#but it’s hard to willingly ignore something that’s so obvious to plenty of others

[gandreida]

Y’know, life makes a lot more sense now that I’ve added the “I Am Autistic” lense to it. Glad I was finally able to accept that as a reality of my life, ‘cause in retrospect, it was painfully obvious.

[redsavant]

(CW: Canon-typical discussions of violence, police brutality, blood, death) So this kind of extends from u/Wrigglebuggo’s post on Reddit about TMA as a melancholic walk “amongst ruins”, where most of the people Jon has been reading about and most of the supernatural “community” is dead and gone by the time Jon is Archivist. That, combined with the statement we got in TMA 200, made me realize something about the Fears: they’ve also deteriorated. What the Archivist describes in TMA 200 sounds like a golden age for the Fears. They’re less distinct, less focused, but more in a way that’s hard to describe. Everyone knew them and knew nothing about them. There were no words to explain the fear. Then, people started speaking, they invented language and words, and they started breaking the Fears apart. But we humans have told stories since we had the words to do so, and I can’t imagine how the Fears must have spread over campfires, along long and lonely roads, during watches atop castle walls. The examples the Archivist gives - the Hermit who brings darkness, the Chieftain who breathes decay, the Traveler whose face is a blank - those sound like legends, the kinds of tales that embed themselves in a cultural consciousness and never really go away. "We caught a guy and his creepy cult putting a boy in black water in a warehouse, shot four of them, and arrested the rest" on a police report, as a news story... like, sure, that's disturbing, but 99.99% of people are going to glaze over that in the morning paper while they're busy getting ready for work. But 2500 years ago? A traveling caravan stops by for the night, you trade goods and some stories, and they tell you about the town further to the south that just vanished under a night that didn't end? And then in contrast, we have modern-day society. Like user thevoidcannotbefilled noted, TMA’s heavily shaped by modern capitalist society, from the obvious (Kulbir Shakya “drowning in debt” in TMA 129) to the more subtle (the "Sleep No More” billboard that tormented Lydia Halligan in TMA 79).  But even with elements like debt, the rise of the Flesh as the poster fear for commodification and processing, and so on... The Dark used to be one of the core Fears, and it still informs so many of the others - the unknown, and what could be out there. But the modern-day Dark cultists have to willingly hold their hands over their ears, close their eyes, and go "la la la" to avoid all the things we know. We know so much that they have to try to be ignorant. The Hunt used to be, as the Archivist said, teeth and eyes and fear and blood, an incoherent mess of adrenaline, the chase and being chased, whether that’s for something abstract like El Dorado or for something specific like vampires. But I don’t think it’s coincidence that the most prominent manifestation of the Hunt in TMA is cops - the casual, banal brutality of abusing people who can’t fight back, with interrogation that never ends or with more direct violence. (And I feel like there’s something to be said about the Hunt specifically as a power imbalance Fear, with the direct invocation of conquistadors and the colonizing pillaging of the hunt for El Dorado, but that’s a post for someone else to make). The Slaughter is still around, definitely, with things like drone strikes and improvised explosives - the fear of sudden and terrible violence will never go away. But our perceptions are changing. There are no fifes and drums in war anymore, and the glory has rubbed away, leaving just the capitalist pocketing the soldier’s heart and thanking him for his service. There are plenty of scopophobia-related statements in TMA as well, but how well do those translate to reality? People joke about the FBI agents behind our webcams (thanks Aryashi!), we upload ourselves to Youtube for millions of people to look at, and the Eye itself doesn’t do anything with what it sees - it just stares blankly at the feed, scrolling endlessly, taking momentary pleasure from one tidbit before it’s forgotten and it moves on to the next. Overall, I don’t really know what to draw from this. I won’t go so far as to say the world was better in the past; that’s all kinds of problematic for a whole bunch of reasons.  But there’s also an element of loss to it somehow. The Fears, despite their awful manifestations, despite their (insensate, unknowing) victory, are weakened. There’s less to discover - and while TMA generally lands firmly on the side that it’s better not to get involved in what’s out there, there’s still that feeling that the world is mapped, the mysteries are explained, things are all documented.The monsters started to exist, and then they got named, and then they got shown, and we all know what happens when you show the monster.

[litchihikxriclub]

the stealing ask hhh which of the boys would be intimidated by a rich classmate reader who talks to them in a friendly way, trying to befriend them? maybe even buying them meals when they're having a bad day or something

So... a normal rich classmate would be highly unusual, considering that their whole school is deep in the poverty hole. >.> Thus, we're going to say that Reader is like... maybe a transfer student who highkey wound up at the wrong school.

. . .

Zera

He does not trust you. At all. Zera has already had plenty of bad experiences with his peers being awful to him, and the "kindness" coming from someone who's so clearly better off feels either patronizing or like some kind of trap. So he's kind of a jerk about it. He'll ignore you as much as possible, refuse to "humor" you, and more... but when the offer of a free meal comes up, sometimes, much to his humiliation, Zera can't quite make himself resist. Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that he needs to use you, since you'd clearly offer help for the things he can't get otherwise.

Nico

He's uncomfortable, tense, and terrified. Nico isn't used to much in the means of attention at all, let alone from someone who's trying to be nice to him. Especially because you're rich, he's nervous to get close to you. What happens when someone with money, when someone important finds some fault in him? And yet, Nico is still terribly weak to attention, and your efforts to befriend him work better than is immediately obvious. He feels like he owes you for every nice thing you do— and that only becomes increasingly apparent as he gets more attached.

Raizou

He doesn't really know what to think, especially at first, but all it really takes to win him over is a few nice gifts. Raizou isn't the type to consider his choices too deeply, so once he decides that you're a nice person, it's not too hard for him to accept the attention. He's still a little nervous around you, though. It feels kind of dangerous to be friends with someone who lives so much better than he does... though, Raizou doesn't think about that part too often. He'll try to drag you into being friends with Yakobu too if you aren't already. His best friend needs more attention too!

Kaneda

For a long, long time, he's terrified of your intentions. Riku doesn't know what you want from him— you're clearly above him in every regard, so why are you spending so much time and effort on someone so pathetic? He freezes up whenever you approach him, can't get words out at all, and would even try to avoid you if it wasn't for the free meals. Getting something nice to eat once in a while is (barely) worth the stress... though, it's not like he has people outside of Tamiya and Dafu being friendly with him very often. That part is kind of nice too, even nervous as he is.

Dentaku

He's nervous about it. People don't typically approach Dentaku for anything other than homework help. Having someone openly and willingly trying to be friends with him is strange, to begin with, and knowing that you're way better off than anyone else at the school only makes that stranger. So Dentaku is more than a little on guard, at first. A part of him really wants to get closer to you, both for the friendship and for access to better things, but he still kind of worries about what could happen to him if you have ulterior motivations too. Still, he slowly warms up to you.

Dafu

He has a crush on you within a week. Dafu isn't used to people being nice to him, which has the unfortunate effect of making him extra responsive to whatever kindness gets thrown his way. He's impressed because of how well you live, of course, but what's really getting him is that you're the one making an effort here. You're trying to be his friend, and that has Dafu's brain shorting out a little. In general, he tries to refuse your offers to buy things for him (it feels too rude to accept), but every so often, the temptation of a hot, filling meal is a little too strong to resist.

Tamiya

Even when he knows you're a lot better off than he is, Tamiya tries to treat you the same as he would anyone else. He feels like it would embarrass you if he acted weird about your financial status, and it's also just plain not natural to him to change how he acts around someone because of something like money. Still, he can't help but feel a little awkward when the difference in your lifestyles is somehow pointed out. He also doesn't like accepting too many free offers— even taking a meal from you doesn't sit too well with him. You're trying to be nice, he knows that, but it's still...

Yakobu

If you try to be friends with him, he's eating up the attention in no time. Yakobu also doesn't think too much about his choices, so he doesn't so much as pause to wonder if you have some kind of ulterior motive in reaching out to him. He's so excited to have a new friend that, in addition, he kind of forgets his manners too. And Yakobu treats you just like anyone else. He'll poke fun at you for being rich sometimes, but it's unfortunately obvious that he has no idea how to be polite about it. Either that, or you'll get the feeling that he's forgotten about your differences entirely.

Jaibo

As you'd expect, Jaibo is a brat about it. Your wealth doesn't have anything to do with it— he's just being nasty because you decided you want to make friends, or something stupid like that. Jaibo doesn't take well to being approached. If he doesn't have any interest in you to start with, he's just going to make himself awful to see what happens. It's only if you persist and stick around, and remain stubbornly kind to him that he starts to feel differently... and at that point, he's just getting uncomfortable and a little bit nervous. It's weird to have someone sticking to him like this.

[intergalacticwanderer]

(I hadn’t planned on writing a follow up to this fic, but I kept thinking about what would happen next and therefore this happened.)

It was later in the day when Beau finally caught up with Kingsley again, hangover mostly gone and jobs winding down on the ship. Things had proceeded as normal that morning outside of the initial outburst, but as the day went on Beau had noticed Kingsley getting quieter and quieter, already unusual on its own but downright concerning after what had happened last night and this morning. She had no idea what was even running through the tiefling’s head right now, but based on what he’d yelled right after waking up? It was probably an unholy mess. Just trying to sort it out made her head hurt, and it wasn’t even her head.

She really hoped he could be okay, at least.

“Hey,” Beau said as she came up next to Kingsley at the edge of the ship, resting her forearms on the rail and looking over at him. He didn’t acknowledge her at first, continuing to stare out at the ocean and arms crossed as he leaned on the rail. She waited. If he wanted to talk, he would, and if not, she could at least give him some company.

It was around six minutes before Kingsley finally spoke up.

“You know,” Kingsley said, voice soft and a little rough from disuse, “for as much shit as I give you, we make a pretty good fighting team. It went better than the last time like that at least.” He reached up and rubbed at the scar on his chest and Beau’s heart clenched.

Jumping right into it it seemed. Shit.

“You remember that?” If he was going to jump in she might as well too, but her stomach still lurched at that particular memory. Memories which he apparently had now too, with no warning what so ever. No wonder he’d been so quiet today.

“Yeah. I-I think so.” His hands were shaking slightly. “Remembering’s pretty different than reading your book.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “And I know we've had plenty of times fighting bad guys together. That was just the first time I've been...” He trailed off, seemingly unable to finish the thought out loud. Instead he just huffed, going back to the rail.

“How you holding up? That’s... a lot, man.” Understatement of the year, but how do you even start to address something like that? (Something niggled at her, that there was more to it than remembering dying, but she couldn’t quite place it. She put a pin in the thought for later.)

“Honestly?” He scrubbed at his eyes for a few moments before dragging his hand down his face. “No fucking clue. And... yeah. It’s a lot.” Kingsley blew out a long breath and then groaned, planting his elbows on the rail and burying his face in hands. “This sucks.”

“You got that right.”

Beau let him have another few minutes, watching as some seabirds wheeled overhead in the afternoon sky and a few wispy clouds drifted on the horizon. At one point Fjord caught her eye from another part of the deck and he almost came over but she waved him off, not wanting Kingsley to have to deal with too many people at once. Eventually Kingsley shifted to prop his chin on his hand and Beau decided she'd be the one to break the silence this time.

“Do you remember anything else? Besides-” she gestured to the scar on his chest- “that?” His reactions this morning implied that he did, but it'd be better to hear it from Kingsley himself. He glanced over, straightening up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Some? A lot? It’s hard to tell when I don't know how much there is to begin with. It... matches what Yasha's told me at least.”

Beau’s heart rate sped up a little. Those comments he’d made this morning about suddenly having two names, about possibly making Molly his middle name now, she forced herself to actually look at that. That niggling thought she’d had earlier got stronger.

“Anything in particular you’re wondering about?” Maybe a bit on the leading side, but probably harmless (and she really wanted to figure this out). She leaned forward a little.

Unfortunately for her, Kingsley picked up on her weird vibe and gave her a confused squint, leaning back the same distance. Fuck. So much for harmless.

“Nnnooo? What the hell are you on about?”

“Nothing! Just curious.” That just made him squint at her even harder. Ugh, Dairon would have given her so much shit for this, she wasn’t used to trying to interrogate a friend. A second later Beau realized the ‘interrogate’ part was the problem and she forced herself to relax. She was here to try and help her friend out. And fuck, why did he have to look so much like a kicked puppy when he was upset? That should have been illegal. She let out an exasperated noise.

“Okay, fine, seeing you so quiet and moody is fucking weird. And I wanted to find out what was up.” There. She’d said it.

“Nice to know I usually have the emotional depth of a teacup,” he deadpanned.

“Oh fuck off. You know what I meant.”

Kingsley cocked his head, just staring back as she glowered and eventually he shrugged. “Alright. What is it?”

“Something’s obviously eating at you.”

“And?”

“Captive audience if you want to rant a bit.” Kingsley raised an eyebrow at the captive part and Beau rolled her eyes. “Not literally. I'll still listen.”

“You? Willingly listening to me?” Back to being an asshole. And an obvious attempt to deflect if she’d ever seen it.

“Yeah. Shocking.” She didn't move, the wind blowing a few stray hairs around her face and Kingsley’s hair tossed about as well while he thought.

“How about this.” He crossed his arms. “You guys going to treat me differently now that I remember stuff from Molly?”

Beau froze.

She wanted to say ‘of course not.’ She should say of course not. But she still remembered that morning, when confronted with yelling purple teifling and memories of the death match fresh in her head, she’d called him Molly.

“Not unless you want us to.” The wind picked up a little and she rubbed at her arms, trying to chase away the gooseflesh. Beau wasn’t sure if it was just the wind.

Kingsley gave her a flat look, red eyes unblinking. “Really.”

“Yes, really. You’re our friend. You.” She hoped that was the right thing to say at least.

“So you guys weren’t disappointed at all when you got me?” He looked at her while leaning his back against the rail, arms still crossed and tail lashing back and forth. Beau suddenly remembered that even if he'd never reached the uncanny level that Caduceus was at, Molly had still been surprisingly good at reading people. And, apparently, Kingsley was too. Fuck.

She sighed and looked down. It felt crappy to admit, but she had to be honest. “Yeah, that'd be a bit of a lie. Still wouldn't justify taking it out on you though.” Her fingers dug into her upper arm. “What matters is who you are now. Trying to force you to be someone you don't want to be is just shitty.” She looked back up at him.

A few more connections came together in her head. She had to know.

“Do... you still consider yourself and Molly to be two separate people, now that you have the memories?” Beau knew as soon she said the words out loud that she’d finally hit on the crux of the issue and Kingsley outright flinched. She mentally scrambled backwards. Shit fuck shit- “You don't have to answer,” she added on quickly, “it's not my business.”

Kingsley hugged himself tightly, looking down and tail coiled around his leg. She felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

"I don't know," he said, so quietly that Beau almost missed it. He didn’t look up.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “It’s okay to not know. And like I said it’s none of my business.” (And yet she’d still asked the question. Great job, Beau.)

“It’s just-” He let out a frustrated noise. “This morning, right after I woke up, with all the yelling?” His heel tapped on the deck, jittery. “I was him, mentally. Probably why it didn’t bother me then. But then of course I had to have a bunch of time to fucking think.” Kingsley hunched over a little, looking smaller. “Now it just scares the shit out of me.”

There it was. The answer to why Kingsley had been so out of it all day, and all it did was make her feel like a nosy asshole.

Beau let out a shaky breath, taking another moment to look at the ship around them. For better or worse they were completely alone right then, save for a couple of the seabirds still flying over head. Think. What could she say right now that might be able to help? She’d just exposed some terrifying personal bullshit on accident, so... maybe she could let him see some of her own personal bullshit? Even the scales a little.

“I know it’s not really the same situation, but...” Inhale, exhale. It was okay to talk to him about this. “I’ve talked to you about my shitty dad before, right?”

Kingsley nodded. “Yeah, I know about the shitbag. Still think he could use some extra stabbing.”

Beau couldn’t help but smile a little at that. They really were all ride or die for each other.

“Not gonna disagree with you. The reason I bring him up is-” She sighed. “Main problem he had is he wanted me to be someone I’m not. So focused on the ‘should have been’ and the idea in his head that he ignored the person right in front of him. Well. Still payed enough attention to be awful.” Kingsley was quiet, listening, and Beau gathered the rest of her thoughts.

“Guess what I’m trying to say is I know how awful expectations like that can be. And that’s the last thing I’d want to do to you, okay? And I’ll fucking deck anyone who does that.”

“Even if that person is me?”

What.

Beau was left speechless for a moment, completely unprepared for that response. That was. What??? “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that one to me. The fuck?”

He shrugged. “Are you gonna deck me? For having unreasonable expectations about myself?” The end of his tail tapped against his boot and Beau just stared at him. “That sounds like what you’re saying.”

“That’s not what I fucking- ugh!” She gave a frustrated tug at the hair on the top of her head, some of it coming out of her hairstyle. “What I’m trying to say you asshole is that the only thing that matters is who YOU want to be and that’s the end of it! Fucking hell!” Her words caught up with her and Beau deflated a bit. “Ahhh shi- fuck-” her face screwed up. “I’m sorry. That came out completely wrong. Sorry. Shit!” Why did she have to be so bad at this?

“N-nah, I get it,” Kingsley said, looking away and cheeks flushing. “And I was pretty shit with what I was trying to say too.” He scratched the back of his head. “And, uh, thanks. For saying that. Really.”

He leaned back, propping his elbows on the rail behind him and hair partially falling in his face. “I guess what I was trying? To say? Is that other people aren’t the issue for me. It’s my own head that’s the mess.” He sighed.

“I like being me, you know? I’m happy. But...” He went quiet again, chewing on his lip.

“But?”

He looked directly at her.

“What the hell am I supposed to do when I can’t even tell what ‘me’ is?”

Just hearing that made her go cold.

“That’s... fuck, dude.”

“You think?” He lurched up and started pacing next to the rail, Beau watching as he went back and forth, tail swishing side to side and one hand gesturing, the other tangled in his hair. “I went to bed as Kingsley Tealeaf, that’s me. Fine, dandy! Then last night we fight in a death match, and there? Mollymauk Tealeaf! Also great! But now?”

He stopped pacing, hands falling to his side. Slumped against the rail. “I don’t know. If I think about picking, ditching one of them, I’m terrified. Not a conscious thing, just thinking about it, makes me scared.” Hugged himself. “But I’m also scared that trying to hold onto both might make me lose ‘me’ anyway. I just. I don’t know.”

He was quiet for several more seconds, eventually raking both his hands through his hair at once and staring up at the sky. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” he breathed out.

“You want an actual answer to that, or you just thinking out loud?”

It slipped out before Beau could stop herself and she had a small moment of panic. This was the kind of stuff Caduceus was good at, not her, but at the same time? She was the person who was actually here right now. And she still wanted to do right by her friend. Somehow.

Kingsley blinked and then barked out a laugh, one hand staying tangled in his hair and the other going back to the rail as the looked over to Beau. “Do you have an answer Scribbles? Or are you just bullshitting?”

“Psht, that’s your job,” Beau said, rolling her eyes, and she noticed him relax a little at the jab. Good. “But, honestly?” She thought it over for a moment. “You do what you want to. And I’m not bullshitting you,” she said, raising her hands in front of her at the look he gave her. “You do what you want. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

He blinked at her a couple more times. Dread squirmed in her stomach, wondering if she’d fucked up her advice giving again, but she forced herself to calm down. “Just think about it. What you might want to do next.”

She could practically see the process of him thinking for the next few minutes, holding still and his eyes distant. Eventually he made a thoughtful noise, hands coming up to steeple in front of his chin and a glint coming into his eyes.

“Does that mean whatever I want?”

“Okay, now you’re just being an ass,” Beau said and Kingsley broke out into a grin. Maybe she hadn’t completely fucked this up.

“Takes one to know one Scribbles.”

“You know what, I might just deck you anyway-”

“I’d like to see you tr- actually, no, you definitely could,” Kingsley said, backpedaling and raising his hands in front of him as his brain caught up with his mouth and seeing Beau raising a fist. She couldn’t keep it up however and soon enough she was grinning too, Kingsley breathing a sigh of relief. At which point she socked him in the shoulder.

“OW!” He hissed out between his teeth, rubbing his shoulder. “Did you have to do it that hard?”

“If I meant to hit you hard, you’d know.” Beau held her fist in the air. “Trust me.“

He eyed the raised fist. “You guys are still terrifying.”

“Hey, that includes you, don’t sell yourself short.” She paused, mulling over her next question. It’d be better for her to know, she decided. “The memories you have from the death match, of... earlier Molly stuff. Do you want me to refer to that as happening to you? Or someone else?”

Kingsley’s face screwed up like he’d bitten into something sour. “Case by case I guess? Death match is okay since it just happened, not sure on the rest yet.” He gave helpless shrug. “I’ll let you know later.”

“Good enough for me. Cause you in the death match? Definitely in the terrifying camp. Like I said, don’t sell yourself short.”

The glint returned to his eyes, along with a toothy grin. “I admit, it was pretty satisfying.”

“Aaand case in point right there, just that expression is terrifying. Fucking hell, dude.”

“I do have a future reputation to build,” he said airily, which somewhat ruined the expression. It also made Beau have to muffle a laugh, and she had to work even harder to muffle it when she saw Kingsley pouting.

“Now that’s just rude.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Beau said, waving a hand in the air and breathing deep to calm the laughter. “This about the pirate idea?”

He nodded. “It is indeed! You should know that I have plans.”

That glint was back in his eyes again, even more worrying than before. Maybe she should warn Fjord about it.

...

Nah, he could find out on his own.

Beau stretched, rolling her head and resting her palm on the back of her neck before looking at Kingsley again. One more question she needed to ask.

“Any updates on the name?”

There was a pause, a long pause, and then he shook his head. “I’ll stick with Kingsley for now. And what I said with the middle name this morning... I’ll keep thinking on it.” There was still some hesitancy, but overall? He actually looked okay.

“Fine by me. And hey, you wouldn’t be the first of the Nein to end up with a different name.” She shrugged. “Caleb and Veth did. Hell, even Jester picked her own name.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You should ask her about it sometime.” Beau looked back out over the ocean, sun getting lower and the last of the sea birds flying off. “And I think it'd be good to talk Jester and Fjord about stuff in general. I’m not the best at this life advice thing.”

“Noooooo, really?”

“Oh eat a dick.”

“Sorry, can't, you don't have one.”

Beau paused.

“You know, ask Jester about some early Xhorhas disguises we had. I think you’d get a kick out of it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued. Any reason you can’t tell it?”

“Don’t want to rob Jester of the experience.”

“Now I’m really intrigued.”

“Beauuuu! Kingsleeeey!”

The two of them turned and looked up, following the voice to find Jester in the crow’s nest and waving down at them before cupping her hands around her mouth for the next shout. “We’re having dinner in 10 minutes! Be there!”

“Sure thing, Jes!” Beau hollered, waving back.

“Don't eat all the pastries before I get there!” Kingsley shouted.

“No promises!” Jester shouted back, before she gave one more very enthusiastic wave and started climbing down from the crow's nest.

Beau looked back to Kingsley, stretching then placing her hands on her hips. “Well, I think that’s our cue to get back to civilization.”

“You call this crew civilized?”

“Point. You know that includes you, right?” she said as the two of them started to walk.

“I know what I’m about,” Kingsley said, grinning.

“Suuure you do.”

“Yep!” he said cheerfully. He bounded ahead, tail swishing animatedly before spinning on one foot and throwing his arms out wide. “One uncivilized teifling, right here! And sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

“No refunds?”

“Nope!”

“Well damn. Sucks to be me I guess,” Beau deadpanned, but as she did she came up next to Kingsley and threw an arm around his shoulder, and her friend continued to grin.

“Come on. Let’s go show the rest of this uncivilized bunch what they’re missing.”

(Part Three)

[phantasmiafxndom]

hello! i just found your writing and your ideas are amazing, and i love your AUs! you can just ignore this if its too vague, but could i please request some general nsfw headcanons of the obey me! brothers in your pet au? thank you~!

Thank you!! o3o This is pretty vague, so I’m just doing what their attitudes toward sex with an owner would be~

. . . 

Lucifer

Whatever his owner commands, he’ll do. Lucifer doesn’t question any order, no matter how unusual he sees it as. He’s not expecting for his owner to want to use him sexually, but if that’s their wishes, then he’ll willingly comply. In his position, there’s no way to do anything else. During sex, Lucifer does exactly what you tell him to. He’s definitely a stiff lover and it’s pretty obvious that he’s just following orders. Unless he’s very attached to his owner, it’s hard for him. to work up much interest in the act beyond doing what he’s told and satisfying his owner as they want him to. 

Mammon

The idea of sexual contact with his owner makes him kind of nervous. Mammon crushes on just about anyone who treats him decently, so it’s not an unwanted thought, but it still gives him anxiety to think about actually going through with it. He’s probably had weird fantasies about his owner before if they’ve been kind to him, but expect a near nervous meltdown if you actually try anything. He’s very submissive and eager to please, in part because he’s scared of what will happen if he’s not. Underneath his ego is a whole lot of fear of not doing good enough. 

Leviathan

Just mentioning intent for that kind of thing is enough to make Leviathan nearly combust. He can’t imagine actually being used for that. No matter how he thinks about it, he can’t picture an owner actually wanting anything sexual from him. If his owner has been nice, it’s not that he really minds the thought... it just seems like way too much to be true. Maybe his owner will get attached to him if they can use him in that way? It sounds nice to be wanted, even if he has to use sexual means to get there. He cares a lot more about the affection and intimacy than the sex itself. 

Satan

It’s... certainly nothing something he’s expecting to happen to him. As a companion type with aggression issues, sex is the last thing he expects to be used for. That said, if his owner expresses those desires, he’ll treat it as any other order and do his best to comply to a satisfactory degree. Resisting would just get him into more trouble than it’s worth, after all. There’s a part of him that’s nervous about going through with it, but Satan pushes that down and forces himself to fulfill what he’s been commanded to do. He’s very attentive, servicing, and obedient during the act. 

Asmodeus

He’s been used for sex plenty in the past, so it’s something that he views very casually. Being used by an owner is just what happens to him. Asmodeus acts eager and willing for those kinds of things... even though a part of him wishes that he could have intimacy instead of just being fucked and forgotten. Because he naturally craves a lot of attention, it’s hard on him to just be used. That said, he’s very open when it comes to sex and sees it as inevitable when he’s owned by someone. No matter what he wants, it’ll happen, so he might as well be used to it. 

Beelzebub

Being wanted sexually isn’t something that happens to him. It just doesn’t make sense. As a labor type, he’s kept outside and away from things that he could potentially fuck up. And obviously, being that close to a human is something that he could easily fuck up. Even if it was offered, he’d be very anxious about having sex with his owner, and would consider it an order to be followed... which kind of just makes things worse. He tries to be as gentle as possible, but when overwhelmed and feeling good, he can get a bit carried away with it all. Just... be nice to him. 

Belphegor

He doesn’t really like the idea of it, seeing it as being “used”. All Belphegor can view sex with an owner as is them taking advantage of him. Even when he gets to a point where he wants it, he has trouble changing his perspective and actually letting it happen. A part of him really wants the affection, but the rest of him can’t stop pushing his limits and being a brat just to test when his owner’s kindness will run out. He’s more likely to let his owner just do whatever they want to him while occasionally sassing back than he is to take any initiative when it comes to sexual contact. 

[darkblueboxs]

Calling Home

Summary:

"What if Neil hid his phone where his kidnappers wouldn't find it? What if he called Andrew while on his way to Baltimore? What if Andrew had to listen, heart tearing in two, to Neil's journey into his father's basement?"

Andrew fishes his phone from his pocket, chest emptying himself of air when he sees Neil’s name flash across the display. His hands are shaking as he hits return call, shaking like they haven’t done since he went off his meds, and in many ways the lurch of loss in his gut feels like withdrawal.

He thinks the call is about to time out, when, suddenly, connection.

“Neil,” says Andrew, and it sounds dangerously close to a prayer.

Read here or on AO3

Andrew finds Neil’s rucksack and racquet four gates down from the one they left through. That’s when he knows – isn’t sure what he knows, but knows, because Neil would never willingly surrender his bag or racquet, would keep a white-knuckled grip on them even if the world were ending. It feels like the world is ending, and if it isn’t Andrew is going to end it himself, is going to rip and burn and tear and cut until there’s nothing left of this stupid hunk of rock. Neil is gone.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket. Andrew ignores it. He doesn’t have time to deal with Kevin or Renee or Nicky or anyone else pestering him about where he is and what he’s doing. Right now there’s only one thing on his mind, and that’s-

The buzzing stops.

It’s only as the call times out that Andrew snaps back to sense with a jolt. Neil’s phone wasn’t in his bag. Which meant he could have-

Andrew fishes his phone from his pocket, chest emptying himself of air when he sees Neil’s name flash across the display. His hands are shaking as he hits return call, shaking like they haven’t done since he went off his meds, and in many ways the lurch of loss in his gut feels like withdrawal.

He thinks the call is about to time out, when, suddenly, connection.

“Neil,” says Andrew, and it sounds dangerously close to a prayer.

“Stop it,” Neil’s voice cracks over the phone, and in the black wash of memories that follows it takes Andrew a moment to realise that it isn’t him Neil is talking to. The voices are muffled as though reaching the mic through layers of fabric,and Andrew crushes the device against his ear. Most of the crowd has dispersed in the aftermath of the riot, but still he finds himself scanning the surroundings for somewhere quieter, somewhere he can listen, think-

“Stop me,” taunts a cool, female voice that has Andrew’s train of thought stalling in its tracks. “I told you to keep still, didn’t I?”

“Where are you taking me, Lola?” Neil says, loud and, in Andrew’s opinion, far, far too obvious. The bitch – Lola? – laughs. Andrew would thank Neil for giving him the name if he wasn’t determined to kill him for everything else.

“Where the fuck do you think? Daddy’s waiting. Speaking of which, I can’t take you to him with such a stain on your face. Rome?”

The image that springs to Andrew’s mind is inconceivable. Or, it would be, if he hadn’t lead the kind of life that provides plenty of material for a blackened imagination to work with. His feet are moving before he’s aware of it, and he’s biting his tongue to keep him from shouting Neil’s name down a phone where at best the sound would go unheard and at worst it would get Neil killed. The stadium grounds flash past, and something clicks on the other end of the line, followed by a breathless “You’re sick,” that turns Andrew’s blood to slush in his veins.

He’s jogging up to the team bus when Neil starts to scream. He stumbles, doubles over as though feeling the pain himself, and this time a noise that might have been Neil’s name slips through. Neil is making too much noise on the other end for the word to have made it through, but regardless a rush of fury has Andrew biting down on his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

He drops the bag and raquet as soon as he’s in range of the bus to slide a blade into his free hand. Nicky is the first to see him, staggers back from whatever he sees in Andrew’s face, mouth hanging open around an exclamation that never makes it past his lips. Noone is stupid enough to lay hands on him as he climbs onto the bus, and their questions go unheard. All Andrew can hear is screaming.

Abby is checking Kevin over when he reaches them, medical kit open at her side. Andrew shoves her from his path with the flat of his knuckles and she staggers back, diagnostic torch clattering to the floor. Kevin barely has time to look up before Andrew is throwing him up against the bus window.

“Tell me where Neil’s father is or I’ll slit your fucking throat,” Andrew says in a voice that isn’t his.

There are shouts behind him, someone get coach and don’t touch him and it’s Kevin, he won’t, will he?

Kevin’s eyes are glassy, but they sharpen as a gutteral noise buzzes through the phone still crushed to Andrew’s ear. It’s followed by gulping, frantic breathes, pained, but evidence, at least, that Neil isn’t dead.

“Is that-?”

Andrew presses the blade against Kevin’s throat. “Where is Neil’s father?”

Kevin goes white. “Prison.”

“Not anymore.” There’s that clicking again, and Andrew’s gut twists on reflex like some kind of fucking pavlovian reflex. This time he knows what to expect, but Kevin doesn’t, and he flinches as Neil’s scream echoes down the phone.

“Baltimore, then. He’s from Baltimore, he-”

“Renee,” Andrew says without looking away from Kevin. She’s right there behind him- he expected no less.

“Andrew.”

“I need a car. Something fast.”

He doesn’t have to turn to see the moment she shifts from Renee to Natalie: he can hear it in her answer. “I’ll be back.”

His brother throws himself into one of the seats as Andrew passes, as though he thinks he’s next on Andrew’s interrogation list. Andrew can’t blame him: he himself isn’t sure what he’s capable of right now, the knife in his hand twitching as though it has a mind of its own.

“Andrew,” Kevin says, “You can’t.”

He flips the knife in the palm of his hand as he hops the last step down from the bus. “Watch me.”

Neil’s voice on the end of the line has turned thin and scratchy like old sheets, garbling what sounds like she’s dead, she’s dead, I swear she’s dead.

“Do we believe him?”

“Might as well be sure.”

A scuffle, and Neil is screaming again. Andrew wants to join him.

Renee roars up to the bus at the same moment Wymack arrives at a brisk jog, presumably summoned by one of the well-meaning idiots hiding on the bus.

“Minyard-!” he yells, then his mouth drops open when he catches sight of Renee behind the wheel of a sleek, obnoxiously orange car. Maybe she stole it from one of their fans. “What in the flying fuck?”

“Andrew,” Nicky pleads, “Whatever’s going on, the police-”

“Half the police are his men,” Kevin says. “And he could buy off the rest if he wanted to.”

“Who?!”

“Nathan Wesninski. Head of the Baltimore crime family.” Kevin’s voice cracks. “Neil’s father.”

“Text Renee his address.” Andrew says, ignoring the reaction of his teammates as he pulls open the car’s passenger door. The glass is missing, due to the riot or Renee’s carjacking it’s hard to say.

The door doesn’t shut behind him when he pulls it, and when he looks up it’s Aaron’s hand blocking the way.

“Andrew.”

Andrew yanks at the door, but it won’t give. Neil is begging now. Begging like Andrew used to, and it’s working as well for Neil as it did for him. Whoever this Lola is, she’s going to die slowly.

“Let go,” Andrew grits through his teeth, not trusting himself to say more.

“What the fuck are you doing, Andrew? Are you going to try and kill a mob boss? You’ll die.”

“So?”

Aaron doesn’t answer, but his grip on the doorframe tightens. “I can’t…” he starts, chokes, starts again. “Don’t leave me.”

Andrew throws himself back out the car with violent speed, grabs Aaron by the collar before he can react. “You arent the only person I made a promise to.” Andrew grinds out through clenched teeth. “I intend to keep them both.”

Aaron’s eyes widen. At last he swallows, lets go of the door, and Andrew snaps it shut behind him before anyone else can intervene. Aaron’s face could be his own reflection, were it not for the absence of glass in the window and the absence of fear on Andrew’s face.

It’s only as they pull away from the stadium that Andrew remembers Neil called their deal off. Just that day. As though he knew.

If he thinks that will stop Andrew- fuck him.

They’re on the road with impressive speed – Andrew thought he was reckless, but Renee’s driving puts his own to shame. Horns blare and brakes screech as they merge onto the highway, but the roar of the engine not quite covering up Neil’s sobs echoing down the line.

Neil is crying. Torture, Andrew has no trouble imagining, but Neil crying…

“Faster,” he says. Renee accelerates.

Even at such alarming speeds, their progress is agonizingly slow. Renee is smart enough not to ask any questions, and Andrew leans away from the howl of air blasting through the broken window. There’s shuffling, the clicking of – handcuffs, he’d recognise that sound anywhere – and then Neil is talking. To pigs, by the sound of it, the shitty kind, the only kind, and he addresses them as though reading their names off their badges, loud and clear for Andrew’s ears. Andrew doesn’t need to make an effort to remember their names, but still he repeats the syllables with a bite that has Renee glancing his way.

“Do you have anything?” Andrew asks.

“A penknife. Nothing worthwhile in a real fight.”

“I’ll give you some of mine.”

Renee nods, fingers flexing around the wheel. If the prospect of death worries her, she doesn’t show it, gaze steady on the road ahead despite the furious roar of the car engine.

The rustle of fabric against fabric, and Andrew is biting back bile as-

“You could almost me my type if you weren’t so young, hmm? You look just like your father.”

Andrew doesn’t hear Neil’s response, his mind whiting out like television static. He doesn’t realise his blade is back in his hand until Renee leans over to bat at his fist. Blood leaks from his palm where his blade sliced it open.

“If you fight me, I’ll cut you off at the knees,” Lola hums in his ear. Andrew drops the knife to the footwell before he can damage himself any further, a swirling montage of horror hazing over him. He knows a viable threat when he hears one.

“Chloroform,” Neil says, then, “I can’t-”

Whatever he’s trying to tell Andrew is cut off, and the phone falls silent save for the faint sound of police sirens.

Andrew drops the phone into the footwell after the knife and punches the dashboard with everything he has. The plastic cracks under his fist, and he’s drawing back to take another swing when Renee slams the breaks, bringing the car to a gut-punching halt. Andrew’s seatbelt cuts into him as car horns blare furiously behind them.

“Keep going,” Andrew barks.

“You won’t be any use to him with a broken fist,” Renee answers, infuriatingly level.

“Keep going,” Andrew says once more, then, when it gets no reaction, “I won’t do it again.” He fishes the phone out from the clutter of magazines and takeout wrappers in the footwell and holds it like a promise.

Andrew thought Neil’s screams were the worst thing he had heard. But, as the following hour proves, his silence is much, much worse.

When the voices return, Andrew can tell by the echo that they’ve moved somewhere different. Tiled walls, if he had to guess, but beyond that, it could be anywhere. Muttered snatches of, where do you want him and dump him anywhere coming through with such dispassion that for a heart-stopping moment he thinks they’re talking about Neil’s corpse. But then the voices move off, and finally, a low, near-unrecognisable voice.

“Andrew.”

“Neil,” Andrew says, as though there’s any chance of Neil hearing him.

“I don’t know… I don’t know if the call connected. I hope it didn’t. I hope you didn’t have to hear…” Neil interrupts himself to hack up what sounds like half a lung. “I couldn’t hold it in. I’m sorry.” The plastic of Andrew’s phone casing cracks under the pressure of his grip. He barely notices Renee taking the exit from the highway.

“I don’t want to die a lie,” He continues, and Andrew has never hated him more for it. Will never hate anything or anyone as much as this for as long as he lives. “My name is Nathaniel Abram Wesninski. And I wasn’t thanking you for the game earlier. I was thanking you for the keys, the trust, the honesty, the kisses. I was thanking you for everything.”

Andrew stares ahead without seeing a thing. “No,” he whispers.

As though by some miracle he heard, the other end of the phone falls silent.

Then a door opens.

“Renee,” Andrew says urgently.

“We’re close.”

“Not close enough.”

“Hello, Junior.” A pause. A thud. A gasp of pain. “I said, hello.”

Neil’s voice – Andrew doesn’t care for Nathaniel, doesn’t care to let Neil slip from his grasp so easily – sounds as broken and terrified as Andrew has ever heard it. “Hello.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Neil’s father speaks with the same self-assured authority Luthor did, the same cool detatchment as Proust, the same subtle satisfaction as Drake. “Who told you that hiding in plain sight was a viable option? You had to know I would find you eventually.”

I did. The thought comes unbidden to Andrew, settling in his chest like a heartache that will choke him until he dies. Andrew doesn’t believe in regret, but this is as close as he’ll ever come. He didn’t know. He didn’t know Neil’s father was this. He wants to kill Neil for lying to him almost as much as he wants to kill himself for believing him.

“The only question that remains is how I’m going to kill you. I’ve had a couple of years to think it over but now I’m indecisive. I might skin you alive. I might take you apart one inch at a time and cauterize the wounds. I think no matter what I choose we are going to start by slicing the tendons in your legs.”

Metal scrapes against stone. There’s shouts, a clang, scuffling, a thump.

“Maybe we’ll do both,” Neil’s father continues. “Skin you an inch or two at a time and carve the flesh out from underneath. If we do it right, you might last all night.”

Andrew is thrown back to a crisp winter morning on a cold rooftop, surrounded by the smell of cigarette smoke and the icy burn of Neil’s eyes. I think about carving the skin from your body and hanging it out as a warning to every other fool who thinks he can stand in my way.

And what about the other ten percent of the time?

The answer doesn’t matter anymore. Andrew hit zero long ago.

“No,” Neil says.

“Lola, would you like the pleasure of crippling him?”

“Please,” says Neil. The word nearly stops Andrew’s heart. “Please don’t.” Then, “Andrew-”

And the line goes dead.

And something inside Andrew goes with it.

The phone hits the floor of the car with a distant thunk. Renee’s voice is white noise, syllables devoid of meaning.

“Keep going,” Andrew says.

The house is a hive of flashing lights when they arrive, police cars and ambulances and the flash-bulbs of photographers following the scent of blood. Bodies are being carried out on stretchers under white sheets, and Andrew tears through a police baricade like tissue paper.

Renee buys Andrew enough time to reach the nearest body, and the EMTs stumble back but can’t do anything to stop him without dropping the body. He hauls back a sheet, and his mind goes deadly blank as he sees piercing blue eyes, familiar auburn hair flecked with blood-

“Andrew?”

He turns.

Sitting in the ambulance at the bottom of the driveway, caked in bandages beyond recognition- but he would know that voice anywhere.

Andrew is lost.

Andrew is lost.

Andrew is found.

He flows to Neil like the river to the sea.

“You heard,” Neil whispers. There’s barely a part of him that’s safe to touch, so Andrew settles for the back of his neck, which is sticky with blood but otherwise untouched. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll kill you,” Andrew replies, grip tightning, and Neil smiles, even though it must pain him to do so.

“Couldn’t let anyone else have the pleasure, could you?”

“Neil.” It’s as though every other word has flooded from his head at once.

Neil’s smile, already fragile, looks set to shatter. “My real name-”

“I don’t care.” The officers have made it past Renee, but they aren’t interfearing, which is good, because being arrested for assaulting an officer right now would be deeply inconvenient. And, because Andrew means what he says, he leans down and presses a kiss softer than he believed himself capable of to Neil’s lips.

Neil sucks in a breath, but not from pain, hands coming to rest on Andrew’s shoulders, too heavily bandaged to gain purchase. He pulls Andrew back in, and they kiss through the taste of blood and sweat and tears until there’s nothing left in his world but Neil.

“Neil Abram Josten,” Andrew repeats. It sounds like a prayer answered and a promise fulfilled.

Which it is.

*

[glimmerglanger]

Hello, hope you're having a good day. Here's a prompt for your spicy Sundays/whenever: obikin, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, but sex happens *after* the pollen/substance wears off. I see it as not yet established relationship, with background pining, and much 'must not give into this' during the exposure to the pollen/substance. Who is the one exposed-or both are?-I leave up to you. Feel free to ignore this, if this scenario is something that holds no interest for you. As always, I love your work.

:DDD! So, this ended up with no actual sex happening, it’s all dealing with waiting for the substance too wear off. But it’s still...very explicit and spicy. So much dirty talk and...giving oneself a hand? 

SPICY SUNDAY FIC. Set during the Clone Wars. I guess technically pre-Obikin? Warnings for non-consensual use of an aphrodisiac, but, again, no contact happens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enough things had gone wrong in Obi-Wan’s life for him to begin to feel suspicious when things went well. Master Yoda would, inevitably, have something to say about that, if Obi-Wan ever had the opportunity to mention it. 

He shoved those thoughts aside with a punchy laugh, engaged the lock on the quarters he and Anakin had received, when they arrived on Marilk, and leaned his shoulder against the door. There was a curse from the other side of the door, barely a moment later, and then Anakin said, “Obi-Wan, this isn’t funny, let me out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that quite yet,” Obi-Wan said, turning to rest his back against the door. He nodded, flashing a strained smile, at a few of the Marilkians who had followed them from the feasting hall.

They were near-human, perhaps slightly taller than average and tending towards unusual hair colors: blues and greens seemed to predominate. They’d been friendly enough. Very friendly, really. It had made Obi-Wan’s spine itchy and he’d tried to set aside that worry….

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, from the other side of the door, strain in his voice, “I’m serious. I--”

“So am I,” Obi-Wan said, and, to prove it, he sank to sit in front of the door, folding his legs. He put his hands on his knees and breathed slow and deep. He’d worked so diligently not to worry, to not jump at shadows, and for his trouble, Anakin was--

Pounding on the door at his back, the strain in his voice getting thicker as he said, “You have to let me out, Obi-Wan.”

“It’s better that you stay in there,” Obi-Wan said, working to maintain his calm and to project it towards Anakin. He worked, at the same time, to release everything he was picking up from Anakin, everything that had been pouring out of him since Anakin picked up Obi-Wan’s cup during their dinner and downed it.

Their host - the High Chancellor - had seemed ever so unhappy about that. That had been, really, the first obvious sign that something was wrong.

Additional obvious signs had followed shortly, as Anakin’s heart rate spiked up, as he grew flushed, as his signature in the Force shifted. Lust was always easy to pick up in the Force. It yelled and shouted, pushed outwards, needy and full of hunger.

The High Chancellor had explained, when faced with their sudden suspicions and sharp tempers, what he had done. He claimed that whatever he’d slipped into Obi-Wan’s drink was quite harmless. Only meant to increase one’s enjoyment of an evening’s delights.

Obi-Wan had taken Anakin from the room before he lost the fight with his temper. Punching a dignitary would not be an acceptable resolution to their current situation. And so he had brought Anakin back to their rooms, away from prying eyes and wandering hands.

He’d expected, really, for Anakin to put up a fight about it, but he’d gone willingly enough. The protests only started after the door shut between them. Anakin banged something against the other side of the door and said, “Obi-Wan, please, I can’t stay in here.”

“Yes, you can,” Obi-Wan told him, ignoring the rush of lust and want he got back. Anakin was spilling it everywhere, directly across their bond, into Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled it, even as he felt a flush creep up his neck. “Try to meditate, it’ll--”

Anakin laughed, sharply. Obi-Wan heard it through the door. “Meditating is not going to help me right now,” he said. “I need--”

“A cold shower?” Obi-Wan suggested, thinking he would not mind one himself. He tried, very hard, not to think about the way Anakin had shoved him against the wall, about the slant of Anakin’s mouth against his, before he’d managed to slide from the room.

“No,” Anakin said, hoarse. “That’s not it at all.”

“You haven’t even tried it,” Obi-Wan said, casting a frown down the hall when one of the Marilkians tried to take a step closer. He would have very much liked to go to a different set of quarters, to climb into a fresher and meditate until the burn of want in his blood went away, but he did not trust their hosts to keep their hands to themselves.

He could not very well leave Anakin alone. Not in his current condition.

“I know what’ll help,” Anakin said, thickly. “I’ll show you, just open the door.”

“You know I won’t,” Obi-Wan said, breathing slowly and steadily. They’d get through this. He’d heard of plenty of similar drugs. It would likely burn from Anakin’s system in an hour, perhaps two. Perhaps less. Use of the Force tended to make the metabolism of Jedi very high. 

“Please,” Anakin said, apparently unwilling to take any of Obi-Wan’s advice. “Please, I know I was a little rough, at first, but I’ll - I’ll be gentle with you, if you just open the door.”

Obi-Wan felt a shiver down his back. He exhaled, carefully. Inhaled. Counted to five. Resolutely did not think about his shoulders against the wall, about Anakin pressed against him, mouth hungry and greedy, hands tugging at Obi-Wan’s robes--

“Does that sound nice?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan could feel the pressure of his want and need, crackling across their bond. “I could make it so nice for you.”

“You need to go meditate,” Obi-Wan said, working to keep his voice even. Unaffected, despite the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks. He tried to allow the words to simply flow out of his mind. Anakin didn’t know what he was saying. Didn’t mean to say any of it. He was not in control of himself.

“I told you, meditating won’t help,” Anakin rasped, and was quiet for a time. And then he made another sound, lower. Guttural. Sometime else curled through his signature in the Force. Pleasure. Building quickly, too. Obi-Wan stared at the far wall, breath catching in the back of his throat.

He asked, knowing it was a mistake, but unable to help it, “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Anakin asked, a snap in his voice, frustration and desire all tangled up in his presence in the Force. “I’m touching myself, since you won’t come in here and help me. I’m--”

“Anakin,” he cut in, standing, because he could not--

“Oh, fuck,” Anakin panted, and Obi-Wan could feel it when he found release; it sung across their connection, a brief little flare of relief that had Obi-Wan curling his hands into fists under his robes. It was far too easy to imagine Anakin on the other side of the door, his trousers open, his hand moving over his cock until he’d--

Obi-Wan tilted his face up to the ceiling, wrestled with control, and asked, “Are you feeling better, now?”

Anakin was quiet for a long moment. He didn’t need to answer, really. Obi-Wan felt the answer before he spoke. “No,” Anakin ground out. “No, it only helped for a moment.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. He’d dared to hope, for an instant. He cleared his throat. “Mediation could--”

“Kriffing hell, Obi-Wan, I don’t want to meditate. I just want you to come in here with me.” Anakin sounded strained. “I want you to lick all this come off of my fingers, and--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, ears burning, even as he jerked a step away from the door. The sheer explicit nature of what he was saying made Obi-Wan’s gut get tighter, against all his best efforts. “That’s enough, you--”

“It’s not enough,” Anakin countered, his breathing getting shakier. “You don’t know half the things I want you to do. Fuck.” He was quiet, for a moment, quiet enough that Obi-Wan imagined he could hear Anakin touching himself again, right through the door. “I’d - I’d be so nice, if you’d just open the door, Obi-Wan, if you just - just put your mouth on me. You’d feel so good, sucking my cock.”

Obi-Wan’s hands ached, from how tightly he had them clenched. His jaw seemed to have welded itself shut, too. He could only stare at the door, burning all across his face and down his throat, listening to Anakin pant, “Fuck, I promise I’d go easy, I’d - I bet you’re so good at it, I’ve always thought you’d be so good at it, do you like sucking cock, Obi-Wan? Because, I have to say, your mouth--”

He strangled off, then, with a ragged groan that Obi-Wan swore he felt down his spine. His gut felt hard and tight. He felt strung out, himself, but he’d not taken any of the drug that was affecting Anakin so, and so he breathed, in and out, and sought balance.

He asked, even, “Is it finished?”

Anakin laughed, ragged, from the other side of the door. “Come in and find out,” he suggested.

Obi-Wan frowned, wishing his heart would slow down. “Anakin, that’s--”

“Please,” Anakin gasped out, cutting through every piece of advice Obi-Wan wanted to offer him. “Please, I need your help, Obi-Wan, I need you.”

Obi-Wan was back at the door before he could stop himself. He pressed both hands against the metal, head bowing over. In a way, he wished that he had consumed some of the substance. If they were both in this same situation, they’d at least be on an even playing field. 

As it was, he could only stand sentinel. Only listen. Anakin was quiet, for a long time. Obi-Wan could hear soft, wet sounds from inside the room. Groans, sometimes, but at least he’d stopped talking. It didn’t mitigate the surge of his want and desire, but Obi-Wan knew how to process those emotions, to accept and release them.

He kept his peace until Anakin made a soft, pained sound, and then he asked, “Are you--alright?”

Anakin snorted. He thumped something against the other side of the door. “Starting to feel chaffed,” he said, his voice closer to a rasp than Obi-Wan had ever heard it. 

Obi-Wan could imagine, and tried not to, not wanting to imagine Anakin slumped against the wall, touching himself, already covered with his own mess--

“Is it getting any better?” he asked, focusing on what mattered.

Anakin was quiet for a moment, and then let out a muffled groan. Obi-Wan heard his name, tangled in the noise. When Anakin spoke again, his voice was ragged. “I still want to hold you down and fuck you raw,” he said, words all sharp edges, “but I think I could hold back long enough to work you open on my fingers, now. Is that better, do you think?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, trying to formulate any kind of reply, and Anakin must have been feeling slightly better, because he projected the image through the Force; Obi-Wan, on his stomach, robes just gone, with Anakin stretched over him, fingers moving--

Obi-Wan sunk teeth into his tongue, working to hold back the sound that tried to rise in his throat. “I want to open you up,” Anakin went on, before Obi-Wan returned to anything like stability. “I want to see the way you take me. I bet you’d take me so well, so tight and hot around my cock--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan managed to grit out, overheated under his robes, his cheeks on fire, his gut tight and--

And his cock embarrassingly hard, under his robes.

“Can you come from being fucked?” Anakin asked, breath starting to hitch. “Or would you like me to touch you? While I’m filling you up? I would, if you wanted, I’d make it so good for you, Obi-Wan, I promise. I’d--fuck, reach around you, touch you, I’d--”

The projection shifted, and Obi-Wan bit the insides of his cheeks, curling his head forward, wishing he’d drank the damned stuff. He would have sat in the shower and sorted this out on his own. He wouldn’t have tormented Anakin, he’d have--

“I’d keep fucking you, after you came,” Anakin panted, voice quaking. “Would you like that? Hm?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan blurted, and regretted it, immediately, but he was--was breathing shakily, himself, leaning against the door, overheating. Hard and aching, from Anakin’s words and his want, overflowing through the Force, and--

“What the kriff do you mean you don’t know?” Anakin asked, ragged. “You don’t--”

“I’ve never,” Obi-Wan started, and then stopped, tongue catching against the back of his teeth. And Anakin swore, on the other side of the door, and Obi-Wan felt it when he came. Obi-Wan sunk teeth into his bottom lip and drew on the Force and his cock stayed hard and aching.

He did not fall over the edge. Did not take advantage. Did not - not let Anakin’s words while he was out of his head drive him to that. Anakin deserved better than that.

For a moment, there was no sound but their ragged breathing, there in the hall. And then Anakin cleared his throat and said, quietly, the lust fading out of his signature in the Force, replaced with something like embarrassment, like mortification, “I - I think it’s, ah, over.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He collected himself, putting together the ragged edges of his emotions. He said, straightening, ignoring the ache of his cock, “Good. I’m very glad to hear it. Let’s just...wait a few more minutes. Before I come to check on you.”

“Fuck,” Anakin said, voice cracking a little. “Yes, actually, if you could--just wait--maybe. I need to--uh. I need to shower. And - and clean up. Just. Just wait, a bit, alright?” And Obi-Wan nodded, turned, put his shoulders against the wall, and slid down, ignoring the buzzing hum of his pulse.

[mistresseast]

You make some really good points, but I wish literally anyone in this fandom wanted to write about it. I just hate how Akira is not allowed to be happy, and even with the long wait, no one seems to want him to be reunited with Goro and to be happy. Or address how Maruki was manipulative and fucked up. It's just so unfair to him.

I know this fandom seems really doom and gloom most of the time, believe me, it kind of wears me down too sometimes. I love some nice, cathartic angst as much as the next person, but it’s hard to watch characters you care about be essentially left for dead by the fandom over and over when there’s plenty of evidence that they are actually okay and will be able to grow and heal in the future. However, I promise that’s not the only content to be found here. Since Royal came out, I’ve seen a definite upswing in fics and art that celebrate their future reunion and the positives that resulted from the revelations of the third semester. Most of the popular, well-known stuff is just still from before Royal, so the tone is admittedly darker. There’s more emphasis on grief and exploring the repercussions of Goro’s unceremonious “death” and even fix-its tend to get hung up on atonement and redemption instead of healing. And it’s understandable; when a relationship ends the way shuake’s did in vanilla, it leaves people feeling restless and upset, and the best way to vent those feelings is through generating bittersweet content. It’s a catharsis, a way to purge all of the unfinished emotions vanilla left us with. And even now that we have a more hopeful ending, most fans, the ones who have been around since vanilla, are still in that frame of mind. We were so screwed over by the last ending, that we’re just kind of...used to mourning Goro Akechi at this point. 

My experience following along with the real-time first playthroughs of Royal is something that will stick with me forever. I won’t get too into it, but when it looked like Goro’s fate in the ship was unchanged, I was devastated. But then he was back! And then he was gone again. And the translations were perfunctory at first, most of us didn’t know for sure what was going on, so we were all getting ready to accept Goro being “dead” again. Fortunately, that’s not at all what happened! He’s alive and he’s fine and in fact he was never dead in the first place, even in vanilla! It was amazing! And I was so happy for a reason to let go of the grief I’d been nursing since I learned his fate the first FIRST time around. But not everyone is as eager to leave that darkness behind. In some cases, people just genuinely don’t understand what happened in the game, and the narrative of Goro being alive bc of Akira’s wish is so tempting and so painfully beautiful that it’s become essentially fandom canon just by the sheer power it evokes. I may be wrong, but I feel like this is the majority of people. They take Maruki’s words at face value and are then inundated by fandom content that reinforces that idea, making it easy to ignore Goro’s brief appearance in the true ending or write it off. They’ve been trained by vanilla not to expect a happy ending for these characters and they just accept it. And there are also folks who prefer the darker ending, of course, and willingly choose to believe it bc it satisfies something in them. Even I’m seduced by the inherent eroticism of things going badly sometimes, and I write almost exclusively for the express purposes of getting the characters soul married or whatever. Tragedies are compelling and that’s just some people’s cup of tea. No shame there. 

That’s not to say I don’t get frustrated by it sometimes though. It’s frustrating to me that the idea of Akira’s love for Goro sustaining a new dimension is so fucking delicious that it basically overshadows the fact that Goro is actually alive AND buries the lead about what a scumbag Maruki truly is. We’re all so enamored by the High Romance of it all that we fail to recognize it for what it is: a lie. Maruki fucking got us!! He tricked this whole fandom into living in a fantasy world!! God, how meta, how unintentionally brilliant. We’re just like Akira: too in love with Goro to even question what Maruki says. As frustrating as it is, you kind of have to love it.

That said, as time goes on, I believe the fandom outlook will continue to lighten. I saw a HUGE surge of positive post-game content after the deleted scene of Goro at the clinic was discovered bc people were finally willing to give into the desire to give Goro a happy ending now that they’re less afraid of being hurt by some new revelation later on. And as that becomes the norm, the discussion around Maruki will change too. Currently he has this reputation as a well-meaning villain, but when Goro being undeniably alive becomes more ingrained in the fandom consciousness, his manipulation will be more obvious to people. I truly believe that this fandom is full of people who WANT happy endings, who WANT Goro and Akira to be reunited, but have been taught for so long that believing one can actually happen is stupid. And the ending we got is just ambiguous enough to prey on that fear of being played for the fool. As time passes, so will that fear, and the fandom content will reflect that. And there’s already hopeful stuff out there if you look for it! People are catching on! Plus, there’s my time-honored advice: if you can’t find the content that satisfies you, you just have to make it! That’s why all of my fics exist. Putting more positivity out there will only help other people get on board the happy ending train faster.

I know you probably just wanted to vent and didn’t need a whole essay about fandom psychology, but I promise you, I know how you feel, and I’ve been steeping in the shuake stew long enough to tell you that things are already better than they were. We can only go up from here!!

Also disclaimer!! All of this nonsense is based on my individual experience and interpretation. Everyone experiences fandom differently and I certainly don’t claim to be an expert. ymmv

[seventfics]

Barking Dogs

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Laundry day Relationships: Roche/Ves Rating: T (Swearing Language) Content Warnings: None Summary: Roche and Ves have a yelling match about her inappropriate vest, again.

Read on AO3

* * *

It’s laundry day in the Temerian resistance camp, and Roche is sewing up Ves’ vest.

“What the fuck are you doing to my clothes?!”

Half the members of the camp turn their heads at the high scream. The other half goes about their day, unfazed as their fearless commander shouts, “by the gods, woman, your cleavage is a menace on your life. I don’t fucking care if you stab me for fixing it myself, alright?!”

It's an hour of loud arguing back and forth, of Ves tearing new stitches free as Roche keeps slapping her hand away to re-stitch his work again.

By the time it starts raining—because gods forbid a single day be clear and sunny in Novigrad—the vest is a tattered mess, and everyone has gone inside their cave hideout to tarp up their things.

“Ves.”

“Bastard,” she spits heartily onto a puddle.

Roche sighs. “Ves.”

“What! That was a good vest and now it’s fucking ruined. I'll have to buy a new one.”

“I can cover the cost.”

“Hah! Like you’ll cover my breasts?!”

“Ves,” he sighs again. The rain has picked up enough that they’ve moved under a tree, both of them refusing to have this conversation in front of the other soldiers. “What don’t you understand about how armor works? I don’t want you to be reckless in the field with a huge open target.”

It’s the same argument they’ve been having for weeks now, since she’d jumped into a fight against heavily armored Nilfgaardians and her arse had been saved by the swing of Roche’s and Geralt’s interrupting swords. She’s sick of it.

“Don’t you trust that I’m aware of my huge open target?! That I don’t use it to my advantage, because it’s the first thing an attacker will go for?” Ves paces under the sagging tree's canopy, her boots muddied up to her ankles. “And what if I want to look good while I’m stabbing a man’s eye out for ogling me in the middle of the battlefield?!”

Roche rubs his face with both his hands. “That is the most unorthodox method of combat I’ve ever heard. It's ridiculous.”

“It works for me.”

“It worries me.”

“Why?” A scowl settles firmly on her face, but her heart beats fast, confused between a soldier’s shame and a friend’s concern. Lately, Roche treats her like she needs watching. Like she’s not a full grown adult with a body count to make her commander proud.

But his attention is also the most anyone’s ever given her, with respect to her ability and her strength. Not because she is a woman who knows how to fight, but because she is a person who knows how to fight well.

And he worries about her anyway.

“You know what, fine," she says before Roche gives a proper answer. "Here. You ‘fix’ this one and you promise to leave it alone after.”

For this, Ves takes off her only other vest, the one she wears, to hand over. Underneath it is just the thin trappings of a white undershirt soaked through. Might as well be shirtless at that point, with how uncomfortably itchy it makes her skin, so she throws that off as well with a frustrated growl.

As she stands there, topless in the rain, Roche nods a very serious and solemn, “fair,” and gets to stitching.

Ves blinks. She crosses her arms, the movement putting a slight lift on her chest, but Roche keeps working on the vest as if she weren’t the most beautiful, young woman this side of the Pontar river—in her humble and true opinion.

Plenty of the men at their own camp ogle, which they learn they can’t get away with. Being the only woman in Roche’s highest and most trusted command catches everyone by surprise the first time they meet her. But Roche never ogles. He grumbles under his breath, exasperated at everyone’s damn one-track minds. He never blames her for catching their attention either. He just grumbles.

“I don’t understand you,” she says harshly over his head. They’ve worked together for years and still she does not know his thoughts. There is no other man she would follow into battle, even if she disagrees with him lately.

No other man ignores her subtle flaunting so genuinely.

“Ves.” He lays her vest on his knee and looks up at her. His expression is serious, so she lets go of her anger for just a second to hear him. “I care about you. A great deal. Probably more than I should,” he mutters more to himself, but she catches the end of it and slaps his arm, laughing.

That's more like the old Roche she knows. The one who yells at recruits for not knowing a pike from a fucking halberd or how to wield either without poking someone's eye out. That's the Roche who will keep on yelling as he teaches the boys through trial and error, never giving up on them, though it would be a lot less trouble for him if he did.

“You’re a softie is why. Can’t help but pick up strays." She grins, all teeth. "Geralt thinks he picked you up, but we both know you're the one who roped him into your little circle of grouchy dogs.”

“You’re not a stray,” is his quieter huff.

“Yeah. A stray would leave. You can’t get rid of me.”

Roche smiles. He won't give up on her and she won't leave him alone. That's the price of loyalty, one they've willingly payed a dozen times over. Saving each other's arses is stubborn ingrained habit now.

She sits beside him, watching him carefully pin the last stitch of a thick underlayer of cloth to her vest that would cover her chest better. Not completely, she notices with a raised brow. He’s no tailor, but she might call the narrower opening of her vest tasteful—playing with her strategy for offensive distraction, while allowing more protective coverage.

He hands her the refurbished piece of armor and she hums, rubbing the damp thing between her fingers.

"Well it's not terrible, I guess." As she admires it, Roche startles her with the heavy throw of his overcoat over her shoulders. “Huh?”

“It’s raining, and you’re bloody cold,” he says, pointing at the very obvious indication of the chill on her chest.

“You were staring!” What would otherwise enrage her to learn, she laughs into the sleeves of Roche's soap-smelly coat. And if her face feels a little hot, she hides it with an admonishing, “Commander.”

He rolls his eyes so hard it hurts her head. “I’m not acting as your superior officer right now.”

“Roche,” she corrects. And stops, not quite knowing where to go from here.

It’s laundry day. It’s raining. Their clean shit is ruined and in need of a second evening's wash. Her vest is a thread mess and she’s holding Roche’s overcoat like a pillar of stone in unstable ground.

“So you care about me?”

“Of course I do. You’re—” Roche cuts himself off, glaring at the ground like enemy spies would spring up from it. Then his eyes move their glare to her. Her chest to be exact. It carries none of the usual interest a man would show her. Rather, it feels like he’s angry at some invisible affront her breast has caused him.

“I’m...?” Ves asks casually, though her face is beet red at his sudden staring.

“It’s complicated.”

“Fah! That's an understatement if I ever heard one. You ruin my clothes as a favor to me, offer to buy their replacement, do a decent job of actually stitching something up when that doesn't work, and then you glare daggers at my cleavage like it called your mother a whore. You're a complicated man.”

They could call him complicated. They could call him a foulmouthed, pigheaded worrywart. A man indifferent to her wiles, and someone she really, really wants to rile up with her wiles sometimes—right now, actually. If she could gather up the courage.

Well. Roche does always say she’s impulsive. And they are seated thigh to thigh, if only her stupid, blushing face didn't betray the air of coolness she is trying to wrap around herself.

So she kisses the corner of his lips, ending it with an almost nervous, “Was that complicated too?”

He leans back from her, his eyes wide in surprise. “A little." His voice is rough to her ears. "And...if I disappoint you?”

For a moment, her heart drops. A trickling fear called doubt grows in her head—that how he cares for her is not the way she does for him. That she's misunderstood something crucial in their closeness.

But his muted laugh sounds pained to her ears, like he thinks he isn’t enough in this. She wants to stop it.

Ves meets his eyes. She keeps their stare until the backdrop of the trees and the rain fades to nothing, and all she hears is his soft breathing. “You could never disappoint me. Send me into a blind fury when you turn laundry day into recreation time, maybe," she quips, "but not disappoint.”

He still looks unsure after, and to that, she takes his hand in hers and squeezes it.

She’s fought beside him when the odds were at their lowest. Even gone against him when things didn’t feel right, and taken her discipline afterwards with her head held high, like a soldier should. But to wrap her fingers over his, the way ordinary civilians do with each other, is not something she’s ever done. Her own hand shakes, clammy and unused to holding anything that isn't a weapon in their grip. It is a lot like his.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she says in a tone as if that's his fault. His low grumbling complains, "and you think I do?" at her, but he keeps their fingers linked tightly.

When they return to the hideout, half the camp looks up inquisitively, wondering why the commander doesn’t have the imprint of a fist on his face. The other half goes about their day, unfazed that their illustrious Ves is wearing the commander’s overcoat.

[ramonadecember]

Jaskier/Geralt angst with #70. Insecure!Jaskier pls!!!

angst/fluff prompts.

maybe Jaskier is a little insecure, but maybe Geralt needs to realize that some things need to be explicit. tl;dr: both of them can be idiots. this turned out longer than anticipated.

70. “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

–

Jaskier wasn’t sure he could pinpoint the exact moment it happened. The romantic in him wanted to say that it was love at first sight, that when he had seen Geralt brooding alone in the corner while he’d been performing, he’d known that was it, that they would spend the rest of their lives gravitating back to each other because it was ‘meant to be.’ The part of Jaskier that knew when to take his head out of the clouds knew that it really wasn’t one moment, but a collection of them.

They had been traveling together here and there for, what… decades now? That gave Jaskier plenty of time to fall head over heels for this witcher. It was hard not to once one learned that Geralt ‘we’re not friends’ of Rivia wasn’t nearly as surly and foreboding as he made himself out to be.

It was in simple things, like the way Geralt cared for Roach, making sure she had everything needed before tending to himself, carrying on conversations with her and giving Jaskier looks like he was the strange one when he’d raise an eyebrow at the pair. It was in the was in the way he would always try to talk his way out of a situation before coming to blows, even though he pretended it was only because people weren’t worth his time—or getting kicked out of an inn they’d already paid for. It was in the way Geralt would grumble and complain about it to no end, but would still go out of his way to help someone, be it humoring an elderly woman from town to look for her lost relative, or accepting less coin than he usually would for a job from a town that was clearly struggling. And there was the time that a child had thrown her arms around Geralt’s legs in thanks and the witcher had barely hesitated before giving her a stiff but still affectionate pat on the head before she ran off.

It all came together to make true the fact that Jaskier, unequivocally, loved Geralt.

Not that anything much came of it. Jaskier thought he was fairly obvious about that truth, not bothering to conceal dreamy looks, making as much physical contact as Geralt would allow until he was near throwing himself at the witcher, laying out every plan as a we or us situation. Geralt did just about everything in his power not to take the bait, but Jaskier had always had a way of getting under his skin.

Which is why right now wasn’t the first time the Jaskier found himself being kissed by Geralt, his face in both of the witcher’s hands, tilted back so that Geralt could better snake his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth, kissing him hard and deep until all the breath left the bard’s lungs. When Geralt finally pulled back, Jaskier hadn’t even stopped panting before he was accusing, “You’re leaving again.” No question. Geralt only ever kissed him like that for one reason, and that was as an apology, one that Jaskier only ever took to be something to humor him, make sure Geralt led him along enough that Jaskier would come crawling back next time he popped into the bard’s life.

“Jaskier…” There was very actual ire to what was meant to be a warning not to make an issue of it. This wasn’t new, this would always be the way things went.

It wouldn’t be Jaskier if he didn’t give at least a little token pout about it, though, and he’d blame it on the long week he’d had of stuffy faculty events and students who never listened that made him step up the theatrics just a little bit more than usual. Geralt wasn’t one for placation or platitudes, but he did remind that, “I always come back.” Or Jaskier found him, or they stumbled into each other somewhere along the way, but the important part was that they always ended up back together again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea why,” Jaskier sniffed, knowing he was being bratty and purposefully obtuse.

Geralt remained most unimpressed by Jaskier with his hands on his hips and his nose in the air, letting his own hands come to rest on Jaskier’s waist to rag him in closer. “After everything we’ve been through—” countless curse and creatures and run ins with the crown, “—you still don’t think that I love you?”

The realization had admittedly initially crept up on Geralt, catching him quite unaware. Geralt would be the first to confess that he was resistant to the notion at first, shoving it down deep with the claim that it was to protect Jaskier—nothing good ever came to those who associated with witchers—and not to protect his own heart. After all, he watched how freely Jaskier would give away a piece of his heart to anyone who caught his eye, how who he wished to bed, to love changed as frequently as his whims. Geralt wouldn’t have to admit how much it would hurt to be tossed aside if he never admitted just how much he cared for his bard.

But the idea had sunk its claws in, dragged him down, and while that almost made it sound unpleasant, it wasn’t. Geralt had gone willingly. He loved Jaskier, and he thought the bard knew, he thought he’d made it clear in just about everything he did.

Jaskier just blinked at him, waiting for the telltale sign that Geralt was messing with him—the barest hint of a smirk or a bemused glint in his eye—but it never came. Geralt asked it so bluntly, like it was something Jaskier should have known, and maybe he very well should have, maybe his ignorance was willful.

“What do you think has been going on here all this time?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier felt even more like a fool.

It was no coincidence that Geralt was there, there was no reason for him to drop in at Oxenfurt where Jaskier had been lecturing that past handful of years other than because he wanted to see the—his—bard. No monsters, no shady dealings, he just missed Jaskier.

Geralt had even shown him just how much the evening after he’d arrived, near dragging Jaskier off somewhere private as soon as he was able. Jaskier still didn’t dare deign to call it love when Geralt sank into him, or any time prior that he had either. He saw himself as… a convenience for Geralt at best, something easy and familiar and nothing more. Why sift through the local talent when there was someone willing and wanting just waiting for him. But if Jaskier took even a moment to analyze their situation, he knew it was more than mere accessibility. The way Geralt touched him, the marks he left across Jaskier’s skin, they spoke of possession and knowledge and intimacy. They spoke of more.

Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s neck. “How was I supposed to know?” Jaskier questioned, but it was hard to put any bite into it. “It’s not as if you’ve ever said it.”

“I thought it was obvious.” Geralt shrugged.

Jaskier would have been more indignant had that not been the most Geralt-esque response that could have been given. He saved the speech he was already putting together regarding using one’s words for another time, choosing instead to pull Geralt down into another kiss.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #19)

(cw: vomiting, references to drugs) ----------

01/06/88   10:31 PM

Hey.

I’d thought that willingly bunking with Fix-it was weird. I had no idea.

You know pretty well my relationship to Wreck-it, but that’s not saying much. Anyone who sees us interacting basically knows the deal. There’s just not much more than the obvious. He’s huge, he’s dumb, and he’s got a temper shorter than a Nicelander’s arm, so, yeah, he’s my game’s resident prank and pestering dumping ground, fittingly enough. And, on the flipside, I’m small, I’m slick, I’m dang near impossible to catch when you’re that big and clumsy, and even when he does, and he throws me across the freakin’ map, I enjoy it. I’d wanna smash my face into the bricks, too, if I were him.

It felt a little close to insanity, then, thinking of welcoming myself to sleep on those bricks. I had basically nothing in my favor, other than the fact that we’ve never had a… y’know, serious fight, and very occasionally we’ll call a truce and rant about Fix-it over some root beers. Not much, but it had to count for something, right?

In any case, the arcade closed like any night. I was leaning back against my little lumpy brick knoll and idly plucking at my guitar by the time I heard those big elephant feet clomping on the bricks. I braced myself. Good or bad, it’d be uncomfortable.

“Alright, y’little guttersnipe, what did you leave me this time?”

He seemed to be talking more to himself than me. I guess he thought I’d left. Fair assumption -- why would I have stayed?

“Still here, trash gorilla.”

“What the--!?”

Stomp, stomp, stomp. He stood next to me, stance primed to smash if provoked. I didn’t bother looking up.

He barked, “You!”

“Me.”

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing in my home?”

He certainly didn’t sound happy, but I heard way more apprehension in his voice than anger. He obviously hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen on Niceland’s doorstep the night before. Remembering the look on his face just made me wish even more dearly that I had anywhere else to go. 

I paid more attention to my guitar than him, hoping he would give up prematurely. “No, not really.”

“Oh, well, in that case, sure, just hunker down and make yourself a little nest without even kind of asking me.”

“Wayyy ahead of ya.”

Buttons easily pressed, he growled, “You got until the count of five to tell me what you’re up to, before I bowl you right down into the river, got it?”

“Sure you can count that high, monkey man?”

“Y’know what, let’s make it THREE. One…”

I rubbed my forehead, sporting a vicious withdrawal headache. I’d been brainstorming all day on excuses to throw at him, but always came up short. How do I explain away willingly staying in a dump with Wreck-it?

“Two…”

I finally looked up at him, with the sharpest glare I had. “I had nowhere else to go, okay! Happy now?!”

Wreck-it wavered for a second, like I’d thrown a ball at his head. He squinted, suspicious. “Wait. What do you mean? You’ve got plenty of places to go! I mean, Felix would obviously love to put you up, and--” he slowed, bogged down with memory, “--well… I guess you… were kinda screaming and smashing stuff up there this morning, so... maybe you’re… still mad at him or… something…”

He scratched his head. “Okay, maybe not Felix. But you’ve got your own place. That forest still looks pretty intact to me, sister.”

I went back to staring at my guitar. “I can’t stay there right now.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

He went quiet for a minute. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his fist relax a bit and rap gently against his leg. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit lower, but still reluctant.

He said, “You’re trouble, you know.”

“Thanks.”

“Everyone’s talkin’ like you’re big trouble. Like you could be dangerous.”

“What do you think?”

He paused. “...I’unno. I’m trying to stay out of it. It all sounds like a really… y’know, delicate matter, and... that’s not exactly my thing.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about a neutral party. Part of me grimaced at the inevitability of him taking the majority’s side eventually, and part of me felt… safer, I guess. Like this guy wanted to go on pretending everything would just work itself out if he ignored it, so he’d be less likely to get up in my business. I had a glimmer of hope that we could both pretend nothing was wrong, moving forward.

I fiddled with my guitar some more. “Well… that’s probably for the best, huh.”

“But,” he growled, “you’re making it real hard to stay out of it, coming here. I just know you’re gonna get me wrapped up in this stuff, somehow. I oughtta throw you out on your keister before you get the chance.”

Looking up at him again, I asked, “Are you going to?”

His brow furrowed and his lips pressed together. He looked me up and down contemplatively, lingering in odd places. I got the impression that he was remembering the sight of me torn to ribbons. And then his eyes plainly fell to my neck. Suddenly, he looked as if he’d just read the saddest sentence of his life. Up until that point, he hadn’t noticed that I was wearing things that had belonged to you, that much was clear.

I felt the way most sprites must feel when they’re seen naked. I wanted to bury myself under the bricks.

“Gnah,” he grunted and threw his hand. “Look, if we’re really doing this, we need to lay down some ground rules. And these are real rules, not cute little make-being-bad-more-fun-for-Mavis rules. Agreed?”

“But I love those. The second kind.”

“Agreed?”

“Yes,” I leaned my head back, “obviously agreed. List your terms.”

“Okay. Rule number one -- no screaming. Everything that happened this morning? Don’t do that.”

“Noted.”

“Rule number two -- no name-calling, and-- and no no no, you look at me, right here,” he snapped his massive fingers, “when I’m telling you these, okay? Remember these -- y’know what, go ahead and write these down, while we’re at it. Take notes. Never can tell with you what you’re gonna conveniently forget. Go on, get your book out.”

Could have been worse demands, but I was still literally sick and tired, and not in the mood. I just blew a raspberry at the sky.

“Mavis.”

I blew a harder raspberry.

“Gh, you little--” my entire bag smacked me in the face, and not gently. “Don’t test me, kid. Start writing or you’re outta here.”

With a mighty groan, I did what I was told, and took down greatly paraphrased notes as he continued.

“As I was saying, rule number two,” he started counting off his fingers, “no name calling. You can’t be in my home and call me ‘trash gorilla’ or ‘homo erectus’ all the time. Leave the mean names at the door. ...Y’know, the metaphorical door.”

I raised my hand. “Question.”

“What?”

“Can I get them all out now, so they don’t slip out later?”

“Wh-- No.”

“Dang.”

“Okay, rule number three -- this is a big one. I don’t wanna wake up with anything written on me, or painted on me, or in my shirt, or stuck to my hair, or shoved in my nose, and -- y’know what, let’s just go ahead and make that, ‘Leave Ralph alone while he’s sleeping.’ I don’t turn into a toy when I close my eyes, got it?”

“Fine.”

“Rule number four -- same as rule number three, but about my stump. The stump is off limits. Don’t even sit on it. It’s not there for you.”

“Weird, but okay.”

“Rule number five -- whatever drama belongs in there,” he pointed at Niceland, “does not belong here. Okay? Don’t chuck bricks at windows or antagonize the Nicelanders or scream at Felix, none of that. They see you doing that from here, while I’m around, they’ll think I’m with you on it, you know? They’re all already not big fans of me, so don’t make that any worse.”

“Sure.”

“Uh, rule number six -- anyone throws garbage in here with food in it, that’s mine. You go get your own food.”

“Sheesh, gimme some credit. I got some standards on what kind of garbage I put in my body.”

He glared. “Just stay away from mine, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wrote it down.

“Number seven… you know, just don’t steal anything in general, food or otherwise. No sticky fingers.”

“What the cuss is there to steal, numbnuts? There’s nothing here but bricks and broken structures, and like, maybe a pie tin or two--”

“Ap, ap, ap!” He pointed at me. “Numbnuts? That’s name calling!”

Rule number two was gonna be harder than I thought. There are just too many names to call him, and you know I hate to waste names. “Okay, okay. Paws off, I get it. Anything else, highness?”

Wreck-it squinted at me, and I wondered if he was trying to decide if ‘highness’ counted as name calling. Apparently, it didn’t. But then he started looking around the expanse of bricks, obviously trying to think like me, and find any opportunities for mischief. 

“Number eight,” he continued, “don’t, uh… paint any of my bricks.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“...Why?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because I said so?”

“Okay, you’re really reaching, now, Wreck-it. I think you’re just about out of rules. You’ve also only got two fingers left to go,” I pointed at his eight counted fingers. “Which is, coincidentally, what she said.”

His face screwed up. “Eugh, Devs, okay, y’know what? Rule number nine -- no dirty jokes.”

“Seriously? You’re fine with Tapper’s dirty jokes!”

“Yeah, ‘cus his are nowhere near as dirty as yours! It’s GROSS, Mavis! And, just, ugh,” he pushed his hair back, pointedly looking away, “hearing how much dirty stuff you actually know about just… gives me the willies.”

“That’s what she--” the strain was nearly physical. “You’re gonna make this very hard for me. That’s what-- Ugh,” I pinched my brow, “I’m making this very hard for-- That’s-- GAHH--!!”

I threw my hat.

“Watch it,” he warned me. “Remember rule number one!”

“How can you be so squeamish!? You live and breathe GARBAGE!”

“NO DIRTY JOKES!” He pointed at me like I was a dog, continuing the trend of my cabinet-mates treating me like an animal. “THAT’S FINAL!”

“FINE! GEEZ! I’ll keep it suitable for all ages, including nine-foot-tall babies--”

“That’s name calling!”

I broke rule number one. But, to be fair, it was more of a furious shout to the stars than a scream. 

“FOR THE LOVE OF LITWAK, WHAT’S RULE NUMBER TEN!?”

“EASY, kid! This is the last one, so listen up! Rule number ten…” he had his hands on his hips, assessing me in an odd way. He was silent just a moment longer than I’d have liked, but when he spoke again, his tone was much more serious.

“Look,” he said, “I dunno what you’ve got on you, or got back in your little hideout, but I don’t want you bringing any booze or buffs here. I can’t control what you do out there, but while you’re on my bricks… you’re sober. Got it?”

I wanted to say no. My first instinct was to call it all off. The withdrawal was only flooding higher above my head with every passing hour, and the thought of being denied my release stirred up defiance in me that bordered on violent. He had no idea how useful buffs were to me. He had no idea how painfully and desperately I wanted one, just one.

But after that split-second passed, I realized there was no use getting upset. It wasn’t like I had any booze or buffs or even the capacity to get any. That would involve leaving the game, which… I wasn’t ready to think about. Besides, like I said before, the withdrawal really, really sucked. But I recognized it for what it was, and knew it would pass on its own. Hardly my first rodeo. 

The verbal reminder of how badly I wanted a buff, however, really brought back the emphasis on how bad the withdrawals were getting. Chills hit me like, well, a ton of bricks. My stomach churned and I made a grab for the bucket I’d brought with me.

“Okay,” I nodded, breathing heavy into the bucket. “Sober. Got it.”

For a second, Wreck-it seemed a mix of confused and concerned. “Are you--”

I retched. Hard.

“GEEZ LOUISE!!” His voice went way higher than natural, and I heard his feet stamp away behind me as he cried out to the Devs. Nine-foot-tall baby. From the other side of his stump, he called, “You didn’t tell me you were sick!”

“Didn’t come up ‘til now,” I didn’t have the strength to appreciate my own accidental joke. I called back, mostly into the bucket, “Don’t freak out, I don’t have a virus or anything. And don’t you dare try to make a rule about this, ‘cuz believe it or not, I ain’t doing this for fun.”

“I know that,” I could hear the eye-roll. “I’m not stupid. It just would have been nice to know what I was in for before I decided to let you stay here.”

“Well,” I was panting by that point, and the sweat was making a real comeback, “now you know. Your guest is sick. But she’ll get over it in a few days, and she’s gotten real good at silent puking.”

“...A few days, huh.”

The pounding of his fists against the brick scared the bits out of me -- just a thing he does before settling down, like a dog turning in a circle. After I heard him lie down, he asked in a tired, but not quite annoyed tone, “So… just how long are you assuming I’ll put up with you?”

I spat. “I… can’t say right now, I don’t think. But I don’t like this any more than you do. It won’t go on a second longer than it has to.”

He grunted. “If you say so, I guess.”

The conversation ended there, for a bit. I spent a while teetering right on the edge of puking, until I backed away from that edge enough to head to the river and rinse out the bucket. Since I’d started shaking so bad, climbing back up the bricks took way longer than it should have. It made me miss flying so much. Everything did.

Once I got back, I did my absolute best to arrange my nest of pillows in a comfortable way, but you can only do so much on a pile of bricks. I could feel their corners jabbing up at me no matter what. All the same, I settled in. 

After maybe ten minutes, I said, “Hey, Wreck-it.”

He grunted again.

“I’ve got some rules, too.”

“No you don’t. This is a favor I’m doing for you, in my home. You don’t get to make rules.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Do I get to make polite requests?”

“I dunno. Are they ‘for-real’ polite or ‘Mavis’ polite?”

“For-real.” I paused. “I think.”

“...Seems unlikely. But, I’m listening.”

“Request number one -- don’t talk to anyone about me being here.”

He hummed. “Easy enough.”

“Request number two -- don’t ask me about what happened last night. About how I ended up on that doorstep. I know you’ve been thinking about it. But I’m not going to talk about it, so don’t ask. Don’t ask anything.”

“Woah, okay, okay. I wasn’t… going to. I won’t. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Don’t try to talk to me about…” my sentence derailed. I didn’t want to say your name out loud again. Felt like it would hit me too hard. “...about the 7th.”

He was silent for a long time.

“That’s fine with me.”

“...Good.” I felt just about ready to delete from exhaustion, but had the distinct feeling that sleeping would be near impossible. I was just pulling up my blanket when Wreck-it piped up again.

“Rule number eleven--”

“No. No, you’re done with those. You can’t count on your toes, now.”

“Last one, for real this time,” he insisted. “Rule number eleven -- just… just keep your dang clothes on, will ya?”

I didn’t laugh.

It was a bizarre feeling. I knew it was funny, but my sense of humor felt like wet firewood. That little spark of laughter just wouldn’t catch.

“I’ll try,” I answered, “but I still plan on bathing.”

He grumbled, but made no further comment. That was it for the night. We went about our personal businesses of trying to sleep through the wrongness of it all. It took him a bit longer than I thought it would, probably because he wanted to sleep with one eye open, but eventually, his trumpeting snores started. They’ve never really bothered me before, but getting them point-blank is really an experience. Needless to say, they were far from a lullaby. 

Not that anything resembling a lullaby would have helped. The sleeping conditions there were even worse than Niceland. Trying to sleep out in the wide open is just unnerving to me. My little nest faced away from the entirety of the map, and the dump doesn’t extend into another forest at its far end. It just fades away into blackness, farther than we’re programmed to roam. The air is cold outside of tree cover, and the bricks even more so, but nothing felt colder than that sight.

You sure can see the stars from there, though. But, of course, it was one of those nights where that’s a bad thing.

On a good day, the stars make me think there are good things even in the darkest places. The black sky here looks like it could stretch on forever, like if you flipped our game upside down, we would all fall into it and never see light again. That really freaked me out for a long time, when I first surfaced. But the more I looked at the stars and how pretty they are, the more I thought, if the sky really did go on forever, then there could be even more beautiful things out there. Including a place better than this.

But I can’t get there. That’s the bad part. Sometimes, all the stars do is make me feel trapped. The place I really belong could be out there, but I’m just stuck in a glass box I can’t break.

Feeling tiny and alone beneath that both confining and possibly endless sky, I found myself inevitably thinking of you again. I didn’t have a couch to fool myself with anymore, or any walls to imagine closing in tighter, but… I did have your scarf.

It reeked of memories. Not of events, but emotions. Smelling it felt like inhaling pure, raw panic. It made my head spin and really aggravated my nausea, but, for reasons I didn’t quite understand, I just couldn’t put it down. I knew it was keeping me up, but I didn’t care.

As I lay there awake, feverish as hell, smelling a mix of smoke and gasoline that was so distinctly you, staring up at the stars, I just couldn’t stop thinking… did you do what I never could, and find a way to get past them?

If you did, where did you go?

If you did, how could I ever hope to find you?

If you did, why the hell did you leave me here alone?

[b-witchered]

Eeeeeeeeeee! I love tgia SO MUCH❤️ Any chance of more Renfri and Renfri&Yennefer? 🥺 The parallels on chapter 11 were f***ing amazing. (Thank you for writing the alive!Renfri we all deserved)

Renfri and Yennefer definitely get more scenes together! However, I do fear I’m setting up some of my readers for failure oops. Renfri/Yennefer as a couple isn’t going to happen within the scope of tgia for a few reasons

PUTTING THIS UNDER THE CUT, plus a little tgia snippet from the next chapter, because i have never been accused of being concise in my life

Honestly? They might have slept together at some point when Geralt and Yennefer were on the outs. They’re both very attractive individuals, danger and almost dying clearly gets Yennefer fired up, and Renfri has been known to make questionable sexual choices when it comes to Very Dangerous Individuals. So their relationship probably does include some flirting, some pushing of boundaries, some erotic subtext where Renfri has at least once put her sword under Yennefer’s chin and tilted it up

But when it comes to an actual relationship, Renfri at least is smart enough to put her foot down. They’re fine as rivals-friends-frenemies, but Renfri has some serious trust issues. Especially with mages. Especially with brotherhood mages. Yennefer knows Stregobor. She might not like him, but they belong to the same order. 

And then there’s the big thing between them: Yennefer wants kids. She wants, desperately, to be a mother. This is tied into her whole desperation for unconditional love thing she has going on. Renfri? Does not want kids. Absolutely against them. If she somehow gave birth tomorrow, that kid would be either adopted out or in Jaskier’s care quicker than you could say “curse of the black sun”. It’s not even that Renfri doesn’t like kids. She’d be a great weird-aunt-who-gives-an-8-year-old-a-real-sword-as-a-present. But Renfri does not want to be responsible for a child’s life and health and safety.

There are other little things. I love comparing and contrasting Renfri and Yennefer in tgia honestly because it’s so much fun? Yennefer was born a peasant and clings desperately to the power and prestige her magic affords her. Renfri was born a princess and cast it aside with pride so that she could be as unladylike as she pleased. Both of them knowing that power means sacrifice. It’s a gilded cage to be sure, but it’s still a cage. Yennefer was willing to make the sacrifices and change herself to gain power while Renfri ran. Granted, Renfri ran for many reasons but let’s be real, tgia!Renfri wouldn’t have stuck around to be married off and shuffled away to a quiet corner of the kingdom, out of sight out of mind. 

Renfri was a princess, but her father was a King with male heirs. No matter what parallels I draw, her situation was vastly different from Princess Pavetta, sole heir of Queen Calanthe. And even then, even then with circumstances giving her great importance and a parent in power who should have been sympathetic to her plight, Pavetta was still a pawn on a board who was expected to marry a man she did not love for a political match and then become a background trophy. But even so, Pavetta would always have been Queen and the keeper of her bloodline, and so retained at least some power. Until she produced an heir of course, after which she would have become... less important to keep alive.

Renfri on the other hand? After Jaskier’s birth, she’s a spare. Jaskier is the male heir, and so he got to leapfrog over Renfri in the inheritance. Renfri is officially a bargaining chip, one that doesn’t even have to be compromised with because she is not going to be running the country. As best she could maybe hope to strike a political match with a prince and become a queen of somewhere not her homeland, with little power and easily replaceable. But Stregobor claimed Renfri had internal mutations, ones that might make her sterile, and so as a bride she would be... undesirable to say the least, except perhaps as a bride to a widower who already had heirs to follow him and needed no more. Perhaps to a second son who needed a bride but whose family tree needed no new branches. Which means she would likely be married off to a man, possibly very much her senior, probably not a King but perhaps a Lord (or lord’s son) currently in the king’s favor. This choice would have been made for her, and she would have been expected to accept her new position with grace.

Yennefer’s father sold her away as well. Yennefer’s father struck a financial deal. Renfri’s father’s deal would have been political in nature, likely. Yennefer was bargained away to the brotherhood, Renfri would have been bargained away to a man. 

(me, loudly: what about the implications of a mage organization comprised of all genders being called the brotherhood.)

Renfri and Yennefer each have. A lot of issues. A lot of these issues would make then incompatible for a longterm relationship. Renfri needs someone she can feel safe with, and that someone is never going to be a brotherhood mage, even if it could even be a mage at all. Yennefer needs someone who loves her unconditionally, who places her first, always. She needs to be someone’s first priority. That doesn’t necessarily have to be a romantic relationship mind you, but either way that person can’t be Renfri. For Renfri, her first priority is Jaskier. Always. Just like Jaskier’s first priority will always be Renfri. 

(He loves Geralt, he does, but if Geralt was his first priority then he would have told him about his sister long ago. Geralt is important to him, and he would move heaven and earth for the Witcher, but his sister is the only family he dares to claim and he defeated death itself in her name.)

Yennefer and Renfri both have serious control issues as well. Yennefer has literally mind controlled Geralt before, has manipulated him, and keeps him on his toes. She has this need to be in control, and for the most part Geralt is fine with following where she leads, and that makes her feel safe with Geralt. Up to and until she finds out that Geralt’s wish might be the reason why she loves him, and then all of a sudden it isn’t her in control, it’s some untamable uncontrollable magic, and she absolutely flips her lid. She’s furious! She feels betrayed! All this time she thought she was in control, but then she finds out that Geralt tied their fates together or whatever. 

(Thankfully, this isn’t an issue in tgia, but Yennefer also doesn’t exactly love Geralt in tgia so much as she loves being loved. Their major conflict in tgia is probably going to be about children, honestly, because Geralt sure as fuck doesn’t want any.) 

Renfri? Also would very much need to be in control of a relation. Maybe especially the sexual aspects of it considering her trauma involving that. She’s pretty, and that hasn’t done her any favors. She bristles under restrictions and has broken the door of every cage people have tried to shove her into, including death though she had a little bit of help from Jaskier breaking out of that one. She’s protective, and secretive, and has trust issues a mile wide. She never even tells people her name. Every piece of personal information is carefully controlled. And who can blame her for her trust issues a mile wide? She was assaulted when she was fifteen. At least one man she willingly lay with literally murdered her the morning after (thanks Geralt). Renfri has issues with intimacy.

So yes, while I love throwing them in scenes together and I love their snarky terrible friendship where Yennefer proposes they do something terribly dangerous and Renfri is like “...i mean i GUESS i’ll go.” unless she has a prior commitment OR it conflicts with her primary motivation of protecting Jaskier (getting too close to Geralt threatens this purpose), they won’t be getting together in the scope of the fic

which i hope people won’t be too disappointed by oof

sorry for writing you a whole essay about Renfri and Yennefer when you probably did not want it lmao, as you can see this has been pressing on my mind and tumbled about more than a little bit. 

(honestly though if Pavetta hadn’t been married to Duny and hopelessly in love with him, I might have shipped her and Renfri tbh. They had plenty in common, Pavetta had magic and would have been powerful enough to defend herself but wasn’t a brotherhood mage, they got along well and had inside jokes, the only thing standing in the way of that ship (besides Duny and. you know. the whole death thing) is that Renfri wouldn’t be too keen on becoming a queen/having to deal with shithead nobles again and the whole issue of Stregobor. But Renfri is a princess of a royal bloodline, was raised to be royalty with knowledge of court customs, and is a trained and blooded warrior. Let’s be real, Calanthe would have loved Renfri as a daughter-in-law. Renfri is exactly the ruthless sort of heir Calanthe would adore. There would be the issue of an heir of course, but as long as Pavetta was the one pregnant it wouldn’t be a big deal because Pav’s the one with the important bloodline to carry on.)

ANYWAY you have been very patient with me so here is a tiny Yennefer and Renfri snippet from the next chapter - 

As soon as they’re alone, Renfri turns to Yennefer. “I’m going to kill you for this. One day. Sleep with one eye open, Witch.”

“Come now,” Yennefer teases, “It can’t have been that bad.”

“I genuinely can’t tell if he’s criminally stupid or just ignoring the obvious.” Renfri hisses, “I’m carrying a sword. What kind of handmaiden beheads a bandit?”

“A very loyal one.” Yennefer offers, but she’s trying way too hard to keep a straight face and Renfri can see the smile she’s doing her damnest to contain. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill him in his sleep the fourth time he started extolling your virtues for taking an ‘unpolished peasant’ under your wing.” 

That makes Yennefer break face and give a most unladylike snort that she covers with one dainty hand. “You know,” She says, laughter still in her voice, “I wouldn’t need him if you just agreed to go with me.”

“If this is you trying to annoy me into going on an adventure with you, the answer is no.” Renfri immediately states. “Need I mention the last time you talked me into going monster hunting for you? There was a fucking manticore nest, Yennefer.”

“You enjoyed yourself, admit it.” Yennefer smiles with a flip of her hair.

Renfri presses her hand together and then presses them to her lips like she’s about to start praying for Yennefer to get some sense in her empty, empty head. “You are literally insane. You know that right? Stark raving mad.”

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day3: Bond - I Seem Like Two But I Am One

Danny decided to tell his folks about being Phantom. Now they have to figure out what to do about that and what, exactly, being a halfa means.

“So, um yeah”, Danny shuffles awkwardly while Maddie and Jack blink at him. Rubbing his neck and looking around, “so, um, do you want to see? The whole transforming...thing?”.

Maddie and Jack exchange a glance. Of course, they wanted to see, but they also didn’t want their boy to be a ghost. Halfway or not.

Maddie nods and holds her hand up lightly, “could I check your pulse first though? And...after?”.

Danny nods holding his wrist out to her and Maddie grips it gently. Really noticing and paying attention to just how cold her sons skin is for the first time. Sure she had noticed he was cold to the touch, both of them had, but it was disregarded easily. Not everyone ran at the exactly same temperature and she had believed him to be strangely ectocontaminated. So it hadn’t seemed that strange.

Smiling at picking up the pulse, it was slow, too slow, but it was there all the same. Danny rubs his neck as Jack checks for himself, “yeah I know it’s kind of...slow. But it’s fine, I don’t really notice”, shrugging, “and it kind of helps with the whole ‘not bleeding out from major injuries’ thing”.

Danny looks at his toes when both of them cringe. They knew full well Phantom got hurt a lot and knowing that was their son, well that wasn’t pleasant. Or at least that was their sons' ghosts, somehow fused with his somehow still alive -partly alive?- body.

Danny clears his throat, “um anyway...”, trailing off as a ring of bright slightly blue light shoots out of his stomach and travels across his body. The two watching as he floats up off the stool slightly and rubs his neck, white glowing hair floating around, “the...floating, is kind of automatic. Really have to force myself to not”.

Maddie nods, it made perfect sense, ghosts were naturally in a state of gravity nullification. But her Danny shouldn’t be having to deal with that.

Jack checks over Danny’s pulse again before handing his sons wrist back over to his wife. Firmly glad it’s still there and unchanged. Of course he had hovered his fingers over Danny’s glowing ecto-field, feeling the chill and tingle of it. And rubbed the texture of his jumpsuit, so much like their own. It was easy to see now how it was just the inversion of the suit Jack had lovingly crafted for Danny not too long ago. The same one that went missing only months ago, and now he knew why. It has fused to Danny’s ghost...or ghost half?

Watching Danny as a whole again as he bobs slightly in the air, toxic green eyes leaving faint light tracers. Jack can tell his postures changed, it’s more confident, more bold, more aggressive. It made sense, ghosts were things untethered to human insecurities and were very strong in their ways. But it also made it clear that Phantom, while his son's ghost and part of him, wasn’t exactly him. It was him but different, ghostly, “I’m not sure how we never noticed before”.

Danny shrugs, taking his arm back. Clearly resisting putting his hands behind his head and smiling, as he speaks, “well I was hiding it and it should really be impossible. So makes sense you wouldn’t guess”.

Maddie nods, also noting the subtle behavior change, “true”, shifting in her seat slightly and making a point to sound gentle, “would you be okay with us taking samples? See how it is possible? That it’s really safe”.

Danny smiles, “yeah okay, I trust you guys. Obviously”.

Maddie and Jack exchange a glance, Jack tilting his head as he speaks, “then why wait so long to tell us?”. The unspoken question of ‘maybe we could have fixed it’ being rather obvious to everyone.

Danny frowns slightly, “nerves mostly. Didn’t want to get in trouble, didn’t know how you’d react to the whole part ghost thing. Since you pretty aggressively hate ghosts. But after a while, it became more that I didn’t want to be an experiment. And then you started hunting me, which no hard feelings about, was even rather fun sometimes”, crossing his legs and resting his elbow on his legs, chin in his palm, “but I got reminded how important you both are to me recently”.

Maddie smiles at that, “you mean the world to us too sweetie”, choosing to ignore the whole ‘hunting her own kid and him finding it ‘fun’’ thing, and walking to get a testing kit.

Jack tilts his head as he pulls out a needle and blood vials, eyeballing his sons jumpsuit covered arm and wondering how the get through that. Not exactly liking the idea of just using a bigger needle. Even if ghosts can’t feel pain, he’s pretty sure his son can. Whether that means their hypothesis about ghost pain is wrong or the effect of his ghost still being bound to a human body, remains to be seen.

Danny chuckles before unzipping his jumpsuit and pulling it off his arms, leaving the top half of the suit to float lazily around his waist.

Jack gapes and shakes his head, “you can take it off?”.

Danny nods while Jack takes in the very human skin colour, even if it’s glowing, and the sporadic white chest hairs. Other ghosts not having something matching normal human skin tones, possibly an effect of the human body? Jack hands Maddie the needle and Danny gives her his arm. Jack speaking as she draws the blo-ectoplasm. Which is incredibly weird to see coming from who he knows is his, not dead, son, “are you sure you’re okay with us taking samples from you? And does it feel different, the ectoplasm?”.

Danny shrugs and waves his other hand around loosely, “it’s thicker sure, kinda bubbles, but I’m used to it. Never really felt strange at all honestly. And dad, it’s fine. I totally get wanting to check things out”.

Maddie takes a few more samples and looks at them, looking back at Danny and wondering if human samples would match ghost ones, “would you mind changing back? Giving samples from that...half, of you?”.

Danny shrugs loosely but uncrosses his legs and chances back with the same bright ring of light. Speaking as he stops floating, “I mean sure. It would make sense for it to be, um, not exactly the same”.

Both parents glance at each other, noticing the smaller voice and more curled up pose. Danny, human Danny, was undeniably more timid and awkward. While Maddie looks back to Danny and gets back to work. Ruffling his hair quickly as he shifts in the seat.

Jack nods, “had to say for sure of course!”. Making Danny rub his neck and nod.

Danny heads up to bed with a small smile after they finish up. It’s obvious to the parents that he was nervous and even scared of telling them. Of how they would react. Which is way neither one broached the topic of if ‘Phantom and Danny were really the same person’ or if ‘he wanted to be fixed’ or why he ‘protected the town’ or what Phantom’s obsession was. Something telling both of them that such questions wouldn’t sit well with him and that what was best for their son was flat-out acceptance.  

But how could anyone accept their kid being partly dead? Being part another, highly dangerous and violent, species? Getting thrown around and injured constantly? Being, what they’re sure is, two separate beings in the same body but so closely related that they can’t view themselves as actually being separate beings. Because, clearly, Phantom and Danny weren’t the same. Phantom was boisterous, cocky, aggressive -but not threateningly so-, and a showman. Danny was shy, withdrawn, skittish, and, blended into the background by nature and completely willingly. One had ectoplasm, one had blood. One glowed and floated, one was bound to Earths gravitational pull. One had powers, one had organs. But both had the same slow pulse, the same weak heartbeat. It left them both wondering just how much divide there was between the two. If, maybe, the connections were few enough to separate them. Or plentiful enough to merge them properly back fully alive and one. Sure technically that would just be the ghost, Phantom, ceasing to exist and going dormant inside Danny. But, based off the scars they’d seen, the increased paranoia, the lying; Danny would be better off without his ghost or fully alive again. Whichever was more accurate and regardless of how.

Walking down into the lab to really get to work, to see what they can find or figure out. Maddie speaking softly, “do you think this can be fixed?”.

Jack smiles at her reassuringly, “of course! And I’m sure Danny-boy would like to have his normal life back!”, Jack frowns slightly before looking up the stairs with a large smile, “course he’s our boy regardless”. Which Maddie nods at.

They loved their boy, regardless of any strangeness. Fixing this would only be good for him, even if he likely did enjoy the powers. Who wouldn’t? But they can’t exactly tell him their intentions. Phantom wouldn’t exactly like that. But honestly, if the two could, had to be, split then, well, Phantom was still their sons ghost. He was still family. He’d still be welcome even if not being attached to Danny’s body anymore made him more ghostly.

Jack can’t help but smile over how that would kind of be like have two sons instead of one! Which is cool, even if one’s a ghost and that’s not cool.

Because even if they both undeniably do and could love their boy, all parts of him, him being ghostly was still incredibly unsettling and just wrong.

Everything inside Maddie screamed to correct it, partly because a child shouldn’t die to any degree before their parents, partly because ghosts were not good creatures. The idea of her boy having that darkness to him, having ghosts natural unpleasant instincts to struggle against, hurt. Sure his human part? Alive part? made that struggle easier, likely hampering Phantom’s ghostly nature. But if it could be corrected, the burden lifted, then it should be. Of course being separate, Phantom would have to learn to wrangle it in without Danny but maybe being together so long already gave him the skills he’d need. Or maybe being fused at all made him naturally resistant and more human. But by that same logic, that would also mean Danny, human Danny, was irrevocably and irreversibly a little bit ghostly. Would have a little bit of ghost nature. But even if he didn’t get it imprinted on him, being so close to a ghost would make it rub off on him anyway. And that’s okay, strange, but okay.

Maddie sits down and starts prepping slides and tubes, “he’ll always be family no matter what we find. They both will be”.

Jack smiles as a machine whirls to life, “Phantom will get cookies and fudge, not ectoblasts, from his parents from here on out!”. Making Maddie laugh, even if it reminded her that Phantom actively got shot at and didn’t mind it much. While Danny surely didn’t want to get shot, just look at how skittish and avoidant he was of their guns?!? Maybe human Danny just had more of a sense of self-preservation, survival instincts? Well of course he did! He was the alive one! Which leaves her wondering if Danny was more vulnerable human or ghost. Maybe they both made each other stronger. Obviously Danny gave Phantom a way around anti-ghost things. Phantom gave him powers in return. Well, if he could actually use them anyway. She’ll have to remember to ask if Danny can use the powers regardless of form.

Maddie pulls one vial of blood and one of ectoplasm out of the centrifuge and blinks at them. The ectoplasm had a layer of red blood cells and white blood cells at the bottom. The blood had a layer of deep green ectoplasm and foaming pale ectoplasm on top. Muttering at them, “so clearly he has both regardless. The blood and ectoplasm isn’t actually separate, one’s just more dominate depending on form”.

Jack looks over seconds before both vials start reacting violently. The ectoplasm in the blood sample corroding the blood and the blood in the ectoplasm sample vibrating violently before exploding; destroying the vial. Jack snatching the still intact vial and scrapping the ectoplasm out of it, the sample stabilising. While Maddie grabs another ectoplasm vial and sticks it in the centrifuge, scrapping out the ectoplasm into a separate vial as soon as it’s done spinning. The blood left in the vial still exploding, but the ectoplasm is safe and seems stable in another vial.

The pair stare down at the mess of blood. ectoplasm, and glass on the floor. Looking up to each other after a bit. Maddie clears her throat, “so the blood and ectoplasm can’t be separated without reacting violently. But if we could make sure to get out all of Phantom’s ectoplasm from Danny he’d be fine. And all of Danny’s blood from Phantom, he’d be fine”.

Jack nods before looking back to the samples, paling slightly seeing more violently reacting ectoplasm had formed on the top of the blood sample. Rushing to scrape it off while speaking, “it looks like his blood produces ectoplasm all on its own”.

Maddie stares, “you don’t think, that being fused with Phantom is all that stopped him from dying? That without him Danny’s body would just stop functioning after a while?”.

Jack nods somewhat weakly before both turn their heads to the ectoplasm sample as it begins foaming and overflowing from the vial. Jack whispering, “Danny’s blood stabilises Phantom’s ectoplasm”, before looking to Maddie, “they’ll both die without each other”.

Maddie sits down a bit numbly, running a hand through her hair, “well, let’s see what else we can find. See if there’s some way around...that”.

Moving to the microscope only shows more of the same. Both samples having more of one over the other and both interacting easily. But if blood separated from ectoplasm or ectoplasm separated from blood, they would seemingly fall out of sync and react violently. Complete destruction of nuclei and cell walls. Dissolving both samples into gooey unviable messes. Removing the ectoplasm from the blood sample after separation quick enough seemed to keep it from getting destroyed but the blood kept making more and more.

Maddie sighs and leans back, letting the sample turn to a mess, “he’d have to constantly be getting decontaminated. Daily at least. And this, it might hurt him”. Maddie looks to Jack when he doesn’t respond.

Meanwhile, Jack has gotten an idea and mixed in another sample of weaker sentient ectoplasm in with Phantom’s ectoplasm sample; after removing the volatile blood. Watching as Phantom’s ectoplasm devours the foreign ectoplasm and seems to take what it needs from it. Successfully stabilising.

Jack turns to Maddie and lifts up the totally normal-seeming slide of ectoplasm, pointing at Maddie’s ruined blood slide, “try adding a compatible blood sample. Seemed to work for Phantom’s ectoplasm”.

Maddie looks at the slide and shakes her head, “no. The problems aren’t the same, it won’t work. Danny’s blood’s perfectly stable, Phantom’s ectoplasm isn’t, wasn’t. Danny’s blood just needs to not produce ectoplasm”.

Both look up as the DNA sequencer finishes with a beep. Maddie grabbing it due to being closer only to gape down at the four papers. One for Phantom’s separated ectoplasm, one for Danny’s separated blood, one for Phantom’s normal mixture, and one for Danny’s normal mixture.

Unlike with the vials both normal mixtures come out exactly the same. Identical mash ups of ghostly DNA and human DNA. So heavily so that to try and separate it would just destroy everything. Both papers for the separated mixtures showing only half strands of DNA, which would be simply unmaintainable.

Handing them to Jack as she sets up some of Phantom’s separated blood with Jack’s ectoplasm fusion idea applied, to run through the machine.

Jack looks at Maddie as she sits back down before both stare back down at the paper showing Danny’s separated blood samples half formed DNA. Maddie speaking quietly, “even if we could keep his ectoplasm levels down, nothing can survive long with DNA this badly damaged”. Jack just nods as he puts the papers on the table.

While Maddie stares at the DNA sequencer, Jack goes about seeing if the ectoplasm and blood could be fused in a way that would remove the ectoplasm. Nothing works until he accidentally gives one sample a massive electrical shock and knocks over a beaker of raw ectoplasm into it at the same time.

Maddie muttering, “careful honey”, as Jack stands up. Jack stands and waits for a while, the DNA sequencer beeping during that time. Turning his head to her as she grapes the paper.

Maddie whispers down at the paper, “that’s not fair”, and shows it to Jack. The paper showing stable ghost DNA. Jack nods, “so Phantom can be stabilised...but not Danny”.

Maddie whispers again, “that’s just not fair”.

Jack shrugs somewhat defeatedly, “it makes sense though. Ectoplasm is more adaptable. Ghost bodies are less complicated. But...”, Jack sets up another vial with a sample of Danny’s blood separated from its ectoplasm and gives it a massive electrical shock while dumping raw ectoplasm on it.

Maddie raises an eyebrow at him, seriously wondering what exactly he’s doing, while he just points at the microscope. Maddie moves over to it and gasps down at the totally normal sample of human blood, not a speck of ectoplasm. So the ectoplasm could just be destroyed out of the blood, but that...that would certainly destroy Phantom.

Maddie looks over the Jack, who’s gapping. Looking down at the vial he’d electrocuted and seeing ectoplasm, not blood. Jack shakes himself and sets up a slide, giving it over to Maddie while he sits. So Danny, while fused with Phantom, could be made normal again. But separated he seemingly just dies? Why? Is it just because ectoplasm is inherently corrosive to blood but bloods not to ectoplasm? Making the ectoplasm more dominate by default? Or was something else going on?

Maddie looks down at the sample, it was pure regular ghost ectoplasm. Likely Phantom’s. Meaning Danny would fully become Phantom if they tried this on him after separating him from Phantom. Lifting her head up and looking to Jack, “then Phantom’s ectoplasm must be protecting his blood during that electrical shock. But if Phantom’s separated from Danny then his ectoplasm that’s still in Danny is unstable. Too unstable to protect the blood”.

Jack laughs a bit hollowly, “so Phantom’s, if stable, ectoplasm will sacrifice itself to save Danny. That tracks honestly”. Maddie can’t help but laugh as well. Down to the veins Phantom was protective and self-sacrificial. He was good, god he was good. Somehow he managed to go against his nature and become undeniably good, how had they ever seen him as anything else?

Maddie huffs as she calms down, looking over all the samples, “so either Danny could be made a regular human again but destroying Phantom as a result. Or Phantom can be made a stable regular ghost but Danny would slowly die as a result”.

Jack nods before snapping his fingers. Grabbing some samples of the stabilised fully ghost Phantom ectoplasm and making another vial of Danny’s blood with the ectoplasm scraped out. Waiting for it to produce more ectoplasm and then adding in Phantom’s stable full ghost ectoplasm. Watching as it instantly obliterates the unstable ectoplasm. Leaving the sample steaming green but completely red. Waiting as it takes five times as long to produce more unstable ectoplasm and repeating what he did earlier, getting the same result.

Maddie rushes over and takes a sample of the red blood steaming green and sets it up for the DNA sequencer. Both waiting on the results nervously with Jack occasionally adding more Phantom full ghost ectoplasm to Danny’s blood sample, keeping it stable.

Maddie gapes and hands the paper to Jack with slightly shaking hands. Danny’s DNA was completely normal human DNA.

Jack nods and looks at the sample, “so if Phantom functionally and frequently gave him ectoplasm donations he’d be okay”.

“So Danny’d be reliant on Phantom just to keep living”, frowning, “that’s still not fair”. Frowning more as technically Danny currently was already reliant on Phantom to keep living. But at least right now it was mutual. They needed each other explicitly. With this, with just Danny being the reliant one, it would be so easy for Phantom to take advantage of that. Sure Phantom was good, clearly, but he wouldn’t have a human to help him fight his nature and he was still a ghost. Phantom could never truly be trusted, especially separated from Danny.

Jack looks back over to the electrocuted blood sample, Danny wouldn’t want Phantom destroyed. Not a chance. He was clearly okay with how he was, clearly liked Phantom. Whether Phantom was a separate being or just Danny. Because that boldness, Phantom’s boldness, it really could just be Danny couldn’t it? Danny feeling more bold and sure of himself because of how people looked up to Phantom, because of being stronger, because of having powers. But if that was the case then separating them, would just be separating Danny in two. That would be...incredibly cruel. Unless he wants that, which Jack’s pretty sure Danny doesn’t want. He would have asked if he did right? Danny had pretty much ignored the idea of them ‘fixing him’.

Looking at Maddie, “I think we should just leave them, him, as is. Leave it alone”.

Maddie looks at him with a frown, “and just leave him like this? Just accept that he’s partly dead? Partly a ghost? Partly alive? Partly human? It’s one thing a ghost getting hurt the way they clearly do, but Danny’s human. The human part”.

Jack sighs, it was weird and yeah he didn’t like how much his son clearly got hurt. How he was putting himself in danger. Regardless of what one, ‘cause really Phantom’s his son all the same, is the one that wants to engage in the fights. Wants to protect people. Sighing again, and pointing at the samples, “maybe, maybe viewing them as separate creatures is wrong. Danny-boy said hybrid, not fusion”.

Maddie screws up her face, he acted different in these forms. What other reason could there possibly be for that, “they have different behaviors, sure they’re similar. Of course, they are, Phantom’s Danny’s ghost. They should be similar. And Danny’s fourteen Jack, how could he know exactly what he is? And couldn’t he just be convincing himself that him and Phantom are one and the same?”.

Jack shrugs, “but by being Danny’s ghost he is technically Danny anyway. And if I had powers, could fight ectoplasmic horrors with nothing but my bare fists with ease, if I was basically adored by nearly an entire town; I’d be more cocky too. Those are all a bunch of major ego boosters Mads”.

Maddie nods, it did make sense. Just having weapons on her made her feel more in control and stronger. Being Phantom potentially gave that to Danny to an extreme. So maybe they were the same. Looking over to the two identical DNA samples, from Danny’s blood and Phantom’s -or Danny’s- ectoplasm. They were identical in every way. Running her fingers over the two papers, this, they had to be the same. It was science, and science didn’t lie. Even if you didn’t like it, and yes, she didn’t like it.

Putting the papers on the table, “so hybrid. One being. One mind. One body. One set of desires. Not a fusion. Not two of anything”, Maddie shakes her head, she needed further proof, “but Phantom’s affected by anti-ghost stuff, we’ve seen Danny walk through shields and wear the deflector fine. And we haven’t seen Danny use Phantom’s powers. If they’re the same then Danny should be able to use them and Phantom able to be unaffected by anti-ghost stuff”.

Jack shakes his head, thinking of how Danny’s forms seemed to change whether he had more ectoplasm or more blood, “he’s got more ectoplasm while ghost, that logically should make him more susceptible to anti-ghost stuff. And Mads, Danny is affected by our stuff. The detectors? And maybe, maybe he avoids our weapons because they hurt him regardless not because he’s skittish of them. As for the powers, maybe we really should just ask him to show us if he can?”.

“I was going to ask him too anyway. If he can. And of course, Danny sets off detectors, he has Phantom’s ectoplasm in him regardless. Overshadowed humans will set off those same detectors”.

Jack looks up at the ceiling, the best they could do was speculate. They needed more answers from Danny, “we should talk to him then. He’s clearly okay telling us. Heck! He’s probably holding back on information to avoid freaking us out. I would be!”.

Maddie nods as she gets up, it made sense that he would be avoidant of acting ghostly or doing ghost things. He had said he was worried, afraid even, of how they’d react to the ghost stuff. Looking at Jack and nodding again, “so that we’re clear. Danny is our son, Phantom is our son. Regardless of whether they’re the same person or not and regardless of if they’re ghost, human, hybrid, fused or anything else. Now or in the future”.

Jack nods strongly, “absolutely. We don’t want to lose either one and we will accept both of them or all of him. Whatever’s more accurate”.

Maddie smiles as she walks up the stairs, heads to Danny’s room and knocks on the door, “you up sweetie?”.

“Yeah, I’m guessing you guys want to talk more now?”.

Maddie laughs lightly, he literally had been giving them some time to adjust and think, “yeah and we tested somethings we’d like to talk to you about”.

Danny sticks his head out the door and stares at her for a beat before shuffling nervously, “um, I’m not sure if I like that or not. Weren’t you just checking my aliveness?”.

“You’re pulse proves you’re alive already sweetie, at least alive enough. We’re more curious how your DNA is and difference between your... forms”.

Danny nods and rubs his neck as he walks out, “that makes sense, I guess. And I can tell you’re still kind of iffy on the forms thing. It’s weird, yeah, but all me”.

Maddie smiles softly as they head down into the lab, she was pretty well sure he felt that way already but she was going to maintain her doubts currently, “that is something we’ve been debating. How connected you are and if Phantom’s really you”.

Jack can tell Danny’s nervous as soon as he looks at him. Having heard what his wife said, “regardless we love all of you, or both of you, which ever’s closer”.

Danny blinks and looks between the two of them before smiling slightly, “thanks. I uh, that means a lot”, shifting on his feet some before walking to a chair and sitting down, “so you guys would be okay with me even if I was all Phantom? Fully ghost?”.

Both of them nod readily. Jack smiling, “you’re our son. Danny or Phantom. Danny and Phantom. Or even if Phantom is just a”, chuckling, “superhero name you have yourself”.

That seems to be enough to get Danny to laugh and relax a little, smirking slightly, “Phantom is a pun. It sounds like Fenton and Phantom is another world for ghost”.

Maddie tilts her head, “so you created the name? What about Phantom’s symbol?”.

Danny snorts and blushes slightly, “Sam designed that”.

Now Maddie’s incredibly confused. If that wasn’t just naturally part of Phantom’s form and neither aspect or part or half of Danny made it then how? “How'd Sam’s Doodle wind up on your chest permanently? Part of Phantom’s body?”.

“Oh yeah, that was a really weird day. I wound up fully human again and got amnesia because of some reality-altering, so she stuck a fabric cut-out of the design on my chest before I re-half-died”.

Jack and Maddie gape at him. Both stunned stupid that he had already became fully human again, destroyed Phantom, but intentionally made himself like this again. That was one massive ‘I want to be and am happy this way’ sign if there ever was one. Dying, even partly, had to be horribly painful.

Jack’s the one to ask, “so you had the option to be normal, full human, again but choose not to?”.

Danny nods, “well yeah, I’m happy like this. I don’t want to change it, I, um, really really do not”.

Both parents can see Danny’s slightly freaked out now, both believing that he was genuinely that bothered by being ‘fixed’ but Maddie’s wondering if that’s Phantom’s influence.

Danny obviously can tell she’s wondering about that as he speaks up again, “and yeah that was entirely mine, as in full human Danny’s, decision. The amnesia, I literally forgot about being Phantom, the powers, all of it. Which yeah, I uh, was really confused about all the scaring that morning. Oh actually, everyone forgot about Phantom existing at all. But well, Sam remembered and she had a scrapbook and told me stories. The decision was easy once I knew she was telling the truth”.

Jack nods and smiles, “well that settles that then”.

Danny blinks and squints at them, “you guys were...trying to test if I could be fixed? Were you?”.

They both nod, feeling a little sheepish about it now that they actually had to confirm that was what they were doing and knowing that Danny explicitly wouldn’t and didn’t want that. Jack clears his throat, “separated really. So that Phantom would be fine too. We didn’t and don’t want to hurt the human or the ghost. But well...”.

Maddie looks at the ground before pointing at all the exploded samples and generalised mess. Jack, meanwhile, is noting that Danny actually looks more freaked out not less.

Danny squirms in his seat and leans away from his parents, looking down at the ground, “I, um, splitting me. That would be, um, really really bad. I could have told you that”.

Maddie nods, “yeah neither split sample was stable, basically self-destructed-”.

Danny cuts her off, jerking his head up and squinting at her, “wait...what? You, um, sure about that? There wasn’t, say, someweirdcombiningfullyghostmewithanotherghostthatstabilisedfullghostme?”.The last bit coming out in a rush and starling Maddie and Jack. That was way too specific to be a generalised guess.

Jack and Maddie look at each other before nodding at Danny. While Danny blinks, “wait. So full split human me would have died too?”, now Danny just looks incredibly confused and the parents know they’re missing something here.

Jack nods, “yeah. It would have been gradual because the DNA was all messed up. But! We figured out that split human you could survive so long as split ghost you gave ectoplasm donations”.

Maddie nods at Jack and looks to Danny, “so it is possible. For both of you to survive. Just full...human, Danny would be reliant on Phantom”.

They barely hear him mutter, “that fruitloop is an idiot”, before shaking his head and looking at them, “theoretically that would work. But, uh, not I practice. You see, um, I’ve been split before. Twice actually”.

Both of them breathe out, “what?!?”.

Danny nods and looks around, “the uh, first time wasn’t exactly done right. Your dream catcher thingy did it”, blinking and snorting, “actually it’s happened three times. Twice by the dream catcher. It’s just the um, first time only lasted a couple of seconds. Gave me a mild concussion and split my consciousness between the bodies. So I was aware of what both were doing, scared the hell out of me. Even if it was only five seconds or so. The second my personality split”, Danny cringes, “human Danny was lazy, kind of mean, and somehow had a mullet. Ghost Danny basically acted like Superman and decided wearing a bedsheet was a good idea. It was bad. It sort of, um, devolved? into both Danny’s being halfas but with different powers. Only one could fly, only one could shot ecto-blasts. Not fun”.

Thankfully all three end up snickering or laughing by the end, it was rather ridiculous sounding.

Maddie smiles, “I’m guessing the only reason your...two bodies were stable was because it wasn’t done right as you said? So they both still had stable ectoplasm and blood”.

While Jack laughs a little, “we definitely don’t want to split your personality! Seems that thing sure caused you a lot of hassle!”.

Danny nods with a smile before dropping it and looking away from them. Rubbing at his neck, “it did and yeah mom. But the other, or the third, time was successful. Full separation into a full human and full ghost. But, um, that incident is why I’d rather just be destroyed entirely than split, like, ever. It’s, um, also why I decided to tell you guys about being Phantom. It, uh, well, it happened yesterday”.

Jack and Maddie were a little too startled by the whole ‘I’d rather not exist at all than be split’ thing to interrupt him.

Maddie breathes out, “what...what happened?”, not able to think of any other words.

Danny shivers and flinches a little, deeply worrying both parents, before he speaks, “honestly, I’d rather not talk about it. But, um, I should. Need to really. But it’s well, complicated. There’s time travel and alternate realities involved”, Danny shifts a bit, “so the C.A.T. right? I didn’t really get to study so I sort of, well, intended to cheat. I didn’t, obviously, but just intent was enough. It resulted in you guys, Jazz. Sam, Tucker and Mr. Lancer all dying and me getting adopted by crazy fruitloop idiot who decided splitting me would be a good idea”.

Maddie waves her hands so Danny pauses, everyone looking a little ill, “what do you mean we died?”.

Danny clears his throat, “I time-traveled to undo it. But it happened, the only reason I survived the explosion that happened was because of being a halfa”, shifting, “but anyway. Got split. Ghost half got combined with another ghost, and, um, went utterly insane. Murdered the human half and, uh, went on to destroyallofhumanitymostghostsandwouldhaveeventuallydestroyedeverythingandone”, looking at the floor after breathing for a bit, Maddie and Jack a bit in shock, as Danny continues, “splitting me, it will basically cause the end of the world”, shifting again and looking up at them, “but, uh, I fought evil older me, trapped him in a thermos, and a friend reversed time because”, making quotation marks with his fingers, “you’ve given everyone else in your life a second chance. Why not you?”. Danny shrugs and he looks around, pretty well rambling at this point, “their name’s ClockWork, they’re great. Really great. Sort of like ghostly adopted me, legally responsible for me, all that stuff. They’re really old and like puns. The only good thing to come out of yesterday. Well, and deciding to finally tell you guys. So, um, uh, please don’t die...or try to split me. Just, like, forget that’s even possible, please?”.

Danny shrinks down in his seat as they both stare at him.

Both of them find it completely insane that their boy could every be that dangerous or hurt anyone, none the less the entire world. But it’s clear from his behavior that he’s telling the truth. Wondering if this is just something Danny could be or if this was because of Phantom’s ghostly influence. Or if Phantom wasn’t as good as they thought and it was just human Danny’s influence that made him good. Jack blinking and realising that yeah, combining two ghosts probably wouldn’t be good for either ghost. Neither having really thought much on the potential negative mental effects of being split.

After a while Danny speaks up again, breaking them out of their thoughts, “um could you say something before my brain leaks out my ears or something?”.

Jack clears his throat, “we won’t try to split you. But Danny-boy, are you er sure all of that would happen? If you got split?”.

While Maddie whispers, “that must have been traumatising”.

Danny nods slightly, looking at Maddie, “it was”, looking at Jack, “good and no, but, um, I’m not testing that out. Ever. There’s no reason to split me or force me full human again. I don’t want that”.

Both parents look to each other and nod before giving Danny a strong nod. Everyone’s feeling a bit better.

Maddie scrunches her eyebrows, “um sweetie? Why did no one stop you? Why did you have to do it? Hunters? Other ghosts? Why couldn’t they?”.

Danny rubs his neck awkwardly, “too strong. I’m, well, a lot stronger than you think. The, um, destruction thing, took ten years. And that was with evil me being as affected by anti-ghost stuff as much as a regular ghost”.

Jack nods, Danny being stronger than expected was actually expected. Of course, he wouldn’t go all out against ghosts or hunters. He’s not actually trying to hurt them, just subdue them or get them to leave him alone. Deciding to satisfy other curiosities and make this conversation less depressing because he kind of felt like he was drowning right now, “so anti-ghost stuff does affect you less?”.

Danny jerks and blinks, clearly caught off guard. But nods, “anti-ghost stuff affects me regardless of form, just well, less than it should for a normal ghost and even less when I’m, you know, human”.

Jack nods and smiles, so he was avoiding their tech for a reason, “well I’m sorry if our stuff ever hurt you”.

Danny shrugs and looks around awkwardly, “I don’t mind. But, uh, thanks”.

Maddie blinks, realising that it wasn’t just Phantom that didn’t mind the injuries. Making her look to Jack, maybe he really was right, Danny too. Hybrid not a fusion of two. Blurting out, “and Phantom’s powers? Can you use them regardless?”.

“It’s a slightly harder but yeah. I use them accidentally a lot”, Danny blushes at that and looks away from them as he holds up his arm and turns it invisible.

Maddie and Jack share a look and nod. Maddie speaking again, “then you really must be one and the same”.

Danny blinks, “well yeah. Always have been”.

Jack smiles and pats Danny on the shoulder, “you just act and hold yourself different when you’re Phantom. That’s because of the power boost and hero work, isn’t it?”.

Danny nods, “yeah pretty much. And Phantom doesn’t have to hide the powers, the strength, the ghostly knowledge. Phantom just interacts with civilians in passing. Fenton has to hide everything and deal with people all the time. As Phantom I’ve just got a job to do, make sure I use my ‘civilians voice’ when talking to people, and avoid hunters. As Fenton I have to be paranoid about everything. How I dress, otherwise the muscles and scars might be questioned. What language I speak, reigning in my strength, covering up accidental power use, making sure I look fully human, and yeah. That and I have to intentionally act different otherwise people might realise it’s me”, shrugging, “it’s, uh, a lot harder to intentionally make myself act different while fighting than while at school or eating supper”.

Maddie frowns sadly a little, “so Phantom’s more accurate to who you are?”.

Danny nods and rubs his neck, “sorta? The civilians' voice is an act, the rest, not so much. I’ve gotten a little used to playing the weakling shy kid as Fenton, so it’s uh, hard to turn off sometimes”.

Maddie nods, both parents thinking back to how Danny used to be before the accident and how he really had been rather outgoing, loud, an endless jokester. Phantom was much more dramatic, more of a showman, but that could be read as just having more confidence and a bit of ghosts nature for dramatics. Meanwhile, he had never really been the shy kid, reserved and close off sometimes sure, but not shy.

Jack nods with a smile, “well you don’t have to keep it up around us! It’ll be a little weird you doing ghostly things but we’ll get used to it!”.

Maddie nods before ruffling his hair, “we don’t want you pretending. We’ll learn to accept it”.

Danny nods, “that's good enough. I mean, obviously I’d like acceptance. But well, trying is fine and it’ll be kind of, uh, weird? using my abilities around you. But, um, please actually ask me things. I know myself well, more or less”.

The two nod, clearly their boy had been through more than they actually knew. Both feeling pretty well sure that Phantom really was Danny, not some potentially malicious ghost of himself that he was just fused to. It was also insanely clear that breaking the bond of his two sides, his halfs, would be bad. And even if it was safe, Danny clearly didn’t want that and not because of any ghostly influence on him.

Jack blinks, remembering something Danny said earlier, “wait, you were adopted by a ghost?”, blinking again and going wide-eyed, “wait, there’s a ghost that can CONTROL TIME?!?”.

Danny snorts and laughs, “heh, yeah there sure is and they sure did. Humans know them as Father Time, and well....”.

The three spend the rest of the afternoon talking about the enigmatic time ghost and all the tales they had told Danny last night, tales of past kings, of art causing mass panic, of people building sexy Satan statues to piss off the church; some of the strange things they had watched over the eons retold in grand fashion to a young hero, who just needed to forget their trauma for a night.

End.

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 4.2

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Four – Five Billionaires and No Wives – Part 2 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 4.1

Author: Gumnut

29 Jan – 11 Feb 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 2951

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D

I’m still writing this, I promise :D I hope you enjoy this bit.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 Scott was angry.

He strode down the beach looking for his missing brother and fumed. He had finally been able to relax, finally been able to let go and now Virgil pulls a disappearing act.

Sure, Virgil was a grown man and he could look after himself, but Scott would always be his big brother, always look out for him, always worry about him.

Black sand kicked up as his toes hit a small drift and he stumbled. It brought him to a sudden stop and he found himself standing in the middle of an isolated beach fuming at the sand.

Who was he kidding?

And what the hell was he doing?

He dropped his hands to his knees and stood there bent in half, just breathing. The Virgil in the back of his head...because yes, there was one who sat beside both the Mom and the Dad in the back of his head...it was a crowded space...raised an eyebrow.

He was over reacting, wasn’t he?

Scott let out a breath and cursed the sand beneath him before pushing himself upright and continuing his slog down the beach. He would just be happier with Virgil in sight.

The Virgil in his head rolled his eyes.

Yeah, well, it’s my prerogative as your big brother.

The beach curved slightly, which explained why Virgil was likely out of sight, but Scott discovered his brother’s detritus before he found the missing man.

Discarded red flannel shouted amongst the greens and greys surrounding a small steaming spring. Footprints led to it and then away. Scott’s eyes tracked the direct line to the water...

“Virgil, what the hell?!”

His brother was almost waist deep in the surf, each wave battering at him as it rolled in. Apart from the fact the idiot wasn’t supposed to submerge his incisions in the water, what the hell was he doing?! “Virgil?!”

Unable to hear Scott above the surf, his brother continued to stare out to sea. As if to taunt Scott, he took another step deeper.

Scott cursed and shed his shirt and shoes, dumping them beside the red flannel, and ran towards the water.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was frustrated.

He could feel the questions, the song in his body, but he had no way to answer. Without the technology to shift his voice to the right frequencies, he wouldn’t be heard. Without amplification, any vocalisations would be muffled by the water.

He so wanted to answer.

The whales knew he was there. They hovered out of reach, beyond the surf line. He hummed deep in his throat, echoing the thrum vibrating through the water. Without thinking, he stepped closer, wanting no more than to be able to reach out and touch.

A large head peered over a dissipating wave and a huge eye latched onto him for only a second before disappearing beneath the surface.

Another step.

A hand landed on his shoulder and gripped hard.

“Virgil, what are you doing?!”

Scott.

Blink.

The thrum stopped and Virgil wilted. His feet shifted as the next wave hit him and he stumbled. Scott grabbed his arms, holding him up. “Virgil?”

“I’m good.” But it was automatic. He realised he was far too deep, his incisions submerged in the water, his heart was pounding and Scott was staring at him with worried eyes.

Another wave hit side on and soaked the both of them. Virgil spat water.

He didn’t get a chance to turn towards shore before Scott was dragging him in that direction. His brother didn’t say anything further, but the grip on his arm was tight and Virgil knew he was going to pay for this.

Fortunately or not, Mel was standing on the shore waiting for them when they finally stepped out of the waves. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, but she didn’t say anything, simply handing the both of them their shirts and shoes and Virgil his phone as well.

“They followed us.”

“Who?” Mel was frowning up at him. Scott’s hand tightened on his arm.

“The whales. The mother and calf. They’re out there.” He pointed out into the bay.

Mel’s frown deepened. “Are you sure? They should be migrating south. They need the feeding grounds. Maybe they are another mum and calf?”

His lack of knowledge slapped him in the face, but something told him it was them. “It was them.”

The frown didn’t disappear, but her gaze did flick to Scott and back. “Okay. We should tell Sam.”

“First we change your dressings.” It was the Commander who spoke and Virgil found himself automatically straightening in response. Hell, even Mel stood taller, her eyes widening as she looked to his brother.

The surf hissed around Virgil’s feet as an extra large wave dissipated on the sand.

Scott hadn’t let go of his arm.

Internally, Virgil sighed. Great. His brother was pissed and stressed again and it was all his fault. His shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

Blue darted at him and the thin line of his brother’s mouth tightened for a moment before softening. “C’mon.” And he was being led back towards the other end of the beach.

-o-o-o-

The walk back was nowhere near as relaxing as his initial venture down the beach. Scott let go of him eventually, but his eyes hardly left him. Overreaction much?

He would have shouted that he was fine, that he could take care of himself, for crying out loud, but it was so obvious that he had screwed up royally, that he didn’t bother.

To be honest, he was a little freaked himself. He hadn’t intended on going into the water that deep. It wasn’t like he had almost drowned himself, but he had been caught up in an almost thrall in the whales’ voices.

Scott had a right to be at least a little concerned.

Being Scott, he blew a circuit.

And Virgil wrecked three solid days of his attempt to get the man to wind down.

He spent the walk back mentally kicking himself.

Gordon strode up grinning, but that grin faltered badly when he caught sight of Scott’s expression. Virgil saw the moment the dots connected and his fishy brother’s shoulders dropped. John’s reaction was less obvious, but his frown at Virgil’s soaked appearance was pretty clear.

Sam, somewhat clueless, bounced up all grins and smart comments. Liam was a little more sensitive to the situation and grabbed his husband by the scruff of his neck.

Suffice it to say that the party packed up and climbed back up the hill rather quickly. Scott on Virgil’s heels the entire way.

The damned hill he had to climb didn’t help and by the time they made it to the island’s small infirmary, Virgil was tired and frustrated.

The finger that pointed him to the examination table was firm. Mel had made herself scarce. His brothers had quite willingly fed him to the wolf once they found out why Virgil was being glared at by his older brother.

Of course, nothing was stopping Gordon and Sam from locating those whales now they knew they were there and John was roped into helping with Five. They had all found a decent excuse to run off.

So, the two brothers were left alone in the infirmary with plenty of time to ‘talk’.

Initially, Scott was silent, his actions abrupt and precise as he removed Virgil’s old and now sodden dressings, exposing his stitches to the air. The incisions were actually quite small, thank goodness for keyhole surgery, but they cut through his abdominal wall and messed with his movement.

His brother wiped him down with antibacterial solution. “You better hope you haven’t caught yourself an infection.” The tone was cold.

“I will be fine.”

“How do you know that?” Scott stopped and glared at him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I’m fine, Scott.” The problem was he hadn’t been thinking.

The dressings were ripped out of their packaging rather vehemently and Scott’s ministrations, while gentle, were sharp and vibrating with suppressed anger.

“You do know I can do that myself.”

Scott stopped what he was doing. His shoulders dropped and his eyes closed. His sterile and gloved hands hovered in the air as if lacking direction. He didn’t say a thing.

Virgil struggled to push himself into a seated position, levering his feet off the bed, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Scott-“

“Why?” Blue eyes opened and were actually pleading at him. “Of all of them, I trust you the most to not do something stupid.”

“What? So, I got my dressings wet. It’s not a big deal.”

“Virgil-“

“I’m fine. Quit worrying so much.” He grabbed his brother’s arms and squeezed gently. “Take a breath.”

“Virg-“

“Stop. Take a breath.”

Fire ignited in those blue eyes, but Scott stopped.

Air whistled across his teeth.

“Now. I’m sorry I apparently vanished. I was not aware I couldn’t be seen. I’m sorry I got my dressings wet. I was distracted.” Very distracted. Zombified was a more apt description. “But I can look after myself. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“You’re my brother.” It was a simple sentence, but it said so much. “Now lie down so I can make sure your wounds are properly protected.”

Virgil sighed, his own shoulders dropping in parody of his brother’s moments ago. But he didn’t lie down.

Instead he looked up at his brother and drew him into a hug. “I’m okay, Scott. I promise. It was nothing. It was stupid. I’m fine.” Please calm down.

Scott’s arms curled around him, sterile hands still held out awkwardly, but the man said nothing.

“You need to relax.”

“I was relaxed until you up and disappeared.”

“I went for a walk.”

“Into the damned ocean.”

“I was looking at the whales.”

“You didn’t hear me. I called you repeatedly.”

“I was focussed on their song.”

Scott pulled away and stared down at him. “They were singing? I didn’t hear anything.”

“You can’t hear most of it. It is below our hearing range.”

“Then how?”

“I could feel it.” His whole body was the receiver.

Scott eyed him a moment before swallowing and grabbing a new dressing. “Lie down.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and did as he was asked. Scott finished his administrations quickly and quietly.

“I want you to go to bed and rest while we pack to leave.”

“Scott-“

A hand came up. “No. You do stupid things, you give me this.”

Virgil sighed. “Fine.”

His brother helped him up again and off the bed before letting him go.

Virgil left him putting away equipment, making his way out the door and down the steps. Okay, if he was honest, all that walking, more than he had done for days, not to mention that blasted hill down to the beach, had taken a lot out of him.

And the song...

Kind hands helped him the last two steps onto the grass, John still sporting that frown. Great another brother he had to convince yet again he wasn’t dying.

“I’m okay, John.”

Turquoise flashed in the sunlight. John’s voice was quiet, but firm. “We know that. But you have to understand, you scared us. You folded while flying. What would have happened if you had been flying alone? Could you have made it home?”

Virgil froze. The sun was warm, but he felt chilled. “I would have done my best.”

“We know that. But you scared us. You scared Scott. Satisfy our need for reassurance.” An indrawn breath. “Especially Scott.”

A stare was the only reply Virgil could manage at first. Quiet. “Okay.”

John’s smile was small, but fond. His hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Now, go rest. No doubt what he told you to do.”

A resigned nod.

“I’ll take on ‘the Commander’.” John sighed quietly. “Don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t.”

His shoulder was squeezed once more and let go, John stepped gracefully up the steps and vanished into the infirmary.

Virgil let out a breath.

Well, shit.

Guess he was ‘resting’ for the next hour or so at least. Resigned, he turned and headed off to the hostel.

-o-o-o-

John watched as Scott put away the last of the extra dressings. His brother knew he was there, he had no doubt of that, but neither said a thing.

Eventually Scott finished up, straightened and turned to face John. “What?”

“You’re going to have to back off.”

“Why?”

“You’re hovering like a distressed parent. Virgil is a grown man. Sure, he did something stupid, but this is the brother who throws himself through walls into burning buildings on a regular basis. He had appendicitis. He had surgery. He is recovering.” Eyebrows for emphasis. “You’re overreacting.”

“He was alone on a beach, waist deep in surf and walking deeper. It was like he didn’t know what he was doing!”

John flashed back to the day before when Virgil had sung to the whales. It had been worrisome.

“We will keep an eye on him. But back off.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not responsible-“

“Bullshit, Scott.” He took a step forward. “I send all of you into danger, everyday! Don’t you lecture me on guilt!”

“I’m in command.”

“You’re on vacation!” He drew in a breath and forced his calm facade into place. What was it with Scott that messed with his control so much?

Family knew how to press all the buttons.

“I am responsi-“

“No, you’re not.”

“John-“

“We are all adults here. Yes, even Allie.” And he said it with sadness. “You need to relax. This isn’t good for you.”

“Yes, everyone says that. ‘Relax, Scott, put your feet up.” He waved a careless hand. “You’re on vacation. It never stops, John. Never! I’m still responsible. It all comes down to me.”

A sigh. “It really doesn’t.”

Scott stared at him.

“We are responsible for ourselves.”

“John-“

“I guess from my perspective, it looks different, but I have to trust my brothers know what they are doing. I can’t reach out a hand to catch them. I have to trust them.” He straightened a little. “You have to trust, Scott.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you really? Do you think Virgil really would have drowned himself?”

Scott opened his mouth, but frowned instead.

John pushed the point. “Do you really think Virgil has lost his mind enough to voluntarily injure himself?”

“Well, no.”

“When he vanished on the beach, did you think he was in danger?”

“I...well, maybe...” A blink. “Okay, no, not really, I just...am used to being in direct communication with all of you and he wasn’t answering. What am I supposed to think?”

John had to concede that Scott had a point. They were spoilt with the ability to contact each other on whim. Virgil obviously hadn’t thought of that when he removed his shirt and left his phone behind. “You have to trust that Virgil will be okay. That he can handle himself.”

Scott made a disgusted sound and threw himself into a chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Easier said than done.”

John grabbed another chair and sat down opposite his big brother. “You do it every time we go out on a rescue. You do if for me all the time I’m on Five.”

“Yeah.” But it was a mocking sound.

“You have to let go.”

“I can’t! You’re my brothers!”

Different tactic. “Do you have any idea what you did to all of us those first few years after Dad went missing?”

Scott’s head came up, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You went nuts. Taking horrible risks. Virgil was beside himself. He ended up on Five terrified we were going to lose you as well as Dad. Did you know that?”

Mouth open. “N-no...”

“He said he spoke to you several times. It wasn’t until the aurora generator incident that you finally started to listen.”

Eyes on the floor, but focussed ever so far away. “He didn’t tell me.”

“Yes, he did. But you weren’t listening. Please listen now.” Another indrawn breath. “We don’t want to lose you, either on a mission or to burnout.”

Ever so quiet, Scott’s entire body slumped into the chair. “Okay.” Whispered. “I’ll try.”

“As for the whales...I think we should throw Virgil at Gordon. He knows what he is doing. We can trust Gordon to keep Virgil safe, can’t we?”

Vulnerable azure glanced up at him. “Yeah.” Back down at the floor. “Yeah, we can.”

John shifted where he sat. There was silence for a moment as he reordered his thoughts to work out a way to draw Scott back out again. The last thing they needed was for him to retreat to nurse his wounds and suffer in silence.

Alone.

“So, you going to dish on what’s happening between you and Mel?”

That startled him. Even a small smile appeared on his brother’s face. “What did you want to know?”

John snorted a little. “Without going into detail, spill, big brother.”

That smile, to John’s relief, widened. “She’s remarkable.”

“And not immune to a little Scott Tracy charm, apparently.”

“Hey, I play to my strengths.”

A soft smile. “Then go play some more while the rest of us pack up.”

“Virgil has gone to rest.”

“I know. Now you go rest and talk to Mel. You’re on vacation.”

His brother’s lips thinned, but he stood up and offered John a hand, catching his eyes.

John took his brother’s hand and found himself drawn into a heartfelt hug. His big brother, holding him tight. “Thanks, John.”

“Anytime.” Scott’s shirt was soft under his cheek. “We’re brothers, remember?”

“Yeah, we are.” His brother drew in a breath.

“We are.”

-o-o-o-

End Day Four, Part Two.

[truthbeetoldmedia]

The Toxicity of Kylo Ren and Reylo 

It’s no secret that the newest villain of the Star Wars franchise, Kylo Ren, is a polarizing figure. In fact, there’s a large fanbase that don’t think of him as a villain at all (despite confirmation from cast and crew). If you take issue with that statement, look at the marketing: it’s Rey, Finn, and Poe at the center of the franchise. Not Kylo. Instead, he’s framed as a misunderstood underdog that is undeserving of the criticism he faces.

Now, that’s not to say that Kylo Ren can’t be appreciated as a character. It’s completely possible to appreciate him as a character and not as a person — after all, thinking someone is interesting or well-written isn't an endorsement of their behavior, or a claim that they deserve the benefit of the doubt.

People can be drawn to characters for all sorts of reasons. A lot of people enjoy rooting for the villain simply because they’re a villain. You can appreciate a character's potential, or their personality. It could even be as simple as thinking Adam Driver is good looking, or appreciating his portrayal of Kylo, with that being the reasoning for being drawn to that character. 

Despite all of this, there’s an interesting (and troubling) phenomenon happening with people who have decided to “stan” Kylo Ren — not his potential as a villain, or because Adam Driver is talented, but the character himself, so much so that there is a fundamental misunderstanding (or willful ignorance) of his actions and motivations. 

I’m not apprehensive to call this kind of fanservice toxic, because that’s what it is. There’s something really unnerving about stanning someone who has commited genocide, runs labor camps, and has direct, not-at-all subtle parallels to Nazism. 

Ignoring Canon

The main theme here is that Kylo is somehow “misunderstood,” and not only that, but deserving of a full redemption (and a girlfriend in the form of Rey, but I’ll get to that in a bit). The narrative and what we know about Kylo in canon is a stark contrast to how fandom sees him. There’s this image of him as a down on his luck, unloved, victimized person who has been wronged by the people in his life, which simply isn’t true. 

Kylo is the ultimate example of privilege. He arguably has the coolest parents in the world in the form of Han and Leia. He was, at the time of his turn to the dark side, being taught by Luke Skywalker (his uncle). From the get go, he had the support and resources that we rarely see someone have in the Star Wars universe. 

And for those who like to counter with the argument that Han left Leia and is somehow a deadbeat dad — he did so after Kylo killed the entire group of Jedis Luke was instructing and abandoned his family willingly. You can dislike that decision all you’d like, but it had no bearing on Kylo’s turn to the dark side. 

A more fitting criticism would be towards Luke, who admitted that he sensed something disturbing in his nephew and briefly thought about killing him. I’ll admit that this is fair enough, but for Kylo to react with murdering numerous Jedi students and then immediately joining the space fascists? I’d say this side of him has been lurking under the surface for a while. 

Also consider — was Luke wrong? Dude literally built a device specifically to commit genocide. 

This romanticization of a hard life that never existed is even more disturbing when you consider that there’s another character whose backstory fits this narrative: Finn. 

Finn’s storyline is what certain fans desperately want Kylo’s to be. Finn was kidnapped at a very young age, forced to become a stormtrooper and was embedded in the hateful doctrine that Kylo is such a fan of. Despite being raised in that toxic environment and being indoctrinated with propaganda from such a young age, Finn — of his own volition, before he met Rey or Poe or anyone else — made the decision to resist and break free of the Empire. 

He did this because he felt it was morally correct, at great risk to himself and his well being. He’s been in that environment for his entire life, so he knows exactly what happens to traitors. Despite all of this, he does it anyway. 

Unwanted and Unearned Redemption

There’s also this strange need to advocate for Kylo’s redemption, something that is very clear he doesn’t deserve or want. 

I’ve noticed a lot of fans who are desperate for his redemption call him Ben — his given name — which is both hilarious to me and makes no sense. He literally chose to change his name to Kylo Ren. He doesn't want to be Ben anymore, and he’s made that very clear. 

Leia and Han clearly wanted him to abandon his position in the First Order and come home during The Force Awakens. During his showdown with Han towards the end of the film he’s given a shot at redemption, which he rejects violently by murdering his own father. After this happened it was speculated that this was a sacrifice Kylo had to make to rise up in the First Order, or to prove to Snoke his loyalty to infiltrate the First Order better and ultimately turn against it. 

This was pretty easily disproven in The Last Jedi when he also attempts to kill his mother, Leia, who barely manages to survive. At the end of that same film, he’s also responsible for the death of the definitive hero of the franchise, Luke Skywalker. 

If the theory about Kylo proving himself to Snoke was true, the tendency to murder his own family (and consequently the people offering him redemption after all he’s done) would have ended with Han.

After all of this, he’s given yet another chance to redeem himself, this time by Rey. He turns down this opportunity like he did the others. 

As mentioned before, even without his violence towards those who want to help him, his actions are enough to completely eliminate the possibility of redemption. He’s overseen and advocated for genocide. He’s a member of an actual fascist organization. At this point, there’s no plausible way that he could be redeemed, nor should he be. 

Romanticizing Abuse 

This leads me to the discussion surrounding Rey and Kylo, or “Reylo,” an incredibly convoluted and twisted way to look at romance. 

Reylo fans desperately need Rey to be the one to “save” Kylo, a textbook example of an abusive and toxic relationship. This is the Star Wars version of “She can change him,” making Rey the bearer of Kylo’s emotional labor when he has no interest in changing at all. 

It’s not Rey’s responsibility to bring about his redemption. A true redemption needs to happen organically, of his own volition, and not because he’ll get rewarded with a girlfriend if he does. And, let’s be honest, it’s not a realistic expectation. If he only changes for Rey and not because he realizes that genocide is morally wrong, that’s profoundly disturbing and also selfish. 

Here’s some advice: if someone says they’ve changed only for you and because of their love for you, that’s a red flag. They aren’t changing for reasons that are morally correct, or for anyone’s benefit; they’re changing because their feelings and their feelings alone matter. If Kylo changes because he loves Rey, that is a self serving act for his benefit only. 

Further, what happened to Kylo torturing Rey in The Force Awakens? He kidnapped her, holding her captive, and entered her mind without consent. That’s as clear a metaphor for abuse you can find, and that’s not even my only example. 

In The Last Jedi, Kylo attempts to persuade Rey to join him on the dark side. He tells her that she’s “nothing,” but not to him. To him, she matters. This is very commonly touted as a romantic moment, but the emotional manipulation is more than obvious. 

Kylo doesn’t care about Rey. He says she’s “nothing,” that none of her friends care about her, that she’s worthless to them. By tearing her down then building her up by saying that she’s not nothing to him, he’s enforcing the idea that the only way she can have significance is with him. 

I don’t even mean “with him” in the romantic sense — he pretty transparently only wants her on the dark side for her power. Kylo is a terrible jedi, and he’s witnessed Rey’s prowess a number of times. He only wants her power and skill, not her as a person. 

He murdered her father figure, Han, in front of her, and nearly killed her best friend, Finn; he’s tortured her and manipulated her — it’s never been more obvious that he doesn’t care about her at all. 

If anyone knows anything about abusive relationships, this is the first thing that abusers do. They alienate their intended victim from their friends and family, ensuring that they alone are the only source of comfort. It ensures that if things ever get bad, the victim has nowhere to go and no one to turn to but right back to the abuser. 

What message would it send to little girls and boys if Rey were to end up with Kylo after all of that? Deal with his violence and manipulation long enough and he might change? If I have to spell out why that’s dangerous, I don’t know what else to say. 

In addition — what does this say about how people view Rey? Do you really want her to be with someone who has tortured her, betrayed her, and manipulated her? The answer is that people who want Reylo to be together only care about Kylo, not Rey. 

Toxic Masculinity 

Despite these specifics, the general acceptance of Kylo’s behavior is surprisingly rampant in fandom. His actions aren’t simply excused, but romanticized. He has obvious anger issues, control issues — that scene in the beginning of The Force Awakens when he lashes out and destroys the control panel with his lightsaber? That may as well have been a shot of an abusive, angry man throwing around furniture and punching walls because he has no emotional control. 

Sure, people like Kylo. They’re allowed to. But there’s a clear difference between liking a character and blind endorsement of that character's actions. I know plenty of people who like Kylo as a character, but the difference is if they meet someone like Kylo in bar or see one of his outbursts, you’d call the fucking cops. You wouldn’t ship him with your best friend. That's the dividing line here.

Kylo Ren is a direct parallel to real-world men who lash out because they’re filled with anger and frustration that’s turned into something truly ugly. They lash out at the people who are willing to help, all because they feel themselves robbed of things they think they deserve. Kylo wants power, he wants control, and he cares about nothing else. 

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker hits theatres internationally on December 19, 2019.

[luna-memoria]

Night

Taking a break from my Secret Santa project to write some silent cat dialogue fic an attempt to write it anyway bc idk how to romance. anyways the Quantics are having a sleepover at Bri's place,, enjoy your read ヽ(^。^)ノ

..

"What are you doing?"

"That should be my question, dude. Didn't know you were a night owl."

"Ha ha. Right. So what are you doing? Should I be concerned over the fact that you're digging around in the kitchen at this hour?"

"I'm hungry."

"Really."

"It happens. Don't tell me it hasn't happened to you before."

"It hasn't."

"Okay, fine. I'm just gonna ignore you and go back to snack hunting."

"Why don't you turn the lights on? I don't really see how you can find anything in this dark. At least get your phone or something."

"Nah. It hurts my eyes."

"There aren't any snacks in there. They're over here."

"You really know your way around, huh."

"Of course."

"No, I mean- what?"

"Oh. Yeah. I have been here plenty of times, I suppose. Before- the Quantic team. It was just me and her."

"Yeah?"

"She didn't trust me that much at first. But then one time we got into a really bad situation which left us heavily injured, and she managed to get us here before we detransformed."

"And you just revealed yourself? Doesn't really sound like a you thing to do, alley cat."

"She had revealed herself by bringing me here. It just didn't seem fair to not do the same. Besides, I had planned on doing so for some time. So… yeah."

"Did you-"

"What?"

"Nah, forget it. You don't want to answer that."

"Now you're making me awfully curious. What is it?"

"Did you- have a crush on her? Ladybug?"

"What?"

"Um-"

"Nothing, I just thought- it was pretty obvious, was it not?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, well - I guess, at the time. I don't know if it was considered a crush or something like that, just that I liked her more than other people."

"Huh."

"I mean, she's pretty amazing. She's- everything I wanted to be, everything I wasn't. Still am not. Brave, determined, kind and things like that. Why am I telling you this again?"

"Because you adore me and wish to open up to me about your tragic backstory. Now go on, I wanna hear more."

"Tragic back- Okay. What else do you want to hear?"

"That can't be just it. You like her. What's next? You didn't do anything?"

"Do you know me to be the kind of person who acts on their feelings?"

"I wouldn't know that, but I do know that you have no problem using bad luck to avoid social situations-"

"That has literally nothing to do with what we're talking about right now. Back to the subject-"

"Sure, teach."

"-As I was saying. I liked her. We learned each other's identities and started working closer, being able to get in contact way easier than before. I guess somewhere along the way we became friends and started hanging out for fun. Then we met you guys and our team expanded to- well. What we have now. End of story."

"You would think a writer would be a better storyteller than that."

"Sure, I'd love to see you try and tell your life story to a friend while you're both stuffing your faces with snacks in the kitchen at midnight. Or, well, I don't know the time-"

"Friend?"

"I'm not mean or childish enough to call us anything other than that."

"I always thought you were embarrassed at the thought of being friends with us, y'know."

"I was, actually. Not at the thought of being friends with you guys. Just… general embarrassment from the stuff you guys like to pull off sometimes. You are a pretty lively bunch, and I- well, am myself. I get embarrassed easily. I am an anxious person. But you- you guys are nice."

"That's good to hear."

"Do you have any more questions?"

"Yep."

"Okay."

"You still like Bridgette?

"Of course I still- like her. She's taught me so much. I don't think- Whatever. But it's not like that anymore. She's not- we're not- meant to be. In this lifetime."

"That's- you don't know about that."

"No one does. And that's okay. I like where we are now."

"Never thought I'd hear something like that coming from you."

"Never foresaw the day both of us would be here doing this."

"Never foresaw the day you'd willingly tell me a story of your own."

"Willingly, huh."

"Come on! I didn't force you- you could have easily refused to elaborate and I would have let you."

"Why don't you share a story of yours back, then? To be fair."

"And what, make this conversation more personal than it already is? I think I'll pass, for now."

"You do realize it could be easily turned even more personal by discussing our, ahem, troubling family issues."

"Gasp! Shame on you, dude, no need to bring our villain dads into this. I can't believe you just took an angsty family issue and turned it into a joke."

"We can't always be upset over that."

"I know, yeah. I just wish it was easier. Learning terrible truths about someone you cared so much about."

"Do you still?"

"Wha- what even is that question? Of course I do, but that doesn't matter. He's- a villain."

"It's okay to still care."

"What? Why- yeah, really, I can't believe this is what we're talking about now. Do we really have to keep this up?"

"I think it's something that needs to be talked about sooner or later. It just so happens to be me who's sitting here right now. Of course, you don't have to, if you don't want to. I just thought it might be a good idea, you know. With our… shared- well."

"And you are dealing with this all easily?"

"You know I'm not. But I'm trying. Allegra told me the other day - there's no real way to- move on from all this. We can only continue on ahead. Move forward. It's not going to be something I could just forget about, but I don't want to let it weigh me down either. And I doubt my father would want that to happen as well."

"...I guess. Sorry for-"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's- okay."

"Yeah. Also this got personal way too quickly."

"Could be even more if-"

"Okay, stopping you right there. Not jumping into another one of those. Focus."

"You're not going to brush your teeth later, are you."

"I will. When everyone wakes up."

"I don't think they will be just yet. The girls will probably sleep in, at least."

"I doubt I'll go back to sleep."

"Huh."

"But it's all good! Might even get to watch the sunrise. That's something to look forward to."

"From here?"

"Yep. Nothing like watching daybreak from behind a dusty window, right?"

"...I suppose. There are stranger places to do that."

"And you?"

"I'm staying. Wouldn't want to wake them."

"Allan is a pretty light sleeper."

"Hmm. We're out of snacks."

"Yeah. Paprika flavor next?"

"Bridgette's going to hit you with a book if you open another packet."

"Heh, she would do that."

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know what I mean."

"...I am, I think. I mean, not really, but like you said, I think I can live with it. Plus, it's nice, having someone who understands."

"I'm glad- Ow! Did you have to bump that hard on my shoulder?!"

"Yep. It's kind of strange, you know? Thinking back and seeing how we used to bicker over stupid stuff so much."

"We still do that."

"It's not the same. But it's nice, really. I hate the thought of us not being friends."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"Me too."