#he genuinely cannot forget the past. its come for him

[bingobongobonko]

grumbling sigh. no thoughts. just the tragedy of yves today actually. despite finding out his whole identity is a lie and he's been lying to himself abt everything actually, he was so normal today. he nearly decided to fuck shit up just to get the final pieces of the worldkiller mech, but last minute decided to show up at elias's door at like 2 am and was like "heeeeyyyyyy sorry i didnt respond to your messages for a few days. you wanna help me with something lollll teehee :3"

and honestly? it was good. it was good for him. he needed that. its going to be crash and burn after this babeeeyyyyy

[xxgoldie]

Congratulations for your 100 followers!

May I request for Lighter (zzz)? As for the alphabets, it's A, J, M, N, and Y!

I hope it's not too much, anywho, once again, congratulations! Hope you have a great day/night <3

thank u sm! ofc lighter nation pulls up first hehehe

main event page - event masterlist

A: Admiration - what's something they admire in a partner? Lighter really appreciates someone patient and caring. Partially this is because its something he really needs; while he's not massively secretive about his past, it takes him a while to truly open up about the details and the way it still affects him, plus he kind of forgets to take proper care of himself, since he's used to viewing himself as a means to other people's ends. But its also because so much of his life has been about violence, so he really admires a shift from that, and feels extra in love whenever he sees that gentle care in you, even if it's not directed to him.

J: Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? what are they like when they're jealous? Lighter is pretty secure in your relationship, so he's not gonna get jealous of your friends, and as long as no one's making you uncomfortable, he's not even particularly fussed if someone else asks you out, just keeping a protective eye on you while you reject them in case they take it badly and he has to step in. THAT BEING SAID, he does get possessive if someone tries to flirt with you, especially if they're subtle enough about it that you don't really notice. Directly shooting their shot is one thing, he can respect that, but those flirty little compliments and lingering touches are encroaching a bit too far on his territory. Suddenly he's glued to your side and his hand seems permanently attached to your waist, if the person doesn't know who he is (or doesn't seem to care), he'll drop it into conversation or take his jacket off so they see his scarred, muscled arms, making eye contact with a look that just screams "i dare you to try". Also, he may not get jealous of people, but he's lowkey the type to get jealous of like. pets and plushies. sees you cuddling your plushies or petting a cat and his thought process is just "aww cute. i wish that were me tbh. wait we're dating, that should be me." and he's well aware its a bit of a silly thought to have so he tries to play it off but the way he glares at whatever's taking up your affection is so obvious. He'll pretend he doesn't know what you're talking about if you tease him about it, so long as it works and he ends up in your arms with your hand threading through his hair.

M: Melt - what can you do to fluster them and make them melt? I've had this headcanon for a while that Lighter likes to tease you a lot so you don't get the chance to try to fluster him first, because it's honestly a little crazy how easy it is. Any sort of heartfelt compliment has him losing his words for moment, particularly if you tell him you feel safe around him. But if you want to see him properly flustered and embarrassed, you just have to be unapologetic and bold about your attraction to him. If he catches you staring, he will tease you about it, but just double down on it (e.g. "enjoying the view?" "oh, absolutely", or "take a picture, it'll last longer" "amazing idea actually" and genuinely pulling out your phone) and you have the upper hand in an instant, his ears go red and he tries to think of something smart to say back but he's short-circuiting a little. Poor guy absolutely cannot take what he dishes out.

N: Nicknames - what nicknames / petnames do they have for their S/O? what are their favourite nicknames for you to call them? He likes most variations of babe/baby, tho he uses baby most often. Also likes to use compliments as nicknames, lots of "hey gorgeous" and "pretty girl / pretty boy". When it comes to what you call him, he particularly likes if you call him "love" or some variation of it, like "my love" or "lover". Also, calling him "my champion" with a pout is like a fast-track ticket to him doing whatever you want.

Y: Yearning - how easily do they miss their s/o? what are they like when you're away? He's the kind of guy to always have his partner on his mind, little things just make him think of you. He's always taking photos of cute animals or pretty sunsets or other things he sees to send to you, and when he runs errands in the city he'll come back with lots of little trinkets and treats for you - he doesn't even actively look for them, it's just second instinct for him to think "oh they'd like this" and pick it up. However, I think it takes a bit longer than most for him to really miss you to the point it's a problem. Like, sure, he would always love to see you even more often, but he gets that sometimes life gets in the way and its quite often his gang duties that are keeping you apart, so it takes a little more for it to start genuinely affecting him. When it does, though, he's basically checking his phone for any messages from you - it's not just that he thinks of you in everything, he's actively looking for random reasons to text you. He'll be extra fierce in fights, trying to wrap everything up asap so he can get back to you. But if the gap really can't be shortened, he instinctively starts bringing you up in every conversation. Your name on his tongue helps fill the void a tiny bit, but it's lowkey just "ow, i hurt my hand!" "(Y/N) has hands..."

[habitsbf]

since the slenderverse documentary is coming out, theres some things id like to say about it.

for starters, this documentary took 18 MONTHS to make. it probably took alex hera so much time to get ahold of all the actors involved and put together the documentary. we should appreciate alex for all the effort that was put into this, they worked hard to make this happen.

next thing i want to mention is how weird it is people are only really focusing on evan jennings and tim sutton. i understand we are all excited to see them since they kinda backed away from the internet a bit, but are you guys forgetting WHY they did? they want to live normal lives and be treated like normal people, so the fact some of you are literally editing the short clips we got of them from the literal TRAILOR is genuinely so weird. they are not celebrities. its a documentary, not an actual slenderverse series. they are just a couple of dudes being dudes.

we should appreciate ALL the actors involved, even if the series they are from isnt one you PERSONALLY favor or havent watched yet. the slenderverse is a community, so many creative people worked together to give us the media we all love and enjoy today. every series has its own unique aspect to it and i absolutely love that. they all took the idea of slenderman and turned it into something way beyond just him.

now, last thing id like to mention involves one specific actor in particular, and thats jeffery koval. as much as we love everymanhybrid and the character he played, we cannot look past the fact he is an abuser. him being in the documentary is super cool! we get to hear his side of things! but lets not forget what he did. im aware hes trying to get better and be a better person, which is super great and all, but we still cant just forgive him. it is not our apology to accept. PLEASE remember that.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

[luckykittysshowerthoughts]

I genuinely don’t understand undecided voters in this election. I can understand the hardcore Trumpers being too far up his ass to see what’s going on, but I truly don’t understand the outsiders and neutral parties who don’t seem to understand the stakes here. I know neither of our options are good, but the lesser evil is so obvious.

Do I trust Biden? No. Do I think he’s mentally fit to be President? No. But I’d much, MUCH rather waste four years on him helplessly floundering in our political hellscape and accomplishing absolutely nothing than see someone actively and knowingly dismantling our democracy.

Did we all just forget about the January 6th insurrection? It’s only been three years since we all saw it live on TV; were we even watching the same thing?

Are we all just ignoring Project 2025, its plans for christofascist policies and the way it ties far-right Republicans to foreign meddling?

What about every single violent, hateful, incendiary, fascist thing that’s come out of Trump’s mouth in the past eight years? Were none of us listening?

At least with Biden’s incompetence, we can rely on his cabinet members to pick up the slack. We can also rely on him to NOT further saturate the Supreme Court with far-right nutjobs if another justice dies or retires. Even just getting another vaguely left-leaning or even dead-center moderate person on the Supreme Court would make his presidency worth it in my eyes. Given the current court’s mass-overturning of important human rights precedents, I’d argue the Supreme Court is far more important than the presidency right now, and the only way to change that is with a non-extremist President.

Incompetence and lack of initiative can be compensated for. You cannot, however, fix malice. You cannot fix that Trump will go out of his way to be dangerous and fuel his ego above all else no matter what the people around him say, and that many of the people around him are either spineless enablers or actively cheering him on. You can’t fix that. That is far, FAR worse and more insidious than a bumbling fool.

And don’t lecture me on Israel and Palestine. We all know every single one of those aid bills would have still passed under Trump. he's been in Israel's pocket since long before October 7th. And he would’ve said the quiet part out loud, too; we all know exactly how he feels about Middle Easterners. I don’t say this to defend Biden; I say this to iterate that there is absolutely no world in which letting Trump retake office will make things any better in regards to the genocide in Palestine. The things our congress and Joe Biden are complicit in are absolutely despicable, but destroying our own democracy to prove a point does absolutely nothing for the people of Palestine. We unfortunately can’t help them with our ballots this year, but we CAN help our fellow Americans. And many of our own people are in genuine danger if Trump wins this election.

I don’t understand how it’s even a question. For the love of god, for the love of our democracy and our most vulnerable people, VOTE BIDEN.

[secriden]

i've been thinking and thinking about the significance of the sunflowers parapai sends sky after their first face-to-face meeting post-one night stand and it suddenly hit me why it made such an impact on sky.

prior to this point, sky's attracted to prapai, no question about it. the physical attraction is there pretty much as soon as they lay eyes on each other. even at their one night stand, regardless of the reasons why (tbh my read was that sky wanted it in the moment to feel like he had a way to wrest control over (a) his own body and (b) the situation), sky at least physically seemed to enjoy himself. but its the lack of emotional connection, after the endorphin rush is over, that makes him feel like crap, makes him second-guess his worth and leave feeling used and hallow (and boy oh boy does peat manage to show that so well - he's so so good at wounded).

but then prapai comes back 3 months later, teasing and playful and flirty and still so attractive. sky recognises his own attraction (his self-talky bits are cute but they break my heart), but the one night stand was good enough physically for him to know he doesn't want just that. he doesn't just want to just feel physically good. and he's stuck in the thought that he can never have anything more.

when prapai tells him he's going to pursue him in sky's dorm lobby, he's startled but not shaken. he goes up to his room, essentially tells himself to get out of fantasy land, peeks out the window - but he still fundamentally doesn't engage with the idea that there could be anything real between them.

but the sunflowers and "remember that this wind's watching over the sky". it's protection; its safety.

sky's visibly shaken (peat, oh peat, the vulnerability you managed to convey) and i think this is probably the first time prapai actually manages to get a little bit past the wall sky's already put up between them. and prapai's such a flirty idiot i 100% think he didn't have a clue what he was saying, really. he just thought he was being clever with the unusual flower choice and playing with their names, but in a way that's what makes prapai so perfect for sky.

he's... well, guileless. he's almost accidentally exactly what sky needs to even consider falling in love after everything that happened to him. there's something very clumsy about the charm prapai has and i suspect it's because he's never really had to work to charm anyone before - his looks, money, and status do most of the heavy lifting for him. the fact that he isn't an absolute jerk is pretty much enough for most to be pulled into his orbit. but this works so well for sky because i think someone more suave and actually adapt at wordplay/flirting would have made him run for the hills, because it would have come across as manipulation given his trauma. but prapai is so bad at it (prapai: 'if you don't try it, how do you know?' sky: you absolute fucking idiot did you forget how we met?) that it actually sounds genuine. it makes it safe.

fuck, safety. i feel like it's something everyone wants on some level, but when you've gone through something like that... something where you're betrayed on such a fundamental level by someone you trust, safety becomes the core of what you need. i can deal with hunger, with pain, with loneliness, with being overworked, with being called names or scolded by others - as long as i can maintain that safety. and for sky, that safety always came when he was in his own hands. the only one he could trust with his safety was himself (even as a child, he had no one; alone in Bangkok with a mother who left and a father who cared but was too far away). its why sky isolates; why he'll help his classmates but never ask for help; why he takes the bullying som dishes out without a word.

then prapai comes in and takes care of him when he's sick. his safety is outside of his hands - terrifying. but... also such a relief. i cannot stress how much this was exactly what sky needed. if rain had taken care of him, he would've kicked rain out the second he became conscious. rain doesn't have the backbone/will/character to force the issue. but what prapai did was prioritise sky's safety (health) and for the first time in years, it didn't have to be in his own hands...

(prapai then goes on to makes a lot of other accidentally good choices - comes to Last Cheer and gives him medicine, a place to rest his head, and a quiet space so he can do what he wants (stay to the end, not worry his friends). care, offered at sky's terms. even the bits where prapai's a visibly horny idiot, nearly edging past sky's boundaries but not is counterintuitively perfect because sky sees that prapai's going against what he wants to make sure sky's expressed boundaries are honoured and sees how it costs him something - but, also, i think that speaks more to (a) prapai's growth as a character now that he has a focus that goes beyond the instant gratification of physical release and (b) mame knows her characters and prapai is built to be perfect for sky. honestly most of the skill in writing prapai was the change was gradual enough to be believable in the context of this world. but i digress.)

i just... really adore what prapai did for sky here. like, utter relief that comes from having someone take care of you when you've had to take care of yourself for so long. like a heavy burden suddenly rolling off. and the sunflowers are cheesy but they're the first real hint that this is what's going to make prapai succeed with sky. its not (just) that he's attractive and persistent - that wouldn't have been enough ultimately. (for eg. had phayu pursued sky, he would've also been attractive and persistent but boy would sky have run for the hills with that kind of pursuit. phayu's hot but the manipulation in how he got rain... sometimes i'm baffled by this fandom's take on phayu vs prapai because it's always prapai that everyone calls shady/problematic when he's actually very transparent and honest with his intensions with sky vs the mind games phayu played with rain. i don't have an issue with it because of how rain's character's written - he needed a phayu to get past his internal hang ups - but still, baffling.)

but its how he continually offered to take on the burden of care from sky. so sky could finally actually address the other things he needed. sky didn't have the (physical OR emotional) bandwidth to even consider a relationship until prapai because no one was taking those things off his plate (feeding him, making sure he rests, making sure he took care of himself. like - even when prapai just reminds sky to take care of himself, that's taking some of that mental load off sky having to remember for himself).

honestly this is why when in the scene when sky opens the door to prapai when he's half asleep and then lets prapai feed him, and lets him put him to bed, undress and dress him (all things that would have triggered sky to hell before) - I actually believe it. i believe that sky feels safe around prapai because he's done nothing but actively, persistently offer that to sky over and over again by this point.

anyway, yes, i just really love the sunflower scene for how it gives us that first real glimpse as to why prapai really was perfect for sky.

[dross-the-fish]

I'm also jumping on the dragon age train! What do you think over Solavellan over all? What works and what doesn't?

different people are going to get different things out of it but honestly I struggle to find anything I would consider "good" about it. I wanted to enjoy it because there is an appeal to romancing the villain, but the character I have to make to have a successful Solavellan run is always one that I end up feeling some level of contempt for just based on how much they have to accept the way Solas treats the rest of the inquisition and the Dalish people as a whole. That's something I feel like a lot of people overlook. Assuming Lavellan cared about the other members of the inquisition, after the events of trespasser she has to be OK with the fact that Solas views them as acceptable losses and is willing to kill them and does ultimately kill one of them. I would honestly enjoy if the games would acknowledge that and make the inquisitor more regretful, maybe let her ruminate on how much culpability she has in his crimes if she continues his redemption route. Make his redemption come at the price of her sharing his guilt and regret. As for the Solas side of the romance? Probably an unpopular opinion but for all that Solas pines for Lavellan I don't think what they had as shown in the game was actually that deep. It's barely different from a high approval inquisitor and given that they aren't together for very long. I feel like the version of Lavellan he idolizes in his memories is somewhat rose-tinted. I feel like he loves the memory of being in love with her more than the living person. "Cherished regret" and all that.... I feel like the side we see of him in Veilguard, the hubristic, somewhat ruthless tactician filled with regrets, is the most genuine, undiluted, version of Solas. It's also honestly the closest I've come to enjoying his character and I feel like Rook is closer to being on even footing with him than the inquisitor was. And Lavellan doesn't know that version of him. She never met that version of him. She knows the version of him that was created to blend in with the inquisition. She's never witnessed with her own eyes the callousness he's capable of or been on the receiving end of it. I cannot comprehend how anyone who is not themselves callous or supremely ignorant could find out he's like that and still want to stay with them. There's forgiveness and then there's....that. And this isn't like Blackwall where it's some long past thing he's ashamed of, is willing to atone for, and is never going to do again, this is his CURRENT self. Lavellan herself is not immune to his manipulation. Even if he's kinder to her about it he's still guiding her in a particular direction. Rook has some dialog that I feel is VERY on the nose "You get people so eager for little scraps of approval," and it's honestly one of the times the writing does hit the nail on the head because that is exactly what trying to get Solas's approval feels like. There are moments when the games seem self-aware enough but then they feel like they forget about it five minutes later. There's a lot of chess imagery used for Solas and Solas's interactions with the Inquisitor are very much the king pretending he's the pawn. Lavellan is not a queen on Solas's chess board. She's not his equal in power and this is something he knows but she doesn't. Once Solas has what he needs he abandons her and skyhold to face the blight on its own and seems to suffer no personal loss if the inquisition dissolves. This is why I tend to fall to the side of whether Solas truly loves her or not being an irrelevant detail. Because it doesn't actually matter in the grand scheme of things. At best it's like giving a haunted house stained glass windows. it's largely cosmetic.

[saiikavon]

You know what it is about Solas, that makes him simultaneously my favorite character and also just so annoying to me because I think I've got it

I consider myself a curious person, wanting to learn all I can and surround myself with people who are also curious and love to learn. And I think, when you are a curious person, you can really open yourself up to lots of different perspectives and experiences

BUT

When you are a person who Learns, you also run the risk, I think, of becoming attached to your own intellect and the things you have learned. You can become as obsessed with the Knowing as you are with the Learning, and when you do that...you can easily convince yourself that you know more and are wiser than pople who may not share your inherent curiosity

Which is a long-winded way of saying that sometimes very learned and experienced people can become pompous, know-it-all assholes

Solas, I believe, has convinced himself that what he knows and what he has learned is worlds above what other people know, and the frustrating thing is, he sort of does. He has truths that people have long forgotten, histories that he witnessed first hand that have become twisted over time. Furthermore, he has presumably had time to reflect on all he's done and all that came of his actions, so he can operate based on information only HE has

I know people like this. I have fallen victim to it myself at times. Thinking that the act of reflection itself means you will ultimately come to the best overall conclusion, since you are, indeed, giving something its due consideration before acting, where others would jump in without thinking at all or gaining all the information. The problem is that just thinking things over does not automatically make one correct. You may have taken every new point of information without checking your biases, or with even an unconcious interest in confirming them. You may let a specific emotion guide your research. You may forget to actually listen to what's been told to you or to consider the feelings of those around you - the facts may not care about feelings, but feelings can and do shape certain facts.

Solas' folly is that he has lived through so much and ultimately applies all of that experience to things he learns about the new world without actually considering the people who live in it. Oh, he wants to save them, this lost flock, as he did the slaves bound by the Evanuris. He thinks that because they do not know better, he must decide for them what to do.

What I adore about him is this compassion, this curiosity, the way he paints his picture of history. The way he feels for his people and the way he learns about the world.

What I cannot stand is how he holds this learning over everyone's head, even people he claims to respect. It drives me absolutely bananas when I see someone I genuinely love spend so much time talking themselves into a corner that they now think anyone who presents a new perspective must automatically be wrong. I hate when I catch myself doing it. I understand the burning need to defend the position I've spent so long cultivating because someone has tried to tell me I'm wrong.

You can't argue with a person like this in one debate. They've already argued with themselves and, intentionally or not, developed a counterpoint for each and every point you can make against their stance. Even if they convince themselves they don't want to go down this path...well, they've thought about it for so long, they now feel they have no other choice.

I adore Solas. I hope, hope, HOPE, that in Veilguard, we can give him an argument he will finally consider. I hope we can tell him he's being a stubborn fucking dipshit and he will listen. I hope we can provide him a new way to learn and that he will try to move on. I hope he will leave his past to rest and try to make reparations to those that live in the present.

I hope my Inquistor Wren Lavellan can go to him, smile as she kisses him and calls him a fool, then take his hand and find home.

[flowercrowngods]

j.r. harrington's christmas carol

in prose. being a ghost story of christmas. a modern au.

stave i

Three things in John Richard Harrington‘s life come with absolute certainty: tax returns, unsweetened black coffee three times a day, and the permanent headache once December inevitably rolls around, over time wandering from his temples to just behind his eyes, worsening his already sour mood.

“Idiocy, all of this,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes open the door to his office, leaving behind his stammering secretary and the ungodly blare of Christmas songs he cannot seem to escape this year. It’s grating on his nerves, and he hangs his hat on the coat-tree, damp with water because it never snows anymore. 

All the better for traffic, at least, because not a day passes that he has nowhere to be. Snow tends to thwart these plans. 

“Absolute humbug,” he grumbles once more, shucking his coat and smoothing a hand over the lapels, keeping them immaculate despite the rain.

There is a stack of documents on his desk, and it is a blessed vision, that. None of that dilly-dallying that the rest of the world seems so adamant on indulging this time of year, no. Not for John Richard Harrington, real estate magnate and financier by trade. The world of Money is not about to stop just because workers all across the globe are wont to forget about their employment for a few days of illusion and play-pretend. 

“Bah!” He sits down and finds note upon note from long-standing business partners and loyal clients, wishing him a Merry Christmas and expressing gratification and happiness towards their business this year. 

While Harrington does appreciate the loyalty and the premise of future business, he does not need their Merry Christmasses nor their Good Tidings. What he needs is responsible, determined employees who do purposeful work regardless of the holidays. 

But all he gets is a bunch of ungrateful, aimless good-for-nothings who, instead of working as they are expected to, spend all of December beseeching him to grant them just two days of Christmas vacation — and every year they get the same answer: “Stay home for Christmas and find yourselves unemployed.”

And every year they make the decision to come into work, restoring Harrington’s faith and goodwill that at times has been known to go so far as to sending them home a half hour early — paid! He is not a monster, after all; no matter what they say. He is a realist. A capitalist. A wise investor and a driven businessman. And business, he knows, at times necessitates a compromise. 

He will, however, not compromise a whole year’s work for a meaningless holiday that is in dire need of a better soundtrack. How people do not grow tired of listening to always the same songs on repeat each and every year is past him, and he won’t even try to understand it. So long as they keep their miguided cheer far away from him, he does not care if the first noël is born or if the midwinter is indeed bleak. 

A knock sounds against the heavy wooden door and he frowns, already anticipating the person behind the door even as he keeps sorting the stack on his desk, sorting mail into dedicated piles of business, sentimentality, and Steven. The latter has been empty for years now, but that is just as well. 

Another knock, and the old Harrington growls, his eyes flitting to the door as though he were capable of making the person behind it disappear by sheer willpower alone. Although he has to concede that making Cratchit disappear would be a poor move, as the man is one of his most efficient. Their acquaintance could be excellent if only Cratchit weren’t so adamant on experiencing the Christmas cheer each year without pause. 

John Richard sighs and leans back in his chair, still frowning at the door as he bids him inside. 

“Cratchit.” 

“Merry Christmas, sir!” Cratchit says, a glint of tease beneath the unfortunately entirely genuine sentiment that ricochets right off of Harrington’s scowl and returns to its sender, only brightening the man’s smile. 

“Tell me what you want and then get back to work, Cratchit. I don’t pay you for… lallygagging.” 

 Cratchit’s smile falters a little, and he clears his throat. “Well, you see, sir, my son. He has flown in from overseas, arrived this morning, in fact. Has come home for Christmas for the first time in three years, you see. He will stay over the holidays, and so I was wondering if, perhaps, you would make an exception this year and show a little heart—“ 

“Heart!” Harrington exclaims, effectively shutting up his stammering employee. “Compassion! And where will that get me, Cratchit? Let’s say I concede this year, you lot will expect it every year from now on. Add to that a vacation for New Year’s Day, and maybe a few days give or take until work ethic declines and you will only work from one holiday to another. Isn’t that what will happen, hm?” He scoffs, shaking his head in derision. “Compassion… I expected better from you, Cratchit.” 

The man withers, and normally Harrington wouldn’t mind that, would study his misery and hold it against him in future debates. But something about it, something about that grin disappearing, and with it that glint of something so youthful even though the man is only a few years his junior cracks at something inside him. Something that feels a lot like that empty stack of mail on his desk. 

“Please,” Cratchit says. “Please, sir, just… Just half the day tomorrow. It’s—“ 

It’s Christmas. It's humbug! 

Anger rises inside him and barely contains himself as it coils and bubbles inside him. “Get out,  Cratchit, before I’ll have you escorted outside.” 

“But sir—“ 

“Get out!” he shouts, watching as Cratchit flinches, entirely too soft for this world. Marley wouldn’t have hesitated to fire him thrice over for even trying to bargain over this. 

But Marley is dead seven years now, and Harrington is the only hard-headed man in charge of these good-for-nothings. And maybe it’s that; a tiny, misguided shred of mourning his business partner; or maybe it’s his hand reaching for the non-existent stack on his desk and finding his hand empty. Maybe it’s heart, as Cratchit put it, even though John Richard is known not to have one, and he is not inclined to disagree. 

Whatever the reason may be, Harrington calls, before Cratchit can hastily pull the door shut behind him, “And when you come back after Christmas, I expect to see you at your best performance, Cratchit. Understood?”

The man blinks, his eyes wide as saucers as he regards Harrington, his mouth falling open as he loses whatver composure he might have possessed before this. Five seconds pass and Harrington is inclined to take back his words when Cratchit shake shimself out of his stupor and falls into a tirade of gratitude and disbelief that Harrington really has no time for, calling for his assistant to escort Cratchit back downstairs. They have work to do after all. 

When the door falls shut once more, leaving the grand office in silence, he allows himself a moment to breathe and regret his moment of softness, hearing Marley’s grouching insistence that softness and compassion in a capitalist’s world will only lead to ruin and bitterness. 

But bitterness is there in Harrington’s life regardless, especially around this time of year. 

*** 

There is another certainty in John Richard Harrington’s life: He does not get nightmares. There are no terrors haunting him, no ghosts of future or past relationships to linger in the back corners of his mind, waiting to come out at night when he lets his guard down. 

That, however, does very little to explain this nightmare of Jacob Marley warning him of an eternity of sorrow and chains if he does not see the error in his ways, if he does not better himself and reconnect with the heart tapping a steady but withering beat in his chest. 

“I don’t undestand!” he calls into the void as the world spins around him, light becoming darkness and darkness turning into light, blinding and disorienting him as he feels colder by the second. 

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” Marley’s apparition says as Harrington falls, scrambling away from the Ghost, feeling real fear for the first time in his life. “You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits. Please them and yours will not be the same fate as mine. Expect the first one tonight, when the clock strikes One. The second will find you the night after that at the same hour. And the third will come when Christmas Eve turns into Christmas Day.” 

He shakes his head, refusing to believe this Ghost, ready to bargain that she should meet all these Spirits at once if they were real, that they should reveal themselves and absolve him of what crimes they think him to be guilty of. But Marley holds up his hand, forbidding John Richard to speak, and he does hold his tongue — more out of fear than real obedience. 

Before he knows it, the room fills with horrible wails of lamentation and regret, self-accusatory and begging for absolution so sorrowful that Harrington feels a cold shiver travelling down his back, a sensation he is not at all familiar with. 

And then, as quickly as it started, the spectre is gone and silence returns, the show is over. There is no time to collect himself, because he gasps awake the next moment, feeling no different than just seconds before and wondering if it really was a dream or if he was hallucinating. Unfortunately, a hallucination is just as impossible as a nightmare. 

The alarm clock on is bedside table shows 12:19 a.m. 

And for some reason, fear still coursing through his veins, John Richard Harrington decides to stay awake. Pretending not to count down the minutes until the clock stikes One and be assured to still exist in a world where ghosts aren’t real.

[autism-alley]

augh found my old post abt pjo and disability from before the show came out but it was on ye olde blog so i’m literally just gonna copy and paste, 3, 2, 1—

ok now that i’ve got it on the brain, i want to talk about disability in pjo and specifically how calling percy jackson dumb or treating him as such is not only a mischaracterization, but ableism. as a quick note, i’m keeping this to just percy to avoid having this already long post be even longer, but there are other disabled characters in pjo worthy of discussion, though i hit many of the same points in this post. i bring up percy specifically because he is mostly the character i have seen people treat as stupid.

percy is a dyslexic teen with ADHD who comes from a low-income family, raised by a single mother, and deals with an abusive step-father. i cannot stress enough how much of his character is shaped by that experience, but as hard as it is to single out any one part, i am going to focus on his ADHD and dyslexia. this kid has nightmares of being forced to take tests in a straightjacket as teachers ask him if he’s stupid and withhold him from recess with his peers. he is constantly labelled as “troubled” and blamed for things he didn’t do or aren’t his fault. he is told, over and over again, even from trusted adults, that he is “not normal” (othering him). he bounces between schools. he struggles to make friends. he deals with bullying. he has difficulty studying and reading, even when invested. teachers struggle to connect with him and tend to just give up on him. these are real disabled experiences, and rick does a good job at presenting them in the pjo books. sometimes, it feels like everything is a struggle. you are living inside a system that not only is restricting, but actively works against and punishes you.

in contrast, CHB is a great example of how when environments meet the needs of disabled people, it hugely changes how disabled we are in that environment. demigod brains are hard-wired for ancient greek, not english, and they’re born impulsive, with high energy levels that help them survive battle—but aren’t very good for a classroom setting. but by having them read books in ancient greek, regularly do lots of training/physical activities, and have genuine opportunities to express themselves...they function pretty damn well. percy discovers that while he struggles academically, he is brilliant in combat and capable of saving the world numerous times—he is a hero. do you know how important that message is for disabled children? disabled adults, too? that we can be heroes?

it is here, in camp half-blood, that percy finds a place he belongs, that shows him his worth—finally, somewhere is built to not only include him, but to nurture and genuinely prepare him for the world outside its boarders. however, i think people forget that just because percy functions in the world of CHB and the gods, that does not mean he doesn’t face ableism in the mortal world—and that there is an entire group of people who see ourselves reflected in his character.

i could talk on for hours about how much being disabled shapes percy’s identity and how he interacts with the world—like how percy’s humor revolves around coping with his environment and actually displays a very low self esteem after being looked down upon his entire life. this kid doesn’t even have to say anything and he screams i had a neurodivergent childhood. but about 5-6 years ago, when i was more regularly tuned into the fandom, every time i saw someone call percy jackson dumb or an idiot, even jokingly, i raised an eyebrow, and now that the series is getting fresh coverage from disney+, i have wanted to make this post. so much of this kid’s life and personality comes from being treated like he’s dumb or incapable, so it’s troubling to watch part of the fanbase reflect the harmful parts of this character’s upbringing. i truly hope it does not become common again. it’s also one thing coming from a neurodivergent/disabled person with similar experiences (and even then i personally find it a little uncomfortable), it’s another to be said by a neurotypical/able bodied person.

percy jackson’s experiences make for very important representation, and for people to characterize him as just a goofy, unintelligent guy is not only an insult to his character as a kid who is intelligent, but previously lacked the environment to show it, but also ableist. so in the dawn of the new tv series era, i ask that we cut that shit out. rick riordan did not create rep for neurodivergent and disabled kids for them to be called stupid by the fanbase. even jokingly.

[kunosoura]

Thoughts about what makes a good villain!

Hello <3 sorry this took so long to answer but I'm in the middle of planning and executing a move to a different country.

I think the only real crime a villain can commit is being boring. They can be contemptible, stupid, cartoonish, completely detached from reality, or they can be brilliant, dangerous, sexy, literally correct; they can be all style or all substance; the only real litmus test is whether they're entertaining.

Some of my favorite fictional villains and why I like them:

Currently, I'm reading the Crown of Stars series by Kate Elliot, and Hugh is absolutely one of the most contemptible villains I've ever encountered. The first book was genuinely hard to read because of what a fucking monster he is, and Elliot knows how to draw the most out of it - stretching his comeuppance over 6 books because even though he's fucking despicable, he's also unfailingly polite in most circumstances, and a beautiful man of noble though illegitimate birth and high rank in the clergy, so people have a hard time believing him to be as evil as he is even if they've wronged him before. At the same time, Elliot also does a very good job of making sure you never forget exactly what he is, so even when he returns to the people he's wronged acting contrite, you see through it. The ultimate effect is that even 5 books in, I'm hollering at him to kill himself (usually when driving alone in my car), and I dunno if I've ever been that profoundly affected by a literary antagonist before.

Kuja from Final Fantasy 9. He's spoiled, he's beautiful, he's a babygirl, he's pathetic, he's 24 and should have been at the club. I like how he isn't afraid to spam his most powerful spell whenever he's losing. Honestly whenever you see me rooting hard for a villainous sorceress (or occasional prettyboy sorcerer) it's for similar reasons.

The Obligatory Sasuke mention, which is wild because I think everything that I find compelling about him is something you have to read in direct contradiction to Kishimoto's intentions with the series. In a meta sense, I find it super compelling how he's the sort of villain whose motivations unavoidably invoke the fundamental problems in the setting that the tepid liberalism of its core themes and protagonists cannot address, and how that's subsumed into an emotional arc so he can be the redeemed shonen rival in the end.

Inspector Javert is a favorite because he forces the audience to separate legality from ethics; past that, he's also just a really good examination of the sort of person you'd become if you gutted everything that made you human and replaced it with legalism.

Cersei Lannister from the ASOIAF is a great example of a book letting you into the internality of a villain, showing you they're a complete wreck of a person, and it not doing anything to soften the blow when it comes time for them to ruin things for everyone again.

Death from The Seventh Seal is one of my favorite cinematic depictions of personified death. He isn't gentle or comforting like some depictions - he's underhanded, merciless, and for all his affability, relentlessly pursues Block such that his inevitably end claims the lives of just about everyone he loves, as well. It's nightmarish.

my boy SHEEV. Maybe the purest example of "it's good as long as they're fun". His inclusion in TROS is NONSENSE but I don't mind because I will literally never say no to more palpatine screentime.

Goku Black from Dragon Ball Super is great for the sole purpose that, when he's on the scene, a character you care about will die.

Those are a scattered selection of some of my favorites. I wish I had a more compelling analysis for who was in or out, but it really does boil down to don't bore me and there are a lot of ways for a villain to be compelling. Thank you for the ask ^_^

[purplecatghostposts]

ANY HURT/COMFORT FOR BRIAN

AYE AYE CAPTAIN!

I’ve always wanted to do an alternative version of Entry 80 so this is my excuse to do it >:)

Content Warnings for: Canon Typical Behavior, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Non-graphic Injuries, Blood-loss Induced Delirium, Hurt/Comfort (of course), and Angst With A Happy Ending (Or at the very least a heavily implied one).

Word Count: Roughly 2.6k

— —

Everything is spiraling out of control. Brian knows that a good chunk of it is his fault. He brought Alex here and could not find the will to kill him, even after all this time. He asked Jay and Tim to come here and now Alex is loose and all of them are in danger.

It lurks around every corner, within every shadow, and Brian isn't safe from it's reach anymore. It's stronger, it feeds off this situation, warping reality to its whims, and it intends for most of them, if not all, to die here. And it very well may succeed.

It’s been haunting Brian the most lately. When it finally leaves Alex’s side, it shadows him, pulling him in all directions and warping him to other planes of existence entirely.

The Ark awaits. It wishes to swallow him whole.

Brian wonders if it’s not a matter of if he will end up there, but rather when. Nonetheless, he fights to escape it, to keep it all together, but deep down, it feels inevitable. Hopeless. Like Brian can no longer control any of their fates, much less his own. He should have killed Alex when he had the chance but even now, even with this bastardization version of him who spits curses and bears his teeth at him, he cannot find it in him to pull the trigger.

Brian remembers—

(“And that’s a wrap!” Alex lowered the camera when the red light stopped blinking. He was sweating a little from the heat, the sun beating down on them relentlessly, but his grin doesn’t waver and the pride in his eyes is genuine. “That was fantastic, Brian! Seriously, if you ever wanted to get into acting, you could pull it off.”

Brian laughed then, rolling his eyes a little. “You’re just saying that— I know I sound cheesy.”

“You’re just following the script.” Alex waved him off. “I’m being serious! You could make it if you really wanted to! Plus,” Alex nudged him playfully, “You’re good looks are a bonus.”

“More flattery, Kralie?”

“I speak only the truth, Thomas.”)

—and he really wishes he could forget. The past doesn’t matter when he’s trying to salvage the present. And yet, it still haunts him, ever present and reminding him of the days he will never get back and the person he can and will never be again.

He has had so many chances to kill Alex Kralie, and the fact that he has been unable to go through with any of them will always haunt him.

Brian stumbles through the rooms of Benedict Hall, static receding from his mind as it finally leaves him alone. He doesn’t know if it’s giving up or merely choosing an easier target but it’s difficult to think about anything but finally getting a moment to rest. He staggers into one of the rooms in the basement, just barely remembering to close the door before he slumps against the wall and feels unconsciousness pull him under.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running, nor how long he rests for. What he does know is that when he awakens again, there are footsteps nearby and he tenses on instinct.

Brian waits a few beats before managing to get up, unsteady on his feet but pressing forward. He opens the door just a crack to look out at who has joined him and lets out a small huff when he sees it’s just Jay. Someone he can handle— at worst, he might need to get him to back off, but Brian will burn that bridge when it comes.

Jay doesn’t seem to notice him, too busy looking through the rooms and not quite getting to his yet. However, he also doesn’t notice when silent footsteps descend the stairs into the basement, and Brian’s breath hitches when he sees Alex standing at the bottom of the stairs with a gun in his hand.

When Jay does notice, he freezes. Camera in hand, he stares at him and lets out a cautious and almost disbelieving, “Alex?”

Alex raises his gun.

Brian knows his role has always been to stay in the shadows, be cold and calculating, always one step ahead and always doing what is necessary in order to ensure the survival of who is left. He knows that he is the man with the plan, the haunting wraith, and the one who has to maintain control above all else. He knows.

But Alex raises his gun and Jay is just standing there like a deer in headlights and Brian can no longer think.

He acts.

The door is yanked open and Brian throws himself at Jay in an effort to get him out of the way. He succeeds on that front, but the gun still goes off and pain rips through his shoulder and suddenly, they’re both on the ground. Jay scrambles to get Brian off of him, panicked and attempting to ask questions that Brian can’t really hear. Alex is yelling now but Brian can’t tell what he’s saying either.

He just knows one minute, he’s lying on the ground, trembling and unsure if he has the strength to get up again, and the next, there’s hands wrapping around one of his wrists and yanking him somewhere else. Either he’s light or Jay is tapping into some hysterical strength, or a mix of both, because another shot just barely misses him and suddenly, he’s in another room with Jay using his entire body weight to keep the door closed. There’s pounding on the door, more yelling from Alex, and a camera is discarded on the floor.

Brian struggles to keep his consciousness. Everything passes by in a blur and when static rises to his mind, he isn’t terribly surprised. His body goes involuntarily limp, eyes struggling to open at all, and he can feel invisible tendrils beginning to curl around him, claiming him as theirs.

The Ark awaits. They whisper. The Ark has been waiting for you, Brian Thomas. You cannot deny it any longer.

All fight in him starts to drain away. Static builds, numbing him to the point where Brian thinks he’s gone for a moment there.

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him but getting more frantic. Brian lets out a shudder, feeling something tugging him back and urging him not to leave yet. That his work is not finished, that he cannot go into the Ark and feed it, and that he is not the Ark’s to claim.

Someone else has claimed him, needs him, and is not letting it take him. The invisible tendrils (were they ever really there to begin with?) recede, and Brian feels the familiar feeling of being warped somewhere else but the grip on his shoulder only tightens. A cool breeze passes over him, and it is welcomed.

When he falls into unconsciousness, it is with the knowledge that it has not taken him yet, and that he can rest easy for now. The uncertainty of where he is now and what comes next falls away, and it is a problem for when he wakes up.

—

Consciousness is a hazy thing when he returns. At first, Brian feels nothing at all, but the moment he stirs, pain shoots through his shoulder and he lets out a low and pained hiss.

Ragged breaths escape him. His skin feels cold and clammy and when he cracks open his eyes, his surroundings are blurry. Sunlight hits his face and blinds him, but he can’t move without aggravating his shoulder so he just squints and tries to put his thoughts together. Nothing quite makes sense but the greenery around him tells him he’s outside, though something about what he’s seeing is off. He can’t quite put his finger on it however.

A blurry shape moves closer to him. Brian stiffens, ready for a fight but their hands(?) are raised as if to try and convince him they’re not a threat. It confuses him slightly— definitely not Alex then— and his gaze doesn’t waver from them as they inch closer.

Slowly, a hand is pressed against his forehead as if checking his temperature. Something in him crumbles at the contact and hazily, he leans into it, causing them to freeze for a minute but steadily relaxing.

Something is off but he can’t quite place what.

“Hey uh— can you hear me?” A hesitant voice asks. Brian knows that voice. He blinks lazily, racking his brain for the answer before it hits him.

“Jay?” He manages to slur out. It’s rough on his throat to speak but it almost feels nice to speak at all. To be heard by someone for once.

Jay’s breath hitches a little. “Uh, yeah. It’s me.” He’s awkward and tense. Brian can’t remember why. He can’t really remember why Jay is here at all but his hand moves to keep a steady hand on his uninjured shoulder and it keeps him from drifting. That’s enough for now.

There’s a long pause before Jay hesitantly asks, “Brian? Brian Thomas? It’s you, right?” Like he can’t quite believe it.

Brian blinks a few times at that. It’s been a while since anyone called him that. He can’t remember how long. “Mmhmm.” He hums after a beat. There had been a reason he was hiding his identity at first but he really can’t remember it. Maybe he should stop worrying about what he can and can’t remember. “How’d you know?” He finds himself asking.

“I mean, your face is kinda a dead giveaway?”

Brian pauses at that. Then slowly raises one hand to brush against his face. It finally clicks then, what’s wrong. The cool breeze against his skin, the skin to skin contact, the ability to see clearly without anything blocking his vision— his mask. It’s gone. Jay probably took it off.

That’s probably a problem. Brian is struggling to care right now though.

“Huh.” He says instead. “Guess Brian is out of the bag.” A snicker escapes him at his own joke and he tilts into Jay’s grip more than he intends to.

“Shit.” Jay swears under his breath. “Questions later— you owe me and I have a lot of them— but we need to get out of here and to an actual first aid kit or hospital because I kind of just tore my jacket and used that to tie it off but you still got shot.”

That’s what happened. He knew he was forgetting something.

“Can you stand?” Jay asks. Brian makes a noncommittal noise. Jay grimaces but says, “Well, we don’t really have a choice right now.” And steadily helps him to his feet. Brian hisses when his shoulder is jostled but manages to stay standing with Jay helps. After a second of hesitation, Jay slings one of Brian’s arms around his shoulder and carefully, he leads as they stumble through the woods together.

Brian squints, trying to think. “We’re in Rosswood?” He mumbles.

“I think so. I haven’t really had a lot of time to think about it.” Jay glances at him. Brian stares back, tilting his head. “You— you saved me. Why did you do that?”

Brian frowns. “You were gonna get shot. What was I supposed to do?” The words come out slow but clear enough for Jay to understand. Jay searches his eyes for something. Brian isn’t sure if he found it when he finally looks away.

They walk in silence for a little while. Brian’s eyes glaze over the trees and his eyes flutter a little when he hears the soothing sound of a nearby babbling stream.

“Stay awake.” Jay reminds him. Brian’s eyes open a little wider obediently. He thinks he missed having someone else around him. Someone who made him have to think a little less. Someone to rely on.

“Where are we going?” Brian manages to get out.

Jay stops, staring straight ahead and lost in thought like he just realized that himself. “I… Was going to head to Tim’s house. I don’t have anywhere else to go but,” his gaze drops, “I don’t know how welcoming he’ll be.”

“‘s Tim.” Brian points out, trying to blink the sleepiness out of his eyes. “He’s not gonna kick you out if you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Maybe.” Jay pauses. He then uses his free hand to fumble for his pockets. “I should— call him first maybe?”

Brian nods, leaning against his shoulder. “Probably.”

Jay scrolls to Tim's contact on his phone. He stares at it. Keeps staring at it. Doesn’t stop.

“You’re not calling.” Brian points out.

Jay grips the phone a little tighter. “I’m still kinda pissed.” He admits, hissing through his teeth. “Why did he lie? Why didn’t— why didn’t he trust me?” His furious gaze turns to Brian, bitterness seeping out into his voice. “Why didn’t you trust me? What was with the code bullshit, why— why did everyone else know what was going on and all of you collectively decided to leave me in the dark?”

Brian thinks of scrambled thoughts, beyond what he’s experiencing even now. Codes upon codes upon codes, masking what needed to be said. He needed to hide his messages— too many eyes were watching, never alone, always watches, can’t trust anyone but desperately needing to at the same time— like a cycle. One that repeats over and over and over and over and—

And he needs to break out of it. Because it spirals his thoughts and has him self sabotaging himself like a snake devouring its own tail until there’s nothing left, is there anything left, how much of you is really left—

“I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as me.” Brian says slowly, feeling out the words as best as he can. “But I don’t think I did a very good job of that, did I?”

The angry look is gone now, replaced by a guarded one, but almost… Hopeful, he thinks. Like Jay doesn’t think it’s going to immediately crash and burn.

“I’m sorry.” Brian finds himself saying. “For… A lot of things.”

Jay doesn’t say anything. His gaze drops to his phone and after another beat, he presses the call button and brings it up to his ear.

Tim picks up on the third ring. “Jay?” Brian can hear him well enough, being in close proximity and all. He sounds hesitant, almost disbelieving.

Jay swallows before speaking. “Tim. We need to talk.”

Tim pauses for a long moment. “Is this gonna be like the last ‘talk’?” He sounds almost weary but there’s something else there. A wall he’s put up.

“No, I—” Jay lets out a breath, “It’s important. Alex almost—”

“—shot you.” Tim finishes. “I found your camera. I wasn’t sure what the hell happened or if— if you really got out or not but… You should know I’m glad you’re alive, alright?”

“Thanks.” Jay’s gaze flickers to the ground. “I’m not looking to fight but we really need to talk. All of us.”

“All?”

“You, me, and— and the Hooded Guy.”

“The— he’s with you?” Tim’s voice raises an octave higher.

“Long story. He’s kinda the reason I didn’t get shot but he got shot instead and he needs medical attention. I did what I could but— he lost a lot of blood, Tim. He’s barely standing.”

“‘m fine.” Brian insists.

“You’re delirious— look, Tim, we’re in Rosswood right now. It took us here but— can we meet you back at your place? It's better to do this in person.”

“That’s a long walk. I’ll pick you up— meet me at the parking lot, alright?”

Jay agrees and hangs up soon after. They take off again, now with a new purpose, and the rest of the walk is uneventful.

Tim is just pulling up when they finally get there. He takes one look at Brian and his mouth drops open. Jay tells him to focus on the more important matter and they lay him down in the back of the car to rest. Brian feels sleep dragging him down and finds it hard to resist.

Tim and Jay’s voices wash over him. All tension bleeds out of him and Brian finally sleeps, trusting that they’ll make sure he wakes up again.

— —

Listen. LISTEN. I wanted Jay taking care of a half delirious Hoody!Brian so I know he’s a little more relaxed than he should be but bloodloss and suddenly being in contact with somebody after all that isolation are some powerful drugs. I’m being indulgent, as a treat.

Hope this satisfies your Hurt/Comfort Brian desires, feel free to send more writing requests if you want! I might put this on AO3 too but unsure yet! Anyways, hope you enjoyed and thank you very much for the request!!

[lya-dustin]

Petals Consumed

For the spring @hotd-bigbang with the image prompt below: Cherry Tree/Cherry Blossoms

Some angsty Rhaecole/Rhaenyra x Criston Cole that takes place in my Aemma Velaryon fics (except shock and delight) particularly Someone Will Remember Us. Setting wise its a year into Rhaenyra and Laenor’s marriage since Aemma was born exactly 9 months into their marriage.

Title inspired by a sonnet of Pablo Neruda from his book of 100 love sonnets

Please don't ask for a word count i measure my fics with my heart not numbers.

There is a cherry tree in the gardens, it wasn’t meant to be there, fruit trees were meant for the kitchen gardens and the hothouses, but someone many decades or a century ago had eaten the fruit and left the seeds to their fate.

It had grown, just as the castle and their house had done. Gone from the Aegonfort to the Red Keep, from three siblings to a family with all its troubles.

Rhaenyra knows who comes here even if the sound of his boots and armor would make him blend in with the rest of the Kingsguard.

“Your highness.” Criston speaks quietly, shame heavy in his words and yet there was something there that tied them back to their shared past.

“Ser Criston.” Rhaenyra doesn’t look at him, the events of last night had her wondering how it all came to that.

She had feared he’d hurt her sweet little Aemma for what she did to him. To think she was so quick to misjudge the man she once trusted enough to give herself to.

“I apologize for my behavior last night, I assure you it was never my intention to scare you or have you believe I would hurt your child.” He apologizes, not the false and forced things he does when he is caught by Ser Harold, but the genuine things that came easy to them before.

“I should be the one apologizing, I cruelly misjudged you when I know you are not the sort of man to hurt a child.” She misses him, as shameful as it was. She had cared for him, perhaps not loved him like she loved Daemon, but Criston still had a place in her heart that couldn’t be so easily removed no matter how sweet Harwin Strong is to her. “For that and all the pain I have caused you, I am sorry.”

His silence is enough to have the Princess of Dragonstone break her resolve to shit the door completely and turns around.

There is no forgiveness, at least not one spoken, but her white knight’s face says it all.

He is in disbelief of her words, forgetting the spoiled princess was more a shield she hid under and not the real woman he knew.

She still loves him, loves him in the mix of something between both lover ---as a terrible idea it had been then and remained now--- and her friend.

He looks as handsome as he did that first time she brought him here, a spring just like this one where there was only laughter and joy and sense of understanding built on knowing they will never see you as one of them.

She had many companions and only a handful she’d consider a friend and now those two Rhaenyra had called her friends had become her enemies. Rhaenyra had underestimated the venomous hold Ser Otto had on his daughter whom he had sold like a whore to her father and she had overestimated the passion and love Criston once held for her.

In Alicent’s case she had hoped her reason would prevail, in Criston she had hoped reason would fail. Rhaenyra had managed to hurt them so much they now wanted to usurp her with Aegon.

There is no going back now, it was stupid of her to think he would forgive her even if the became strangers from now on.

“I will go, I will not force you to forgive me, Ser Criston, I know your forgiveness is undeserved.” It hurts, as all injuries do, but she cannot make peace and move on with her life without apologizing to him.

She supposed Laenor’s aunt, Septa Teora, knew what she was talking about when they spoke about it yesterday morning during their walk together.

One day she may apologize to Alicent, but Rhaenyra doesn’t know when will Alicent allow her to speak to her alone.

The princess takes her leave and just as she is about to shut the door forever, Criston stops her, his hold on her wrist firm and gentle and before they knew it, his lips were crashing onto hers with all the pain and love and hate and sweetness only kisses in mummer’s tales have.

There is no forgiveness, especially when she takes Harwin as her lover to hide the fact Jacaerys was conceived that morning under the cherry tree.

[calciumdeficientt]

I know I already asked you for headcanons, but could you do some headcanons with my OC Mary and Gord? 👉👈

This is so perfect!!! I was about to make a post of Mary hcs anyway so I’m going to kind of co-opt this ask to kind of do some solo Mary hcs but dw Gord will be here!

MARY BROWN HCS (FEAT. GORD)

SOLO MARY HCS

Shes the most kindhearted prep, it really shows. She does her best to act cruel and snobbish but she just doesn’t have the heart to do it, she’s so genuinely nice that it kind of rubs off on everyone around her. It’s pretty infectious, even though most of the preps don’t want to be infected. This endless kindness does get her in everyone’s good graces. It sort of acts for a force field, especially on bullies. There’s nothing that a small gift cannot solve, its not TECHNICALLY bribery if you don’t actually want the service the other party is providing, right?

Her interest in drama leads her to join the school’s drama club. She has every right to use her power and influence as a prep to buy her way into lead roles but she thinks its unfair, so she auditions the same way everyone else does. In the drame club, she got to know Trent a little better, he’s usually the leading man, and that energy follows him offstage too. He’s a pretty cool goy once you get past all the borderline torture he puts other students through and a good friend of Mary’s too

Comes from a good, loving family who despite admitting they’re not fully on board with her dreams of being an actress they’re more than willing to pay her way into it. They just want to see their daughter happy, and if she feels more comfortable in front of a camera than she does behind a jeweller’s desk than that’s the way it’s going to be. They moved from Cambridge to Bullworth when Mary was a baby, but she retained the accent because all their house staff moved to America with them. Nannies, maids, chefs. Everyone Mary interacted with in her formative years had a southern English accent.

Cares for Bif after tough fights. They have a good sibling relationship going, so if he’s particularly down or injured, she likes to take him out somewhere for coffee or yknow… to the emergency room. Mary comes to every fight, she makes time specifically to come and watch the fights, she’s not got a great stomach when it comes to violence, she likes to let Bif know he’s supported whenever he fights. Even if he’s just sparring. It’s a real testament to her incomparable niceness. She comes, despite her hatred for fighting, to support her friend.

Started and funded their first Bullworth festival with the help of Miss Phillips, every student can make any film they like (with a few restrictions, no snuff films, no nudity -tasteful or otherwise- and no profanity unless its absolutely VITAL to the plot) they have six weeks to write, film and produce their films and then at the end of that time the films are submitted, screened and a winner is voted for by the student body. The winner receives a shitty plastic Oscar dupe, 20 bucks each and an instant pass on all art and photography classes for the semester. It’s a good morale booster, and almost everyone gets involved. To avoid any clique wars, there is one final rule that Mary introduces… each film cast/crew must contain a member from at least one other clique or the film is disqualified. It makes a difference around the school for like a month before everyone forgets and starts fighting again.

GORD X MARY HCS

Gord and Mary are very much a picture book couple, they’re so happy together. There’s never been a moment that they’ve ever fought, or even frowned at each other. They’re very happy, very healthy and so in love. It’s almost poetic, its the kind of thing any kid dreams about. They assume that they’ll marry their childhood sweetheart and live a good life, usually in a castle. Well for Mary and gord who’ve been playing happy families since they were tots, its their reality. They took a small break through middle school and the start of high school but there’s a very good chance that even during those years, their minds were still on each other.

Shopping dates are an absolute must. Gord prides himself on his fashion taste, so one thing he really likes to do is style outfits for her. They go out and he gets busy creating outfits for her based on what’s seasonal and trendy. Gord really has his finger on the pulse of fashion, a fact he’s really not modest about, so Mary always looks stunning and chic. Not one to miss out on any fashion fun, Gord buys matching outfits when he can, and complimentary outfits when he can’t.

Gord is too sentimental for his own good. He remembers every single milestone possible, and he gets Mary gifts for every one. Wether it’s the day they held hands for the first time, the day they first kissed or the day they both said i love you, a slew of fancy gifts is crammed into her dorm. It’s a little much, but it really proves to her that he cares about her.

Both of them are allergic to flowers, so Gord has to get creative. Her uses anything from his limited crochet skills to dried flowers, if its an important event Gord will usually get some bespoke flowers made. For their 1 year anniversary he commissioned a French artist to make a bouquet of roses out of blown glass and solid gold. They’re absolutely beautiful and as a bonus, he even had a vase made or them.

They have tea dates in Harrington house, an event that requires the rest of the preps to clear off. It’s more intimate than a fancy dinner or a night being paraded around at a gala. They light candles and sit around Harrington house’s smallest dining table to drink real tea, and spill metaphorical tea. If the preps weren’t so worried about hearing something about themselves they’d rather have not known, they probably would linger dunring these dates.

[yaqamole]

What is your personal opinion about the personality of Spain as it is now and before? Do you send it with someone? I want to know more about Latin American characters like Mexico (personality, its people, if he is a native American or not, what are his thoughts with colonization and how he lives his life today...headcanons) ❤️🙈 i'm sorry and thank you so much

I hope I am understanding this correctly but I am assuming this is about how I headcanon Antonio's personality now compared to the past and my HCs with my Mexico OC

So as for Antonio. I headcanon his personality to be a lot more mellowed out than it was before. He's not nearly as violent as he used to be. He's also not nearly as insecure in his masculinity as he was in the past (I HC Antonio to be trans and have huge masculinity issues). However, he is still an asshole in my opinion. Given that the country of Spain itself does not seem to find any shame in their acts of colonialism, the way that I write Spain is that he typically doesn't either.

Yes, he definitely regrets a lot, but he himself does genuinely believe that he did Latin America a favor. Pride and ego plague him. He is a man with hubris. Because of this, apologies do not exist in his vocabulary. You're better off just asking anyone else for an apology because it won't come from him.

It's a bit hypocritical of him honestly. Because he views the Age of Exploration as an unhappy time and it's a big part of why my interp of Antonio gets antsy when his hair starts to get long. He cannot stand his hair getting long anymore as it reminds him of times he prefers to forget. Despite this, he does not seem to think about that time being unpleasant to the others around him.

Antonio doesn't seem to see the irony in this. If it's pointed out, he denies it. Or he makes up plenty of excuses. Like I said, he's hypocritical. He refuses to see it too.

He's very much someone who is two-faced. And this has been a recent development as he used to be just very transparent with everyone regardless of the consequences. However, you're only likely to get what he genuinely thinks and believes if you're one of his close friends. And he has very few of those. Francois, Gilbert, Portugal, and Lorenzo are the only people who genuinely see every side of him. Belgium and Netherlands I headcanon see it too, but he does still put up walls with him.

Antonio thinks it's easier that way. He's a lot more reserved than he lets others know and puts up a smile when he's able to. Letting people in is dangerous and letting his thoughts out is too. So it's better to hide it all.

NOW, as for my Mexico.

There's a lot of headcanons there but I will share some of the basic stuff. You can ask me for more any time!

My Mexico is the same as my Tlacopan OC. Now I do want to clarify something. I used to have my Tlacopan, Tenochtitlan, and Tetzcoco as triplets. This is because those OCs are not originally Hetalia OCs they're for a video game I'm working on where they are triplets. However, this doesn't make sense in the context of Hetalia due to histories. So they are simply siblings in the context of Hetalia and NOT triplets. Someone sent me an ask about that a while ago and I wanted to clarify.

SO, the reason that it is my Tlacopan OC as Mexico versus Tenochtitlan is because Xochitl is considered the safest option to her government. Because Tematlalehua (Tenochtitlan) is disabled, they don't want her representing the government. And because Huitzilihuitl (Tetzcoco) is openly gay and refuses to Hispanicize more than necessary, they don't find him to be a good option either. Thus, Xochitl (Tlacopan) was made into the representative of Mexico.

She is Nahua. So she is Indigenous. She is very proud of this fact despite everything that has happened to her and the government's continued efforts to erase Indigenous presence in Mexico.

Colonization was very hard for her. It destroys her home and she was already an adult at the time of everything happening. So she was an adult watching her siblings suffer and their people suffer. For this, she absolutely despises Antonio and refuses to play nice with him more than she has to diplomatically. But even then, she's cold towards him and does not give him the time of day.

My Mexico also does not have a good relationship with Alfred(when he is white because I love black/Native Alfred and that would change their dynamic). Their history is way too complicated and extensive with lots of bullshit, subjugation, and screwing over from Alfred.

Xochitl is otherwise a very motherly figure or an older sister type. She practices folk Catholicism and her teotl is Coatlicue. She's very sweet, loves to cook for her loved ones, and is always an open ear when something is wrong. She has a house full of little ceramic chickens. Just very Señora energy.

Xochitl is very dear to me. I love her so much. There's a lot that I could talk about with her but I need something to start with because there's just so much. I'm more than happy to talk about her because she is my beloved.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Hiiii could i request megatron x bulkhead headcanons, either prime or animated, if thats ok 🙏

You are based as fuck.

We're gonna go with animated just because I think the chemistry is a liiittle better in my personal opinion.

I'm not gonna lie this one kinda got outta hand. Runaway moderate angst train. If you wouldve rather gotten something lighthearted and fluffy, just shoot me another ask and I can do that too.

-Bulkhead takes awhile to get past the whole incident where Megatron kidnapped him. Threatening his friends like that was not very cash money of him, and Bulky holds a mean grudge. Its gonna have to be a good long while after the conflict dies down for them to be okay with being anything more than just tense ex-enemy acquaintances.

-If a truce happens, in the very least between team prime and team megs, it's likely that a part of that will be rebuilding what got destroyed in the battles, forcing the two to interact. Megatron tries to be amicable. Bulkhead's having none of it.

-xXx-

"Bossbot may be buying your whole guilt ridden bleeding spark schtick, but I know better. You're bad news. Always have been, always will be. You just act like the good guy and hope people forget all the awful things you did if you feel sorry for yourself enough. So rebuild all you want. Act like you care. I know deep down, the only thing you really want is to destroy."

"...You aren't entirely off the mark, Autobo- Bulkhead. I am... Not a good person. I never was. And no matter what I do, it seems I cannot change what I am: Manipulative, violent, aggressive, I simply don't know how to be anything else. But... I had always hoped if I cannot be good, I can at least put all the bad in me to use towards a good cause."

"Yeah? Well some good you did starting a slaggin' war."

"Oh, Bulkhead... We didn't start it."

-xXx-

-One history lesson later, and Bulkhead is still massively skeptical and still pretty angry over every shitty thing the decepticons did, but he's seeing it less as black and white. Especially after corroborating with ratchet to make sure Megatron wasn't just making shit up about Warframes being mistreated.

-Bulkhead catches himself actually feeling pretty bad for what Megatron went through. He knows first servo what it's like being written off as nothing but a force of destruction. It doesn't excuse what he did, but he can't help himself from being sympathetic.

-Megatron genuinely wants Bulkhead to see his own worth and potential. To Megs, Bulkhead is this sweet, pretty, young thing that's been told time and time again by Autobot society that he's unintelligent, oversized, unappealing, and only good for breaking stuff, when every single one of those things is untrue. And it breaks his spark a little seeing the guy beat himself up when he's got so much to offer.

-It takes Bulkhead a long time to drop his guard at all around Megatron. At least a few months after their initial conversation. But when they do start talking, Bulky comes to the very conflicting conclusion that when Megatron isn't being a ruthless tyrant, he's actually... Pretty normal? He's just a guy. Classy, sarcastic, witty, actually pretty funny when e wants to be. All things considered, he's good company. And he can't really deny that the guy has quite a bit of charm.

-the bot-con truce is... Tentative. Tense. Both sides do what's agreed upon and they don't interact beyond what's necessary, for the most part. Nobody's really tried to, until Bulkhead asked Megatron to hang out on Dinobot Island after their shift fixing an overpass starscream crashed into. Needless to say, Megatron was extremely confused, but so endeared he couldn't say no.

-xXx-

"Why Bulkhead, just the two of us alone on a deserted island? It almost seems as though you're asking me on a date."

"W-well I mean- it was just supposed to- I mean i- ...did you want it to be a date?"

-xXx-

-from then, they start seeing each other pretty regularly, though they try to keep it low key. Don't need the team asking too many questions. Bumblebee would be insufferable about it if he found out Bulkhead's been dating the resident warlord.

-Megs actually takes interest in Bulkhead's art. The visual arts have been a core part of Decepticon culture since the Great War started, although usually with much bleaker themes than what Bulkhead makes. It's a nice reminder to him that self expression can be soft, and sweet, rather than a grim reminder of something awful.

-Bulkhead thinks it's really funny that Megatron doesn't know all that much about Earth, and what he does know is taken pretty far out of context. His attempts to introduce the con to videogames have been comedy gold. The big scary Decepticon tyrant can't figure out the controls half the time, and the pokemon type matchup chart is entirely beyond him.

-Bulkhead has gotten Megatron with Deez Nuts at least twice.

-Megatron loves that Bulkhead is so round and cuddly, especially because his Autobot status make him pocket sized to a bigass Warframe like megs. He's very friend shaped, perfect for picking up and snuggling up to, which leaves Bulkhead, invariably, flustered as all hell every time.

-its not a perfect relationship by any means. There's trust issues on both sides. Bulkhead is still always nervous Megatron might go back to being evil, and Megs is always worried whether this sweet Autobot might give into fear and shun him. They can both be stubborn as mules when they want to be, so it takes them a long time to make up after fights. But at the end of the day, Megatron has enough life experience to know letting petty squabbles tear someone away from you is a horrible thing, and Bulkhead went into the relationship knowing Megatron is flawed and often frustrating. They make it work.

-For all Megatron talks of letting Bulkhead see how wonderful he really is, Bulkhead wishes Megatron would practice what he preaches. The con seems to really believe his very existence is a sin he has to atone for, that he has to fix the universe just to make up for being in it. His insistence that he's an awful person is a self fulfilling prophecy, and bulk just wishes he could see that for what it is.