Yo!! I'm Brandon, i use he/him pronouns and I'm the current host of @the-sand-guardian's system lmaooo. Initially i made this blog cause ethan needed a break and i did Not wanna clog up his blog with my stuff but now it's just like. might as well
uhmmm if i think you're gross i'll block you. simple as that. No DNI but I hate endos (and adjacent), pro endos, and radqueers. I will be openly calling you idiots here if i get the chance.
Pretty source attached but also multisource so like does that actually mean anything ? idk . i'm just some guy. I have source memories and love to talk about them but i do in fact know they differ from ls canon lmao
ALSO everybody calls me their local frat boy!! In this frat house, we
Shower (as regularly as you can)
watch the lego movie
respect marginalized communities
party like hell
My comissions are open and I have 5 slots!! All are open at the time of writing this but just dm and ask if you're interested!!
if you think any of that is cool you should stop by and come hang out B) userboxes under the cut!!
Anyway, daily reminder from a culturally isolated Romani person.
Gypsy does not mean wanderer.
It literally means ‘people from egypt’ or similar, as europeans believed Romani people were from Egypt. It has become known similar to nomad due to how our ancestors have been forced to be nomadic due to racism and ostracization, but it is a SLUR.
Romani people are STILL being forcibly sterilized.
Romani people are STILL being forced into ghettos.
Romani people are still facing violence and danger in countless European countries- and recently, I’ve seen the beginnings of the extremes in the United States.
Have a little fucking respect and DON’T USE A SLUR THAT’S BEEN USED FOR CENTURIES AGAINST US.
And for the love of whatever’s up there, ESPECIALLY do not use it to describe your witchcraft. It is playing on the ‘magic gypsy’ trope, and is EXTREMELY insulting.
monolingual english speakers are too used to being catered to and babied at every opportunity. we need to end this. content in your native language only Now. until they can behave
hiiiiyyayayaaaaaaa. do u remember me still… are you active still ………. hi i miss you so dearly let me know on how ur doing or Whatever…….. ….. … wow missing a best friend is really embarrassing for me. I’m being all sappy and stuff
-w
Hiii!! Yes of course I remember you!! I don't front a ton or really on my own anymore, usually Pentar and Jaron are up front but I jump in here and there too. I just won an award for my first short film, and I'm passing all my classes with perfect grades! Please don't be shy to message me on discord man, I& miss you so much like it actually hurts sometimes that we don't really talk anymore. Life has been so fucking busy it'd crazy but I love and miss you so much
Alleviating gender dysphoria, not with binding or packing, but a secret third thing (padding your waist and ribs until they are the same size as your breasts)
Just a casual reminder that posting on the internet about how you would want to do physical harm to members of the US government is something that they can (and will) detain you over, so just be careful what you say in public spaces like, uh, on Tumblr.
this is your semi-regular reminder that tumblr has cooperated with the fbi to hand over user information in a very public way at least once. and that's not the only way the feds can collect information on you either
Unlike the vast majority of the world, Yeah Jaron does not have superpowers. Instead, what he has is a silver tongue and fingers that seem to consistently find themselves in other people's pockets.
or; Jaron is a complete and total liar. (CWs for blood, horror elements, and eventual body horror)
75% of the world has superpowers, and Yeah Jaron actually is one of them. But he's the only one who needs to know that, thank you very much.
The city is big, and populated and, well, a city. The streets ebb and flow with traffic and people-- the quiet knowledge of the power any individual might hold hangs heavy amongst the citizens. Any one of them could be a hero or villain in disguise. Jaron is none of these--- hero, citizen, or villain. Rather, he thinks that public nuisance is a much better word for what he does.
Jaron remembers a time when himself and Rek had only just moved in together. The sun had long set, but neither man had even thought about sleep yet. Nerves, stress, a regular night of insomnia--- neither really knew what had caused it, but there they were. Jaron had been sprawled out over their sofa, his feet propped up on Rek's lap, when Parker asked what, to him, was a harmless question.
"What do you actually do for work, Jaron? I feel like you've never actually told me."
It's a simple question. Or, rather, it should be simple. He's unemployed. However, he kind of thinks that Rek might stress himself to death if he learns that- and it's not like he doesn't have an income! It's just not... the most ethical sort of cashflow. There's no delicate way to put what he does, and he doesn't intent on just telling Rek, that's ridiculous. So he grabs the next best thing that comes to mind.
"Oh, y'know. Odd jobs here and there." Jaron you have got to be the stupidest person on the planet, He thinks. 'Odd jobs here and there?' What the heck was that supposed to mean??
For some god-forsaken reason, Parker seems to believe him. Whatever blank his mind has filled in, Jaron hopes it's something less suspicious than what's actually come out of his mouth. Rek lets out a small, "Huh. Cool." and turns his attention back to the TV. Thank God.
==========
Jaron gets rather rudely reminded of what his line of work entails the next day. It's crowded, as Saturdays tend to be in the market plaza. It's almost overwhelming how large the crowds get on days like this. Conversations pass him by faster than he can quite fathom. The smells seem to intoxicate him- to coax him forwards and into the mass of people. It's perfect.
The crowd seems to swallow him and Jaron makes his way to one of the stalls. He doesn't care what's in it, he just needs a cover. It's a simple stall, some sort of handcrafted leather goods. Jaron lets himself "accidentally" bump into the man next to him, and apologizes immediately.
Hidden inside of Jaron's pocket is the man's wallet, where he's already begun to thumb through it. Change is worthless enough to leave behind. Between his fingers, he holds a bill. Bingo. He drops it into his pocket properly now, and holds the wallet in his palm. He tips it just outside of his pocket right as he turns away, letting his footsteps mask the quiet thud.
It's routine. It's practice. He knows what he's doing. Jaron cuts between two stalls and starts through the allery. He's made more than enough cash today, and if the new watch on his wrist is as nice as it looks, maybe him and Rek would be sitting pretty this week.
But he just can't help himself when he spots another person walking down the alley. It's risky, but the way Jaron's hand twitches in his pocket is already completely consuming his mind. He runs his usual routine.
WHAM.
His back hits the wall behind him as soon as the familiar weight hits his pocket. His eyes take a second to refocus on the person in front of him.
"Give it back--- Now." The other person hisses. They've got one hand on his chest pushing him against the bricks, and the other is cocked back, ready to swing.
Jaron thinks he likes his chances. A grin spreads across his face as he shrugs. "I have no idea what you're talking about man, I just lost my footing a little bit," He fibs through his teeth.
The hand on his chest pushes harder. He wonders if it's possible to break ribs like this. He won't let it get to that point.
"You know what I'm talking about--- Give me my fucking wallet back." Wow, they're insistent. And rude, you'd think Jaron had robbed them or something.
"I don't have your wallet." He leans towards them a little. It's cocky and he knows it, but where's the fun lies!
"If you don't shut your fucking mouth and give me back my wallet, I'm shut your mouth for you."
Fiesty, Jaron thinks. He parts his lips to speak, and it comes. A blur of skin comes toward him--- a fist. Jaron closes and reopens his fingertips in his pocket just in the nick of time, and-
"What the fuck!" The person holding him lets go and yanks their arm back out of the swirling portal between them and Jaron. When it comes back out, their skin is littered with bloody, red dots. His assailant looks down with wide eyes at what's become of their arm.
Jaron smiles and shrugs. "I was just about to warn you, too. Sorry about that one. It works out a whole lot better if you move slower."
He keeps his eyes on the other as he backs through the portal he's opened behind himself, and leaves his victim alone in the alley. Beside them is their wallet, about $20 lighter than it had initially been.
That night, Jaron takes Parker to the bar with him. It's a small local joint, and the bartender gives Jaron a smile as he passes into the threshold. It's routine. Most things are to Jaron.
Jaron flashes Percy a smile in return as he takes his seat, with Parker choosing one right next to him. It's how they are. Their routine.
By the time both men are situated, Percy is already putting down two drinks. Jaron thanks him as he tugs his beanie down over his ears. He allows himself to lean against Rek just a little. He's warm, as he usually tends to be. Jaron could just melt into him, he thinks. But instead, he scans the bar like a hawk.
Jaron isn't a villain. That much is true. Not like the kind you see on the news. Two days ago, Clownpierce took down one of the highest-ranking heroes in the city. Jaron assumes that's why the bar is so packed tonight. There's a weight to the air, he notes. He sits up a little taller (which doesn't really do a ton for him) so as to not be compressed entirely by it.
Behind the bar, Percy's eyes linger on Jaron for a moment. His gentle smile is unwavering as he cleans an an already-spotless glass.
"Busy night, huh?" Jaron tries. He's honestly much less affected by the hero's death than he's pretended to be.
Percy's neat smile falters slightly, but almost precisely. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that." His shoulders shrug only sightly. "It's been pretty packed since--- Well, you know."
Parker nods next to Jaron. "It's a lot for everybody, I think. Nobody likes seeing heroes die. I mean, we certainly aren't immune to it."
He's right, at least about himself. Jaron's noticed the late shifts, his tired eyes. It took a bit of convincing to get him out of the house, but Jaron's speciality seemed almost to be convincing people. He was paying, yes, but with the bar as busy as it was, that was absolutely not his problem.
"It's terrible, really. But the world keeps on turning, doesn't it? I'm sure some newcomer will pop out and take her spot soon enough."
Jaron looks up at him for a moment and nods. He picks up his drink and tucks his other hand into his pocket.
Whatever they talk about for the next hour or so is completely lost on him. The wide-eyed (presumed) civilian flashes across his mind, clutching their arm. Before he realizes it, his third drink of the night is gone and his head buzzes comfortably.
If Rek realizes that Jaron's wallet has more cash in it than when he last saw, he doesn't say anything. He and Jaron walk home, chattering about whatever garbage neither will remember in the morning. A gentle warmth spreads through both, one that Parker has been acutely aware of for a while now. He doesn't say anything about that one, either.
As Percy said, the world kept turning. Within a week, a new Superhero had graduated and was making her rounds cleaning up the streets. Her power, admittedly, fascinated Jaron--- She could kill a man with words alone. It would be harder for him to control, especially given his propensity for cold hard sass.
New heroes, despite the naivety that was so common amongst them, posed a new sort of threat. They started out low-level, like the city Pigs, before anything else. The problem? Jaron's nasty habit of petty crime was exactly the type of thing that could get him in big trouble with one of the new heroes. Hopefully, he's never have to really worry about that though. Luck hadn't failed him yet, but who could tell when that would run out?
Laying low shouldn't be hard. Shouldn't. But Jaron was a bit of a special case. Laying low is BOR-ING gosh dangit! He needed a thrill, and what a better way to get one than pushing his (and the city's) limits?
Jaron takes pride in being as suspicious as he is. In his head, it's a bit of a horseshoe. Surely the guy in the shady cap and trenchcoat wouldn't actually be up to something? It's too obvious. It's perfect.
He weaves amongst the morning crowds and bites back a snide comment sizzling on the tip of his tongue. Of course Parker's favorite coffee place has a line all the way around the block! Why wouldn't it? He's never going to get out of this line before Rek's done at the gym. Curse this gosh-dang-
He spots her a moment later.
Clad in the bubblegum-pink she's practically trademarked already, JumperWho makes her morning rounds. She's probably on a regular patrol, but Jaron lifts his head and scans the tops of each nearby building just to be safe. They're clear, unfortunately. No Clownpierce to be seen. Dang it.
That's when it hits Jaron. While there may not be an active threat, what's stopping him from creating one instead? Nothing crazy, but something at least distracting enough to cull the crowd a little bit. Maybe threat is the wrong word for it... Yes, he much prefers distraction or perhaps 'organized chaos.' Whatever that means.
His hand twitches in his pocket as the sea of people just never seems to calm. He picks someone at random--- A businessman or banker type, he thinks--- and his wallet is aquired within just a second.
This time, he doesn't keep the contents for himself. Instead, Jaron opens it up and leaves it to hang about halfway out of another customer's purse.
Now comes the worst part. This wasn't routine, it wasn't practiced, it wasn't what he knew, but at this point Jaron would do just about anything to cut down on the line ahead of him. He sucks a breath through his teeth. God, this is going to be so embarrassing.
"Dude, I think that guy just stole your wallet!" He says probably a bit too loudly and tapping the poor guy's shoulder. The man is a fair bit taller than him (though that's not very hard to do), so Jaron crosses his fingers that this works. He points to the wallet hanging out of the other man's purse.
The man turns around quickly. He's clean cut, well-dressed... Jaron thinks he looks a little bit like a penguin in his suit. His eyes wander quickly before landing on his own wallet.
All eyes turn--- including JumperWho's--- to the scene as it unfolds. The Penguin, as Jaron has so kindly dubbed him, pushes the other to face him. Jaron balls his fingers into fists within his pockets as a crowd starts to amass.
"Dude did you seriously think you could get away with that?" The Penguin asks. He's British. Yuckkkkk. Jaron's muscles tense involuntarily at the question even though it's not directed at him.
The other man shouts something back, but Jaron has begun to tune both out as he weaves towards the coffee shop doors. With all eyes on what's becoming a rather boisterous scene, it's not nearly as difficult as he thought it would be.
He tries not to stop himself as eyes bore into the back of his head. The doors are almost in sight. Jaron doesn't quite clock that the space behind him is much quieter than it was a moment ago. He gets into the shop finally.
A hand wraps around his biceps and squeezes harshly. Sharp, pink nails dig into his skin the slightest bit.
"I saw you do that."
Frick.
He turns slowly to face JumperWho. He's never been so close to a hero before. He hates it.
"I have no idea what you're talking about-"
"Listen, maybe you are as dumb as you look," Jaron swears he can feel the swipe of a papercut graze his skin, "but you'd have to be a total moron to not see what you're doing."
Jaron's eyes widen and every muscle in his body threatens to contract. His throat is completely dry of both moisture and words.
"You only told him about his wallet to cut everybody in line!"
Oh. Oh! Fabulous! Jaron's face shifts as he regains control over it.
"Sorry- sorry yeah you caught me-" He throws his hands up and forces a laugh. "Listen, I'm already in line now, but it won't happen again. I swear on my life." He draws an x over his heart and lowers his hands back to his pockets.
JumperWho nods. "Don't let me catch you again." Her voice is just as sharp as her nails. Finally though, she drops her grasp on Jaron and steps aside, her glare unwavering as she returns to patrol.
When Jaron turns, he's first in line. A quick glance at the clock tells him he's cutting it a little closer than he would have liked, but it's nowhere near impossible. He places both his and Parker's orders, paying with cash as per usual.
"Mate, that was really kind of you back there."
Frick Jaron's stupid baka life.
"Oh, yeah, it's not a problem at all. Just- I dunno, I saw him grab it and thought you should know." He doesn't look at The Penguin at all. He rocks on his feet slightly.
The Penguin nods. "Yeah- If you haven't paid yet I could get your drink or something?"
Jaron's hands curl up again. The barista calls out his order and he takes both cups. The Penguin seems to understand.
"Well, I'm serious, if I can repay you somehow-"
"I need to leave, sorry, kind of in a rush-" He starts for the door, but the Penguin starts to follow him.
After a few excruciating minutes, Jaron finally escapes him and can start towards the gym. By the time he gets there, Rek has (unfortunately) finished up his workout and on his way out. Thanks a lot, Penguin. Jaron smiles anyways and hands him his drink.
Parker takes Jaron out to lunch-- insists on it, even. It's a little out of character for him, considering Rek was usually the one stressing over their budget while Jaron drags him to the bar, but Jaron would be a liar to say he didn't enjoy the gesture. So after a little bit of pushing, Jaron goes out with him.
It's nothing fancy, not like a date or anything, but it's nice. The two go to a local place tucked away down the street. It's kitschy and bring, and the two stick out like sore thumbs in their more neutral-toned dress. It's a nice change of pace though, compared to what they're used to.
"You really didn't have to do this, y'know." Jaron repeats himself ad nauseam, no matter how much he's smiling.
Rek's eyes crinkle as he shakes his head. "I told you man, I got the day off and I wanted to spend it with you. You're always giving me treats, I don't think it's any different if I'm doing it for you."
That's just the thing about Rek. He's so just--- good. It drives Jaron nearly insane, but he couldn't for even a second let himself believe he hates it. Instead, he finds himself wondering how the two ever came to be as close as they are.
Jaron wonders when Parker will finally see through him. See him for what he really is, not who he's fooled people into thinking he is. Surely Rek will leave. He'll find someone more important, someone with morals, someone who-
Parker's eyes haven't left him since they sat down, he doesn't think.
But they aren't piercing. Not like he half expects them to be. Like everything about his best friend, they're soft, and warm. Jaron's shoulders seem to relax of their own accord as he looks back at him.
"Everything ok over there?" Rek cocks his head to the side just slightly.
"Yeah, yeah- I'm alright," Jaron lets himself smile again. It's almost automatic, the way his face seems to pull itself that way every time he looks at Parker long enough. Maybe Parker feels it too, but he's pretty sure that's just wishful thinking.
Clownpierce's next attack occurs about a week later. The streets stay empty and quiet, like the entire city is holding a silent breath.
By some work of fate, Jaron watches the whole thing go down.
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the movement and stops. For the first time since he and Rek have moved in, he's thankful their condo is as high up as it is. He sits down in front of his window and crosses his legs.
Their faces aren't quite visible, but the silhouettes are enough. Clownpierce has got another newbie---The Pang, as he's so chosen for himself--- practically cornered on the roof of a building just down the street.
The name is a little on the nose, Jaron thinks. I mean, a pangolin shapeshifter called The Pang? Where's the creativity? The flair? The fun? It's just lazy! Jaron could absolutely do better, he thinks.
Anyways, Jaron can see their mouths moving- or, The Pang's at least. Clown's mask entirely hides any response he must be rattling off. Not that Jaron could make it out anyways, the distance combined with his sub-par lip reading abilities leave something to be desired.
The game changes as The Pang seems to shoot up another foot in height. He curls in on himself, and the scales on his body seem to spread out even further. The ones Jaron could already see expand, fully armoring his body. New scales spring forth from his exposed skin, slicing through it with ease. It's muffled, but Jaron thinks he just might hear a scream off in the distance.
The Pang's heavy tail thunks against the ground, and Clownpierce nearly looses his footing. He says something to The Pang, presumably and reaches to his hip for something-- Jaron can't quite tell what.
The Pang rolls and barrels into him before Clown can use whatever he has prepared. Clown is knocked entirely to the ground. He pulls himself up in a split second. He wastes no time this time, stabbing into his bag-
A dark red sword sprawls from the bag into his palm, and he swings. The Pang rolls out of the way, the sword only grazing the thick scales over his back.
He swings again, and The Pang slams himself into Clown harshly. The sword shifts again, to something smaller, and Clown slashes at The Pang's face from where he lays.
Jaron loses track of their movements as the two begin to lose themselves in battle. The Pang's claws catch the light as he slashes in retaliation. His hands are quick, Jaron's not sure how many times he even swings.
He can just about imagine what The Pang is seeing-- Clown's smiling mask, staring up at him, unblinking and inhuman.
The Pang's claw catches Clown's shirt, and a dark read stain spreads across the white fabric over his arm. Clown clutches at it and...pulls? Sure enough, Clown seems to be flicking blood at his opponent. Maybe if Jaron were just a little bit closer...
The Pang stumbles backwards, reaching instinctively for each place he's hit. Jaron can't put it together. What about Clown's blood could cause him to retreat like that?
As soon as the fight began, it seems to end.
The Pang is on the ground, his back rising and falling so heavily that Jaron can see it from the window. He hides his face in his arms as his body slowly shifts back into a half-formed state. Clown steps towards him, sword in hand, and Jaron thinks he knows what's about to happen. He doesn't care to watch even for a second.
He closes the blinds before he can see what becomes of the young hero.
When Jaron goes to the bar that night, his favorite bartender isn't working. There's something in the air, he can't quite put his finger on it, but he sure that Percy must have just come down with a cold or something. He leaves before even ordering anything and instead grabs a pizza down the street for when Parker gets home.
Jaron's just so happens to be a local accountant he can't be bothered to learn the name of. A young man who looks like a penguin in a suit and doesn't know when things are urgent, gosh dangit!
Sure, maybe he survived not getting to watch his best-friend-slash-roommate work out, but in the same breath... Fine! Ok, maybe he wanted to watch for a little while, sue him! But that gosh-darned Penguin couldn't seem to take a hint.
And so when Jaron catches the dreaded Penguin's eye a week later, he can't even begin to fight the thoughts racing through his mind. He wishes his power was something like freezing time instead, at least then he could think of a way to get rid of the Penguin for good.
It's risky, but maybe he could open a portal and drop him straight out of the sky? Should he (and he should) plummet to the ground, Jaron would be nothing but an innocent bystander, just as he always seems to be. How could anyone expect him to be at the root of such an awful tragedy? Little old Jaron?
But he's not a killer!
Only because of the fact that the portal that does open is a bit... misguided. A sticky lollipop gets completely sucked up between the white bars of the crosswalk the Penguin is in, and disappears. The Penguin's stupid awful smile spreads across his entire ugly (it's really not ugly, but Jaron feels better about wanting him dead if he can convince himself that it is) face. Jaron forces a tight grin of his own and waves in response. Curse his gosh-darn friendliness!
As expected, the Penguin comes right up to Jaron, and his white teeth seem to catch the sun. The image of them burns into his brain like a hot torch, only something isn't quite right. Jaron can't put his finger on the problem, but he knows that the picture in his brain is not what he's seeing in front of him.
Jaron wants to knock the teeth out of the Penguin's skull.
Jaron waits, but no update comes. That's a good thing, he thinks. He's never quite been able to tell. No headlines of The Pang's death, no national mourning or million-dollar funeral. But who's to say? Maybe younger ones don't get all the fanfare of household names. Maybe the guy's parents got a check and a letter full of empty regards and the stench of sorrow. The thought actually makes Jaron's stomach turn a little.
On the bright side, Percy is back at the bar! Not that Jaron values a slightly better drink over his acquaintances health, buttt...
He drifts down to chat with Percy when he's home alone. Of course, he's no Parker--- nobody could be Parker--- but he's company. His large tips tend to keep either the conversation or drinks moving, and he couldn't ask for more. It's a little easier to show off when Parker's around, too... not that it's a big deal or anything.
Percy runs a dry rag over an equally-dry glass. He likes to look busy, even though the bar is mostly empty. Jaron's been sitting at the bar for over an hour, but isn't too sure that day-drinking suits him, so he has a soda. He watches the bubbles emerge from the darkness, and cling to the cold walls of the glass. With as many as there are, they almost look like the stars that dot his voids. One bubble breaks free of its small cluster, rises-- up, up up-- and pops. Such is the nature of bubbles.
"Percy?" The name leaves his mouth before he can catch it. His eyes don't leave the glass.
Percy hums out what Jaron takes as a response.
"Do you think we actually hear about every hero that dies? Or do the big guys just tell us numbers and hope we buy it?"
Percy's hands slow a bit, Jaron assumes in thought. His face shifts a little. Jaron wonders what he hides behind the mask. The physical one, that he wears. It's a lovely shade of black, Jaron thinks. Warm, comfortable.
"I'm sure there's some level of confidentiality they have to keep. Some standards or laws." He's blunt, as always, and his flat tone matches the new face he's taken on.
"I mean, yeah, but do you think they all make the news?"
A pause. Percy takes a deep breath, and his chest rises and falls with it.
Rek starts coming home later and later from work. The bags under his eyes sag with the weight of whatever he's got on his mind. His eyes dart to his phone at any subtle sound-- Jaron wants to do something to help, the ideas just never seem to come.
Until he gets his hands on a particularly thick wallet.
He decides to treat Parker to drinks. Maybe with a little social lubricant, he'll open up a little more.
Jaron's memory is... spotty at best. But this is how he remembers the night:
Parker comes home at nearly 10:30. Every muscle in his body seems to be tense. Woagh. His brow is low and furrowed, like maybe his head is already hurting.
Jaron's sitting at the counter, head propped up in his hand as he comes in. Words spill out of his mouth before he can even think to catch them. "Welcome home, handsome." He lets out a stupid giggle, hopefully lightening his own admission into more of a joke.
Thankfully, a small smile creeps across his roommate's face. He hangs his bag up and shakes his head. Jaron swears that just for a moment, as he faces the wall, Rek really grins. "Thanks honey."
It's a joke. Jaron knows it is, at least. Even so, his feet start to swing on their own. Parker crosses over into their kitchen and goes straight for the medicine cabinet. "Another long one?" Jaron's already up grabbing water.
Parker gives a shallow nod and turns to lean against the counter, facing Jaron now. "One of the newer guys got hurt on the job. Now he's going all-- I don't know-- de facto? It's like all of a sudden, he's not working, talking about our rivals, all this out of nowhere,"
Oh, that was easy.
Jaron passes him the glass and parks himself perpendicular to the other. "Yeah? All that just from an injury? What was he doing?"
Parker takes two acetaminophen, then pauses. "Just-- just routine work. Finally get him out into the field, and immediately just- I don't know."
The words strike Jaron immediately. What does Parker do for work? Does he know? He doesn't think so. Jaron's throat seems to run fully dry. But he trusts Parker. More than anyone else in the world.
He hates seeing Parker like this. How does one even go about helping something like that?
His initial plan sets itself back into motion. Without hesitation, he takes both of Parker's hands into his own. Surprisingly, he doesn't let go, but his eyebrows quirk up a bit. Jaron lifts both of their hands between them, presses their palms together. Parker just lets him. He's smiling, Jaron realizes.
His heart is pumping straight into his ears. "Y'know what might be a little more fun?"
"Hm?" Parker's eyes finally lift from their hands.
"How about we go out and have a couple drinks? At our usual place?" He swallows his remaining fear and locks their fingers together.
Parker shakes his head just a little, and drops his eyes to their feet. Vaguely, Jaron feels his hand tighten around Jaron's. "I don't think I've got the cash for that right now-- Maybe once this paycheck comes in?"
Jaron commits. He squeezes Parker's hands right back. "And what if it was all on me instead?"
"I couldn't make you do that, Jaron,"
"I'm offering, and I want to, too. Come on, let's have a little fun!"
Finally, Parker smiles. "Fine- Let's have a little fun."
==========
As though it were meant to be, Percy is bartending! He's already got a drink in progress by the time Jaron and Parker sit in front of him. His movements are quick again, almost chipper. It's nice to see him enjoying his work again.
Jaron only gets a few drinks in before his night blurs. He remembers sitting close, warmth, laughter, Parker's perfect smile-- But that's about it.
The next thing he remembers doesn't come until the next morning, and he's not even sure of it until he opens his eyes.
Jaron has no idea how he got there, but he wakes up in Parker's bed, head to a steadily rising and falling chest he can only assume to be his roommates. He feels terrible as expected, but in a simple moment like this, he doesn't really care to move. A persistient ache thumps against Jaron's skull in a way he's come to know all too well. Parker's arms wrap loosely around him, and Jaron's convinced that the comfortable weight must have been what put him out in the first place.
He's not sure if Rek is awake, and he's not convinced yet that he wants to know either. As long as Rek thinks he's asleep, maybe he can still weasel himself out of an awkward situation.
"G'd morning,"
Jaron's sure he stops breathing entirely. Quickly, he pulls himself together and pushes out a response. "Good morning."
Rek's thumb traces a small arc on Jaron's back, and he lets himself relax into the gentle touch. It was moments like this that Jaron had pined over since the two were in school together-- moments he never thought would come. It seemed, however, that his roommate was decidedly less straight than he'd initially thought. Or, at least he hoped so. Maybe he was just aware of how horrifically hungover Jaron was and trying to be soothing.
He peeks his eyes open a bit once more and forces himself to stomach the swirling room around him. Jaron lifts his eyes to his Parker's perfect face-- Even moments after waking, he still seemed to be gorgeous. It strikes Jaron now.
He's smiling.
And then it creeps across Jaron's face too before he can try to convince himself to stop it.
And so Jaron slowly but surely begins to move into Parker's room. It's not even really a conscious thought, more just that he happens to keep bringing his things over, and Parker keeps happening to forget to make him take it back. Jaron loves it.
It's hard to blame him, too. Gradually, he finds himself sleeping over there more than he does his own bed. Having his own things in Parker's room just makes sense if he's already going to be over there all the time.
Despite this up, life must also have its downs.
Clownpierce is spotted a few days into the trickling move. He's not doing anything, to the best of the public's knowledge, except menacing... and one other thing.
He's not alone anymore.
It's difficult to see from the ground, even with the fancy news cameras-- Or, maybe that's just the couple's (as Jaron at least considers them) TV resolution-- but Clownpierce has a *team* now.
An older gentleman, Jaron guesses. He'd be surprised if a 20-something had such stark white hair, but he can recognize that it's not impossible. His suit, unlike Clownpierce's costume, is highlighted in a rich purple. It's coordinated, put together in a way that seems almost manufactured.
Jaron feels like he should get up to wipe the screen-- there's no way. No way in a million hells. Sitting next to him, Jaron can practically see Parker's mouth run dry as he clocks the figure stood between Clownpierce and his unnamed sidekick.
Bright orange-red scales cover the young man. Each armored piece comes down to a razor sharp point that seems to dance under the mid-afternoon setting sun. He couldn't blend in if he tried, not shifted the way he is. His nose pulls down and away from his face into a long muzzle.
Heroes rarely defect from their contracts, but Jaron and Parker know at once that that's exactly what The Pang seems to have done.
If I ever share anything that was AI generated it is purely by accident. I hate that it's getting harder and harder to tell and it makes me want to never use the internet again. It definitely had its faults, but man I miss the internet of the 2000s so much.
"i unfollow if our media interests no longer align" I still follow moots haven't spoken to in years and have learned the entire story of deltarune, mouthwashing, that one ninjago lego show, continuations of media I havent been into since 2018 and many others. I don't need a summary of something I just need Mutual to be insane about it on my dash
these are my mutuals I call them 'advertisement' and 'propaganda' and 'newspaper' and their job is to flood my dash with posts that have no root in my current interests. for enrichment
I hope everyone who watched the Dan and Phil video comes out of it talking about the dangers of parasocialism and online fan culture, especially when it comes to obsession and Everything related to trying to out creators and like. Yeah
