one wants to see... that.”

He gestures vaguely behind him, and Merlin rolls his eyes as the rest of him rolls out of bed. The room is small, and Arthur’s teeth hurt from how hard he clenches them when Merlin unceremoniously pushes past him to reach his wardrobe. He only lets his eyes focus on the servant’s scarred back for a second before he pulls open the curtains and begins casually gazing out the window. He’s almost immediately distracted from the scars when Merlin’s gravelly voice continues from the other side of the room:

“Lucky, right. And since when have you been respectful?? It’s not like I’m not wearing underwear Arthur, and I’m really not that shy.-”

Out the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Merlin briefly glance down and run a hand over the centre of his chest. His next words come out quietly, and Arthur is fairly certain that he wasn’t actually meant to hear them:

“-As long as you don’t ask any questions.”

The servant stays frozen for barely a moment before he begins rummaging again, letting out a victorious “aha” when he pulls a clean tunic from the drawer. Arthur stops looking, moving his gaze rather pointedly out the window again as he slowly responds, pushing any oddities from his mind:

“Hmm. I’m always respectful, Merlin, I’m the Prince of Camelot.-”

He turns around only when he’s certain that Merlin is fully dressed:

“-Really though, hurry up. I’ve already packed my things and the stablehands are readying the horses, you just need to get yourself ready and grab food rations and then we can go.”

Merlin huffs, but doesn’t say anything as he grabs his pack from the corner of the room, digging around to pull things out and put things back in as Arthur sways slightly on the spot, clearly excited to get out into the sun. The servant glances up and smiles fondly when he sees how badly Arthur is hiding his mood, and asks as he finishes checking he had all the right things:

“Why is your father sending you out now, do you know?”

Arthur shrugs and leans back against the wall as he picks at his nails, not looking up:

“Who knows, I didn’t ask to be honest. I’ve been fairly busy the last week or so, and I haven’t been outside the city walls in months, he probably just doesn’t want me to get out of practice or something.”

The servant hums, but doesn’t say anything until he’s ready to go a few minutes later, gesturing for Arthur to leave the room first, and then shutting the door behind him.

The Warlock grabs the food rations from the kitchens, packing them as he walks, and meets Arthur in the courtyard a few minutes later. Normally, the Prince at least waits for Merlin to make an appearance before strapping his pack to the horse and mounting her, but he’s displaying his eagerness once again by having all but left already. Merlin smirks and rolls his eyes, quickly jumping onto his own mount, and wordlessly following his Prince out of the citadel gates.

Lady Morgana and King Uther watch them leave from a window high up on the castle wall, certain that neither men would glance up and see them accidentally:

“So?”

Morgana doesn’t look away from the two retreating bodies as she quietly asks her one worded question, and Uther doesn’t look away as he quietly answers:

“You should have seen his face when I told him he was to be assigned the patrol. He all but jumped with joy when I said it would just be him and a squire or... other, of his choice. The idea to hurry Arthur in to wake his servant himself was inspired though, Morgana.”

Morgana smirks and hums before she responds:

“Hmm. I realised yesterday evening how hot the night would be, I figured there was a decent enough chance that Merlin would’ve slept in... hmm... fewer layers than normal, and Gaius was more than happy to give Merlin the morning off after the busy week he’s had. Hopefully it worked out for the better.”

~

The weekend can’t pass quick enough, for Morgana and Uther, but equally, they want it to seem as long as possible. The pair want, no, need, to see the outcome of their clever little scheme, but they also want to give the clever little scheme as much time as possible to work. It’s not a lack of faith in the plan, more a lack of faith in Arthur and Merlin—whilst Morgana normally found manipulating Arthur as easy as her ABCs (as did... everyone, really), Merlin is sharp as a whip, sharp enough to look out for the both of them. Though that isn’t the reason for the lack of faith this time, more so that the two are incredibly, unreasonably obtuse in the face of their emotions. Though that’s the point of obtuseness, I suppose, it’s unreasonable to those who find themselves forced to witness it.

When the two strapping young men—oh how Uther despaired when Morgana described them as such with a grin on her face (if phase two of Uther’s plan hadn’t secretly been to push Morgana further into the arms of her maidservant, he might have suspected she was also in love with the farm boy)—finally rode back into the castle courtyard, a day and a half late, Uther couldn’t find it in himself to be angry.

He’d been swerving drastically between being pleased that they were taking their time, spending it together, perhaps flirting a little or brushing fingers or sharing fireside stories, or panicking that they had been taken, injured, killed. He is therefor glad to see the slightly reduced distance between them when he spies them walking through the castle gates, late Tuesday afternoon; no brushing fingers quite yet, but they both look happy and refreshed and as young as their age.

The King meets them in the courtyard, unusual, but not unheard of, though he has to stamp down his frown when he sees Arthur’s spine straighten and Merlin’s face fall as he shortens his gait, drifting back to be behind his Prince. He holds in his sigh, instead smiling at both of them equally, much to the boys’ visible confusion:

“You had a pleasant patrol, I presume? You were lucky with the weather, it seems.”

Merlin is better at hiding his shock than Arthur is, but the blond still only takes a brief moment to compose himself before responding:

“Uh, yes, it was pleasant enough, for a necessary duty as it was...”

He trails off slightly, and Uther realises that though the patrol had been an excuse on his end, Arthur likely thought it was some kind of test or exercise; he replies hurriedly, but not hurriedly enough to cause suspicion, his face now pulled into a curious frown and his hands held royally behind his back:

“Hmm. And there were no issues?”

Arthur shakes his head slowly:

“No, Father. Though I apologise for our lateness, we-”

Uther waves his hand absent-mindedly, not looking at his son. He’s not sure if that would register as odd or not, so he just tries to keep his voice low and casual:

“As long as there weren’t any problems, I can allow a day or two. The both of you have been working hard, you deserved a break from castle dramatics.-”

If either boy is shocked, they don’t show it in their expressions, only in the way Merlin almost manages to trip whilst being stood still, and Arthur shuffles his feet as though he doesn’t know whether to be stood to attention or not. Uther quickly changes topic, not wanting them to think on it too much as he finally looks down to them in turn:

“-Before I forget, Morgana was looking for you, Arthur, and your friend, Guinevere, seemed to be searching the grounds for you, Merlin. You may skip dinner with the Lords tonight as long as you make it for breakfast in the morning, I shall see you both then. Have a good evening, boys.”

The King hides his victorious grin at the way Arthur clenches his jaw, ever so slightly and ever so briefly, when he mentions the serving girl; he quickly turns and walks briskly back to the castle, not bothering to hide his smirk when he sees Merlin’s mouthed “boys?!” to Arthur, and Arthur’s responding shrug, in a window’s reflection. Uther hears them begin a much slower pace after him, likely heading up to Arthur’s room to unpack before heading their separate ways, and his smirk turns to a genuinely soft smile at the quiet mutterings he can hear; he can’t make out the words, but he’s not fussed to, and quickens his pace to give them some privacy.

When he reaches an empty corridor high in the castle, he stops by a window, gazing up at the bright blue sky with an almost troubled frown creasing his brow. His words are muttered and gruff, coming with a sigh, and only loud enough for himself to hear them:

“Gods, I’ve gone soft on our boy, haven’t I?-”

He likes to think the sparrow that whizzes by the glass, ever so briefly shadowing his face and singing a cheerful tune as it goes, is Igraine, sending a message from wherever she is:

“-Hmm. Though perhaps he deserves it, after all.”

~

[Morgana makes sure to drag Arthur past a window overseeing one of the gardens. The garden that she knows Gwen is welcoming Merlin back with a tight hug and a handful of purple flowers that she’s been dying to weave into the other servant’s hair. If Arthur clenches his jaw again, tight enough that his teeth ache for hours afterwards, and holds Morgana’s pulling hand just a touch more rigidly, his surrogate sister doesn’t say anything. At least not to him.]

~

Three months later, and Uther is ready to pull out what little hair he has left.

Three months ago he couldn’t take it anymore, but now?? Oh, now he really couldn’t take it anymore.

He thinks that Arthur has come to terms with his feelings, and it was only partly because he knocks on his door late one evening, in sleep clothes with a coat thrown over the top, a lost look in his eye as if he were a child still feeling the cold grips of a nightmare, and a muttered “Could I... come in? If you’re not busy, father?”

[His reasoning is mostly down to the way Arthur has taken to staring longingly directly at Merlin, as opposed to off into the distance blankly.]

Uther had only been reading—an old, well worn romance that his late wife had adored—but he quickly forgets the book when the overwhelming surge to hold his son and protect him from the world hits him square in the chest. It’s a feeling that has escaped him for years, and he’d thought that a good thing, but he can’t help but be guiltily relieved that he still has the ability to worry for his boy.

He steps aside wordlessly and gestures for Arthur to sit in one of the chairs by the lit hearth. He does so with little hesitation, staring into the flames with that lost look again. Uther sits next to him; he does not speak, but he doesn’t pick up his book either, relaxing back into the seat and waiting for Arthur to ask about whatever it is that’s got him so worried. To be perfectly honest, Uther’s thoughts go nowhere near all his previous scheming, not until after five minutes of a surprisingly non-awkward, soft silence, when Arthur asks his question. He speaks quietly, and his tone of voice would have Uther greatly worried for his son’s state of mind if it weren’t for the actual words he mutters:

“Father, how did... how did you know you were in love?”

He doesn’t look away from the fire as he says it, but his hands twist nervously in his lap as Uther lets out a relieved breath and relaxes his tense muscles:

“You must warn your old man next time, Arthur, I had worried something was amiss.”

He smiles as he says it, and he’s glad that it can be heard in his voice; Arthur lets out a breath of air that is close enough to a laugh for Uther to relax even further, and he looks to his father with a tiny apologetic smile:

“Sorry, I just... didn’t really know who else to ask. Gaius, Morgana, Leon... I don’t think there’s a single person in my life who’s been in a... a proper courtship, a proper relationship. Other than you, though I know you... you don’t like talking about it.”

Uther sighs again, though this one is a little mournful as he leans forward in his chair, his elbows resting against his knees as he makes eye contact with his son:

“I... perhaps I should apologise for that. Your mother was... was a wonderful, wonderful person, you deserve to hear about her. Though not tonight. Why do you wish to know? You suspect yourself?”

Arthur smiles at first, and nods, but quickly flushes at his father’s questions, looking away and mumbling:

“You make it sound as if it were a crime. Being in love.”

Uther lets out a quiet chuckle:

“Perhaps I have led you to believe that to be the case, but Arthur, I loved your mother very much, and I would not deny you the same thing, not when it brought me such joy, and not when... not when it brought me you.-”

Arthur looks up again, smiling sincerely, and Uther ignores the tears in his son’s eyes in favour of asking again:

“-Why do you wish to know? What do you think you’re feeling, describe it to me.”

Arthur bites his lip and furrows his brow, looking towards the fire once again, obviously trying to find away to pull his thoughts this way and that, until they were in order, before he speaks them aloud:

“Uh... I... I just... appreciate them. I notice them doing things, stupid things, small things, everything. When they’re there, with me, I feel as though the world is just... right, and when they’re not, even if we’ve been apart for only minutes, everything feels... off kilter, like something is fundamentally wrong with the way the room I’m stood in was built. They’re... wise, and brave, though I’ve never said so, they’ve shared with me things that they’ve never willingly told another soul, and I’ve shared the same way in return. They treat me like... like a normal person, like I’m their friend, but at the same time... I don’t know... sometimes I catch them looking at me like... like I’m the one that hung the stars, like I built this whole Kingdom with my own hands, brick by brick. Their faith means more to me than... than anyone else’s, and that feels wrong because I’m a Prince, I have duties to more than just one person, but at the same time it feels-”

Uther interrupts him with a single, gentle word:

“Right?-”

Arthur looks up, blinking his surprise away as he slowly nods. Uther’s smile grows and he returns the nod, holding Arthur’s gaze with a steely, but also soft, determination:

“-When your mother told me she believed in me, I trusted her with every fibre of my being. When I realised that, I knew that her belief was the only belief that mattered, and I... I would have brought down mountains, moved oceans, to get her anything she wanted. If she had so much as given me a look, I would have passed the crown to some other self-righteous Noble, and followed her until we turned to dust.”

Arthur’s surprise returns full force, his wide-eyed shock growing with every word out of his father’s mouth. He stutters for a moment, before finally clearing his throat and responding:

“You... you would have given up the Throne? The Kingdom??”

Uther gives a tight, melancholic smile, but nods:

“For your mother? In a heartbeat. Though I obviously don’t wish for you to do such a thing, I do understand, Arthur, more than you know. It seems as though this person means a great deal to you, and it sounds as though you have no intention of ever letting them go. Perhaps you should... tell them how you feel?”

Arthur’s gaze immediately shutters, and he looks away, not to the fire this time, but towards the dark window. The curtains have yet to be drawn, and the starlight casting shadows on the carpet seems cold and distant instead of warm and guiding, all of a sudden:

“No. That’s not... possible. They... wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment, they’re hoping for someone else, I think, and even if they weren’t, they don’t... they wouldn’t... not for me, anyway. They’d feel... indebted, and I wouldn’t want to push them into a corner.”

Uther’s heart breaks a little, and he resists the urge to put a hand on his son’s shoulder:

“Well, to me at least, it sounds like this wise, brave person, who treats you like any normal stranger on the street, would have no problem saying no to you. They don’t sound like the type of person to allow themselves to be pushed into a corner.”

Arthur shakes his head again, standing up as he turns to face his father once more, his face blank and his back stiff:

“No, it’s... complicated. I don’t want to push them away, or make things between us... weird. I’d rather have them in my life as a friend than not have them at all. I won’t lose them, not if I can help it.”

Uther sighs and follows him to stand, making his way to the door the moment he senses Arthur’s unease and need to leave the conversation:

“Just think about what I said. There is always a chance, Arthur, I have seen you be brave against certain death, perhaps you could summon a little bravery for this. The ending might be sweeter than you expect.”

Arthur reaches the door, stopping in the thankfully guard free corridor and turning, eyes gazing somewhere over Uther’s shoulder as he slowly responds:

“Death is a certainty, it can not be avoided, and there is therefor no reason to fear it. Losing the person I... I love, that is a chance I’m not willing to take, that is something I fear more than anything else. I...-”

His eyes sharpen, and he looks to his father again, bowing slightly with a sad, tight smile on his face:

“-I thank you for you time, father. I... appreciate it, and would... would like to take you up on your offer, to talk about mother one day. Sleep well, My Lord.”

Arthur’s address of The King only has him flinch slightly, and he mutters a quiet goodnight before the shutting the door and leaning his back against the cool wood:

“Hmm. Almost there, I suppose.”

~

Another week later, Uther calls Morgana to his study once more—

[This is a week after he’d instructed her to lay off on the whole... Merlin-and-Gwen angle. She’d very cleverly staged a conversation between herself and Merlin, just around the corner from where Arthur had been chatting with an unexplainably reluctant Sir Leon, in which she’d verbally cornered Merlin into saying “Morgana... I love you, and I love Gwen, I really do... but it can not possibly have escaped your notice that women aren’t really my... thing?”. She hears Arthur stop in the middle of his response to whatever inane question Morgana had scripted for Leon. She hears Leon sigh and clear his throat. She hears Arthur continue his previous sentence, not realising how choked his voice sounded, nor how many words he’d said in the wrong order. Merlin hears none of this.]

—to discuss moving things along a little more... drastically. 

Arthur has come to terms with his feelings, has named them, even if only in his head, or vaguely in the safety of the soft chairs in front of his father’s hearth. And Merlin... well, at least he knows what his type is. Uther thinks that the servant is aware of his particular attraction to Arthur, but he can’t be certain; he’s come to the conclusion, over the years, that the boy is good at keeping secrets, and has many of his own close to his chest. Uther finds that he isn’t all that eager to find out about them.

Morgana agrees of course, that things should move on in a more... perhaps overt, fashion; though Uther also knows that she’s been waiting for this since the very beginning, and so their next plot is hatched.

It’s a little more difficult, this one, to do subtly at least, but after Gaius’ amused recount of the overheard conversation from Merlin’s room the morning they left on their solo patrol, Uther decides that yes, more of that please, that should sort them right out.

“Step one,-”

Morgana is listening raptly, and is also trying very hard not to laugh at the seriousness with which Uther is taking what she is calling “The Awakening of Arthur: Strong Merlin” :

“-will be to show off the servant’s strength. You need to get Arthur drunk enough that he can barely walk, and have Merlin carry him,-”

He gives Morgana a stern frown when she begins giggling:

“-yes Morgana, carry him, back to his chambers. I’ve given him tomorrow off, so tonight is the perfect opportunity.”

She nods seriously before offering her own ideas:

“Step two should definitely involve Merlin taking his shirt off somehow. I’ll see what I can rope the laundresses in to, and perhaps...-”

She looks thoughtful, her gaze wandering around as if chasing the right words:

“-perhaps putting him in Arthur’s clothes would be a good idea as well, after the shirtless thing.”

Uther looks constipated, but he does nod in agreement:

“I... yes, I... I suppose that’s good. Gods, I still can’t believe I’m doing this. Step three, how is Merlin in a fight? Obviously he’s strong enough to throw a punch or swing a sword, but I’ve never seen...”

He trails off obviously and Morgana nods:

“Hmm, Arthur has always been under the impression that Merlin is useless in a fight-”

[ “Except if he’s using magic” she thinks, “then he just... melts a little bit under his armour” ]

“-but he can easily hold his own, both in hand to hand and with a weapon. I think Leon gave him a couple of lessons a few years ago, when it became apparent that being in Arthur’s general proximity was rather dangerous.”

Uther nods in agreement once more, though this time he looks a little, just a little, guilty:

“I don’t suppose Sir Leon would... humour us once more, would he?”

The sweet smile that Morgana gives The King would have him incredibly nervous if he didn’t know that whatever it was she was planning wasn’t going to involve him. At least he hopes it doesn’t:

“Oh, I’m sure I can persuade him.”

Uther raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to comment.

~

Uther doesn’t even want to ask how Morgana managed it.

He’d have been completely unaware of the whole ordeal if he hadn’t stumbled across Merlin in the hall, late that night, a flush on his face that speaks to a cup or two of wine, and a Prince slung over his shoulder that speaks to several more cups of wine:

“Sire!! I... uh... he... I-promise-he’s-not-dead.”

He rushes his words out quickly, and Uther has to concentrate for a second or two after the servant falls silent to figure out what it is he’s said:

“Hmm. Morgana did mention that she’d planned on having a little drink with Arthur tonight, though I hadn’t expected it to get this... dramatic.”

The lie falls from his mouth easily enough, and Merlin flushes at his response. Though his flush deepens significantly, his eyes go wide, and he jolts forward slightly; the odd reaction comes a fraction of a second after a slap echoes down the dark corridor, and Uther raises an eyebrow at the realisation that Arthur had... good Gods, the boy really is sloshed. He holds in his slightly concerned, slightly amused expression as he hears Arthur slur:

“Father... is that... that you? Merp... Merlot... Merls will you... turn around a second... turn me around Mersin.-”

Merlin sighs and looks at Uther apologetically before turning around. Arthur’s arms and legs swing aimlessly, but when the servant comes to a stand still, he struggles to lift his head from where he face is pressed into Merlin’s back. He’s bright red, and Uther doesn’t bother resisting the urge to go down on one knee so Arthur can see him better. Bless his child for his ridiculously low alcohol tolerance. He sighs again:

“How are you feeling, Arthur?”

Arthur just sort of giggles, and Uther can see Merlin trying not to laugh just from the slight shuddering of his shoulders and the small cough he lets out:

“I... uh... drunk? Yes, that, very much that. Father-”

His voice started off just a touch too loud for a dark hallway at such a late hour, but he now goes into a somehow louder stage whisper:

“-he’s really strong. When did he get so strong?? I should...-”

He hiccups, and Merlin fails to hold in his snigger as Uther sighs again:

“-I should do this more often. Everyone likes being... being carried by... by really strong, good looking, servants. It’s veeer- veryyy fun.”

He nods, as if he’d said something very precise that he had the utmost confidence in, and Uther just sighs once more before standing. Before he can say anything, Arthur smacks Merlin’s arse again, prompting the servant to turn around again with a muttered:

“You’ve got to stop doing that, just tell me you want to move.”

Which is responded to with another smack, and a very petulant sounding “no”. Merlin makes very reluctant eye contact with The King, but relaxes slightly when he sees the older man smiling fondly:

“I know I can trust you to make sure he makes it to bed intact. I shall make a detour to Gaius and ask for some hangover tonics to be ready for the morning, shall I?”

Merlin looks surprised at the offer, but nods slowly after a moment or two:

“I... uh, yes, Sire, that would be useful and I’d be grateful, thank you.”

Uther nods once more as his smile grows, and he turns around to walk back in the direction he’d come from. He waves over his shoulder as he speaks his farewell:

“It’s no trouble, my boy. Thank you for looking after him, have a pleasant night.”

“And... and you, Sire.”

~

After his promised stop in the Physician’s chambers, where Gaius raises an eyebrow but thankfully doesn’t question anything further, Uther makes his way to Morgana’s chambers.

She’s still smiling to herself amusedly as she slowly clears away goblets and empty glass bottles and plates for the servants to collect in the morning, and she invites Uther in warmly when he knocks at the door and announces himself. He copies her smile, though his is a little more questioning:

“I came across them in the hall, Merlin seemed a little flushed, and Arthur was off his head, and rather impressed with Merlin’s strength, which he expressed verbally, loudly.”

Morgana snorts to herself quietly as she continues to tidy around:

“Hmm, I saw them down the corridor, just to make sure Merlin could manage on his own. To be completely honest, Arthur didn’t even drink that much, I just... slipped him a little something. Which also means he’ll remember every second of this in the morning.”

Uther tuts and mutters her name, only slightly frustrated:

“Morgana, really, you drugged him?”

Morgana’s eyes go innocently wide as she holds up her hands briefly:

“Oh, he’ll be fine, don’t start panicking. I thought you said you wanted to push a little harder?”

He just hums, frowning slightly but knowing she was right:

“Alright, alright. What about the next-”

Morgana raises her eyebrow and smirks:

“Not to worry, I’ve already dealt with everything. Come Morning, Merlin, who will be staying in Arthur’s antechamber tonight, will find his clothes—bar his underwear of course, I’m not that cruel—missing, having been mixed with Arthur’s and taken away by the laundresses before the two of them even stir.”

Uther raises his own eyebrow and crosses his arms:

“And how in the name of Camelot did you manage that?”

“Well, it’s not unheard of for the laundresses to visit the Noble chambers before anyone’s even woken, and I simply mentioned off-handedly to Merlin how Arthur’s never been this drunk before, and it might be worth staying with him in the night just to make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. Arthur heard this of course, and proceeded to insist that Merlin stay in the spare bed.”

Uther sighs and fights the smirk away:

“Which you knew he would, of course.”

“Of course.”

~

No one sees either man until at least noon the next day, but when they do, Arthur is almost permanently flushed and embarrassed, and Merlin is half that, and half greatly amused. And very comfortable looking, in the surprisingly tight fitting clothes that he appears to have borrowed from the Prince. Arthur can barely look at him, but he gets plenty of appreciative stares from the other servants—and Morgana—much to his own ignorance. He only sports the red doublet and slim black trousers for a few hours before he’s back in his own clothes, but it’s enough to satisfy The King and his Ward.

The next, and final, part of this particular plan, involves some begging (and perhaps a little friendly bribery) on Morgana’s part. And the unsubtle implication that Merlin is in more and more danger, the longer Leon goes without double checking that he’s still able to hold his own in a fight.

A few days later, Merlin seems confused, but agreeable, at Leon’s tired insistence that they spar together for a couple of hours, whilst Arthur deals with the other knights, and another servant takes care of Merlin’s duties.

They start with simple sword sparring, which goes well, and though Merlin doesn’t manage to best Leon (though the knight is sure he could if he’d put a little more effort in), he does hold his own well. Morgana, who has stationed herself on a picnic blanket at the edge of the field with a book she’s not really paying any attention to, catches Arthur glancing over fairly often, he is by no means staring. He's caught off guard, sure, shocked and impressed, even, but he isn’t completely flabbergasted, and he isn’t losing his thoughts or drooling or tripping over his own feet. She subtly gestures for Leon to move things a long a bit.

Next comes hand to hand, which even Morgana is impressed with. She supposes she’s never actually seen Merlin in a position where he’s had to throw a punch, but she’s sure as hell glad she’ll never be on the receiving end of it. The servant really can hit hard, and Leon is certain to leave training today with more than a few bruises. Merlin does manage to come out on top in a few of those matches, and though a small part of Leon is annoyed, and making a mental note to add more hand to hand to the knights’ training regime, he is overwhelmingly proud of the younger man.

This certainly does catch Arthur’s attention, and Morgana (and Uther, where he watches from a high window) is pleased to note the way he almost drops his sword when he glances over from his side of the field to see Leon on the floor, hands up in surrender, with Merlin stood over him grinning victoriously, his wrapped fists still held out in front of him. Morgana smirks to herself, and much to Leon’s chagrin, whirls her hand in a small circle, gesturing for him to keep going with that a while longer.

Merlin has Leon beat at least a third of the time, and considering he’s just a servant going up against Camelot’s most achieved knight, that’s incredibly noteworthy; though they do have to move on eventually, when the novelty wears off.

Last, but by no means least, Leon presents Merlin with a pair of training daggers, wooden blades maybe two thirds of the length of his forearm. Merlin’s grin is wide and eager, and Morgana can see Arthur passing control of the other knights over to Sir Kay as he takes a step or two closer, to watch. Leon and Morgana know of course, but Arthur has never been privy to Merlin’s capabilities with short blades, and he’s obviously curious to see how the servant would do.

Leon calls a start to the match, and thirty seconds later, he’s on the floor. Merlin had spun and whirled and whipped his hands around quicker that Arthur’s eyes could keep up, blocking and attacking expertly in such a way that Leon barely has the speed to keep up. Arthur is shocked, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyes wide and bright and focused. Merlin doesn’t seem to notice, eager to get going again as he pulls Leon to his feet and gestures for them to go again.

He wins the second match, the third, the fourth, not the fifth (though even Uther, from high up in the castle, can see it’s because the buckles of his boots got caught together and he tripped), the sixth. Leon does eventually call an end to it, when even the other knights slowly begin to gather around. He’s not angry though, not about this: Merlin has always had an odd little natural talent when it comes to this sort of combat, so he really doesn’t mind having his arse handed to him repeatedly. 

He pats the servant on the back, the first among a few of the knights to congratulate him, and even Arthur, as red and choked up as he is, manages to wordlessly squeeze Merlin’s shoulder before dismissing the gaggle and heading up to his chambers, rather hurriedly.

Morgana quirks an eyebrow at Leon, who just rolls his eyes, the meaning of “I can’t believe you dragged me into this” clear as daylight in the expression. She saunters over to him once Merlin mutters a vaguely confused “Prat, why’s he rushing off like that?” and follows the Prince into the castle, a very cunning, but also hopeful, smirk on her face:

“Did you see his face? Poor man, surely that’s got to do it. I don’t think I can take anymore, and I’m not sure I can come up with any other ideas, short of telling them to their faces that they’re in love with each other.”

Leon just grunts, half in agreement, half annoyed that he was having this conversation in the first place. He doesn’t verbally respond at all, much to Lady Morgana’s amusement, and stalks back towards the armoury, wanting to avoid talking to anyone for as long as possible. And also nurse his many, many bruises.

~

Morgana and Uther are quick to meet up after the morning training session, both thoroughly impressed with Merlin’s skills. And thoroughly unsurprised with the way Arthur spent almost the entire time openly gawking.

It’s almost enough to make Uther reconsider his Nobles Only knight rule. Almost. Morgana decides that that’s a scheme she can come back to at a later date, when she’s finished her current hustle.

Leon finds them, entirely by accident, in the corridor outside Arthur’s chambers perhaps an hour or two later. His face visibly falls when he sets eyes on them, and where Uther pretends he doesn’t notice, Morgana smirks and quirks an eyebrow at the tired older man, enjoying herself, enjoying his discomfort, immensely:

“Sir Leon, I suppose you are also here to fetch Arthur for the meeting he is currently missing?”

The knight gulps as he makes nervous eye contact with the stony faced King, nodding as he continues walking until he’s stood outside the Prince’s door, in line with the other two:

“Aye, Sire, I can... leave you to it, if you prefer?”

Uther doesn’t seem to mind either way, but Morgana huffs out a breathy laugh, and loops her arm in his:

“Not a chance, Sir Leon.”

The knight sighs, looking between the two of them in a manner that would be considered extremely disrespectful by any onlookers; Uther still doesn’t seem to care about his presence either way, and Morgana continues to smirk. The knight lets out a quiet, almost unheard sigh, and raises his hand to knock on the door, but before his knuckles can touch worn wood, Uther reaches for the door hand and swings it wide open, without waiting.

What they see is... well, Merlin and Arthur move so quickly it’s more of a blur, but the vague outline of Merlin pressing Arthur against his bedpost, their lips moving against each other, and Arthur’s wobbly legs barely holding him up, will be burned onto the eyelids of the three intruders for a very long time.

Their faces are bright red as they jump apart, Merlin rigid and terrified looking, and Arthur shaky with the majority of his weight still being held up by the bedpost. Morgana lets out a loud, victorious “HA”, Leon goes pale, sighs, blushes, and looks to the floor with pursed lips (though secretly very pleased, he... he really doesn’t want to be here for this), and Uther’s face falls, though not as though he is disappointed, as though a huge, burdened weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he can breath for the first time in years. 

Neither men speak coherently, just stutter their way through half words and emotional noises of general distress as the three of them file into the room, but Uther is quick to interrupt them with a loud exhalation of relieved air, and an even louder:

“Oh thank the Gods, finally.”

They both stop in their tracks, and Morgana decides that this must be one of the best moments of her entire life. Arthur is the first to break the silence, just about managing to stand up straight as he speaks, his voice almost sounding hollow:

“What... what do you mean... finally?”

Morgana snorts and looks away to stop herself from openly laughing as Uther looks between the two men with a deadpan expression:

“Arthur... with all due respect, son, you’ve been in love with Merlin since about two months into his service. Watching you struggle to realise that became more and more painful to watch, until I decided I’d had enough and did something about it. To be frank, I’m mortified that it took this long.”

Merlin is still unable to say anything, starting a croaked “but I’m... he’s... we’re...” before shutting his mouth with a snap and looking to Arthur desperately. Arthur still has his wide eyed gaze stuck on his father, though he now seems a little indignant:

“I have not been in love with Merlin for... I only realised like... like two weeks ago!”

Uther nodded slowly, as if explaining to a child:

“Yes, you only realised two weeks ago. The feelings have been under the surface for much longer than that, and almost everyone in the Kingdom was aware of them. And don’t feel too put off, my boy, he was just as bad as you.-”

He gestures vaguely at Merlin’s still form, but before he can say anything, Arthur stands straight and furrows his brows as he looks around the room, once again chasing his thoughts:

“Wait... what do you mean... do something about it?? You haven’t done anything?”

Uther’s expression goes deadpan again, and Morgana covers her mouth with a hand to stop herself from laughing aloud as Leon gazes up to the ceiling, muttering under his breath “Gods give me strength”. Before Uther can say anything, Merlin gasps, and points an accusing finger first at Morgana:

“You were the one that stopped me coming into the meetings! And you repeatedly tried to get me to “admit” to being in love with Gwen!-”

With that, he crooks his fingers in sarcastic air quotations, and then moves on to Uther, much to his hidden amusement; apparently the servant has forgotten all about station and social hierarchy, and is annoyed enough to point a finger at the King:

“-And you!! You kept being all... nice to me! Calling me “my boy” and remembering my name! And-”

He moves back to Morgana, apparently on a roll now, though she doesn’t really seem to care:

“-I know it was you who sent Arthur to my rooms when I wasn’t wearing a shirt and he got all weird about it! AND Leila down in the laundry rooms told me it was you who sent her up to steal all my clothes when Arthur got pissed!-”

Before he can go on, Arthur takes in a gasp of his own, looking at Morgana with betrayed eyes:

“You drugged me!”

It’s then that Leon finally joins in, holding his hands up in surrender and quickly chiming in:

“Ok, I didn’t know about that bit!”

The two men turn on him so quickly he wishes he hadn’t spoken. Though to be fair, at this point, he wishes he hadn’t been born:

“You knew about the rest though?!”

“You fucking knew!”

The Prince and the Servant speak in sync and Leon winces, looking to the floor without responding, much to their annoyance, but they quickly turn on The King again, Arthur speaking again this time:

“You sent me on that “solo” patrol knowing that I would take Merlin, and then you didn’t care that we were late home, and then you gave us time off when we got home!-”

He puts his hands on his hips and huffs, still blushing as he hotly continues:

“-Exactly how long has this been going on?”

Uther stands to his full height and raises an intimidating eyebrow:

“Around four months, give or take a week or so. Though perhaps you should be thanking us, I’m entirely certain the two of you would have remained miserable and alone until your dying day, had Morgana and I not stepped in.-”

Merlin and Arthur are back to stuttering and stammering and choking on various words, unable to get anything out, and Uther rolls his eyes again:

“-The two of you can continue to miss the council meeting that is currently happening, and you may also skip dinner tonight.-”

He turns abruptly to leave the room, waving a hand vaguely behind him as he heads towards the door:

“-And get yourself some decent clothes, Merlin, you will be seated next to Arthur at the banquet next week.”

Merlin barely has time to stutter out a shocked “but... but I-” before Uther is gone from the room, marching down the corridor with a proud smirk on his face that none can see. Morgana watches him leave, but quickly turns to the two men with a wide, victorious grin, her joy creasing around her eyes and showing off her dimples:

“Hmm. Make sure to enjoy yourselves boys, and remember to lock the door.”

She quirks her eyebrows as she says, and like Uther, turns around to leave the room before Merlin or Arthur can come up with a decent response. Leon is left stood in the middle of the room alone, staring at the two of them despairingly:

“I tried so hard to stay out of their... scheming, and here I am, right in the middle of it, and the last one standing.-”

He sighs, looking to the floor and wiping a hand over his tired face:

“-If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to have a nap.”

With that, he turns around, and like Uther, like Morgana, he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him, before either of them can come up with a response.

They stay in their places for... a while, staring at the door with the silence echoing around them; Merlin is the first to break it, a quiet, emphatic “huh” escapes his mouth, before the two of them look to each other, quickly breaking down into hysterical giggles. Neither of them are quite sure who moves first, but soon enough they’re grasping each other’s arms and shoulders for support as they laugh, no doubt attracting odd looks to the door from passing guards and servants in the corridor.

Eventually they end up laying back on Arthur’s bed, side by side. Once again, neither of them are sure who initiate it, but their hands lie entangled between them as they continue to quietly giggle. They turn their heads to look at each other at the same time, both smiling brightly with flushed cheeks, and Arthur speaks softly:

“We just found ourselves with the rest of the day free, and much less stress on our minds. What do you fancy doing?”

Merlin copies Arthur’s bright smile at first, but it quickly falls into a teasing smirk with hooded eyes. He leans up on his elbow so his face is over Arthur’s, and he runs his other hands through the Prince’s hair as said Prince’s eyes dart briefly to Merlin’s wide shoulders and muscled forearms. The Warlock’s eyes flash gold, and Arthur gulps as he hears the distinct sound of his door looking on the other side of the room; Merlin’s response is quiet, but powerful, and if Arthur were standing, he is sure that his legs would have given out beneath him:

“Well I, for one, think Morgana was on the right track.”

Arthur doesn’t respond in any way other than with a deepening flush, pushing up to meet Merlin’s smirking lips half way.

~

THE END!!!

I hope y’all enjoyed this two-parter!! It was genuinely so much fun to write lol :D

Let me know what y’all think, ok?

Next I’m thinking about writing #14 from This List, let me know what you’re in the mood for!!

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

*submits this and passes out*

HERE IS THE FIRST HALF OF THE FIC THAT HAS TAKEN OVER EVERY LAST ONE OF MY LIFE OBLIGATIONS FOR THE PAST WEEK AND A HALF

I STG I DID NOT MEAN TO GET THIS INVESTED BUT

@ckhalloween22 spoopy season Elimetri for the “monstrous transformations” prompt, as promised!!! Chapter 2 will hopefully be up later this week!

Fun fact: I actually made that moodboard ages ago (like...early 2021??? Purple Hawk did not even exist yet :O) and just never got around to posting it. Mainly because I was planning on posting this long list of vampire/werewolf headcanons to go with it, and I just...was too lazy to, RIP. But now there’s a whole-ass fic to go with it, so it seemed like a good time to post it XD

Spoilers ig that there are in fact werewolves in Chapter 2 lmao

Hopefully this will be on AO3 soon!!! Just gotta like. Recover from binge-writing this entire 14k-word fic in a few days, whoops. Y’all this was originally gonna be a one-shot and then it turned into a MONSTER (no pun intended) and now it’s a two-shot XD

Anyways enjoy the exact kinda angsty nonsense that I have been using as Daydream Scenarios for months now to entertain myself before I go to sleep. I never thought they would leave my head, but here we are.

ALSO @lizziefanconfessions I vaguely remember you saying you liked my vampire!Elimetri content, so. Come get fed!!! Highkey went all out with this one XD

EDIT: Chapter 2 is HERE!

Nocturnal Chapter 1 - Before Daybreak

There’s a strange smell coming from the hallway.

Demetri clutches at the lavish bedsheets. He should feel spoiled, but he knows it’s just another taunt.

He’s willing to bet Terry Silver has 15 identical guestrooms, all lavishly furnished. Each costing maybe 3 thousand dollars—or more.

A reminder that Terry Silver has enough money to do whatever the hell he wants. Even kidnap teenagers. Even…

Demetri’s hand drifts to the sores on his neck. They still hurt like a bitch.

He tastes the air again. There’s so much more than there used to be, and it’s unnerving. Lacquer. Candle wax. Velvet. Carpet cleaner. Marble. Stonework.

The one in the hallway is new, he can tell that much. Different enough from the olfactory default he’s gotten used to. Now if he could just tell what—

He chokes on his breath.

It’s Eli.

He’s not sure how he knows. Perhaps he’s always been able to recognize it, on a subconscious level. But every scrap of his fucked-up body is suddenly certain.

Eli, leave! Just fucking leave! Demetri wants to scream into his bedsheets.

When he screamed at Silver that his friends would come for him, he was bluffing. Always bluffing. He didn’t want any of them anywhere near this place, Eli least of all.

And yet here he was, strolling in on some convoluted rescue mission and about to get himself killed. Or…worse.

Eli’s scent draws closer. Demetri wants to shout a warning, tell him to get out of here…but with dear old Terry’s cronies and guards and henchmen behind every decorative statue, calling attention to his best friend’s presence would be about the most morally reprehensible thing he could do.

A discordant clicking fills the room, and Demetri realizes Eli must be fiddling with the electronic padlock.

It won’t take long to hack. Unfortunately.

The door swings open, and Demetri forgets how much he isn’t supposed to want this.

Eli’s face is glistening with sweat, scar flaring up red the way it sometimes does when he’s out of breath. Long hair—down, undyed—is plastered to his skin.

He must not have wanted to stand out. He must have insisted on being the clandestine part of the operation.

The one who found Demetri.

He drinks in everything about Eli Moskowitz—wiry limbs, track pants, gray jacket, blue eyes, panicked face. All things Demetri was convinced he’d never see again.

“Demetri.”

Eli whispers his name. A tactical maneuver, meant not to alert any hostile presences nearby.

Nonetheless, Demetri gets the feeling Eli wants to shout.

“I—”

There are too many things he wants to say. I missed you. You shouldn’t be here. I just want to hold you. Get the fuck out. I need you. You’re in danger.

“You need to leave,” he manages. He sounds raspy, unsure, and probably desperate. Fucking pathetic.

“Not…without you?” Eli’s brow furrows in confusion. “I’m rescuing you, asshole.”

Demetri shakes his head, eyes wild. “No—no, you have to stay away from me. You have to. You—”

Eli’s scent is overwhelming now. Something vaguely bringing to mind Mrs. Moskowitz pulling fresh-baked hamantaschen out of the oven.

Tantalizing.

And Demetri wants it. All of it.

“You’re not making any fucking sense!” Eli is scowling, and Demetri shoves the hunger down.

He slides off the bed, starting to back toward the wall. “He did something to me,” he gasps out. “Silver. I don’t know what, but now I want—there’s a part of me that wants—”

There’s a part of me that wants to kill you.

He can’t say it out loud. It wouldn’t be his first thought of Eli that never makes it into the spoken world.

“Demetri.” Eli slowly moves toward him, as though approaching a scared wild animal. Not that far off the mark, really. “What happened to you? What did he do?”

Demetri’s back hits the wall. He realizes with a prick of dread that there’s no way to run to the door without Eli intercepting him.

“Please.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Whatever it is.” Eli is as calm as ever—a jarring change from his usual demeanor. “We can figure it out. Just let me get you out of here.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t go. Something’s wrong with me. I don’t—I don’t know what I’ll do out there.”

Eli steps closer. Demetri’s about to be cornered.

He knows he’s sick in the head, for letting this happen when he knows the risk.

Eli’s blood could be on his hands. A beautifully, terribly layered statement.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what he did to you.” Eli’s voice hardens.

Panic sears through him, and he feels like he’s on the verge of collapse. The hunger is hissing at him to pounce, to slice a hole in Eli’s neck…

Shut the fuck up.

Not Eli Moskowitz. He’ll tear through the rest of humanity if he has to, leave a trail of carnage wherever he goes…but he’ll be damned if he ever lays a hand on Eli again.

“Hey.”

Eli doesn’t break Demetri’s gaze. Another step. Demetri holds his breath.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

Eli doesn’t sound scornful or dismissive when he says it. Not like the way Demetri spat it out in the comic book store, all those months ago.

He only seems worried.

“You should be,” Demetri says. “I’m not the same. I’m not who you remember, I’m just…” He struggles for an appropriate metaphor.

“I’m just corrupted data.”

“That’s not true.” Eli smiles. “I come in here, and not 10 seconds later you’re freaking out and fussing over me doing some reckless shit you’re not cool with. That’s exactly who I remember.”

Slender fingers wrap around Demetri’s wrist, and he gasps.

Eli’s hand is warm. Not in a burning way, but…a cozy way, almost. Like coming inside on a rainy winter day.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Eli says cheekily. “You have a mental breakdown every time your mom puts too much coriander in the shawarma. One time you stepped on Heracles’s tail and prepared an apology soliloquy. Like, ooooh, I am quivering in terror.”

Demetri laughs, and Eli looks at him with a fondness that makes him ache with longing.

It’s then something clicks.

Eli’s close enough to see Demetri’s teeth, now honed to unflattering points. He’s felt Demetri’s skin, which now looks and feels like a bedsheet left by an air conditioner.

He has to know by now what’s going on.

Why is Eli still here? He’s smart enough to run. At least Demetri hopes so.

Eli’s hand slides down his wrist, slowly weaving their fingers together. It’s the type of soft gentleness Demetri hasn’t experienced for a long time.

And it’s enough to make him shatter.

He crumples into Eli and erupts in sobs. His hands knot into gray fabric, clinging to it like it’s the only thing left in the world.

Strong arms wrap around his back, hands tracing circles along his spine. He almost wants to laugh at the irony.

It’s always been Eli who needs this. When the panic attacks or the meltdowns hit, or when the world just gets to be too much, Demetri holds him until he feels safe again.

Now Demetri’s on the inside of it all, frantically trying to stabilize.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” Eli’s voice slides out in a soothing whisper. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Demetri shakes, and Eli holds him tighter. Everything about him is warm and steady and secure, and the anxiety and sheer terror of the last several days finally starts to drain away.

“Please let me take you home.”

Demetri knows he shouldn’t say yes. He nods anyway.

***

“So he held you down and…” Eli trails off.

“Drank me.” Demetri shudders at the memory. “Bit a hole in my neck and started gulping down my bodily fluids like they were Mr. Pibbs.”

“Ew.” Eli scowls at him. “Bodily fluids? Just say your blood, dude. I don’t need that mental image.”

Demetri scoffs, bumping Eli’s shoulder. “Still gross, either way.”

“So…what then?”

He freezes, going rigid as the image of snakelike red eyes boring into him comes trickling back. “He, um…”

A thin arm snakes around his neck, and Demetri feels Eli’s hand on his shoulder. A couple quick squeezes, and Demetri can breathe again.

“I guess I was kind of out of it by the end. My head felt all fuzzy. I remember someone dragged me into that room, and then I started feeling…hungry. And I could smell everything.” He turns, smiling weakly. “I could even smell you coming to get me.”

Eli smirks. “Do I smell good?”

“You smell amazing.” He nudges his friend’s side. “An absolute snack.”

Demetri leans into Eli as he laughs. His hand roams up his chest, clutching at the hand still squeezing his shoulder.

“‘Metri.” Fingertips brush against his neck, and he winces at the sudden pricks of pain. “Do they still hurt?”

He sighs. “Not as much as they did, but…yeah.”

“I can get a cream or something. My mom’s got a whole cabinet full of that shit.”

“I don’t know if it’ll work on undead skin, but I guess it’s worth a try.”

Eli walks out of the room, and Demetri is alone with the moonlight streaming through the window. He reclines on Eli’s bed, letting out a long breath.

It’s 3 am now. At least a few more hours before Demetri has to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do about his mom and Heracles. About his Tech Town shifts. About Miguel and Sam and Chris and Nate and Mr. LaRusso and everyone else who he can’t go near ever again.

That was supposed to be Eli too, but he was a stubborn fucker. Getting a redwood tree to budge would be easier.

He stretches out his arms, and his hand hits something plush. He turns, smiling.

He didn’t notice when he first came in, but Raptor Reynaldo, the stuffed hawk he won for Eli at a carnival when they were 7, is perched on his best friend’s pillow. Demetri spent an hour getting the damn bird out of a claw machine, and he’s been a scowling Eli Moskowitz bedroom presence ever since. Eli got his mom to sew a stupid red mohawk onto Raptor Reynaldo’s head during junior year, and he still hasn’t gotten around to taking it off.

Edgy idiot.

Despite himself, Demetri grabs the bird and pulls him in. It’s nice to have something soft to squeeze. Gets some of the tension out, at least.

Besides, maybe Raptor Reynaldo’s ridiculous new hairdo will pop off and go flying across the room. Perhaps into the garbage.

“Demetri.” A tired voice from the doorway. “Please don’t tell me you added Raptor Reynaldo to your legion of the undead.”

“Mmmm. I tried.” Demetri smirks. “Little hard to suck cotton stuffing, though.”

The bed compresses next to him. “Okay, sit up. I need to put this on.” Groaning, he reluctantly complies.

As Eli coats his fingers in some type of unpronounceable soothing lotion, he looks at Demetri with narrowed eyes. “Are you…are you going to let go of Raptor Reynaldo?”

Demetri scoffs. “Make me.”

Soft fingers brush his neck, and his eyes slip closed. They rub gentle spirals and curls, careful to never press too hard.

Demetri has no earthly idea whether the gel Eli picked is actually helping or not, but his best friend has a warmth that he could drink in forever.

His stomach tightens, arms tensing around the plush hawk. He grabs at his shirt and squeezes, trying to banish the thought of how badly he suddenly wants to grab Eli.

Get the fuck out of my head.

He’d sooner run full-speed into the sunrise than hurt Eli again.

“See if that helps.” Eli’s fingers slip away, and Demetri wilts in disappointment. “You want me to kiss your booboo better?”

“Oh my god, Eli.” The taller boy snorts out a laugh. “What am I, five and a half?”

“You sound pretty offended for someone cuddling a stuffed animal.”

“How could you!” Demetri does his best to sound aghast. “Raptor Reynaldo understands me, Eli.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Before Demetri can process it, Eli is swooping in and pressing warm lips to his bitemarks. The fragility he felt earlier comes rushing back.

It’s almost cruel, he thinks, Eli taunting him with what he can never have now. Not that Eli even realizes he’s doing it.

Tears threaten to leak out of him again. He gathers his resolve and holds them back.

Not twice in one night. He needs to have some standards.

“Fuck.” He leans his head on Eli’s shoulder. He feels he’s allowed that sort of small pleasure, at least. “What do I even do?”

“About…?”

“About everything. What the hell do I tell my mom?! ‘Oh, hey, sorry, I need to drop out of high school, can’t go to college, and have to work graveyard shifts at Ralph’s for the rest of my life?!’ And I know fucking Silver’s up to something, too. Betting he bribes the Hunter’s Guild not to go after him. And now he can tell all his buddies in there that there’s a new vampire on the loose. Oh, boy!”

“Demetri,” Eli murmurs into his hair. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again. You know that, right?”

The scent of Eli—so torturously close—wraps around him. Something dark roils up inside Demetri, like a snake making its way through his intestines.

“I shouldn’t even be here with you.”

His voice is breaking again. Humiliating.

What’s even left to break?

“Says who?” Eli demands.

“Uh, says every piece of vampire lore since the dawn of time? I’m a resurrected corpse with no soul.”

“Like you would ever be cool enough to pull off the ‘resurrected corpse with no soul’ descriptor. You’re like…an anxious zombie with less skin falling off.”

Demetri laughs, and some of the stones in his stomach lift. “Then it makes even less sense why you’d want me around. You can’t get into an Ivy League if I eat your brain, Eli.” He jabs at Eli’s temple, and the shorter boy scoffs.

“Oh, please. You’d spend so much time worrying about eating my brain that you’d never get around to actually doing it.”

If he was wondering before, he’s sure now. Eli has no intention of letting him go.

In better circumstances, he’d be flattered. Ecstatic, even. But as of this moment…

If he wants to run away—if he wants to put as much distance between himself and Eli Moskowitz as possible—he’ll have to do it by himself. If he wants to keep Eli safe, there’s no way in hell Eli’s going to help with it.

Eli’s loyal. He’s stubborn. He’s reckless. He’s an utter pain in the ass.

And when Demetri loses him again, it’s going to gut him a thousand times harder than the last time.

He has to leave. He knows this. Anything less would make him deplorable.

The embodiment of the very monster he’s turned into.

After all, who is he to put his own happiness above Eli’s safety?

“I can get the spare blanket,” Eli says. “You can stay here tonight. We’ll…I don’t know, we’ll watch the Star Wars prequels and make fun of them. Get your mind off shit for a while.”

He uncurls himself from Demetri. As he stands up, Demetri grabs his wrist, pulling him back.

If he doesn’t say something now, he might never get the chance.

“I love you.”

Eli turns, eyes bright with shock. “You what?”

“I love you.” His voice trembles as he repeats it. “And every second, I’m so fucking scared that I’m going to lose my grip on this…thing Sensei Targaryen made me into, and I’m going to hurt you. Or kill you, I don’t know. And it’s destroying me.”

A moment of silence. Demetri feels like a clogged drainpipe about to burst.

Then Eli steps back and sinks onto the bed beside him. Wiry arms wrap around his neck, and Eli presses their foreheads together.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he whispers. “You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?” Demetri’s voice croaks as he says it, and he feels another sob rising in his throat.

“Because I trust you. Well, I mean…”

Hesitation. If Demetri still had a heartbeat, it would stop.

“Not with Raptor Reynaldo’s hair—I see you over there, giving it the stink eye. Basically everything else, though.”

Despite everything, Demetri laughs again. How strange, he thinks, to be the one who needs to be distracted from his misery by stupid jokes. Stranger still that Eli learned the tactic from him.

Warmth fills his stomach. All those years of his inane comedy routine to get them through the hellhole of middle school and high school, and it’s the first thing Eli pulls out when he’s hurting.

Then again, how could it be any other way?

Demetri was always the one who looked like he had it together. Making wisecracks, rattling off Doctor Who fan theories, steering lunchroom conversations toward Dungeon Lord so Eli wouldn’t notice people staring. Eli was the one who broke easily, and Demetri was the one who put him back together. And when Demetri’s own defenses finally did give way…

Well, it’s not like Eli was around to see.

And now Demetri’s fraying apart like the world’s flimsiest pipe cleaner, and the only model Eli has to pull him out of the darkness again is the only one he ever saw. The only one he knew, for years and years and years.

Demetri’s.

Something about the thought soothes him.

“You’re the strongest person I know.” Eli’s voice grows serious again. “You never gave up on me when I gave you every reason to. You were the only one who got all the squabbling rival dojo kids to see any damn sense. You see the best in people even when they treat you like shit. And some pony-tailed fuck isn’t going to bite you one time and make all that go away. I’m not abandoning you.”

“But…Eli, I…”

“We can work with this. I know it sucks balls right now, but you’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

His eyes blaze, and Demetri chuckles. “Is that a threat?”

“It might be. Don’t make me follow through. I—I…” Eli chokes on his words. “I won’t let that fucking asshole take you away from me. Not now, not ever. Get used to it.”

Eli takes a breath, and Demetri feels it ripple through his entire body.

“I love you too, Demetri.”

Demetri is still processing this when Eli closes the space between them.

Eli kisses like a hurricane—a whirlwind of ferocity and passion and power, and Demetri’s stomach may as well be swirling right toward the eye. The gales are howling in his ear, and he could swear he’s being lifted off the ground.

He’s not sure if vampires can actually do the bat shapeshifting thing, but if they can, he imagines this is what it feels like. Swooping through cool clouds, wind rushing across his small, lightweight body, starlight shining on his wings, a world of sparkling lights below him and eternal stars above.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

Nonetheless, he holds back. He doesn’t give in to Eli’s vigor all the way.

He’s terrified of how far he might go if he does.

So as Eli kisses him like he’s dissolving, he returns it slower—gentle, steady, slightly tentative. His hand slides up, cupping the side of Eli’s face and rubbing his cheek with a cold thumb.

How funny is it, Demetri thinks, to have their old roles so drastically reversed. He remembers again of when he was the abrasive one and Eli was the timid, fragile one.

There’s a thump, and Demetri pulls away to see a stuffed beak glaring up at them from the floor.

Eli lets out a cry of despair. “No! Raptor Rey!”

“Now you’ve done it.” Demetri shoves Eli’s chest playfully. “Look what you’ve done to our only son.”

Eli sticks his tongue out—a tongue that Demetri now knows tastes very nice. A little bit like the Chinese food leftovers he had for dinner.

“You were the one who dropped him!”

Demetri sighs, leaning off the bed and scooping up the stuffed bird. When he puts Raptor Reynaldo back on Eli’s pillow, he pointedly faces him toward the wall.

“There. We don’t need to soil his innocent eyes.”

Eli snorts. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

It feels strange to say it. Demetri likes the sound of it though.

He scoots across the covers, wrapping long arms around Eli’s waist. Something giddy rises in his chest, briefly overpowering any of the dark impulses still churning around down there.

“You love me,” he says again.

“That’s what I said.” Eli jabs him in the chest accusingly. “What, did Silver bust up your hearing or something?”

He swats Eli’s hand away and pulls him in, stealing another kiss. “You love me,” he hums against his lips.

“Ugh. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Demetri grins. “You love me.” He lets his voice adopt an annoying singsong cadence, and Eli groans. “You love me, Eli Moskowitz.”

He kisses Eli again, and the other boy leans into it. Demetri’s grin grows so big his face hurts.

They slump onto the bed, Eli sprawled on top of him. His arms lock down on either side of Demetri’s waist, effectively caging him in.

Apparently, Eli’s taking precautions to make sure he can’t dart away like a scared rabbit. He wants Demetri to stay that badly.

The thought is strangely flattering, if frustrating.

“You love me,” Demetri whispers in between kisses. Because it’s true. Because he can. “You love me, you love me, you love me.”

If he hadn’t already risen from an early grave, he’s sure he would have died of shock by now.

They end up a tangled mess of limbs and blankets, Eli’s head under Demetri’s chin. He feels Eli trace his chest with one hand and his arms with the other, and for a moment, everything seems like it’s going to be fine.

Demetri kisses Eli’s hair. “I’m sorry I got bloodstains on your hoodie.”

His tears have blood in them now. It’s such embarrassing edgelord nonsense right out of a middle school scene kid’s poetry. Nonetheless, it’s a sad reality he’ll now have to make do with.

Hopefully in a way that doesn’t involve ruining half of Eli’s closet.

Eli only laughs, taking it in stride. “Oh, that? Please. I have like fifteen others just like it. Went out and bought a shit ton when I stopped wearing polos.”

“That’s just as well. You looked a little dorky.” Demetri kisses his head again. “I miss the sweaters, though. Those were cute.”

Eli snorts. “I can’t wear those around you. Do you know how much of a bitch it is to clean blood out of knitted shit?!”

“Well, then, don’t make me cry. Extra incentive to make sure I’m not sad! That, and. You know.” He snickers. “You love me.”

Eli groans again. “God, shut up. Smug asshole.”

He shuffles against Demetri, turning his head slightly. Moonlight glows off his skin, washing it in a sleek silvery-white.

Demetri’s stomach contracts.

Eli’s exposed neck suddenly looks a little too clean. A little too…unmarred.

He shoves the impulse away. Nonetheless, the reminder worms into him, putting the stones right back in his chest.

“It’s dangerous, you know,” Demetri murmurs. “Being with me. Being around me at all.”

“Mmmm, don’t fucking care.” Eli pushes a hand into Demetri’s hair, gently twirling a strand around his finger. “I stole a venomous snake from a zoo, Demetri. I also backstabbed a literal war criminal who could probably make my death look like an accident. And I may have survived rabies. I can handle danger.”

“This isn’t the same.” Demetri shakes his head. “People will hunt me. Maybe…maybe forever. And if they find out we’re together, they’ll hunt you, too.”

Eli scoffs. “Yeah, I know, genius.”

Demetri looks at the boy wrapped around him. Cozy, comfortable, completely relaxed.

Perhaps putting a tad too much faith into Demetri’s Vampire Hunger Regulation Abilities.

He takes a breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to keep being…me. I could still hurt you. Without…without even meaning to or wanting to or anything.”

Eli has no idea what he’s getting into. Not really.

Demetri at least owes him that out.

“I know.” Eli presses into his chest. “But that’s my decision, isn’t it? You can’t make that for me.”

“Maybe not, but you have to know it’s ill-advised to—”

“You’re not getting rid of me,” Eli cuts him off sharply. “Stop trying.”

“Just…if I get worse…” He rubs gentle circles along Eli’s back. “You need to—”

He can’t finish. He should tell Eli to run, but the words won’t come out.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Eli pulls him closer. “Just…let me try and help you. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

“Okay.” Demetri exhales, fingers brushing through light brown hair. “Okay.”

***

A disgusted shout fills the cool night air as Eli’s arm flies over the boat railing. Two bright spoons plummet from his hand, plopping into the starlit ocean.

His eyes lock on them until they sink out of sight, lip curling.

Demetri nervously taps a finger against the railing. “Is that the last of them?”

Eli turns and walks over to the unzipped silverware pack, lying on the deck a few feet away. He crouches down, peering inside.

Demetri can sense his heartbeat slow down a little as he relaxes. “Yeah. They’re all gone.”

He reclaims his spot next to Demetri, staring out at the inky water with a furrowed brow. Demetri inches closer to him, pressing into his shoulder.

He sighs. “You know, Moon wouldn’t like this shameless environmental degradation you’re causing.”

Eli rolls his eyes. “Silver’s a naturally-occurring metal. It’s fine.”

Demetri pulls his lips into an exaggerated pout. “Oh, Eli, the bottom-dwellers are weeping at your disrespect! What, you want the giant isopods to break their teeth trying to eat metal?!”

“If an isopod breaks all their teeth eating metal, I think it’s like…natural selection. The species’ll manage.”

Eli leans into Demetri’s shoulder, and Demetri feels him tense up.

“I couldn’t let that shit anywhere near you.”

Demetri’s hand inches across the railing, finding the other boy’s. He weaves them together in a fluid movement that has become second nature.

“You know I wouldn’t dissolve in a puff of smoke, right?” he murmurs. “I’d probably just get a nasty burn. A little antiseptic and I’d be right as rain.”

Eli grunts disapprovingly. “No one says that anymore. And do you know for sure you wouldn’t turn into smoke?”

“Well, if silver evaporates us, that would’ve been helpful to know earlier.” He throws an arm around Eli and jostles his shoulder, earning a reluctant chuckle. “Someone could’ve chucked one of those $4000 ladles at good old Terrence when he showed up at Mr. LaRusso’s door. Would’ve solved at least half of our problems.”

Truthfully, Demetri shouldn’t have even known what was going on at the LaRusso residence. He should’ve been gone from their lives weeks ago.

But, of course, his attempts to freeze out the dojo have been a resounding failure.

It was easy enough to have his Tech Town shifts “keep interfering” with daytime practice, but people weren’t about to let him get away with bailing on every single social event. The house parties, the game nights, the pool hangouts…eventually nothing short of working 60 hours a week could account for missing all of them.

And by “people” he means Miguel. It was always Miguel.

Another beautiful spectacle of irony, he thinks. That’s twice Miguel Diaz has nagged him not to quit karate…although he likes to believe his reasons are a little better this time around.

Still, the guy missed his terrible puns more than Demetri was anticipating. So to the nighttime events and get-togethers he went, attached at the hip to Eli and wallowing in the strange melancholy of being surrounded by friends who loved a version of him that didn’t fully exist anymore.

“So let me get this straight.” Eli’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Terry Silver just…rings Mr. LaRusso’s doorbell, says he ‘hears he’s having vampire problems,’ hands him a box of antique silverware, and then fucks off?”

Demetri shrugs. “That’s what he told me. Sensei Toxic Waste Scandal loves his little mind games.”

Eli wrinkles his nose. “How did he even carry the box without hurting himself?”

“He has minions, Eli. I’m sure they help haul around all the garlic and stakes and crucifixes and anything else he might need to antagonize his many vampire karate rivals. Guy seems good at making enemies, so I’m betting he has at least 15.”

Although Eli forces a chuckle, it quickly gives way to a concerned frown.

“Did Mr. LaRusso know? About you being…”

“Not before that, no.” Demetri sighs. “But it wasn’t exactly hard for him to put two and two together. Me never being out in the sunlight anymore. Only showing up for movie nights and pizza parties. Not eating many of the snacks. Not using that Pizza Hut garlic dip anymore. Making some excuse to leave if someone got a cut. Not…smiling with my teeth for group photos.”

He winces. Eli clutches his hand a little tighter.

“Word gets around.” Demetri shrugs, trying his best to look indifferent. “The whole dojo knows now. Don’t know why they’re still protecting me, to be honest.”

“Because…they care about you?” Eli knits his brow.

“For now.” He lets out a tired breath. “Wait until I accidentally do something creepy, and someone ‘spills’ the garlic dip. I don’t know. They’re going to figure out I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“You’re not.” Demetri feels Eli’s thumb brush against the back of his hand, and his skin flutters.

“Not…” He looks away. “Not according to Silver, I don’t think.”

“What do you mean?”

Eli’s voice is suddenly terse with worry—the exact kind of concern that would be much better spent on the land of the living.

“Don’t you get it?” Demetri turns back, giving him a morose look. “That’s why it was so easy to rescue me. He let you. He figured I’d go crazy eventually and try to eat everyone, and then Mr. LaRusso would remember who swooped in like a knight in karate armor and gave him the very MacGuffin he needed to save the day. You know, the…vampiric Excalibur. Good way to get Mr. L in his debt, I guess.”

“But…Sam’s family’s already pretty rich.” Eli sounds dubious. “Don’t they have their own fine silver?”

“It was probably more a symbolic thing. But I mean, who better to know what kind of silver is actually lethal to vampires than…vampires?”

A silence falls over them. Demetri stares down at the lapping waves below, following the curves in the moonlight.

Eli presses closer to him, and he drinks in the warmth.

“He was wrong, though. You haven’t tried to eat everyone. You haven’t touched anyone.”

His voice is soft, hopeful. Demetri can’t stand to crush it.

But he knows he has to.

“Not yet.”

“Do you need to feed again?” Eli’s tone is casual. “Because you know, Sam and I could just scam another blood bank—”

“And is that okay?!”

It comes out with more ferocity than he intends.

“Probably more okay than draining our friends? Or…random people on the street?”

Demetri looks up to see Eli’s lips slightly apart, the way they always are when he’s genuinely confused.

“But people need that for blood transfusions. Aren’t we like…indirectly killing them or something?!”

Eli snorts. “Yeah, well, you also need it to not die. Why are you any less important?”

“Because I’m a blood-sucking monstrosity with evil dagger teeth?!”

“If you’re trying to sell me on how horribly undeserving of life you are, you should stop using the coolest possible descriptors for yourself.”

Demetri rolls his eyes. “Not my fault you’re turned on by everything even slightly morally-depraved.”

“Hell yeah I am.”

Eli brushes a kiss against his cheek. Demetri smiles at the boat railing, the edges of his unease ebbing away.

“Cheer up.” Eli bumps his shoulder. “Mr. LaRusso’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t have given us that box to get rid of if he thought you were gonna go on a rampage.”

“Hmmm.” He squeezes Eli’s hand, trying to push down the growing worry. “Maybe that’s his mistake.”

“I think the only one here who doesn’t trust you is you.”

And just like that, Eli is giving him the doe eyes again.

Curse this kid’s faith in him. There’s no way he deserves it.

Still, he can’t help but be grateful.

He kisses the side of Eli’s head. “Thank you. I love you.”

Another silence passes over them. Demetri closes his eyes, letting himself hear nothing but the ocean and the wind and feel nothing but Eli’s heartbeat.

Steady. Slow. Relaxed. Unafraid.

It’s one of the only things that can calm him these days.

“Nice of Yas to help us rent this boat,” Eli pipes up after a while. “Must’ve had to really pull some strings to get the guys to give it to us at 2 in the fucking morning.”

“And nice of her to check if the silver’s real, too,” Demetri adds. “Growing up in the most bougie part of Encino has its perks.”

Eli glances behind them, and Demetri follows his gaze.

The boat cabin is lit up, giggling trailing out of the windows and weed smoke wreathing through the cool night air. Whatever Yasmine and Moon are doing, the girls seem to be having a lot more fun than them.

“You wanna go upstairs?” Eli asks.

Demetri smiles. “Read my mind.”

His boyfriend shoves him playfully. “Don’t I always?”

He clicks his tongue. “Goes both ways, love. Didn’t need fabled vampiric mind-scanning abilities to get access to yours, though. Memorized the keycode ages ago.”

For a moment, Eli looks thrown off.

“Can you read minds?”

“Ha! No.” Demetri snorts. “I’ve already got the enhanced strength and speed and rapid tree-climbing thing. They had to give us some nerfs.”

“Oh, yeah. Otherwise I know you’d take over the world.”

Eli ducks out from Demetri’s arm and turns to the boat cabin, pulling his boyfriend along.

“You know…” Demetri plants his feet in the deck, gaze straying toward the empty silverware box. He lets out a long, weary breath.

“That won’t be the last time that happens. People are going to keep trying, Silver and whoever else.”

Eli scoffs. “I knew what I was getting into, Demetri. I’m not stupid.”

“I know, but are you sure you want to—”

“Yes, idiot. For the millionth time. I…” His voice cracks slightly. “I meant what I said, you know. The night you got turned. No one fucking touches you. And if they try…”

His eyes darken, taking on a sheen that Demetri used to dread. The kind of No Mercy look that’s still hardwired into him.

“I’ll end them.”

“Oh, I know.” Demetri chuckles. “If I know you, you’ll do your damndest. But I suppose not everyone has a giant karate trophy to back up that kind of claim.”

“Not a bad weapon, either.” Eli smirks. “All else fails, I can smash them over the head with it.”

“Oh, that would be a sight.”

Eli laughs, and Demetri pulls him in. He plants a lingering kiss before smiling against his lips.

“Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

Every time he says it, he means it a little more.

***

“It’s a terrible idea, Eli!”

Eli rolls his eyes, pulling Demetri out the back door. “Come on, man. I’ve done the math. If we stay on the west-ish side of your house, the sun won’t touch you.”

“But—”

“You haven’t seen sunlight in...what? 3 months now? That’s depressing.”

“Fine.”

Demetri’s loathe to admit it, but it doesn’t turn out to be a terrible idea.

The sunrise is gorgeous, all rich golds and peachy pinks. It glints off his neighbors’ windows and bathes the street’s murky trees in a soft glow.

Of course, Demetri hides behind Eli the entire time, clinging to his arm with pale, freezing fingers.

“See?” Eli weaves their hands together. They’re intertwined more often than not these days. “Told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Like seeing daytime again?”

A deep yearning stirs inside Demetri. His fingers twitch, suddenly wanting more than anything to poke out of the shadows.

He kisses Eli’s shoulder. “Yeah. Thank you.”

They stand in silence for a while, watching the sky go from light gray to orange-rimmed to blue. The yearning only tightens its grip.

Before the change, he never had a preference for day or night. You could watch TV or play Crucible Control or read comics in either. But now…

He realizes he missed the sunshine. He missed the fluffy cotton clouds that he and Eli used to watch at recess, lying on the grass next to the playground. He missed the sound of birds, as much as he once complained about them waking him up at ungodly hours.

Sharp pain seizes his toes, and he jumps back with a hiss.

“Shit.” Eli’s brow furrows. “You okay?”

He sighs, glancing down at where the house’s shadow has started to rescind. “Yeah, yeah. Just wasn’t paying attention.”

“You want to go inside?”

Demetri shakes his head. “We can spare a few more minutes.”

They back up, sitting against the wall. Demetri drinks in the growing morning, wondering how he convinced himself he was content to never see this again.

“Dude.”

Demetri frowns. “What?”

“Are you crying?”

He notices the wet sensation around his eyes a few moments too late. His entire body burns with embarrassment.

“I…” He does his best to sound nonchalant. “…have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look at me, Demetri.”

“No. Fuck off.”

He feels Eli’s hand on his cheek and swats it away. “Leave me alone,” he grumbles.

Vampirism is already bad enough without him bawling like a 4-year-old because the sky turned blue. As in the color it had been Demetri’s entire fucking life. This is beyond humiliating.

Eli reaches for him again. He turns away, only for his boyfriend’s other hand to slip from his own and shoot up to catch Demetri’s cheek.

“Hold still, moron. People are gonna freak out if they see you leaking blood out of your eyes. They’ll think it’s some shit from The Exorcist and douse you in salt or something.”

Demetri lets out a defeated sigh, letting Eli brush gentle thumbs across his cheeks. “You’d better not use this as blackmail.”

“First of all, I’ve got better shit for that.” Eli pauses to wipe off his fingers on the grass, creating what will inevitably end up looking like a squirrel crime scene. “Second of all, like.”

He gives Demetri a searching look as he continues to gather up the tiny, blood-filled droplets. “It’s okay to be upset about this, man. It sucks. I mean the teeth are badass and I’m kind of jealous, but yeah, I mean…shit’s hard.”

Demetri hums thoughtfully. “You should bribe your dentist to file your teeth into little fangs. What with all the hair dye and the tattoos, what’s asking your parents for a few more hundred bucks?”

Eli laughs, giving him a look so soft that he’s now at risk of crying more. Absolutely unfair, not to mention counterproductive.

At some point, Eli pauses, hands resting on Demetri’s cheeks and scarred-knuckle thumbs in mid-swipe.

“I’m glad your eyes didn’t change,” he says suddenly.

Demetri blinks at him. “Huh?”

“I thought they’d turn red or yellow or something. But they’re still green.”

“Are they?”

He chuckles. He’d wondered here and there how different he looked now, but it wasn’t as though his house’s mirrors were going to be much help figuring that out.

“Yeah, like…” Eli inspects him through narrowed eyes. “Slight gold-ish tint, but that’s it. Thank god. I’ve always liked your eyes.”

Demetri’s face goes hot. “Can you stop saying cute stuff for like…10 seconds? You’re making me too flustered to function.”

“No chance in hell, asshole.”

They settle back against the house wall, fingers entwined again. The morning continues to crawl in, and Demetri knows they’ll have to go inside soon.

Regardless, he’ll drink up every nanosecond of daylight until the time comes.

Demetri takes a long breath.

“I told my mom.”

“What?” Eli turns, eyes wide. “What happened? What’d she say?”

He chuckles. “She was…surprisingly unsurprised. I guess it checks out, her growing up in Orestiada and all. All the folklore and whatnot was right next door. She just never put a lot of stock in it. Woman of science, as you know.”

He smiles weakly. He never knew his dad, but he imagines he has Ms. Alexopoulos to thank for most of his good traits.

“I kind of had to explain why I wanted to drop out of school and get an online GED,” he adds, grimacing. “And even before that, um…well, I couldn’t hide this forever.”

He pulls up his flannel sleeve to uncover a crisscross of burned skin, seared into his upper arm. Eli winces.

“Shit, right. What did you tell her happened that night, anyways? No way you’d come home roughed up and she wouldn’t throw a fit.”

“Said we got jumped by some Cobra Kais. It’s the standard explanation for being a victim of violence in the Valley these days.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t look too much into it.” Eli traces delicate fingers across his skin, brushing over the branded crucifix. “On your bad luck arm, too.”

His right arm. The one Eli broke what seems like a lifetime ago.

“God.” He laughs. “It really is.”

“So is she…okay with it?” Eli bites his lip, giving Demetri’s bad luck arm a small squeeze. “Not just the crucifix burn, but like…everything.”

“Seems like it.” Demetri chuckles again. “She did a garlic purge as soon as I told her. Said she was actually a little relieved because she was worried her skordalia had been really shitty lately. I mean, I told her she could still eat it, but she was adamant that she intended never to touch a clove of the stuff again.”

“So she didn’t disown you, then.” Eli laughs. “Thank god.”

“Well. It’s not like I came home and told her I want to re-decorate our living room to look like Mrs. Hasapi’s. Now that is a disownable offense.”

Eli snorts. “What even is your mom’s beef with her?”

“Oh, none, really. She just thinks her armchairs look like they were unearthed from the local landfill.”

They both laugh for a while, leaning into each other and taking in the neighborhood coming to life. Eli rests his head on Demetri’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh.

“I looked into some online colleges, by the way. They’re not bad. UMass has a pretty good online CS program.”

Demetri doesn’t allow himself to indulge in Eli’s hopefulness.

“Oh, yeah?” he mutters forlornly. “And what tech company needs night watch guys, may I ask?”

Eli shrugs. “You could do contract work. Just charge people independently to fix their shit. Might be a pain in the ass to get customers at first, but you’d probably make bank eventually.”

Demetri purses his lips, thinking.

“I…guess it’s not a completely unreasonable idea. But you know you don’t have to do all that for me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Eli’s thumb rubs along the back of his hand. “I love you, stupid. And you’re too busy moping and crying blood everywhere to do it yourself.”

He beams.

He should be used to Eli loving him by now, but he doesn’t think he ever will be.

***

So I was joking with some friends in a discord server before S5 dropped that maybe the reason Dem wasn’t in a bunch of the trailer scenes was because he got kidnapped by Terry Silver and/or turned into a vampire and can’t be in direct sunlight and then it just kinda. Became a fic. Against my will. Like I do not at all have the time to write this AND YET.

Also, yes, Demetri did indeed fight off his vampire impulses just by being like “hey fuck off” and then they did. And that’s on the power of gay love <3

I am an evil god who loves writing Demetri angsting and having breakdowns because if the show will not let him McFucking Lose It, then I will <3 <3 Peace and love on earth!!! Anyways, if Eli’s a lil bit more gentle with him than usual here, that’s why. Boy is Going Through It to the highest degree.

Enjoy the abundance of “I love you”s here, because these idiots are not going to get there for several more chapters of the road trip fic XD Kinda my first crack at writing Established Relationship Elimetri, but don’t worry!!! There will be angst and drama aplenty!!! I am putting them through horrors >:3

This goes with this, this, and this!!! Most I was able to work into the actual story except for the last one :P Also Raptor Reynaldo is from this post!!!

[theunquenchablethirst]

Hooked (Jerome X Reader)

Ok, so this is a thing. I was kinda surprised nobody had used this scene yet, because the Gotham fandom seem to collectively agree that Jerome is BIG KINKY and yet the one scene where he canonically has people cuffed up and hung from the ceiling... nobody has touched??? Y'all have been sleeping on that scene! It's fanfic gold! Anyway, enjoy the hedonism. Much love xxx

Warning: SMUT, 18+, GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT, BDSM, bondage, cuffs, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, oral sex, biting, spanking, slapping, pussy slapping, light choking, spitting, belt whipping, praise/degradation, marking, mention of scratching, Jerome is big meanie pants mean man

The new mayor of Gotham is having a meeting with his council members, but things take a turn when the Legion of Horribles show up to kidnap them and reader. When the victims are being unloaded from the truck, Jerome Valeska notices reader, because she isn't exactly on the guest list.

Tag list of lovelies: @gabile18 @valeskaduh @fangirl--writes @persephoneblck

Masterlist

I had been working as a housekeeper for the new mayor. It was a good job, but I wasn't appreciated. I was just there to clean and serve when needed. I don't think he even knew my name. I was just hired help to him. To all of them.

He was hosting a dinner for his council that day. I had been placed in the corner of the room with a bottle of expensive wine where I was to wait until wanted. He gestured for me to come forwards and fill their glasses while they started talking about their displeasure with the rising foul play in the city, like it was anything new for Gotham. The chairwoman wanted to know what he was going to do about it. Very little in my opinion. He was just coasting. In too deep over his head. He had been appointed far too fast and everyone knew it. He wasn't going to last.

He made an attempt to save face and talk about how he too was disturbed by the recent goings on and was doing everything he could. Trash, utter trash. As he rose from his seat, the lights fizzled out. I stopped pouring. Had this been any other city I would have assumed it was a simple power outage, but nothing was that simple in Gotham. The security guard closed us in and went to see what was happening. The air turned icy. No, this was not good. Gunshots and screams came from the hallway and everyone rose from the table terrified. We quickly started walking towards a door hoping to make an escape, but there was something about the windows. They were freezing over.

The doors burst open and I dropped the wine. It smashed into pieces as a blueish man in some kind of robotic suit and a weird looking, but huge gun stepped into the room. Was that Victor Fries? Then through the second set of doors another man in a top hat who I recognised as Jervis Tetch burst in with some other strange looking friends.

Before I could comprehend the situation, we were all being cuffed and taken outside. Our kidnappers pushed and pulled us towards a huge truck, all the while the mayor tried to buy his way free. He was showing just how little he really knew about the underbelly of Gotham. I knew just by looking at them that they were probably Arkham escapees and couldn't be bought like a sane man could. They had their own plans and you can't bargain with crazies.

We got to the truck and they opened the back door. My blood ran cold when I saw that standing there waiting for us was Jerome Valeska. Of all the criminals Gotham had seen he had been the only one that had scared me, truly and thoroughly. He didn't have any kind of reason for what he did. He just enjoyed death and chaos. And after his last escapade he looked like madness personified, his scars circling his face and eyes and giving him a permanent evil smile. Dread consumed me as I realized that he was no doubt the leader of this operation and if that was true, we were already dead.

I felt myself jolted forwards. The mayor had pushed me in front of the rest of the council to get whatever was coming first. If I wasn't cuffed, I would have turned around and broke his nose. I was lifted into the truck, my hands were pulled above my head and fixed to two hooks. I had to stand on my toes to keep standing which made it awkward and difficult as they pushed me to the back of the truck.

Was that Penguin? What was he doing here? He didn't belong here. I had gone to Penguin looking for a job in his club when I was 16. He was impressed with my audition, but when he asked my age, he rejected me.

"This establishment is not a playground for children. It's a nightclub." He had told me. At the time I had been steaming mad, but in hindsight he was probably right. Even if he was rude. So, after that, I found it hard to understand why he was here and working with Valeska. Maybe he had been kidnapped too?

The rest of the council were loaded on and hooked. The mayor was still trying to offer them money and pardons. When he saw it wasn't working, he resorted to empty, unintimidating threats. Jerome was completely unfazed and even a little disappointed in the lack of smiles.

"Nobody knows how to have fun anymore, right?" He said putting his arm around Penguin. So, he was a part of this.

Jerome pointed to a scary looking figure dressed like a scarecrow. Johnathan Crane? Crane released some kind of purple gas in the face of a member of a council. She started laughing and convulsing violently.

"What have you got to lose? Except your sanity?" Jerome joined in the crazy laughter. So, this was his plan. He'd figured out a way to forcefully drive everyone insane. With a gas.

I silently prayed to God in my mind for any kind of help.

After sufficiently terrifying us half to death, they left us in the back of truck. None of us could say anything and after a few minutes the truck started moving.

"Is she ok?" I asked looking towards the victim of the insanity gas.

"Who cares?! We have to figure out what they want and get out of here." Replied the mayor.

"Maybe they want publicity for whatever that gas is. Offer them some TV time." Guessed the chairwoman.

"Don't you get it?! This isn't a situation you can buy your way out of!" I snapped, frustrated with their idiocy.

"These aren't normal criminals. They don't want your money. They want chaos and madness." They stood there silently stunned. They had never heard me speak with such confidence, but in that moment, they knew I was right.

After what felt like hours the truck finally stopped.

"What's going on?" The mayor whispered.

Everything was quiet. We listened for any noise or sign of life. All we could hear was our own breath.

Then suddenly the doors flung open once again and in hopped Valeska, Tetch and Crane.

"We're here!" Jerome grinned.

The other two started to pull the council one by one off the hooks and walk them out of the truck, closely watched by Jerome. Until they got to me.

"Wait..." He stuck an arm out to stop Tetch from unhooking me.

"Who's she? She wasn't on the party list." He took a few steps closer to me.

"This poor young girl is an unlucky maid. Wrong place, wrong time. Very bad day." Jervis explained looking at me.

"Would you like me to... dispose of her?" Asked Crane, stalking close to me and lifting needle covered fingers to my throat.

"Not so fast, Mr Potato Head." Jerome said pulling him away from me.

He came so close that we were only inches apart. He looked down at me as if he was thinking for a few seconds then smirked and turned around to the others.

"Guys, go and see that our guests are comfortable, will ya? Get everything ready." He ushered them out of the truck. Fear travelled up and down my body. This had all been a bad situation, but being alone with Valeska scared the hell out of me.

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for pretty little girls." He closed the truck doors and turned to look at me.

"Freddy Krueger there... not so much." He relaxed, leaning back against the doors with his hands in his pockets. "You got a name?"

I stayed silent, more out of fear than defiance. He sucked his teeth and stood up straight.

"I get it. You're scared. Who wouldn't be, right?" He started slowly walking closer. "But things will go a lot smoother if you just play nice."

I still couldn't find any words.

"Aw, come on, doll! I'm getting awful lonely over here." He brought his hands up out of his pockets and leaned against a wall of the truck.

He was quiet for a few seconds and I noticed that his eyes were making their way up my legs. Being held up by my wrists on my tip toes had pulled my uniform skirt up and almost all of my thighs were exposed. I blurted out my name in an attempt to distract him from my bare legs. He smiled.

"What a pretty name. Now, was that so hard?" He pushed himself off the wall and came a little closer.

"So, you're the mayor's dust bunny, huh? I gotta say, doll, I can see why he keeps you around." He chuckled, eyeing me.

My whole body flushed and my face turned hot and red.

“But, uh, the thing about mayors in this town, they don’t last very long.”

"Please let me go." I whimpered.

"Oh, but we're having such a good time! Plus, if I did that, you'd scamper off to the GCPD and I can't have good ol' Gordon crashing the party early."

I scoffed at his suggestion. Not likely. I had a distinct distaste for the GCPD. They hadn't helped me when I needed them. I would never need them again.

"What's the matter? He book ya before or something?" Jerome smiled with intrigue.

"My parents... they... did things to us. When I ended up in the hospital one too many times..." Tears stung my eyes as I remembered. "They left me there and disappeared with my little brother. No one ever managed to track them down."

I didn’t fully understand why I was opening up to Jerome, but for a second, I saw a spark of humanity in his eyes. Like he understood my pain. I'd heard his first kill had been his mother, so maybe he did?

"I'd give anything to see him again." I sniffed and a tear rolled down my cheek.

"Yeah, I had shitty parents too." He sighed. "I killed them both."

I had thought about what I would do if I ever saw my parents again. What I would say, what I would ask. I could never think of the right words. But the thought of killing them, well that made me smile.

"What was it like?" I asked.

Jerome grinned from ear to ear and stepped closer so that we were toe to toe.

“Have you ever stood at the edge of a really tall building? You know that little voice in the back of your head that says ‘Jump! You can fly!’ even though every other part of you is screaming ‘No you can’t! You’re gonna kill us!’”

I nodded shakily.

“It’s like finally giving in to that voice. Like jumping off Gotham Bridge and finding out you can fly. And realising you never have to walk again.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and my heart felt like it was going a million beats per minute. His eyes were locked on mine and it felt like he was looking straight into my soul.

“You wanna fly, doll?” He brought his hand up to cup my jaw and ran his thumb along my bottom lip.

It wasn’t humanity I saw in Jerome Valeskas eyes. It was freedom. A freedom that I had wanted for as long as I could remember. And I could have it right now. He was offering it to me. The only thing standing in my way was myself.

“Yes.” I breathed. “Yes, I do.”

The next thing I knew, his lips were crashing into mine and he had hooked his hands under my thighs and was holding them around his waist. His kiss was desperate and hungry, like he had been starved for days and his grip on the bare flesh of my thighs was rough enough to leave bruises. I locked my ankles together behind him to steady myself from swaying underneath the cuffs. When I did, he drove his crotch forwards, grinding into my centre, a quiet moan escaping me as I felt him.

He slowly trailed a hand from my thigh, up my back and to the nape of my neck, before balling my hair in his fist. I gasped as I felt the sudden, sharp tug of him pulling my head back.

His eyes wandered down to settle on my exposed throat, before yanking my head to the side and nestling in the crook of my neck. He must’ve left a hundred open mouth kisses, but as he started to suck, I felt his teeth sink into my skin. I pulled back with a hiss at the sting, but he wouldn’t let go. He just kept on leaving harsh, red bitemarks and pulling my hair, all the time grinding harder into me.

He licked over the bruises he’d left and gently kissed them, before trailing his tongue up my neck to nip at my ear. He smiled darkly and pulled back away from me, dropping my legs back to the floor. He stalked around me, eyeing me up and down like a predator. I felt him behind me, his hands softly holding onto my waist, pulling me close to his chest.

“You know what’s great about this?” He cooed. “You’re already pre-cuffed.”

I flushed and my core swelled hot, his breath so close to me made my skin tingle all over. He pulled at the top of my skirt and dragged it down my hips, letting it fall down around my feet. He caressed my thighs and then stepped back, tugging at my underwear, playfully letting the elastic snap back to me.

“Y’know...” He said, before the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling. “Marquis de Sade said ‘sex without pain is like food without taste’...”

My eyes widened at his words and my heartbeat quickened.

“So, let’s make this... delicious.”

A million thoughts raced through my mind, but before I could process any, I felt the sharp snap of leather against my ass. I jolted forwards and let out a high pitch yelp.

Even though I couldn’t see him, I could tell he was smirking. I could hear it in his voice. I bit my lip in an attempt to brace myself and he landed the belt across me again.

“Please, Jerome...” I whimpered at the sting, closing my eyes.

He brought it down again, making me arch my back in a gasp. A couple of tears rolled down my cheeks and I realised there was little point in resisting the torment. So, I gritted my teeth and prepared for another lick of the belt.

He whipped me once more, harder this time and a small scream escaped me.

“Please!” I begged.

I heard him chuckle with dark delight. The bastard was enjoying this. Of course he was. What else had I expected from someone like him? I tightened all my muscles for the next sting...

But it didn’t come. Instead, I felt him pulling my underwear down. Relief washed over me when I heard the belt drop to the floor and I realised Jerome was finished and was now crouched, ready to inspect his work. He ran his fingers over my burning flesh, taking in the bright red lashes he had left on me.

“What a pretty picture?” He said, landing a spank. “I wish you could see too doll, but having you cuffed is half the fun.”

His voice was dripping with venom and arousal and I could practically feel his grin in the air. He traced the marks with his fingers a little longer, before grabbing my flesh in fistfuls and sinking his teeth in. I gasped loudly at the hard bite. I wasn’t sure how many more of Jerome's surprises I could take. He laughed and ran his tongue over the new bruise.

“Yep. Definitely a pretty picture.” He smiled, giving me another spank. “I like those little noises you make, doll. Why don’t you make some more for me?”

He snaked his hand up my inner thigh and began stroking along my slit, relighting the fire in my stomach. I moaned, biting hard on my lip and tried to bring my thighs together, wanting friction.

“Naughty.” He said, landing a swift slap on my entrance causing me to let out a little yelp. “I need you to keep those legs open for me.”

It wasn’t as bad as the belt. In fact, it felt quite good. The heat inside me swelled as Jerome returned to running his fingers back and forth in my slickness. I hummed softly in my throat, fighting the urge to close my thighs again, my knees starting to shudder underneath me.

“Look how wet you are and I’m barely touching you.” Jerome chuckled darkly. “I wonder what happens if I do this?”

Jerome plunged two fingers deep inside me and slowly started pumping them. I let the warmth roll through me, moaning blissfully. He gently started to pick up speed, making it nearly impossible for me to keep my thighs apart. The faster he got, the deeper he dove, making me tighten around his talented fingers and struggle to keep steady on my toes.

My legs were shaking and despite my best efforts I just had to squeeze them together. As soon as I did, Jerome removed his fingers from me, leaving me feeling empty and spanked me hard.

“What did I say about that?” He barked, laying down another spank.

His spanking felt different this time. It felt pleasurable and sent a thrill up my spine.

“Sorry.” I whimpered.

“Sorry for what?” He spanked me again. “For being a needy little whore? Hm?” Another spank.

“Yes!” I gasped. “I’m a needy little whore! I just...”

“What? You just what?”

Jerome landed another slap at my core. It made my muscles clench, but it also aroused me so much more in a way I’d never thought I’d experience.

“What? What do you want, whore?”

“Please...”

“Big words, princess. What...” Spank. “Do you...” Another spank. “Want?”

“I want... I want you...” I forced, breathlessly.

“You want me? What do you want me to do, princess?” Jerome teased, tracing a finger along my burning entrance, just barely touching me.

“Please... Make me feel good, Jerome... Make me cum.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

“Yes...”

“Are you gonna do as I say?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Exactly as I say?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Just please...Jerome.”

I couldn’t take it any longer. I felt so pathetic and needy. I needed him to touch me.

“So desperate.” He giggled sadistically. I supposed he loved seeing me beg.

Then, finally, he spread me open and dove his tongue deep into my wanting warmth. I closed my eyes and bit down hard on my lip as he swirled his tongue around inside me. I wanted to grab his hair and feel it in my fingers, but all I could do was squeeze my fists together in empty frustration.

Jerome grabbed a hand full of my ass, gripping it tightly, digging his nails in and rose his other hand to my pelvis front, pulling me down further onto his tongue. I squealed, a delightful mixture of pleasure and also pain from the tugging on my aching forearms. He ran his front hand down to play with my swollen clit, circling his fingers around beautifully.

He grinded his face deeply into me, sliding his tongue up, down, around and around inside me. He pressed his fingers down harder on my clit, forcing a loud moan out of me. I felt the pressure inside me build, coiling and tightening like a burning spring. I squeezed my thighs around his head in a desperate attempt to pull him deeper, his tongue nestling inside finding all of my sweet spots and lighting them on fire.

I could feel myself ready, ready to burst. He was pulling an amazing orgasm out of me and I wanted nothing more than to just let it go. All it took was one more upward jolt of his head, pushing his tongue that last little bit deep enough to push me over. I screamed out in erotic pleasure, letting the feeling flood me like warm water. My back arched and my legs convulsed until I withered, letting myself dangle from my cuffs in a breathless defeat.

Jerome slid his tongue out of me and pulled his face back away.

“You sing so pretty, dollface. Like a little birdie.” He said, squeezing the flesh off my ass.

He gave me one more light bite and a spank, before he rose back up to stand, snaking his hands along my sides all the way. He let his hands wander up to cup my breasts, massaging them softly. He leaned in close and began leaving wet kisses in the crook of my neck. I shuddered, his touch sending a cool tingle down my spine. He let his hands squeeze my breasts slightly harder, then pulled away and crept back around in front of me.

He stood facing me, his eyes locked on mine. They seemed to burn holes right into my flesh, creating a sense of fear in me. I was scared of Jerome Valeska, I truly was. But everything he was doing to me right now... The way he touched me, kissed me. I wondered how he managed it. How he was able to both terrify and arouse me in equal amounts.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t register his hand rising until it was firmly wrapped around my throat. He leaned down to kiss me, dominating my mouth with his tongue, making me taste myself. Once again, I felt the familiar warmth build in my core as I sensed we were not quite done here. He finished the kiss with a little nip to my bottom lip.

“Are you scared of me, doll?” He purred.

I swallowed hard, unsure if truth was wise here. Then I felt him increase the pressure around my throat, not wanting to wait for an answer.

“Yes.” I breathed.

“Good.” He said through an evil smirk.

He crashed his lips to mine once again, his free hand picking up my thigh to wrap around him. I locked both my legs around his waist, wanting to feel him close against me. I felt his erection hard, under his clothes, grinding into me and I wanted it. Badly. He pulled away from the kiss, leaving his taste on my tongue and raised his hand from my throat to grab hold of my face. He took his other hand away from my thigh and pulled at his tie. I didn’t drop my legs this time, instead I gripped tighter as he slid his tie from around his neck and scrunched it in his fist.

“Open your mouth.” He ordered.

I did as he said and he smiled, before spitting into my open lips and gagging me with his tie. I’d never had anyone do that before and it shocked me a little, but then again, I’d never had anyone like Jerome Valeska before.

He backed up slightly, just enough for him to reach down and unzip his trousers and pull down his underwear, freeing his erection. I couldn’t help but look down at it. It was bigger than any I’d taken before and I wasn’t sure how prepared I was. He started to slowly stroke himself, lifting up my chin to look at me.

He gently stroked a single finger across my jaw and then, suddenly, landed a harsh slap across my cheek. I yelped at the slap, causing a dangerous smile to form on Jeromes mouth. I should’ve been repulsed by him. He killed people and was aroused by my pain and fear, so why was I so attracted to him?

He angled himself underneath me so he was lined up and ready. He wrapped his hand back around my throat and then pushed forwards into me, causing us both to let out deep moans.

“You like that?”

I nodded and whimpered through the material of the tie. Jerome giggled darkly and with his free hand, gripped onto my waist.

“Brace yourself, princess.” He warned, through a poisonous smile.

He pulled back slowly, until he was almost completely out of me and then, like a bullet, ploughed himself right back in, jolting me backwards with force. He continued his thrusting rough and fast, making me whimper and bite down hard on the tie. I closed my legs tightly around him, pulling him closer and forcing him in deeper.

He let out a low, guttural groan and moved his hand upwards from my waist to slap me again, spitting at my face as he did so. I closed my eyes to endure the onslaught of him pounding inside me like a raging animal. I felt like a toy, dangling there for him to use as he liked, but still the searing pleasure of it all made me moan lustfully.

“Open those peepers, princess.” He commanded. “I want you to see exactly who’s in charge here.”

I opened my eyes and saw him grinning at me like a man possessed.

“You like this? You like me fucking you?” He growled, gripping my throat tighter.

All I could do was whimper and moan in response.

“I cuffed you and hung you up, hurt you, spat on you... even made you cry! And you still let me fuck you?” He laughed through shallow breaths. “You’re pathetic, you know that? A pathetic little whore.”

Jerome threw another slap at me and I felt myself tighten around his considerable length, taking him all deep inside me. He drove up into me like he was trying to break me open with his girth and I welcomed every inch of it.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He moaned.

I clenched my walls around him, the feeling of being filled by him sending flutters through me as he pushed in deeper and laughed.

“I don’t think your pussy ever wants to let me go, doll!” He grinned. “But I already know you like taking my cock like this, cause you’re such a good girl for me... I like that.”

I flushed at his words. I didn’t know why, but it made me feel good to please him and, in that moment, I would have done anything for him. I could feel my ecstasy creeping up on me, like magma rising inside a volcano. I cried out wantonly, the heat rising as he worked me, exploring every detail of my canal with his thick shaft.

He let go of my throat and moved both his hands to grab onto my ass and squeezed, steadying me so he could pound me harder and climb to release. His thrusts became erratic and sloppy and I could tell he was just as close as I was. I moaned loudly as he rammed into me harder and faster, burying himself deeper and making my arousal burn.

I could feel it coming, so close. I was about to boil over and all I needed was him. Just him. He continued thrusting like a raging animal, digging his nails into my flesh and scraping them along my ass, stinging sweetly. I whimpered at the sensation and tightened my legs.

“Cum for me, doll.” He panted. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

He plunged into me, pushing the magma higher and just so close to bursting. It was coming. I could feel it.

He pounded again. So close. Again and again, so hard inside me. Just a little more...

I screamed out, closing my eyes and letting everything go. The feeling of my orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave of pure elation. My whole body shook from the force of it and I trembled like a leaf. Jerome continued to thrust into me until he too reached his climax. He growled like a beast and I felt him throb, releasing his hot load of sticky lust deep inside me.

We both relaxed, catching our breath and he stared down into my eyes. He unlatched his hands from the flesh of my ass and brought one round to gently stroke my cheek with his fingertips. It was quiet, but only for a minute.

He threw his head back and laughed like the madman he was, before pulling out of me and stepping back. My legs dropped to the floor and he began to put himself away and zip his trousers back up.

“Well, that was fantastic, dollface. Thanks for playing nice with me.” He said, throwing me a wink.

There was a loud metallic knock at the truck doors and I guessed whoever it was, was trying to get Jeromes attention.

“It’s been fun princess, really. But time waits for no man and I’ve got a party to attend” He said, smiling at me. “Well, more like crash.”

When he turned to leave, I tried to speak, but all that came out was intelligible muttering. He wasn’t going to leave me here, dangling, half naked and gagged like this? Was he? He began walking to the truck doors and I tried to call out.

“Oh! Wait, almost forgot.”

I felt a flood of relief when he began walking back to me.

“I’m gonna need this back.” He said and pulled the tie out of my mouth.

I was glad to finally be rid of it, but my joy was short lived, because he was starting to leave again.

“Hey...” I croaked; my mouth dry.

“Yeah, I’ll have someone come get you later.” He said, too nonchalantly for my liking. “For now, you can just... well, why don’t you just hang out?”

He laughed at his joke and opened the doors.

“Hey! You can’t leave me here!” I tried to shout, but my throat was too dry.

And then... he was gone. He really did just leave me alone, half naked in the back of a truck. How long would it be before someone found me? An hour? Two? The rest of the day?

All alone with my thoughts now, I decided the only thing to do now was wait. Wait and try and go over what the hell just happened between me and Jerome Valeska.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

“Elliot Page doesn’t remember exactly how long he had been asking.

But he does remember the acute feeling of triumph when, around age 9, he was finally allowed to cut his hair short. “I felt like a boy,” Page says. “I wanted to be a boy. I would ask my mom if I could be someday.” Growing up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Page visualized himself as a boy in imaginary games, freed from the discomfort of how other people saw him: as a girl. After the haircut, strangers finally started perceiving him the way he saw himself, and it felt both right and exciting.

The joy was short-lived. Months later, Page got his first break, landing a part as a daughter in a Canadian mining family in the TV movie Pit Pony. He wore a wig for the film, and when Pit Pony became a TV show, he grew his hair out again. “I became a professional actor at the age of 10,” Page says. And pursuing that passion came with a difficult compromise. “Of course I had to look a certain way.”

We are speaking in late February. It is the first interview Page, 34, has given since disclosing in December that he is transgender, in a heartfelt letter posted to Instagram, and he is crying before I have even uttered a question. “Sorry, I’m going to be emotional, but that’s cool, right?” he says, smiling through his tears.

It’s hard for him to talk about the days that led up to that disclosure. When I ask how he was feeling, he looks away, his neck exposed by a new short haircut. After a pause, he presses his hand to his heart and closes his eyes. “This feeling of true excitement and deep gratitude to have made it to this point in my life,” he says, “mixed with a lot of fear and anxiety.”

It’s not hard to understand why a trans person would be dealing with conflicting feelings in this moment. Increased social acceptance has led to more young people describing themselves as trans—1.8% of Gen Z compared with 0.2% of boomers, according to a recent Gallup poll—yet this has fueled conservatives who are stoking fears about a “transgender craze.” President Joe Biden has restored the right of transgender military members to serve openly, and in Hollywood, trans people have never had more meaningful time onscreen. Meanwhile, J.K. Rowling is leveraging her cultural capital to oppose transgender equality in the name of feminism, and lawmakers are arguing in the halls of Congress over the validity of gender identities. “Sex has become a political football in the culture wars,” says Chase Strangio, deputy director for transgender justice at the ACLU.

(Full article with photos continued under the “read more”)

And so Page—who charmed America as a precocious pregnant teenager in Juno, constructed dreamscapes in Inception and now stars in Netflix’s hit superhero show The Umbrella Academy, the third season of which he’s filming in Toronto—expected that his news would be met with both applause and vitriol. “What I was anticipating was a lot of support and love and a massive amount of hatred and transphobia,” says Page. “That’s essentially what happened.” What he did not anticipate was just how big this story would be. Page’s announcement, which made him one of the most famous out trans people in the world, started trending on Twitter in more than 20 countries. He gained more than 400,000 new followers on Instagram on that day alone. Thousands of articles were published. Likes and shares reached the millions. Right-wing podcasters readied their rhetoric about “women in men’s locker rooms.” Casting directors reached out to Page’s manager saying it would be an honor to cast Page in their next big movie.

So, it was a lot. Over the course of two conversations, Page will say that understanding himself in all the specifics remains a work in progress. Fathoming one’s gender, an identity innate and performed, personal and social, fixed and evolving, is complicated enough without being under a spotlight that never seems to turn off. But having arrived at a critical juncture, Page feels a deep sense of responsibility to share his truth. “Extremely influential people are spreading these myths and damaging rhetoric—every day you’re seeing our existence debated,” Page says. “Transgender people are so very real.”

That role in Pit Pony led to other productions and eventually, when Page was 16, to a film called Mouth to Mouth. Playing a young anarchist, Page had a chance to cut his hair again. This time, he shaved it off completely. The kids at his high school teased him, but in photos he has posted from that time on social media he looks at ease. Page’s head was still shaved when he mailed in an audition tape for the 2005 thriller Hard Candy. The people in charge of casting asked him to audition again in a wig. Soon, the hair was back.

Page’s tour de force performance in Hard Candy led, two years later, to Juno, a low-budget indie film that brought Page Oscar, BAFTA and Golden Globe nominations and sudden megafame. The actor, then 21, struggled with the stresses of that ascension. The endless primping, red carpets and magazine spreads were all agonizing reminders of the disconnect between how the world saw Page and who he knew himself to be. “I just never recognized myself,” Page says. “For a long time I could not even look at a photo of myself.” It was difficult to watch the movies too, especially ones in which he played more feminine roles.

Page loved making movies, but he also felt alienated by Hollywood and its standards. Alia Shawkat, a close friend and co-star in 2009’s Whip It,describes all the attention from Juno as scarring. “He had a really hard time with the press and expectations,” Shawkat says. “‘Put this on! And look this way! And this is sexy!’”

By the time he appeared in blockbusters like X-Men: The Last Stand and Inception, Page was suffering from depression, anxiety and panic attacks. He didn’t know, he says, “how to explain to people that even though [I was] an actor, just putting on a T-shirt cut for a woman would make me so unwell.” Shawkat recalls Page’s struggles with clothes. “I’d be like, ‘Hey, look at all these nice outfits you’re getting,’ and he would say, ‘It’s not me. It feels like a costume,’” she says. Page tried to convince himself that he was fine, that someone who was fortunate enough to have made it shouldn’t have complaints. But he felt exhausted by the work required to “just exist,” and thought more than once about quitting acting.

In 2014, Page came out as gay, despite feeling for years that “being out was impossible” given his career. (Gender identity and sexual orientation are, of course, distinct, but one queer identity can coexist with another.) In an emotional speech at a Human Rights Campaign conference, Page talked about being part of an industry “that places crushing standards” on actors and viewers alike. “There are pervasive stereotypes about masculinity and femininity that define how we’re all supposed to act, dress and speak,” Page went on. “And they serve no one.”

The actor started wearing suits on the red carpet. He found love, marrying choreographer Emma Portner in 2018. He asserted more agency in his career, producing his own films with LGBTQ leads like Freeheld and My Days of Mercy. And he made a masculine wardrobe a condition of taking roles. Yet the daily discord was becoming unbearable. “The difference in how I felt before coming out as gay to after was massive,” says Page. “But did the discomfort in my body ever go away? No, no, no, no.”

In part, it was the isolation forced by the pandemic that brought to a head Page’s wrestling with gender. (Page and Portner separated last summer, and the two divorced in early 2021. “We’ve remained close friends,” Page says.) “I had a lot of time on my own to really focus on things that I think, in so many ways, unconsciously, I was avoiding,” he says. He was inspired by trailblazing trans icons like Janet Mock and Laverne Cox, who found success in Hollywood while living authentically. Trans writers helped him understand his feelings; Page saw himself reflected in P. Carl’s memoir Becoming a Man. Eventually “shame and discomfort” gave way to revelation. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” Page says, “and letting myself fully become who I am.”

This led to a series of decisions. One was asking the world to call him by a different name, Elliot, which he says he’s always liked. Page has a tattoo that says E.P. PHONE HOME, a reference to a movie about a young boy with that name. “I loved E.T. when I was a kid and always wanted to look like the boys in the movies, right?” he says. The other decision was to use different pronouns—for the record, both he/him and they/them are fine. (When I ask if he has a preference on pronouns for the purposes of this story, Page says, “He/him is great.”)

A day before we first speak, Page will talk to his mom about this interview and she will tell him, “I’m just so proud of my son.” He grows emotional relating this and tries to explain that his mom, the daughter of a minister, who was born in the 1950s, was always trying to do what she thought was best for her child, even if that meant encouraging young Page to act like a girl. “She wants me to be who I am and supports me fully,” Page says. “It is a testament to how people really change.”

Another decision was to get top surgery. Page volunteers this information early in our conversation; at the time he posted his disclosure on Instagram, he was recovering in Toronto. Like many trans people, Page emphasizes being trans isn’t all about surgery. For some people, it’s unnecessary. For others, it’s unaffordable. For the wider world, the media’s focus on it has sensationalized transgender bodies, inviting invasive and inappropriate questions. But Page describes surgery as something that, for him, has made it possible to finally recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, providing catharsis he’s been waiting for since the “total hell” of puberty. “It has completely transformed my life,” he says. So much of his energy was spent on being uncomfortable in his body, he says. Now he has that energy back.

For the transgender community at large, visibility does not automatically lead to acceptance. Around the globe, transgender people deal disproportionately with violence and discrimination. Anti-trans hate crimes are on the rise in the U.K. along with increasingly transphobic rhetoric in newspapers and tabloids. In the U.S., in addition to the perennial challenges trans people face with issues like poverty and homelessness, a flurry of bills in state legislatures would make it a crime to provide transition-related medical care to trans youth. And crass old jokes are still in circulation. When Biden lifted the ban on open service for transgender troops, Saturday Night Live’s Michael Che did a bit on Weekend Update about the policy being called “don’t ask, don’t tuck.”

Page says coming out as trans was “selfish” on one level: “It’s for me. I want to live and be who I am.” But he also felt a moral imperative to do so, given the times. Human identity is complicated and mysterious, but politics insists on fitting everything into boxes. In today’s culture wars, simplistic beliefs about gender—e.g., chromosomes = destiny—are so widespread and so deep-seated that many people who hold those beliefs don’t feel compelled to consider whether they might be incomplete or prejudiced. On Feb. 24, after a passionate debate on legislation that would ban discrimination against LGBTQ people, Representative Marie Newman, an Illinois Democrat, proudly displayed the pride flag in support of her daughter, who is trans. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, a Georgia Republican, responded by hanging a poster outside her office that read: There are TWO genders: MALE & FEMALE.

The next day Dr. Rachel Levine, who stands to become the first openly transgender federal official confirmed by the Senate, endured a tirade from Senator Rand Paul about “genital mutilation” during her confirmation hearing. My second conversation with Page happens shortly after this. He brings it up almost immediately, and seems both heartbroken and determined. He wants to emphasize that top surgery, for him, was “not only life-changing but lifesaving.” He implores people to educate themselves about trans lives, to learn how crucial medical care can be, to understand that lack of access to it is one of the many reasons that an estimated 41% of transgender people have attempted suicide, according to one survey.

Page has been in the political trenches for a while, having leaned into progressive activism after coming out as queer in 2014. For two seasons, he and best friend Ian Daniel filmed Gaycation, a Viceland series that explored LGBTQ culture around the world and, at one point, showed Page grilling Senator Ted Cruz at the Iowa State Fair about discrimination against queer people. In 2019, Page made a documentary called There’s Something in the Water, which explores environmental hardships experienced by communities of color in Nova Scotia, with $350,000 of his own money. That activism extends to his own industry: in 2017, he published a Facebook post that, among other things, accused director Brett Ratner of forcibly outing him as gay on the set of an X-Men movie. (A representative for Ratner did not respond to a request for comment.)

As a trans person who is white, wealthy and famous, Page has a unique kind of privilege, and with it an opportunity to advocate for those with less. According to the U.S. Trans Survey, a large-scale report from 2015, transgender people of color are more likely to experience unemployment, harassment by police and refusals of medical care. Nearly half of all Black respondents reported being denied equal treatment, verbally harassed and/or physically attacked in the past year. Trans people as a group fare much worse on such stats than the general population. “My privilege has allowed me to have resources to get through and to be where I am today,” Page says, “and of course I want to use that privilege and platform to help in the ways I can.”

Since his disclosure, Page has been mostly quiet on social media. One exception has been to tweet on behalf of the ACLU, which is in the midst of fighting anti-trans bills and laws around the country, including those that ban transgender girls and women from participating in sports. Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves says he will sign such a bill in the name of “protect[ing] young girls.” Page played competitive soccer and vividly recalls the agony of being told he would have to play on the girls’ team once he aged out of mixed-gender squads. After an appeal, Page was allowed to play with the boys for an additional year. Today, several bills list genitalia as a requirement for deciding who plays on which team. “I would have been in that position as a kid,” Page says. “It’s horrific.”

All this advocacy is unlikely to make life easier. “You can’t enter into certain spaces as a public trans person,” says the ACLU’s Strangio, “without being prepared to spend some percentage of your life being threatened and harassed.” Yet, while he seems overwhelmed at times, Page is also eager. Many of the political attacks on trans people—whether it is a mandate that bathroom use be determined by birth sex, a blanket ban on medical interventions for trans kids or the suggestion that trans men are simply wayward women beguiled by male privilege—carry the same subtext: that trans people are mistaken about who they are. “We know who we are,” Page says. “People cling to these firm ideas [about gender] because it makes people feel safe. But if we could just celebrate all the wonderful complexities of people, the world would be such a better place.”

Even if Page weren’t vocal, his public presence would communicate something powerful. That is in part because of what Paisley Currah, a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, calls “visibility gaps.” Historically, trans women have been more visible, in culture and in Hollywood, than trans men. There are many explanations: Our culture is obsessed with femininity. Men’s bodies are less policed and scrutinized. Patriarchal people tend to get more emotional about who is considered to be in the same category as their daughters. “And a lot of trans men don’t stand out as trans,” says Currah, who is a trans man himself. “I think we’ve taken up less of the public’s attention because masculinity is sort of the norm.”

During our interviews, Page will repeatedly refer to himself as a “transgender guy.” He also calls himself nonbinary and queer, but for him, transmasculinity is at the center of the conversation right now. “It’s a complicated journey,” he says, “and an ongoing process.”

While the visibility gap means that trans men have been spared some of the hate endured by trans women, it has also meant that people like Page have had fewer models. “There were no examples,” Page says of growing up in Halifax in the 1990s. There are many queer people who have felt “that how they feel deep inside isn’t a real thing because they never saw it reflected back to them,” says Tiq Milan, an activist, author and transgender man. Page offers a reflection: “They can see that and say, ‘You know what, that’s who I am too,’” Milan says. When there aren’t examples, he says, “people make monsters of us.”

For decades, that was something Hollywood did. As detailed in the 2020 Netflix documentary Disclosure, transgender people have been portrayed onscreen as villainous and deceitful, tragic subplots or the butt of jokes. In a sign of just how far the industry has come—spurred on by productions like Pose and trailblazers like Mock—Netflix offered to change the credits on The Umbrella Academy the same day that its star posted his statement on social media. Now when an episode ends, the first words viewers see are “Elliot Page.”

Today, there are many out trans and nonbinary actors, directors and producers. Storylines involving trans people are more common, more respectful. Sometimes that aspect of identity is even incidental, rather than the crux of a morality tale. And yet Hollywood can still seem a frightening place for LGBTQ people to come out. “It’s an industry that says, ‘Don’t do that,’” says director Silas Howard, who got his break on Amazon’s show Transparent, which made efforts to hire transgender crew members. “I wouldn’t have been hired if they didn’t have a trans initiative,” Howard says. “I’m always aware of that.”

So what will it mean for Page’s career? While Page has appeared in many projects, he also faced challenges landing female leads because he didn’t fit Hollywood’s narrow mold. Since Page’s Instagram post, his team is seeing more activity than they have in years. Many of the offers coming in—to direct, to produce, to act—are trans-related, but there are also some “dude roles.”

Downtime in quarantine helped Page accept his gender identity. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” he says.

Page was attracted to the role of Vanya in The Umbrella Academy because—in the first season, released in 2019—Vanya is crushed by self-loathing, believing herself to be the only ordinary sibling in an extraordinary family. The character can barely summon the courage to move through the world. “I related to how much Vanya was closed off,” Page says. Now on set filming the third season, co-workers have seen a change in the actor. “It seems like there’s a tremendous weight off his shoulders, a feeling of comfort,” says showrunner Steve Blackman. “There’s a lightness, a lot more smiling.” For Page, returning to set has been validating, if awkward at times. Yes, people accidentally use the wrong pronouns—“It’s going to be an adjustment,” Page says—but co-workers also see and acknowledge him.

The debate over whether cisgender people, who have repeatedly collected awards for playing trans characters, should continue to do so has largely been settled. However, trans actors have rarely been considered for cisgender parts. Whatever challenges might lie ahead, Page seems exuberant about playing a new spectrum of roles. “I’m really excited to act, now that I’m fully who I am, in this body,” Page says. “No matter the challenges and difficult moments of this, nothing amounts to getting to feel how I feel now.”

This includes having short hair again. During our interview, Page keeps rearranging strands on his forehead. It took a long time for him to return to the barber’s chair and ask to cut it short, but he got there. And how did that haircut feel?

Page tears up again, then smiles. “I just could not have enjoyed it more,” he says.”

[ct-multifandom]

Assorted ML headcanons

This post is a mile long, so for that reason I’m putting a read more very early in. That being said, I got like, every character in the season four intro in here, all several times at least, and a few other characters, so come get y’all juice. If you read all of them ily and also which one is/which ones are your favorite(s)?

The semi-popular headcanon that Kagami and Ondine go to the same school and are jock friends? *chefs kiss*

There’s also that,,, not even headcanon,,,, but theory that Alix used to be friends with Chloe and Sabrina as a mean girl trio. It’s based on scrapped early concepts where Alix was the third mean girl, and their three names referenced the main trio of Totally Spies which Astruc worked on. Considering how ml likes to work its scrapped ideas into canon, I think it’s plausible that this could come up in the show, and it’d explain the interesting way Chloe and Alix interact.

Chloe can’t bring herself to treat Alix the way she treats everyone else because she’s intimidated by the person Alix used to be, or maybe she misses that Alix? On the other hand, Alix cut Chloe off completely when she became a better person, and she doesn’t feel bad giving her a taste of her own medicine, but she isn’t scared of her like everyone else because she’s seen her normal side.

Mylene has a little ukelele she plays sometimes while Ivan plays his hand drum. She knows the basics, and occasionally they sing too.

When Marinette was younger, she was obsessed with those popular crafts like lanyard and bead stuff, rainbow loom, and duct tape fashion. She made Tom and Sabine a duct tape wallet and lanyard keychain and they were like aww. One day they walked into her room to see a full ball gown made of duct tape and woven beads and were like AAA

*Marinette cocking a hot glue gun* “wanna know how I got these scars”

When Alya goes to art club she’s usually developing photos from candid street photography

When Max is there he’s either 3D printing little knick knacks or working on making games. His akuma fighting game was a street fighter-like 2D game with pixel sprites, but he’s trying to learn 3D modeling so he can make something more complex.

Marc and Nathaniel’s manga contains information about Ladybug and Chat Noir that they should have absolutely no way of knowing.

Kagami reads their work religiously, but she only noticed the dedication to Marinette in volume one after a few rereads.

Kagami in the locker room: Marinette, your conversation with Adrien a moment ago was just like when Reverser first met The Mightillustrator. In the book, they- Marinette: Marc and Nath? I’m the one who set them up in the first place. Kagami: W- Mari: they’re literally upstairs right now. Wanna go meet them? Kagami: Wh-

Alya and Nino are both massive film nerds. Nino is obvious (Horrificator, Queen Banana) but have you seen Alya’s insta? Constant movie dates with her bf and all the besties. (I counted. Six different posts plus two on Mari’s account and one on Alya’s about Nino making a new film) They watch almost everything notable that comes out and talk about the movies in that pretentious film bro way, but they’re both so into it.

Whatever is going on with Alix and Nath’s hair? They did that together. 2am, random scissors, box dye. That’s gotta be canon, there’s no other explanation.

Zoe listens to Girl in Red and Clairo and stuff (I say this as someone who doesn’t)

Sabrina is scary good at FPSs

Going on stupid one-on-one adventures with Kim is like Zuko Field Trips from ATLA. Truly a formative experience. Have you really lived if you haven’t followed Kim on a dare, messed around, and made some dumb choices? All his friends have.

You also haven’t lived if you don’t have a friendship bracelet woven by Rose

Alix can’t swim

Ivan gets all the tea in class. He sits there in unsuspecting silence minding his own business, but he’s in the perfect location to hear everyone’s conversations at once, even when they’re whispering. Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with him.

Nath chose to sit alone in the back so he could have personal space and privacy while he draws sleeps slacks off learns, but Ms. Bustier just had to put Lila right next to him. He quickly starts to dislike her not because he knows of her true nature but because she just never shuts up like oh my god how can anyone talk so much about nothing? He doesn’t know she’s lying, but that doesn’t matter because he stopped listening anyways.

Eventually, Nath moves into the empty seat next to bestie Ivan and Lila is left alone in the back.

Everyone always expects Juleka to be something goth and/or scary on Halloween, like a vampire or classic horror movie masked serial killer, but she loves dressing up as girlboss villains. Once she was Harley Quinn while Rose was Poison Ivy, and once it was the other way around. That Harley wig was revamped from her Junko Enoshima cosplay from years past. Recently she pulled off a Cruella design that made Marinette wish she came up with it first.

Chloe, wearing a bee costume that’s actually just a cute outfit with an antennae headband: In Girl World, Halloween is the one night of the year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. Alix wearing a Meowth onesie: Meowth, that’s right!

Nath and Marc are Jesse and James. They came up with the idea.

Mylene is one of those girls whose insta story is always full of activism posts

Nino feels the need to appear cool and mature in the media he consumes. He’d be embarrassed if someone caught him listening to dance pop off the top 100 or watching the Ice Age movies. He leaves those movies out of his Letterbox, and he has one of those performative Spotifies where all his “cool” songs are organized by vibe in playlists with pretentious names and captions, and they all have matching aesthetic photography as the covers.

Adrien is the opposite. His Spotify is a mess of spontaneously made playlists of songs he felt like listening to in the moment as well as oddly specific playlists. He only makes them look nice if they’re for someone else, but otherwise they’re either cover/captionless with the default Playlist #n name or names like songs to appease the cheese demon, classical music to cry over algebra to, Ninocore, Chloe watch One Piece, and Persona 4 Dancing All Night OST.

Rose is so good at getting people gifts. She knows exactly what everyone would like, and if she sees something that reminds her of someone while shopping she’ll just buy it and hold onto it. Or not. Surprise present!

Mari, Kim, and Nino childhood friends headcanon my beloved

Zoe and Marc don’t refer to each other as friends, but rather as lab partners, which they are. The word “friend” doesn’t capture the frenemy bond between two people who are surviving Mendeleiev’s class together. Zoe keeps skipping parts of the procedure or accidentally messing up measurements like haha oopsie daisy and Marc’s like *deep breath* yeah :) haha :) oopsie daisy :) you’ll get it next time, though :) ...right?

He’s a perfectionist, control freak on a bad day. Falling behind makes him super anxious, but he also hates when his work isn’t as good as it could be if he had more time. He’s one of those people who hates group projects because he doesn’t trust the work of his group members to meet his standards.

Sabrina’s into murder mysteries and true crime. She watches documentaries late at night and tries to stay ahead of the narrator by analyzing the evidence.

Crime and mystery TV/movies, even the fictional ones, scare tf out of Chloe, as much as she tries to hide it. She makes Sabrina watch corny chick flicks, romances, and hallmark Christmas type movies when they have sleepovers.

Juleka would love to decorate her room with something super aesthetic like a bookshelf full of vintage tomes or a shelf full of candles and cool glass trinkets, but alas, she cannot because. Boat.

Luka doesn’t have this problem because he’s fine with few decorations. He likes the simplicity, open space, and natural light. He’s a minimalist, and he finds his twin’s maximalism overwhelming.

Juleka bullies Luka, but Luka can’t bully Juleka without feeling awful about it afterwards.

Juleka practices cosmetology on Luka, and she’s been doing it since they were little. She got one of those kiddy makeup things for the holidays once, and turned him into a clown, but these days the things she does are much more impressive.

Alix makes friends everywhere she goes. She’s like the “guy who knows a guy” of the group because she has connections everywhere. You thought Marinette meets every single person in Paris? Alix has met their pets and sends them happy birthday texts. Her snap score is insane.

Markov sees himself as mentally a bit younger than Max and his friends even though he’s physically less than a year old, yet contains more knowledge than they can ever hope to learn in a lifetime.

Markov emulates DS games and speed runs them. He’s always looking for new bugs to take advantage of. Despite his ability to do a ton of things at once, he can become so absorbed that he doesn’t pay attention to the things going on around him

Markov: *mindlessly following Kim and Max after school* *bumps into a pole* Max: whoa, Markov? Are you oka- wait. You’re speed running Super Mario 64 again, aren’t you. Markov: ... *blank stare* Max: yeah, okay. Please fly higher when we’re crossing the street, though?

Marinette has Operation Secret Garden code names for all of her friends, y’know, just in case.

Kagami is Nightshade, Zoe is Daffodil, Luka is Iris, Nino is Carnation, Kim is Morning Glory, Max is Hyacinth, Markov is Phlox, Ivan is Foxglove, Nath is Amaranth, Marc is Hibiscus, Chloe is Marigold, Sabrina is Zinnia, and Lila is Lilac (subtle). Good luck remembering who’s who now, Rose. I mean, Tulip. I mean, Rose.

Mylene is the secret prank master, but she doesn’t pull practical jokes very often, so she goes unnoticed. When Alix and Kim are in a heated prank war, Alix comes to her for help the way the hero of a martial arts movie will walk into an unassuming restaurant, say the secret code, and be ushered into the dojo basement to learn the ways of the hidden master.

Speaking of restaurant, the hc that Kim’s parents run a Vietnamese restaurant? Very good.

Nath is immune from pranks because he’s paranoid. No horror movies or weird unreality jokes either

Alya found Marc’s tumblr. She knows it’s his because it’s linked to his AO3 and she recognizes his writing. She reads it. A lot. His icon is Celestia Ludenberg over the rainbow pride flag. She will never tell him because if she did, he’d have a heart attack and die.

Chloe has a private spam insta that very few people are allowed to see

At first, Ivan and Adrien’s other friends from school are intimidated by Luka because,,, cool mature guy,,, but soon the tables turn and Luka is kinda intimidated by them because they could sit down, craft an elaborate bank robbery plan, carry it out successfully, and be home in time for dinner just for fun. They run around Paris doing dumb things and he’s trying so hard to mom friend them.

Marinette always uses the “class representative” excuse to be the leader of the group and take care of her classmates. Mireille is the class rep for Mendeleiev’s class and all she does on a normal day is take the attendance down to the office. Mari knows the details of everyone’s lives like Santa.

“I’ll start getting better grades if I just buckle down and study, really” “but I’m your class representative! Let me tutor you” “As your class representative, it’s my duty to attend your extracurricular sports competitions and performances” “Marinette, it’s a papercut. It’ll get better on its own” “what kind of class representative would I be if I let you walk around with the risk of infection? Let me clean that and put a bandaid on it”

Kim is really good at cooking. At first, nobody trusts him around sharp objects and fire, but he goes full dad mode at the stove. He loves the attention that comes with feeding a bunch of hungry teenagers and listening to their compliments.

If you’re feeling under the weather, Rose will be at your front door with a homemade care package as soon as she finds out.

I think this is canon? But Ivan shaves the slit onto his eyebrow ‘cause it looks cool. No scar or anything. Just badass aesthetic

Trans Nath trans Nath trans Nath

One of the biggest reasons why Max started building Markov is so that he wouldn’t be lonely at home when his mom goes to astronaut school, and later, space

Marc can get super competitive playing games. No one likes playing cards against him ‘cause he nearly always wins. Don’t even think about Monopoly. Full Nicole Watterson mode

Ivan’s family is Eastern European

Aurore is like the “Queen B” of Mendeleiev’s class, but her mean girl act is more sassy and iconic whereas Chloe is just a bully. Aurore can be self absorbed and entitled at times, but overall she’s pretty well liked. After she lost the weather girl competition, she started goin out of her way to be supportive of the people around her and hype them up.

When Ondine exists outside of the swimming pool, which she does, her street clothes are typically athletic, like leggings and jogging jackets. She wears a lot of flannels. Oh yeah, and canon reminder, she’s suuuper tall.

The canon idea that Juleka got held back one year is a result of retcon bs, but I like the hc that she was held back as a result of her anxiety. I also have an idea that Anarka noncommittally homeschooled the twins as kids, and Juleka ended up being a year behind the typical curriculum while Luka was fine.

Nath and Alix aren’t keen on going out with the whole friend group. They much prefer spending time with one or a few people at a time.

Adrien and Kagami are forced to go to all these rich people events chock full of Paris elite, and even though they’ve met all sorts of celebrities in person, they’re pretty done with them. They’re much more starstruck by their own friends than Jagged Stone, XY, or Prince Ali. Their autographed Kitty Section CDs (cover art by Marinette, burned onto blank disks on Max’s laptop) are more valuable to them than their autographed CDs of Clara Nightingale’s unreleased next album.

I have sooo many future headcanons that I think they deserve their own post, so I left them all out of this one. I will make a future hc post... in the future. >:)

If you made it to the end, here’s your virtual pound-it from me <3