#that scene in the snow lives in my mind rent free

[xiiiwayfinders]

Thinking about the Dandelion kids being friends and looking at the snow and comforting each other and just being kids and best friends and nothing bad ever happening to them :)

#they're so 🥺 #that scene of ven and skuld watching the snow lives in my mind rent free #ven is everyone's little brother #i love these kids sm #kingdom hearts #kh dandelions #khux #union x

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter 7]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: ANIMAL SACRIFICE, BLOOD RITUAL/MAGIC, description dead body, anxiety, doubt, funeral, cremation, mentions of sexism, angst, tension, miscommunication, mention of war, mention of plague, general assholery, bitta fluff at the end, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 7.8k (eek)

A/N: me saying i want to write shorter chapters and then this happens? whoops. anyway i had a lot of ground to cover, sorry that this is rather plot/world building heavy. we are getting into the heavy romance stuff in the next couple chapters. the funeral scene has been living rent free in my mind for MONTHS so i was excited to finally write it (very midsommar core) please let me know what you think and rebblog/like! sorry for any typos - enjoy!!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

You could smell the sea before you saw it.

Years ago, you believed that the smell of the ocean and the briskness of the icy air would be consoling. The sight of home after all this time – the whirling mass of the city – was supposed to make you happy. But all you felt was dread. Anxiety has been building for days as you grew closer. For so many years, you had been focused on returning to this place, yet now that you were here, you didn’t know how to progress. You would still need to marry to save the city and come up with some kind of solution. Thoughts of James’ proposal still hung heavy on your mind, burden after burden becoming a crushing weight on your shoulders. 

Once your mother was put to rest, you would truly be alone. The last of a once great line, a final soldier facing down an army. A ship lost at sea during a storm. When you closed your eyes at night, you could see those enormous waves before you, impossibly large, crashing down and pushing you to the sandy ocean floor below. 

If Peggy had noticed your nightmares, she hadn’t said anything. She wouldn’t mention how you would wake in a cold sweat, arms sore and tense as you had desperately tried to claw your way to the surface. With each passing day, you grew quieter until you found no need to talk at all. Some days Steve would extract a grunt or a half-smile from you, but mostly he watched on with concerned frowns, locked in conversation with James. 

James. That was another man you had not spoken to in some time. Even the cold of the Stormfall Mountains could not compare to the chill that had grown between the two of you. That was another image that haunted you – the reluctance on James’ face when, moments earlier, you had poured your heart out to him that night in his room. Was he repulsed by you? Did he regret all the moments you shared? Had you pushed too far with your questions about Rebecca? You would never know because no words were shared between you. He pulled back, and you pulled back further, hoping to disappear into the snow and rock like a snow leopard, like a Ghost of the Mountain. 

The icy, cobbled streets of Faliene were as you remembered. They were twisted and narrow, and layers of stacked housing were featured on every street. Banners and flags were still strung between upper floors, tattered and faded as they danced in the wind. Salt crunched beneath your horse's hooves, and a biting wind blowing from the docks sank painfully into your bones. 

She was just as you remembered, but she was void. A husk of her former self, left gutted and abandoned.  

There were no markets and no travelers on the streets. Houses lay abandoned, windows and doors boarded up with the remnants of chipped red x’s painted upon them. Shipping barrels lay untouched in alleys, shops empty and rotting. City of Ghosts. How many were taken during the plague? How much death had your child's brain washed away to protect you? 

It was eerie, near silent. The only sound came from the docks, the soft lapping of the waves, the creak of the boats, and the distant chatter of sailors. So empty, so still. It was as if time had frozen and your procession was the only thing left thawed. 

Even as dread gripped your core, you couldn’t help but feel the scene was serene. In your mind’s eye you could remember people scurrying to and fro, across the streets and in and out of shops, their goods tucked under cloaks. Children running between their mother’s skirts, and horses whinnying and snorting as they navigated their way through the packed streets. You can even hear a bell chime and you turn your head to the shop next to you. The visions dissipate, and all that is left is a gray, stone storefront with a painted trident fading above the doorframe. The arctic breeze blew through your hair like icy fingers caressing your scalp. Deep in your bones, you felt it – a calling, a whisper, welcome home. 

You pulled your horse to a stop at a crossroads, a large open space near the center of the city. The view from the hill provided a clear landscape of the surrounding alleys, lanes, and the docks below, each scattering away from you like shattered glass. Up a wide, well-paved road to the right, Fort Faliene stood proudly, casting shadows on the mountain behind her.

You knew your ladies’ maids and footmen would be waiting up there, having been informed of your collective arrival. You could not bear to look at the fort for long; the ache in your heart was too strong. You were aware that without your family, the hallways would be chilly and empty, and part of you yearned to preserve those early memories, tuck them closely to your chest, and never let them go. 

Your moment of thought was broken as Steve pulled his horse to a stop beside yours, shivering as he rubbed a gloved hand over his arms. James remained nearby, close enough to listen but not close enough to be part of your conversation. 

“When you said it would be cold, I did not think it could get any worse than those mountains.” Steve mutters through clattering teeth. You bite back a smile, glancing back to watch as the carriages carefully roll closer over the grit and ice. 

You were minutes away from Fort Faliene, the place you were raised and called home. Yet a part of you felt content to stay frozen atop your horse. A large serpent had crept its way under your skin, twisting, biting and squeezing your insides until you were left breathless. You were not ready to face those halls yet. Would you ever be? 

“I need you to lead the carriages up to Fort Faliene. It’s up the road to your right, follow it to its end. The staff will show you to your rooms.” You finally speak for the first time in days, watching in your peripheral vision as both Steve and James’ faces morph into looks of confusion. 

“Why, where are you going?” Steve asks, but you don’t respond.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth and you fear tripping over your words. Instead, you nudge your horse into a trot, following the winding path down to the docks. If the two men were confused or called after you, you don’t hear it. Your focus is entirely on the docks below. Before you entered that Fort, the place where your father had died, you needed a moment alone with the waves and the wind. 

—

The sailors had eyed you suspiciously as you walked to the water's edge, sand crunching beneath your boots. The men were bulky and decorated with tattoos and scruffy beards. The stench of fresh fish was overpowering but familiar; the sailors were using rigging and rope to haul the barrels from the docks. You had tried to pay them no mind as they paused their hauling, their kohl-lined eyes narrowing as they inspected your every move. 

They didn’t recognize you, which you quickly realized. They had every reason to be cautious of an unknown noblewoman invading their space. But you did not wish to disturb them however; you just wanted a moment to breathe.

You peeled off your gloves, tucking them into your pocket as you crouched down next to the surf. The icy water stung as it rushed over your fingers, your bones aching with the chill. You did not submit to the cold, instead exhaling sharply as you tried to imprint that sensation in your mind forever. As a child, you played in these waters, barefoot and fearless. The possibility that those were your last happy memories and that everything could disappear in a matter of seconds was something you had not thought about at the time. 

“Excuse me, Miss, are you lost?” A thick, northern accent calls out to you from the docks. A younger man stood, peering over at you. You didn’t recognize him, but you could tell he was around your age. He wasn’t as muscled and rugged as the other sailors – fresh meat, you assumed. 

You didn’t reply instantly, instead withdrawing your numb fingers from the lapping waves with a short sigh. You rubbed your fingers together, feeling the salty moisture between your skin, before turning to walk back onto the docks. 

“If you’re here for the funeral, Fort Faliene is back up–” The man began once more, but you waved your hand with a half-smile and cut over him. 

“I’m not lost, just taking the air.” You clarified, pausing before him. Despite the chill, he only wore a thick woolen shirt and pants, which seemed to feature some holes that had been stitched with patches of mismatched fabric. Your eyes swept down to his shoes, noting the scuffs. Time had been hard on Faliene, maybe more so than you realized. The man sheepishly ducked his head, avoiding your gaze. His short hair was tousled by the wind, and a faint odor of fish was surrounded him. 

“Oh, I–” the young man stumbled over his words, as if unsure of how to react. 

Before he could gather himself, a gruff voice sounded from behind him. “It’s not safe on the docks, Miss.” 

That was a lie; you knew it. The docks were always safe, and children would often play in the water while their parents worked. You knew it was rather that they didn’t want you here, a stranger in their home. Falieneans had never been the most hospitable and were incredibly superstitious. The eyes that met you as you glanced up were cold and uninviting. If you had not known the man behind those eyes, you might have felt uncomfortable under his gaze. But you did know him; you had known him since you were a child. 

There was little difference from how you remembered him; maybe his beard had grown more gray and his face more wrinkled. Brannigan, Master of the Docks. His assistance in overseeing the sailors and the boats made him a close friend of your father. But from the icy tone and the distant look in his eyes… he did not recognize you. 

“No need to fret, Brannigan, I will be out of your way soon.” You hummed to the muscled, older man. You watched as a flicker of surprise crossed his face, his eyebrows twitching upward. He looked at you, truly looked. His gaze turned from frigid to something more analytical. You didn’t speak as he stared, his eyes darting from the silver rings on your fingers, the trident necklace at your neck, and the way your hair was braided. 

You watched as he slowly understood who you were, a glimmer of familiarity crossing his features. You could not blame him; the last time he saw you, you were a child. And now you were here, returning as a woman. 

But as quickly as that familiarity crossed his face, it was gone, once again replaced with an indifferent gaze. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mother, My Lady.” Brannigan finally spoke. His words did nothing to quell the gnawing anxiety in your stomach as you picked up on the bitterness of his tone. The sweet man you had once known was gone in that moment, replaced with something hardened and apathetic. 

You kept your face straight as your eyes found the sailors, all of whom had paused their duties to watch the interaction with their own hardened stares. There was no joy or spark of excitement to see you. Their lady finally returned, and they were filled with resentment. 

They were angry with you. 

You nodded stiffly at Brannigan, meeting his eye once more. “Thank you. I am just glad to see her returned to Faliene.” 

Brannigan gave you his own rigid nod in return, a hum grumbling in his chest. The ache in your own chest continued to grow, the imagined serpent squeezing tighter until you nearly forgot how to breathe. You could understand why they were angry; they had been abandoned in their time of need. For the years that your mother was ill, money and trade grinded nearly to a halt with no one to oversee the paperwork. Those duties were supposed to fall to King Harrison, who failed to do so once the war began. 

And now those duties would fall to your future husband, if he decided to make it worth his time. 

The Falieneans must have been aware of your situation and that of your mother. They must have been familiar with the intricacies of politics and war, but they had come to despise you. They assumed you were spoiled at Haiford Castle, and they were starving. You could see the hunger that clung to them, the holes in their clothes, and the weariness in their bones. You were stuck between two worlds, one of which considered you too northern, while the other considered you too southern. 

“We had hoped for news of a marriage.” Brannigan spoke once more, his words being the final nail in the coffin. There it was – the hatred, the bitterness, and the loathing. You let out a sharp breath through your nose, trying to ignore the bile rising in your throat. 

You felt the urge to explain, to pull apart all that had happened in your absence and lay it bare. You wanted them to understand that you did care and that you weren’t some foolish little girl. You wanted to explain the Rumlow problem, the relationship forming between you and James, and the older lords who simply wanted more children and not a ghost city–

But you didn’t. It wasn’t right. 

Instead, you held it close to your chest and plastered on a small, brittle smile. “I had hoped so too.”

You quickly bid them farewell and walked stiffly back to your horse, hoping they had not noticed how badly your hands shook. 

—

By the time you were walking through the front doors of Fort Faliene, you were sick with anxiety. A cold sweat had begun to form under your layers of clothing, and a sore ache was developing in your stomach. It took all your strength not to let tears slip on the ride back up the hill; that would have to wait until you were alone. Thankfully, it did seem like you were. Since there was no carriage, luggage, or guests in sight, the ladies’ maids and footmen must have shown the traveling party to their rooms. 

The dark wood floors and stone walls were just as you remembered, with deep azure rugs, paintings, and banners lining the walls. A grand staircase stood before you, with blue-stained rope twisted around the bannister as decoration. Old netting hung from the upper levels, with seashells and driftwood intertwined to look like fish. 

The scent was what hit you the most – something indescribable but specific to your childhood. Your heart squeezed as you noticed the rocks and seashells lining the windowsills, the bookshelves stuffed full of books, and the unique knick-knacks your father had once collected. 

“You look like shit!” A voice called down from the staircase. You glanced upward, unable to hold back the smile that grew on your face. A young redheaded woman stood half-way up, grinning back at you. You knew she had never been one to consider her words before speaking. It was probably one of the reasons you two had grown so close during your childhood. She probably wasn’t wrong either; you imagined the stress and travel and had made you a bit haggard. The ache in your chest eased at finally seeing a familiar face who didn’t hate you immediately.

“Nice to see you too, Wanda.” You called back up to her, and she bounded down the stairs. Her skirts bounced and swirled around her legs, and you were only able to let out a soft ‘oof’ noise as she bowled into you. Her arms wrapped around you as she pulled you in for a hug, the strands of her hair tickling your cheek as she rested her chin on your shoulder. 

You resisted the urge to inhale her scent, instead winding your own arms around her form as you hugged her back tightly. Another piece of home. 

Wanda’s mother had been your mother's maid. You had run rampant through the halls of Fort Faliene, causing chaos and stealing food from the kitchens. The two of you would gossip and play along the docks, balancing on the wooden railings and softly singing Falienean folk songs. Wanda, like you, had grown into a woman since you had last seen her; in fact, she was a few inches taller than you now. Unlike you she had received her coming-of-age tattoos: a line on her chin and swirling patterns and runes across her fingers, hands, and forearms. 

“You smell like horse.” Wanda comments in her dry, northern accent, wrinkling up her nose as she pulls away. You roll your eyes at her in return, allowing her to take your cloak into her hands. It seemed she had followed her mother's profession, becoming a maid for your family, though you could not say what duties she would have had in your absence. 

“Travelling does that, I’m afraid.” You state as you walk up the stairs. They were the same dark color as the floors, with a cerulean blue runner down the center. The stairs reached a landing and split into two sets, which led to different sides of the balcony that overlooked the entrance. 

“I trust the pass wasn’t too terrible to travel?” Wanda hummed as she followed you.

“It was fine. I couldn’t say that same for the guests though; but we all know traveling that pass is the initiation process to see who will survive the chill.” You reply, and Wanda snickers softly in response. 

You paused briefly on the landing, straining your neck to look at the large portrait that hung overlooking the space. An oil painting of your mother and father after their wedding, smiling happily in their dress and suit. Your mother wore the heirloom necklace you had worn to the ball – layers of pearls and seashells – and seeing it now left you feeling uneasy. 

“It’s creepy having them watching.” Wanda admits from beside you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, tearing your eyes away. Living within these walls must have been unsettling after the plague, having to grow accustomed to the eerie silence that smothered the city. 

“I imagined these halls would feel… wrong without them, but it’s just as I remember.” You utter back, turning to face the next set of stairs. You see Wanda smile sadly from behind her hair, her own eyes briefly looking back at the portrait before following you. 

“You sound like one of them now, your accent is all strange.” Wanda observes as the two of you ascend. 

“I do not.” You grumble, and Wanda gives you another beaming smile, a teasing one. 

“Who would’ve thought? I remember when we would curse the bastards while throwing stones off the dock! My Lady, a proper southerner, how wrong is that?” She mocks, and you visibly cringe, scoffing. 

“Don’t say that, I’m already having a terrible day–” You begin with a groan, your head leaning back as you look at the high ceiling. 

“I take it the docks didn’t go well?” Wanda interjects; she is still smiling, but you can sense the uncertainty in her tone. 

You bite back a sigh. You don’t question how she already knew you had gone down there. She probably guessed you had the moment you didn’t turn up with the main party. Even as a child, you had the tendency to slip away to the shoreline, and your mother was often exasperated by your avoidance of important dinners. The two of you had treated the waters like a safe haven, a place you could disappear and cause havoc.

You chewed on what had happened down at the docks, debating if it was worth bringing up your worries to Wanda. You had been close friends once, and you hoped time had done nothing to ruin that bond between you. “Brannigan seems to have become bitter in his old age–” 

“Don’t listen to that idiot.” Wanda interjects once more, her tone irritated, and you bite your tongue.

From her reaction, your assumptions are correct. The cold stares were purposeful; there was distrust and unease spreading through your beloved home. Your people were angry with you because of things you could not control and because of things they could not know. They felt abandoned by your mother and, in turn, by you. Your one duty was to marry and provide security, but it seemed you had failed even that. A part of you felt like a fool for assuming they would welcome you with open arms. 

If only your mother had not grown sick, if only the lords of the continent were not pigs in fancy dress, if only James was not in debt to Haiford... You could list so many reasons to feel sorry for yourself, yet you were still stumped for solutions. You were still in the midgame, hesitantly moving pieces as you tried to fix everything. 

Maybe you were just a foolish girl after all.

“What if he is right?” You mumbled, assuming that Wanda had heard whatever grievance the sailors had with you. 

“About what?” 

“About me? I get the feeling that he does not approve of me as a lady, like I am somehow sabotaging Faliene. All the sailors hate me, he must be muttering things in their ear. He had the gall to bring up my lack of marriage prospects in front of all of the men.” You groan as you look down at your feet in defeat.

Wanda lets out an annoyed hiss, rolling her eyes while her shoulders tense. “Brannigan has been muttering about change for years now, he’s just too much of a pussy to do anything about it beyond bitching and moaning to anyone who will–”

Wanda's words stopped abruptly as you rounded the corner onto the balcony. You look up from your feet to see why. Steve and James linger by the banisters, trying to seem like they hadn’t watched and listened to the whole interaction unfold below them. Steve turns his back, as if trying to hide his face from you. Your lips press into a fine line, James’ gaze burning on you as always. 

“I keep forgetting we have company for once.” Wanda mumbles under her breath to you, and you shake your head, pulling your gaze away from the two Galantians as they intensely try to make themselves look busy or distracted. 

“Don’t worry, they won’t say anything.” You murmur back. “In fact, they will probably find it funny.”

“You know them well, then? It seems I have missed a lot.” You don’t miss the teasing tone and can only muster a low groan in reply. 

Wanda giggled softly in your ear, linking your arms together as you walked past James and Steve. She offers the two men a curt bow of her head, while your gaze remains fixed strictly ahead. The last thing your anxiety needed was the two men meddling with your emotions. 

“I had you moved into your parents' old room, I hope you don’t mind.” Wanda mentions as you reach the end of the balcony, turning down one of the long corridors that lead to the main wing. “The rest are in the guest wing.” 

“Were my parents' belongings removed?” You ask cautiously, following the familiar path down the halls and up a spiraling staircase. 

“Some of your fathers were after... but most of it remains the same. I can have them removed, if you like?” 

“No, leave them. I just... hoped that they hadn’t been discarded.” You admit sheepishly, and Wanda gives you another one of her sad smiles. 

You were eager to dismiss Wanda once you arrived in your parents old room, wanting a moment alone. Although some spaces remained empty where you knew your father's belongings would have been, it was mostly the same as you remembered. 

It seemed to have been regularly cleaned and dusted, with a new set of sheets and furs atop the bed. One of your father's many bookshelves stood against the wall, half empty. Your mother’s vanity lay mostly bare, with the exception of some shells you had gifted to her as a child. 

Tears pricked your eyes at the sight of the half-empty closet. You ran your fingers through the fabric of your mother’s old gowns, left behind as you two fled to the capital. Beyond the lingering scent of dust, you could still make out the faint smell of her floral soap and perfume clinging to the fabric. 

You could not stand to look at your mother’s crafts which still decorated the room. Cushions embroidered, the fabric and thread faded by the sun. Even the large lace doilies remained draped over the bedside tables. You wondered how many pieces of her craft still lay unfinished in your dowry chest. You recalled your mother handcrafting your wedding veil not long after your eighth birthday. 

With a hard swallow, you kick off your boots and curl up sideways on the bed, staring up into the canopy. Only then do you allow the tears to flow. 

—

The drums began at dawn. They started out low and distant, and it was not until the sun started to rise higher over the waters that they picked up speed, rumbling and thundering down the streets. Faliene came to life for the first time in years, her heart beating so quickly that it drowned out the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. 

The final traveling party had arrived the night before, after a week or so of traversing the mountain pass. Families had descended from the Stormfall Mountains, and sailors had returned from the open ocean, their beards frozen and their skin chapped. Today was your mother's funeral. You needed to be strong.  

The crowd congregated on Caloe Peak, a small outcropping of land close to the fort. An open, level landing was surrounded by mounds of snow. At its center lay the funeral pyre, wood logs stacked to hip height with your mother's body atop. The stiff, pale limbs of your mother were clasped at her chest. An assortment of flowers, shells, and rocks formed an outline around her body. Her long, dark hair spread out beneath her, giving her a small, sickly appearance. In spite of that, she finally appeared at peace.

You stood near the back, your cloak obscuring your form and your hood pulled back to hide your face. The crowd had not yet become aware of your presence. Instead, a knot in your stomach tightened as you considered the situation in front of you. 

The Falieneans and the visitors made up two groups within the crowd. In contrast to the Haifordians and Galantians, who appeared more uncertain, the Asgardians appeared at ease and unfazed by the situation in front of them. James was standing at the front of the group, his eyes sweeping the Falienean women as if he were looking for you. 

Beside a flaming torch, Priest Helman stood. He was an older man, balding with a salt and pepper beard. He had numerous tattoos on his body, and below each of his eyes, kohl was drawn in a line. Rither and Arthard, his acolytes, stood beside him, attempting to control a rambunctious, wild mountain goat that had been captured and brought down from the mountains.

Only as you expertly weaved your way through the crowd did the Falienean’s pause their murmuring. Your heavy cloak dragged across the icy ground, and the material was soiled and damp. The fabric itself was embroidered with swirling runes and designs, which served as spells of protection, and the edges were trimmed with a thick, heavy coat of fur. It was critical that you remained strong and protected in preparation for the ritual. Falieneans believed that spirits hung close when a funeral was near, and it was hard to predict if a spirit was friend or foe. 

As you paused in front of Priest Helman, a heavy silence fell over the clearing, the drums falling silent for the first time in hours. Brannigan could be seen in your peripheral vision, his face as cold as ever, arms crossed over his chest. This funeral was a test in many ways, not only in terms of your strength as a daughter but also as a leader. Brannigan hung near the crowd of guests, assuming the role of explaining the significance of each part of the ritual. 

Helman reached out with wrinkled fingers, carefully removing the hood from your head before wordlessly unclasping your cloak. You wore a simple black dress with short sleeves that exposed your arms and shoulders to the chill. Helman murmured a brief prayer under his breath, and you felt goosebumps spread across your skin. 

“It is believed by our people that when there is a funeral, spirits linger. Until it can be freed by fire, the soul of the deceased is imprisoned inside the body. The women can see and feel the spirits, so it is their purpose to protect the soul so it does not become another spirit, trapped between worlds.” Brannigan’s rough voice explained, and the crowd hesitantly hummed in response. 

You continued to move through the motions of the ritual as he spoke. Having observed and participated in numerous funerals in your youth, you knew every step by heart. Getting down on your knees, you encircled the mountain goat's face with your hands, gently hushing it as it wriggled in your hold. You could see the whites of its eyes and the split pupil darting around in fear. As you caressed the goat's face with your fingers and muttered a silent plea, Rither and Arthard kept the animal still. 

“Give us strength, little one.” 

The animal jerks under you, its scream of pain cut short as Helman swiftly runs a knife along its throat. Blood spills down the goat's neck, dripping into a large wooden bowl below. With the goat's knees buckling, you move with it, stooping lower to the ground. You mutter soothing words as its eyes roll back in terror and its chest heaves. Only as its body grows still, slumping to the ground fully, do you withdraw your fingers from its coarse coat. 

“The women must dance around the body, creating a wall to keep the spirits away. The closest living relative must lead the dance, it is their duty to stay dancing until all the other women have fallen and the body is burnt to ash.” Brannigan continues to explain as you carefully close the eyes of the goat.

Some of the men advance, picking up the body and dragging it out of the clearing. The carcass would be delivered to the kitchens, where it would be prepared for the subsequent feast. Slowly, you rise once more, an arctic breeze caressing your skin as you lock eyes with Priest Helman. 

Rither and Arthard take the bowl of thick, crimson blood, pouring a small pitcher of salt water in. Their hands reach into the mixture, swirling and mixing it until the liquid is smooth. Their hands extend and lather the mixture along your arms, upper chest, and neck, sending a chill down your spine. The layer is warm at first, then quickly grows cold under the frigid breeze blowing from the ocean. 

“What is the blood for, then?” You hear one of the guests ask as you flex your fists, exhaling sharply as Rither and Arthard move on to the crowd of women. The mixture is slick against your skin, droplets pooling in your palm and cleavage as you find your position next to the funeral pyre. 

“For strength. The essence of the animal will give the women the strength to continue on, the ritual can last for hours or days. The leader needs the most strength, so she is given the most essence.” Brannigan continues to explain. You watch as the women of Faliene line up, allowing Rither and Arthard to flick blood onto their faces. 

“And what happens if she falls before the others?” The familiar voice of Prince Michael asks, and you don’t have to look up at him to hear the sneer in his voice. 

“Then her mother’s soul is lost forever.” Brannigan says, and you swallow hard. You doubted Brannigan would hold you in much respect if you failed or gave in to weakness. 

Around the pyre, the women slowly start to join you, forming several layers of close circles. The young and elderly occupied the outer ring farthest from the pyre, while you stood in the one closest to it. Those who were most likely to fall first would be on the outer rings, while the strongest were in the middle as a final defense against the spirits. 

As Helman moves through the rings holding a blazing torch, silence descends once more. The dry brush comes to life in vibrant orange and yellow hues as the pyre ignites. Helman pulls away from the circle, the wood crackling and smoke filling your nostrils. Only when you give a small nod do the drums start once more. 

Your ring started dancing to the right as soon as your hands were linked to the women next to you, while the next ring started dancing to the left. You envisioned it from above to resemble a swirling mass of skirts, with each ring moving in a different direction in time with the beat. 

Your circle drew inward, tighter, and nearer to the flames as you whirled around the pyre. You could feel the heat licking at your skin. Relief was quick as you pulled outwards again, arms stretching out as far as they could go until interlocked hands were ripped apart. You all spun in place three times, then moved toward the fire again, hands interlocking as you continued to spiral in the opposite direction, pulling in and out like a beating heart. 

It was easy to fall into a trance, only focusing on your breath, where your feet fell, the heat of the fire, and the smoke in your lungs. The crowd of people became a blur; there were only you and the fire now. You could not see the Haifordian’s sneers, James’ heated gazes, or Brannigan's cold stares anymore; you were alone with the spirits now. 

It didn’t take long for the first to stumble and drop out, mostly younger children and the elderly, as the pace became too much to follow. You could taste copper in your mouth; your breathing was ragged; and a layer of sweat was growing across your skin. Even if the air burned with each gulp you inhaled, you felt alive. The women who stood on the edges began to sing Falienean folk songs along with the drums, swaying in place as they silently encouraged those still dancing. You could’ve sworn in your daze that you saw the spirits hovering – translucent and frightening with crooked smiles and long talons. 

You did not notice as the sun arced further into the sky, then back down to earth. You did not even notice as the crowd began to thin, guests abandoning their posts in favor of sleep as the sun was replaced by the moon. As time continued to pass, you became one with the drums and fire, your limbs aching with each step. 

Briefly, you jolted and stumbled as the woman beside you fell to her knees, a nearby man dragging her out before she was trampled by the dancers. The fire had begun to grow cold; the roaring flames had turned to crackling embers. Even as the smoke cleared and you were only left with the icy winds that burned your lungs, you did not fall. 

One by one, the dancers grew tired, falling to their knees, limp and exhausted. The once-slick blood that had layered your bare skin had begun to crack and peel, with some sections smudged by the sweat that had gathered. The sun began to rise once again, its warm rays of light a welcome gift for your stiff, exhausted body. 

The crowd grew in size once more, with guests gathering as they sensed the dance was nearing its end. Across the ashes was Wanda, and the two of you locked into a silent stare as you continued to dance. You could see her movements were growing sluggish; she was beginning to trip over her own feet as she fought to stay upright. 

Through your haze, your reactions slowed as Wanda finally fell, her knees biting painfully into the frozen earth below. You staggered as you came to a stop, your chest heaving and your legs trembling. Wanda’s hands dug into the frozen mud, a small sob escaping her as the exhaustion and pain took over her frame. 

Your body did not feel like your own as you walked slowly towards her, your lungs burning as you cocked your head to one side. You could not crouch down beside her out of fear of not being able to get up yourself. Instead, you extended your hand, using the last of your might to pull her to her feet and into a brief embrace. 

“Savor your strength.” Wanda choked into your ear, tears still trailing down her pale face. “Your journey is not over yet.” 

—

You crouched by the waters edge, scooping handfuls of the arctic waters onto the exposed sections of skin to scrub away the blood and ash. it stung your flesh and left an ache in your bones. Your legs were still shaking from exhaustion as you knelt by the water's edge. The crowd had dispersed, and they were now returning to Fort Faliene for the eagerly anticipated feast. 

Even though the last few steps of the funeral ritual were simpler to complete, they still required all of your remaining energy. You were expected to gather handfuls of your mother's ashes, and place them inside a small ceramic urn. The ashes had still been warm as you collected them with your bare hands, with bone and rock hidden within. The last of the ashes that could not be stored within the urn would be spread at sea by the next boat to depart. 

After gathering the ashes, you walked down to the docks and got onto a rowboat, which ferried you to the Island of Tilla. Tilla was for the dead. The living were only allowed to step foot on the Island to bring the dead to their resting places. The only exception was the winter equinox, when Falieneans celebrated their ancestors. 

You had only visited the crypts a few times in your life; the dark, icy, winding stone corridors had terrified you as a child. Now, as an adult, it intrigued you. You found yourself examining the urns of your ancestors, your fingers tracing over the damp stone shelves and engravings. 

Your exploration was only interrupted when you came across the well-known urn of your father, where you ran your fingers along the dust-covered blue ceramic. You placed your mother’s urn next to him, uttered your prayers, and returned to the surface. 

Even though the cold made your hands and body tremble, you persisted in washing the final remnants of the ritual off your skin. You knew that if you took a bath, you would fall unconscious in the warm waters before you were able to attend the feast. So, instead, you opted for the more painful solution – shocking your system awake with the icy sea water. As usual, the ocean wind was biting, cutting deep into your bones until even your core felt frozen. 

“You look like you need this.” A familiar, deep voice spoke from behind you. You whirled your head around, your eyes snapping to where James stood, extending a heavy cloak for you to take. Your legs wailed in protest as you stumbled to your feet and gratefully buried your hands in the plush furs that trimmed the edges.  

“I take it that you’re talking to me again, then?” You grumble at the King, maybe a little too aggressively, “You haven’t spoken to me since the pass,” you clarify at his bemused head tilt.

As you sweep the cloak over your shoulders shuddering while clasping it in place, James rubs his stubbled jaw in contemplation. Only as you pull the fabric closer to your body with a content sigh do you notice the scent. James’ scent. Your eyes flicker over him briefly, now noticing the glaringly obvious lack of a cloak around his own shoulders. 

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” He finally speaks up. “I was waiting until you came to me.”

You give a long and hard stare, trying to hold still as the shivers continue to grip your body beneath his cloak. You clutch the cloak closer to yourself as a gust of glacial air blows straight through you. James seems mostly unbothered by the cold, with only a tinge of pink to his ears and nose. His clothing was thick and expensive, mostly sparing him from the chill.

“I don’t understand.” You finally say, your voice strained as you try not to let your teeth chatter. James lets out a long sigh, motioning you away from the water that laps around your boots as the tide pushes up the shore. 

“You seemed… troubled. I understand what it is like to have anxieties about your people and their expectations of you. I thought it better if I allowed you some space to mull it over and be with them.” He explains, gently taking hold of your forearm through the cloak as he leads the both of you off the sandy shore and back onto the docks. Your calves are relieved to be on solid ground once more, no longer fighting against the shifting sands.

“Oh.” Is all you can mutter, your fatigued brain working twice as hard to digest the information it was given. “I thought… I thought you were upset with me for prying about Rebecca that night.”

“What?” James half-barks, bewildered by your assumption.

You furrow your eyebrows. Did he not… remember that night? Your tone is confused as you speak up. “That night when I came to your room because Steve and Peggy were... We spoke of the past, I thought I had upset you or somehow overshared–”

“Why would you think that?” He questions, his tone equally as confused.

You halt your walking, chewing the inside of your cheek with a sigh as you try to decide if your worries are worth divulging. It seemed that James was trying to be more thoughtful than you initially assumed; had you let your anxieties build until you constructed a fantasy in your mind?

“Because... because I reached out for you and then Steve walked in and you wouldn’t even look at me, it was like you were disgusted by me or–” Your words fade off as James looks at you hard, and then, to your surprise, he laughs. He actually laughs.

You feel like recoiling, maybe even crying, but then he closes the distance between you, pulling you into his arms. In your weariness you don’t protest, instead you lay your head against his strong sternum. Below your ear, his chest rumbles with a chuckle before giving way to a short sigh as he brushes his fingers through your wind-blown hair. Some of the braids had come loose during the dance, and you could only assume it smelled of smoke. 

“I couldn’t look at you because I knew I wouldn’t have been able to control my actions.” He admits it hesitantly, and your attention perks up at that. “If Steve hadn’t walked in... I would have kissed you right there on the spot.”

“James–” You mutter in astonishment, pulling back your head as you look up at him. His own head dips, his nose ghosting along your jaw and neck as he begins to mumble his next words to you. It was as if a tightly coiled rope had finally snapped within James, his touch and words were suddenly insatiable, as if any sense or sensibility had been unbridled. Your body shivers, this time not from the cold.

“You drive me mad. I am sick with madness for you. I can’t look at you because I can’t control my thoughts. I lay awake at night thinking of you, your scent, and the way you feel. Every day on that damn mountain, I would look at you and imagine how you would taste, how you would react to my touch, the sounds you would make. Do you understand? You’ve intoxicated me, you’ve possessed my mind, body, and soul with desire.” His voice is husky as he speaks, desperate and ravenous as his fingers grasp at your waist tightly and his lips graze across your neck. 

Arousal pools in your gut, and your legs feel even weaker than before. You whimper softly at his words. Your hands make a fist around the fabric of his shirt, holding on desperately in the hopes that your knees won’t fully buckle. 

“That is why I distanced myself, I knew it was unfair to burden you with such thoughts while you were in mourning and planning the–”

“James.” You cut him off. Your voice is strained, your mind is dizzy and delirious from his scent and touch. Somehow finding the strength, you lift one of your hands and gently caress his face with your thumb. “I feel the same way.”

The grin that he gives you is nearly enough to knock you off your feet once more. If it weren’t for the lingering fear that someone was watching this very public display, you would have stood on your toes to kiss him. You would’ve let him consume you whole. 

Unfortunately, the sensible part of your brain knew better, or rather, thankfully, because right on cue, Steve and Wanda rounded the corner of the docks. The two seemed to hesitate for a moment, noticing the proximity at which you both stood. A short, sharp sigh escapes your nose as you glance between Steve, Wanda, and James. 

Reluctantly, you pull back, instantly missing the warmth of his touch. Even from a distance, you can see the wide grin that both Steve and Wanda sport. You expected a lengthy integration when you were next alone with Wanda. 

“I think you need to fasten a bell on Steve.” You mumble lowly, and James chuckles, briefly rubbing your back before once again gently leading you up the docks. 

“He does have a way of interrupting us, doesn’t he?”

taglist | @liter4ti @just-someone11 @champagnejoker @scooobies @queerqueenlynn @fanfictionjunkie1112 @themotherof10 @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes series #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel #fantasy au #fanfiction #royalty au #lady of the ghosts

[wholoveseggs]

Fantasy men that could have me in an absolute chokehold.

Trying to see if anyone else has the same taste...

Reblog with your favs :) ❤❤❤

Aragorn - Lord of the rings

~That door scene has lived rent free in my mind since 2000~

Neo - The Matrix

~90's Keanu at his FINEST -- No one can pull off a trench coat like him~

Jon Snow - Game of thrones

~He knows nothing and looks good doing it~

Robb Stark - Game of thrones

~Hottest family on the show? yes...~

Oberyn Martel - Game of thrones

~Just... Ridiculously sexy~

~Game of thrones did a number on me~

Elijah Mikaelson - The Vampire Diaries

~Hot as he is lethal~

Geralt of Rivia - The Witcher

~I volunteer to be the next roach 🤚~

Daemon Targaryen - House of the dragon

~So toxic. But it makes him hotter~

~I guess I'm attracted to men who could easily cut me in half with a sword and/or a swift karate chop~

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #jon snow #robb stark #oberyn martell #game of thrones #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diares imagine #the originals #geralt of rivia #the witcher #Neo #the matrix #aragorn #lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #return of the king #the two towers #hot as fuck #fantasy #handsome #the vampire diaries

[greypetrel]

Last Resorts of Good Men - Aftermath

Who else wanted to hug Dorian after Last Resorts of Good Men, tho? I'm sure I'm not the only one, come on, and this scene lives in my head rent-free.

Some feelZ I wrote more extensively here, an extract under the cut!

It’s a couple of hours before Dorian gets out of the tavern, and finds Lavellan napping against the wall just out of the tavern’s door, sitting on a stool and propped against the white lime of the outer wall, tucked securely in her cloak and feet well planted on the sittee, nose and cheeks red from the cold.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up…”

He shakes her delicately by her shoulder, meeting her eyes as she bats her lashes as she realises where she is and whom she’s looking at, just awake. Her eyes are red and a little puffy still, making her irises even greener than usual by contrast.

“What time is it?” She asks, groggily.

“Time for you to stop falling asleep in the snow, before your dashing Commander will have my head.”

“Mpf, it was only a nap.”

“I know, it’ll get me some good money on Varric’s poll. Come on.”

There is sarcasm and friendly teasing in the hole he leaves behind, raising up and reaching to fumble with the horse pasturer the elf has put on on both of the animals in the meanwhile. None of them fills the gap, tho, settling to work in silence, fitting in each other’s space automatically and not looking at the hole that’s still there. It’s the hug she didn’t give him in Skyhold nor in the day and a half of travel, it has the shape of Felix, putting them both at ease when they’re both to tired and upset to speak anymore. It’s the two hours that passed since Aisling left the two Pavus alone, and the incognita of the future. It’s the place they fit with each other with the ongoing rumour about them, and the fact that they’re by default unfounded, but by default they can’t be ignored. It’s the small, crucial, little chance one of them just had, and the small, crucial difference it painfully highlighted.

They walk out of the village still in silence, Aisling helping Dorian up cupping her hands without him asking, to offer a step closer to the saddle. He just nods in thanks, she oomphs when he steps on her hands, pushing him up. She mounts second, clicking her tongue to signal both horses to start. As it starts snowing lightly, she slips out her hood, pointing her nose up and breathing deeply.

The path needs to wind up an ill, running on the hilltop and looking out at misty valleys, grey and white all around dotted by black trees and still green conifers, before someone speaks again. And it’s Dorian.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride.” He explains, words coming out slowly and heavily, and as she turns her head towards him, horses walking side by side, the snow falling too light to really pose a concern to be blocked down, his head is turned towards the hills, looking at everything and at nothing at all. “Once I’d been overjoyed to hear him say that, you know. Now… Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

She knows when he’s faking a laughter, when he’s bitchy and snappy because he’s tired or upset or hungry, when he’s sincerely happy. She has never heard him this down, tho, and it clenches her heart painfully. She has a question on her tongue, about what and how, but it can wait until later. Not now, not here.

“Are you all right?” Is all she can ask, now, delicately.

“No.” He sighs, deeply. “Not really.”

He turns towards her, pulling the reins to bring the horse closer. With little success, and it’s mostly the elf who needs to slower and manoeuvre a little to pull them side by side, as much as it’s possible.

“Thank you for bringing me out here.” He continues, looking at her, finally. “It’s not what I expected but… It’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display…”

He snorts, the deprecating irony still something to patch the hole that’s still there. But it’s just them, out there, no one around to see them or mind two random travellers on the road. So, she can stretch a hand, making grabby motion to beckon him on. He huffs, shaking his head but still grabbing her hand, a little unsurely.

“I think you have a huge heart that you don’t get yourself credit for, and that you’re very brave.” She replies, squeezing his fingers to underline it.

“Brave?”

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and to walk your own path, is it.”

A pause, he doesn’t reply, just motions to let go of her hand, but she doesn’t follow it, still letting them hang between them. It’s not so comfortable, on horseback, but she cares little, leaning a little on the side against him, as much as she can without Walter mistaking it for a command. Luckily the fourier isn’t the brightest of horses, or the more attuned with her, and doesn’t veer.

“I wouldn’t have made it, in your place, and… I’m sorry, about before.”

“What for?”

“I didn’t push you to do anything you didn’t want, did I?”

“You horrible person, push me to do what?” “To bridge a gap you maybe didn’t want to cross. I… I never wanted to know my mother’s name.”

There’s another pause, and Aisling is the one, now, to look away, words coming out of her mouth automatically.

“It’s not to… Take the attention away, I swear, it’s just…” She huffs, shrugging her shoulders. “Some Dalish clans don’t accept more than three mages. The Keeper, the First and the Second apprentices. If another child shows magic, they’re either adopted by other clans, or… or left in the woods. That what happened to Minaeve, she was lucky to be found and brought to a Circle. I was luckier, the Lavellans had just a First apprentice, and I was adopted by them. I didn’t speak for two months, when I realised that my mother didn’t follow me. Sometimes parents cross the clans as well, but mines… Didn’t.”

It's Dorian’s turn to squeeze her fingers, and she cracks a smile, squeezing back at the gesture.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. But… I don’t know, I think it must count as something that your father came all the way down here to see you. That he actually looked for you and tried to fix it. But I hope I didn’t push you, did I? Maybe you didn’t want to, and that’s-“

“How do you- What- Can you maneuvre the mega-fauna some more??” He grumbles, now tugging at her hand and flapping the reins about, frowning at the horse.

Aisling giggles, asking what he wants to do, and devising a plan that just makes him fumble with uneasiness and worry, as she slips her feet away from the stirrups and carefully, cooing at the horses, steps from one to the other to sit in front of the Tevinter, with both her legs dangling on the side of poor, good Gwinevere and snaking her arms around Dorian’s torso. He grumbles a little that this seems like a much dangerous situation and they’re both gonna break their necks in a very stupid death, but as she squeezes him, laughing and promising him some riding lessons, he hugs her back, holding tight. It’s long overdued and none of them let go, settling against the other more comfortably: it’s just them, out there, no one’s rushing them over, no one’s watching or spreading rumours, they can just be, and fill the hole of before together.

“It’s ok. You’re not alone, you know?” She whispers, rubbing circles on his back as she feels him shivering.

He snorts, and hugs her tighter nevertheless, shaking his head a little -his moustaches tickle her cheek, making her giggle again.

“Look at you, already catching on the road of perdition of Dalish scandalous nonchalance about physical contact…” She teases, just to lighten the mood a little, but far from letting him go. Oh, she has needed a hug herself since she woke up on the mountain, cold as hell, under her weight in pelts, and with a dislocated shoulder she was forbidden to move, and she’s not letting go before he does.

“It’s definitely all your fault, you see, your mushiness is contagious. Mother was never a hugger either...” It’s self-derogatory again, but this time there’s no Vivienne to shoo her away, nor distance or holes that need to be filled.

“Mh, lucky I’m here to give all the hugs you’re owed, then…”

“Lucky indeed…”

They stay there for some more, the horses deciding to stop on their own, the snow giving them privacy and silence. It’s been the week, and none is really in a hurry to get back and put up masks again. But just for here, and now, they can let everything go and just breathe and exist. For once, it’s not Aisling the first to start crying.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da fanart #dorian pavus #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #da: i #sketch #sketchbook #aisling lavellan #dragon age oc #oc love #traditional art #da fic #writing #greypetrel

[luminitewrites]

In a Different Light: Scene Two

Back with part two of the Sleuth Jesters!actor AU! AO3 link is above, but the entire chapter will also be included below, as usual. And of course, many thanks to @naffeclipse for these characters who have lived rent free in my head for months now hehe <3

Hope you all enjoy! It's time for those other kisses.

Rating: T Word Count: ~23,300 Content Warnings: Very mildly suggestive content Summary: The animatronic sighs heavily.

“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”

As he says this, he reaches up and hooks a finger underneath one of the straps. His air is nothing short of coy, like an idea has just taken shape in his devious mind, and he slowly eases the fabric across his shoulder, flirting with slipping it over the edge. A curled metal digit suggestively rubs the suspender. It would probably have a much greater effect on you if his little show wasn’t currently being backed by cheery elevator music, and that alone has your lips spasmodically twitching.

Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.

“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.

~~~

The city streets on New Year’s Eve paint a scene of winter white awash in the pale yellow shine from stores and lampposts. Strings of warm lights keep the sidewalks appearing deceptively cozy, but you know that just beyond the cold glass of the car window is an even brutally colder world. The temperature at last dipped to the single digits today, and with the sun having just disappeared below the horizon, casting the sky in a dark blue and gray mix, everything will freeze over tonight.

Craning your neck so that you can see the sky better, you know that the heavy darkness that greets you from above holds layers of clouds thick with snow. The forecast you caught a glimpse of on the TV before Moon had ushered you out of your home stated that the snowfall accumulation was anticipated to reach an extra five inches.

Probable reason to stay indoors. That hasn’t stopped your work party from staying on schedule at some ritzy, swanky hotel the city is known for, and nothing short of a disaster will impede the event. The show must go on, or so the producer had said. Attendance isn’t mandatory, as today is a company-observed holiday, but it is heavily encouraged since the one previously planned earlier had to be postponed to tonight. Maybe you’re the fool for going to this one, but you’ve actually been really looking forward to it. It’s a chance to celebrate with everyone all the hard work they’ve put into each scene. When the final episode of your team’s triumphant efforts airs, another party will be due, but this one feels extra special despite filming not being done yet. You’re welcoming in the new year together, and after all the time you’ve spent getting to know your coworkers, not going to the party held tonight would feel like you’re missing out immensely. You need this reprieve just as much as everyone else does. 

And… well. The present company attending the party certainly factors into your desire to go. One-third of your favorite attendees sits next to you now, and you pull away from the window of the car to peer at Moon instead.

The beloved hat from his detective costume remains firm on his head—the sole piece he seems to have grown a deep attachment to. It suits him well and almost makes you feel like you’re still in the middle of a shoot, acting out a scene with Detective Moon in his patrol car as you scour the city together.

His gloved hands rest on the wheel, and his eyes remain fixated on the road ahead. A very good thing, given his typical driving habits and the fact that you’re sure he knows most of the city police by name now. Not by choice either. That’s exactly why you didn’t relay to Sun or Eclipse how you were getting to the party until you’d fastened your seatbelt. For one, when Moon had offered to come pick you up and escort you to the hotel, how could you have possibly said no to that? It sure beats paying for an expensive lift to the event. For another, the texts you’ve since received are nothing short of concerned. After the string of praying emojis Sun had posted in the group chat, you’d decided to just put away your phone for the time being.

You’ll be fine. Moon hasn’t hit any obstacles yet, literal or figurative, though that was a bit of a close brush with a tree he had on that last turn.

As he often does, he senses your eyes on him without needing to check. 

“I can feel your stare digging into my faceplate. What is it?” His voice starts out in that soft grumble you’ve come to adore, but then his low pitch lifts to a little more lilting—a tease. “See something you like, maybe?”

The instinctive response that wants to clamber out of your throat is quickly choked down. Even though he’s the one who’s mentioned it, you suspect he has no idea. You’ve long since soared past “liking” him. That conversation you had with Eclipse weeks ago has not left your thoughts since. Every day at work, every night in bed, you’ve thought about what he’d said. What he’d done. You now know that the attraction you feel for the others is not just in your head. That part is indisputable. Having a relationship with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse is appealing to you in no small amount. You just needed the time to realize that on your own and make sure that this attraction wasn’t only a passing fancy.

Judging by how every single one of your waking thoughts has been centered on them for countless hours, you’re pretty sure you have your answer.

In a rare burst of what’s either bravery or stupidity, you decide to throw caution to wind. Your fingers wiggle as they sneak over Moon’s arm that’s closest to you and then dip around his wrist. There is a flash of red as he briefly glances away from the snowy roads, but he has to snap his attention back to the traffic around him. A car honks not too far away.

Honey couldn’t be sweeter than the smile that curls up your face. 

Buoyantly, like you haven’t spent hours agonizing over how to approach your feelings for him, you say in a singsong, airy tone, “I might.”

Moon chuffs. His dry amusement at your antics never fails in elevating your mood, though you couldn’t be happier as it is. You squeeze his wrist playfully, and his hand clenches around the steering wheel. Only a matter of time now.

The swish of the windshield wipers fills the quiet, broken only by the clicking of the turning signal as Moon takes a harrowing left. You’re honestly surprised he remembered to signal at all. His fingers drum atop the wheel while his processor tries to determine if this is a game worth playing. He knows as well as you just how risky diverting any of his fleeting attention from driving is, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t against having a fun time.

Your fingers skirt along the edge of his glove, cheekily dipping in just an inch, and Moon shakes his head.

“You’re betting your life, piccolina.”

You wrinkle your nose at the pet name.

“I’m not that small.”

Moon, contrary to his trepidation, lifts the hand you’ve been toying with off of the steering wheel just to give you a so-so gesture. You snatch the opportunity to claim your prize, but you get the impression that Moon purposely lets you take his hand. His glove creaks as leather intertwines with your own fingers, lacing together and squeezing.

You beam proudly at your catch, and Moon rubs his thumb across your knuckles. He thankfully doesn’t look away from the streets, so you take full advantage of smiling at him and enjoying the moment with your friend. Moon’s presence always embodies a sort of calm that lulls you. He’s someone you can sit with in quiet and not worry about filling the space with words. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up from snoozing on his shoulder. Whenever that happens, you always apologize profusely, but for some reason, it just keeps repeating itself, and Moon thoroughly basks in it—both in getting you to relax that much and also being able to razz you relentlessly about it when you wake up.

You suppose it’s a small price to pay.

“Comfortable?” your companion’s voicebox thrums.

Yes. Very much so. Incredibly so, in fact. But you can’t say that because you don’t want to drop the teasing nature that Moon evokes. The kindness in the simple question wraps around you like a warm hug.

“I suppose,” you trail off with a shrug, and though Moon isn’t even peeking at you, he can certainly see the movement in his peripheral.

He flicks the signal again when he reaches his next turn. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s signaling in the wrong direction though because at least he remembered to do it, and that’s what counts. As he slowly twists the wheel with only one hand, you hold your breath and hope some of the praying emojis Sun spammed in the group chat have a good effect. The tires skid a little in the slush of the road, but Moon miraculously doesn’t lose control, and he navigates onto the next street without further incident.

You breathe again.

“You suppose?” Moon drawls now that he’s not intensely focused on not crashing into a pedestrian or oncoming traffic. Or not as focused, you should say. 

“Mhm.” You tap your free hand on your thigh and assess the current arrangement that begs to be malleable and crafted to your liking. An idea begins to form.

You glance at the time on the dash. The party started a half-hour ago, which means you and Moon are already late. It’s fifty-fifty on who’s to blame for that one, so you don’t really feel too bad. What’s a few more minutes? Granted, his brothers will probably begin a search party if you don’t show up soon, but you’ll take that gamble.

“So I was thinking,” you cautiously open with, and the words roll across your tongue as you draw them out.

Moon groans.

With a dour metaphorical tongue, he drones, “Here we go.”

He’s already clued in on what you’re doing, and you have to bite your own tongue to stop the laugh that wants to come out when he tightens his grip on your hand. Depending on his mood and how charitable he’s feeling, the lunar animatronic can be swayed by your charm into going along with some scheme or another as long as it’s legal. Often, he’s one-half of the voices of reason in keeping you in line while another brother backs him up (the third being more easily swayed by your wily ways, and you’re not going to name names, but it’s Sun). However, Moon is overlooking one important fact: He’s currently alone with you. You don’t need much more than that.

The seconds drag on as Moon waits for you to lay out your clearly devilish scheme befitting only the worst of criminals. When it becomes apparent that you won’t, he gives another synthetic groan that is entirely disproportionate to the situation at hand, and at the next red light, he comes to a full stop only a little past the white line. Then, he turns to you.

“What is it you want?” he gruffly demands, like you’re about to ask him to commit petty crimes with you again.

Honestly. You’d only asked him that once, and that was just because you’d wanted to see if the vigilante style would suit you in this life too. Moon had acted like you’d offered to start a mob instead, the very opposite of what you were going for, and you think that maybe playing detective has gotten a little too into his head because he’d threatened to turn you over to the cops he apparently knows so well if he caught you doing anything nefarious.

Maybe you should have approached Sun first about that. He seems more like the type to let you do some shady Robin Hood-esque business while covering for you. 

But a little vigilantism isn’t on your plate tonight. Instead, you flutter your eyelashes at Moon, teeth peeking past your lips as you lose the fight in controlling your smile.

“I’d like a coffee please.”

A few more seconds of silence. His eyes don’t leave you for any of it, but you can practically see the mathematical formulas floating past him as he tries to parse for anything illegal in your request.

Slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, he says, “I’m sure they’ll have that at the party.”

To that, you then amend, “Yes, but I’d like a specialty coffee.”

“…And this coffee would be special how?”

“Because you’ll stop at that really good café a few blocks from the hotel to get it for me?”

It comes out as a question, but your hopefulness is tinged well throughout. You’d clasp your hands in front of your chest if you weren’t already holding his. 

Moon is sometimes difficult to get a read on, and even with no distractions around you, you can’t quite discern if he’s on your side this time. He searches your face like he’s studying some ancient script, committing lines to memory. His thumb still hasn’t stopped the soothing paths it follows across your hand.

Two quick presses to a car horn from behind jolt you and Moon. He resumes driving again, focusing back on the snowy road, and you reluctantly accept that you won’t get your way this time. That’s okay. Disappointing, but you can’t win them all. You’ll finagle things into your favor next—

“Tell me where to go,” comes the defeated exhale from your beloved companion.

You resist the wild urge to cheer and instead gleefully direct him to your new destination. It doesn’t take long to find it at all since the shop is directly along your current route. Incredibly, it’s still open even this evening—just what you were hoping for. Since the storm has begun to worsen, few people are out and about, which means rare street parking is open. Moon pulls into a space that is just a little ahead of the café, and you give his parallel parking the compliment that is due. 

He’s actually really far from the curb in a way that would have not flown if he were taking his driver’s test, but there’s enough room for other cars to squeeze past his if need be. So you’re still proud of him. He gives you a sort of suspicious, sideways frown, but you can tell from the bashful hunch of his shoulders that he’s preening at the attention nonetheless.

Whoever approved his driver’s license is either an angel or an advocate for causing trouble.

You offer to go into the café alone, but he quickly shuts that down and tells you to give him your drink order instead. You reluctantly do, and as you’re rummaging in your coat pocket to give him money for the drink, he’s already out the door and telling you to stay put. The door then slams shut, and Moon hurries through whirling snow to the well-lit doors of the café.

Slumping in your heated seat with an exasperated sigh, you watch him with fondness budding in your chest. He left the car running so you wouldn’t be left in the cold—just another gesture that makes you feel odd inside. Like you’re restless and full of energy that you don’t know what to do with. You’re overflowing with affection for someone you hadn’t known until just months ago, and now, you consider him to be one of your best friends.

For some reason, your head is spinning with emotion.

In the cozy interior of the car, you watch through the snowflakes dotting the passenger window as Moon’s dark silhouette flutters about in the store. The edge of his thick overcoat sweeps around the back of his knees, and the hat he stole from set casts most of his head in shadow. You don’t think he ever intends to part with it. Maybe you should take a page from his book and nab some spare ribbon and bells when all is said and done. The character you play isn’t you, but you can’t help the connection you’ve developed with the vigilante over time. Parting from the show without taking a memento seems wrong. After all, it’s this role that led you to meeting some truly amazing people.

Moon wraps up with the order in little to no time and hustles back to the car as fast as his spindly legs will carry him. The winter wind whooshes inside the car when he opens the door and scurries inside. Just as quickly, the door shuts behind him, and he whistles from the cold shock.

“Might become a block of ice if it gets any chillier out there,” he hisses in a fizzle of static. “I can feel the snow getting in my joints.”

“Don’t worry, mon clair de lune,” you reassure, cranking up the heat to full blast for him. “I’ll be sure to warm you up before you become an icicle.”

“Believe that is my job,” Moon drawls, and he passes you a deliciously smelling to-go cup. “Here.”

He presses the hot cup of coffee into your waiting hands, and you greedily latch onto it while wholeheartedly extending your gratitude.

The aromatic sweetness hits your nostrils fully as you take a deep breath. Pure delight runs through your blood, and you hastily take a very long drag from the wonderful drink, swishing the steaming liquid around on your tongue before swallowing.

“Oh, I could kiss you right now,” you whisper into the lid of your coffee.

Thoroughly savoring the taste of your next sip, your eyelids flutter closed as the heat penetrates that frosty layer that had been persistently clinging fast. This is exactly what you needed. After another deep breath to relish in the richness, you glimpse over to find Moon’s pleased optics on you, soft and as warm as your drink. His smile is small, like he isn’t aware of it. But it changes before you can get a good look, and a familiar slyness overtakes all else.

“What’s stopping you?” he brazenly needles. He’s just playing around again, a harmless prod, but his innocuous question makes you pause like a deer in headlights.

Your hands are warmed by your to-go cup, the wind is whipping at a brisk pace outside the car, and your heart is abruptly thump, thump, thumping away in your chest at a breakneck speed that rivals the December gust.

Such a small, simple, harmless question makes something apparent to you then. There’s no one here but you and him, nothing else to demand your attention. Nothing to hold you back or make you doubt yourself or put you on the spot. It’s just you and the sweet lunar animatronic you hold very dear to your heart.

In this brief ounce of privacy between you and him, you feel a touch braver than usual.

“You know…” your voice mumbles, more to yourself than him, “I can’t really think of anything that is.”

The kiss—correction: two kisses—from Eclipse a few short weeks ago flashes in your mind. He hasn’t pushed once since giving you time to think about it, about how you feel about him. His brothers. A relationship with all three. You’ve been given time to consider fostering that with each of them if your heart yearns for your friends as much as you now know they yearn for you. It hadn’t quite clicked before the reveal that they wanted you. Since Eclipse’s confession, it’s never felt more real, and the way each of them act around you should have clued you in much sooner.

At least you know better now. There’s no writing off the lingering looks or touches or the words that sometimes carry a heavy tint to them. No, they all have meaning finally, and it’s felt like agony forcing yourself to slow down and think things through in the events leading up tonight.

The only one who’s pumping the breaks is you. Nothing is keeping you from just… letting go. No one is here to be a voice of reason as Moon sits beside you, closer than he’s been in weeks. Eclipse said he’d let his brothers speak for themselves about their feelings, but they’ve seemed to avoid the topic out of courtesy to you. No doubt their big brother told them about the moment he’d shared with you in that small alcove under a snowy night, much like tonight. Ball’s in your court now, and you have the chance to play.

You know what your heart wants. You’re sure of it.

So it’s a natural, easy choice for you to give in to the temptation whispering in your ear to stop resisting and just close the distance.

Moon doesn’t move an inch as you lower your drink in one hand and near, the only indication of him realizing what’s coming shown in the widening of his eyes.

With a small sweep of your fingers, you tip back your detective’s hat, hesitating only a moment to wait for any signs of discomfort from either you or him. Finding none but only the giddy anticipation coiling in your stomach and the inviting, subtle lean Moon makes in your direction, you slowly lid your gaze shut, tune out the pounding in your ears, and brush your lips against the cold metal of his cheek.

They demurely curl upward at the crackling gasp he emits. The sound has you wanting to stay, wanting to hear it again. You settle for trailing a ghost of another kiss just along that delicate swirl of metal. Before he can have a chance to react beyond that and before you can start second-guessing your actions, you pull away. Your heart won’t stop racing. It feels like your body is hardly contained to your seat at all and that you’ll glide away if you breathe too hard.

Moon’s dark pupils are blown incredibly large and round. His reaction is exactly what you were hoping for, and a small burst of pride wells behind your sternum. You did that. You made him react that way. You.

It’s a small tick in your confidence category, but even greater is the joy that grows wings and takes flight with you on its back. Moon gapes at you like you’re from the stars above, and you’ve never seen him stare at you like that before, but it’s already strengthening the heat in your cheeks. 

You give him a moment to process and then delicately clear your throat.

“Shall we get going?” you ask your silent companion in an attempt to play coy. Internally, you’re a fumbling mess of a human who’s running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. The coffee cup trembles in your hand.

Even with your little prodding, he doesn’t seem to quite come out of whatever spell you’ve accidentally tossed him under. Well. Not entirely on accident. You very much kissed him on purpose.

Moon releases a thin hiss of air, like his cooling components are working overtime. He blinks once. Twice.

“What was that for?” he finally utters with tangible awe, but it’s little more than a breath. His voice could melt you into a puddle right in your seat.

You think back to what Eclipse said to you that night at the start of the month. A helpless shrug lifts your shoulders.

“Oh, you know. Just felt like getting a head start on the new year’s tradition.” Then, to make sure he’s on the same page as you, you add, “I take it Eclipse told you what happened a few weeks ago. About… testing the waters.”

Instead of scoffing, Moon softens almost imperceptibly. You’re starting to think he has no intentions of ever looking away. He lifts a hand towards you but then hesitates. Searches you for something you aren’t sure of. You lean your head to the side in invitation, and his hand cups your face much like Eclipse’s had.

In a sotto voce tone that crawls into your bones and makes its home there, he murmurs, “Clip asked us to give you time. That you wanted to think about it first. That’s why I—why we haven’t said anything. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m not interested. Because I am. Interested, that is. Very much. In a way that’s probably more eloquent than I am when I’m around you.”

He gives an adorable little giggle that betrays his nervousness, and you titter alongside him.

Unable to not rib him just a little, you say, “Why, Detective Moon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were feeling shy.”

“Funny. Don’t get used to it,” he warns, but he’s smiling as he does.

It feels good to know that you’re not the only one off your game at this. Makes it more lighthearted. No perfect lines or filtered dialogue like in front of the camera. The mask is off, and the sight you’re seeing beneath it is even more precious to you.

Moon takes a moment to process his next words, and you can tell by the thin whine stemming from his chassis that he’s heavily considering them. You stay quiet as you wait, and when his brow furrows, you know he’s settled whatever internal debate he was warring with.

The chilled hand is slowly warming at your cheek. The emotion on his face runs parallel to what’s been burning in your heart all this time.

“Would you mind if I got a head start too?” he tentatively asks.

There’s no ignoring the knot in your throat. Your stomach is flooded with antsy excitement, and you try to tuck away an errant strand of hair that keeps falling out of place. You feel like you’re shaking from nerves and eagerness. Imagining this exact moment playing out in your head for the past few weeks is very different from suddenly living it now.

You do your best to hide the thrilled tremor in your voice.

“I don’t see why not.”

The words probably don’t come across as confident or unaffected as you’d like, but then Moon is swiping away that loose bit of hair just as easily as he does so your thoughts. You feel him tuck it behind your ear, his fingers brushing back against your cheek a second time before sneaking around to the back of your scalp.

No resistance is offered when he pulls you close. You let your eyelids fall shut again just in time to shiver at the effervescent tap of his permanent grin to the very small corner of your lips, once again surprising you with the location of the kiss, though you won’t complain one bit about that. He doesn’t keep you for very long, but it’s enough that you have to let out a ragged breath that’s been building up ever since he teased you. His kiss leaves you spinning. That’s two for two that you’ve been caught off guard by a romantic display of affection. Well-played.

He shifts back some so that you can make eye contact—a simple task that you are now failing miserably at with impeccable odds.

You feel faint from the swell of emotion that this animatronic manages to pull to the surface with just a single kiss.

A flighty exhale precedes your shaky voice.

“Would it be cliché if I said ‘wow’ after that?”

Moon’s answering smile shines with elation. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the often stoic animatronic so profusely happy.

But before you can dwell on that, something else then catches your notice from his proximity. You scoot back in a little closer, safely preserving in your memory the tiny noise of shock Moon makes so that you can reflect on it later.

You take a deep breath in, and your curiosity momentarily beats out your fidgety nerves.

“Hang on. Is that… cologne?” you mutter, inhaling another whiff to confirm before leaning back, stunned at your findings. “Did you put on cologne tonight?”

Moon shifts again. Seems you’re not the only one feeling fidgety.

“Why do you ask?” he hedges cautiously, black pupils shifting, and you almost think he sounds defensive until his hand leaves your cheek. His fingers disappear into the insides of his coat, rummaging for something out of your view until he then pulls out—to your complete and incredulous astonishment—a can of WD-40.

He gives it a tiny shake.

“Did you want to use some too?”

In all your daydreams, there were a few things you had imagined happening right after you kissed Moon. Some gentle words. A hug, maybe. In the more risqué scenarios, an inability to breathe as he kissed you senseless again and again. All of those had seemed like viable options on the table of your secret hypotheses.

This, though. This was definitely not one of them, and you are baffled. You refuse to believe he just happened to have that can on him out of complete coincidence. It’s purely inconceivable.

You have to tell him as much.

“You have not been carrying that around all day just for the sake of making that joke.”

Moon’s faceplate rotates several degrees. He squints at you suspiciously. Contemplates the deep meaning of the universe, judging by how long he stays silent. Then, he casually hits you with a bombshell.

“You seem like you could use it.”

Your jaw scrapes the floor.

“Excuse me?! Are you implying that I smell?”

“…‘Implying’ is a rather interesting word choice.”

“Moon!”

Any reservations you might have had are banished by the lurching urge to snatch his beloved little hat from his bald little head and chuck it outside. His self-satisifed aura tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Before you can think of some wisecrack to put the cretin back in his place, Moon smoothly clarifies, “You smell nice. You always do, actually. It’s light and sweet. Pleasant.” He gently pokes the can’s nozzle against your shoulder. “Just like you.”

You’re left speechless for the second time in as many seconds. Your brain is struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire changes, so you sit there useless for a few moments while trying to think of what to say. 

It’s a little unexpected, is all.

Moon appears to be none the worse for wear. He enjoys your surprise for a bit more and then continues on.

“That’s why I put on something nice-smelling too. Or at least what seems to be popular among you humans. Just wanted to put in a little extra effort. For you. Not the WD-40 though, sorry. That’s only for emergencies.”

While still very unexpected, the reasoning is enough to somewhat loosen your twisted tongue. 

“Emergencies,” you parrot, deadpan.

Moon nods. He surreptitiously sets the can behind you on the floor of the backseat.

After another extended beat, a snort escapes you, your face falls into your hand, and your nostrils flare with your amused exhale. Moon’s fans whir a little louder at the sound, and you sigh again before peeking at him through your fingers.

“You’re a dork, you know that? A buffoon.”

The gremlin is practically vibrating in his seat.

“One might even say I’m a jester.” He waggles his brows. “A sleuth jester.”

“Yeah, one might not.”

Your hand falls from your head. You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Clown behavior. That was terrible and unfunny.”

“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asks with glee.

“No,” you bark out around a loud laugh, and he snickers happily.

You sit together in the warm comfort of the car, and the sense of longing draws you into a contemplative quiet while you watch him, and he does much the same. Your smile is going to wear out from all this use it’s been getting, but you don’t mind at all how effortlessly Moon summons it. He has to do very little to tug that giddiness to the surface. A fact that you’ve taken special notice of more so lately.

His attentiveness is apparent even in his actions, and you want to address that.

“For the record,” you say, more muted than earlier so that Moon hears the subdued seriousness in your voice, “I just want you to know that while you putting in extra effort is really sweet and appreciated, it’s also not strictly necessary. I don’t expect you to go out of your way for me. Getting to spend time with you is more than enough already. You don’t need to change anything about yourself to please me.”

The ruby glow dims a little, and Moon’s hands fiddle with the edge of his coat. You have the sneaking suspicion that if he could blush, his cheeks would be matching his optics right about now.

“I know,” he says back, equally gentle. “Actually, that is part of what endeared you to me. The fact that you don’t care that I’m—that any of us are animatronics and have different functions or needs or even lack of needs that humans do have. But I also know that it’s a custom to put in a little extra effort for someone you care about… someone you might be considering building a relationship with.”

His admission presses down like a leaden weight on your tongue.

“Moon…”

You’re not sure what to follow that with. You wish you could express everything that his heartfelt words are doing to you and how they threaten to stop your heart in its tracks if it keeps missing a beat. 

What you do manage to say, gingerly, is much smaller in comparison than everything you want to express, but it’s a start.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and try to focus past that. Moon waits for you to continue with a silent understanding in his demeanor that speaks volumes. A bit meekly, you say, “I doubt it’s much of a secret anymore how I feel about pursuing that with you, Sun, and Eclipse, huh?”

His hands stop playing with his coat. The crescent splitting the dark sapphire blue and lustrous silver of his faceplate curves an elegant sweep along the metal craftsmanship, and you are reminded not for the first time that Moon is beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you trace an imaginary line around the smooth curls and hidden divots, every slight highlight and blemish and silver scratch. With your imagination taking flight, you are met with a fantasy not unlike the one you’d had of Sun weeks ago. In this one, you sit in Moon’s lap, cradling the lower half of his faceplate in your hands, and your lips find those intricacies to lay a kiss on, to bestow your affection. His own hands paint a delicate dance that rides up the back of your shirt while he flirts with the edges of it.

It’s just as intimate and gripping, and it leaves you shuddering in your seat. As you blink, and the scene dissipates.

You want that. You want it a lot. There’s not a shadow of a doubt in you about that. No shying from the truth now.

All you have to do is take the next step forward into the others’ waiting arms.

Moon doesn’t reply, which you think you appreciate more than a verbal confirmation. He leans away from you back into his seat much to your disappointment and blinks slowly, a languid relaxation to his serene expression. As far as he’s concerned, there’s seemingly no one else in the world now but you and him.

You're tempted. You doubt he’d say no to letting you test the waters with more than just the tips of your toes. But the snow is falling, and you have a party to get to, and you can’t remain frozen forever in this moment. It’s hard to remember your other obligations, but you manage to peel your gaze away.

“We should—” you swallow around your voice crack and clear your throat. “We should probably get going. To the party and all that.”

A rumbling respiration stems from Moon’s metal chassis. The lunar brother reluctantly shakes off his daze, muttering some indiscernible words to himself, and he sets the car back into motion down the street. The hotel isn’t far now, just up ahead and poking through the cloud of dark gray and white whirling outside. Even still, it surprises you when there’s a subtle tug on your wrist.

Moon’s fingers curl around you, slipping one hand free of your cup so that he can grasp it. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you don’t need to. His fierce focus on the wet and slushy roads tells you all.

When he pulls up to the hotel’s overhang, the valet draws up to his side to discuss parking. You tune them out in favor of enjoying the two points of warmth in your hands, one around your coffee and the other ensnared in leather. All too soon, Moon lets go and gets out to let the valet take over.

You gather your things and tighten your coat around your waist. In that very short time frame, your door is then swung open, and Moon gives a debonair dip to hold out a hand to you, his other arm behind his back.

“I believe I offered to escort you in,” he remarks with a tinge of coyness. It seems he’s getting a little of that spark back after your moment together.

Your surprised sound at the unexpected gesture threatens to oust you, but you do your best to keep your cool.

“Such a gentleman,” you croon.

His low brush of laughter makes the cold feel not as strong on your cheeks as he helps you out of the car, the heels of your shoes wobbling on the cobblestone until you find your balance. His eyes reflect the twinkling golden ambience of the city lights around you, warm and delighted. They brighten even more when he offers you his arm and you take it happily, shivering from the cold that cuts through the tailored fabric of your suit pants.

Together, you and Moon enter the skyscraper hotel, and after showing your identification to the personnel and each being given some sort of pass, you are fast directed to the second floor where the holiday party is being held. In the elevator, you can’t seem to bring yourself to let go of Moon’s arm. He doesn’t seem too keen on letting you go either. His other gloved hand rests smoothly atop your own as if to keep you there.

As soon as the elevator doors slide open, a symphony of music and conversation greets you. The noise would normally grate against your ears, but with the calm presence of your friend guiding you into the chaos, your shoulders stay relaxed and your steps sure. Several coworkers take notice of your entrance and nod or raise their glasses in celebratory welcome. You wave to your colleagues, but you search for someone else. Technically two someones, but in this crowd, you know you won’t have to look long.

Moon steers you towards the left of the floor where open double doors lead into the main hub of activity. There’s another check-in desk there, but you and Moon only have to flash your name badges to be waved on in. The room echoes the same noise and bustling activity just outside it, with more of the film and production crew milling about and enjoying themselves. Lifting your head, you get a waft of what can only be delicious food, and you absentmindedly let out a pitiful whine as your stomach grumbles.

Soft snickering from above pulls your attention, and you glare at Moon. His merriment shines wide in his teeth.

“Do we need to take a quick detour?” he asks, reading you in a heartbeat.

You release a pained sigh.

“No, I can wait. Let’s find your brothers first.”

“Already done.” Moon points to a table off in the corner, and sure enough, twin sets of rays, one yellow and the other blue and purple, peek out from the chairs. Both are facing away from you since they’re sitting beside each other, so they haven’t noticed your arrival yet, something your feet seem keen on remedying as they hasten over to your friends. You end up dragging Moon along for the ride, but he’s quick to catch himself and match your speed.

Sun and Eclipse appear in deep conversation, the former chattering enthusiastically while the latter answers more slowly, slouched against the wall next to his chair and a hand shadowing his optics. You can’t help but admire how the sharp suits and ties they wear fit them both very attractively, though Sun’s already discarded his coat on the back of his chair. Eclipse catches sight of you and Moon first, and he gives a little wave that makes you accidentally clench Moon’s hand and causes Sun to spin to see you as well just as you reach them.

“It’s about time you got here!” he exclaims. “We were just about to start dinner without you.”

You tut in skeptical disbelief, saying, “A likely story. You can’t even eat, which… makes me wonder. Why are you holding a glass?”

Sun looks at the flute in his hand then back at you.

“What, this? It’s champagne. One of the waitstaff gave it to me, so now I’m trying to blend in. Is it working?”

From over your shoulder, Moon says, “Considering that you start to act tipsy whenever a certain special someone is around, I’d say you fit right in.”

You dutifully ignore Sun’s indignant squeak because your attention is quickly arrested elsewhere. In one chivalrous motion, Moon slips away from your side to pull out a chair for you. Your head ducks as the temperature of the room inches up a couple of degrees, and it only grows stronger when he helps you shed your heavy coat to drape it over the back of the chair. You murmur your thanks and slide into a seat across from Eclipse, Moon pushing your chair back in. He answers with a hum of acknowledgement and takes the one next to you.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to focus on what he’d just said.

“So who’s the special someone?”

Eclipse snorts loudly, and you tilt your head at him, confused. Sun rubs a hand over his optics with a groan. You can hear his internal fans kick on from over here.

The brother sitting next to you is the only one to take pity on you, but his amusement could be classified as tangible.

“I was referring to you, sweetness.”

“Oh.” Your mouth might be hanging a little open, but you can’t be blamed for it. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Actually, there are a lot of things happening tonight that you weren’t expecting, and you have a sneaking suspicion they’d be obvious to literally anyone else. “I hadn’t, ah, noticed.”

“Really?” Moon’s voice is dry, intoning more of a statement than a question.

“Don’t be rude,” Sun chastises Moon, but you think that might be because he’s just still embarrassed from his brother’s remark. “They haven’t eaten yet. You can’t be mean to someone with an empty stomach. It’s bad manners.”

Eclipse squints at him.

“How is that considered bad manners, but not the whole being mean part in general?”

“Because I don’t want to exempt myself from being allowed to get on the nerves of my big brother.” Sun turns back to Moon. “Stop kicking me under the table.”

“Move your damn big feet then,” Moon fires back, slumping deliberately in his seat.

The table shudders with a jarring bang, and you carefully tuck your legs close to your chair to avoid catching any crossfire of the sudden battle happening under the white tablecloth. You share a knowing look with Eclipse, and the dazed tiredness in his gaze makes you smile.

He sighs.

“Did you have a safe drive here?”

Was Moon a safe driver for once, is what he’s really asking. You rest your chin in your hand and lean forward.

“It was a nice, smooth ride,” you muse, fingers curling around your coffee cup. “My chauffeur knew some tricks that made the trip seem to go by so much faster. Feels like we got here in no time at all.”

Eclipse sighs and briefly closes his eyes as if calling upon divine intervention. You think if he had an actual nose, he’d be pinching the bridge of it.

“How many red lights did he run?”

“None,” Moon says, rejoining the conversation as if he and Sun weren’t just engaged in a slapdash battle of footsie. “I take care of my passengers and ensure their safety at all costs.”

“Past experience and numerous police tickets say otherwise,” Eclipse returns wryly.

Moon’s grin sharpens.

“Performance is based on tips.”

Pupils as black as midnight peer out once more, flicking between you and Moon in confusion before settling on you.

“And did you… tip him?”

You give Eclipse a conspiratorial wink.

“I held his hand while he drove us here.”

“Mercy.” Sun recoils, absolutely appalled. “You risked him driving with only one hand on the wheel, and in this weather? Are you perhaps feeling unwell?”

“If you try to suggest putting your fingers in my mouth again, we’re gonna have a problem, and that’s a threat.” You point at Sun for emphasis, and he pretends you’re holding him at gunpoint, his hands flying up in a pacifying manner. One of your eyes squeezes shut, and you mime shooting, which makes him slump back dramatically in his seat like you got him square in the chest. You shake your head, lips twitching upward while Sun straightens again. “I’m not sick, but I am hungry. Actually, I think I’m gonna go grab some food before it’s all gone.”

“Allow me,” Eclipse says, and it’s not a question. He rises to his feet.

You consider getting up anyways just for the principle of the matter, but a single finger pointing at you to sit back down is enough to have you settling in your chair with a fake pout.

While buttoning his suit coat with one hand, he asks, “Anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”

You consider for a moment.

“Mm, no, I trust your judgment. You probably know my tastebuds better than I do at this point.”

An emotion passes across Eclipse’s dark faceplate, something that makes your skin prickle at the sudden knifelike quality to it. Instead of voicing whatever he’s thinking, he just spins his rays and returns your wink from earlier. 

“I’ll be back with a plate.”

He saunters away, politely dodging groups of people and conversations as he makes his way towards the mouthwatering smell of food. You track him for a little while as you nurse your coffee until you’re brought back to the present at your table. Sun and Moon are being unusually quiet, and both are staring at you.

“What?” you say after a pause.

Sun’s smile normally warms you to the soul, but there are times when it sends you into fight or flight mode, just like Eclipse’s. In fact, all three of the brothers share that uncanny ability, and it’s no less disarming whenever it’s aimed at you. The meaning behind the near-predatory flash of teeth can operate anywhere on the scale of danger, and depending on Sun’s mood, it can quickly tip over into territory you want to avoid.

His rays blur in one direction then the other. 

“You have a way with words, precious.”

“…Thanks. I think.”

You don’t know if that was meant to be a compliment, but you’ll take it as one anyways.

Sun doesn’t say either way, but the deep blue of his pupils are cutting. It’s offset by the rather distracting way he’s swirling his champagne around in the flute like it’s a glass of wine. You’re not exactly sure why he’s doing that, but you are impressed at how not a single drop of liquid spills over the top despite being full.

A couple of minutes tick by as you simply relax and chat with the brothers while sipping your drink. It’s not long until restlessness begins digging in, however, and you give a cursory glance around the room and tap your fingers on the table.

“So what’re your plans after this?”

The question is barely out in the open before Moon answers with a sarcastic, “Going home and getting absolutely plastered.”

Apathy ricochets off you and Sun.

“They should make a park for people like you.” Sun tips his glass at his brother. “An unamusement park.”

“Hilarious.”

“No, it’d be the opposite of that.”

“That’s just Wall Street, Sun,” you say around a yawn, and Sun somehow makes a noise like he’s clicking a tongue he doesn’t have. You don’t question it.

Moon hmphs and crosses his arms like a child. You decide it’s best not to tell him that it only endears him to you even more.

“You do have a bit of a dry personality when it comes to acting,” you say, reaching up to scratch your chin in contemplation. When Moon’s faceplate swivels at you, utterly dumbfounded, you quickly add, “Not that that’s a bad thing! It’s just different from what is more common nowadays. That’s probably why you and Sun complement each other so well too. In fact, I think you would have been great in a show like Dragnet, Detective Moon.”

“No, don’t get him started—” Sun begins in a petulant whine, but it’s too late.

Moon’s red optics widen a fraction, and he suddenly gets a gleam in them, like he just got hit with inspiration. His metal fingers tug the brim of his hat so low that only the light of crimson shines from the shadow. Then his hands make quick work of loosening the knot of his tie just enough that it sits slightly askew. He squints across the table at the wall, staring at nothing with such intensity that it’s like he’s scrutinizing something a great distance away. His shoulders pull back, while he mimes takes a heavy drag of a smoking cigar.

Finally, to tie the charade together into a neat bow, he says in a very husky, deadpan voice that cracks with static, “Just the facts, ma’am.”

Sun’s eyes roll so hard, they could fall out of his head. You grin wide. In your peripheral, you think you see dark rays approaching your table. 

“It’s almost like he does it effortlessly,” you joke playfully.

“That’s because there is no effort put into it,” Sun says, exasperated. “He’s not acting. Monotone is his personality.”

A sneer breaks Moon’s act, and he spins his head around in a complete circle to taunt his brother. Defying all physics, his hat remains squarely on all the while. 

“Sun’s jealous because he knows if this were a different show, he’d be relegated to sidekick status.”

As Moon’s speaking, Eclipse returns, full plate in hand. He sets it down in front of you, to which you thank him, picking up the silverware next to you. His rays give a little wiggle in return, and he melts back into his seat with a grunt, propping his elbow back on the table and resting his head on his hand.

“I think being a main character has gotten to your head,” Sun returns snippily. There’s an exaggeration to his voice and haughty head tilt that tells you he’s just as much bantering along with Moon. The swirling of his drink gets more aggressive. “We’ll see how well that works out for you. Maybe this will be the start of my villain arc, and I’ll secretly become the big bad of the story with a mafia to my name.”

“Ugh, please do,” Eclipse groans from where he lounges, dragging his hand down his faceplate. “I’m tired of having to be mean.”

That snags your attention. You shuffle a bite of what might be teriyaki chicken onto your tongue and chew thoughtfully.

Holding your hand in front of your mouth as you munch so that you don’t endure another lecture from Sun, you say, a bit muffled, “I really should find the time to sit in on one of your classes soon. I wanna hear all of your secrets to playing the big bad villain.”

Eclipse’s chuckle flows on a deep wave that buzzes in his chest and warms yours, making your own cheeks hurt, both from the large bite of food you’re chewing and from how you beam at fostering such a sound. His low-lidded black eyes slide over to you, peering out from under his hand.

“That’s easy,” he says. “Anytime I have to act angry, I just think about these two idiots and the shit they make me put up with.”

Sun’s visage turns affronted.

“Language! And what exactly do you mean by that anyways?”

“He certainly couldn’t be referring to all the times we’ve pranked him,” Moon retorts, pretending to examine his nonexistent nails.

You nod sagely in agreement.

“Or the times you’ve tried to sabotage his shoots by distracting him.”

“Or how often we customize his wardrobe for fun.”

“And there was also that time you hid his car keys in a jello mold.”

Moon brightens at that one like you’ve made him recall a fond memory.

Sun leans back in his seat and bends an arm over the back of it. His frown slants sideways.

“Well, when you say it like that, it makes us sound bad.”

You twirl your fork on your plate and share a look with the animatronic from across the table.

“I wonder why.”

Your group laughs then along with one supremely ragged sigh from Eclipse, stirring up a decent amount of noise in the already loud room. The conversation continues much the same, with the three brothers taking cracks at each other while you watch the show and scarf down your dinner. It’s by the time that your plate is scraped clean and you’re sipping on the cold leftovers of the coffee Moon got you that a new presence is drawn in by the chatter in your small corner. You don’t immediately notice them until they speak up.

“Why am I not surprised to see you four all cozying up together in your own little area?” a calm voice addresses your table.

You glance up and find a much too complacent smirk staring you down. 

Sun takes a gander at your table’s new visitor and acquires an awfully mischievous glint.

“Uh oh. Security breach! Someone better let staff know that the Loch Ness Monster has gotten out of containment again.”

Like clockwork, Vanessa’s eyes narrow, and she places her hands on her hips, lips pursing.

“That nickname hasn’t been funny in all the ten other times you’ve used it.”

“Au contraire, little fish. It ages like a fine wine.”

Rolling her eyes at the lighthearted taunt from the jesting animatronic, she turns back to you.

“So when’s the wedding?” she presses, apparently deciding to return fire with fire.

A scoff trickles out, and you consider diving into a lengthy, not at all defensive rant about how the rumors your coworkers love circulating are just that: rumors. Just because you’ve decided you want to be with the celestial animatronics doesn’t mean you’ve all had a conversation about making that public yet, if ever.

But then Moon decides that now is apparently the best time to slide his arm behind you and tuck it over your shoulders, and you’re left choking down your own rebuttal because he just threw it in the mud in one shove.

Vanessa doesn’t smile often. She looks like a damn cat that caught a canary now.

On reflex, as if you can salvage your dying dignity, you say, “We’re not dating, Ness.”

Technically not yet since you still need to have a chat with Sun privately and then discuss with all three of them to make sure you’re on the same page. But you don’t need to clarify that.

“Yeah, Nessie,” Moon adds, dutifully ignoring Vanessa’s immediate grimace at her other equally despised nickname. Really, though, he needs to stop talking all at once. “Can’t you see we’re all just hanging out like a couple of buddy ol’ pals?”

“Not helping, Moon,” you half-heartedly lament, trying to formulate a protest, but the blonde-haired woman has already taken the bait.

She lifts a brow.

“If this is how you treat your ‘friends,’” she says, actually pausing to make the air quotes, “then I’m glad we never became more than associates.”

“Aw, there’s no need to be so pessimistic,” Sun drawls with a heavy inflection, sweet like molasses. He reclines in his chair, crossing his legs. “Just because we never had a spark between us doesn’t mean there aren't still plenty of fish in the sea. Or lake, I should say. The show’s not over yet.”

“It’s about to end prematurely if you keep talking like that,” Vanessa shoots back without dropping the flatness in her tone one iota.

Sun’s smirk is all dangerous edges, and his rays twirl flirtatiously.

The display and banter is nothing out of the ordinary between those three. Though she may deny they’re friends, Vanessa has always gotten along well with all of the brothers, which is probably another reason you’ve also gotten along well with her. She’s been in the acting business longer than you have, and instead of trying to show you how things are done, in the beginning, she watched and noted your own technique. Only after you asked her for her advice did she offer it. She’s brought a professionalism to the show that is greatly needed, yet she still keeps an open mind to how everyone else does their own work.

For that, she’s earned a lot of respect from you. It took only a little nudging to get her to warm up to your friend group. The feigned disinterest is now just part of the usual routine, and you know for a fact that no one except Moon and Sun have gotten her to laugh aloud. 

You owe a lot to the show you’ve all worked on together for the friendships alone that you’ve gotten through it.

“Have you been enjoying the party?” You decide to reroute the conversation before an all out war can break out in the form of snappy comebacks.

Vanessa groans.

“I could be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. In fact, I should be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. But for some godforsaken reason, I made the poor choice to come here instead.”

“Because you like us,” Moon singsongs, circling a finger along the white tablecloth.

Vanessa deigns to ignore that. Everyone knows he’s right, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever agrees with him.

She addresses you instead.

“I see they’ve been practicing their terrible pick-up lines. I’m sorry you had to be the unfortunate one and settle for scraping the bottom of the barrel, unlike the rest of us.”

“Wow,” Sun huffs, dry as sandpaper.

“Deserved,” Eclipse chips in, just as dry but no less entertained at the spectacle unfolding.

“Like I said,” you say, not concealing your amusement at Vanessa’s persistence, “we’re not an item yet, so stop trying to set us up.”

“Yeah, I really don’t think you need my help with that,” she returns far too smoothly.

Your jaw goes slack, but Vanessa steamrolls right over your scandalized shock as usual.

“Anyways, I came over to fetch you for a second if you can spare one from your boyfriends. Freddy is asking for you.”

“Oh!” At that, you glance around in search of the bear animatronic, purposefully ignoring that last small dig.

With his big, hulking frame, it doesn’t take long to spot Freddy. He’s chatting with a few others in a semi-circle. As expected, you catch the slightest glimpse of Gregory next to him, though the poor kid seems miserable in his suit and tie. You can more than relate and have to stifle a small chuckle at his pout.

You turn back to your table and ease out of your chair onto stiff heels and creaking joints. Oof, that’s definitely the sound of your knees going snap, crackle, and pop.

“I’ll be right back. Save my seat?”

Moon blinks at it. Then back at you.

“Why? Is it dying?”

Before you can give back a snarky reply, Sun tacks on with faux concern, “Hey, is your fridge running?”

You share a wordless, pointed look with Vanessa and decide it’s best to not indulge them before they can get on a roll because once they start egging each other on, there’s no stop in sight.

Eclipse nods at you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in line while you’re gone.”

The twin snide leers in response tell you otherwise, but you’ll let him deal with that. His problem now. As you turn, you get a glimpse of Moon hunkering in close to his brothers with an excited sharpness in his movement.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a word while you walk beside her. You just take her exasperation in stride because you know you don’t have a good rebuttal ready. She ends up sticking with you all the way to Freddy’s group, giving you the tiny impression that she’s been requested to “chaperone” you from one side of the room to the next.

As you’re weaving around the many groups of friendly faces and cheery waves, greeting them back with as much enthusiasm, you catch sight of Vanessa’s tie and nearly do a double-take. On a simple black background is a tiny print of many rabbits, with a myriad of bow ties, hats, and ribbons. It’s so fitting, you can’t not say something.

“I like the tie,” you snicker.

She follows where you gesture with a hand. It could just be the light in the room, but you swear you see a hint of mirth from her at you noticing.

“I thought it would be funny,” she says in an unfazed tone that makes your breath hitch around another sharp snort.

A lot of your coworkers find Vanessa to be standoffish. They don’t know what they’re missing because at her heart, she is one of the funniest people you’ve come to know. It just took a little to get her to warm up to you, and now, you consider her a great friend. On top of that, she’s incredibly talented to boot. You’re beyond glad that she was cast for her role in the show. That final showdown between you and her still gives you shivers even with all of it being an act.

“It is pretty fitting,” you agree, trying your best to don your best blank façade and failing. “Since it’s the year of the rabbit, after all.”

“Ugh. Now I know you’ve been hanging out exclusively with those three idiots. And what’s worse is I’ve heard that joke at least a hundred times tonight.”

“A hundred and one now, and the night’s still young.” You elbow her tauntingly, and she shies away with a scowl.

Vanessa appears prepared to tell you exactly what she thinks of your terrible jokes, but before she can, your name is called out in a sonorous clap.

You find Freddy eagerly waving you forward, and without a second thought, you’re by his side and being swept into a ferocious hug.

“It’s so good to see you outside of work for a change! I never thought those rascals would let you out of their sights for the holidays.”

A terrible groan threatens to break your throat. 

“Not you too, Freddy,” you bemoan.

“No worries, I’m just pulling your leg.” He lets you go and beams down at you, good mood infectious. “But all jokes aside, I am glad you decided to come out tonight. The party wouldn’t be the same without the star lead.”

You blow off his statements, a little frazzled and more than a little flustered.

“Oh, ease up on them, Frederick. You’ll make the poor thing blush,” joins yet another voice, deep yet muted.

William Afton’s figure is just as imposing even outside of the villainous character he portrays. You don’t know how you missed him in the small circle Freddy’s been chatting up, but his piercing observation of you has you straightening up. He isn’t someone you’ve had a chance to really get to know, but as a more senior actor in the group, he’s posed an intimidating factor in his wealth of experience alone. You’ve seen him in action; he’s incredible.

What’s even more of a delightful surprise is his present company—namely, the small child standing next to him, their hand in his and swinging the pair’s arms happily.

The child is none other than the actor that plays a much younger version of the vigilante, one whom you’ve found to be utterly adorable. They’ve easily won the hearts of the cast and crew, and judging by the way William holds their tiny hand so delicately, they’ve gotten him wrapped around their little finger too. And even if those two weren’t holding hands, you’d already know how close they’ve gotten in the time they’ve worked together because of all the little anecdotes that’ve been passed around the grapevine about them becoming an unlikely pair of friends. Their bond reminds you of a paternal relationship. William is the one who gave them the beloved nickname Ribbon, thanks to the bright spool of red they’ve taken to tying in their hair upon realizing it was also part of your costume. It’s a reminder that they look up to you, for whatever reason that makes you hyper aware of everything you say or do around them. You’re no role model, but you’ll do your best to be one for Ribbon if that’s what they need.

As for the nickname, you’re sure it was meant to be a silly, one-time thing. But then others caught wind of it, and now it’s just kind of stuck. The little child actor couldn’t be more thrilled at getting their own moniker and almost downright refuses to respond to anything else.

They catch you watching and give a jaunty wiggle of the fingers of their free hand—a wave you can’t help but return. The kid bounces on their toes, pleased.

“It’s about time you came over and said hello,” quips a sarcastic tone that you recognize in a heartbeat.

You peer around Freddy.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s tricks?”

Gregory pulls a sour grimace.

“Don’t call me that.”

“He doesn’t like being called a kid,” Ribbon helpfully explains. They light up impishly. “It’s a sore spot.”

“It’s not a—” Gregory stops and forces himself to simmer down, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that young.”

“And I’m sure they mean nothing by it,” Freddy smooths over, likely sensing the argument before it can begin. “But even still, there’s nothing wrong with being a child! Why, you have gotten to experience something that most other kids your age have only ever seen on TV. That’s something to be proud of.”

“My parents let me skip school,” Ribbon brags when Gregory just grumbles.

You click your tongue sharply at that.

“They’d better not be! Else I’m gonna have some very strong words with them, dumpling.”

That has the tot giggling, and William shakes his head. 

“No need, I already checked. They’re not missing out on school. I actually had the chance to meet their parents sometime ago.” He pauses to subtly indicate to a couple who aren’t too far away, chatting with a few people you vaguely recognize. Vanessa is also talking with them, and you wonder when she snuck away from your side.

William continues, “They informed me that any education outside of school hours is being handled at home or with tutors. And in fact, this little one brought their math homework to the set last month and showed me just how quickly they’re learning.”

The two share a small glance. It’s easy to see the pride in William’s features.

Then Ribbon turns to you.

They cup a hand over their mouth and loudly whisper, “He didn’t know the answers to some of the questions, so I had to show him how.”

You share a conspiratorial gasp.

“No kidding? Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re here to help these grownups learn, huh?”

A toothy grin flashes, and they nod excitedly. It’s then you notice the giant red silk in their braid, tied like a bow. The ends curl and frame their face cutely. You think you might even hear the chime of a bell.

Guess they’re going all out on their outfit tonight. Seeing them mimic your vigilante costume even outside of work grants you a deep fulfillment that runs through your chest. You hope that wherever they end up afterwards, it’ll be overflowing with only good, kind people. And hopefully their parents will preserve their childhood as much as possible too.

Anyways,” you say, turning and regaining Gregory’s attention, “Sorry, bud. Freddy’s right that I didn’t mean anything by it, but I’ll make sure to not call you that from now on.”

Gregory shrugs, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them like he’s not sure how to react. More than likely, he just feels put on the spot.

He chews on a response for a bit before he goes with, “It’s fine if you do it, I guess. Just don’t make it a habit, or else I’ll start calling you old.”

You feign shocked betrayal.

“How dare you? I’ll have you know that I’m always at my prime.” But then, unable to resist playing along, you pretend to feebly sway on your feet and place a hand to your chest, while the other reaches behind and presses at your spine, and you hunch over. “Oh, but your words—they cut so deep! I can feel them, seeping into my poor mortal bones, cursing me with old age. Agh, my back! It’s breaking!”

Like you’d expected, Gregory can’t quite hide his amusement at your shenanigans, and though he gives a valiant effort, his smirk is strong across his face.

“You’re such a theater kid,” he mocks.

You straighten with a frown.

“Oh, that’s real rich coming from you, shorty. Them’s fightin’ words.”

The sardonic, gloating image of the other threatens to start a semi-hostile bickering match between you and him. Fortunately or unfortunately for Gregory, Freddy intervenes like the paternalistic figure he’s come to embody.

“Alright, that’s enough. No need to start verbally swinging. I swear, you’re like a couple of cats and dogs sniping at each other any chance you get.”

Very maturely, you jab an accusatory finger at Gregory and retort, “Don’t look at me. He started it.”

The bear animatronic gives you a heavily imploring look. Your aura of innocence doesn’t seem to be swaying him in the slightest. Pity.

“You’re just mad that I’m right,” the kid taunts.

“Gregory,” Freddy warns, rounding on him and sounding for all intents and purposes like a disappointed parent.

You puff up your cheeks, readying another witty comeback on your tongue, but Freddy must have some sort of sixth sense because he shoots you another damning look that halts the friendly fire in its tracks. A silent standoff occurs between you, him, and the spunky little brat who thinks he’s winning, judging by the proud uptilt of his chin and his haughtily lifted brow. Which, to be fair, he’s not wrong in believing that, but details.

“To completely change the subject,” Freddy says before you can research if it’s legal to throw hands with a kid in self-defense, “I called you over here because I wanted to tell you something while I have the chance. And to start with, I’m sure many others have said the same thing to you already, but I want you to know it’s been a pleasure getting to watch you work throughout filming.”

One of his hands settles on your shoulder and stills you entirely, though you certainly weren’t expecting that last remark either. He makes sure he has your full attention before he keeps talking.

“I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that you’ve brought a uniqueness to the show. There is something to be noted about the good nature you carry into every circumstance, and as such, I’m grateful our paths were able to cross because of it. You have heart, and that shines well in your role. I believe the success we’ve had would not have been so easily attainable without you as the vigilante.”

In just a few short sentences, Freddy manages to strike down your smile and hollow you out. You stare in dumbstruck fashion at the bear animatronic. The heartfelt honesty wasn’t something you were expecting or ready for, and it cuts through your defenses and threatens to crumple you like a napkin.

“Freddy,” you hesitantly start, growing uncomfortable, “that’s really sweet and all, but I’m not—”

He gently interrupts you by briefly holding up a hand. You fall quiet.

“Please, let me finish being sentimental and overbearing while I still have you here, and then I’ll let you get back to the party. Since we’ve begun working together, I haven’t quite had an opportunity to tell you this, but I think you are an extraordinary individual and a talented actor. More importantly, however, I know that some of our… shall we say chattier team members have been spreading rumors. You probably know exactly what I’m referring to, so I’ll refrain from going into any details in case there are other listening ears nearby.”

He pauses just long enough to seemingly collect his thoughts. The unexpected direction of this conversation has your heart immediately jolting in your chest and pounding erratically, fearful of what he might say after hearing all of the gossip. Despite the sudden urge to turn tail and run, you hold back the panic that looms just on the edges of your peripheral. It waits to descend, circling like a hawk, and you push it back with an obstinate force. 

You will wait to hear him out first, though you pray that he hasn’t called you over to condemn your relationships with the celestial brothers.

Perhaps your stone-faced silence is a dead giveaway, or maybe the stiffness in your jaw is actually a trembling line that betrays your worry. Either way, Freddy takes a good, long look at you, and it’s then that his expression changes. Determination or certainty or something close straightens his shoulders and eases his trepidation away.

He continues in a much more private murmur, for your ears alone.

“My point is, in spite of those rumors, I can’t help but notice how increasingly happy you’ve become, even in this small timespan. You seem brighter than before. Lighter on your feet. I know I didn’t meet you prior to us working alongside each other, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m sounding presumptuous here because that truly isn’t my intent.” When his smile reappears, it’s like a ray of sunshine shining proudly upon you. His tone overflows with his benevolence as he finishes, softer still, “I just want to say that whatever that happiness is and whomever it might be with—if that is indeed the case—I hope it is something that works out for you. And I hope you pursue it if it does. Because like many others here, you deserve to have good things in your life too. So don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise, no matter what they may say or believe.”

A friendly or perhaps comforting squeeze grips your shoulder. The following pause is loud.

Having said his piece, Freddy waits patiently for you to respond or maybe just to mull over what he said. Or to do anything at all instead of just gape at him.

Something slips into your eye. Both of them, funnily enough. You wait a moment too long to blink the odd sensation away, and it starts to burn.

Freddy notices, because of course he does, and his brow furrows.

“I’m sorry. It seems I’ve made you upset by what I said.”

You wave off his concern.

“No, no, I’m fine, really,” you lie very convincingly. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It’s okay. I mean, I’m just—”

You bite your tongue to stop the immediate urge to deflect. You don’t like to think of yourself as overly emotional. Your soul lies in your work, and that’s where your emotions shine. You also know that while Freddy’s praise is flattering, it’s far from true. There are so many talented, gifted people working on this production. Anything you do is but a speck in the grand scheme of things, and a great deal of other people deserve credit far more than you do.

Still, it’s a palpable relief to hear what he said and to know that you have someone supportive in your corner. It touches you deeply because while it’s one thing to be recognized for your work by someone like him, it is a whole new matter to hear an outsider’s approval of the relationships you’ve been brewing over restlessly. Freddy is a role model—an inspiration—to the team. In many ways, he’s become a sort of parental figure that many look up to, you included. Having your silly human heart’s desires be acknowledged and embraced by him means a lot to you more than any kind of praise. A whole lot.

So much so that it stabs right to the center of all the inner turmoil that’s been burgeoning inside you without an outlet, and your ears feel hot and your throat tight. 

You attempt to just laugh it off, sounding a bit uneven and watery. 

“Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” you say at last, and the easygoing tone you were shooting for kind of falls flat.

You’re exactly like he said: happier and lighter. Have been for weeks—months—now. But especially recently. Just took you a little longer than most to notice.

You’re certain though about what you want. You don’t feel like you need to test the waters anymore. Originally, you’d been alarmed at jumping into three relationships headfirst without any thought, but truth is, you were thinking of it long beforehand. You just refused to see it for what it was, the longing for something more than friendship. This isn’t your emotions getting confused from what you act out in front of a camera, like you’d originally feared.

The teasing and rumors are things you’ve gotten used to over time. But what Freddy said goes farther than that, and it’s beyond refreshing to hear someone else’s perspective confirm what your intuition has been shouting from the start.

As you wipe your eyes with a hand, you say only a little shakily, “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. I think I needed to hear that more than you realize.” You take a moment to collect yourself, swallowing hard and letting the immense relief settle your nerves.

You’re here. It’s okay. It will be more than okay, but at least you know that you have people in your corner who genuinely care. You weren’t exactly ready for the emotional rollercoaster you just rode, but you’re thankful nonetheless. It feels good to not be alone like you’d once thought. It feels incredible.

As the racing in your chest calms back down, the levelheadedness returns. Freddy is still waiting like a worried spectator, so you decide to reassure him in the best way you know how.

Your smile is small but facetious.

“You know, it’s a good thing you approached me about this. Here I was, all worried you’d turn me down, but I’m so glad you finally saw the light and decided to confess your undying love for me before the clock strikes midnight.”

For an animatronic, Freddy does a fantastic job of blanching.

“Oh! No, that’s not… Ah, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

He panics to the point his voicebox starts to stutter as he backtracks. William steps in to rescue him.

“They’re joking, Frederick. They know you’re not the one who’s madly fallen for them.” His eyes slide over to you. “Which those three have, by the way.”

You spread your arms in disbelief, neck burning.

“Geez, did everyone else figure out my love life before me or something?”

“Only a little.” The man smirks, something that is extremely hard not to react to when it’s so unlike him.

“What’s a love life?” Ribbon innocently pipes up.

Gregory replies, “Tch, don’t ask them because they clearly don’t know.”

Freddy pats the top of the boy’s head.

“None of that now. Be nice. They can work things out in their own time. There’s no rush.”

You don’t have the heart to tell Freddy that that is exactly what you’ve been worrying over. So you instead peer back over to your table, gnawing on your lip as you think.

There’s not a clear view of them, but you can see Sun’s rays spinning wide as he converses with his brothers and a few others who have swung by to chat, standing beside the table. You wonder what they’re all talking about and suffocate the desire to go back over there. Just because you want to be with them doesn’t mean you have to act like some lovesick puppy.

As you’re weighing the pros and cons of making up some very transparent excuse to slip away from your group and return to the boys, a discordant echo of feedback rings through the crowd, making everyone wince.

“Sorry!” a distant voice yells, and then there’s distinct tapping on a microphone. “Test, test, testing, is this thing on now? I guess it is after that little noise.”

Everyone turns to the source, and you see the executive producer on a raised platform with a mic, two large projector screens on the wall behind him. Once he’s got the mic in working order, he requests everyone to take their seats, and you try to hide your elation at being dismissed from social convention. You make sure to wish the others a farewell and happy new year in case you don’t get to see them again later that night, giving an especially grateful squeeze to Freddy’s arm, and then you hustle your way back to three shining faces.

In the end, Moon proves to have been a valiant defender of your chair after all, and you reclaim the spot next to him while the man who organized the event launches into a lengthy speech of thank yous and cheers to the future progress of the show. 

The distraction allows you a private moment to reflect on what just transpired and ease back into a calmer state. However, when you wipe your eyes a final time to stop any meddlesome tears in their tracks, your actions do not go unnoticed like you’d hoped.

Moon turns to you and leans in close so that he can whisper.

“Are you alright?” His concern is a selfless gesture that touches you deeply, like he’s ready to jump at a moment’s notice for your sake.

Your eyes glisten a little more at the sweet thoughtfulness.

“I’m fine. Promise.” At his persisting worry, you gently clarify, “It’s nothing bad. I’m just… really, really happy.”

Your heart leaps with your words, confirming the veracity of them.

Surprise rounds off the lines of disquiet and inclines the edges of his mouth. Moon’s steady regard holds unmistakable compassion.

“Good, I’m glad. Still, let me know if you need anything, and I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not at your verbal best right now, so you nod, and he shifts back to the speaker. You think that’s that, but then one of his hands seeks out and rests on the top of your lap, palm up. An offering. The questioning flash of red is only just visible at this angle. 

You try to not let your sentimentality show so plainly to the room from you beaming as you slip your hand into his. It feels like you’re shaking with relief and euphoria.

From there, it’s easier to focus on the speech. The speaker informs the party that they are welcome to stay till midnight to watch the fireworks that the city will be setting off across the harbor. The hotel is waterfront, meaning the room’s windows facing the harbor will provide an exceptional view of the night sky. After that, the hotel has requested that everyone vacate the event room no later than one in the morning if they don’t have a reservation to stay and to please abide by the quiet hours rule. The fact that your group is even being allowed to hang around that late makes you wonder just how much money was slipped under the table to cover that cost.

You critically eye the waitstaff still handing out glasses of alcohol. It will be a miracle if there isn’t a single incident resulting in someone getting kicked out, and you know you don’t want to be around when that happens.

After the speech, a video is played on the screens commemorating months’ worth of silly moments and fun memories filmed both during shoots and in the lulls between. You end up laughing along with the others at the antics and bloopers caught on video, and even one of Sun and Moon’s pranks makes it on the screen. It’s a heartwarming stroll down memory lane that is bittersweet and a reminder that the show is nearing its finale.

After the video ends, the executive producer steps down from his stage, once more thanking everyone for their hard work and encouraging them all to finish off the plentiful catering leftovers. The room explodes into applause and some whistles, and you join in with the ones sitting next to you. It’s been a hard journey with many late nights and abysmally early mornings, but you’re close to the end. You’ll miss the familiar people you’ve come to enjoy seeing every day and the kindness of the teams you got to work with. One thing is for certain: Your phone is positively bursting with contacts from many, many people you’ve met just through working on this show. You hope that your future job will connect you with some of them again face to face when all is said and done.

Mind abuzz with thoughts of where you’ll end up next, you whittle away the hours yet again with your favorite company. At one point, Sun hands off his flute of champagne to a passerby with superfluous reassurances that he’s done “absolutely nothing to it!” He doesn’t sound trustworthy at all, but when he gives you a universally austere wink, it becomes obvious he’s just pulling the other person’s leg.

At some point, someone pulls out an honest-to-God Clue board game from who knows where, and you end up on a three-person team with Moon and Sun—much to the chanting of your friends and coworkers—to solve the mystery and take down your competitors. Eclipse pairs with Gregory and an actor who played as one of his goons. Becker, you think his name is.

A mix of people from other departments, from the sound crew to the camera crew to the stunt performers and everyone in between, get involved too, whether it’s to team up or just spectate like this is the greatest new sport. In the end, the result is a truly raucous round that leads to your team’s victory. High fives and gloating abound, but that’s quickly stampeded when you, Moon, and Sun lose the next round. After that, you decide to let other people have a turn, and you mingle with those you haven’t had a chance to chat with in a long while. What makes it an even better experience is that throughout the socializing, you find yourself with a tail or two or three. They let you reach out first—a hand on their backs or elbows—which leads to them returning the favor so that you’re in constant contact with at least one. It doesn’t escape your notice that doing this means you’ll receive more raised eyebrows and probably stir up the pot of gossip.

But unlike before, that thought doesn’t really bother you as much.

You know why.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, the party dwindles in size. Some depart to go celebrate the new year with family; others leave to follow the call of their beds. You catch one more quick interaction with Ribbon, and they give you a big hug that you return just as tightly. Their little arms threaten to bruise your bones, and it only makes your fondness for them soar. Their parents also bid you goodbye, sharing grateful waves at you, and you watch as they lead their kid to the hotel’s elevator, Ribbon squeezing both their hands and skipping between them.

Not an ounce of tiredness in that one. You wish you had their energy. The studio couldn’t have picked a better vigilante-in-the-making.

Feeling winded yourself, you return to your seat with a drawn-out groan. While you were away, Sun and Moon swapped places. Judging by the delighted tapping of Sun’s fingers on the table and Moon’s unhappy glower, it wasn’t a unanimous decision.

It’s a mere fifteen minutes to midnight now. And that’s when Eclipse returns to his seat and decides it’s high time to throw another curveball your way.

“I have a proposition for you,” he slyly says, which has you simultaneously uneasy and intrigued.

“Oh?” 

“Yes, oh?” Sun parrots, with much more skepticism in his tone.

Eclipse grins wryly. In between one blink and the next, he snaps into view a solid black card between his middle and forefinger. The slender card has no meaning to you, at least not until he flicks it a certain way in the light. The embossed letters reflect the ambient glow just enough to be legible, and that’s when you gasp.

“You’re joking,” you breathe, and Eclipse chuckles.

“What? What am I missing?” Sun looks between you and Eclipse and then at the card, but Eclipse tucks it away just as fast.

You lean back in your seat, stunned.

“This hotel has to be booked solid all through the holiday,” you manage to say. “How on earth did you get a key? Did you book a room months ago?”

The eldest brother is obviously enjoying this, both your and Sun’s reactions, unlike Moon who is slowly becoming one with his chair the further he sinks into it, and you can’t find it in yourself to deprive Eclipse of his moment. You weren’t expecting that at all.

He shakes his head and keeps his voice low, like he’s sharing a secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but there’s a man here who I used to work with on a different set years ago. He’s a cameraman, and the bulk of his work is focused on taking candid pictures to be used for promotion. Back when we first met, we both were still graduating past being  labeled as fresh blood in the industry, so we ended up hitting it off. He’s been a good friend of mine ever since.” Long fingers fold together, and Eclipse props his elbows on the table, shadowed metal almost ominous in the light. “That’s all to say that he was invited to tonight’s party as a plus one because his niece is one of the actresses for this series, and they’re rather close. He chose to book a room at this hotel months ago for the event out of convenience.”

Eclipse leans in closer as excitement in his voice builds, and like an infectious pull, you mirror his movement.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” he simpers. “I overheard that this place has a pool and bar—more specifically, a rooftop pool and bar. Due to the cold weather, the outdoor half of the pool has been closed for winter, but the indoor half has been kept open. And currently, guests are allowed to use their keycards to enjoy a nice swim and some drinks from ten o’clock in the morning to ten o’clock at night. So naturally, when I expressed my interest in accessing the place, my friend gave me one of his spare keys with the exception that I don’t tell anyone where I got it from.”

You're astounded and can see how Eclipse relishes having such a captive audience.

“Kind of failed on that front already,” Moon tacks on blithely. He feigns disinterest, but his gaze is fixed on you as well, assessing.

You hope he isn’t readying to read you your Miranda rights if you so much as suggest an iota of interest in this.

Eclipse, however, only puffs out a synthetic breath at his little brother.

“Anyone who’s a snitch,” he clarifies.

“So what you’re saying is,” you say, still starry-eyed with wonder, “we can sneak up to the rooftop and watch the fireworks from there?”

“Among other things, yes.”

You pause.

“Other things?”

Eclipse doesn’t answer. But his shifty keek at Sun has you feeling on edge.

“Oh!”

You flinch as Sun violently shoots to his feet, chair scraping behind him, and he is just as wide-eyed as you.

“I’m suddenly fully on board with this plan without any dubious behavior whatsoever.” He holds a hand out to you. “Let’s go do some illicit activities.”

You side-eye Moon. Sun does much the same.

“By which I mean technically not illicit at all,” he hastily adds. He wiggles his fingertips at you. “Coming, doll?”

Your hand reaches for his.

“Nothing dubious, huh?”

Sun gently pulls you out of your seat. The animatronic picks up your coat too and drapes it over your shoulders before you can have time to think about it, and the warmth of your coat extends deeper than it normally would. He takes your hand with a stifled sound that is by definition just plain cute. Suspicious or not, you’ll go wherever he leads as long as it means staying by his side. Clearly, the brothers have something planned, especially since Moon hasn’t made a peep where he normally would about anything remotely smelling of unlawful, and you squirm with your own enthusiasm.

“Here.” Eclipse gives Sun the keycard, and while Sun pockets it, you frown in confusion.

“Wait, aren’t you two coming with us?”

At long last, Moon breaks his silence with a benign grin aimed up at you.

“In a minute, starling. Go on up before I change my mind.”

Eclipse tips his head at the elevators.

“We’ll catch up with you shortly. Sunny wants to share something with you first.”

Said animatronic is trembling like a live wire in his bundle of excitement.

“I hope that isn’t what you mean by illicit,” you snark, and you let Sun steer you out of the room with not a second to spare.

“No, no, you won’t find any sort of recreational things on me. I have clean pockets, promise!”

You almost lose your footing, but the other is quick to catch you.

“Thanks.” You pat him appreciatively. “ Also, I wasn’t thinking you had any dirty pockets there, Sunny. But now that you mentioned it… Hm, I might just need to check for myself and thoroughly investigate.”

You watch in bemusement as Sun repeatedly presses the elevator button to summon it. His head snaps to you with some wily scheme dancing inside, his blatant impatience subconsciously pulling you in so that you have to tilt your head back farther to keep him and his lovely rays in sight.

His inner mechanisms click and whir at your closeness. With the hand not holding yours, he taps you on the nose, making you wrinkle it.

“Let’s not get handsy just yet, dear. We haven’t even discussed marriage.”

That earns him a scoff.

“Then color me surprised, snookums, because it sure seems like we’re eloping.”

You lean your weight against his side, confident that he won’t mind, and Sun lets go of your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulders instead. As you’d suspected, he squeezes you like he plans to imprint you there.

One of the two elevators dings upon its arrival, and the second the doors swish open, Sun hustles you inside. His barely restrained frenetic energy has you snickering, to which he lightheartedly swats you. Once he’s pushed the button for the top floor with more aggressive tapping, he spins back around to give you his full attention. His boundless enthusiasm means a need to channel it somewhere, so it’s no surprise when his fingers continue to busy themselves by beginning to undo one of the buttons of his cuffs to roll his sleeve up to his elbow.

“Trust me, you will know when we’re eloping,” he remarks without thought as he’s focused on his task, neatly tucking away fabric and moving on to the next sleeve.

Oh, he makes it too easy for you sometimes. You brace against the wall while letting a flirtatious smirk emerge. It’s impossible not to tease him a little more, not when you’ve got him trapped like this. 

“When we elope, detective?” you echo smugly, pulling a little of your character to the surface. You can’t help it when he walked right into that one.

Sun doesn’t say anything.

Not in the way you’d expected, however. He doesn’t freeze like it was a Freudian slip of the tongue or react with visible panic. No, he doesn’t utter a single word in the aftermath of that little taunt, but he needn’t do so in the way his eyes speak for himself.

Cerulean blue is piercing in low light, you realize. Unwavering as he doesn’t add anything more to confirm or deny your question. You’re playing a losing game of trying not to focus on the bare metal that is revealed as Sun finishes rolling up both his sleeves. Only a beat more of silence has to pass before you realize that you’re the one who’s prey to the sudden intensity of the solitude from the craziness of the night. It’s just you and Sun now and a weighty stillness in the shadow of what you’d thought was an ignorant exchange. Somehow, that has you more uncentered than probably any comeback he could have returned.

Sun’s not saying anything in defense because he doesn’t intend to deny it.

You swallow. Nothing but the vibration of the elevator and its lighthearted music disturbs whatever tension has begun to form. Not unwelcome or even necessarily uncomfortable. But it is noticeable, and you’re becoming extremely aware of everything in the small space, namely the animatronic who’s taking up most of it right in front of you.

Before the tension can get any thicker, the elevator comes to a halt somewhere in its ascent. You and Sun watch as someone, presumably a hotel guest, steps onto the elevator with you, reaches over, and taps a button for a few floors up.

You were wrong; the tension can get thicker, and it is compressing you.

The ride up is painfully silent, made worse by the fact that for whatever reason, Sun does not stop staring at you. You’re just an arm’s reach shy of being cornered against the wall, and apparently, Sun sees no issue with this and how it might look to the unexpected friend who’s joined the circus.

Hardly ten seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity before the other person’s floor is reached. They exit without a word or a glance in your direction, and that’s exactly how you prefer it. Without looking, Sun reaches over and nudges the button to close the doors. They slide shut, and your ride to the top is continued once more with only one animatronic to fill the space and your vision.

Funnily enough, this is the first chance all night that you really get a good view of his outfit, what with him being so close. Since you’re desperate to latch onto anything else, you concentrate on that instead. To your surprise, what you see has you in tickled disbelief.

Blinking, you nod in his direction and say, “Please tell me those suspenders are from your costume.”

Sun glances down at the thick loops of fabric on his person as if he’s seeing them for the first time. Then his grin flashes back up at you, twinkling.

“Do you like them?”

He already knows the answer, cheeky thing.

“As if you even need to ask.” You ignore how his amused leer makes your skin pleasantly tingly. You are, in fact, ignoring a lot of things that him being so close is doing to you. A shiver runs down your back. Which you also ignore. “What I’m more shocked by is how you and Moon seem to be sneaking off with pieces of your outfits and getting away with it.”

Sun shrugs and brushes imaginary lint off his shirt with a hum.

“I needed something special from my costume to wear tonight since I wanted to dress to impress. It was either wear these or my handcuffs.”

“…I think you and I might have different definitions of how to impress.”

The animatronic sighs heavily.

“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”

As he says this, he reaches up and hooks a finger underneath one of the straps. His air is nothing short of coy, like an idea has just taken shape in his devious mind, and he slowly eases the fabric across his shoulder, flirting with slipping it over the edge. A curled metal digit suggestively rubs the suspender. It would probably have a much greater effect on you if his little show wasn’t currently being backed by cheery elevator music, and that alone has your lips spasmodically twitching.

Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.

“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.

You’re actually on the verge of hysterics after bouncing from that tense moment to now this highly entertaining version of a strip tease, but you’re doing your damndest to keep down the stunned laughter rattling inside your chest. You purse your lips to hold back the tide and then take a second to compose yourself.

“I don’t remember this scene ever being in the script,” you say instead, keenly aware that the elevator is not soundproof nor private. You suddenly wonder if there is a security camera in here and if some poor staff member is seeing all of this, and you almost burst into a guffaw right there.

Sun taps a coquettish finger like he’s shushing you. He can tell how close you are to losing it, and he has no problem chuckling at whatever face you’re making.

“That’s because it’ll be our little secret behind the scenes,” he chirps.

Before you have time to unpack that little remark, the lilting elevator voice declares you’ve reached your destination. You straighten back up when the doors slide apart, a deep exhale blowing past your lips to calm the fluttering in your chest, but Sun doesn’t move just yet.

His hand extends out to you, palm up. A light request and one you don’t have to ponder at all to accept. You’ve noticed that all of the brothers seem to enjoy holding your hand. That’s good, because you enjoy it too.

As the two of you traipse out onto the floor, you’re struck by an intense smell of chlorine. Your lungs expand with the joyous call of swimming pool water, and it’s a small shame that you don’t have a swimsuit on to take a quick dip.

Sun scouts the area with you at his side. Miraculously, the floor appears entirely vacant and ghostly quiet. Couldn’t be because the pool and bar hours have long since passed. Certainly not. There’s a gym up here too, secured off behind glass walls and an entrance that requires keycard access to get in. But that���s not what you’re here for.

“This way.” You lead Sun down a hallway, trusting your nose. 

He’s quiet still, but his steps are no less eager than yours. You wonder what it is he wants to show you and why he needs to show it up here of all places and what on earth was that moment you shared in the elevator because it certainly felt like something. There’s no denying the thrill you get from sneaking in somewhere that’s technically meant only for actual hotel guests and only during certain hours. It makes you remember being a teenager, getting into trouble or always just dancing outside of it with someone you lo— 

Someone you care about.

As you and Sun peruse the vacant floor, what you’re doing begins to catch up to you. It starts with a giggle from one or both of you—you’re not sure who, but it’s definitely you—like you’re misbehaving children getting into things you shouldn’t. Very quickly from there, the chortles you had tried to suppress from before begin to slip out with Sun not far behind, and you fall into a repetitive pattern of stifling your hitching breaths and hushing each other with no success.

“Sun, you’ve gotta—” you loudly snort and laugh even more. “You’ve gotta stop—”

“Ohoho, I’ve got to stop? Not this barrel of laughs right next to me?” he gibes, his free hand snaking out and poking you in your sensitive stomach.

“H-hey, no! You cut that out right now, mister!”

Sun’s fingers wriggle treacherously, and your squeal bounces off the walls. Another round of shushing does little to quell the jittering butterflies in your stomach that are making your chest heave with half-caught breaths. To your relief, Sun ceases the merciless assault on your ticklish side, but it’s only to then stop in place.

You stop as well when you realize he’s not budging, and you smile a little crookedly over your shoulder at the unreadable way he looks at you.

Standing there in the hall, Sun doesn’t move an inch aside from his rays that twirl in a leisurely circle. His hand is warm in yours, and his focus doesn’t stray to anywhere except you. He takes a long moment to just keep you at his side, quiet and contemplating.

Then, without preamble or any warning, he kindly says, “You have a pretty laugh.”

And wouldn’t you know it, there is now no air conditioning in the room whatsoever because you can feel yourself heating up all over.

“Oh,” you start, openly floundering like a fish out of water. “I’m… Thanks?”

An affectionate huff graces your ears.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, silly. All I mean to say is I enjoy hearing it. Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

Thump-thump.

Seems like all three of the brothers adore leaving you speechless too. You’re aware your mouth is parted, but you don’t even know what to say to that. Sun said it like it was another one of his simple observations he loves to make, like it’s as plain as the weather or the nose on your face. 

Like it wasn’t a tease or anything meant to poke fun. Just mere fact.

The edges of your lips find their way back up your cheeks.

“Then I’m glad to hear that. Because you make me happy too,” you say quietly.

Yellow rays pick up speed.

After a subtle glance around, you add, “Not that I don’t appreciate the really sweet confession, but are there any other pressing things you need to admit right now, or do you mind if we get outside first before your brothers show up? You said there was something you wanted to show me.”

The whites behind his blue pupils catch an opalescent flash of light, like mother of pearl.

“I suppose I can wait to tell you about my outstanding arrest warrant,” he says. “Come along then. We don’t have much time left!”

“Wait, your what now? Sun!”

He tugs you after him, warbling giggles promising he’s up to no good, and that’s all the answer you get from the animatronic. 

Thankfully, you make it down another hall without further incident as the walled-off pool comes into view. It’s surrounded by glass panes just like the gym. The lights are dim inside, signaling that it isn’t open. But that’s hardly a deterrent, and as you near the door that will let you inside, you can see through the room that on the other side of the pool is another door that leads out onto the rooftop.

In one swift swipe, Sun glides the key across the card reader, and the door unlocks with a beep. Like a true gentleman, he proudly opens the door for you. Or rather, he tries to.

You watch him jolt when the door doesn’t swing open. Grunting, he then grinds his heels into the floor and heaves and tries to yank on the door with all his might. The metal and glass obstacle refuses to budge.

Having some pity on him, you calmly say, “Honeybee, it’s push, not pull.”

He pauses. Stares. Gently, he nudges the door in the opposite direction. It swings open wide.

His grin is an even, flat line.

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

Disregarding your mocking tone, he keeps the door propped open with a foot and bows low.

“After you, my dove.”

You shake your head at the endearment and step past him, waiting for him to quietly close the door behind you before you pipe up, voice echoing across the water.

“Are you just throwing out pet names now and seeing what sticks?”

His chassis purrs with his mirth, restlessness keeping him in motion. “I thought about calling you a chicken, but doing so seemed most fowl.”

“A ch— What did you just call me?!” Oh, you’re about to show him just how non-chicken you are, but you then cut yourself off as soon as his joke lands. Blowing out a loud breath, you give Sun the full scope of your unimpressed glower. His optics lift from his joviality.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”

“Got you good though, didn’t I? Hmm?”

When he’s like this, very subtly swaying from one foot to the other like he’s listening to some silent tune and his endless delight needs to be used somewhere, you can’t hold onto a frown to save your life. You just can’t.

So you purse your lips and pout as hard as you can to show just how unamused you are. You’re so unamused. It’s almost funny how deep your lack of amusement runs, it’s so unamusing.

Your lips quiver at the edges. Sun sees it.

Without warning, he sidles up to you, humming some unknown tune, and then with his thumb and forefinger, he reaches up and pinches your lips together, making them even flatter.

“On second thought,” he remarks, completely ignoring your indignant, muffled protest, “a chicken or a dove isn’t accurate because what I’m clearly seeing now is a duck.”

He emphasizes his point with a squeeze, making you create the very unwanted impression of a duckbill, and he springs away from your enraged swat and squeak, delight carrying his voice loud across the pool.

“Sun!” you yell, rubbing your smarting mouth. “Don’t run away!”

“No offense, duckling,” he titters as he does the exact opposite of your demand, “but something tells me that would be to my detriment!”

“Yeah, that something is me! Come back here!”

You chase the fleeing animatronic around the pool and to the door leading outside. Sun slams into it first, sprinting out with you fast on his heels. The icy cold temperature shocks you from its severity, but you’re too lost in the chase to give it much thought. Sun skips all the way past the closed bar and outdoor pool, up a small flight of smooth cement stairs, and to an area overlooking the harbor.

Right into a corner.

Seemingly realizing his mistake, he turns back around, but you’re already there, closing in on him. What’s worse is he’s still cackling, and you don’t know how you’re going to get your payback, but you’ll figure it out somehow.

“Hoohoo, you’re looking a little frosty over there,” he says, hands lifting up in a placating motion as you near. “Perhaps this would be a wonderful time to go back inside where it’s nice and toasty!”

“Perhaps not,” you shoot back, ignoring how you’ve lost the war in maintaining a frown. The joy on Sun’s faceplate is just too contagious.

He drops the placating gesture in favor of hooking a finger in his collar and tugging on it like he’s nervous. What a drama queen.

“You know, I heard diplomacy is in currently! Super popular! All the cool cats are trying it, so I think we should give it a shot too to see what’s what.”

You’ve reached him at this point, and your hands land on your hips. “That’s funny to hear, Sunny, since just thirty seconds ago, you didn’t seem all that interested in it.”

The animatronic sputters at your very sound logic. His expression is not at all apologetic while he pulls an excuse out of thin air.

“Change of heart?” he says uncertainly.

“Yeah, how believable.” The desert has nothing on your arid tone. 

You step forward and grasp one of Sun’s bottom rays, one of the few you can actually reach. Though he could very easily withstand your strength, Sun lets you pull him down until he’s eye-level with you. You have some long-winded speech waiting in the wings—pun not intended—about how this “duckling” can meet him step for step in weaponized terms of endearment, and you absolutely will use that to your advantage to drop the most unhinged pet names in front of others when he least expects it.

But then Sun speaks up before you get the chance.

“If we were to, say, hypothetically, continue the trend of listing things that are funny,” he begins, speaking lower now that he’s so close to you, “then I’d like to mention how this little predicament happens to have reminded me of what I wanted to show you.”

Your skepticism is unmatched.

“Does it involve pulling a sudden disappearing act?”

“Goodness, no! That’s the very opposite of what I want because that would mean putting distance between myself and you… little duck.”

Your eyes narrow.

“You’re pushing it.”

“Just moving the goalpost, darling. Let me finish before we run out of time.”

You can’t help cracking up at that, shaking his ray a little so that all of them swing side to side a few degrees.

“What, do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”

“Excuse you, I’m more akin to a Prince Charming than anything. But that’s beside the point because I have something very important I need to tell you.”

When he says your name then, the silliness ebbing away to make room for something more serious, you perk up, and your smile dims with concern.

But Sun eases away the wrinkles of worry with his thumb, soundlessly cupping your cheek and soothing you in a motion that makes your heart skip. You’ve noticed it doing that a lot lately. He takes the hand that’s listlessly clinging to his ray, curls his long fingers around it, and lifts it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. The wind is slow yet sharp, cutting into your bones. You instinctively huddle into your coat in a vain attempt to preserve some heat.

Sun tuts when you shiver and helps you slide your arms into the sleeves of your coat rather than just keep it around your shoulders.

“I should have brought my jacket up as well so you’d be at least a little warmer. Sorry about that.”

You snatch his hand back, which he gladly accepts.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with you here. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Sun chuffs, shaking his head but minding his rays so that they don’t prod or scrape you. His mouth twitches.

“You’re always so sweet, honeydew. Silly pet names aside, I hope you know that I’m only ever teasing you with them. When I’m not trying to be a romantic, that is, which is actually always, but regardless—”

“Romantic?” you interrupt softly.

This time, Sun’s eyes do widen. His rays pop out wider, and it’s the first time tonight he actually looks rattled.

“Oh! Oh goodness, I did just say that, didn’t I? Not that that isn’t exactly why I brought you up here in the first place, but I had intended to at least drop that particular piece of information with a little more delicateness. I don’t want to go scaring you off so soon before I’ve even had the chance to reach the second bullet point in the speech I’ve rehearsed and scrapped at least a thousand times, and— Oh dear, this isn’t how I’d planned things to go.”

“Sun,” you say as soon as he pauses. His rays begin speeding at your voice, and you resist the sudden desire to close the infinitesimally small space between you. But you do have an inkling of why he brought you up here, why Eclipse and Moon hung back to give you time alone with him.

The math is starting to add up. Surprisingly, even with your rapid fluctuation of heart-pounding excitement, you feel a calmness that reassures you. This is where you’re meant to be, with him.

“Be honest with me,” you request, and Sun nods emphatically. Dork, you think with full affection. You take a deep breath in, hold his gaze and the stars within, and then let your breath out. There’s nowhere else to go, but your feet still try to inch you closer. “Did you bring me up here to kiss me?”

A lull. Out here, it’s a little harder to hear Sun’s mechanisms working overtime, but the fact that you can hear them at all tells you he’s processing quite a bit. That already is a big hint of an answer, but you want to hear him say so yourself.

With an artificial exhale that layers an inexplicable tenderness, he says, “Well, it wasn’t an expectation, but I certainly would be lying if I said I wouldn’t like that. More than that, though, I just wanted to confess how I feel about you and go from there. But I suppose I am that transparent, aren’t I?”

Your cheeks are stretching again from your happiness.

“Don’t feel too bad. It took me until a certain conversation with Eclipse a few weeks ago to realize any of you had feelings for me.”

Another puff, this one exasperated.

“Yes, I'm aware. Honestly, we all thought we weren’t being subtle in the slightest. Even our coworkers noticed, dear.”

You wince and protest, “Okay, well, I thought they were just joking around! You can’t blame me for that. Especially since I thought you all were just playing too.”

“Which remains a mystery to me! I even asked you months ago if you wanted to practice kissing so that we could get it right during filming.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more.

The moment he’s referring to is vivid in your memory, only because you’ve thought about it more times than you’d like to admit and had just sadly written it off as Sun being his usual playful self. Yes, he was flirting, but you hadn’t thought he was flirting-flirting. Just that it was the usual game you all play. But still… months ago? Just how long have these three been trying to get your attention?

“You were flirting with me then?” you say quizzically.

Sun chuckles, and one of his arms winds around your waist. He holds you like the daintiest flower, and even you feel a flash of embarrassment over just how much you like that.

“As I said, a mystery. But like any good sleuth, I have a feeling that with your help, we can put our heads together and solve this case.”

You brighten immediately. There he is.

“Ah, I see,” you play along. “Taking inspiration from a certain show, hm? So what are your deductions, Detective Sun?”

“I’m so glad you asked! Because I have quite a few, but for the sake of time and the fact that the fireworks are soon to start, I’ll give you the cliff notes version and do away with any alleged speech, rehearsed or not.”

His palm is so warm around your cheek, hiding you from the cold as much as he can. You hardly even notice it when he’s embracing you like this. Your eyes search his, your entire being ready to latch onto his every word to lock it inside your heart and never let it go.

In the strongest sincerity you’ve ever heard from him, he says, unspeakably gently, “I like you. Not just as a friend, though you are without a doubt one of the best and closest I’ve ever had. I like you in the sense that I have fallen for you. Complete head over heels, tumbling-down-the-staircase kind of mess. I'm absolutely sure you know that by now, but if you don’t, I am not above paying to have it written in the sky so that it gets through your thick but lovable head.” His warning comes with a wagging finger, and you snort despite the unexpected mistiness creeping behind your eyelids again when you blink.

Sun’s fake glower softens to an incandescent warmth, pulling you in like a flower.

“The point is, I want to pursue this feeling with you, as do my brothers. I’m sure they’ve already told you. Heaven knows if I have to listen to Moon brag for another minute about getting a kiss from you tonight, I will lose my sanity. But I also heard from a little birdie that my brothers requested a little, hmm, how did they put it? A head start on the new year?”

You bite your lip. His scrutiny falls lower, and your uneven breath is a cloud of white smoke between you and him.

“Something like that,” you softly say.

Sun’s servos whistle a delighted song.

“I hope you’ll excuse me for being so bold because I’m about to be like that regardless,” he says, “but it sounds like they didn’t do the tradition properly at all. They seem to have missed one very crucial factor, and I think you know exactly what I mean. So with that in mind, precious, may I steal a kiss from you to make sure it’s done right?”

After a confession like that? You wind your arms around his neck, lips parting, blood pounding in your ears. He needn’t have even asked.

It takes a moment to find your voice, but you make sure it reaches him even as a whisper.

“As long as you promise to give it back.” Your fingers toy with the back of his silk tie.

You don’t mistake the way his arms tremble like he’s afraid to hold you any tighter. 

His words fall on a cadence weighted down by obvious want.

“If that’s the price for stealing such a lovely treasure,” he respires synthetically, “then I might just have to pay it over and over again.”

In the next second, his mouth finds yours, pressing headily to your lips and threatening to consume you whole. You gasp against him, clinging to the back of his shirt needily while his hand crawls to the back of your head and cups it in a gentle hold so that he can better angle the kiss. His arm doesn’t constrict your waist, but he keeps you there with the assuredness that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his deep groan at your insistence to hold him even tighter makes you lightheaded.

The snowing has stopped, and the temperature has continued to only drop, but you couldn’t feel hotter. The flame inside of you bursts to life with a rush of a powerful emotion that would have once scared you away. Now you only tiptoe around it, not ready to reveal it yet but knowing that it is there, waiting and growing steadily every moment you spend with Sun and his brothers. 

You tilt your head with a ragged exhale while Sun twines some of your hair between his fingers, not yanking but prompting a delicious tension that sends a wonderful pleasure through your skull. You’re shivering again, and it’s all his doing.

He writes intimacy and sentiment on your lips with his teeth, capturing every micro-breath you try to take, and still you try to press closer to him. He breaks the kiss for a split second that allows you all of one heightened inhale before he’s stealing that too, and you’re burning together in an addictive passion that you never want to unlearn. For as long as he’ll allow it, you want to know only the smooth curve of his mouth and the hot metal of his chassis that is flush with your chest and the distracting digits dragging along the back of your head and the protective line of his arm that coils around your waist with an equally firm hand securing you there.

That’s all you need to know in the moment.

When Sun parts from you, moving away first because he probably correctly guessed that you’d keep kissing him until you passed out, his eyes slip open halfway, and his grin is askew like he’s swooning. You’re sure you have a similar goofy look too, concealed just barely by the clouds of white that spill out along every exhale while your lungs hurt delightfully. The cold snap strengthens when yellow rays spin at such a fast pace, they’re almost invisible.

The world is near-silent up here, city activity sounding so far away that it doesn’t disturb this perfect peace you’ve found. You don’t want to break the quiet and risk it all being a figment of your imagination once more. So you watch in wonder at how Sun peers at you intently, like he’s fascinated by whatever sight you make.

He braves cutting the silence first, albeit with a far-from-intrusive volume.

“Hmm, how was that? Do you think we got it right, or should we try again?”

You exhale long and slow. The white cloud of air billows.

“I don’t see how it could possibly be more perfect than that.” You adore the way Sun melts at your admission. “At this point, I’m just waiting to wake up.”

The solar animatronic pauses. His rays twist again, back and forth as if in uncertainty.

“From a dream or a nightmare?” he presses.

“A dream, silly.” You fondly shake your head. “Just seems like I’ve been imagining having this for so long, it doesn’t feel real. You, Moon, and Eclipse. I’m worried I’ll blink and be back in my own bed again, alone.”

The hand at your side taps a little rhythm. Sun’s nervousness vanishes as quick as a spring shower.

“I’m afraid to break the news to you,” he says, “but if those are the dreams you’re having, I won’t be waking you up anytime soon.”

You receive a quick kiss on the nose, which makes you twitch and Sun coo at that. You get him back with a kiss to the corner of his teeth. His wavering thrum of pleasure draws out until it morphs into a frustrated groan.

It’s your turn for concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Sun grunts, “Nothing, nothing. Just reminded that I am sadly not an only child.”

“What?”

He inclines his head at something behind you, and you turn in his arms to see what he’s looking at, much to his disheartened whine.

Just beyond the pool room next to the glass door that requires a key to enter, Moon stands there in the hallway, pressed to the glass and a dead grin on his face. His red pupils nearly take up the entirety of his optics. Eclipse is not too far off, but he’s at least giving you some sense of privacy by not staring your way.

Moon gives you a little wave.

You turn back to Sun.

“You know those videos people post of their pets watching them from the window?”

Sun releases a loud, rumbling hiss of static amusement.

“Oh, don’t let them hear you say that. I’m pretty sure at least one of those two in there bites.”

“But not you?” you quip, elbowing him.

Blue flickers against white.

“Only if you ask me to.”

Right then. Probably should have seen that one coming from a mile away. 

“Raincheck,” you deflect. “Let’s let the others out first before they miss the fireworks.”

Sun dramatically releases you with a disappointed flair fitting for the stage, but he does as you request.

“I’ll go get the door. You wait right there, precious.”

You watch him skitter over back around the outdoor pool, through the door into the pool room, and then over to the door where his brothers wait. As soon as he tries to open it, a strange sort of tug of war begins where Sun attempts to pull one way, and Moon pulls just as hard on the other side. Judging by his expression, he’s doing it just for the sake of being a brat. The two engage in some back and forth, and though you can’t hear them, you can see Sun’s annoyance and Moon’s pure delight. It’s broken up finally by Eclipse grabbing the back of Moon’s coat and lifting him up like he’s scruffing a cat. Moon doesn’t even put up a fight, seemingly appeased that he sufficiently got under his other brother’s wires.

Once Eclipse sets him back down, Sun opens the door, and the three of them traipse through the pool room to the rooftop exit.

“I should have just left you in there!” Sun is saying as he throws open the door with a harrumph. “Honestly, you’re just so unnecessarily much sometimes!”

“Worth it,” Moon returns, unaffected by his sibling’s agitation. He lights up when he spies you.

“Moonie,” you tease as he approaches, “are you annoying your brother again on purpose?”

“No,” Moon says at the same time Sun gives an annoyed “yes.”

“It’s sibling tax,” he clarifies, coming to a stop next to you.

You tsk.

“I’d be careful if I were you. That sibling tax might come at a cost if Sun decides to do something like throw your hat off the building.”

You’ve barely finished the sentence before dark blue and silver digits are slamming onto the brim of Moon’s hat. He sends a dirty scowl at his brother who’s more than intrigued at the prospect by the sounds of it.

His voice is gruff and disapproving at you.

“Don’t give him ideas.”

Sun snips back, “Don’t be a varmint then.”

While the bickering continues, you find yourself mouthing varmint in confusion at Eclipse. He just shakes his head, equally bemused.

“Three minutes to midnight,” he announces over the sounds of ill-timed threats, probably to redirect his brothers’ focus.

You face the harbor. Sun stands sullenly at your side, and you startle in initial surprise when two arms slide over your shoulders from behind and loosely cross your chest. You sag against Eclipse, idly reaching up to rub one of his wrists as the approaching hour and year looms before you. It’s crazy to you how in such a short amount of time, you’ve grown so comfortable with the celestial brothers. Like something you’ve come to expect and especially welcome. The meaning and intent behind that comfort is the only part that’s shifted, and the change is one that leaves you undeniably giddy.

You’ve celebrated New Year’s Eve before, but never like this. Not with people who mean the world to you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s an entirely new course of life that you’re about to start with them, tentatively exploring this uncharted territory together, and the thought stirs up your curiosity.

What lies ahead? Not just relationship-wise, though that’s something you doubt you could really fathom with all the nuances you will surely find. The unknowing surrounding it actually gives you some relief. You don’t have to stress over and evaluate your every move. Whatever happens with them—with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse—will happen naturally. It’s cause for excitement, which has you shivering from more than just the cold now.

But you find your mind drifting to what will come after this show is finished. You’ve gotten so used to being with them at most hours of the day because you work together. What will it be like afterwards when the time you have with them will be reserved for coming home to a full apartment and making new memories in a much more intimate setting? Where will their talent take them next?

Before you can second-guess yourself, you broach the topic.

“Earlier tonight, I asked you what you’re doing after this,” you say, feeling the heavy weight of the attention from all three. You wet your dry lips. “And Moon was too busy being a gremlin to let me get a straight answer.”

The corners of Moon’s mouth scrunch up, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“What I really meant back there was… what are you guys going to do after our show is over? Do you have any gigs lined up?”

“Not quite.” Sun clasps his hands together. “But our agent did tip us about a possible dual leviathan role that myself and Moon might consider. It’d mean a lot of CGI, but we would get to wear those funky motion capture suits with the little dots all over them! So who knows. We might just end up trying out for that.”

Your lips quirk in bemusement as you try to imagine it.

“Don’t you need to be, I don’t know, swimming in order to act out a big, scary leviathan?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Moon dismisses, and he leans back against the rooftop balcony. The gentle crimson glow when he studies you is like dying stars in this low light. “If anything, it will be a chance to challenge ourselves in not using our voices as much unless they decide to make the leviathans capable of speech. What Sun said does have its appeal, and we’d probably get to experience some wire acrobatics. But I also think we’d have fun trying our hands at something spooky. Maybe with cryptids or familiars or lifeguards. We’re great at being scary, you know.”

Your face wrinkles.

“One of those is not like the others.” 

“You just haven’t seen me acting as a demon yet.”

“I see you act like that every day,” you say evenly to the tune of Sun’s and Eclipse’s ensuing chortles and Moon’s sharp squint. “Wouldn’t really call that one the outlier of the ideas you suggested.”

“Whatever the case, Clip hasn’t decided where he’ll go next either,” Sun adds, earning a noise of agreement from the animatronic behind you. “I heard there might be potential for a third role in the leviathan storyline, but it would be a prequel of sorts. Curious how they’re planning on pulling that one off.”

“They really do plan ahead, huh?” You tap a finger on your arm, and your gaze is pulled to the winter night sky once more. It is so beautiful up here.

“And what about you?” Eclipse chimes next. “Where will you go after this?”

A hum stirs from your throat.

You’re not sure yet. There is a realm of possibilities stretching out before you. The time to contact your acting agent is nearing, and you feel a strong curl of melancholy at the show you’ve put your heart and soul into coming to its end. It’s been a wild ride, and the memories you’ve gained from your experiences will follow you long after you’ve parted ways with the show. But as Sun said, who knows? Maybe one day you’ll find yourself slipping back into your vigilante costume again and playing a game of chase with a pair of handsome detectives.

You look to your boys, standing with you in the cold and enjoying the seclusion from the rest of the city. 

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet,” you answer truthfully. You reach out, and without hesitation, Sun and Moon each take your offered hands, one after the other, large metal joints protecting your fragile fingers from the bitter chill. “But no matter where I end up, I’m sure that it won’t be the same without working next to you.”

Sun holds you tighter.

“True, it will be impossible to ever replace the amazing cohorts that we were. But that’s why you’ve got us to come home to now, yes?”

His happy expression reflects back onto you. He’s right. You have a lot to explore now, don’t you? And it all starts with them.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t worry about the future now. After all, I’ve only got two hands.”

Moon’s optics gleam dangerously with his ever-present grin.

“Don’t forget your third one,” he says, nodding surreptitiously behind you.

You start to turn, but before you can, Eclipse’s voice grazes your ear.

“Oh, they won’t.”

Cold metal just barely singes you as a large hand brushes under your chin and tilts your head up until you can see him hovering over you. His eyes are flames in the dark, shining upon you with the intensity of a celestial body. His rays have begun to whirl, and you think it might be because of the wind because it sorely reminds you of a pinwheel, and you have to choke back a laugh. It’s not hard to do when his fingertips caress your skin, snaring your focus and dragging a plume of air past your lips.

“No,” you agree warmly. “I won’t.”

Your inhale stutters right back out when the animatronic stoops down low enough to press a kiss to your forehead before letting your chin go. The sound of a piercing whistle and thunderous boom retrieves your attention, bringing it to the harbor as the first crackles of color light up the night.

The ensuing display is breathtaking. The subtle smell of smoke from the fireworks catches on the wind and carries over to your group as you watch in awe the dawning of a new year. It’s heralded by sparks of intricate designs and blooms that make you squeeze the hands you’re holding on to, savoring the twin pulses you receive in turn. The presence at your back is a solid wall shielding you from the cold as much as possible, heavy arms a comfort that drape loosely around your front.

As you enjoy the fireworks with Moon, Eclipse, and Sun, you can’t help but smirk at what your beloved vigilante would have to say to this. No doubt they’d believe it to be some fever dream, and honestly, up until tonight, you’d thought the same. You’re certain that the smooth operative nature of the brothers’ teamwork to subdue your heart is almost identical to a parallel universe of a different era and a different story—one you can imagine as surely as the ringing of bells in your hair.

Just, you know. Under very different circumstances and outcomes.

For the next half hour, you relish the colorful nighttime display with your boys, all the way up to and through the grand finale. By the time the show ends, you are shaking from the cold, but it’s worth it for the special moment you get to share with them. Everything melds together in a joyous night that follows you all the way back home with the three animatronics whom you adore. Perhaps one day, you might even have the courage to confess that you love them, even though you have a strong suspicion they already know that, confession or no. It’s a comfort to know that just like with everything else, they’ll wait for you first.

But that’s a story for another time.

#eclipse x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sleuth jesters actor au #fnaf sb #writing tag #hope you all enjoy sweet and kind Eclipse while he lasts #because after this I'm jumping back into the other AU where he lives and makes it everyone's problem lol

[otaku-tyriq]

Hi again.....Thanks for answering my ask. Do you mind if I ask your top 5 (or top 10) favorite moments from any anime (can be series or movies)? Sorry if you have already answered this ask before.....

Ohhhh this ask is fun but also pretty hard to answer cuz there are so many anime I love! Anyways: SPOILERS FOR THESE SPECIFIC ANIME UNDER THE CUT: Promare, Trigun Stampede, Classicaloid, Yuuri on Ice, Moriarty the Patriot, Tiger and Bunny, Scott Pilgrim takes off, Vanitas no Carte, Naruto and DGray Man

1) The kiss of life from Promare

This and Galo saving Lio after he had been kidnapped just gives Galo and Lio as a ship major classic disney couple vibes like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White and has essentially sedimented Galolio as one of my favourite ships of all time for the rest of my days.

2) Because I am Vash the Stampede from Trigun Stampede

Literally the moment this entire series had built up towards, the two twins’ ideologies clashing and Vash proclaiming that no matter what he will always love humanity.

3) Every time Schubert says Beethoven Senpai from Classicaloid

It’s just pure comedy gold and cracks me up EVERY TIME!

4) Victuuri Proposal from Yuuri!!! on Ice

I mean…. It’s a canon gay proposal and one of the most influential queer representations in all of Anime. How could I NOT love this???

5) Live Liam from Moriarty the Patriot

I will admit this was a hard choice between the first time Liam and Sherlock meet and the "catch me if you can, Mr. Holmes” scene, but my final decision ended up being this one. Just the build up and Sherlock being too damn stubborn to even think about letting Liam become a Martyr. The speech of talking Liam out of committing suicide for the greater good and that he is not the monster he thinks he is aaaaahhhhhh i love it all. But I love this scene especially because I am a slut for characters jumping of high places to save their loved one.

6) You are not dying, Kotetsu from Tiger & Bunny

Literally the main reason why I ship these two and believe they’re in love. Just beautiful and tragic and Barnaby having learned how to cook Kotetsu’s favourite dish aaawwweeeee.

7) Wallace’s husband from Scott Pilgrim takes off

Is it the best joke in the anime? Nah there are objectively better ones out there. Does this line live rent free in my head regardless? Yes

8) That gay ass Dance Scene from Vanitas no Carte

Gay

Gay

Homosexual

Gay

9) Gaara vs. Rock Lee from Naruto

I had loved Rock Lee since the very moment he had shown up on screen the first time, but this moment right here, especially when he took off those weights, solidified him as my favourite naruto character for eternity. Just this boys unyielding determination to achieve his dream even without being able to use any ninjutsu is remarkable.

10) The Earl plays the 14th melody from Dgray Man

It’s …. Idk how to explain it, to hear a song previously associated with the hero of the show, being played slightly off key by the main antagonist sends chills down my spine.

#promare #galolio #trigun #trigun stampede #yuuri on ice #classicaloid #tiger and bunny #tiger & bunny #kotetsu x barnaby #sherliam #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #scott pilgrim #scott pilgrim takes off #d gray man #beethoven senpai #suicide mention #suicide #vanoe #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #ask #ask game #anime #asks open #ask me stuff

[bluesadansey]

Top 5 fairytale remakes!

•Blanca & Roja by Anna-Marie Mclemore I highly reccomend all the books I’ve read by them, When The Moon Was Ours and Wild Beauty aren’t directly inspired by any one fairytale as far as I know but are fairytale-esque magical realism tales and Dark and Deepest Red is a retelling of  Hans Anderson’s “The Red Shoes”. I also did just start reading Lakelore but it was a library book and my flight to move back to college is tomorrow so I had to return it. But I love all the books I’ve read by theknand this is my favorite one it’s a Snow White and the Red Rose retelling. I absolutely loved the two sisters and how their dynamic was written and explored, the writing is gorgeous to me. 

•Deathless by Catherine M. Valente I read this book in high school and at the time it was a challenge so I definitely need to reread it however despite me maybe not being mature enough at that point to grasp everything in the story what I loved about it, specifically the main heroine Marya Morevna and how much I adored her and her arc really stuck with me. And again, beautiful writing style I need to read more by this author (I did read her book Refrigerator Monologues but it didn’t land for me in the same way and other sff things she’s written look more my speed so I should get on that ). it’s a Koschei and the Deathless retelling and I would say out of the death and the maiden related stuff I’ve read it’s one I’d recommend above others. 

•The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer hard pivot xd, these are very popular so I’m sure you’ve heard of them sci-fi futuristic fairytale retellings of Cinderella, Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel and Snow White primarily. It’s been literal ages since I read these (I remember anticipating the release of Winter in 8th grade and then lending it to my irl friend after I was done with it that long) but at the time I was so into them. I would definitely want to reread these before the animated series comes out (which I hope is successful not just because I’m fond of tlc and would like to see it adapted well but in a long-game sense I think more ya series adaptations should be animated series. More specific long game the tlc series doing well is how I eventually get a faithful Daughter of Smoke and Bone animated adaptation (delusionalcoded). Also, want to state for the record I thought Fairest slapped. 

•Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust I remember really enjoying it’s a Snow White retelling. I remember picking it up because I heard it was wlw Snow White but it was the Queen and the Princess character’s fucked up mother-daughter dynamic that made an impression on me over anything else in the book, and I remember they made me cry in a scene towards the end.

•When Water Sang Fire from The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo. This was a collection of grishaverse fairytales she wrote and most of the stories I read and forgot about but this is the last one in the collection and it’s lived rent free in my mind since I’m not joking, I think the anthology is worth reading (if you like the grishaverse) solely for this one story. It’s inspired by The Little Mermaid and the character it’s most focused on is the Ursula character Ulla Morozova (yes Morozova as in half-sister to the Darkling) who is a song-caster/siren of sorts and it’s about her codependent homoerotic best friendship with another mermaid that ends tragically and is her villain origin story it had no right to make me feel as many things as it did, again after the previous stories were relatively mid (Leigh’s my bestie so I can slander her works that aren’t as good as what she’s capable of I have a right <3)  I was so caught off guard by how good it was. 

Tysm for asking <3

(ask me top 5/10 of anything)

#s speaks #asks #sergeantpixie #mutuals #to tag #anna marie mclemore #tlc #deathless #grishaverse #girls made of snow and glass

[bonefall]

Brokenstar's Cataclysm scene that I desperately want to write living in my head rent-free: The moment where Brokentail kills Raggedstar

Raggedstar and his deputy solemnly walking to the border to talk to Tallstar again. He thought that with the death of Heatherstar, it might let up. She was the one who started this war, but her deputy Talltail was notorious for being the softer of the two.

Brokentail had told his father he was holding onto a foolish dream, but as usual, he didn't listen.

Heatherstar's last gift to her deputy was paid in the blood of good cats. Tallstar inherited a massive territory. The Mothermouth Moors belong to WindClan now, and he's got lots of warriors to enforce that border... lots of warriors to feed with it.

No, no proud Clan Leader would give that up

The last battle ended in an utter bloodbath. Deep wounds that would scar over if they were survived, permanent injuries, hunters out of commission for moons... graves still being dug from paws too weak to break the frost.

And Brokentail's father looked so old. "Do you remember Cedarstar, my son?" He speaks with distant fondness, like they're just out chasing frogs on a warm greenleaf morning.

"...no. No I don't," as soon as he says it, he's angry at himself for humoring such a stupid conversation

"You were very, very young when he died. He was a young leader when this all started, and then I picked up the fight when he--"

"When WindClan killed him the ninth time," Brokentail's been trying to hold it together, but he's lost it in the end, as usual. Raggedstar sighs,

"I'm sick of this argument. An end is finally in sight--"

He's cut off again, this time Brokentail can't bite back the venom, "An end in sight? He's going to keep our land and graciously give us back our own rabbits! Tallstar is a black-and-white fox with the tongue of a rat and you're just going to GIVE him our--"

"Brokentail," The command is sharp enough that it makes Brokentail stop mid-sentence, but the rage is trembling in every tip of his raggedy fur, "Tallstar is offering more than he's obligated to give us. ShadowClan lost."

Brokentail doesn't stop his furious tears, "What happens when the deal's off, eh?! When Tallstar and his rogues push further south?! When his next little grubby negotiation pops up?! What'll we give him next, our territory, our blood, our kits??"

Raggedstar shakes his head, "We lost."

"No! We HAVEN'T lost, you're giving up! And if we give up then what-- what was it all for?"

He slumps into the snow, wretchedly, the last season flashing through his mind. Raggedstar dying twice, once to wounds and second to infection, Lizardstripe falling limp to the ground, her eyes still wide with horror, Mudfoot's paws twitching after his collapse, a fear on Runningnose's face so genuine it was unbecoming...

What was it all for, if they give up now?

What was it for?

Raggedstar is done with this. "You are a deputy, not a kit. Nothing's for anything. We fight for our honor, sometimes a scar is your only reward, and good cats die," he turns, "I'm ending this war for you, son. One day you'll understand that."

When the wind blows, it flattens Raggedstar's thick pelt against his thin frame. Brokentail watches him walk away from behind, his hipbones sliding under thin skin. It dawns on him how frail he's become. How tired.

He's on his last life. Runningnose kept track.

Brokentail stands up, silently.

He decides that the last kindness he can give his father is a quick death.

#Bonefall Rewrite #Brokenstar's Cataclysm #better bones au #BB!Brokenstar

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 24: Good Ol' Bill

Summary: “Hey.” Bill grabs her arm. He gives her a sage nod. “We’re gonna be okay, kid.” A/N: Behold - some of the first bits of this fic that I ever wrote! These scenes and interactions have been living rent free in my brain for almost a year now, so I hope that you enjoy them Warnings: blood, death, grief, injury, language, war Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @latibvles @ithinkabouttzu @lieutenant-speirs @mrs-murder-daddy @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Belgium, 1945

It’s the strangest interaction that Zenie has ever had with another person, to say the least.

When Zenie had wandered far off into the trees by herself, it was because she knew better than to take her chances using the same latrine as everyone else during the day. She didn’t expect anyone else to be this far out. Let alone him.

“What are you doing out here, trooper?”

The merry sounding voice is incongruous with the barren snow and scarred earth that it echoes through. Zenie jumps. After drawing a deep breath to slow her thudding heart, she turns to face him.

Lieutenant Dike’s expression is open and expectant. He’s never spoken directly to her before. She’s never been this close to him. There’s a chance that no one has. Most of what she knows about Dike and his mannerisms comes from watching Luz do impressions of him. With Winters she had intentionally kept her distance to avoid being found out. With Dike she doesn’t have to try because he’s never around. But is this really where he comes? To the middle of the woods – the middle of nowhere?

“Trying to use the bathroom, sir.” At least she’s being honest.

Dike nods. He stands, staring, both at her and without seeing her all at once.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Zenie clears her throat. “Is that a problem, sir?”

“Hm? Oh, probably not. Good, secluded place for it, I suppose.” He steps past her, not even bothering to look back at her as he calls, “Well, good day, Private.” Then he disappears into the trees.

Zenie stands still, watching his retreating frame until he’s out of sight. She turns the interaction over and over in her mind as she makes her way back to the rest of Easy Company.

“Jesus Christ,” Bill spits when she tells her friends about the interaction. “They’ve really put a maniac in charge of the company, haven’t they?”

George laughs. “Good, secluded place for it, I suppose,” he mimics perfectly in Dike’s voice. He shakes his head. “This guy is going to get us killed.”

“They oughtta put someone else in charge,” Bill says. “Like Compton. He’d do good.”

“Yeah, but with our luck, they’d probably pick Peacock instead.”

“Or Shames,” Zenie adds, thinking back to all of Shifty’s complaints about the other lieutenant.

“Either way,” George says with a shrug. “At least they would be here.” He laughs. “Just wandered off into the trees, huh? Like something out of a campfire story.”

“Telling campfire stories, are we?” Lipton’s cheerful voice announces his presence as he steps up to their little group. They all share a knowing glance – here’s a man who could lead Easy Company. Lipton smiles at them, his voice simultaneously playful and chastising when he asks, “Which one is it? The one where a bunch of paratroopers all get blown to bits standing around in the middle of the woods when they should be in their foxholes?”

They can’t really argue with that. But now might be the time to voice their concerns; for the hundredth time – but maybe this will be the time that does some good.

“Actually, Sir,” Babe pipes up. “We were talking about Lieutenant Dike.”

Lipton frowns. “Ah.”

“Tommy here had a  . . . weird interaction with him earlier.”

“Weird how?”

“He found me out looking for the latrine,” Zenie explains. “And then he just wandered off into the woods. He disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Lipton raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, Sir. Never saw where he went. Haven’t seen him since.”

Lipton allows himself a harsh sigh through his nose. He must be – has to be – just as frustrated as they are, if not more so. Whatever he feels, he does a good job at hiding it.

“Well,” Lipton says finally. “There’s not much that we can do about Dike. Just try to keep yourselves warm and keep from getting hit by German artillery.” In other words: get back into your foxholes.

They all nod. “Yes, Sir.”

“Driver?”

“Yes?” Zenie asks.

Lipton points to Zenie’s hands. “Driver, where are your gloves?”

Zenie crosses her arms, tucking her cold hands into her armpits. She had been sharing a foxhole with Joe on New Year’s Eve when the Germans had decided to send them a little present to ring in the New Year. He took shrapnel to his arm and got sent to the aid station. Meanwhile, Zenie’s gloves had gotten blown to bits during the shelling after she foolishly took them off and laid them out in an attempt to dry them. Trench knives, it turns out, are not the best tool to use when attempting to make holes in socks that you hope to turn into gloves. Good thing she doesn’t need the extra pair from the “feet, hands, neck, balls” rhyme that Muck loves to remind them off. The fabric no longer looks quite like either socks or gloves, but at least she has something on her hands. First Toye’s boots, then Zenie got hit in the arm, then Toye took shrapnel to the same place, and she lost her gloves. The two of them are bound to lose something during a shelling.

“They uh – they got blown to bits a few days ago.”

“Huh.”

“But I’ll be fine,” she assures him.

They say their goodbyes as Lipton leaves them. In a stellar imitation of Dike’s voice, George smirks at them and offers, “Good day, Private.”

His Dike impression is coming a long way, with all the opportunities for making fun of him that the lieutenant unwittingly provides them with. Even Joe, when he makes his glorious return from the aid station later that day, chuckles when Luz recounts Zenie’s story just for him.

“That’s pretty good, Luz,” Joe admits as he gives the radioman a friendly slap on the arm.

Luz shrugs. “Eh, it’s okay. Needs some work, but it’s coming along.”

“Is it true?” Popeye asks when Easy Company returns to their position near Foy that afternoon. The Virginian’s eyes are wide as he looks at Zenie expectantly. “About Dike? Did he really just walk off into the woods?”

“How’d you hear about that?”

“Everyone’s heard about it.” Shifty nods towards Luz, several feet in front of them as they walk. “Don’t think there’s anyone that he hasn’t previewed his impression for.”

“Except for Dike, I hope,” Zenie says. Although if it really came down to it, Luz probably would do an impression of Dike to the lieutenant’s face. Dike would probably misunderstand the joke and take it as some kind of flattery, accidentally giving Luz all the more to work with. The idea makes her giggle, and beside her, Shifty and Popeye also laugh.

It’s good to be back with them. She can only hope that they don’t get sent to the Out Post this time. After every round of German artillery fire she had had to wonder where they were, if they were okay. Now if she can just keep them near her and the rest of Second Platoon –

“Hello, boys!” Bill chirps as he hops into a foxhole between Zenie and Shifty. He slings an arm over each of their shoulders, beaming at them.

“Hey, Bill. You sharin’ a foxhole with us?” Shifty’s question is polite enough, but he still glances around the other sergeant at Zenie, brows slightly furrowed.

Bill shrugs. “Well, everyone else has been findin’ shit in their foxholes, and this one looks clean enough.” He sits down. After exchanging a glance, Zenie and Shifty slowly take a seat on either side of him.

This isn’t the first time that this has happened, now that she really thinks about it. Ever since Shifty got to come back from the OP, Bill has managed to show up in whatever foxhole the two of them have been sharing. And, just like now, he’s had no problem making himself comfortable sitting right between them.

Shifty must be realizing the same thing. He gives Zenie a knowing look, but he bites his bottom lip and says nothing.

“Bill, what’s really going on?” Zenie asks.

The Philadelphian gives her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? Am I not allowed to sit with my friends?” A hint of a smile pulls at his lips as he leans in and lowers his voice. “Or to keep an eye on them?” He puts his arms out again and pats them both on the shoulder. “That’s right; no hanky-panky on Ol’ Guarno’s watch!”

“There hasn’t been any –“ Shifty clears his throat. “– uh, hanky-panky.”

“Really? Not even in, I dunno, Paris?” Heat rushes to Zenie’s face at the same moment that Shifty’s eyes go wide. 

“How did you - ?”

“Nothing gets past me, kid.” Bill winks. “Word along the rumor mill is that you finally lost your virginity, supposedly on that pass to Paris. After I learned your secret, well, it didn’t exactly take a genius to piece it together.”

Babe. It had to be Babe! He was the one she told about losing her virginity. Of course he told Bill! They might be her friends, but the last thing she needed was for them to know details of her sex-life. She buries her face in her hands to hide whatever face she might be making.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Bill pats her on the back again, and when she looks up, he’s smiling, though Shifty’s cheeks are still a little pink. “Just watchin’ out for you, la mia sorellina.” My little sister. Zenie doesn’t have time to fully process his words before her friend turns to Shifty. “Just don’t go hurting her, okay?”

“I would never,” Shifty says.

Bill smiles. “I know.” He claps his hands and stands. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, I guess I better go find a foxhole.”

Neither of them speaks after he leaves. Zenie squeezes her eyes shut, like if she’s very still, the embarrassment will wash away and Shifty will forget about the interaction.

There’s a laugh, bright and crisp – from Shifty. He’s still chuckling when Zenie opens her eyes. The sniper shakes his head. “Good old Bill.”

“I’m sorry,” Zenie says automatically. Her face is still warm.

“Don’t be,” Shifty replies, voice still bright. “You’re our girl. He’s just watchin’ out for you.”

Il mio fratellino, Bill had once called her. Now he’s corrected it to la mia sorellina. He’s always been watching out for her, since way back in Toccoa. Even when she had been ready to fight him on her first day there. That’s what it feels like, then, for someone to always have your back. It’s not bad.

Somewhere nearby, a shell explodes. Screams of “Incoming!” follow it as the earth begins to shake. Zenie hunkers down, getting as low in the foxhole as she can, Shifty tucking in beside her.

Now she understands why their old position looked so different when they returned. The snow that blankets the ground is dirty, all churned up and mixed with soil. This is no peaceful woodland scene from a winter postcard. No, between the trees that have been broken down to nubs, the excrement that waits at the bottom of several foxholes, and the piercing explosions that shatter the air and shake the earth, this is the furthest thing from peaceful.

It ends suddenly. Zenie sits up and looks around, rifle at the ready. Her eyes dart in every direction. Behind her, Shifty takes the same position, watching the opposite direction. He’ll be able to see any approaching Germans from a mile away. Zenie has no doubt about that. After all, this is the same man who, just days before, realized that the Germans had disguised a tank as a tree.

“Anything?”

“No. No – “ Shifty stops short. Somewhere out there, a voice is carried through the forest. It sounds hazy. The echo distorts is, making it hard to pinpoint its location.

“Who is – “

“Stay in your foxholes!” Sergeant Lipton yells as he runs by. He stops a few feet away from them and looks down into a different foxhole. “Are you good, Popeye?”

“I’m one hundred percent ready to kill Germans, Lip!” Their friend chirps. As Lipton passes, he catches sight of Shifty and Zenie, offers them a big smile and a thumbs up, which Shifty returns.

Shifty relaxes a little. “That can’t be the end.”

“You think they’re trying to zero us in?”

“Hmm.” A crease appears between Shifty’s eyebrows. “They – “

Ka-BOOM!

So close to the line, maybe the Germans can hear them. Maybe they took their speculations as suggestion and started the next round of artillery fire.

Once again, Zenie slides down into her foxhole and braces herself. Trees crackle overhead as they burst into pieces, raining down all around them and impaling themselves into the frozen earth. No wonder so many of them have been hit by shrapnel. Zenie unconsciously reaches for the place on her own arm where she got peppered with it. Lucky, indeed.

“M-MEDIC!” A deep voice thunders out.

Snow crunches as Eugene goes racing by. He doesn’t stop to answer when a few men call out, “Who got hit?” Duty calls, and Eugene always answers.

From somewhere nearby, an all too familiar voice screams for help. His South Philly twang is strong, even with his raised voice. “Is anyone there?!”

Babe! Zenie leaps from the foxhole. Shifty reaches for her, but she’s already gone.

An entire tree was felled during the bombardment, collapsing right on top of Babe’s foxhole. Through the branches, everyone who crowds around can only just see the top of his helmet, can make out the shape of a hand reaching up for them.

Babe sounds . . . desperate, almost, as he urges them to get him out. It’s not a tone that Zenie has ever heard from him before. Like his sadness after Julian’s death, it feels unnatural on someone so happy-go-lucky.

Breathless, Babe manages a laugh and a smile when they manage to pull the tree away. “Think I went overboard on the cover for my foxhole?” He jokes.

Zenie manages to laugh it off, too, as do most of the others who arrived in time to help him. Except for the one person who’s known for laughing, that is.

From the corner of her eye, Zenie catches a flash of Luz racing by. He doesn’t stop at the sound of their chuckles, doesn’t even look at them. Focused, he hurries back to his foxhole.

There’s some commotion from the direction that he came from. With Babe uninjured and accounted for, Zenie steps away from the group and follows the direction that Luz just left.

A metallic scent stains the air, mingling with the scent of burned trees and charred earth. Freshly snapped trees litter the ground. And the ground around the shattered pieces is that peculiar mixture of snow and dirt that has become such a familiar sight in their month watching the line. This snow, though, has an extra quality to it – blood. Zenie doesn’t have time to wonder where it all came from, because at that moment, she spots a leg lying a few feet away from two figures sitting amongst the destruction.

Joe is in the center of it all, Eugene kneeling in front of him, trying to stop the blood that’s flowing freely from the place where his leg has been blown off. A few feet away from him, a trail of blood leads to another man who’s sitting propped against a tree, gritting his teeth and staring at his outstretched, mangled leg.

Zenie freezes.

From where he sits in front of the tree, Bill looks up at her. When their eyes meet, he holds her gaze, steady as ever.

“Hey, Tommy Boy,” Bill calls to her. “Be a pal and light me a smoke, would ya?”

Somehow, she finds herself on her knees beside her friend. She can’t feel her hands. They won’t stop shaking as she fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. Bill doesn’t complain, though, about how long it takes her to remove one from the pack, to finally light it and place it between his lips.

“Thank you,” he manages around the cigarette.

She might reply. If she does, she can’t hear her own words over the pounding of her heart. Her spine turns into a tube of ice water, making her shiver as she watches her friends. This can’t be real. Out of everyone, Bill and Toye can’t be the ones going home.

“Bill, you’re goin’ first,” Eugene calls.

Bill nods, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

The next thing that she knows, some of the men are loading Bill onto a stretcher. He yells out in pain when they move him, cursing as they touch his injured leg. The cigarette in his hands falls to the ground, extinguishing itself on the snow. Numbly, Zenie stamps it out.

“Hey.” Bill grabs her arm. He gives her a sage nod. “We’re gonna be okay, kid.” As chipper as he can manage, Bill calls out as they carry him away, “I told ya I’d beat ya back to the States, Joe!”

Someone touches Zenie’s arm, making her jump. Sergeant Lipton is studying her with his all-knowing eyes. “Tommy, are you okay?”

He doesn’t stop her when she walks away, never answering his question. No one calls out after her or tries to follow her.

She doesn’t make it back to Shifty in their foxhole. Instead, she drops down into the nearest one that she sees. Her helmet feels heavy in her hands as she removes it and runs a shaking hand through her hair. Any time that she cried as a little girl, her mom would stroke her hair like this.

But Mama isn’t here now. No one is. She’s all alone.

Words – the words she wants to scream up at the sky, up at God, if He’s really up there – stick in her dry mouth, lodging in her sandpaper throat so that she chokes on them. It’s not until she’s been sitting there, shaking for a thousand years, that she manages to loosen them enough to whisper to no one the single sentence that keeps racing through her mind.

“What the fuck?!”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #bill guarnere #eugene roe #babe heffron #joe toye #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #hbo war fanfic #hbo war

[indignantlemur]

⭐

Yay! I have so many feelings about the latest chapter that it's probably the best place to begin, but I try to pack little world-building and character-development details into as many chapters as I can. For the newest chapter, Connection, there are some parts that I am really very fond of for a variety of reasons. There are lines in this chapter that have been living rent-free in my head since the inception of this fic.

It was also so, so important to me that this chapter was about catharsis over spicy content, because spice is nice but I've been building up to this for 36 chapters and nearly 12 years. There has to be more pay off than a quick scene and a fade to black - it has to matter. To me, to you, to Dagmar, to Shral - it has to mean more, because she's horribly alone in a strange new world and he is breaking every social norm and custom to try to bridge an impossible gap, and that's... that's the stuff I started writing for.

How strange, he thought. How strange, to reach instead of being reached for.

The slide of her warm palm, of slim fingers slipping between his own, inexplicably soothed some of his restlessness.

“I do not.” Shral spoke a moment later, and Dagmar marvelled at how always, always , his steady manner eased something twisted up with anxiety inside her.

The theme of reaching and being reached for, time and time again, is so central to Dagmar and Shral, along side themes of 'calm' and 'soft-still-quiet' and the simple phrasing of 'slowly, gently, relentlessly'.

Excitement and nerves are a wonderful part of any relationship, but they're not the things that last. Dagmar and Shral needed, in my mind, to have a bedrock-solid foundation beyond 'sexy alien' and 'pretty girl' and that means that they both need to find something in each other that they can't find elsewhere. Love is wild. Love is electricity along your nerves and fire in your blood. It's butterflies in your tummy and sleepless nights - but you know what else it is? It's the calm, quiet feeling of something very gently slotting into place inside your soul, something you might have gone a lifetime without realizing was askew. It settles you, makes the sharp edges of the world softer, kinder, and it brings peace in the same way that snow makes the world quiet.

So slowly, gently, relentlessly I will bring them together and I will make of them something that will not break.

Shral offered a razor-thin smile, and his eyes seemed to grow softer for a moment as he set down his katheka and almost indulgently entangled their fingers. Sitting across the table as they were, drinking the Andorian equivalent of coffee, the gesture felt even more like Human hand-holding – felt, for that matter, more intimate. It raised goose-bumps down the length of her arms, a frisson like a tiny electric current.  “ Phiithza .” He pronounced the word slowly, carefully, letting her hear the precise sounds needed for each syllable. For emphasis, he squeezed her hand gently and reiterated, “This is phiithza .” Trust-symbol , Dagmar immediately translated, her mind already leaping to root words and variations in the different dialects she knew. An occupational hazard, she supposed wryly.

This is something I was planning to do for a while, but it never quite fit with the flow of the other chapters. The invitation to use phiithza was a huge part of how Dagmar really started to fit in properly with her Andorian friends and colleagues - both because it displayed that she was a trusted individual and because it was a public, affectionate acknowledgement of her as a friend, as a person. Every time she has greeted an Andorian using phiithza Dagmar has shown that she's not just a Human existing on Andoria but a Human actively learning and integrating with the local culture.

And then we get to this part:

“You cannot add to the security I provide for myself.” The Andorian stated after some consideration, slow and careful as his thumb brushed gently over the curve of the side of her hand and bumped over a knuckle. He seemed ponderous, considering, as his eyes flicked up to meet hers once more. “I am the stronger of us by far, and the better trained – but I find a calmness in you that I rarely find in myself. I concern myself with your affairs more than the customs of my people dictate that I should, and yet I often find I can pursue no other course. I have come to believe that there is a degree of… compatibility between us.”

This is Shral's Mr. Darcy speech - his strange, stilted proposal to reach across that gap that he can finally, after a very long year, see narrowing. There is almost a kind of rote ritual quality to his words, as if he's following some guideline or has thought them over many times before. Unlike Mr. Darcy, however, Shral manages to avoid insulting Dagmar and it goes over rather well, all things considered.

And Dagmar! Oh, bless her, she's doing her best but she's very Human and not always the swiftest to put the pieces together. She hears this speech and something in her brain finally ticks over, and all her brilliant, ridiculous mind can come up with is: "Oh."

Because Dagmar is as Human as I can make her, and that means sometimes she says something stupid, or she can't find the words, or the words she can find aren't quite the right ones. She is full of self-doubt and grief and loneliness, but she tries so hard. Sometimes she wins, and sometimes she loses, but she never stops trying.

After that, we have this line - one of the rent-free tenants in my brain for years now- and I don't have words to express how gratifying it was to put the words down properly.

Still, she needed to be sure. Dagmar couldn’t afford to be irresponsible about this - not with a coworker, not with Shral.  “Are you sure this is something you want? With me? We’re very different. I would understand if-” “Yes.” He cut her off, fierce in a way that made her shift in her seat, torn between the conflicting impulses to flee from the intensity of his gaze and the desire to draw closer yet. The starburst of warmth and light at the back of her mind was a near-burning thing, now, incandescent and radiating. “I know the sound of your heartbeat, the scent of your pheromones, the precise steps in your gait; I could find you in a crowd of thousands. If not you, then no one.” Spirits, she thought faintly as she stared up at him, momentarily overwhelmed. He was making it very hard to be responsible about this. 

Shral is largely a mystery to both Dagmar and my readers, and that is very deliberate because it leaves you -I hope- feeling just as stunned as Dagmar when he turns around and says something like this after so much build up. For all that he is reserved and difficult to read, he is still Andorian and what he feels, he feels with great intensity.

After these, of course, we get to Andorian kissing versus Human kissing. As much as I wanted emotional release to be central to this chapter I felt it equally important to find ways to emphasize how truly different Andorians and Humans are. As far as Shral was concerned, he started snogging around this point:

To his credit, the Andorian seemed to pick up on something of her thoughts and he eased her forward until their brows were touching, stopping at just the lightest of presses. She could feel his antennae trailing, feather-light, over her hair; the sensation sent tiny little shivers down her spine and she inadvertently pressed closer.

Dagmar registers something intimate about the gesture, but she has no idea what it actually means. It feels weird, mostly, and she's dimly aware that his antennae are doing something but she has no idea what that's about. It doesn't line up with her expectations or her instincts. In fact, Dagmar doesn't really start to clue in that something more important than proximity is involved until this line:

His brow had never left hers, pressing hard against her with the same fervency that a Human might have kissed her, and his antennae writhed. 

Even then, she doesn't know and then when she finally demonstrates how Humans do things, it's strange. In fact, it's awkward, and it's not for lack of trying on anybody's part but Andorians just don't have the same kind of fine facial musculature that Humans have. Shral is literally not capable of reciprocating in way a Human might, and it's not until Dagmar consciously modifies her approach to account for that that things start to become easy between them.

There are so many differences to account for, though, and one make-out session doesn't magically make them go away. The chapter comes to a close with Shral is cautiously optimistic, while Dagmar has trouble seeing past the things she lacks but tries to, the way she always tries.

... Alright, I think I've rambled enough. I hope this is more or less what you were hoping for!

#emigre by indignantlemur #star trek #andorian #andorians #author's commentary #director's commentary #chapter 37 of emigre by indignantlemur

[inutaffy]

Hi! I'm the Byler Budget Anon Ash, I'm here to give you a tight budget of 500 Byler Coins (BC), how do you wish to use them?

S5 Byler Scenes Store:

1. Byler gets Murray'd or Argyle'd: 50 BC

2. Will and Robin bonding time: 50 BC

3. Elmike being platonic BFF on screen: 50 BC

4. Will gets a gun: 50 BC

5. Will in Mike's Hellfire shirt: 50 BC

6. Painting explanation: 50 BC

7. "Crazy Together" parallel: 50 BC

8. Jealous!Mike: 50 BC

9. Mike and Will's sleepover and cute bonding time: 100 BC

10. Ep. 5 is called "The Paladin and The Cleric": 100 BC

11. Apocalypse Mike and Will (they go in the UD): 100 BC

12. Mike Unsent Letters signed "Love, Mike": 150 BC

13. LuMax and Byler double date: 150 BC

14. Mike (or Will) gets Vecna'd: 150 BC

15. Byler Snow Ball Dance: 150 BC

16. Byler Rain Kiss: 150 BC

SOBS IN MY HANDS IM TERRIBLE ABOUT MONEY

2. i need the older queer mentor okay. i didn't/don't have it so i need it.

3. elmike besties reign supreme their dynamic could've been so fun from the beginning but the heteronormativity ruined it :((

10. DND BYLER !!!!!!!! DND BYLER! ¡ love fantasy like a lot, though i've never gotten into dnd (i might idk) i can imagine the serge of fantasy byler<3

13. the theatre scene lives in my mind rent free why can't i have that smh…anyways i love byclair + madwheeler friendship !!! another double date would fix me i think

14. you already know i need mike to be vecna'd. i was fully expecting it for vol2 and yk i hate being wrong. i want to see his mind. cmon duffers. tell me what you tell finn wolfhard.

THANKS FOR THE ASK!

#bouta go fail my algebra 2 quiz ☹️ #thank u tho for this it was fun wofjosfjos #stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #will byers

[dream-this-nightmare-over]

thoughts while watching knightfall

season one

why landry why you damned prat of all the women you had to go for queen

gawain kinda makes sense

oh gawain is the only one one sane here

i stand with gawain in this one

philips hair is paid actor

he is trying to remain soft. you see how he is trying everything with joan he loves that woman so much he is willing to raise the baby as his own

gosh you did him dirty. all of you.

butler from downton abbey was born for this role

why is everyone so forgiving of landry's violation of vows and rules????

is that irene forsyte??

landry you are a bad friend

you can't tell someone with disability their pain is 'god's will' fuck you landry, this man saved your life you ungrateful prat

parsifal!!!!!! no please god i beg for mercy

why is no one looking for parsifal???

mamma joan finally snapped

rashid eyeliner will be missed

tancred??????

these cliffhangers will be death of me

everyone listens to irene. even the pope. what a woman.

'immense heights man might ascend to art, music, culture… And instead, we fuss and fight over an arrestingly ordinary cup' - whoever is writing this script needs rise then tons of awards

the final aerial shot of forest with snow falling is cinematic masterpiece

wait what just happened?? history you just know how to get us hooked

season two

court room reflecting the changes from last season both in story and philip - executed so cleverly

missing philip's hair

de nugaret we see your hair and we know you have crush on gawain

'best swordsman in france' baby i choked.

i knew nugaret is petty but go boy that ash cross will never be topped in history of fine art of pettiness

isn't that scene from vikings?

why is no one mentioning scroll??? did they forget we are bing watching

wait how they all didnt get leprosy? isn't that airborne?

candles scene was supreme

why is irene not in second season???

its hard to be against louis when he looks so good

i knew isabella was bad since they changed the actress

someone give landry break!! can this man have second without being in life threatening situation???

that fire arrow scene was too epic

louis should join templars at this point so they kill philip together

why is no one mentioning scroll??? hello??? the man is dead over there

i would have bet all i have that louis is coming to kill philip and blame landry in midst of battle with no witnesses

why is louis still on his dad's side????

who ever was in charge of aerial shots needs raise

why is everyone lying to louis??? why are they playing him like this?

best scene in whole series when gawain asks "whos child is this?" baby you are the prescious one we need to protect you at all cost aka let's bring baby into family and not tell gawain

how is fire burning so slow now?

knew kelton's story is not ending here

talus you old fucker i was worried already they lost you somewhere in script but then remembered who is playing you

gawain and landry together again!! yes living for this shit

landry and gawain and tancred omg trio is back!!

talus dragging his sword while sparks fly from tip that scene will forever live rent free in my mind and should go down in history books

louis and margaret deserved to live in peace and have what parsifal and marie almost had

when louis snaps paris will burn

daddy philip gives best advice

you are both fault for this equally, so stop arguing and make out already

okay but for real gawain has a point. what is about landry they arent telling him?

i googled louis actor and i am sadden to find out tom looks nothing like character he is playing. great mask. worth couple of emmy nominations.

they are back to plotting. fam is back together. this is great. i love this show.

tancred ship has sailed darling but at least you got the girl

omg no way landry why are you back??

de nugaret??? louis???? SLAY OF CENTURY AND ONES TO COME

THEY ARE FIGHTING IN COURT ROOM WHERE EVERYTHING STARTED I CANT-

AND THE SCROLL???? WHAT ABOUT THE SCROLL?????

IF THAT ENDING DIDNT SET GROUNDS FOR SEQUEL NO INSTANT POPULAR AMERICAN SHOW THAT BLOWS UP IN ONE DAY AND EVERYONE SUDDENLY HAS TO LIKE IT OR THEY ARE ENEMY OF STATE HASNT DESERVED IT EITHER

I miss my babies already.

conclusion: go watch it so we get season 3.

#knightfall #history channel #knightfall history channel #tom cullen #padraic delaney #mark hamill #simon merrells #ed stoppard #king philip iv of france #queen joan i of navarre #olivia ross #landry du lauzon #gawain #tancred #knights templar #middle ages #netflix

[valeskafics]

Speaking of Jon snow. Remember that fight he had with Ramsay back in winter and he was covered in blood(I think he was covered in mud). That feral wild look in his eyes awakened something in me and I haven’t been the same since then. Actually his whole fight against Ramsay after battle of the bastards was 🤭.

slfkj;ealkjge STAWP THAT SCENE LIVES RENT FREE IN MY MIND THE MAN LOOKED ABSOLUTELY FERAL

[oceantoast-writes]

I’m not gonna probably finish this but I had to get out the brainworms I had about the smoking scene in goncharov cuz there was an art piece that was living in my head rent free. It was such a Goro Akechi thing I had to 

It turns out the world really does end with a bang. Goro Akechi’s world does at least. 

There’s a tower clock that chimes somewhere in the distance, muted by the earth shattering ring of Akira’s gun. It’s when his eyes widen and the corner of his vision blurs that Goro notices between snowflakes to see a single tear glisten on Akira’s face in the streetlight. 

He stumbles back and back, until he hits a streetlight, sliding down it. 

There’s no grand finale. No declaration of betrayal from Akira. Nothing more than a disappointed look as vision keeps blurring. Just a back turned, snowflakes large enough to show off the crystal patterns on the edge clinging to a dark coat back. Akira fades into the twilight. 

Placing a weak hand over the wound, Goro knows he won’t make it. It’s not a clean shot to his heart, but his lungs are certainly bleeding. 

In this moment a memory warms Goro. Something made up while his mind passes from his body from whatever may be beyond- if anything at all. 

The winter night in this memory is still as bitingly cold. Lit by the very same streetlights he was now bleeding out under. Goro brings a cigarette to his lips, intending to light it before the snow crunches behind him. He turns around. 

And behind him stands a man with a mess of black hair. He knows well it’s Akira now, but back then they had just met.

#what if goncharov (1973) was about MY blorbos #goncherov #persona 5 #shuake #akira kurusu #goro akechi

[lochsides]

Midnights review

MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT

It’s that time again. The Midnights release is upon us and I have thoughts so you must hear them. I truly and firmly believe that Midnights is Taylor at her best (even though its not my favourite Taylor album). She has really shown a mastery over her craft on this album. Midnights is sonically cohesive with a distinct production pattern that enhances the overall atmosphere and realm in which the album exists. Many times while writing notes for this review did I write “this sounds like a Midnights song.” That’s what I mean when I say an album has its own sound, as this one does. So all the success it has already garnered is really no surprise at all.

Taylor said in her Instagram post that Midnights is a concept album, and the thread that ties these songs together is the fact that these are Taylor’s late night musings. We can see recurring themes of Taylor’s relationship with fame, love, her desire to be liked and to belong. I think there is a certain amount of obessions explored on this album, which is perfect for its thesis statement of “13 sleepless nights scattered throughout [her] life.” I am so happy we live in an era where Taylor Swift makes new music and the world celebrates it. I’ve been talking to friends and family about the album and have not heard a single person say they don’t like it.

My favourite tracks are Maroon, (and then in no particular order…) Bigger Than The Whole Sky, You’re On Your Own, Kid, Snow On The Beach, Midnight Rain, Would’ve, Could’ve Should’ve, and Labyrinth.

13 SLEEPLESS NIGHTS

Lavender Haze — Not sure why, but Lavender Haze was not at all what I expected. That said, I think Lavender Haze does an amazing job of setting expectations for the rest of the album in terms of the sound of Midnights and the themes explored on this album. In particular, the dichotomy of Taylor and her fame is explored over and over throughout the album.

Maroon — I haven’t seen much said about Maroon, which saddens me becuase this is my initial favourite from the ‘magic 13’ (in Taylor’s own words). I am absolutely obsessed with the production and cadance of this song. Maroon features Taylor’s characteristic storytelling lyricism beautifully. I could picture every word as she sung it playing out like a movie in my head. This song feels like a grown up RED song in so many ways aside from the title. I might do a post all about this so we’ll leave that for that. But this song lives rent free in my mind, constantly.

Anti-Hero — Let’s talk about how Anti-Hero is absolutely perfect lead single material. The witty but vulnerable lyricism, the tone of the song, the production pattern all set the scene of this album to someone entering it through this point. I think within the context of this song being about how her life has taken on this magnitude that she struggles to feel like a person, “I’m the problem, it’s me” is so sad because that was the general public’s ammunition against her for so long. Her assigning that “I’m the problem” part of herself to her public persona in the video is genius.

Snow On The Beach — Snow On The Beach sounds as pretty as it’s title suggests. “Stars by the pocketful” has to be one of the most beautiful uses of imagery to describe emotion ever. I love the lyricism on this track and the gorgeous production choices they took with it. It all served to elevate the magical feeling of realising someone is falling for you as you’re falling for them. I also love the lyric “its fine to fake it ‘til you make it, ‘til you do, ‘til its true.” I think that so perfectly captures that feeling of being “unglued” because you no longer know what to expect.

You’re On Your Own, Kid — Surprise, surprise, a track five that hurt my feelings. You’re On Your Own, Kid tells the tale of a desire to belong and to be loved, going to every length to achieve that and falling short of it every time. Was it fair of her to release this song as I’m actively dismantling my own belief system around being liked in therapy? Absolutely not. Will I have this song on repeat after every session for the foreseeable future? Yeah… Also we need to shout out that incredible production and the way it builds and builds towards the latter part of the song chef’s kiss!! I think every time I play You’re On Your Own, Kid, I fall more in love with it.

Midnight Rain — This was the first track to get stuck in my head, it’s so catchy but I love how understated it is. I love that chorus line so much, from lyric to production to the choice of the synthesizer. It’s a very experimental style for Taylor but worked so well. The way she framed the story of ‘we want different things’ in Midnight Rain is a universal experience retold. We’ve all been there, reflecting on people who we’ve left behind. I also think this song is very interesting in that, Taylor is self-proclaimed romantic and yet this entire song is about her rejecting romance for ambition. I love the way she did this becuase I really fucking feel this.

Question…? — I’ll be honest, Question…? isn’t really for me. Like, it’s fine but it’s just fine. The production for this song is very up and down for me. The first half of the song is just whatever, the second and final chorus are great, but I really don’t like the sonic structure of the bridge at all. Lyrically speaking, I interpretted this song as overthinking given form. Which is clever, given the concept of staying up in the middle of the night because we are all prone to overthinking late at night.

Vigilante Shit — This is Taylor’s bad bitch anthem. Vigilante Shit has big reputation vibes with that heavy bass, those synths and of course, the theme of revenge. Revenge feeds into the concept of the album about her late night obsessions perfectly. The way I interpret the lyric “lately I’ve been dressing for revenge” is as getting ready to exact her vengeance. Its not about the physical act of getting dressed alone, but entering that obessive state of mind that her rage takes her to. Also, I think the lyric “I don’t start shit but I can tell you how it ends” is so clever in its double meaning: a threat and her past experiences of people who’ve done her wrong getting their just desserts.

Bejewled — I love the energy of this song, the theme of contemptuously recognising your own worth. But unfortunately that’s where I tap out. It’s a song that I’m really on the fence about. I don’t really care for it either way. Bejewled probably takes last place in my ranking. I don’t actaully dislike it though, I’m just in different to it. So that tells you just how good I think this album is.

Labyrinth — Does this dreamy, otherworldly production remind anyone else of if The Archer and epiphany had a baby? Labyrinth snuck up on me. I liked it on the first listen but I didn’t expect to be absolutely obsessed with it the way that I am. I love it so fucking much. The way the chorus goes from ‘uh-oh’ to ‘oh no’ to ‘oh!’ and the different feelings that accompany the recognition of falling in love after you’ve just falling apart in a way you didn’t know you could even recover from, never mind so soon, is nothing short of genius. I also love the outro with the layered vocals and the synthesizer. Jack Antonoff really did something with this production.

Karma — Big ‘the universe conspires in my favour’ energy on this track. Karma is a really fun, upbeat song, which was not what I expected at all for this one. I was thinking more dark, heavy sounds instead of the lightheartedness that we got in its place. Karma, as a concept, is something that Taylor has been fascinated with for a very long time. I like this take of it as something that’s got her back, instead of something vengeful to unleash on those who’ve done her wrong.

Sweet Nothing — The piano melody on Sweet Nothing sounds like the most beautiful lullaby. This song is oh-so heart-wrenchingly pretty. I love the the way this entire song is about the simplicity of real love and paired with such elegant and refine production. Real love demands nothing but love in return, “all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.” It’s that simple. It can be that easy. My heart was so full listening to this. Sweet Nothing felt like a warm hug from a loved one, perfectly placed towards the end of an album dissecting her relationship with her fame, her fears, and all the parts of her past that she revisits from time to time. In the end, it all comes back to her present and “running home to [his] sweet nothings.”

Mastermind — I’ll be honest, I haven’t listen to Mastermind as much as a few of the other songs on this album. I have no problem with it. It’s just placed between two songs that I really adore (on to the 3 am tracks), I sometimes just end up skipping it just becuase I want to listen to the next track. But we’ll talk about that in a minute. Mastermind, I really do enjoy the production of it, but I’m not the biggest fan of the melody. I love the way Taylor takes a moment to tocuh on the paitriarchical structure of love and how women “were born to be the pawn in every lover’s game.” Also I hate her for the lyric “no one wanted to play with me as a little kid, so I’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since, to make them love me and make it seem effortless.” On the surface, Mastermind is about ensuring you end up with the person you like. But paying even a little bit of proper attention to the lyrics will tell you that there is a lot of insecurity in this song.

3AM THOUGHTS

The Great War — The Great War is just Afterglow (Midnights Version). No wonder its such a superior song. I love this track so much. I don’t know what kind of drugs Aaron Dessner laced this production with, but it hits. The cadance on the chorus is so dynamic. I love the way she uses war imagery to emphasise that this wasn’t just a fight, it could’ve been the fight. But “my hand was the one you reached for, all throughout the great war” says it all. Even in the worst of moments, he was still choosing her. Definitely a top 5 track for me.

Bigger Than The Whole Sky — Another early favourite of mine. The concept of it reminded me of the 1, but sadder. When she sung “I’ve got a lot to pine about, I’ve got a lot to live without. I’m never gonna meet what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been you,” OUCH! I love how breathy her vocal is and how light and airy the production is, adding to effect of the title. I’m obsessed with the idea of the one that got away, or love lost in someway that feels fleeting. I think that loss feels heavy because of all the lost potential that goes with the person.

Paris — I don’t know how else to describe the production of Paris other than, it’s very Midnights. That beat fits so prefectly within the sonic realm of this album. Lyrically speaking though, its giving big Lover energy. Paris is a fun, different side to the narrative of staying up all night.

High Infidelity — Oooh, this song!!! I think that says it all, iykyk. My favourite part of High Infidelity is when she sings “high infidelity” in that elongated melody. Very classic pop Taylor sound that never fails. Obviously the song is about a relationship that was draining the life out of her and meeting someone else during that time that made her feel again. I think the whole verse of “storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the ailse” speaks to me so much. Also “your picked fence is sharp as knives” is one of my favourite lyrics she’s written. All of it talks about how this seemingly perfect looking love was a cage, a prison of sorts.

Glitch — Taylor said ‘real love? sounds fake’. What I really enjoy about Glitch is that the song sounds like a glitch when they switch up the production on the chorus. I love things like that in music. This is a song about a relationship that by all accounts really shouldn’t have happened or lasted but it did. And there are themes of doubt, desperation and desire strung through the lyrics.

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve — Oh I could write a whole essay about my thoughts on this song (and I might yet). For the purposes of this review, I’ll keep it short and free of speculation. Let’s start with how this production gave me chills! There is this brilliant chaotic energy underlying in it that perfectly captures the feeling of being in the type of relationship Taylor discusses. Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve is a reflection of a formative relationship. I think listening to Taylor scream “give me back my girlhood, it was mine first” collectively fucked us all up. It must be an absolutely bewildering feeling to actually reach the age her ex was when he dated her at 19 and being able to recognise how messed up that situation was. My heart breaks for her when she sings “I miss who I used to be.” There is a real sense of loss, regret and mourning that is taking place even 13 years after the fact. If that doesn’t tell you how much this relationship harmed her, I have nothing left to say. The songwriting on this track is just completely off the radar.

Dear Reader — I haven’t been able to stop thinking about “you should find another guiding light but i shine so bright.” The perfect closing point to the album through lyrical and production perspectives. Also I love the unreliable narrator energy Dear Reader has. She gives advice that she warns the reader not to take because she’s falling apart. The bridge and outro are absolute perfection. Every time she and Jack have used a synthesizer on this album, it’s worked so fucking well in enhancing the effect of the song.

BONUS ROUND...

Hits Different — This one sounds so different to other tracks on Midnights. I love the guitar guiding the whole song. Her vocals are so smooth on the verse. Hits Different is the aftermath of a painful breakup, the going back over every detail in the bridge, the cursing out love in the chorus, the “my sadness is contagious”, the “catastrophoic blues.” It’s the late night depression of the grief cycle. I have to shoutout one of my favourite lyrics from the whole of the Midnights era too, “argumentative, antithetical dream girl.” I enjoyed this as a bonus track, but I don’t really feel its loss on the streaming versions of Midnights the way I would some of the 3 am tracks.

#midnights #reviews #taylor swift #music

[esteriivy]

Do you prefer to write dialogue between characters or inner monologue? Is there dialogue/monologue that you’ve written that has stuck with you? What dialogue/monologue that you’ve written has been the most challenging?

(I've been on vacation, so sorry about the delay in getting to this question, Anon.) So I wouldn't call it a strong preference, but I think I tend to prefer dialogue. Inner monologues are a helpful tool for writing, but I'm usually very drawn to the relationships between characters. I'm one of those writers who low-key hates everything when I re-read my work, but most of the scenes I feel okay about are dialogue.

One that sticks with me: Tyrion was up on deck when she found him and handed the scroll back to him, unsigned, torn nearly in two. He looked down on it and then sharply back up at her. “Your grace?” he asked, brow raised. “I thought I told you already, Lord Hand,” she replied with a raised brow, “Jon Snow is a king.” (From 'Heliopause' -- although that wasn't my first FF, this was one of the first sentences I ever wrote. It lives rent-free in my mind, and I do enjoy that it's very little dialogue to express a wide sentiment.) ---

Most challenging: The entire discussion between Rhaella and Jon in 'Spinning Reds.' That scene took years off of my life. I have no real reason why, but I found it deeply impossible, and I still don't like it. ---

Thanks for the thoughtful question (and pluralize that if the two I'm about to answer are also you)!

#ask ellie anything