#i feel like hen would have a field day with this knowledge

[annika-is-scared]

rewatching 9-1-1 and huh?? Chimney WHAT

So I'm using the time between season 8 episodes to rewatch 9-1-1, as any fan would, and like. Chim canonically invented the fucking SNUGGIE???

Like. "Blankets with sleeves" is just a snuggie, right? Snuggies were released to market in 2008, and Chimney Begins takes place mostly in 2005. So. We got Mr. Snuggie right here.

Anyway I'm still recovering from (celebrating) the events of 806, but in light of Madney baby #2 (OMG I CRIIIEEEEED) I think this is so funny. I wonder if he felt cheated the first time he saw the infomercial. Man coulda been a fuckin millionaire or smth idk.

[apoemaday]

Little Sleep’s-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight

by Galway Kinnell

I. You scream, waking from a nightmare. When I sleepwalk into your room, and pick you up, and hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me hard, as if clinging could save us. I think you think I will never die, I think I exude to you the permanence of smoke or stars, even as my broken arms heal themselves around you.

II. I have heard you tell the sun, don’t go down, I have stood by as you told the flower, don’t grow old, don’t die. Little Maud, I would blow the flame out of your silver cup, I would suck the rot from your fingernail, I would brush your sprouting hair of the dying light, I would scrape the rust off your ivory bones, I would help death escape through the little ribs of your body, I would alchemize the ashes of your cradle back into wood, I would let nothing of you go, ever, until washerwomen feel the clothes fall asleep in their hands, and hens scratch their spell across hatchet blades, and rats walk away from the culture of the plague, and iron twists weapons toward truth north, and grease refuse to slide in the machinery of progress, and men feel as free on earth as fleas on the bodies of men, and the widow still whispers to the presence no longer beside her   in the dark. And yet perhaps this is the reason you cry, this the nightmare you wake screaming from: being forever in the pre-trembling of a house that falls.

III. In a restaurant once, everyone quietly eating, you clambered up on my lap: to all the mouthfuls rising toward all the mouths, at the top of your voice you cried your one word, caca! caca! caca! and each spoonful stopped, a moment, in midair, in its withering steam. Yes, you cling because I, like you, only sooner than you, will go down the path of vanished alphabets, the roadlessness to the other side of the darkness, your arms like the shoes left behind, like the adjectives in the halting speech of old folk, which once could call up the lost nouns. IV. And you yourself, some impossible Tuesday in the year Two Thousand and Nine, will walk out among the black stones of the field, in the rain, and the stones saying over their one word, ci-gît, ci-gît, ci-gît, and the raindrops hitting you on the fontanel over and over, and you standing there unable to let them in.

V. If one day it happens you find yourself with someone you love in a café at one end of the Pont Mirabeau, at the zinc bar where wine takes the shapes of upward opening glasses, and if you commit then, as we did, the error of thinking, one day all this will only be memory, learn to reach deeper into the sorrows to come — to touch the almost imaginary bones under the face, to hear under the laughter the wind crying across the black stones. Kiss the mouth that tells you, here, here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones. The still undanced cadence of vanishing. VI. In the light the moon sends back, I can see in your eyes the hand that waved once in my father’s eyes, a tiny kite wobbling far up in the twilight of his last look: and the angel of all mortal things lets go the string.

VII. Back you go, into your crib. The last blackbird lights up his gold wings: farewell. Your eyes close inside your head, in sleep. Already in your dreams the hours begin to sing. Little sleep’s-head sprouting hair in the moonlight, when I come back we will go out together, we will walk out together among the ten thousand things, each scratched in time with such knowledge, the wages of dying is love.

[roguelioness]

fables from the field

[written for ffxivwrite2024]

Day 4: Reticent

Rating: G Words: 1046 Pairing: none

“You’ve hardly touched your meal.”

“Hmm?” Alyzen looks up from her plate, her fork still abstractedly pushing the mushrooms about. “Oh, my apologies, Tataru. I suppose I have no appetite.”

“You said that yesterday,” Tataru replies, wringing her hands nervously. She’s not sure whether she should be saying such things to the the Champion of Eorzea, but… but Alyzen has barely eaten anything since her abrupt, unexpected flight from Ul’dah. “And the day before.”

Her eyes, dulled and downcast, meet hers. She gives a tired smile – or tries to, at the very least. “Ever the mother hen, I see.”

Tataru wishes she knew what was running through the other woman’s mind. There have been many upsets the past week – the bloody banquet merely the culmination of all the nefarious plans that had been laid without any of their knowledge. The Scions’ absence is felt keenly, the cold and snow and overcast weather of Coerthas doing little to uplift their moods. Her heart aches for Minfilia, and not an hour passes by without her wishing that the Antecedent was safe and whole, wherever she was. She cannot begin to imagine just how troubled Alyzen might be; how discouraging it must be to go from being vaunted hero to reviled villain in but a bell.

“You must eat,” Tataru tries to coax. “Mayhap the meat is not to your liking? I can get something else, if you’d prefer; I do believe the cook has some stew leftover from the morn-”

“Nay, do not trouble yourself,” Alyzen makes that half-smile again. “‘Tis fine, Tataru, truly. I am… I am merely distracted, is all. There is no need to worry yourself.”

But she’s worried – of course she is! What is she meant to do when Alyzen is so very despondent, but will not speak of what troubles her? Unfair as it might be, Alyzen is their only hope, both to find the missing Scions and restore their broken name. “Do you want me to inform Ser Haurchefant that you have been skipping meals?” she threatens. 

“You cannot be serious,” Alyzen mutters, but spears a piece of meat and eats it, chewing and swallowing before continuing, “you would bother him over such a triviality?”

“It is not a small issue!” Tataru exclaims, moving closer till she’s standing next to her chair. Even when seated, the top of her head barely reaches Alyzen’s elbow, and though she tries her best it is hard to look intimidating when she has to crane her neck to meet the other woman’s gaze. “If you do not take care of yourself, who will? We need you, Alyzen. I need you, Alphinaud-”

At the mention of the lad’s name, Alyzen’s eyes close, a momentary tenseness to her jaw before it passes. So fleeting is it that had Tataru not been this close to her, she would have missed it. “-needs you…”

“How fares Alphinaud?” she asks, face and voice expressionless. 

“He has been keeping himself occupied rather well,” Tataru watches Alyzen’s face keenly, “reading all he can about Ishgard and its history.” Hesitating, trying to choose her words carefully, she ventures cautiously, “Are- are you upset with him?”

“Of course not,” it’s said confidently enough, but there’s something – a spark of frustration, maybe – in Alyzen’s face that makes her think it to be a lie. “What happened in Ul’dah was not of his doing.”

That might be true; nevertheless, Tataru could not shake off the feeling that Alyzen was upset with the boy for some reason. 

“You’ve barely spoken to him,” she says hesitantly. “It has- he has been most distressed about it.”

Alyzen drops her eyes to her meal, and sighs.”I will talk to him later and clear the air,” she starts to move about the food on her plate once more, “once I’ve finished eating.” It is a clear dismissal, and though Tataru wants to keep pressing – please, talk to me, tell me what troubles you she wants to say – she keeps the words to herself. “If you do not finish everything on that plate, I will be telling Ser Haurchefant about it, and we know he will give you a right scolding,” she admonishes with a smile, before patting Alyzen’s arm. “So you better make certain that you do!”

Alyzen finally, finally breaks out into a genuine smile, the mirth on her lips matched by her eyes. “You have my word,” she tips her head solemnly.

Tataru nods in reply, and gives the other woman the space she clearly wants. Outside the door, she runs into Alphinaud, the lad evidently having lingered outside for a while given the deep red tint to the tips of his ears and nose.

“Is she-” he asks haltingly, “is she…”

“Eating?” Tataru finishes. “Only barely.”

“Did she say anything?” it’s an innocuous question but she hears the unspoken about me within it. 

“She mentioned wanting to talk to you later,” Tataru replies, desperately hoping that Alyzen followed through when Alphinaud’s face brightened.

“I should do some tidying up,” he says in a rush. “Mayhaps I can persuade the cook to part with some hot cocoa. Oh, there was that book she wished to read, I should set it aside-”

She wants to tell him not to get his hopes up, that there was every chance Alyzen might do as she had been doing and wander off into the wilds  to hunt, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Alphinaud’s guilt is plain for all to see, the young lad’s shoulders constantly curved inwards from the weight of it. He has been taking Alyzen’s withdrawal the hardest, ceaselessly trying to find ways to have her interact not only with him, but with the world in general.

But, much like her, he has had little luck in drawing her out of her shell.

Tataru watches him leave, a furrow between her brows, wondering if there’s any hope of mending those broken fences. If there’s a way forward at all.

She sighs, her breath a dense cloud of white amidst the light snowfall, and heads towards the main hall. It was increasingly obvious she could not draw the hyur woman out of her disheartened state, not matter how much she wished to; perhaps Ser Haurchefant would have better success.

[soleadita]

DONT BE A COWARD!!!!!! EXPLODE YOUR BRAIN!!!! EXPLODE MINE ALSO

this is still very much still in development in my brain, and i hesitate to go too hard with direct comparisons because, aside from the whole thing where chim and stiles are two unique characters in two very different shows, they're ALSO at totally different life stages. but. because i cannot help myself. i made a list. it's very incomplete and ranges from similar traumas to silly, superficial things.

consider this:

quippy guys with trauma who use sarcasm/wit/humor to deflect, hide their feelings, and/or diffuse situations

shared pain of watching their mothers die slowly when they were young (yeah this one hurt sorry)

subjected to a brother figure being absolutely sickeningly stupidly in love (scott/allison, scott/isaac, scott/kira; buck/eddie)

run around playing detective (see: stiles + all of teen wolf; chim + jonah arc; chim + treasure hunting episode)

nabbed by bad guys (gerard argent; jonah greenway)

make movie references that they think should be common knowledge and are continually exasperated upon discovering the people around them don’t know what they’re talking about (for stiles, it’s scott and star wars; for chim, it’s buck and like everything other than backdraft).

there's also the way i can picture stiles in Chim Situations and chim in Stiles Situations. like:

remember in 6x06 when chim TOLD KAREN THAT HEN HAD DIED?? look me straight in the fucking face and tell me stiles wouldn't pull some hilarious off-the-fucking-wall bullshit like that to get two of his besties back together. (we're gonna ignore the part where allison actually did die. sorry. that's. god. sorry.)

you know how stiles is, like, delighted, actually, to find out scott is a werewolf? he researches, he Knows Things, etc etc. tell me that wouldn't be chim? chim would have a fucking FIELD DAY!

if the love of stiles's life disappeared on him, he would absolutely drop everything and pull a months-long roadtrip to find them and convince them that they are loved and not a danger to their child. their uh. hypothetical child. no, i'm not thinking of eli hale why would you even insinuate such a thing i would never—

alternatively, i could totally see chim showing up to, i don't know, hen's house in the middle of the night and being all like, "the cops found half of a body in the woods, let's go and see if we can find the other half!!" (in this situation karen is melissa. not in a weird way, just in the way that i can picture chim slipping in through a window and karen startled and swinging a baseball bat like CHIM what are you DOING here why'd you come in through a window? and chim's like you locked the front door! and karen's like YEAH EXACTLY.)

(my life and all my earthly possessions for a treasure hunt episode but with teen wolf characters)

hmm. something something kevin following chim into firefighting only to end up dying on the job / scott following stiles into the woods only to end up being bitten by a werewolf. (not that either of them are to blame for it, but like. you know. i imagine they might have some guilt complexes going on.)

something about the way season 1 chim wants so badly to be seen a certain way by tatiana...the way he shows people what he thinks they want to see vs who he actually is because he thinks they won't want who he actually is...something about that feels so true to stiles's character in a way i can't totally put into words.

on a slightly more serious note, i just wanted to say that one of my favorite activities for enrichment in the enclosure (tm) is blorbo overlaying, wherein i take characters from one obsession and think about how i can categorize them based on characters from another obsession (*taylor swift voice* i have this thing, it's autism)(anyway). as a result, i've spent a lot of time thinking how the 9-1-1 characters could be smushed into teen wolf characters.

my knee-jerk urge was to see how much stiles and buck matched; yeah, they're both part of the most popular ship in their respective fandoms, but there's also the adhd thing, the knowledge of lots of different facts thing, the jeep thing, the whole "my worth lies in what i can do for others" thing...i can make a case. but for me, this ultimately breaks down when i think about how buck is just so...genuine and kind? he’s earnest. he’s gentle. the man's a himbo (affectionate). stiles is...very much Not. stiles is ALSO (when he hasn’t been, as one might say, sandpapered by the fandom) prickly. he’s got an inner circle that he’ll protect with his life. if you’re not in that circle, you’re just not really on his radar, unless you’re trying to join that circle, and then he’s suspicious until he’s sorta like vetted you.

(this is totally an aside, but it's the same reason why i've never really thought grumpy/sunshine works for sterek. derek is grumpy, sure, but stiles sure as fuck isn't sunshine.)

ANYWAY. i don’t think that’s chimney, exactly (i think he's probably a little sillier and friendlier), but i do think he and stiles both have a similar edge to them. like: see me. no wait. don't look. i'll make you see me. i'll make a snarky comment and draw attention to myself. but don't look directly at me. i'll talk and talk but i won't say anything real. they had to be the grown up in their home too young. they're terrified of losing their people, because their people are so fucking important to them, and because they know what it feels like, to lose someone, and if it happens again, it'll wreck them. they've got anxiety buried under three movie references and a wry side-eye and an exasperated, flailing hand gesture. they're fiercely loyal and protective.

uh. well. i guess that's all (lying LYING but i'm cutting myself off here). also, i feel like i didn't quite do chim justice so. sorry for that. and here's hoping for a chim-centric storyline (breakdown era?!) in our near future. <3

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed). 

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant. 

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them. 

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline. 

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group. 

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did. 

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting. 

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back. 

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow. 

This... was going to be a tough one.

~

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[stiltonbasket]

how my love springs deep

by stiltonbasket

(read here on AO3!)

Summary:

My Lan Zhan, his husband calls him. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.

Or, the one where Wei Wuxian feeds rabbits, and Lan Wangji reads a love letter.

(brief a/n: this fic was inspired by this heartbreaking work of beauty by @pakhnokh--I had to write Lan Wangji getting adored after witnessing it, come join me on the angst parade T~T)

____

My Lan Zhan, 

    It has been two years and more since I last wrote you a letter, for marriage has joined us both at the hip, and ensured that we are never more than a touch or a cry away from one another. I have you by me always, in every hour of every day; and every love-word that crosses my mind finds its way to my lips in the very moment of its birth, and reaches your ears just as quickly, for I could no more keep silent in my devotion to you than swim the full length of the Songhuajiang against the current. And so I go about my days hence, calling “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan” all the while: but today I have woken before chenshi, and you are still asleep beside me with Xiao-Yu in your arms, and though my every nerve and vein is aching for love of my husband, I cannot bear to wake you to say so. 

    Lan Zhan, sweetheart—when we were first married, you told me once that I colored the world for you the instant we met, and brought every shade of the rainbow with me from Yunmeng to make the Cloud Recesses beautiful. You said that the air that touched me at the gate smelt as if lightning had passed through it, and that the very stones I knelt on in the lanshi’s courtyard began to glitter after I departed, though they had never done such a thing before—and that the Cloud Recesses itself, having been a place of peace and reflection before my arrival, was filled with delight and warmth after my coming, as if that first day was the dawn after a long, long night, and I the sun who gifted it to you. 

    Heaven knows I had no equal words with which to worship you then, my darling, for I was young and still bewildered to know that you loved me. But I have been your husband for nearly three years now, and so I must tell you this—you have driven me mad for love of you, Lan Zhan, and it has been so since we first crossed swords on the rooftop gate when we were eighteen. 

    How mad, you ask? The classics say that love is a proper, courtly thing, to be shown with modesty before others and in its full force only in confidence. But I have never been proper, and so I must tell you that if you were a flint and steel, seeking only to light a flame and a tinder-heap to light it in, I would take form as a sun-parched forest, and set myself afire at your touch so that I might be beside you thus. If you were a god, roaming the heavenly kingdoms while my mortal flesh kept me constrained below, I would take the habit of a priest and devote myself to your prayer; and if you were a grain of sand in the Gebi desert, and I a traveler sick with thirst, I would fall to my knees and sift through every dune and basin to find you before drinking even a drop of water. 

    If I were freezing in the great mountains above Gusu, whose peaks are lush in the springtime but shrouded in snow in the winter, I would be well and happy if I had the warmth of your hand in mine; and when I am in my jishi, with the doors thrown open to let in the wind, I drop my knives and tools at the sound of your voice and stand there enraptured until you fall silent again. My heart nearly beats out of my body with everything you say, and everything you do; and when you look at me I lose all knowledge of speech and reason, recalling nothing but your name and your smiles unless some show of wit is necessary—which it very well might be, with you and I being what we are, and all our doings riddled with puzzles that would have bewildered even the scholars who founded our clan. 

    Lan Zhan, I love you so desperately that to be away from you is torment, and to be with you has always been paradise, even when you were sitting on one side of the library pavilion and reading Lan An’s poetry, and I was on the other with my brush and parchment, pretending to copy lines while I sketched a portrait of you and painted flowers into your hair. You have made me more your own with every passing day, though in every moment I fully belong to you, and there is no strangeness in it—as if new pieces of my spirit are formed shichen by shichen, and bound unto you before drawing their first breaths.

    I could go on endlessly, xingan, and exhaust even the lanshi’s stocks of paper in my adoration—but it will soon be breakfast time, and the hens have not been fed, nor the eggs collected, and neither have the rabbits been given their greens. I must go and tend to them now; only wait for me, and I will be back at your side again before you have time to miss me. 

    Ever yours, my husband—

        Wei Ying.

    P.S.—I left a pot of ginger porridge on the table by the bed, if you should wake and be hungry before I return. There is only a little, since the rest is still cooking in the kitchen, and you and A-Yu will still have an appetite for breakfast if you finish it all. 

_____

After Lan Wangji wakes and reads the folded letter on his bedside table, he scarcely glances at the tiny blue pot of ginger congee before stumbling out of bed and putting his shoes on. He is dressed in nothing but a thin white undergown, since he gave up dressing warmly at night when he first began sleeping beside Wei Ying; but he does not bother putting on a coat, and pauses only long enough to tuck a sleepy Xiao-Yu back under the covers before bounding out of the jingshi and hurrying downhill in his nightshirt. 

“Wei Ying!” he calls, when he passes the tidy chicken pen—home to ten brown hens, which Lan Wangji brought to the Cloud Recesses as a gift for Wei Ying before they were married—and finds the chickens pecking away in the yard, eating grains of fresh corn that had clearly just been thrown out by Wei Ying’s dear hands. But Wei Ying must have finished collecting the eggs, and gone on towards the warded field on the fringes of the bamboo forest to scatter vegetables for the rabbits; so Lan Wangji presses on, running with the wind at his back and the sharp pebbles underfoot almost piercing through his slippers. He reaches the rabbit field in less than a minute, careening between stalks of bamboo like a man possessed, and throws himself at Wei Ying so forcefully that he knocks his husband backwards into the soft grass at their feet. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheezes, as his lettuce basket flies out of his hand and lands near the entrance to a burrow: mercifully, the basket of eggs must have been set aside somewhere else before Wei Ying arrived to feed the rabbits. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Is Xiao-Yu—?”

“Do not worry. Xiaohui is still asleep,” Lan Wangji assures him, bringing Wei Ying’s sun-warmed hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I came to find you because I read your letter.”

Wei Ying smiles, beaming from ear until Lan Wangji finds himself gasping for breath at the beauty of the sight before him. “I thought you must have. You were cuddled up against me when I woke up, and you were holding Xiao-Yu between us to keep him warm...and I couldn’t help it, Lan Zhan! You were so sweet that my heart could scarcely bear it, so of course I had to write it down for you.”

“Perhaps I should take up the habit of writing you love letters,” muses Lan Wangji, kissing Wei Ying’s delighted grin straight from his lips. “What do you think, xingan?”

“I think that waking to find you beside me every morning already brings me so much joy I could burst, darling. If you really did start leaving love letters for me to find, I would fold myself into your arms and never come out again.”

“Mm, perhaps you would. But that would please me greatly, so I suppose I will have to do it.”

His husband pinches his cheek. “Lan Zhan!”

“I am listening, beloved. With all my heart.”

Wei Ying covers his face and tries to roll out of Lan Wangji’s grasp, wriggling about six inches away before Lan Wangji takes him by the waist and draws him back. “Lan Zhan,” he wails, as a couple of baby rabbits hop up onto Lan Wangji’s back. “You can’t say such things, you silly man! See how my face is burning, look!”

“I’m looking,” Lan Wangji teases, tracing Wei Ying’s red cheeks with the pads of his own pale fingers. “I am always looking. I love my husband dearly, and he is very beautiful to look at.”

“Well, my husband is not so young as he used to be. Perhaps he is mistaken.”

“Oh?” He punctuates the inquiry with another searing kiss, pulling Wei Ying up into his arms and holding him so close that he can feel the stutter of his breathing, and his pulse beating quickly against Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Do you really think so?”

But the only reply Wei Ying gives him is a tender look that shakes Lan Wangji down to his jindan, and leaves him struggling for air all over again as Wei Ying wraps his arms around him. 

In the end, they do not leave the clearing until nearly half an hour later; the grass is as comfortable a cushion as two sweethearts could want, and the rabbits keep leaping around them and making Wei Ying laugh, so they lie there, cheek to cheek and chest to chest until they remember Xiao-Yu, all by himself in the jingshi with no one to hear him cry if he wakes up frightened to find himself alone. 

The thought of their son has Lan Wangji leaping to his feet with Wei Ying’s hand in his, and then they bolt back towards the house and retrieve the basket of eggs on the way, running nearly fast enough to outstrip Wen Ning at his swiftest before Wei Ying throws the doors open and barrels into the bedroom. 

“A-Yu!” he calls, letting out a shout of laughter as Lan Wangji comes jogging up behind him. “Xiao-Yu, baobei, what are you doing?”

“I’m eating ginger porridge,” Xiao-Yu chirps. The little lotus-shaped pot of congee is nestled snugly in his arms, and A-Yu is eating out of it with the large spoon Wei Ying left behind for Lan Wangji. “Papa and A-Niang went out, so Xiao-Yu is having breakfast.”

“Aiyah, Xiao-Yu,” Wei Ying groans, taking the pot away from A-Yu and wiping his dirty face with a handkerchief. “That was for you and Papa, sweetheart, since I was going to be late back. How will you eat your breakfast properly now?”

“But A-Yu is still hungry,” the little boy insists, trying to grab the spoon. “A-Niang, let me finish?”

“Wait a little longer,” scolds Wei Ying. “I still have to cook the rest of the porridge with steamed dan, and make chicken soup to go with it. Now be a good child and go with Papa to take your bath, and breakfast will be ready when you finish dressing.”

Xiao-Yu nods and jumps off the bed, scurrying off towards the washroom on the other side of the house, and leaves his parents to embrace each other once again before they part to attend to their own duties. 

“What do you want this afternoon, qinai?” Lan Wangji murmurs, as Wei Ying’s head falls onto his shoulder. “The tradesmen ought to have sent up the day’s groceries by now, so I will make lunch while you teach your talisman class.”

Wei Ying blinks, very slowly, and then he stands up on his toes and plants one last, lingering kiss between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. 

“Teach my talisman class with me,” he entreats. “When we get back, we can make lunch together.”

(And so they do, and just like all the other dishes Lan Wangji has shared with Wei Ying, that afternoon’s luncheon tastes fresher and sweeter than every meal before it.)

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 1

Men's Synch 3m Platform by loudestfandomsoftheworld

summary: or 5 times Peter Parker goes dumpster diving, and one time he does something else... " “You took my nephew dumpster diving?” Ben asked incredulously.

 His wife stood tall with a toddler strapped to her chest, tugging at one end of a couch with all her might. “I did not,” 

“Twash!” Peter yelled."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

do you even remember what the world looks like? by iron_spider

summary: Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Empty Casket by Jen27ny

summary: After the Vulture, Tony should have known better.

He should have listened to Peter.

But he didn’t.

And now, Peter is dead.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Patient #2252 by TheSoulOfAStrawberry

summary:  When a warehouse comes down on Spider-Man’s head and leaves him with a brain injury, Queens social worker Bianca Browne and Dr Grace Li of NY-Presbytarian Hospital find themselves racing the NYPD to uncover Spidey’s identity and get him help before he can be charged with a litany of crimes.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: police brutality

That's why they call me mr. fahrenheit by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter’s on fire.

He wakes up fast, and before he even gets the chance to feel the pain, the aches, the dizziness, he feels the heat. It’s all encompassing, a raging inferno blooming from within him and burning him up from the inside out, and god, it—

—god, it hurts.

-

Peter gets whammied by a 24-hour superbug, and Tony’s left to keep him alive until tomorrow morning.

It sounds a hell of a lot easier than it ends up being.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

not like megatron by iron_spider

summary: “Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater by frostysunflowers

summary:  ''Dying.''

''You’re not dying.''

''Totally am.'

'''God, I hope not, otherwise May will skin me alive.''

or

A weekend visit to the cabin doesn't go according to plan.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, humor

warnings: none

an irondad's misguided approach to homesickness by livingtheobsessedlife

summary: Peter mentions it once. Once. That he’s maybe kinda sorta vaguely somewhat homesick. MIT is no Queens, that’s all really. All in all, Pete’s having a great time at college. Really, truly.

The thing is that Tony’s never really taken the whole ‘only mentioning it once’ thing all that well. Not when it comes to Peter at least.

This time is no exception.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

you held your pride like you should have held me by searchingforstars

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

--

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

always on duty by parkrstark

summary:  Peter manages to convince Tony to take him to a gala, but when Tony is hurt, he realizes that it's just as dangerous to be Tony Stark as it is to be Iron Man. 

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, humor

warnings: none

Out of Left Field by blondsak, seekrest

summary: Even if Tony didn’t end up becoming a big fan of the Mets, Peter knew they’d still have a great time at the game. And the fact that Tony wanted to go with Peter badly enough to make it clear that he should buy a pair of tickets as a birthday gift?

Peter shakes his head fondly.

Maybe for once the month of May was going to work out for him after all.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

three weeks, two days, seven hours by crowkag

summary: It was a mess. A real mess. Peter had been gone for three weeks, two days, and seven hours, taken right out from under their noses.

And Tony was laying on the floor.

(AKA “you’ll always get there first”, but from Tony’s POV.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: 

for as long as i live and as long as i love (i will never not think about you) by searchingforstars

summary: When Tony first started to forget things, Peter thought maybe it was just age. People’s memories fade as they get older, right? Minds get weaker. It’s just natural.

But Tony has arguably the sharpest mind of the 21st century. Peter should have realised that it was never going to be just getting weaker. It was never going to be just age.

No - not when the sharpest mind of the 21st century also happened to come into contact with the deadliest amount of gamma radiation known to man five years ago.

--

or, Tony’s sacrifice is still haunting them five years later. Peter has to come to terms with the fact that Tony’s memory is fading.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

a dream is a wish by floweryfran

summary: Tony seems to panic for a moment, shifting his weight foot to foot, before spitting out in one mouthful, “I have a business trip in Florida right before your spring break and I talked to May and she says I can bring you to Disney for the week once it’s done ahhh.” He then breathes, grins plastically, and holds his hands out, like, I’m Tony Stark, hold your applause.

Peter runs the words through his head no less than three times to make sure he had understood them properly. “Disney—you and me—spring break?” he repeats.

Tony nods, hair flopping. “I mean, like, don’t feel obligated to say yes, but I thought it would be fun since May says you’ve never gone and she would’ve been working for your whole break anyway, y’know, at least this way we won’t be worrying about you sitting home alone for hours doing G-d only knows what—building accidental robot armies or something, or, worse, becoming a couch potato and forgetting every bit of knowledge I’ve ever carefully placed in that rat trap you call a brain—”

“Tony,” Peter says, waving his hands to shut Tony up. Something warm sits in the core of his chest, hovering. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, yeah, for sure, let’s—Disney. Let’s go. Wow.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Of birthday cake and millennium falcons by frostysunflowers

summary: "You still haven’t answered my question," MJ says, taking another sip of her juice.

 "Isn’t it obvious?" Tony replies, scratching at one of the scars on his neck with the end of a screwdriver. "It’s Ben’s birthday."

"And Ben’s birthday warrants a…" MJ waves a hand vaguely, "what the hell is that thing anyway?"

or

Tony has no self control when it comes to birthday parties and his grandson.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what i have, i give to you by aatticsaltt

summary:  Tony would give everything to Peter Parker, if he asked for it. When May calls telling Tony she thinks Peter isn't feeling well, he drops everything to go check up on his favorite spider kid.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Smile! by aatticsaltt

summary:  Taking Peter to Disney World was one of Tony's better ideas.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

and when it's hard, i'll place your head into my hands by hopeless_hope

summary: “Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

or

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Of Wally-Crawly Harnesses and Over-Enthusiastic Hat-Bestowing Capabilities by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: Tony raises a brow at him in triumph, then sniffs and rubs the side of his nose. “Besides, think of it this way. Now you got a bullet-proof neck.”

“Nobody would even shoot a sad-looking orphan bundled like a spring roll in Red Heart yarn,” Peter points out. “That’s just low.”

“Excuse me, young buck, I resent the implication that I would let Red Heart come within an inch of your skin.”

“You’re insufferable,” Peter says flatly. “I hate you.”

“And just for that, I think this calls for those wool socks I was working on,” Tony says brightly.

“No--no, wait--”

“It’s time to learn that your consequences have actions, Parker--”

“Wait, wait, I love your knitting, I think it’s super healthy and fulfilling and honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to you since you retired!” Peter hollers at the man’s figure as it retreats quickly down the hallway. -- After Peter faints into hibernation because he can't thermoregulate, Tony isn't taking anymore chances. Out come the wool skeins and the knitting needles.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

how do you sandwich!? by killerqueenwrites

summary: “Why are you buttering toast before you toast it?

”“I’m not toasting this.”

“Then what are you doing?” Peter demands.

“I’m making a sandwich.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

What I Can't Live Without by aatticsaltt

summary: Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Heavy lies the heart of the father who has to watch his son bow beneath the weight of the world.

or: When Peter calls Happy needing a ride out of the Netherlands, it's Tony who comes to the rescue.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Tales from Quarantine by just_a_hungry_author

summary: Peter, Morgan, and Tony are all stuck inside during the Coronavirus quarantine. Morgan learns to play Monopoly, Tony struggles to help with 1st grade math, and a prank war ensues.

God, this is the longest two weeks ever.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

if we have each other by ftmpeter

summary: "Do you ever just, like, feel like you’re upside down?"

"You are upside down, Pete."

"Sounds fake."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

What Happens in the Blanket Fort Stays in the Blanket Fort by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: “Well, I was gonna discuss with May some legal particulars about changes to my will that involve you,” Tony drawls, “but looks like I’ll just have to change my plans.”

There’s a beat. And then a yodel: “I’m just a poor boy, I need--”

“If not for this goddamn quarantine, I’d be there in a flash to shut you up myself, Spidey-Tighties.”

“You made these ‘tights’.”

“Funsie-onesie.”

“Mr. Stark.”

“Cooty-footies.”

“Mr. Stark. I’m begging you. What does that even mean.” -- Tony comes over to keep Peter company during the quarantine while the kid waits for May to come home from work at the hospital. Bants are had. Feelings are spilled. And maybe, just maybe, a hug or two is shared.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

On his Shoulders by snarkymuch

summary: “Please, please,” Tony begged, “Keep breathing, kid. Don’t do this to me. You can’t leave me like this.” The morning started like any other for Tony. He kissed Pepper good morning and sipped his coffee. He scanned his emails and chatted with Pepper about the vacation they were always planning but never took. The calm should have been a warning, as the storm always followed.

OR

Peter and Tony get trapped in a building collapse and Peter is gravely injured.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

coronapocalypse by peterstank

summary:  “This whole quarantine thing shouldn’t even apply to me.”

“Uh, I beg to differ, it’s very serious,” replies Tony’s voice, slightly muffled like he’s got his phone pressed between his shoulder and chin. “We’re all on lockdown, which means no leaving your place unless it’s for emergencies.”

“And what qualifies as an emergency?”

There’s a pause.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not in your apartment?”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

Little White Lies by snarkymuch

summary:  Peter gets injured and tries to treat it himself, hiding it from Tony, but he can't keep it hidden forever.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter Parker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Semester by just_a_hungry_author

summary: "So tell me, Kid." Tony said, patting the space next to him. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing's been going on." Peter denied, but he sat down anyway.

"Pete, don't bottle your emotions up. Only I'm allowed to do that."

When Peter again didn't smile at his joke, Tony continued. "I know you're stressed, Bud. But tell me why so I can help you."

"It's nothing you can help." Peter mumbled.

"Can I at least try?"

"I've just been having a bad week."

OR: Peter’s been having a rough time at college, Tony tries to jump in and help. 3000 words of pure fluff.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Windy Webs by silentsaebyeok

summary:  And that was it. He was officially an idiot. Peter didn’t mean to be dramatic, but this was one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to him, even if there was no one around to witness the fall of the century. -- Peter goes web-slinging in dangerous weather and gets seriously injured. It doesn't help that he has to spend the whole summer living with the consequences.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter gets the chickenpox by snarkymuch

summary:  Peter and Morgan both catch the chickenpox. Morgan's case is mild, but Peter's is severe. Tony takes care of them both.

pairings:  none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

[harryissuchalittleshit]

Molly and Arthur's relationship with their children and significant others. Ik Molly didn't like fluer at first and I get the feeling she's one of THOSE mother-in law's even though I love her to deatg

Bill&Fleur:

Bill is the oldest

The younger four saw him almost as another parent, being so much older and often having been asked to babysit them

So both Molly and Arthur have a soft spot for him

They remember the two years that was just the three of them

As we know Bill started to rebel once he was out of school and went to Egypt

He made a strong stance on it when he returned to England during the war and even after

Okay, so Fleur and Molly did have a strain relationship, but after Bill was attacked, a respect was formed between Fleur and Molly

You can’t see someone you love and care for almost die and not bond

Arthur has never had a problem with Fleur and recognizes that she is a seriously gifted witch

And Fleur has a great relationship with him

Molly and Fleur get along a lot better once Victoire is born

And Molly and Arthur help them get the hang of parenting their rebellious children when they’re older

They have a LOT of experience in that field

Charlie:

Charlie is a mama’s boy

He gets along well with his parents, but living so far away is hard on all of them

I like to think that Charlie starts making sure to come home at least every other summer and every Christmas to stay with Molly and Arthur and spend the summer with all of his nieces and nephews

He spends a lot of time writing letters to home

When Molly and Arthur’s health start to fail he moves home permanently to take care of them

He’s a good son to them, but the distance is what hurts their relationship

Percy&Audrey:

Percy is a definite mama’s boy

More so than Charlie

If he would’ve had to see Molly at the ministry instead of Arthur he would’ve returned home a lot sooner

His relationship with the family as a whole is very difficult after the war, but between Molly, Charlie, and George everyone else accepts him eventually (except Bill, big thoughts on that)

Audrey is the perfect daughter in-law

Molly adored her the second she met her and Arthur knew her from the ministry before she and Percy start dating

She knits with Molly while pregnant with her daughters

She is also Muggleborn, so she indulges Arthur’s curiosity a lot

They remind her of her own parents and the simple life she had before she went to Hogwarts

All in all, Audrey is the reason Percy fits in with his family so well after the war

George&Angelina:

It’s hard after the war

George eventually moves out of the Burrow and back to the flat over the shop

He puts a show on for a long time, but then he and Angelina reconnect

It’s not a “she fixed him” story, it’s a “we were both hurting and misery loves company, but now we feel better” story

She brings George back to them and they are forever grateful to Angelina

George becomes part of the family again and he becomes really close to Arthur

But he only talks about Fred to Molly, and she starts sharing stories about her own brothers

Angelina and George have the first family wedding after the war and they make it a very joyous event

It’s exactly three days after Molly and Arthur’s wedding anniversary

Angelina is also a half-blood and answers a lot of Arthur’s questions about Muggle medical equipment and practices

Angelina is Arthur’s favorite of his in-laws

Ron&Hermione:

Ron is Arthur’s son

Out of all their children, Ron is Arthur’s kid, the one that can be depended on to want to spend time with dad ALL the time

He is the kid that gets dragged to the ministry all the time, as he can be expected to behave and not wander off (at least not too far)

But he is also Molly’s kitchen buddy

Pretty much when he was little, he would hide in there when Fred and George hanged up on him, and molly gave him a bit of work

He asks his parents if it would be a good idea to propose, as he values their opinion on the matter

Molly and Arthur love Hermione so they push Ron to propose and make her an official part of the family

Things do fall apart a little after Rose is born and Hermione goes back to work and Ron steps back and becomes a mostly stay-at-home dad

But things are patched up by the time Hugo is born

Harry&Ginny:

The baby girl

Ginny gets away with a lot when she’s little

She grows closer to her parents while in hiding

She sees them age so much during that time and after the war

She writes home every week of her seventh year, mostly to Arthur

Ginny has never been “girly” enough for Molly, but after the war that falls away

They all realize that it’s time to let go of perceptions and to just love one another for who they are

Molly is the only one to go to Ginny’s very first match with the Harpies

She’s benched the whole game, but Molly is so proud of her that it doesn’t matter

So Harry is Molly’s favorite of her in-laws

He can do no wrong and it’s obvious to everyone that she thinks this

He was family long before he asked Ginny to marry him

He did ask permission just because he thought it was the proper thing to do

He got told to go through the brothers

James is their first grandson and that cements Harry as Molly’s favorite

Bonus, relationships with the grandchildren:

Victoire:

She’s the first grandchild

She has a special place in their hearts

She is the first in so many ways and when she runs away to France they are the only ones she writes too

She is the oldest by quite a bit, so she gets to remember a lot of time with just her, Molly, and Arthur

She will always be close with them

James:

The oldest grandson

He reminds them of Bill

He has a trouble streak that breaks when he’s made Head Boy

They see so much potential in him and that ever goes away even as he gets older

He makes them hopeful in a way they hadn’t been in a long time

Freddie:

The second grandson

Despite being named after Fred, he’s a mini George

He holds so much in and then explodes

He gets on well with Molly and Arthur, and his other grandfather Micah

While he’s good with jokes and puns, it’s his facial expressions that really make him funny

He’s also always willing to help out with anything, and enjoys degnoming the garden

Roxanne:

The second granddaughter

She’s beautiful and witty and funny even as a child

She goes to Arthur for cuddles and Molly for sweets

She has a way of getting out of any trouble, even if she is the instigator

She’s a lot like Ginny when she’s younger, one of the boys and never too fussed about anything

She goes to them for comfort

Rose:

Rose is just like Molly

She is a mother hen, she loves to cook, and she loves spending time with Molly

The feeling is very mutual

Rose always finds Arthur first at any family event to give him a big hug

After she loss her Grandma Jane, she clung on tighter to Molly

After she loss her Abeulo Javier, she made sure to always tell Arthur she loved him between visits

She write them at least twice a month at Hogwarts, and she leaves out no details

They were very proud of her becoming Head Girl

Al:

Just like Arthur

They both like to sit at the edges and just watch the chaos

Al goes out of his way to learn about Muggle things so he always has something to talk to Arthur about

When he’s older he gets really interested in the space program and that becomes their thing

Molly loves how close Arthur and Al are

Molly:

Remember that Percy is a mama’s boy, well Molly is named after both of her grandmothers

She adores Molly and Arthur

Her other grandparents were killed in the war, so she only knows them

In the summer holidays, she’ll go over every Sunday morning for tea

It’s her time to spend with them alone, just by herself

She picks up knitting from Molly and really enjoys it

Molly is the one to carry on the family legacy, she has seven kids (six daughters, one son)

Lucy:

She is also close to her grandparents

She is often found tucked beside Arthur at family events

Just like Al, she finds something specific and Muggle to talk to Arthur about

Hers is travel, and they end up talking about trains a lot

When Lucy gets pregnant with her oldest, she goes to Molly with questions

Every Monday she makes sure to visit and usually brings along her children

Dominique:

She doesn’t write her parents, but she writes Molly and Arthur

She feels like she was always pushed off onto them

Between Victoire’s rebellions and Louis’ autism, she was the one pushed onto others

When she gets pregnant at sixteen, she tells Molly and Arthur first because she doesn’t know who else to tell

She always has dinner with them every Wednesday

Hugo:

He reminds them of Fred

He has an endless amount of energy and talks constantly around them

He constantly spews knowledge and always wants people to know what he knows

Because he sees Rose always helping in the kitchen, he helps in the kitchen and learns how to cook from Molly

When his Abeulo Javier dies, it really affects his relationship with Arthur

He’s scared to lose another grandparent and he actively seeks out Arthur at family dinners

When he finally has children, he makes sure to let them know Molly and Arthur and have a real relationship with them

Louis:

He loves the Burrow

He likes to visit when he knows no one else will be there

Molly and Arthur are just happy to have him, they’re not used to quiet though

He makes a portrait of them for their fiftieth wedding anniversary and one of the Burrow for their seventy-fifth anniversary

Louis very much is about presence and not words, so while he doesn’t know much about his grandparents, he knows them as much as he needs to

When Molly and Arthur pass, he gets all the old family photos

Lily:

She’s the baby of the whole family

She will always be the baby in their eyes

She dances before she walks, and it’s while she’s “helping” Molly at the Burrow

Molly tells Harry and Ginny to put her into dance classes and that changes her life forever

Lily always seeks out Arthur at every family dinner, even if it’s just to give him a hug and a kiss

The summer before her seventh year, she goes to the Burrow almost every day

She wants to know everything she can, about them and their life

She keeps a journal of all their stories and after her oldest graduates from Hogwarts, she writes a book of their life

It brings her and Hugo closer and they are the only ones who have signed copies by both Molly and Arthur

Teddy:

He is the oldest, but he had Andromeda until she passed when he was four

He had been living with Harry for about a year by then

He is the reason why Molly goes by ‘nana’ and Arthur goes by ‘grandad’

He is their grandson in every way but blood relation

He makes time every week to spend time with them and writes to them every other week while at Hogwarts

When he’s down, he goes to the Burrow

His children know Molly and Arthur as their grandparents

Send me a Weasley and I’ll give you a fic, a couple of head canons, or my opinion on them in both canon and fanon!

[sentofight]

"I don't make it a habit to forgo my promises. Don't plan on starting now." Mark explained, there is a tired smile to his face as the journey had been long before seeing the plains of Sacea was something that pointed him towards the right direction. "I trust you have been well, Lyn? Nor do you mind a change of pace to your peaceful days with me hanging around? Figure you need as much." There is a glint of a grin to his feature, he may have more wits for the mind. But nevertheless would do his part to keep up with Lyn. This would be a fun reunion all the same. (From Mark! If you are still considering Lyn! If not feel free to ignore this ask B) )

frolicking in sacaen fields | @astralwiings

A heaved sigh left her lips adjusting some pillows in her tent. There was a meeting with some of the clan members and it got a little bit ... energetic one. To think a while back no one wanted to follow her because she was ... a woman. Siigh... remembering that makes her upset to no end. 

She had proven herself to be worthy of their trust at least.

The noise of the flaps of her tent made her quickly turn around to see who walked in. “Ma--” her voice chocked in her throat to the sudden and surprise face she was not expecting to see. Well, she hoped to see him but she knew a wise man like him preferred to explore and broaden his horizon, gain knowledge rather than being restricted to one place.

Still .. seeing him ... made her so happy!

“Mark!” feet hurried towards her and as a worried hen, she quickly examined him from head to toe. Their first meeting, well did made her a little bit worried for his well-being. She did fret over him when he decided to take a different path after the war. Lyn hoped for the best to the strategist. 

“Oh, I am so glad you are safe and healthy--erm, these tired eyes say a different story but nonetheless, I am delighted to see you back here in the plains.” a cheerful smile donned her lips. “I am doing well, my friend.” nodded to him.

“Dear me, where are my manners. Come in, my friend. You must be weary of your travel so far. Come in, Mark. Heh, this time you are walking on your feet, hehe.” a light giggle escaped her lips. 

“What brought you back, old friend? I thought it would be years before I can see you again. The world outside of the plains is not interesting?” she wanted to throw a jab or two at him. Come on, he made her worry so at least he should tolerate her teasing for a little bit~ 

[garblegox]

• Humpty Dumpty Elegy 2 | five books for a 🚫FAKE AUTIST🤖 •

Unravelling the mystery of Humpty Dumpty has been like one furious rendition of the Twelve Days Of Christmas. Where every gift is another crime he committed against the group.

"Yo Wednesday, Hump got me a partridge in a pear tree. I think he might be a great big piece of shit."

"DUDE! I swear to god, he got me two turtle doves as well. I can't believe he also got you a partridge in a pear tree, what the FUCK!"

A second friend pops into voice chat, we rattle off our gifts.

"You know, I thought I was the only one getting gifts from Humpty. I'm on my third French hen. But if you got two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree, something must be up!"

Every friend has been a brand new day of Christmas. And I'm about seven days in. Day one, I only had one story in my head. By day seven, I've heard or repeated them all at least 28 different times.

The Twelve Days of Christmas is a song that always fills me with panic and dread. Real Bill Murray, Groundhog Day shit. Opposite to how talking to a shrink makes your head feel lighter and shrunk, talking about Mr. Dumpty makes my skull feel like a 16lb bowling ball, dipped in hot moldy fondue.

• # 1 The Coddling Of The American Mind by Greg Lukianoff & Johnathan Haidt •

I was born in 1995. All throughout school, it felt like the kids in my grade were the last ones to have any fun.

Playgrounds got dismantled, piece by piece. The ground under them went from sand, to pebbles, to wood chips, to bouncy asphalt. Can't throw a giant rubber mat into someone's eyes.

There was a gentle, not even 15-degree-inclined hill behind one school I went to. We'd summersault down it, roll into each other's legs, toboggan on our coats, write in the snow with our footsteps, dozens of things silly kids do on a tiny hillside. When I hit the 6th grade, only 6th graders and above were allowed on it, and when I went to highschool, it was strictly prohibited. To everyone's knowledge, nobody in the history of the hill ever got hurt on it, but it was off-limits in the name of safety nonetheless.

Or as we little morons used to say, "Hill's outta bounce."

I remember when the phrase, "exclusion is a form of bullying, same as the others," was new. I remember it backfiring spectacularly. A group would form, and a kid that was disinvited from that group would end up furious. Instead of asking, "how do I get in?" He'd go full Randal Weems. First, angrily threatening to snitch. Next, pitifully sobbing, and running to the teacher to tell them the whole spiel. The teacher would then tell us if we want to make a group, absolutely everyone must be invited.

The kid would get his way, and treat his own presence like the greatest victory in the name of spite. We'd say something to the effect of, "Well, you got your own way. Now we get to hate you up close." This would last one to three days, a week at the most, and the group would voluntarily dissolve. At least in any in-school form. School turned the art of association into a bullying conspiracy; We learned to speak in symbols like Freemasons.

Humpty was a kid that got excluded a lot. For all his frustration, he got to watch these conspiracies from behind a veil of flattery, resentment, and placation. No, "improve X aspect of yourself, and you'll fit in" from his peers. Nothing constructive to reflect on. Just bitter kids, silently parting away from him like the Red Sea. That's why I wrote this. I believe we busted our asses off to be constructive, and I refuse to be accused of not doing my best at that.

Contact sports stopped using contact. Dodgeballs became these useless foam core sponges with the kinetic energy of ping pong balls. Track & field day legitimately started involving participation ribbons. So kids like me couldn't just blow the whole event off; we got to take home an official stack of loser-colored failure tokens. Me and the kids with spina bifida, and electric wheelchairs.

Humpty is only 3 years older than me. Plus, he was held back a grade. We went to school in the same province. We both saw the same circus. He's a young Millennial, I'm an old Zoomer.

Just a sidenote, I streetviewed my old school, with the hill out back. Between 2009 and now, every single climbable non-coniferous tree has been cut down. Not just on the property, but along every sidewalk leading to the school, all the way to the neighborhood I used to walk from. That just makes me so sad. We're fucking primates, man. This is that "abiosis" those oracles warned all us about.

I wanted Humpty to feel like I did, when I read this. Like it wasn't just me, and my particularly satanic schools. I wasn't being some curmudgeony ass Chicken Little, screaming, "THE BALLS ARE TOO SOFT!" That almost everyone our age, at least in most English countries, watched the same thing in their school as well.

It's almost a boring cliché, all the people saying, "School doesn't teach you to be smart, it teaches you to be compliant." But now, add to that, alongside "compliant": helpless, incurious, mechanical, snitch-happy, anti-competitive, hyperbehaviorized Skinner pigeons with brain AIDS. With 3 Grand Untruths to live by:

What doesn't kill you makes you weaker

Always trust your feelings

Life is a battle between good and evil

Or, as cognitive behavioral therapists would call it: The shittiest way to look at the world, ever; The most anxiety-inducing, narcissism-affirming, history-forgetting way to perceive one's own life. But why? Since when? And what does sane look like? You gotta read it, homie.

• # 2 The Science Of Evil by Simon Baron-Cohen •

Perhaps you think I'm pulling this whole, "fake autism" thing out of my ass.

Remember those haymakers I mentioned in the last one? I ran them by a different autistic friend. Emphasizing the part about seeing Humpty in a new light, and finding him dishonest and manipulative.

Our friend immediately recalled a story, where a girl he knew for a long time suddenly said to him, "I've rethought our relationship. I think you're dangerous, suspicious, and a liar. I don't want to spend any more time with you, leave me alone."

He said it made him panic instantly. He felt helpless, he started crying. He felt like autism done went and did it again, taking nice things away from him. He thought, "Why does this happen to me? What can I do?" And he rushed to rectify it with her, whatever way he could.

This is exactly what I expected Humpty to do. It's what I think I would do, and why I was fully prepared to ease up. I've thrown about five more elbow drops from the turnbuckle, right onto his balls, and nothing has made him flinch.

There are plenty of things you could say to offend him or make him defensive. None of these were it.

Friends have listened, and said they were shocked with how cruel I was able to be. Honestly, I am too. I can't believe we never noticed how little listens, and I'm still plumbing the depths of his selective hearing patterns.

Since writing this, Humpty has independently parroted my words back to me a few times, sarcastically.

Once, he guffawed, "So what are you saying, you think I have a dissociative mental illness, instead of autism?"

I said, "You took the words right outa my mouth."

Hump certainly does have one real, life-disrupting problem: zero empathy.

With empathy, a little goes a long way. There are multiple ways to reduce it to zero. By state or by trait.

States are hopeful. A bad state, that leads you to think and act unempathetically, can be improved, and the empathy will return to natural levels. But traits determine the natural levels. With 10 different brain regions involved in empathy, there are many ways to compensate for deficient traits in one or more.

Most of our effort has been focused around how he can improve his states. He has attempted a grand total of 0 suggestions. No matter how atomically small the change may be.

Now, getting Humpty to cooperate in any discussion of his states or traits is excruciatingly difficult and unproductive. He's unclear about his past and his present, always. Think about how Tommy Wiseau answers questions. Identical. Just an inscrutable quadruple pendulum of bullshit, till you tap out or lose your train of thought.

Zero empathy has two faces, "zero positive" and "zero negative". A good face and a bad face. "Systematizers vs Empathizers"

Zero positive is things like Asperger's and autism. Zero negative is borderline personality, psychopathy, and narcissism.

Asperger's and autism are thought of as positive, because in leu of empathy, their brains have an incredible capacity for memory, linear thinking, and systematizing. They're people you really want on a team.

They can learn empathetic ways of behaving, through a systematic approach. They still see people as objects, but they're 100% capable of systematically treating those objects with sweetness and light. Think of a collector, with everything in mint condition.

As Kahneman and Tverski show in their book Thinking Fast And Slow, we have two thinking "systems" at work, simultaneously: Fast intuitions, and slow reasons. Autists lack a fast empathic intuition, but can slowly make up for it using their strong reasoning abilities. As a kid, autism is a struggle. As an adult, autism is a style.

My other autistic friends are shining examples of this. The guy I mentioned earlier has more friends than anybody in the discord group, because he's a god damn lovely son of a bitch.

Again, it's just a matter of partici-fucking-pation. And believe me, I've lost count of how many ways I've tried to say this to Mr. Dumpty. I even gave him Baron-Cohen's bona fides. He said, "that's a nice theory, but I'm the one here who was in a mental institution as a kid." Not kidding. He's never quoted a single thing from his childhood psychiatrists. But the fact that he had them, makes him the expert.

Important side note, Wednesday's been in and out of psychiatric care his whole life. He's got an Adverse Childhood Experience (ACE) score of 9 out of 10. Wednesday has shared all of these stories with him. The Egg is the only one in our gang who forgets about them somehow.

Humpty Dumpty a zero negative.

He's the only autist in the group who is just a simmering kettle of entitled rage. Every day, he claims a new person slighted him and condescended because they knew he was autistic and stupid.

He believes people can see autism in the bone structure of his face, and the way he smells. But he's absolutely deaf to the idea that what people really sense is a hostile sociopath.

We say "Maybe if you internally worked on how much you hate women, they'd find you more attractive." The imp replies: "They never know how much I hate them. They're perfectly unaware."

Every time one of us describes an act of generosity or humanity, he puts on this mocking derisive tone, and says, "Oooh it's the monkey brain instincts forcing men to act as a provider so people will find them attractive hmmMMmm" or some permutation of that Incel brand EvoPsych bullshit. Anything to diminish the role of empathy in people's behavior.

God forbid you're generous or humane towards women. He'll jeer and coo at you, like you're a fool sleepwalking into a siren's song. We can't seem to get him to stop calling people's girlfriends "holes". When people say, "Humpty, if you said that in front of me I'd be tempted to strangle you to fucking death." out come those giggles.

I won't be explicit. But suffice it to say, all of his fantasies, sexual or otherwise, seem to be centered around guile, coercion, humiliation, and schadenfreude. And his favorite way to break an awkward silence is grumble into his microphone, "I'm gonna kill myself/I'm gonna kill someone/I'm gonna kill myself and others"

To that I now just make fart noises into my mic. It's been way more fun.

Like I said about that benefit of the doubt shit. The second I decided to take his words seriously, and stop looking through pity-tinted glasses, I remembered I'm hanging with a monster.

Narcissists, psychopaths, and borderlines are not hopeless. They make up the majority of people seeking psychiatric care. However, a zero-negative, masquerading as a zero-positive, has no place to turn. It's possible to be both, but he'll only admit to half and get nowhere.

• # 3 Bullshit Jobs by David Graeber •

"Hrmmmmph! Off to my wage cage...*bu-boop*" -- Humpty Dumpty grumbling goodnight.

What kind of piece of shit thinks having a job is degrading or unfair? A guy who's almost 30, living in his parents' house, pretending to be autistic, raking in disability money, who spends 100% of that money on merch, and a new videogame every single day.

Most recently, that money went into buying a brand new 1.5-foot-tall, $750 Shadow the Hedgehog statue. That's sesquipedumbralievable. He complains about living with his oppressive parents. Then he spends a month's rent on garbage. As with everything, he blames his spending on "monkey brain."

He complains about being treated like a mentally disabled person at work. He vacillates between that, and claiming people are always surprised when he tells them he's been diagnosed with autism.

He has a college degree in administration. A higher education level than almost half the discord group.

He won't stop applying to temp agencies for the mentally disabled. Jobs that he always finds to be beneath his above-average intelligence.

He believes he has scientifically proven that handing out resumes doesn't work. How? He handed out 40 resumes. I said, "Yeah Humpty, businesses put out job offerings to keep everyone unemployed." He piped up, enthusiastically, "Well, actually that's true. They..." but the conversation was moving in a different direction. What a shame I didn't get to hear that theory.

Where does this book enter into this shell game?

All people need to believe their daily grind contributes to the wellbeing of society. R-worded or not. The absence of that is painful, and it creates a sense of nagging dissonance. People who have an innate sense of shame, at least.

I'm a fry cook. That's good karma. It doesn't pay big money, but I know I'm worth every dollar. I work lunches, so I'm a hangover nurse to boot. I don't have time to dick around on my phone or watch Netflix. I'm never just pretending to be busy or useful. Even all my bosses are respectably occupied with some cumbersome shit.

My job is a "shit job" not a "bullshit job". Shit jobs are a heavy duty grind, but an honest day's work, and a benefit to society. They also don't pay spectacularly well. Bullshit jobs are rent seeking, obsolete, wasteful charades. People waiting to be needed, and using the majority of their brainpower for appearing industrious. They pay the most.

This book made me much more content with my shit job. Second, it totally restructured my career goals with my soul in mind. Don't just value your money, don't just value your time, value your role in your community. Bullshit jobs pay the best because they drain the most from your meaningful and finite existence. Philistine money for a mechanical, philistine lifestyle.

"I'm a parasite, and a drain on society! 😆" -- Humpty Dumpty the Triumphant, real quote.

I was hoping Hump maybe wanted to stop that, at some point. Maybe put that administration degree towards more than just office busywork for lobotomites? Maybe make use of his rigorous systematizing brain, for a project he believes in?

Nope. No thanks.

Since the agricultural revolution, humans looking to contribute to their tribe have been presented with two main lanes: Work hard, or sit down and use that big brain of yours for the benefit of the busy.

I don't believe there's such a thing as playing a valuable role in society, without it being done from one of those two lanes. I think the vast majority of people feel the same. Simply based on how rare it is to find anyone who will admit "My job contributes nothing to society, other than money in my pocket." Try to find one, even the boldest rogue. I bet they'll get screwfaced and defensive at the mere suggestion.

Even the shittiest, most shameless people I know, have died a little inside while working bullshit jobs. One of my uncles, a lifelong bully, a textbook narcissist, and someone I truly believed had no remorse, wound up with stress-induced epilepsy from selling medical/life insurance. He screwed the most desperate people out of their last hope, as often as he hooked them up with some nice insurance. Being a parasite was too much for a man whose sweetest joy is the sound of sobbing children, and the sight of rolling eyes.

Just like everyone else, Old Captain Humpsack McDump would also prefer, deep down, to play a real role in this society. A role he can expect real gratitude for. His own cubicle-farm version of cooking delicious fried chicken for pickled dickbags. And that's what this book is all about. That, and sour-graping on rich people with all their money.

Plus, if your job really is bullshit, there's a Sword of Damocles hanging above your head, every day. When you wake up, struggle to find a reason to get out of bed, then commute to a new space to get nothing done, you get the added spiritual joy of realizing that if your bosses knew any better, or maybe just had the balls, your ass would be without a job, and the world would be a better place.

Now, I won't be a fry cook forever. What's next? I haven't decided yet. But after reading this book, the list of potential careers has shrunk to a fifth of what it used to be. Money at the expense of my dignity will not do. I'd rather be a mediocre contributor, than an extravagant waste of air. I'm thinking maybe a stone mason. I'mma be Big Bad Wolf proof.

• # 4 The Gift Of Fear by Gavin De Becker •

I'm afraid of Humpty Dumpty.

My friends are not. I'm not sure why. He's got a long history as a doormat, so maybe they think that's a fixed quality; He's got no charisma, so maybe they think he couldn't talk us into a dangerous encounter; He's got no good reasons to want to hurt us, so maybe they think he has no bad reasons either.

My friends have not read this book. They like to think that, even though Humpty has a mountain of downsides, violence isn't one of them. That our judgement couldn't fail us that badly. Whatever makes them comfortable. God fuckin bless.

"What's so scary, Garble? Why you bein so melodramatic? You dislike a stinky egg so much you're gonna liken him to a murderer/mass murderer/stalker type fella? Sheesh H. Christ my dude, chill!" people exclaim.

At first, I only ever had gut feelings. I never consciously recalled this book, whenever it applied. Until Humpty invited himself to my house. Then the klaxon blared. Mom's fuckin spaghetti.

Humpty checks every last warning sign illustrated in this book. And again, I'll repeat, that's not typical of autism. From the case studies, to the hypotheticals, to the acronymous omen lists, Humpty Dumpty is described in this book from start to finish. Yuck.

My goal for Hump with this book was twofold: Stop looking like a mark, AND a crook.

Before realizing my fear of Humpty Dumpty, it was mostly all about mark-proofing him. Bad guys don't just pick on nice guys, they pick on the easiest target they can find. And he seems to think being a bullseye is stylish.

Post-fear, I completely switched focus to "stop looking like a crook" mode. Because if Dumptylocks can give me the heebie jeebies, god knows how he makes strangers feel.

Lets compare Humpty to one of De Becker's list of bad omens:

Forced teaming

Typecasting

Charm and niceness

TMI

Unsolicited promises

Loansharking

Discounts the word 'No'

Forced teaming was a latecomer addition to Humpty's dark history. What's forced teaming? The sudden and unjustified use of "us" to insinuate oneself into someone else's situation. It's one of the subtlest and most challenging manipulation tricks to overcome.

"Lemme get those bags for ya. We gotta get these to your front door." Said the stranger, outta nowhere.

What'd Humpty do? He us'd his way into a magic mushroom trip with Wednesday and I. One we had planned for a year already. Hump's been abundantly clear: Don't give me drugs, or I'll kill everyone. Woooo, spooky. So it's not a tricky decision, he was never invited, or welcome, at our mystery. We're not sober-sitting a quasi-murderous douchebag while sweating out glitter on shrooms. DUH!

Yet, suddenly, the story mutated into one involving Humpty. It became a "we" thing. That's when I realized, this book woke long ago, and has been wailing like a baby from some crib, deep in the cracks of my noggin. Crying, "Don't let this motherfucker sleep next to your knife rack!!"

The other omens were no-brainers, upon reflection: He typecasts everyone as either "Normies" or "Monkey Brains." His own brand of Caulfieldian phonies and prostitutes; He's the quintessential 'Niceguy' in terms of women, and he'll openly tell you when he's merely doing things to charm or placate you, which is always; I've mentioned the too-much-info (TMI) problem earlier, when I talked about the non-sequitur fountain. His Tommy Wiseau gimmicks involve a million answers to questions that absolutely nobody asked; His whole presence in the Discord group was an unsolicited promise; He bought me the most recent Doom game, without me ever asking or showing an interest, I enjoyed it, and fully planned to finish it, but after not playing it for 5 days straight, he angrily boomed at me, "PLAY MORE DOOM, GARBLE!" He wasn't kidding, he was annoyed, and convinced I wasted his highly-disposable money; And finally, most importantly, every which-way one could say "NO" to Dumpty means NOTHING. He's always just a liiiiiiiitle too autistic to get what you meant by "NO," or "DONT." And so much more.

When Dumpty was a friend of mine, these faux pas just seemed naive. We've all made these mistakes here and there, and we've probably always regretted them. And the reason why they're such regrettable behaviors, is that they put us in the same lot with psychopathic felons. Humpty's problem comes down to the attractiveness of his behavior, not his fairly attractive face and body. Bitch is 6-foot-something, broad shouldered, and has "predator eyes". His incel friends would be big jelly.

And my problem, now, is staying safe from a dude that scares me. Because, as The Dumpster might say, it's better to be wanted by the cops, than not wanted at all.

The other omen list goes by 'JACA':

Justification

Alternatives

Consequences

Ability

That list is used to judge the immediate danger of a sketchy person. Maybe they do it all, from typecasting to not taking "no" for an answer, but what are the odds they'll hurt you?

Humpty's justification for violence? Same as Elliot Rogers'; Alternatives? Humpty has one story, and he's sticking to it; Consequences? Martyrdom; Ability? None, until he invited himself to my god damn house for the night.

So, whether you are trying to avoid hanging out with creeps, getting supercreeped outta the blue (by like, rapists or murderers), or being a creep yourself: this is the textbook on creepy shit. You'll be the friend with the Spidey senses, who recognizes that muggers smile and act like a friend, not a mugger. Oprah used to fire hardcovers of this at her audience from a T-shirt gun, for a reason: THIS BOOK WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE.

Oh, and one last thing. Didn't really know how to work this in. Remember the Toronto van attack in 2018? The killer pleaded not criminally responsible, because his "autistic way of thinking was severely distorted in a way similar to psychosis."

Humpty was overjoyed at the precedent that would create. He said it was going to pave the way for an autism-woopsie-doo-dah killing spree of his own.

Thankfully, the killer didn't make his case, and got to go to regular shitbag jail. Part of me wants to believe that since Humpty is waiting for legal loopholes, he's not truly impulsive enough, or committed to any real crimes. But he could also just be a bog-standard crook, browsing for easier and easier marks. Or a typical-shmypical terrorist, looking for long fame with a short sentence.

I hang out with this guy. So wassup, RCMP! I know you're reading. This guy is not my guy, bud. He's a real Snidley friggin Whiplash gongshow type fuckin feller man, eh. Christ. Fuck. Oops. Sorry. Take it easy. ⛄❤☮🍁

Alright I'm legally off the hook from the feds.

• # 5 Atomic Habits by James Clear •

He's like Jocko Willink and Leif Babin's nerd sidekick. Extreme Ownership was all about "if you know better, you're responsible for doing better." This book defines "better."

I hesitated for a long time, before reading this. I knew I was going to get called out on some punkass behavior. I'd either be forced to grow up, or just pretend I didn't read anything at all. But thankfully, the growing was painless. It felt like sharpening a knife, and learning to keep it sharp, rather than forging one from scratch.

Much of this advice is stuff you've probably seen or heard people practicing. But if you're like me, it's hard to tell what's signal vs noise. People try all sorts of different ways to hack their habits, for better or worse. Once one's scientifically sound life advice begins seeing results, they just prune the science from their sales pitch and go, "[shrug] works... look."

James has that fresh brain science; No old wives' tales, or my-daddy-saids. Just the leading know-whats on this noggin we all got. Because if I'm going to radically adjust my behavior, it's not just going to be based on scattered anecdotes.

It's not about your goal setting abilities. It's about the systems you build to reach those goals. It's better to have a well-refined system with no goal, than an extraordinary vision and no system to achieve it.

This origami dream is beautiful. But man those wings'll never leave the ground, without a feather and a lottery ticket, now settle down -- Aesop Rock, Daylight

This is the only thing I've read on habits that has made delaying gratification more gratifying. He calls them "atomic" because they're the absolute smallest changes you can make. Then, he encourages the art of stacking as many good habits on top of each other as you can.

The biggest revelation I got out of this book was this: stop waiting for a big surge of willpower and energy; you're an efficiency-minded, conditioning-driven animal who prefers the path of least resistance; good habits reduce friction, so you can take your lack of willpower for granted. Shit, there is never any need for Gary V levels of hypermania.

Should all be up Humpty's alley. It's got monkey brain facts; Typical of most books on psychology, it's full of references to our wild ancient past. And it's explicitly about taking a systematic approach to behavior.

But of course, I tried to reach him with it, even with the help of friends, who themselves have used these tricks, and it's all just silly to him. He doesn't have the signal vs noise issue. Multiple anecdotes at once, from non-strangers. And we'd fill him in on the science to boot. This one's so short and to the point I figured he'd never need to read it; we've covered the whole thing, scattered through different conversations. We figured, like us, he just needed reminders.

He'd need to appreciate the advice first, if there's ever to be reminders. He'd need to not be competitively dedicated to sucking ass. It's really all he needs for this one to work.

• END BIT •

My friends believe we created Humpty as a team. Because he's autistic and feral, he didn't know right from wrong, socially. His only technique was to mimic the group. When you look at our group, shit, it's plausible; We're an isle of misfit toys. Toys with asbestos stuffing, lead buttons, and radium paint. We're absolute rotten fucking trashballs.

If it'll get us put on an RCMP, FBI, EU, CCP, or Boko Haram watchlist, we're gonna loudly blurt it into one another's ears like morons. Basic, non-stop, juvenile, atrocious verbal horseplay. From suicide to genocide, all violent crime, all perversions, if we shouldn't joke about it, we will. It's a marvelous freaker's ball.

The theory is, Humpty went in, tabula rasa, and through misunderstanding the intentions behind our jokes, developed this hateful demonic pervert persona that we never laugh about.

We didn't chuckle him into being bitterly envious of people who have what he wants; or into hitting all of Gavin De Becker's red flags; or reading gaming news articles while we're talking to him; or grossly exaggerating his level of disability; or openly flouting the actionable advice he asked us to give him; or into comprehensively hating and dehumanizing women. Each of us had tons of experience disrupting all the fun just to say "Humpty, no. That's not acceptable."

Everyone in the group has their own shadow. Not a worthless statue, but a dark side. We fuck up our lives, sometimes in ways that make other friends grimace with contempt. We insult each other, and forget boundaries. We can be hypocritical, and waste everyone's time saying shit they know we don't believe. We've all taken turns being a headache.

But we don't transfer all our power and choices onto our friends, and make it their job to carry our lives forward. We don't tap dance constantly on a cliff's edge, to gauge our friends' passion about our existence. We don't pull the focus of every conversation to ourselves, and the problems we've explicitly abandoned the quest to solve. We hang out for FUN, remember?

None of us are therapists. Who were we to take on the mantle of solving Humpty Dumpty's problems? Even therapists gotta show some people the door sometimes.

Howard Bloom says, "Attention is the oxygen of the human soul." Never underestimate it as a primary motive. I think that's been Humpty's #1 goal. In a way, it was mine, too. For all my attention as one man, I wanted one man to pay attention back. Coulda been a humble little deal. But like some sucka ass bitch, I got georgia'd. Took me a year to realize I never copped my scratch. Cold.

And hey, I really do hope it was our fault. That'd mean the solution is that he just needs to hang out with different people, for his own good. Maybe he in fact is super autistic. Maybe irony is dangerous in his hands.

5 more books next month! I'll maybe be more humane towards my former friend. I have death in mind. 💀💀💀💀💀

[forever-rogue]

Javier Prompt, if you're willing!! Javier comes home late from work to find the apartment empty, and begins to panic because his pregnant significant other isn't there. He's been nervous the last few months, and it's only gotten worse. When the phone rings and she's on the other end asking for him to come pick her up, he just imagines the worst possibilities.

I’m just...so...soft at the thought of dad to be Javi. Like...just imagine it... 🥺

I also realized that I read this prompt a little wrong and changed it slightly, but I hope you still like it!

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was the heart of summer, the warmest time of the year, and Colombia was in the middle of a heat wave. It was a stifling heat, the kind that was pervasive and deep to penetrate deep into your bones no matter how hard you tried to find relief. Warm mornings turned to even warmer afternoons which led to balmy evenings. Normally, you’d be able to handle it fairly well, as the heat generally didn’t bother you that much. But the not so little fact that you were almost eight months pregnant during all of this did not help. It only served to make you more miserable and it was almost impossible to find any sort of relief.

Javier, your boyfriend and the most Nervous Nellie of a father to be, was attentive to your needs, finding all sorts of ways to ease your discomforts and make you feel better. You were pretty sure that he’d read more pregnancy books than you had, and there was a small growing library of them in the living room bookcase. As soon as you told him you were pregnant, something you had been reluctant to do since you had no clue how he would respond to this surprise, he had shifted into dad mood. Sometimes you were sure he was more excited than you were - the way his eyes had lit up when you had first announced the news and shown him the positive pregnancy test was forever burned into your mind. It was a treasured moment that you never wanted to let go of.

All the knowledge he gathered and all the little tips and tricks learned along the way had been helpful more times than not. But unfortunately, nothing could help you in this heat - no amount of cold showers and drinks and fans seemed to help. You could barely sleep at night, finding it hard to sleep any position with your large belly, and Javi’s warm body to you. He seemed to run warm as it was and it certainly wasn’t helping now..

The one little bit of relief you did find, however, came in the form of the frozen yogurt that Javier had found by chance at the supermarket, thinking you might like it. And you had; you’d almost devoured the whole container in one sitting, and it seemed to cool you ever so slightly. One late night, when you really couldn’t sleep, you’d gotten a hankering for the sweet dessert, and but also something sour. Imagine Javi’s surprise when he woke up to go to the bathroom and found you sitting on the couch watching late night television and eating pickles dipped in the frozen yogurt.

“Oh honey,” his voice was tired and thick with sleep as tried his best not to laugh at the sight. You looked up at him, with a small, sheepish smile on your face as you took another bite of the crunchy pickle. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your before plopping down on the couch next to you, “pickles and ice cream?”

“Froyo,” you corrected him, waving the pickle in front of his face and offering him a bite. He shook his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and watching as you dipped the pickle back in and coated it in the frozen yogurt before eating it, “you should go back to bed, Javi. You’ve been exhausted, my love.”

“I couldn’t sleep...again,” he admitted with a small sigh, “and then I found you gone, and then I saw the light on. Why...why on earth are you eating that?”

“Your kid was hungry,” you shrugged lightly, looking pointedly between him and your large stomach, “and I was hot, so I figured this could solve both of my problems.”

“Hey, that is half your kid as well,” he snorted with laughter as put his hand on your belly, rubbing it gently. The baby always seemed to know when it was Javier touching your stomach, moving softly and kicked at the feel of his touch and sound of his voice, “they’re moving.”

It always seemed to amaze him, each time the same as it had the first time, his face lighting up with joy and sheer love. You tried not to get emotional, but with your raging hormones, it was hard to keep anything in check, and you felt that familiar prickling start at the back of your eyes. Putting a hand on top of his, you turned to give him a smile, a tear inadvertently slipping down your cheek. Javi gently reached over and softly wiped it away before giving you a sweet kiss, “honey, don’t cry, it’s alright.”

“I know,” you said softly, feeling the water works preparing to well up, “it’s just...I love you so much, and I’m so excited and happy, but right now being pregnant sucks and I want it to be over and I don’t at the same time because I’m so nervous to meet the baby, our baby, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I know you’ll be the best father, but I worry that I won’t be a good mother. I mean, look at me, I’m sitting here and eating frozen yogurt and pickles and crying.”

“Honey,” Javi put his hand on your cheek and leaned in closer to you, his lips brushing faintly against yours, “you’re alright, you’re going to be just fine. It’s just your hormones - I promise. You’re going to be an amazing mother - the best mother. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be in your position right now, or how it feel at all, but you are incredible for everything you’re doing. I mean, think about it, you’re carrying our child right now. Do you have any idea what a feat that is, how amazing you are?”

“You’re just saying that because I’m pathetic and pregnant,” you sniffled lightly, but he cut you off with a firm kiss, his hand going to the back of your heading, holding you close. It warmed you up completely, in a different way this time, one that was not unpleasant and overbearing, but comforting, “Javi...”

“I know,” he whispered quietly, “I love too.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice but a mere, soft whimper. He nodded softly, nuzzling his nose against yours. Of course you knew he loved you; it was just all of these crazy hormones making you question everything.

“Really, mi amor,” he promised, “you, and our child, even if you’re resorting to silly things such as eating ice cream and pickles.”

“Froyo,” you laughed lightly, feeling a wash of reassurance flood over you. It was hard, especially this far along to remain positive, but it was always easier when you had Javi. He was your rock, your anchor, and helped you keep a level head through all of this, just like you often did with him. The two of you made a good pair, and you hoped that would translate into good parenting.

“Froyo and all,” he corrected, “I love every part of you. Always.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

On this particular evening, you were at home by yourself, boredom and warmth setting in as you couldn't find anything to hold your interest. You'd made dinner and saved some for Javi, who was working late. He'd told you when he left in the morning that it would he a long day, but a part of you had wished that something would happen and allow him to come home sooner.

But it was nearing ten in the evening and you weren't sure when he'd be back. He was on a stakeout with Steve, meaning it was anyone's guess. Feeling listless, you decided to go for a short walk. It would at least give you some exercise and maybe help to cool you down, should you find some sort of breeze.

You scribbled a note on the pad next to the phone, in the off chance that Javi would return before you came back. Perching the note up so it was easily visible, you walked, or waddled over rather, to your purse and grabbed a few dollars and your key before heading out.

It probably wasn't the best idea to go out, at night, alone, in the midst of everything going on in Colombia, but you really just needed to get out at this point. Surely Javi could understand that, right? But....perhaps he wouldn't.

He'd been such a mother hen lately, ensuring that everything was perfect and attending to your every need. While you didn't mind, not for the most part anyway, sometimes it was a little overwhelming. Being pregnant was enough of a chore, but having someone constantly underfoot wasn't any better. You loved him and he meant well, but sometimes you just needed a break.

Stepping out into the slightly cooler evening air, you let out a sigh of relief as you started your little trek around the block. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck you; the supermarket where Javi had found your treasured frozen yogurt was close by. Making up your mind, you decided you'd pick up a carton of the stuff and a new jar of pickles.

»»————-　♡　————-««

When Javier arrived home, he was tired, exhausted even, and couldn't wait to get in bed and have you in his arms. It was late, later than he would have liked but his long day was finally over. He'd even come to the decision that he would be working fewer hours and staying out of the field when possible. It was going to a be a big change, but his main priority was you and your baby and he wanted to be around should anything happen. He had a feeling that you'd try and argue with him, but his mind was made up.

"Hermosa," he let out a long sigh as he tried to unlock the door, but stopped, eyebrows knitting together in confusion when he realized the door was already unlocked. Strange. Neither of you ever kept it unlocked, and you definitely knew better.

A tingle of nerves started at the base of his spine as he opened the door and walked inside slowly, unsure of what to expect. The television was on and the window was open, all signs pointing to the fact that you would be home.

"Honey?" his voice faltered slightly as he walked down the hallway and poked his head his head in the bedrooms and bathrooms, trying to see if he could find you. But you were nowhere to be found.

His heart started to race slightly as he reached for the gun in the waistband of his jeans and pulled it out, holding it at the ready. His mind immediately went into overdrive as a million horrid, dark thoughts appeared. Every single bad thought he possessed within the far recesses of mind were suddenly right up front.

What if someone had come and taken you? If someone had broken in? What if something had happened with you and the baby? What if, what if, what if?

There appeared to he no signs of a struggle, but he knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. Your purse was still here and the smell of cooking lingered in the kitchen.

"Fuck," he said softly to himself, running a hand over his face in exasperation as he came to the conclusion that something had to have happened, "Fuck!"

He grabbed the phone, throwing the notepad face down onto the floor in his haste and quickly dialed Steve's number. Anxiously waiting for him to answer, he almost shouted in the receiver, "she's gone! I just got back but she's not here!"

It took Steve only a beat to figure out Javi was in distress about you and he tried to calm him down. Surely there must be there another explanation, "hey, hey, hey, I'm sure it's alright-"

"The door was unlocked, her things are here, TV on. It looks like someone got in here and just took her," it was hard to remain calm when not only could you possibly be at risk, but also the baby, "fuck! Has she talked to Connie at all? Does she know anything?"

He heard Steve mumbling something to Connie, asking her if you had mentioned anything to her or spoken to her. He let out a heavy sigh before returning to Javi, "Con hasn't heard anything. Javi, just relax, I'm sure there's a reasonable-"

"She's missing, Steve! She's almost eight months pregnant and you expect me to calm down!?" he didn't mean to sound as harsh as he did, but he was extremely stressed. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been this worried.

"Make whatever calls you need to and I'll be there to help," Steve hung up the phone as Javi nodded, trying to focus as he tried to make a game plan for how to find you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

After some time you'd finally managed to find your favorite flavor of frozen yogurt and a big jar of pickles, you made your way home, ready to dig in and wait for Javi.

The evening had cooled down further and you strolled back at a leisurely pace, not that you had much of a choice this far in, taking your time to get back. When you got into the complex and made your way to your shared apartment, you thought you heard some voices, and grew excited to think that Javi might be back.

Unlocking the door slowly you stepped in, mouth dropping at sight in front of you. Javi, Steve, and Connie were all around the kitchen table, pouring over what looked like a map, the phone next to them.

"Hey everyone," they were so immersed in their little discussion none of them had noticed you at first, "what's going on?"

Javi's dark eyes flicked up to meet yours momentarily before looking back down at the map. It took him a good few moments before he finally realized it was you, "honey! You're here...you're back! Where the hell have you been?"

"Yeah, of course I'm back..." you walked over to the table and set your bag down, "I live here? I went for a walk and stopped at the market for frozen yogurt and pickles."

"Why!?"

"Your kid was hungry as normal?" you said as if it was no big deal, "and I wanted to get out for a little bit."

"The door was unlocked," he come over to you and put his hands on your face, a clearly distressed look on his face, "the lights and the television were on and I could smell dinner, and you weren't home. I was so worried."

"I just left everything on because I was just going on for a little bit. And in case you came home before me, I didn't want everything all dark," your heart sank a little when you saw how upset he is, "I'm sorry, Javi, I honestly thought I'd be back before you."

"I was so worried! I thought someone had come and taken you or something had happened to baby!" he threw up his hands in exasperation. You knew he wasn't mad at you, he was just in general panic mode over anything related to you right now, "what was I supposed to think?"

"Javi, I left you a note where you would see it," you let out a small sigh as you spied the notepad on the floor, your note still face down. Making your over to it, you tried to pick it up, but quickly came to the conclusion that it was going to be a herculean feat. Connie quickly came to your rescue and swooped it up and studied it before handing it to you, "how did this get on the floor? I left it up so you would easily see it."

Javi came over and took it from your hand, quickly reading it over. He hung his head when he realized he must have knocked it over, "fuck. I must have done that and not noticed."

"If you'd been in the office I would have called you, my love," you put a hand on shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, "but I didn't know if you'd be there...so I just left the note."

He let out a soft groan before taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, "I'm sorry, honey. I just...the door was unlocked and I worry. Especially with everything going on right now and you're so close. I...might have overreacted a little bit..."

"You think?" you teased him, wrapping your arms his neck, holding him as close as possible, with the exception of your stomach, "trust me, if someone was breaking in, I would put up a fight and someone would have heard my screaming. If anything was wrong with the baby, I would have gone to Connie."

"But honey-"

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't I can't put a fight. Anyone tries to come for you or our baby, they're going to catch sight of these hands," you insisted, causing him, Steve, and Connie to break into laughter, "what?! What's so funny?"

"Hermosa," Javi met your eyes for a moment, putting his hand on your face as he gave you a soft smile, "baby, you're 34 weeks pregnant, you cry when you can't pick things up off the floor. You cried at a commercial last night. I don't think you're going to kick anyone's ass."

"Try me, Javier Peña, try me," you put your hands, and tried your best to give him a mean look, "I've got that crazy pregnancy strength!"

"I love you," Javi just laughed before giving a soft kiss, "so much. I’m so glad you’re okay."

"I love you too," you grinned at him, "sorry for worrying you. The one time you come early! If I had any clue I would have just waited. Sorry Steve, sorry Con. You got dragged into all of this because of me. I should have just told Connie and made her come with me."

"It's dangerous to go out alone," Javi reminded you and just pouted your lips at him.

"I just needed to go out and damn kid just wanted a damn snack," you laughed lightly at yourself, "now half the city is probably out looking for me."

"Try half the country," Steve corrected as you just looked at Javi and he sheepishly shrugged at you. He gave Connie a look and the two of them shared a nod, deciding it was time for them to go, "glad you're okay and it was just a misunderstanding. I think this should serve as a lesson to keep calm, right Javi?"

"Fuck off, Murph," Javi flipped him the bird but gave him a thankful smile nonetheless. You gave them a wave before crossing your arms over your chest and shaking your head at him, "I was worried, alright? Every single thought bad of what could have happened to you went through my mind. I would never forgive myself something happened to you, either of you, because of me."

"I know," you put your hand on his cheek and rubbing your thumb gently over his cheekbone, "nothing will ever happen to me or this bean. At least not because of you, probably because I tried over my own feet, which I haven't seen in months, thank you very much."

"You don't know that-"

"Javi, I do," you insisted firmly, "you take such good care of us all the time. You do everything. I know nothing will go wrong, we're safe and sound, here with you.”

“I cannot believe I was this worried about my wife going out and getting ice cream and pickles,” he let out a long sigh of relief as he watched you with a small smile. He took your hand and laced your fingers together, “you are...something else.”

“Firstly - froyo,” you reminded him with a laugh, “and secondly - not your wife.”

“Not yet,” he beamed at you with a little wink. He had plans for that, big plans, but he wasn’t about to tell you that yet.

“Oh yeah, is that so?” you played it cool but internally you were bubbling up with excitement.

“Yeah,” he promised, giving you a nod, “but that’s a discussion for another time. Now why don’t get your...dessert? Snack? Whatever you call and we can go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s what you get for panicking,” you traced you a finger down his nose before kissing it gently. He held you there for a moment, resting his forehead against yours, “I love you, Javi. Really.”

“I love you too, honey,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “even if you do stress me out.”

“Out of love.”

“Aye, dios mio,” he made quick work of scooping you up in his arms, making it effortless and like you totally weren’t heavily pregnant, “you’ve lost all privileges now. Time for bed.”

“Okay, but when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound like a punishment, it just sounds sexy,” you giggled as he started carrying you towards the bedroom, “and that’s how I got pregnant in the first place!”

“Honey...”

“And don’t forget my froyo and pickles!”

[reyescarlos]

from the bottom i come running

co-written with @bilbobagglns in celebration of @starlightbuck‘s birthday. we love you so much, nicole! so much so that we dared to try our hand at writing a soccer fic just for you! happy birthday, lovebug!! 💕💜

read on ao3

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t like soccer, but he doesn’t really care for it.

So when he is asked if he wants to try out for a charity team of first responders, he declines with a smile. He is busy as it is without needing to add training on top of all his responsibilities. Also, truth be told, soccer rules don’t make much sense to him.

Baseball now! That’s his sport and he could rattle about it for hours, enough to put Mr. Trivia himself to shame. Speaking of which, of course Evan Buckley tried for the team and, of course, he made the cut.

That’s how Eddie finds himself in Oregon ready to cheer his friend on.

“Do you think Buck is going to like my sign?”

Christopher has worked hard on it – it’s painted in every color he had and he even insisted on glitter.

“It’s to cheer him on, Dad. It has to be colorful!”

“I know he’s gonna love it, bud.”

It’s the truth. Anything that Christopher will do, Buck will love. It’s as simple as that and this does nothing to Eddie’s heart, no. It’s not like Buck’s love for his kid, true and pure and unconditional, makes Eddie long for a life together with the three of them as a family.

(Well it does, but he will keep denying it.)

“Hi, is this seat taken?”

A man with kind eyes and a bright smile is pointing at the seat right next to Eddie.

“No, you can take it, no problem.”

“Thanks,” the stranger replies and extends his hand after sitting down. “I’m TK.”

“Eddie,” he replies, shaking his hand.

“Hi, I’m Christopher,” his son says and Eddie is bursting with pride and amusement as he reaches to take TK’s hand as well.

“Pleased to meet you, Christopher,” TK says easily. “That’s a beautiful sign you got there.”

Chris beams at the praise, his cheeks turning red but he holds TK’s gaze anyway.

“It’s for Buck,” he tells him like it explains everything, and to him, it does.

“He’s on the Purple Team,” Eddie reveals. “We’re all here to cheer on him.”

“And see him make a fool of himself hopefully.”

At the comment, Chris whirls to give Chim quite the impressive stare and in that moment he looks so much like his mother than it makes Eddie breath catch in his throat.

“He’s going to win,” Christopher announces, sure of himself like he would be of the sun rising in the morning. “Just you wait.”

“Don’t worry, Chris,” Hen intervenes with a gentle smile. “He’s just teasing.”

Seeming to accept the explanation, Chris gives Chim another warning look before turning back to the field, waiting for the players to come out and start the game.

“So your Buck,” TK says, “he’s on the Purple Team? So’s my boyfriend. His name is Carlos.”

“Oh, he’s a firefighter too?”

But TK shakes his head, “I am, he’s a cop.”

“That’s great. We’re all firefighters here, Buck too.”

“We’re not all firefighters here,” Athena cuts in.

Eddie laughs, “Yes, sorry. Athena here is a police officer.”

They talk about their stations, crazy calls they have encountered and TK fits in seamlessly with the big rowdy group that has become Eddie’s family of choice. They learn TK has come by himself to root for his boyfriend and that they both of them live in Texas, which in turn makes Eddie talk about El Paso and his time there.

Should they ever find themselves in Los Angeles, invitations have already been offered to TK, and by extension Carlos though they have yet to meet him, but if he proves to be as delightful as TK, there should be no reason not to enjoy his company as well.

“You’ll have to explain the rules to me,” TK fake whispers with good humor. “I only know they’re kicking after a ball and it’s supposed to get in the goal over there. That’s it.”

“Oh, I don’t really understand soccer. I’m only here for Buck.”

TK laughs freely at Eddie’s comment and then adds, tongue in cheek, “Well, aren’t we a pair? Two soccer novices cheering their boyfriends on?”

Behind them, Chim bursts out laughing and Hen almost chokes on her drink with her lour snickering. Meanwhile Eddie – Eddie is just frozen.

“I don’t,” he splutters at last and it takes him several tries to get a proper sentence out. “Buck and I aren’t dating.”

Frowning in confusion, TK glances at Eddie, then Chris who is still holding tight onto his Go Buck! sign, and Buck himself before settling his gaze on Eddie again.

“Oh,” is all he says, sounding like he is biting his tongue not to say more.

“They’re still in denial, don’t worry about it,” Chim intervenes and Eddie does not have to turn around to know that he is wearing a very satisfied smirk. “You get used to the pining.”

“No one is pining,” Eddie lies, quite well if he’d say so himself.

He knows very well that one person is in fact himself and it is not Buck, no matter how hard he wishes his feelings were returned.

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Hen says, “and then one day you’ll finally get your head out of you as – butt and pull us all out of our misery.”

She catches herself before she swears but it doesn’t escape May who hides her laughing behind her hand. Hen winks at her before laughing too. Nia, in her mother’s arms, joins in the laughter just for the love of it.

“Come on,” Athena chimes in, trying to look stern but Eddie knows her well enough to see she is amused as the rest of the team. “Leave the poor man alone.”

TK’s eyes alight with restrained laughter when Eddie turns back to him, offering him a contrite smile.

Before anyone can embarrass him any further, the two soccer teams enter the field and the crowd screams out in excitement – Christopher being the loudest of them all.

Buck waves at them, a huge smile on his lips, his eyes alight even with the distance. Eddie’s heart soars with love.

The match starts and Eddie can only cheer with the rest of the crowd.

~*~*~

TK breathes in the fresh air, hoping that it’ll be enough to flush out the nervousness he feels in the pit of his stomach. Soccer may not be his area of expertise but each time he comes to watch Carlos out on the field for a match, he feels invested. A part of him is out there on the green. Even from such a great distance he can tell Carlos is having fun with this. He’s in his element, his strong legs all but making him a blur as he races down the field toward the goal post. It’s a marvel, truly, to watch Carlos in complete control of himself and the ball. For the life of him TK can’t understand how any of the players manage to do this with such ease. But there’s something just so special about Carlos in particular— though, TK realizes, that may just be his bias talking.

Though this game is hardly the World Cup, TK can’t help but to feel the pressure build within him, his knuckle turning white from how tightly he’s gripping the sign in his hand. It’s not nearly as colorful as Chris’ beside him but TK couldn’t resist getting into the spirit, donning a purple hoodie as well. He wishes Michelle or his father could be here now but TK has enough energy for everyone back home and then some.

“That’s Carlos,” he points out to Eddie and Chris.

TK eyes his boyfriend in his shorts, feeling his cheeks flush for a moment. He’s glad for the crisp autumn air to disguise it.

“Hey, he’s with Buck! Maybe they’re friends already,” Chris notes as the two guys exchange a quick low five after Buck makes an impressive block.

“That’d be awesome.”

TK grows quiet then, the players really pick up with intensity out on the pitch. He may be surrounded by people in the stands but his attention rests solely on the field before him, his eyes tracking Carlos’ every move.

Despite Carlos’ best efforts to get TK to understand the nuances of the game, TK’s knowledge is still rudimentary at best but it’s enough for him to know that his boyfriend is doing amazingly well out there. Carlos and Buck work seamlessly off each other as if they’re tuned into the same frequency.

TK breaks his attention away to smile over at Chris and Eddie, the two just as absorbed in the match as he’s been this whole time.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” he muses aloud.

“It’s like they’re flying,” Chris replies, eyes bright behind his glasses. TK can’t help but to agree as Buck and Carlos go thundering up the field.

Even though Buck’s maneuver is thwarted by the other team’s player, there’s no question that the man is extremely skilled as well.

TK’s eyes move over to Eddie who doesn’t seem to have heard any of the exchange TK has just had with his son. Eddie’s eyes are unmoving from the field and it’s obvious there’s only one person he’s truly paying attention to out there.

Despite what the man may have been willing to admit aloud or even to himself, TK can see Eddie’s affection for Buck clear as day on his face. Granted, he’s just a stranger but even from their brief conversation on the matter, he could discern a lot. As far as he could tell, Eddie didn’t have to worry. Chris was clearly a huge supporter of Buck, perhaps in more ways than one and Eddie’s crew seemed to be more than on board with the idea of them. All Eddie would have to do was be brave enough to say something but TK knew just how hard that could be.

Getting together with Carlos and letting go of his own fears was easier said than done but it landed him in the best, most meaningful relationship of his life. Now isn’t the time to have such a heart to heart and TK wonders if the man would even want to hear what he has to say on the matter. He’s an outsider but TK feels a kinship to him all the same. All he can do is hope that Eddie and Buck find their way to each other. If everyone can find the kind of happiness he’s found with Carlos, TK figures the world would be a better place.

TK feels his phone buzz inside his hoodie’s pocket. He sets his sign down and retrieves it, smiling at the screen when he sees an incoming FaceTime call from his father. He answers, his screen filling up with his dad’s face as he connects to his earbuds. He can see that he’s inside his office back at the 126, undoubtedly sitting before a mountain of paperwork.

“Hey, kid. How’s the match going?” Owen asks, not wasting any time in trying to see how Carlos is doing so far.

“Neither team has scored yet but Carlos is killing it out there, of course.”

TK flips the camera on his phone so his father can watch a bit of the match as well. The timing is perfect as Carlos is now in possession of the ball, doing some complicated footwork to maintain control that would have had TK tripping over his own feet if he were to even dare trying a move like that. TK can’t help but to beam with pride.

TK holds his breath as Carlos sidesteps a player on the orange team that’s barreling towards him. He rises to his feet, his heart in his throat as Carlos is able to keep control of the ball and sends it flying into the goal.

“Go, Carlos!” Chris shouts.

TK lets out a triumphant roar of his own, his father whooping as well. TK looks to Chris and gives the young boy a high five, beaming back at him.

“Oh man, I wish I could stay on and watch the rest of the game but duty calls. I’m sure Carlos and his team will keep the momentum going,” Owen says. “Enjoy the match and keep me posted.”

“Will do,” TK responds, quickly ending the call. He can feel his whole body buzzing with excitement for Carlos who finds him in the crowd and gives him a wink.

TK mirrors the move as he claps and sits back down again. He’s practically bouncing in his seat as the game continues.

The purple team continues to do well though no more points are scored as the second quarter begins but Buck and Carlos are on fire during this next leg of the match, their skills clearly a cut above the others. Buck manages another goal with an assist from TK, the two exchanging another low high five. The orange team tries to rally after Buck’s goal, desperate to at least score one point now that they’re down two nothing. The tactics become a bit more intense with players from the orange team clearly marking Buck and Carlos as the main ones to focus on. Carlos is being guarded heavily by one man on the orange team when he’s in possession. TK feels anxious watching Carlos try to break away but the man is like a shadow. As Carlos darts to the right, he’s felled by the other player who very deliberately tripped Carlos.

TK shoots up from his seat, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach just as Carlos’ body drops to the ground, clutching at his leg. The crowd sucks in a collective breath but TK can only really register the sight of his boyfriend’s face contorting in pain. Buck crouches down beside him, speaking to him hurriedly.

“Dad, is Carlos going to be okay?” Christopher asks, his voice a quiet whisper as if not to spook TK. It’s touching that this kid he’s only just met is so considerate.

“I...I’m sure he’s alright,” Eddie says. He doesn’t sound entirely convincing but it hardly matters. The man’s words are like static in TK’s ears as he fights the urge to go racing out onto the pitch to check on Carlos himself and also give the other player a piece of his mind.

His body moves inches forward on its own accord as the rest of Carlos’ team crowds around him along with a medic from the sidelines and the referee heads who holds up a yellow card to the player responsible for bowling Carlos over and TK shouts his frustration.

“That’s it?” Certainly a red card and dismissal from the match would be the best course of action.

TK can see Buck getting upset at the call as well, the man drawing nearer to the referee to make the case. TK could just hug him for that, for stepping up and defending Carlos right then and there when he’s unable to do just that on his own.

It’s obvious Buck isn’t having much luck, his expression growing grimmer as the medic tends to Carlos. It’s torture watching his boyfriend in pain and TK can feel his eyes stinging as he struggles to keep himself in together as Carlos is helped off the field.

“I can’t just stand here,” he says to no one in particular.

TK leaves the stands, racing down the steps and hurrying along to where the purple team is congregated on the benches. He isn’t even sure he’s allowed down here but he doesn’t spare a thought to it as he pushes his way to Carlos’ side.

“TK? What are—,” Carlos starts but TK silences him with a hug.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s my ankle. I think I twisted it.”

TK shoots a glare over at the orange team, searching for the guy responsible for this.

“Babe, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re the one with the busted ankle. I should be comforting you right now, not the other way around, Los.”

Carlos laughs and nods as the medic wraps his ankle and ices it. She confirms Carlos’ suspicion about the severity of his injury.

“True but I’d also like to make sure we keep the peace. This is a charity event after all and I’d hate to have to see my boyfriend arrested. Don’t forget, we’re surrounded by cops; you’re severely outnumbered,” he teases.

TK’s lips twitch with a smile, his disdain towards the other player fading away as he gives Carlos a quick kiss, cupping his cheek and brushing his thumb along Carlos’ cheekbone.

“I take it this is TK,” a voice says. TK turns and sees Buck holding out his hand. “I’m—”

“Buck. It’s nice to meet you.”

Buck’s brows furrow in confusion, no doubt wondering how it is that TK knows his name already. TK points over to where he had been seated in the stands, Christopher holding up his sign above his now that they’re all looking his way.

“I got the chance to meet your crew and two very special parts of it. Chris is the coolest kid ever and his dad is just as incredible.”

TK doesn’t miss the soft expression in Buck’s eyes as he looks over at the father and son duo. TK and Carlos exchange a glance before Buck turns his attention back on them again.

“They’re family,” Buck says simply with a warm smile. “How are you feeling, Carlos? What’d the medic say?”

“Twisted not sprained so that’s a relief. It’s low grade so I won’t be out of commission for too long.”

“The second the match is over I’m taking you right back to the hotel, alright? I know you’ll be fine but I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when you’re in bed getting rest.”

“Yes, Dr. Strand,” Carlos muses. “Report back to the stands. We all need to see Buck continue to kick some butt out there.”

TK gives him one last kiss. “To help with the pain and suffering,” he quips before hurrying back to rejoin Eddie and Chris.

~*~*~

Purple team wins.

Even as he cheers, Eddie spares a glance at his new friend and is relieved to find he has already rushed to his boyfriend's side and both TK and Carlos are smiling widely and clapping on the bench.

The crowd rushes on the field to congratulate the winners as loud as they can.

Both Eddie and Christopher are somehow the first to reach Buck despite the rest of their family getting a headstart on them while Chris got his crutches. Something tells him that they have let them, though he couldn’t say why.

(That’s a lie. He knows why.)

(Damn meddlers)

(That is also a lie. He loves them all dearly.)

Buck has sweated through his shirt, his normally well-coiffed hair is a mess of curls and unruly strands. Eddie has no rights to find him as beautiful as he does but he can’t help it.

Buck is magnificent. The sun itself must be envious of how bright he shines.

The energy is high and everyone is speaking excitedly about the game, Carlos’ injury and the insane rules of soccer.

Chim slaps Buck on his shoulder with a, “Good job, Buckaroo,” which earns him a satisfied look from Christopher, ever defendant of his Buck.

“Did you like my sign, Buck?” he asks, pointing to it now in Eddie’s hands.

“I loved it, buddy. Thank you so much, it’s the best sign anyone has ever made in the history of signs.”

From anyone else, it would have been an exaggeration to please a kid. From Buck, it’s nothing but the truth.

They stay a while there, chatting and laughing, and then the players go to change and finally, it’s time to leave. The kids are tiring and so are the adults if Eddie is being honest. The Oregon fall air keeps chilling and they are all angsty to get back inside where it’s warm.

“Eddie, wait.”

It’s TK running up to him, his phone in his hand which he gives to Eddie. Carlos waves at him from the car.

“Give me your number,” TK says. “I’ll hold you to your and your friends’ words when Carlos and I are in LA. I’m gonna have to see for myself how great your station is.”

“Of course,” Eddie replies with a laugh. “But be ready to be impressed.”

He gives TK his phone back.

“Reach out to if you ever find yourself in Austin, you and anyone else you’d wanna bring with.”

There’s something else there in between the words but TK is already saying goodbye, probably in a hurry to bring Carlos back to their hotel room so he can shower and rest his poor ankle.

Yet, half-turned, TK stills.

His gaze finds Eddie and, gently, only for his ears, he says something that has Eddie’s foundations shake.

“You know, if everyone sees it, it may be because it’s actually there.”

He glances behind Eddie before wiking at him and then he’s gone.

“They make a great couple,” Buck says when he comes up to him, seconds later.

Eddie can only hum in return, his thoughts are miles away.

“You’re okay?”

Buck is frowning in concern. His cheeks are still warm from the effort of the game but his breathing is even as his eyes wrack over Eddie’s face.

Buck is always so concerned about Eddie and Christopher too. He would gladly give up any plans he had if the Diaz boys only asked for anything at all.

Maybe it is there.

“TK thought we were dating,” he admits, voice low.

“Oh.” Silence. “Carlos thought so too.”

Eddie searches in his best friend’s eyes an answer to a question he can’t bring himself to ask just yet. What he finds gives him hope, and courage as well.

“Weird huh,” Buck says and he licks his lips in what Eddie recognizes to be nervousness.

He smiles, relieved beyond words. “No, not so weird.”

“No?

Buck is carefully hopeful, as if his heart beats too loud in his chest and he is afraid the whole world might hear it but unable to calm it all the same.

Serene like he has not been in so long a time, Eddie reaches for Buck’s hand and squeezes it.

“No,” he repeats. “It’s not weird at all.”

And though they don’t say it, they both know.

It is there and it is forever.

[sevensoulmates]

If buddie did happen, how do you think bobby would react?(ie capatain bobby or more dad bobby.. dont hurt my son)

WHEW! Okay...so it’s pretty common knowledge that everyone has a “Bobby Knows” tag because he tends to always be the main character the camera either pans/cuts to to see his reaction to how Buck and Eddie interact. Do I actually believe that “Bobby knows” in the sense that he knows the two are into each other romantically? It’s debatable. I think that Bobby knows that there is SOMETHING there between the two. He’s seen something in the two of them since day 1. He knows that what they have goes beyond just work partners, and beyond being simple friends. He knows that what Eddie and Buck have is something incredibly unique to them. Does he know if it could be romantic? Unsure. He could suspect but might think that it’s unlikely given both boys stubborn and idiotic nature.

I think the strongest contender moment that Bobby might’ve been clued in on the true nature of Buck’s feelings for Eddie would’ve been in Eddie Begins. Not exactly the moment after when he, Chim and Hen are trying to convince Buck that they’re not going to give up and search for Eddie, but during the moment after Buck saves Bobby’s life and then has a full on break down in the mud and rain over Eddie being buried. I think the fact that Bobby had to physically pull Buck back, had to haul him down to the ground and comfort the man while he sobbed in his arms. I think there’s no way Bobby wasn’t reminded of himself in that moment. How he felt at the worst moments of his life when his family died. I think that was the moment it was solidified that Buck has stronger feelings for Eddie than Bobby may have realized. 

Because of this, I think if Bobby were to find out that Buck and Eddie were a thing in the show, he would probably be surprised. He might’ve thought that neither of them would ever realize or admit. Or maybe even he thought the two of them would be so set in their heterosexual mindsets that they would never even consider the idea that they might be in love with each other.  But I think internally he likely would’ve seen it coming. It’s impossible after that episode Buck pulled in Eddie Begins. 

That’s my analysis on Bobby the adoptive father who loves those idiots like sons. 

But Bobby the fire captain? Oh hO HO. I think it’s very telling the fact that Bobby DID NOT reprimand Buck for his actions when Eddie was buried. That was not only a blatant lack of professionalism on Buck’s part, but speaks to Buck’s larger issues of letting his emotions control him. It’s Buck’s huge professional “flaw”, and a lesson that Bobby and the show has been trying to teach him since day 1. Sure Buck’s actions didn’t endanger anyone, but it’s showing a lack of professionalism IN UNIFORM (which we know Bobby takes seriously) and it’s while they’re surrounded by reporters who could’ve taped everything. And it’s happening when every moment is essential to rescue Eddie and they shouldn’t be “wasting time” by Buck having an emotional breakdown and Bobby needing to comfort him. By all means, if Bobby was an objective fire captain, he could’ve gotten Buck seriously in trouble for this. Hell, he could’ve said “hey, the way you acted was extremely unprofessional out there and it makes me question your relationship with Firefighter Diaz. If whatever feelings you may harbor for Firefighter Diaz will continue to put you in an emotionally compromising position while on duty, we may have to look into switching your rotations and/or switching you to a different firehouse.”

After all, the reason Bobby didn’t recommend Buck come back to work after the pulmonary embolism is because “he’s responsible for nearly 30 other firefighters and we can’t risk their lives by having you be physically compromised on the field”. And yet, Bobby doesn’t reprimand him AT ALL for being emotionally compromised during Eddie Begins. And I think that is PURELY because he empathized with how Buck felt in that moment, and knows that when your person is on the verge of dying, you will do whatever you can to try and save them. And also because Bobby loves Buck like a son, and it probably broke his heart to see how broken Buck became at the thought of losing Eddie.

Bobby likes to play this game where he pretends he always puts his captain duties above his emotional connections to his firefighters and yet we spend the whole show showing how Bobby actually tends to let his love for his family influence decisions he makes as captain. Bobby can be extremely biased (he expects way more out of Buck and lets Buck get away with a lot less than everyone else because he loves Buck and wants him to be a better firefighter for his own sake). We already know that Bobby sees himself in Buck and that’s why he pushes him so hard to “grow out” of his reckless ways.

So how will he react to the news of Buck and Eddie being officially together? I think it would be an extreme internal battle for him. Because in one way, in his dad way, he’s happy that his sons are happy. But in another way, he has a duty as fire captain to ascertain whether them being together will pose a threat to the lives of the other firefighters he manages. Buck and Eddie who BOTH already have a reputation of easily putting themselves in dangerous situations to save people (most of the time people they don’t even know or have any personal connection with whatsoever). So imagine the lengths they would go to if something happened to one of them. Bobby has already seen how Buck reacted to possibly losing Eddie (BEFORE anything romantic developed). He knows that that feeling would only be intensified now that they’ve officially acknowledged that the love they have for each other is beyond that of friendship or work camaraderie. And they have a son between them as well which adds yet another layer of complications. Now Bobby has to make a decision, does he act like a captain and split them apart professionally (which we already know will cause a SHIT TON of conflict with Buck since he already fears losing his 118 family) or does he act like a father and place his personal trust in them over his duties as captain, and let them be together in the same shifts in the same fire house. 

How will his choices effect the rest of his team, and effect his place as captain? Would allowing them to continue as they are actually put others in danger? How will Buck and Eddie learn to control their impulsive decisions on the clock? Will allowing them to remain together mean Bobby risks his own job for unprofessionalism? Or on the other hand, will splitting them up drive Buck further away from him? Will it make Buck resent Bobby even more for never having any trust in Buck? For always thinking Buck is a screw up who can’t make objective decisions? Will they risk fracturing their already fragile relationship even more after the lawsuit? 

There are so many potential ramifications, and I think it would be an AMAZING plotline to explore on screen. 

[punkscowardschampions]

Dash & Lux

Dash: ☀️🧙🏽‍♀️🎶🥁🎸🪕🧚🏿‍♂️🌿🌼🧚🔮💃💫🔥🕺🏻🌳💗🍯🍻

Lux: That is almost exactly what the inside of my head looks like right now!!!

Lux: Is mind-reading a power that is bestowed upon you believers this eve?! 🤔😲

Dash: Right on

Dash: it’s one of many, trust

Lux: I’m ever sadder I can only be an observer now

Lux: Telepathy would be the most useful!

Dash: you gotta open your 👀 at least twice

Lux: I can 👀 at it, all of it in its splendour, just not participate

Dash: Bummer! What’s got you backing off? You don’t look like no wallflower chick to me

Lux: I got the dress code 🌻🌻🌻

Lux: Sunflowers are so strong-looking for flowers, don’t you think?

Lux: Not dainty and delicate

Lux: Well, I’m a Christian and technically this is a Pagan ritual so it’s a big 🚫🚫

Lux: I am finding it super interesting though

Dash: they don’t look strong, they are, babe 🌻🌻🌻 cleaned up Chernobyl, it’s far out what they can do

Dash: its roots, yeah, but we’re not all pagans here & we all still find something to celebrate, you could do St John the Baptist’s birthday as a christian, bonfires were big for that too

Lux: Whaaaaaaaaaat????! TELL ME MORE

Dash: about 🌻🌻🌻 or 🎂🔥🎇🎆?

Lux: 🌻🌻🌻 birthdays are contentious too

Dash: Helianthus annuus, from the Greek helios, meaning ☀️ they can remove poisonous chemicals & metals from the ground, water or air

Dash: they spread rapidly & can stabilize if not totally clear a field in 3 years, it’s 🤯

Lux: I wish I’d gone to school

Lux: Do you know any more fascinating things?

Lux: That sounds like magic

Dash: the world’s full of magic, but it wasn’t school that taught me to recognize it

Lux: Share the secret, kind sir

Dash: you’ve got the 🔑 & this here’s your kingdom, all you have to do is hang out & stay hip to what you 👀👂👃👅

Dash: 🧠➡️⬅️⬆️⬇️↗️↘️↙️↖️↪️↩️⤴️⤵️

Lux: I’ve 👅 so many wondrous tastes today

Lux: I feel full in so many senses of the word

Lux: How long have you been a member of the kingdom, stranger?

Dash: quest accepted to lay that feeling on you in every sense, then it’ll be a rad celebration

Dash: I’ve been here since I could walk, everywhere else is too big a drag to keep me

Lux: Oh, that’s so kind!

Lux: Everyone is so open and willing to teach me things

Lux: For instance, quick, when’s your birthday, wolf boy

Dash: it’s that kinda space 🦊

Dash: 20th of January 🎂 got me on the cusp ♑♒

Lux: Twins!

Lux: My birthday, which I’ve never celebrated before, is the 20th of March 😱

Lux: Someone, I’m not sure who, was just telling me about the Celtic tree signs

Lux: ‘If you were born in the month of the birch, you probably have a fresh and unusual outlook on life. People born under this Celtic tree astrology sign tend to be highly driven and are always full of zeal and ambition. They always want more and try to reach new horizons and expand their knowledge. Some of the characteristics attributed to the Birch sign are tolerance, toughness, and leadership. The Birch signs can brighten a room with their smile and quickly charm other people’

Lux: Yay or nay 🐺

Dash: you charmed so far or nah? [obviously smiling at her wherever she is as well like heyyy]

Lux: [definition of this emoji 🤭]

Dash: What’s your celtic tree sign?

Lux: ‘Those born under the Alder sign are natural pathfinders. They have the ability to move people and quickly gain followers to their cause. The Alders have a way with words, mingle easily and people love to be around them. They possess a mystic charisma, confidence and strong self-faith. Other character traits are: a good focus on goals and ideas, can’t tolerate fluff and waste.’

Lux: I am unsure but flattered 😊😊😊

Dash: I dig it

Dash: they let you know if we’re compatible? Your ♓♈ cusp makes you mad desirable to all signs

Lux: You need to see who here was born 15th April to 12th May or 2nd September to 29th September

Lux: But it says I’m compatible with you, so how does that work?! 😣

Lux: There’s so much I have to get my head ‘round

Dash: You’re gonna be 🥰💖 for me while I’m 🔍 for a 🐈 or 🐤 born on those dates?

Lux: Hey, that’s way less nice!

Lux: but I can also be looking for people born 13th May to 9th June AND 10th June to 7th July so 😋

Dash: those signs are full of it, trying to make me look uncool but don’t sweat it, I’d never cut you that low, like

Lux: If it’s not in the 💫s I can still say I’m pleased to meet you today as friends, Mowgli

Dash: Look up

Dash: if you don’t see a 🌠 I can show you a 🐺🌟 & 🦊🌟 chasing each other across the sky

Lux: [obviously literally does]

Lux: That’s very Disney 🏰✨

Dash: is that allowed?

Lux: I watched some at a friend’s house one time

Dash: & how was it?

Lux: 😭 but romantic

Dash: Anyone told you the oak king story yet?

Lux: Okay, thank Goodness

Lux: this lady with the dreads and the big back tattoo tried to tell me but I couldn’t understand her 🙊

Lux: Redeem your gentlemanly reputation and save both of us the embarrassment

Lux: Her accent was wild! 🤯

Dash: did her version start with Fadó, fadó?

Dash: wouldn’t be a wild guess

Lux: I won’t credit you with any telepathic skills this time, then

Lux: also I’d need to 👂 it again to confirm fully but yes, I think so

Dash: [send her an utterly unnecessary voice memo]

Lux: It sounds more intriguing when you say it

Dash: [obviously gotta tell her the full story in an irish voice memo purely for the #flex and the flirt cos you know damn well you’re gonna have to translate it, boy]

Lux: 🤩

Lux: Did you learn that here too?

Lux: I’ve lived so many different places and yet I only know the one language

Dash: My ma started it but when the establishment took over it was a bad scene & turned me off for time, last few years here it felt groovy again having that connection & I refound the 💚☘️

Lux: It’s really cool

Lux: it sounds old, or like elvish or something else not real

Dash: it’s a trip, you’ve gotta get someone to teach you while your fly by lasts

Lux: Oh, I live here 😊

Lux: I room with Nora, do you know her?

Dash: Beats me, what’s her deal?

Lux: Her and her brother Finley have been here for a while, but not forever like you

Lux: but there are a lot of people here so I’m not surprised you’re not sure 😅

Dash: not a clue but loads of people are too rattled to wanna get involved, could be her vibe

Dash: or she just ain’t outta sight like you

Lux: She’s totally involved, she secured like all of the sunflowers for today

Lux: well, me and Amber helped but she was definitely the most enthusiastic

Dash: 🌻👑! I do know her, but her in with Amber & instant karma means she’s not gonna mess around with me

Lux: Ooh, what did you do

Dash: jack, Amber’s hassling me cos I’m not trying to be her old man, she gets super rash & things get heavy with 0 slack

Lux: Hmm I shouldn’t have asked 🤐🙉

Dash: ask her why she’s making a move on my older bro now if not to try & lay a trip on me, babe’s lost it

Lux: Whaaaaaaa

Lux: You have a brother?!

Lux: Is he invisible?

Dash: I wish

Lux: Which one is he, point him out

Dash: [points in the direction of their house lol]

Lux: [a face of understanding like oh okay]

Lux: How does Amber know him then?

Dash: from stalking me

Lux: I don’t think she would do that

Lux: She must’ve just bumped into him or something

Dash: at my house, yeah

Lux: It’s cool, it’s not really my business

Dash: open 👀 like I said

Lux: 📖

Dash: that too 🧠💗🤲

Lux: I can agree with that sentiment

Dash: we’re groovy then

Lux: Of course 😊

Lux: enjoy your evening

Dash: back at you, golden girl ☀️🎇👸🏼

Lux: I like your outfit too

Lux: it’s very ☀️🧙🏽‍♀️🎶🥁🎸🪕🧚🏿‍♂️🌿🌼🧚🔮💃💫🔥🕺🏻🌳💗🍯🍻

Dash: [comes over and ties a chain of flowers around her wrist like it’s a friendship bracelet energy]

Lux: [clearly delighted with this]

Dash: [ask her if she wants to dance even though you know damn well she’s only observing because kind of boy you are]

Lux: [so rude lowkey when she’s struggling so hard with what she does and doesn’t believe now, we’re in enough of a dilemma without your help but there we go; thus we will go dance with you because we do want to and we can make arguments that that isn’t joining in with the rituals of it all]

Dash: [he’s lucky Amber is busy because she would fight him, but instead enjoy your dance you two]

Lux: [the audacity of your lies about her, we were so awkward like 😬 anyway, we will have a nice dance though]

Dash: [such a dickhead he can only be humbled by fire, full offense Nora because we’re ignoring you hen cos you’re clearly wise to his bs]

Lux: [there’s clearly a growing group of gals who are unimpressed by your nonsense and that will be interesting to navigate]

Dash: [Definitely, but yeah probably do slip away like a snek before any of those gals do kick your ass]

Lux: 🎃👠🐁🌠🕛

Dash: A 📘 for the 🔥

Lux: 🤔?

Dash: it’s a drag, all that heavy shit with her fam is a bummer, she gets to split but only til 🕛 that’s some 🌠

Lux: Yeah, it’s enough to get help though and then she gets saved

Dash: nah, to get shafted, she don’t get to dance with anyone else there, it’s a scam

Lux: 😅 who else does she need, she’s got the prince, silly!

Dash: someone who recognizes her next day?

Lux: Touche 😏

Lux: Being a 🤴 is a lot of work

Dash: What 🤴 told you that?

Lux: Where to begin

Lux: I’ve known several who would say as much and the 👸s would never disagree

Dash: Fadó, fadó, fadó a bhí ann…

Dash: but I’d shut it down from the beginning, they gotta be shining you on

Lux: I’m going to have to have translate open constantly, I see 😰

Lux: but very noble

Dash: I try, like you & your ☘️ it’s chill we’ve all got your back

Lux: It would be way worse if it was the only language any of you spoke

Lux: thank goodness 😅

Lux: there’s lots more that’s more pertinent for me to get a grip on

Dash: 🧝🧝🏻‍♀️🧝🏽🧝🏾‍♀️

Dash: we’ve got you on the rest too, like, goes without saying

Lux: Most everyone has been super welcoming

Dash: how long have you lived here?

Lux: Not long enough that that’s insulting 😋

Lux: but gosh, a couple of weeks? Must be

Dash: nah I meant cos I don't wanna explain to you what sorta place this is like you're fresh through the door if you've had loads of time to find your own way

Lux: Oh no, I’m a total n00b

Lux: Hazel got me here but I’ve kinda just been left to it since

Lux: Anything you wanna tell me would be appreciated

Dash: did Amber or Nora give you the tour?

Lux: Amber’s been super busy and Nora likes to stay in our room mostly

Dash: not super welcoming

Dash: but it’s no sweat, I’ll show you round, we’ll have a blast

Lux: they’ve both got their own stuff going on, I don’t expect them to drop it for me

Lux: but that would still be cool, thank you!

Dash: say when

Dash: it’ll be as electric under the ☀️ as the 🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌙

Lux: I can 👀 in the dark

Lux: You choose

Lux: find me when you’ve stopped having the MOST fun?

Dash: 🐺🐾🦊

Dash: Meet me in the orchard at midnight, ditching your shoes before

Dash: there’s an 🍏🌳🍎 you can 👀 the whole farm from the top of

Lux: And you’ll remember what I look like?

Dash: you look unreal

Dash: unforgettable

Lux: I got creative with the arts and crafts 🌟⚡️☀️

Lux: I’ve always made my own clothes

Lux: well, I made them for my sisters before

Lux: looking unforgettable was not the end goal there though

Lux: that was for secret

Dash: my nan would be hip to you, she used to make her own clothes, for her girl & her sister too when they wanted, it’s still a vibe for her

Lux: I will make her something then

Lux: what’s her style?

Dash: indescribable

Dash: I’ll show you pics

Lux: Awkward if your nan is cuter than you

Dash: at our age she totally was

Lux: Awh, you’re so sweet

Lux: I have nothing nice to say about my meemaw

Dash: keep it for mine when you meet her

Lux: You’re gonna introduce me to your nan? 😊

Dash: right on, she’ll wanna put whatever you make on for you to 👀 & it’s only a few fields over

Lux: 🏞 it’s a crazy beautiful spot to live, that’s for sure

Lux: so you live with her?

Dash: Yeah, my ma grew up there & when my parents called it quits she wanted to move back

Lux: You’re close-knit

Lux: that’s special

Dash: closer than I am to my da

Lux: Does that upset you?

Dash: I don’t let it upset my equilibrium, he’s uptight, that’s his problem not mine

Lux: I understand

Lux: I don’t agree with my dad on a lot of things

Lux: it’s still sad though

Dash: I got killer people round me, a 2nd family here accepting me for who I am, it ain’t cool he don’t, but they give me what I need

Lux: I’m happy for you

Lux: Seriously

Lux: again, that’s special, you should be really grateful

Dash: I am, believe me

Dash: you’re gonna scope out how special it is here now I’m in charge of showing you everything

Lux: I’d love to see your 🌍 how you see it

Lux: Kinda sounds like everything I need, honestly

Dash: you can, easily when we’re sharing a branch

Lux: 🧚‍♀️ you’re dainty, I trust you won’t let me fall

Dash: I’ll let you fall into something good though, new heights

Lux: Will it hurt?

Dash: no way

Lux: You aren’t pranking me, are you?

Dash: there’s no plastic on me, I’m being real with you

Lux: If you’re gonna try and jump me out in the orchard I’ll have to show you crazy and I really can’t afford to lose this place okay

Lux: so if I believe you right now and you were lying, it’ll be worse than it would’ve been, you feel me?

Dash: Hurting you isn’t my action, I’m about a gentler touch than that

Lux: and I’m not a bully, that’s not my vibe so that’s the warning out of the way

Dash: avenging 👼 I get it

Lux: My costume has you fooled, I think

Dash: Wait, so you’re pranking me?

Lux: No, I swear! 😅

Lux: I don’t feel like I’ve been anywhere near as nice to you as you have to me though

Dash: but you did dance with me & that was choice

Lux: I wanted to

Dash: me too, I wasn’t asking just to be nice

Lux: even though you’re very nice

Lux: I believe that

Dash: I think we’re getting somewhere

Lux: You understand why I’d find a boy like you being interested in me dubious at first, right

Dash: Nah, but I’m listening

Lux: Well it’s embarrassing to say

Dash: alright, listen, I think you’re the most

Dash: I’m embarrassed I’ve not met you before tonight

Lux: There are so many people to meet

Lux: and you’re like the 🤴 of this place, huh

Lux: you have to dance with all the ugly stepsisters too

Dash: if Amber said write that to bait me I’m shutting up

Lux: I think Amber left 🤔

Lux: And who’s calling her ugly, even if you guys have beef, like no way

Dash: & Nora’s gotta be back in your room cos that’s her bag, yeah?

Dash: so where are you?

Lux: I’m in the middle of [one hippie activity] and [another]

Dash: [go find her and dance with her again obvs, we can be bolder about if some of the haters are gone and it’s later so he’s clearly a bit more drunk/high by now too]

Lux: [the way you’re probably sober like how lmao, not saying you always are or will be ‘cos no but gotta have our wits about us ‘cos witchery is afoot; but yeah we all know it can shamelessly way more of a Thing™]

Dash: [at least Amber was too until her row with the bae even if she wasn’t the most present in other ways, so it wasn’t just you gal, but yeah, dispel any remaining fears she may have that you’re not into this please boy with this moment]

Lux: [we know you got your own going on, it’s good, this drama has to happen whether you like it or not babe sorryyyy, when you’re then even more into it because it’s like HELLO IS THIS ALLOWED, so new and fresh to get to remotely be this brazen]

Dash: [shouldn’t LOVE that for you but I do, we should probably let y’all go on your tour then because we’re both in a mood and there’s nobody to separate you]

Lux: [probably, but I will insist on making you wait ‘til midnight regardless]

Dash: [it is a fat mood and I did pick that time deliberately so yeah, dance the night away first hens]

Lux: [sure it’s probably near that time anyways]

Dash: [yeah absolutely]

Lux: [we can skip to the after in this if you like?]

Dash: [are we thinking am like did y’all fall asleep together or?]

Lux: [Hmm, do we go with the Cinderella and have her bounce or do we go against it and not, because then she would think he wasn’t a dick later]

Dash: [even though he’s a dick I still want all the cute I can grab with my smol hands]

Lux: [it’s not like you can’t be like I just fell asleep it’s nbd with it so yeah okay

Dash: [I also like the camber parallel of it all so]

Lux: [true true, we can do it, then you can just have breakfast as a group because duh, was it sunday or monday today?]

Dash: [I think it’s sunday aka Cosmo is having his 2nd date with Ruby tonight and then Camber breakfast dates start monday]

Lux: [okay then you will have to think of a creative way to ditch her then boy hohaha]

Dash: [at least he can just go home because Amber only stayed to angrily eat some fruit and Cosmo had a busy day ahead because I doubt the shower situation at this commune is thriving, water probably runs out always]

Lux: [what a poser lmaooo]

Dash: [and very rude not to invite her when she probably wants to shower or bathe too]

Lux: [we literally got gems stuck to our face but pop off]

Dash: [we know you’re not because your mother is there and sick of your behaviour but yes, it wouldn’t kill you to let her boy]

Lux: [no offence but run him over, anyway, some time later]

Lux: are you ⬇️🍄?

Dash: 🛹⚡️

Lux: aha, cool

Lux: good thing you didn’t invite me I’d end up 🤕 for sure

Dash: I didn’t stop you falling out of a tree last night to have you fall off a board later in the AM

Lux: Hey, you make it sound like I was 🤏 close! 😆

Dash: nah, your balance is sound

Lux: I don’t recall you stepping on my toes, either

Dash: don’t wanna have to start the day off doubting your 🍒 recall, that’d be a bad scene

Lux: I was totally sober thank you 😅

Dash: easy to claim the magic’s all you when I ain’t met you before but I’m a believer

Lux: Wait, was that a compliment or a diss?

Lux: Maybe I’m contact-wasted

Dash: contact with Nora would get you more sober, there’s a diss

Lux: Awh, don’t be mean!

Lux: She’s been really nice

Dash: chill out, I’m only playing

Lux: Hmm 😏

Lux: anyway, what are you doing later?

Dash: I said I’d hang with Yara

Lux: Oh cool, who’s that?

Dash: I’ll introduce you after

Lux: after what?

Dash: we’re done messing around

Lux: wow, alrighty then

Dash: you’ll like her, she’s a trip

Lux: I’m not totally sure she’d want you to 💬 that

Lux: or I’ll know what to 💬 now

Dash: it’s no biggie

Lux: idk, this is not the way I was raised

Lux: you say it’s not but idk, you know

Dash: you don’t have to meet her

Lux: Yeah

Dash: I think she’s rad but you gotta make up your own mind

Lux: It’s not about her

Dash: nah, you, I understand where you’re coming from, it’s a new world

Lux: Right, it seems really icky to me that you’d tell me any of this

Lux: it’s not about how rad she could be

Dash: Come on, Lux, I’m keeping this honest

Lux: I guess

Lux: Why do you need to tell me though, I don’t get it, for real?

Dash: I like you, I don’t want it to get twisted

Dash: 📖

Lux: Okay, I appreciate the sentiment then

Dash: I’ll come find you later, on my own

Lux: That’s okay

Lux: I’ve got lots of chores to catch up on

Dash: they’ll be done faster if I help you

Lux: I can’t stop you

Lux: the place is a mess after last night and the more people who pitch in the better

Dash: I don’t get why you’d wanna stop me

Lux: I don’t really wanna hang out now, not today anyway

Dash: I can’t believe you’re being like this

Lux: Being like what?

Dash: Amber

Lux: I’m not

Lux: you can’t hang out now, I can’t hang out later, how is it any different?

Dash: the way I’m travelling through today is a straight line, yours is all over the place

Lux: Good for you?

Lux: It doesn’t matter either way though

Dash: doing a u turn on me does matter

Lux: It does?

Lux: because last night you thought I was rad, so obviously this morning I wanted to hang out with you again, so I think it’s my turn to do the 180, if you think about it

Dash: I still think you are, last night was unreal & we can be again, I’m just asking you to take 5 cos I can’t split on Yara after making plans time ago

Lux: That’s fine, it’s not fine to be mad at me ‘cos I ask you to take 5 too

Lux: that makes it make no sense

Dash: I’m not mad at you, I’m trying to make sense of why you’re mad at me

Lux: I’m not mad at you, I’m upset

Lux: You only need to ask

Dash: idk I didn’t think this would go down how it is

Lux: Me either, I guess

Dash: you for real want space?

Lux: I don’t know

Lux: Can I get back to you on that?

Dash: yeah

Lux: I wanted to see you again

Lux: I thought you’d want to see me too

Dash: I do, you read me right last night, why are you gonna start disbelieving yourself today?

Lux: You want to see Yara more

Dash: I wanna see her too

Lux: Okay, have fun then

Dash: we cool?

Lux: I don’t know

Dash: idk what's turned you different, you were laying it on me like you got it, how I'm

like royalty & everyone wants a piece of my time

Lux: Oh my Gosh

Lux: I wasn’t being serious and I didn’t think you were

Lux: do you honestly think that, like what?

Dash: It's a touch plastic saying I'm like 👑 but still close to how it is

Lux: Um, you don’t even live here

Lux: you have a whole house and family

Dash: I'm here with my chosen family as much as I can be

Lux: Yeah, but what do you

actually do for this place, or anyone here?

Lux: The audacity to act like it’s your kingdom, that’s laughable and gross all at once

Dash: back off babe, I do whatever they need me to do

Lux: Babe-ing me right now isn’t a good look

Lux: manual labour at best makes you help, not visiting royalty

Lux: are you crazy, like, who do you think you are, seriously I’m so curious

Dash: Who are you? Thinking you can lay this trip on me about what I can & can't do

Lux: I’m not telling you you can or can’t do anything

Lux: I asked you not to call me babe, which is basic politeness

Dash: nah, you're telling me I don't belong to this place

Dash: questioning how I do like

it's up to you

Lux: I said you don’t live here, and you don’t

Lux: and I’ve never seen you contribute, maybe you were super busy before I got here, then I’ll apologize for that

Dash: you're doing a census, yeah? Hold up [everyone currently who doesn't live her like the petty prince he is]

Dash: I've got family here, they all keep me busy

Lux: Cool? Thanks for telling me who else is a tourist ???

Lux: You’re just being defensive, there’s no need if you’re secure in that and your place here

Dash: quit trying to rattle me

Lux: I’m truly not

Lux: but no, we’re not cool now

Dash: I made it known from the top where I live

Lux: Where you live isn’t the issue

Dash: what's your issue? I'm loved & welcomed here, that's all I said

Lux: That’s nice

Lux: I don’t really want to discuss my issue with you, with you, right now, if that’s okay

Dash: later then

Lux: See you around, Dash

Dash: I can't believe you think I'm a flake, this has me totally unglued, you know

Lux: I don’t feel great about it either

Dash: how can I make you feel less bummed out?

Dash: your tour was the most far out I've ever given

Lux: I don’t think you can, it’s done now

Lux: I just need some time to change what I thought this was, or was gonna be, in my head

Lux: but thanks, for offering

Dash: take your time to 👀 what we can be & how you wanna evolve

Lux: Maybe we can be friends later on

Dash: I’d dig it

Lux: I liked talking to you last night

Dash: I felt more connected to you than I usually do

Lux: I don’t think you’re an awful person, FYI

Lux: I just think you could’ve been clearer, and accept that you hurt me without getting way defensive, you know?

Lux: I can accept you didn’t mean to

Dash: I thought I was being clear

Lux: Yeah, I know

Lux: I’m from a very different background and place, it just didn’t translate well, clearly

Dash: yeah

Lux: but I thought I’d put that across well enough that you got that too

Dash: I do get you, but I can’t 180 myself to fit

Lux: No, I’m not asking you to fit my understanding, it’s fine you don’t

Dash: What are you asking?

Lux: Nothing, honestly, I’m trying to explain why I’m upset

Lux: Just like you can’t 180, I can’t change how I see and feel about it immediately, even if some of the ways I were raised are outdated or potentially bad, you know

Lux: You don’t need to do anything

Lux: From my perspective, it felt like a 180 and hurtful to tell me about hooking up with someone else the morning after

Lux: I know how you think and operate is totally different, but that’s it

Dash: but I wanna do something, to help you

Lux: You are nice…

Lux: I don’t know though, what would help?

Dash: I meant what I said last night about showing you this place, making it feel more like a home, how it is for me

Lux: Maybe you could come back and help with the chores

Lux: I shouldn’t have said you NEVER help out, I’ve not been here long enough to make that observation

Dash: maybe it looks like I don’t, cos with family you take liberties sometimes, that kid who’s naughty at home & don’t say shit at school, comfortable to play up

Lux: I have 8 brothers, I understand 😅

Dash: you can have that too, should

Lux: I did, as much as any of us did

Lux: I was a boy, remember

Dash: with 0 limits though, people trying to control & change what you do is for outside of here, I don’t have to think in my dad’s 🟥🟧🟨🟩🟦🟪⬛️⬜️🟫 way or do what my ma reckons is righteous

Lux: Sounds idyllic, Dash

Dash: it is

Lux: You have to understand my experience of people doing exactly what they want means someone is being exploited or abused for that person’s privilege

Lux: my parents had their utopia at the price of the things we wanted, needed

Dash: that’s why you need this new experience

Lux: Okay

Lux: I do want new experiences

Dash: the farm has the magic to grant you whatever you’re here for, no wish is the wrong size

Lux: You really seem to believe it so I will try too 😊

Dash: I’m about to 🛹⚡️ back if you wanna clean the opposite end or hide from me in the 🍏🌳🍎

Lux: That’s cool

Lux: but thanks for the warning 💗

Dash: don’t let how out of this world you look distract me then

Lux: I so don’t so that won’t be an issue 😌

Dash: It's an accident, huh? I feel you, it must be my fault I can’t look away

Lux: You’re way too smooth for your own good

Lux: but I wouldn’t say that’s a fault, necessarily 🤭

Dash: Hey, I didn’t manifest you into being, even if last night did feel like it had to be cosmically devined somehow

Lux: I felt it too

Lux: no one has ever

Lux: not like that anyway

Dash: you’re like a song I can’t get out of my head, I don’t want it to turn sad

Dash: I’m sorry I got you unglued too

Lux: It’s a lot more complicated than just you

Lux: it’s a whole thing

Dash: You’re gonna find people to share how heavy it is

Lux: 🤞

Dash: they’ll carry you through & even if it’s Amber I won’t let it bug me

Lux: I’m sure that’s a misunderstanding

Lux: I could talk to her? Subtly, of course

Dash: yeah, her misunderstanding me, you’ve got your reasons, she’s not new to any of this

Dash: her problem is she thinks she’s the most & everyone else should think she’s choice no matter what

Lux: Do you think she likes your brother?

Dash: no way, unless she’s got a football obsession now too

Lux: 🧲 maybe

Dash: idk

Lux: Me either

Lux: it just seems a bit crazy otherwise

Dash: he’s as uptight as my da, she’s never gonna get nowhere trying to mess around with him, whatever she’s doing it for

Lux: She won’t have any problem finding someone new

Lux: you said he’s older, right?

Dash: not loads, but he’s gonna be done with school in a sec

Lux: I see

Lux: so you’re the 👶

Dash: til my dad’s new lady puts her demands in

Dash: how many sisters you got to go with your 8 bros?

Lux: you don’t like her at all, huh

Lux: and 5, so they had a tough job being outnumbered

Dash: you heard of a WAG? That’s her whole deal

Dash: whoa, so you had a full time secret sewing job

Lux: yes, we lived in England for a while, that’s how I ended up here

Lux: like a Kardashian, I can see you not having a lot to bond over

Lux: exactly 😂

Dash: you gotta teach me, my nan would be jazzed

Lux: I’d love to!

Lux: there’s a surplus of old clothes to practice on

Dash: still a chore, we get to skip cleaning, yeah?

Lux: Mending isn’t as fun as creating but you’ve got to start somewhere so, I think so 😊

Dash: 😁

Dash: we’ll have a blast cos I gotta start somewhere on earning your forgiveness too

Lux: You’re sweet, Dash

Dash: I’m being for real

Lux: I know you are

Lux: I don’t know what to say though because I’m awkward 😳

Dash: it’s a hands on kinda task & you already know what you’re doing with it, it’ll be me feeling 😳

Lux: No flirting, only crafting

Dash: 🧷📏🧵✂️🧶📍✨

Lux: That’s a very impressive emoji selection

Dash: missing 😍💞🥰💓😘💘 but it’s chill

Lux: Idiot 😏

Dash: 💟 is the compromise

Lux: Okay, that’s adorable

Lux: allowed 🤭

Dash: [show up and take her hand to lead her off to sew, we know you weren’t far away bitch]

Lux: [the way you just melt when he shows, oh gal]

Dash: [I’m upset about it]

Lux: [we know you really like him, for better and worse rn]

Dash: [thank god he does actually like you and it’s not a straight up Drew and Ro situation happening]

Lux: [we can only do that ‘cos they both lowkey suck so we aren’t sad lmao]

Dash: [I like this gal too much to be that evil]

Lux: [it’s drama enough without it being entirely one-sided like no lol]

Dash: [I hope some sewing does take place amidst the blatant flirting because learn a useful skill for once in your life dickhead]

Lux: [we aren’t gonna just roll over immediately ‘cos actually did upset us so you will have to]

Dash: [yay]

Lux: [so that’s probably the vibe for today ‘cos yeah we absolutely won’t even though it’s clear we still like you like that too, so you’ll just have to hang out platonically]

Dash: [it’s gotta be the vibe for a while, sucks to suck boy, but obviously hang out until that girl comes to find you because you clearly do also wanna hang out with her platonically it’s not just like that vine where he breaks the skateboard]

Lux: [a quality vine]

Dash: [do we wanna leave this here?]

Lux: [I think we can]

[kedreeva]

Question? If that’s alright! If someone wanted to get in to keeping peafowl, how would you recommend they start? Basics? Books? Just, super super curious!

Questions are always alright!

I would recommend, as with any pet, to do a lot of research, and to ask around to as many current owners as possible, what are the WORST things about keeping the pet. Like obviously people love to talk about the best parts, and owning any pet can seem really exciting looking from the outside in when you’re mostly shown the good parts. But, part of why I try to speak candidly about the bad parts here alongside the good is to make sure folks get a balanced idea of what it is like owning peafowl. They are GREAT birds, and they are a good fit for me! But they are definitely not for everyone, the same as any other pet.

Specifically, I would recommend joining some peafowl groups on Facebook if you have it, or joining up with the peafowl community on backyardchickens.com forums (or both). You’ll find a lot of experienced keepers there with a lot of knowledge. Not all of the knowledge is good, so please don’t just take everyone at their word- my avian vet, who is held in high regard in the avian veterinary community around the world, was absolutely appalled at some of the advice I had been using as “standard” care from general knowledge. BUT they’re a good starting point, at least; they can help you learn about topics to start researching on your own, at least.

So, there’s my second piece of advice- locate an avian vet you trust, and start a conversation. It never hurts to make sure IN ADVANCE of needing one, that you have a vet nearby capable of handling an animal you want to get. It SUCKS to find out there’s no one when it’s too late. And be aware, most avian vets have a lot higher prices than your standard cat or dog vets. A checkup for one of my birds, just to walk in the door, starts at $70. They don’t necessarily need standard yearly checkups the way cats and dogs do (there’s no vaccinations or anything that they need, but getting a fecal done, or being taught how to do your own, isn’t a bad idea).

My third piece of advice would be make sure you have the space and the neighbors and the lawful permission to own them where you are, or start looking into going somewhere that that’s possible. The bare, bare minimum of space for a single peacock is 300 square feet of flight pen (which you can keep up to 2 birds, a hen and a cock, in that size pen, but the male needs that much minimum on his own for his train), plus a secure coop that’s at least 8 feet tall so they can roost 5-6 feet up. We built 2 pens that were slightly bigger than that (12x32 flight pens) and then realized that was WAY too small, and we still had put around $2k into each of them. Our third pen is 32x40 flight pen with a 12 foot netted ceiling, with an 8x24 foot coop and sloped 8 foot ceiling, and I still feel like it’s not quite Big Enough. I want to do 2 more in the front field at 35x50 flight pens, and taller coops. But the point is, if you’re thinking about getting peafowl, you are going to need Space and Money to build them an appropriate enclosure, and you’re going to want to look into the best ways to predator-proof them.

Fourth bit of advice- VISIT peafowl. A lot of the larger breeders allow visitors at some point, and seeing the colors in person is so SO much different than seeing them in pictures. If you think you want anything other than the wild type color, go look at it in person before you buy. See examples of other pens in person. Hear a peacock scream in person, and decide if you really want that sound in your life every day many times a day for the entire summer. Find out if you’re allergic to feather dust.

I mean, it’s all pretty standard advice honestly. Research, find a vet, make sure you’re prepared to provide appropriate housing/care, and actually interact with similar animals before purchase. These are staples of any animal ownership.