#this is so peaceful :((( i can absolutely picture him taking phil here one of the few times phil was in wokingham

[10yearsofdnp]

December 26, 2014: Dan enjoys a lovely day-after-Christmas walk! 💧🌳

[mikaikaika]

Hello I've seen you around the QSMP spaces a lot, but I'm curious!! Do you have any cool headcanons you wanna share?

Hey anon! Thanks for the question and sorry if it took me a while I was recollecting my thoughts. I don't have any set hcs but a few thought sparced around here and there so here they are. They are mostly about the eggs but some people found their way in

Tallulah has all of Wilbur's letters memorised and she repeats them when she finds herself in danger. However sometimes Chayanne hears her muttering in her sleep and if he pays attention he can hear the repeat of Wilbur's words.

Richarlyson does not like to take baths due to his parenthood side that comes from Catboy Cellbit

Flippa and Tilin were very clumsy and often got injured so they had a bet going on with each other about who can convincingly tell their parent the most batshit crazy getting injured story without worrying them too much. Their record was never broken despite their exaggerated shenanigans

Missa was the better chef of the house who used to make diverse meals. Seeing him Chayanne took up cooking because he wanted to help after he saw how exhausted Phil was while taking care of two kids. It now helps him make proper use of all the potatoes and now he has one more skill he can use to provide for his loved ones incase they are stuck in danger

Not mine but someone had a hc that Antoine is an alien due to his moon and the tomska sketch he was a part of. I just wanna add to it that that is the reason his mc skin is layered with an outer layer. So it is him trying to imitate huamans and trying to fit in. That's the reason he has like three faces cause he wanted to fit in by doing his best attempts possible

Since Phil said they shop at hot topic cause they're a emo family, I think Tallulah hates it, so as a little sign of rebellion she keeps choosing tshirts with the most ridiculous captions to take home like one that says "crazy plant lady" with weed on it but Tallulah insists it represents her venues or anything over the top pink that she can find there like I'm talking mable pines level fluffy

Dapper is really good at doing rubix cubes and loves them but Ramon absolutely hates due to how engrossed Dapper got when he was learning it

As Chayanne grows up he end up outgrowing his duck floatie. So he ,with the help of Ramon and dapper, devises a belt with a duck belt buckle on it that can turn into a floatie anytime it is required. It comes in handy more often than you think.

Baghera is deathly afraid of snakes cause she's a duck

Cellbit's family are his anchor anytime his past comes haunting him back. He often gets nightmares that wake him up but all it takes is him seeing the picture of Richarlyson with he Favela Five or turning to his side and seeing the face of his sleeping husband and with one squeeze of his hand - Cellbit comes grounded back to reality and peacefulness.

When he's outside and people are accusing him of being a traitor or when things get too rough, you would often find Cellbit toying with his ring. It serves him as a reminder that his past is behind him and now he's in a better place and no matter what he would always have someone looking out and waiting for him - something he has never had before

The dragon colours that the eggs would be turned into coincides with the signs they use. Flippa's would be green similar to what gegg uses, Bobby's was brownish since he used normal signs, Tilin's would be slight orange as hers was red but she passed hers down to Pomme and Trump is light blue since his was blue but he passed it down to Richarlyson as Richas is more socially "loud" than he is

If Tilin and Juanaflippa were still here, their name together with Tallulah would have been TFT trio

Pac paints his nail but it's always chipped due to him working with Mike but you would never see it completely gone and no one knows how/when Pac reapplies and redamages it

Also I love this hc that all the partners of the people on the server are some kind of godly entity with specific powers that tie into the story

[dodo-begone]

Beware the Beast

Pairing: Yandere!Philza x Reader

Request: Maybe some yandere!philza headcanons? You don’t have to!

Word Count: 2k

Warning: yandere, swearing, talk about kidnapping, depression (kinda detailed on that aspect)

A/n: I accidentally turned this into a story- i really need to stop doing that. But I just couldn't resist! Also sorry if Phil is OOC. And this isn't proofread. We die like men here. Can be perceived as platonic or romantic.

This man has lived many years, lost so many loved ones. He’s getting tired of this cycle. It’s truly exhausting. You start to care about the world less. After a while, you start to see too many similarities in things, making it hard to look at. So he starts to close his heart to others. It’s just easier that way, for both parties. Saves him from the heartbreak and them from… well, him. He also stops caring for himself. After all, he’s literally immortal. Nothing can kill this man, so neglecting some self care routines every once in a while wouldn’t hurt…

But this becomes such a bad habit of his. He barely cares for himself after a while. It’s hard to find the energy when it isn’t going to matter in the end. Nothing matters anyways. Every action will always prove fruitless in the end. So what’s the point in doing something so... small if it takes this much energy? If a past version of himself saw Phil now, they’d be disgusted. Telling him to just get up and care for himself. Come on, you’re immortal. Nothing can kill you. Just do this.

He’s a mess when you two meet. His platinum-blonde hair was mostly neat, a little shaggy. It was obvious that he just got himself cleaned up a bit. One can only do so much about deep eyebags, dull hair, and lifeless eyes on such short notice.

You were introduced to him through Ghostbur. Phil was overjoyed that Ghostbur was making more friends. Though much less pleased when Ghostbur insisted that he’d bring his new friend over to meet Phil. Oh come on Phil, you’d just love them. They’re so nice! What tortured Philza more than his first interaction with you? His conversations with Ghostbur about you. He’d just prattle on about things you and him did, about how much fun you two had and how nice you were. Always nice.

And you were nice, an absolute sweetheart. But much too perky for Philza’s liking. You two had been chatting for quite a while when Ghostbur silently leaves you two together. Well, you’re chatting. Phil is just listening to you, hoping that you’d leave at any moment. Some topics were brought up; they were mostly some small icebreakers to get acquainted more.

When your past was brought up, you’d always paint this fucking picture-perfect past. So peaceful. God, the envy he had of you, of the peace you experienced in your life- He felt bad for it, honestly, he did. But he just wished he could’ve had even a fraction of the prosperity you spoke about. For someone living in the DSMP, you had a relatively easy and steady life. No war, no major or sudden loss or anything of that sort. A perfect life.

After that, you just kept coming back. Why? Why are you coming back? Are you here to taunt him for the life he lived? For the life he’ll never have? Is some god sending you as a punishment? A living example of everything he gave up, had to leave behind. That’s what he believed, anyways.

That was far from your intentions. You saw how he was in your first meeting; jumpy yet dissociating from reality. An oppressive, glum aura seemed to just emanate him. So downtrodden and dead inside, yet so obviously alive on the outside. It hurt to see him like that, as you went through something similar. You had no idea how long he’d been like that, but you decided that you’d help him in any way that you could.

You tried to make it a daily thing. Everyday you’d go to Phil’s house around midday to afternoon. You two would talk for a bit, but you’d couldn’t help sprinkling your questions in. Have you eaten yet, mr. Philza? Have you had water today, mr. Philza? Have you preened your feathers, mr. Philza? Have you bathed today, mr. Philza?

Your questions irked Phil. Everyday, without fail, you’d come and talk to him. It’d be small talk at first; what the weather was up to that day, some light politics, Tubbo’s new adopted son. Small. Yet you’d always bring up his self care. He was a fcking grown man. He could take care of himself. What’s worse? You’d pester him to care for himself in that instant if he even showed a small sign of negligence. And you’d stay the entire time, making sure he did everything. And then you’d always add “mr. Philza” on the end. It was a sign of respect, yet it upset him so much. But he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

Though it was annoying, it got him in the habit of caring for himself. It was only to stop your pesting! That’s the reasoning. The only reason. It wasn’t because you’re congratulating and giving him treats when he remembered to care for himself. Or you petting his wings… Those were only bonuses! He swears!

It becomes more steady as time goes on; you go and visit Phil, you talk with Phil and see if he’s caring for himself, and if he was, you’d reveal a delicious treat from within your enderchest. You two would talk while munching on the food, having fun sharing what your pasts were like. Well, more like yours. Phil didn’t really talk about his.

But he still seems so cold, disinterested. Even with how long you’ve been going over for. Like he’s only listening to what you’re telling him. If he’s even listening. And seeing how he interacted with others like Techno and Ranboo, it really disheartened you. He was so much more lively with them, more natural. Loud laughing and silly little antics. It only took a few small, insignificant depression episodes for your self doubt to finally debilitate you. Though it only really affected your contact with Phil; he was a big insecurity of yours.

So you start to distance yourself. You were hurting and saw yourself as a bother to Philza. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t try to talk to him anymore. He’d be so much happier without you bugging him all the time. All of this sudden, open time gives you much more empty hours. There was nothing to do. So you did what you could; you went out to make or strengthen friendships. It was so nice. You never realized how everyone on the smp was so nice. Maybe they weren’t as bad as Phil was making them all out to be…

Philza was upset the first day you weren’t there. You were such a steady element of his day. You were like the very air he breathed; it was extremely hard to live without you. He never noticed before how much he needed you. Yes, he knew that he really enjoyed you, saw that you were a pillar, a constant in his life. He came to enjoy your visits, but hadn’t realized how dependent he became because of them. It was day three when Phil started to worry about you. Why hadn’t you come to talk with him, like usual? He’s taking care of himself, just for you, just like you kept insisting he do. And he made you some cake.

He knew he was acting odd, lovesick even. His love for you was toxic, extremely so. It wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t care less anymore. You were like his nicotine to a smoker; he couldn't live without you being in his life. His everyday life. So after some debating, he finally went out to look for you.

Traversing the nether wasn’t too bad, but still a tedious walk. He was stuck in his mind the entire trip there, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. Maybe you got caught up in making something. A redstone project? That’d be pretty cool. Or maybe moving? No, if you were, you’d have told him. But that didn’t stop him from speeding up just a wee bit. Just to make sure you were actually still on the smp.

His mind was racing, thinking of any possibility of what you were doing. And his mind eventually hit something that absolutely terrified him; you could be sick, injured, or dying. It felt like the world just fucking stopped. This was a sudden loss of contact and you still hadn’t come to talk with him. So that… that means there’s a high probability of you being in danger.

He ran the rest of the way to the main part of the smp. When he came out of the portal, he frantically looked around for any sign of you. For your house. Then it hit him; he had no idea where you lived. You only mentioned it being cold where you lived, just like where he lived. So that most likely meant Snowchester. He started running toward the cold nation

On his way to Snowchester, he observed his surroundings. A little bit. He had to get to you, keep his eye on the prize. And he was glad that he looked around. There you were, on another part of the prime path.

He was overjoyed to see you, especially doing so well. Soon he came to a stop. Just floored by the fact you were there, in front of him. Frantically he tried to view you as best he could, looking for any sign of injury or illness.

Now he couldn’t come across as clingy or desperate. That wasn’t how you knew him. You know him as Philza; the kind but a mild social recluse. Not really going out to others unless he needed something or he was needed.

So he walked over to you, trying his best to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t just desperately searching for you a moment ago. He called out to you and guess what happened? You started to walk away. He was stunned. Did you just ignore him? No, you must not have heard him. It was kinda windy out at the moment.

Logically he did the best option, following you. He had no clue where your destination could be. You were going to a different area of the smp than he had been. My how the smp changed since the destruction of L’manberg. He knew it changed, but it seemed so much bigger than what you described.

He didn’t exactly pay attention to where you were indirectly leading him. That was until a flash of movement caught his attention. Snapping out of it, he looked to see what could’ve been going on. Who could’ve been there. And what he saw before him was a terrible sight.

Quackity stood by your side, animatedly chatting with you. Phil was confused as to why you were talking to Quackity of all people. You two recently talked about how Quackity was problematic and arrogant. If you knew that, then why were you talking to him?

Awkwardly he watched you. Not within earshot, but where he could keep an eye on you and Quackity. And Quackity was looking at Phil too. His eyes spoke volumes; Quackity wasn’t pleased that Phil was there. Boy was that sentiment shared. It was tense between the two, yet you still seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Then Quackity said something, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you somewhere else. But gave one last look at Phil, one that just spoke “fuck off”. Phil wished he could’ve told Quackity the same. To get him away for you.

Quackity’s action sparked a thought in him. A reason as to why you hadn’t come to talk to Phil; Quackity must’ve kidnapped you! Yes, that’s why you hadn’t come. It makes so much sense. Quackity knows you and most likely knows you talk to Phil.

With how easily you tell Phil of the people you’re talking to, he doubts that the behavior would just change. But that’s what must’ve gotten you in so much trouble; you were too trusting, too kind-hearted. You gave Quackity a chance and he was stealing you away, imprisoning you. You needn’t worry dear, he’ll rescue you from that foul man.

[feelingofcontent]

DNP Rewatch: The Top Dan Memes of 2016

Date video was published: 01/14/2017 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 332

Dan’s first video of 2017 and the second of his “top memes” videos. It follows the same format as his first one from the year before. He asked for suggestions on Twitter and then promoed it on Instagram once it was posted too.

0:08 - yes, accurate description, yikes

0:36 - “2016 can fuck off” sounds about right

0:44 - wow the 2015 memes video really did get a lot of views

1:08 - he says “obtained” which makes me wonder if he didn’t pay for it but got sent it or something. I actually don’t hate it that much

1:21 - he did wear it in his first not-memes video of 2016...okay it does look a bit like a potato sack

1:44 - he did spend a ton of time traveling and filming for that. (I have never actually watched the full documentary.)

2:04 - poor Dan; he tried to tell them...and he was right

2:47 - okay these made me laugh 😂

3:07 - and there it is. honestly their joke craft videos are some of my favorite content

3:19 - part of these not dying is their own fault...still

3:25 - DNP also constantly use “protip” in videos after that

3:42 - that wasn’t exactly untrue that some other YouTube/internet people thought DNP’s fanbase was annoying...I think we’re better now

3:51 - just glossing over the whole TATINOF thing

4:08 - the ironic smile as he does another one, lol

4:30 - yeah I’m gonna go with disturbing

4:50 - I do feel this. I also have no idea how to pose in photos and I would hate to have to take that many all the time. He had posted some other peace-sign vs. sad outtakes on Instagram as well

5:32 - the picture he chose for “whitest” ...yep

5:41 - okay this is hilarious 😂 poor DNP

5:57 - of course they were too awkward to ask, haha

6:16 - “let’s just not talk about Phil” ...Dan looks so dead behind the eyes in this clip and Phil looks so proud of himself 😂

6:32 - the annotations here kill me...he’s right though those do not look like weed leaves at all

7:09 - there are a couple pictures of the bowl method in DAPGO. 

7:24 - this art is great actually

7:58 - this is hysterical...his dramatic reading and facial expressions are great. and here’s that Instagram selfie...where a ton of comments are just “disappointed, janice” ahahaha

8:32 - “well shit Janice, I have been told” is a line that runs through my head at random points

8:47 - getting hairspray in your eye accidentally is the worst

9:39 - clip from the TATINOF documentary...Phil is trying so hard

10:17 - “remixes...kind of” 😂

10:38 - this was at the DAPGOOSE thing in London that Dan had uploaded to his channel

11:10 - “sometimes I don’t upload videos for a few week” ...understatement of ever?

11:15 - ah, Dan’s diss track

11:32 - “way too real” yep, I have vague memories of the reaction to that video dropping and it was a lot

11:58 - ahahaha, wow. he had tweeted some about that when it happened too

12:18 - the amount of times he is saying “joke” and you can hear the quotes in his voice...and the clip from Louise’s video where she looks shocked and Phil is just nodding 👀

12:48 - how do you even get into those “various situations”...I feel like this one is on him

13:09 - this compilation is too much

13:23 - it’s so hard to tell with Dan sometimes but it would make sense for him to choose that to joke about if that’s true

13:30 - “exposing Phil” alrighty then

13:48 - he is so happy about this...and that photo set is absolutely fantastic

14:06 - aww the cute koala pictures again...and then not so cute, hahaha

14:39 - this was from ISG 8...he had to know what was going to happen; he can’t just throw a hashtag out there

15:06 - he talked about the horror of teen magazines in the last memes video too

15:18 - these are horrific 😨

15:35 - wtf

16:00 - I can’t deal with BONCAs talk

16:16 - I low-key love the sparkly suit jacket 🤐

16:40 - this is not quite as bad as the missing eyebrow one I don’t think. the memes for this one made me giggle

17:06 - I love that this is his favorite

17:30 - time for very dramatic Dan 

18:16 - this story is great

18:28 - that must have been such a surreal experience for Dan

18:43 - “me and Phil”

18:56 - that tweet especially with the icon he had at the time 😂

19:07 - that is so horrifyingly creative and really does sound like something Dan might tweet. I love Phil so much

19:31 - the dramatic conclusion

19:57 - that goes way to well with the previous tweet...definitely more disturbing

20:22 - ah, shittywatercolour!

20:57 - the starter pack ones are pretty good

21:14 - cannot deal with hello internet

22:09 - “you will never be able to escape your mistakes” too true

22:30 - he was excited about the new year, and then...

22:56 - Dan’s 2017 live shows are all still public on his side channel

The meme videos aren’t my top favorites, and I still think I like the 2015 one better, but this one is funny too! I think I care less about the meme bits and more about just hearing Dan talking about different moments from the year. Dan felt the need to clarify in the comments that he’s not actually upset in the comments because some people were worried about him, whoops.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned. 

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,598)

--------------------

Part Three: Wilbur

Wilbur oversleeps.

He doesn’t mean to. He never means to. But he does, and when he wakes up and finds the sun halfway to its peak, definitely mid-morning rather than the predawn he was hoping to find, it serves as a shock to his system, and all he can think is, shit. Because sure, he’s been pretty fucking exhausted lately, but that’s no excuse. He’s supposed to be the leader here, and leaders can’t lead when they’re sleeping.

And gods above know what Tommy’s managed to get into this morning, or what Dream’s done, because Dream’s been suspiciously quiet over the past few days and there could be an attack at any moment now, and shit, shit, shit.

He fumbles his way through dressing, tries to neaten his hair, fails utterly, and gives up and pulls his beanie on over it. Not very professional, but it’s fine. This is fine. He can’t hear any screams, so nobody’s dying. Probably.

He steps outside of the hastily-constructed house he claimed for his own, and it’s less of a house, really, than a single room with walls and a roof liable to cave in at any second, but it serves for now, and he never claimed to possess his father’s building prowess. There will be time for infrastructure development after independence is secured. But he steps outside, squinting against the sunlight, and finds—everything in order. Everything looks fine. Nothing is on fire, except for the ever-burning camarvan. The walls still stand.

That should be his next step. The walls.

He climbs his way up, surveying the area. The surrounding lands appear just as they were left last night. No ominous structures set up. No fucking TNT cannons. All is calm, peaceful, and he has learned not to trust peace, these past few weeks, but if everything is alright for now, he’ll accept it gladly. Even if it doesn’t last.

He sighs, bracing his hands against the battlements. All too often, these days, he’s found his mind wandering down paths they never would have before. He can’t help but wonder what Phil would think if he knew the full extent of what he’s up to. His father tried so hard, when he was younger, to shield him from war, from the legacy that he and his best friend laid out behind them. And Wilbur cannot blame him for that protectiveness; his first experience of war has only been a few weeks long, and he’s finding he doesn’t care for it, even if he’s discovered a knack for tactics.

The thing is, though, he’s always wanted a legacy of his own.

Phil always said that it would be through his music. He never told him that he had his doubts about that, that he loves his songs but that something in him always calls for more, something just out of reach, just beyond the crest of the next hill. He’s not sure his father knows how ambitious he really is, in the end.

He should probably write him. He’ll do it after the war is over. After he has a country to invite him to see. After he’s built something that his dad will be proud of. And if he leaves out the struggle it took to get it, nobody has to know but him, because it’s certainly better that Phil doesn’t.

“Hello, Wilbur,” Dream says, right by his ear, and he jerks, pulling his sword from his inventory in an instinctive motion. How he missed the bastard’s approach, he has no idea, but Dream is standing right there, right on the walls next to him, covered head to toe in netherite armor, smiling mask firmly affixed to his face. He holds no weapons yet, but Wilbur knows all too well how quickly that can change.

“You’re trespassing on L’Manberg property,” he snaps, trying to disguise the frantic racing of his heart. His feet shift into a ready stance, a movement that’s old hat by now, both from this war and from Technoblade’s training when he was a kid, even though the sword will never be his weapon of choice. “With armor on, too. You’re not allowed to wear armor within our borders.”

He doesn’t know why he bothers to try. Dream won’t obey. He never does. That’s why they’re at war in the first place.

But then, to his shock, Dream chuckles, inclining his head. And then, piece by piece, the armor disappears, accompanied by the familiar clink of metal landing in an inventory slot.

“Right, right,” Dream says, as if he hasn’t just blown all of Wilbur’s expectations out of the water. “Of course. I guess I really should be trying to get off on the right foot with you, here. Congratulations, by the way. I’m sure you were happy to hear the news.”

What is he—?

What is this? Is he trying psychological warfare now? Is that what this is? Because Wilbur has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Is he supposed to know what he’s talking about? Dream’s acting like he should know what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t particularly want to give him the upper hand by revealing that he does not, in fact, have any idea what he’s talking about.

“Thank you,” he manages, a beat too late, but Dream doesn’t seem to notice, just continues on blithely.

“I just figured we should set up an official meeting of some kind,” he says. “One country leader to another. Get some peace treaties drawn up, write some trade agreements, draw some official boundaries, all of that stuff. I’ll admit, I’ve never done any of that before, but it can’t be too hard, right?”

“Right, I’m sure,” Wilbur replies, nodding along. Because, what?

“It doesn’t have to be right away,” Dream continues, and he just keeps talking. “I can give you a day or two to settle in, get stuff in order. There’s no real rush, but we should get it done soon. I don’t want to leave anything up in the air. That’s not the kind of thing that promotes stability.”

“Of course,” he says.

Dream goes to say something else, and then stops, tilting his head again. This time, it’s less mocking, more curious. “You do know what I’m talking about, right?” he says, and the game is up. Wilbur feels caught, but he breathes deeply, fights off his rising blush, gathers up all his composure.

“I’ll be entirely honest,” he says. “I’ve got no idea what the shit you’re on about right now.”

He’s not expecting that to make Dream laugh. But he does, tossing his head back and carrying on, loud and long, and then it devolves into a tea kettle wheeze. Genuine amusement, then, though at what, Wilbur isn’t sure. He doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, but he can’t help but feel like there’s something going on here that’s going straight over his head. He doesn’t appreciate that very much, either.

“Oh my god,” Dream manages, as soon as he’s capable of speech, mirth still dancing in his voice, “he didn’t tell you? Still?”

Something icy gets its claws around his heart.

“Who didn’t tell me?” he demands. “Who didn’t tell me what?”

“Tommy,” Dream answers, and those claws squeeze. His heart skips several beats, and suddenly, he’s casting back in his mind to the last time he saw Tommy. It was last night, wasn’t it? Just last night? He sent him to bed, because Tommy often tries to take late watches, claims himself capable, but he’s not even quite sixteen yet. Wilbur may have pulled him into a war, but he’s still a teenager, and Wilbur’s going to do his damnedest to make sure he comes out of this as intact as possible. And that means getting enough sleep.

He looked fine, last night. He was fine. He has to be fine.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his hand fisting in the front of Dream’s hoodie.

“If you’ve done something to Tommy, I’m tossing you off this wall right here and now,” he snarls. “Don’t test me, Dream.”

A year ago, a month ago, he never would have pictured himself making a threat like that. Never would have imagined himself capable of following through. But he is different, now, from the way he started, different already, and there is a part of him, a part of him that whispers to him in crows’ voices, that is scared of what he will be by the time the war is done.

“I haven’t done anything to Tommy!” Dream protests, raising both hands, though he sounds unconcerned. “I swear, I haven’t. He gave us a really good chance to, last night, but we didn’t take it. You should thank us for that. It was pretty stupid, what he did.”

“Explain,” he demands. “Explain right now.”

Tommy’s a resourceful kid. He can picture him getting himself in and out of an altercation easily. But the way Dream says it, it’s like he put himself in the situation in the first place, like he sought it out, and what the hell was Tommy even doing, outside of the walls so late at night? The walls are there for a reason. The walls are there for protection. The walls are there to keep his people safe, because maybe he didn’t exactly set out to start a country, in the very beginning, but he’s going to see it through. By all the gods, he’s going to see it through.

If, that is, this kid doesn’t give him a heart attack first.

Dream shoves at his hand, and he lets him go without an argument. Dream takes a step back, putting a bit more space between them, and then leans against the wall.

“Tommy came to us last night,” he says, “and traded his discs for L’Manberg’s independence.”

It’s a simple sentence. A very simple sentence. But somehow, the words don’t make any sense.

“Congratulations, President Soot,” Dream says, and he knows, he knows the bastard is smiling under that mask. “I look forward to establishing relations between our countries,” and he isn’t, Wilbur knows that he isn’t, but he’s enjoying this because he’s just dropped a bomb on him and he knows it, because—

“Leave,” he rasps. “Get out.”

Dream does a little salute, short and mocking, and then hops over the side of the wall. Wilbur hopes he takes damage, hopes he breaks his fucking legs. The sound of water hitting the ground tells him that he doesn’t. He can’t even be upset about it, because his heart has jumped into his throat, pounding in his ears, and all of the words were fine individually, but all together, they’re too much to process.

Tommy gave up his discs. And now L’Manberg is free. Just like that, the war is over. And Tommy gave up his discs. Tommy walked straight into enemy territory without telling him and handed over his most prized possessions, all for the sake of L’Manberg’s independence. And he succeeded. He got it. He sacrificed something dear to him, something that Wilbur never would have asked him to give up, and he did it for them. For L’Manberg.

Giddiness is the first emotion that fills him, and next is pride. Because this—this is above and beyond. He never would have asked Tommy to trade away something so important to him, but somehow, he found it within himself to do it, and he got what he wanted from it. He got what they all wanted. Somehow, Tommy managed to end their struggles in one fell swoop, and they’re not related, neither by blood nor by adoption or anything like that, but Wilbur thinks that this must be the sort of pride an older brother feels when watching the younger grow up, watching the younger go on and accomplish great things.

They are free, and it is because of Tommy. He feels like he’s on cloud nine. He feels like he could fly.

And then reality crashes back in.

Tommy didn’t tell him that he was planning this. Tommy didn’t tell him, might not have told anyone at all, and that means he strolled straight into the arms of their bitter enemies, people who might have killed him without a second thought. No one has died yet, and he always intended to keep it that way, but the thought of Tommy alone, at night, creeping his way into the belly of the beast, sends a chill down his spine.

Tommy could have died. Tommy could have died, and he wouldn’t have known until he woke up this morning, woke up late, and saw the message on his comm. TommyInnit was slain by Dream.

And then, another thought occurs to him: Tommy hasn’t come to him. Hasn’t come to brag, hasn’t even come to just tell him, to tell him that he’s just single-handedly won their independence. And that is not a Tommy-like thing to do, to let something like that go unremarked upon.

Something is wrong. Dream might have lied. He could have hurt Tommy. Tommy could be injured right now. He doesn’t even know for sure that he made it back.

Tommy gave up his discs for L’Manberg.

It still barely makes any sense to him. But there’s no time to make sense of it. He rushes back down the wall as quickly as he can manage, and then it’s off through their settlement, eyes darting around, hoping for a glimpse of him. He checks Tommy’s house, first, the ramshackle, makeshift thing he’s been sharing with Tubbo until they can get better buildings erected, and he’s not there, and Tubbo isn’t either. The camarvan turns up nothing. He’s considering leaving L’Manberg entirely, going to check by Tommy’s other house, the one built into the hill, when Tubbo comes up beside him.

“Morning, Wilbur,” he says, and then frowns. “You alright, man? You’re kind of pale.”

“Tubbo,” he says, and grabs him by the shoulders. Maybe a bit too emphatically, because he suddenly looks a bit alarmed, but he’ll be concerned with that later. “Tubbo, have you seen Tommy today?”

Tubbo’s frown deepens. “I was coming to see if you knew where he was,” he says. “He was being a bit off last night. Think he had a nightmare or something. But he’s not with you?”

“No, he’s not.” With every word out of Tubbo’s mouth, he feels his own panic grow. It is one thing for Tommy to hatch some sort of plot and not tell him. That is—well, it’s not fine, but Tommy doesn’t tell him everything. But to keep Tubbo out of the loop? To, presumably, visit him before leaving and yet still not tell Tubbo what was going on? It’s unlike him. Very unlike him.

“Okay, well, he’s got to be around here somewhere,” Tubbo reasons, his brows creased. “L’Manberg’s only so big. Should we go look for him together, then?”

“Right,” he says. He breathes, in and out. Tubbo’s a good kid. Very sensible. Very down to earth. And he’s right, of course. Tommy has to be around here somewhere. Any other possibility is out of the question. “Right, of course, let’s go look.”

So they do. They take a systematic approach, first checking all the most likely places and then combing every inch of their land in a grid formation. Tubbo’s suggestion, again. But that turns up nothing, either, and he can feel the panic creeping back in, because what if he actually didn’t make it home? What if he was out there in the dead of night, distraught and alone, and something took advantage of that? What if some mob looked at him and recognized him for an easy kill?

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. There would have been a notification. But he could be injured somewhere, incapacitated, in pain and all alone, and he can’t let that happen, can’t let Tommy be hurt like that on his watch—

“Oh, wait,” Tubbo says, and pulls on his sleeve. “There he is.”

Wilbur jerks, and stares in the direction he’s pointing. And sure enough, Tommy’s there, right in front of the camarvan, and Eret too, it looks like. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt relief as pure as in this moment.

“Gods,” he breathes, and starts toward them, calling out, “Tommy!” And as he approaches, he gets the sense that something is off.

The first thing he notices is Eret’s expression. Pure, unbridled confusion, mixed with what perhaps might be something like anxiety. And the reason for that is clear enough: Tommy is holding their face very firmly in his hands. Which is bizarre, and Wilbur blinks a few times to make sure he’s seeing this right, because Tommy doesn’t—he doesn’t just do that. That is a gesture reserved only for people he is very, very close to. Tubbo gets that treatment. He’s been on the receiving end a couple of times himself, but not often. And he knows that Tommy and Eret get along just fine, are friends, just like all of them are, but he really didn’t think that the two of them were close enough for this. And judging by the look on Eret’s face, they didn’t think so either.

And Tommy is just standing there. Not speaking, not doing anything else. Just staring Eret in the eyes—or the glasses, rather—with a startling intensity.

“Tommy?” he asks, as soon as he’s close enough that he doesn’t have to shout. “Is everything alright?”

And Tommy startles. Withdraws his hands from Eret’s face as though he’s been burned. Turns to look at him, and Wilbur freezes in place, because just for a second—

There is fear on Tommy’s face.

He doesn’t understand what could have caused it. But it is undoubtedly there, only for a moment before it is smoothed away into something more neutral, if strained. And he hates it, hates it viscerally. He never wants Tommy to look at him with that expression on his face. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“Ayup,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds—rough. Like he hasn’t slept at all. “Morning Wil, Tubso.”

It’s casual. Far too casual for what Wilbur has just learned, for the panic he’s felt for the past half hour or so, unable to find this kid, this kid who is basically his brother, for all he pretends to protest against the moniker. Tommy is his family. Tommy is his family, and he risked everything last night, gave up everything for the sake of Wilbur’s everything, his grand ideals, his great vision, and now he’s standing there like nothing at all has changed.

“Ayup, Tommy,” Tubbo says. “You feeling any better this morning?”

At Tommy’s side, Eret shifts uneasily. Their expression is still one of concern, and Wilbur wonders exactly how long Tommy had been standing there like that, or what their interaction even was to get them to that point in the first place. It’s confusing. He’s confused.

“I’m great,” Tommy says, and—no, no, they’re not going to do this.

“Tommy,” he breaks in, and Tommy stiffens. “Tommy, last night, why did you—you just—why wouldn’t you tell me?”

It’s not quite what he should be asking, but it’s what comes out. And his voice is annoyingly desperate, and he hates showing off so many emotions like this, especially in a public space, but he can’t stop himself.

“What about last night?” Tubbo asks.

“Last night?” Eret echoes, and looks to Tommy, who blinks, his gaze darting between the three of them but landing on Wilbur most of all, and it’s like he’s nervous, almost, anxious about how he’s going to react, and—does he think he’s going to be angry about this? Perhaps he is, but only in the sense that he’s angry that Tommy took such a stupid risk. Below that anger, that anger born of fear, his pride burns bright. Surely, Tommy must know that?

“I—look, I knew you’d say no, alright?” he says. “But I knew that I could do it, so I did it. Simple as that.”

Simple as that, he says. As if he didn’t give up his greatest possessions. As if he didn’t win them the war, win them their freedom, win for them the reality of the values that this country was founded upon.

“What’s going on?” Eret asks.

“Yeah, does this have something to do with what you were saying to me the other night?” Tubbo says, and then looks at him. “Wilbur, what are you talking about? What happened last night?”

Tommy sighs, and says nothing. Wilbur swallows, and maintains eye contact with him as he speaks, searching for some kind of reaction.

“Dream came to me this morning,” he says, and does not miss Tommy’s flinch at the name, “not even an hour ago. He said—he said that we were free. That the war was over, that L’Manberg was its own nation, that he wanted to set up a meeting for diplomatic ties and whatnot. He called me the president. And, um, he said that you won it for us, Tommy.” He pauses, just for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control. He mostly fails. “He said that you came to him, last night, and you traded your discs to him for L’Manberg’s freedom.”

“You did what?”

Tubbo’s voice is dismayed and disbelieving all at once. And Tommy flinches, draws into himself a little, and that’s not the reaction Wilbur would have expected, but literally none of this is what he would have expected.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding quiet, a bit defeated. “Yeah, I—I did. I knew he’d take the deal. And I just wanted—I wanted the war to be over, yeah? Before anybody got hurt. And I knew this would work, so I just went and did it.”

“You couldn’t have, though,” he finds himself saying, before he even know what he’s going to say next. “Maybe you could’ve guessed that he’d go for it, but—Tommy, what if they’d killed you? Taken what they wanted and killed you right then and there? I just—” He breaks off running a hand through his hair, remembering too late that he’s got his beanie on. His fingers dislodge it, and he readjusts it with more fervor than is necessary. “I just can’t believe you did that without telling someone. Without telling—” Me, he wants to say, but holds himself back. No matter his feelings regarding Tommy, the deep respect and even deeper love that has grown in him over the course of their friendship, he doesn’t have a monopoly on Tommy’s attention. Perhaps he would have preferred for Tommy to tell him, but he’d have settled for Tommy telling anyone.

“What, are you worried?” Tommy says, and Wilbur only spares a second to wonder why he sounds so disbelieving, because—

“Yes,” he bursts out.  “Gods, Tommy! Dream came to me with this and my first thought was that you’d died! Or that you hadn’t made it back, that you were out there somewhere, alone and needing help, and I didn’t—Tommy. Tommy, please tell me you thought of this. Please tell me, tell me that you were prepared, at least. Tell me that you—” He cuts himself off again, shaking his head hard, and under any other circumstance, he would be kicking himself for the display, for the outburst of emotion, for the lack of eloquence, but he thinks he can be excused for the moment.

Tommy’s mouth works for a second.

“Oh,” he finally says, weakly. “Um, right. Sorry, Wilbur. No, I had it handled, trust me. Sorry, I didn’t, um. Didn’t mean to scare you like that. Sort of just—did it, y’know?”

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it kind of isn’t, because Tommy’s continued to shrink into himself, and he doesn’t want that. “It’s okay, Tommy, I’m just glad you’re okay. And, gods above, what you did—” He steps forward, then, unable to help himself, and takes Tommy by the shoulders. Tommy stares at him with wide eyes. “I never would have asked that of you. I couldn’t believe it when Dream told me. And Tommy, I—I’m so, so sorry. But I am so damn proud of you. You hear me? So damn proud. I know what that must have taken, for you to do that. And I’m so fucking proud of you.” He smiles, then, wide and a bit watery. He’s not going to cry, he’s not, but emotion is rising up in his throat, thick and overpowering. “You did it, Tommy. You won us L’Manberg.”

Tommy returns the smile, if a bit tentatively. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess I did, didn’t I?” And then, the smile widens, and he puffs out his chest, putting his hands on his hips. “I hear that makes me the leader now. You’re speaking to Mister High President King Lord Innit, so show me the respect you owe me, eh?”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” he replies, but he’s laughing. “No, no, enough out of you, go, take Tubbo and go get yourself whatever you want out of our rations, you’ve fucking earned it, Toms.”

Tommy offers him one last grin, and then he ducks out of his grip, grabbing Tubbo’s hand and dragging him in the direction of their storage. He can hear Tubbo’s voice already, high and offended at the fact that Tommy went and did this without telling him, and perhaps all is right with the world after all. Some things do not change, even when everything else does.

He went to sleep last night a rebel, a general. He woke up a president. How about that?

“Do you think he’s alright?” Eret asks, and he starts, almost having forgotten they were there.

“Probably not,” he admits. “Not entirely. Those discs meant a lot to him. But we’ve got time to figure it out.” He turns to them, then, makes eye contact with himself in the reflection of their sunglasses. “What was he doing with you, before we walked up?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” they reply. “He came up to me, sort of yelling a bit? Punched me in the shoulder a few times. Couldn’t figure out what that was about. Then he thanked me for something, and then he hugged me, which was a bit odd, and then he did the, uh, thing, with the holding my face? And then you and Tubbo arrived. I honestly don’t know what any of that was about at all.”

He hums, and looks out after the boys, at their retreating backs. As he watches, Tommy slings an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, his other hand gesticulating wildly.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says softly. “It’s Tommy. He makes it his job to be unpredictable.”

“You’re right about that,” Eret says. “I suppose congratulations are in order, President Soot?”

President Soot. It’s got a nice ring to it. He is the leader of a free country now, and it is thanks to the kid he sees as a younger brother, whether he’ll admit as much out loud or not. He is the leader of a free country, and that means there is much work to be done.

But he gives himself a moment longer, and smiles at the way the midday sun shines in Tommy’s hair.

It’s all for them, after all. Land is just land; as long as he can give his loved ones the freedom they deserve, that’s enough for him.

[theonlygamergost]

Nature’s effect - Fd!Au

This fanfiction is based on the Family Dynamic au made by @antarctic-bay ctic-bay if you would like to know more, go check them out!!!

Also please bear in mind that the things written in this might not be canon!

This fic was corrected by the lovely @im-default

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Techno started working at the local vivarium and finds out that nature can change and calm even the most hyperactive people, just like Tommy

I did a poll on the Fd!au server about who my next fic should be focused on and Techno/Tommy won, so here you have it!

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

Warning! Swearing

Enjoy~

“I’m sure they’ll love the flowers! Thank you and have a nice day!” Camille waved the last customers off and started cleaning the counter of the rotten leaves and flowers that she had cut off the last order, Techno was kneeling in front of a shelf busy applying tags on products.

“Techno are you almost done with those?”

After saving some flowers from Wilbur’s room, Techno had taken a liking to tend plants and gardening in general, the local vivarium owner Camille had taught him many tips and tricks that made him a perfect employee for the job.

He was pretty hyped for his first day at work, well... it was more of a trial per se, it was a test to see how he would react to the human interactions and how fast he could get the hang of the profession, which went great in his opinion:

Camille was great at explaining how to take care of the plants and wrapping the pots for gifts, she was so elegant while she passed the ribbon around the wrapping paper Techno almost tripped by getting distracted while looking at her.

His job in the magic home of plants was pretty simple: water the plants that weren’t irrigated automatically, check for parasites, diseases, or rotten leaves, restock the expositive plants and help costumers for whatever they needed, and of course, if he didn’t know what to do, just call Camille or any other employee for help.

“You did great today Techno! The old couple you helped earlier seemed very satisfied!” Techno blushed at the compliment since he couldn’t handle them and ended up stuttering, “T-thank you…”

“There are still thirty minutes before we need to close… Are you free to stay a bit later? I can show you how the irrigators system works and where the shelves outside go when closing the shop” He froze as he took his phone out of his pocket.

There where multiple messages coming from none other than the gremlin, and the last three (out of probably twenty all saying “I am bored” and “Answer pig” ) where what caused the strong reaction:

Gremlin

YOu are working at the plant place, right?

Gremlin

Big P and Big W won’t be home till late

Gremlin

Im bored so im coming over

Oh no…

Oh no no no-

“Um... Camille? My brother is at home alone, can he wait for me here until I finish?” The kind girl did not hesitate for a moment, “Absolutely! Not many customers arrive this late so there will be no problem!” Techno released the breath he didn’t notice he was holding, texting angrily back at Tommy, cursing at him to wait until he answered before taking initiations.

Just after he learned how the irrigation system worked, a familiar red and white t-shirt popped into view, “If you want Techno, you can ask your brother to help you take care of the greenhouses, it’s an easy job and you said he was bored at home yes?” Techno nodded and thanked the owner of the vivarium, he walked up to Tommy, who as soon as he saw him, burst into a laugh.

“BWAHAHA!!! WHAT ARE YOU WEARING TECHNO?!” The pink-haired boy looked down at his outfit, which consisted of his school uniform, a pair of green rubber boots, and a cute green apron with a daisy onto it. “What are you laughing at Tommy?” his younger brother was holding his stomach, wiping a tear off of his eyes, “The apron! It’s so- Pffffff-!” Techno sighed, shaking his head, “You are an absolute child… Phil wears an apron when he cooks too and so does Tubbo when he is in art class! How is it funny to you?! It’s a simple piece of clothing!!!” He turned around hoping Tommy would follow, there was no way he was giving him a pair of scissors so a watering can should busy him enough to avoid boredness.

“Hey! I’m not a child! I’m a big man Technoblade you should know” he puffed his chest to look high and mighty, “And how do you not find aprons funny big T?! They are like a little skirt… ok fine ignore me then” noticing how Techno wasn’t turning around nor paying him attention, he followed him to the greenhouses in silence looking at the number of plants and flowers that were littered everywhere.

As soon as Techno stopped he handed Tommy a watering can full of water that he almost dropped, “WHOA- what the hell man?! This is heavy!” Ignoring his brother's complaints, he adjusted his glasses and grabbed a pair of scissors, “Water the third and fifth row, don’t get the leaves wet, pour it directly on the soil and-” Techno turned to face him, “Don’t make a lake in the pot, stop watering as soon as you made a slow circle around the plant” As soon as he finished talking, he kneeled in front of the first plant of the first row, leaving Tommy with a heavy watering can and overcomplicated instructions.

“Don’t make a lake and don’t do this a-and don’t do that gne gne gne… Ugh what a pain in the ass” Tommy started to do as Techno instructed, but as time went on, something in him changed, going from a grunting face and not caring if he poured too much water, to a more relaxed expression, softly moving the leaves aside so water wouldn’t get on them.

Techno didn’t notice this change at first since he was too focused on removing dead flowers and leaves, but when he looked up to check if the gremlin was doing ok, he stopped himself from talking when he noticed that Tommy was crouched down, holding a ladybug in his hands.

Techno smiled at the sight of his brother becoming calmer when in contact with nature, he was so cute…

Quickly snapping a picture and sliding his phone back in his pocket he walked up to him, kneeling as well. “What’cha looking at?”

Tommy didn’t bother looking at his brother, his eyes were fixated on the small bug, “A Ladybug… it has five spots… Does that mean it’s five years old?” Techno softly chuckled, “No, that’s a common misconception Tommy, the spots are to warn predators that they don’t taste good, a self-defense mechanism” Tommy looked up at Techno and back to the ladybug, “But why five?” the older brother spotted another one of the small creatures, he waited for it to walk on his finger and held it close to Tommy’s one, “It represents which species it is, look- they both have five spots, meaning they come from the same category” Tommy added nothing, too absorbed into admiring the small bug pacing around the palm of his hand, instead, Techno placed his one back on the plant, snipping away a molded leaf, “Farmers believe that if they find a ladybug with less than seven spots means that they’ll have a good harvest, the contrary if it has more than seven, it’s only a folk legend though” Tommy decided to follow suit and moved his hand closer to the plan, allowing the small red and black insect to go back on the plant it came from.

“C’mon, your watering can’s empty, let’s go fill it up” The blonde boy smiled and nodded, grabbing the empty plastic container and following his older brother, looking at the variety of flowers and plants the greenhouse sheltered.

The rest of the time spent tending to the plants was calm and relaxing, nature really changed Tommy since he didn’t say once that he was bored or he never tried to start an argument, he looked at peace watering the small plants, kneeling to smell the flowers and making sure they weren’t diseased.

“Do you want to cut off the brown leaves? You look like you want to look at the plants a bit closer, I can water the rest” Tommy was surprised when Techno held in front of him the pair of scissors, he hesitated for a second, making sure that his brother was confident in his decision, but all he got from Techno was a soft smile.

Tommy remained in this unusual state all the way back home, let’s say that this moment of… “peace” was ruined when Wilbur came home and showed Tommy the picture Techno took of him behind his back.

[spruceplank]

I told you I was brave but I lied

AN: based on this post by @blocklasagna

Or the AU from the time after Wilbur’s death and before Tubbo’s peaceful driven presidency can really begin because rebuilding has just started: The universe takes Tommy from Dreamsmp and asks the admin of Hermitcraft to help him heal. Cue Tommy now in Hermitcraft re-learning how to live again and not just survive because he deserves a chance to be a kid again.

ao3 || 4k words || First | Current | Next 

It's warm. He can feel cool air on his skin but for some reason he feels the warmth more. He feels safe. Safe in a way he doesn’t remember feeling for a long time now.  He can hear the whistle of wind and the occasional sound of flapping wings. There’s a steady heartbeat he can hear clearly nearby. This is the best dream he’s had in a long time. He doesn’t want to ever wake up.

When he wakes up he’s in a place he doesn’t recognize. It's bright but only in the way the sun catches on the yellow and white block pallet around him. Where is he? It's warm here, warm and bright. His hands catch on the grey blanket around him as he slowly sits up, hesitantly eying the area around him. The sound of footsteps catches down the hallway and he freezes in place. No, no, no, please not again. His hands curl into the fabric of the blanket and his panic is all but halted when he realizes there’s something on his wrist.

There on his left wrist is one of Phil’s wristbands. The red heart seems to help keep his own steady even though it's merely a picture. At least he thinks its only a picture, Phil had magic he didn’t usually understand on a good day. He slips a finger under the band and spins it around his wrist, making sure it's actually there and not some sort of hallucination. He catches the feeling of a piece of paper on the inside part of the wrist band. Slowly he turns his arm over and pulls out a small, folded up piece of paper from the space between his wrist and the band. Ignoring the way his fingers tremble slightly, he begins to unfold the paper to reveal a message.

Tommy,

I’m sorry to do this without asking you first but I feared that if I did not get you out of this smp asap I would lose another one of my bois to whatever has infected this server. I cannot say for certain where you will be once you wake up, but you will be safe wherever you are. I wish I could say all I want to let you know but time grows short and there is much to do. I will get your brothers back to normal I swear it. When it's safe again I will come for you. By wearing my wristband I will know you are safe and you are alive, just as you will be able to tell the same of me. I love you Tommy, and I hope wherever the universe has decided to send you will give you a chance to remember and experience the world as it should be, unaffected by whatever has dream’s smp. A world full of all the things you think are merely dreams. I love you Tommy, please never doubt that, and I'll come bring you home soon. 

Ph1lza

His heartbeat is echoing in his ears. Phil, Phil abandoned him. Something was wrong on the dream smp, no one actually hated him. Phil loved him. His brothers were in danger. His friends were in danger. Wilbur was dead and Techno had killed him. Phil left him to keep him safe. Phil loved him. He was all alone now.

Someone clears their throat way too close to him. Immediately he crumples up the paper and swallows it whole. Ow, his throat is scratchy already before eating paper so that doesn’t help it in the slightest. 

“Oh my goodness me, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” An unfamiliar voice apologizes. He turns his head to look at a tall person in some sort of bed outfit? Yeah no, that's a bee outfit alright. It's a weird one, like it's painted armor of done sort but the colors don't lie. Especially not with an actual bee hovering next to the person. He narrows his eyes to try and make out the details of this person who isn't even that far away from him. Why is his vision blurry? 

He blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes to focus but it doesn't seem to be working. He's so confused. Where is he? Why is he here? Who is the bee person? Someone is talking to him or maybe he's just hearing voices again. The entire world blurs together and his head throbs. Everything goes dark. 

Waking up again is painful. His head hurts, his throat hurts, and he feels so weak. Is he sick? He doesn't remember the last time he was sick. 

"Are you back with me now?" There’s that unfamiliar voice again. It's soft and warm like one of Wilbur’s sweaters he used to wear when he was small and they were much too big for him. He manages to open his eyes enough to make out the weird bee themed man at his bedside. Two bees over the man’s shoulders can be seen flying away out of the room when he starts to move.

"...hhhh?" Is all he manages to get out in some sort of whine. His mind nor voice wanted to cooperate with him. He felt like absolute shit.

"I'm assuming you have questions for me, yes?" The bee man asks and he nods slowly. He very much so would like some answers to whatever the fuck was going on. The bee man's expressions are hard to read through the dude's helmet with only the visor really giving him a glimpse of what bee man's expressions are. He thinks that the bee man is worried about him though because the bee man keeps talking, "Well I'll be happy to answer them if in exchange you could eat some of this food and at least drink some of a regen potion."

The bee man brings a pink potion and some bread into his field of view. The bee man looks at him expectantly and he is hungry and he feels like shit but he can't. Bee man has only been nice to him but he doesn't trust anyone. Not after Wil blew up L'manburg. Not after Techno killed him and his friends. He manages to get his voice to work enough to rasp out a response, "...No…" 

"No? Do you not feel like eating? You surely have not been eating enough with how light you are, never mind how pale your skin looks." The bee man looks worried and he feels bad for making the bee man worry. The bee man keeps talking, "Well I would rather you don't pass out on me again, gave me quite a scare there earlier. Is there something wrong with the food? Do you not like bread?" 

He loves bread. Bread reminds him of L'manburg in the very beginning. Of Niki's bakery and laughter. Of better and more peaceful times. He's dragged out of his thoughts when the bee man keeps talking. 

"I promise you it's rather good, I just baked it fresh myself earlier. It wouldn't hurt to at least give eating a try would it? I promise you it's edible, I'm not that horrible in the kitchen." Bee man looks at him and he feels like the bee man can read his mind because the bee man asks, "Would it make you feel better to see me eat some of it first?" 

He nods as much as he can without making himself dizzy. Which isn't very much sadly. Bee man doesn't take it personally though because bee man chuckles and he finds he doesn't mind at all because he knows the bee man isn't laughing at him. 

"All right then give me a moment," The bee man says and he's confused for a moment before the bee man lifts his hands to the sides of his helmet, flicks some latches, and pulls it off. There's a soft hissing noise as the bee man removes the helmet and sets it to the side. He watches the bee man pick up a piece of bread and rip a chunk of it off to eat. Purple eyes seem to glow slightly just like the purple freckles on the bee man's face that he hadn't seen before because of the helmet. The bee man eats and remains completely fine after the fact. He feels better about this now and the bee man offers him some bread while saying, "See, perfectly fine. I'd be happy to brew a new potion right here in front of you if you're worried about it as well."

"...Thanks.." He says as he slowly starts to eat the bread. He's starving but he knows eating too much too fast will only hurt in the long run so he forces himself to eat slower. There's simply silence that is strangely not uncomfortable while he eats the first loaf of bread. He thinks the bee man leaves the room for a moment, because when he looks back up after eating the bee man has out a brewing stand and potion materials. The materials for a regen potion. With the man is another few bees that the man waves away out of the room.

It's when he's handed the second loaf which he takes with another quiet thanks that the bee man breaks the silence, "You're quite welcome. Ah goodness me where are my manners, I did say I'd answer your questions. Well for starters my name is Xisuma and I'm the admin of the world we currently both are in which is called Hermitcraft."

The bee man, Xisuma, is the admin of this world. Hermitcraft is not a place he's ever heard of before. He only has more questions now, "How…?" 

"How did you get here?" Xisuma finishes, looking to him before continuing at his nod in response to the admin's question. "Well to be honest I only know so much about that myself. About two days ago I found you in the middle of nowhere in the deep End. You definitely could not have gotten there on your own nor could you have survived there on your own. I was tasked by the End itself to help you and keep you safe until your father could come for you. That is all I know."

That answer only makes him more confused, "The End?" 

Xisuma stops paying attention to making the potion and turns to him, the admin's helmet still being off allows him to see the expression of hesitation on the man's face before he asks, "What do you know about the End?" 

What does he know about the End? He has to think and recall all the vague memories he has of it as he lists them off slowly, "... Other realm… endless void… endermen… Dragon legend… Dad likes it there…" 

"Does your father have magic?" Xisuma's sudden question nearly makes him jump but he manages to only flinch instead. The admin doesn't comment on his reaction even though Xisuma has been watching him while he was listing things off.

Does Phil have magic? He has to actually think about the things Phil has or does that he's just accepted are a part of Phil that are probably not normal. There are only a few things he can think of off the top of his head for sure, "Wings… World walking… This is his…"

He holds up his left wrist to Xisuma so the admin can see the wristband he's wearing more clearly. Xisuma looks at the band for a moment before coming closer to inspect it. 

"May I?" Xisuma asks. He nods and goes to remove it but Xisuma holds up a hand to stop him, "You don't have to remove it, don't worry, I just want to get a closer look."

Xisuma gently takes his wrist and stares directly at the wristband. It's kind of weirdchamp but he doesn't find it all that awkward actually. After a few moments Xisuma hums in understanding, "Hardcore? So your dad's an ascended player then. An old one too at the likes of it. That explains it."

"Wha…?" He questions, not really processing what he's being told. How did Xisuma know Phil was a hardcore player? What was an ascended player? He knows Phil was old but he wasn't that old was he? 

"What do I mean?" Xisuma asks, once more chuckling at his rapid nod in response. He doesn't think Xisuma is making fun of him though and he likes the admin solely for that alone. Xisuma hums for a moment before beginning to explain, "Well not only did I find you, a human, out in the deep End where the air should be too thin for you to breathe normally. You were completely unharmed and not even seemingly aware of the coldness in the thin air of the void. The End, my home, went out of its way to call me back there and lead me to you. Something that no doubt cost quite a lot both from the universe and your father. The fact that you were not only there but alive and guarded by the void itself, means your father is loved quite a lot by the End. And because he loves you so dearly that means the End adores you just the same."

That's a lot to process at once. He finds himself blankly trying to make sense of all that information until he feels a warm potion bottle being pressed into his hands. He takes it without thinking and drinks some of it before stopping. Bleh, he forgot how bad these tasted. Thankfully it kicks in rather quickly and he manages to get enough of his brain back in working order to ask a full question this time, "... Then why, why am I here?" 

Xisuma looks at him expectantly and he drinks more of the potion without even thinking about it. Xisuma smiles with an approving nod and he ignores how he feels about that. He does not have the time he needs to unpack all of that right now because Xisuma starts talking again, "I don't want to make guesses or speculate on a situation I don't know anything of, but while I said you are unharmed I only meant physically and even then really only unharmed currently. You have a number of scars that some of the players in this world don't have despite a history of fighting. I was told to watch over you until your dad could come for you and while I can only make guesses as to what that entails I'm fairly certain your father wanted to make sure you were safe in his absence. As for what your dad would currently be doing, well I'd wager a guess it has something to do with all this corruption clinging to your code like pollen to a bee. Goodness me I haven't even really tried to deal with it because I know people are sensitive to having others digging through their code but this is ridiculous."

Phil wanted him to be safe. He doesn't know why but he believes it more when Xisuma says it than when he read it in Phil's letter. Phil wanted him safe while he was fixing something with the smp. But what was wrong with it? Corruption? Code? He has no fucking clue what Xisuma is talking about, "My code?" 

Xisuma nods at his question, "Yes your code. It's what makes you, well you. It's the thing that allows you to come and go between worlds at ease. To respawn upon dying and travel between overworld, nether, and end."

"I don't see anything." He says looking down at himself curiously. This is the first time he's ever heard of this code shit. 

"Would you like to?" Xisuma asks and it's not even a making fun of him question, but a genuine offer. He feels excited about learning something new and can't help the smile that breaks out on his face when he nods. Xisuma shakes his head amused but gestures to the half drunken potion in Tommy's hands, "Drink the rest of that potion and I'll show you."

"Bleh." He complains after finishing the potion. A small price to pay for cool new knowledge. Xisuma laughs at his response when the admin takes the empty bottle from him and he feels embarrassed about it. 

"You're right, they're not very good but trust me they used to be worse. Give me a moment to readjust the settings here for you." Xisuma explains, picking up his  discarded helmet from earlier before he fiddles with it. At least he wasn't making fun of Tommy's response or telling him he was just being a big baby. He decides to ignore those thoughts and thankfully is given the opportunity to when Xisuma says, "Alright, go ahead and put this on then."

He takes the helmet which isn't as heavy as he thought it would be. It's certainly not as heavy as netherite or even diamond. He swallows his sudden anxiety and sticks in on before he can overthink it. He looks around the room confused, "Nothing looks different?"

"Give me a moment here… " Xisuma says, trailing off as a screen pops up at the admin's finger tips. It just looks like a translucent blue screen which glows white wherever Xisuma taps it. It looks like the admin is typing but he can't see anything on the screen so it just seems random. Xisuma stops tapping at the screen finally to ask,"How about now?" 

He's confused because nothing changes at first. Then like a furnace roaring to life suddenly there's a flash of purple across the visor as everything suddenly gains a slight glow around it. It's pretty pog to see, "Woah"

"Okay so look at my arm here, what do you see?" Xisuma asks, holding an arm out between them. 

"An arm? Wait it's got all these little numbers popping up around it…" He watches amazed by the numbers. They radiate off the admins arm, briefly glowing white before vanishing from view. 

Xisuma nods,"Now look at your own arm, what do you see?" 

"It's also an arm. Wait the numbers, why are they all glitchy like that? What's this weird glow?" He likes this. He thinks it super cool right up until he looks at his own arm and it does not pass the vibe check. The numbers coming off his arm are like vibrating in the air. Appearing like static in a mess of colors before vanishing much sooner than the ones around Xisuma did. 

His attention is pulled away from it when Xisuma talks again and he turns to look at the admin who watches him with a look he can't decipher, "That, my friend, is the corruption."

"Oh… wait, the wristband…" He nods mutely and goes to pull off the helmet when the wristband catches his eye. It's surrounded in a soft, solid green glow with no glitchy numbers but rather opaque blue boxes. Like the screen Xisuma was tapping earlier but this one has white text on it. He looks at it and starts to read, "Health bar, monitors player's health and displays it. Currently tracking,... Dad."

"If you look at the details of how it works, you'd find it's a set. One wristband out of two. The other, is connected to you." Xisuma explains, tapping on the floating description next to the wristband. Indeed there is a whole description he doesn’t bother to read but he does notice the 1/2 in the corner of the tiny screen. 

That’s why he has one of Phil’s wristbands? So Phil can make sure he’s still alive? He hesitates for a moment but asks despite feeling stupid for asking, "So if I died he would know?" 

Xisuma hums, considering it before answering, "Not quite? Because your dad's a hardcore player it's set directly to his code. Hardcore players take damage directly to their code, or well a subsection of their code. Your dad has it wired so if either your own code or his code starts to become so corrupted then it will be displayed on the corresponding wristband. It's a genius design in these bands if the other makes the matching set I'm assuming it does."

He has no idea what they’re currently talking about. He has so many questions, "But he doesn't stay in his hardcore world?" 

"Even so, his base code is written for a hardcore player. It'd be the same as a hybrid player, where their base code contains their hybridness? That didn't work quite the way I wanted it to." Xisuma explains. When the admin looks at his face though it’s very clear that he has no idea what Xisuma is trying to tell him. He thinks about hybrid players, people who aren’t human, usually part mob or something and then thinks about the bee theme.

"Are you a hybrid player?" He asks before thinking about it. 

"That's quite the personal question." Xisuma answers looking surprised. 

"Shit my bad, … I wasn't aware it was personal. I just can't tell if the bee thing is an outfit or not." He explains hoping Xisuma won’t be too mad.

Xisuma looks even more surprised by him swearing, "Does your father know about your language?" 

"You sound like Bad does! Yes he knows and he doesn't care!" He groans, waving off the concern. He wasn’t twelve, what was wrong with swearing?

"Alright, alright just asking." Xisuma assures him before saying, "As for the bee theme, it is just an outfit."

"It is? But the bees seem to like you more than they even like… A friend…" He trails off looking down as his thoughts drift to the people he’s left behind back on the smp. Even if it had felt like a rift had been forming between him and Tubbo, they were still best friends. 

Xisuma doesn’t comment on his weird sentence thankfully, "Hmm well I can't give away all my secrets to someone whom I don't even know the name of." 

"Tommy."

"What was that?"

He looks up and repeats himself, "My name is Tommy."

"Well then Tommy, allow me to formally welcome you to Hermitcraft. I'll show you around and such tomorrow when I'm sure you won't faint on me, though for now I will be needing my helmet back." Xisuma says, gesturing to the helmet still on his head.

He pulls the helmet off and hands it over, "Oh shit, sorry." 

"No need to apologize, I did let you use it after all." Xisuma tells him, taking the helmet back and fiddling with it for a moment before putting it back on. It was strange to see the admin with the helmet on again but he guessed this was the usual norm. Xisuma stands up and checks something on his communicator. Idly he wondered where his own communicator had wound up before his train of thought is derailed by Xisuma offering, "Well if you feel up to it I could show you around my base here for today so you're not bored in bed all day."

That sounded so much better than being bored in bed all day. 

Xisuma's base was incredible. Not only did he base stretch through multiple tower buildings full of so many different redstone contraptions he had never seen, but he was the only one who even lived here! It was entirely his base and his base alone! And it was full of bees! They were so cuddly and soft! He didn't know bees could hang around people so much! Even Tubbo's bees got bored of them eventually and went back to doing bee things. And Tubbo's bees loved Tubbo! 

Not only that but the amount of resources the admin had! It was ridiculous! Phil was the only person he knew with this many resources. Well Phil and Techno but he didn't want to think about Techno so only Phil. 

At some point Xisuma went to go check something or whatever, he had stopped paying attention to the admin when a couple bees flew over and started buzzing around him. Eventually he sat down in this grassy area with the same bees who all piled around him. A fuzzy bee pile. It was nice. He really was curious as to why these bees were so friendly. But for now he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Its warm, soft, and safe. He doesn’t even realize it when he falls asleep. 

[max-is-tired]

They can tell you that it’s righteous

Fandom: Dream SMP

Prompt: Kidnapping ( @badthingshappenbingo )

A/N: Aaand I’m back on my writing bullshit, let’s go. I started plotting this fic back in January, so it only follows canon up until Doomsday/Techno and Phil finding the portal room, but at least it’s finally done!

Obligatory tags of people who asked: @deadonmercury @littlecatninja​

Warnings: hostage situation, blood, violence, mention of skin melting off, antagonist Quackity, drowning, temporary character death (gotta love respawning), near death experience, beheading.

Read on AO3!!

It had started like such a good day for Ranboo. The sun was shining bright in the sky, the SMP seemed to be at relative peace for once, and there were plenty of grass blocks lying around and waiting to be picked up. So yeah, great day!

Ranboo knew this peace probably wouldn't last long, not with these lands' track record of starting conflicts and trying to kill people on a weekly basis. But when the afternoon rolled around and random explosions had yet to start filling the sky with smoke, the hybrid felt pretty confident that, at least for that day, things were looking up.

The problem was that, by thinking on those lines, Ranboo ended up forgetting the most important rule of the server, the one rule he'd promised himself he would not break, no matter what.

Never, ever lower your guard, especially in times of peace.

He didn't even notice the person sneaking up on him until the very last second. One moment, he was crouching down, happily patting the grass block he'd just placed on the ground and the next, there was a shadow looming over him, the familiar shape of small, feathered wings being the only thing he managed to discern before a sudden, excruciating pain in the back of his head made his vision go white.

Ranboo groaned, stumbling on the ground while his vision wobbled and filled with dark spots. Dark, dirty sneakers stopped just in front of his head, but try as he might, the hybrid couldn't bring himself to move his head enough to look up, the mere thought of it making him wince.

"Sorry Ranboo, nothing personal," a familiar voice muttered, drawing a confused whine out of the kid. After that, everything went black.

+++

Technoblade had been feeling on edge all day -which, by itself, wasn't such a strange occurrence. Being on edge was a given for him, what with the voices in his head constantly chanting for blood and half of the server seemingly having a personal vendetta against him.

Listen, okay, he did blow up their precious country -but only after they decided that a corrupt government was the way to go and, you know, tracked him down while he was in retirement to try and execute him. He felt like the retaliation was kind of deserved.

Still, Techno didn't give much weight to the feeling. He'd learned to never let his guard down after the butcher army, and if someone decided to be stupid enough to attack him in his own home, they'd have to deal with him, Philza, and the small army of hounds living in the pen outside, plus the polar bears. The entirety of the SMP could attack them and he'd be able to at least hold them off enough to get away.

So, Techno spent most of the day chilling, for once, sitting on his couch with a book and Steve curled up nearby while Phil worked on some blueprints for a project of his.

"You keep that up, you're going to end up building a whole city down in that abandoned fortress," he commented, huffing in amusement as the older looked up from the table to glare at him.

"Oh, you shut up," Phil retorted, pointing at him with the quill in his hand. "Do you want the syndicate room to look decent or not? Because if you prefer I can just wing it-" chat cackled at the unintentional pun, much to Techno's dismay- "and have it turn out whatever."

Techno squinted at his friend. "You wouldn't."

"You sure about that, mate?" Phil grinned back, the picture of innocence. Which, when it came to him, meant he absolutely would, the fucker.

"Alright, alright," Techno huffed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "leave the old man to his planning, got it."

Phil snorted, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "Now you listen here, you little shit-"

The sound of tapping on glass distracted them from the discussion, attracting their attention to the kitchen window. There, perched on the windowsill, stood one of Phil's crows, holding something in its beak.

After exchanging a curious glance with Techno, the older went to retrieve the bird, opening the window enough to let it hop in. Giving the crow a few pats on the head, he reached for the object, raising an eyebrow when he realized it was, in fact, a folded piece of paper. 

Intrigued, Techno watched as Phil opened the message, his eyes quickly scanning the paper before widening slightly in alarm. Well, that wasn't good.

"Mate, I think you might want to take a look at this," Phil called, urgency obvious in his voice and that really, really wasn't good.

Techno sighed, slipping the bookmark back in his book before standing up. Guess he could say goodbye to his plans for a chill afternoon.

Hello, Technoblade,

heard you guys took in a little stray -should have known, traitors tend to stick together, don't they? Well, jokes on you, I've got him now. Get to the coordinates listed at the bottom of this note, alone and unarmed, before sundown, or Ranboo gets it. An eye for an eye, that's how the saying goes, right?

See you soon,

Q

+++

Techno had been already halfway out of the house the second he finished reading the note, Phil hot on his heels.

"I'm not letting you go alone," the older stated, already reaching for his coat.

"Well, you'll have to," Techno countered.

"You can't go in without backup, especially unarmed and not knowing what to expect!"

"Oh trust me, I'll be anything but unarmed," Techno huffed, letting the axe Ranboo had gifted him slide in his inventory. "I can use the element of surprise, I'll be fine. But the second Quackity sees you, Ranboo is going to be in hot shit, and we don't even know where he's keeping him."

Phil glared, his lips pursed in a displeased frown before sighing in defeat. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Techno sent him an apologetic glance, quickly fastening his coat on before stepping down the porch.

"I'll keep my communicator on the whole time," he promised, walking towards the stasis chamber and reaching for one of his ender pearls, "I'll get there, grab Ranboo, kill Quackity if I can and the second I text you you're gonna teleport us back."

"Sounds like a plan," Philza sighed. "Be careful, okay mate?"

"When am I ever not?" Techno smirked. "we'll be back before you know it, old man."

"Fuck off and go save our neighbor, you ass!"

Techno cackled, shaking his head as he set off towards the Nether portal.

Save Ranboo!

Protectiveblade

Blood for the blood god

Techno shook his head, pushing the voices back as he forced himself to keep a clear head. He was pissed, sure, but he knew men like Quackity -he'd met a lot of them in his life, and all of them had fallen under his sword. He would be no different.

The Nether travel didn't take that long, and after that, all he had to do was follow his compass towards the coordinates he'd been given. Techno found himself feeling glad the place wasn't all too far away, seeing how the sun had just started dipping below the horizon when he finally stepped out of the forest.

"Man, look who is here, our guest of honor!" Quackity exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he turned to look at him. "Technoblade, how nice of you to join us, I was starting to think you wouldn't come, after all."

Distantly, Techno could hear the ocean waves crashing against the rocks under them, the occasional droplets of water reaching the top of the cliff they were currently on. Quackity was standing just near the edge, gusts of wind ruffling the feathers of his duck wings and trying to slip the beanie off his head -all it would take was a misstep, a small push, and he would plummet towards the unforgiving water below.

But what actually got the piglin's attention was the small structure he could see just behind the man, a small, locked cage rigged with redstone dangling well over the edge and above the crashing waves. And just inside of it, slumped against the metal bars, laid an unconscious Ranboo, left with no armor on but his clothes.

"What did you do to him," he demanded, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the cage that reminded him too much of the day the butcher army had come for him.

"Ah, watch your tone, Blade," Quackity tutted, a smirk evident in his voice, "all I need is pull this lever, and the kid falls down into the ocean. I heard he doesn't do well in water without his armor… we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Techno snapped his head towards Quackity, baring his tusks in a silent threat.

"I'm here, I followed your stupid directions," he growled, barely able to keep himself from cutting Quackity's head clean off like the voices wanted him to, "now let Ranboo go."

The duck hybrid tilted his head to the side, feigning confusion. "And why would I do that, Technoblade? He's a traitor, he needs to be punished as one."

"A traitor to what?!" Techno asked, bewildered. "L'Manburg is gone, Quackity!"

"And whose fault is that?!" Quackity shouted. "Uh? Remind me, oh great Technoblade, who here razed an entire country to the ground not once, but fucking twice? Please, enlighten me!"

"Government corrupts," Techno answered, his voice low and dangerous, "L'Manburg was rotten to its core, look at what it did to you, to Tubbo, to Tommy! It needed to go."

Quackity laughed, throwing his head back as the wind kept howling around them.

"Oh, yeah?" he grinned, throwing his arms open. "Well, that's my old home you're talking about. And if it was rotten, well, then so am I."

Before Techno could even react, Quackity reached to his side, wrapping his hand around the lever connected to the redstone of the cage. And then, still grinning from ear to ear, he pulled.

"Ranboo!" Techno shouted, watching helplessly as the kid plummeted down towards the ocean water. Quackity's laughter mixed with the howling wind, crazed and high-pitched and making Techno's blood boil.

Ruby red eyes settled on the laughing man, filling with bloodlust as the familiar weight of an axe appeared in his hand.

The voices were growing louder by the second, feeding on his fury and chanting for blood. And this time, Technoblade didn't bother holding them back.

+++

Ranboo woke up to muffled voices, yelling from somewhere in front of him. He didn't know what was happening, or where he was -the voices were somewhat familiar, yes, but he couldn't place them for the life of him and as it was, he could barely even catch a word every four, with how loud the wind was.

Normally, something like this wouldn't have failed to send him spiraling into a panic -he hated not knowing, not being aware of his own surroundings or how he got there in the first place. But his brain felt fuzzy, off-kilter, the only thing he could focus on being the dull throbbing coming from the back of his head. Ender, it hurt.

Fighting down a small whine, Ranboo pried his eyes open, pushing against the sluggishness to try and at least make some sense out of the situation he'd found himself in. His vision was fuzzy, but he could somewhat make out two figures standing somewhere in front of him.

One was standing with his back on him, decked in the familiar iridescent purple of an enchanted netherite armor. The other was a little farther away, enough so that to Ranboo, they looked like nothing more than a blurred blob of amassed colors. Pink was very prominent, followed by something red flowing on their back -they felt familiar, safe, causing Ranboo to relax almost on instinct.

"Technoblade...?" he slurred, confused. What was Techno doing there? They weren't in the Antarctic, there was no snow around them.

Before he could properly think of a reason, however, Ranboo felt the floor suddenly disappear from under him, fear shooting up his spine as he started plummeting down into the abyss. He didn't even have the time to make a sound before something dark and cold enveloped him, shocking him awake as he got twirled and smacked around.

A few seconds of shocked bliss passed, and then everything started burning.

It felt like he'd fallen in a pit of fire, the flames licking at every ounce of his skin as if trying to melt it directly off his body. Ranboo opened his mouth, trying to scream as the pain overwhelmed him in the worst way possible, only for something to fill his mouth and throat, choking him and only strengthening his growing panic.

He was going to die. He was going to die, alone in this darkness, he needed to get out, out, out-

Ranboo crashed on the hard, unforgiving ground, coughing harshly as water rushed out of his airways. Cold, frigid air hit his skin, soothing the burns and making the pain a little more bearable. He could breathe. He could breathe.

Ranboo slumped to the floor, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to get his racing heartbeat under control. He had to fight even just to keep his eyes open, exhaustion weighing him down until he could barely move his head, let alone think about standing up.

A white, furry snout filled his vision, curiously sniffing at his face. Ranboo blinked, a startled sound escaping his lips. The dog blinked back, tilting its head to the side.

"What…?" he whispered, wincing at how hoarse his voice came out. Ender, his throat hurt.

Another snout appeared above his head. And then another, and another, the sound of barking finally reaching his ears. Where- where was he, exactly?

Before he could try and come up with an answer, Ranboo heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a sharp gasp and hurried footsteps.

"Ranboo?"

The hybrid squinted in confusion, immediately recognizing the voice.

"Phil?"

+++

No matter what tricks he might have had up his sleeve, Quackity couldn't stand a chance against an angry, vengeful Technoblade. It took him barely minutes to sink his axe through the other's neck, slicing his head clean off and sending it rolling on the ground under their feet. Techno barely watched as the lifeless body slumped down, ignoring his communicator vibrating with the death message as he raced to the cliff. He knew, he knew there was no way Ranboo had survived a fall like that, but he had to check, had to make sure. 

Crashing waves and wet, glistening rocks were the only things staring back, destroying whatever hope he might have had. Someone more impulsive would have jumped off, in a desperate hope to find the kid still struggling against the current, but Techno knew better.

The ocean was unforgiving, and for someone like Ranboo, even more so.

He sighed, stepping back from the edge and turning around. Quackity's body wasn't there anymore, having disappeared as the respawn mechanics worked their magic -if the man was smart, he wouldn't dare bother Techno again, not unless he wanted to lose his last life and find out how permadeath felt like.

In theory, Techno knew that Ranboo's death wasn't permanent. The kid still had all of his lives, at least before this, and the SMP would bring him back soon enough. Respawning sucked, though -it left you aching and in pain for days on end as your body stitched itself back together after whatever trauma had taken away one of your lives. It was a painful process, gruesome at times, and one Techno wished Ranboo didn't have to go through.

Especially not when it was his fault.

Ignoring the guilt pooling heavily in his gut, Technoblade reached for his communicator, intending to text Phil to bring him back. As it turned out, however, his friend had beat him to it, blowing up his notifications with hurried messages. Guilt now replaced with worry, Techno tapped the screen, reading through the chat.

[Philza] Techno

[Philza] Techno what the fuck

[Philza] Ranboo is here, he's in the dog pen

[Philza] Jesus christ he's covered in burns what the fuck happened

[Philza] Technoblade you better answer your fucking communicator right now or so help me god I will fly there, find you, and drag your ass home myself

[Philza] I saw the kill message where the fuck are you

Techno blinked, staring at the messages with wide eyes. What?

[Philza] Techno, I know you're reading these, answer me right now

[Technoblade] im omw

+++

When Techno slammed the door of his cabin open, he didn't know what he was expecting. A dead body in the middle of respawning, maybe, with Phil watching over it like a silent guardian angel.

He certainly wasn't expecting to walk in on Phil wrapping gauze around what looked like the entirety of Ranboo's body, the bandages visible for the world to see with the simple shirt and pants the kid was now wearing.

Techno barely spared a glance to the pile of soaked clothes lying on his floor, raking his eyes over the enderman hybrid as he tried to work the surprise out of his system. Fine is the farthest adjective the piglin would use to describe Ranboo right at that moment, seeing how his entire body was covered in gauze and he was holding a pack of ice to the back of his head, but he was alive and breathing and for once in his life, Techno had no fucking clue about how that was possible.

"Fucking hell, kid," he groaned, letting his cloak fall to the floor as he trudged inside the house. "You'll give me a heart attack, one of these days."

Ranboo winced as Technoblade slumped on the couch, still a little dazed from the hit to his head.

"Sorry," he muttered, breaking into a coughing fit immediately after.

"Don't force your throat, mate, you gotta let it rest," Phil scolded gently, sending Techno a small glare. "We're just glad you're okay -or, well, as okay as you can be right now."

Ranboo hesitantly looked up, looking at Philza and then at Techno. The piglin nodded in silent agreement and watched as the kid seemed to slump on himself in relief, the tension leaving his body at once. Was it really that surprising, that they'd grown to care for him enough to be worried about his well-being?

The two men exchanged a worried glance, silent words passing between them. Then, Phil nodded to himself, tying up the last of the gauze around Ranboo's forearm before heading to the kitchen.

"How do you guys feel about some tea?" he asked, pulling down a kettle and three mugs. "I'd say we could all do with something warm right now."

Techno made a noise of affirmation, watching with amusement as Ranboo snorted and nodded in agreement.

Maybe things weren't okay just yet, but this? This was a start.

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 22: Red Riding Hood

What's the time, Mr. Wolf?

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello again, ci-ti-zens, and welcome back to Radio Lock-In. Zoe’s still waiting out the super horde in an animal shelter and talking to me via ROFFLEnet, but she and I have a special treat for you today. We are going outside. Not literally outside. While the horde seems a bit smaller than it used to be, two-thirds of way too many zoms are still way, way too many zoms. No. Instead, we are going outside through the power of storytelling.

So start warming up because you are in for a treat... possibly. Anyway, Zoe and I had such a good time bringing you Cinderella that we're going to retell another fairy tale classic, complete with ministry workouts and our own spin on the story. We thought about doing Rapunzel, but being trapped in a tower seems a bit too on the nose at the moment, so instead, we've gone with Little Red Riding Hood. I never cared for it much myself, but uh, Zoe insists it's great and it's actually all about a young girl coming to terms with her burgeoning sexuality. I'd fill you in on the explanation, but we haven't got two hours.

Anyway, it's definitely a story that features two things we are both very sorely missing at the moment: fresh air and delicious baked goods. And with that, let's begin with an imaginary skip down a peaceful forest path. Your riding hood is beautiful and uh, red. Your basket is full of goodies, and you're enjoying the scenery. So saunter along to this track made for the perfect summer day.

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, the smell of imaginary oak and blackberry jam. But wait, is that a big bad wolf further up the forest path? Let's listen in on the conversation between him and Red Riding Hood, which was written by Zoe and yours truly. Zoe wrote the wolf and I wrote Red Riding Hood, which you'd probably never be able to guess if I hadn't told you. Zoe's wolf speaks first, obviously.

“Hello, little boy, I mean, little girl. Aren't you bored of staying on the forest path like mother New Canton taught you? Life's much more fun if you stray.” “Is that why you're out here in the forest, for fun? Or is it because you went for a walk and got lost and then when the zombie horde descended, you ended up stuck miles away from home, sleeping in a nest made of old jumpers? You know, hypothetically speaking.” “Oh, maybe, but just think, straying off the beaten track could lead you to a shelter full of adorable animals, one of whom is now named Snuffle McCheeseman because he bears a strong resemblance to a man named Phil whom you haven't seen in ages. Also hypothetically speaking, of course.”

It went on like that for a bit, but we should skip ahead. So Red Riding Hood decides to take a detour from the path through a bramble patch to reach a beautiful field of wild daisies, carefully squirming away through the undergrowth to avoid being prickled by the thorns. Let's do the same and inch our way through with some inchworms.

Start in a standing position, feet hip-width apart and knees slightly bent. Now bend over and put your hands on the floor in front of your feet as close as you can get, then walk your hands forward until your back is flat and you look like you're at the top of a push-up. Once you're there, walk your hands back to your feet. Perfect! If you were near a bramble patch right now, you'd be getting through scratch-free.

All right, let's do a minute of inchworms. Go! 15 seconds in. Red Riding Hood can see the daisies through a gap in the bushes, but they're not quite in reach. Halfway there. Now she's nibbled on a few wild blackberries and composed a short limerick that begins, "There once was a red hood for riding." 15 seconds left to go. The daisies are almost close enough to touch. Keep going! All done!

And wow, absolutely worth it! Red Riding Hood is surrounded by the biggest and most beautiful daisies she's ever seen. Now she just has to inch her way back to the path and skip along to Granny's. Feel free to continue doing inchworms during this next song along with her, or use it to rest and smell the imaginary flowers.

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: With sweets and flowers in hand, Red Riding Hood has now reached Granny's cottage. Finding the door ajar, she creeps down the hallway to find a suspiciously furry grandmother who says, "Hello, little girl whose name I definitely remember because she is my granddaughter. Come here and hug me." "How convincing. You are definitely not a wolf trying to eat me, I'm sure."

"Of course not! Would I lie to you and say, try to convince you that the radio studio was haunted until you tossed salt over your shoulder whenever you stepped over the threshold every day for a month?" "Obviously not, and if I'm backing away right now, it's absolutely not because I'm beating you at your own game by say, making you think I'm going to stage an elaborate studio spirit cleansing ritual until you admit your wrongdoing." Um, but of course, Red Riding Hood is backing away as fast as she can.

Let's join her with some backward lunges. Start by standing with your feet hip-width apart again, then take a big step backwards with your right foot. Now bend both knees to lower yourself to the floor. Your left shin should stay vertical and your left knee should stay behind your toes. Once you've got as far down as you can, rise back up. Step that right foot forward so your feet are parallel, and then do the whole thing again on your left side.

Ready? Let's do this for one minute. Go! 15 seconds in. "Granny, what a lot of fur you have all over your body. Perhaps you should have that looked at." Halfway done. "An unfortunate side effect of my blood pressure medication, my dear." Only 15 seconds left. "The same medication that seems to have given you fangs and a tail?" And done!

Red Riding Hood has made it all the way back to the front door, but the wolf, who's sensing that she's not falling for his nonsense, gets out of the bed and starts charging forward. Fortunately, I have the perfect song for this moment of dramatic tension. While it plays, you can keep lunging your way backwards or practice your favorite fighting stance as you get ready for a showdown!

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I have some bad news for you. While we were listening to that track, the wolf ate Red Riding Hood. "So rude." "I agree, my dear. I thought the same thing when he gobbled me up not an hour ago." "Granny, how are you still..." Look, sorry, losing track of the voices a bit there. I meant to say, "Granny, how are you still alive?" I don't know much about biology, but this seems a bit far-fetched, like that time I told my mum that I had a separate stomach compartment for sweets, which is why I could be full from dinner and still want pudding. Uh, but that's not the point.

Right now, we're gonna help Red Riding Hood and Granny get out of their furry food prison with some wolf fighting uppercuts! Begin by getting into boxing stance by standing with your feet shoulder-width apart, stepping back with your right foot and bending your elbows to put your fists up, left fist in front of your face as a guard and right closer to your body. Now to do an uppercut, bend your knees, rotate your right shoulder forward and push off with your right calf as you punch upwards with your right arm. Your right heel should rotate and release as you're punching. Now return to your starting position and you're ready for the next uppercut.

We're going to give the wolf what for, first with 30 seconds of right-handed punches, then 30 from the left. Let's go! 15 seconds in. Give that wolf what for! Halfway there, and Granny's joined in with some well-placed jabs. Now switch sides to put your left leg behind and get ready to finish the job with your left fist. Only 15 seconds left. The wolf is ready to let you free, just keep going! And done. Back out the way you came? Disgusting, but better than the alternative. Take a minute to wipe that pretend wolf slime off, or um... or keep practicing your punches in preparation for any future wolves during this next song.

~

[PHIL alternates between different voices for characters and his own voice for narration and exercise instructions]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Great job! Red Riding Hood has all dried off and the wolf has passed out from what has got to be the world's least pleasant meal. Red Riding Hood and Granny could slip away, but Red has an idea. Which, in case you think means ‘oh, we have sick minds,’ it’s actually part of the original story.

So Red's idea is, "Grandma, let's fill the wolf's stomach with heavy rocks so he can't chase any more people and eat them." "Are you serious? Where'd you come up with these cockamamie ideas? What's next, we build a house of gingerbread and cook small children for fun?" "That's... oddly specific, Grandma, but no. I just know how our story is supposed to go. Trust me, I know a lot about this particular tale. I once played a wolf in a children's troupe. I am an expert." So the two agree to fill the wolf with rocks, and we'll be helping them out with some squats.

Stand upright like before, with your arms out in front and your feet hip-width apart. Now sit backwards as if you were gonna sit into a chair, taking care that your knees stay behind your feet, just like you did when we were lunging. Go down as low as feels comfortable, and then stand back up, and there you have it.

Ready? Begin. 15 seconds in. Picture yourself picking a big rock out of the pile and lifting it up with each squat. Halfway through. Pile those rocks in the wolf's stomach. He'll be feeling that when he wakes up. 15 seconds of rock piling left to go. Take that, wolfie! Done! You've dumped every rock in sight into the wolf. Now all you have to do is wait to see what happens next, either by shaking out your legs or by squatting your way through this next song.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Great work. Now if we were in the original version of Red Riding Hood, the wolf would chase after Red and Granny across a river, where the rocks would weigh him down until he drowned. Well, as Zoe points out, you really can't be that mad at a talking wolf for doing what talking wolves do. So our wolf, after waking up with a belly full of rocks, realizes that eating people is way too dangerous a lifestyle choice and decides to go to culinary school to learn how to cook plant-based food instead, eventually becoming an acclaimed vegan chef who releases several cookbooks about big, bad, bold flavors, the end.

It's nice being able to rewrite a story like this so it works out better for all the characters involved. I think with so much outside our control right now, it's good to remember that our imaginations are still our own and in them, we can make everything work out for the best. We may not know what comes next in our world, but I believe the spirit of optimism and invention can still help us all reach our own happy ever afters.

~

[httphowell]

Brat

Summary - Dan doesn’t know how to shut up and it pisses Phil off

Read on ao3 here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243930

“Why don't you just fucking shut up,” Phil gritted his teeth, Dan beneath him on the mattress, wide eyes like he was innocent. Except Phil knew better, and Phil knew Dan was anything but innocent.

“What do you mean, Phil?” Dan asked, feigning ignorance, his eyes sparkling. It would’ve worked if the smirk hidden behind his teeth stayed under wraps.

Phil sighed, clenching his eyes shut, his fingertips going white around Dan’s wrists, “I mean, the utter shit you talk constantly. Like, would it do you any harm to just shut up and listen for once?”

Dan raised his eyebrows, looking at Phil above him. He looked young, he looked pretty. He looked heartachingly devastating. Phil ground his teeth again, hoping it wouldn’t become a habit just because Dan couldn’t just pay attention, knowing it would be by the end of the night.

“I do shut up,” Dan said; Phil thought the act was getting old. “I’m quiet now, see?” Dan turned his head to the side, eyes tilting to look towards his ear, “See? I can’t hear anything, can you?”

Phil shook his head in astonished disbelief, “I can hear you being an absolute twat.”

“Excuse me, Phil,” Dan’s eyes were alight, his head resting back on the pillow, “That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend, is it?”

Phil snapped his fists away from Dan’s, sitting back on his thighs across Dan’s hips. “Yeah, and whining isn’t any way for you to talk to yours, is it?”

Dan grinned, something painful, full of enjoyment. “Yeah, ‘cos you’re not giving me anything-”

“And I need to give you everything you fucking ask for? Is that it?” Phil cut in, his tongue like razors through the air. Dan didn’t react, besides the tick behind his eyes that only widened his smile.

“You need to give me more than just a bit of a snog, Phil.”

Phil rolled his eyes, crawling forwards to hold his hands up either side of Dan’s head, resting fists into the pillow, creases around his wrists. “So, you whining utter shit like ‘do better’, ‘that’s not gonna get me off’, and ‘I could cum quicker on my own’, is really gonna help, is it?”

Dan narrowed his eyes, squirming under Phil’s weight. “I was being honest!” His tongue licked around his lips as he tilted his head towards Phil’s wrist. “And as we know, relationships centre around honesty, don’t they, Phil?”

“Fucking shut up, will you?” Phil snapped, his tone verging on desperate. He didn’t mean the heat, he just needed Dan to stop running his mouth. Dan wasn’t the one in control here, Phil was, and he couldn’t fucking stand Dan’s attitude.

It wasn’t like Phil knew Dan was only doing it, talking all this shit, just to wind him up. He was vitally aware. He knew it like the back of his hand. He knew it like routine. He knew it like getting into bed, kissing marks into his neck, listening to him moan violent words just to get Phil to snap.

He knew what Dan was doing. He knew what he was doing. And it burned hot through his veins, smoke twisting through his hair like tendrils.

“And what if I don’t?” Dan responded eventually, words twisting like tied cherry stems, like licks of ice cream in the heat, like drawn love hearts in coals. He said it with a curled tongue, winking eyes, and Phil felt something flush through his bones.

“I’m gonna have to make you, aren’t I?” Phil shook his head, a hand coming loose to tug at strands of Dan’s hair, tilting his head back with a snap. “You can’t keep running your mouth and expect me to just fucking sit back.”

“What are you doing now then, Phil?” Dan said, eyes printing pictures onto Phil’s skin. “‘Cos it looks like you’re just ‘fucking sat back’.”

Phil gritted his teeth, tensed muscles, and ticked jaws. “You’re just waiting for it, aren’t you?” He shook his head, his head wound like coils of vapour. “You’re just waiting for me to snap,” he said, as if he didn't already know the answer.

“No,” Dan grinned, lips curling, “I’m waiting for you to get me off, ‘cos you’ve not done a good job, have you, Phil?”

Phil felt red sparks curl through his fingertips, nerve-endings spike through his brain. It was hazy, but everything felt so clear. He felt Dan’s squirming body under the weight of his thighs, he felt the rush in his breath against his neck, leaned over him. And he felt the way his chest pulsed when Phil’s hands roughly glided down his shoulders.

“It’s not like you deserve it, is it?” Phil said, taking a different route. “It’s not like you’ve done anything to make me want to get you off.”

“Oh, come on, Phil.” Dan batted his eyelashes, looking up all angelic. “I’ve been so good, you’re the one who’s not done anything here, isn’t that it?”

Phil clenched his fists, his jaw like iron bars under his flesh. “No, that’s not it, and you know that as well as I do.” Phil tested it, raising his eyebrows, waiting for the protest, but all he found was glittering pupils, awaited smirks - a look anticipating Phil’s next move.

Dan didn’t say anything while Phil adjusted his position, grabbing both of Dan’s wrists in one of his own, held above his head, stapled to the headboard. “You’ve not done anything to deserve it, have you?” Phil asked rhetorically.

Dan didn’t answer and Phil felt gold glimmers in the air. He continued slowly, each word corresponding a sharp move of limbs. “So, you’re gonna watch while I get off,” he said, his spare hand loosening his boxers under his cock, throbbing under accidental touches.

“That’s not fair, Phil.” Dan pouted, although Phil saw straight through it. He saw it all in the way he felt Dan’s cock under his legs, trapped between their bodies. He saw it in the way he squirmed under his gaze, the way his hands went limp under his own. He saw it in the number of times this had happened. Each one varying, each one the same.

“And you think you not listening, running your mouth, never shutting up - you think that was fair?” Phil raised his eyebrows, jutting his jaw out to the side. He waited for a response, but he got nothing. “Keep your hands there,” He mumbled, stern enough for Dan to listen. It made sparks shoot through Phil’s limbs, firework crackers having gone off too soon.

Phil wound his way to straddling Dan’s stomach, his dick bouncing across his skin as he adjusted his position. He let himself wait, smirking when he felt Dan’s own cock digging into him from behind. He steadied himself with his legs, holding himself still, before he looked at Dan’s open face.

“I’m gonna shut you up, stop you ruining it when I cum with all that shit you talk,” Phil held steady, eyes tilted down across Dan’s features, rising redness to his cheeks burning in the lamp-lit room. “Is that alright?” He confirmed, as always, waiting for Dan’s response before he continued.

Dan eagerly shook his head, yes, opening his mouth as the words stumbled, “Yeah,” he said softly, nodding again before he gained back his attitude. “But I’ve done nothing wrong-”

Phil rolled his eyes, confidence running freely with Dan’s broken act, regained demeanour, with soft words spoken as consent. He felt power through his wrists as he held the side of Dan’s jaw steady with sharp fingertips.

“Open your mouth, then.” Phil paused, waiting for Dan’s jaw to loosen, for his mouth to fall open, for his tongue to lie low in his lips. He trailed his fingers across his cheek, softness disguised in harsh words, in trusted promises, in riling and breaking.

“Do I not get any attention?” Dan whined, dropping his jaw again under Phil’s burning eyes. “Come on, you’ve not done anything and you’re the one getting off.”

Phil ground his teeth again, Dan getting under his skin like crowbars and screwdrivers, metal, and tools. He let a tick of time pass, before easing his fingers past Dan’s lips, two locked together as he pressed them against Dan’s tongue.

“I’ll consider it if you shut up,” Phil snapped, waiting while Dan moaned, vibrations around his knuckles like rushes of adrenaline. “While I get off, you’re gonna be good, aren’t you?” Phil asked, words taunting with his fingers in Dan’s mouth - a question without an answer.

Phil steadied his hips, feeling Dan’s lips close around his digits. He raised his eyebrows, daring Dan to step out of line, to do something to raise the tension. He didn’t, and Phil sighed. He let his spare hand twist down Dan’s chest, twisting between the concaves before winding around the base of his cock.

He curled his fingers tightly around his shaft, pulsing veins under his fingertips. Phil sighed shakily, Dan’s wide eyes watching him from underneath. He started to twist his wrist, slowly tugging himself off. He thumbed at the tip, putting on a show - or something closer to showing off.

Dan twisted his tongue around Phil’s fingers; Phil didn’t expect it, jerking his hips forward into his fist. Dan moaned, raising his eyebrows, and drawing his mouth open around his knuckles. He sucked heavily, leaning up with his neck to take them further down his throat at the response Phil made.

Phil regained his rhythm gradually, heavy breathing in the quiet, the peace. The room without Dan’s words spat into the atmosphere. His fingers twisted heavy around his cock, the weight in his palm grounding him under the tug of Dan’s mouth around his fingers.

It was purposeful, trying to throw him off, trying to make him forget the whole purpose. Phil resisted a smirk, knowing better. He watched Dan work his fingers over like they were his cock. Phil felt his chest pound watching him, jacking himself off over his chest. The silence was deafening, and Phil could finally breathe again.

“Fucking nice, isn’t it?” Phil gritted out, “When you’ve finally stopped.” He sighed deliberately, his hips jerking when he thumbed the head of his cock. “When I’ve finally shut you up.”

Dan moaned, his fingers twisting across his tongue. Phil felt the vibrations again, moans filling the air. He gripped his cock tighter, feeling his pulse rising, white hot pulses twisting through his stomach. It distracted him enough for Dan to pull back, Phil’s fingers rested against his chin as he panted thickly.

“I could get you off better,” Dan groaned, breath fiery against Phil’s wet fingers. “You know I could, Phil. You know the only reason you’re getting yourself off instead of me doing it for you is ‘cos you don’t want to be put to shame-”

“I thought I told you to shut up?” Phil cut in, his cock dribbling across Dan’s chest, wet with precum. He jerked himself off, rising on his hips as he dragged his fingers back across Dan’s jaw, tugging his mouth open to lay between his lips again. “I thought you promised you’d be good?”

Phil tilted his jaw, waiting for the inevitable response, but it didn’t come. His fingers lay heavy across his tongue. He sighed, thinking it was only a matter of time. He moaned low in his throat, focusing on the tight pressure around his cock, the suction of Dan’s mouth around his fingers. He drew himself broad, devastating touches on top of Dan’s body.

Dan's chest was bare, his shirt long forgotten, and his boxers slung low on his hips, close to being tugged off before he crossed the line of no return. Phil sighed, stifling a chuckle as heat dragged across Dan’s skin, brushes of his thighs, of his cock - skin. He twisted fingers around his dick, his thumb gently pulsing against his slit, moans tugged from his throat as he crimped his wrist again.

Dan bobbed his head back, tugging away against the pillow, leaving Phil’s fingers consumed in the air again. Phil went to open his mouth, protest, argue - fight for his control, but Dan got there first.

“You have really small fingers, you know,” Dan smirked; Phil narrowed his eyes, awaiting the following words, “Barely fill me up when you finger me - it’s like you’re a ghost… may as well not do it at all.”

“What happened to you shutting up?” Phil mumbled, his wrist slowing down against himself, although breathy sighs still left his lips. “Do you not want to get off?”

Dan’s eyes were bright, sunsets and skylights, “I was just making a point,” he said, drawing a single digit back between his lips, licking it before he spoke again. “Your fingers are so small, it’s noticeable when they’re in my mouth and I’m taking you all the way down without gagging. No wonder you don’t give me what I need.”

“Fucking shut up, will you?” Phil said, repeated words that tied the pair together. Phil ground his teeth, thinking this a battle of cat and mouse, losing control and gaining it. “Or actually, if my fingers aren’t good enough for you, how about you suck me off, that’ll fucking shut you up, won’t it?”

“Your dick isn't any better,” Dan raised his eyebrows, waiting, careful. “Can barely even feel it when you fuck me… almost like there’s no point. Maybe I was right earlier, maybe I would get off better on my own.”

“Open your mouth,” Phil said, deep in his throat, leaving no room for argument. Dan didn’t say anything back, he just dropped his jaw, eyes alive as he waited for Phil to shuffle up the bed, his hands still drawn tight together against the headboard with invisible boundaries trusted.

“But Phil,” Dan said, no purpose to his words. Phil waited for a continuation, only for Dan to grin and open his mouth again. It was all show, all words with no meaning, all words to rile him, to dive under his skin, leave lit matches buried underground. It was all Dan getting him worked up, it was all words and actions with everything hidden under the surface.

Phil sighed, his cock brushing across Dan’s jaw as he held himself poised, “But what, Dan?” He smirked, “I think someone needs to be taught they can’t just run their mouth, ‘cos you’re not fucking getting it.”

Dan moaned, flickers of arousal crossing his vision as his face went slack. He held his tongue flat as Phil brushed the tip of his cock between his lips, teasing but confirming. He was rough but he wasn’t painful. He never would be - there were lines drawn, even in their game of push and pull.

“You’re gonna be good this time, aren’t you?” Phil said, feeling Dan squirm underneath him. Phil was waiting for Dan to adjust to the sensation, but Dan eagerly held his head up, trying to suck Phil further into his throat.

He was greedy for it, his tongue twisting around his head, around his slit, before he sucked him deeper. Phil choked a moan as he grabbed onto the headboard with his spare hands, fingertips tight like he was denting the wood. Dan sucked like this was what he wanted all along; Phil wouldn’t be surprised if it was, but he didn’t care, not if Dan was quiet, he was hard, and Phil’s cock was between Dan’s lips.

“You’re finally getting it now?” Phil asked like a question, his hand holding Dan’s jaw as he pushed in slowly. Dan sputtered softly; Phil waited for him to settle before he pulled out again. He built up a slow pace, Dan’s jaw dropped and his mouth open for him to fuck.

Spit spiralled down his chin, soaking Phil’s cock with the heat. It was desperate and Phil’s nails were digging into the headboard, his hips careful to push into Dan’s mouth. Everything was warm, the heat rising as he sucked him down heavily.

“I’m close, yeah?” Phil mumbled, careful to pull back while Dan moaned in response. The waves hummed around his skin, pulses through veins, blood rushing through arteries. It was like Dan had hit every one of his buttons, pushing him forward, winding them both up. It was claws and desperation, and it was push and pull - cat and mouse.

Dan squirmed, moaning again around Phil’s cock, heavy vibrations along his tongue against his shaft. It was tight wet heat, like something hazy mixed in with liquor, like blackouts and volcanoes. But in actuality, it was Dan lying underneath him, trusting him while he thrust into his mouth, jolted hips, and heavy breaths. Dan held his hands steady against the headboard, clasped together for no other reason other than Phil asking him to.

It was devastating, and it was heavenly, and Phil didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, to him. Phil pushed in, feeling the brush of Dan’s tongue against his head, and groaned desperately. His body felt like he was snapping, like this was his real breaking point, like everything before was an act.

He moaned, whining high in his mouth, coming down Dan’s throat as he stared up at him with eager wide eyes, roughened edges with softened features that made Phil’s head spin. Dan sucked him down until he was dry, until Phil was easing back, his fingers curling around Dan’s jaw to pull him away.

“So, you can be good, after all?” Phil panted, remnants of sparks jolting through his body while the air was still thick with tension, with harsh breaths and snapped breaths. Phil sat back and felt Dan’s cock against his hip, pressing up hard as he fidgeted slowly against the sheets.

“If I’ve been so good, will you get me off?” Dan fluttered his eyes, the innocence an act, but one that left Phil reeling, nevertheless. “‘Cos I’ve been so good, haven’t I, Phil?”

“Yeah,” Phil mumbled, looking up to watch Dan’s expression twist, a smile crossing his own features as he watched Dan’s eyes glaze over. “You’ve spat all your words out, haven’t got any left now, have you? Or maybe I’ve just managed to shut you up eventually.”

“Get me off,” Dan groaned, his hips wiggling under Phil’s thighs. “Please, Phil-”

“I thought my fingers were small, and my dick couldn’t satisfy you?” Phil teased, words light dancing through the air. “If I can’t make you cum like you said I couldn’t earlier, what’s the point?”

Dan whined, his head thrown back across the pillows, “I’ve been good now, I was just winding you up, Phil - please… I’ve been good.”

“Yeah,” Phil said again, shuffling down Dan’s legs to settle between his hips, Dan’s legs spread either side. “You’ve finally shut your mouth, proved you can actually be good.” Phil faked a laugh, “Didn’t think you could be, after all the shit you talked.”

“Please,” Dan said again, “I can - I am.” He unlocked his legs further, his fingers twitching where they rested against the headboard, slouched against the pillow now.

“Mm,” Phil nodded, raising his eyebrows “Stay still, yeah?” He confirmed, waiting for the nod before tugging off Dan’s boxers, leaving him bare, lying flat out, sprawled across the white sheets. “I’m gonna get you off.”

“Please,” Dan repeated like it was the only word he knew. Phil snorted, thinking it funny after so much whining, so much shit, now he could barely string together a sentence.

He trailed his fingers around his hips, tracing the shape his bones with rough curves. Dan whined; Phil smiled. It was all in the name of teasing. He palmed down his thighs, one hand holding him steady against the mattress, the other curling around Dan’s cock, tightening his fist to slowly start to stroke him off.

“Come on… faster,” Dan groaned, his head shaking across the pillow. Phil deliberately slowed down, drawing smiles out of the noises spilt from his throat.

“I thought I said you were good?” Phil said, “Don’t ruin it now, huh?”

“I don’t need much,” Dan said, his voice thick and brushed raw from sucking him off, from holding his fingers in his mouth, from talking himself stupid. “I’m close already.”

“Are you?” Phil smirked, his wrist twisting, tugging Dan off the way he liked it, building slowly, careful strokes, gentle presses against his head. He jerked him off while he panted breathily into the air, smoke swirling as he squirmed.

Dan mumbled something in the back of his throat, but Phil couldn’t catch it the first time over the broken moan spilling through his lips. “Yeah,” Dan said louder, “Really fucking close.”

“Mm,” Phil hummed, tightening his fingers, holding down Dan’s hips with his spare hand, stopping him bucking up. He tugged him fast, heavy fingers, sturdy wrist. Whining moans filling the air. It was desperation in the air and fire through veins.

Phil smiled as he felt Dan twitching under his fingers. Dan’s cock pulsing between under his palm. He was coming before Phil could adjust his grip, white-hot sparks in the air and covering his palm. He palmed him through it, carefully slowing down while Dan squirmed, gentle whines through oversensitivity.

“When you said you were close,” Phil huffed a laugh, “You really meant it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dan moaned, “I do talk some truth, y’know.”

“That’s questionable,” Phil shook his head, rolling his eyes as he leant over Dan’s body to grab at some tissues. “You alright though?”

“Yeah,” Dan nodded again, lying steady while Phil wiped the spit from Dan’s chin and the trails of cum from his hips. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Phil sighed, feeling deep sated through his chest, into his stomach. He collapsed against Dan’s side, laughing lowly when Dan didn’t move, “You can move your hands now, y’know, and the rest of you, really.”

“Oh,” Dan said, as if he didn’t realise, he was. Phil just shook his head, raising his eyebrows. “Thanks,” Dan mumbled, smiling as he stretched out before curling onto his side.

“Mm,” Phil said, lying next to him gently, like everything between them was softness and warmth, even though it was evident of the roughness torn between their muscles. But Phil didn’t think he wanted it any other way,

Dan wound him up, spinning him tight like coiled springs ready to explode, like he was filling him with gunpowder and it was coursing through his veins, like he wanted him to snap, and he wasn’t afraid of how.

Phil sighed: Dan’s words and Phil’s actions. It was drastic and desperate, ripped up with naked arms and curls between the cracks, between the harsh severity that soaked up the moonlight.

“Oh,” Dan mumbled, eyes half-shut, “I didn’t mean it… bout what I said. You do satisfy me... your fingers are nice ‘nd all.”

Phil snorted, fingers tracing over Dan’s waist, pressing between muscle as he trailed around his skin, “Yeah, I know.”

“Good,” Dan huffed a laugh, his breath blowing across Phil’s cheek.

“You don’t need to shut up either,” Phil mumbled, his body feeling tired, slowing down as the night started to take over, as the passion started to fade, and the softness reigned again. “Not all the time, at least.”

“Yeah,” Dan snorted, “Kind of you to say, thanks.” Dan sighed, breath warm as he leaned in, kissing Phil languidly, as if they had the whole night under their belt.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Phil laughed, shaking his head, and kissing him back. His fingers gentle across his cheek, his legs intertwined with Dan’s, their bodies pressed together in sweat and heat.

“Love you,” Dan mumbled, voice croaking under the weight of sleep.

Phil smiled, “Yeah, love you too.” He kissed him slowly on his lips, twirling their tongues together, tasting himself across Dan’s lips, but he didn’t care, not when he had Dan like this. Although he supposed it was more than just that moment, because in between the lazy tongues soothing violent breaths, it was trust, power - meaning.

It was Dan by his side, breath against his shoulder, tucked on one side of a double mattress. It was Dan falling asleep, trusting him in and out of consciousness. It was Dan never shutting up, even if he wanted him to, allowing him to speak those words, eight letters, three words. It was Dan giving Phil the energy and making it real.

So, he supposed it was more than that moment, and every moment before, every misspoken truth in the night, every rip of skin, every shortened breath. It was more than that because it was everything that came with it. It was loving him, and Phil supposed, that was unconditional.

"Love you," Phil said again, as if he had to say the words individually for them to count, instead of a response. But Dan was already asleep, his hair tucked around his face, his hands curled between their chests, and something stupid like a whole world sprawled across the mattress.

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

With all I have

A/N: So, BLACK WIDOW TRAILER made me go write this, yayy. 7500 words. I called the blonde woman from the trailer Yelena, because I believe there was a Yelena in the Black Widow comics working for the Red Room. This is my imaginative idea of how Clint recruited Natasha. So enjoy reading and if you want let me know what you think. :)

“Who is he?” Yelena asked, her russian accent making Natasha twitch unvoluntarily. This accent had the tendency to make the Black Widow feel threatened. Also she might have reacted to Yelena mentioning him. The man on the video footage they were watching just now. He was wearing a mask, but Natasha had already seen him without it. On their first encounter, when he had been bleeding...

“Er,” She shook her head slightly to wash away the picture of his reddened teeth, “This. Is Clint Barton, Hawkeye. SHIELD agent since six years. He ran away from some circus. Lost his brother. The usual. Oh, and he’s absolutely perfect with the bow, as you can see.”

He hit his mark. He had hit his mark. Natasha still felt somewhat stiff in her shoulder where he had gotten her about a year ago. 

“Perfect is subjective,” yawned Yelena, not at all impressed by Hawkeye’s athletic shooting from rooftops. She didn’t yet know what it was like to meet him personally. The hardness, the force, the ... dumb jokes. He could fool you, confuse you. Natasha had already understood that he acted dumb to strike even harder. He wasn’t dumb at all. Not the slightest bit.

“You shouldn’t underestimate him. He’s been chasing me for months.” 

Yelena snorted. “How’s that anything triumphal? He hasn’t caught you yet.”

“No.” Natasha mumbled, staring at the frozen frame of Clint Barton’s masked face. “But he’s only ever one step behind me.” 

------------------------

“Phil... yeah... uh huh... can we- ... no, I know. ... Would you please- ... okay, okay. OKAY. ... I’m not! ... Yeah, sure. I’ll call you then. ... No, I do not find this amusing. ... She’s good, what did you expect? ... Other villains, other agents. I have my villain to take care of. ... I told you she’s good. This is why I won’t stop. ... When will you eventually resist the urge to make circus references? ... It’s not. ... Fine. ... Yep. ... I’ll hear you tomorrow then.” 

Hawkeye made a face as if he were screaming, but no sound exited his lungs. He merely huffed frustrated at his phone and tried not to crunch it. Phil didn’t understand this mission he was on. Fury didn’t necessarily care. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to him. 

He couldn’t resist throwing the phone rather forcefully on the table he had his equipment laid out on, ripped the sweat stained shirt from his body and walked to the tiny balcony he had on this floor. It was a military hostel. For people with equipment and fake passports like him. 

Cold air washed against his chest. He looked at his scarred body and smirked when his fingertips grazed the new grown skin on his hip. Where Natasha Romanoff’s bullets had hit him twice. 

For a moment he let himself go, relishing the memory of stripping off his mask and congratulating her on her good aim, while he had been sure he would bleed out. What a meeting that had been. Her standing in the shadow of the room, not moving, not talking. Him in the other shadow, opposite to her, trying to hold himself up against a wall, talking nonstop. 

“You know, it almost feels peaceful. Almost. I’m also a little turned on. Not necessarily by the blood. Though that is some people’s thing or so I heard. Are you turned on by blood? Is that why you shot me? Come on, admit it, I’m fanciful am I not? Oh well. Are you okay? I mean, aside from sadistically watching me die. That is really not okay, you know. You should talk to someone about this. Even though I gotta say, if you left me now, I would feel way WAY worse.” 

“Do you ever shut up?” She had stepped into the light and for the first time he had seen the softness in her eyes. It had actually made him shut up for about five seconds. Then he had almost winced at the pain in his hip and so he had continued talking, just to distract himself. 

In all those years of working for SHIELD Clint had rarely felt fear. He had seen too much in his life to experience that feeling anymore. But in this situation, bleeding in front of Natasha Romanoff, he had been the furthest away from fear he had ever been. Dying there in front of her feet had seemed ... good. 

What he had not expected was her saving him. 

What he had not expected was her kneeling before him, kicking his bow out of reach and searching him for other weapons. 

“Careful, I’m ticklish.”

What he had not expected was her holding his sweaty face in her hands and whispering to him. “Shut the fuck up already.” 

What he had not expected was falling unconscious and waking up patched up on a hotel bed late the next morning. 

Why had she done that? They had been chasing each other for months. Shooting, firing, kicking, biting, laughing, okay yeah lauging at each other. Sure, you could grow fond of an enemy. But more in the “Awe, how sad, he’s dead now” sense. She could have felt that the night before. But she had saved him. 

Sure, she had broken into the hotel and sure, the next guests had been sent to this specific room, finding him and alarming the security. But, what is a little bit of swinging out of windows and hiding behind chimneys against being saved from bleeding out? 

Clint stared into the starless night, running his fingers across the scars on his hip and realized he was smiling. Widely. 

----------------------

“How do you know he’s in Russia? Did you see him?” 

Natasha tilted her head in a way that allowed less sunshine into her blinded eyes. She squinted at Yelena. “I just ... know.” They were sitting on the balcony of their old hide out which was now only Yelena’s hide out anymore. They had shared many bottles of liquor up here, many smokes and many bandages.

The blonde woman narrowed her eyes at her. “You know.”

Natasha sipped at her pitch black coffee, avoiding eye contact with her “sister”. Back in the Red Room, they had all been sisters. A ridiculous idea that was supposed to make them less traitorous. Many sisters had been killed by their own kin. No family word could change that.

The silence of the beautiful November morning stretched out and Natasha dwelled in it, the warm mug between her palms and the hot steam in her face. Then Yelena was done with waiting for an explanation. 

“Why is he not dead yet, Natalia?” The sharpness of Yelena’s words rang in Natasha’s ears. Not Natalia, not anymore, never again. Her jaws wanted to clench, her heart wanted to race, her stomach wanted to tremble. Unimportant. She had all that under control. She had trained her body to this state of absolute stillness over years. Yet her voice sounded cold when she spoke.

“What do you mean?”

Yelena’s suspicion annoyed her. They had nothing to share apart from a hide out and the circumstances. Why did Yelena keep pushing her business around as if it were a dead animal and her suspicion a stick of wood? Wow. Had she really just thought that? Bad metaphor. Clint Barton’s dirty laughter rang at the back of her mind. He was rubbing off on her. 

“I mean, Natalia, that people who hunt you down don’t tend to live that long. What did you say how long you have been playing cat and dog? Ten months?” 

“It’s cat and mouse!”

Angrily Natasha pushed away from the table and marched over to the old, out-of-tune piano that had stood in this moldy room for as long as they had known it. Years. She started playing and it sounded horrible which is just what she had intended. 

Yelena groaned and fell back in her chair, staring up at the clear blue sky with eyes of fury. Natasha knew what she was thinking. That they had been trained not to show mercy, not to anyone or anything. That they had been trained to kill. Efficiently, effortlessly, neither cheerfully nor angrily. There was no rest for them. Not along their path. 

But they had gotten off of it. The Red Room was no longer paying for their weapons, their kills, their deals. Yelena was a fear-inducing jewelry thief. And Natasha was hunting down the big bosses she’d suffered under. Whatever that made her, whatever attention it had gained her from SHIELD, from her old enemies, from new enemies, she didn’t care. She was on the run and as long as she could say that about herself, she was not a lost soul with nowhere to go and nowhere to stay. 

So yes, Clint Barton had been chasing her for ten months. 

In her life, he was the only reliable person. He would follow her wherever. He had to be in Russia as surely as she had to get this piano tuned. Whatever Mozart had composed on the yellow sheets that were crumbling under Natasha’s fingers as she turned them, he hadn’t composed it for dead pianos. Or for dead people. 

And that is what she was. 

Because Clint Barton, the only reliable person in her life, was on his mission to kill her. 

------------------------

Clint waited patiently. 

Ten months of chasing could bring a certain ease with them. He splashed around in his coffee with a tiny metal spoon and tried to move a sugar cube with the force of his mind only. He had never quite given up the hope of possessing certain supernatural powers. He was seconds away from a nosebleed when the little bell at the door rang.��

In the mirror opposite to the entrance Clint recognized her immediately. His heart took a short flight through his left ribcage before settling again. Huh, if those weren’t supernatural powers he didn’t know what was. 

She walked to the cashier with her hood over he red hair and her hands in the bag that was attached to her black sweater. She looked just as plain as he did that day. They were both trying, but the mere fact that he had recognized her with one glance made him hunch over his coffee more and try to disappear more into the shadows of the café. 

Natasha bought some bread, coffee to go and two little bagels filled with cream. Then she headed his way. 

He kicked out in surprise, pushed over his cup of coffee and actually fucking blushed. Well, hell to that. The people at the other tables looked at him shortly, figuring he had fallen asleep and then startled awake or something like that, before ignoring him again, the way everyone always ignored everyone. 

Everyone except Natasha Romanoff who had walked over to his table with her food and coffee and now pulled out a few napkins to throw on the big black stain Clint’s coffee had produced on the tablecloth. 

“Whoopsie, I guess.” She actually grinned at him from under her hood and held one of the two to go cups she was somehow juggling in her hands in his direction. “I figured you’d need a new one.”

“How did you know I would push over-”

“You’re very predictable.” 

They stared at each other for a second, before Clint took the cup out of her hand and grumbled about his choices self-pityingly. 

Natasha poked him in the shoulder, making him feel her fingernail, his nose scrunching up reproachfully. 

“Hey!” 

“Come on. We go for a walk.” 

There was another moment of trust-questioning, but it was even shorter than the first one. Clint put on his leather jacket and followed her easy steps. The hairs on his neck were up, alarmingly. He wanted to nod to them and tell them he’d be careful, but he didn’t want to say that out loud in front of Natasha. 

Out on the street she handed him a bagel. Clint burned his tongue on the steaming hot coffee and hissed. 

“It says “Careful, contents hot” on the lid.” Natasha said nonchalanty and sipped on her own coffee without showing any signs of discomfort. 

“You playing tough now?” Clint asked disgruntled, pushing his poor tongue against the cold whipped cream. 

“Don’t need to.” Natasha was quick to answer, pulling his awful Adidas cap off. “This is actually an insult to me.” She threw it in the mudd and stepped on it. “We go this way.” 

Clint looked at her as she gracefully walked away on the pavement and waited for her to notice that he so wasn’t following. He couldn’t help but giggle when she said something to the total stranger hurrying to walk past her, mistaking him for Clint. He looked at her in shock and she stopped walking immediately, leaving the poor confused man whom she had probably just threatened right where he was to threaten the perfectly right target that was actually quick to get away. 

Clint sneaked into the next alley, making sure Natasha was following him this time. Her face was less soft and less mocking than it had still been at the café. Two could play a game of prediction and surprise. And Clint wasn’t walking into her trap, that was for sure. 

He turned around and nodded to the tiny, dark court at the end of the alley. She didn’t react much, merely glared at him. But she followed, when he started walking anew. 

In the middle of the court Clint turned around again and took a quick step back when he realized how close she had gotten during that short time. She was in punching range so that’s what she did. 

Her fist hit him right in the stomach and he dropped and spilled the second coffee that day, as he bent over in pain. “DAMN it.” He wheezed and then started laughing. “You don’t got much of a sense for waste, do you?”

Natasha grabbed his chin and pushed him up against the red brick wall. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, here? In this specific spot? I don’t know. I can’t even read the street signs, russian letters, ya know, I just wanted to get on your n-”

“Stop the act. I know that you can read the street signs perfectly well.”

Clint’s shoulders sagged a little. His chin felt heavier in her palm now. His stubble felt nice against her fingers. Not that it mattered...

“Does this mean you know I’m not dumb?” Clint shook his head slightly, his voice getting a teasing tone. “And I thought I had you fooled.”

“Stop it.” Natasha wasn’t in the mood for his jokes. Yelena had succeeded in making her feel wary about herself, her own intentions in this game of cat and mouse. What were they doing? This endless road trip, this constant making and following of hints, it was leading nowhere but on. They could keep dancing around each other for another ten months. Maybe hurt each other again, so SHIELD wouldn’t suspect too much. Suspect what they both already knew: they couldn’t kill each other. They were way too curious about the other, way too pulled in by the other. 

Natasha didn’t know how it had happened, how it had come to this. But she was a hundred percent certain that she was fond of Clint Barton and that she was protecting him by leading him on. She always knew where he was, because he always knew where she was. She kept an eye on him, he kept an eye on her. A part of her was still careful, still suspected betrayal, even death. Still, she knew what they said about him, about Hawkeye: he never missed. And he had missed. Big time. 

Her grip on his chin loosened a little and she noticed she was stroking over his cheek. The humor hadn’t left his eyes, but it had transformed. He wasn’t teasing her anymore. There was affection in his gaze. 

“Natasha.” 

She felt his fingers on her elbow and jerked slightly. A soft sound of surprise exited her mouth. She hadn’t noticed him reaching for her. She was letting down her guard, his stupid blue eyes were bewitching her. 

“Stop!” She pulled back suddenly, pushing her hand against his chest and grabbing for her gun which was hidden in her waistband. The weapon she had suspected to be in his free hand was invisible. Meaning there was no weapon in his free hand. He was holding up his arms gently, showing them to convince her he wouldn’t hurt her. She swallowed. 

“Natasha Romanoff, I was sent as an agent of SHIELD to exterminate you, as they put it. You know that. We have been putting up quite a show, the two of us. I got into a lot of trouble for that. Barton, you’re wasting our time. Shit like that. I wasted their time, because...” Clint took a deep breath and chuckled insecurely. He scratched the back of his head and one could have almost forgotten that he was as cute as he was deadly. Natasha quit hunching, hadn’t even noticed that she was doing it. Her face felt frozen. Her eyes were fixed on Clint’s face. The face she’d been looking at again and again for the past months. Hidden by a mask or uncovered, at daylight, at nighttime. She felt like she knew him.

“I wanted to ask you, you know, under my protection and all, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, that has to be clear. If there are any doubts from you or or ... from my side I won’t even sleep, make sure nobody even thinks about-” 

“You know, you annoyed me enough with letting me walk down the street alone and talk to some complete weirdo, so... get to the point.” She tried to keep up their banter, she had grown fond of it over the time they had been following one another from country to country, but at that specific moment her eyes were too dry and her throat was too cold for herself to be easy about the situation. 

What was he proposing? She could feel hope flare up inside her chest like a magic trick. She couldn’t quite believe it, but she also couldn’t understand how it worked. 

Clint chuckled, but choked on it like he was shivering on the inside. She knew that he was 26 years old, just like her. They were so young. Wasn’t it good and human to still hope?

Something hit Clint so quietly that only his stung reaction proved the collision. He grabbed his neck with wide eyes and Natasha could see blood between his fingers. His cheeks turned pale. With a piously untroubled expression Clint pulled a tiny bolt out of his delicate flesh. It was red. Darker than his own blood. Natasha knew that signature. The Red Room.

A poisoned arrow. 

Her head whipped around and she saw Yelena’s blonde locks disappear inside a window up on the fifth floor.  

Forget about hope, she thought. We need an antidote. 

--------------------------

“The good news is I can still feel my legs. The bad news: I’m sweating on your pretty sweater.”

Natasha stumbled down the street, her right arm wrapped around Clint’s shoulders to support him. He was muscley and heavy and Natasha was strong, but her resources were being strained. She had to get back to the hide out. The antidote was inside the piano. It had always been stashed away there. Multiple flasks of it.

Yes, she was running into a trap. And yes, Yelena might have already destroyed all reserves. But a part of her demanded her to keep going. She couldn’t give up on this man. This god damn nuisance.

“Seriously ‘Tasha, where’d’you get it, that sweater?” Clint wasn’t aware of the fact that his poison-induced slurry slang sparked something inside Natasha’s emotions. She had been Natalia in the Red Room, Natalia in the hide out, Natalia in the last curses of her enemies. She had chosen to be Natasha for herself. And Clint gave her Tasha. 

She looked at his sweaty, grief-marked face and saw nothing but affection. It seemed so easy for him to... 

Quickly she shook her head and shortly butted their foreheads together. It was supposed to be gentle and reassuring, but it whipped his head back rather harshly. 

“Ow.”

“You will be okay.”

“This’ll grow blue.”

“I will ... protect you.”

Clint smiled and stumbled, almost falling to the hard ground, but she kept him up, wheezing from the effort. She groaned, her muscles were protesting, burning. She had to keep going. Just five more turns. They could make it. They had to make it.

“You hesitated.” He chuckled and Natasha couldn’t help but huff at that. Feisty, gentle, good-humored archer. 

“You have to help me move, Clint. How about those useless legs of yours?”

“They feel less alive by the second.” He gritted his teeth visibly and marched on despite the lifelessness. She would have winced, but she couldn’t. She had to keep going. Stay focused. Don’t think about all the ways this could turn out. He’d make it. He’d make it.

“I got the stupid sweater at Primark.” Natasha spat out and pulled him on forward. They did get some suspicious looks from the pedestrians around them. Since they weren’t calling for help though, or breaking down in a pile of death, nobody seemed to care enough to ask or even offer help. Good.

“Primark.” Clint’s voice sounded hoarse. He was hobbling slightly. Natasha knew that his incessant talking distracted him from pain and unconsciousness. Therefore she kept it up.

“Got it for five dollars. I’m a horrible person.”

“Yes. You- you should be ashamed of yourself. I’ll get you a better sweater. It’ll say: “Don’t buy five dollar sweaters at Primark.”” Clint’s face turned even paler than it had been before. Natasha noticed her lip was bleeding. She had bitten it too harshly. 

“Good. Yes. Where will you get that sweater?” Natasha asked, carrying him across the street and futher down the darker part of the district. There was a lot of garbage on the pavement. She could see the broken window in the first floor of the building across the street. The broken window that raised some feeling of home inside her. A home she despised. But at least a place she could go. 

“Primark, of course.” Clint was powerless. He fainted. 

--------------------------

Natasha could hear herself. Her breathing was hysterical. Her body was at its limit. She pulled Hawkeye up the stairs, cursing his name, his weight, the shards on the steps that threatened to hurt the man even further. She gathered him in her arms and activated her last energy to pull him through the door to the hide out, to the tiny, moldy apartment with the piano in the middle. The door broke, she stumbled over it and the next thing she felt was a numb pain on the back of her head.

The next thing she realized was that she was on her hands and tried to blink herself back into her body, because it felt like she had exited it. Yelena walked into view, a blurry view, but a view. In her right hand she was swinging a baseball bat. I mean really? A baseball bat? How original. Natasha almost laughed at that. Clint Barton’s voice had really found a way into her head.

“I’m sorry, Natalia. I couldn’t risk you trying anything.”

Yeah, sure, like this was totally going to stop her. Her hand was fumbling across the floor that felt less real under her callous fingers. Damn baseball bats. She found Clint’s hand, pulled at it. His head met her thigh. She searched his pulse, fingers fumbling around at his collar. She found it, found something else as her fingers brushed against metal. A spark of relief washed through Natasha’s chest. Wonderful genius nuisance archer.

“I don’t understand you, Natalia.” Yelena sat down on a wooden stool. Natasha wished it to break apart. It would have been a fun story to tell Clint when he’d be awake again. She felt tears fill her eyes. God damn heads and their fragility. She had to get that antidote, she couldn’t suffer a concussion. Not now. “What is it about this man that could possibly be more intriguing than your old career? You were glorious, back in the day.”

Natasha held on tightly to Clint’s little gift, her hand hidden inside his horrible sweater. His heartbeat was weak against her knuckles. 

“I suppose you have already guessed it.” Yelena sat back and put the baseball bat over her lap.

“What? That you never stopped working for the Red Room? Yeah... I figured.” Natasha blinked, tried to get her brain into a normal position in her head. Where was it swimming?��

“Hmm. Sorry about that. They kind of want you delivered. This is why I can’t, you know, let you go with him.” Yelena got on her feet again. “It’s tragic. I’ve never seen you like this before. It could have been a happy end for you. He’s pretty.” 

Natasha wasn’t even mad at Yelena. For any of it. She knew what the Red Room could be like. They had probably tortured the blonde mercenary. Unfortunately, in their line of work, nobody was trustworthy. Unfortunately for Yelena. She was getting closer. 

“Maybe they won’t kill you. You were one of their best killers. It is possible that they take you back. After a certain... ordeal of course.” Yelena kneeled down before her, her foot kicking against Clint’s shoulder. Natasha bit on her bloody lip again. Her hand tightened around Clint’s necklace. 

“What did they do to you, Yelena?” Natasha looked up, trying to focus on the slightly widening eyes of the poor lost soul and then, when she was certain the other woman was distracted, she hit her mark. 

---------------------------

The arrow stuck out of Yelena’s eye like a candle out of a birthday cupcake. It wasn’t a nice death, but a fast one. As long as you hit the brain. 

Natasha puked on the blonde strands of hair. Then she scrambled to her feet, fell down again, hit Clint’s head with her elbow. The man weakly awoke. A huff of air coming from his lips. They were turning blue.

“Don’t you” Natasha got on her knees.

“fucking” She hobbled over to the black instrument in the middle of the damn room. 

“die” Her hand slipped between the backside and inside of the thing.

“on me!” She hauled herself up by the side of it, looked inside and saw nothing but broken vials. 

A wail was about to break out of her. Long, loud and desperate. Instead, she dipped her head down until her lips met the wet bottom of the wood. Her brain was not happy about this change of positions. She ignored the nausea that started to build up. Tiny evil shards grazed her lips and tongue. And they would graze Clint’s iips and tongue as well. But that’s the way life goes sometimes.

When Natasha’s mouth had gathered up as much of the life-saving liquid as it could have from the godless puddle at the bottom of a really old piano she fell on her butt and moved herself back to the pretty lifeless Hawkeye on the floor. Her calm hands grabbed his jaw and opened his mouth. Then she bent down. The idea of her basically spitting into his mouth wasn’t a nice one. It certainly didn’t help her nausea. But he was a courageous little dying man and swallowed all of it, the antidote, the shards and her spit. 

Natasha put her palm on his cold forehead and looked at his very still face. She started laughing like a crazy person. Then she cried a little, but shh, that’s between us. She concluded her hysterical session with a loud intake of breath and slumped in on herself. 

-----------------------------

Later on, she wondered how long she had remained in her hunched sitting position. While doing it, it didn’t seem like much of an effort. Clint was either asleep or dead. And she wasn’t willing to find out which option applied. 

As long as she could just sit here, all was possible. All was undecided. 

The night was cold, but short. The morning was cruel with its ever growing light. More and more did Clint’s face reveal itself to her. And she couldn’t make out entirely what it indicated. 

She must have waited about thirteen hours. Maybe a little less, maybe a ittle more. But it took many hours for Clint to wake. 

He stirred on the floor and Natasha’s dry, dry eyes enjoyed a nice little shower. 

“’Tasha?” 

“I’m here.” 

“Crazy.”

“Yeah.” 

That was all he could muster. Then his head rolled back to the floor and he fell unconscious again. 

It was more than enough for Natasha. She wiped away her tears, laughed about herself, got to her numb feet and rolled Yelena under the out-of-tune piano. Her head was better. Way better. She realized there was dried blood sticking to her hair. But she didn’t worry much about it.

She took up the baseball bat, walked to the fucked up instrument and destroyed it. 

---------------------------------

Two hours later Clint woke to the steam of coffee being basically held in his face. He instinctively pushed the white, hot object in front of his nose away and shrieked when hot driplets of coffee splashed on his cheeks. 

“Hellfire and endless agony!” He yelled as he sat up and wiped at his wet skin. 

Natasha was sitting next to him, with a smirk on her face. Playfully she shook the cup in her hand around and leaned in as if to tell him a secret. “Just coffee actually.” 

Clint looked at her as if he had never seen her before and for a moment the Black Widow felt uneasy. What if the poison had deleted Clint’s memory? 

But then Clint cocked his head and asked “Gary?” with so much conviction that Natasha couldn’t decide which wish to give in to first: laughing or punching him. Which is why she did both. 

“Ooooww.” Clint chuckled and dramatically leaned to the side of his hurt arm. 

“That’s what you get for... for... “ Natasha was lost for words as she remembered the agony and hellfire she had spent the night with. Her face turned serious. 

Clint sat up straight again and looked at her with his tilted head. His eyes were so soft. They always had been. Every damn time they had met along the way. 

“What you did yesterday must have been incredible.” Hawkeye bent over and obviously wanted to grab something hidden inside his sweater. He was surprised not to find it.

Natasha watched him. “It probably was.” After a while, she added: “I had to use that necklace of yours.” 

Clint slumped down a little. “Oh.” He only took a second to recover from that loss, but the fact that he had needed it showed Natasha how meaningful the jewelry must have been to Clint. He was back to his grinning self in no time. “What, did you put it in somebody’s eye or...?” 

It was supposed to be a joke, but Natasha’s expression must have given the truth away. Clint’s eyebrows rose an inch. He saw the remaints of the piano and pieced the puzzle together. “You have been efficient.” 

“I tend to be.”

With a nonchalance Natasha immediately liked about him Clint looked at his watch. “Oh well. We gotta go. Let’s burn this place down.”

He was about to get up, but fell on his backside again rather elegantless. He furrowed his brows and looked at his slightly trembling hands. “Huh.”

“Take it slow maybe.” Natasha advised, her hand extended to him to offer help. 

“I’ve never been poisoned before. I can’t say it’s for me.” Clint took her hand with an adorably crooked smile and additionally grabbed for her shoulder when he was standing on his feet. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he did his best to breathe it away. His stomach grumbled. “Oh, would you look at that. Being hungry is a good sign, right?”

Natasha patted his hand and blinked ironically. “I’m sure it is.”

The archer took another few breaths to steady himself, holding on to Natasha all throughout it. What a weird pair they were. Natasha watched him calm down his shivers, watched his knuckles grow less and less white on her shoulder and on her hand. He wasn’t acting tough - well, he definitely was to a certain degree, but not in that specific moment - and he allowed her to see that he was weak. She pushed the backside of her left hand to his nice and stubly cheek, the way she had done it the day before. The stuble had grown over night. 

Clint’s blue eyes focused on Natasha’s green ones. His breathing was getting more steady and his shivers disappeared. He smiled ever so lightly. 

“Please don’t hit me now. I don’t think I could ever get over that.” 

Natasha smiled back at him, the skin on her almost healed bottom lip breaking again and leaking some blood. She didn’t mind it. 

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope.” He grabbed her hand from his cheek, kissed her fingers too quickly for her to pull back and turned around to bend down and search through the jacket she had taken off of him.

Unimpressed Natasha raised her eyebrows and looked at her fingers. She couldn’t hold back the tiniest smile. She cleared her throat. “Bet you’re so nice to all your missions.” 

Clint made a noise that could have meant so much as “I beg to differ” or “God, I really need to pee”. Probably a bit of both. The archer slid inside his jacket and extracted a hand to her. “Not a mission anymore. Partners.” 

Natasha blinked at him. What did he mean by partners?

“Well, before you ask any rude questions. Let’s really burn this place down!” Clint concluded and pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket. He grinned so dumbly, Natasha had to cross her arms to keep from mirroring him. 

“You don’t got any gasoline nearby, do you?”

------------------------------

They sat in the cafe again, when the firefighters rushed past them with sirens whailing.The coffee-stained tabelcloth had been badly washed. There was a big brown spot on it where Clint had been so graceful to cover it with the hot liquid a day before.Natasha poked her smashed potatoes around like someone had hidden a fly in them and she had yet to find it. She didn’t like flies. Clint’s stomach continued to rumble, but he didn’t touch his food. It was unusual for him to be this serious. But the situation called for it.

“Like I said I would protect you. At all costs. Nobody will be able to hurt you.”

“I don’t need your protection.” Natasha hissed reflexively and felt bad for it immediately. Felt.. bad for it? Seriously? Gosh, this man was annoying. Natasha dropped her spoon and rested her head in her palms.

To her surprise Clint looked down quickly, badly hiding his sudden smirk.

She kicked him under the table. He hid his wince with a chuckle. “You are responsible for so many bruises on this shin, you got no idea.” Natasha ignored that. “What are you grinning about?”

Clint shook his head and smiled openly now. “You... you pout.”

The reaction from the Black Widow must have been an even more indignant pout, because Clint’s grin widened. She kicked him again, but this time he pushed his leg out of reach fast enough. His left eye-brow raised triumphantly. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. So many thoughts and doubts and hopes were flaring through her slightly concussed head, she could barely focus on one at a time. Still. This smirk. This softness. This almost playful side of him - or well, definitely playful side - she was pulled in by it.

“I... “ She started, then looked away, bit her scabby lip and started again. “I don’t want to say yes because of you. But I would have to say yes because of you.”

Clint’s smirk vanished, making room for a very sympathetic expression. Worry. He was just as worried as she was. This is why he kept on promising her protection. To calm his own mind. 

“If it helps you,” Clint stated with a self-ironic chuckle, “I am offering it because of you. And you alone.”

Natasha tilted her head questioningly.

“Well,” Cint started to explain, “I have been working for SHIELD for six years now. They pay well. And I’m good at the whole bow and arrow thing-”

“The best, I heard.” Natasha interrupted, looking not the least impressed.

Clint grinned and pointed at her face teasingly. “Pouting again!” He sing-songed. She blushed - actually blushed for God’s sake - and slapped his hand away. He chuckled and continued his monologue. 

“It’s just... I don’t recruit people. Obviously. That’s Phil’s job and Nick Fury’s. I get my missions and I finish them. And now there’s you. Natasha, you are the first mission I didn’t finish. I won’t finish. Because you are impressive. And there’s good in you, intelligence, so much will. You saved me so many times. It’s kind of twisted, isn’t it? My mission was to kill you, so you would stop killing. Now we are here, you saved my life more times than I can count and I want you to-”

He looked at her almost desperately and Natasha felt that she was looking at him the same way. What he was proposing there was a future. It was a job, it was redemption, it was forgiveness, it was friendship and more than that. In front of all, it was a risk. He was taking a huge risk. For her.

Clint took a deep breath and closed his cold fingers around her hand on the table. “I want you to be my partner. I want you to work with me.”

You could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall above them. You could hear more sirens blaring outside, more firefighter, maybe the police. You could hear Clint holding his breath and Natasha’s voice stuck inside her throat.

Then Clint’s phone started to ring. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort and grabbed it out of his pocket, not letting go of Natasha’s hand on the table. She believed, it was an unconscious thing from him and it endeared her. With his eyes he conveyed her the message that he had to take this call. She nodded with a patient smile.

“Eyyyyyy Phillie, Phil’oh’boy, how’s it gooooing?... Yeah, I didn’t, that’s right. ... Oh why, you ask? Why I didn’t call? I was poisoned, almost dying. ... Busy night, yeah. ... I know. ... Yep, I know that’s what was our deal. ... Sure. ...”

Clint furrowed his brows when he saw Natasha taking out a pen and writing something on a napkin. He realized he was still holding her hand. A slight blush colored his cheeks. But he didn’t let go. Partly because he didn’t want to, partly because she was smiling while writing.

“The meetup is in an hour already? ... Huh. ... Yep, I think we can make it. ... Yes, we. ... Well, I’m a hopeful person. ... Love you too, Phillie. ... That’s just rude.” Clint ended the call and slid his phone back inside his pocket.

Natasha watched him with attentive eyes.

Clint smiled crookedly again and scratched the back of his head. “We uhm... we gotta be at the airport in an hour. If that’s where you want to be.” 

The Black Widow had banned all emotions from her face and merely looked at him. Then she raised the napkin from the table top and held it in front of her sweater. It said “Don’t buy 5$ sweaters at Primark.”  

Clint closed his eyes and hummed with a smile that was banning all worries and pains he had ever suffered from. When he looked at her again, his blue eyes were shimmering.

“Is that a yes?”

--------------------------

Phil stood in the opening of the helicopter, sunglasses on, in a suit as usual, and shook his head so obviously dismissive that Natasha’s stomach rebelled worriedly. 

Clint held her hand and he didn’t let go, even when she made an effort to slip out of his grip. 

“With all I have.” Hawkeye reminded her loud enough to hear over the noise of the helicopter and squeezed her hand reassuringly. She stared into his soft blue eyes and couldn’t help but smile.

Phil Coulson helped them into the helicopter, closed the door and gave the SHIELD pilot the sign to take off. He looked pissed. Even with his sunglasses on. Even with this face of a passionless fish. So the first thing that Natasha could think off was smile.

“You must be Bill.”

The poor archer next to her had to turn around and act like he was searching for something to cover up his shaking shoulders. She grinned. Making Hawkeye laugh would be one of her favorite new hobbies.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova.” Phil Coulson answered coldly, hitting a sore spot, just as he had probably wanted to.

Natasha bit on the inside of her cheek and gave a quick response. “Or just Tasha... though I haven’t yet decided who is allowed to call me that.” Her newly gained partner settled in more comfortably and pushed her thigh with his knuckles to remind her of putting on her seatbelt. She nodded and did so.

“This is adorable.” Phil said, looking not at all charmed by their silent conversation. “Hawkeye brings in a new recruit. A deadly new recruit who has been filed as one of the Top 20 most wanted assassins by SHIELD. The organization you work for, Clint.”

“Top 20?” Natasha asked, a little disappointed. “That could mean anything. It could mean that I am the eleventh most wanted or the nineteenth. That’s a huge difference. Could you be a little more precise?”

Clint had to bite his quivering lip and stepped on her foot gently but firmly.

“Ahh.” Coulson made. “I see. She amuses you. Wonderful. Just perfect. Can’t wait to see what Fury has to say to this.”

That was all Phil Coulson said for the remaining long journey back to America. It didn’t matter much. Natasha got used to him staring at her rather quickly and managed to ignore it.

Why? Because Clint was shielding her. Not with his body. But with his presence. Sure, she didn’t need his protection. She had had her own for years, Ever since she could remember actually. Yet, it was the nicest, most comfortable feeling Natasha had ever experienced. Sitting here, in a helicopter of an organization that had her on a list of most wanted assassins, next to a mercenary who had spent months hunting her down, opposite a man whose hidden stare alone made her see his wish she’d drop down dead immediately.

It was in the touch of his elbow against her arm, in his foot stepping on hers repeatedly to annoy her, in his head leaning in close to hers to whisper mean things about Coulson in her ear. It was in his soft blue eyes and in his little smiles. It was in the echo in her head, the echo of his words. 

With all I have.

That is where her hope sat. Her safety. Her trust and ... affection.

Because, and she had thought it before and she would think it again, with every touch he gave so freely to her, with every laugh he spilled due to her, with every word he directed at her and every hug he embraced her in, it seemed so easy for him to love her.

[palaugranetes]

🍔M🇦🇷S🇺🇾N🇧🇷C🇧🇷🍔

25 July 2019

Ney: GUYS!!!!

Ney: OH MY GOD GUYS YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!

..

Ney: GUYS!!!!!!

Ney: Seriously this shit is getting really old

Ney: And annoying.

..

Ney: I'm never gonna talk to you guys ever again.

..

Luis: Is that a promise?

..

Luis: Wow 2 hours. A new record!

Phil: Is he being serious???

Luis: One can only hope

Phil: You two need help.

Luis: yeah yeah...

..

Phil: Jeez it's been 5 hours!

Luis: Just enjoy the peace.. not gonna last more than a day.. max

Phil: How do you know?

Luis: Have you met Ney?

Phil: What if he's being serious this time?

Luis: He'd have left the group😏

Phil: Oh.. good point.

Luis: Yeah.. He's reading everything.

Phil: You're really monitoring his activities?🤨🤦🏽‍♂️

Luis: Maybe

Phil: Lord have mercy.. @Leo can you please do your magic and talk some sense into these idiots..

..

Phil: Okay I'm starting to worry

Luis: Relax!

Leo: What's wrong now @Luis?

Luis: Why do you assume it's my fault?!?

Leo: Isn't it?

Luis: Okay.. This time I really do mean it when I say I had nothing, absolutely nothing, nada, to do with this

Phil: It's true

Leo: 🤨

Luis: Blondie decided to take a break from talking and semi-blondie over there got worried cause the peace has not been disrupted yet.

Leo: Semi-blondie?

Luis: Phil.

Leo: oh.. Right. Okay. @Ney are you okay mano?

Luis: We tried. He wouldn't say a thing.

Phil: Gordo even tried to push his buttons... and nothing

Luis: That's what made Phil worry

Ney: So now you wanna talk huh..

Phil: Alright.. I give up. He's like the Ney whisperer.

Leo: Hey mano.. What's up?

Ney: oh you know, same old same old, recovering still and preparing for the new season.

Luis: That's nice.. But he meant what was the thing that got you so rallied up and needed us to see before you took the oath of silence.

Ney: You know you could at least ask how I'm doing.

Luis: I literally asked you yesterday. Not like you're gonna magically heal in 24 hours.. Now tell us.

Phil: Smooth. Very smooth @Luis

Ney: The hate I have for you Luis Alberto could move a mountain.

Luis: Yeah yeah sure.. I feel the same way. Now spill.

Ney:

Luis: Why is there a picture of Leo here?

Luis: Matter of fact, why do you have a picture of Leo on your phone?

Ney: This. This is what I wanted to show you. It's been 3 years!

Phil: Are you being serious... This is what you had us all worked up for?!

Luis: You've got to be kidding me😑

Ney: IT'S. BLONDE. LEO. It's iconic

Leo: 🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️

Leo: Ney.. Are you being serious right now!?

Phil: This has to be a joke. Right?

Luis: Wouldn't put it past him.

Ney: GUYS! IT WAS ICONIC.

Leo: I'm gonna go now..

Luis: I think I liked it better when you were on a silence strike.

Phil: @Ney bro, you and me need to have a serious talk next time I see you.

Luis: Yeah.. Good luck with that.

Luis: See you tomorrow @Leo.

Ney: Tomorrow? Are you two...

Luis: We've been doing this for years and every time you get all shocked and dramatic.. It's a thing. Get over it.

Ney: And yet I am never there.

Luis: It's an adult thing.

Ney: I'm an adult.

Phil: Are you though?

Luis:😲🤭 Oh snap

Ney: 😑 🖕🏽 @Phil

Phil: Clearly the adult reaction.

Luis: Well then, talk to you guys later.

Ney: Who said I want to talk to you later..

Luis: So no 🎮 later?

Ney: I didn't say that.

Luis: Right... Okay

Phil: 🤦🏽‍♂️

[agl03]

Coulson’s Fate

I know that the TV Line spoiler we were graced with this week actually upset quite a few fans within the fandom.  So I wanted to do a meta on what my theories are as to what Coulson’s fate will be and what early theories as to how we will see Clark and Coulson back in the mix.  

I know that some fans whom Coulson is their favorite character have really struggled with this hiatus.  Clark has been hidden more than anyone else on the cast and they have gone out of their way to hide him.  And I want to say this is going to continue.  They did not film an entire season on total lockdown only to give away the thing they were trying to hide before the season starts.  So I’m really sorry to say we’ll have to hold tight a bit longer in that respect.  

I’ll start with the TV Line Spoiler:

I saw you visited the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. set. Any news on the Season 6 premiere date? Also, anything about Coulson’s return? –Jen

ABC has said nothing beyond “summer” yet for the premiere date. As for the other thing, no one I spoke to on set – where they were filming Season 6’s penultimate episode – spoke of Phil in the present tense. Take Chloe Bennet when I asked about Daisy’s state of mind when the season picks up, [REDACTED] amount of time after her mentor and father figure got dropped off in Tahiti to live out his final days. “In my mind, she has a bit more of a peace to her,” she said. “There is obviously the mourning of Coulson, but she’s also been through it all and she is genuinely stronger from it. She is not dealing with things as she has in the past. She has fully accepted her trauma and is moving forward in the most healthy way, for the first time.”

Something I really want to emphasize in this quote is that Chloe was referring to Daisy’s state of mind IN THE PREMIERE!  So anything that is to come with Coulson/Clarks return will not have happened yet for her character.  Nor is Chloe going to blow any of the details of Clark/Coulson’s return like this.  The cast and Matt have both been clearly instructed as to what they can and can’t reveal.  Even more, this isn’t a live interview (those are GOLD for picking up on clues) so sensitive and spoilery information will have been also redacted or saved for later like episode post interview after the episodes air.

Now let's dive into theory territory.

I still think we see the team completely split up as the season starts (yay theory from last season coming true not in the way I thought...again).   I still maintain May, Mack, Elena, and Deke are on earth.  Fitz has been Fitznapped or is trying to get home/lost in space possibly with Enoch.  And Jemma, Daisy, and the B Squad are on team Space Fitz Rescue.

If Daisy is in space she might even come back after Coulson’s surprise return...or they save that for she’s been back for a hot second and he pops out of a dark corner when everyone least suspects it.

Clark is listed in IMDB for the premiere so yes, this could be a boo boo.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone was listed in IMDB and then wasn’t in the episode.  I think no matter what, and this is gonna suck, that the premiere is going to really hammer home “Phil Coulson is dead”, there has been far too much emphasis on this at SDCC and in a few promo pieces to not see this continue.  They are going to want us to think he’s dead...so they can hit us with one heck of a plot twist later.  I am fully prepared to see flashbacks to Coulson dying kind of thing.

Clark is directing the Premiere.  When an actor does this that means they will be light in the Episode.  So any role Clark/Coulson does play in the premiere will be limited.  

In addition to being listed in 1 Clark also has doubles listed for 9, 11, 12, and 13.  Again.  This could be a boo boo but I doubt multiple stunt doubles would make this mistake.   I also acknowledge that this could be part of some sort of really long Arrowesque flashback kind of thing where there is a totally different story going in the past that is absolutely crucial to what is going on in the present.  That theory has to be on the table.  

I have said over and over throughout hiatus that I have no doubt that we will see Clark/Coulson again,  That is why I have been so chill with ‘spoilers’ that seem to say otherwise.  However, I don’t think (at least initially) he will be the Coulson we know and love.  There is always some sort of “Price to Pay” for defying death.  Nor do I think he’s back because of something the team does.  I think that the baddies will have done it.  The how and why Coulson is back is going to be one of the most important and crucial arcs all season.  

An arc such as this comes with some powerful story possibilities and common TV Tropes.

Philinda fans, I’m sorry but its gonna suck.  I’d caution to be prepared for a fight to get Coulson back and patience for them to be reunited...and even more time for their relationship to get back to where it was in the finale.  I would LOVE to be wrong on this.  As a long-suffering and frustrated Fitzsimmons fan, I don’t wish that kind of thing on any other ship.   But this is what the writers love to do with their major ships.  Tear them apart and make them fight to get back to each other.

By the same token I’d be super worried if they just get back together and all is well right when he makes his surprise return.

The team facing down their former mentor and leader who is now more of a villain is a common trope.  And I’m not going to lie.  I’d love to see Clark get the chance to play the baddie for a bit.  He would knock it out of the park.  You all remind me I said that when poop hits the fan.

This would be a very powerful arc for May, facing the man she loves.  Daisy her mentor and father figure who has the added surprise of coming back from space and walking into whatever has blown up when she was gone.  And Mack who is still trying to find his footing as Director and having to ‘go against’ their former leader.

Think Star Trek TNG Best of Both Worlds

It opens the door for some Coulson, May, and maybe some Shield backstory should they choose that whatever the McGuffin or baddie is is tied to their past somehow.  

What makes me so sure?

I wholly own that I have been wrong in the past and will be again.  “They would never kill Fitz” comes to mind.  But here is what I am looking at.

Clark said at the end of Season 5 he was meeting with the writers to see what they had in mind for him for Season 6.  IE The writers already had a story idea for how to bring him back in some way.

Clark and his doubles being listed in IMDB.

The cast is incredibly close.  We have seen cast members leave before and I saw NONE of that with Clark.  IE on IG no one comments on his posts “We miss you” (yes that is the kind of stuff I pay attention too).  If he was really gone from the show we would have seen more sadness from them at SDCC.  Rather they were giving me the we have a secret kind of vibe.

The Lockdown.  The show has had big guest stars before but never this level of lockdown.  This level is to hide someone who is there nearly daily.  Not a guest star who is usually done in a few episodes.  The cast and crew had to get posts approved.  The makeup trailer blurred out pictures.  And things considered too spoilery yanked down.  

Clark has been doing events with the cast and for ABC still.

I hope this offers some hope for fans who are concerned about Coulson’s return.  Hang tight, it's going to get worse before it gets better because I think they are going to continue to hammer on the “Phil Coulson is dead thing” so they can hit us with a plot twist later.  For example, if the cast does go to Wondercon I doubt Clark is with them unless they use the cover of him directing the Premiere to bring him in.  

There are going to be more spoilers that start to come out as the premiere gets closer that will not include Clark and Coulson.  Press Releases, Synopsis’s, Cast Pics, Press, and the trailer are all things that he may be kept out of to sell the ruse “Phil Coulson is Dead”.  I completely understand this is nothing but frustrating and disheartening when its your favorite character.  But do not take that out of whoever gives the spoilers, the cast, crew, or other fans.  This is a deliberate promo decision the show made nearly a year ago now.  

Believe me, I get this pain.  I was tearing my hair out last season waiting for Iain to return from filming Overlord and then for Fitz to be back on the show.  And we had solid confirmation he’d be back.  I’d seen pics of him on set.  My frustration and “patience” was rewarded with Rewind and Fun & Games but it doesn’t change how miserable I was while I was in the dark and waiting to see him again or how much I missed Fitz/Fitzsimmons together in 1-4.

Again, I would LOVE to be wrong here but feel like they’ve come too far with hiding him to go back now.

Remember the fandom is here to support each other through this hiatus.

[ratandphilgames]

Our Lives Don’t Collide

{chapter 3: shake on it}

summary: Shit hits the fan when famous actor!Phil is caught smooching a boy in an alleyway. Only problem? He’s not out and what’s worse? The boy he was smooching was a journalist who set it all up to get a quick picture and now Phil is royally screwed. The only answer Phils management can come up with is a fake relationship to try and do damage control and famous actor!Dan is the perfect candidate.

chapter word count: 2562

total word count: 7458 

rating: t 

note: thanks for reading and leaving me all your love! everyone who’s sent an anon or left kudos or reblogged has absolutely made this worth it! ily :)

updates on thursdays!

{read on ao3}

{read from the beginning} 

{next chapter}

—–

Sign on the dotted line …………….

The dotted line was definitely taunting him. All Dan had to do was write his name and then he’d be in a legally bond relationship. It was like a temporary marriage. No pressure or anything.  

Dan was back in Sam’s office, 2 days later. The final contract was sitting in front of him, ready to be signed.

He’d been thinking a lot the past 48 hours about this decision.

At the beginning Dan was fairly sure he was going to sign the paper but then intrusive thoughts crept into his mind. Would he be able to look his mum in the face and tell her that he was in a happy committed relationship when he wasn’t? That was a lot of intense pressure, lying to your mom was bad. Baddddddd.

After thinking about how much lying to his mum would suck, Dan thought about how proud his mum would be that he’d gotten himself into a good relationship. She was always being the typical mother, worried that he was too lonely, constantly concerned about him. It would be nice to convince her that he was okay, even if only for a short period.

Besides, this was just commitment to a role for an extended period of time. Dan was an actor. It wouldn’t be unusual to pretend, it was what he did for a living.

The longer Dan spent thinking about it, the more he ignored the bad and focused on the good.

So there he was. Sitting in Sam's office, pen in hand, hovering over the paper. Was he really going to sign this contract that bond him to a role for 6 months?

Yes, yes he was.

His world was going to shift exponentially but almost every way seemed like it would be for the better. Maybe.

Maybe not.

At this point the only way he could find out was by signing the paper. He’d gone over nearly every scenario in his head and at this point the only way to really figure out was to put his name on that line.

So he did. Dan signed his name on the dotted line.

He was now officially and legally in a relationship. It felt weird, especially since the interaction with his ‘boyfriend’ had consisted of one sentence and a weirdly elongated staring contest.  

“So, now that that’s out of the way, we need to make you two official on instagram.”

Shannon was right, that was part of the deal.

“How are we supposed to do that? I don’t have a picture of us together.”

Sam, who had stayed relatively quiet, simply stared at Dan as if he’d just said the dumbest thing ever.

“Daniel, you’ll be seeing him again. When you’re ‘in a relationship’ with someone, you tend to see them more than once.”

Oh.

So he was going to see Phil again. Soon.

Fuck.

Something about that fact was both startling and a tad bit titillating.

“Right, yeah, I knew that. I guess it just didn’t sink in yet. So when is he coming round?”

Again, Dan was met with a dumbfounded look from Sam. He seemed to be missing the obvious today. His mind a little preoccupied, he supposed.

“You can’t take the photo here, Dan. That will look sketch. You need to invite him to yours, so paparazzi see him and hype up the relationship.”

In order to avoid Sams snark, Shannon stepped in and talked. It hadn’t really occurred to Dan that him and Phil would actually hang out. That he would have Phil inside his house. Suddenly everything became overwhelmingly real.  

“Oh, oh shit. Okay. How do I do that?”

Apparently it was ‘plan everything without Dan and then act like he’s dumb because he wasn’t let in on the plans’ day.

“Dan, there’s this lovely thing called a telephone that you can use. We just have to call his publicist. All you need to do is be at home, which isn’t hard for you.”

Wow. Okay. It was also roast Dan day.

Sure, Dan didn’t tend to leave his house unless he was filming something. It was just too much hassle to get out when it took so much planning. In public he was expected to keep up appearances. At home he could get away with wearing a baggy tee shirt and sweats with no eye bats.

Since ‘Switch Hitter’ was set to come out in 2 months and trailers were starting to drop, Dan was more relevant in the media than usual. If he wasn’t up to leaving his house during his usual schedule, he sure as hell wasn’t wanting to when there was handfuls of paparazzi camping outside his gate.

“Tomorrow. Phil will be coming to your house, you will take a photo together that is suitable for coming out on instagram. Nobody will be their to monitor you, I trust you will not need supervision. Please don’t fuck this up Dan.”

Out of the whole 5 years Dan had worked with Sam, never once had he heard him curse, let alone at him. Shit was serious, Sam was pulling out the big guns.

It was like he was being scolded on having girls (or boys, he’d be out as bi since he was 14) in his room as a teenager. “I trust you will not need supervision” sounded a lot like a threat. Even his mum wasn’t that passive aggressive about being alone with a potential lover.

Not that Phil was a potential lover. This was a business relationship, nothing else.

God this was getting awkward already.

Dan didn’t want to play the ‘ask a question and get a glare from Sam’ game again so he just nodded in response.

And with that Dan was excused from Sams office and told to go home and make his house ‘presentable.’ Shannon offered to help, but Dan assured her he could do it all by himself. He could manage throwing out the old pizza boxes without assistance. The amount of times the paparazzi outside his house had gotten excited that a car was pulling up, only to find it was a pizza delivery boy was astounding.

Andreas, per usual, was standing outside the door, just waiting for Dan to walk out. Maybe a day would come when Dan could feel safe going from his house to his agents office but quite frankly that day was not today. On more than one occasion he’d been attacked by paparazzi who took it too far and a couple of times he was met with some very homophobic bystanders who chased him. After all was said and done, he’d rather pay someone and count the money well spent for his peace of mind than be in constant fear with a little more change in his pocket.

“Any more stops today?”

“No, let’s just head home. You’re probably tired of waiting around for me.”

“It’s my job.”

No other words were said the rest of the car ride back to Dan’s abode. When they arrived Dan got walked to his house and then him and Andreas parted ways.

He only had one day to get his shit together. One day was not enough time to get shit together.

Dan contemplated hiring a cleaning service. He honest to god thought about searching one online rather than have to clean up his own filth so his fake boyfriend wouldn’t be so disgusted that he ripped the contract. It wasn’t that his house was that bad, it was just tedious and not how Dan wanted to spend his evening.

He started with the takeout boxes and random junk that he just tended to leave around when he was running to get somewhere on time. A pair of shoes, a misplaced watch, some miscellaneous jewelry.

Was it weird if he picked up his bedroom? It wasn’t like he was going to entice Phil into his bedroom, but what if he walked past? Maybe Dan would at least make his bed. Try to be semi presentable just in case.

Oh god. He sounded like a maniac that thought this relationship was real. He needed to do a quick reality check and realize it was all fake. It was staged. He needed to get that through his thick dick infatuated brain before he managed to screw everything up.

Shit. Sam had good reason to tell him not to fuck stuff up.

Dan made the executive decision to make his bed, using the excuse that he needed to anyways, to be a ‘functional human.’ His therapist would be proud.

As he was just folding down the edge of his duvet there was a buzz. The buzz that meant someone was trying to get into the gate.

This was… unexpected. For a brief moment Dan wondered if he had subconsciously ordered a pizza. Or maybe he was receiving a gift basket from Phil’s team from signing the contract. No wait, mail doesn’t get delivered at 5:43 at night.

Who the fuck was at his gate?

He made his way to the intercom near the front door, the little microphone that allowed him to speak to the person attempting to enter his home. More often than not it was a reporter requesting an ‘impromptu interview.’ Don’t get him wrong, Dan loved answering questions and interacting with people who cared what he said, but at his house, unannounced? That was just unprofessional and unsafe.

“Uh, how may I help you?”

He was really fucking awkward.

“I’m here to drop off Phil Lester.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Is this a prank?”

Phil was supposed to be by his house tomorrow. Sam had explicitly told him tomorrow. As in 24 hours, as in not right fucking now.

“No sir, this isn’t a prank.”

The driver sounded a bit annoyed with him but that was the least of Dan’s problems right now. Philip Lester was outside his house a day early and there was no way to prepare because he was asking to be let in right now.

“Uh, alright, I’ll open the gate.”

As soon as he typed in the code to open the gate he flew to his room to grab his phone. In the time it took for Phils car to pull up, Dan was able to send a quick SOS message to Shannon, asking what the hell was going on.

Ding. Dong.

The doorbell was ringing. They were there.

How did his hair look? Was what he wearing earlier appropriate for the occasion? What even was the occasion? First date with his fake boyfriend? Was this a date? A ‘fake’ date of course.

He opened the door. Standing there, true to the drivers word, was Phil Lester and a very tall, muscular man, that Dan had seen outside the boardroom door days earlier. This was the real motherfucking deal, no prank in sight.

Holy fuck.

“Uh, come in.” It took everything in Dan to make that statement not come out like a question.

The bodyguard stepped off to the side and Dan moved to the side, allowing Phil to walk into Dan’s home. Phil Lester. Walking into Dan’s home. Fuck.

“I trust the premise is secure?” Phil’s bodyguard was speaking to him about security. Dan didn’t know anything about that other than Andreas always said he was safe in his home. Nobody had ever broken in, so there was that.

“Yep, super secure.”  

“Alright, well, call when you need a ride.” This time the bodyguard was addressing Phil. They had gone from a high security professional to a parent dropping off his stepson at a sleepover. At least Dan wasn’t the only awkward one here.

Phil nodded, clearly embarrassed by his bodyguards choice of words.

And then Phil’s bodyguard closed the door and it was just Dan and Phil, alone, in Dan’s big house. They were just both stood awkwardly by the front door.

“Uh, we can head into the lounge if you want.”

So they did. Dan led Phil into the lounge and they both sat down on the sofa and they both did that awkward thing where they push their knees together because they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Something had convinced Dan that the great Phil Lester was going to be the talkative, explosive personality he saw on the screen. Dan should’ve known better than anyone that what you saw in the interviews wasn’t the full truth. Phil was just another introverted awkward guy who had a knack for pretending.

“I’m going to go make a call real quick, I’ll be right back.”

Shannon had texted him back with a simple ‘call me.’

Dan stepped into his kitchen and dialed Shannons number, having it committed by memory at this point.

“Shan, what the fuck is going on. I was told tomorrow. There is one Philip Lester sitting in my lounge right now.”

He was doing the hushed whisper thing with his voice just in case Phil could hear him from the other room. He didn’t think he could hear him, but it was always good to play it safe.

“His publicist just must’ve gotten mixed up on the phone, don’t panic kid. Just play it cool and don’t forget to take the instagram photo.”

Somehow Shannons words comforted him, they always managed to.

Okay. Cool. Play it cool. He could do that.

“Okay, I’m gonna go now Shan. I’ll play it cool. I’ve got this.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Shannon or himself more.

“Have fun. Do not forget the instagram picture Dan.”

Right. Get that picture.

Dan hung up the phone, feeling much better about the situation now that he had Shannon’s wonderful words of wisdom.

Despite the newfound confidence, Dan was not too keen on heading back into the lounge and striking up a conversation with his new ‘boyfriend.’ Still, he did the honorable thing and went back into his lounge.

“Uhh hey. Thanks for coming.”

Phil, clearly startled by Dans reappearance, jumped a bit at the words and dropped his phone onto his lap.

“Oh uh, thanks for having me. I mean, thanks for everything. Sorry the situation is- well that this is how we meet.” Phil looked so anxious as he spoke and Dan couldn’t help but feel bad. For the first time he wasn’t thinking about how this would affect himself, Dan was thinking about how shitty Phil must feel after being publicly outed without his consent and then being forced by his management into this ‘relationship.’ Dan had a choice, Phil really didn’t.

“What? You mean you don’t meet all your friends through fake relationships to save your reputation?”

The humor certainly lightened the mood, both of them had a little chuckle. Dan felt a small sense of accomplishment for lifting the awkward tension.

“No, I’d have to say this is a first. So we’re friends?” Phil asked, still sitting on the sofa as Dan stood by the doorway.

“Well I hope so, otherwise the next few months are gonna be hella awkward.”

Again Phil laughed a little, making Dans stomach do that flip thing. This was going great, Phil didn’t hate him yet.

Dan crossed the room and sat down on the sofa next to Phil.

“Friends?”

Sticking out his hand, Dan waited, hoping Phil would shake on it.

“Friends.”

And they shook on it.  

[shookethbrooketh]

Church Boy - Chapter 5

He looked so peaceful while asleep, as if it was his favorite activity. Phil didn’t blame him; he didn’t mind watching it either. His brown hair curled neatly on the top of his head in a way Phil had never seen before, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he ever straightened it. The curls were in: in Phil’s head. It just made him look a certain type of soft that you wouldn’t expect from looking at any other aspect of him. Sleeping, Dan just looked so pretty to Phil, as if he could just lean right over and kiss him.

Description: Phil’s lived in the same town and gone to the same church his entire life. But when his pastor leaves, a new one comes in, with his teenage son Dan in tow. He’s broken; real broken. And he thinks Phil’s just another church boy that’s going to hate him just as much as everyone else he’s ever met, but maybe he’s just going to be the one that can fix all his broken parts.

Genre: AU, High School, Strangers to Lovers

Chapter Warnings: Swearing

Fic Warnings (Not Final!): Heavy Speak of Religion, Heavy Homophobia, Swearing, Discussion of Sex, Fighting with Family

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k Total Word Count: 10.3k

Read it on Ao3! Read it on Wattpad! Fic Masterlist

“Fuck Precalc, honestly,” Dan said on the ride home. His second day at school had gone well, minus the fact that he had no clue what was happening in Chemistry and, well, fuck Precalc. “What does she even mean ‘draw a picture with triangles’? That could mean, like, five different things!” 

“You gotta use all those stupid trig formulas,” Phil said, glancing over at Dan in the passenger seat. “I’m assuming you’ve forgotten those.” 

“Definitely,” he said. “And why is it a partner project? It seems simple enough for one person to do.” 

“Says the one who doesn’t know any of the formulas.” 

Dan rolled his eyes. “Touche. But seriously.” 

“Maybe it’s to help those of us who have a little thing called lack of artistic ability.” 

“You do the math, I do the art?” 

“Solid.” 

The car was silent for a moment before Dan finally furrowed his brow and turned to Phil. “When is that thing even due?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“TOMORROW!” Dan shouted so loud Phil almost jerked the wheel. “That’s so little time! We’ll never finish by tomorrow!” 

“Dan, you don’t even know what we’re doing.” 

“Projects always take more than a day; everyone knows that.” 

Phil laughed as he pulled up to Dan’s house. “Whatever you say. See you in the morning.”

Dan slid out of the car, taking his backpack with him. “See ya,” he said with a smile. As he walked to his house, he couldn’t help but think about the project. He was definitely one to stress over schoolwork, and the fact that he was working with Phil didn’t help. What if they didn’t finish? Would they hang out after school? Would he be able to contain himself? It sounded like the end of a cheesy sitcom, followed with a ‘find out next week on Dan’s Anxieties!” He sighed, throwing open the screen door to his new house. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a few pieces of food before retiring to his room, where he’d be until the following morning. 

Dan sat half-dead in the passenger seat of Phil’s car that morning; he had made some unwise choices the previous evening in not sleeping much, and he was really kicking himself for it. It wasn’t like him at all to not sleep; sleep was sacred. But for some reason, the new house had a vibe that just screamed “I haven’t slept properly since 1947, and I never will again″. Between that and his anxiety keeping him up he’d probably only slept about eight hours...in the last three nights. And, especially with the fact that he normally slept really well, it was starting to take its toll on him. 

He was dressed sloppily, wearing the same sweatshirt he slept in with some black jeans and Converse. He hadn’t even bothered to straighten his hair, which pained the hell out of him, but he was just too tired. He could barely even keep his eyes open on the ride to school, and when Phil finally spoke to him it felt distant, and it took him a couple seconds to realize he was even talking.

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you were okay; you seem really zoned out this morning.” 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just exhausted.” 

“High school, huh?” Phil laughed. 

“Yeah, that. Sure.” He leaned his head back against the seat and reclined it as far down as he could. The second he took his hand off the lever, he was out like a light. 

Phil looked over at Dan for a moment, not wanting to wake him. His phone told him there were still 15 minutes before classes started, so he could just let Dan sleep; he obviously needed it. Phil had no clue how long Dan had slept, but he seemed like his brain was still asleep when he got in the car that morning, and even Phil, who was terrible at reading people, could tell he was going to collapse if he didn’t get any rest. Even fifteen minutes would help. 

Phil wasn’t about to leave Dan in his car, so he reclined his own seat and looked over at Dan. He looked so peaceful while asleep, as if it was his favorite activity. Phil didn’t blame him; he didn’t mind watching it either. His brown hair curled neatly on the top of his head in a way Phil had never seen before, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he ever straightened it. The curls were in: in Phil’s head. It just made him look a certain type of soft that you wouldn’t expect from looking at any other aspect of him. Sleeping, Dan just looked so pretty to Phil, as if he could just lean right over and kiss him. 

Phil suddenly jumped back into his seat, realizing he had been inching closer to Dan with every coherent word of his thought. He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Great job, Phil, you’ve known the guy three days and you’re already into him.” 

“Huh?” he heard Dan’s voice next to him and jumped for the second time. 

“Nothing! Sorry to wake you.” He smiled through gritted teeth, sweating profusely.

“Are we at school? What time is it?”

“Classes start in ten minutes, and I thought you could use your rest. We can go in now if you want.” 

“Rad,” Dan said, picking up his backpack and throwing the door open. Phil exhaled deeply, pulling his lanky body out of the car. Did Dan hear him? He hoped not. If he did, he definitely wasn’t saying anything about it. Phil could only hope he hadn’t a clue. 

Dan sighed, his exact fear having come true. They spent an entire period in Precalc working diligently (if ‘diligently’ meant occasionally in between absolutely idiotic conversations) on their project and still were only about halfway done. 

“Now what the hell are we supposed to do?” he asked, exasperated, as the two left the classroom. He took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath; he had been extremely stressed lately, and the lack of sleep wasn’t helping. 

“Well,” Phil said from his right. “We could go back to my house after school and work on it and then I can take you home. Or we could work on it in town. Whatever you’d like, really.” 

“Town?” Dan asked. 

“Oh, yeah, you just got here. Kids hang out in town after school all the time. I can show you around if you want.” 

“Hell yeah!” Dan said. If he was going to be stuck living in this town, he might as well soak in the culture. In fact, maybe it would even grow on him. Phil certainly already had. 

“Lit. We’ll work there.” 

The rest of the day was one of the slowest Dan could remember; for some reason, he was thrilled to go to town. It was so bizarre; in fact, everything was bizarre. It seemed like when he moved to this new town, a completely different Dan emerged He’d always been a depressed kid who didn’t even have the beginning of a clue of how to deal with his life. His parents were shitty, his work ethic was shitty, and his future looked blatantly shitty. The only thing he actually took seriously was sleeping way too much. But in this new place, things were different.

Dan hadn’t found himself hating his life once since he left the church that Sunday, he had a single person in his life who made him smile constantly, he cared about his schoolwork, he was staying up later than he should, and he was actually excited for almost every event he could think of in his future. It was almost like he was living the normal life he hadn’t seen a glimpse of in years. The even crazier thing was that it was happening because of everything he’d ever despised. He sat through classes in a tiny school, he was surrounded by rednecks, he lived in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, and he met the only person he truly cared about in a church. His entire life had turned around in only three days, and it was because of this crazy new town. No, it wasn’t, he decided. It was because of Phil. 

Everything was because of Phil, and, sure, he was hyped to go to town, but that wasn’t what really had him restless waiting for the final bell to ring. He wanted to spend the afternoon with Phil in the environment in which he thrived. This was his home, and there was nothing he wanted more than to share a space, and even a home, with Phil. He was the first person he’d ever felt like he could have a completely genuine and functional friendship with, and he couldn’t bear to wait to see what it was going to develop into. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, the bell rang, and Dan was the first one out of his class, a new spring in his step as he speed-walked to meet Phil. 

[doof-doofblog]

EastEnders Iconic Episodes:- Who Killed Lucy Beale? (30th Anniversary)

Tuesday 28th July 2020

Good evening everyone! I'm sorry for the late post, but with lock-down slowly easing. I am now back at both my every day jobs, and also looking making some huge personal changes too, it's been a busy for me that's for sure! But I am now back and I'm happy to see that the latest iconic episode to be shown was the memorable revelation as to who killed Lucy Beale? This was a brilliant, live, hour-long special episode to celebrate the soap's 30th anniversary, everyone went crazy with the #EELive! What amazes me is that it has been 5 years since Lucy died? That has flown super quick! I remember this episode was another gripping one, it was also people had been waiting for for 10 months! Who did kill Lucy? Everything was about to be revealed in this episode which originally aired 19 February 2015!

As you can see from the picture above, there were many characters in the front line who could've been possible culprits. These were the ones the soap kept teasing to us ... from left to right ... Pam, Lee, Cindy, Max, Denise, Ian, Peter, Abi, Jane, Ben, Whitney, Les and Jay! As far as I know, each one had had a run-in with Lucy up until her death. But who had committed the murder?!

I love that right at the beginning of the episode, they kinda remake the opening of EastEnders' very first episode from 19th February 1985, absolutely perfect to mark it's 30th anniversary! It starts with Stacey, Martin and Kush breaking into someone's house and Stacey stating "Cor, it really stinks in here, doesn't it?!"  ... there looked to have been a fire in the house and as they make their way into the house, they find the body of Nick Cotton, (absolutely mirroring the first episode where the cast find the body of Reg Cox) ... as I'm watching it now, I can't believe the difference in Martin ... clean shaven and he looks like he has a baby face! Absolutely brilliant!

As far as I remember, it had been the second wedding of Jane and Ian ... it had come to light to Peter and Jane that it was someone in the family who had murdered Lucy. Lauren had given Jane a card to say that Lucy had been killed inside the house, but how and why? I re-watch this now and can't believe how brilliant the acting is considering it's live! Adam Woodyatt and Laurie Brett in particular are fantastic! So there look to be different things going on, Stacey realising that Dot knew Nick was staying in house and also mystery of who killed Lucy. Questions are being thrown from different directions, Ian is sat on the couch taking every bit of information in, it seems the Beale family believe Denise may have something to do with Lucy's death, as she was living at the property at the time. Ian leaves to go and find Denise but then he gets distracted by Martin asking him for help regarding Dot.

There's so much to take in, I can't quite remember what was happening with previous characters, Mick being aware of Dean's return, and then we see Lauren be sick in the sink while Abi looks over her.  Also the difference in Sharon then as she is now! Much more glamours with the long blonde hair and face full of make-up! We know what is to be revealed at the end of this episode, but for quite a few weeks Phil had been playing up, keeping secrets and having his phone ring constantly by an unknown caller! What the heck had Phil been up to? Also it looks as if Kim is pregnant with Pearl in this episode and if I remember rightly, she gives birth to her in the Queen Vic toilet with Denise at her side! I am thrilled to hear that Kim will be making a comeback when the soap returns later in the year, it's been so long since we've seen Kim. But her comeback will be one of the best, she's a character who brings such light onto the soap!

I thought it was really clever when Peter entered the Vic, everyone asking him genuine concerned questions. Asking if he was alright, where Jane and Ian were? You could see that everywhere he turned, he couldn't help but think one of those people had potentially killed his twin sister, and with everyone asking how he was, he had to get out of there! Wow, so many moments where you question if it was a specific character who killed Lucy. When Ian and Sharon were around at Dot's making sure she was okay, she explains to them both how she let Nick kill himself and carried on without saying a word to anyone and how can live in peace now she was able to tell someone. Ian's face looks as if he's worked out who killed Lucy, but also looks as if he understands that someone keeping a secret to protect someone that they love is important.

Then the scene after where Jane is on the phone to Masood is another brilliant scene! We know that Jane and Masood did have a thing for one another a while ago, whether or not it was before all this Lucy story kicked off, Masood does care for Jane ... as a dear friend, and maybe just that little bit more. But he knows something isn't right, he's convinced Ian has done something, but Jane won't tell him. I remember watching this thinking, "She has told Masood to tell Bobby that everything is going to be alright, plus she is looking so guilty when she doesn't respond to Masood, but yet also, that could just be because she knew Ian was on a mission for answers from Denise!" .... so it was a difficult one to say whether Jane knew something or not, I love how much this soap made us change our minds over and over again to who the actual killer was!

Also Denise plays a huge part in this story-line, she was living with Ian during the time Lucy was killed and this particular episode, it looks as if Ian and Denise went their separate ways and at the very beginning of the episode, she made a comment about Jane and how she almost didn't say "I do!" to marrying Ian. Denise is clearly heated up about something and taking it out on Kim! I loved that moment when Kim is in labour in the toilets and Denise goes in to apologise for slagging her off earlier, only to realise her sister is in labour and the first thing she says is "You're not due for another two months!" ... like it's her fault! Haha! Typical sisterly love right there! I also think it's brilliant when she runs out to get help from Sonia, and she is covered in cake after being insulted by Kat ... Sonia tells Denise abruptly "If she's ill i'm off duty!" for then Denise to say "She's not ill!" and suddenly it clicks, both Sonia and Tina follow Denise into the girl's toilets.  

I love how there are so many people in the one room at Dot's house, talking about how they're all going to keep Nick's death a secret. It's true that each and every one of them in that room care about Dot and none of them are willing to let her get in trouble with the police, I believe so far, it's the best kept secret in the square, it's true that Nick's death has never been mentioned since!! Does anyone remember what's happening with Kat during all of this? She makes a show of herself in the Vic, assaults Sonia and then she's weeping to Stacey on the bench, saying she tried so hard ... has this got something to do with Alfie? As we see, before she kicks off on Sonia, she goes to head towards Alfie in the Vic, but Sonia comes in her way. Was this the time they briefly broke up? Was this during the time Alfie was engaged to Roxy? If anyone can remember, please let me know! I do feel for Kat sometimes, I love since she's been in the square, we've learnt so much about her past and her character. To me, Kat and Alfie have always been the iconic EastEnders couple ... before Mick and Linda! I always thought Kat and Alfie would be together forever, they were literally soul mates ... and for some horrible reason, they keep falling apart and getting back together months later!

Did anyone else see the episode of Secrets From The Square last Monday (20th July 2020) of Diane Parish and Tameka Empson? I loved how they described Tameka filming that childbirth scene during the live episode, Tameka was hilarious how she explained it. They'd count down from 5 until they were due to go live and she'd leap into the sounds of labour and then stop and relax as if nothing had happened seconds later! I thought it was brilliant! You can see in these live clips how everyone's performance is shining through! Now, we see Dean has creeped into the Vic ... what is doing back in the Square? I'm assuming he has already raped Linda before this, which is why Mick is wanting to keep Linda unaware of Dean's presence being back in the square. Dean takes out what appears to be a petrol can, from a bag ... your mind suddenly races, is he going to threaten to set the Vic alight?!

Okay, so if i'm right in thinking ... the moment when you see Ian walking towards his house, alone in the street and Mick calls to him to come back into the Vic to celebrate his wedding. Is it the moment where Ian knows something? He knows that someone in his household killed his daughter! Hense why he asked the question to Mick, "Have you ever killed someone?" "How long can you hide it until you crack?" I believe that was the moment everyone kinda thought "Hold on!" Ian knows! Is he about to confront the person who killed Lucy?" It's a bit of an awkward conversation for Mick, but it's amazing to see how Ian knows who it potentially could be! Even Mick clicks "You know don't you? You know who killed Lucy?" I remember thinking "Oh shit!" Hahaha!

Awwwww early stages of Martin and Stacey!!! Martin leaning in to give her a kiss and she backs away, clearly he hasn't been back on the Square long! It's incredible to think how far they've both come within the past 5 years! Awwww and there we have it, Pearl being brought into the soap, I remember panicking thinking the poor child hadn't made it when everyone was silent, and then there comes the babies cry and everyone is celebrating! It's amazing how many different emotions have happened in this episode, a birth and the revelation of a death! Simply amazing! I also want to point out that Patrick is slurring his words, this would've been his slow recovery from the stroke he had! I remember worrying thinking Patrick wasn't going to survive, but I am thrilled he has been on the soap for so long! I don't think the Square would be anything without Patrick!

Ahhh so this is a very memorable moment, we see Phil is waiting for someone, looking at his phone in a deserted area and decides to head off, but before he leaves a taxi pulls up! I remember thinking who the hell is he meeting up with? Most guessed it might've been Grant or Lisa?! But Oh My Goodness no one expected it to be Kathy!!!!! What an iconic memorable moment, and in such EastEnders style, slowly walk up and those words "Hello Phil!" ... I realise now that the next two people you see after Kathy being revealed is Ben in the pub with Jay, and then Ian on the swings ... how amazing that editing is!!! Kathy arrives back to Walford and both her sons are shown not having the foggiest idea that she's back!!! Brilliant! I can't applaud the writers enough, I just thought it was so so clever!!

Another face no longer in the soap is Vincent, and yet when Kim is being taken to the hospital with her new born baby, he looks on from afar ... it's sad that Denise and Kim have this fall out. If only Kim had known Vincent was there! I still think he should've made himself known and then Denise would've swallowed her words and Kim would've had someone with her when she went to the hospital. But of course Denise never meant to hurt Kim's feelings, as we have seen in recent years Denise loves little Pearl and she has become a beautiful child on the Square.

Ah okay, so Kathy was begging Phil to let her come home, am I right in thinking that he had known for a while that Kathy was alive? This secretive behaviour with Phil had been happening for quite some time, and it wasn't completely known what he was getting up to. It's amazing to have such an iconic character return on such an epic episode! At first Phil refuses to let Kathy come back as it would mess up Ben and Ian's heads, but before she leaves, she begs him to let her return! Next minute Peter is approaching Denise claiming that it was her, even calling her a bitch! Denise has absolutely no idea what is going on, luckily Ian interferes before anything kicks off and basically states to Peter that he has got it wrong and leads Peter away. It's not going to be long now until the killer is revealed!

Oh gosh, Nancy walks into the cellar after also smelling something dodgy, she walks in a Dean grabs her from behind. She shouts out to her Dad and Mick walks in to find Dean holding on to his daughter. They tell him not to even think about setting the Vic alight, Dean decides to let Nancy go as his argument isn't with her, he states all he wants is the Vic. I remember watching this on the edge of my seat. Does anyone remember what Dean was like before he became a rapist? Before he returned! He was a bit of a teenager and everyone seemed to fancy him, perhaps a little bit off the rails but nowhere near as bad as he was now, he had become such a brilliant villain and to be honest, I found it incredible to watch! How had he been transformed into such a hated character?! Brilliant script writing! Mick and Dean are both talking, Dean claiming that he's not a rapist and what Linda had said was all lies, Mick doesn't believe a word and grabs a fire extinguisher from behind him. Nancy informs Dean that Shriley, Dean's Mum, is in the Vic with everyone else ... this briefly distracts Dean and Mick takes his chance and goes for Dean with the extinguisher, forcing the lighter out of his hand, only to then knock him backwards, onto the floor and step on his throat, almost choking Dean. Nancy drags her Dad away as Dean lies there lifeless, I remember thinking, "Oh crap! Has he just killed Dean?!"

Oh how sad! Dot being sat in the back of a police car and saying goodbye to her son. That was a moment I think everyone didn't expect to see. She didn't kill her son, not really. She just didn't help him. There is a difference isn't there? Dot had gone through years of abuse from her son, it was about time he got his comeuppance. Even though she was his Mum, she loved him dearly and she would've done anything to support him, even if he was in the wrong. She was only doing what was right as a mother, everyone knows that! I can't recall much of Dot's story-line, but I'm sure she wasn't in jail ... and even if she was, she wasn't for long.  

Oooooh I remember this! Everyone in the Beale household approaches the phone as it rings, but before anyone can answer it, it goes to Ian in the cafe. "It's me ... I know it was you who killed Lucy. Get everyone out of the house. I'm coming home!" .... WHO WAS HE SPEAKING TO????? I remember shaking, i'm shaking now reliving it! Everyone was desperate to know who it was! Peter, Jane or Cindy? They are the only possible 3 people it could've been!!!! We see Ian walk into the house on his own, no one in sight until we hear footsteps coming down the stairs, Ian picks up a picture frame of Lucy, turns around and says "Tell me exactly what happened that night!" ... to JANE!!!! I remember gasping! I didn't think at all it would've been Jane, I didn't quite believe it to begin with, but as we know, the next episode revealed that she was covering for Bobby. Bobby was the one who actually killed Lucy. Jane would've done anything to save her son from being in trouble with the police. I just remember being gobsmacked ... for 10 months we had no idea who had killed Lucy and for it to be all unravelled the way it was, was absolutely brilliant! Am I right in thinking that it was 2 live episodes that covered the reveal? What an epic way to celebrate an anniversary!

I loved these episodes so much and I'm thrilled that the reveal of Who Killed Lucy was chosen as an iconic episode, because it really was iconic! The reveal of a death, a birth, a return from the dead ... it had everything! We have just had the 35th Anniversary, I know it's a way off yet, but I can't wait to see what big plans they come up with for the 40th Anniversary! If it was anything as big as this then i'm certain it'll be epic! I've loved seeing the cast all the way through this episode and seeing what they were like back then, it's sad seeing characters who are now no longer in the soap ... Abi, Lauren, Tanya, Dot, Nancy, Lee, Dean, Fatboy, Christian, Carol, Vincent ... it's wonderful to see all these familiar faces! It makes me sad that some of these brilliant actors and actresses aren't in it anymore! I would love to see so many of them come back, wouldn’t you? Out of the ones I have mentioned, who would you like to see return to Albert Square? Please feel free to message me, I’ll always reply to your comments! I believe the next iconic episode to be shown will be the Christmas episode of Max and Stacey's affair being revealed, another brilliantly written episode! I can't wait to write up about that one!

I hope you've all enjoyed this post, I can only apologise on how late it is. I'll be back with the follow up post of the iconic episodes very soon! Thanks again everyone, look after yourselves xXx