#the silent five

[thevelaryons]

HotD racebent the Velaryons and their sole purpose on the show (so far) is to be subservient to Rhaenyra. Am I reading too much into it if I say this is incredibly racist?

There’s definitely racism in the writing. No doubt about it.

A lot of Corlys’ most intelligent political moments are actions taken against Rhaenyra. So HOTD dumbed him down and even centered Rhaenyra in parts of the story where Corlys held authority in the book. Corlys is mostly relegated to the position of being Rhaenyra’s yes man and anytime he speaks against her, the characters around him shame him into silence in the same breath as exalting Rhaenyra. Laena’s relationship with Daemon is completely screwed over to prop up Rhaenyra and even Laena’s death was changed to foreshadow Rhaenyra’s death by dragon fire as something glorious & empowering. HOTD invented Laenor having internalized homophobia so that Rhaenyra could be positioned as the one who saves him from himself. Addam is immediately subservient and obedient to Rhaenyra as soon as he meets her without being given the same honors for his loyalty that his book counterpart got. Vaemond is randomly villainized as a raging bigot instead of a typical ambitious nobleman so that his death can be justified and brushed under the rug, to absolve Rhaenyra. The Silent Five are erased to avoid showing the accountability for the characters’ actions and that scene in HOTD is instead depicted as a touching father/daughter moment between Viserys and Rhaenyra. And there’s a bunch of other stuff too.

If HOTD writers think they’re doing Rhaenyra any favours by making these changes to the characterization, well they aren’t. It’s her character that ultimately looks worse and will continue to do so in the long run.

[horizon-verizon]

Also, Daenaera is Vaemond’s granddaughter and her father Daeron was one of the “silent five,” as was her uncle Daemion. Daenaera marrying Daemon and Rhaenyra’s son is one pretty serious reconciliation.

What anon means by "silent five" are 5 of Vaemond's cousins cousins/Corlys' nephews who sailed to the Red Keep after Vaemond's execution to protest it to Viserys. Viserys had their tongues cut off bc much earlier, he already made the decree that no one can decry Rhaenyra's 3 Velaryon sons as "bastards"--as these Velaryons did--or they'd have their tongues cut out ("A Question of Succession"):

Malentine, Rhogar, and 3 other unnamed sons by an unnamed brother of Corlys.

Answering the asks, kinda but not really. Alyn of hull/the legitimized and successful Alyn Velaryon stood to gain more than these cousins ever did from Daenaera marrying Aegon, even thought they were the ones to protest Vaemond's death.

Daenaera's parents were dead (so Daeron Velaryon, her dad, can do not much for these tongueless cousins esp when he already "reconciled" with Alyn) and she was under first just Alyn's care for some months, then both his and Baela's, not theirs for some more months even if they were the ones who were taking care of Daenaera before Alyn fought them off, killed Malentine and made Rohogar become one of the Night's Watch ("War and Peace and Cattle Shows"):

They would remain tongueless until their deaths with nothing to show for it, and we don't know if Vaemond himself would have approved or liked the fact his own son made nice with a former bastard bc it is the show that made Vaemond be so...persistent more about the principles of anti-bastardry and male privilege over strategic power-grasping behind such principles.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Springtrap's first night in Dead by daylight..

[viiisenyas]

Let’s not forget what happened in the books, and I will forever hate the writers for not including the Silent Five to show just how far gone Viserys and Rhaenyra were.

He's black, proud and won't bow down to white thieves. Where's the problem in that? 🤨

And just remember, the writers had to add the sexist insult 'whore' just so they could take the blame from Rhaenyra and JUSTIFY the murder of a black man with a right to the throne of his ancestors!!!

[brittle-doughie]

Beast Stars (The Five Virtues/Beasts)

[Compassion/Scorn AU]

Platinum Salt Cookie: *hands Y/N a flower*

You: “It’s pretty, I love it, dear friend!”

You kiss their helmet where their cheek is located. You can’t see it, but Platinum Salt is blushing under the helmet.

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Oh, Y/N Cookie! Look what I got for you!”

Blueberry Milk Cookie got you a whole bouquet of flowers that he hands you with suppressed giddiness!

You: “O-Oh! These are very lovely too, Blueberry Milk! Thank you!”

You kissed his cheek too which makes Blueberry smile widely. Platinum Salt didn’t appreciate being upstaged as a figurative fire ignited around them as they glared down Blueberry Milk.

Pure Sugar Cookie then abruptly showed up with a mountain of flowers.

Pure Sugar Cookie: “Even then, this wouldn’t be enough to show how much I cherish you, Y/N Cookie!”

You: “Oh my…..”

Pure Sugar Cookie: “Gimme kiss. Preferably on the lips!”

Platinum Salt had an anger tick on their helmet.

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Showoff!”

———————————————————————

You: “I miss having cookies around…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh? Has the almighty, yet cranky Y/N Cookie learn to love again? In that case…”

You: “I miss reducing them to crumbs for having the nerve to fall for me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh…can you still do that to me though?”

Mystic Flour Cookie: “Shut your freaky ass up, Shadow Milk Cookie.”

———————————————————————

Crimson Spice Cookie: “Why has Y/N Cookie been locked up in their room?”

Ethereal Flour Cookie: “They accidentally stepped on a Jelly Bee. It flew away just fine, but Y/N Cookie is in despair over it.”

———————————————————————

You hand gifts to Silent Salt Cookie and Eternal Sugar Cookie.

Silent Salt Cookie: “…” (They made it clear that they “hated” your gift.)

You smirked as you thanked them for “hating” it. Now it was Eternal Sugar’s turn-

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “I love it-“

Eternal Sugar Cookie was immediately yeeted into the stratosphere.

———————————————————————

You: “What do you got in your book there, Blueberry Milk Cookie?”

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Only the finest knowledge that spans across all of Earthbread! I like to read it in my past times when I’m done with my duties for today!”

You: “You must be pretty smart with the knowledge of the land in your hands!”

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Yes, of course! I am the Virtue of Knowledge after all, let me show you a page of my book-“

Photos of you slip out of random pages from his book after he accidentally opened it a little too loosely. Some looked like they were peppered in what looked like coral blue #2 semiglass lipstick!

You: “Very knowledgeable of Earthbread indeed, my friend. Perhaps a little too much information?”

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “These are necessary for my pursuit of knowledge, I swear!”

[squishykitty825]

Jason, amidst a heated argument with Bruce: Does my death mean nothing in this family?

Out of nowhere: "In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."

Jason: What the hell?

________________________________________________________

Tim, low on sleep and caffeine trying to convince Jason to give him back his coffee: You think your time as Robin was bad, you never had to deal with Bruce after your death.

Jason: Maybe not. But I was a little busy being dead, Timbo.

"In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."

Jason: Again?!

________________________________________________________

Damian: Stop being so childish, Todd.

Jason: I died. I can do whatever I want.

"In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."

Jason, now seriously confused and angry: WHO IS DOING THAT?!

________________________________________________________

Dick whining to Jason about life after his death: You died. I didn't have anyone to talk to.

Jason: I'm so sorry my death was such an inconvenience to you.

"In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."

Jason now infuriated with whoever is playing the song every time he mentions his own death: I AM GOING TO MURDER WHOEVER IS DOING THAT!

Jason storms off in search of the culprit, leaving Dick staring after him wondering what he's on about.

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Six becomes Five

Next

Inspired by @brittle-doughie and his few works about the 5 Beasts! The ones were the reader being a part of their group caught my eye, so have this!

You were Compassion, brilliant, and beautiful. You aided the Cookies in their times of need, when they needed you most. Helping them up to their feet, using your powers to heal them, to soothe arguments. Your friends were once like that too.

Shadow Milk Cookie loved to put on plays for the Cookies, and have them join in. He'd always give you one of the main parts alongside him. It was only fair!

Burning Spice Cookie was always so valiant in defending them, with Silent Salt Cookie by his side. The two were nigh unstoppable, and with you near to always heal any wounds, they really were.

Eternal Sugar Cookie would often join you in aiding the common Cookies, always lounging on her cloud. She always made a spot for you, though. Mystic Flour Cookie would tag along too, going on and on about things seen. It always made you smile.

Until.. something changed.

You didn't notice it at first. It was subtle things, especially whenever you weren't around. Being cruel and hateful towards the Cookies, seeing them as lesser. For not having the power baked and blessed into you six.

You only saw it all too late when your comrades gleefully recounted all that they had done during one of your meetup sessions. You were briefly in shock before shakily congratulating them. You didn't want to anger them. You couldn't take all five of them at once in a fight..

However, you didn't need to wait long. Your Creators, the Witches, soon saw this and upon seeing you untouched by greed and corruption, asked for you help.

Mournfully, you agreed.

You called them all to the spot, saying you had a dance you wanted to show them. A special one, just for their eyes. It was difficult getting them in the exact spots, but once you did..

The Forks fell, trapping them one by one. You continued your dance until the sapling of the Silver Tree was planted, where you then bowed to them.

None of them could understand. Why would you betray them?

Why were you walking away?!

"COME BACK, YOU CAN'T LEAVE!"

For so long following that fateful day, you tried to stay there in Beast-Yeast, but it wasn't possible. Many of the remaining Cookies, that were the Faeire Cookies, couldn't bare to live there any longer.

So you said a mournful goodbye, and led the Cookies that wanted a new home to a new home. Crispia, you decided it would be called. Once many Cookies began to settle, you turned and left. You couldn't bare the thought of becoming like one of the Beasts, so you secluded yourself, changed yourself.

Your divine appearance, your name, everything. Once a Cookie representing Compassion, now you were a mere shadow of yourself. The only thing that stood constant was your Soul Jam, now a beautiful amulet around your neck instead of attached to your clothes.

It was the one thing you couldn't part with, no matter how hard you tried.

You rebuilt yourself. Made new friends, connections, loved ones.

Until the day came.

You had to return to that land to find White Lily Cookie. You didn't want to, but for the sake of the world, you had to.

Oh, it had all gone so terribly wrong. White Lily Cookie had awakened, you had your reunion with the Faeires, and then the Seal began to undo. Try as anyone might, it couldn't be resealed.

And from the rift.. came Shadow Milk Cookie.

Without a single thought, you put yourself between the group and him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but when he spotted you, his pupils went wide.

After so long of being trapped, hidden away by the seal and vines, Eternal Sugar Cookie's constant wailings about you being tricked, manipulated, or brainwashed had gotten to all the Beasts. It was the only explanation, it had to be.

And as Shadow Milk Cookie grins widely down at you, obession in his eyes, you swear to yourself.

You really shouldn't have come back to Beast-Yeast.

[xxivletxx]

rain world (f)art dump

SAINT SPOILERS BELOW CUT:

[cioror]

uhh yuh backgrounds

[yukkue]

Im very late to the trend but whatever

[xxdrowninglessonsxx]

[thevelaryons]

I love how GRRM always positions various Velaryon brothers as having a close bond with each other. Although not much is known about some of the sibling dynamics in the family, when GRRM chooses to write about them, it is with a sense of brotherhood and unity.

Even in such instances where the relationship is only implied in the text, it is as a positive one. Aurane is a bastard and yet he integrates himself amongst the highborn without any issue, suggesting a somewhat polished upbringing in a castle. He also served in the Velaryon fleet, led by his trueborn half-brother Lord of Driftmark, Monford. It's mentioned in the books that bastard children are usually kept away from the family because they are viewed as a source of shame. It is considered very unusual for a bastard to be raised in a castle with their trueborn family (re: Jon Snow). But that could certainly be the case with the Bastard of Driftmark. His moniker does suggest a close association with house Velaryon which means he was not a bastard that was hidden away. Especially when you consider that Aurane, despite being very treacherous and self-serving, never once does anything against his brother's family. When he sets his sight on a castle he wants to claim, it is not Driftmark, but another castle. He sails his powerful fleet past Driftmark thrice and makes no move to attack the seat governed by his late brother’s son even though house Velaryon is in service to the rebel Stannis and Aurane is trying to ingratiate himself with the Lannister regime. Despite the commonly held belief that bastards will seek to harm their trueborn siblings, Aurane is not once shown acting against Monford or his remaining family at Driftmark. All his treachery is reserved for the Lannisters, who are more or less responsible for Monford’s death at the Battle of the Blackwater.

Addam & Alyn's relationship is a prime example of Velaryon brotherhood. Although the narrative presents their identity arcs as Velaryons differently (in relation to their parents), it’s done so in a manner that still connects the brothers to each other. Alyn’s actions are often framed in the text as a "what would Addam do in this situation?" way. They participate in the Red Sowing together and they clearly remained close enough to each other for the duration that Addam was quickly able to save Alyn's life. They get physically separated afterwards only because Alyn is bedbound from his burns. Alyn openly laughs in the face of a King who calls him brother and says that a "brother by blood" is the only true form of brotherhood. Years after Addam's death, Alyn still honors his brother with a touching memorial.

There are several instances of brotherly love shown between Jace/Luke/Joff as well. From defending each other from a bully to all three echoing each other in upholding their mother's claim, they are always in sync. The loss of a brother is expressed openly and the desire for vengeance too.

The more minor instances of brotherhood in the family further showcase this.

Sometimes it's as simple as hanging out together to serve as royal escorts:

Though Daemon Velaryon, as the Crown’s lord admiral and master of ships, was in King’s Landing with the regents, that did not prevent Jaehaerys and Alysanne from flying their dragons to Driftmark and touring his shipyards, escorted by his sons, Corwyn, Jorgen, and Victor.

Other times it's plotting together. The Silent Five may be committing treason, but they do that as a united front:

When they took their case before the sick and failing Viserys, they made the grievous mistake of questioning the legitimacy of his daughter’s children. Viserys had their tongues removed for this insolence, though he let them keep their heads.

.

Three of the “silent five” had died during the Dance, fighting for Aegon II against Rhaenyra…but two survived.

[...]

“Lacking tongues with which to make their appeal, they preferred to argue with swords,” says Mushroom. However, the plot to murder their young lord went awry when the guards at Castle Driftmark proved loyal to the Sea Snake’s memory and his chosen heir. Ser Malentine was slain during the attempt; his brother captured.

The Velaryon brothers who act within the law are also depicted taking action together each time. Interesting how it's not specified which of the two wishes to claim Driftmark for himself, over the other. They are partners in all that they do and that's all that matters:

All came forward now, insisting that they had more right to Driftmark than “this bastard of Hull, whose mother was a mouse.” Ser Vaemond’s sons Daemion and Daeron took their claim to the council in King’s Landing. When the Hand and the regents ruled against them, they wisely chose to accept the decision and be reconciled with Lord Alyn.

I just think it’s neat that regardless of the circumstances of the characters’ upbringing, whether trueborn or bastard, there’s a supportive bond between Velaryon brothers each time.

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 5

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The fifth time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — when you finally decide you've waited long enough to tell him what he means to you.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word (sending directly to the rest because Tumblr isn't cooperating)

Author’s Note: Things are heating up!!! As you can tell, this chapter is a bit longer, and I can promise you, it's got a lot of good stuff in it :D By far my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have, and I appreciate all your kind words and support so much!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

A week after you’ve made an official friendship declaration with Colt Seavers, you’re back on the dim, grimy underground train station set, getting ready to watch him throw himself in front of a moving train.

At the moment, Colt is standing on the other side of the train tracks, and you’re watching him from a considerable distance across the set. You have every reason to be there — this is the set you’ve been working on day and night for the last month, after all — but you’re not the least bit worried about any of your props or decorations. All you care about is making sure Colt pulls off one of his most dangerous stunts yet.

It’s been a strange week for you. On one hand, you’re glad that Colt knows you have some feelings for him, and that your friendship has been able to carry on without becoming awkward. His sincere, unexpected apology only made your feelings stronger, but you’re trying to ignore that.

All the same, being “just friends” is the slowest, most excruciating torture you’ve ever known. For one whole week, Colt has not done a single thing that could be interpreted as overly flirtatious, just as he promised he wouldn’t so you could be spared the pain. No subtle touches, no saucy looks, no double-edged words. It’s kind of him, really.

It also hurts like a razorblade on a third-degree burn.

Still, it’s better than nothing. As long as you can have him in your life in some way, you’re satisfied to try to quell these overwhelming feelings that threaten to break free at any moment. You’re in love with him — you know that now if you never knew it before — but you just have to be content knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way. That you have to love him as you’d love a friend.

So here you are, being a supportive friend as he casts himself headfirst into a dangerous situation. This stunt involves standing in for the film’s star, Tom Ryder, whose character is supposed to be shackled to a railroad track directly in the path of a moving train, only to break free just in time. Colt’s job is to pretend to be shackled down and jump up in plenty of time to clear the path of the moving train, which is, to your great dismay, not a prop in the slightest.

As the camera crew makes their last arrangements to start filming this shot, Colt turns from fiddling with a handcuff prop to catch your eyes in the crowd that has gathered to watch. He smiles when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting and throwing his trademark thumbs-up high above his head.

Your heart speeds up at the sight of Colt’s smile, and you wave back at him in what you hope is an encouraging manner.

“Hey, relax,” a female voice says in your ear. You turn to see Holly grinning at you as she walks back to the cameras that are already in position. “He’s done this kind of thing a million times.”

You cut your eyes at her with a smirk. “I’m not worried,” you insist.

Holly lifts both eyebrows and laughs at you, always able to read what you’re really thinking. You laugh with her, glad to feel the knot in your stomach loosening a little. Holly gives your hand a quick squeeze in encouragement before taking her place at the lead camera station.

When you look back at the set, Colt is already in position, crouched down on one knee with his hands behind his back. You know he’s not actually tied down, but even seeing the fake handcuffs almost makes you wish you hadn’t come to watch.

Elijah Gordon, the director, is shouting some instructions at the crew as they make their last-minute preparations. He’s already cued the train to start moving, as it takes nearly half a mile to get the desired speed for the shot.

“One minute, people!” Gordon bellows, situating himself on a camera dolly high enough that he can see the action below. “We’re doing this in one take, or we’re not doing it at all. Colt, remember I want it to look real!”

Colt grins up at Gordon, his face smeared with fake dirt and his teeth shining like a white band through the grime. “It is real, Gordon!”

Gordon gives a curt nod, then listens to a voice over the walkie-talkie. Though your mind is focused on watching Colt, you can’t help the creeping disdain that you always feel when it comes to Elijah Gordon. The man is a phenomenal director, but he’s also the most callous, self-centered, inconsiderate person you’ve ever known. Knowing Colt’s life is more or less in Gordon’s hands makes you feel queasy.

The train whistle pierces the echoey tunnel chamber, and Gordon lifts his megaphone to shout, “Roll cameras!”

You put both hands over your mouth, dreading having to watch the scene play out. Colt looks entirely confident where he kneels on the railroad track, but you can’t help wondering what he feels in moments like this. Does he get scared? Does he lose faith in his own abilities? Does he ever doubt that the stunt will work perfectly? Can he afford to think like that?

A second train whistle stabs your ears, and you can feel your heart beating faster than ever before. You feel like you’re the one lingering on the tracks.

You can see the train now, and your eyes flit back to Colt, whose face is mostly hidden by the bandanna tied around his forehead. His muscles are tensed, ready to spring away at the perfect second. Gordon is shouting directions, his voice barely audible above the racket of the approaching train. He holds up his hand high in the air, signaling to Colt to stay in position.

The train eats up another hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred. Gordon’s hand doesn’t budge, and Colt keeps his eyes on the director for his cue to move.

You can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, and it takes all your willpower not to screw your eyes shut. You keep them open as if caught in a trance, bouncing back and forth between Colt and the train as if you’re watching a tennis match.

The train rumbles closer and closer, now near enough that you can see the face of the man driving the engine. You hold your breath, waiting for Gordon to throw his hand down in a signal to Colt.

But Gordon’s hand doesn’t move. Another screeching whistle. The train is less than a hundred yards away now.

You know he should have given Colt the signal by now — you were there for the days of blocking and planning that went into this scene. Suddenly your lungs constrict as you realize Gordon is pushing Colt for a few more seconds on the tracks, long enough to make the film audiences gasp.

“Stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice is drowned out by the roar of the train. Your feet are carrying you in a sprint before you even register your own movement. Two hundred feet away now.

“Gordon, stop it!” The director can’t hear you, but Holly does, whirling around and grabbing you by both arms to stop you from getting any closer to the set. You can see Colt’s eyes get wider as he realizes that Gordon isn’t lowering his arm.

Everything in your entire being is shuddering, wanting to shut down, wanting to scream, to explode into action, but Holly beckons for two other crew members to help hold you back. All you can do is watch as the train draws closer and Colt waits for Gordon’s signal. One hundred feet.

“Holly, make him stop!” you scream at your friend, whose distressed expression tells you you’re not alone in your confused panic.

At the last second, with the train less than fifty feet away, Gordon throws his hand down, and Colt is already in motion, somersaulting off the track and into the safety zone as the train — all forty tons of it — whizzes over the space that Colt occupied seconds ago.

Holly and her two crew members hold you back a second longer, and when the red light on the camera flickers off, you break past them and run as fast as you can onto the set. You can barely see where to step as you climb over the platform and down into the dingy, darkened train tunnel, tears blurring your vision and your pulse hammering in your ears.

Colt is leaning against the wall of the tunnel, his face as white as a ghost. Several crew members have already gathered around him, but you shove past them and throw your arms around his neck, uncaring of what anyone might think. You can feel Colt trembling in your arms even as his easygoing voice whispers in your ear, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Once you’re satisfied that he really is alive, you pull back, framing his face in your hands and searching his eyes with what you know must be a crazed look. Colt doesn’t say anything more; the color is slowly returning to his face, and his nerves are calming down now that the adrenaline wears off. He doesn’t, however, loosen his grip on you, betraying how shaken he still is.

“Nice work, Colt,” bellows a voice from the train platform. “That was just what we needed.”

At the sound of Gordon’s voice, all you can see is red.

Setting your jaw, you turn away from Colt and stride back to the platform with more rage than you can remember feeling in your entire life. Every muscle in your body is quaking visibly, and your voice rings out loud and clear over the chaos in the set when you shout, “How dare you?”

Gordon turns from his conversation with a cameraman and gives you a nonplussed glance. When he realizes that your yell and your power walk are directed at him, he dismisses the cameraman to deal with you head-on.

“Something you want to discuss?” Gordon asks you, condescension dripping from his voice.

Behind you, you hear Colt making his way onto the platform, his calm voice assuring you, “Hey, it’s okay—”

But you’re not in the mood to be comforted. “It is not okay, Colt,” you shout, your eyes still locked on Gordon. Every eye on the set is directed at you, now that you’ve chosen to make a huge scene with Elijah Gordon himself. Colt pulls to a stop beside you, but your words are still pointed at Gordon. “How could you make him do that? How dare you make him do that?”

“There wasn’t any real risk, kid,” Gordon says flippantly. “Keep your bonnet on.”

“No real risk?” you demand. “Did we just see the same scene? Colt was trying to get off the tracks to stay alive, and you forced him to stay on longer so you could get a ‘closer call’ on camera.”

Gordon’s brows lower at that. “Again, not life-threatening,” he snaps. “If it were, Colt wouldn’t have finished the stunt, and I wouldn’t have made him do it.”

“You weren’t the one staring down the headlights of a train!”

Colt rests his hand on your elbow in an attempt to get you to calm down, but Gordon fires back at you immediately, “He’s a stuntman, my dear. In case you folks in the set decorating department don’t know what that is, it means he does stunts. Sometimes those stunts are dangerous.”

Gordon’s arrogance only inflames your anger more. “I am completely aware that his job comes with risks,” you shout. “But those risks shouldn’t come from a toffee-nosed director who thinks human life is something to play with like a deck of cards.”

You feel Colt stiffen beside you, and his grip on your arm grows firmer. “Hey, it seriously is okay,” Colt assures you. “Just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it, Colt. If that train had been a few seconds off count, you wouldn’t be part of this conversation. You’d be in pieces on the train tracks.”

Gordon raises his hands to cut in, replacing the harshness in his voice with honey. “Listen, my dear, let’s just keep a clear picture of who you are, all right? You’re here to make the sets look good. You do that very nicely, and I appreciate it. So why don’t you keep your little toffee-nosed opinions off the set where the actual movies are being made, okay?”

You feel a shift in Colt’s body language again, but this time, it’s directed towards Gordon. You stand your ground, shooting a steely-eyed stare at the director that would make any action star proud.

“I bet your producers wouldn’t appreciate hearing that you risked the life of their top stuntman,” you tell him softly.

Gordon laughs out loud at that, as do a few of the crew members standing around him. “Listen, sweetheart, the producers pay me to make their movies look good,” he informs you. His voice changes then, affecting a curious, offended tone. “Aren’t you the one who’s been on a little crusade lately about doing everything with practical effects? You want to change your stance and say I should do all the stunts in VFX? Your boyfriend will be out of a job if I do that.”

A few more crew members laugh, trying to reduce some of the tension that is radiating between you. You know you’re the only person who’s freaking out about Colt’s close call — it’s not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing before — but you can’t help feeling like this is important.

“You absolute scumbag,” you hiss at Gordon. “You seriously are going to play this off like it’s just part of the process? Colt almost died—”

Holly comes up on your other side now, setting a calming hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, just—”

“I bet your producers would have loved to hear about that—”

“You need to calm down—” Holly says more firmly.

“And don’t you dare try to throw my own words at me like I’ve supported you risking people’s lives for a cool shot—”

Colt’s voice now. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” you explode, your voice echoing through the train station. “I mean, am I seriously the only one who sees any value in your life?”

Your comment is heavy, and everyone seems to feel the weight of it. Gordon hesitates, his eyes flicking back and forth between you, Colt, and Holly as if to make sure he’s not about to be physically attacked. The usual buzz of the crew is dead silent.

Finally, Gordon clears his throat and says dismissively, “If you’ve got a problem with me, kid, talk to the studio and see if they care. I can promise you they won’t.” He takes one step closer to you, and in a lower voice adds, “And in the meantime, keep your mouth shut about my processes. You’re good at your job, and I’d hate for you to have to get kicked off set just because you can’t keep your personal life separate from your professional one.”

With that, Gordon whirls around and walks back to the cameras to review the shot.

You’re still trembling with anger, your voice drying up in your throat as you realize that everyone in the crowd is still staring at you. You’re not ashamed of what you said, but you’re embarrassed that everyone on set had to witness it.

Ducking your head, you pull away from Colt and Holly and start walking out of the train station set. Only when the warm afternoon air hits your face do you realize tears have been streaming down your cheeks.

Colt is just a few steps behind you, and you look at him wordlessly, trying to read his expression. There’s not a trace of anger or confusion in his eyes — just a deep gratitude and affection. He slings his arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the set.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The irony of that question isn’t lost on you. “This isn’t about me, Colt,” you state bluntly. You raise questioning eyes to him. “Does it really not bother you that he jeopardized you? Completely unnecessarily?”

Colt shrugs, his brow furrowing as he thinks. He seems so calm now, no traces of the panicky fear he couldn’t hide immediately after the stunt. “If I felt like it was unsafe,” he says carefully, “I would have jumped off the track no matter what he said.”

Another second, and it would have been too late.

“I know,” you acknowledge, a hint of emotion creeping into your voice. “I just… I don’t know. Just… seeing everyone act like it’s so casual and not important. Like your life doesn’t even make that much of a difference—”

“Hey,” Colt murmurs, stopping and turning you to face him so he can put both hands on your shoulders. “You are reading way too far into this, Picasso. No one is trying to eradicate my existence here.”

His tone is light and his eyes twinkling, and you know he’s trying to get you to laugh this off. But you just can’t.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just hate that it seems like I’m the only one who cares if you live or die. Including you.”

Your last statement makes Colt pause. You see the hesitation in his eyes as he mulls over what you’re implying. “Not true,” he replies at last, pulling you back under one arm as you resume walking towards the tents that have been set up for the crew.

“Really? Because you act like you don’t care.” Your voice holds no edge, no accusation. “You get more and more reckless with every stunt, and it just… it kills me to watch.”

You know you’re saying too much. You know you’re pushing the “just friends” agreement. But you can’t stop.

Colt takes his time responding to that. Suddenly, he seems to be really listening to the hidden meanings in your words, realizing that your outburst toward Gordon was indicative of something a lot deeper, something that you’re trying to communicate to him now. You can feel his steady heartbeat against your side, the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder. His steps are perfectly synchronized with yours.

“Look, I don’t have a death wish,” Colt explains at last, a serious note in his voice. “This is my job; I love the danger that comes with it. It’s like I said, both of us do our jobs because it’s our passion, no matter the risks.”

You shake your head. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was mad at you.”

Colt genuinely chuckles at that. “Believe me, it was obvious who you were mad at.”

“I guess I overdid it, huh?” You can feel some of the intense anger in your chest melting, and you let yourself release a slight laugh as you realize just what a spectacle you made: screaming at one of the world’s top directors on his own set.

“Maybe a little,” Colt confirms kindly. Once the two of you step inside one of the empty tents, he lifts his arm off your shoulders, and you turn to lean back against one of the wooden tables so you can face him. His face is still smeared with grime, and it suddenly reminds you of the moment you shared a few weeks ago, marking each other’s faces with your oil paints.

“I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it,” you concede, letting your gaze fall to the ground. “I just… felt like it needed to be said after literally everyone on set witnessed it.”

Colt nods, smirking at you and crossing his arms to lean against one of the structure beams. “Hey, I appreciated it,” he says with a wink. “No one’s ever challenged a director to demand safer working conditions for me.”

“Maybe it’s about time,” you shoot back, your heart speeding up.

“Maybe.”

The moment falls quiet. The tent is empty besides the two of you, and all you can hear is the sound of each other’s breathing and the gentle rustling of the wind against the flaps of the tent. Colt tilts his head back against the beam he’s leaning on, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. You can tell that this stunt took a toll on him, even if he’s not showing it.

Without warning, all the feelings you’ve been hiding for the last few months threaten to spill out of your lips. Maybe it was seeing him so close to death; maybe it was your impassioned rant; maybe it’s just what happens when you love someone with the desperation of a drowning person reaching for air.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt out, “I really do care about you, you know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes or lift his head back up. “Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

His tone is humorous, but you’re not letting it go now that you’re committed. It’s now or never. “No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I know we’re just doing the friendship thing, but either way, I really care about you.” Colt lifts his head to fix his eyes on you, and you choose your next words carefully so he won’t misunderstand your meaning. “If you ever think that no one cares if you survive the stunts or not, I hope you know it’s not true. There’s one person in the world who would probably go insane without you around.”

Colt doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t sound completely serious either when he responds, “Ah, you’d be fine.”

“Please tell me you don’t honestly think that.”

“Look, Picasso, I’m just one guy in the world,” Colt reminds you, shaking his head as if he’s explaining something very simple. “You’re going to meet thousands in your career, which I know is going to be super long and super star-studded. You’ve got everything in your life to look forward to.”

You frown at him, caught off guard by his seemingly off-topic response. “Colt, what are you even talking about?”

He swallows hard, looking off to the side and trying to disguise the emotion tinging his voice. “I’m just… trying to tell you not to put so many big expectations on me. I’m the kind of guy who can only let you down.”

Your heart plummets at his words, and suddenly everything falls into place in your mind. He does care. He’s always cared. He just won’t show it because he thinks he isn’t good enough. The most wonderful man in the world thinks he isn’t good enough.

“That is not true,” you declare, standing up straight for emphasis. “You’re the kindest person I know, and the smartest, and the bravest, and the funniest—”

“I think you’re confusing me with Keanu Reeves.”

“I’m not joking around, Colt. When I’m with you, I can just be myself, and I know you’re going to be there for me. You’ve seen me at my worst, but you act like you only remember me at my best. I know it sounds crazy, but I keep getting this feeling that everything in my life has led up to meeting you. Everything you do means so much to me. Every word you say, every minute we spend together is so, so precious to me. You are so precious to me.”

Your speech seems to stun Colt senseless. You have no idea where all that came from — you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to breathe until you had told him what you were feeling. Colt stands still as he processes your words, and you don’t regret a single one.

“Wow,” he finally whispers. “I have no follow-up for that.”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t need one,” you tell him. “I just… felt like I should say it.”

Colt mulls over your words again. You wonder if anyone has ever talked to him like this, if you’re really the first one who has ever looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky. How could I be? How is it possible that no one else has ever recognized you for the treasure that you are?

“It means a lot,” Colt replies softly. “Seriously, you… you have no idea. Thank you.”

You just nod in response, not sure where to go from here. Colt isn’t acting like himself, overcome by some emotion that you’re not sure of. You don’t know whether to reiterate your statements, or to wait for him to say something, or to just stand in silence together for awhile.

Colt finally breaks the silence. “You sure you’re okay?”

You almost laugh at that, some of the tension sliding out of the atmosphere. “Yeah,” you assure him with a smile. “As long as you are.”

He nods at you, his own smile returning in a quiet sort of way. You’re transfixed by the gentle light reflecting in his eyes, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, when he holds out both arms to you, lifting an eyebrow as an invitation.

You don’t hesitate for a second. Why should you, after you just confessed every secret thought in your heart?

You step into the warm circle of his arms, and he immediately lowers his forehead to rest in the curve of your neck. Colt seems so unsure of himself in this moment, in a way that you’ve never known him to be. He’s trembling slightly again the way he was after he had just leaped off the railroad tracks. You grip your arms around his neck even tighter, and Colt wraps his arms around you so tightly you can barely breathe.

In that moment, you know your assumption was correct. He does care about you as deeply as you do about him. You can feel it in his embrace, in his very heartbeat. Every time you move to pull him closer, he mirrors your movements, closing every inch of space that has ever separated you. The grimy film makeup on his face rubs off on your neck, but it’s the sweetest touch you ever felt.

Colt catches you off guard when he tilts his head just slightly to the side, just enough that his lips are resting on the side of your neck. His manner isn’t seductive or suggestive: it’s as if he’s just breathing you in, trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms. Your sensitive skin prickles at the sensation, and one of your hands finds its way up to thread in the ragged-cut hair at the base of his neck.

You can feel his impressive strength just by the way he holds you, but you can’t help marveling at the gentleness of his hands when he reaches up to stroke the back of your head, once, twice. When he cradles the base of your neck with all the tenderness of an old lover, your stomach twists itself into a knot. He’s killing you. It’s magnificent.

Colt finally lifts his head from your shoulder, his hand still resting at the back of your head. His thumb moves in lazy circles, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and his eyes drag up your face slowly until they meet your own in a gaze that burns hotter than a supernova.

“I’ve never told you,” you whisper, your breath filling the few inches between your faces, “and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I’m in love with you.”

The words are hardly out of your mouth when Colt squeezes his eyes closed, a look of pain crossing his face. “Don’t. It’s not worth it,” he whispers back.

“It’s too late for that,” you tell him, tears choking your voice. “You don’t have to feel the same way. I just needed you to know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes, just shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in love with me,” he says softly, heartbreakingly. “My destination is a dead-end, and you deserve better than that.”

“Colt, I—”

“It’s better if we don’t go this route,” he tells you, opening his eyes so you can read the seriousness in his words. “You’ve got the most amazing future ahead of you. You’re going to be a lot better off without me dragging you down.”

Your heart constricts at his words. “Don’t you dare try to be noble about this,” you murmur, lifting your hands to frame his face. “You could never drag me down, and I couldn’t care less about what you think I ‘deserve.’ All I care about is you. All I want to do is love you, no matter what happens. If you really don’t feel that way about me, just say so. But if you feel as strongly for me as I do for you, please tell me. Please don’t break this off before we have a chance to even try it.”

The look that wells up in Colt’s eyes speaks to you in a language you’ve never understood before. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s searching for some hint that your words aren’t true, some way he can talk you out of your feelings. Realization dawns in his eyes as he reads the message you’re saying in everything but your words. I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time. You will always be enough for me. My heart is so full of you it barely even feels like it’s mine anymore.

He doesn’t kiss you — the distance between your lips and his feels like an interminable distance — but he lowers his face to yours in a way that is so tender, so intimate that all the breath leaves your body at once. He lets his cheek rest against yours, his beard brushing your skin softly, gently. You let your arms wrap around his neck again to pull him closer, nuzzling the side of his face with yours so he feels your meaning: I don’t ever want to let you go.

When his lips brush against your jaw, right below your ear, you can’t suppress your sharp intake of breath. You feel his hands resting on your waist, pulling you close against him, and you can hear his breath coming raggedly. He’s so different when he’s like this — no false confidence, no alleviating jokes, just the passion he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

You slide your fingers into his hair, and you can feel him react to your touch instantly. He raises his face from where he’s been resting it against yours, savoring in the contact every slow inch he moves. His eyes are closed when he brings his face level with yours again, his breath ghosting over your lips in a way that is so effortlessly tantalizing. It takes all your strength not to tip your head back and drown in his kiss.

With his hand still resting on the back of your neck, Colt pulls you in close one more time, letting his forehead touch yours gently. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent that envelops him — pine needles, cinnamon, and something salty. One moment more, just enough to savor how it feels to be wrapped up in the very essence of him, and Colt pulls back, releasing you from his hold.

“I just can’t do it to you, Picasso,” Colt says, his voice hoarse and strained. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart plummets at his words. It wasn’t enough. All of it wasn’t enough to convince him of your love. Your words are the opposite of what you want to say, but you know there can be no other response. “If that’s what you want,” you answer quietly. “I’ll respect it.”

“I know.”

You take a few steps back, trying to ignore the agony that is so obvious is his voice. Colt still looks like he wants to snatch you back into his arms and beg you to repeat the confession you just laid at his feet, but he doesn’t. He’s too strong, too stubborn, too sure he’s truly doing the right thing by letting you go. You don’t try to talk him out of it. You love him too much to try to change his mind.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You take care of yourself,” you murmur with a sad smile. “I mean it.”

“I will.” Colt doesn’t even attempt a smile back, the ache in his heart obvious on his face. His gaze wanders over your face for a moment longer, and then he turns and ducks out of the tent.

Once he’s gone, all you can do is bury your face in your hands and weep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 6

[chloesimaginationthings]

Death looms over Vanny's shoulder in FNAF..

[justn0t]

I need to know more about him so bad.......

[cheesecakemermaid1048]

This is based on my speculation. Don't take it too seriously.

Alternative version