mathanlin

[mathanlin]

Little post because I feel like my extended absence deserves a lilllll bit of explanation lol

Talking about AU threads, current WIPs, and my plans for Twitter & ao3 :)

First, a quick TLDR! I still adore writing! I still love writing/reading SBI fics, and hope to finish my current WIP (Red Over Blue). I’m in a safe environment, just quite busy and struggling to get back into the flow of writing after such a long break :)

I absolutely still intend to write fics, whether it purely SBI or other fandoms (cough cough cough BAT—). However, AU threads are a bit more complex, and to be dead honest, I don’t anticipate writing many in the future. It’s nothing anyone did, y’all have been nothing but positive! Just an analysis of my own likes/dislikes + my own personal reasons for writing :)

So… fics soon-ish! just at a slower pace, and possibly in different fandoms (though I still main SBI lol)

Thank you all :)))

[mathanlin]

just finished no mercies for fools. holy shit that’s good. do you ever think you’ll revisit that AU?

funny that you ask that... I am not-so-suspiciously looking at my documents lmao

In other news, the one year anniversary is in 7 days and something just mayyyyyyyybe will be posted then :)

[mathanlin]

Hey do you still use tumblr?

Yep! I forgot to post an update here, but I'm doing a shit-ton of college stuff right now — applying, financial aid, scholarships, etc.

I'm also planning for an upcoming life event that's going to blow up my life for quite a bit lol. I'm still working on a fic, but I don't have much time for threads, hence the lack of updates here :)

[mathanlin]

Hey quick question how do you pronounce your screen name? (love your writing btw :)

It's Ma-hahn Lin — Mathan means "bear" in Scottish Gaelic, + Lin as in Linden tree :)

[mathanlin]

Fae/Foster AU where Fae aren’t trusted to speak for fear of making deals — and so each foster family is given the Fae’s name to immediately mute them. Like Tommy, the unwanted Changeling.

And yet the Watsons let him communicate.

By… writing on a cheap plastic whiteboard.

It’s an incredible gift. 

He’s practically giddy with joy, scrawling out words that someone *finally* listens to. And not just anyone — the kindest, sweetest people the world has to offer. 

And selfishly, Tommy wants more. 

“Thank you.”

He holds the whiteboard out to Phil after supper. He’s eaten their food & thanked them, gave them so much power. As if his name wasn’t enough. 

Phil… smiles. At *Tommy,* the inhuman, unwanted creature.

And that makes the silence worth it. 

Almost. 

Because it hurts. 

To not be able to laugh during meals. To not banter with Wilbur or ramble with Techno. (Even when they say, “You’re a great listener, Tommy.” 

Because that’s all he is.)

And to know that if he ever said, “I love you,” it would be accompanied by the acrid stench of the marker.

And silence. Always silence.

That’s what makes him desperate enough to try.

“Hey, mate.”

Phil turns around, halfway through a sink of dishes. His smile falters to a look of concern as he sees Tommy’s hunched, shaking frame.

And that concern evaporates as he sees the message scrawled on Tommy’s whiteboard.

“Can I have my voice back?”

Tommy’s stupid enough to hope.

That maybe a year with the Watsons was enough. That maybe he’d gained their trust through his quiet help & shaky smiles. By being *easy.*

But Phil’s face tightens, grip tightening on the silverware in his hand. 

They’re thinking the same thing, Tommy knows.

Fae are dangerous. It’s a good thing there’s iron everywhere — if worse came to worse, they could ward off Tommy with it.

(What Phil doesn’t know is that Tommy would let them. 

That he’d take the pain and rejection silently.)

“We need to talk.”

It’s not said to Tommy. It doesn’t involve him at all. Just Phil and his sons who he’s called to the living room, voice quiet as Tommy eavesdrops.

That doesn’t make the words any less gutwrenching. 

“You can’t let Tommy speak.”

The twins tense, but they… they don’t even argue.

Phil’s jaw tightens. “He tried to ask me. You two have his name, too, he’ll go after you next. We can’t risk anything.”

What isn’t said is, *He’s too dangerous to trust.*

But they all know it. 

Tommy somehow gets quieter.

Because horribly, it makes sense. The Watsons can’t risk their family falling into a dangerous Fae deal.

And even if they did give his voice back, he’d be different. Too loud, too bubbly, too desperate for their love.

So he cuts his losses.

“Just for one day.”

It’s Wilbur he approaches, months after Phil’s warning. The boy looks up at Tommy, his incredible, undeserved fondness masked by confusion.  

“One day for what?”

*To have my voice back,* is the true answer. 

But there’s more. So much more. *To say I love you. To call Phil Dad, just once. To call you and Techno my brothers. Just one day to speak, and all I’ll say is how much I love you.*

*I’ll be quiet after that.*

“To have my voice back.”

In the end, that’s all he writes. There’s not enough space to write out all those vulnerable truths, the stench of the marker making him dizzy.

And Wilbur’s face falls.

“Tommy.”

He sounds… doubtful. Tommy’s heart dares to rise, hands shaking as Wilbur stands, face drawn tight with grief, pain, and… guilt?

It only takes a second for that last emotion to make sense.

Because Wilbur snatches the whiteboard from his hands.

“You can’t be trusted with it.”

That’s Wilbur’s explanation as he stalks down the hallway, Tommy clinging to his side, mouth desperately forming muted apologies. 

And when Wilbur hands the whiteboard to Phil, those damning words still scrawled across it, Phil says the same.

That’s not the end of it.

The notebooks around the house are taken. So are any scraps of paper, loose pens, pencils, or markers.

And Phil, voice thick with grief, orders, “Tommy, don’t try to talk to us again.”

It didn’t have to be an order. Tommy would’ve listened.

But the end result is the same. Tommy stays silent, buried in his room, unable to even cry out. To ask for *anything,* let alone the chance to say, “I love you.”

And like this, he’s lost the chance to ever hear it, too. 

[mathanlin]

Why was that your answer to the tubbo question 😭😭 you can say u like angst it’s ok you don’t have to sound like you put two cats together and they did something bad BECAUSE YOU WROTE IT!! They are yours to control you made them do that 💀💀

OKAY CAN I BE /LH SERIOUS FOR A MINUTE LMFAO

Any writer can tell you "these motherfucking characters will do WHATEVER THE HELL THEY WANT." They do not follow the outline. They just. Do Stuff™ sometimes.

(all /nm, I hope this ask was lighthearted too because it was funny as fuck to read lmfao)

[mathanlin]

I'm begging you PLEASE let Tommy be happy or something. It doesn't need to be all sunshine just let my boy have an emotional support Tubbo or something

the two times I gave Tommy an "emotional support Tubbo" Tommy either a) accidentally started a war and got his adopted brother stabbed and b) almost drowned in a river

so i don't think that would help :)

[mathanlin]

Hero/Hanahaki AU where vigilante!Tommy’s best friends with one of the League’s Enforcers.

Techno gives him food, warm coats, even hugs once they’re out of the League’s view. Tommy clings to his promise —“You’re like a brother to me.”

And then Techno turns on him.

“Tommy.”

Techno’s standing in the alleyway entrance, fingers white around his Enforcer’s baton. 

Tommy’s smile falters beneath his mask, arms falling from where he’d held them out (anticipating a hug).

“Please make this easy.”

Tommy’s gut goes cold even before Techno stalks forward.

“Tommy, please. I— I need this job. I’m sorry.”

Stupidly, Tommy almost forgets what he means by job. He’s always been Tommy’s friend first (...and maybe, just maybe, his brother.)

But he only looks like an Enforcer now.

Tommy stumbles back, shaking his head. “What? Techno, you— what are you—”

Techno squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tight with… grief?

Then he lunges. Tommy just *barely* dodges, crying out as the baton clips his shoulder.

And, driven by confused terror, he bolts. 

Techno chases. But this time, it’s not a friendly race, meant to escape the view of the League’s surveillance.

It’s a hunt. Tommy barely escapes, mask off so he can slap his hands over his mouth as Techno prowls nearby.

And then something prickles in his adrenaline-frozen gut.

He gags, desperately trying to stay silent.

It bubbles up anyways, pouring over his lips as he sobs in grief and terror. He can barely see it through his tears (ones he almost wishes Techno was here to wipe away).

The flower in his shaking hands, inky petals edged with crimson.

A black dahlia.

That’s all he learns, after he stumbles back to the half-collapsed warehouse he’s holed up in. A home he’d never shown to Techno — not out of mistrust, just shame.

It saves him now. 

But Tommy’s too broken with despair to care.

Techno corners him again a few days later.

But this time, it’s Tommy that begs first, hands lifted in surrender (not a request for a hug, for once.) “Techno? Please, I don't— what happened? Did I do something?”

(*Or are you just… doing your job?*)

And Techno… hesitates.

“Tommy,” he breathes, eyes shining with tears. “No, I just… I…”

Tommy swallows, daring to inch closer. His heart’s wailing for comfort, for *love,* and surely Techno wouldn’t hurt him. Not again.

Techno looks up, breath shuddering—

—and slams the baton into Tommy’s ribs.

It’s worse this time.

Tommy huddles in a storm drain, bruised chest aching with every blossom he heaves out. Petunias. Golden carnations. Hyacinths, more violet than the wicked bruise along his ribs.

And each choked-out flower and sob just makes the wound hurt worse.

The next time Techno finds him, Tommy’s done.

He’s paralyzed by exhaustion, flowers brimming beneath the mask he’d just managed to put on before Techno arrived, baton in hand.

So his words are muffled when he whispers, throat bloody, “Tec’no, please.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Techno whispers, kneeling at his side. “It’s not… it’s not permanent, Tommy. The League won’t keep you forever.”

*But they’ll lock me up,” Tommy thinks, flinching as Techno grabs his wrist and pulls his arms away from his ruined chest. *They’ll hurt me.*

It’s a stupid, childish thought. Nothing could hurt him more than Techno has. 

At least he’s gentle when he snaps the cuffs around Tommy’s wrists.

But the agonizing coughs that bubble up Tommy’s chest are the furthest thing from soft. 

“Tommy,” he hears as he crumples.

It’s Techno’s voice, desperate and confused. It’s his hands that weave under Tommy’s shoulders as he heaves for air, head spinning with the cloying scent of blood and flowers.

And it’s Techno that cups his cheek.

And tears the mask off.

(The first thing Techno sees are the flowers, spilling out across the concrete in a vivid, brutal wave. Then, the blood, almost dull amidst the colorful petals.

Then, the pale, pain-twisted face below it.

The face of a kid.

If Techno could, he would’ve given up right there.

But the League’s already been called. Techno’s quota’s been filled, his job saved. His *family* saved.

And it’s too late to help Tommy now. 

All Techno can do is pray the League’s doctors can save him. Will *try* to save him, though they’ve never cared about injured Enforcers before, let alone *vigilantes.*

And that maybe Tommy doesn’t hate him too deeply.)

[mathanlin]

Writer's block on Red Over Blue, so I drew rob!Tommy instead :)

(ignore where I signed my name, this is clearly pre-chapter 3 so—

[mathanlin]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I love your posts! They're really nice to read! I also wanted to ask what's your favorite trope currently?

Ahh thank you!!!! :DDD

And ooo that's a good question. I'll never get enough of the touch-starved character trope. I also really enjoy angst where a character's display of love/affection is rejected, for any reason — especially if it's a *good* reason (not to hurt them, to keep them safe, etc), or because of an emotional miscommunication.

[mathanlin]

According to a few asks, I've created an archive of all my AU threads on ao3. The index is posted, and I'll be adding ten chapters/threads per day until I've caught up :)

I won't be posting any fics for that week so the emails (which I sincerely apologize for😭) don't get lost.

Hopefully it'll be nice! I'm estimating there will be ~45k words worth of threads (as I've posted 96 threads/1322 tweets lmao).

Here's the link, which contains further information. I'll begin posting 10 threads per day starting tomorrow, to give people a chance to unsub for a bit if they don't want the emails :)

[mathanlin]

// unintentional neglect, injury, car accidents

Hybrid/Foster AU where elytrian!Tommy, an endangered species, is fostered by the closest related species — avians.

Except there's a few... key differences between them. *Important* differences.

But Tommy's not going to make a fuss about it.

For one, he's weaker. More fragile.

It's clear from his first shopping trip with the Watsons, arms shaking under the weight of bags of clothes & toys. Things he didn't expect (or deserve).

Phil even offers to carry them. Tommy lets him.

And regrets it, just a week later.

"Why can't Tommy help?"

Wilbur's face is pinched, a crate of gardening tools in his arms, glaring at Tommy who's hunched on the back step.

And it pinches more when Phil waves him off.

"He's not strong enough, mate. Let him relax."

It's true. Elytrian's bones are hollower, their muscles thinner, their wings larger & harder to balance.

But only one of those differences is visible. And with how endangered elytrians are, there's little research for the Watsons to find.

They only know what Tommy tells them.

"Could I go fencing with you?"

Techno pauses at the door, fencing bag in hand. Tommy fidgets, clutching the wall to counterbalance his wings, desperately wishing, *Please let me spend time with you.*

"I don't think so. Dad said you're fragile—"

"That's a myth."

Techno pauses, and Tommy's heart soars.

"A myth?"

"Yeah," Tommy squeezes out. "We're... pretty much just avians with bigger wings. We're the same."

(A tiny part of him whispers, *We can be brothers.*)

The best (worst) part is, Techno believes him. Just like that.

And he's gentle when he takes jabs at Tommy with the training rapier, even helps him up no matter how many times he topples to the mat.

(Not gentle enough — for an elytrian, that is. Tommy's covered in bruises.)

But it's better than being left at 'home.'

Supper that night is perfect (even if the Watson's herbivore diet doesn't quite nourish an elytrian.) Tommy laughs like he's one of them. Like he's family.

And he's swiftly reminded when Wilbur corners him after.

"You lied to us."

Tommy goes still. (Not fight-or-flight, like an avian. Just... freezing.)

'You lied.' Maybe Wilbur knows about the bruises beneath Tommy's sweater (special-made for his sensitive skin. *Expensive.*) Maybe... maybe he's going to offer to help—

"You're not *weak.*"

"What?"

Tommy's whisper does nothing to calm the fury on Wilbur's face.

"You could've helped Dad unpack. You could do chores. But you're lying, so you can fucking— *sit around.*"

Tommy flinches. He wants to speak, but mind frenzied with fear & pain, only a clicking warble comes out.

An apology.

Wilbur's eyes widen as he reels back, suddenly silent.

And then he sneers, all curled lips and bared teeth.

"For fuck's sake, Tommy. Fine. I see how it is."

(But he doesn't. Neither of them do.

The clicking warble? An apology, in elytrian. A plea only used in utter desperation.

And in avian... a sound of scorn. Revulsion at even being *around* someone.

And Wilbur takes that to heart.

Maybe Tommy never belonged with them anyways.)

.

.

.

"When we get home, I'm telling dad."

Tommy's head snaps up, meeting Wilbur's eyes in the rearview mirror. The twins had picked him up from school, after Tommy'd fallen ill (yet again). A lie, Wilbur thinks.

And now he, too busy sneering at Tommy, swerves off the road.

It could've been worse.

The car could've flipped twice, not just once. There could've been fire, not just warning smoke.

But two out of three people in that car are fine, wings flailing as they dangle — bruises, scraped feathers, a bit shaken up.

One's *not* fine.

"Just unbuckle the fucking seatbelt, Tommy."

It's a good thing Wilbur's screaming. Tommy wouldn't have been able to hear him otherwise, ears ringing in agony.

Wrist. Ribs. Chest. They all burn, like the marks from fencing with Techno.

But these aren't bruises.

He passes out before the twins even touch him, fighting to drag his too-large wings through the shattered window.

Strange, that the last thing he remembers is Wilbur shouting, "He can get out himself, Techno."

And the first thing he hears upon waking is, "He could've *died.*"

It's Phil yelling. Tommy drifts, head buried in a hospital pillow.

"He had a fucking seatbelt," Wilbur yells back. "He should've been fine."

"He's *fragile,* Wil—"

"No, he fucking *lied* about that, Dad."

Silence. Enough to hear Tommy's heartbeat monitor, chirping far too slow.

"Lied?" Phil says quietly.

"He— he's not *weak.* He's just as strong as an avian, he's not made of fucking glass and we don't have to *coddle* him. He lied to—"

"Does this look like a lie to you?"

It's only then that Tommy manages to open his eyes, breath shuddering as he tries to force air into the broken cage of his ribs.

And the first thing he does warble an apology towards Wilbur.

Or, how it sounds to avians, pure scorn.

"*See?*"

Phil & Techno blink, expressions faltering.

But unlike Wilbur, who jumps to betrayed indignation (and... maybe just a little pain), they pause.

And gently clarify.

"What does that mean, mate?"

"It means I'm... 'm sorry?"

Wilbur goes still, understanding creeping across his face (slowly, slowly realizing that Tommy'd only lied to be loved).

But only he only freezes for a second. After all, he's an avian.

And when they're afraid (...ashamed, horrified, and broken with guilt)?

They choose flight.

At least Phil & Techno stay.

At least they listen when Tommy finds the air to speak, explaining himself — the truth, for once. They hold him as he sobs, hurting his shattered ribs that much more.

At least they tell the truth.

"When you're healed, we want you to come home."

(And at that home, Wilbur waits.

He'd immediately moved every single one of his nest's blankets & pillows to Tommy's room. Hell, he even bought *more.*

He forces his guilt-ridden tears to stop, only so he can do some research. *Elytrian* research.

He won't let Tommy lie anymore — that's stayed the same.

But now, it's out of a desperate, broken love, revealed the moment that car crashed and Wilbur quietly prayed, *Please let my brothers be okay.*

He won't let anything hurt Tommy.

Not anymore.)

[mathanlin]

little quiz I made for fun! 15 questions to see which of my fic!SBI you most resemble :)

let me know what you get, I will either gently pity you or point and laugh lmao

[mathanlin]

Chapter 3 of "Red Over Blue" is up!

⍟ Hero/Villain & Hybrid AU

⍟ Bedrock Bros Centric

⍟ Chapter 3/5, ~8k/29k words

⍟ *Someone* finally snaps :)

[mathanlin]

Hero AU where apprentice!Tommy is SBI’s weak link.

He’s young, untrained, practically powerless. And though they seem to love him, Tommy’s heard plenty of other heroes mutter, “He’s not worth having around.”

So to prove them wrong, he lets himself get captured.

The first time’s an accident.

The last thing he sees is SBI, desperately trying to reach him — and even as he’s knocked out, all Tommy feels is a strange relief.

And then he wakes in a cell, the villain sneering outside.

“Let’s see how much they love you.”

Tommy’s heart stops — and not just from fear. 

Because that’s what he wants, what he *needs* — their love, as something more substantial than hair ruffles and light compliments. He wants to prove he’s family, like they claim he is.

And if he has to get hurt to test it, so be it.

One flawless hostage exchange later, and Tommy’s overjoyed.

SBI hadn’t just rescued him. They hardly let him go, clinging to him with teary eyes & refusing to leave his side. With them, his wounds don’t even sting.

But it doesn’t last as long as Tommy wants it to.

“You realize how costly that was.”

It’s another hero, talking outside the medbay door. Tommy drifts, barely conscious, the twins dozing at his bedside. (They haven’t left. Tommy’s heart glows at that fact.)

Then, Phil’s voice.

“It was worth it.”

“Was it?”

Tommy blinks blearily, straining to hear Phil’s voice. “What?”

“Was it really worth it?” the hero scoffs, their voice a living poison. “For *him?*”

And, just for a moment… Phil hesitates. 

“Of course it was.”

That hesitation festers in Tommy’s mind. 

Phil would give anything for his sons. Everyone knows they're worth the world to him. 

And Tommy… Tommy’s not sure if he counts as ‘son.’

So the next time a villain hits him too hard?

Tommy lets himself pass out — and get captured.

It’s stupid, and he knows it.

But he’s not strong enough to earn their pride in that fight — but maybe, injured, scared, and beaten, he’s weak enough to get their pity. 

(And, in the painful haze, that looks close enough to love.)

“Oh god, Tommy, you scared us.”

It’s Wilbur that rushes to him once the second hostage exchange is completed, tackling him in an embrace. Techno & Phil aren’t far behind, stoic hero personas forgotten in their desperate relief.

And with that love, Tommy can relax.

(He tries not think about how the villain’d pushed him to the verge of death, convinced he had no other use.

Or the vague look of surprise once they’d heard SBI wanted him back.

At least now the wounds are getting him soft touches & kind words.

At least he knows he’s wanted.)

But it’s wrong, this time.

“Gotta get back to work,” Techno says, patting Tommy’s hand as he stands from beside the hospital bed. “Get some rest, kid.”

“You’re leaving?” Tommy croaks, flinching. Techno pauses, brow furrowing.

“It’s alright. Wilbur will stay with you.”

*But you won’t,* Tommy thinks. *Why… why not?*

There’s no answer.

It takes longer to heal this time. Plenty of time for Tommy to stew in that uncertainty, heart rotting under the weight of it.

So the moment he steps foot back on the battlefield, he knows what he needs to do.

He’s still fragile from old wounds. It makes sense how he’s overpowered, beaten into the glass-strewn ground. Always the weak link.

Techno and Phil whirl toward him, but too far to help.

But Wilbur’s just yards away, screaming, “Tommy—”

He’s knocked out.

He wakes alone. That part makes sense. 

What doesn’t make sense is the lack of chains around his wrists, the absence of fists thrown into his gut, the blankets thrown surgically over him.

Because he’s in the League’s medbay.

But no one’s at his side.

It’s a wonder he can stand (with no one to hold him up).

He finds Phil hurrying down the hall at a breakneck pace. Tommy collapses into him, crying out in pain but still forcing his words out.

“Where— where were you? Where’s Techno and Wil?”

*Why didn’t you stay with me?*

But Phil—

Phil pushes him off. 

Not harsh. Just… careless. Like he has something more important to think about. 

And he does. Because with a wavering, broken voice, he utters two horrible words.

“Wilbur’s gone.”

Gone. 

More accurately, “captured.”

Because no villain who choose to take *Tommy.* 

They’d choose the hero who’d recklessly, desperately tried to save him, throwing all caution to the wind.

And with how Tommy’s forgotten?

It’s clear everyone else would choose Wilbur, too.

[mathanlin]

Last attack of #mcytficfight for intothestorm — "Three Little Birds" :)

𓆰 8.3k words, Foster/Hybrid

𓆰 Touch-starved older brother Techno

𓆰 Soft foster dad!Phil

𓆰 Techno doesn't realize Phil's willing to take care of him.

𓆰 https://archiveofourown.org/works/49716649

[mathanlin]

Witch AU where village kid catshifter!Tommy starts developing magic.

It’s terrifying, sure. But he’s friends with the SBI coven, and they’ll surely take him in — though they don’t know he’s a shifter, they’re still kind.

So Tommy’s stunned when Phil flat-out rejects him.

“They’ll notice if a kid goes missing.”

*Not me,* Tommy almost says. That’s part of the problem. He’s barely able to stay in the village now — let alone if they discover he’s a witch.

But he still can’t bear to tell Phil, with his new magic so weak it’s only a liability.

“Phil, I can’t— I need a place to stay,” Tommy says, bordering on fearful frustration. “I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t— friends.”

*I thought we were,* he thinks. After all the times he’d played with the twins as a kid, Phil smiling & watching over them. 

He must've been wrong.

“No, Tommy.” Phil’s voice is soaked with frustration, too. “I can’t take care of you. Not if—”

He cuts off. Tommy still hears it.

*Not if it endangers my real sons.”

And, filled with a broken rage, Tommy snaps. 

“If you send me back, I’ll tell them where you live.”

It’s an empty threat. 

That must be clear, with how Tommy’s shaking, on the verge of tears. But he must’ve underestimated how much Phil loves his sons.

And how much he *doesn’t* love Tommy.

Because, voice humming with magic, Phil utters, “You won’t say *anything.*”

Tommy opens his mouth. 

To apologize, to beg, to tell Phil the truth. *I love you. You make me feel safe.* 

But of course, nothing comes out. 

Just like Phil wanted.

The worst part is, there’s only relief in Phil’s expression. No regret.

Not until Tommy stumbles back, shaking as he tries to form apology after apology, clutching uselessly at his throat. 

And even then, there’s only regret in Phil’s expression when Tommy turns and bolts.

(“He’ll be safe.”

That’s how Phil consoles his sons, comforting them with the idea of Tommy back at the village, warm, fed, and protected.

They don’t notice the cat huddled beside their house, pressed desperately against the wall.

Not until it sits silently on their doorstep.

And Tommy… Tommy’s okay with this.

At least he’s with them. Even if he can’t speak, can’t risk shifting back, can’t even purr when they hold him close — closer than they ever did when he was a filthy, skinny kid. Even if he’s still terrified of Phil.

It’s still worth it.)

.

.

.

It’s… not that hard for Phil to find out.

How that tiny, scrawny cat only curls up with Techno & Wil. How he hisses at Phil, no sound coming out, trembling violently.

How, when any danger arises, the cat that reminds him far too much of Tommy is willing to die for them.

But there’s still a final straw.

Tommy’s reckless. He’s not a normal cat, sure, but it’s still easy to accidentally knock bottles from counters. But unlike a cat, he doesn’t wait for Techno’s precious work to fall and shatter.

He shifts into a human, barely catching it.

He should’ve been alone.

Should’ve. 

But when he pulls himself back up, bottle in one shaking hand, Phil is staring at him.

“Tommy—”

Tommy runs.

Phil had made it *painfully* clear. 

Tommy’s a danger to his sons. So much of a danger that he’d rather shut Tommy up than risk any chance of hurting them.

And Tommy almost can’t blame him. Because, desperate for a place to live, he goes right back to the village.

But he should’ve known what would happen.

Kids that go missing for months? They don’t come back right. Especially kids like Tommy who were already on thin ice, sneaking into the woods at night where witches lived.

So all Tommy gets is a crossbow bolt right through the shoulder.

He’s done.

There’s no way to survive this. At least he was able to hide from the villagers, the curse keeping every pained cry inside his chest. But now he’s bleeding out on the forest floor. Alone.

But not for long.

“Tommy?”

Techno. Then, Wilbur, falling next to him.

And asking questions he can’t answer. “Oh god, what happened? Where were you? Why— fuck, Techno, why is he— why’s he quiet?”

Funny. If Tommy could speak, he knows what his last words would’ve been. Not an answer.

Just, *I love you.*

But they’re not his last words. He wakes, swaddled in blankets and bandages, back in the cottage he’s wanted to call home for years.

And the first thing he sees is Phil, sitting at his bedside.

“I’m so sorry.”

If Tommy could speak, that would’ve shut him up.

But he can’t speak. And so he thrashes, desperately trying to sit up. To run, maybe? To flee before Phil—  before he— 

And then Techno appears in the doorway, utterly pale.

“Dad, he’s… he’s been cursed.”

Silence.

“Cursed,” Phil repeats slowly. Like— like he’s not the one who did it. 

And that lie just keeps going. As Techno & Wil tend to Tommy’s wounds, gathering ingredients for a spell to heal him.

As they, as a coven, break that curse.

The spell works.

It does. Tommy can feel his voice, tucked back from where it’d been torn out. He can feel the coven’s eyes on him — Techno & Wil’s, hopeful, and Phil’s… unreadable.

So he’s still too terrified to speak. 

“Tommy?” Wilbur leans in, taking Tommy’s hand, on the verge of tears. “Oh, Toms, can you— did it work? Can you—”

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy keeps his eyes on Phil, even as the man… shudders?

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out again, voice choked and ugly as every bit of grief pours out. “I never would’ve— would’ve— told them. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, please, I want to stay—”

Phil climbs to his feet, fast — and for once, Tommy can let out a panicked noise.

Even as the man stumbles away, face torn with grief.

And disappears.

(But Techno & Wil stay. 

And in their embraces, Tommy crumbles. Every truth that was locked behind his lips comes rushing out.

*Every* truth. From, “I love you,” to, “It was— it was Phil.”

And Phil… Phil doesn’t know what to do.

But he knows he’s *willing* to do anything. To make up for that horrible, brutal mistake, to take care of the kid he’s always loved like his own — even if it was hard to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, that’ll be enough to atone.)